Arbeenok nodded and pointed at the fountain. "There is a pair upon that shield," he said, and Vambran saw that the symbol engraved on the stone was indeed a set of crossed swords.
Then he looked down. "And my own blade makes twelve," he breathed. "But what does it mean?"
"It is the means of stopping the plague," Arbeenok said. "It is salvation for this city."
"What? Me, here? In this garden?"
"I don't know," Arbeenok replied, looking doubtful. "I don't think so. I-I don't know," he finished, shaking his head.
Elenthia bent down then, staring at the tiny city. "You said it was a drowned city?" she asked. "As in, covered in water?"
Arbeenok nodded. "Yes," the alaghi said. "But I do not know what that means."
"I think I do," the woman replied. "The Cities of the Twelve Swords."
"What?" Vambran asked, standing and shaking water from himself. He felt cleaner but still tainted.
"Ancient Jhaamdath," Elenthia replied. "The cities of Jhaamdath were called the Cities of the Twelve Swords."
"But Jhaamdath is at the bottom of the Reach," the mercenary said, doubtful of her interpretation.
"Exactly," Elenthia said, nodding. "Washed away by the wrath of the elves over fifteen hundred years ago."
Arbeenok nodded eagerly. "We must go there. Now. The secret of stopping the plague can be found there."
Vambran turned to look at the druid askance. "That's an awful lot of water to swim through," he said. "Do you have any idea where we should start?"
"No," the alaghi answered, smiling, "but you do."
"Me?" Vambran said, shaking his head in denial. "I don't have the smallest notion," he insisted.
"You are the man in my vision," Arbeenok said.
"Just because I had a little blood on me does not make me the figure in your portent," Vambran argued.
"It does," Arbeenok insisted. "I thought at first it symbolized a man who was at odds with himself, struggling between two paths-the blue and the red-and would find himself somewhere in between. But I was not taking it literally enough."
Vambran sighed. "Blue and red at odds, you say?" he asked. "As in my struggle between my duty to the Crescents and to my House?"
"Your house is red?" Arbeenok asked, puzzled.
"No, but the insignia is. A red four-pointed star, and all the guards wear that as a patch on their uniforms."
Arbeenok smiled again. "There, you see? You do believe it."
Vambran grimaced and nodded. "I still don't know how I'm supposed to find whatever it is we're looking for," he said.
"Let that take care of itself," the druid said. "The visions will guide us true."
"Vambran," Elenthia said, coughing.
"What?" the mercenary asked, turning to look at his counterpart.
Elenthia was holding her arm up in the air, staring at it. It was discolored, turning purplish blue. She coughed again, harder. "The plague," she said. "I think I've gotten it."
Being drawn back out of the mirror was just as unnerving as having been sucked into it. Emriana felt turned inside out, but just as soon as it washed over her, the feeling was gone again. She found herself huddled naked on the thick throw rug in the middle of Lobra's bedroom. Denrick stood beside her, leering down. The hunger in his eyes made her shiver.
On the far side of the chamber, Lobra sat upon a small couch, one leg drawn up beneath her. She regarded Emriana with what appeared to be mild amusement. "Well? Aren't you going to thank me?" she asked.
"For what?" she asked, disoriented.
"Why, for letting you out, of course," the woman replied. "Or did you forget your manners while you were tucked away in there?"
Emriana wasn't sure there was a correct answer to that question, but she didn't want to anger the woman before she even had a chance to get her bearings. "Thank you," she mumbled, huddling tighter. "Can I have my clothes, please?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Lobra said with mock dismay in her voice. "I don't think they got delivered along with the mirror. But you don't really need them, anyway," she added with a sneer. "I think my brother prefers you without them."
Emriana didn't want to look up at Denrick, but she did anyway, regretting it. He looked ravenous. You're dead, she insisted, jerking her gaze away again sharply. You aren't really here. I watched you fall!
"It's not really him," Emriana muttered. "I watched him die. Your tricks aren't going to work."
"Did you, now?" Lobra said coldly. "Are you certain? Denrick, did she watch you die?"
By way of an answer, Denrick frowned at Emriana and said, "That wasn't very nice, what you did to me, kicking me over a balcony like that. It really hurt."
Emriana gaped at Denrick. She wanted to attribute the dead man's presence to a trick, an act of illusory magic, one of the twisted perversions of Lobra's House wizards. But no one in House Pharaboldi knew what had happened that night, when the young man had tumbled over the side of the third-story railing.
He was too real.
"No," she mumbled, "They said you died."
Denrick took up a small wooden chair, one that matched the writing desk near the mirror, and placed it right in front of her so that it was facing backward. He straddled the chair and sat, staring at the girl, letting that wolfish grin that had haunted her nightmares in recent tendays return. "I think they made a mistake," he answered.
Emriana retreated from him, backing herself into a corner of the room. She drew her knees up and watched him, remembering exactly how he had cornered her once before, in her bedroom. "You tried to rape me," she said, hatred mixing with her fear. "I'm glad I kicked you over! You deserved it!" She shrank away, turned her head, tried to blot the boy out of her consciousness.
"I knew it!" Lobra crowed, standing and pointing an accusing finger at the girl. "It is all your fault!"
Emriana looked at the other woman, incredulous. "Didn't you hear me?" she said, nearly shouting. "I said 'rape.' He tried to rape me. He even had that nasty wizard Bartimus ready to help him! Charm me and make me like it!" She felt tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away defiantly, but Lobra only chuckled.
"And now he's going to finish the job," the woman said, the ice in her voice making the girl shiver. She crossed the room to stand right before the girl, bending down to sneer at her. "You and your wretched family ruined me, ruined my House," she said, her lips drawn back in a rictus of hatred, showing her teeth. "Took away my family from me. So now I'm returning the favor. They'll always wonder what became of you. But they will still be the lucky ones, because they'll never know. You, however, will know. You'll sit in that mirror and remember it forever." With those chilling words, she moved back to the couch. As she passed Denrick, she added, "She's all yours. Whatever you do, don't go easy on her," she added, her voice dripping with hatred as she sat down again, adjusting her skirts while she watched.
Emriana couldn't help but look up at Denrick as he stood, slid the chair out of the way, and came at her. She balled her hands into fists, ready to make him pay dearly for what he sought.
CHAPTER 6
The celebration of Sammardach was winding down in the small hours of the night, but a few guests still seemed reluctant to depart the Generon. As Bartimus followed Grozier, Falagh, and Lavant through the halls of the great palace, the wizard began to wonder if those last few stragglers might not be changing their minds. He certainly wished he were somewhere else right then. He cringed as Falagh Mestel swore again.