"I told you, I don't know. I don't ask the man what he does when I'm not around."
"Where did he likely take the mirror?" Pilos asked. "Possible places?"
Laithe shrugged. "I don't know anything about his mirror. Only that he uses it to catch people. I don't know where he got it or where he keeps it."
"Liar," Quill snarled, and he smacked her again.
"That's enough," Pilos said. "She's telling the truth."
Quill turned to look at the young priest, a hurt look on his face. "How do you know?" he asked.
"I just do," Pilos remarked. "She may not be volunteering information, but what's she's telling us is accurate."
"So what do we-" Quill's words died on his tongue as the door to the library slammed open.
The three of them had chosen their hiding place wisely-the doors were not visible to them-but Pilos knew beyond a doubt that whoever had entered the chamber knew they were there, and had come to hunt them down.
Laithe apparently knew also, for she began to yell. "Junce! I'm here! Hurry! They're both here!"
Quill moved to punch the wizard in the face, but Pilos grabbed him by the arm and stopped him. "No time," he said, handing the man a small vial. "Drink this and follow me," he ordered.
Without waiting for Quill to comply with his instructions, the young priest downed his own magical elixir, feeling the moisture vanish from his mouth and noting the familiar smoky taste. He felt himself become insubstantial, a cloud of misty vapors drifting off the floor. There was no weight to his body, no sense of push or pull in his legs. He just floated there, able to see in every direction at once, an ability his mind had a difficult time accepting.
Pilos willed himself toward the ceiling just as Junce came charging around the last of the bookshelves, a blade drawn. As Pilos wafted up into the rafters where Emriana had hidden earlier that evening, he noted that the assassin had brought a number of Generon guards with him.
Laithe was yelling at Junce that they were escaping, jerking her head up toward the ceiling, but Pilos didn't wait around to see if the assassin figured out what she meant. He saw that Quill was not standing there, and instead had transformed into a mist himself, so he led the way out of the library. At the door, which was closed and was now guarded on both sides by two soldiers each, he simply imagined flowing through the crack at the top. As quickly as he considered it, it happened, and he slipped through the gap. None of the guards thought to look up as Pilos and Quill drifted along the ceiling of the corridor outside, though Laithe was yelling orders and curses back in the library.
Hetta, are you with me? Pilos asked as he wafted along.
Yes, child, I am still here. That was quick thinking, drinking those elixirs.
Pilos wanted to nod, but the sensation to do so was simply not there. Don't know why I thought of it, but I'm glad, he projected. Now we have to hope that we can stay this way long enough to get out of here. If we're still down in the bowels of the Generon when the potions wear off, we're in trouble.
Chimneys, Hetta thought. Go up.
Of course, Pilos realized. Good idea.
The priest sought out the next room along the corridor, and inside, he drifted toward a fireplace. From there it was a simple matter to follow the flue up, ignoring any connections that did not continue vertically. It was a long ascent, but as he neared the top, Pilos was helped by updrafts rushing along, carrying him ever faster toward the chimney top.
Soon enough, Pilos and Quill stood on a roof of the Generon, looking out over the city.
"That was an adventure," the mercenary said, looking around. "But how do we get down?"
Pilos shrugged. "One thing at a time," he said. "Be glad we're not still down there."
Quill nodded in agreement. "It looks like we can drop over that side and climb down to a balcony," he said, pointing.
Pilos followed the man to the edge of the section of roof where they had just exited. Directly under them was a colonnaded walkway, and beyond that, there were gardens. "I guess I'm going to be climbing around the Generon after all," he muttered, thinking of Emriana. It seemed like an eternity ago that she had tried to convince him that they would need to climb over a wall to sneak inside. He almost laughed at the irony that he was climbing down to sneak out, but thoughts of her quelled any mirth he might have felt.
Don't worry, child, we'll find her, Hetta said, her presence soothing him. She's a strong girl. She'll be all right.
I hope so, Pilos replied. Then he dropped down and swung his legs out over the edge of the roof, hoping he would find a safer way of getting down than falling.
Emriana's strength eventually gave out, and sometime after she had stopped fighting him, Denrick turned to Lobra and said, "I grow weary of this. Torment her yourself, if you must, but I am done." And he stood up and left the room, drawing the door shut behind him. Emriana turned her head and watched the man go, beyond caring any longer. She glanced over to where Lobra still sat, having watched from a sofa. The woman was brooding.
After a moment, Lobra stirred, rising from her seat. "I guess it's time to put you back into the mirror," she said, false cheer in her voice.
Bitch, Emriana thought, turning away again.
She heard Lobra cross the room toward her, and Emriana considered punching at her, pummeling her face and stomach and fighting her way out of the house, but she didn't have either the strength or the will.
Denrick had been so strong. Stronger than she ever remembered.
"Are you going to cooperate, or do I need to call him back to help me?" Lobra asked, her voice too sweet.
Mocking.
"Rot in the ninth layer," Emriana muttered, turning at last and staring balefully at her captor. "Try and make me go back."
Lobra clucked her tongue in disapproval and was just turning toward the door, ostensibly to summon Denrick back to assist her, when a shout erupted from down the hall. "Guards!" a man cried out. "To the parlor!" Lobra froze, her back tensed with fear, and Emriana saw her chance.
Clambering from the bed, her aching body protesting, the girl stumbled toward Lobra and grabbed her by the shoulder. Lobra jerked at the sensation, but Emriana managed to spin the woman around. Bracing herself, Emriana swung her fist with all her might, popping her foe right in the cheek.
Lobra stumbled back, eyes wide in shock, clutching at her face and grunting in abject pain.
Emriana didn't give her a chance to recover. Summoning some reserve of energy she didn't know she had, the girl leaped on Lobra and knocked her to floor. She pelted the other woman with a flurry of punches, pummeling her just as she had imagined.
It felt so good to hit her.
Lobra writhed and squirmed as she was struck over and over, crying out and trying to protect her face and head. Emriana didn't let up, but finally, Lobra got hold of some bare flesh and clawed at Emriana. The girl yelped in pain and jerked away, and Lobra managed to buck Emriana off her. As Emriana landed in a heap, Lobra began to scream.
"Guards! To me! Help!" She was staggering to her feet as she called out, weaving unsteadily, her face already swollen and bloody.
Emriana lunged up and grabbed at Lobra, jerking her away from the door. "Shut up, you nasty wench!" In her pent-up fury, Emriana found one last well of strength and slung Lobra across the room. The woman stumbled and staggered, trying to maintain her balance, but she lost the battle and went sprawling-right at the great mirror.