“Here I stand again before you,” said Cazuvel to the mirror. “Cermindaya, cermindaya, saya memanggil anda dan mengikat anda.”
The image in the mirror-Cazuvel’s image-writhed and grimaced. The mage watched as the Cazuvel in the mirror reached up his hands as if to grasp the frame surrounding him, and shook.
“Leave me alone, you bastard!” the image screamed. “You’ve taken enough! Let me out!”
Cazuvel smiled. His face was much whiter than his teeth.
“Not yet,” he said. “It is necessary that I draw more power from you. The highmaster has a new problem.”
The mirror Cazuvel seemed to press up against the glass. “By the Abyss, just let me out.”
“By the Abyss indeed,” said the first Cazuvel, extending his thin, white fingers in the mirror’s direction. Arcs of blue and orange sprang from Cazuvel’s hands, dancing upon the shocked image of the wizard; the lightning crackled for a heartbeat longer, then surged back to where it had come. Both Cazuvel and his image in the mirror jerked and shook with each sparking jolt, but while Cazuvel bore an expression of intense satisfaction, his image screamed.
When the lightning ceased, Cazuvel lowered his hands and smiled. The image in the mirror looked gaunt, haggard, the life drained from it. Cazuvel, on the other hand, seemed more vital and stronger than he had before he started. He turned and began walking to the doors.
“You’ll never …” said the image, hunched over within the frame of the mirror.
Cazuvel drew his robed cowl over his head, hiding his violet eyes from view. “I’ll never what? Get away with it? Why, of course I will.”
“You’ll be discovered. Found out. I’ll get free.”
Cazuvel laughed. “I think not. Remember how potent that spell you attempted was, my caged friend. Far beyond your own reach. You made a mistake, trying to cast it-incorrectly-and now here we are.”
The image looked up and out, its sunken features tightening in anger. “She’s no fool, you monster. She trained under Emperor Ariakas. She walks the Left Hand Path, as he did. Eventually she’ll catch on to who you really are.”
Cazuvel lifted his shoulders, shrugged. “Perhaps. But by then I will have already secured a permanent portal. I won’t have any more need of you or the highmaster or any of the others in this careless game of souls you’ve all been playing.”
The wizard spoke a single word, a word loaded with a violent finality. The image in the mirror flinched then vanished. The surface of the mirror grew dark, and Cazuvel left it there in the depths of the Lyceum.
As the wings of magic carried him across Kalaman Bay once more and to the east, toward Nordmaar, the wizard Cazuvel-or whoever he truly was-wondered whether the highmaster really would uncover all of his secrets. Was the armored, fire-loving Rivven Cairn truly that skilled in the art?
He would have to find out for himself.
CHAPTER SIX
Vanderjack poured himself a drink.
The bottle was just sitting there, and its owner was one of several mercenary barflies who had, upon hearing of the imminent arrival of the dragonarmy soldiers, vacated the premises. Not being the kind of man to let any alcohol go to waste and in need of some fortification in this time of stress, Vanderjack poured some of the bottle’s contents into an empty tankard and looked around.
“Anybody else for a drink?” he asked cordially.
Gredchen and Theodenes were the only two left in the tavern, with even the cadaverous doorman having taken his leave. Neither of them responded positively.
“Are you insane?” asked Gredchen, shaking her head as Vanderjack held the bottle out toward her. “We need to be leaving, Vanderjack. I’m not the least bit interested in being thrown into a cell by the dragonarmy.”
Theodenes looked out the window rather than take the proffered bottle. “Neither am I, frankly. In fact, I can think of nothing more insulting. In addition, I never consume wines, spirits, lagers, ports, or any other fermented beverage. Now is certainly not the time to start. Nor is it a good time for you to become inebriated.”
Vanderjack took a long swallow from his tankard and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Ordinarily I would agree, but under the circumstances I think it could be a good thing. Besides,” he looked at the bottle’s faded label. “I think this is dwarf spirits. There’s a bit of a kick.”
Gredchen punched Vanderjack in the arm. “Put it down! They’ll be bursting in here any moment. We have to leave.”
The Sword Chorus was absent; Vanderjack had released his grip on the hilt in order to make use of the bar, and he knew he’d get no end of mocking from the ghosts at that point as it was. With the warm smoky feeling of the spirits collecting in his stomach, the sellsword set aside the tankard and slipped off the barstool.
“Right, then. Theo? Should I assume you’re going to hold that Southern Ergoth thing over my head until I compensate you for it?”
The gnome sputtered. “‘Southern Ergoth thing’?”
Vanderjack nodded. “I can tell it’s really bothering you. I mean, you went to all this trouble”-he motioned around to the bar and the empty seats formerly occupied by mercenaries-“came all this way, and so on.”
“Single combat has crossed my mind,” Theodenes said, moving back toward his big desk. “Given that monetary reparations don’t appear to be something you are capable of.”
Gredchen said, “Actually, Lord Glayward is paying him quite well.”
Vanderjack watched as Theodenes reached behind the desk and brought forward a long pole with metal studs along one side near where a person would grip it. “Yes,” the sellsword agreed cheerfully. “And I’m sure to get a lot more too.”
Theodenes brought the butt of the polearm down upon the wooden floorboards, as if to emphasize his ownership. “How much more?”
“Oh, enough to buy you passage to Gargath again to get a new cat.”
Theodenes stroked his beard and considered.
Gredchen took another look out the window then called out, “They’re checking all of the other shops in the square. I see eight soldiers and a captain. It’s Captain Annaud, one of Highmaster Cairn’s men.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can handle nine little soldiers,” said Vanderjack, his eyes on Theo and the polearm.
“Very well,” Theodenes said. “I shall prepare a business contract stipulating transference of funds to me and attach it as a rider to your existing contract, with the unfortunate-looking woman as a witness.” He looked up at Gredchen. “What do you say to that, whoever you are?”
Gredchen grabbed her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. “I’d say the pot is calling the kettle black.” She glared down at the gnome, who didn’t flinch; he was a lot more intimidating than she would have given him credit for. “My name’s Gredchen. I’m Lord Glayward’s aide, and yes, I think that would be fine. Now really isn’t the time to sit down and draw up a contract, though, so …”
Vanderjack adjusted one or two belt straps and clapped his hands together. “We can take care of the details later. Right now, I believe there’s a gang of soldiers preparing to break through the door and arrest us all. Why don’t we go out through the kitchen? That’s always popular.”
There was a muffled exchange of words outside the door to the tavern and a stamping of feet. Theodenes and Gredchen both made for an exit at the rear of the common room, beside the bar. Vanderjack shoved a bench in front of the front door and ran after the others.
The three of them ran through the swinging wooden doors and into the kitchen, which was in a dreadful state of repair, and promptly fell over a man who had been standing immediately inside, apparently eavesdropping. Gredchen and Theodenes went sprawling, but Vanderjack, seconds behind them, remained on his feet.
“Cordaric!” shouted Theodenes. “Why haven’t you left with all the others?”