The Mirror of Fate (17 page)

“Marsh ghouls,” muttered Ector, edging closer to my side. “Where can we go?”

Nowhere, it seemed. Behind us roared a deadly inferno—the Flaming Tree and the blaze that surrounded it. Before us stood forty or fifty marsh ghouls, armed with menacing weaponry. I could feel, almost touch, their scorn for anything alive that stood in their way. Even the swirling vapors of the marsh seemed reluctant to touch their wavering forms. My own shadow withered, shrinking down to a mere wisp of gray at my feet.

Propped against my staff, I tried to think of something—anything—we could do. As waves of dark mist rolled over us, my mind raced, but with no result. And my quivering legs didn’t help matters. I felt weak, hardly able to stand. So how could I possibly fight? Was I simply drained by my act of Leaping or, as I feared, by the fading power of the elixir?

“They hate us,” said Hallia, her voice hush. “I can feel it.”

“So can I.” Then, with a slight shudder, I realized that I also felt something more. It was an uncertain, elusive feeling; a sensation I could almost grasp, but not quite. “They hate us, yes. And yet . . . I have the feeling, somehow, that they hate something else. Even more.”

She gave me a bewildered glance.

Turning my flagging powers toward the phalanx of marsh ghouls, I probed their shadowy selves. I pushed to see behind their shimmering forms, beyond their visible shapes. Wrath—more potent than poison hemlock—flowed from them. Probing deeper, I sensed betrayal. And could it be? A deep, unflagging sorrow.

Gradually, ever so gradually, their shapes came more clear for me. They had heads, long and narrow, topped by hoods; dark brown tunics that fell to the ground; and enormous, clawed hands. I saw more of their faces—twisted, harsh, hateful. And then I saw something else, something so surprising that I couldn’t believe it at first. They were wrapped, held tight, by a kind of rope. No, not rope. Something far more heavy, far more cruel.

Chains.

Yes, there could be no doubt. Someone, or some force, had bound the marsh ghouls. Stolen their freedom—and, perhaps, their will. As much as they raged at the three intruders who dared to venture on their land, they raged much more at some hidden oppressor.

Hallia jerked, craning her neck. “Do you smell that?”

Indeed, I did. Rose blossoms! Again I smelled that striking aroma, so very different from the sulphurous smoke of the blazing vents or the rancid air of the swamp. Faint though it was, it brought a sudden memory of spring roses, fresh and alluring. And . . . something else, a dream perhaps, too distant to recall.

Just then, the line of shadowy warriors parted. Through the opening strode a woman. Tall and proud, she wore a glistening white robe, untouched by mud, and a silver-threaded shawl about her shoulders. Her hair, black like my own, fell midway down her arms. Seeing us, she smiled grimly. Her eyes seemed as devoid of light as the arrow’s dark trail.

For an instant, I thought somehow I knew this woman. Her stride, her curling lips, her hair—all reminded me of a girl I had met in another part of Fincayra. A girl who had betrayed me. Whose name was Vivian . . . or, as she preferred, Nimue. I pushed those thoughts aside. How could a girl my own age, who had tried to steal my staff only two years ago, suddenly have grown into a woman? Yet the resemblance was strong. Very strong. I almost recognized her, just as I almost recognized that scent of rose blossoms.

I started. For the woman pulled from behind her back something that I most definitely did recognize. My own sword! Its blade, catching the light from the circle of flames, flashed brightly. It almost seemed to be calling to me, imploring me to take it back.

Ector’s body tensed. Then he spoke a single word—a name—that froze the blood in my veins. “Nimue.”

“Indeed, little servant,” she answered in a voice that sounded only a shade huskier than the voice of the girl I had once known. She waved the sword at Hallia and myself. “Wouldn’t you like to introduce me to your friends?
Hmmm?
Or can you not recognize them under all those layers of mud?”

Hallia, her indignation overcoming her fear, stepped forward. “I am Hallia, of the Mellwyn-bri-Meath—a people who learned long ago that finely wrought clothing can’t mask a poisoned heart.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “A people who learned long ago to run away from trouble instead of confronting it.” Without waiting for Hallia’s response, she turned to me. “And you, young wizard. Who might you be?”

Though my weakened body trembled, I stood as tall as I could. “We have met before.”

“Ah, yes. So we have.” She examined my staff. “A long time ago,
hmmm
?”

I said nothing.

“Too bad.” Glumly, she clacked her tongue. “You know, I think I liked you better before. In your younger form.” She sent Hallia a knowing glance. “Is he any better at romancing now? He was, believe me, dreadfully clumsy back then.”

Hallia’s eyes flared angrily.

“My sword,” I declared. “You have my sword.”

Carelessly, Nimue twirled the silver hilt in her hand, watching it sparkle. “Ah yes, so I do.”

“I want it back.”

“Really?” She scanned the rows of marsh ghouls, arrows at the ready. “You wouldn’t be thinking of fighting me, would you? That would be rash, very rash. These marksmen are not seasoned fighters, like warrior goblins. But I have trained them to shoot my own dark arrows—and shoot well.”

I glared at her. “You’re not only older. You’re crueler.”

She stabbed at the air with my blade. “The blessings of age! The same thing will happen to you, young wizard. Ah, yes.” She released a long, low cackle. “If you should survive this day, that is, which is most unlikely.”

She leaned closer, the glow from the inferno dancing on her pale skin. When she spoke, her grating whisper made me shudder. “And if you should, by some miracle, survive, this sword will not be the last thing I shall steal from you. That, little wizard, I can promise.”

She straightened herself, patting down her robe, then scanned her ring of warriors. “Yet even as I speak, I am tempted to show you some mercy.”

“I don’t need mercy from you,” I spat back.

“Oh no?” She scrutinized me with mock concern. “You don’t look at all well,
hmmm
.” Her lips creased, almost smiled. “Is it possible you could be having some sort of problem . . . with your heart?”

I cringed.

“Huntress,” snarled Hallia. “It was you who sent the beetles!”

“Perhaps, you slab of venison! And perhaps I’ve brought some other blessings to this marsh, as well.”

Several of the marsh ghouls stirred suddenly, releasing wrathful growls. Nimue turned to them, raising her eyebrows. They instantly quieted, though their shadowy forms continued to quiver.

She turned her gaze back to me. “As I was saying, right now I am feeling merciful.” She strode forward, raised my sword, and plunged it deep into the ground. Charred dirt flew up, soiling her dress, but the marks instantly disappeared. All the while, she observed me. “The terms of my bargain are quite simple. If you give me that key in your hand, I will give you back your sword.”

I caught my breath. The blade seemed aflame itself, flashing in the firelight. “You would do that?”

“I would.”

My sword . . . I could almost reach it, almost feel it. But one look at Nimue, watching me smugly, struck me like a falling stone. My fingers tightened around the sapphire-studded loop. “I’ll make no bargains with you,” I proclaimed. “Even for the sword.”

Her hands, creamy white, clasped together. “Ah, well, such a shame. I shall just have to tell my soldiers to kill you. And your friends, as well. Then I’ll take the key anyway.”

“You are a witch, Nimue,” blurted Ector. “If my master knew—”

“Leave your foolish master out of this. Or I shall turn my marksmen on you right now, servant boy.”

Bristling, he swung to face me. “Don’t do it, please! If she gets hold of that key, then all will be lost.”

Nimue cackled softly. “I suppose I might give you one more gesture of mercy,
hmmm?
Just to prove my intentions are honorable.”

I sneered, “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Skeptical? Ah then, just listen. Before you hand the key over to me, I’ll allow you to use it. That’s right. To heal yourself.”

“No, young hawk!” cried Ector. “That would—”

Nimue swatted the air, as if brushing away a fly. Ector flew backward, rolling down the slope. He stopped just short of the conflagration, though his sleeve burst into flames. While he labored to put it out with handfuls of dirt, she watched him with amusement. “Someone,” she said, “should teach that boy some manners.”

Turning back to me, she coaxed, “Go ahead, now. Use the key to mend that little trouble with your heart.” Her perfume wafted over me. “Before I change my mind.”

“Wa—wait,” I stammered. “Why would you let me do that?”

“Mercy, as I said. And also gratitude.”

“For what?”

The ring of flames roared, surging higher. From every side it spouted sparks that landed, still aglow, on the ground. A few tufts of grass caught fire, sending thin trails of smoke into the mist.

“For leading me to my precious key, of course. Why, I’ve been searching for it for quite some time now.”

Seeing my look of astonishment, she smirked. “I don’t mean you, little wizard, but your large-eyed friend there.”

Hallia gasped. “Me? I wouldn’t lead you—”

“Not knowingly, of course.” She stroked her hair with evident satisfaction. “That was the beauty of it, you see. Once I learned that a deer man had carried the key into the marsh, I figured you would lead me to it eventually.” She pointed a long finger at my chest. “Especially if you had the proper incentive.”

With a frown, she waved at her shadowy soldiers. “The timing was fortunate, too. I was beginning to grow a little, shall we say,
impatient
with my good friends here.”

A few of the marsh ghouls grumbled, tensing their bows, before she cut them off with a glance. “They had done well enough, I’ll grant, at keeping unwanted intruders out of the marsh. And at widening the borders where I required more room to search. Yet they had done miserably at helping me find what I really wanted.”

“So you’re responsible for destroying that forest,” I fumed. “And also that village.”

“Oh, more than just one village, I daresay. And more than just a few trees here and there! You have no idea.” Looking very pleased with herself, she flicked a spark off her dress. “Ah, but all this was not so easy as it sounds. It wouldn’t have worked to have
me
clearing intruders out of the marsh, oh no. That would have roused too much suspicion—not to mention the few enemies I still have on this antiquated island.”

She paused, straightening her silver-threaded shawl. “The solution, of course, was to give a good deal of my power—not all of it, mind you, but enough to raise serious havoc—to some other people.” She pondered the marsh ghouls for a moment. “Preferably people who were almost as wicked, if not as clever, as myself. That way no one would suspect that I was involved.” In a silken voice, she added, “And the marsh ghouls, I can assure you, were delighted to cooperate. More than eager! How else could I have entrusted them with my own magic? And my own weaponry?”

She flicked her finger at the blade of my sword, causing it to ring softly. “Hence my gratitude, and this little moment of mercy. So now, tell me. Do you accept my offer to use the key, or not?”

Hallia, her hair aglow from the flames, leaned toward me. “I don’t trust her any more than you do. But you can’t refuse this chance to spare your life.”

“Wise words, deer woman.” Nimue placed her hands on her hips. “All right, then. Make your choice.”

Slowly, I nodded. My hand quivering, I brought the key to my chest. As it came nearer, I could almost feel the bloodnoose tightening around my heart. My life.

“All you need to do,” offered Nimue, “is fix a clear image in your mind of the spell you would like to break. Then turn the key.” She eyed the sparkling sapphire. “
Hmmm,
hurry now. I’m growing rather bored with being merciful.”

I drew a deep breath. My chest throbbed; now even breathing seemed an effort. I looked into Hallia’s eyes, then at the key. At last, I concentrated my thoughts on the spell that, beyond all others, I knew must be destroyed.

Suddenly, I turned the key around—pointing it at the marsh ghouls. Nimue cried out in surprise. Before she could do anything more, I turned the key.

Instantly, a new sound rent the air: the sound of heavy chains splitting apart and clattering to the ground. The shimmering forms of the marsh ghouls released a cheer that drowned out the roaring from the inferno. At the same time, some of them hurled their bows, arrows, and swords into the fire. The flames rose higher, spitting and hissing while consuming their weapons. Meanwhile, the marsh ghouls themselves melted into the vapors—freed forever from Nimue’s spell.

She clenched her fists tightly. “How dare you?” she shouted. “I needed them still! I had more plans for them. And now they are roaming freely, with powers that belong to me!”

All at once, her rage dissipated. An inscrutable grin spread over her face. “So be it. But mark my words, young wizard. In trying to harm me, you have only doomed yourself. Ah, yes! More completely than you know.”

Gathering her shawl, she chortled softly. Then she turned and strode off into the swirling clouds. In a moment, no sign of her remained, but for the lingering aroma of rose blossoms.

19:
G
REAT
P
OWER

Weakly, I sagged on my staff, driving it deeper into the dirt. My head spun from the intensity of the confrontation with Nimue. The place between my shoulders ached like never before.

Hallia peered at me, confused. Firelight glowed in the strands of her hair. “What happened to the marsh ghouls? And why, young hawk, didn’t you heal yourself?”

“I felt their rage, as you did. But I also felt their pain. She had chained them, forced them to serve her. So I made a choice: to set them free. And if that spoiled Nimue’s plans, so much the better.” An unsteady breath seeped into my lungs. “Also, I couldn’t help feeling that if she wanted me to use the key on myself, then it must be wrong somehow.”