Margaret Weis - Heroes And Fools

Vandor Grizt stiffened in the mirror. The little girl, blonde hair half obscuring her features, stared back at him from across the room, an indecipherable expression on her delicate features. She pointed at him, at the crest he held, in a manner so accusing that the thief felt she could see him with strange clarity.

Flee, you fool! he told himself. No force held him here save astonishment, and he could not afford that now. Grizt thought of Mendel’s cursed mirror, knowing full well that to think of it meant to take the first step in returning.

Yet, even more astonishingly, he remained in the child’s room.

“Give me Mama’s jewel!”

Suddenly the thief found himself dragged toward the mirror. The Arcyan Crest-the young girl’s brooch- struggled to free itself from his grasp. Try as he might, Vandor could not keep his hands from passing through the glass.

The realization struck him. The little girl was a mage! Small wonder to him now that Prester had given her the crest. Prester must have seen his daughter’s talent, a rarity since the Chaos War. The crest would only increase her abilities.

The child continued to glare accusingly at him, but Vandor fought back fiercely. If he forfeited the artifact then not only would he lose his one hope of gaining his freedom but Mendel would punish him horribly.

The war of wills continued. Grizt’s arms were extended completely from the mirror but no farther. The battle might have gone on for the rest of the night if not for the inevitable. The thief’s hands, then his arms, began to smoke. Before Vandor’s very eyes, his fingers, his expert, thieving fingers, blackened. The skin peeled away, then the muscle began to burn, revealing darkening bone. Yet, despite the incredible agony, the horror, Vandor Grizt refused to yield.

He heard a minute gasp, then felt himself falling backward head over heels. He was unable to orient himself for a moment. Slowly it occurred to him what had happened: the child had noted his terrible fate. She couldn’t help but allow her concentration to lapse, not only saving him but enabling him to escape.

Escape to where, though? Vandor blinked, seeing that now he stood on the inside of a mirror in a familiar chamber-Lady Elspeth’s. He knew it to be hers for suddenly the noblewoman gasped, dropped a small hand mirror, and turned his way. However, Vandor had already disappeared, the power of Mendel’s sinister looking glass pulling him away. He found it astonishing that he had been cast into a foreign mirror without his knowledge, or the wizard’s permission. Or Lady Elspeth’s. . although Vandor might be condemned to be a phantom, still his thoughts sometimes turned to solid flesh. He had marked the beauty of Lady Elspeth. That desire must have been present when he had been cast loose by the startled girl.

To hold such a woman. .

That dream might at last be within his reach, he realized. In his hands he still held the Arcyan Crest. All he had to do was bring it to Mendel, who would be so pleased with him that he would at last grant Vandor Grizt a return to his body. .

An intense cold radiated from his hands.

“By Shinare, no!” Vandor knew exactly what the bone-numbing cold preceded. He pictured Mendel’s mirror, hoping he still had time.

Mendel’s chamber came into view. Vandor reached out, trying to thrust the Arcyan Crest through the mirror.

The artifact faded in his hands, vanishing as if it had never existed.

Vandor Grizt felt like screaming. His vindictive master would let him burn long and hard for this, no doubt saving the thief of mirrors only at the last moment, assigning him yet another impossible task. Vandor could suffer that torture gladly if he didn’t fear that this time Mendel might destroy his mortal body. After being preserved magically for so many decades, Grizt’s body would decay rapidly once Mendel released the spell.

To be so close to achieving freedom. .

He shook his head, trying to think. Vandor could do only one thing, a desperate measure, but all that remained to try. He could tell his master that he had not yet found the artifact. It would buy Grizt some time, staving off the inevitable. If Mendel thought the Arcyan Crest still existed, he would not punish his slave too severely. If he thought the crest was nearly within reach. .

Vandor was still struggling with what to say when Mendel entered.

The avaricious gleam in the crooked figure’s eyes immediately informed the thief that Mendel would have little patience today. His obsession with the crest had grown and grown.

“You have it? You have it?”

“No, Mendel, but-”

His master’s fury shocked even him this time. Mendel roared, unable to even articulate. He raised the staff high and, to Vandor’s horror, struck not at the frame, but this time at the mirror itself. He smashed hard and hard again, without holding back.

“Incompetent! Bungler!” Again the staff struck. “Fool!”

As he raised the wooden staff for a third strike, Mendel caught himself, for suddenly the mage lowered the staff, his eyes wide. Anger barely held in check, he leaned forward to inspect the magical mirror. Vandor, on the other side, was reeling from the blows. Mendel’s foul visage filled his vision.

“No damage. Nuitari be praised,” the old man muttered, apparently not recalling for the moment that his god, like all the others, no longer graced the heavens of Krynn.

Grizt spoke, seizing the moment and praying that his own cleverness would not defeat him. “Master, it is true I do not have the crest, but I think I’m close to its discovery!”

The anger in Mendel’s eyes faded a bit, replaced by a wary interest. “How so?”

Now the lie must be convincing. “When I searched tonight, I came across Prester. He looked very furtive, as if he had just come from some place important, some place deep in his sanctum-”

“Could mean anything.”

“Yes, but he carried with him an object similar to that one you had me steal for you but a month ago. Remember that tiny emerald spider?”

The emerald spider had been an old talisman Mendel had come across by accident. A merchant traveling through the region had been carrying it along with his other goods, gems, and jewelry befitting his noble clientele. Mendel had spotted it and had known it immediately for a magical artifact. With so few competent mages of the old school left, many items such as the spider had fallen into the hands of the unwary and then disappeared forever into their houses.

Two nights later, Vandor had reached out from the glittering reflections of the merchant’s gem collection and taken the spider. Mendel, ecstatic, took only a few minutes to leech the power from the artifact, not great power, but it had enabled the vulturish man to cast modest spells for several days.

“Did the artifact he carried appear to mask an inner fire, buffoon? Did it evince life?”

“If it once did, Prester no longer cared. As I watched, he discarded it into a rubbish container.”

Mendel rubbed his chin. “So he had already drained it of its magic, then.”

“Yes, that is what I supposed, but the important thing is he brought it from another place of hiding, where there must be other magical artifacts. You see? You were right as usual, Mendel! Prester must have the Arcyan Crest! Now I know it’s only a matter of time until I find it!”

“No.” The crooked figure stared down the ghostly thief. “It is only a matter of one night. One night, Grizt! I’m tired of waiting! Bring me the Arcyan Crest tomorrow morning or you’ll discover I’ve been merely gentle with you so far. . ”

Vandor swallowed hard. “One night?”

“I tire of these delays. . and your excuses!” Mendel shouted.

Vandor appeased him quickly. “I’ll find it, Mendel. I promise!”