David Drake - The Mirror of Worlds

Chapter 5 "Fine," said Sharina, twisting for a quick glance behind her. She was in a rotunda and had backed into one of the eight fluted gold pillars supporting a dome of crystal and gold above her. From the smooth coolness to the touch of her hand, the pillar might've been real gold. "Then take me back. I don't need to be saved, by you or by anyone else." "Please, Sharina," the stranger said, spreading his hands palm-upward at waist level. "You're free to go back any time you wish, but I hope you'll first listen to what I have to say." Sharina considered. She didn't have even the comb for a weapon because she'd dropped it when she began topplinghere. She often wore the Pewle knife as a talisman under her outer robe, but a meeting with the commissioner of sewers was tiresome rather than being stressful. She'd have taken off the knife and its heavy sealskin belt as soon as she entered the safety of her bungalow anyway. "Quickly, then," Sharina said, darting glances to either side without seeing anything that seemed to offer a better solution than taking the fellow at his word.

"Of course," the man said. "And Ido apologize for my presumption, but I had no choice. I'm Prince Vorsan, by the way." "Quickly, I said!"

Sharina repeated. The shrillness of her voice warned her that she was nearing the limits of her control. Vorsan was her height and a bit heavier, but he didn't look muscular. She wasn't sure she could throttle him with her bare hands, but she'd try if she had to. "I built this asylum because I saw that my world was going to be destroyed," he said, gesturing with his left hand. "Your world in turn is about to be destroyed, so I'm offering you safety and immortality.

I've never granted this to anyone else in all the ages in which I've lived here, dear Sharina. Won't you sit down while I explain?" The outer wall of the rotunda was four double-paces beyond the ring of pillars. There were eight doors in the gorgeously painted wall and two impossibly perfect mirrors. Beneath each mirror was a low couch, seemingly upholstered with peacocks' tail feathers to match the walls.

The floor was a translucent blue-green. It shone and shifted, suggesting onyx chips or possibly real ocean beneath a smooth, invisible barrier. "I don't care to sit," Sharina said. She spoke harshly because otherwise her voice might've trembled. It was as much fatigue as fear working on her; in fact, she wondered if this might all be a dream or a hallucination. "Send me back to where I belong, if you will!" "Please, a moment only, Sharina," Vorsan said, frowning in frustration. "The Last will wash over your world as the seas did mine.

There's no way to stop them. Your only hope is to save yourself, and I offer you that safety. You will have food, wine, books." At each word, he pointed to a different door. The valves had the same golden sheen as the pillars and were molded in high relief. The figures on them were delicate and so perfect they seemed to move. "And we'll have all eternity to enjoy them," Vorsan continued. "There's no age or sickness or infirmity in this sanctuary which my genius has created." He smiled. "Try a glass of wine, why don't you?" he said. "I have a thousand vintages, all bottled at the perfect moment." A faceless silver statue stepped solemnly toward Sharina. On a salver that appeared to grow from its hand rested a squat bottle of green-glazed earthenware. "No!" Sharina said, reaching behind her for the Pewle knife whichof course she wasn't carrying. With careful calm she continued, "Prince Vorsan, you've convinced me that you're a great wizard, but I don't want your wine or food. I want to go home." On the salver which the other metal figure-they weren't statues, clearly-was holding were a round loaf and a slab of cheese the color of old ivory.

That figure hadn't moved, and Sharina'd be just as happy if it didn't.

"As you wish, Sharina," Vorsan said. He didn't give a noticeable signal, but the figure with the wine stepped back and froze again into metallic stasis. "Please don't call me a wizard, though; wizardry is mummery or madness. I am a philosopher of natural science, achieving my triumphs by knowledge and application rather than whimsical thrusts with powers I don't understand and can't really control." "Oh," said Sharina, startled and not fully able to comprehend what she'd just heard. Her opinion of most wizards-all wizards except Tenoctris-was in complete agreement with Vorsan's, but she didn't see the difference between wizardry and making statues walk. After clearing her throat and still not coming up with a useful way to continue that discussion, she said, "Well, I thank you for your concern, your highness, but as you noticed, my kingdom-my world, if you prefer-is being threatened by invaders. I have duties, especially in such a crisis, and I need to get back to them." "Sharina, there's nothing to be done," Vorsan said forcefully. "Will you watch my projections of the end of your world?

I've calculated all the factors, just as I did with the Flood. Others tried to stem the waters, but I knew the only hope was to create a cyst in the fabric of the cosmos. I can show you!" "I'm not interested in seeing your fancies!" Sharina said. "I have duties and I have friends, and I'm away from both of them so long as I'm here! I want to go home, Prince Vorsan." "Sharina, please try to understand," Vorsan said, opening his hands toward her. "My studies have generally been enough for me, but I've occasionally sought other companions. Never, though, never have I offered what I'm offering you. I want you to be my eternal consort, immortal and immaculately safe." His crimson robes moved easily as though they were tissue thin, but bronze plates couldn't have concealed his body more completely. She wondered if he was heavier than she'd thought at first. "Prince Vorsan, I'm asking for the last time," Sharina said, stepping toward her host. The stoneware wine bottle would make a satisfactory weapon, though striking Vorsan down wouldn't in itself get her home. And would the living statues take a hand if she attacked their master? "Wait!"

Vorsan said, holding his left palm up in bar. "Go back, then; I've never wished to keep you against your will." "How-" "Stand where you were when you came," he said sharply. The anger furrowing Vorsan's high forehead was the first emotion to break through the mask of waxen good-humor he'd been wearing. "Yes, that's right." She glanced behind her to make sure all was as she remembered it being, then stepped almost against the pillar. "Now look into the mirror." "Which-"

Sharina said. "Either mirror!" said Vorsan. "It doesn't matter. Just concentrate. As you did when I brought you here." The mirror on the far wall of the rotunda was so clear that Sharina had half believed it was really an opening. She saw herself against the gleaming pillar, her face composed and regal. What am I supposed to concentrate on? she thought, glaring at her own fierce eyes- And she was back in her bedroom, its mooncast shadows muted after the bright rotunda. The silver comb she'd dropped when she fell toward Vorsan rang on the floor like a bell. *** The crowd inside the gate must be half the palace clerks and servants besides all the high officials, and judging from the noise coming over the high brick walls there were more people than that in the street outside. Cashel felt a trifle itchy, though the line of Blood Eagles between the spectators and Garric's immediate friends meant he didn't have to use his weight and quarterstaff to keep folks from squeezing against Sharina. Itfelt like he might have to, though.

He had on a pair of tunics which his sister'd woven. They were simpler than the clothes that just about everybody else present wore to see Garric off, but Ilna's work always impressed the people who saw it.

Sometimes Cashel wondered what he'd do when he ran out of her tunics, but the other thing about Ilna's cloth was that it wore like iron.