Fall of Angels

XXIX

HISSL STARES INTO the glass, looking at the waving stalks of grass, and at the burned fort, with the few wisps of smoke still threading into the sky. Concentrating again, he waits for the image to re-form, and it does, showing an empty road that would lead to Berlitos, should he desire the glass to follow the track.

There are no signs of the Jeranyi. Hissl tugs at his chin. Ildyrom must have pulled back a long ways, perhaps as far as Berlitos.

The wizard frowns, and the white mists fill the glass, eventually showing a line of horse troopers trudging down a forest road behind the fir-tree banner. Since there are no forests near Clynya, that means Ildyrom has in fact stopped pressing his claim on the grasslands-for now.

The white wizard shakes his head. “You’ll be stuck here for seasons-seasons, angel-damn!” His words are low, but they hiss with frustration.

He looks around the small room, then out the narrow window into the blue of the morning and over the low thatched roofs of Clynya toward the West Fork he cannot seefrom the second story of the barracks. As he does, the image fades from the glass.

“Terek … with you scheming in Lornth, how will I ever get out of here? If I’m successful, Ildyrom won’t get the grasslands back, and I’ll be stuck here. If I’m not …” He shakes his head and looks down at the blank glass.

In time, he studies the mirror once more, and the mists swirl, and in the midst of the swirling white appears the Roof of the World, and the black tower that stands, despite the storm, and the silver-haired figure in olive-black who trudges up the stone steps. The glass also shows the aura of darkness that surrounds the man in the glass.

“A mage, and he knows it not.” After a time, Hissl gestures, and the image vanishes, leaving only a blank and flat mirror on the small table.

Finally, he smiles, tightly, thinking about bandits and the Roof of the World.