Read 2012-07-Misery's Mirror for Free Online

covered his body. “I have been inside,” he admitted in a feeble croak. “I have spoken to the shae.”
    Ascaros jerked his fingers, flopping Voraic’s head as though he were a fish on a hook. “You killed my aunt at his instigation.”
    “No. Not at the shae’s instigation.” The wizard rolled his good eye at the toppled mirror, staring at it without seeming to really see it. “Silence offered to help. He gave me the tools and the opportunity. But I would have done it on my own eventually, with or without him.”
    “Why?” Ascaros released his grip and stepped back. He sounded genuinely curious. “Misanthe saved you. She plucked you from the Hovels and gave you not just survival, but a chance at greatness.”
    “Should I be grateful for that? She took me from one hell to another. A worse one, I think.” Voraic’s burned lip curled, cracking at the edges. “And she murdered my mother.”
    “How did you do it?” Isiem asked.
    “Silence taught me the spell. It was Misanthe’s secret sorcery; no one knew that magic but her. Her refusal to teach it to anyone else—even her apprentice—was famous. It was a traceless weapon, or as near to one as I could manage.” Voraic grimaced, shifting under the drapes in a futile attempt to find a less painful position. “But I would have done it even if I’d known I would be caught.”
    “Did he teach you anything else?” Ascaros demanded.
    “Yes.” Voraic’s remaining eye squinted at the shadowcaller for a moment. Then he wheezed a strangled, mirthless sound that might have been a laugh. “Why, did he promise to share those secrets with you? It’s tempting, isn’t it? Centuries of lore at your beck and call. He isn’t lying. He has the knowledge. But if you’re asking whether it’s worth dealing with the shae…”
    “Is it?”
    Voraic closed his eye and let his head loll back. The ribboned flesh of his cheek blew in and out with each breath he took. “Look what became of your aunt. Look what became of me. All Silence says is true: he invites you to destruction.”
    Isiem glanced at his friend, but Ascaros did not return his look. “How did you get into the mirror?” Ascaros pressed, still intent on the apprentice. “It only admits those of my blood.”
    “The blood doesn’t have to be in you.” Weakly, Voraic reached for a blackened chain around his neck. The links had become stuck to the man’s melted flesh, but Ascaros plucked it away with callous ease. Attached to the chain was a small vial, its glass shattered by the dying apprentice’s convulsions. A charred rime clung to the inner surfaces of the few fragments that remained. “I wore hers, and it was enough.”
    Ascaros’s face hardened. He jerked the broken vial off Voraic’s neck, snapping the damaged chain. “Does anyone else know this?”
    “No. Misanthe might have suspected… but it was a routine task for me to clean her tools after her prayers, so unless Silence told her, she would not have known that I kept the blood, or why.” Voraic coughed out another miserable laugh. “Kill me and the secret dies too. But you will have to hurry. The Over-Diocesan’s servants are coming. Give me a quick death, and I won’t shout your secret loudly enough for them to hear.”
    “Consider it done.” Ascaros drew the dagger at his belt and plunged it into the empty socket of Voraic’s missing eye. The apprentice thrashed under the heavy drape, kicking spasmodically for several seconds and then stopping.
    Ascaros withdrew the dagger and wiped it off on the thick black cloth. Before he could sheathe it, a sharp knock sounded at their door.
    “Open,” a woman’s voice ordered, “or suffer.”
    “Of course,” Ascaros called back, standing. He turned toward the door, but before he could take two steps, Isiem caught his arm.
    “What will you tell them?” Isiem whispered. He canted his head meaningfully toward the overturned mirror. Resting lopsided on its halo of chains, the mirror