The Shattered Mirror
The dead kept coming.
Kaylor no longer knew how many remained inside the Maelstrom.
Bodies turned through the black water, colliding as Hexen’s spell dragged them toward its center. Some had already ceased moving. Others continued fighting the current with the same mindless determination that had carried them through fire.
Grazim and Nethnarel were gone.
No bodies remained.
No blood marked where they had fallen.
The mirror realm had taken them.
That knowledge did not make their absence easier to endure.
Fendor fired past Kaylor.
The arrow entered one of the dead struggling at the edge of the vortex. The creature fell backward and vanished beneath the churning water.
Isamu struck another.
His rapier opened its side. His palm followed, driving the corpse away from Hexen.
“How long can you hold this?” he asked.
Hexen’s concentration remained fixed upon the spell.
“Not long enough.”
A creature escaped the Maelstrom behind him.
Fendor’s next arrow turned it aside.
Kaylor stepped into the opening.
The Sword of Sharpness struck once.
The Dancing Sword struck from the opposite direction.
The creature fell.
More took its place.
The battle narrowed to fragments.
Steel crossing reflected light.
Dead fists hammering armor.
Hexen refusing to release the spell even as wounds accumulated across his body.
Isamu running wherever the line threatened to break.
Fendor searching for angles through a battlefield that had ceased to possess any clear shape.
One by one, the four remaining heroes disappeared.
The mirror did not kill them.
It collected them.
The memories that followed survived only in broken pieces.
Kaylor remembered awakening without wounds, his wrists chained to a wall and his weapons close enough to see but not reach.
He remembered Grazim beside him, restored from the injuries that should have killed him.
Nethnarel pulling against restraints while trying to reach Gygax through a connection that seemed to pass across an impossible distance.
Hexen, Fendor and Isamu appearing in the remaining chains until all six occupied the same dark cell.
Then their captor came.
Abaddon.
The creature’s name entered their minds before anyone spoke it aloud.
It possessed a thin humanoid body wrapped in dark robes and a head from which pale tentacles hung in place of a mouth. Its eyes held the cold interest of a scholar examining specimens.
Hounds moved beside it.
Not ordinary animals.
The beasts carried the same wrongness as their master, their bodies altered by whatever power ruled the mirror.
Abaddon believed the heroes had been delivered to him.
He was mistaken.
How the restraints failed was lost with the missing hours of the mirror.
How the cell opened survived only as the sound of breaking metal.
The fight remained as flashes.
The hounds lunging.
Kaylor placing himself between them and the others.
Isamu moving inside their reach.
Fendor’s arrows crossing the dark corridor.
Hexen becoming fang, stone and fury.
Nethnarel’s magic illuminating Abaddon’s alien face.
Grazim raising his hammer against the creature that believed it had already won.
When the fragments ended, Abaddon lay dead.
His hounds lay beside him.
The six heroes remained.
No one knew whether the mirror realm had released them because they had defeated its jailer or because it wanted them to continue.
A passage opened beyond Abaddon’s chamber.
Only one mirror remained.
Every portal behind them had disappeared after they crossed it. The realm never permitted retreat. It offered a single direction and punished anyone who hesitated.
The mirror beyond Abaddon led into a quiet stone room.
Two doors stood opposite one another.
The first opened onto nothing useful.
The second carried a simple riddle worked into its surface.
Kaylor studied it.
The others waited.
Isamu looked at the inscription.
Then at Kaylor.
“Do you need assistance?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
Kaylor pressed one of the carved symbols.
The door opened.
Isamu nodded.
“I believed in you.”
“No, you did not.”
“No.”
Beyond the door waited the treasure.
The chamber was broad and high, its walls formed from the same polished material as the mirror realm. At its center stood a mound of coins tall enough to bury a wagon.
Gold.
Silver.
Copper.
Gems reflected the chamber’s cold light.
Weapons protruded from the pile. A beautifully made longsword lay across one slope. A staff rose near the top. Pieces of armor, cloth, bottles and stranger objects remained partially hidden among the wealth.
For several moments, no one moved.
The six had crossed impossible chambers, invisible prisons and a realm that turned their own magic against them.
They had fought Abaddon.
They had earned the sight of something that was not immediately trying to kill them.
Isamu stepped forward.
The treasure moved.
Coins lifted from the floor.
At first they rose in small streams.
Then the entire mound began to turn.
Metal spun through the chamber. Gems flashed within it. Weapons shifted and aligned. Armor plates locked together around an invisible shape.
The treasure built itself into a creature.
It stood more than twelve feet tall.
Coins formed its muscles.
Jewels burned where eyes should have been.
One arm ended in a gleaming longsword.
The other gathered around the staff that had risen from the pile.
A strange bag hung within the rotating mass of objects at its side.
Broken shields and pieces of armor turned around its torso in a constant orbit.
It leaned toward the heroes.
Thousands of coins moved together with a sound like heavy rain upon a metal roof.
Isamu reached it first.
He struck with his blade.
The weapon entered the turning treasure and scattered coins across the floor, but the opening closed almost immediately as new pieces flowed into place.
Isamu followed with an unarmed strike.
Ki entered the creature.
Nothing happened.
The treasure construct possessed no nerves to disrupt.
No living body to stun.
Isamu hit it again anyway.
“It cannot be stunned.”
“That normally stops you?” Hexen asked.
“No.”
Fendor fired.
One arrow struck the creature’s chest and vanished among the coins.
Another missed, changed direction in flight and entered the treasure from behind.
Small pieces broke free.
The creature remained immense.
Hexen studied the shifting body.
The parts nearest its surface were not all the same.
Copper.
Silver.
Gold.
Metal connected every piece of the thing.
He raised one hand.
Heat entered the construct.
Copper coins brightened first.
The softer metals began to glow.
The creature recoiled.
Its jeweled eyes turned toward Hexen.
“It feels that,” the druid said.
“Does it feel pain?” Isamu asked.
“I do not care.”
The magic continued building.
Every moment Hexen held it caused the metal to grow hotter.
Coins began softening inside the creature.
Grazim advanced with his shield raised.
He struck the treasure construct with the shield’s edge.
The impact displaced part of its lower body but failed to force it backward.
The thing possessed no true footing.
It was a storm pretending to stand.
Grazim swung the Warhammer of Disruption.
The attack passed through a section of turning coins and struck nothing solid enough to break.
The treasure creature answered.
Its longsword moved.
The blade cut through Grazim’s defenses and opened his armor.
It turned immediately toward Kaylor.
The second strike landed across the dragonborn’s chest.
The sword was not merely sharp.
Power lived within it.
Kaylor felt the weapon searching for the place where armor, flesh and bone would separate most completely.
The staff rose.
Nethnarel recognized the casting too late to prevent it easily.
She reacted anyway.
Counterspell crossed the chamber and struck the magic gathering around the staff.
For one heartbeat, the two forces held.
Then the construct’s spell broke through.
Thorns erupted from the mirrored floor.
They grew with impossible speed, forming a circular wall around the center of the room. Vines thicker than arms twisted together. Spikes crossed every opening.
Kaylor and Grazim were caught within it.
Fendor found himself cut off on the opposite side.
The wall reached nearly to the ceiling.
Kaylor looked upward.
Then vanished.
Misty Step carried him beyond the thorns.
Grazim remained inside.
The vines tightened around his armor whenever he moved.
Nethnarel raised both hands.
Fire gathered.
She released it into the wall.
The Fireball exploded among the vines.
Flame spread from thorn to thorn until the entire barrier burned.
The wall did not disappear.
It became a wall of burning thorns.
Wild magic answered Nethnarel’s spell.
Power turned inward.
For one terrible instant, she felt her body beginning to change into something small, wool-covered and entirely unsuited for the battle.
She seized the surge before it completed.
Controlled chaos allowed her another path.
Time passed across her instead.
Eight years settled over Nethnarel in a breath.
Her face changed subtly.
Her hair lengthened.
Fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes and vanished beneath the reflected firelight.
She touched one cheek.
Isamu looked at her.
“You appear older.”
“I am aware.”
“How much older?”
“Enough.”
The treasure creature moved through the chamber.
Flames reflected across its turning body.
Heat Metal continued working through its form. Copper softened. Silver bent. Molten pieces fell from it and struck the floor in glowing drops.
The construct raised the sword again.
Grazim stood inside the burning thorns.
He could barely see the attack through the vines.
The blade passed through.
It struck his neck.
For one instant, Grazim remained standing.
Then his head left his body.
The sword gleamed.
The war-priest’s body collapsed inside the wall of thorns.
His head struck the mirrored floor several feet away.
Everything stopped.
Not the fire.
Not the treasure creature.
The heroes.
Kaylor stared through the burning vines.
Grazim had died before.
They had restored him.
Krill had died.
Grazim had brought him back.
The rightful leader of the Sanctum had remained dead for years until Grazim returned his heart.
None of that made the sight before Kaylor less final.
The treasure construct turned toward the remaining heroes.
Its staff rose.
Bark spread across the swirling armor of coins, wrapping the creature in another layer of protection.
Then the strange bag at its side opened.
One small object fell from it.
A bean struck the mirrored floor.
The room shook.
A green stalk erupted from the point of impact.
It widened faster than the heroes could retreat. Roots cracked the polished floor. Leaves unfolded large enough to shelter a horse.
The stalk grew through the ceiling.
Mirror and stone shattered above it.
The beanstalk continued upward into darkness, carrying fragments of the chamber with it.
Isamu looked from the burning wall of thorns to the giant plant and then to Grazim’s head.
“This room has become unreasonable.”
Fendor reached the thorns.
There was no clean path through.
He lowered the Oathbow and drew his two longswords.
Then he entered the fire.
Thorns tore at his armor and clothing. Flames spread across him. He forced his way through the wall until he emerged into the center of the chamber.
His skin was burned.
Blood marked both arms.
The swords remained steady.
Fendor attacked.
The first blade entered the creature’s turning body.
The second cut across a cord of linked coins that had formed near its center.
Treasure spilled from the opening.
The construct shifted to replace it.
Fendor struck again.
The creature’s body began to lose cohesion.
Hexen could not see it clearly through the burning thorns.
He knew where it had stood.
That was enough.
Water rose behind the construct.
The Tidal Wave crossed the chamber.
It struck the treasure creature from the rear, drove the burning thorns inward and washed through Kaylor as well.
The dragonborn remained standing.
The construct staggered.
Steam filled the room where water met heated metal.
Coins fell from its body.
The fire upon the thorns hissed but did not completely die.
Kaylor stepped through the steam.
The treasure creature had killed Grazim.
No interpretation softened that truth.
No deception had caused it.
No institution stood between Kaylor and the thing responsible.
He raised the Sword of Sharpness.
“I name you my enemy.”
The vow did not come from the Sanctum.
It came from Kaylor.
He attacked.
The first blow opened the construct.
The Dancing Sword entered from the opposite side.
Dark divine force followed.
Kaylor struck again.
More power entered the creature.
The treasure storm convulsed.
Coins and gems flew outward.
The construct survived.
Kaylor remained directly before it.
Hexen’s spell continued heating the metal.
The weakest parts of the creature now melted continuously. Copper ran from it. Silver pieces deformed and fell. The staff arm drooped beneath its own heat.
Fendor attacked from the side.
His two blades moved with the same precision he brought to the Oathbow.
One strike severed another cord holding the body together.
A second tore through the armor rotating around its center.
The treasure creature sank.
For a moment, it appeared that it would collapse.
A few narrow strands of gold and enchanted metal pulled it upright again.
The jeweled eyes continued burning.
The longsword swung.
It passed within inches of Kaylor’s throat.
The blade reversed toward Fendor.
The elf ducked.
The weapon missed his neck.
The construct attacked Kaylor again.
This time the blade struck his side, but failed to find the killing line it had found upon Grazim.
Kaylor barely felt the wound.
The creature had almost come apart.
Its body hung together by a handful of coins, a strip of armor and whatever intelligence still forced the pieces to move.
Kaylor raised his sword.
The final strike passed through the construct’s center.
The treasure stopped turning.
For one heartbeat, the shape remained upright.
Then gravity reclaimed it.
Coins fell.
Armor crashed down.
Gems scattered across the mirrored floor.
The staff struck beside them.
The longsword landed last.
The creature became treasure again.
Silence filled the chamber.
The burning thorns began to fade with the magic that had created them.
The great beanstalk remained, disappearing through the shattered ceiling.
Fendor lowered his swords.
Hexen released Heat Metal.
Isamu looked toward the fallen construct.
Nethnarel looked toward Grazim.
Kaylor crossed the room.
He knelt beside the war-priest’s body.
Grazim’s face had become still.
No prayer could restore a man whose head remained separated from his body through ordinary healing.
Kaylor picked up the head.
The treasure glittered around them.
Enough wealth to change kingdoms lay scattered across the chamber.
None of it mattered yet.
They had escaped Abaddon.
They had defeated the final guardian of the mirror.
They had found the treasure promised by every trap that came before it.
And Grazim Von was dead.
Again.