The Mirror Mage

28. The Scrying Glass

Ben hovered in front of the round gate, trying to make up his mind whether to attempt to use it to return to Rhillion. Although this glass was far thicker than the mirrors he had crashed through previously, he had to believe the principle was the same. After all, why should it be any more impossible for a grown man to traverse through glass several centimetres thick, than one a few millimetres? Both were equally impossible in the real world.

Well, if he wanted to be accurate, such things were impossible according to the laws of physics on Earth. Evidently, those same rules did not apply on Rhillion, and it was quite likely that another set of rules entirely applied in this space, the world between the mirrors.

What if there was a different technique for travelling through thick glass? He had a sudden, horrid vision of being trapped like a fly in amber, stuck forever, frozen in the middle.

Ben swallowed. This wasn't helping. Really, he had no choice, he couldn't stay here indefinitely.

He braced himself, then tried to relax. Slow and easy had done it last time, when he travelled back to the attic at Wentworth Manor. Ben closed his eyes—it seemed to work better that way—and very carefully, he leant forward, his travel bag clutched in both arms, letting the glass embrace him.

~~~~

The moment Eldor recognised Ben Lucas swimming up through the scrying glass, he realised he would never have a better opportunity.

"Summon the guards," he snapped, ridding himself of the only witness. That should take the lad away for a good five minutes, hopefully ten, before he could return with a guard in tow. Plenty of time if he didn't hesitate.

As soon as the footsteps faded, Eldor slipped a small case from his pocket. The Guild Master was fully occupied, watching the intruder's progress, for once off his guard. The syringe slid reassuringly into Eldor's hand. It would have been better to jab the needle into bare skin but Midor's cloak wasn't going to be thick enough to stop it.

Eldor moved as close as he could, pretending to look over Midor's shoulder at Lucas, or whatever creature he had become. This was his chance, no time for second thoughts. He plunged the needle up into the fleshy underside of Midor's upper arm.

The Guild Master yelped and jerked away, but enough of the drug had entered his system in that first shot, to slow his reactions. He staggered toward the door but fell to his knees before he reached it. Still gripping the half full syringe, Eldor followed.

"There's no point resisting," he chided. "Thy time has come, one way or another."

Midor glared up at him from the floor, still trying to crawl away. "How can thee possibly think thou will get away with this?"

Eldor crouched down beside him. He pulled Midor's cloak away from his neck with slow deliberation and pressed the needle tip against the flesh. He smiled coldly.

"Very easily I should imagine. A creature came out of the scrying glass and attacked our Guild Master before I could stop it. Unfortunately, both it and thee will be dead when the guard arrives. Who will there be to dispute me?"

"Athol will-"

"What will Athol do?" Lucian spoke from the doorway.