Chapter 1: The Shadow in the Mirror CHAPTER 1 THE SHADOW IN THE MIRROR THE SHADOW IN THE MIRROR drew him in, and Aydrian could not get the thought of Jilseponie out of his mind. Unlike the unrelenting hatred he felt for the woman, a rush of warmth came over him, as if this shadow was communicating to him that Jilseponie was his answer here. Not for glory. Not for power. For what, then? Salvation? Aydrian leaned back against the wall in the small darkened room he had set up for Oracle, this mystical connection to the shadows in the mirror. The elves had taught him Oracle, and had taught him that in looking into the mirror, he was seeing those who had gone before. Aydrian wasn''t sure of that. Perhaps Oracle was more a way for him to look within his own essence and heart.
Perhaps these shadowy creatures he saw in the mirror--and he saw two, whereas others usually saw only one--were messengers of the gods, or his own attunement to godlike wisdom. It was here, at Oracle, that Aydrian had learned to comprehend the power of the gemstones. It was here, at Oracle, that Aydrian had first come to understand the manner in which he might reach his coveted immortality-- immortalis in the ancient tongue of man and elf. So now he watched, basking in the continuing rush of warmth and softness that accompanied the thoughts of Jilseponie--imparted, he understood, by this one shadow. But then the second shadow appeared across the way, and Aydrian was immediately reminded of the truth of Jilseponie, that she had abandoned him to die, that she had, in effect, forced him into slavery at the hands of cruel Lady Dasslerond! Moments later, all warmth and thoughts of some mystical salvation flew away from Aydrian, replaced by his hatred for the witch Jilseponie, the pretend queen. He watched as the two shadows came together, not to blend into something larger and greater, but in an apparent attempt by each to overshadow the other. Aydrian couldn''t help but grin at this continuing battle. Other people who knew the secret of Oracle saw one shadow, but he had two, and it was precisely that, these two warring viewpoints on every issue, that led Aydrian to realize that he was truly blessed.
Unlike the lockstep fools who followed Oracle without question, Aydrian forced from Oracle the power of reasoned resolution. Each step was worked through logically and in his heart. He laughed aloud, recognizing then that the first shadow was his own conscience, was the shackle the gods had placed about the neck of mortal men. In that revelation, the issue of Jilseponie was settled once more. The witch would watch his rise to greatness beyond anything the world had ever known. She would die--of her guilt and with his smiling face watching her go--while he would live on forever. Now very different images filtered through Aydrian''s thoughts. He visualized a map of Honce-the-Bear--the southern reaches, from Ursal to Entel, shaded red; the rest, uncolored.
Like crawling fingers, the red began to spread. It moved north from Ursal to engulf Palmaris, and as soon as the city fell under his control, all of the Masur Delaval, the great river that cut through the kingdom, bloodied. In the east along the coast, the red moved north from Entel, sweeping along the Mantis Arm toward St.-Mere-Abelle. Yes, Aydrian understood that the conquest of St.-Mere-Abelle would be the final victory to secure all of Honce-the-Bear south of the Gulf of Corona. The thought of that monastery, the seat of power for Father Abbot Fio Bou-raiy and the Abellican Church, made him consider another problem: what to do with Marcalo De''Unnero and Abbot Olin, both of whom desired to rule that Church? Aydrian asked the shadows in the mirror. What of Abbot Olin? He envisioned the map again, and now the red fingers crawled south of Entel, around the edge of the Belt-and-Buckle, to Jacintha, the seat of Behren''s power.
A knock on the door brought Aydrian from his contemplations, shattering the moment of Oracle. He looked up, his expression angry. But only for a moment, for as he considered what he had just seen, he realized that he had his answer. THE COACH ROLLED THROUGH THE southern gate of Palmaris, much like any other. The city was open, for despite the rumors filtering up from Ursal, this was a time of peace in Honce-the-Bear. Thus no guards approached the coach or inspected its contents or passengers. If they had looked in through the curtained window, they might well have recognized the woman sitting there, though she seemed barely a shell of her former self. Jilseponie was hardly aware that her driver had crossed into Palmaris.
She sat quietly, her arms crossed before her, her face still showing the lines of the tears that had marked the first days out of Ursal. She wasn''t crying any longer, though. She was just numb. She could hardly comprehend the truth of Aydrian, could hardly believe that her child was not dead, but had been stolen from her by the elves and raised all these years apart from her. How could he have become the tyrant that she had seen in Ursal? How could a child born of her and Elbryan have become the monster that was Aydrian? And he was a monster. Jilseponie knew that profoundly. He had torn Constance from the grave and, Jilseponie believed, had used her to murder Danube. He had stolen the throne of Ursal.
And all of that under the guidance of Marcalo De''Unnero! Marcalo De''Unnero! To Jilseponie, there was no purer incarnation of evil than he, unless it was the demon dactyl Bestesbulzibar itself! How could Aydrian have taken up with the man who had murdered his own father? It made no sense to Jilseponie, and in truth, the woman had not the strength to try to sort out the confusing morass. Aydrian was alive. Nothing else mattered, truly. No other questions could find their way to a reasoned conclusion within Jilseponie in light of that terrible and wonderful truth. Aydrian was alive. And he was the king, the unlawful king. And he was in league with De''Unnero and of like heart with the hated man. That was all that mattered.
The coach lurched to a stop, and only then did Jilseponie realize that the road beneath them had turned from dirt to cobblestone, and that the fields beside them had changed to crowded streets, farmhouses to shops and taverns. The door opened and her driver, an older man with sympathetic eyes, offered her his hand. "We''re here, milady Jilseponie," he said tenderly. Palmaris. A city Jilseponie had known as her home for much of her life. Here she had found refuge after the catastrophe that had destroyed Dundalis to the north. Here she had found her second family, the Chilichunks. Here she had married, though it had ended abruptly and disastrously.
Here she had ruled as baroness. Here her friends presided over St. Precious. And here, Elbryan had been killed, as he and she had defeated the demon within Father Abbot Markwart. Moving as if in a dream, Jilseponie drifted out of the coach and onto the street. She was dressed modestly--not in any of the raiments suitable for the queen of Honce-the-Bear, surely--and so her appearance caused no stir among the folk moving about the crowded city avenue. Jilseponie slowly looked around, absorbing the sights of the city she knew so well. Across the wide square stood St.
Precious, the largest structure in the city, a soaring cathedral that could hold thousands within its stone walls, and that housed the hundred brothers under the leadership of Bishop Braumin Herde. The thought of her friend had Jilseponie walking toward that cathedral, slowly at first, but then breaking into a run to the front door. "Seems a one needin'' her soul mended, eh?" a passerby remarked to the old driver, who stood by the coach, watching her disappear into the abbey. "More than you''d ever understand," the driver replied absently, and with a sigh, he climbed back to his seat and turned his coach about, for the south road and Ursal. He had been explicitly instructed not to approach Bishop Braumin or any of the other leaders of the city, and while the old driver thought it strange that no formal emissary had come north from Ursal to this important second city, he knew enough of the history here to gather the motivation behind the silence. King Aydrian, and more specifically, Marcalo De''Unnero, wanted to make the announcement personally. "FEW IF ANY WILL OPPOSE you openly," Aydrian said to Duke Kalas, as the pair, along with Marcalo De''Unnero, Abbot Olin, and some other commanders, stood about the large table in what Aydrian had turned into the planning room. A large map of Honce-the-Bear was spread before them, with the areas currently under Aydrian''s secure control, notably the southern stretch from Ursal to Entel, shaded in red--just as he had seen at Oracle.
"None will stand before my Allhearts," Duke Kalas said. Marcalo De''Unnero smirked at him, quietly mocking his proud posture. "Not openly, perhaps," the monk corrected. "The key to our victory will be to look honestly into the hearts of those you leave in your wake. Will they accept King Aydrian? And if not, how great is their hatred? Enough for them to take up arms against him?" "Most will do as they are told," Abbot Olin insisted. "We have seen this before, during our march from Entel. The people care little who is leading them as king, as long as that king is gentle and fair toward them." He looked to Aydrian.
"I suggest that Duke Kalas'.