dragon had arrived and blasted them all from their defenses. The water from the ruined fountain spilled into the miniature city and flowed along its streets before draining away into the grass beyond.
The second battle was far more real. A contingent of what appeared to be House guards lay dead, scattered about the plaza. Intermingled with them were others, citizens, their skin pasty and blistered in the pale moonlight. It was clear to Vambran that the plague had visited that house, and no one had survived.
'Will any of them rise?' he asked Arbeenok as he stepped around Elenthia. 'Perhaps we should not tarry here.'
Arbeenok said nothing, though, so Vambran moved to the fountain, stepping among the toy blocks as he did so. He knelt down next to the basin and began to wash himself, rinsing away the film of blood as best as he could. He dunked his head in the water, swishing his hair about, trying to cleanse both his body and his mind of the terrible crimson taint that covered him. He didn't even care that the three blue dots inked on his forehead, his symbol of his education, were little more than pale turquoise smudges by the time he finished.
'I don't understand,' Arbeenok said.
Vambran wiped water from his eyes and looked at the druid. 'What?' he asked.
'My vision,' Arbeenok said. 'I see you there, as it was in my vision, but I still do not understand what it means.'
'Your vision? What vision?'
'In the days before this journey, I foresaw this image. A man of blue and red, standing over a drowned city, a city surrounded by twelve swords. But I did not understand it.'
Vambran looked around at himself, at his position. All the elements of the druid's description were there. He was in the middle of it all, partially washed clean so that his blue tunic showed through, and partially still tainted red by countless people's blood. And the soldiers' swords that lay scattered about the periphery completed the scene. It was not a pleasant image.
'Twelve swords?' Elenthia asked, seeming at last to come out of her stupor. 'I don't count twelve. There are only nine dead guards.'
Arbeenok nodded and pointed at the fountain. 'There is a pair upon that shield,' he said, and Vambran saw that the symbol engraved on the stone was indeed a set of crossed swords.
Then he looked down. 'And my own blade makes twelve,' he breathed. 'But what does it mean?'
'It is the means of stopping the plague,' Arbeenok said. 'It is salvation for this city.'
'What? Me, here? In this garden?'
'I don't know,' Arbeenok replied, looking doubtful. 'I don't think so. I–I don't know,' he finished, shaking his head.
Elenthia bent down then, staring at the tiny city. 'You said it was a drowned city?' she asked. 'As in, covered in water?'
Arbeenok nodded. 'Yes,' the alaghi said. 'But I do not know what that means.'
'I think I do,' the woman replied. 'The Cities of the Twelve Swords.'
'What?' Vambran asked, standing and shaking water from himself. He felt cleaner but still tainted.
'Ancient Jhaamdath,' Elenthia replied. 'The cities of Jhaamdath were called the Cities of the Twelve Swords.'
'But Jhaamdath is at the bottom of the Reach,' the mercenary said, doubtful of her interpretation.
'Exactly,' Elenthia said, nodding. 'Washed away by the wrath of the elves over fifteen hundred years ago.'
Arbeenok nodded eagerly. 'We must go there. Now. The secret of stopping the plague can be found there.'
Vambran turned to look at the druid askance. 'That's an awful lot of water to swim through,' he said. 'Do you have any idea where we should start?'
'No,' the alaghi answered, smiling, 'but you do.'
'Me?' Vambran said, shaking his head in denial. 'I don't have the smallest notion,' he insisted.
'You are the man in my vision,' Arbeenok said.
'Just because I had a little blood on me does not make me the figure in your portent,' Vambran argued.
'It does,' Arbeenok insisted. 'I thought at first it symbolized a man who was at odds with himself, struggling between two paths-the blue and the red-and would find himself somewhere in between. But I was not taking it literally enough.'
Vambran sighed. 'Blue and red at odds, you say?' he asked. 'As in my struggle between my duty to the Crescents and to my House?'
'Your house is red?' Arbeenok asked, puzzled.
'No, but the insignia is. A red four-pointed star, and all the guards wear that as a patch on their uniforms.'
Arbeenok smiled again. 'There, you see? You do believe it.'
Vambran grimaced and nodded. 'I still don't know how I'm supposed to find whatever it is we're looking for,' he said.
'Let that take care of itself,' the druid said. 'The visions will guide us true.'
'Vambran,' Elenthia said, coughing.
'What?' the mercenary asked, turning to look at his counterpart.
Elenthia was holding her arm up in the air, staring at it. It was discolored, turning purplish blue. She coughed again, harder. 'The plague,' she said. 'I think I've gotten it.'
Being drawn back out of the mirror was just as unnerving as having been sucked into it. Emriana felt turned inside out, but just as soon as it washed over her, the feeling was gone again. She found herself huddled naked on the thick throw rug in the middle of Lobra's bedroom. Denrick stood beside her, leering down. The hunger in his eyes made her shiver.
On the far side of the chamber, Lobra sat upon a small couch, one leg drawn up beneath her. She regarded Emriana with what appeared to be mild amusement. 'Well? Aren't you going to thank me?' she asked.
'For what?' she asked, disoriented.
'Why, for letting you out, of course,' the woman replied. 'Or did you forget your manners while you were tucked away in there?'
Emriana wasn't sure there was a correct answer to that question, but she didn't want to anger the woman before she even had a chance to get her bearings. 'Thank you,' she mumbled, huddling tighter. 'Can I have my clothes, please?'
'Oh, I'm sorry,' Lobra said with mock dismay in her voice. 'I don't think they got delivered along with the mirror. But you don't really need them, anyway,' she added with a sneer. 'I think my brother prefers you without them.'
Emriana didn't want to look up at Denrick, but she did anyway, regretting it. He looked ravenous. You're dead, she insisted, jerking her gaze away again sharply. You aren't really here. I watched you fall!
'It's not really him,' Emriana muttered. 'I watched him die. Your tricks aren't going to work.'
'Did you, now?' Lobra said coldly. 'Are you certain? Denrick, did she watch you die?'
By way of an answer, Denrick frowned at Emriana and said, 'That wasn't very nice, what you did to me, kicking me over a balcony like that. It really hurt.'
Emriana gaped at Denrick. She wanted to attribute the dead man's presence to a trick, an act of illusory magic, one of the twisted perversions of Lobra's House wizards. But no one in House Pharaboldi knew what had happened that night, when the young man had tumbled over the side of the third-story railing.
He was too real.
'No,' she mumbled, 'They said you died.'
Denrick took up a small wooden chair, one that matched the writing desk near the mirror, and placed it right in front of her so that it was facing backward. He straddled the chair and sat, staring at the girl, letting that wolfish grin that had haunted her nightmares in recent tendays return. 'I think they made a mistake,' he answered.
Emriana retreated from him, backing herself into a corner of the room. She drew her knees up and watched him, remembering exactly how he had cornered her once before, in her bedroom. 'You tried to rape me,' she said, hatred mixing with her fear. 'I'm glad I kicked you over! You deserved it!' She shrank away, turned her head, tried
