The ground below the rogue throbbed with energy, keeping Zero's arm still and steady as a rock. The
bolt whistled across the chamber from the bottom of the steps of the raised platform eastwards towards the
dais and struck the strangely familiar mirror dead centre with a dull clatter.
However, instead of the tinkle of broken glass, there was only the noise of the first strike, and as if in
slow motion the bolt simply cascaded end over end from the silvery surface and fell into the white bones
below.
Zero's arm started to lower — he'd bullseyed it, he was certain. No, this
wasn't right.
For a moment the chamber was still and silent, even Kireth's cries of agony paused for a moment. All
turned to face the source of the dull strike at the eastern side of the chamber as if drawn by some unseen
force.
Then, there was an ear-splitting crack and a jagged black line ran down the centre of the mirror.
Where the heroes had seen one image reflected in the silvery plane, now there were two.
Tradden saw himself on the left, his swords outstretched in a lithe combat pose, enemies vanquished at his
feet. In the other side his swords broken, his body clothed in rags, sprawled against a crumbling
weed-ridden wall.
Zero saw a reflection of his youthful rotundness, a smile upon his lips, a goblet within his hand, and a
pair of girls on his arms, jewellery dripping from their pale white bodies. In the other side he was alone,
sat on a dais in a high-backed chair, his head in his hands, his face drawn and pale.
Khalin admired the reflection of himself with shield out-thrust, blocking a hobgoblin's strike,
protecting those behind him and inspiring them onwards. To the right he was running, arms and armour left
behind as he fled from some unseen foe across sand and surf.
Kireth, through eyes filled with pain, saw blackness in both sides, shadows swirling in circles. Deiseil to
the left, widdershins to the right. Spirals within spirals.
For the mage there was no time to contemplate — the icy grip on his legs simply
disappeared. A wave of euphoria fleeted across him but was instantly and harshly replaced by one of vertigo
as whatever had been supporting him dissolved, and he fell into the blackness as the mirror broke into a
thousand pieces with a crash of thunder.
Rangrim was almost pulled into the void. One of Kireth's hands slipped out of his own as the mage sank
into the portal. Khalin, breaking out of his reflection-fed trance by the crash of noise, grabbed the edge
of Kireth's sleeve. It took all of the dwarves' strength to hold on and find the reserves to pull
the unconscious wizard back into the chamber inch by inch.
As Kireth's body, writhed in squirming shadows, cleared the portal, they all felt an icy blast of air
cross the chamber and the portal solidified into black stone before their eyes.
The mage lurched to one side suddenly, coughing and retching spasmodically as one who had been lost at sea.
But this was not water that the mage spewed forth, but mouthfuls of shadow. The shadows flipped and flapped
on the stonework like dying fish before dissipating into the ether.
Kireth groaned and rolled over onto his back, staring at the slowly dripping blood from the chamber above.