Chapter 1100 — The Dim Court and the Mirror Cavern

Between those winding flights of stairs, behind those ancient doors one after another, countless solemn and magnificent storeys were stacked deep within the silent tower. The Dim Court stood upon the earth like layer upon layer of heavy tomes, each of its levels seeming a miniature memory of Violet—that ancient, remote, and secret kingdom—and the deeper one pressed into those levels, the heavier that sense of ancient secrecy grew—until, passing beyond the lowest storey and entering the subterranean structures of the Dim Court, the tower still extended ever further down. In those underground levels, every object that could bear the least breath of "modernity" had at last vanished utterly; only grotesque magical contrivances, of no age anyone could name, still turned in its depths, keeping watch over certain things too ancient—so ancient they ought never to be spoken of again.

Down and down, the atmosphere in a hall whose depth beneath the earth no one could any longer guess was heavy—a hall, though in truth the space had come to resemble an enormous cavern, a subterranean hollow wrapped in primal stone vaulting and rock walls, while many massive pillars of archaic make, bearing obvious marks of human handiwork, propped up certain fragile structures of the cave. Among the rock strata of its vault, man-made roofs of stone slab could still be seen, so deeply "embedded" in the ceiling that they seemed fused with the stone; only faintly could one make out that they must have been the floor of the storey above, or some partial structure of a "foundation."

Stalactites hung from the vault; moisture condensed among the rocks; cold droplets fell, dripping into this subterranean cavern—and one landed upon a mirror surface, sending rings of ripples across that solid plane.

Nearly half the "floor" of the entire subterranean cavern presented a mirror-like state: a plane of pure, pitch-black, abruptly "inlaid" among the stones of the ground, exceedingly smooth, exceedingly flat—yet at this moment it was not calm. As though some secret force were surging deep within that black mirror, ripples would now and then appear upon the ink-dark plane, or certain places would bulge abruptly, and light from no one knew where would sweep across the mirror's surface; in the play of light and shadow, a few somewhat pallid faces were reflected at the mirror's edge.

The owner of one of those faces drew slightly back. He was wrapped in a black robe, and the tip of the long wooden staff in his hand gave off an exceedingly dim magical glow—light so faint that in theory it could not illuminate even two meters around him, yet in this uncanny cavern even such feeble light seemed enough to reveal every detail, leaving no corner in the whole space that the eye could not distinguish.

Around this black-robed mage stood many guards dressed as he was, the tip of every staff sustaining the same dim glimmer. Under that faint light the mages' somewhat pallid faces looked at one another, until at last someone broke the silence: "This time it has lasted longer than any record... counting the surge just now, this is already the sixth fluctuation."

"There are more shadows crossing the boundary than before as well," another black-robed mage said in a low voice, "and they seem harder to communicate with than ever..."

"They are restless; their minds seem to have woken from slumber. That is not a good sign," said the black-robed mage who had spoken first, shaking his head, then frowning. "Has anyone gone up to send word?"

"Guards have already been sent to inform Prince Nash," said a female mage in a low voice. "He should be here very soon..."

"I am already here."

Before the female mage's voice had died away, the voice of Prince Nash Nal't came from empty air, and with that voice appeared a sudden vortex of smoke rising in the cavern—Prince Nash's figure passed straight through the stacked storeys of the Dim Court and the interwoven, overlapping magical barriers, plunging like a shadow falling into an abyss directly "down" into this cavern deep beneath the earth. His form coalesced in midair, then drifted weightlessly toward the edge of the "mirror," coming to stand among the guards.

At the very moment Prince Nash touched down, the "mirror" at the cavern's center stirred again. A great many ripples arose from the mirror's surface out of nowhere; the plane that had seemed solid suddenly heaved like some viscous liquid, and with that uncanny, bone-chilling heaving came bursts of low, blurred whispering, like the murmurs of a dream, from behind the mirror, echoing through the whole space.

The next second, certain things suddenly coalesced within the mirror surface that rose and fell like soft mud. They floated swiftly upward, constantly recombining with invisible energies in the air, swiftly forming hollow "human bodies." These shadows were draped in things like strips of rune-cloth; the formless black smoke within them was bound by the strips into rough approximations of limbs. These uninvited guests from "the other side" murmured and growled, and in a dazed stupor shambled away from the mirror toward the guards nearest them—but the guards had already reacted; at a single command from Prince Nash, rays of shadow-burning light shot from the tops of the mages' staffs, passing unimpeded through those "boundary-crossers" from the realm of shadow. Their rune-bandages burst silently into flame beneath the rays, and the black smoke within them was in an instant neutralized and dissolved; within a few short seconds the shadows were broken down again into energy and shadow, sinking deep into the mirror.

It all happened in a flash, carried out by the guards' almost instinctive muscle memory; only when the boundary-crossers had all been driven back did the black-robed mages finally draw breath. Some looked at one another; others instinctively turned their eyes to that black "mirror." Prince Nash's gaze fell upon the pitch-black surface as well, moving slowly across it, watching every faintest change.

Just then, a flash of silver light and a phantom shape suddenly swept past beneath the mirror's surface and caught his eye—so blurred as to be wholly unidentifiable, yet it could not but call to mind a cold "gaze."

Nash Nal't's expression changed in an instant. He recoiled half a step, and in a rapid, low growl said, "Extinguish all light sources. Count time yourselves!"

In the next instant every light in the cavern vanished—not only the faint glow at the tips of the mages' staffs, but the rune-lights on the ancient stone slabs of the cavern roof and the luminous moss in certain damp corners. The mages' lights had plainly been put out by design, but the other lights seemed to have been devoured by some unseen force; the whole cavern thereupon fell into absolute darkness.

In the pitch black every heart pounded. Faintly, as if from certain corners, came a subtle sound of friction; then it seemed footsteps broke the silence—some guard had left his post and was groping his way among his companions. After a while the cavern fell quiet again, and someone seemed to let out a long breath, saying in a low voice into that stillness, "That is enough. Light the staffs again."

In the darkness no voice answered, and no faint light kindled.

After another moment, several short screams suddenly came from the densest cluster of guards. Amid the cries of pain, a guard who seemed to be struggling with all his might roared, "Quick—light the staffs, quick! Something has got hold of me! I'm—"

Only darkness and dead silence answered that cry.

At last those uncanny sounds faded again, and Prince Nash Nal't's voice broke the silence: "Time is up. Light your staffs, each of you."