Thunder roared in the distance, and lightning streaked the sky. But Hatash had eyes only for the valley below.

He turned to the troll.

“Why are there bones here? What does it mean?”

“Oh, master! Is not I—”

The creature’s answer was interrupted by the sound of marching feet—thousands of them.

Grednek yelped, shuddered, turned, and ran away.

Startled, Hatash looked in the direction the sound came from. As rain began to pour, advancing shapes appeared.

He looked at Sebharan, but still Sebharan remained quiet.

The soldiers came marching through the valley, crushing bones under their boots, headed straight for them.

Hatash was so mesmerized by the scene he did not even think about taking cover.

Presently, the troop stopped when they reached his position. An officer on a horse rode forward and glared down at him.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in our lands?”

Were those pointed ears sticking out of the silvery hair? Was he really an elf? Elves had left the world of men centuries ago. How was this possible?

The village chief stared at the officer. “I... I am Hatash son of Hathor. I was just... I mean, I...”

For the first time in his life, Hatash was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t so much the surprise of seeing this army come out of nowhere. It was more that his sense of reality was shaken and stirred. He had come here to see the valley, but the valley was filled with bones, as if it had been the site of a great battle. As if that wasn’t enough, he was facing an elf—and he saw there were others among the soldiers, standing side by side with humans. At the same time, he remembered everything he had seen and heard since going through the mirror, and it made him wary to tell these men the truth.

Then again, what harm could come from saying he wanted to see this place? Except, if it was a battlefield, why would they believe him? Who, in their right mind, would want to see this? No civilian, for sure.

While all these thoughts went through his mind, a second officer—a human, this one, also riding a horse—approached the first.

“Likely a spy,” he said with a snort. “We should cut his head off and be done with it.”

This brought Hatash back to his senses quite quickly.

“I am no spy!” he cried out.

“No?” The first officer squinted. “Then why are you here? You wear no uniform. Are you a deserter?”

Hatash had some idea what these men might do to a deserter, so he would rather not let them believe that.

“I am just a farmer and I got lost. I was trying to find my way back to my village when you arrived.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded warily.

The second officer scowled. “He lies. I can read it in his eyes. We should torture the truth out of him.”

Hatash blanched at the suggestion.

“I am no liar!” he said hurriedly. “I live just—”

The first officer cut him off. “The problem, Hatash son of Hathor, is that there is no village left standing within days of here. We’ve burned them all down.”

His eyes widened. “What? Why would you do that?”

Both officers laughed.

“He wants to know why!” said the second.

More laughter came from the soldiers behind them.

“Because of sedition, that is why. You peasants never know your place. So we had to teach you. Did you learn the lesson, Hatash son of Hathor?”

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“Sedition? That... I don’t understand. Why would there be sedition?”

The second officer looked at the first. “I was wrong. This one’s too stupid to be a spy.”

“Unless he’s pretending,” said the first.

“Yes, I suppose. That’s always a possibility. Should kill him just to be on the safe side.”

“I think you’re right.”

Hatash was starting to panic. He looked around and saw Sebharan standing a little further off behind, watching him as silently as always. His gaze went back to the two men on the horses.

A sudden thought came to him.

“I demand to see the king!”

The officers looked at each other, then at him.

“And why would he see you, of all people?”

“I seek audience! Is it not law to grant it when it is requested?”

The two men frowned. The first looked at the second. “Is it?”

“Hell if I know,” said the second. “Maybe?”

The elf grunted. “Great. Now we can’t take the risk of cutting him to ribbons. Fine.”

He turned his head to look at the soldiers behind him and pointed at a couple of them.

“You and you! Put this man in chains! We’re taking him with us!”

***

As they marched under the rain, Hatash noticed Sebharan had not been chained. He walked quietly next to him.

“How is it that you were not bound?” asked Hatash.

“There are many types of bonds.”

Hatash was surprised the stranger had replied at all, though he didn’t know what to make of it. It implied that his guide—though could he still call him that when he had mostly stood watching—did not control what was happening. The village chief had suspected that he might.

“Can you at least tell me how any of this is supposed to make me wiser?”

“That is something you need to learn for yourself.”

“Great.”

They continued to walk in silence for a moment. And as they did so, Hatash thought back to how it had all started. The mirror. The strangest device he had ever seen. Filled with magic. Magic powerful enough to carry him here... At first, he had thought it was a different region, but then he had seen the map. He had recognized places, names... Yet everything was different.

“Why is everything different?” he asked. “What did the mirror do? Where are we?”

Sebharan sighed. “You have seen, and yet you do not see.”

“Don’t you start with the riddles too!”

Though he realized, in his own way, riddles were all the stranger had ever given him. This did not help his temper.

He groaned. “Of course you say nothing.”

“All will become clear in due time.”

Hatash would have asked more questions, but there was little point. The stranger would either not respond or give a response so cryptic as to be useless.

In the distance, the castle appeared. It was dark, but occasional lightning bolts would reveal its somber contours.

It took another hour to reach its walls, and soon after, they were within the courtyard. There, Hatash was baffled to see elves and dwarves walking among the humans, though all of them glared at him as he passed.

Soldiers grabbed his arms and led him roughly into the castle proper, down narrow stairs, and through damp halls until they reached a cell. He was thrown in and the door locked behind him. When he got back to his feet, he saw Sebharan was there as well.

He squinted. “I didn’t see them push you in here.”

“You weren’t looking.”

He somehow doubted they had, whether he’d looked or not.

“You don’t seem worried.”

Sebharan shrugged but said nothing.

Hatash walked to the door and peered through the barred opening at the top. He saw an empty hall with torches on the walls. Distant voices drifted from the right, though it was out of his sight. He hit the door with his fist repeatedly.

“I want to see the king!” he shouted. “I requested an audience!”

The voices kept chattering, ignoring him.

He continued to make a ruckus, but it had no effect.

“They probably have a silence spell on the door,” remarked Sebharan.

Hatash swung to stare at him.

“A silence spell? Is that a thing?”

“Of course.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Then how am I going to see the king?”

“What would you tell him?”

Hatash frowned. “I don’t know.”

The stranger nodded but said nothing further.

It was infuriating, but there was nothing Hatash could do about it. Part of him got the sense that Sebharan was trying to help him, to suggest he... do what? Make plans? It was ridiculous. He was locked in a cell. How was he supposed to plan his way out of that? Especially if they refused to take him to the king.

But then, they’d have to, wouldn’t they? That was the whole point why they’d brought him here. And then what would he do if he was face to face with the monarch?

No, that wasn’t it at all. They had not been sure whether the law would require him to be granted an audience after he requested it. They’d brought him here not to grant it, but to verify his claim.

No wonder they’d thrown him in a cell.

He grunted.

Then he heard footsteps approaching.

He hurried back to the door and saw a woman appear in his line of sight. She kept glancing back over her shoulder, but finally stopped in front of his cell.

She looked at him and he could read concern in her dark blue eyes.

“Are you the one they call Hatash son of Hathor?”

“That is my name.”

“I am Mirelle.”

“Hello Mirelle. Can you... Wait. How can you hear me?”

She looked confused for a moment, then went, “Oh. The silence spell. Of course. They would have that on the door, wouldn’t they?” She lifted an amulet she wore around her neck. “This pierces through magic. Well, some magic. It wouldn’t do me much good against anything too powerful.”

Hatash was amazed anything like that even existed. He’d heard of magic, of course, but he’d never seen it in action. At least, not until he’d met the stranger and walked through that damned mirror.

“Can you help us escape?” he asked.

She frowned. “Are you the Anointed One?”

“The what?”

“Our prophecies tell of the Anointed One, who will rise one day to kill our king and free us from his tyranny. Are you he?”

“I don’t think I am, no.”

The woman’s frown deepened. “I don’t believe you. You must be him! Even your name matches...”

This revelation startled him. “It does?”

Mirelle’s hand went down, disappearing from his sight. When it came back up, it held a key.

“This is a pass. It will open any door in the castle. Including your cell’s.”

He took the key through the bars as she gave him instructions.

“At the end of the secret tunnel,” she concluded, “you will find a door that opens into his room.”

“His room?”

She nodded. “The king’s. You must go to him and slit his throat while he sleeps.”