Free Night of the Eye by Mary Kirchoff

to slip and fall all the way back to the valley. He had felt the exhilaration, but it could never really be his. “Thank you for your interest in me, Belize, but what you suggest is not possible.” He stood, his head hanging.
    “Nothing is impossible where magic is concerned,” said Belize. “You simply have to open your eyes to the possibilities.”
    Depressed and confused, Guerrand waved away the mage’s latest riddle. “This affects too many people for me to decide now, by myself.”
    Instantly, Belize’s ruddy face darkened. He stood abruptly, knocking over the bench. “You must discuss this with no one! Especially not your family. Use your head!” He turned and strode impatiently into the shop, then spun back to Guerrand. “Your brother would actively prevent you from going. For your own sake, talk to no one.”
    Guerrand turned to leave, then remembered the necklace. He moved to take the wrapped package from the frozen hands of Marthe. The delicate present to his bride-to-be felt like a lead weight. “Good day,” Guerrand mumbled as he passed Belize on the way to the still-barred door.
    Belize bowed his shaved head curtly. “I would like to lighten your mood by adding a gift of my own, to show you that I mean you only good fortune. This is for you and, indirectly, your family, not your intended.”
    “That’s not necessary—” Guerrand interrupted, only to be cut off himself.
    “You’re not interested in justice for your murdered brother?”
    Guerrand stopped in his tracks. “You can’t know how to find those bandits.” His frown deepened, and he turned slowly. “Unless—”
    “You’re a suspicious lad, aren’t you?” Belize seemed amused. “No, I’m not secretly the ringleader of a band of cutthroats. I have far more interesting ways to spend my time.” The mage pulled something from the depths of his red robe and held it up to the flickering light. A palm-sized fragment of mirror caught a beam shining through the smoke hole and reflected a shaft of light painfully into Guerrand’s eyes.
    “Magical glass. It’s a useful little item, one that I’m sure any master wizard could acquaint you with. It will show you the location of your brother’s killers.”
    Could it be true? wondered Guerrand. Even if it was, how could he tell Cormac where the robbers were, without revealing where he’d gotten the information? If Guerrand said someone in the village gave him a tip, Cormac would either discount it as rumor or demand Guerrand produce the informants. As if impatient, the mirror glinted in Guerrand’s eye again.
    He had to look, if only for Quinn.
    Belize tipped the mirror slightly toward Guerrand, to afford him a better view. At first he saw only the reflection of his own eyes and nose in the small glass. He stared, but the image didn’t change.
    Embarrassed, Guerrand finally asked, “Do I have to say or do something special? It doesn’t seem to be working.”
    “Just concentrate,” Belize murmured. “Concentrateon your memory of your brother.”
    Guerrand renewed his effort, this time trying to think of nothing but Quinn as he looked into the mirror. He envisioned his brother as he had last seen him alive, two years before, wearing his gleaming armor and sitting astride his gaily decorated horse as he set out for war, adventure, and plunder. Slowly an image swirled in the mirror, forming a picture of a small campsite. Three vague figures sat around a low, smokeless fire, eating provisions or tending their weapons. He recognized the spot as a pleasant hilltop in the woods, only a few leagues from Thonvil. But as his thoughts strayed from Quinn, the vision swirled away.
    “H-how do I know they’re really the ones who killed Quinn?”
    Belize slipped the small mirror into Guerrand’s palm. “I’ve commanded it to continue showing you where they are. Use it to track them down and get proof. Give it to someone else if you’re afraid.
    “And now, I bid you farewell.” With a