Free Night of the Eye by Mary Kirchoff Page A

quick wave of his arms, Belize released the spells on the shop and its occupants. In that one gesture, the breeze stopped, the fire came back to life, the awnings and doors flew open, and Wilor, his wife, and apprentices began to move again. Belize was gone.
    Wilor looked slightly puzzled until he saw the package in Guerrand’s hands. “There it is! Strange, I don’t remember handing it to you.” He shook his head and smiled to himself. “Must be getting old.” With that, Wilor returned to the apprentice and the anvil to finish the work he’d been at when Guerrand arrived.
    As Guerrand hurried from the shop, he couldn’t decide which item in his hands weighed him down more, the mirror or the wedding present.

“What am I doing?” Kirah heard Guerrand mumble. Yes, what on Krynn
was
Guerrand doing, she wondered from her hiding place behind a haystack in the stable. It was all very mysterious. Why was Guerrand, who didn’t even like horses, saddling one in the middle of the night?
    Guerrand had seemed unusually distant this afternoon. Though they weren’t exactly speaking, she’d watched him through the tunnels, seen that he’d gone to the village that afternoon to retrieve a trinket for his bride. Hoping that there was still a chance she could talk him into running away, she’d hidden in the tunnel outside his room earlier. She’d been trying to screw up the courage to go in and make peace with him, when he had launched into a very mysterious sequence of activities.
    First, he donned his leather and mail armor, then,apparently changing his mind, took it off again, very thoughtfully. Next he pulled on a baggy tunic and trousers and a pair of stiff, high boots. Dressed, he recited some quick prayers to Habbakuk, took his sword and dagger down from the wall, and slipped out the door.
    Intrigued, Kirah had followed him, creeping around in darkened corners, slipping silently down the staircase after him. The keep was dimly lit, everyone else asleep, or at least retired for the night. She’d been more than a little surprised to find that the stable was his destination. Now Kirah settled back to watch her brother struggle the headstall of a bridle over the horse’s head and set the bit in its mouth.
    “I must be crazy,” Guerrand growled to himself, “but what else can I do?” With a soul-felt grunt, he tossed the saddle over the roan’s back. Once the saddle was cinched in place, he hung a small, round shield from the pommel and buckled on his swordbelt and dagger.
    The sword looked as proper on Guerrand as a third arm, mused Kirah. Her brother was no knight, despite his best efforts and Cormac’s insistence. Where in the Abyss was he going in the middle of the night with weapons? Worse still, how was she to follow with him on horseback? Kirah was puzzling through that while Guerrand put the finishing touches on his gear and then swung lightly up onto the horse.
    Suddenly Guerrand fell still in the saddle. His eyes misted over and closed gently. Grasping his right eyelashes between thumb and forefinger, he gave a tug. Guerrand pulled from his pouch a sticky wad of gum into which he pressed the eyelashes. The young girl’s heart constricted. She alone in Castle DiThon, save Zagarus the sea gull, recognized when Guerrand was about to cast a spell. She had no idea what it would be, but if the spell took him away from the stables, shemight never know.
    Watching her brother closely, guessing when he’d progressed too far to halt the spell, Kirah silently sprang from her place behind the bales and launched herself onto the rump of the startled horse. Guerrand and the horse beneath them both disappeared from her sight, though she could feel them. Looking for her own arms, she realized she couldn’t see herself, either!
    “What—who’s there?” squealed a startled Guerrand.
    Before Kirah could respond, she became disoriented and nearly toppled from the horse. Her spindly young arms flailed and finally latched