Fic: The Mirror of Truth, Prologue

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"When will he be finished?" The boy's murmur echoed hollowly against the trickling cave walls.


David started at the intrusion into his racing thoughts and hissed his reply. "Soon, lad. Keep your shirt on." He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated display of annoyance, but the facade of blase detachment was a thin one. He was just as excited as the young man, perhaps more so. I'm just better at hiding it.

David almost pitied his junior crouched at his side, because whatever adventures awaited Nigel surely would fall far short of this. He had the better of it, achieving this after thirty years of working and waiting for just such an opportunity, culminating his career in style, like a veteran footie player scoring the Cup-winning goal in his final game.

He kept his eyes fixed on the third member of their party who knelt a few paces ahead, waving an enspelled hazel twig before him while chanting the appropriate incantation. The glowing tip of the twig drew silver sigils against the wards - curving lines symbolizing water, a pentagram, a cross in a winged circle, a crowned Serpent of Wisdom. The glyphs kindled and flared briefly before melting into the magical field barring them from their prize.

It was just there, beyond the wards, so tantalizingly close. Solid proof that at least some of the legends were true. For a Watcher, finding this artifact and learning its secrets would be as Carter's discovery of Tutankhamen's Tomb to an Egyptologist. Or more appropriately, David grinned to himself, finding the Holy Grail.

This might be the key to finding the Holy Grail. Or one of the keys, anyway.

Speculum Veritas. The Mirror of Truth. One of the four mythical Implements of Merlin, supposedly hidden away by Merlin's lover and pupil Nimue following Arthur's defeat at Camlann. Some legends claimed that the Implements actually contained Merlin's power, others that they were simply tools of magic used by the great mage himself. In either case, this was an auspicious day for the Council, and an immensely exciting one for David, calling to mind his boyhood fascination with Arthurian legends that had attained full fruition in his Watcher's studies.

Eyes fixed on the dull silver of the Mirror - he could see that the frame was inscribed with mystical symbols, though at this distance he could not make them out - David told over the Latin and English names of the other Implements: Lux Telum, Spear of Lightning, taken by Arthur from the Saxon king Cerdic at Badon Hill. Purported to be the most powerful of all magical Saxon weapons, perhaps wielded by Thor himself. Sanctus Fide, the Sacred Harp, whose enchanted strings had once known the hands of the legendary bard-mage Taliesin. And, of course, Vita Frumentum, the Grail of Life - the Holy Grail, carried to Britain by Joseph of Arimathea for safekeeping after the Crucifixion, repository of the blood of Christ and grantor of eternal life to the worthy.

His attention was drawn sharply back to the present as Hugh pushed the glowing twig into the center of the final star. Gleaming argent squiggles radiated outward from the contact point, dividing like amoebas at super-speed as they raced toward the edges of the wards at the cave wall. The squiggles lengthened and multiplied until the entire mystical barrier shimmered and coruscated with diamond light, and then, with a loud, pseudo-electrical hiss, the force field flared sharply and faded. Hugh rose to his feet, brushing with absent fastidiousness at the damp grit on the knees of his trousers.

David also straightened and pulled the wide-eyed Nigel up beside him as Hugh said softly, "Well, I believe that's done it, gentlemen." The spellcaster turned a wide smile on his companions, excitement coloring his finely-lined face so that in that moment he appeared almost as young as Nigel. "Shall we -''

An ear-splitting roar shook the walls of the cave, driving David and Nigel to their knees. Waves of icy energy smelling foully of sulfur buffeted them from all sides, the unseen force weighing down their limbs, rendering movement difficult and slow; eventually David maneuvered one foot beneath him and slowly raised his eyes. He froze in horror at the sight before him.

Hugh was trapped within an angry, swirling net of scarlet lightning - rather than neutralizing them, it was horribly apparent that Hugh's spellcasting had awakened the awful protective power of the wards. The energy crackled and curled around him like the tentacles of a malevolent jellyfish so that he jerked and convulsed in abject agony. David watched, paralyzed with terror, as Hugh's trembling hands came up and clutched at his chest as if to pry away a strangling clasp. Guttural, tormented cries spilled from Hugh's slack lips, and bulging grey eyes lifted to lock with David's in a wordless plea for aid.

"Hugh!" Nigel leapt to his feet and started forward. A tendril of red lightning lashed out and struck the boy's chest, staggering him to his knees once again, then returned to its attack on the helpless Watcher trapped within its power. Hugh's cries intensified, but horrifyingly, only for a moment before weakening. David cried out in grief and helplessness as Hugh's eyes rolled up into his head and a pash of dark blood erupted from his mouth.

Hugh slumped to the cave floor, graceless as a marionette with its strings cut, and the flashing, roiling vermilion light faded into nothingness, its task complete. David knew even as he scuttled forward and laid his fingers on Hugh's blood-streaked throat that there would be no pulse. Behind him, Nigel groaned softly, wheezing, one trembling hand pressed to his chest.

Stricken with a hundred sudden memories of their long-ago Academy days, David closed Hugh's eyes and wiped some of the blood away, his movements jerky and stilted, as if between the firing of the responsible synapse and the action itself there was an extended delay. He checked on Nigel; the boy was breathing on his own but with difficulty. He shunted aside his memories and ran to the mouth of the cave, flipping open his transceiver as he went.

"Emergency! Emergency! Fetch a doctor down here, quickly!"

**

Quentin Travers slowly paced down the hallway, his gut roiling in reaction to the doctor's report. Hugh's internal organs had been crushed, literally crushed into jelly, as if by a huge powerful hand. Nigel would recover, but the power that had touched him so briefly had somehow aged his heart by a factor of approximately fifteen years. Sadly for such a young man, he'd probably be tied to a desk for the entirety of his career.

At the Council's request, David had gone into Devon to request the assistance of the Wiccan coven there. Generally, associations with known witches was, while not strictly forbidden, certainly not encouraged. In this instance, however, Quentin didn't care; they needed information and guidance and he could, contrary to his reputation, think outside the box at need.

Quentin's lips curved minutely as he considered how surprised one young American woman would be to learn just how far outside the box he COULD think.

He pushed open the swinging door to the waiting room. A slender blonde woman rose to her feet at his approach, surreptitiously sliding her handkerchief into her pocket. Quentin felt a stab of admiration and approval for the young Watcher: Her eyes were red-rimmed behind her glasses, but her face and voice were composed as she returned his greeting. He gave her a slightly edited version of the doctor's report, then expressed his sincere condolences and offered to drive her home. She accepted with equal graciousness, and they exited the hospital.

"What will be done about the - artifact?" she inquired softly as they crossed the rain-slicked carpark. He solicitously gathered her elbow in his hand.

"Clearly, it must be moved from its current location. It's far too dangerous to leave there." Quentin halted his stride when she did, hearing the faint gasp that issued from her lips. He tightened his clasp on her elbow, steadying her, and started them walking again while he said warmly but firmly, "Your uncle would have agreed with me, Miss Chalmers - Lydia." He never addressed any of his colleagues by their Christian names, but the occasion called for a measure of informality, after all. She did not seem to notice it, still struggling to repress her grief; as always, her sense of duty provided a welcome distraction from her tangled emotions.

"Do you think Miss Summers will agree to help us?"

"She must. It is her duty, and she will see it, once she knows the facts of the matter."

"But she's human as Uncle Hugh was, is she not?"

Quentin gave a little shrug, conceding his limited knowledge of the origin of Slayer power. "Yes, she is human, more or less, and the wards may affect her in much the same way. Her enhanced abilities should assist her, or at least prevent her death. But actually, I was hoping that Miss Summers could procure the assistance of one who should not be adversely affected by the wards at all. And if by some chance he is destroyed, it would be no great loss to us or to the world."

Lydia gasped again, this time in sheer astonishment. "But - surely - after what happened with Faith, it's quite obvious that Angelus is unlikely to help us under any circumstances. And unreliable, even if he did agree to do so."

Quentin released her elbow and smiled the condescending smile of one in the know to the ignorant. "I was not speaking of Angelus, Miss Chalmers."

Lydia goggled as his meaning registered. And then, through her searing grief over her uncle's untimely death, a seed of excitement and anticipation put forth its first tentative shoot.