Aurian

21 The Bracelets of Zathbar

Inch by inch, Aurian searched the deserted beach, and found the remains of a fire and signs of a violent scuffle. Her heart turned over. What had happened here? A few clear tracks—the prints of strange, pointed boots—still remained. A dull gleam in the sand caught her eye. Digging down, the Mage unearthed her own dagger. With a sinking heart, she tried to reconstruct what had happened, toying absently with the knife as she thought. No strange prints leading to or from the forest. The invaders had come by sea, then. Sure enough, there was a deep rut at the water’s edge, where the prow of a boat had been pulled up onto the sand. No bodies. No blood. Had Anvar and Sara been captured alive? If so, where were they now? Aurian, full of self-recrimination, cursed her tardiness. Why had she not returned sooner? Why had she ever left them?

“Such thoughts are foolish, Daughter, and ultimately destructive,” Ithalasa chided her gently. “You did what you must. If you wish to find your companions, perhaps I can set you on the proper track.” He told her that the ships in these waters came and went down a great river that emerged farther down the coast. His cousins, the river dolphins, had reported a city, many days’ journey upriver. If her companions were anywhere, they would be there. “Though you were right to describe them as foolhardy,” he added dryly. “Only an imbecile would light such a beacon in an alien land, to summon who-knows-what! But now, you must decide your own course. If you wish to travel north in search of the Weapons, I can take you a goodly distance, though we do not venture into Northern waters as a rule. But if you seek your companions, your way lies south, and I will bear you to the mouth of the river Khazala—the Lifeblood.” Aurian was in a dilemma. She ought to head north with all speed, for time was against her. As her pregnancy progressed, her powers would gradually wane, vanishing at about six months to leave her bereft of magic until the child was born. Aurian had no wish to linger in the Southern Kingdoms, with their hostility toward Magefolk, nor to have her babe born here. Ithalasa could take her to her own lands in easy stages, with little risk of trouble on the way. But the Mage blamed herself for the plight of Anvar and Sara. She never should have left them. Though it meant a greater risk and a grave setback to her plans, her conscience would never let her rest if she abandoned them now. Eventually, heavy of heart and filled with doubts, she asked her friend to take her to the river’s mouth.

“Take comfort, Little One,” he told her, as they resumed their journey. “Who can fathom the workings of FateP It may be that you have tasks to perform in these lands, and you may even find part of what you seek. Such an act of friendship and honor will surely turn to good.”

Aurian thought of her love for Forral, which had begun in friendship and honor and ended in tragedy, and forbore to reply. But parting with Ithalasa was hard. When she left him, with many tears, at the broad delta that formed the river’s mouth, Aurian felt as though she were leaving part of her soul behind. She thought of Forral and Finbarr, of Vannor, Maya, D’arvan, and even her mother—and of Meiriel and the Archmage, who had betrayed her so bitterly. Was her life always destined to be filled with grievous partings?

“Stop that, idiot!” Aurian chided herself as she sloshed through the sticky red mud of the delta. “Self-pity won’t help!” She wiped her tears on her ragged sleeve, smiling a little as she recalled how Anvar had once scolded her for that habit. In this case, perhaps she was heading fpr a reunion, not a parting. Aurian prayed it would be so.

The Mage had not reckoned on the journey upriver taking so long. The valley was broad and flat-bottomed, hemmed in on either side by towering cliffs of reddish stone. She wondered what lay beyond them, but a mortal dread of heights meant that climbing was to be avoided wherever possible, and besides, she had neither time nor the energy for side trips. The journey was tough enough as it was.

Aurian could see why the river was named Lifeblood. Its broad, sluggish waters were tinted with the same rusty red as the cliffs that towered on either side. The thin strip of land between the cliff and the river was a flat expanse of stinking red mud and stagnant, reed-choked pools, and because of the treacherous, swampy ground, Aurian was forced to travel by day. She felt horribly exposed on the naked mudflats. The sun hammered down on her like a great weight, burning her pale skin, and the air seemed too thick to breathe. She was unable to shed her clothes because of the whining, biting insects that swarmed around her, settling to feed on any exposed flesh. Her hands and face were soon swollen with itchy red blotches, and the effort of will it took not to scratch them was tremendous. Aurian knew that she could use her power to create a shield between herself and the little horrors, but she was reluctant to expend her waning energy in the use of magic, and was wary of using it in a land where it was forbidden.

By the second day, Aurian was already exhausted, and suf-fering badly from the heat. Though she had braided her long, thick hair out of the way, its sweat-soaked weight pulled painfully at her scalp and made her dizzy head ache. By noon, she could stand it no longer. She stopped to rest, but found no ease beneath the broiling sun. There was no shade anywhere, and she was unable to immerse herself in the river to cool down. While hunting the small, eellike fish that were the only food supply to hand, she had encountered great lizards, bigger than herself and armed with long toothy jaws. Apart from that, the river was full of leeches. Of the two, Aurian thought she would almost prefer to deal with the lizards, but was anxious to avoid both, The Mage’s head throbbed. The back of her neck, where the braid hung down, was unbearably hot. It was no good. Her hair would have to go, She was well past the point of heart-searching over such an obvious decision, having lately beeo, involved in much graver choices. Using a stagnant, reed-fringej pool as a mirror, she took out the dagger she had given Anvar and hacked off the braid. Oh, the blessed relief! Aurian felt literally light-headed. The discarded braid lay pathetically Q| the ground like a dead snake, caked with dried mud and sweat, and snarled with bits of weed and other nameless things. Aurian stared at it in dismay, Gods, she thought, what am I coming to? She had always taken such care of her hair, as Forral had taught her when she was a little girl. It seemed as though she had cut away part of her life with him. “I don’t want a stupid Prince. I’m going to marry you.” The memory of those childish words twisted in her guts like a jagged knife.

On an impulse, Aurian picked up the braid and washed it in the little pool. It immediately unraveled from the cut end, and the mass of hair floated in the water like a cloud at sunset. Leaving the other end tied, she fished it out and whirled it around her head to dry it as best she could. Then coiling it tightly round her hand, she stowed it in one of the deep pockets of her leather tunic, where its clammy dampness soon seeped through to her skin.

“Idiot!” Aurian told herself, “Sentimental fool! You cut the bloody thing off so that you wouldn’t have to carry it around!” But all the same, she felt better about the whole business— until the pool settled and she saw her reflection. What a mess! Although she had never been vain about her appearance, Aurian was appalled. Painstakingly, she used her dagger to trim away the bits that straggled round her face, until it didn’t look so bad. And it was certainly more comfortable and practical in this climate, she comforted herself, as she got to her feet and trudged on.

That day she also solved the problem of the insects, quite by accident. Catching sight of a ship in the distance coming downriver, Aurian had no recourse other than to fling herself facedown into the mud and roll, camouflaging herself and lying perfectly still on the ground until the galley was out of sight. It was then that she realized that the stinking mud that coated her skin was a perfect shield, not only against sunburn, but also against the bloodsucking gnats that had plagued her so. Thanking providence, she went on her way much relieved, stopping and again to renew her protection as the mud dried and ked in the strong sun. My own mother wouldn’t know me now, she thought—and wondered what was happening to Eilin, so far away in her Northern home. Would the Archmage take his spite on her? Aurian shuddered, wishing that she had ic way of warning her. But there was nothing she could do except grit her teeth, and go on with the task at hand.

By the fourth day, the land was gradually becoming less boggy. Aurian began to come across little strips of cultivated land with the odd tethered goat, and crude huts of woven rushes—the hovels of peasants and fishermen. This meant that she was forced to switch to traveling by night, hiding in the leech-haunted reed beds by day for lack of anywhere better. The constant danger of discovery placed a terrible strain on her nerves. She had hoped to be able to steal food from the peasants to supplement her inadequate diet of fish, but these people were so desperately poor and wretched that she could rarely bring herself to do it.

On the sixth night, Aurian came to land that was totally cultivated. Every precious bit of soil between the river and the cliffs had been used. The dwellings that she came across had a more solid appearance, constructed as they were from withy and daub, and thatched with the ubiquitous rushes. Stunted trees had begun to appear, and in addition to the welcome cover they provided in this more populated area, Aurian was delighted to discover that they bore a harvest of nuts, though in her own lands, these would be well out of season. Still, who was com plaining? Aurian thanked the Gods for such a boon.

Two nights later, as she rounded a bend where the lon^ river valley kinked back upon itself, Aurian came upon the city. The sight of it took the Mage completely by surprise, making her forget the weariness of eight days’ hard travel. She had never seen anything like it! Bone-white in the moonlight, the buildings clustered thickly on the flat ground on either side of the river, then rose almost vertically on perilously constructed terraces hollowed back into the cliffs that loomed above the valley on either side. Narrow, sinister-looking warships crowded the riverside wharves, together with smaller craft and low, flat barges whose workmanlike appearance was much more comforting.

The city was much bigger than the Mage had expected, and its architecture seemed strange to her. The roofs were flat, or domed, or twisted into slender, fluted spires. Doors and windows tended to be arched, rather than the square utilitarian shapes with which she was familiar. Impossible bridges, looking slender as threads from the ground, were suspended across the chasm hundreds, even a thousand feet above. The very thought of them made Aurian feel sick and dizzy with her irrational terror of heights. She was puzzled by the lack of protective walls, not realizing that beyond the cliffs the city was guarded by something more powerful, more terrifying, than any defense that man could devise.

Aurian pushed her draggled hair out of her eyes and tried to get her tired brain to work. It would be easy enough to get into the city, but once inside—what then? How could she find Anvar and Sara in a place that size? Were they there at all? Were they even still alive? Why, oh why had she left them in the first place? The questions circled in her mind, but she found no answers.

Belatedly remembering her exposed position, Aurian turned right, toward the cliffs, and took shelter in a grove of low, twisted trees. She recognized them from others she had encountered on her way upriver, and as she had expected they held a bountiful crop of ripe nuts. With the child in her belly sapping her energy ever more quickly, Aurian was starving. Hurriedly, before she lost the last of the moonlight behind the dizzying cliffs, she gathered a large pile of nuts then sat down m comfortable concealment =among the roots of an old tree to eat, cracking open the hard shells with the hilt of her dagger. Aurian felt better for the food. Turning to the problem at hand, she began to employ Forral’s method of breaking it into manageable steps. So what were the first steps here? Stop worrying, to begin with! If Anvar and Sara were here, she would find them. If not—she’d deal with that when the time came. But first things first. In order to enter the city without arousing suspicion, she must steal some clothes to replace her ragged fighting gear. She had to look enough like the natives to pass as one of them, so she would need to see what they looked like and come up with an appropriate disguise. Fortunately the language would be no problem. Having accomplished her disguise, she would need whatever passed for money in these parts. Aurian realized with grim amusement that she was about to add thievery to her growing collection of skills, both magical and martial. Stretching her aching limbs, she allowed herself to relax. Now that she had a plan of sorts, she could rest for a while, hidden in the sheltering trees, exhausted, she fell dead asleep among the roots of the tree.

MIC was still asleep at dawn, when the bird hunters came with their dogs and nets. The dogs were on her in a flash, their yelps awakening her just in time to draw her sword and defend herself from their masters. The hunters were no warriors. Aurian killed one, and put another two out of action before their comrades managed to bring her down in their nets. By that time the commotion had attracted other peasants from the fields around, and Aurian found herself lying helplessly tangled in the nets, in the midst of an astonished, vociferous crowd. “See that pale skin!” “Look at that hair—the color of blood!” “A warrior?” “A Demon?” “A woman!” “She killed poor Harz!” “Fetch the Elder!”

Elder be damned, Aurian thought, and moved her hand a little, to summon Fire-magic to burn away the nets. The movement was injudicious. The peasants saw, and a heavy blow from a stave sent her down into unconsciousness.

Aurian awoke with a blinding headache, to find herself lying on the marble floor of a long, white hall. She was trussed in the nets, which had been bound tightly with rope. Her staff was still in her belt, but her sword was gone. The Mage cursed softly. It looked as though she had been taken to the city, andt brief period of observation told her that she was in some kind ot hall of justice. The judges, she discovered, were respectfully addressed as Arbiters. There were three of them, dressed alik in long white robes and flowing white headdresses, sitting behind a table on a raised platform at the far end of the chamber. Their faces were masked in white, rendering them anonymous and expressionless. To Aurian it was an unnerving sight. In her country, white was the color of death.

From tales that Forral had told her, Aurian thought that the brown, dark-haired, fine-boned people must be the Khazalim. In that case, the use of her magic would mean instant death—and she had already seen the bowmen that stood guard on the balcony that circled the upper gallery of the hall, She decided to leave magic as a last resort—to wait, and see if she could bluff it out. While her captors awaited their turn, Aurian heard the Arbiters deal with other cases. The punishments were unremittingly harsh. The loss of a man’s hand theft; castration and stoning, respectively, for an adultei couple. Gods, what would it be for murder? Fear clenched a of ice in Aurian’s stomach, and she tensed herself, ready ttf her life dearly. Not here though, not with those bowm

they wanted to execute her, surely they would take her outside . . .

It was Aurian’s turn. Her captors dragged her before the impassive Arbiters and placed her upon her knees, still bound, while the village Elder, his face haggard through hardship and pitted with the scars of disease, told his story. When he had finished his tale the Arbiters turned to the Mage, and she felt their cold eyes pierce her, taking in her alien appearance. Then the man in the center of the trio spoke. “Have you aught to say for yourself?”

How thankful she was that as a Mage, she knew their language! Aurian’s brain had been working with the lightning speed of desperation to concoct a plausible story that might save her life. Since they seemed so keen on fidelity, she had decided on rape. Haltingly, Aurian explained that she had been I traveling with her husband and his sister (in case Anvar and Ir Sara were somewhere in the city) and that they had been blown [south by the storm and shipwrecked. She had lost the others r;and made her way upriver in search of them. Eventually, she ihad fallen asleep beneath the tree and had awakened to find Herself molested by a gang of ragged men (that part was true, at ny rate). Half asleep and believing that she was about to be raped, she had defended herself as best she could, She was prepared to die rather than yield herself to any man but her husband .

The Arbiters conferred in low-voices, then the spokesman in the center turned back to Aurian. “This tale does not explain your prowess at fighting.”

Aurian fought to stay calm, wishing that she could see his face. “In my country, many women train as warriors.”

“I see,” Resting his arms on the table, he leaned forward, and she saw his eyes narrow behind the mask. “And how do you explain your knowledge of our language? Only the demon sorcerers of the North have such facility with our tongue. Can you Ely that you are one of those sorcerers?” A low babble of astonishment came from the onlookers, people closest to her backed hastily away, their eyes wide in fear. Aurian gulped. She had betrayed herself. She took a breath, thinking qyjckly, hazarding her life on a gamble.

“I was. But I fled their corruption, to be with my husband.” What would he make of that?

“And is your husband also a sorcerer?” “No. He is a Mortal man, and our joining was forbidden. That is why I fled, renouncing the evils of sorcery forever. I never intended to trespass in your lands, and bear no ill will toward your people. I deeply regret what I have done, but truly, it was an accident. All I want is to find my husband and leave this place. I am alone and bereft and afraid. For compassion’s sake, will you not let me go?”

The Arbiter drew himself upright. “Compassion? There is no compassion for wrongdoers in this city. You have taken a life. Forbidden! You are a foreigner trespassing in our lands. Forbidden! You are a sorceress. Forbidden! What right have you to compassion?”

Aurian dropped her eyes. “None. Yet I ask it anyway. It may be—it is all I have left.”

Again, the Arbiters conferred. The man in the center, who obviously wielded greater authority, seemed to be arguing with the other two. At last he turned to her. “I believe that you are telling the truth, at any rate, for had you not renounced your sorcery, you could have used your evil powers on those who captured you, or to escape from us. You have not done so, which implies that you mean no harm. And truly, I pity you, for you are alone and bereft, indeed. Your husband has not reached this city. If he had, he wotftd have been brought to us, in accordance with our law.”

His words hit Aurian like a physical blow. She had no need to feign grief or dismay. Anvar and Sara must be dead! She was to blame, and all this had been for nothing. When the Arbiter spoke again, his voice was less harsh. “By law you should die for your crimes, yet surely the Reaper of Souls would look upon us harshly for condemning a woman in your straits. Yet we cannot let you go. So we will give you a choice. As an alternative to execution, you may risk the Arena, where warriors—criminals like yourself—fight to the death for the entertainment of the Khisu and the people. You are said to show skill as a warrior. Perhaps, if you fight well, you will win your freedom—or if you wish to seek your husband further, you will have a choice of following him to the Granaries of the Reaper. Do you accept this judgment?”

It was not a question, and Aurian knew it. But at least it left her with one slim avenue of escape. “I accept—and I am grateful for your mercy,” she said.

“One thing more ...” The Arbiter beckoned to an official of the court and spoke to him in a low voice. The man left the room, and presently returned bearing a gray metal box, intricately chased with strange, arcane symbols that made Aurian shudder. The Arbiter blew away the coating of dust and raised the lid, withdrawing something that she could not see. He ordered her guards to unbind her, approached her cautiously, and with a surprisingly gentle touch, fastened something around each of her wrists. As the second catch snapped shut, Aurian lurched and fell, her scream of agony echoing in her ears. It felt as though she were being wrenched inside out. A creeping weakness overwhelmed her, as though her very soul were being leeched away. She felt strong arms beneath her as the Arbiter lifted her to a bench by the wall and held a cup of wine to her lips. Aurian sipped it gratefully. Her muscles would not support her, and her head was swimming. But far worse than that, somewhere within her, unplaceable, there lurked an absence—a cold gray void that seemed ever to slip away from her seeking mind. “What have you done to me?” she whispered.

The Arbiter sounded shaken. “I have placed upon you the Bracelets of Zathbar Wizard-Bane—artifacts won from a Dragon’s hoard, long ago. The secrets of their making were lost in the mists of time. I had no idea that they would affect you so severely, but they are necessary, if you are to live within our lands. They are set with spellstones that negate your sorcerous power, drawing it into themselves, and they will act as a safeguard for my people against any attempt on your part to employ your evil powers upon us.”

Aurian felt a flash of rage. Zathbar Wizard-Bane, indeed! Why, these people who protested so strongly against the use of magic had actually employed Negative magic to bind her powers! Oh Gods, Aurian thought despairingly. How am I ever going to get out of this?

The warriors’ quarters at the Arena were pleasant—for a prison. Aurian’s room was a cell in that it had barred windows and a sturdy door, but the smooth white walls and brown tiled floor were spotless, and there was a table, a chair, a chest, and a narrow bed. Pegs were attached to the walls to hang clothing, and a gay woven rug on the floor provided a splash of bright color. Aurian remembered little of her journey to this place. Someone had helped her to her cell and removed the bonds that had been placed upon her, and she had fallen asleep on the bed utterly spent.

When she awakened it was dusk. An oil lamp burned in niche high in the wall, enclosed behind an iron grating, pit , sumably in case she decided to set herself on fire, the Mage thought wryly. The pain and weakness had passed, leaving only the hideous gray void—the absence of her magic. Aurian fought the panic that threatened to choke her. Don’t be a fool, she told herself, or you’ll never get out of this. But oh, thai drear, chill emptiness . , . Get used to it, she told herself implacably. Fast.

She sat up, scanning the room, and saw a generous meal on the table. Ah, that looked good! She seemed to have been hungry forever. Though it had cooled, it was good. There was some kind of spiced, savory porridge made from cooked pulses, a haunch of roast meaj^that turned out to be goat, and strange, flat bread. There was a bowl of fruit, and white cheese so strong that it made her eyes water, and wine, a rich, dark red, fruity and strong. Aurian gorged herself, making up for her days of fasting. Then she returned to the bed with a brimming cup of wine and the bottle, propped her back against the wall and put her feet up, squinting at the dancing flame of the lamp that doubled and blurred in her vision. Gods, that wine was strong! Or was it simply affecting her because she was so spent?

The Mage felt curiously numb and detached. The theft of her powers, her current predicament, and the loss of Anvar and Sara—she couldn’t face any of them, not yet. She knew she ought to be making some kind of plan, but she simply could not bring herself to care. Since her flight from the Academy she had been constantly driven, constantly on a knife edge. Now she was imprisoned and forced to be still, and her mind and spirit were making the most of the opportunity to rest and renew themselves. The wine helped, too. She found herself drifting into a doze . ..

There was the sudden snick of a key turning in the lock. Aurian shot bolt upright, blinking in the dazzling sunlight that poured through the barred window of her cell. She reached for her sword, but it was gone, of course. A tall, brown-skinned man of middle years entered, bearing a tray. The Mage made no move, but watched him as he went to the table and set his burden down. His head was completely bald, and he wore a red patch over his left eye, A pale, jagged scar ran down his face from beneath the patch. Beneath his loose red robes, his body was broad in the shoulder and rangy, reminding her, with a pang, of Anvar.

He turned to her, bowing deeply. “A propitious day to you, warrior.” His voice was deep and smooth.

Aurian, reacting instinctively to his courtesy, inclined her head in reply. “A propitious day to you, sir—and yours will be more propitious than mine, I fear,” she added dryly.

The man smiled. “That remains to be seen, Eliizar am I, Swordmaster of the Arena,” He bowed again,

Aurian got to her feet, rubbing her painfully stiff neck, and responded in kind, “Aurian am I—and a fool, it seems, for

ig to sleep sitting up!” As she spoke, she wondered why the bracelets had not impaired her ability to understand the local language. Could there be a loophole^n the spell?

Eliizar smiled, “You were wrary, indeed—and hungry, too, it seems,” He cocked an eyebrow at the scant debris from her previous night’s supper. “I thought it best to let you sleep. We have masseurs here who can remedy your stiffness, but first, let us break our fast together, I am curious as to your history, and I feel sure you have many questions that you would wish to ask me.”

Breakfast consisted of eggs, hard-boiled and shelled; the ubiquitous flat bread; cheese, honey, and fruit; and a covered pot from which issued the most tantalizing aroma . . . “What’s this?” she asked Eliizar.

His eyebrows went up in surprise. “You do not know liafa? Why, you have never lived! This is the warrior’s boon—it gives strength, alertness, sustenance.” He poured a cup of steaming black liquid and handed it to Aurian, who grimaced.

It looked like mud! Inhaling the heady aroma, she took a sip—and choked. The taste was strong, and very, very bitter. “It—it doesn’t taste the way it smells,” she said sheepishly.

Eliizar smiled, and ladled a spoonful of honey into her cup, stirring vigorously. “Try again,” he prompted.

Aurian picked up the cup as though it were a viper, but not wanting to lose face, she drank again. This time her face lit up with delight. With the honey smoothing out the bitterness, the drink was delicious—and stimulating, too. Aurian, who had such difficulty waking up in the morning, approved. She began to tackle her breakfast with a will.

“How came you here, Aurian?” Eliizar asked, drawing her attention from the food. “How comes a lady to be a warrior? Swordswomen are unknown in this land.”

Aurian repeated the story she had told to the Arbiters. When she mentioned her two missing companions, Eliizar’s good eye narrowed thoughtfully. “Ah,” he said. “Then there-may be some truth in the rumors after all.”

“What rumors?” Aurian pounced on the words. The Swordmaster hesitated. “It may be nothing,” he said at last. “You know how a rumor can grow from nothing—” Aurian clamped her hand round his wrist. “Tell me!” Eliizar looked away. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “There was talk in thejyiarket some days ago ttet a Corsair ship had found outlanders farther up the coast, and that one was a woman of surpassing fairness. But no outlander has been seen in the city to my knowledge, save yourself.”

“If they had been captured, what would have happened to them? Please tell me.”

“They would have been brought before the Arbiters, as you were. That is our law,” the Swordmaster said brusquely. “But if they had not?” Aurian persisted. “Well, there have long been rumors of an illegal trade in slaves, but then the woman would have been sold to a house of pleasure. You can be sure that she has not. Word of such a wonder would have reached every man in the city by now, without a doubt. Leave it, Aurian. Whatever has happened to them, it cannot affect you.” Eliizar swallowed hard, looking unhappy. “Warrior, you must concentrate on your own survival in this place—for as long as you can. The minute you entered the precincts of the Arena, you came under a sentence of death, be it soon or late.”

Aurian, dismayed, let go of his arm. “But the Arbiter said I would have a chance to win my freedom!”

The Swordmaster shook his head. “It was cruel and wrong on his part to dangle such a hope before you,” he said flatly.

“Then he lied? There is no way—”

“Impossible!” Eliizar rose abruptly. “Here, you are naught but sword fodder for the Khisu’s entertainment. He is a cruel man, as I know to my cost. First I must place your level of skill against the other warriors—I have your sword, to return to you. You will train with them under supervision—we only fight to death within the Arena itself and in the Arena, always. Be

led. When you do fight there, if you overcome your first opponent you will then fight two together, then three. If, by some miracle, you survive all that—we pit you against the Black Demon.”

Aurian’s scalp prickled. “And if I defeat this Demon?”

“Then you win your freedom. But it is impossible. No one has ever defeated the Demon. No one can.”

Aurian stood, straightening her shoulders. “I will defeat him,” she growled. “When do we start?”

Eliizar shook his head sadly, and left without another word. Aurian heard the key turn in the lock. She shrugged and returned to her breakfast, refusing j:o countenance the insidious fear she felt for herself, and for her child. She would need to keep her strength up. After she had eaten she rested for a while, then began to put herself into the deep meditation of Forral’s long-neglected swordsman’s exercises. Whatever was to come, she would be ready. She had to be.