Aurian

37 Confronting the Specter

The horse floundered, pitching Aurian forward and almost jolting her over its neck. She reacted quickly, throwing her weight back in the saddle as she pulled on the reins to help her stumbling mount regain its balance. Murmuring encouragement, she patted the neck of her weary stallion, grimacing as her hand came away coated in a layer of sweat and dust. Although the horse rallied bravely at the sound of her voice, she knew he was at the end of his strength. The Mage looked ahead, to where a line of distant mountain peaks marked the end of the desert, and cursed under her breath. They had traveled all night and dawn was breaking now, but those snow-bright pinnacles never seemed to draw any closer. Aurian wondered whether they had any hope of reaching safety before the horses dropped beneath them.

It was the third night of their journey from the final oasis and the companions had made the best speed they could, given the dreadful conditions of heat and thirst. They had been able to carry little water, and had been forced to travel at a slower pace than they would have liked, to conserve the strength of Shia and their mounts. There had been one consolation, however. The sky was covered by low, bulging swags of lurid yellow cloud that hid the sun and allowed them to travel during fart of the day, although they were still forced to get under cover at midday, when the light was at its brightest. Unfortunately, Aurian thought, glancing up with a shudder at the ominous sky overhead, those clouds presaged the coming of the storms.

Almost as if the thought had spurred the treacherous elements to action, Aurian felt a breath of hot wind stir her robes. Her hands tightened unconsciously on the reins as she glanced across at Anvar. Though his face was hidden by the desert veils, she saw him tense with alarm in the growing light. The wind was strengthening, driving the rolling clouds across the sky with ponderous speed and tattering their stacked towers to rags. Before the Mage’s eyes, patches of clear sky began to show, forcing her to squint against the glare of the sands that brightened faster than the sunlight. Aurian bit her lip; fear like a fist clenched around her guts. It was already too windy for a shelter —thin skeins of glittering gem dust were snaking across the desert floor, threatening worse to come. “Run!” Aurian had no need of Anvar’s warning cry. She spurred her horse forward, forcing her mount toward the safety of the desert’s edge as fast as its weary legs would move.

It was not fast enough. About a league out from the edge of the desert the clouds thinned and cleared, and the blinding disc of the sun burst forth. Aurian clamped her hands over her eyes to shut out the agonizing glare as Shia’s pain seared into her mind. The horses screamed, trying to rear and bolt blindly away from the source of their torment. The Mage wrestled with the reins, sightless and disoriented, trying desperately to control her maddened, plunging beast. She was pierced by terror that she must have lost Anvar—until his mount blundered into her own, almost unseating her. Wild with fear, the horses ran, keeping close to one another through herd instinct. Aurian hung on tightly, trying to keep mental contact with Shia, to guide her friend’s blind flight. Through her link with the cat, she could sense Anvar doing the same, and prayed that they were fleeing in the right direction.

Then mercifully, miraculously, the white glare vanished, cut off as though it had never existed. The horses stumbled to a halt, their limbs trembling. The dazzling afterimages gradually cleared from Aurian’s sightpand she saw Anvar close by, looking over his shoulder, transfixed with horror.

The hot wind tore in gusts at their clothes, whipping up stinging dust devils of the sharp gem sand. And behind them, blowing up from the south and east and obscuring the sun, great dark clouds were rolling across the desert floor from horizon to horizon, gaining on them even as they watched, “Sandstorm!” Aurian shrieked. “Run!”

They ran. The horses, knowing instinctively what was behind them, put on a burst of speed that astonished Aurian. Shia ran to one side, out of the way of the pounding hooves. With her life at stake, she could run. But how long could she keep up the grueling pace? How long could any of them? Could they hope to outrun the wind itself?

Streamers of sand swirled around them, already beginning to tear at Aurian’s robes, abrading the skin of her face as the sharp-edged dust worked its way beneath her veils. The pain acted as a spur to horses and riders, speeding their flight. Aurian caught glimpses of the way to safety ahead of her, appearing and vanishing in the far distance through the shifting curtains of sand—a steep cutting in a shallow cliff with trees growing at the top of it. Blessed, thickly planted trees; ragged and ravaged by the desert, but enough to shelter them from the force of the deadly storm. But they were too far away. As the wind ripped the shreds of her veils from her blood-streaked face and her nose and mouth filled with choking sand, even as Aurian was forced to close her eyes on the vision of safety ahead, she knew it was too far. She could sense the gloating malice of the Weather-Mage behind the power of the storm, and she knew that Eliseth had won.

Anvar sensed, rather than saw, Aurian falter, and hauled on the reins with all his strength to pull up his crazed horse, looking wildly around for his friends. Of Shia there was no sign, and he could not touch her mind. Twisting in the saddle, he peered through shredded veils to see the Mage with her hands over her face to protect her eyes, using her knees to control her mount with the skill that was a hallmark of Fame’s teaching. But this was no Northern war-horse, trained to such methods, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the panic-stricken beast went berserk and pitched her off. Pain clouded his mind as gem dust scored his flesh through robes that were in ribbons, but Anvar could feel Eliseth’s triumph, and it goaded him to a towering rage such as he had not felt since the night he snatched his powers from Miathan. Aurian was powerless to counter the attack—if anything could be done to defend them, it would have to come from him. Suddenly decisive, he leapt from his plunging horse and flung the reins at Aurian, forcing her to drop her scoured and bloody hands from her face in order to grab them. Ignoring her startled exclamation, he whetted his anger on the edge of his fear, and wielding it like a sword, he extended his consciousness as the Mage had taught him, flinging his power out into the face of the storm.

Peace. There was sudden, blessed stillness within the enchanted bubble of Anvar’s shields, though the storm flung itself with increasing fury against the shimmering, translucent barrier that surrounded himself and his friends. He saw Aurian struggling with the frantic horses, her streaming eyes fixed on him in astonishment. The ground heaved nearby as Shia emerged, shaking gem dust from her coat in a glittering shower and sneezing violently. The cat had had the sense to lie down and bury herself, so that the sands had given her some protection from their own cutting force. That was all that Anvar had time to glimpse before Eliseth flung the focus of her power at him in frustrated fury, sensing his magic from afar.

His shields were shattered from the force of her blow—the storm was upon them once more! Grimly, Anvar closed with Eliseth, his consciousness straining to confront the core of her will. He felt her recoil in shock at the identity of her assailant, and used her hesitation to reassert his power, driving the storm away from his friends. Eliseth struck back like a viper, but this time he was expecting her, and his shields wavered but held. Their battle settled down into deadly earnest as they waged a desperate struggle, their wills locked and stalemated; Eliseth was unable to pierce his shields, while Anvar was forced into a position of defense, too occupied with maintaining his frail barrier to strike at her. The air around the shields crackled and hummed, glowing now red, now blue with the stresses of the magical battle, and erupting into showers of piercing white sparks.”

Anvar lost all track of time as the deadly battle continued. Though minutes or hours might have passed, it felt as though he had been locked forever in this endless combat, and as Eliseth’s malice sapped his strength, he felt himself beginning to tire. He was new at this game, unused to fighting with magic, but Anvar gritted his teeth and held on, though his face contorted with strain and his knees were buckling beneath the relentless force of Eliseth’s will. If he should falter now, they would be lost . . .

The hand shaking urgently at his arm was an unwelcome break in his concentration. Anvar’s shields wavered, sagging ominously inward beneath the force of the storm. Aurian was yelling into his ear, her voice shrill with strain as she fought to attract his attention. “Drop your shields, Anvar! Drop them and strike, while you still have the strength!”

He shook his head despairingly. “It’s too late!”

Aurian muttered a savage oath. “Here—use this!” She thrust something into his hand.

Anvar felt a tingling surge flood through his body, coursing along his veins like liquid light. The Staff of Earth! Struggling to focus its unruly new power, he dropped his shields— and struck.

He had failed—he knew it instantly. Air and Water, the elements of Weather-magic, were foreign to the Staff, and so its power was limited. Anvar, inexperienced as he was, used it clumsily, without the deadly precision that Aurian might have commanded. The focus of his power was weak and uncoordinated, dissipating before it reached its target to leave him exposed to attack.

“Dead and buried, Anvar! Flayed, dead, and buried without trace!” Eliseth’s shrieking laughter mocked the Mage as she lashed back at him with the full force of the storm. He dropped to his knees, bleeding and choking, mauled by the gnawing teeth of the dust . . .

A hand—groping—catching at his sleeve ... It found Anvar’s wrist—then his hand that still clutched the Staff. The hand clasped his own, tightening his fingers round the serpent-carved wood. Then came the touch of Aurian’s mind—not an intrusion, but a tentative questing—a touch more gentle, more intimate, than any physical caress. Though the Mage had lost her power, their minds had been linked through the power of the Staff, which he had carved, and she had imbued with magic. Ah, such closeness! Anvar knew, without question, what Aurian sought. Gladly, trustingly, he surrendered his powers ro her, holding them out for her, putting them into her hands.

“Now!” Anvar never knew whether she had cried the word aloud, or simply into his mind. She snatched his magic, wove it into the Staff’s power, and forged it into a shield. Such was the force of her act that the sand underfoot was blasted away from them, leaving them kneeling in a shallow crater as the storm’s fury ceased once more.

Far away in Nexis, Eliseth staggered backward as her magic rebounded against a solid wall of power, recoiling against her like a physical blow. The building shook as though in the grip of an earthquake and she was spun across the floor of the weather-dome, colliding with the great map table and striking her head as she feJl.

“Eliseth! What’s happening? I could feel the magic clear inside the Mages’ Tower—” It was Bragar. He lifted the dazed Weather-Mage to her feet, his shields springing up to form a fiery wall around them both, protecting her from the vicious backlash of magic.

For once, Eliseth was genuinely glad to see him. “Aurian!” she gasped. “She attacked me!” Bragar must not discover that she was disobeying Miathan’s orders—he was too craven to join such an overt rebellion, and she needed his help.

“What? But how?” Bragar wore his usual expression of perplexity. “The Archmage said she’d lost her powers—”

“He was wrong!” Eliseth was already gathering her scattered thoughts into the beginnings of a new plan. Anvar she could defeat, but he and Aurian together were too much. But if she could sunder them . . . And there was a way, she knew: one weak link in Aurian’s defenses that had always existed. But Eliseth was not prepared to risk exposing herself again to the power of the two renegades. Not when she had poor, malleable Bragar to do it for her! Turning to the Fire-Mage, Eliseth gave him her most seductive smile. “I’m sorry, Bragar, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m so glad you’f? come,” she murmured, “for only you can help me now.”

“Don’t worry, Eliseth, I’ll protect you!” Bragar cried. Gods, he was so simple! Chuckling inwardly, the Magewoman quickly outlined her plan.

“I’m ready,” Bragar cried. The Weather-Mage looked with satisfaction at the sturdy, flaming barrier that he was maintaining with all his strength. If her ruse should fail, then she, at least, should be protected from the consequences! Sheltered safely behind the shields of Bragar’s magic, Eliseth turned her will back to Aurian and began to weave an illusion, and an irresistible lure . . .

The minds of Aurian and Anvar were still linked, through their clasped hands upon the Staff. There was comfort in their touch, and strength. Aurian, not daring to let go even for a second, used her free hand to wipe the blood and sand from her face. Beyond their shield, the storm still ravened, though its impetus had slackened now.

“We didn’t finish her, did we?” Anvar’s thought came into the Mage’s mind, as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.

“No,” Aurian replied. “We shook her—but she’ll be back.”

In wordless communion, they reviewed their options. Should they risk dropping the shield to strike at Eliseth before she could recover herself, or try to maintain it for the length of time it would take them to reach the desert’s edge? It would be a long walk—their horses were gone, and would certainly be dead by now. It was Shia who settled the matter. The great cat huddled flat to the ground with her paws over her eyes, unable to function beneath the onslaught of the magic that existed within their shield. She would never make it, Aurian knew. She looked at Anvar, knowing that in that moment they reached a decision, their minds in total harmony. They would fight.

Aurian rose unsteadily to her feet, still clutching tightly to Anvar’s hand, which held the Staff. Once more she took up his raw power, and that of the Staff of Earth, combining them with the skilled force of her will and feeling buoyed and strengthened by the closeness of his touch. Abandoning the shield, she gathered herself . . ,

And froze. Through the drifting curtains of dust, a figure came walking—the familiar, spectral shape of her lost love. Forral was calling . . . Spellbound by the apparition, Aurian let go of Anvar, taking her hand from the Staff and sundering their link. Unaware that she had left them at the mercy of the storm, she moved like a sleepwalker toward the specter of the murdered warrior. Shielding her eyes with her hands from the stinging sand and peering between her fingers through its whiplash skeins she saw him moving just beyond her reach as he had in Dhiammara, beckoning to her to follow him into the teeth of the storm.

“Forral . . .” The word was little more than a whisper. The Mage took a faltejiqg step forward, then another . . .

I

Aurian felt, rather than saw, that Anvar had restored the shield. As the sand around her dropped and settled, he came from behind her with an inarticulate curse. A rough hand grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back, and he barged past her, blocking her view of Forral’s ghostly form. “No! You can’t have her!” he howled.

“Let me go!” Aurian shrieked. “Forral, wait!” As she struggled with Anvar, the shield faltered once more, then held, but though he was burdened by the need to keep up their only defense, he still held her back. “You had your chance!” he shouted at the specter. “Aurian belongs with the living! Get away from here! Leave us alone!”

“Aurian, no!” Shia’s mental voice was filled with anguish. From the corner of her eye, the Mage saw the great cat struggling desperately to rise, and falling back, defeated. But caught as she was in the lure of Eliseth’s spell, even this failed to move her. “Let go, damn you!” she spat at Anvar. She lashed out, striking him across the face.

Anvar caught her wrist, so tightly that Aurian gasped with pain. The side of his face was branded with the mark of her hand and his expression was tight with misery, but his eyes burned. “That’s the second time you’ve hit me for saving your life. I thought you were over that nonsense.”

“You don’t understand!” Aurian yelled. “I love him!” “I don’t understand?” Anvar’s face was twisted into a tortured mask with the strain of fighting a battle on two fronts, maintaining his shield off” the one hand, while struggling to restrain the Mage. “Forral is dead,” he told her brutally. Aurian flinched, hating him in that moment, but his fingers were locked about her wrist, preventing her escape as he smote her with the unbearable, implacable truth. “He’s dead, you fool, but you’re alive—and so is your babe. You have no right to rob it of its chance for life. This is absolutely wrong, and you know it.” Anvar looked straight into her eyes. “I understand because I love you—and if I were in Forral’s position, I’d love you too much to want to kill you and our child.”

His bluntness struck Aurian as though he had returned her blow. Unable to deny his words, she could only return hurt for hurt. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” she retorted bitterly. “You want me for yourself—that’s all you care about! Well, I don’t love you, Anvar. I hate you! Whatever happens, I’ll never love you as long as I live!”

Aurian’s words reverberated in the shocked silence between them. Anvar flinched as though she had dealt him a mortal blow—then with a curse, he let go of her wrist, almost hurling her away from him. “Go then, if it’ll make you happy. Follow your precious Forral into death! Kill your child, if it means nothing to you! Run away from your responsibilities and abandon your friends!” He turned away as if in scorn, but Aurian saw his slumped and shaking shoulders, and knew that he was weeping. She looked yearningly at the beckoning shade of Forral, but his face was suddenly eclipsed by a vision of Anvar— the hurt in his blue eyes, the ugly mark on his face where she had struck him. Aurian suddenly knew that if she followed Forral into death, she would miss that face, and Anvar’s loving and loyal presence, beyond all bearing. But she loved Forral. To choose another over him would be an appalling betrayal!

Yet Aurian wavered, unable to take that last, crucial step. She knew that Anvar loved her, and if she went with Forral, he would go through the same anguish she had felt when the swordsman died. When she had saved Anvar’s life in the slave compound, their very souls had touched. He had clung to her hand then, as though she were his only anchor on life. Sara had already betrayed him—how could she do the same? Surely, after all they had been through together, she owed him more than that.

Tears flooded Aurian’s face. It felt as if she were tearing out her own heart, but she straightened her shoulders and faced the shade of Forral squarely. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I can’t! I can’t come with you!” As her anguished cry tore the air, the spirit-shape flickered—and vanished.

Aurian sank down in the sand, undone by her grief—but only for a moment. She had no time now, to weep. Suddenly the Mage felt a new strength flooding into her, a sense of freedom and a new maturity. She had made her choice. Life over death—the future rather than the past—and whatever that future might hold, she was committed to it now. “Get up, you ass,” she told herself firmly. “Anvar needs you.”

Anvar had turned his back on Aurian, unable to watch her go to her own death. Though his vision was blurred with tears, he held firmly to the Staff, still using its power as a shield against Eliseth’s venom. He tried not to think of what was happening behind him, knowing that he needed to concentrate on his defense against the storm—but his heart betrayed him. In his mind’s eye, he saw how it would end. Aurian would penetrate his shield and walk out into the storm, embracing death in her foolish pursuit of a vanished dream. There would be nothing left of her. The sand would strip her to the bone . . .

The Mage fought to master his anguish, but his will was weakening. If Aurian hated him, what was the point of continuing the battle? It would be so easy just to throw the Staff away, to drop his shield and walk after her, following her beyond this last boundary, as he had followed her for so long . . . As he finally abandoned all hope, the Staff fell from Anvar’s fingers . . .

And was caught by a hand that seemed to come out of nowhere—a strong, capable hand, square-palmed, long-fingered, nicked with the old white scars of many battles. A hand that could bestow either death or healing . . .

Joy engulfed Anvar like a soundless explosion of light. Aurian’s face was tearstained and grim, haggard and haunted, but she faced him squarely, her chin lifted in that old determined gesture that he knew so well. Rejoicing, Anvar put his hand on hers, and ,felt an answering jolt of power as their wills combined with the might of the Staff.

“Now, we get the bitch!” Aurian’s tight, swift grin was conspiratorial, and through tears of relief, Anvar found himself grinning back as he offered up his powers once more. Aurian seized them, dropped the shield, and struck.

Their blow was impelled by a new strength, their wills a mighty weapon forged from shared pain, and a new sense of purpose in Aurian’s mind. With the power of the Staff, it was enough. As their blow struck its target, Anvar felt a distant echo of the agony that marked the death of a Mage. His shields brightened and blazed, a sure protection now against the lethal gem sand—but there was no need for them. The storm had vanished. Overhead, stars were shimmering in a clear sky that was washed in the west by the glory of sunset. Anvar looked up, amazed. Hours had passed in their struggle and the battle had lasted a whole day—but it was over at last.

Miathan had been away from his body in trance, resting for the night ahead, when he would perform further acts of sacrifice to increase his power. He would be spending a great deal of time away from his body in the weeks to come, occupying the form of his new Southern pawn while he set in motion the forces that would result in Aurian’s capture. Confident in his own authority, he had never realized that Eliseth might seek to thwart his plans.

The final attack on Eliseth brought the Archmage sharply back to himself, jerking him abruptly into his body as the bed began to shake beneath him. Disoriented by the sudden transition back to corporeality, he staggered to his feet, stumbling as the floor beneath him shuddered and lurched. With a deafening bang, an explosion of blinding light in the courtyard outside shattered the casements of his room, showering him with glass. With his ears ringing, Miathan brushed off splinters and made his way cautiously to the window. The curtains blew wildly, shredded to smoking tatters. He brushed them aside to peer out —and gasped, aghast at the devastation. This was impossible! What had happened while he’d been out of his body?

The courtyard was choked with drifts of glittering sand, and the Archmage had to fight his way through to the blackened shell of the shattered dome. Clawing his way through the smoking rubble, he finally reached the ruined inner chamber— and saw Eliseth kneeling over a black and twisted corpse, the scarcely recognizable remains of Bragar. The stench of charred flesh filled the room, and the Archmage fought down a wave of nausea.

“Aurian . . .” Eliseth whispered. She was shaken but un-scarred. Bragar had taken the full force of the blast, sacrificing himself in order to shield her. How had she duped the witless fool into that? Miathan wondered, then put aside all thoughts of the hapless Fire-Mage. Bragar had always been an idiot. But it was clear that Eliseth had deliberately disobeyed him, and made an attempt on Aurian’s life.

Shaking with rag£, ^Miathan turned his menacing jeweled glare upon the cringing Weather-Mage. Slowly, he advanced upon her, his fists clenched at his side with rage. “What have you done?” he snarled. “What have you done?”

Aurian dropped the Staff and fell to her knees, trembling with exaustion and the aftershock of magic. Anvar sank down beside her. “We did it,” he murmured, still unable to believe it.

“We killed her.”

Aurian nodded. “I felt a death-pang,” she whispered. Her face was bloodless, and Anvar caught her as she began to sway. “I’m all right,” she muttered—her usual, automatic response— but she was trembling violently as she lifted her stricken face to look at him. “Anvar, I—”

“Aurian, after what you’ve just been through—after all the dreadful things I said to you—don’t you dare apologize to me,” Anvar scolded gently.

“But I—” Aurian’s voice was choked off in a torrent of wracking sobs.

“Ah, love . . .” Anvar gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair as she wept. “My dear, brave Lady . . ,” The magnitude of Aurian’s decision filled him with awe. She had been forced into a cruel choice—an impossible choice—yet she had made it with courage, and if he knew the Mage, with complete honesty. And having made her decision, she would stick to it. Even as he comforted her, Anvar felt a crushing weight of worry lift from his heart. Ever since the night of their escape from Nexis, when she had railed at him for saving her life, he had been haunted by the fear that she would choose that road in the end—would leave him to follow her lover into death. But now the fatal crossroad had been reached, and the crisis safely passed. Aurian had chosen life over death—had elected to stay with him, rather than follow Forral.

Though he grieved for Aurian’s grief, Anvar’s spirits lifted like a joyous burst of song. Oh, they had a long road ahead, to be sure. Forral had barely been dead for half a year, and Aurian would still mourn him for some time to come. She would continue to fight against loving someone else with all the strength of her stubborn nature. Nonetheless, this was one battle that Anvar intended to win—and now he possessed the strength and determination to match her own indomitable will.

Anvar smiled to himself. My dearest Lady, he thought, how much I owe you! First you made a Mage of me, and now you’ve turned me into a warrior, too! And someday I’ll pay you back, I promise, by making you happy again. Anvar tightened his arms around the weeping Mage. “Do you know what I would do if we were back in Nexis?” he murmured. “I’d take you around every tavern in the city and get you more drunk than you’ve ever been in your life!”

Aurian looked up at him gratefully, swallowing hard, struggling to find her voice. “It’s—it’s a long way back to Nexis,” she said at last.

“We’ll do it,” Anvar assured her. “And who knows, maybe we’ll find you a few taverns along the way!”

“If we do, I’ll definitely take you up on your offer,” Aurian said ruefully.

Anvar was pleased to see the flash of her old spirit beginning to return. In her old, automatic gesture, she wiped her face on her sleeve, and he gave a mock sigh. “You know,” he teased, “I don’t think I’ll ever break you of that revolting habit!”

Aurian glared at him, on the verge of a scathing retort, and Anvar chuckled. “Why, you . . .” she snarled, but her lips began to twitch in a smile, and suddenly she threw her arms around him, hugging him hard, “Dear Anvar,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

Shia, forgotten in the heat of the battle, crept up to them, laying her head in Aurian’s lap. “You won a brave victory, my friend. I’m glad you stayed,” Anvar heard her say.

“We both are,” he added softly.

“My friends,” Aurian whispered, and reached out to caress the cat. She looked at Shia, then at Anvar, and took a deep breath. “You know,” she said slowly, “in spite of everything. I’m glad I stayed, too.”

Aurian’s hair was wildly tangled and full of sand; her face was filthy, tear-streaked and abraded by the glittering dust; her clothes were a mass of rags. But to Anvar, as he held her in his arms, she had never been more beautiful. There was so much, in that moment, he wanted to say to her, but it could wait for the future—the future Aurian, whether she knew it or not, had granted him at last.__^

As dawn began to glimmer over the jeweled sands, Aurian looked up from her trudging feet to find that they had reached the end of the desert at last. Slowed by weariness, the Mages and Shia had walked all night, praying that they would reach safety before the sun rose. Though Aurian was footsore and tired, though her spirits were shadowed by a lingering sadness, her heart felt strangely light. I’m sorry, Forral, she thought, but I couldn’t come with you—not yet. I didn’t believe you when you said it would be wrong to throw my life away in grief—but you were right, my love. You were right. There is more to life than sorrow and revenge. There is friendship, and hope, and new life to follow death—and maybe, if fate is kind, I’ll live to see your son take his own place in the world.

Aurian halted abruptly, reeling with astonishment. Son? she thought. How the blazes do I know it’s a boy? But, she realized, she did. For certain. Stunned, she turned her thoughts inward—to feel not just a spark of life, but a mind. A tiny, unformed child-mind, but the mind of a person nonetheless— her son. For the first time, he knew her—recognized her—and his small, barely focused thoughts reached out to her trustingly, and with the uttermost love.

“Anvar!” Aurian shrieked. Her thoughts were awhirl with an uncontainable excitement that simply had to be shared with her dearest friend. He turned back to her, and Aurian closed the space between them as though she, like Raven, were winged. She hugged him tightly, laughing at his startled expression, her words tumbling over one another in her anxiety to communicate the good news. “Anvar, it’s a son! I felt him! He knows me! I—he loves me, Anvar!”

“You did? I mean, he is—he does? Oh, Aurian!” Anvar swung her around until she was giddy, his blue eyes bright, his face transfigured with joy. And suddenly, as if joining their celebration, a glad cry rang out from the rise above them, where the edge of the forest met the desert. Blinking back happy tears, Aurian looked up to see Yazour, with his arms around Eliizar and Nereni. Beside them was the vast, familiar form of Bohan, his face split in a happy grin as Shia bounded up the steep cutting to meet him. Aurian and Anvar looked at each other. “Thank you, Anvar, for making me stay,” Aurian said softly. In answer, he smiled—that rare, wonderful smile that had always had the power to touch her heart. Aurian reached out to him, and he took her hand. Together, they went to greet their friends.

Miathan, brooding in his Tower, flung his crystal away with a snarling curse, wishing that he had never decided to spy on Aurian just then. How dare she be happy! How dare she rejoice in that accursed swordsman’s bastard brat! And with the other abominable half-breed, of his own conceiving! Well, he’d have his revenge on them yet. “Let’s see you rejoice, Aurian, when you give birth to that monster you’re carrying,” he muttered.

Still muttering darkly, the Archmage went to retrieve the crystal, which had rolled into the fireplace, chipping and scarring the marble hearth. All was not yet lost, he consoled himself. He still had a weapon or two in his armory, and Eliseth’s rebellion had not interfered too badly with his plans. His revenge would be all the sweeter for waiting—and this time, he would not fail!