Aurian

4 The Archmage

The sound of voices woke Aurian from a fitful sleep. For a panic-stricken moment she wondered where she was, until she saw lamplight glowing beyond the open door that led to Meiriel’s quarters at the far end of the infirmary. “Lady Meiriel?” she called out nervously. This place seemed very strange to her, with its stark white walls and smooth, polished marble floor reflecting the row of empty beds. The Healer came in, brisk and smiling. “Did I wake you?”

“Is something wrong?” Aurian asked.

“Naught to worry about.” Meiriel shrugged dismissively. “Only an ignorant Mortal making a pest of himself down at the gate. Because we have powers, they think our sole purpose in life is to run around helping them\”

Aurian frowned. Any talk of Mortals reminded her painfully of Forral—but then everything seemed to remind her of the swordsman. She clenched her fists, willing the tears not to gather in her eyes. “Aren’t we supposed to help them?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

The Healer sat down on the edge of her bed. “Here at the Academy, Aurian, you’ll learn that it’s simply not done to waste your powers on those stupid, whining Mortals. Now, we’ve had a long journey, and you need to rest. Can I get you something to help you sleep?”

“Yes, please, Meiriel.” Anything was better than lying awake thinking.

Trying not to grimace, Aurian finished the potion that the Healer had brought her as quickly as possible. Although it was sticky and tasted vile, she preferred it to Meiriel’s Sleep-magic, which was most unnerving. No time seemed to pass while she was under the spell—she only closed her eyes for a second, it seemed—and when she opened them, hours had been lost. Luckily, she thought, the Healer had been understanding about her fears. Having been dragged, unwilling, away from her home to this ^iew and frightening place, Aurian was pitifully grateful even for Meiriel’s brusque, no-nonsense kindness. Fighting back her tears, she snuggled ^Jpwn beneath the quilt, hoping that for once she would fall asleep before her mind could start dwelling on the catastrophe that had overtaken her life.

It had taken the Healer several weeks to repair Aurian’s damaged shoulder, but she couldn’t remember anything of those first days, when Meiriel had labored endlessly with Healing-magic to save her arm. She had pieced together fragments of shattered bone with painstaking skill, and repaired the severed muscles. Meiriel had then used her powers to accelerate the body’s natural healing, a process which sapped a great deal of the patient’s own resources and left her in a deep sleep for several days while her body recovered its energies. When Aurian finally awoke, the wound had closed and was mending fast, though her arm was still stiff, feeble, and sore. Naturally, she had wanted Forral. At first her mother kept putting her off, but in the end, on Meiriel’s advice, she had relented, and given Aurian the letter. By now she knew every terrible word by heart:

“Aurian love, I’m sorry I can’t be here when you wake, but if I stayed to say goodbye, I would never be able to go. I don’t know if I can explain so that you’ll understand, but I’ll try. Don’t blame your mother—she didn’t send me away this time. I’m leaving because I am horrified at what I did to you, I had no right to expose you to such risks. The Lady Meiriel says you’ll be all right and have full use of your arm again, and I only thank the Gods I didn’t kilLyou outright. As it is, I can never forgive myself.

“I had to tell your mother why we started with your sword training, but don’t worry—she’s not angry, unless it’s with me for not telling her sooner. Anyway, she and the Healer want you to go away to the Academy at Nexis to be trained properly, which is only right, because you are a Mage after all. I thought about going back with you and joining the Garrison again so that we could see each other, but it wouldn’t be fair to you. You need to settle down with your own kind and learn to use your gifts, and I would only be in the way. So I’m going away soldiering again.

“Aurian, please forgive me for leaving you like this. It breaks my heart, but it’s for the best, truly. Please don’t forget me, as I’ll never forget you. And never doubt that someday we’ll meet again. I’ll think of you always. All my love, Forral.”

The following weeks had passed in a blur of misery. Nothing mattered now that Forral had gone. Had she been wrong about the swordsman? If he had truly loved her, how could he have left her like this? Aurian, numb and aching inside, had simply done what her mother and the Healer told her, and gradually her body recovered sufficiently for her to make the journey back to Nexis with Meiriel. But even the sight of so much unfamiliar new country had failed to lift her spirits. The weather, unremittingly cold and bleak, was a perfect match for her mood as they rode: first over wild and snowy moors, and then, once they had reached the great road that led to the lower country, through tame and tended farmland and forest. All this was lost on Aurian, however. She was barely aware of her surroundings, let alone the import of the journey she was making.

It had taken the city to bring Aurian sharply out of her self-pity. After spending almost all her life in the solitude of her mother’s isolated Valley, Nexis, with its looming buildings and hordes of people, had terrified her. Everything was so big, noisy, and crowded that she couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t known that there were so many people in the world! Meiriel, in her own brisk way, had been sympathetic. “Brace up, child,” she had said. “Don’t panic, they won’t hurt you! Take deep breaths, and stay close to me. It’s a lot more peaceful at the Academy, and you’ll get used to the city in time.”

Aurian doubted that she would ever get used to the city or the Academy, Meiriel’s pristine infirmary was very different from the familiar clutter of her mother’s tower, and since everything was so alien to her, she lived in constant fear of doing or saying something wrong. She longed for the sanctuary of her own room, and the strong, comforting presence of Forral.

To bolster her faltering courage, Aurian clung tightly to the hard, slender shape of her sword. She slept with the sheathed blade every night, for it was all she had left of Forral.

As soon as she had recovered sufficiently from her injury to walk, she had gone to the clearing where they had spent so many happy hours in practice. Her precious sword lay untouched on the ground where it had fallen. Its leather scabbard was already stiff and starting to discolor, its blade spotted with rust. Shaking with sobs, Aurian had gathered it up carefully and taken it home. She spent hours cleaning and oiling both blade and scabbard with the greatest care, pausing often to wipe off the tears that threatened to mar her work. And despite the objections of Meiriel and her mother, she had refused to be parted from it, reacting so violently to the very suggestion that they had relented and allowed her to keep it. Holding tightly to the sword, Aurian cried herself to sleep, as she had done every night since Forral had gone away.

In her quarters, Meiriel listened to the soft sounds of weeping, regretting that it had been necessary to wrench the child away from home like this. When silence fell at last, she crept to Aurian’s bedside to assure herself that she was truly asleep. Then calling a servant to watch her charge, she flung a cloak around her shoulders and set off across the frost-silvered courtyard to the Mages’ Tower. A red light burning high in the crimson-draped windows of the uppermost floor showed that the Archmage was in residence.

“How goes it with the child, Meiriel?” The Archmage, like all his kind, was very tall. With his long, silvery hair and beard, his bony hooked nose, his dark, burning eyes and haughty demeanor, he looked the very epitome of the most powerful Mage in the world. His scarlet robes swept the richly carpeted floor as he crossed the room to pour Meiriel a goblet of wine.

As Meiriel took a seat, the Healer saw the slim, silver-clad figure of Eliseth sitting in the shadows by the window, and frowned. She neither liked nor trusted the scheming, ice-cool Weather-Mage. “I thought this was to be a private meeting,” she objected.

Miathan handed her a brimming crystal goblet. “Come, Meiriel, don’t be foolish,” he chided. “Since we received your message, Eliseth has been helping me to make plans. If what you say is true, Geraint’s child has talents we can use, and will need very special handling. I should hardly have to remind you that we need the utmost loyalty from all our people these days. The Magefolk have dwindled. Our powers are severely proscribed by the Mages’ Code, and dissension against us among the wretched Mortals grows ever stronger. I still control the Garrison’s voice on the ruling Council of Three, but Rioch will be retiring before long, and there is no suitably accommodating successor among his warriors. And the new Merchants’ Representative, that jumped-up ruffian Vannor, is already giving me trouble.”

The Archmage frowned, and took a sip of wine. “Because a Magewoman loses her powers during pregnancy, our race has always been slow to breed, and no new children are being born to us. We’re seriously outnumbered by the Mortals. Not counting Eilin, who refuses to return to us, that only leaves seven Magefolk: you and I, Eliseth and Bragar, the twins, and Finbarr. And of those, the twins seem unable to access their full power, and Finbarr never leaves his archives—no offense, Meiriel. I know he’s your soul mate, and I regret that we can’t spare your Healing skills long enough for you to lose them during a pregnancy. And of course we can’t spare Eliseth, for the same reason. Her studies are at a critical point—”

“Otherwise, of course, I would be happy to make the sacrifice,” Eliseth interjected smoothly. Meiriel bit back a sarcastic retort. Liar, she thought. All you want is power. You’d be quick enough to bear Miathan’s child, if he asked you. She turned back to the Archmage. “What has this to do with Aurian?” she asked. “You surely don’t expect her to breed you some new Magefolk? The child is barely fourteen!”

Miathan assumed a patient expression, looking at the Healer over his steepled hands. “My dear Meiriel,” he said suavely, “what a suggestion! Of course I don’t expect such a thing. Not yet, at any rate. But we must take the long view here. She will not be fourteen forever. And if, as you say, her powers may range over the entire spectrum, then they must be passed on for the benefit of our race. In the meantime, however, I was thinking of our precarious position among the Mortals. If word should be passed that we have a new Mage—one whose powers are, shall we say, spectacular—then they might think twice before crossing us. After all, they’ve already had an example of what her father can do.”

“That’s appalling, Miathan! It’s completely immoral!” Meiriel exploded. “The Mages’ Code expressly forbids the use of magic to gain power over others.”

“Of course it does, my dear.” Miathan’s voice was melodious and smooth. “But if you check the wording carefully, Meiriel, it says nothing about people believing that a Mage might use his powers against them. If the Mortals should happen to get hold of such an outlandish notion, then it would hardly be our fault, would it?” he said with a shrug.

“That’s pure sophistry, and you know it! You’re coming perilously close to breaking your vows under the Code, Miathan, and you’ll take us all to perdition with you,” Meiriel warned. “Do you plan to corrupt the child, too?”

Eliseth shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Surely you’re overreacting,” she said silkily. “After all, this is pure conjecture on the part of the Archmage. All he cares about at present is helping the child, and winning her trust. Who knows what nonsense Eilin and that uncouth Mortal have been putting into her head? You know how hard our training is, and the girl is starting late. She’ll lack discipline, I daresay, so there will be some difficult times ahead of her. The last thing we want is for her to end up resenting the Magefolk—after all, we are her people. So Miathan and I have thought of a way to deal with the problem. We only have her welfare at heart—you’ll see, Meiriel.”

“Indeed she will,” Miathan said heartily. “Meiriel, tomorrow morning you will turn Aurian over to Eliseth. After that, your part in this matter is over for the time being, and you’ll leave the rest to us. Stay away from the child, and don’t interfere.”

“But—” Meiriel protested unhappily.

Miathan’s face grew stony. “That is a direct order from your Archmage, Meiriel. You may go now.”

Aurian disliked Eliseth on first sight. Although her face was flawlessly beautiful and her silver hair flowed right down to her feet like a shimmering waterfall, the Magewoman’s smile never reached her gray eyes, which were hard and cold as steel. She led Aurian to the chamber that would be her own—a tiny whitewashed cell on the ground floor of the Mages’ Tower. Furnished with the barest simplicity, it contained a narrow bed, a table and chair, and shelves and a chest for her possessions and clothes.

Aurian had no possessions to arrange. Apart from the clothes she stood in, all she had was her sword. When Eliseth saw it, she frowned. “You can’t keep that,” she said flatly. “It’s much too dangerous for a young girl. Give it to me.” She reached for the sword.

In a flash Aurian had the blade unsheathed, as Forral had taught her. “Don’t you touch my sword,” she warned. Eliseth’s eyes narrowed, and she made a peculiar, twisting little gesture with her left hand. Aurian gasped as a chill, translucent blue cloud surrounded her. She couldn’t move! Her body was frozen rigid. Icy cold seemed to burn into her very bones.

Eliseth swooped down and plucked Coronach from Aurian’s unresisting grasp, then stood looking coldly down on her. “Listen to me, brat,” she hissed. “While you are in this place, you’ll learn discipline and obedience—especially obedience to me—or you’ll suffer the consequences! Now I’m going to find the seamstress to measure you for some decent clothes, and as a punishment for your appalling behavior, you can remain like that until I return.”

She swept out, taking the sword with her and leaving Aurian still frozen in position, unable even to weep. Although she was seething with hatred for the cold-eyed Eliseth, the lesson had left its mark. Aurian had already learned to fear her.

Later that day, Eliseth showed her subdued and unhappy charge around the Academy. There was a good deal to see. The promontory was shaped like the broad blade of a spear, with its point cut off in a gentle curve by the high wall that surrounded the drop on all sides. The main entrance gate stood at the place where the haft of the spear would be joined, with a small gate-house to its left-hand side. Below the gate, the steep road up which Aurian had climbed the previous day zigzagged down to the causeway, with its lower gatehouse.

The buildings all faced on to a central, oval-shaped courtyard designed in a mosaic pattern with colored flagstones. In the center, an elegant fountain sang a soothing, bubbling song as it flung feathery arcs of water into a white marble basin. To the left of the gatehouse was Meiriel’s small infirmary, and next to this were the kitchens and servants’ quarters which adjoined the Great Hall with its soaring arched windows. Beyond, where the wall curved round to cut off the end of the promontory, stood the elegant and^lpfty Mages’ Tower, where the Magefolk dwelt. Opposite the tower on the other side of the curve was the huge library with its complex, convoluted architecture. And beyond this, curving back toward the gate, were the buildings designed for the study of the individual disciplines of magic, dominated by the massive white weather dome whose outline was visible for miles around.

All the buildings, down to the gatehouse and the humble servants’ quarters, were constructed of dazzling white marble that seemed to be imbued with its own internal, pearly glow. It was breathtakingly beautiful—and Aurian, scared and homesick as she was, hated it. All the same, she marveled at the great library with its priceless archives, the open rooftop temple on top of the Mages’ Tower with its great standing stones, and the imposing Great Hall, which stood mostly unused now that the Magefolk were so few in number.

Aurian was shown the special windowless building outfitted with metal doors and furniture to enable the Mages to study Fire-magic there in safety. A low white building contained a deep pool and many fountains, streams, conduits, and waterfalls, for the study of Water-magic. There was a large building constructed of glass, containing plants, grass, and even some small trees, that reminded Aurian, with a pang, of her mother’s workrooms in her tower. It was intended, of course, for the study of Earth-magic. But the grass was brown and withered, and all the plants were shriveled and dead. If any animals had dwelt within, they were long gone. Eilin was the only living Mage who practiced Earth-magic, and the room had been abandoned when she left the Academy.

The place that Aurian found most incredible of all was the massive dome whose outline dominated the Mages’ complex. The curved chamber within was so high that small clouds could actually gather beneath its roof, which housed a complex series of valves and vents. This was Eliseth’s room, for the study of Weather-magic, and she left Aurian in no doubt that this was the most important discipline of all. Aurian didn’t dare ask why.

While they were making their tour of the Academy, Eliseth introduced Aurian to the other Magefolk. “We tend to be a solitary people,” she said. “Mostly we’re occupied with our own projects, and we usually eat in our own rooms, unless there’s a feast or a special occasion. That being the case, you might as well meet everyone now. All except the Archmage, of course. He’s much too busy to bother with little girls.” Aurian was crushed.

Finbarr cheered her a little, however. They found him down in the archives, which consisted of the maze of cellars that had been carved out of the living rock beneath the library. He was sitting at a table in a small cavern whose walls were lined with racks of ancient scrolls. The table was completely bare except for a stylus, two neat stacks of paper, one with writing and the other awaiting use, and some half-dozen scrolls, neatly rolled and tied. Finbarr was reading from another ancient document by the light of a brightly glowing ball of luminescence that hovered dutifully and with perfect steadiness above his head.

“Still wasting your time with this old rubbish, I see,” was Eliseth’s dismissive greeting. Aurian half expected the Mage to jump—he had seemed so preoccupied when they entered. But he simply sighed, and placed the scroll on the table, where the two rolled-up ends immediately tried to spring together. “Stay!” Finbarr commanded in a sharp voice. The scroll gave a quiver, and promptly flattened out in the correct position.

Finbarr turned to regard them with a piercing blue gaze. He was very thin, and his clean-shaven face had the typical bony angularity of the Magefolk. His long brown hair was streaked with gray, but his face was neither old nor young, and his eyes twinkled. “Hail, O Lady of Thunder, Mistress of Storms,” he intoned mockingly. “Have you come to blast me with a blizzard of icy contempt, or are you just going to rain on me and ruin my day?” He winked at Aurian, who tried to stifle a giggle.

Eliseth cursed. “Finbarr, one of these days your so-called wit is going to get you into trouble,” she snapped. “You’re about as much use as these wretched old scrolls of yours!”

Finbarr shrugged. “At least my scrolls are pleasant company,” he said, “though not undemanding. I take it that the reason for your totally unprecedented visit to this sanctuary of learning and wisdom is to introduce me to this beauteous young lady.” He gave^Aurian a kindly smile.

“You know who she is, Finbarr.” Eliseth was scowling. “That renegade Geraint’s brat.”

Aurian stifled a small sound of protest, clenching her fists.

With a swift movement Finbarr pushed back his chair and squatted before Aurian, bringing his tall lanky frame down to her level. He lifted her chin with a gentle finger and looked deeply into her eyes. “Child, you’re going to hear a lot of that kind of nonsense within these venerable walls,” he said softly. “Just let it pass. Geraint’s only fault was pride, and the same applies to all the Magefolk who would blacken his name.” He shot a flinty look at Eliseth. “I’m not saying that what he did was right, but the same disaster could have happened to any of us. Take no notice of what people say, child, but be prepared to learn from his errors—and ours, for what Geraint did was hardly unique. History is filled with similar examples—the Cataclysm, for instance, when ancient Magefolk warred amongst themselves for power. They came perilously close to destroying the world with the four great Artifacts of Power, and—”

“For goodness’ sake, Finbarr, spare us the lecture!” interrupted Eliseth,

Aurian was shocked by her rudeness, but Finbarr seemed unsurprised. He continued ro address his words to herself, as though the Magewoman’s ill-tempered outburst was of no importance. “I hope, my young friend, that you will never let Eliseth teach you to scorn the knowledge that is so important to us all. If we study our history, it teaches us not to repeat mis-takes. I know that Eliseth is in charge of your training just now, but when you’re allowed to, come back and talk to me. I can teach you other things apart from magic, and I’ll always be here to answer your questions. I always keep a welcome for civilized company. And now, I don’t believe that Eliseth told me your name?”

“It’s Aurian.” She managed a smile for him.

“Mine is Finbarr. I’m Meiriel’s soul mate, and I hope you’ll be seeing much more of us as time goes on. In the meantime, here’s my advice: apply yourself diligently, keep out of trouble _and don’t let the Lady of Misrule here grind you down.”

“It’s time we were going, Aurian,” Eliseth interrupted icily.

Finbarr grinned. “See what I mean? We’d better do as she says, or she’ll have us neck-deep in hailstones in no time!”

“Blast you, Finbarr!” Eliseth snarled. “Don’t you dare try to be funny at my expense!”

“Sorry, Eliseth.” To Aurian, the Archivist did not look at all repentant. “Goodbye, Aurian—for the present.”

The introduction to the other Magefolk was much less satisfactory. The twins simply treated her with dismissive contempt, and Aurian felt very uneasy in their company. There was something unsettlingly strange about them that she couldn’t quite place. They both had the appearance of beardless young men and both were fair, but Davorshan had a surprisingly coarse and stocky frame for one of Mage blood. His short-cropped blond hair had a distinct gingerish cast, and his colorless eyes were framed with pale lashes.

Aurian found it almost impossible to look him in the eye, for the anonymous coloring seemed to automatically divert her gaze elsewhere. What was worse, he seemed to be very much aware of the fact, and she suspected that he used it deliberately to unnerve people.

Davorshan’s brother, D’arvan, was completely different in appearance—so much so that it seemed impossible that they could be brothers, let alone twins. His pale, flaxen hair was shoulder length, and his bone structure was so finely carved and fragile-looking that he seemed ethereal in appearance. His beautiful face looked almost feminine, and his deep, luminous gray eyes had long, sweeping dark lashes that many a maid would have sold her soul for. He hung back behind his brother, saying nothing and letting Davorshan do all the talking. Had Aurian been more mature and confident, she might have suspected him of being painfully shy, but as it was she found him cold and fey,

“What do they do?” Aurian asked Eliseth timidly, as they left the twins’ quarters.

The Magewoman shrugged. “The Gods only know. They’re of Mage blood—their father was the famous Water-Mage Bavordran, and their mother was Adrina, the Earth-Mage. Miathan is certain they must have power, but whatever it is, it hasn’t surfaced yet. We think that because they are twins, they’re so tajagj^d up in each other’s minds that the power cannot be released. Davorshan shows some aptitude for Water-magic, but he seems fascinated with physical methods of control, rather than magical ones. His mind is full of pumps and pipes and aqueducts and so on. We keep telling him that such stuff is for Mortals—we have other methods at our disposal —but we cannot break him of the nonsense. As for D’arvan— he can’t spit without his brother’s help! I’ve told the Archmage that it’s a waste of time, but Miathan insists that we keep trying with him.”

Eliseth did, however, seem to think a lot of the last Mage, Bragar. His discipline was Fire-magic, as Geraint’s had been, and Aurian had been looking forward to meeting him. Her enthusiasm died as soon as she saw him. Bragar was gaunt-faced and completely bald. His dark eyes, like Eliseth’s, were devoid of warmth and expression, giving him a reptilian appearance. His aura was as dark as his purple robes, and Aurian, young and inexperienced though she was, could feel the cruelty of his nature shadowing him like the blackest of wings. He looked down at her over his high-bridged nose as though she were some species of insect, and his voice, when he deigned to speak to her, was sardonic and patronizing. He made Aurian’s flesh creep, and she vowed to herself that she’d keep out of his way. She already knew that she possessed her father’s talent of Fire-magic, and the thought of studying under Bragar filled her with fear.

The weeks that followed Aurian’s arrival at the Academy became one long, inescapable nightmare. She was left in Eliseth’s sole charge, and the Magewoman was unremittingly harsh with her. Aurian lacked any formal training in magic, and hitherto her use of her powers had been spontaneous and instinctive. Now she had to learn to discipline her wildfire talent into the controlled and focused power that was the true secret of Magehood. This, according to Eliseth, could only be done by the endless repetition of drills and exercises that seemed, to Aurian, to explain nothing and accomplish very little.

Eliseth tried her with Fire-magic, using a candle flame which Aurian had to ignite, extinguish, or make larger or smaller. Aurian had no idea where to start. She also failed at mental communication—a rare gift among the Magefolk in any case, though Eliseth didn’t explain that to Aurian. She had some limited success with simple levitation and Earth-magic, but Water-magic she found impossible to grasp. The magic of the element of Air—which, as a Weather-Mage, was Eliseth’s specialty—the Magewoman dismissed as being far too difficult for Aurian, given her poor performance to date.

Forral’s exercises in concentration helped a little, but Aurian found that focusing her will differed greatly from concentrating her mind. Time after time, some small distraction would interfere with her attention, and she would either lose her gathered power completely, or it would get out of control with unfortunate results. Eliseth’s punishments on these occasions were inventive, cruel, and humiliating, and Aurian soon became afraid even to try, lest she fail once more. But this only got her into more trouble with her impatient teacher. Even in the evenings, her time was not her own, for Eliseth set her to learning the entire Mages’ Code by heart, and tested her on it every day.

Aurian was more miserable and lonely than she had ever been in her life. Things might have been easier if she could have sent a message to her mother, or talked to Finbarr or Meiriel, but Eliseth kept her a virtual prisoner. She made her work all day and locked her into her room at night. Aurian lost her appetite and couldn’t sleep. She lay awake each night tossing and fretting, and each morning the face that looked back from her mirror seemed more pale, glunrC and hollow-eyed. She became increasingly nervous and timid, and wept at the slightest provocation. As the weeks turned into months and spring came slowly round again, she became more and more convinced that she would never be a Mage. Inevitably, her hopelessness overcame even her fear of the city and the great world outside, and she became driven by a desperate need to escape.

At last the opportunity arrived. After a particularly trying day, Eliseth sent her to her room—and forgot to lock the door. Aurian waited breathlessly until well into the night, praying that the Mage would not return to imprison her once more. Then she bundled up her spare clothing in a blanket and crept out of the tower, expecting at any moment to hear an angry voice calling her back.

It seemed almost too easy. The air was mild and springlike, the full moon gave her plenty of light, and the courtyard was completely deserted. Aurian flitted silently from shadow to shadow, searching for another exit apart from the main gate, which was guarded, and would only lead her down the exposed road to the gatehouse on the causeway. As she circled the high wall of the complex, she began to despair. Surely there must be another way out! But her searching only brought her full circle, back to the Mages’ Tower. Aurian could have sat down and wept, but the chance to escape might never come again, and she couldn’t afford to waste it. She gritted her teeth and swore one of Forral’s favorite oaths. “Right,” she muttered. “I’ll climb the bloody wall!” Searching for a better purchase on the smooth stonework, she crept into the corner where the wall joined the rounded side of the tower. And there, hidden in shadow, was a small wooden postern, set deep within the thick stones of the wall! Biting her lip, Aurian wrestled with the great iron ring that served as a handle, and pushed. The little door swung open. Aurian slipped through—and her heart sank. Before her was a walled garden, not a way out.

From her hiding place in the bushes that grew along the wall, Aurian scanned the garden. It was beautifully kept, with smoothly trimmed lawns, sparkling fountains, and neat beds of delicate spring flowers that shimmered palely in the moonlight. Their fragrance drifted to Aurian on the warm breeze, and early moths danced above them as though some of the blossoms had taken to the air. Apart from a circular wooden arbor in the center, only the walls with their cover of shrubs and vines offered shelter for a fugitive. But one wall—the one farthest away from her—was only waist high. She could climb out! For a moment Aurian’s heart leapt. Then she got her bearings. It was the wall bounding the edge of the steep cliff face that sheared down like the prow of a ship to the river below. She set her jaw stubbornly, and fought down her despair. I’ll just have to try to climb down, that’s all, she decided. Maybe it won’t be too bad. I’d rather die than spend another night in this place!

Aurian slunk around the edge of the garden, staying in the shadow of the bushes and heading for the low wall. Then suddenly she saw the old man. He had been hidden by the arbor when she had entered, but now he was in plain sight, kneeling over a flower bed with a trowel in his hand. Her heart pounding, Aurian backed into the bushes, discovering too late that they were roses. The thorns stuck painfully into her back and caught in her clothes and hair, but she didn’t dare make a sound or move to free herself, though the old gardener seemed to be completely engrossed in his task.

Aurian waited. And waited, praying that the old fool would hurry up and go away. Surely he wasn’t planning to work all night? Evidently not. Suddenly, without looking up, he said: “Isn’t it uncomfortable in there?” Aurian caught her breath, feeling the thorns drive deeper into her skin as she shrank back into the concealing foliage. “You might as well come out, you know.” The rough old voice was not unkind. “The Archmage’s private garden is never the best place to hide, my dear. They say the very flowers whisper secrets in his ears.”

With a gasp, Aurian shot out of the rosebushes, ripping her clothes on the thorns. The old man smiled. “That’s better. This garden hasn’t seen a pretty girl in more years than I could count.” From a pocket in his patched old tunic he took a small flask of wine, and a package neatly wrapped in a clean white cloth. “I’m just about to eat,” he said. “Do you like bread and cheese?”

He obviously wasn’t right in the head. Aurian began to sidle toward the low wall. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t have time.”

“Nonsense. It’s better to run away on a full stomach than an empty one, I always say.”

“How did you know?” The words were out before she could stop them.

He shrugged. “It’s fairly obvious. I shouldn’t try the cliff, though. Nobody has managed it yet, and it will just be a mess when you’re splattered on those rocks at the bottom.”

Aurian stared at him, defeated. A single tear trickled down her cheek.

“Come along,” the old man said kindly. “Have some supper and tell me all about it. Perhaps I can help you.”

Aurian had never drunk wine before. Somehow she ended up with the lion’s share of the flask, and it loosened her tongue. Before long he had coaxed from her the whole story of her life, ending with the difficulties and misery of her time at the Academy. The old man listened gravely, slipping in a question from time to time. He even gave her his handkerchief when her tears began to fall once more. When she had finished, he held out his hand. “Come with me,” he said gently. “It’s time that matters were set to rights.”

Aurian’s childhood injunctions about not going away with strangers were screaming warnings at her, but the old gardener was the nearest thing she had to a friend. Obediently she followed him across the garden and out through the postern door. It was only when they reached the Mages’ Tower that Aurian faltered. The old fool was insane!

“I can’t!” she gasped. “Eliseth is in there, and—and the Archmage!” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her firmly, his dark eyes burning into hers.

“My dear child, have you not guessed yet? I am the Archmage!”

Aurian almost fainted. She had been complaining bitterly about the Academy to the Archmage himself! He had caught her trying to run away and trespassing in his private garden. She couldn’t speak, and she was trembling so hard that her legs threatened to give way beneath her.

Miathan put a steadying arm around her shoulders. “Don’t be afraid, child,” he said. “If anyone is punished over this business, it will certainly not be you.” Still Aurian hung back, frightened by the sudden steel in his voice. The Archmage looked down at her and sighed. “Come along, girl,” he said testily. “I won’t turn you 4sto a toad. But I will turn you into a first-class Mage!” And he smiled at her. It was such a dazzling, kind smile that Aurian’s fears vanished like melting snow.

When they reached his rooms, the Archmage summoned a sleepy servant and ordered a second, far more sumptuous supper for them. He seated Aurian in a soft chair by the fire while he changed from his patched old gardening clothes into the splendid scarlet robes of his office. She gazed around the chamber while she waited, awed by the richness of the splendid furnishings, the deep soft carpet, and the gold-stitched tapestries that decorated the walls. Why, this place was fit for a king! It was a far, far cry from her cramped, bare little cell on the bottom floor.

The food arrived with amazing promptness, considering that the kitchen workers must have been hauled from their beds to prepare it. Aurian gazed, bewildered, at the tempting array —far too much for two people. She wondered, nervously, if she’d be expected to eat it all. And the food itself! Eilin had little time to cook, so her meals had been good but simple— and Eliseth seemed to think that bread and milk was enough for her to live on. Now she was faced with meats covered in rich sauces, and vegetables and fruits prepared in a wildly elaborate fashion. To her embarrassment, Aurian had no idea what do with some of the exotically shaped foodstuffs. Should she pick them up in her fingers, or would that be a breach of manners? Miathan, however, seemed aware of her predicament. He insisted on serving her himself, and explaining the complicated dishes to her whenever he saw her hesitate. Encouraged by his kindness and helped by the wine, which was beginning to make her head spin, Aurian began to relax and enjoy her food. It had been ages since she had eaten a proper meal.

As they ate, Miathan explained that there had been a misunderstanding, and that from now on, he would supervise her training personally.

Aurian went suddenly cold. “But—but Eliseth says I’m useless,” she confessed, shamefaced.

Miathan raised his eyebrows. “What? Geraint and Eilin’s daughter useless? I don’t believe it!” Reaching out a hand, he snuffed the single candle that burned in a silver holder in the center of the table. The room was suddenly plunged into shadow, the only light coming from’the roaring flames in the fireplace. “Aurian, will you light the candle for me? I can’t see to eat,” the Archmage said.

Aurian’s mind went blank with panic. The more she tried to focus her scattered thoughts, the worse it became. What would he do to her if she failed? Suddenly Miathan’s strong hand closed around hers, and his warm voice cut through the chaos in her mind.

“Relax, child. Think of the flame. Picture it in your mind. It’s only a glowing spot at first, clinging to the wick. Then the wax on the wick starts to melt and splutter—you can smell it— and the little flame starts to blossom and grow . . .”

Aurian’s eyes widened. It was happening! A soft pool of light crept toward the edges of the room as her little flame caught and expanded. “I did it!” she yelled triumphantly— then clamped her hand over her mouth in horror as a roaring column of fire, responding to her euphoria, shot up from the candle to scorch the ceiling. “Oh!” Aurian damped the flame automatically, as she had done so often with her fireballs at home, and shrank away from Miathan. “I’m sorry,” she whispered fearfully.

The Archmage threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Well,” he spluttered, “I asked for that! I see that I shall have to be very careful about my requests to you in future!”

Aurian was dumbfounded. “You mean—it’s all right? But I just ruined your ceiling!”

“Never mind the ceiling, my dear. The servants will soon put it right,” Miathan said. “More important, you’ve proved that, far from being hopeless, you have a very powerful talent at your disposal. All we need do is teach you to summon it— which you managed very well, once I explained how to do it— and control it. You failed to break your link with the flame, you see, and it was simply responding to your emotions.”

“Will you show me how?” Aurian asked eagerly,

Miathan smiled. “Aren’t you tired? It’s very late.”

“Tired? No, not a bit. It’s all so-—” Aunan’s voice was swallowed in a huge yawn.

The Archmage held out his hand. “Come along,” he said. “You can sleep in my bed tonight, and in the morning, I’ll arrange to have you moved. There’s a set of empty rooms on the floor below—they belonged to your father, as a matter of fact. We’ll be working very closely together in future, so I’ll want you near me. How does that suit?”

“Oh, thank you!” In an excess of gratitude, Aurian threw her arms around Miathan’s neck and hugged him. For a nervous moment she wondered if she had gone too far, but then she saw that his stern old face was beaming. It was in that instant that Aurian came to love him. She fell asleep in his great canopied bed feeling happier and more secure than she had done in months, and instead of Forral’s, it was Miathan’s face that filled her last drowsy thoughts,

A knock on the door interrupted Miathan’s contemplation of the sleeping young girl. Sighing, he left the bedchamber, closing the door quietly behind him. As he had expected, his visitor was Eliseth. “Could it not wait until morning?” he said crossly.

Eliseth walked across to the fire and warmed her hands. “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to know how it went.”

“Well, you certainly played your part successfully. The poor child was almost terrified beyond functioning! But her power, Eliseth! It was incredible in one so young!”

“Just what are your plans for her?” Eliseth’s voice turned sharp. “You’re training her yourself—does that mean you have her in mind to succeed you?”

Miathan chuckled. “So that’s what this nocturnal visit is about, I might have guessed. Well, you can relax, my dear. I have no plans to appoint a successor just yet—in feet I may never appoint one.”

“What? But—but the maximum tenure for the position is two hundred years! It always has been,”

“Traditionally, yes. But traditions may be put aside. I enjoy being Archmage, and besides, who would succeed me? Though you and Bragar have ambitions in that direction—”

“Bragar?” Eliseth gasped.

Miathan laughed. “How naive you are! Did you think you had tamed him with the lure of your body? It failed to work on me—what made you think it would succeed any better with him? It’s been most entertaining to watch the two of you maneuvering and plotting around each other, but I’m well ahead of you both in the game of poweT, Y^u’d do better to remain on my side, my dear. One day I plan to rule the world, and there will be power and wealth to spare for my loyal supporters,” Miathan’s expression became grim. “Don’t think of crossing me, Eliseth, I’m more than a match for you alone, but now you’ll have Aurian to deal with, too. You’ve trapped yourself nicely there, with this plan of ours. Aurian already hates you— and now the child is mine.”