Dhiammara

34 Resurrection

Eliseth ran through the streets of Dhiammara, seeking the elusive figure of her enemy. It was difficult to concentrate—she was viewing the scene through multiple vision as she switched from one of her puppets to the other, and back to her own sight once more. To her relief, she had found Vannor at last, and what was more, had found her access to his mind unblocked. She had sent him out into the city in search of Aurian too.

After a long and fruitless search, she grew weary and impatient. Furthermore, a glance up at the skies showed her that Sunfeather’s Skyfolk were finding themselves no match for the ferocity of Petrel and the colonists of Eyrie. It was time to bring matters to a head before she lost the advantage—if she could not find her enemy, it was time to lure Aurian to her. Reaching out with her mind, she contacted Bern, who was safely hidden in a nearby building.—Manipulating him deftly, she planted orders in his mind to bring the Artifacts to the platform on top of the city’s highest tower.

“Aurian! Eliseth cried, augmenting her voice with magic so that it echoed throughout the whole of the Dragon City. “I grow weary of this game of cat and mouse! If you wish to challenge me, you will find me on top of the highest tower.” There was no answer—not that she had really expected one. Hurrying, the Magewoman turned her steps toward the tower.

When Eliseth reached the top, she found Bern already there, his chest heaving from the climb. The grail and the Sword lay on the stone at his feet.—Good—that was fine. Now, what was Vannor up to....

Even as she slid into his mind, he found the Mage.

Vannor rushed through the streets, baffled and bewildered. His mind kept fading in and out and there were alarming gaps in his memory. Every so often he would blink, it seemed, and find himself in a different street entirely.—There was only one imperative in his mind that overrode all his confusion.—Find Aurian—that was all he knew. He made for the sparkling green tower—and suddenly there she was.

“Vannor?” Aurian stepped forward. She was frowning. “What are you doing here?—You’re supposed to be looking after those children. ...”

And then Eliseth slid into Vannor’s mind, and she drew his sword and struck at the Mage. The blade bit into Aurian’s neck and she went down in a pool of blood. There came an anguished cry, and Eliseth looked up through Vannor’s eyes and saw Aurian coming round the corner, sword in hand, her eyes ablaze with rage and grief. The Weather-Mage looked down again, and bleeding in the street was the Xandim creature that Vannor knew as the Windeye. Then Aurian’s sword flashed down, and Vannor saw no more.

Aurian stared in horror at the two men. Then she flung herself down beside Chiamh’s body, taking in the mortal wound at a glance. Vannor’s clumsy blow had meant to behead him, but instead had hacked a great gash where his neck joined his shoulder, through which his lifeblood pumped with each beat of his faltering heart. There was no time to heal such a dreadful wound—he would be dead long before she could finish, and besides, she had to find Eliseth.—Drawing on the power of the Staff, she took the Windeye out of time—and poor Vannor too, though she was fairly sure she had killed him. So he had been the spy all along—but it had been Eliseth who had looked out of his eyes when he delivered the death blow. Aurian had struck him down in anger and the need to be rid of Eliseth’s puppet, but Vannor had been her friend. Gently, she reached out to touch his face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her throat tight with grief, “but I know you wouldn’t want to be her slave.”

There was no time for more. Now, it was imperative she find the grail—for the sake of both Chiamh and his killer.

Aurian’s companions stood around her, stunned and horrified at what had just happened. “Chiamh was my decoy—he projected an illusion of himself as me,” she explained quickly. “I told the idiot it was dangerous. . . .” Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard. “Somehow, Eliseth was controlling Vannor. ...”

She shrugged. Explanations would have to wait. “And now I’m going to have it out with her.” She headed off toward the tower, then paused. “The rest of you stay here,” she said. “And I mean it.”

Shia looked at Forral. “Do you think she means us?”

“No, she couldn’t possibly.”

“That’s what I thought.” Together, they set off after the Mage.

“All right, you two.” Aurian spoke without even glancing backward. “I knew you wouldn’t take any notice.”

Around her head, the hawk still swooped and hovered, plainly not taking any notice either.

“Wait, wait!” Iscalda came running up behind the Mage. “This is madness! Why climb all the way up there when Eliseth is expecting that? I’ll take you, Aurian. We’ll fly.”

Quickly, Iscalda changed to her equine shape of a white mare. The Mage scrambled up onto her back, drawing on the powers of the talisman to find the paths upon the wind. Up they went, climbing toward the spiral tower and the tall, silver-haired figure that stood on top.

Aurian never had the slightest inkling that the attack was about to happen.—She heard a rending scream, and saw a flash of silver as a sword blade clove the air close to her ear. She collected herself in time to see the flailing figure of Sunfeather plunge toward the ground, with her hawk still clinging to his face, gouging at his eyes with its long, curved beak. The bird only broke away before the winged man hit the ground.

Aurian remembered her suspicion, never quite forgotten, that the hawk might contain Anvar’s spirit, and began to wonder anew.

Eliseth gave a shrill cry of horror when she saw Sunfeather go down. “Damn you!” she shrieked. “Curse you for all eternity!”

Stirred by the Weather-Mage, the wind began to swirl and scream around the tower, trying to pluck Aurian from Iscalda’s back. Using the Staff to boost her powers, she formed a shield around herself and her companions, including the hawk, who had soared back up to her shoulder, and was sheltered, like the mare, in the protective bubble of the energy barrier.

Eliseth’s first bolt of lightning hit them before they even reached the top of the path, and glanced off the shield in a shower of sparks. It was followed by further bolts, and a shower of hail that rattled harmlessly off the barrier.—Aurian dropped her shield for an instant, and struck at the tower with a bolt of energy from the Staff of Earth. For an instant, the soaring building was enveloped in a haze of vibrant green force, and Aurian heard the boom as it shook all the way down to its foundations. A network of cracks snaked up the stonework, but still the tower held. Eliseth’s servant, who had been trying to shelter behind her, was knocked off his feet by Aurian’s bolt, and rolled helplessly over the edge. His long, drawn-out wail was cut off sharply as he hit the ground, and Aurian shuddered. Eliseth, secure behind her own shields, simply laughed at the Mage.

Then, for the first time, Aurian noticed Eliseth’s mistake. The Sword of Flame was still lying on the tower roof—outside the Magewoman’s shield—and Forral had climbed the spiral path, with Shia a step behind him. They crept across the roof behind Eliseth’s back, and Aurian sent Iscalda hurtling downward as she saw Forral make a dive for the Artifact.

The Mage suddenly remembered that she had told him why she had failed to win the Sword the first time, and her blood turned to ice in her veins. No . . .—she thought. As Forral’s hand grasped the hilt of the Sword, he looked up at her with such love and longing in his eyes that Aurian knew in an instant what he was about to do. “No,” she screamed inwardly. “No no no ...”

Everything seemed to happen very slowly. Forral turned the hilt of the Sword in his hands and hurled Anvar’s body down upon the blade. Eliseth began to turn round, her mouth open in a shriek of protest as Aurian, still some three feet above the level of the roof, leapt down from Iscalda’s back and rushed to the swordsman’s side.

Forral pressed the hilt of the Sword, slippery with his lifeblood, Anvar’s lifeblood, into the Mage’s hands. “Yours,” he whispered.

“Yours,” sang the Sword. A tongue of red fire ran down the dripping blade, and Aurian felt the power shudder through her. “Yours. Bonded with lifeblood, with a sacrifice, as was promised. Claimed and joined at last...”

Aurian felt sick. This filthy thing! But she wouldn’t let weak sentiment undo Forral’s sacrifice. Half-blinded by tears, she leapt to her feet and swung the fiery Sword in a great, shearing arc that cut right through Eliseth’s shield in a massive shower of sparks. Turning her hands as Forral had taught her when she was a little girl in her mother’s Vale, the Mage brought the Sword round in the return stroke, and the blade bit down through Eliseth’s skull, down through her flawless face, and buried itself deep in the Magewoman’s body before coming to a halt at last.

Aurian slumped, exhausted and wretched, over the body of her vanquished foe.—Am I dying too? she thought dispassionately. The light seemed to be growing brighter and brighter through her closed eyelids, and that unearthly, plangent singing . . . Singing? Who in the name of all Creation could be singing? No living creature made a sound like that, yet it seemed so familiar....—Wearily, Aurian raised her head and opened her eyes. The sun was rising—and there were Dragons everywhere; some red, some gold, some green, all blinking their huge eyes of slumbering fire and stretching out their ribbed, translucent wings to catch the early sun. A huge gold creature reclined next to the Mage on the bloodstained roof of the tower. He looked familiar, somehow. “But...” said Aurian, “but...”

The morning came alive with light and music as the Dragon began to speak. “But I perished in the earthquake when the treasure chamber collapsed?” A fall of shimmering color laced the air as it began to laugh. “Illusion, Mage—all illusion. The Sword was designed to bring us back into time when it was claimed and evil defeated, for we did not wish to live in the world until it was a better place. . . .” The Dragon tilted its head and looked at her critically. “I must say, you took your time about it!”

Aurian’s temper flashed. “And I must say I’m surprised that you invented such a filthy weapon as this.” She looked down in disgust at the bloodstained Sword, that was still humming its fierce song of bloodshed and slaughter.

“Furthermore, you can have the foul thing back!” With all her strength she drove the blade point-down into the stone of the tower roof. To her surprise, the Sword sank in easily for over half its length, and stuck there. The Dragon looked at her, its eyes open very wide with surprise—and a good deal of respect. “Temeritous Mage,” it sang. “Another legend born!”

“A pox on your legends,” Aurian snapped—and then relented. It was absolutely impossible to stay angry for long with something so magnificent and so beautiful. She thought it must probably be a survival characteristic, since the Dragon-folk were such an irritating race. “I’m glad you’re back,” she told the Dragon softly—“but I hope you appreciate the sacrifices that have been made for you.” With that, she turned back to Forral—and came face-to-face with the vast and looming figure of Death. “Well, you’ve got both of them now,” she said bitterly. “Are you happy at last?”

“On the contrary, Mage,” said the Specter. From the tone of its voice, it almost sounded as though it was smiling within the dark depths of its cowl. “I may not have both—not yet. I have come for the grail, however. Are you still prepared to keep your promise?”

“May—may I borrow it for a few minutes first?” Aurian asked quickly.—This time, the Specter laughed out loud. “As the Dragons say, no one ever beat a Mage for gall. Yes, you may use the grail for one last time, on condition that you promise never to trespass in my realm again—until I invite you, that is.”

“I think I can safely promise that” Aurian told him.

“See, then, I can even help you.”

The Mage heard the drumming of wings, and saw Petrel’s Skyfolk approaching, bearing the bodies of Chiamh and Vannor. Gently, they laid them down beside the Mage.

“One belongs to you,” Death’s voice came again, “and one to me. The Windeye you may have, but the other was snatched from my realm, and must return.”

Aurian nodded wordlessly. She would miss dear Vannor. Death Himself picked up the grail from a sheltered corner of the rooftop, and Aurian watched astonished as the black discoloration cleared in his hands to a bright, unsullied gold once more. Inclining his head, he handed it back to her. It seemed to be filled to the brim with blue-white light. Kneeling over the Windeye’s mutilated corpse, she sprinkled some of the liquid radiance on his dreadful wounds.

Chiamh’s eyes opened and he smiled up at her. “I thought I was dead,” he said softly. “I’m glad I’m not. I would have missed you.”

Lifting his arms to the Mage, he embraced her, weakly at first, then with increasing strength. “My dearest friend,” Aurian whispered. “It’s good to have you back.”

“What about me?” said an impatient voice in mind-speech. Aurian turned to see Wolf. For an instant she wondered what to do—and then she knew. “Here, my son.” She put the grail down in front of the shaggy grey form. “Drink.”

As Wolf lapped at the luminescent contents of the grail, the radiance seemed to seep into him, spreading throughout his body, growing stronger and stronger until the glow was too bright to look at. When Aurian could look again, the sturdy, dark-haired lad that she had seen Beyond the Worlds stood there, clad in a shaggy grey cloak. Aurian leapt up to embrace him, only to feel him stiffen in her arms. “Dad,” he cried out in anguish. “He’s dead!” Weeping, Wolf ran to huddle over the ruined corpse that had been Forral’s temporary shell.

Before Aurian could follow to comfort him, the air turned chill, and a dark shadow blotted out the early sun. The Winged Folk scattered with cries of dismay and even the Dragons flapped their great wings and hissed uneasily.—Aurian, fearless, strode to the edge of the roof, the grail held in her outstretched hands. “Here it is,” she called. “I have kept my promise to you, too.”

“Farewell, Lady,” the leading Wraith replied. “May the blessings of the Gods go with you, until we meet again.”

In a dark, thin stream like smoke, the Nihilim poured into the grail—and emerged again, radiant and resplendent, beings of pure light with translucent silver wings. Their cries of gratitude lingered in the air as they circled once around Aurian and vanished, shimmering, into the Worlds Beyond.—Death bowed low to the Mage. “Indeed, Lady,” he said in deepest respect, “of all your feats, this may truly be the greatest. You have my gratitude—and the gratitude of all Mortal creatures everywhere.”

As the seraphs vanished, a misty figure began to form beside the Specter, growing more solid by the moment. “Forral!” Aurian cried.

The swordsman, wearing his true form for one last time, held out his arms to her, and Aurian was amazed to find that she could touch him as though he were made of solid flesh.

“My gift to you,” Death said softly. “A chance to say farewell.”

“I can’t,” Aurian cried. “I can’t lose you again!”

“Yes you can, love,” the swordsman said firmly. “I’m dead anyway, remember?—I’m not supposed to be here. Death was right—it’s time I went on now. Vannor and I will go together. I got to see you one last time, and I got to meet my son, and that’s all I really wanted. You’ll be safe now, and happy. . ..” He took the grail from her hands, and poured the last of the radiance over the bloodstained form of Anvar. Before Aurian’s eyes, the body began to heal.—Forral bowed to Death, and handed him the grail. As Specter vanished, the swordsman embraced his son, and the Mage in his arms. “Anvar is my last gift to you,” he whispered. “Be happy. Safe journey, love—until we meet again.” He vanished like smoke, and Aurian’s arms were empty—but at her feet, Anvar stirred, and opened his blue eyes, and smiled, while unregarded, the body of a hawk fell to the ground nearby.

Zanna was standing on the promontory beyond the fishing settlement, looking out as the rising sun painted a path of rose and gold across a sleek green ocean. She had wakened early, from the strangest dream. Vannor had been standing before her, wreathed in a nimbus of effulgent gold. “I’m just off now, lass,” he’d said, “so I thought I had better come and say goodbye. Forral and I are going together. We’re taking the grail back to Death—but you don’t want to hear about all that. Everything turned out all right in the end.—Eliseth is dead, and Aurian and Anvar have been reunited—oh, and Wolf has turned into a boy at last. Anyway, I’d best be off, love—I’ll miss you. Take care of yourself and my little granddaughter, won’t you? Keep me in your heart, and I’ll never be far away.” Zanna had felt the ghostly imprint of a kiss on her forehead—and then she had awakened. Forral had gone, but the kiss somehow remained.

The Nightrunner wiped the tears from her face and looked out across the ocean.—It had been real—of that she was absolutely certain. “Goodbye, Dad,” she whispered. “Take care of yourself.” She wondered how he had known about his granddaughter—at this point, she had not been sure herself that she carried a child. I wonder if I should break the news to Tarnal yet? she thought.—Out to sea, her eye was caught by the sparkle of sunlight on fountaining spray. Zanna caught her breath. There were whales out there! More whales than she could ever have imagined! Then, coming down from the north, she saw another cluster of the sleek dark shapes—only four or five—with one whale, the biggest, far outstripping the others. The two groups converged in a glorious display, leaping joyfully from the water with tremendous grace; flinging the sea from their great bodies in glittering diamond arcs. Even as Zanna watched, the small group of Leviathan were absorbed into the greater family or their comrades—and then all of them were gone together, vanishing into the golden blaze of sunrise like a dream emerging into morning.—Some days later, Aurian and several of her companions prepared to depart from Dhiammara for good. Most, including the capture of Khazalim, were returning to their homes. Eliizar and Nererii were looking forward to returning to their settlement to start the work of rebuilding their lives. To everyone’s surprise. Raven and Aguila, who had been healed by Aurian, were going back there too. “I never had any luck in Aerillia,” Raven insisted. “Let the priests keep it, if they’re so keen. Besides, I miss Nereni.” She gave her old friend a dazzling smile.

“And we’re going back to the Xandim—Chiamh, Iscalda, and I,” said Shiannath.

“It’s about time someone knocked them into shape. We’ll be near enough to Aurian and Anvar to visit, though.”

Eliizar was standing with his arm around his daughter. “And where will you go?” he asked Aurian and Anvar. Surely not back to the North?”

It took a moment to gain the attention of the Mages, who had spent the last few days surrounded by a dazzling aura of joy. It seemed to their companions that they had barely ceased to touch and embrace one another since the moment of Anvar’s return. When Eliizar repeated his question, Anvar shook his head.

“No—we’ve talked about it, and while there’s still a great deal to be done in the North—the business with the Phaerie, for instance—we’ve decided D’arvan will have to handle that for the present.”

“We still wield the Staff and the Harp, and therefore we have a responsibility for the fate of our world—but first, we want a rest,” Aurian agreed with a smile, “and a chance to be a family. I think we’ve earned that much, after all. There’ll be time enough to deal with the Phaerie and find out what happened to Shia’s folk. Anvar was telling me about a wonderful bay he found once, where the sea is warm and blue, and there’s a lush forest behind, full of fruit and game. . . . We plan to settle down there and let someone else take on the troubles of the world for a while. There are even hills just inland with some caves for Shia to rear her cubs.” She smiled at her friend, who was sitting rubbing heads with Khanu.

“Indeed—you can help me look after them, if you’re so keen,” the cat said privately to the Mage.

Aurian smiled, and looked at Anvar once more, drawing him into her conversation with the cat. “Maybe our children will have a chance to grow up together,” she said.

“You and Khanu may be ahead of us, Shia,” Anvar added, “but I don’t think we’ll waste much time catching up.”

Aurian laughed and hugged her soulmate. Over his Shoulder, she caught Grince’s eye. “What will you do?” she asked him.

The thief chuckled. “I’m going back to the Nightrunner settlement on the Xandim coast. Frost, my dog, is still there, remember—and maybe Zanna’s folk can use my skills. All in all, I think I’ll get by,” he added slyly, with a twinkle in his eye. Rummaging in the inner pocket of his tunic, he pulled out a little leather bag and poured the contents into his hand in a sparkling stream.

Aurian gasped—and burst out laughing. “Pendral’s jewels! Why, you little wretch,” she chuckled. “You’ve carried them around with you all this time?”

“Too bloody right I did,” Grince snorted. “After all I went through to get them, did you think I’d leave them behind?”