Aurian

1 The Lady of the Lake

“Ho, little girl!”

Aurian jumped, the blue fireball dropping from her hands to the dry leaves of the forest floor. She scuffed hastily at the smouldering leaves with her foot, the extinguishing spell forgotten in her panic. Her mother had forbidden her to come out here on her own, and it was too late to hide. Aurian turned to run, but the strangeness of the intruder in the glade stopped her in her tracks.

She had never seen a man before. He was tall and broad, clad all in brown leather beneath his heavy cloak, and bearing a huge sword at his side. The brown hair on his face looked distinctly odd, reminding her, together with his brown eyes, of the animals that were her friends. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, and Aurian backed hastily away from the looming figure, another fireball beginning to form between her fingers. The man looked at her thoughtfully then sat down on the ground, his hands clasped round his knees. Now that he was nearer her own level, he looked far less threatening, and Aurian began to feel a little more confident. These were her mother’s lands, after all. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“I’m Forral—swordsman and wanderer, at your service, little lady.” He inclined his head gravely in the nearest thing to a bow that he could manage from his sitting position.

“Yes, but who are you?” Aurian insisted, still keeping a safe distance between them. “What do you want? You’re not supposed to be here, you know. The animals were supposed to keep you out.”

Forral smiled, “They didn’t bother me. I don’t hurt animals—they don’t hurt me. It’s a good way to live.”

Aurian, despite her mother’s warnings, found herself warming to the man. It was a good way to live, and she liked his smile. It seemed only fair to warn him what her mother would do to him if she found him wandering around her lands. “Look—” she began, but he was already speaking.

“Can you by any chance direct me to the Lady of the Lake?”

“Who?”

Forral waved his hands in a vague gesture. “You know— the Mage. The Lady Eilin. If I’m not mistaken, you must be young Aurian, her daughter. You’re the image of Geraint.”

Aurian’s mouth fell open. “You knew my father?”

Forral’s face was shadowed with sadness. “Indeed I did,” he said softly. “Your father and mother both. Geraint gave me my start in life. I was an orphan, only about your age, when he found me. He got me into the swordsman’s school at the Garrison in Nexis, and was a friend to me in all the years that followed.” He sighed. “I was away soldiering in foreign parts, across the sea, when your father died. News of—the accident— never spread that far. I’ve only just returned, and when I heard—” For a moment, he struggled to find his voice. “Well, I came at once. I’ve come to offer my services to your mother.”

“She won’t want you.” It was out of her mouth before Aurian realized her tactlessness. It seemed an awful thing to say, when he had come so far. And she liked him already. In all her nine years, Aurian could remember no other human company save that of her mother, and Eilin had little time to spare for her daughter. She was too preoccupied with her Great Task. With only her animal friends for companionship, Aurian’s life was a lonely one. Desperately she cast around for a way to explain, so as not to hurt her new friend’s feelings. “You see,” she said, “my mother never has visitors. She’s so busy that she hardly even sees me.”

Forral looked her up and down. Had Aurian had a normal upbringing she might have been embarrassed by the torn gray shift that she was wearing, the tangles in her red curls, the smears on her face and the dirt ground into her bare knees. As it was she returned his gaze unselfconsciously.

“Who looks after you, then?” he asked at last.

Aurian shrugged. “Nobody.”

The big man frowned. “Then it’s high time somebody did. Speaking of which, are you supposed to be doing that?” He pointed at the forgotten fireball that still danced over the palm of her hand. Aurian snuffed it hastily and hid her hands behind her back, wishing that she could hide her guilty expression so easily.

“Well . . . not exactly,” she confessed. “But it was an emergency.” She bit her lip. “You won’t tell on me, will you?”

Forral seemed to be thinking it over. “All right. I won’t tell on you—this time,” he added sternly. “But don’t do it again, do you hear me? It’s very dangerous. And don’t think I didn’t notice what you were up to when I came into this glade. It wasn’t an emergency then, was it?” Aurian felt her face turn crimson, and Forral grinned. “Come on, youngster, let’s go and see your mother.”

“She won’t be very pleased,” Aurian warned him, but she could tell he didn’t believe her.

They set off up the tree-covered slope; Forral led his tired horse and the skinny, gangling child mounted bareback on her shaggy brown pony. Cool autumn sunlight filtered through the naked branches, gilding the deeply drifted leaves that crackled underfoot. At the top of the long rise, the woods came to an abrupt end. The child halted, her expression closed and grim.

“Gods preserve us!” Forral gazed at the devastation below him, hardly able to believe his eyes. The news of Geraint’s accident had come as a dreadful shock, but he had never expected anything on this appalling scale! The vast, barren crater stretched beyond the ridge, as far as the eye could see. It was almost more than the swordsman could bear, to witness such proof of his friend’s violent end. Geraint had been the most brilliant and impetuous of the Magefolk, favorite candidate to be the next Archmage. Arrogant and stubborn, as were all his kind. Tall, redheaded Geraint of the explosive temper, the expansive laugh, the endless joy in life, and the kindness of heart to befriend a ragged young boy who dared to dream, had killed himself down there.

Geraint had dared to dream, too, Forral thought sadly. Eight years ago he had tried, using the ancient, half-comprehended magic of the lost Dragonfolk, to harness vast amounts of magical energy in order to pass instantly from world to world, with disastrous results. It was said that Geraint had come perilously close to destroying the world, and it was already clear that his name would be cursed through generations of Mage and Mortal alike. Forral preferred to believe that his friend, recognizing th^ danger too late, had given his life to confine the damage to as small an area as possible. Even so, the deep crater below was at least five leagues across, its sides a cracked and twisted mess of melted rock, its floor like rippled black glass. Away in the distance, across the lifeless waste, the swordsman’s eyes caught the gleam of sunlight on water.

Forral had no idea how long he stood there, dismayed by the horrific scale of the destruction Geraint had wrought. At last he became aware of the child gazing up at him.

“My mother hasn’t got this far,” Aurian said in a small, flat voice. “I told you she was busy. There’s a lot to do.”

The swordsman was filled with pity for the little girl, growing up neglected and friendless in this bleak wasteland. Were the rumors true, that Eilin had lost her sanity with the death of her beloved soul mate? An adept in Earth-magic, it was said that she had buried her grief in her obsession to restore to fruitfulness the devastation caused by Geraint’s tragic mistake. For the child’s sake, he pulled himself together and tried to look cheerful, but his heart was sinking as they went on their way.

They had some difficulty getting Forral’s horse down to the floor of the crater, but Aurian’s surefooted pony had few problems. The child could ride like a centaur, and was accustomed, no doubt, to negotiating the slippery, folded terrain in the bottom of the massive bowl. It must be terrible here in summer, Forral thought as they rode along. Even now, the glasslike rock was throwing up heat and shimmering reflections from the pallid autumn sun. Water had gathered in the bottoms of some of the deeper folds, but the only sign of life was the occasional bird flying overhead.

Aurian finally broke the long silence between them. “What was my father like?”

The question took Forral by surprise, and he was very much aware of the plea that lay behind the words. “Hasn’t your mother told you?” he asked her.

“No,” she replied. “She won’t talk about him. She said that this was all his fault.” She gestured around her, her voice quavering. “She said he’d done a bad thing, and that it was our duty to make up for it.”

Forral shuddered. What had happened to Eilin? What a terrible burden to lay on a child! “Nonsense,” he said firmly.

“Your father was a good, kind man, and a true friend to me. What happened was an accident. He didn’t do this on purpose, pet. He made a mistake, that’s all—and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”

Aurian’s face brightened. “I wish I could remember him,” she said softly. “Will you tell me about him, as we ride?”

“Gladly,” replied Forral.

About two leagues from the center of the bowl, the ground began to level off to a smooth surface with a slight downward slope. Soon the rock was covered with a thin layer of soil, and tiny, struggling plants began to appear. By the time the lake came into view they were riding on wiry turf starred with daisies, and passing thickets of hawthorn, blackberry, and elder that were bowed down beneath a rich harvest of fruit and alive with birds. Groves of shapely trees stood along the green lake shore, some still bearing apples and pears. Forral could not help but be impressed by the scale of Eilin’s accomplishments in eight short years. A pity she couldn’t have lavished the same attention on the child.

The lake was large and round, formed by water draining into the bottom of the crater. In the center stood an island, obviously man (or Mage) made, that was connected to the shore by a slender wooden bridge. On the island a tower rose above the lake like a spear of light. Forral caught his breath. The ground floor was surrounded by gardens and built of black stone, but above it was an airy, glittering structure of crystal that soared high above the gleaming wafers. The ethereal building was topped by a slender glass spire on which a single point of light glowed like a fallen star.

“Dear Gods, it’s lovely!” Forral gasped.

Aurian looked at it dourly. “It’s where we live.” She shrugged and dismounted, setting her pony free with a farewell pat.

Forral did likewise, on her assurance that his horse would stay nearby where there was grazing. Leaving his saddle under a tree, he followed the child across the bridge.

A white-sanded path led through Eilin’s gardens, past neat rows of late-season vegetables; herb beds laid out in a precise, intricate mosaic of varied greens; and banks of fiery autumn flowers in which sat a cluster of beehives, their occupants humming busily among the copper-gold blooms as they made the most of this last, rare warm spell before winter. As he followed the child into the tower, Forral reflected that the Mage had managed to support herself and her daughter very well in their isolation, though he wondered how Eilin obtained grain, cloth, and other necessities that could not be won from the Valley’s soil.

The outer door of the tower led straight into the kitchen, which was obviously the main living area. Its walls were hewn out of the dark stone of the tower’s base, giving it a cavelike appearance made cozy by the glow of the potbellied metal stove in the corner. Colored rugs of woven wool brightened the floor, and there was a scrubbed wooden table with benches tucked beneath. Two chairs with padded seats were pulled up near the stove, and shelves and cupboards lined the walls, making the most of the cramped space. Two doors hid other rooms, and Aurian gestured to the one on the right. “That’s my room,” she informed the swordsman. “She sleeps upstairs, to be near her plants.”

A delicate, twisting metal staircase led to the upper stories. Aurian hesitated at the bottom, gesturing for Forral to precede her. His boots striking bell-like notes on the vibrating metal treads, Forral climbed the stairs, wondering at the look of trepidation on the child’s face.

Looking into the glass rooms of the tower as they led off the staircase, Forral saw the practical purpose behind the building’s exuberant design. The chambers were filled with benches, on which stood trays of earth planted with young seedlings that basked in the warmth of the afternoon sunlight trapped by the crystal walls. A fine spray, seemingly appearing from nowhere, filled the air with moisture, and Forral’s skin prickled with the thick buildup of magic. He was positive that the plants were actually growing before his eyes! When he finally found the Mage in one of the upper rooms, she was too preoccupied to notice him.

“Go away, Aurian,” Eilin muttered, without looking up. “I’ve told you not to bother me when I’m working.”

Eilin had aged, the swordsman thought. It surprised him. Magefolk, like Mortals, could be killed by illness or accident, but otherwise they lived as long as they wanted, dying only when they chose to leave the world and preserving their physical forms at whatever age they wished. Forral remembered Eilin as a vibrant young woman, but now her dark hair was streaked with gray and her forehead was furrowed. Deep, bitter lines tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she looked pale and pitifully thin in her patched and faded robes.

“Eilin, it’s me—Forral,” he called, stifling his dismay. He stepped forward, holding out his arms to hug her—and recoiled as her face twisted with rage at the sight of him.

“Get out!” Eilin snapped. She bore down on the child, and hit her across the face. “How dare you bring him here!”

Aurian dodged behind Forral. “It wasn’t my fault,” she wailed.

Forral, anger boiling inside him, turned to put an arm around her. “Are you all right?”

Aurian nodded, biting her lip, her pale face branded with an ugly red mark. Forral saw tears in her eyes, and gave her a quick hug. “Go downstairs and wait for me by the bridge,” he told her softly.

When the child had gone, the swordsman turned back to Eilin. “That wasn’t very fair,” he said coldly.

“There’s no such thing as fair, Forral—I found that out when Geraint died. The wretched child should have told you that I never see anyone!”

“She did. And I ignored it. Do you want to hit me now?” He was fighting hard to keep his anger in check.

Eilin turned away, avoiding his eyes. “I want you to go away. Why did you come here?”

“I came as soon as I could, when I heard what had happened to Geraint. I wish it had been sooner. It might have saved you from turning into a bitter old woman.”

“How dare you!” she cried.

“It’s the plain truth, Eilin. But I came to offer you my service for Geraint’s sake, and that still stands.”

Eilin stalked away to the far side of the room, her movements jerky with anger. “Curse you, Mortal! Fickle and faithless, like all your kind. What use is your service now? Where were you and your service eight years ago, when I needed you? You were Geraint’s friend—he listened to you. With your help I might have dissuaded him from his insanity. But no—you had an itch to wander—to see the world. Well, I hope the experience was enough to recompense you for the death of a friend. Your service comes far too late, Forral. Get out of here, and don’t come back!”

Hardened warrior though he was, Forral flinched from Eilin’s bitter words. His grief at Geraint’s death was still raw, and her accusations contained just enough truth to hurt. Perhaps it would be as well if he did go ... Then Forral remembered the child.

“No.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m not leaving, Eilin. It’s obviously been bad for you to be alone like this, and the child needs someone to care for her. You might as well get used to the fact that I’m staying, because there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Oh, can’t I?” She whirled, and Forral saw too late that she held her staff in her hand. The floor seemed to drop away beneath him, and a loud roaring filled his ears. His vision exploded in a burst of colored lights and he gasped with pain as a brief wrenching sensation tore through his body. Then the ground came up to hit him, hard.

Forral opened his eyes gingerly. He was lying on a smooth carpet of turf—on the other side of the bridge. He stared across the calm waters at the island with its tower and gave himself up to some serious swearing. The child came running across the bridge, her bare feet echoing on the planks. She skidded to a halt beside him.

“She threw you out, then.’-^iShe didn’t sound in the least surprised, but he read anxiety in her face. He sat up and groaned.

“What the bloody blazes was that?”

“An apport spell.” Aurian sounded proud of knowing the right word. “She’s good at those—it’s how she moved all the soil into the Valley. She’s had a lot of practice.”

“An apport spell, eh?” Forral frowned, running his fingers distractedly through his curling brown hair. “Aurian, how far could she move me with that spell?”

The child shrugged. “About as far as she did, I think. You’re heavier than the loads she usually moves. Why?”

“I want to be sure she can’t hurl me right out of this valley. It’s an unpleasant way to travel!”

“I think she expects you to ride the rest of the way,” Aurian said seriously, and Forral burst out laughing.

“I just bet she does! Well, she’s in for a surprise. Aurian, how would you like to help me set up camp?”

The child’s face lit up with incredulous delight. “You mean you’re staying?”

“It’ll take more than a few wizardly shenanigans to chase me off, lass. Of course I’m staying!”

Aurian had the happiest afternoon of her life. She and Forral set up his camp in a copse of sturdy young beeches that grew to the left of the bridge. She worried about his choice of spot, knowing he’d be safer out of her mother’s sight, but Forral simply laughed. “This is exactly what I want, youngster. Whenever Eilin looks out of her windows she’s going to see me —right here. I intend to be a thorn in your mother’s side until she gives up this nonsense.”

The camp looked good, Aurian thought. She wished she could live here. Forral had slung a rope between two sturdy trees and untied a rolled sheet of oiled canvas from behind his saddle. He hung this over the rope so that both sides reached the ground, then pulled the two sides apart and weighted them with stones to form a rough tent.

“But the wind will blow through,” Aurian objected.

Forral shrugged. “I’ve put up with worse.” He was cross, though, when she told him that he couldn’t burn any of the wood in the Valley. Her mother had set. spells to protect it, and brought in fuel for the tower from outside. Aurian had a terrible time convincing him of the danger, but to her relief he finally gave in, though with ill grace. “I can live without a fire for now, but Eilin had better hurry up and come to her senses before winter,” he growled.

When her mother called her in at dusk there was trouble, of course. Eilin, gazing tight-lipped out the window at Forral’s camp, forbade Aurian to speak to him, or go anywhere near him. But the swordsman’s cheerful defiance had filled Aurian with newfound courage.

> “I will talk to him, and you can’t stop me!” she blurted out. Eilin stared at her in amazement, her face darkening with anger. Aurian’s rebellion earned her a thrashing, but it only increased her determination. When it was over she turned on her mother. “I hate you!” she sobbed, “and you won’t stop me from being friends with Forral no matter what you do to me!”

Eilin’s eyes blazed. “Don’t count on it. He won’t be here for long.”

“He will! He promised!”

“We’ll see about that,” Eilin said grimly.

Early next morning, Aurian let herself out of the tower and crept across the bridge. She had bread tied up in a cloth for Forral’s breakfast, and cheese from her mother’s goats that grazed the lake shore. When she reached the copse, she stopped dead. The swordsman’s camp had vanished beneath a dense cluster of bristling vines that had sprung up overnight. Her mother’s work, of course.

“Forral,” Aurian called frantically, tugging at the unyielding creepers, “Forral!”

After a moment, there came a rustling from within the thicket, followed by copious swearing. It took the swordsman the better part of a morning to hack his way out. When he finally emerged, green and grimy, the vines began to collapse in on themselves, and within minutes they had withered away to dust.

Forral looked at Aurian. “This is going to be tougher than I thought,” he said.

The following morning the vines were back. Aurian stole Forral an axe from her mother’s storeroom. The next day it was a blackberry thicket with long sharp thorns. Forral suggested that Aurian gather the berries before they vanished, and when he had hacked himself free, they had them for breakfast. It began to turn into a game between them, and Aurian’s loneliness vanished in her new friend’s company. In those few days she found herself laughing and smiling more than she had done in her life. She introduced him to her animal friends. Shy birds, elusive deer, or fierce wildcats from the forest—they all flocked happily to Aurian and she reached out to them with her mind, relaying their simple emotions to Forral. She was disappointed that he couldn’t communicate with them himself, though. She thought everybody could do that.

The swordsman could do many other things, however. He was a genius at inventing games, and had a fund of stories about his life as a soldier, or about princesses and dragons and heroes. Forral was Aurian’s hero, and she adored him. She never told him how her mother had beaten her, in case it made more trouble, but to her relief, the Mage had decided to ignore the swordsman’s presence and Aurian was no longer forbidden to see him. Instead, Eilin found many long and onerous tasks in the garden to occupy her daughter’s time, but they went twice as fast with Forral helping. Aurian knew better than to broach the subject with her mother, and contented herself with stealing food for him whenever Eilin’s back was turned.

The Mage, however, had not given up. On the fourth day, Forral’s shelter was surrounded by a forest of stinging nettles. Forral looked very grim when he emerged, and Aurian, handing him dock leaves for his stings, was afraid he would decide to leave after all. But as he rubbed the soothing leaves over his blotched hands and face, the swordsman glared at the tower. “We’ll see who gives up first,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “She’s bound to run out of ideas sooner or later.”

As autumn gave way to the first frosts of winter, matters continued in a similar vein. Eilin’s specialty was Earth-magic, and she tried to dislodge her unwelcome guest with all the powers at her command. One night the level of the lake rose mysteriously, and Forral’s camp was flooded. One afternoon he and Aurian returned from a walk to find the goats eating his blankets and gear. Eilin even tried to set the birds that roosted in the grove to attack him, but Aurian scolded them firmly and soon put a stop to that. She had jess success with the ants, however. The day they struck, it took hours to get them out of Forral’s clothes and bedding.

One gray, chilly morning, Aurian went out with Portal’s stolen breakfast and a flask of her mother’s blackberry wine to help him keep out the cold. As she reached the other side of the bridge, an anguished yell came from the camp. When Aurian arrived, panting, there was no sign of the swordsman. Trembling, she peered into his shelter.

Forral was sitting bolt upright, paralyzed with terror and covered in hundreds of writhing snakes which were so thickly intertwined that it was impossible to tell where one began and another ended. Aurian, wondering where her mother had found them all, felt sorry ipr-.fhe poor things. It was too cold for them to be out and about, and not surprising that they clustered around the one source of heat—Forral’s body. But the swordsman was her friend, and he needed her help. Aurian sighed and reached out with her mind to the serpents. “Shoo,” she said firmly, speaking aloud for Forral’s benefit. One by one and with great reluctance, the snakes disentangled themselves and slithered out of the tent.

Forral’s face was absolutely white, and his hand trembled as he mopped his brow. She handed him the flask of wine and he drained it without pausing for breath. Aurian, in the meantime, was busy with her own angry thoughts.

“That does it!” she said suddenly, making Forral look up in surprise. “How dare she! All those poor snakes!”

“Poor snakes?” the swordsman replied in a strangled voice.

“They’ll din,” she replied impatiently. “It’s far too cold for them. I don’t know what she’s thinking of!”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Poor snakes?”

Aurian peeped out of the shelter, where the snakes waited, sluggish with cold and obviously hoping to be readmitted. “They can’t stay outside,” she informed Forral.

“I hope you weren’t proposing to move them back in here,” he replied weakly.

Aurian frowned, thinking hard. Then all at once, a wonderful idea struck her. “I know!” Reaching out with her mind, she addressed the snakes.

Forral joined her as she watched the last of the serpents making its way across the wooden bridge. “Where are they going?”

Aurian turned to him with a broad grin. “Where is the warmest place you can think of around here?”

A slow smile spread itself across Forral’s face as he perceived her plan. “You dreadful child!” He roared with laughter and swept her off her feet in a great bear hug.

They were halfway through breakfast when Eilin discovered the snakes in her plant rooms. A shriek of outrage resounded across the lake.

Aurian turned to Forral. “It looks as if I’m in trouble again,” she said, grinning, “but it was worth it. At least Mother will have to send the poor things back where they came from.”

But Eilin had only to wait to regain her advantage against Forral. A few days later Aurian awakened, shivering, in her little room that led off the kitchen. She couldn’t see out the window for the thick blooms of frost that covered the inside of the glass. “Forral!” she gasped. Snatching the blankets from her bed she shot out of the room, not even waiting to put on her only pair of shoes. Outside, the world was sparkling white and the air so cold it took her breath away. Aurian ran.

It took her a long time to wake him. When Forral finally opened his eyes, his teeth chattered, and his lips were blue. Aurian helped him to sit up and draped her blankets around him, rubbing his hands and feet. Then cupping her palms, she concentrated to make a fireball.

“I told you not to do that!” he croaked angrily.

Aurian was stricken by the harshness of Forral’s voice. The blue flame died between her fingers, and tears sprang into her eyes. “I only wanted to help,” she quavered.

Forral put his arm around her shoulders. “I know, love. I’m sorry. I’m worried, that’s all. If your mother doesn’t change her mind , . . Well, I can’t survive a winter without hot food and a fire, just living on bread and honey and cheese. You can see that, can’t you? I might be forced to leave.”

Aurian couldn’t bear it. She flung herself into his arms, sobbing. “Take me with you!”

Forral sighed, “I can’t, lass. You belong with your mother, and there are laws against stealing children. You don’t want me to end up in prison, do you?”

“Then I’ll run away! I won’t stay here without you!”

The swordsman’s arms tightened around her. “Don’t do that!” he said hastily, “Anything could happen to you. We’ll give it a few more days, shall we? Maybe things will change,”

Over the next few days the frosts were less severe, to Aurian’s relief. She left all her blankets with Forral, telling him that she had others of her own and easing her conscience over the barefaced lie by assuring herself that it was for his own benefit. Shivering in her bed each night was a small sacrifice, if only Forral would stay. Apart from nagging at her mother, which only incurred Eilin’s wrath, there was nothing more she could do. As winter deepened, Aurian began to despair.

Then one night the snow came. When Aurian looked out above the window at iuppertime the landscape had already been obscured by the blizzard. She couldn’t eat her stew, knowing that Forral was out there, freezing, with no hot supper to warm him. Once more she begged and pleaded with Eilin to relent, almost hysterical with fear for Forral. Eventually her exasperated mother locked her in her room. Aurian pounded on the door until her fists bled and yelled herself hoarse. At last, exhausted, she threw herself on the bed and cried herself to sleep.

It was still night when she awakened. Her throat was sore and her eyes felt gritty, but the blood on her hands had dried. How long had she slept? Aurian leaned on the windowsill and peered out. The blizzard had worsened, and she could see nothing but driving snow. She gulped back a sob. Forral would die out there, and she would be left here with her cruel mother who had killed him. It was more than she could bear. She wished that she were dead, too. At least she’d be with Forral. The idea frightened her, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Her mother wouldn’t miss her. Aurian made her decision. She would go and find Forral, and they could die together.

The window catch was frozen shut. Aurian hammered at it with her shoe, muttering Forral’s favorite curses, but it refused to budge. Then it occurred to her that if she was going to die, she wouldn’t need the room again. Picking up a stool, she drove it through the window with a satisfying crash. Wind and snow came howling into the room, and a piece of flying glass cut her forehead. Wiping blood out of her eyes and praying that the storm had masked the noise-|rom her mother, she laid her pillow over the jagged shards of glass in the bottom of the frame and climbed out.

The snow was drifted deep below the window, and Aurian sank in almost over her head, gasping. The cold was intense. When she floundered out of the drift the wind hit her, flaying her face with flying snow. But it wasn’t so deep here, and she could struggle forward with difficulty on feet that were already numb. She struck out toward the bridge, slipping and falling and picking herself up, bending into the gale that wiped out her footprints behind her.

Aurian stopped, uncertain. Where was the copse? She should have reached it ages ago. She was sure she had been going in the right direction, but the swirling snow made it impossible to see. I’m tired from crossing the bridge, she thought. That’s why it’s taking so long. The memory made her shudder. She’d been forced to slide across the slender, slippery span inch by inch, clinging to the frozen rail with numb fingers, terrified that the wind would blow her into the lake. Now she could hardly keep her frozen body moving, and she couldn’t feel her hands and feet. Aurian was suddenly very frightened. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to die after all, but she did want very much to reach Forral. A tear froze on her face. “Don’t be stupid,” she scolded herself. “The sooner you get going, the quicker you’ll find him.” Bracing herself, she set off into the darkness once more.

It was so cold that Forral had stopped shivering. It was a bad sign. His shelter had blown down in the storm, but he had managed to snatch the tarpaulin just before it blew away. He huddled in the lee of a tree with the canvas wrapped round him, toying with the idea of breaking into the tower. But it was useless, he knew. Eilin would only throw him out again. If she hadn’t let him in by now, he had to face the fact that it was hopeless.

“Forral, you’re a fool,” he muttered. “What a senseless way to die.” He felt himself drifting into sleep, and knew that it would finish him. He wished he could have said goodbye to the child. The thought of Aurian nagged at him, keeping him from the sleep that tugged so strongly. “Got to say goodbye to Aurian,” he mumbled. Hooking aryarm over a low branch, he struggled stiffly to his feet. What was that? A faint, ghostly glimmer flickered through the whirling snow. Someone was coming toward him, carrying a lantern.

As the figure drew nearer, the swordsman recognized the slender silhouette of Eilin, her hair soaked into whipping, snakelike tendrils, her cloak blown back from her shoulders, her brown robe flattened by the wind against her bony frame and whitened by a dusting of snow. The glimmer that he’d mistaken for a lantern was the bluish-white glow of a pale, cool ball of Magelight that hovered over the head of her staff,

“Forral, she’s gone. Aurian is gone!” Eilin tugged at his arm, distraught. The swordsman stared at her. Somehow his brain wouldn’t focus on her words.

Eilin cursed and fumbled beneath her cloak, bringing out a small flask which she unstoppered and forced between his lips. The liquor seared a trail of fire down Forral’s throat, making him gasp for breath. He had no idea what the stuff was, but it was effective. Within minutes he felt his limbs beginning to tingle painfully as the feeling returned to them. His mind was clearing rapidly.

“What did you say? Where’s Aurian?”

“I told you! She’s gone! I locked her in and she broke the window. There’s blood everywhere and she’s out in the storm and—”

“This is your fault!” Forral slapped her out of her hysterics, feeling grim satisfaction at her gasp of pain. With an effort he checked the urge to throttle her. They had to find the child. “Come on,” he shouted, plunging ahead into the blizzard, leaving Eilin floundering behind. Common sense told him that he would never find Aurian in this blinding storm—that it was already too late—but he cast the thought savagely away from him. It hurt too much.

“Forral—wait!” Eilin cried, but the swordsman took no notice. Try as she might, she could not keep up with him. Another instant, and he had vanished without trace into the storm. The Mage cursed savagely. “Oh, you fool!” she muttered. “You hotheaded, idiot Mortal! Now both of you are lost.”

For a moment Eilin stood, oblivious to the freezing gale and paralyzed by guilt. Geraint would have been furious, to see how she had put both his daughter and his friend at risk. Forral was right to say it was all her fault. Had she only let him stay with Aurian in the tower, this tragedy would never have happened.

Then she gathered her wits. She had already alerted those of Aurian’s animal friends who could endure this storm to search for the child, but Forral could not understand them. If she were to save the swordsman, she would need to find him a surer guide. Such a guide could be summoned, she knew—but the risk was appalling!

Mortals had ceased long ago to believe in the Phaerie, Only the Magefblk knew the truth behind the tales of a fey and ancient race rhac wielded the powers of the Old Magic—for the ancient Magefolk, fearing their mischief and meddling, had exiled them outside the world, imprisoning them in a mysterious Elsewhere beyond the realms of Mortal ken. The Phaerie could not return into the world unless summoned by a Mage— and such a summoning always bore a price. But it was her only chance to save the swordsman and her child . . . Gripping her staff with shaking fingers, Eilin spoke the words that would summon the Lord of the Phaerie.

She never saw him appear. One minute, Eilin was peering blindly through the spinning snowflakes—the next, a patch of the whirling blizzard seemed to darken and congeal to form a towering shape, its outline shadowy and indistinct, save for the eerie glitter of eyes that caught and threw back the gleam of her Magelight with the intense and changeful brilliance of two winter stars.

“Who summons the Lord of the Phaerie?” The voice, deep and vibrant, cut like a blade of steel across the howling of the storm.

Eilin braced herself hard against her staff, to prevent herself from sinking to her quaking knees. “I . . .” The Earth-Mage swallowed hard to clear a throat gone suddenly closed and dry, and tried again. “I did,” she said faintly.

“Who are you, that you should presume to call upon the Forest Lord?” The voice was harsh with scorn, and Eilin was stung by anger at such arrogance.

“I am Eilin, Earth-Mage, Lady af the Lake and Mistress of this Vale,” she snapped. “As well you know, my Lord, for I have sensed you watching my labors often enough, I have need of your aid, and there is little time to lose. Our Mortal companion, Forral, is lost in the blizzard, seeking my daughter Aurian, and—”

“What!” cried the Forest Lord, his manner changing instantly. “Your daughter is in peril? This cannot be! The future of the Phaerie—and more—rests in the hands of that child! We have foreseen it. It will be a black day, indeed, if harm befalls her.” His form trembled. “I will summon my people to help you at once.”

I

Forral staggered blindly through the snowdrifts, fighting cold and exhaustion, feeling as though he were trapped in an endless nightmare. The effects of Eilin’s potion were wearing off, and his aching limbs were stiff with cold. Each time he slipped and fell, it seemed less likely that he would ever get up again. But lost as he was, spent as he was, he refused to give in. “What sort of feeble excuse for a warrior are you?” he goaded himself, to blot out the fear that coiled within his breast, far colder than the blizzard outside. “Aurian needs you! No, by the Gods—if this is the bloody end, you’ll die on your feet, still searching.”

For a while he had left the woods, but now he was back into them, staggering like a drunken man on strengthless legs. The going was easier here—the trees broke the force of the wind, and Forral could use their branches for support. And thank the Gods—that must be Eilin, ahead of him. He could see the glimmer of her light, dancing between the tree trunks. “Eilin!” he bawled, with all the force that his laboring lungs could muster. Curse the woman—why didn’t she hear him? “Eilin!” But she did not stop, and Forral, terrified of losing her, had no choice but to follow the eerie glow.

Suddenly, the trees came to an end—and there, flickering fitfully through a whirl of snow, were two lights, side by side. “Forral!” He heard the Mage’s voice. As the swordsman staggered toward her, he slipped and fell once more. When he picked himself up out of the snow, Eilin was bending over him —and the two lights had somehow become one.

After a sip from Eilin’s flask, Forral began to feel better. “Thank goodness for that,” he muttered. “I was seeing double there for a minute! Have you found her?”

“No—but I know she’s close by,” replied Eilin. “Can you go on?”

Forral nodded. “Aurian,” he cried desperately, trying to pitch his voice over the keening storm. But it was not the wind that he heard. Through the blizzard came the chilling howl of a wolf, eerie and triumphant. Forral stopped dead, transfixed with horror. “No!” he whispered.

Eilin tugged at his arm, her face alight with joy. “They’ve found her!” she shouted.

Forral flinched as huge gray shapes materialized in the blinding white storm. Gods, was she truly insane? Did she really hate the child that much? Sickened beyond measure, he raised his fist to strike her down.

“Forral, no!” Eilin screamed. “These are Aurian’s wolves— her friends. I called them to search for her.”

Stunned, Forral slowly lowered his arm. The wolf howled again.

“Hurry,” Eilin said, as she rushed to where the wolves were gathered.

Forral, keeping a wary eye on the gray forms that surrounded him, lifted a limp little body out of the snow, feeling for a pulse with chill fingers. “She’s alive!” He could have wept with relief, but that was for later. “We’ve got to hurry. Can you find your way back?”

“I can always find my way home,” the Mage retorted. She struggled along at his side with her Magelight, followed by the dozen or so lean and shaggy wolves that had been huddled round the child, keeping her alive with the warmth of their bodies. Their eyes never left Aurian’s still form.

When Forral reached the tower the wolves followed him determinedly inside. Keeping out of the way, they watched as he and Eilin stripped off Aurian’s wet clothes and laid her on. a makeshift bed near the stove, wrapped in every quilt and blanket they could find. As Eilin set water to boil, Forral sat with the child, stroking the damp curls away from her bluish face with a trembling hand. “Can’t you do something?” he snapped.

“I am!” Eilin banged the pan dosPn on the top of the stove, and water hissed as it slopped over onto the hot surface. Covering her face with her hands, the Mage burst into tears.

“It’s a bit late for that now,” Forral said brutally. “As soon as she’s well—if she gets well—I’m taking her out of here, and you can do what you like about it.”

“No!” Eilin lowered her hands to stare at him. “You cannot. I forbid it. Aurian is my child!”

“And what does that signify, when you do nothing but neglect her?” Forral snapped. “The child needs love, Eilin!”

“I do love her, you dolt!” cried the Mage.

The swordsman shook his head. “I don’t believe you, Eilin —if you do, you never show it.”

Eilin was stung by his words. “And what would you know about it?” she retorted, and said no more. She thought of the conclusion of her meeting with the awesome Lord of the Phaerie, who had agreed to find Forral and lead her to her child—for a price. “Remember,” he had said, “that this matter is not resolved between us. We will meet again, Lady—and when we do, I will claim my debt.” What he might ask of her, Eilin shuddered to think—but it would be worth it. Though she gave little credence to the words of the Forest Lord—that Aurian would one day hold the fate of the Phaerie in her hands—she had been immeasurably grateful for his aid. The Phaerie had saved her, in her folly, from causing Aurian’s death—and for that, no price would be too high. Believe what you like, Forral, she thought, but there are many ways to love—and more ways than one of showing it!

Forral looked on as with shaking hands the Mage concocted a stimulating tea from the dried herbs, berries, and blossoms that hung in bunches in the kitchen. Once they had trickled some of the brew down Aurian’s throat, the child breathed more easily and her color began to return. Forral let out a deep breath, only now aware of his own soaked and frozen state. “We could use some of that stuff,” he suggested.

Eilin filled two mugs and sat down beside him, handing him his steaming brew. At first she simply sat, still and abstracted, watching her sleeping child. Then at last she spoke, “Forral, I owe you an apology. I’ve been a blind fool.”

“A complete ass,” the swordsman agreed gently. He took her hand. “It’s been terribie for you, hasn’t it?”

“You have no idea.” She shook her head. “I warned him, you know—I begged him not to do it. I’m an Earth-Mage—I knew it was folly. But Geraint was always so stubborn—”

“Not an uncommon trait among the Mageborn, is it?” Forral pointed out. She flinched.

“How dare you judge me, Mortal!” she flared, and he knew his words had struck home. “Afterward,” Eilin went on, “people sought revenge. There were Mortals here, you know, before . . .” She shuddered. “Aurian and I were in Nexis—she was only a baby—and we barely escaped with our lives. I wanted to undo the damage Geraint had done, to erase his memory. But as Aurian grew, she came to resemble him—do you know, the poor child will even inherit that hawk profile of his when she’s older? And her eyes change from green to gray when she’s angry, just as his did. I can’t look at her without seeing his face . . . Oh Gods, Forral, I hate him!”

“You hate him because he left you,” Forral said softly. “You still love him, Eilin.”

“If he had loved me, would he have left me alone like this?” Her voice broke. “I miss him so much!”

“Then let yourself mourn him. It’s high time.”

Forral held her while she wept. “You know,” he said at last, “Geraint hasn’t gone completely. He left part of himself right here.” He indicated the sleeping child.

“I’m aware of that!” Eilin snapped.

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Don’t take it out on her, Eilin. She’s not responsible.”

EiHn sighed. “When you came, you made me feel so guilty —that was why I wanted rid of you. You, a mere Mortal, forcing me to realize how much I had failed my own child! But how can I help it, when ...” She took a deep breath. “Forral, will you stay and look after her? Aurian deserves more than I can give her. And she loves you.”

“And I love her. Of course I’ll stay. That was the idea from the start, remember? It just took a long time to get it into that stubborn Mage head of yours. But that doesn’t absolve you of responsibility, Eilin, You’re still her mother, and I’ll expect you to make an effort.”

Eilin nodded. “I’ll try, I proraise^Thank you, Forral.” She leapt to her feet. “Perhaps I should make some broth, for when she wakes. She had no supper . . .”

Forral gave her an encouraging smile. “See how easy it is to care, Eilin, when you try?”

Aurian thought she must still be dreaming. There had been a terrible nightmare about being lost in the snow, and now here were her wolves and Forral—sitting in the kitchen with her mother. And Eilin never smiled at her like that.

“How are you feeling, love?” There were tears in the swordsman’s eyes.

“Forral?” Her voice came out as a feeble croak.

“It’s all right—rjn here. Drink some of this,” Putting his arm around her, he propped her while he held a cup of warm broth to her lips. “Better?” he asked.

“Everything hurts. And I’m cold.”

“I’m not surprised. Running off into the snow like that. You daft child!” His voice was gruff.

“I’m sorry.” Aurian glanced nervously at her mother. “But it was an emergency.”

“Now where have I heard that excuse before?” Forral grinned. “Well, I have news for you, young lady. I’m going to be looking after you from now on, so you’d better start behaving yourself.”

Aurian’s eyes widened slowly. She looked at her mother. “Is it true?” she whispered.

Eilin nodded. “I asked Forral to stay. He can take better care of you than I have ever done.”

“Oh, thank you!” Beaming, Aurian reached up to hug her mother. Eilin froze, looking startled, then returned her daughter’s embrace.

Forral smiled.