Aurian

15 Flight and Pursuit

Keeping close into the shadows of the bank, Aurian poled the boat swiftly downstream as Anvar labored at the oars. Running with the current, they fled the horror behind them, skimming first past trees, then the finely tended gardens of merchants’ mansions, then past more trees. Aurian gripped the pole tightly and put her back into the work, steeling herself against the heavy, burning pain of her grief, blind to the dark, choppy waters that swirled around them. Forral’s face was all that she could see. Forral—left behind, but gone much further than that—gone forever. She’d never see his beloved face again, alight with life and love. Never feel his arms around her, never . . .

“Stop that, you fool,” she muttered to herself through clenched teeth. “Not now. Not yet.”

Anvar looked up, concern on his face. “Lady, are you all right?”

“Shut up,” Aurian said tightly, “Shut up and row.”

It was some twelve miles to the port of Norbetth at the river’s mouth, and they concentrated on covering the distance as quickly as possible. They passed mills and villages, meadows and woods, aided by the swift current that was swollen by winter’s melting snow. Aurian’s muscles ached, her hands were blistered, and sweat stung her eyes. Once, Sara moaned and began to stir as Aurian’s spell weakened. The Mage cursed. That should never have happened! What was wrong with her magic? Laying her pole down in the bottom of the boat, she squatted beside the girl. “Sleep,” she commanded in a ringing voice, laying her hand on Sara’s forehead. Sara relaxed once more, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even, and Aurian sighed with relief. When she took her hand away, the girl’s forehead was dark with blood. Anvar gasped,

“Don’t worry, it’s only mine,” Aurian said, looking ruefully at her raw and bleeding palms. She picked up the pole again, and went grimly back to work.

Time passed. Aurian could feel nothing now, through the haze of pain and exhatfsrion that enveloped her. Surely they must be nearing their destination? This black, bitter night seemed to have gone on forever. Suddenly, her long pole found no bottom, and she flailed wildly, overbalanced by the force of her thrust. As she fell, one hand hit hard wood and she clutched at it with all her strength, losing her pole as she struck the icy water. It was deep here—too deep—and the force of the current plucked and buffeted at her numbing body as she clung, one-handed, to the stern of the boat. Already she could feel her grasp beginning to weaken, her fingers starting to slip on the wet wood ...

In that moment, a curious peace came over Aurian—a strange, relaxed clarity of thought. All she had to do was let go, and she would be safe, out of reach of Miathan, who had betrayed her so bitterly, away from all this grief and strife. And Forral, dearest Forral, would be waiting . , .

“Hold on, Lady, I’m coming!” Anvar’s voice was like a slap in the face. Strong fingers grasped her wrist, then her arm. Strong hands were hauling her back aboard the rocking boat. Aurian tried to protest, but she was too weak to fight. She slithered down in a shivering, sodden heap on the bottom boards.

“Lady, the weir!” Anvar’s voice was shrill with panic above the river’s roar. Aurian wiped water from her eyes. White foam streaked past on the dark water as the frail craft began to rock wildly, picking up speed, Anvar was struggling with the oars, blinded by flying spray, and even as she looked the left one slipped from his grasp, “whirled greedily away by the rushing waters. Immediately the boat swung round, spinning violently and listing dangerously to one side, out of control. Aurian smiled. Forral, she thought, yearning. Only a moment more . . . Then, out of nowhere, she seemed to hear the swordsman’s voice. “You’ll want to follow me. Don’t.” She looked at Anvar. He had just saved her life. No matter how deep her own despair, what right had she to take him with her?

Cursing bitterly, Aurian grabbed her staff. “Get out of the way,” she yelled. She barged past Anvar into the bows, over the top of Sara, struggling to keep a grip on both her staff and the lurching boat. A glimmer of white stretched across the river ahead of her, desperately close. The roar grew to a booming thunder. Aurian placed her staff crosswise in her lap, across the bows of the boat, gripping it tightly in both hands, her knuckles clenched white around the polished wood as she concentrated with all her might. The calm sound of her chanting cut across the thunder of the weir. The staff began to glow, shimmering with a blue-white light that spread, like tiny fingers of lightning, to encompass the entire boat as it reached the edge of the weir and began to tip . . .

Aurian heard Anvar’s gasp of fear—and then, as she made one last, wrenching effort, the boat straightened itself, floating serenely above the churning maelstrom, supported upon a surface of pure light. Gently they were borne forward, over the danger, then just as gently the little craft came to rest in a stretch of quiet water in the shallows beyond the force of the weir.

Aurian blinked, and collapsed panting across her staff, letting the darkness swallow her as the light of her magic was extinguished. She had bitten her lip, and her mouth was filled with the metallic taste of her own blood. Dimly, she felt Anvar pull her into his arms. Gently he pulled her soaked, tangled hair back from her face, and wiped the trickle of blood from her chin. “Aurian? Lady?” His voice was anxious. With an effort she opened her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Anvar said.

“Tired.” That one word cost her an enormous effort. “Get us there, Anvar.” Her voice seemed to be coming from far away. Had he heard her? But Anvar nodded. He settled her as best he could in the cramped space of the 6ow^} pillowing her head on his wet cloak, and turned to pick up the single remaining oar. Gratefully, Aurian closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, buildings lined the river-banks. They passed dwellings, warehouses, and mills and then, founding a curve, they swept beneath the great bridge that marked the boundary of the port of Norberth, A mighty arch of white stone, it sprang across the river that by now had grown broad and sluggish. Rippled reflections from the lights of the town covered the underside of the arch with an ever-changing network of dappled silver, and the river chuckled hollowly beneath the echoing stonework. Once past the bridge, they passed quickly through the town itself and swept out into the pool of the port. The masts a«f figging of sailing vessels webbed the sky, and Aurian wondered which of these ships would be the one to take her south. Anvar paddled a zigzag course toward a rotting and abandoned wharf on the south side of the harbor, grabbing at the slimy pilings to pull the boat underneath the little pier, where its shadows would hide them.

Aurian dragged herself wearily upright and rummaged in one of the bundles that lay in the bottom of the boat, finding a little silver flask and a hastily wrapped package of meat, bread, and cheese that was beginning to disintegrate from the soaking it had taken at the weir. She took a deep swig of Vannor’s fierce liquor, feeling its heat course through her stiff, chilled body. She handed the flask to Anvar, who took it gratefully. In her Mage’s night vision he looked gray and haggard, his eyes dark-circled with weariness, his blond hair dark and straggling from the river’s spray. Aurian divided the sodden food between them and they ate in silence, both of them too tired to speak. The Mage felt better for eating, feeling the food restoring, temporarily she knew, a measure of the energy she had lost in using her power to save them from the weir.

The weir. Ah, she’d come so close then—so close to escaping all this. Suddenly Aurian was overwhelmed by her grief, by all her burdens, by the peril and the near impossibility of the task she had set herself. She turned to Anvar, consumed with rage at his interference—and hit him, as hard as she could, across the face. “That’s for saving my life!” she snapped. She saw surprise and hurt orchis face, then his mouth tightened grimly as his hand lashed out to hit her back. “And that’s for saving mine!” he retorted. The sound of the slap echoed sharply across the water, and Aurian rocked backward, one hand pressed to her stinging cheek, her eyes wide with shock.

Anvar looked away, shamefaced. “Lady, I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Slowly, Aurian shook her head. How could she fault his response, which mirrored her own despair so exactly? For the first time she realized that she was not alone—that he shared her predicament, and her suffering. She held out her hand to him—a gesture between equals—between friends. “I’m sorry too, Anvar,” she said softly. “I had no right—it’s just that I don’t know how I’ll ever find the strength to go on with this.”

Her voice faltered, as the rigid control she had maintained all through the night began to crumble.

Anvar took her proffered hand. “Then we’ll do it together,” he said, and gathered her into his arms as she began to sob, giving in at last to all her grief as she accepted the burden of continuing to live.

After a time Aurian pulled away from Anvar, wiping her face on her sleeve.

“That’s a terrible habit,” he said, with a crooked grin, and she managed a shaky smile in return.

“Someone forgot to pack the handkerchiefs,” she said.

“Disgraceful,” Anvar said. “I’d beat your servant, if I were you.”

“Oh, he has his good points. At least he remembered to bring my proper clothes.” Aurian rummaged in the bottom of the boat, hauling her bundle out from beneath Sara’s head. “I’d better get moving and find us a ship. It’ll be getting light all too soon, and I want us safely out of sight before too many people are up and moving about. Thank goodness the nights are so long just now.”

As she spoke, she pulled her fighting clothes out of the pack, and began to strip off the soaked, tattered remnants of her green gown. Anvar averted his eyes politely, but Aurian was forced to enlist his aid in donning her warrior’s gear, since the leather was damp from their encounter with the weir and her fingers were stiff with cold.

“Right,” she said briskly, when she was ready, “I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”

“Lady, surely you don’t mean to go alone?”

“Can’t be helped.” Aurian looked down at Sara’s unconscious form with a frown. “You’ll have to stay here and keep an eye on her.” She grimaced. “Gods, but she’s going to be a nuisance.”

“Lady, I ...” Anvar found himself flushing guiltily. How could he even begin to explain to her about Sara—about the love that they had once shared?

Aurian looked at him quizzically. “You do know her, don’t you?” she said. “Thsrday, when they brought you to the Garrison—when we first met—she was lying, wasn’t she, when she said she’d never seen you before?”

Miserably, Anvar nodded, wondering how she would react when he told her that he and Vannor’s wife had once been lovers.

Luckily, Aurian spared him. “More complications, eh?” she said ruefully. “Well, you can tell me about it later, Anvar. I really must get going.” Fastening her damp cloak around her shoulders, she climbed carefully up the tangle of half-collapsed timbers that supported the old pier and vanished among the shadows of the wharf.

Anvar settled back into the bottom of the boat and lapsed into his own worried thoughts. Aurian’s sudden briskness had not fooled him in the least. He knew how deeply she was grieving for Forral, and was concerned about the effect that it would have on her judgment. This whole plan of hers, to raise an army to defeat the Archmage, was pure insanity. But he had no better plan to offer—only to flee, as far and as fast as possible. Well, they were doing that now, and perhaps in time she would come to her senses.

Anvar wondered where Vannor was now. Had the merchant managed to escape? Suddenly, it occurred to him that if Vannor was killed, then Sara would be free . . . Guiltily, he stifled the thought. Vannor was a good man, he knew that now. He wondered how the merchant would react to the knowledge that he had given his beloved wife into the hands of her one-time lover. Sara, he was surer^didn’t care two pins for her doting husband, and Anvar wondered what she would do now that she was free from him. He looked down at her as she slept, her golden hair tumbled around her shoulders. She looked so fragile —so beautiful. With a pang, Anvar remembered the old days, when they were young and in love, happy with each other and confident in their future. Was there no hope that they could be that way again? Had he not a right to some happiness?

The light of a damp, gray day was growing by the time Aurian made her way back along the wharf, keeping close to the cover of the derelict warehouses. It had taken forever to find a vessel whose captain would convey them, and his price had been extortionate—far more than the gold that Vannor had given her. She’d given him all she had, and done some fast talking to convince him that the remainder would be waiting at the journey’s end. As she returned to Anvar, the Mage worried about the company they would be keeping on board the rat-infested, leaky old ship. She had never in her life seen such a villainous-looking crew, but she knew she had no choice but to risk it. If Miathan was not already searching for them, he soon would be.

By the time she reached the boat, Aurian felt faint with weariness, her mind fuzzy and slow. Anvar scrambled up, offering his hand to help her descend the slick, rotting timbers, and she was grateful for his steadying grasp. “Come on,” she said, when they had reached the safety of the boat. “I’ve bought us passage to Easthaven. We can travel overland from there.”

“What about Sara?”

“We don’t have time to argue the issue. I’ll take care of it.” Aurian snapped her fingers near the sleeping girl’s face. “Come,” she commanded. Sara’s eyes flicked open, her expression utterly blank. She rose stiffly to her feet, and Anvar grabbed quickly at a piling to steady the rocking boat.

“We can’t take her aboard like that!” he protested.

“We have to. Pull her hood down over her face and take her arm. You’ll have to guide her.” Aurian’s expression brooked no argument.

They had a dreadful struggle to get the girl up onto the pier, but after that Sara walked along quite naturally, steered by Anvar’s guiding hand while Aurian carried the packs. The one or two early passersby that they met paid them little heed, and Aurian began to breathe more easily.

But when Anvar saw the ship that was to take them, he stopped dead, his face a picture of dismay. “Oh, Lady, no,” he said. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Anvar, what do you want from me?” Aurian snapped, close to tears. “Look at the state of us! We hardly look respectable, do we? Did you think any decent captain was going to take us? I did my best—and it’s better than waiting here for Miathan to find us!” To that, she knew, Anvar could have no answer.

Shaking his head, he led Sara up the narrow, slippery gangplank that led to the dcqk of the dilapidated little sailing ship.

Captain Jurdag had side-whiskers and greasy ginger hair tied in a pigtail. Gold rings glinted in his ears, and his narrow face and feral expression reminded Aurian of a weasel. He bowed to her with leering mock courtesy, and the rest of the lounging crew—a shabby, scarred, pockmarked bunch—snickered.

Aurian gave them a level, steely glare, and there was a sudden, tense silence. “Show us to our cabin, Captain, and prepare to make sail,” she said coolly.

“Very well, Lady.” The captain turned the word into an epithet, and Aurian, seeing Anvar’s face flush with anger, gripped his arm tightly and shook her head.

They were shown into a tiny, filthy cabin in the stern of the ship that the captain had obviously vacated for their use. Aurian picked up a pile of stinking unwashed clothes from the floor and handed them to him. “Yours, I imagine,” she said. “That will be all for now.”

He left, scowling, and Aurian barred the door behind him with a sigh of relief. “Dear Gods!” she said. “I’m sorry about this, Anvar.”

Anvar was struggling with the catch of a tiny salt-encrusted pane set in the stern wall. It was the only means of ventilation in the room. “How long does it take to get to Easthaven?” he asked faintly.

“With good winds, about four days,” Aurian said gloomily. “If we don’t get our throats cut in the meantime.”

The Mage led Sara tq^he only bunk, and laid her down. “Rut,” she said softly, and Sara’s eyes closed again. “There,” Aurian said wearily. “She’ll sleep naturally now, and wake when she’s ready. Pray Gods it won’t be too soon.” Drawing Coronach, she sat down on the floor, resting her back against the bunk, and fell asleep instantly, her sword in her hand.

Aurian was rudely awakened by the sound of Sara’s wails. “I won’t stay here, I won’t! It’s filthy and it stinks and it’s infested with bugs! I want to go home! This is your fault, Anvar. If you hadn’t—”

The Mage leapt to her feet, confronting the raging girl who was sitting on the bunk, her skirts drawn tightly around her ankles. “Shut up!” she ordered sharply. Sara stopped short in the midst of her tirade, glaring up at her. Aurian registered the rocking motion of the ship beneath her feet, and ignoring Sara, leaned past her to look out of the tiny stern port. “There’s the land, back there,” she said calmly, pointing out of the window. “I suggest you start swimming now, before it gets any farther away. I don’t think you’ll fit through the window, but I’m sure we can arrange to have you thrown over the side.”

Sara’s face twisted with rage. “I hate you!” she snapped.

“Hate away,” said Aurian evenly. “It doesn’t bother me. But just bear in mind that you don’t have a home anymore. This stinking, louse-ridden hole is all you have, and this is where you’ll stay until we reach Easthaven.”

Sara’s mouth fell open. “You mean I’m a prisoner?” she shrieked. “You can’t do this! How dare you! When Vannor hears of this—”

“Vannor sent you with me for your own protection. Your safety is my responsibility, and I’m telling you that you won’t leave this cabin for any reason. If anyone comes to the door, get into the bunk and cover yourself with the blanket—especially your face. Whatever happens you must not show yourself to any of the ship’s crew. I’ve told the captain you’re sick with the pox —that should keep them—”

“What?” Sara yelled, completely outraged.

“Lady . . .” Anvar protested. “It isn’t fair to—”

“Have you two ever seen a young woman raped by a gang of pirates?” Aurian’s matter-of-fact tone brought the others up short. There was sudden fear in Sara’s eyes. “I haven’t,” Aurian went on, “and I don’t want to see it now. This ship is crewed by the most villainous, vicious-looking gang of cutthroats I’ve ever set eyes on, and if they get one look at you, I won’t be able to stop them, and neither will Anvar. I know that this is hard on you, Sara. Anvar is right, it isn’t fair, and I’m sorry. But do it my way, please—for all our sakes.”

Sara stared at her for a moment, then fell facedown on the bunk and burst into tears. Anvar rushed to comfort her. Aurian glanced at him in surprise, then turned with a shrug and left the cabin.

Aurian sat, one leg tucked beneath her on the narrow bench that curved around the bows of the ship. So far, the crew seemed to be giving her a wide berth, although she felt their eyes on her as she watched the hazy sun making its slow descent toward the dim horizon to her right. She was thinking back to the previous night, trying her best to sort the hard facts from the haze of anger, grief, and fear that overlaid her memory of all that had happened. The child—that was one matter. Wonder-ingly, Aurian turned her thoughts inward, to touch that dim spark of life—so tiny, yet, that she hadn’t known it even existed. Try as she might, she was unable to stifle the resentment that flared within her. If it had not been for this child, Forral would still be alive . . . Yet now, it was all that was left of him. It should be precious to her. And it had hardly asked to be brought into being. That was her fault, her own carelessness in letting Meiriel betray her. All the poor thing had was enemies —the Archmage would take its life as he had taken its father’s . . .

How could she ever hope to defeat Miathan? Aurian shuddered. It had been all very well, in the heat of the moment, to swear that oath, and she meant to bring it home to him in any way she could—but how? The Archmage was mad, and renegade, and he possessed a weapon far beyond her capabilities. How powerful was the Caldron? What was the point of raising an army against such power? Thousands of people would be killed to no purpose. But what had happened to the other lost artifacts of the High Magic? Ah. If she could only trace even one of them . . . But where could she even start to look? They had been lost for centuries, .Aurian’s thoughts circled in hopeless frustration. This is too much for me, she thought. If only Forral were here ...

As she thought of her love, his image suddenly came into her mind—not dead, as she had last seen him, but alive, and sitting, of all the incongruous places, in the taproom of the Invisible Unicorn. He was leaning across the beer-stained table toward her, explaining something, and Aurian realized that she was remembering a conversation that they had had some time ago. “If a problem seems too big,” he was saying, “you’ll never get anywhere by battering yourself against it. Break it up into steps, and deal with the first thing first. Then, more often than not, you’ll find that the other steps will fall into place,”

It was good advice, and timely, Aurian smiled, remembering. “Thank you, love,” she whispered, and the image seemed to smile in return as it faded from her mind. Aurian blinked at the ocean before her, and shook her head. Had it been a memory? A vision? Imagination? She had no idea, but it had left her feeling more at peace, and obscurely comforted. And her path was suddenly clear before her. Do the first thing first. Well, the first thing was to get this journey safely over—to escape from the pirates and the Archmage and get to the hill forts, where she could find some help and some measure of safety. And after that? Well, she would see.

Aurian whirled at the sound of soft footsteps behind her. Her sword was halfway out of its scabbard before she realized that it was Anvar, who stepped back, startled. She shrugged apologetically, and moved to make room for him on the bench, “How is Sara?” she asked him.

Anvar made a wry face. “Still upset,” he said. “Cursing Vannor, and you, and me, and just about everybody she can think of.”

Aurian sighed. “As long as she curses inside the cabin, I’m not going to waste time worrying about it. We’ll never get the wretched girl to realize that she’s not the only person in the world with troubles.”

Anvar looked concerned « the reminder. “How are you, Lady? I didn’t like to leave you alone for so long, only she—”

“I’ll survive. I suppose I’ll have to, really.” Aurian tempered her grim words with a smile for him. “And I didn’t mind being alone, Anvar, The crew aren’t bothering me—they seem to have some respect for this”—she patted the hilt of her sword —“and I needed to do some thinking,”

“Lady, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Aurian could see no point in lying to him. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much at the moment, Anvar. We have to get off this ship alive first. Let’s just concentrate on that for now. I wonder what passes for food around here?”

What passed for food turned out to be a greasy, nauseating gray slop that went by the name of “stew,” Sara, in particular, was far from impressed, and said so in no uncertain terms. “I can’t eat this!” she protested. “It’s disgusting! I’ll be sick!”

“If you’re going Jp^be sick, be sure and do it out the window,” Aurian said brutally, forcing another spoonful of the vile stuff down and trying not to think of dead rats. Sara retired to her bunk in offended silence, and soon the sound of sobbing could be heard coming from beneath the blanket.

“Lady,” Anvar whispered awkwardly, “couldn’t you be— well, more gentle with her? It’s hard for her—she’s not used to this.”

Aurian swore. “Anvar, may I remind you that we aren’t on a picnic here? We’re fleeing for our lives, and we have no time to cosset Sara. It’s the same for all of us, you know! She’ll just have to get used to it—and bloody quick!” Hurling her empty plate across the floor, she stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind her.

Anvar winced, wondering whether to follow her or not. After a moment’s hesitation he went to comfort Sara, “Sara, don’t cry. She doesn’t mean it. She’s suffering, what with Forral—”

“Shut up about her!” Sara sat up abruptly, hurling the blanket aside, her eyes wild in her flushed face. “In fact, don’t talk to me at all! You kidnapped me, you and her—and just when I thought I was safe from you, and that I’d never have to set eyes on you again—”

“Let’s not start that again,” Anvar said wearily. “Vannor begged us to take you. I don’t think you understand the danger we were in. We had no other choice,”

“Vannor!” Sara spatT^That beast! That imbecile! I despise him!”

“Sara, Vannor loves you.”

“What would you know about it? You told me that you loved me, once. And how did you prove your love? You got me pregnant then abandoned me to be sold to that uncouth brute! So don’t sit there and talk to me about love, Anvar!”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Anvar thrust his left hand, which bore the hateful mark of the bondservant, in front of her face, “Do you think I—”

“Anvar!” The cabin door banged open, Aurian stood there, her hair wild and tangled from the wind, her face white and strained. “Anvar—the Arehmage! He’s searching for us! I think he knows where we’ve gone!”

“What?” Anvar leapt to his feet. “How?”

The Mage closed the cabin door, and leaned back against it. “He’s scrying—probably with a crystal—that’s the most powerful way. I had no idea that he could even do it. It was always Finbarr’s special talent . . .” Her mouth twisted with pain at the memory of her dead friend, slain by the Archmage. “He must have picked up our trail on the river, from the residue of the magic that I had to use to get us over the weir, and guessed the way we would take. He’s searching the ocean now —I was up on deck and I felt his mind sweeping across.”

“Gods! Did he find us?”

Aurian shook her head, “I managed to shield us in time. His power felt tentative, not too strong. I think this is new to him. But it won’t take him long to learn, not with the power of the Caldron to draw on. And he won’t give up until he finds us.”

“What will he do?” Anvar felt sick with dread. “Will he send those—things after us?” Seeing the stricken expression on Aurian’s face, he cursed himself for reminding her of the monster that had killed Forral.

But when Aurian spoke, her voice was steady. “No. I doubt it. He seemed to have very little control over the Nihilim, once he had unleashed them.” She shuddered, “When I think of those abominations loose in Nexis . . . But I don’t think they’ll bother us. The Gods only know what he will send after us, Anvar. He could strike.at us in any number of ways. The only thing we can do is to stay hidden, I’ll have to shield US all—the whole ship—constantly from now on.”

“But Lady, you can’t!” Anvar was appalled, remembering how the effort of her magic had exhausted her on the river, “We have at least three more days to go, and you’re worn out already!”

“I know. But it can’t be helped. We have to try, for our very lives, and I’ll need your help,”

“Me?”

Aurian nodded. “I’ll have to stay awake. If I sleep, my shields will crumble, and leave us open to discovery. You’ve got to keep me awake, Anvar, and I’m afraid that means staying awake yourself. Talk to me, sing to me—if all else fails, hit me—but don’t let me fall asleep, whatever you do, or we’re lost. Promise me, Anvar.”

“I promise, Lady,” Anvar assured her. But I don’t know how, he thought, dreading the long, grueling vigil that lay before them.