Aurian

17 Shipwreck

The lantern rocked on its ceiling hook with the motion of the ship, its dim circle of light swinging back and forth across the wooden floor and walls with hypnotic regularity. Aurian sat bolt upright, cross-legged \t\ ftft «tt«!l ^ vVfc tiny cabin, holding her shield in place to conceal the vessel from the force of Miathan’s seeking will. Occasionally she felt the pressure of his mind brush across her shield, and held her breath until he had passed on, away over the dark waves. Yet time and again, despite the peril, despite the fact that she had chosen her position so that she could not fall asleep without falling over and wakening herself, Aurian felt her leaden eyelids begin to close.

This was the second night of her vigil. She had passed the first night successfully by drawing deep on the hidden well-springs of her magical power to keep herself awake and her shields firm. And she and Anvar had spent most of the inter vening day on deck in the bracing sea air, until the looks and mutterings of the increasingly restive pirate crew had driven them back to the cabin.

Sara was still scorning to speak to them, and had remained huddled in sour misery on her bunk, so at least there had been peace from that quarter. By unspoken consent, they had avoided speaking of Anvar’s connection with Vannor’s wife, though Aurian still wondered. Now she had insisted that Anvar sleep for a time, while she could still be confident of staying awake, and he dozed beside her, stirring restlessly as though he also felt the power of Miathan’s seeking mind that passed and repassed across them. Aurian was reluctant to awaken him, but eventually, when her leaden eyelids refused to stay open any longer, she knew that she must. “Anvar,” she whispered, prodding him awake, “Anvar, I need your help.”

“All right.” He sounded bleary and dazed, and Aurian wondered if she looked as bad as he did—disheveled and dirty, his face drawn and gray with weariness, Anvar passed the water flask to her, before drinking himself. “Is he still out there?” he whispered.

Aurian nodded. “It’s best we don’t speak of him when he’s seeking for us,” she warned. “When I talk, it weakens my concentration on shielding, so we should choose subjects as far as possible from the things we’re trying to escape.”

Anvar groaned. “It’s impossible not to think of him,” he said. “What can we talk about, then, Lady?”

Aurian shrugged. “The weather?” she suggested ruefully. “That should occupy us for all of two minutes.”

“Let’s pretend we’re going far away—to another place entirely,” Anvar suggested. “That might confuse him, if anything should leak through your shields. You know, Lady, I can’t help but feel that I would like to go away—far, far away from all this trouble. Do you know anything about the Southern lands beyond the sea?”

Aurian did, having picked up the information from Forral, who in his younger days had been a secret gatherer of intelligence in the South. It was just such a mission, in feet, that had kept him away from home for so long at the time of Geraint’s leath. The Garrison tried to stay informed, because the bellig-nt Southern races were always a potential threat. Glad of the distraction, the Mage was only too willing to tell Anvar what she knew.

The bleak hills of the south coast ended at the ocean that divided the northern landmass from the vast Southern Kingdoms beyond. There was little congress or communication between the two continents, though spies, if they returned at all, had testified to the belligerence and4uperior numbers of the warlike inhabitants of the larger continent. Luckily, the Southerners feared the powers of the Magefolk, and so far, that had been enough to keep them at bay.

It was known that there were at least three kingdoms in the South, though beyond that, where the deserts gave way to impenetrable jungle, all was mystery, A range of high mountains near the northern coast were said to be inhabited by the legendary Winged Folk, who guarded their peak-top aeries with savage determination. Between the mountains and the sea, where the peaks dropped down to green, pine-clad valleys, was the kingdom of the Xandim. Trapped between mountains and ocean, their space was limited, and it was said that they coveted the northern lands wkfa their rich pastures for the fabulous horses that they bred. South of the mountains was a desert, beyond which lay the country of the Khazahlim, a fierce warrior race ruled by a savage tyrant king. With such neighbors across the sea, it was not surprising that the Ruling Council of Nexis kept the bleak hills of their southern coastline well defended.

“I wonder if the Southerners really are as dangerous as all that?” Anvar mused.

“It’s said that they bear no love for my sort,” Aurian said, “so it would be as well if I didn’t try to find out. But I know what you mean. I would like to visit new lands—to try to leave the past behind. But for me that’s impossible, though you might do it someday.”

“Me?” Anvar’s eyes went involuntarily to the bondmark on his hand. “But I’m only a servant. I couldn’t expect—”

“Nonsense!” Aurian retorted. “Because you’re a servant? Why should you be inferior because of the work you do? Why, you’re a far better man than some of those arrogant, bullying Magefolk! If I were Archmage, I would— Oh!” Aurian felt sick with dismay as she realized what she had done. “Oh, Anvar, I had the chance, didn’t I? I could have changed things for the better . . .”

“You never thought of that?” Anvar asked in surprise.

“It never crossed my mind—I didn’t care about that kind of power. Like a fool, I never considered the good I could have done. I threw it all away, when I took Forral as my lover. Gods, it was me who brought this disaster down on us. Forral even warned me ...” Aurian buried her face in her shaking hands.

Anvar, alarmed by her bitter self-recrimination and afraid that in her distracted mood she would drop her shields and bring discovery on them, reached out and pulled her hands away from her face. “Lady,” he said firmly, “don’t blame yourself. The Archmage is evil—the Mortals in Nexis have always hated and feared him. He would have grasped power in the end, whatever you had done, and the results would likely have been the same. You would have fought him—you and Commander Forral, and Vannor and Finbarr. People would have died in any case. Thank the Gods that you’re alive to fight him now. Don’t give in like this, Lady—we need you. We all need you.”

For a moment hope dawned on Aurian’s face, then she sighed. “Kind words, Anvar, but if Forral and I hadn’t—”

Anvar gripped her shoulders. “Don’t say that, Lady. Don’t ever say that! What happened between you and the Commander was inevitable! Any fool could see how much you loved each other, and if the Archmage had cared about you, he would have rejoiced for you! Can you tell me honestly that you, or Forral for that matter, would have had it any other way?”

“No,” Aurian confessed after a long moment. “You’re right, Anvar. At least we had what we had, but—”

“Then stop feeling sorry for yourself and get those bloody shields back up!” Anvar snapped. The Mage recoiled as though he had struck her, anger flaring in her eyes. Then suddenly she began to laugh—a low chuckle that accompanied the relaxing of the tension in her face and shoulders. “Ah, Anvar, you’re good for me,” she said. “If anyone can get me through this, you can. I’m glad you’re here.”

Somehow they made it through the night, each keeping the other awake when they began to falter. Using Aurian’s dagger to scratch on the floorboards, they played all the childhood games of words and wits that they could remember. When it became too much of an effort to concentrate, they told jokes instead, and sung their way—softly, so as not to awaken Sara—through all the old songs and ballads they knew. But they were always aware of Miathan’s restless will, ceaselessly combing the oceans in search of them.

By the time the dawn light was creeping through the tiny stern port, Aurian’s eyes felt gritty, and her voice was scratchy and hoarse. She stopped singing, and Anvar did, too.

He rubbed his eyes and stretched, yawning hugely. “Thank the Gods it’s getting light,” he said. “I know we still have a long time to go, but it feels as though we’ve passed another hurdle, at least. You know—in spite of everything, I enjoyed last night.” He seemed shy and hesitant, unsure of his right to say such a thing.

Aurian smiled. “So did I. You make a good companion, Anvar.”

“You, too. Lady,” Anvar said, “I wish I had seen that sooner, instead of being so preoccupied with resenting my position as a servant—”

“You two are up early!”

Aurian spun roottd, startled, to see Sara scowling from the bunk. “We’ve been up all night,” she snapped, nettled by Sara’s tone. “Since you’re awake, let Anvar have the bunk for a while,” she added. “He needs to sleep. I’ll walk around on deck for a while—it might wake me up a bit.”

“That’s not fair!” Anvar protested. “I slept last night—” “Anvar, we have at least two nights to go,” Aurian said gently, warmed by his concern. “I can’t count on you to keep me awake if you’re dropping from exhaustion. If you get some rest now, we might manage.” She fished in the pack that Van-nor had given them, and brought out a small packet. “Before you do, could you get that dreadful cook to make me some taillin? It might help keep me going.” Then in the act of handing it over, she stopped. “Would you look at me?” she said ruefully. “After all I said about being companions, I’ve still got you running around for me! I’ll go myself, Anvar. You get some sleep.”

“No.” Anvar took the packet from her hand. “I’ll get it. If you’re staying awake, it’s the least I can do.”

Sara looked sourly after him as he went out. “Ever the devoted servant,” she said, sneering. “That’s all he’s good for!”

“What do you mean by that?” Aurian was furious.

Sara shrugged. “Ask Anvar,” was all that she would say.

Aurian rubbed a hand over her face. I can’t tope with this just now, she thought. “Sara, don’t make trouble,” she warned. “If you can’t treat Anvar decently, just leave him alone.” With that, she left the cabirv,unable to spend another minute in Sara’s company.

Aurian sat in the bow, drinking taillin and watching the rose-gold glow of sunrise flood the ocean. It was some time since she had felt Miathan’s presence, and she wondered if he was asleep, or perhaps occupied in ordering a city that must have gone mad with panic when his creatures had attacked. She wondered what was happening in Nexis, then thrust the thought firmly from her mind. She couldn’t be certain that the Archmage had given up, and she dared not relax her vigilance. In order to keep awake, she got to her feet and began to walk back and forth across the narrow, pitching deck, ignoring the curious stares of the few crew members who were up and about at this early hour.

After a time, the wind freshened enough to make pacing impossible on the lurching deck, and the Mage went below to the cramped, greasy galley to coax another unpalatable meal from the ship’s cook. The smell that assailed her as she climbed down through the narrow hatchway was disgustingly familiar. Not stew again! Aurian felt her stomach heave. Gritting her teeth against the surge of nausea, she shot back up the ladder and rushed to be sick over the side. She felt too wretched to care about the sniggers from the ill-assorted crew.

When it was over, she sat limply on her bench in the bow, drinking cold taillin straight from the jug and blotting her damp brow on her sleeve. Gods, she thought, that wasn’t seasickness! For the first time, the problems of being pregnant while on the run truly came home to her. She touched her belly, where the tiny scrap of life lay, snug and uncaring, and sighed.

“Lady, wake up!”

Aurian jumped at the sound of Anvar’s voice, catching up her fallen shields in panic. Horrified, she cursed her own carelessness and weakness. If Miathan had found them . . . She shuddered. “What a fool I am!” she said. “I’m sorry, Anvar. How long have I slept?”

Anvar squinted at the sun. “Most of the morning, it looks like. Don’t worry, Lady, it was for the best. The Archmage hasn’t found us, and you needed the rest. In your condition—” He stopped, blushing.

“I know,” Aurian said ruefully, “First the little pest made me throw up, then it made me sleep! At this rate, it’s going to be more of a nuisance than Sara!” J

“Lady, you don’t mean that,” Anvar chided,

Aurian sighed. “I suppose not,” she admitted, “Even though it is true.”

Aurian shared the last of the taillin with Anvar, and they breakfasted on iron-hard slabs of biscuit that he’d coaxed from the cook. The Mage felt better for the sleep. Her nausea had gone, and she was cheered up by the sparkling day. The green waves danced in the stiff following wind that bowed the canvas of the old patched sails. The pale sun beamed, playing tag with fluffy puffs of cloud that raced like driven sheep across the sky. The brisk wind was refreshing, blowing away the last cobwebs of sleep.

When they hadAnashed the daunting task of chewing their way through breakfast, Anvar pulled a little wooden flute from his pocket. “Would you like me to play for you?” he asked. “That would be lovely,” Aurian said.

So Anvar played—funny, lively little tunes of his own devising, to go with the brisk, bright day. His music soon attracted the crew, who began to find excuses to lurk within earshot of the merry pipe. Aurian was amazed to see their faces break into smiles, as they clapped their hands and stamped in time to the music. Soon they were teaching Anvar chanteys and hornpipes, and dancing with wild abandon to the tunes. When the captain came to berate his men for leaving their posts, he too was caught up in the festive spirit. Casting an eye over the perfect weather, he ordered that a cask of rough spirits be broached.

It was due to the drink that things got out of hand. Since Aurian and Anvar needed to stay alert, they did not join in the drinking. Anvar had left his seat in the bow to be nearer the dancers, and Aurian was watching them, keeping her concentration firmly on her shields. Suddenly an arm went round her shoulders, and there was a blast of foul breath in her face. A tin cup brimming with liquor was thrust in front of her.

“Have a drink, darlin’,” a slurred voice said.

Aurian turned to look into the leering, unshaven face of a filthy pirate. “No thank you,” she said, trying to keep matters calm.

“I said, have a drink!” Grabbing her hair, he forced the cup into her mouth with his^other hand, spilling the sticky stuff down her chin and the front of her shirt.

Because of the concentration involved in keeping up her shields, Aurian was slow to react. Before she could move, Anvar was there. He jerked the man to his feet and punched him squarely in the face, sending him crashing onto the deck. There was a chill glint in his eye, a set to his jaw that Aurian had never seen before. “Keep your hands off her,” he growled.

The cutthroat scrambled up, a wicked-looking curved dagger in his hand. Aurian’s heart sank. She got quietly to her feet, her hand on her sword hilt.

“Why should you have two women, an’ us have none?” the pirate snarled. “Well, I’ll have ’em both—once I’ve gutted you!”

Anvar stepped back, drawing his own weapon—a pathetically inadequate belt knife that Vannor had given him. The pirates crowded round like wolves closing in on their prey.

The tension was broken by a slithering hiss, as Aurian drew her sword. She stepped up beside Anvar, her voice calm and level. “You’d better stop them, Captain—if you want to continue this voyage with a crew.”

“Bollocks, lads—’tis only a maid,” the brigand with the dagger roared, and charged.

Aurian’s blade flicked through the air so quickly that it hardly seemed to move—and the curved dagger flew over the side and into the ocean as its owner collapsed, howling, on the deck, clutching his knife hand that was spraying blood.

The Mage pointed the tip of her sword at the hapless pirate. “The next time you try that,” she said into the dumbfounded silence, “it won’t be your hand. It’ll be those bollocks you were mentioning. Yours—or anyone else’s who dares to interfere with me!” She locked eyes with the captain, who hesitated, glaring. “Do you want to live to spend the gold I gave you?” Aurian asked grimly.

Cursing, he spat on the deck. “Get below, boys, and leave the passengers alone! Their gold’ll buy you plenty of whores in port.” Muttering darkly, the crew dispersed. Aurian’s bleeding attacker was dragged away by his comrades.

To Anvar’s amazement, Aurian turned to the captain with a smile. “Thank you, Captain ^Jurdag,” she said. “I’m most grateful to you. You’ve spared us a lot of unpleasantness.”

Anvar gaped at her, staggered by her dissembling—and even more astonished to see it working.

“No trouble, Lady,” the captain said, although he looked rather tight-lipped. “If you and the gentleman have any problems with the crew, I’ll be glad to deal with them. I’m sure a lady like you needn’t carry such ironmongery about.” His voice held an unmistakable threat.

“I wouldn’t be without it,” Aurian assured him, a similar edge to her own voice. “It’s much too useful.”

The captain stared at her, then at Anvar. “Gods’ blood,” he said, “you’re a brave man to take her on!”

Anvar felt a sta«.* of surprise. So the captain thought they were a couple? Well, it wouldn’t do any harm. Bluffing for all he was worth, he put a nonchalant arm around Aurian’s shoulders. “Oh, I think I can handle her,” he said coolly. Giving them a dark \ook, the captain went below.

“Why, you—” Aurian turned on Anvar, all indignation, but there was laughter dancing in her eyes. “So you can handle me, eh?” she growled.

“Lady, I wouldn’t dare try,” Anvar confessed ruefully. “I certainly gave a poor account of myself today. I never thought about that animal having a knife. When I saw him maul you, I just wanted to smash his teeth down his throat. And don’t say you could have done that yourself—I know you could. I wanted the pleasure of doing it, that’s all.” He was surprised to find he was speaking through clenched teeth.

Aurian smiled. “I don’t mind, Anvar. It was a true act of chivalry, and I’m grateful. But if you’re going to make a habit of it, beware of hidden weapons. I don’t want to lose you, too.” Her smile gone, her eyes suddenly shadowed with sadness, she turned abruptly and walked away from him, to the opposite rail of the ship. Anvar cursed under his breath, wishing that everything didn’t remind her of Forral, wishing he could do something to ease her sorrow.

Aurian, her hands locked round the rail, stood gazing across the endless ocean. Were there other lands across that vast expanse? Why had no ooe. gone to look, and if they had, what had become of them? Aurian found herself wishing that she could go—that she and Forral could have gone together. She found herself remembering the time they had talked about his death. “I’ll always be with you,” he had said. Aurian felt a prickling in the nape of her neck. Could it be true? She had never managed to master his odd, circling flick of the blade—and yet today, when she had needed to disarm the pirate—it had come to her as naturally as breathing! Could it be true, that he was still with her? But if it were, surely she should be able to feel something—feel his presence—something? She shook her head, confused, unwilling to let her heart fool her into accepting a lie just because she needed it so badly. And yet . . .

Anvar came to stand beside her, not speaking, the breeze muffling the tawny curls at the nape of his neck. “Is Miathan still up to his tricks?” he asked at last, and Aurian knew that he was as anxious as she to break the mood that had fallen between them.

“I haven’t felt him for several hours now, luckily for us,” she said. “I suppose he has to rest sometime—it’s hard work, scrying. I daren’t relax my guard again, though.”

Anvar was about to reply, but Aurian grasped his arm, forestalling him, turning toward a new, strange sound that caught her attention. It came from out at sea—wild, high swirls of song that sent thrills through her body, rooting her to the spot in rapt attention. “Listen,” she breathed, clutching at his arm. “Oh, listen! Can’t you hear it?”

Anvar peered out to sea, trying to find the source of the haunting sounds. “What is it?” he asked her. “Why—they’re singing!”

They waited, listening intently as the sounds gradually drew nearer. Then far out across the waves, a series of immense dark shapes erupted from the water, leaping high, twisting in the air and falling back into the sea amidst fountaining walls of white foam. Feathery white plumes shot skyward, twice as high as a man, filling the sunlit air with rainbows. “Whales!” Aurian exclaimed. “Forral told me about them. Oh,

Anvar, how beautiful!”

Aurian gripped the rail tightly in her excitement. As the creatures drew nearer, she saw that they were indeed immense, the largest of them longer than the ship. They numbered about half a dozen, including, to her delight, two babies. The Mage gazed at them, lost in wonder, admiring the huge, streamlined bodies that moved with delicate grace through the water, the perfect arching curves of their tail flukes that beat the surface with exuberant power as they dived. She noticed the tender care that the giant family showed for the two babies, warding and watching them always.

The Mage was so enthralled that she forgot the shield. And as it fell away, unnoticed, the first thoughts touched her mind. Thoughts as great and deep as the ocean itself. Thoughts of surprise, curiosity; thoughts full of deepest love, boundless joy, and endless sorrow. She, Aurian, was the first of her people in aeons to communicate with the People of the Sea. People who made no wars, who d^Lno violence; who spent their days thinking and playing and singing songs, making love and caring for their children—and thinking their deep, wise, gentle thoughts. And their wisdom! The Mortals and Magefolk who squabbled and scurried across the face of the earth gave themselves no time, no peace to develop their minds—to become one with the oneness of all things. But the race of Leviathan knew. They carried in their mighty brains the wisdom of the Universe— these beings that mankind called animals! And with that wisdom came love.

Aurian never saw the lookout awaken from his rum-fogged sleep—never heard his cry: “Whales! Whales ho!” She only came back to herself when the crew came tumbling out onto the deck, falling over each other in their haste to lower the long, sharp-nosed wooden boat that hung from the side of the ship. Her joy turned to horror as she saw them reaching for the wicked harpoons with their steel barbs.

“No!” she cried, reaching for her sword, desperate to stop them. Then Anvar was in her way, blocking her path, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Lady, don’t!” he said, “It means gold to them—lots of gold. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill you over this!”

Aurian struggled with him, reluctant, despite her desperation, to hurt him. “Get out of my way,” she cried, “I’ve got to stop them!”

“You’ll have to kill me first.” Anvar’s voice was quiet, but his eyes met hers without flinching. “I’m not letting you kill yourself over this, Aurian.”

It was too late. The boat had been lowered. The men were climbing in. Eight strong rowers, four on each side—and a man in the bow, clutching a harpoon. Aurian glared at Anvar. “Damn you!” she spat. “Run!” she screamed at the whales, projecting the thought with all the force of her mind. “Run, oh run!” The whales, discovering the danger, turned and fled, diving for safety beneath the surface. But the boat was swift, the oarsmen propelling it through the water with mighty strokes And the whales had to surface to breathe. Aurian was holding her own breath. The captain and the three remaining crev. members worked frantically, trimming the sails to follow the flight of the stricken creatures as closely as they could.

For a moment Aurian thought the whales would escape.

Then she saw the smallest baby left behind, exhausted. It swam bly on the surface, uttering plaintive cries for help as the boat closed in, the distance narrowing rapidly. The man in the bow raised his arm, clutching the harpoon, another ready in his left hand. Why? Then Aurian saw what he had already seen. The whale-child’s mother, racing frantically back to her stricken baby—as he had known she would. The harpoonist pulled his arm back for the cast . . .

Aurian cried out, raising her hand in a sharp gesture—and the boat disintegrated, every plank flying apart from every other, pitching the floundering men into the sea.

“Bring her round,” Jurdag bellowed. “Get some ropes!”

In the confusion, the mother whale, joined now by her mate, managed to round up their lost child. Helping the baby along, one on either side, they followed the rest of their family to the safety of the open sea, their cries of gratitude ringing in Aurian’s mind as she relaxed, weak with relief.

Then, suddenly, she felt the triumphant grasp of Miathan’s mind as he located her through the use of her magic. “Get out!” she screamed silently, striking back with all the force she could muster. She felt his pain and shock, felt his clutch slip away— and slammed her shield back into place. But she knew, with a sinking heart, that it was too late. She had betrayed them. He knew where they were, and he would be back.

Then Anvar was upon her, his face rigid with fury, “You did that!” he hissed, “Don’t you know that sailors can’t swim? You’ve probably drowned them all! ^And what if they realize that they’ve got a bloody Mage on board? How could you be so stupid^and so callous?”

It was more than Aurian could take. “How dare you question my deeds?” she snarled.

Anvar’s Up curled. “Ah,” he said bitterly. “Now it comes out. How dare I, a mere servant, criticize one of the great and lordly Magefolk! All that talk about being companions! Pah!” He spat contemptuously onto the deck. “When it comes down to it, Lady, you’re no less arrogant and despicable than the rest of them!” Shouldering her roughly aside, he stormed back into the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

Sara was startled by the violence of Anvar’s entrance. “That Mage,” she heard him mutter. “That bloody bitch!” She stifled a smile of triumph. So he had quarreled with Aurian! It was hardly what she had expected, but ... In the long hours spent in this dingy hole, she had done some hard thinking. She knew that she was very much alone—cut off, possibly forever, from the luxuries of her former life. It was unlikely that she’d see that ass Vannor again, so she was going to need someone to take care of her—and at the moment, Anvar was her only option. At least she had always been able to twist him round her little finger—that was about the only advantage, she thought scornfully. The problem had lain in getting him away from that red-haired harpy. But now, here he was—upset, and off balance. Easy. “Why, Anvar,” she said, “whatever has happened?”

He told her—at great length—pacing back and forth in the cramped confines of the cabin. Sara could make little sense of it all, but that didn’t matter. “I can’t believe it,” he kept saying, shaking his head in baffled dismay. “I just can’t believe it of her.”

“Who knows what the Magefolk are capable of?” Sara said insinuatingly. “They’ve never had our interests at heart. What does it matter, anyway? You’re free of them now, don’t you see.’ Free of her. What can she do about it? When we dock at Easthaven, we can do what we like, go where we want. We could be together . . .”

“Sara?” Anvar turfieYi to her, stunned. Did she mean it? Could it possibly be true, that she still loved him after all?

The few feet of space between them was a gulf of years, of hurt, of heartache, but Sara seemed to fly over the intervening gap, and at long last her slight form was in his arms once more. As she turned her face to him, the lamplight glowed on her fine-spun hair and her eyes glistened with tears. “Thank goodness,” she whispered. “Thank goodness I’ve found you at last!”

Anvar could hardly believe it. Were all his dreams finally coming true?

“I was so afraid,” Sara went on. “But you’ve been so brave. You’ve been wonderful, wonderful.” Breathlessly she hurried on without giving him a chance to speak. “Oh, Anvar, I’ve missed you so much!”

At last Anvar found his voice. “But I thought you hated , Sara. After what you said—”

She sighed. “Anvar, I was so deeply hurt. I—I hardly knew what I was doing. Forgive me, please. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved . . .” Her tears overflowed, spilling down her flawless face.

Anvar crushed her to his breast, never wanting to let her go, his heart soaring. “Sara, my love, don’t cry. That’s all over now. We’ll do whatever you say, anything you want. We’ll go away, and be together.”

Sara smiled. Then, putting her arms around his neck, she kissed him, long and deep, with all the lost passion of their youth. For a moment Anvar was completely taken aback, but her kiss awakened all the frustrated longings he had kept buried in his heart. His arms tightened around her as he returned her kisses with increasing urgency and fervor. His heart began to pound, and he found himself going rigid with excitement as he fumbled at the fastenings of her bodice to touch her breasts, her—

“What is this?” Aurian stood in the doorway, her voice stern, her expression thunderous. “Is this how you repay Vannor for his love?” she stormed at Sara, who gave a little cry of fear, her hands fumbling at the open neck of her dress.

Anvar put himself between the two women. “You mind your own business,” he told the Mage flatly. “Sara and I were lovers once, and parted through no fault of our own—I was sold into slavery to you, and she was sokKinto slavery of another kind. We’ve suffered enough, and now we’re going to take what’s due to us—and don’t you try to interfere!”

“Not interfere!” Aurian cried. “By the Gods, Anvar, how could you sink so low? With another man’s wife—a good man, who trusted you!”

“Don’t you lecture me on bloody morals!” Anvar yelled at her, beside himself with rage at the insidious guilt her words had raised. “You—you murderess!”

Aurian stared at him, her mouth open, her face white and blank with shock. Then she whirled, and was gone. Sara smiled a smug little smile.

Everything was quiet on deck. Not a soul was about, except the captain at the helm and the solitary lookout perched high above on the mainmast. The rest of the crew were below, greatly subdued by the loss of two of their comrades in the accident that afternoon. One of the dead had been the harpoonist, and Aurian could not bring herself to be sorry for his loss. She went quietly to her accustomed place in the bow, her mind reeling from the shock of what she had just witnessed, and the venom of Anvar’s attack.

“Murderess!” The accusation rang in her ears. How could he possibly understand? He thought of the Leviathan as animals. He’d be quick enough to act to save a human child! Well, he might . . . Anvar had not been trained as a warrior, as she had. People needed warriors to do their killing, so that they could keep their own consciences clear, and lay the blame at someone else’s door . . .

Forral understood. He had told her once: “It’s a dirty job, when you come down to it. They use you to wade through the blood and muck and corpses, while your friends get slaughtered around you. They use you to deal with the people who stand in their way so they don’t risk their flabby bodies and snow-white consciences—and then, if you have the gall to survive, to be there afterward as a living reminder, they turn on you and cry ’atrocity’!”

“Then why do we do it?” she had asked him.

He had smiled then. “Think of the people at the Garrison,” he had said. “There’s nothing like the comradeship that warriors share. And do you remember the fight we had, the day we first made love? If you remember how that felt, then you know.” And she had known.

Gods, how she missed Forral! How she wanted him. She had nothing now; her heart was filled with a bleak, aching void. How could she live with this pain for the rest of her life? Aurian saw the keg of spirits that had been left behind, forgotten, on deck. An empty tin cup was rolling round in the scuppers by her feet. A voice at the back of her mind warned of danger, of the need to be alert, but she ignored it. What does it matter? she thought dully. I’ve made a total mess of everything anyway. Picking up the cup, she went to fill it. It was poor comfort, but it might help to dull the pain for a while.

They had made love. As soon as the Mage left, Sara had seized Anvar with savage ferocity, pulling him down with her on the bunk and tearing at his clothes. It had been so long . . . How could he resist? Like animals, they had taken each other in the sordid cabin, mindless in their lust. Now that it was over, Anvar felt drained and guilty, and somehow used. The old, sweet innocence of their love had vanished. He chided himself for his folly. He and Sara loved each other—and now, at last, she was his again. What did anything matter in comparison to that? He rolled over to take her in his arms. Perhaps this time it would be better—

“Not now.” Sara’s words were like a slap in the face.

“Why not?” Anvar exclaimed in injured tones, and reached for her again.

Sara slapped his hands away, then favored him with a smile. “There’ll be time for that later,” she said, “when we’re off this rotten ship. But now you must go and make sure that the Mage is staying awake.”

“What? She won’t want to see me now, after what I said to her.” Anvar felt a pang of guilt.

“Who cares what she wants!” Sara’s voice was hard. “The important thing is that we survive this journey. Don’t you see, the Archmage isn’t after us. Once we dock, we can be free of her, and him, forever.”

Not to see Aurian again? Somehow, Anvar could not imagine it. But Sara was right, he supposed. After tonight, the Mage would never want to see him again anyway. Everything had changed so suddenly . . . But Sara was right. The main consideration was that the Archmage should not find them. Sighing, he rummaged on the floor for his clothes, and dressed hastily. Sara gave him a farewell peck on the cheek, sending him on his way.

Anvar crossed the deck, feeling a dreadful reluctance to face the Mage. But all such thoughts fled from his mind when he saw her asleep in the bow with her head on the ship’s fail and a half-empty cup of liquor by her side. Traces of tears glistened on her face: Anthill ran down Anvar’s spine, a sudden feeling that danger lurked—very close. He leaned over to awaken her, shaking her shoulder.

It happened with unbelievable speed. Aurian was on her feet, her hands fastened in a crushing grip around his throat— and the eyes that blazed into his were not her own! Anvar fought for breath, clawing in panic at the choking hands.

Aurian’s mouth opened, her face contorting into a horrible parody of itself, and Anvar’s blood froze as Miathan’s voice issued from her snarling lips. “Anvar! I should have known. I should have ended your miserable life long ago. And how fitting it is, that I use her hands to slay you!”

The grip around Anvar’s throat tightened. At the last instant, while he still could, he screamed, “Aurian, no!” He couldn’t take another breath. His lungs burned, his vision was darkening. Then suddenly the hands released him, and he was pushed violently away to fall on the deck, wheezing as he tried to suck air down his bruised throat. From a distance he heard a voice. Oh, mercy, it was Aurian, calling his name. As his vision cleared, he saw her face above him in the dim light. Her own face, frowning. She looked very shaken. “Are you all right?” Aurian said.

Anvar nodded, and let her help him up onto the bench. His throat felt crushed. He reached for the cup of rum, and took a painful swallow. “Are you?” he whispered hoarsely. “I am now.” She sounded very grim. “Lady, what happened?” he asked her. “Can you remember?”

Aurian looked away from him, speaking in terse, emotionless tones. “I fell asleep. And suddenly, I wasn’t in my body anymore. I was somewhere else, all gray and misty—not in this world at all.”

“Is that possible?” Anvar gasped.

“Of course it’s bloody possible!” the Mage snapped. For all her efforts at control, she was shaking. “Miathan—he had taken me there. He was holding me somehow, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t get back. I tried to fight, but I couldn’t do anything. Then I heard your voice, and it seemed to break his concentration. I fought him then, all right!” She shook her head. “But I shouldn’t have won—not on ground of his choosing. It seemed as though he weren’t using all his power.”

“Probably because he was occupying your body at the same time,” Anvar suggested.

“So that’s why I was trying to kill you!” Aurian cried. “Oh Gods—the thought of him inside my mind, using my body—” She turned away, retching violently.

Anvar offered her the cup of spirits, but she waved it away. “How did you get back?” he asked her, in the hope that it might distract her from the horror.

“I don’t know—there was this kind of jolt, and I found myself with my hands around your throat.”

“Where is he now?” Anvar felt a sudden stab of alarm.

Aurian frowned. “I don’t know, and I don’t like it. He—”

A huge wave crashed up over the bow, drenching them both in shockingly cold water. Gasping, Aurian pulled her streaming hair out of her eyes and looked up, aghast. Black, boiling clouds streamed across the sky, blotting out the stars with unbelievable speed. A mighty gust of wind tore at the sails and the masts creaked dangerously as the ship heeled over at an alarming angle. The lookout fell with a shriek from the tilted mast and vanished among the churning waves. Another wave swept over the deck as the bow dipped into a deep trough. Aurian and Anvar found themselves in a tangled heap in the scuppers, knocked there by the wall of water. The crew came racing up from below. “What the blazes is going on?” Jurdag yelled. “No bloody storm comes up that fast!”

The strength of the gale was increasing—and with it the height of the waves that tore at the little ship. Once again she heeled dangerously, and Aurian clutched at Anvar as a torrent of water crashed over the side. “Cut it loose!” Jurdag was screaming, and the Mage looked up at the panic in his voice. The soaking mainsail had jammed in place, and the wind was pushing it inexorably over, threatening to capsize the ship. Two men scrambled up the rigging to do his bidding, but the next mountainous wave washed them away. The mast dipped alarmingly once more, the heavy sail almost going under.

Aurian knew she must act swiftly. Rising to her feet, she made a scrambling dash for the foremast, clinging to it for dear life as the deck pitched and lurched beneath her. Biting her lip, she tried to focus on rinf’Straining sail, but it was impossible to concentrate on her magic and keep her hold on the mast. She looked round for Anvar. “Anchor me,” she yelled above the shrieking storm. “Hold me!” In a moment he was at her side, putting one arm around the mast and bracing himself against the tilting deck while holding her firmly round the waist with the other arm.

“Now!” Aurian lifted her hands—and with a sound like a I thunderclap, the sail split up the middle, ripping apart from top to bottom. Immediately the ship began to straighten as the canvas wound itself round the mast in a tangle of ropes. The captain stood gaping for a moment, then began to order the crew to cut away the wreckage and reef the foresail. Even with a single slip of canvas on the foremast, the ship ran hideously fast before the storm.

Anvar put his mouth close to Aurian’s ear. “It’s bad,” he shouted. “We’d better get Sara.” Holding firmly to each other and whatever else happened to come to hand, they staggered and crawled across the wave-swept deck, in constant danger ot being swept away by solid sheets of water that threatened to swamp the ship. It seemed a lifetime before they reached the sanctuary of the cabin.

The door was blocked by a tangle of flotsam, washed across the deck by the invading sea. Aurian cursed and raised her hand again. “Protect your eyes!” she yelled at Anvar. Shards and splinters flew as she blasted the mass away. Anvar wrenched the door open and they cushed inside, a swirling flood of icy water at their heels.

Sara screamed and scrambled onto the bunk as the waters rushed across the cabin floor. Anvar, fighting the force of the water, struggled to close the door without success, until Aurian also put her shoulder to it. Between them they forced it shut, preventing any more of the ocean from entering. Aurian, gasping for breath, looked ruefully down at the dirty water that lapped around her boots. “Well,” she said, “at least the floor’s had its first good wash in ages.” She ducked across the room for her staff, and thrust it securely into her belt. “Let’s go,” she said tersely. “We can’t be caught in here if the ship goes down.” “Lady, surely this must blow itself out?” There was a tacit plea in Anvar’s voice.

Anrian shook her head. “No, Anvar. This storm is Eliseth’s doing, and it won’t end until she runs out of strength, which won’t be for some time—or until the ship is sunk. Miathan wants us dead.”

Sara gave a frightened little cry. “We’ll be killed!” she wailed, and burst into tears.

Anvar looked at the Mage, gray-faced. “Lady, I can’t swim,” he said.

Aurian stared at him, bracing herself against the heaving floor. “What do you mean, you can’t swim?” she said.

“I can’t. Sara can—she had to, living beside the river—but my father always kept me too busy to learn.”

Aurian smacked a palm against her forehead. “As if we hadn’t problems enough!” she said. “Stay by me—I’ll try to help you. But to be honest, Anvar, you’ll only be out of this mess a few minutes quicker than the rest of us. Nobody could survive a sea like this.” She felt bitter, and wretched, and utterly defeated.

A volley of thunder overhead made them jump, and a vivid flare of lightning brightened the window. There was a rending crack overhead, followed by a crash that shook the entire ship. The lamp went out, plunging them into darkness. Aurian was thrown abruptly forward, falling with Anvar and Sara in a tangle of bruised limbs. She scrambled to her feet, clinging to the bunk to keep her footing, and formed a ball of Magelight. The floor was canted at a steep angle, toward the bow. Aurian swore. Anvar was still hampered by Sara, and the Mage pulled her away to let him rise. “Hurry,” she yelled. “We’ve got to get out!”

When they reached the deck, utter chaos met their eyes. The mainmast had been struck by lightning. Catching fire, it had snapped halfway down, falling into the rigging of the foremast, which had collapsed in turn, bringing with it a splintered area of the deck, and smashing the bow on the starboard side. It protruded across the water, unbalancing the ship and causing her to swing broadside to the battering waves that were already beginning to break her up. The sea was flooding in across the shattered bow, pulling the ship further under. The captain was still clinging desperately to the wheel—a futile gesture, since the rudder was out of the water.

The ship was going-’under. As they stood, paralyzed by the sight before them, she began to turn over. The deck was slanting too steeply—they were falling! Aurian felt Anvar grab her shoulder then lose his grip as she plummeted into the icy sea, felt the current trying to draw her down with the foundered ship. The water closed over her head in a froth of bubbles, and she struck out desperately, trying to get clear of the danger. But the current was too strong. She held her breath as she was sucked beneath the waves—then Miathan was back. She felt the grasp of his will, like icy claws sinking deep into her mind.

It was too much. When she was so close to drowning, when she needed all her resources to survive, he was there again! Aurian felt rage building within her like a crimson tide. She remembered Finbarr’s brave stand, remembered Forral, brutally slain by the Archmage’s vile creatures. Miathan had even deprived him of a decent warrior’s death. Unthinking in her blind fury, she opened her mouth to curse him aloud. Salt water seared her throat, flooded burning into her lungs. Well, she’d do her best to take him with her. With a wrench she broke from his grasp, ripping her consciousness free of her body and arrowing her will back, back to Nexis. He was there, hunched like a spider over his crystal. Aurian entered the crystal, and gathering all the force of her Fire-magic, she launched a bolt of energy—straight at his eyes. Miathan shrieked—a horrible, tearing sound, and clasped his hands over his face. Smoke leaked between his fingers as he reeled away, blinded.

Not enough. Damn this weakness. As her dying body pulled her back, Aurian tasted bitter failure. He still lived, she knew. There was only one comfort to cling to with the last shreds of consciousness as she was sucked back into the agony of her body. She had blinded him—destroyed his eyes irrevocably. That’s for Forral, you bastard, she thought. Then the darkness took her.