Aurian

33 The Staff of Earth

“Aurian!” Sick with dread, Anvar hurtled down the spiral path, followed by Bohan and Shia. The ledge reached the ground on the opposite side from which the Mage had fallen, and he raced around the base of the tower, not daring to think of what he might find. He almost ran right into the fighters. A small figure, its identity obscured by the dusky shadows that flooded the bottom of the crater, was struggling with the Mage. Aurian was alive!

“Stay back!” The voice was shrill. The stranger, cloaked in deepest black, was using a handful of the Mage’s hair to pull her head back. A gleaming, naked blade lay across Aurian’s throat.

There was no time to wonder how Aurian had survived the fall. Anvar measured the distance between himself and the fighters, weighing the chances of a surprise attack. Not good, he thought. If I could see better . . . Magelight flashed between his fingers. He heard a yelp of shock from the stranger— and Aurian took advantage of her opponent’s distraction. There was a scuffle and a grunt of pain, and the positions of the assailants were suddenly reversed. The dagger spun away, lost in the struggle, Bohan chasing after it. Aurian had her foe down and was attacking with both fists, spitting curses.

Anvar, rememberirrg the blind rage of his fight with Harihn, rushed forward to grab Aurian’s arm. “All right,” he said, panting. “You’ve won!” But when he tried to pull the Mage to her feet, she fell with a cry of pain. “You’re wounded?” Anvar dropped down beside her.

Aurian was swearing furiously. “Wrenched my knee, landing,” she muttered. “That was how she got the advantage—and because I was scared out of my wits!” She shook her head in puzzlement. “But why did she break my fall?” “It’s a she?”

“Bloody right!” She struck her own Magelight with an ease that made Anvar sigh with envy. “You ever see a man fight like this?” Her arms and face were bloodied with long, deep scratches. “Added to that, I sacrificed a handful of hair to get out of the hold she had on me.” Aurian snorted with disgust, rubbing her scalp. Her face was gray in the Magelight, and Anvar knew that her fall must have terrified her—as it had terrified him.

“I don’t know why she broke your fall, but I thank all the Gods she did,” he said shakily.

Aurian’s composure was crumbling, and for a moment Anvar thought she would fling herself into his arms, as she had done after their terrible ascent of the cliffs of Taibeth. But instead she took a long, shuddering breath, making a visible effort to pull herself together. “If I start thinking about it, I’ll go into screaming hysterics,” she said firmly. “Let’s take a look at our prisoner.”

Stifling an insidious feeling of disappointment, Anvar turned toward the girl, and Aurian moved her light to illuminate the huddled, weeping figure. “Gods save us!” For the first time, Anvar got a good look at what he had mistaken for a dark cloak. “She has wings!” Sending Shia and Bohan off to make sure there were no other Winged Folk lurking nearby, Anvar bent to examine the strange captive.

She was very small and finely made—not much over half Anvar’s height, though each of the great black wings that sprang from her back was longer than her body. The pinions were jointed, so that their upper sections rose beyond her shoulders, higher than her head, while the lower parts dropped to her feet in a graceful tapering sweep.

As Anvar pulled her hands away from her bruised, tear-streaked face, she glared at Aurian with eyes that were huge and dark. “She hit me!”

The words were strangely accented, and Anvar guessed that his Magefolk ability to communicate in all tongues was in operation once more. “What did you expect?” he told her angrily. “You were trying to cut her throat!”

The winged girl spat at Aurian’s feet. “In my country she would die for striking a Princess!”

Aurian groaned. “Not royalty again!”

Raven stared at the tall, grim-faced woman who could fight like a demon, and her stomach clenched into a tight, cold knot of fear. Who werejhese horribly big, wingless beings? She had never seen anything like them. What were they doing in this deserted place? What would they do to her? The man with the unnerving, sky-colored eyes grabbed her arm roughly. “Are there any more of you about?” he demanded.

Raven’s mind worked quickly. “Of course!” she snapped haughtily. “Do you think a Princess would be unescorted? Let me go, ere I call my guards to make an end of you!” “She’s lying,” the redheaded woman said. “Tell us the truth!” The man’s grip tightened, making her squirm and gasp with pain.

Raven was inwardly raging, but that stern, ice-blue gaze made her quail. “I am alone,” she confessed. She was unable to stop her tears from com’mg. Yot au mstarvt, she thought she saw his expression soften with pity, then he looked at the woman and his face became grim once more. But it was a chance—if she could only get him on her side . . . Raven gazed up at the man with imploring eyes. “Please don’t let her hurt me again!” The tall woman snorted with disgust. “Listen, you can drop that terrified-little-girl act. It’s not fooling anyone. You’re older than you look, I’ll wager, and I’ve the scars to prove that you’re a menace.”

Raven was furious at the exposure of her ploy. “How dare you! I am a Princess of the Blood Royal!”

“Not here, you’re not,” the woman growled. “You’re our prisoner, and in a lot of trouble. You attacked us first, remember. I still owe you for pitching me off that tower.”

Well, that was true enough, Raven admitted to herself. Yet despite her attack on the woman, these people hadn’t actually harmed her, though they could have killed her at once if they’d wanted. And she was so tired of being alone . . .

“Lady,” she said at last, “I beg pardon for that. I—I saw you coming, and I was afraid. I thought if I surprised you . . .”

To her utter surprise, the woman grinned. “You didn’t do too badly, considering. Why did you slow my fall with your wings, though? If you had dropped me from that height, you could have killed me outright.”

Raven shrugged, making her dark, glossy feathers rustic “I thought if I had a hostage, the others might not hurt me,’

Just then a hulking figure emerged from the shadows.

Raven gasped. And she’d thought the others were big! Behind the wingless man was a fearsome dark shape with flaming eyes. Raven was all too familiar with the savage great cats, who lived on the northern side of her own mountains, and waged a constant war with her folk. She shrieked, and tried to run, but the man pulled her back to his side.

“It’s all right,” Anvar reassured her. “Shia is a friend, and in her own way, she can talk to us.”

“She says that you really are alone, but she’s found a camp of sorts—with some food.” The woman chuckled. “She’s cross because Bohan here wouldn’t let her eat any of it. Seriously, though, is it your camp? We’re all dreadfully hungry.”

“What I have, I will share with you,” Raven offered, anxious to make some gesture of friendship, “I caught some birds, but there was nothing to make a fire. Besides, I was never taught to cook,” she added frankly, “so my hunger is as great as yours.”

The woman caught the man’s eye and shrugged, “Lead on, and our thanks to you,” she said.

They walked through the empty city, the tall woman limping slightly and leaning on the man’s arm for support. Introductions were made, although everyone was too concerned with the thought of food to say much more than that. Raven had set up her camp in a building that consisted of a single large chamber with walls of misty blue crystal. There was no door to close, and no furnishings or signs that there had ever been any, though shelves and niches had been carved into the walls and a pile of assorted gems had been stacked along one side. The chamber’s best asset was a small spring-fed pool in one corner, which absorbed the attention of the thirsty strangers for a considerable time.

Raven produced four good-size birds that she’d caught on the wing, as she had often done at home for mere sport. The strangers took charge of supper with a capability that she envied. The men—Anvar and the huge Bohan—took the fowl outside to clean, while Aurian, the tall woman, scrabbled around in the pile of gems. Raven was mystified. What use would jewels be to her out here? Then all became clear—and her eyes nearly popped out of her head with astonishment. Aurian selected ajarge, flatfish piece of crystal and set it down in the middle of the floor. She sat down cross-legged and held her hands over the stone, her eyes narrowed with concentration. Within minutes, the gem was glowing hot and giving off a warm light that set the walls of their shelter twinkling cozily. Raven stared in utter disbelief, half afraid and almost unable to believe her good fortune. “You are Magefolk?” she whispered.

Aurian nodded briefly, still preoccupied with her task. Raven clutched at her, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She had never intended to go back, but . . . “Will you help me? My people need you desperately!”

Aurian sighed. “Raven, I don’t know if we can. We’re trapped here ourselves—but tell us about it while we eat. It must be serious if it has driven you out here alone.”

Anvar and Bohan returned with supper cleaned and plucked, and the Mages contrived to spit the birds on sword blades and wedge them in position over the fiery gem. “Can I help you heat that thing?” Anvar asked Aurian. She shook her head. “I’m expending very little effort, but the crystal boosts my power. This Dragon-magic has its uses.”

While they ate, Raven told her story. Her people had lived in their isolated mountain fastness for centuries, growing hardy crops in terraced valleys and tending their flocks of hill goats and ground birds. But in the last months, an unnatural, un-seasonal winter had laid waste to their civilization. She told the Mages of sudden, lethal snowstorms, of biting cold that had ruined the land, and the-ascendancy of the evil, power-hungry High Priest. Raven shuddered as she spoke of human sacrifices, of atrocities committed in the name of salvation, of the helplessness and desperation of her mother, the Queen. “Then Blacktalon insisted on taking me as his bride,” she said. “I knew he planned to depose Flamewing and consolidate his hold over the Skyfolk, ruling in my name.”

She described her escape from Aerillia in the storm, and the hardship and suffering of crossing the desert, flying by night from oasis to oasis, exhausted and hungry, but driven onward by fear and desperation. Tears stood in her eyes. “I didn’t want to run away. It was my only hope—I would not have survived Blacktalon’s cruelty for long—but it tore my heart to go. Even at the risk of my life I would return, if I thought I could do something. Could you help us? Please? My people are dying!”

Aurian looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

Anvar both saw and sensed the Mage’s distress, and knew what she must be thinking. Eliseth. Who else could have brought down this unnatural winter? The Winged Folk had fallen victim to the Magefolk’s pursuit of Aurian. An uneasy silence had fallen in the chamber. Abruptly, Aurian thrust the remains of her supper aside. Without a word she hoisted herself up with her staff, and limped out of the chamber. Anvar followed her outside.

Aurian was sitting with her back against the wall of their building, shivering a little in the cool desert night, her eyes fixed blankly on the sparkling heavens. “Go away,” she said, without turning.

“No.” Anvar sat down beside her. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“Who else should I blame?” There was a thin edge of anger in her voice. “All this started because Forral and I—”

“Don’t be stupid!” Anvar snapped. “Aurian, we’ve been through this. It started because Miathan turned the Caldron to evil. It started because of the blind, arrogant prejudice of the Magefolk toward Mortals! You’ve suffered enough, without tearing yourself up over the Winged Folk.”

“How can you say that?” Aurian flared. “We’re all responsible!” Her eyes hardened. “Yes, even you, Anvar. You brought Forral, raging, into Miathan’s chamber that night, and forced the Archmage to release the Wraiths!”

Anvar turned suddenly cold. “I’ve always wondered if you blamed me for Forral’s death,” he said quietly.

Aurian remained silent, refusing to look at him. Not knowing what else to say, he went back inside with bowed head and heavy steps.

Raven looked up as he entered. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked him anxiously.

Anvar stared at her as though returning from a dream, and collected his scattered thoughts. “No—nothing. She needs some time to think.”

Shia was not fooled. “Should I go?”

He shook his head, “She wants to be alone.”

The light of the crystal was dying. Anvar lay beside it, but its residual heat did nothing to pierce the bitter chill inside him. Why now? he thought. Why, after all this time, should she accuse me? But she had every right. During the months of their journey, he had thrust away the memory of his part in Forral’s death, not wanting to believe it and hoping against hope that Aurian did not. Aurian . . . surely if she blamed him, she must hate him? Anvar tossed restlessly, tormented by guilt and misery. It was hours before he finally fell asleep, but the Mage did not return.

Aurian sat long into the night gazing blindly at the stars and trying to come to terms with her guilt and confusion. Her angry, unguarded outburst to Anvar had horrified her. She hadn’t meant to accuse him—the words had come from nowhere, as the thought had come into her mind. Do I really blame him? she thought. Has this been at the back of my mind all along? Suddenly she was startled out of her thoughts by a glimpse, out of the corner of her eye, of a stealthy movement in the darkness beyond her. The Mage reached quickly for her sword—and caught her breath as a figure emerged from the shadows.

“Forral!” The exclamation froze in Aurian’s throat as he stepped toward her. This pale wraith was not the lusty, living man she had known and loved! His image wavered, oddly translucent and cloaked in an eye-deceiving glimmer. His ghostly face was frowning and sad. Aurian felt herself redden with shame, as she heard his gruff voice in her mind. “That wasn’t very fair to Anvar, was it, love? I taught you better than to waste time dealing out blame. Miathan’s evil is spreading, and that’s no way to deal with it!”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she whispered unhappily. The ghostly figure smiled, his expression softening into a wistful, loving look. Beckoning, he began to walk away from her. “Forral, wait!” Aurian pulled herself up on her staff and limped hastily after him, following him into the shadows of the abandoned city.

She couldn’t catch him. No matter how fast Aurian tried to hobble, Portal’s shade kept the same tantalizing distance between them, though he never went out of her sight. At last he stopped, turning toward her, and she realized that they had reached the mysterious cone-shaped edifice that was the center and focus of Dhiammara. The humming power that emanated from the structure seemed to vibrate within her very bones, but she kept her eyes fixed on the beloved figure of Forral. She limped toward him, her hand outstretched, longing to touch him once more.

“Don’t!” The warning was sharp enough to halt her, though Forral’s voice had been gentle. He shook his head, his expression one of deepest sorrow. “You can’t touch me, lass. I’m breaking rules as it is, coming to you like this.” He smiled ruefully. “We were never ones for rules, were we, you and I?”

“But I want to be with you!” Her voice caught on a sob.

“I know. Oh, my dearest love, how I’ve missed you! But I don’t begrudge you your life, and that of our child. Besides, you bear a grave responsibility. The times ahead won’t be easy, love, but I know you’ll manage.” His face shone with pride for her. “You’ve the courage and determination to succeed, you and young Anvar.”

Forral’s words grew gradually fainter as he spoke. His shade seemed to be dissolving, drifting away from her like smoke on the wind. “Don’t leave me!” Aurian cried in anguish, as his image faded.

“I’m being called back.”

His voice was distant now. “Take care of our babe, love . . . Remember ... I love you . . . But I’m gone . . .”

“No!” Aurian flung herself forward to the space where he had stood. “I love you too, Forral,” she whispered. Leaning her head against the cool, tingling wall of the building, she gave way to her heartache, her body shaking with sobs.

Aurian never knew how long she wept there. But it was not long. As her tears fell on the smooth wall of green crystal, the humming began to increase in volume and pitch. The Mage, her thoughts filled with Forral, never noticed—until a door snapped open abruptly in the stone beneath her, pitching her headlong inside.

“Oh!” Aurian sat up, wiped her eyes, and looked around. She was in a wide corridor that had been carved out of the gem. Its interior glowed with a dim green light. The air was stale, and heavy with an oddly spicy scent, but it was freshening rapidly as the cold, thin air of the plateau whispered through the open portal. Once again she felt the living mind within this place, the sense of an alien power that tugged at her, urging her farther within. The Mage resisted, wanting only to remain where she was, to hug the precious memory of her meeting with Forral to her as she might clutch at a dagger driven into her own breast. But the power was persistent, and Forral had told her in no uncertain terms that she had responsibilities.

“Oh, all right,” Aurian muttered ungraciously, groping on the ground for her staff. “But you’ll have to wait until I fix this wretched knee. Whatever you are, I want both legs under me when I meet you!”

The Healing was surprisingly easy, and the Mage could have sworn that the mysterious power was actively helping her. Whether it was true or not, it reassured her. She stood up, and despite the growing sense of awe that this strange place engendered, she crept forward into the depths of the building.

Once again the corridor wound in an ever-climbing spiral. I’m getting sick of this, Aurian thought. You’d think that once in a while they might vary the design! Her smile at her own temerity faded abruptly as the passage opened into an airy, circular chamber: a dead end. The light was brighter now through the green crystal walls, and she suspected that dawn must be breaking outside. The floor of the empty hall glittered in the growing illumination, and the Mage saw that it was inlaid with a delicate mosaic of gold in an intricate whorled pattern that led both her eyes and her feet to a great sunburst shape in the center of the room. As Aurian stepped onto it there was a sharp, deafening concussion like a clap of thunder. She recoiled, throwing up an arm to shield her eyes as a blinding beam of sunlight, focused by some hidden aperture in the domed ceiling, shot down to strike her in a blaze of gold.

“Aurian has gone!” Shia pawed roughly at Anvar, her eyes aflame. “What happened between you last night, human?”

Anvar came abruptly awake. “Gods, we have to find her! After last night, there’s no telling what she’ll do!”

Wan dawnlight shone through the crystal walls of their dwelling. Bohan was packing up the remains of their supper while Raven watched wide-eyed from a corner. “What is happening?” she asked. “What has become of the Mage?”

Anvar almost choked on his resentment. If she hadn’t decided to saddle them with her problems . . . “Come on, you!” he said harshly, yanking her to her feet. When they got outside, Shia was already quartering the ground. “Cats don’t usually hunt by scent,” she told him, “but I think I can track her. It looks as though she went into the city.”

Gradually the dazzle faded from her vision. Aurian could see once more—and could scarcely believe what her eyes were telling her. The hall of the sunburst had vanished completely, and she stood in a vast chamber that was formed entirely of gold: walls, floor, and rounded ceiling. In the center was a towering, haphazard heap of gold and gems, and on top of it— Aurian had to steel herself not to run. Couched on the jeweled pile, lit by a single ray of buttery sunlight that streamed through an opening in the apex of the dome, was a huge golden dragon!

The Mage drew her sword and backed away, looking for a means of escape. There was none. Apart from the aperture in the high ceiling, the room had no exits at all. Aurian suffered a nasty moment or two before she noticed that the dragon’s eyes were closed, and that it had not moved an inch since she’d first set eyes on it. She remembered the devious time trap. The Dragonfolk were famed for their cunning—could it be feigning sleep to lure her closer?

Nonsense, Aurian told herself firmly. Why, something that size could catch you in seconds, if it wanted to take the trouble! Squinting against the flaring golden light, she peered at the motionless creature, reluctant to go any closer, and saw at last the reason for its stillness. The bluish glimmer was difficult to see against the gilded brightness of the dragon’s scales, but it was undoubtedly there. Someone had imprisoned it—taken it out of time using the same spell that Finbarr had taught her so long ago! Her Magefolk curiosity winning out, Aurian crept closer to the slumbering monster.

It was difficult not to be afraid, though she knew that the dragon was helpless. It was immense, easily big enough to fill the Great Hall of the Academy, Aurian thought. But it was beautiful, with the sun highlighting the elegant lines of its sinuous body. It lay curled like a sleeping cat, its slender, tapering tail draped across its fearsome jaws, its vast wings stretched protectively over its treasure. Those wings! Aurian was fascinated by them. They were ribbed like the wings of a bat, but between the golden struts was stretched a fragile, translucent membrane spangled with darkly gleaming scales in a silver network of veining like the thin wire that bound the grip of her sword. The Mage recalled both Yazour and Ithalasa saying that dragons fed by absorbing the sun’s energy directly through their wings. It looked as though they had been right.

“Well, now what?” Her muttered words sounded obscenely loud in the stillness of the chamber. Aurian fought the conviction that she had been lured here by the mysterious power for a reason—to do the most foolhardy thing that she had ever contemplated. She had been deliberately led to this place, but whether it was for her benefit, that was another matter! Yet when she looked at the magnificent dragon, she found herself moved to unexpected sympathy. Poor thing, she thought. How long have you been trapped like that? Well, I only hope you’re grateful . . . Backing away to what she fervently hoped was a safe distance, Aurian took the staff from her belt and began to unravel the spell.

As she did so, an intense feeling of Tightness washed over the Mage—a confidence that suddenly vanished, leaving her weak-kneed, as the dragon raised its head. Huge faceted eyes of slumbering fire pinned her to the spot with an unblinking stare. The dragon opened its mouth, showing teeth like curved and gleaming swords—and Aurian’s fear turned to sheer delight as the air of the chamber came alive with light and music. Whirls of pure, ever-changing color flowed across the ceiling and walls. The air flickered and flashed with shifting tatters of rainbow. The colors danced and swirled to a music so pure, so utterly perfect that the Mage’s eyes filled with tears. Rounded and mellifluous but strengthened with an underlying metallic edge, the fluent cascade of notes was hard and mellow as gold. As Aurian stood, lost in wonder, her powers were hard at work analyzing, remembering, finding patterns. After a time, meaning began to emerge from the breathtaking display of light and sound. This was the speech of the Dragonfolk!

“I said, who awakens me?” There was an edge of irritation in the fluid fall of notes, underlaid with a plangent yearning. “Why do you not answer? Are you the One, come at last?”

After the dragon’s music, Aurian’s voice sounded dull and feeble to her ears. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “Am I?”

The dragon seemed to have no trouble understanding her. Its chuckle sent prisms of light bouncing through the chamber, making the colors tremble and dance. “You have courage and honesty, at any rate. If you passed the first test by unsealing the temple door, there is hope, at least!” “I opened that door?”

The creature snorted. “Of course! This temple has been sealed for centuries, ever since the Dragonfolk quit Dhiammara! Our Wise Ones decided that since we departed in sorrow, after the Cataclysm, then sorrow would be the key for the One to unlock our ancient wisdom once more. Your tears were the only thing that could open that door, Wizard.” The dragon cocked its massive head, looking at her sidelong. “I take it they were your tears?

The Mage was taken aback. “Well, of course they were! I— I was grieving for someone very dear to me, who died . . .”

“Grief, eh? Most appropriate.” There was smugness in the dragon’s tone.

Aurian clenched her fists, “I’m glad you think so!” she snapped. “Personally, I don’t find it particularly clever to make use of another’s suffering!”

“Who are you to question the wisdom pf the Dragonfolk,’’” Aurian was flattened by the dragon’s roar. The colored lights of its speech exploded into jagged shards of white lightning that seared into her vision. The Mage picked herself up and glared at him, so angered by his bullying arrogance that she forgot to be afraid. “Who am I?” she cried. “I am Aurian, daughter of Geraint, Fire-Mage. My father died trying to unlock the secrets of the Dragonfolk’s so-called wisdom, so don’t expect me to be impressed with your powers! Spare me your games, dragon. I have no time for them! The Magefolk—Wizards, you used to call them—have turned to evil. The Caldron has been found, and the Nihilim let loose into the world. What, in your infinite wisdom, do you suggest I do about that?”

The dragon’s eyes flared bright crimson. “Then the ancient prophecies have come true! You must be the One!”

“The one? Which one?” Aurian realized that she was shouting. “I don’t understand!”

“I see that the centuries have done little to moderate the infamous Wizardly temper,” the dragon snapped. It rattled its wings in irritation, sending a small avalanche of gold and gems cascading musically down its sloping treasure pile. “I speak of the Sword, you imbecile! Chierannath, Sword of Flame, whose making was preordained by the greatest of our Seers, to combat the misuse of the other Great Weapons! You dare speak to me of loss and grief? I, who have been sundered from my people, from my friends and loved ones, to wait here, frozen in time, until the Sword should be needed! My task, ignorant one, is to identify the One for whom it was forged. And now you have come, disturbing my slumber with your questions and your puny rage!”

Aurian spoke with the calm of deep shock. “Are you saying that the Sword—the mightiest of the Great Weapons—was crafted centuries before my birth specifically for me?”

“That remains to be seen.” The dragon sounded skeptical. “I admit that when I imagined the One, I had more of a ... heroic figure in mind.”

“So you’d be happier if I were some hulking, muscle-bound warrior, would you? Well, hard luck!”

The creature’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light. “Watch your words. I will take no abuse from a puny, two-legged Wizard!”

Aurian swallowed hard, remembering the last fix in which her temper had landed her. The dragon had no right to complain about people being quick to anger! “Very well,” she said. “Assuming I am the One—what happens now?”

“Assuming that you are—you will complete the third test, which is to re-create the lost Staff of Earth.”

Aurian was speechless. Re-create the Staff? Impossible! Doubt slid insidiously into her mind, and disappointment swamped her. He’s right—I can’t be the One of whom he speaks, she thought miserably. But she took a firm grip on her staff and straightened her spine, knowing that if she gave up without trying, she would never be able to live with herself.

The dragon was watching her intently, its curious eyes unblinking. “Well? Do you intend to stand there gaping forever?”

Damn you, Aurian thought. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”

He laughed. “Very good! I may answer three questions— but not the obvious one. Make them count, Wizard!”

The Mage remembered what she had heard of the history of the Staff. “I was told the Staff had been lost during the Cataclysm,” she ventured. “Was it destroyed, then?”

“Yes.” That was all he said.

Don’t do me any favors, Aurian thought sourly. “But,” she went on, “you said re-create—so the powers of the Staff must still exist . . .” In a flash of inspiration she remembered Anvar regaining his powers, and how the Archmage had stolen them in the first place. She thought of the crystal door underground that had sapped her powers, and the bracelets of Harihn’s folk . . .

“Was that a question?” The dragon broke into her train of thought—deliberately, Aurian was sure.

“No,” she said hastily, trusting her intuition. “This is my second question: is the crystal that holds the power of the Staff within this room?”

Starbursts of light filled the chamber. “Yes!” the dragon sang. “And now you must locate it.”

Aurian swore a bloodcurdling oath. Now she knew why the dragon had such an uncomfortable bed. It was a decoy and another test. Somewhere in that pile, indistinguishable from all the other gems, lay the crystal that she sought. The Mage was horrified. It’ll take years to search through that lot, she thought. Think, Aurian! There must be a better way! And there was, she realized. Because, by her nature, she had always been drawn to her father’s Fire-magic, she had a tendency to neglect Eilin’s side of her heritage. Now, at last, it would come into its own.

Grounding the heel of her staff firmly, the Mage gripped it in both hands and summoned the powers of Earth: the slow, heavy lives of the mountains and stones, the soil’s fecund womb, the exuberant springing of growing things, and the bright, brief lives of cj£%tures that crawled or ran, spawning in the endless cycle of life, death, and ultimate decay from which new life would spring. By all these and more, which were the essence of its very creation, Aurian called upon the powers of the Staff of Earth.

And the powers answered! Aurian’s staff almost jerked from her hands, to point at the heart of the dragon’s couch. The serpent-carved wood began to hum and vibrate, and to blossom with a thick emerald light. The dragon gave a startled squawk —the most unmusical sound she had heard it make—and scrambled aside wich a speed that beJied its massive size as its bed began to shift and shudder, spilling in a glittering cascade f across the chamber. From the center of the pile an answering ray of green shot upward. Aurian dropped, protecting her head, as a mighty explosion of gems and gold shot violently outward to rattle against the walls.

In the silence that followed, the Mage discovered, to her relief, that she had kept a firm hold on her tugging staff. She stood up shakily, bruised all over from the hard-flung treasure, to find the chamber flooded with a rich green light. The dragon’s head snaked out from beneath a protecting wing and she heard the rasp of air in its throat as it sucked in a huge breath. “Upon my word,” it said, sounding awed, “you do nothing by halves, Wizard!”

The staff pointed unerringly to the center of the room. There, in the space that it had cleared so vigorously for itself, a glowing green gem, about~fhe size of Aurian’s circled finger and thumb, sat in solitary splendor. The Mage approached it cautiously, narrowing her eyes against the intense emerald radiance of the stone. She halted an arm’s length away, prevented from going closer by the energy that pulsed from it like a wall of green fire. Not until she had remade the Staff would that power be tamed and contained so that a Mage could wield it and survive. But how could it be done? Aurian ran her hands down her own staff, feeling Anvar’s skilled and lively carvings beneath her fingers. The twin serpents that coiled around it were so lifelike that she could almost feel them move . . . That gave her an idea . , .

There was, however, one last thing to settle. Aurian turned to the dragon. “I want to ask my third question.”

The creature seemed surprised. “Ask, then. But I warn you, I cannot tell you how to accomplish your task.”

“That’s all right. What I want to know is, If I re-create the Staff, do I get to keep it?”

The dragon threw back its head and roared—but with laughter, not the rage she had expected. “Temeritous Wizard! No one ever beat your race for sheer gall! Yes, you may keep the Staff, for you will have earned it. But be warned—always be aware of the forces at your command, and the destruction you might wreak. Never make the mistake that the users of the Caldron have made!”

Approaching the stone as closely as she dared, Aurian concentrated her powers, not on the gem itself, but upon her own staff. She passed her hands over the familiar surface, her fingers tingling and bathed in light as she strove, using the magic of the living Earth, to breathe life into the wood. Beneath her fingers, the serpents stirred, their carved eyes winking into sparkling awareness. Forked tongues flicking in and out, they raised their scaly heads from the Staff. Aurian bent her will upon them, instructing, commanding. Holding her staff by its iron-shod heel, she held it out to touch the crystal. The serpents reached forth and took the stone, grasping it tightly between them in their fanged jaws.

An overwhelming surge of force ran up the staff, almost knocking the Mage off her feet. She swayed, holding on tightly, ablaze with the power of the stone. She felt her form expanding to embrace the room, the city, the desert . . . She encompassed the entire world—each stone, each blade of grass, every creature that drew breath. She was all of them, and they were her, and she gloried with them in the miracle of their creation! Aurian’s cry of triumph rang to the very stars as she raised aloft the newly created Staff of Earth . . .

Shia had lost the Mage’s trail. Leading the anxious companions through the city, she had brought them at last to the foot of the towering green cone—and there Aurian’s scent had disappeared. “I don’t understand,” she told Anvar. “It reaches this place—then stops.”

Anvar cursed. “Don’t be ridiculous! It must be there somewhere, for goodness’ sake U She can’t have vanished!”

Shia glared at him. “Would you like to try?” she said pointedly.

Anvar sighed. “I’m sorry, Shia. I don’t know what to do, either. We’ve been all around this thing, and there isn’t an entrance anywhere.” He gazed up at the steep, glassy sides. “And she couldn’t have climbed—”

His words were drowned by the deafening roar of an explosion. The cone blazed with a piercing viridian light, the entire edifice rocked right down to its foundations. Anvar and the others were thrown down as the earth cracked and lurched beneath their feet. A great wind seemed to come from nowhere, howling and shrieking between the city’s buildings and whipping up choking clouds of dust and debris.

Anvar struggled unsuccessfully to rise. “She is in there!” he cried, above the noise of the sudden storm. “She must be! Great Gods, what has she done this time?”