Aurian

34 Earthquake!

Anvar pressed his body flat to the ground as the earth shuddered and heaved. Nearby he could see the others, all similarly flattened by the force of the tearing gale and the quaking surface beneath them. He choked on the wind-borne dust, and rubbed his streaming eyes to see Raven nearby. The winged girl, unable to fly in the storm, was whey-faced and weeping with terror. Even as he watched, a gust caught her beneath her wings and half lifted her from the ground, rolling her over and over. Bohan grabbed her wrist as she slid past, his weight providing an anchor for the winged girl who caught at his clothes with her free hand and clung to him, her face contorted in a silent shriek.

A hideous grating sound from above his head drew Anvar’s attention upward. Before his horrified eyes, a network of gaping cracks snaked up the tower’s green sides. “We have to get away from here!” he screamed, trying to scramble to his feet only to be thrown down again by the keening wind that snatched his words away.

Shia, because of their mental link, was the only one who heard him. “How?” The one word was harsh with fear.

The cracks were widening, and to his dismay, Anvar saw that nearby buildings were suffering the same fate. The circle of destruction was spreading out from the tower to engulf not only the entire city, but the tortured bones of the mountain itself. He flung himself to one side, as the ground tore apart beneath him in a widening fissure. Too late! Anvar screamed as the earth crumbled beneath him, pitching him headfirst into the yawning chasm whose edges were already closing back together.

Pain shot up his leg as a strong grip closed around his ankle. Anvar lurched to a halt, dangling upside down over the closing gap. Faint as he was with terror, he hardly felt his other ankle being seized, knowing only that he was being pulled to safety as the jagged lip of the chasm gouged painfully into his stomach and ribs, ripping his thin desert robe. The grinding edges of rock snapped shut, missing his trailing fingers by inches. He felt himself being hauled roughly to his feet—and came face-to-face with Aurian.

“Get inside!” She shoved him toward a doorway—an aperture in the face of the green tower that had not been there before. Shia was crouched inside, her face creased in a snarl. Bohan, fighting the gale with all his strength, was tugging the winged girl toward the entrance. Anvar felt Aurian’s arm around him, forcing his faltering steps up the spiral corridor that wound into the heart of the disintegrating building. With a quick glance back to see that the others were following, she dragged him forward. Choking showers of green dust fell from the crazed ceiling above, blinding them. Anvar’s feet slid and stumbled as chunks of emerald erupted from the cracking floor. Aurian suddenly halted, cursing, and he saw that the way was blocked by a cave-in. Before Anvar could blink, the Mage had raised her free hand, holding something that blazed with a dazzling green light. There was a blinding flash, an explosion of magic that knocked him clean off his feet, and the passage was clear once more. Aurian wrenched him upright, almost pulling his arm from its socket, but Anvar pulled back, frightened by the unbelievable intensity of the power he had just witnessed. “What was that?” he shrieked.

“Staff of Earth,” Aurian replied brusquely, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, “Come on!”

The Mage hauled the astounded Anvar along until they entered a circular charnjjer where a golden mosaic glinted through the fallen dust on the floor. Pulling him across the chamber at a half run, she pushed him against the far wall. His heart lurched as he felt himself falling—he put out his arms to save himself—and his hands passed straight through the stone as his body was gripped by the viscous substance of a portal like the one in the oasis.

Once he had passed through into the darkness beyond, familiarity gave Anvar the presence of mind to scramble out of the way of the entrance, so as not to impede the others. Shia was next—he could feel her coat, gritty with dust as she brushed past him, spitting and snarling—followed by an hysterical Raven. The winged girl was shrieking at the top of her voice and striking out blindly in terror. A flailing wingtip caught Anvar in the face as she struggled, but though he wanted to reassure her, he was wheezing helplessly, unable to catch his breath, and crippled by a stitch in his side. He felt a warm, sticky trickle of blood down his ribs and belly where the skin had been torn on the edge of the chasm. Like all flesh wounds, the abrasions stung furiously, exacerbated by the sweat that drenched his body. Though he was stunned by Aurian’s revelation, all he could see was the jaws of the chasm closing . . . closing . . .

Raven’s struggles had ceased. Bohan was comforting her with his silent, solid presence. The chamber was becoming cramped with a further pressure of bodies as Aurian joined them. “Cover your eyes!” Her voice rang through the darkness. The flash of Magelight was visible even through Anvar’s closed eyelids and shielding hands, but for a dreadful moment nothing happened. He fought a stifling panic, imagining himself trapped and crushed within the collapsing tower. Suddenly, after what seemed an eternity, his stomach leapt into his throat as the chamber began to lurch unsteadily downward in a series of shuddering jerks. “Thank goodness! I thought we’d left it too late, for a minute.” Aurian’s matter-of-fact voice was like balm. With a sigh of relief, Anvar let himself slip into oblivion.

“There, my friend—does that feel better?” It did. The damp cloth was soft and cool against Anvar’s face, washing away the gritty dust that clogged his eyes and mouth. He opened his eyes, and saw the plump, comforting face of Eliizar’s wife. “Aurian, he wakes,” she called.

Anvar was reassured by the cheerful ring in her voice— until he saw the Mage. Aurian had changed\ She filled the whole of his consciousness, looking taller, fiercer, more vibrant and more beautiful than he had ever seen her, glowing from within with an awesome power that surrounded her like a cloak of light, Anvar swallowed hard. This was a Goddess—some mighty Queen out of legend! This was not his Aurian!

“What—what happened to you?” He got the words out with difficulty, awed by her presence and fighting an urge to shrink away from her. “You’re different.”

Aurian shook her head. “It’s the same old me, I’m afraid. Do I look so dreadful?” Her smile was replaced by a fleeting frown.

“No. Not dreadful.” Somehow, her uncertainty was reassuring to Anvar. “Magnificent!”

The Mage grimaced. “And that’s given everyone such a shock? Eliizar nearly fainted away at the sight of me.”

Anvar knew she was evading his question. “What happened to you?” he persisted.

“Don’t you remember? I found it, Anvar! The Staff of Earth!” From a fold in her robe, where its dazzling light had been concealed, Aurian produced the Staff—and Anvar quailed ’ from the power that pulsed through its slender, glowing length. This was the source of the fire that imbued the Mage. But . . . Anvar frowned. Those were his carvings—he’d know them anywhere. It was Aurian’s old staff—but changed. At the top, where there had been no ornamentation, the twin heads of the serpents reared up, holding between them, in their open jaws, a green gem whose incandescence could outshine the very sun. Anvar shielded his eyes, unable to look directly at the brilliant stone.

Aurian tucked the Staff back into her robe, shielding its light. “When I learn to control it properly . . .” She spoke calmly, but her eyes blazed with a savage excitement. “At last we’ll have a weapon against Miathan!”

Anvar shuddered, suddenly afraid, thinking of the earthquake that had almost killed them all, and remembering what the Archmage had done with the Caldron. Would Aurian create such ruin in her pursuit of revenge?

Anvar noticed that Aurian’s face was taut with strain. She was struggling to keep her voice light and calm as she continued, speaking too quickly to give him a chance to interrupt. “I Healed those scrapes of yours—they were full of dirt from the edge of that chasm—so you’re bound to feel drained for a while. Nereni will get us something to eat, and I’m going to awaken Raven now. She was so hysterical that I put her to sleep for a while. Before she wakes I want to try to do something about language. She can understand us, but now we’re back with the others, there’ll be problems. If I can fix it for her to understand the speech of the Khazalim, we’ll all be able to communicate.” “Can you do that?” Anvar was surprised. “Well—I’ve never heard of such a thing being tried before, but I think I could manage. Remember, her people were Magefolk before they lost their powers. The understanding of languages should lie within her—if only I can free it.” But before he could speak again, Aurian was gone.

“Are you well?” Nereni sounded anxious. Anvar had forgotten she was there. “Just tired,” he told her.

Nereni nodded. “No wonder you were shaken,” she said. “Down here, we thought the mountain was about to collapse!” With a worried frown, she glanced across at Eliizar, who was tending Shia and Bohan. Though they seemed little the worse for their experiences, the Swordmaster’s face was ashen.

“Anvar.” Nereni hesitated. “What did happen up there? What caused the earthquake? Aurian has changed—enough to frighten Eliizar out of his wits when you came through the wall at the back of the cavern.”

So that was where they had come out! Anvar had been wondering how Aurian had brought them back. “Weren’t you afraid of her?” he asked, avoiding her questions.

Nereni shrugged. “I hardly know—I was so relieved to see you all, I never thought ...” She smiled confidingly. “Sometimes, I think women are more practical than men—but never let Eliizar hear that I said so! Anyway, you must eat. I will prepare us some food, then perhaps you will tell me how you found that one!” She gestured at Raven, who was awake now, and conversing quietly with Aurian in, Anvar noted with surprise, the language of the Khazalim. I would never have believed she could do it, he thought, and shuddered inwardly, wondering what other powers might now be at the Mage’s disposal.

After a time Aurian persuaded Raven to meet the others around the fire, and Anvar was relieved to see the winged girl responding gratefully to Nereni’s mothering. While they ate, night fell across the desert outside. Aurian looked across at Anvar. “I think the time has come to tell our friends what brought us to the South.”

With that, she began to give the others a brief history of Miathan’s perfidy, which had brought herself and Anvar to the Southern Lands. Anvar noted that she had omitted all mention of Forral, and the fact that the two Mages were not wedded as they claimed, and wondered. But perhaps she was right. It did no harm, and given the customs of these people, surely it was more convenient to keep up the charade for a little longer? Without giving anyone time to speak, she plunged on into what had happened within the mountain, and how she had come to possess the Staff of Earth.

Anvar was certain that Aurian was leaving things out of this part of her tale. They had become so close after she had saved his life in the slave camp that he instinctively knew when she was hiding something. He felt a growing sense of unease. Why had Aurian left out what had happened after they’d parted that night? What had drawn her to the emerald tower? She claimed that the door had opened when she had leaned on it. A complete fabrication—he knew as much from trying the same thing himself. Anvar struggled with his suspicion. What was she trying to conceal?

“Then the dragon said I had proved that the Sword was crafted for me.” Aurian’s words brought Anvar abruptly out of his worried thoughts. “You have the Sword?”

The Mage shook her head. “It was sent into hiding. The Dragonfolk gave it to the Phaerie to take beyond the world. If the Seers were correct, they’ll return it when word of this new evil reaches them. The dragon told me I must find it, and circumvent the traps set to guard it. He said that the Phaerie have an incentive to fulfill their side of the bargain, and when the Sword is returned to the world, its presence should draw me to it sooner or later.”

Silence followed het words. All eyes were riveted on the Mage. Anvar tried to meet her eyes, but she bit her lip and looked away. “What about the missing parts of the story?” he demanded. “How did you get into that tower? How did you know to go there in the first place? If this dragon exists, where is he now? And, more to the point, what did you do to cause the destruction of the city?”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Aurian’s voice was dangerously quiet. Anvar saw hurt and disappointment on the Mage’s face, and knew that he was being hard on her, and unfair perhaps. But he had to know the truth. The Staff was to powerful to risk her becoming corrupted, as Miathan had been with the Caldron. Thinking of that, he became uncomfortably aware of the others listening to his words. Eliizar’s face was rigid with fear and mistrust at all this talk of sorcery, and suddenly Anvar understood the age-old Magefolk compulsion to keep their business to themselves. This was between himself and Aurian. “We need to talk,” he told her in a low voice, using their own language—but his words were drowned by the staccato ring of hooves on stone. Anvar turned to see the veiled and shadowy figure of a lone horseman riding through the cavern entrance, ducking low to avoid the lintel, the draft of his passage making the torches flicker and smoke. Eliizar let out a whoop of joy. “Yazour!”

They crowded round the young captain, all talking at once, other considerations forgotten for the moment. Yazour loosed the string of horses he had been leading, and the thirsty beasts, used to the ways of Dhiammara, made their way up the ramp to the upper pool, taking their burdens with them. Nereni persuaded everyone to stop crowding the tired man long enough for him to sit by the fire, where they all crowded around him again, their faces expectant.

Yazour took a grateful swig from the water sack and rubbed a hand over his dusty and unshaven face, looking round at them all. “All here—including our missing Lady! I see you found the supplies, then—And who is this?” He looked won-deringly at Raven, who smiled back shyly.

Eliizar grinned, plainly much more at ease now that another warrior had returned. “I win our wager,” he told Yazour, “You see—the Winged Folk da exist!’1

“Indeed they do—and if you had told me they were so pretty, Eliizar, I would have been climbing those very mountains even now, in search of them!”

Raven blushed crimson, and Anvar, despite his troubles, had to smile.

“I wish I had come sooner,” Yazour was saying, “but I had my oath of loyalty . . .” He shook his head sadly, “It was a difficult decision to make, but I was so sickened by what the Khisal had done— Well, in the end I could stand it no longer. I knew I had to come back for you. I persuaded the guard to turn a blind eye while I slipped away—I knocked the man out, to spare him Harihn’s wrath when my escape was discovered—and traveled back as quickly as I could.”

“There’s no chance of the Prince following you?” Aurian’s voice was sharp with concern.

Yazour shook his head, his face gone suddenly bleak. “Even Harihn is not that stupid—he’ll save his own hide. You see, we are in grave danger, my Lady. The weather has changed out of season, and we must leave first thing tomorrow night and cross the desert as quickly as we can. It will be a difficult crossing— we are ill equipped with what little I could bring—but we must make all haste, for our lives’ sake. The sandstorms will be upon us at any time, and if we cannot reach safety before they arrive . . .”

This had to be Eliseth’s work! Anvar clenched his fists. The Magefolk had absolutely no concern for the innocent lives that might be—had already been—lost in the process of Aurian’s destruction! And it only served to heighten his concern over Aurian. What would she be capable of, now that she wielded this new power? He glanced at her as she sat, intently discussing plans with Yazour. What had happened to the trust they shared? Why had she lied?

There was no opportunity, in the excitement of Yazour’s return, for Anvar to speak to the Mage, but at last, after dawn had broken, everyone lay down to rest in preparation for the journey ahead. Aurian had been avoiding him all night, and now she chose to lie down on the other side of their group beside Shia. Anvar found himself missing her presence by his side, and cursed himself Jfor a fool. But though he wanted to stay awake in order to tackle her in private about the discrepancies in her story, his eyes refused to stay open, and before long he was fast asleep.

Some inner prompting awakened Anvar. Some vague, unconnected feeling of distress drew him out of sleep while the bright midday sunlight still reflected through the mouth of the cave. He opened his eyes and sat up, and saw that Aurian was missing. The Mage was not far away. Anvar found her seated alone by the pool, wracked with sobbing, the knuckles of one hand pressed to her mouth as she wept with the brokenhearted abandon of a hurt child. Concern and pity overwhelmed him, and in that moment Anvar knew that whatever she had become, whatever she might do with her new and awesome power, he could not help but love her.

Aurian, lost in her misery, barely reacted to Anvar’s presence as he sat beside her. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, not knowing how to comfort her. “It’s all right—I’m here.”

“What if you are—you think I’m a liar!”

Anvar recoiled from the venom in Aurian’s voice. Aware of her raw emotions, he forced himself to sound calm. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been wrong about you. You’ve been proving me wrong ever since we met, I’m glad to say.” She looked at him then, a pleading look that went to his heart like a dagger. He tried to gather her into his arms, but she pushed him away.

“The dragon,” she began shakily, all in a rush, without looking at him, “you wanted to know about the dragon. Well, he’s dead. I killed him—as I destroyed the city.” Anvar forced himself to remain silent, knowing better than to interrupt her now that she had started to speak.

Aurian was struggling to keep her voice under control. “The city, Anvar, it wasn’t there at all. What we saw—what we experienced—was the distant past. When the Dragonfolk left Dhiammara they destroyed it, but locked it in time, in the instant of its destruction—until the wielder of the Sword should come. Once that happened, the spell was freed and the city began to collapse.” Her voice choked on a sob. “I wanted to help the dragon. I wanted to take him out of time again, but he wouldn’t let me. He said he had chosen to stay behind, and now that I had come, his task was done.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “He wasn’t lovable, Anvar, he was arrogant and sly and ill-tempered, but . . . Oh, he was beautiful and clever—and he spoke in music and light! He had waited so long, and for all we know, he could have been the last of his kind, and it was my fault . . .” Aurian began to cry again, hiding her face in her hands. “I never even asked him his name . . .”

“Hush, silly.” Anvar stroked the Mage’s hair. He was grieved by her grief but at the same time he felt almost lightheaded with relief. How could this woman, who could mourn the death of beauty and courage and self-sacrifice, turn to evil? “It wasn’t your fault,” he comforted her. “You didn’t choose to be the one he was waiting for. This path was set out for you, for all of us. The drago^ was right, Aurian. He died centuries before our time. What you saw was a ghost, if you like—in a city of ghosts.”

With a half-articulated curse Aurian turned to stare at him, her eyes wild and wide, one hand held up before her mouth. “How did you know about that?”

“Whatever it is, I don’t. Do you want to tell me?”

“I don’t want to! You’ll think I’m lying again!”

“Look, I was wrong—”

Aurian hushed him with a brusque motion of her hand. “This power we’re dealing with—well, you were right to be concerned. The temptation to fall into evil as Miathan did is great, and we must guard each other constantly. That’s why I should have told you everything. It’s just that—I couldn’t, before. It hurt too much. But . . .” In a low, shaking voice, she told him of her meeting with the specter of Forral, and how it led her to the green tower.

Anvar was speechless with dismay. Portal’s ghost, haunting them—watching them. He shuddered, not wanting to accept this, not wanting to believe . . . Somehow he found his voice. “Aurian, forgive me, but are you sure you didn’t imagine this?” “How could I, you ass? Forral led me to the tower! How else could I have found it so quickly? I knew you wouldn’t believe me!”

“I do believe you—and I’m sorry I doubted you before.” He swallowed hard. “I wish I hadn’t made you tell me, that’s all. It scares me, Aurian.”

“After what I said to yt»u the night I saw Forral—” Aurian looked away from him, twisting at the corner of the blanket.

“That has nothing to do with it—”

“Anvar,” she interrupted him determinedly, “I owe you an apology for that. We all played our parts in that terrible business—you, me, Forral himself—though it hurts to admit it. But I truly don’t hold you responsible for his death, and neither does he—I know that now. What else could you have done? You couldn’t have fought the Archmage on your own! The way Forral reacted—and Miathan—that wasn’t your fault! You were trying to help!”

Anvar sighed. “I only wish I could so easily exonerate myself for what I did that night.”

“Is that why you came with me? Guilt?” Her voice was sharp. Anvar ran his ringers distractedly through his hair, not wanting to continue, but somehow compelled to answer her question. “At first it was—guilt and fear, to be frank. Later, after you saved me in the slave camp, I told myself it was loyalty and gratitude.” He looked into the Mage’s eyes. “But I was wrong. Now I want nothing else but to be with you, to take care of you and the child.”

“The child?” The two words contained a world of questions.

“I care about the child because I owe Forral a debt, but also because—well, I feel there’s a bond between us. It’s like me, the offspring of a Mage and a Mortal, not quite one thing or the other. I know how that feels, Aurian, and though it can’t be the child of my body, it is the child of my heart—not least because of what I feel for its mother.”

Aurian looked at him wonderingly. “I never knew. Somehow I never thought of it like that.”

“You don’t mind?” Anvar held his breath.

She shook her head. “How could I mind? Besides, with my powers due to leave me . . . well, I’m not ashamed to admit that I need you, Anvar, we both do.” At long last she smiled, and Anvar had to steel himself not to ruin their fragile bond by kissing her then and there. Instead he hugged her and ruffled her hair, trying to mask the tenderness in his voice with briskness. “Well, now we’ve settled that, I suggest we get some sleep. It’ll be time to leave soon.”

Anvar awoke at dusk, with Aurian asleep in his arms. In her unguarded slumber the glory of the Staff had dimmed, and she looked worn and vulnerable, and all too human. Beneath the thin blanket, the slight bulge of her pregnancy could now be seen, and he felt awash with tenderness for the Mage and her unborn child. Wayward tendrils of her hair, which she had never been able to control since she’d cut it, straggled across her face, moving gently with the rhythm of her breathing. Anvar smiled, thinking of her hair when it had hung past her waist in a cascade of fiery crimson, and how he had combed it for her the night that Forral had died. How wonderful its silken weight had felt, running through his fingers! I loved her then, he thought. I loved her, and couldn’t admit it to myself. How could I, as nothing but 4wr servant? How dare I admit it now?

- She’ll never love me, he thought sadly, not with all that stands between us—the memory of the past, and the ghost of Forral shadowing our lives. If I had not gone to him that night, he might still be alive now. No matter how Aurian excuses it, how could I ever expect her to love me after that? In that moment, as he looked down at the sleeping Mage, Anvar’s decision crystallized. I still owe her a debt, he thought. A debt of blood, for Forral’s life. Even if it costs me my own life, that debt must be repaid—and one day, I’ll find a way to do it.

Anvar reached out, as though touching her would seal his vow, and gently brushed the wayward curls from the Mage’s face. To his dismay she stirred, opening her eyes, and he snatched his hand back as though he had been burned as the raw power of the Staff of Earth blazed into life within her once more. But already she was learning to control it. Even as he watched, the glory dimmed as she strove to contain it within herself.

Aurian sighed. “Morning already?” she murmured sleepily. Anvar glanced toward the mouth of the cavern, wishing that they need not always be so driven, longing for some time alone with her. But such a luxury seemed as unattainable as the moon. “Nightfall, I think,” he told her. “We had better wake the others. It’s time to go.”

The remainder of the journey across the desert took a score of days, some of the worst days that Aurian could remember. Ever wary of the imminetite of the storms, Yazour pushed them hard, driving the companions and their horses to the limits of their endurance. Aurian found herself envying Raven, who had flown on ahead, following the string of oases to reach safety at the desert’s edge as fast as she could. Since Yazour had been unable to bring any tents for them, the companions were forced to spend the broiling hours of daylight in the open, shaded by makeshift shelters of blankets and with their eyes, and those of the horses, bound in layers of cloth to filter the blinding glare. They had no pack animals, so food and water were tightly rationed and everyone suffered badly from hunger and thirst.

Worst of all, there was the unrelenting heat. During the earlier part of their journey, there had always been the restless night breeze to cool them as they traveled, but this had ceased with the weather’s unseasonal change, turning the desert into a suffocating oven. Each night the day’s stored heat rose in a wave from the desert floor to engulf the riders, leaving the air turgid and stifling. The encrusted coats of the horses were dark and soaked with sweat, and their breathing, clogged by clouds of gem dust, came thick and wheezing from their laboring chests. The riders were drenched in sweat that ran stingingly into their eyes beneath their cloying veils, sweat that left their desert robes clinging clammily to their bodies as the life-giving moisture was lost to the dry desert air.

Shia, with the thick furred coat of a mountain dweller, suffered badly. At least the others were able to ride, but she was forced to lope along behind the horses on her own legs. Built for short bursts of speed, she was finding the grueling race across the burning sands almost beyond her endurance. In addition to her dreadful weariness and thirst, her paws became raw and blistered from the friction of the hot gem dust, and before long, she was leaving a track of bloody prints behind her as she ran.

Only her love of the Mage kept her going. And each day, when Aurian should have been resting to conserve her own energy, she spent herself in Healing the exhausted and suffering cat, trying to lend Shia enough of her own faltering strength to continue. Anvar, who was looking increasingly worried as time went on, did his best to help, but he was no Healer, and his efforts were of little practical use except that they loaned the Mage an increment of strength to keep her going from day to day.

As time went on, Aurian became more and more frantic. The crossing of the desert was a race against time, and she knew she was losing. Her body was beginning to grow ungainly now with her advancing pregnancy, and already she was finding riding more uncomfortable. Even with the Staff of Earth, she knew that she was overtaxing her own fading powers, and because of this, they were failing rapidly. Soon they would vanish completely, and—Whenever she thought of it, she was overwhelmed by a wave of choking panic. How could she help Shia then? How could she safeguard herself and her child, and defend her friends from the evil of the Archmage and his cohort Eliseth?

The worst of it was, that under the Law of the Desert, Shia ought to be abandoned. On the worst days, the cat even begged them to do it, gazing pitifully up at the two Mages with eyes that were distant and glazed, and pleading with them to leave her, or put her out of her misery. Aurian would grit her teeth, forbidding Anvar with her steely glare to tell the others what Shia had said. But they were already thinking it—she could see it in Nereni’s frequent tears, and in the guilty way that Eliizar and Yazour were avoiding her eyes. Even Bohan, her loyal tower of strength, was beginning to look uncomfortable, and eventually, she knew, she would have Anvar to contend with. Although he had so far refused to press her on the subject, knowing how much Shia meant to her, she knew that his concern for herself and the child were pushing him toward the unthinkable option. All that Aurian could do was to expend herself mercilessly, forcing herself with the entire strength of her indomitable will to defy them all, to keep Shia going somehow until the end of the journey.

They were still a few days from the desert edge when the worst happened, and Aurian finally succumbed to the heat and her own exhaustion. The others, having always lived in this hot climate, had been able to endure the broiling temperatures, and Anvar had built up a certain amount of resistance from his grueling captivity in the slave camp. Aurian, however, had been cossetted; first as one of the Arena’s chosen, and then in the cool comfort of Harihn’s palac?. Even so, she might have managed— except that she was driving herself beyond the ends of endurance. Each day her suffering grew worse, until at last she was overcome by what Yazour called the heat sickness.

Though her robes clung stickily to her body, Aurian was wracked by shivers. Her head pounded, and she was dizzy and nauseated, unable to keep down any food and too weak and fevered to heal herself. All she could do was cling desperately to the pommel of her saddle, and try to stay on her horse. By the time they reached the last oasis, Anvar had to lift her down, and she was barely aware that he did so. But as he laid her gently on the ground, the Mage was prevented from sinking into welcome oblivion by a cry that echoed in her mind—a faint, pitiful cry for help. Aurian tried to sit up, brushing feebly at Anvar’s restraining hands, ignoring the pain that lanced through her head. “Shia!” she gasped. “Where’s Shia?”

It took a great deal of determination on Anvar’s part to persuade Yazour to go back and find Shia, but Aurian became so frantic that finally the warrior relented. It was an hour before he returned, with the great cat slung limply across the shoulders of his faltering and terrified horse. In the meantime, Nereni had been sponging the Mage’s fevered body with cool water from the oasis, while Bohan brought her water—as much as she could keep down. Anvar had been pacing back and forth, coming to look at Aurian then striding back to peer out across the dunes, his dusty face furrowed with concern as he cursed himself for not being able to help the Mage, and also for being so worried about her that he had forgotten Shia, He helped Bohan lift the cat down from the trembling horse and laid her by Aurian’s side, stroking the sleek black head now dulled and harsh with dust, hearing the faint rasp of her tortured breathing.

After a moment Shia opened her eyes, their light a dim echo of its former golden glory. Her thought was as nebulous in his mind as a fading wisp of smoke. “Goodbye,”

Anvar clasped her bleeding paws, feeling the spark of life within the great cat flicker, feeling the beating of her great heart beginning to falter. “Goodbye—my friend,” he whispered.

“Goodbye be damned!” Aurian-’s voice cracked across Anvar’s grief like a slap in the face. He dashed the mist of tears from his vision to see her sitting up, her eyes smoldering grimly, her face pale but resolute. Before he could stop her, she had reached across to Shia, linking herself irrevocably fo the great creature,

“No!” Anvar caught the Mage’s limp body as it slipped sideways, freed from the control of the mind that was far away in an unbreakable trance as it fought to keep Shia’s soul within her failing body. Helpless and desperate, he clutched her, unable to reach her, his heart gripped by icy dread. He knew what she was attempting—had she not done the same for him in the slave camp, when she had sought his fleeing spirit and brought it safely home? But this, time she was weakened, exhausted, and ill. And she would have no strength left to return. Frantically, he cast forth his mind as Aurian had taught him, seeking her, trying to find even a slight trace of her passing. But though he searched and searched, he knew that she was lost to him.

“Anvar!” A dim echo, the voice penetrated faintly into his consciousness, pulling him back. A hand was shaking roughly at his shoulders. To his surprise, Anvar saw the western horizon burning with the last traces of sunset light. He’d been gone that long? Fear snagged at his breathing, but then he felt the faint movement of breath in the body that was still clutched in his cramped and aching arms, saw an answering lift of the great cat’s ribs. They still lived, then—and Aurian was still fighting. Yazour let go of his shoulders, squatting before him in the open mouth of the makeshift shelter of blankets that had been rigged over himself, Shia, and the Mage.

“By all the Gods ever spawned, man, I’ve been frantic! I thought we’d lost you all!” Yazour’s face betrayed a mixture of relief, concern, and annoyance. “What happened, Anvar? What can we do? Have you seen the sky? The storms will be upon us. at any time.” He gestured at the western sky that was hazed and fuzzy on the horizon, and shot through with spars of lurid orange light. Anvar’s voice grated in his parched throat, but his words fell strangely calm upon his own ears. “Aurian is linked with Shia—we can’t move them. You’ll have to leave us, Yazour. Take the others and go QQW, make a dash for safety while you still can. Save your own lives.”

“And will you come with us?” Yazour’s voice was very quiet.

Anvar knew there was no hope; he could do nothing now, to help the Mage and Shia. Already they were as good as dead. The sensible thing would be to go with the others, to save himself and the Staff of Earth—and take the fight back to Miathan in Aurian’s name. He knew it all too well—he even knew that the Mage would want him to do so—but he looked down at Aurian’s still form, and remembered his anguish in Dhaimmara, when he thought she had died within the crystal of the spider-creature. He remembered the terror that had pierced him when the great stone had fallen in the tunnel, and how he had flung himself beneath to die with her, rather than be tortured again by her loss. The Mage’s breast still rose and fell, in that shallow parody of life. He knew, better than anyone, the strength of her stubborn will. How could he abandon her while yet she lived? How could he go through the years, knowing that he had left her, helpless, in the desert of a foreign land?

Anvar looked at Yazour, and shook his head. “Don’t be stupid,” he said.