Aurian

6 Stormbringer

The mess hall of the Nexis Garrison tended to be busy during the hour of the midday meal. The noise was usually close to deafening, as the cheerful clatter of knife on plate and the din of competing talk and ribald jests echoed round the bare walls of whitewashed stone. Today, nothing could be heard but a desultory murmur of conversation and the buzz of the fat black flies that clustered round the discarded food on the tables. Because of the drought, the imminent change of Commander, and the looming threat of civil unrest, morale at the Garrison was at its lowest ebb.

Maya looked at the rows of empty tables and benches, and frowned. She was not surprised that no one was eating. Rations were short because of the drought, and food went rancid quickly in this heat. Vegetables and fruit were in short supply. They went mostly to the well-off, who could afford the inflated cost; to inns like the Fleet Deer that catered to the rich; or—the small, dark-haired warrior scowled—to the blasted Magefolk! Maya clenched her fists beneath the table. What had happened to justice? Everywhere else in Nexis, including the Garrison, folk were mainly living on the stringy, fly-blown carcasses of the beasts that were dying like flies in the scorched countryside.

“What a bloody awful life!” Maya muttered, hardly sure whether she was speaking to herself.’br to Hargorn.

The aging warrior, well aware of what lay behind her gloom, gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “Don’t take it to heart, lovey. It’s no reflection on your abilities, or the fact that you’re a woman, that the Archmage won’t have you on the Council of Three. In fact, to the troopers, it’s a compliment. At least it proves that you aren’t in the old bastard’s pocket. And Second-in-Command to that great a swordsman isn’t such a bad promotion, is it?”

Maya grimaced. “It is if you’d planned to be Commander! Besides, Forral may be the world’s greatest swordsman, but we all know he got the post because he’s so matey with the Magefolk.” She banged her fist on the table. “Miathan might as well take command himself and be done with it. If it wasn’t for Vannor, the poor bloody Mortals who live in this city would have no representation at all!”

“Woman or no, you’d never have got the post with those views,” Hargorn told her bitterly. “They were what ruined my career at the Garrison. Mark my words, lassie—stay out of city politics.” He adjusted the band that held back his long, gray-shot mane of hair, and stood up. “I’d better go. If Parric doesn’t get back soon I’ll be needed to—”

“He’s not back from seeing Vannor?” Maya wished that she had drawn that duty. She both liked and respected the tough, stocky little Head of the Merchants’ Guild, with his wry sense of humor and uncompromising attitude to life in general and the Magefolk in particular.

Hargorn shook his head. “Why Rioch sent Parric up there with word about his successor, I don’t know! As if it makes any difference to Vannor who the Archmage has picked—”

“Here comes Parric now,” Maya interrupted.

It was a long-standing Garrison joke that the wiry little Cavalrymaster could never enter a room quietly. This time, Parric was in a paroxysm of coughing from the white dust that blew endlessly around the dried-out Parade Ground. He was also in a tremendous hurry. Crossing to their table, he wiped the dust from his tanned face and balding head and downed the flat, lukewarm remains of Maya’s tankard of ale in a single gulp. “There’s trouble,” he said, “and I can’t find Rioch anywhere!”

It had been a long walk from the mill to Nexis. It seemed like an even longer climb from the river path up to Green-market Square, where the farmers from outside the city came to sell their produce. Sara tucked stray wisps of sweat-damp hair back into her kerchief as she trudged up the steep cobbled lane, and shifted the clumsy basket to her other arm. She stamped her foot in annoyance as the loose weave of the basket snagged the thin fabric of her gown. Why had her stupid mother made her trail all this way on a fool’s errand? As if there’d be any produce to buy! Is it my fault we’re short of food? she thought irritably. Did I make the wretched drought? To add to her list of complaints, her usually indulgent father had given her a thorough scolding for not getting up early enough to reach the market when it opened. Sara scowled. There’d been no living with the man, since the shrunken river had left the mill wheel high and dry. And since Anvar no longer needed to come in his cart for flour, she’d had to walk all this way\ Not, she mused, that Anvar was any fun nowadays. He was always working, as if that would get him anywhere. The trouble was, he had no ambition.

Nearly there! Sara sighed gratefully, as she started to drag herself up the steep flight of steps that led to the entrance of the square. Hot, footsore, and hungry as she was, she was far too busy nursing her grievances to notice the rising hubbub of angry voices. Entering the square, she walked straight into a riot.

Vannor galloped through the city streets at breakneck speed, having flogged his poor horse all the way from his home on the south bank of the river. He’d received word from the frantic stallholders of the Greenmarket, who, on seeing the ugly mood of the crowd, had sent for the Head of their Merchants’ Guild. “Stupid idiots!” Vannor muttered in exasperation. Why hadn’t they sent to the Garrison, which was closer? It was sheer luck that Parric had been with him today, when the flustered messenger had arrived!

Not daring to waste time in taking a longer way around, the merchant urged his reluctant horse straight up the stone steps that were the quickest route into the market. By the time Parric managed to alert the troopers, the situation could be well out of hand. On reaching the square, Vannor discovered that it already was. A huge bonfire, made from torn-down stalls, burned in the center of the marketplace. The square was filled with a seething mass of people. Some bore cudgels, while others, to Vannor’s alarm, were armed with torches, stones, and knives. “Down with the merchants!” they chanted. “Down with the Magefolk!”

Vannor cursed. He agreed, in his heart of hearts, with the latter sentiment, but as Head of the Merchants’ Guild he could hardly condone the former. The merchants were huddled behind a barricade of upended carts, the target of missiles and abuse. It was easy to see what had sparked the riot. Behind the traders was a wagon laden with produce: boxes of summer fruits; root and leaf vegetables, shriveled but sound; assorted cheeses; and two crates of live poultry. The cart was stamped with the mark of the Magefolk, and had clearly been destined for the Academy. The merchants, even in the face of the mob, were too terrified of Miathan’s wrath to renege on their bargain with the Archmage, and were still trying to defend the wagon with its precious cargo.

Struggling with his shying horse, Vannor paused at the edge of the square. What can I do, he thought, against this? Where are the troopers? The trouble was, having fought his way out of a childhood of squalid poverty to his present high station, he sympathized with the desperate, hungry folk in the square. Yet he was Head of the Merchants’ Guild now, and his people were in danger—he had a responsibility to them . . . He must get through to the traders, and force them to abandon that stupid wagon! Not daring to think of the consequences, he began to urge his shrinking mount through the impacted crowd.

It was hard going. The horse was understandably reluctant, terrified of the mob. That makes two of us, Vannor thought grimly, as he fought off clutching hands and fended off the missiles as best he could. Faces, pale and pinched with hunger, turned toward him. Somewhere in the crowd, a cry went up. With a hollow sickness in the pit of his stomach, Vannor realized his mistake too late. To these people, his horse meant food. A stone hit his face, and he tasted blood. They surged behind him, blocking his retreat, but too scared, yet, to approach the flashing heels of his mount. Though he tried to thrust a way forward, he could make no headway. He shouted to attract the traders’ attention, but they would never hear him over this din.

Suddenly Vannor’s horse gave a shrill scream and reared, lashing out with its hooves. The crowd shrank away from it in panic. As he wrestled with its reins, another shriek drew the merchant’s eyes downward. A young girl had fallen beneath the flailing hooves of his mount! Wrenching the beast aside with a yank that nearly pulled his arms from their sockets, Vannor reached down, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her up out of danger.

She scrambled up into his saddle, weeping, bruised, and terrified—surely nothing to do with this wild mob. “It’s all right,” Vannor assured her, as she clung to him, sobbing hysterically. “You’re all right now!” It was an outright lie. His horse lurched, buffeted by the crowd, and the girl gave another terrified scream. Oh Gods, the merchant thought—how am I ever going to get us out of this?

Forral took in the situation in a single glance. Corning from the Fleet Deer, he had reached the square from the side opposite to Vannor, emerging from a narrow alley behind the traders’ barricade. “Chathak’s bloody balls!” he swore. What a start to his Garrison command] And where were the troopers? They should be here. The swordsman knew that nothing could be done to calm this mob. The merchants would have to retreat —and fast. A gang of men, their faces distorted with hysterical rage, were lighting torches at the bonfire. Ducking to avoid the barrage of refuse and uprooted cobbles hurled by the crowd, Forral dodged into the cramped space behind the wagons. The terrified merchants were doing their best to hold off the mob by thrusting their swords through the spaces between the carts. Forral grabbed the nearest trader by the shoulder, and spun him round. “Get out of here, man—before they think of the alley and block your retreat! The food will delay them!”

The merchant’s face, already pale, twisted into a mask of terror. “We can’t leave the cart! The Archmage will—”

“Bugger the Archmage!” Forral roared. “You’ll be killed—”

It was too late. With a crackle and a roar, the tinder-dry barricade of carts burst into flame, ^s the traders fell back, screaming, the mob prepared to charge.

Aurian had followed Forral until he entered the square. She paused then, pondering what to do next. If she tried to join him, she knew he would send her back—and have a thing or two to say to her when the fuss had died down. But he’d be in danger. She should be with him! She felt sick with terror at the thought of losing him forever. Yet Aurian knew from past experience that Forral would be furious if she risked her own life. That’s his hard luck, she decided with a shrug. I’m too big to be spanked this time!

She started toward the end of the alley, but just as she reached it, she noticed that the side door of one of the houses that lined the square was standing slightly ajar. Aurian stopped. She rarely came down into Nexis, but if she remembered rightly, these houses had balconies that looked over the square. Without hesitation she slipped inside. Luckily, the house was empty. Perhaps the occupants had gone to join the riot, Aurian thought.

These once grand houses that lined the market were shabby and crumbling now, for the district was no longer in fashion with the wealthy. Aurian hunted through spacious, well-proportioned rooms until she found one with tall windows leading to the balcony. Opening the shutters, she stepped out _and recoiled from the chaos below. Across the square, a man on horseback was struggling against the crowd, who threatened to drag him down. A fair-haired girl perched before him on the saddle, and the little fool was clinging to him hysterically, hampering his sword arm as he tried to strike at his attackers.

Idiot! Aurian snorted, and turned away to look down to her left, for a glimpse of Forral. She saw him below her, arguing with one of the merchants. Then her blood froze, as she saw a thin, deadly ribbon of flame winding through the crowd as the torch-bearers advanced. Gods! If the barricade burned, Forral would have no defense! Aurian’s mind raced with the impetus of fear. There was one chance to stop this madness—and only she could do it. Rain, she thought. I must bring rain! Yet her guts knotted in terror as she remembered what had happened when she had last tried to use her magic. She recalled the hopeless circling in the d»k maze—her terror—her helplessness. She hadn’t used her magic since then. Would she still be able to function? Would she suffer the same fate again? She’d had no real experience with Weather-magic, which was a difficult and exhausting business. But she had to save Forral.

Her fingers clenching tight around the beveled metal railing of the balcony, Aurian pushed her awareness out beyond her body, as she had been taught. Scanning the sky, she swore under her breath. Blue. Bright, unblemished blue, paling to white heat near the horizon. Where were the bloody clouds that Eliseth was supposed to have been moving? Aurian recalled what she had learned of weather patterns in Finbarr’s archaic books. The west—they should be coming from the west. Able now to focus all her power in a single direction, Aurian pushed her mind out further and further. Ah! There—far out over the western ocean . . .

An explosion of flame and a wild cheer from the crowd wrenched Aurian back to herself with a jerk. She clung to the railing for a moment, dizzy and disoriented from the abrupt return to her body. Then she saw. The wagons were burning! “Forral!” Aurian was unaware that she had called his name aloud. The clouds were too far away—how could she move such a mass of air and water in time?

In that frantic split second, Aurian felt the heat of the flames as they consumed the carts—felt the anger of the mob, like another wall of fire, beating up at her with pulsing hatred. Suddenly the face of her father, Geraint—long forgotten from her babyhood—seemed to hang before her. She could hear his voice: “Energy takes many forms, and the wise Mage can utilize them all. Strong emotions—anger, fear, love—all of these can be used to fuel the potvers of magic . . .”

Aurian never stopped to question. There was no time. She reached out to the mad, frenzied energy of the mob, to the raw heat-energy of the fire—and pulled . . .

It was strange to her, this taking-in of power. It was, strictly speaking, against the Mages’ Code—yet there was so much energy surging around the square that she could easily take what she needed, and do no harm.

The tricky part was to pull energy into herself, and push her consciousness outward at the same time. She had to forget her body completely, her consciousness’almost, She had to become a pipe, a conduit, a vessel; and simply let the energy flow through . . .

Her seeking mind encountered the clouds once more. Would it be easier to push, or pull? But the clouds were moving in this direction anyway. Pull, then. But how? What was there to grasp in a cloud? Ah! Of course. Aurian stationed her will between the clouds and the front of cold pressure that preceded them, and pushed with all her strength toward Nexis, driving the air away to create a vacuum. Air was lighter to move than water. Gleefully, it seemed, the clouds rushed in to fill the space . . .

It was almost too easy, with all this energy at her disposal. Later, Aurian was to realize that what had taken ages in out-of-her-body time was scant seconds in reality. When a thick layer of cloud had capped the city’s valley like a black and sinister lid, she returned to her body, gathered her power, and struck . . .

A bolt of lighting arced down, splintering into forks as it came. In the distance, a rumble of thunder rolled down the river valley . . . Rain! Aurian thought, reaching up to the low-trailing streamers of cloud. Half connected as she was to her body, it felt as though she were clawing at the blue-black canopy, using her fingers to drag the precious moisture down from the skies . . .

She came abruptly back to herself as the downpour hit. It came all at once, in a solid, heavy sheet, Instantly, Aurian’s hair was flattened over her face. She found it hard to breathe, as though she were underwater. It was cold. It extinguished the fire in an instant.

Reluctantly, Aurian pulled herself away from the glory of the elements. Only then, did she hear the cheering of the crowd. The riot had vanished in an instant, as though the rain had washed the fear and fury away. People were capering in the square, swinging each other about in wild, giddy dances, men and women alike. The man on the horse was picking his careful way through the celebrating crowd, heading toward the merchants’ position,

“What have you done?”

Aurian whirled, shocked, to find herself face-to-face with Forral. He’d used the crumbling brickwork of the building to pull himself up to her balcony. “How did you do it? It was you, wasn’t it? How dare you put yourself in such danger? Don’t you remember why I was called back here in the first place?”

Forral’s smoke-blackened face was grim and his voice was harsh with anger as his big hands gripped her shoulders. Aurian shrunk away, remembering the day when he had caught her in the forest, playing with fireballs.

Then her Magefolk pride asserted itself, and she pulled herself erect. How dare he treat her as if she were still a child!

Her reaction was the last thing that Forral had expected. Aurian wrenched herself violently out of his grasp, and for the first time, he realized that she was as tall as he, if not slightly taller. Her chin tilted proudly, and her eyes blazed with cold fire in a face that was white with anger. In her wrath she was a true Mage, and truly intimidating! The storm above him seemed to grow in sympathy with her rage. A bolt of lightning splintered the roof of a nearby building.

“How dare you!” Aurian spat. “How dare you abandon me all this time, and return for less than a day, before trying to kill yourself! And what gives you the right to keep me from helping?”

Forral backed away hastily, and knew it for a retreat. By no means a stupid man, he suddenly realized that his relationship with Aurian was going to need a lot of rethinking. But Gods, she was so magnificent in her rage—so beautiful, standing proud and tall, like a spirit of the storm, with fire-ice flashing from her eyes. In that moment, Forral was lost, “I . , ,” he stammered. Whatever he had meant to say was drowned in a thunder of hooves as a company of warriors rode into the square. The troopers had arrived at last, Forral turned back to Aurian. She was still facing him, proud and uncompromising, with a challenging question in her eyes. The swordsman grinned, and clapped her hard on the shoulder—the typical comradely gesture between warriors. He chuckled as he saw her eyes widen with surprise. “Well done, lass!” he told her. “Well done, indeed! You’ve saved the day!”

An hour later, a solemn conference of leaders gathered in the private dining room of the Flee^Deer. The room was warm with lamplight, for the heavy black clouds of Aurian’s storm still hung overhead, turning the summer afternoon into twilight. Rain drummed on the streaming pavements outside, and ran in rivulets down the diamond-leaded casements.

The fawning landlord, flattered to have so many influential people beneath his roof, served them great, brimming tankards of dark ale, and platters of fruit, cold meats, and cheese, Aurian looked sourly at the food. Granted, there wasn’t a lot here, but to the hungry folk who had started the riot, it would have been a feast. For the first time, she wondered why the Magefolk rations had been singled out in the market.

As everyone settled round the table, Aurian looked at the assembled faces, searching her memory to put a name to each of the folk who had so recently been introduced to her. Seated on Forral’s right was a tough-looking, stocky man with close-cropped hair and beard: Vannor, Head of the Merchants’ Guild. To Aurian’s left sat a small, slender woman in leather fighting garb. Her tanned limbs were corded with muscle, and her dark braids, still jeweled with raindrops, were wrapped round her head, warrior-fashion. This was Lieutenant Maya, Second-in-Command of the Garrison. She was frowning and ill at ease, biting her lip and twisting her hands in her lap. Beyond her was Parric, the Cavalrymaster, a short, brown, wiry figure (were all these Garrison warriors small? Aurian wondered,) with thinning brown hair and laugh lines on his face. But he was not laughing now.

Aurian felt uneasy herself, among these grim-faced strangers. Never before had she been surrounded by so many Mortals! To ease her anxiety she picked up the huge pewter tankard, brimming with ale. She had never drunk ale before—the Magefolk, who drank wine, scorned it as common stuff and only fit for Mortals. It took both her hands to lift the tankard, and she grimaced as she took a sip of the foaming brew. Gods! How could the others sit there and quaff this bitter stuff! She took another hasty sip to stop herself choking, reluctant to lose face before these Mortals. But Vannor had noticed. He grinned at her sympathetically, and gave her a sly wink, miming that she should keep on drinking. Shyly, Aurian smiled back, and tried again. Ah, this time if-didn’t taste quite so bad! Maybe it was something you had to get used to.

Vannor cleared his throat and stood up, resting his hands on the table. “Well,” he said bluntly, “we didn’t come here to sit all afternoon drinking ale. We’d best get started—and I can’t think of a better way to start than by thanking the Lady Aurian for bringing the rain, and for releasing that Magefolk food to those in need of it. Lady, as Head of the Merchants’ Guild, I’m most grateful—as are the folk of Nexis.” Turning to her, he bowed.

Aurian felt her face grow hot with embarrassment at such a public compliment. Moreover, he’d used her honorific title as a Mage, and it was the first time she had been formally addressed that way.

“I . . .” Lost for words, she spread her hands helplessly. “What else could I have done?”

“Well said, Lady!” Vannor’s voice rang out in approval.

Aurian thought it might be a good time to broach the question that had been bothering her. “Sir,” she began.

“Vannor, please, Lady.” He smiled at her. “I’ve got no use for these fancy titles. Just call me Vannor.”

Aurian returned his smile. “Then call me Aurian—just Aurian.” She wondered why he looked surprised at her words, and why Forral was beaming with approval. “Anyway,” she went on, somewhat flustered by the exchange. “I wondered . . . Well, this place has food”—she pointed at the plates on the table—“and it can’t be the only one, I’m sure. Why wasn’t this shared among the people? And why was the wagon of the Magefolk singled out by the mob?”

Vannor seemed taken aback, and to her astonishment, he seemed unable to meet her eyes. Forral, a half smile on his face, was watching the exchange with keen interest. At last the merchant found his voice. “Lady—Aurian—in a way, you’re right. There’s injustice in Nexis. The rich look after themselves, and the poor—well, they manage as best they can. Those who can’t, must sell themselves as bondservants for a term of years, or in the case of heavy debt, for life. It’s nothing but legal slavery!” He scowled. “I do what I can on the Council—I was poor myself, once—but the trouble is, as Head of the Merchants’ Guild, I represent a lot of rich people. If they don’t like what I do, I’ll be voted out, and they’d replace me with someone who didn’t give a hang about the poor! So I walk a fine line . . .” He sighed. “Aurian, I have to tell you that I get no help on the Council from the Archmage, or from his puppet, Rioch.” He directed a piercing glance at Forral, and Aurian saw the big man suddenly stop smiling. Vannor turned his gaze back to Aurian. “Can you deny that Miathan despises all Mortals, rich or poor?”

Now it was Aurian’s turn to blush. He was right— Miathan had said so often enough, and, having known Forral, it made her uncomfortable. But the Archmage had always represented Mortals as being conniving, idle, shiftless, and downright dangerous—and Vannor the worst of the lot! The acts of today’s mob had supported his words. Yet she looked at Vannor and through his blunt, rough-and-ready manner saw a kind, caring, honest man. She looked away from him, more confused than she’d ever been in her life. Suddenly she remembered the unpleasant incident last year, when Meiriel had refused to help Vannor’s wife through a difficult childbirth. It was not necessary to intervene, the Healer had insisted—but the woman had died. Aurian’s face grew hot with shame. No wonder Vannor had little use for her people. Suddenly she began to understand why the Magefolk had been the target of the mob’s resentment. She only hoped her action in bringing the rain and releasing food to the Mortals had done something to redress the balance.

“Look here, Vannor.” Forral rose, scowling, his gruff voice betraying his irritation. “Aurian is a very young, and very minor, member of the Magefolk. You can’t go blaming her for the Archmage’s—”

“I don’t, I don’t!” Vannor held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “My apologies, Aurian, if I suggested that\ What you did today is more than good enough for me!”

“And another thing,” Forral cut in. “If you think that I’m Miathan’s puppet, just because Rioch was—”

“Well, he chose you, didn’t he?” Maya flared, her voice harsh with bitterness. “What are we supposed to think?”

Forral looked at her coldly. “Ah yes, Lieutenant Maya. I’d meant to get round to you, before we were sidetracked. Rioch is retired, and as I hadn’t taken charge yet, you were in command of the Garrison today! Why were there no duty patrols on the streets? Can you explain why you didn’t arrive until the emergency was over? As Second-in-Command, I can’t say you’ve impressed me so far!”

Aurian, seated next to Maya, was deeply aware of the woman’s distress at the charge. The warrior’s face burned, and her hands were shaking.-She squirmed beneath Forral’s accusing gaze. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t seem to speak.

Aurian felt sorry for her. She knew how intimidating Forral could be when he was angry. In an instinctive, impulsive gesture—for she was not generally given to such intimacy with strangers—she clasped Maya’s hand beneath the table, offering support and comfort. The pressure was returned, and Maya flashed her a grateful smile, seeming to find her voice at last. “Sir, I—”

“Now just a bloody minute—Sir!” Parric leapt angrily to Maya’s defense. “It wasn’t Maya’s fault! You say that Rioch had retired, but it’s not true—not where we were concerned. He was still hanging around, giving the occasional order—when he felt like it. True, he expected Maya to handle all the dull, nitpicking jobs he couldn’t be bothered with—but he didn’t back her authority, and he wouldn’t let her act on her own. The poor lass was in a bloody awful position. And today those dumb bastards didn’t even think to send for us! By the time I’d managed to get word to the Garrison, Rioch had disappeared, bag and baggage, and nobody knew where you were, and there’s poor Maya trying to organize the troops, but everybody’s running around like chickens saying ’Where’s Rioch?’ and ’Who’s giving orders?’ Well, it was a miracle that she got the troops out at all—especially when you consider that she was in line for your command, and should have had it, and how much she wanted it, but got turned down flat out of hand—”

“Parric!” Maya looked stricken.

Parric shrugged. “Well, it’s true, and he should know it! Maya’s a bloody good soldier, Sir—the best. She deserves better than this.”

Forral’s expression was rueful. “So that’s how it is.” He sighed. “I wish I’d known, before I accepted this post. My apologies, Lieutenant, I was unjust.” He took a deep breath, and looked around at them all. “Grievances have been aired today, among the five of us, that need to be dealt with. It’s no good squabbling amongst ourselves while the city falls apart around us. We must support each other, for we”—he hit the table with his fist, then gave a wry smile—“for lack of anyone better, are the ones who must set Nexis to rights! And since we must trust each other, let me make it clear, once and for all, that I don’t plan to be a puppet for Miathan, or anyone else!”

Suddenly they were all on their feet, cheering. The tensions in the room had vanished like smoke. Aurian looked proudly at Forral. This is his doing, she thought, much impressed. Look how he’s brought us together.

“Now.” Forral brought the meeting to order. “Maya, you left Hargorn and his troops in charge of the market, and handing out the Magefolk food. You reckon he’s a good, experienced man, so there should be «o problems there.”

“If there are, he’ll soon let you know!” Maya smiled. “Good. I like dependable people around me. Now Parric— you organize a troop of mounted foragers, and get into the countryside at first light. Don’t starve the farmers by any means, but I doubt you’ll have to.” He grinned. “The drought hasn’t been going on that long. I suspect they’re keeping the best stuff for themselves—and hoping to push up the selling price, at the same time. By majority vote of the Council”—he caught the merchant’s eye, and Vannor chuckled—“rationing is in force during the emergency, and their produce is requisitioned. Don’t put up with any nonsense. Mind you, don’t get carried away and start taking seed crops or breeding stock—we have to think about the future. Take some extra troopers to cart the stuff back as soon as possible—”

“And send it to me.” Vannor’s face was alight with mischief. “I’ll set up fair distribution through those merchants of mine—and don’t worry, I’ll make the misers behave. No profit-squeezing at the expense of the poor. It’ll be a new experience for them, doing good deeds!” He slapped his knee and chortled. “Gods, this’H upset them.” He winked at Forral. “I’ll say it’s your fault, of course.”

“Of course,” Forral replied solemnly, with a wink of his own. “Right, Parric—it’ll take you a while to sort things out, so you’d better get started.”

“At once, Sir!” the Cavalrymaster replied with brisk good humor, and emptyingJiis tankard in one gargantuan, well-practiced swallow, he went off, grinning from ear to ear.

“Maya.” Forral turned to the warrior. “I want you to take charge of the day-to-day running of the Garrison.” He smiled at the warrior’s dumbfounded expression. “As Aurian will tell you, I’m no administrator—my skills lie in practical warfare and teaching—so we might as well play to our strengths. And don’t worry about me supporting your authority, because I’ll back you every inch of the way. In fact, I’ll draft a set of orders before you leave, so there are no more doubts about who’s in charge.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Maya’s voice was level, but her face was alight with joy. “I’ll do a good job, I promise.”

“Call me Forral.” The swordsman smiled. “I’ve no doubt that vou’ll do a good job—as I said, I want dependable folk around me.” He paused. “There’s one more thing—I’m supposed to have a month’s leave with Aurian before I take command, and I’d still like to do that if I can. You and Vannor, with Parric’s help, should be able to handle things now that the worst of the crisis is over—”

Suddenly an enraged shout came from the doorway. “Who has dared to steal Magefolk provisions, already bought and paid for, to feed the unruly rabble of this city!” The Archmage’s entrance was unexpected, and his anger was awesome. He stood tall before them with blazing eyes, his expression thunderous. Aurian knew a sudden stab of fear for Forral and Vannor. She had never seen Miathan so angry.

The merchant and the swordsman exchanged a glance. “I did.” Both of them spoke together, and as Miathan’s face darkened further, Aurian knew she must act quickly in support of her friends. Though her knees were trembling at the thought of Miathan’s stupendous wrath falling upon her, she stood up and faced the Archmage squarely. “That’s not true,” she said, in a small but steady voice. “Neither of them had the authority to release that food, so I did it—for the honor of the Magefolk. You see, the—”

“You—did—what~>” Miathan spoke through gritted teeth. Aurian quailed, suddenly robbed of words by the soft menace in his voice.

“Let her finish, Archmage.” Forral’s voice was quiet, but his face was set like stone. As the swordsman spoke, Aurian felt the bracing grip of Maya’s hand, arid kriew that the warrior was on her side, returning help for help. The unexpected support gave her the courage to continue.

“Miathan, it’s not your fault,” she said. “You can’t have known how bad things were in Nexis. If you had, you’d have done something about it. Why, if you’d seen those poor, starving folk, I know you would have released the food yourself. I, of all people, know how kind you are. Please don’t be angry—I knew it was what you’d have wanted.”

As Vannor was later to comment irreverently, her words took the wind right out of Miathan’s sails. The Archmage was, for once in his life, completely lost for words.

“Archmage, the city appreciates the generosity of the Magefolk.” Vannor spelce softly and persuasively. “This Lady has earned you a lot of gratitude today—for her kind heart, and for bringing the rain.”

Miathan gasped. “You did that?”

Nervously, Aurian nodded. “I—I hope I did it right,” she faltered.

“Right? My dear girl, Eliseth has been trying for days to accomplish what you have done! Most impressive. Most impressive, indeed. But as for the rest, you must learn not to act without thinking. Our people needed that food.”

As Miathan’s brows began to knit once more into a frown, Vannor spoke up again. “Don’t worry on that score, Archmage. Commander Forral has organized foraging parties, and food will start coming into the city tomorrow. You’ve my word that your food will be replaced as a matter of priority. Don’t be angry with the Lady Aurian—she acted from the best of motives.”

“I’ll support that,” Forral added. “She prevented great loss of life today.”

Miathan, seeing that he was outnumbered, shrugged, and managed a grimace that might have passed as a smile. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “It seems I must concede—this time.” Turning on his heel, he left. Aurian, guilty about her part in his rout and anxious to know if he had really forgiven her, almost ran after him, there and then. Almost.

“Phew,” Vannor said. “That was nasty! Aurian, you’re a hero. You’ve saved our bacon again.”

Glowing at the compliment, Aurian took a long swig of ale to dispel her shakiness Forral was here, after all, and she was supposed to be on holiday.

“By the Gods, lass, that was the bravest thing you’ve done all day!” the swordsman told her, his face glowing with approval. Maya caught her eye and smiled. Aurian knew, in that moment, that the seeds of friendship had been sown between herself and this small, dark-haired warrior, and the thought pleased her inordinately. She’d never really had a woman friend before. Smiling shyly back at Maya in acknowledgment of the wordless understanding between them, Aurian decided that nothing, not even the Archmage, was going to part her from these new and special companions.

It was long past nightfall when Vannor rode back toward his home. Though Aurian’s rain was still coming down in sheets and he was soaked to the very bone, the merchant was smiling to himself as he crossed the white bridge near the Academy and headed up the tree-lined, lamplit lane toward his mansion on the southern riverbank. For the first time in over a year, since the death of his beloved wife, Vannor felt at peace with himself. He was delighted, of course, that he’d achieved such a good understanding with the new Garrison Commander. And having one of the Magefolk on his side, for once, boded well for the future. And what a brave, delightful lass she was, at that. But the true cause of the merchant’s quiet joy was Sara, the girl he had rescued from the riot.

During his meeting with the other leaders, Vannor had left the girl in the care of the innkeeper’s wife. When he saw her again, she had been fed, and had her bruises tended. The innkeeper’s lady had loaned her a gown to replace her ruined clothing, and her hair had been newly washed and combed. The merchant had been amazed by the transformation. He had stood, agape like the rawest apprentice lad, in appreciation of her fragile, ethereal beauty. Gods, but she had reminded him of his own dear, lost, lovely wife!

Now, Vannor was returning from taking her home to her worried family. His heart beat faster at the memory of her slender form perched before him on his saddle, his arms clasped tightly around her waist. It would be a while before he could see her again, to be sure, with so moch to settle in Nexis after the drought—he’d have his work cut out for him in the coming days—but afterward . . . His children needed a mother again, Vannor assured himself, shrugging aside the uncomfortable thought that Sara could not be much older than his eldest daughter. Where love was concerned, age was never a problem! Her family had clearly been impressed by their daughter’s new friend, and Sara herself had hardly been discouraging . . .

As he rode up the curving, graveled drive of his mansion, Vannor’s face split into a grin of pure joy. He knew where she lived now, and by all the Gods, once this crisis was over, he meant to see her again!