Dhiammara

11 The Messenger

The feeble moonlight stood little chance of penetrating the thick stained glass of the library’s windows, and it was pitch-black within. Aurian created a slip of ghostly Magelight and sent it floating ahead to light the way. This was the first time she had set foot in the library since Finbarr had met his fate, and she looked around in dismay at the moldering, rat-gnawed volumes, many of which had been dislodged from their shelves and lay open on the floor like birds with broken wings, barely recognizable beneath layer upon layer of mildew and dust. The Mage was glad to reach the filigreed metal gates at the opposite end of the vast chamber. Though she had been dreading the thought of entering the maze of freezing black catacombs beneath the library, it came as a welcome relief to escape the heartbreaking sight of such needless ruin and destruction.

Aurian had not heard the screaming. By the time she had reached the door of the library it had stopped, and now the passages beneath were silent, cold and dark. Aurian was glad that Anvar—no, Forral—stayed close to her, always keeping to her right, so that his sword hand stayed free. He was keeping a wary distance from the great cats, even though Aurian had explained that to friends they were not as fierce as they looked. Clearly the swordsman was far from inclined to take her at her word, and Shia wasn’t helping the situation.—Having looked into his mind and found someone other than her beloved friend Anvar, she had flattened her ears and was looking sidelong at him with a baleful glare.

With the cats pacing beside them they looked in one room after another on the upper level but found nothing to furnish them with a clue as to the identity of the screamer, or the whereabouts of Miathan and Eliseth.

“This is ridiculous,” Forral said at last. “We’re just wasting our time—freezing to death for nothing. It can’t be much further down, or these big beasties wouldn’t have heard it. I don’t know what you expected to find down here, but. . .”

“Whoever screamed, of course,” Aurian retorted sharply. “And what made them do it.”

“Are you absolutely sure the cats heard something?” Forral insisted. “I’m sure they must have been mistaken—it would have taken a pretty loud scream to penetrate through all this stone. We may as well go back, if you ask me,” he urged. It was plain that the swordsman didn’t like the place. Aurian saw him fingering the hilt of Anvar’s sword, which he had found in Miathan’s chambers.—The Mage, however, had grown used to trusting her instincts, and something still prompted her to persist with the search. “Let’s go on just a little further,” she insisted. “If Shia says she heard screaming she did—and it didn’t come out of nowhere. There’s something close by that we need to find—don’t ask me why, but I’m sure of it.”

Forral looked thoroughly unimpressed by this reasoning—or lack of it.

“Aurian—will you come on bock ...” He grabbed her hand, tugging her with him, but dropped it when Shia gave a warning growl.

“It’s nearby, I’m sure. Somehow I have the feeling . . .” With Forral trailing reluctantly behind her, the Mage opened the next door.

It was the last thing she had expected to see. Aurian cried out in shock and her Magelight went out, plunging the chamber into merciful darkness. With a stifled oath, Forral yanked her back into the corridor and slammed the door behind him. “Get away from there, you idiot! Move!” Groping in the darkness, he grabbed her tunic and began to pull.

Aurian resisted his tugging and leant back against the cold stone wall, gasping for breath. Unable to stop herself, she began to laugh weakly.

“Curse you, Aurian, there’s no time for this!” Forral yelled at her. “That room is full of bloody Nihilim!”

“Forral—it’s all right.” At last Aurian managed to get hold of herself. “The Wraiths can’t hurt us. When my Magelight went out I saw the glimmer of a time spell. They must be the Nihilim that Finbarr took out of time to save me.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Forral. It must have been a horrible shock for you, seeing them like that.”

In the dark there was a small silence from Forral, then: “Bugger it,” he muttered. “I feel stupid now.”

“You’re not the only one,” Aurian admitted. “They had me fooled at first.” She pulled herself together and kindled a new light to hover above them. “For a minute there, when I first opened the door and saw them, I thought my heart was going to stop.” She was about to put her arms around him, but when she looked up into Anvar’s face, something seemed to shrivel inside her and she turned away hastily. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get away from here.—The Wraiths may be immobilized and if they’ve been here all this time they must be harmless, but you can never know for certain how long a time spell is going to last. Besides, they make my flesh creep.”

Forral nodded. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since we came down here.”

Shia had nosed the door ajar once more, and was peering curiously at the Wraiths through the narrow gap. “So those are the creatures that haunt your nightmares,” she said to Aurian. Her tones held a slight edge of puzzlement.

“Take my word for it, they’re considerably more terrifying, not to mention gruesome, when they can move—and feed,” the Mage assured her.

They were just turning away to retrace their steps when the voice came.—Aurian stopped dead. “Can you hear that?” she demanded. “What is it... ?”

The swordsman looked puzzled. “Hear what?”

They turned to one another in consternation. “Something that only communicates with Magefolk, apparently,” Aurian whispered.

Forral’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. The Mage gave him a chance to draw it and then, as the echoes of the steely slither had died away, she held up her hand for silence. But when she listened, no sound disturbed the silence save that of their own breath.

“Can you hear that, Shia, Khanu?” Aurian asked hopefully.

“I’m sorry,” Shia told her. “I can’t hear anything but us.”

“Nor I,” Khanu added.

The voice, however, had not ceased. The Mage could still hear it in her head—a thin, cold, high-pitched call. It had no discernible words, but nonetheless it was clearly a beseeching, a beckoning, a summoning. Aurian felt a shiver go through her. “It wants us,” she murmured. “It wants us to follow.”

“What? You have got to be joking!”

“No, truly,” Aurian insisted. “The Gods only know what it is, but it can’t be a Wraith, or it would certainly have found a way to free its comrades by now.—Besides, if it was something that meant to harm us, why didn’t it attack when we were helpless in the dark? That would have been the obvious time.”

“You’d better be right,” Forral retorted, “because you’ll be staking our lives on that quaint notion.”

Aurian scarcely heard him. Already, she was setting off down the passage, in pursuit of the phantom call. She was barely aware that the others followed reluctantly, Forral muttering darkly under his breath.

The Mage crept on down the passage following the irresistible murmur of the summons, which did not waver or vary in tone unless she attempted to stop or turn aside into one of the chambers that lined the corridor. If she went the wrong way, the incomprehensible whisper turned into a screeching whine that made Aurian’s head throb as though it were about to burst. The same thing happened when she tried to turn back. Soon, she had no other choice but to continue.

Aurian could tell that Forral was worried. His—Anvar’s—face, starkly illuminated by the pale Magelight, looked sickly and wan, his dark eyes shaded to fathomless voids. “Aurian, will you stop this?” he hissed.

The Mage shook her head. “I’m sorry, Forral—I can’t. It’s too late now—if I don’t follow, the voice will drive me mad.”

It was easy enough to find the right chamber—Aurian only had to follow the luring call that whispered, with increasing urgency now, in the recesses of her mind. Forgetting all caution, she hurried along, drawn by the summoner’s spell, ignoring Forral’s increasingly frantic attempts to slow her down. Her Magelight streamed behind her, trailing a comet tail of sparks. The voice was still whispering, louder and more urgently than ever. Though Aurian could not have said how she could tell, the summons seemed to emanate from a doorway farther along on the right. Dragging Forral along behind her, she rushed toward the open door—and as soon as she laid a hand on it, the voice abruptly ceased.

“I can’t hear it anymore,” she said softly. “But it’s here—I know it is.—Whatever was calling me, is in this room.”

As the door swung open it broke Grince’s terrified trance. He whirled around—and felt his guts shrivel. There in the doorway stood a pair of what could only be Mages—tall, intimidating, and with silver eyes that seemed to pierce the thief’s very soul.

After the first moment of startled confrontation with the tall, red-haired Magewoman, her grim companion, and the fearsome, clawed, fanged black monsters—plainly magical demons or something of the like—Grince had no other recourse save to throw himself to the floor and plead for his life. The Academy was not deserted after all—and he had been caught trespassing in it!—As he lay there, not daring to raise his head and waiting for some terrible fate to strike him down, a whole lifetime seemed to pass.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” snapped a female voice. “Get on your feet, man, and stop this pitiful groveling. Come on—we don’t have time to stand here all bloody night.”

Her companion chuckled dryly. “That’s a good way to persuade him not to be scared.”

The female ignored him, continuing to concentrate all her attention on Grince.

“Come on, you—answer me! What are you doing down here? Was it you who called me?” Her words were punctuated by bloodcurdling snarls from the demons.

“Lady—spare me!” Grince’s voice was little more than a terrified squeak. “I couldn’t help it! I didn’t take nothing, honest I didn’t! I didn’t touch a thing! I didn’t call you—I would never presume to bother Your Ladyship. The guards chased me here and I got lost, that’s all. If you’ll only show me the way out, I’ll never, ever, ever come back!”

The Mage made a small sound of impatience, halfway between a curse and a sigh.

“Gods help us,” she muttered. “Look, you stupid Mortal. No one’s going to hurt you, all right? Now just pull yourself together and get up off the floor. As soon as you’ve answered my questions, I’ll show you the way out of here.”

The thief risked a sneaky glance at her through his fingers—and began to relax a little. It was difficult to be afraid of even a dreaded Mage when she was standing over the fire rubbing her cold hands in such an ordinary, homely way, with the two black demons sitting at her feet and gazing blissfully into the blaze like a pair of fireside cats.

Watching his unnerving visitors closely to be sure that they had no objections, Grince rose slowly from the floor. As he did so, the leg with the sword cut gave way beneath him and he fell heavily, jarring his torn shoulder and crying out in pain.

The Mage was at his side in an instant. “You’re hurt?” She brought her light down to hover just above the thief. “Melisanda save us—what have you been doing with yourself?” She looked down at him sternly. “I suppose you did all this damage when you were being chased by those guards you mentioned? Maybe you had better tell me just why they were chasing you in the first place.”

Transfixed by her frank stare, Grince suddenly found that he couldn’t lie to her, as he had intended. “Lady, I—I—”

“By Chathak’s iron britches! Where did he get these?”

Grince jumped guiltily at the other Mage’s voice. He had found the thief’s sack, and was upending it near the fire. The Magewoman gave a low whistle as a cascade of gems came rattling out to heap themselves in a sparkling pile on the dark floor. Once more, she turned her stern gaze on the thief. “You stole these. Who do they belong to?”

Grince’s mouth went very dry. “P-Pendral,” he choked. “The High Lord Pendral.”

The Mage burst into peals of laughter. “Pendral? Is that filthy little pervert still alive?”

Dumbly, Grince nodded, utterly astounded by her reaction.

“And you stole his beloved jewels? Well done, you! It serves him right, the tightfisted bastard.” She chuckled to herself and almost slapped him on the back. She stopped herself just in time, and ran a light but expert hand over his injuries instead.

Grince, aghast to see a liquid shimmer of violet-blue radiance coming from the Mage’s fingers, shrank instinctively away from her touch before he realized, to his surprise, that she wasn’t hurting him in the least. In fact the opposite seemed to be happening. Where the tingling violet light fell on his wounds, the pain and stiffness suddenly vanished, to leave a wonderful feeling of ease and well-being. Before his disbelieving eyes, the gaping sides of the sword cut on his leg began to close up and knit together.

The Mage chuckled again. “You’ll have to sew up the rip in your breeches yourself,” she told him kindly. “I’m useless at that kind of thing.”

Grince looked at her wonderingly. He had lost his mother at the age of ten, and she had never bothered much about him in any case. Since then he had always shifted for himself, even though Jarvas kept a place for him at the sanctuary. No one had ever taken care of him like this. “Thank you, Lady,” he whispered. She smiled back at him, and in that moment he knew his life would never be the same again.

The other Mage had perched on the edge of a table and was smiling encouragingly, though the thief noticed that his hand was never far from his sword hilt. “Now listen,” he said firmly. “We came down here because we heard somebody screaming. Was it you who screamed?”

The female Mage turned from Grince with a startled exclamation. “The screaming! What with that other call, I had forgotten about that.” She paused a moment, her head cocked to the side as though listening for some distant call—then shook her head and cursed. “And now the other blasted voice has gone too.”

“From the effect it had on you, I’m inclined to think that may not be a bad thing.” Then the other Mage turned his gaze back to Grince. “Now he said gently. “Why did you scream, lad? You look in a bit of a mess—who hurt you?—Did that same person frighten you? Is someone else down here with you?”

Numbly, Grince shook his head. “It—it was horrible. It’s in there. . . ,”

Unable to say more, he pointed into the unseen depths of the gloomy alcove.—Aurian glanced sharply at Forral, then stepped away from the fire. “We’d better find out what he’s talking about.” Concentrating on the slip of Magelight that hovered above her, she 1 64 Maggie f u r ey made it flare into brilliant life once more. As the light leapt into the corners of the room, her eyes were drawn across the room to the alcove, whose depths were lost in shadow.

“There,” the little Mortal repeated, pointing. “That’s where it’s coming from.”

“Be careful,” Shia warned. “It may be a trap.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Aurian replied. “Keep an eye on this Mortal for me, will you? I think we can trust him, but I don’t want to risk him stabbing in the back while I’m preoccupied.”

Forral slid off the table to join her and together, they stole cautiously across the room toward the dark void, with Aurian’s Magelight high above them.—As the light reached into the recesses of the alcove, the swordsman cried out and the Mage recoiled in astonishment. “Gods preserve us,” she gasped. “It’s Finbarr!”

How many more shocks did the Academy have in store for her? Aurian was aghast at the sight of her dear old friend, changeless and stark within the blue network of a time spell, frozen in time like a lifeless statue. She took a deep breath and bit her lip hard. “I don’t believe this,” she said angrily.

“Finbarr was killed in the attack of the Wraiths—I felt him die. Why would the Archmage want to take him out of time like this? It’s insane!”

“When was Miathan ever sane?” Forral replied grimly. “But Aurian, are you absolutely sure you felt Finbarr die?”

The Mage was frowning, trying to think herself back into the past. “It was the first time I had ever experienced the death of another Mage. It’s not a thing you’d mistake, believe me. So why is Finbarr’s body preserved this way? I just don’t understand.”

“Miathan had the grail, remember.”

Aurian glanced back at the figure of Forral, wearing Anvar’s body. “We’ve already had an example today of the Caldron’s powers,” she told him thoughtfully. “After what happened to you and Anvar, do you think this could be something of the same kind?”

“Who can say?” Forral shrugged.

“Well, I think we should release him,” the Mage said decisively.

“No!” Forral said urgently.

“No!” Shia’s voice resounded sharply in Aurian’s mind. “What good can this do?—You said yourself that the human was dead—and there is bad magic here. Leave him be, my friend, and let us get out of this dreadful place. Only harm can come of meddling.”

“That’s the best advice I’ve had all night.” Aurian smiled wryly at the swordsman, then down at the cat. “Sadly, I can’t take it. Finbarr was my friend—I can’t leave him here like this without knowing. I would wonder ever afterward if I had been wrong about his death.”

“Aurian, you’re making a big mistake,” Forral warned her. “Whatever is happening here, you shouldn’t be meddling with it.”

“You’re saying this to a Mage?” Aurian replied. “You might as well tell that fire not to burn as tell one of my blood not to meddle.” She turned toward the tall, immobile figure of the archivist. “All of you had better stand well clear,” she told her friends.

No one took any notice of her—which was about what she had expected. Stepping back, Aurian breathed deeply and calmed her mind, concentrating and gathering her powers. Carefully, she began to unravel the time spell. The crawling blue haze surrounding Finbarr writhed sluggishly and grew still. Then, with a loud cracking sound, it disintegrated into a cloud of tiny blue sparks that fell away as though a sheath of ice had shattered and fallen from the archivist’s body. Finbarr’s eyes cleared. He blinked and staggered but pulled himself upright before they could help him, backing away from their outstretched hands.

“Do not touch me. I am not what I seem.” The voice was light and dry, and completely devoid of inflexion or emotion. It was not the voice of a human.—Deep in Shia’s throat a snarl began. Under her hand, Aurian felt the hair on the great cat’s back beginning to rise. She felt much the same way herself.

“Then what are you?” she demanded. “What have you done with Finbarr?”

The voice gave a deep, eerie chuckle that echoed hollowly throughout the chamber. The sound stirred uneasy memories that lurked just out of the Mage’s reach. “Surely you remember what I am, O Mage. The Nihilim remember you.”

Aurian gasped in horror and took an involuntary step backward. It felt as though ice were sheeting across her skin. Behind her, Forral gave a cry of horror, and she heard the rasp of steel as his sword left his sheath.

“Don’t let it see you’re afraid!” The sharp warning from Shia halted the Mage’s retreat.

“You’re right,” Aurian replied grimly. “These foul monsters killed Forral.”

She raised the Staff of Earth and the air was torn by a deafening thunderclap.—Suddenly the chamber was limned in an explosion of sizzling emerald light. “I recognize you, creature,” she snarled. “And I can send you back to the oblivion you deserve.”

“Wait. Please. Do not.” Though the words contained no trace of emotion, they were spoken rapidly enough to convey great urgency. “The Nihilim can help you, Mage—if you will allow it.”

“What?” Aurian felt as though a thunderbolt had struck her. Of all the uncanny events that had befallen her on her return to the Academy, surely this must be the most bizarre. “You want to help me?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Aurian, no. Don’t trust this—this thing.” Forral was at her side, his voice low and urgent. She saw that his hands—Anvar’s hands—were shaking, and despite the dank chill of the chamber, his skin was slick with the sweat of profound fear. Her heart went out to him. Poor Forral. The Nihilim were the only things the swordsman truly feared—and the hideous creatures had killed him. Aurian understood—she had been there when he died, and the Death-Wraiths filled her with a similar terror and revulsion. Nonetheless, if these monstrosities could give her some kind of advantage over Eliseth, then she could not afford to give in to her fear and dismiss them out of hand.—With an apologetic glance at Forral, the Mage turned back to the hideous creature that wore the guise of her old friend. “Very well. I’ll hear you out—but be aware that this time, you are alone. If you make a move against me or my companions, it will be the last move you make.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Aurian took a deep breath. “Well, Wraith? What is it you want of me? I know better than to believe that you’re offering me your assistance for nothing.”

The inhuman blue eyes glittered with a fiery light. “You are right—it was my need that called out to you, even through the confinement or the time spell.—Even such magic cannot silence an anguished soul. You must help my people, Mage. Only you can set them free.”

Aurian felt her jaw drop. At her side, she heard Forral gasp. “What?” he shouted. “You must be mad! Let the Nihilim loose upon the world? What sort of bloody idiot do you think she is?”

“Shut up, Forral,” Aurian muttered. She turned back to the Wraith. “What sort of bloody idiot do you think I am?”

“Patience, Mage. Permit me to explain. I do not wish you to release us into this world—we do not belong here. I want you to help us return to our own home.”

“Your home?” Aurian’s eyes widened. She forgot to fear the creature as, once again, the Magefolk curiosity stirred and awakened within her. “And where is your home?” she asked softly.

Finbarr’s glittering blue eyes took on an avid gleam, and for the first time, the Mage heard a swell of emotion in the Death-Wraith’s voice. “We were not always as you see us now,” it told her. “Once, we lived Between the Worlds in beauty and in grace. We were Death’s radiant angels—his servants who flew forth into the world to end the pain and suffering of living creatures. We would come to the old, the sick, the wretched and the weary, and bear them gently home so that they could enter the Well of Souls once again and begin a bright new life.”

The Wraith sighed, and its voice darkened once more. “All this we were and more—Keepers of the Balance, Guardians of the Door—until the accursed Magefolk intervened, creating the Artifacts of Power and meddling where they had no right. In the Wars of the Cataclysm, Chiannala enslaved us to the Caldron, to turn us from givers of mercy into a deadly weapon. And so we have remained down the long, weary ages: hideous and twisted, our powers maimed and unbalanced. Without us, death has become a fearful thing for Mortal creatures.” Once again the inhuman eyes fixed on Aurian. “Help us, Mage—I beg you. This chance may never come again. Undo the evil committed by your ancestors and release us. Break the slavery of the Caldron, and set us free.”

“And you will help me recover the grail that was once the Caldron?” Aurian asked softly.

“We will. For our own sakes, we must.”

“And what about Finbarr? If I help you, can you return him to me?”

The Wraith sighed. “That I do not know. We had no means of communicating with you humans without using a human form ourselves. I entered this body at the moment of the owner’s death—but your enemy took me out of time before I could act. Finbarr’s spirit did not have time to pass Beyond, but I fear that when I quit this shell, it will be forced to do so. If you wish to prevent his death from becoming complete, your only hope is to capture the Caldron and put it to the use for which it was intended.”

“And what about my death?” Forral broke in angrily. “You had no compunction about finishing me.”

The creature’s cold gaze fell upon the swordsman. “I told you—the Nihilim were not responsible. It was not your time to die, but we are enslaved by the Caldron. We are compelled to do as its wielder commands.”

Forral scowled, brushing aside Aurian’s attempts to hush him. “Well, that makes you very unsafe allies, doesn’t it? Eliseth has only to command you to turn on Aurian, and we’re finished. Do you really expect the lass to take that kind of risk?”

Aurian glared at him. “Do you mind? He’s right, though,” she told the creature. “For a moment, I thought you’d be our secret weapon to defeat Eliseth, for what can withstand the Nihilim? But while she holds the grail, you’re a weapon that can turn in our hands.” She held out empty hands to convey her helplessness. “What can I do? I daren’t take the risk. If I gain control of what remains of the Caldron, I give you my word I’ll use it to release you, but sadly, it seems I must manage without your help.”

“Wait,” the creature said. “Think. The risk is small, for the wielder of the Caldron must return here to undo the time spell. Until then, he—”

“She,” Aurian interrupted. “Ownership of the grail has changed since you were first released—and the current wielder is even more to be feared than the last.”

“She, then,” the Wraith replied. “What does it matter? The identity of our slavemaster makes little difference to the Nihilim. She cannot make use of us until she returns to remove the time spell—and until she returns, how can she know we are at large once more?”

“If you help me attack her, she’ll know all right—and I daren’t take a chance on her finding out.” The Mage thought hard for a moment. “Look—you said that Finbarr’s spirit hasn’t departed yet—is there any way I can talk to him?”

“You are aware that my power is all that binds him to this world? You understand that if I permit him to speak to you, I cannot cede control of this form to him, or we are both lost?”

“I understand,” the Mage replied. “Still, I think we may need his wisdom. It seems to me that you must depend on one another—for the time being at least.”

“Very well. I believe that we can share this form, at least.”

Even as Aurian watched, the monster’s features altered—that arcane, unearthly glitter disappeared from Finbarr’s eyes. His face took on animation and life, and he looked like himself again. He jerked into motion as though suddenly awaking from a dream and looked around wildly, his hands crackling with the blue energy of the time spell and the shadow of horror still in his eyes.

“Finbarr,” Aurian cried urgently. “It’s all right. They’ve gone!”

Without warning, the tall, gawky figure tottered from the alcove. He flung his arms around the Mage. “Aurian! My dear! You’re safe. And Anvar! Thanks be to the Gods.” Finbarr peered around him, rubbing his eyes, his brows drawing down in a puzzled frown. “But where are we? These aren’t Miathan’s chambers. These are my archives, surely. How did we come to be here? And where are the Nihilim? Did we get them all? Where is poor Forral . . .” His voice hardened.

“And that thrice-cursed renegade Miathan?”

Aurian realized, to her horror, that the archivist could have no idea that Meiriel was dead. And how could she tell him of his soulmate’s insanity, and her murderous attempt on the Mage’s life, and that of Wolf? At this reminder of her son, the thread of her deliberations was broken by a pang of longing.—If only I could see him, she thought—just to know he’s safe. What does he look like now? Does he remember me? Regretfully, she wrenched her thought back to the business in hand. She had enough to worry about right now. Finbarr would have to know the truth.

The Mage sighed. “Finbarr, you were taken out of time by your own spell. A very great deal has happened since that battle with the Wraiths—and a good deal of it is bad news, I’m afraid. If I help you, will you be able to take the information directly from my mind? It’ll take hours, otherwise.”

Even using such a direct method, it took some time to bring the archivist up to the present. By the time Aurian had finished, she was wringing with sweat and thoroughly exhausted. It had been hard for her to relive the past—both the good and the bad. For Finbarr, it had been even harder. The Archivist was weeping openly. “Why?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you leave me in peace? Why bring me back to break my heart like this?”

Aurian took his hand. “Because we need you, Finbarr. You know more about the Nihilim than any of us—at the moment, you have a chance to know one of them intimately. Can we trust them? Dare we remove your old time spell and release them, or is the risk too great?”

The Archivist closed his eyes, his concentration so intense that Aurian could almost feel it. “You can trust them,” he said at last. “What one know, all know—and they are all desperate to be free of the Caldron’s chains. You are the only one who can aid them—and in return they will do anything in their power to help you. But unfortunately, until they are free of Eliseth’s control, they will always remain a risk and a threat to you.”

Finbarr opened his eyes. “This doesn’t please the one who shares my body—but I would advise against releasing them from the spell. The risk is far too great.—You must fight your own battles, Aurian—but you’re used to that.” He smiled wryly. “One thing I would advise, however, is that you leave the Wraith that occupies my body free to act. Let it come with you—if the worst came to the worst, you could deal with a single Wraith.” His eyes twinkled. “You must decide for yourself whether I’m advising you through selfish motives here, for if the Wraith goes with you, then so do I.”

“If it means having you with us, I’ll do whatever it takes,” Aurian assured him. She looked round at her companions. “Finbarr’s advice sounds good to me.”

“As long as I am here to protect you,” Shia said. “I like your human friend, but I don’t trust that other thing.”

Then Forral intervened. “No. This is lunacy, Aurian. I won’t have it—you’re taking too great a risk.”

He wouldn’t have it? And who did he think he was, to be giving orders? Aurian glared at him stonily. Just because he was afraid . . . “No,” she replied shortly, “I can’t agree. I understand your doubts, but—”

“Doubts? Those things are cold-blooded killers,” Forral roared. “They’re evil—and no one should know that better than me.” With a visible effort, he calmed himself. “Listen, love—I appreciate the advantage that this might give us, but in my opinion ...”

“In my opinion, the risk is justified.” Aurian took a firm hold on her temper.—Be patient, she told herself. Remember that Forral was killed by these creatures. He has more reason than any of us to fear the Nihilim.

“I see,” Forral said coldly. “In my absence you’ve learned all there is to know about the art of war, is that it? Well, come back in another thirty years, Aurian, and tell me that—and even then it won’t be true. Let me tell you, you’re making a big mistake. I know your stubbornness of old, my girl—but this time, you’re putting all our lives in danger.”

At Aurian’s side, Shia snarled softly. “Will you let this human speak to you like that?”

The Mage rested her hand lightly on the great cat’s head. “Forral is still living in the past. Things have changed a good deal since he was alive, and he must learn about me as I am now. I’m afraid it won’t be easy for him.”

“Nor for you,” Shia added softly.

Mage confronted swordsman, until the tension in the air had reached breaking point.

“I value your experience, Forral,” Aurian said firmly, “but this is a matter of magic, not Mortal war. I know more about our enemy—and about the Artifacts—than anyone else. I’ll take advice, but ultimately the decisions are mine to make, and that’s the end of it.”

“It is not the end of it!” Forral raged. “By all the Gods, Aurian, I brought you up! I don’t have to stand here and take this from you!”

Aurian lifted her chin and looked at him levelly. “That’s true,” she said quietly, “you don’t. You’re free to leave at any time.”

Forral gaped at her. “What? And where the bloody blazes am I supposed to go?—Do you really think I’m going to just go off and let you get yourself into all kinds of trouble?”

“That’s up to you,” Aurian told him implacably. “But if you stay, I don’t want to hear any more arguments about this. You taught me yourself, long ago, that only one person at a time can be in command.”

Forral was looking at her as though he had never seen her before. “So I did,” he said softly. “So I did. So what do we do now, Commander? Lurk here underground until we starve and freeze?”

Aurian gritted her teeth. She was damned if she’d let him needle her. “We need information,” she said. “We don’t know how long we’ve been away from Nexis, let alone who rules the city now that the Magefolk have gone.”

Grince, forgotten in his corner, had watched in awe as the Mage had freed the creature in the corner. So this was the legendary Lady Aurian, who had been lost for so long? Old Hargorn had spoken of her often, with great fondness and regret. She had been kind to him, had healed him—and the thief admired the calm way in which she’d stood up to the other Mage when he had tried to bully her. Though common sense told him that it would be a grave mistake to get mixed up in the affairs of the Magefolk, he wanted to repay her for helping him—and besides, a little magic had come into his hard and brutal life along with her. He didn’t want to lose it so soon.

“Lady, I can help you,” he said, before he could stop himself. “I can tell you whatever you want to know.”