Dhiammara

17 Snowsilver and Frost

Aurian stared in amazement at the slender, brown-winged young woman. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar. . . . The young girl had no such doubts.—She leapt to her feet and made a deep obeisance, her pointed little face wreathed in smiles of pure relief. “Lady! By the grace of Yinze you are here.—This is good fortune beyond my wildest hopes!” As she straightened, the veneer of formality began to crack. “I never thought I’d get here,” she confided. “I would have perished in the ocean for sure, had I not found Master Yanis’s ship.”

For the first time, Aurian noticed that the girl’s limbs bore a colorful collection of fading bruises, and that her wings were tattered and bedraggled, with pinions frayed and flight feathers missing. One wing was held at a skewed, unnatural angle, with its tip trailing along the floor. The Mage came out of her daze of astonishment to peer closely into the young girl’s face—but it was the thick mop of lustrous brown curls that finally jogged her memory.

“I know who you are!” she said suddenly. “You’re that child—the one who found Hreeza in the temple.”

“That’s right, Lady, I...”

“Come along, Linnet,” Zanna interrupted firmly. “Where are your manners? Let the Lady Aurian and her friends get to the fire—they’ve had a long and wearying ride, and there’ll be time enough for your news when they’ve rested a little. Run along to the kitchen, why don’t you, and tell them we have five hungry visitors, then bring Dulsina back here.”

Linnet looked crestfallen. “All right, Zanna.” Lifting the dragging wingtip, the girl scurried away, with one last, reluctant glance over her shoulder at the Mage.

Aurian shook her head, still dumbfounded. “My dear Zanna—where in the world did she come from?”

“You’d be amazed at the things we smugglers manage to find,” the Nightrunner woman chuckled dryly, “though that one surprised us all. There was a dreadful storm, near on a month ago, and Yanis was out in the midst of it. It’s as well he’s such a good seaman—he was lucky not to lose his ship and all hands.—Linnet was lucky too, that he happened to be there. She landed on his deck during the tempest, otherwise she would have drowned for sure. The poor creature was too exhausted from battling the wind—she would never have reached the shore.”

“But what in the world possessed her to make such a long and dangerous journey?” Aurian said wonderingly.

Zanna shrugged. “She was looking for you, apparently. It broke her heart when I told her you had vanished—but I’ll let her tell her own story.” Her expression clouded. “It’s been nothing but grief and heartache for all of us, this last year or so.”

Aurian took her hands. “Yes, I know about Vannor. Zanna, I’m so-sorry. .. .”

“Vannor brought his troubles on himself” said a harsh voice from the doorway.

“Unfortunately, he brought them on the rest of us, too.”

The Mage turned—and struggled to keep her dismay from showing on her face. But Dulsina wasn’t old, she thought. Alas, that was no longer true. Dulsina was almost unrecognizable from the straight and sprightly woman she remembered.—Time and grief had fallen heavy on her shoulders, bowing her back as though she carried some incalculable burden. Her glossy dark hair, always so impeccably neat, had turned snow-white and straggled in wisps about her face, and her once-flawless skin, of which she’d always been so proud, was now furrowed with lines of bitterness and anger When she saw the Mage her eyes flashed wrathfully, and she drew herself stiffly back as though she were about to spit in Aurian’s face. “You came back too late, Mage,” she hissed. “It was you who loosed the Phaerie on us, and then went away to escape the consequences of your deed. Well, it’s too late now.” She jabbed an accusing finger into Aurian’s face. “The damage has been done, and for all your magic, you can’t bring back the lives that have been sacrificed.”

The stricken Mage backed away from her, utterly lost for words. What can I say, she thought, in the face of such hostility? What could I do to make amends? How can I even be angry with such a pitiful, ruined creature?

“Dulsina, you forget yourself,” Zanna said sharply. “Aurian is not accountable for the evil of the Phaerie, nor is she responsible for Vannor’s folly. One was brought upon us by the other, when that poison robbed my father of his wits. You’d do better to put the blame where it truly lies, at the feet of his would-be assassin. You do neither yourself nor the rest of us any credit by carrying on in this fashion.”

His eyes dark with sorrow, Hargorn stepped between the three women and took Dulsina’s arm with care. “Come on, old friend,” he prompted. “Don’t distress yourself. Come talk with me a while instead. Hebba gave me all the gossip from Nexis to pass on to you.” With gentle solicitude, he led her from the room.—The Mage stood without speaking, her face pale but rigidly expressionless.—Only Forral, who had known her for so many years, saw the depths of her dismay and the distress that she so carefully concealed. He went to her and took her arm, unconsciously echoing Hargorn’s gesture. “Come on, lass,” he said, breaking the awkward, uneasy silence that had settled on the room. “The poor old creature is deranged—she didn’t mean it.” Feeling the infinitesimal tremor that ran through her body, he led her to a chair near the fire. “Come now—rest awhile, love. We’re all tired.”

“Aurian, I’m so sorry.” Zanna’s face was crimson with embarrassment, and she was all but wringing her hands in distress. “Dulsina hasn’t been well since—but I had no idea she would act that way. I—I’ll go and see what has happened to that food.” She scurried from the room.

What in the name of perdition had that been all about? the swordsman wondered.—Once more he cursed Death for blocking his access to the Well of Souls and preventing him from observing the world he had left. There were so many hidden undercurrents in this place—so much was going on that he didn’t understand.—When he had been Commander of the Garrison, for instance, he had never known that Wyvernesse existed—and he would have paid good gold for the information.—These blasted Nightrunners had been a thorn in his side for years, and it had never occurred to him what good people they might be.

That winged girl, too, had been a shock. She had left him reeling. Though he had once glimpsed Raven, Aurian’s former winged companion, in the Well of Souls, that was a far more detached experience than actually meeting one of the legendary Skyfolk face-to-face. And how can I help Aurian if I don’t know the half of what’s going on? he thought despairingly.

Well, he would do what he had always done—his best. Looking around, Forral realized with a twinge of unease that both Grince and the eldritch creature who had once been Finbarr had managed to lose themselves somewhere between this common room and the cavern where the ships were anchored. Then he put them out of his mind. Save for the two great cats, he and Aurian were left alone for the first time since their initial meeting in the Mages’ Tower.—The Mage was gazing bleakly into the fire, and Forral, desperate to comfort her but unsure of her reaction, knelt down beside her and reached out a tentative hand to ruffle her hair, as he had done when she was a child. Aurian turned sharply—but there was gratitude in her eyes, not hostility. With a sigh, she took his hand and rested her head against his shoulder. “I know I find it difficult to show you, Forral,” she said softly, “but truly, I’m glad to have you back.”

Grince had taken advantage of everyone’s preoccupation with the mad old woman to slip away and do a little exploring on his own account. It’s all very well for the Mage to tell me to trust these folk, he thought, but I’d prefer to know a little more about them first. Where would I possibly fit into a place like this?

Retracing his steps, he made his way back to the huge cavern that berthed the Nightrunner fleet. He had been intrigued and entranced by the ships—even before Nexis had lost its river, he had never seen vessels such as these, with their intricate figureheads and sleek, rakish lines. Also, it wouldn’t do any harm to see what was in those bales they had been unloading. .. .

On the busy, crowded beach, no one noticed one small, extra figure. Grince loitered for a time near the men who were unloading cargo, but to his disappointment they did not open any of the boxes and bales, but carried them away just as they were. After a while he lost interest and wandered off along the curving beach, giving a wide berth to an old man who was seated on a low stool at the water’s edge, gutting a pile of slimy, smelly fish. For a time he watched the men and women who mended the nets and sails, but it was a dull activity that soon palled.

The thief was just about to leave them to it and go in search of something to eat when his attention was drawn to a whole spate of swearing coming from one of the ship that was anchored nearby.

“Bugger it! The bloody main gaff’s jammed solid!”

“Well climb up and free the cursed thing then.”

“Me? Not on your life, mate. My mast-climbing days were over long since.—That’s a young man’s game.”

“Well there’s a young man, across on the shore. You! Hey you! Hop in a dinghy and get your lazy backside over here!”

To his horror, Grince realized that they were shouting at him. “Me?” Hastily he backed away from the water’s edge. “But I don’t know how ...”

The two old shipwrights exchanged a look of disgust. “I’m not having this. You go and get him.”

“No, you go.”

The greybeard who was gutting fish looked up from his work and spat into the water. “Don’t strain yourselves, will you?” he said derisively. “I’ll bring the lad.” He grabbed hold of Grince, covering his tunic with smelly fish scales, and bundled him into a small boat. Before the thief knew what was happening, or could explain that he didn’t even know how to swim, he was afloat and heading out into the deeper water of the bay.

Ignoring his protests, they hauled him aboard the smuggler ship. One of the old men looked at him, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “Whose lad are you?” he demanded in puzzled tones. “You know, I can’t quite place you....”

“Oh, come on, Jeskin,” the other cut in, “or we’ll be here all bloody night.—What difference does it make whose lad he is, so long as he can climb.” He turned to Grince. “Lad, can you climb?”

“Can I climb?” The thief couldn’t conceal his grin. Perhaps these Nightrunners would have some use for his unorthodox talents after all. “Can a fish swim?”

The two old men looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Well climb up that mast and cut the gaff free.”

In that moment, Grince regretted showing off. What in the name of all the Gods was a gaff supposed to be? Why and how was it stuck up the mast? And that mast seemed awfully high and spindly, and the ship was rocking on the water in the most unnerving way .. .

But a new feeling had come over the thief. Here he was, in a different place, his previous background unknown, the slate wiped clean. Suddenly he was fired by a newfound determination to prove himself among these folk, to fit in at last with those around him. Grince pulled out his knife and stuck it between his teeth. He spat on his hands, swallowed back his fears, and began to climb the mast.

In fact it was quite easy. The rough, damp wood gave him a good sure hold and there were plenty of ropes and things to help him on his way. He shot up the first part at speed, showing off again, and was more than halfway up the wretched thing when everything changed. Gradually the mast began to narrow, making it more difficult to get a firm grip with his legs. Also, the further he got, the more violently the ship began to rock, and the more he could feel the swaying motion as the top of the mast tipped back and forth through the air. Grince’s stomach lurched and heaved. His palms began to sweat, causing him further difficulties with the climbing. Rashly, he looked down—and froze with a whimper, his teeth clenched tight around the haft of the knife as he clung like a leech with his arms and legs wrapped tightly around the swinging pole.

Only professional pride made the thief continue. Cautiously he inched his way higher, carefully not looking down at the narrow deck and all that water far below. After what seemed like a year or two, his groping hand fell upon a tangle of ropes and a long wooden spar caught up in them so that it drooped at an acute angle that looked wrong even to Grince’s inexperienced landsman’s eye. “This must be that gaff thing, I suppose,” he muttered to himself.—Hanging on tightly with one hand, he sliced through the entangling ropes—and nearly went crashing to the deck with the gaff as it struck him hard on the shoulder in falling, narrowly missing his head.

Afterward, he had no memory whatever of climbing down. Grince came back to himself to find that he was standing on the blessed, solid deck with the two men clapping him on the shoulders hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“Well done, lad!”

“You did a good job up there—it wasn’t easy.”

“Come on, Jeskin—let’s see if we can’t find him a drink somewhere.”

Filled with a warm glow of belonging, Grince managed to conceal his utter relief to be back on shore again. The old men beached their rowing boat and led him off down a different passage that twisted and turned until it reached what was clearly a vast kitchen that fairly hummed with the purposeful bustle of a meal in preparation.

Dodging their way between the busy workers with utter unconcern, Grince’s new friends towed him across the cavern. “Emmie—hey, Emmie? Have you a drop of rum in the pantry for a handy lad?”

“Have a heart, boys—can’t you see I’m busy?” The slender figure that had been stooping over the fire turned to reveal a fair-haired woman whose delicate elfin features no longer held the smooth glow of youth.

Grince looked at her and the world seemed to whirl around him. For a moment he was a ten-year-old boy again, who had just been given the first true possessions of his life by the first person to be truly kind to him. “You!” he gasped. “Emmie! I never thought I’d see you again!”

The woman’s silvery brows drew together in puzzlement. “Do I know you?”

The thief was just opening his mouth to explain when it happened. There came a low whine from under the table, and a huge white dog emerged, yawning and stretching its great limbs. Memory struck Grince down like a sword. His throat clogged, and his vision swam as his eyes flooded helplessly with tears. The dog could have been the ghost of his own lost, beloved Warrior.

The crowded kitchen with all its heat and noise vanished from the thief’s perception. He and the white dog were the only creatures in the world. Grince couldn’t speak. His heart was foundering in a vast and swirling wave of mingled memory, sorrow, and joy. The dog, noticing a stranger who had plainly been accepted into Emmie’s pack, came ambling over to investigate, and thrust a cold nose into the thief’s hand, its tail sweeping back and forth. Grince ruffled the sharp-pricked, silken white ears and dropped to his knees, throwing his arms around the broad, shaggy neck as tears ran down his face.—Emmie looked down at the lad, trying to remember where she had seen him before. He wasn’t part of the Nightrunner community, and yet, and yet... The memory lurked teasingly at the edge of her mind, but as yet, she couldn’t bring it to light. She was sure the youth must be older than he looked—his short stature and ragged appearance were deceptive—yet he couldn’t be more than twenty, if that. And what was the mystery with Snowsilver? Clearly, the white dog held some tremendous significance for him. It was difficult to interrupt such an emotional scene, but after a moment’s hesitation, Emmie reached out gently and touched the stranger’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

The lad started and looked up at her, and gradually his expression cleared and composed itself as though he was coming back from a far, far place. He sniffed hard and rubbed his face on his ragged sleeve. Then, to her astonishment and faint alarm, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed hold of her hand. “Emmie, don’t you remember me? It’s Grince—from Nexis. You gave me the puppies....”

“Grince . . . ?” As the memories came flooding back, his smudged, unshaven face resolved into the pinched, unhealthy features of the neglected, starveling child she had rescued from the squalid back streets of Nexis.—Grince’s expression changed to a sullen scowl and he turned away from her abruptly. “Never mind,” he muttered. “Forget it. Why should you remember me?”

“No! Wait! Grince, I do remember.” Though he resisted, Emmie grabbed his shoulder and pulled him firmly back to face her. Gently, she touched his face.

“Truly, I remember,” she told him softly. “You pulled a knife on me and told me to bog off, and ...”

“And you took me to see the white dog and her puppies,” the young man finished for her. “You were the first person who was ever kind to me.” His voice was thick with emotion. “All these years, I thought you were dead.” As she reached out to hug him, Emmie was suddenly aware that the burden of the past had been lightened, and one of the wounds of grief she had carried with her from those dreadful, tragic days had been healed at last. She tugged Grince’s hand. “Come back to my rooms with me. We have so much catching up to do—I want to hear everything. I can’t believe you managed to survive that terrible night. Come on—” She scooped up some pasties that were cooling on the table and folded them into a cloth. “This lot can make their own bloody supper for once.”

Zanna strode purposefully down the corridor, trailed by a pair of chattering young Nightrunner lasses bearing fresh linens, dust rags, and brooms. She was on her way to prepare the chambers for her guests, having volunteered to undertake the task herself in the hope that brisk activity might dull the scalding sense of shame she felt at Dulsina’s hostile welcome of the Mage.—It’s my fault, she thought for the hundredth time. I knew perfectly well the uncertain state of Dulsina’s mind since Dad was taken. I should have known better than to let her near Aurian . . . The rest of the thought was lost in the surge of dull and empty pain that accompanied any memory of Vannor—not only a loss, but a betrayal. I lost him before the Phaerie took him, she thought. After he was poisoned, he was never the same.

Zanna shook her head and pushed such sad thoughts to the back of her mind.—After all, she had so much to be thankful for—Tarnal and their two boys most of all. Valand and Martek, aged eight and six, were growing up to be fine, sturdy boys, and she was proud of them. Indeed, since Emmie and Yanis had no children and looked unlikely to have any now, the Nightrunner leader had named Valand his successor, and the lad, taking after his father no doubt, was already proving himself to be a natural seaman. In fact he had already been brought back twice from attempts to stow away on board the smuggler ships.—Feeling cheered by the thought of her family, Zanna hastened on her way. She had decided to put Aurian in the guest quarters near her own rooms, but as she passed the chambers that she shared with Tarnal, she was halted by the sound of raised and angry voices coming from within.

Zanna frowned. “You two girls start without me—go on, get busy, if you want to be finished by suppertime. I’ll follow you in a few minutes.” When they were safely gone, she stood for a moment outside the door, trying to get some idea of what was going on before she went bursting into the middle of it.

“. . . And I say we don’t want ’em and we don’t need ’em. They have no business here.”

“Gevan, Aurian and Anvar are our friends. They have every right to be here.”

Though Tarnal was trying hard to be patient, Zanna recognized from his clipped tones that his temper was fraying. She sighed. For her mild-tempered husband to be that exasperated, the two men must have been wrangling for some considerable time.

“Damn all Mages—they’re nothing but bad luck and trouble! Why couldn’t they stay gone, and leave the world to decent folk? She’s bad enough—last time she came it was bloody wolves and I don’t know what else—but have you seen that Anvar? He don’t look right—there’s something badly amiss with him, you mark my words. And what about that other one, that spook, all muffled up like that and never showing his face nor saying a word. Not to mention that other lowlife little blackguard they dragged along. There’s trouble there for somebody, you mark my words. You’d best make bloody sure the storerooms are locked up tight!”

“Gevan, that’s enough!” Finally, Tarnal had been goaded to anger. “Let me remind you that in Yanis’s absence I am in command here. Now you either accept that, or you go.”

Zanna caught her breath sharply. Yanis used this ploy often enough to put Gevan in his place—but it worked for him because he was Leynard’s son, and Gevan had first and foremost been Leynard’s man. Whether he would accept it from Tarnal . . .

“All right then, if that’s the way you want it. But mark my words, you’ll be sorry!” Wrenching the door open, Gevan strode out of the room, white-lipped with anger. Pushing Zanna roughly aside, he rushed away down the passage, and was gone. As Zanna entered the room, her husband was rubbing his forehead wearily. Rushing to his side, she put her arms around him. “Never mind,” she said. “Gevan’s just a loudmouthed, bad-tempered fool. He’ll never change.”

Tarnal grimaced. “You heard, then?”

“The last part, anyway,” Zanna admitted.

“You probably missed all the best bits then—he’s been at me ever since Aurian arrived.” Tarnal groaned, and went to pour himself a cup of wine. “Gods, but my poor head is ringing....”

A prickle of unease crawled across Zanna’s skin. “Tarnal, do you think he’ll really leave?”

“The Gods only know, love. If he does or if he doesn’t—I don’t know which will cause us more trouble.”

The white dog accompanied Grince and Emmie. When they entered the woman’s chambers it vanished purposefully behind a curtain at the far side of the room, which clearly concealed a further room, or rooms, beyond. Having not yet seen a Nightrunner living chamber, the thief looked around him curiously as Emmie went to stoke the fire.

Emmie’s rooms were pleasant and homely—not like living in a cave at all, Grince thought, though like all the accommodations in this place, the suite of chambers had been hollowed out of solid rock. But thick, gay, woven rugs covered the floor, and the walls were warmed by colorful hangings. Small lamps burned brightly in wall niches or were suspended from chains bolted into the uneven stone ceilings, and though there was no fireplace, a sturdy iron stove burned driftwood, a pile of which was stored in a basket nearby. The furnishings were simply and rustically constructed from a mixture of smooth planed wood and driftwood whose fluid, curving shapes added interest and character. There were wooden shelves, cupboards and chests for storage, and the chairs were padded with cushions stuffed fat with dried grass and fragrant herbs.

“This calls for a celebration.” Emmie took a bottle of wine and two cups from the cupboard, and laid out the pasties on the table.

It was the best meal of Grince’s life. As they ate, Emmie told him of her escape from Nexis, the night that Pendral’s men had attacked with such tragic and destructive results. “There was so much to do when I got here that I ended up just staying on, when the rest of the Nexians went home,” she told the thief. “There was a place for me here—the Nightrunners lacked a healer and Remana needed my help more and more. When she died last year, I took over completely. Then there was Yanis.” To his surprise, Grince saw her blushing.

“Well, he’s a good man—his heart’s in the right place and the Gods only know, he needed a wife to look after him.” Emmie shrugged. “What could I do? He pestered and pestered me so much that I finally said yes. But what about you, Grince? I was so sure you were dead. What happened to you that night? How did you manage to escape?”

Reluctantly at first, Grince began to tell her. He had never spoken to anyone of that dreadful night, but to his surprise, once he had started, the words seemed to flow from him with increasing ease. He wept when he told her of his mother’s death, and the horrors he had seen in the burning stockade. His tears began afresh when he told her of Warrior, and how the beloved white dog had perished—ironically, at the hands of Lord Pendral’s soldiers once more. Emmie held him like the child he had been when they first met and shared his grief, and when his tears were over, Grince felt transformed. It was as though he had been carrying a festering wound within him for half his life, and tonight, the poison had been drained.

The thief pulled away at last, and blew his nose on the handkerchief that Emmie had thoughtfully provided. He gave her an unsteady smile. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, you needed that.” Emmie smiled warmly. “You’ve been saving up all that grief for too long a time, Grince—not only for your mother but for poor Warrior too.” She sighed. “I know how that feels. When I lost Storm, his mother, two years ago, I thought I’d never get over it. ... Some folks would say it was ridiculous, really—I had already lost a husband and two children—yet here I was, grieving so deeply over just a dog.”

“Ah, but she wasn’t just a dog,” Grince put in softly. “She was your friend.”

Emmie nodded. “That’s right—she was. And a better friend no one ever had. At least I was luckier than you, Grince. Storm died peacefully of a ripe old age, right here in this room—and I had Snowsilver, her daughter, to comfort me. You know, it was strange—she was the only one of Storm’s offspring that ever bred true to her mother, and she was one of Storm’s last litter. It was almost as though Storm had left me a gift, for when she had gone....” A sudden smile lit Emmie’s face. She thrust her chair back with a jarring scrape and leapt to her feet. “Grince, come with me. I have something to show you.”

Burning with curiosity, the thief followed Emmie as she pulled back the curtain at the far end of the room. Beyond was a short corridor with three doors leading off at intervals.

The single door on the right was slightly ajar, and Emmie pushed it open then stood back and gestured for him to precede her. “I think there’s someone in there who may want to meet you,” she said. Grince saw the twinkle in her eye, and wondered. His stomach felt hollow with a sudden, inexplicable surge of excitement as he went through the door.

The small, cozy chamber was some kind of study or workroom. A cluster of quills stood in a small pot on the desk, and the shelves were stacked with volumes and scrolls. A cabinet, two big chests, two hard chairs, and a low wooden couch completed the furnishings. Another stove, unlit, squatted in one corner, and the ceiling lamp was turned down low.

Every one of these details was blotted from Grince’s mind by the occupants of the couch. There, curled up on the cushions, was Emmie’s dog Snowsilver—and beside her sat a young dog who was the living image of Warrior.

Grince stood as if stricken, lost in memories of a young boy and a puppy who had been forced to make their way alone in a hard and dangerous world. The young dog looked at him and barked once on a high, clear note. It scrambled down from the couch and ran toward him, wagging an unruly tail, and as Grince squatted down it leapt up and put its paws on his shoulders, licking his ear until he laughed.

“Amazing. He likes you, and he doesn’t take to many folk.” Emmie’s voice came softly from behind the thief. “He’s five months old—the only one left of the last litter. I decided to keep him myself, because he looked so like Storm.—His name is Frost—and if you want him, Grince, he’s yours.”

It had been a long time since Aurian had last healed a wing. She’d been forced to examine the healthy one first, taking its structure as her example and trying to make its injured fellow match it as best she could. Finally she straightened from her cramped position, stretched her spine, and rubbed her eyes. “There—how does that feel?” she asked Linnet.

“Better, I think.” Carefully, the girl opened her wing, stretching the great feathered span out as far as the confines of her bedchamber would allow. “Why, yes.” Her face brightened in a smile. “I can move it again. It feels as good as new!”

“Well, not quite,” the Mage told her. “You’ll need those flight feathers back before you can get airborne again, and I can’t fix them, I’m afraid. You’ll have to wait till new ones grow.” Looking down at the winged girl, she shook her head.

“You took an awful chance, you know. You’re extremely lucky not to have been killed. What was so desperately important that you had to risk your life to come here?”

Linnet shrugged—always a rash exercise for one of the Skyfolk in a cramped space. A cup went spinning from the table, caught by a sweeping wingtip, and Aurian caught it just before it hit the floor. The winged girl took no notice.

“I had to come—it was our only chance,” the girl explained.

Aurian frowned. “But surely Queen Raven would have more sense than to send you

. ..”

“There is no Queen Raven....”

“What?”

Linnet flinched. “No, it’s all right. I mean, she’s all right—or she was when I left. It’s just that she isn’t Queen of Aerillia anymore.”

“And why is that?” The Mage’s voice was dangerously quiet.

“I’ll try to explain, but I’m not sure I understand it myself,” Linnet said.

“In fact I’m not sure that anyone does, really—except the priests.”

Aurian bit her lip, counted to ten, and reminded herself that Linnet was very young. “Linnet—just tell me what happened—please.”

“I told you, I don’t really know. Suddenly Skua, the High Priest, developed powers of magic. He said that Yinze had brought back the powers of Incondor and the Skyfolk Mages. He said it was a sign from the Gods, that Aerillia should be ruled from Yinze’s Temple. He was backed by Sunfeather and the Syntagma, and there was a terrible battle against Queen Raven’s Royal Guard—until Skua brought down lightning bolts from the sky and incinerated half of Raven’s warriors.”

Linnet shuddered. “It was dreadful. The Queen was far advanced in pregnancy at the time. She and Lord Aguila were forced to flee for their lives. In a matter of days the city had become a place of fear and suspicion. Lord Skua claimed that he could read people’s minds, and that the wrath of the Gods would descend upon those who still supported the Queen. Certainly folk began to disappear, and were never seen again. I was one of Queen Raven’s ladies-in-waiting—that was her reward for my saving her when I was a little girl. I offered to stay behind and collect information, but after a while I got too scared. Skua’s mind-reading claims were starting to ring true. I was going to flee and join the Queen in the new southern Skyfolk settlement, but then I thought of you. I was sure you were the only one who could help us, and so I headed north instead.”

“And I’ll wager you had some adventures, too,” said Aurian with a kindly smile, “but they can wait for another day. You’ll be tired now, after the healing, so I suggest you get a good night’s sleep now, and we’ll talk again soon.”

“All right. And thank you, Lady—thank you so much for repairing my wing.”

Linnet looked up at the Mage, her eyes frank and pleading. “Lady Aurian—you will come back with me to Aerillia and help my people?”

Cold seemed to strike through Aurian’s heart. Suddenly she felt old, and very weary. I wish people would stop asking me that, she thought. But Linnet’s tale had stirred her suspicions. . . . “It looks very much as though I will,” she told the girl.

Lost in thought, Aurian walked back toward her chamber—and went straight past the door. Forral was there, and right now she didn’t want him asking any awkward questions, such as where was she going, and why. Linnet’s tale had simply served to confirm her suspicions that Eliseth must have gone south. It would be just like the Weather-Mage, to usurp power in an alien city by manipulating people’s lust and greed from behind the scenes. Also, something about the situation that Linnet had described struck a chord with the Mage when she considered the events in Nexis of about a year ago. I can’t quite put my finger on the connection, she thought, but a connection there is, or I’m a Mortal.

Well, there was one way to find out. Normal scrying wouldn’t work, not across the ocean, but using the nearby standing stone, she would be able to take herself Between the Worlds. From there, she would be able to discover what was going on. .. .

“And you might also find out what happened to Anvar,” said a little voice at the back of her mind, “which is why you really want to go risking your life on such a rash, insane venture.”

“Oh, shut up,” Aurian told it, and went to find Shia.