The overseers were amazed by his endurance, and wagers began to be made concerning how long this strange, pale-skinned Northerner would last. Anvar was oblivious to it all. His exhausted, pain-wracked mind afid body only worked at survival level, and the luxury of thought was a long-forgotten dream. All that remained was a faint spark of consciousness, a stubborn, relentless manifestation of the will to survive.
Aurian opened her eyes. Moonlight shone in dazzling star-and-diamond shapes through the lattices of delicately carved shutters, forming lacework shadows on the pale, thin sheet that covered her bed..She was confused—her coming here was all a daze, and she was still half asleep. But something had awakened her. Something wrong. What? The back of her neck prickled. Something. Some vague, formless fear that brought back the irrational childhood urge to hide her head beneath the covers, hoping that the unknown terror would be unable to find her there. Aurian tried to pull herself together, reminding herself sternly that she was a warrior. She lay very still, concentrating with all her senses to locate the source of the wrongness.
Ah. She had it now. The silence. Each night since she’d come to these lands, the darkness had been filled with the rhythmic, creaking chirrups of nocturnal insects that formed a shrill nighttime chorus. Now everything was still—utterly, utterly still. Aurian could hear herself breathing in ragged, shallow gasps—could hear the thunder of her own heart. Despite the warmth of the room, icy sweat slid down her spine. What else? She was missing something. Shia! Aurian could hear only the sound of her own breathing. No one else was in the room.
Shia was gone!
Aurian looked wildly around her, but the room was growing darker. Something was sapping the moonlight from her window, consuming it, drowning it in an overwhelming wave of utter blackness. Something stirred in the corner—she could feel it as it moved, creeping, no, gliding silently toward her. It passed in front of the window—and her blood congealed to ice at the sight of the shape that haunted her most nightmarish memories. Nihilim! Miathan had sent the Death Wraiths!
Aurian tried to move, to reach for her sword—no, that was no good! The Wraith advanced, uttering the weird, cruel bass chuckle that she remembered so well. The wave of leeching coldness and terror that spun out before it washed over her . . . The spell! Finbarr’s spell! What was it? Her mind was in a whirl of panic—she couldn’t think! She couldn’t move! Her tongue was frozen in her mouth, her limbs were frozen to the bed! It swooped down on her, its great maw drooling long ropes of slimy, clinging darkness—to engulf her, as it had engulfed Forral . . . “Forral! Forral\”
“For pity’s sake, Lady, wake up!”
Aurian blinked; her vision cleared. She was sitting up in bed, in a room aglow with lamplight. Before her, instead of that hideous shape of evil, was Harihn, shaking her shoulders, his tanned face gray with shock. Her left arm was bound up in a sling, and her throat was raw with screaming. Shia was by the bed, her snarling face a demon mask of fear and fury, her slitted yellow eyes glaring—glaring at something that wasn’t there. It wasn’t there! As Aurian’s nightmare faded, the great cat suddenly relaxed, shaking her head in bewilderment, her ears still flattened, the tip of her black tail twitching back and forth. And as the bitter tide of reaction to her dream flowed over her, Aurian began to shake uncontrollably, weakened by her wounds and undone by the vivid memory of Forral’s hideous death as the barely healing scars in her emotions were ripped asunder by what she had just experienced. Unable to help herself, she collapsed in a storm of hysterical weeping.
She heard Harihn curse, heard him call a servant to fetch the surgeon. Then he was back at her side, patting her shoulder awkwardly as she wept. “Hush, Lady, hush,” he soothed her helplessely. “It was only a dream—a bad dream from the fever. I am here—your Demon is here. Nothing can hurt you, I promise.”
Then the surgeon was there. Aurian vaguely remembered the round-shouldered, wrinkled old man who had stitched the torn muscles of her calf, quaking all the while under the baleful glare of Shia, who had barely been able to restrain herself from attacking this puny creature who was causing her friend such pain. Now he was all bustling efficiency despite the comical long white nightgown that he wore. The sight of him was so ludicrous that Aurian wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t stop crying, and somehow the laughter and sobs mingled so that she couldn’t get her breath. She fought free of Harihn and clutched her bandaged aching ribs, wheezing .helplessly as tears poured down her face.
Aurian heard the surgeon tsking, then a cup was forced between her lips and she choked on a coldly burning brew, coughing and spluttering and causing further pain to knife between her ribs. “Deep breaths, Lady, if you please,” she heard the surgeon chanting patiently, speaking to her as though she were a small child. Then she heard Shia’s voice in her mind, sensible and comforting. “Enough, my friend,” the cat said, “or you will harm yourself.”
With a superhuman effort, Aurian got control of herself, enough to swallow the rest of the draft. The tight knot within her unraveled, and she could relax, though she was still shaking as she leaned back against the pillows and wiped her eyes.
Harihn looked relieved. “By the Reaper, Lady, but you frightened us all!” he said.
“Nonsense!” the surgeon said briskly. “It was only the fever. You were very ill, Lady, for several days.” He leaned over to place a hand on her forehead. “It has broken now, so you should have no more bad dreams. And you will be pleased to know that your child is safe.”
The child! She had forgotten all about it! And days, he had said. There was something she should be doing—something urgent—but the memory of Forral haunted her, and she felt weak and confused by the aftermath of her dream ... Oh Gods, that hideous creature! Aurian shuddered. “Wine?” she gasped, trying to force the memory away.
The surgeon smiled. “I know my patients are mending when they ask for wine. Is there any here, Your Highness?”
“Should she have it?” the Prince asked anxiously. “I mean, what with the drug—and she has not eaten anything . . .”
“That can soon be remedied.” The surgeon went to the door and gave orders to a hovering servant.
While she waited, Aurian tried to piece together what had happened. “How badly was I hurt?” she asked the surgeon.
His wizened face creased in a frown. “Lady, you gave me some work! But your arm is healing, and your ribs were simply cracked, not broken. They will soon improve with care. As to your leg ... The muscles were badly torn. I fear there will be some scarring.”
“Never mind that. Will it be all right?” The surgeon hesitated. “It should,” he said at last. “That is, if you give it a chance to heal, Lady. You must stay off that leg for ten days at least, and more if possible.”
“What!” Aurian shot bolt upright, wincing at the pain from her cracked ribs. “I don’t have that kind of time!” “Lady, you must.”
“But there’s something I have to do—it’s important!” Desperately she tried to remember what it was.
The surgeon frowned at her as though she were a petulant child. “Suit yourself,” he replied frostily. “But if those muscles have no chance to heal properly, you will be crippled, or at best ft that leg will always be weak. You must stay in bed until I tell you otherwise. If not, you have only yourself to blame for the consequences.”
Aurian swore viciously and thumped the pillow with her fist, frustrated by the limitations of Mortal medicine. If only she had her powers, she could Heal her injuries in no time!
Just then the servant returned with a cup of warm broth. “Drink this, Lady,” the surgeon told Aurian, “then you may have your wine.” Despite her frustration, Aurian realized that her stomach was churning, not just from emotion, but from hunger. She drank the broth down eagerly, then the surgeon handed her a goblet of sweetish red wine.