“You have already been condemned as a traitor,” the Khisu snapped. “Your ownership counts for nothing!”
“Father, hear me out,” Harihn shouted, his voice cracking with strain. “I did this for your benefit! This slave is the living proof that your Khisihn has betrayed you, and must die! She is his concubine!”
Anvar gasped.
“No!” Sara shrieked. “He’s lying!”
“Silence!” the Khisu roared. His face was livid. “Now,” he growled at his son, “I will have the truth of this, before I end your miserable life. Where did you get such a preposterous tale?”
Harihn trembled as he faced his father. “From Aurian— the sorceress. Did you not think it strange that the Khisihn wanted her death so badly when she fought in the Arena? It was because she knew the truth—as well she ought. This man is her husband.”
Anvar, already reeling from the revelations of the day, was stunned. Aurian had told Harihn he was her husband? Why had she lied to the Prince?
The sound of the Khisihn’s mocking laughter echoed shrilly through the room. “She said he was her husband?”
“You deny it?” Harihn suddenly seemed less sure of himself.
“Of course,” Sara replied calmly. “She lied to spare herself a traitor’s death. This man is not her husband—he is her servant, her accomplice in my kidnapping. Do you think I, the Khisihn, would lower myself to lie with a mere servant?”
The scorn in Sara’s voice went like a knife through Anvar’s heart, and he missed the look of shock and outrage on Harihn’s face. He steeled himself against the pain, telling himself that she didn’t mean it—that she was at the Khisu’s mercy, and only trying to save herself.
The Khisu turned his glowering gaze on Anvar, and spoke ro him in the Northern tongue. “Well, slave? What say you? On the one hand, my son says that the Khisihn is your concubine. She, however, accuses you of being her kidnapper. Weigh well your reply, for lives depend on it—including your own miserable existence!”
Anvar hesitated, so confused by this tangle of betrayal and lies that he didn’t know what to say. If he supported Sara’s story, it would mean his own death, not to mention Aurian’s and the Prince’s. On the^other hand, Sara’s life was at stake . . . He wavered, trapped in the dilemma, only knowing half the facts and unable to make a choice.
“See?” Sara shrilled triumphantly. “He can’t say I’m lying! He’s only keeping silent to protect his mistress! My Lord, be- j lieve me. I would never betray you! But your son would— \ indeed, he already has, by conspiring with the sorceress against both of us!”
A look of relief crossed the Khisu’s face, and he smiled at his Queen. “You are wise as you are beautiful, beloved. How could I doubt you?” He gestured to his guards. “Kill these traitors. Then I will deal with their sorceress.”
Darkness. A cold, damp floor beneath her. Agony in her right shoulder, spreading fire down her arm and side. Nausea clutching at her throat. Aurian caught her breath against a moan. There must be guards about. Better if they believed she was still unconscious. No one could see her in this black hole— not without Mages’ sight. She had recognized the livery of Xiang’s soldiers, and could hazard a fair guess at what must have happened. Aurian lay very still, facedown on the hard stone floor where she had been carelessly tumbled. With her extra Healer’s sense, she checked first on the child within her. To her relief, all seemed well. The mite must be hardy indeed to survive all that had recently been happening to its mother.
Mother. It was the first time she had used the word, even in her thoughts. Despite her pain and discomfort, despite her peril, Aurian’s lips curved in a smile. She had accepted the child at last, and her love and pride for this tough little survivor heartened her considerably. It was taking after its indomitable father, she decided, and the thought of Forral strengthened her resolve. She turned her attention to the wound on her shoulder, and began to control the searing pain. Without that to impede her concentration, Aurian set about repairing the damage. She would be needing to use that arm, her sword arm, she thought grimly.
It was more difficult than she had expected. Aurian had never tried to Heal herself, but she knew from her lessons with Meiriel that there was considerable risk involved. Healing took a great deal of energy; partly from the Healer, but partly from the patient. That was why magical Healing was so debilitating to both parties. In Healing herself, she had only her own strength to draw on, and she knew that unless she was very careful, she stood in grave danger of burning herself out completely, and killing herself. There were precedents. But oh, it was difficult to school herself to patience, to proceed with care, stopping frequently to rest. Aurian was keenly aware that time was very much against her. What was happening up above? How long had she been unconscious? Not long, she comforted herself. The blood from her wound had still been fresh and flowing. But Harihn had said that his father sought his death, and if Sara was involved, Anvar’s chances of survival were slim. Forcing herself not to think about it, Aurian returned to her work. It was her only chance of helping them. Step by step, working as fast as she dared, she set the damage to rights, painstakingly reconstructing the torn flesh and muscles, knowing that a mistake made in haste could cripple her arm for good.
Done at last! Aurian moved the wounded arm and shoulder experimentally, wishing she had time to rest the repaired tissue. Never mind. It would do. Not quite as good as new yet, but it would serve her purpose, and improve with time. But there was no doubt that the work had taken its toll. She felt limp with exhaustion, only wanting to lie where she was on this filthy, freezing floor and sleep until her body had recovered itself. Well, no chance of that. Mindful of the risks of overtaxing herself and being unable to return to her body, Aurian extended her consciousness carefully outward, Peeking the sparks of human awareness that would mean guards.
She had gone no distance—no distance at all—when Aurian encountered a set of thoughts that made her heart leap with joy. Shia! The great cat was imprisoned in the next cell!
Shia’s thoughts were scorching with fury. “There were too many of them! They used nets!”
Aurian could feel her friend’s pain as she struggled against the entangling bonds. “Patience,” she soothed her. “I’ll get you free—only stay still, and don’t attract attention.”
“Very well,” Shia grumbled reluctantly. “But when you do —those men are my meat!”
Aurian had no quarrel with that.
Now—how to gee out of the cell? The Mage regretted that her powers had been weakened by the Healing. Impelled by her growing sense of urgency, she’d have liked nothing better than to demolish the heavy door in a single blast! However . . . Again, she sought for the guards. Ah. Over a dozen of them, but in true mercenary style they were all congregated in the guardroom on the upper level, away from the damp, noisome chill of the dungeons. There was only one on this floor, stationed at the bend in the passage by the foot of the stairs, ready to give the alarm if anything stirred. Even better, she could sense the angry, frightened presence of other captives—a good number—occupying other cells farther down the passage. She fervently hoped they were Harihn’s guards, imprisoned down here ouc of che way.
Aurian crept to the door of her cell. Instead of blasting it, which was not only physically impossible for her at this time, but would bring all Xiang’s guards down on her, and possibly the low ceiling as well, she turned her remaining power to manipulating the lock, feeling for the worn, stiff tumblers with her Healer’s senses much as she would probe a wound for damage. Ah. Pressure here—and there. The Mage gathered her will and—pushed.