“Didn’t get the chance. Sorry, Parric. I know there aren’t many comforts where you men are hiding out. Still, I have some news that will warm your heart better than a bottle.” Elewin grinned, savoring the moment. “The Lady Aurian is said to be alive!”
He hardly got the reaction he had expected. The leathery, hard-bitten little Cavalrymaster stared at him, tears welling up in his eyes and rolling unheeded down his cheeks. Then turning abruptly away, Parric hid his face in his hands and began to sob.
“Parric!” A very startled Elewin put the lantern down, and laid an arm across the man’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Parric choked. He wiped his face, looking emBarrassed. “Not what you’d expect of a tough old bastard like me, is it?” He swallowed hard. “But by the Gods, I was so fond of that lass! We all loved her—her and Forral. We thought they’d both been killed—then Vannor told us she’d been carrying Forral’s child . . . Elewin, it’s a miracle! A bloody miracle!” He clutched at the Steward’s arm. “Where is she? How is she?”
Elewin hated to dampen the man’s joy. “Don’t get your hopes up, Parric. It isn’t certain. But Miathan insists she’s still alive, and that her servant is with her—”
“What, young Anvar? Well, I’m blowed! Forral always thought that lad had some good stuff in him!”
“The bad news is that they think she’s in the Southern Kingdoms, if she’s anywhere.”
“What? How the bloody blue blazes did she get down there?”
Elewin told Parric what he had overheard. “So you see how grave the situation is,” he finished. “If Eliseth tampers with the weather, it would not only put Aurian in danger, but it could be catastrophic for our own folk—worse than anything we’ve seen since the Cataclysm.”
Parric frowned. “This changes things. I’ll discuss it with Vannor, of course, but I think we’ll be leaving the city now. We can’t stay where we are if it thaws, and we’re too close to the Academy to assemble an effective force. But when Aurian returns—”
“You think she’ll come back?” Elewin was surprised. “Aurian? Of course she will! It’d take more than an ocean to keep that lass from Miathan, after he killed Forral, I’ll wager she’s on her way back already—to settle with the Archmage, And when she does we’ll see a thing or two,”
“Parric! We’re talking about the Magefolk!” Elewin protested. “It won’t be that easy!”
The Cavalrymaster sobered. “I know. That’s why we need an army. Aurian can’t do it alone, just as we can’t, without a Mage, But together, maybe . . . Anyway, I must get back to Vannor with this news.” He hesitated, his expression thoughtful. “Elewin, why don’t you come with me? If we move elsewhere, you won’t be needed here as an informant, and it’s dangerous for you to stay,”
Elewin shook his head, though he was sorely tempted. “I’d better not. If I suddenly vanish, Elfseth and Bragar will get suspicious and start searching for me, and that might put your people in danger. And if you want to attack the Academy, you’ll need someone on the inside.”
“But it could be ages before we can do that!” “It can’t be helped, I’ll be all right. Besides, Miathan depends on me. To see him this way—blind and crippled—oh, I know it’s his own fault, but he seems so helpless . . .”
Parric clasped the other’s arm, “Elewin, I know this is a trial for your loyalties, and we’re very grateful, but—”
“It’s not just that! The balance of power is changing within the Academy. Be warned, Parric. Eliseth is the one to beware of now,”
I
“I’ll bear it in mind. Aurian always hated that bitch. Look, are you sure you won’t come?”
“I cannot.”
Parric nodded. “All right. You’re a brave man, Elewin—or daft. Forral always said there wasn’t much difference between the two. Farewell, my friend. Our prayers go with you. Vannor will try to get word to you from time to time.”
“Vannor? What about you?”
“Me? Personally, I have a sudden hankering to head south. It’s warmer there!” The Cavalrymaster winked, and picking up his own lantern, vanished into the shadows at the back of the cave, leaving Elewin gaping in astonishment.
The sewers ran the length and breadth of the city, a democratic highway connecting the grand and lofty Academy to even the meanest of dwellings. Not the pleasantest of places to lie low, but there was a certain satisfaction in being able to move around under the very noses of the Magefolk, and it had been simplicity itself to break through the thin stone barrier into the old part of the Archives. The hole was hidden in a corner, where a spur of rock formed a kink in the tunnel so that the opening was obscured by the shadow of the jutting stone. Because of his slight stature, Parric had been chosen as go-between. Holding his lantern out at arm’s length, he squeezed through the hole into the narrow drain beyond. Luckily the current low population of the Academy, coupled with the cold weather, had reduced the smell, but he still tried to hold his breath. Given time, a man could get used to most things, but there were limits!
The cramped drain continued for some distance back beneath the Academy’s promontory before connecting with the main sewers. The rusted stubs of an old inspection ladder protruded, sharp and dangerous, from the wall, marking the junction. Parric hooked the lantern to his belt and pulled on leather gauntlets to protect his hands from the jagged iron, before he began, very carefully, to climb. Any cuts or abrasions could be fatal down here—the chances of infection were high. They had already lost two men; one to a poisoned rat bite and the other to lockjaw.
The sewer was a tunnel of slick and rotting stone, with raised walkways on either side of the stinking, sluggish channel. Parric was glad that the water level was too low to reach the slanting mouth of the drain. He had sometimes done this climb with all manner of filth cascading down on him, and it was not an experience he cared to repeat. Emerging from the mouth of the drain, he made his way along the walkway to his makeshift raft. Since the stream was low, he could use it to return. When the torrent was in full spate, the journey had to be made via the slimy, crumbling walkways, with the prospect of drowning in the sewage-filled channel only a slip away. With the lantern that swung from his belt providing the only light, Parric picked up the paddle and began to make his way back through the network of tunnels that led to the rebels’ hideout,
Parric had almost reached his destination when he heard the first harsh sounds of fighting. His heart lurched. Great Chathak, no! He steered his raft into the side, his soldier’s brain already working out the odds. Who had betrayed them? No, that was for later. How long since the attack had started? How many of the enemy? They had the advantage of surprise, but they didn’t know these tunnels like Parric did! Once on the walkway, he extinguished his lamp. While his eyes to adjusted to the darkness he checked his throwing knives—one up each sleeve—and pulled a long dagger from his boot. He left his sword sheathed. This was knife work. With a grimace, he slipped over the side and began to wade, thigh deep, up the stinking channel, gripping the edge “of the walkway to keep from slipping on the sludge that coated the bottom.
Had Parric not wanted information, the guard would have died instantly. As it was, she only had time to feel a hand come out of nowhere to grip her ankle, before a quick jerk pitched her headlong into the channel. Before the choking, panic-stricken warrior could flounder to her feet, Parric was on her. He hauled her up roughly, his knife against her throat. “How many of you?” he growled, “Answer me!” He felt her stiffen against him.
“Great Chathak—I know that voice!” she exclaimed. “Parric—is it really you?”
“Bloody right itjs! Now answer my question!”