“Anvar?”
So preoccupied was he that Anvar had missed Yazour’s call to halt for the day. He looked up to see Aurian, slumped in the saddle, pulling back her veil from a face that was chalk-white, He knew that, due to her pregnancy, her magic was taking a greater and greater toll on her strength, and her weariness was due to the Healing of his horse. Gray guilt joined the red haze of anger in his mind. “Lady, let me help you.” Dismounting quickly, he went to her side. At least I can fulfill a servant’s tasks, he thought bitterly.
“It’s all right.” Aurian slid to the ground, ignoring his outstretched hand.
Anvar gritted his teeth and seized her horse’s reins. “I’ll take care of this. You go and rest.”
“I can manage.” She tried to take the reins, but he snatched them angrily away.
“I said I’ll do it!”
“What on earth’s the matter?” The Mage had taken a step backward, her eyes wide with astonishment.
“Nothing! I’m the bloody servant, aren’t I? So I’ll take care of the horse! It’s all that people seem to think I’m fit for.”
The Mage stared at him, her lips set in a^thin line, and beckoned Bohan across. “Bohan, would you see to the horses, please? I need to talk to Anvar.”
The eunuch led the animals away. Aurian walked off with Shia at her heels, plainly expecting Anvar to follow. For some reason, that infuriated him even more.
Harihn’s men had just finished setting up their tent. Aurian led Anvar inside. “Now,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Anvar exploded. “Where shall I start?”
“Why not start with what made you so angry?” Her calm manner only made things worse, when he wanted a good blazing fight to work off his anger. “All right!” he yelled. “If you want to know, I’m sick of being rescued by you! I’m not stupid, or feeble, or incompetent. I’m a man as good as any other, but you make me less than a man.”
“But Anvar,” Aurian protested, “what could I do? I couldn’t let you die in the slave camp. I had to use my powers again today to stop Harihn abandoning you. Would you rather—”
“That’s just it!” Anvar jumped on her words. “Your powers! Your accursed Magefolk powers! Well, let me tell you. Lady—I had powers, too! There’s Mage blood in my veins, but Miathan stole my powers and turned me into a servant!”
Anvar was so carried away by his wrath that he didn’t see Aurian’s stunned expression. He failed to notice that for the first time, Miathan’s silencing spell had failed. At the thought of the Archmage, the rage and resentment that he had been forced to suppress for so long erupted beyond controlling. All Anvar could see was Miathan—Miathan, smug and gloating—and around his wrinkled neck hung the crystal that contained his powers, while he groveled on the floor in agony. It was so real—so real!
Dear Gods—it was real! Anvar’s vision streaked and blurred, as though he were standing still while the world flashed past, too fast for his eyes to register. From far away, he seemed to hear Aurian’s voice. “Anvar, no!” Then the world whirled and settled, and he found himself in a dimly lit room— with Miathan before him, asleep in bed, his eyes bound with a white cloth, and around his neck, twinkling softly in the lamplight, the crystal. Unable to help himself, Anvar reached out for the beautiful thing ... And there was a blinding flash of multicolored brilliance—a fierce, hot joyful force engulfed his body—he was in the crystal—the crystal was in him—the crystal was him!
Miathan gave a shriek of rage—of pain—of tearing lose. Anvar fled; the world flashed past him again in a blur of dizzy color; but the Archmage, not old, not blind now but powerful and strong, was pursuing like a great, black dragon formed from men’s deepest terrors. The force of his rage was hot on Anvar’s heels as he fled—where? How could he find his way back? Miathan drew nearer . . . nearer . . . Then suddenly a great glowing force like a spear of light shot past Anvar. It ploughed into the Archmage, knocking him back, down, away . . .
“Follow!” Anvar heard Aurian’s voice and followed her gleaming light with relief, until, with a soundless explosion and a wrenching jolt, he found himself sprawled on the floor of the tent.
Aurian lay nearby. Her eyes flicked open—and skewered him to the spot. Anvar braced himself to meet her gaze. Anger he found there, and confusion, and worst of all, a sick, sinking fear for his safety that was entwined with the memory of an older, greater grief. It was as though her eyes were forest pools, and he could see her thoughts moving like elusive fish beneath the surface.
“What have you done?” Aurian whispered. “How could you do it?”
Anvar could not repi^s. He felt oddly elsewhere, as though a fathomless space surrounded him in place of the close silken walls of the tent. A space into which he might so easily fall. The floor seemed to ripple and melt beneath him, and he seized the Mage’s hand in panic.
Aurian sat up, peering at him intently. “Close your eyes,” she said, her tones suddenly crisp and businesslike. “Concentrate on your body. You came back too quickly, and you aren’t quite with yourself. Feel your body, Anvar. Feel your heart beating, the solid ground beneath you, the heat of the tent on your skin ...” She leaned forward until her face was close to his own.
Anvar looked into the green depths of her eyes, saw the long, curling sweep of her lashes, the clean arch of her brows, the proud, chiseled sculpting of her high cheekbones and jutting nose. Gem dust glittered like a starfall in the slumbering fire of her hair, and he had a sudden, vivid memory of her standing on the Tower stairs on a long-ago Solstice morn, her head crowned with snowflake diamonds.
“Think of your body—not mine!” Aurian said tartly.
Anvar blushed. He had not considered that she might see his thoughts as clearly as he could see hers. “It’s all right, I feel better now.” He couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Good,” she snapped, “because you’ve some explaining to do.”
Just then Bohan entered, his eyes screwed up against the growing glare outside. He carried their food and water, his expression reproaching them for their forgetfulness.
“Bohan, what would we do without you?” Aurian said. The eunuch’s face was alight with pleasure as he left.
“Eat,” Aurian urged Anvar. “Traveling out of your body uses a lot of energy,”
Anvar found he was trembling, and took a hasty bite out of a strip of dried meat. “Is that what I did?”
Aurian sighed. “Yes, Anvar,” she said with labored patience. “That is what you did. Now in the name of all the Gods, will you please tell me what’s going on?”
At the reminder of his narrow escape from the Archmage, Anvar froze, “He—he couldn’t follow us, could he?”
“No.” Aurian spoke reassuringly. “I hit him too hard. It’ll take him a while to find his body again. I wish I could have finished him, but when we are out of our bodies, we’re on another level of reality. A Mage can be trapped there if his body is destroyed in his absence, but he can’t be killed. Anyway, forget Miathan. Let’s talk about you.”
In a voice that shook with emotion, Anvar told her of Ria’s death, which had resulted in the discovery of his powers. He went on to describe what Miathan had done to him, and ended with his escape from the kitchens and his meeting with Aurian at the Garrison.
The Mage was staring at him openmouthed. “That’s monstrous!” Aurian struck the floor with her fist. She looked utterly shaken. “How could Miathan have done such a thing! If only I’d known. If only you could have told me!”
Anvar shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t have. I didn’t trust you then. I thought you were like the others, and in league with Miathan. I know better now.” He swallowed hard.