“I’d like to know how you broke Miathan’s spell.” Aurian was suddenly all practicality again. “And also, what happened when you—went off like that!”
“I can answer the second part.” And he told her what he had done.
“You took your powers back?” Aurian looked thundecj struck. “No wonder Miathan was furious!” She snapped fingers. “Furious! Of course! Anvar, I’ve just worked out hoi you did it. In order for a spell like the one that Miathan laid you to work, you had to believe you would suffer if you said anything. Today you were so angry that it blinded you to the consequences—and your rage gave you the impetus you needed to break free!”
Anvar was appalled. “Do you mean,” he said slowly, “that I brought that suffering on myself all those years?”
“Of course not. Your acceptance was only part of the spell. If you had still been within Miathan’s vicinity, I doubt you would ever have won free. But he is far away, and his power must have been weakened by my attack on him. That and your anger gave you the opening, and your powers drew you back to them.” She fell silent, staring at him as though he were a stranger. “I still can’t believe it, Anvar. You, a Mage.”
“Does it make that much difference?” It came out sharper than he’d intended—and Anvar realized that he was afraid, mortally afraid, that she would react as Miathan had done, and see him as some kind of monster.
“No!” Aurian’s denial was swift and indignant—then she looked away. “Yes,” she sighed. “I—I can’t believe it, Anvar— you . . . His son . . .”
“Don’t ever say that!” Anvar snarled. “I’m not Miathan’s son, and never will be! My mother was one of the Mortals he despised. You know what he did to me—to you and Forral. Do you think I could ever be like him?”
Aurian glanced away from him, shamefaced. “Fool that I am!” she said at last. “You’re right—oh Gods, you’re right! You could never be capable of Miathan’s evil. You were as much a victim as Forral and I.” She held out her hand to him. Can you ever forgive me, Anvar?”
Weak with relief, Anvar took her proffered hand. “My own dear Lady! I don’t ever want to become a Mage like Miathan, but I’m not afraid to become a Mage like you. On the contrary, I hope I will. That is, if you’d teach me?”
“Me?” Her eyes sparkled with delight.
“Well, I must admit, I’m a bit stuck for choice . . .”
“Why, you-—” Aurian burst out indignantly—and Anvar grinned. Aurian broke into peals of mirth. “Wretch!” she jrowled. “I can see that this will take some getting used to. I fwould be proud to teach you, my friend, if you’re sure you really want me.”
“Of course I do. Of all the Magefolk, you’re the only one I’d ever choose.”
After that momentous day, their journey settled into a regular pattern. Anvar and Aurian continued to share a tent through the daylight hours with Shia, who guarded their privacy while the Mage began to teach Anvar how to use and control his power. Now that Aurian’s pregnancy was well into its fourth month, they knew their time was short. There would be a limit to the theory she could teach him when she could not demonstrate it herself. Their first task was determining where Anvar’s talents lay, and Aurian was amazed to discover that he too had powers that crossed the whole spectrum of magic, though his strengths and weaknesses-seemed to lie in different areas from her own. While her dominant talents lay in the domains of Fire and Earth—not surprising, with her parentage —Anvar found these harder to master. But he excelled at Air-magic, and Aurian suspected that when they had more water available for manipulation, he would be adept at Water-magic, too. Since these two domains naturally combined to produce Weather-magic, it seemed that Eliseth might eventually find herself with some competition. But that was for the future. Anvar was a raw beginner, and he had a long way to go.
Each day, through the daylight hours when the rest of the camp slept, Aurian would drill him mercilessly until they were both exhausted. During her time at the Garrison, Parric had taught the Mage thejjj^k of snatching valuable sleep whilst on horseback, and this too she taught to Anvar. They spent their nightly journeys riding in a light doze, secure in the knowledge that the horses would remain with their companions. It earned them a good deal of teasing from Yazour, Eliizar, and particularly Nereni, but they soon learned to play up to the ribald speculations about their activities during the rest periods. It was safer than letting out the secret of Anvar’s newfound powers.
One by one, the glittering nights and dazzling days ticked by, like bright beads strung on a thread of travel. Yazour, to his frustration, had come no nearer to finding the would-be assassin, but, perhaps due to his increased vigilance, there were no further attempts on Anvar’s life. They saw little of Hanhn. As the miles increased between the Prince and his kingdom, he grew more aloof and shorter of temper, and most of his people were content to give him a wide berth. But at least he left Aurian and Anvar alone, and they were glad, though Aurian often wished that she could talk with him, and perhaps ease his mind. She knew how it felt to be exiled, and understood that he must be regretting his decision to relinquish his throne. She often found herself wondering what the future held for him.
Anvar, however, had his own ideas about the cause of the Khisal’s fey mood. From certain veiled comments that Harihn had made, and from the way his eyes tended to linger specula-tively on Aurian, and coldly on himself, Anvar began to suspect that his news about Sara’s barrenness had caused a change of heart in the Prince. In short—he was thinking of returning to claim his throne, and he needed Aurian’s help to win it. Unaccustomed to thinking of women as having free will, he saw Anvar as the main obstacle to his plan. Though he had no actual proof, Anvar began to have a fair suspicion that Harihn had been the one who had lamed his horse. Who else could have passed Yazour’s guards unchallenged? The two Magefolk were heavily outnumbered, however, and still in need of the Khisal’s help to survive the desert crossing. Anvar kept his thoughts to himself, but as the journey continued, he remained constantly on his guard, well aware that the farther they went, the more likely Harihn was to make another attempt on his life.
Yazour guided them well, steering an unerring course along the ancient route that crossed the desert from oasis to oasis. Every two or three nights, a ragged outcrop of rocks would be seen in the distance, emerging from the mantle of gem dust, and the horses and mules would snort eagerly, picking up their pace as they scented water ahead. The Prince and his followers would camp beside a stony basin that cradled a sweet pool formed by springs originating deep within the ridge that stretched, according to Yazour, right across the desert like a knobbly spine, most of which was buried beneath the jeweled sands. Each life-giving source of water had a name, and he taught the Mages to recite them in order, something that his people learned in infancy. They encountered the first, Abala, on the third night of their trek, and this was followed by Ciphala, Biabeh, Tuvar, Yezbeh, and Ecchith, which would approximately mark the halfway point of their journey. Fair Dhiam-mara followed, then Varizh, Efchar, Zorbeh, Orbah—and finally, Aramizal.
“Wait until we reach Dhiammara!” Yazour smiled at the Mages. “That, to my mind, is the most spectacular sight in the desert, and well worth this hard journey to see.”
“Romantic nonsense!” scoffed Eliizar, who had traveled the desert regularly in his youth. “The fairest oasis in this waste is Aram izal—because you begin the final step of the journey, and can see the mountains of the Winged Folk rising in the distance to mark the end of the desert.”
“Winged Folk, indeed!” Yazour scoffed. “And you call me romantic! You might as well expect to see a dragon!”