“In that case,” D’arvan said firmly, with a new, joyous ring to his voice, “she can throw us both out—together.”
They were asleep when Eilin found them in the morning, curled together on the rumpled bed like two cats. D’arvan’s skin was very white where his arms encircled Maya’s brown, wiry body, and he was smiling as he slept. The warrior’s long dark hair, loosed from its braid, fell across them both like a cloak. The Lady stared at them in silence for a long moment, her brows creased in a frown. “Not again,” she sighed, then shrugged helplessly and cast her eyes heavenward. “Oh Gods,” she murmured. “Why do you keep doing this? Now I have three of them to worry about!”
17
Shipwreck
The lantern rocked on its ceiling hook with the motion of the ship, its dim circle of light swinging back and forth across the wooden floor and walls with hypnotic regularity. Aurian sat bolt upright, cross-legged \t\ ftft «tt«!l ^ vVfc tiny cabin, holding her shield in place to conceal the vessel from the force of Miathan’s seeking will. Occasionally she felt the pressure of his mind brush across her shield, and held her breath until he had passed on, away over the dark waves. Yet time and again, despite the peril, despite the fact that she had chosen her position so that she could not fall asleep without falling over and wakening herself, Aurian felt her leaden eyelids begin to close.
This was the second night of her vigil. She had passed the first night successfully by drawing deep on the hidden well-springs of her magical power to keep herself awake and her shields firm. And she and Anvar had spent most of the inter vening day on deck in the bracing sea air, until the looks and mutterings of the increasingly restive pirate crew had driven them back to the cabin.
Sara was still scorning to speak to them, and had remained huddled in sour misery on her bunk, so at least there had been peace from that quarter. By unspoken consent, they had avoided speaking of Anvar’s connection with Vannor’s wife, though Aurian still wondered. Now she had insisted that Anvar sleep for a time, while she could still be confident of staying awake, and he dozed beside her, stirring restlessly as though he also felt the power of Miathan’s seeking mind that passed and repassed across them. Aurian was reluctant to awaken him, but eventually, when her leaden eyelids refused to stay open any longer, she knew that she must. “Anvar,” she whispered, prodding him awake, “Anvar, I need your help.”
“All right.” He sounded bleary and dazed, and Aurian wondered if she looked as bad as he did—disheveled and dirty, his face drawn and gray with weariness, Anvar passed the water flask to her, before drinking himself. “Is he still out there?” he whispered.
Aurian nodded. “It’s best we don’t speak of him when he’s seeking for us,” she warned. “When I talk, it weakens my concentration on shielding, so we should choose subjects as far as possible from the things we’re trying to escape.”
Anvar groaned. “It’s impossible not to think of him,” he said. “What can we talk about, then, Lady?”
Aurian shrugged. “The weather?” she suggested ruefully. “That should occupy us for all of two minutes.”
“Let’s pretend we’re going far away—to another place entirely,” Anvar suggested. “That might confuse him, if anything should leak through your shields. You know, Lady, I can’t help but feel that I would like to go away—far, far away from all this trouble. Do you know anything about the Southern lands beyond the sea?”
Aurian did, having picked up the information from Forral, who in his younger days had been a secret gatherer of intelligence in the South. It was just such a mission, in feet, that had kept him away from home for so long at the time of Geraint’s leath. The Garrison tried to stay informed, because the bellig-nt Southern races were always a potential threat. Glad of the distraction, the Mage was only too willing to tell Anvar what she knew.
The bleak hills of the south coast ended at the ocean that divided the northern landmass from the vast Southern Kingdoms beyond. There was little congress or communication between the two continents, though spies, if they returned at all, had testified to the belligerence and4uperior numbers of the warlike inhabitants of the larger continent. Luckily, the Southerners feared the powers of the Magefolk, and so far, that had been enough to keep them at bay.
It was known that there were at least three kingdoms in the South, though beyond that, where the deserts gave way to impenetrable jungle, all was mystery, A range of high mountains near the northern coast were said to be inhabited by the legendary Winged Folk, who guarded their peak-top aeries with savage determination. Between the mountains and the sea, where the peaks dropped down to green, pine-clad valleys, was the kingdom of the Xandim. Trapped between mountains and ocean, their space was limited, and it was said that they coveted the northern lands wkfa their rich pastures for the fabulous horses that they bred. South of the mountains was a desert, beyond which lay the country of the Khazahlim, a fierce warrior race ruled by a savage tyrant king. With such neighbors across the sea, it was not surprising that the Ruling Council of Nexis kept the bleak hills of their southern coastline well defended.
“I wonder if the Southerners really are as dangerous as all that?” Anvar mused.
“It’s said that they bear no love for my sort,” Aurian said, “so it would be as well if I didn’t try to find out. But I know what you mean. I would like to visit new lands—to try to leave the past behind. But for me that’s impossible, though you might do it someday.”
“Me?” Anvar’s eyes went involuntarily to the bondmark on his hand. “But I’m only a servant. I couldn’t expect—”
“Nonsense!” Aurian retorted. “Because you’re a servant? Why should you be inferior because of the work you do? Why, you’re a far better man than some of those arrogant, bullying Magefolk! If I were Archmage, I would— Oh!” Aurian felt sick with dismay as she realized what she had done. “Oh, Anvar, I had the chance, didn’t I? I could have changed things for the better . . .”
“You never thought of that?” Anvar asked in surprise.
“It never crossed my mind—I didn’t care about that kind of power. Like a fool, I never considered the good I could have done. I threw it all away, when I took Forral as my lover. Gods, it was me who brought this disaster down on us. Forral even warned me ...” Aurian buried her face in her shaking hands.
Anvar, alarmed by her bitter self-recrimination and afraid that in her distracted mood she would drop her shields and bring discovery on them, reached out and pulled her hands away from her face. “Lady,” he said firmly, “don’t blame yourself. The Archmage is evil—the Mortals in Nexis have always hated and feared him. He would have grasped power in the end, whatever you had done, and the results would likely have been the same. You would have fought him—you and Commander Forral, and Vannor and Finbarr. People would have died in any case. Thank the Gods that you’re alive to fight him now. Don’t give in like this, Lady—we need you. We all need you.”
For a moment hope dawned on Aurian’s face, then she sighed. “Kind words, Anvar, but if Forral and I hadn’t—”
Anvar gripped her shoulders. “Don’t say that, Lady. Don’t ever say that! What happened between you and the Commander was inevitable! Any fool could see how much you loved each other, and if the Archmage had cared about you, he would have rejoiced for you! Can you tell me honestly that you, or Forral for that matter, would have had it any other way?”
“No,” Aurian confessed after a long moment. “You’re right, Anvar. At least we had what we had, but—”