“Then stop feeling sorry for yourself and get those bloody shields back up!” Anvar snapped. The Mage recoiled as though he had struck her, anger flaring in her eyes. Then suddenly she began to laugh—a low chuckle that accompanied the relaxing of the tension in her face and shoulders. “Ah, Anvar, you’re good for me,” she said. “If anyone can get me through this, you can. I’m glad you’re here.”
Somehow they made it through the night, each keeping the other awake when they began to falter. Using Aurian’s dagger to scratch on the floorboards, they played all the childhood games of words and wits that they could remember. When it became too much of an effort to concentrate, they told jokes instead, and sung their way—softly, so as not to awaken Sara—through all the old songs and ballads they knew. But they were always aware of Miathan’s restless will, ceaselessly combing the oceans in search of them.
By the time the dawn light was creeping through the tiny stern port, Aurian’s eyes felt gritty, and her voice was scratchy and hoarse. She stopped singing, and Anvar did, too.
He rubbed his eyes and stretched, yawning hugely. “Thank the Gods it’s getting light,” he said. “I know we still have a long time to go, but it feels as though we’ve passed another hurdle, at least. You know—in spite of everything, I enjoyed last night.” He seemed shy and hesitant, unsure of his right to say such a thing.
Aurian smiled. “So did I. You make a good companion, Anvar.”
“You, too. Lady,” Anvar said, “I wish I had seen that sooner, instead of being so preoccupied with resenting my position as a servant—”
“You two are up early!”
Aurian spun roottd, startled, to see Sara scowling from the bunk. “We’ve been up all night,” she snapped, nettled by Sara’s tone. “Since you’re awake, let Anvar have the bunk for a while,” she added. “He needs to sleep. I’ll walk around on deck for a while—it might wake me up a bit.”
“That’s not fair!” Anvar protested. “I slept last night—” “Anvar, we have at least two nights to go,” Aurian said gently, warmed by his concern. “I can’t count on you to keep me awake if you’re dropping from exhaustion. If you get some rest now, we might manage.” She fished in the pack that Van-nor had given them, and brought out a small packet. “Before you do, could you get that dreadful cook to make me some taillin? It might help keep me going.” Then in the act of handing it over, she stopped. “Would you look at me?” she said ruefully. “After all I said about being companions, I’ve still got you running around for me! I’ll go myself, Anvar. You get some sleep.”
“No.” Anvar took the packet from her hand. “I’ll get it. If you’re staying awake, it’s the least I can do.”
Sara looked sourly after him as he went out. “Ever the devoted servant,” she said, sneering. “That’s all he’s good for!”
“What do you mean by that?” Aurian was furious.
Sara shrugged. “Ask Anvar,” was all that she would say.
Aurian rubbed a hand over her face. I can’t tope with this just now, she thought. “Sara, don’t make trouble,” she warned. “If you can’t treat Anvar decently, just leave him alone.” With that, she left the cabirv,unable to spend another minute in Sara’s company.
Aurian sat in the bow, drinking taillin and watching the rose-gold glow of sunrise flood the ocean. It was some time since she had felt Miathan’s presence, and she wondered if he was asleep, or perhaps occupied in ordering a city that must have gone mad with panic when his creatures had attacked. She wondered what was happening in Nexis, then thrust the thought firmly from her mind. She couldn’t be certain that the Archmage had given up, and she dared not relax her vigilance. In order to keep awake, she got to her feet and began to walk back and forth across the narrow, pitching deck, ignoring the curious stares of the few crew members who were up and about at this early hour.
After a time, the wind freshened enough to make pacing impossible on the lurching deck, and the Mage went below to the cramped, greasy galley to coax another unpalatable meal from the ship’s cook. The smell that assailed her as she climbed down through the narrow hatchway was disgustingly familiar. Not stew again! Aurian felt her stomach heave. Gritting her teeth against the surge of nausea, she shot back up the ladder and rushed to be sick over the side. She felt too wretched to care about the sniggers from the ill-assorted crew.
When it was over, she sat limply on her bench in the bow, drinking cold taillin straight from the jug and blotting her damp brow on her sleeve. Gods, she thought, that wasn’t seasickness! For the first time, the problems of being pregnant while on the run truly came home to her. She touched her belly, where the tiny scrap of life lay, snug and uncaring, and sighed.
“Lady, wake up!”
Aurian jumped at the sound of Anvar’s voice, catching up her fallen shields in panic. Horrified, she cursed her own carelessness and weakness. If Miathan had found them . . . She shuddered. “What a fool I am!” she said. “I’m sorry, Anvar. How long have I slept?”
Anvar squinted at the sun. “Most of the morning, it looks like. Don’t worry, Lady, it was for the best. The Archmage hasn’t found us, and you needed the rest. In your condition—” He stopped, blushing.
“I know,” Aurian said ruefully, “First the little pest made me throw up, then it made me sleep! At this rate, it’s going to be more of a nuisance than Sara!” J
“Lady, you don’t mean that,” Anvar chided,
Aurian sighed. “I suppose not,” she admitted, “Even though it is true.”
Aurian shared the last of the taillin with Anvar, and they breakfasted on iron-hard slabs of biscuit that he’d coaxed from the cook. The Mage felt better for the sleep. Her nausea had gone, and she was cheered up by the sparkling day. The green waves danced in the stiff following wind that bowed the canvas of the old patched sails. The pale sun beamed, playing tag with fluffy puffs of cloud that raced like driven sheep across the sky. The brisk wind was refreshing, blowing away the last cobwebs of sleep.
When they hadAnashed the daunting task of chewing their way through breakfast, Anvar pulled a little wooden flute from his pocket. “Would you like me to play for you?” he asked. “That would be lovely,” Aurian said.
So Anvar played—funny, lively little tunes of his own devising, to go with the brisk, bright day. His music soon attracted the crew, who began to find excuses to lurk within earshot of the merry pipe. Aurian was amazed to see their faces break into smiles, as they clapped their hands and stamped in time to the music. Soon they were teaching Anvar chanteys and hornpipes, and dancing with wild abandon to the tunes. When the captain came to berate his men for leaving their posts, he too was caught up in the festive spirit. Casting an eye over the perfect weather, he ordered that a cask of rough spirits be broached.
It was due to the drink that things got out of hand. Since Aurian and Anvar needed to stay alert, they did not join in the drinking. Anvar had left his seat in the bow to be nearer the dancers, and Aurian was watching them, keeping her concentration firmly on her shields. Suddenly an arm went round her shoulders, and there was a blast of foul breath in her face. A tin cup brimming with liquor was thrust in front of her.
“Have a drink, darlin’,” a slurred voice said.
Aurian turned to look into the leering, unshaven face of a filthy pirate. “No thank you,” she said, trying to keep matters calm.
“I said, have a drink!” Grabbing her hair, he forced the cup into her mouth with his^other hand, spilling the sticky stuff down her chin and the front of her shirt.
Because of the concentration involved in keeping up her shields, Aurian was slow to react. Before she could move, Anvar was there. He jerked the man to his feet and punched him squarely in the face, sending him crashing onto the deck. There was a chill glint in his eye, a set to his jaw that Aurian had never seen before. “Keep your hands off her,” he growled.