The cutthroat scrambled up, a wicked-looking curved dagger in his hand. Aurian’s heart sank. She got quietly to her feet, her hand on her sword hilt.
“Why should you have two women, an’ us have none?” the pirate snarled. “Well, I’ll have ’em both—once I’ve gutted you!”
Anvar stepped back, drawing his own weapon—a pathetically inadequate belt knife that Vannor had given him. The pirates crowded round like wolves closing in on their prey.
The tension was broken by a slithering hiss, as Aurian drew her sword. She stepped up beside Anvar, her voice calm and level. “You’d better stop them, Captain—if you want to continue this voyage with a crew.”
“Bollocks, lads—’tis only a maid,” the brigand with the dagger roared, and charged.
Aurian’s blade flicked through the air so quickly that it hardly seemed to move—and the curved dagger flew over the side and into the ocean as its owner collapsed, howling, on the deck, clutching his knife hand that was spraying blood.
The Mage pointed the tip of her sword at the hapless pirate. “The next time you try that,” she said into the dumbfounded silence, “it won’t be your hand. It’ll be those bollocks you were mentioning. Yours—or anyone else’s who dares to interfere with me!” She locked eyes with the captain, who hesitated, glaring. “Do you want to live to spend the gold I gave you?” Aurian asked grimly.
Cursing, he spat on the deck. “Get below, boys, and leave the passengers alone! Their gold’ll buy you plenty of whores in port.” Muttering darkly, the crew dispersed. Aurian’s bleeding attacker was dragged away by his comrades.
To Anvar’s amazement, Aurian turned to the captain with a smile. “Thank you, Captain ^Jurdag,” she said. “I’m most grateful to you. You’ve spared us a lot of unpleasantness.”
Anvar gaped at her, staggered by her dissembling—and even more astonished to see it working.
“No trouble, Lady,” the captain said, although he looked rather tight-lipped. “If you and the gentleman have any problems with the crew, I’ll be glad to deal with them. I’m sure a lady like you needn’t carry such ironmongery about.” His voice held an unmistakable threat.
“I wouldn’t be without it,” Aurian assured him, a similar edge to her own voice. “It’s much too useful.”
The captain stared at her, then at Anvar. “Gods’ blood,” he said, “you’re a brave man to take her on!”
Anvar felt a sta«.* of surprise. So the captain thought they were a couple? Well, it wouldn’t do any harm. Bluffing for all he was worth, he put a nonchalant arm around Aurian’s shoulders. “Oh, I think I can handle her,” he said coolly. Giving them a dark \ook, the captain went below.
“Why, you—” Aurian turned on Anvar, all indignation, but there was laughter dancing in her eyes. “So you can handle me, eh?” she growled.
“Lady, I wouldn’t dare try,” Anvar confessed ruefully. “I certainly gave a poor account of myself today. I never thought about that animal having a knife. When I saw him maul you, I just wanted to smash his teeth down his throat. And don’t say you could have done that yourself—I know you could. I wanted the pleasure of doing it, that’s all.” He was surprised to find he was speaking through clenched teeth.
Aurian smiled. “I don’t mind, Anvar. It was a true act of chivalry, and I’m grateful. But if you’re going to make a habit of it, beware of hidden weapons. I don’t want to lose you, too.” Her smile gone, her eyes suddenly shadowed with sadness, she turned abruptly and walked away from him, to the opposite rail of the ship. Anvar cursed under his breath, wishing that everything didn’t remind her of Forral, wishing he could do something to ease her sorrow.
Aurian, her hands locked round the rail, stood gazing across the endless ocean. Were there other lands across that vast expanse? Why had no ooe. gone to look, and if they had, what had become of them? Aurian found herself wishing that she could go—that she and Forral could have gone together. She found herself remembering the time they had talked about his death. “I’ll always be with you,” he had said. Aurian felt a prickling in the nape of her neck. Could it be true? She had never managed to master his odd, circling flick of the blade—and yet today, when she had needed to disarm the pirate—it had come to her as naturally as breathing! Could it be true, that he was still with her? But if it were, surely she should be able to feel something—feel his presence—something? She shook her head, confused, unwilling to let her heart fool her into accepting a lie just because she needed it so badly. And yet . . .
Anvar came to stand beside her, not speaking, the breeze muffling the tawny curls at the nape of his neck. “Is Miathan still up to his tricks?” he asked at last, and Aurian knew that he was as anxious as she to break the mood that had fallen between them.
“I haven’t felt him for several hours now, luckily for us,” she said. “I suppose he has to rest sometime—it’s hard work, scrying. I daren’t relax my guard again, though.”
Anvar was about to reply, but Aurian grasped his arm, forestalling him, turning toward a new, strange sound that caught her attention. It came from out at sea—wild, high swirls of song that sent thrills through her body, rooting her to the spot in rapt attention. “Listen,” she breathed, clutching at his arm. “Oh, listen! Can’t you hear it?”
Anvar peered out to sea, trying to find the source of the haunting sounds. “What is it?” he asked her. “Why—they’re singing!”
They waited, listening intently as the sounds gradually drew nearer. Then far out across the waves, a series of immense dark shapes erupted from the water, leaping high, twisting in the air and falling back into the sea amidst fountaining walls of white foam. Feathery white plumes shot skyward, twice as high as a man, filling the sunlit air with rainbows. “Whales!” Aurian exclaimed. “Forral told me about them. Oh,
Anvar, how beautiful!”
Aurian gripped the rail tightly in her excitement. As the creatures drew nearer, she saw that they were indeed immense, the largest of them longer than the ship. They numbered about half a dozen, including, to her delight, two babies. The Mage gazed at them, lost in wonder, admiring the huge, streamlined bodies that moved with delicate grace through the water, the perfect arching curves of their tail flukes that beat the surface with exuberant power as they dived. She noticed the tender care that the giant family showed for the two babies, warding and watching them always.
The Mage was so enthralled that she forgot the shield. And as it fell away, unnoticed, the first thoughts touched her mind. Thoughts as great and deep as the ocean itself. Thoughts of surprise, curiosity; thoughts full of deepest love, boundless joy, and endless sorrow. She, Aurian, was the first of her people in aeons to communicate with the People of the Sea. People who made no wars, who d^Lno violence; who spent their days thinking and playing and singing songs, making love and caring for their children—and thinking their deep, wise, gentle thoughts. And their wisdom! The Mortals and Magefolk who squabbled and scurried across the face of the earth gave themselves no time, no peace to develop their minds—to become one with the oneness of all things. But the race of Leviathan knew. They carried in their mighty brains the wisdom of the Universe— these beings that mankind called animals! And with that wisdom came love.
Aurian never saw the lookout awaken from his rum-fogged sleep—never heard his cry: “Whales! Whales ho!” She only came back to herself when the crew came tumbling out onto the deck, falling over each other in their haste to lower the long, sharp-nosed wooden boat that hung from the side of the ship. Her joy turned to horror as she saw them reaching for the wicked harpoons with their steel barbs.
“No!” she cried, reaching for her sword, desperate to stop them. Then Anvar was in her way, blocking her path, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Lady, don’t!” he said, “It means gold to them—lots of gold. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill you over this!”