“Murderess!” The accusation rang in her ears. How could he possibly understand? He thought of the Leviathan as animals. He’d be quick enough to act to save a human child! Well, he might . . . Anvar had not been trained as a warrior, as she had. People needed warriors to do their killing, so that they could keep their own consciences clear, and lay the blame at someone else’s door . . .
Forral understood. He had told her once: “It’s a dirty job, when you come down to it. They use you to wade through the blood and muck and corpses, while your friends get slaughtered around you. They use you to deal with the people who stand in their way so they don’t risk their flabby bodies and snow-white consciences—and then, if you have the gall to survive, to be there afterward as a living reminder, they turn on you and cry ’atrocity’!”
“Then why do we do it?” she had asked him.
He had smiled then. “Think of the people at the Garrison,” he had said. “There’s nothing like the comradeship that warriors share. And do you remember the fight we had, the day we first made love? If you remember how that felt, then you know.” And she had known.
Gods, how she missed Forral! How she wanted him. She had nothing now; her heart was filled with a bleak, aching void. How could she live with this pain for the rest of her life? Aurian saw the keg of spirits that had been left behind, forgotten, on deck. An empty tin cup was rolling round in the scuppers by her feet. A voice at the back of her mind warned of danger, of the need to be alert, but she ignored it. What does it matter? she thought dully. I’ve made a total mess of everything anyway. Picking up the cup, she went to fill it. It was poor comfort, but it might help to dull the pain for a while.
They had made love. As soon as the Mage left, Sara had seized Anvar with savage ferocity, pulling him down with her on the bunk and tearing at his clothes. It had been so long . . . How could he resist? Like animals, they had taken each other in the sordid cabin, mindless in their lust. Now that it was over, Anvar felt drained and guilty, and somehow used. The old, sweet innocence of their love had vanished. He chided himself for his folly. He and Sara loved each other—and now, at last, she was his again. What did anything matter in comparison to that? He rolled over to take her in his arms. Perhaps this time it would be better—
“Not now.” Sara’s words were like a slap in the face.
“Why not?” Anvar exclaimed in injured tones, and reached for her again.
Sara slapped his hands away, then favored him with a smile. “There’ll be time for that later,” she said, “when we’re off this rotten ship. But now you must go and make sure that the Mage is staying awake.”
“What? She won’t want to see me now, after what I said to her.” Anvar felt a pang of guilt.
“Who cares what she wants!” Sara’s voice was hard. “The important thing is that we survive this journey. Don’t you see, the Archmage isn’t after us. Once we dock, we can be free of her, and him, forever.”
Not to see Aurian again? Somehow, Anvar could not imagine it. But Sara was right, he supposed. After tonight, the Mage would never want to see him again anyway. Everything had changed so suddenly . . . But Sara was right. The main consideration was that the Archmage should not find them. Sighing, he rummaged on the floor for his clothes, and dressed hastily. Sara gave him a farewell peck on the cheek, sending him on his way.
Anvar crossed the deck, feeling a dreadful reluctance to face the Mage. But all such thoughts fled from his mind when he saw her asleep in the bow with her head on the ship’s fail and a half-empty cup of liquor by her side. Traces of tears glistened on her face: Anthill ran down Anvar’s spine, a sudden feeling that danger lurked—very close. He leaned over to awaken her, shaking her shoulder.
It happened with unbelievable speed. Aurian was on her feet, her hands fastened in a crushing grip around his throat— and the eyes that blazed into his were not her own! Anvar fought for breath, clawing in panic at the choking hands.
Aurian’s mouth opened, her face contorting into a horrible parody of itself, and Anvar’s blood froze as Miathan’s voice issued from her snarling lips. “Anvar! I should have known. I should have ended your miserable life long ago. And how fitting it is, that I use her hands to slay you!”
The grip around Anvar’s throat tightened. At the last instant, while he still could, he screamed, “Aurian, no!” He couldn’t take another breath. His lungs burned, his vision was darkening. Then suddenly the hands released him, and he was pushed violently away to fall on the deck, wheezing as he tried to suck air down his bruised throat. From a distance he heard a voice. Oh, mercy, it was Aurian, calling his name. As his vision cleared, he saw her face above him in the dim light. Her own face, frowning. She looked very shaken. “Are you all right?” Aurian said.
Anvar nodded, and let her help him up onto the bench. His throat felt crushed. He reached for the cup of rum, and took a painful swallow. “Are you?” he whispered hoarsely. “I am now.” She sounded very grim. “Lady, what happened?” he asked her. “Can you remember?”
Aurian looked away from him, speaking in terse, emotionless tones. “I fell asleep. And suddenly, I wasn’t in my body anymore. I was somewhere else, all gray and misty—not in this world at all.”
“Is that possible?” Anvar gasped.
“Of course it’s bloody possible!” the Mage snapped. For all her efforts at control, she was shaking. “Miathan—he had taken me there. He was holding me somehow, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t get back. I tried to fight, but I couldn’t do anything. Then I heard your voice, and it seemed to break his concentration. I fought him then, all right!” She shook her head. “But I shouldn’t have won—not on ground of his choosing. It seemed as though he weren’t using all his power.”
“Probably because he was occupying your body at the same time,” Anvar suggested.
“So that’s why I was trying to kill you!” Aurian cried. “Oh Gods—the thought of him inside my mind, using my body—” She turned away, retching violently.
Anvar offered her the cup of spirits, but she waved it away. “How did you get back?” he asked her, in the hope that it might distract her from the horror.
“I don’t know—there was this kind of jolt, and I found myself with my hands around your throat.”
“Where is he now?” Anvar felt a sudden stab of alarm.
Aurian frowned. “I don’t know, and I don’t like it. He—”
A huge wave crashed up over the bow, drenching them both in shockingly cold water. Gasping, Aurian pulled her streaming hair out of her eyes and looked up, aghast. Black, boiling clouds streamed across the sky, blotting out the stars with unbelievable speed. A mighty gust of wind tore at the sails and the masts creaked dangerously as the ship heeled over at an alarming angle. The lookout fell with a shriek from the tilted mast and vanished among the churning waves. Another wave swept over the deck as the bow dipped into a deep trough. Aurian and Anvar found themselves in a tangled heap in the scuppers, knocked there by the wall of water. The crew came racing up from below. “What the blazes is going on?” Jurdag yelled. “No bloody storm comes up that fast!”
The strength of the gale was increasing—and with it the height of the waves that tore at the little ship. Once again she heeled dangerously, and Aurian clutched at Anvar as a torrent of water crashed over the side. “Cut it loose!” Jurdag was screaming, and the Mage looked up at the panic in his voice. The soaking mainsail had jammed in place, and the wind was pushing it inexorably over, threatening to capsize the ship. Two men scrambled up the rigging to do his bidding, but the next mountainous wave washed them away. The mast dipped alarmingly once more, the heavy sail almost going under.