The Arbiters conferred in low-voices, then the spokesman in the center turned back to Aurian. “This tale does not explain your prowess at fighting.”
Aurian fought to stay calm, wishing that she could see his face. “In my country, many women train as warriors.”
“I see,” Resting his arms on the table, he leaned forward, and she saw his eyes narrow behind the mask. “And how do you explain your knowledge of our language? Only the demon sorcerers of the North have such facility with our tongue. Can you Ely that you are one of those sorcerers?” A low babble of astonishment came from the onlookers, people closest to her backed hastily away, their eyes wide in fear. Aurian gulped. She had betrayed herself. She took a breath, thinking qyjckly, hazarding her life on a gamble.
“I was. But I fled their corruption, to be with my husband.” What would he make of that?
“And is your husband also a sorcerer?” “No. He is a Mortal man, and our joining was forbidden. That is why I fled, renouncing the evils of sorcery forever. I never intended to trespass in your lands, and bear no ill will toward your people. I deeply regret what I have done, but truly, it was an accident. All I want is to find my husband and leave this place. I am alone and bereft and afraid. For compassion’s sake, will you not let me go?”
The Arbiter drew himself upright. “Compassion? There is no compassion for wrongdoers in this city. You have taken a life. Forbidden! You are a foreigner trespassing in our lands. Forbidden! You are a sorceress. Forbidden! What right have you to compassion?”
Aurian dropped her eyes. “None. Yet I ask it anyway. It may be—it is all I have left.”
Again, the Arbiters conferred. The man in the center, who obviously wielded greater authority, seemed to be arguing with the other two. At last he turned to her. “I believe that you are telling the truth, at any rate, for had you not renounced your sorcery, you could have used your evil powers on those who captured you, or to escape from us. You have not done so, which implies that you mean no harm. And truly, I pity you, for you are alone and bereft, indeed. Your husband has not reached this city. If he had, he wotftd have been brought to us, in accordance with our law.”
His words hit Aurian like a physical blow. She had no need to feign grief or dismay. Anvar and Sara must be dead! She was to blame, and all this had been for nothing. When the Arbiter spoke again, his voice was less harsh. “By law you should die for your crimes, yet surely the Reaper of Souls would look upon us harshly for condemning a woman in your straits. Yet we cannot let you go. So we will give you a choice. As an alternative to execution, you may risk the Arena, where warriors—criminals like yourself—fight to the death for the entertainment of the Khisu and the people. You are said to show skill as a warrior. Perhaps, if you fight well, you will win your freedom—or if you wish to seek your husband further, you will have a choice of following him to the Granaries of the Reaper. Do you accept this judgment?”
It was not a question, and Aurian knew it. But at least it left her with one slim avenue of escape. “I accept—and I am grateful for your mercy,” she said.
“One thing more ...” The Arbiter beckoned to an official of the court and spoke to him in a low voice. The man left the room, and presently returned bearing a gray metal box, intricately chased with strange, arcane symbols that made Aurian shudder. The Arbiter blew away the coating of dust and raised the lid, withdrawing something that she could not see. He ordered her guards to unbind her, approached her cautiously, and with a surprisingly gentle touch, fastened something around each of her wrists. As the second catch snapped shut, Aurian lurched and fell, her scream of agony echoing in her ears. It felt as though she were being wrenched inside out. A creeping weakness overwhelmed her, as though her very soul were being leeched away. She felt strong arms beneath her as the Arbiter lifted her to a bench by the wall and held a cup of wine to her lips. Aurian sipped it gratefully. Her muscles would not support her, and her head was swimming. But far worse than that, somewhere within her, unplaceable, there lurked an absence—a cold gray void that seemed ever to slip away from her seeking mind. “What have you done to me?” she whispered.
The Arbiter sounded shaken. “I have placed upon you the Bracelets of Zathbar Wizard-Bane—artifacts won from a Dragon’s hoard, long ago. The secrets of their making were lost in the mists of time. I had no idea that they would affect you so severely, but they are necessary, if you are to live within our lands. They are set with spellstones that negate your sorcerous power, drawing it into themselves, and they will act as a safeguard for my people against any attempt on your part to employ your evil powers upon us.”
Aurian felt a flash of rage. Zathbar Wizard-Bane, indeed! Why, these people who protested so strongly against the use of magic had actually employed Negative magic to bind her powers! Oh Gods, Aurian thought despairingly. How am I ever going to get out of this?
The warriors’ quarters at the Arena were pleasant—for a prison. Aurian’s room was a cell in that it had barred windows and a sturdy door, but the smooth white walls and brown tiled floor were spotless, and there was a table, a chair, a chest, and a narrow bed. Pegs were attached to the walls to hang clothing, and a gay woven rug on the floor provided a splash of bright color. Aurian remembered little of her journey to this place. Someone had helped her to her cell and removed the bonds that had been placed upon her, and she had fallen asleep on the bed utterly spent.
When she awakened it was dusk. An oil lamp burned in niche high in the wall, enclosed behind an iron grating, pit , sumably in case she decided to set herself on fire, the Mage thought wryly. The pain and weakness had passed, leaving only the hideous gray void—the absence of her magic. Aurian fought the panic that threatened to choke her. Don’t be a fool, she told herself, or you’ll never get out of this. But oh, thai drear, chill emptiness . , . Get used to it, she told herself implacably. Fast.
She sat up, scanning the room, and saw a generous meal on the table. Ah, that looked good! She seemed to have been hungry forever. Though it had cooled, it was good. There was some kind of spiced, savory porridge made from cooked pulses, a haunch of roast meaj^that turned out to be goat, and strange, flat bread. There was a bowl of fruit, and white cheese so strong that it made her eyes water, and wine, a rich, dark red, fruity and strong. Aurian gorged herself, making up for her days of fasting. Then she returned to the bed with a brimming cup of wine and the bottle, propped her back against the wall and put her feet up, squinting at the dancing flame of the lamp that doubled and blurred in her vision. Gods, that wine was strong! Or was it simply affecting her because she was so spent?
The Mage felt curiously numb and detached. The theft of her powers, her current predicament, and the loss of Anvar and Sara—she couldn’t face any of them, not yet. She knew she ought to be making some kind of plan, but she simply could not bring herself to care. Since her flight from the Academy she had been constantly driven, constantly on a knife edge. Now she was imprisoned and forced to be still, and her mind and spirit were making the most of the opportunity to rest and renew themselves. The wine helped, too. She found herself drifting into a doze . ..
There was the sudden snick of a key turning in the lock. Aurian shot bolt upright, blinking in the dazzling sunlight that poured through the barred window of her cell. She reached for her sword, but it was gone, of course. A tall, brown-skinned man of middle years entered, bearing a tray. The Mage made no move, but watched him as he went to the table and set his burden down. His head was completely bald, and he wore a red patch over his left eye, A pale, jagged scar ran down his face from beneath the patch. Beneath his loose red robes, his body was broad in the shoulder and rangy, reminding her, with a pang, of Anvar.