D’arvan shook his head. “And what do you have in store for me?” he asked tightly.
“You? You are Earth-Mage and son of the Forest Lord. You bear the Lady’s staff, and the forest will do your bidding. You must bring back the wildwood to this Valley, to fill it with an impenetrable barrier of trees. The wild things will dwell here, and be sustained, and the wolves will be your friends and share your task. You will guard the Sword from all enemies, but the forest will shelter the enemies of evil, and you will guard and sustain them—yet they will never see you, or know of your presence. You and Maya will share your Guardianship until the One comes for the Sword, when you will be freed and reunited —as we all will be at that time.” As he spoke, Hellorin’s outline began to shift and shimmer. “I can stay no longer. Farewell, my son—-and forgive me,” He vanished.
D’arvan looked at the unicorn. The fierce, beautiful creature snorted and pawed the ground, flinging up clods of turf in sunburst explosions. Then she trotted to the Mage and rested her head on his shoulder, and her huge dark eyes were fathomless pools of sorrow. D’arvan flung his arms round her strong, arching neck beneath the sweeping mane, his throat tight with tears. “Oh, my love,” he murmured, “how I’ll miss you!”
The invisible unicorn snorted and tossed her head.
“You’re right,” D’arvan said. “I had better get started.”
Turning, he lifted the Lady’s staff and began to summon the forest.
23
Demon
The Arena buzzed with the noise of the excited crowd. I^BB The sweeping tiers of marble benches were tightly packed with sweating bodies, all crushed together. Excitement was at fever pitch, the crowd’s attention alternating between the sanded circular fighting area on the floor of the massive stone bowl, and the flower-decked royal balcony where sat the frowning Khisal—the Prince who was the only heir to the throne—and the smiling Khisu Xiang and his new Queen, the Khisihn, whose wedding was being celebrated today. The crowd gawked at the balcony with great curiosity. It was indeed a day of wonders—that the Khisu, content for so long with his harem of beauties, should have finally elevated another lady to be his consort in place of the old Queen, dead these many years. Rumor said that she had been slain by the Khisu’s own hand. Wrinkled, sharp-eyed crones nodded sagely to one another. “The young Prince’ll have to watch his step now,” they were saying. “He never had his father’s favor. If the new Queen drops a son, Khisal Harihn will find himself in a sack at the bottom of the river, like his mother!”
They watched the early bouts with scant attention and less patience, waiting for the real entertainment to start. There was a new warrior to fight today. A foreigner—and, Reaper preserve us—a woman! A sorceresfre and as fierce as the Black Demon itself! Rumor had it that she had laid an entire village to waste, downriver. Because of this, the Arena had filled early that day. Outside the gate, hundreds of disappointed people were still being turned away.
In the warriors’ yard beneath the stone tiers of the Arena, it was shady and cool. Aurian, alone in a corner, was going through Portal’s exercises, trying to prepare her body and mind for the coming ordeal. It was difficult to suppress the fear she felt for her child, knowing that this day’s exertions and peril might spell the end for the hapless mite. If she had had her magic, she might have been able to protect it, but as it was . . . “Oh, Chathak,” she prayed, “protect this child, the child of warriors.”
Aurian was vaguely aware of the eyes of the other combatants fixed curiously upon her. They were strangers to one another, kept apart lest unfortunate friendships develop between them. They met only in closely monitored training sessions, and even then were not allowed to speak to each other. She had trained with several of them over the last weeks, astonishing even Eliizar with her prowess. Apart from training, her days had been spent pleasantly enough in eating, resting, and bathing in the Arena’s large pool. Aurian was as ready as she could be. She forced all thoughts of her erstwhile companions, and even her child, from her mind, in order to gain the inner calm and poise that she would need to save her life and regain her freedom, for despite Eliizar’s warning, she was determined to try.
Despite his initial reluctance, Eliizar had become a friend, as had his plump, motherly wife, Nereni, who took care of Aurian, since she was the only female warrior. Through their talks, Aurian had discovered that Eliizar had been a warrior of great prowess and an officer in the Royal Guard. He had lost his eye during an assassination attempt on the Khisu, when he had singlehandedly killed all four attackers. Since cripples were not tolerated in Khazalim society, Eliizar’s only options had been slavery or death for himself and his beloved wife. Fortunately, in a rare gesture of gratitude, Xiang had intervened, and Eliizar had been rewarded with the post of Swordmaster at the Arena. “And a cruel, backhanded reward it was,” he had confided to Aurian. “I am forced to send strong, healthy young warriors to their deaths to pleasure a bloodthirsty mob. How can a man live with such a thing and still sleep at nights? Yet I have no choice but to remain. To leave this post would mean death or slavery, and for poor Nereni also. Truly, I hate the Khisu for what he has done to me.”
“Are you ready?” Eliizar’s voice brought Aurian back to the present. The large wooden doors that led to the killing grounds had been opened. A warrior was limping in, aided by two attendants and bleeding from several wounds. Two armored Arena guards carried his opponent—a mauled and bloody corpse. Aurian recognized the twisted features as belonging to a brave, laughing young man against whom she had sparred only two days before.
Eliizar wiped his face with a shaking hand. “May the Reaper forgive me,” he murmured, and Aurian’s heart went out to him. Impulsively, she laid a hand on his arm. “Eliizar, you must get out of here. When I win my freedom, you and Nereni should come with me to the North. I will have need of a true friend and a good warrior, one eye or no.”
Eliizar looked at her in amazement, then turned away as the great gong sounded, summoning the Mage to combat. “Forgive me, Aurian,” he whispered.
“Nothing to forgive,” said Aurian lightly. “If this is my only road to freedom, I would choose it in any case. See you later, Eliizar—and think on what 1 said. I meant it.” She dropped a daring kiss on the top of his bald head, then, striving for calm, she stepped into the tunnel, whispering a warriors’ prayer that Forral had taught her long ago. She was ready. She had to be.
Aurian stepped out of the shadowy tunnel into the white-hot glare of the Arena. A mighty roar went up from three thousand throats, echoing and reechoing within the confines of the bowl until she was rocked, buffeted, borne aloft by the sound. She lifted her sword—her own Coronach that had been returned to her—to salute the crowd. The sunlight ran like liquid fire down the keen edges of the blade. Aurian lifted her face defiantly, shaking back her hair, which was too short now to braid. The stench of sweat, dust, and blood was in her nostrils—the scent of battle.
Then Aurian saw Ke^r opponent—and was brought up short. She had been expecting one of the hulking warriors that she’d sparred with when Eliizar was placing her level of skill. Instead she faced a stranger—a wiry little man whose muscles stood out like knotted rope on his arms and legs. The top of his head barely reached her tightly laced breasts. What is this? the Mage thought scornfully. Do they mock me? Even as she was thinking, he darted in, his blade a silvery blur. Cold fire coursed down her left arm, followed by a drench of hot blood as he danced back out of striking distance. Aurian, for a split second, gaped at the gash, just below her shoulder, where the point of his sword had sliced down. Portal’s voice rang in her mind. “Never underestimate an opponent—however he may look.” Icy common sense doused Aurian’s battle-heated blood.