Aurian had finally fallen into an uneasy doze. Sleep was hard to come by, these days—her child, nearing the time of his birth now, had been growing ever more restless. The babe had turned now, and Aurian had been bothered, this last day or two, by a nagging backache and twinges of cramp. Did this mean that the child was due at last? With no experience of childbirth, Aurian had no idea. Stubbornly, she had refused to confide in Nereni, for she was out of patience with the little woman’s ceaseless fussing. The Mage knew that this was mainly due to concern for Eliizar and Bohan, but it didn’t help. Aurian had worries enough of her own to cope with, for she knew now that the margin of safety, for herself and Anvar, not to mention her son, was severely limited.
These days, the Mage was increasingly out of patience: with her pregnancy, her inability to come up with a useful plan, with Nereni’s fretting about her husband and Yazour—and with that idiot Schiannath, who would insist on visiting her, breaking her necessary rest to talk through the night, though she had stressed the danger time after time, and forbidden him to no avail.
Tonight, though, when she had looked out at the glimmering moonscape from the parapet on the tower roof, Aurian had been certain that he would not come. Perhaps because for once she feared no disturbance, she had fallen asleep at last. And simply could not believe it when she was awakened by a familiar scratching on the trapdoor. With a curse, the Mage turned over awkwardly in her blankets, and struggled to her feet. “Has he lost his mind?” she demanded.
“Don’t open it!” Nereni hissed, from her corner. “Let him take his chances, if they discover him!” She neither liked nor trusted Schiannath—a Xandim; an enemy. The Mage knew she feared reprisals if Aurian was caught with him, and was concerned lest Eliizar suffer,
“Oh, don’t be daft,” Aurian said wearily, “Schiannath is our contact with Yazour, and our only chance of outside help. It won’t do us any good if he’s captured. I just wish I could knock some sense into his head! Do me a favor, Nereni, and listen at the door for me while I get rid of him.” With a struggle, she hauled herself awkwardly up the creaking ladder, and fumbled with the latch of the trapdoor, feeling Schiannath’s firm, strong grasp around her wrist as he helped her onto the roof.
With the skies so clear, it was bitingly cold outside, and the gray stones of the tower glistened with a network of rime. The Mage could hear the eerie cries of the wolfpack, coming closer and closer.
“What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” Aurian snapped in a furious whisper, pulling Schiannath into the shadow of the chimney stack. “Tonight, of all nights! If the Winged Folk come, you’ll be visible for miles!”
“But Lady, the Skyfolk only fly during the day—you told me so yourself!” His disarming smile flashed white in the moonlight.
“I said they don’t fly in the dark, you jackass! It’s as light as day tonight—and I know that Harihn is short of supplies What in the name of the Gods possessed you, Schiannath?” Aurian could cheerfully have strangled him. Already she knew what his reply would be, and she was right.
“Lady, you are my only hope of restoring my sister Iscalda!” His fingers bit tightly into her wrist, “Your time is so near now! You will not let me rescue you, yet how can I stay away, never knowing if you are safe ...”
“I’d be a bloody sight safer if you would stop pestering me, and watch for my signal from a safe distance!” the Mage replied through gritted teeth, “Schiannath, get out of here, and don’t come back until it’s—”
“Aurian—someone comes!” Nereni’s voice was an urgent whisper,
Aurian cursed, and tore her hand free from the Xandim’s grasp, “Stay quiet until they’ve gone!” she hissed at Schiannath, and scrambled toward the ladder. Clumsy with haste, she felt her foot slip on a worn rung, and landed with a jarring stumble, barely catching herself upright with a hand on the splintery wood of die ladder. Somewhere within, she felt a catch of pain—but its import was lost in the wave of horror that overwhelmed her as she turned toward the door.
Miathan was coming! She knew the sound of those ominous footfalls on the stairs; and though her powers were gone, she could feel, even through the closed door, the pulse of his mind, ablaze with a deadly wrath. Outside, the wolves were gathering, their shrill, lonely plaints sounding all around the tower while the footsteps came closer. The door flew open. On the threshold, wearing Harihn’s body like an ill-fitting cloak, stood the Archmage. Harihn’s handsome features were pulled down into harsh, grim planes and hollows. His dark eyes were overlaid with a furious, fervid glitter. “Out!” He snapped the word at Nereni. White-faced, and with a terrified glance at Aurian, the little woman scurried to obey. Kicking the door shut behind him, Miathan turned slowly to face the Mage.
“How did Anvar escape me?” His voice contained such a depth of deadly fury that Aurian trembled, even as her heart leapt for joy. Anvar had escaped! Her plan must have worked! Breathing deeply, she tried to calm and marshal her roiling thoughts, but she could not, could not keep her joy from showing on her face.
Red fire kindled behind Miathan’s eyes, “Curse you! You knew of this!” His headlong rush carried her with him across the room. Careless of her condition in his rage, he slammed her against the wall and held her there, his fingers, tensed like claws, biting like iron into her shoulders. Once again, Aurian felt that stabbing clutch of pain within her, and gasped.
“How did Anvar escape?” Miathan’s hand lashed out, knocking her head to one side. “Tell me! How did he throw down the Temple of Incondor? What did you find on your travels that could so increase his power?”
His eyes blazed into her own—and buried within their scalding depths, Aurian saw a flicker of doubt, a shadow of fear. Miathan struck her again, and seized a handful of her hair at the nape of her neck, twisting cruelly. Aurian clenched her teeth. Though her eyes were blurred with tears of pain, she would not cry out. She laughed instead, harsh and shrill, for the tension of the moment demanded some release; and drawing back her head, she spat into his face.
“Can this be fear I see?” Aurian taunted. “The great Archmage Miathan—afraid of a lowly half-breed servant? Your one mistake lay in underestimating Anvar—which surprises me, since you fathered him yourself.” She flung her knowledge in Miathan’s face, and watched him turn white.
“Liar!” he howled. “I know the extent of Anvar’s powers! I possessed them myself long enough! What did you find on your travels, to match the power of the Caldron?”
Aurian was cornered, driven to desperation by her need to protect the secret of the Staff of Earth. “Nothing!” she shrieked. “Anvar needed nothing, save his hatred of you! And that’s all you’ll ever get from me, Archmage! Naught save hatred, and undying contempt!”
Miathan seemed to shrink before her. Since he had lost his eyes, the subtleties of his expression had become difficult to read, but the Mage was astonished to see his features drawn down in lines of anguish. “It hurts, you know,” he said softly. “You have no idea how much it hurts when you turn away from me and shudder at my touch’
The Mage was so staggered by his admission that she found her voice at last. “Good,” she snapped. “Now you know how it feels. You never cared how much you hurt me when you murdered Forral—you don’t care that you’re hurting me now, with what you’ve done to my friends and Anvar, and what you’re threatening to do to my child. Did it never occur to you that I would despise you for your foul deeds? Are you really so lost to all sanity?”