A quick scan with her Healer’s senses soon confirmed that Wolf had taken little physical harm except for cold and hunger and a bruise or two, but even though their mental link had weakened since his birth, Aurian could feel his shock and acute distress. Since he shared her heritage, it seemed likely that the child, too, had been assaulted by his abductor’s death pangs. Aurian fought to control her own roiling emotions so that she could calm and reassure him. Too limp with relief even to think of getting to her feet, she stayed kneeling in Meiriel’s blood, rocking her son and thanking all the gods that he was safe.
Anvar, with Chiamh hot on his heels, burst out of the tunnel at a run. After a frantic, fruitless search for Meiriel, he had been buffeted by her death throes—and through them, had located her at last. When he saw Aurian, with Wolf clasped in her arms, kneeling over the Magewoman’s body, his heart almost stopped. As he ran to her, his mind whirled with conflicting anger, anxiety, and relief, and as he sank to his knees beside her, his questions tumbled one over another in his haste to get them out.
“Are you all right? Is Wolf? Are you mad to come out here and fight her so soon after she nearly killed you?”
For the first time, Aurian looked up from her child, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes as she looked from Anvar to the Windeye and back again. “I had to come. Look what a mess you two were making of the business,” she snapped. Then her expression softened as she laid a hand on Anvar’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that—though you deserve more than harsh words for trying to give me drugged wine. You idiots—did you really think I’d fall for that?”
Anvar looked at Chiamh and saw his chagrin mirrored in the Windeye’s face. Then, to his own astonishment, he burst out laughing. It was pure relief, he knew—and also a reaction to the events of the last few harrowing hours: Wolfs abduction, Aurian almost losing her life, the bloody battle of the cats, and the physical and mental wrench of Meiriel’s violent death. Aurian caught his eye, and suddenly she was laughing with him, as they had laughed away their shock and terror long ago in the dark tunnels beneath Dhiammara, when both had been sure that Anvar’s life had ended beneath a stonefall. Though the laughter was dangerously out of control for a time, Anvar felt the fears and turmoil of the night beginning to ease, as though a bowstring stretched taut within him was loosening at last.
Finally, Aurian’s peals of laughter ended in something suspiciously like a sob, and she embraced him clumsily, with Wolf between them. Anvar, mindful of the cub, hugged her as hard as he dared before they broke apart reluctantly and scrambled to their feet to face the baffled Windeye. Aurian thumped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Chiamh, my friend, for all your help this night—but next time, don’t go slipping your peculiar Xandim concoctions into my wine.”
Chiamh smiled sheepishly. “It seems there would be little point—but, Lady, you must rest now, before you undo all the benefit of your Healing.”
“You’re right—I’m so tired I can barely stand.” Aurian sighed, and dragged her arm wearily across her eyes. She grimaced as the edge of her sleeve left a smear of blood across one cheek. “Besides, we must get Wolf home—and where are Shia and Khanu?”
Anvar, looking on, saw her expression change to a frown of concern. “Back in the canyon—I don’t know what happened to them. Chiamh and I lost them when we were searching for Meiriel…” His words trailed away. Aurian was not listening. Her expression turned vague as she called to the cats—then her eyes snapped open wide. “Shia says that Hreeza is here—and she’s hurt.”
“Hreeza?” Anvar gasped. “How the blazes did she get here?”
Aurian shrugged. “Let’s find out. No—wait.” Thrusting Wolf into Anvar’s arms, she turned back to Meiriel’s body. Anvar could see the tension in her jaw as she stooped to the ghastly head, and closed the staring eyes. For a moment she lingered, her hand smoothing the Magewoman’s tangled hair, and Anvar was amazed to see a glitter of tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Meiriel,” she whispered.
“What?” Anvar could not contain himself. “Why should you be sorry? She meant to murder Wolf, and she came too bloody close to killing you.”
Aurian shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “That wasn’t Meiriel. I mourn the passing of the Healer I once knew, who was once a friend. She saved my life when I was a girl, and taught me the precious arts of Healing.” Then her expression hardened. “As for the madwoman who tried to kill my son—she deserved what she got.”
Springing to her feet, she wiped her bloody hands on her cloak before raising them aloft. At her gesture a bolt of sizzling flame leapt from her fingers, consuming Meiriel’s body where it lay on the bloodstained stones of Steelclaw.
“Now we can go.” Turning away from the pyre, Aurian reached down to pick up the Staff of Earth from the pool of blood in which it lay. Anvar, seeing the Artifact sullied with the lifeblood of a Mage, felt a shiver of unease crawl up his spine—and his thoughts were in tune with those of his soulmate.
“Damn,” Aurian muttered. “Steeped in blood—this doesn’t bode well.” Gingerly, she picked up the Staff—and cried out, almost dropping it again in astonishment. As her fingers had touched and lifted the Artifact, it had blazed for an instant with a blinding emerald radiance—and when the effulgence faded, every trace of blood had vanished.
“Incredible!” Anvar breathed.
Aurian was holding the Staff as though the twin serpents might bite her. “Yes,” she muttered, “but why?”
Chiamh stepped forward to peer shortsightedly at the Staff, though he was careful not to touch it. Then he looked up at the Mage. “Lady—why did you choose to kill the madwoman with your sword, and not with this powerful tool of magic?”
“I…” Aurian frowned. “Well, for one thing, there was too great a risk of harming Wolf, but mainly because it just wasn’t right.” For a moment she faltered. “This is one of the four Great Weapons that were fashioned to work against destruction. If I had used it for harm, then…” She shuddered. “Something bad would have happened. Oh, it would have worked, I’m sure—but there would have been some kind of recoil, or backlash. I remembered what the Leviathan said, about a weapon having two edges…” She shrugged, unable to explain it any better.
Chiamh shuddered. “Lady, you are very wise—and thank the Goddess that it is so.”
“I don’t know about that,” Aurian sighed. “Sometimes, Chiamh, I feel as though I’m anything but wise.” Though she was trying to hide it, she was trembling with exhaustion. “Come on—let’s find Shia now, and then we can get back to the fastness. I could sleep for a month—not that we have one.”
Almost as an afterthought she gathered up Coronach from the ground, wiping the bloodstained blade on her cloak before sheathing it. Then, thrusting the Staff into her belt, she held her arms out for her son.
The stones near the top of the rearing black spur were slick with blood. It caked on Aurian’s boots and coated her hands where she had used them to help her scramble up the last steep stretch to the summit. With a shudder, she wiped her sticky hands on the hem of her much-abused cloak, and longed for a mug of good, strong ale to clear the metallic stench that caught at the back of her throat.
Aurian looked over her shoulder and saw Chiamh down below, waiting at the foot of the ridge with Wolf, while Anvar followed close behind the Mage. He, too, was tight-lipped and pale. Thankfully, there had been fewer deaths among the cats than Aurian had expected from Anvar’s terse account of the battle, but some of the injuries that they had witnessed on their way across the canyon had been dreadful. Having been apprised by Shia that Hreeza’s life was not in danger, Aurian had lingered to give assistance where she could—though even with Anvar’s overtaxed strength to draw upon, and the power of the Staff, her contribution seemed woefully inadequate.