Maggie Furey - Sword of Flames

Something huge and heavy hit Gristheena from the side. The breath shot out of her lungs. She lost her grip on Hreeza and went crashing to the ground as the weight or another cat crushed her down against the cold black stone. Half-stunned, Gristheena shook her head, opened her eyes—and blinked in dismay and disbelief. Above her, silhouetted against the dawn-pale sky, loomed the shape of her oldest and most bitter enemy.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance!” Gristheena snarled.

“But you did not.” Shia’s voice was chill and inexorable as a glacier. “You failed, Gristheena—and now you have failed again. Your reign is over.”

The last thing that Gristheena saw was the burning gold of Shia’s eyes as they caught the blaze of the sunrise. Then Shia’s powerful jaws closed around her throat, and darkness fell.

Meiriel laughed softly in triumph as she slipped, unseen, down the far side of the spur. During the long, tedious wait for Aurian to return with Parric, the Magewoman had occupied herself in perfecting an illusion spell that bent the air around her, effectively concealing her where she stood in plain sight. And it had worked—better than she would ever have imagined.

The glow of satisfaction at the success of her ruse helped cushion the shock Meiriel had received when she had returned to Steelclaw to find her ally, Gristheena, and her subjects under attack. The Magewoman scowled. How could it have happened? Could this sudden assault on Gristheena have something to do with her own adversary? A chill crawled up Meiriel’s spine. All this time she had been thinking of Aurian merely as her impulsive, inexperienced pupil from the old days at the Academy. It seemed that she had underestimated the power of the younger Mage.

With an effort, Meiriel mastered the stab of panic and gathered her wits. While she had Aurian’s child, its mother could do little to harm her. Meiriel tightened her grip on the misbegotten abomination that Aurian had birthed, though even touching the accursed creature was enough to sicken her. The wolf cub whimpered in protest. Its struggles were growing weaker now—but that was of no consequence. She only needed to keep it alive until she was certain that Aurian was dead—or until she had found a way to deal, once and for all, with the one who had caused the death of her beloved Finbarr.

The sky had paled from night’s blackness to a rich, deep blue that was beginning to glow with dawn beyond Steel-claw’s jagged peaks. The thin, cold wind that had finally banished the rain clouds snaked across the dark rock of the canyon floor. All the cats had vanished now, drawn to the rearing spur to witness the battle of the Queens. Meiriel groped with her mind to catch Gristheena’s thoughts but only came up against a stark, black void. Fear knotted the Magewoman’s stomach. Gristheena dead? Impossible! But if her ally had been slain, then she had better get out of here—and fast. Quickening her pace, Meiriel scuttled toward the dark maw of the tunnel that led out of the crater, and rushed inside.

The uneven tunnel was narrow and so low that she had to stoop as she hurried along, the darkness taxing even her Mage’s sight. Nonetheless, though she knew it was illusory, the secure stone walls on either side gave the Magewoman the feeling that she had attained a measure of safety at last, and she abandoned her illusion spell as an unnecessary drain on her energies. When a circle of pale daylight appeared ahead of her, she approached it almost reluctantly—but she couldn’t lurk in the darkness forever. As she emerged cautiously from the entrance onto a wide, sloping ledge on the mountain’s side, her ears were assaulted by a booming thunder of wings in the sky above her. A swirling gust of wind blew grit into her face and almost knocked her from her feet. Meiriel, fighting for breath, wiped the dust from her streaming eyes—and choked again in terror at the sight of Aurian.

Cold shock drenched through Meiriel’s body. Time seemed to stretch and slow as she looked into the inexorable face of her adversary, while her mind screamed out in horrified protest, for she had never truly believed—had not wanted to believe—the mysterious voice that she had heard upon the Wyndveil, and had truly convinced herself—until now—that the spell that cloaked her had also kept out the awareness of Aurian’s passing. How could it be otherwise? Meiriel remembered plunging her knife toward Aurian’s heart, and feeling the point catch and jar as it grated against a rib. She remembered the dark blood welling up around the deadly blade and gushing hotly across her hand. Aurian should be dead!

Aurian kicked free of the tangled heap of meshes at her feet. With a slithering hiss her sword slid from her scabbard—the same blade that Meiriel remembered from so long ago. In her other hand the Mage clutched a staff tipped with a great green jewel clasped between serpents’ jaws. It thrummed with power, shivered and twisted the air around it, flooding the wan dawnlight with a blaze of emerald radiance. At the sight of it, terror struck deep into Meiriel’s heart. She took an involuntary step backward, quaking, and automatically raised a magical shield about herself. She doubted that it would hold for long against the power of the Staff, but it might buy her the time she needed.

“You look pale, Meiriel. Seen a ghost?” Aurian’s voice cut like a whiplash. Her eyes burned silver with the icy flare of her wrath. “Give me back my child.”

Desperation gave Meiriel a measure of courage. She clutched Wolf even tighter to her chest, and put one hand around his throat. “Make me give him back,” she sneered. “Strike at me, and your brat dies with me. If you so much as call out with your mind to your companions, I will slay him.”

Aurian, still feeling weak and drained from the deadly wound she had taken and the energy expended in Healing it, was shaking with the effort to suppress her rage. Now, of all times, her head must be clear, though the sight of her child with Meiriel’s hand around his neck tore at her heart. Inwardly she cursed the Skyfolk, who had been too cowardly to venture into the territory of their ancient feline enemies, and were unprepared to risk themselves by attacking a Mage. Their reluctance had lost her critical moments while she extricated herself from their net. Had she been in a position to strike at Meiriel while her foe was still blinded by dust, it would all have been over now, and Wolf would have been safe.

Possibilities flew through Aurian’s mind, and were as quickly discarded. Even the option of taking both her enemy and Wolf out of time until she could get help was out of the question. Shielded as she was, Meiriel would still have enough time to kill the child before the spell could take effect. All the Mage could do was play for time—and hope that her companions would think of searching the tunnel before it was too late.

Aurian looked at the wild-eyed madwoman with the ravaged face and tangled hair, and remembered with sadness the neat, brisk, efficient Healer who had saved her life and taught her the skills that had proved a blessing over and over again. “Meiriel, why?” she pleaded. “Where’s the sense in this? Can’t you see that your enemy should be Miathan, not me? And I can’t believe that you, of all people, would want to harm an innocent child…”

“Child?” Meiriel shrieked. “It’s an abomination!”

Aurian gritted her teeth and reined back her temper, trying not to antagonize the madwoman further. “Wolf is a normal child, Meiriel—save that Miathan cursed him. Surely, if you joined your skills with mine, you could help me remove the bane…”

Meiriel’s face contorted with hatred. “Help you?” she snarled. “Were it not for you and your filthy Mortal lover—and this half-breed freak you bore—my Finbarr would still be alive.”