Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

As Chiamh made his way back to his chambers, following the fresher currents of air through the crevices in the stone, his mind was awhirl with excitement. Though he still had gained no clue as to Schiannath’s part in this business, he had finally heard most of what he wanted. The Dark Powers, the Bright Ones—at last, all had been made clear, and he knew now, more than ever, that he had to rescue these strangers from his own people. But how . . .

Lost in thought, the Windeye was not concentrating on what he was doing. Engrossed in a series of plans of increasing complexity and impracticality, it took him some time to realize that he should have returned to his chambers long ago. Chiamh came out of his reverie with a jolt—to discover that he was utterly lost in the trackless labyrinth of crevices within the body of the fastness. He had no idea where he was—and no means of returning to his body.

When the Archmage had left once more to supervise his Southern pawns, his departure came as a tremendous relief to Eliseth. Though Miathan was gone only in spirit, the atmosphere in the Academy was considerably lightened by the absence of his brooding thoughts, and the Weather-Mage could relax at last. Within the sanctuary of her chambers, she felt her face with anxious fingers. Her skin was smooth now; taut and silken where it had been rough and sagging before. Suddenly, she wished she had not smashed all the mirrors. What a joy it would be to see herself, and not that hideous old hag! Thank all the Gods—but then again, why thank them? Eliseth had saved herself through her own cleverness.

Nonetheless, the Mage was quick to keep her word and restore the winter—a simple matter, though her weather-dome had been destroyed in the backlash of the battle with Aurian. Her spells had not had much time to unravel, and it had taken only a little effort to rebuild them, working from the open rooftop temple on the Mages’ Tower, from which the ashes of Bragar had now been cleaned.

Her work completed, Eliseth wandered downstairs, enjoying the supple response of her young-again body, savoring the peace of the silent tower, When she came to Miathan’s door, she stopped. His body would be lying beyond, untenanted and helpless while his mind was away in the South, overseeing his plans for Aurian’s capture. Eliseth stood at the door, studying the honey-rippled pattern of the grain. The temptation was overwhelming. It would be so easy ... As she lifted her hand to the latch, a blast of tingling cold smote her palm. From the corner of her eye, Eliseth glimpsed the illusory shimmer-haze of a Wardspell. She snatched her hand back with an oath, rubbing the palm against her skirts, I should have known, she thought. The old wolf would never put enough trust in me or anyone else, to leave his body unguarded in his absence She wondered what spell Miathan had placed on the door, what fate would have been hers, had she been foolish or unwary enough to lift the latch. It would be something unspeakable, Eliseth was sure. Now that Miathan wielded the power of the Caldron ...

Shuddering, the Weather-Mage moved hastily away, and continued her descent. The next rooms she belonged to Aurian. After a moment, Eliseth pushed open the heavy door. The rooms were tidy—as tidy as Anvar, then the Mage’s servant; had left them on the night he had fled Nexis with his mistress, Eliseth wrinkled her nose at the smell of mildew, The dank air of the room was with neglect; the void of the ash-furred hearth was cold and gray. Cobwebs and dust shrouded the furnishings like a ghostly veil, and the moldering cushions had been nibbled by mice. The Weather-Mage smiled. If the Archmage had his way, Aurian would soon experience similar desolation within her soul! It’s as well I didn’t kill you, Aurian, Eliseth thought. Miathan can make you suffer more intensely than II Turning on her heel, she left the dreary chamber without a backward look, seeking her own rooms on the floor below. While the Mage had been busy above, one of the few remaining menials—a ragged, pinch-faced brat, had been cleaning her rooms. As Eliseth entered, the child shot her a scared look from beneath a curtain of snarled brown curls and bobbed a sketchy curtsy, her cleaning rag clutched tight in grubby fingers. “I—I filled your bath, Lady,” she whispered nervously. “I hope I done right.”

The scullion had done a fine job of restoring the chamber. The broken mirrors had gone, and not a particle of glass remained on the gleaming floor. The furnishings had been dusted, and the liquors and goblets put away. The stains from her thrown cup had vanished from the wall and a fire flamed bright in the clean-swept grate. Eliseth nodded approval At last! she thought. One of these slatterns knows how to work. She dismissed the girl, sending her back to the kitchen with orders for a meal to be prepared.

When Eliseth entered her bathing room she was further gratified. A fire had been lit in the squat iron stove, the tub was filled with steaming water, and soap and scented oils had been laid out for her. Fresh-laundered towels had been hung to warm near the glowing stove. The Mage was delighted. What a difference these attentions make! she thought. Her maid had been slain by a Wraith when Miathan’s abominations had run amok, and since then they had been so short of help at the Academy that she’d never found another. But this girl had potential . . . Eliseth smiled. Perhaps my luck is changing, she thought. She pulled off the robe that she had worn as an ancient crone, and her darkened into a scowl at the reminder. Spitting out a curse, she crumpled it into a ball and thrust it into the stove, slamming the door on it as it burst into flames.

As she slipped into the scented water, regret for the loss of Davorshan twisted like a knife within Eliseth’s soul. She missed the Water-Mage keenly. Under her tutelage, he had grown ever more talented, in magic and in her bed, proving a willing, useful tool in her schemes until Miathan had sent him to kill Eilin, and he himself had been slain. Eliseth was glad of Miathan’s sanction to discover the identity of his murderer, for eventually she meant to avenge him. But in the meantime, Eilin’s Vale remained a mystery fraught with direst peril. How to find out what was going on there? As the Mage lay musing in the soothing water, the seeds of a plan began to form in her mind.

Emerging sometime later, cleansed at last in body and spirit, Eliseth returned to her bedchamber and put on a loose robe of thick white wool. Having conjured a warm breeze to take the last of the damp from her hair, she curled up on the white velvet cushions of her window seat and began to brush the silvery strands.

It would take a while for the grim clouds of her winter to return to their place over Nexis, In the meantime, the heavens seemed to be making the most of their chance, A spectacular sunset flooded the Academy courtyard with honeyed light and cool t blue shadow, turning the shattered shell of her weather-dome to fire and crimson blood, Bragar’s blood. At the reminder of her failure and disgrace, Eliseth drew in a hissing breath, “Just wait, Aurian,” she snarled, “One day I will have my revenge!”

The topaz glory of sunset faded to the sapphire and amethyst of twilight. To Eliseth’s relief, night threw its shadowy cloak over Nexis, hiding the ruin in the courtyard, High in the deepening vault above, the diamond-points of stars were beginning to appear.

“Lady Eliseth? Are you there?” There came a timid tap at the door of her bedchamber,

“How dare you interrupt me!” The Mage flung open the door to find the ragged girl-child on the other side

“But Lady, your supper—” Her words ended in a wail as Eliseth slapped her,

“Never answer me back, you guttersnipe!” she hissed. The girl’s fists clenched and behind the greasy tendrils of hair, her eyes flashed defiance. Eliseth raised an eyebrow. It seemed she had underestimated the little baggage! What a diversion it will be, to break her to my will, she mused. “What’s your name, child?” she asked.