Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

Taken aback, and not a little hurt by the swift change in the Mage’s demeanor, Anvar cursed. “Gods help me, I’ll never understand her!”

Though he had been talking to himself, Shia caught his eye. “Her behavior seems perfectly clear to me!”

“You can read her bloody mind!” Muttering under his breath, Anvar limped toward the others.

Eliizar was looking utterly disconsolate. “We lost another horse, coming down,” the swordsman was telling Aurian, as Anvar approached. “When he slipped, I could not hold him ...”

“The animal broke its leg,” Yazour put in quietly. “We had to end its suffering . . .” He sighed.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Aurian consoled them. “I thought we’d have trouble bringing the horses down that trail. You did well to get the others down in one piece.”

“Very true,” Yazour told her grimly. He gestured at the weary, drooping beasts, and Anvar saw that one was holding a foot carefully off the ground, and another was cut about the knees. “We would have lost those also, had it not been for Bohan’s strength to hold them back when they slipped.”

Eliizar cheered up at Anvar’s approach, and Nereni, her face bloodied and bruised, gave a squeal of delight and hugged him. Aurian, examining the injured horses, left it to Nereni to plaster salve on his hurts and find him some dry clothing, and took no further notice of him at all.

The descent through the deep-piled snow at the foot of the defile was as grueling as the climb to the pass had been, and it took the companions a long time to plough their way through the congested drifts as they came down into the valley. The sky began to darken as they struggled on, whether with dusk or another storm, Anvar had no ideas for he had lost track of time in the blizzard.

In fact, it proved to be both.

The tower was situated at the far end or the Valley, perched atop a craggy, tree-clad hill. By the time they reached the clump of twisted pines and saw the sturdy shape of the building looming above them, snowflakes were thickening the air once more. Thinking of the freezing peril of the night, everyone worked to gather broken boughs, which they loaded on weary horses for the last ascent of the steep, slippery path.

The squat, crumbling silhouette of the ancient tower loomed black against the sky. The door was frozen shut, and Bohan had to exert all the strength of his mighty muscles before the heavy slab of wood finally shuddered open with a grating complaint. The interior was pitch-dark, and the companions, not knowing what to expect within, hung back, reluctant to enter. Yazour tugged at Anvar’s sleeve. “Anvar, can you make a light?”

Chilled and exhausted as he was, with his mind still numbed by the shock of his headlong fall, Anvar had to force himself to focus on the warrior’s words. Eventually he nodded, and tried to summon the strength to create a fireball. Nothing happened. He cursed and tried again, closing his eyes and concentrating so hard that sweat sprung out to freeze on his brow, but still nothing happened. His tired mind simply refused to obey his will.

“Here—”

Anvar opened his eyes to see Aurian holding out the Staff of Earth. After his recent mishap, and her coolness toward him afterward, he was astonished that she would trust him again with the precious artifact. “Are you sure?” Behind his question were a thousand others. The Mage simply nodded, and thrust the Staff into his hand. Once again, Anvar felt its power running through him like molten fire, as unquenchable hope rekindled in his heart. He lifted the Staff, and heard muffled gasps from the others as its tip burst into sizzling flame, lighting the way into the darkened maw of the building.

The companions surged into the tower behind Anvar, and into the single, circular chamber that they found within. Bohan snatched a bundle of wood from the back.of one of the horses and. hurled, it into the gaping fireplace. Anvar thrust the blazing Staff into the heart of the kindling, and everyone cheered as the wet wood smoldered, sparked, and burst into flame. Only then did he allow the fire of the Staff to die. It was hard to surrender such glory. When he went, reluctantly, to return the artifact to Aurian, she grimaced and shook her head.

“Keep it,” she muttered, “for now at least. It’s no good to me while I’m in this state.”

Oh, he was tempted to accept her offer, but . . . “No,” Anvar told her. “You found it. You re-created it—by rights it belongs to you. You’ll be able to use it again in no time ...” But she had already turned away. Sighing, Anvar carefully propped the Staff against the wall in a shadowy corner, where it would be out of harm’s way.

The bare tower room soon warmed with the roaring blaze and the steaming heat from the bodies of the horses and companions that were packed inside. While Nereni, who seemed to have drawn a new reserve of energy from the presence of secure walls and a fireside, raided their provisions to produce one of her heartening stews, and Yazour doctored the injured horses, Eliizar and Bohan made torches and went to explore. They returned after a short time with the news that the tower consisted of three stories. Above the rough stone chamber was another circular room with a flimsy ladder leading up through a trapdoor to the flat roof above. Below the ground-floor chamber, down a narrow flight of steps, a damp but solid dungeon had been hewn out of the tower’s foundations.

Supper was a silent affair among the weary, famished group, with everyone paying too much attention to the food to talk. As time passed, however, and some degree of comfort was restored, everyone began to relax—with the exception of Aurian and Anvar. Nereni had to press the Mage to eat, and she sat silent and abstracted, not joining in their conversation.

Anvar was almost as bad, and could do little justice to the excellent meal. Later, when the others had drifted into an exhausted slumber, he found himself unable to sleep. His frustration with Aurian was reaching the point of anger now. What was wrong with her? Surely she couldn’t be holding that fall against him? True, he might have lost the Staff through his rashness, but all had turned out well in the end! After tossing and turning for a while, Anvar gave up trying to sleep. He kindled a torch and crept upstairs to the tower roof, seeking the chill solace of the snowy night to ease his thoughts.

Aurian awakened from a sleep that had been long in coming, disturbed by the restless kicking of the child within her. Grumbling drowsily, she turned over to find a more comfortable position and Shia, disturbed by the movement, opened one eye,

“Still brooding?” the cat asked pointedly,

Aurian sighed and sat up, heartily wishing for a bottle of the peach brandy that she and Forral used to enjoy. Oh to get gloriously, obliviously drunk, and escape, for a time, the tangle of conflicting emotions that consumed her whenever she thought of the only two men she had ever cared for. Shia was still watching her waiting for an answer.

“All right,” Aurian told the cat resignedly, “When Anvar fell in the avalanche today I thought he was dead. It hurt, Shia, as it hurt when I lost Forral. I don’t want to feel that way—not ever again, not for anyone. Once was more than enough,” She swallowed hard against a tightness in her throat. “Besides,” she went on doggedly, “I’m letting the whole ridiculous business distract me from the fight against Miathan, and that’s our chief concern. I don’t need this, Shia! It could cost us our lives!”

“So you withdraw from Anvar, and try to bury your feelings,” Shia mused. “Well, in a small company such as this, you cannot avoid him. You must send him away, it seems, or go yourself.”

Aurian stared at Shia, aghast. What, face her quest alone, without Anvar? “But I can’t do that!”