Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

“Leave him alone!” Aurian raged, struggling to escape, but her guards hurled her down with insolent strength. She fought wildly, and with a curse, one of them twisted her bound arms up behind her back until she screamed with pain.

“Stop!” Miathan dropped the knife, sweeping across the room to thrust the man angrily aside. “She is not to be harmed!”

To Aurian’s relief, the pain in her arms subsided, allowing her to breathe again, and more importantly, to think. She knew she had very little time in which to save Anvar—and very little choice about the means she could employ, no matter how repugnant the terms of the bargain would seem to her. She struggled to her knees, looking up at the possessed form of Harihn and trying to quell the hatred that flared within her at the sight of Miathan’s expression on his handsome face. “Miathan!” she begged. “Don’t hurt Anvar—it’s me you want. If you leave him alone, I’ll do anything you want—I swear it.”

The Archmage twisted Harihn’s face into a sneer of contempt, his eyes full of wry amusement. A chill went through Aurian, as she realized just how great was his hold over her. “Indeed?” he mocked. “Whatever I desire, I can take, including Anvar’s life—and you! But I intend to possess more than your body.” He dropped his voice to silken, caressing tones, and the Mage felt her guts twist with loathing. “I require your support and power to further my plans. Put that power at my disposal, and I will spare Anvar’s life. Indeed, the wretch will be most useful as a hostage to ensure your loyalty, my dear.”

The horrific implications of Miathan’s words cut through Anvar’s haze of pain. “No,” he shouted desperately.

“Aurian—don’t do this! Don’t put yourself in his power!”

“Silence him!” Miathan snapped, and one of the guards delivered a sharp blow beneath Anvar’s ribs that drove the breath from his body. While he fought, in agony, for air, the Archmage turned back to Aurian. “Well? Do you agree?”

Bleak-faced, Aurian nodded. “I have no choice,” she whispered. “Just don’t hurt him any more.”

Miathan smiled. “Very sensible,” he purred. “The half-breed will ensure your loyalty until the child is born, for it is too late to rid you of it now without endangering your life.” Miathan chuckled—a chilling sound that reminded Anvar of the Death-Wraith that had killed Forral. “More to the point, however,” he went on, “Anvar will act as a hostage for your continued obedience once I’ve put an end to the brat—for when you see it, you will beg me to put it out of its misery! You see, your child is cursed, Aurian—I cursed it myself, long ago, using the power of the Caldron. You carry a monster within you!”

Anvar saw the blood drain from Aurian’s face. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. “You bastard, Miathan!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you for this, I swear it!”

The Archmage laughed again. “Swear away, Anvar—you’re in no position to threaten me! You are in my power, and you will help me to manipulate this renegade slut! My problem lay in making her use her powers for my benefit, once I had killed her child. Now it will be easy—since she has obviously transferred her allegiance from that oaf of a swordsman to you.” Miathan snickered crudely. “It must be the Mortal stain on your ancestry—she could never resist defiling herself with your sort!”

Anvar’s mind went blank with horror at the simple cruelty of Miathan’s plan. His eyes went to Aurian, and he saw the sick dismay on her face. Not her child—her last, precious link with Forral! He couldn’t let this happen—and at least he could spare her the agony of choosing! He had provided Miathan with a hold over her, but if he should die, that hold would cease. Aurian, once her powers were restored, might be able to protect the child after it had been born. Through his mounting terror, he felt relief, and a dawning hope. His own life might be forfeit, but it would be well spent, if Aurian and her child might have a chance!

Anvar made his decision. It was no good attacking Miathan—he would only destroy Harihn’s body, and the Archmage was too close to Aurian. The backlash of the spell could kill her. But he had one other, desperate option . . . Miathan’s attention was locked on Aurian . . . Anvar’s expression turned grim as slowly, surreptitiously, he began to gather his powers for the last time.

He felt his eyes beginning to flare with a dark and muted glow from the mounting energies within him, as he turned his magic inward, upon himself, to his own destruction. Searing heat swept through him—his heart began to race and labor as his bubbling lungs clamored for breath. He felt his organs, his senses, falter and start to fail . . . His vision was clouding with a red haze from the destructive power of the pent-up forces he had summoned. Unable to resist, he sought Aurian’s eyes before it was too late, trying to tell her, in a final, appealing glance, that he was sorry—and that he loved her.

It proved his undoing. Through misted vision, he saw her eyes widen with sudden understanding—and horror.

“Anvar, no!” she shrieked. Miathan, alerted by her frantic cry, spun round with a curse. In a swift, brutal blow, his fist crashed into Anvar’s face. Shock and pain ripped through the Mage, dissipating the power he had gathered so carefully. As he slumped against his captors, half stunned and spitting blood, he was dimly aware that his body was stabilizing, returning to normal. With a sinking heart, he realized that he had lost his chance. Oh Aurian, he thought despairingly, why did you stop me?

Miathan was berating the guards, spitting with rage. “You fools! I told you to watch him!”

Anvar felt the grip of his warders tighten, their fingers bruising his bound arms. Using the pain as a focus, he wrenched his slipping consciousness back to the room, through the sheer force of his Mage’s will.

The Archmage had turned his anger on Aurian. “So much for that!” he snapped. “What use will he be as a hostage, if the fool kills himself at the first opportunity?” Then he brought himself swiftly under control, the cruelty of his expression distorting Harihn’s handsome face. “It seems, my dear, that I must impose a further condition on our agreement. You know that my powers will not transfer to this Mortal body. You have no magic until your brat is born, and that makes us even—but Anvar will always be a risk to me that must be dealt with. Therefore, when your own magic returns, Aurian, you will remove his powers, as I removed them once before.”

Aurian’s face twisted with anguish as she fought against overwhelming tears. Never had Anvar seen her look so cowed. “Very well ...” she whispered. “If that’s the only way to save him—”

“No!” In a flash of panic, Anvar recalled the time, long ago in his youth, when Miathan had torn away the power that he had not even known he possessed—remembered the agony, the despair, the dread sense of utter helplessness. It couldn’t happen again—he would rather die!

Then he caught the obdurate glint in Aurian’s eye, and cursed himself for a fool. Of course she would never do such a thing! But distracted by pain and fear, he had been slow to realize that she was engaged in a desperate gamble, playing for time to save them both. For a moment, Anvar’s pain vanished in a glow of love and pride. Despite the appalling shock of the news about her child, she had kept her head! He prayed that Miathan would be deceived . . .

“What are your plans for us, Miathan?” Aurian asked in a dull, hopeless voice, and Anvar knew she was trying to draw the Archmage’s attention away from him.

Harihn’s dark eyes glittered. “Anvar will be imprisoned elsewhere, as a surety for your cooperation. I hope he knows better than to try any further tricks to end his own life, for if he should succeed, I intend to make you pay for his folly in ways that neither of you could even begin to imagine.”