Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

After what seemed like hours spent in an agony of torment and despair, Aurian heard the dragging scrape of wood on stone as the door of her prison was thrust open on its solitary hinge. She ignored the sound. What more could they do to her? Anvar was lost to her, taken she knew not where, and Miathan had cursed her child. She shuddered, fighting nausea, wondering what manner of monster she had carried beneath her heart. Trapped in wretchedness, her battered spirit shrank from facing her bitter defeat. Let them enter, whoever they were! Let Miathan do what he would with her—for he could do little worse than he had already done. How had she ever dared hope to defeat him? Breaking into her misery, Aurian heard a horrified cry, and a stream of half-articulate curses aimed at the Prince, his followers, his relations and ancestors. Nereni! It was Nereni, using profanities that normally would have made the little woman blanch and cover her ears. Aurian felt her lips twitch in a smile, and was suddenly ashamed. If timid Nereni could summon this much fire and fight, how dared she, Aurian, a Mage and a warrior, give way to despair? Aurian felt cold steel against her wrists as Nereni cut the thongs that bound her, and stifled a curse as the blood returned to her hands in a scalding rush. With an effort, she opened swollen eyes.

Nereni’s face was ravaged with weeping, but her eyes burned with indignant rage as she gathered the Mage into her arms. “Aurian! What have they done to you? And you with child!” Enraged beyond thought of her own plight, Nereni turned on the soldiers who had accompanied her. “You—fetch some water! Bring wood for a fire! And get someone up here to mend that trapdoor! We may be prisoners, but we need not freeze to death—or starve, either! You, you son of a pig! Find some food for this poor lady!”

One of the soldiers laughed. “We don’t take orders from a fat old hag!” he jeered.

Nereni drew herself up to her full, insignificant height. To Aurian’s utter astonishment, she advanced on the soldier, bristling. “But you take orders from the Prince, who told you that this lady was to be cared for. Now get your lazy backside through that door and fetch me what I need, before I inform His Highness of your disobedience!”

The soldier turned suddenly white, and scurried off to do her bidding. “And while you’re at it,” Nereni bawled after him, “get someone up here to clean this pigsty!”

After that, things happened quickly. The corpses of the Winged Folk were dragged away, and soldiers came to wash the worn stone floor. Someone brought wood, and soon the air was filled with cheerful crackling as the growing blaze in the hearth began to take the chill from the room. One of the men brought a sack of provisions and utensils, which was snatched from his hands by Nereni.

When their guards had gone, Aurian stripped off her torn robe with a shiver of revulsion, wrapping herself in blankets from the packs that had been returned to them. Nereni gave her a cloth soaked in cold water to hold against her battered face, then began to busy herself at the fire. Under the kindly fussing of her friend, Aurian felt the dreadful tension of her despair beginning to dissolve. As icy water numbed the ache of her bruises, she searched within for the shreds of her courage, weaving them together into a cloak of adamantine will. Never again would she come so close to giving in! Had it not been for Nereni ...

Aurian’s chin came up in the old stubborn gesture. She would not give in to despair. She wanted her wits about her, ready to exploit any weakness in Miathan’s plans. There must be a way to save herself and Anvar. Ah Gods, and her child! As if to remind her of its presence and its plight, Forral’s son moved within her, and Aurian felt her heart go out to him in a flood of love and sorrow. After all he had gone through . . . “Don’t worry,” she whispered fiercely. “No matter what form Miathan put upon you, you’re mine and I love you! I won’t let that bastard kill you!”

At the sound of her voice, Nereni turned from the fire and handed the Mage a steaming cup of liafa. “You look better now,” she said softly. “Aurian—did he ... When I saw you lying there, I thought ...” She bit her lip.

“No,” Aurian said wearily, “I’m all right—so far. He won’t risk bringing the babe early. But afterward ...” She sipped the stimulating drink, wincing as its heat stung her bruised mouth. Her hands trembled so that it took both of them to steady the cup. As a distraction from the memory of Miathan’s unclean touch, she asked for news of the others. Nereni scowled. “Your so-called friend the cat fought her way out and ran, and that coward Yazour took the opportunity to follow her.” Her voice was edged with anger.

“Don’t blame Shia—I told her to go,” Aurian replied firmly. “The Staff of Earth is our one hope of defeating Miathan, and someone had to take it to safety. And don’t blame Yazour for taking the chance to escape. Outnumbered as we were, it was the only thing to do. But are Eliizar and Bohan all right?” Aurian knew this was the real core of Nereni’s anguish, and waited anxiously for her reply.

“They put Eliizar in the dungeon, with Bohan,” Nereni said shakily. “He was wounded, but they would not let me go to him.” She shuddered. “They threw me down, intending rape, but the Prince stopped them. He knew I would kill myself, for shame, and he wants me alive, to take care of you. That is why his guards dare not harm me. Some Winged Folk flew away with Anvar, and—”

“What did you say?” The cup shattered on the hearth, splashing liafa into the hissing flames. Aurian grasped Nereni’s arms, until the older woman gasped with pain. “Winged Folk took Anvar? Do you know where?”

“Aurian ...” Nereni cried out in protest, but the Mage did not loosen her grip.

“Where did they take him, Nereni?”

“I’m not sure,” Nereni whimpered. “They spoke in the tongue of the Winged Folk—but I heard them mention Aerillia. Then they put Anvar in a net and flew off with him. Aurian, you’re hurting me!” She burst into tears.

“Nereni, I’m sorry!” Aurian gathered the weeping woman into her arms. “You’ve been so brave—I don’t know what I would have done without you. But I’m so afraid for Anvar, and I didn’t know where they had taken him.”

“I know,” Nereni sniffed. “I feel the same about Eliizar, wounded and locked up in that terrible place. If only they would let me see him!”

“Don’t worry—we’ll work on it,” Aurian comforted her friend. “If Miathan would leave Harihn alone sometimes ...” She paused, wondering how to explain that the Prince was not what he seemed. “You see,” she began, “Harihn is not..”

“Himself?” Nereni brightened a little at Aurian’s look of surprise. “I know,” she went on. “Why do you think my folk have such a fear of sorcery? Tales of possession are common in our legends. When he saved me from his men, Harihn seemed himself—then his face changed beyond recognition, and another, evil soul looked out from his eyes.” The tremor of her voice betrayed her calm manner. “Has the Prince sold his soul to a demon?”

Aurian shook her head. “I told about the Archmage Miathan, who turned his power to evil. Well, he’s in league with Blacktalon, but he is also using the Prince’s body. Miathan couldn’t achieve such possession without Harihn’s consent, so I suspect he offered the Prince his father’s throne. An ally in the south would benefit his own plans for conquest. But Harihn has no idea of the depth of Miathan’s deceit. He is only a puppet now, dancing to the Archmage’s every whim. I’ve no sympathy for Harihn—it serves him right—but your people will suffer, as we all will, if we can’t find a way out of this.”