Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

“But how can we?” Nereni cried. “He holds Eliizar and Bohan captive, and he will kill them if we try to escape!”

“I don’t know,” Aurian admitted. “That is, I don’t know yet. He’s holding Anvar hostage too, but thanks to you, I have an idea of his whereabouts now. Don’t worry, Nereni. If we don’t panic, we’ll think of something.”

While she comforted her friend, Aurian was analyzing the situation, as Forral had taught her. Her plight was desperate. She was helpless until her powers returned with the birth of her child—but would she have time to act before Miathan killed the babe? And if there was no way to free Anvar, so far away in Aerillia, how could she move against the Archmage? Aurian’s head began to ache. She was bruised, shocked, and utterly bereft, afraid to the core of her being—yet still she pushed herself to stay calm, to think, to plan. It was vital that she come up with a plan.

“Aurian!” The voice in the Mage’s mind was tinged with desperation, as though its sender had been trying to gain her attention for some time. Joy shot through Aurian, so intense that it brought a lump to her throat. Shia! I’d forgotten about you!”

“So I noticed,” Shia said dryly. “I’ve been trying to penetrate that mess you call your thoughts for ages!”

“But I told you to get out of here!” Aurian protested.

“I’m well hidden—and if anyone should find me, may their gods help them!” Her voice grew soft with worry.

“Aurian—how could I leave without knowing what had happened to you?”

Briefly, the Mage told Shia what had happened. Shia spat when she heard of Raven’s treachery and subsequent betrayal. “Little fool! I never trusted her! Not for nothing have the Winged Folk been our bitterest enemies for an age and an age! But Aurian—how can you ask me to leave you in such peril? Can I do something to help?”

For a moment, Aurian dared to hope. Then she remembered Anvar, imprisoned in Aerillia, and all hope perished. Even if Shia could free her and she could elude the Archmage, Miathan must somehow be in contact with Blacktalon. If she escaped, she knew that Anvar would die long before she could come to him.

Aurian sighed. Whatever move she made, Miathan had her cornered. “No, Shia,” she told the cat. “They have Anvar as a hostage, and if you free me, he’ll die. All you can do is take the Staff and—By Ionor the Wise! Why didn’t I think of it sooner?” Aurian laughed aloud, giddy with relief. Inspiration had come to her in a blinding flash.

“WHAT?” Shia’s tone was sharp with exasperation.

Aurian made an effort to stifle her giggles, hushing Nereni’s baffled protests. “Shia, listen carefully. We believe that Anvar is being held in Aerillia. Find him as quickly as you can, and get the Staff to him. He can use it to escape!”

“Is that all?” Shia’s voice was acid. “I simply cross thirty leagues of mountains alone in winter, carrying this wretched magical thing that sets my teeth on edge. Then I penetrate the inaccessible citadel of the Winged Folk without losing the Staff, give it to Anvar—supposing he really is there and that I can find him—and trust you’ve taught him enough magic to somehow get us out of there! Have I left anything out?”

“I think you’ve covered it all,” Aurian replied with a smile. “If anyone can do it, Shia, you can.”

Shia sighed. “Very well, if this is what you want—but if I go to rescue Anvar, what will become of you?”

The hopelessness of Aurian’s position returned to her like a black and choking cloud. “Shia, I don’t know. Things are bad, and likely to get much worse.”

“Then let me get you out! I know I can do it!”

Oh, it was tempting! Aurian thought of Eliizar and Bohan, in the chill, damp dungeon. She thought of Miathan’s threat to destroy her son, and the vile touch of his hands on her body. Then she thought of Anvar. If she gave in to her fears, she would have killed him. “No!” she insisted. “Get Anvar out, Shia, then Miathan will have no hold over me. He won’t harm me until my child is born, and when that happens, I’ll get my powers back.” Her words sounded hollow to herself, but Aurian stiffened her spine. “Whatever happens, I can bear it if only Anvar can be rescued.”

Shia sighed. “Very well, we’ll do it your way. But my heart quails for you, my friend—please be careful.”

“I will, I promise. And you be careful, too. I know too well the difficulty of the task I’ve set you.”

“If I can get my teeth into some of those stinking Winged Folk, it will be well worth the journey! Farewell, Aurian. I’ll rescue Anvar, I swear, and we can both come back for you!”

“Farewell, my friend,” Aurian whispered. But the cat was already gone.

In the ragged copse below the tower an ancient tree had fallen, its roots wrenched out of the ground by the weight of its snowy burden. Shia crept stealthily out of the little cave that had been formed between the roots and the rocky side of the knoll, every sense alert for signs of the enemy. She felt a surge of grim humor as she glided forth, a slip of darkness on the shadowed snow. How clever, to hide right under the noses of these stupid men! Aurian had insisted that Shia abandon her, and her heart burned at the thought—but before she left, the cat had plans of her own! The enemy picket lines, for their horses and mules, were a short distance away through the tangle of trees. Shia crept close, her mouth watering at the luscious scent. Horsemeat was her favorite food, but while traveling with Aurian, she’d been forced to restrain herself. Her tail lashed back and forth restlessly. That’s not why you’re here! Shia reminded herself. She laid the Staff down carefully under a bush, where she could easily find it again, and tensed herself to spring—then dropped flat, muffling a snarl of frustration.

Two soldiers approached the horselines, the sound of their grumbling borne toward her on the wind, loud enough for Shia to hear every word. Communicating with Aurian had given her some understanding of man-speech, and while she lurked in the bushes, awaiting her chance to strike, she listened closely, hoping to pick up some useful information.

“By the Reaper, it’s not fair!” one man whined. “Why should we freeze out here, up to our balls in snow, while others toast their backsides in front of a roaring fire?”

“Someone must care for the beasts,” the second guard pointed out. “Besides, I would rather be outside. That Priest of the Skymen made my flesh creep!”

“All Skymen make my flesh creep,” his friend agreed.

“Why did the Prince take up with them? And if he wanted to ambush the northern witch, why not just stick a sword in her and be done with it? Then we would be in the Xandim lands by now, instead of freezing to death in this accursed wilderness! If you ask me, Harihn has lost his wits! He’s never been the same since we left the desert.”

His friend hushed him hastily. “Watch your tongue, Dalzor! If you’re caught talking treason, they’ll have your head! Anyway, we should be unloading these beasts and settling them. What if the captain comes and we’ve not yet started? It’s too cursed cold to lose skin to a flogging”

He began at the far end of the line, fumbling at buckles with frozen fingers and dumping the packs on the ground. Still grumbling, his friend began to work his way toward the other end of the line—and Shia. The animals were restless, their coats damp with fear-sweat as they scented the cat nearby.

“What’s got into the beasts?” Dalzor muttered. As he approached the nearest horse, it swung around, snorting, and barged into him, knocking him flat in the trampled snow. Cursing, he struggled to regain his feet on the slushy surface—but it was too late.