Maggie Furey - Aurian

As they passed the drain that connected with the Academy catacombs, Parric heaved a sigh of relief. Not much farther now to the outfall and blessed fresh air. He was getting twitchy, bringing up the rear as he was. His instincts, developed over many years, were telling him that he was being followed. Nonsense, he told himself. Angos couldn’t track us through that maze of tunnels! But it was no good. Unable to stand it any longer, he dropped back.

“Got you!” The cloaked figure, though tall, was slimly built, and no warrior. Parric had no trouble subduing him, and at least the fellow seemed to be alone. Then to his astonishment, a series of shrieks came from the muffled figure. Without a doubt, his captive was a woman! He was about to rip the hood aside when he heard the sound of footsteps hurrying too fast for safety on the slimy walkway, and Elewin appeared, carrying a lantern. His face broke into a smile of pure relief at the sight of Parric’s captive.

“Thank the Gods you’ve found her!” Elewin exclaimed.

“Found who?” In the light of the lantern, Parric removed the woman’s hood—and gasped. “Lady Meiriel!”

The Magewoman spat in his face. “Take your hands off me!”

“What’s going on?” Vannor, accompanied by Sangra and Dulsina, came hurrying up. “Parric! We thought we’d lost you—” His eyes widened at the sight of Meiriel. “What’s she doing here?”

“Mind your own business, Mortal!”

“She escaped from the Academy.” The Mage and Elewin spoke simultaneously, then turned to glare at one another.

“You say she escaped?” Vannor’s eyes flicked from Elewin to Meiriel. “Would someone care to explain?”

“It’s simple,” the Healer said coldly. “I couldn’t Heal Miathan’s eyes, so that bitch Eliseth locked me up—”

Parric pounced on her words. “Couldn’t—or wouldn’t?”

Meiriel spared him a haughty glance. “His eyes were utterly destroyed. But even if I could have Healed him, I would not have done it. Not after his creatures murdered my Finbarr!” Her voice was thick with hate. “Anyway, I managed to escape tonight. I followed Elewin, and heard what he told you, about Aurian being alive. I must find her—”

“She’s alive? Why the blazes didn’t you tell me?” Vannor turned on Parric.

“There wasn’t time,” he protested, “with the fight—”

“Fight?” Now it was Elewin’s turn to interrupt.

Vannor nodded. “We’ve been betrayed,” he explained.

“You two must come with us,” Parric put in. “You can’t stay here now, Elewin, and it isn’t safe to leave her behind.”

“Just a minute.” Vannor confronted Meiriel. “Why do you have to find Aurian?”

“She needs my help,” the Magewoman replied. “Miathan put a curse on the child. She’s carrying a monster—”

“What!” Parric exploded. “The bastard! I’ll kill him!”

“Steady, Parric.” It took all of Vannor’s strength to restrain his friend from starting back up the tunnel. “This is not the time. We need to get away to safety before we can deal with this.”

They set off to join the other rebels at the sewer outfall, Sangra leading the way with Parric, who was still beside himself with rage and grief. Dulsina took Meiriel into her charge. As they walked, Elewjjxjdrew Vannor back, out of earshot of the others. “Listen,” he said, “Lady Meiriel may be telling the truth, but I’d caution you to take care. She may seem lucid now —but since Finbarr’s death she has been completely deranged. You’re dealing with a madwoman, Vannor. Whatever you do, don’t trust her.”

The Prince and his followers broke camp at sundown, pausing only for a quick bite of food before setting off again across the desert. Though the moon had not yet risen, there was plenty of light. The gem sands burned and twinkled in a multiplicity of crystal hues, holding the sunset glow long after it had left the sky. Wisps of sand, drifted gently across the ground by the errant night breeze, crossed their path like roaming wildfire beneath the stars. Aurian was strangely silent and preoccupied, and Anvar, riding by her side, was marveling at the surety with which Yazour seemed to find his way in this featureless land. Moved by boredom and curiosity, he rode forward to ask him how it was done.

Anvar caught the flash of Yazour’s smile beneath his veils. “Ah,” he said. “It is the magic of my people. The desert is bred into our blood, over endless generations ...” He laughed. “My friend, I’m teasing. There are ways, to be sure—the lie of the land, the drift of the dunes in the prevailing wind—but mostly I navigate by the stars!”

Anvar grimaced. “I never thought of that! I suppose it’s because the stars are so different here.”

Yazour’s eyebrows rose. “The stars are different? How strange! Tell me, Anvar, are all things different in your northern home? What is it like there?”

Anvar smiled, liking this young man, and wondered where to start. But he never got to reply, for at that moment, his horse gave a scream of pain and lurched over, stumbling and floundering in the soft gem dust. Anvar was thrown abruptly forward, struggling to keep his balance and his hold on the reins. Yazour cursed viciously and grabbed at his bridle, steadying the plunging mare and bringing her to a halt as Anvar slid down. The animal was trembling, the tip of one hind hoof barely touching the ground.

“Blood of the Reaper! It’s lame!” Yazour was examining the flinching hoof. The horror on his face went far beyond the exingencies of the situation.

“What’s wrong?” Harihn’s voice came harshly from above their heads as he pulled up his stallion beside them.

Yazour looked grim. “Anvar’s mount has been hurt.”

Harihn shrugged. “A pity,” he said coolly. “You know what to do, in that case.”

“But Your Highness—”

“See to it, Yazour!”

The warrior sighed. “My sorrow, Anvar,” he said softly. “If there were only some other way—”

“What do you mean?” Anvar was alarmed by the way Yazour was looking at him. As though he were already dead . . .

“It is the Desert Law.” Harihn’s voice was cold and remorseless. “We have no spare horses—the last went to those friends your Aurian insisted on bringing. Because we carry so little water, we cannot allow you to delay our progress to the next oasis. The Desert Law states that you must be left behind.”

“What did you say?” No one had seen Aurian approach. Her hand was on the hilt of her sword. She pushed back her veils, and her eyes glinted with a fey, steely light as she advanced on Harihn. “If you think I’ll let you leave Anvar here to die, then think again, Prince.”

“Lady, stay out of this. There can be no exceptions to the Law!” Harihn beckoned, and a ring of soldiers materialized around the Mage, their crossbows cocked and poised. “Will you fight my entire army for the sake of one man?” the Prince asked softly. Aurian’s cold eyes blazed. “Don’t make the mistake of threatening me,” she growled. Shia, at her side, punctuated her words with a menacing snarl. The Mage pointed a finger at the Prince. “I could strike you down before those bolts had time to reach me. Would you care to reconsider?”

“Lower those weapons!” Yazour snapped. The troops, schooled to a man, obeyed their captain instantly.

“How dare you!” Harihn spat.

“He has more sense than you,” Aurian said, dismounting.

“I’m sure we can solve this problem without violence, Harihn. Anvar, let me see your horse.”

Anvar held the horse while the Mage, frowning with concentration, knelt to examine the injured hoof. “Hmm,” she murmured softly, “nothing to see—but what’s this?”