Maggie Furey - Aurian

Wan dawnlight shone through the crystal walls of their dwelling. Bohan was packing up the remains of their supper while Raven watched wide-eyed from a corner. “What is happening?” she asked. “What has become of the Mage?”

Anvar almost choked on his resentment. If she hadn’t decided to saddle them with her problems . . . “Come on, you!” he said harshly, yanking her to her feet. When they got outside, Shia was already quartering the ground. “Cats don’t usually hunt by scent,” she told him, “but I think I can track her. It looks as though she went into the city.”

Gradually the dazzle faded from her vision. Aurian could see once more—and could scarcely believe what her eyes were telling her. The hall of the sunburst had vanished completely, and she stood in a vast chamber that was formed entirely of gold: walls, floor, and rounded ceiling. In the center was a towering, haphazard heap of gold and gems, and on top of it— Aurian had to steel herself not to run. Couched on the jeweled pile, lit by a single ray of buttery sunlight that streamed through an opening in the apex of the dome, was a huge golden dragon!

The Mage drew her sword and backed away, looking for a means of escape. There was none. Apart from the aperture in the high ceiling, the room had no exits at all. Aurian suffered a nasty moment or two before she noticed that the dragon’s eyes were closed, and that it had not moved an inch since she’d first set eyes on it. She remembered the devious time trap. The Dragonfolk were famed for their cunning—could it be feigning sleep to lure her closer?

Nonsense, Aurian told herself firmly. Why, something that size could catch you in seconds, if it wanted to take the trouble! Squinting against the flaring golden light, she peered at the motionless creature, reluctant to go any closer, and saw at last the reason for its stillness. The bluish glimmer was difficult to see against the gilded brightness of the dragon’s scales, but it was undoubtedly there. Someone had imprisoned it—taken it out of time using the same spell that Finbarr had taught her so long ago! Her Magefolk curiosity winning out, Aurian crept closer to the slumbering monster.

It was difficult not to be afraid, though she knew that the dragon was helpless. It was immense, easily big enough to fill the Great Hall of the Academy, Aurian thought. But it was beautiful, with the sun highlighting the elegant lines of its sinuous body. It lay curled like a sleeping cat, its slender, tapering tail draped across its fearsome jaws, its vast wings stretched protectively over its treasure. Those wings! Aurian was fascinated by them. They were ribbed like the wings of a bat, but between the golden struts was stretched a fragile, translucent membrane spangled with darkly gleaming scales in a silver network of veining like the thin wire that bound the grip of her sword. The Mage recalled both Yazour and Ithalasa saying that dragons fed by absorbing the sun’s energy directly through their wings. It looked as though they had been right.

“Well, now what?” Her muttered words sounded obscenely loud in the stillness of the chamber. Aurian fought the conviction that she had been lured here by the mysterious power for a reason—to do the most foolhardy thing that she had ever contemplated. She had been deliberately led to this place, but whether it was for her benefit, that was another matter! Yet when she looked at the magnificent dragon, she found herself moved to unexpected sympathy. Poor thing, she thought. How long have you been trapped like that? Well, I only hope you’re grateful . . . Backing away to what she fervently hoped was a safe distance, Aurian took the staff from her belt and began to unravel the spell.

As she did so, an intense feeling of Tightness washed over the Mage—a confidence that suddenly vanished, leaving her weak-kneed, as the dragon raised its head. Huge faceted eyes of slumbering fire pinned her to the spot with an unblinking stare. The dragon opened its mouth, showing teeth like curved and gleaming swords—and Aurian’s fear turned to sheer delight as the air of the chamber came alive with light and music. Whirls of pure, ever-changing color flowed across the ceiling and walls. The air flickered and flashed with shifting tatters of rainbow. The colors danced and swirled to a music so pure, so utterly perfect that the Mage’s eyes filled with tears. Rounded and mellifluous but strengthened with an underlying metallic edge, the fluent cascade of notes was hard and mellow as gold. As Aurian stood, lost in wonder, her powers were hard at work analyzing, remembering, finding patterns. After a time, meaning began to emerge from the breathtaking display of light and sound. This was the speech of the Dragonfolk!

“I said, who awakens me?” There was an edge of irritation in the fluid fall of notes, underlaid with a plangent yearning. “Why do you not answer? Are you the One, come at last?”

After the dragon’s music, Aurian’s voice sounded dull and feeble to her ears. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “Am I?”

The dragon seemed to have no trouble understanding her. Its chuckle sent prisms of light bouncing through the chamber, making the colors tremble and dance. “You have courage and honesty, at any rate. If you passed the first test by unsealing the temple door, there is hope, at least!” “I opened that door?”

The creature snorted. “Of course! This temple has been sealed for centuries, ever since the Dragonfolk quit Dhiammara! Our Wise Ones decided that since we departed in sorrow, after the Cataclysm, then sorrow would be the key for the One to unlock our ancient wisdom once more. Your tears were the only thing that could open that door, Wizard.” The dragon cocked its massive head, looking at her sidelong. “I take it they were your tears?

The Mage was taken aback. “Well, of course they were! I— I was grieving for someone very dear to me, who died . . .”

“Grief, eh? Most appropriate.” There was smugness in the dragon’s tone.

Aurian clenched her fists, “I’m glad you think so!” she snapped. “Personally, I don’t find it particularly clever to make use of another’s suffering!”

“Who are you to question the wisdom pf the Dragonfolk,’’” Aurian was flattened by the dragon’s roar. The colored lights of its speech exploded into jagged shards of white lightning that seared into her vision. The Mage picked herself up and glared at him, so angered by his bullying arrogance that she forgot to be afraid. “Who am I?” she cried. “I am Aurian, daughter of Geraint, Fire-Mage. My father died trying to unlock the secrets of the Dragonfolk’s so-called wisdom, so don’t expect me to be impressed with your powers! Spare me your games, dragon. I have no time for them! The Magefolk—Wizards, you used to call them—have turned to evil. The Caldron has been found, and the Nihilim let loose into the world. What, in your infinite wisdom, do you suggest I do about that?”

The dragon’s eyes flared bright crimson. “Then the ancient prophecies have come true! You must be the One!”

“The one? Which one?” Aurian realized that she was shouting. “I don’t understand!”

“I see that the centuries have done little to moderate the infamous Wizardly temper,” the dragon snapped. It rattled its wings in irritation, sending a small avalanche of gold and gems cascading musically down its sloping treasure pile. “I speak of the Sword, you imbecile! Chierannath, Sword of Flame, whose making was preordained by the greatest of our Seers, to combat the misuse of the other Great Weapons! You dare speak to me of loss and grief? I, who have been sundered from my people, from my friends and loved ones, to wait here, frozen in time, until the Sword should be needed! My task, ignorant one, is to identify the One for whom it was forged. And now you have come, disturbing my slumber with your questions and your puny rage!”