Maggie Furey - Aurian

“Don’t you remember? I found it, Anvar! The Staff of Earth!” From a fold in her robe, where its dazzling light had been concealed, Aurian produced the Staff—and Anvar quailed ’ from the power that pulsed through its slender, glowing length. This was the source of the fire that imbued the Mage. But . . . Anvar frowned. Those were his carvings—he’d know them anywhere. It was Aurian’s old staff—but changed. At the top, where there had been no ornamentation, the twin heads of the serpents reared up, holding between them, in their open jaws, a green gem whose incandescence could outshine the very sun. Anvar shielded his eyes, unable to look directly at the brilliant stone.

Aurian tucked the Staff back into her robe, shielding its light. “When I learn to control it properly . . .” She spoke calmly, but her eyes blazed with a savage excitement. “At last we’ll have a weapon against Miathan!”

Anvar shuddered, suddenly afraid, thinking of the earthquake that had almost killed them all, and remembering what the Archmage had done with the Caldron. Would Aurian create such ruin in her pursuit of revenge?

Anvar noticed that Aurian’s face was taut with strain. She was struggling to keep her voice light and calm as she continued, speaking too quickly to give him a chance to interrupt. “I Healed those scrapes of yours—they were full of dirt from the edge of that chasm—so you’re bound to feel drained for a while. Nereni will get us something to eat, and I’m going to awaken Raven now. She was so hysterical that I put her to sleep for a while. Before she wakes I want to try to do something about language. She can understand us, but now we’re back with the others, there’ll be problems. If I can fix it for her to understand the speech of the Khazalim, we’ll all be able to communicate.” “Can you do that?” Anvar was surprised. “Well—I’ve never heard of such a thing being tried before, but I think I could manage. Remember, her people were Magefolk before they lost their powers. The understanding of languages should lie within her—if only I can free it.” But before he could speak again, Aurian was gone.

“Are you well?” Nereni sounded anxious. Anvar had forgotten she was there. “Just tired,” he told her.

Nereni nodded. “No wonder you were shaken,” she said. “Down here, we thought the mountain was about to collapse!” With a worried frown, she glanced across at Eliizar, who was tending Shia and Bohan. Though they seemed little the worse for their experiences, the Swordmaster’s face was ashen.

“Anvar.” Nereni hesitated. “What did happen up there? What caused the earthquake? Aurian has changed—enough to frighten Eliizar out of his wits when you came through the wall at the back of the cavern.”

So that was where they had come out! Anvar had been wondering how Aurian had brought them back. “Weren’t you afraid of her?” he asked, avoiding her questions.

Nereni shrugged. “I hardly know—I was so relieved to see you all, I never thought ...” She smiled confidingly. “Sometimes, I think women are more practical than men—but never let Eliizar hear that I said so! Anyway, you must eat. I will prepare us some food, then perhaps you will tell me how you found that one!” She gestured at Raven, who was awake now, and conversing quietly with Aurian in, Anvar noted with surprise, the language of the Khazalim. I would never have believed she could do it, he thought, and shuddered inwardly, wondering what other powers might now be at the Mage’s disposal.

After a time Aurian persuaded Raven to meet the others around the fire, and Anvar was relieved to see the winged girl responding gratefully to Nereni’s mothering. While they ate, night fell across the desert outside. Aurian looked across at Anvar. “I think the time has come to tell our friends what brought us to the South.”

With that, she began to give the others a brief history of Miathan’s perfidy, which had brought herself and Anvar to the Southern Lands. Anvar noted that she had omitted all mention of Forral, and the fact that the two Mages were not wedded as they claimed, and wondered. But perhaps she was right. It did no harm, and given the customs of these people, surely it was more convenient to keep up the charade for a little longer? Without giving anyone time to speak, she plunged on into what had happened within the mountain, and how she had come to possess the Staff of Earth.

Anvar was certain that Aurian was leaving things out of this part of her tale. They had become so close after she had saved his life in the slave camp that he instinctively knew when she was hiding something. He felt a growing sense of unease. Why had Aurian left out what had happened after they’d parted that night? What had drawn her to the emerald tower? She claimed that the door had opened when she had leaned on it. A complete fabrication—he knew as much from trying the same thing himself. Anvar struggled with his suspicion. What was she trying to conceal?

“Then the dragon said I had proved that the Sword was crafted for me.” Aurian’s words brought Anvar abruptly out of his worried thoughts. “You have the Sword?”

The Mage shook her head. “It was sent into hiding. The Dragonfolk gave it to the Phaerie to take beyond the world. If the Seers were correct, they’ll return it when word of this new evil reaches them. The dragon told me I must find it, and circumvent the traps set to guard it. He said that the Phaerie have an incentive to fulfill their side of the bargain, and when the Sword is returned to the world, its presence should draw me to it sooner or later.”

Silence followed het words. All eyes were riveted on the Mage. Anvar tried to meet her eyes, but she bit her lip and looked away. “What about the missing parts of the story?” he demanded. “How did you get into that tower? How did you know to go there in the first place? If this dragon exists, where is he now? And, more to the point, what did you do to cause the destruction of the city?”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Aurian’s voice was dangerously quiet. Anvar saw hurt and disappointment on the Mage’s face, and knew that he was being hard on her, and unfair perhaps. But he had to know the truth. The Staff was to powerful to risk her becoming corrupted, as Miathan had been with the Caldron. Thinking of that, he became uncomfortably aware of the others listening to his words. Eliizar’s face was rigid with fear and mistrust at all this talk of sorcery, and suddenly Anvar understood the age-old Magefolk compulsion to keep their business to themselves. This was between himself and Aurian. “We need to talk,” he told her in a low voice, using their own language—but his words were drowned by the staccato ring of hooves on stone. Anvar turned to see the veiled and shadowy figure of a lone horseman riding through the cavern entrance, ducking low to avoid the lintel, the draft of his passage making the torches flicker and smoke. Eliizar let out a whoop of joy. “Yazour!”

They crowded round the young captain, all talking at once, other considerations forgotten for the moment. Yazour loosed the string of horses he had been leading, and the thirsty beasts, used to the ways of Dhiammara, made their way up the ramp to the upper pool, taking their burdens with them. Nereni persuaded everyone to stop crowding the tired man long enough for him to sit by the fire, where they all crowded around him again, their faces expectant.

Yazour took a grateful swig from the water sack and rubbed a hand over his dusty and unshaven face, looking round at them all. “All here—including our missing Lady! I see you found the supplies, then—And who is this?” He looked won-deringly at Raven, who smiled back shyly.

Eliizar grinned, plainly much more at ease now that another warrior had returned. “I win our wager,” he told Yazour, “You see—the Winged Folk da exist!’1