Maggie Furey - Aurian

He had failed—he knew it instantly. Air and Water, the elements of Weather-magic, were foreign to the Staff, and so its power was limited. Anvar, inexperienced as he was, used it clumsily, without the deadly precision that Aurian might have commanded. The focus of his power was weak and uncoordinated, dissipating before it reached its target to leave him exposed to attack.

“Dead and buried, Anvar! Flayed, dead, and buried without trace!” Eliseth’s shrieking laughter mocked the Mage as she lashed back at him with the full force of the storm. He dropped to his knees, bleeding and choking, mauled by the gnawing teeth of the dust . . .

A hand—groping—catching at his sleeve ... It found Anvar’s wrist—then his hand that still clutched the Staff. The hand clasped his own, tightening his fingers round the serpent-carved wood. Then came the touch of Aurian’s mind—not an intrusion, but a tentative questing—a touch more gentle, more intimate, than any physical caress. Though the Mage had lost her power, their minds had been linked through the power of the Staff, which he had carved, and she had imbued with magic. Ah, such closeness! Anvar knew, without question, what Aurian sought. Gladly, trustingly, he surrendered his powers ro her, holding them out for her, putting them into her hands.

“Now!” Anvar never knew whether she had cried the word aloud, or simply into his mind. She snatched his magic, wove it into the Staff’s power, and forged it into a shield. Such was the force of her act that the sand underfoot was blasted away from them, leaving them kneeling in a shallow crater as the storm’s fury ceased once more.

Far away in Nexis, Eliseth staggered backward as her magic rebounded against a solid wall of power, recoiling against her like a physical blow. The building shook as though in the grip of an earthquake and she was spun across the floor of the weather-dome, colliding with the great map table and striking her head as she feJl.

“Eliseth! What’s happening? I could feel the magic clear inside the Mages’ Tower—” It was Bragar. He lifted the dazed Weather-Mage to her feet, his shields springing up to form a fiery wall around them both, protecting her from the vicious backlash of magic.

For once, Eliseth was genuinely glad to see him. “Aurian!” she gasped. “She attacked me!” Bragar must not discover that she was disobeying Miathan’s orders—he was too craven to join such an overt rebellion, and she needed his help.

“What? But how?” Bragar wore his usual expression of perplexity. “The Archmage said she’d lost her powers—”

“He was wrong!” Eliseth was already gathering her scattered thoughts into the beginnings of a new plan. Anvar she could defeat, but he and Aurian together were too much. But if she could sunder them . . . And there was a way, she knew: one weak link in Aurian’s defenses that had always existed. But Eliseth was not prepared to risk exposing herself again to the power of the two renegades. Not when she had poor, malleable Bragar to do it for her! Turning to the Fire-Mage, Eliseth gave him her most seductive smile. “I’m sorry, Bragar, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m so glad you’f? come,” she murmured, “for only you can help me now.”

“Don’t worry, Eliseth, I’ll protect you!” Bragar cried. Gods, he was so simple! Chuckling inwardly, the Magewoman quickly outlined her plan.

“I’m ready,” Bragar cried. The Weather-Mage looked with satisfaction at the sturdy, flaming barrier that he was maintaining with all his strength. If her ruse should fail, then she, at least, should be protected from the consequences! Sheltered safely behind the shields of Bragar’s magic, Eliseth turned her will back to Aurian and began to weave an illusion, and an irresistible lure . . .

The minds of Aurian and Anvar were still linked, through their clasped hands upon the Staff. There was comfort in their touch, and strength. Aurian, not daring to let go even for a second, used her free hand to wipe the blood and sand from her face. Beyond their shield, the storm still ravened, though its impetus had slackened now.

“We didn’t finish her, did we?” Anvar’s thought came into the Mage’s mind, as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.

“No,” Aurian replied. “We shook her—but she’ll be back.”

In wordless communion, they reviewed their options. Should they risk dropping the shield to strike at Eliseth before she could recover herself, or try to maintain it for the length of time it would take them to reach the desert’s edge? It would be a long walk—their horses were gone, and would certainly be dead by now. It was Shia who settled the matter. The great cat huddled flat to the ground with her paws over her eyes, unable to function beneath the onslaught of the magic that existed within their shield. She would never make it, Aurian knew. She looked at Anvar, knowing that in that moment they reached a decision, their minds in total harmony. They would fight.

Aurian rose unsteadily to her feet, still clutching tightly to Anvar’s hand, which held the Staff. Once more she took up his raw power, and that of the Staff of Earth, combining them with the skilled force of her will and feeling buoyed and strengthened by the closeness of his touch. Abandoning the shield, she gathered herself . . ,

And froze. Through the drifting curtains of dust, a figure came walking—the familiar, spectral shape of her lost love. Forral was calling . . . Spellbound by the apparition, Aurian let go of Anvar, taking her hand from the Staff and sundering their link. Unaware that she had left them at the mercy of the storm, she moved like a sleepwalker toward the specter of the murdered warrior. Shielding her eyes with her hands from the stinging sand and peering between her fingers through its whiplash skeins she saw him moving just beyond her reach as he had in Dhiammara, beckoning to her to follow him into the teeth of the storm.

“Forral . . .” The word was little more than a whisper. The Mage took a faltejiqg step forward, then another . . .

I

Aurian felt, rather than saw, that Anvar had restored the shield. As the sand around her dropped and settled, he came from behind her with an inarticulate curse. A rough hand grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back, and he barged past her, blocking her view of Forral’s ghostly form. “No! You can’t have her!” he howled.

“Let me go!” Aurian shrieked. “Forral, wait!” As she struggled with Anvar, the shield faltered once more, then held, but though he was burdened by the need to keep up their only defense, he still held her back. “You had your chance!” he shouted at the specter. “Aurian belongs with the living! Get away from here! Leave us alone!”

“Aurian, no!” Shia’s mental voice was filled with anguish. From the corner of her eye, the Mage saw the great cat struggling desperately to rise, and falling back, defeated. But caught as she was in the lure of Eliseth’s spell, even this failed to move her. “Let go, damn you!” she spat at Anvar. She lashed out, striking him across the face.

Anvar caught her wrist, so tightly that Aurian gasped with pain. The side of his face was branded with the mark of her hand and his expression was tight with misery, but his eyes burned. “That’s the second time you’ve hit me for saving your life. I thought you were over that nonsense.”

“You don’t understand!” Aurian yelled. “I love him!” “I don’t understand?” Anvar’s face was twisted into a tortured mask with the strain of fighting a battle on two fronts, maintaining his shield off” the one hand, while struggling to restrain the Mage. “Forral is dead,” he told her brutally. Aurian flinched, hating him in that moment, but his fingers were locked about her wrist, preventing her escape as he smote her with the unbearable, implacable truth. “He’s dead, you fool, but you’re alive—and so is your babe. You have no right to rob it of its chance for life. This is absolutely wrong, and you know it.” Anvar looked straight into her eyes. “I understand because I love you—and if I were in Forral’s position, I’d love you too much to want to kill you and our child.”