Maggie Furey - Aurian

It was almost too easy, with all this energy at her disposal. Later, Aurian was to realize that what had taken ages in out-of-her-body time was scant seconds in reality. When a thick layer of cloud had capped the city’s valley like a black and sinister lid, she returned to her body, gathered her power, and struck . . .

A bolt of lighting arced down, splintering into forks as it came. In the distance, a rumble of thunder rolled down the river valley . . . Rain! Aurian thought, reaching up to the low-trailing streamers of cloud. Half connected as she was to her body, it felt as though she were clawing at the blue-black canopy, using her fingers to drag the precious moisture down from the skies . . .

She came abruptly back to herself as the downpour hit. It came all at once, in a solid, heavy sheet, Instantly, Aurian’s hair was flattened over her face. She found it hard to breathe, as though she were underwater. It was cold. It extinguished the fire in an instant.

Reluctantly, Aurian pulled herself away from the glory of the elements. Only then, did she hear the cheering of the crowd. The riot had vanished in an instant, as though the rain had washed the fear and fury away. People were capering in the square, swinging each other about in wild, giddy dances, men and women alike. The man on the horse was picking his careful way through the celebrating crowd, heading toward the merchants’ position,

“What have you done?”

Aurian whirled, shocked, to find herself face-to-face with Forral. He’d used the crumbling brickwork of the building to pull himself up to her balcony. “How did you do it? It was you, wasn’t it? How dare you put yourself in such danger? Don’t you remember why I was called back here in the first place?”

Forral’s smoke-blackened face was grim and his voice was harsh with anger as his big hands gripped her shoulders. Aurian shrunk away, remembering the day when he had caught her in the forest, playing with fireballs.

Then her Magefolk pride asserted itself, and she pulled herself erect. How dare he treat her as if she were still a child!

Her reaction was the last thing that Forral had expected. Aurian wrenched herself violently out of his grasp, and for the first time, he realized that she was as tall as he, if not slightly taller. Her chin tilted proudly, and her eyes blazed with cold fire in a face that was white with anger. In her wrath she was a true Mage, and truly intimidating! The storm above him seemed to grow in sympathy with her rage. A bolt of lightning splintered the roof of a nearby building.

“How dare you!” Aurian spat. “How dare you abandon me all this time, and return for less than a day, before trying to kill yourself! And what gives you the right to keep me from helping?”

Forral backed away hastily, and knew it for a retreat. By no means a stupid man, he suddenly realized that his relationship with Aurian was going to need a lot of rethinking. But Gods, she was so magnificent in her rage—so beautiful, standing proud and tall, like a spirit of the storm, with fire-ice flashing from her eyes. In that moment, Forral was lost, “I . , ,” he stammered. Whatever he had meant to say was drowned in a thunder of hooves as a company of warriors rode into the square. The troopers had arrived at last, Forral turned back to Aurian. She was still facing him, proud and uncompromising, with a challenging question in her eyes. The swordsman grinned, and clapped her hard on the shoulder—the typical comradely gesture between warriors. He chuckled as he saw her eyes widen with surprise. “Well done, lass!” he told her. “Well done, indeed! You’ve saved the day!”

An hour later, a solemn conference of leaders gathered in the private dining room of the Flee^Deer. The room was warm with lamplight, for the heavy black clouds of Aurian’s storm still hung overhead, turning the summer afternoon into twilight. Rain drummed on the streaming pavements outside, and ran in rivulets down the diamond-leaded casements.

The fawning landlord, flattered to have so many influential people beneath his roof, served them great, brimming tankards of dark ale, and platters of fruit, cold meats, and cheese, Aurian looked sourly at the food. Granted, there wasn’t a lot here, but to the hungry folk who had started the riot, it would have been a feast. For the first time, she wondered why the Magefolk rations had been singled out in the market.

As everyone settled round the table, Aurian looked at the assembled faces, searching her memory to put a name to each of the folk who had so recently been introduced to her. Seated on Forral’s right was a tough-looking, stocky man with close-cropped hair and beard: Vannor, Head of the Merchants’ Guild. To Aurian’s left sat a small, slender woman in leather fighting garb. Her tanned limbs were corded with muscle, and her dark braids, still jeweled with raindrops, were wrapped round her head, warrior-fashion. This was Lieutenant Maya, Second-in-Command of the Garrison. She was frowning and ill at ease, biting her lip and twisting her hands in her lap. Beyond her was Parric, the Cavalrymaster, a short, brown, wiry figure (were all these Garrison warriors small? Aurian wondered,) with thinning brown hair and laugh lines on his face. But he was not laughing now.

Aurian felt uneasy herself, among these grim-faced strangers. Never before had she been surrounded by so many Mortals! To ease her anxiety she picked up the huge pewter tankard, brimming with ale. She had never drunk ale before—the Magefolk, who drank wine, scorned it as common stuff and only fit for Mortals. It took both her hands to lift the tankard, and she grimaced as she took a sip of the foaming brew. Gods! How could the others sit there and quaff this bitter stuff! She took another hasty sip to stop herself choking, reluctant to lose face before these Mortals. But Vannor had noticed. He grinned at her sympathetically, and gave her a sly wink, miming that she should keep on drinking. Shyly, Aurian smiled back, and tried again. Ah, this time if-didn’t taste quite so bad! Maybe it was something you had to get used to.

Vannor cleared his throat and stood up, resting his hands on the table. “Well,” he said bluntly, “we didn’t come here to sit all afternoon drinking ale. We’d best get started—and I can’t think of a better way to start than by thanking the Lady Aurian for bringing the rain, and for releasing that Magefolk food to those in need of it. Lady, as Head of the Merchants’ Guild, I’m most grateful—as are the folk of Nexis.” Turning to her, he bowed.

Aurian felt her face grow hot with embarrassment at such a public compliment. Moreover, he’d used her honorific title as a Mage, and it was the first time she had been formally addressed that way.

“I . . .” Lost for words, she spread her hands helplessly. “What else could I have done?”

“Well said, Lady!” Vannor’s voice rang out in approval.

Aurian thought it might be a good time to broach the question that had been bothering her. “Sir,” she began.

“Vannor, please, Lady.” He smiled at her. “I’ve got no use for these fancy titles. Just call me Vannor.”

Aurian returned his smile. “Then call me Aurian—just Aurian.” She wondered why he looked surprised at her words, and why Forral was beaming with approval. “Anyway,” she went on, somewhat flustered by the exchange. “I wondered . . . Well, this place has food”—she pointed at the plates on the table—“and it can’t be the only one, I’m sure. Why wasn’t this shared among the people? And why was the wagon of the Magefolk singled out by the mob?”

Vannor seemed taken aback, and to her astonishment, he seemed unable to meet her eyes. Forral, a half smile on his face, was watching the exchange with keen interest. At last the merchant found his voice. “Lady—Aurian—in a way, you’re right. There’s injustice in Nexis. The rich look after themselves, and the poor—well, they manage as best they can. Those who can’t, must sell themselves as bondservants for a term of years, or in the case of heavy debt, for life. It’s nothing but legal slavery!” He scowled. “I do what I can on the Council—I was poor myself, once—but the trouble is, as Head of the Merchants’ Guild, I represent a lot of rich people. If they don’t like what I do, I’ll be voted out, and they’d replace me with someone who didn’t give a hang about the poor! So I walk a fine line . . .” He sighed. “Aurian, I have to tell you that I get no help on the Council from the Archmage, or from his puppet, Rioch.” He directed a piercing glance at Forral, and Aurian saw the big man suddenly stop smiling. Vannor turned his gaze back to Aurian. “Can you deny that Miathan despises all Mortals, rich or poor?”