Maggie Furey - Aurian

Aurian soon found Forral to be right. The people of Nexis had their own lives to lead, and before very long she had ceased to be the victim of their embarrassing attentions. Freed from their unwelcome curiosity and her new notoriety, and with the Garrison prospering in Maya’s familiar, capable hands, she and Forral were soon free to resume their interrupted vacation.

After a while, their days settled into a pattern. Sometimes they would simply walk around the city and see the sights, and Aurian discovered a new fascination in hunting around the merchants’ booths, with their silks and velvets, their jewels and perfume and combs. Now that she was in Forral’s company, she suddenly found herself taking an unprecedented interest in her appearance. Though she considered the elaborate gowns that were currently in fashion among the city’s women too impractical for words, the landlord of the Fleet Deer was more than ready to direct her to the best dressmakers, and his wife, who considered herself an expert in taste and style, was happy to advise her. The gray Mages’ robes that Aurian usually wore were soon consigned to the back of the closet in favor of bright, well-cut new garments, and she “was^ staggered by her own transformation. Forral was very tolerant. “You spend what you like,” he said, grinning. “The Archmage is paying for it, after all.”

Though Aurian possessed more than her share of Magefolk pride, she had never been particularly vain about her appearance. Yet the swordsman’s reaction to her new finery was both gratifying and disturbing. Time after time, she would find him looking at her—but when she caught his eye, he would quickly turn away. To make matters worse, Aurian found herself playing this watching game. She found a strange new fascination in the white flash of Forral’s smile through his grizzled beard, or the play of muscles in his brawny, sword-scarred limbs as he moved, despite his bulk, with the silent grace of the born swordsman. She would see his powerful, blunt-fingered, capable hands and marvel that so much strength could be combined with such gentleness. She’d imagine them touching her, caress-??? would check herself sharply, in Aurian s childhood. Since Forml’s recurn, a new restraint had grown between them—a tension, half guilt, half excitement, that underscored their friendship. Yet for all that, they were inseparable. Each tried their hardest to pretend that nothing had changed, though Aurian’s heart would lift in the most unsettling manner whenever he entered the room, and her senses were swamped by a giddy, breathless feeling of happiness when he was close to her. But she had always been this glad to see him . . . hadn’t she? “It’s all right,” Aurian would tell herself, as she lay awake in the night in her small, white-walled room at the inn. “It’s only that we’re old friends who’ve been apart for so long. We need to get used to each other again, that’s all.” And as time went on, she almost started to believe it. With familiarity, the tensions between them seemed to be easing—a little.

On some evenings, they would meet Vannor, or Maya and Parric, if he was in the city, and spend happy hours talking and carousing in one of the city’s many inns. It was on these nights that Aurian found herself warming more and more to Maya’s company, and the two women soon found themselves well on the way to becoming the^closest of friends.

On days when the weather was fine, the Mage and Forral, and sometimes Maya, if she could spare the time, would borrow horses from the Garrison and take a picnic into the hilly countryside around Nexis, or hire a boat to sail the dozen or so miles downriver to the sea. Aurian had never seen the sea before, but she loved it. They would swim in the invigorating, strangely buoyant waters, and spend hours basking on the sands. Her body lost the pallor it had gained from years of indoor study, and her physical strength began to return. Hoping it might help to get their friendship back on its old, familiar footing, Aurian, with Maya’s enthusiastic support, nagged Forral into agreeing to resume her sword training. He was reluctant at first, because the accident of so many years ago was still fresh in his mind. But Aurian knew that he was secretly pleased. She still had her sword, which Miathan had returned to her, and the thought that she’d soon be using it again helped to cheer her up when at last the vacation was over.

Finally the day arrived when Forral was due to take up his new duties as Commander of the Garrison, and the young Mage had to return to the Academy. Seeking an excuse to linger a little longer in one another’s company, they decided to delay Aurian’s return with a last shopping expedition in the Grand Arcade, an interconnecting scries of pillared stone halls housing hundreds of little shops and stalls that catered to the well-heeled section of the Nexis community. It was said that virtually anything could be bought there—if one had enough money. Most of the endless variety of goods on display were far beyond the means of Aurian and Forral, but they enjoyed wandering up and down the brightly lit aisles, planning what they would buy if they ever became rich.

At last, footsore and hungry, they stopped at a baker’s shop, lured by a glorious aroma of warm, fresh bread. While Forral was buying pasties from the woman behind the counter, a young man emerged from the back of the shop carrying a tray of loaves. Aurian saw him stop and stare at the swordsman, his blue eyes suddenly widening. As they walked away from the shop, Aurian noticed that Forral was frowning. “Never mind,” she said. “The vacation may be over, but we can still see a lot of each other.”

Forral shook his head. “It isn’tjthat,” he replied. “It was that lad in the baker’s shop—I’m sure I know him from somewhere, but I can’t think where.”

Anvar was disappointed. He’d hoped for some acknowledgment from the swordsman, but Forral had obviously failed to remember him. But a man who kept company with one of those arrogant Magefolk—even if it was the one who was said to have brought the rain (which he privately doubted)—would scarcely have time for a common baker’s son. He shrugged, and set down the heavy tray. “That’s the lot,” he told his mother. “I’ll mind the shop now, if you want to rest.”

Ria shook her head. “Thank you, dear, but I’m fine. Why don’t you go now? IJcnow you’re meeting Sara this evening.”

“Are you sure?” Since Tori had bought the shop, Ria’s life had become much easier, but Anvar still liked to spare his mother whenever he could.

Ria smiled, and hugged him. “Of course. It’s almost closing time anyway, and it’s a lovely evening. You two youngsters enjoy yourselves—oh, and give my love to Sara.”

“Thanks, Mother.” Anvar hugged her, and taking off his white apron, he dashed out of the shop.

As he made his way out of the arcade and down to the river, Anvar couldn’t help reflecting on the changes that had taken place in his life since he had last seen Forral. When Grandpa died, Tori had found a chest in the old man’s room, filled with clever, wonderfully detailed carvings of birds, animals, and people. As was often the case, the death of the artist pushed the prices up, and Grandpa’s consummate works of art soon became fashionable among the rich folk of the city. With such patronage, Tori soon had enough money to put the next phase of his business into action. His idea was simple but cunning. He bought the shop in the Arcade, and though the only premises he could afford were too small for a bakery, he installed a single oven in the back. Stocks of almost-baked loaves were brought down from the old bakery by horse and cart to be finished in the little oven, and soon the mouth-watering smell of fresh bread was wafting through the Arcade, bringing in the customers in droves.