Maggie Furey - Aurian

The Lady led him to the table, and gave him taillin in her own cup. His hands were shaking as he took it. Aurian sat down opposite, holding his eyes with her steady green gaze. “Elewin tells me you killed your own mother,” she said bluntly. “Is it true?”

Anvar bit his lip, not knowing how to reply. He was terrified of invoking Miathan’s spell if he tried to tell the truth. Besides, she would never believe him.

“Well?” The Mage broke the lengthening silence. “Why won’t you speak? Are»yeu afraid?” She reached across the table to take his hand. “Look,” she said gently, “I can’t believe this, and neither can Elewin. When he heard from Janok, who was apparently told by Miathan, that you’re a murderer, he was so concerned that he came straight to me with the tale. It seems wrong to me too, Anvar. If you were accused of murder, your case should have come before Forral, but it never did. I want to hear your side. If you were wrongly bonded, I’ll do my best to set things straight.”

Anvar stared at her, unable to believe that she was on his side. “It’s no good,” he said at last. “My father was within his rights to bond me. I wasn’t old enough—by a month—to be considered a man under the law.”

“And the rest?” Aurian said softly.

Anvar struggled to hold back his tears. “How could I have killed her?” he cried. “I loved her!”

With infinite patience, Aurian coaxed the story of his mother’s death from him, though he couldn’t tell her how he had put out the fire. “It was an accident,” he finished, “but it happened because of me. My father blamed me, and signed my life away for revenge.”

Aurian shuddered. “Your father is a bastard,” she said.

“No.” Anvar shook his head, his face burning with shame. “I’m the bastard. That was why he did it.” It was the closest he could come to telling her the whole truth.

“Anvar!” Aurian’s grip on his hand tightened, and her expression grew fierce. “Listen. Even if I can’t do anything about the bonding, I won’t have you unjustly accused of murder! I’ll talk to Forral this morning. At least we can clear your name.”

From that day, Anvar’s relationship with the Mage began to change. Aurian had Forral investigate his story, and after questioning the shopkeepers of the Arcade, the Commander ruled that Ria’s death had been an accident. Aurian announced the fact within the Academy, and at last Anvar was freed from the sideways looks and accusing whispers. Only when it had gone, did he appreciate the extent of the strain he had suffered, with the false accusation hanging over him, and Mage or no, Anvar was truly grateful to his Lady.

Aurian’s kindness to him became more marked, as if she were trying to make amends for the misery he had suffered. Often, as he worked in her rooms, she would make him sit and have a glass of wine, or some taillin with her, and Anvar became aware of a new peril. As they talked, Aurian would drop in a question about his past or his family, and he’d be lost for an answer. She was so easy to talk to that he found himself in constant danger of bringing the Archmage’s terrible spell into effect. Sometimes he longed to try to confide in her, and ask her help, but though she had done so much for him, she was still a Mage, and Miathan’s favorite, and somehow he could never quite bring himself to trust her.

Nonetheless, as time went by, Anvar became increasingly concerned about his Lady. She worked too hard, as though she, like himself, were trying to drive away her troubles with activity. She would come from her sword training, or her Healing work with Meiriel, looking utterly exhausted. And Anvar, no stranger to sorrow, often wondered at the sadness that shadowed her face. She began to spend less and less time at the Garrison, eventually only going there for her morning practice. Anvar noticed this, and wondered if Aurian’s unhappiness was somehow connected with Forral.

He knew for certain, however, that Miathan was worrying her with his attentions. As the year went on, the Archmage began to visit Aurian at odd hours—late at night, or in the morning when she was bathing after her session at the Garrison. He plied her with gifts, and was always finding excuses to touch her. Anvar saw the gleam of possessive lust in the Archmage’s eyes, and he feared for her.

Since his terror of Miathan was undiminished, Anvar was unnerved by his frequent visits. When the Archmage was present, Aurian began to find excuses for her servant to be in her rooms, inventing any number of trifling tasks to keep him there. Anvar could hardly blame her—in fact, he was relieved that she had some instinct of self-protection, though he could see that she was confounded by Miathan’s behavior. Unbelievable as it seemed to him, she looked on Miathan almost as a father, and simply could not believe that he would betray her trust in him.

Aurian may have been reluctant to face the truth, but Anvar had no doubts^A$ he worked, he could feel Miathan’s eyes boring into his back, and if he turned around, he was confronted by a savage glare filled with loathing and hostility— and an unmistakable threat. The thought of crossing the Archmage made him quake with terror. Miathan was not one to be thwarted for long, and Anvar’s only protection was Aurian, for the Archmage was not ready to upset her by depriving her of her servant. But it was only a matter of time. Anvar knew that Miathan’s patience was limited, and sooner or later, matters would come to a head.

When he heard that Aurian usually visited her mother during the summer, Anvar was tormented by fear. While he knew it would benefit his Lady to get away from both Forral and Miathan for a time, he was terrified that she would leave him behind, defenseless and in the Archmage’s power. He was sure that if she did, he would not be there when she returned. He doubted that he’d even be alive.

The day before Aurian was due to leave, Anvar was sitting on her bedroom floor with an oily rag in one hand and one of her riding boots in the other. He gave a final polish to the soft brown leather, then set the boot down beside its companion and turned with a sigh to the neatly folded clothing on the bed. H«~ was supposed to be packing Aurian’s saddlebags, but was find-j ing it impossible to concentrate on his task. The Mage had sr’” not told him whether he could go with her—she’d said that some reason Miathan had refused to allow it, but she still he to persuade him. Anvar knew what that meant. He was surprised, therefore, when he heard Aurian enter her rooms lil a hurricane. The door slammed shut with a resounding crasl followed by a string of lurid curses. Anvar shuddered. Obvi^ ously, Miathan had still said no. J

Aurian stormed into her bedroom, still swearing, pulled up short at the sight of him. “Anvar! I didn’t thit you’d still be here!”

“I’m sorry, Lady—it’s taking longer than I thought.”

“Never mind—there’s no rush.” Aurian returned to thr other chamber and came back with two goblets of wine. Handing one to him, she sat down on the bed. “I’m sorry, Anvar. The Archmage just won’t budge! I don’t know what’s come over him lately—he never used to be like this!”

Though he tried to hide his fear, the glass began to shake in Anvar’s hands, and Aurian gave him a knowing, sympathetic look. “Don’t look so worried,” she said hastily. “I know you’re afraid of Miathan, but you won’t see much of him while I’m away. Finbarr and I were talking last night, and he suggested that you could help him in the Archives. He’s sorting documents just now, and it’s too much for one person to manage. Would you mind?”

Would he mind? Anvar felt giddy with relief. Ever since she had discovered that he could read, Aurian had given him the task of organizing her own researches, so by now he knew Finbarr very well. Although he was a Mage, Anvar could not help liking the clever Archivist, and as Finbarr’s servant, he knew he’d be safe. Down in the catacombs, he would be well out of Miathan’s way, though he wondered whether Finbarr would have much use for him. Knowing his Lady, Aurian had probably talked the Archivist into the idea.