Maggie Furey - Aurian

As she lugged her heavy saddlebags up the stairs of the Mages’ Tower, Aurian found herself wishing that Anvar had been there to help. Somehow, she’d been disappointed not to find him standing in the courtyard waiting for her. “Aurian, you are an idiot,” she told herself, as she panted her way up the steps. “How could he possibly know you were coming? Besides, he has better things to do!”

All thoughts of Anvar vanished as she let herself into her rooms. Miathan was already there, waiting for her. “My dearest Aurian!” The Archmage stepped forward, hands outstretched in welcome. “I saw you ride into the courtyard from my window. How glad I am that you’re safely home!”

Aurian stepped back hastily from his effusive greeting, dropping her saddlebags. As Miathan’s arms went round her, she felt herself stiffen with panic. How had he managed to get into her rooms? She’d thought that she and Anvar had the only keys. Had something happened to her servant? She flinched away from the fey brightness of Miathan’s eyes, the excitement betrayed by his jerky movements. It had been easy, while she was away, to convince herself that his odd behavior had all been her imagination, but suddenly she knew better. And now, at last, he had her alone.

As he left the library, Anvar saw Aurian’s horse standing patiently outside the door of the Mages’ Tower, and all thoughts of his amazing discovery in the catacombs fled. “My Lady!” he cried joyfully. “She’s back!” He raced across the courtyard and up the tower stairs, followed by a smiling Finbarr.

“No! Get away from me, Miathan!” Aurian’s cry rang out just as Anvar and Finbarr reached_her.quarters. Anvar gasped with horror. The Archmage! He tugged frantically at the handle of the door, but it was locked. Without thinking, he threw himself at the door, hammering loudly on the wooden panels, and heard the Archmage curse. After a moment, the door was flung open.

The hem of Miathan’s robe was tattered and smoldering, and his hands were blistered and black with soot. His face was livid with rage. “How dare you interrupt me,” he snarled, raising his hand to strike, but Finbarr stepped forward quickly between the Archmage and his prey, and Anvar blessed the Archivist’s presence of mind as Miathan drew back quickly with a stifled oath.

“I interrupted you, Miathan,” Finbarr said calmly, for all the world as though nothing were amiss. “You must excuse the servant’s excitement—we’ve made an incredible discovery in the Archives that you must see at once.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed past the dumbfounded Archmage and entered the room. Anvar followed him quickly—and stopped dead, at the sight of his mistress.

Aurian was backed into a corner, her clothes torn and her eyes blazing with anger. Her hair, untangled from its intricate braiding, swept almost to the floor in a tide of crimson. Her hand was drawn back like a claw, clutching a searing fireball, and a smoking scar on the carpet proved that it was not the first. As she saw Finbarr and her servant, the Mage extinguished the flame between her fingers and leaned back against the wall, white and shaking.

Anvar went rigid with fury, but Finbarr laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Is anything wrong, Aurian?” He gave the Archmage a hard look.

Miathan shrugged. “A simple experiment with Fire-magic that got out of hand,” he replied calmly. “I was trying to help her when you arrived.”

“Shall I send for Meiriel?” Finbarr addressed the Archmage, but his eyes went to Aurian as he spoke.

“That won’t be necessary,” Miathan snapped. Then he turned to Finbarr, all smiles again. “Well, shall we go and look at your amazing discovery? I’m sure the Lady will join us, too.” It was little short of a command, and Anvar knew that the Archmage was reluctant •«> leave her alone.

“She’ll follow when she’s recovered,” Finbarr said blithely. “I know how draining these . . . experiments can be. Come, Archmage—this won’t wait.” He shepherded Miathan out of the door. Once the Archmage had gone, he turned back to Anvar with a frown. “Take care of your mistress,” he whispered. “I’ll deal with Miathan.” Then he was gone.

Aurian crossed the room and sat down on the couch, shuddering, her face hidden in her hands. “He was waiting for me,” she whispered. “When I got back, he was waiting. He—he just seemed to go mad, Anvar! He said he’d waited long enough, and didn’t want to wait any longer. Oh Gods!” Her gasp was half a sob. “How could he! He was always like a father to me!” Not knowing what else to do, Anvar poured her a glass of wine. She took it gratefully, and he knelt at her feet. He could hardly bear to look into her horrified, pain-shadowed eyes. “Lady—he didn’t . . .”

Aurian grimaced, and shook her head. “No,” she said shakily. “He had a damned good try, though! It’s a good thing I know how to fight!”

Anvar saw the gleam of tears in her eyes, and a startling surge of protectiveness swept over him. Greatly daring, he took her hands. “Don’t worry, Lady, Finbarr saw what had happened. He said he’d speak to the Archmage. Besides,” he added fiercely, “Miathan won’t get another chance—I’ll see to that! I’ll stay with you, no matter what he says. I’ll never leave you alone with him, I promise.”

“Thank you for that, Anvar. I know it’s hard for you, because you’re afraid of the Archmage—and after today, I can begin to see why!” Aurian shuddered.

“It’ll be all right, Lady. Surely he couldn’t do anything in front of a witness.” Anvar wished that he could make himself sound more confident.

Aurian sighed. “I only hope you’re right. Otherwise—I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

It’s truly autumn now, Aurian thought, as she rode through the deserted streets toward the Garrison. The weather was fine and clear as dawn stroked the city’s roofs with golden fingers, but the light was paler now, the air clear and crisp. For the first time in months Aurian wore her cloak, and was grateful for it. Miathan had given her a new one, a luxurious mantle of thick soft wool dyed her favorite emerald-green, but it hung neglected behind her door while Aurian instead wore Forral’s sturdy old soldier’s cloak made from the tough oily wool of mountain sheep. She knew it was foolish, but wearing his cast-off cloak seemed to bring him closer to her. The swordsman was still keeping a discreet, unbridgeable distance between them, and she was close to despair. She had loved him for so long! Ever since her childhood. She hadn’t known then that it was forbidden for a Mage to love a Mortal, and now it was too late. How could she ever love anyone else?

Which brought her back to her other, far more pressing problem. Miathan. Since the Archmage had first adopted her as his pupil, he had treated her like a favorite daughter, and she’d loved and respected him as such, But yesterday’s happenings had changed everything. Aurian shuddered, unable to shake off a crawling feeling of uncleanliness. Though she had never taken a lover, she’d been well educated by her earthy friends at the Garrison, and the idea of sKSring Miathan’s bed filled her with revulsion. His cruelty to Anvar had first given her cause to doubt him—and had he deliberately lied about the servant being a murderer? Aurian knew that she would never be able to trust the Archmage again, and her relationship with him was now tinged with an undercurrent of fear. Last night, in the excitement caused by Anvar’s discovery, she had managed to avoid being alone with Miathan, but how long could she keep avoiding him? He was the most powerful person in the city, and what he wanted, he could take.