Maggie Furey - Dhiammara

Aurian never had the slightest inkling that the attack was about to happen.—She heard a rending scream, and saw a flash of silver as a sword blade clove the air close to her ear. She collected herself in time to see the flailing figure of Sunfeather plunge toward the ground, with her hawk still clinging to his face, gouging at his eyes with its long, curved beak. The bird only broke away before the winged man hit the ground.

Aurian remembered her suspicion, never quite forgotten, that the hawk might contain Anvar’s spirit, and began to wonder anew.

Eliseth gave a shrill cry of horror when she saw Sunfeather go down. “Damn you!” she shrieked. “Curse you for all eternity!”

Stirred by the Weather-Mage, the wind began to swirl and scream around the tower, trying to pluck Aurian from Iscalda’s back. Using the Staff to boost her powers, she formed a shield around herself and her companions, including the hawk, who had soared back up to her shoulder, and was sheltered, like the mare, in the protective bubble of the energy barrier.

Eliseth’s first bolt of lightning hit them before they even reached the top of the path, and glanced off the shield in a shower of sparks. It was followed by further bolts, and a shower of hail that rattled harmlessly off the barrier.—Aurian dropped her shield for an instant, and struck at the tower with a bolt of energy from the Staff of Earth. For an instant, the soaring building was enveloped in a haze of vibrant green force, and Aurian heard the boom as it shook all the way down to its foundations. A network of cracks snaked up the stonework, but still the tower held. Eliseth’s servant, who had been trying to shelter behind her, was knocked off his feet by Aurian’s bolt, and rolled helplessly over the edge. His long, drawn-out wail was cut off sharply as he hit the ground, and Aurian shuddered. Eliseth, secure behind her own shields, simply laughed at the Mage.

Then, for the first time, Aurian noticed Eliseth’s mistake. The Sword of Flame was still lying on the tower roof—outside the Magewoman’s shield—and Forral had climbed the spiral path, with Shia a step behind him. They crept across the roof behind Eliseth’s back, and Aurian sent Iscalda hurtling downward as she saw Forral make a dive for the Artifact.

The Mage suddenly remembered that she had told him why she had failed to win the Sword the first time, and her blood turned to ice in her veins. No . . .—she thought. As Forral’s hand grasped the hilt of the Sword, he looked up at her with such love and longing in his eyes that Aurian knew in an instant what he was about to do. “No,” she screamed inwardly. “No no no ...”

Everything seemed to happen very slowly. Forral turned the hilt of the Sword in his hands and hurled Anvar’s body down upon the blade. Eliseth began to turn round, her mouth open in a shriek of protest as Aurian, still some three feet above the level of the roof, leapt down from Iscalda’s back and rushed to the swordsman’s side.

Forral pressed the hilt of the Sword, slippery with his lifeblood, Anvar’s lifeblood, into the Mage’s hands. “Yours,” he whispered.

“Yours,” sang the Sword. A tongue of red fire ran down the dripping blade, and Aurian felt the power shudder through her. “Yours. Bonded with lifeblood, with a sacrifice, as was promised. Claimed and joined at last...”

Aurian felt sick. This filthy thing! But she wouldn’t let weak sentiment undo Forral’s sacrifice. Half-blinded by tears, she leapt to her feet and swung the fiery Sword in a great, shearing arc that cut right through Eliseth’s shield in a massive shower of sparks. Turning her hands as Forral had taught her when she was a little girl in her mother’s Vale, the Mage brought the Sword round in the return stroke, and the blade bit down through Eliseth’s skull, down through her flawless face, and buried itself deep in the Magewoman’s body before coming to a halt at last.

Aurian slumped, exhausted and wretched, over the body of her vanquished foe.—Am I dying too? she thought dispassionately. The light seemed to be growing brighter and brighter through her closed eyelids, and that unearthly, plangent singing . . . Singing? Who in the name of all Creation could be singing? No living creature made a sound like that, yet it seemed so familiar....—Wearily, Aurian raised her head and opened her eyes. The sun was rising—and there were Dragons everywhere; some red, some gold, some green, all blinking their huge eyes of slumbering fire and stretching out their ribbed, translucent wings to catch the early sun. A huge gold creature reclined next to the Mage on the bloodstained roof of the tower. He looked familiar, somehow. “But...” said Aurian, “but...”

The morning came alive with light and music as the Dragon began to speak. “But I perished in the earthquake when the treasure chamber collapsed?” A fall of shimmering color laced the air as it began to laugh. “Illusion, Mage—all illusion. The Sword was designed to bring us back into time when it was claimed and evil defeated, for we did not wish to live in the world until it was a better place. . . .” The Dragon tilted its head and looked at her critically. “I must say, you took your time about it!”

Aurian’s temper flashed. “And I must say I’m surprised that you invented such a filthy weapon as this.” She looked down in disgust at the bloodstained Sword, that was still humming its fierce song of bloodshed and slaughter.

“Furthermore, you can have the foul thing back!” With all her strength she drove the blade point-down into the stone of the tower roof. To her surprise, the Sword sank in easily for over half its length, and stuck there. The Dragon looked at her, its eyes open very wide with surprise—and a good deal of respect. “Temeritous Mage,” it sang. “Another legend born!”

“A pox on your legends,” Aurian snapped—and then relented. It was absolutely impossible to stay angry for long with something so magnificent and so beautiful. She thought it must probably be a survival characteristic, since the Dragon-folk were such an irritating race. “I’m glad you’re back,” she told the Dragon softly—“but I hope you appreciate the sacrifices that have been made for you.” With that, she turned back to Forral—and came face-to-face with the vast and looming figure of Death. “Well, you’ve got both of them now,” she said bitterly. “Are you happy at last?”

“On the contrary, Mage,” said the Specter. From the tone of its voice, it almost sounded as though it was smiling within the dark depths of its cowl. “I may not have both—not yet. I have come for the grail, however. Are you still prepared to keep your promise?”

“May—may I borrow it for a few minutes first?” Aurian asked quickly.—This time, the Specter laughed out loud. “As the Dragons say, no one ever beat a Mage for gall. Yes, you may use the grail for one last time, on condition that you promise never to trespass in my realm again—until I invite you, that is.”

“I think I can safely promise that” Aurian told him.

“See, then, I can even help you.”

The Mage heard the drumming of wings, and saw Petrel’s Skyfolk approaching, bearing the bodies of Chiamh and Vannor. Gently, they laid them down beside the Mage.

“One belongs to you,” Death’s voice came again, “and one to me. The Windeye you may have, but the other was snatched from my realm, and must return.”

Aurian nodded wordlessly. She would miss dear Vannor. Death Himself picked up the grail from a sheltered corner of the rooftop, and Aurian watched astonished as the black discoloration cleared in his hands to a bright, unsullied gold once more. Inclining his head, he handed it back to her. It seemed to be filled to the brim with blue-white light. Kneeling over the Windeye’s mutilated corpse, she sprinkled some of the liquid radiance on his dreadful wounds.