Aurian

Maggie Furey Aurian

1 The Lady of the Lake

“Ho, little girl!”

Aurian jumped, the blue fireball dropping from her hands to the dry leaves of the forest floor. She scuffed hastily at the smouldering leaves with her foot, the extinguishing spell forgotten in her panic. Her mother had forbidden her to come out here on her own, and it was too late to hide. Aurian turned to run, but the strangeness of the intruder in the glade stopped her in her tracks.

She had never seen a man before. He was tall and broad, clad all in brown leather beneath his heavy cloak, and bearing a huge sword at his side. The brown hair on his face looked distinctly odd, reminding her, together with his brown eyes, of the animals that were her friends. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, and Aurian backed hastily away from the looming figure, another fireball beginning to form between her fingers. The man looked at her thoughtfully then sat down on the ground, his hands clasped round his knees. Now that he was nearer her own level, he looked far less threatening, and Aurian began to feel a little more confident. These were her mother’s lands, after all. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“I’m Forral—swordsman and wanderer, at your service, little lady.” He inclined his head gravely in the nearest thing to a bow that he could manage from his sitting position.

“Yes, but who are you?” Aurian insisted, still keeping a safe distance between them. “What do you want? You’re not supposed to be here, you know. The animals were supposed to keep you out.”

Forral smiled, “They didn’t bother me. I don’t hurt animals—they don’t hurt me. It’s a good way to live.”

Aurian, despite her mother’s warnings, found herself warming to the man. It was a good way to live, and she liked his smile. It seemed only fair to warn him what her mother would do to him if she found him wandering around her lands. “Look—” she began, but he was already speaking.

“Can you by any chance direct me to the Lady of the Lake?”

“Who?”

Forral waved his hands in a vague gesture. “You know— the Mage. The Lady Eilin. If I’m not mistaken, you must be young Aurian, her daughter. You’re the image of Geraint.”

Aurian’s mouth fell open. “You knew my father?”

Forral’s face was shadowed with sadness. “Indeed I did,” he said softly. “Your father and mother both. Geraint gave me my start in life. I was an orphan, only about your age, when he found me. He got me into the swordsman’s school at the Garrison in Nexis, and was a friend to me in all the years that followed.” He sighed. “I was away soldiering in foreign parts, across the sea, when your father died. News of—the accident— never spread that far. I’ve only just returned, and when I heard—” For a moment, he struggled to find his voice. “Well, I came at once. I’ve come to offer my services to your mother.”

“She won’t want you.” It was out of her mouth before Aurian realized her tactlessness. It seemed an awful thing to say, when he had come so far. And she liked him already. In all her nine years, Aurian could remember no other human company save that of her mother, and Eilin had little time to spare for her daughter. She was too preoccupied with her Great Task. With only her animal friends for companionship, Aurian’s life was a lonely one. Desperately she cast around for a way to explain, so as not to hurt her new friend’s feelings. “You see,” she said, “my mother never has visitors. She’s so busy that she hardly even sees me.”

Forral looked her up and down. Had Aurian had a normal upbringing she might have been embarrassed by the torn gray shift that she was wearing, the tangles in her red curls, the smears on her face and the dirt ground into her bare knees. As it was she returned his gaze unselfconsciously.

“Who looks after you, then?” he asked at last.

Aurian shrugged. “Nobody.”

The big man frowned. “Then it’s high time somebody did. Speaking of which, are you supposed to be doing that?” He pointed at the forgotten fireball that still danced over the palm of her hand. Aurian snuffed it hastily and hid her hands behind her back, wishing that she could hide her guilty expression so easily.

“Well . . . not exactly,” she confessed. “But it was an emergency.” She bit her lip. “You won’t tell on me, will you?”

Forral seemed to be thinking it over. “All right. I won’t tell on you—this time,” he added sternly. “But don’t do it again, do you hear me? It’s very dangerous. And don’t think I didn’t notice what you were up to when I came into this glade. It wasn’t an emergency then, was it?” Aurian felt her face turn crimson, and Forral grinned. “Come on, youngster, let’s go and see your mother.”

“She won’t be very pleased,” Aurian warned him, but she could tell he didn’t believe her.

They set off up the tree-covered slope; Forral led his tired horse and the skinny, gangling child mounted bareback on her shaggy brown pony. Cool autumn sunlight filtered through the naked branches, gilding the deeply drifted leaves that crackled underfoot. At the top of the long rise, the woods came to an abrupt end. The child halted, her expression closed and grim.

“Gods preserve us!” Forral gazed at the devastation below him, hardly able to believe his eyes. The news of Geraint’s accident had come as a dreadful shock, but he had never expected anything on this appalling scale! The vast, barren crater stretched beyond the ridge, as far as the eye could see. It was almost more than the swordsman could bear, to witness such proof of his friend’s violent end. Geraint had been the most brilliant and impetuous of the Magefolk, favorite candidate to be the next Archmage. Arrogant and stubborn, as were all his kind. Tall, redheaded Geraint of the explosive temper, the expansive laugh, the endless joy in life, and the kindness of heart to befriend a ragged young boy who dared to dream, had killed himself down there.

Geraint had dared to dream, too, Forral thought sadly. Eight years ago he had tried, using the ancient, half-comprehended magic of the lost Dragonfolk, to harness vast amounts of magical energy in order to pass instantly from world to world, with disastrous results. It was said that Geraint had come perilously close to destroying the world, and it was already clear that his name would be cursed through generations of Mage and Mortal alike. Forral preferred to believe that his friend, recognizing th^ danger too late, had given his life to confine the damage to as small an area as possible. Even so, the deep crater below was at least five leagues across, its sides a cracked and twisted mess of melted rock, its floor like rippled black glass. Away in the distance, across the lifeless waste, the swordsman’s eyes caught the gleam of sunlight on water.

Forral had no idea how long he stood there, dismayed by the horrific scale of the destruction Geraint had wrought. At last he became aware of the child gazing up at him.

“My mother hasn’t got this far,” Aurian said in a small, flat voice. “I told you she was busy. There’s a lot to do.”

The swordsman was filled with pity for the little girl, growing up neglected and friendless in this bleak wasteland. Were the rumors true, that Eilin had lost her sanity with the death of her beloved soul mate? An adept in Earth-magic, it was said that she had buried her grief in her obsession to restore to fruitfulness the devastation caused by Geraint’s tragic mistake. For the child’s sake, he pulled himself together and tried to look cheerful, but his heart was sinking as they went on their way.

They had some difficulty getting Forral’s horse down to the floor of the crater, but Aurian’s surefooted pony had few problems. The child could ride like a centaur, and was accustomed, no doubt, to negotiating the slippery, folded terrain in the bottom of the massive bowl. It must be terrible here in summer, Forral thought as they rode along. Even now, the glasslike rock was throwing up heat and shimmering reflections from the pallid autumn sun. Water had gathered in the bottoms of some of the deeper folds, but the only sign of life was the occasional bird flying overhead.