The cutthroat laughed. “My, aren’t we grand! Going for the Healer, eh? And with no money? Search him, boys!” Anvar was thrown to the .ground. Rough, bony fingers rummaged through his clothing, making his flesh crawl. He had time for one enormous bellow for help before they started to hit him.
The nightmare came to an abrupt end as the clatter of hooves echoed down the alley. “Troopers!” somebody yelled.
“Run for it!”
Anvar suddenly found himself alone, and struggled to make his bruised and aching body rise. A hand grasped his collar, and he was hauled to his feet.
“Got you!” Anvar found himself staring up into the stern face of a tall soldier. “What were you up to, eh, brat?” the man rasped.
“Please, sir,” Anvar stammered, squirming in the man’s iron grip, “they set on me. I was going to the Academy for the Healer—”
The trooper burst out laughing. “Come, can’t you manage a better tale than that? Do you think I was born yesterday?” He hauled Anvar to the end of the alley, where a single lamp hung from the wall on an iron bracket. As he took in Anvar’s appearance, his expression altered. “You don’t come from around here,” he accused him. “What’s a lad like you doing wandering alone in this district at night? Have you lost your wits?”
Haltingly, Anvar told him about his grandpa.
The trooper let go of his collar. “Lad,” he said gently, “the Lady Meiriel won’t bother herself with the likes of your grandpa. Don’t you know how the Magefolk are?”
“I’ve got to try,” Anvar insisted. “Why wouldn’t she help me? A while ago I met tTfts man called Forral, and—”
“You know Forral?” A look of profound respect crossed the trooper’s seamed face.
“We met on the road—he took my horse. He said he was going for the Healer to save a little girl’s life. If she would do that, why wouldn’t she help Grandpa?”
The soldier sighed. “Lad, don’t you know who Forral w? He’s a living legend—the world’s greatest swordsman—and he’s friendly with some of the Magefolk. The girl was the daughter of Eilin, the Lady of the Lake. We heard about it at the Garrison. Why, I don’t even know if the Lady Meiriel is back yet—the Valley is a long way north of here. I’m sorry, son, but even if she has come back, she won’t haul herself out at this time of night for some Mortal’s grandpa.”
“But if I could explain to her . . .” Anvar persisted.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The trooper sounded resigned. “Come on, I’ll take you on my horse. If you go up there alone, the Magefolk will likely have you flogged for your cheek before they throw you out.”
The horse’s hooves sounded loud on the causeway that led across the promontory as Anvar and the trooper approached the white gate. The gatekeeper was an old man—a Mortal, as were all the servants of the Magefolk. When Anvar’s new friend explained their errand, he gaped in disbelief.
“What? Are you joking? The Lady Meiriel has just returned from a long journey this very day. It’s more than my hide’s worth to disturb her. You should have more sense, Hargorn, than to bring the boy here.”
“This is a special case,” Hargorn insisted. “It’s the lad who gave Forral his horse. Why, if it hadn’t been for that, the little Mage lass might have died before the Healer could reach her. Surely that deserves some consideration.”
The old man sighed. “Oh, very well. I’ll ask her. But she’s not going to be very pleased.”
He ducked back into the squat white gatehouse. On a shelf inside stood a rack of crystals, each glowing with a different colored light. The gatekeeper picked up a stone that shone a deep violet-blue and spoke into it softly. After a moment a patch of luminescence shimmered into existence in front of him, and Anvar gasped as it resolved itself into a woman’s face, with dark, cropped hair, high cheekjxmes, and an arrogant beaked nose. Her expression was sleepy and cross. “What is it?” she demanded brusquely. “I trust you’ve a good reason for bothering me at this hour?” With many bows and apologies, the gatekeeper explained the situation. The Lady Meiriel frowned. “How often have I told you not to bother me with such trifles? If I had to attend every sick Mortal in Nexis, I’d exhaust my power in a day! Send the brat away—and as for you, the Archmage shall hear tomorrow that I’ll bear your incompetence no longer. This sort of thing is happening far too often! You’re obviously not fit for your post!” The face flickered into darkness.
The gatekeeper turned to Hargorn. “See what you’ve done,” he whined. But there was no one there.
The trooper caught up with Anvar before he reached the end of the causeway. “Leave me alone!” the boy shouted, blinded with tears.
Hargorn laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, lad, but I did warn you. Come on—I’ll take you home.”
Grandpa died before morning. As Anvar wept over the old man’s body, his mother sought to comfort him. “Don’t grieve so,” she said softly, putting an arm around his shaking shoulders. “Look at him.” Grandpa’s expression was transfigured by a smile of pure, sublime joy. “He’s gone back to Grandma,” Ria said. “He loved her so much, and he’s been missing her terribly all these years. You can see from his face that they’re together again. I know how much you’ll miss him, dear, but you should be happy for him, too.”
“How do you know?” Anvar demanded. “How can you be sure he knows about anything now? He’s dead! When that accursed Healer could have saved him!”
Ria sighed. “Anvar, Grandpa was old and worn out. He never really liked living in the city and he’d had a hard life. He was tired, that’s all. It’s not likely that the Lady Meiriel could have done anything—”
“She could have tried!” Anvar was dimly aware that he was shouting. “She could have cared! But he was only a Mortal. We mean less to those Magefolk than animals!”
Ria sighed again and left the room, leaving him alone for the last time with his grandfather. And as he knelt there in the cold chamber beside the empty remains of what had been a good and loving man, a deep and remorseless hatred of the Magefolk took root within his heart.
4
The Archmage
The sound of voices woke Aurian from a fitful sleep. For a panic-stricken moment she wondered where she was, until she saw lamplight glowing beyond the open door that led to Meiriel’s quarters at the far end of the infirmary. “Lady Meiriel?” she called out nervously. This place seemed very strange to her, with its stark white walls and smooth, polished marble floor reflecting the row of empty beds. The Healer came in, brisk and smiling. “Did I wake you?”
“Is something wrong?” Aurian asked.
“Naught to worry about.” Meiriel shrugged dismissively. “Only an ignorant Mortal making a pest of himself down at the gate. Because we have powers, they think our sole purpose in life is to run around helping them\”
Aurian frowned. Any talk of Mortals reminded her painfully of Forral—but then everything seemed to remind her of the swordsman. She clenched her fists, willing the tears not to gather in her eyes. “Aren’t we supposed to help them?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”
The Healer sat down on the edge of her bed. “Here at the Academy, Aurian, you’ll learn that it’s simply not done to waste your powers on those stupid, whining Mortals. Now, we’ve had a long journey, and you need to rest. Can I get you something to help you sleep?”
“Yes, please, Meiriel.” Anything was better than lying awake thinking.
Trying not to grimace, Aurian finished the potion that the Healer had brought her as quickly as possible. Although it was sticky and tasted vile, she preferred it to Meiriel’s Sleep-magic, which was most unnerving. No time seemed to pass while she was under the spell—she only closed her eyes for a second, it seemed—and when she opened them, hours had been lost. Luckily, she thought, the Healer had been understanding about her fears. Having been dragged, unwilling, away from her home to this ^iew and frightening place, Aurian was pitifully grateful even for Meiriel’s brusque, no-nonsense kindness. Fighting back her tears, she snuggled ^Jpwn beneath the quilt, hoping that for once she would fall asleep before her mind could start dwelling on the catastrophe that had overtaken her life.