A hand grasped his^shoulder. Aurian was using him to pull herself to her feet, trying’to put him safely behind her. Her eyes burned silver with hatred. Anvar could feel her fear in the slight tremor of her fingers, but it did not show in her face. Shamed by her courage, he tried to rise, but the Archmage made a contemptuous flicking gesture with his fingers. His crystalline eyes flared with unholy light, and a bolt of searing blackness lashed across Anvar, hurling him down again in gasping agony.
“How dare you!” Aurian stood defiantly before Miathan, and her voice thundered forth like a landslide. “It is forbidden to use magic in the Place Between the Worlds!”
The Archmage’s laughter rang out, cruelly mocking. “Fool! You quote the Law of Gramarye at me, who taught you all you know? I dare ANYTHING \” His clawed and bony hand lashed out, flinging a whiplash of blackness at the Mage. She gave a cry of pain and doubled up, crumpling to the ground.
Though his eyes were gone, it was plain that the Archmage was using the arcane magic of the jewels to give him sight. The cold, hideous glitter of his empty gaze swept across Aurian and Anvar, and on his ghastly face was a contemptuous sneer. “That’s better,” he said. “Grovel before me—where you belong!”
Aurian pulled herself to her knees and spat at Miathan’s feet. “I’ll never grovel to you, you piece of filth! But one day I will kill you, you have my word on that!”
Miathan laughed again. “Really?” he sneered. “I doubt it —helpless as you are with Forral’s brat in your belly! You’d have done better to submit to me, girl. You would have had power at my side, as much as you wanted! Instead, you are nothing—a hopeless fugitive crippled by a half-Mortal abomination. Without your powers you’re as helpless as a beggar woman, and like any street whore, you’ll be ripe for the taking of any man who passes—including this cowardly, bastard scum!” He turned to Anvar, his voice curling with scorn. “You will have what you wanted now, eh? Her powers have gone, Anvar, and your long wait is over. Who knows, she might even like it; she seems to enjoy defiling herself with Mortal offal such as you!”
Miathan’s persuasive voice had the power to hold its victims in thrall. Anvar looked at Aurian, helpless before him, and felt his long-suppressed desire beginning to stir. He heard Aurian gasp; the fear and sudden doubt in her eyes pierced him like a sword as he realized that they had been tricked. He glared at the Archmage, his mind cleared by the scouring of his anger, which burned like an icy flame.
“I am no Mortal, Miathan,” he said evenly, “as well you know. I regained my powers that you stole. And you need not project your lusts on me; the Lady knows full well which of us wants to defile her—and which will protect her! Aurian may be helpless, but if you come near her, you’ll have me to reckon with!”
But Miathan had the Caldron, and Anvar’s words were empty, and he knew it. Even so, he saw Aurian give him a grateful glance, tempered with a grimace at the idea of needing his protection. It was so characteristic of her that it buoyed him, despite their peril.
Miathan, undisturbed by the failure of his ploy, roared with mocking laughter. “You should have stuck to your earlier ambition of being a minstrel, boy. Already you are affording me the amusement I expected. For know this . . .” His voice turned suddenly hard. “I did not save you both from the Well of Souls, out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Too right—you don’t have one!” Aurian snapped. “Quiet!” His outflung hand sent a lash of darkness cracking hard across her face. She staggered, but refused to cry out, biting her lip against the pain.
Anvar, boiling with rage where he had been cold before, tried to launch himself at Miathan, but the Archmage froze him with a casual gesture, continuing to speak as though nothing had happened. “I might have let you perish here, and saved myself a good deal of trouble—had I considered you a threat. But I have not finished with either of you. It would grieve me, Anvar, if your death was painless and swift, and as for you, my dear”—he turned to Aurian with a chilling leer—“I have other plans. Until we meet again in the flesh, you can entertain yourselves imagining your respective fates, but for now, farewell!” As the Archmage spoke his final word, the scene began to waver and dissolve before Anvar’s eyes. He closed them for an instant, to stop the dizzy whirling, and when he opened them again, he was back at the oasis. A sickly, sulfurous light lay over the dunes, as the sun struggled to pierce the ominous banks of cloud on the horizon. I must have fallen asleep, Anvar thought. Gods, what a nightmare! But at that moment Aurian’s eyes opened, and in them was horror, and a sick, sinking dread that matched his own.
Aurian was unable to explain what had taken place at the Well of Souls. Her best gue^ss was that Anvar had fallen asleep, and his anxious spirit, freed from the fetters of the waking world, had managed to cross into Death’s domain to reach her. But his tale of his encounter with the Reaper of Souls, and the specter’s talk of a bargain, filled her with a vast disquiet. It seemed so familiar, somehow . . . Surely, when she had won Anvar back from Death’s clutches in Taibeth, the Reaper had said something similar ... If only she could remember . . . And how had Miathan come to be there?
Aurian grimaced at the strip of dried meat in her hand. Her hunger was blunted by guilt for having exposed herself and Anvar to the Archmage—and by the fear that twisted her guts. Miathan had been right. Her powers, stretched past their limit when they were at their most vulnerable, had utterly vanished, leaving her defenseless. “Damn Miathan!” she muttered. “Why did he have to come back now, at the worst possible time?” With an oath, she flung the offending food away from her.
Anvar reached out of the shelter and retrieved the meat. Dusting it off carefully, he put it back into her hand. “Be sensible, Aurian. You need to eat,” he told her.
Aurian looked at Shia, who was sleeping now, recouping her strength. The cat remembered nothing of what had taken place, though she and Aurian had both been Healed of their infirmities in the Well of Souls. What else could I have done? the Mage thought. Had I not acted as I did, Shia would be dead. She prayed that the price of Shia’s life would not prove too high.
“You did what you had to.” Anvar’s quiet voice broke into her thoughts as though he had been reading her mind.
Aurian took his hand. “Thank you for that. But we’re in so much trouble now, with the storm coming, and Miathan on the loose, and my powers gone.” She couldn’t control the tremor in her voice. “Anvar, I’m scared,” she confessed. “Without my magic I’m so vulnerable. Now that Miathan has recovered from my attack, anything could happen.” Aurian shuddered. “And what about the Staff? I don’t think he knows that we have it, but if he should find out . . . Anvar, do you remember the shipwreck, when he possessed my body and tried to kill you?”
Anvar nodded, looking puzzled at her switch of subject. Aurian took a deep breath, dreading what she had to say. “What if happens again, now that Miathan has recovered? Anvar, if he should get control of the Staff—”
“No!” He was ahead of her now. “Don’t say it, Aurian—”
“I must. If I—if Miathan should gain control of me, you’ll have to kill me, Anvar. You’ll have no choice—as I would have no other recourse if-k-shappened to you.”
“I am not going to kill you! I won’t!” Anvar’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “I can’t.”
Aurian’s heart went out to him, but she met his gaze without flinching. “I’m sorry, my dearest, but you must. If Miathan gets the Staff, it will be the end of everything—and better we die, than let him take us.