You heard what he said, at the Well of Souls.”
Anvar hardly heard her last words. He knew that the endearment had slipped out without her being aware of it, but ... He fought to keep the jubilation from his face, not wanting her to withdraw from him, as he knew she surely would. Whatever she might feel for him, she was still grieving for Forral, and would be stricken with guilt at the thought of replacing her childhood love. It’s too soon; give her time, he told himself, and prayed to all the Gods that the Archmage would let them have that time.
Miathan’s chamber was dismal and chill. The blaze that he had left in the huge fireplace was sunk to sullen embers clogged with pale ash, and the lamps were guttered and dark. Dull light streaked through the curtains, announcing the dawn of another grim day over Nexis. The Archmage’s body lay on the bed, just as he had left it, looking pale and gelid as a corpse in the dim, bleak light. His hovering consciousness shuddered, and shrank from returning to this cold, pain-wracked housing, but it had to be done. Miathan braced himself and plunged downward, slipping back into his corporeal form with the ease of long practice.
Entering his body was worse than falling into an icy pool. Miathan swore vehemently, steeling himself against the pain. Since Aurian had attacked him, he had suffered the agony of his burnt-out eyes, and he knew it would never leave him. With Eliseth’s help, he’d discovered enough of the magic of the Drag-onfolk to permit him to use crystals to give him back a form of sight, but the sharp edges of the gemstones chafed the tortured sockets. Still, it was better than living blind. He cursed that mad bitch Meiriel, who had refused to Heal him, and that treacherous worm Elewin, who had helped her escape.
Miathan reminded himself that lying here raging would bring him no nearer to his revenge. He pulled his robes around him and hauled his creaking bones from the bed, though he was shaking violently from the cold, and from reaction to the prolonged journey Between the Worlds, which had so depleted his energies. Leaning on his staff, the Archmage hobbled to the fire and threw on an armful of logs, deciding to let them blaze of their own accord, rather than waste the last of his strength on kindling them by magic. He filled and relit the lamps by hand, frustrated to impotent rage by the fumbling efforts of his weakened state.
By the time Miathan had finished, the room was already cozier. The fire snapped and sizzled, dispelling the arid silence and sending tongues of orange flame over the resinous logs to brighten the dank air with the tingling scent of pine. Warm lampglow mellowed the dismal daylight, gilding the silver dish of bread and fruit on the table. The Archmage turned to the food that he kept in his quarters for his return from a journey beyond his body. He poured wine, with a stab of irritation as he noticed that the flask was almost empty. Were Elewin here, such an omission would never have occurred! But the Steward was gone, he reminded himself bitterly, turning traitor as Aurian had done, Aurian! Miathan’s tongue slid over his lips at the memory of her falling before him, tortured by the pain that he had inflicted. When he had her back in his power he would teach her the true meaning of pain! Once he had broken her to his will he would take her—and at last, he had the means . , , Smiling to himself, Miathan sent out a mental call to summon Eliseth. He hated to confide in her, but there were things she ought to know.
Eliseth was in the Archives when she heard the Archmage’s call. She cursed and pushed her hair back from her face with a hand that was black with dust. What did the old nuisance want now? Since that vermin Elewin had gone, Miathan seemed to think she had nothing better to do than run around after him! And was he grateful? Not a bit—even though she had found a cure for his blindness! Only she had thought to seek answers in the moldering records stored beneath the library, after the escape of Meiriel and Elewin had drawn her attention to Finbarr’s neglected catacombs. Bragar, of course, was too stupid to think of making use of the awctent wisdom stored there, but Eliseth had realized that any extra knowledge might give her the advantage—not only over Bragar, but over Miathan as well.
Eliseth’s searches in the cold, dirty tunnels had been far from pleasant, but the results had been well worth the discomfort. While finding a way to restore Miathan’s sight, she had discovered much more besides, matters of dark and arcane lore dating back to the Cataclysm, which the Archmage had no idea of—nor was she about to enlighten him. She had found no solution to the problem of the Wraiths, but she had unearthed a great deal of information pertaining to the Caldron, and she knew how to make better use of it than Miathan had. She only needed to find out where the old fool had hidden it ... Eliseth smiled as she went to answer the Archmage’s summons. His mental voice had held overtones of triumph, and she was anxious to discover what he was up to—and how it fitted in with her own plans.
Eliseth listened, incredulous, as the Archmage told her how he had sensed the presence of Aurian, Between the Worlds, and how he had tracked her to the Well of Souls, and Anvar with her. The existence of another Mage came as a considerable shock to Eliseth. “Aurian’s servant? One of «j?” she gasped. “Did you know about this?”
“No.” Miathan shook his head, but she knew that he was lying. “I had my suspicions,” he said. “I knew she must be getting help from somewhere. But I hardly thought it worth mentioning—the notion seemed too farfetched.”
“That’s an understatement! How could he have been here at the Academy without us knowing? Where did he come from in the first place? Who were his parents?”
Miathan shrugged, his voice suspiciously bland. “Who can say? He came to us as a Mortal, the son of a baker, but it seems that his true father was of a different stamp. Anvar is a bastard —a half-breed with a Mortal mother—but as to which of the Magefolk fathered him . . .” He shrugged again, the picture of innocence.
Eliseth’s eyes narrowed. This is too glib, she thought. You know too much. Well, here’s a turnup! The great Archmai: prone as the rest of us to using a Mortal for pleasure. But to 1 so careless as to father a child—no wonder you were upset Aurian’s pregnancy! There was no time now to consider the advantage this might bring her. She turned back to Miathan, before he could see where her thoughts were tending. “So where does this leave us? I don’t understand you, Archmage. Why did you not kill them, and be done with it?”
Miathan’s fist slammed down on the table. “How many times have I told you? I want Aurian alive\”
Eliseth bit down on her anger. Despite what the bitch had done to him, he still wanted her! Concealing her rage, she took up the weapon of common sense. “But with respect, Archmage, you’re asking the impossible! Aurian is too far away for us to capture her, and if you wait until she comes to you—Well, you said yourself that the risk was too great. And alive, will she not always be a threat to us?”
“Her intransigence will be dealt with!” The gems in Miathan’s eyes flared red, betraying his anger. “Besides,” he continued, with a chilling smile, “Aurian’s capture has already been dealt with. She and Anvar were not the only minds I encountered in the Southlands. I have found one who, for his own reasons, can be easily bent to my will.”
“What?” Eliseth was dismayed. She had underestimated the development of Miathan’s new powers badly, if he could already control Mortal minds with such confidence!
“Our experiment using human sacrifices has worked out better than I had expected.” Miathan drew her attention back to him. “We can certainly proceed, Eliseth—but I need more power, to keep my Southern pawn on a close rein. Tell Angos that more Mortals will be required—tonight!”
“But Archmage,” Eliseth protested, “there is already unrest at these ’disappearances.’ We must be more circumspect—”