Though Anvar, unlike Finbarr, refused to lose sleep over the possibility of another Cataclysm, he hoped that the Archivist would find what K? sought. There was a time, he knew, when Finbarr’s pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake would have angered him, given the poverty and suffering that existed among so many Mortals. But the Archivist meant well ... In all honesty, he found Finbarr’s enthusiasm very contagious.
On a bright, crisp day that presaged the turning of the season to autumn, Finbarr decided it was time to tackle the lowest level of all. “I must make the most of you, before Aurian gets back.” He smiled. “She is due any day now. I wonder what she’d say if I decided to steal you for good?” For a moment, Anvar was tempted by the idea. He had enjoyed assisting the Archivist, but more to the point, he had seen nothing of the Archmage while Aurian was away. He’d be safer as Finbarr’s ft, servant, and he would also escape the torment of Miathan’s visits to his Lady. Nonetheless, he felt a strange pang of reluctance at the thought of leaving Aurian. Lately, he had found himself looking every day for her return, and had finally been forced to the astonishing conclusion that he missed her.
Anvar followed Finbarr down through the maze of passages and stairways that had been hewn out of the living rock of the promontory. They passed beyond the upper levels where the Archivist had set lights of glowing crystal, until their only illumination was the glowing ball of Magelight that Finbarr sent before them. Their shadows, cast by the iridescent, silvery globe, bobbed and danced like puppets on the rough stone walls.
“I thought we would make a start in here.” Finbarr ducked through a doorless archway, and Anvar followed him into a small stone chamber whose walls were filled with crumbling wooden shelving. The place was shrouded in dust and cobwebs, and many of the shelves had collapsed beneath the weight of documents. Scrolls and papers lirtered the floor in haphazard piles. The Archivist sighed. “By lonor the Wise,” he muttered, “my predecessors neglected these lower levels disgracefully! It’s a lifetime’s work to put it right, Anvar my friend—and that being the case, we’d better get started!” He felt in the pockets of his robes, and grimaced in irritation. “Drat! I forgot to bring my crystals with me to light our labors!”
“I’ll go,” Anvar offered. “I know where you keep them, Sir.”
“Never mind. If you trek all the way up to the library and back again, we’ll lose half the day. Besides, it’s a tricky route for the uninitiated.” Finbarr’s eyes twinkled. “Aurian would never forgive me if I lost you in the bowels of the earth! We’ll manage.” He tossed the ball of Magelight toward the ceiling, but it went too high, splattering against the buttressed stone in an explosion of sparks and plunging them into utter blackness.
“Festering bat turds! I’m always doing that!” Finbarr’s voice echoed, sharp with annoyance, out of the darkness.
Anvar caught his breath. His night vision had always been excellent, but he had never experienced such absolute darkness. It pressed on him as though the entire weight of the hill were resting on his shoulders. In panic, he turned to flee. His foot caught in a pile of scrolls and he overbalanced, falling hard against the wall. The shelves above him collapsed in an avalanche of papers and splintered wood—then an entire section of the wall gave way beneath his weight, in a cloud of dust and a rumble of stone.
Finbarr struck a new light. “By the Gods, Anvar! See what you’ve found!” His young-old face was alight with excitement. Anvar scrambled out of the wreckage, brushing off rubble and dust. Beyond the wall was a chamber—no, a cave. A tunnel led from it at the far side, promising further secrets beyond. Finbarr’s eyes glowed with rapture as he looked at the treasures within. Ancient volumes, their gilded bindings winking in the Magelight, were piled in chests and scattered across the floor, as though they had been abandoned in a hurry. Tapestries lay stacked in a corner, and a pile of artifacts—personal belongings by their look—were tumbled against the opposite wall. As Anvar looked, a beautiful golden chalice toppled from the pile and rolled across the floor toward him. He stepped forward to catch it, but Finbarr thrust him back.
“Wait! There’s magic here! This place is protected!” Seizing his arm, the Archivist hauled Anvar out of the chamber. “If I’m not mistaken,” he said, “you have just made the most valuable discovery of our age! We must fetch the Archmage at once!”
Before she entered the Mages’ Tower, Aurian took a good long look around the familiar courtyard of the Academy and decided that she was glad to be back. Although she’d enjoyed her visit with Eilin, she had missed Forral dreadfully, and had also been worried about Anvar, and how he had managed in her absence. Once again, she wondered why he was so afraid of Miathan, and why the Archmage seemed to have taken such a marked dislike to him. If Miathan had truly believed that Anvar was a murderer, it would explain the mystery—but if that was so, then why had his attitude not altered when her servant’s name had been cleared?
As she lugged her heavy saddlebags up the stairs of the Mages’ Tower, Aurian found herself wishing that Anvar had been there to help. Somehow, she’d been disappointed not to find him standing in the courtyard waiting for her. “Aurian, you are an idiot,” she told herself, as she panted her way up the steps. “How could he possibly know you were coming? Besides, he has better things to do!”
All thoughts of Anvar vanished as she let herself into her rooms. Miathan was already there, waiting for her. “My dearest Aurian!” The Archmage stepped forward, hands outstretched in welcome. “I saw you ride into the courtyard from my window. How glad I am that you’re safely home!”
Aurian stepped back hastily from his effusive greeting, dropping her saddlebags. As Miathan’s arms went round her, she felt herself stiffen with panic. How had he managed to get into her rooms? She’d thought that she and Anvar had the only keys. Had something happened to her servant? She flinched away from the fey brightness of Miathan’s eyes, the excitement betrayed by his jerky movements. It had been easy, while she was away, to convince herself that his odd behavior had all been her imagination, but suddenly she knew better. And now, at last, he had her alone.
As he left the library, Anvar saw Aurian’s horse standing patiently outside the door of the Mages’ Tower, and all thoughts of his amazing discovery in the catacombs fled. “My Lady!” he cried joyfully. “She’s back!” He raced across the courtyard and up the tower stairs, followed by a smiling Finbarr.
“No! Get away from me, Miathan!” Aurian’s cry rang out just as Anvar and Finbarr reached_her.quarters. Anvar gasped with horror. The Archmage! He tugged frantically at the handle of the door, but it was locked. Without thinking, he threw himself at the door, hammering loudly on the wooden panels, and heard the Archmage curse. After a moment, the door was flung open.
The hem of Miathan’s robe was tattered and smoldering, and his hands were blistered and black with soot. His face was livid with rage. “How dare you interrupt me,” he snarled, raising his hand to strike, but Finbarr stepped forward quickly between the Archmage and his prey, and Anvar blessed the Archivist’s presence of mind as Miathan drew back quickly with a stifled oath.
“I interrupted you, Miathan,” Finbarr said calmly, for all the world as though nothing were amiss. “You must excuse the servant’s excitement—we’ve made an incredible discovery in the Archives that you must see at once.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed past the dumbfounded Archmage and entered the room. Anvar followed him quickly—and stopped dead, at the sight of his mistress.
Aurian was backed into a corner, her clothes torn and her eyes blazing with anger. Her hair, untangled from its intricate braiding, swept almost to the floor in a tide of crimson. Her hand was drawn back like a claw, clutching a searing fireball, and a smoking scar on the carpet proved that it was not the first. As she saw Finbarr and her servant, the Mage extinguished the flame between her fingers and leaned back against the wall, white and shaking.