Anvar went rigid with fury, but Finbarr laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Is anything wrong, Aurian?” He gave the Archmage a hard look.
Miathan shrugged. “A simple experiment with Fire-magic that got out of hand,” he replied calmly. “I was trying to help her when you arrived.”
“Shall I send for Meiriel?” Finbarr addressed the Archmage, but his eyes went to Aurian as he spoke.
“That won’t be necessary,” Miathan snapped. Then he turned to Finbarr, all smiles again. “Well, shall we go and look at your amazing discovery? I’m sure the Lady will join us, too.” It was little short of a command, and Anvar knew that the Archmage was reluctant •«> leave her alone.
“She’ll follow when she’s recovered,” Finbarr said blithely. “I know how draining these . . . experiments can be. Come, Archmage—this won’t wait.” He shepherded Miathan out of the door. Once the Archmage had gone, he turned back to Anvar with a frown. “Take care of your mistress,” he whispered. “I’ll deal with Miathan.” Then he was gone.
Aurian crossed the room and sat down on the couch, shuddering, her face hidden in her hands. “He was waiting for me,” she whispered. “When I got back, he was waiting. He—he just seemed to go mad, Anvar! He said he’d waited long enough, and didn’t want to wait any longer. Oh Gods!” Her gasp was half a sob. “How could he! He was always like a father to me!” Not knowing what else to do, Anvar poured her a glass of wine. She took it gratefully, and he knelt at her feet. He could hardly bear to look into her horrified, pain-shadowed eyes. “Lady—he didn’t . . .”
Aurian grimaced, and shook her head. “No,” she said shakily. “He had a damned good try, though! It’s a good thing I know how to fight!”
Anvar saw the gleam of tears in her eyes, and a startling surge of protectiveness swept over him. Greatly daring, he took her hands. “Don’t worry, Lady, Finbarr saw what had happened. He said he’d speak to the Archmage. Besides,” he added fiercely, “Miathan won’t get another chance—I’ll see to that! I’ll stay with you, no matter what he says. I’ll never leave you alone with him, I promise.”
“Thank you for that, Anvar. I know it’s hard for you, because you’re afraid of the Archmage—and after today, I can begin to see why!” Aurian shuddered.
“It’ll be all right, Lady. Surely he couldn’t do anything in front of a witness.” Anvar wished that he could make himself sound more confident.
Aurian sighed. “I only hope you’re right. Otherwise—I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
11
Trial by Combat
It’s truly autumn now, Aurian thought, as she rode through the deserted streets toward the Garrison. The weather was fine and clear as dawn stroked the city’s roofs with golden fingers, but the light was paler now, the air clear and crisp. For the first time in months Aurian wore her cloak, and was grateful for it. Miathan had given her a new one, a luxurious mantle of thick soft wool dyed her favorite emerald-green, but it hung neglected behind her door while Aurian instead wore Forral’s sturdy old soldier’s cloak made from the tough oily wool of mountain sheep. She knew it was foolish, but wearing his cast-off cloak seemed to bring him closer to her. The swordsman was still keeping a discreet, unbridgeable distance between them, and she was close to despair. She had loved him for so long! Ever since her childhood. She hadn’t known then that it was forbidden for a Mage to love a Mortal, and now it was too late. How could she ever love anyone else?
Which brought her back to her other, far more pressing problem. Miathan. Since the Archmage had first adopted her as his pupil, he had treated her like a favorite daughter, and she’d loved and respected him as such, But yesterday’s happenings had changed everything. Aurian shuddered, unable to shake off a crawling feeling of uncleanliness. Though she had never taken a lover, she’d been well educated by her earthy friends at the Garrison, and the idea of sKSring Miathan’s bed filled her with revulsion. His cruelty to Anvar had first given her cause to doubt him—and had he deliberately lied about the servant being a murderer? Aurian knew that she would never be able to trust the Archmage again, and her relationship with him was now tinged with an undercurrent of fear. Last night, in the excitement caused by Anvar’s discovery, she had managed to avoid being alone with Miathan, but how long could she keep avoiding him? He was the most powerful person in the city, and what he wanted, he could take.
Apart from Finbarr, Aurian dared confide in none of the Magefolk. If this had been Miathan’s intention all along, any or all of them might be in the plot. To be chosen by the Archmage as a consort was deemed the greatest of honors. Eliseth would give her right arm for it, Aurian thought wryly. She thought of discussing it with Maya, but then Forral would be sure to find out, and she wanted to avoid that, knowing full well how he would react. He was no match for the Archmage.
It’s no use, Aurian thought despairingly. I should leave Nexis and go back to the Valley. But though it was the only sensible option, she could not stop the tears coming at the thought. How can I leave? What will happen to Anvar without me? He belongs to the Academy—I wouldn’t be allowed to take him. And how can I leave Finbarr, and Maya and Parric and Vannor? And, oh—Forral! How could I bear to lose him again? Weary as she was after yesterday’s shock and a sleepless night, her thoughts circled in hopeless misery, without ever coming near to a solution.
Absorbed in her troubles, the Mage rode through the great stone gateway of the Garrison, scarcely aware that she had arrived. Too late, she heard the thunder of hooves bearing down on her. Her training saved her—that, and blind instinct. She felt the wind from the sword stroke whistle over her head as she dived beneath the belly of her horse, one foot still in the stirrup, one hand clutching the reins and the pommel of the saddle. Drawing her dagger with her free hand, she sliced the girth of her assailant’s mount as it passed, then hauled herself upright and wheeled her horse around in time to see the other’s saddle rock and tip, dumping the rider into the dust of the parade ground, Aurian grinned. Parric, with-wljjwn she had lately been training, sat on the hard-packed earth, swearing horribly.
“Got you!” Aurian crowed, her troubles, for the moment, vanished. “You owe me a beer, Parric.”
The little Cavalry master gave her a sour look, and spat out a mouthful of dust. “Pah! Beer, indeed! You were so bloody slow, I could have had your head off if I’d wanted!”
“Rubbish!” Aurian retorted. “What are you doing down there, then? Go on, admit it, I won.”
“Didn’t!”
“Did!” She looked around for support, and saw Maya over on the archery range at the far side of the parade ground, watching D’arvan shooting at targets with Fional, the Garrison’s crack archer.
“Maya, did you see it?” she called. “I did win, didn’t I?”
Forral’s Second-in-Command—the slender, dark-haired young woman whose luminous, delicate beauty belied whiplash reflexes and one of the most aggressive, effective fighting styles that Aurian had ever seen—stood little over five feet tall, but she had no trouble keeping order—even the biggest trooper feared her acid tongue. Yet she was quiet and shy among strangers, preferring the company of a few intimate friends. Since their first meeting so long ago in the Fleet Deer, she and Aurian had become very close. What was more, Maya seemed to be acquiring a taste for Magefolk. Since D’arvan had started coming with Aurian to the Garrison, he and Portal’s Second-in-Command could usually be found together.