The blade thrummed, flaring into fiery light as Aurian infused it with the force of her Fire-magic. She went for the abomination with a great, two-handed swipe, cleaving it straight through the middle. Her blade met no resistance, as though it had passed through smoke. The specter gave a deep, chilling chuckle—and the two halves rejoined, flowing effortlessly back together. Shock exploded through her, as her blade went dark and dead. Aurian staggered back weakly, dropping the sword, her hands and arms numb with a pervasive chill that was quickly spreading. The abomination advanced, seeming to grow in size, blotting out the room with its massive, shadowy form. Passing over her as she lay helpless, it swooped upon the swordsman, engulfing him in its reeking darkness. Forral gave one last, strangled cry—her name—as the dark mass flowed over him. Then there was silence. Slowly, the abomination lifted.
Forral lay, white and still, as Aurian had seen him so long ago, in a dread vision, “Forral!” she shrieked, a cry wrenched with anguish from the depths of her soul, as, heedless of her own danger, she flung herself upon him. But it was too late. Forral’s body beneath her was lifeless, an icy husk, his breathing stilled, his great, generous, loving heart stopped forever.
Anvar reached the doorway in time to see Forral fall. He saw Aurian, oblivious in her grief to her own danger, hurl herself across his body, weeping as she tried to revive him, seeking desperately with her Healer’s senses for one last spark of life to which she could cling. With a jarring whine, the dark, roiling monstrosity swooped down toward her, its black maw gaping. “No!” Miathan screamed. “Not her, you fool!” The Thing ignored him. Strengthened by the life-force of its victim, it was now beyond his control. With an inarticulate cry, Anvar leapt forward, only to be shouldered aside by the tall, lanky form of Finbarr, bearing his staff. He lifted it, facing the monster, and cried out some words in a strong, ringing voice.
The abomination gave a startled flicker, suddenly finding itself enclosed by a misty blue aura. Then it stopped, frozen, hanging helplessly in midair scant inches away from Aurian’$ face, taken completely out of time by Finbarr’s preserving spell. Miathan recoiled with a vile curse, and lifting his hands, uttered a spell of his own. More dark shapes, more and more, began to pour over the rim of the chalice. Finbarr countered them with his own spell, freezing each Wraith as it emerged, his damp face contorted with strain, “Nihilim!” he shouted. “The Death Wraiths of the Caldron! Anvar—get Aurian out of here!” Meiriel, in her corner, was shrieking,
Anvar needed no second telling. He dashed across to Aurian, ducking around the frozen form of the hideous monstrosity that loomed over her. She clutched frantically at Forral, as Anvar tugged at her arm. “Aurian, come on,” he yelled. “Please—there’s nothing you can do for him!” His own fact-was flooded with tears.
Aurian looked up at him, and her eyes suddenly cleared, as though she recognized him for the first time. She dragged t sleeve across her tearstained face and nodded, then turned back to Forral, touching his race with a gentle hand, in farewell. “Safe journey, love,” she whispered, “until we meet again.” Then, with a sob, she tore herself away, leaning heavily on Anvar’s arm as they staggered toward the door.
Finbarr was still fighting the -Arcjimage’s endless succession of Wraiths, He was staggering with weakness now. Vannor stood at the door, paralyzed with horror, his face deathly white, Anvar thrust Aurian into his arms.
“Help her,” he yelled. “Hurry!” He ran ahead of them down the stairs and ducked into Aurian’s room, snatching up her bundle of discarded warrior’s clothing and her sword. There was no time for more. He caught up with Vannor and Aurian at the bottom of the stairs and helped the distraught Mage mount one of the horses. Vannor mounted the other, and Anvar passed his bundle to the merchant before leaping up behind Aurian and snatching up the reins.
“To my house!” Vannor shouted, and spurred toward the gates, trampling the fallen bodies of the guards in his haste.
As they passed the gates, they heard a terrible shriek from the tower—Meiriel’s voice. Aurian stiffened in Anvar’s arms and gasped, flinching as though she had been struck. “Finbarr. He’s dead,” she said in a small, bleak voice, as though this last grief were the utter end and nothing could ever touch her again. As Anvar looked back at the tower, he saw the sinister black shapes of the Wraiths already beginning to pour out of the upper windows, heading for the city.
They thundered across the causeway, away from the horror behind them, and turning right, took the lamplit road that climbed away amidst the trees, never once pausing in their wild flight until they reached the sturdy carved doors of Vannor’s mansion. Pushing past the bewildered servant who opened the door, the merchant led them across the tiled hallway and into his study. Dropping Aurian’s bundle on the floor, he gestured for Anvar to help the Mage to the couch, and poured strong spirits for each before dropping shakily into his own chair. “Gods,” he said. “What are we going to do?” Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped his brow. “It’s obvious,” he went on, with the calm of deep shock, “that Miathan is insane. He’s broken the Mages’ Code and unleashed a horror such as this city has never seen. He always wanted power—he’ll take it now, make no mistake. And he’ll be after us—and Aurian in particular. You’ll have to get her away from here, lad. The only question is, where? Could you go north, Lady, to your mother?”
Aurian sat stiffly beside Anvar on the couch, staring at nothing, her eyes wide and blank, her face gray. Her knuckles were clenched white about her untouched cup.
“Lady?” Anvar prompted gently. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he guided her hands that held the cup to her lips, encouraging her to drink.
As she swallowed the fiery liquor a tremor passed through her, and the terrible tension of her body eased a little. “Forral,” she whispered longingly. Her eyes began to focus, and Anvar could hardly bear to meet that lost, pain-filled gaze. Then she looked away, and with a shaking hand held her cup out to Vannor to be refilled, and downed the liquor in one swift gulp.
“Anvar, what happened?” she asked. “What did the Archmage do to me? Why were you and—and Forral there?”
Briefly, his voice trembling with emotion, Anvar told her, and saw her eyes grow wide with shock. “Child?” she gasped. “What child? I’m not—I can’t be!” For a moment her expression clouded, and Anvar guessed that she was probing within, with her Healer’s extra sense. “Dear Gods,” she murmured. “Solstice! It must have been at Solstice. We were drunk that night ... So happy . . . But I couldn’t have been so careless—it’s impossible ...” Suddenly her eyes flared with a terrible anger. “Meiriel!” she snarled. “Meiriel betrayed me! It’s the only possibility! By all the Gods, she’ll pay for this, before I’m done!”
Leaping to her feet, she whirled toward Vannor, suddenly grimly decisive. “You go north, Vannor, if you will,” she said. “My mother must be warned that the Archmage has turned traitor and renegade. We’ll need her powers before this is done. Gather together any who’ll support us as you go. I’m going south, to the hill forts, to raise an army. I swear to you that I’ll never rest until Miathan has paid in full for his deeds tonight!”
“What!” Vannor sprang upright in turn, white an4 shaken. “Aurian, don’t be so rash! Will you break the Mages’ Code for revenge? Don’t you remember the bitter lessons of the Cataclysm? You can’t unleash that horror again!”
The Mage met his gaze without flinching. “I have no choice,” she said. “Miathan has already broken the Code. Finbarr said those—things—were Nihilim, the Death Wraiths, and that can only mean that he possesses the Caldron of ancient legend, and has turned its power to^evil. If we don’t stop him, he’ll eventually hold the very world in his hand.”