Vannor sat down abruptly. “How could you hope to defeat him, when he holds such a powerful weapon?”
“I don’t know,” Aurian admitted. “But I have to try, or die in the attempt.”
There was no swaying her, and time was too short, danger too near, for argument. Anvar, afraid to his very soul, knew that he would have to accompany her. Who knew what the Mage might do, in her grief? And she hardly seemed to be considering her unborn child. Someone had to take care of her, and it was the very least he could do, in atonement.
Having had some little time to reflect on what had passed, Anvar was consume$L.w,ith guilt over his part in Forral’s death.
Had he paused to consider toe consequences before rusing to seek the swordsman, Forral would still be alive and so would Finbarr. And Miathan would not have unleashed the terror of the Wraiths. True, the babe wou\d have perished, but hard though the choice was, Anvar knew that Aurian would always have chosen her love. Just now, she had submerged her grief in the need to act, but eventually it would occur to her, as it had to him, who was truly responsible. He shuddered at what she might do to him then. But it would only be what he deserved. Anvar closed his eyes in grief. Was he doomed always to be the bane of those dearest to him? First his mother, then Sara—and now Forral and Aurian. He truly wished that he had died instead of the swordsman—and he was certain that Aurian would feel the same way.
Aurian and Vannor made their plans swiftly. Vannor would take his personal guards and try to locate Parric in the city, and gather support there to resist the Archmage. Anvar shuddered, marveling at the merchant’s courage. He was shamefully glad that he would not have to venture into those Wraith-infested streets. He and Aurian were to take Vannor’s little boat, a light pleasure craft, and escape downriver to the port. The Mage had decided that the quickest way to reach the southern forts would be by sea, and Vannor provided her with gold to pay for their passage on a ship. Then the merchant made a request of Aurian that snapped Anvar out of his introspection with a jolt. “When you go, will you take Sara with you? She’d be safer in one of the southern forts than with m?.”
Aurian frowned. “Vannor, I can’t,” she said bluntly. “Though Forral”—her voice trembled at the mention of his name—“though he taught me a lot about adventuring, this will be the first such journey that I’ve made, and having Sara with me would endanger both us and herself. Truly, she’d be safer with you.”
“Aurian, please,” Vannor begged. “I know she’s not made for hardship, but she’ll be in worse danger if she stays here.”
.Aurian sighed. “Very well, Vannor. I owe you that much, and more besides—but bear in mind that we won’t be able to cosset her.”
Vannor’s face brightened. “Thank you, Lady,” he said. “I’ll have her brought here at once.”
??? rounded on Vannor like a fury, accusing him of all kinds of stupidity for becoming involved in the first place, for incurring the Archmage’s wrath and ruining their lives. The merchant looked thoroughly ashamed of her behavior, and Aurian’s lip curled in disgust. Anvar stayed silent in the background, his heart pounding as he drank in her beauty once more. Though she was ignoring his presence, he had seen her face turn white at the sight of him, and was tortured anew by the memory of her repudiation the last time they had met. Yet had it stemmed from hatred of him—or fear of Vannor discovering the shameful secret of her past?
It was plain from the scene before him that all the love in the marriage was on Vannor’s side. When Sara addressed her husband, Anvar saw nothing but coldness and scorn. Her mother had said that Sara’s father had sold her in marriage to Vannor. Had she been forced against her will? Was she a prisoner in these rich surroundings? It would explain her behavior toward the merchant, whom Anvar knew to be a kind and decent man at heart. And if she hated Vannor, how would the girl react when she discovered that she would be traveling with her former lover, who had fathered a child on her and left her to face the consequences?
Vannor’s explanation never got as far as including Anvar. When the merchant managed to get a word in edgewise to tell Sara their plans, she refused point-blank to go. “Why should I?” she snapped, stamping her foot, “I’m not wandering the world like a vagabond, with her” She glared at Aurian, “None of this U my fault—the Archmage can’t blame me. I didn’t choose to marry a fool—or an outlaw!”
Anvar saw the hurt on Vannor’s face, saw Aurian curse and step forward, her hand upraised. He leapt forward, certain that the Mage was about to strike her, but Aurian simply laid her hand on Sara’s head and said: ’’Sleep!” Sara crumpled to the ground. “Don’t worry,” Aurian said, catching Vannor’s worried glance as he knelt by his wife. “It’ll keep her out of mischief for a while. Send for someone to carry her down to the boat, Vannor. We’ve delayed too long already.”
“Is she all right?” the merchant asked.
“Of course she-w. Far more than she deserves to be,”
Aurian replied irritably. “She’s only asleep. But I warn you, Vannor—the next time she starts carrying on like that, I really will slap her—with the greatest pleasure!”
The wind was rising, driving ragged tatters of cloud across the face of a sickly half-moon whose fitful, flickering light afforded glimpses of dark, bare branches tossing against the sky. Patches of unmelted snow still lingered on the wooded river-banks by Vannor’s little boathouse and the river ran swiftly, sending choppy waves lapping hungrily against the edge of the low wooden jetty. One of Vannor’s guards held a shielded lantern aloft, and another pulled the small boat out of its shelter and held it steady while the merchant gently laid the sleeping, warmly wrapped form of his wife inside, pillowing her head on the pathetic bundles that contained their belongings.
Anvar shivered. He was wearing a cloak borrowed from Vannor, but between the chill of the night and the shock that had finally caught up with him, he was seized with an uncontrollable trembling. Aurian stood beside him, huddled miserably in Forral’s old cloak, her face pale and set like stone. Only her indomitable will, he knew, was keeping her from collapse, and he feared for her.
Vannor looked long at Sara and kissed her in farewell, then turned to Aurian, catching her up in a rough hug. “The Gods go with you, Lady,” he said in a choked voice, tears running freely down his cheeks. ^
“And with you, dear Vannor.” Aurian’s voice caught on a sob. She swallowed hard. “Take care of yourself,” she said softly and, wiping her eyes, she drew her hood over her head and climbed down into the boat, careful of the sword that she now bore at her side. She thrust her staff, which she had reclaimed from Anvar, into her belt, and took hold of the pole, ready to push off. Vannor came to Anvar and seized his hand in a warm grasp. “Take care of them, lad,” he said. “Take care of them both.”
Anvar nodded, speechless. He climbed aboard the frail little craft and took up the oars. Aurian pushed with the pole and the boat swung out into the current of the dark river. As they gathered speed, Vannor’s form quickly dwindled, and passed
15
Flight and Pursuit
Keeping close into the shadows of the bank, Aurian poled the boat swiftly downstream as Anvar labored at the oars. Running with the current, they fled the horror behind them, skimming first past trees, then the finely tended gardens of merchants’ mansions, then past more trees. Aurian gripped the pole tightly and put her back into the work, steeling herself against the heavy, burning pain of her grief, blind to the dark, choppy waters that swirled around them. Forral’s face was all that she could see. Forral—left behind, but gone much further than that—gone forever. She’d never see his beloved face again, alight with life and love. Never feel his arms around her, never . . .