The Mage led Sara tq^he only bunk, and laid her down. “Rut,” she said softly, and Sara’s eyes closed again. “There,” Aurian said wearily. “She’ll sleep naturally now, and wake when she’s ready. Pray Gods it won’t be too soon.” Drawing Coronach, she sat down on the floor, resting her back against the bunk, and fell asleep instantly, her sword in her hand.
Aurian was rudely awakened by the sound of Sara’s wails. “I won’t stay here, I won’t! It’s filthy and it stinks and it’s infested with bugs! I want to go home! This is your fault, Anvar. If you hadn’t—”
The Mage leapt to her feet, confronting the raging girl who was sitting on the bunk, her skirts drawn tightly around her ankles. “Shut up!” she ordered sharply. Sara stopped short in the midst of her tirade, glaring up at her. Aurian registered the rocking motion of the ship beneath her feet, and ignoring Sara, leaned past her to look out of the tiny stern port. “There’s the land, back there,” she said calmly, pointing out of the window. “I suggest you start swimming now, before it gets any farther away. I don’t think you’ll fit through the window, but I’m sure we can arrange to have you thrown over the side.”
Sara’s face twisted with rage. “I hate you!” she snapped.
“Hate away,” said Aurian evenly. “It doesn’t bother me. But just bear in mind that you don’t have a home anymore. This stinking, louse-ridden hole is all you have, and this is where you’ll stay until we reach Easthaven.”
Sara’s mouth fell open. “You mean I’m a prisoner?” she shrieked. “You can’t do this! How dare you! When Vannor hears of this—”
“Vannor sent you with me for your own protection. Your safety is my responsibility, and I’m telling you that you won’t leave this cabin for any reason. If anyone comes to the door, get into the bunk and cover yourself with the blanket—especially your face. Whatever happens you must not show yourself to any of the ship’s crew. I’ve told the captain you’re sick with the pox —that should keep them—”
“What?” Sara yelled, completely outraged.
“Lady . . .” Anvar protested. “It isn’t fair to—”
“Have you two ever seen a young woman raped by a gang of pirates?” Aurian’s matter-of-fact tone brought the others up short. There was sudden fear in Sara’s eyes. “I haven’t,” Aurian went on, “and I don’t want to see it now. This ship is crewed by the most villainous, vicious-looking gang of cutthroats I’ve ever set eyes on, and if they get one look at you, I won’t be able to stop them, and neither will Anvar. I know that this is hard on you, Sara. Anvar is right, it isn’t fair, and I’m sorry. But do it my way, please—for all our sakes.”
Sara stared at her for a moment, then fell facedown on the bunk and burst into tears. Anvar rushed to comfort her. Aurian glanced at him in surprise, then turned with a shrug and left the cabin.
Aurian sat, one leg tucked beneath her on the narrow bench that curved around the bows of the ship. So far, the crew seemed to be giving her a wide berth, although she felt their eyes on her as she watched the hazy sun making its slow descent toward the dim horizon to her right. She was thinking back to the previous night, trying her best to sort the hard facts from the haze of anger, grief, and fear that overlaid her memory of all that had happened. The child—that was one matter. Wonder-ingly, Aurian turned her thoughts inward, to touch that dim spark of life—so tiny, yet, that she hadn’t known it even existed. Try as she might, she was unable to stifle the resentment that flared within her. If it had not been for this child, Forral would still be alive . . . Yet now, it was all that was left of him. It should be precious to her. And it had hardly asked to be brought into being. That was her fault, her own carelessness in letting Meiriel betray her. All the poor thing had was enemies —the Archmage would take its life as he had taken its father’s . . .
How could she ever hope to defeat Miathan? Aurian shuddered. It had been all very well, in the heat of the moment, to swear that oath, and she meant to bring it home to him in any way she could—but how? The Archmage was mad, and renegade, and he possessed a weapon far beyond her capabilities. How powerful was the Caldron? What was the point of raising an army against such power? Thousands of people would be killed to no purpose. But what had happened to the other lost artifacts of the High Magic? Ah. If she could only trace even one of them . . . But where could she even start to look? They had been lost for centuries, .Aurian’s thoughts circled in hopeless frustration. This is too much for me, she thought. If only Forral were here ...
As she thought of her love, his image suddenly came into her mind—not dead, as she had last seen him, but alive, and sitting, of all the incongruous places, in the taproom of the Invisible Unicorn. He was leaning across the beer-stained table toward her, explaining something, and Aurian realized that she was remembering a conversation that they had had some time ago. “If a problem seems too big,” he was saying, “you’ll never get anywhere by battering yourself against it. Break it up into steps, and deal with the first thing first. Then, more often than not, you’ll find that the other steps will fall into place,”
It was good advice, and timely, Aurian smiled, remembering. “Thank you, love,” she whispered, and the image seemed to smile in return as it faded from her mind. Aurian blinked at the ocean before her, and shook her head. Had it been a memory? A vision? Imagination? She had no idea, but it had left her feeling more at peace, and obscurely comforted. And her path was suddenly clear before her. Do the first thing first. Well, the first thing was to get this journey safely over—to escape from the pirates and the Archmage and get to the hill forts, where she could find some help and some measure of safety. And after that? Well, she would see.
Aurian whirled at the sound of soft footsteps behind her. Her sword was halfway out of its scabbard before she realized that it was Anvar, who stepped back, startled. She shrugged apologetically, and moved to make room for him on the bench, “How is Sara?” she asked him.
Anvar made a wry face. “Still upset,” he said. “Cursing Vannor, and you, and me, and just about everybody she can think of.”
Aurian sighed. “As long as she curses inside the cabin, I’m not going to waste time worrying about it. We’ll never get the wretched girl to realize that she’s not the only person in the world with troubles.”
Anvar looked concerned « the reminder. “How are you, Lady? I didn’t like to leave you alone for so long, only she—”
“I’ll survive. I suppose I’ll have to, really.” Aurian tempered her grim words with a smile for him. “And I didn’t mind being alone, Anvar, The crew aren’t bothering me—they seem to have some respect for this”—she patted the hilt of her sword —“and I needed to do some thinking,”
“Lady, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Aurian could see no point in lying to him. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much at the moment, Anvar. We have to get off this ship alive first. Let’s just concentrate on that for now. I wonder what passes for food around here?”
What passed for food turned out to be a greasy, nauseating gray slop that went by the name of “stew,” Sara, in particular, was far from impressed, and said so in no uncertain terms. “I can’t eat this!” she protested. “It’s disgusting! I’ll be sick!”
“If you’re going Jp^be sick, be sure and do it out the window,” Aurian said brutally, forcing another spoonful of the vile stuff down and trying not to think of dead rats. Sara retired to her bunk in offended silence, and soon the sound of sobbing could be heard coming from beneath the blanket.
“Lady,” Anvar whispered awkwardly, “couldn’t you be— well, more gentle with her? It’s hard for her—she’s not used to this.”
Aurian swore. “Anvar, may I remind you that we aren’t on a picnic here? We’re fleeing for our lives, and we have no time to cosset Sara. It’s the same for all of us, you know! She’ll just have to get used to it—and bloody quick!” Hurling her empty plate across the floor, she stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind her.