“Lie back, relax, let your mind drift . . . Think of Aurian of going to her, to help her . . . Let yourself drift away, away from your body, toward Aurian
...”
Forral let himself be lulled by the Moldan’s words. He thrust all thoughts of panic and danger, of Aurian in trouble id needing him, out of his mind. He simply concentrated on image of the Mage’s beloved face, and let the words of Basileus lull him, and teach him .. .
It didn’t happen the way he had imagined it would. With abruptness that shocked him, Forral was somewhere else entirely—in a weird, unearthly world that rippled with a scintillating green light.
Back in the cavern, Wolf opened one eye and looked at Forral’s still body. “I expect I could do that,” he said.
“I expect you could,” replied Basileus. “Do you want to try?”
Aurian looked at the writhing knot of darkness that was the Archmage. Good, she thought. Let’s finish this at last.
Without warning, the twin forms of the Serpents of the High Magic swam between Aurian and the Archmage. No longer small enough to fit on Aurian’s staff, they loomed gigantically over the two Mages. “The Rules of Gramarye apply here, Beyond the Worlds,” the Serpent of Might said in a clear voice. “The indiscriminate loosing of magic is forbidden in this higher sphere of existence. No magical weapons or implements may be used to boost your powers—this contest must be judged by your own innate skills, and more important the strength of your will. If you fight, your battle must be structured. You must take the form of creatures from your own corporeal world, and focus your powers through what would be their natural weapons: fangs, spines, or claws. The arena in which you fight, and the corresponding physical forms you must take, will correspond to the elements of Air, Fire, Water, and Earth. A Challenge must be one to one, and no one else may interfere. Do you Challenge?”
Aurian looked at the Archmage. “Well?” she demanded. “Do you Challenge?”
Miathan’s reply was the last thing she had expected. “Aurian, I never wanted it to be like this. It’s all my fault—together we could have achieved such greatness as would have been told in legend for a thousand years, had I not ruined everything. But surely, my dear, even you must see that Eliseth is the enemy now? Already she has the Caldron and she has captured the Sword, even though she cannot use it. You are well matched, the two of you—there is no guarantee that you can defeat her. Lately, it seems, the skirmishes have all gone to her. But together, Aurian, we could wipe her threat forever from the face of the world. My dear, I have always loved you, right from the beginning.—Please, will you not reconsider? Will you not join me, even now?”
Aurian thought of Anvar, sold into drudgery and his powers stolen. She thought of the day she had given birth to her long-awaited child, and found a wolf instead. She thought about Forral, so pale and still and cold in death, and her heart turned over within her.
“Do you Challenge?” she repeated, her voice like stone and steel and the endless void between the stars.
The cloud of darkness seemed to shrink in upon itself. “Is there no forgiveness?” Miathan whispered.
The silence stretched out; a deepening chasm between the Mage and the one who had been her mentor, her protector—and her betrayer.
Aurian felt no hate for him—she was far beyond that now. She had no feelings for him save a steely resolution to be rid of him for good. Miathan was simply vermin, a rat, only using this whining remorse when he was cornered. As long as he was allowed to continue in the world, then there would be no end to the damage and mischief he would do—but like all cornered rats, he would be at his most dangerous now. She knew that if Miathan refused to Challenge, then she must—and in the battle of magic that would follow, that would give him first blow, and his choice of ground. Also there were other matters to be considered. “What about the curse on my son?” she asked him.
“If you’ll join me, I will take it off—I promise.” Miathan leapt eagerly on her words—a little too eagerly.
“But don’t you need the grail for that?” Aurian asked suspiciously.
“I—oh, yes—of course. Yes, you see? We must join forces. . If we don’t get the grail from Eliseth, then how am I to lift the curse from the poor ...”
“You can’t do it, can you? You actually cursed my child, and you don’t know how to undo what you did.” Aurian could hear her voice rising in anger.
“Why do you waste time on this? Kill her now!” Suddenly, Miathan had been joined by another black shape—but this one was vast, like a gigantic sea creature with a nest of grasping tentacles, a single pale eye, and a gaping maw in the center, bristling with ranks of pointed teeth.
“Stay out of this, Ghabal. Or else I make you wish you had stayed where you belong—walled up in a Magefolk tomb!” Aurian turned—and gasped. This must be Basileus—but she had never imagined him looking like this! He was wearing a similar shape to Ghabal’s hideous form—but the Moldan of the Wyndveil was glorious and resplendent, his bright golden eye sparkling, and his many limbs a mass of iridescent color that was patterned with spots and streaks of moving light that seemed to move about independently beneath the surface of his glistening skin.
Even as Aurian watched, the two titans converged with ponderous but savage force, their writhing tentacles grasping and groping as they grappled for a hold. Then all at once, her view of the struggle was obscured by a wall of malevolent darkness. Miathan, without crying Challenge, had taken advantage of her moment of distraction and attacked.
Responding to her anger, Aurian’s incorporeal form crackled with a sheet of searing fire. With a cry, Miathan loosed his hold and dropped away.
“Wait! Archmage! I Challenge you, you misbegotten bag of offal. Challenger The black cloud that was Miathan thinned and turned almost transparent with shock. “You! But . . .” Then suddenly he burst out laughing. “You haven’t the wit to know when you’re beaten, do you? You fool!”
With a cry of anger, Aurian spun round to see who had stolen her prey—and her anger turned to shock. “Forral’! You can’t...”
“He has.” The Serpent of Wisdom’s voice was quiet but inexorable. “The Challenge has been made and accepted.”
Instead of the amorphous forms that the others had chosen for their foray into this Elsewhere, the swordsman was wearing his old, true shape. Aurian found herself glowing gently, with love remembered and love renewed. Which was all very well, but, - -
“What in the name of all the Gods do you think you’re doing, you idiot?” she demanded. “How in perdition do you think you can defeat Miathan in a magical battle?”
“Because I have Anvar’s body, I also have his powers,” Forral explained.
“Basileus explained what to do. In my mind, I just think of it as a normal fight with swords—the sort I was always so good at—and the physical form I assume in this place will take care of itself.”
Before the Mage could say another word, the Serpent of Might intervened once more. “Ignore the Moldai—other rules apply to them. Proceed with the Challenge.”
In an instant, the light within the sphere flashed from green to a translucent blue. In that same instant, Forral vanished and a golden eagle hovered in his place. Where Miathan had been, the dark and massive form of a condor vaned the air. With a harsh cry, the huge black raptor swooped down on its prey. The eagle, smaller and more maneuverable, banked to one side and sideslipped, losing height but avoiding the clutching talons of its foe. With an angry shriek the condor tried to turn, but underestimated its weight and size, and stalled in the air, plunging downward, out of control. Then the great wings snapped open with a gargantuan effort, pulling the great bird out of its dive—but it was too late. The swift eagle cut lightly through the air and intersected the condor’s path, lashing out at the condor’s eyes with its scimitar-curved talons. Screaming horribly, the condor fell, one eye leaking a trail of gore, and ...