“Wait,” the creature said. “Think. The risk is small, for the wielder of the Caldron must return here to undo the time spell. Until then, he—”
“She,” Aurian interrupted. “Ownership of the grail has changed since you were first released—and the current wielder is even more to be feared than the last.”
“She, then,” the Wraith replied. “What does it matter? The identity of our slavemaster makes little difference to the Nihilim. She cannot make use of us until she returns to remove the time spell—and until she returns, how can she know we are at large once more?”
“If you help me attack her, she’ll know all right—and I daren’t take a chance on her finding out.” The Mage thought hard for a moment. “Look—you said that Finbarr’s spirit hasn’t departed yet—is there any way I can talk to him?”
“You are aware that my power is all that binds him to this world? You understand that if I permit him to speak to you, I cannot cede control of this form to him, or we are both lost?”
“I understand,” the Mage replied. “Still, I think we may need his wisdom. It seems to me that you must depend on one another—for the time being at least.”
“Very well. I believe that we can share this form, at least.”
Even as Aurian watched, the monster’s features altered—that arcane, unearthly glitter disappeared from Finbarr’s eyes. His face took on animation and life, and he looked like himself again. He jerked into motion as though suddenly awaking from a dream and looked around wildly, his hands crackling with the blue energy of the time spell and the shadow of horror still in his eyes.
“Finbarr,” Aurian cried urgently. “It’s all right. They’ve gone!”
Without warning, the tall, gawky figure tottered from the alcove. He flung his arms around the Mage. “Aurian! My dear! You’re safe. And Anvar! Thanks be to the Gods.” Finbarr peered around him, rubbing his eyes, his brows drawing down in a puzzled frown. “But where are we? These aren’t Miathan’s chambers. These are my archives, surely. How did we come to be here? And where are the Nihilim? Did we get them all? Where is poor Forral . . .” His voice hardened.
“And that thrice-cursed renegade Miathan?”
Aurian realized, to her horror, that the archivist could have no idea that Meiriel was dead. And how could she tell him of his soulmate’s insanity, and her murderous attempt on the Mage’s life, and that of Wolf? At this reminder of her son, the thread of her deliberations was broken by a pang of longing.—If only I could see him, she thought—just to know he’s safe. What does he look like now? Does he remember me? Regretfully, she wrenched her thought back to the business in hand. She had enough to worry about right now. Finbarr would have to know the truth.
The Mage sighed. “Finbarr, you were taken out of time by your own spell. A very great deal has happened since that battle with the Wraiths—and a good deal of it is bad news, I’m afraid. If I help you, will you be able to take the information directly from my mind? It’ll take hours, otherwise.”
Even using such a direct method, it took some time to bring the archivist up to the present. By the time Aurian had finished, she was wringing with sweat and thoroughly exhausted. It had been hard for her to relive the past—both the good and the bad. For Finbarr, it had been even harder. The Archivist was weeping openly. “Why?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you leave me in peace? Why bring me back to break my heart like this?”
Aurian took his hand. “Because we need you, Finbarr. You know more about the Nihilim than any of us—at the moment, you have a chance to know one of them intimately. Can we trust them? Dare we remove your old time spell and release them, or is the risk too great?”
The Archivist closed his eyes, his concentration so intense that Aurian could almost feel it. “You can trust them,” he said at last. “What one know, all know—and they are all desperate to be free of the Caldron’s chains. You are the only one who can aid them—and in return they will do anything in their power to help you. But unfortunately, until they are free of Eliseth’s control, they will always remain a risk and a threat to you.”
Finbarr opened his eyes. “This doesn’t please the one who shares my body—but I would advise against releasing them from the spell. The risk is far too great.—You must fight your own battles, Aurian—but you’re used to that.” He smiled wryly. “One thing I would advise, however, is that you leave the Wraith that occupies my body free to act. Let it come with you—if the worst came to the worst, you could deal with a single Wraith.” His eyes twinkled. “You must decide for yourself whether I’m advising you through selfish motives here, for if the Wraith goes with you, then so do I.”
“If it means having you with us, I’ll do whatever it takes,” Aurian assured him. She looked round at her companions. “Finbarr’s advice sounds good to me.”
“As long as I am here to protect you,” Shia said. “I like your human friend, but I don’t trust that other thing.”
Then Forral intervened. “No. This is lunacy, Aurian. I won’t have it—you’re taking too great a risk.”
He wouldn’t have it? And who did he think he was, to be giving orders? Aurian glared at him stonily. Just because he was afraid . . . “No,” she replied shortly, “I can’t agree. I understand your doubts, but—”
“Doubts? Those things are cold-blooded killers,” Forral roared. “They’re evil—and no one should know that better than me.” With a visible effort, he calmed himself. “Listen, love—I appreciate the advantage that this might give us, but in my opinion ...”
“In my opinion, the risk is justified.” Aurian took a firm hold on her temper.—Be patient, she told herself. Remember that Forral was killed by these creatures. He has more reason than any of us to fear the Nihilim.
“I see,” Forral said coldly. “In my absence you’ve learned all there is to know about the art of war, is that it? Well, come back in another thirty years, Aurian, and tell me that—and even then it won’t be true. Let me tell you, you’re making a big mistake. I know your stubbornness of old, my girl—but this time, you’re putting all our lives in danger.”
At Aurian’s side, Shia snarled softly. “Will you let this human speak to you like that?”
The Mage rested her hand lightly on the great cat’s head. “Forral is still living in the past. Things have changed a good deal since he was alive, and he must learn about me as I am now. I’m afraid it won’t be easy for him.”
“Nor for you,” Shia added softly.
Mage confronted swordsman, until the tension in the air had reached breaking point.
“I value your experience, Forral,” Aurian said firmly, “but this is a matter of magic, not Mortal war. I know more about our enemy—and about the Artifacts—than anyone else. I’ll take advice, but ultimately the decisions are mine to make, and that’s the end of it.”
“It is not the end of it!” Forral raged. “By all the Gods, Aurian, I brought you up! I don’t have to stand here and take this from you!”
Aurian lifted her chin and looked at him levelly. “That’s true,” she said quietly, “you don’t. You’re free to leave at any time.”
Forral gaped at her. “What? And where the bloody blazes am I supposed to go?—Do you really think I’m going to just go off and let you get yourself into all kinds of trouble?”
“That’s up to you,” Aurian told him implacably. “But if you stay, I don’t want to hear any more arguments about this. You taught me yourself, long ago, that only one person at a time can be in command.”