“What?” the young Mage shouted. “Damn you, you can’t...”
“Can I not?” Hellorin’s voice was like a knife blade dragged along bone. All his original good intentions had vanished. If D’arvan wanted to join him, that was well and good—but if not, he must be broken, and taught his place. “Maya is my possession now, my plaything,” he told his son in a soft, insinuating voice. “I can dispose of her as I please—not to mention those two strayed Xandim that you so kindly brought me.”
He shrugged, feigning indifference. “As for you, you are free to leave at any time. Of course, since you abhor the use of the Xandim you will have to walk, but I daresay your lofty ideals will sustain you over the endless miles of empty wilderness.”
“No,” D’arvan shouted. “I am not leaving here without Maya!”
Hellorin fixed him with a flinty stare. “Be assured, you will not be leaving with her. You gave up all your rights to her when you repudiated your father and your heritage.” He licked his lips. “Perhaps, since I have no heirs now, I will take your little swordmaid for myself. What sons she will breed me, eh?”
Before he had time to register what was happening, a fireball was hurtling toward his face. Gasping with shock, he threw up his will to form a shield—only just in time. Close enough to singe his skin, the balefire spattered against the barrier and dissipated in an incandescent starburst.—Droplets of liquid flame burned a pattern of small, dark holes in the moss-green carpet.
Hellorin, recovering quickly, threw back his head and laughed. “Well done, my boy! I am glad to see that my cub has teeth after all.”
D’arvan leaned back weakly against the wall, gasping for breath, his face chalk-white.
Hellorin’s lips curled in a feral smile. “I would wager, however,” he added in conversational tones, “that you couldn’t do it again—not for some time, at any rate. You are an Earth-Mage, D’arvan—to hurl fire in such a profligate fashion demands too much of you.”
He approached the reeling D’arvan, and looked deep into the eyes of his son.
“Enough of this nonsense. I have given you every chance to cooperate as a dutiful son should, yet you have met me with nought but insolence and defiance. Now, let me tell you what will happen. The days of the Magefolk are over—the Phaerie will rule their lands in their stead. Now that my city has been built, I fully intend to subjugate Nexis once and for all, and bring the Nexians under my sovereignty. I was merely awaiting your return, for it seemed fitting that I should present your native city to you as a gift.”
“What?” D’arvan choked. “But that’s preposterous!”
“Why so?” Hellorin shrugged. “Someone must rule those hapless Mortals, and even I cannot be in two places at once. So, my son, it comes down to a plain choice for you. You can accept my offer and take up the rule of Nexis for me—for in that way, and that way only, will you see the Mortals treated as you would have them treated. Also, you will have your she-wolf Maya for your queen—and breed me some grand-children, eh?”
“And what if I refuse?” D’arvan said slowly. “What will you do to me then?”
“To you? Absolutely nothing. As I said before, you will be free to leave this place, to go your own ways. But you will no longer be my son, and someone else will rule over Nexis and oversee my Mortal slaves. Also, I will keep Maya for myself.”
He paused. “Decide, my son. Already you overstrain my patience. I will not ask you twice.”
D’arvan dropped his face into his hands, and let his shoulders slump in defeat. “Very well, my father,” he whispered. “I’ll do what you ask of me.”
Then he straightened his back and looked unflinchingly into his father’s eyes.
“There will, however, be certain conditions.”
13
A Price to Pay
“Now it begins.” As Death stepped away from the Well of Souls, the vision cupped within it vanished, and the figures of Aurian and Forral were replaced by boundless depths and the whirl of infinite stars. Within the shadows of his deep cowl, the Specter smiled a wry, secretive little smile. That incorrigible, unstoppable Mage had returned to the world and discovered the substitution of one love for another. This should make matters interesting!—Death made his way back through the sacred grove, wondering which Magewoman he would soon be welcoming to his realm: Eliseth—or Aurian.
As he left the trees, the Specter stopped, cursing softly. There, waiting for him, was that pigheaded fool of a Mage.
Anvar confronted the implacable figure. “What did you see in there?” he demanded. “She’s back, isn’t she? After all this time, Aurian has returned to the world—I can feel it. We’re Magefolk, soul-mates and custodians of the Artifacts—it would take more than mere death to sever our bond. You’ve got to send me back now! I can’t stay here—why, I’m not really dead, in any real sense of the word. You’ve got to let me go!”
“By all means.” Death’s voice was light with mockery, but his cold gaze never faltered. “I grow weary of your incessant whining and complaints. That swordsman was bad enough, but you . . .” Red sparks of anger kindled in the black depths of the Specter’s eyes. Anvar said no more, but stood his ground.—After a moment, the twin sparks flared brighter.
“Go, then,” Death snarled. “I will not hinder you. Leave—if you think you can find a way out. You have been here long enough to explore every corner of my realm—you should know by now that the only way out of this place is the Well of Souls.”
“There must be a way out,” Anvar insisted stubbornly. “Aurian and I were here once before, and we got away. I’m willing to wager that you’ll tell me eventually, when you’ve grown tired of playing games with me. Let me warn you—
Death or no Death, you’ll tire of me long before I run out of ways to plague you!”
“You tire me already—believe me.” The Specter sighed. “Very well—I cannot help you escape from this place, but I will tell you the one way in which you can leave. Do you remember our encounter when you and that wretched Mage were in the desert? Her spirit passed beyond the Door, and you came in search of her?”
“It’s not a thing I’m likely to forget,” Anvar replied: “I followed her to this place and you sent us back together. So why can’t you send me back now?”
“Because at that time, one of you was still anchored in Life. This served to draw you both back to the mundane world.”
“But I am still anchored in Life,” Anvar protested. “My body is still there.—It was stolen by that treacherous son of a bitch, and ...”
“And therefore it no longer belongs to you,” Death said flatly. “Dispute the matter as you will, you are dead. In order for you to return to the mundane world, one of the living must come in search of you—so you had better hope that Aurian does not decide that her swordsman is a fair exchange for her former soulmate. Even if she should seek you and guide you back, until the Caldron is found you will exist as nothing but a bodiless spirit—a ghost, if you will. And, should that Mage of yours regain the Caldron, you must still persuade Forral to give up your body. He may be well determined to stay where he is—and if that is the case, you must return to me, or be doomed to roam the earth as a ghost forever, until you are entirely forgotten. Then your spirit will be snuffed out, and will cease to exist. Heed me, Anvar, for that is the risk you run, if you persist in wishing to return. If the swordsman refuses to quit your body, your only hope is to fight him for possession.”
Forral tried to fold Anvar’s long legs beneath his threadbare cloak as he huddled, shivering, in a drafty corner of the underground chamber. He didn’t mind the cold and darkness—he was savoring Aurian’s sweet presence as she sat beside him, talking softly with the shabby little thief. Though he had found it difficult to accept her new air of command and the core of steel that seemed to have grown within her in his absence, they seemed to have reached a fragile understanding at least—though so far, he admitted ruefully, it seemed to be entirely on the Mage’s terms. It was something to build upon, however, and Forral was privately glad that he’d been able to return in time to help her with the culmination of her quest. He had always protected her, and he wasn’t stopping now—no matter how forcefully she objected.