The swordsman knew he should be concentrating on what Grince was saying, but his attention kept wandering. Although he felt weary, he was too caught up in the wonder of rebirth to lose a minute of this first, miraculous day in sleep.—After the endless deprivation and numbing monotony of Death’s kingdom, the dank, dusty air of the underground room seemed as fresh and fragrant as a draft of sparkling wine. The sullen fire and even the gloomy shadows it cast seemed ablaze with color and light. The interplay of the two murmuring voices sounded loud and harmonious in his ears, and he thrilled to feel the textures of clothing against his skin, and the warmth of Aurian’s body beside his own.—Experimentally, Forral flexed his right arm. Though it lacked the heavy musculature of his old body, the joints were limber and the grip was strong.—With some regular training, he thought drowsily, I could soon get this body into shape. . . . Abruptly the swordsman snapped wide awake, horrified by the direction of his thoughts. This was not his body—it belonged to Anvar. He must learn to think of it as merely a garment—a borrowed cloak that must be returned someday to its rightful owner.
Why? There was no quelling the insidious little thought that lurked at the back or his mind. Why give up all this wonder and joy when you’ve only just won it back again?
Forral looked for a long time at Aurian as she sat beside him, her head cocked attentively toward the thief. If he were to keep this body, she could be his forever. “But it’s not mine,” he told himself weakly.
Maybe not—but it’s half the age your body was when you died, and we already know, don’t we, that Aurian seems to like your new shape well enough?—A thin tendril of jealousy for Anvar curled itself like bindweed through Forral’s thoughts. Why should he have her? the swordsman thought. She loved me first. Anvar is no longer here, and I have taken his place. In time, I could win her back....
Of course you can, the sly voice began once more. And why shouldn’t you? It wasn’t your fault that you were killed. You weren’t ready. You weren’t finished. Aurian will come to accept it—she loved you for most of her life.—You have a son together. .. .
Stop this! Forral told himself angrily. You know it isn’t right. You should be ashamed of yourself. But then he thought of everything that could be his once more: the dew-drenched stillness of summer dawns on campaign, the smell of leather and woodsmoke, hot baths, cold beer, riotous nights of warm companionship in a crowded tavern, the unknown joys of fatherhood ... He looked at Aurian again.
All of this can be yours once more—and so can she, whispered the voice. Forral forced it back into the depths of his mind as though he were strangling a snake. After a struggle it subsided—but he knew it would be back.
As his attention returned to his surroundings, the swordsman suddenly had the uneasy feeling he was being watched. He looked around to see one of the great cats staring at him intently with blazing eyes. Forral shivered. The creature looked so fierce and knowing—almost as though it had been looking into his innermost thoughts. Firmly, he pulled himself together. “Don’t be a bloody fool,” he muttered to himself. For all of Aurian’s fond imaginings that she understood every word the cat was saying, it was only an animal, when all was said and done.
Shia stifled a growl and flexed her claws, digging them into the crumbling stone of the chamber floor. Stupid human! He was lodged in the body of a Mage, but he had no idea of the powers that were available to him—nor was she about to disabuse him, for it was plain that he could not be trusted.
Anvar’s old channels of mental communication were still open to the cat, and she had overheard every word of Forral’s inner battle. Shia loved Anvar with the same fierce protectiveness that she loved Aurian, and to hear this interloper planning to steal the Mage’s body left her smoldering with rage.—Shia knew she must be patient, however. This human also meant a great deal to Aurian, and in any case, until the grail was regained, nothing could be done to change the situation. They must all work together to defeat their common foe; therefore it would do more harm than good to precipitate a conflict now.—Reluctantly, Shia decided not to tell Aurian what she had overheard. This was not the right time—but nonetheless, the cat resolved that in future she would watch this human very closely indeed.
Rasvald thanked the gods for Lord Pendral’s hounds. Without them, he would never have found the thief in ten thousand years, and besides, it seemed from all the twists, turns, and backtrackings he and his men were making that the wretch had managed to get himself utterly lost in this tangle of passages. The two dogs, however, followed the fugitive’s scent unerringly- Rasvald, who had less confidence in the animals’ ability to find their way back, was careful, at each intersection, to mark the return route with chalk.
There were so many tunnels beneath the promontory that it was a wonder the entire hill didn’t collapse, and the Academy with it, Rasvald thought sourly.—He only wished it could have happened before ill luck had conspired to drag him down here. Though he had brought a dozen men with him—a ridiculously large number to track down a solitary thief—he still didn’t feel at ease. It wasn’t just the cold and darkness, he was sure, that caused his crawling skin and the itch between his shoulder blades—there was a feeling down here, as though some hostile presence left over from the Mages’ reign still walked these passageways.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Rasvald whispered to himself, over and over. There’s no such thing as ghosts!” Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he heard an echo of hollow, mocking laughter.
Whether the phantoms of the Magefolk were present or not, it was impossible to tell. The leaping torchlight made a confusion of shadows, and though he had long ago silenced their grumbling and whispering, the heavy footfalls of the men still obscured all other sound. The whines and harsh panting of the leashed hounds sent a rippling cloak of echoes across the other noises.—Nonetheless, Rasvald knew that they must be closing in on their quarry, for the dogs were becoming increasingly excited now. The big animals strained ahead, pulling so hard on their leashes that their two handlers were forced to quicken their pace, simply to stay on their feet.
“Keep those bloody animals quiet!” Rasvald hissed. “They’ll warn him.”
One of Pendral’s kennelmen gave him a withering look. “Sithee, mister—how would you like to try? Maybe you’d put your hand in his mouth to silence the hound? Or better still, your head?”
“Mind your tongue,” Rasvald snapped—but he had more sense than to push the issue. Instead, he sent a man to run ahead to the next junction of the passage and listen there. Then, when the dogs caught up and pointed the new way, he sent the runner on again. Once more the man went out, and then came racing back up the tunnel. “Sir, I can hear voices up ahead.”
Grince scowled. “New laws here, new rules there, and bloody Garrison troopers everywhere. Truly, Lady—when Lord Vannor was ruling Nexis it got so an honest thief couldn’t make a living anymore.” He sighed. “I have to admit though, that most folk were a lot better off—until the stupid sod decided to go and make war on the bloody Phaerie.”
“He decided to do what?” Aurian gasped. “But that’s insane!”
“Vannor would never do that—he’s got too much sense,” Forral protested.