It had been a difficult decision. All too well, the thief recalled the agonies of riding on horseback, and his fear of the vast, wild, open spaces, without a house or a paved road in sight. He reminded himself of the endless misery of never feeling warm, the rough, scanty meals, the utter blackness of night, and the dreadful tension of lying awake in the dark, waiting for some vile and vicious creature to pounce. And worst of all, there was the insecurity, the constant lurking terror of being left alone in the wilderness—for if anything should befall his companions, he could measure his own life within a day or two at most.
Grince had thought about all of these difficulties constantly over the last two days, until his head was spinning—and he didn’t care. He had almost lost her at the standing stone, and Aurian wasn’t going to get the chance to leave him again. This time, at least, he could follow her wherever she was going, and he intended to do exactly that. The problem, however, would be convincing her to take him.
When the meal was over, Grince waylaid the Mage as she was about to follow Forral to their rooms. “Lady, can I speak with you for a moment?” he asked her.
“Why of course.” Though Aurian looked tired, she had a smile for him, as always. Turning aside from her planned route, she led him to the great cavern where the ships were docked. They walked along the beach, crunching fragments of the white shell shingle underfoot. The Mage looked at Grince, one eyebrow raised. “Well?” she said. “What can I do for you?”
All of Grince’s carefully prepared arguments flew right out of his head.
“I—I’m going with you,” he blurted. “When you leave. I’m coming too.” He looked at her defiantly.
The Mage’s eyebrow rose another fraction. “I don’t think so,” she said pleasantly.
The thief’s heart sank. “Lady, you’ve got to take me with you. That Chiamh was only saying yesterday that you’ll need all the help you can get, and ...”
“Look, Grince,” Aurian said firmly. “I don’t want to offend you, but I think Chiamh was talking about help, he meant the assistance of folk who could ride a horse and use a sword, or wield magic.”
“You’re saying I’m no good,” Grince muttered sullenly, kicking sprays of sand out in front of him.
“I’m not saying anything of the kind. It’s just that you’re not cut out for the kind of journey we’ll be making. Why, that little ride from Nexis to here nearly killed you—and don’t tell me you enjoyed it, because I bloody well know you didn’t. You had a miserable time from first to last.” She sighed. “It’s not a question of being no good—it’s a question of different skills and experiences. Had we been heading for a city like Nexis, you would have come into your own. Had I needed a thief...”
“Who’s to say you won’t?” Grince put in quickly.
“Then I’ll just have to manage.” Aurian’s tone brooked no further argument, but she softened her words with a smile for him. “Grince, if I take you with me, I truly believe I’ll get you killed. And I’m not going to do that. I’ve seen too many friends die—I like you far too much to let that happen to you.”
With a whirl of her wine-red skirts she was gone.
Grince looked after her, not sure whether to be upset or gladdened by her words. One thing was for sure—she had achieved exactly the opposite of what she had intended. If the Mage liked him so much, there was no way he would let her leave him behind. “It’s not over yet,” he muttered. “I’m coming with you—just you wait and see.”
When the Mage returned to her chambers, Forral had stoked up the fire in the stove and poured two glasses of wine. “What was all that about?” he asked her, seeing her frown.
Aurian shook her head and sighed. “Poor Grince seems to have taken leave of his senses. He wants to come with me when I go south. Can you imagine? It took the poor little sod his time to get here from Nexis, he has no woodcraft whatever, he can’t even use a sword properly, yet he’s blithely big about setting off on a journey of several hundred leagues.”
Forral shrugged. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you? It looks as though you’ve got another follower. By all the Gods, Aurian—I don’t know how you manage to inspire such loyalty. . . .” He paused, and smiled at her. “No—in truth, I think I do know. You care. Within minutes of meeting Grince you had healed him and helped him, you smuggled him out of the city with you, probably saving his life in the process, and then you were the only one who stood by him when he was caught trying to steal from Mandzurano. I’ve noticed him watching you—I reckon he’s taken a real fancy to you, love.”
“To me? Absolute rubbish!” Aurian snorted.
“I’m serious,” Forral told her. “For most of his life he’s had no one. Just think what a lonely existence that must have been, without family or friends.—He’s never had anyone to love, and nobody has cared for him. Then along you come. You’re kind to him as no one else has been, and for the first time, someone is treating him like a human being.... What do you think? It’s no wonder he imagines he’s in love with you.”
The Mage glared at him. “In love, my backside. Whatever Grince imagines he’s feeling, it’s nothing more than hero worship, pure and simple—and I should know the symptoms. I remember a little girl, once upon a time, who felt the same way about you.”
“Yes, and look how that ended up,” the swordsman growled.
Aurian sighed in exasperation. “Forral, this nonsense has gone quite far enough. You’re talking more like a kitchen maid than a bloody swordsman!”
Forral shrugged. “Well, you may be right. Maybe I can see it so clearly in Grince because I’m in love with you.”
“You daft bugger.” Aurian shook her head. “Honestly—you must be going soft in your old age. If anyone should hear the world’s greatest swordsman saying things like that, your reputation would be ruined forever.” She smiled at him fondly and held out her hand. “Stop talking nonsense and come to bed.”
Chiamh took off his clothes and threw them in the general direction of a chair, then slipped quickly between the blankets of his lonely bed. After a few moments’ shivering he warmed up enough to let his body relax. Then, as always, he lay back and let his Othersight take over. Finding a slender thread of a draft, he began to follow it, sending his consciousness forth to slip through the tiny fissures and crevices in the rock, along the now-familiar route to Aurian’s chambers. It was the Windeye’s nightly ritual. He didn’t stay long—there was a feeling of wrongness and guilt in the notion of spying on the Mage while she slept. No, he simply cared about her, and felt protective of her now that Anvar had been torn away from her. After all, she was his dearest friend—what could be more natural? Chiamh would simply linger a moment and extend a tendril of his consciousness to gently touch her sleeping face. Only then could he return to his solitary bed and find sleep at last.