Artifacts Of Power - Dhiammara Part 3

So Eliseth had dared to betray him? Well, somehow, somewhere, she had met her match, according to the Moldan's thoughts. The weakening of the spells which had imprisoned Ghabal was proof that no Mage existed anywhere near Nexis-save himself of course. But though it would be easy enough for him to return to the Academy and take the reins of his city once more, simply picking up where he had left off, caution made him hesitate. He could not be the only remaining Mage-even if Aurian and Eliseth had come to a confrontation, surely one of them must have survived. And how many Artifacts of Power did the victor hold?

No, whichever of the Magewomen had conquered, if the Archmage stayed in Nexis he would be a sitting target. He needed to be somewhere else, somewhere hidden-somewhere completely unexpected-at least until he could find out what had happened and formulate his plans accordingly. A powerful ally wouldn't come amiss at this point, either-and Miathan Vh i a. m m a. r a.

suspected with a little ingenuity and the a.s.sistance of a time spell and the Moldan's particular powers, he could lay a trap for any wielder of the Artifacts who might dare return to Nexis.

The Moldan's capacity for destruction was tremendous- and the Archmage had divined that its powers could be unleashed in its absence, simply by means of imprinting its will upon the rocks in a spell that could be released at a time of its choosing. Miathan's time spell could delay this until the appropriate instant, and the actual use of one of the Artifacts within the precincts of the Academy would provide the trigger. Once the High Magic had been actively summoned, part of it could be diverted away from its intended target into the Moldan's destructive spell.

Miathan paused, considering, with his victim still trapped and helpless within the iron grip of his will. The spell he had in mind would most likely have a devastating effect upon the city of Nexis itself-but who cared about a pack of worthless Mortals? The Academy, where so much magic had been practiced for so many centuries, would possess its own resistance to the ill effects of the spell, but there was a chance-a chance worth taking-that the wielder of the Artifact, whether Aurian or Eliseth, might be weakened or at least sufficiently shocked and shaken into making mistakes that would betray them into his hands.

The Archmage's thoughtful frown vanished, to be replaced by a cold and calculating smile. "Moldan," he said in a wheedling voice that dripped with false solicitude. "How would you like to go home?"

The landscape around the lake was clenched tightly in a fist of ice--and Yazour had never known that such horrors could exist. He was experiencing his first northern winter. There had been snow, of course, and raw, icy cold, during his crossing of the southern mountains with Aurian-but that, he had innocently a.s.sumed, had been due to the alt.i.tude. Certainly, it had never occurred to him that people could actually live through such misery for a considerable part of every single year.

Eilin was very understanding of his difficulties-in fact, she had antic.i.p.ated many of them. As the days grew shorter and the weather became increasingly cold and grey, Yazour wondered why she'd suddenly taken such an intense interest 44Maggie Furey in weaving. Once the last of the harvest fruits had been collected, the Mage seemed to be at her loom every hour of the day. As the early frosts crisped the air and the young warrior began to complain of the cold, Eilin would send him out to the part of the forest that had been blasted by Eliseth's fire, where he would chop wood until his back and arms ached and sweat poured down his face. At first, Yazour had suspected that this was the Lady's own subtle way of punishing his complaints about her miserable northern weather, and bore the discomfort in silence when the cold gnawed at his fingers and feet. It made not the slightest difference, however. Day after day she kept him chopping and with Iscalda's help he hauled back load after load of logs until the pile reached high up the side of the tower.

"Surely we have sufficient wood now" Stamping numb feet, Yazour entered the cozy living chamber or the tower. Shutting out the chill of the deepening twilight, he hurried to warm his chilled and blistered hands at the glowing stove. Wolf followed him, yapping excitedly, and ran to Eilin. He loved spending his days with Yazour in the forest. With his thick grey coat to protect him, he never felt the cold at all.

Eilin looked up from her loom and fondled the young wolf's ears. "Trust me, Yazour-we'll need all you've cut and more before winter's out."

The Khazalim stared at her in disbelief. "But there is enough wood out there to last us for years."

The Lady got up from her stool, stretching her arms above her head. Yazour had often heard her complain that long hours at the loom left a stiffness between her shoulders. Crossing to the stove, she poured him rosehip tea from the pot that simmered there, and added a generous spoonful of honey. Yazour held the cup in both hands, grateful for the warmth that was beginning to seep into his tingling fingers.

Eilin poked the glowing embers in the stove's iron belly, and added another log from the basket. As she straightened up, her cheeks glowing from the fire's heat, Yazour caught a glimpse of a fond and fleeting smile-which quickly vanished when she noticed he was looking at her. "Poor innocent lad," she said, with a little shake of her head. "I'm afraid our winters are going to come as an unpleasant surprise to you. Still, I have some new garments for you that may help, a t.i.tle."

Following her gesture, Yazour noticed a pile of clothing stacked neatly on the chair by the fire.

"Go on," Eilin urged. "Try them on."

Though he knew she had been working hard, Yazour was amazed by the extent of the Mage's labors. There was a warm, heavy cloak of oiled and tightly woven wool, new woollen jerkins, stout stockings to wear beneath his boots, and thick gloves to protect his chilled fingers. The warrior's heart went out to the Lady in grat.i.tude, but she dismissed his stammered thanks with a smile. "Yazour, it was the least I could do. You stayed here to help me instead of returning to your homeland and your people-and don't think I haven't watched you shiver your way through these last two or three moons. Why, you've been looking as miserable as a wet cat ever since the leaves began to fall." Again, there was that special smile for him.

"The farmers who graze their sheep on the moors around this Vale have been giving me fleeces for years," the Lady went on. "I'm glad of an opportunity to put them to good use at last." Her eyes went to the window. 'And by the look of things, I wasn't a minute too soon." There on the sill outside, a thin layer of new snow was glimmering.

That night's flurry was only the beginning. Day after day the snow fell harder and thicker, smothering the Vale in a chill white blanket. Wolf loved it-he could scarcely wait for each new day to begin so that he could bolt his breakfast and go charging outside to play. Iscalda was all right-when they had repaired the ground floor of the tower, Eilin and Yazour had built her an adjacent chamber with a connecting door to their own living quarters. They had plenty of fodder stored for her, and though the inactivity made her restless, she could at least wait out the winter in comfort.

Only Yazour was truly suffering. Though he wrapped up well in his new warm clothes, he could never seem to get warm. Soon he had a cold to compound his misery, and spent his days huddled miserably in front of the stove, coughing and sneezing and feeling utterly wretched. For the first time, he began to wonder if he had made a mistake. By the Reaper, but he was homesick forTaibeth....

Back in Yazour's lost Taibeth, the air was sweltering and humid. Down among the mud-and-wicker shanties along the river's edge, the thin, high wail of a newborn child shivered the air. A wasted young beggar girl, her dark eyes avid with need, reached out to an unexpected benefactor. Zalid, chief 46MaggieFurey eunuch to the Queen, placed a bag of gold into her palm- and fingered the knife in his other hand, concealed beneath his cloak. Even as the girl's hand closed round the heavy bag, the knife flashed out, burying itself to the hilt between her ribs. With a stifled, choking cry she sank to her knees, then toppled to one side, her glazing eyes wide with incomprehension and shock. The body twitched for a moment, then was still. A few gold coins gleamed with a warm, pure light in the b.l.o.o.d.y mora.s.s of the earthen floor where the bag had spilled from the beggar's limp grasp. Zalid picked them up with red-stained fingers and scooped them back into the bag.

Leaving the knife in the body-it was a plain, cheap, anonymous weapon, purchased in the market for this very purpose- Zalid pocketed his gold and turned to pick up the squalling child. "Be still," he muttered. "Ungrateful brat-thanks to me, you will be a king one day." From a small flask he trickled a few drops of dark liquid into the newborn's open mouth. The little eyes blinked once, as if in astonishment, then closed as the sleeping draught took effect. With a small nod of satisfaction, the eunuch bundled the child beneath his cloak and set out for the palace.

It was as well that Zalid had his own private entrance via the extensive network of cellars that extended beneath the royal residence, for there would be no getting near the main gates tonight. In the usual mysterious fashion, word had spread through the city that the time had come at last for the Khisihn to bear her child. The entire populace of Taibeth, in mourning since the death of Xiang, seemed to be collected outside the palace, anxiously awaiting news of their next ruler.

Suddenly the palace, that for the last five months had been shuttered, dark and dead, was astir and buzzing with frenetic activity. The shadows of the deserted seraglio fled before the torches and lamps of the bustling slaves and various court officials, all of whom were eager to bear witness to this particular royal birth, a slender thread of life on which the future of Xiang's line was suspended. The avid crowd, however, were halted outside the door of the Khisihn's suite by a pair of burly guards. By command of Aman, the Vizier, no one was allowed to pa.s.s.

When Zalid entered the Queen's chambers by means of his own private corridor that bypa.s.sed the guards outside, he found Sara pacing up and down. "Where is he?" she was muttering to Aman. Apart from her mute slave girl, the Vizier V h i a m m

47.

was the only other person in the room. Following the confirmation of Xiang's death, Aman had been bought quickly into the plot, and the greedy courtier had been swift to grasp the advantages of throwing his support behind Zalid and the royal widow-especially when Sara had suggested that, as co-regent with herself, the Vizier should take possession of the remainder of Xiang's harem.

In the palace the balance of power had been shifting ever since the half-dozen soldiers-the pitiful, ragged remnants of Xiang's army-had returned to Taibeth bearing the body of their king. After tonight, however, with the production of the ostensible Royal Heir, the unlikely trio-eunuch, courtier, and queen-would take an una.s.sailable grip on the kingdom.

"What can be keeping that accursed eunuch?" Sara repeated.

"Here I am, Highness."

Sara spun with a curse, and Zalid concealed a smile. Catching the Khisihn off-balance seemed a petty victory, but it was one he always enjoyed, nonetheless. The blond woman had a l.u.s.t for power that was most improper in a female, and needed keeping in check by any means that came to hand.

"You have the child?" Aman said in a low and urgent voice. "No one saw you?"

Zalid kept his face expressionless to hide his scorn. The Vizier, after all, was necessary-at least for the time being. "I have the child indeed-and I came and went unseen as the desert wind."

"Excellent." Aman's face broke into a smile of pure relief. "I will go at once, and announce the good news."

Zalid turned to Sara with a mocking bow. Ignoring her scowl, he removed the sleeping infant from the concealment of his cloak, and held it out to her. "Here, Your Highness. Behold your long-awaited son and heir."

The Queen stepped back, wrinkling her nose at the stench of the noisome rags in which the child was wrapped. "Ugh! Don't bring that filthy creature near me! Give it to Guilat." She gestured at the young slave, who was hovering nearby, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Sara favored the girl with a shallow smile. "Here you are, Guilat. Did I not tell you that if you served me with loyalty and discretion, I would reward you? From this day forward you will be nursemaid to the Royal Heir himself, and enjoy all the benefits of your altered status. I'm sure that you will 48Maggie Furey care for him as faithfully and well as you have cared for me, and justify the great trust in which I hold you."

The girl took the stinking bundle from Zalid, handling the child as carefully as though it was some treasure of incalculable value. Indeed, the eunuch thought-as far as our future rule of this kingdom is concerned, that's exactly what it is. He bestowed a smile, more genuine than Sara's effort, upon the slave. "There," he said kindly. "Lose no time, Guilat. Take the child and bathe it, and swaddle it as becomes a Prince of the Royal blood. Then you may take it to the wet nurse. After all its adventures this night, the Heir of the Khazalim will be hungry when he wakes."

Chapter 4 The Silence of.

I he Sword of Flame spun away clattering over smooth white stone. The blackened Chalice of Rebirth fell ringing to the floor, rolled in a circle on its rim, and came to a trembling halt. Eli-seth stumbled forward and fell to her knees, downed by her own unexpected momentum and by a sickening swirl of disorientation as reality wrenched itself back onto its normal course. She touched the paving beneath her and bit back a shriek as pain exploded through blackened, blistered hands that had been burned by the Sword, following her theft of the Artifact from Aurian. Instinctively, the Magewoman concentrated her powers to block the pain. Further healing could wait-at the moment it was the least of her concerns.

When had it come to be night? As her vision gradually cleared and the whirling in her head steadied, Eliseth looked about her, expecting to see the same Valley that she had left-only moments ago, it seemed. Instead she saw a low, white 50M. Aggie Furey wall sculpted in the familiar, nacreous marble that still, despite the surrounding darkness, held its own faint glimmer. The Weather-Mage, amazed and disbelieving, pulled herself unsteadily to her feet and looked over the low parapet. Nexis lay sprawled in the valley below, and she could discern the dark, swelling humps of the hills beyond, black against the cloudy sky.

Even to a Mage's night vision, Nexis looked different somehow-the contours of its streets and buildings seemed subtly altered from the shapes she remembered-but Eliseth gave the matter little thought as her heart leapt with joy at the sight of the city. She uttered a soft, triumphant cry of relief. By some miracle, the grail had returned her to the Academy and placed her on the flat roof that topped the Mages' Tower. Though she did not look to any G.o.ds, it seemed that this time her unvoiced prayers had been answered. Not only had she survived her horrifying fall through the rent in reality- but she was safely home.

The Weather-Mage, shivering a little in the cool breeze and still very shaky from the shock of her recent experience, leaned against the parapet in the silken darkness and took deep breaths of blessed, smoke-tinged Nexian air. Her narrow escape from the tumultuous events in the Valley had left her feeling light-headed and inordinately pleased with herself-as though she had been responsible for her own good fortune. Once her plan to defeat Aurian had recoiled with such dramatic and deadly consequences, s.n.a.t.c.hing Eliseth out of the world, survival had been her only concern. She could recall an incandescent blaze of multicolored light-a sensation of being sucked, swirling, into a darkly gleaming vortex. She remembered wishing with a desperate wild yearning to be back at the Academy-but who would have suspected that the Artifacts would take her wish so literally? Clearly, the strength of her own will had saved her.

Her gloating was interrupted by the faintest whisper of sound and a flicker of movement at the very edge of her vision. Eliseth spun round with a startled curse. Behind her, a long, dark form was inching weakly across the roof. A pale hand stretched out, reaching for the precious Sword. Anvar! Eliseth's breath exhaled in a hiss. In the panic of her fall through time and the subsequent relief at finding herself back in Nexis, the Weather-Mage had forgotten, briefly, that Au-rian's lover had also been drawn into the vortex.

Vhiammara.

5 1.

The Magewoman saw Anvar freeze as he realized that he had been discovered. In the shadowed gloom of the rooftop his eyes met hers and for an instant Eliseth saw fear, determination-and the icy steel of implacable loathing. Then with unexpected speed he lurched forward, his outstretched hand s.n.a.t.c.hing desperately at the Sword. Eliseth reacted instantaneously, gathering her powers and lashing them out toward the rec.u.mbent form in a coil of smoky blackness laced with threads of searing blue-white light. Anvar jerked once, convulsively, as the spell hit him, pouring over him in a writhing ma.s.s of dark vapor webbed with crawling strands of blue. Then he was utterly still, unbreathing, locked away in an instant and stranded outside the stream of time-until Eliseth should choose to bring him back again.

The Weather-Mage laughed aloud in triumph as she walked over to her prey. For a moment she stood there, looking down at him with a sneer. How easy it had been to defeat him! Without Aurian to protect him, the former Academy drudge had soon betrayed his lowly half-Mortal origins. Following the capture of Miathan, taking another Mage out of time had been a simple matter-and one that put Anvar into her power while she decided his future at her leisure. The possibilities of the situation were now beginning to dawn on Eliseth. With her enemy's paramour enmeshed and isolated within the crawling blue shimmer of the spell, she knew she had some time to ponder the considerable advantage his capture would give her over Aurian-who, judging from her absence, so plainly lacked the courage to follow her so-called love to his fate. But she would turn up eventually-of that, Eliseth was absolutely certain. And when she did . . . The Weather-Mage smiled coldly. Aurian was a pathetic fool for her softhearted devotion to this half-Mortal sc.u.m with his tainted blood! Eliseth knew that she could use Anvar as bait to rid herself of her foe for good.

Without a backward glance, she left her victim where he lay on the cold stone of the roof-isolated as he was in her time spell, he should be safe enough up there-and strode across to the door that led down into the tower. Eliseth's eyebrows rose in surprise, then drew down in a frown as she tugged at the latch and nothing happened. But this door was never locked! A closer examination showed that the latch was stiff with rust.

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i e F ur ey "But I was only up here five or six days ago," the Mage-woman muttered to herself. "How could the wretched thing get into this condition in so short a time?" Reluctant to actually damage the door that kept the weather out of the tower, she stepped back and unleashed several brief, successive bursts of pure force at the recalcitrant latch, until the metal was shaken loose from its coating of corrosion and the bar rattled loosely in its socket. Even with the latch free, however, the door, its swollen panels cracked and weathered to a faded silver, stubbornly resisted Eliseth's attempts to push it open.

Eventually, as her patience was reaching the breaking point, the door groaned open reluctantly on stiff, rust-caked hinges, allowing her sufficient s.p.a.ce to shoulder her way inside. Eliseth leapt backward with an involuntary gasp, as dank, clinging trailers of cobwebs swept across her face. Colliding with the wall, she found it slick and slimy to the touch. "What the b.l.o.o.d.y blazes?" With a grimace, she scrubbed her hands against her skirts, then illuminated the stairwell with a bolt of searing lightning.

It was unbelievable. Long after the incandescence had faded back to darkness and the dazzle had left her eyes, Eliseth stood transfixed with shock, unable to accept what she had seen. The clean white stone of the staircase had vanished beneath a thick layer of dust and grime, and it was clear from the lack of footprints that no living soul had pa.s.sed that way for many a long age. The ceiling was festooned with webs, and the curving walls glistened black with slimy mold. The air within the pa.s.sage was stale and fetid with neglect and decay.

The Weather-Mage sat down dumbfounded on the top step of the staircase, oblivious of the dirt and the chilly dampness that immediately began to seep through her skirts. How could this have happened? The upper reaches of the Mages' Tower had clearly not been used in years. But that was impossible - or it ought to be. Eliseth's mind went back to her terrifying fall through the gap in Creation. Clearly she had pa.s.sed through s.p.a.ce, from the Vale to Nexis. Had she also traveled through time? And if so, how many years was she adrift? Had she journeyed to the future or the past?

"Use your brain!" the Magewoman muttered to herself. "It must be the future. Had I traveled into the past, the Academy wouldn't be deserted like this." But how far into the future had she come? Eliseth remembered her uneasy feeling that Vhia.mma.ra.S3 Nexis had somehow altered from the city she remembered and, scrambling hurriedly to her feet, she left the stairwell and rushed back across the flat rooftop to the low wall that looked out across the undulating landscape of rooftops. In the darkness, however, and from this great height, she could make out no details to help her gauge the pa.s.sage of time. Though a scattering of lamps glittered on the darkened streets of the city, there were no lights or other signs of life among the Academy buildings, and no soldiers manned the guardroom at the gate. Eliseth might have been the only person alive in all the world. For the first time since she had vanquished Miathan, she felt the cold touch of true fear. Without warning, she had been wrenched away from everything that was familiar and secure. She shivered as an unaccustomed sense of loneliness swept through her.

This was no use! With an effort, the Weather-Mage thrust aside the insidious feelings of fear and desolation that were threatening to swamp her good sense. Straightening her shoulders, she turned and strode resolutely back toward the tower stairs. As she went, her foot caught on something that rolled away with a metallic rattle and a flash that sent rippling waves of power right across the rooftop. With a start, Eliseth recognized the grail that had been partly responsible for bringing her here. Stooping to pick it up, she stowed it safely in a deep pocket in her robe. The Sword, however, would have to remain where it was for the time being. She knew better now, than to try to handle it. It had already injured her-indeed, she had been lucky to survive her first encounter with the Artifact. Until she could discover a way to master, or at least endure, its wild and lethal powers, it would be no use to her whatsoever.

Eliseth descended the staircase with difficulty. Since she had little skill with Fire-magic, her wispy attempts at Magelight were dim and of short duration. They had an annoying-and dangerous-tendency to flicker into oblivion at the slightest wavering of her concentration, plunging the treacherously slippery steps beneath her feet into utter darkness. She pa.s.sed by Miathan's chambers on the upper landing and Aurian's door on the next floor without a second glance, heading directly for her own rooms-for by this time the Mage felt a desperate need for the rea.s.surance of familiar surroundings. There was little comfort to be found, however, in the decay and ruin 54Maggie F ur ey that met her eyes as she let herself into her chambers. Her suite was unrecognizable from its former, pristine self.

Eliseth wandered from room to room, recoiling in disgust as her feet sank almost to the ankles into the oozing remains of a rotting carpet: once snowy white, but now grey and stained with black mildew and greenish mold. The discovery of her jewels, still safely locked in their dusty box, cheered her, however. She pocketed them clumsily, wincing and cursing at the stiffness of her burned hands, but her hopes of finding anything else that was salvageable soon withered, for her precious possessions, ama.s.sed over many years for their beauty and priceless value, had long ago been lost under a thick blanket of rot and dust. Her numerous clothes, made from rich, luxurious furs and fabrics and carefully stored in closets and chests, had also succ.u.mbed to the ravages of time. A thin, cold wind blew in through the broken windows, stirring the shredded rags of curtain that still hung there and adding to the atmosphere of abandonment and dissolution.

This devastation of her quarters was too horrible to contemplate, and Eliseth could not bear to remain and investigate further. Though she had too much pride to break into a run, she turned abruptly on her heel and descended the remainder of the staircase recklessly in darkness, not bothering to waste time on an attempt at Magelight and not pausing until she had reached the door at the bottom, which she blew into splinters with a single lightning bolt. Stepping carefully over the smoldering debris, she hurried out into the courtyard. Only when she had regained the open air at last did she feel that she could breathe again.

Eliseth's sense of relief, however, was short-lived. The silence of years weighed down on the Academy like a dense, m.u.f.fling blanket, adding to the eerie sense of desolation. Memories of treachery and violence thronged about her like the Death-Wraiths that Miathan had once manifested from the grail. The shivers that ran up her spine were not entirely due to the cold wind that swirled around the Magewoman's shoulders. "That's enough of this nonsense!" she muttered to herself. "Just because you're tired and hungry, there's no need to carry on in such a spineless fashion." After all, she thought, with a grim smile, she had not- eaten in years. Suddenly she remembered the food that the Archmage had taken out of time and stockpiled in the storerooms behind the kitchen.

Vhia.mm.ar3.

55.

Could it still be there? Hunger lent fresh impetus to her steps as she hurried across the courtyard to find out.

At least there were candles in the kitchen. No longer did Eliseth have to concern herself with the vagaries of Magelight once she had ignited the first wick. As her flame took hold and the amber glow of candlelight swelled to encompa.s.s the room, she was startled by the pattering and scuffling of a mult.i.tude of small feet. Shadows moved and scattered into corners and under benches as c.o.c.kroaches and rats, so long the undisputed kings of this domain, scrambled for cover.

The Magewoman wrinkled her nose in disgust, but pressed on undeterred, heading for the storerooms. Any food that had been taken out of time would have escaped the attentions of the scavengers-if the spells still remained in force. In the absence of their creators time spells were a chancy business at best. They often tended to decay-and there seemed no way of predicting how soon or at what rate. It depended on a whole range of factors such as the positions of the sun and moon when the spell was cast, the physical health and the mental state of the summoner, and many other seemingly trivial concerns. That was why Miathan had used the magic of the Caldron to reinforce the time spell that immobilized the Wraiths-and a good thing too, the Magewoman thought with a shudder. The thought of those abominations getting loose while she was in the Academy made her blood run cold-but thankfully, there was no way those particular spells would decay.

Sadly, she was less fortunate where the food was concerned. Miathan had spent too long out of the world, a victim of her magic. In his absence, the time spells had gradually decayed, and the provisions that had not been accessible to the vermin had rotted down into a stinking black sludge that set Eliseth retching. She beat a hasty retreat, mopping at streaming eyes as she stumbled out of the kitchen.

Enough of this! Irritation was fast overcoming the Weather-Mage's hunger and dismay. Plainly, there was nothing for her here at the Academy. As she searched for alternatives, her mind turned to the Mortals of the city. Down in Nexis there was one person, at least-if he was still alive-who still owed her. She drew her cloak across her face and set off down the hill from the Academy.

56M. aggie F u r ey Bern felt the blood drain from his face as he opened the door and saw the Lady Eliseth. His knees sagged, forcing him to cling to the edge of the door for support, and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he gasped for breath. I'm dreaming, he thought. I must be. This is all a dreadful night--I'll wake up in a minute and she'll be gone....

marc The Mage showed no signs of going anywhere. A malicious smile appeared on her flawless face. "What's wrong, Bern?" she asked him in poisonously sweet tones. "Why, you look as though you've seen a ghost."

"But I ..." The baker managed to find his voice at last. "Lady, I thought you were dead. When you vanished in that flash ... I was sure you'd been killed. We-everyone- thought aU the Magefolk were dead."

Eliseth shrugged. "You were wrong, then." Without waiting to be invited, she pushed roughly past the baker and swept into the room. Bern followed her on shaky legs. By this time, he had sufficiently gathered his wits to notice the lines of strain and weariness on Eliseth's face, and the charring and blistering that disfigured her hands. Apart from that, she looked just as she had when last he had seen her. Her silvery hair, normally so smooth and immaculate, was snarled like a crone's and reeked of woodsmoke as though she had only just come from the burning of the Valley's trees. Where in the name of the G.o.ds had she been all these years? he wondered. And what had she been doing there?

"Clearly you have profited from the absence of the Mage-folk." The Weather-Mage was raking the newly refurbished bakery with her eyes. "As I came up the lane, I noticed that you've purchased the building next door to expand your premises." She turned her cold and penetrating gaze full upon him. "I find myself wondering, can all this newfound prosperity be due to the grain that was supplied by me some time ago?"

"Indeed, Lady-I'm a man of some substance now." Bern saw no point in denying it. He was well aware that she would be taking careful note of all the repairs and additions to his property. Everywhere she looked, there would be signs of his increased affluence, from his rich, expensive clothing to the gleaming new ovens and counters. Against all hope, he prayed that she would not discern the many subtle, decorative touches that could only denote the presence of a woman-but it was not to be.

Dnia.mma.rz57 The Mage raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. And have you been wed, Bern, in my absence? Are congratulations in order?"

"Why, Lady-what makes you say that?" he asked-a shade too quickly.

Just then a voice rang out from the back room. "Who is it, Bern?"

The baker cursed under his breath as a short woman with sleek brown hair sc.r.a.ped tightly back into a knot appeared from the back room. She was well advanced in pregnancy, and two young children, a boy and a girl, peeped shyly at the visitor from behind her skirts. Before the baker could send her back, Eliseth stepped forward and held out a hand to her. "Why, you must be Bern's wife," she said brightly. "I'm delighted that he has found such a charming and lovely helpmate-and such sweet little children!"

As Eliseth had deigned to speak to her, Bern had no choice but to introduce his woman. "This is my wife, Alis-sana," he mumbled. The woman, plainly fl.u.s.tered, had recognized one of the Magefolk. Bern saw her shudder as she took Eliseth's hand with its blackened flesh, and noted the terror in her eyes as the Magewoman noticed the children. Alissana tried to curtsy but was unbalanced by the ungainliness of her pregnant body. She would have fallen, dragging the Mage with her, had Eliseth not held them both upright.

"Clumsy b.i.t.c.h!" snapped Bern, and raised his hand threateningly. The woman blanched, her hands moving quickly across her body as if to shield her unborn child. Flinching away from her husband, she scurried into the other room, followed by the younger child, a boy. The other, a girl of about five or six, hovered in the doorway, watching the Magewoman with huge, round eyes.

Eliseth shrugged, and turned back to Bern. "I presume you keep a chamber for guests somewhere on these expanded premises of yours. Show it to me at once, and then I will require a bath and a good, hot meal-and in the morning, your wife can arrange to have some new clothes made for me."

Bern's eyes bulged. Oh dear G.o.ds, she couldn't be wanting to stay] "Why, Lady," he gasped, "you do us great honor, but.. ."

Striking out like a serpent, the Magewoman gripped his wrist in a blackened claw. "Listen, you despicable little t.u.r.d- you owe me, and never forget it," she snarled, gesturing around 58M. aggie Furey the refurbished bakery, to the comfortably appointed living quarters in the room beyond. "Without my gift of that grain, you'd have none of this."

Despite his fear of her, Bern's grasping, mercenary nature revolted at such a claim. "Lady, with all respect, you seem to have forgotten that the grain was not a gift but payment, for infiltrating the rebel camp and-"

"And luring them out of their lurking place so that I could deal with them-a task which you singularly failed to accomplish." There was steel in Eliseth's voice. "You thieving Mortal sc.u.m! Having failed to keep your side of our bargain, how dared you appropriate that grain? You had no right to it whatsoever!"

Bern wrenched himself from her grasp and fell groveling to the floor. "Forgive me, Lady-I didn't mean to steal your grain," he wailed. "But what was I to do? When I got back there was no longer a spell on it, so I thought you must have meant me to have it...."

Belatedly, Eliseth remembered that, in the interests of ridding herself of an irritating distraction, she had dissolved the wardspell that protected the grain once Bern had left for the forest. Frankly, she hadn't cared at the time whether he profited from the stuff or not-but now it gave her a convenient lever to use on him.

"It would have been a crime to waste that grain . . ." The baker was still whining. "Besides, I thought all the Mages were gone!

"Evidently," the Mage said flatly. "But you were wrong- and now you must atone for your mistake. Unless, that is, you would prefer your wife and children to pay for it in your stead." Her voice was as cold and deadly as a steel-jawed trap.