Artifacts Of Power - Dhiammara Part 9

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Chapter 10 The.

It never occurred to Aurian to doubt. The face and body of the man on the bed belonged to An-var, but his gestures, the way he held his body, the animation of his features-everything brought memories of Forral flooding back to the Mage. Though the figure had spoken with Anvar's voice, the inflexions of speech, the intonation, the choice of words-they could only have come from the long-dead swordsman.

Aurian's breath stuck in her throat. She couldn't speak-the words refused to come. Forral. Impossible. And where was Anvar? What had happened to the mind, the spirit, the soul who once had occupied his form?

Only when she felt the firm pressure of the door against her shoulder blades did the Mage realize that she had been backing away. The touch of solid wood-something ordinary and real- pulled her back to herself, out of the numb miasma of shock.

"Aurian, don't you know me? I ..." Forral sat up; made as if to rise from the bed.

It was more than Aurian could face; too much for her to a.s.similate all at once. Was she joyous? Aghast? She hardly knew. Suddenly her hand, groping behind her, found the latch of the door. A whirl, a slam--and she was gone, bolting recklessly down the tower steps as though a horde of demons pursued her, her hands clenched into knots of bone around the Staff of Earth and her eyes blinded by tears.

Forral swore, and leapt up to follow Aurian, but the balance of his body was all wrong, the legs longer than he was accustomed to and the weight and muscle differently distributed. His feet tangled under him and he fell heavily, bruising knees and elbows, and only just prevented his face from smashing into the floor. Half-dazed, the swordsman pulled himself up to his knees, a vivid image of Aurian's horrified face was seared on his mind's eye. Had she not called him some name, not his own? But that memory was already lost in confusion. What has happened to me? he thought. How have I managed to return to the realms of the living? Overriding the joy that had exploded within him at the sight of his lost love, with a sinking sensation in his heart that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

Though Forral wanted badly to go after the Mage, he stayed where he was for the moment, trying to put everything that had happened into perspective. When Aurian had gone she had taken her Magelight with her, plunging the room into darkness that was barely alleviated by the gleam of sickly moonlight through the cas.e.m.e.nt. There was just enough light to let him see the candle in a tarnished holder on the night table beside the bed, but it took him some time to find flint and striker as he rummaged through unfamiliar leather clothing that seemed oddly put together. He lit the candle. Once more, he held his hand out in front of him in the flickering amber light, really looking at it this time.

Forral frowned. What was this? Lightly tanned skin and long, tapering fingers. A dusting of pale golden hair on the back. Callused fingertips, but none of the heavy scarring from sword nicks that had striped his own hands and forearms. Portal's skin crawled. The hand was not his own. Frantically he groped at his face. No beard. He clenched his jaw and shook his head as if to clear away a veil of cobwebs. "Well what the 7 4 2Ma. gg i e F u r ey b.l.o.o.d.y blazes did you expect?" he asked himself gruffly. Anger was better than fear. "You've been dead and buried for years, you poor fool-your body was worm fodder long ago!" A sick shudder went through him at the thought. His mind was working sluggishly, as though it had not quite accommodated itself, as yet, to its new vessel.

Then it struck him like a thunderbolt. So whose body have I stolen?

Aurian had fallen twice during her headlong descent of the tower, but the curve of the spiral staircase had slowed her momentum, and she had not fallen far. The second time she went sprawling, Shia came charging up the stairs just as the Mage was picking herself up. Pushing the cat aside, she rushed down the remainder of the staircase, aware that Shia was following but unable, as yet, to respond to the frantic queries of her friend. Not now. Not yet. First, she must get out. Bruised and shaken, Aurian staggered out of the tower and doubled over, vomiting, in the courtyard. She stood there gasping, taking deep breaths of cold night air and trying to steady herself with the mundane. Now she had put some distance between herself and that creature upstairs, who had worn Anvar's body and spoken with Portal's voice, she could start to think sensibly again.

"What happened?" Suddenly Shia was there, beside her. "Is Anvar up there? I saw from in your mind that he was-then he was not. Is he there? Can we help him?"

Taking deep, gasping breaths, the Mage leaned against the cold, white stone of the curving tower wall, and took a firm grip on the whirling confusion in her mind. "No," she said flatly, not knowing what else to say. She wouldn't cry. She must not-or the G.o.ds only knew when she would ever stop.

Now that Aurian was calmer, she could feel her friend beginning to pick out the memories of the ordeal from her mind. "Are you certain it was Forral?" Shia asked her. "Remember the desert," the cat continued. "Eliseth has used such deceits as these before. What you thought you saw-surely this must be impossible? How can a living spirit be ousted by one of the dead?"

For an instant Aurian's heart leapt at the possibility-but her mind knew better. She was no longer the inexperienced young girl, confused and grieving, who had been duped so easily in the desert. She knew exactly what she had heard and seen. Also, she could feel the intense distress behind Shia's thoughts, and realized that the cat was closing off her own mind to the possibility of Anvar's loss.

"No, I'm not deceived," she told her friend. "Anvar is really gone, and it seems that Forral has taken his place within his body."

Aurian smashed her fist into the wall, unable to give vent to her inner turmoil in any other way. I can't believe this, she thought. It's just too cruel. All that time spent mourning Forral-I wanted him so much. I still wish he could come back, even though it would tear my heart in two-but as himself, not like this. I had just found peace and happiness with Anvar-must I now start mourning him? Go through it all again?

And what of Forral, who had come back to her in a deadly exchange that had taken one love for the other? He had been her first love-she still loved him. He was the father of her child, but ... I fled from him, Aurian thought, as though he were a monster. And if there should be some way to get Anvar back, then I'll lose Forral all over again. Even as she put the dreadful truth into words, she felt a savage anger stirring deep inside. How could this have happened? How had the swordsman managed to steal Anvar's body? And why not displace someone-anyone-else? The more Aurian thought about it, the more she became convinced that it could be no accident. It must be the swordsman's revenge, because she had turned to another man after his death. How could he? she thought. I loved Forral. Throughout all my childhood, he was the one man I could trust. How could he do this to me?

"Can this be possible?" Shia asked her softly, breaking in on the Mage's thoughts. "And if it is, what do you intend to do about it?"

Aurian scowled. "About Forral? I know what I have to do. I must confront him and find out the truth. It's just a matter of finding the courage to do it."

Forral's heart gave a wrenching kick within his chest as he recollected Aurian calling Anvar's name. He turned cold all over. It wasn't possible ... it couldn't be. But he remembered Anvar's arrival Between the Worlds, and recalled Death's warning. Then the portal had opened again... . "No," he muttered desperately. "It was an accident-I didn't mean to ..."

Did you not, jeered a small voice at the back of his mind. Are you sure?

144M aggie F u r ey "No, no! It isn't true-it can't be."

A stray gleam of light kept catching at the edge of his vision, like a child tugging at his sleeve for attention. Forral half-turned, and saw the slip of candle flame reflected in a looking gla.s.s that hung on the wall at the foot of the bed. He hadn't noticed it before-nor, until that moment, had he realized that he was once again in the Archmage's chambers: ironically, the very place where he had died.

Where is that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Miathan anyway? Forral thought. Has he somehow contrived to bring me here? Has he placed the mirror there, to hurt and confound me?

"Don't be a d.a.m.ned fool, Forral," he snarled at himself. "The b.l.o.o.d.y thing was there all the time. You wouldn't have noticed it until you'd lit the candle."

The mirror waited, hanging there, dark and enigmatic. The swordsman knew he couldn't put it off forever. He had no choice but to look, and discover the truth. And Aurian- Aurian had fled from him with horror in her face. He shouldn't be wasting time here-he ought to go after her, to find her, and rea.s.sure her that everything was all right.

Is it really? WiU it ever be all right again? Forral ignored the insidious thought. Taking a deep breath, he scrambled to his feet and stumbled to the mirror.

The candle, held high to illuminate his features, began to tremble in Portal's hand. He recognized the man in the mirror, though the tawny hair was longer now, and bleached by the sun. The face, too, was tanned; its features older, more firmly defined, more mature and confident than those of the terrified boy that Aurian had rescued and Forral had befriended. Aurian's lover had become a man now-but Forral had displaced him.

"Oh G.o.ds," the swordsman groaned. His legs folded beneath him. He dropped slowly to his knees, moving like an old, old man, and put the candle down on the floor. He buried his face in his hands, as if to hide Anvar's stolen features-as if to deny the truth. "What have I done?" he whispered. "What have I done?"

"What have you done?" The voice was unwontedly sharp. Aurian stood in the doorway, square-shouldered and resolute. Her jaw was clenched with determination, though her eyes glittered darkly with pain. He leapt to his feet, wanting desperately to run to her, to enfold her in his arms and comfort Vhia.mma.ra.

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her as he had done when she was a child-but something in her face forbade him.

Anvar was not the only one who had matured, the swordsman thought. This was not the naive, trusting young girl he remembered. Even when they had become lovers, Aurian had still retained a quality of uncorrupted innocence at odds with the arrogant, invidious nature of the Mageborn. Why, up to the very last, she had still been trying her hardest to think well of that black-souled monster Miathan. In those days, Aurian had never made an issue of her magic, preferring indeed to play down the legacy of her Mage blood in the company of Mortals. Now, he could see the power blazing from her. Her gaunt, grim face was that of a warrior, with the pain-chiseled features and guarded eyes that had looked too often on suffering, betrayal, and death. A shiver pa.s.sed through him as he remembered the little girl he had warded and guided long ago. What in the name of all the G.o.ds had been happening to her, while he had not been there to protect her?

Forral couldn't hide his bitter disappointment. "Is that all you have to say to me after all this time? Aurian, don't you recognize me?"

Grince's last stub of candle guttered and went out, and the blackness pounced on him like a lurking wild beast. Supposing the ghosts of the Magefolk realty did exist? Grince wished, right now, that he had left the Academy and its hidden secrets alone. Using the candle stubs that he always carried in his pocket, he had made his way through the sewers and managed to find a crevice that led into the tunnels beneath that Hargorn had told him about. It had seemed a good idea at the time-clearly Pendral's guards didn't dare follow him into the haunted lair of the Magefolk-but he had never imagined that the tangle of pa.s.sages beneath the promontory would be so complex. Even before the light had railed, he'd been wandering around these tunnels for what seemed like hours, and he was well and truly lost.

The thief was exhausted, and desperately thirsty. He hurt from his aching head, hit by the swinging iron hook, to the scorched soles of his feet. He was scratched in a hundred places from his headlong flight through Pendral's shrubbery (wouldn't you know that the crafty b.a.s.t.a.r.d would have filled his garden full of thorns?) and bruised and aching from his fall. The shallow sword cut in his leg was stinging, and his 1 46.

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shoulder and side were stiff with dried blood where the dog's great teeth had torn him. That was the worst of his injuries by far. Every step jarred it into an explosion of blinding pain.

The darkness of the underground tunnels pressed close around him and the air was dusty and stale, making it difficult to breathe. Grince crept slowly along the pa.s.sage, feeling his way along the rough-hewn wall with both hands and shuffling like an old man so as not to trip or stumble on the uneven stone floor. So much for the ghosts of the b.l.o.o.d.y Magefolk, he thought bitterly. My chief enemy in this place is my own accursed stupidity. Why didn't I just stay in the sewers until the coast was clear?

It was greed that had brought him into the Academy archives. Greed and curiosity. Once he had shaken off his pursuers he should have given up the insane scheme and gone home, but he knew he would never have the nerve to come here again and had been unable to resist the challenge to explore. Surely there must be something of value down here! "Something of value, my a.r.s.e," the thief muttered sourly. Why had he been so stupid? Right now he could be sitting by the fire, warm and well fed, with his injuries treated and a mug of ale in his hand. A small, cold knot of panic began to form in Grince's chest. His heart began to race and clammy sweat sprang out on his skin. I've got to get out of here1. He never did remember starting to run. The next thing he knew, he was falling.

The impact knocked the breath from him before his scream had become more than a squeak. Grince lay there, gasping, until his heart stopped trying to hammer its way out through his ribs. For one appalling second, he had not known how far he would fall-it could have been one foot, or one thousand. Not since he had been a child and the soldiers had attacked Jarvas's refuge had he known such abject terror. He supposed he must have started running when he had panicked, and had simply run into thin air as the level of the pa.s.sage dropped. A shudder ran through him as he realized how lucky he had been. Right now, he might only just be hitting the bottom of a chasm.

"Grince, you d.a.m.ned idiot! That's where panic gets you," he told himself, merely for the comfort of hearing a voice in the black and silent void. Cautiously, he eased himself up into a sitting position and began to feel his limbs for damage. Apart from some bruising, however, and the feeling that every bone in his body had been jolted loose, he seemed to have taken little harm-though when he got out of here, he a.s.sured himself grimly, he would probably find that his hair had turned white. Feeling around himself in the darkness, he discovered that he had fallen down three steps into a shallow alcove in the pa.s.sage wall. Grince stiffened, as his groping fingers encountered a different texture: smoother, warmer than the rugged stone of the tunnel. Of course-there was a door in the alcove, and the steps led down to it. Even as the thought crossed his mind, the smooth wood slipped slowly away from the pressure of his fingers, and left him reaching out into empty s.p.a.ce. The creak of the hinges sounded loud in the shattered silence, and Grince felt a sudden cold draft on his face as the unlatched door swung open.

What should he do now? Frankly, Grince wanted little to do with mysterious doors that opened, seemingly, of their own accord, and even less to do with the chambers beyond them. He should be trying to find a way out through the corridors, he told himself-not poking around in b.l.o.o.d.y Mage-folk rooms. He had learned his lesson. If there were any secrets-or even valuables-down here, they could stay here as far as he cared. Then it occurred to him that he would never find his way out groping blindly around in the darkness. He had found no lamps or torches in the pa.s.sageways, but surely they must keep some kind of illumination in the chambers themselves? If he worked his way round by the walls, he was bound to find a sconce, or a shelf with a candlestick, or J? something. Grince hauled himself to his feet. Oh, please let there be a lamp or a torch, he prayed. Just let me out of here, and I swear I'll never meddle with the Magefolk again. . . . Keeping one careful hand on the doorframe to guide himself, he stepped carefully over the threshold and into the room beyond.

Forral's last sight as a living man had been Aurian's beloved face-within the walls of this very chamber. As he looked at her now, the memories came flooding back to him: the thick, clinging darkness that reeked of rot and decay, the maniacal caclde of Miathan's laughter, the high-pitched buzzing snarl of the Wraith as it swept down upon him, and Aurian's desperate, doomed attempt to save his life. He remembered the blackness sweeping over him-then the grey door had slammed shut behind him, and he could hear Aurian's voice, 148Ma. gg i e F u r e y frantic and tearful, calling, calling, from the other side. Then, the swordsman thought bitterly, she would have stolen the very sun from the heavens to save him. Now she sat facing him as though she couldn't bear to be too close, her eyes cold, her face a picture of misery as she tried to explain what had changed. And every word she said was breaking his heart.

"But you aren't Forral-don't you see? Forral is dead-I was there when he died. If you'd come back in your own body, as the Forral I knew and loved, I would have been overjoyed to see you." Aurian sighed and looked away. "I'm sorry if this hurts you. I know you might have expected-and deserved-a different welcome, having been away so long and having returned so miraculously. But you've got to understand. I never thought you were coming back-there was no way that you could. I went through a lot of anguish before I would even admit to myself that I loved Anvar, but finally I did. And remember, you said yourself I should find someone... ."

"I know, d.a.m.n it!" Forral roared. "Don't tell me what I said! If I had known how eager you'd be to take me up on it, I would have kept my stupid mouth shut!"

''That's not fair1." Aurian was on her feet now, her eyes blazing with the cold, inhuman light of Magefolk anger. "I mourned you. I grieved for you. I certainly didn't expect that you'd come back in a stolen body and throw it all back in my face!"

"I did not steal Anvar's body!" Now Forral was on his feet, too.

"What would you call it, then, if not stealing? Where is he now? Why did you do this to him?"

Forral felt as though she had struck him-indeed he would have preferred it if she had taken her sword and thrust it through his heart. It would have hurt less. During the long, aching wait of his exile Between the Worlds, the swordsman had held fast to the conviction that if only he could find a way back to the world of the living, he could put everything right. Now, with his treasured goal achieved at last, he was aghast to discover how wrong he had been. He had taken the stolen glimpses of Aurian that he'd s.n.a.t.c.hed from the Well of Souls and woven them into a flimsy fantasy held together by hopes and wishes. But since his murder, the world had moved on without him, and he, Forral, no longer had any place in it. One look at Aurian's face was enough to tell him that. Death had been right all along-there was no going back.

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Sudden tears spilled from Aurian's eyes, and she dashed them away with angry haste. "I never stopped loving you, do you know that? Anvar understood. He made his own place in my affections-he didn't try to take yours. What hurts me most is that you would be capable of this dreadful act. I would rather have gone on grieving for you to the end of my days than discover that you were never the man I thought you were-that I had been living a lie for all those years...."

"No! Stop right there!" Forral's own bellow could have carried right across a battlefield. He was astonished to find that Anvar's voice could also produce such volume. Aurian shut her mouth with a snap, but continued to glare at him. A mixture of relief and dismay flooded over the swordsman. So that was why she was so angry at his return. She thought that he was responsible for Anvar's loss! He held out his hand to her, and concealed his disappointment when she would not take it. 'Aurian, listen, please. Just sit down and hear me out while I explain what happened. If you want to go on hating me after that-well, it's up to you. But at least you'll know the truth." Seeing her hesitate, he added, "Please. After all our years together, you owe me the chance to defend myself."

Aurian hesitated for only a moment. "All right," she replied quietly. "That's fair." Folding her legs gracefully beneath her, she sank down to the dusty floor, at the side of the empty hearth. Holding the serpent-carved staff with its eerily glowing green gem across her lap, she stroked the smooth, twisting wood with restless fingers, and Forral knew that she was attempting to control her anger and anxiety so that she could give him a fair hearing. He concealed a sigh of relief and sat down opposite the Mage. Never taking his eyes from hers, he began to speak.

Lord Pendral's florid face turned purple with rage. "What do you mean, he just vanished? You imbecile! He didn't vanish- you let him get away, you sorry excuse for a human being!"

In contrast to his master's puce complexion, the Guard-Commander's face was deathly white. Coadjutant Rasvald, watching from his safer position to one side of the High Lord's chair, watched his Commander shift from foot to foot, transfixed by Lord Pendral's ire like a rabbit impaled upon a spear-point. "But-but my Lord," the unfortunate man stammered. "The thief fled into the sewers beneath the Academy. I never 150Maggie Furey thought he'd have the nerve to stay there. I thought the ghosts would drive him out, and I had men stationed ready."

Pendral's expression grew darker. "Oh, what a splendid plan. So you decided to waste my troops, waiting for a man who never came out!" His words started in a menacing snarl and ended in a bellow.

"My Lord, please ... I was only trying to avoid wasting your troops, by not sending them into that evil, haunted place...."

The cringing performance of his superior officer was embarra.s.sing to witness. Coadjutant Rasvald directed his gaze discreetly elsewhere-he had discovered long ago that for a man in Lord Pendral's employ, there were many things it was safer not to see. Rasvald looked at the walls of the mansion's library, where a coating of paint obscured the scars where the old bookcases had all been torn out. Pendral had changed the purpose of the chamber to an audience room, where he received pet.i.tioners and, more often, dispensed justice to those who had defied or crossed him or broken one of an increasing number of laws-not to mention those who had failed in his service, such as the luckless Commander.

"Cease whining, you brainless, spineless worm!" Pendral shouted. "Spare my men, would you? Why, pray? I have hundreds more! No . . ." He pointed a pudgy finger, like a be-jeweled sausage, at the cowering man. "Admit it-thoughts of your men were farthest from your mind. It was your own skin you were considering. You were afraid to go near the'Mage-folk haunts, so you stood by and let that accursed wh.o.r.eson of a thief take my jewels and lose them in the bowels of the earth1." By now Pendral was positively screaming with rage. Veins stood out on his neck and forehead. His eyes bulged and a shower of spittle sprayed from his lips into the face of the quaking Commander.

Abruptly, the High Lord fell ominously silent. Rasvald felt his guts loosen as Pendral turned his bloodshot gaze on him. "You," he said with deadly softness. "You were with this pile of ordure, were you not, when he lost the thief?"

The Coadjutant's tongue fused to the roof of his mouth. He prayed the floor would open up and swallow him-any fate was belter than encountering Lord Pendral in his wrath.

"Well?" the High Lord barked. "Have you lost your wits, or just your tongue? If you don't wish to use it, I will have it cut out for you."

Rasvald gulped. "Lord, I-yes, I was with the Commander when he called off the dogs. But it wasn't my idea, my Lord. I spoke out against it. I told him it was stupid ..."

The Guard-Commander drew in his breath in a sharp gasp at such barefaced treachery. "Why, you backstabbing, lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" he shouted. "It's not true, he never . .."

"It makes no difference." Pendral spoke loudly enough to drown the man's protests. "You," he pointed at Rasvald. "As of now, you're promoted to Guard-Commander. Be silent," he cut off the former Coadjutant's babbled attempt at thanks. "I'll tell you when you can speak. These are your orders." He began to tick off points on his fingers. "First, you will nominate a new second-in-command to take charge of a house-to-house search of the entire city. Second, take this piece of trash outside and kill him. Yourself."

The Guard-Commander threw himself to the polished floor. "Mercy, Lord-mercy!" he wailed.

"Guards!" The High Lord snapped his fingers and two burly figures left their post by the door. One of them seized the former Commander from behind, while the other hit him several times in the face and the belly. Without a word, they dragged him away, choking and dripping blood from his nose and mouth.

Pendral sighed. "I keep telling them and telling them not to get blood on my floor," he muttered peevishly, "but do they ever listen? Now, where was I?" His eyes, like two saw-edged daggers, impaled Rasvald once more. "Oh yes. Once you've finished with the prisoner, take as many men as you think you'll need, and get down into those sewers."

"What, now, Lord? At night?" Rasvald quavered.

"Of course now!" Pendral's malevolent gaze narrowed. "And don't come back without my jewels and that misbegotten t.u.r.d who stole them, or you'll be buried in the same grave as your commanding officer."

It was as well that Grince had learned caution. Just within the entrance of the chamber was another step leading down into the room itself, but this time, his groping feet felt the edge and he negotiated it safely. Taking a moment to steady himself in the darkness, he set off to his right, feeling his way along the wall like a blind man.

To the thief's dismay, the room seemed to be covered from floor to ceiling with nothing but books, stacked on shelves 7 52M aggie F u r ey that stretched as far and high as he could reach. But surely there must be a candle or maybe a lamp somewhere nearby- or what was the point of all this? No one could read in the dark. Grimly, he continued his search. He had no choice if he wanted to get out of this dreadful place. Once, his fumbling hands dislodged a pile of volumes that cascaded down on his head, adding to his bruises. Grince cursed aloud, and the sound of his voice unnervingly loud and harsh, shattered the silence of the chamber.

A sliver of ice ran down Grince's spine. There couldn't possibly be anyone-or thing-in the room to hear him, yet suddenly he was sure that he was not alone. Though he told himself not to be ridiculous, the feeling would not subside. He remained huddled on the floor in the midst of the pile of fallen volumes, not daring to get up and move, even toward the door, for fear of what he might run into in the darkness. Long minutes pa.s.sed while he waited, trying to breathe silently and straining his ears for the slightest sound of movement in the chamber. Eventually, it occurred to him that he was being foolish. There was nothing there-of course there wasn't. And even if someone was in the room with him, he didn't need a candle to see them-he had been sitting in the midst of the solution all the time. Grince rummaged in his Eocket for flint and striker; then, picking up the nearest book, e began to tear out the pages one by one.

A spark caught on the fourth or fifth attempt, and a thread of acrid smoke drifted up, making the thief's eyes water. He blew on the smoldering spot of red until at last a tiny flame snaked its way up into the pile of crumpled pages, where it blossomed like an opening flower. Grince's heavy sigh of relief made the flames move out then in, as though the fire itself were breathing. He began to feel warmth on his hands and face. As the hungry fire took hold, amber light began to consume the darkness, spreading out toward the edges of the room. Quickly, Grince crumpled fresh pages to throw on the flames. Until he could work out a way to make it portable, he needed to keep his light source going. Paper alone would burn too fast for his needs, but if he could find some wood in the chamber-a chair, perhaps, that he might break up, or even a shelf-he might be able to fashion some rough torches that would suffice to light his way home.

This must be one of the larger chambers. The light of his little fire was not enough to illuminate the comers or the shad- Vh t 3. m m a. r a.

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owy alcoves set here and there along the nearest wall. The smoke didn't help the visibility, either. It was rolling upward now in choking clouds that stung his eyes and closed his throat against the suffocating fumes. Flinging another handful of pages on to the flames, Grince got up hastily and moved away from the fire, heading away from the door toward the far right-hand corner of the chamber. When he reached the first alcove, he stepped into its shadows, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to make out details in the gloom. As another page of his makeshift bonfire caught and flared, the shadows fell back to reveal a towering figure with coldly glittering eyes. There was someone in the alcove!

Grince screamed. He wanted to run, but all power of movement had left him. He crumpled to his knees. Behind him, the shadows encroached once more as his fire began to die, but even in the gloom, Grince kept his face tilted to look upward. He was utterly transfixed by the hypnotic gaze of those glittering blue eyes.

As they waited at the foot of the tower, Shia saw Khanu's eyes glow bright with reflected moonlight as he turned to her. "I wish Aurian would hurry," he said. "She's taking so long, I'm getting worried. And what's the mystery? What can have happened to poor Anvar?"

"I wish I knew-I don't understand half of what Aurian told me," Shia admitted, "i don't trust this place-and I don't trust this human she's found, who can take over another's body," she added darkly.

"You don't trust any humans apart from our own," Khanu pointed out, "and neither do I. I don't like this city place, either-it's unnatural. Dangerous. I wish we were back in the mountains."

Shia gave him a forbidding look. "Where Aurian goes, 1 go," she said severely. "I don't wish to be anywhere else."

"Well, you might try asking her to go where you want to go, for a change," Khanu retorted, unabashed. Delicately, he ran his tongue over his nose and whiskers. "Already I can scent the changes that will soon be happening within you, Shia. It will not be long before-" His words were cut off in a strangled yowl as a heavy paw cuffed him across the nose.

"BE SILENT!" Shia told him furiously. "Stay out of matters that are not your concernV "Not my concern?" Khanu's moonlit eyes glinted wickedly.

154M aggie F u r ey "As the only male within hundreds of miles, it can't help but be my concern-and I'm far from sorry."

Shia's tail lashed back and forth. "If you say any more, I'll make you worse than sorry," she warned him with a rumbling growl.

"You're foolish to ignore what will soon happen. Sooner or later, Aurian or no Aurian, you'll have to face it," Khanu muttered sulkily. When Shia snarled again, he took himself quickly out of reach of her swift paw with its flashing claws. "I'm going to explore this big place across the courtyard," he said, with a pathetic attempt at nonchalance.