Maggie Furey - Artifacts of Power 1 - Aurian

679 Pages·2016·1.38 MB·English

by  Furey Maggie

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Aurian
Maggie Furey

Chapter 1

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Ho, little girl!"

Aurian jumped, the blue fireball dropping from her hands to the
dry leaves of the forest floor. She scuffed hastily at the
smouldering leaves with her foot, the extinguishing spell
forgotten in her panic. Her mother had forbidden her to come out
here on her own, and it was too late to hide. Aurian turned to
run, but the strangeness of the intruder in the glade stopped her
in her tracks.

She had never seen a man before. He was tall and broad, clad all
in brown leather beneath his heavy cloak, and bearing a huge sword
at his side. The brown hair on his face looked distinctly odd,
reminding her, together with his brown eyes, of the animals that
were her friends. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, and
Aurian backed hastily away from the looming figure, another
fireball beginning to form between her fingers. The man looked at
her thoughtfully then sat down on the ground, his hands clasped
round his knees. Now that he was nearer her own level, he looked
far less threatening, and Aurian began to feel a little more
confident. These were her mother's lands, after all. "Who are
you?" she demanded.

"I'm Forral—swordsman and wanderer, at your service, little lady."
He inclined his head gravely in the nearest thing to a bow that he
could manage from his sitting position.

"Yes, but who are you?" Aurian insisted, still keeping a safe
distance between them. "What do you want? You're not supposed to
be here, you know. The animals were supposed to keep you out."
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Forral smiled, "They didn't bother me. I don't hurt animals—they
don't hurt me. It's a good way to live."

Aurian, despite her mother's warnings, found herself warming to
the man. It was a good way to live, and she liked his smile. It
seemed only fair to warn him what her mother would do to him if
she found him wandering around her lands. "Look—" she began, but
he was already speaking.

"Can you by any chance direct me to the Lady of the Lake?"

"Who?"

Forral waved his hands in a vague gesture. "You know— the Mage.
The Lady Eilin. If I'm not mistaken, you must be young Aurian, her
daughter. You're the image of Geraint."

Aurian's mouth fell open. "You knew my father?"

Forral's face was shadowed with sadness. "Indeed I did," he said
softly. "Your father and mother both. Geraint gave me my start in
life. I was an orphan, only about your age, when he found me. He
got me into the swordsman's school at the Garrison in Nexis, and
was a friend to me in all the years that followed." He sighed. "I
was away soldiering in foreign parts, across the sea, when your
father died. News of—the accident— never spread that far. I've
only just returned, and when I heard—" For a moment, he struggled
to find his voice. "Well, I came at once. I've come to offer my
services to your mother."

"She won't want you." It was out of her mouth before Aurian
realized her tactlessness. It seemed an awful thing to say, when
he had come so far. And she liked him already. In all her nine
years, Aurian could remember no other human company save that of
her mother, and Eilin had little time to spare for her daughter.
She was too preoccupied with her Great Task. With only her animal
friends for companionship, Aurian's life was a lonely one.
Desperately she cast around for a way to explain, so as not to
hurt her new friend's feelings. "You see," she said, "my mother
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never has visitors. She's so busy that she hardly even sees me."

Forral looked her up and down. Had Aurian had a normal upbringing
she might have been embarrassed by the torn gray shift that she
was wearing, the tangles in her red curls, the smears on her face
and the dirt ground into her bare knees. As it was she returned
his gaze unselfconsciously.

"Who looks after you, then?" he asked at last.

Aurian shrugged. "Nobody."

The big man frowned. "Then it's high time somebody did. Speaking
of which, are you supposed to be doing that?" He pointed at the
forgotten fireball that still danced over the palm of her hand.
Aurian snuffed it hastily and hid her hands behind her back,
wishing that she could hide her guilty expression so easily.

AURIAN -3

"Well . . . not exactly," she confessed. "But it was an
emergency." She bit her lip. "You won't tell on me, will you?"

Forral seemed to be thinking it over. "All right. I won't tell on
you—this time," he added sternly. "But don't do it again, do you
hear me? It's very dangerous. And don't think I didn't notice what
you were up to when I came into this glade. It wasn't an emergency
then, was it?" Aurian felt her face turn crimson, and Forral
grinned. "Come on, youngster, let's go and see your mother."

"She won't be very pleased," Aurian warned him, but she could tell
he didn't believe her.

They set off up the tree-covered slope; Forral led his tired horse
and the skinny, gangling child mounted bareback on her shaggy
brown pony. Cool autumn sunlight filtered through the naked
branches, gilding the deeply drifted leaves that crackled
underfoot. At the top of the long rise, the woods came to an
abrupt end. The child halted, her expression closed and grim.

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"Gods preserve us!" Forral gazed at the devastation below him,
hardly able to believe his eyes. The news of Geraint's accident
had come as a dreadful shock, but he had never expected anything
on this appalling scale! The vast, barren crater stretched beyond
the ridge, as far as the eye could see. It was almost more than
the swordsman could bear, to witness such proof of his friend's
violent end. Geraint had been the most brilliant and impetuous of
the Magefolk, favorite candidate to be the next Archmage. Arrogant
and stubborn, as were all his kind. Tall, redheaded Geraint of the
explosive temper, the expansive laugh, the endless joy in life,
and the kindness of heart to befriend a ragged young boy who dared
to dream, had killed himself down there.

Geraint had dared to dream, too, Forral thought sadly. Eight years
ago he had tried, using the ancient, half-comprehended magic of
the lost Dragonfolk, to harness vast amounts of magical energy in
order to pass instantly from world to world, with disastrous
results. It was said that Geraint had come perilously close to
destroying the world, and it was already clear that his name would
be cursed through generations of Mage and Mortal alike. Forral
preferred to believe that his friend, recognizing th^ danger too
late, had given his life to

I

confine the damage to as small an area as possible. Even so, the
deep crater below was at least five leagues across, its sides a
cracked and twisted mess of melted rock, its floor like rippled
black glass. Away in the distance, across the lifeless waste, the
swordsman's eyes caught the gleam of sunlight on water.

Forral had no idea how long he stood there, dismayed by the
horrific scale of the destruction Geraint had wrought. At last he
became aware of the child gazing up at him.

"My mother hasn't got this far," Aurian said in a small, flat
voice. "I told you she was busy. There's a lot to do."

The swordsman was filled with pity for the little girl, growing up
neglected and friendless in this bleak wasteland. Were the rumors
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true, that Eilin had lost her sanity with the death of her beloved
soul mate? An adept in Earth-magic, it was said that she had
buried her grief in her obsession to restore to fruitfulness the
devastation caused by Geraint's tragic mistake. For the child's
sake, he pulled himself together and tried to look cheerful, but
his heart was sinking as they went on their way.

They had some difficulty getting Forral's horse down to the floor
of the crater, but Aurian's surefooted pony had few problems. The
child could ride like a centaur, and was accustomed, no doubt, to
negotiating the slippery, folded terrain in the bottom of the
massive bowl. It must be terrible here in summer, Forral thought
as they rode along. Even now, the glasslike rock was throwing up
heat and shimmering reflections from the pallid autumn sun. Water
had"gathered in the bottoms of some of the deeper folds, but the
only sign of life was the occasional bird flying overhead.

Aurian finally broke the long silence between them. "What was my
father like?"

The question took Forral by surprise, and he was very much aware
of the plea that lay behind the words. "Hasn't your mother told
you?" he asked her.

"No," she replied. "She won't talk about him. She said that this
was all his fault." She gestured around her, her voice quavering.
"She said he'd done a bad thing, and that it was our duty to make
up for it."

Forral shuddered. What had happened to Eilin? What a terrible
burden to lay on a child! "Nonsense," he said firmly.

"Your father was a good, kind man, and a true friend to me. What
happened was an accident. He didn't do this on purpose, pet. He
made a mistake, that's all—and don't let anybody tell you
otherwise."

Aurian's face brightened. "I wish I could remember him," she said
softly. "Will you tell me about him, as we ride?"
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"Gladly," replied Forral.

About two leagues from the center of the bowl, the ground began to
level off to a smooth surface with a slight downward slope. Soon
the rock was covered with a thin layer of soil, and tiny,
struggling plants began to appear. By the time the lake came into
view they were riding on wiry turf starred with daisies, and
passing thickets of hawthorn, blackberry, and elder that were
bowed down beneath a rich harvest of fruit and alive with birds.
Groves of shapely trees stood along the green lake shore, some
still bearing apples and pears. Forral could not help but be
impressed by the scale of Eilin's accomplishments in eight short
years. A pity she couldn't have lavished the same attention on the
child.

The lake was large and round, formed by water draining into the
bottom of the crater. In the center stood an island, obviously man
(or Mage) made, that was connected to the shore by a slender
wooden bridge. On the island a tower rose above the lake like a
spear of light. Forral caught his breath. The ground floor was
surrounded by gardens and built of black stone, but above it was
an airy, glittering structure of crystal that soared high above
the gleaming wafers. The ethereal building was topped by a slender
glass spire on which a single point of light glowed like a fallen
star.

"Dear Gods, it's lovely!" Forral gasped.

Aurian looked at it dourly. "It's where we live." She shrugged and
dismounted, setting her pony free with a farewell pat.

Forral did likewise, on her assurance that his horse would stay
nearby where there was grazing. Leaving his saddle under a tree,
he followed the child across the bridge.

A white-sanded path led through Eilin's gardens, past neat rows of
late-season vegetables; herb beds laid out in a precise, intricate
mosaic of varied greens; and banks of fiery autumn flowers in
which sat a cluster of beehives, their occupants humming busily
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among the copper-gold blooms as they made the most of this last,
rare warm spell before winter. As he followed the child into the
tower, Forral reflected that the Mage had managed to support
herself and her daughter very well in their isolation, though he
wondered how Eilin obtained grain, cloth, and other necessities
that could not be won from the Valley's soil.

The outer door of the tower led straight into the kitchen, which
was obviously the main living area. Its walls were hewn out of the
dark stone of the tower's base, giving it a cavelike appearance
made cozy by the glow of the potbellied metal stove in the corner.
Colored rugs of woven wool brightened the floor, and there was a
scrubbed wooden table with benches tucked beneath. Two chairs with
padded seats were pulled up near the stove, and shelves and
cupboards lined the walls, making the most of the cramped space.
Two doors hid other rooms, and Aurian gestured to the one on the
right. "That's my room," she informed the swordsman. "She sleeps
upstairs, to be near her plants."

A delicate, twisting metal staircase led to the upper stories.
Aurian hesitated at the bottom, gesturing for Forral to precede
her. His boots striking bell-like notes on the vibrating metal
treads, Forral climbed the stairs, wondering at the look of
trepidation on the child's face.

Looking into the glass rooms of the tower as they led off the
staircase, Forral saw the practical purpose behind the building's
exuberant design. The chambers were filled with benches, on which
stood trays of earth planted with young seedlings that basked in
the warmth of the afternoon sunlight trapped by the crystal walls.
A fine spray, seemingly appearing from nowhere, filled the air
with moisture, and Forral's skin prickled with the thick buildup
of magic. He was positive that the plants were actually growing
before his eyes! When he finally found the Mage in one of the
upper rooms, she was too preoccupied to notice him.

"Go away, Aurian," Eilin muttered, without looking up. "I've told
you not to bother me when I'm working."

Eilin had aged, the swordsman thought. It surprised him. Magefolk,
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like Mortals, could be killed by illness or accident, but
otherwise they lived as long as they wanted, dying only
when they chose to leave the world and preserving their physical
forms at whatever age they wished. Forral remembered Eilin as a
vibrant young woman, but now her dark hair was streaked with gray
and her forehead was furrowed. Deep, bitter lines tugged at the
corners of her mouth, and she looked pale and pitifully thin in
her patched and faded robes.

"Eilin, it's me—Forral," he called, stifling his dismay. He
stepped forward, holding out his arms to hug her—and recoiled as
her face twisted with rage at the sight of him.

"Get out!" Eilin snapped. She bore down on the child, and hit her
across the face. "How dare you bring him here!"

Aurian dodged behind Forral. "It wasn't my fault," she wailed.

Forral, anger boiling inside him, turned to put an arm around her.
"Are you all right?"

Aurian nodded, biting her lip, her pale face branded with an ugly
red mark. Forral saw tears in her eyes, and gave her a quick hug.
"Go downstairs and wait for me by the bridge," he told her softly.

When the child had gone, the swordsman turned back to Eilin. "That
wasn't very fair," he said coldly.

"There's no such thing as fair, Forral—I found that out when
Geraint died. The wretched child should have told you that I never
see anyone!"

"She did. And I ignored it. Do you want to hit me now?" He was
fighting hard to keep his anger in check.

Eilin turned away, avoiding his eyes. "I want you to go away. Why
did you come here?"

"I came as soon as I could, when I heard what had happened to
Geraint. I wish it had been sooner. It might have saved you from
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turning into a bitter old woman."

"How dare you!" she cried.

"It's the plain truth, Eilin. But I came to offer you my service
for Geraint's sake, and that still stands."

Eilin stalked away to the far side of the room, her movements
jerky with anger. "Curse you, Mortal! Fickle and faithless, like
all your kind. What use is your service now? Where were you and
your service eight years ago, when I needed you? You were
Geraint's friend—he listened to you. With your help I might have
dissuaded him from his insanity. But no—you had an itch to
wander—to see the world. Well, I hope the experience was enough to
recompense you for the death of a friend. Your service comes far
too late, Forral. Get out of here, and don't come back!"

Hardened warrior though he was, Forral flinched from Eilin's
bitter words. His grief at Geraint's death was still raw, and her
accusations contained just enough truth to hurt. Perhaps it would
be as well if he did go ... Then Forral remembered the child.

"No." He squared his shoulders. "I'm not leaving, Eilin. It's
obviously been bad for you to be alone like this, and the child
needs someone to care for her. You might as well get used to the
fact that I'm staying, because there's nothing you can do about
it."

"Oh, can't I?" She whirled, and Forral saw too late that she held
her staff in her hand. The floor seemed to drop away beneath him,
and a loud roaring filled his ears. His vision exploded in a burst
of colored lights and he gasped with pain as a brief wrenching
sensation tore through his body. Then the ground came up to hit
him, hard.

Forral opened his eyes gingerly. He was lying on a smooth carpet
of turf—on the other side of the bridge. He stared across the calm
waters at the island with its tower and gave himself up to some
serious swearing. The child came running across the bridge, her
bare feet echoing on the planks. She skidded to a halt beside him.
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"She threw you out, then.'-^iShe didn't sound in the least
surprised, but he read anxiety in her face. He sat up and groaned.

"What the bloody blazes was that?"

"An apport spell." Aurian sounded proud of knowing the right word.
"She's good at those—it's how she moved all the soil into the
Valley. She's had a lot of practice."

"An apport spell, eh?" Forral frowned, running his fingers
distractedly through his curling brown hair. "Aurian, how far
could she move me with that spell?"

The child shrugged. "About as far as she did, I think. You're
heavier than the loads she usually moves. Why?"

"I want to be sure she can't hurl me right out of this valley.
It's an unpleasant way to travel!"

"I think she expects you to ride the rest of the way," Aurian said
seriously, and Forral burst out laughing.

"I just bet she does! Well, she's in for a surprise. Aurian, how
would you like to help me set up camp?"

The child's face lit up with incredulous delight. "You mean you're
staying?"

"It'll take more than a few wizardly shenanigans to chase me off,
lass. Of course I'm staying!"

Aurian had the happiest afternoon of her life. She and Forral set
up his camp in a copse of sturdy young beeches that grew to the
left of the bridge. She worried about his choice of spot, knowing
he'd be safer out of her mother's sight, but Forral simply
laughed. "This is exactly what I want, youngster. Whenever Eilin
looks out of her windows she's going to see me —right here. I
intend to be a thorn in your mother's side until she gives up this
nonsense."
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