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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."
Forral smiled, "They didn't bother me. I don't hurt animals—they don't hurt me. It's a good way to live."
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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 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.
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"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.
"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.
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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
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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 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?"
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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?"
"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.
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"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 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.
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"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, 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.
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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 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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The camp looked good, Aurian thought. She wished she could live here. Forral had slung a rope
between two sturdy trees and untied a rolled sheet of oiled canvas from behind his saddle. He hung this
over the rope so that both sides reached the ground, then pulled the two sides apart and weighted them
with stones to form a rough tent.
"But the wind will blow through," Aurian objected.
Forral shrugged. "I've put up with worse." He was cross, though, when she told him that he couldn't burn
any of the wood in the Valley. Her mother had set. spells to protect it, and brought in fuel for the tower
from outside. Aurian had a terrible time convincing him of the danger, but to her relief he finally gave in,
though with ill grace. "I can live without a fire for now, but Eilin had better hurry up and come to her
senses before winter," he growled.
When her mother called her in at dusk there was trouble, of course. Eilin, gazing tight-lipped out the
window at Forral's camp, forbade Aurian to speak to him, or go anywhere near him. But the
swordsman's cheerful defiance had filled Aurian with newfound courage.
> "I will talk to him, and you can't stop me!" she blurted out. Eilin stared at her in amazement, her face
darkening with anger. Aurian's rebellion earned her a thrashing, but it only
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increased her determination. When it was over she turned on her mother. "I hate you!" she sobbed, "and
you won't stop me from being friends with Forral no matter what you do to me!"
Eilin's eyes blazed. "Don't count on it. He won't be here for long."
"He will! He promised!"
"We'll see about that," Eilin said grimly.
