Aurian, p.44
Aurian, page 44
part #1 of Aurian Series
"Why not? I'm hungry, too!" Shia gave her a black look, and dragged her meat out into the garden.
Aurian could wait no longer to attack the food. "What's your name?" She asked the huge man indistinctly, with her mouth full. He simply looked at her, shaking his head and waving his hands in front of his face.
"His name is Bohan. He cannot answer you, for he cannot speak." As Harihn entered, Bohan prostrated himself, touching his forehead to the floor. The Prince gestured negligently, and the huge man left the room. "I sent him to serve and to guard you - he is a eunuch, as is proper."
"Poor man!" Aurian gasped. "How cruel!"
Harihn looked surprised. "Cruel? How so? All ladies of rank are served by eunuchs. How else would the sanctity of their persons be guarded?"
Aurian shuddered, thinking of Anvar. Anvar! Great Chathak, how could she have forgotten him?
The Prince shrugged. "It is of no consequence. I trust he is satisfactory?" He settled himself comfortably on the bottom of her bed and casually helped himself to a leg of her fowl. Aurian took another huge mouthful, reluctant to lose any more of the bird. "How are you feeling?" Harihn asked, and she choked getting it all swallowed. She took a gulp of wine and a deep breath.
"Hungry," she replied pointedly, then regretted her churlishness. After all, she was very much indebted to him, and dependent, at the moment, on his continuing goodwill.
The Prince smiled tolerantly. He was handsome, Aurian thought, with his black curling hair, thick level brows, and dark, lustrous eyes. His face was gentler, less angular and wolfish, than that of his father, but the same pride was in his bearing, and his body was lithe and strong. She was, however, beginning to find his condescending manner very irritating, and had to force herself to keep a rein on her temper. "My apologies, Your Highness," she said. "I'm afraid I'm never at my best when I first wake up."
"You may call me Harihn," he told her, with the air of one conferring a singular honor, "and I have no objections to you eating while we talk."
Thanks a lot, the Mage thought sourly. "Thank you very much," she said aloud. "You may call me Aurian."
Harihn raised an eyebrow. "Of course."
With an effort, Aurian restrained herself from flinging her breakfast in the complacent idiot's face. It was good, and she needed it. Instead she gave him a very direct look. "Harihn, why did you rescue me?"
The Prince smiled. "Lady, you have naught to fear from me. You are more valuable to me alive than dead. You see, I need you - and your Demon, if she will help. I saw you fight in the Arena, and I need your skill to protect me. My life is in danger from my royal father - not to mention his new wife. If she should give him another heir -" He made a slicing motion across his throat.
After a moment, Aurian discovered that her mouth was open, and hastily shoveled some food into it, to give herself time to think. She had almost started to tell him why she couldn't possibly stay - but she realized that the self-absorbed young Prince would hardly take her problems into consideration. Besides, she could not leave until she had found Anvar and, even more important, discovered a way to remove these bracelets that crippled her powers.
The Prince was frowning, obviously wondering why she was not overcome with delight at the prospect of being his bodyguard. "Excuse me, Your Highness," Aurian said hastily, managing to dredge up a smile from somewhere. "I'm overcome by the honor you do me. But... The surgeon must have told you of my condition. How can I defend you adequately when I've grown great with child?"
Harihn shrugged. "I appreciate your frankness in discussing this delicate matter with me, of course..." The distasteful curl of his lip gave the lie to his words. "However, it may not be a problem. You have your Demon to assist you, and besides, your condition may lull any would-be assassin into a false sense of security. After all, who would expect a pregnant concubine of possessing warrior's skills?"
Aurian choked again. When she had regained her breath, she pushed the tray away, her appetite abruptly gone. "Did you say concubine?" She demanded.
Harihn's eyes widened. "Surely you did not expect me to marry you? My people would never countenance a foreign sorceress as their Khisihn!"
"Of course I didn't! I thought you wanted me for a bodyguard, not -" Aurian spluttered angrily, all restraint scattered to the winds. "You must be out of your mind!"
Harihn assumed such an air of benign patience that Aurian wanted to throttle him. "The surgeon warned me you might react in this way," he said. "Being pregnant, you are not in your right mind at present - and I have your history from the Arbiters. I appreciate that as one newly widowed, your sensibilities may be raw, but it is not permitted for a woman to be without a man to govern and guard her. How could it be otherwise? You need a man's protection - a home and a future for your child. If you leave here, you will be at the mercy of the law, and the best you can hope for is slavery - or a return to the Arena. Could your child survive another such bout? Could you? I think not. I have no idea how things are managed in your own land, but here, as a widow, your husband's brother, or some relative, or even his closest friend, would take you into his family as his concubine, or even as a wife, if he wished. You are a stranger here, and have no one to do you this service. Surely you cannot be insensible of the honor I do you?"
Great Gods! He was actually preening Aurian cursed her imagination for coming up with the idiotic story of a missing husband. She cursed the ridiculous laws of this land that passed women around like possessions, and cursed this arrogant young booby who thought he was doing her such a favor! What gall! Then she pulled herself together, and started thinking with frantic haste. Maybe that tale about Anvar being her husband would stand her in good stead, if he could be found... She took a deep breath and crossed her fingers beneath the sheet. "But Your Highness," she blurted out, "what about my husband?"
Harihn frowned. "Aurian, your husband is dead."
"But what if he isn't?" Aurian protested. "We don't know for certain." At her words, the image of Forral's face rose before her with such painful clarity that she gulped back a sob. Oh, Forral, forgive me, she thought. "What happens if he comes here only to discover that I've become another man's concubine?" She went on, unable to suppress the quiver in her voice. "Please, Your Highness, surely you could put a search in motion? I beg you... As a woman alone in a strange land, I throw myself upon your mercy." Well, groveling had worked with the Arbiters. If only the Prince would take the same bait... But as Aurian forced tears into her eyes, she saw Harihn's expression harden.
"Lady," he said flatly, "to find the one you seek would be impossible."
Drat it! I've outfoxed myself! He has no intention of finding Anvar, Aurian thought, because he wants me himself. She had no other recourse but to persist. "What, with light skin and light hair, and blue eyes? I'd have thought he would stand out in this city. If he was brought here with Sara, surely someone must remember having seen him?"
"Exactly! And in all this time, there has been no word of such a man - What did you say? He was with Sara? The Khisihn? Why?" Harihn leaned forward, his eyes suddenly intent.
What had got into the man? Aurian wondered. Could she use this sudden interest to her advantage? "Did Sara not mention him?" She fished.
"She most certainly did not! Should she have? Were they together? Why did she not speak of him? Is this something I could use to discredit my father?" Harihn's questions tumbled over each other in his eagerness.
So that was it! Aurian fought to suppress her relief. If she handled this right... She assumed what she hoped was a shocked expression. "I'm not surprised she didn't mention Anvar to the Khisihn. She's his concubine. That's why she wants me dead, Harihn - in case I betray her secret! Of course if poor Anvar is dead, it won't make any difference, but if he's still alive, it would put your father in a very embarrassing position."
The Prince let out a whoop of triumphant laughter. "Ah!" He said. "You are repaying my investment already! I wondered, when I rescued you, if you two knew one another. Two outlanders arriving so close together was too much of a coincidence. I wonder what my father will say when he hears that his precious new Khisihn is another man's concubine!"
Aurian sighed. What an innocent! "Sara will say that I'm lying, or that you are lying, and the Khisu will believe her of course, and then we'll both be in trouble," she said flatly, and Harihn's face fell. "What you need is proof," Aurian urged him. "If you could only find Anvar..."
The Prince's face lit up. "By the Reaper, Lady, but you are clever! I never would have thought of that. What a pity that you are a foreign sorceress. You would make a far better Khisihn than that she-jackal of my father's. You are worth your weight in the treasures of the desert!" It seemed an odd sort of compliment, but Aurian let it pass. Harihn leapt to his feet. "I will send a man down to the docks at once - the trail should start there, if anywhere."
"Harihn, I don't know how to thank you," Aurian told him, in an excess of relief. "As soon as I'm on my feet, I'll repay your kindness, I promise. With your permission, I'll start training your personal guard in Northern fighting skills. Then, if your father should make a move against you, you'll have as much protection as possible." And when I go away, she thought, at least you'll still be defended.
"Lady, you have my heartfelt thanks." Harihn faced her, his front of arrogance replaced by gratitude.
Aurian realized that he was very much afraid of his father - and very much alone. And now she intended to betray him - to win his trust and use what aid he could offer her, and then, as soon as it was expedient, to leave him. In that moment she hated herself. How far would the ripples of Miathan's evil spread? Were they beginning to engulf her, too? Aurian forced a smile, but she was shuddering inwardly, despising herself for what she was doing. "Your Highness," she said, "it will be my privilege to help you." And may the 'Gods help me, she thought.
Chapter 25
THE PRISONERS
The Nightrunners had made their home in a safe and secret honeycomb of caves, reached from the ocean via a tunnel where waves beat into a shadowed opening in the cliff. This entrance, with waters that were deep enough to float a ship, opened into a vast cavern, hollowed out aeons ago by the sea's ceaseless pounding in the constricted space beneath the cliffs. A gently sloping beach of shingle narrowed as it curved round, to be lost in deep waters that lapped the sheer, sea-smoothed walls at the rear and opposite sides of the cave. Anchored in the pool were four small ships, their lines lean and swift, the figureheads at their prows carved and painted with skill and love in the shapes of legendary beasts. A cluster of smaller boats were moored by the beach, which sloped up to a broad shelf of flat rock, the wall behind it pierced with dark entrances to the maze of corridors and chambers where the smugglers dwelt.
The cavern was lit by lamps and torches fixed in brackets to the rock itself, or mounted on tall wooden poles planted firmly in the shingle. Their flickering light was picked up by glittering fragments of mica and fine veins of ore in the walls, and thrown back in splintered rainbow gleams that echoed the sparkle of tears in Zanna's eyes.
She didn't want to leave. Why, in three short months, this place had become her Home! They let me have a life here, Zanna justified herself, against the guilt that dogged her love of this place. Though Dulsina's sister Remana had been so kind and welcoming, she had not tried to coddle Zanna as though she might break apart. In the secret world of the Nightrunners, everyone made themselves useful.
Zanna paused in the entrance to the massive cavern, assailed by memories of the day she had first arrived in this place. She had been weary and chilled to the bone - and not a little afraid. Despite Dulsina's assurances, the reluctance of the smuggler crew to accept her had left her uncertain of her welcome in their hideaway. But from the moment Vannor's daughter had stepped unsteadily down the springy gangplank with a whining, fretful Antor in her arms, Remana had been a fount of comfort and reassurance.
The tall, gray-haired woman, older and stouter than her sister, but with the same upright carriage, brisk manner, and shrewd, twinkling gray eyes, had taken Antor in one arm and put the other around the tired girl's shoulders, cutting short Zanna's attempt at an explanation with a flood of brisk and friendly chatter. "Never mind that, child - you look quite worn out! I don't suppose these useless men even thought to feed you, did they? No? I thought not! Men! The only way to drive any sense into them is to hit them over the head with an oar. What? Dulsina gave you a letter for me? Wonders will never cease! I know it's not easy to get messages to this place, but my sister is the worst correspondent... Here you are, my dear - the kitchen. We'll get you fed and warm in no time..."
As she spoke, Remana had been leading the bemused Zanna through what had seemed, at the time, to be a maze of interconnecting caves and tunnels. At last they reached a low arched entrance at the end of a corridor, and passed into the warm, fragrant cavern that was the communal kitchen. In the Nightrunner community, even kitchen duty had its place. It was left to those unable to perform the more arduous tasks of survival - the old and the very young. In this way, everyone, even the children, contributed to the welfare of the close-knit group. A sense of belonging was fostered at a very early age. It was a good system, in Zanna's opinion - better than that of the city, where the poor were bonded like slaves, and little children and folk too old to do manual work begged in the stinking streets, or were forced to turn to crime in order to survive.
The kitchen was loud with chatter and brightly lit with many lamps, its smoke-stained walls glowing a soft red with the warm light of the cookfires. Even at this early hour, the place was filled with a businesslike bustle. A budding young girl, one of the goatherds who tended the small flock that grazed on the cliffs above, was pouring warm, fresh milk into cans that stood in an icy pool at the back of the cavern, where the sea penetrated through some subterranean chink in the rocks. A boy sat at the edge of one hearth, stirring a caldron of porridge. By its side steamed a kettle of fragrant tea, made from dried flowers and sea grass that grew at the top of the cliff. An old man with gnarled hands was gutting fish in a corner, and the fruits of his labors were baking on griddles at a nearby fire, supervised by his wife. One old woman was beating gulls' eggs in a basin, watched hungrily by the small boy and girl who had climbed the sheer cliffs to collect them. The mouth-watering aroma of new bread filled the air.
Antor caused a sensation. Within seconds, the little boy had been taken over by a vociferous group of delighted old fisherwives, and was being bathed and fed, pampered and cos-setted and exclaimed over. Remana, having made sure that they were not neglecting the business of breakfast in their zeal, turned her attention to Zanna, seating her by the fire with a large bowl of porridge, a cup of the steaming tea, and a hunk of warm new bread and pungent goat's-milk cheese. Pouring some tea for herself, she sat down on the other side of the hearth to peruse Dulsina's letter while Zanna ate.
"Well! My poor dear girl, you have had a time of it, haven't you?" Zanna blushed beneath her scrutiny as Remana looked up from the letter with lifted brows. "Don't worry, child - we'll take good care of you both, and you can stay as long as you like! Be assured that you are welcome here, my dear - very welcome, indeed!"
And so it began - one of the happiest times in Zanna's life. She was given a chamber close to Remana - a tiny curtained cubicle that, like many of the living areas, had been chipped painstakingly out of the rock during the many years that the Nightrunners had dwelt in.. This labyrinth of caves. The delightfully eccentric furnishings were made of driftwood, and brightly colored rag rugs covered the floor. Thick woven hangings helped take the chill from the walls, for only the kitchens and the main living and work rooms had fireplaces, vented via natural faults in the cliff.
"But aren't you worried about the smoke being seen?" Zanna had asked Remana.
"Not a bit, my dear. For one thing, by the time it filters up through all that rock, there is very little smoke to be seen. For another" - Remana's eyes grew large and round as she lowered her voice - "no one ever comes to this desolate part of the coast. You see, the area is haunted!"
"Haunted?" Zanna gasped.
Remana burst out laughing. "Zanna, if you could see your face! It's naught to worry about. There is a massive standing stone nearby, out on the far headland of the bay - a great, towering black thing that looks very sinister - especially in the moonlight. Leynard's grandfather, the first of the Nightrunner leaders, discovered that the local fishermen and herders were very superstitious about it, so he arranged some 'hauntings' - you know, mysterious lights around the stone at night, ghostly voices on the wind, the sound of invisible horsemen passing by - all the usual old rubbish. Now, no one will come within miles of it. Mind you..." For an instant, her brow creased in a frown. "I must admit that the animals are also afraid of it, but truly, there's nothing to worry about. In fact we bless the stone, because it keeps us safe. I'm only warning you in case you go riding up there. The vicinity of the stone is best avoided, if you don't want a spill."
"I can learn to ride?" Zanna, the stone forgotten, could barely contain her delight.
"You mean that father of yours never taught you?" Remana looked shocked. "I've heard Dulsina say that Vannor was over-protective of his daughters, but by the Gods, that's going too far! Of course you can learn to ride - it's something every girl should know. Later in the year, when the weather improves, I'll teach you to sail, too..."
And so it proved. Remana, as good as her word, lost no time in recruiting a young smuggler named Tarnal as Zanna's instructor, and she soon became an insatiable horsewoman, going out with the towheaded lad every day that the uncertain midwinter weather permitted. The Nightrunners kept a troop of swift, sturdy, surefooted ponies that usually ran wild on the grassy headlands, but came happily down a narrow, sloping tunnel whose entrance was concealed in a clump of gorse at the top of the cliff, to be stabled safely below in the caves when the eastern coast was lashed by storms.
