Part 26 (1/2)

There was a game she knew, one her uncle taught her, called Taefil Ma Deogh Taefil Ma Deogh, Steal the Dragon. Strategy and skill were necessary, but it was deviousness that determined who won and who lost. The last time Aralorn stayed with her mother's people, she had beaten her uncle eight times out of ten.

Devious, she thought, parrying furiously. she thought, parrying furiously. Do the unexpected. Do the unexpected.

She turned and ran-out the door, down the hall to the nearest empty room, and through the doorway. The room was dark, which suited Aralorn just fine. She slid Ambris into a tall, narrow vase, where she wouldn't be immediately obvious.

Nevyn's sprinting footsteps were almost at the door as she gathered herself together for another shapechange. She was too weak, too many changes with too little rest between.

Gasping a little, she centered herself and tried again. Pain seared her from toes to fingertips, but as his form appeared in the doorway, she slipped into the shape of a mouse. She huddled just behind the door as he came into the room, called a magelight, and looked briefly around. She waited until he left, then scampered out the door and back to his bedroom.

Wolf finished the last of the painstakingly drawn ink lines on the Lyon's face. When he was through, he looked over all of his work carefully, for he wouldn't get a second chance. Satisfied that all was in order, he took out his knife. He should sever the bond he shared with Aralorn before he started, but the chances were too great that she'd find him before he was done. He had to wait until the last moment.

He slid the sharp blade sideways across one wrist. Touching the tip of a fresh quill pen into the dark liquid that pooled in his wound, he began painstakingly retracing the inked lines with blood.

In Nevyn's room, Aralorn s.h.i.+fted once more to human shape, shaking and shuddering when she was done. If she survived this night, it would be days before she could do so much as light a candle with magic.

She could hear him searching for her, quick footsteps, doors opening quietly. Her heart settled; the sweat dried; and, after a few moments, the pain of overusing her magic receded except for a nagging headache.

She found a likely ambush spot, just inside his door. She was counting on him to believe she would have gone for help rather than come back to face him on her own.

He neared the door, making no attempt at stealth, and Aralorn breathed as silently as she could. He walked in confidently; his first glance fell to the bed. That was all the opening she needed.

With a war cry designed to make him start, she leapt to his back and wrapped one arm around his neck and grabbed the elbow of her opposite arm. This locked the bones of her forearms against the arteries that carried blood to his brain. The mercenaries called it a ”nighty-night,” and, if she could hold it for a count of fifteen, Nevyn should drop unconscious. The first five counts would be the telling ground because after that, he would get weaker fast. Surprise counted for two, then he slammed her against the edge of the door.

She held on, ignoring the pain for the moment, though she knew that she was going to have a vertical bruise to go with the horizontal one Falhart had given her with his quarterstaff. The second time Nevyn slammed her back, it hurt worse because he managed to catch her howlaa-wounded shoulder on the door, so she bit his ear to distract him. He tried to twist away and stumbled, which would have been all right except that it gave him an idea that she would rather he not have thought of.

He threw himself backward on the floor, and the air left her lungs with a faint hint of protest.

Twelve, she thought. she thought.

He managed to bring his shoulders up and smash her head onto the floor.

Fourteen, plague it, go to sleep sleep.

He repeated his previous move with such success that Aralorn was starting to feel woozy herself. Luckily, it was the last one he made.

Lying under him, she waited to catch her breath before sending Nevyn into a more lasting sleep with the dregs of her magic. She'd never have been able to do it with him awake.

Should have just hit him over the head, she thought when she was finished, and touched her bottom lip gently with her tongue to inspect that damage he'd wrought with the back of his head, she thought when she was finished, and touched her bottom lip gently with her tongue to inspect that damage he'd wrought with the back of his head, so there's a chance I'd have killed him. I could have lived with that. so there's a chance I'd have killed him. I could have lived with that.

”Aralorn?”

Nevyn's body blocked her view of the door, but she knew Kisrah's voice.

”I suspect she's under him somewhere, but she's small enough that it might take us a while to find her,” observed Gerem a bit shakily.

”Ha-ha,” she said coldly. ”Never tease a person who knows enough about you for blackmail.”

”Never get grumpy with someone you need to help drag bodies off you,” replied her brother, sounding somewhat calmer after ascertaining that Nevyn was still alive. ”What have you done to Nevyn-and why hasn't Freya woken up?”

”Sleep spell-not mine. I did Nevyn, though,” she replied, then allowed a touch of whine to her voice. ”Want to lever Nevyn off before we have a long conversation? I need to find Wolf and see if he can get a message to my uncle and get him here before Nevyn wakes up. It might also be nice to breathe.”

”Aralorn?” asked a third voice, right on cue. ”You were looking for me?”

Kisrah and Gerem between them managed to drag poor Nevyn off to the side.

”I should have known that you couldn't resist sticking around when things were about to get interesting, Uncle,” said Aralorn, sitting up gingerly: Her head hurt, her back hurt, and her shoulder felt as if she'd been clawed by a howlaa and beaten against the door a couple of times.

”Actually,” he replied, ”I was looking for you. I've talked to a few of our elders, and they say that there is no way a dead dreamwalker could do the kinds of things you think Geoffrey ae'Magi has done. I stopped by your room first, but no one was there, so I came here instead.”

”It wasn't Geoffrey; it was Nevyn,” said Aralorn.

”Nevyn?” asked Gerem, sounding hostile. ”Nevyn would never hurt Father.”

”Who are you?” asked Kisrah.

”Kisrah, meet my uncle Halven-he's a shapes.h.i.+fter who's been trying to help. Uncle Halven, this is Kisrah, the current ae'Magi.” Introductions done, she continued without taking a breath. ”Nevyn has a problem,” she said, then stopped. There had to be a way to explain without sounding like a madwoman. Her weak sleep spell wasn't going to keep him under much longer. She had to make them believe her before he awoke.

”Nevyn is ill,” said Kisrah, kneeling beside Aralorn. He patted the sleeping man's shoulder gently. ”If I'd thought that he would have harmed anyone but himself, I never would have sent him here. He was half-mad when we took him from Santik. I'd hoped he'd settle down with me, but he was too damaged. I thought that this was the perfect place for him; he's seemed happy since he came here.”

”Part of him is,” said Aralorn. ”But there is a part of him that is not.”

”There is an unusual separation of his spirit,” observed her uncle.

”I think that the part of him that dreamwalks has separated itself almost completely,” Aralorn said. ”He was talking about himself as if he were two different people.”

”I've heard that green mages are great healers,” said Kisrah diffidently. ”Is there anything that you can do to help him?”

He'd taken the right tone; Halven preened before the respect in the Archmage's voice. ”Since I can see the damage, I might be able to do something,” he said. Graciously, he half bowed to Aralorn. ”I think you're right. It's the dreamwalking part of him that has split off from his spirit. What is broken can be mended together again-as long as the cause for the break is gone.”

”Santik is dead, and so is Geoffrey,” said Aralorn in answer.

She got to her feet and backed away so that Halven and Kisrah could have free access to Nevyn.

It was over, she thought. Nevyn had been certain that Wolf could free her father. But as his words came back to her, the relief she'd been feeling stopped.

”Human death,” she said.

The two mages were involved in their discussion over Nevyn, but Gerem said, ”What?”

Halven had said Wolf hadn't been in her room.

”G.o.ds,” she said. And she'd been so grateful there were no more secrets between them while she was fighting the howlaa because after her probable demise, Wolf would know exactly how she had felt about him. She could see now how careful he'd been to clear up any misunderstanding that might lie between them, any regrets or doubts that she might have.

If Nevyn knew that it would take a human sacrifice, Wolf did as well.

”Aralorn?” Gerem touched her arm. ”What is it?”

Wolf knew, and, like Nevyn, he'd chosen a sacrifice. If Nevyn had realized just who Wolf had picked, he wouldn't have tried to kill Gerem.

”He told me three times,” she said softly. ”He said he loved me, three times.”