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every warding spell that she could dredge from her panic-fuddled mind. The Weather-Mage was badly shaken. She took another long draught from the cup that she held in trembling hands and tried to a.s.semble her scattered wits. Her plan to stay here and rule the city from the Academy was in ruins now. One thing was for sure, she thought grimly-until she had discovered Miathan's whereabouts, it would not be safe to remain in Nexis at all. Should the Archmage come up on her unawares, she could measure her life in minutes-if she was lucky.

Once the initial shock faded, Eliseth began to think more calmly. It seemed doubtful, she decided, that Miathan could be here at present. Surely he would have discovered her by now? Her emergence through the rift in time had caused a backwash of power that he must certainly have sensed, had he been lurking in or beneath the Academy. Perhaps there would be time after all to deal with Vannor and Anvar-then once her p.a.w.ns were in place, it wouldn't matter if she had to leave the city and hide in safety elsewhere. Everything hinged on Vannor. If she could only act quickly enough ...

Sadly, swift action was impossible. In reality, three or four anxious days-she was so busy that she almost lost count- were to pa.s.s before the Mage was ready.

At last! Eliseth thought with relief. After tonight I can find somewhere safe. The night was old, with but an hour or so still remaining before the sky would begin to grow light. Unseen in the darkness, Eliseth glided along the mossy path that led up from the river and through the gardens of Vannor's mansion. She approached within an arm's length of the sentry, and still he did not notice her. Dear G.o.ds, however had these pathetic creatures ever ended up ruling her city? Eliseth reached out a hand in pa.s.sing-and touched the man's face.

"s.h.i.t!"The guard started and spun around, his sword leaping out of his scabbard in a single fluid motion as he turned. He saw nothing. By that time, the Mage was gone. From several yards away, she heard his companion's voice.

"Thara's t.i.tties! What in perdition do you think you're doing, waving that sword around?"

"But I felt something touch me," the other protested. "Something brushed my face."

"Oh for pity's sake, don't be so b.l.o.o.d.y feeble-it was probably just a moth. It's bad enough being stuck out here on duty in all this wet, without you seeing sodding fairies...."

Their voices faded in the distance as Eliseth left them and made her way up through the shrubbery, heading for the great house itself. She was glad of the drizzling overcast that deepened the gloom of the night. She was using an Air spell to diffuse the light around her silhouette, and as long as the moon did not show itself from behind the low clouds, she was fairly confident that she would not be seen.

Eliseth had given careful thought to this plan. Vannor was too well guarded to be approached directly-she would never be able to get him alone, as Bern had been, so that she could slay him by magical means. Besides, she did not want the Mortals to know that she had returned to their world, and if she used her powers against the upstart ruler of Nexis, her secret would be out. She had more sense than to try a physical attack against Vannor. Even one-handed, he was stronger and more experienced with weaponry than she. There was just too much that could go wrong.

There was more than one way, however, to kill a Mortal- and in fact it was Bern's late and unlamented wife who had given her the idea. In the Mage's pocket was a small vial containing poison made according to instructions from one of the scrolls in the library, and concocted from ingredients found in Meiriel's infirmary. The last days had been spent in experimentation on the rats and other vermin that infested the Academy, until she was sure she had it right. According to the records there was no antidote. Of course, in order to make sure that her poison reached its intended victim, she would probably have to kill everyone in the merchant's household- but so what? They were only Mortals, after all. The lethal ' liquid was colorless and tasteless, and much to Eliseth's satis-*" faction it was slow-acting, so that Vannor would take a long ( and painful time to die. At last he would suffer the death his ' perfidious daughter had prevented so long ago-but Zanna would not be able to save him this time.

The Mage had reached the rear of the house, and found the back door that led into the kitchen. Carefully, so as not to make a sound, she tested the latch. Locked-but she could soon take care of that. She put forth her powers-and after a moment, she heard a satisfying click as the mechanism of the lock sprang open. A faint glow of lamplight outlined the kitchen window. Edging alongside the wall, Eliseth flattened 76Ms gg i e F u r e y herself against the brickwork and peered around the side of the frame. The kitchen fires, banked for the night, had been revived, and a solitary man was working at the long wooden table. As she had expected, Vannor's head cook was up well before the dawn, setting the dough for the day's bread before the rest of the kitchen helpers were awake.

The man seemed surprisingly young to be a head cook, and, most unusual for one in his profession, he was very thin and gangling. Eliseth dismissed these details with barely a glance. To her, one Mortal was very much the same as another. There was no sense in waiting. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her will to manipulate the air within the kitchen. A glowing patch of greenish mist appeared close to the feet of the unsuspecting cook. Slowly it elongated and solidified in form, until it had taken on the appearance of a small green serpent. Then the Mage paused. This was her favorite illusion and it would distract the cook sure enough-but what if he was afraid of snakes, as were so many of these ridiculous Mortals? He would yell and wake the rest of the household, and that was the last thing she wanted. Eliseth cursed under her breath and dissolved her illusion of the reptile. What could she use instead? A more complex creature would both tax her powers and stretch her ingenuity to the utmost-but she could do it. For the chance of revenging herself on Vannor at last, she could certainly do it.

The Mage narrowed her eyes and concentrated with all her might. The patch of mist turned pale and opaque. It shimmered and twisted in upon itself, until, after several minutes, an outline began to emerge. "Come on, come'on," Eliseth muttered impatiently to herself as slowly, one by one, the details of the creature began to emerge from the amorphous background. When the cook glanced down, a small white cat was sitting at his feet.

"Goodness! Wherever did you come from?" Smiling, the man stooped down and reached out to stroke the little creature. Eliseth, concentrating so hard that drops of sweat broke out on her forehead, shifted her illusion away from his outstretched hand.

"Frightened, are you, little one? Has someone been mistreating you?" Vannor's cook asked the cat.

Eliseth grimaced and cast her eyes up to the heavens. She had never been able to work out why some Mortals actually spoke to animals as if they could understand. Still, if it served phiammara

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her purpose . . . Though she was unable to reproduce sound in her illusion, she opened the kitten's mouth in a silent mew.

"Poor little thing-are you hungry? Just you wait here a moment, and we'll see what we can find for you."

As the cook vanished into the pantry, Eliseth moved like lightning. She slipped through the back door, sprinkled her deadly liquid over the bread dough on the table, and was out again before the cook emerged. As she slipped soundlessly down through the gardens, she glanced back to see him silhouetted in the open doorway, a plate in his hand, calling out to the cat that was no longer there-and never had been.

Between the Worlds was a lonely place. Forral had no notion of the time that had pa.s.sed in the Mortal world while he had been trapped here, for time held no sway in the realms of Death, and the silvery, misty landscape of rolling hills and starry sky remained unchanging, never altering their aspect to mark the pa.s.sing hours or changing seasons. Now that the Reaper of Souls had forbidden him access to the sacred hilltop grove and the portal it contained, the swordsman's only contacts with the world he had departed were the spirits who . would pa.s.s through this limbo, singly or severally, on their way : from the Door Between the Worlds to the Well of Souls, where ' they would be reborn. All of these, however, were guarded and guided by the Specter of Death, in his guise of the old hermit with the lamp, and the Reaper would not permit Forral to approach the shades too closely, or delay them with his questions.

Increasingly, it seemed to the swordsman that he was becoming the ghost in this landscape of the dead, for the longer * he lingered here, the more insubstantial he seemed to be-, come to the shades of the once-living who pa.s.sed through 4 swiftly on their way to a new existence. When he had first * come to this place, the others had noticed him at least, or heard f his voice, though when this happened they were always sped - quickly on their way by their grisly guardian. Now, however, his fellow-spirits seemed not to see the form of the lonely swordsman who hovered anxiously nearby, desperate for news of Aurian. It was most painful when a familiar form appeared, ; whether the shade was that of an old friend or even an enemy. To see someone he had once known in the Mortal world

pa.s.s him by without the slightest trace of recognition-it was almost like dying all over again.

7BM. aggie F u r ey Forral had become increasingly frustrated and wretched as the relentless isolation gnawed away at his confidence and his nerve. There was no way to help this timeless imprisonment pa.s.s more easily-he could not eat, or drink, or sleep, and there was nothing to do or to make, and nothing new to see. He could touch nothing, feel nothing-not even his own body. Occasionally Forral would begin to walk, or even run fren-ziedly, endlessly, in an attempt to escape this dim and dreary landscape, but he never tired, and his hurrying steps only led him among the rounded hills, back to the place where he had started-the valley below the sacred grove. The way to the Well of Souls was barred to him now by a barrier of some invisible force, as was the Door Between the Worlds. Even Death himself would no longer converse with Forral, for the Specter simply vanished every time the iurious and embittered swordsman attempted to confront him. Forral knew that the Reaper was waiting him out, hoping that sooner or later he would tire of this miserable half-existence, and volunteer to be reborn.

Had he not been so afraid for Aurian and her child-his own child-Forral would have capitulated gladly. How could he leave, knowing that he might be losing a chance-a single chance-to help them? Even so, he was alarmed to find that his memory of the Mage was fading, eroded by the endless changelessness and solitude of his surroundings. How long, he wondered, would it be before she vanished completely in the mists of forgetfulness? How long did he have left, before he lost even his own sense of ident.i.ty-and what would become of him then? As Forral waited-for what, he could not say-it took every shred of courage in the warrior's heart not to give way to despair.

The swordsman sat on the silvery hillside, brooding upon his unhappy thoughts. Recently, a whole stream of people had pa.s.sed through the door, singly or in groups of two or three-about a dozen altogether. What was going on? Some catastrophe had struck, he was sure, to bring so many through at once-and what was worse, he felt certain that he ought to recognize some of the faces, but the memories lurked tauntingly just out of his reach. Am I losing my mind? he thought despairingly-and if I do, what will remain of me? Will my spirit cease to exist completely? Forral shook his head. Perhaps Death had been right all along. He should have listened to the Specter. Maybe he should find him, admit defeat, and consent to be reborn before it was too late... .

Forral sensed that the Door Between the Worlds was opening once more. He could feel it, like a stirring of the tides of energy within his incorporeal form, like the subtle, almost imperceptible change of atmosphere between a worldly night and morning. Even as he cursed himself for a fool, the swordsman leapt to his feet and ran, as he had run so many times before, racing down the valley in a fruitless attempt to beat the Specter of Death to the already-widening portal.

As always, he was too late. Before he had reached the mouth of the valley, Forral could feel the change within him as the Door closed again upon the mundane world. Still he kept going, fighting his disappointment, anxious to catch a glimpse of the new arrival in the Reaper's realm, and hoping that for once-just this once-he might be perceived. The ground mist swept aside from the valley's dark mouth, to reveal the familiar sight of two figures, the bewildered newcomer led by the spectral figure of the old hermit with the lamp.

Memory struck Forral like a physical blow. Grief and a raging sense of injustice swept through the swordsman like an inferno as he beheld the familiar, stocky figure that followed '-* in Death's wake. He started forward eagerly. "Vannor! Vannor, old fox!"

"What? Who is that?" the merchant peered through the yswirling mist. For the first time that Forral could remember, i^his old friend looked confused and uncertain. Well, it was

feardly surprising, was it? he chided himself. Suddenly he real-(ized that Vannor probably would not understand, as yet, what happened to him. I had better tread very carefully, the : swordsman thought-but it was already too late. ; "Forral?" Vannor's voice, usually so gruff, rose in an unsteady squeak. His eyes wide with horror, he began to back away through the mist. "It-it can't be you," he stammered. "Forral is dead"

The swordsman sighed. Clearly, there would be no gentle

way to do this. He strode after the retreating figure. "So are Vyou, Vannor old friend," he said bluntly. "Why else would / be lere?"

"You are here because you are recalcitrant and foolish." Forral and Vannor swung round with a gasp. They had for-jotten the presence of Death. The Specter was wearing the 8 0.

Maggie F ur ey Vhia.mma.ra.

hooded guise of the old hermit who conducted those who had pa.s.sed through the Door to their final rest. He beckoned to Vannor. "Come, Mortal. Pay no attention to this renegade- he will do your own cause no good whatsoever. You must accompany me to the Well of Souls, and be reborn."

Vannor scowled. "Now just a minute," he protested. "This renegade, as you call him, happens to be a friend of mine. I'm not going anywhere until I find out what is going on here." His frown grew deeper. "What in the b.l.o.o.d.y blazes happened to me, anyway? I don't remember how I got to be here. How is it that I'm dead?"

Death sighed. "If it matters at all, you were poisoned, as were most of your household."

"What?" Vannor yelled. "Who did this? Who else was poisoned? All of them? Was Dulsina killed? What about Antor, my son?"

'Tour son has already pa.s.sed this way." Death shrugged. "The one you call Dulsina-no. It may be that her time is yet to come. As for the murderer's ident.i.ty-well, this is not the first occasion that your enemy has made a good deal of work for me." He smiled grimly. "I look forward to the day I welcome that one into my realm."

"Who?" Both men spoke simultaneously.

"The Magewoman Eliseth." Death shrugged.

"She's back?" Vannor gasped. "But-"

Forral wondered at his friend's shocked response, but Death held up his hand, forestalling any further questions. "The manner of your coming here is of little import. You must come with me now, Vannor-and try, if you can, to persuade your friend to join you, for he refuses to listen to reason. Too long has he lingered Between the Worlds."

Vannor gave the Specter a hard look. "I'll accompany you if Forral will, but if he wants to stay here, I won't leave him. He's my friend."

Forral felt relief wash over him in a flood of warmth. He had never realized just how desperately he had missed a friend in this dismal place. "Vannor, what about Aurian? I know she must be alive, because she hasn't pa.s.sed this way, but is she well? Is she safe? Is Anvar taking care of her? What about our child?" So anxious was he that the questions poured out of him, tumbling over one another without waiting for an answer.

A chill went through Forral when he saw the grave ex- pression on the merchant's face. "I'm sorry, Forral-I can't answer you." Vannor sighed. "About seven years ago, she and Anvar were attacked by Eliseth in the Vale. Aurian had found the Sword of Flame, but Eliseth stole it from her. Then the three of them disappeared-they literally vanished into nothingness." He shook his head. "I wish I ..." Suddenly an odd expression swept across his face. To the swordsman, it looked like stark fear. Forral blinked, and rubbed his eyes. Light was deceptive in this place, but it looked to him as though Vannor was fading....

"Forral-help me," the merchant cried. "I feel strange- there's something pulling at me. . . . Oh G.o.ds, I can't see you. . . ." His voice diminished to a despairing wail that was drowned out by a roar from Death. "Stop! This soul is mine1."

Forral was brushed aside as the Specter lurched forward- but it was too late. Vannor was gone.

Vhizmmarz

83.

Chapter 6 Metamorphosis.

/vccording to the messenger, Vannor's life hung in the balance. There was no time to lose. Yanis had put the fastest of the Nightrunner ships at Tarnal's disposal and the winds were fair for Nexis, but to Zanna the vessel seemed frozen in time, as though it were trapped in the same ice that gripped her heart. She stood in the prow, grasping the rail until her fingers ached., trying to will the ship forward with every ounce of her formidable strength and her desperate need. Every second might make a difference. Her younger brother Antor was already dead-she had been given no chance to say her farewells to him. Zanna felt her heart constrict inside her with pain. It was so unfair! Antor had been little more than a child-he had scarcely begun to live, and now he never would.

Zanna swallowed back her tears, determined to stay in command of her emotions in this crisis. If only Tarnal were by her side to rea.s.sure her- but, as usual, he had a.s.sumed command. She could.hear his voice in the background, giving orders to the men as he strove to plot the fastest course and adjust the sails so that every last sc.r.a.p of speed could be coaxed from the boisterous wind. His zeal was unnecessary-this crew had been together for a long time and knew what was needed- but Zanna understood Tarnal's need for occupation to prevent his thoughts from dwelling upon what might await them in Nexis. She, alas, was without such means of surcease, and she missed her husband desperately, wanting the comfort and support of his loving presence.

On the vessel flew, a grey shadow in the night-black sea, with the wind singing in die sheets and a high curl of creamy foam where the bows carved a path through the tossing waves. Unable to contain her impatience, Zanna left the bows and began to pace the slanting deck, oblivious to the risk. HurryJ Her thoughts urged the vessel on. Oh, hurry1. We must get there in time!

How could this happen now, when everything had been going so well? The seven years since the Battle of the Vale had been good ones. Is this our fault? Zanna wondered as she paced. Did we let ourselves become complacent? When Vannor returned to the Nightrunners with the news that both Aurian and Anvar had vanished from the world, it had seemed a catastrophe beyond all understanding. Zanna and the Mages' other friends and companions had grieved long and hard for them both, and Panic had been inconsolable. It had taken several days for Vannor to persuade them that not only their friends had been lost, but their enemies, too. Eli-seth had gone the same way as Aurian and Anvar-then news arrived from Yanis's contacts in Nexis that the Archmage had also disappeared.

Zanna remembered with shame how she had berated her father for his pursuit of power when Aurian had so lately been lost. He had been right, though. With Nexis leaderless, the people had been desperate for someone to fill the lack. With Sangra's a.s.sistance, Vannor had sobered up the grieving Parric with brutal efficiency and enlisted the Cavalrymaster's help, and that of the rebel and exiled communities. Yanis had provided ships and the armed support of the Nightrunners- and within a month, the former Head of the Merchants' Guild had become High Lord of Nexis.

Then the changes had begun. With the Magefolk gone, e Furey the shadows of awe and fear had been lifted from the Nexi-ans, and a new age had blossomed under Vannor's beneficent rule. The accessible items from Miathan's h.o.a.rded supplies had been released from the Academy, and new recruits for the Garrison had been trained hastily by Panic and Sangra. Robbers and footpads had been dealt with, making the night safer for folk to walk abroad. The merchants who exploited the Nexians had been persuaded to mend their ways by the disciplined troops backing Vannor's authority. Homes were rebuilt for the poor and dispossessed, and the wretched beggars vanished from the streets. Jarvas's sanctuary was rebuilt as a shelter for the old and needy, and a school for healers had been established there, under the auspices of an unusually sober Benziorn.

Vannor had given the citizens of Nexis years of peace and plenty-yet Zanna was aware that not everyone favored the new High Lord of Nexis, and what he had wrought. The one great disaster of Vannor's reign had been his failure to deal with the sporadic attacks by the Phaerie, and people who had lost family and friends blamed him for the disappearance of their loved ones. The merchants, also, were incensed by the decimation of their profits and what they saw as unwarranted interference in their affairs. The fact that Vannor had once been Head of the Merchants' Guild added insult to injury. In the fulfillment of a long-cherished dream, he had overridden their objections and outlawed the practice of bonding-and that, Zanna knew, might well have been the final outrage that had precipitated this attack.

As the darkness began to give way in the east, the ship turned into the estuary. Soon the docks of Easthaven, grey and indistinct in the ghostly morning light, loomed into sight and pa.s.sed like slowly moving shadows as the ship continued upriver. Zanna closed her eyes in pain. It seemed that everything was conspiring to remind her of her father today, for the river pa.s.sage was another of Vannor's innovations. In consultation with Yanis and the other merchant captains, he had had the river dredged, the weir removed, and a series of locks installed to allow the pa.s.sage of ships all the way to Nexis itself. Today, Zanna blessed her father's foresight. It would allow her to reach his side all the quicker.

Zanna and Tarnal wasted no time waiting for the ship to dock at Nexis. Instead, they had themselves put ash.o.r.e where the gardens of Vannor's mansion stretched right down to the Vhiammara

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river. Zanna was shocked by the number of armed soldiers guarding the flimsy jetty and patrolling the grounds, but to her relief, Sangra was commanding them and allowed herself and Tamal to pa.s.s immediately, without delaying them with unnecessary talk. After running hand in hand up the steep graveled paths, they arrived breathless at the house. Dulsina herself opened the door to them, her face white and her eyes red from weeping and bruised beneath from sleeplessness and strain. Without a word, the two women fell into one another's arms.

"Is he ... ?" Zanna was the first to pull away. Whatever the nature of the news, she could bear the suspense no longer.

"No-not yet. He's still fighting, but . . ." Dulsina shook her head as she guided Zanna and Tarnal across the hall and into Vannor's study. Parric was already there, pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the fire.

"Zanna . . ." The Cavalrymaster's voice was choked as he held out his arms to her. "I'm sorry, love," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "I blame myself. If the Garrison had guarded him better ..."

"Nonsense," Dulsina interrupted crisply. "Don't be so daft, Panic. Things are bad enough here without that kind of stupid self-recrimination. Make yourself useful instead, and get Zanna and Tarnal a gla.s.s of wine." She turned to Zanna. "The G.o.ds only know how someone could have got into the house to do this terrible thing. It seems to have been the bread that was poisoned, but we've lost the cook along with the rest of the servants, so I don't suppose we'll ever find out. I only escaped because I was staying overnight in the city with Hebba- she hasn't been too well of late." Dulsina bit her lip. "We have to face it, Zanna-this is a cruel poison. Your poor father is suffering so greatly that death would be a merciful release." Fresh tears shone in her eyes. "I'm sorry, my dear. Even Benziorn says that nothing can be done. He can only give soporifics to Vannor, to ease his pa.s.sing from this world."

Dulsina's face shimmered into a blur as Zanna's own eyes filled with tears. Her breath caught in her throat to become a convulsive sob. Tarnal, visibly mastering his own grief to support his wife, put his arms around her, and Zanna drew strength from the embrace. "Can I see him now?" she asked in a small voice that she scarcely recognized as her own.

Zanna had no idea how many hours she had sat at her father's bedside, but darkness had fallen outside the window if 6M.a.ggie Furey long ago, and her eyes felt like burning coals in her head. Dulsina sat opposite, shivering with weariness, and Benziorn would come in from time to time to check on his patient, shake his head, and leave again with a sigh. Vannor lay cold and still as though he were a corpse already, his eyes half-open but glazed and unseeing, and his breathing so shallow as to be barely perceptible. His limp hand felt chill and clammy in Zanna's grasp. The waiting was unbearable-this knowing that it could only be a matter of time. Almost, Zanna wished that it could be over, to spare both her father and herself-yet while he lived, how could she help but hope for a miracle? She remembered the time she had rescued him from the clutches of the Magefolk, and led him to safety through the pitch-black maze of the library archives, and the dreadful, stinking sewers. Now Vannor was embarking on a darker road still-and this time, there seemed to be no way that she could bring him home.

She must have dozed a little-Zanna jumped guiltily awake as her sleep was disturbed. Faint grey daylight glimmered at the window, and there was a low hubbub of voices coming from the hall downstairs. Now what? She scowled. Why were Tarnal and Panic allowing this to happen? There was a sick man up here-he shouldn't be disturbed. After a few moments the door opened, and Tarnal put his head into the room, beckoning Zanna and Dulsina away from Vannor's bedside and out into the upstairs hall. "I thought you should know," he whispered. "There's someone at the door-an old crone by the look-she's all m.u.f.fled up in shawls and stuff. She says she's an herbwife, and swears she has an ancient remedy handed down from her grandmother that can save Vannor's life. It's probably a lot of nonsense, but . . ." He held out his hands and shrugged. "What is there to lose? The only thing is, Benziorn is furious-he says she's a fraud and there is no cure, but she's after a reward for trying. He's insisting that we send her away."

Zanna and Dulsina looked at each other. "Send her up," they replied in unison.

The crone insisted on being alone in the room while she worked. This gave Zanna a shiver of unease, then she thought: Let her. What harm can she do at this stage? Then the old woman went inside, the door closed firmly behind her, and there was nothing to do but wait-and pray. Dulsina, Zanna, Dhizmmara.

8 7.

and Tarnal gathered in an uneasy knot outside the door, and after a short time, Parric, looking pale and strained, came up to join them, carrying a tray with cups and a bottle of spirits that he put down on a little table by the wall. They waited, saying little, sipping sparingly at the warming brandy while Benziorn paced below in the hall, muttering and cursing under his breath, and occasionally casting black looks up at Van-nor's closed door.

Eliseth emerged from Vannor's chamber, clutching the basket that contained the grail hidden beneath a cloth, and laughing inwardly to see the circle of anxious faces that waited to greet her. Thanks to her illusion of an ancient hag, these fools had no idea of her true ident.i.ty. All had gone according to plan. She had dispatched the merchant with another dose of poison, and brought him back to life again using the grail. He had no memory of what she had done. Though he did not know it yet, Vannor now belonged to her.

The Mage risked a sidelong, venomous glance at Zanna as the woman stepped forward anxiously. "What happened, goodwife? How is my father?"

Collecting herself quickly, Eliseth composed her features into the illusion of a toothless smile. "Be at ease, my lady, all is well. Your father was far gone indeed-but my skills have drawn him back. Even now, he is recoveri-" She was talking to empty air. With a joyous cry, Zanna had flown into her father's room, with Dulsina following close at her heels.

Tarnal stepped forward with a smile. "You must forgive them, old mother-they aren't really ungrateful. This family owes you a debt beyond all paying, but we will do our best, for you've brought us a miracle tonight. I'm sure they will be back directly, once they see for themselves that Vannor is all right. In the meantime, would you like to come downstairs and refresh yourself?"

Eliseth shook her head. "Thank you, but I will wait here," she replied firmly. She did not have long to wait, however. After a short time Zanna emerged, her glowing face transfigured with delight. "He was awake! He knew me! He's going to get well again!" Collecting herself, she turned to Eliseth. "Good mother, how can I thank you? Whatever is in my power to give you is yours-you only have to say the word." She waited expectantly.

88Maggie furey The Mage shook her head. "My Lady, I ask for nothing. To see our dear Lord Vannor restored to health is reward enough r11 b tor me.

"But there must be some way to repay you," Zanna protested.

"Truly, 1 want nothing. By your leave, I will go now," Eliseth replied. Leaving the Mortals openmouthed behind her, she went downstairs and scurried out of the house, remembering that she was meant to be an old woman, and therefore must not stride. No one attempted to stop her- which was just as well for them.

You'll repay me, Zanna, never fear, Eliseth thought as she took the river road back toward the Academy. I'll receive my reward when your precious father kills your husband and children before your eyes-leaving you to be dealt with by me. The Mage smiled grimly. Vannor's escape from the Academy seven years ago had cost her a good deal of embarra.s.sment and inconvenience, and Zanna was to blame. But she had made a grave mistake in crossing Eliseth. Revenge would be sweet-but sadly, it must be postponed for a time. If she wanted to rule the city through Vannor, it was vital that he act as he usually did-or suspicions would be aroused. Besides, when Aurian came back into the world Vannor would be among the first people she contacted. Eliseth would have the earliest possible news of her enemy's movements and plans, and that would give her an inestimable advantage.

Eliseth made the most of the fact that it was early morning, and few people were up and about, to slip back unnoticed into the Academy. On entering her chambers, she freed Bern from the time spell that had held him immobile in her absence. Over the last few days, she had convinced the baker that it had been he who had murdered his wife and children, and that the guards were combing the city for him. In return for her sheltering him in the safety of the Academy, he had sworn to serve her-but she did not trust him enough to go out and leave him unattended. Bern had been sunk deep in guilt and misery since the deaths of his family and she would not put it past him to go down into the city and turn himself in-betraying her presence in the process. That would be a catastrophe, but even if he were simply to take his own life out of guilt, it would be an inconvenience. It was beneath her, as one of the Magefolk, to take care of herself.

Having sent Bern to make some breakfast, Eliseth took the grail from her basket and filled it with water from the jug on the table. Before she ate, she would check on Vannor, and see how his so-called recovery was progressing. She wanted to make quite sure she could control him, for she could think of many tasks for him to perform, to secure the city for her return and bring the recalcitrant Mortals under her control. And one of the first of his tasks, she thought grimly, would be to mount an attack on those accursed Phaerie! Though she knew that Vannor stood little chance of defeating the Forest Lord and his subjects, he might at least weaken them sufficiently for Eliseth to succeed where he had failed. And if a few hundreds of Mortals were lost in the process-so what? They bred like rabbits anyway-there would soon be more.

The Mage looked into the depths of the chalice and concentrated on summoning the image of Vannor. She found the merchant sitting up in bed and eating soup, surrounded by his family, who were watching the progress of every spoonful from his plate to his mouth.

Tentatively, Eliseth wormed her way into Vannor's mind, reading his thoughts like an open book as she sifted through hopes, dreams, fears, and plans. As an interesting bonus, she found out what had happened to Aurian during her enemy's travels across the sea, for the Mage and Anvar had told the entire tale to Vannor on their return. Eliseth committed the details to her memory-they might very well come in useful one day. Then she turned her attention back to her victim. She wanted a test of her control that would not alert or alarm Vannor's loved ones. After a moment's thought, she exerted her will, and made him drop the spoon into his bowl, splashing hot soup on the coverlet.