Becknam hesitated. “You wouldn’t...” Tamaryl saw him hesitate, saw him realize he could not call Tamaryl’s bluff without betraying Ariana’s treason.
But Tamaryl had no need to protect Becknam’s secrets. “I know what she is to you, and you know what you are to me. Keep well back.”
Becknam paled. The mages were fanning about the room, but they still could not risk attack, not as long as Tamaryl and Maru kept Ariana and the Shard of Elan close.
Shianan Becknam stopped moving, but he kept his sword ready. “You snake-tongued dog,” he snarled. “This has nothing to do with her. It’s me you want dead. Come for me, then.”
Maru shifted uneasily behind the Shard.
“Come on! Or can’t you? Is the great Pairvyn ni’Ai reduced to hiding behind a girl?”
For a moment Tamaryl almost pitied the commander’s position. His only hope lay in taunting Tamaryl into abandoning Ariana and fighting, and of course Tamaryl would not be so foolish.
“Pairvyn ni’Ai,” the mages muttered. “How...?”
“Leave her, forget these mages, and face me. Champion against champion, without interference. It’s me you want to hurt, not her.”
“Shianan.” Ariana’s voice was nervous, uncertain. “Shianan, don’t.”
“I’m one man, Pairvyn! One man—not even a mage! Surely you can’t fear me?”
“I’m leaving, my lord commander,” Tamaryl said evenly. “I have no reason to fight you here.”
The shield cracked invisibly, something shifting between Shard and fractured fragment, and the mages jumped and looked around as the magic wavered. That did not matter; if the shield fell for a few moments, that was a simpler escape for them.
Tamaryl turned his face toward Ariana’s ear, breathing in the warm scent of her. “We’re going, Maru and I. We’re going now.”
She did not hesitate. “Take me with you.”
“What?”
“Take me with you!”
Tamaryl could not answer. He did not have the strength to carry both her and Maru, and there would not be a second chance. Why did she ask?
Power began to stream from the failing spell, making iridescent shifting ribbons in the air about them like translucent smoke. Shianan Becknam rushed through the pale colors, his expression murderous.
Tamaryl threw himself backward and twisted. “Shield!”
The blade sliced toward Ariana’s throat, now where Tamaryl’s shoulder had been. She flinched as her invisible barrier deflected the blade with a faint ring of steel. Ariana stared wide-eyed at the commander. “Shianan, no!”
He recoiled, horrified, and staggered backward.
More people crowded the stairs now—members of the Circle, grey mages, soldiers. Someone shouted and guards swarmed about one man, pushing him protesting up the stairs and out of sight. Someone important, Tamaryl guessed, someone too valuable to risk near Ryuven. But he could not spare the attention.
Shianan was shaken by his near miss of Ariana, but he still faced Tamaryl determinedly, his sword ready. “Coward. Filthy lying treacherous coward.”
And then the last of the shield faded, and there was nothing but glorious freedom between them and their home. Tamaryl’s heart leapt.
“Stop them!” shouted several voices. “Stop them, no matter what!” Magic hummed.
“No!” howled Shianan, half-turning toward the mages.
“Ariana, down!” ordered Mage Parma, and power roared about her.
Maru turned toward Tamaryl, and Tamaryl pushed his feeble power toward the crystal and its reflected energy, fueling his own ability and preparing to leap the void.
“We have no choice! Sacrifice—”
“Wait!” Magic snapped through the cellar, disrupting Tamaryl, and Ewan Hazelrig shoved his way through the mass, panting for breath. “We can stop this! We can find an agreement—”
And then energy rolled through the cellar like rumbling thunder, resonating in Tamaryl’s chest, and Ariana winced in his grip. With a whipcrack of displaced air, Oniwe’aru appeared.
Tamaryl caught his breath. That they would notice so promptly when the shield failed—
For an instant, no one moved, stunned at the appearance of the great Ryuven. Oniwe’aru swept the cellar with his gaze and smiled. “Nicely done, Pairvyn ni’Ai.”
Ewan Hazelrig stepped forward, his face solemn. “May I—”
Oniwe’aru gestured. Energy shattered the air and lashed across the mage. Hazelrig reeled and fell.
Tamaryl stared in horror as his friend collapsed. He realized too late that Ariana was screaming, that she had torn free and rushed forward. Oniwe’aru easily deflected her bolt, which sparked into the gaping mages, and turned almost leisurely to face her—
Tamaryl shaped an inversion well and flung it about Ariana, bracing himself instinctively. Power from Oniwe shocked into the well’s conduit and scorched through him. The room blurred about him as he took what should have killed Ariana.
Maru shouted distantly. “Hurry!”
Something struck Tamaryl—a magical blow, but this one from a human mage. They were attacking in force now, and he was far too weak for this. He blinked his vision clear.
Shianan Becknam was nearly upon him, his sword whipping forward. Tamaryl cupped magic in each hand and threw the first bolt, catching the commander in the chest. Becknam was lifted into the air, arcing backward with the force of it. Tamaryl hit him with the second bolt, and the commander jerked as if kicked, knocked aside mid-air.
Tamaryl heard Ariana screaming, and he reached desperately for her as with the last of his power he leapt the void.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
ARIANA FELT THE COLD dark of the between-worlds and then the abrupt shock of the Ryuven atmosphere pressing close upon her. She recoiled, but the thousand sensory darts hurled themselves at her—blades of grass shrieking as they rubbed in the howling breeze, fiery burning rays of twilight, stabbing thundering pain as someone spoke to her, touched her hypersensitive skin—
Ariana shrank away, curling into herself in an attempt to flee and block out the intrusive magic. But it battered down her feeble barriers, ran over her and through her, crushed her as she futilely struck at it...
Force begets force. She fought for control of her maddened thoughts, trying to focus through the shrilling pain. She had never been able to beat down the Ryuven magic; she had mastered it only when she had furiously used it. And she had spent the last weeks painstakingly practicing minute adjustments, obsessively rehearsing control.
With gasping, enormous effort she flung herself open to the foreign energy.
Power poured into her and overflowed, drowning her. She fiercely resisted the urge to clamp down on it—one could not withstand the tide—and instead channeled it outward, flooding through her hands and spiraling outward, whipping the air into wild eddies and making the grass ripple like the sea.
She opened her eyes, finally aware that she lay between Ryuven figures, and sat upright. Her hair waved in the upward breeze of her power and the cool leaves of the garden bent around her, though they only undulated gently a short distance away. She took a slow breath, feeling the power subside and obey her, and closed her tingling fists. She stood, and the ground was steady beneath her.
“Ariana,” came a familiar voice. “Ariana, are you well?”
She turned to face Tamaryl, watching her closely, his expression worried as he held one hand tentatively toward her, as if afraid to touch her. She remembered how her touch had pained him after he had been sealed in her world, how traveling the between-worlds had torn him apart, how he’d caught her before leaping from the cellar.
She remembered everything.
Heat boiled through her and she slashed at him, energy crackling like striking lightning. Tamaryl threw himself backward as she advanced. “Murderer!” she snarled.
“Ariana!”
“How could you? How could you—you killed him!”
His hasty inversion well glowed
as she struck at him. “No—”
“You killed him! And you used me—you used me to stop his sword. And Father—” She stumbled and went to her knees, rage and tears mingling in hot fury. “Oh, my father...”
“Your father, I think, is not dead,” another voice answered. She whirled to her feet, but her quick attack was deflected. “My, Tamaryl’sho, what a spitfire she is when whole and well. And this was the mistress of your slavery?”
She straightened, trying to control her breathing. She could not, even with her new ability, hope to fight both Oniwe’aru and Tamaryl. She forced herself to take another measured breath and then seized on what he had said. “What about my father?”
“Is your father the White Mage?” Oniwe’aru flexed his wings behind him.
She nodded wordlessly, her throat closing.
One corner of Oniwe’aru’s mouth lifted. “I should have guessed. I had assumed you were a mage of lesser ability, since you did not promptly die here, but you were in fact a great talent—like your father. He is very fast; one can see why he has been the White Mage for so long.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “He’s alive?”
“Unless your inelegant healers kill him, he may yet live. I doubt I was successful.”
“But why did you attack him? He had done nothing! He had only—”
“Dear child,” Oniwe’aru interrupted sternly, “it might have slipped your mind, but your people and mine are at war.”
Someone else moved beside her, and she saw Maru shifting closer to Tamaryl, clutching the Shard of Elan.
“Tamaryl’sho destroyed the shield—excellent work, though I did not know to have our army ready. I came myself to view what he had done. But when I encountered a powerful enemy, I struck him down, just as he would have done to me.”
She shook her head. “No—no, he wants to end the war...”
“Tamaryl’sho!”
Tamaryl straightened, a weary warrior answering his master’s call. “Oniwe’aru.”
“Take our prisoner to a secure place, and the crystallized ether as well,” the Ryuven ordered. “I’ll want to see them later.”
Prisoner? Ariana stared. The ubiquitous magic began to prickle at her.
“As you say, Oniwe’aru. May I take personal responsibility for her?”
Oniwe’aru paused and gave him a long, steady look. “Before I grant that, Tamaryl’sho, tell me why you brought her here again. You did not spare her life from accident this time, and you had no further need of her as a hostage. Why did you carry her with you?”
Tamaryl hesitated. “She...”
“And you protected her.” The Ryuven’s eyes narrowed. “She attacked me, and you protected her.”
Maru looked quickly at Tamaryl, alarmed. “Ryl’sho...”
Tamaryl went to one knee, and Maru promptly took two steps backward and knelt—differently, Ariana noted, upon two knees. Her pulse quickened again, and she felt the magic shift within its channels.
“Oniwe’aru,” Tamaryl began, his head bowed. “I did protect Ariana’rika from your strike. But consider what chance of peace we might have if you were seen to kill a Mage of the Circle before—”
“You still talk of peace?” snapped Oniwe’aru. “Nim waited in line for a share of the last raid and were still waiting when our stores were exhausted. Will you be the one to go to them, to explain to the mothers of children that there will be no more food, no more supplies from a plentiful countryside, because you desire peace with the humans?”
“Oniwe’aru,” Ariana made herself say, surprising them all. “I asked to come here.”
He faced her, crossing his arms; he did not fear her or her ability. “You asked to be our prisoner here?”
“I am here, not as your prisoner, but as a diplomat.” Her heart raced. She had no authority to do this, but it seemed to be the only chance for herself, for Tamaryl, for their kingdoms. “I have come to negotiate a truce and to suggest a profitable end to our hostility.”
Tamaryl’s bowed head rotated to stare open-mouthed at her. She could not see Maru, as she dared not look away from the great Ryuven looking skeptically at her. Oniwe’aru took a step toward her, and it was all Ariana could do not to flinch. “You? You, the lowest of the Circle and no member of the court, you have come as negotiating diplomat?”
Ariana gulped. “If we can come to an arrangement, what does my ostensible position matter?”
Oniwe’aru gave a dismissive twitch of his head. “Maru is an intelligent and loyal nim, but I am not bound by whatever promises he might make to a human. Why should I accept your word?”
“You make war for food, for glory, for sport, for testing of your nobles—your sho and che,” Ariana answered, hearing her voice quaver as she struggled for the correct words and tried to keep her fragile composure. Power surged in its artificial channels, threatening to overwhelm her again, and she fought for a steadying breath. “But it is food which drives you most strongly. If profitable trade were established, could the fighting end?”
Oniwe’aru did not blink. “There has been no profitable trade between our peoples in many, many generations. Even our traitors do not sell to one another.”
“I believe that can change.” She had not known to bring the little bag of herbs; it had been left in her workroom. “I—there is an herb in the medicine...”
Oniwe’aru smiled humorlessly. “The Ryuven have few medicines, compared to your easily-broken people. And we wish for food, a commodity which your countrymen are unlikely to share of their own will. If this is the negotiation you bring, we are finished. Tamaryl’sho—”
“No!” Ariana burst, frustration burning her. Pain stabbed at her. “No, you must—you monsters! You bereave me twice in a moment and then demand that I treat with you reasonably and clearly and—you’re brutes, you’re beasts! King’s oats, I’m barely keeping control—your magic nearly killed me the last time I came here. Is this the honor of the Ryuven? Give me time to recover, to mourn, to master this magic which would end me, give me a proper audience and due consideration—and then, if you choose to continue this war, you will have tried every possibility and not wasted an opportunity to benefit your people and those children you claim to hold dear.” She gasped, clutching her torso, and closed her eyes against the swelling sensations.
No, no, not here, not here. Breathe, breathe. Slowly. Let it move, let it pass through, channel it, let it run through... The pain began to gradually subside.
She realized no one was speaking. Carefully she straightened, breathing deeply, and looked at them.
Tamaryl and Maru still knelt, their heads bowed again. Oniwe’aru looked steadily at her. “Ariana’rika,” he said at last. “That is, Tamaryl’sho called you by that name. Is that how you prefer to be addressed?”
“As I understand, that is an honorific,” she answered. “I am pleased to accept it.”
“Very well, then, Ariana’rika. As it was by your request that you came, I will receive you as an ambassador. Tamaryl’sho, you are charged with Ariana’rika’s care and comfort until we meet to discuss this possibility of profitable trade and potential resolution.” He paused. “But your coming cannot forestall our need to supply our people. Our harvest began a few days ago, and reports are troubling. We have very little, and there is unease and even assaults against our growers. I have set guards to protect the harvest workers from thieves. And so, Tamaryl’sho, you will also lead our warriors and bring more for our people.”
Ariana swallowed her protest. She was in no position to argue, and she would never convince Oniwe’aru to let his people starve and fight amongst themselves.
Tamaryl inclined his head further. “As you command, Oniwe’aru.”
Ariana looked at Tamaryl, at once familiar and foreign, and felt a fresh chill course through her. She had seen him kill Shianan. A tremor of pain rippled through her again.
Oniwe’aru looked harder at Tamaryl. “What happened to you? Are you even capable?”<
br />
Tamaryl wet his lips. “I recover, Oniwe’aru. I suffered some injury in the human world, but my power returns.”
“I am glad I thought to bring Maru and the Shard. I had not expected to help you as well.” The Ryuven lord looked at Maru. “And you? The same?” He shook his head. “I trust you will be of service soon, Tamaryl’sho?”
“I will, Oniwe’aru, and I will execute your command.”
“Ariana’rika, I look forward to meeting with you at a more opportune time. I hope against my wiser judgment that you can offer what generations have not found.” Oniwe’aru turned. “Maru, you may leave the ether with any of my own guard.”
He started toward the flowered walk, where two more Ryuven waited uncertainly, apparently drawn by the sudden arrival but unwilling to intrude upon their leader’s conversation. They glanced from Oniwe’aru to the Ryuven and human still in the garden and then followed him toward the palace.
Tamaryl straightened and faced Ariana. “You think you can end this war?”
She tensed. “I’m trying.” Her skin prickled painfully.
He looked at her and then glanced away. “Ariana...”
“You killed him.” Her voice trembled, but with fury rather than tears. She had not yet allowed grief a foothold, nor worry for her father—she could not afford that now. “You killed him.”
Tamaryl’s jaw tightened. “He came at me with a sword—”
“And it would have been simple to deflect his attack! Simple! Far simpler than that kind of bolt. I know you had no power to spare—you meant to kill him.”
Tamaryl’s eyes flicked away. “I have fought for many years. Instinct takes—”
“Was it instinct that made you use me for your shield instead of casting your own? If you could not spare the power for that, how could you strike him twice with that kind of magic?” Tears stung her eyes and her blood burned with repressed energy.
Tamaryl looked back at her fiercely. “You call his death a bereavement? What is he really to you?”
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