Masques (Sianim #1)(6)

Sometimes she thought that he might be a renegade shape-shifter, one of her mother's people - though he lacked the grey-green eyes that were characteristic of the race. But he could do too many things that were not possible for a wielder of green magic. Also, although she was not well trained in green magic, having been brought up by her human father, she knew enough to tell whether a spell was done by green magic or human. When Wolf cast a spell, it had a human feel to it, as well as a touch of something else that she couldn't quite pin down.

That he was a human magician was more likely, but human magic - the kind the ae'Magi used - didn't lend itself well to shapeshifting because instead of blending in with the forces of nature it sought to control them, and that required immense concentration which was impossible to maintain for extended periods of time. Most magicians had to sit still in isolation to perform any magic. To turn oneself into an animal for a prolonged period would require the strength of the ae'Magi .... Her normally deft hands faltered at their familiar task, so she stopped and gazed almost impersonally at her hands, which trembled without her consent. The mindless, babbling fear threatened her as she worked her way through her suspicion. He couldn't possibly be the ae'Magi. Could he?

The Wolf watched her and saw the wear that three weeks with the ae'Magi had caused. He saw the tremor of her hands and smelled the sweat of her fear. He saw that the cheerful demeanor-that was her habit had been used like a mask and he lost the hope that she had by some miracle escaped unscathed. The desire to kill the Archmage rose in his throat and was set aside for future use. He saw the terror in her eyes, but until he stepped closer to comfort her he didn't realize that she was afraid of him.

Instantly he halted. This was the one thing that he hadn't expected. Four years, and never had he seen the fear that he inspired in everyone else. Not even when she had reason to fear.

The old ache of bitter loneliness, almost forgotten over the years he'd known her, was back with a vengeance, and with it came a strong desire to flee. If they had been somewhere else he would have left without a backward glance, but here near the castle she was still in desperate danger. Already he could smell the excitement of the Magician's "pets." She wouldn't be able to lose them on her own: and, despite her formidable combat skills, even at her best she couldn't handle more than two or three of them. After three weeks in confinement she was hardly at her best, so he stood and waited.

As she looked at him the gold eyes were no more readable than ever. She remembered the fever-bright agony that had been in them when first they met. He'd been caught in the harsh jaws of an old trap and had been there for some time, unable to free himself because the pain was great enough to block any attempt at concentration. His eyes had glittered their defiance at her with an eerie intelligence. For that reason, instead of killing him in mercy as had been her first thought, she sang to him in her mother's tongue and freed the mangled hind leg.

It had taken only a week for her to heal the leg, but he'd fought the fever for almost a month. He'd left as soon as he could stand up, at least for a while. One day she'd looked up to find him watching her with his uncomfortably canny eyes. After that he came and went, sometimes staying away for months at a time, then appearing without a word of explanation.

She remembered how long she'd worked to gain his trust. It had taken time to get him to let her touch him, more time before he would eat the food she gave him, and almost a year before he trusted her enough to reveal that he talked. She compared his remoteness to the Magician's easy smile and beautiful voice. If she ever met a corpse that talked, she imagined that its voice would be similar to the Wolf's. Wolf was not the ae'Magi.

She crouched down to look him in the eye, although she didn't have to lower herself far - he was a big animal "I'm sorry. I'm .. just a little shaky" - she gave a half laugh and held up an unsteady hand - "as you can see. He's got me doubting everything I know." She moved the hand to touch him and he quietly moved just out of reach.

She knew that she had hurt him, but before she could speak the stallion snorted softly. She turned back to him and saw that he was twitching his ears back and forth and shifting his weight uneasily.

"Uriah," commented the Wolf. "If they are getting close enough that even Sheen can smell them, we'd best be on our way. There are riding clothes in the saddlebags. Put them on; we may have a long ride ahead."

She wiped herself off as best she could on the simple cotton tunic. Ten years of being a mercenary had destroyed any vestige of ladylike modesty she might once have felt, but she hurried into the clean clothes anyway, as they could use every second to avoid a confrontation with the Uriah.

She swung into the saddle and let the Wolf lead the way at the careful trot dictated by the rough country and the dark. Had the Uriah been closer, she would have chanced a fall with a faster gait, but for now there was no need for panic. When she had rummaged for her clothes, Aralorn found that the saddlebags also contained oatcakes. She pulled a couple out and ate one as she rode, feeding the other to the horse. When she offered one to the Wolf, he refused. She let him pick the way, trusting him to do his best to rid themselves of the Uriah.

The Uriah were vaguely human-looking creatures that appeared more dead than alive, though they were almost impossible to kill. The insatiable hunger that drove them gave them a berserker's ferocity. They were normally found only in the far eastern regions that bordered the impassable Marshlands, but in the last decade or so they'd begun to turn up in unexpected places further west. But to find them this far west was almost unheard of.