Priestess of the White

as if diminishing due to their unrelenting advance.

Auraya could see the faces of her adversaries now. To move forward, however, meant stepping over or around dead and injured men and women. The link with her fellow White kept her mind focused on fighting, but she was conscious of a growing tension at the back of her thoughts. She had begun to fear the end of their link, when she was no longer protected from the bleak and terrible reality that surrounded her.

Perhaps she would not have to endure it for long. She knew that the Circlian army was losing. She knew that the vorns had taken too many priests and priestesses and that this was finally tipping the balance of magical strength in the Pentadrians’ favor. She knew that there were too few Siyee left flying above.

Juran’s frustration imbued them all. He clung to the hope that the enemy would make one mistake. A single error that they could take advantage of.

When it came, the source was so unexpected they did not see it at first.

The more powerful sorceress faltered. At once Juran directed an attack on the weaker of the Pentadrian sorcerers, hoping his companions would not shield him in time. The man protected himself but left his own people vulnerable. Auraya felt relief and triumph as several of the enemy fell.

Then bodies rained from the sky.

She gasped in horror. The enemy had sacrificed their own in order to spare enough magic to strike at the Siyee. But why the Siyee? They were only a minor threat now.

She realized the Pentadrian leader was looking upward. He was directing the attacks. He glanced at her and smirked. Hatred welled up inside her.

:He still believes Auraya will ignore an opportunity in favor of protecting the Siyee, Juran said. I’ll protect them, Auraya. You strike at the leader.

She gritted her teeth and drew magic faster than she had attempted before. It came to her, swift and potent. She could feel it around her, feel it respond to her will and her anger, feel it gathering and gathering within her. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by a new sense of awareness. Time stopped. She understood that this sensing of the magic around her was not unlike the sense she had of her position in relation to the world.

:Now, Auraya!

Juran’s mental shout brought her back to the physical world with a jolt. She opened her eyes and blasted the power within her at the Pentadrian leader.

The Pentadrian’s smug expression vanished. She felt his defense fail. He flipped backward, knocking men and women behind him to the ground.

Auraya waited for him to rise again. Waited for Juran’s next instruction. Slowly she grew aware of the other White’s surprise and the diminished force of the enemy. Pentadrians crowded around their leader. A cry went out.

:They’re saying he is dead, Dyara said. Kuar is dead!

Auraya stared at her fellow White.

:Surely not. He must be unconscious. They must think him dead. He is trying to trick us into lowering our guard.

:No, Auraya, Rian said. I doubt anyone could survive that blow.

:But...

:He made the mistake we were hoping for, Juran decided, his words laced with triumph. He didn’t anticipate such a powerful attack and didn’t put all his strength into defending himself. Maybe he was protecting something else. Something we aren’t aware of.

:We’ve won! Mairae exclaimed. Yet her smile quickly faded. What do we do now?

:Kill them, Rian answered. If we don’t they will always be a danger to us.

:Rian is right, Juran agreed. We have no choice. But there is no need to kill any other than the leaders. The rest of them may live...

:So long as they surrender, Dyara added.

Auraya felt Juran and the others gathering magic. She did the same.

:No!

The voice boomed through Auraya’s thoughts. Shocked, she nearly let her protective shield fall.

:Chaia! Juran replied.

:It is I. Do not kill the enemy leaders. If you do, others will take their place. You know these people now. You know how they fight. They know you are superior to them. Let them go.

:We will, Juran replied. Auraya could sense his relief and puzzlement. As the god’s presence faded, Juran turned to regard the enemy sorcerers. The four were expressionless, but they were no longer attacking.

:We will move forward to meet them, Juran decided.

As they walked through the remaining Circlian army a stillness slowly spread over the battlefield. Fighting stopped and the two sides retreated from each other. The four Pentadrian sorcerers drew closer together.

Then Auraya became aware of a new sound. Yelling and shouting. She looked around, afraid this was a new attack.

And realized the Circlians were cheering.

47

As the two armies stopped fighting and retreated to either side of the valley, Emerahl let out a long sigh.

I knew it was too good to be true, she thought. For a while there I thought these Pentadrians were going to solve my problem with the Circlians for me.

But the gods would never allow invading heathens to wipe out their followers. No doubt they had intervened in some way to ensure the White’s victory.

Why they had waited until the end of the day was a mystery. The low sun bathed the valley with a gentle light. It glinted off weapons and shields and turned white robes to gold. Most of those were on the ground, the belongings of the dead, dying and wounded.

Soon the Dreamweavers would begin their work.

She could sense a growing tension among the men and women standing nearby. They were waiting for the two armies to leave. She had never known Dreamweavers to be so hesitant or so fearful. Link memories of the slaughter of their kind had taught them to be cautious, she guessed.

After leaving the brothel caravan she had continued back down the road toward Toren for a few hours before leaving it and starting across the plains. Even if Rozea decided to keep the loss of her favorite to herself, stories of the whore who turned out to be a sorceress were bound to spread - and become exaggerated with each telling. If a Circlian priest decided to investigate, Emerahl wanted searchers to think she’d headed back to Toren. The last move they’d expect from her would be to continue following the army. At least she hoped that was the last move they’d expect.

Looking at the tense men and women nearby, she smiled. They didn’t know what to make of her. She was a young woman dressed in plain clothes roaming alone near a battlefield - too good-looking to be a solitary whore. When she had told them she was seeking the source of the tower dream and her theory that the dream was a link memory of Mirar’s death, the two men leading the group had moved away to have a long, private discussion.

“There is one among our kind who may be the dreamer you seek,” they had told her when they returned. “He has many link memories of Mirar’s. After we have done our work, we will take you to him.”

So she had waited with them and had seen the conclusion to the biggest battle ever waged on Northern Ithanian soil. It was hard to resist the opportunity. She had spent so much of her life avoiding conflict that she had rarely witnessed events that were likely to become legends.