Priestess of the White

“All right. We’re coming in.”

“I will enter first, for your safety,” an unfamiliar voice said. There was a weak protest. “If she is a sorcerer, as you say, she may be more dangerous than you expect. I have dealt with her kind before.”

Emerahl fled into the tunnel. A few steps into the darkness, she turned and reached out with her mind. Dirt cascaded into the tunnel as she pulled it toward her. She could not tell if it was enough to conceal her exit.

Best get away, then. She willed a light into existence. It revealed a staircase descending into blackness. Clutching her bundle, she hurried down.

The stairs seemed endless, but at least the tunnel hadn’t deteriorated too much. In places the walls or roof had given way and she had to push through carefully. The air was growing damp when she heard a faint echo of sound from behind her.

She cursed again. That tunnel had been her secret for over a hundred years. She should have chased off the smugglers when they had first arrived, but she had rightly feared that news of a fearsome sorceress living in the lighthouse would attract unwanted attention. Now she was being driven out of her home by their descendants.

A fierce anger gripped her. It was tempting to ambush them in the dark. So long as the priest didn’t see her, she would be safe. She could kill him, and the rest, before they knew what had happened.

“Nothing stays the same. All you can be sure of in life is change.”

Mirar had said that. He had faced the final change: death. One mistake and she would join him. It was not worth the risk.

She ran down the rest of the stairs.

At the bottom was a stone door. No point in persuading the mechanism to work. It was probably rusted shut. Extending her hands, she channelled magic through them. Force struck the stone and it shattered with a deafening boom. She stepped out onto a narrow path to the left of the door.

It was not a path so much as a fold of rock in the cliff. She extinguished her light and continued by moonlight. Her old body was already aching from her flight down the passage. Now she felt unsteady as she hurried along the path, one hand touching the cliff side for balance.

She did not dare pause to look behind. When the pursuit reached the end of the tunnel, she would hear it. The cliff curved around, so she was probably out of sight already.

The path narrowed and she was forced to press herself flat against the rock and edge along it, balancing on her toes. Finally she felt a break in the rock face. She shuffled to it and hauled herself into the cave.

Cupping her hand, she created another light. The cave was shallow and most of the space was filled by a small boat. She examined it closely. It was made of a single piece of saltwood, a rare and expensive timber that was difficult to work but took hundreds of years to deteriorate. The name she had painted on the prow so long ago had flaked away.

“Hello again, Windchaser,” she murmured, running her hands over the fine grain. “I haven’t got any sails for you, I’m afraid. I’ll have to rig up a blanket for now.”

Taking hold of the prow, she dragged it toward the mouth of the cave. When most of it was projecting from the cliff, she gave it a firm shove with magic. It flew outward and down, guided by her mind, and splashed onto the surging sea.

Next she sent the bundle down into the boat, hoping that the more delicate of her possessions would survive the landing. A wave threatened to toss the boat against the cliff, but she held it in place with her will. She stepped to the edge and drew in a deep breath. The water was going to be very cold.

Then she heard voices to her right. Peering around the edge of the cave she saw moving light no more than fifty strides away.

Smothering a curse, she forced her old body to dive forward, as far out from the cliff as possible.

She fell.

Liquid ice suddenly surrounded her. Though she had braced herself for the cold, it took all her effort not to gasp out in shock and pain. Twisting around, she kicked toward the light of the moon.

As her head broke through the surface of the water she felt a wave force her toward the cliff. She reached for more magic and pushed against the solid presence behind it. Water gurgled around her as she surged forward. In a moment she had reached the boat.

It was perilously close to the land now, the sea having taken advantage of it while she was occupied with diving and swimming. Grabbing hold of the side, she hauled herself in. For a moment she lay in the bottom, gasping at the effort it had taken and cursing herself for allowing her body to grow so unfit.

Then she heard a shout. She sat up and looked back. Men clung to the rockface. The priest was nowhere in sight.

Smiling, she focused her mind on the cliff and pushed. The boat shot away, sending spray to either side. The cliff slowly receded, taking with it the villagers who had driven her from her home.

At that thought, she cursed savagely.

“A priest! Here! By the gods’ balls, Windchaser, isn’t there anywhere I can go that the Circlians haven’t seeded with their poisonous stink?”

There was no answer. She looked at the mast strapped securely down in the belly of the vessel and sighed.

“Well, what would you know, anyway? You’ve been trussed up like a grieving widower for years. I guess you and I had best get to the task of finding you a sail and me a new home.”

9

When Danjin entered Auraya’s reception room he saw a now-familiar tall man by the window. Leiard, he thought. On time, as always.

The Dreamweaver turned and nodded to Danjin politely. As Danjin returned the gesture he noted that condensation from the Dreamweaver’s breath marked the window. He felt the hairs on his neck begin to prickle. How could anyone stand so close to the glass, with that drop outside?

He had noticed that Leiard always moved to the closest window when entering a Tower room. Was he fascinated by the view? Danjin looked closely at the Dreamweaver, who was staring outside again. Staring quite intently, too. Almost as if he wanted to step through it and... and...

Escape, Danjin suddenly thought.

Which would be understandable. Here he was, standing in the one place where the gods’ influence was strongest in the world. The gods who had executed the founder of the Dreamweavers.

Yet this staring was the only sign Danjin had ever seen of Leiard’s discomfort. I’ve never seen him agitated, but then I’ve never seen him relaxed, either. He gives the impression that his thoughts and emotions are always under tight control.

The door to Auraya’s private rooms opened. She smiled as she saw her guests. Danjin made the formal gesture of the circle. Leiard, as always, remained motionless. Auraya had never shown any hint of being offended by this.

“Danjin Spear. Dreamweaver Leiard,” she said. “Are we packed and ready?”

Her face was aglow with excitement. She was like a child about to embark on her first journey away from home. Leiard indicated a worn bag beside a chair.

“I am ready,” he said solemnly.

Auraya looked at the bag. “That’s all?”

“All I ever travel with,” he replied.

“Our luggage is already on the ship,” Danjin informed Auraya. He thought of the three large trunks he had sent ahead. One had been full of scrolls, gifts and other items related to their journey’s purpose. Another had been full of Auraya’s belongings. The third had been the largest, filled with his own clothing and possessions. Leiard and Auraya had it easy, he decided. They both wore a uniform, not the endlessly varied finery he was expected to wear as a member of Hanian high society.

“Then we should proceed to Mairae’s quarters,” Auraya said. Stepping backward, she bent down to pick up something in the other room. “Come on, Mischief. Time to go.”