Sianim 01 - Masques

see the elegant shoes topped by the embroidered stockings of a true dandy.
    “So,” the soft voice continued, “you are the prisoner the ae’Magi is so anxious to get.”
    She was pushed over on her side by a magical shove and got her first full look at the mage. His face was handsome enough although overpowered by the purple wig he affected. She didn’t know him by sight, but his ability to immobilize an army of Uriah and his dress let her put a name to him: Lord Kisrah, a minor noble whose abilities had been invaluable to Myr’s grandfather in the last war.
    Her father told her once that he was a competent tactician and diplomat, high praises from a man who despised the courtier type.
    “Not very much of you, is there? From all the fuss the ae’Magi is putting up over you, I had expected more—although you would clean up well enough, I suppose. It is too bad that you chose to attack the ae’Magi in such treasonous fashion.” He shook his head sadly at her, and she noticed with shock that his eyes were kind. “Get set now. I’m going to transport you to the ae’Magi’s castle. I don’t like transporting humans, it’s too hard on them. But the ae’Magi is concerned about Myr. It’s not right to take advantage of a man whose mind is turned by grief, and we need to get to him as soon as possible.”
    He rubbed his hands together a minute in preparation. “The ae’Magi is much better at this than I am; but he is busy with other matters, so I will have to do.”
    His magic hit her body with enough force that she almost passed out. She hit a hard stone floor sweating and coughing. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to die of lung fever before the Archmage could get his hands on her. She laughed at the thought, bringing on another fit of coughing.
    Ungentle hands grabbed her upper arms with bruising strength, but the man grunted as he picked her up—she was a lot heavier than she looked. Muscle would do that.
    It had been daylight outside, so the gloominess of the torchlit stone walls and her hair, which had come undone from its customary braid and hung over her face, rendered her effectively blind.
    She was stripped with ruthless efficiency. To take her mind off what that meant, she tried to recapture a stray thought she’d had just before Lord Kisrah had sent her over. She had a vague notion that it might be important. Her aching head didn’t want to cooperate.
    “Look here, Garogue, she ain’t as small as she looks!” Rough laughter and comments she would have felt better not hearing as a second guard neared.
    Think, Aralorn. I was relieved that . . . that I had not met Lord Kisrah before. Her face felt hot and tight, in spite of the coolness of the stone under her feet. Lord Kisrah would not recognize me as the Lyon’s daughter. She waited a minute before the significance of that thought hit her. I have, however, met the ae’Magi as the Lyon’s daughter. He was intrigued with the color of my eyes—my shapeshifter blood.
    Gods, she thought bleakly. If he realizes who I am, he can use my father against me.
    While the guards were preoccupied, she tried again to change. Not a drastic change this time, just an adjustment to her face and eyes. Her features sharpened until they were as common to Rethian peasant stock as her medium brown eyes. The eyes were always the hardest part, for some reason, and she didn’t usually bother. But she didn’t want the ae’Magi to think that she had even the slightest touch of green magic. It might be important in her escape. With a bit more effort, her skin darkened to add authenticity.
    “Too bad we can’t do nothin’ with her but look.” A callused hand ran over her hip.
    “Yup, don’ you ever think of nothing else. Just you remember what happened to Len. He thought the ae’Magi wouldn’t ever know. Besides, we usually get a turn at ’em.”
    Goody. Something to look forward to.
    She was dragged forward again, her exhaustion making her more of a deadweight than before. Her head contacted the stone wall when she was swung over a broad shoulder.
    “They sure grow these Northerners heavy!” More laughter, but by then Aralorn was beyond caring.

    It was late at night when Wolf returned to the camp. He expected everyone to be asleep. Instead, he came upon Myr seated on a rock in front of the caves and polishing Aralorn’s sword by the light of the moon.
    “Where did you find it?” Wolf asked.
    Startled, Myr leapt to his feet, holding the