Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

its strength. Defensively, he analyzed it: a blending illusion that utilized the lay of the land to hide something in the valley.
    Without conscious act, he found himself holding the magic to break the spell, magic that had nothing to do with the familiar, violent forces he normally worked. This was a surge of power that took its direction from the brief alarm he’d felt at the sudden wall of magic. It flared in an attempt to twist out of his fragile hold and attack the ensorcellment before him. The effort it took to restrain it challenged his training and power both.
    “Wolf?”
    Even wrapped as he was in the grip of his power, her voice reached him. Fear of what his magic would do to her gave him the strength to contain it, just barely.

    “Wolf?” Aralorn said again, kneeling beside him.
    She didn’t dare touch him as he swayed and shook with rhythmic spasms. Gradually, the spasms slowed and stopped. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at Aralorn.
    “Problems?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Do you want to wait for me back by the waterfall?”
    “No,” he said. “It’s all right now. It just took me by surprise.”
    She looked at him narrowly for a moment before deciding to accept his word on the matter.
    “Fine, then. There is some kind of protective illusion over the village. I don’t think we ought to tamper with it, but if we approach, I suspect we’ll be met.”
    “Such an illusion is not the usual practice?” He sounded as controlled as he usually did, though he was so tense she could see the fine trembling of his muscles.
    Aralorn shook her head in answer. “Not when I lived here.”
    Though the village was hidden, the gateposts that marked the entrance were still there. Wolf, the ruff on his neck still raised from his battle for control of his magic, ranged in random patterns to either side.
    “Stay on the path,” she warned him. “They wouldn’t have left the gateposts here if they didn’t have something nasty protecting the village from people who aren’t polite enough to enter by the proper way.”
    When she tried to walk between the gateposts, a barrier of magic stopped her. It wasn’t painful, just solid.
    Aralorn drew the rune she’d used in the maze on the left-hand pillar, but the barrier remained. She frowned but didn’t try to force her way through the gate.
    Instead, she spoke to the watcher who’d accompanied them from the waterfall. “I have come to speak with Halven, my uncle.” Her tongue fought her a little as she curled it around the shapeshifter language that she hadn’t used since she’d last been here.
    Beyond the posts, the wind stirred the snow into random swirls. The quiet was oppressive and uncomfortable.
    Turning to Wolf, Aralorn said, “They may make us wait for a long time. Sometimes, the oddest things strike them as humorous.”
    Without reply, Wolf made himself comfortable though he fairly vibrated with tension. Aralorn shivered as a cold breeze ran under her cloak.
    “It is cold here,” said a man behind her in the same tongue she’d used. “You must want to talk to this uncle very badly.”
    Wolf came to his feet with a growl; he hadn’t heard the man approach.
    She put a hand on his head, then turned to face the stranger.
    Shapeshifters were hard to identify: They could assume any features they chose. Nothing in the beautiful face and artfully swept-back bronze hair was familiar. Voices, though, were more difficult to change, and given a moment to recover, she knew who it was. She smiled.
    “Badly,” she agreed, switching to Rethian for Wolf’s sake. “I would have waited a lot longer than this, Uncle Halven.”
    “You might have indeed,” he replied without altering his language, “had I not seen you myself. I am not high in favor at this moment, and you never were.”
    “You flatter me,” Aralorn replied. She continued to speak Rethian. If he was going to be rude, she’d follow his lead. “As I recall, I was too insignificant to warrant animosity.”
    Halven smiled like a cat—with fangs and cold eyes. “Aralorn the half-breed certainly was, but the Sianim spy is a different matter altogether.”
    She raised her eyebrows. “Spy? Who says I am a spy?”
    “If you would talk,” said Halven mildly, “it would best be done here.”
    “That’s fine,” she said. “I apologize in advance for keeping you out in the cold.”
    “Not at all.” Halven was suddenly all gracious host, though he’d yet to switch to