The Heart of the mirage mm-1

by Glenda Larke

  The next day, I came face to face with Pinar as the morning meal was being doled out from the pots at the fire. She gazed at me, emotions safely corralled behind her eyes. Temellin and Garis and Korden were all within hearing, so she was scrupulously polite. 'Good morning, Derya,' she said. 'How are you feeling this morning? You looked as if you had some indigestion last night.'

  'Indeed I did.' I held out my plate for my share of porridge. 'Must have come across something… rotten.'

  'You should be more careful.'

  'Oh, I will. In future.'

  'Tell me, Derya, what sort of slave were you?'

  I had been about to turn away, but her words halted me. All instincts alert, I wished I could feel through the barriers she erected. 'A reluctant one. Why?'

  'Well, there are different kinds of slaves, are there not? Whores for the military brothels, for example. Pallet slaves for officers, that kind of thing. I couldn't help but notice your hair has been well cut, your hands are not roughened with hard work. So I wondered if

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  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Temellin's voice cut across her questioning like a sword slash. 'Pinar, that's enough. It's none of our business.'

  She turned to him. 'You are too trusting, Temel. If she was a love-slave, then perhaps it is foolish to trust her at all. Lovers can have loyalties to one another, rather than to the land of their birth.'

  'That's true,' Korden agreed. 'Anyway, I'd like to know why she has said so little about this Ligea woman. I'd have thought Derya would have told us all sorts of things by now, without prompting. A Legata of the Brotherhood is surely a danger to us. We need to know what sort of person she is.'

  'Derya was no pallet slave,' Brand said. He sounded offhand, but they must have all felt his honesty. He continued, 'The Legata's taste is for handsome males. Her present lover is one of the Stalwarts, an officer.' He smiled at me. 'And believe me, I wouldn't be hankering after Derya here if she preferred women on her pallet.'

  Several people laughed at that, but I'd also felt the flare of suspicion from others like a slap in the face. I glared at Brand as I sat down by the fire to eat. Pinar and Temellin remained standing and the look they exchanged was full of meaning, although only they knew what. 'Let it rest, Pinar,' he said. 'Please.'

  She went to get her breakfast, but I knew nothing had been laid to rest. Pinar hated me and if at any time she thought she might be able to get away with it, she would try to kill me. The irony was that she was right. I was bent on betrayal and she was the only one with the sense to see it. Korden's naturally suspicious character made him wary and distrustful, but he wasn't sure in the way Pinar was. She knew, although I suspected jealousy was her foundation, not evidence. Poor Pinar. I„could almost have felt sorry for her. At

  least I would never have my thinking clouded by that kind of love and jealousy. This, I thought, is a battle I can win in spite of my Magor weakness.

  Brand, curious, sat beside me and asked in a whisper if I were going to let Pinar get away with the attempt on my life. 'That would be most unlike you, Li- er, Derya,' he remarked.

  'If I try to deal with her myself, who's to say I would win? I almost died last night,' I said. 'And if I did do away with her, who would get the blame for her death or disappearance?'

  'Why must you always think in such extreme terms? You could just tell everyone what happened.'

  That was true, and they'd have to believe me, too. But I wouldn't win any friends among the Magor by unmasking the murderous intent of one of their revered and cherished Ten. Better to let her make a fool of herself, all on her own. I was alerted now, and perhaps I could use her weaknesses to further my own ends. I said to Brand, T will deal with her in my own time. The woman tried to kill me. No one gets away with that.'

  That morning Temellin asked me to ride alongside him. 'I want to talk to you while we ride,' he said. 'Korden is right. You should be able to tell us more about this Legata. How important is she to us? We have had little experience with the Brotherhood here, except when they tortured ordinary people for information about the Magor. But that was years ago. I think they finally realised it never got them anywhere because we never tell the non-Magor anything about our movements or where we hide. The freed slaves we take to the Mirage – they never return, you know. It is our price for their freedom. Anyway, after the Brotherhood tired of their fruitless interrogations of

  the non-Magor, we didn't see too much of them for years. Until a couple of weeks back. That's when we heard the Tyranians were expecting a high-ranking compeer to arrive in Sandmurram from Tyr. That worried us. We sent someone to investigate, but they weren't able to find out much.'

  I felt the familiar surge of intoxication. That piquant thrill that comes with playing a game of deception, pitting my wits against a worthy opponent. Even more delicious this time because he almost certainly had no idea there was a game… 'That would have been Legata Ligea,' I said. 'As far as I know there is no one else from the Brotherhood in Kardiastan at the moment. She has been complaining about that – about being on her own. Gossip in the slave quarters back in Tyr said her main value to the Brotherhood is her skill at interrogation.'

  He may not have known much about the working of the Exaltarchy in Tyr, but he had sense, this man. Sense enough to see the weaknesses in a story. He continued, 'They say she is the daughter of a general. General Gayed the Baby Butcher. How did the daughter of a general get to be an agent of the Brotherhood? She is highborn! Her father was an honoured legionnaire commander, friend to the Exaltarch.'

  Baby Butcher? I bristled, but kept a tight hold on my emotions. 'Well, people don't explain things like that to a slave, you know. But rumour in the household said Gayed sent her to the Brotherhood because he didn't have a son to give to the legionnaires. It was an odd thing to do, but the General was a proud man who put his patriotism first, always. He was – well, honourable would be the best word to describe him, I suppose. He believed he had a duty as a citizen of Tyr.'

  He stared at me, leaking strong irritation. At a guess, he didn't like the word 'honourable', but I hadn't been about to let the calumny of 'Baby Butcher' pass unremarked. He took a deep breath and returned to the original question. 'Tell me more about Ligea. What is she like?'

  My shleth reached out with one of its feeding arms and began to comb the wool of Temellin's mount, looking for blood-sucking lice, I supposed. I said, 'She's not yet thirty. She's tough. Hard even, but fair. She doesn't suffer fools gladly. She would never mistreat a slave, but people are afraid of her. She has a reputation. They say if you cross her, then you're doomed.' All true enough.

  'Are you afraid of her?'

  'She's never given me cause.' My shleth edged closer to his, and I had to pull it away. The two beasts were making interested noises at one another, and I was irritated. I wanted to focus on our conversation, not be diverted by the necessity of keeping overly amorous mounts separated, i;

  He said, 'You've given her cause enough to be angry now.'

  I gave a smile. 'But I am safe, aren't I? I'm sure you don't think she will find her way to the Mirage, do you?'

  'No likelihood at all. Why is she here, in Kardiastan?'

  'As I understand it, she is supposed to find you. They heard the rumours you survived being burnt at the stake. Her mandate is to find the Mirager and – eliminate him as a danger to the Exaltarchy.'

  'Why send her, and not someone else?'

  'Elysium's bliss! Is it likely a slave would know that?'

  He grinned at me. 'Silly question. Sorry. I suppose I , should be surprised you know as much as you do.'

  'Ah, slave quarters are the best place to hear gossip, believe me. It's amazing how much does travel between households, and how accurate it is.'

  He looked round and waved to Brand, beckoning him over. 'Brand,' he said as the Altani drew up at his side, 'how well do you know the Legata?'

  Brand shrugged. 'How well does a slave ever get
to know their master? I was bought for her when I was about twelve and she was ten. I was supposed to guard her, as well as be at her beck and call. She was a little brat, full of herself then. Rude, abrasive, spoiled, demanding. Used to get into one scrape after another, most of which I got blamed for. She improved with age.'

  'How so?'

  'Learned to be a shade more considerate. Learned that cooperation gains you more than belligerence. She's intelligent. Bit of a slow learner with respect to social relationships, but she gets there in the end. Gullible sometimes, though.'

  I glared at him when Temellin wasn't looking. My mount, annoyed by the presence of Brand's beast, acted as if he was equally peeved.

  'Really?' Temellin asked, disbelieving.

  'She was used by her father to further his own grasping ends, but she could never see it. She worshipped the ground he walked on. Still does, for all that the bastard is dead.'

  I gritted my teeth and slapped at the feeding arm of my mount.

  'So he didn't push her into the Brotherhood out of the kindness of his heart, to give her a distinguished career?' Temellin asked.

  Brand snorted.

  'What did he want, then?'

  'I'm not sure. Some said in the slave quarters "that he did it because his wife, Salacia, didn't want her around,' Brand replied. 'That could have been true too, because Salacia didn't care a pebble for Ligea. But Gayed didn't care a rat's arse for her, either.'

  'Brand exaggerates,' I said. 'He just didn't like the General.'

  Brand nodded. 'That last is right. The man was cruel to the point of sadism. A bastard who was indifferent to the suffering of his underlings, even his own soldiers. He was vindictive and unscrupulous.'

  It was just as well my mount took that moment to nip at Temellin's. It gave me an excuse to swear and drop back behind the two of them. I could have wrung Brand's neck. How dare he speak of my father that way?

  The next two days were spent travelling through country much like that between Sandmurram and Madrinya: arid plains and plateaux, with lush shallow valleys hunkering low in between. We kept away from settlements; we saw no Tyranians, although I knew even this back country was regularly patrolled by legionnaires.

  When I had an opportunity, I told Brand exactly what I thought of him. He retaliated with some remarks about purblind females, self-delusion and being ruled by the emotions. Which was – ironically – almost the same spiel Gayed had regularly dealt out to me when I was growing up. I called Brand a myopic crank, so blinded by the hatred of a system that he couldn't see the virtues of an upright man. After that, we mostly avoided each other.

  Gradually the large group split up, Temellin evidently deeming it safer. Smaller groups were more

  manageable and left fewer signs behind in passing. It was with relief that I noticed Pinar disappear on the second day accompanied by a batch of ten or so Kardis.

  I spent a lot of time watching Temellin for signs that would tell me this was a man who was more than just a man, that he was a being who could resist torture and his torturers, who could rise above his degradation to laugh in the face of a woman come to his death cell to use him, who could survive a conflagration lit to consume him. I watched, but I saw none of it.

  I saw only a man with a great deal of energy, who always seemed to be on the move, cajoling, encouraging, urging those under his care. I envied the easy camaraderie he had both with the ordinary Kardis and with the Magor, especially when I noted he also had their respect. If he gave an order, it was obeyed instantly by the same people who might tease him around the campfire at night, or insult him with cheeky banter in their more relaxed moments.

  Wherever the Mirager was, there was laughter, often his own. He laughed a lot; not with the cynicism that marked Brand's amusement, but with full-hearted humour of the kind that came from a love of life, a love of mankind. And in the back of my mind, I wondered about that laughter: how could he who must have seen so much that hurt him, still regard the world with such childlike joy?

  'Is he always so good-humoured?' I asked Garis once as we rode side by side.

  'Temellin? Most of the time, yes. That's the kind of fellow he is.' He looked across at the Mirager with an expression that was almost tender. 'But he's got a temper, too. Cabochon help you if he ever loses it. His

  tongue could sizzle a carcass over cold ashes, and he's not beyond lashing out physically, either, when he's really riled. Takes a lot to get him that mad, though,' he added. 'And his anger always has an understandable cause.'

  'You look a lot like him. Are you related?'

  'Only distantly. My parents were not Magoroth. I'm one of those odd cases where a higher rank emerges from marriage between lower; it happens occasionally. But the others – they are all related. Each rank tends to marry people of their own rank, you see, because no one likes to dilute the Magor blood they have, especially not now. Korden and Temellin and Pinar are all first cousins. Jessah and Jahan are brother and sister, Ungar is Korden's wife's cousi-'

  'But Jessah and Jahan are married, surely!' I protested.

  He nodded, unconcerned. 'Yes. That's common enough among the Magor. It makes for strong children, both in body and Magor abilities.'

  I was shocked. Brothers married sisters? 'That's disgusting. It makes for idiots, too,' I said finally, my distaste as strong as bile on the tongue. In Tyranian mythology, our nation had been brought close to ruin by the incestuous love of Cestuous and Caprice, Tyr's early founders. Although repeatedly warned by the gods, they had been defiant, continuing their relationship until the gods had punished them – and Tyr too, for condoning their behaviour. Their children were born crippled and warped. They'd grown up to rule the fledgling nation, but their lives of corruption, heedless dissipation and final madness had brought the city to financial and military ruin. Plague and famine had followed. It had taken Tyrans generations «*» to prosper after that.

  'Idiots?' Garis smiled. 'Among common folk perhaps, but not with us. In fact, it is encouraged as a source of strength.'

  'It's – unnatural. Horrible!' Some of my revulsion must have communicated itself to my mount because it shied nervously and flapped its feeding arms. It took me a moment to bring it under control again.

  'Why unnatural?' Garis asked. 'You are judging Kardis by Tyranian laws, but such rules are meaningless to us. To be able to reinforce sibling love with sexual love is considered a blessing among the Magor.'

  I was silent, unable to find the words to convince him how wrong he was.

  'Derya, Temellin said I could explain to you anything to do with our customs or history, as long as I don't tell you about how Magor powers work for us. You tell me what you don't know, and I'll try to explain so you can understand us better.'

  Wary, I thought: Even Temellin has his reservations… there are some things he doesn't want me to know yet. Be careful, Ligea. The Mirager is no fool. Aloud I said, 'Anything you tell me will be new. Perhaps – tell me why Temellin is the Mirager. What makes a Mirager?'

  'His birth. The eldest child of the Mirager becomes the next Mirager or Miragerin when the Mirager dies. If there is no child, then it goes to the next in line, male or female. Temellin has been Mirager since he was a child, when the last Mirager, his uncle Solad, died during the Tyranian invasion. Naturally, a new Mirager has to be of the Magoroth.'

  'What happened to Temellin's parents?'

  'The same thing that happened to all Magoroth adults during the invasion. They were killed. By a treachery we don't really understand. Did you know

  the Tyranians like to call those times the "Kardi Uprising"? As if their invasion of our soil was legitimate, and our defence of it was illegal!'

  'What happened?'

  'Well, it started with several different invasions. The first was turned back at the Rift. It was followed by various skirmishes over the next couple of years or so, one of which killed the heir to the Mirager – Solad's only child. A cousin to both Temellin and Korden. But otherwise none of these sma
ll battles seemed particularly dangerous.' He frowned, angry emotion ripping through his barriers in a cresting wave, even as his ire broke through in his words. 'They were so stupid, our forebears, Derya! They were so sure of their powers that they failed to plan, failed to keep a proper watch on the coast, failed to train the ordinary Kardis as support troops and so on. Mirage be thanked, Temel has ten times the sense of his uncle, Mirager-solad. And he has learned by watching the legionnaires.

  'Anyway, one night, at the height of the Shimmer Festival – that was our major yearly celebration in those days – someone led a small band of the enemy into the heart of the Pavilions in Madrinya. This was about, oh, twenty-five, twenty-six years ago now. The Magoroth were seated in the main hall for the Shimmer Feast, all of the Magoroth gathered from all over Kardiastan. Tyranian archers shot them down from the gallery. Every wearer of the gold cabochon over the age of ten was killed. Archers have a greater range than cabochon magic, you see.'

  Damn it, I thought, Rathrox must have known this! Why in all Acheron's layers of hell didn't he tell me?

  But no matter how hard I tried to think of a jrational reason, none came to mind. Rathrox had

  always been secretive, but to send an agent out into the field with inadequate knowledge was foolhardy, and Rathrox was no fool. He'd done it deliberately… why? So that I'd fail? Be caught? Killed? Or did he think I'd succeed anyway, and the reason he hadn't told me had something to do with my past history?

  Garis hadn't noticed my abstraction, and was still telling the story of the Shimmer Festival feast. 'And none of the Magor were armed with weapons: it was customary not to bring weapons into the feasting hall. With the Magoroth dead, including the Mirager, Solad that is, the Exaltarchy was able to claim the land as theirs.'

  'And the younger Magoroth children?'

  He counted them off on his fingers. 'Pinar, Temellin, Korden, Miasa, Jessah, Jahan, Selwith, Berrin, Markess and Gretha. Ten of them. They were all somewhere between three and ten years old. They had been sent to the Mirage just before the Festival – on, well, training I suppose you could call it. They went with their Theuros and Illusos teachers. It's strange they were away at the time of the Festival, and in retrospect no one can understand why Mirager-solad sent them. Some people think he must have had a premonition. Anyway, it saved their lives. And mine too, perhaps, because I am the son of two of those teachers, although I was born much later.