by John Marco
Get control or get away from it!
Confused, Gilwyn squeezed his legs and urged the drowa away. With nowhere to go he rode away from the raiders, begging the drowa to hurry. He left the rock behind, left the rass to feed on the two men he had trapped, and was soon out in the open again, racing helplessly away from the raiders, who shouted after him.
‘Unless there are more snakes out here I’m in trouble!’ he gasped. ‘Ruana?’
The Akari gave no reply, because nothing could be done and Gilwyn knew it. With only a dagger and an exhausted drowa, he had no hope at all. He looked over his shoulder and saw the relentless raiders bearing down fast. Behind them, the rass had dropped the man from its tail and craned its neck skyward to swallow the other man whole.
‘All right, enough running,’ spat Gilwyn. ‘They have me. Damn it!’
He jerked back the drowa’s reins and spun to a halt, facing the Zarturk and his man. The Voruni pair brought their own mounts to a stop a few yards away. Thunder filled the Zarturk’s face. A jagged tattoo across his cheek twitched with fury.
‘You want me, you pirate trash?’ Gilwyn held up his dagger. ‘You want to rob me? Then come and get me!’
The Zarturk and his underling smirked at his small weapon. Then, surprisingly, both men put their blades into their belts. The Zarturk shook his head contemptuously, pointing to the distant rass.
‘That’s right,’ Gilwyn taunted. ‘Big snake. Bad death. Do you understand me, you stupid beasts?’
The Zarturk frowned. ‘Aztar.’
Gilwyn’s dagger trembled. ‘What?’
‘Aztar,’ said the man again, then pointed eastward. ‘Aztar.’
‘Aztar? Aztar’s dead,’ said Gilwyn. He pretended to draw his knife over his throat. ‘Dead.’
The Voruni understood the gesture, but shook his head in denial. ‘Aztar bis arok.’
‘Arok? Alive?’
The Zarturk nodded, then put out a finger and bid Gilwyn forward. ‘Aztar.’
They want you to follow them, said Ruana.
Gilwyn couldn’t speak. There was nowhere to go and no one to aid him. Helpless, he put the dagger back in its small sheath. He rode toward the Zarturk warily, unsure what else to do. His heart thundered in his temples, muddling his thinking and his connection to Ruana. Aztar would kill him, and probably not quickly. The thought of torture smothered him. As he rode he took no notice of the nearby dune, partially blocking the horizon. The angry face of the Zarturk filled his vision. Like Gilwyn, the big man and his companion remained oblivious to their surroundings. Having forgotten the nearby rass, not even Gilwyn saw it in time.
A black shadow fell across the dune. Sand exploded amid the terrible cries of frightened drowa. Ruana burst into Gilwyn’s mind, but amidst the sudden chaos he barely noticed her. He saw only a great wall of rising flesh . . . and then, darkness.
2
A young woman on a horse entered the broken city of Koth just as twilight fell. It had been a long day’s journey from the farm up in Borath, and the woman, who was not much more than a girl, felt depleted. Around her, all of Koth’s past majesty seemed to lay in ruins. Norvan soldiers patrolled the streets along with bands of mercenaries. The fires of the battle two weeks before had finally died away, but the smell of smoke still lingered over Koth, reminding everyone of the terror that had happened here. Not far ahead, the woman could see Library Hill. At the top of the hill stood the once-great Cathedral of Knowledge, devastated now, its timbers and stone walls split by Norvan catapults. Torches burned brightly on the road winding up the hill while men camped and rested on the grounds, still recovering from the bloody siege. In the middle of a wide avenue, the woman drew her horse to a halt. Bad memories swarmed over her as she stared up at the library.
Her name was Mirage. Once, not long ago, her name had been Meriel, but she had swapped that name for the beauty of a magical mask. She was an Inhuman, a person of Grimhold, and the Akari bound to her mind had given her a splendid gift. As a teen she had been burned, nearly dying in a fire. She had lived with the scars of that event for years, but no longer. Now she was lovely, as beautiful as the woman she would have been if the fire hadn’t raked her flesh away. Her first Akari, a sweet tempered spirit named Sarlvarian, had controlled the pain of her tortured skin, but even he could not quell the pain in her heart. She had looked in mirrors for years and had always seen a monster staring back at her, and so she had changed her Akari, letting go of Sarlvarian’s hand and inviting a new Akari into her life, a spirit named Kirsil who had made her appear beautiful again. On that day, Meriel had died. And Mirage was born.
As Mirage, she still felt the old pains. Beneath the veneer of beauty, her skin remained ravaged, but no one could see the woman she had been. Nor did Mirage ever speak of it, or complain about the searing pain that accompanied her everywhere. Over the years she had learned to control her agonies, and now all the world saw only her beauty.
Mirage took the time to look around, trying to ignore her hunger. Her long blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she noticed now that the soldiers in the street watched her. Mirage made sure not to look at them. The lust of men was unknown to her, mostly. No one had longed for her, not when she was burned.
No, she corrected herself. That wasn’t exactly true. Thorin had loved her. He had loved and longed for her when no other man had, and that was why she had returned to Koth, to find him.
But where?
She glanced around. Vendors had abandoned most of the shops months ago, long before the Norvans had come. Before the arrival of Jazana Carr and her horde, it was civil war that had split the city, but Breck and the others had quelled the worst of it. Now Breck was gone, dead like most of Koth’s defenders. Dead like Vanlandinghale, the young lieutenant who’d been so kind, so thoughtful to Mirage that he had never asked her why she had come to the library or why she loved Lukien so much. Of the thousand men who had defended the city, barely three-hundred had survived, and all of them were scattered now. At first they had hidden at Breck’s farm up north, just as Mirage herself had done, but even remote Borath was too near to be safe, and the soldiers had gone, leaving their homeland for any safe haven.
But not I, thought Mirage.
She had not the sense to leave with Thorin’s son, Aric, or any of the others. Even Lukien had refused to return to Koth, going off on a mad quest instead. Of all of them, only Mirage had returned, and suddenly she was not proud of her decision. She was simply afraid. The soldiers in the avenue took more notice of her, passing comments and leering. Mirage turned her face away and trotted deeper into Koth. She realized how few women were in the city. Those that remained had obviously locked themselves in their homes, fearing the rapes that so often accompanied a sacking. Mirage considered her plan. She had come to Koth because there was nowhere else for her, and because Lukien had shunned her love. She could not return to Grimhold, for to do so would mean defeat, and she could not admit defeat to Minikin. Only Thorin had really shown her love. Though the Devil’s Armour had maddened him, Mirage was sure he would welcome her.
If she could find him.
He may not even be in the city, she realized. Looking up again at the battered library, she knew he would not be there. He’ll be at Lionkeep.
Lionkeep had been ruined too, though not as badly as the library. And Mirage had heard rumours that Thorin had set up a command post there. Still, it was a longshot to find him, and she wondered what she would say to gain an audience with him. Already her presence was arousing suspicion. She didn’t want anyone’s attention, especially not one of the Jazana Carr’s greasy mercenaries.
A strange sense gripped her then, forcing her to look over her shoulder. Except for the soldiers she saw no one, yet all day she had felt the cold appraisal of unwanted eyes. She calmed herself, told herself that no one was following her, then proceeded across the avenue. Lionkeep was on the other side of the city, and if she was to reach it before darkness fell completely she would have to m
ake haste. But she had not eaten since morning and was wildly hungry now, and knew that she could not go on without a little food, at least. Ahead of her, she spotted a tavern. Amazingly, it looked open. A pair of soldiers sat by the doors, sharing a pipe and a bottle of liquor. Mirage reined in her mount, keeping to the shadows while she studied the place, reading the battered sign over the door.
‘The Red Stallion,’ she whispered.
The name sounded familiar to her. They would have food, probably, and give her a chance to rest. Mirage wondered if she should stop or go on to Lionkeep. Stopping would make it that much later – and darker – when she finally asked for Thorin. But her bones ached and her stomach roared to be filled, and she knew she could not go on much longer. Screwing up her courage, she trotted back into the light and headed for the tavern. Outside, other horses had been bridled and a boy had been hired to look after them. Despite the obviously drunk Norvans at the threshold, the place seemed safe enough, at least enough to draw Mirage forward. The Norvans looked up from their drink when she approached, staring at her through the pipe smoke. In Liiria, a woman riding alone was a rare sight, but in Norvor it was unheard of, and the two soldiers blinked in disbelief. Mirage dismounted and tied her weary horse at the post. She had left Borath with precious little money, but her horse was important and she couldn’t afford anything happening to the beast.
‘Here,’ she told the boy, dipping into the pockets of her riding pants and fishing out a coin. ‘Look after him and don’t let anyone touch him. All right?’
The boy nodded dumbly, as struck as the Norvans by her appearance, and quickly took the coin. Mirage felt the eyes of the men on her backside as she sidled toward the door. The Red Stallion was a large place, and as she entered she immediately noticed the crowd, laughing and drinking, playing cards by the fire, and teasing the prostitutes with promised coins. Mirage felt herself blush. The only women in the tavern were whores. Her eyes darted about, wondering if she should leave. A man hurried into the side of her vision.
‘You want a table?’
Startled, Mirage stared at him a moment. He was a stocky man with a kind, round face. Obviously the proprietor, his skin gushed sweat from the rushing he’d been doing.
‘Uhm, yes. Do you have food?’
‘Food, yes, we have food.’ The man looked at her peculiarly. ‘Are you alone?’
Mirage nodded. ‘That’s right.’
The proprietor’s smile was awkward. ‘You’re not looking for work, are you? I mean, you’re not a . . .’ His grin broke down. ‘You know.’
‘I certainly am not,’ said Mirage indignantly. Flustered by the question, she thought again of leaving, but the man hurried an apology.
‘No, of course you’re not,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, but a lovely lady like yourself . . . well, you probably shouldn’t be on your own, especially at night.’
‘I have no choice,’ Mirage replied. ‘I’m in the city looking for someone.’
Sympathy suffused the man’s chubby face. ‘Ah, the war. You’ve lost someone.’ He looked suitably sad. ‘Come, I’ll find you a table away from the noise.’
When he turned, Mirage followed reluctantly. An empty table sat in the corner of the room, away from the worst of the men and commotion, beneath a quickly darkening window. The proprietor wiped the wooden chair with his towel and held it out for her. Mirage took her seat, glancing around. Not surprisingly, the men in the room noticed her. She averted her eyes.
‘You’ve been on the road all day, I can tell,’ said the barman. ‘We have good food for you.’
‘And beer,’ added Mirage. She reached into her trousers and pulled out two more coins, one slightly larger than the other. ‘Whatever this will buy.’
‘That won’t buy you much,’ said the man. ‘But you bring elegance to the Stallion, pretty thing like you. Don’t worry – I’ll take care of you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mirage as the barman turned away. She sat back, trying to get comfortable while she waited for her meal, feeling remarkable suddenly. She was free. No longer tied to Lukien or the library, she could go anywhere she wanted, and not answer to anyone. During her long years in Grimhold, she had craved freedom, almost as much as she craved her old, unscarred face. Now she had both. She dared to look at the men in the room, noting with satisfaction the way they stared. They frightened her, yet it was so much better to see hunger in their eyes than revulsion.
But they’re the enemy, she told herself. They conquered Liiria.
The bar girl brought her a tankard of beer and laid it sloshing on the table. She was gone in an instant, Mirage barely noticed her. She lifted the beer and tasted it while she scanned the tavern’s patrons.
I’ll have to live among them if Thorin will have me, she realized.
While Mirage drank she noticed a man in the opposite corner, looking at her. He sat alone, nursing his own tankard and spinning a coin on the tabletop. The taut skin around his face pulled back in a sharp smile when their eyes met. The man did not wear the uniform of a soldier but rather dressed himself in black, a long cape draped around his shoulders. He had a strangely familiar face. Mirage was sure she’d seen him before, probably at the library. Was he a Liirian, one of Breck’s men? She was nearly certain she had seen him at the farm, where the survivors of the siege had fled, but she did not know his name or even remember speaking to him. The stranger’s smile faded and he went back to spinning his coin.
If he was at the farm, what was he doing here, Mirage wondered? As though deliberately ignoring her curiosity, the man stood, pushed back his chair, and walked out of the Red Stallion, leaving his coin spinning on the table. He hadn’t eaten – there were no dishes near his seat. Mirage wasn’t even sure he’d been there when she entered. But when the proprietor finally brought her plate of food, she forgot about the stranger entirely.
‘For you,’ the man said proudly, laying down a feast of meat and bread. ‘This should get your strength back and then some.’
Mirage nearly melted when she smelled the food, the odour of which rose up from the plate like a steaming bath. ‘All this?’ she exclaimed.
The man winked at her. ‘Enjoy it. Stay as long as you like.’
Mirage picked up her fork and dug into the buttery beef. Already there were benefits to beauty, she realized, and she smiled secretly as she ate, her confidence soaring. Thorin would take her in, she was sure.
Mirage stayed in the Red Stallion for more than an hour, far longer than she intended, taking her leisure while the innkeeper occasionally refilled her tankard, free of charge. He was plainly smitten with her and stopped by to chat from time to time, mostly, he claimed, to protect her from the other patrons. Once they had got used to her, the Norvans in the tavern stopped leering and offered to buy her drinks, all of which Mirage politely refused. She also got dirty looks from the Stallion’s prostitutes, but these she ignored as well, realizing none of them were a danger.
By the time she left the tavern the night had gone completely dark. The boy she had left outside with her horse had slumped into something like sleep at the edge of the cobblestone street. Mirage untied her horse without disturbing him, guiding it quietly down the lane. Her belly full, she felt wonderfully contented as she walked, lost in the effect of all the beer she had drank and loving the cool night air. The streets had thinned of people. A few soldiers straggled along, most of them mercenaries and most of them far more drunk then she. She was a long way from Lionkeep, and the dark streets intimidated her. Only the Red Stallion seemed open for business. The other shops and taverns were either abandoned or locked for the night. Mirage peered down the wide, gloomy avenue. Years ago the city had bustled with commerce, or so Lukien had told her. Now it was just a hulking corpse, with no spirit to animate it.
‘Maybe we should go back,’ Mirage whispered to her horse. The Red Stallion had rooms, and she was sure she could convince the kindly barkeep to give her one for the night. But despite the darkness it wasn’t really late, so Mir
age continued down the lane, away from the soldiers, until the merry noise of the tavern faded far behind her. Being a main thoroughfare, the street would take her toward Lionkeep, she was sure. After long minutes of walking, she reached a corner and paused, not sure which direction to take. Koth’s tall buildings obscured her vision.
‘West?’ She thought for a moment. ‘North?’
Straight would lead her down the same broad lane. Turning right led to a narrower, darker street, but it seemed to be the direction she wanted. She peered down the narrow street, focusing her eyes through the gloom. Koth’s skyline beckoned darkly. She saw hills in the distance, bordering the city.
‘That way,’ she whispered, not liking the choice at all.
Then, she glimpsed something unusual in the road, draped in shadows, hidden by the neglected buildings. A horse. And a rider, facing her and not moving. Mirage caught her breath and froze. The snorting of the horse echoed down the lane. The mounted man barely stirred, nearly invisible in the blackness. His great beast clopped at the broken cobblestones. Mirage drew back, first one step than another, wondering if she’d been seen. As she moved the horseman flicked back his cape and took something from his belt.
‘Do not run, girl,’ he ordered. ‘If you do it will be worse for you.’
Forgetting her horse, Mirage bolted back down the avenue. At once she heard the horseman pursue, his thundering mount coming fast behind her.
‘Leave me alone!’ she shouted. Up ahead the road was empty. ‘Someone help me!’
Running made the world a blur, and soon Mirage felt the horseman’s shadow. His gloved hand shot down, grabbing up her blond hair and yanking her back. She screamed as his cape fell over her eyes. His hands were everywhere, lifting her, jerking her up, then silencing her scream in smothering flesh. Mirage’s head pounded with pain. An odour seared her mouth and lungs. She was in molasses suddenly, her body slack, her panicked thoughts quickly fading. Unable to stop her arms from dropping, Mirage sagged in the violent grip.