by John Marco
Mirage’s consciousness waned swiftly. Before it fled, she heard the man again, happily triumphant, telling her to be a good girl.
She awoke to a thunderous headache and the world swaying beneath her. Heat stroked her skin, the feeling of sunlight on her burning neck. It was more than the usual pain in her flesh, and it awoke her with a gasp. Her eyes fluttered open, glimpsing the ground moving below her and the thick coat of her horse against her face. She fought the pain and fog, struggling to reason, to even raise her head.
‘Where . . .’
The word dribbled from her dry lips. A foul flavour coated her mouth and throat, burning when she breathed. Forcing her eyes wider, she realized she was riding. Daylight streamed down from the sky and the sounds of horse hooves reached her ears.
Am I drunk?
She had been drunk before, but it had never hurt like this. Again she raised her head, straining against the nausea squeezing her skull. Another sharp pain grabbed her wrists, and she realized her hands were tied to the saddle. Startled, she bolted upright, then felt a rope around her waist as well, keeping her from tottering off her horse. The same panic from the night before overwhelmed her.
‘What’s this?’ she moaned. ‘What’s happening?’
Up ahead sauntered another horse, huge and black. A caped rider straddled the beast, barely turning his head to regard her. Mirage knew instantly it was the man from the bar, then remembered the brutal way he’d chased her down. Fear rose up in her as she fought the bindings on her wrist. Her horse was tethered to the dark man’s own, riding slowly along the deserted road.
‘Tell me who you are,’ she hissed, ‘and what you’re doing to me.’
‘My name is Corvalos Chane,’ said the man, ‘and you are my prisoner.’
The unnerving casualness of the statement horrified Mirage. ‘What?’ The rope bit into her thrashing wrists. ‘Prisoner?’ Speaking took effort, and her words boomed in her aching head. She leaned forward to steady herself against her horse. ‘What did you do to me?’
The man chuckled. ‘It’s an unpleasant feeling, I know.’
‘You drugged me. You chased me down . . .’
Mirage could hardly talk or keep her head up. Sweat beaded on her forehead, stinging her eyes. They were not in Koth any more, or even anywhere near the city. An unfamiliar landscape of hills and conifers met her blurry gaze. The urge to vomit overwhelmed her.
‘I’m going to be sick.’
‘Then be sick.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I am Corvalos Chane.’
The useless answer broke Mirage’s resistance. ‘Please,’ she cried, ‘How can I be a prisoner? I didn’t do anything!’ Then another, more ghastly thought entered her mind. ‘Gods . . . you’re a slaver . . .’
Corvalos Chane shook his head but did not bother turning to look at her. ‘Wrong.’
‘What, then? You mean to rape me?’
‘Will you wail like this all the way to Reec?’
Mirage tamed her breathing, trying to understand his riddles. ‘You’re taking me to Reec? Why?’
‘Because I am a Reecian,’ said Chane, as if that explained everything.
‘I’ve done nothing!’ Mirage raged. ‘Listen to me, you’re the man from the tavern, yes? You saw me there; you know I’ve done nothing wrong!’
‘Is that why you recognize me? Because of the tavern?’
Mirage thought hard, pushing her puzzled mind past the pain. The harder she concentrated the sicker she got, but then she remembered what she had thought the night before, how she was sure she’d seen the man somewhere else.
‘No,’ she groaned. ‘Or yes, maybe. I can’t remember.’
Corvalos Chane, amused, laughed as he trotted along. ‘I am good at making myself disappear. It’s my job, you see. And the drug makes the mind weak. Think, and in time you will remember.’
‘Tell me now, damn you!’ Mirage glared at the back of his head. ‘Turn around so I can look at you!’
At last the stranger brought his horse to a stop, letting Mirage’s mount catch up a bit. He turned to regard her with his iron eyes. He was not a young man, but there was power in his frame like an unsprung catapult. Mirage could see the taut muscles beneath his tightly fitting tunic. His clean shaven face tilted with a jeering smile as he allowed her a close inspection. Through her swimming brain Mirage made the connection.
‘I’ve seen you,’ she said. ‘You were at the farm.’
‘And at the library before that,’ said Chane.
‘Yes, you were one of Breck’s men.’
The stranger pretended to blush. ‘Thank you. I’m an excellent actor.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Mirage. She was quickly losing stamina and longed to lay her head down. ‘Please, tell me who you are. Tell me what you want from me.’
There was no pity on Chane’s weathered face. ‘Your name is Mirage,’ he stated. ‘You came to the library with the Bronze Knight.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you’re a friend to Baron Glass. You were returning to Koth to see him.’
Mirage still didn’t understand. ‘Get to your point.’
‘My point? You still can’t figure it out? Why I was in the library, watching you and everyone else?’
‘You’re a Reecian,’ Mirage sighed, trying to piece things together. ‘You’re a spy.’
Chane’s face brightened. ‘I love that word. But I’m not just a spy, pretty child. I am an artist. I do miraculous things to make people believe. I made Breck believe I was a Liirian, from Koth even, who wanted to fight with him.’
‘But you were spying for the Reecians.’ Mirage closed her eyes. Some of the tale began making sense. She knew the Reecians were watching Liiria, as well as Jazana Carr’s Norvor. In the days before the siege, Breck had even hoped the Reecian king might aid them, but he never did. ‘You fought for the Library, though,’ she said. ‘I saw you there.’
‘I did,’ admitted Chane. ‘And I was proud to do it. Jazana Carr and her new lover are my enemies. That makes you an enemy of Reec as well.’
‘What? I’m not even a Liirian. My family came from Jerikor . . .’
‘But you came from Jador, looking for Baron Glass. Do not deny it, girl, for I know the truth of you. You are a friend to Baron Glass. All the others from the siege have fled, but not you. You’ve come back to find him.’
‘Yes,’ Mirage admitted. ‘Because I have nowhere else to go.’
‘Because you are his ally. That means you know about him. That means you are valuable.’ Chane reached out and tapped her head. ‘In here.’
‘I don’t know anything that can help you,’ said Mirage miserably. ‘You have to believe me. Please, I’m not what you think.’
Chane flicked his hand dismissively. ‘I am not your interrogator, girl. You may tell your lies to Asher when we reach Reec. He will get the truth from you.’
‘But there is no truth! Haven’t you been listening? I don’t know anything. I only came back here to save Thorin from the Devil’s Armour.’
‘Thorin?’ Chane’s smile stank of arrogance. ‘You see how familiar you are with him? I know of the Devil’s Armour, as you do.’
‘It’s not a secret,’ spat Mirage.
‘No, but you have knowledge of it. You are from Jador, just like the armour, and you have come to help your friend. You should hold your tongue, girl, at least until the drug wears down. You incriminate yourself with everything you say.’
Frustrated, Mirage pulled madly at her bindings, trying to rip free of the saddle. But Chane had bound her well by the waist and hands, and without a knife she had no way to cut free. And even if she did, then what? They were alone on the road, far from Koth now. Mirage forced herself to stay calm, to think of a way to convince Chane of her innocence.
‘Listen to me,’ she pleaded. ‘You’re right . . . I am a friend of Baron Glass. We were together in Jador.’
‘I know this already.’
‘Yes, you’ve been watching me. You watched everyone at the library, yes?’
‘As I have said.’ Chane looked bored. ‘Continue.’
‘Then you know the truth already. I’m just a friend to him, nothing more. And I can’t go back to Jador. It’s too far. That’s why I was going to Thorin. Not to ally myself with him, but to save myself.’ Mirage stopped herself before she went too far. There was no way she could reveal the whole truth to him, about Grimhold and its magic. Just mentioning magic would have her dissected when they reached Reec. She looked imploringly at her captor. ‘A lot of people went to Jador, you know that. I was a Seeker,’ she lied, ‘just looking for a way to escape the war.’
‘There is no war in Jerikor.’
Mirage caught herself. ‘No, but my family died and I was afraid. I heard about the Seekers and joined them.’
‘And then you went to Jador and found Baron Glass and befriended him.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mirage. ‘And that’s all.’
‘Lies.’
Chane finally turned and returned to riding, dragging Mirage’s horse along.
‘It’s not a lie!’ Mirage protested. ‘It’s the truth!’
‘I saw you with the Bronze Knight at the library,’ Chane said. ‘The way you both talked, so secretly. You know more about Glass and his armour than you are telling me, girl. But never mind. I am the dark arm of Raxor. I will not fail my king. In the right hands you will yield your secrets.’
The statement chilled Mirage. ‘You mean to torture me?’
‘Not I, no.’
‘Who then, damn you? Who is this Asher you spoke of?’
‘We’re very near the border. We will be in Reec soon enough.’
Mirage lost her fragile control as fear and nausea surged together. Unable to stop herself, she leaned out over her horse and retched.
Remarkably, Mirage fell asleep again. Her captor, Corvalos Chane, had hardly spoken at all over the next few hours, and the hot sun and sickness mingled to make her drowsy. Mirage’s dreams were full of nightmares as they rode toward Reec. She dreamt of torture and iron bars, and of never seeing Lukien again. She had been foolish to try and find Thorin on her own. Her bad dreams echoed that realization, filled with images of Thorin laughing and calling her a whore. Her stomach, which she had filled to bursting the night before, had been thoroughly emptied by vomiting, but she had no appetite at all. In her groggy state of illness, she thought only of her dire plight.
Occasionally, Corvalos Chane stopped by a brook or pond to refresh their horses. He offered her water, which he forced down her throat when she refused to drink, but never untied her bindings to let her down from the horse. Mirage’s spine and backside ached from the riding. Her skin burned with sunlight, and beneath her magic mask she felt the sting of her old wounds. Without Sarlvarian she could do nothing to stem the pain, and her new Akari was impotent to help. Through her sickly fugue, Mirage called to her.
Kirsil . . .
The Akari fluttered through her brain like a butterfly, just on the surface. She was a young Akari and not very powerful, just strong enough to change Mirage’s appearance. A feeling of gentleness and comfort settled over Mirage as the spirit stroked her.
I am afraid, Kirsil.
There was nothing the Akari could do but comfort her. The sweet voice spoke like a lullaby.
I am with you, Mirage. You won’t be alone.
Mirage began to weep. And Corvalos Chane, who heard her sobs, said nothing.
By the time twilight came, they had travelled many miles and came to the river Kryss, the ancient border between Liiria and Reec. Here they turned north, toward greater Reec and its capital, Hes. The sickness that had plagued Mirage the entire trip had finally passed, and the cool air coming off the wide river revived her. Her body continued to ache from the ride, but her appetite had at last returned. Still, she would not beg any favours of her cruel captive, not even a morsel of food. Mirage sat up as tall as she could, looking at the darkening horizon. They would never make it to the capital by nightfall. Hes was still days away. Expecting to bed down for the night, Mirage wondered what Chane would do with her while they slept.
‘There,’ said Chane. It was the first thing he’d said in hours and his voice startled Mirage. He sat up, peering northward, and sighed with contentment.
Curious, Mirage looked past him. Up ahead she saw a mass of lights and movement near the river bank. On the west side of the Kryss – the Reecian side – lay a large camp of men and tents and animals. Mirage’s heart sank when she saw them. Red Reecian flags blew over the camp, still visible in the failing sunlight.
‘Soldiers,’ she whispered dreadfully.
‘Reecians,’ said Chane happily. ‘Home.’
Mirage felt the familiar terror cresting. Ridiculously, she had hoped that they wouldn’t make it this far, that something – or someone – would see her plight and rescue her. Now that silly notion fled like the wind, faced with an army of Reecians. There were hundreds of them, spread out along the riverside, armed with lances and armoured horses, prancing or huddling around cooking fires, waiting for night to fall. Waiting, Mirage suspected, for her.
‘Those men – what are they doing here?’ she asked.
‘The same as me,’ Chane replied. ‘They are keeping an eye on Jazana Carr and your good friend Baron Glass.’
‘An invasion?’
Chane laughed. ‘If it comes to that. But not yet.’
‘Why are you taking me there? What’s going to happen to me?’
They continued riding, Chane refusing to answer her queries. The camp grew larger as they neared, finally crossing a bridge and entering Reecian territory. The simple act of fording the river snuffed Mirage’s last hopes. Now she was in Reec. A handful of men dressed in Reecian uniforms greeted Chane as they rode into camp. They seemed to recognize him, at least by reputation. As they spotted Mirage they grinned. Chane halted both their horses and dismounted. Finally, he undid the rope binding their mounts together, then told one of the soldiers to care for his horse. At last he went to Mirage.
‘What will happen to me? The man you called Asher – is he here in camp?’
Maybe it was the fear in her tone that made Chane finally soften. He shook his head. ‘Asher never leaves Hes. This is just a resting place, girl.’
‘Resting place? For how long?’
‘Just a day or two.’ Chane took out his dagger and cut the rope from around her belly. The soldiers around him stared with a mix of desire and curiosity. ‘There are others going to Hes as well. We’ll ride with them.’
Relieved, Mirage let out an imprisoned breath. But when she looked at all the men, waiting for her to dismount, she wilted. Chane shook his head slightly as he gestured for her to get down. It was a reassurance of sorts, an unspoken promise to protect her. It was the first real kindness he had shown her. Hesitantly, Mirage put out her bound hands and let her captor guide her down from the horse. The Reecians rushed in closer, but a bark from Chane kept them back.
‘Leave her,’ he ordered. ‘She’s mine.’
A single soldier with a silly grin stepped forward. ‘Come on, Chane,’ he joked. ‘You can share her at least.’
Chane faced him, laughed at his joke, then kicked him sharply in the groin. The man bellowed in agony. As he collapsed, Chane snatched his hair and pulled his face closer.
‘Mine,’ he said menacingly. ‘Got that?’
Twisted with pain, the soldier moaned his understanding. Chane dropped him, letting him fall. His fellows kept back. Chane looked at them each in turn.
‘Find us a place to sleep for the night. And tell the company commander I want to see him. We’ll be travelling on to Hes from here.’
The soldiers hurried off. Following them, Chane dragged Mirage deeper into the encampment, stepping past their crumpled comrade.
‘I had to make a point of him,’ he said. ‘They’ve been out here too long, and seeing a pretty woman makes them crazy. They are
jackals, some of them, but I am their tiger.’
Helpless, Mirage let Corvalos Chane take her into camp.
3
Jazana Carr’s arrival in Koth was not what she expected.
After riding the one hundred miles from Andola, enduring rain and the usual hardships of the road, she came to the outskirts of the city at sundown, watching as the light disappeared behind the crumbling skyline. It had been a four day ordeal to reach the Liirian capital and Jazana Carr was exhausted, slumped across the back of her horse, her damp hair dangling in strings in front of her runny eyes. The fifty men she had brought with her – all trusted Norvans from her own country – rode in two lines behind her, following their queen without complaint, and when at last they saw the city the train let out a happy exclaim. They could rest now, at last, and enjoy what little comfort Koth could offer. Yet Jazana Carr was disappointed. Her lover, Baron Glass, had not come out to meet her as expected. Instead, she saw a party of Norvan mercenaries riding toward her, led by the familiar figure of Rodrik Varl. Jazana sank a little. She adored Rodrik Varl but she hungered for Thorin, and the pain of his absence was like a knife in her.
Her party came to a stop in the muddy road as the small band of Norvans approached. Behind them, the city of Koth looked ill. Jazana had heard stories of the Liirian capital from the time she was a girl, about its grand buildings and vigour, and how it was a beacon for the world, spreading its wealth and influence to every far-off port. She had not expected its slack exterior, poisoned by war, drooping under the weight of its own great history. She felt sad as she looked at it, sad because she and Thorin had fought so hard for it, and sad because she knew – knew, without knowing why – that even her great fortune would not be enough to lift the city from its ashes.
‘It’s Varl,’ said her man Garen, pointing toward the riders. He sidled closer to his queen, hoping to lighten her mood. ‘You see, my lady? They come to greet us.’