by Glenda Larke
I sat down at my desk and pulled a blank piece of parchment and the ink towards me. ‘You’re a bastard, Brand,’ I remarked and began to write. When I had finished I heated wax, dropped it onto the bottom of the document and imprinted it with my ring seal. Once the ink was dry I flung it across the desk to him.
He read it without expression. Then, raising his eyes to meet mine, he said, ‘I’m not going to thank you for giving me what was my birthright. But I think you know that.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, confound you. You know me far too well, you Altani barbarian. But don’t expect me to like you for being right.’
‘That’s what older brothers are for. To help their little sisters grow up.’
‘You’re sodding lucky I don’t throw the ink at you. I shall make arrangements for you to be paid a wage in the future.’
‘If I decide I want to stay in your employ,’ he pointed out.
I gritted my teeth. ‘Yes. If. I shall also calculate what is owed you in back wages from the time you entered my service.’ It was only while I was waiting for his reply that I knew how much I feared he would leave me.
He knew it too, of course, which is why the bastard didn’t answer immediately. He was punishing me. ‘Salving a guilty conscience, Ligea?’
I noted the lack of title, but didn’t remark on it. ‘Allow me that luxury.’
He grinned. ‘So, apart from the fact someone treated you like a slave, what else happened today?’
What happened? A man made love to me and showed me paradise…‘I have promised to bring the sword tomorrow and they will take me to the Mirager. In fact, they have said they will take me to the Mirage. Free me from slavery.’
‘They didn’t doubt you?’ Without asking for permission, he sat down on the divan opposite the desk and began picking at the fruit on a side table there. I knew he was deliberately indicating what he considered the only possible basis for any new working relationship: I must consider him my equal. I was disconcerted, stifled the feeling—but thought he sensed it anyway, and was amused by it.
Damn it, I’d just freed him, but he was still a servant, by all that was holy! He ought to have shown me more respect.
He asked, ‘And are you going to go to the Mirage with them?’
I stood up. ‘I don’t know. To discover the secret of crossing the Shiver Barrens, to find out just what this Mirage is—that wasn’t part of my mandate, but it may be even more important than trapping the Mirager.’ I began to pace the floor, scratching my left palm. ‘I think I will decide what to do once I see which way the dice falls tomorrow. I’ll see what happens.’
Brand waved the paper I had signed. ‘I see this is dated three days from now. I am still yours to command.’
I felt a twinge of shame. ‘I wasn’t sure what you would do once you were free. I’m still not sure, and I may need your help in the next day or so.’ I paused, but he was silent, so I went on, ‘I shall talk to the Military Commander today. I want you to follow me tomorrow, and I want legionnaires stationed all around the city within easy call, no matter where I end up. I’ll signal you to fetch them if I need them. No signal will mean I’m going on to the Mirage and the arrest of the Mirager can wait.’
‘And if so, then what? What will you do? How will you get back? Who will help you?’
My lips twisted. ‘What’s the matter, Brand? Worried I won’t be around to pay you what I’ve promised? Well, don’t worry, I’ll draw up all the papers tonight, and have them properly witnessed.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I may well be a bastard, but you can be even more of a bitch. Doesn’t it occur to you I may just be a little worried about you? That I might just help you simply because you ask? You didn’t have to postdate my freedom, Ligea. Vortex take it, what you are proposing is more than dangerous, it’s suicidal.’
‘I’ll be all right. If there’s a way in, there’ll be a way back. You will wait here in Madrinya for me?’
‘Yes, I’ll wait, damn you. And if I haven’t heard from you in, um, say, two months, I’ll come after you.’
‘Now that would be suicidal. What I really want you to do is keep Aemid off my back. If she gets a whisper of what I’m doing, she’ll be screaming it to every Kardi in Madrinya and my life will be worth less than the contents of a begging bowl.’
He looked disbelieving. ‘She wouldn’t hurt you.’
‘She’d have me killed rather than see anything happen to her precious Kardiastan. Keep an eye on her. If I disappear into the Mirage, tell her I’ve gone back to Sandmurram. Anything but the truth. I shall leave her manumission paper with you just in case anything happens to me, but don’t tell her I’m freeing her too. Not yet. How is she, by the way?’
‘Resting. She looks a shade better.’
‘I’ll get changed and go to see her. You go to the Military Commander’s office and ask when it’s convenient for me to call.’
‘Please,’ he said.
I stared at him, uncomprehending.
‘You may as well get in the habit of saying it now,’ he told me. ‘I shan’t be a slave much longer.’
I resisted another urge to pitch the inkpot at him.
When I went in to see Aemid, I made sure the lamp was unlit and the room was dim. I didn’t want her to notice I’d rid my hair of its gold highlighting and its curls.
She still looked tired and old, but she was fighting back, a good sign. I suspected that her physical weakness was as much caused by her mental state as anything else. She had held a dream in her head for over twenty-five years, and the reality diverged so much from her vision that she couldn’t cope with it.
We talked for a while, neutral topics, then I asked, ‘Aemid, did you bring any xeta for me from Tyrans?’
She shook her head. ‘There was no point. It has to be taken fresh or it doesn’t work.’
‘I shall buy some here then.’
‘You’ll be lucky. It doesn’t grow here, Legata.’
‘It doesn’t? Then what do women use?’
‘A drink prepared from a root extract. But it doesn’t work quite the same way as xeta. You can’t just take one dose whenever necessary; you have to take it every day, and it doesn’t work well until you’ve been using it some time. It’s called gameez.’
‘Damn.’
‘What have you been up to?’ Aemid looked worried.
‘Never mind. Just a passing fancy. I’ll get some gameez.’
‘You don’t normally let your loins do your thinking, Legata.’
Abashed, I said, ‘No, I don’t suppose I do. He just took me by surprise, that’s all, and his—his technique was very good.’ So good I couldn’t put him out of my mind. Goddess, I thought, how can I have lost myself so easily, lost who I am, in this man’s arms? Am I no better than those silly highborn matrons back in Tyr, giggling over legionnaire officers riding past on their gorclaks?
I’d had time to think about what had happened by then. Surely something had enhanced normal desire— I flushed just thinking about my lack of restraint—but it hadn’t been a drug. It had been something to do with the lump in the middle of my palm. Something to do with being Magor, whatever that was. I wanted to be angry with Temellin, furious he had taken advantage of my inability to resist the stimulus. Instead, I just remembered how good it had been.
After I left Aemid, I had to deal with an irate Legate of the legionnaires, outraged that one of his men had apparently been killed by a slave of mine. I thought of telling him I had done it myself while on Brotherhood business, but decided the fewer people who knew about that, the better. Instead, I told him, in freezing tones, that I had no such young slave girl, which a routine inquiry in the slave quarters would have confirmed, and how dare he accuse my household without making such a logical inquiry first? I then told him what I thought of his legionnaires and his discipline, making it clear I had heard about the incident with the gorclak race the day before, and that I’d also heard it said the slave girl was only defending herself against rape. By
the time I’d finished, the officer was not only staggered by the extent and rapidity of Brotherhood intelligence, he was terrified that I was going to report him to his superiors for failure to maintain disciplined troops. He left apologising and humbled.
That night I tossed on my divan with the smell of another man still in my nostrils and his soft laugh in my ears. And I was honest enough to admit the reason I was thinking of not having the Mirager arrested the following day was that I was none too sure it would be possible to capture him without involving one of his underlings, a Kardi called Temellin.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He waylaid me before I reached the well, grinning. He took the ewer from me, as well as the small bag of clothing I had brought along—but he was looking at the other item I carried. The sword, well wrapped to disguise its shape, was tucked under my arm. He touched it reverently, and the smile he gave was as joyful as a child’s laughter. ‘That’s it!’ he said, almost as if he were afraid to believe it. And then, awed, ‘You just walked out of the Governor’s residence with it under your arm?’
I nodded. ‘Who was there to question me? The Legata went out herself this morning. Anyone else seeing me leave the villa would have assumed I was on her business. And believe me, no one would question her orders.’ The evasions slipped off my tongue as easily as water rolls from a gorclak’s hide. I had to be careful with my wording; this man had a lump on his palm. What if he could read lies the way I could? Temellin would know I hid my emotions from him, of course, but then he did that to me too. I had to assume that was normal behaviour for one of the Magor. For one of us. Goddess but that expression stuck in my craw, as unwelcome as a fishbone.
‘You didn’t have any problems getting it?’
‘None. She didn’t think any of the slaves could lift it, let alone steal it!’
He gave back the ewer and took the sword from me instead, his hands caressing the hide covering, but he didn’t unwrap it. Tears glistened and his fingers shook.
Tears? What in all of hellish Acheron was it about this sword that was so damned special?
‘I was worried about you,’ he said. He was trying to change the subject, to give himself time to regain control of himself. I thought he was acting more as if he’d just had a reprieve from death, than a man who had just retrieved a weapon for his ruler; I could sense relief so deep, nothing less seemed to make sense. Maybe that’s it, I thought. Maybe this Mirager was going to kill him if he didn’t find it. Maybe it was Temellin’s fault it was lost in the first place. He’d told me the day before that I’d saved his life, but I hadn’t taken him seriously. Now, I wondered.
I said, ‘I’ve looked after myself for quite a while.’ I had to curb the desire to reach out and touch him, I had to hide the way I was ridiculously stirred by his smile, by his hair curling this way and that over his ears…
‘So I noticed. You did kill that man yesterday, you know.’
‘Did I? Are you sure? I mean—I guess I hit him really hard, then.’ My eyes widened and I gave a slight shiver. It was meant for Temellin’s benefit, but suddenly it seemed genuine; I had gone straight from a killing to this man’s pallet.
‘Don’t think about it. Here, let’s be on our way.’ He took my arm and guided me down a narrow laneway I hadn’t used before.
‘Temel, I’m scared. I know so little about you, or about what I am—’ My voice wavered. I could be quite a good actress when I put my mind to it. It was all true anyway; I was scared, but I was also exhilarated. I was a compeer on the hunt…
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Tell me about the Mirager. And about me—us. What are we?’
‘We are Magor. And the Mirager is the, well, monarch, for want of a better word. The ruler of Kardiastan by right of his bloodline and his Magor rank. There is no need to fear him; he’s very happy with you.’
‘How can that be? Temel, I am from Tyrans. I don’t remember any other kind of life. I am so—so ignorant.’ And that was true too. Rathrox had not mentioned the word Magor to me. No one had, until Aemid used the term on the ship.
‘Turn right here; down the steps.’ There were two legionnaires coming up towards us, and he was silent until we had passed them. Then he said, ‘Someone taught you the Kardi tongue.’
‘A fellow slave. But she said nothing of what I am. She was afraid General Gayed would find out, I suppose.’
‘You are returning the Mirager’s sword; believe me, he is delighted with you.’ He was laughing at me, and I laughed with him and slipped my hand into his. Acting…or was I? In truth, I felt as though I was fifteen again and all those years of being a Compeer Brother had never been. The woman who had killed and maimed and plotted and connived on her way to the top? She didn’t exist, not then. That woman would never have felt this way, so swayed by desire, by a sense of light-hearted self-discovery. I strove to remember what I was supposed to be doing.
An occasional backward mental glance told me Brand still followed; I hoped he had a better idea of where we were than I did. The lanes we followed twisted and turned and divided confusingly.
The house we finally entered was a simple adobe place of two storeys with a number of small rooms. ‘This is one of our safe houses,’ he said, ‘and it has access to the escapeway, the route for freed slaves. Here you will meet some of the other Magor.’
I cast around and felt their presence: five people, two women and three men. All their emotions as unreadable as Temellin’s—or my own. ‘One of them is the Mirager?’
‘He is here.’
‘Temel, how many Magor are there?’
He knew I wasn’t asking about the group in the room at the top of the stairs, and his face darkened subtly. ‘Adults of all ranks? Not even five hundred.’
The question had upset him, but I had no way of guessing why. I had no time to think about it, either; he was already ushering me up the steps. I was still wearing my sandals and not only had no one come forward to wash our feet, but there hadn’t been any water or bowls in the entrance hall so we could do it ourselves. My feet felt dirty and the unfamiliarity of wearing shoes indoors grated on me. Did these Kardis have no sense of even the most elementary hygiene? I couldn’t understand why something as basic as welcoming ablutions and going barefoot inside the house had not become part of daily life under our rule. I had to hide a shudder of disgust and yet was glad of it. It enabled me to remember I was Tyranian, serving my Exaltarch and on a mission to cut into the heart of Kardi resistance.
A moment later, we joined the others. I knew without looking that they all had swellings on their palms; I could sense that kinship to me. In appearance there was a sameness about them: they were all under middle years—tall, brown-skinned, brown-eyed, brown-haired, handsome people with strength and health in their bodies. But their likenesses went deeper than that. Their facial structure, the tilt of their eyes—Temellin included, they could have been siblings. With shock, I was aware of my own physical similarity to all of them.
‘Here she is,’ Temellin said. ‘Derya.’ I set the ewer on the table and he laid the weapon, still in its covering, beside it. ‘And here’s the sword back safe and sound.’
The oldest of them, a tall, lean man with premature slashes of silver-grey through his hair, stared at it and whispered, ‘Just like that? I can’t believe it!’ He touched the cover, biting his lip. ‘I suppose they must have hidden it underground,’ he added finally, ‘which is why we could never trace it when we tried back in Sandmurram.’ He carefully unrolled the hide. They all crowded around to look, expressions rapt, some of them even reaching out to touch the blade as though they could not accept it was real. If ever I had needed confirmation the sword was important to them, I had it then.
The older man appeared to be the most moved. He, too, had tears in his eyes as he touched the blade with his long fingers, the emotion oddly at divergence with the hard, aristocratic lines of his face. ‘You always did say you had a feeling they hadn’t thrown it into the sea,’ he
said to Temellin, his voice unsteady. ‘You will never know how glad I am to see this. It would have been an ill day for me if my hand had ever had to close around the hilt of a new sword.’ There was relief in his voice, but I thought I caught an odd furtiveness of guilt as well. There was something faintly skewed about him, as if two warring parts within never quite meshed into the perfect whole he wanted himself to be.
Temellin gave a gentle smile. ‘At least you can stop worrying about that baby of yours,’ he said cryptically, ‘and Gretha can rest easy.’
The older man turned to me. ‘We are indeed grateful to you. My name is Korden. You are welcome, for all that you were raised in Tyrans and know nothing of what it is to be Magor.’
‘Well met,’ I murmured, aware his verbal welcome wasn’t quite reflected in his eyes.
‘And this is Pinar,’ Temellin said. He indicated the person standing next to Korden: a full-bodied woman of about thirty-five, wide in the shoulders and hips, with generous breasts and long lithe legs. Her face would have been beautiful had she been able to keep it serene; as it was, lines of discontent had tugged at the corners of her mouth and eyes so often they threatened to become permanent. She inclined her head to me, but didn’t smile.
The next man—hardly more than a youth—was a fascinating mixture of adult muscle, boyish enthusiasm and virile charm. He did not wait for an introduction, but gave a broad smile and said, ‘Well met indeed, Derya. I’m Garis.’ He was startlingly handsome, with tawny-brown eyes of a lighter shade than most Kardis, and long curling eyelashes any woman would have coveted. He took my left hand in his and touched palms. A warm wash of welcome ebbed through me with the touch. I was moved, then suspicious. A trick, I thought. It could all be fakery. These people have powers you know nothing about…
The remaining couple were introduced as husband and wife: Jahan and Jessah. They, too, touched hands with me, and their welcome seemed genuine, if a little more restrained than Garis’s. Jahan seemed familiar to me, but then, he looked a lot like Temellin. I certainly couldn’t remember ever having seen him before.