by Glenda Larke
Jahan’s and Jessah’s shock was sharp in the air. Arrant he could not sense at all. He continued, ‘Why am I pretending it’s better than that? Because Kardiastan needs a leader they have confidence in. So do the Magor. I don’t want people to think I can’t do my job. And in this, um, manipulation of the truth, I need your help.’
No one said anything, but he felt their cautious expressions of support, so he continued. ‘I want people around me who will keep the secret and who are clever enough to cover any mistakes I make. Or better still, prevent me from making them in the first place. I need a personal guard and a new scribe. I shall retire Scribe Hasneth on the grounds that there will be more to do now that I can no longer read and write, and he is too old. One of the first things I will do is visit all the major towns to show that I am not some old hulk of a cripple.’
Jahan gave a low laugh. ‘A sly scrub-fox in his prime more like it. You know full well that Jessah is a damn good scribe and there is nothing I’d like more than to be responsible for your safety. Of course we’ll do it. Now that Perradin, our youngest, is grown, we’ve no problem with gadding about, have we, Jess?’
‘We can move into the pavilion tonight, if you want.’
He let them feel his relief. ‘Thank you. You may as well know this too—we are going to the aid of the Mirage Makers. We are going to fight the Ravage.’
He felt the warmth of their attention focus on him. Even Arrant’s leaping approval was obvious, overriding his barriers.
‘Us?’ Jahan asked, broadcasting his surprise.
‘Not just us, personally. The Magor as a whole. But I need Council approval first. Jahan, help Korden there. I’ve already spoken to him. I want as many Magor in Madrinya as possible in twenty days or so.’
‘What about Arrant?’ Jessah asked. ‘He should be making his Covenant vows now that he has his sword. Perhaps we could arrange to have it at the same time as the Council meeting—it would be a good way to introduce him to Magoroth from all over the land.’
‘No. I want to postpone that as long as possible. We’ll use my blindness as an excuse. Subtly suggest that I am hoping my eyesight will improve enough to appreciate seeing my son’s swearing-in ceremony. After that I’ll have another excuse. I’ll be preoccupied with the preparations for war against the Ravage.’
He felt Arrant’s bafflement. He explained: ‘Everyone will be watching you as you come out of the Hall of the Covenant after the swearing-in. They will expect to see your sword filled with colour. If it is not, they will question your fitness to be Mirager-heir. I want you to have as much time as possible to train with your weapon before that day arrives.’
Arrant was usually so good at hiding his emotions that his open display of pain disconcerted Temellin, who quickly added, ‘At the same time, I intend everyone to know of your connection to Tarran. I want them to think of you as special, as someone who might bring us victory because of your connection to the Mirage Makers. If people look up to you for that, they will be more inclined to overlook your control problem. Jahan, Jessah, I hope that in your spare time, you can work with Arrant on managing his power.’ He turned to Hellesia. ‘I am going to need your help too. I need more light about the pavilion, even in the daytime. I can see the glow of lamps. I want all passages and rooms lit, all day, so I can get around without walking into walls. You can say I need more light because of my sight. No need to let anyone know that’s all I can see. When I travel to other cities and towns, I’d appreciate it if you always came along, to see to that kind of thing. To all the things that help conceal the extent of my blindness.’
He turned back to Arrant. ‘Son, I want you to become an animal lover overnight. Especially fish, I think.’
Arrant stared, bemused. ‘Fish?’
‘Fish in bowls. Mellowbirds in cages. Frogs in jars. Lizards in boxes hidden behind statues. Whatever. I may not be able to sense the emotional life of a salamander, but I can sense their presence. If there is a fish swimming in the bowl on the table, I know where the table is and how high it is. If there’s a bird in the cage near the door, I know where the door is. If we have lights and fish all over the place, I think I could walk all over the pavilion without a stumble. It will be your job to look after them. I would like people to think it is all your doing.’
He didn’t see Arrant’s sudden grin, but he caught his rush of gladness.
‘And I’ll make sure the furniture is never moved,’ Hellesia added. ‘And no low stools where you might trip over them.’
‘We can do this,’ Temellin said, but he added to himself, ‘We must. Because I will not be some broken-down old man huddling in his rooms. I am the Mirager of this land and I intend to rule it well.’
Aloud, he said, ‘And now Arrant is going to tell you exactly what the Mirage Makers told him about what is happening to them. I want you to spread this to all the Magor, before the Council meeting, so they have time to think about what we should be doing—’
Arrant’s admiration for his father deepened with every word he heard. As the Mirager made the plans for war, for marshalling the forces of the land, both Magor and non-Magor, he made little reference to his blindness. He intended to lead, just as he had done before.
When the discussion was over, Arrant—in answer to a gesture from Temellin—stayed on after the other three had left. ‘About your classes,’ Temellin said. ‘I am going to place you in the class for beginning ordinary Magoroth sword magic with Magoria-markess. Once you pass the beginners’ tests, you can start the intermediate sword-powered combat classes. In the meantime, you will continue the normal swordfighting classes with Yetemith. But for cabochon usage, well, Ungar doesn’t feel you are progressing with her, so you can drop those sessions. Jahan, Jessah and I will try to help you instead.’
Arrant felt sharp disappointment. He liked Ungar, and he had hoped to please her; now it seemed she was giving up. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said unhappily.
‘I know you will. You will continue to take all the normal classes, of course. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been more than holding your own in all subjects, except perhaps Kardi language. Illuser-stanus, was telling me he thinks you ought to be teaching geometry, not studying in it.’
Arrant brightened. ‘He did? He’s exaggerating. He’s brilliant. I love his classes. He was Tyranian-trained, of course. He worked under the legion’s buildermaster here in Madrinya during the occupation: Xanus Cristan. Even I’d heard of him. And I can work extra-hard with the language until I catch up. I don’t care about Kardi poetry though; it has too many rules. I prefer Tyranian, but I don’t plan on telling anyone else that.’
Temellin laughed. ‘It’s an acquired taste. To tell the truth, I never did like poetry much myself. And now I have a suggestion. I want you to write down every single instance when your power has done exactly what you wanted of it. And then I want you to put down precisely what the circumstances were. Including what you had for breakfast, if you happen to have remembered.’
Arrant was incredulous. ‘You think what I eat might have some relevance?’
‘Who knows? But I think we should look for a common factor. Either something that was there—or something that was missing. Every little thing that you can think of. Ask Tarran about it next time he comes. Have you spoken to him in the last day or two?’
Arrant shook his head. ‘No. I wish I had. I worry about him.’
‘So do I,’ said Temellin. ‘So do I. Oh, and one more thing. Give some thought to whom you want to take into the Hall of the Tablets to witness your reading of the Covenant.’
‘I thought that would be you!’
‘Well, I’d be honoured, but nonetheless you may want to think about it a little more. You need allies, Arrant. Traditionally, the person a Mirager-heir takes will be their closest supporter. The person who stands at their shoulder when they are in trouble.’
‘Who did you ask for yours?’
‘Korden,’ he said. ‘I asked Korden. And Sarana,’ he added softly,
with the ghost of a smile as he remembered, ‘asked Garis.’
Ligea rubbed at the cabochon in her palm. An old habit that, and something she did whenever she was worried. She looked across at Gevenan where he sat, his bare feet on one of the low marble tables. His soles had the gnarled appearance of the bark of an ancient olive tree.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you authorisation to draw money to pay informants. I want every member of the Lucii family watched here in Tyrans, and I want every bit of information from Gala that you can glean. We must know if they are assembling an army and the ships to transport them. We must know where and when they land on Tyranian soil. Information is the key—our army will be useless if it waits for them at the wrong place. Devros must be followed everywhere he goes, because he will have to lead any invading army if he is to be credible.’
‘Why don’t I just kill him?’ Gevenan asked. ‘Easier.’
‘Because that’s what Rathrox would have done.’ She refrained from adding that she could well have been the one to do it, too, back in those days. ‘Don’t tempt me. Anyway, it would have a down side. The highborn have a marked objection to being assassinated. They close ranks, and I might find myself faced with more, not less opposition.’
‘True.’ He removed his feet from the table and stood. ‘I’ll get on to it. What about you—have you heard from Kardiastan?’
‘Yes. The courier came in today with a letter from Arrant. I was right. Temellin has been blinded.’
‘Ocrastes’ balls!’ He stared at her in shock. ‘Are you going to Madrinya?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘How can I, when Tyrans teeters on the edge of another war?’
He let out the breath he had been holding.
She wondered if he had any idea of what that decision had cost her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Arrant woke to the sound of his brother shouting in his mind. ‘What—?’
Wake up, you sleeping log of a lazy sluggard!
Arrant opened an eye, looked towards the shutters, and groaned. ‘Dry hells, Tarran, the sun’s not even up yet.’
Why do you human beings spend so much of your lives asleep? It’s a waste! And who knows how much time I will have? At the moment nothing much is happening here, so I think I can sneak away for a while.
Arrant opened the other eye. ‘I have classes. I need my sleep. Is Father all right?’ Temellin, having received Council approval for his plans to fight the Ravage, had already left for the Mirage with the first contingent of Magor and non-Magor warriors. Arrant worried every time he thought of his father fighting things he could not see.
He’s fine. Any luck with your sword skills?
‘No.’
Ah. I assume from the terseness of that reply, that you have been making a fool of yourself.
‘Pretty much, yes. I burned a hole into the armoury wall yesterday. Firgan said I should be banned from using the sword within half a mile of the city. Four months, Tarran, and I haven’t progressed one iota.’
Arrant’s head swung around to scan the room. What’s all these scrolls?
‘Stop that! I’ll manage my own neck, thank you.’
They had discovered back in Tyr that Tarran could move Arrant’s body in a limited fashion, but that was not something he usually made a habit of doing.
Sorry. He didn’t sound particularly contrite. So what are the scrolls?
‘Temellin asked me to write down all my cabochon successes and try to work out what the common factor was.’
Hey, that’s a good idea. What did you come up with?
‘I’m not sure. At first I couldn’t find any common factor. Nothing. Not the time of the day, or what I ate for breakfast, or where I was, or whether you were with me. I even checked the phases of the moon and the tide timetables! I went through every variable I could think of. I used Tyranian mathematics. And then maybe I found something.’
Which was—?
‘I have a near-perfect rate of success when you are inside my head. Only trouble is, there haven’t been all that many times that I have deliberately used my magic while you’ve been with me. There may not be enough data to be statistically significant.’
Um, I’m not sure I understand what you mean by that last.
‘Never mind. Let’s just say it looks as if I manage my cabochon perfectly when you are around, with one obvious exception.’ Arrant felt his brow wrinkle. ‘Stop it! Will you be serious?’
I like the feel of it. Ah—I don’t remember any failure.
‘At the North Gate! The day I blew up the wall and a gorclak legion and a whole lot of injured rebels. You were there.’
Not when it actually happened, I wasn’t. Shiverdamn, Arrant—I would never have left you, not for anything, if I had been there when you did that.
This time it was Arrant who frowned, trying to remember. ‘You came, you told me I’d better kill that legionnaire who hit Foran’s ward, because the ward was breaking and he would kill me.’
That’s right. And then I left. You had control of your cabochon, so I thought you’d be fine.
‘Oh! To tell you the truth, my memory becomes a bit vague after that. It was too—awful. I always thought you were still there.’ He spent a moment pondering the significance. ‘I wonder if that’s what went wrong? I had all my power, because you’d come. I could control it, because you were there. Then it went spinning out of control, because you left.’ He swallowed. He still couldn’t think about it without wanting to lose his last meal. ‘I should have thought of all this earlier. But I was confused by the fact that sometimes I have perfect control when you are not around. At those times, it just seems perfectly random.’
Let’s try your sword right now.
Arrant went to where he’d hung his scabbard on the wall and drew out the blade. ‘I’ll be sun-fried,’ he said, feeling the power leap from cabochon to the sword. It blazed gold. He practised some of the things he’d been trying to learn in class: drawing a ward, extending power beyond the end of the blade, lighting the wick of a lamp. Unfortunately, he burned a hole through the lamp and spilled oil on to the floor, but otherwise he felt he’d done quite well. ‘Is it you who’s controlling my power then?’ he asked.
I don’t control your cabochon.
‘Are you sure? Because you can control my body. You can make me move. You even breathed for me once…’
Magor power is yours. I’m a Mirage Maker. I deal only with illusions.
‘But Mirage Makers can make illusions real. Making me breathe when I was unconscious and choking—that was no illusion. You kept me alive.’
Arrant, I have never tried to touch the power that comes to you through your cabochon. That was power you were born with, because you were born Magoroth. The Magor swords are illusions made, and then materialised, by our powers. A Mirager’s sword made your cabochon, that’s true, but all your cabochon really does is collect power from other places to fuel the, the—he hunted for a word—the enhancement of Magor magic. Your sword should enhance it even more. Whatever power you have is yours, and yours alone.
‘Then why do I seem better able to manage it when you are within me?’
Maybe because when I’m here, your mind works better. The connections, um, connect better? It’s not something I consciously do, really it’s not.
‘I hope you can come when I swear to uphold the Covenant. Temellin says it’s important people see that I can use my sword.’ He stirred uncomfortably as he spoke, wondering if what he was suggesting was ethical.
I’ll try, I swear. And why shouldn’t it be ethical? he added, indicating that he had caught Arrant’s stray thought. It doesn’t matter what you use to control your sword as long as you can. But relying on me could be a problem. It’s becoming more and more difficult for me to leave the Mirage, and I am rarely sure exactly when I can be spared. And who knows how much longer any of us Mirage Makers will be around?
‘The Magor might make a difference. You shoul
dn’t give up.’
We aren’t. But we’re not thinking about the far-distant future either. Are you going to tell Papa that it’s the presence of his second talented son that makes the difference to your control?
‘Of course. As soon as he returns. Tarran, there’s something else I want to ask you.’ He picked up the Quyriot necklet from the table beside his bed. ‘Do you know anything about this? About what it is, or who made it?’
I know you’ve always worn it when you ride. And sometimes at other times too. Bring the lamp over here so I can see better. I don’t think I’ve ever really had a good look at it.
Arrant didn’t bother with the lamp. Instead he illuminated the necklet with his sword, showing front and back, and the intricate intertwining of the clasp.
There’s something in my memory about similar runes, Tarran said at last. There was writing like this carved into the rocks when we first left Kardiastan proper and went north of the Shiver Barrens. We couldn’t read it. There were pictures, too, of animals. Or maybe they were men. They walked upright and they carried weapons and tools and baskets. But they had pointed teeth like cats, and claws on their hands and feet. And pelts instead of skin. He shrugged Arrant’s shoulders. We didn’t know who they had been, or if there were any of them left. We never learned to read the runes, and in the end it was covered up by the Mirage. Why do you want to know?
Arrant told all he knew about the necklet and ended by saying, ‘I was just worried it might hurt me.’
Tarran was unperturbed. None of the runes hurt us, he said. Arrant, it’s getting light. Show me what’s outside.
Arrant stepped through the shutters onto the narrow balcony outside his room. He leaned against the balustrade, and circled his head around slowly so that Tarran could see it all: a city beginning to stir under a dawn sky. The flat-roofed adobe buildings, the scents of the many blossoms that opened only at night, the call of the furred roof-scurriers that had glided in to feed in the rooftop gardens; Arrant was still seeing it with a newcomer’s eyes as well. Strange, but alluring.