Song of the Shiver Barrens

by Glenda Larke

  It’s Firgan. He’s targeting you with his hate.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Am I ever anything else?

  ‘All the time. Did you just probe my mind?’

  Tarran avoided answering. I’ve seen this done before, or rather the older parts of me have. He’s focusing his hate on you. Deliberately, I suspect. To unsettle you. Which it does.

  ‘Can he do that without other Magor noticing?’

  Well, most are far too sloppy with their emotion sending to do it themselves, so I suppose they don’t recognise it when it happens. But it is possible. It’s even recorded in some of the texts we gave your mother. It needs lots of practice.

  ‘You’re sure it’s him?’

  Positive. No one else has such a nasty streak. It’s like a, um, a signature seal. I grew up with him living alongside me in the Mirage, remember.

  Arrant was about to describe what he would like to do to Firgan, when Tarran said, Here comes Jessah. You’d better stop talking to yourself.

  The Magoria had already helped him dress that morning, in a new suit of clothes. The bolero was a lush deep maroon to match a cloth belt. The shirt was of Corseni silk. Temellin had sent along a shleth-leather scabbard, set with rubies, and a silver clasp for the bolero. The scabbard was empty; his sword had been taken away from him the day before and would be returned during the ceremony. Advised by Ligea before he’d left Tyr, where anything except a short haircut was considered a barbarian custom worthy only of the uncultured, he had been growing his hair, and it was long enough now for Jessah to tie back with a leather thong, Kardi-style. When she’d made a mirror by sandwiching water between two wards, giving a better reflection than the polished metal ones he was used to, he was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. She’d laughed at his bemusement. ‘You are handsome,’ she had assured him.

  Now she came bustling in again, saying, ‘It’s time to go. Everyone’s waiting.’

  ‘Magoria, will you do something for me when we go out there? I had asked Perry if he would be my witness—’

  ‘Yes, I know. He is proud as proud can be.’

  ‘Well, that’s just it. I don’t think I can ask him any more. I need to ask someone else.’

  Her initial warmth faded and it was a moment before she could reply. ‘Well, of course, it’s your choice.’

  ‘Could you just warn him?’

  ‘Yes, I think I had better. He won’t be happy, Arrant.’

  ‘I know. Tell him to trust me, if he can. I will explain afterwards, and it is important.’

  She pinched up her lips but nodded anyway. ‘In that case you’d better let me go out first to give me time to drop a word in his ear. Count to twenty slowly and then follow me. I hope you’ve thought this through, Magori.’ She turned on her heel and left the room.

  So do I, Tarran said. You’ve made her angry. You’re not going to do something silly, are you?

  ‘Probably. I gave it a lot of thought before I opted for Perradin. He’s my closest friend here. But now…I think this is a better idea. I need to know where I stand.’

  What idea?

  ‘You’ll see.’ The ache within Arrant gripped his insides like claws as he stepped outside the waiting room into the long passageway beyond.

  He stopped dead. He had not expected what awaited him. A line of Magoroth on either side of the passage raised their swords in salute, each blade shining gold. Many of the Magoroth, wearied by their Ravage battles and in need of respite, had returned to Madrinya with their Mirager, and now they had come to honour his son. Garis and Jahan were there, and Korden. Then there were others who had not yet gone to the battle: his teachers, his fellow students. Perradin, Bevran, Vevi, Serenelle. Even an unsmiling Lesgath.

  Arrant was overwhelmed. A rush of emotion wafted his way: encouragement, congratulations, goodwill, friendliness. And one vicious stab of loathing. Firgan. He stood at the end of the line, close to Temellin and Korden.

  Arrant’s heart raced. His cabochon gleamed in his palm in response to the wash of welcome as he stepped between the archway of swords. Temellin’s smile for his son expressed his pride, and Arrant felt his strong affection. But his blind gaze remained an indictment, even though it was not meant to be so.

  When Arrant reached Perradin halfway along, he returned his puzzled look with a shaft of appreciation. I hope he will understand, he said to Tarran, because I don’t know what I would do without his friendship. When he reached Temellin, who stood in front of a pair of huge wooden doors, he halted.

  ‘Beyond these doors are the Tablets of the Covenant,’ Temellin said. The warmth of his words had a physical dimension as he added, ‘You are to read them all. Whom would you like to accompany you to testify that you have read all the Tablets and understood their meaning?’

  ‘Magori-firgan,’ he replied with a ringing clarity that did not echo the anxiety he felt. Firgan’s hatred sawed at him, focused and cutting.

  There was an audible intake of breath down the passageway. The astonishment on his father’s face was as obvious as the stillness of Firgan’s. Korden was blank with surprise.

  She did that too, you know. His brother, laughing in his mind.

  Did what? Who?

  Firgan stepped forward, radiating suspicion for an instant before he thought to cloak it. ‘I am honoured to be chosen,’ he said formally. The smile he gave as he inclined his head to Arrant was smooth. His eyes twinkled. But his smile couldn’t mask his wariness, or the solidity of his hate, not to Arrant, not with Tarran inside his head.

  Your mother, Tarran said. You and she are swords made to fit the same scabbard. Temellin expected her to ask him, but she asked Garis, to be annoying, and now you’ve annoyed him again by asking this horrible fellow. Why? He has a heart like the Ravage.

  With a gesture of his hand and a flare of cabochon light, Temellin opened the doors.

  ‘Enter,’ he said.

  Arrant stepped forward, Firgan at his shoulder. I didn’t do it to annoy Temellin. And I don’t think he’s annoyed. Just surprised. He’s wondering what I’m up to.

  Temellin’s your father. Of course he’s annoyed. This should be a special moment, and you ask a man like Firgan, you worm-brained brat?

  The doors closed behind them with a soft click and Arrant looked around in wonderment. The light from the half-dozen lamps petered out in the darkness that hid the soaring cavern roof. In the centre of a dry sandy floor stood five stone tablets, as large and as imposing as the stele that marked Tyranian graves. The words of the Covenant were engraved on them.

  We made them glow like starlight for her. Tarran sounded wistful, as if he would have liked to have done the same for his brother.

  She did tell me that, Arrant replied. I think they look grand the way they are.

  ‘So,’ Firgan drawled, ‘why does a little runt of a Tyranian bastard like you ask me to accompany him? Need me to read the Kardi words for you, do you? I did hear your mama couldn’t read them, the Tyranian bitch that she was.’

  Arrant stiffened. Gods, I’d like to kill him here and now. After all Ligea had done to save Kardiastan, someone could still speak of her this way?

  You asked for it when you named him, Tarran remarked.

  Yeah, guess I did at that. He smothered his feeling of outrage. ‘I read Kardi very well,’ he said, as mildly as he could. ‘In fact, I also read, write and speak Tyranian, Assorian and Altani. Can you?’

  Firgan snorted. ‘So you’re a stuffed-head scroll-lover. Might have known it. So then, why me? Scared of the dark and want a real warrior to protect you? I hear you can’t manage your cabochon enough to even warm your left hand on a cold night. This ceremony is a mockery and should never have taken place. Your sword should have been taken from you the moment it became clear you can’t use it properly. Let me tell you something, Arrant Temellin: I will do everything and anything to prevent you from becoming the officially endorsed Mirager-heir.’ He stabbed his hate at Arrant, driving it deep between his eyes. �
�Do you feel that? Do you?’

  ‘It’s not exactly subtle.’

  ‘Why did you bring me in here? To mock me? To change my mind?’

  ‘Why? To know you, that’s all. And now I do.’ Tarran, you can’t make them beautiful again now, can you? Just to show this bastard a thing or two?

  No, I’m afraid not. Arrant, we’re too weak. And too far away. My other selves cannot even see this far any more.

  Arrant took a step towards the Tablets so that he could read them, but Firgan was there before him. He shot a beam of gold from his hand and with a few muttered words, made a cabochon ward to prevent Arrant from approaching close enough to read the Tablets.

  Arrant looked at him in astonishment. ‘You want to play silly games?’ he asked. ‘If you were Lesgath, I might expect that, but you’re twice my age and a man who thinks he’d make a better Mirager-heir. Grow up, Firgan.’

  Tarran danced agitatedly in his mind. ’Ware, Arrant. He’s more dangerous than you think.

  He’ll hardly try anything here, Arrant scoffed. But the way Firgan glared started a feathering of fear along his backbone nonetheless. He met the angry gaze with a stare of his own, and hid his anxiety.

  Firgan quirked an eyebrow and smiled. ‘If you want to read the Tablets, then break my cabochon ward with the power of your own gem. I made it weak enough for any Magoroth to be able to do that. Otherwise, I am not going to allow you near them and you’ll have to march out there and admit you couldn’t read the Tablets because Firgan stopped you with an elementary cabochon ward.’

  ‘You wouldn’t look so great either, spoiling my ceremony with your childish spite.’

  Arrant, we can break that ward, Tarran said.

  ‘Many people will say I was right to expose your weakness,’ Firgan said. ‘You little maggot, I’ll take you apart piece by piece in the eyes of everyone out there. I am going to make damn certain you never pick up the Mirager’s sword, and I don’t care how I do it.’

  Tarran, let’s do the unexpected instead. You know what’s on the Tablets, don’t you? Exact words?’

  Of course. We wrote them, after all.

  Then stay with me, please. He put his head on one side, regarding Firgan with open contempt. ‘You know what? I think I’d make a better Mirager-heir than you ever would.’ He turned abruptly on his heel and opened the hall doors with a push of gold power from his cabochon. Firgan, caught by surprise, was left flat-footed and had to hurry to catch up as Arrant left the chamber bathed in a golden glow and came to a halt in front of his father.

  Temellin looked past him to Firgan. ‘Has the Magori read and understood the Tablets of the Covenant?’ he asked in formal ritual.

  ‘Er, well, no, Mirager-temellin,’ Firgan said. He rubbed his forehead in an embarrassed way. ‘He didn’t seem able to read them.’

  Arrant turned to look at him, surprised. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ he asked, striving to sound both innocent and puzzled. Then he turned back to Temellin. ‘Firgan seems to have forgotten that there is such a thing as Magor far-sight. I’ll recite the Tablets word for word, if you like.’

  Temellin’s cheeks hollowed, as if he had sucked them in. ‘Go ahead,’ he said, his tone expressionless.

  Korden, apparently guessing that no matter what happened next, his son was going to look a fool, intervened. ‘That won’t be necessary—’

  But Arrant had already begun, following Tarran’s recital in his head. ‘“Herein lies the history of the agreement between the Mirage Makers and the Magor of Kardiastan, the Covenant that has been agreed upon by all those who come here to read these words. And you who read this—”’

  Firgan was forced to stand beside him, looking pleasant and blurring his emotions into an unreadable mixture. His hands were clenched tight. Several people tittered.

  When Arrant finished, Temellin said, ‘Then do you solemnly swear not to indulge in mirage-making, and not to use your powers for personal gain or in pursuit of selfish motives? Do you solemnly swear to use your enhanced abilities to protect the land of Kardiastan and to better the life of the people you serve? Do you solemnly swear you will do everything in your power to protect the Mirage from violation? Do you swear to uphold the decisions of your Mirager, as sanctioned by the majority of his peers?

  ‘If you are prepared to swear these things, place your left hand on the hilt of your sword and say: “I do so swear.”’

  He extended Arrant’s sword to him and smiled. Arrant took a deep breath, and uttered a silent plea that the sword would flare this time. His hand closed on the hilt.

  Colour leaped from the translucent blade. A brilliant gold light blossomed outwards, radiating higher and higher, illuminating the roof far above, blasting its brightness into every corner and cranny. Most of those watching raised their hands to block out the glare. Arrant, both elated and shocked, gaped—until Jessah elbowed him in the back. ‘I do so swear,’ he said, and a grin split his face.

  The Magor hail in answer was unusually ragged as the gathered Magoroth recovered from their surprise. ‘Fah-Ke-Cabochon-rez! Hail the power of the cabochon!’

  Someone muttered, ‘I thought he was supposed to be incompetent. That just about curled my eyelashes.’

  Well, that was very satisfactory, Tarran said, sounding smug.

  People gathered around, wanting to give Arrant a cabochon clasp in congratulations, the senior Magoroth first, followed by the students. When it was Perradin’s turn he took Arrant’s hand without hesitation. ‘I can see why you did that. And I’m glad you did. You made Firgan look a real shleth brain.’

  Arrant blinked. That had not been his motivation, but he decided that if his friends thought it was, he would let them. ‘I wish it could have been you, nonetheless,’ he replied, and sent his gratitude and thanks through the direct touch of his cabochon.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Vevi crowed as she took his hand. ‘I never did like Firgan Korden.’

  To his surprise, Serenelle was the next person to seek him out. She didn’t offer her hand—in fact, she clasped both hands behind her back—but she looked at him from under her lashes and said, ‘Congratulations. And happy anniversary day.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said politely, desperately searching for some indication of her emotions, in vain.

  ‘My brother hates to look a fool. You just made a huge error,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think I made any difference to what Firgan already thought.’

  She considered that. ‘Maybe not. And I doubt whether you did it to make him look a fool, either. But I don’t suppose you are going to tell me the real reason.’

  He smiled and said nothing.

  ‘You really are infuriating,’ she said, and walked away.

  Some time later, Temellin came and slipped an arm about his shoulders. ‘Get me back to my quarters, Arrant,’ he said in a whisper. ‘If I have to listen to one more person tell me how well I cope despite being blind, my cabochon will melt under the sheer heat of my irritation.’

  Arrant nodded, and they set off down the passage, away from the chatter and the crowd. Temellin, still draping his arm around Arrant, was able to stride out confidently as if he had perfect vision. ‘So, suppose you tell me what all that was about? With Firgan?’

  ‘I sensed that he was really angry. Angry enough to make a mistake. I wanted to be alone with him for a moment, and yet be safe, at the same time as catching him off guard. Gev—General Gevenan—used to say that is the best way to know your enemy: attack when he doesn’t expect it and see what he does.’

  There was an edge of amusement in Temellin’s voice as he asked, ‘And what did he do?’

  ‘He tried to stop me reading the Tablets by building a ward. In other words, he can be foolish when he doesn’t have time to plan. He also threatened me. I think you are right, Papa. He’d kill me if he could get away with it.’

  ‘Indeed. And that is what you wanted to know for sure, one way or the other, I suppose. Clever of you, but I don’t know that it was
wise. Now that you have made him look a fool in everyone’s eyes, he’ll be more determined than ever to get rid of you. Korden was furious with him too, so he’ll have his father scolding him as well. You are a very unusual fourteen-year-old, do you know that?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I haven’t had much of a chance to be ordinary. We always had to be so careful because Sarana had lots of enemies, and I didn’t have a working cabochon that could warn me when there was trouble. Besides, everyone was wary of me, after what I did at the city gates. It was—it was hard to find a friend of my own age.’ His bitterness seeped through into the words as they climbed the stairs to the Mirager’s quarters. He knew he left traces of it behind him like a scent trail. ‘I spent most of my time with my tutors. And with soldiers, men we knew from the Stronghold who became part of the Imperial Guard. Or with people like Gev and Narjemah.’

  And Tarran, his brother said.

  ‘And Tarran, of course.’

  The guard opened the door to the Mirager’s Pavilion, and they continued down another passage to the Mirager’s quarters.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Temellin said. ‘But they were not times to be ordinary in. Not for any of us. Your power just then—it was impressive. Even I could see it, and I don’t see too much these days. And you had perfect control. That I could feel too. Is Tarran still with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well met, son.’

  Well met, Father.

  ‘Thank you for helping Arrant. People saw a true Mirager-heir just then. Someone they could look up to.’

  ‘Is that, um, all right?’ Arrant asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it’s not my power control. In a way, it seems like a deception.’

  Stop fussing, said Tarran.

  ‘I use my cabochon and my sword,’ Temellin replied. ‘You use Tarran as well. The method doesn’t matter as long as you achieve the result. The trouble is that Tarran cannot be with you all the time, or even every time you call on him. And that could be a problem. We aren’t deceiving anyone about that. They all know your power comes and goes.’ He opened the door to his private apartments and gestured Arrant inside. ‘Has Hellesia left some drinks for us?’