by Glenda Larke
She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak. No. Not now. How can I bear it if you go?
‘I want to leave the day after tomorrow.’
When the silence between them became embarrassing, she said simply, ‘I will miss you.’ More than I can say.
They stared at one another across the baby’s head; Arrant, indifferent to them both, alternately fretted and dozed. ‘Is that all you can say?’ he asked finally.
‘Oh, Brand, we’ve shared too much to say any more. You know it all. Or if you don’t, no words of mine will ever be able to tell you how much you mean to me. I want you to go, I do. It’s just hard.’
‘Yes. Yes, it is…’ He looked down at the baby he held. ‘I’ve grown fond of this squalling bundle too, although I’ve no idea why. All he ever does is eat and sleep and scream. And, of course—’ He held the child out, away from himself, grimacing. The wet nurse, Dulcia, came bustling in and took him from Brand, clucking her tongue and making strange noises.
Ligea rolled her eyes. Another adult who managed to sound devoid of intelligence when placed in proximity with her son. ‘Take him away and feed him, Dulcia. He is about to start sounding as enraged as a bull—’
She broke off, with a gasp.
‘What is it?’ Brand asked, alert.
‘Ward’s tripped…’
This time she was overwhelmed, for the man who broke the thread was one of the Magor.
‘Elysium’s bliss,’ she said, her voice breathless in her delight, ‘Brand, it’s Garis!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Garis. The last time Ligea had seen him in person, he’d been eighteen years old, and he’d called her a dangerous killer and told Brand to put a blade through her. His horrified anger at the time had been understandable; he’d just seen her remove Pinar’s child from the woman’s still warm body and he’d had no idea she was trying to save both the baby—by giving him to the Mirage Makers—and the Mirage Makers, by giving them a new life to absorb in order to strengthen their entity.
He’d seen her again, later, but that was when she’d been no more than an unsubstantial shade, unable to talk. Poor guilt-ridden Garis. He’d been contrite then, defending her to Korden, trying to make amends. Not that Korden would listen. He may have been her cousin, but as one of only ten Margoroth to escape massacre by the Tyranians, Korden had been suspicious of her Tyranian heritage.
Garis was a little older now; another birthday had passed, and there was a new maturity about him. He brought his horse trotting up to the villa, grinning when he saw Ligea and Brand waiting for him at the gate, those tawny eyes of his dancing, his curling lashes as inappropriate as ever on the face of a youth trying to be taken seriously as a man and Magoroth warrior.
He slid from the horse in a rush and held out his left hand. Ligea took it and they stood like that, their cabochons meshed together as they flooded one another with emotions. From Garis, the spate included his guilt and his regret and his apology, as well as his heartfelt joy at the chance to see her again.
Brand watched, and if he resented the closeness they achieved by both being Magor, by being able to communicate in ways that were not possible for him, nothing of it showed on his impassive face. She felt a sense of loss. He will be gone so soon…
‘Your baby?’ Garis asked, still holding her hand.
‘He’s well,’ she answered. ‘Four weeks old and as vociferous as a pack of mountain jackals. Temellin? And Aemid?’
‘Both well. Shades, Sarana, I have so much to tell you! Temellin sent presents. And a letter so long he had to ask the Mirage Makers to supply more parchment for it.’ He grinned at her and went unabashedly to hug Brand. ‘How’s the belly?’ he asked, referring to the potentially fatal sword slash Brand had received across his midriff the last time they had met. Only Garis’ quick thinking had saved the Altani’s life then.
‘Not even the occasional indigestion. Lousy doctoring though—I have a scar the size of a gladiator’s belt.’
‘He plays it for all it’s worth,’ Ligea said, laughing. ‘That scar is the envy of every kid on the farm and the milkmaids think it’s erotic. Anyway, come on inside, and meet the brat.’
‘Ligea pretends Arrant is a nuisance,’ Brand said, ‘but when he’s around, she gets the same sickly sweet expression on her face as the rest of us do…’
‘Only if he’s sound asleep and unlikely to stir,’ she said with feeling.
Arrant was duly produced and exclaimed over, after which Garis was sent off to bathe and change. Less than an hour later, they were eating the evening meal before the sun went down, Gevenan with them. The Ingean was as confrontational as ever, unfazed by the presence of another Magoroth. ‘Hmph,’ he said when introduced, ‘I don’t blame you for growing skin over your pretty gemstone. Not exactly the manly thing to do, is it, to wear sparkly jewels in your flesh?’
Garis shrugged. ‘It makes no difference to our power whether it is covered or not, so it seems only sensible to hide it from Tyranian legionnaires. They have long memories. Especially those who might have served in Kardiastan at one time or another.’ Garis smiled brightly at Gevenan. ‘Would you like me to demonstrate the capabilities of this sparkly jewel of mine?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Ligea said and added, ‘And, Gev, I wouldn’t suggest that you try repeating that bit about being manly and wearing jewellery next time you meet Berg Firegravel.’ Sweet Goddess, why is he being so provocative?
‘Well, what do you expect me to say to the lad?’ Gevenan complained with a wave at Garis. ‘You keep telling me about the strength of Magor power, but when you introduce me to another of your kind, I find he has eyelashes my own daughter would think were too frilly, let alone a fighting man.’
‘Pass me the bread, you uncultured barbarian,’ she said. ‘You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.’
He shrugged. ‘Probably a whole bunch of them scattered from one end of the Exaltarchy to the other.’ He shoved the loaf of bread in her direction.
‘My eyelashes are hardly my fault,’ Garis said, and made things worse by blushing.
‘Oh, pretty,’ Gevenan said and smiled. ‘Now, lad, tell me about this squabble of yours in Kardiastan. Are you going to beat the bastards?’
‘Of course. Eventually.’
‘How? By throwing a few pretty beams of light at them?’
Garis swallowed his ire, and tried to stop the reddening of his cheeks. ‘Yes. That’s right. But it might take longer than we first thought.’
Ligea felt the host of emotions he flicked her way: worry, disappointment, resignation, hope. She signalled the serving maid for some more wine. This was going to be a long story. ‘Did Temellin get my messages via the moneymasters?’
‘He had four by the time I left. Oh, we have put the rumour around that Ligea Gayed is still in Kardiastan, working with the Mirager, just as you asked. The Governor believes it, and he’s furious. I have no doubt that he has sent word of your supposed activities to the Exaltarch.’
‘Good. That will stop Rathrox and the Brotherhood looking for me in Tyrans. I worry that if they know I’m in Tyrans, they’ll torture my moneymaster to see what he knows.’
‘Temellin is worried sick about you. How safe is this place? Who knows about it?’
‘Only Arcadim—my moneymaster. And believe me, he’s not telling anyone voluntarily. The Brotherhood questioned him, of course, as soon as they knew Ligea Gayed was a traitor, but he told them that, having sold my properties, he was no longer my moneymaster. They accepted that. It made sense, after all, seeing they believed me to be in Kardiastan.
‘I have a permanent ward around this place and no one comes or goes without me knowing about it. We have escape routes from here up into the mountains, and are in the process of establishing another hideaway up there in an old ruin. Our Quyriot friends are rebuilding it for us. It is impossible to find without a guide and I intend it to be our training centre. First Farm, this place, will become a supply base, where we w
ill keep the horses, grow food, build and repair weapons and armour.’
‘It’s about as safe as it is possible to be,’ Brand agreed.
‘But I want to know about Kardiastan,’ she said to Garis. ‘Tell me what’s happened there.’
‘There’s a permanent Theuros guard on the borders between the Mirage and Tyrans now. The rebellion elsewhere went well to start with: for a while we controlled all the paveways and the Rift.’
‘But?’ Gevenan asked cynically, hearing the reservation in Garis’ tone. He was leaning back in his chair, arms folded, chewing on a twig he had used as a toothpick.
Garis, frowning, fiddled with his mug as he continued. ‘The Exaltarchy started pouring in more troops as soon as they discovered the attack across the Alps had failed, thanks to you, Sarana. Our problem is that they have no rules. They don’t care what they do to win.’ The bleakness in his eyes said it all.
Pouring herself some more wine, Ligea said, with a bark of humourless laughter, ‘The Exaltarchy must be in shock. They were so proud of the Stalwarts.’
‘Did you know they are hunting down every Kardi they can find in Tyr?’ Garis asked. ‘You have no idea how much trouble it took for me to get out of the city without being found out. I came in via Crestos, working as a hand on a fishing boat. No one checked the crew, so arriving wasn’t a problem. But getting out—! I had to create a diversion at the walls. They are checking everyone at the gates, did you know? Looking for cabochons, I suppose.’
‘Yes, we know,’ Gevenan said impatiently. He speared an olive with the point of his knife and waved it at Garis. ‘So, Magori, just how are you going to throw the sodding Exaltarchy out of your Kardi dustbowl?’ He had been itching to centre the conversation on the military side of things all evening.
Garis refused to take offence. He plucked the olive from the knife—although he must have known that Gevenan had not really been offering it to him—and took a bite. ‘Temel says we won’t be able to rid our land of the legions until there are rebellions elsewhere.’ He popped the rest of the olive into his mouth and switched his attention back to Ligea. ‘His strategy now is to try to stop as many new legionnaires from arriving as we can. We have Magoroth hiding in every port and on ships up and down the coast. If a galley arrives with legionnaires on board, we try to sink it before it makes land.’
He spat out the olive seed. ‘We can’t launch a full-scale attack to drive the legions into the sea. There’s just too few of us, and so many of them. We’ve lost people, you know. Twelve of the Theuros and eight Illusos. Same problem with all of them—they got into a situation where they were overwhelmed while trying to protect ordinary Kardis, and ended up too exhausted, too power-depleted to defend themselves.’ He reached out to the wine bottle.
‘Defending ordinary Kardis?’ Ligea asked, and her heart plunged even before she had the details.
He nodded. ‘New tactics from the legions. When we kill one legionnaire on Kardi soil, as soon as the Tyranians hear about it, they kill the first ten Kardis they come across in the street of the nearest town or village. It doesn’t matter who they are. A pregnant woman and her two small children were three of the first ten to die.’ He shuddered. ‘There was a bloodbath until we realised what was happening. That’s when we lost Magor.’
Gevenan leaned forward, his interest sharp. ‘Now that was clever tactics.’
‘Tactics?’ Ligea glared at him. ‘They were innocents! Tyranian law does not support that kind of murder!’
‘Tyranian law doesn’t support the killing of legionnaires by rebels, either. Whoever ordered the killing of ordinary folk knew his opponent, I’ll bet. In fact, I’ll wager this Temellin fellow stopped harassing the legions as soon as he learned of this, didn’t he?’
Garis nodded. ‘He used his power to get himself inside the Governor’s villa in Madrinya one night. Alone, too. He sneaked into the Governor’s apartments, woke up the Governor—all without any alarm raised, mind you—and told him they had to have a chat.’ He grinned, his eyes dancing at the thought of Temellin’s daring. ‘And to hear Temel tell it, that’s exactly what they did: chat. Of course, the fact that he had his Magor sword with him, and the Governor was just in his nightgown, probably persuaded the man they had things to talk about. They struck a bargain, of sorts. Legionnaires who haven’t yet landed on Kardiastan soil are fair game. Temellin reserves the right to kill those still aboard a ship. But he won’t harass men already stationed on Kardi soil so long as they don’t harass local people. And that’s the way things are at the moment.’
‘That’s—that’s bizarre,’ Brand said. ‘Why the sweet hells would the Governor agree to that?’
‘I imagine that having a man sit on the end of your bed with a glowing sword in his hand might have had something to do with it,’ Gevenan suggested in a lazy drawl. ‘I think I begin to like this Temellin.’
‘But what was to stop the Governor breaking the promise five minutes after Temellin left?’ Brand asked.
‘Think about it,’ Ligea said. ‘All of a sudden he is ruling a peaceful province. Here in Tyr, he’ll be smelling as sweet as a Tyranian rose. Legionnaires are dying on their way there, but that isn’t his fault, is it? You can bet he hasn’t told anyone about any bargain he’s made with the rebels.’
Garis sighed. ‘The disadvantage for us is colossal, though. We’re hobbled.’
‘So what are you doing?’ Gevenan asked.
‘Apart from sinking military ships, you mean? Well, making life as unpleasant as possible for legionnaires, unobtrusively, with as much subtlety as possible. Training ordinary Kardis as soldiers. Making weapons. Preparing.’
‘For what?’ Gevenan asked.
‘For when the whole of the Exaltarchy rises up against Tyr.’
‘Temellin could have ignored the Kardi deaths,’ Gevenan pointed out. ‘After all, what better way to persuade the ordinary man to rise up against his masters than to encourage those very masters to kill Kardi children?’
Garis glared at him. ‘Temellin would never think such deaths acceptable.’
‘More fool him.’
Ligea added coldly, ‘Be warned, Gevenan. I will never accept such “tactics” from my soldiers, never. Remember that.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re in charge. But if you care too much about such things, you won’t win.’
‘Winning at too high a cost is not a victory,’ she snapped, and turned back to Garis. ‘The timing will be critical. Tyr is not going to fall any time soon. We could be fighting this war a decade from now.’
‘What?’ Gevenan exploded. ‘A decade? I’ll have doddered to a death of old age by then! Don’t you dare tell me I’ve got to stay here earning my paltry one gold sestus every year, training a bloody army that will be in their dotage by the time we actually do anything—like actually fight!’
‘Oh, we’ll be fighting all right. I was predicting a date for the end of the Exaltarchy, not the beginning of the fighting. Think, Gev. At the moment you and I have three hundred fighting men and a couple of hundred auxiliaries! It is going to take years to recruit enough men, to find enough money to feed and to pay them, to build up several training farms like this one
—until we have an army large enough to take Tyr.’
‘First Farm. Gods, that explains the name,’ Gevenan muttered. ‘You think big, I’ll give you that. Spell it out for me, Domina. You know I’m slow.’
‘At a guess, it will take five years to build an army, trained in the mountains behind a selection of farms like this one, right across northern Tyrans. Just as we don’t have all our crop stored in the one barn, so to speak. Each farm supplies the food and horses and repairs equipment for the linked training area up in the mountains behind; each has escape routes to Quyr.
‘And no, in one way, I don’t think big. When it comes to the action, I’m thinking small. Small groups of men—cohorts—that’s sixty men,’ she added for Garis’ benefit, ‘with their own leadership and a strong loyalty to their coh
ort.
‘For five years they will be merely raiders. Stealing money and weaponry and armour from the legions, from garrisons, from wayhouses along all the paveways. Stealing pay wagons and tax collections. Raiding slave auctions and slave pens and slave transports. We don’t touch the ordinary citizen, ever. Just the legions and paveways and slavers and anything that belongs to the Exaltarch. After each raid we retreat to the safety of the mountains. And all the time we will be training more men.’
Garis looked doubtful. ‘But won’t the legions find you eventually? Five years is an impossible time to stay hidden. Someone will betray you.’
‘We could possibly lose a farm or two. Possibly even a training settlement in the mountains. But these mountains and the escape routes, they will be our strength. The legions don’t know the mountains—but the Quyriot smugglers do, and they are more than willing to be our guides. A legionnaire who tries to follow a smuggler dies up there. That is almost guaranteed. And, apart from the advantage I have of recognising intended treachery, we have one other huge advantage: the slave network. They are our spies and our informants. We may be betrayed from time to time, but we will also be warned. Men will escape and regroup.’
‘And after five years?’ Garis asked.
‘An uprising across the whole of the Exaltarchy at the same time would be nice. If not, well just us and Quyr and Kardiastan.’
‘And Altan, maybe,’ Brand said. ‘We know they already have rebels there. I can try to coordinate something.’
Gevenan said thoughtfully, ‘So we will fight a different kind of war. Mounted troops, quick forays, ambushes, quick retreats. No traditional battlefields.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Temellin has sent me to spread the idea of rebellion throughout the Exaltarchy,’ Garis added. ‘He’s asked me to travel from here to many of the provinces and vassal states. To foment trouble.’
Gevenan snorted. ‘A lad like you, still green enough to tangle his sword in the baldric when he draws it?’ His glance flicked up and down, in open disparagement. ‘You? Persuade grown men to fight the might of the Exaltarch? Youngster, have you any idea of what it’s like to be a slave and to know other men have the power of life and death over you, that your master can kill you on a mere whim? Because he has a touch of indigestion, perhaps? How easy do you think it will be to persuade someone that scared to join a feckless band of insurgents somewhere?’