Glenda Larke - The Heart of the mirage

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. lahan seemed familiar to me, but then, he looked a lot like

Temellin. I certainly couldn't remember ever having seen him before.

I wanted to ask Temellin, And which one is the Mirager? but was reluctant to have my fears confirmed. From what had been said, it must be the serious-faced Korden, already turning his attention away from me and back to the sword. He picked it up by the base of the blade and handed it, hilt first, to Temellin. 'Let's see if it has been damaged,' he said.