Glenda Larke - The Heart of the mirage

safe houses all over the city. We – the Magor – would lead them to safety in the Mirage.

'How long will it take?' I asked.

'A few days. And please don't ask me anything about the Mirage, because I don't know if I should tell you.'

I indicated the cavern. 'Can you tell us about this? Did you build these passages, this cavern?'

'A lot is natural. The rest was built by the people of Madrinya and the Magor. These were once underground cellars and coolrooms, storage rooms. When Madrinya fell to Tyrans, the underground portion of the city was hidden by the Magor who survived. We have used it ever since.'

I tried to extract more details, but he smiled and ' didn't reply.

Gradually people began to arrive in the cavern in groups.

The ordinary Kardis were too caught up in their own fears to be interested in us, but there were more Magor with them; even in among so many people I could sense that much. They came across and introduced themselves. They were friendly, but distant. I saw Pinar talking to some of them, doubtless warning them not to trust either Brand or me.

And then they were all moving, a river of people flowing through the dimness towards a new life, and we were caught up in the current. Attuned to their emotions, I felt their subdued jubilation, their suppressed excitement. I said to Brand, 'They are so happy! I don't think I've ever felt such joy from so many people all at once. It's – it's almost contagious.'

Beside me, Garis laughingly swooped down on a toddler who was giving his mother problems. 'Eh, now, none of that, my lad,' he said, and hoisted the boy

onto his back, where he eventually went to sleep, his head on Garis's shoulder.

His mother gave a sigh of relief. 'Many thanks, Magori,' she said. 'He's been a right proper handful with me since his Dad died, but he obeys smartly enough when the order comes from a man.' She was a short woman, her arms and legs balled with muscle, her torso thin. She was not wearing a slave collar, but then none of those around us were, either.

'Were you a slave?' I asked, curious.

'Oh, aye. Me and my man both.' She jerked a thumb at her son. 'He was born a slave. Don't seem right, do it, that someone can be born unfree? My man, he died a slave, and that don't seem right neither. He worked in the Master's stables, and a gorclak gored him. Took him three weeks to die, it did.' She looked at Garis with troubled eyes. 'My mother used to talk of the olden days when the Magor walked with us, and she said they were healers. Magori, could you have cured my man if we could have got him to you?'

Garis looked unhappy. 'I can't say. Perhaps not, if the injuries were very bad. All we have is the ability to hurry along the healing process. We can't work miracles, you know. But your man wouldn't have died in pain.'

The woman shook her head sadly. 'It will be good when the Magor rule our land once more. Don't let it be too long, Magori. We are tired of waiting.'

Brand bent to whisper in my ear. 'So much for all the things Tyrans offers: the peace, the trade, the stability, the prosperity. Take note, Derya: nothing is more important than being free. Free to choose one's own form of government, one's own way of living – or dying.'

Garis, who had caught the end of this, said with

* suppressed savagery, 'They will have it, and soon. We,,

too, are tired of waiting.'

I wanted to reply, to defend Tyrans. To defend a way of life. But I couldn't, not if I wanted to maintain my new identity. And I had an uncomfortable feeling that any argument I used would sound worn anyway. I thought sourly: They'd rather have anarchy and war than stability. They don't know how to rule themselves. They don't know when they are better off.

As if he'd heard me, Brand added in a whisper, 'Did you enjoy your own taste of slavery, Derya?'

We walked for two hours in the semi-darkness and then the passage disgorged us into that brilliant sunlight and blue sky of Kardiastan. I looked around for Temellin, to see him giving orders, organising, directing the crowd. The others of the Magor were equally busy, and there were still more of them I hadn't seen before. The bare earth in front of us was crowded with pack shleths, howdah shleths and shleth riding hacks. I marvelled at how all of this had been brought together in such a short time.

It seemed the escapeway emerged at the edge of the vale of Madrinya, because beyond the shleths a dry plateau stretched into the distance, the brown sands marbled through with red and gold, the wind-sculpted rocks standing guard over the patterning. When I glanced in the other direction, I could see the city already separated from us by the green of fields and trees.

'We came that far under the ground?' Brand asked in awe. 'And their organisation – Vortex take it, Derya, no wonder the legionnaires can't catch them.'

I didn't reply.

Someone handed me a waterskin and I drank deeply before passing it on; it was followed by some grain-cakes. Only when I bit into one did I know I had been hungry.

In a surprisingly short time we were all mounted, the children and the more elderly or infirm in howdahs, everyone else on shlethback. I saw Temellin cajoling an aged man up into a howdah and heard him say gently, 'Yes, I know you'd rather ride, but I need you to keep an eye on these children in the howdah. They need a strong hand.'

Several of the Magor stayed behind; others, including Korden, rode in the lead as guides. Garis remained with Brand and me, chatting cheerfully on inconsequential subjects as we rode, ignoring the fact that neither Brand nor I had much to say. Gradually Madrinya dropped out of sight behind us.

Just before nightfall we rode down into another valley and made camp not far from the edge of a lake. There were no signs of habitation, no farms, no tracks – nothing to indicate anyone had ever been that way before. On the valley slopes, thick forest alternated with; scrubby meadow; along the lake edge, marsh-willows jostled reed beds for access to the water. By the time Garis, Brand and I rode in past the outermost guards, hobbled shleths were spreading out along the shoreline to drink and feed, fires had been lit and meals cooked. Men were collecting dried reeds to use as bedding. Four-winged fisherbirds trailing long legs wheeled over the water in their evening gathering flights, while tiny marsh monkeys, scampering along the reed tops, chattered warning.

Before dismounting, I paused a moment to watch Temellin. He was cutting reeds with his sword, his bare back glistening with sweat, the swinging movement of

f his arm fluid and strong. Desire tingled my skin \ unasked, and I clamped down on my straying thoughts. When a small girl toddled past on her way to the water, Temellin dropped his sword and scooped the child up; she was far too young to be heading for a lake by herself. As I swung down from my mount, his laugh rang out over the camp.

It was not until I was sitting by the fire eating the hot coal-baked bread stuffed with desert beans that I saw him again. He was making his way across the camp, stopping first at one fire, then another. His voice reached me in snatches: 'Don't worry, it's only a small cut… No, you're not slowing us down… He's a real handful, isn't he? But lots of fun… Take care of that sprain of yours, Vessa…'

He had a cheerful word for everyone and people responded accordingly, their faces breaking into smiles as he approached, their eyes following him warmly as he left. I felt a pang of envy. He had something I did not: the ability to inspire trust and respect in the people he helped to lead. All I had ever done was make people fear me. In that, I was more like Korden. Stern-faced and more taciturn, he also moved among the assembled crowd. They listened carefully when he spoke, nodding their acquiescence, their acceptance of his leadership – but their eyes didn't shine.