Glenda Larke - The Heart of the mirage

He may not have known much about the working of the Exaltarchy in Tyr, but he had sense, this man. Sense enough to see the weaknesses in a story. He continued, 'They say she is the daughter of a general. General Gayed the Baby Butcher. How did the daughter of a general get to be an agent of the Brotherhood? She is highborn! Her father was an honoured legionnaire commander, friend to the Exaltarch.'

Baby Butcher? I bristled, but kept a tight hold on my emotions. 'Well, people don't explain things like that to a slave, you know. But rumour in the household said Gayed sent her to the Brotherhood because he didn't have a son to give to the legionnaires. It was an odd thing to do, but the General was a proud man who put his patriotism first, always. He was – well, honourable would be the best word to describe him, I suppose. He believed he had a duty as a citizen of Tyr.'

He stared at me, leaking strong irritation. At a guess, he didn't like the word 'honourable', but I hadn't been about to let the calumny of 'Baby Butcher' pass unremarked. He took a deep breath and returned to the original question. 'Tell me more about Ligea. What is she like?'

My shleth reached out with one of its feeding arms and began to comb the wool of Temellin's mount, looking for blood-sucking lice, I supposed. I said, 'She's not yet thirty. She's tough. Hard even, but fair. She doesn't suffer fools gladly. She would never mistreat a slave, but people are afraid of her. She has a reputation. They say if you cross her, then you're doomed.' All true enough.

'Are you afraid of her?'

'She's never given me cause.' My shleth edged closer to his, and I had to pull it away. The two beasts were making interested noises at one another, and I was irritated. I wanted to focus on our conversation, not be diverted by the necessity of keeping overly amorous mounts separated, i;

He said, 'You've given her cause enough to be angry now.'

I gave a smile. 'But I am safe, aren't I? I'm sure you don't think she will find her way to the Mirage, do you?'

'No likelihood at all. Why is she here, in Kardiastan?'

'As I understand it, she is supposed to find you. They heard the rumours you survived being burnt at the stake. Her mandate is to find the Mirager and – eliminate him as a danger to the Exaltarchy.'

'Why send her, and not someone else?'

'Elysium's bliss! Is it likely a slave would know that?'

He grinned at me. 'Silly question. Sorry. I suppose I , should be surprised you know as much as you do.'

'Ah, slave quarters are the best place to hear gossip, believe me. It's amazing how much does travel between households, and how accurate it is.'

He looked round and waved to Brand, beckoning him over. 'Brand,' he said as the Altani drew up at his side, 'how well do you know the Legata?'

Brand shrugged. 'How well does a slave ever get to know their master? I was bought for her when I was about twelve and she was ten. I was supposed to guard her, as well as be at her beck and call. She was a little brat, full of herself then. Rude, abrasive, spoiled, demanding. Used to get into one scrape after another, most of which I got blamed for. She improved with age.'

'How so?'

'Learned to be a shade more considerate. Learned that cooperation gains you more than belligerence. She's intelligent. Bit of a slow learner with respect to social relationships, but she gets there in the end. Gullible sometimes, though.'

I glared at him when Temellin wasn't looking. My mount, annoyed by the presence of Brand's beast, acted as if he was equally peeved.

'Really?' Temellin asked, disbelieving.

'She was used by her father to further his own grasping ends, but she could never see it. She worshipped the ground he walked on. Still does, for all that the bastard is dead.'

I gritted my teeth and slapped at the feeding arm of my mount.

'So he didn't push her into the Brotherhood out of the kindness of his heart, to give her a distinguished career?' Temellin asked.

Brand snorted.

'What did he want, then?'

'I'm not sure. Some said in the slave quarters "that he did it because his wife, Salacia, didn't want her around,' Brand replied. 'That could have been true too, because Salacia didn't care a pebble for Ligea. But Gayed didn't care a rat's arse for her, either.'

'Brand exaggerates,' I said. 'He just didn't like the General.'

Brand nodded. 'That last is right. The man was cruel to the point of sadism. A bastard who was indifferent to the suffering of his underlings, even his own soldiers. He was vindictive and unscrupulous.'

It was just as well my mount took that moment to nip at Temellin's. It gave me an excuse to swear and drop back behind the two of them. I could have wrung Brand's neck. How dare he speak of my father that way?

The next two days were spent travelling through country much like that between Sandmurram and Madrinya: arid plains and plateaux, with lush shallow valleys hunkering low in between. We kept away from settlements; we saw no Tyranians, although I knew even this back country was regularly patrolled by legionnaires.

When I had an opportunity, I told Brand exactly what I thought of him. He retaliated with some remarks about purblind females, self-delusion and being ruled by the emotions. Which was – ironically – almost the same spiel Gayed had regularly dealt out to me when I was growing up. I called Brand a myopic crank, so blinded by the hatred of a system that he couldn't see the virtues of an upright man. After that, we mostly avoided each other.

Gradually the large group split up, Temellin evidently deeming it safer. Smaller groups were more

manageable and left fewer signs behind in passing. It was with relief that I noticed Pinar disappear on the second day accompanied by a batch of ten or so Kardis.

I spent a lot of time watching Temellin for signs that would tell me this was a man who was more than just a man, that he was a being who could resist torture and his torturers, who could rise above his degradation to laugh in the face of a woman come to his death cell to use him, who could survive a conflagration lit to consume him. I watched, but I saw none of it.

I saw only a man with a great deal of energy, who always seemed to be on the move, cajoling, encouraging, urging those under his care. I envied the easy camaraderie he had both with the ordinary Kardis and with the Magor, especially when I noted he also had their respect. If he gave an order, it was obeyed instantly by the same people who might tease him around the campfire at night, or insult him with cheeky banter in their more relaxed moments.

Wherever the Mirager was, there was laughter, often his own. He laughed a lot; not with the cynicism that marked Brand's amusement, but with full-hearted humour of the kind that came from a love of life, a love of mankind. And in the back of my mind, I wondered about that laughter: how could he who must have seen so much that hurt him, still regard the world with such childlike joy?

'Is he always so good-humoured?' I asked Garis once as we rode side by side.

'Temellin? Most of the time, yes. That's the kind of fellow he is.' He looked across at the Mirager with an expression that was almost tender. 'But he's got a temper, too. Cabochon help you if he ever loses it. His

tongue could sizzle a carcass over cold ashes, and he's not beyond lashing out physically, either, when he's really riled. Takes a lot to get him that mad, though,' he added. 'And his anger always has an understandable cause.'

'You look a lot like him. Are you related?'

'Only distantly. My parents were not Magoroth. I'm one of those odd cases where a higher rank emerges from marriage between lower; it happens occasionally. But the others – they are all related. Each rank tends to marry people of their own rank, you see, because no one likes to dilute the Magor blood they have, especially not now. Korden and Temellin and Pinar are all first cousins. Jessah and Jahan are brother and sister, Ungar is Korden's wife's cousi-'