Glenda Larke: The Heart of the mirage

I arched an eyebrow at him. 'Have I finally managed to penetrate that inhuman calm of yours, my Altani friend?'

'The Exaltarch?. You want to be the ExaltarchV

'And why not?'

He continued to stare. Then laughter bubbled up from inside him. He slapped his thigh and roared. I had never heard Brand laugh quite like that before. I waited patiently until the gasping whoops reduced

themselves, via more manageable guffaws, to the occasional chuckle.

'When you've quite finished -' I said.

He gave a final laugh. 'Ah, Ligea, you are really something. The compeer who was a general's daughter might be long gone, but for all that, there's still some of that old Ligea – indomitable, irrepressible Ligea – in this new one. And she's much more likeable.'

'You think I'm being ridiculous.'

He thought about that and then shook his head. 'No. No, I don't. If you say you're going to be Exaltarch, then that's just what you will be. If you say you're going to break the Empire into a thousand pieces, then I'll believe that too. I just wish I could be there to see Ligatan's face when you wave that sword of yours under his skinny nose.'

We both smiled at the thought.

It was Brand who splintered the moment. 'I must go and start the packing while there's still a bit of light in the sky,' he said. He picked up the saddlebags and strolled out.

I lay back on the pallet, planning. There should be a way to preserve the best of the Exaltarchy while doing away with this whole idea of enslaved or tributary states. A loose trade federation, perhaps, with some kind of voluntary tax to maintain peacekeeping forces and tradeways. Yes, that might be possible. The hard thing would be to change an economy and a culture dependent on slave labour…

I drowsed while I waited for him, enjoying my laziness. And was jerked back to alertness by a sound. A rumbling, a deep-throated thundering, a growl, as if the ground itself were venting its rage. My head jerked up in shock, just in time to feel the pallet beneath me take on a life of its own. First it twisted, then it slewed

sideways, humping up at the same time so that I had to grab hold of it to avoid being tumbled onto the floor. I was more puzzled than frightened; I thought it was another trick of the Mirage Makers – until something black flapped by my head, giving out frantic kitten-mews of terror. The red-eyed bird the Mirage Makers had supplied with the house. It wouldn't have been frightened of a change wrought by its makers.

I leapt to my feet, sword already in my hand and flaming into light – and gagged on my horror. A foul stench soured die air around me.

The Ravage.

The floor of the room between me and the door dissolved into writhing blackish slime. The far wall was already crumbling into the foulness, sliding stone by stone under the surface scum. The flagstones beneath the pallet heaved and cracked. The pinions of the black bird scraped my face as it swooped towards the broken wall on its way out; I envied it its wings. I knew I had only moments before the floor disintegrated and plunged me into the corruption of the Ravage.

I whirled, pointing my weapon at the wall closest to me. I sent the power forth to smash against the stones, praying they would give before the onslaught and provide a way to escape. The Mirage was on my side: a hole appeared that was more like a window and far too symmetrical to be wholly the result of my sword-bolt. Even as the floor disappeared from beneath my feet, I pulled myself up into the gap. The wall was thick and there was plenty of room to sit comfortably. I had no intention of lingering, however, and went to jump down on the other side. s

And stopped myself just in time.

There was no ground there. Even in the near-darkness I could see that for twenty paces on the other side of the wall there was only the heaving surface of the Ravage. Shock blanched me.

I looked down. By the light of my sword I could see the monsters thrashing in the depths, swelling with obscene triumph as they tried to reach me with their slavering muzzles. I screamed then: Brand's name.

His voice came back to me out of the darkness, surprisingly calm. 'I'm here. I see you. I'm getting a rope.'

I directed a beam of light his way and found him kneeling at the edge of the Ravage, rummaging through a saddlebag with desperate haste. Behind me the roof of the building toppled, dragging much of the wall I was crouched on with it. Somewhere inside my head I heard a scream of pain that was not mine. The stones I knelt on shifted slightly; narrow cracks opened up under me. A battle, the like of which I could only guess at, raged beneath the wall. And the Mirage Makers were losing.

'Hurry!' I cried, unable to keep the panic out of my voice. This was one time when there was no pleasure in the excitement. A stone tumbled, and I heard the glugging plop it made as it hit the surface of the Ravage and was sucked under.

'I have it,' Brand said. 'Listen, Ligea. I'm saddling up a shleth and attaching one end of the rope to the saddle horn. I'll throw the other end to you. Tie it to the wall, as high as you can. That should give it some height. Then you'll have to come across hand over hand as best you can.'

'Yes.' The word was a croak, not my voice at all. I reached up with my sword and used its power to punch a hole through tjie wall above my head. Rock t

dust showered me. Somewhere to my right several more stones fell into the Ravage. Behind me the rest of the'building had disappeared; my part of the wall was all that remained. I began to shake.

My brief hope that the Mirage Makers would help – build a bridge for me perhaps – had long since died. They were already doing all they could just to maintain this section of the wall so I might live a litde longer. I felt their agony and thought of Pinar's son.

Inside my womb my own baby stirred, making itself felt for the first time. My concern for him was real and compelling – and a revelation. Perhaps there was something of the mother in me after all, but I had no time to think about it.

'Are you ready?' Brand asked.

'Ready.'

The rope sailed across the blackness and I caught it easily. Goddess be thanked for Brand. I threaded the rope through the hole and tied it fast.

'When you're ready,' Brand said.

A portion from the end of the wall tumbled and the rest trembled. I thrust my sword through my belt and seized the rope in both hands. At his end, Brand urged his shleth forward to keep the rope taut, but even so I found my bare toes skimming the surface of the Ravage. I hoisted my feet up and began to swing my way across the horror.

More stones fell, from both ends of the wall this time. The remaining portion was only five or six paces long now. Along the rope I could feel the way the stones shivered.

Something scraped against my leg, drawing blood. I looked down. A green scaled arm, stick-thin and dribbling slime, had reached up to me, raking me with razored claws. It gripped my ankle, digging in

viciously, pulling me down towards an open gape of curved teeth and serrated jaw waiting just below the surface. My forward movement was halted.

I let myself hang by one arm and aimed my cabochon at the creature's body, bringing the gem to light, then changing light to burning coldfire. The golden stream hit the surface of the Ravage and dissipated in a spatter of molten sparks, none of which seemed to harm the thing holding me. In terror, I kicked at it with my free foot, but my bare toes connected only ineffectually with its snout and I ripped my sole open on its serrations. Moreover, the movement made me bounce, dipping me towards the surface simmering below.

'Sod you', I told it and drew my sword. I slashed down, severing the creature's limb at the wrist. The clawed portion remained fastened to my ankle; the rest of the arm fell away into a roiling whirl of blood and slime.