The Heart of the mirage

CHAPTER ELEVEN

expression stuck in my craw, as unwelcome as a fishbone.

'You didn't have any problems getting it?'

'None. She didn't think any of the slaves could lift it, let alone steal it!'

He gave back the ewer and took the sword from me instead, his hands caressing the hide covering, but he didn't unwrap it. Tears glistened and his fingers shook.

Tears? What in all of hellish Acheron was it about this sword that was so damned special?

'I was worried about you,' he said. He was trying to change the subject, to give himself time to regain control of himself. I thought he was acting more as if he'd just had a reprieve from death, than a man who had just retrieved a weapon for his ruler; I could sense relief so deep, nothing less seemed to make sense. Maybe that's it, I thought. Maybe this Mirager was going to kill him if he didn't find it. Maybe it was Temellin's fault it was lost in the first place. He'd told me the day before that I'd saved his life, but I hadn't taken him seriously. Now, I wondered.

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.

Temellin fitted the hilt into his left hand. For a moment it stayed as it was, then the blade was filled with glowing gold light and was translucent no longer. A golden glow played along his skin, and memory awoke in me. That golden woman, my real mother… I tried to focus on that haunting recollection, but details remained elusive.

'Are you particularly attached to your ewer, Derya?' Temellin asked.

Blinking in surprise at the question, I shook my head.

He pointed the sword at the jug and a beam of yellow light shot across the room to burn a hole the size of a child's fist in its side. 'It works,' he said laconically. Then, before I could move, he touched the sword point to my slave collar. 'Let's get rid of this, shall we?' There was a flash of cold light and the collar fell away into pieces on the floor.

'Sweet Melete,' I blurted, and sat down abruptly on the only available stool. I raised my hands to my neck in unfeigned wonder.

'What rank are you, Derya?' Korden asked.

Shock froze my heart. Surely they couldn't know! I licked dry lips. 'Rank? In – in what?'

'What colour is your cabochon?'

I looked at him doubtfully and began to breathe again. 'I don't know what you mean. What's a cabochon?' I had come across the word before, but I couldn't think what it had to do with me. As far as I knew, it was an unfaceted, polished gemstone.

'The stone in your hand, the gem – what colour is it?'

'I – stoneV

'You don't knowY

I shook my head and looked down at my hand. 'There's a gemstone in there?'

He nodded. 'Yes. It would have been there since just after you were born.'

'I didn't know. Or I don't remember knowing. It was always like this… I think. Or was it?' I raised my eyes, confused by tendrils of half-memory. 'There's very little I remember about the time before I left Kardiastan. I was only three or so when I was taken to Tyrans.'

Pinar interrupted, her voice harsh. 'That wasn't what you told the girl Parvana. You only changed your story when you spoke to Temellin. Why?'

I returned her stare, hoping an honest answer would vanquish the obvious doubts she had about me. 'I was afraid she wouldn't trust me if I said I had actually been raised in Tyr.' I looked down at my hand again and touched the lump. 'Apparently, for the first few months I was in Tyrans I refused to open my hand. I think someone – my mother? – had told me not to show it to anyone. Oh, Goddess, was that because the gemstone was uncovered then?' Memory fluttered once more. 'Was that why I kept my hand covered so long? Until the skin grew over the stone that was there?'

It was Temellin who replied. 'It could be. Until the invasion, everyone wore their cabochons openly. We

kept the skin pushed back. Now we all keep them skin-covered, because we feel the less the Tyranians know about them, the better. It doesn't make any difference to their efficiency if they're covered or not. Can't you remember anything about your life here in Kardiastan?'

Efficiency? At what? I shook my head. 'Not really. There was a woman, some fighting, but it's all very vague now. What does the colour of the stone – cabochon – mean?'

'Anyone who has a gem is one of the Magor. But there are three colours. The most common is green. It is not as powerful as the others. Those who wear the green we term the Theuros. If you are a woman and of the Theuros, you are called Theura; a man, Theuri. The next most powerful is red, and that makes you of the Illusos: an Illusa or an Illuser. The highest rank is that of the Magoroth. A Magoroth woman is a Magoria, the man a Magori. Their cabochons are gold. It is the rarest power of all. It is from among the Magoroth that the ruler – whether Mirager or female Miragerin – comes.' He waved a hand around at the group. 'We here all have gold cabochons. We are all of the Magoroth.'

I tried to absorb all that at once, but there were too many blanks. Powerful? The gems had some power? Their hereditary ruler could be a woman*. Acheron's hells, what colour was my stone? I itched to haul out my knife and cut the skin of my palm to take a look. I suppressed the desire. To start with, I didn't want to reveal I carried a knife, and, anyway, the action might not have been in keeping with the character of Derya. I preferred them to think of her as meek, not aggressive.

'Temel, should you be telling her this?' Pinar interrupted again, her face pulled into a frown. 'After

all, we hardly know her. She could be a Tyranian spy. There's nothing to say someone brought up in Tyrans will be loyal to us simply because they are Magor. Especially not when they are untrained Magor.'

'Pinar is right,' Korden agreed. 'We should wait, Temel, until we've had time to question her and ascertain the honesty of her answers.'

Temellin laughed. 'I have already,' he said.

He smiled at me, but Korden maintained a stern facade, backed up with an underlying disapproval. 'Don't say anything else.'

Temellin capitulated. He shrugged, grinning at me.

All the time they were speaking, their emotions flicked around the room, subtly loosed and then curbed as they reinforced the spoken word and layered their conversation with tiers of unspoken meaning. It was too quick, too skilfully done for me to be able to follow in its entirety – a subliminal, foreign language. Its presence challenged me, and my hunter's soul stirred once more. They had picked the wrong person to play games with…

'We are being watched,' said Jessah suddenly. 'By a non-Kardi.'

They all fell silent, heads tilted as if listening. Goddessdamn, I thought, they sense Brand! Why didn't I think of that? Of course they can do all the things I can – and more besides. My heart sped up, my muscles tensed, but I was careful not to look interested.

'She's right,' said the youngest among them – Garis. 'What ought we to do?'

'He's alone. Kill him,' Korden said casually. 'Whoever it is, he is not Kardi.'

I bit my lip in chagrin. T know who it is. It's Brand. He means no harm to you. He's an Altani slave of the Legata's. He must have followed me.'

'So you have the positioning and recognising powers,' Jessah said in surprise. 'And without training. What else can you do?'

I thought of lying, of keeping something back, but decided not to risk it. 'Sense the truth or a lie. Read emotions. Help people not to feel pain. That's all.' That's all? Stated so boldly, it sounded astonishing. I felt sick.

fessah's husband, Jahan, was excited. 'Why,' he said, 'she might just be an Illusa! We must have a look!'

'Magor take it, Jahan! Not now,' Korden growled. He turned to me. 'What do you mean he must have followed you?'

I was careful to tell the truth. 'He saw me take the sword. He must be following to make sure I am all right. He is very protective of me.'

'Oh, a lover,' Pinar said with contempt.

Korden frowned at Temellin. 'How did you manage to miss him on the way here? That was careless, Temel. That kind of mistake could be fatal.' He nodded at Garis. 'Bring him in, lad.'

'Shouldn't I go?' I asked. 'I don't want anyone hurt.'

Garis laughed as if that was a joke, and left.

'He won't hurt Brand, will he?' I asked, my anxiety real. These people had power I knew nothing about, and I began to wonder if I were out of my depth.

¦ 'He won't have to,' Temellin said easily. 'And we're not in the business of killing non-Tyranians, especially not those who have also suffered under the yoke of Tyranian slavery. Quite the contrary.'

It seemed he was right to be so little worried because a few minutes later Garis re-entered the room holding a dazed Brand by the arm. 'He shields his emotions,' he complained. T can't read him. How in the world did he learn to do that?'

'He taught himself,' I said, 'in order to protect his privacy from me. We grew up together. He is like a brother to me. He means no harm. Brand,' I added reproachfully, 'why did you follow me? The truth now. These people will know if you lie.' I continued to speak in Kardi, but he had sufficient knowledge of the language to understand. He had grown up around me and Aemid, after all, although he didn't usually try to speak it.

He answered in Tyranian, taking his cue from me, his tone heavy with reproach. 'You shouldn't be wandering around the streets of a strange city by yourself. I didn't want anything to happen to you. I thought I might be able to help if anything did. So I followed.' The truth, just not the whole truth.

Before he could say any more he was interrupted by Jessah saying, 'Ungar's coming, and she's upset about something.' A moment later, another Magor Kardi came in, a girl of about eighteen or so. 'There's some kind of trouble,' she said without preamble. 'There are legionnaires everywhere. Grouped in almost every square. I've never seen so many. They're all talking about waiting for some kind of a message to act -'

Pinar gave me a sharp look, but she didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Her suspicion was obvious; it flooded the room.

'We'd better play it safe and get out of here, into the escapeways,' said Korden, looking at Temellin. 'We can't risk anything going wrong at this stage.' He allowed his suspicion to leak as well.

T heard there was trouble yesterday,' Brand offered by way of explanation. 'A legionnaire was killed by a Kardi woman. They are looking for her.' He continued to speak in Tyranian, but it was obvious all of them understood what he said.

Temellin glanced at me thoughtfully. 'Perhaps someone recognised you on your way here,' he said. 'I think you're right, Korden. Let's move out now instead of later. All of us.' Intrigued, I noticed that once the decision was made, he was stimulated by the situation rather than worried. The smile he gave me was one of controlled excitement. Goddessdamn, I thought, he's like me.

Pinar was not so happy. 'There's another possible explanation,' she said, her voice harsh to match the turbulence of her suspicion. 'What have you done with your wits, Temel? And what do we intend to do with this Altani fellow?' She began to advance on Brand, and to my surprise he paled and flinched away.

'There's no need for that, Pinar,' Temellin said sharply. 'Brand comes.'

'You can't take a non-Kardi all the way to the Mirage,' she protested.

'We'll discuss it later. Let's go.' He touched my arm. 'Sorry about all this.' He grinned and sounded cheerfully nonchalant. Then he leant over and said something to Brand that I didn't hear. The others were already busy grabbing up Kardi travelling cloaks, collecting packs from other rooms and, as I noticed with increased unease, strapping on Magor swords. We all went downstairs again, where a portion of the floor tiles had been removed in one of the rooms to reveal a set of steps leading underground. A servant hovered, waiting to replace the tiles after us.

'Here, Derya, you take this; it's for you,' Jessah said, and gave me a cloak.

The steps led down into an underground passageway. It was pitch dark and I assumed someone would light a torch; instead, Korden and Garis pulled

out their swords, and the way was illuminated by their uncanny glow.

We walked for a while through a labyrinth of underground passageways, some natural, others excavated, and all obviously once well used. I would have liked to investigate further, but we were hurrying and no one spoke. When we reached a cavern clammy with dribble on the walls and slickness underfoot, Korden called a halt.

'We'll all be meeting back here once we've picked up our passengers,' Temellin explained to Brand and me. 'You two can stay here and wait for us.'

'Not alone,' Pinar said, her tone sharp.

'Garis can stay,' Temellin said. He nodded at the youth. 'Look after them.'

'Guard them,' Pinar amended.

Once only the three of us were left, Brand said in heavily accented Kardi, 'I don't think I like her very much.'

Garis laughed and answered in the same language. 'She is a little abrasive, isn't she? Desert sand in a storm. You might as well make yourselves comfortable; it will be a while before they are back.'

Taking his advice, Brand and I found a dry spot and sat down with qur backs against a rock to rest. Around us, drips of water play a syncopated tune as they hit pools and puddles. Conversation was desultory because none of us knew quite what to talk about. Finally, a bored Garis wandered off to the other side of the cavern where he started examining some of the glistening rock formations by the light of his sword. Brand and I were left sitting in near darkness.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered.

'Not your fault. What did Temellin say to you back in the house?'

¦¦ 'That I was to behave myself or he'd carve out my

balls. If I didn't give any trouble, he'd try to see that I ' kept both my head and my balls. He has a way with

words, this Temellin.' He gave a twisted smile and changed the subject. 'I gather it was you who killed the legionnaire yesterday?'

'He had no manners.'

'Thought it sounded like your handiwork. What did he do? Tread on your toes?'

'A little more than that. Besides, I thought if I killed a legionnaire, none of the Kardi would question my loyalties.'

'Goddess, but you can be a hard-hearted bitch, Ligea!'

I dropped my voice still further. 'Derya. And that's right. I'm a Legata Compeer of the Brotherhood, remember? Trained to kill when necessary.' But even as I said the words I felt uncomfortable. They reminded me too much of Rathrox Ligatan, and I no longer wanted to be equated with him. I stirred unhappily. I had infiltrated traitorous groups in disguise before, but this time something felt desperately wrong with what I was doing. I wondered why. Was it because I was Kardi too? Because I was Magor, as they were – whatever that meant? Because I had lain with one of their number and experienced something so sweet I would never be able to forget it?

'How do we get out of this one, Ligea?' Brand asked.

'Acheron take you, Brand, Deryal Call me Ligea in front of these people and you might just as well slit my throat.' I took a deep breath. 'Just behave yourself for the time being and hope Aemid keeps her mouth shut.' He was silent, so I asked, 'What did Garis do to you?'

'He put his left hand on my back, just a friendly clap in between the shoulder blades as though he was

an old friend. And I could hardly breathe. I was so damn weak I thought I was going to die. They scare me, L- Derya. When that cat Pinar came at me, with her hand upraised, I thought she was going to do the same thing. What are we dealing with here? They can't be – well, they can't be gods, can they?' He sounded as if he doubted his own sanity. 'Or immortals?'

My heart skittered uncomfortably. If they were gods or immortals, then so was I.

He added, 'They are going to question us. About Ligea. What she is doing here.' I thought he was going to ask me what he ought to say, but he didn't. Instead, he said, 'I won't tell any lies, Derya. Not to these people.'

I stared at him, a churning mass of thoughts whirling in my head, striving to deal with the fundamental change in our relationship. Brand was about to be free of his collar. Free to choose his allegiance.

'Will you betray me?' I whispered. The thought hurt more than I would ever have considered possible.

'Do you know me so little?' he asked, and I heard his bitterness. T will say nothing that will put you in danger, but I'll tell no lies to save the Exaltarchy or the Brotherhood, either. I'm free now, Derya, and I'll choose my own friends and allies.'

I was silent.

He added, 'Anyway, they know a lie for what it is the moment it's uttered, don't they?'

'Probably.' I stared at my palm, and had to resist the temptation to reach for my knife yet again. I would find out soon enough.

Garis came back to join us then, and we spoke of other things. Apparently the passengers Temellin had referred to were escaping slaves, a mass exodus of some one hundred Kardis who had been hiding out in

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.

When Temellin reached us he lifted a hand to Garis and Brand, then touched my shoulder in greeting, unstrapped his sword and sat down. Someone produced some food for him and he accepted gratefully.

'Everything all right?' he asked Garis, but didn't wait for an answer. 'Brand, you must be the only person here who is still wearing a slave collar; let's get rid of that, shall we?' He unsheathed his weapon,

touched it to the collar and in a brief flash of light the bronze circlet dropped away just as mine had.

Brand picked up the pieces, held them in his hands for a moment, his knuckles white, then flung them into the heart of the fire. 'Thank you,' he said quietly. 'A little earlier than I anticipated, but why the turd not?' He looked up and grinned at us all. 'Goddess, that feels good. Can I assume I am going to be allowed to keep my head on my shoulders?'

'If Derya trusts you,' Temellin said between mouthfuls of bread and beans.

'I do. And I have known Brand since he was twelve.'

'Then that is good enough for me.' Temellin looked at me. 'Derya, I'm sorry I've had to neglect you; there has been much to do.'

I smiled at him, surprised by the amount of pleasure I took in knowing he felt there was a need to apologise. 'That's all right,' I said. 'But I do have a great many questions.'

He stood, brushing the last of the crumbs from his trousers. 'Come for a walk with me.' I jumped up with alacrity and he handed me my travelling cloak. 'Take this; it's always cold out here at night.'

We walked away from the campfires down towards the water's edge. In the darkness the lake was a purple sheet, the only noise the occasional burp of frogs. 'It's beautiful, isn't it?' he asked. 'These vales, they are all part of what we are. We don't believe in Tyranian gods. We believe that every living thing has a life-force we call the essensa, a sort of personal spirit, or personality. Therefore we must treat every living thing with respect.'

I almost snorted. 'You cut the reeds. You kill to eat. Is that respectful?'

He laughed. 'Maybe not. We are also very pragmatic in our faith. But it's a pleasing belief anyway, because

» it stops us from waste, or taking life unnecessarily. It's

better than having a god of war in the pantheon, surely! And to be respectful to a living being seems better than kissing the feet of a marble statue and praying for selfish desires to be granted, doesn't it?' It crossed my mind that this man had been well schooled, and back in Tyr he would have made a fine orator.

'I suppose so. I've never been much of a one for worshipping Melete. Or any other deity.'

Now that we were away from the light of the fires, he put his arm around my shoulders. 'It seems a year since yesterday,' he said. He touched his left palm to mine and I was awash with knowledge of his desire for me.

'Tem -' I tried to remain detached. 'Is it always like it was yesterday?'

'Between those of the Magor? Yes, it can be. But yesterday, yesterday was – I've never felt quite that way' He ran a hand through his hair. 'I've never behaved quite like that before. I've never met anyone who had such an immediate physical effect on me.'

Neither had I. I was silent, aware of his bemused embarrassment seeping into the air around me.

'Derya,' he said finally. 'I think we were both taken by surprise. The Magor are drawn – physically drawn.- to one another through the power of their cabochons. Usually we keep.., well, we keep an almost unconscious rein on that kind of desire. But you knew nothing of that, and I responded to what I felt from you without thought. Next time, if there is a next time, I want it to be a conscious decision on your part, not just a gut reaction to a stimulus. Besides, there are some things you should know before you tie yourself to me, to anyone of us, with those kind of ties.'

"What sort of things?'

The hesitation before he spoke was telling. 'I am a Magori. After the invasion, there were only ten of the Magoroth left – all children, of whom Korden was the oldest. It is imperative more such are born, but the only way we can be sure that will happen is for a Magoria to have children by a Magori. In any combination of ranks, the children are more likely to be of the lesser rank. But we need the golds, the Magoroth. We need them desperately, Derya, because they are the ones who have the real power.'

'And you think I am not a Magoria? How can you know that?'

'I don't think it's possible. There weren't all that many Magoroth children even at the time of the invasion. We know who they were, and how they died, if they did indeed die. As for those who lived, well, we know where they are, too.'

I was flooded with disappointment; it would have been advantageous to have as much power as they did. Then I woke up to the significance of what he'd said, and almost laughed. The man was worried about me forming an attachment to him. Me – a Compeer of the Brotherhood! The idea of losing my heart to him, to any of them, was ludicrous. I kept a straight face. 'So what you are saying is that our, um, union has no future. That sooner or later you will choose a life-mate from the Magorias.' As if I cared.

His lips twisted. 'There's not all that much choice. There's only one unmarried Magoria who's more than twenty years old.' He bent to pick up a stone and then flipped it away across the water, where it bounced several times before disappearing into the darkness. 'We – those of the Ten – we lead these people, Derya. One day we will lead this country.

None of us get to have that many choices.' He turned towards me, his face shadowed and emotions concealed.

In spite of my amusement, I felt an unexpected lurch of regret at the loss of what might have been. What I had felt in his arms had been physically wondrous, and I was sorry I might never know it again. Still, I hardly knew this man, certainly wasn't contemplating a lifetime commitment, was even intending to betray all he held dear: so why did what he was telling me matter? 'Never mind. I can live for the present and face the future when it comes.' I looked down at my palm. 'We're not born with these things implanted, are we? You said something about mine having been in my palm since just after I was born.' Tell me I am not a god, or an immortal. Tell me this is something done to me, by ordinary men.

'Yes. Our powers are usually latent or hard to access; it is the implanting of the cabochon, the sooner the better, that allows the powers to reach their potential. Children are later trained to use those powers. I'm not going to tell you right now about how the cabochons are implanted, or how the colour of the cabochon is decided upon. The cabochons are what make the Magor what we are; without them, we would be mere shadows of what is possible.'

'At death, what happens to the cabochon?'

'It falls to powder. It can never be used again. And if it is removed while you live, your death follows. If it is accidentally cracked, then your powers leak away.'

I changed the subject. 'Korden doesn't like me. But you said he would be delighted to see me -'

He was puzzled. 'No, I don't remember saying that. «»* Whatever gave you that idea?'

'You said the Mirager would -'

'The – oh!' He laughed. 'Korden is not the Mirager, Derya.'

'He's not? Then who is?' But I knew already. 'Oh, sweet Melete – you7. You're the -?' The one they couldn't torture, the one they couldn't burn. He was the man I was sent to capture. I was so shocked at my error, my knees buckled and he had to put out a hand to hold me. How could I have made such an elementary mistake? Stupidity like that could cost me my life. I felt a numbing shame. Where in all the mists had I laid my commonsense? Between my legs, for me to have been so easily overwhelmed by my physical response to a handsome man?

'Derya, what's wrong? Does it matter that much?'

T – No, I don't suppose so.' It was hard to speak, to put the coherent deception together without uttering a lie. 'It's – just that – yesterday I was just me. And now I find I've lain in a – a ruler's arms -' I gave a weak laugh. 'I'm such a fool.' You could say that again.

He took me in his arms once more and held me, brushing my hair with kisses, crooning to me as though I were a child. I felt like a child. Where was the compeer of the Brotherhood now? Where was my strength, my objectivity, my wits? Not so long ago, I had been one of the most powerful women in the Exaltarchy, now I was just a stupid female so caught up in the net cast by an attractive man that I was no longer in command of my senses.

'Was it you they tried to burn in Sandmurram?' I asked finally. Is it possible?

He nodded briefly, dismissing the incident as unimportant. 'Don't blame Korden for his mistrust of you,' he said. 'Or Pinar, either. They are both old enough to remember the invasion, the parents they

lost, the world that was destroyed. Korden is the oldest of the Magoroth, another nephew of the last Mirager, just as I am, yet I was the heir, not him, simply because my father was older than his. He finds that hard to remember sometimes. He thinks he could do a better job than me, you see. It is a situation that has made him more than my friend: he is my conscience. He feels it is his duty to keep me from making mistakes. And it is hard for him – for Pinar too – to trust you because they look at you and see Tyrans.'

I nodded. 'I think – I think I'll go back to the fire. I need to think things over.'

'Good idea. I, um, wasn't thinking of coming to you tonight, Derya. There are, er, complications.'

'You mean Pinar, of course.' The only unattached Magoria over twenty; I knew it with certainty. I'd seen the way she looked at him.

'We are not lovers, not yet, and for the time being we go our own ways, but she will be Miragerin-consort one day, and I would not insult her by lying in the arms of a lover so publicly. Perhaps elsewhere, if you accept or want a – a – temporary relationship. If that reeks of hypocrisy, well, I'm not in a position to be honest. I'm the Mirager. I'm sorry if that hurts you, but it is the way things are.'

It should have been amusing. Here was someone apologising for not taking me to bed, apologising because he was afraid he was about to hurt my feelings. How Rathrox Ligatan would have laughed. He trained his compeers to have no feelings, to use their bodies without compunction to further the interest of the task in hand. But I was more intrigued than amused. I thought, How he hates himself for this! Temellin was trapped in an impossible situation, and

no matter which way he twisted he would not like what he did.

I shrugged my indifference. 'Who am I to object? I have no claims on you. You did not speak to me of permanence. I have known you for a little over a day. I found something special in your arms. I would like to find it again. I can wait.' They were the words of a compeer intending to use this man and wrench out the heart of the Kardi insurgents and their terrorism – but there was truth in them too. I wanted to feel his arms about me again; I wanted to know the secret of the way I had felt when I had lain in his arms. I had found something then that most people never know, and it was hard to turn my back on it deliberately.

He touched my face with gentle fingers. 'Don't talk to Brand about the cabochons or such matters. It is better he does not know too much of what we are.' He bent to kiss me, but the brush of his lips meant a return of the memory of what his lovemaking had wrought the day before. It was far too easy to be seduced by that recollection. I felt like a moth, blinded by the allure of the torch, risking the scorch of its heat. I strove to tear myself free of the attraction.

'Goodnight, Temellin,' I said, hoping I sounded coolly collected.

I walked away from him back towards the campfires, pulling my cloak tight about me, feeling I'd just been spat out of a whirlwind. For the first time, my private life and my mission on behalf of the Brotherhood were at war and I didn't know what I was going to do. I was disgusted with myself, with my lack of control over my emotions. Damn them all to Acheron – how could I feel this way?

I battled to start thinking sensibly again, and when I did, my heart skidded somewhere down to stomach

level. If Temellin was the Mirager, then his behaviour that day, and the day before, was strange. What else had been going on unnoticed by me because I was too • busy thinking with my senses instead of my head? If I understood the situation correctly, Temellin was the leader of an insurgency. The man who would be ruler of the country, if they had their way.

But rulers did not normally go looking for lost property in person, not even precious property. They sent other people to do it for them. Nor did they risk their lives seeking out slave girls who could have been the bait in a rat trap. A ruler was too precious to risk.

And yet he was the Mirager; he hadn't been lying about that. So what was going on? What had I missed? Why had he risked himself to seek me out?

I was so engrossed in my private maelstrom I took no notice of the cloaked figure standing between me and the fires, until an arm shot out and clutched at me as I went to pass by. Startled out of my reverie I looked up. It was Pinar. 'Where's Temellin?' she asked harshly.

I gave a vague wave of my hand, knowing she could have sensed his whereabouts if she had really wanted to know. 'He went back that way' I tried to move on, but Pinar's hand, resting now in between my breasts, stopped me.

T know you for what you are,' she said. 'I can see what they are all blind to. You mean to betray us.'

I did not deign to answer. I attempted to brush past, but the hand stayed me. I was suddenly breathless, as if I had been running. 'Let me be, Pinar. You've no cause for jealousy tonight,' I said. But I could not pass. I felt her cabochon push against my heart, and the answering arrhythmia of the beat. I staggered and tried to push her away, but my arms felt weak. I wanted to scream, but no sound would come.

'I can't let you kill us all,' she said, her voice rough with dislike. 'You're just a Tyranian brute in Kardi disguise. You sold your birthright. It's better you die here, now, at my hand. I don't care what they all say; I know I'm right -'

I could not believe what was happening. I was dying. I knew half a dozen ways to kill using my bare hands – and I was helpless. I had just seconds before my heart stopped its beating. Goddess, J couldn't end like this, dead in this desert world, aged not yet thirty. Not me. My left hand crept upwards to Pinar's breast, each inch closer a desperate act of will and pain with no chance of ultimate success. This was power I knew nothing about. Magor magic. I was untrained, of a lesser rank -

I tried to send out my terror to alert the Magor, but I appeared to be cocooned within a barrier of her making. And she let nothing slip by. I tried to fight, but I knew nothing of the weapons – not hers, or mine.

I fell to my knees, incapable of resistance, so weak I couldn't even whisper a protest to the woman who was murdering me. My left hand was no longer part of me.. It moved on without my knowledge; it had a feeble life of its own and I was aware of it with a curious detachment. I saw it travel across the edge of my vision, reaching out to touch her just as she was touching me. The fingers uncurled and the cabochon on the palm rested against Pinar's breastbone.

And she smiled, not even bothering to brush it away. 'What can you do?' she whispered, her triumph foul in my senses. 'I am a trained Magoria.'

In the seconds before death I remembered my mother, my real mother, bathed in gold and blood, giving the battle cry of the Magor. Words I must have understood then, and remembered now. My lips

formed the shape of that heartfelt cry: Fah-Ke-Cabochon-rez! Hail the power of the cabochon!

I fell face down in the sand, blood rushing through me to obey the renewed vigour of my heart. I lay there, gathering strength to me as if it were a tangible thing in the air, to be seized on and imbibed. Then warm strong hands were holding me, lifting me, hugging me to a muscled chest.

'Temellin?'

'Brand, damn you! Are you all right?'

'She wanted to kill me. She tried – what happened?'

'You flung her away from you.'

'I did? Where is she?'

'She picked herself up and ran. She saw me coming, I think. She was crying. Are you sure you're all right?'

I stood back from him. 'Yes, I think so.' Crying? Pinar? Thanks -' I took a deep breath. 'You followed me,' I accused, anything not to think about what had just happened.

He shook his head. 'Don't flatter yourself. I came out for a leak. And then I saw her, and wondered what she was up to. I saw you both, but I thought you were just talking. It was too dark – Goddessdamn, I almost let her kill you thinking you were having a conversation!'

'Never mind. I'm all right. Let's go back to the fire.' I leant against him, still weak. As we walked, I said, 'Brand, Temellin is the Mirager.'

'Yes, I know.'

'You knewV

'Yes, of course. That was obvious.' He turned his face to look at me in surprise. 'Li- Derya, you didn't knowV

I was silent, shamed by his surprise.

'You seem to have been uncharacteristically dense. And I'm surprised you let Pinar get within pissing distance of you, too. Couldn't you see the way she has been looking at you? She loathes everything you stand for and, unlike the rest of these gullible folk, she has a pretty good idea just what it is you represent. What worm has addled your wits?'

I did not answer. He was right to ask the question, though.

That night as I lay on my pallet of reeds, I tried to persuade myself that all I felt for Temellin was lust: easily satisfied, easily forgotten once satisfied – and knew I was fooling myself. When I looked at Temellin, I lusted – but I also saw, for the first time in my life, a man I recognised as being the mirror of myself. Temellin responded to power and responsibility and excitement the same way I did: he was stimulated. We fed on those things, the way most folk thrived on security and routine. Challenged, we came alive… We were two of a kind.

And that was, at best, intriguing, appealing, unsettling; at worst, worrying. A mirror image had the power to shatter a reflection.

Such a man had the means to bring me down.

The next day, I came face to face with Pinar as the morning meal was being doled out from the pots at the fire. She gazed at me, emotions safely corralled behind her eyes. Temellin and Garis and Korden were all within hearing, so she was scrupulously polite. 'Good morning, Derya,' she said. 'How are you feeling this morning? You looked as if you had some indigestion last night.'

'Indeed I did.' I held out my plate for my share of porridge. 'Must have come across something… rotten.'

'You should be more careful.'

'Oh, I will. In future.'

'Tell me, Derya, what sort of slave were you?'

I had been about to turn away, but her words halted me. All instincts alert, I wished I could feel through the barriers she erected. 'A reluctant one. Why?'

'Well, there are different kinds of slaves, are there not? Whores for the military brothels, for example. Pallet slaves for officers, that kind of thing. I couldn't help but notice your hair has been well cut, your hands are not roughened with hard work. So I wondered if

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