The Heart of the mirage

'I'm worried about you; you are still so weak.'

'I'll wait until tonight. I might feel stronger by then. I thought of trying to destroy as many of their weapons as I can. After all, what damage can an army do if it has nothing to fight with?' I gave him a wan, joyless smile and went to lie down. At least, I thought, it was days since we'd seen any sign of the Ravage. One less thing to worry about. Or was it? Perhaps it was watching, biding its time. Mostly, though, I was just too tired to spare it a thought.

The legionnaires spent their time mending tents and replenishing supplies. The purple ducks found their way into cooking pots, minus decorative ribbons, and so did a great many rabbit-like creatures scuttling around in the grass. Only when the camp had settled

into sleep that night did I turn once more to my cabochon.

Once again I moved the air, this time creating eddies to sweep the ground, catching up dust and grit. I moved this warmer air from the plains down to the riverside, cooling it along the ice-cold waters of the river, where the moisture in it became mist, then fog; a thick suffocating blanket of moisture and dust. I rolled it across what was left of the camp – there were fewer tents now – and setded it there.

'Time to go,' I said softly to Brand. 'Let's get this over and done with.'

He squinted into the fog. 'How? I can't see a thing.'

'I can sense where people are, and who they are,' I reminded him. 'And I can enhance my hearing too, if necessary. Come.' I led him past the fog-clad sentries, unseen and undetected, into the heart of the camp.

I ignored the tents and aimed for those legionnaires lying on the ground, wrapped tight in whatever blankets or pelts they had, their heads covered to escape the damp. I moved from one sleeping bundle to the next, seeking out the weaponry that lay close at hand to each legionnaire: swords, lances, spears, arrows. A short burst of cold light from my cabochon and the metals melted, rendering the weapons useless. Whenever I sensed someone was awake I avoided them. It hardly mattered; I didn't have the power to destroy every weapon they had. My aim was not to leave them entirely defenceless, but to reduce their fighting potential to a degree sufficient to force them to turn back.

By the time we had circled through most of the sleeping men, I was leaning against Brand and staggering. The flash from my palm had become a

mere gleam, the results less spectacular. 'It's time to go,' Brand whispered.

I could have used the power in my sword to continue, but it was less subtle and already people were awakening. We could hear agitated cries from the other side of the camp. I nodded my acquiescence.

'Which way is out?' he asked. The fog was as thick as ever and he had no idea where we were.

I pointed in the correct direction. 'Goddess, Brand, I am so tired…' I drooped against him, and in my fatigue, my powers failed me. I was not aware of Favonius's approach until he had actually loomed up out of the fog, close enough to touch.

His enraged voice lashed at me through my tiredness. 'I knew it! It is you!' He seized my left hand and looked at my palm. The golden glow of the uncovered cabochon was just visible. He flung my arm away in a gesture of distaste. 'I knew it had to be something to do with that lump of yours; it's you who has sorcerous powers! Well, there's no way the Stalwarts will retreat before one person, and a woman at that. Go to the Goddess, Ligea -'

His sword was out and aimed at my throat before I could move. But he had forgotten Brand, forgotten Brand wasn't a slave, forgotten Brand had never had the slave mentality that would have stopped him from ever threatening a legionnaire. He moved just as quickly as Favonius, and the knife he held rested at the Tribune's throat long before Favonius's sword pricked at my neck. I stepped out of reach.

'Lower your weapon very carefully,' Brand said evenly, 'or you die right here and now. And don't doubt it, Favonius.'

It was the insolent use of Favo's given name, an unthinkable liberty for a slave or even a servant, that

convinced the Tribune of Brand's sincerity, more than the threat or his tone. Favonius dropped his sword point and stood still, shocked. 'I'll see you dead for this, thrall,' he said at last, his anger so strong I could taste it in the back of my throat.

'But not now, I think,' Brand replied, his voice full of quiet menace. He did not move his knife. 'What shall I do with him, Ligea?'

I straightened, almost too tired to care what he did. 'Let him go. I shall deal with him.' This time I used my sword.

Brand stepped back. Instantly, Favonius raised his sword, only to find the blade of it was no longer useable. It was a travesty of a weapon, a tangle of knobbed metal. His jaw sagged.

He took a deep breath and regained his equilibrium with a supreme effort of will. 'You can't think we will retreat before any barbarian scum, let alone one of their bitches.'

"Why not? Think of it this way, Favo: if you are right, then they sent only one, their newest, most inexperienced recruit, to stop the Stalwarts. Go on, and you'll face the whole population of the Mirage. They will turn you all to dust.'

'How do we know others even exist?'

'You've heard enough tales to know they do. Think back, Favo. I'm sure you've heard stories about the early conquest of Kardiastan. I'm equally certain you've heard more recent stories from your fellow officers about what happens in this land.'

He paled at that and strove to understand. 'I don't know you any more. And I don't understand, Ligea. Why? Was it all a sham, right from the beginning? Were you always a Kardi^barbarian at heart, bent on,

betrayal? You seemed so – so loyal to Tyrans. What happened? Did they ensorcel you?'

'I grew up. I learned what Tyrans really is. A behemoth, Favonius, that crushes the weak beneath it. A giant beast without compassion or understanding. Melete's heart, you came here with orders to kill babies! Is that what the Stalwarts are all about? Well, this servant of the behemoth doesn't serve any more.'

'I don't understand. I'll never understand how you could change so.'

I nodded. 'I never expected you to. Go back across the Alps, Favonius. It's your only chance.' I waved a hand around me to encompass the camp. 'You don't have enough weapons to fight with any more.' I used my sword again. The shaft of light caught him on the temple and he dropped where he stood.

'Have you killed him?' Brand asked. He didn't sound particularly upset at the thought.

I gave a low laugh. 'Brand, the way I feel at the moment, I couldn't kill an ant if I crushed it between my fingers. Although it might be wiser if I ended his life here and now. He meant what he said about seeing you dead one day.'

He wasn't perturbed. 'Our paths are not likely to cross too often.'

I lingered for a moment longer, gazing down on Favonius's prostrate body, and wondered if I did him a disservice by leaving him alive. His career was finished after this fiasco, for a start, and the Stalwarts were all he'd ever had. Or perhaps I was just looking for a reason to kill him and satisfy the panic in me, the deep unease that told me not killing Favonius would be as large a mistake as not killing Pinar when she'd lain unconscious at my feet.

I was right, of course.

If only I had done it.

If only.

Brand touched me on the shoulder. 'Let's get out of here.'

We heard shouts of consternation. The bellow of an officer, as loud and as inflamed as a male gorclak's challenge call, penetrated the fog. And the opportunity was lost. Brand put his arm around me and pulled me away. 'Quick! Which direction?' he asked.

When I awoke in the morning, Brand was cooking at the fireplace. 'Smells good,' I said. Fatigue tugged at me; even rolling over to face him was an effort.

'I had some luck hunting this morning,' he said, adding laconically, 'Duck. At least I think it was. It did have a hairy tail like a cat, though.'

'How did you get back in through the ward?'