Читать книгу The Melded Child - Rebecca Locksley - Страница 5

Warm torch light shone on polished wood panels, rich red and gold tapestries and tables set with silver plates loaded with succulent looking fruits and nuts. Ezratah Karanus, the Guardians representative at the court of Lamartaine allowed himself to feel a glow of satisfaction as he surveyed the room. Beside each Seagani sat a Mirayan and all were chatting together very civilly - the two dominant racial groups of the Duchy of Lamartaine forming bonds of friendship over a pleasant evening’s feasting.

For the last ten years Ezratah and the rest of the Guardians had worked hard to smooth relations between the recently arrived Mirayan colonists and the native tribes. This feast celebrated the fruition of these efforts, for earlier that day nuptial agreements had been signed between Duke Wolf Madraga of Lamartaine’s oldest son and the heiress of a leading Southern Seagani Chieftain, strengthening Madraga power into the next generation, and ensuring that the Seaganis would continue to have a stake in it.

The engaged couple – tall, fair-haired Paulus Madraga and delicate-boned, dark-haired Dianou Seagani - sat at the centre of the high table, drinking from the same cup and smiling into each other’s eyes. The fact that the marriage had been at their own suggestion made Ezratah feel all the happier about the alliance.

Ezratah’s gaze moved to where Duke Wolf Madraga sat beside his son’s betrothed. The Duke was laughing easily with Dianou’s father Geran Seagani. Duke Wolf, a small neat man whose easy manner disguised an iron will, might have gone the traditional Mirayan way of refusing to countenance a mixed race match, but Duke Wolf had always been too practical to be a traditional Mirayan. That was what had made him so popular with his Seagani subjects and was probably why, after the collapse of the Mirayan domination of Yarmar ten years ago, Geran had put the Mirayan Duke forward for the elected Chieftainship of the Seaganis of Lamartaine.

The door of the great hall swung open and steaming bowls of soup were carried into the room by a procession of well-disciplined servants in the red dragon livery of the Madragas. Ezratah cast another glance around the room and was alarmed to see an empty place. A source of potential insult? He scanned the tables again and was relieved to see that the only one absent was Serge Madraga, the Duke’s scamp of a youngest son. No one was going to be offended by the absence of that popular but notoriously unreliable young roisterer.

The Duke’s second son, Gideon, was up at the high table being, as usual, handsome, gracious and a credit to his father and the Duke’s youngest child, his five-year-old daughter Olga was sitting very solemnly at the table opposite. Remembering how excited she had been at her first grown-up feast, Ezratah winked at her. Olga giggled and wriggled in her chair. She was a sweet little girl, a melded child, with the pale skin and fair-hair of her Mirayan father and the green eyes and high cheekbones of her Tari mother. In some ways she was a symbol of what Ezratah and the Guardians were trying to achieve here on Yarmar and on the rest of the islands of the Archipelago.

“... an outrageous pollution of pure Mirayan blood with the foul native taint,” muttered a voice beside him. Ezratah’s glow of satisfaction flickered out. Damn Lev Madraga and his stupid friend! Every time Ezratah came to Lamartaine, the Duke’s brother seemed to be making snide remarks to someone about the shortcomings of the Archipelago. If he hated the Archipelago and the natives so much why hadn’t he stayed home in his “infinitely preferable” Miraya? These days Ezratah found it hard to believe that he had once been close friends with the haughty mage. At least it was he, their fellow Mirayan, who was listening to this tripe, not one of the locals. That was why he’d seated himself next to Lev in the first place.

“I can understand the charm of these native women,” said Lev’s friend Neevus, a skinny little man with a fluffy quiff of hair. “She is quite lovely and of course, there is a shortage of pure-blood women. What I don’t understand is why your brother married her? And why make her Duchess?”

Sweet Life! They were running down the Duchess. Again!

“Oh Neevus,” sneered Lev. “These natives are so superstitious and they regard the Tari with such slavish admiration. My brother’s rule has benefited immeasurably from his marriage to the creature. I feel for him, but these are the lengths we Mirayans are forced to go to, now those Tari witches have seized power. It’s the only reason he married the creature, I assure you. And he has to trot her out at these kind of gatherings and let her show herself unveiled to all these vulgar people. It makes these knuckle-headed barbarians feel comfortable.”

Ezratah clenched his fists to stop himself from interjecting. The talk of the Duke marrying the Duchess for political reasons was gross slander. It had been a love match from the start and the Duke and Duchess still seemed to be devoted to each other. Ezratah had told Lev this many times and he always got an infuriating reply and wound up losing his temper. He wasn’t going to risk such a scene on this important night, even to put that stupid Neevus straight. With stern concentration, he fell to spooning soup into his mouth.

After a few minutes his eyes strayed to where the Duchess Jindabyne was talking politely to the bride’s mother. She caught his eye and smiled, almost as if she knew what was going on at his side of the table and she didn’t mind and didn’t think he should either. Ezratah always found Taris’ smiles calming and he felt his annoyance fade to be replaced by the tolerant glow of the life spirit.

He’d always regarded the Duchess as, in part at least, his creation, for he had been instrumental in changing her from the wild, mindblasted creature in witch manacles who had been dumped at Lamartaine ten years before, into the elegant woman well in command of the little magical power she still retained. He had not been able to tutor her in magic for the workings of Tari magic were still a mystery to him. However he had been able to teach her to control the distracting whisperings of the life spirit - whisperings which always filled a Tari mind and which could drive them mad if uncontrolled. Ezratah understood those whisperings, for they filled his mind too, even though he was not a Tari.

The soup had just been removed when a breathless figure rushed through the door, almost knocking over a servant, and came hurrying to the table. The Duke’s youngest son, Serge Madraga, had arrived at last.

“Finally,” muttered Lev Madraga. “No doubt he’s been off dabbling in some native cesspit!”

“Hawking,” replied Ezratah, certain now that he was being baited and determined not to rise to it.

“With his native friends!” Lev gave his nephew a stern look. “No wonder the boy has no polish.”

Ezratah didn’t think anyone else cared about Serge’s lateness. There was nothing wrong with his manners; he was already bowing to the guests and begging them to excuse his tardiness. The Seaganis smiled indulgently as, with a minimum of fuss, he settled down beside the bride-to-be’s brother and fell quickly into talk of hunting. The first course was brought in - roast taldra in honour of their Seagani guests, roast chickens for those like Lev who refused to eat native meats, and a pottage of seasoned vegetables and nuts for those who, like the Duchess and Ezratah, followed the Tari way.

The food laid on the table, the servants began to process out of the room again, but as the door was opened, one of them yelped with surprise and tripped, stumbling into the servant behind him so that both men fell to the ground with a clatter of plates. Two small shapes came racing across the floor.

“Oh no!” cried Serge. “Lexie, Gallant. Heel!”

“Serge!” protested Paulus, while Gideon, burst out laughing. The smaller dog, who had a large piece of meat in its mouth, darted under the table and took cover between its master’s legs. Serge scooped him up, and, with his arms full, struggled out of his chair, while the other dog, an elegant greyhound, jumped around him barking deafeningly. Fortunately, the Seagani, who were not a formal people, were highly entertained.

“Serge!” cried Duke Wolf. “Will you keep your dogs under control!”

“I beg pardon, Sir.” Red-faced, Serge carried the smaller dog to the door, trailed by the noisy greyhound. “My lords and ladies I apologise for this unmannerly intrusion.” He bowed low.

This brought the dog in Serge’s arms closer to the floor, giving the greyhound the opportunity to seize hold of the piece of meat. But the smaller dog, growling furiously, was not about to let go of its prize. A ferocious tug-of-war ensued with Serge desperately exhorting both dogs to let go and behave.

The Seaganis roared with delight, Duke Wolf shouted furiously as he strode towards the chaos, and a sneer settled on Lord Lev’s face.

Lady Jindabyne stood up.

“Heel, Gallant!” she said, in the commanding voice of a mage.

Instantly Gallant let go of the meat and sat neatly down at Serge’s feet.

The Duchess looked at the other dog.

“Drop it, Lexie!”

The meat fell to the ground with a soggy splat.

The Duchess spoke again, this time in Tari. Both animals put back their ears, assuming the shamefaced attitudes of dogs who have offended the pack leader.

“Thank you, my dear!” said Duke Wolf. He reached down and helped up one of the fallen servants.

“Serge, take your dogs away and this time tie them up! Ah, Lord Alain...”

This last remark was addressed to a flustered young man, who had come bursting in at the door, carrying a hawk on his wrist. The tattoo of Nezrhus on his cheek and the torc at his neck, showed him to be a native Seagani of chiefly rank.

“Your Grace, I’m very sorry about the dogs.”

“Lord Alain, you are most welcome in my house,” said Duke Wolf formally. “I’m sure you are not at fault.” He glared at Serge.

Ezratah was conscious that the Seaganis were now watching intently to see how the Duke dealt with Alain. He himself did not feel worried. The Duke always treated all his vassals politely, regardless of their race.

“Perhaps you would be kind enough join us for dinner now you are here,” the Duke continued.

“Thank my lord. I’ll... I’ll just help Lord Serge... um...”

Alain was so flustered that he had forgotten to hood the hawk on his wrist or to hang onto its jesses. Unfortunately, Lev Madraga chose that moment to take a chicken leg from the plate in front of him. The hawk caught sight of the movement and swooped across the room, whisking the chicken leg out of Lev's hand.

Lev squawked in surprise. The rest of the company burst into laughter again and one of the Seaganis cried out, “Hooray! Splendid flying!”

Livid with fury, Lev leapt to his feet. “You stupid native cur!” he shouted at Alain. “Why in Mir’s name did you bring that thing in here?”

Instantly the room fell silent, but for intakes of breath on every side. Ezratah resisted the impulse to put his head in his hands in despair. Alain, who understood the importance of this meeting, managed to look scared and angry at the same time, while the Duke scowled at Lev. Serge, of course, made everything worse by shouting, “How dare you! Take that back immediately.”

Then Paulus jumped up and said, “My lords and ladies! I propose a toast. To this beautiful hawk and the fine young chieftain who trained her, Alain Seagani.”

Thank Mir! A masterly move. No one was angry enough to refuse such a toast and to Ezratah’s relief, after a moments scowling, Lev joined in as if he were a good sport and his dim friend Neevus played along. Ezratah was even more relieved when a servant appeared just then with a message for Lev, forcing the mage to excuse himself. The man was a diplomatic incident on two legs.

But Ezratah couldn’t relax yet. Lev’s friend Neevus, lacking anyone else to talk to in Mirayan now Lev had been called away, turned, introduced himself, and said,

“So I believe you are the Mirayan they call the native’s friend, Lord Ezratah.”

To my face, thought Ezratah. I bet they call me something much worse behind my back.

Aloud he said, “I am he. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord Neevus.”

“So tell me, how many islands are there exactly in this lovely little archipelago? Have you visited them all?”

“Hardly. Some of them are only very small. But there are 204 islands. One of our own scientists counted up their total area as being almost as great as that of Miraya.”

“Really. So whoever controls the Archipelago would be as powerful as our dear Emperor.”

Ezratah shrugged. “Except that islands don’t really lend themselves to being one kingdom. Each island has quite a distinct culture. Even the Mirayan colonies on them have become quite distinct.”

Neevus gave Ezratah a long stare, his eyes curiously expressionless. Then he said,

“And here we are on Yarmar, which is so big. I had never thought of islands as being so big, but it must take days to cross. And with not one but six different tribes on it.”

“Well yes, although four of them have the same language - Seagani. And the Seagani speakers are very alike in religion and beliefs too. But they do tend to fight among themselves, which is why the ones on this part of Yarmar have been happy to recognise a Mirayan as their ruler. Of course, they fight much more with the Mori.”

Neevus stared again, before speaking.

“Ah the Mori, they are the forest dwellers, right? They have the whole of the western side of this island, don’t they? Which they insist of keeping as forest. And I hear they’re lead by this wonderfully, sinister-sounding woman, what do they call her - The Hooded Queen. But of course the most sinister of all are the Tari. Lord Lev says they are mighty mages, mightier even than he. I hadn’t thought to meet one and yet I gather the lovely Duchess is a Tari. And hasn’t she produced a lovely little girl. Hello darling.” He waved at Olga, who looked shy and stared at her plate. “Has she inherited her mother’s powers I wonder?”

He gave Ezratah another long stare.

“So is the Duchess really able manipulate actual matter and change it permanently. I can’t imagine how it is possible.”

“Yes, Tari can actually change the nature of matter,” replied Ezratah, finding it hard to meet Neevus’ eyes. “But the Duchess was the victim of a mindblast spell, so she is only a shadow of what a Tari mage should be.”

“I would love to study that. Do you think the Duke would let me speak with her about it?”

“I don’t think so,” snapped Ezratah, insulted on Jindabyne’s behalf. The man would never even consider making such a request of a Mirayan woman. “She may be a native woman, but the Duke is a true Mirayan.”

Neevus gave him another long stare. He didn’t seem offended. Indeed it was hard to tell if he had any emotions at all.

“And you yourself, I believe you have adopted their religion, Lord Ezratah,” he continued evenly. “Has it enhanced your powers? Oh!”

A servant lent over Neevus’ shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Lord Ezratah, pray forgive me. I must leave our delightful conversation,” he said, as he got up and followed the servant away. Ezratah was disconcerted to find he wasn’t sure if Neevus’ “delightful conversation” remark was sarcasm or not. Usually he could read people better than that.

He was just beginning to relax again, when he felt a hand on his thigh and a voice whispered softly in his ear, “Darling Ezratah, won’t you meet me privately tomorrow morning?”

Since the wife of a Seagani Chieftain was sitting to that side of him, Ezratah froze in alarm. Then he turned, only to find that the She-Chief was deep in conversation with someone else.

The voice laughed, tickling his ear. “Oh ’Tah, did you think you’d made a conquest? How disappointing for you!”

He caught the scent of orange blossom. He knew that scent.

“Marigoth!” he hissed under his breath, slapping the hand off his thigh. “What are you doing here?”

The voice laughed in his ear again. He felt the pressure of a hand on his shoulder, but kept his eyes firmly on his plate. Looking would have done no good anyway. He knew she had made herself invisible. If only he could persuade her to leave before she unfolded whatever dreadful practical joke had brought her here.

“Don’t look so terrified,” Marigoth cooed, pressing her hand onto his shoulder. “I’m here to give a blessing to the betrothed couple. And as it happens I do need you to meet me at our beach tomorrow morning. I’ve got an important mission for you in Ishtak.”

“How can I? I’m in the middle of this!” he hissed out of the side of his mouth, hoping no one would notice that he was talking to thin air.

“Oh ’Tah. Fooling aside now. It’s really important that you come to Ishtak. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Yani.”

There was a note of something like worry in her voice.

“What do you mean Yani?” he hissed.

But the pressure of her hand on his shoulder was gone.

A few moments later a servant announced, “The Lady Marigoth Tari attends to congratulate the happy couple!” and the door opened.

Visible now, Marigoth swept in, looking wonderful as always, and bowed deeply to the betrothed couple and the delighted Seaganis. She’d grown up into a beautiful golden-haired woman, though small and delicate-boned for her race, and was magnificently dressed in Tari green. She glowed with power, and a hint of unearthly music filled the air. A nice touch - not as overdone as some of her illusions.

The Duke welcomed her formally. He had a personal grudge against Marigoth, but few people apart from Ezratah knew of it, and watching now, no one would have ever guessed it.

With charming courtesy, Marigoth declined the offer to join them at the feast. Instead, calling Paulus and Dianou out to stand before her, she blessed them in the name of the life spirit and wished them a long and prosperous marriage. As she spoke, a green vine appeared to grow out of the sleeves of the each of the betrothed couple. The vines bound their hands together before meeting in the middle and twining up and up till both stems joined as one and burst into a beautiful thornless red rose.

At this everyone clapped and cheered.

“How charming!” sneered a malicious voice, reminding listeners that Lord Lev had returned to the table.

“Yes,” Ezratah replied absently, as he watched Marigoth glide gracefully backward from the room so as not to insult the company by turning her back on them. She was very charming. He always forgot how diplomatic she could be. Then he shook himself and turned to Lev.

“What’s charming?” he asked carefully.

“Why, the little play with the vine and the rose,” smiled Lev, with an unpleasantly knowing look on his face. “Though the lady herself is also quite beautiful, of course.”

He looked very smug about something.

“No doubt she’s told you about the kidnapping of Yani Tari.”

Despite himself Ezratah's jaw dropped.

“Yani...? Yani’s been kidnapped?”

He was surprised rather than alarmed. Yani was stronger than most men, she was a brilliant warrior and, unlike other Tari, she was able to kill. There were very few situations that she couldn’t get herself out of.

“Oh dear, didn’t she tell you?” purred Lev. “I just received a message from good friends in Ishtak, who always let me know everything. And, I, in turn, tell my brother, who finds it useful to know when the balance of power changes. Do you think Yani Tari’s disappearance will weaken the Tari?”

“No!” snapped Ezratah. “She is not our leader in the Mirayan way, only the first among equals. Not only that, but even if her kidnappers manage to keep her, which I doubt, the Tari are the most powerful mages in the Archipelago. Possibly the world. Only a fool would try to harm her.”

“Yes, yes, I agree with you,” said Lev, in a humouring tone. “A very ill-advised attempt. And, of course, I wish you all the best in recovering her safely. But my informant can’t help being hopeful that it might bring some relief from the endless Tari interference in other people’s affairs.”

“The Tari seek only to bring balance,” said Ezratah. How was it that Lev always managed to get under his skin!

“Too much power in the hands of any one group is hardly a recipe for balance.” Lev lifted up a wine jug and poured some into Ezratah’s goblet. “Let us not talk of it, my friend. We never agree on these matters and this is no place for disagreement.”

Ezratah could do nothing but accept his toast and seethe silently.

The beach Marigoth had called “our beach” was in a secluded cove some distance away on the other side of a wooded headland. As he rode through the forest toward it the following morning, Ezratah’s heart both rose and sank at the thought of a mission with Marigoth. This uncomfortable contradictory feeling had become normal whenever he thought of her.

He shouldn’t even like her. He’d first met her when she was masquerading as a child and she’d put him under an enchantment and exploited him ruthlessly. Because of her, he’d found himself in Ermora, the Tari homeland, and in the Tari spirit cave. Because of her, he was now this strange half-Mirayan, half-Tari person, whose countrymen looked to him for help even as they called him traitor.

Yet at the same time he now knew a peace and joy he had never thought possible, because he could hear the whispering of the life spirit that bound the world together. Forests like the one he rode through now filled him with sparkling joy, making him feel that all was in balance - that perfect peace was possible. Marigoth had changed his life even if it had been accidental.

He’d seen her many times in the past ten years and several times he’d found himself in difficult situations of her making. She was as powerful as only a Tari mage could be and as frivolous as only the most powerful dare to be, and when it came to magic, she could have wiped the floor with him. The problem was, he’d be happy to be her floor cleaning rag any time it gave her pleasure. The moment he’d realised this, he’d put all his energies into hiding it from her. She loved a joke and damn the consequences to anyone else.

For instance, there was the time she’d first shown him her secret beach near Lamartaine. He’d been living in the fortress then, invited there by the anxious Duke Wolf to train a mindblasted Jindabyne Tari. He’d been riding along this very path when he’d heard the sound of beautiful singing and, fascinated by it, had followed it into the trees. The singer had teased him, stopping as soon as he got close and starting again every time he seemed likely to turn back to the path. An unwary moment caused him to be knocked off his horse by a branch. He’d come to with an aching head and Marigoth leaning over him half laughing, half contrite - full of sympathy but telling him not to be so stuffy when he’d protested at what she’d done. He’d felt stuffy too, because it had been a very elegant joke and the singing had been truly beautiful. Oh Mir! A mission with Marigoth. He was done for! And eager to be so, poor fool that he was!

At the bottom of a path which led steeply down to a narrow beach, a small boat was drawn up above the level of the waves. Thank Mir! A real boat. Sometimes Marigoth travelled using a magical boat created out of a stick of wood and a handkerchief, but even though it never sank, somehow you always got soaking wet.

As his horse crunched across the beach toward it, two figures rose up from under the boat’s shadow. Marigoth was one. The other was a singularly beautiful young man. Trust Marigoth, the shameless flirt!

“’Tah! You came!” Marigoth rushed over to hug him. The young man slouching up behind her looked darkly at Ezratah. He had the tattered clothes and bare feet of a fisherman. Ezratah disliked him on sight.

“Oh Gasparr. This is my uncle. By marriage,” lied Marigoth in a ‘you don’t have to be jealous of him’ voice. “Gasparr’s been kind enough to keep me company while I was waiting for you, Uncle.”

Ezratah didn’t protest. He’d masqueraded as Marigoth’s uncle by marriage before and as her cousin, too. It was always simpler to go along with what she said. He just hoped this Gasparr was not going to be a permanent figure in their lives.

He thought not. Marigoth hadn’t revealed her real self to him. She was wearing a glamour so that she looked like a pretty, fair-haired, half-Mirayan girl.

She and the young man were whispering together now and the young idiot’s arm was around her shoulders. Marigoth didn’t look like she minded at all.

“What about my horse?” said Ezratah loudly. “I’m not sure he can find his way home without me.”

“Oh!” Marigoth looked at Gasparr. “I’d be so grateful if you’d take my uncle’s horse back to the Duke’s castle. Could you do that?”

The young idiot murmured something. From the adoring, puppy-dog look in his eyes, probably, “Anything for you, my Lady.” He leaned down and kissed Marigoth’s hand.

“Thank you, Gasparr. You’re so sweet.” She kissed him on the cheek. The young man looked as if he was going to faint with delight.

Nauseated, Ezratah turned his back on them and busied himself taking off his saddle bags and putting everything into the boat. Over the years he’d seen plenty of men look at Marigoth like that. Poor saps!

“Do you think we could leave sometime before dark?” he said.

“Of course, Uncle.” Marigoth came to his side and looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “No need to get grumpy.”

A short time later, the boat was moving out to sea, its sails filled with a magical breeze. Marigoth stood at the back waving goodbye to Gasparr.

“So who was he?” asked Ezratah.

“I met him yesterday when I was asking after you in Lamartaine. Beautiful, isn’t he? Such a dear, too. It’s nice to have some company in a strange place.”

“Put an enchantment on him, did you?”

“Of course not!” said Marigoth crossly. “I’m not that ugly.”

“Typical Marigoth! A boy in every port.”

“I don’t hear the boys complaining!”

“You realise you’ve probably ruined him for normal life now.” Ezratah knew he should shut up, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Well, what a compliment!” retorted Marigoth. “First, I’m so ugly I need to put an enchantment on him and now I’m so wonderful I’ve ruined him for normal life. I wish you’d make up your mind.”

She smiled at Ezratah’s scowl.

“Admit it. You Mirayans just hate people having any fun. Actually,” she confessed, “I did put a little enchantment on him just before we left. If he takes your horse back by tomorrow, the Duke’s steward will decide he’s a fine young man and offer him a job in the Duke’s service. Much nicer work than fishing!

Ezratah laughed and shook his head. What could you say in the face of such cheerful shamelessness?

“You win! So tell me what’s happening with Yani. Surely she doesn’t really need rescuing?”

Had it not been for the flicker of emotion crossing Marigoth’s face, he would have thought she hadn’t heard him. She turned away and seemed to be coiling a piece of rope in the prow of the boat. Ezratah could tell from the set of her shoulders that the subject upset her. For the first time alarm bells went off in his mind.

“Mari? What is it?” He moved forward and gripped Marigoth's wrist. “Is Yani really in danger?”

“Yes I think she is,” said Marigoth huskily, sounding for all the world as if she was going to burst into tears. “As far as I can tell someone’s taken her off to Miraya.”

“Miraya! I thought she was supposed to be meeting the Prince of Ishtak. How did Miraya come into this?”

“Oh ’Tah! You’re so dim. Miraya comes into everything.” Marigoth laughed shakily and drew her free hand across her eyes. Ezratah ignored the insult and pulled her down onto a seat opposite him. If Marigoth was upset, Yani must really be in danger. He should have considered it earlier instead of dismissing the whole thing as one of Marigoth’s jokes.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“Yani met with the Prince, she and Diyar, who was doing the protection on her, and that was the last anyone heard from either of them. Except our agents in Ishtak found witnesses who saw an unconscious Tari woman being loaded onto a Mirayan ship called the Open Eye. No sign of Diyar. The Prince says he has no idea where she is. I bet it would be a different matter if we mindsearched him.”

Nightmarish visions of diplomatic disaster filled Ezratah’s head.

“You can’t...”

“I know! You can’t mindsearch someone that important without his permission! But we can follow this Mirayan ship. I only hope it’s not a false lead.”

“Right!” agreed Ezratah. So they were going to Miraya! He’d never thought to see his homeland again and he was surprised to realise he didn’t much care.

He was much more worried about Yani. Yani might be special but she was only human and Miraya had been in a state of civil war for the last forty years. It was swarming with the kind of people who flourished in civil wars - pirates, mercenaries, assassins. Worst of all, there were death mages everywhere. Pray that Yani hadn’t fallen into the hands of such people. A Tari, with their strong connection to the life spirit, would be of great value to one of the Dark Brotherhood. He shook off the evil thought. No. Probably one of the Mirayan settlers, maybe even the Duke of Ishtak himself had paid for her to be taken out to sea and ...

An even worse thought occurred to him.

“Are you sure she’s still alive?” he said gently.

“No!” snapped Marigoth. “I’m not sure of anything. We just have to find the Open Eye.”