The Last Of The Wilds (50 page)

“We are now.”

“But you found his body.”

“We found a body that had been crushed. It was the right height, the hair coloring was correct, but nobody could have recognized his face. He wasn’t seen leaving the collapsed house, and plenty were watching.”

“But there was no way to prove the body belonged to Mirar,” Dyara finished.

“No.”

Mairae leaned forward in her seat. “How did you discover Mirar was alive?”

Juran sighed and moved to a chair. “I should explain how this all came about. Auraya discovered Mirar in Si a few months ago, though she didn’t know it was him of course. He was treating the Siyee and—”

“Does she know who he is?” Dyara interrupted, alarmed. “Is she safe?”

Juran smiled. “She does not know, but she is safe enough. Chaia is watching over her.”

“She thinks Mirar is an ordinary Dreamweaver,” Rian guessed.

“Yes.”

Dyara nodded to herself.
Of course
. Then a possibility occurred to her and she looked up at Juran, but his attention was on Rian.

“She asked him to teach her his method of healing,” Juran continued. “At first Huan forbade it, but recently she decided it was a risk worth taking in order to confirm our suspicions. There was little dangerous information he might learn from Auraya’s mind, but much for us to learn from his.”

“Wait,” Dyara interrupted. “Both Auraya and
Huan
can’t read his mind?”

Juran grimaced. “No. It is shielded.”

“No wonder you were suspicious of him,” Mairae said.

“Yet you encouraged her to learn from him?” Dyara added.

Juran met her eyes and nodded. “We had to know if my suspicions were correct. Today Mirar agreed to teach her. Huan and I linked with Auraya through the lesson… though she was not aware of it.”

Mairae drew in a quick breath. “Why didn’t you tell her what you were doing?”

“To learn the healing Gift she needed to link with Mirar. If she had suspected who he was, or knew that Huan and I were watching, Mirar might have learned of it.”

“If he could learn that from her, what else might he have learned?” Rian asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Juran assured him. “We were ready to break the link, but it wasn’t necessary. She kept her own mind well guarded. What Huan and I saw of his, however…” He shook his head. “While Auraya’s attention was on what she was learning, Huan and I saw glimpses of Mirar’s thoughts. At one point, while Auraya was distracted, he even considered what she would do if she learned he was really Mirar.”

Dyara’s mind was spinning with questions.
How has

Mirar survived? Will Juran have to kill him all over again? Or will the gods have mercy on him and send me or Rian to do it? Or Auraya, since she is in Si.

Then she remembered the possibility that had occurred to her earlier. “Why would Mirar be teaching something like that to one of
us?
Why would he help or trust Auraya?”

Juran looked at her, the lines of sorrow deepening. “He knows her well and we know him. He is… he is Leiard.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Dyara nodded with a bitter satisfaction. She had guessed right.

“Leiard!” Mairae exclaimed. “How is that
possible?
We’ve all met him. We’ve all read his mind. How did we not discover his real identity?”

Juran spread his hands. “I don’t know. If he can hide his mind from the gods, who knows what other Gifts he has? Perhaps he has gained the ability to hide his identity behind a false one.”

“But you know what he looks like,” Rian said. “Why didn’t you recognize him?”

“He did not look as he did when I knew him.” Juran sighed. “It has been a hundred years and my memory has faded.” He moved to a table and picked up a sheet of parchment. “After Mirar’s death nearly all of the statues or paintings of him were destroyed. I sent priests all around Northern Ithania to find what they could. This is a sketch of a carving found in the ruins of an old Dreamweaver house a few years ago.”

He handed the sketch to Dyara. As she saw the face she drew in a quick breath. The face was smoother and fuller than Leiard’s, and was beardless, but it was still recognizable. She handed the sketch to Rian, who scowled as he, too, identified the face.

Dyara leaned back in her chair and thought back to when Leiard had arrived in the city, and before. He had known Auraya as a child. He had sought her out once she became a White. She had made him Dreamweaver Adviser. As the implications of Mirar being in such a position of influence over Circlians occurred to her she groaned.

“How far back does it go?” she asked aloud. “Did he know she would become a White? Was it a coincidence or did he arrange for her to come here, his unwitting tool?”

Juran turned to stare at Dyara. “Surely not.”

“We must consider the possibility,” she said.

“I doubt he arranged it that way,” Rian said, “but when he heard what she had become he wouldn’t have been able to resist the chance to meddle. He followed her here to gain her confidence and her trust.”

“And her
bed!
” Dyara hissed. Anger filled her and she looked at Juran. “Truly he is the rogue you once knew. He used his influence over her to encourage acceptance of his people among Circlians.” She felt a bitter thrill of triumph. “But he went too far. Taking her to bed was a mistake. After it was discovered he went to Si, knowing she would return there. Now he’s seducing her all over again, using his magical knowledge as a lure.” She looked at Juran. He shook his head in denial, but whether it was at Mirar’s scheme or just the horror of the situation she couldn’t guess.

He began to pace again. “What you say may be true, Dyara, but it may not be, either. When I confronted Leiard about his affair with Auraya I searched his mind and saw nothing to indicate he was Mirar, or any great plans of working against us. What I saw was a man in love with Auraya. A hopeless, fearful love, but a real one. He couldn’t have invented that.”

“And she loves him,” Mairae murmured. “Or she did.”

“What she loved was a lie,” Rian pointed out.

“Then it is fortunate she doesn’t love him any more,” Dyara said. “Because she will have to kill him.”

The room fell silent again. Mairae’s eyes were wide with horror. She looked at Juran. “Surely not.”

“She is in Si,” Juran said wearily. “It would take months for any of us to reach him.”

“You can’t ask her to do that,” Mairae insisted. “Even if she knows he is not the man she once loved, it is too cruel to make her kill him.”

“When she learns who he is and how he has used her she will understand he cannot be allowed to live!” Rian said vehemently.

Dyara winced. She was inclined to agree with Mairae. “What do the gods want us to do?”

Juran smiled thinly. “They are deliberating.”

“If they ask, I am willing to do the deed in her stead,” Dyara said. “I agree with Mairae that it is a hard thing to ask of Auraya. There are other ways to do this. We may be able to use Auraya to lure him out of Si, for instance.”

Juran nodded. “I will suggest that. Thank you.”

The four of them fell silent then, all absorbed in this new revelation and its possible consequences. After a while Dyara stirred and looked around.

“We can only wait for the gods’ decision. Let’s return to our rooms and consult again tomorrow.”

As she stood up, Mairae and Rian followed suit. They filed out of the room silently. At the doorway Dyara looked back. Juran smiled grimly. She felt a pang of sympathy for him as she stepped outside. He would get no sleep tonight. Truly his ghosts had come back to haunt him.

He has never forgiven himself for killing Mirar
, she thought.
Now he knows he’s been feeling guilty for a hundred years for something he never did
.

It had been many centuries since Emerahl had sailed up the Gulf of Sorrow. Sennon, with its deserts and drab towns, didn’t appeal to her. In her long life she had never left the continent of Northern Ithania except to visit the island nation of Somrey, which nowdays was considered part of Northern Ithania anyway.

If she had been sailing along the middle of the gulf, and the air had been less hazy, she might have been able to see both Northern and Southern Ithania at once, but the need to stop for supplies from time to time kept her close to the Sennon coast. She could have tried to buy food in Avven but she didn’t know what sort of reception she would receive on the southern continent, and knowing nothing of the local language would make trade difficult. Sennon, on the other hand, had barely changed from what she remembered. Even the language hadn’t altered that much in the few hundred years since she had last visited.

The horizon in every direction was hazy with dust, blown up by the wind that drove her boat east. Ahead was the Isthmus of Grya, a strip of land that divided the Gulf of Sorrow from the Gulf of Fire. A city, Diamyane, lay at the point where the Isthmus joined Sennon. There her sea journey would end.

She chewed her lip and patted the tiller. The little boat had taken her a long way in the last few months. It had weathered more than a few storms as well as the unusual strain of being lent speed by the occasional push of magic.

She was going to miss it. The only way to get a boat past the Isthmus was to pay someone to haul it across, and she doubted she had enough money for that. Once she sold her boat, she could join a trader caravan travelling east, or, if she could afford it, buy passage on a ship.

Pushing aside regret, she reminded herself that she had made this decision months ago and there was no point changing her mind. She could have sailed right around Southern Ithania, but that would have added months to the journey. She might also have sailed around the top of Northern Ithania, but that would have taken her past Jarime and she would prefer not to travel past a country the White ruled.

Mirar had warned her in a dream link that the Siyee were watching their coastline closely after the Pentadrians had landed and been sent away again months before. He had also warned her that Auraya was in Si. Passing by one White was better than passing by four, Emerahl had reasoned. She had taken plenty of supplies so she could avoid landing in Si. No flying white-clad sorceress had come to visit her, and the winds had been in her favor most of the way. Until now she hadn’t had reason to regret her choice.

Unnaturally regular shapes began to appear in the dusty haze ahead. As they emerged they revealed themselves to be buildings. Emerahl directed her vessel toward them. She did not hurry, prolonging the moment she had to give up the boat. All too soon she was drifting up to a mooring and tossing rope to the dock boys, who pulled her boat in close and bound it to the bollards with practiced speed. She climbed up onto dry land, dropped coins into their hands and asked where the boat haulers were.

They had set up a shop by the docks. As she walked in she sensed the hauler’s mood change to gleeful greed. Over several cups of a hot, bitter local beverage she convinced them that a woman could barter as well as a man, but while her senses told her she had forced them down to a reasonable price, it was still too high.

Next she sought a buyer for her boat and discovered that craft as small as hers weren’t in demand. The main use for boats here was to transport goods, and hers was too small for that. One man was prepared to pay her a paltry amount for the craft, however. She arranged to meet him later in the day so he could inspect the boat.

Hours had passed. She sought the local market to exchange some money for the local coin, the canar. There she bought food and a measure of kahr, the local liquor, then half-heartedly tried to sell her services as a healer. Several healers already working the market regarded her with hostile stares. She knew she would not be able to stay here untroubled for long. In Sennon all were free to live as they wished and worship who or what they wanted so long as they did not break any of the essential laws of the country. On her way to the market she had seen a Dreamweaver House and plenty of Dreamweavers. In Toren people had approached her for help; here they ignored her, clearly satisfied with the amount of local healing available.

So I must get their attention with better or less common products
, she told herself.

“Cures for infertility,” she called to the crowd. “Removal of scars. Aphrodisiacs.”

A man and a woman turned to look at her. The woman carried a baby and the man was holding the hand of a small boy. They exchanged a glance and hurried toward her. Emerahl wondered which of the three services they wanted. They didn’t appear to need fertility treatment. They might want aphrodisiacs, but scar removal was just as likely.

“Are you Emmea, the healer who wishes to sell a boat?” the man asked, using the name she’d given the boat haulers. She had stopped using the name ‘Limma’ once she reached Sennon. Using a different name when she was on the other side of the continent made her less traceable.

Emerahl blinked in surprise, then nodded. “Yes. Do you wish to buy one?”

“No,” the man replied. “Let me introduce myself. I am Tarsheni Drayli and this is my wife Shalina. We wish to buy passage for us and our children.”

Disappointment followed his words. “Oh. I can’t help you. I’m not going west.”

The man smiled. “We do not wish to go west. We want to go east.”

“I still can’t help you,” she told them apologetically. “I can’t afford haulage.”

“Ah, but you do not have to buy haulage,” he told her. “There is a small tunnel through the Isthmus. It was opened a few years ago. Only small boats can go through. The fee is much less than haulage.”

“Is that so?” Nobody had told her about this tunnel, but it was not surprising that haulage sellers would neglect to tell her of it. “How much does it cost?”

“Twelve canar per boat,” the man said.

Emerahl nodded. She sensed no dishonesty from him. Twelve canar was still too much, however. She could manage it, but would have no money left to buy food—unless she did take these people east. She silently cursed herself for not pricing passage on a ship. She had no idea how much to charge these people.