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