The Three Sisters. Rebecca Locksley
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post afterward, as I have, if you feel the need to re-establish your honour. There is always call for Mirayan-born men.'
Ezratah nodded - mostly to cover his surprise. The magelord had seemed such a well-bred man. For a moment he almost thought he might be mocking him. But he was quite serious. Then another terrible suspicion came to Ezratah.
'Sir, if I may ask, is that why you stayed here?'
'What, because I worked for a merchant? Oh no!' the magelord laughed. 'I promise you no one at home will know or care as long as you are a rich man. I don't really know why I didn't go home. I like it here, I think. These islands are not Miraya, but they have many advantages Miraya does not. I do not miss the winters in Akieva, for instance. And my son will inherit more land here than his cousins back home, despite his father being a mage. And he may never have to know the horror of death magic…'
Ezratah knew how much the magelord's home province of Callona had suffered from rogue death-mages during the early part of the civil war. Thank Mir that had never happened in his part of the country, just the endless banditry that had ruined crops and killed peasants and the endless need for money to keep the men-at-arms armoured and fed. Even when a good strong warlord had brought peace to the area so that the family could spare Ezratah's defensive powers, there had been a sense of exhaustion throughout the province that was pleasantly absent here.
'For all its faults, these are lands of promise,' the magelord continued. 'I think we Mirayans have the chance to build fine societies here, to lead the natives into the life of Mir and civilisation. You're a smart lad, Ezratah. You have abilities beyond magecraft that might serve you well. Don't close your eyes to those opportunities. Think it over and, if you wish, I can give you a letter of introduction.'
Thus it was that two months later Ezratah found himself on the road to Olbia with a letter of introduction to one of the Vassilus brothers. As the gate of the fortress swung shut behind him, he had a moment of self-doubt. His place in the duke's regiments had been assured and the pay had been reliable, if poor. The other mages, though crude colonials, had been good-hearted fellows. What was he doing going off to work for some merchant?
He could already hear his brother's snide remarks. Marcus had always accused him of having a faulty sense of honour.
But Ezratah knew in his heart that what he did was for the Karanus family. It was for their honourable name; for their continuance at Vaskom; for his father, who had first suggested that he come out here, and had told him that he would not blame him for what he did whilst in the Archipelago. It was also for his dear little sisters, Saskia and Julia, whose safe and honourable future marriages were now assured because of the money Ezratah had sent home. Ezratah himself would have preferred a more cultured life in one of the colleges in the Mirayan capital, Akieva, but the civil war had put an end to any chance of that.
Thinking of his sisters always reconciled him to this barbaric country. It was awful to think that his sisters had faced being forced by poverty to remain unmarried and childless, and live as useless, incomplete women. At least in providing their dowries, he had achieved something worthwhile. Now that their futures were assured, he felt free to take this risk.
With any luck he would not need to use the letter anyway. All kinds of things might happen in Olbia. Prince Alexus Scarvan had much more trouble with the natives than Duke Wolf did. Surely he would be interested in a young mage of good family and silver-level power. In Miraya the fact that Ezratah had no one to sponsor him to the prince would have been a problem, but this was Yarmar. Anything might happen here. What if he could come home a rich man and restore the family fortunes? Marcus would have to keep his sneers to himself then.
With this thought he set off at a brisk pace along the road toward Olbia. There was a small Seagani village near the garrison, and he passed many natives in their flowing linen trousers and tunics, and finely wrought silver and copper jewellery. Even the women wore trousers, though in deference to the Mirayans they also covered their hair and wore longer tunics. The brown cloud of boredom that had been weighing on his mind at the outpost lifted and he was filled with a sense of adventure.
The Archipelago might be barbaric but there were consolations for being here. It was exciting to be somewhere different, and learning Archipelagan languages was much more fascinating than learning the peasant dialects at home. The many quaint customs of the Seagani made them interesting, too. Mind you, that could be part of the problem as well. Walking along the road that late summer morning Ezratah found he was still very shaken by the scene he'd had with his native mistress a few nights before.
Because he'd been interested in learning Seagani, in addition to the more obvious reasons, he'd formed a liaison with a young Seagani woman. Her family had been badly in debt and pathetically grateful for the tiny amount of money he paid her. He'd kept her in one of the small native bothies that stood in the little settlement outside the fort and they'd got along very happily together, so that he'd felt he'd understood her. He thought he'd treated her very decently. He'd been careful not to give her any children and when the time had come for him to leave, he arranged to pass her on to one of his fellow officers. A Mirayan serf would have been very grateful for this, but she'd found out what he intended, his mistress had carried on dreadfully.
'I thought you cared about me!' she'd screamed. Well, hadn't he showed that by trying to assure her future? What had she expected? Surely not marriage! She had become so upset, he sent for her mother; only to find that her mother, instead of berating her for ingratitude like the mother of a Mirayan serf woman would have, had taken her part against him! He flushed hotly just thinking of the difficult scene.
He would never understand these people. He'd thought a lot about what the magelord had said but, no, he couldn't imagine thinking of the Archipelago as home. Things were too disordered here. This was exile. As for the climate that everyone raved about - was it really so wonderful? The mild winters were well enough, but now, in late summer, the midday heat was dreadful. The air smelled of hot dust, and insects chirruped loudly in the short, dry grass. These were the grasslands where the all-important sheep were raised and there was little shelter from the strong sun on the paved Mirayan high road.
It was strange country. In most of the landscapes Ezratah knew, there were valleys and hills. Here, there were wide, undulating plains, and occasional valleys scooped out by streams. There were stands of trees here and there, but only the valleys were really forested and the main road didn't enter those.
Sometime before the sun reached its highest point, Ezratah turned off the main road and took a steep path down into one such shady valley. Here the air was redolent with the smell of sun-warmed mangiri trees and full of the chirruping of cicadas. At the bottom of the valley was a small stream. He followed its course, looking for some cool spot where it would be possible to rest a few hours in comfort.
It took him a little time to find a suitable spot, for the sides of the stream were thick with ferns. When he found a clearing where the stream widened to a ford, another small valley opened into it. Something about that gully made him curious.
It was a large hollow that looked like a big bite had been taken out of the hillside. Within the hollow, almost filling it, was a huge circle of standing stones, roughly hewn but definitely man-made. Fascinated, Ezratah examined them for some time. The fact that the wall of the hollow was covered with moss and ferns made it impossible to tell if it had been carved or not. If it was natural, it was remarkably even. The stone circle fitted perfectly within the hollow. Each stone was an even distance from the wall so that he could walk easily through the space between.
Who could have made this thing? Surely the natives were not capable of such stonework. They were barely civilised enough to build themselves proper dwellings, and they did all their religious stuff in groves of trees.
He explored the surface of the stones and was fascinated to find a carving of five concentric circles shot through with crossed lines on one of them. He'd never seen the symbol before.
At last, however, hunger drew him away from the interesting circle and he stretched out in the shadow of one of the stones to eat his bread and cheese.
Suddenly he felt something. Something magical. He sat up, his trained senses alert, but he couldn't detect what