“Stop! Stop right now!”
All jumped at the shout. Turning, they saw Mikken’s master, Lord Ardalen, striding towards them.
“What are you doing?” the magician demanded. “You’re teaching each other, aren’t you?” Reaching them, he laid a hand on Mikken’s shoulder, his expression sympathetic but his voice revealing anger as he looked at Jayan. “I expect you think you’re showing initiative and co-operation – and you are – but you should not be doing this. Apprentices are forbidden to teach apprentices. You are not allowed to teach until you become higher magicians.”
“But why?” Aken asked, his frustration clear.
“It is dangerous.” This came from Lord Bolvin, Leoran’s master, as he reached them. The other magicians were coming closer, Jayan saw. Dakon was frowning. He felt a pang of guilt and fear that he might have offended his master.
“What is going on?” Lord Dakon asked as he came up to them. When the situation was explained his frown deepened. “I see. Be assured Jayan here has been trained to teach others safely. He is close to the end of his own training, so I have begun preparing him for the day he takes on his own pupil. Your apprentices were quite safe.”
To Jayan’s amusement, the magicians now began debating the issue, forming a new circle that excluded their juniors. He looked over at Tessia, who wore a wry smile. She met his eyes, shrugged, then walked back to the blanket and the near empty bowl of fruit. As Jayan followed, the other apprentices tagged behind.
“That stinks,” Aken said as he dropped sullenly onto the blanket.
The others nodded.
“Well . . .” Jayan began. “Do you think they’d protest if we started playing Kyrima? That’s supposed to be good at developing battle strategy skills.”
The others looked up eagerly. Tessia’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, how wonderful,” she muttered sarcastically.
Jayan ignored her. She’d play if he badgered her. And she wasn’t too bad at it, either. As the others paired off he turned to face her.
“Can’t leave me partnerless,” he said.
She pulled a face, grabbed the bowl and stood up. “Forgot my little speech earlier, have you, Jayan? Not if you were the last man in Kyralia.”
It was reassuring to Hanara to find that many of his master’s new allies had brought more than one slave with them. Some had as many as ten, though not all were source slaves. Knowing this, he was able to tolerate Jochara, and it helped that Takado appeared to prefer to give Hanara the more complex tasks since Jochara, not yet used to their master’s ways, was slower to grasp what was being asked of him.
If Takado had urged them to battle each other for his favour, then it would have been clear he didn’t want two source slaves and would kill the loser. But since they were constantly on the move, there was so much work to do that both Hanara and Jochara were exhausted by the time Takado allowed them to sleep.
If every new ally presents him with gifts, we’re not going to be able to carry everything, Hanara thought now as he shifted the weight on his shoulders.
Takado’s allies had swelled to twelve. Slaves at the pass directed the new arrivals to slaves stationed at intervals along the mountains, all of whom only knew where the next and previous positions were. When Takado made camp at the end of each day he sent a slave to the end of the line, to inform arriving allies where to find him.
Two more had reached them last night. Fortunately the gifts they’d brought had been consumable. Takado needed food for his followers and slaves more than he needed heavy gold trinkets. Though they raided local farms and villages, the habitations were often far apart and most occupants had now left, taking what little food they had. Even those foolish enough to stay didn’t have much in their stores, winter only just having ended.
Sometimes they came across domestic animals to slaughter and cook; otherwise there were wild animals to hunt. Fortunately, they didn’t have to worry about cookfires or smoke revealing their location, as usually one or another magician roasted the meat with magic. Slaves skilled in tracking for hunts kept them informed on the Kryalian magicians’ location and numbers.
As Takado began to climb a steep slope, angling across the incline, Hanara leaned forward and followed. He could hear Jochara panting behind him. Sweat ran down his back, soaking the shirt the stable master had given him. That life – his time in Mandryn – already seemed like a dream. It had been foolish of him to think it might last. There was a reassuring familiarity about serving Takado again. It was hard, but he knew the rules. He fitted in.
He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the top of the slope. Takado, unburdened, had gained some distance and was standing further along the ridge listening to a slave belonging to one of the other magicians. The boy was fast and agile, so he was being used as a scout rather than a carrier.
“. . . saw the light. Heard the boom, boom,” the boy was saying, pointing towards where the road to the pass could be seen, like a wound cut in the forest, below them.
“A magical battle,” Takado said, frowning at the distance. “How long ago?”
“Half a shadow line,” the slave said. “Maybe more.”
How the boy could estimate the time this way without a shadow dial was a mystery. Takado glanced at Hanara and the rest of his group, but said nothing, turning back to stare down at the forest again. Hanara could guess what he was thinking. Had the slaves at the pass failed to meet some potential new allies? Had the newcomers encountered the Kyralians instead? Had they won or lost?
Takado and his allies hadn’t considered the group of Kyralians following them a serious threat, as there were only seven of them against the twelve Sachakans. But Takado wanted to avoid killing Kyralian magicians until the numbers at his side were much greater, and they could withstand whatever retaliation was sure to follow.
Waving the scout away, Takado started down the slope towards the road and the battle’s location. Hanara felt his stomach sink and heard Jochara curse behind him. The other three of Takado’s allies did not protest, though they did order their slaves to be silent and not make any noise.
Time slowed then. With every step Hanara scanned the forest ahead as well as the uneven ground in front. He listened for voices, or the whistling calls the slaves sometimes used to signal each other. Takado set a cautious pace, every step taken carefully. They reached the bottom of the slope, and set out across the valley the road followed. Time stretched on.
The closer they drew to the road, the more Hanara’s heart raced. He kept trying to quieten his breathing by keeping his breaths shallow, but the exertion of carrying Takado’s belongings was too much and he soon found himself gasping for breath.
Then Takado stopped and raised a hand to indicate the others should follow suit. Hanara realised they were now in sight of the road. They waited in silence.
Voices drifted to them from somewhere ahead. Takado didn’t move. Slowly his shoulders relaxed. He shifted his weight to one leg. He crossed his arms.
Around a bend in the road rode two men. Before them walked a man dressed in fine clothing, bound with rope and bleeding from the temple. Behind them followed four slave girls, hunched and thin.
The hairs on the back of Hanara’s neck prickled as he recognised the riders. They were two of Takado’s ichani friends, Dovaka and Nagana. Both had been outcasts for some years now, and were tanned and toughened from surviving in the northern mountains and ash desert. There was something about the older one, Dovaka, that made Hanara’s stomach quiver and his skin prickle.
It was not just that his slaves were always starved, cowed and terrified young women. His conversations were full of such eagerness for violence that even other ichani were repelled by him. As Takado moved forward, out of the trees and onto the road, Hanara’s stomach sank. The rest of the group followed.
“Takado!” Dovaka called as he saw them. “I have a gift for you.” He leapt off his horse, grabbed the bound man by the collar and pushed him forward, then onto his knees in fron
t of Takado. “Emperor Vochira’s messenger. We heard he’d gone through the pass ahead of us, so we caught up with him to see what he was hoping to deliver.”
“Messenger?” Takado repeated.
“Yes. He was carrying this.”
Dovaka’s eyes gleamed as he handed over a metal cylinder. Taking it, Takado slid the end off and pulled out a roll of parchment. He uncurled it and read, and his mouth twitched into a crooked smile.
“So the emperor is sending magicians to deal with us,” he said, looking over his shoulder at his allies. “Or at least he wants the Kyralian king to believe so.” He turned his attention to the messenger. “Is it true?”
“Would you believe me if I said it was?” the man replied defiantly.
“Probably not.”
Takado grasped the man’s head in his two hands and stared at him intently. All was silent but for the occasional bird call, and the distant bellow of some animal. Then Takado straightened.
“You believe it to be true.” He paused and considered the man. “I will let you live if you join us.”
The man blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I won’t slip away at the first opportunity?”
Takado shook his head. “Because, Harika, you failed. Your task was to take the message to the Kyralian king, but, more important, it was to prevent that message from reaching us. Emperor Vochira may not have said as much, but you know it to be true. Even if you manage to get to the Kyralian king and convince him that you aren’t lying about the contents of the message we took from you – even if you manage to return home – Vochira will have you killed or outcast.” Takado smiled. “I’m afraid no matter what happens, you will be dead or an ichani.”
The messenger looked down, his brow furrowed.
“You may as well join us,” Takado said. “I can promise what the emperor can’t, that if we succeed and you survive, you will no longer be a landless, slaveless lackey. You can claim land for yourself, regain the status you have lost, and have something for your son to inherit.”
Taking a deep breath, the messenger sighed and began to nod. “Yes,” he said. He looked up and stared back at Takado. “I’ll join you.”
“Good.” Takado smiled and the bindings fell away from the man’s wrists. “Get up. My slave will take a look at that cut.”
Takado turned and waved at Hanara. Pushing aside a strong desire to go no closer to Dovaka, Hanara hurried forward, set his burden down and brought out some clean water and cloth to clean Harika’s wound. As he worked, he watched Takado and Dovaka move away from the others a little, their conversation too quiet for him to hear, their stance and gestures relaxed and friendly. But there was a deliberation to Takado’s movements, as if he was forcing an impression of calm.
He’s angry at them, probably because they didn’t go where the slaves told them to, he thought. He is not going to have an easy time keeping Dovaka and Nagana under control. Eventually Dovaka is going to challenge Takado’s authority, and when he does I hope I’m a long way away.
CHAPTER 23
It worried Dakon every time he saw an empty village, farmhouse or unploughed field. It worried him despite the fact that they were no longer his empty villages, farmhouses and unploughed fields but Lord Ardalen’s, because he knew the situation was the same in his own ley.
It worried him on two levels: hundreds of people he was responsible for were homeless and dozens of them dead; and part of his land – from which he must earn the money to maintain his ley, pay his servants and rebuild Mandryn – was lying abandoned and neglected at the time of year crops should be planted and domestic animals set to breeding.
People and land, they’re the same, his father used to say. Neglect one and the other suffers eventually. At the moment, while searching in vain for Takado and his allies, Dakon felt he was neglecting both. Fortunately, the area the Sachakans were moving through was mountainous and covered in forest, so it was sparsely inhabited. People living in these areas were likely to be hunters or woodcutters, their quotas negotiated with and agreed to by men Dakon or Ardalen employed for the job, who also did what they could to prevent and deal with poachers.
Fewer people had been killed or displaced than there would have been if the lowlands had been invaded, and there were few fields to be left unplanted. Even so, he wished he was in the lowlands, ensuring those driven from their homes were being given food and shelter in the southern villages, and that resources were not being wasted.
But he also knew his time was better spent dealing with the invaders. The sooner he and his colleagues drove the Sachakans out, the sooner people could return to their homes. He was not the only magician frustrated by their failure to do that. An understanding had grown between them as the weeks had crawled past. All were annoyed by their situation, all tempted by the knowledge that change could be forced if they were willing to take risks. None complained, though, because none wanted to urge anyone else to endanger his life. All were waiting and hoping for some benign influence to shift the balance of power, hopefully in their favour and not the Sachakans’.
Perhaps that benign influence has come today, Dakon thought, looking at the new magicians in the group. Five had arrived the previous night, bringing much needed supplies and Werrin’s new apprentice.
Two were magicians from the Circle of Friends, Lord Moran and Lord Olleran. The other three were city magicians, Magician Genfel, Lord Tarrakin and Lord Hakkin. Magician Genfel had neither supported nor opposed the Circle as far as Dakon or Narvelan knew, but the other two city magicians were detractors. The most surprising of the latter was Lord Hakkin, who had openly mocked Dakon and Everran at the Royal Palace.
Dakon was not sure why Hakkin and his friends had come. Perhaps at the king’s request. Narvelan had suggested a sense of duty, or there being nothing more interesting happening in the city, as possible motivations.
Lord Hakkin appeared to have assumed the leadership of the five during their journey here. Dakon suspected the man would have tried to take over the leadership of the entire group if the king hadn’t already chosen Lord Werrin for the role.
Over the morning meal, the newcomers were coming to understand what they were now a part of.
“We haven’t even come close to what we set out to achieve,” Lord Werrin concluded as he finished describing their search so far.
“What were you hoping to achieve, exactly?” Lord Hakkin asked.
“To drive them out of Kyralia,” Narvelan replied. “Preferably without anyone being killed. Driving them out requires us to find them first, and the trouble is, even when we do gain an idea of where they are, they move before we have a chance to confront them. We have to approach carefully, sending scouts ahead to discover their numbers, because we can’t confront them until we know there is a chance of winning if they decide to fight us.”
“Do they know you’re hunting them?” Magician Genfel asked.
“Yes,” Werrin replied. “They have caught and killed enough of our scouts to know what our intentions are. Those scouts that have returned have given us conflicting reports of their numbers, but we are gaining enough from their descriptions to recognise individuals.”
“We suspect there is more than one group,” Narvelan continued. “Each time a scout has seen the enemy they have counted seven or eight magicians, plus slaves. But the physical descriptions of the individuals are inconsistent. We get different combinations. They may be changing the members of each group around to confuse us.”
“Presumably they meet from time to time,” Lord Olleran said.
“I expect so,” Narvelan agreed. “Though we have to consider that they may be independent of each other, perhaps even competing. The only benefit to us, either way, is that each group appears to be small enough for us to tackle now.”
“Yet we should still be careful,” Werrin said. “Because if we are to avoid killing the Sachakans, and then escort them to the border, it is likely they will call on the other groups for help. And then we
will be outnumbered.”
“So we need more magicians?” Lord Tarrakin asked.
“Yes.”
“More than five, from the sound of it,” Lord Hakkin concluded, glancing around the group. “How many Sachakans do you think there are in total?”
“A few short of twenty.”
“Were there that many to begin with?”
“I doubt it.”
“So others are joining them. Is anyone watching the pass?”
“The scouts we sent haven’t returned.”
“So there must be Sachakans there, too.” Lord Hakkin pinched his bottom lip between two fingers. “A magician should check. He may succeed where a scout would fail.”
“So long as he doesn’t encounter any Sachakan magicians,” Narvelan pointed out.
“One would not be a problem.”
“One can call for assistance. The road to the pass is exposed and surrounded by sheer rock slopes. It is difficult to approach in secret and it would be easy to become trapped between the pass and any Sachakans returning to help their allies.”
“But you said earlier that the Sachakans are avoiding a confrontation with us,” Lord Moran reminded him. “Because they don’t want to risk killing a Kyralian magician for the same reason we want to avoid killing one of them.”
Prinan shrugged. “Yet if they’re relying on new allies coming through the pass to join them, they will have to deal with anyone trying to prevent that. They may prefer to wait until their numbers are large enough to take and hold land before killing any Kyralian magicians, but if we block the pass we may give them no choice.”
The other magicians nodded in agreement.
“All the more reason for us to strike them before they grow that strong,” Lord Hakkin said. “If we must be the ones to spill magician blood first, so be it. They are the invaders, after all. We are defending ourselves.”
Kyralia 01 - [Black Magician 00] - The Magician's Apprentice Page 27