Kyralia 01 - [Black Magician 00] - The Magician's Apprentice

by Trudi Canavan

  He smiled, his eyes shining. “Will he recover?”

  “If he has the time to.” She grimaced. “If he has the time to, he’ll even walk again.”

  His expression became grim, and his eyes shifted to Lord Werrin. The king’s magician frowned and nodded. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  That appeared to be a signal for the onlookers to leave. Tessia beckoned to some servants standing nearby and instructed them to get a long board of wood, then slide Refan onto it, still face-down and without flexing his back too much, so they could carry him somewhere sheltered. As they hurried away, Dakon and Jayan moved closer.

  “That was well done. Very impressive,” Dakon said.

  “Thank you.” She felt heat come to her face and pushed away another surge of pride.

  Dakon looked at Jayan. “I’ve been proud to be the master of both of my apprentices tonight,” he said, smiling broadly. Jayan looked doubtful, Tessia noticed. “Both of you are far too clever for a humble country magician like me.”

  She voiced a protest and heard Jayan do the same.

  “Ah, but it is true,” Dakon said. “That’s why I have decided that, as soon as we get the chance, I am going to teach Jayan higher magic and send him off into the world as his own master.”

  Tessia smothered a laugh at Jayan’s open-mouthed astonishment. I was right. Clearly he didn’t believe me.

  Then she felt an unexpected pang of sadness. I think I may actually miss him. Then she wrinkled her nose. For a few hours, anyway. Then I’ll realise nobody has said anything annoying to me in a while and I’ll realise how nice it is to be rid of him.

  CHAPTER 36

  The wagon rolled slowly through Arvice. Kachiro had ordered the flaps to be tied open so Stara could enjoy the scenery. Warm spring air lingered as the sun dipped towards the horizon. Flowers covered the trees that lined the larger, main roads of the city, and the air was sweet with their scent. Insects also abounded – in swarms that darkened the air as they passed and set slaves to slapping themselves – but at the wagon openings they vanished in a sizzle and spark of light as they encountered Kachiro’s magical barriers.

  The barriers only protected those inside the wagon. Stara thought of Vora clinging to the back. It must be hard and unpleasant for the old woman to ride that way, her hands gripping handholds and her legs braced on the narrow foot ledge.

  Stara had suggested Vora stay behind, but the slave had shaken her head. “This is your first experience of Sachakan society outside your father’s house,” she’d said. “You’ll need my guidance.”

  “Here we are,” Kachiro said. The wagon slowed as it neared a pair of impressive double gates standing open to allow passage. He turned to look at her, smiling as his eyes travelled from her shoes to her headdress. “You look wonderful,” he told her, and she could detect nothing but honest admiration. “As always, an excellent combination of cloth and decoration. I am lucky to have a wife with not just beauty, but good taste.”

  Stara smiled. “Thank you. I am lucky to have a husband who appreciates such things.” She met his gaze, knowing she could not hide the fact that his compliment filled her mind with doubts and questions.

  “I do,” he said. Then he looked down for a moment. “I would also appreciate it if you did not mention...my difficulty, to the wives,” he added in a murmur.

  “Of course not!” she replied quickly. “It is our secret.”

  He smiled. “My friends’ wives love a good secret,” he warned her.

  “Not this one,” she assured him.

  “Thank you.” The wagon was now turning through the open gates into a large courtyard abuzz with slaves. Kachiro helped her climb down to the ground, then turned to the slaves waiting nearby, who had prostrated themselves. “We’re here to join Master Motara in celebrating his birthing day. Take us to the gathering place.”

  One of the slaves rose. “It is this way,” he said.

  They headed inside, Vora and one of Kachiro’s slaves following. Stara recognised the restrained decoration and beautiful furniture immediately. As she slowed to admire a long cabinet full of drawers of different sizes, Kachiro chuckled.

  “Of course, Motara keeps all his best pieces. I’ve tried to persuade him to sell that one to me many times. He won’t even risk it when gambling.”

  “So Master Motara is your friend who designs the furniture?”

  “Yes.”

  “I must compliment him on it, then.”

  Kachiro looked surprised, then thoughtful. “He would like that. Yes – do it. Women do not usually take an interest in such things. At least, not when they are around men.”

  Stara frowned. “Should I say nothing? Would it offend him more to voice an opinion?” She felt a moment’s disbelief that she was asking this. Since when had she cared whether anyone wanted her opinion or not?

  “He won’t be offended. Only surprised,” he assured her. Then he gave her that admiring smile that was so infuriatingly puzzling. “I am liking your unconventionality more and more, Stara. It is refreshing. Women are too secretive and reserved. They should be more like you, open and interested in things.”

  “I can also be stubborn and nosy. You might not like that sort of unconventionality.”

  He laughed. “For now, I choose to believe that is the price I paid for marrying a woman who is not only beautiful, but clever too.”

  Stara felt her heart flip over. Then she felt herself begin to scowl and forced herself to look down to hide her expression, hoping he thought her embarrassed by the compliment. There would be no harm in falling in love with Kachiro, she thought. But it would be very, very annoying. And frustrating. But then, I might not mind his “difficulty” if I were in love with him. If the romantic tales are right.

  The slave stopped at the entrance to a large room and stepped aside, his head bowed. Kachiro led Stara past him, then took her arm. Five men turned to look at them. All had the broad shoulders and wide face of the typical Sachakan male, but one was fat, another was skinny, and one had dark pigmentation under his eyes. They ranged in age from not long past youthful boyhood to middle age. The skinny one rose and stepped forward.

  “Kachiro! You’re even later than usual!”

  Kachiro chuckled. “I confess it is my fault, Motara. I didn’t think to tell my wife we were visiting until it was nearly time to leave, forgetting that she would need time to prepare. This,” he gestured gracefully toward her, “is the lovely Stara.”

  Stara smiled. She could have been ready in minutes, but Vora had insisted on taking an hour “to teach your husband that he needs to be more considerate in plans that include a wife’.

  The other four men had risen and now joined Motara in approving of her. She kept her gaze lowered as Vora had taught her, but could tell they were examining her closely and appreciatively.

  “She is exquisite,” Motara said. “Knowing you so well, I was confident you would apply your eye for beauty to even the difficult task of finding an appropriate wife. But even I am impressed at the result.” The others murmured agreement.

  Kachiro looked at her and smiled. “She is more than that. She has a sharp mind and wit, and an eye for beauty and taste to rival my own.” He nudged her gently. “What did you say to me before?”

  She looked up fleetingly to meet Motara’s gaze. “That Master Motara’s furniture, here and at home, is exceptional. Graceful in proportion and shape. The cabinet with the drawers . . .” She sighed. “So beautiful.”

  Motara seemed to grow a little taller, and for a moment he bounced on the balls of his feet. Then he chuckled. “You didn’t tell her to say that in another of your attempts to get hold of it, did you, Kachiro?”

  “Oh! No!” Stara protested. “He did not!”

  “No,” Kachiro replied, a hint of smugness in his voice. “She stopped to admire it on the way in. You can ask your slave to confirm it.”

  Motara laughed again. “I may just do that, though you still could have described it to her befo
re arriving. Now, on to more important matters. Dashina has kept his promise. We have a bottle each! Vikaro and Rikacha were hoping you weren’t coming, so they could share yours. Chavori wanted it all for himself, but we know how bad he is at drinking.” Motara turned towards the chairs the men had been sitting on.

  “And Chiara?” Kachiro asked.

  Motara made a dismissive gesture. “With the other women, no doubt whining about us.” He looked at Stara, and she dropped her gaze. “Don’t believe half of what they say,” he warned her.

  She looked up at Kachiro questioningly, and he smiled. “They’re not as scary as he makes out. Go and join them. They’re probably itching with curiosity about you.”

  He made a gesture and she turned to see a slave step forward. Glancing back at Vora, who nodded, she moved towards him.

  “Take me to the women,” she ordered quietly. The slave bowed, then led her towards another exit from the room and into a corridor.

  So I don’t get to talk to Kachiro’s friends, she thought. Not that I expected to. He didn’t so much want me to meet them as to show me off to them. She considered whether this bothered her. It does, but I can forgive him that. It’s nice that he considers me clever, but even nicer that he’s willing to tell people that he thinks I am, in a way that shows he thinks it’s a good character trait and not a bad one.

  The women were in a room not far away from the men, sitting on cushion-covered wooden benches. There were only four of them, which she guessed meant one of the men was unmarried. They turned to regard her as the slave prostrated himself.

  “And who is this?” a slim woman with a protruding belly asked, but with the tone of someone who knows the answer and is following a ritual.

  “She is Stara, wife of Ashaki Kachiro,” the slave replied.

  “Go,” she told him then, rising and moving forward to meet Stara.

  “Welcome, Stara. I am Chiara,” she said, offering a hand and smiling. Stara took it and was led to the rest of the women. “Here is a space for you,” Chiara told her, gesturing to the end of a bench, beside a woman who would have been beautiful but for the scars that marred her skin. “Your slave can stay in the next room with ours. She’ll hear you if you call out.”

  As Vora slipped away, her lips pressed in an unhappy line, Stara sat down. She felt a prickle of self-conscious nervousness as the four woman gazed at her with obvious interest.

  “Aren’t you a pretty one?” one of them said admiringly.

  “She is, isn’t she?” another agreed. “Quite an exotic beauty. Her skin is so lovely.”

  “Kachiro said you had Elyne blood, you lucky thing,” a third said wistfully. Though Stara’s mother had told her mixed bloodlines were seen as a strength in Sachakan society, she could not help feeling disbelief at the envious looks of the women.

  “Don’t overwhelm her with compliments,” Chiara said, laughing. “Or at least let me introduce you all first.” She turned to the scarred woman. “This is Tashana, wife of Dashina. Next is Aranira, Vikaro’s wife.” She gestured to a rather plain, tall woman who looked to be the youngest. “And finally, this is Sharina, whose husband is Rikacha.” The last woman was appealingly plump and flashed a bright but shy smile.

  “Do you like your new home?” she asked.

  “And your husband?” Tashana added. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she smiled. “Don’t feel you must dress up the truth, if you’re not pleased. We were all given to men not of our choosing. That gives us the right to complain as much as we want.”

  Stara chuckled. “And if I did choose him, am I still allowed to complain?”

  “You chose him?” Aranira asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “Not that he isn’t handsome...”

  “Of course you are,” Tashana said. “Though you’ll have to allow us to be jealous.”

  “I didn’t,” Stara said quickly. “Choose him, that is. I was just curious to know what I should expect if I met someone who had chosen her husband.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “Now I’m not sure if you’ll believe me if I say anything good about him.”

  Tashana laughed, and the others joined in. “Give it a try and see what happens.”

  “He’s not what I had been led to expect of Sachakan men,” she began, noting how this brought a wry twist to their lips. “He’s considerate and respectful. He’s happy to tell me about his trade and listen to suggestions. He’s . . . he’s surprisingly good company.”

  A short silence followed as the women exchanged glances.

  “But?” Aranira asked hopefully.

  Stara shrugged. “Nothing. Yet. Give it time.”

  They chuckled and nodded. “Good to see you’re not too naive about marriage,” Chiara said. “Not like I was. Though ...I was a lot younger, I suspect.”

  “How old are you?” Sharina asked.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Rikacha said you were younger.”

  “I suspect my father lied about my age.”

  Tashana nodded. “Have you been married before?”

  Stara shook her head. The women exchanged looks of surprise. “I expect you think I’m a little old to be marrying for the first time.” They nodded. “I hadn’t planned to get married at all.”

  They frowned and looked at her closely. “Why not?”

  Suddenly Stara was not sure what to say. Would they think her odd if she admitted to ambitions in trading? They knew she had Elyne blood, but did they know she had spent half her childhood and her early adult life in Elyne? Should she tell them? It was probably safe enough to, she decided, especially as Kachiro knew and would probably tell his friends. Should I admit I had lovers? They’d love that, but it might get back to Kachiro. I’m not sure he’d find that so “refreshing”.

  “Perhaps that is too private a subject to discuss so soon,” Chiara suggested. “You barely know us.” She turned to look at the others. “Perhaps we should tell her more about ourselves. Our stories.”

  They nodded.

  “I’ll go first,” Aranira said. She looked at Tashana, who smiled and nodded. “Tashana was married at fifteen to Dashina, who was twenty. He approved of his wife greatly, but also of his and other men’s many pleasure slaves, some of which were never properly cared for. From them he caught slavespot, which he passed on to her and to her first child – who died – and since she began to scar he won’t bed her.”

  Tashana nodded, smiling despite the pain in her eyes. “At least I kept my figure.” She turned to Sharina. “Sharina was married at eighteen to Rikacha, a man fifteen years older than her. A man with no heart who beats her like a slave. She lost her first child after he hit her in the stomach. Motara threatened to stop talking to and trading with him if he ever hurt her again. Now he hits her only where it won’t show. She has two boys.”

  Sharina glanced at Stara and shrugged. “But I am so lucky to have them.” She turned to Chiara. “Chiara was fourteen when she married Motara, who was eighteen. Though he is sweet and generous and appears to be fond of her, he refuses to see what we all can see. She has swelled with child twelve times, birthed eight times, and her body is worn out and broken. Each time she grows sicker and we fear it will kill her. He should let her be – let her rest, at least. How many children does a man need?”

  Chiara smiled. “How can I deny him them? He does love them all – and me.”

  “You don’t have any choice,” Tashana said darkly.

  Sighing, Chiara turned to Aranira and her smile was strained. “Aranira married Vikaro when they were both sixteen. For the first few years all was well. She bore two children, a girl and a boy. But he lost interest in her too quickly. And in the children. It all sounded too strange, until friends of ours discovered the reason. He is infatuated with another woman. A powerful, beautiful woman who desires him in return. A widow whose husband died of an illness the slaves say was too much like poison.”

  “He does not have the courage to risk my family’s anger if he is found out,” Aranira said. But there was
doubt in her voice.

  Stara saw the fear in the plain girl’s eyes and nodded to show her understanding. Her situation is much like Nachira’s, except at least Ikaro loves Nachira and is trying to protect her. The women turned to regard her. This is like a ritual to them, she thought. They tell each other’s stories. It is as if they all gain something from the ritual. Acknowledgement, perhaps. Yet each has made light of her own situation, too. Perhaps it helps them hold on to the good in their lives, too.

  She wondered, then, at how willingly they had offered up their private lives to her. Perhaps because, as Kachiro’s wife, they had no choice but to include her in their group. Yet it felt as if they were challenging her as well as revealing themselves. Challenging her to be honest, perhaps? Or to accept their ways.

  “We do what we can to help each other,” Tashana told her. “If we can, we will help you, too. So if you need help, don’t fear to ask.”

  Stara nodded again. “I understand. If I can help any of you, I will,” she promised. “Though I have no idea how I could.”

  Abruptly she thought of magic. It was one asset she had that they didn’t, as far as she knew. But she would not mention it unless she needed to, or could see how it might be of use to them. And though I do like what I’ve seen of them so far, I still barely know them. I’m not going to tell them any secrets until I know I can trust them.

  “Admittedly, most of the time all we can offer is sympathy,” Chiara said. “But we have learned that friendship and someone to talk to is worth more than gold. Perhaps more than freedom.”

  I’m not sure many slaves would agree with that, Stara thought. Still, a life with no friends or family – no loving, supportive family, that is – would be a sad one, no matter how rich and powerful you were.

  Tashana began telling Stara about a friend they had helped, who had moved away with her husband to the north, to a place on the edge of the ash desert. The conversation turned to travel and Stara was surprised to find that all of the women had visited different parts of Sachaka, and most had moved to the city after they were married. Stara decided it would be safe to admit she had grown up partly in Elyne, and they bombarded her with questions about the country.