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

by Trudi Canavan

  As the riders came close they shifted from shadows to familiar figures. She was relieved to see Jayan among them, and that nobody was missing. Jayan wore a grim, unhappy expression. So did most of the others. Narvelan did not. His straight back suggested defiance or indignation.

  Or I am reading too much into this? she thought, watching Narvelan and two others meet with the king, Sabin and the leader of the Elynes. The rest of the group split up, some staying to listen to the men talking, some moving away. Tessia saw Jayan shake his head, then direct his horse towards her, Mikken and Dakon.

  “So,” Dakon murmured. “Did our neighbours give you a friendly reception?”

  Jayan didn’t quite manage a smile. “The master of the estate wasn’t home. Just... slaves.” He looked away, a haunted look in his eyes.

  “And the slaves?” Dakon prompted when Jayan didn’t continue.

  Jayan sighed. “Weren’t happy to see us and didn’t much like our plans for them.”

  “So Narvelan offered them their freedom?”

  “Yes.” Jayan frowned and looked at Dakon again. Tessia glimpsed pain, guilt and a darkness in his eyes, then his expression became guarded. “When we arrived they opened doors for us, then threw themselves flat on the ground. Narvelan told them to get up. He told them we were there to free them, if they cooperated with us. Then he began to ask questions. They told us their master was away, and who he was, but when he asked where he was it was clear they were lying.”

  He grimaced. “So Narvelan ordered one to approach, and he read the man’s mind. He saw that they had sent messengers to their master, who is visiting a neighbour, and that they were loyal to him. Afraid of him, but loyal. They did not understand what freedom was. Our offer was meaningless to them.

  “We started to argue about what to do next, but Narvelan said we had no time. The slaves were already spreading word of us. We must stop them and we must take their power. So we did, while he left to catch up with the messengers.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “When he returned he found we had done what we’d agreed – left the slaves alive but too exhausted to move. He looked at them and said we had to kill them. In a few hours they would have regained enough strength to leave and warn of our approach. So . . .” Jayan closed his eyes. “So he killed them. To save us the... from feeling responsible.”

  A shiver of horror ran down Tessia’s spine and she heard Mikken curse under his breath. She tried not to imagine the slaves, too exhausted to move, realising as the first of their number died that they faced the same fate and knowing they were helpless to stop it, to even run.

  Dakon looked at Narvelan and the king, then back at Jayan.

  “Ah,” he said. Instead of anger, Tessia saw sadness in her master’s face. Then his eyes narrowed. She looked over at the army leaders. They had begun to move forward, Narvelan riding at the king’s side, smiling.

  Smiling! After just killing so many... How many? She turned to Jayan.

  “How many? How many slaves?” she asked, then wondered why it was suddenly so important.

  He looked at her strangely. “Over a hundred.” Then his frown faded and he managed a weak smile. “Not even your healing will help, I’m afraid. Not this time.” He looked away. “I wish it could.”

  I wasn’t thinking it could, she thought. But from the look of him, I don’t think pointing that out will help much. Dakon nudged his horse into a walk and hers and Jayan’s followed suit. They rode in silence. Jayan’s words repeated over and over in Tessia’s mind.

  “What I don’t understand,” Mikken said after a while, “is why Narvelan thought killing the slaves would prevent the Sachakans realising we were here. Once their master returns home it will be obvious something is wrong. And surely the Sachakans are going to notice a few hundred Kyralians riding through and camping in their land.”

  “Yes,” Dakon agreed. “I’m wondering why we ever thought we’d be able to sneak up on them. Or why those who should know better even suggested it.”

  “Do you think they said whatever they thought would get the army here, knowing that once we were we couldn’t change our minds?” Tessia asked.

  Neither Dakon nor Jayan answered. But they didn’t need to. The anger she had expected from Dakon earlier was now clear in his face. Jayan looked worried. For that, she felt a pang of sympathy. He must feel as if he’d taken part in the slaughter of the slaves.

  “I think,” Jayan said, so quietly that Tessia was only just able to hear him. “I think Lord Narvelan may be a little mad. And the king knows it, and is letting him do what the rest of us might not.”

  Dakon nodded slowly, his gaze still on his neighbour and friend. “I’m afraid you may be right, Jayan.”

  From within the corridor, Hanara watched as another man entered the master’s room and was greeted by Ashaki Charaka. The man wore a knife at his belt, so he was also a magician. He greeted Takado, Asara and Dachido with friendly curiosity and a touch of admiration. Hanara felt a familiar pride. The long-life feeling.

  My master is a hero. It doesn’t matter that he failed to conquer Kyralia. He is a hero because he tried.

  Beside him, Asara’s slave stirred. “Something’s not right,” she whispered.

  His stomach clenched and the long-life feeling vanished. He scowled at her. “What?”

  She shook her head, her eyes dark with fear. “I don’t know. Something.”

  He turned away. Foolish woman. He looked at the magicians who had gathered to meet his master. Ashaki Charaka was old, but moved with the confidence of a man used to power and respect. The others were from neighbouring estates. Most of their domains weren’t in the path of the Kyralian army. Unable to take the road, since the Kyralians were using it, and travelling on foot, Takado and his friends had spent two days descending the mountain. They took a direct route that put them in land a few estates away from those most likely to be invaded first.

  The magicians didn’t know about the enemy army yet. Takado was clearly waiting for the right time to tell them. Instead he had begun relating stories of the early days in Kyralia, of villages of people left to their own devices, working the land belonging to their master as they pleased, without his protection. How easy they were to take.

  The other magicians listened closely. Hanara watched each of them in turn. None of the five hesitated to ask questions, and Takado answered with an honesty that clearly surprised them.

  “They have developed new fighting strategies,” Takado told them, while Asara and Dachido nodded. “In groups, so that when one member is exhausted he or she relies on the others for protection. When the whole group is exhausted they join another group. It is surprisingly effective.”

  “What happens when they are all exhausted?” one of the listeners asked.

  “They never got to that point, though they came close,” Asara replied.

  “I suspect we would have an entire army of exhausted magicians to kill off as we pleased.” Takado shrugged.

  “But you never got to that point?”

  Takado shook his head and began describing the first battle. When he reached the point where the Kyralian army began retreating he stopped.

  “But . . .” one of the listeners said. “If they were retreating they must have been close to finished. Why didn’t you follow?”

  “Nomako,” Dachido answered, his voice low and full of derision. “He tried to take command at that point.”

  “He made a fool of himself,” Asara said. “We would have won then, but for the delay. The Kyralians removed their people from the towns in our path, so we weren’t able to boost our strength as well as we should have.”

  “But in the next battle . . .” Takado began.

  Hanara did not hear any more. Footsteps in the corridor covered the voices. He watched as slaves filed past, taking platters laden with food into the master’s room for hosts and guests to feast on. At the smell of the food Hanara’s stomach ached and groaned. For days he’d eaten only scrawny, magic-roasted birds and
what herbs and edible plants he could find in the mountains.

  When the magicians had finished and the last of the platters had been taken away, he felt a nudge at his elbow. Turning, he saw a child slave holding out one of the platters. Scraps of roasted meat and vegetables lay in congealing sauce.

  Hanara grabbed a handful and ate quickly. Such opportunities had to be seized, whether in the midst of war or in the peaceful mansions of home. Dachido’s slave ate just as hungrily, but Asara’s slave was hesitating. He looked at her questioningly. She was frowning at the food in suspicion, but he could hear her stomach rumbling.

  As he reached for the last morsel of food, she suddenly snatched it out from under his hand. Even then she didn’t eat straight away. She looked at him closely, then at Dachido’s slave. Hanara shrugged. He turned back to watch and listen to Takado. After a moment he heard her eating and smiled to himself.

  “Now the last battle,” the host said. “What went wrong there?”

  Takado scowled. “Bad timing. Nomako hadn’t told me that he’d sent two groups to the west and south to subdue those areas and gather strength before meeting up with us outside Imardin. Nomako convinced us that we should wait for the southern group to arrive so we were as strong as possible before facing the Kyralians. He said the Kyralian people would not submit to giving their strength to their masters, since they were not slaves.” He shook his head. “I had doubts, but since most of the fighters were now his men, and he had threatened to withdraw their support . . .”

  “He was wrong. We believe the entire city gave its strength to the Kyralian army,” Dachido said.

  The listeners looked surprised. “I’d have said it was unlikely, but not impossible,” Ashaki Charaka said.

  “I thought it a risk,” Asara agreed, “but I didn’t think they’d have time. An entire city of people giving power in a few hours? I have no idea how they managed it.”

  “But they did,” Charaka said. He stared at Takado in an unfriendly way. Hanara frowned as the man said something else, but a buzzing in his ears drowned out the words.

  “I told you something was wrong,” a female voice said behind him, faint and weak. He heard a thud and turned to see her lying on the floor. Moving his head sent it spinning sickeningly. He stilled and closed his eyes.

  What is going on? But he knew even as he asked himself. In the master’s room, voices were raised. He opened his mouth and tried to voice a warning, but all that came out was a moan. We have been drugged. And Takado...he is not strong enough to fight his way out of here.

  “. . . fight us or you can co-operate.”

  “We have no time for that.” Takado’s voice was confident and full of warning. “The Kyralian army is here. The fools have—”

  “If they are or not is no longer your concern.” The host. Commanding voice. More words, but they were distorted and lost behind more buzzing. Hanara felt the strength go from his limbs. He felt the wall slide across his chest, the floor stop his fall. Blurry shapes moved before his eyes.

  Then rough fabric slipped over his head and all he saw was darkness.

  CHAPTER 44

  The sky had been brightening for the last hour, slowly turning an eerie red while the land was still a black flatness, interrupted here and there by the shapes of buildings and trees. The colour lit the edges of faces and was reflected in eyes, giving familiar figures a strangeness somewhat appropriate, Dakon thought, after the deeds of the night. People he thought he knew, whom he’d believed of gentler character, had shown a darker side. Or a weakness for copying what the majority did, though they did not agree with it.

  The king had decided that Narvelan would lead every attack on the Sachakan estates, but that each time he should take a different group of magicians. An interesting decision, Dakon had thought. He’s forcing us all to take part in the slaughter, so the responsibility is spread among us. If we all feel guilty, none of us is going to start blaming others.

  Dakon was wondering what would happen when it was his turn, and he refused to participate.

  So far there had been no shortage of volunteers. Lord Prinan had joined the third group, confessing to Dakon beforehand that he feared if he did not strengthen himself he would be useless in the battles to come.

  Will I be useless? Dakon wondered. If I only take power from Tessia I will be weaker, but not useless. Should that mean I am one of the first to fall in the next battle, then that is how it will be. I will not kill slaves for their power.

  “You could leave them exhausted instead,” Tessia had suggested, no doubt realising what his refusal to participate might mean.

  “And Narvelan will check afterwards and ensure they are dead,” he’d replied. “Don’t worry. It is only a matter of waiting. Once the king realises that we can’t possibly keep our presence in Sachaka a secret, he won’t care if we let the slaves live or not.”

  The estates were a few hours’ ride from each other, so they had only attacked seven. In all the houses following the first one they had encountered magicians. Each had fought the attackers and been defeated. Nobody had mentioned if any family of these magicians had been present, and what their fate had been. Dakon doubted all the estates had been empty of their owner’s family and that any had been left alive.

  The sound of multiple hoofbeats drew the army’s attention to the side road Narvelan’s latest group had ridden down. Sure enough, the band was coming back. It broke apart as it met the army, the magicians returning to their former positions in the line and Narvelan approaching the king yet again.

  Instead of riding on, the king turned to Sabin and nodded. The sword master turned his horse and rode back along the line. As he passed he met Dakon’s eyes.

  “The king asks the advisers to meet with him.”

  Dakon nodded, then, as Sabin passed out of hearing, sighed.

  “Good luck,” Jayan murmured.

  “Thanks.” Dakon glanced at Tessia, who offered him a sympathetic smile; then he nudged his horse forward.

  He stopped beside Lord Hakkin and watched as the other advisers made their way to the front of the line. The leader of the Elynes joined them. When Sabin returned with the last of them, all turned to face each other, a ring of horses and riders.

  “We need a safe place to camp,” the king said. “But there does not appear to be anywhere nearby where a group our size could hide. Magician Sabin suggests we ride on.”

  “In daylight, your majesty?” Hakkin asked. “Won’t we be seen?”

  The king nodded.

  “What we have done this night will eventually be discovered. Perhaps in a day or two, but we should assume we aren’t so lucky and that the news of our arrival began to travel after our first stop. We should keep moving. We may not be able to keep pace with news of ourselves, but for a while we may arrive too soon for our enemy to prepare to meet or avoid us.”

  “But when will we sleep?” Perkin asked. “What of the horses?” Sabin smiled grimly. “When the news has outpaced us, we will find a defensible position and take turns resting. And we will take fresh horses wherever we find them. Each estate has had a stable, with between four and twenty horses. This one,” he nodded towards the distant white walls, “had over thirty. I will send servants back to collect them.”

  “What will we do when the news has outpaced us? What will they do?” Bolvin asked.

  “Advance as quickly as we are able. Give them as little time to unite and prepare as possible.”

  “Would we be more successful at keeping pace with the news if we did not stop to attack the Sachakan homes along the way?” Dakon asked.

  “We would,” Sabin said. “But we need to strengthen ourselves as well.”

  “But we have the storestone,” Dakon pointed out.

  Sabin glanced at Dem Ayend. “Which we should not use unless we absolutely have to. It would be a waste if we used it, but still failed because we had not gone to the effort of seeing to our own strength.”

  At this the Dem’s lips twitched, b
ut he said nothing.

  “And prevented the Sachakans from strengthening themselves,” Narvelan added. “It would be foolish to leave them any source of strength to use against us. We don’t want to be attacked from behind, or have our path of retreat blocked.”

  Now it was Sabin’s turn to look amused. Dakon looked around at the other magicians, who were all nodding in agreement, and felt a chill run down his spine, to gather as a knot of cold somewhere in his belly. They’re going to keep killing slaves, he realised. All the way to Arvice. Because they’re too proud to use the Elynes’ storestone. Because they’re afraid. He could not speak for a moment, and when his shock passed the conversation had moved to other matters. Not that anything I say will make a difference. They want to give us the best chance of winning. The lives of a few thousand slaves aren’t going to seem so important next to that.

  “Lord Dakon,” the king said. Dakon looked up, realising he hadn’t heard the last part of the discussion.

  “Yes, your majesty?”

  “Would you gather and lead a group to find food for the army?” He felt a belated relief. “Yes, I can do that.” Here was a task he could participate in without any challenge to his conscience.

  “Good.” The king’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I would like to discuss this with you further. The rest of you may return to your positions.”

  As the others rode away the king urged his horse closer to Dakon’s.

  “I have noticed you have not joined any of the attacks on the estates,” the king said, his eyes sharp and level. “You do not agree with killing the slaves, do you?”

  “No, your majesty.” Dakon held the king’s eyes, his heart beating a little faster with dread.

  “I remember you saying, at the pass, that we should take care not to become Sachakans. I have not forgotten.” The king smiled briefly, then became serious again. “I do not think we are in any danger of that.”