As the camp swelled, Hanara realised that Dachido’s group had grown. He looked around, counting, and found it was now three times the size it had been last time Takado and Dachido had met. The newcomers included a woman, he noticed. She approached with Dachido as Takado rose to greet his ally.
“I see you’ve gathered some new friends, Dachido,” Takado said, then turned to the woman and smiled. “Asara. It has been a long time since we last met.”
Her smile was faint. “Indeed. Too long. If I’d known about your plans I might have paid you a visit earlier.”
“To support me or try to talk me out of them?”
“Probably to try to talk sense into you. But that was when I thought Emperor Vochira a strong man.”
Takado’s eyebrows rose. “And you no longer do?”
“No.” Her dark eyes flashed. “He sent me here to deal with you.” They gazed at each other, both smiling knowingly. Then Takado chuckled. “Who was he trying to insult, me or you?”
“You doubt I could do it?”
His smile widened. “Of course not. But does he?”
She made a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I came here to join you, not drag you back to the Imperial Palace.”
“And your companions?”
“Agree with and follow me.”
He nodded. Hanara felt a prickling sensation run down his back. She’s just told him plainly that her people will only follow him if she does. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. He’ll probably have her group travel separately, too. That will mean of the four groups, he has two not truly in his control. Though Asara is probably smarter and more sensible than Dovaka. He sniffed quietly. That wouldn’t be difficult.
Dachido and Asara joined Takado at the campfire, and the rest of the magicians followed. They set the slaves to the chores of setting up camp and bringing out food and drink. As Hanara worked he caught snatches of conversation. First Asara asked about Takado’s progress – was it true he had destroyed a village? Why hadn’t he kept it? What was the advantage in splitting into smaller groups?
Then he heard her ask Takado what his next move would be. He smiled broadly, clearly pleased but also amused.
“I am not quite ready to decide.”
The next time Hanara returned to the fire they were discussing confusing and convoluted stories about crumbling and new alliances, mysterious favours and oblique references to unexplained murders.
“The emperor may never forgive me for this,” she said, shrugging. “But at least when I turned disloyal I didn’t try to kill him, as others have.”
“Surely you know that won’t stop him having you killed?”
“Of course. But I do suspect he sent me here hoping I’d fail. I figure, if he didn’t mind that, then he doesn’t mind me remaining here with you and helping you retake Kyralia.”
Takado looked thoughtful. He opened his mouth to reply, but a call from within the forest stalled him. All rose as the call came again, from closer. Then a slave staggered out of the trees and threw herself at Takado’s feet.
“Dead,” she gasped. “They’re all dead!”
“Who?” Takado snapped.
“Dovaka, Nagana, Ravora and Sageko. They... they took a village and the Kyralians came and killed them.”
Dachido muttered a curse. Takado glanced at him, then he looked down at the slave again. “They invaded a village.”
“Yes.”
“And stayed there. They didn’t leave?”
“Yes. No.”
“And the Kyralians took exception to this. How unfriendly of them.”
“They killed Dovaka,” The slave began to sob. “My master is dead.”
“Go.” Takado nudged her with his toe. “Get yourself some food and water and rest over by that tree. We will decide what to do with you later.”
As she obeyed he turned to Dachido and Asara. To Hanara’s surprise, he was smiling broadly.
“Now I am ready to make my decision. Tomorrow we will not travel separately. We will move southward together. We will destroy everything, strengthening ourselves as we go. But we will advance slowly so that others may still come through the pass and join us. We will take over Kyralia, piece by piece, magician by magician, until it is all ours.”
There was a pause as all the magicians stared at Takado in surprise. Then they gave a cheer and raised their cups in agreement. Asara glanced at Dachido, then shrugged and raised her cup. Dachido did the same, gazing at Takado in thoughtful admiration.
Dovaka is dead! Hanara thought as he rushed to refill Takado’s cup. The madman is dead. Was that Takado’s plan all along? Did he only want to get rid of Dovaka? And demonstrate to the rest of these allies why they should take his advice and follow orders? But then, maybe he needed the Kyralians to kill some Sachakans before he could get the full support of his allies. And if some Sachakans had to die then it might as well be the ones he couldn’t rely on...
Hanara’s mind swirled with wonder. Truly his master was a genius. And while he had just lost four allies, he had gained considerably more.
CHAPTER 28
All night Jayan could not shake the thought that he was sleeping in the bed of a dead man.
Rather than squeeze all the magicians into the master’s house, the villagers had found room for them in the unoccupied houses of the village. Jayan had been longing to sleep in a real bed, but when he realised that he, Dakon and Tessia were taking up residence in the home of a family who had died he found he could not relax.
At first he lay awake with memories of the day repeating before his mind’s eye. Then sleep came, but was chased away time after time by nightmares.
We won, he thought. So why am I suddenly having bad dreams?
It might be the memory of the bodies of the villagers the Sachakans had tortured that was putting his mind in dark places. And the stories the survivors told, and the haunted eyes of the women rescued from the rooms where the enemy had imprisoned them, some of them far too young to have endured such an ordeal.
Or it might also have been the battle itself, frightening and thrilling all at once, that had excited his mind too much for sleep. He kept finding himself analysing everything – every step and choice. But another thought kept creeping in that disturbed him more than he expected.
It was the first time I’ve killed. Oh, I only contributed some of the power, and did not direct the strike, but I still had a part in the deaths of other people.
It wasn’t guilt or regret that bothered him. The Sachakans were invaders. They had killed Kyralians. And after seeing what the Sachakans had done to the villagers, Jayan knew he wouldn’t have hesitated to deal the fatal blows himself.
But he couldn’t help feeling that something in him had changed, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good change. He resented the Sachakans – all the invaders – for causing it to happen. There was no going back, no undoing the change. Ironically, that made him want them gone from Kyralia even more – even if it meant killing again.
When dawn came, Jayan rose, washed himself and his clothes, dried his clothes with magic and put them on again. He waited in the kitchen until Dakon and Tessia emerged from their rooms and joined him. Dakon moved to a cupboard and opened the doors.
“It feels wrong to be eating their food,” he said.
Jayan and Tessia exchanged a glance.
“Either someone will eat it or it will go bad,” she said.
“And it’s not as if we’re stealing it from them,” Jayan added. Dakon sighed and brought out some stale bread, salted meat, and sweet preserves. Tessia rose and found plates and cutlery. They ate silently.
She looks exhausted, Jayan noted. Dark marks shadowed the skin under her eyes and her shoulders were slumped. He wished he could cheer her up, or at least see some of the familiar spark of interest in her eyes again. Even a bit of healing obsession would be better than seeing her all glum and sad.
“So how did the villagers fare?” he asked her. “Are they well?
”
She blinked at him, then shrugged. “Surprisingly few injuries – mostly the girls. They’ll heal, but . . .” She grimaced and shook her head. “Otherwise, the Sachakans killed anyone injured in the attack, and once they decided to torture someone they always finished them off. Eventually.”
Jayan nodded. It matched what he’d been told. He felt his stomach turn. I thought what happened to Sudin and Aken was cruel, but they were treated kindly compared to some of these villagers. Tormented for hours. All out of some distorted idea of fun.
“Not all Sachakans are so depraved,” Dakon said quietly.
Tessia and Jayan looked at him. He smiled tiredly.
“I know it’s hard to believe right now, and I admit I’m finding it difficult to make myself remember the fact, but it is true.
Unfortunately it’s the greedy, ambitious and most violent who are most likely to be attracted to Takado’s side. I—”
A knock on the front door of the house interrupted him. Dakon rose and left the kitchen, then returned and beckoned. Jayan and Tessia rose and followed him out into the street, where Narvelan waited.
Two groups had gathered on the other side of the road. One was of magicians and apprentices, the other was a painfully small gathering of villagers. Narvelan gestured for the trio to follow and led them towards the magicians.
“They’ve offered to give us strength,” he told Dakon.
“Hmm,” was all Dakon uttered in reply.
“I thought you’d say that.”
As Dakon joined the magicians and the debate, Tessia moved close to Jayan.
“It makes sense, and if they’re willing to give it why shouldn’t we accept?” she asked. “We’ve just used a lot of power. Taking theirs wouldn’t harm them, but it could help us regain some strength.” She frowned. “I would advise against taking power from the girls, though. They’ve gone through enough.”
“Aside from the fact we’d be breaking the king’s laws, it’s not that simple,” Jayan told her. “Dakon explained it to me once.” He paused, trying to remember his master’s words. “He said no good magician is completely comfortable with using higher magic. It’s essential to the defence of the country, and enables us to do more than we can with just our own powers, but he said that in the hands of an ambitious or sadistic magician it can be dangerous. Or in the hands of someone desperate to justify its use. He said, “Self-righteousness can be as destructive as unscrupulousness.” Yes, I definitely remember those words. Got me thinking. Still does, sometimes.”
She turned her head to the side slightly and considered him. “You’re a very contradictory man, Jayan.”
He blinked and stared at her. “I am?”
“Yes.”
He could not think of anything to say to that, so he turned his attention back to the magicians’ debate. Then he rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. It could be days before the villagers get an answer. Weeks even. Perhaps we should warn the villagers not to wait, or they might starve.”
“Perhaps their offer won’t be necessary,” Tessia said quietly.
He realised she had turned away, and that some of the other apprentices were staring in the same direction. He followed their gaze and saw that a group of men on horseback were riding into the village. The magicians’ voices faltered and faded.
“Reinforcements?” someone asked.
“That’s Lord Ardalen. This must be the group headed for the pass,” another muttered.
“That’s Lord Everran – and Lady Avaria!” Tessia exclaimed. Sure enough, the couple rode behind Lord Ardalen. Beside Ardalen rose Magician Sabin, sword master and friend of the king. Jayan began counting. If all the well-dressed newcomers were magicians – his idea for a badge to mark members of his imagined guild would have made it certain – then there were eighteen magicians arriving to either regain the pass or join Werrin.
The newcomers dismounted and Magician Sabin stepped forward to greet Werrin, Ardalen at his side. Jayan edged closer and strained to hear the conversation.
“Magician Sabin,” Werrin said. “Please tell me you’re here to join us. We could do with your insight and advice.”
“I am here to join you,” Sabin replied. “As are twelve of this company. Five will go with Ardalen to retake the pass.” He looked at the villagers. “Your scouts told us you have won a battle here.”
“Yes, we have,” Werrin’s tone was grim. “Four Sachakans took the town. We regained it.”
“They are dead?”
“Yes.”
Sabin pursed his lips briefly, then nodded. “You must tell me in more detail.”
“Of course.” Werrin glanced back at the villagers, who watched the newcomers with nervous interest. “We were just debating how to respond to a noble offer made by the survivors. They want us to take strength from them, both out of gratitude and so that we may use it to fight.”
Sabin’s eyebrows rose. “A noble offer indeed, if they have already been subjected to that unwillingly.” He looked thoughtful. “The king has been examining the law against taking magic from anyone but apprentices. He acknowledges that there may not be enough magically talented young men in the higher classes to supply all the magicians needed to remove Takado and his allies. He is also worried that we may lose many of our magical blood-lines if things go badly. So he has decreed that servants may be employed as sources if a magician has no apprentice, so long as they are paid well.”
“They should be tested first, as there would be little point if they had little or no latent talent,” Werrin said. “I guess this means we can’t accept the villagers’ offer.”
Sabin’s eyes narrowed. “The law against taking magic from people other than apprentices does not apply in time of war. Sounds like what happened here qualifies as an action of war.”
As Werrin and Sabin exchanged a silent, meaningful look, Jayan felt a chill run over his skin.
I think that means we’re officially at war.
“I don’t see how walking around the same old mansion is going to cheer me up,” Stara told Vora as the woman led her down the corridor. “It might be a large prison, but it’s still a prison.”
“Don’t dismiss what you haven’t tried, mistress,” the slave replied calmly. “This place won’t keep a mind like yours entertained for long, I agree. But it has many interesting little corners, and finding them may provide some temporary relief from the boredom.”
I’m not bored. How can I be bored? I’ve been too busy thinking about the monster my father is, and what he’s going to do with me now I’m “unmarriageable”, to be bored. If I’m wearing grooves into the floor with my pacing, it’s because I want to go home. Stara sighed. Pity I had to come here to find out where “home” really is.
“Are there any walls here that aren’t white?”
“No, mistress.”
Stara sighed again. It had taken Vora some days to talk Stara into leaving her room. Stara wouldn’t admit it to her slave, but she was afraid of encountering her father. Vora kept badgering her, and in the end Stara had agreed out of disgust at herself for letting him turn her into a coward. Though she imagined it would be difficult to talk him into sending her home, it would be impossible if she never encountered him again.
A curious smell had entered the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, or sickly sweet like the fragrances Sachakans preferred. Vora led Stara into a curved corridor. Arched windows on the inside wall opened onto a mass of green. Stara stopped, surprised to see so much plant life before her.
As she moved to one of the windows she realised that the garden on the other side was enclosed within a circular room, whose roof was a segmented circle of woven fabric stretched between metal hooks fixed in the walls.
“Yes, this is rather nice – and unexpected,” she said aloud.
Vora chuckled. As the woman moved to a doorway into the garden, Stara considered the slave. I’m almost sure she likes me. I hope so. I’ve come to like her, and it would be a shame if it wasn’t mutual.
She still couldn’t bring herself to treat Vora as anything less than a servant. The woman’s bossy manner hardly emphasised her slave status, either. I probably trust her more than I should, Stara thought. If her descriptions of Sachakan politics and intrigue aren’t exaggerated then I should consider the possibility that an enemy might recruit her to poison me or something. One of Father’s enemies, more like it...or Father himself. She shivered. But he wouldn’t do that. Even if only because Mother would refuse to send her profits to him any more. Still...if she never knew it was him...I should think of something else.
A small stone-lined creek wound across the garden, crossed by a bridge at the centre. At the far end water emerged through a pipe protruding from the wall. It was so pleasant that Stara was disappointed when Vora led her across the corridor and into an empty room. Here the walls were lined with grey stone.
“So the walls aren’t all wh—” Stara began, but stopped as Vora indicated she should remain silent.
Intrigued, Stara followed the slave to a wooden doorway on the other side of the room. Vora stopped and beckoned for Stara to come nearer. The faint sound of music filtered through the door. Stara looked at Vora in surprise. She hadn’t heard any music since coming to Sachaka. The woman smiled and repeated her gesture for silence.
Stara listened. The musician was playing a stringed instrument she was more used to hearing in the homes of rich Elynes. And the musician was good. Very good. As the player shifted from one tune to another, sometimes repeating a phrase to fix a mistake or alter the speed, Stara grew more impressed. Finally she could not stand the suspense any longer. She moved away from the door.
“Who is it?” she whispered to Vora.
The woman’s smile widened. “Master Ikaro.”
Stara straightened in shock. “My brother?”
“Yes, mistress. I told you. He is not who you think he is.”
“How did he learn to play like that?”
“Listening. Practising.” Vora’s smile faced. “When Master Sokara found out he smashed Master Ikaro’s first vyer. I don’t know how your brother managed to get hold of another. He won’t tell me, for fear your father will read my mind.”
The Magician’s Apprentice Page 34