Rothen grimaced. “Lorkin has volunteered to be his assistant.”
Sonea froze.
Lorkin.
In Sachaka.
Lorkin had volunteered to go to Sachaka.
She realised she had been gaping at him and closed her mouth. Her heart was pounding. She felt sick. Rothen took her arm and led her out of the Guildhall, then away from the crowds of magicians lingering to discuss the petition. She barely saw them.
Sachakans and Lorkin. They’ll kill him. No – they wouldn’t dare. But family are obliged to avenge deaths. Even the deaths of outcasts. And if not on the killer, then the offspring...
Determination filled her. The Sachakans were not going to harm her son. They weren’t, because she was not going to let Lorkin do anything so stupid and dangerous.
“Osen will never agree to it,” she found herself saying.
“Why wouldn’t he? He can’t refuse merely on the basis of parentage.”
“I’ll appeal to the Higher Magicians. They must know he will be in more danger than any other magician – and that means he’ll be a liability. Dannyl can’t spend all his time protecting Lorkin. And the Sachakans may refuse to deal with Dannyl once they know who his assistant’s father was.”
Rothen nodded. “All good points. But it could be that if you say nothing, Lorkin will have time to think about all the ways this could go badly, and change his mind. I suspect the harder you try to stop Lorkin, the more determined he’ll be to go.”
“I can’t take the risk that he won’t come to his senses.” She stared at him. “How would you feel, if you let him go and something happened to him?”
Rothen paused, then grimaced.
“All right. I guess we have some work to do then.”
She felt a wave of affection for him, and smiled.
“Thank you, Rothen.”
Dannyl looked around the dining room and sighed with appreciation. One advantage of relinquishing his room in the Guild and moving into a house in the Inner Circle had been the sudden possession of space. Though he now spent much of his income as a magician on rent, the indulgence of rooms was worth it. Not only did he have his own generous office, and this tastefully decorated dining room; he also had his own personal library and rooms for guests. Not that he had guests stay often – just the occasional scholar with an interest in Dannyl’s history. Tayend, on the other hand, had his Kyralian and Elyne friends stay over all the time.
What are Sachakan houses like? he wondered. I should find out before I leave. If I leave.
Administrator Osen had said he could not see any reason why Dannyl wouldn’t be given the position of Guild Ambassador to Sachaka, since he was well qualified and nobody else had applied for it.
I’ll miss this place, though. I’m sure there’ll be times I’ll wish I could grab a book from my library, or order my favourite meal from good old Yerak, or...
He looked up as footsteps sounded outside the room. There was a pause, then Tayend peered around the archway. His eyes narrowed.
“Who are you, and where is the real Lord Dannyl?”
Dannyl frowned and shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw your desk.” The scholar entered the room and stared at Dannyl with mock suspicion. “It’s tidy.”
“Ah.” Dannyl chuckled. “I’ll explain in a moment. Sit down. Yerak is waiting and I’m too hungry for explanations right now.”
As Tayend sat down, Dannyl sent a little magic toward the dinner gong, sending the ringer gently tapping on the disc.
“You went to the Guild today?” Tayend asked.
“Yes.”
“New books?”
“No, I had a meeting with Administrator Osen.”
“Really? What about?”
The door from the kitchens opened, saving Dannyl from answering. Servants filed in with steaming platters and bowls of food. Dannyl and Tayend filled their plates and began eating.
“What did you do today?” Dannyl asked, between mouthfuls.
The scholar shrugged, then related a story he’d been told by another expatriate Elyne that he’d visited that morning, about some Vindo roet smugglers who’d sampled their wares and been found delirious and naked beside a river.
“So what did Administrator Osen have to say?” Tayend asked when the plates had been cleared away.
Dannyl paused, then drew in a deep breath. I can’t put it off any longer. He looked at Tayend and made his expression serious.
“He said that there weren’t any other applicants for the position of Guild Ambassador to Sachaka, so it was very likely I’d be given the position.”
Tayend blinked, then his mouth fell open. “Ambassador?” he repeated. “Sachaka? You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
Looking away, Tayend’s eyes began to blaze with excitement. “I’ve never been to Sachaka! And there isn’t even a sea journey involved.”
Dannyl shook his head. “You’re not going, Tayend.”
“Not going?” Tayend turned to stare at him. “Of course I’m going!”
“I wish I could take you, but...” Dannyl spread his hands. “All visitors to Sachaka must be approved, either by the Guild or their king.”
“I’ll apply to my king, then.”
Dannyl shook his head again. “No, Tayend. I... I’d rather you didn’t. Firstly, it’s a dangerous country and while magicians and most traders return alive, nobody knows yet how Sachakans will react to a non-magician noble venturing into their land.”
“Then we’ll find out.”
“There’s also decorum to consider. As far as I’ve been able to discover, Sachakans are neither accepting of lads, nor in a habit of putting us to death. They consider us low status, however, and they often refuse to deal with people they consider too far below them in the social hierarchy. That’s not going to be helpful in my role, or in my search for historical records.”
“They won’t find out, if we’re discreet,” Tayend said. Then he frowned and turned to glare at Dannyl. “That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? More research!”
“Of course. Did you think I’d suddenly manifested a desire to be an Ambassador again, or live in Sachaka?”
Tayend rose and began to pace the room. “It makes sense now.” He stopped. “How long does the position go for?”
“Two years, but I can return early if necessary. And to visit home.”
Resuming his pacing, Tayend tapped his chin with one finger. Suddenly he scowled.
“Who is going to be your assistant?”
Dannyl smiled. “Lord Lorkin has expressed an interest.”
Tayend’s shoulders relaxed. “Well, that’s a relief. He won’t have seduced you into leaving me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Oh, Sonea’s son has quite a reputation among the ladies now – since that thing with that girl blew over. Probably highly exaggerated, as always. But there’s more than a few who’d like to find out for themselves.”
Dannyl felt a twinge of curiosity. “Really? So why haven’t they?”
“Apparently he’s choosy.”
Dannyl leaned back in his chair. “So will I have to keep an eye on him in Sachaka or not?”
A sly look stole over the scholar’s face. “I could watch over him. It would free you up to do your research.”
“No, Tayend.”
Anger and frustration crossed Tayend’s face, then he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a huff.
“You had better change your mind,” he said. “And you should also know that if you fail to change your mind I’ll...” He paused, then straightened his shoulders. “Then you might find I am no longer here, when you return to Kyralia in two years.”
Dannyl stared at his lover, suddenly unsure what to say. His heart had lurched at the threat, but something made him stay silent. Perhaps it was the fact that Tayend wasn’t trying to persuade him to stay. He only wanted the chance to go on another adventure.
The scholar gazed back at him, eyes wide. Then he shook his head, turned and strode out of the room.
Chapter 5
Preparations
Reaching out to touch the wall, Cery felt a wry affection. Once, the old outer city defences had been a symbol of the division between rich and poor – a barrier beyond which, after the Purge had driven all the homeless and the occupants of overcrowded safehouses out of the city and into the slums each winter, only Thieves and their friends could pass.
Now it was meaningless to Imardians except as a lingering reminder of the past. It formed part of the structure of one of Cery’s properties, this time a sprawling storehouse for importers to keep their wares, both legal and smuggled. There were still a few entrances to the underground network of passages known as the Thieves’ Road, but they were rarely used. He’d kept them only as possible escape routes, but these days a Thief using the Road was as likely to meet trouble as escape it.
Cery moved away from the wall and sat down. He had decided that the well-appointed apartment on the second floor of the storehouse was as good a place to settle as any. Returning to his old hideout was unthinkable. Even if it hadn’t contained painful memories, it clearly hadn’t been secure enough. Not that any of his other hideouts were better protected, but there was a chance, at least, that their location wasn’t known by his family’s killer.
But he had no intention of hiding away. As always, every time he ventured out into the city, whether in his own district or not, someone could attack him. Which made him wonder if he was wrong to assume he had been the killer’s true target.
No. Even though they waited until I was gone to kill my family, the true target was me. Selia and the boys had no enemies.
His chest constricted at the thought of them, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Somehow he took that suffocating grief and channelled it into something else: a deep, growing fury. If the killer or killers, or their employer, had intended to hurt Cery they had succeeded. And they were going to pay for it. Which meant it was more important to find out who had killed his family, and why, than how they’d managed to discover and break into his rooms.
He took a few long, deep breaths. Gol had suggested the Thief Hunter might have killed them, but Cery dismissed the idea. The legendary vigilante did not target the families of Thieves, or kill them to hurt Thieves. He only killed Thieves.
A faint chiming reached his ears in a pattern he recognised, so he rose and moved to a tube protruding from the wall, and placed his ear to it. The voice that echoed within was distorted, but recognisable. Cery moved around the room pulling levers and turning knobs until a section of wall swivelled open. Gol stepped inside.
“How did it go?” Cery asked, moving back to his chair. Gol took the seat opposite and rubbed his hands together.
“There are rumours about already. Don’t know if one of our lot let it slip or the knife’s been boasting.” Cery nodded. Some assassins liked to own up to their high-profile targets, as it demonstrated how clever they were. “I doubt Anyi would say anything,” Gol added.
“She might, if she had to. Did you do the usual rounds?”
Gol nodded.
“So how is business?”
Leaning back in the chair, Cery listened as his bodyguard and friend related where he’d been and who he’d spoken to since venturing out early that morning. It took an effort to keep his mind on the man’s words, but Cery forced himself to concentrate. To his relief, business in his district appeared to be continuing as it always did. Gol hadn’t found any evidence that someone was taking advantage of Cery’s distraction yet.
“So,” Gol said. “What are you going to do now?”
Cery shrugged. “Nothing. Obviously somebody wants me to react in some way. I’m not going to oblige them. I’ll continue business as usual.”
Gol frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything. Cery managed a humourless smile.
“Oh, don’t think that I’m not fired about my family’s murder, Gol. I’ll have my revenge. But whoever broke into the hideout was clever and careful. Finding out who and why is going to take time.”
“Once we’ve got the knife we’ll find out who paid him,” Gol assured him.
“We’ll see. I’ve a hunch it will take more than that.”
Gol nodded, then frowned.
“Something else?” Cery asked.
The big man bit his lip, then sighed. “Well... you know how Neg thought that magic must have been used to break into your hideout?”
“Yes.” Cery frowned.
“Dern agrees with him. Said there was no sign of picking. That he’d put in some putty when he made the lock so he’d be able to tell.”
Dern was the lockmaker who had designed and installed the locking system on Cery’s hideout.
“Could it have been a very clever lock pick? Or even Dern himself?”
Gol shook his head. “He showed me a lever that would only turn if the lock was undone from the inside – inside the lock, that is – which could only be done with magic. I asked him why he bothered, and he said to protect himself. He won’t ever promise his locks are safe against magic, so he needs to prove that’s the cause if they’re ever broken into. I don’t know. It seems a bit far to go to. Could be he’s making it up to cover himself.”
Or maybe not. Cery felt his skin prickle. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps finding out how the killers had reached his family was important.
He would question Dern himself, and inspect the lock, to be sure. But if it proved to be true then he had one clue to his family’s killer. A clue that, though disturbing, was a start, at least.
“I need to have a chat with our lockmaker.”
Gol nodded. “I’ll arrange it now.”
Perler smiled and nodded at Lorkin as he entered the room. Lord Maron, however, frowned.
“Thank you for agreeing to brief us at such short notice,” Lord Dannyl said. He gestured to the tables and chairs, the only furniture in the small University room Osen had arranged for the meeting, and they all sat down.
Maron’s attention shifted from Lorkin to Dannyl, then he smiled. “You must be confident that the Higher Magicians will grant Lorkin his request to accompany you to Sachaka,” he said. “And that Black Magician Sonea’s protest will fail.”
Dannyl chuckled. “Not completely confident. I never underestimate his mother’s influence, and there may be factors that will sway the other Higher Magicians that none of us know about. But if we wait for the decision before briefing Lorkin then he may leave under-informed – and that would be a mistake.”
“As will a replacement, if they decide Lorkin cannot go.”
Dannyl nodded in agreement. “I would have brought a possible replacement, but there have been no other volunteers.”
“Well, if that happens I will find another assistant, brief him for you and send him when he is ready,” Maron offered.
“That would be most appreciated,” Dannyl said, nodding in gratitude.
Lorkin kept his expression neutral. It was a little annoying being discussed as if he wasn’t there. Still, he could easily have been left out of the meeting, and he was grateful to Dannyl for including him.
“Now, where to start?” Maron said, opening a satchel and pulling out several sheets of paper. “These are the notes I compiled last night, to add to those of my predecessors. You have all the reports of the past Guild Ambassadors?”
“Yes. And I have read them all. It makes for fascinating reading.”
Maron chuckled wryly. “Sachaka is very different to Kyralia. And to all the other Allied Lands. The obvious differences stem from the common use of black magic, and from slavery, but there are subtle ones as well. How their women are regarded for instance. Though men are very protective of the women in their family, they regard all other women with suspicion and fear. They have a strange belief that women band together when away from men and plot all sorts of mischief. Some even believe there is a secret organ
isation or cult that steals women away from their families and alters their minds with magic in order to convince their victims of their ideas.”
“Do you think it’s true?” Lorkin asked.
Maron shrugged. “Most likely an exaggeration. A scary story to stop women gathering together to gossip and swap ideas on how to manipulate their men.” He chuckled, then sighed and looked sad. “The few I met were meek and lonely. I came to miss the company of educated, confident women, though I suspect I’ll get over that once I catch up with my sister.” He waved a hand. “But I’m digressing. The important thing to know is that you must not speak to women unless invited to.”
As the former Ambassador continued, Lorkin began to make notes in an unused leather-bound notebook left over from his novice days. Maron moved from the subject of women to marriage, family life and inheritance to the complex alliances and conflicts between the main Sachakan families, and finally to the protocols to follow in regard to the king.
“There used to be a Sachakan emperor,” Dannyl pointed out. “Now they have a king. I’ve only been able to narrow down that change to the first few hundred years after the Sachakan War. Do you know when the change happened, and why the Sachakans did not return to calling their leaders ‘emperor’ after they began to rule themselves again?”
“I’m afraid I never thought to question anyone about it,” Maron admitted. “I found it was best not to refer too openly to the fact that the Guild once ruled Sachaka. There is much resentment of it, though...” He paused and frowned. “I suspect it has more to do with the wasteland than the changes the Guild made – or failed to make to their society.”
“Do they know how the wasteland was created?” Dannyl asked.
Maron shook his head. “If they do, they never mentioned it to me. You’ll have to ask those questions yourself. Just be careful how and when you do. From what I’ve seen, they bear grudges a very long time.”
Dannyl glanced at Lorkin. “Do you think it will be dangerous for Lorkin to enter Sachaka?”
Pausing at his note-taking, Lorkin looked up at the former Ambassador. His heart beat a little faster. His skin prickled.
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