The Ambassador's Mission tst-1

by Trudi Canavan

  He shook his head. The possibilities seemed endless. But here was this mention of magic again. It had been used to open the lock of his hideout, and it was believed to be used by the Thief Hunter. Coincidence? Perhaps. But it was the only clue he had, so he may as well pursue it.

  Every time Sonea entered the Administrator’s office, memories wormed their way into her thoughts. Though Osen had rearranged the furniture and kept the room bright with globe lights, she could still remember how it had looked when Lorlen was alive. And she always wondered if he was aware there was an entrance to the secret passages of the University behind the panelling.

  Lorlen didn’t know, so I doubt Osen does.

  “Tell me how you came to be at the Nameless?” Osen asked of the two young magicians standing to the left of his desk.

  All turned to look at Reater and Sherran. Sonea had been dismayed to realise the two magicians found at the house were Lorkin’s friends. The pair glanced at each other, then at the floor.

  “We were given a slip of paper,” Reater said. “It gave directions to the best new playhouse in the city. There’d be free things for the first fifty customers.”

  “And it was in the Inner Circle, so we assumed it was safe,” Sherran added.

  “Where is this slip of paper now?” Osen asked.

  One of the two older magicians standing to his right, Lord Vonel, stepped forward and handed over a tiny strip of white. Osen frowned at it as he read, then felt the thickness of the paper and turned it over to examine the back.

  “Good quality. I will have the Alchemists who run the printing machines examine it and see if they can tell us the source.”

  “Hold it up to the light,” Vonel suggested.

  Osen did as he suggested and his eyes narrowed. “Is that part of the Guild’s mark?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Hmm.” Osen put the slip down, then looked up at Vonel again.

  “So how did you learn of the Nameless?”

  “A novice brought that to me,” Vonel replied, nodding toward the paper.

  “And?”

  “I asked Carrin to accompany me to the place, so that we could see what manner of establishment this ‘playhouse’ was, and if any members of the Guild had taken advantage of the offer.”

  “And what did you find on arrival?”

  “Gambling, drinking, roet braziers and women for hire,” Carrin replied. “Lord Reater here losing badly in some new game, Lord Sherran near comatose from inhaling roet smoke. Overall, these two plus twelve novices were engaged in sampling the full range of products on offer.”

  Osen picked up a sheaf of paper. “Those listed here.”

  “Yes.”

  The Administrator scanned the list, then put it aside and looked up at Regin and Sonea.

  “And what part did you take, Lord Regin and Black Magician Sonea?”

  “I was informed by a concerned novice who had overheard that there may be some mischief taking place, though not of the specifics,” Regin replied. “Knowing that Black Magician Sonea has been taking an interest in the debate over the rule against magicians associating with criminals, I told her what I’d heard in the hopes she had clearer information. She did not.”

  “But I went looking for it, when I was free to,” Sonea added. “And I was given an address. I sought permission to leave the Guild and investigate, but by the time it was given several novices and magicians had already been lured to the playhouse.”

  “Why did you not arrange for somebody else to go?” Osen asked.

  Sonea felt a flare of annoyance. Why shouldn’t she leave the grounds if all she was doing was trying to prevent a few novices and magicians falling into a trap? But plenty of magicians, Osen included, still thought she deserved having her movements restricted as punishment for learning black magic and defying the Guild all those years ago.

  “We thought the fewer who knew of this place the better,” Regin replied. “Only yourself and Lord Vonel and Lord Carrin.”

  She felt a wave of gratitude, then wry amusement that it was toward Regin, of all people.

  Osen was now looking at the list of novices again. “It is too late for that. The Guard have shut down the playhouse, so it is no longer a temptation to anyone. All that remains is to decide the punishment.” He turned to Reater and Sherran, who cringed and looked everywhere except at the other magicians. “You, like all magicians, are supposed to be an example of restraint and appropriate behaviour to those still in their years of learning. You also have a duty to present the Guild as an honourable and trustworthy institution. But it is not long since your graduation, and we all carry some of the foolish tendencies of novices into our first years as magicians. I will give you both another chance to mend your ways.”

  The two young men visibly sagged with relief. If they’d had the misfortune of coming from low-class backgrounds the result would have been very different, Sonea thought darkly.

  “The novices...” Osen tapped the list. “Should be punished under the rules of the University. I will refer the matter to the University Administrator.”

  Oh great, Sonea thought. Knowing my luck they’ll end up at the hospices, where all the vices that got them into trouble are available mere streets away. They’ll slip away as soon as they get a chance and I’ll be blamed for it.

  “You acted as you were charged to,” Osen said, nodding to Vonel and Carrin. “I have sent a letter to the Guard thanking them for acting so quickly.” He looked at Regin. “In future we should all work together in order to prevent this sort of thing happening again. You may go.”

  Turning away, Sonea walked to the door, opening it with a little magic, and stepped out into the corridor. Regin followed, and they both stopped outside the door and waited until the two young magicians appeared. Sonea moved forward to block their path. Reater and Sherran stared at her in dismay.

  She smiled sympathetically. “So you only went there for the roet. What is it about roet, then? What’s so appealing about it that you’d put yourself in the hands of obvious criminals for it?”

  Reater shrugged. “It makes you feel good. Not a care.”

  Sonea nodded, but she had noticed that Sherran’s expression had shifted to one of longing while Reater only looked resigned. She leaned closer, keeping her voice to a murmur.

  “Did Lorkin ever... ?”

  Sherran looked at her, then hastily down at the floor again. “Once. He didn’t like it.”

  Sonea straightened. He could be lying, afraid she would blame him if he answered otherwise. But then he’d have told me Lorkin had never tried it. I think this is the truth.

  “You two are lucky Administrator Osen has chosen to be lenient on this. I wouldn’t test his willingness to be so again.”

  They both nodded quickly. She gestured to indicate they could go, and they hurried away.

  “Lorkin’s too smart to be caught up in roet-taking,” Regin murmured. “And the same good sense will keep him out of trouble in Sachaka.” He sighed. “I only wish my own daughters had half his maturity.”

  She glanced at him, surprised and amused. Lorkin wasn’t any more mature than other young magician his age. But judging by the small amount of gossip she had heard about Regin’s daughters, they were very childish young women. “Still causing you trouble?”

  He grimaced. “They take after their mother, though there’s enough cruelty in their rivalry to remind me of myself at their age.” He shook his head. “It’s bad enough looking back and regretting your youthful arrogance without having to then regret your offspring’s as well.”

  Sonea chuckled, then started down the corridor. “I hope I never have to experience that for myself. But considering the sort of things I did in my youth, I’d say Lorkin has a long way to go before he makes as great a disgrace of himself as I did.”

  Chapter 8

  Signs

  After two days in the carriage on increasingly bumpy roads, Lorkin felt as if his bones had been shaken into new and impracti
cal arrangements. He kept having to Heal the aches of his body and soothe away headaches, but most of all he was bored. Hours of discomfort had left him too tired and grumpy for conversation, and he’d discovered that the jostling of the carriage on the roads made him ill if he tried to read.

  Clearly, the excitement of travel wasn’t in the actual travelling part. It was more likely in the arriving part. Though he suspected by the time they got to Arvice he’d feel more relief than excitement.

  Lord Dannyl – or Ambassador Dannyl as he must remember to call him now – endured the ride with a strange kind of happy resignation, which gave Lorkin some hope that it was all worthwhile. Or else this was nothing compared to the discomfort of sea travel, or the chafing of saddles, both which Dannyl had survived during his travels over twenty years before.

  Lorkin knew that, over twenty years ago, Dannyl had been ordered by the former Administrator to retrace Akkarin’s journey in search of ancient magical knowledge. The stories Dannyl told were fascinating, and made Lorkin want to visit the Tomb of White Tears and the ruins of Armje himself.

  But I am going where neither my father nor Dannyl have been before: the capital of Sachaka.

  It would be a completely different Sachaka to the one his father had stumbled into. There would be no Ichani waiting to enslave him. If anything, from what Perler had described, the powerful men and women of the capital, especially the Ashaki patriarchs, would deign to notice an Ambassador’s assistant only reluctantly.

  Still, he was reassured by the slight weight of the ring buried deep in the pocket of his robe. He’d found it in his chest that morning, in a small box buried deep among his belongings. There had been no note or explanation, but he recognised the plain gold band and the smooth red gemstone set within it. Had his mother slipped her blood gem ring into his chest secretly because she did not have permission to give it to him, or because she didn’t want to risk that he would refuse to take it?

  He and Dannyl had begun each day’s journey by listing off the members of the most powerful Sachakan families several times, recalling key characteristics and alliances, correcting and helping each other memorise them. They had gone over what they knew of Sachakan society, and speculated where there were gaps in their knowledge. Lorkin noticed signs of nervousness and uncertainty in his companion. He felt almost an equal to the older magician, but he was sure that would change once they arrived and had to assume their roles.

  The swaying of the carriage changed and Lorkin looked up. Only darkness lay beyond the windows, but the dull rapping of hoof on road had slowed. Dannyl sat up straighter and smiled.

  “Either there’s an obstruction on the road or we’re about to be released from our cage for the night,” he murmured.

  As the carriage came to a stop, it swayed gently on its springs, then stilled. Lorkin could see a building lit by the glow of lamplight outside the left window. The driver made an incomprehensible noise, which Dannyl somehow interpreted as a signal to get out. The magician opened the door and climbed outside.

  Following, Lorkin breathed in fresh night air and felt his head start to clear. He looked around. They had arrived in a tiny village, just a few buildings on either side of the road. It probably existed only to service travellers. The largest, which they had pulled up beside, was a Stayhouse. A stocky man stood within the entrance, beckoning and bowing.

  “Welcome, my lords, to Fergun’s Rest,” he said. “I am Fondin. My stable workers will look after your horses, if you drive them around the back. We have clean beds and good food, all served with a smile.”

  There was a look of surprise and amusement on Dannyl’s face, but the magician said nothing and led the way inside. Lorkin wondered if it was from wondering if the man had meant to suggest his beds were served with a smile. Possibly he did. These roadside Stayhouses do have that sort of reputation.

  Dannyl introduced them and asked for a meal to be served to them and the driver. The owner ushered them to a pair of seats inside a large guest room. Only one other group of visitors occupied the room. Traders, by the look of them. They were talking quietly and only cast a few curious glances at Lorkin and Dannyl.

  It was not long before the meal arrived. A young woman arrived with a platter containing meats, savoury buns, well-sautéed vegetables and small, probably local fruit. She smiled politely at them both, but her gaze brightened as she looked at Lorkin. When she returned with two complimentary cups of bol she paused to give him a coy look as she handed him his. As she walked away, her hips swayed invitingly. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled as she saw him watching her.

  “I wonder if Sonea expects me to protect your virtue while we are away from the Guild,” Dannyl said.

  Lorkin chuckled and turned back to the other magician. Dannyl was filling his plate from the platter, and didn’t look up.

  “Virtue?”

  “Yes, well, I figure your virtue is your own to protect. But as an older and wiser companion I feel, at this moment, a strange urge to steer you away from temptation for the sake of your health and wallet.”

  “Your concern is noted,” Lorkin said, smiling. “Should I offer the same service in return?”

  Dannyl looked up at Lorkin, his expression guarded and serious for a moment. Then he smiled. “Of course. We shall look out for one another.” Then he gave a short, quiet laugh. “Though I suspect you may have a much easier task than I.”

  The ground vibrated in a way that brought a rush of memories to Cery’s mind. Once, he would have passed this section of the Outer Wall via the city’s sewers below. It had been an unpleasant and sometimes dangerous route. The city guard had discovered the sewer being used as a route into the city and started flushing it at intervals. An arrangement made between the Thieves to post watchers, who would signal if a flush was starting, got around that problem. It had been a reliable system, and he had used it to take Sonea to see the Guild many years ago, before she had become a magician.

  But now the sewers were divided up among the Thieves whose territory they crossed, and many of these were rivals. It cost a fortune to gain access to them, and the watchers were no longer reliable. It was rumoured that this was how the Thief who’d drowned had been killed. A watcher upstream had been murdered by the Thief Hunter, and not only had the Thief died but all the watchers downstream as well.

  There’s not much reason to use the sewers now that the Purge has ended, Cery thought. It’s only useful if you have a powerful need to travel unseen.

  Since he no longer used the Thieves’ Road to travel long distances either, Cery walked the streets of Imardin, in the daytime, like most of its citizens. It was safer, despite the risk of robbers or gangs. Gol’s bulk deterred the former, while Cery’s status still protected him from the latter.

  I probably shouldn’t rely on it so much. Or on poor Gol to intimidate possible attackers. Some day, one or the other won’t work as a deterrent, and we’ll be in trouble. But unless I want to go everywhere in a crowd of guards, that’s a risk I have to take.

  Passing through one of the new archways cut into the old wall, Cery started toward his own part of the former slums, Gol walking beside him.

  “What did you make of Thim’s story, Gol?”

  The big man scowled. “We heard nothing new. Nobody’s got any information, but plenty of the same old rumours.”

  “Yes. But at least they are the same. Everyone thinks it’s the same person. Everyone has the same ideas about that person’s skills.”

  “But everyone has a different reason for coming up with those ideas,” Gol pointed out.

  “Yes. Things moving through the air that have no right to be. Strange scorch marks. Shadowy figures that can’t be stabbed. Flashing lights. Invisible walls. What do you believe, Gol?”

  “That it’s always better to be over-careful than dead.”

  Cery felt a flash of amusement. He stopped walking and turned to face his bodyguard. “So we act like the Thief Hunter is real and uses magic and has already had
a go at me.”

  Gol frowned and glanced around to see if anyone had heard Cery. “You heard what I said about being over-careful?” he asked, a touch of annoyance in his tone.

  “Yes.” Cery sighed. “But what difference does it make if someone hears us? If my enemy is a magician I’m doomed.”

  The big man’s frown deepened. “What about the Guild? They’d want to know if... about this. You could tell... your old friend.”

  “I could. But unless I have something real to tell her, she won’t be able to do anything. We have to know for sure.”

  “Then we’ve got to lay a trap.”

  Cery stared at Gol in surprise, then shook his head. “And how do you think we’re going to keep that sort of prisoner in it?”

  “Not to catch him.” Gol shrugged. “Just to confirm that’s what he is. To lure him somewhere and into using what he can use, with us watching. Better still if he doesn’t realise it was a trap.”

  Starting to walk again, Cery considered the idea. It wasn’t a bad one. “Yes. Wouldn’t want him getting mad... and if he doesn’t realise he’s walked into a trap the first time then we could trap him again – with my friend around to see.”

  “Now you’re catching up,” Gol said with an exaggerated sigh. “Sometimes you can be so slow to see—”

  “Of course, I’d have to be the bait,” Cery said.

  Gol’s teasing tone vanished. “No you won’t. Well, you will, but you don’t actually have to be there. The bait’ll be the rumour that you will be there.”

  “It’ll have to be a pretty convincing rumour,” Cery told him.

  “We’ll sort something out.”

  They fell silent as they continued on their way. Cery found himself plotting out the details. So where can we lure the Thief Hunter to? It will have to be somewhere people would expect me to be. Terrina said he struck the hideout because it was more clever to kill me in my safest place. So I need to set myself up in a new hideout, and arrange for some people to blab about it and how much safer it is than my old one. It’ll have to have a few good spy holes, and an escape route or three. And it has to make the Thief Hunter use his powers in an obvious way.