The Magician's Apprentice

by Trudi Canavan

  Turning away, he headed towards his own apartments, trying not to hope that Veran would fail.

  Because what in the name of higher magic was he going to do with a freed Sachakan slave?

  Early morning light illuminated the village when Tessia and her father emerged from Lord Dakon’s house. It was a thin, cold glow, but when she turned to look at her father she knew the greyness of his face was not just a trick of the light. He was exhausted.

  Their home was across the road and along it for hundred steps or so, yet the distance seemed enormous. It would have been ridiculous to ask the stable workers to hitch a horse to the cart for such a short journey, but she was so tired she wished someone had. Her father’s shoe clipped a stone and she tucked an arm round his to steady him, her other hand gripping the handle of his bag. It felt heavier than it ever had before, even though most of the bandages and a substantial amount of the medicines usually contained within it were now wrapped around or applied to various parts of the Sachakan slave’s body.

  That poor man. Her father had cut him open in order to remove the broken piece of rib from his lung and sew up the hole. Such drastic surgery should have killed the fellow, but somehow he had continued to breathe and live. Her father had said it was pure luck the incision he’d made hadn’t severed a major pulse path.

  He’d made the cut as small as possible, and worked mostly by feel, his fingers deep within the man’s body. It had been incredible to watch.

  Coming to the door of their house, Tessia stepped forward to open it. But as she reached out for the handle, the door swung inward. Her mother drew them inside, her face lined with worry.

  “Cannia said you were treating a Sachakan. I thought at first she meant him. I thought, “How could a magician be that badly injured?” but she told me it was the slave. Is he alive?”

  “Yes,” Tessia’s father said.

  “Will he stay so?”

  “It’s unlikely. He’s a tough one, though.”

  “Didn’t hardly yell at all,” Tessia agreed. “Though I suspect that’s because he was afraid of attracting his master’s attention.”

  Her mother turned to regard her. She opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head.

  “Did they feed you?” she asked.

  Her father looked thoughtful.

  “Keron brought some food,” Tessia answered for him, “but we didn’t have time to eat it.”

  “I’ll heat up some soup.” The woman ushered them into the kitchen. Tessia and her father dropped into two chairs by the cooking table. Stirring up the coals in the fire, her mother persuaded some fresh wood to catch then hitched a small pan over the flames.

  “We’ll have to check on him regularly,” Tessia’s father murmured, more to himself than to Tessia or her mother. “Change his bandages. Watch for signs of fever.”

  “Did Cannia say why he was beaten?” Tessia asked her mother. The woman shook her head. “What reason do those Sachakan brutes need? Most likely he did it for fun, but put a bit more force into it than he intended.”

  “Lord Yerven always said that not all Sachakans are cruel,” her father said.

  “Just most of them,” Tessia finished. She smiled. Lord Dakon’s father had died when she was a child. Her memories of him were of a kindly, vague old man who always carried sweetdrops to give to the village children.

  “Well, this is clearly one of the cruel ones.” Tessia’s mother looked at her husband and her frown returned. “I wish you didn’t have to go back there.”

  He smiled grimly. “Lord Dakon will not allow anything to happen to us.”

  The woman looked from him to Tessia and back. Her frown deepened and her expression changed from concern to annoyance. Turning back to the fire, she tested the soup with the tip of a finger, and nodded to herself. She brought out the pan and poured its contents into two mugs. Tessia took both and handed one to her father. The broth was warm and delicious, and she felt herself growing rapidly sleepier as she drank it. Her father’s eyelids drooped.

  “Off to bed now, the both of you,” her mother said as soon as they had finished. Neither of them argued as she ordered them upstairs to their rooms. Intense weariness washed over Tessia as she changed into nightclothes. Climbing under the covers, she sighed contentedly.

  Just as she began to drift into sleep the sound of voices roused her again.

  The sound was coming from across the corridor. From her parents’ bedroom. Remembering her conversation with her father the previous day, she felt a twinge of anxiety. She pushed herself into a sitting position, then swung her feet down to the floor.

  Her door made only a thin, quiet squeak as she opened it. The last time she had listened in on a late night conversation between her parents had been many years before, when she was only a child. Padding slowly and silently to their door, she pressed her ear to the wood.

  “You want them too,” her mother said. “Of course. But I would never expect that of Tessia if she didn’t want them,” her father replied.

  “You’d be disappointed, though.”

  “And relieved. It is always a risk. I’ve seen too many healthy women die.”

  “It is a risk we must all take. To not have children out of fear is wrong. Yes, it is a risk, but the rewards are so great. She could deny herself great joy. And who will look after her when she is old?”

  Silence followed.

  “If she had a son, you could train the boy,” her mother added.

  “It is too late for that. When I have grown too old to work the boy would still be too young and inexperienced to take on the responsibility.”

  “So you train Tessia instead? She can’t replace you. You know that.”

  “She might, if she shared the task with another healer. She could be...I don’t know what to call it... something between a healer and a birthmother. A...a ‘carer’, perhaps. Or at least an assistant.”

  Tessia wanted to interrupt, to tell them that she could be more than half a healer, but she kept silent and still. Bursting into the room, after having obviously eavesdropped, would hardly do anything to change her mother’s mind.

  “You have to take on a village boy,” her mother said firmly.

  “And you must stop training her. It has filled her head with impossible ideas. She will not even consider marriage or raising a family until she stops trying to be a healer.”

  “If I am to employ a new apprentice he will take time to train. I will need Tessia’s assistance in the meantime. The village is growing larger, and will keep growing. By the time I have trained this boy we may need two healers here. Tessia could continue her work – perhaps marry as well.”

  “Her husband would not allow it.”

  “He might, if she chose the right man. An intelligent man...”

  “A tolerant man. A man who does not mind gossip and breaking tradition. Where is she going to find such a one?”

  Tessia’s father was silent a long time.

  “I’m tired. I need to sleep,” he said eventually.

  “We both do. I was up most of the night worrying about you two. Especially with Tessia being in the same house as that Sachakan brute.”

  “We were in no danger. Lord Dakon is a good man.”

  The few words that followed were muffled. Tessia waited until the pair had not spoken for some time, then carefully crept back to her bed.

  Last night I proved my worth to him, she thought smugly. He can’t ask me to stop assisting him now. He knows no foolish village boy would have had the nerve or knowledge to deal with that slave’s injuries.

  But I did.

  CHAPTER 3

  At the soft tap on the door, Apprentice Jayan smiled. He turned and sent out a small surge and twist of magic to the handle. With a click the door swung inward. Beyond the doorway, a young woman bowed as best she could, laden as she was with a large tray.

  “Greetings, Apprentice Jayan,” she chimed as she entered the room. Carrying her burden over to him, she set it on one
ample hip and began transferring bowls, plates and cups onto the desk.

  “Greetings to you, Malia,” he replied. “You’re looking particularly cheerful today.”

  “I am,” she said. “The lord’s guest is leaving today.”

  He straightened. “He is? Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure. I guess he can’t cope without a slave tending to his every need.” She sent him a sidelong, thoughtful look. “I wonder, could you get by without me?”

  Jayan ignored her question and the obvious hook for a compliment. “Why hasn’t he got a slave? What happened to the slave he arrived with?”

  Malia’s eyes rounded. “Of course. You wouldn’t know. And you wouldn’t have heard anything, hidden here in the back of the Residence. Takado beat his slave almost to death yesterday afternoon. Healer Veran worked on him the full night.” Despite her matter-of-fact tone, her quick gestures betrayed her uneasiness. He guessed all the servants would be unnerved by the Sachakan’s behaviour. They knew that, to him, there was little difference between them and a slave.

  But Malia’s smile had quickly returned, and it was a sly one. She knew what the Sachakan’s departure would mean for him. He looked at her expectantly.

  “And?”

  The smile widened. “And what?”

  “Did he live or die?”

  “Oh.” She frowned, then shrugged. “I assume he’s still alive, or we’d have heard something.”

  Jayan stood up and moved to the window. He wanted to seek Dakon and discover more, but his master had ordered him to remain in his room while the Sachakan was staying in the Residence. Looking out of the window, down at the closed stable doors and empty yard, he chewed his lip.

  If I can’t find out myself, Malia will be more than willing to get information for me.

  Trouble was, she always wanted a little more than thanks in return for her favours. While she was pretty enough, Dakon had long ago warned him that young female house servants had a habit of taking a fancy to young male apprentice magicians – or their influence and fortunes – and he was not to take advantage of them, or allow himself to be taken advantage of by them. While Jayan knew his master was forgiving of the occasional mistake or misbehaviour, he had also learned over the last four years that the magician had subtle and unpleasant ways to punish unacceptable conduct. He did not believe Dakon would resort to the ultimate punishment for such misconduct – send an apprentice back to his family with his education unfinished and without the knowledge of higher magic that marked him as an independent magician – but he didn’t fancy Malia enough to test that belief. Or any young woman of Mandryn, for that matter.

  The trick with Malia was never to actually ask for anything. Only express a wish to know something. If she provided information he’d asked for, she considered he owed her something in return.

  “I wonder when the Sachakan will leave,” he murmured.

  “Oh, probably not till dusk,” Malia said lightly. “

  Dusk? Why would he travel at night?”

  She smiled and slipped the tray under her arm. “I don’t know, but I like the thought of you stuck here, all by yourself, for another whole day. After all, you don’t want to risk he’ll take a fancy to you, and take you home with him in place of his slave, do you? Enjoy your day.”

  Chuckling, she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Jayan stared at the back of the door, not sure if she’d seen through his ploy or was merely seizing an opportunity to tease him.

  Then he sighed, returned to his desk and began his morning meal.

  At first Jayan hadn’t minded Dakon’s decision that he must stay in his room for the duration of the Sachakan’s visit. He had plenty of books to read and study, and didn’t mind being alone. He wasn’t worried that Takado would attempt to kidnap him, as Malia had suggested, since Sachakans didn’t make slaves of anyone who had access to their magical abilities. They preferred slaves with powerful latent talent, who could not use magic yet would provide their master with plenty of magical strength to absorb.

  No, if any conflict arose between Takado and Dakon it was more likely the Sachakan would try to kill Jayan. Part of an apprentice’s role was to provide his master with a source of extra magical strength, just as a slave did, except that apprentices gained magical knowledge in return. And were free men, or women.

  Conflict between Takado and Dakon was unlikely, though. It would have diplomatic repercussions in Sachaka and Kyralia that neither magician would want to face. Still, it was possible Takado might stir up some minor trouble, knowing he was little over a day’s journey from his homeland, only to make a point about Sachakan superiority and power.

  Like beating his own slave to death?

  I guess he has made his point already. He’s shown us he still has power over other human lives, and he’s done so without breaking any Kyralian laws.

  That thought made Jayan feel oddly relieved. Now that the Sachakan had made his point he would leave – was leaving – and soon Jayan would be out of danger. He could leave the room. And the Residence, if he wished. Life would return to normal.

  Jayan felt his mood lighten. He had never thought he would get sick of his own company or of reading. It turned out he could reach a point where he began to long for sunlight and fresh air. He’d passed that point a few days ago, and since then he’d been restless.

  Only so much of magic could be learned from reading. To gain any skill took practice. It had been weeks since he’d had a lesson from Lord Dakon. Each day that passed was a lesson delayed. Each delayed lesson meant it would be longer before the day Lord Dakon taught him higher magic and Jayan became a magician in his own right.

  Then Jayan would enjoy the respect and power due him as a higher magician, and begin to earn his own fortune. He, like his older brother, Lord Velan, would have a title, though “Magician” would never surpass “Lord” in importance. Nothing was more respected in Kyralia than ownership of land, even if all it encompassed was one of the city’s grand old houses.

  But ownership of a ley was rated more highly than ownership of a house, which was ironic since magicians who lived in the country were considered backward-thinking and out of touch. If Jayan stayed on good terms with his master, and Dakon did not marry and sire an heir, there was a chance the lord would nominate him as his successor. It was not unheard of for a magician to favour a former apprentice in this way.

  It was not just the thought of surpassing his brother in land ownership that appealed to Jayan, though. The idea of retiring to Mandryn some day was also very attractive. He had found he liked this quiet existence, far from the social games of the city he’d once enjoyed watching, and far from the influence of his father and brother.

  But Dakon isn’t too old to marry and have children, he thought. His father did both quite late in life. Even if Dakon doesn’t, he’s got several years in him yet, so I have plenty of time to explore the world first. And the sooner I learn what I need to become a higher magician, the sooner I’ll be free to travel wherever I want.

  The light spilling around the window screens of Tessia’s bedroom was all wrong. Then she remembered the work of the night before, and how she and her parents had gone to bed in the morning. Of course the light was wrong. It was midday.

  For a while she lay there, expecting to fall asleep again, but she didn’t. Despite having slept only a few hours, and still feeling a cloying weariness, she remained awake. Her stomach growled. Perhaps it was hunger keeping her from sleep. She climbed out of bed, dressed, and tidied her hair. Stepping quietly out of her room, she saw that her parents’ door was still closed. She could hear faint snoring.

  At the bottom of the stairs she turned into the kitchen. The hearth was cold, the fire of the morning having burned itself out. She helped herself to some pachi fruit in a bowl on the table. Then she noticed her father’s bag on the floor.

  The slave, she thought. Father said the first day of care after treatment was the most important. Bandages will need cha
nging. Wounds will need cleaning. And the pain cures will be wearing off.

  Looking up at the ceiling, toward her parents’ room, she considered whether to rouse her father. Not yet, she decided. He needs sleep more than I do, at his age.

  So she waited. She considered trying to cook something, but doubted she could do so without rousing her parents. Instead she went through her father’s bag. Slipping into his workroom, she topped up and replaced medicines, thread and bandages. Then she carefully cleaned and sharpened all his tools, while the sunlight streaming through the windows crept slowly across the room.

  Her work kept her busy for a few hours. When she could not think of any new task to do, she returned to the kitchen, leaving her father’s bag by the front door. Creeping up the staircase, she listened to the sound of snoring and deliberated.

  We must check on the slave soon, she thought. I should wake Father up – which will wake Mother up in the process. Or I could go myself.

  The last thought sent a thrill of excitement through her. If she tended to the slave by herself – if the servants at Lord Dakon’s house allowed her to – wouldn’t that prove that the villagers did have confidence in her as a healer? Wouldn’t it show that she might, given time, replace her father?

  She backed down the stairs and moved to the front door. Looking at her father’s bag, she felt a twinge of doubt.

  It could make Father angry. Doing something he didn’t ask me to do isn’t as bad as disobeying an order, though. And it’s not as if I’m doing anything more than the simple routine of care after treatment. She smiled to herself. And if I get one of the Residence servants to stay with me, I can show I at least took Mother’s worries about my safety into consideration.

  Taking the bag’s handles, she lifted it, opened the front door as quietly as possible, then slipped outside.

  Several of the villagers were about, she saw. The baker’s two sons were slouching against the wall of their house, enjoying the sunny afternoon. They nodded to her and she smiled back. Are they on my mother’s list of prospective husbands? she wondered. Neither of them interested her. Though they were polite enough now, she could not help remembering how annoying they’d been as boys, calling her names and pulling her hair.