Takado smiled. “Then my bet is on us both being alive, since if you insist on fighting me I’ll be free to rid Kyralia of its magicians, and nothing would please Emperor Vochira more. I have no desire to rule in his place when I, and my friends, can have all this.” He stretched his arms wide. Then he let them fall at his sides. “Do you surrender?”
“No,” Sabin said, simply and firmly.
Takado looked from side to side, at his allies. “The fools want a fight,” he shouted. “Let’s give them one!”
Turning abruptly back to face Sabin, Takado let loose a brilliant strike. It scattered an arm’s length from Sabin’s nose. A moment later the rest of the Sachakan army let loose their power, and the air suddenly vibrated and flashed with magic. Dakon grasped Sabin’s upper arm and began drawing power from within himself and giving it to the war master. The other magicians in the group of advisers either followed his example or took hold of Werrin, who was shielding them all.
Shields held. Strikes flew in return, then filled the space between the armies. No magician, Sachakan or Kyralian, fell.
But the heat and vibration was so intense, both sides began to back away. Retreating slowly, maintaining their lines, the opposing armies reached a distance apart that was bearable. The exchange of strikes intensified and the tumult of magic seared the air again, but this time all stood their ground.
For a long time nobody spoke. Dakon could not take his eyes off the enemy. Every time Werrin’s shield vibrated from an attack his heart jumped. Every time Sabin directed a strike at the enemy he felt hope rise, then fade as the power shattered against a shield. He could see Narvelan’s head moving back and forth as the young magician watched how the fighting progressed elsewhere. But Dakon could not bring himself to look away.
I think I’m afraid I won’t see the strike that kills me, Dakon thought.
“They certainly aren’t saving their strength,” Narvelan remarked.
“No,” Sabin agreed. “How are we doing?”
“Holding,” Narvelan replied. “Not striking as much as they. Nor as strongly, I suspect.”
“Are we holding back?” Hakkin asked. “Is there a way we can tell other teams to fight harder?”
Werrin nodded. “There is, but—”
“There! The signal,” one of the city magicians said. “We’ve got one exhausted magician – no, two!”
“One in most teams now,” Narvelan added.
Dakon forced himself to look at Sabin. He’s probably thinking that those magicians would be dead if their teams weren’t protecting them. The Sachakans aren’t protecting each other – as far as we can tell – and none of them are dead yet...
“We got one!” Narvelan exclaimed. Dakon looked in the direction his friend was pointing, but his view was blocked by Werrin. A moment later there was a dull thump and crack, and one of the closer Sachakans was thrown backwards. He landed on the ground, but was quickly dragged away by the slaves hovering behind the enemy line.
Three more Sachakans fell. Dakon felt his heart lifting in triumph. Ardalen’s method works! he thought. Soon they’ll be dropping like rain.
“We must retreat,” Sabin said. “Signal the others.”
Dakon gasped with disbelief. He cast about, watching as the message was relayed down the line of Kyralian teams. But as he counted the number of magicians holding a white strip of cloth in their left hand – the signal they had used all their power – he felt disbelief turn to fear.
We’re nearly finished, he realised. We’ve lost. Some of the teams held only two members with power in reserve. These teams backed away the fastest. As the seven leaders began to retreat, Dakon turned his attention to the enemy, watching anxiously to see if they would follow.
Crouching on the ground behind his master, Hanara felt his heart pounding. He’d seen two of Takado’s allies fall, and three of the magicians who’d come with the emperor’s representative. One had exploded in flames. Another’s face and chest had crumpled into a bloody mess just before he was knocked back off his feet and sprawled on the ground. He’d also seen a slave broken in two by stray magic, and felt pride and gratitude that Takado had foreseen the danger and ordered him to lie on his belly and keep his head low.
Hanara had seen the surprise and horror on the faces of the Sachakan magicians still fighting. Seen the doubts, and the determination as they kept fighting. How many will question whether the conquest is worth the risk after this? Hanara wondered. Surely their lives aren’t so bad at home that a bit of land is worth dying for. But owning land was one of the greatest symbols of freedom. Owning land and wielding magic. Of the former there was too little. And perhaps there was too much of the latter in Sachaka. Now that’s an interesting thought...
A murmur rose among the magicians now. Lifting his head, Takado saw that the Kyralians were moving.
They are retreating! We have won!
He saw Takado’s allies begin to move forward. Takado hadn’t given an order yet. Hanara could not see his master’s face, but something in Takado’s posture told him his master was deliberating.
“Hold!”
The voice rang out, stalling those edging forward. It was not Takado’s voice. Hanara felt a rush of anger and indignation. The emperor’s representative, Nomako, had spoken. He was stepping out before Takado’s army and turning to face them.
“Let them go. We have shown them who is the stronger. Let them ponder the future a while and consider the benefits of surrendering to us.”
Hanara’s blood boiled on behalf of his master. How dare he! It’s up to Takado to decide! Up to Takado to give the orders!
He felt his heart leap with mingled terror and glee as Takado stepped forward to face Nomako, his face dark with anger.
“I lead this army, Nomako,” he snapped. “Not you. Not even the emperor. If that isn’t to your satisfaction – or his – then go home and leave the fighting to us.”
Nomako stared back at Takado and his face tightened with annoyance and dislike for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to the ground. “I apologise, Takado. I thought only to save you more losses.”
“Then you are a fool! They are spent.” Takado turned away and called to Dachido and Asara.
“They have not lost a single magician,” Nomako protested. “And we have lost nearly a dozen. It is a trick. A trap. I promised the families of Sachaka that we would not spend lives needlessly. We must analyse what they are doing and find a way to combat it.”
Takado looked at his army and frowned. Hanara tried to read the mood of the fighters. Many looked uncertain. Some had backed away several steps and appeared to be expecting Takado to confirm Nomako’s order. None seemed eager to pursue the Kyralians.
They did not expect us to lose fighters without the enemy suffering the same.
Sighing, Takado shrugged his shoulders. “We stay,” he said. The relief on the faces of his followers and Nomako’s was clear. Some gathered into pairs or groups to talk, others headed back towards the village. Nomako joined the three men who appeared to be his most trusted companions.
Dachido and Asara reached Takado’s side.
“What were they doing?” Dachido said. “Why did none of them fall?”
“They are protecting and supporting each other. Something we should be doing. Though I doubt we can expect it from one quarter,” he added in a quieter voice. The three allies began talking in murmurs. Hanara crept closer, straining to hear.
“. . . not retreat if they weren’t,” Asara was saying.
“We cannot be sure,” Dachido replied. “It may be a trap.”
Asara nodded, then turned to Takado. “I like your idea last night,” she said. “Let’s do that instead.”
“We need horses,” Dachido warned.
Asara shrugged. “We could demand some of Nomako’s as reparation.”
“And give the impression we need his assistance?” Takado asked, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the emperor’s representative.
Asara grimace
d and said nothing.
Takado looked towards the village. “Are there any horses left in the area?”
Dachido followed his gaze. “There was one, but it was old and we slaughtered it to feed the slaves.”
“If we look further afield we might find some,” Asara said.
“Further west, where they do not expect us to go.” Takado smiled.
“So we’ll try it?” Asara asked, her eyes gleaming.
“Yes. And I have a first target in mind.”
The pair looked at him expectantly.
“Did you notice their apprentices were not with them?”
“Ah,” Dachido said.
“Ah!” Asara exclaimed.
“Yes,” Takado replied. “It seems they have forgotten one of the key rules of battle, and we are going to remind them.”
CHAPTER 35
By the time the army stopped for the night, exhaustion had almost overcome Jayan’s curiosity to know what had happened when the magicians had confronted the Sachakan invaders. All Dakon had said was that the enemy had been stronger than the Kyralian army. Sabin had ordered a retreat. The Sachakans hadn’t pursued them, but the possibility they were following at a distance couldn’t be discounted. The Kyralian army needed to gain some ground between themselves and the enemy, so they had a chance to recover some magical strength before the next confrontation.
It was amazing to think that, despite losing the battle, nobody had died. But from the uneasiness and haste of the magicians, Jayan guessed that was due to luck or the ignorance of the enemy.
All day Jayan had seen the flashes of blades and hands briefly linked as magic was transferred on the ride. Though the apprentices and servants had given their strength only that morning, and so did not have much to offer, the magicians feared attack at any moment and wanted to be as prepared as possible.
Dakon, however, shook his head when Jayan suggested they do the same. “I am fine,” he said. “The benefit of having two apprentices. I’d rather you and Tessia had a chance of defending yourselves if we are attacked. And you may need to take charge of the apprentices again, if we do engage the enemy.”
The army had moved off the main road a while before in a weak attempt to confuse any pursuit, and followed a smooth road into a fold between two hills. They were hidden from the sight of anyone travelling down the main road, but Jayan suspected they’d left so much evidence of their passing that even the most unskilled scout would have been able to locate them.
The road wound through low hills and shallow valleys, all striped and divided by fields. Dusk settled like a growing mist, then darkness fell. Scouts galloping along the road reported no pursuit. The Sachakans had returned to the village of Lonner and appeared to be settling for the night.
Then, long past nightfall, the ghostly white walls of buildings appeared ahead. Several were storehouses, one had many doors and Jayan guessed it was accommodation for servants, and the two-storey mansion was clearly the owner’s residence.
“What is this place?” he asked Dakon.
“Lord Franner’s winery.”
“Oh.” Jayan grimaced.
Dakon chuckled. “His wine may not be particularly good, but he has plenty of food to offer. As he pointed out, better we have it than the Sachakans.”
“Is there another exit from this valley?”
“Yes.” Dakon smiled approvingly. “Sabin made sure of that. We won’t be trapped here.”
As the army gathered between the buildings, Jayan saw Werrin turn in his saddle, searching the crowd. His gaze snapped to Dakon and he beckoned.
“Ah, the inevitable meeting,” Dakon murmured. He looked at Tessia, who had been silent the whole afternoon, then at Jayan. “Will you two be all right alone?”
Jayan grinned. “Of course. And we’ll hardly be alone.” He gestured at the army around them.
Dakon nodded, then rode away towards Werrin and the small group of magicians gathering about him. Looking at Tessia, Jayan shrugged.
“Want to explore this place?”
She shook her head. “Avaria asked me to see her tonight.”
Jayan shrugged off disappointment. “I’ll see you at dinner, then, whenever that turns out to be.” He looked up at the stars. “I’ll make sure our old fellow apprentices are behaving themselves.”
Tessia rolled her eyes. “You’re not in charge any more, Jayan.”
“Is it so hard to believe that I enjoy other apprentices’ company?” he asked.
Her eyebrows rose. “The more important question is whether they enjoy yours.”
Turning her horse, she sent it trotting away too quickly for him to think of a retort. He watched her go for a moment, then pushed away the wistfulness that was threatening to creep in, and began to search the crowd for the faces of familiar apprentices. He longed for sleep, but he was hungry and rest could wait until after he’d eaten.
Refan was standing with four other apprentices over by one of the large storehouses, so Jayan made his way over to him. One of the youngsters looked familiar. As Jayan approached the newcomer looked up and grinned, and with a shock Jayan recognised him.
“Mikken!” Jayan exclaimed, slipping off his horse. He looked around and caught the eye of a servant, who stepped forward to take the reins. Then he ran up to Mikken and grasped his arm in greeting. “When did you get here?”
Mikken returned the gesture. “A few hours ago. Fortunately before the army turned off the road, or I would have ridden into the Sachakan army.”
“How did you escape the Sachakans at the pass? No, wait. I bet that story is a long one.”
“Long, but not particularly interesting.” Mikken shrugged. “Unless you find stories about scavenging for food and hiding in caves and abandoned houses interesting.”
Jayan grinned. “You can tell them when we’re trying to get to sleep tonight.”
“You watch out, I might just do that. How’s Tessia?”
A traitorous flash of jealousy shot through Jayan, but he ignored it. “Still healing anyone she can get to sit still long enough.”
“Lots of those, I’d imagine.” Mikken’s gaze became haunted. “I began to wonder, on the way back, if the Sachakans had left anyone alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tessia hasn’t had many patients to work on.”
“She’s had plenty,” Jayan assured him. He thought of the burned man, and shuddered. Deciding to change the subject, he looked up at the storehouse. “Apparently this is a winery.”
“Yes,” Refan replied. “And they don’t just make wine here.”
“What else do they make?” one of the other apprentices asked. “Bol.”
Jayan grimaced, and saw a similar expression on all faces but Refan’s. The boy looked thoughtful.
“You know, by the time all the magicians get their share of Lord Franner’s wine, there probably won’t be any left for apprentices. I bet we could find a barrel or two of bol for ourselves in one of these storehouses. Bol may be a poor man’s drink.” Refan smiled. “But it’s a lot stronger than wine so we wouldn’t have to drink as much.”
As much as what? Jayan wondered. To his dismay, the other apprentices looked interested.
“Where do you think it’s stored?”
Refan looked around, his eyes narrowing as he considered. “Let’s have a look around.” He started along the side of the storehouse they were standing beside.
As the group began to follow, Jayan considered leaving them to it. But I ought to make sure they don’t get into trouble. For their own sakes and mine. Dakon might think twice about making me a higher magician if I let these boys make fools of themselves. He hurried after them.
Reaching the end of the storehouse, Refan rounded the corner and started along the next wall. He stopped where two huge, sturdy doors were bound together with a large iron lock. To Jayan’s amusement, he sniffed at the crack between them.
“Wine,” he said, then shrugged and turned his back, heading across open ground to another storehouse.
Refan’s sniff at the doors made him smile.
“Aha! Definitely bol.”
There was a different sort of smell in the air around the storehouse, but the lock was similarly large and robust. Refan glanced towards the gathered magicians in the furtive manner of someone about to do something mischievous, then took hold of the lock. Jayan felt alarm rising.
“What are you... you’re not going to break in, are you?” one of the younger apprentices asked anxiously.
“No.” Refan laughed. “I’m not going to break anything. Or take anything not already offered to us.”
He stared at the lock, then something inside clicked and the mechanism opened. Despite his reasoning, this is wrong, Jayan thought. I should put a stop to it. One of the doors swung outward and Refan slipped inside. Before Jayan could decide what to say, the other apprentices had followed.
A wordless exclamation of disappointment followed. He heard a clink, the murmur of voices, and the apprentices stepped back outside. Refan was holding a bottle.
“It’s not bol. It’s whitewater. For cleaning things. Smell.” He held it out to each of them, and they grimaced as they sniffed the open neck. Jayan recognised a smell he associated with servants and wooden furniture. Refan suddenly grinned. “Watch this.”
He glanced back at the magicians again, then strode round the back of the storehouse. Moving a hundred strides or so he flung the bottle on the ground. It smashed. As the others stopped beside Refan, he sent a tiny burst of firestrike toward the remains.
A wave of heat burst over them as flames shot up into the air. The fire died as quickly, leaving small flames spluttering where there were weeds in the hard, dry ground.
“That was fantastic!” one of the younger apprentices gasped. “Let’s do it again!”
“Wait.” Mikken was staring at the smouldering ground. “I have an idea.”
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