The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (10 page)

“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 organisation 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.

Maron considered Lorkin. “Logically, no more than for any other young magician. I would not mention your father’s name too often, though,” he said to Lorkin. “They would respect him as a defender of Kyralia, but not for what happened before that. Yet at the same time they acknowledge that Dakova, the Ichani who Akkarin killed, was an outcast and a fool for enslaving a magician and foreigner, and deserved his fate. I do not think anyone but Davoka’s brother would feel obliged to seek revenge – and he died in the invasion.”

Lorkin nodded, feeling relief ease the tension in his body.

“Even so,” Dannyl said. “Should Lorkin expect the Sachakans, or their slaves, to be uncooperative?”

“Of course.” Maron smiled and looked at Perler, who grimaced. “They will be uncooperative at times no matter who you are. Aside from the general problems of status and hierarchy, the slaves take some getting used to. They may not be able to do something for you, but they won’t say so because that would be refusing an order. You have to learn to interpret what they say and do – there are signals and gestures you’ll pick up on eventually – and I’ll tell you how best to phrase an order.”

A complicated but surprisingly logical code of behaviour for dealing with slaves followed, and Lorkin was annoyed when, a while later, a knocking at the door interrupted them. Dannyl gestured at the door and it swung open. Lorkin felt his heart sink a little as he recognised the magician standing beyond.

Uh, oh. What’s Mother done now?

“Sorry for interrupting,” Lord Rothen said, his wrinkled face creasing into a smile. “Could I speak to Lord Lorkin for a moment?”

“Of course, Lord Rothen,” Dannyl said, smiling broadly. He looked at Lorkin, then nodded toward the old magician. “Go on.”

Lorkin suppressed a sigh and rose. “I’ll be back as quickly as possible,” he told the others, then walked to the doorway and stepped past Rothen into the corridor outside. As the door closed, Lorkin crossed his arms, steeling himself for the lecture that was bound to come.

Rothen, as always, looked both stern and amused. “Are you sure you want to go to Sachaka, Lorkin?” he asked quietly. “You’re not just doing it to spite your mother?”

“Yes,” Lorkin replied. “And no. I do want to go and I’m not trying to annoy Mother.”

The old magician nodded, his expression now thoughtful. “You are aware of the risks?”

“Of course.”

“So you admit there are risks.”

Ha. Outsmarted!
Lorkin found himself having to resist a smile as a wave of affection for the old man swept over him. All the years of Lorkin’s life, Rothen had been there, looking after him when his mother’s duties called her away, helping him when he needed defending or support, lecturing and occasionally punishing him when he had done something foolish, or broken Guild rules.

This was different, and Rothen must know it. Lorkin wasn’t breaking any rules. He had only to convince his old friend and protector that he wasn’t doing anything foolish.

“Of course there are risks – there are risks to everything a magician does,” Lorkin replied, mimicking something Rothen liked to say to novices.

The old magician’s eyes narrowed. “But are they too great?”

“It’ll be up to the Higher Magicians to decide that,” Lorkin said.

“And you’ll accept whatever decision they make?”

“Of course.”

Rothen looked down, then when he met Lorkin’s eyes again his own were full of sympathy. “I understand that you want to do something with your life. You’ve certainly got a lot of expectation to live up to. You know Sonea and I have never wanted anything for you but a safe, happy life?”

Lorkin nodded.

“There will be other ways you can make your mark,” Rothen told him. “Ways that are as satisfying, with far less risk. You only need to be patient, and ready to grasp opportunities when they come.”

“And I will. I have every intention of surviving Sachaka and returning to do whatever else comes my way,” Lorkin said firmly. “But for now
this
is what I want to do.”

Rothen stared at Lorkin in silence, then shrugged and took a step away. “So long as you’re sure, and you’ve considered the full consequences … oh, and before I forget, your mother asked me to say she would like you to join her at dinner tonight.”

Lorkin swallowed a groan. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

As if I have a choice
, he mused. He had learned the hard way that refusing a dinner invitation was something his mother would not easily forgive. There was one missed dinner from five years ago – not entirely his fault, either – that she still managed to make him feel guilty about.

Rothen turned to go. Lorkin turned back to the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Will you be joining us, Rothen?”

The old man paused to look back, and smiled. “Oh, no. She’ll have you all to herself tonight.”

This time Lorkin did not manage to suppress a groan. As he sent magic out to turn the door handle, he heard Rothen chuckling as he walked away.

Sonea regarded the man sitting across the table from her and wondered, not for the first time that evening, why he had bothered coming to see her. Seeking to sway the vote of the Higher Magicians on the petition was normal and expected for both petitioners and opposition. But surely it was obvious how she would vote, when her origins and sympathies were clearly with the lower class. Why waste the time, when his efforts would be better spent persuading other Higher Magicians to take his side?

“The rule has clearly been applied unfairly, most often in the case of lower-class novices,” Regin conceded. “But the fact is, some do come from families involved in criminal activities.”

“I regularly heal people involved in criminal activities,” she told him. “And I know people in the city who earn money in less than legal ways. That does not make me a criminal. Neither does a magician become a criminal because a relative happens to be one. Surely it is enough that a magician – or novice – behaves as we wish them to.”

“If only we could trust that they would,” Regin replied. “But it is true of all novices and magicians, no matter their background and fortune, that those exposed through family or friends to dishonest people and business are more likely to succumb to the temptation of criminal involvement than those who are not.” He grimaced. “I believe this rule helps them, particularly when they are unable to help themselves. It can be an excuse to back out of a situation when under pressure from others.”

“Or it can drive them to rebel, when the rule is seen to be unfairly upheld. Or if it is inadvertently broken then they may reason that having broken one rule it will not matter so much if they break another. Then there are those who find what is most forbidden is the most exciting.”

“For which we need the deterrent effect of the rule.”

“Deterrent or, perversely, encouragement?” She sighed. “The weakness of this rule is that it is inconsistently applied – and I don’t believe that can be resolved.”

“I agree that is the weakness, but not that it cannot be resolved.” Regin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “The trouble is, things have changed. Crime has seeped up into the higher classes like damp rising through the walls. It is they we need the rule for, not the lower classes.”

Sonea raised her eyebrows. “Surely you don’t believe that the higher classes weren’t gambling and whoring in the past? I can tell you some stories—”

“No.” Regin opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m not talking about the usual mischief. This is bigger. Nastier. And far more organised.”

Sonea opened her mouth to ask him to elaborate, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. She turned away and sent a little magic out to unlatch the door, and as it swung inward she felt her heart lift as Jonna entered the room, carrying a large platter laden with food.

Sonea’s aunt and servant looked from her to Regin, then bowed politely. “Lord Regin.” She set the platter down, then glanced at Sonea and took a step back.

“Don’t leave for my sake.” Regin rose and turned to face Sonea. “I will return another time.” He inclined his head. “Thank you for hearing me out, Black Magician Sonea.”

“Good night, Lord Regin,” she replied.

Jonna stepped aside to allow him past. As the door closed behind him, the woman raised an eyebrow.

“Did I interrupt?” she asked.

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.”

As her aunt arranged the covered dishes on the table, Sonea sighed and looked around the room.

When she had first seen inside the rooms in the Magicians’ Quarters, she had been impressed by how luxurious they were, but hadn’t noticed anything unusual about their size. She hadn’t known that they were small compared to the houses most higher-class men and women lived in. Each suite contained two to four rooms, depending on the size of the magician’s family, and the rooms were of a modest size.

Aside from the occasional complaint, most magicians were willing to live in such small quarters in order to reside within the Guild. They had adapted to the restrictions. They did not eat at a dining table, but instead meals were served on a low table set before the guest room chairs. The only exceptions were the formal meals of the Guild, served at a long dining table in the Banquet Room within a purpose-built building.

Though there was another exception – the small dining room in the High Lord’s Residence.

A memory flashed through her mind of that room, and flavours she hadn’t tasted in years. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to Akkarin’s servant, Takan, the Sachakan ex-slave who had cooked such amazing meals. Nothing had been heard or seen of him since the invasion. She had always hoped he had survived.

Jonna sat down with a heavy sigh of relief. Sonea looked down at the cooling dishes on the table. It wasn’t an exotic meal, just the usual fare from the Guild kitchens. She frowned. It should have been Lorkin who had interrupted Regin.

“He’ll be here soon,” Jonna assured her, guessing the source of her worry. “He wouldn’t dare miss a meal with his mother.”

Sonea humphed. “He seems quite prepared to defy me and get himself killed in Sachaka. Why would a mere missed dinner bother him?”

“Because he’d have me to answer to as well,” Jonna replied.

Sonea met her aunt’s eyes and smiled. “You may as well go. I’ll only end up wearing your ears out.”

“My ears are robust enough. Besides, if he doesn’t come we can’t let all this food go to waste.”

“You know I’ll wait until well after it’s spoiled, so there’s no point the two of us staying hungry while we wait. Go. Ranek must be hungry.”

“He’s working late tonight and will eat over at the servants’ quarters.” Jonna rose and examined the bookshelves, then brought a rag out of her uniform and wiped a shelf.