The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (41 page)

“Cery,” she said. “Is it good news or bad?”

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m good, thanks for asking. How are you?”

She crossed her arms. “Fine.”

“You seem a bit cranky.”

“It’s the middle of the night, yet for some reason we have as many patients as we get during the day, nothing I try cures roet addiction, there’s a rogue magician loose in the city, and instead of telling the Guild about it I’m risking the little freedom I have by working with a Thief who insists on visiting me in a public place, and my son is still missing in Sachaka. I’m supposed to be in a good mood?”

Cery grimaced. “I guess not. So … no news on Lorkin?”

“No.” She sighed again. “I know you wouldn’t have come here if there wasn’t a good reason, Cery. Just don’t expect me to be all calm and relaxed about it. What’s the news?”

He sat down again. “How do you feel about another Thief helping us find the rogue?”

Sonea stared at him in surprise. “Is it anyone I know?”

“I doubt it. He’s one of the new lot. Faren’s successor. Name is Skellin.”

“He’d have to have a lot to offer, for you to consider it.”

Cery nodded. “He does. He’s one of the most powerful Thieves in the city. He has a particular interest in the Thief Hunter. Asked me a while back if I’d keep him informed if I picked up anything. He knows the rogue may not be the Thief Hunter, but feels it’s worth tracking her down to find out.”

“What does he get out of it?”

He smiled. “He’d like to meet you. Sounds like Faren told him stories, so he’s got a hankering to meet the legend.”

Sonea made a rude noise. “So long as he doesn’t have the same ideas Faren had about how useful I could be to him.”

“I’m sure he does, but he’ll not be expecting you to have them, too.”

“Does he have a better chance of finding the rogue than you?”

Cery grew serious. “She did a favour for a rot-seller that set up shop in my area until I put a stop to it. Skellin controls most of the trade, so I’m hoping that he can trace the—”

“The Thief we’re working with is the main source of roet?” Sonea interrupted.

Cery nodded, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “Yes.”

She turned away. “Oh, that’s just wonderful.”

“Will you accept his help?”

She looked at him. His gaze was hard and challenging. Yet what had he said?
“… set up shop in my area until I put a stop to it.”
Perhaps he did not like what roet did to people any more than she did. But he had no choice but to work with people like Skellin.
“He’s one of the most powerful Thieves in the city.”
If the rogue was working for a roet seller then it made sense for her and Cery to trace her through the contacts of the Thief importing it. Then something else occurred to her. Perhaps the rogue was addicted to the drug, and the seller was forcing her to use her magic in support of his criminal activities in order to get it.

Sonea rubbed her temples as she considered.
I’m already breaking a whole lot of rules and restrictions. Ironically, this will not make things any worse, as far as the Guild is concerned. It will only feel worse to me.

“Go ahead and recruit him. So long as he realises that meeting the legend does not involve anything more than us both being in the same place once and having a nice chat for a reasonable length of time – and so long as you feel it is necessary to involve him – then I have no argument against it.”

Cery nodded. “I do think we need him. And I’ll make sure he understands you’re not for hire.”

Climbing out of the carriage, Dannyl and Achati turned to take in their surroundings. The road they had been travelling northwards along ended where it met an east- to west-running thoroughfare. A stream ran alongside the new road. Hills surrounded them, rocks jutting out from wild vegetation.

“We’ll wait here,” Achati said.

“How long, do you think?” Dannyl asked.

“An hour, maybe two.”

Achati had arranged for the group of local magicians, who would provide magical support, to meet them at the junction. They were bringing a tracker. He’d explained that, if they got as far as the mountains and had to leave the road, the risk of being attacked by the Traitors would increase dramatically.

The Sachakan turned and spoke to his slaves, instructing them to bring out food for him, Dannyl and themselves. As the two young men obeyed, Dannyl found himself thinking, not for the first time, that Achati treated his slaves well. He almost seemed fond of them.

As they ate the small, flat pastries that they’d been given at the last estate, Dannyl looked at the hills again. His gaze was drawn to the rocky outcrops. He frowned as he noticed how some were more like piles of boulders. In places, these boulders fitted together much too well to be natural.

“Is that a ruin up there?” he asked, turning to Achati.

The man looked where Dannyl was pointing, and nodded.

“Probably. There are a few in this area.”

“How old are they?”

Achati shrugged. “Old.”

“Do you mind if I have a look?”

“Of course not.” Achati smiled. “I’ll signal to you if the others arrive.”

Finishing the pastry, Dannyl crossed the road and set off up the slope. The hill was steeper than it had looked from the carriage, and by the time Dannyl reached the first pile of boulders he was breathing hard. Examining the pile, he decided it was part of a wall. For a while he moved across the slope, finding more sections of wall and resting to catch his breath. When he had recovered he decided to see what this fortification surrounded, and headed uphill.

The vegetation grew thicker and taller the closer he got to the summit. He caught his sleeve on a prickly shrub, managing to tear the material, after which he gave such plants a wide berth. It was easy enough to dry cloth with magic, and even remove some stains, but mending tears was beyond him. It might be possible to re-join the fine threads somehow, but it would take time and concentration.

He realised with dismay that while he could see remnants of more walls ahead, they peeked out of a mass of tangled, prickly bushes. He created a magical shield so he could push past them. There was a flat section at the top, within the low walls that were all that was left of a building, but other than that there was nothing to see but weathered stones.

I’m not going to learn anything here
, he decided.
Not without digging all this up.
He looked out over the fields below, noting the mountains in the distance. To the west dark clouds lurked, suggesting a break in the dry, sunny weather they’d enjoyed since leaving Arvice. He could not guess how long it would take for the rain to reach them. Leaving the building, he headed back to the road.

A little way down the slope the vegetation parted and he had a clear view of the carriage and road below. Achati was sitting in the narrow doorway of the vehicle. As Dannyl watched, the handsome slave called Varn knelt before the magician and held out his hands, palm upward. Something in Achati’s hand caught the light.

A knife
.

Dannyl’s heart lurched and he stopped. Achati lifted the highly decorated blade that usually sat in its sheath at his side and lightly touched the slave’s wrists. He sheathed the knife and grasped the man’s wrists with both hands. Dannyl watched, his heart racing. After only a short pause, Achati let the slave go.

I guess this means Varn is Achati’s source slave
, Dannyl thought. He realised his heart was not racing with fear.
More like excitement. I just witnessed an ancient ritual of black magic.
Magic had passed from slave to master. And it hadn’t involved anyone being slaughtered. It had been remarkably serene and dignified.

The young man did not stand up, but drew closer to his master. Instead of keeping his gaze lowered as he usually did, he looked up at Achati. Dannyl stared, fascinated by the man’s expression.
If I’m not imagining things at this distance, I’d say it was adoring.
He smiled to himself.
I guess it would be easy to love a master that treated you well.

Then the slave smiled and stepped
very
close to Achati. The magician placed a hand on the young man’s cheek and shook his head. He leaned forward and kissed Varn on the lips. The slave moved away again, still smiling.

Dannyl realised several things at once. Firstly, that the next thing both of the men were likely to do was glance around themselves to see if anyone had seen them. He looked away so that they didn’t catch him watching them and continued down the slope. Secondly, that the slave didn’t just love his master – he
loved
his master. And thirdly, that the way Achati had caressed the young man’s face suggested there was more to his ownership of Varn than having a slave for pleasure.

Is this the only way it works here?
he wondered.
What of men of similar rank?

But he did not have time to consider it. As he broke free from the dense vegetation, he stopped to look down the road toward the west, and saw five men and a cart not far along it. They would reach the junction soon. Dannyl hurried down the hill and stopped on the road, beckoning as Achati saw him. The Sachakan rose to his feet and walked over to join him.

“Excellent timing, Ambassador Dannyl,” he said, squinting at the figures in the distance. “Did you find anything up there?”

“Lots of thorny plants,” Dannyl replied ruefully. “I’m afraid your friends are about to meet a shabby Kyralian.”

Achati looked down at Dannyl’s torn robe. “Ah, yes. Sachakan vegetation can be as prickly as its people. I’ll get Varn to mend it for you.”

Dannyl nodded in gratitude. “Thank you. Now, is there anything in particular I should say or do in greeting our new companions?”

Achati shook his head. “When in doubt, let me do the talking.”

The farm cart was big and moved slowly. It was piled high with bales of stock feed, its load strapped down securely with many ropes. Four gorin hauled it – the first Lorkin had seen of the big animals in Sachaka. The driver was a short, silent male slave who occupied the only seat on the vehicle.

The other three passengers rode in a cave within the bales. Gaps between the bales that formed the roof allowed some air to get into the narrow space, but the walls were tightly packed. Three small packs were stowed at one end, which Lorkin assumed were full of food and supplies for the journey into the mountains. Chari and Tyvara were sitting either side of him on a seat of bales running along the gap, which meant he had to turn his back on Chari to look at Tyvara, and vice versa.

Chari nudged his arm with her elbow. “More comfortable than walking, right?”

“Definitely. Was this your idea?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “No, we’ve been doing this for centuries. Got to move slaves about somehow.”

He frowned. “Won’t any Traitors seeing a cart like this suspect there’s someone travelling inside, then?”

Chari shrugged. “Yes, but unless they’ve got a good reason, they won’t approach us. Especially not during the day. Slaves don’t stop other estate’s carts. None of their business. If an Ashaki saw them doing it, they’d think it odd and investigate.” She frowned. “Keeping you hidden has the added benefit of preventing confrontations like the one you had with Rasha. I have the authority to stop Traitors like her – don’t worry, not all of us want you dead – but dealing with it would delay us. If other Traitors do suspect you’re in here, they’ll rightly assume it wouldn’t be without the knowledge of other Traitors. This is not something you could ever arrange on your own.”

“And let’s not forget the people searching for Lorkin,” Tyvara added. “Ambassador Dannyl and the king’s representative, Ashaki Achati.”

“Those two?” Chari waved a hand dismissively. “We’ve arranged for them to be sent off track, next time they go snooping around an estate.” She smiled. “They could ride past us and never know we’re here.” She looked up at the bales above them. “Though, it can get a bit stuffy on hot days. Good thing you two had a bath last night, eh?”

Lorkin nodded and looked down at himself. The last of the dye had washed off his skin. He patted the clean slave wrap. “Thank you for the new clothes, too.”

She looked at him and grimaced. “We’ll have you out of them and into proper clothes soon.”

“I never thought I’d say it, but I miss my Guild robes,” he lamented.

“Why didn’t you like them before?”

“Because every magician wears them. It gets a bit boring. The only change you get is when you graduate from a novice to a magician – unless you become one of the Higher Magicians, and most of them only wear a different colour sash.”

“A novice is a student, right? How long do they stay novices for?”

“All new entrants to the Guild are novices. They spend about five years in the University before they graduate.”

“So what sorts of magic do you learn at the University?”

“At first a range of things,” he told her. “Magic, of course, but also non-magical studies like history and strategy. Most of us turn out to be better at something, and eventually we get to choose which of the three disciplines we’ll follow: Healing, Warrior Studies or Alchemy.”

“What did you choose?”

“Alchemy. You can tell which of us are Alchemists because we wear purple. Healers wear green and Warriors wear red.”

Chari frowned. “What do Alchemists do?”

“Everything that Healers and Warriors don’t do,” Lorkin explained. “Mainly it involves magic but sometimes not. Ambassador Dannyl, the magician I came here with and am supposed to be assisting, is a historian, which doesn’t involve magic at all.”

“Can you choose two disciplines? Be an Alchemist and a Warrior – or an Alchemist and a Healer? Or—”

“We already know this, Chari,” Tyvara interrupted.

Lorkin turned to regard her. She looked at him apologetically. “We’re taught about the Guild along with the culture of many other lands during our training,” she told him.

“Yes, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time,” Chari replied. “It’s so much more interesting when it comes from an actual Kyralian magician.”

Lorkin turned back to find her looking at him expectantly. “You were saying?” she prompted.