The Magician's Apprentice (28 page)

“Lord Dakon,” he said, bobbing his head respectfully.

“Tiken. Would you show Apprentice Tessia and Apprentice Jayan to the graves,” Dakon asked.

The graves.
Tessia felt her stomach sink, and shuddered.

The boy nodded, then looked up at Tessia and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Welcome back, Tess. Follow me.”

Silently, Tessia and Jayan rode behind Tiken as he led them down the main road. Finally Tessia was able to recognise the pile of rubble that had been her home. She paused to stare, searching for some sign of familiar furniture.

“I found your father’s bag,” Tiken said. “And some other things that weren’t broken. Been putting everything that might be valuable or useful where it won’t get rained on.”

She looked at him. “Thank you. I’ll need the bag, and if the other things are cures and tools I should take them too. They might be needed, if there’s another attack.”

Tiken nodded. Jayan was frowning. She indicated that the boy should continue on.

Moving between two buildings with smoke wafting from their windows, Tiken led them out into a small field. Long furrows of disturbed earth bulged from the grass. Each had a short, thick plank of wood protruding from the ground beside it, and names had been roughly carved into the surface.

Jayan cursed under his breath. “So many,” he muttered.

Tessia didn’t look at him. She felt fragile and suddenly resented his presence. Dismounting, she paused to stretch and let her legs recover a little, then walked stiffly towards the graves. So many. Dakon had said only a few children had survived. All the rest were dead. Old Neslie the widow. Jornen the metal worker and his wife. Cannia, the kitchen servant at the Residence. Whole families had perished. Mothers, fathers and children. Young women and men she had grown up with. The frail and weak along with the robust and strong. None of them any threat to Takado, but all a source of a little more magic.

Tiken walked toward one corner of the field. She followed him. As she had expected and dreaded, two of the planks of wood were carved with her parents’ names.

So. It’s true. No denying it now.

“Nothing was done to them beforehand,” the boy told her.

She looked up at him, puzzled by his comment. His expression was grave and his eyes haunted. He looked twice as old as she knew him to be. She shuddered.
What has he seen?

“Probably ’cause they were old,” he told her. “And maybe… maybe because your father helped the slave.”

She heard Jayan curse again, but ignored him. In her mind she saw Hanara’s thin face and frightened eyes. She looked at the other graves. “Is he…”

“No. He’s not here.” The boy’s expression darkened. “Never found him.”

She frowned, feeling suspicion like some parasite hatching inside her.
The boy believes Hanara betrayed us
, she thought.
Why would he give up his freedom? No, he would only have turned against the village if he thought he had no other choice
.

“What did they do to the others?” Jayan asked quietly behind her.

The boy hesitated. “What Sachakans do,” he answered evasively.
Leave it at that
, she thought at Jayan.
Knowing the details will torment you as much as not knowing them will. I’d rather not know.

Jayan asked again. She moved away, closer to her parents’ grave, hoping to get far enough away to not hear. Kneeling in the dirt, she placed a hand on the soil over her father’s body and let grief come and drown out their voices.

I
should have run away
, Hanara thought.
But how could I have known what was going to happen?

Nothing had worked out quite as he’d expected, or as he’d feared. After leaving the stables, the former slave had run across fields and along roads, searching and searching. The signal light had disappeared, but he explored the area it must have shone from… and found nothing. He’d circled the village, looking in all the places he’d seen the signal flash from before, but in vain.

When he finally found Takado, the magician was sitting on a tree stump beside a path, at an intersection Hanara had passed several times in his search. Takado had laughed when Hanara threw himself at his feet. He’d laughed, then read Hanara’s mind. Then he’d laughed again.

Did you not like freedom, then?
Takado had asked.
Did you miss me? Admit it, you like being my slave. None of this humble shovelling of horse manure for you, Hanara. Deep down, you know you are better than that. You vain little man. You are only loyal to the most powerful master.

Hanara had thought of Tessia, then. Unexpectedly. Was that why Takado had attacked the village? Had he been angry that Hanara thought another – a Kyralian – might be worthy of his loyalty? But Hanara had only thought of her briefly – and not convincingly. All he had done was realise that it was possible he might feel loyalty to her…in another life…if Takado hadn’t already been his master.

When Takado had attacked the village Hanara had been shocked and puzzled. But his master never did anything without a reason. So why had he done it?

Hanara looked up at the men sitting around the fire and felt his empty stomach sour.
Ichani.
Exiles and outcasts. Company unworthy of his master, who owned land and was a respected ashaki. Some were familiar. All had been Takado’s friends for years. In the beginning none of them had been outcasts. But after the first had found himself homeless after a feud with his brother ended badly, the others slipped out of respectability one by one. Sometimes by their own doing. Sometimes not. Takado had helped them in secret, sending supplies and hiding them from their enemies.

A faint whistle nearby brought all heads up, eyes searching the darkness. Footsteps told where to look. Then magical globes of light weaved into the clearing close to the ground, casting an eerie glow on the undersides of the faces of the men approaching.

Takado
. As always, Hanara felt a thrill of both fear and relief. He never felt safe around other Sachakan masters if Takado was not present, yet he also feared Takado. His master had not yet punished him for ignoring the signal for so long. He might yet do so. He might yet have plans to kill Hanara, or send him to his death.

Hanara would have assumed Takado had not killed him because he needed a source slave, if his master hadn’t returned to Kyralia with a new source slave. He looked back at the thin young man waiting by Takado’s tent. Jochara hadn’t said a word to Hanara, but his unfriendly stares made it clear he had not expected to be sharing his role with his predecessor.

As Takado and his two companions joined the ichani, Hanara hurried forward and placed the low wooden stool he’d been holding on the ground. His master sat down, not sparing him a glance.

The Sachakans who had left with Takado to see the ruins of Mandryn were unfamiliar. Like the ichani, they wore knives in jewel-encrusted sheaths on their belt to indicate they were magicians. Their own slaves brought stools for their masters to sit on.

“Well?” Rokino, one of the outcasts, asked. “What did you think, Dachido?”

“Looks like it was an easy target,” the newcomer replied. Kochavo, his companion, nodded in agreement.

All turned to look at Takado, who smiled. “They’re all easy targets. Some easier than others. We could take a quarter of the country for ourselves with no real resistance. No immediate resistance, that is.”

“Could we hold it?” Dachido asked.

“To do so permanently we will have to take the whole country, which I believe we can do, with careful planning.”

Kochavo looked thoughtful. “The whole country. Reconquer Kyralia. If the emperor wished this, he would have done it already.”

Takado nodded. “The emperor believes it is not possible. He is wrong.”

Dachido frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“I have examined Kyralia’s defences for myself,” Takado told him. “They have perhaps a hundred magicians, many of whom have never been trained to fight – except in some silly game they play. Most of the time they bicker with each other, never agreeing on anything. Those who live in the city despise those who live in the leys, who distrust them in return. Their king is young and inexperienced with about as much authority over his people as our emperor has over us. The commoners hate the ruling class and are uncooperative and defiant. Their magicians are only allowed, by law, to take strength from apprentices – and many do not even have those.” He smiled. “They are foolish and weak.”

“Some would say much the same of us,” Dachido said, chuckling. Then he sobered. “You are asking us to defy the emperor’s wishes. He has made it clear he will punish anyone who threatens the peace between Sachaka and its neighbours.”

Takado said nothing. He rose and paced around the fire, frowning, then he stopped before the two newcomers.

“The emperor knows that Sachaka may face civil war. Better the landless and disinherited unite to gain new land than fight over the old. If we win enough support, and demonstrate that victory is possible, Emperor Vochira will be forced to endorse a conquest of Kyralia. He may even join us.”

“More likely he’ll send someone to kill us,” Dachido said darkly.

“Only if there are too few of us. The more of us he has to kill, the more allies he has to apologise to and compensate, and the weaker he will appear.” Takado’s teeth flashed in the light of the fire. “Some will join us without much urging, because they have nothing better to do, or love a good fight. Others will join us once they hear how much support we have gained. Even more will come when we have a few victories to our name. Still more will want some of the prizes – land, wealth, fame, power.”

Dachido frowned. He was older than the other outcasts, Hanara saw. His eyes were not afire with excitement at the thought of real battles, of conquest or power. The suggestion they defy the emperor clearly worried him.

The man looked down at the fire and sighed. “I am not the only one who believes Sachaka is in danger of turning on itself,” he said heavily. “Whether we act or not, we face conflict within. This… this may be what we need to minimise that.”

“You see now why I, an ashaki, propose this?” Takado asked quietly. “Not for land or wealth; I have my own. I am no outcast, though I am not ashamed to fight with outcasts.”

Dachido nodded. “You have everything to lose.”

“I do this not just for my friends,” Takado gestured to the two ichani. “But for all Sachaka.”

“I see that now,” Dachido acknowledged. “Kochavo and I will talk.” He looked up at Takado. “We will give you our decision tomorrow morning.”

Takado nodded, then glanced at Hanara. “Then let me offer you a cup of raka to refresh your bodies and minds.”

Even before he had finished speaking, Hanara was hurrying towards Takado’s pack. But then he skidded to a halt. Another was there already. Jochara held the raka powder. With a smug gleam in his eyes, the young man hurried to serve the visitors. Takado said nothing, not caring who served him so long as his needs were fulfilled.

Hanara watched the other slave. The man was young, lithe and unhampered by the stiffness of healed muscles and scars. He was also a source slave, judging by the scars on his palms, but too old to be one of Hanara’s progeny.

Hanara watched and felt worry and resentment stir inside him.

The ride to meet Narvelan seemed to take the whole night. The only light they had was the moon, which kept retreating behind clouds, and a tiny dim globe light created by Lord Werrin that hovered over the ground in front of them. When lights abruptly appeared ahead the relief that swept through Tessia was so powerful she felt tears spring into her eyes. She blinked them away, annoyed at herself. There were more appropriate things to cry about than the prospect of food, sleep and finally getting off a horse.

The lights were held by four men on horseback. One rode forward and held his light high.

“Lord Dakon,” he said.

“Yes,” Dakon replied. “This is Lord Werrin, Apprentice Jayan and Apprentice Tessia.”

“Lord Narvelan told us to wait here for you. I am to escort you to the camp.”

“Thank you.”

Their guide led them off the road into a forest. After several paces of ducking branches and weaving through undergrowth, they came upon a track and began following it.

Time stretched out, slowed by anticipation.

Then, without warning, they entered a clearing. Small fires ringed a knot of makeshift tents. Well-laden carts rested among the tents and animals grazed, tethered to stakes or within rope-and-stake fences around the grassy area. At the edges of the clearing stood men and women, staring into the forest in all directions. Keeping watch, Tessia guessed. Nobody looked surprised to see Lord Dakon.

A tall shadow emerged from a tent and hurried towards them.

“Lord Dakon.” Narvelan’s voice was so strained it took a moment for Tessia to recognise it. As his face came into the light she saw unhidden grief and guilt. “I am so sorry. I came as soon as I could, but it was already too late.”

Dakon swung down from his saddle. “You did everything you could, my friend. Do not apologise when the fault is not yours. If anything, it is mine for not seeing the danger and making better preparations.”

“We were aware of the threat long before I recruited you. We should have posted a watch on the pass. We should—”

“And you would have, had you known this would happen,” Dakon said firmly. “You didn’t. Don’t waste your energy and clever mind on regret. We cannot change the past. But we can learn from it – something I suspect we will have to do quickly.” He turned to Werrin, who dismounted as Dakon introduced him.

Watching Narvelan, Tessia was wearily impressed with the young magician. He clearly felt badly about the fate of Mandryn. She quietly absorbed the implications in Dakon’s heartfelt reply. Dakon had called him
my friend
. What else had he said? . . .
your energy and clever mind
. And Narvelan had said
before I recruited you
.

So Narvelan had been the one to draw Dakon into the Circle of Friends. And he was smart. She filed away these bits of information for consideration when she wasn’t so tired, and forced her aching body to dismount, and then stay upright.