The Magician's Apprentice (3 page)

“No motivation but fear of punishment or death.”

“An injured or dead slave is of no use to anyone. I can’t see how beating a slave to death for stepping on your foot is going to encourage him to be careful in the future. His death won’t even be an example to others, since there are no other slaves here to learn from it.”

Takado swirled the wine in his goblet, his expression unreadable. “I probably went a bit too far. Trouble is, after travelling with him for months I’ve grown utterly sick of his company. You would, too, if you were restricted to one servant when you visited a country. I’m sure whichever of your kings came up with that law only wanted to punish Sachakans.”

“Happy servants make better companions,” Dakon said. “I enjoy conversing and dealing with my people, and they don’t seem to mind talking to and working for me. If they didn’t like me, they wouldn’t alert me to potential problems in the ley, or suggest ways to increase crop yield.”

“If my slaves didn’t alert me to problems in my domain or get the best out of my crops, I’d have them killed.”

“And then their skills would be lost. My people live longer and so gain proficiency in their work. They take pride in it, and are more likely to be innovative and inventive – like the healer tending your slave.”

“But not like his daughter,” Takado said. “Her skill will be wasted, won’t it? She is a woman and in Kyralia women do not become healers. In my country her skills would be utilised.” He leaned towards Dakon. “If you let me buy her off you, I’ll make sure she gets to use them. I suspect she’d welcome the chance.” He took a swig of the wine, watching Dakon over the rim of the goblet.

For a greedy, cruel man with too much power and too little self-restraint, Takado can be disturbingly perceptive
, Dakon noted. “Even if I would not be breaking a law, and she agreed to such a thing, I don’t think it’s her healing skills you’re interested in.”

Takado laughed and relaxed in his chair. “You’ve seen through me once again, Lord Dakon. I expect you haven’t tasted that dish – or have you?”

“Of course not. She is half my age.”

“Which only makes her more appealing.”

Takado was goading him again, Dakon knew. “And more likely that such a liaison would make me look a fool.”

“There’s no shame in seeking a little entertainment while looking for a suitable wife,” Takado said. “I’m surprised you haven’t found yourself one yet – a wife, that is. I suppose there aren’t any females in Aylen ley worthy of your status. You should visit Imardin more often. Looks like everything worth being a part of happens there.”

“It has been too long since I visited,” Dakon agreed. He sipped the wine. “Did you enjoy your stay there?”

Takado shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘enjoy’. It was as barbaric a place as I expected.”

“If you didn’t expect to enjoy it, why did you go?”

The Sachakan’s eyes gleamed and he held out his empty goblet again. “To satisfy my curiosity.”

Dakon rose to refill it. Every time they came close to discussing why Takado had toured Kyralia the Sachakan became flippant or changed the subject. It had made some magicians nervous, especially since rumours had reached them that some of the younger Sachakan magicians had met in Arvice, the capital of Sachaka, to discuss whether regaining the empire’s former colonies was possible. The Kyralian king had sent secret requests to all landowners that any lord or lady Takado stayed with seek the reason for his visit.

“So has your curiosity been satisfied?” Dakon asked as he returned to his seat.

Takado shrugged. “There’s more I’d like to see, but without a slave…? No.”

“Your slave might yet live.”

“Much as I have appreciated your hospitality, I’m not going to stay here only to see whether a slave I’m tired of recovers. I’ve probably been too great a drain on your resources already.” He paused to drink. “No, if he lives, keep him. He’ll probably be crippled and useless.”

Dakon blinked in surprise. “So if he lives and I allow him to stay, you grant him his freedom?”

“Yes. Of course.” Takado waved a hand dismissively. “Can’t have you breaking your own laws because of me.”

“I thank you for your consideration. So where will you go next? Home?”

The Sachakan nodded, then grinned. “Can’t let the slaves back in my domain get any foolish ideas about who is in control, can I?”

“Absence, as they say, tempers the bonds of affection.”

Takado laughed. “You have some strange sayings here in Kyralia. Like ‘Sleep is the cheapest tonic’.” He stood and, as Dakon followed suit, handed over his empty wine goblet. “You haven’t finished yours,” he noted.

“As you are no doubt aware, small bodies make for quick drunks.” Dakon set his half-empty goblet next to the empty one on the tray. “And while there is an injured man in my house I feel a responsibility to remain sober, even when that man is only a lowly Sachakan slave.”

Takado’s stare was somewhere between blank and amused. “You Kyralians are truly a strange people.” He turned away. “No need to escort me to my room. I remember the way.” He swayed slightly. “At least, I think I remember. Good night, Lord Dakon, as you strange Kyralians say.”

“Good night, Ashaki Takado,” Dakon replied.

He watched the Sachakan stroll down the corridor, and listened to the man’s footsteps receding. Then he followed as silently as he could manage. Not to make sure that his guest went where he intended, but because he wanted to check on Veran’s progress. The slave’s room was, naturally, not far from his master’s and Dakon did not want the Sachakan noticing where he was going, and deciding to accompany him.

A few corridors and a stairway later Dakon watched as Takado walked past the door to his slave’s room without glancing at it, and disappeared into his own chamber. Muffled sounds came from within the slave’s room. The light spilling under the door flickered. Dakon paused, reconsidering whether he should interrupt.

The slave will either live or he won’t
, he told himself;
it won’t make any difference whether you visit or not.
But he could not find the cold practicality with which Takado regarded all but the most powerful of humans. Memories of the slave pinned to a wall, recoiling from relentless invisible blows dealt by the Sachakan magician, made Dakon shudder. He could still hear the crunch of breaking bones, the slap of impacts upon vulnerable flesh.

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.

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.