The Magician's Apprentice (4 page)

“Greetings, Apprentice Jayan,” she chimed as she entered the room. Carrying her burden over to him, she set it on one ample hip and began transferring bowls, plates and cups onto the desk.

“Greetings to you, Malia,” he replied. “You’re looking particularly cheerful today.”

“I am,” she said. “The lord’s guest is leaving today.”

He straightened. “He is? Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. I guess he can’t cope without a slave tending to his every need.” She sent him a sidelong, thoughtful look. “I wonder, could you get by without me?”

Jayan ignored her question and the obvious hook for a compliment. “Why hasn’t he got a slave? What happened to the slave he arrived with?”

Malia’s eyes rounded. “Of course. You wouldn’t know. And you wouldn’t have heard anything, hidden here in the back of the Residence. Takado beat his slave almost to death yesterday afternoon. Healer Veran worked on him the full night.” Despite her matter-of-fact tone, her quick gestures betrayed her uneasiness. He guessed all the servants would be unnerved by the Sachakan’s behaviour. They knew that, to him, there was little difference between them and a slave.

But Malia’s smile had quickly returned, and it was a sly one. She knew what the Sachakan’s departure would mean for him. He looked at her expectantly.

“And?”

The smile widened. “And what?”

“Did he live or die?”

“Oh.” She frowned, then shrugged. “I assume he’s still alive, or we’d have heard something.”

Jayan stood up and moved to the window. He wanted to seek Dakon and discover more, but his master had ordered him to remain in his room while the Sachakan was staying in the Residence. Looking out of the window, down at the closed stable doors and empty yard, he chewed his lip.

If I can’t find out myself, Malia will be more than willing to get information for me.

Trouble was, she always wanted a little more than thanks in return for her favours. While she was pretty enough, Dakon had long ago warned him that young female house servants had a habit of taking a fancy to young male apprentice magicians – or their influence and fortunes – and he was not to take advantage of them, or allow himself to be taken advantage of by them. While Jayan knew his master was forgiving of the occasional mistake or misbehaviour, he had also learned over the last four years that the magician had subtle and unpleasant ways to punish unacceptable conduct. He did not believe Dakon would resort to the ultimate punishment for such misconduct – send an apprentice back to his family with his education unfinished and without the knowledge of higher magic that marked him as an independent magician – but he didn’t fancy Malia enough to test that belief. Or any young woman of Mandryn, for that matter.

The trick with Malia was never to actually
ask
for anything. Only express a wish to know something. If she provided information he’d
asked
for, she considered he owed her something in return.

“I wonder when the Sachakan will leave,” he murmured.

“Oh, probably not till dusk,” Malia said lightly. ”

Dusk? Why would he travel at night?”

She smiled and slipped the tray under her arm. “I don’t know, but I like the thought of you stuck here, all by yourself, for another whole day. After all, you don’t want to risk he’ll take a fancy to you, and take you home with him in place of his slave, do you? Enjoy your day.”

Chuckling, she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Jayan stared at the back of the door, not sure if she’d seen through his ploy or was merely seizing an opportunity to tease him.

Then he sighed, returned to his desk and began his morning meal.

At first Jayan hadn’t minded Dakon’s decision that he must stay in his room for the duration of the Sachakan’s visit. He had plenty of books to read and study, and didn’t mind being alone. He wasn’t worried that Takado would attempt to kidnap him, as Malia had suggested, since Sachakans didn’t make slaves of anyone who had access to their magical abilities. They preferred slaves with powerful
latent
talent, who could not use magic yet would provide their master with plenty of magical strength to absorb.

No, if any conflict arose between Takado and Dakon it was more likely the Sachakan would try to kill Jayan. Part of an apprentice’s role was to provide his master with a source of extra magical strength, just as a slave did, except that apprentices gained magical knowledge in return. And were free men, or women.

Conflict between Takado and Dakon was unlikely, though. It would have diplomatic repercussions in Sachaka and Kyralia that neither magician would want to face. Still, it was possible Takado might stir up some minor trouble, knowing he was little over a day’s journey from his homeland, only to make a point about Sachakan superiority and power.

Like beating his own slave to death?

I guess he has made his point already. He’s shown us he still has power over other human lives, and he’s done so without breaking any Kyralian laws.

That thought made Jayan feel oddly relieved. Now that the Sachakan had made his point he would leave – was leaving – and soon Jayan would be out of danger. He could leave the room. And the Residence, if he wished. Life would return to normal.

Jayan felt his mood lighten. He had never thought he would get sick of his own company or of reading. It turned out he could reach a point where he began to long for sunlight and fresh air. He’d passed that point a few days ago, and since then he’d been restless.

Only so much of magic could be learned from reading. To gain any skill took practice. It had been weeks since he’d had a lesson from Lord Dakon. Each day that passed was a lesson delayed. Each delayed lesson meant it would be longer before the day Lord Dakon taught him higher magic and Jayan became a magician in his own right.

Then Jayan would enjoy the respect and power due him as a higher magician, and begin to earn his own fortune. He, like his older brother, Lord Velan, would have a title, though “Magician” would never surpass “Lord” in importance. Nothing was more respected in Kyralia than ownership of land, even if all it encompassed was one of the city’s grand old houses.

But ownership of a ley was rated more highly than ownership of a house, which was ironic since magicians who lived in the country were considered backward-thinking and out of touch. If Jayan stayed on good terms with his master, and Dakon did not marry and sire an heir, there was a chance the lord would nominate him as his successor. It was not unheard of for a magician to favour a former apprentice in this way.

It was not just the thought of surpassing his brother in land ownership that appealed to Jayan, though. The idea of retiring to Mandryn some day was also very attractive. He had found he liked this quiet existence, far from the social games of the city he’d once enjoyed watching, and far from the influence of his father and brother.

But Dakon isn’t too old to marry and have children
, he thought
. His father did both quite late in life. Even if Dakon doesn’t, he’s got several years in him yet, so I have plenty of time to explore the world first. And the sooner I learn what I need to become a higher magician, the sooner I’ll be free to travel wherever I want.

The light spilling around the window screens of Tessia’s bedroom was all wrong. Then she remembered the work of the night before, and how she and her parents had gone to bed in the morning. Of course the light was wrong. It was midday.

For a while she lay there, expecting to fall asleep again, but she didn’t. Despite having slept only a few hours, and still feeling a cloying weariness, she remained awake. Her stomach growled. Perhaps it was hunger keeping her from sleep. She climbed out of bed, dressed, and tidied her hair. Stepping quietly out of her room, she saw that her parents’ door was still closed. She could hear faint snoring.

At the bottom of the stairs she turned into the kitchen. The hearth was cold, the fire of the morning having burned itself out. She helped herself to some pachi fruit in a bowl on the table. Then she noticed her father’s bag on the floor.

The slave
, she thought.
Father said the first day of care after treatment was the most important. Bandages will need changing. Wounds will need cleaning. And the pain cures will be wearing off
.

Looking up at the ceiling, toward her parents’ room, she considered whether to rouse her father.
Not yet
, she decided.
He needs sleep more than I do, at his age.

So she waited. She considered trying to cook something, but doubted she could do so without rousing her parents. Instead she went through her father’s bag. Slipping into his workroom, she topped up and replaced medicines, thread and bandages. Then she carefully cleaned and sharpened all his tools, while the sunlight streaming through the windows crept slowly across the room.

Her work kept her busy for a few hours. When she could not think of any new task to do, she returned to the kitchen, leaving her father’s bag by the front door. Creeping up the staircase, she listened to the sound of snoring and deliberated.

We must check on the slave soon
, she thought.
I should wake Father up – which will wake Mother up in the process. Or I could go myself.

The last thought sent a thrill of excitement through her. If she tended to the slave by herself – if the servants at Lord Dakon’s house allowed her to – wouldn’t that prove that the villagers did have confidence in her as a healer? Wouldn’t it show that she might, given time, replace her father?

She backed down the stairs and moved to the front door. Looking at her father’s bag, she felt a twinge of doubt.

It could make Father angry. Doing something he didn’t ask me to do isn’t as bad as disobeying an order, though. And it’s not as if I’m doing anything more than the simple routine of care after treatment.
She smiled to herself.
And if I get one of the Residence servants to stay with me, I can show I at least took Mother’s worries about my safety into consideration.

Taking the bag’s handles, she lifted it, opened the front door as quietly as possible, then slipped outside.

Several of the villagers were about, she saw. The baker’s two sons were slouching against the wall of their house, enjoying the sunny afternoon. They nodded to her and she smiled back.
Are they on my mother’s list of prospective husbands?
she wondered. Neither of them interested her. Though they were polite enough now, she could not help remembering how annoying they’d been as boys, calling her names and pulling her hair.

The former metal worker’s widow was walking with slow, deliberate steps down the main road, steadying herself with two canes. She’d walked the length of the village and back every sunny day for as long as Tessia could remember. When Tessia was a child, and the widow less withered, other older women of the village had joined her and much gossiping had transpired during their circuit. Now the other women said they were too old to venture out, and feared they would trip or be knocked over by the village children.

Faint childish screams and laughter drew Tessia’s attention to the river, where small figures swarmed around the broad, flat curve of the waterway where she had played as a child. Then she heard her name spoken, and turned in time to see a local farmer nod at her as he passed.

He had come from the direction of Lord Dakon’s house, now only a few dozen steps away. Entering the alley beside the Residence, she walked up to the side door she and her father had entered the previous day, and knocked.

The door was opened by Cannia. The woman smiled at Tessia, then glanced around the alley.

“Father is still resting,” Tessia explained. “I’m to check on the slave and report back.”

Cannia nodded and beckoned Tessia inside. “Took him some broth this morning. Tried to feed it to him, since he can’t in the state he’s in. Didn’t take more than a few mouthfuls, I reckon.”

“So he’s awake.”

“Sure is, though I dare say he wishes he wasn’t.”

“Could you or someone else assist while I tend to him?”

“Of course.” She lit a lamp and gave it to Tessia. “Go on ahead and I’ll send someone to help you.”

Tessia felt her skin prickle slightly as she climbed the stairs to the slave’s room. She could not help wondering where the Sachakan was, and hoping she wouldn’t encounter him. When she reached the slave’s room and found it empty but for her patient, she sighed with relief.

The man stared at her, his pupils wide. She could not tell if it was from fear or surprise. Nobody had told her his name, she realised.

“Greetings again,” she said. “I’m here to change your bandages and check if you’re healing properly.”

He said nothing, and continued to stare. Well, she could hardly expect him to speak, since his jaw had been broken and his head was bound up to prevent it from moving. This was going to be a one-sided conversation.

“You must be in a lot of pain,” she continued. “I can give you medicine to dull it. Would you like that?”

The man blinked, then nodded once.

Smiling, Tessia turned to her father’s bag and brought out a syrup her father used to treat children. The slave would have trouble swallowing, and a draught of powder mixed in water was likely to leave bitter-tasting grit in his mouth if he couldn’t drink it easily. She would have to thin out the syrup with some water, too, and dribble it through a siphon inserted between his lips.

As the medication ran into the man’s mouth he stiffened, then swallowed. But he didn’t relax again and his eyes were wide as he stared over her shoulder.

He looks terrified
, she thought.

A small gust of air told her that the door was open.

Pulling the siphon out, she stepped back and looked up to see who Cannia had sent to her. The man who gazed back at her was tall, bulky and wearing exotic-looking clothing.

Her heart froze in horror.

“I see you’ve come back to check on Hanara,” the Sachakan said, with a smile that lacked any genuine gratitude. “How good of you. Is he going to live?”