The Rogue (15 page)

“I’m okay,” he said. “Not as bad as it looks.”

Lorkin pulled the blanket up to cover his friend. “What happened?”

“Leota.”

“She used black magic on you?”

“She took me to bed.”

“And?”

“Same thing. Except more fun.” There was a shrug in Evar’s voice. His eyes focused somewhere beyond Lorkin and the ceiling. “It was worth it.”

“To have all your energy drained out?” Lorkin could not hide the disbelief and anger from his voice.

Evar looked at him. “How else am I going to get into a woman’s bed, eh? Look at me. I’m scrawny and a magician. Hardly good breeding material, and nobody trusts male magicians.”

Lorkin sighed and shook his head. “You’re not scrawny – and where I come from, being a magician – and a natural – would make you
very
desirable breeding material.”

“Yet you left,” Evar pointed out. “And chose to stay here for the rest of your life.”

“Times like these I wonder if I was sold a lie. Equal society indeed. Will this Leota be punished?”

Evar shook his head. Then his eyes lit up. “I moved. I haven’t done that in hours.”

Sighing again, Lorkin stood up. “I have to get back to work.”

Evar nodded. “Don’t worry about me. A bit of sleep and I’ll be fine.” As Lorkin walked away, he called out. “I still think it was worth it. You doubt me, go have a look at her. Without her clothes.”

The incident with the cures had been irritating, but Lorkin was used to it. What had been done to Evar filled him with a simmering rage. Since Tyvara had warned him not to accept any invitations to a magician’s bed he had turned down more propositions than usual. At least he now had a better idea which magicians were in Kalia’s faction.

How stupid do they think I am? That’s how Riva tried to kill me.
He felt a stab of guilt.
I should have warned Evar. But I didn’t think they’d harm Kalia’s nephew.
Well, they hadn’t harmed him: they – Leota – had drained Evar to the point of helplessness, then humiliated him by making his mistake public.

Even so, Evar should have known better. He had known they’d find a way to punish him for taking Lorkin to the stone-makers’ caves. Surely it had been obvious what Leota intended when she’d invited him to her bed?

Lorkin shook his head. Perhaps Evar was simply too trusting of his own people. That this was how they repaid his trust disgusted Lorkin, and for the rest of the day he switched back and forth between wondering if he had been wise to come to Sanctuary, and questioning whether the Traitors could ever be made to see how unequal their society really was.

Winter was slowly tightening its grip on Imardin. Standing water froze overnight. The crunch of ice underfoot was strangely satisfying, and brought back childhood memories.
You had to avoid the deeper puddles
, Sonea thought,
as they usually only had a skin of ice, and if the water underneath got into your shoes your feet would hurt from the cold all day.

Getting water in her shoes hadn’t been a concern for many years. The boots made for magicians were the best in the city and as soon as they showed the slightest sign of wear, servants would fetch replacements.
Which is annoying when you’ve just worn them in.
Unfortunately, the shoes she was wearing now were neither weatherproof nor worn in to suit her feet. They were cast-offs – part of the disguise she wore when venturing out to meet Cery.

The basket of laundry in her arms was fuller and heavier than usual. She’d had to stop and pick up sheets once already, when they’d tumbled off the top of the pile to the ground. Of course, she couldn’t use magic to hold or catch them. That would have revealed that she was more than a delivery woman.

She slowed and ducked into an alleyway. It was a shortcut that the locals often used. Today it was empty but for one other woman hurrying toward her, carrying a small child. As Sonea drew closer, the woman looked up at her. Sonea resisted the urge to pull the hood further over her face. The woman’s gaze flickered to something behind Sonea and she frowned, then looked quickly back at Sonea as she passed.

Was that a look of warning?

Resisting the temptation to look back, Sonea slowed her pace and listened carefully. Sure enough, she picked up the soft scrape and pad of footfalls several paces behind her.

Am I being followed?
The alley was well used, so someone walking behind her was not so strange. Something else must have alarmed the woman. Perhaps she was naturally suspicious. Perhaps not. Sonea could not afford to ignore the possibility that the woman had reason to be. She quickened her pace.

Reaching the end of the alley, she turned in the opposite direction to the one she had intended to take, crossed the road and entered another alley. This one was wider and filled with workers from the industries housed on either side. Wood for furnaces had been piled up against walls. Barrels of oils and noxious liquids, huge tightly bound bundles of rags, and wooden crates waited to be carried inside. The people and obstructions forced her to take a winding, dodging path until she reached a tower of crates filled with some kind of wilted plant that smelled like the sea.

She slipped behind it and put down the basket. Workers further along the alley eyed her, but as she began rubbing her back, they politely looked away. She looked back down the alley. Sure enough, a short, thin man with a mean expression was making his way toward her. He looked like he belonged here as much as she did. The workers paused when they saw him and gave him a wide berth. They, like her, knew the look of a Thief’s man when they saw one.

Looking at the obstructions between herself and her pursuer, Sonea found what she was looking for. She sent out a little magic and held it in place. Then she turned and continued down the alley, keeping to her former hurried pace.

She counted down in her head and gave a push with the magic. A crash came from behind her, then yells and curses. She paused to look back, feigning surprise. Her pursuer’s path was now blocked by a woodpile that had collapsed under its own weight. She turned and hurried on.

A few streets and another alley later, and several stops to check, she decided that she was no longer being followed and made her way to the laundry, sweet shop and the room beneath. Cery and Gol looked relieved as she entered the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she sat down. “Had to deal with a tag.”

Cery’s eyebrows rose, then he smiled thinly. “Nobody talks like that any more.”

Gol made a smothered choking sound. She looked from one to the other.

“Like what? You mean slum slang?”

“Yes.” Cery rose. “Or so my daughter tells me.”

“Where is she?”

He grimaced. “Off playing spy for me.”

She felt her heart skip a beat. “You let her …?”

“Not really a matter of
letting
with Anyi.” He sighed. “She rightly pointed out that we’ve had no other ideas for months.” He paced a few steps to the right. “Her intention is to convince whoever employs her that she’s truly turned on me by betraying my location.” He stopped and paced to the left. “Of course, Gol and I will make a narrow escape.” He turned to face her. “That’s where you will come in.”

“I will?”

“Yes.” He shook his head, not bothering to hide his worry and doubts. “You’ll be the factor she couldn’t plan for.”

“I see.”

Cery resumed his pacing. “I was hoping to have you and Regin lined up for this, so that if one of you couldn’t make it the other could step in—”

“Wait a few days and I’ll have a replacement for Regin.”

“Really?” Cery stopped. “Who is it?”

“Dorrien. Rothen’s son.”

“I thought he lived in the country.”

“He did, but he’s decided to move to the city to get his daughter settled here before she starts at the University.”

Cery chuckled. “I bet Rothen doesn’t know whether to be pleased or horrified.”

She smiled and nodded. “I wish we didn’t have to bring him into this. I wish
you
didn’t need to involve Anyi.”

“It’s our children’s purpose in life to make us worry,” Cery replied wryly. He looked up. “Have you heard from Lorkin?”

Sonea felt a stab of pain, but it was more a dull ache than the sharp terror she’d felt when he’d first disappeared. “No. I guess I should be glad
he
isn’t being dragged into this.”

He nodded. “Perhaps I should have sent Anyi off to Sachaka.” His expression suddenly became distant and thoughtful. He shook his head and looked at Sonea. “Anything else?”

“No. You?”

“Nothing. I’ll send a message to the hospice when I know what Anyi is planning. Could you stay here a while, just in case you were followed?”

“Sure. I did lose the t … whatever you call them now.”

“Of course you did,” he said in a consolatory tone.

“You doubt my ability to lose a tag?” She crossed her arms.

“Not at all.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He feigned innocence. Behind him, Gol slid a panel in the wall open.

“Coming?” he asked.

Cery smiled and turned away. Shaking her head, Sonea watched as they slipped through into darkness and the panel slid shut again. Then she sat down and waited until they’d put some distance between themselves and the shop before she headed back to the hospice.

Stomach full, and with a mouth burning pleasantly from the spices he’d consumed, Dannyl sipped his wine contentedly. It was good to get away from the Guild House. These days the only Sachakan home Dannyl saw the inside of was Achati’s. It followed the typical format, but the interior walls were painted a softer colour than the traditional stark white. The carpets and decorations were simple and elegant. He preferred the soft light of lamps to magical globe lights.

Dannyl had seen no glimpse of Achati’s source slave and lover, Varn, since their journey in search of Lorkin. Achati had not mentioned his interest in Dannyl beyond friendship since then either – at least not directly. Dannyl was not sure if the Ashaki had given up on such a liaison happening, content to enjoy their friendship, or whether he was giving Dannyl time to contemplate the idea.

I must admit, I hope he hasn’t given up, but at the same time, the fact that Achati is such a powerful man is as sobering as it is interesting. Not to forget the fact that he is Sachakan and I’m Kyralian, and some still feel we are enemies. Having a Sachakan friend would be seen to be beneficial, encouraging respect and understanding between our people. Having a Sachakan lover would raise suspicions of divided loyalties.

“So the treasure that was stolen from the palace was a magic-storing object,” Achati said, his expression thoughtful.

Dannyl looked up and nodded. “The king told me something had been taken long ago. I thought you’d be interested to know what its purpose was.”

“Yes.” Achati’s eyes wrinkled with amusement. “We did not remember what it was, only that it was stolen. If only we’d remembered that it was an object used to control us – an object powerful enough to create the wasteland – we might not have nursed such resentment. Or resented it as much,” he added. “Since your people did use it to create the wasteland.”

“A resentment that is deserved.” Dannyl shuddered as he thought of the lifeless land he’d travelled across to get to Arvice. “I’ve often wondered how the Kyralians maintained control here. As far as I can tell, there weren’t as many Kyralian magicians here as there were Sachakan magicians. Perhaps the threat of the storestone is the answer.”

“It wasn’t long after the object was stolen that the Kyralians relinquished control of my country,” Achati told him.

Dannyl nodded. “We always assumed it was because the wasteland was considered protection and deterrent enough.”

Achati grimaced. “It certainly weakened Sachaka. Our most fertile lands were gone, and we were already a country bursting with more people than we could feed, despite losing so many Ashaki in the war.” He sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “The king will be interested in what you said earlier: that there was initial success in reclaiming the wastes. Restoring the land is a hope of his.”

“It would be a great achievement.”

“Yes.” Achati frowned. “It is a peculiar thing that Kyralians have no memory of this storestone.”

“I can only assume that all reference to it was lost when Imardin was destroyed, which I now believe happened centuries later.” Dannyl sighed. “All good discoveries raise more questions. Why did Narvelan steal it? Why did he use it? I doubt we’ll ever know, since he and those that might have confronted him did not live to tell the tale.”

Achati nodded. “I’d like to know where the storestone came from. Did it originate in Kyralia? Was it made or natural?” He shook his head. “I’m sure you would like to know as much for Kyralia’s sake as for your book. All would face as great a threat of disaster as Sachaka suffered, if such a weapon fell into the hands of an enemy.”

“Thankfully, storestones don’t appear to be very common. They may not even exist any more.”

The two men were quiet for a while, thinking about this, then the Ashaki smiled again. “I must admit, I am finding myself drawn into this research of yours. I’ve been considering how else I might help you.”

“The book merchants at the market are going to inform me when they buy more old records,” Dannyl told him. Achati had done enough already by persuading various Ashaki to open their libraries to the Guild Ambassador, and Dannyl didn’t want his new friend and ally losing respect for continuing to promote the cause of an unpopular foreigner.

“You can’t rely on them,” Achati told him. “They’ll sell to the highest buyer. And there is no need for you to wait until an estate’s owner is desperate enough to sell their old records. There is no need to buy them at all. We can go to them.”

Dannyl blinked at the man in surprise. “Go to them? Visit them?”

“Yes. As you know, estates are obliged to provide food and beds for travelling Ashaki, and as the king’s friend and representative I warrant extra attention and favours. If we show an interest in their old records there is a good chance they’ll show them to us. That way there is no need for you to buy anything, which may be seen by some as benefiting from the downfall of victims of the wasteland your people created.”