The Magician’s Apprentice Read online

  Tessia had never seen a woman like Lady Avaria. Her hostess was attractive, but in a restrained way. She is what Mother meant when she tried to describe “elegance” to me, Tessia mused. But there was something in Avaria’s face – a glint of mischief in her eye, a quirk in her smile – suggesting something playful underneath the restraint. And this woman is a magician, she reminded herself.

  Everran’s expression was openly pleased as he greeted Dakon, slapping his guest’s upper arms in what Tessia now concluded was some sort of greeting among important men. She noted that he did not favour Jayan with the same gesture. Lord Gilar hadn’t either, she recalled. Perhaps Jayan would not be considered important until he was a higher magician.

  Lady Avaria did not follow suit. She smiled and touched Dakon lightly on the cheek.

  “It is good to have you back, Dakon,” she said in a warm, low voice. She turned to Jayan. “Welcome back, Apprentice Jayan of Drayn.”

  Both host and hostess had an alertness to their gaze, Tessia noted. As they turned to regard her she had the distinct feeling she was being examined with astute care. It is a good thing I’m not the sort to babble when I’m nervous, she thought as she answered their questions, and have nothing to hide. I have a feeling they’d never miss a slip of the tongue.

  “A healer’s assistant?” Avaria said. “I have a friend who is in training to become a healer. I should arrange a meeting, over lunch or something.”

  Tessia blinked in surprise. “I was only an assistant. They may find me, ah, rather wanting.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fascinating,” Avaria assured her. “And I’ve been looking forward to a new shopping companion.” She turned to Dakon. “Now, have you given your apprentices the usual allowance?”

  Dakon chuckled. “Just as soon as we have all unpacked.”

  “Prices have risen considerably since your last visit,” Avaria warned. “Since this is Tessia’s first visit she has more than the usual stocking up to do.”

  Tessia felt her face warming. “I don’t—” she began then stopped as Jayan put out a hand to stall her.

  “Oh, yes you do,” Jayan told her quietly, “if you’re going to survive Avaria’s company for more than five minutes.”

  The lady looked back at him and narrowed her eyes. “I heard that.”

  “She also has very sharp ears,” he warned Tessia.

  “Five minutes.” Avaria clicked her tongue, her eyes flashing with amusement. “A whole five minutes. I shall have to do something to salvage my reputation.”

  “Hanar!”

  Suppressing a grimace, Hanara straightened and looked towards the voice. No self-respecting Kyralian man had a name ending in a, as their women did – or so the stable servants had told him – so they had shortened his.

  The stable master, Ravern, was standing at the door. He beckoned, so Hanara put aside his shovel and walked over.

  “Take this to Bregar, the store master,” Ravern said, handing Hanara a waxed tablet with writing scrawled over it. “Bring back what he gives you. And be quick, or you’ll interrupt his dinner.”

  Hanara nodded his head as the other stable servants did to show respect to the man, and strode out into the late afternoon light. He tucked the tablet into his tunic, where it sat wax-side outward against his belt. Hurrying down the cartway to the gate, he paused to quickly scan the village.

  No people about. It was not surprising. The air had a chill to it that promised a late snow.

  Stepping out onto the road, he strode purposefully towards the large store building. It was both a shop and the place where produce made in the ley, or brought in from outside for the use of the ley’s populace, was kept. The stable master had sent him out on errands like this a few times now. Hanara suspected his trustworthiness was being tested. And his usefulness.

  Reaching the store, Hanara entered and removed the tablet from his tunic. The store master was absent, so he rang the bell. Bregar shuffled into the room from a door at the back, his scowl softening into a frown when he saw Hanara. The man didn’t trust Hanara, but he never mocked him either. He reached out to take the tablet.

  Bregar was a big man for a Kyralian. Hanara suspected there was quite a bit of Sachakan in his bloodline. As he watched, the store master piled up solid blocks of a glossy substance on a table, then bags of grain and a heavy ceramic jar, its stopper sealed generously with wax. All the items were for the stables, which made sense, but Hanara had noticed that he had never been sent – as other stable servants often were – to collect food for the Residence or to take items to be sharpened to the metal worker.

  Bregar handed back the tablet. The pile on the table was large, and the store master set about packing everything into a wooden crate. Seeing this, Hanara dropped the tablet down his tunic front again. He would need both hands to carry the crate. As Bregar lifted the container, Hanara bent over and indicated that the man should place it on his shoulders. He straightened up, and the man frowned and made a questioning grunt.

  Hanara nodded. The store master shrugged and opened the door.

  Outside the light of day was failing. As Hanara started back towards the Residence, he mused that the grunt had been the closest thing to a conversation that he’d ever had with Bregar. He didn’t mind. Slaves tended to be as reticent. Chatter got you into trouble.

  Halfway to the Residence something stung Hanara’s arm. He flinched and kept walking. This often happened when he was out in the village alone. Usually when the two young louts were about.

  He hadn’t gone much further when he heard footsteps coming closer. As the two young men approached he felt his stomach sink. They were an irritation most of the time, but if they made him drop his burden and something broke there would be trouble back at the stables.

  He kept walking. The pair moved to either side, keeping pace.

  “Hanara,” one said. “Do you have a wife back in Sachaka?”

  As always, he stayed silent. Kept walking.

  “Do you miss her? Do you miss bedding her?”

  “Does your Sachakan master do that now?”

  One foot in front of the other. Their taunting was meaningless. They knew too little to hurt him. The benefit of not being allowed to care for anyone was that there was nobody that could be used against you.

  “Or did he do that with you?”

  It was a strange saying, this “bedding”. As if the act of human breeding was done with mattresses rather than body parts.

  “I bet he’ll get into trouble if he drops those boxes.”

  “That’s stuff for the Residence,” the other said.

  “So? Lord Dakon can afford to replace it if it breaks. But Hanara here can’t afford to do anything wrong, or he’ll get kicked out.”

  The cartway entrance was only a hundred paces away. Hanara felt a shove from one side. He swayed, keeping the load balanced. There was a shove from the other side. This time he stepped on one of the lout’s feet as he swerved. The young man swore.

  “Stupid slave,” he snarled. Stepping in front of Hanara, he slammed his fist into Hanara’s stomach.

  There was a crack. The young man recoiled, his face distorted in open-mouthed pain. Hanara felt the tablet shift as broken pieces fell downward to settle against his belt. He stepped round the lout and continued on his way.

  From behind he heard the other lout asking what had happened.

  “Don’t know. It’s like he was wearing armour. Ouch! My thumb feels like it’s broken.”

  Hanara smiled. He stepped into the cartway, then couldn’t resist turning and looking back towards the village. But before he could make out the two louts in the gloom, something else caught his eye.

  Beyond the village, on the ridge above, a blue light was blinking slowly in and out of existence.

  His blood went cold.

  Turning, he fled down the cartway to the stables, his heart racing. He couldn’t read the writing on the broken tablet down his shirt, but he was able to decode the pulsing light
on the hill. The pattern represented one word. One order.

  Report.

  Takado had returned.

  CHAPTER 14

  The master’s room of Everran’s house smelled of marin flowers, a crisp yet rich scent that gave the space a mood both lively and meditative. Dakon and Jayan had settled onto one of the bench chairs. They hadn’t seen Tessia or Avaria yet today. The two women had left early to explore the city, and would spend the afternoon with one of Avaria’s friends.

  Everran had vanished, but now he re-entered the room rubbing his hands together eagerly.

  “Our visitors should begin arriving soon.”

  Dakon nodded. His father and Everran’s grandfather had been cousins, so they had a link through family ties, albeit a distant one. Dakon had continued his father’s custom of staying with Everran’s father when visiting Imardin. Then, when the man died five years ago from a seizure of the heart, his son insisted on taking over the role of Dakon’s host when he visited Imardin.

  Everran was a likeable and smart young man. He had come into his inheritance too young, but he had shouldered the burden with admirable maturity, and had a good grasp of politics. It had pleased Dakon when Everran had joined the Circle of Friends, and not just because he liked the young magician. It was heartening to see that some city magicians were as concerned about the threat from Sachaka as the country lords, and willing to support their cause.

  “What are they expecting?” Dakon asked. “Will they be wanting information? News?”

  Everran shrugged. “No. It’s unlikely you’ll know anything they don’t already. We’ll be discussing how you should approach the king.”

  “All advice is welcome.” Dakon grimaced wryly. “It’s been a long time since I met the king, and then it wasn’t on official business.”

  “It’s in all our interests that you succeed. They – ah, here’s the first of them now.”

  Footsteps drew their attention to the passage leading from the front entrance of the house. Everran rose and Dakon and Jayan followed suit. A short, slightly overweight man with grey in his black hair appeared, escorted by Lerran the doorman. He paused to smile and nod to Everran, and then to Dakon as Everran introduced him.

  “This is Magician Wayel of the Paren family, the new trade master.”

  “Congratulations. I hope it has been a smooth transition.”

  Wayel shrugged. “As smooth as can be expected.”

  “What is Lord Gregar up to now?” Dakon asked.

  “Resting at home.” At Everran’s urging, they moved to the benches and sat down again. “I’ve heard he isn’t well. Some say he gave away the position too early and is expiring of boredom, but I’ve been told that he might have quit because he was unwell. Perhaps dying.”

  Thinking of the energetic old man whose task it had been to settle trading disputes between the leys, Dakon felt a pang of sadness. Men like Lord Gregar, efficient and intelligent, were hard to find. He hoped Magician Wayel would live up to his predecessor’s standards, though he didn’t envy the man the demands of the job.

  Laughter echoed down the corridor. Two men were ushered into the room. All rose to greet the newcomers.

  “Lord Prinan is here on behalf of his father, Lord Ruskel,” Everran told Dakon. “Lord Bolvin is from Eyren ley.”

  Lord Ruskel’s ley was located at the south-eastern end of the mountains bordering Sachaka. It had been Ruskel who had stumbled upon the three “lost” Sachakan magicians in his land, Dakon remembered. Prinan was a young, newly independent magician, trained by his father. He greeted Dakon with nervous deference. Dakon noted that Everran had adopted the new habit of using the title “Lord” for an heir to a ley or house, helping to indicate which offspring would inherit. It was a new custom, which he’d noticed becoming popular during his last few city visits. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

  He had met Bolvin some years before, but the man had changed considerably. Several years older than Prinan, and a full head taller, Bolvin had an air of maturity not usually found in one so young. He, like Everran, had inherited too young when his father had disappeared with his ship during a storm; he had an entire ley to manage as well as the family fortune.

  Eyren ley was on the west coast, far from any immediate danger in the event of an invasion, yet Lord Bolvin’s expression was serious and sympathetic as he greeted Dakon. This one understands that the threat will not be over if a few border leys are overrun, Dakon thought.

  Before they had finished their greetings another voice came from the room’s entrance.

  “Ah, good, I’m not the only early arrival.”

  A tall, slim, middle-aged man walked gracefully into the room. Dakon recognised the man with surprise.

  Everran laughed. “You’re actually on time for once, Lord Olleran.”

  Olleran was very much a city lord, who had admitted in the past (when turning down invitations to stay with lords outside the city) that he found the country boring and dirty. But it wasn’t that which made his presence at this meeting so surprising. He was also married to a Sachakan. He came forward to grasp Dakon’s arm.

  “Welcome back to Imardin, Lord Dakon,” he said. “In case you’re too polite to ask, it was my wife who convinced me that I should join your cause. She says she likes Kyralia just how it is and ordered me to find and help anyone who was doing something to keep it that way.”

  Dakon smiled. He had heard it said that Lord Olleran’s early failures in courtship stemmed from a preference for difficult women. When the man married a Sachakan most people thought he’d finally overcome the tendency. But it turned out that this was no ordinary Sachakan woman. Though brought up to be quiet and obedient, she had thrown off her stifling upbringing upon arrival in Kyralia and had worked on a string of charity projects. Dakon had never met her, but she was popular among Avaria’s friends.

  “So she believes there is a threat from Sachaka?”

  “Her family does. They ordered her home. She refused, of course.” He shook his head sadly. “Which forces me to be glad she is such a disobedient wife.”

  More guests arrived. Some, like Lord Gilar, Dakon knew. Some he had heard about but never met. A few were unknown to him. They included a handful of country lords or their representatives, and two more city lords. Of the latter, Dakon knew Magician Sabin by reputation. He was a skilled sword master who had studied warfare extensively. That one will have good advice if we ever face a battle, Dakon decided. But I’m not sure if he’ll be useful to me now.

  Soon the room was echoing with voices and no one bothered sitting back down after greeting a new arrival. They stood in small groups, talking. Once the last magician was ushered into the room and introduced, Everran rang a small gong to get everyone’s attention. Voices fell silent. Everyone looked towards their host.

  “As you know, I’ve called this meeting with a purpose other than good conversation and food – which will arrive shortly. Lord Dakon has journeyed to Imardin from distant Aylen ley to approach the king on our behalf. What we need to decide today is: what should he say to the king? What shouldn’t he say? What do we want to gain? What do we hope to avoid?”

  A short silence followed as the men exchanged glances, looking to see who would speak first.

  “We need an assurance that he will send out a force of magicians to retake and protect border leys if they are overcome,” Prinan said. “At least, that’s what my father said.”

  Everran nodded. “And he is right.” He turned to Dakon. “This is what Lord Narvelan asked you to do?”

  Dakon nodded. “Yes.”

  “But isn’t it insulting to the king to suggest he wouldn’t retake leys?” Bolvin asked.

  The magicians’ reaction to this was a mixture of shrugs and nods. Dakon noted how several heads had turned towards Sabin. For some reason they thought him a greater authority on the king than anyone else here.

  “He would find it so,” Sabin agreed. “He would know there is more to the request than what you ask for, an
d be annoyed that you think him fool enough not to see it.”

  “It’s all in the way you ask for it,” Olleran said, looking round. “You would have to say: “There are some, in the city, who have been heard to express the opinion that the outer leys aren’t worth fighting for in the event they are taken. What is your opinion, your majesty?’”

  Sabin chuckled and looked at Olleran. “How many times have you practised that little speech?” he asked quietly.

  Olleran shrugged modestly. “A few...hundred.”

  “And if he wants to know who expressed this opinion, what do I say?” Dakon asked. “Will I need names?”

  “Tell him lords who won’t act unless it brings them direct benefits,” Wayel growled. “Magicians unwilling to put their lives at risk, through selfishness or cowardice.”

  “We must make them see a lack of action will cost them more in the long term,” Bolvin said. “The Sachakans won’t stop at a few outer leys. They will see a lack of a resistance as a sign of weakness, and take all.”

  “Some will not believe that. Not until it is too late,” Sabin predicted. “Magical ability does not come only to those with foresight.”

  “Or common sense,” Everran agreed. “But most of the reluctant would change their minds if an attack did come. For now they hold higher the opinions of their most powerful allies because they feel they have to, but faced with the news of an attack they might decide that, if we proved to be right about an invasion of the outer leys, we might prove to be right about the consequences of not driving the Sachakans back out.”

  “They had better change their minds,” Bolvin muttered. Others nodded and a small silence followed. Dakon held his tongue. They had not answered his question, but perhaps the digression would come back round to the subject again if he waited.

  “Would the more resistant help us for a fee?” Prinan asked.

  The room vibrated with noises of protest.