The Magician’s Apprentice Page 19

  Tessia turned to see a stretcher being carried in, a pale figure lying upon it. She felt a thrill of excitement. Most of the corpses she had seen had been of old people. This was a young male, the pale skin of his chest marred with a wound.

  “Have you seen a dissection before, Apprentice Tessia?” Healer Orran asked.

  “No, but I have seen a few corpses, and more of the inside of a body than most people do,” she replied. “This should be very interesting,” she added quietly.

  She heard Kendaria chuckle.

  “Well then,” Healer Orran said. “You had better find yourselves some seats. Most are taken, and you won’t want to sit up at the back or you might become giddy. You there!” He waved an arm at two young men sitting in the front row. “Find your manners and make space for the ladies.”

  There was laughter all around as the two young men grumbled and left their seats, resignedly moving up to the back of the staircase. Kendaria smiled and winked at Tessia as they sat down.

  “I think he likes you. Any time you want to see a dissection, let me know.”

  Cloth sheets were brought into the room and handed to those sitting in the front row. Kendaria showed Tessia how to drape hers across her shoulders and over her knees.

  “Sometimes there’s a bit of splatter,” she whispered.

  The corpse was half lifted, half rolled from the stretcher onto the table. Healer Orran moved to the collection of tools, then looked up at the crowd.

  “Today we will be examining the heart and lungs...”

  As he explained the purpose of the dissection and told the audience what to look for, Tessia sighed happily. Father would have loved this. What will he say when he hears I was here? And he won’t believe that grandfather is now remembered with gratitude! Then she sobered. Will there be anything I can tell him that will be useful to him? I wonder...I had better pay close attention.

  CHAPTER 16

  From his pallet in the stable loft, Hanara could see the signal light. For three nights now it had appeared, slowly flickering dimmer and brighter in a pattern all slaves were taught to read. Each time it shone from a different location, so that if anyone in the village did notice and looked for the light in the same place the following night, they would not see it. Each time it pulsed the same message.

  Report. Report.

  Every waking moment since first seeing it – and there had been far too many waking moments and not enough sleeping ones – Hanara had been sick with fear. There was only one person in the village that message could be for: himself. And only one person who would expect Hanara to report to him: Takado.

  So far Hanara hadn’t obeyed. For three nights he had curled up on the pallet, unable to sleep until exhaustion claimed him, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen the signal or didn’t know what to make of it.

  But I have seen it and I do know. When Takado reads my mind he’ll know I disobeyed him.

  He was not Takado’s to order about any more, he reminded himself. He was a free man. He served Lord Dakon now.

  But Lord Dakon isn’t here. He can’t stop Takado coming to get me. It was possible Takado would conclude that the lack of response to his signal meant that Hanara had, indeed, been freed. Or had left the village. He might give up and leave.

  Hanara almost laughed aloud.

  What will he do, really? he asked himself.

  Takado did not like to waste magic, so he would try to avoid conflict. He’d enter the village with the intention of asking Lord Dakon to give Hanara back to him.

  Lord Dakon would say that the choice was Hanara’s to make. It was too easy to imagine that moment. Takado would then look at Hanara. So would Lord Dakon. So would everyone in the village. They would all know terrible consequences would come of Hanara’s refusing. If Takado attacked the village and anyone died as a result, they would all blame Hanara.

  But Lord Dakon was not in the village. He would not emerge to meet Takado. When Takado realised there was no magician to protect Mandryn, what would he do?

  He will kill me for disobeying him.

  Would he then leave? Or would he, having already killed one of Lord Dakon’s people, attack the villagers as well? It was possible that, despite their dislike of Hanara, the villagers might try to protect him on Lord Dakon’s behalf. If they did, they would die.

  The only other choice I have is to go to Takado.

  Then Takado would read his mind and learn that Lord Dakon was absent. Would he still attack the village? Not if he wanted to avoid conflict.

  Beside, he’ll also learn from my mind that there is another magician nearby ready to defend Mandryn if needed.

  Hanara managed a smile, but it quickly faded. The trouble was, Takado wouldn’t learn this if he didn’t read Hanara’s mind. The one piece of information that would deter Takado from coming to get Hanara was the one piece of information that he could only learn from Hanara.

  That’s not entirely true. He could learn it from other villagers, if he had reason to talk to them or read their minds.

  But Takado would never deign to talk to commoners, and reading the minds of anyone here would be seen as an act of aggression. He’d only do it if he had decided to attack the village, at which point he would act swiftly and wouldn’t waste time with mind-reading.

  Hanara sighed and resisted the urge to sit up and look through the loft window to check if the signal was still blinking in the distance.

  Hasn’t anyone else noticed? He hadn’t heard the men in the stables or people in the village say anything about it. If they had seen it, surely someone would have investigated. They would not find Takado unless he wanted them to. If they found nothing, would they still send a warning to this other magician who was supposed to protect Mandryn? Where is this other magician, anyway? The signal was coming from the ridges and hills surrounding the village. From what Hanara had learned during Takado’s travels, villages in the outer leys were usually a day’s wagon ride from each other. The only other habitations were small farmers’ cottages and shacks.

  He doubted this other magician lived in a cottage. So where did he live? And if Mandryn was attacked, how long would it take him to arrive?

  There had to be some way he could find out. Moving to the edge of the loft, he looked down at the stables. A lamp had been set on a table where the servants had been playing a game using small pottery tokens and a board. The men were gone, their game unfinished.

  He could hear faint voices somewhere behind the stables. “Hanar!”

  He jumped and looked at the stable doors, where the stable master was standing.

  “Come down,” Ravern ordered.

  Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Hanara stood up, dusted straw off his clothing, and climbed down the ladder to the stable floor. He followed the stable master out. Ravern led him behind the building, to where three familiar figures were standing, the two stable boys and Keron, the servant master. Their attention was fixed on something beyond the stables.

  His stomach sank as he realised they were looking at the signal. Keron turned towards him. It was too dark for Hanara to make out the man’s expression. An arm rose and a finger pointed towards the signal.

  “What do you think, Hanar? Know what it is?”

  The servant master’s tone was friendly, but there was a hint of worry in it.

  Hanara turned to regard the signal.

  Report. Report.

  If he told them what it was, they would send for the other magician. But if they had seen the signal on other nights, they might wonder why he hadn’t told them earlier. They might grow angry, and throw him out of the village.

  They were already worried. They might send for the magician anyway, if prompted.

  “I don’t know,” he told them. “Is it not normal?”

  Silence followed, then Keron sighed. “No. Not normal.” To the others he said: “Someone should take a look.”

  A longer silence. Hanara could make out enough to see the two youths exchanging looks. The sta
ble master sighed again. “In the morning, then.”

  Fools, Hanara thought. Cowards, too. They’re too scared to do anything. They’re going to pretend it doesn’t exist and hope it goes away.

  Just as he had.

  They weren’t going to seek the other magician unless they were sure they needed to. Trouble was, once they knew Takado was here and a threat there’d be little time to seek the other magician’s help. Was there a way he could convince them to call for help sooner? Perhaps there was.

  “Is there danger?” he asked the stable master in a low voice. “I don’t know,” the man admitted. “You said another magician would come and protect us. Would he know if this is something bad?”

  The man stared back at him, then nodded once. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. Go get some sleep.”

  As he walked away he caught snatches of conversation. A protest came from one of the younger workers. Climbing back up to the loft, Hanara listened carefully. Sure enough, when the men returned a horse was brought out and readied.

  “It’s dark so take it slowly, but the moon will be up soon and then you can step up the pace,” the stable master advised. “Deliver the message and come straight back. Lord Narvelan will give you a fresh mount. I expect you back tomorrow night.”

  Hanara’s heart froze. Tomorrow night? The other magician must live a full day’s ride away!

  Takado was much closer than that. Much, much closer.

  As the sound of galloping hoofs faded into the distance, Hanara rolled onto his back, his heart racing. This changes everything! Did Takado know that the only other magician nearby lived a full day’s ride away? He probably does, Hanara thought; he paid attention to those sorts of details while he was travelling here. He probably took note of where all the Kyralian magicians live.

  So the only thing that was keeping him from entering Mandryn and killing or reclaiming Hanara was the belief that Lord Dakon was here.

  He was going to work out that this wasn’t true eventually. Hanara could hope he didn’t before the other magician arrived, or Lord Dakon returned. Or he could leave and go to Takado. Takado might not kill Hanara, if he came willingly.

  Yet Hanara could not make himself move. He could not yet abandon the hope that by waiting a little bit longer he might not have to confront Takado. After all, there was still a chance that Takado would kill him anyway, for disobeying his signal for so long. He lay still, waiting, as time crept by with excruciating slowness.

  Then a sound below caught his attention. He rolled over and looked down. Ravern was standing with arms crossed, the other young stable servant emerging from an empty stall. They were both staring at a sweat-stained horse pacing the length of the building. The same horse that had left with the messenger had returned, riderless.

  Terror rushed through Hanara, leaving him gasping. He’s here. Takado is here. And now he knows everything! He barely heard the stable master ordering two more horses to be saddled, cursing and mumbling that the messenger had probably just fallen off the horse. He couldn’t bring himself to watch the men prepare themselves with futile weapons, and leave.

  But once they were gone, he climbed, shaking, down the ladder and slipped out into the night. He told himself he was leaving to save the village, but he knew with a familiar certainty that he was leaving to save himself.

  It had surprised and impressed Tessia to learn that Everran and Avaria owned two wagons, one for their own everyday use and one kept for visits to the Royal Palace. Since the journey to the palace consisted of half the length of two streets, it seemed frivolous to own a vehicle especially for it.

  But she had to admit the palace wagon was spectacular, and using it for ordinary journeys, bumping up against people and other vehicles, would mean constant repairs. Made of highly polished wood and gold fittings, with a cover of fine leather impressed and painted with the family’s incal – a revived heraldic fashion from before the Sachakan invasion – it declared to all around it that the occupants were rich and important. The four guards in uniform carrying whips also made it clear that such a wagon should not be delayed.

  Inside the wagon a tiny globe light kept the chill of the night air at bay as well as providing illumination. Everran and Avaria sat opposite Dakon, Jayan and Tessia. All wore fine clothes in the latest fashion. Everran was in a long over-robe, the same style of clothing that Jayan and Dakon had worn when Tessia and her family had come to dinner at the Residence, made of the red cloth Avaria had bought in Vanity Street. Avaria wore a purple dress cinched in closely at the waist, with a narrow opening below the buttoned collar that would have been scandalously low if the glimpses it offered beneath had been of bare flesh, not a layer of red cloth. The skirt also had been “slashed” down each side, revealing more of the red cloth underskirt.

  Tessia was as tightly clad in a dress of the green cloth bought by her hostess a few days before. To her relief, it was plain at the front, and while it did have slashes in the skirt, and along the sleeves, the cloth beneath was a demure black.

  Dakon and Jayan wore over-robes, too, in black and dark blue. Back in the village the fashion had seemed extravagant and a little silly, but now it looked dignified and appropriate. It suited them both, she decided, then wondered if that meant they suited the city life better than life in Mandryn.

  Perhaps Jayan, she thought. But maybe not Dakon. Her master did not look particularly relaxed. Black clothes and a frown combined to give an impression of distracted moodiness. In city clothes, Jayan looked calmly confident and she could even see a hint of why Avaria and her friends thought him handsome.

  Sensing her gaze, he turned to look at her.

  Just because I can admit he’s good-looking doesn’t mean he’s not also annoying and arrogant, she reminded herself, meeting his gaze coolly, then looking away.

  The wagon slowed to a stop and the flap was opened by one of the guards.

  “Lord Everran and Lady Avaria of family Korin,” he called out. Rising from his seat, Everran climbed out of the wagon and Avaria followed, holding the skirt of her dress carefully to prevent it from catching on anything or rising above her ankles as she stepped outside. As his name was announced, Dakon rose, followed by Jayan. Last to leave, Tessia climbed out carefully. Unused to the dress, she took Dakon’s offered hand gratefully and managed to reach the ground without baring too much of her ankles – or so she hoped. Apparently showing the bare skin of any part of your feet or legs was uncouth and common.

  Looking up at Avaria, she felt relief as she saw the woman nod approvingly. Then Tessia turned to regard the Royal Palace and caught her breath.

  She had seen glimpses of it before, but never an unbroken view or from this close. In front of them was an enormous gate, held suspended by huge chains above the men and women strolling into the palace. On either side of the gate were two tall towers, lamps burning in their narrow windows and between the crenellations of their roofline – and along the walls stretching on either side.

  Everran and Avaria led the way beneath the suspended gate onto a bridge spanning a gap between the outer wall and an inner one, the space between filled with water that reflected the lights all around. The inner wall was breached by another entrance, this time graced by a pair of heavy iron doors standing open in grand but sober welcome. Tessia noted the markings on the doors, depicting King Errik’s family name and incal.

  Once through, they entered the palace greeting hall, which mirrored the one in Dakon’s Residence, but on a bigger, grander scale. Servants were meeting each visitor and directing them through an archway between the stairways on either side. Tessia saw that these stairways had been blocked by free-standing paper screens and beside each stood two guards.

  At the archway Everran repeated the names of the group to the servant who greeted them, then waved them through. As she moved into the room beyond Tessia felt her heart skip a beat.

  She had never seen a room this large. It could have contained the whole Residence, she suspected. Maybe two Residence
s. Slim stone columns in two rows helped to support the cavernous ceiling. Instead of lamps, floating globes of magical light illuminated the room.

  Enormous paintings and hangings covered the walls, but it was the people who caught Tessia’s attention. Hundreds of men, women and even some children milled about, in couples, families, small groups, and larger circles. All wore fashionable, expensive and, in some cases, extravagant clothing. Jewels glittered under the globe lights. As she followed the others into the room more people came into sight, while others were obscured. It’s like a landscape of people. As you move about your viewpoint changes, constantly offering a different vista containing something you haven’t seen before.

  Even as she thought this, the view changed again and a well-dressed man of Jayan’s age, surrounded by a half-circle of men, appeared. Her companions stopped and she realised they were all looking at the group.

  “That is King Errik,” Jayan murmured, leaning close.

  She nodded. As she watched, the young man looked up in their direction, his eyes skimming across their faces, then turned his attention back to the men beside him.

  “Well, he’s seen us,” Everran said, then turned to Dakon. “If he wants to talk to us he’ll summon us. In the meantime, you and I should talk to Lord Olleran.”

  Dakon nodded. As he and Everran began to move away, Jayan following, Avaria hooked her arm in Tessia’s.

  “Let them talk politics and trade on their own,” she whispered into Tessia’s ear. “I’ve just spotted Kendaria. Come on. This way.”

  Tessia swallowed her frustration and disappointment. While she was eager to talk to Kendaria again, once again she would be excluded from whatever business Dakon was undertaking. Surely it was part of what being a magician entailed, and therefore something she needed to know, no matter how boring. Besides, what Avaria found boring Tessia might find interesting. Or vice versa.

  Kendaria was watching a male acrobat performing graceful and impressive contortions. The young man was wearing loose trousers gathered tightly round ankles and waist, but his chest was bare and rippled with muscles. His performance was drawing a lot of female attention, Tessia noticed. Kendaria winked at her.