The Magician’s Apprentice Read online

  “Sounds as if they ought to call them unnaturals,” Stara mused.

  “Well, it’s best not to use the word,” Ikaro warned. “You will also have to be careful how you strengthen yourself, too, if that is your intent. By law, a magician can’t take power from another’s slave without the permission of its owner. Even I can’t strengthen myself here without permission. All the slaves here are Father’s.”

  “Including Vora?”

  “Including her.”

  “So we just broke a law.”

  He shrugged. “We didn’t use higher magic to strengthen anyone, just to teach.”

  “Well, gaining power isn’t my aim right now. I only want to be sure I have all the abilities I might need when...well... later.”

  “I understand,” Ikaro said. He smiled crookedly. “After all these years envying you, I find I want you to have as much freedom as possible, so you may survive and be happy.”

  She smiled and patted his hand. “And I want the same for you two.”

  “Well, in that case –” Vora said.

  They all turned to look at her.

  “– there is another ability that Stara needs. One that may save her life one day.”

  Ikaro looked at Stara questioningly. She shrugged to show she had no idea what the woman was talking about. But I really want to know! she thought.

  “What’s that, then?” Ikaro asked.

  Vora’s smile was sly. “How to kill someone while bedding them, master.”

  Nachira put a hand to her mouth and looked at her husband, eyes wide. Ikaro was smiling, but his face had reddened slightly.

  “How am I supposed to teach her that?” he asked Vora.

  “You tell me,” the woman replied, a challenge in her gaze. “Presumably it’s possible without resorting to incest or offending your wife.”

  Ikaro nodded. “You’re right. Father told me how it was done, though I’ve never had cause to use that particular trick so I have no idea if I’d get it right.” He turned to look at Stara. “Apparently it is easier for women than men. Timing is crucial.”

  She looked back at him expectantly. “How so?”

  “At the moment of . . . er . . . highest pleasure the natural barrier we spoke of earlier disappears. Do you... know what I refer to?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I know the peak you’re talking about.” His face had reddened more, she noted. “I gather I’ll sense when the barrier disappears.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then glanced at Nachira, who was looking amused. “As with the usual method of higher magic, once the drawing begins the source is helpless. But once you stop the natural barrier restores itself, so if you intend to kill then you must not stop drawing until you have taken all his energy. Of course, we’d appreciate it if you left killing your husband until after you have a child.”

  Stara laughed. “Of course.”

  “You never know,” Vora injected. “Stara may like her husband.” The three of them turned to look at the slave woman suspiciously. Vora raised her hands to indicate her innocence.

  “Oh, I don’t know who he is. But you shouldn’t discount the possibility.” She looked at each of them, then shrugged. “I suppose if you insist on expecting the worst you can only be right, or pleasantly surprised.”

  It’s all right for her, Stara thought. She’s not being forced to marry anyone. But then she checked herself. Am I jealous of a slave? No, there are worse fates than being married off... though Vora seems to have done well for herself. I hope she continues to serve Ikaro and Nachira after I’m gone.

  To her surprise, Stara realised she would miss the bossy old woman.

  The air was laden with smoke, the smell of it suggesting all the different things that had been burned, some of which turned the stomach. Wooden beams, scorched black and still glowing, jutted towards the sky. Bricks, wood and metal fragments were scattered everywhere. Not a single building in Vennea remained standing.

  In among the rubble lay the dead. Their clothing fluttered in the wind. There was no blood. Somehow that made it more chilling.

  Or perhaps it was the silence. There were noises here. The crackle of flames. The howling of a baby somewhere. The footsteps of the magicians and apprentices. But all sound was muffled and distant. Perhaps the horror has made me deaf, Dakon thought. My mind doesn’t want to believe this, so it refuses to take it all in.

  “The Sachakans left,” the village baker said. He’d locked himself inside his oven, which had cooled just enough since the morning’s baking not to cook him, when the Sachakans searched his house, and had burns on his hands and scorched shoes. “When I knew I needed air I got out. There were people in the street. They were stealing from the houses that weren’t on fire. They told me the Sachakans had left.”

  “Which direction did the Sachakans go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Werrin nodded and thanked the man. He looked at Sabin. “We must find out. What do you think they’re up to now?”

  “This has the feel of a proper invasion,” the sword master replied. “The numbers of them, the harvesting of strength. There is no advantage to them in holding a town, but they can gain strength and supplies from it. They know we are too few to defend all the outer villages and towns, so they strike and move on.”

  “Learned their lesson in Tecurren?”

  “Probably.”

  “Where will they strike next?”

  Sabin shrugged. “Our best strategy is to withdraw people to a more defendable location. Clear the outer villages and towns so there is nothing for them to take.”

  “Sounds as if you’re suggesting we abandon the outer leys,” Narvelan said, frowning.

  Sabin nodded. “We may have to. I know this is disappointing after all the work the Circle has done these last few years, but can you see any way we can protect them?”

  Narvelan shook his head and sighed. He looked at Dakon. “Looks as if you and I are about to become landless. Will we have to give up our title of Lord, I wonder?”

  “Better that than let all the people we govern perish,” Dakon replied.

  “For now we may not need to abandon entire leys,” Sabin said. “We can withdraw the populations to places the Sachakans can’t approach in stealth, that can be evacuated easily.”

  “And how will we tackle the Sachakans?” Narvelan asked. Sabin frowned. “From what we know from scouts’ reports and villager’s stories we are equal in number to the invading force, but are we equal in strength? Those of us who fought at Tecurren will be diminished in strength, though the generosity of the villagers will have compensated a little for that. The Sachakans, however, have taken the strength of whole towns. I do not like our chances.” He shook his head. “For now we should do what we can to help here. People may be buried or trapped. I will contact the king using our code of mental communication again. Be ready to leave at any time.”

  As the magicians split apart and headed in all directions, Dakon looked for Jayan and Tessia. Neither was standing behind him. He scanned the village square and eventually located the pair sitting either side of a small boy several paces away.

  As he drew closer he realised the child was wounded and Tessia was treating him. Jayan had the boy’s arm cradled in a bundle of cloth. Despite the support, the forearm was bent at an unnatural angle. Tessia touched the skin gently.

  Then, as Dakon watched, the arm slowly unbent.

  The boy cried out in pain and surprise, then burst into tears. Tessia quickly cast about, then drew a fragment of wood towards her with magic. Splinters flew off and the fragment split into two. She took the pieces, wrapped them in cloth, then instructed Jayan to hold them in place as she bound them to the boy’s arm.

  I have never seen anything like that, Dakon thought. He’d stopped, frozen in amazement at what he’d witnessed. The memory of the forearm straightening, seemingly by itself, played out over and over in his mind. Magic. Clearly she used magic. In s
uch a logical and beneficial way. And only a magician can do it. Oh, the healers’ guild is not going to be happy to hear about this!

  As Tessia consoled the boy, telling him what the supports did and how long to keep them on, Jayan looked up and blinked in surprise as he saw Dakon.

  They were both so absorbed, Dakon thought, that a whole army of Sachakans could have sneaked up on them. Still, I can hardly blame them. They’re only trying to help people.

  Nevertheless, Jayan’s involvement was interesting. The young man barely left Tessia’s side now. Dakon suspected he saw himself as her protector, but perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps Jayan understood how important Tessia’s use of magic in healing could be, and was trying to give her the chance to keep developing her skill. He found he could manage a smile.

  Sharing of knowledge, healing with the help of magic, and Jayan supporting and encouraging another apprentice. Who’d have thought there’d be such benefits to be found in this war we’ve found ourselves in?

  PART FOUR

  CHAPTER 31

  The first thing Stara did when she woke was to marvel that she had been asleep at all. Her last memory of the night before was of telling Vora she would probably lie awake all night as she lay down on the bed. Instead she was blinking and rubbing her eyes, feeling disappointingly fresh and rested.

  A familiar figure prostrated herself on the floor, her knees cracking audibly.

  “Did you put a herb in my drink?” Stara asked, sitting up.

  “You said you wished today would hurry up and be over, mistress,” Vora replied as she rose to her feet. “Did the time speed by as you wished?”

  “Yes. You’re an evil woman, Vora. And I’m going to miss you.” The old woman smiled. “Come on then, mistress. Let’s get you washed and dressed. I’ve brought your wedding wrap.”

  Stara couldn’t help feeling a small thrill of excitement, but it was followed by a more familiar annoyance and frustration. In Elyne, a bride spent weeks with her mother, sisters – if she had them – and friends selecting fabric, embellishments and a design for her wedding dress. In Sachaka women wore yet another wrap, though for once it was a sober colour, and a headdress to which a veil had been attached. This traditional wedding costume had barely changed for centuries.

  Stara rose and eyed the bundle of black cloth in Vora’s hands. “Let’s see it, then.”

  As the woman let the wrap unfurl, Stara caught a ripple of tiny reflections. She moved closer and examined the cloth. Fine stitchwork covered the front, incorporating countless tiny black disc-like beads.

  “Pretty,” she said. “Elyne women would love this. I wonder why it has never made it to market?”

  “Because it is only used on wedding gowns,” Vora told her. “The quans are carved from quannen shell. It’s a slow process and the shell is rare, so they are very expensive. It is also traditional to reuse those on a mother’s gown for her daughter’s. But since your mother took hers to Elyne with her, your father had to buy new quans for this one.”

  “That was generous, considering he thinks I’m of no value as a wife.” Stara straightened and moved to the washbasin. Her stomach had started doing that sickening fluttering and sinking thing again. “Either that, or he was forced to because he doesn’t dare tell my mother he’s marrying me off.”

  “I doubt any message would get to your mother at the moment,” Vora reminded her.

  Stara sighed. “No. Blasted war.” She stripped off her night-clothes and washed, then let Vora envelop her in the wrap. The slave fussed with Stara’s hair, arranging and pinning it carefully. When she was satisfied, she stepped back and looked Stara over.

  “You look beautiful, mistress,” she said, then shook her head. “You look beautiful when you first wake up, in a bad mood and your hair a-tangle. I only have to make you look like a bride. Ah, I wish my orders were always this easy to follow.”

  Stara had noticed that Vora had placed a large box on the table. Now the old woman opened it and lifted out a heavy mass of cascading cloth and jewels. The cloth was gauzy and covered in an elaborate pattern of quans.

  “This is the headdress,” the slave explained, then let it fall back into the box. “Before I put it on, would you like something to eat?”

  Feeling her stomach clench, Stara shook her head. “No.”

  “How about a little juice?” Vora moved to a side table and picked up a glass jug. “I brought some in case.”

  Stara shrugged. She accepted the glass of juice the slave poured for her and sipped. Against her expectations, her stomach did not rebel. She felt a cool, calm sensation spread through her, and looked at the drink speculatively.

  “Did you put herbs in this as well?”

  Vora smiled. “No, but creamflower and pachi juice are known to be soothing.” She eyed Stara. “Drink up. We don’t have all morning.”

  As she continued to sip, Stara looked around the room. Vora had assured her that the few possessions she’d brought with her from Elyne – mostly mementos to remind her of her mother and friends – would be sent to her new home, along with all the clothing that had been made for her since she arrived. As she swallowed the last of the juice she took her last look at the rooms she’d lived in these last few months.

  Then she turned away and handed Vora the empty glass. The woman put it aside and returned to the headdress. She lifted it out, carefully raising the cloth at the front. Stara had to bend over so the woman could slip it on over her head. At once Stara felt stifled. She could barely see through the cloth, and her own breath quickly warmed the air within the canopy.

  “Stop tugging at it,” Vora said. “You’ll pull it out of place.”

  “I can’t see.”

  “It will be easier when we get outside.”

  “Will the ceremony happen outside?”

  “No.”

  “How am I going to avoid tripping over or walking into walls?”

  “Walk slowly. I’ll tug on your gown to direct you. On the left side if you need to go that way, and vice versa.”

  “And if I need to stop?”

  “In the middle.”

  “And if I need to move again?”

  “I’ll poke you.”

  “Great.”

  “Now you need to follow me. Ready?”

  Stara laughed bitterly. “No. But don’t let that stop you.”

  She couldn’t tell if Vora smiled or did the characteristic lipthinning that showed she was worried or annoyed. The woman turned and started towards the door. Stara followed, her heart suddenly beating too fast and her stomach flipping in a way that made her wish she hadn’t drunk the juice.

  Just as she’d begun to grow used to seeing through the gauze, Vora led her into a dark room.

  “Stara.”

  The voice was her father’s. She turned to face a shadow she hadn’t noticed until he’d spoken.

  “Father.”

  “I have found you a husband. You are very fortunate.”

  Silence followed. She wondered if he had expected her to agree with him, or thank him. For a brief moment she considered saying something to that effect, then decided against it. He’d know she was lying, so what was the point?

  “Be an obedient wife and do not shame me,” he said finally. Then she felt a movement of air on her right hand, and felt a simultaneous tug on her robe and light press of a finger in her back. Suddenly she had to fight to smother a laugh. I’m being directed like one of those puppets that were so popular in Capia’s markets last year. I wonder what Father would think if I started jerking about as if my arms and legs were on strings.

  Then she sobered. He wouldn’t see the humour in it. He’d probably never seen a puppet. He and I are of two different worlds. Unfortunately I’m the one stuck in his world, not the other way around.

  With Vora guiding her, she followed her father through the house, then out into the courtyard. A wagon waited. She could not see whether it was plain or fancy. Her father climbed inside. She followed and sett
led opposite him, finding her place mainly by feel. Where Vora went she couldn’t see. For a moment she felt panic at the thought that Vora might not be coming to the ceremony. Taking a few deep breaths, she told herself that she would be fine without her. So long as I walk slowly.

  The wagon jerked into motion. She heard the clunk and squeak as the gates to the mansion opened. The wagon turned. The sound of another vehicle passed by them as they rolled down the road. Her father said nothing, but she could hear his breathing. Was he breathing faster than normal? She had no idea what normal was, for him. What was he thinking? Did he have any regrets? Or was he happy to be rid of her?

  Abruptly the wagon slowed. Voices called out. They turned again. The wagon speeded up, then slowed again. As it stopped her father stood up and moved towards the door.

  Stara remained in her seat, wondering what the stop was for and how long she’d have to wait before they continued on their way.

  “Get out, Stara,” came her father’s voice.

  Mystified, Stara felt her way to the wagon entrance and climbed out. Through the gauze she could see they were in another courtyard. She felt a tug on her gown and turned to see Vora standing beside her. Relief flooded through her.

  “Is this it?” she whispered.

  “It appears so, mistress,” came the answer.

  So my husband lives close by, Stara thought. Is this so Father can keep an eye on me?

  She could hear her father exchanging formal greetings with another man. The voices stopped, then a light pressure in the middle of her back urged her forward. She and Vora moved towards a dark patch in the white walls. They passed through into a golden light.

  Vora’s directions guided her through this into another bright room. She heard doors close, then Vora let out a long breath.

  “We’re in the bride room, mistress,” the slave explained. “All mansions have them, but they are closed up except during weddings. Take a peep, if you like. It will be a while before the men finish their negotiations.”

  “What negotiations?” Stara asked as she lifted the gauze. They were in a small room, furnished with only a long bench. Lamps burned in each corner, filling the space with brightness.