The Magician’s Apprentice Read online

  The slave shrugged. “It probably started as a slave saying. We’re nothing if not honest about the processes of life.”

  “Then...if there are other ways I can become pregnant by Kachiro, then it’s still possible for father’s assets to go to my husband’s descendants.”

  “Yes.” Vora rose and began to pace the room. “If your father doesn’t intend you to have a child, then he has to have considered that you may become pregnant by other means. Your father must know he can contest the paternity of any child of yours, and succeed. Either more people know about Kachiro’s inability than he realises, or your father has other evidence. Someone willing to verify it. Or unwilling but powerless to prevent a mind-read.” Vora’s voice trailed off. She stopped pacing and her expression became thoughtful.

  Rising, Stara began pacing in Vora’s place. “So, if Father doesn’t mean me to have a child, or plans to contest its legitimacy, then who does he want to have inherit?” She felt her heart skip and looked up at the slave. “He still means to kill Nachira!”

  Vora looked up, and her expression became grave. “Ah.”

  A wave of frustration and anger rushed through Stara. “I agreed to marry for nothing! He was getting me out of the way.

  Argh! This is crazy!” She stopped pacing and turned to face Vora.

  “Why doesn’t Father want a grandchild by me to inherit? It’s not like Kachiro can take anything before Ikaro dies.”

  Vora shrugged. “Part of it is pride. Inheritance in direct line through male sons is considered the ideal, and your father is nothing if not a traditionalist. He also sees his trade as another son or daughter. He wants to make sure it has a healthy future in the hands of people who will maintain it.”

  “And this justifies killing Nachira?”

  “Yes.” The slave sighed.

  Stara sat down, suddenly filled with helplessness. “I wish we could sneak Nachira out of there and send her somewhere safe.”

  “I too,” Vora said sadly. “And I’m no longer in a position to help.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Though I might be able to get a warning to Ikaro, if he hasn’t left.”

  “Left? Ah, the war in Kyralia.” Stara shook her head. “If Father is so set on having an heir through his son, why would he send Ikaro off to war?”

  Vora grimaced. “Pride again. Any ashaki who do not fight will lose respect and status. He has most likely joined the army too.”

  “They must be very confident of winning – and surviving.”

  Stara frowned. Does Mother know any of this? She can’t know her husband plans to kill her daughter by marriage. She hasn’t even met Nachira, though she must wonder why she has no grandchildren yet. Does she know her son is going to Kyralia to fight? How is a war between Sachaka and Kyralia affecting trade in Elyne? She may not be able to receive dyes from here, but she did have a few arrangements locally. Eventually the war must end and life go back to normal. Then she’ll find out I’m married...

  “Is me having a child really going to threaten Father’s trade?” she asked aloud.

  Vora blinked as Stara’s question dragged her out of her thoughts. “Well...If Kachiro is gaining a bad reputation that might put people off trading with him or his offspring...so it’s possible. But then if your father knew this he wouldn’t marry you to him. In fact, if the arrangement was so damaging, why didn’t he simply lock you up for the rest of your life?” Stara scowled. “Because I’d have blasted my way out of there.”

  “And you’d have been caught and dragged back here. Which would be easy since you have no source slave with which to strengthen yourself.” Vora pursed her lips for a moment. “You know, it would have been far easier for your father to have you killed. He must have enough family feeling to want to avoid that. He’s taken quite a risk marrying you to Kachiro.”

  Stara shuddered. “All the more reason to ask: is having a child so great a threat that I should consider not having one?”

  Vora began to shake her head, then she stilled and a familiar expression of deep and careful consideration took hold of her features.

  “Perhaps. But you’ve told Kachiro you want to have them. He will think it odd if you don’t attempt to.” She grimaced. “Let’s hope he does intend to be the father, by other means, because it could be a little awkward if he suggests you use a lover.”

  Stara sighed. “How much worse can this get?” she wondered aloud. Then she winced. “I guess I could be murdered for being infertile.” She sighed and flopped back onto her back. “Why, oh, why did you let me come back to this crazy, crazy country, Mother?”

  “You wanted to,” she imagined her mother replying. “You couldn’t wait to return to your father.”

  At least the man she was married to was kind and decent. Even if he had a secret or two. Hopefully only the one, she thought. And I guess that’s fair enough, considering how many I have. I don’t even know if Father told him I can use magic. I’m beginning to suspect he didn’t.

  For now, until she knew how he was likely to react, or unless she faced a life-threatening situation, she was going to pretend she couldn’t.

  CHAPTER 34

  The scout’s face had been smeared with ash and grease, and his clothes were dark with dried mud. Dakon had seen this man report many times now, but he still hadn’t picked up his name. He must be good at his job. We always seem to be recruiting new scouts, and old ones keep disappearing...

  “A few hundred people used to live in Lonner,” the man told Magician Sabin.

  “Any of the villagers alive?”

  “Not that I could see. There’s a pile of dead out in a field, but it doesn’t account for all of them.”

  “The rest left in time?”

  The man shrugged. “Hope so.”

  “How many Sachakans?”

  “Just over sixty.”

  “And how many are magicians?”

  The scout grimaced. “I only counted the magicians. There’s two or three times as many slaves, I reckon.”

  Sabin frowned and looked at Lord Werrin, who shrugged.

  “Perhaps they have dressed some of their slaves as magicians, to fool us,” Werrin suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Sabin repeated. “We’ll see what the other scouts say. Thank you, Nim.”

  The scout bowed, and moved away. All eyes looked towards the village ahead. Lonner was a typical small settlement, built on either side of a road with a river to one side. Just like Mandryn, Dakon thought, and felt a pang of grief and loss.

  The Kyralian army was waiting off the road, concealed behind a farmhouse and a copse. Servants and the supply carts waited several hundred strides further back down the road, though some servants had volunteered to stay with the army to tend to the horses while the magicians were fighting.

  Dakon was standing among the seven advisers and leaders of the army.

  “We shouldn’t discount the possibility that more of Takado’s friends may have joined him,” Narvelan said.

  Sabin nodded. “Though for his army to grow so large, he must be able to claim friendship with half the magicians in Sachaka. No, I am more worried that those who don’t consider themselves his allies or friends are joining him, because there are a lot more of those across the border.” He scowled and turned to stare at the village.

  “What should we do?” Hakkin asked. “Will we still confront them?”

  Sabin’s frown deepened. “We still outnumber them, though not by much.”

  “We have Ardalen’s method. That may give us an advantage,” Dakon added.

  “I suspect the benefits will be reduced in a direct confrontation,” Sabin said. “Our strength is the same, whether we fight in teams and direct our strikes through one, or fight individually.”

  “But our defence will be more efficient. Those who run out of strength are protected by the shield of their team, and live to fight another day,” Hakkin pointed out.

  “Can we avoid a direct confrontation, then?” Bolvin asked.

  “Not
from the look of it,” Werrin replied. He lifted an arm to point towards the village and everyone turned to look.

  Streams of people were spilling out between the houses, slowly forming a wide line stretching out into the unfenced fields on either side of the road. Dakon felt a chill run down his spine. If these were all Sachakan magicians, their numbers had, indeed, swelled alarmingly.

  “I gather their own scouts have reported our approach,” Werrin murmured.

  “And they don’t think our greater numbers are a problem,” Narvelan added.

  Sabin drew in a deep breath, then let it out. He looked at the other magicians. “Then, unless any of you disagree – and if you wish to debate it you had better make it quick – I say it is time we demonstrated the effect of both our greater numbers and our improved fighting skills.” As Sabin looked around at the other six magicians, they nodded. He smiled grimly. “It is decided.”

  Turning, he faced the rest of the magicians, milling around in groups as they waited for the leaders to decide their next move. “Ready yourselves,” he called out. “The Sachakans are coming to us for a fight and we are going to give them one they’ll never forget. Gather into your fighting teams. Spread out to match their line. Shield yourselves and be ready. It is time we went to war!”

  To Dakon’s surprise, the magicians responded with a cheer. He knew that some were too young or naive to realise the danger they faced, but most would not have been looking forward to this magical confrontation.

  Yet we have been skulking about for too long, avoiding confrontations or not being able to find the enemy. There is a strange satisfaction in finally being able to engage the Sachakans. To test our strength against theirs – and vent our anger – whatever the outcome.

  With the rest of the advisers, Dakon followed Sabin round the copse, past the farmhouse and onto the road. The rest of the army followed. Ahead, the Sachakan force was a wide, advancing wall. Glancing back and to either side, he saw that the Kyralian army had broken into teams of five or six magicians. These groups had moved out into the fields on either side to form a broken line as wide as the Sachakans’. Each group had nominated one member to strike and one to shield, and the others would add their power to either, or both, according to need.

  For an endless time, the only sounds were of boots swishing and stomping through crops and on the road, the breathing of those close by and the faint whine of the wind. Dakon could feel his own heart racing.

  He found himself worrying about Jayan and Tessia. Much debate had raged over whether the apprentices should stay with their masters, or remain behind. Traditionally, apprentices stayed close to their masters, both for their own protection and in case the magician needed more power. But if a magician took as much power as was safe from his apprentice just before battle, he didn’t need one with him. Unless, like a Sachakan, he killed to gain every last shred of power. As far as Dakon knew, the king hadn’t revoked the law against Kyralian masters killing their apprentices for magic. Since most apprentices were offspring of powerful families, it was unlikely he would. Would he, if things got desperate enough?

  Lone apprentices whose strength had been tapped were vulnerable if parted from their masters. But in a direct confrontation, the enemy magician was too engaged in fighting to find and attack apprentices. The danger came most often from the enemy’s apprentices or slaves. Any attack would be physical if it came from slaves, who were unable to use their own magic.

  But as a large group, the apprentices were less vulnerable to attack. A few had been left with their power undrained, so that they could defend the group. Dakon had volunteered Jayan for the task since, unlike most magicians, he had a second apprentice to take power from. Jayan was one of the older and more experienced apprentices, and had been nominated their temporary leader.

  So I have nothing to worry about, Dakon told himself, and then continued to fret. Only when he realised he could make out the faces of the Sachakans did his attention return fully to the enemy. Then he heard Sabin mutter a curse.

  “Is that...?” Werrin murmured.

  “Yes,” Sabin replied. “Emperor Vochira’s most favoured and loyal magician, Ashaki Nomako.”

  “That explains the sudden increase in numbers.”

  A voice called out and the Sachakans stopped. Seeking the speaker, Dakon felt a jolt as he recognised Takado. He felt hatred well up inside him.

  Takado. My former houseguest. A traveller supposedly come to satisfy his curiosity about a neighbouring land. All along he planned to return in force. We were right to be suspicious. Dakon scowled. We should have arranged for him to die in some accident.

  “Halt!” Sabin called. Dakon stopped, as did the sound of movement around him.

  A quietness followed. The air vibrated with expectation. How can such near silence carry so much tension? Dakon wondered. Quiet is supposed to be calming.

  “Magicians of Kyralia,” Takado shouted. “You make a fine army. I am impressed.” He took a step forward, looking from left to right. “No doubt you are here to put a stop to our attacks. To seek retaliation for the deaths of your people. To send us back to our homeland.” He paused and smiled. “I tell you now, that you can only succeed in one of these aims. We are not going home. We came here to conquer you. To reclaim what was foolishly given up in the past. To make our lands one again. Which, though painful in the beginning, will ultimately benefit us all.” He smiled. “Naturally, we will not allow you to take out your revenge on us. But . . .” His eyes moved from left to right as he met the eyes of individual Kyralians. He paused briefly when he saw Dakon, and a faint smile twitched his lips. That fleeting expression of smugness sent anger burning through Dakon. “You can put an end to our attacks. All you need do is give over rule of your land peacefully and we will take it peacefully. Surrender and join us.”

  “And who will rule us? You, or the emperor?”

  Sabin’s voice cut through the air. Turning a little, Dakon saw the war master look from Takado to another Sachakan. Perhaps the man with narrowed eyes, Dakon guessed. What do the emperor’s magicians wear to indicate their status? A ring, isn’t it? There were many bands around the man’s fingers, as was the fashion among most Sachakans, and he was too far away to see if any bore some mark of the emperor’s.

  “Emperor Vochira supports our reclaiming of former territory,” Takado told them.

  Sabin paused, but when it was clear that was all the answer he would get, he chuckled and turned back to Takado. “I don’t know who is the greater fool, you or your emperor. It will be interesting to see which of you remains alive after this war. My bet is on Emperor Vochira, since we have no intention of letting you take Kyralia, and I can’t imagine you’ll survive long if you escape us and manage to crawl back home.”

  Takado smiled. “Then my bet is on us both being alive, since if you insist on fighting me I’ll be free to rid Kyralia of its magicians, and nothing would please Emperor Vochira more. I have no desire to rule in his place when I, and my friends, can have all this.” He stretched his arms wide. Then he let them fall at his sides. “Do you surrender?”

  “No,” Sabin said, simply and firmly.

  Takado looked from side to side, at his allies. “The fools want a fight,” he shouted. “Let’s give them one!”

  Turning abruptly back to face Sabin, Takado let loose a brilliant strike. It scattered an arm’s length from Sabin’s nose. A moment later the rest of the Sachakan army let loose their power, and the air suddenly vibrated and flashed with magic. Dakon grasped Sabin’s upper arm and began drawing power from within himself and giving it to the war master. The other magicians in the group of advisers either followed his example or took hold of Werrin, who was shielding them all.

  Shields held. Strikes flew in return, then filled the space between the armies. No magician, Sachakan or Kyralian, fell.

  But the heat and vibration was so intense, both sides began to back away. Retreating slowly, maintaining their lines, the opposing armies reached a di
stance apart that was bearable. The exchange of strikes intensified and the tumult of magic seared the air again, but this time all stood their ground.

  For a long time nobody spoke. Dakon could not take his eyes off the enemy. Every time Werrin’s shield vibrated from an attack his heart jumped. Every time Sabin directed a strike at the enemy he felt hope rise, then fade as the power shattered against a shield. He could see Narvelan’s head moving back and forth as the young magician watched how the fighting progressed elsewhere. But Dakon could not bring himself to look away.

  I think I’m afraid I won’t see the strike that kills me, Dakon thought.

  “They certainly aren’t saving their strength,” Narvelan remarked.

  “No,” Sabin agreed. “How are we doing?”

  “Holding,” Narvelan replied. “Not striking as much as they. Nor as strongly, I suspect.”

  “Are we holding back?” Hakkin asked. “Is there a way we can tell other teams to fight harder?”

  Werrin nodded. “There is, but—”

  “There! The signal,” one of the city magicians said. “We’ve got one exhausted magician – no, two!”

  “One in most teams now,” Narvelan added.

  Dakon forced himself to look at Sabin. He’s probably thinking that those magicians would be dead if their teams weren’t protecting them. The Sachakans aren’t protecting each other – as far as we can tell – and none of them are dead yet...

  “We got one!” Narvelan exclaimed. Dakon looked in the direction his friend was pointing, but his view was blocked by Werrin. A moment later there was a dull thump and crack, and one of the closer Sachakans was thrown backwards. He landed on the ground, but was quickly dragged away by the slaves hovering behind the enemy line.

  Three more Sachakans fell. Dakon felt his heart lifting in triumph. Ardalen’s method works! he thought. Soon they’ll be dropping like rain.

  “We must retreat,” Sabin said. “Signal the others.”

  Dakon gasped with disbelief. He cast about, watching as the message was relayed down the line of Kyralian teams. But as he counted the number of magicians holding a white strip of cloth in their left hand – the signal they had used all their power – he felt disbelief turn to fear.