The Magician’s Apprentice Page 52

  “Even an emperor’s daughter . . .” Stara shook her head, then straightened. “I want to help, but what can I do?”

  Tavara smiled. “For a start, there is a simple vow, and we put this earring in for you.”

  Stara looked down at the earring and grimaced. “I’ve never liked the idea of piercing my ears, or anything else for that matter. Won’t my husband be suspicious if he sees this?”

  “No. Free Sachakan women love jewellery and give it to each other all the time. It will hurt, but it will be over in a moment.” Tavara plucked the earring from Stara’s hand. “Who has the salve?”

  From somewhere Chiara produced a small jar. Stara felt her stomach sink as Tavara took hold of her ear lobe. She stiffened, worried what would happen if she moved while the pin went through.

  “Repeat after me,” Tavara said. “I vow that I will never willingly reveal the existence of the Traitors, their pledge and plans.”

  Stara repeated the words, wincing in anticipation.

  “And to help all women, whether slave or free.”

  She knew she was speaking faster and at a higher pitch than normal, her heart beating fast in dread. I’m not going to yell, she told herself, biting her lip.

  “And do what I can to save them from the tyranny of men.”

  As she uttered the word “men’, Stara felt a flare of pain in her ear lobe and let out a stifled squeak. Then her entire ear went hot. Chiara and Tavara were fussing with the earring. Something cool spread over her ear lobe. Tavara stepped back.

  “Here.” Chiara pressed the jar into Stara’s hand. “Put this on twice a day until it heals. But remember, the gem has to touch your skin to work and the salve can act as a barrier.”

  Tavara was smiling. “Well done, Stara. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the Traitors.”

  At that Stara found herself the object of many welcoming hugs, from both wives and slaves. And none quite so tight as that from Vora.

  “Well done,” the slave murmured.

  “Hmph,” Stara replied. “You could have warned me about the piercing part.”

  “And miss the look on your face?” The old woman grinned. “Never.”

  Though it was cooler in the mountains, it was always a relief when the blinding summer sun eased into golden evening light. Dakon looked ahead and was unable to suppress a twinge of anxiety. Scouts had reported that the road leading up to the pass was clear. No Sachakans, magicians or otherwise, lingered there.

  It still felt unwise to camp there overnight, but that was the king’s intention. Dakon suspected most of the magicians needed to stop at the border in order to feel sure and satisfied that they’d finally driven the last of the invaders out of Kyralia.

  Whether they truly had, nobody could say with complete confidence. For several weeks the Kyralian army, with the assistance of the Elynes, had split up in order to pursue the survivors of Takado’s force. A handful had been found and killed. None had surrendered, though Dakon had doubts about the last one his group had tracked down. The man had emerged on his own, hands waving frantically, before being struck down. Dakon had resisted asking if the others also wondered whether the man had been trying to give himself up. He did not want to cause them to doubt themselves unnecessarily. Especially not Narvelan, who had suffered enough doubt in himself after the first time he’d killed.

  A small number of Sachakans had survived by keeping far enough ahead of their pursuers to reach the northern pass and escape into Sachaka. Dakon knew Takado was among them.

  As the different groups of Kyralian magicians swept across the country they eventually joined together in the north, on the road to the pass. Timing their simultaneous arrival had been easy with the use of the blood gems.

  Only two magicians had been taught the trick of making the gems. Sabin was one, Innali the other. Sabin had made a blood gem ring for the leaders of every group that left in search of the surviving invaders. Innali was their link to Imardin.

  Narvelan, as the leader of the group Dakon had been a part of, had worn one of Sabin’s blood gem rings. He had not worn it constantly, as the rings communicated a continual flow of the wearer’s thoughts and if too many rings were worn at once it was overwhelming to the maker. Dakon was not sure he’d have liked giving anyone constant access to his mind. Not even Sabin.

  He sighed and looked ahead. The road had been climbing the side of a steep slope, cut into the rock by someone long forgotten – perhaps back when Sachaka had ruled Kyralia, perhaps even earlier, when the two countries had begun trading. It now curved to the right and wound through a near-level ravine. The road was relatively clear of stones and rock, swept clean by hundreds of years of traffic. But as Dakon rode round a fold in the wall he could see that the king and magicians ahead of him had stopped. Beyond them was a pile of rocks several times the height of a man.

  “Takado’s parting gift,” Jayan said, moving up beside him. Scouts carrying blood gem rings had warned Sabin of the obstruction. Dakon looked up at the rock walls stretching above them. He could see where the rock had been blasted.

  “Hopefully such a waste of power means he is not waiting in ambush for us.”

  “Hopefully,” Jayan agreed.

  Dakon glanced at Tessia, who was gazing up at the walls. Abruptly a memory rose of the moment Jayan had caught up with them, some weeks back. He’d taken a side trip to the abandoned servants’ camp, now being scavenged by people returning to the country, and found her father’s bag dumped in a pile of rubbish with most of the contents missing. As he’d handed it to her she’d burst into tears, hugging the bag to herself and apologising for her outburst at the same time. Jayan had looked embarrassed and unable to think of anything to say, yet afterwards he had seemed very pleased with himself.

  The bag was now restocked with a new burner and surgery tools, and cures made by Tessia or donated by village healers.

  As they reached the magicians standing before the rocks, Sabin looked up at them.

  “We’ll camp here tonight,” he said. “And decide what to do next.”

  Having dismounted, Dakon sat on one of the boulders and watched as the rest of the army arrived. A few magicians decided to sweep the area clear of rocks and stones from the fall. As soon as the servants reached the pass they set to work. Horses were tended to. The ground was too solid for tent hooks, so it was decided that everyone would have to sleep in the open and hope it didn’t rain. Cooking smells began to waft about and made Dakon’s stomach rumble.

  As what little sunlight made its way into the ravine began to dwindle, the king, his advisers and the foreign magicians moved boulders into a circle and sat down. The rest of the magicians followed suit, arranging themselves outside the circle.

  Lord Hakkin looked up at the rocks. “Since we got here and I saw this, I can’t help wondering if we’d be better off adding to it rather than clearing it.”

  “Block the pass?” Lord Perkin asked.

  Hakkin nodded. “It wouldn’t prevent them coming back if they were determined enough. But it would slow them down.”

  “It is the main trade route, though,” Perkin reminded him.

  “Who’s going to trade with them now?” Narvelan asked, narrowing his eyes and looking around the circle.

  “An end to trade would harm us as much as them,” the king pointed out. “Perhaps harm us more. They have better access to other lands.”

  “I have to agree with you, your majesty,” Dem Ayend said. “When news came that Sachaka had invaded Kyralia some of my people took it upon themselves to murder the Sachakan traders based in Elyne. We will come to regret that, though I’m sure trade links will be re-established in time.”

  “Perhaps instead we should build a fort here,” Lord Bolvin suggested. “Control who passes into Kyralia. It would have the same advantage of slowing an invasion, and we would know it is happening. Instantly, if we post a magician here.”

  “We could charge Sachakan traders a fee, as well,” Hakkin added. “It might go so
me way towards helping our people recover.”

  Heads were nodding, Dakon saw. The fee could never be high enough, he thought. It can’t be set so high that it discourages trade. And it would go straight into some magician’s coffer, most likely, not into the common people’s hands.

  “How likely is it that we will be invaded again?” Lord Perkin asked, looking around.

  Nobody answered for a long moment.

  “That depends on two things,” Sabin said. “The desire to, and the ability to. Will they desire to? Perhaps we have frightened them into leaving us alone. Or maybe, by killing so many members of their most powerful families, we have set a desire for revenge blazing that could lead to endless conflict.”

  “They invaded us,” Narvelan growled.

  “True. But Sachakans are nothing less than utterly convinced of their superiority over other races. We have dared to defeat them. They won’t like it.”

  “How many Sachakan magicians are left?” Bolvin asked.

  “I have kept count of the fatalities as best I could,” Sabin said. “I estimate at least ninety Sachakans have died in this invasion.”

  “There were over two hundred in Sachaka, according to my spies,” the king said.

  “So over a hundred remain,” Hakkin said. “We number no more than eighty.”

  “Some of their magicians are too young or too old to fight effectively,” the king added.

  “The odds don’t sound good, even so,” Perkin said.

  “I think we’ve learned the hard way that it is not the number of magicians that matters, but their strength,” Narvelan said.

  “And their skills and knowledge,” Dakon added.

  “It is not only their strength to begin with, though that is important, but their access to strength later,” Sabin said. “They can only bring so many slaves into Kyralia. We have the support of most of our population.”

  “I think they’ve learned their lesson,” Hakkin said.

  “But how long before they forget it?” Narvelan asked. “Will our children fight and die in another war? Or our grandchildren?”

  “Can we prevent its ever happening again?” Sabin asked. He shook his head. “Of course we can’t.”

  “Or can we?” Narvelan said. All turned to look at him, many frowning. His eyes were dark as he smiled back at them. “They wouldn’t invade us if we ruled them.”

  That sent a ripple of murmuring out from the circle. Dakon saw eyes widen at the possibility, and heads shake.

  “Invade Sachaka?” Hakkin scowled. “Even if we had a chance of success, we’ve just fought a war. Do we have the energy for another?”

  “We might, if it would ensure Kyralia’s future,” Lord Perkin said.

  The king was frowning. “Can we afford to lose more of our own magicians?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the ground. “We may return victorious only to find ourselves vulnerable to attack from elsewhere.”

  “Who else would dare, or bother, your majesty?” Narvelan spread his hands. “Lonmar? They are too busy worshipping their god and barely pay attention to what we do. Lan? Vin? Elyne? They are here, supporting us.” He turned to regard Dem Ayend, smiling but with a hint of seriousness in his gaze.

  The Dem chuckled. “Elyne has always been a friend of Kyralia.” He paused. “And if you allow it, we would join you in your endeavour. We know we will not last long if Kyralia ever falls to Sachaka. I know I have my king’s support on this.”

  Sabin hummed in thought, then looked at the Dem. “Your offer would have to be discussed, but I can see one problem to be overcome. If we are to invade Sachaka, we must do it without hesitation. We have only our apprentices and servants to draw strength from. Like us, the Sachakans will evacuate their slaves so that we can’t gain strength from them. We must give them no time to.”

  “We should not kill the slaves, but free them,” Dakon said. He smiled as heads turned towards him. “We couldn’t hope to win without taking their power, of course, but after a country is taken it has to be ruled, and it would be easier if the majority of people were co-operative because we had treated them well.” Dakon was pleased to see the king nodding, his expression thoughtful. “If we must invade Sachaka in order to save Kyralia, let’s not become Sachakans.”

  Sabin chuckled. “Their way of doing things didn’t work for them, so it won’t work for us.”

  More murmuring echoed around the ravine. The leaders were silent, lost in thought. Then Bolvin sighed.

  “Must we invade? I’m tired. I want to go home, to my family.”

  “We must,” Narvelan said, his voice full of certainty. “So that your children will have the freedoms we have.”

  “Perhaps I can help you decide,” Dem Ayend said.

  All turned to look at the Elyne. He smiled wryly as he reached into the satchel he always carried. He glanced down and drew out a small drawstring bag. Untying the knot, he tipped out into his palm a large milky-yellow stone the size of a fist, cut like a precious gem.

  “This is a storestone. It’s the last of its kind. It and others were found in ancient ruins in Elyne, built and abandoned by a people we know little about. We don’t know how they are made – and believe me, many magicians have tried to find out over the centuries.”

  He held the stone out so all in the circle could see. “It stores magic. Transferring power to it is not unlike sending power to another magician. Unfortunately the magic within must be used in one continuous stream. If not, it will shatter and release the remaining magic in a devastating blast. And once the magic is all used, the stone turns to dust. So, as you can imagine, you must choose the moment such an object is used very, very carefully. Especially since when this one is used, there will be no more left.”

  Dem Ayend looked up. His eyes were bright. Dakon saw awe and excitement in the faces of the magicians around him. Looking closely at the stone, he felt something at the edge of his senses. Concentrating on the feeling made his head spin.

  The stone was radiating a feeling of immense power, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

  “My king gave it to me to use only in the most desperate moment, and fortunately that moment did not come. I have consulted with him via messengers, anticipating this moment. He said if the chance came to conquer Sachaka, then we should seize it. Because I, and my king, can see no cause more worthy of the last of the storestones than ending the Sachakan empire for all time.”

  Looking at the faces of the magicians around him, Dakon knew, without a doubt, that he would not be going back to Mandryn to rebuild his life for some time yet.

  CHAPTER 42

  The morning air was crisp, but Hanara knew that once the sun rose above the mist that shrouded the hills below, baking the air dry, the day would be a hot one. The place Takado, Asara and Dachido had chosen to camp was several strides from the road, out of sight on a rock shelf. If they moved to the edge and looked down they could see the road twisting back and forth down the side of the mountain, curving over hills and eventually straightening and pointing, like an arrow, toward Arvice.

  Hanara’s master was not enjoying the view. He was being served by Asara’s remaining slave, while Hanara kept watch on the road. Dachido’s slave was packing up his master’s belongings. The three slaves took turns at these tasks every morning, until all were ready to travel on.

  But for the first time, none of the magicians were in a hurry.

  Hanara looked up. The pass itself was not visible, but he could see where the road emerged from it. They had fled through it the previous morning, aware the Kyralian army was only a half day’s ride behind them.

  “Why send a whole army after us?” Asara had asked, a few nights before. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Because they want Takado,” Dachido had replied. “It was his idea to conquer them, after all. And they fear he will come back for another try.”

  Takado had chuckled. “I would, if it were possible.”

  The three magicians had argued over what to do when th
ey reached Sachaka. Takado wanted them to stay together and gather supporters. Hanara wasn’t sure if this was in order to invade Kyralia again, or in order to gain enough status and allies to return to his former life.

  “None of us can expect to walk into our old homes and continue as if nothing happened,” Takado had pointed out.

  Asara had nodded. “We need to know if Emperor Vochira has learned of our defeat and taken our assets for himself, or given them to someone else. It’ll be easier to regain them if he hasn’t given them away.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Hanara that he might not be returning to the place of his birth. Since he’d realised how unlikely it was, he’d woken with an ache in his stomach every morning, and a nagging uneasiness. Where will we go, even if it is just until Takado gets his home back? And how likely is that?

  Though none of the magicians had stated it, the lack of conviction in their voices when they discussed regaining the emperor’s favour told how much they doubted it would happen. Last night, as if standing on the soil of their own country had broken them out of a trance of denial, they had finally discussed what they would do in the short term.

  “I’ve decided I’m going north,” Asara announced. “I have contacts there. People who owe me favours. And ...I must go alone. They will not help me if there are others with me.”

  Both Dachido and Takado had looked at her in silence, but neither of them argued against her choice. Dachido had turned to Takado then, his expression almost apologetic.

  “I, too, am going to call in a favour. With a sea trader. How do you fancy sailing the seas of the south?”

  Takado had grimaced, then patted Dachido on the shoulder. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I’d rather Emperor Vochira cut out my heart than spend the rest of my days stuck on a ship.” He sighed and looked out towards Arvice. “I belong here.”

  “In hiding?” Dachido asked. “An ichani?”

  “I have always regarded ichani – most ichani – as my equals,” Takado said, with a hint of pride. “It will be no shame to me to wear the term. After all, I began this for their benefit, so they would have a chance to own land and throw off their outcast status.”