The Magician’s Apprentice Page 59

  Sabin turned to scan the faces around him. Looking for a volunteer. Should I? Why not? If Tessia and Jayan are dead, who needs me? My Residence is gone and it’s clear I am of no use as a protector to the people of my ley, who are going to recover their lives quite well without me. He opened his mouth.

  “I’ll go,” Narvelan said. “I already have a ring, anyway.” Dakon watched as the magician strode up to the gates and disappeared inside. Long, silent minutes passed. Then Sabin chuckled.

  “The way is clear. He’s read a few minds. The emperor has ordered that no obstruction or trap be put in our way.” He turned to look at the servant and the carts. “Even so, I think half of us should stay outside to protect the servants, and be ready to fight if this does turn into a battle.”

  More time passed as the arrangements were made. Then finally they were ready. Sabin gave the order, and Dakon walked, with forty other magicians, into Sachaka’s Imperial Palace.

  CHAPTER 48

  Hanara had been in the middle of a nightmare when the guard slave came to get him, and now, as he was dragged, pushed and shoved through increasingly wider and more opulently decorated corridors, he was not entirely sure if he was truly awake or still caught in the dream. He’d travelled this route many times in his sleep, after all.

  There was a lack of strangeness in this journey that told him he was back in the waking world. No monsters lurking in side corridors or rooms full of tortured slaves. No Takado rushing out to rescue him. No Kyralians.

  But Takado is sure to feature in this version, at least, he thought. Unless the emperor wants to read my mind again. Or someone else does...

  He did not recognise the corridors from the previous journey. They had been narrower than these, and far less populated. Slaves hovered around doors or hurried back and forth. Many wore similar trousers, in a yellow fabric finer than any Hanara had seen on a slave before. They all looked fearful and harried.

  A large crowd of slaves hovered round one particular door. Hanara felt his stomach flip over as he realised the guard was taking him towards them. The slaves were frowning, some wringing their hands, and he could hear a frantic, rapid chatter.

  They fell silent, however, as the guard pushed Hanara through them to the door. A slave standing next to the door eyed Hanara, then smiled grimly as he looked at the guard.

  “Just in time,” he said, then turned to open the door.

  Pushed through, Hanara found himself at the side of a huge, narrow room filled with columns. Before him, in the centre, was a large and spectacular throne. The emperor was looking at him, his nose wrinkled with disgust. Hanara threw himself to the floor.

  “Get up,” the guard whispered, and Hanara felt a toe jab his leg. He rose slowly, looking towards the emperor. The man had turned away, his attention now somewhere down the long room. Hanara stared down between the columns, but the space was empty. Then he noticed something on the floor.

  A man. A naked man lying on his back, covered in cuts and bruises. Hanara looked closer and saw the chest rise and fall. He saw a faint movement and looked at the face. The eyes were open.

  And recognition rushed over Hanara like a hot burst of steam.

  Takado!

  A terrible pity and sorrow rose up to grip his heart. With it came dread. If Takado dies today, what will happen to me? Will I die, too?

  Something slammed at the end of the room, making Hanara jump. Footsteps filled the room. Lots of footsteps. Faint but growing louder. He found himself leaning forward to get a better view between the columns, and felt the guard jerk his arm to pull him back.

  When the white-faced men marched into sight the room seemed to grow cold.

  They made it, he thought. They got through the city and into the Imperial Palace. After all that Takado did to them, they fought back and then kept coming, all the way to Arvice. All the way to here.

  He couldn’t help admiring them for that. The barbarian race of Kyralia had come a long way.

  Hanara recognised King Errik and the face of the magician at his right. An Elyne stood on the king’s other side. The other men around the king were also familiar from battles. One face jolted him with recognition. The face of the man who had given him freedom and a job. Lord Dakon.

  The magician hadn’t seen him. His eyes were on Takado. His expression shifted from horror to anger and back again.

  King Errik slowed to a stop several strides from Takado, his eyes moving from the supine man to the emperor. He waited until the rest of his army of magicians stopped and quietened before he spoke.

  “Emperor Vochira. This is a strange way to meet a conqueror.”

  The emperor smiled. “Does it please you, King Errik?”

  The king eyed Takado, his lip curling with hatred and disgust. “He is alive. You expect that to please me?”

  “Alive and helpless, near all his strength taken from him. A gift to you, or perhaps a bribe. Or a trade.”

  “For what?”

  The emperor rose, slowly and gracefully, and stepped down from the throne. “For the lives of my people – at least those whom you haven’t yet taken. For the lives of my family. For my own life, too, perhaps.”

  The hoarse, rasping sound of laughing drifted up from the floor, sending a shiver down Hanara’s spine.

  “Who is the traitor now?” Takado coughed. “Coward.”

  Emperor and king looked at the supine man, and then back at each other.

  “Why should I let you live?” the king asked.

  “You know I did not initiate the invasion of your country. If your spies did their job well, you should also know that I tried to stop it.”

  “But you did endorse it, eventually.”

  “Yes. It was a necessary deception. The army I sent was meant to split in three, two parts held in reserve to overcome this...” the emperor sneered down at Takado, “this ichani rebel when he was at his weakest.”

  “It looked, to me, as if your intention was to take over at that point, and claim victory for yourself,” the king said.

  From Takado came a weak cry of triumph. “See?” he rasped. “Even the barbarian king sees through you!”

  “Yet you didn’t,” the emperor reminded him. He looked at the king. “Would you prefer I kill him, or that you do it yourself?” He smiled. “As no doubt you will have your magicians do now?”

  The eyes of the king became cold and hard. Then his mouth curled into a smile.

  “A foolish ruler bases his rule on magic alone.” His hand moved to his waist and slipped inside the long-sleeved tunic he wore, then came out gripping a long, straight blade. “A wise one bases it on loyalty and duty. And rewards those, magician or not, who serve him well in whichever way suits them best.” He glanced over his shoulder. “All of them have earned my loyalty and gratitude, so I find it impossible to choose who should have this reward.” He turned back to face the emperor.

  The king took the blade of the knife between his fingers and held it up to one side. “Whoever takes the blade may make the kill.”

  Hanara saw the magicians behind the king hesitate and exchange glances. A tall young magician stepped forward, then hesitated as another followed suit. The young magician turned to stare at the second man in surprise. Hanara’s heart skipped as he saw the other was Lord Dakon. The older magician’s face was dark with unreadable emotions. He stared at the younger man, who bowed his head and stepped back again.

  Lord Dakon grasped the handle of the knife. The king let go of the blade, and as he turned to see who had taken it he, too, stared in obvious astonishment.

  “Lord Dakon . . .” he began, then frowned and did not continue.

  As the magician who had given Hanara freedom stepped up to Takado’s side, Takado hissed.

  “You? What joke is this? Of all the Kyralians you choose the most pathetic of all to kill me?” He shook his head weakly. “He won’t kill me. He’s too squeamish.”

  Dakon nodded. “Unlike you, I don’t relish killing. I asked myself many time
s why I joined in this invasion of Sachaka, why I said nothing against the unnecessary slaughter. Now I see it was to get to the necessary slaughter. And I find I’m not squeamish at all.” He dropped to one knee and raised the knife above Takado. Hanara felt the hand on his arm tighten. He realised he had begun to move forward.

  “I only did it to help our people,” Takado shouted, straining to look at the emperor.

  “Don’t we all,” Dakon replied, and his arm jerked downwards.

  Then it was just like Hanara’s nightmare, yet all the details were wrong. His imagination had conjured far more gruesome and magical deaths for his master. Not this one, clean stab.

  As Takado gasped and spasmed, Hanara cried out. He strained against the guard’s arm, but didn’t struggle. His eyes took in every twitch Takado made, how his muscles slowly relaxed, how a thin stream of blood spread across his chest and trickled down to pool on the floor. He felt liquid run down his face, as if in mimicry. He knew that several of the magicians had turned to stare at him, but he didn’t care.

  Dakon rose and waited, then as Takado stilled he leaned forward and removed the knife. The king reached for it, wiped the blade on a cloth he’d produced from somewhere, then stowed it back in its hidden sheath. Dakon returned to his place behind the king.

  Errik looked up at the emperor and smiled. “You and your rebel have, through seeking to conquer us, made us stronger than we have ever been. Without you we’d have remained weak and uncooperative, distrustful of each other. You forced us together, forced us to make magical discoveries that we will be refining and developing for years to come. I would not be surprised if the Sachakan Empire is eventually forgotten, eclipsed by the new age that begins in Kyralia.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed, though he kept smiling. “And for me you have done a great favour. Before this war I doubt my people would have accepted a king with no magic. But now I have proved that a king can still lead, still defeat an enemy, still conquer an empire despite having no magic of his own. The ordinary people of Kyralia have, themselves, contributed to the defence of their country. After that I doubt any will dare to suggest their king is not fit to rule.” He paused. “But there is one more decision to be made here. One last step to be taken. You know what it is.”

  The emperor’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, I know it,” he said, his voice low and dark. “I am a magician, as you know. I have the strength of the best source slaves of this land. Many of them, many times. But it will not be enough to defeat you. So I will not fight you.” He straightened. “I surrender, myself and all Sachaka, to you.”

  “I accept,” the king replied.

  Someone muttered something. The two leaders frowned and turned to look at the other magicians. The one who had always been at the king’s side shook his head.

  “We can’t trust him. He most likely has the power he claims he holds. While he does he is dangerous.”

  The king spread his hands. “He has surrendered. Must I force him to give us his magic as well as his power? It is too much to ask.”

  Hanara stared at the king in surprise. The emperor was regarding his conqueror with a knowing look.

  “Yes,” the Elyne replied. “But there is another way. Have him transfer his power into the storestone. Not directly, of course. Someone should take it from him and then transfer it.”

  “What if he attacks the one transferring it?” someone asked.

  “If he hasn’t attacked us already, why would he do so during the transfer?” the Elyne reasoned.

  “I volunteer to do the transferring.” The young magician who had stepped back so Dakon could take the king’s knife stepped forward.

  “Thank you, Lord Narvelan.” King Errik nodded. “Do it.”

  A strange scene followed, in which the young man took the emperor’s hand in one hand, and the Elyne’s in the other. The Elyne brought out a large gemstone which he held in his fist. A long, silent moment passed, then the three broke apart.

  I have no idea what happened, Hanara mused. What is a store-stone? Clearly it was capable of holding magic. But why put magic into a stone?

  Discussion had begun on practical matters. Hanara stopped listening and found himself gazing at Takado again.

  His master’s eyes still stared at the ceiling. His mouth was slightly open. What would happen to him now? Would someone burn the body with the proper rites? Hanara doubted it. He felt the hand holding his arm squeeze, and looked up. One of the magicians was pointing towards him. The others had also turned to regard him.

  “Him? He is the slave of the Betrayer,” the emperor said, nodding at Takado’s corpse.

  “Really?” the young magician said. Hanara felt his heart sink as the man walked towards him and stopped a few steps away. “Hanara, isn’t it? I think Dakon would like to have a chat with you.” He smiled, but there was no friendliness in it. Hanara looked down, avoiding the man’s eyes, which looked a little crazed.

  “Let him go,” the magician ordered.

  The hand slid from Hanara’s arm. Surprised, Hanara glanced up, then quickly away from those strange eyes.

  “I think I might need a slave of my own while we sort things out here,” the magician said. “You’ll do for now. Come with me.” The magician spun on his heel and walked away.

  Swallowing hard, Hanara glanced back at the guard. The man shrugged, then made a shooing motion.

  “Come on.”

  Hanara looked up. The magician had stopped, and was beckoning. Taking a deep breath, Hanara forced himself to obey.

  Forgive me, master, he thought as they passed Takado’s corpse. But I’m only a slave. And a slave, as they say, doesn’t get to choose his master. His master chooses him.

  Pain throbbed through Tessia’s head. She wanted to sink back into oblivion, but the sharpness of it gave her no choice. She snapped into full consciousness.

  Opening her eyes, she lifted hands to her head and instinctively felt for damage. There was a swelling to one side, but nothing more, and her hands did not come away stained with blood.

  Haltingly, cautiously, she shifted other limbs and pushed herself up onto her elbows. She felt more bruises, but nothing worse. Her head swam for a moment, then cleared.

  I’m fine. Uninjured.

  She could not recall how she had ended up like this. She remembered having to leave the garden after they heard sounds of people moving about inside the house. She recalled hurrying down the main road, trying to keep to the shadows. She remembered passing burning houses. After that... nothing.

  Had they been attacked? She’d not even been shielding. Jayan had told her to avoid using any magic unless she needed to. She hadn’t seen what had knocked her out. Her and . . .

  Jayan? Where? She sat up and cast about. It was dark, only a glow of red from a fire burning low nearby lighting the road and rubble. Everything smelled of smoke and dust. Not daring to create a light and risk revealing her position, she got to her feet and felt her way forwards, circling about.

  Suddenly her hands felt soft cloth rather than harsh stone. She recognised the shape and resistance of a leg beneath the fabric. A familiar smell teased her nose. Metallic. Like blood. But then all she could smell was smoke.

  Maybe she had imagined it.

  “Jayan?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  Feeling her way up the leg, she reached the waist, and wet stickiness. Her stomach sank. Whoever it was, they were bleeding. Her nose had been right.

  I need light. I have to risk it.

  Concentrating, she created the tiniest globe of light, cupping it between her hands. At once she knew two things: she had found Jayan and he had terrible injuries. Her heart lurched with dread. Was he dead or alive? She moved her hands further apart so the light spilled out. At once she saw the wound, a hole in his abdomen that seeped blood. Her heart filled with a wry hope. If blood was still flowing, he wasn’t dead yet.

  “Jayan,” she said, reaching out and shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”

  His
eyes fluttered open and struggled to focus. Then he grimaced, squeezed his eyes tight then opened them again. This time his gaze locked onto her face.

  “Tessia?” he croaked. “Are you all right?”

  A wave of affection washed over her, almost overwhelming in its strength. For all his infuriating arrogance, and inability to empathise with others at times, he does think of others before himself.

  “I’m fine. A bit bruised.” She paused. “You’re not.”

  He grimaced. “I certainly don’t feel all right.”

  “I’m going to heal you,” she told him.

  He opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again and nodded. “I’d be disappointed in you if you didn’t try, at least,” he said.

  She pulled a face at him, then pulled the fabric of his tunic up to expose his belly. Placing her hands either side of the wound, she closed her eyes and sent her mind forth.

  At once she knew the damage was far worse than it appeared from outside. Something had penetrated deep into his abdomen, perforating the tube that snaked and coiled out from the stomach. Liquids had leaked from these into places normally protected from them, and were causing more damage. Blood had filled spaces between organs and was crushing them. Too much blood. He could die of blood loss alone.

  For a moment she despaired. How could magic fix this? It was impossible. Jayan was doomed.

  No! I can’t let him die. I have to try!

  Drawing magic, she blocked the openings in the tubes to stop the contents seeping out. Then she gathered up the muck that had escaped and forced it out of his body via the wound. Turning her attention to the blood expanding the cavities it was leaking into, she channelled it out as well. That helped her find the sources of the bleeding, and clamp shut the damaged pulse paths.

  What now?

  She could feel his body weakening. Remembering how she had sensed the poisoned magician’s body using magic to repair itself, she looked for the same process happening within Jayan.

  There. I see it. But there is still no way it is going to heal him in time. There is too much damage.

  – Help me.

  Surprised, Tessia’s mind nearly slipped out of his body.