Kyralia 01 - [Black Magician 00] - The Magician's Apprentice

by Trudi Canavan

  “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 settled 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.

  “Part of the ceremony. Though all the details will have been worked out before now, they’ll do a bit of mock bartering. Your husband-to-be will pretend to have doubts, pretend that your price isn’t low enough. Your father will list your virtues and threaten to take you home.”

  “Ha!” Stara exclaimed. “I’d love to hear that!” She looked more closely at the walls. Scenes had been painted straight on the render. Depictions of men and women. As she realised what they were doing she laughed. “How scandalous! If anyone in Elyne – oh, my! I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before!”

  “It’s meant to make you ready for your wedding bed,” Vora told her.

  Stara looked at the woman, her amusement fading. “Seems a little, ah, advanced viewing for someone who is supposed to be a young virgin. More likely to frighten them than excite them.”

  Vora shrugged. “Men and women have all sorts of strange ideas about each other, and most of them are wrong.” Her gaze shifted to the door as the sound of footsteps sounded beyond it. “Quick! Put the head covering down and come over here,” she hissed.

  Plonking herself on the bench, she felt Vora tweak the gauze into place. The door opened.

  A lone man entered. He was too young to be her father.

  “Stara,” he said. She felt something in her mind spark. The voice was familiar, but she wasn’t sure why. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  He moved forward until he stood in front of the bench, then took hold of the edge of the gauze and lifted. As the cloth tumbled down her back she stared at him in surprise.

  “Ashaki Kachiro!”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling. “Your neighbour.”

  But my father dislikes you, she wanted to say. He read my mind because we spoke. But Vora had said Kachiro was not an enemy of her father either, she remembered. She turned to look at Vora. The slave shrugged.

  “Ah, your slave. I have bought her, so that you will have a familiar face here as you begin your new life.”

  Stara turned back and found herself smiling at him in delight. “Thank you! Thank you, again.”

  He smiled back and held out his hand. “Come and join me.

  I have arranged a celebratory meal. I hope it is to your liking.”

  She reached out and let him take her hand. He led her out of the bride room back into the room of golden light. Looking around, she saw several floating globes of light hovering near the ceiling. Magic. I never saw Father bother with globe light. The room was furnished sparsely with elegant pieces, the floor covered in a dark blue rug. They moved to two chairs.

  In the next few hours Stara found herself treated to delicious food cooked in the styles of both Elyne and Sachaka, while talking to a man who not only seemed interested in her but was also interesting to her. He owned several plots of land from which he gained an income from crops and animals. He also maintained a few forests, and traded in the furniture made from the wood. His customers were mainly locals, but he wanted to see if he could expand his trade to Kyralia and Elyne. The war with Kyralia was making this impossible at the moment, however.

  She could not believe her luck. This is too good to be true. I can’t forget that, though I do find him attractive and he does seem nice, I didn’t agree to this. I wonder if he knows...

  Long after they had finished eating, the servants began to bring another, smaller meal, and she realised just how much time had passed. They ate sparingly, then Kachiro rose and indicated she should follow suit.

  “It is time I showed you to your – our – rooms,” he said. Taking her hand again, he led her through another door into a corridor. Looking back, Stara saw the globe lights blinking out, one by one. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He’s a good-looking man. So long as he doesn’t have any nasty habits in the bedroom it shouldn’t be an unpleasant night. It might even be enjoyable. After all, I did fancy him the first time I met him... Hearing footsteps behind, she knew Vora was following. Relief was followed by a nagging worry. I hope she isn’t supposed to stay and watch!

  At the end of the corridor they entered a large white room. Like the main room, its few pieces of furniture were graceful and well made. Another blue rug covered the floor. Small, plain squares of cloth hung on the walls. She made herself ignore the bed and turn to him.

  “This furniture is all from your workers?”

  He nodded. “A friend of mine draws the shapes, and my slaves make it. He has a good eye.”

  “He has,” she replied. “It’s beautiful.
”

  He was still holding her hand. She was too aware of it, and the warmth of his touch. I’ve hardly touched anyone since I got here. Everyone’s so touchy-touchy in Elyne, but Sachakans act as though touching is an affront...

  “I’m afraid I must leave you here,” Kachiro said. “I have urgent business in the city to attend to. I will return tomorrow, however. My slaves will attend to you, and your slave will be given a room of her own close by so she can respond quickly to your needs.”

  He’s leaving? Stara felt a stab of disappointment, then amusement. Was I looking forward to this after all? Did I give him the impression I was too nervous? All she managed was a slightly puzzled. “Ah. Yes. Look forward to it.”

  He let go of her hand, smiled again, then turned and left.

  She watched him walk down the corridor, then when he had turned out of sight she moved to the bed, sat on the edge of it, and looked at Vora.

  “So. My father’s neighbour. The one he’s supposed to dislike.”

  The slave shrugged. “It would not make sense for him to marry you to an enemy, mistress, and he would not offer a daughter with magic to an ally because it might be taken as an insult and endanger an agreement.”

  “So he chose someone he has no links to.”

  “Yes. And though he dislikes Kachiro, you did say you thought him decent.”

  Stara nodded. It almost made her father sound as if he wasn’t the monster she thought he was. No. He read my mind. That still makes him a monster.

  “Why do you think he left?”

  “Ashaki Kachiro?” Vora frowned. “He probably does have pressing business to attend to. I can’t imagine any man walking away from your bed willingly. A lesser man would have made it quick. Perhaps he doesn’t want to rush you.”

  “We spent the whole day eating and talking. Is that part of the tradition?”

  Vora smiled. “No. None of it was.”

  Stara sighed. “Ah, well, at least Father let me keep you.”

  At that, Vora’s brow creased into a frown. “Yes,” she said, but she did not sound happy.

  “Oh.” Stara grimaced and tried to smother a pang of hurt. “I’m sorry, Vora. I didn’t realise you wanted to stay behind.”

  The woman looked up at Stara and gave a wry smile. “I am delighted to remain your slave, mistress, but I am worried about Master Ikaro and Mistress Nachira. I can’t do anything to help them here.”

  Stara felt her heart skip a beat. “Are they still in danger?”

  Vora grimaced. “We can never be certain.”

  “Do you think Father worked out what you were doing? That he sold you to Kachiro so we were both out of the way?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Stara sighed again, then lay back on the bed. “Then I had better hurry up and have a baby.” Staring up at the ceiling, she wondered how long it would take. If Kachiro running off to take care of business would be a common occurrence. If she would grow to like the confined life of a wife and mother.

  “Come on then, mistress,” Vora said. “Stand up and I’ll help you get out of that gown.”

  The streets of Calia were abuzz with activity. Dakon strode down the main road looking for Tessia, who had gone in search of cures and their ingredients several hours ago. Seeing a shop selling herbs and spice, he turned and took a step towards it.

  And felt a stone slip through the hole in his shoe.

  He muttered a curse and kept walking, but the movement rolled the stone under his heel and at the next step he felt it gouge into his sole. Shaking the stone to the front of his shoe, he walked back to the side of the road and into the shadow of a gap between two buildings.

  I should get these resoled, he told himself. But as he grasped the shoe to take it off he took in the frayed stitching, the tears and the worn-out soles. No, I’m going to have to get new ones.

  He had put off replacing his shoes for as long as possible, despite knowing it made him look shabby. The other magicians believed they had to look dignified and well groomed in order to persuade ordinary Kyralians to obey them. But Dakon did not like taking from the very people who were suffering most in this war.

  We turn up, tell them to pack up their belongings and leave, and then say, “By the way, you’ll have to do without your shoes and your best coat.”

  As the shoe slipped off he heard women’s voices in the house beside him, through an open window.

  “. . . same thing happened there. First the people come from the last village that was attacked, running away from the Sachakans. Then the magicians turn up and tell us to leave.”

  “I can’t see why we should leave until we have to. My ukkas will die if nobody waters and feeds them. What if the Sachakans never come here? It would have been a waste. A complete waste.”

  “I don’t know, Ti. The things I’ve heard about those Sachakans. It’s said they eat the babies of their slaves. Breed them for it. Fatten them up, then whack them in the oven alive.”

  Dakon froze in the middle of shaking out the stone.

  “Oh! That’s horrible!” the second woman exclaimed.

  “And since they can’t take babies to war with them, they’ve been eating Kyralian babies instead.”

  “No!”

  As Dakon shook his shoe again, the stone rolled out onto the ground. Where did those women hear that? he wondered as he put his shoe back on. Surely they don’t believe it. Nothing I’ve ever been told or read mentioned such habits.

  More likely it was a rumour started either in revenge or to ensure nobody considered turning traitor. Or perhaps to persuade those reluctant to leave their homes to comply with the order to leave.

  But what will the consequences be, when all this is over? Will people keep believing it? If we lose it will do nothing but make occupation and a return to slavery more terrifying. But if we win...it will be just another reason to hate the Sachakans. How far that hate takes us I can’t guess. It’s hard enough imagining us defeating the Sachakans, a far older and more sophisticated people and our former rulers, in the first place.

  He started across the road again only to find a long line of riders and carts blocking his way. Looking to the front of the line, he saw the backs of several well-dressed men. The people passing him were servants, he guessed, and the carts contained much-needed supplies.

  More magicians for our army, Dakon thought. I hope there are new shoes in those carts.

  “Oh, good,” a familiar voice said at his shoulder. “I hope they brought a healer or two, or at least some cures and clean bandages.”

  Dakon turned to Tessia. “There you are! Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “More or less. The town healer has upped his prices so much he ought to be jailed for it. I had to visit a crazy widow on the edge of town. She puts all sorts of ridiculous things in her cures that haven’t any provable benefit, so I bought ingredients instead.” She lifted a basket full of vegetation, both fresh and dried, under which he could see jars and wrapped objects. “I’ll be up all night mixing my own.”

  The smell of the plants was strong and not particularly pleasant. As the last of the servants and carts passed Dakon gestured for her to follow, and started after them.

  “Should we hire this healer?” he asked. Despite the Sachakans’ efforts to kill everyone they encountered, some people were managing to escape the towns they attacked. Many of these escapees had injuries and Tessia had spent every spare moment treating them.

  “No. Even if he wasn’t too old for it, he’ll charge you so much he’ll be the only rich man left by the end of the war, no matter who wins.”

  “We could order him,” Dakon told her.

  A gleam entered her eyes, then faded and she shook her head. But then she betrayed her doubts by biting her lip. “Well, we could do with all the hel—”

  “Lord Dakon, is that the tail end of what I think it is?”

  They both turned to see Lord Narvelan striding towards them.

  “
Our army,” Dakon confirmed.

  “About time,” the young magician said. “How many do you reckon have joined us this time?”

  “About fifty.”

  “The king has done well, then. Let’s see who’s here.”

  Quickening their stride, they overtook carts and servants and gradually caught up with the magicians at the head of the column as it reached the house Werrin and Sabin had taken over as the magicians’ meeting place. The two leaders were already standing on the steps, waiting to greet the newcomers.

  The new arrivals stopped, dismounted and exchanged greetings with the king’s representative and the sword master. Three disappeared into the house with them.

  “And so the levels of power shift again,” Narvelan said. “Pushing us further down the hierarchy.”

  “You’ve done well up to now,” Dakon said. “Werrin still listens to you.”

  Narvelan nodded. “I think this time I may graciously step back into my proper place and stay there. Not because of anything anyone has said,” he added quickly. “But after listening to Sabin these last few weeks...he is far smarter and more qualified than I. A true warrior. Everything I’ve thought of and suggested seems trite and naive next to his grasp of strategy. And it is nice to see some responsibility move to others.”

  Dakon glanced at his friend, then looked away. Narvelan had changed since the confrontation in Tecurren. Though they’d won that fight, the magician had become hesitant and doubtful. He talked of the victory with a touch of regret. Dakon suspected he had realised, for the first time, that he might die in this war and he hadn’t worked out how to deal with the fear. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that he had killed another man. Narvelan had quietly admitted to Dakon that he could not help feeling uncomfortable about that victory, even after finding out what the Sachakans had done to the villagers.

  Perhaps it would be beneficial for Narvelan to take a rest from the pressure of decision-making.

  “I saw the wisdom of retiring to the sidelines a while back,” Dakon said. “After all, there’s plenty of other work requiring magicians. I’m concentrating on teaching apprentices instead. Want to join me?”