“Which rules do we follow, Lord Dakon?” Mikken asked.
“Standard.” Dakon had considered using no system of rules, but many of them were intended to make the game easier or more interesting to play. Those that weren’t could be removed once they’d played a few games and worked out which of the rules weren’t practical.
“Are we going to roll dice to decide how strong the magicians are?” Leoran asked.
Dakon shook his head. “Since we’re using harmless bolts of light, strength won’t matter. We could give each magician a different number of bolts they could use up, but it will be hard to keep count. Still, we might try that later.”
“Will you be keeping score?” Tessia asked.
“No scoring.” Dakon smiled grimly. “The game ends when one magician’s shield has broken.”
At that their expressions turned sombre. They know that means he is “dead”. This is good; they will take the game seriously and question rules that don’t work.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting to see if anyone had more questions to pose, but everyone was silent and expectant. “Shall we start? Choose your leader, then.”
Even as the two groups separated and began debating who should be their magician they began to point out differences between what they were doing and real life. Apprentices didn’t get to choose their masters. Most magicians had one apprentice and, from what they’d been able to discover, the invaders did not have more than four or five slaves on average.
Once the “magicians” had been nominated, one group turned its back so the other could position itself around the camp, then the hidden group were trusted to avert their eyes as their opponents arranged themselves. Dakon noticed that some magicians had emerged from the tents and had stopped to watch.
There was much laughter and cursing as the “battle” unfolded. Dakon noted how vulnerable apprentices were once their strength had been taken. Their best strategy was to hide or keep close to their master, staying behind his shield. One “magician”, frustrated at being the only one attacking his opponent, elevated an apprentice to “magician”, but chose a friend rather than the apprentice who would have suited the role best.
When the game ended, they all came together to discuss the battle. Aside from a few accusations of dishonesty – apprentices who hadn’t sat down after their shield was “broken” – they buzzed with ideas. All agreed that there should be more “magicians” on each side, with no more than two apprentices each, and they should have a limited number of strikes, all decided by the roll of dice. They started another game.
This was dramatically different. Suddenly there were more attackers and more targets. Immediately all had problems with communication and co-ordination. Both sides began to use signals to indicate their intentions, but these were spotted by the opposing side. Having no particular magician in charge led to arguments and the actions of some countering and hampering others.
At one point two “magician” friends tried to co-ordinate their attacks by striking at their opponent simultaneously, and several bolts were wasted because of bad timing.
Suddenly Dakon realised Lord Ardalen was standing at his side.
“There is a trick I should teach you before I leave,” he murmured. “Once the game is finished.”
Dakon glanced at him in surprise, then nodded. Looking around, he realised that all the magicians were awake and watching now. He began to wish the game would finish quickly so he could avoid their scrutiny, but he forced himself to keep analysing the battle. What could Lord Ardalen know that he was sure Dakon didn’t? He definitely said “you”, not “them”.
When one side finally fell, Dakon restrained the temptation to dismiss them straight away. He told them to debate what they had done and learned, and whether the game needed more modifications. Then he turned to Ardalen.
“About that trick,” he said.
“Yes,” Ardalen replied. “I need two apprentices in order to demonstrate.” He looked at the small crowd of eager faces and pointed at Refan and Leoran. “You’ll do. I want one of you to strike at that old tree trunk.” He patted Refan’s shoulder and indicated an enormous broken stump at the edge of the clearing. “Now strike at it – using enough power to produce a visible result.”
The air shivered and splinters of wood burst from the side of the trunk.
“Now, Leoran. Put your hand on Refan’s shoulder. I want you to send magic to him. Don’t form it into heat or force. Just let it seep out as unshaped magic. Refan. See if you can sense and draw in that magic.”
Dakon’s stomach sank with dismay. This was too much like higher magic. He saw other magicians moving closer, frowning with alarm.
“I feel it but I...I can’t hold on to it,” Refan said.
“No, you won’t be able to,” Ardalen confirmed. “Because until you learn higher magic you won’t be able to store it in yourself. But you can channel it. Take the magic but use none of your own and strike the tree again.”
Once again the air shimmered and splinters burst from the tree. Refan gasped. “I used Leoran’s magic!”
“Yes,” Ardalen said. “When my master was an apprentice, he and a friend couldn’t wait to become higher magicians. They tried to teach themselves, and instead of higher magic they discovered this. It is useful if one magician is uniquely skilled, or a task needs a singular, accurate direction of magic, but more strength is needed than one magician can provide – then other magicians can add their own magic to the strike. I can see now that it would be useful in battle for the same reason.”
Dakon felt a thrill of excitement. “I’ve had the apprentices playing magicians count to thirty while they pretend to take an apprentice’s power. This eliminates the need for that – oh, my! Our apprentices don’t need to be cut at all, do they?”
Ardalen shook his head. “Not in these circumstances, but I suspect magicians will continue the tradition of cutting because it keeps control in their hands. There are disadvantages to losing that control. Without it, the giver must send power exactly when the channeller is ready to take it, or the magic dissipates and is wasted.” He paused. “But one great advantage is that, done correctly, a shield made with the magic of two or more magicians will allow the strikes of all of them through rather than react as if struck from the inside by the one not making the shield.”
The other magicians had drawn close to hear Ardalen’s instructions. All looked thoughtful and no longer suspicious or worried.
“Moving about with an apprentice or magician holding your shoulder could be awkward, too,” Narvelan said. “But I can see much potential in this. Two apprentices could protect themselves with a double-strength shield if attacked by an enemy, for example.”
Other magicians began discussing ways that they could use Ardalen’s method. Dakon looked at the magician and saw the man look across the camp to where servants waited with several horses.
Ardalen sighed. “I wish I could stay to help refine and discuss my master’s discovery, but Lord Prinan, Magician Genfel and I must leave now.” The others quietened. “I have a pass to retake.” He smiled grimly. “Genfel has foreign magicians to woo and Prinan has another pass to protect. And you have Sachakans to hunt. Good luck.”
“I suspect you’ll need it more than us,” Narvelan replied. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
“And thank you,” Dakon added.
Ardalen looked back at Dakon and smiled, then moved away. Farewells were murmured among the apprentices as Mikken, Refan and Genfel’s apprentice extracted themselves and followed. Those remaining behind watched silently as the smaller party mounted their horses and rode away.
“Will they be safe?” a small voice whispered at Dakon’s side. He looked down to see Tessia frowning anxiously.
“They are heading south to raise their forces and as far as we know the Sachakans are still in the mountains,” he told her quietly. “Nobody can say whether they’ll be completely safe, but travelling in a group is definitely wiser than alone. W
hat did you think of my lesson?”
Her mouth quirked into a half-smile. “I think I enjoyed Kyrima for the first time. Though I’m not sure ‘enjoyed’ is the right word. It made sense for once.”
Dakon nodded. Because it reflects the grim reality of war. A shame it took that to make us question how we train our magicians.
CHAPTER 26
Stara found she was pacing the room again and stopped. She clenched her fists and turned to Vora.
“How long am I going to be cooped up in here? It’s been two weeks! The only time I’ve seen my father was the night he entertained his guests. Why doesn’t he come to see me, or grant me a visit?” Isn’t he at all interested in knowing how I am? she wanted to add. In spending time with me? In finding out if I felt anything – liking, hate, indifference – for my prospective husband?
Vora shrugged. “Master Sokara is very busy, from what I have heard among the slaves, mistress. A load of dyes sent to Elyne has disappeared. And the troubles the ichani are making in Kyralia have lost him some buyers in Elyne too.”
Stara stared at the slave woman. “Mother has lost goods and trade? Do you know how bad it is?”
“That is all I heard. Except that your father is trying to make deals here to make up for his loss there.”
“His loss?” Stara sniffed. “She does all the work in Elyne.” She began to pace the room again. “If only he would talk to me. Not knowing what is going on is driving me mad!” Stopping, she looked around the room and scowled. “I’m sick of these walls. If I can’t see him, I will go out. Is there a market in the city?” She stopped. “Of course there is. Even if I have no coin to spend, I can at least find out what I might buy in future. And I might learn more about the situation in Elyne.” She moved to the chest she knew Vora kept her capes in, and opened it.
“You can’t leave, mistress,” Vora said. “Not without his permission.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, not a child.” Stara selected the least garish cape and swung it around her shoulders.
“That is not how things are here,” Vora told her. “You need guards and the protection of a male. I could ask Master Ikaro if—”
“No.” Stara cut her off. “Leave my brother out of this. I’ll take some slaves. And a covered wagon. If anyone asks, we can tell people my father is in it but doesn’t want to speak to anyone. Or my brother.” She knotted the ties of the cape and started towards the door. Vora hurried after her and she felt a tug. Cloth bunched up behind her back came loose and rustled down to her ankles. “Thank you,” she murmured to the woman. “And stop arguing with me. I’m going. We’re going. If something happens I’ll just . . .” She paused and finished silently, zap them with magic. “We’ll be fine, I promise. As Elyne traders like to say, all you need in life is confidence, knowledge and a lot of bluff.”
Ten minutes later she and Vora were in a covered wagon rolling out of the mansion and into the streets of the city, with four burly slave men as protectors and one as a driver.
“See?” Stara said. “Nobody stopped us.”
“This isn’t very fair on the slaves,” Vora told her disapprovingly. “They will be punished.”
“For obeying orders? Surely Father wouldn’t be that cruel.”
Vora’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.
Yet disappointment diminished Stara’s triumph at getting out of the mansion without opposition. She would rather her father had emerged to prevent her, so she could have asked him about trade and her mother. Sighing, she leaned back in the seat of the wagon and watched the high white walls move past.
Is all the city like this? she wondered. I don’t have many memories of Arvice. Maybe I never went out. I can’t imagine Mother wanting to be cooped up inside all the time. But I suppose that might have been part of the reason she hated it here. Maybe it wasn’t all to do with Father having to be mean to his slaves.
Maybe he had had to be mean to her, to make her comply with Sachakan ways. Stara felt her stomach sink. If that was so, he would probably be the same to her. And any man he chose to be her husband. She shuddered. I have to find a way to avoid being married off. And then convince him I can work for him in some way.
She began to imagine herself finding him new customers at the market. It was highly unlikely, she knew, but the idea kept her entertained as they travelled. Then the scene outside the wagon changed so suddenly that it took her a moment to grasp what she was seeing.
The white walls fell away, and then they were crossing a wide avenue, giving her a view down avenues of perfectly shaped trees and beds of brightly coloured flowers to a grand building. Instantly she recognised the white curved walls and domes of the Imperial Palace from pictures and paintings – and perhaps even a twinge of memory.
There isn’t a straight wall in the whole place, she remembered her father saying. You go around and round and it’s easy to get lost – which is the point. Anybody trying to invade would be utterly confused. The walls are very thick, but I’ve heard they’re hollow and defenders can unplug holes and attack intruders from inside.
Just as abruptly, the wagon reached the opposite road and the view of the palace was replaced by boring high walls again. Stara closed her eyes and held on to the memory of the palace for a moment, and the feeling of love and connection with her father. It faded slowly and was replaced by anxiety and sadness.
Perhaps if I had lived with him all my life things would be different. But then I wouldn’t have known my mother. Or enjoyed so many freedoms. Or learned magic.
The wagon turned and slowed to a stop, and as it did, muffled through the cloth walls of the canopy came the sound of voices mixed with the twitter and snort of animals combined with the clang and creak of metal and wood. Stara looked at Vora.
“The market?”
Vora nodded. “You should take two slaves, mistress.”
Wrinkles of worry and a shadow of fear in Vora’s eyes made her look even older than her years, Stara saw. “Should we go at all?” she asked.
The woman’s lips pressed together and her eyes flashed with annoyance and perhaps a little defiance. “Go back now, mistress? That would be a waste of a trip.”
Stara smiled and called out to the guards to open the flap.
Emerging, she saw that the market was surrounded by yet another high white wall. The entrance was a plain archway. Guards stood on either side, but their expressions were of boredom and they ignored Stara, Vora and the two slave guards passing through into the noise and bustle inside.
At once Stara noticed that there were other women there. Wearing capes, as she was, they were each accompanied by a man, though she saw one chaperon who was so young she’d have called him a boy if it weren’t for the spotty skin on his forehead. Reassured, she strolled slowly up and down the rows of permanent stalls, looking at the wares and the prices, and often seeing women and children huddled or working in the dim rear of each stall.
There were traders of many races here. Dark-skinned Lonmar in their drab clothes selling dried fruit and spices. Pale, tall Lans covered in skin drawings offering up all manner of things made of carved bone. Squat brown Vindo were most frequently seen, selling a range of wares from all around the region. A few Elynes were selling wines and the bitter drink Stara had gained a taste for, sumi.
There were no Kyralians, she noted. A few grey-skinned men wearing only short skirts of cloth were selling gemstones.
“Who are they?” she asked Vora.
“Duna,” Vora replied. “Tribesmen from the ash desert in the north.”
As she walked around the market, examining goods and fending off sellers with a polite smile and a shake of her head, she listened to the talk, moving closer if she saw two traders in conversation. She caught half-hearted curses aimed at the ichani who were disrupting trade with Kyralia. Some enthused about the opportunities that would come once Kyralia was conquered. Others worried that the ichani would then turn on the emperor and throw Sachaka into a war with itsel
f.
Stara thought about the opinions of her father’s guests. They had argued that Sachaka had been heading for an internal battle already.
Trust my luck to end up in Sachaka at the wrong time.
As she and Vora turned a corner she saw a man glance at them, then give Vora a second look. His gaze immediately moved back to Stara and he smiled. She gave him a polite but distant nod, lowered her eyes and continued past.
She was amused to find her heart was beating a little faster, and not because she felt threatened. What a handsome man! Really, if father chose him as a husband for me I’d have a hard time refusing.
After a moment she glanced over her shoulder. Vora tugged on her arm, but not before Stara saw that the man was still watching her.
“Stop it!” the woman muttered. “He’ll take it as an invitation.”
“An invitation for what?” Stara asked. Was there any way a woman could have a lover here in Sachaka? Probably not after marriage, but she wasn’t married yet...
“To talk to you,” Vora hissed. She pulled Stara round the next corner.
“Just talk? What’s wrong with that?”
Vora gave a short sigh of exasperation, her gaze flicking about at all the people. “I can’t tell you here, mistress. Until you learn who it is safe to talk to, you shouldn’t speak to anyone. You may end up conversing with one of your father’s enemies, or offending one of his allies.”
“How am I going to learn who it is safe to talk to, when I never meet anybody?”
“I will tell you the names and families.” Vora frowned and glanced over her shoulder. As she did so, the handsome man stepped out of a stall a few steps ahead of them. He turned and smiled as he saw Stara again. “There is much for you to learn. We will get to—.”
“Forgive me, but would you be the daughter of Ashaki Sokara?”
Stara smiled and nodded. “I am.”
“Then I am honoured to meet you,” the man said. “I am Ashaki Kachiro. My house is next to yours, on the southern side.”
“Oh, you are our neighbour, then.” She glanced at Vora, who was keeping her eyes to the ground. “I am Stara – and honoured to meet you, too, Ashaki Kachiro.”
The Magician’s Apprentice Page 31
