The Magician’s Apprentice

by Труди Канаван

  – Who are you? Werrin replied.

  – Mikken of family Loren. Ardalen’s apprentice. He told me to report when I reached a safe place.

  – Then report.

  – They’re dead. All of our group. Ardalen. Everyone. He paused. We were so careful. Silent. Travelled at night. But the pass...it was full of Sachakans. By the time we came close enough to see it was too late. Ardalen told me to run and hide, so I could tell you. I climbed the cliff... There are about ten of them. They have tents and carts of food and other things that indicate they are planning to stay there and hold the pass for themselves.

  Tessia realised her heart was racing. The Sachakans would be hearing this and would know he was still in the area. He was taking a great risk. Be careful, Mikken! she thought. Don’t give yourself away!

  – Is there anything else you must tell us? Sabin asked. Anything vital?

  – No. –

  Then stay silent. Travel quick and quiet. May luck be yours.

  – Yes. I’ll do that. Goodbye.

  In the silence that followed, furtive, grim looks were exchanged. A few shook their heads. They don’t think he’ll survive, Tessia thought. Her heart twisted. Poor Mikken. She thought back to the apprentice’s first and only attempt to charm her. Despite – or perhaps because of – her rebuff, he’d remained charming, but only in a friendly, light-hearted way. She felt an unexpected wave of affection for him. It was like a joke between us. I knew he wasn’t serious. After all, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice if there had been prettier women around. But it was nice to have someone flirting with me, especially when Jayan is so serious all the time. She sighed. I hope he finds his way back to us.

  Then she remembered Lord Ardalen teaching them the method of giving magic to another that they had used to defeat the Sachakans at Tecurren. Such a valuable piece of knowledge. What other knowledge had been lost when the magician died? How much more would be lost in this war? And would any of them survive to form this guild of magicians that Jayan had thought so much about?

  The grey-haired woman sagged in Takado’s grip. He let her drop to the ground then extended a hand in Hanara’s direction. Hanara handed his master a clean, damp cloth, watched Takado wipe the blood off his hand, then took it and stowed it in his pack for cleaning later. “A surprisingly strong one,” Takado said. Looking up at Dachido, he smiled. “You can never tell with these Kyralians.”

  Dachido shook his head and looked round at the corpses littering the street. The ones who didn’t run fast enough, Hanara thought. The ones who dared to confront us.

  “If they were slaves, the strong ones would have been found and made useful. I can’t believe the wastage here.”

  A crash drew their attention. The front wall of a house nearby collapsed and the heat of the fire within beat at Hanara, searing his skin. To his relief, Takado moved away.

  “How do these Kyralians survive?” Dachido asked. “They should be wallowing in rebellion, the fields untended and thievery everywhere. Instead they prosper.”

  “Lord Dakon tried to convince me that slavery was inefficient,” Takado replied. “That a free man will take pride in his work. That a craft worker is more likely to experiment and invent better ways of doing things if it is for his own benefit and his family’s.”

  “I don’t see how that would be any greater motivation than the threat of a whipping, or death.”

  “Nor did I, until I came here.”

  Dachido’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Takado in surprise. “So you agree with him?”

  “Perhaps.” Takado turned at the creak of an opening door. Smoke gusted out, followed by a man. The man saw them and tried to run, but he crumpled against an invisible wall. He began to yell as magic drew him towards the two magicians. “Not enough to try to make it work myself.”

  “What would be the point of taking over a land only to let the people keep all their wealth and freedom?” Dachido said.

  The failed escapee collapsed to his knees but the magic dragged him over the stone-paved ground. He whimpered as the force deposited him in front of Dachido, knees red and bleeding.

  “Please,” he begged. “Let me go. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You have him,” Takado said to Dachido. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Do I ever make an offer I’m not sure of?”

  “No.” Dachido drew his knife. Gems glinted in the sun as he stepped up to the man and touched its edge to the exposed skin at the back of the neck. A fine red line of beaded blood appeared.

  Hanara waited, bored. He’d seen this too many times to count in his life, though it had not often resulted in death before now. Seeing an approaching figure out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see Asara coming towards them. She said nothing as she reached them, politely waiting for the strength-taking to finish. Dachido let the failed escapee fall to the ground, then started as he realised she was standing beside him.

  “Asara,” he said. “Had a good harvest?”

  She chuckled. “That’s an interesting way to put it. Yes, I must have replaced what I used, and more. You?”

  “Easily.”

  She looked at Takado. Hanara saw respect in her eyes, not quite hidden behind her cool, restrained demeanour. “What next, Takado?”

  Takado looked around them, considering. They were standing in the middle of a square area surrounded on all sides by houses and bisected by the main road. “We have achieved all we need to here. A start. A message. A beginning to our advance towards Imardin.”

  “Will we stay here tonight?”

  “No.” Takado’s eyes were dark. “I believe the next major town on the main road is called Halria. If we move quickly we will stay ahead of our pursuers.”

  “Another town on the main road? What if they anticipate that and gather together another group of magicians to confront us?” Dachido asked. “We may be caught between two forces.”

  “We will move off the road before then,” Takado told him. “But for a time we can take towns that are still full of people. Towns that haven’t been warned of our coming. Towns they won’t expect us to attack.” He smiled. “There has to be a little randomness in war. Otherwise it wouldn’t be as interesting.”

  Asara smiled. Hanara felt a shiver run down his spine. He felt a strange emotion, part fear, part pride. It made him want to get away from these three people, yet it also made him want to stay and watch what they did. Never in his life had he seen magicians demonstrate their full powers. Today they had burned and ruined a town while barely showing more effort than a stare or a frown. But he knew they hadn’t been stretched to use their powers to the limit yet. It would be terrible and magnificent when they did. His heart swelled even as it pumped faster.

  And I will be there to see it.

  CHAPTER 30

  The typical Sachakan home was a sprawl that contained clusters of rooms known as quarters. Stara’s father lived in the master’s quarters. She lived in the adjoining family quarters. Ikano and Nachira lived in the son’s quarters – an area reserved for the heir to the master.

  In the centre of the son’s quarters was a large main room from which all other rooms were accessed. These smaller rooms were empty but for the couple’s bedroom. The lack of furniture seemed to exude an air of sadness and disapproval. They ought to contain her nephews and nieces.

  It would be bad enough failing to live up to that expectation, Stara thought as Vora led her into the main room, but to be reminded of it every day would be awful – especially with the extra fear of murder as a consequence.

  Then her insides curled with a growing dread. And Ikaro is asking me to become the focus of that expectation. What will happen if I can’t produce a child either? She knew what Vora would say. “Best not waste time dwelling on troubles until you have to, mistress.” Stara disagreed. She preferred “Better to be prepared than be caught unready” as a motto.

  Nachira rose to greet Stara, kissing her on both cheeks, her jewellery jingling pleas
antly. Stara returned the gesture. They sat down on cushioned stools at the centre of the room. After prostrating herself, Vora took her usual position on a floor cushion behind Stara’s seat. Though this always made the old woman grunt and rub her joints, she resisted invitations to sit “at their level” and if ordered to looked uncomfortable and made unhappy remarks until Stara let her return to the floor cushion.

  “Is my brother here?” Stara asked, looking around.

  “He’s checking that Ashaki Sokara is not coming back early,” Nachira said in her low, husky voice. “He heard one of the slaves speculating.”

  “I still can’t believe Father would object to his son and daughter conversing.”

  “Oh, he will.” Nachira frowned. “If he hears about it from the slaves. We are going to tell him that we felt we should keep an eye on you, and provide a distraction so you don’t try to go out again.”

  “Won’t he read your mind and find it isn’t true?”

  The woman blinked. “No. At least...I hope not. He hasn’t before. Well, not since that one time, after the wedding, when he wanted to be sure I didn’t have some secret mission to do him harm. But he was kind about it.”

  Stara looked away. “I’d have thought he’d do it before the wedding, if he thought there was justification for it.”

  “My father would have called off the wedding. It would be rude to show such distrust then.”

  “But not after?” Stara turned back to meet Nachira’s eyes.

  The woman lowered her gaze. “Not as much. And he was kind about it...as I said. I didn’t think it was worth bothering Father over.”

  Stara nodded and sighed. This confirmed her suspicion that reading a free person’s mind – even family – was not an everyday, accepted act.

  Vora had brought her to her brother’s rooms every day since that first meeting in the baths. Sometimes Stara visited in the morning, sometimes later in the day. The handful of visits weren’t enough for her to consider she knew Nachira well, but she had judged the woman to be a straightforward sort of person. The idea that Ikaro’s wife might have some secret mission – or any secret other than her infertility – was unlikely.

  I like her well enough, Stara mused. I haven’t seen anything to dislike, except perhaps her utter passiveness. If I thought my father-inlaw was likely to kill me, I’d be demanding or at least begging my husband to take me away from danger.

  Maybe there was no “away”. Where would Ikaro and Nachira go? Without Stara’s father’s good will and protection, they would have no money, trade or land to inherit.

  But that would be better than death, wouldn’t it? They could go to Elyne. Even as she thought it, she knew it was not an option likely to be considered. Nachira would not be able to comprehend living in another land, and Ikaro would worry that his father would still be able to make their lives a misery from across the border, since he had trading connections through their mother.

  Mother would never do anything to harm us, Stara thought. But she may not know she is doing so. She could be tricked into it.

  Hearing footsteps, they both tensed and looked towards the doorway. When Ikaro entered Nachira let out a sigh of relief.

  Ikaro smiled. “He hasn’t returned and they don’t expect him for another few days.” He sat down and his expression became serious as he looked at his wife. “But I heard other news, just arrived. The emperor has officially declared his support of the invasion of Kyralia and is calling for magicians to join his army. When Father learns of this he will send me away to fight.”

  Stara heard Nachira catch her breath. The couple stared at each other for a moment, then their gazes shifted to Stara.

  “You will have to make your decision sooner than we hoped, Stara.” Ikaro reached out to take Nachira’s hand. “We have discussed it, and agreed that the least we can do is give you what you asked for. I’ll teach you higher magic.”

  Stara glanced at Vora. The woman smiled and nodded her approval. Stara felt a wave of emotions rush through her. First helplessness, then disgust at herself. I’m going to give in to this. I’m going to marry some stranger and have his child because my father is a monster. How pathetic am I? Then a strange pride followed by determination. But I’m not just giving in, I’m making a choice – saving a life. Finally, dread came and didn’t leave her, settling into her as if it had found a home in her bones. If Father has chosen someone horrible I will not sit there and accept it. Ikaro may help me, but if he can’t I will find a way to help myself.

  She realised then that she had decided to help them from the first moment she learned of Nachira and Ikaro’s dilemma. Foolishly, perhaps, because she had to trust they were telling the truth and not inventing the threat to Nachira’s life to get Stara to co-operate. But all her senses told her their fear was real. She could see it in their slightest gesture, almost smell it in the air.

  “Then I’ll do it,” she told them. “I’ll marry and try to provide Father with an heir.”

  Both smiled, then sobered, then smiled again as they alternately thanked and apologised to her. Nachira began to cry; Ikaro consoled her. Stara felt her heart lift at their obvious affection for each other, but then it sank again.

  Oh, Mother, I am going to marry and have a child, and you won’t be there to help and share the experience. Stara knew then that the dread she felt was not just at the prospect of putting her life in the hands of a stranger, but of becoming trapped in Sachaka with nothing familiar and nobody she could trust and talk to. It was hardly the sort of place she’d hoped to bring a child up in.

  Nachira abruptly rose. “We must share some raka to seal the agreement,” she declared.

  “I’ll get the raka,” Vora said, her joints creaking as she rose. She looked at Ikaro. “You should honour your side of the agreement now, master.”

  He chuckled. “You’re right, Vora. We can never know if and when we may be interrupted.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Be quick with the raka, too, as we need someone to practise on.”

  Vora’s lips thinned, but her eyes were warm with fondness. Soon they had settled back onto the cushions, sipping the hot drink. Ikaro told Vora to move her cushion between them, and kneel. He drew the short, curved knife from the sheath at his waist, then looked at Stara, all humour gone from his face.

  “First you must break the skin,” he told her. “The natural magical barrier that protects us all from the will of others lies there when not extended to form a shield.” He turned the knife and offered the handle to her. “Take it. The only way to show you is for you to sense it yourself.”

  She took the knife. The handle was warm from his touch. Vora rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm.

  “Just the lightest touch should be enough. The blade is very sharp.”

  For a moment Stara could not bring herself to move. Vora eyed her, her gaze judgemental. Suddenly determined the old woman wouldn’t see yet another moment of weakness, Stara pressed the blade gently against the woman’s skin. As she drew it away a red line appeared. At one edge a bead of blood formed. Stara bit back an urge to apologise.

  “Now place your hand over the cut,” Ikaro continued. “Close your eyes. Send your mind out and locate Vora.”

  Doing as he instructed, Stara was startled by the intensity of what she sensed. Many of Nimelle’s magic lessons had involved the meeting of their minds, but it hadn’t been like this. Stara was aware not only of Vora’s presence, but of her entire body, and even her mind. When she concentrated, she could hear the woman’s thoughts.

  Most keenly of all, she could feel the magical energy within the slave, imbuing every part of her body.

  From a distance, she heard Ikaro speaking.

  “Do you feel the strength within her?”

  She made herself nod.

  “Good. Now draw from it. Tap into it as you would tap into your own power.”

  Carefully, tentatively, she reached for the energy within Vora. It flowed to her, but she felt it slip away.

>   “Where’d it go?”

  “You channelled it out of yourself, unformed. Don’t worry. That is what most people do initially. Try again, but this time connect with your own power. Draw her power in to join yours.”

  Keeping an awareness of Vora’s energy, she sought her own power. Suddenly she had an impression of two glowing human forms connected where one touched the other. She could feel the barrier about Vora’s energy, sense the break where her skin had been cut.

  Then she focused her will and pulled in energy from Vora’s body. It responded to her will, flowing into her own body.

  “I have it,” she said. “It’s working.”

  “Good. Now, to avoid others sensing what you are doing, you must strengthen your barrier. It will only hold the power you naturally contain if you don’t. Father will sense the leakage and know what I have taught you. You must also learn to draw power without leakage, too.”

  He made her start and stop drawing power several times, alerting her whenever he sensed leakage. She was aware that some hours had passed before he pronounced her proficient enough to use black magic without alerting others. Looking at Vora, she searched for signs of weariness, but the old woman looked no different.

  That’s good. I don’t want to drain Vora of too much energy. She isn’t young, and uses enough running around after me and Ikaro.

  “Will I need more lessons?” she asked.

  “No.” He smiled. “You’re a fast learner.”

  Stara tossed her head in mock pride. “I guess I’m a natural.”

  Ikaro smiled briefly, then turned thoughtful. “Perhaps you would have been, if you hadn’t learned magic in Elyne. Then Father would have been forced to teach you anyway.”

  “Or had you killed,” Vora murmured. “Like most naturals.” Stara stared at them in disbelief, then shook her head. “Surely not. I know Sachakans kill slaves who are naturals, but do they really kill their own family members?”

  “Naturals are . . .” Ikaro searched for a word.

  “Dangerous,” Vora offered, rising and moving her cushion back to its former position. “Freaks. Ashaki don’t like not being able to decide who has magic and who doesn’t.”