First I should get rid of as much of the poison as I can, she thought. But not through the throat as he’s having enough trouble breathing as it is. I don’t want to choke him. Sending out magic, she created a flexible barrier around the contents of his stomach shaped like a scoop, and gently eased it through his bowels, gathering all residue on the way. She could not help feeling a wry amusement as she eased it out of his body. This is not going to smell good.
Now for the poison that has entered the channels and paths. She considered his systems carefully. All of the blood was poison-laced. Even if she could remove it all without killing him, how was she going to get it out? Clearly this was not the right approach to take.
Before she could think of another way, the man’s heart began to falter. Alarmed, she drew magic and reached out to it. Concentrating intently, she began to squeeze, timing her pulses in a rhythm that felt natural and familiar for a healthy, relaxed body.
Then she realised that his lungs had also stopped working, seemingly giving up all movement. Drawing more magic, she forced them gently to expand then let them relax. It took all her concentration to keep the two parts working.
I can’t do this for ever, she thought. I have to think of something else.
But as she managed to spare a little attention for the lower systems again, she realised she could feel a familiar energy at work. Magic flowed. Magic not her own, but imbued in the body of the magician. Magic that worked to combat the effect of the poison. Magic concentrated on the liver and kidneys, helping to purify blood and filter away the toxin.
And she realised that it had been working all along. It just hadn’t been strong or fast enough to combat something as potent as the poison. Now that she was working the heart and lungs, she was giving it the time it needed.
All I need to discover is how to boost that natural flow of magic...
But even as she thought it, she found she didn’t need to. The magician’s heart regained animation and strength and suddenly strained against her magic, so she let it pump for itself. The lungs soon did the same.
I have saved him, she thought, feeling a rush of relief and triumph. Thanks to his own ability to heal himself with magic. Which meant that she would never have been able to heal a non-magician from this poison.
She drew away from the magician’s body and opened her eyes. The man was sleeping now, his breathing deep and even.
“I think he’s going to be fine,” she said.
“Ah!” The king moved to her side. “Are you sure? Will he recover?”
“Yes. As best I can tell, anyway,” she added.
The king nodded and patted her on the shoulder. “You are a remarkable young woman, Apprentice Tessia. When we get back to Imardin you must teach others your methods.”
She smiled. “Not quite yet. There is another . . .” But as she turned to face the other sick magician she felt her heart sink. His face was deathly white and his lips were blue. Dakon stood beside him. Then she noticed the cut on the dead man’s arm and the blade in her master’s hand and her heart turned over. Surely Dakon hadn’t ...?
Then realisation dawned as she remembered what Dakon had taught her, early in her training. If the magician had died with magic still locked within his body, it would have escaped in a destructive force. She, the king and the man she had just saved might have died with him, or used a great deal of power shielding themselves.
At least the power he held has not been wasted, she thought. Though I can’t imagine Dakon is too happy taking magic that was gained through slaughtering slaves.
“Unfortunately there is only one Tessia,” the king said, his expression sad.
“Indeed,” she replied. “Perhaps I should have started teaching others earlier. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone would be interested.”
“There is plenty of interest,” he told her. “But I suspect that between being too occupied with other matters to spare the time, uncertainty over whether it is better to wait until you are no longer an apprentice and can legally teach, and the strangeness of the prospect of learning from a young woman, many magicians have hesitated to express it.” The king paused and smiled. “After what I just witnessed I am tempted to send you back to Imardin with a guard to ensure the knowledge you have is kept safe, but I fear you would be in more danger returning there than staying with us. And I need every magician and apprentice here with me.”
“And you’d never persuade me to abandon Lord Dakon,” she told him.
The king smiled again. “Not even if I ordered you to?”
She looked away. “I guess I’d have to go, but I’d be very annoyed with you.”
He laughed. “Well, I can’t have Tessia the magical healer annoyed with me. Who knows when I might need her services?”
CHAPTER 46
For eighteen days and nights Hanara and the other slaves had been chained to the back of a covered wagon. By day they walked behind the wagon as it made its way towards Arvice. By night they slept wherever it stopped, on ground that was sometimes mud, sometimes dry earth, and sometimes hard cobbles. He was glad it was summer, and the nights were relatively warm, though the exhaustion of walking all day would have helped him sleep even if it had been cold.
They were given water twice a day, and whatever leftovers were roused up from the estates they stayed at. Sometimes this was stale bread, sometimes congealed, cold soupy slops or the burned crusts from the bottom of cook pans.
Three men rode in the wagon: the driver, who also tended to the prisoners, and two free men whom Hanara only glimpsed when they got in or out of it. He sometimes imagined that Takado was in the wagon, too. If he was, he did not leave it at night and never spoke loudly enough for the slaves to hear. Now and then Hanara caught himself wanting to call out and tell Takado something, like that they had reached the outskirts of Arvice. And that they’d reached the high walls of the Imperial Palace.
He’s not in the wagon, Hanara told himself firmly. They’ve taken me far away from him, so he has no loyal source slave to call on if the opportunity came. He could be back at the estate where we were taken prisoner, or already in the palace. Or he’s been clever enough to talk someone into helping him escape.
The wagon abruptly turned into a low opening in the side of the palace wall and entered a small courtyard. Doors boomed shut behind it. Two large muscular slaves stood on either side of the doors, holding spears. The two free men clambered down from the wagon and spoke to the palace slave who emerged to abase himself before them. A headband indicated this slave was of higher status than those who guarded the doors. He rose to snap orders at a doorway, from which three lesser slaves emerged. They came forward and, as the cart driver unfastened the chains from the cart, took hold of a prisoner each. Hanara was pushed and guided into the palace, followed by Asara’s and Dachido’s slaves.
A long journey through dark corridors followed, descending first one level, then two, below ground. The magicians had vanished. The air was moist and heavy with a mixture of odours that grew steadily less pleasant, finally becoming a choking mix of excrement, sweat and mould. The doors they passed now were no longer wooden, but iron grates that allowed a glimpse of men and women of different ages, some dressed in slave garb, some in fine but soiled clothes.
Are they going to lock us up here? Hanara wondered. He’d tried in vain not to consider the future, but too often had caught himself wondering if he was to be executed once he arrived wherever his captors were taking him. Surely if they meant to kill me, they’d have done it already. So they must want something from him first. Or perhaps he would find himself owned by some new master. He’d considered whether he’d try to escape and find Takado if that happened. Perhaps only if he found out where Takado was.
It won’t be like Mandryn, he thought. No chance at freedom to tempt me. My place is with Takado. He smiled as he felt pride and the long-life feeling again.
At last they stopped in a large room and were forced to lie face down on the floor before a
nother, rather fat high-status slave.
“Whose are these?” the man rumbled.
“The ichani rebels’.”
“Which is Takado’s?”
“This one.”
“He’s to be questioned. Take him upstairs. The others are to go to the waiting cells.”
As Hanara was dragged to his feet again he saw Asara’s and
Dachido’s slaves being taken through a doorway. They didn’t look back. He found himself being guided out of the same door he had come through into the corridor they had arrived by.
Then they were climbing, ever upwards. Stairs and corridors followed by more stairs and corridors. At every level the air smelled sweeter and the walls were whiter. Yet this only made the knot of dread in his belly grow larger and tighter. The rattle of his chains sounded louder the quieter the corridors became.
At the top of yet another staircase a well-muscled slave emerged to block their path.
“Who?” the man asked.
“Takado’s slave.”
The man narrowed his eyes at Hanara. “Follow me.”
Though Hanara felt a sense of relief and freedom as the first slave let go of his arm and the new one didn’t take hold of him, he knew it was an illusion. If he tried to run he would be caught and beaten. So he obediently trailed behind this new slave. The corridors here were decorated with carvings and hangings, and in places the walls themselves had been painted with colourful scenes.
They stopped before a carved wooden door. The slave knocked quietly. As the door opened a crack Hanara glimpsed a face and an eye.
“Ichani Takado’s slave,” his new guide murmured.
The door closed and they waited. Hanara examined the wall decorations, trying to slow his breathing and heartbeat. When the door opened again he jumped and all the calm he’d managed to summon evaporated.
Before he got a look at the room beyond, he was inside it.
“So. You are the ichani Takado’s slave,” a voice echoed.
The man who had spoken sat on one of many bench seats arranged around the walls. His cropped coat glittered with gold and jewels, which matched the room’s elaborately decorated furniture. Hanara threw himself on the floor.
The emperor! He must be the emperor! He didn’t dare answer. The man’s words had been pitched as a statement, not a question.
“Get up,” the man said.
Reluctantly, but not so slowly as to anger the emperor, Hanara got to his feet. He kept his eyes on the floor.
“Come here.”
He forced his legs to move, taking him closer but ready to freeze at any moment. The instruction to stop did not come and he found himself standing a mere two or three paces from the seated ruler, not daring to look up, fearing the consequences if his gaze even fell upon the man’s shoes.
“Kneel.”
Hanara dropped to the floor, the rattle of his chains echoing loudly in the room. The impact jolted his spine and bruised his knees, but he quickly forgot the pain as he felt hands press onto either side of his head.
Of course, he thought. This is what they want from me. Information about Takado. Everything that happened. Well, I will show him how clever Takado was. How he wanted to help Sachaka.
Sure enough, Emperor Vochira combed through Hanara’s mind, skilfully drawing out memories of Takado’s tour through Kyralia, Hanara’s stay in Mandryn, Takado’s return and then every stage of the war, from the wooing of allies to the morning when, having seen the Kyralian army entering Sachaka, Takado and his last two friends had put aside plans to disappear in order to warn Sachaka of the impending invasion, and help repel the invaders. See! Hanara could not help thinking. His motives aren’t selfish. He always wanted the best for Sachaka! He felt the long-life feeling returning.
– You little fool, Emperor Vochira said into his mind, shattering the feeling. It has been known for centuries that Sachaka could not risk a battle with Kyralia or Elyne. When we first conquered these lands they contained few magicians. Under our rule and influence they adopted our ways, and gained many more. That is why my predecessor granted them independence so long ago. Since then we have enjoyed a beneficial peace. If Takado had only spoken to me of his plans, I would have told him this.
But Takado had never respected the emperor enough to let the ruler veto his grand plan, Hanara knew. His allies had mostly been ichani at first – outcasts who hated the emperor and anyone with a position of power in Sachaka.
– Why didn’t you tell him? Hanara asked. Why did you never explain this?
– Would he have listened? Would he have believed it?
Hanara could not stop a traitorous “no” forming in his mind.
– It was knowledge that was only revealed, when needed, to those we could trust with it. We did not want Kyralia and Elyne discovering they were stronger than they believed. I doubt I would have trusted Takado with it willingly, even had he consulted me. I doubt he would have obeyed me if I had. He is disloyal and disobedient by nature.
– He was loyal to his friends, Hanara pointed out.
– Friends who are now dead. Emperor Vochira’s anger was palpable. The man you are so loyal to has taken an ally of this country and done so much harm to it we may never be anything but enemies again. He has led half of the magicians in this land to their deaths. He has forced the Kyralians to discover strengths they didn’t know they possessed, handed them a victory they didn’t expect and given them the confidence and reason to seek revenge for the harm he did to them.
– He didn’t mean to! He never meant to lose! At least he had the courage to try! –
The courage of an ignorant, greedy, disloyal fool. Emperor Vochira’s mental voice grew dark with something more frightening than anger – bleak resignation. He has doomed us. And I have doomed us by failing to stop him. The Kyralians will soon arrive at Arvice. They will meet the last of the Sachakan army and they will defeat it. Within days we will be the conquered, and they the conquerors. Only then will we know the true extent of their revenge. All this because of your master. Takado the Betrayer. That is how he will be known. Do you still have the long-life feeling now, Hanara? Betrayer’s slave?
He could not help it. He reached for the feeling and felt it splutter and die. The emptiness that followed was unbearable and drew him deep into despair. It was worse, he realised, than finding out Takado had died. At least then Hanara could have remembered his master with pride. But was Takado dead?
– No, the emperor replied. Though I would like the satisfaction of killing him myself, I must sacrifice that in the hope that handing him over to the Kyralians will save some of what survives of Sachaka.
– When he dies, will you tell me?
The emperor paused and Hanara felt a hint of surprise. And was that jealousy, too?
– I will give orders that you be present when he is handed over. That is all I can offer.
“Thank you,” Hanara whispered. But he did not know if the man heard. The sense of the emperor’s mind lifted and Hanara felt the man’s hands slide from his head.
“Take him away,” Vochira said, his voice hoarse with disgust.
Hanara kept his eyes on the floor as footsteps hurried close behind him. Someone grabbed his arm and drew him away. He did not resist, too caught up in the knowledge that his master had brought about the fall of Sachaka, and the traitorous hope that Takado would escape to retake his homeland from the Kyralians.
The Sachakan estates they passed had reduced in size in the last few days, Jayan noticed. He’d learned to identify the markers that indicated a fence was a boundary as well as containment for stock. However, though the land each estate covered was growing smaller, the buildings were growing rapidly larger.
It’s obvious we’re getting close to Arvice, but everything is deserted, he thought. The quiet is... eerie. He’d felt tense and uneasy since they’d set out that morning.
“I heard a rumour about you last night,” a familiar voice said from behind his shoulder.
&nb
sp; Recognising Narvelan’s tones, Jayan resisted turning around to look at the magician.
“What this time?” Dakon asked.
Narvelan laughed. Jayan winced at the sound. Narvelan’s lightheartedness and joviality seemed out of place, and a painful contrast to the rest of the army. We’re about to fight our final battle with our ancient enemy, and he’s behaving as if we’re taking a nice ride in the sunshine.
“I overheard some magicians speculating whether you arranged for those two magicians to be poisoned,” Narvelan said. “They wondered if you’d heard the pair criticising you for being too scrupulous to kill slaves.”
“I see,” Dakon said calmly. “Did they see the irony in suspecting someone had done something so unscrupulous because he was accused of being too scrupulous?”
Narvelan chuckled. “I didn’t stop to ask. Have you noticed anyone treating you with increased, ah, respect?”
“No.”
Jayan shook his head. But then he remembered how quiet and obedient the servants had been that morning, as he and Dakon had supervised the preparation of the meal. As a precaution they’d kept a few rassook alive to feed samples to, watching to see if any poison affected the birds. They also mixed supplies from different estates together, in the hope that if one had been tampered with it might be diluted enough to not be lethal.
“Ah,” Narvelan said. “They have finally come out to greet us.”
The magician surged past Jayan, galloping towards the king and Sabin. Looking after him, Jayan realised the walls of the estates ahead were no longer a distance from the road, but instead hugged it. The roofs and upper floors of the buildings within were all that were visible and suggested that most of the area inside was filled with dwellings and other structures.
Where these walls started, a road bisected the one they were riding along. Along this stood a line of people. Sunlight glinted on jewelled and decorated clothing. Jayan counted and realised there were more magicians in this line than in the Kyralian army. He felt his heart sink.
The Magician’s Apprentice Page 56
