“Tell us something about the Traitors – just one small thing – and we’ll give you something to eat.”
A delicious smell reached Lorkin’s nose. His stomach clenched then growled with hunger. He’d been given water that morning, which he’d sipped cautiously, but still no food since being brought down here. He had resisted using Healing magic to dull the growing hunger, not wanting to use the magic that Tyvara had given him. It couldn’t be replaced, and he might need it.
The smell of the food was strong and set his head spinning. He thought of the lies he’d considered telling them, and felt a strong impulse to speak rising within him. Osen had said he should avoid revealing that his mind could not be read for as long as possible. Leading the interrogator along a false path might delay that.
Don’t be ridiculous, he thought. It might distract him for a short while, but the more I test that man’s patience the sooner he’ll give up on persuading me to speak. Tyvara would expect me to have more willpower than this.
She also intended him to use the magic she’d given him to protect himself. It would never get him out of the prison, or stop an Ashaki torturing or killing him, but it could help him resist these less direct attacks on his determination to keep silent.
Closing his eyes, he drew a little magic and sent it out into his body to dull the gnawing in his stomach and stop his head from spinning.
When he opened his eyes, the interrogator was watching him closely. The man stared at Lorkin thoughtfully, then beckoned to his assistant. The pair of them, with a great display of relish, began to eat.
Chapter 5
Speculation and Secrets
The servant who had answered Sonea’s knock had told her Lord Regin was at a meeting with Black Magician Kallen. She had asked him to inform her when Regin returned, then retreated to her rooms for a much-needed cup of raka.
The wait was excruciating.
This is ridiculous. I chose him to be my assistant. I’ve worked with him before. But since he had agreed to travel with her to Sachaka she had begun to worry that she had chosen too quickly. He had all the right qualifications for the role: he was intelligent, a strong magician, a well-trained Warrior, adept at political manoeuvring, and fiercely loyal to the Guild and Kyralia.
But will we get along?
Everything had been fine between them when he had helped her in the hunt for Lorandra. He’d been remarkably easy to work with. But this time they would be together day and night, week after week, with no respite from each other.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Once we get to the Guild House in Arvice we’ll have two other magicians to talk to as well as the Elyne Ambassador.
In the meantime, they would be stuck with each other’s company. Though she did not distrust Regin as she had at the beginning of the hunt for Lorandra, it was impossible for her to forget the pain and humiliation he had subjected her to as a novice.
That is in the past. He has been nothing but respectful and supportive these last twenty years. He even apologised, during the Ichani Invasion. Am I unable to accept apologies? It is silly of me to carry around this resentment.
A knock at the main door made her jump, even though she was expecting it. She put down her cup and rose, walking to the door as she willed it open with magic. Regin’s servant bowed.
“Lord Regin is home, and awaits your visit.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Stepping past him, she closed the door and headed down the corridor to Regin’s rooms. As she reached his door she paused to take a deep breath before knocking. The door opened. Regin inclined his head.
“Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you, Lord Regin,” she replied.
She moved inside. The room was sparsely furnished, and most of the contents looked new. She saw nothing that appeared long-treasured or personal. Regin gestured to a chair.
“Would you like to sit down?”
Sonea regarded the chair and shook her head. “I better not take up too much of your time, considering what I have to tell you.” She met his gaze. He was watching her with an intense stillness. An expectation. Suddenly the lack of personal belongings made sense: he’d known he might be leaving soon so why bring them here? “We’ll be leaving tomorrow night,” she told him.
He let out a small breath, looked away and nodded. She caught a fleeting expression and felt a pang of guilt. I haven’t seen him show apprehension since the Invasion.
“If that is too soon, or you feel that your obligations are here, it is not too late to change your mind,” she told him, keeping her tone formal to avoid sounding like she was questioning his determination or any suggestion she might consider changing his mind cowardly.
He shook his head. “It is not too soon. In fact, the timing is perfect. I have no other obligations than to do my job, which is to be useful to the Guild and Kyralia. It’s rather nice to actually be useful for once. This is the sort of task we Warriors are trained for, and yet most of the time we strive not to be needed.”
Sonea looked away and felt a pang of sympathy at the slight hint of bitterness in his voice. No other obligations. He really has cast off all familial ties. The ruthlessness of his revenge on his wife for her numerous adulterous affairs had entertained the Guild gossips for weeks. He’d given his two properties to his daughters, both married to respectable and wealthy men, and requested rooms in the Guild. This had left his wife homeless and with no money, forcing her to live with her family.
Rumour was that she had attempted to kill herself after Regin had sent her last lover away. Her lover, on the other hand, had simply found another wealthy woman to seduce. Despite this and the shame of being returned to her family like faulty goods, Wynina had made no further suicide attempts. Sonea didn’t know whether to feel sorry for her or not. Sometimes she wondered if being married to Regin had driven the woman to such extremes.
Perhaps he is well-behaved in public, but goes back to being the nasty brat he was as a novice in private.
Perhaps she would find out, on this journey. Not that their time together would qualify as “private”. The purpose was too important, and would still be so even if Lorkin wasn’t a prisoner.
“I can now tell you the reason for the journey,” she said. Regin’s head lifted and his gaze snapped to hers. “Tomorrow everyone will be told. Lorkin returned to Arvice. Before he could leave for Kyralia, King Amakira summoned him and, when Lorkin would not answer questions about the Traitors, he imprisoned him.”
Regin’s eyes widened. “Oh, I am sorry to hear that, Sonea.” He grimaced in sympathy. “They’re sending you to negotiate his release, then? You must be impatient to leave.” He took a small step toward her. “I will do everything I can to help.”
His expression was so earnest that the familiar anxiety that came every time she thought of Lorkin began to return. She looked down and pushed the feeling away.
“Thank you. I know you will.”
“If we are leaving tomorrow... we have barely begun the process of adding to your strength. Do you want me to give you power now?”
Something within her clenched, and she felt her face warming. She glanced at him and away.
“No,” she replied quickly. “Tomorrow there’ll be a Meet, and Osen is going to ask for volunteers. Wait until then.”
“What is Osen going to tell everyone?”
“Only what I’ve told you.”
“Only?” Regin let out a soft sigh. “Be careful, Sonea.”
She looked up at him, then realised her mistake. She had given away to him that there was more to the journey than Lorkin’s imprisonment. That tiny piece of information might endanger both of their lives, should a Sachakan magician read it from his mind.
Too late now. I must be more careful in future.
But the frightening truth was, if Regin wound up in the hands of a Sachakan magician who wasn’t prevented by politics and diplomacy from reading his mind, there was a good chance
Sonea would be too. Though Naki’s ring would prevent her own mind from being read, she did not know how long she would hold out against someone determined to torture information out of her.
Especially if they used Lorkin to persuade her.
* * *
Though nothing had happened he hadn’t expected, Dannyl still felt anger and humiliation simmering inside. He hoped that it hadn’t shown. He’d endeavoured to remain calm and polite throughout his short visit to the palace, but he could never tell if he was successful or if his true feelings were somehow obvious – or that his feigned calm was taken as an indicator he’d been successfully ticked off.
Ironically, the decision he’d made to call off the search for Lorkin, which had cost him respect among the Sachakan elite, was making it harder to protect the young magician now. There had been more than a few smirks on the faces of those who’d witnessed the denial of his request to see Lorkin.
If I’d let the search continue, the chances are I and the Ashaki who’d helped me would have been killed by the Traitors. Lorkin would have had no help at all when he returned to the Guild House.
But that wasn’t entirely true. The Guild would have sent a replacement Ambassador. One whose reputation hadn’t been besmirched by cowardice. Which might have been better for Lorkin’s predicament.
No. If the Traitors had been forced to kill a Guild magician, Lorkin may not have returned to the Guild House at all. He may not have even been allowed into Sanctuary for fear that he’d seek revenge for my death.
Though... the idea of anybody seeking revenge for his death felt unlikely and ridiculous to Dannyl.
A faint rhythm of bare heels on the floor came from the direction of the Guild House entrance. Dannyl stopped pacing the Master’s Room and turned to face the sound. The door slave, Tav, emerged from the passage and threw himself on the floor with his usual overly dramatic flair – a habit that Tayend had noted about the man a few weeks before.
“The Elyne Ambassador has returned,” Tav gasped.
Dannyl nodded and waved to indicate the slave could get up and go and do whatever door slaves did when not announcing arrivals.
The sound of a door closing reached him, then footsteps. Tayend smiled briefly as he emerged from the passage, then shook his head.
“No luck,” he said.
Dannyl let out the breath he’d been holding. “Well, thanks for trying.”
Tayend sighed. “It’s early days,” he said. “If we are persistent, perhaps he’ll relent. I pointed out that you can hardly persuade Lorkin to speak if you never get to talk to him.”
Dannyl frowned. “Is that wise? Hinting that we might consider it could be dangerous.”
“Not if I say it. And I was only pointing out the fault in his logic.”
“I’m sure he’ll be so pleased you pointed out his weak logic in front of everyone.”
“Oh, there was nobody else there to hear – and he seemed to enjoy it.”
Dannyl felt his heart sink even further. “You gained a private audience with him?”
“Now, now. Don’t be jealous.” The Elyne smirked, then waved a hand. “Let’s have some wine and something to eat, eh?” He turned, beckoned to a slave, and began to give the man specific instructions.
Moving over to the stools, Dannyl sat down. Tayend might not have been able to see Lorkin, but the king had made the effort to see him personally. Maybe it’s because Tayend is an Ambassador who speaks for his king and country, while I am mainly a mouthpiece for the Guild.
He doubted that made a lot of difference. When it came down to it, King Amakira was annoyed with Kyralia and the Guild, not Elyne. It made sense he’d treat Tayend with the same respect as he always had.
“Ah. Wine,” Tayend said as a slave hurried in with a bottle and goblets. He sat down next to Dannyl and waited until the slave had served them and left before leaning closer to him.
“Merria told me this morning, after you left, that she has discussed the situation with her female friends. They are going to stir up objections to this dangerous treatment of a foreign magician,” he murmured.
Dannyl felt his mood lighten a little. “And... the other contacts?”
“Will pass on our message. They aren’t unaware of Lorkin’s predicament, apparently, but they didn’t say whether they could do anything about it.”
“I hate to think what they would do, if they could.” Dannyl shuddered and sipped at the wine. “They might kill Lorkin to ensure he won’t talk.”
“They won’t,” Tayend assured him. “They must have known there was a chance this would happen. They would not have sent him here if it would be disastrous for them.”
“Perhaps because they had people in place to kill him if it did happen. He might be dead already.”
Tayend shook his head. “The king assured me Lorkin is being well cared for.”
“He could be lying.”
“Yes, he could.” Tayend sighed. “We can only hope he isn’t.” The Elyne’s brows creased. “I keep thinking about one possibility, though I can’t see any advantage in it for the Traitors, so I suspect I’m seeing conspiracies where there are none.”
“What is that?”
“That the Traitors knew Lorkin would be imprisoned by the king. That they meant for it to happen.”
“Why would they do that?”
Tayend looked at Dannyl and shook his head. “That’s what I can’t work out. Except... maybe they want the peace between Kyralia and Sachaka strained. Maybe they want to ensure our countries don’t make any promises to help Sachaka defend itself against them.”
Dannyl felt a shiver run down his spine. “You think they might be planning something bigger and more direct than spying and assassination?”
“It must always be considered.” Tayend smiled grimly. “What doesn’t make sense is: if they are, it could have the opposite effect. They’re gambling that we don’t agree to something like that in order to free Lorkin.” He took a sip of the wine, his expression serious. “If it came to civil war, who do you think would win?”
“I have no idea.” Dannyl shook his head. “We don’t know enough about the Traitors.”
“Then I hope Lorkin does know more than he claims, because if the Allied Lands do get dragged into a war we could easily end up picking the losing side – or find we can only win by doing the majority of the fighting, and suffering the greater casualties.”
A knot of cold had formed in Dannyl’s stomach. Lorkin will have told Osen all he knows about the Traitors, so if Lorkin knows they’re planning a civil war then Osen does too. As Dannyl considered all Osen’s instructions so far the knot tightened. When slaves began to file into the room carrying platters of food he felt too sick to eat, but he made himself select from the plates, put food in his mouth and chew. Why? Because slaves made it. People who have no choice about their life put effort into this, and it seems thoughtless and wasteful to let that go to waste. Then he felt the knot loosen a little. The Traitors don’t approve of slavery. Civil war might bring freedom.
But it would come at a cost. It always did.
* * *
As Gol walked back into the room, Cery breathed a silent sigh of relief. His friend’s movements were careful and he grimaced with pain as he sat down, but otherwise he was looking much better than he had two days ago.
“It’s going to get nasty in there soon,” Gol muttered.
“I know,” Cery agreed. “But it’ll have to do for now.”
They’d chosen another room to relieve themselves in. The roof and walls looked stable enough, and Cery had brought in a pile of dirt with which to cover their leavings, but it was only going to be a temporary solution.
Asking Anyi to stay and watch over Gol for a while, Cery had explored the small network of rooms and passages nearby. It had been a long time since they’d been occupied. He knew that the late High Lord Akkarin had used them to store things, but the only items there now that were old enough to be from that time weren’t valuab
le: mostly empty boxes like the ones they were using as furniture. He’d found lamps of a style that would have suited the oldest houses in Imardin, if they hadn’t been distorted with rust, and broken shards of pottery from vessels that would have been worth a fortune for their age and rarity if they’d been whole.
The walls of these rooms were a combination of brick and stone. There were patches of brick filling in gaps between the stone, and brick walls dividing up larger stone-walled rooms, suggesting that perhaps the rooms had been originally all stone, and the brickwork had been added to repair and adapt the spaces.
In one room someone had scratched words on the wall. “Tagin must die”, he’d made out easily, as the letters were large and deep. “Indria must be won”, was smaller. A broken patch began with: “Higher magic is the ca... and must b...” In another, larger room with a collapsed ceiling at one end, a list of names had been carefully carved into a stone slab leaning out from a wall. He didn’t recognise any of the names, but they were preceded by the titles “Lord” and “Magician”. Odd that they used both. He thought he could make out a date at the base, but he could not get the candlelight to reach that far and there was no way he was going to stretch under a large and heavy slab that looked as if it might fall at any moment.
Returning to their refuge, Cery had let a restless, pacing Anyi continue her explorations of the passages. He remained with Gol, and they talked about what Cery had found and of the past until Gol grew sleepy. Sitting in silence didn’t bother Cery as much as he’d thought it would, so long as he didn’t let his mind fix on unpleasant memories. It was restful and quiet, and for once he wasn’t worried about assassins creeping up on them.
Well, not completely unworried, he amended.
As if challenging his shaky belief in their safety, soft footsteps came from the passage outside. He rose to his feet, and felt a rush of relief when Anyi appeared in the doorway.
She was grinning widely, and stooped to pick up their nearly-empty water bucket.
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