The Ambassador's Mission tst-1

by Trudi Canavan

  For the first time in weeks Cery felt a tingle of excitement and anticipation ruffle the surface of the gloom and suffocating pain that had settled on him. Even if the trap didn’t lead to him avenging his family’s deaths, planning and setting it up would keep him from brooding over them. He needed to act, not sit around feeling sorry for himself, frustrated at the lack of clues to their killer.

  The steep, winding mountain road leading toward the Pass reminded Dannyl of those that he and Tayend had travelled to the city of Armje so many years before. Which was not surprising, since the peaks here belonged to the same range dividing Sachaka from the Allied Lands. Here, too, the forest that edged the mountains thinned and gave way to stunted plants and rocky slopes.

  The carriage travelled slowly as the horses hauled it steadily uphill. Lorkin had a now familiar look of boredom in his eyes, staring out of the window with a gloomy, resigned expression. They were both beyond conversation already, though it was not yet midday, and the silence only made the crawling pace more unbearable.

  Then, without warning, the carriage abruptly turned and gained speed as the road levelled out. They began moving between two smooth walls of rock. Lorkin straightened, unlatched the window beside him and peered out.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  Dannyl felt excitement prickle his skin. He smiled with relief, and Lorkin grinned in reply. They sat in tense expectation, all attention on the movement of the carriage, the passing walls, and the sound of the hoof beats, until the driver called out and the vehicle slowed to a stop.

  A face appeared at the window beside Lorkin. A man in red robes looked from Lorkin to Dannyl and nodded politely.

  “Welcome to the Fort, Ambassador Dannyl and Lord Lorkin. I am Watcher Orton. Will you be staying for the night or continuing into Sachaka?”

  “Unfortunately we cannot linger, as Administrator Osen is anxious to see us settled in Sachaka as quickly as possible,” Dannyl said.

  The man smiled sympathetically. “Then I invite you to stretch your legs and look around as we change your horses for fresh ones.”

  “We will gladly accept.”

  Lorkin unlatched the door and then followed as Dannyl stepped out of the carriage. As soon as the young man set foot on the ground, he looked up and gave a little gasp.

  “Ah, yes. It is an impressive structure,” Orton said, following Lorkin’s gaze.

  Dannyl looked up and felt a shiver run up his spine. The face of the Fort towered over him, stretching from one side of the narrow ravine to the other. It was smooth and unblemished except where the shadows of huge cracks, filled in with more stone, showed where repairs had been made.

  “Was that damage from the Ichani Invasion?” Lorkin asked.

  “Yes, though it was worse inside,” Orton replied. He started forward, leading them into a cavernous opening. It took a few moments for Dannyl’s eyes to adjust, then he was able to make out tunnel walls stretching before them, lit by lamps. Slight variations in colour showed where sections had been filled with new stone. In some places there were gaps that went up several floors.

  “Did we replace the traps that were originally here?” Dannyl asked.

  “Some.” Orton shrugged. “Most were simple barriers, designed to delay and use up an attacker’s strength. We have installed more complex systems of defence to replace them. Tricks that might catch an invader if their guard was lowered. Illusions that will waste his power. But nothing that could hold off a group of powerful Sachakan black magicians for long, which is why we have spent as much time and energy creating means of escaping the Fort as well. Too many died in the Invasion who need not have, for lack of escape routes. Ah – here we have a memorial to those who gave up their lives bravely defending the Pass.”

  Between two lamps a list of names had been carved into the wall. Dannyl felt a mix of disquiet and amusement as he caught a familiar name. From what I recall, Fergun was dragged out of some hiding place by the Sachakans. Hardly what I’d call bravely defending the Pass. But the rest... they died not understanding what they faced, because the Guild did not believe Akkarin’s warning. It could not comprehend the threat he described, having forgotten what black magic could make a magician capable of.

  They stood in silence for a while, then the sound of hooves and the creak of wheels and springs echoed in the tunnel. Turning, Dannyl saw that the driver was leading a new set of horses, harnessed to the carriage, toward them.

  “You must see the Fort from the Sachakan side,” Orton told him, continuing down the tunnel.

  Dannyl and Lorkin followed. The sound of the carriage was loud in the confined space, so none of them spoke until they had emerged from the tunnel. Once again, high ravine walls rose on either side. They curved away in front of the Fort, giving no view of Sachaka. As Orton turned around and looked up, Lorkin and Dannyl followed suit. Another smooth wall stretched between the ravine walls, broken by many small windows. Two huge slabs of stone that had clearly once been a single square lay against the ravine wall to one side.

  “That was once a door of sorts,” Orton told them. “It was dropped down to block the tunnel.” He shrugged. “I do wonder why the magicians who built the Fort, who were black magicians themselves, thought such things would slow down an invader.”

  “Every little bit of power used by the enemy might be a life saved,” Lorkin said.

  Orton looked at the young man and nodded. “Perhaps.” The carriage emerged from the tunnel and the driver pulled the horses to a stop beside them. Orton turned to Dannyl. “Fresh horses, plus feed and water for the three days it will take you to cross the wasteland, are on board. There are also supplies for yourself in the cabin, and I asked the cook to throw together something nicer for your next meal. Nothing fancy, but it might be the last Kyralian meal you have for a while.”

  “Thank you, Watcher Orton.”

  The man smiled. “My pleasure, Ambassador Dannyl.” He looked at Lorkin. “I hope you and Lord Lorkin have a safe journey, and that you will stop for a while on your return to Kyralia.”

  Dannyl nodded. “We’ll do our best to keep any invaders from testing out those new defences.”

  Orton chuckled and turned to the carriage. “I know you will.”

  The carriage door swung open, no doubt by Orton’s magic. Dannyl climbed aboard and sat down, bracing himself against the sway of the vehicle as Lorkin eagerly followed him. They waved goodbye and called out thanks as the carriage rolled away and Orton moved out of sight.

  Dannyl looked at Lorkin, who grinned back.

  “I suspect Watcher Orton doesn’t get many visitors,” Lorkin said quietly.

  “No. You look a lot more cheerful than you were this morning,” Dannyl remarked.

  Lorkin’s grin widened. “We’re in Sachaka now.”

  A shiver ran down Dannyl’s spine. He’s right. The moment we stepped out of the tunnel we were no longer in our own land. We’re in exotic Sachaka, the heart of the former Empire that once included Kyralia and Elyne. The land of black magicians. All so much more powerful than me...

  This must be what it felt like to be a trader or diplomat who dealt with magicians in the Allied Lands, always aware how helpless they’d be in the face of magic, but relying on diplomacy and the threat of retaliation from their homeland to keep them safe from harm. Dannyl thought of the blood ring Administrator Osen had given him, made by Black Magician Kallen out of Osen’s blood so that Dannyl could contact him. For monthly reports, otherwise only to be used in emergencies. As if he could stop a black magician killing me from all the way—

  Suddenly the wall of rock beside him was gone, and in its place was a great, pale expanse. Lorkin made a wordless exclamation, changed to the seat opposite Dannyl and moved close to the window to look out.

  “So that’s the wasteland,” he breathed.

  A treeless slope fell steeply from the edge of the road down to rocky, eroded hills below. Lapping around them like a frozen sea was a desert, dunes rippling across the
land. The air was dry, Dannyl noticed suddenly, and tasted of dust.

  “I guess it is,” he replied.

  “It’s... bigger than I thought,” Lorkin said.

  “We are taught that it was meant to be a barrier,” Dannyl said. “But the older records only comment that it might act as one. That suggests the wasteland wasn’t entirely deliberate. At least, not what the Guild had planned.”

  “So nobody knows for sure why it was created, let alone how?”

  “There are some records that state that those who made it intended to weaken Sachaka by ruining its most productive land. I’ve found letters in which magicians support the idea, and others who thought it an appalling idea. But the letters have the tone of people reacting to rumour and gossip, not an official decision.”

  Lorkin grimaced. “It wouldn’t be the first time in history someone acted independently of the Guild.”

  “No.” Dannyl wondered if Lorkin was referring to his parents. His tone had been wry.

  They sat and stared at the wasteland for several minutes without speaking. Then Lorkin shook his head and sighed.

  “The land has never recovered. Not after seven hundred years. Has anyone tried to restore it?”

  Dannyl shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing nobody knows how it was done. If we ever face a proper war – rather than a bunch of outcasts – we’d be in some serious trouble.”

  Looking out over the ruined land, Dannyl had to agree. “From all accounts, the Sachakans were furious at the devastation. If they’d known how to strike back, they would have. I don’t think they know any more than we do.”

  Lorkin nodded. “It’s probably better that way.” He frowned and looked at Dannyl. “But if we do find anything...”

  “We will have to keep it a secret. At least until we can pass on the information to the High Lord Balkan. It would be even more dangerous than the knowledge of black magic.”

  Chapter 9

  Seeking Truths

  Like many low-born novices from the poorer parts of the city, Norrin was of small stature. But he looked even smaller walking between the two Warriors escorting him into the Guildhall. Sonea felt her heart twist in sympathy as he glanced up at the rows of magicians staring down at him on either side, turned white, then set his gaze on the floor.

  It is cruel to drag him before the entire Guild, she thought. A Hearing before the Higher Magicians would have been intimidating and humiliating enough. But someone wanted to make an example of him.

  By Guild rules, any novice who failed to attend the University or reside in the Grounds without permission to live elsewhere was considered a potential rogue, and must be brought before the assembled Guild to explain themselves, even if only the Higher Magicians were to judge their actions and decide on a punishment.

  If he hadn’t been found right before a Meet day, he might have been spared this. But it is much easier to tack a Hearing onto the end of a Meet than arrange a separate one. I suspect if Osen had been faced with getting the whole Guild together just for this Hearing, he’d have bent the rules and kept it to the Higher Magicians.

  The escorts stopped at the front, Norrin halting beside them and bowing to the Higher Magicians. Administrator Osen glanced back at the Higher Magicians – at Sonea. For a second their gazes locked, then he looked away.

  Others had noted his glance, and she found herself the subject of speculative looks from High Lord Balkan, Lady Vinara and Director Jerrik. She resisted the urge to shrug to indicate she had no idea why Osen had chosen that moment to look at her, instead ignoring them and keeping her attention on the novice.

  The Administrator approached Norrin, whose shoulders hunched, but he didn’t look up.

  “Novice Norrin,” Osen said. “You have been absent from the Guild Grounds and University for two months. You have ignored requests that you return, forcing us to take you into custody. You know the law restricting a novice’s movements and where he or she may reside. Why have you broken it?”

  Norrin’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath and let it out again. He straightened and looked up at the Administrator.

  “I don’t want to be a magician,” he said. “I’d want to, if I didn’t want to look after my family more.” He stopped and looked down again. Sonea could not see Osen’s face, but his posture was all patient expectation.

  “Your family?” he prompted.

  Norrin looked around, then flushed. “My little brothers and sisters. Mother can’t look after them. She’s sick.”

  “And nobody else can take on this responsibility?” Osen asked.

  “No. My sister – next oldest after me – died last year. The rest are too young. I didn’t use magic once,” he added quickly. “I know I’m not supposed to if I’m not gonna be a magician.”

  “If you do not wish to be a magician – if you wish to leave the Guild – you must have your powers blocked,” Osen told him.

  The novice blinked, then looked up at the Administrator with such hope that Sonea felt a pain in her chest. “You can do that?” Norrin said in a barely audible voice. “Then I can go look after my family and nobody will mind?” He frowned. “It doesn’t cost a lot, does it?”

  Osen said nothing, then shook his head. “It costs nothing, except in lost opportunities for yourself. Can’t you wait a few more years? Wouldn’t it be better for your family if you were a magician?”

  Norrin’s face darkened. “No. I can’t see them. I can’t get money to them. I can’t make Mother’s... sickness go away. And the others’re too young to look after themselves.”

  Osen then turned to the Higher Magicians. “I suggest we discuss this.”

  Sonea nodded her agreement along with the others. The Administrator indicated that the escort should take the boy out of the hall. As soon as the doors closed, Lady Vinara sighed loudly and turned to face them.

  “The boy’s mother is a whore. She is not sick, she is addicted to roet.”

  “It is true,” University Director Jerrik said. “But he has not picked up the habits of his mother. He is a sensible young man, studious and well mannered, with strong powers. It would be a pity to lose him.”

  “He is too young to know what he is giving up,” Lord Garrel added. “He will regret sacrificing magic for the sake of his family.”

  “But he would regret it more if he sacrificed his family for magic,” Sonea could not help adding.

  Faces turned toward her. She had not made a habit of participating in the debates of the Higher Magicians these last twenty years. At first, because she felt too young and inexperienced in Guild politics to contribute, later because it had become clear to her that her position among them had been bestowed not out of respect but out of a begrudging acknowledgement of her powers and assistance in defending the country.

  Yet whenever I speak I seem to attract a lot more attention than is warranted.

  “You have much in common with Norrin, Black Magician Sonea,” Osen began. “In having not wanted to join the Guild – though not due to family circumstances, of course,” he added. “What would you suggest we do to persuade him to stay?”

  Sonea resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “He wants to visit and help his family. Grant him that and I’m sure he’d be delighted to remain with us.”

  The Higher Magicians exchanged glances. She looked at Rothen. He grimaced, communicating in that one look how unlikely it was the Higher Magicians would agree to that.

  “But that would result in Guild money going to a whore, and no doubt feed her addiction,” Garrel pointed out.

  “Plenty more Guild money goes toward hiring the services of whores each night than would be required to keep Norrin’s family fed and accommodated for the year,” Sonea replied, then winced at the tartness in her voice.

  The magicians paused again. And this, too, always seems to happen when I dare to speak, she mused. Lady Vinara had covered her mouth with a hand, she noticed.

  “It will ha
ve to be up to Norrin to ensure that the money he gives his mother does not go toward roet,” Sonea told them in what she hoped was a more conciliatory tone. “It is clearly not his aim to kill his mother.” Then she had a flash of inspiration. “If he agrees to stay, send him to the hospices to work – as punishment if you must. I will arrange for his family to visit. That way he can see them and be seen to be disciplined for breaking the law.”

  There were nods all around.

  “An excellent solution,” Lord Osen said. “Perhaps you can persuade his mother to give up the drug at the same time.” He looked at her expectantly. She said nothing, just met his gaze levelly. I’m not stupid enough to make any promises, when it comes to roet.

  Osen looked away, turning to the others. “Does anyone object, or have another suggestion?”

  The Higher Magicians shook their heads. Osen called in the escorts and Norrin. When Sonea’s suggestion was offered to him, he gazed up at her with open gratitude. That’s a little too much like adoration, she thought. I had better make sure I keep him working hard, so he doesn’t start idolising me – or, more importantly, thinking that breaking rules leads to him getting his way.

  As Osen announced the Hearing and Meet concluded, and Sonea rose and started descending the stairs, Lady Vinara stepped out to block her path.

  “It is good to see you speaking your mind at last,” the elderly Healer said. “You should do so more often.”

  Sonea blinked in surprise, and found she could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t sound trite. Vinara’s smile changed to a more serious look. She glanced down at where Norrin had been standing.

  “This case clearly demonstrates the need to make a prompt decision on whether to change or abolish the rule against associating with criminals and characters of low repute.” She lowered her voice. “I am in favour of a clarification. The rule is too easily interpreted in a way that would restrict the work of my Healers.”