The Magician's Apprentice

by Trudi Canavan

Jayan bit back a reminder that the title was not appropriate. He should not be called “master” until he was a magician, and then only by his own apprentice. The one time he had tried to explain this Hanara had stared at the ground, saying nothing, and later resumed using the term.

  Hanara turned the mare to the side ready for mounting, then positioned himself at her head. Jayan paused, then took the reins from the man and held them as he swung up onto the horse’s back. Hoofbeats to his right heralded the emergence of Dakon from the stable, leading his favourite gelding, Sleet.

  “A good morning to you, Apprentice Jayan,” Dakon said. “Care for a ride?”

  “Do I have a choice? Can I get down and go back inside to study?” Jayan asked, a touch snappier than he intended.

  Dakon’s mouth twitched into a smile. “That would be a pity, when Hanara spent so much time readying Ember for you.”

  “Wouldn’t it just,” Jayan replied sarcastically. “So where are we heading so early in the morning?”

  “The usual circuit of the village,” Dakon said, placing a foot in Sleet’s stirrup. He swung up and settled into the grey’s saddle, then nudged the horse into motion. Jayan sighed and urged his mount after them.

  As they emerged from the Residence’s gates Jayan saw that a few villagers were already out and about. The baker, of course, was doing his usual early deliveries. A few young boys carried bundles of firewood from a cart to the doors of the houses, leaving them beside the doorstep.

  It did not take Dakon and Jayan long to reach the edge of the village. Crossing the bridge, they headed southward.

  “You don’t trust Hanara, do you?” Dakon asked.

  Jayan shook his head. “No. I don’t think you should, either.”

  “I don’t, but perhaps not as little as you.” He turned to regard Jayan. “I may not expect his loyalty, or trust him with secret information – not that I have any – but I do trust him to hold the head of my horse when I mount. It would be petty and stupid of him to try to spook a horse we were mounting. He knows I would cast him out of the village if I thought it was deliberate.”

  “And if you weren’t sure?” Jayan asked.

  “I’d give him another chance. And probably another. Once is a mistake, twice is bad luck or a coincidence, three times is either deliberate or a bad habit and would at least prove him incapable of the job I’ve given him.”

  “Even if someone was hurt?”

  “That would force me to read his mind.”

  Jayan frowned. “You haven’t already?”

  “No. I’m no Sachakan ashaki.” Dakon lifted one eyebrow. “Do you feel no sympathy for the man?”

  Looking away, Jayan let out a sigh. “A little. Well, I suppose more than a little. But that doesn’t mean I trust him. If Takado turned up I’m sure Hanara would scurry back to his master’s side without hesitation.”

  “Would he? He’s a free man now. Takado said I could do what I wished with his man. Hanara knows that. Would he willingly go back to the life of a slave?”

  “If he has known nothing else. If he feared to do otherwise.”

  “Nobody is forcing him to stay. He could leave and return to Sachaka if he wanted to.” Dakon smiled. “He is trying out a different life now. The longer he has his freedom, the more he may like it. And he will like it even more if he is not treated with distrust by every Kyralian he meets.”

  Jayan nodded reluctantly. “But that will count for nothing if he does not respect you,” he pointed out. “Should Hanara face Takado again, his reaction will depend on who he fears and respects the most, you or Takado.”

  “True.”

  “And he may never respect a man he doesn’t fear, if that’s the only way he knows how to judge. Fear may mean a lot more than trust to him.”

  Dakon frowned and fell into a thoughtful silence. They turned off the road onto a cart track which climbed steadily up and along a ridge overlooking the village. Jayan stared down at the double line of houses extending from the river to the end of the little valley. Dakon’s house was a storey higher and several times larger than the rest of the buildings. Whenever Jayan looked at the village from this viewpoint, he wondered how the villagers managed to live and work in their tiny homes.

  “Your distrust of Hanara is reasonable,” Dakon said. Jayan resisted the urge to sigh with exasperation. Isn’t he finished with this subject yet? he thought impatiently. “But I don’t quite understand the issue you have with Tessia.”

  Jayan’s stomach lurched disconcertingly. “Tessia? I have no issue with her.”

  Dakon laughed quietly. “Oh, it’s clear you do. Your dislike of her is as obvious as your distrust of Hanara. I’m afraid you aren’t good enough at hiding your feelings, Jayan.”

  I ought to turn and meet his eyes, and state that I am happy that Tessia has joined us and look forward to many years of her company, Jayan thought. But not yet. He wasn’t ready. Dakon had surprised him.

  “If I’m so bad at hiding my feelings, then shouldn’t it be obvious what my ‘issue’ is?” he countered. “Maybe you don’t understand because there’s nothing to understand.”

  “Then explain to me why you sigh or scowl at half her questions, and listen to her lessons when you say you want to read, and ignore her unless she speaks to you directly, then give her the shortest and often least helpful response?” Dakon chuckled. “From the look on your face when she’s present, anyone would think she gave you a stomach ache.”

  Jayan glanced at Dakon then looked away again, thinking hard. What possible explanation could he give? He certainly couldn’t tell Dakon that he resented every moment of time Tessia took away from his own training.

  “She’s just so...so ignorant,” he said. “So slow – I know she’s learning fast but it doesn’t feel like it.” He grimaced, sure that his answer wasn’t clever or evasive enough. Make it sound as if you actually want her around for some reason. “It’s going to be a long time before we can have a conversation about magic, or practise together, or play a game, or... something.” Now look at him. He turned to face Dakon, meeting the magician’s eyes and shrugging helplessly.

  Dakon smiled and turned to regard the track ahead of them, which was leading to a fence and a gate.

  “Watching her must remind you of your own beginnings, of the awkward questions and failed attempts at magic, of mistakes and difficulties. You know,” he looked at Jayan again, “I’m sure she’d welcome your help. You’ve put her a bit on edge, but a little assistance now and then would reassure her. Not that you should try to teach her anything new entirely on your own.” Dakon grew serious. “Apprentices are not supposed to be teachers. It’s seen as an abuse of the magician–apprentice exchange of duties.”

  Jayan nodded, hoping it looked like agreement and not a commitment. Their conversation ceased as they navigated the gate. Then, as they continued on their way, Dakon looked at Jayan expectantly.

  “Promise me you’ll be nicer to Tessia.”

  Jayan suppressed the urge to sigh in relief. It could have been worse. Dakon could have asked him to dedicate time to assisting Tessia.

  “I promise,” he said. “I’ll be nicer to her. And try not to ‘put her on edge’, as you say.”

  “Good.” Apparently satisfied, Dakon nudged Sleet into a trot. Watching his master moving away, Jayan surrendered to the sigh. Then he grimaced and urged Ember to follow.

  If I am so easy to read, then I need to work on changing that. Perhaps I should think of Tessia as an opportunity to gain some skill in this area. After all, what’s a minor fault here in Mandryn could be a fatal weakness in Imardin.

  He might as well try to gain some advantage out of the situation. It didn’t look as if Dakon was going to send her to another teacher. Tessia was here to stay, and he would just have to get used to it.

  CHAPTER 9

  Tessia stared at the bowl of water and reached for magic. She felt her power respond, obediently, flowing out to take the form she wanted and going where she directed
it. Bubbles welled up and burst, droplets splashing her. She flinched and rubbed her skin. Too hot.

  Dakon had suggested she practise turning magic into heat by warming her washing water each morning. Using magic for everyday tasks was good practice and kept a magician’s mind sharp, he told her. Nevertheless, she could not help thinking that magicians were a lazy lot every time she saw him or Jayan using magic to open doors, or to fetch something from across a room.

  She knew better now than to warm the water before washing, however. Her most common mistake in any magical task was to employ too much magic, and to begin with there had been a few mornings she’d had to wait for some time before the water cooled enough to use.

  A knock at the door attracted her attention.

  “Come in,” she called.

  The servant, Malia, strode in, and glanced from the steaming bowl to the empty dishes from Tessia’s morning meal stacked on the desk. She moved towards the latter, taking the tray she was nearly always carrying out from under her arm. “Good morning, Tessia.”

  Tessia rose and stretched. “Good morning, Malia.”

  “Practising again?”

  “Yes. Give the bowl a moment to cool down before you take it.”

  “I will.” Malia chuckled ruefully. “Believe me, I won’t be ignoring your warning a second time. What are your plans for today?”

  “Stables first.” Tessia picked up the small bag of bandages and salves her father had left for her to use when tending Hanara.

  “Then lessons.”

  Tessia headed to the door, then paused to look back at Malia. She had expected the servant to ask how Hanara was, but the woman said nothing.

  “Malia, do you know how well Hanara is fitting in? What do the stable servants think of him? What about the villagers?”

  Malia straightened from tidying the bedcovers and looked thoughtful. “Well, people generally find him a bit strange, but that’s expected, right? It would be weird if he behaved like a Kyralian.”

  Tessia smiled. “Yes, it would be. And the stable servants?”

  “They say he works hard enough – more than what he’s supposed to what with the mending he still has to do. They say he’s tough. Almost admiringly.” Malia hesitated. “But he keeps to himself and doesn’t always answer questions.” She shrugged, indicating that was all she had to convey.

  “Thank you.” Tessia smiled and continued on her way. Thinking about what Malia had said, she decided things were going as well as anyone could expect for the former slave. He probably wasn’t used to friendly chatter, and it would take time for him to learn how to befriend people.

  Leaving the house, Tessia crossed to the stables and slipped through the open door. Then she stopped, surprised by the scene before her.

  Two of the stable servants were peeing into a bucket.

  Before she could look away, the young men glanced up. Expressions of horror crossed their faces, and streams of urine veered from their intended paths – one across the trousers of the other – as they hastily covered themselves.

  “Having a good look?” Birren jeered, recovering from his embarrassment enough to try to joke about it.

  “Yeah.” Ullan followed. “Looked to me like she was checking us out. Impressed, were you, Tess? Want a closer look?”

  She suppressed a laugh. The banter was typical of young men their age, and what she’d have expected in this situation – before she’d become an apprentice. She didn’t have the heart to increase their discomfort by reminding them she wasn’t Tessia the healer’s daughter any more. “I was wondering if it’s true that all boys get bigger when they get older. Didn’t look like you’d grown much since that time my father and I treated you two for... what was it again? Warts?”

  They winced.

  “We can make them get bigger,” Birren told her, grinning.

  “You’d be scared.”

  She snorted derisively. “I’ve seen much scarier things helping my father. Where’s Hanara?”

  Ullan began a cheeky reply, but Birren stopped him with a low hiss, then nodded towards the end of the building. Hanara was sitting at a table, cleaning and polishing a saddle. She walked towards him. Harnesses and tools were lying nearby, waiting to be mended or cleaned. He looked up as she approached, and his frown faded a little.

  Though the man’s face was typically Sachakan, broad and brown-skinned, it was quite different from his master’s. It was finer and more angled, youthful but scarred. She was glad of this, because while it was impossible not to think of Takado whenever she thought of Hanara, at least looking at the former slave did not stir unpleasant memories of his master’s face leering at her.

  “I’m here to change your bandages,” she told him.

  He nodded. “You’ve not seen anything scary,” he told her, standing up and taking off his tunic. “Nothing truly scary.”

  Realising he had overheard the youths, she sighed and began removing the bandages around his chest and shoulder. “Probably not, but don’t be too quick to judge. I’ve seen more of the insides of people than most Kyralians have. Some nasty injuries and a few fatal ones that I doubt I’ll ever forget.”

  “The dead are not scary. They cannot do anything to you.”

  “But they smell almost as bad as those two back there.”

  He smiled faintly, then grew serious again. “You should not let them speak to you like that. You are a magician now.”

  “Apprentice,” she corrected. “You’re probably right. But then, I should have knocked or called out, not just walked in on them.”

  “You should not have to knock.”

  She gave him a level look. “This is Kyralia. Even magicians are expected to have good manners.”

  He met her eyes for the briefest moment, then quickly looked down.

  The wounds he’d suffered, even the cut her father had made to reach his broken ribs, had sealed into red, raised scars. She probed where the breaks in his bones had been, asking if he felt pain. He shook his head each time, and didn’t look as if he was trying to hide any reaction.

  “You look completely healed to me,” she told him. “I don’t think you need any more bandages. Be careful not to pick up anything heavy, or strain bones that were broken.” She shook her head. “It’s amazing how fast you heal. I’m not sure you even needed our help.”

  “I would have healed badly – crooked. Your father stopped that happening.” He paused. “Thank you.”

  Tessia smiled, her heart lifting. “I’ll pass your thanks on to my father.”

  “You, too,” he said, pointing to the discarded bandages.

  “You’re . . .” He frowned, and gestured vaguely towards the stable door. “Not like...”

  Was he talking about the stable boys, or had his gesture been meant to encompass more? The village, perhaps. She felt a stab of concern.

  “Are the villagers treating you well?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I am a stranger.”

  “Yes, but that is no excuse for... bad behaviour. Hanara.” She waited until he looked up and met her gaze. “If someone does anything mean to you – anything, ah, un-Kyralian – you tell me. It’s important. Just as you must live like a Kyralian now, by our laws and ideals, they must not start behaving like...like Sachakans. Do you understand? You mustn’t put up with it because you did before.”

  He gazed back at her.

  “You do understand me, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, she gathered the old bandages into a bundle. “I must go. I have lessons to learn.”

  He nodded again and suddenly seemed glum.

  “I’ll come here to talk to you now and then, if you like,” she offered.

  Though his expression did not change, a warmth entered his gaze. As she left the stable, she imagined she could feel his eyes on her back.

  I hope I’m not giving him romantic notions, she thought. I can imagine Mother’s horror. She’ll barely forgive me for not trying to get
Lord Dakon to fall in love with me, but if I end up with a Sachakan former slave writing me poetry she’ll disown me.

  She considered the likelihood of Hanara’s writing poetry for her as she re-entered the house and headed back to her room to drop off the bandages and her bag. He probably couldn’t even write. But if he could, would she welcome it?

  He’s quite attractive, in an exotic way, she decided. Now that the swelling has gone. But... no. I don’t think I know him well enough yet to even decide I like him. There’s too much about him that is secretive. Then she chuckled. I guess those novels in my room have it all wrong. Secretive men with mysterious pasts aren’t irresistibly attractive at all.

  Reaching the stairs, she heard her name called and turned to see Malia hurrying towards her.

  “Your father’s here, Apprentice Tessia,” the servant said. “Says he needs your help this morning – something urgent in the village.” Her brow furrowed. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right there. And could you tell Lord Dakon?”

  “Of course.”

  Hurrying upstairs, Tessia quickly deposited her burden in her room then backed out again. She checked her stride as she nearly collided with Jayan at the top of the stairs. The young man paused and looked at her, the annoyance in his expression changing to the smooth politeness he had adopted around her of late.

  “You look eager for your lessons this morning,” he said.

  “I’ll have to miss them today,” she said, wishing he’d move aside and let her past. “Father’s here and it’s urgent.”

  “Ah, skipping classes again, are we?” He smiled and shook his head with mock disapproval – or was it really mocking? Was that a hint of true disdain she detected in his tone? She felt anger rising.

  “At least I’m doing something useful with what I know,” she snapped, meeting his gaze and silently daring him to object.

  His eyes widened in surprise. Stepping back, he let her pass, and watched her hurry down the stairs. She heard him mutter something, catching the word “idiot”.

  So he thinks I’m an idiot, she mused. Arrogant fool. I bet he doesn’t know more than a handful of the people in the village, let alone care about whether they live or die, are sick or in pain. So long as they do the work of the ley he’s not interested. He’s no better than a Sachakan.