The Magician's Apprentice

by Trudi Canavan

  “So do I. But the decision is made and I must stick to it. I will not make you join the attacks, but I can’t be seen to accept your refusal too easily. Fortunately, all who have noticed it have said that it is not in your nature, and remaining weaker is penalty enough. They are more worried about you than angry.”

  There was genuine concern in the king’s voice. Dakon nodded again. “I understand.”

  “I hope you truly do,” the king said. He looked over his shoulder. “Now, we had best get this army moving. Speed, as Sabin pointed out, is of utmost importance now.”

  Giving Dakon one last piercing look, he turned his horse away and rejoined Sabin. Dakon was not sure whether to be relieved or worried by what the king had said. As he rode back to join Tessia, Jayan and Mikken, he considered the king’s words.

  “. . . remaining weaker is penalty enough.”

  How long would his friends and allies continue to think so, as the army delved deeper into Sachaka and closer to the battle that would decide both countries’ futures?

  The sun was high in the sky when Narvelan and his latest round of helpers returned along yet another side road. Jayan watched as Narvelan spoke briefly to the king, then turned and rode towards him. A mixture of feelings stirred deep inside him, and dismay joined them as he realised fear was among them. Disgust, resentment, betrayal and fear.

  You were Dakon’s friend, he thought. Always talking about caring for the people of your ley and country. Always defending the common man and woman and complaining about magicians who used their power and influence to abuse those weaker than them.

  Then he realised that Narvelan was looking at Dakon. The magician reined in a few strides away.

  “Hello, old friend,” he said, grinning wearily, his eyes strangely bright. “We found a big storeroom full of food back there. Don’t know why, since the place is half empty and run down, and hardly any slaves were about. I’d take two carts.”

  Dakon forced a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

  Narvelan shrugged, then turned his horse’s head and set off after the king.

  “Well then.” Dakon turned to look at Jayan and grimaced.

  “We had better work quickly, or the army will leave without us.”

  Jayan smiled. “They won’t, unless they’ve taken a sudden dislike to eating.”

  Riding back along the line, they collected the magicians and servants who had agreed to help them, and two carts that the servants had readied. Then they set off down the side road toward the distant white walls, leaving Tessia and Mikken behind.

  The magicians remained quiet as they rode. It could have been from fear of attack, though Narvelan should have dealt with any potential aggressors already. More likely it was out of the grim knowledge of what they would see.

  But there were fewer corpses than Jayan expected. Narvelan had not been exaggerating when he’d said the place was half empty and run down. Many of the rooms within the house were bare. Others held old battered furniture. In one room a broken wooden chest stood open. He stepped inside and examined the contents. It was full of bundles of richly embellished fabric. A spicy fragrance wafted up from them.

  “These look like women’s clothing,” he said aloud, feeling the fabric. “I’ve never seen the men wearing anything this fine.”

  Dakon met Jayan’s eyes and frowned. “I’ve seen only corpses of slaves.”

  A chill ran down Jayan’s spine. “Let’s find this storeroom and get out.”

  Not long after, one of the magicians appeared and told them he’d found the store. Dakon left with the man to move the carts up to the building, while Jayan gathered together the rest of the helpers.

  The store was a separate, squat building at the back of the estate. Inside it was lined with shelving. Huge pottery jars labelled with different types of grains stood in a cluster at the centre of the room.

  “They’re too heavy to put on the carts,” Dakon said. He moved to the shelving and began investigating the contents. Vegetables, dried meats, jars of preserves and oils, and sacks of dried beans lined the shelves. “Take these – and these. Not those...”

  The magicians and servants worked quickly. They could have used magic to move the food, but all were reluctant to waste even the slightest bit of power. Soon the first cart was full, and it was moved aside so the second could be rolled closer to the doorway.

  “If only we had smaller containers or bags to put this grain in,” Dakon murmured, opening the lid of another jar. He paused, then quickly replaced the lid and looked up and around, his eyes snapping to Jayan’s. Then he shrugged and started helping to carry food out to the cart.

  At last the cart was loaded, and Dakon ushered everyone out of the storeroom. The cart began to move away, but as it rolled over a discarded sack it tilted and food tumbled out onto the ground. While the magicians began to repack the cart, Jayan slipped back inside the store.

  Moving close to the jar Dakon had opened, he caught a whiff of the same spicy scent the fabric had smelled of. He grasped the knob of clay at the centre of the lid and lifted.

  And looked down at several terrified faces.

  The pot had no base. It opened onto an underground cavity of some sort – a clever hiding place for these women so long as nobody thought to look inside the pot. Jayan felt a wry admiration for whoever had created the hiding place, then it occurred to him that it must have been made for some other danger than Kyralian invaders.

  What do they have to fear other than us?

  One of the women whimpered. Fascination changed to concern. He had no intention of revealing these women to the other magicians. He placed a finger to his lips, smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, then closed the lid again. When he looked up, he found Dakon standing just within the doorway, frowning in doubt and fear.

  He worries because he has already seen one friend turn bad, and can’t help fearing it will happen again.

  Jayan walked to the door and patted Dakon on the shoulder.

  “You’re right. Much too heavy to take with us,” he said, and moved outside to join the others.

  CHAPTER 45

  So this is the sort of house owned by a man who plans to murder his wife, Stara thought as she and Kachiro were led down a corridor to the master’s room of Vikaro’s home. Looking around, she felt a strange disappointment. She had expected to see something out of the ordinary, even if only subtly, that might hint at the dangerous nature of the owner.

  Nothing strange caught her attention. The house had the usual white-rendered walls. The furniture was obviously designed by Motara and the other furnishings were typically Sachakan. Nothing unusual.

  Maybe the lack of anything unusual is the clue, she thought. Then she shook her head. Thinking like that, I could go a little crazy. Better to accept that a murderer can’t be detected from his possessions. Well, unless he has a collection of poisons somewhere...

  As Vikaro’s slave led them into the master’s room they were greeted by the host and Kachiro’s other friends.

  “Have you heard?” Vikaro asked, his eyes bright. “The Kyralian army has entered Sachaka!”

  “They think that, having beaten Takado, they can beat the rest of us,” Motara said, smiling. “Victory has gone to their heads.”

  Stara looked at Kachiro. He was frowning. “How far have they got?”

  “Nobody knows exactly,” Vikaro said. “But the news must have taken a few days to get here. They might be halfway to Arvice. They might be taking their time. Or they might even have been dealt with already.”

  “Has anyone heard if the emperor has gathered another army to meet them?” Motara asked.

  The others shook their heads. Stara noticed Chavori wince and remembered how he’d said he had refused to join the army.

  Kachiro looked thoughtful. “So . . . once they’re defeated there’ll be nobody left in Kyralia to stop Sachaka taking over.”

  Vikaro’s eyebrows rose. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  The mag
icians fell silent as they considered this, so Stara took advantage of the pause.

  “Has there been any news of the Sachakans who went into Kyralia?” she asked.

  “All killed,” Rikacha said, waving a hand dismissively. “Fools for going in the first place.”

  Stara felt something inside her recoil, as if a fist had just struck her in the chest. Ikaro. Surely he can’t be dead. We only just came to know and like each other.

  “I heard some survived,” Chavori told her, his expression both hopeful and sympathetic.

  She managed to smile at him briefly in gratitude. Kachiro patted her arm gently. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he murmured. “Why don’t you see if the women know any more? They have their own sources of information.”

  “Gossip?” Vikaro rolled his eyes. “As reliable as rumour.” He smiled at Stara. “Aranira’s slave will take you to them.”

  He gestured to one side, and she saw that a female slave had prostrated herself a few paces away. As she took a step towards the woman, the slave leapt up, beckoned and headed towards a nearby doorway. Stara found Vora waiting in the corridor. The old woman’s lips had thinned, and there was worry in her eyes.

  She’s even more anxious for news of Ikaro than I am, Stara thought.

  Several corridors later Stara found herself in a garden shaded by a large wooden framework covered in vines. Chairs had been arranged underneath for her four new friends, and a slave brought another for Stara.

  There were several slave women standing around the garden. More than was necessary, Stara noted. The one standing closest to Tashana was familiar.

  “How is your ear healing up, Stara?” Tavara asked.

  Stara touched the earring. “Well, I think.”

  “She whined about it every night for a week,” Vora added.

  “Vora!” Stara protested. “You don’t have to tell them everything about me!”

  “No, but it is so much fun,” Vora replied, smiling slyly.

  “You’ve heard about the Kyralians?” Chiara asked.

  “Yes,” Stara replied. “Is it...?”

  “Serious? Yes.” Chiara sighed. “According to our messenger slaves, they are halfway to Arvice.”

  A shock of cold went through Stara. “Why hasn’t the emperor stopped them yet?”

  Chiara’s expression was grave. “Because our army was wiped out in Kyralia.”

  “All? Everyone?” Stara felt her heart constrict with dread.

  “There is a rumour circulating that Takado returned to Sachaka a few days ago and was captured by the emperor. Perhaps if he’s only just managed to return, others are still to come.”

  “But it’s not likely,” Stara said, looking down. I should harden myself to the likely truth. Ikaro is dead. Father is, too. She felt a little regret at the thought of her father’s death. Regret that he had proved to be so different from the loving father she had worshipped for most of her life. But Ikaro had turned out to be far kinder than she had always believed. It was unfair to lose him now. It hurt in a way that she had never felt before, a pain so strong it took her breath away.

  I suppose I’ll inherit Father’s estate now. The thought came unexpectedly, and she was surprised to feel a mild excitement. Could I take over the trade? Would it be as impossible as Father said for a woman to run it?

  But then she remembered Kachiro. As her husband, he would control anything she inherited. If he didn’t want her running the trade, she couldn’t be able to.

  “Stara.”

  She looked up at Tavara. “Yes?”

  “We need you to do something for us.”

  Stara blinked in surprise. “What is it?”

  “The Sanctuary was attacked by the Kyralians. While most of the slaves died, a few survived, along with the women we are protecting. They had no choice but to flee. They are heading to Arvice and will be here tomorrow. We need a place for them to stay. Do you think Kachiro would allow you to have them as guests?”

  Stara considered. “Perhaps. I’ve never asked anything of him before, but I can’t think of any reason he would refuse.”

  Tavara moved out of the shadows and stopped behind Tashana’s chair. Her expression was serious as she held Stara’s gaze. “There is something you need to know about your husband.”

  Stara felt a chill run down her spine. Of course there is, she thought. He is too nice. People that nice can’t exist in Sachaka. They have to have some terrible flaw. Some dark secret that only their wives know about, and suffer for.

  She sighed. “I knew there had to be some bad news eventually. What is it?”

  The women exchanged glances, then Chiara grimaced and leaned forward.

  “Kachiro prefers the company of men over women,” she said. “And I don’t mean conversation. I mean he takes them to bed.”

  Stara stared back at Chiara and found herself smiling. That’s it? That’s all? It certainly made sense. His “inability” wasn’t some physical flaw at all. He just didn’t find women exciting. Relief swept over her. She watched the women exchanging glances, frowning and shaking their heads.

  “You knew this already?” Tavara asked.

  “No.” Stara stifled a laugh. “I was expecting something, well, bad.”

  “This doesn’t bother you?” Chiara asked, her eyebrows raised. “He beds men. It’s . . .” She shuddered.

  “Maybe in Sachaka,” Stara told her. “But in Elyne men like that are neither mocked nor despised.” Most of the time, she added silently. There are some people who do plenty of mocking and despising, but they’re generally unpleasant people and it’s not just lads they hate.

  “Well... this is Sachaka,” Tavara said. “Such things are considered wrong and unnatural. He will not want it publicly known.”

  “So you’re suggesting I blackmail him?”

  “Yes.”

  Stara nodded. “How about I try using my charming nature to appeal to his good character first? And save the blackmail for desperate situations.”

  Tavara looked taken aback. “Of course, if you think you can persuade him, then try that first. Elyne or not, it is still surprising that you are not angry with him. It was not fair of him to marry you, knowing he would not give you children.”

  Stara nodded. “It wasn’t. And that will be far better leverage with him. He’ll do what I ask out of gratitude for my staying silent, rather than resentfully obliging out of fear of exposure.”

  But she has a point. Even in Elyne, it is considered a low act for a man of his inclinations to deceive a woman into marrying him. I had no choice whom I married, but Kachiro did. Though...I do wonder how secret his secret is. Did Father know? Was that how he knew Kachiro would not produce an heir?

  She might never know, now that her father was dead. And now he was and Nachira was safe, it didn’t matter any more.

  Plonking her father’s bag on the ground, Tessia sat down beside Mikken. She looked at the bag and sighed. “What’s wrong?” Mikken asked.

  She shrugged. “Nothing. Everything. The fact that I haven’t needed this bag once other than to bandage a cut hand, brace a twisted ankle and treat one of the servants’ headaches.”

  “You want people to injure themselves, or for the Sachakans to fight us, so you have someone to heal?” he asked, smiling crookedly.

  “Of course not.” She smiled briefly to let him know she understood he had been joking. “I just thought that healing would be my part in us helping the slaves of Sachaka.”

  Mikken nodded. “I know. At least all the houses are abandoned now. Nobody left to kill, slave or other.” He frowned. “But I have to admit it’s making me a bit scared. The Sachakans have got to be taking their slaves’ strength instead. And we’re taking none.”

  “We should have befriended the slaves. We’d have thousands of them by now, following us and giving their strength every day.”

  Mikken shook his head. “I don’t think they would have been that easy to win over. What Narvelan said was true. They’re loyal t
o their masters.”

  “They just don’t believe anybody would free them. We should have at least tried to convince them we intended to.”

  Mikken shrugged in that way people did when they didn’t agree, but also didn’t want to argue. She considered him for a moment, then looked away. For a time there she had found him charming and attractive. Now she was too tired and too disappointed in everything to find anyone appealing. Except Dakon, and then only as a teacher and protector. And Jayan too, possibly, though she couldn’t say why. He had become a friend of sorts. Or maybe just someone who agreed with her occasionally. Though he was an unreliable supporter, as likely to oppose her as to take her side.

  “Tessia.”

  She looked up to see Dakon striding towards her across the courtyard. He’d gone in search of food supplies with Jayan as soon as the army had moved into the collection of buildings. The homes abandoned by the Sachakans had proved to be the best places for the Kyralian army to stop and rest. As Dakon drew near she rose to her feet. It was impossible to guess his mood from his face. He wore a frown, but these days he always wore a frown.

  “Two magicians have fallen ill,” he told her. “Could you have a look at them?”

  “Of course.” She bent and picked up her bag.

  He led her through the entrance of the house, then down one corridor after another. Tessia had noticed similarities in the houses they’d stayed in, and recognised aspects of them from the Sachakan-made houses in Imardin, though those had been larger and grander.

  The collections of buildings had grown more frequent as the army drew closer to Arvice, but they hadn’t encountered any towns or villages. Jayan believed the estates were mostly self-sufficient, with trade for those goods not available on the estate happening directly with other estates.

  The wood for furniture and such must come from somewhere, Tessia mused. We’ve also encountered no forests since we left the mountains. Just trees lining roads or forming avenues alongside roads, and the occasional copse sheltering domestic animals.

  Dakon turned into a large room from which many smaller rooms opened. She had seen this arrangement before, too. Fine clothing of both adults and children was usually found stored in them, so she had come to think of them as family rooms.