The Magician's Apprentice

by Trudi Canavan

  Several magicians were standing in the larger room, and when they saw her they regarded her thoughtfully. She recognised Lord Bolvin and Lord Hakkin. And Dem Ayend was there.

  Then a man stepped out from behind the Dem and she felt her heart skip a beat as she recognised him.

  “Apprentice Tessia,” King Errik said. “I have heard much praise for your healing skill.” He gestured towards one of the smaller rooms. “These two magicians fell ill a short while ago. Could you examine them?”

  “Of course, your majesty,” she replied, hastily bowing. He smiled and drew her into the small room, Dakon following. The sick men were lying on beds too short for their tall frames. Beds for children, she guessed. Their faces were creased with pain and their eyes appeared to be struggling to focus. She moved to one and felt for heat and pulse. “Exactly how long ago did they fall ill, and in what way?”

  The king looked toward a middle-aged female servant standing beside one of the magicians’ beds.

  “Half of an hour at most,” the woman told them. “He complained of cramps in the stomach. They emptied their stomachs and bowels and I thought the food might have been bad, but they got worse. That’s when I went for help.”

  Tessia looked up at Dakon. “Better make sure nobody else eats whatever they had.”

  Dakon nodded and beckoned to the servant. “Did you serve them?” The woman nodded. “Come and tell me what and where you got it from.”

  Conscious that the king was watching her closely, as well as the magicians in the other room, Tessia placed a hand on the brow of one of the magicians. She closed her eyes and breathed quietly to calm her mind. Then she sent her senses out into his body.

  As soon as she attuned herself to what he was feeling, pain and discomfort drew her to his stomach. Cramps sent ripples through muscle. His body was reacting and as she looked closer she saw that it was trying to expel something unwanted. That unwanted substance was acting on the body like a poison. And it was acting faster than the body could expel it.

  Faster than when the servants were dying from bad food. They must have eaten something truly terrible or...or else they have been poisoned!

  At this revelation she drew her senses back and opened her eyes. She looked up and found herself staring into the eyes of the king.

  “Unless the food they’ve eaten is truly foul, I suspect this is the effect of poison,” she said.

  His eyes widened, then he turned to look at Dakon, who had returned to the room. Tessia felt a pang of alarm and guilt. As the magician in charge of finding food, he could be held responsible for feeding poisoned food to the army. He met the king’s eyes and nodded.

  “I’ll make sure nobody eats a bite until we find out whether all the food we have is safe.”

  “All of it?” the king asked. “Surely only what we have found today.”

  Dakon shook his head. “These magicians may have eaten something we’ve been carrying for a while, which hasn’t been cooked until now. The servant is fetching the cook who made the dish they ate.”

  The king nodded, turned to Tessia, and then looked down at the magicians. “Will they live?”

  “I...I don’t think so.”

  “Can’t you heal them?”

  He looked at her, his eyes staring into hers and seeming to plead with her. She looked away.

  “I will try, but I can’t promise anything. I wasn’t able to save the servants who ate the spoiled food during the war, and this is far worse.”

  “Try,” he ordered.

  Loosening the neck of the tunic the magician wore, she placed her palm on the bare skin of his chest. Once more she closed her eyes and sent her mind forth. She saw immediately that the situation had grown worse. His heart was labouring; he was beginning to struggle to breathe.

  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 ba
ck 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 another, 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 t
old 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?