The Magician’s Apprentice

There were traders of many races here. Dark-skinned Lonmar in their drab clothes selling dried fruit and spices. Pale, tall Lans covered in skin drawings offering up all manner of things made of carved bone. Squat brown Vindo were most frequently seen, selling a range of wares from all around the region. A few Elynes were selling wines and the bitter drink Stara had gained a taste for, sumi.

There were no Kyralians, she noted. A few grey-skinned men wearing only short skirts of cloth were selling gemstones.

“Who are they?” she asked Vora.

“Duna,” Vora replied. “Tribesmen from the ash desert in the north.”

As she walked around the market, examining goods and fending off sellers with a polite smile and a shake of her head, she listened to the talk, moving closer if she saw two traders in conversation. She caught half-hearted curses aimed at the ichani who were disrupting trade with Kyralia. Some enthused about the opportunities that would come once Kyralia was conquered. Others worried that the ichani would then turn on the emperor and throw Sachaka into a war with itself.

Stara thought about the opinions of her father’s guests. They had argued that Sachaka had been heading for an internal battle already.

Trust my luck to end up in Sachaka at the wrong time.

As she and Vora turned a corner she saw a man glance at them, then give Vora a second look. His gaze immediately moved back to Stara and he smiled. She gave him a polite but distant nod, lowered her eyes and continued past.

She was amused to find her heart was beating a little faster, and not because she felt threatened. What a handsome man! Really, if father chose him as a husband for me I’d have a hard time refusing.

After a moment she glanced over her shoulder. Vora tugged on her arm, but not before Stara saw that the man was still watching her.

“Stop it!” the woman muttered. “He’ll take it as an invitation.”

“An invitation for what?” Stara asked. Was there any way a woman could have a lover here in Sachaka? Probably not after marriage, but she wasn’t married yet...

“To talk to you,” Vora hissed. She pulled Stara round the next corner.

“Just talk? What’s wrong with that?”

Vora gave a short sigh of exasperation, her gaze flicking about at all the people. “I can’t tell you here, mistress. Until you learn who it is safe to talk to, you shouldn’t speak to anyone. You may end up conversing with one of your father’s enemies, or offending one of his allies.”

“How am I going to learn who it is safe to talk to, when I never meet anybody?”

“I will tell you the names and families.” Vora frowned and glanced over her shoulder. As she did so, the handsome man stepped out of a stall a few steps ahead of them. He turned and smiled as he saw Stara again. “There is much for you to learn. We will get to—.”

“Forgive me, but would you be the daughter of Ashaki Sokara?”

Stara smiled and nodded. “I am.”

“Then I am honoured to meet you,” the man said. “I am Ashaki Kachiro. My house is next to yours, on the southern side.”

“Oh, you are our neighbour, then.” She glanced at Vora, who was keeping her eyes to the ground. “I am Stara – and honoured to meet you, too, Ashaki Kachiro.”

“I see you have not bought anything,” Kachiro said. “Does nothing here please you?”

“I am merely looking to see what is available. It is interesting to note the products that are hard to find in Capia but plentiful here, and the opposite, as well as the differences in prices.” As she stepped up to a stall he moved aside to let her past, then fell into step beside her. She was amused to find herself flattered by this. I’m getting more attention from him these last few moments than I’ve had from my father since arriving. “Clearly some wares are too prone to spoiling to be a viable market item, but there are some trinkets here I think would sell well in Capia.”

“You have an interest in trade, then?”

“Yes. My mother taught me to help her with the Elyne end of Father’s trade.”

She was sure that did not give away too much. She had kept her and her mother’s involvement vague. If Sachakan men did not like dealing with women, saying that her mother ran part of her father’s business might humiliate him and turn customers off.

“Can I ask which trinkets you believe would sell?”

She smiled. “You can ask, but I would be a fool to answer.”

He chuckled. “I can tell you are no fool.”

Feeling a tug on her arm, she sobered. To completely ignore Vora’s warnings would be foolish, too.

“It is lovely to meet you, Ashaki Kachiro; but I must return home now. I hope we will meet again in future.”

He nodded, looking thoughtful. As she began to turn away, he took a small step towards her.

“I, too, am about to leave. Since we are neighbours ...I invite you to return with me, in my wagon. It is safer for a woman to travel with company – even in the city – and I would hate to see you come to harm.”

Stara hesitated. Was it safer to refuse or accept? Would it be rude to turn him down? The chat had been nice, but she wasn’t so susceptible to a good-looking and charming man that she’d jump into his wagon at the first invitation. She glanced at Vora. To her surprise, the woman looked undecided. Then Vora gave a small nod followed by a warning look. Stara turned back to Kachiro.

“May my slave travel with me?”

“Of course. And I am sure you will want your wagon to follow.”

“Then I accept, Ashaki Kachiro.”

The conversation remained reassuringly comfortable as they strolled out of the market, gave their orders and then settled into his wagon. He was flatteringly interested in her life in Elyne and appeared impressed by her knowledge of trade, and wasn’t coy about his own life and business. She had learned a little about yellowseed crops and the uses for the oil by the time they arrived at the door to her father’s mansion.

He stopped there, however, and politely escorted her and Vora to their wagon before continuing on to his own house. As the slaves drove them through the gates Stara gave Vora a questioning look.

“So. Why didn’t he come inside?”

Vora brow was wrinkled, but she looked only a little worried. “Ashaki Sokara doesn’t like him much, mistress. I don’t know why. He’s not an enemy or an ally.” Her lips thinned. “Expect him to be displeased, though.”

“What’s he likely to do? Stop me leaving again?”

“Probably, but he would have anyway.”

Stara considered that, and how she might convince her father otherwise, as they climbed out and entered the mansion. Had she learned anything from Kachiro that might be of interest to him? She didn’t think so. Unless he needed to know about yellowseed.

As they neared her rooms she found she was pleasantly tired and looking forward to relaxing for the afternoon.

“That was just what I needed,” she told Vora. “A change of surroundings, some fresh air, and—” She stopped as she realised someone was standing in her room. Her father. His face was dark with anger.

“Where have you been?”

She paused before answering, registering the fury in his voice but catching herself before she could flinch. I am a twenty-five-year-old woman, not a child, she reminded herself.

“To the market, Father,” she told him. “But there’s no need to fuss. I didn’t buy anything.”

He looked at Vora. “Leave us now. Stara, you should have sought my permission.”

“I’m not a child now, Father,” Stara reminded him gently as Vora backed away. “I don’t need anyone holding my hand.”

“You are a woman,” he snapped. “And this is Sachaka.”

“Nobody bothered me,” she reassured him. “I took slaves—”

“Who could not have done anything to protect you,” he interrupted. “You forget: most free men are magicians here.”

“And lawless savages?” she asked. “Surely there are laws against harming others here. If not, wouldn’t the fear of retaliation from family deter criminals?”

He stared at her. “Is it true what the slaves tell me: that you let Ashaki Kachiro bring you home?” he asked softly.

She blinked at the change of topic. “Yes.”

“You should not have done that.”

She considered all the excuses she could give: that Kachiro had wanted to protect her, or that she hadn’t known whether it was correct to refuse or accept, or that the man was their neighbour, or that Vora hadn’t told her not to. Instead she decided to let him reveal what her best defence was by telling her what concerned him most about Kachiro. “Why not?”

He crossed the room to stand in front of her. Strangely, his gaze focused above her eyes, as if he was looking inside her head.

“What did you tell him?”

She shrugged. “A little bit about my life in Elyne. That Mother and I helped with your trade – but not that Mother was in charge. That there were products at the market that would sell well in Elyne, but not which products. That... you’re not even listening, are you?” His gaze was still fixed on her forehead. She shook her head and sighed. “I find a possible source of profit but you’re not even listening.”

“I have to know what you told him,” he said, more to himself than to her. He reached out and took her head between his hands.

“Father,” she said, trying to pull his hands away, but his grip only tightened. “Ow! Father—”

Suddenly all her attention was drawn inward and she became conscious of something inside her mind that didn’t belong there. A sense of him, laced with suspicion, anxiety and anger. At his direction her memories of the day began to play out – every bit of her frustration at his absence, every shred of her worry for her mother, all the information she had gathered at the market, all of Vora’s advice and futile warnings, and, finally, every word between her and Kachiro. Even her attraction to the man.

He’s reading my mind! I can’t believe he’d do that. Without even asking me if I would let him. Would I, if he asked? Of course not! He’s my father. He’s supposed to trust me. All I did was talk to his neighbour. I don’t deserve to be treated like this!

He delved deeper, seeking more personal information. Had she ever bedded a man? Had she ever been with child? How had she prevented it? Information that was private, that he had no business seeking.

She knew at that moment that she would never trust him again. Love shrivelled and was replaced by hate. Respect died in the face of a burning, raging anger. The bond of loyalty that she’d felt all her life, tested again so recently, broke.

He must have seen it. Felt it. But she sensed no shame or apology. Instead he kept looking, looking, and she knew she had to make him stop. I have to get him out of my mind NOW!

She reached for magic. He recoiled as he realised what she was doing, letting slip both his control of her mind and his grip on her head. She backed away, and as he reached out to grab her again she knocked his hands back with a slap of power.

He stared at her, his gaze calculating. She felt a rush of fear as she realised he was deciding whether to try again, this time with magic. It would go badly for her, she knew. He was a fully trained higher magician. She had learned magic as opportunity presented itself, and did not know how to draw power from others, let alone have a reserve of stored strength.

The fire in his eyes faded. She hoped that meant he had decided not to pursue her thoughts and memories again. Perhaps he hadn’t seen enough to know the extent of her abilities...

“Your mother should have told me you had learned magic,” he said, his voice laced with disgust and a hint of threat.

“She doesn’t know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was waiting for the right moment.”

His expression didn’t soften.

“You have made yourself next to valueless as a wife and a daughter,” he told her. His face set in a cold, hard expression and, not looking at her, he strode past her towards the door.

“I learned it for you,” she told him. He paused in the doorway. “Like everything else. Always for you. I thought it would allow me to help you in the trade.”

Without turning, or speaking, he strode away.

The silence that he left her in was empty and full of hurt. She felt a loss, deep inside. But at the same time she felt a hard, cold anger growing to fill the void. How dare he! His own daughter! Did he ever love me at all?

She felt tears fill her eyes, ran to the bed and threw herself on it. But the sobs she expected didn’t come. Instead she hammered the pillows in frustration and anger, remembering his words: “You have made yourself next to valueless as a wife and a daughter.” She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Marrying her off for profit was all that he cared about. In that case, I’ve just delivered the best revenge I could have managed in this stupid country. She didn’t care if nobody wanted to marry her.

But that was not true. She did dream of finding the right man, who would appreciate her talents and tolerate her flaws. Just as any woman did.

And if she did not marry, she might be stuck here – locked up in her rooms – for the rest of her life.

Footsteps echoed in the room. She lifted her head and found Vora approaching. The woman’s expression was calm, but Stara caught hints of both anxiety and concern before the woman prostrated herself. I’m beginning to read her better, she thought. She dropped her head back to the bed.

“Ah, Vora. I have just experienced the joy of learning I am not just a chattel, but a useless chattel.”

The bed shifted slightly as Vora sat on the edge of it. “What is useless to one person can be precious to another, mistress.”

“Is that your way of telling me a husband might turn out to be more loving than my father? It wouldn’t be difficult.”

“Not exactly, though I wouldn’t object to your taking it that way.” Vora sighed. “So. You have magic.”

Stara sat up and considered the old slave. “Listening in, were you?”

Vora smiled faintly. “As always, only for your benefit, mistress.”

“So you heard what he said. Why does having magic make a Sachakan woman useless as a wife?”

Vora shrugged. “Men aren’t supposed to like powerful women. The truth is, not all of them are like that. But they must appear not to, in order to gain respect. Remember what I said: we are all slaves.”

Stara nodded. “If I am useless to him ...I guess I can’t hope that he’ll let me help in the trade now. Do you think he’ll send me back to Elyne?”

There was a flicker of something in Vora’s eyes. Surely not dismay. “Perhaps. It is too dangerous to do so now, with the border closed and the ichani doing as they please. He might merely reconsider who to marry you to. Hopefully not someone who likes to break a woman’s spirit – just someone who fancies having such a beautiful wife enough to overlook the annoyance of a bit of magical resistance.”

Stara winced and looked away. “Can’t it be someone I wouldn’t want to resist?”

“Do you think you can mend things with your father?”

His own daughter . . . Stara felt anger stir inside again. “Maybe on the surface.”

“Do...do you know how to kill a man while bedding him?” For a moment Stara could not believe what Vora had just asked. Then she turned to stare at the woman. Vora searched Stara’s eyes, then nodded.

“I guess not. I believe it is a skill linked to higher magic.” Vora rose and moved towards the door. “I will have some food and wine brought in.”

As the slave’s footsteps faded, Stara considered what the woman had asked her. So it’s possible to kill someone that way. Trouble is, to do so you’d have to allow yourself to be bedded by someone you hated so much you wanted to kill them. But I guess if someone forced themself on you, you might want to kill them that much.

She cursed Vora silently. The trouble was, once Stara knew something was possible with magic, she itched to know how to do it. And considering the situation she was in, she had more than just curiosity to fuel her desire to learn this particular skill.

But who was going to teach her?

Tessia yawned. For the last week the apprentices’ day had begun early, with a lesson from one or more of the magicians. Usually the lesson began with one teacher, but often the other magicians would emerge from their tents to watch and comment, and this sometimes led to one of them taking over to contribute something that enhanced the original teacher’s lesson, or, in one case, starting an argument.

“. . . some way of continuing after we deal with the invaders,” a voice said. Tessia resisted the temptation to turn and look at the magicians riding behind her in case it alerted them to the fact that she could hear them.

“I doubt it. Nobody co-operated to this extent before and I expect we’ll revert to our old suspicions and secretiveness again after.”

“But it is so much more efficient. I’ve learned new skills. I never realised there were such gaps in my knowledge.”

“Or mine.” There was a wistful sigh. “If there was a way to sustain...”

“We will have to find a way. The healers have their guild. I’ve heard it suggested we should start our own, so...”

As the voices faded Tessia looked at Jayan to see if he’d heard. He was smiling, his eyes bright.

“Do you think one of the apprentices passed on your idea to their master?” she asked.

He looked at her and his shoulders straightened. “Maybe.”

Tessia shrugged. “Perhaps the magicians came to the same conclusion by themselves. They were bound to eventually.”

He frowned at her reproachfully. “Do you think so?”

She smiled. “It would be too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Besides, they haven’t had the time to think it through.”

A few nights before, Jayan had told her of his ideas for a guild of magicians, where knowledge was shared and apprentices were taught by all magicians, not only their masters. They would have badges to identify them as members of the guild in the same way that members of the healers’ guild did, to assure customers that they had been well trained.

His plans had included separating members of the guild into two or three groups and encouraging competition between them in order to spur on invention and the development of skills. She’d pointed out it might also cause division and conflict and suggested a tiered system for the apprentices based on skill and knowledge levels. Perhaps one for each year of learning. Jayan then decided that those on the same level could compete individually or in teams.

She had suggested that magicians might concentrate on one type of skill in order to explore and develop it further. Some might study fighting and defence, others construction techniques for bridges and buildings. She could see potential in the latter for ensuring all constructions in the country were safe, by encouraging magicians to oversee their creation.

Other apprentices had come to join them then, and she’d felt vaguely disappointed. It had been the first extended conversation she’d had with Jayan that she’d truly enjoyed, in which they’d agreed with each other and shared a mutual excitement. When he’d told the other apprentices about his idea she’d been taken aback, though she was not sure why.

I don’t think it was because he put it forward as entirely his idea, she thought. Or that it went from being something just between us that he suddenly shared with everyone else. No, it was more a feeling of worry than annoyance. Worry that if he told people about it too early, before it was fully developed, they would forget who came up with it in the first place.

Ahead, the forest receded from the edges of the road and they rode into a small valley divided into fields. The state of the crops dismayed Tessia. Some fields had been left unharvested; others were covered in patches of weeds, having never been planted or maintained. Many of the crops were dry and brown, dead for lack of irrigation. The frustrating side to this wastage was that the Sachakans had never ventured this far south. The people had fled for no reason.

The magicians had abandoned their pursuit of the Sachakans for now, and were returning to the lowlands to meet reinforcements sent by the king. Tessia was looking forward to sleeping on a real bed again, and eating better food. Above all she was looking forward to not having fear constantly nagging at her. She could relax, knowing that they wouldn’t have to worry about being attacked by Sachakans at any moment.

Seeing dark shapes in the field ahead, Tessia grimaced. They had encountered animals dead or dying of starvation or thirst throughout their travels. She heard curses from the magicians and apprentices and silently added her own.

Then she realised that the leaders were urging their horses forward. She felt her stomach sink. None of them would be hurrying to investigate dead animals. As she reconsidered the dark shapes she began to make out human forms.

“How long ago, do you think?” she heard Werrin ask Dakon.

“Not long. A day at the most.” Dakon looked around and his gaze settled on her. His face held a grim question. Suppressing a sigh, she directed her horse to move alongside his and looked down at the first corpse, forcing herself to notice only the colour of the skin and condition of the flesh.

“More than half a day,” she said.

“These people aren’t dressed in clothes warm enough for the night,” Narvelan said. He had moved into the field and was riding back and forth, glancing from side to side. He came back to the road and turned his horse full circle. “Nor are some of them wearing shoes good enough for walking long distances. I think they had carts with them, probably stolen. There are trails of crushed curren moving out in all directions from this point. They must have seen their attackers and scattered.”

“More than one attacker?” Werrin asked.

“Have to be. They’ve all been killed with higher magic. One attacker would have to gather them together in order to kill them one at a time. This looks like at least four or five.”

“If these people scattered, then someone might have got away,” Werrin said. “We should follow all the trails and see if any don’t end with a corpse.”

Apprentices and magicians looked at each other in silent dismay, then each magician chose a trail and, with apprentices following, began to ride along it. As corpses were discovered calls of “found it” were heard. Dakon continued on towards a line of trees. Tessia heard the sound of running water and realised they were heading towards a stream.

Just before it they found the trail’s maker. He lay face down over a log. He turned his head to the side and stared up at them, eyes full of terror and pain. His breath came in short, painful gasps.

“He’s alive!” Jayan exclaimed.

Together they leapt to the ground and approached the man. Dakon spoke reassuringly, dropping to his haunches. Slowly the fear in the man’s face changed to hope.

“What happened here?”

“Told to leave,” the man whispered. “Magicians. Sachakans. On road.” He paused, the effort of talking clearly painful. “They... Elia. She told me... keep run... then...hit...”

Tessia gently examined him. “What hurts?”

“Back,” he gasped. “Front. Everything.”

She gently felt around his body. His ribs had broken in several places, some by an impact from behind and some from landing on the log, she guessed.

“Let’s get you off that,” Tessia said. She surrounded him with magic and eased him back off the log and onto his back. He groaned loudly, eyes wide and breathing fast. At least there’s no sign of the ribs piercing his lungs. He’s a very lucky man.

“Can you fix him?” Jayan asked. Tessia frowned at him, then was saved from having to choose between lying or voicing her doubts in front of the man by Dakon.

“Did you see which way they went afterwards?”

“Te...Tecurren.”

Dakon straightened, his face creased with worry. “I should tell the others.” He looked around. “It is not safe for you to stay here, if one stayed behind.”

“I doubt any would, if they were headed for Tecurren,” Jayan said. “They haven’t targeted anything that big or far from the mountains since Mandryn. If any of them are about they won’t risk drawing the attention of eight magicians.”

Dakon looked from Jayan to Tessia, then nodded. “You won’t have long. Werrin will want to get to Tecurren quickly.”

“I won’t take long,” Tessia assured him.

As Dakon strode away, Jayan stood up. “I’ll get your bag.”

“Thanks,” she said. As he hurried to her horse she turned her attention to the injured man. He stared back at her. Normally she would have known there was no way she could save him in the time she had. Most of the patients her father had treated for broken ribs had still died, despite being treated sooner and for less severe wounds.

But she had magic. Using it, she didn’t have to cut him open. She could move bone and cinch pulse paths. Placing her hands on his chest, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the flesh beneath the skin.

At once she knew that the damage had been worse than she had first realised. Most of his ribs had been shattered. Though the bones hadn’t pierced the lungs, they’d torn through pulse paths and damaged other organs. Drawing magic, she reached inside and tried to squeeze shut one of the ruptured pulse paths.

The man gasped in agony. Drawing away, she considered him again. What she had to do was going to be extremely painful. Footsteps behind her drew her attention. She sighed with relief as Jayan threw himself down beside her, her father’s bag rattling as it hit the ground.

“Careful with that,” she said. Opening it, she drew out her strongest cure for deadening pain. To her surprise, Jayan took the bottle from her.

“I can do the mixing,” he said. “Just tell me how much.”

He followed her instructions carefully while she cut away the man’s clothes, then they gave him the dose and watched impatiently as it took effect. Tessia placed her hands on his chest again.

Drawing magic, she pinched broken pulse paths and shifted broken bones back into place. But even as she worked she knew it wasn’t enough. There was already too much blood pooling inside him and too little in his pulse paths. Flesh that had been cut could not be held together by magic long enough to heal. If only I could make the flesh heal faster, she thought.

Even as she removed blood from within him to give room to his organs, she knew that too much had been lost. Then a shock went through the man’s body. She felt the rhythms essential to life become irregular, then fail.

When Dakon’s call interrupted her thoughts, she was not sure how long she had been staring at the dead man, trying to think how she could have saved him. There must be a way.

“Come on, Tessia,” Jayan said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “We have to go. You gave it your best try.” He looked down. “Better wash your hands first, though.”

She looked down at her bloodied hands and nodded. Moving to the stream, she squatted and let the water rinse her clean. Jayan picked up her father’s bag and waited for her.

Then she gave the dead man a last thoughtful, sorrowful look and headed across the field to join the magicians.

CHAPTER 27

Eight magicians and eight apprentices waited at the edge of the forest, silently looking at the cluster of houses several strides away. The village was quiet. None of the buildings bore any sign of damage. It was a scene of deceptive peace that might have proved a fatal trap to any visitor or passing traveller.

Would it have been the same had Takado intended to stay and occupy Mandryn? Dakon wondered. Did he kill my people and destroy my home only to make a point, and was that point directed only at me or to prove he could do what he did?

A family who had managed to hide from the Sachakans, then slip away during the early hours of the morning, had told the magicians what had happened in Tecurren. The tale they’d related, taking it in turns to pick up the story whenever the one speaking faltered, had brought back the horror and anger Dakon had felt when he’d learned what had happened to his own people. With the horror and anger came guilt and frustration that he could not have done anything to prevent it. And the knowledge, which brought no comfort, that he, Jayan and Tessia would have been tortured and killed along with everybody else if they hadn’t been absent.

None of the four Sachakans who had taken possession of Tecurren matched Takado’s description, however. Their leader was the most vicious of all, tormenting his victims after taking their power and then dismembering them.

Sounds familiar, Dakon thought darkly, though we can’t assume there is only one Sachakan with that habit.

The young women, according to the escapees, had been taken away together into the largest house, owned by the now deceased town master. The rest of the villagers still alive had been locked up in a small hall used for social gatherings, probably in order to be drained of power each day. Scouts sent ahead to investigate had seen glimpses of figures in the main house, but couldn’t get close enough to confirm if the hall was occupied. But they did report no sign of villagers elsewhere, though the Sachakans’ slaves were keeping watch or raiding houses for food or drink.

Werrin looked from left to right, nodding to indicate that the magicians should take up their positions. They split into two groups. Separating into smaller, weaker forces had been a risk, but not a great one. They weren’t going to be out of sight of each other for long, and never out of earshot.

“We are eight and they are four,” Werrin had said the previous night, in summing up the situation. “The numbers are in our favour. We do not know their strength, however, so we must be ready to retreat at any moment.”

They had anticipated three responses from the Sachakans: that they might flee in the face of a larger enemy, that they would scatter and try to ambush the rescuers, or that they might stand together and confront the Kyralians directly. The idea of splitting into two groups had first been suggested to prevent the first possibility. Nobody wanted the Sachakans to escape.

I fear nobody wants them to live, either.

Dakon wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But he had to agree with Werrin. Until the pass was in Kyralian control again, any Sachakan they caught would have to be kept prisoner, which would be dangerous and take attention and resources they couldn’t spare.

As Narvelan led his group out of the forest and angled towards the town, Dakon realised his heart was racing. Yet he wasn’t as frightened as he expected. Instead he felt a cautious eagerness. We’ve been chasing them too long. It is good to be able to take action at last. But I hope we don’t make mistakes out of pent-up frustration.

They neared the first house. No sign of life. Not even a patrol of slaves. All was quiet. Moving into the shadows between two houses, Dakon thought he heard the faintest sound of screaming, but it was hard to be sure. Probably my imagination.

A man stepped around the end of the building.

For a moment everyone stood frozen. The stranger was wearing nothing but a pair of dirty trousers, Dakon saw. A slave.

Then the man gasped and buckled in the middle, the force that struck him tossing him back out into the main road. Dakon looked at Narvelan and the other magicians. All but Bolvin were doing the same. The tall magician shrugged. “He surprised me.”

A shout came from further down the road.

“Have they seen Werrin’s group?” Narvelan murmured, peering round the corner of the house. “I think they have. Now we’ll see if they flee or fight.”

Magicians and apprentices waited. More shouts came from within the village. The distant sound of screaming stopped and Dakon’s stomach turned over. He hadn’t been imagining it.

Then a booming sound rang out and Dakon’s heart skipped a beat.

“The signal,” Tarrakin breathed. “They’re coming out together to confront us.”

Then another boom, doubled to indicate ambush, came. “Are all four of them there?” Dakon asked Narvelan, who was still peering around the corner.

“No. Just three. One could be doing what we’re doing, hoping to sneak up and surprise our opponents.”

Somehow calling the Sachakans “opponents’, as if they were mere game pieces, sounded foolish and inappropriate. Narvelan backed away from the corner.

“Werrin’s ready to come out. We need to get behind the main three. But we’ll have to keep a look out for the missing fourth one.”

A lot of skulking and dashing between buildings followed until they were behind the line of Sachakan magicians advancing down the street.

“Come out and face us, cowards!” one of the Sachakans called. “We know you’re here.”

Dakon felt his heart jump as a strike shot out from behind a building and stopped abruptly an arm’s length from the lead Sachakan. The man’s shield flashed, revealing that it encompassed only him.

“Shielding only themselves,” Narvelan muttered.

“Werrin’s out!” Tarrakin exclaimed.

Sure enough, the other group of Kyralians had emerged. They spread out across the road, as if barring the way, and began advancing, magicians in front and apprentices following close behind. The Sachakans threw strikes, but the Kyralians’ shields held. The air sizzled as both sides exchanged bolts of power.

A confrontation like this ought to be a simple matter of one side running out of power faster than the other, Dakon knew. It only occurred when both sides were confident of their superior strength, or underestimated that of the enemy. But usually there was some other trickery at work. Like Narvelan’s group waiting for the right moment. Or some new use of magic.

“They look distracted enough,” Narvelan said, glancing back at them. “It’s time.”

As planned, Dakon and the other magicians crowded behind Narvelan and placed their hands on his shoulders. Dakon readied himself to draw power and send it out at Narvelan’s instruction.

The sound of footsteps came from somewhere close by. Dakon heard Tessia’s indrawn breath and Jayan’s curse. He looked round to see a man standing in the gap between the houses, staring at them in surprise. A Sachakan. Who was not dressed like a slave.

“Now!” Narvelan snapped.

Not knowing if Narvelan had registered the Sachakan, Dakon drew power and sent it through his arm anyway. Heat rushed past his face towards the Sachakan, and he flinched. The Sachakan’s shield held for a moment, then crumpled inward. His face, blackening, stretched as he tried to scream, but the heat of firestrike must have burned away his voice instantly.

As the man fell to the ground Narvelan muttered a wordless exclamation. “I didn’t think it would work that well!”

“For a moment I was worried you hadn’t seen him,” Jayan muttered.

“Only at the last moment. I figured we’d better deal with him first.” Narvelan looked out at the battle still raging in the street. “Well then. Time to show the rest of them what we can do now.”

As they all crowded close again, Dakon felt a tiny twinge of anxiety. I can’t help wondering how much power I’m using. How long will what I’ve gathered last? How long will it take to replace it? I guess that’s the great uncertainty of magical warfare. He felt his resolve harden. But I’d rather end up as depleted as an apprentice than risk letting these bastards continue harming Kyralians.

“Now!” Narvelan said again. Power flowed and the faintest shimmer in the air betrayed the path of his strike. It pounded the shield of the closest Sachakan. The man gave a yelp and staggered forward, then froze with his arms raised and face taut with effort.

“More!” Narvelan cried. Dakon closed his eyes and increased the flow of magic from himself to his friend.

He heard a shout of anger from the road, then a triumphant laugh from Bolvin. “That did it!”

“Now the last one,” Narvelan muttered.

Last one? Dakon opened his eyes and looked out. Two Sachakans lay still, a curl of smoke rising from one, in the road. The leader now faced Narvelan, his face twisted in fury – or is that fear? – and began striding towards their hiding place.

“Let’s show ourselves,” Tarrakin said.

“Tempting,” Narvelan said. “But we don’t want anybody seeing us using Ardalen’s method unless we have to. Not even a slave. Quickly now. Let’s finish him off.”

Dakon pressed his hand on Narvelan’s shoulder and gathered more power.

“Now!”

The strike halted the Sachakan, but did not overcome his shield. He attacked in return and Narvelan flinched under the strike. The enemy’s strike was bright, revealing the huddle of Kyralians in the building’s shadows.

“Keep sending power,” Narvelan said between clenched teeth. “Need it for defence too, remember.” Narvelan’s shield flared outward as it abruptly strengthened. He gave a little gasp of relief.

“He’s getting nervous,” Jayan said.

Sure enough, the last Sachakan was glancing from Narvelan’s group to Werrin’s. He started to back away from them both.

“Let’s give him one last blast,” Narvelan said. “Before he can get away from us.”

Dakon wondered how his friend could stand under the pressure of hands. He drew power. Narvelan spoke. Power flowed out. At the same time a strike came from Werrin’s direction. The Sachakan gave a crazed scream of anger as he staggered backwards.

Then he flew through the air in a spray of blood, twisting and then landing with a crunch. And was still.

Dakon’s ears rang with whoops of triumph. Magicians and apprentices pushed him out into the street in their eagerness to have a closer look at their fallen enemies. Narvelan was grinning as he strode forward to meet Werrin. The two grasped arms in formal greeting. Dakon did not hear what they said to each other. He was aware of figures further down the street darting out of houses and racing away.

Slaves. To his relief, nobody tried to strike them or prevent them leaving. He noticed Tessia peering down at the Sachakan leader’s body, her expression a mixture of fascination and revulsion. She looked up at Dakon as he moved to her side.

“Magic causes unique and terrible wounds,” she said.

He looked at the corpse. The man’s body had been crushed and distorted by the two forces hitting him from two different directions.

“He would have died instantly.” She looked back down the street. “Better than what he did to others. I may need my father’s bag.”

“Shall I signal to the servants?” Jayan asked, looking at Dakon.

Dakon felt the elation of victory drain way. For a moment he wondered how Tessia could be so cool and practical. She learned it from her father. He didn’t let emotion cloud his judgement. But he never needed his skill as much as Tessia has lately.

“Yes – but check with Lord Werrin first.”

Jayan nodded and hurried away. Tessia barely noticed, her attention on the small hall down the street. Dakon smiled crookedly. She would seek out the Sachakans’ victims alone if he didn’t go with her. He gestured for her to follow, and set out to find and free the survivors of Tecurren.

At dusk Dachido’s group arrived at Takado’s camp. The magician had been the first one Takado had suggested choose some allies and travel separately. Hanara believed that his master had done so because he trusted Dachido, whereas Dovaka had decided to do so himself. Takado had raised no protest. He seemed almost encouraging. Hanara knew better, and worried what the mad ichani might do on his own. But he was glad to be spending less time in the man’s company.

As the camp swelled, Hanara realised that Dachido’s group had grown. He looked around, counting, and found it was now three times the size it had been last time Takado and Dachido had met. The newcomers included a woman, he noticed. She approached with Dachido as Takado rose to greet his ally.

“I see you’ve gathered some new friends, Dachido,” Takado said, then turned to the woman and smiled. “Asara. It has been a long time since we last met.”

Her smile was faint. “Indeed. Too long. If I’d known about your plans I might have paid you a visit earlier.”

“To support me or try to talk me out of them?”

“Probably to try to talk sense into you. But that was when I thought Emperor Vochira a strong man.”

Takado’s eyebrows rose. “And you no longer do?”

“No.” Her dark eyes flashed. “He sent me here to deal with you.” They gazed at each other, both smiling knowingly. Then Takado chuckled. “Who was he trying to insult, me or you?”

“You doubt I could do it?”

His smile widened. “Of course not. But does he?”

She made a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I came here to join you, not drag you back to the Imperial Palace.”

“And your companions?”

“Agree with and follow me.”

He nodded. Hanara felt a prickling sensation run down his back. She’s just told him plainly that her people will only follow him if she does. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. He’ll probably have her group travel separately, too. That will mean of the four groups, he has two not truly in his control. Though Asara is probably smarter and more sensible than Dovaka. He sniffed quietly. That wouldn’t be difficult.

Dachido and Asara joined Takado at the campfire, and the rest of the magicians followed. They set the slaves to the chores of setting up camp and bringing out food and drink. As Hanara worked he caught snatches of conversation. First Asara asked about Takado’s progress – was it true he had destroyed a village? Why hadn’t he kept it? What was the advantage in splitting into smaller groups?

Then he heard her ask Takado what his next move would be. He smiled broadly, clearly pleased but also amused.

“I am not quite ready to decide.”

The next time Hanara returned to the fire they were discussing confusing and convoluted stories about crumbling and new alliances, mysterious favours and oblique references to unexplained murders.

“The emperor may never forgive me for this,” she said, shrugging. “But at least when I turned disloyal I didn’t try to kill him, as others have.”

“Surely you know that won’t stop him having you killed?”

“Of course. But I do suspect he sent me here hoping I’d fail. I figure, if he didn’t mind that, then he doesn’t mind me remaining here with you and helping you retake Kyralia.”

Takado looked thoughtful. He opened his mouth to reply, but a call from within the forest stalled him. All rose as the call came again, from closer. Then a slave staggered out of the trees and threw herself at Takado’s feet.

“Dead,” she gasped. “They’re all dead!”

“Who?” Takado snapped.

“Dovaka, Nagana, Ravora and Sageko. They... they took a village and the Kyralians came and killed them.”

Dachido muttered a curse. Takado glanced at him, then he looked down at the slave again. “They invaded a village.”

“Yes.”

“And stayed there. They didn’t leave?”

“Yes. No.”

“And the Kyralians took exception to this. How unfriendly of them.”

“They killed Dovaka,” The slave began to sob. “My master is dead.”

“Go.” Takado nudged her with his toe. “Get yourself some food and water and rest over by that tree. We will decide what to do with you later.”

As she obeyed he turned to Dachido and Asara. To Hanara’s surprise, he was smiling broadly.

“Now I am ready to make my decision. Tomorrow we will not travel separately. We will move southward together. We will destroy everything, strengthening ourselves as we go. But we will advance slowly so that others may still come through the pass and join us. We will take over Kyralia, piece by piece, magician by magician, until it is all ours.”

There was a pause as all the magicians stared at Takado in surprise. Then they gave a cheer and raised their cups in agreement. Asara glanced at Dachido, then shrugged and raised her cup. Dachido did the same, gazing at Takado in thoughtful admiration.

Dovaka is dead! Hanara thought as he rushed to refill Takado’s cup. The madman is dead. Was that Takado’s plan all along? Did he only want to get rid of Dovaka? And demonstrate to the rest of these allies why they should take his advice and follow orders? But then, maybe he needed the Kyralians to kill some Sachakans before he could get the full support of his allies. And if some Sachakans had to die then it might as well be the ones he couldn’t rely on...

Hanara’s mind swirled with wonder. Truly his master was a genius. And while he had just lost four allies, he had gained considerably more.

CHAPTER 28

All night Jayan could not shake the thought that he was sleeping in the bed of a dead man.

Rather than squeeze all the magicians into the master’s house, the villagers had found room for them in the unoccupied houses of the village. Jayan had been longing to sleep in a real bed, but when he realised that he, Dakon and Tessia were taking up residence in the home of a family who had died he found he could not relax.

At first he lay awake with memories of the day repeating before his mind’s eye. Then sleep came, but was chased away time after time by nightmares.

We won, he thought. So why am I suddenly having bad dreams?

It might be the memory of the bodies of the villagers the Sachakans had tortured that was putting his mind in dark places. And the stories the survivors told, and the haunted eyes of the women rescued from the rooms where the enemy had imprisoned them, some of them far too young to have endured such an ordeal.

Or it might also have been the battle itself, frightening and thrilling all at once, that had excited his mind too much for sleep. He kept finding himself analysing everything – every step and choice. But another thought kept creeping in that disturbed him more than he expected.

It was the first time I’ve killed. Oh, I only contributed some of the power, and did not direct the strike, but I still had a part in the deaths of other people.

It wasn’t guilt or regret that bothered him. The Sachakans were invaders. They had killed Kyralians. And after seeing what the Sachakans had done to the villagers, Jayan knew he wouldn’t have hesitated to deal the fatal blows himself.

But he couldn’t help feeling that something in him had changed, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good change. He resented the Sachakans – all the invaders – for causing it to happen. There was no going back, no undoing the change. Ironically, that made him want them gone from Kyralia even more – even if it meant killing again.

When dawn came, Jayan rose, washed himself and his clothes, dried his clothes with magic and put them on again. He waited in the kitchen until Dakon and Tessia emerged from their rooms and joined him. Dakon moved to a cupboard and opened the doors.

“It feels wrong to be eating their food,” he said.

Jayan and Tessia exchanged a glance.

“Either someone will eat it or it will go bad,” she said.

“And it’s not as if we’re stealing it from them,” Jayan added. Dakon sighed and brought out some stale bread, salted meat, and sweet preserves. Tessia rose and found plates and cutlery. They ate silently.

She looks exhausted, Jayan noted. Dark marks shadowed the skin under her eyes and her shoulders were slumped. He wished he could cheer her up, or at least see some of the familiar spark of interest in her eyes again. Even a bit of healing obsession would be better than seeing her all glum and sad.

“So how did the villagers fare?” he asked her. “Are they well?”

She blinked at him, then shrugged. “Surprisingly few injuries – mostly the girls. They’ll heal, but . . .” She grimaced and shook her head. “Otherwise, the Sachakans killed anyone injured in the attack, and once they decided to torture someone they always finished them off. Eventually.”

Jayan nodded. It matched what he’d been told. He felt his stomach turn. I thought what happened to Sudin and Aken was cruel, but they were treated kindly compared to some of these villagers. Tormented for hours. All out of some distorted idea of fun.

“Not all Sachakans are so depraved,” Dakon said quietly.

Tessia and Jayan looked at him. He smiled tiredly.

“I know it’s hard to believe right now, and I admit I’m finding it difficult to make myself remember the fact, but it is true.

Unfortunately it’s the greedy, ambitious and most violent who are most likely to be attracted to Takado’s side. I—”

A knock on the front door of the house interrupted him. Dakon rose and left the kitchen, then returned and beckoned. Jayan and Tessia rose and followed him out into the street, where Narvelan waited.

Two groups had gathered on the other side of the road. One was of magicians and apprentices, the other was a painfully small gathering of villagers. Narvelan gestured for the trio to follow and led them towards the magicians.

“They’ve offered to give us strength,” he told Dakon.

“Hmm,” was all Dakon uttered in reply.

“I thought you’d say that.”

As Dakon joined the magicians and the debate, Tessia moved close to Jayan.

“It makes sense, and if they’re willing to give it why shouldn’t we accept?” she asked. “We’ve just used a lot of power. Taking theirs wouldn’t harm them, but it could help us regain some strength.” She frowned. “I would advise against taking power from the girls, though. They’ve gone through enough.”

“Aside from the fact we’d be breaking the king’s laws, it’s not that simple,” Jayan told her. “Dakon explained it to me once.” He paused, trying to remember his master’s words. “He said no good magician is completely comfortable with using higher magic. It’s essential to the defence of the country, and enables us to do more than we can with just our own powers, but he said that in the hands of an ambitious or sadistic magician it can be dangerous. Or in the hands of someone desperate to justify its use. He said, “Self-righteousness can be as destructive as unscrupulousness.” Yes, I definitely remember those words. Got me thinking. Still does, sometimes.”

She turned her head to the side slightly and considered him. “You’re a very contradictory man, Jayan.”

He blinked and stared at her. “I am?”

“Yes.”

He could not think of anything to say to that, so he turned his attention back to the magicians’ debate. Then he rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. It could be days before the villagers get an answer. Weeks even. Perhaps we should warn the villagers not to wait, or they might starve.”

“Perhaps their offer won’t be necessary,” Tessia said quietly.

He realised she had turned away, and that some of the other apprentices were staring in the same direction. He followed their gaze and saw that a group of men on horseback were riding into the village. The magicians’ voices faltered and faded.

“Reinforcements?” someone asked.

“That’s Lord Ardalen. This must be the group headed for the pass,” another muttered.

“That’s Lord Everran – and Lady Avaria!” Tessia exclaimed. Sure enough, the couple rode behind Lord Ardalen. Beside Ardalen rose Magician Sabin, sword master and friend of the king. Jayan began counting. If all the well-dressed newcomers were magicians – his idea for a badge to mark members of his imagined guild would have made it certain – then there were eighteen magicians arriving to either regain the pass or join Werrin.

The newcomers dismounted and Magician Sabin stepped forward to greet Werrin, Ardalen at his side. Jayan edged closer and strained to hear the conversation.

“Magician Sabin,” Werrin said. “Please tell me you’re here to join us. We could do with your insight and advice.”

“I am here to join you,” Sabin replied. “As are twelve of this company. Five will go with Ardalen to retake the pass.” He looked at the villagers. “Your scouts told us you have won a battle here.”

“Yes, we have,” Werrin’s tone was grim. “Four Sachakans took the town. We regained it.”

“They are dead?”

“Yes.”

Sabin pursed his lips briefly, then nodded. “You must tell me in more detail.”

“Of course.” Werrin glanced back at the villagers, who watched the newcomers with nervous interest. “We were just debating how to respond to a noble offer made by the survivors. They want us to take strength from them, both out of gratitude and so that we may use it to fight.”

Sabin’s eyebrows rose. “A noble offer indeed, if they have already been subjected to that unwillingly.” He looked thoughtful. “The king has been examining the law against taking magic from anyone but apprentices. He acknowledges that there may not be enough magically talented young men in the higher classes to supply all the magicians needed to remove Takado and his allies. He is also worried that we may lose many of our magical blood-lines if things go badly. So he has decreed that servants may be employed as sources if a magician has no apprentice, so long as they are paid well.”

“They should be tested first, as there would be little point if they had little or no latent talent,” Werrin said. “I guess this means we can’t accept the villagers’ offer.”

Sabin’s eyes narrowed. “The law against taking magic from people other than apprentices does not apply in time of war. Sounds like what happened here qualifies as an action of war.”

As Werrin and Sabin exchanged a silent, meaningful look, Jayan felt a chill run over his skin.

I think that means we’re officially at war.

“I don’t see how walking around the same old mansion is going to cheer me up,” Stara told Vora as the woman led her down the corridor. “It might be a large prison, but it’s still a prison.”

“Don’t dismiss what you haven’t tried, mistress,” the slave replied calmly. “This place won’t keep a mind like yours entertained for long, I agree. But it has many interesting little corners, and finding them may provide some temporary relief from the boredom.”

I’m not bored. How can I be bored? I’ve been too busy thinking about the monster my father is, and what he’s going to do with me now I’m “unmarriageable”, to be bored. If I’m wearing grooves into the floor with my pacing, it’s because I want to go home. Stara sighed. Pity I had to come here to find out where “home” really is.

“Are there any walls here that aren’t white?”

“No, mistress.”

Stara sighed again. It had taken Vora some days to talk Stara into leaving her room. Stara wouldn’t admit it to her slave, but she was afraid of encountering her father. Vora kept badgering her, and in the end Stara had agreed out of disgust at herself for letting him turn her into a coward. Though she imagined it would be difficult to talk him into sending her home, it would be impossible if she never encountered him again.

A curious smell had entered the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, or sickly sweet like the fragrances Sachakans preferred. Vora led Stara into a curved corridor. Arched windows on the inside wall opened onto a mass of green. Stara stopped, surprised to see so much plant life before her.

As she moved to one of the windows she realised that the garden on the other side was enclosed within a circular room, whose roof was a segmented circle of woven fabric stretched between metal hooks fixed in the walls.

“Yes, this is rather nice – and unexpected,” she said aloud.

Vora chuckled. As the woman moved to a doorway into the garden, Stara considered the slave. I’m almost sure she likes me. I hope so. I’ve come to like her, and it would be a shame if it wasn’t mutual.

She still couldn’t bring herself to treat Vora as anything less than a servant. The woman’s bossy manner hardly emphasised her slave status, either. I probably trust her more than I should, Stara thought. If her descriptions of Sachakan politics and intrigue aren’t exaggerated then I should consider the possibility that an enemy might recruit her to poison me or something. One of Father’s enemies, more like it...or Father himself. She shivered. But he wouldn’t do that. Even if only because Mother would refuse to send her profits to him any more. Still...if she never knew it was him...I should think of something else.

A small stone-lined creek wound across the garden, crossed by a bridge at the centre. At the far end water emerged through a pipe protruding from the wall. It was so pleasant that Stara was disappointed when Vora led her across the corridor and into an empty room. Here the walls were lined with grey stone.

“So the walls aren’t all wh—” Stara began, but stopped as Vora indicated she should remain silent.

Intrigued, Stara followed the slave to a wooden doorway on the other side of the room. Vora stopped and beckoned for Stara to come nearer. The faint sound of music filtered through the door. Stara looked at Vora in surprise. She hadn’t heard any music since coming to Sachaka. The woman smiled and repeated her gesture for silence.

Stara listened. The musician was playing a stringed instrument she was more used to hearing in the homes of rich Elynes. And the musician was good. Very good. As the player shifted from one tune to another, sometimes repeating a phrase to fix a mistake or alter the speed, Stara grew more impressed. Finally she could not stand the suspense any longer. She moved away from the door.

“Who is it?” she whispered to Vora.

The woman’s smile widened. “Master Ikaro.”

Stara straightened in shock. “My brother?”

“Yes, mistress. I told you. He is not who you think he is.”

“How did he learn to play like that?”

“Listening. Practising.” Vora’s smile faced. “When Master Sokara found out he smashed Master Ikaro’s first vyer. I don’t know how your brother managed to get hold of another. He won’t tell me, for fear your father will read my mind.”

Stara looked at Vora, then at the door, unable to reconcile the picture she’d created in her mind of a handsome young vyer player come to make her prison more bearable with that of her memory of a hard-faced young man who thought women were useless.

“You two have more in common than you realise,” Vora said firmly. “You should be allies.”

Stara looked at the woman again, then stepped past her and pushed through the door.

“Wait, mistress!” Vora exclaimed. “It’s a—”

Bathing room, Stara finished as she took in the scene before her. A man sat at the edge of a pool of steaming water, naked except for a length of cloth draped over his lap. He was staring at her in horror. She looked down at the large hump in the cloth.

“Did you really think you could hide it under that?” she blurted out. “Surely you could have come up with a better plan. And you do know that playing in damp air could ruin a vyer, don’t you?”

Ikaro’s gaze slid away from her to somewhere behind her left shoulder, the surprise in his face changing to annoyance.

“Vora,” he said disapprovingly, but with no great force. “I told you not to meddle.”

“As you’ve always said, Master Ikaro, I’m not very good at obeying orders I don’t like,” the woman replied. She moved to Stara’s side. “Though I wasn’t expecting your sister to take my advice so literally.”

Stara looked at her and shrugged. “Well, I’m here now. You want us to talk?” She looked at Ikaro and crossed her arms. “Then let’s talk.”

He gave her an unreadable look, then slid the vyer out from under the cloth and put it gently aside. Then he tied the fabric around his waist, retrieved the vyer and stood up. “There are better places than this,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. “Places where we can still talk privately, but much drier.”

They moved down the room beside the pool to a door at the far end. The next room was smaller, with stone benches on either side. A neat pile of clothes lay on one. Ikaro indicated the women should continue to the next room, which was an ordinary, white-walled one with a few chairs and tables. He did not follow immediately, but appeared a moment later fully dressed. And not carrying the vyer, Stara noted. Where in those stone-lined rooms was he keeping it?

I suppose if it’s always kept in a moist place, and never dries out too fast, it shouldn’t split.

Still silent, he led them into a corridor then out into a walled courtyard. Potted plants shaded the area and a fountain in the centre filled the air with the constant patter of water. They sat at the edge of the pool.

Ah, yes. The old fountain trick. Hides the sound of voices. Good to know Elynes aren’t the only ones who do this.

“We can talk safely here,” he told them.

“None of the slaves are mouth-readers, then.”

He looked at her oddly.

“Mouth-reading,” she explained. “The trick of reading what someone is saying by the movements of their lips.”

“I had no idea anyone could do that,” he admitted, glancing nervously around the courtyard. Then he shrugged and turned back to her. “So what would you like to talk about?”

She searched for any sign of the aloof, cold man who had ignored her at the dinner a few weeks back. He looked a little anxious, but there was no animosity or distance in his face. He almost seemed a different person.

“Vora tells me you’re not like the person I thought I knew,” she told him, deciding to be blunt. “But you barely looked at me the one time I’ve seen you since I arrived.”

He grimaced and nodded. “I wasn’t to show any feeling towards you, good or bad, or it might affect the outcome.”

“It might put my prospective husband off?”

“Yes.”

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “I might have wanted him put off. But, of course, what my father wanted was more important than what I wanted.”

His eyes were dark and haunted as he nodded and met her eyes. “There is not much point resisting him.”

She looked back towards where she thought the bath was situated. “You don’t seem to be giving up.”

“A small victory that could be lost at any moment, any day. The larger issues . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “I’ve been so jealous of you, living with Mother and able to do whatever you wanted.”

Stara stared at him. “You were jealous of me? I thought you... You said women weren’t important and I figured that had to include me. Why would you have given me any thought at all?”

“I was sixteen when I said that, Stara,” he chided her quietly. “You can’t hold anyone responsible for the opinions they form at that age, especially growing up in this place. Everything is at the extreme here. There is no middle ground. When I met my wife I learned that things weren’t that simple.”

“I was jealous of you,” she told him. “All my life I worked towards learning what I thought I’d need to know when Father finally called me home.” She clenched her fists. “And when he did it turned out all he wanted was to marry me off like a piece of stock.”

Ikaro chuckled. “He was furious that you’d learned magic. Nachira and I laughed so hard when I told her. You must meet her – you’d like her. I know she wants to meet you. How did you manage to learn and keep it a secret?”

She shrugged. “Friends in Elyne. Mother wouldn’t let me become an apprentice, and I didn’t want to leave her to do all the work alone. So I learned from a friend and from books.”

“Father said you’d lacked any good training. I took that to mean you didn’t know higher magic.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “You’ve been to Elyne. You know the laws.”

“All magicians are bound by some oath before they’re allowed to learn higher magic, right?”

“Yes. My friend said she wouldn’t teach me higher magic, because it was a law she respected. Not that I resent her for it.” She shrugged. “What I had learned was precious enough. Do any Sachakan women learn magic?”

He nodded. “Sometimes. Usually because they’re the only heir to a magician’s property, but there are tales of husbands who foolishly taught their wives and came to regret it, or of women who received training in exchange for some favour.”

“Does it really mean no one will marry them?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t want to be married.”

“Just not to someone I don’t know and like.”

“I see.” He looked away, frowning. Stara looked at Vora. The woman was watching him closely, her face creased with worry.

“Having magic doesn’t make a woman unmarriageable, but it is unlikely anyone of high status would take her.” He looked up at her quickly. “Father has chosen someone of lower status than he wanted. That’s all I know.”

“He’s chosen . . .” Stara echoed. A chill ran across her skin.

Ikaro frowned. “You didn’t know?”

“I thought...I hoped he’d given up on the idea and...I hoped he would send me home.”

He shook his head and looked away again. “No, he’s accepted the man’s proposal.”

Standing up, she began to pace in a small circle. “Do I get any say in this?” She looked at him and saw the apology in his expression as he began to answer. “No. I know.” She cursed. “What can I do? Run away? Tell him that if he marries me off against my will I’ll make sure I never have a child?”

Ikaro winced, a reaction that made her stop pacing and consider him. Father said his wife couldn’t bear children. He’s been married a few years now. From the sound of it, he likes and respects his wife. But if she’s infertile... and Father said he needed an heir. To prevent the emperor from gaining the family assets when Ikaro dies.

“Tell her,” Vora said, her voice low and urgent.

Ikaro put his head in his hands, then straightened again. “If you don’t bear a child, Father will make sure I do. By freeing me to try another wife.”

Stara stared at him as the meaning behind his words sank in. He’ll murder Nachira. That’s why Ikaro winced. He loves Nachira. He needs me to have a child in order to give Father no reason to murder her. A wave of horror swept over her. Someone get me out of this country!

But if someone did, Nachira would still die. Though she had never met the woman, Stara knew she would always feel responsible if something she had done – or hadn’t done – had led to someone’s death.

Was she willing to marry a stranger and bear his children to avoid that?

Is there any chance I’d make it out of Sachaka, anyway? Father can still have me marry whoever he’s picked, whether I want it or not. I get no say in it.

“So Father is willing to have Nachira murdered just so the emperor won’t get the family assets?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “He must really dislike the emperor.”

“It’s more a matter of pride for him,” Ikaro told her. “It’s certainly not a concern for me, but for the fact that if I die first Nachira will have no money or home.”

He looked guilty but his eyes pleaded with her.

“I know I’m asking you to do something you don’t want to do and I wish there was another way. If there was something I could give you in return, I would, but I know the things you want most are the ones that would still lead to... still leave her...”

Taking in a deep breath, Stara let it out slowly. “Sounds as if I need to meet Nachira.”

Ikaro’s eyes brightened. “You’ll like her.”

“So you said before. I won’t agree to anything until I’ve had time to think about it.” She paused as an idea came to her. “When you said you would give me something in return . . .”

He hesitated, frowned, then smiled. “If I can give it, I will.”

“Teach me higher magic.”

Again she saw surprise, concern, then amusement. Then he began to nod. “I will have to think about it, too. And ask Nachira. She often sees consequences where I don’t.”

“Of course,” she said. Looking at Vora, she saw the woman was smiling broadly. “What are you looking so smug about, Vora?”

The woman’s eyes widened in an unconvincingly innocent look. “I am a mere slave, mistress, and have nothing to be smug about.”

To Stara’s amusement, Ikaro rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why Father doesn’t sell you, Vora.”

“Because I am so good at keeping his children in line.” She rose and took a step away from the fountain. “Come now, mistress. Too much exposure to the sun will age you before your time.”

As they began to walk away from the fountain, Ikaro called out quietly.

“We can’t take too long to decide, Stara. There are rumours about that Emperor Vochira may go to war with Kyralia. If Father sends me off to fight I won’t be able to protect or teach anybody.”

Stara looked back and met his gaze, nodding soberly. Then she followed Vora back into the mansion, her thoughts turning slowly but ceaselessly with the choices she now faced.

CHAPTER 29

It came as a relief to Tessia, the next morning, to learn that the magicians had decided to move on to the next town. Vennea was a larger town on the border of two leys and, being on the main road to the pass, was a good place to base themselves for a few days. Sabin wanted to send out more scouts and locate the rest of the Sachakans before he and Werrin decided on their next move.

Tecurren was a town in mourning, which was too sharp a reminder of the fate of Mandryn and her parents. The survivors had begun to behave strangely towards the magicians. Their fascination and gratitude had only increased after the magicians took the strength they’d offered (though not from the girls, as Tessia advised). Some began following them around. All agreed it was time to leave and let them begin rebuilding their lives.

The road to Vennea descended in graceful curves along the sides of a widening valley. The forests around Tecurren had been patchy, held back by the spread of fields and relegated to a narrow band of trees hugging rivers and creeks. Now the group descended into a near-treeless landscape, giving them a clear view of fields, clusters of tiny houses, a river and the shiny surfaces of lakes and reservoirs.

As a horse drew alongside Tessia, she glanced up and saw that Lady Avaria was riding beside her. The woman smiled.

“How are you getting along, Tessia?”

“Well enough.”

“I was saddened to hear about your parents, and the people of Mandryn.”

Tessia felt something inside spasm as grief suddenly sprang to life again. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and resolutely pushed the feeling away.

“The girls all send their greetings – especially Kendaria. She wanted to come with me and try out her healing skills, but doubted the guild or the magicians would let her.”

Tessia grimaced. “I’m not sure it would be what she expected. I’ve been failing to heal more often than succeeding. We don’t have the time to treat serious injuries. I don’t know if she’s experienced being unable to save a patient. It’s shocking the first time.”

Avaria frowned. “Sounds as if the king ought to be sending a few healers to join this group. Lessen the burden on you.”

“We haven’t needed them so far. The Sachakans don’t tend to leave their victims alive. But if there are more attempts to take over villages there will be more people with injuries from houses falling down and fires.”

“Let’s hope the war never escalates to the point where Kendaria has a chance to try out her skills. Though I imagine you’d have liked her company. Any womanly company. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you travelling with all these men.”

Tessia smiled. “It has been interesting.” She looked at Dakon and Jayan, and the other magicians and apprentices ahead of them. “You know, I’m glad there’s another woman now, but when I think about it I wonder why. I’ve spent all this time acting as if it doesn’t matter that I’m female. I’m living as roughly as the boys – though I do get a tent all to myself – eating the same food and even dressing the same. Oh, I do have some physical requirements different from theirs, but it’s not as if I haven’t been dealing with that by myself for years already. A bit of extra privacy is all that I’ve needed.”

Avaria glanced at her, an eyebrow raised. “You must tell me the arrangements you’ve made. I’ve been wondering what I’ll do when... when that time of womanly inconvenience comes.”

“Magic makes it easier, of course. Think how badly we’d all smell by now if we weren’t able to wash our clothes because we didn’t have time for them to dry.”

Avaria chuckled. “I’m surprised your clothes haven’t turned to rags in the process.”

“We’ve bought or been given new clothes and shoes in the villages. Not always to the taste of some, but I think even the fussiest of us has had to acknowledge that fine cloth doesn’t last long when you’re riding every day.”

“It would be a waste of fine cloth, too.”

“Yes.” Tessia chuckled. “We can’t have that.”

“What’s this cloud ahead...?” Avaria began, her voice tailing off. Tessia looked at the woman and saw she was staring into the distance. Following her gaze, she saw smoke billowing up from a cluster of tiny shapes in the valley below. At once she felt a sinking in her stomach.

A murmur of voices flowed through the magicians and apprentices as they saw the smoke. Though their words were too quiet to catch, Tessia heard the grimness in their voices and felt her stomach sink even further.

“Is that Vennea?” someone asked.

“I think so.”

The rest of the morning passed slowly and painfully. Sometimes the road led them out of sight of the smoke below. Every time the valley came into view again, the smoke always appeared worse. Nobody spoke, but the pace had quickened and the silence was only punctuated by the huffing breath of the horses.

At last they reached level ground at the valley bottom and the road straightened. Though they no longer had a view of the town, the smoke cloud was now a stark shadow against the clear sky. At the same time, what had been a near-empty road ahead of them was suddenly full of people – both walking and riding – carts, and small groups of domestic animals.

Her stomach sank as she saw the numbers coming towards them. As she began to make out detail, she saw heads turning to glance behind and recognised the haste in their movements. When one of a group of reber skittered away from the rest, the herder made no attempt to stop and chase it.

The magicians fell silent. Expressions were grim. Slowly the gap between the two groups shrank. Several strides before the crowd reached the magicians people began to call out, some pointing back the way they’d come.

“Sachakans!”

“They’ve attacked Vennea! They’ve wrecked Vennea!”

“They’re killing people!”

Tessia watched as the refugees stopped and formed a crowd before Werrin. The magician’s questions were followed by a dozen answers, and she was unable to make out much. After several minutes she heard Werrin call over the voices.

“You must travel south. This way will take you towards the mountains and more Sachakans.”

“But we can’t go back!”

“You must go around,” Werrin replied, pointing to the west. After more discussion, the refugees moved to the side of the road so the magicians could ride on. Narvelan, who had managed to keep a position close to the leaders of the group since the reinforcements had arrived, turned his horse and rode back to join Dakon, Everran and Avaria.

“The townspeople say about twenty Sachakan magicians attacked Vennea less than an hour ago,” he told them. “They’re destroying the place, so it’s doubtful they’ll try to occupy it as they did Tecurren.”

“I imagine scouts will confirm the number before we form a plan of attack,” Everran said.

“Yes. It’s likely they—”

– Lord Werrin? Magician Sabin?

Tessia jumped at the voice in her mind. She looked around to see her own surprise reflected in the faces around her. The voice had been familiar...

– Who are you? Werrin replied.

– Mikken of family Loren. Ardalen’s apprentice. He told me to report when I reached a safe place.

– Then report.

– They’re dead. All of our group. Ardalen. Everyone. He paused. We were so careful. Silent. Travelled at night. But the pass...it was full of Sachakans. By the time we came close enough to see it was too late. Ardalen told me to run and hide, so I could tell you. I climbed the cliff... There are about ten of them. They have tents and carts of food and other things that indicate they are planning to stay there and hold the pass for themselves.

Tessia realised her heart was racing. The Sachakans would be hearing this and would know he was still in the area. He was taking a great risk. Be careful, Mikken! she thought. Don’t give yourself away!

– Is there anything else you must tell us? Sabin asked. Anything vital?

– No. –

Then stay silent. Travel quick and quiet. May luck be yours.

– Yes. I’ll do that. Goodbye.

In the silence that followed, furtive, grim looks were exchanged. A few shook their heads. They don’t think he’ll survive, Tessia thought. Her heart twisted. Poor Mikken. She thought back to the apprentice’s first and only attempt to charm her. Despite – or perhaps because of – her rebuff, he’d remained charming, but only in a friendly, light-hearted way. She felt an unexpected wave of affection for him. It was like a joke between us. I knew he wasn’t serious. After all, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice if there had been prettier women around. But it was nice to have someone flirting with me, especially when Jayan is so serious all the time. She sighed. I hope he finds his way back to us.

Then she remembered Lord Ardalen teaching them the method of giving magic to another that they had used to defeat the Sachakans at Tecurren. Such a valuable piece of knowledge. What other knowledge had been lost when the magician died? How much more would be lost in this war? And would any of them survive to form this guild of magicians that Jayan had thought so much about?

The grey-haired woman sagged in Takado’s grip. He let her drop to the ground then extended a hand in Hanara’s direction. Hanara handed his master a clean, damp cloth, watched Takado wipe the blood off his hand, then took it and stowed it in his pack for cleaning later. “A surprisingly strong one,” Takado said. Looking up at Dachido, he smiled. “You can never tell with these Kyralians.”

Dachido shook his head and looked round at the corpses littering the street. The ones who didn’t run fast enough, Hanara thought. The ones who dared to confront us.

“If they were slaves, the strong ones would have been found and made useful. I can’t believe the wastage here.”

A crash drew their attention. The front wall of a house nearby collapsed and the heat of the fire within beat at Hanara, searing his skin. To his relief, Takado moved away.

“How do these Kyralians survive?” Dachido asked. “They should be wallowing in rebellion, the fields untended and thievery everywhere. Instead they prosper.”

“Lord Dakon tried to convince me that slavery was inefficient,” Takado replied. “That a free man will take pride in his work. That a craft worker is more likely to experiment and invent better ways of doing things if it is for his own benefit and his family’s.”

“I don’t see how that would be any greater motivation than the threat of a whipping, or death.”

“Nor did I, until I came here.”

Dachido’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Takado in surprise. “So you agree with him?”

“Perhaps.” Takado turned at the creak of an opening door. Smoke gusted out, followed by a man. The man saw them and tried to run, but he crumpled against an invisible wall. He began to yell as magic drew him towards the two magicians. “Not enough to try to make it work myself.”

“What would be the point of taking over a land only to let the people keep all their wealth and freedom?” Dachido said.

The failed escapee collapsed to his knees but the magic dragged him over the stone-paved ground. He whimpered as the force deposited him in front of Dachido, knees red and bleeding.

“Please,” he begged. “Let me go. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You have him,” Takado said to Dachido. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Do I ever make an offer I’m not sure of?”

“No.” Dachido drew his knife. Gems glinted in the sun as he stepped up to the man and touched its edge to the exposed skin at the back of the neck. A fine red line of beaded blood appeared.

Hanara waited, bored. He’d seen this too many times to count in his life, though it had not often resulted in death before now. Seeing an approaching figure out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see Asara coming towards them. She said nothing as she reached them, politely waiting for the strength-taking to finish. Dachido let the failed escapee fall to the ground, then started as he realised she was standing beside him.

“Asara,” he said. “Had a good harvest?”

She chuckled. “That’s an interesting way to put it. Yes, I must have replaced what I used, and more. You?”

“Easily.”

She looked at Takado. Hanara saw respect in her eyes, not quite hidden behind her cool, restrained demeanour. “What next, Takado?”

Takado looked around them, considering. They were standing in the middle of a square area surrounded on all sides by houses and bisected by the main road. “We have achieved all we need to here. A start. A message. A beginning to our advance towards Imardin.”

“Will we stay here tonight?”

“No.” Takado’s eyes were dark. “I believe the next major town on the main road is called Halria. If we move quickly we will stay ahead of our pursuers.”

“Another town on the main road? What if they anticipate that and gather together another group of magicians to confront us?” Dachido asked. “We may be caught between two forces.”

“We will move off the road before then,” Takado told him. “But for a time we can take towns that are still full of people. Towns that haven’t been warned of our coming. Towns they won’t expect us to attack.” He smiled. “There has to be a little randomness in war. Otherwise it wouldn’t be as interesting.”

Asara smiled. Hanara felt a shiver run down his spine. He felt a strange emotion, part fear, part pride. It made him want to get away from these three people, yet it also made him want to stay and watch what they did. Never in his life had he seen magicians demonstrate their full powers. Today they had burned and ruined a town while barely showing more effort than a stare or a frown. But he knew they hadn’t been stretched to use their powers to the limit yet. It would be terrible and magnificent when they did. His heart swelled even as it pumped faster.

And I will be there to see it.

CHAPTER 30

The typical Sachakan home was a sprawl that contained clusters of rooms known as quarters. Stara’s father lived in the master’s quarters. She lived in the adjoining family quarters. Ikano and Nachira lived in the son’s quarters – an area reserved for the heir to the master.

In the centre of the son’s quarters was a large main room from which all other rooms were accessed. These smaller rooms were empty but for the couple’s bedroom. The lack of furniture seemed to exude an air of sadness and disapproval. They ought to contain her nephews and nieces.

It would be bad enough failing to live up to that expectation, Stara thought as Vora led her into the main room, but to be reminded of it every day would be awful – especially with the extra fear of murder as a consequence.

Then her insides curled with a growing dread. And Ikaro is asking me to become the focus of that expectation. What will happen if I can’t produce a child either? She knew what Vora would say. “Best not waste time dwelling on troubles until you have to, mistress.” Stara disagreed. She preferred “Better to be prepared than be caught unready” as a motto.

Nachira rose to greet Stara, kissing her on both cheeks, her jewellery jingling pleasantly. Stara returned the gesture. They sat down on cushioned stools at the centre of the room. After prostrating herself, Vora took her usual position on a floor cushion behind Stara’s seat. Though this always made the old woman grunt and rub her joints, she resisted invitations to sit “at their level” and if ordered to looked uncomfortable and made unhappy remarks until Stara let her return to the floor cushion.

“Is my brother here?” Stara asked, looking around.

“He’s checking that Ashaki Sokara is not coming back early,” Nachira said in her low, husky voice. “He heard one of the slaves speculating.”

“I still can’t believe Father would object to his son and daughter conversing.”

“Oh, he will.” Nachira frowned. “If he hears about it from the slaves. We are going to tell him that we felt we should keep an eye on you, and provide a distraction so you don’t try to go out again.”

“Won’t he read your mind and find it isn’t true?”

The woman blinked. “No. At least...I hope not. He hasn’t before. Well, not since that one time, after the wedding, when he wanted to be sure I didn’t have some secret mission to do him harm. But he was kind about it.”

Stara looked away. “I’d have thought he’d do it before the wedding, if he thought there was justification for it.”

“My father would have called off the wedding. It would be rude to show such distrust then.”

“But not after?” Stara turned back to meet Nachira’s eyes.

The woman lowered her gaze. “Not as much. And he was kind about it...as I said. I didn’t think it was worth bothering Father over.”

Stara nodded and sighed. This confirmed her suspicion that reading a free person’s mind – even family – was not an everyday, accepted act.

Vora had brought her to her brother’s rooms every day since that first meeting in the baths. Sometimes Stara visited in the morning, sometimes later in the day. The handful of visits weren’t enough for her to consider she knew Nachira well, but she had judged the woman to be a straightforward sort of person. The idea that Ikaro’s wife might have some secret mission – or any secret other than her infertility – was unlikely.

I like her well enough, Stara mused. I haven’t seen anything to dislike, except perhaps her utter passiveness. If I thought my father-inlaw was likely to kill me, I’d be demanding or at least begging my husband to take me away from danger.

Maybe there was no “away”. Where would Ikaro and Nachira go? Without Stara’s father’s good will and protection, they would have no money, trade or land to inherit.

But that would be better than death, wouldn’t it? They could go to Elyne. Even as she thought it, she knew it was not an option likely to be considered. Nachira would not be able to comprehend living in another land, and Ikaro would worry that his father would still be able to make their lives a misery from across the border, since he had trading connections through their mother.

Mother would never do anything to harm us, Stara thought. But she may not know she is doing so. She could be tricked into it.

Hearing footsteps, they both tensed and looked towards the doorway. When Ikaro entered Nachira let out a sigh of relief.

Ikaro smiled. “He hasn’t returned and they don’t expect him for another few days.” He sat down and his expression became serious as he looked at his wife. “But I heard other news, just arrived. The emperor has officially declared his support of the invasion of Kyralia and is calling for magicians to join his army. When Father learns of this he will send me away to fight.”

Stara heard Nachira catch her breath. The couple stared at each other for a moment, then their gazes shifted to Stara.

“You will have to make your decision sooner than we hoped, Stara.” Ikaro reached out to take Nachira’s hand. “We have discussed it, and agreed that the least we can do is give you what you asked for. I’ll teach you higher magic.”

Stara glanced at Vora. The woman smiled and nodded her approval. Stara felt a wave of emotions rush through her. First helplessness, then disgust at herself. I’m going to give in to this. I’m going to marry some stranger and have his child because my father is a monster. How pathetic am I? Then a strange pride followed by determination. But I’m not just giving in, I’m making a choice – saving a life. Finally, dread came and didn’t leave her, settling into her as if it had found a home in her bones. If Father has chosen someone horrible I will not sit there and accept it. Ikaro may help me, but if he can’t I will find a way to help myself.

She realised then that she had decided to help them from the first moment she learned of Nachira and Ikaro’s dilemma. Foolishly, perhaps, because she had to trust they were telling the truth and not inventing the threat to Nachira’s life to get Stara to co-operate. But all her senses told her their fear was real. She could see it in their slightest gesture, almost smell it in the air.

“Then I’ll do it,” she told them. “I’ll marry and try to provide Father with an heir.”

Both smiled, then sobered, then smiled again as they alternately thanked and apologised to her. Nachira began to cry; Ikaro consoled her. Stara felt her heart lift at their obvious affection for each other, but then it sank again.

Oh, Mother, I am going to marry and have a child, and you won’t be there to help and share the experience. Stara knew then that the dread she felt was not just at the prospect of putting her life in the hands of a stranger, but of becoming trapped in Sachaka with nothing familiar and nobody she could trust and talk to. It was hardly the sort of place she’d hoped to bring a child up in.

Nachira abruptly rose. “We must share some raka to seal the agreement,” she declared.

“I’ll get the raka,” Vora said, her joints creaking as she rose. She looked at Ikaro. “You should honour your side of the agreement now, master.”

He chuckled. “You’re right, Vora. We can never know if and when we may be interrupted.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Be quick with the raka, too, as we need someone to practise on.”

Vora’s lips thinned, but her eyes were warm with fondness. Soon they had settled back onto the cushions, sipping the hot drink. Ikaro told Vora to move her cushion between them, and kneel. He drew the short, curved knife from the sheath at his waist, then looked at Stara, all humour gone from his face.

“First you must break the skin,” he told her. “The natural magical barrier that protects us all from the will of others lies there when not extended to form a shield.” He turned the knife and offered the handle to her. “Take it. The only way to show you is for you to sense it yourself.”

She took the knife. The handle was warm from his touch. Vora rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm.

“Just the lightest touch should be enough. The blade is very sharp.”

For a moment Stara could not bring herself to move. Vora eyed her, her gaze judgemental. Suddenly determined the old woman wouldn’t see yet another moment of weakness, Stara pressed the blade gently against the woman’s skin. As she drew it away a red line appeared. At one edge a bead of blood formed. Stara bit back an urge to apologise.

“Now place your hand over the cut,” Ikaro continued. “Close your eyes. Send your mind out and locate Vora.”

Doing as he instructed, Stara was startled by the intensity of what she sensed. Many of Nimelle’s magic lessons had involved the meeting of their minds, but it hadn’t been like this. Stara was aware not only of Vora’s presence, but of her entire body, and even her mind. When she concentrated, she could hear the woman’s thoughts.

Most keenly of all, she could feel the magical energy within the slave, imbuing every part of her body.

From a distance, she heard Ikaro speaking.

“Do you feel the strength within her?”

She made herself nod.

“Good. Now draw from it. Tap into it as you would tap into your own power.”

Carefully, tentatively, she reached for the energy within Vora. It flowed to her, but she felt it slip away.

“Where’d it go?”

“You channelled it out of yourself, unformed. Don’t worry. That is what most people do initially. Try again, but this time connect with your own power. Draw her power in to join yours.”

Keeping an awareness of Vora’s energy, she sought her own power. Suddenly she had an impression of two glowing human forms connected where one touched the other. She could feel the barrier about Vora’s energy, sense the break where her skin had been cut.

Then she focused her will and pulled in energy from Vora’s body. It responded to her will, flowing into her own body.

“I have it,” she said. “It’s working.”

“Good. Now, to avoid others sensing what you are doing, you must strengthen your barrier. It will only hold the power you naturally contain if you don’t. Father will sense the leakage and know what I have taught you. You must also learn to draw power without leakage, too.”

He made her start and stop drawing power several times, alerting her whenever he sensed leakage. She was aware that some hours had passed before he pronounced her proficient enough to use black magic without alerting others. Looking at Vora, she searched for signs of weariness, but the old woman looked no different.

That’s good. I don’t want to drain Vora of too much energy. She isn’t young, and uses enough running around after me and Ikaro.

“Will I need more lessons?” she asked.

“No.” He smiled. “You’re a fast learner.”

Stara tossed her head in mock pride. “I guess I’m a natural.”

Ikaro smiled briefly, then turned thoughtful. “Perhaps you would have been, if you hadn’t learned magic in Elyne. Then Father would have been forced to teach you anyway.”

“Or had you killed,” Vora murmured. “Like most naturals.” Stara stared at them in disbelief, then shook her head. “Surely not. I know Sachakans kill slaves who are naturals, but do they really kill their own family members?”

“Naturals are . . .” Ikaro searched for a word.

“Dangerous,” Vora offered, rising and moving her cushion back to its former position. “Freaks. Ashaki don’t like not being able to decide who has magic and who doesn’t.”

“Sounds as if they ought to call them unnaturals,” Stara mused.

“Well, it’s best not to use the word,” Ikaro warned. “You will also have to be careful how you strengthen yourself, too, if that is your intent. By law, a magician can’t take power from another’s slave without the permission of its owner. Even I can’t strengthen myself here without permission. All the slaves here are Father’s.”

“Including Vora?”

“Including her.”

“So we just broke a law.”

He shrugged. “We didn’t use higher magic to strengthen anyone, just to teach.”

“Well, gaining power isn’t my aim right now. I only want to be sure I have all the abilities I might need when...well... later.”

“I understand,” Ikaro said. He smiled crookedly. “After all these years envying you, I find I want you to have as much freedom as possible, so you may survive and be happy.”

She smiled and patted his hand. “And I want the same for you two.”

“Well, in that case –” Vora said.

They all turned to look at her.

“– there is another ability that Stara needs. One that may save her life one day.”

Ikaro looked at Stara questioningly. She shrugged to show she had no idea what the woman was talking about. But I really want to know! she thought.

“What’s that, then?” Ikaro asked.

Vora’s smile was sly. “How to kill someone while bedding them, master.”

Nachira put a hand to her mouth and looked at her husband, eyes wide. Ikaro was smiling, but his face had reddened slightly.

“How am I supposed to teach her that?” he asked Vora.

“You tell me,” the woman replied, a challenge in her gaze. “Presumably it’s possible without resorting to incest or offending your wife.”

Ikaro nodded. “You’re right. Father told me how it was done, though I’ve never had cause to use that particular trick so I have no idea if I’d get it right.” He turned to look at Stara. “Apparently it is easier for women than men. Timing is crucial.”

She looked back at him expectantly. “How so?”

“At the moment of . . . er . . . highest pleasure the natural barrier we spoke of earlier disappears. Do you... know what I refer to?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I know the peak you’re talking about.” His face had reddened more, she noted. “I gather I’ll sense when the barrier disappears.”

“So I’ve been told.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then glanced at Nachira, who was looking amused. “As with the usual method of higher magic, once the drawing begins the source is helpless. But once you stop the natural barrier restores itself, so if you intend to kill then you must not stop drawing until you have taken all his energy. Of course, we’d appreciate it if you left killing your husband until after you have a child.”

Stara laughed. “Of course.”

“You never know,” Vora injected. “Stara may like her husband.” The three of them turned to look at the slave woman suspiciously. Vora raised her hands to indicate her innocence.

“Oh, I don’t know who he is. But you shouldn’t discount the possibility.” She looked at each of them, then shrugged. “I suppose if you insist on expecting the worst you can only be right, or pleasantly surprised.”

It’s all right for her, Stara thought. She’s not being forced to marry anyone. But then she checked herself. Am I jealous of a slave? No, there are worse fates than being married off... though Vora seems to have done well for herself. I hope she continues to serve Ikaro and Nachira after I’m gone.

To her surprise, Stara realised she would miss the bossy old woman.

The air was laden with smoke, the smell of it suggesting all the different things that had been burned, some of which turned the stomach. Wooden beams, scorched black and still glowing, jutted towards the sky. Bricks, wood and metal fragments were scattered everywhere. Not a single building in Vennea remained standing.

In among the rubble lay the dead. Their clothing fluttered in the wind. There was no blood. Somehow that made it more chilling.

Or perhaps it was the silence. There were noises here. The crackle of flames. The howling of a baby somewhere. The footsteps of the magicians and apprentices. But all sound was muffled and distant. Perhaps the horror has made me deaf, Dakon thought. My mind doesn’t want to believe this, so it refuses to take it all in.

“The Sachakans left,” the village baker said. He’d locked himself inside his oven, which had cooled just enough since the morning’s baking not to cook him, when the Sachakans searched his house, and had burns on his hands and scorched shoes. “When I knew I needed air I got out. There were people in the street. They were stealing from the houses that weren’t on fire. They told me the Sachakans had left.”

“Which direction did the Sachakans go?”

“I don’t know.”

Werrin nodded and thanked the man. He looked at Sabin. “We must find out. What do you think they’re up to now?”

“This has the feel of a proper invasion,” the sword master replied. “The numbers of them, the harvesting of strength. There is no advantage to them in holding a town, but they can gain strength and supplies from it. They know we are too few to defend all the outer villages and towns, so they strike and move on.”

“Learned their lesson in Tecurren?”

“Probably.”

“Where will they strike next?”

Sabin shrugged. “Our best strategy is to withdraw people to a more defendable location. Clear the outer villages and towns so there is nothing for them to take.”

“Sounds as if you’re suggesting we abandon the outer leys,” Narvelan said, frowning.

Sabin nodded. “We may have to. I know this is disappointing after all the work the Circle has done these last few years, but can you see any way we can protect them?”

Narvelan shook his head and sighed. He looked at Dakon. “Looks as if you and I are about to become landless. Will we have to give up our title of Lord, I wonder?”

“Better that than let all the people we govern perish,” Dakon replied.

“For now we may not need to abandon entire leys,” Sabin said. “We can withdraw the populations to places the Sachakans can’t approach in stealth, that can be evacuated easily.”

“And how will we tackle the Sachakans?” Narvelan asked. Sabin frowned. “From what we know from scouts’ reports and villager’s stories we are equal in number to the invading force, but are we equal in strength? Those of us who fought at Tecurren will be diminished in strength, though the generosity of the villagers will have compensated a little for that. The Sachakans, however, have taken the strength of whole towns. I do not like our chances.” He shook his head. “For now we should do what we can to help here. People may be buried or trapped. I will contact the king using our code of mental communication again. Be ready to leave at any time.”

As the magicians split apart and headed in all directions, Dakon looked for Jayan and Tessia. Neither was standing behind him. He scanned the village square and eventually located the pair sitting either side of a small boy several paces away.

As he drew closer he realised the child was wounded and Tessia was treating him. Jayan had the boy’s arm cradled in a bundle of cloth. Despite the support, the forearm was bent at an unnatural angle. Tessia touched the skin gently.

Then, as Dakon watched, the arm slowly unbent.

The boy cried out in pain and surprise, then burst into tears. Tessia quickly cast about, then drew a fragment of wood towards her with magic. Splinters flew off and the fragment split into two. She took the pieces, wrapped them in cloth, then instructed Jayan to hold them in place as she bound them to the boy’s arm.

I have never seen anything like that, Dakon thought. He’d stopped, frozen in amazement at what he’d witnessed. The memory of the forearm straightening, seemingly by itself, played out over and over in his mind. Magic. Clearly she used magic. In such a logical and beneficial way. And only a magician can do it. Oh, the healers’ guild is not going to be happy to hear about this!

As Tessia consoled the boy, telling him what the supports did and how long to keep them on, Jayan looked up and blinked in surprise as he saw Dakon.

They were both so absorbed, Dakon thought, that a whole army of Sachakans could have sneaked up on them. Still, I can hardly blame them. They’re only trying to help people.

Nevertheless, Jayan’s involvement was interesting. The young man barely left Tessia’s side now. Dakon suspected he saw himself as her protector, but perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps Jayan understood how important Tessia’s use of magic in healing could be, and was trying to give her the chance to keep developing her skill. He found he could manage a smile.

Sharing of knowledge, healing with the help of magic, and Jayan supporting and encouraging another apprentice. Who’d have thought there’d be such benefits to be found in this war we’ve found ourselves in?

PART FOUR

CHAPTER 31

The first thing Stara did when she woke was to marvel that she had been asleep at all. Her last memory of the night before was of telling Vora she would probably lie awake all night as she lay down on the bed. Instead she was blinking and rubbing her eyes, feeling disappointingly fresh and rested.

A familiar figure prostrated herself on the floor, her knees cracking audibly.

“Did you put a herb in my drink?” Stara asked, sitting up.

“You said you wished today would hurry up and be over, mistress,” Vora replied as she rose to her feet. “Did the time speed by as you wished?”

“Yes. You’re an evil woman, Vora. And I’m going to miss you.” The old woman smiled. “Come on then, mistress. Let’s get you washed and dressed. I’ve brought your wedding wrap.”

Stara couldn’t help feeling a small thrill of excitement, but it was followed by a more familiar annoyance and frustration. In Elyne, a bride spent weeks with her mother, sisters – if she had them – and friends selecting fabric, embellishments and a design for her wedding dress. In Sachaka women wore yet another wrap, though for once it was a sober colour, and a headdress to which a veil had been attached. This traditional wedding costume had barely changed for centuries.

Stara rose and eyed the bundle of black cloth in Vora’s hands. “Let’s see it, then.”

As the woman let the wrap unfurl, Stara caught a ripple of tiny reflections. She moved closer and examined the cloth. Fine stitchwork covered the front, incorporating countless tiny black disc-like beads.

“Pretty,” she said. “Elyne women would love this. I wonder why it has never made it to market?”

“Because it is only used on wedding gowns,” Vora told her. “The quans are carved from quannen shell. It’s a slow process and the shell is rare, so they are very expensive. It is also traditional to reuse those on a mother’s gown for her daughter’s. But since your mother took hers to Elyne with her, your father had to buy new quans for this one.”

“That was generous, considering he thinks I’m of no value as a wife.” Stara straightened and moved to the washbasin. Her stomach had started doing that sickening fluttering and sinking thing again. “Either that, or he was forced to because he doesn’t dare tell my mother he’s marrying me off.”

“I doubt any message would get to your mother at the moment,” Vora reminded her.

Stara sighed. “No. Blasted war.” She stripped off her night-clothes and washed, then let Vora envelop her in the wrap. The slave fussed with Stara’s hair, arranging and pinning it carefully. When she was satisfied, she stepped back and looked Stara over.

“You look beautiful, mistress,” she said, then shook her head. “You look beautiful when you first wake up, in a bad mood and your hair a-tangle. I only have to make you look like a bride. Ah, I wish my orders were always this easy to follow.”

Stara had noticed that Vora had placed a large box on the table. Now the old woman opened it and lifted out a heavy mass of cascading cloth and jewels. The cloth was gauzy and covered in an elaborate pattern of quans.

“This is the headdress,” the slave explained, then let it fall back into the box. “Before I put it on, would you like something to eat?”

Feeling her stomach clench, Stara shook her head. “No.”

“How about a little juice?” Vora moved to a side table and picked up a glass jug. “I brought some in case.”

Stara shrugged. She accepted the glass of juice the slave poured for her and sipped. Against her expectations, her stomach did not rebel. She felt a cool, calm sensation spread through her, and looked at the drink speculatively.

“Did you put herbs in this as well?”

Vora smiled. “No, but creamflower and pachi juice are known to be soothing.” She eyed Stara. “Drink up. We don’t have all morning.”

As she continued to sip, Stara looked around the room. Vora had assured her that the few possessions she’d brought with her from Elyne – mostly mementos to remind her of her mother and friends – would be sent to her new home, along with all the clothing that had been made for her since she arrived. As she swallowed the last of the juice she took her last look at the rooms she’d lived in these last few months.

Then she turned away and handed Vora the empty glass. The woman put it aside and returned to the headdress. She lifted it out, carefully raising the cloth at the front. Stara had to bend over so the woman could slip it on over her head. At once Stara felt stifled. She could barely see through the cloth, and her own breath quickly warmed the air within the canopy.

“Stop tugging at it,” Vora said. “You’ll pull it out of place.”

“I can’t see.”

“It will be easier when we get outside.”

“Will the ceremony happen outside?”

“No.”

“How am I going to avoid tripping over or walking into walls?”

“Walk slowly. I’ll tug on your gown to direct you. On the left side if you need to go that way, and vice versa.”

“And if I need to stop?”

“In the middle.”

“And if I need to move again?”

“I’ll poke you.”

“Great.”

“Now you need to follow me. Ready?”

Stara laughed bitterly. “No. But don’t let that stop you.”

She couldn’t tell if Vora smiled or did the characteristic lipthinning that showed she was worried or annoyed. The woman turned and started towards the door. Stara followed, her heart suddenly beating too fast and her stomach flipping in a way that made her wish she hadn’t drunk the juice.

Just as she’d begun to grow used to seeing through the gauze, Vora led her into a dark room.

“Stara.”

The voice was her father’s. She turned to face a shadow she hadn’t noticed until he’d spoken.

“Father.”

“I have found you a husband. You are very fortunate.”

Silence followed. She wondered if he had expected her to agree with him, or thank him. For a brief moment she considered saying something to that effect, then decided against it. He’d know she was lying, so what was the point?

“Be an obedient wife and do not shame me,” he said finally. Then she felt a movement of air on her right hand, and felt a simultaneous tug on her robe and light press of a finger in her back. Suddenly she had to fight to smother a laugh. I’m being directed like one of those puppets that were so popular in Capia’s markets last year. I wonder what Father would think if I started jerking about as if my arms and legs were on strings.

Then she sobered. He wouldn’t see the humour in it. He’d probably never seen a puppet. He and I are of two different worlds. Unfortunately I’m the one stuck in his world, not the other way around.

With Vora guiding her, she followed her father through the house, then out into the courtyard. A wagon waited. She could not see whether it was plain or fancy. Her father climbed inside. She followed and settled opposite him, finding her place mainly by feel. Where Vora went she couldn’t see. For a moment she felt panic at the thought that Vora might not be coming to the ceremony. Taking a few deep breaths, she told herself that she would be fine without her. So long as I walk slowly.

The wagon jerked into motion. She heard the clunk and squeak as the gates to the mansion opened. The wagon turned. The sound of another vehicle passed by them as they rolled down the road. Her father said nothing, but she could hear his breathing. Was he breathing faster than normal? She had no idea what normal was, for him. What was he thinking? Did he have any regrets? Or was he happy to be rid of her?

Abruptly the wagon slowed. Voices called out. They turned again. The wagon speeded up, then slowed again. As it stopped her father stood up and moved towards the door.

Stara remained in her seat, wondering what the stop was for and how long she’d have to wait before they continued on their way.

“Get out, Stara,” came her father’s voice.

Mystified, Stara felt her way to the wagon entrance and climbed out. Through the gauze she could see they were in another courtyard. She felt a tug on her gown and turned to see Vora standing beside her. Relief flooded through her.

“Is this it?” she whispered.

“It appears so, mistress,” came the answer.

So my husband lives close by, Stara thought. Is this so Father can keep an eye on me?

She could hear her father exchanging formal greetings with another man. The voices stopped, then a light pressure in the middle of her back urged her forward. She and Vora moved towards a dark patch in the white walls. They passed through into a golden light.

Vora’s directions guided her through this into another bright room. She heard doors close, then Vora let out a long breath.

“We’re in the bride room, mistress,” the slave explained. “All mansions have them, but they are closed up except during weddings. Take a peep, if you like. It will be a while before the men finish their negotiations.”

“What negotiations?” Stara asked as she lifted the gauze. They were in a small room, furnished with only a long bench. Lamps burned in each corner, filling the space with brightness.

“Part of the ceremony. Though all the details will have been worked out before now, they’ll do a bit of mock bartering. Your husband-to-be will pretend to have doubts, pretend that your price isn’t low enough. Your father will list your virtues and threaten to take you home.”

“Ha!” Stara exclaimed. “I’d love to hear that!” She looked more closely at the walls. Scenes had been painted straight on the render. Depictions of men and women. As she realised what they were doing she laughed. “How scandalous! If anyone in Elyne – oh, my! I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before!”

“It’s meant to make you ready for your wedding bed,” Vora told her.

Stara looked at the woman, her amusement fading. “Seems a little, ah, advanced viewing for someone who is supposed to be a young virgin. More likely to frighten them than excite them.”

Vora shrugged. “Men and women have all sorts of strange ideas about each other, and most of them are wrong.” Her gaze shifted to the door as the sound of footsteps sounded beyond it. “Quick! Put the head covering down and come over here,” she hissed.

Plonking herself on the bench, she felt Vora tweak the gauze into place. The door opened.

A lone man entered. He was too young to be her father.

“Stara,” he said. She felt something in her mind spark. The voice was familiar, but she wasn’t sure why. “Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

He moved forward until he stood in front of the bench, then took hold of the edge of the gauze and lifted. As the cloth tumbled down her back she stared at him in surprise.

“Ashaki Kachiro!”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “Your neighbour.”

But my father dislikes you, she wanted to say. He read my mind because we spoke. But Vora had said Kachiro was not an enemy of her father either, she remembered. She turned to look at Vora. The slave shrugged.

“Ah, your slave. I have bought her, so that you will have a familiar face here as you begin your new life.”

Stara turned back and found herself smiling at him in delight. “Thank you! Thank you, again.”

He smiled back and held out his hand. “Come and join me.

I have arranged a celebratory meal. I hope it is to your liking.”

She reached out and let him take her hand. He led her out of the bride room back into the room of golden light. Looking around, she saw several floating globes of light hovering near the ceiling. Magic. I never saw Father bother with globe light. The room was furnished sparsely with elegant pieces, the floor covered in a dark blue rug. They moved to two chairs.

In the next few hours Stara found herself treated to delicious food cooked in the styles of both Elyne and Sachaka, while talking to a man who not only seemed interested in her but was also interesting to her. He owned several plots of land from which he gained an income from crops and animals. He also maintained a few forests, and traded in the furniture made from the wood. His customers were mainly locals, but he wanted to see if he could expand his trade to Kyralia and Elyne. The war with Kyralia was making this impossible at the moment, however.

She could not believe her luck. This is too good to be true. I can’t forget that, though I do find him attractive and he does seem nice, I didn’t agree to this. I wonder if he knows...

Long after they had finished eating, the servants began to bring another, smaller meal, and she realised just how much time had passed. They ate sparingly, then Kachiro rose and indicated she should follow suit.

“It is time I showed you to your – our – rooms,” he said. Taking her hand again, he led her through another door into a corridor. Looking back, Stara saw the globe lights blinking out, one by one. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He’s a good-looking man. So long as he doesn’t have any nasty habits in the bedroom it shouldn’t be an unpleasant night. It might even be enjoyable. After all, I did fancy him the first time I met him... Hearing footsteps behind, she knew Vora was following. Relief was followed by a nagging worry. I hope she isn’t supposed to stay and watch!

At the end of the corridor they entered a large white room. Like the main room, its few pieces of furniture were graceful and well made. Another blue rug covered the floor. Small, plain squares of cloth hung on the walls. She made herself ignore the bed and turn to him.

“This furniture is all from your workers?”

He nodded. “A friend of mine draws the shapes, and my slaves make it. He has a good eye.”

“He has,” she replied. “It’s beautiful.”

He was still holding her hand. She was too aware of it, and the warmth of his touch. I’ve hardly touched anyone since I got here. Everyone’s so touchy-touchy in Elyne, but Sachakans act as though touching is an affront...

“I’m afraid I must leave you here,” Kachiro said. “I have urgent business in the city to attend to. I will return tomorrow, however. My slaves will attend to you, and your slave will be given a room of her own close by so she can respond quickly to your needs.”

He’s leaving? Stara felt a stab of disappointment, then amusement. Was I looking forward to this after all? Did I give him the impression I was too nervous? All she managed was a slightly puzzled. “Ah. Yes. Look forward to it.”

He let go of her hand, smiled again, then turned and left.

She watched him walk down the corridor, then when he had turned out of sight she moved to the bed, sat on the edge of it, and looked at Vora.

“So. My father’s neighbour. The one he’s supposed to dislike.”

The slave shrugged. “It would not make sense for him to marry you to an enemy, mistress, and he would not offer a daughter with magic to an ally because it might be taken as an insult and endanger an agreement.”

“So he chose someone he has no links to.”

“Yes. And though he dislikes Kachiro, you did say you thought him decent.”

Stara nodded. It almost made her father sound as if he wasn’t the monster she thought he was. No. He read my mind. That still makes him a monster.

“Why do you think he left?”

“Ashaki Kachiro?” Vora frowned. “He probably does have pressing business to attend to. I can’t imagine any man walking away from your bed willingly. A lesser man would have made it quick. Perhaps he doesn’t want to rush you.”

“We spent the whole day eating and talking. Is that part of the tradition?”

Vora smiled. “No. None of it was.”

Stara sighed. “Ah, well, at least Father let me keep you.”

At that, Vora’s brow creased into a frown. “Yes,” she said, but she did not sound happy.

“Oh.” Stara grimaced and tried to smother a pang of hurt. “I’m sorry, Vora. I didn’t realise you wanted to stay behind.”

The woman looked up at Stara and gave a wry smile. “I am delighted to remain your slave, mistress, but I am worried about Master Ikaro and Mistress Nachira. I can’t do anything to help them here.”

Stara felt her heart skip a beat. “Are they still in danger?”

Vora grimaced. “We can never be certain.”

“Do you think Father worked out what you were doing? That he sold you to Kachiro so we were both out of the way?”

“It’s possible.”

Stara sighed again, then lay back on the bed. “Then I had better hurry up and have a baby.” Staring up at the ceiling, she wondered how long it would take. If Kachiro running off to take care of business would be a common occurrence. If she would grow to like the confined life of a wife and mother.

“Come on then, mistress,” Vora said. “Stand up and I’ll help you get out of that gown.”

The streets of Calia were abuzz with activity. Dakon strode down the main road looking for Tessia, who had gone in search of cures and their ingredients several hours ago. Seeing a shop selling herbs and spice, he turned and took a step towards it.

And felt a stone slip through the hole in his shoe.

He muttered a curse and kept walking, but the movement rolled the stone under his heel and at the next step he felt it gouge into his sole. Shaking the stone to the front of his shoe, he walked back to the side of the road and into the shadow of a gap between two buildings.

I should get these resoled, he told himself. But as he grasped the shoe to take it off he took in the frayed stitching, the tears and the worn-out soles. No, I’m going to have to get new ones.

He had put off replacing his shoes for as long as possible, despite knowing it made him look shabby. The other magicians believed they had to look dignified and well groomed in order to persuade ordinary Kyralians to obey them. But Dakon did not like taking from the very people who were suffering most in this war.

We turn up, tell them to pack up their belongings and leave, and then say, “By the way, you’ll have to do without your shoes and your best coat.”

As the shoe slipped off he heard women’s voices in the house beside him, through an open window.

“. . . same thing happened there. First the people come from the last village that was attacked, running away from the Sachakans. Then the magicians turn up and tell us to leave.”

“I can’t see why we should leave until we have to. My ukkas will die if nobody waters and feeds them. What if the Sachakans never come here? It would have been a waste. A complete waste.”

“I don’t know, Ti. The things I’ve heard about those Sachakans. It’s said they eat the babies of their slaves. Breed them for it. Fatten them up, then whack them in the oven alive.”

Dakon froze in the middle of shaking out the stone.

“Oh! That’s horrible!” the second woman exclaimed.

“And since they can’t take babies to war with them, they’ve been eating Kyralian babies instead.”

“No!”

As Dakon shook his shoe again, the stone rolled out onto the ground. Where did those women hear that? he wondered as he put his shoe back on. Surely they don’t believe it. Nothing I’ve ever been told or read mentioned such habits.

More likely it was a rumour started either in revenge or to ensure nobody considered turning traitor. Or perhaps to persuade those reluctant to leave their homes to comply with the order to leave.

But what will the consequences be, when all this is over? Will people keep believing it? If we lose it will do nothing but make occupation and a return to slavery more terrifying. But if we win...it will be just another reason to hate the Sachakans. How far that hate takes us I can’t guess. It’s hard enough imagining us defeating the Sachakans, a far older and more sophisticated people and our former rulers, in the first place.

He started across the road again only to find a long line of riders and carts blocking his way. Looking to the front of the line, he saw the backs of several well-dressed men. The people passing him were servants, he guessed, and the carts contained much-needed supplies.

More magicians for our army, Dakon thought. I hope there are new shoes in those carts.

“Oh, good,” a familiar voice said at his shoulder. “I hope they brought a healer or two, or at least some cures and clean bandages.”

Dakon turned to Tessia. “There you are! Did you find what you were looking for?”

Her nose wrinkled. “More or less. The town healer has upped his prices so much he ought to be jailed for it. I had to visit a crazy widow on the edge of town. She puts all sorts of ridiculous things in her cures that haven’t any provable benefit, so I bought ingredients instead.” She lifted a basket full of vegetation, both fresh and dried, under which he could see jars and wrapped objects. “I’ll be up all night mixing my own.”

The smell of the plants was strong and not particularly pleasant. As the last of the servants and carts passed Dakon gestured for her to follow, and started after them.

“Should we hire this healer?” he asked. Despite the Sachakans’ efforts to kill everyone they encountered, some people were managing to escape the towns they attacked. Many of these escapees had injuries and Tessia had spent every spare moment treating them.

“No. Even if he wasn’t too old for it, he’ll charge you so much he’ll be the only rich man left by the end of the war, no matter who wins.”

“We could order him,” Dakon told her.

A gleam entered her eyes, then faded and she shook her head. But then she betrayed her doubts by biting her lip. “Well, we could do with all the hel—”

“Lord Dakon, is that the tail end of what I think it is?”

They both turned to see Lord Narvelan striding towards them.

“Our army,” Dakon confirmed.

“About time,” the young magician said. “How many do you reckon have joined us this time?”

“About fifty.”

“The king has done well, then. Let’s see who’s here.”

Quickening their stride, they overtook carts and servants and gradually caught up with the magicians at the head of the column as it reached the house Werrin and Sabin had taken over as the magicians’ meeting place. The two leaders were already standing on the steps, waiting to greet the newcomers.

The new arrivals stopped, dismounted and exchanged greetings with the king’s representative and the sword master. Three disappeared into the house with them.

“And so the levels of power shift again,” Narvelan said. “Pushing us further down the hierarchy.”

“You’ve done well up to now,” Dakon said. “Werrin still listens to you.”

Narvelan nodded. “I think this time I may graciously step back into my proper place and stay there. Not because of anything anyone has said,” he added quickly. “But after listening to Sabin these last few weeks...he is far smarter and more qualified than I. A true warrior. Everything I’ve thought of and suggested seems trite and naive next to his grasp of strategy. And it is nice to see some responsibility move to others.”

Dakon glanced at his friend, then looked away. Narvelan had changed since the confrontation in Tecurren. Though they’d won that fight, the magician had become hesitant and doubtful. He talked of the victory with a touch of regret. Dakon suspected he had realised, for the first time, that he might die in this war and he hadn’t worked out how to deal with the fear. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that he had killed another man. Narvelan had quietly admitted to Dakon that he could not help feeling uncomfortable about that victory, even after finding out what the Sachakans had done to the villagers.

Perhaps it would be beneficial for Narvelan to take a rest from the pressure of decision-making.

“I saw the wisdom of retiring to the sidelines a while back,” Dakon said. “After all, there’s plenty of other work requiring magicians. I’m concentrating on teaching apprentices instead. Want to join me?”

Narvelan grimaced. “Avoiding having to teach is why I’ve resisted taking on an apprentice for so long. I’m too young. I don’t enjoy it. And I’m not good at it. Which is probably why I don’t enjoy it. Praise the king for letting us have a servant as our source.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Dakon warned. “I doubt anyone will approve of his relaxing the law permanently. It’s too much like slavery.”

“We’ll see,” Narvelan replied. “So long as we pay the servant in some way it seems reasonable to me. And if too many magicians like the idea it will be hard for King Errik to reinstate the law.”

Dakon frowned, not liking the hopeful tone in Narvelan’s voice. He still hadn’t decided how to respond to the young magician’s comment when a servant hurried over to them.

“Lord Werrin requests your presence at the meeting, Lord Narvelan,” the man said. He turned to Dakon. “And yours too, Lord Dakon.”

Surprised, Dakon exchanged a look of puzzlement with Narvelan. Then he remembered Tessia and turned to her.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him. “I have plenty of work to do and Jayan has, perhaps foolishly, offered to help. We’re both going to stink of husroot by tomorrow.”

“At least it’ll make you easier to find,” Dakon replied. She grinned, then headed away towards the house where they’d taken up residence, the owners, like many in Calia, having offered the use of it to the magicians after they evacuated to Imardin. Dakon looked at Narvelan, who shrugged, then nodded to the servant to indicate that he should lead them to Werrin.

From the greeting hall, the servant led them into a corridor then stopped in front of a closed door. He knocked and a voice called out. Opening the door, he stepped aside so they could enter. Lord Werrin was standing beside a large table strewn with paper.

“Ah, good,” Werrin said. “I was hoping he’d find you two, sooner rather than later. I have propositions for both of you.” He rubbed his hands together and looked from Dakon to Narvelan and back again. “I don’t want country magicians like you being overlooked and under-represented now that we have so many city magicians in the army, especially not if you lose your entire leys.

At the least, we need you around to remind city magicians what we all will lose if they do not co-operate. You must remain part of all planning and discussion, and to reinforce this I am giving you both official roles. Lord Dakon will be in charge of teachers and organising the lessons of apprentices. Can you think of a good title? Teacher Master, perhaps? I don’t think Apprentice Master will go down well.”

Dakon chuckled. “No, I’d be suspected of taking charge of everyone’s apprentices. Teacher Master implies anyone volunteering to teach has to become a subordinate, and I can’t imagine that would encourage involvement. How about Training Master?”

Werrin nodded. “Yes. I like it. Very good. Now,” he turned to Narvelan, “your role is to liaise between country and city magicians. To head off conflict or settle it when it arises. Are you willing to take on the responsibility?”

Narvelan paused, then nodded slowly. “Yes.” He smiled crookedly.

“What shall we call you, then?”

“Country master? No, that won’t do. Is this title thing necessary?”

“Sabin believes so. The king has nominated him war master.”

“How very grand.”

Werrin eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’ve managed to keep to ‘king’s representative’, thankfully. How about we call you the ley representative?” Werrin looked thoughtful. “Yes, then I can call the magician speaking for city magicians the house representative.”

“Sounds good to me,” Narvelan agreed, nodding.

“Good.” Werrin moved around the table and straightened his clothes. “Now it’s time to meet and discuss our experiences and strategies. We have some new contributors to introduce to the harsh realities of war, and to our way of doing things. I can rely on your support?”

Dakon glanced at Narvelan, who smiled. “Of course.”

“Naturally,” Narvelan replied.

Werrin smiled. “Then let’s go strip a few well-meaning magicians of their delusions and see if they don’t flee back to Imardin.”

He walked past them to the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder. “Though you can be sure the king would send them scurrying back again,” he added. “If it weren’t for some firm and sensible advice, he’d be here himself. Sabin wants the chance to whip us into some semblance of a cohesive army before the king comes out to lead us.”

“He does, does he?” Narvelan said.

“Yes.” Werrin looked at Dakon. “So there’s going to be a lot of instruction required in our new fighting techniques.”

Dakon sighed in mock despair. “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed so quickly. There had to be a catch somewhere.”

Werrin turned back to the door. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of assistants. I’ll make sure of it. My only concern is that the Sachakans won’t give us any time for preparation. Sabin thinks they may have left the road to avoid being caught between us and our reinforcements. But he believes they will only roam about in the farms and villages of Noven ley long enough to gather more strength before heading towards Imardin. We need to be ready to stop them.”

CHAPTER 32

In a large walled courtyard behind one of the grander houses in Calia, twelve apprentices had separated into six pairs. Each was taking turns practising the trick of sending magic to another. Only small amounts of magic were being channelled, and to make the exercise more interesting Dakon had them knocking broken tiles off the top of the back wall.

Leaning against the side of the courtyard entrance, Jayan sighed. Only three magicians had volunteered to teach Ardalen’s method to the magicians and apprentices who had arrived the day before. It made what should have been a fast exercise into a day-long task.

They’d taught the magicians in the morning easily enough. In the afternoon they’d tackled the apprentices. Unfortunately, many of the magicians had resisted having their apprentices taught by other magicians. Dakon had told Jayan that though he’d managed to convince most of them of the benefits, a few had only agreed to it when Sabin had pointed out that the apprentices’ families might not look favourably on their sons and daughters dying in battle for the lack of training that had been offered to all.

The apprentices had not been easy to teach, however. Some of them had barely begun their training and two hadn’t even achieved full control of their powers yet.

After an inexperienced one burned the young man he was trying to send magic through by mistake, Dakon had decided to rearrange the three groups by splitting them based on experience: one group of those who had been only recently apprenticed, one for those who had been training for a few years, and one for those close to being granted their independence. Dakon, assisted by Jayan, had chosen the inexperienced group to teach, and it had taken a lot longer than the others.

Jayan had found teaching both frustrating and rewarding. It depended on the apprentice. Some were attentive and talented. Some were not. The former were gratifying to instruct, but he also found that if he managed to encourage – or bully – one of the latter into grasping something it was also very satisfying.

I always thought I’d put off taking on an apprentice for as long as possible, but I can see now there are benefits – other than the obvious one of gaining power.

The inexperienced apprentices ranged in age from twelve – much younger than the usual age for apprenticeship – to eighteen. He suspected the older ones had been chosen because their masters preferred to teach someone less gifted from their own family than someone more gifted from outside.

One of the apprentices giving power to another yelped, then turned to regard the other pairs suspiciously. A young woman – the only one in the group and one of two who had arrived with the reinforcements – tried to hide her smirk, but her victim obviously knew her well enough to guess where the attack had come from. Jayan assumed she’d let loose a strike in his direction that was only powerful enough to sting. The victim and the apprentice he was giving power to exchanged a look, then scowled.

Jayan glanced at Dakon. His master was watching the tiles flying off the top of the wall, and probably hadn’t noticed.

There was a low laugh of triumph, this time from the companion of the previous victim. A moment later the girl yelped. She turned to glare at the pair. Seeing the look of anger and calculation in her eyes, Jayan decided it was time to intervene.

Before he had a chance to speak, a messenger hurried into the courtyard and spoke quietly to Dakon, who nodded. As the messenger left again Dakon turned to face the group.

“That will be enough, I think. You all seem to have grasped it now. If you have a chance, practise what you’ve learned, but only use small amounts of power. You may return to your masters.” He walked towards the courtyard entrance, smiling ruefully as he passed Jayan. “Another meeting. Will you tell Tessia, when she returns?”

“Of course.”

The apprentices had gathered into one group to chat, and as Dakon left they started towards the entrance. All nodded to Jayan as they passed through. The last was the young woman. She was, he guessed, two or three years younger than him. A good-looking girl, but by the way she smiled at him it was clear she was well aware of it.

“Master Jayan, isn’t it? I hear you were at the battle in Tecurren,” she said, regarding him from under long eyelashes.

“Apprentice Jayan,” he corrected her. “And yes, I was there.”

As she tipped her head to one side and smiled at him again, he felt an unexpected wave of annoyance and disgust. He knew that look. He’d encountered enough female magicians to know when one was sizing him up.

“What was it like?” Her eyes widened. “It must have been so scary.”

“We knew we outnumbered them and would probably win.” He shrugged.

Moving to the entrance, she looked outside. The alley was empty. “Look. They’ve not bothered to wait for me. Escort me to the meeting hall?” She hooked a hand around his elbow. “You can tell me all about the battle on the way.”

He took her hand and removed it from the crook of his arm, then let it go.

Her eyes flashed with anger, but then her expression softened again and she nodded as if chastised. “That was too forward of me. I am just trying to be friendly.”

“Are you?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

She frowned. “Of course. What else would I be doing?”

He shook his head. “We’re at war, not a party. This is not the city. Not the place for... for flirting and looking for a husband. Or lover.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that, but—”

“And there are other young women here. Younger, less experienced women. Do you realise how your ‘friendliness’ may affect them? How it may encourage young male apprentices to think all female magicians are . . . available? Or older magicians to assume women are too foolish and distractable to make good magicians?”

Her eyes went wide with astonishment. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Then her eyes narrowed and she spoke through gritted teeth.

“You are assuming too much, Apprentice Jayan.”

She lifted her chin and stalked out of the courtyard. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Young men will always entertain stupid ideas about women, no matter how demure or friendly they are. You’ve just proved that yourself. Before laying blame, take a good look at yourself. You might be surprised to find who is the foolish, distractable one.”

Then she strode away.

Drawing in a deep breath, Jayan sighed. The anger that had risen at her flirting ebbed too quickly, leaving him feeling ashamed of his outburst.

“Well, that was entertaining.”

The voice came from behind him. He turned to see Tessia standing over by the door to the house, and winced as he realised she might have heard only the end of the exchange.

“I object to being sized up like a prize,” he told her. “If she knew my father she would not be so keen on my bloodlines.”

Tessia smiled and walked towards him. “It may not be your bloodlines she’s so keen on. Apparently, or so Avaria’s friends assure me, you’re rather handsome. And you’ve also experienced battle, which gives you a certain kind of glamour that some women are attracted to.”

He stared at her, unable to think of a response that wouldn’t sound foolish or vain. She smiled.

“Well, I’m glad I’m not, if that’s the way you react.” She glanced around the courtyard. “How did the lessons go?”

Relieved by the change of subject, he nodded to the courtyard entrance and they both stepped out and started towards the main road. “They took a while, but I think most of them have grasped it.”

She sighed. “Dakon finally gives another lesson, and it’s something I already know.” She grimaced. “We’re not going to get any more training, are we?”

He shook his head. “Not now that Dakon is one of the army’s advisers. Any time we’re not riding or fighting, he’ll be at meetings.”

“It must be so frustrating for you, being so close to the end of your training.”

“It is. But if I had finished, then I might only be a higher magician for a matter of weeks, or days if we are defeated. At least this way Dakon has two apprentices to draw from.”

“But if you were a higher magician, you’d have your own source to draw from, and there’d be another fighter in the army.” She chuckled. “And the women would have even more reason to annoy you with their flirting and their interest.” She paused and looked at him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Dakon taught you higher magic soon, for that very reason.”

Jayan felt his heart skip. She might be right. But the possibility roused an unexpected reluctance. Why? Am I afraid to stand on my own? To be responsible for my own life?

Tessia was smiling at him knowingly. I’ve never said anything to her about my frustration at the delay in finishing my training, he thought. Yet she’s worked it out for herself. She understands me. And I think she’s finally stopped hating me.

And then it was obvious why he was reluctant to end his apprenticeship with Dakon. It would take him away from Tessia.

He blinked in surprise. Is that really it? Do I truly feel that way about her? He felt a strange sensation, both pleasant and painful. Amazing how the admiration he’d always felt was suddenly enhanced by his recognition of it. Then he remembered what she’d said earlier.

“ . . . gives you a certain kind of glamour that some women are attracted to. Well, I’m glad I’m not...”

His heart sank.

It was possible his feelings would change. Then it’s possible hers might, too. He pushed that thought aside. No. Leave it be. War is not a good time to be caring too much about anyone, or having them care about you. At any point either one of us could die. I’d rather not make it more painful – for either of us. In fact, she’d be better off hating me.

Which is just as well, because I’m very good at making women do that.

As Hanara headed towards the house Takado had claimed in the tiny village, he passed two slaves carrying away the remains of the reber that had been roasted for the night’s meal. Pausing, he ducked in close and grabbed a large chunk of meat. Only half of the animal had been eaten, he saw, so the slaves would eat well tonight. But Takado was often awake late into the night discussing strategy with his closest allies, so if Hanara and Jochara didn’t grab what food they could, it would be gone by the time Takado retired.

He gnawed away at the meat as he hurried to the house, where he retrieved a bottle of wine from the store of them he’d found in the cellar. He paused to finish the meat, chewing and swallowing quickly, so that he could wipe the grease from his hands and not risk dropping the bottle on the return trip.

To make up for the lost time, he jogged back, nursing the bottle carefully. Only Takado’s three closest allies remained by the campfire they’d set up in the middle of the road: Rokino, his old ichani friend, Dachido and Asara.

Hanara prostrated himself and held up the bottle. He felt it taken from his grasp. Takado said nothing. After a short wait, the slave crawled backwards on all fours, then sat on his haunches and looked around. Jochara was nowhere to be seen.

“You don’t have enough slaves,” Asara said, looking at Takado. “A leader ought to have more slaves than anybody else.”

Takado shrugged. “I could try to bring a few more over, but I can’t go myself and those I’d trust with the task I need here. It would be such a menial favour to ask it would be insulting.”

“Then take one of mine,” Asara offered. “No, take two.” She turned and called out. “Chinka! Dokko!”

Turning to look over his shoulder, Takado looked at Hanara, his expression thoughtful and amused. “You’d serve me better if I didn’t wear you out all the time, wouldn’t you, Hanara?”

Hanara bent forward to place his forehead on the ground. “My life is yours to use as you wish,” he said.

The woman laughed. “Ah, here they come.”

Stealing a quick glance, Hanara saw that Takado’s attention had moved away from him again. All the magicians were looking at a pair of slaves who had thrown themselves on the ground in front of Asara. A woman, lean and strong, and a large, well-muscled man.

“They are two of my best.” Asara said proudly. “They’re in good condition. Chinka used to work in the kitchens, but she is also useful at cleaning, mending clothes and shoes, treating minor hurts, light carrying duties and other general tasks. Dokko is a good maker – useful for more than just heavy work – and he’s good with horses.” She turned back to Takado. “Which I am surprised you haven’t acquired yet. We would travel faster with them.”

“Would we?” Takado shook his head. “Horses need feed, rest and slaves to look after them. And unless we have horses for our slaves we will travel just as slowly as we are doing now.”

“But we don’t always have to keep our slaves with us. We could attack rapidly, without warning, and return to them.”

Takado nodded. “Yes, there may be times when the risk of leaving them alone and vulnerable will prove worthwhile. Still, for now I prefer not to have to take care of a horse.”

“You won’t have to, if you take my slaves.”

Takado fell silent, his expression thoughtful. Hanara held his breath. How would two more slaves change his own situation? There would be less work. He would certainly welcome having less to carry each day, though that would not remain the case if Takado gained more belongings. But Hanara had no skills to make up for the man’s brawn, or the woman’s usefulness. And if Takado took the woman to bed . . . Hanara knew he could never compete with that.

But I am a source slave, he thought. I will always have higher status because of that.

Takado was nodding. “I accept. I thank you, Asara. It is a thoughtful gift. They are clearly valuable slaves for you to be losing.”

The woman waved a hand gracefully. “I will miss them, but I can see now that I brought too many slaves with me. You need them more than I.”

“Chinka. Dokko,” Takado said. “Get up and sit behind Hanara.” As the pair obeyed, Hanara kept his eyes downcast. He heard them settle behind him. For a moment he thought one had disobeyed Takado, taking a position beside him, but when he looked he saw that Jochara had returned. The young man carried a metal tube that contained the map of Kyralia that Takado had brought with him.

“You are both – and you, too, Jochara – to follow Hanara’s orders unless they conflict with mine. Do you understand?”

Murmurs of affirmation followed. Hanara stared at the ground, his eyes wide. He’s put me in charge! His heart began to pound. It was a frighteningly important responsibility. What if they won’t obey me? What if they do something wrong? Will I be punished for it? What—

An unfamiliar voice interrupted his panicked thoughts.

“Magicians... coming . . .” a slave was panting even as he threw himself on the ground. “Many. Fast. From. Emper...or. Wear. Rings.”

The magicians hadn’t moved, but their smiles had vanished. None voiced the worries written on their faces. Had the emperor sent forces to stop Takado? Were they about to attack? Whistles came from scouts to one side of the village.

Takado rose. He snapped out orders, sending Hanara and the other slaves scampering about to alert all the magicians, or the slaves of the magicians who were asleep since they knew best how to rouse their masters. Soon there were magicians and slaves crowding the road. Hanara positioned himself a step behind Takado, who stood between Dachido and Asara.

Interesting, Hanara thought. Rokino has known Takado the longest, but he is an ichani. Dachido and Asara outrank him and are a lot smarter than Takado’s other ichani friends. Lately Takado is favouring their company and opinions above the others’.

As the last stragglers joined the crowd around Takado a large group of men rode into sight around a bend in the road. Globes of light hovered over them. The brightness set weapons and beaded clothes aglitter. Hanara looked for the rings of the emperor and caught a glint of gold here and there.

There must have been at least forty magicians. Of their slaves there was no sign.

The man at the head of the group was tall and wrinkled, with white in his dark hair. He led the men forward and stopped ten strides from the crowd. Back straight and head high, he scanned the crowd once before his gaze returned to Takado.

“Emperor Vochira sends his greetings,” he said. “I am Ashaki Nomako.”

“Welcome, Ashaki Nomako,” Takado replied. “Should I send my regards to the emperor through you, or are your intentions to stay and join us?”

The man somehow managed to straighten himself even further. “Emperor Vochira has decided to support your efforts to bring Kyralia back under the influence of the empire, and has ordered me to provide what assistance and guidance is needed, including this army of magicians loyal to Sachaka.”

“That is most generous of him,” Takado said. “With your help we can conquer Kyralia faster and with less risk to our fellow Sachakans. If it is done with the support of the emperor, then all the better. Does the emperor support my leadership of this army?”

“Of course,” Nomako said. “He gives credit where it is due.”

“Then be doubly welcome,” Takado said. He moved forward, closing the gap between them, and held out a hand. Nomako dismounted and grasped it. Then they let go and Takado nodded towards his crowd of supporters. “Have you eaten? We roasted a reber earlier, and there may still be some left.”

“No need,” Nomako replied. “We ate at sundown. Our slaves are waiting for us to send for them . . .”

As Nomako discussed practicalities, Hanara noted the way the man’s gaze changed whenever Takado looked away. Calculating, Hanara thought. He’s not come here because he agrees with Takado. We always knew that Emperor Vochira would not like Takado taking matters into his own hands. Hanara felt a shiver of premonition run down his spine. This one is going to try to take back control for the emperor. And he won’t find it as easy as he thinks.

CHAPTER 33

The number of magicians, apprentices and servants in pursuit of the Sachakan invaders was now many times larger. Over seventy magicians, as many apprentices and servants employed as sources, and all the servants, carts and animals that were required to tend to the army’s needs made quite an impressive sight.

It really feels like an army now, Tessia thought. Since Dakon was one of the army advisers, she rode near to the front. Before her rode Werrin, Sabin, Narvelan and a few city magicians. When she looked behind, a sea of magicians and apprentices filled the road. Only when the road turned did she glimpse the servants and supply carts.

She knew that Sabin and Werrin believed that having the army strung out like this wasn’t as safe as bunched together, but the road was often confined between low rock field walls. There had been some trouble with a few of the younger magicians riding off to raid an orchard and then, ignoring Sabin’s attempts to explain the danger, galloping out into fields to jump fences and race each other.

I’d have thought seeing victims of Takado and his allies would have sobered them up, Tessia mused, but I suspect most of them still think this is a grand adventure.

At mid-morning the new army encountered the first signs of destruction. The Sachakans had left a swathe of destroyed villages and houses across the ley, but left the main road to avoid the Kyralian reinforcements. Scouts had reported that Takado had headed east from the main road, through Noven ley – Lord Gilar’s land – until he encountered the next main thoroughfare. It was the same road Dakon had taken to Imardin but the enemy had travelled in the opposite direction until it encountered a village, and settled there, leaving burned farm houses and storage buildings, and occasional corpses, in its wake.

“Tessia!”

The voice was female, coming from behind. Tessia turned to see Lady Avaria riding towards her. Others also turned to watch, as a wailing came from a bundle the magician held cradled in one arm. Avaria’s servant and source, a practical young woman Tessia had instantly liked, followed close behind.

“Can you have a look at him?” Avaria asked as she drew alongside Tessia. “I asked the healers to, but one refused and the other told me it would be kinder to smother him.”

A small, red face screwed up tight, the mouth from which the wailing poured stretched wide open, appeared as she tilted the bundle in Tessia’s direction. Tessia carefully took the baby and examined it. There was a livid bruise on the scalp.

“He’s had a knock, but nothing’s broken,” she said. “He’s probably got a stinker of a headache. Where’d you find him?”

“I didn’t. One of the others did, then decided that, because I’m a woman, I would be able to take care of him at the same time as riding into battle.” A tone of annoyance had entered Avaria’s voice, but it didn’t override the concern. “Shhh,” she said soothingly as Tessia handed the child back. “Poor thing. Found still strapped to the back of his dead mother. I guess this proves the rumours about Sachakans eating babies aren’t true. Not that I believed it,” she added hastily.

Tessia felt something inside her twist painfully. “Is leaving him to die of starvation any less cruel?”

“No. Shush,” Avaria said, then rolled her eyes as he only bawled louder.

“He’s probably hungry,” Tessia said. “And from the smell I’d say he needed a change a long time ago.”

Avaria sighed. “Yes. He can’t stay with us. I’d have Sennia take him back to Calia if I could spare her, but I can’t.”

“Can any of the other servants take him?” Tessia asked.

A look of distaste crossed Avaria’s face. “Sennia suggested we give him to the unmentioned ones.”

“Unmentioned ” ones? Tessia frowned, then smothered a laugh. “The women following the army? I suppose one might take him... for the right price.” She looked at the boy and considered. “Try the servants first. We may find survivors willing to take care of him, too.” The baby’s wails grew suddenly louder. “But he won’t last if you don’t get him fed.”

Avaria nodded. “Thank you.” She looked at Sennia. “Could you ask...?”

The servant smiled, turned her horse and started riding back down the line. Avaria looked ahead and her expression changed from concern and annoyance to one of horror.

“What...?”

Following Avaria’s gaze, Tessia looked past the magicians and felt her stomach sink. Corpses littered the road. Not one or two, but dozens, perhaps even hundreds. As the army drew close she saw that the victims were men and women of all ages. Children, too. She heard exclamations and curses from all around.

“They must have been on their way south,” Jayan said quietly. “Doing what they’d been told – to evacuate. Only they ended up in the path of the Sachakans.”

Dakon made a low noise. “Look.” He pointed at broken furniture at the side of the road. “They probably took these people’s carts and threw out what they didn’t have a use for.”

Avaria hissed quietly. “They’re having no trouble replenishing the powers they’re using to burn and wreck our villages and towns.”

“No,” Dakon agreed, his gaze dark with worry.

Suddenly a head appeared above the low stone wall on one side of the road. Then a small girl climbed over and ran to the head of the army. Werrin reined in his horse, and everyone began to stop.

“Help! Can anybody help? Father is hurt.” The girl pointed towards the wall.

Werrin spoke to one of the servants travelling with the army’s leaders. The man hurried down the line, his gaze pausing on Tessia, then sliding away. Tessia felt a small pang of hurt. For months she had been the one people turned to for healing. Now that there were guild-trained healers in the army, she had returned to being merely an apprentice.

But he did consider me, she thought. It’s not been forgotten, or remained unnoticed, that I do have some skill.

Werrin nudged his horse into a walk again, and the rest began to follow. Jayan turned to look at her.

“Let’s wait and see what happens.”

Surprised and pleased, she followed as he drew his mount aside so the army could pass. Dakon glanced back once and nodded to indicate his approval. She felt a fond gratitude. He did not need her to ask his permission. He understood, even supported, her healing.

I am so lucky to have him as my master, she thought.

The wait for the healers seemed long, and she realised why when, long after the last magician had passed, the two men peeled away from the column.

They couldn’t be bothered breaking from the line and riding ahead, she realised with disgust. The girl pointed over the wall, and the men dismounted with unconcealed annoyance. A servant stopped to hold the horses’ heads. Tessia and Jayan swung to the ground and gave the servant their reins as well. Tessia unhooked her father’s bag, and they followed the girl and the healers across the field.

It was not hard to find her father. A great swathe of blackened vegetation led to him, and past. His clothes were also black. He lay in a furrow, face down, unconscious but still breathing.

The two healers bent to examine the man, then shook their heads.

“He is too badly burned,” one told the girl, gently but firmly. “He will not live through the night.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Can’t you stop him hurting?” she asked in a small voice.

The healer shook his head. “Bathe him with cool water. If you have any strong drink, give him that.”

As the healers walked past Tessia and Jayan, the one who hadn’t spoken to the girl looked at Tessia. “Don’t waste your cures,” he told her.

Jayan cursed quietly under his breath as the pair strode away. He looked at Tessia. “Do you want to have a closer look?”

“Of course.”

Moving to the man’s side, Tessia knelt on the ground. She realised with a shock that there wasn’t blackened cloth on the man’s back. It was his skin.

“When the strangers came we ran,” the girl said.

The man’s breath was coming in short gasps. The healers were right. He can’t survive this.

“When the fire came he fell on top of me,” the girl said. “I didn’t get burned.”

Despite her misgivings, Tessia tucked her hands under his head, touching the unburned skin of the man’s forehead, and closed her eyes. As she had all the times in the past, she focused on the pulses and rhythms of the body beneath her hands. She gently sent her mind out of herself and into his. But this time there were no broken bones or torn flesh to manipulate. The damage was more subtle. Her father had taught her how a heart reacted to a severe burn, and about other changes in the body. She sought a sense of these changes.

Suddenly she could feel his pain.

It was terrible. She recoiled. Opened her eyes. Realised she had cried out.

“What is it?” Jayan said, alarm in his voice.

“You’d better start mixing up the pain blocker now,” she told him, then forced herself to close her eyes and send her mind forth again.

I’ve never sensed anything like that before! Knowing that if she hesitated, she’d lose the courage to face that pain again, she delved back into her awareness of the man’s body. Eagerness and reluctance warred within her, and it took a long, long moment before she felt the pain sweep over her again. This time she forced herself to stay and endure it. To examine and gently probe.

Within moments she’d worked out where to apply magic to block the pain. But she hesitated.

Should I? Father always said pain was the body’s way of making a person sit still and heal. This man is still going to die, but how shocking would it be for his daughter if he started walking about, all burned, only to collapse and die?

Perhaps if she could lessen the pain... she cautiously drew power and blocked some of the pathways. The body under her hand relaxed a little. Unsure if she had done enough, or too much, she drew away and opened her eyes.

The girl’s father was awake. He made no attempt to get up. She realised that he was exhausted, and probably would not have had the energy to rise.

“There,” she said, glancing at the girl and Jayan. “That’s given him some relief.” She looked at Jayan, who had measured out powder into a mixing jar. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve worked out how to block the pain with magic.”

His eyes widened and he stared at her in amazement. Then he shook his head and began to replace the items in her father’s bag.

“Who are you?” a voice croaked.

They both jumped and looked down at the burned man. “Magicians,” Jayan replied. “And Tessia has some knowledge of healing.”

The man looked at her. “Magicians who are healers. Never heard of that before.”

Tessia smiled. “Me neither.”

“You off to fight then?”

She felt the smile fade. “Yes.”

“Good. Now get on with you.”

“But—” Tessia began. I haven’t even tried to heal him yet...

“Don’t worry about me. Best thing you can do now is kill those bastards before they do this to anyone else. Go on.” He lifted his head slightly, his eyes moving beyond them. “Your army’s getting further ahead of you.”

Jayan looked towards the road and frowned.

He’s right, Tessia thought. I can’t save him and we shouldn’t stray too far from Dakon. The man spoke a name and his daughter moved closer. “You go to your aunt Tanna, right? You know the way.”

As the girl began to protest, Tessia stood up. Jayan followed suit. Drawing in a deep breath, she let out a long sigh, then forced herself to walk back towards the road.

“You didn’t try to heal him?” Jayan asked.

“No. There was no point trying. I couldn’t save him.”

“There’s always a point in trying. Even if you can’t save someone, you might learn something – and you did. You stopped the pain with magic.”

She grimaced. “It’s still not healing with magic, though.”

“But it’s something new. Something no magician or healer has managed.”

She frowned. “And I have no idea if I can undo it. What if I stopped the pain while doing something minor, but couldn’t unstop it. Would I leave someone permanently numb?”

He shrugged. “You’ll work it out. I know you will.”

She sighed and looked at him. “I couldn’t do this without you, Jayan. Not without your help.”

His eyes widened and he quickly looked away. “I’m only doing it because I know you’d be running off on your own if I didn’t keep an eye on you, no matter what Dakon said.” He stepped over the walls and started towards their horses. “We’d better catch up.”

Amused, Tessia watched as he roughly hooked her father’s bag on her mount’s saddle and then, without looking at her, swung up onto his own horse. He didn’t wait for her to mount, and set a swifter pace than she liked, as it jostled the contents of the bag too much. When they were halfway along the line he abruptly kicked his mount into a fast trot, not even glancing back to see if she followed.

What did I say? she wondered as he left her behind. Then she noticed how one of the female apprentices stared at him as he passed her. He gave the apprentice a quick glance, and smiled. Ah. Is that it? Has our little conversation yesterday made him reconsider what he thinks of female magicians? Being too openly friendly with me might ruin his chances with them.

A pity, she thought. We were getting along so well.

Keeping her expression neutral, Stara walked into Kachiro’s bedroom. Or more accurately, my bedroom. At once Vora jumped up from the low stool she had been sitting on and prostrated herself. Stara sat down on the end of the bed, thought of several different approaches to describing what had happened, and could not decide which to take.

“Can I get up, mistress?”

“Oh! Sorry. Of course.” Stara felt her face flush. Am I ever going to get used to having slaves? Though I suppose the fact that I forgot she was there is a good sign that I’m beginning to. Or a bad sign.

Vora returned to the stool and looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

Stara shook her head. The slave’s shoulders slumped. “What went wrong this time?”

“Not your plan,” Stara assured her. “I went to the baths, as you suggested. He was there. He wasn’t angry at me. He was... I think he expected me to try something like that, though perhaps not so soon.” Funny how I was surprised he didn’t seduce me on the night of the wedding, but he’s surprised I’ve only left it for a week. I wonder how long I’m supposed to wait?

Vora was frowning now. “And?”

“I...I did what you suggested.” Stara shook her head. “No reaction.”

“Nothing? Perhaps he was pretending.”

Stara smiled wryly. “I have no reason to doubt. He wasn’t wearing any clothing. And neither was I.”

“Oh.” Vora looked away, her brow creased deeply. “What happened then?”

“He told me he’s never been able to bed a woman, or even wanted to. He was very apologetic about it. I asked him why he married me and he said he’d hoped it would be different with a woman as beautiful as me.”

Vora gave a quiet snort. “That, I suspect, is a lie. What happened next?”

“I told him I was hoping for children. He told me not to worry, that we would find another way. He made me promise not to tell anyone. Then he got me to put my clothes back on and leave.”

The slave’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting.”

Stara frowned. “Do you think Father knew Kachiro couldn’t...?”

“That he’d marry you to a man he knew couldn’t sire children?”

“Or because I can’t kill him while bedding him.”

Vora blinked. “I hadn’t considered that. It wouldn’t do Ashaki Sokara’s reputation any good if his daughter had a habit of killing husbands. But the first reason is possibly more likely. Your father cares a great deal where his wealth and land will go when he dies. I’d assumed he would prefer it to fall into the hands of a man he disliked than the emperor’s – especially since Kachiro’s the same age as Ikaro and unlikely to outlive him by very long, so that everything would soon pass on to your son or daughter. But maybe I am wrong. Maybe this is more complicated than that.” She looked thoughtful.

“Kachiro said we’d find a way to have a child. Is he lying?”

Vora shook her head and smiled. “There are other ways to ‘baste the bird’, as they say.”

Stara grimaced. “Why are all Sachakan sayings so crass?”

The slave shrugged. “It probably started as a slave saying. We’re nothing if not honest about the processes of life.”

“Then...if there are other ways I can become pregnant by Kachiro, then it’s still possible for father’s assets to go to my husband’s descendants.”

“Yes.” Vora rose and began to pace the room. “If your father doesn’t intend you to have a child, then he has to have considered that you may become pregnant by other means. Your father must know he can contest the paternity of any child of yours, and succeed. Either more people know about Kachiro’s inability than he realises, or your father has other evidence. Someone willing to verify it. Or unwilling but powerless to prevent a mind-read.” Vora’s voice trailed off. She stopped pacing and her expression became thoughtful.

Rising, Stara began pacing in Vora’s place. “So, if Father doesn’t mean me to have a child, or plans to contest its legitimacy, then who does he want to have inherit?” She felt her heart skip and looked up at the slave. “He still means to kill Nachira!”

Vora looked up, and her expression became grave. “Ah.”

A wave of frustration and anger rushed through Stara. “I agreed to marry for nothing! He was getting me out of the way.

Argh! This is crazy!” She stopped pacing and turned to face Vora.

“Why doesn’t Father want a grandchild by me to inherit? It’s not like Kachiro can take anything before Ikaro dies.”

Vora shrugged. “Part of it is pride. Inheritance in direct line through male sons is considered the ideal, and your father is nothing if not a traditionalist. He also sees his trade as another son or daughter. He wants to make sure it has a healthy future in the hands of people who will maintain it.”

“And this justifies killing Nachira?”

“Yes.” The slave sighed.

Stara sat down, suddenly filled with helplessness. “I wish we could sneak Nachira out of there and send her somewhere safe.”

“I too,” Vora said sadly. “And I’m no longer in a position to help.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Though I might be able to get a warning to Ikaro, if he hasn’t left.”

“Left? Ah, the war in Kyralia.” Stara shook her head. “If Father is so set on having an heir through his son, why would he send Ikaro off to war?”

Vora grimaced. “Pride again. Any ashaki who do not fight will lose respect and status. He has most likely joined the army too.”

“They must be very confident of winning – and surviving.”

Stara frowned. Does Mother know any of this? She can’t know her husband plans to kill her daughter by marriage. She hasn’t even met Nachira, though she must wonder why she has no grandchildren yet. Does she know her son is going to Kyralia to fight? How is a war between Sachaka and Kyralia affecting trade in Elyne? She may not be able to receive dyes from here, but she did have a few arrangements locally. Eventually the war must end and life go back to normal. Then she’ll find out I’m married...

“Is me having a child really going to threaten Father’s trade?” she asked aloud.

Vora blinked as Stara’s question dragged her out of her thoughts. “Well...If Kachiro is gaining a bad reputation that might put people off trading with him or his offspring...so it’s possible. But then if your father knew this he wouldn’t marry you to him. In fact, if the arrangement was so damaging, why didn’t he simply lock you up for the rest of your life?” Stara scowled. “Because I’d have blasted my way out of there.”

“And you’d have been caught and dragged back here. Which would be easy since you have no source slave with which to strengthen yourself.” Vora pursed her lips for a moment. “You know, it would have been far easier for your father to have you killed. He must have enough family feeling to want to avoid that. He’s taken quite a risk marrying you to Kachiro.”

Stara shuddered. “All the more reason to ask: is having a child so great a threat that I should consider not having one?”

Vora began to shake her head, then she stilled and a familiar expression of deep and careful consideration took hold of her features.

“Perhaps. But you’ve told Kachiro you want to have them. He will think it odd if you don’t attempt to.” She grimaced. “Let’s hope he does intend to be the father, by other means, because it could be a little awkward if he suggests you use a lover.”

Stara sighed. “How much worse can this get?” she wondered aloud. Then she winced. “I guess I could be murdered for being infertile.” She sighed and flopped back onto her back. “Why, oh, why did you let me come back to this crazy, crazy country, Mother?”

“You wanted to,” she imagined her mother replying. “You couldn’t wait to return to your father.”

At least the man she was married to was kind and decent. Even if he had a secret or two. Hopefully only the one, she thought. And I guess that’s fair enough, considering how many I have. I don’t even know if Father told him I can use magic. I’m beginning to suspect he didn’t.

For now, until she knew how he was likely to react, or unless she faced a life-threatening situation, she was going to pretend she couldn’t.

CHAPTER 34

The scout’s face had been smeared with ash and grease, and his clothes were dark with dried mud. Dakon had seen this man report many times now, but he still hadn’t picked up his name. He must be good at his job. We always seem to be recruiting new scouts, and old ones keep disappearing...

“A few hundred people used to live in Lonner,” the man told Magician Sabin.

“Any of the villagers alive?”

“Not that I could see. There’s a pile of dead out in a field, but it doesn’t account for all of them.”

“The rest left in time?”

The man shrugged. “Hope so.”

“How many Sachakans?”

“Just over sixty.”

“And how many are magicians?”

The scout grimaced. “I only counted the magicians. There’s two or three times as many slaves, I reckon.”

Sabin frowned and looked at Lord Werrin, who shrugged.

“Perhaps they have dressed some of their slaves as magicians, to fool us,” Werrin suggested.

“Perhaps,” Sabin repeated. “We’ll see what the other scouts say. Thank you, Nim.”

The scout bowed, and moved away. All eyes looked towards the village ahead. Lonner was a typical small settlement, built on either side of a road with a river to one side. Just like Mandryn, Dakon thought, and felt a pang of grief and loss.

The Kyralian army was waiting off the road, concealed behind a farmhouse and a copse. Servants and the supply carts waited several hundred strides further back down the road, though some servants had volunteered to stay with the army to tend to the horses while the magicians were fighting.

Dakon was standing among the seven advisers and leaders of the army.

“We shouldn’t discount the possibility that more of Takado’s friends may have joined him,” Narvelan said.

Sabin nodded. “Though for his army to grow so large, he must be able to claim friendship with half the magicians in Sachaka. No, I am more worried that those who don’t consider themselves his allies or friends are joining him, because there are a lot more of those across the border.” He scowled and turned to stare at the village.

“What should we do?” Hakkin asked. “Will we still confront them?”

Sabin’s frown deepened. “We still outnumber them, though not by much.”

“We have Ardalen’s method. That may give us an advantage,” Dakon added.

“I suspect the benefits will be reduced in a direct confrontation,” Sabin said. “Our strength is the same, whether we fight in teams and direct our strikes through one, or fight individually.”

“But our defence will be more efficient. Those who run out of strength are protected by the shield of their team, and live to fight another day,” Hakkin pointed out.

“Can we avoid a direct confrontation, then?” Bolvin asked.

“Not from the look of it,” Werrin replied. He lifted an arm to point towards the village and everyone turned to look.

Streams of people were spilling out between the houses, slowly forming a wide line stretching out into the unfenced fields on either side of the road. Dakon felt a chill run down his spine. If these were all Sachakan magicians, their numbers had, indeed, swelled alarmingly.

“I gather their own scouts have reported our approach,” Werrin murmured.

“And they don’t think our greater numbers are a problem,” Narvelan added.

Sabin drew in a deep breath, then let it out. He looked at the other magicians. “Then, unless any of you disagree – and if you wish to debate it you had better make it quick – I say it is time we demonstrated the effect of both our greater numbers and our improved fighting skills.” As Sabin looked around at the other six magicians, they nodded. He smiled grimly. “It is decided.”

Turning, he faced the rest of the magicians, milling around in groups as they waited for the leaders to decide their next move. “Ready yourselves,” he called out. “The Sachakans are coming to us for a fight and we are going to give them one they’ll never forget. Gather into your fighting teams. Spread out to match their line. Shield yourselves and be ready. It is time we went to war!”

To Dakon’s surprise, the magicians responded with a cheer. He knew that some were too young or naive to realise the danger they faced, but most would not have been looking forward to this magical confrontation.

Yet we have been skulking about for too long, avoiding confrontations or not being able to find the enemy. There is a strange satisfaction in finally being able to engage the Sachakans. To test our strength against theirs – and vent our anger – whatever the outcome.

With the rest of the advisers, Dakon followed Sabin round the copse, past the farmhouse and onto the road. The rest of the army followed. Ahead, the Sachakan force was a wide, advancing wall. Glancing back and to either side, he saw that the Kyralian army had broken into teams of five or six magicians. These groups had moved out into the fields on either side to form a broken line as wide as the Sachakans’. Each group had nominated one member to strike and one to shield, and the others would add their power to either, or both, according to need.

For an endless time, the only sounds were of boots swishing and stomping through crops and on the road, the breathing of those close by and the faint whine of the wind. Dakon could feel his own heart racing.

He found himself worrying about Jayan and Tessia. Much debate had raged over whether the apprentices should stay with their masters, or remain behind. Traditionally, apprentices stayed close to their masters, both for their own protection and in case the magician needed more power. But if a magician took as much power as was safe from his apprentice just before battle, he didn’t need one with him. Unless, like a Sachakan, he killed to gain every last shred of power. As far as Dakon knew, the king hadn’t revoked the law against Kyralian masters killing their apprentices for magic. Since most apprentices were offspring of powerful families, it was unlikely he would. Would he, if things got desperate enough?

Lone apprentices whose strength had been tapped were vulnerable if parted from their masters. But in a direct confrontation, the enemy magician was too engaged in fighting to find and attack apprentices. The danger came most often from the enemy’s apprentices or slaves. Any attack would be physical if it came from slaves, who were unable to use their own magic.

But as a large group, the apprentices were less vulnerable to attack. A few had been left with their power undrained, so that they could defend the group. Dakon had volunteered Jayan for the task since, unlike most magicians, he had a second apprentice to take power from. Jayan was one of the older and more experienced apprentices, and had been nominated their temporary leader.

So I have nothing to worry about, Dakon told himself, and then continued to fret. Only when he realised he could make out the faces of the Sachakans did his attention return fully to the enemy. Then he heard Sabin mutter a curse.

“Is that...?” Werrin murmured.

“Yes,” Sabin replied. “Emperor Vochira’s most favoured and loyal magician, Ashaki Nomako.”

“That explains the sudden increase in numbers.”

A voice called out and the Sachakans stopped. Seeking the speaker, Dakon felt a jolt as he recognised Takado. He felt hatred well up inside him.

Takado. My former houseguest. A traveller supposedly come to satisfy his curiosity about a neighbouring land. All along he planned to return in force. We were right to be suspicious. Dakon scowled. We should have arranged for him to die in some accident.

“Halt!” Sabin called. Dakon stopped, as did the sound of movement around him.

A quietness followed. The air vibrated with expectation. How can such near silence carry so much tension? Dakon wondered. Quiet is supposed to be calming.

“Magicians of Kyralia,” Takado shouted. “You make a fine army. I am impressed.” He took a step forward, looking from left to right. “No doubt you are here to put a stop to our attacks. To seek retaliation for the deaths of your people. To send us back to our homeland.” He paused and smiled. “I tell you now, that you can only succeed in one of these aims. We are not going home. We came here to conquer you. To reclaim what was foolishly given up in the past. To make our lands one again. Which, though painful in the beginning, will ultimately benefit us all.” He smiled. “Naturally, we will not allow you to take out your revenge on us. But . . .” His eyes moved from left to right as he met the eyes of individual Kyralians. He paused briefly when he saw Dakon, and a faint smile twitched his lips. That fleeting expression of smugness sent anger burning through Dakon. “You can put an end to our attacks. All you need do is give over rule of your land peacefully and we will take it peacefully. Surrender and join us.”

“And who will rule us? You, or the emperor?”

Sabin’s voice cut through the air. Turning a little, Dakon saw the war master look from Takado to another Sachakan. Perhaps the man with narrowed eyes, Dakon guessed. What do the emperor’s magicians wear to indicate their status? A ring, isn’t it? There were many bands around the man’s fingers, as was the fashion among most Sachakans, and he was too far away to see if any bore some mark of the emperor’s.

“Emperor Vochira supports our reclaiming of former territory,” Takado told them.

Sabin paused, but when it was clear that was all the answer he would get, he chuckled and turned back to Takado. “I don’t know who is the greater fool, you or your emperor. It will be interesting to see which of you remains alive after this war. My bet is on Emperor Vochira, since we have no intention of letting you take Kyralia, and I can’t imagine you’ll survive long if you escape us and manage to crawl back home.”

Takado smiled. “Then my bet is on us both being alive, since if you insist on fighting me I’ll be free to rid Kyralia of its magicians, and nothing would please Emperor Vochira more. I have no desire to rule in his place when I, and my friends, can have all this.” He stretched his arms wide. Then he let them fall at his sides. “Do you surrender?”

“No,” Sabin said, simply and firmly.

Takado looked from side to side, at his allies. “The fools want a fight,” he shouted. “Let’s give them one!”

Turning abruptly back to face Sabin, Takado let loose a brilliant strike. It scattered an arm’s length from Sabin’s nose. A moment later the rest of the Sachakan army let loose their power, and the air suddenly vibrated and flashed with magic. Dakon grasped Sabin’s upper arm and began drawing power from within himself and giving it to the war master. The other magicians in the group of advisers either followed his example or took hold of Werrin, who was shielding them all.

Shields held. Strikes flew in return, then filled the space between the armies. No magician, Sachakan or Kyralian, fell.

But the heat and vibration was so intense, both sides began to back away. Retreating slowly, maintaining their lines, the opposing armies reached a distance apart that was bearable. The exchange of strikes intensified and the tumult of magic seared the air again, but this time all stood their ground.

For a long time nobody spoke. Dakon could not take his eyes off the enemy. Every time Werrin’s shield vibrated from an attack his heart jumped. Every time Sabin directed a strike at the enemy he felt hope rise, then fade as the power shattered against a shield. He could see Narvelan’s head moving back and forth as the young magician watched how the fighting progressed elsewhere. But Dakon could not bring himself to look away.

I think I’m afraid I won’t see the strike that kills me, Dakon thought.

“They certainly aren’t saving their strength,” Narvelan remarked.

“No,” Sabin agreed. “How are we doing?”

“Holding,” Narvelan replied. “Not striking as much as they. Nor as strongly, I suspect.”

“Are we holding back?” Hakkin asked. “Is there a way we can tell other teams to fight harder?”

Werrin nodded. “There is, but—”

“There! The signal,” one of the city magicians said. “We’ve got one exhausted magician – no, two!”

“One in most teams now,” Narvelan added.

Dakon forced himself to look at Sabin. He’s probably thinking that those magicians would be dead if their teams weren’t protecting them. The Sachakans aren’t protecting each other – as far as we can tell – and none of them are dead yet...

“We got one!” Narvelan exclaimed. Dakon looked in the direction his friend was pointing, but his view was blocked by Werrin. A moment later there was a dull thump and crack, and one of the closer Sachakans was thrown backwards. He landed on the ground, but was quickly dragged away by the slaves hovering behind the enemy line.

Three more Sachakans fell. Dakon felt his heart lifting in triumph. Ardalen’s method works! he thought. Soon they’ll be dropping like rain.

“We must retreat,” Sabin said. “Signal the others.”

Dakon gasped with disbelief. He cast about, watching as the message was relayed down the line of Kyralian teams. But as he counted the number of magicians holding a white strip of cloth in their left hand – the signal they had used all their power – he felt disbelief turn to fear.

We’re nearly finished, he realised. We’ve lost. Some of the teams held only two members with power in reserve. These teams backed away the fastest. As the seven leaders began to retreat, Dakon turned his attention to the enemy, watching anxiously to see if they would follow.

Crouching on the ground behind his master, Hanara felt his heart pounding. He’d seen two of Takado’s allies fall, and three of the magicians who’d come with the emperor’s representative. One had exploded in flames. Another’s face and chest had crumpled into a bloody mess just before he was knocked back off his feet and sprawled on the ground. He’d also seen a slave broken in two by stray magic, and felt pride and gratitude that Takado had foreseen the danger and ordered him to lie on his belly and keep his head low.

Hanara had seen the surprise and horror on the faces of the Sachakan magicians still fighting. Seen the doubts, and the determination as they kept fighting. How many will question whether the conquest is worth the risk after this? Hanara wondered. Surely their lives aren’t so bad at home that a bit of land is worth dying for. But owning land was one of the greatest symbols of freedom. Owning land and wielding magic. Of the former there was too little. And perhaps there was too much of the latter in Sachaka. Now that’s an interesting thought...

A murmur rose among the magicians now. Lifting his head, Takado saw that the Kyralians were moving.

They are retreating! We have won!

He saw Takado’s allies begin to move forward. Takado hadn’t given an order yet. Hanara could not see his master’s face, but something in Takado’s posture told him his master was deliberating.

“Hold!”

The voice rang out, stalling those edging forward. It was not Takado’s voice. Hanara felt a rush of anger and indignation. The emperor’s representative, Nomako, had spoken. He was stepping out before Takado’s army and turning to face them.

“Let them go. We have shown them who is the stronger. Let them ponder the future a while and consider the benefits of surrendering to us.”

Hanara’s blood boiled on behalf of his master. How dare he! It’s up to Takado to decide! Up to Takado to give the orders!