The Magician’s Apprentice

“Perhaps instead we should build a fort here,” Lord Bolvin suggested. “Control who passes into Kyralia. It would have the same advantage of slowing an invasion, and we would know it is happening. Instantly, if we post a magician here.”

“We could charge Sachakan traders a fee, as well,” Hakkin added. “It might go some way towards helping our people recover.”

Heads were nodding, Dakon saw. The fee could never be high enough, he thought. It can’t be set so high that it discourages trade. And it would go straight into some magician’s coffer, most likely, not into the common people’s hands.

“How likely is it that we will be invaded again?” Lord Perkin asked, looking around.

Nobody answered for a long moment.

“That depends on two things,” Sabin said. “The desire to, and the ability to. Will they desire to? Perhaps we have frightened them into leaving us alone. Or maybe, by killing so many members of their most powerful families, we have set a desire for revenge blazing that could lead to endless conflict.”

“They invaded us,” Narvelan growled.

“True. But Sachakans are nothing less than utterly convinced of their superiority over other races. We have dared to defeat them. They won’t like it.”

“How many Sachakan magicians are left?” Bolvin asked.

“I have kept count of the fatalities as best I could,” Sabin said. “I estimate at least ninety Sachakans have died in this invasion.”

“There were over two hundred in Sachaka, according to my spies,” the king said.

“So over a hundred remain,” Hakkin said. “We number no more than eighty.”

“Some of their magicians are too young or too old to fight effectively,” the king added.

“The odds don’t sound good, even so,” Perkin said.

“I think we’ve learned the hard way that it is not the number of magicians that matters, but their strength,” Narvelan said.

“And their skills and knowledge,” Dakon added.

“It is not only their strength to begin with, though that is important, but their access to strength later,” Sabin said. “They can only bring so many slaves into Kyralia. We have the support of most of our population.”

“I think they’ve learned their lesson,” Hakkin said.

“But how long before they forget it?” Narvelan asked. “Will our children fight and die in another war? Or our grandchildren?”

“Can we prevent its ever happening again?” Sabin asked. He shook his head. “Of course we can’t.”

“Or can we?” Narvelan said. All turned to look at him, many frowning. His eyes were dark as he smiled back at them. “They wouldn’t invade us if we ruled them.”

That sent a ripple of murmuring out from the circle. Dakon saw eyes widen at the possibility, and heads shake.

“Invade Sachaka?” Hakkin scowled. “Even if we had a chance of success, we’ve just fought a war. Do we have the energy for another?”

“We might, if it would ensure Kyralia’s future,” Lord Perkin said.

The king was frowning. “Can we afford to lose more of our own magicians?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the ground. “We may return victorious only to find ourselves vulnerable to attack from elsewhere.”

“Who else would dare, or bother, your majesty?” Narvelan spread his hands. “Lonmar? They are too busy worshipping their god and barely pay attention to what we do. Lan? Vin? Elyne? They are here, supporting us.” He turned to regard Dem Ayend, smiling but with a hint of seriousness in his gaze.

The Dem chuckled. “Elyne has always been a friend of Kyralia.” He paused. “And if you allow it, we would join you in your endeavour. We know we will not last long if Kyralia ever falls to Sachaka. I know I have my king’s support on this.”

Sabin hummed in thought, then looked at the Dem. “Your offer would have to be discussed, but I can see one problem to be overcome. If we are to invade Sachaka, we must do it without hesitation. We have only our apprentices and servants to draw strength from. Like us, the Sachakans will evacuate their slaves so that we can’t gain strength from them. We must give them no time to.”

“We should not kill the slaves, but free them,” Dakon said. He smiled as heads turned towards him. “We couldn’t hope to win without taking their power, of course, but after a country is taken it has to be ruled, and it would be easier if the majority of people were co-operative because we had treated them well.” Dakon was pleased to see the king nodding, his expression thoughtful. “If we must invade Sachaka in order to save Kyralia, let’s not become Sachakans.”

Sabin chuckled. “Their way of doing things didn’t work for them, so it won’t work for us.”

More murmuring echoed around the ravine. The leaders were silent, lost in thought. Then Bolvin sighed.

“Must we invade? I’m tired. I want to go home, to my family.”

“We must,” Narvelan said, his voice full of certainty. “So that your children will have the freedoms we have.”

“Perhaps I can help you decide,” Dem Ayend said.

All turned to look at the Elyne. He smiled wryly as he reached into the satchel he always carried. He glanced down and drew out a small drawstring bag. Untying the knot, he tipped out into his palm a large milky-yellow stone the size of a fist, cut like a precious gem.

“This is a storestone. It’s the last of its kind. It and others were found in ancient ruins in Elyne, built and abandoned by a people we know little about. We don’t know how they are made – and believe me, many magicians have tried to find out over the centuries.”

He held the stone out so all in the circle could see. “It stores magic. Transferring power to it is not unlike sending power to another magician. Unfortunately the magic within must be used in one continuous stream. If not, it will shatter and release the remaining magic in a devastating blast. And once the magic is all used, the stone turns to dust. So, as you can imagine, you must choose the moment such an object is used very, very carefully. Especially since when this one is used, there will be no more left.”

Dem Ayend looked up. His eyes were bright. Dakon saw awe and excitement in the faces of the magicians around him. Looking closely at the stone, he felt something at the edge of his senses. Concentrating on the feeling made his head spin.

The stone was radiating a feeling of immense power, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“My king gave it to me to use only in the most desperate moment, and fortunately that moment did not come. I have consulted with him via messengers, anticipating this moment. He said if the chance came to conquer Sachaka, then we should seize it. Because I, and my king, can see no cause more worthy of the last of the storestones than ending the Sachakan empire for all time.”

Looking at the faces of the magicians around him, Dakon knew, without a doubt, that he would not be going back to Mandryn to rebuild his life for some time yet.

CHAPTER 42

The morning air was crisp, but Hanara knew that once the sun rose above the mist that shrouded the hills below, baking the air dry, the day would be a hot one. The place Takado, Asara and Dachido had chosen to camp was several strides from the road, out of sight on a rock shelf. If they moved to the edge and looked down they could see the road twisting back and forth down the side of the mountain, curving over hills and eventually straightening and pointing, like an arrow, toward Arvice.

Hanara’s master was not enjoying the view. He was being served by Asara’s remaining slave, while Hanara kept watch on the road. Dachido’s slave was packing up his master’s belongings. The three slaves took turns at these tasks every morning, until all were ready to travel on.

But for the first time, none of the magicians were in a hurry.

Hanara looked up. The pass itself was not visible, but he could see where the road emerged from it. They had fled through it the previous morning, aware the Kyralian army was only a half day’s ride behind them.

“Why send a whole army after us?” Asara had asked, a few nights before. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because they want Takado,” Dachido had replied. “It was his idea to conquer them, after all. And they fear he will come back for another try.”

Takado had chuckled. “I would, if it were possible.”

The three magicians had argued over what to do when they reached Sachaka. Takado wanted them to stay together and gather supporters. Hanara wasn’t sure if this was in order to invade Kyralia again, or in order to gain enough status and allies to return to his former life.

“None of us can expect to walk into our old homes and continue as if nothing happened,” Takado had pointed out.

Asara had nodded. “We need to know if Emperor Vochira has learned of our defeat and taken our assets for himself, or given them to someone else. It’ll be easier to regain them if he hasn’t given them away.”

It hadn’t occurred to Hanara that he might not be returning to the place of his birth. Since he’d realised how unlikely it was, he’d woken with an ache in his stomach every morning, and a nagging uneasiness. Where will we go, even if it is just until Takado gets his home back? And how likely is that?

Though none of the magicians had stated it, the lack of conviction in their voices when they discussed regaining the emperor’s favour told how much they doubted it would happen. Last night, as if standing on the soil of their own country had broken them out of a trance of denial, they had finally discussed what they would do in the short term.

“I’ve decided I’m going north,” Asara announced. “I have contacts there. People who owe me favours. And ...I must go alone. They will not help me if there are others with me.”

Both Dachido and Takado had looked at her in silence, but neither of them argued against her choice. Dachido had turned to Takado then, his expression almost apologetic.

“I, too, am going to call in a favour. With a sea trader. How do you fancy sailing the seas of the south?”

Takado had grimaced, then patted Dachido on the shoulder. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I’d rather Emperor Vochira cut out my heart than spend the rest of my days stuck on a ship.” He sighed and looked out towards Arvice. “I belong here.”

“In hiding?” Dachido asked. “An ichani?”

“I have always regarded ichani – most ichani – as my equals,” Takado said, with a hint of pride. “It will be no shame to me to wear the term. After all, I began this for their benefit, so they would have a chance to own land and throw off their outcast status.”

“I hope they remember that, if you encounter any,” Asara said. “Those that remained here were clearly not impressed enough by you to join your cause. And you led a lot of their kind to their deaths.”

“Perhaps if I found them another place to make their own...” Takado began, but then he shook his head. “Unless they don’t mind living on a volcano, I doubt there’s anything I can offer them.”

Having decided their futures, the three magicians had slept soundly for the first time in weeks. Hanara and the other slaves had taken turns keeping watch.

Hearing movement behind him, Hanara looked over his shoulder to see that Takado, Asara and Dachido were now standing, regarding each other with expectant looks. Then Takado grasped the others’ shoulders.

“Thank you for answering my call,” he said. “I would rather we were arranging Kyralia to our liking right now instead of parting ways, but I am proud to have fought beside you both.” He paused, his eyes flickering to Hanara.

Hanara forced himself to turn away and look at the road, but his eyes itched to witness the moment taking place behind him. At least he could hear it.

“It was a grand idea, your plan to conquer Kyralia,” Asara said. “And it almost worked. I’ll never regret the attempt.”

“Nor I,” Dachido agreed. “I have fought beside great men – and women – which is more than my father or grandfather could claim.”

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” Takado laughed, but then he sighed. “I am glad I had you two to advise and support me. I’m sure I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I hope we will meet again some day.”

“Is there a way we can keep in contact safely?” Asara wondered aloud.

“We could leave messages somewhere. Send slaves to deliver or check for them,” Dachido suggested.

“Where?” Takado asked.

Something shifted before Hanara’s eyes. He blinked and stared at the road winding down the side of the mountain. Then he blinked again.

Men. Horses. At least a hundred of them so far, turning into sight around a curve in the road. He should have seen them when they had first emerged from the pass. Turning, he rose and hurried over to Takado, threw himself on the ground and waited.

The three magicians stopped talking.

“What is it?” Takado asked, his voice low with annoyance.

“Riders,” Hanara said. “Coming into Sachaka.”

“Into Sachaka?” Dachido repeated.

Hurried footsteps led away to the edge of the rock shelf. As Hanara rose he heard Takado curse. The other two slaves exchanged glances, then tentatively hurried after their owners. Hanara followed.

“What are they doing?” Asara asked.

“I doubt they’re paying the emperor a friendly visit,” Dachido replied.

“They’re invading us?” Her voice was strained with disbelief.

“Why not?” Takado said darkly. He sounded tired. Resigned. “They defeated us easily. Why not invade us in return?”

“Are they after revenge?” Asara sounded angry now.

“Probably, but I doubt that’s their only reason. Beating us has given them confidence.” He paused. “Perhaps a little too much.”

“If they lose, there’ll be nothing to stop us returning to Kyralia,” Dachido pointed out, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Takado turned to his friend and smiled. “That is true.”

Looking at them both, Asara became thoughtful. “So we wait here until they pass, then go back and take over Kyralia?”

Takado frowned. “And in the meantime, they invade Sachaka. No. We can’t abandon our homeland.”

“Surely there’s no risk the Kyralians will succeed,” Asara said.

“If we warn Emperor Vochir there’s an army coming . . .” Dachido began. “If we help in the fight...”

“He might forgive us for getting him into such a mess in the first place?” Asara asked. As Takado frowned at her, she shook her head. “I think he would kill us first and discover the truth of our warning later.” She looked out at the army and sighed. “But I can’t run away from this. I can’t abandon our people. We must warn them.”

Dachido nodded. “At the very least.”

They both turned to Takado, who nodded. “Of course we must.” Then he smiled. “And I’m sure we’ll find a way to come out the heroes and saviours in this. We only need to stay alive long enough to arrange it.”

I can’t believe I’m in Sachaka, Jayan found himself thinking yet again. I always thought if I visited another country it would probably be Elyne. Definitely not Sachaka!

At first there had been little vegetation to block the view of the land below. Jayan had traced the lines of roads, noting where they intersected or vanished in the distance. He’d studied the courses of rivers and positions of houses, trying to create a map in his mind. Though there were clusters of houses, they didn’t follow the familiar layout of Kyralian villages. They were positioned off the road, enclosed by walls.

Eventually the road from the pass descended into forested slopes similar to those on the other side of the mountains. They could have been travelling in Kyralia, then. Everything looked the same, from the types of trees to the colour of the rocky ground. The air grew steadily warmer, until it was as hot as the hottest summer days he remembered while living in Mandryn.

Hearing a sigh, he glanced at Mikken. The young man was wiping his brow with his sleeve. He met Jayan’s gaze and grimaced.

Smiling crookedly, Jayan looked ahead. How well was Tessia coping with the heat? She was riding alone, he saw. Dakon was further ahead talking to Narvelan. Urging his horse into a trot, Jayan caught up with her. She looked at him, her brow creased by a frown.

“How are you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Worried.”

Jayan felt a flash of concern. “About Dakon? Yourself?”

“No.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the riders ahead. “About us all. About the future. This... this invasion of Sachaka.”

“You’re worried we’ll lose?”

“Yes. Or that we’ll win.”

Jayan smiled, but her expression remained serious. “What’s the problem with winning?”

She sighed. “They’ll hate us. We already hate them. We’re seeking revenge for them invading us. They’ll then seek revenge for us invading them. It’ll go on and on. Never ending.”

“They can’t invade us in revenge if we win,” Jayan pointed out. “We’ll be in charge.”

“They’ll rebel. They’ll find ways to make controlling them cost us more than we gain.” She paused. “Dakon has been telling me what Kyralians and Elynes did in order to get Sachaka to grant us independence last time.”

“Ah.” Jayan nodded. “I’ve had those lessons too. But the situation is not the same. They imposed slavery on us. We’ll end it here. They made the strong weak, we’ll make the weak strong.”

“The slaves?” She shook her head. “We’re relying too much on the idea that Sachaka’s slaves are going to rejoice at us marching in and changing their lives. They may not want us to. They may be loyal to their masters. Hanara returned to Takado, after all. They may not co-operate. They may resist us. Non-magicians can fight, too. You don’t need magic – as you showed when you set fire to the storeroom to save the apprentices.”

She may be right, he thought. “But not all slaves will be like Hanara,” he reasoned. “If he had been truly loyal to Takado, he’d have left Mandryn as soon as he was well enough. He probably only returned to Takado because he knew his master was close by, and that Mandryn wasn’t safe any more. If he didn’t think he could escape, he’d think he had no choice.”

Tessia gave him an oddly approving look. “Even so, Hanara did not adjust to freedom well. He did not make friends or trust anyone... except me, I think.” She looked away. “I don’t think Sachaka’s slaves are going to trust or befriend us just because we free them. They won’t know what to do with themselves. Without someone ordering their lives, fields won’t be harvested, food won’t be prepared. They’ll starve.”

“Then we’ll have to help them learn a different way of doing things.”

Tessia looked back at the magicians riding behind them. “Do you think enough of us will want to stay here, afterwards, to help Sachaka’s slaves adapt to freedom? Or will everybody go home?”

Jayan doubted many would stay, but he did not want to admit that. He shrugged, instead.

“I can’t help thinking what we’re doing is wrong.” Tessia sighed. “We’re so convinced that all Sachakan magicians are bad. But not all of them joined Takado. Those who did are nearly all dead, so the magicians we’re going to fight will be mostly those that didn’t want to invade us.”

“Just because they didn’t fight doesn’t mean they didn’t support the idea of invading,” Jayan reminded her. “Some might not have been able to fight. Perhaps they were too old, or not well trained enough. Perhaps some were too caught up in something else to leave Sachaka. We can’t assume they were all against their country taking back lands that they once considered theirs.”

Tessia nodded, then glanced at him sidelong. “So how do we tell who was and who wasn’t in favour of the war?”

Jayan considered this. “I expect that if most were against it, they’ll get together and meet with us peacefully.”

“But if only a few were against it?”

“There are always a few people who don’t agree with the majority – or their rule. We can’t let Sachaka recover and return to invade us again because a few of them might be nice people.” He felt frustration rising. “Surely you can see that we must do this to stop Sachaka invading again.”

“I can,” she replied. “But I can also see that it could be disastrous if we lose. Should our invasion of Sachaka fail, Kyralia will be left with a handful of magicians to defend it. The Sachakans will invade us in turn, again, and nobody will be able to stop them.”

Jayan felt his stomach sink at the thought, but as he considered it he realised she had nothing to fear. “Even if the Sachakans win, they’ll be weak as well. The magicians in Imardin have a whole city willing to give them strength. Whether that strength is taken by a few magicians or many, it’s still enough to deter a few Sachakans.”

“Even if those Sachakans have the strength of all the slaves here?” She turned to look at him.

Darn it, she’s right. He bit his lip. “Are you suggesting we kill the slaves, just in case we lose?”

“No!” She glared at him. “We shouldn’t be invading in the first place. It’s justifiable to kill in defence, but saying we’re here to protect ourselves from future invasions is... you could justify anything saying that. It’s . . . wrong.”

Jayan stared back at her. He remembered what Dakon had said the night before. “If we must invade Sachaka in order to save Kyralia, let’s not become Sachakans.”

Perhaps he could dismiss Tessia’s worries as those of someone whose morals were good, but impractical. Even as he disagreed with her he could not help admiring her for her desire to do right. He could not so easily dismiss the opinion of his former master and teacher, either.

“Strategically, we should kill the slaves, but we won’t. We have the luxury of doing things differently from the Sachakans because we have the storestone. And our different ways... our better morals... maybe they’re something we can give to them. Freedom for the slaves and better morals for the magicians. Surely that’s something worth fighting for?”

She glanced at him then looked away, her expression full of doubt. Whether it was at what he said, or at her own opinions, he couldn’t tell. She said nothing, and they rode on in an awkward silence for some time, before Jayan gave up and dropped back to ride next to Mikken again.

CHAPTER 43

The road into Sachaka had stretched across the bare skin of the mountains first, twisting this way and that as it descended steeply. Then, abruptly, it reached the hills below, where it took the easier route along flat valley floors, going wherever the water-courses went.

But the Kyralian army did not venture into the gentler landscape at first. It had camped in the shelter of a forest. Though it had been late afternoon, all but the first watch lay down to sleep. Or attempt to, Tessia thought wryly. She had lain on her pallet, listening to the other women breathing, wide awake and unable to stop worrying about Jayan and the outcome of this conquest.

Now, as the army rode silently into the populated lowlands of Sachaka, she ached with tiredness and wished she’d managed to sleep. Tired in my body; tired in my mind. Tired of worrying; tired of arguing with Jayan over what we’re doing.

They’d talked twice more, once after he’d volunteered to go with the group of magicians who would investigate the groups of buildings they encountered on the way, and again, briefly, as they had neared the first settlement.

Now he was gone, riding with twenty or so other magicians, led by Narvelan, down a side road towards distant white walls glowing in the moonlight.

What I suspect bothers me the most is that I know he’s right, she thought. But I’m also sure he isn’t. Invasion is wrong. It makes us the aggressor. It makes us more like the Sachakans. Less certain we are better than them.

Yet I also can’t help thinking we would have to do far worse to be as cruel and immoral as they. Perhaps the harm we do will be balanced by the good. We could make Sachaka a better place. We could end slavery for good.

It’s going to come at a cost. It’s going to change the way we see ourselves. How much are we willing to restrain ourselves in order to be right and moral? If we justify this, then how much easier will it be to justify worse? If Kyralians believe a little wrongdoing is excusable for the right reason, what else will we excuse, or assume others will excuse?

She sighed. If Jayan is right, then we are risking our future for the benefit of a people who have torn our country apart. I’m not sure many magicians would be putting their lives in danger if they saw it that way. A few may be that noble, but not all. No, most magicians are here to take advantage of our sudden magical superiority and, I suspect, to have their revenge.

A faint murmur among the magicians roused her from her thoughts. She looked down the side road towards the faint shapes of the distant buildings. Shadows moved before them. Though she could not make out recognisable shapes, they moved in the rhythmic, jolting way of riders coming at speed. Something about this haste filled her with dread.

As the riders came close they shifted from shadows to familiar figures. She was relieved to see Jayan among them, and that nobody was missing. Jayan wore a grim, unhappy expression. So did most of the others. Narvelan did not. His straight back suggested defiance or indignation.

Or I am reading too much into this? she thought, watching Narvelan and two others meet with the king, Sabin and the leader of the Elynes. The rest of the group split up, some staying to listen to the men talking, some moving away. Tessia saw Jayan shake his head, then direct his horse towards her, Mikken and Dakon.

“So,” Dakon murmured. “Did our neighbours give you a friendly reception?”

Jayan didn’t quite manage a smile. “The master of the estate wasn’t home. Just... slaves.” He looked away, a haunted look in his eyes.

“And the slaves?” Dakon prompted when Jayan didn’t continue.

Jayan sighed. “Weren’t happy to see us and didn’t much like our plans for them.”

“So Narvelan offered them their freedom?”

“Yes.” Jayan frowned and looked at Dakon again. Tessia glimpsed pain, guilt and a darkness in his eyes, then his expression became guarded. “When we arrived they opened doors for us, then threw themselves flat on the ground. Narvelan told them to get up. He told them we were there to free them, if they cooperated with us. Then he began to ask questions. They told us their master was away, and who he was, but when he asked where he was it was clear they were lying.”

He grimaced. “So Narvelan ordered one to approach, and he read the man’s mind. He saw that they had sent messengers to their master, who is visiting a neighbour, and that they were loyal to him. Afraid of him, but loyal. They did not understand what freedom was. Our offer was meaningless to them.

“We started to argue about what to do next, but Narvelan said we had no time. The slaves were already spreading word of us. We must stop them and we must take their power. So we did, while he left to catch up with the messengers.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “When he returned he found we had done what we’d agreed – left the slaves alive but too exhausted to move. He looked at them and said we had to kill them. In a few hours they would have regained enough strength to leave and warn of our approach. So . . .” Jayan closed his eyes. “So he killed them. To save us the... from feeling responsible.”

A shiver of horror ran down Tessia’s spine and she heard Mikken curse under his breath. She tried not to imagine the slaves, too exhausted to move, realising as the first of their number died that they faced the same fate and knowing they were helpless to stop it, to even run.

Dakon looked at Narvelan and the king, then back at Jayan.

“Ah,” he said. Instead of anger, Tessia saw sadness in her master’s face. Then his eyes narrowed. She looked over at the army leaders. They had begun to move forward, Narvelan riding at the king’s side, smiling.

Smiling! After just killing so many... How many? She turned to Jayan.

“How many? How many slaves?” she asked, then wondered why it was suddenly so important.

He looked at her strangely. “Over a hundred.” Then his frown faded and he managed a weak smile. “Not even your healing will help, I’m afraid. Not this time.” He looked away. “I wish it could.”

I wasn’t thinking it could, she thought. But from the look of him, I don’t think pointing that out will help much. Dakon nudged his horse into a walk and hers and Jayan’s followed suit. They rode in silence. Jayan’s words repeated over and over in Tessia’s mind.

“What I don’t understand,” Mikken said after a while, “is why Narvelan thought killing the slaves would prevent the Sachakans realising we were here. Once their master returns home it will be obvious something is wrong. And surely the Sachakans are going to notice a few hundred Kyralians riding through and camping in their land.”

“Yes,” Dakon agreed. “I’m wondering why we ever thought we’d be able to sneak up on them. Or why those who should know better even suggested it.”

“Do you think they said whatever they thought would get the army here, knowing that once we were we couldn’t change our minds?” Tessia asked.

Neither Dakon nor Jayan answered. But they didn’t need to. The anger she had expected from Dakon earlier was now clear in his face. Jayan looked worried. For that, she felt a pang of sympathy. He must feel as if he’d taken part in the slaughter of the slaves.

“I think,” Jayan said, so quietly that Tessia was only just able to hear him. “I think Lord Narvelan may be a little mad. And the king knows it, and is letting him do what the rest of us might not.”

Dakon nodded slowly, his gaze still on his neighbour and friend. “I’m afraid you may be right, Jayan.”

From within the corridor, Hanara watched as another man entered the master’s room and was greeted by Ashaki Charaka. The man wore a knife at his belt, so he was also a magician. He greeted Takado, Asara and Dachido with friendly curiosity and a touch of admiration. Hanara felt a familiar pride. The long-life feeling.

My master is a hero. It doesn’t matter that he failed to conquer Kyralia. He is a hero because he tried.

Beside him, Asara’s slave stirred. “Something’s not right,” she whispered.

His stomach clenched and the long-life feeling vanished. He scowled at her. “What?”

She shook her head, her eyes dark with fear. “I don’t know. Something.”

He turned away. Foolish woman. He looked at the magicians who had gathered to meet his master. Ashaki Charaka was old, but moved with the confidence of a man used to power and respect. The others were from neighbouring estates. Most of their domains weren’t in the path of the Kyralian army. Unable to take the road, since the Kyralians were using it, and travelling on foot, Takado and his friends had spent two days descending the mountain. They took a direct route that put them in land a few estates away from those most likely to be invaded first.

The magicians didn’t know about the enemy army yet. Takado was clearly waiting for the right time to tell them. Instead he had begun relating stories of the early days in Kyralia, of villages of people left to their own devices, working the land belonging to their master as they pleased, without his protection. How easy they were to take.

The other magicians listened closely. Hanara watched each of them in turn. None of the five hesitated to ask questions, and Takado answered with an honesty that clearly surprised them.

“They have developed new fighting strategies,” Takado told them, while Asara and Dachido nodded. “In groups, so that when one member is exhausted he or she relies on the others for protection. When the whole group is exhausted they join another group. It is surprisingly effective.”

“What happens when they are all exhausted?” one of the listeners asked.

“They never got to that point, though they came close,” Asara replied.

“I suspect we would have an entire army of exhausted magicians to kill off as we pleased.” Takado shrugged.

“But you never got to that point?”

Takado shook his head and began describing the first battle. When he reached the point where the Kyralian army began retreating he stopped.

“But . . .” one of the listeners said. “If they were retreating they must have been close to finished. Why didn’t you follow?”

“Nomako,” Dachido answered, his voice low and full of derision. “He tried to take command at that point.”

“He made a fool of himself,” Asara said. “We would have won then, but for the delay. The Kyralians removed their people from the towns in our path, so we weren’t able to boost our strength as well as we should have.”

“But in the next battle . . .” Takado began.

Hanara did not hear any more. Footsteps in the corridor covered the voices. He watched as slaves filed past, taking platters laden with food into the master’s room for hosts and guests to feast on. At the smell of the food Hanara’s stomach ached and groaned. For days he’d eaten only scrawny, magic-roasted birds and what herbs and edible plants he could find in the mountains.

When the magicians had finished and the last of the platters had been taken away, he felt a nudge at his elbow. Turning, he saw a child slave holding out one of the platters. Scraps of roasted meat and vegetables lay in congealing sauce.

Hanara grabbed a handful and ate quickly. Such opportunities had to be seized, whether in the midst of war or in the peaceful mansions of home. Dachido’s slave ate just as hungrily, but Asara’s slave was hesitating. He looked at her questioningly. She was frowning at the food in suspicion, but he could hear her stomach rumbling.

As he reached for the last morsel of food, she suddenly snatched it out from under his hand. Even then she didn’t eat straight away. She looked at him closely, then at Dachido’s slave. Hanara shrugged. He turned back to watch and listen to Takado. After a moment he heard her eating and smiled to himself.

“Now the last battle,” the host said. “What went wrong there?”

Takado scowled. “Bad timing. Nomako hadn’t told me that he’d sent two groups to the west and south to subdue those areas and gather strength before meeting up with us outside Imardin. Nomako convinced us that we should wait for the southern group to arrive so we were as strong as possible before facing the Kyralians. He said the Kyralian people would not submit to giving their strength to their masters, since they were not slaves.” He shook his head. “I had doubts, but since most of the fighters were now his men, and he had threatened to withdraw their support . . .”

“He was wrong. We believe the entire city gave its strength to the Kyralian army,” Dachido said.

The listeners looked surprised. “I’d have said it was unlikely, but not impossible,” Ashaki Charaka said.

“I thought it a risk,” Asara agreed, “but I didn’t think they’d have time. An entire city of people giving power in a few hours? I have no idea how they managed it.”

“But they did,” Charaka said. He stared at Takado in an unfriendly way. Hanara frowned as the man said something else, but a buzzing in his ears drowned out the words.

“I told you something was wrong,” a female voice said behind him, faint and weak. He heard a thud and turned to see her lying on the floor. Moving his head sent it spinning sickeningly. He stilled and closed his eyes.

What is going on? But he knew even as he asked himself. In the master’s room, voices were raised. He opened his mouth and tried to voice a warning, but all that came out was a moan. We have been drugged. And Takado...he is not strong enough to fight his way out of here.

“. . . fight us or you can co-operate.”

“We have no time for that.” Takado’s voice was confident and full of warning. “The Kyralian army is here. The fools have—”

“If they are or not is no longer your concern.” The host. Commanding voice. More words, but they were distorted and lost behind more buzzing. Hanara felt the strength go from his limbs. He felt the wall slide across his chest, the floor stop his fall. Blurry shapes moved before his eyes.

Then rough fabric slipped over his head and all he saw was darkness.

CHAPTER 44

The sky had been brightening for the last hour, slowly turning an eerie red while the land was still a black flatness, interrupted here and there by the shapes of buildings and trees. The colour lit the edges of faces and was reflected in eyes, giving familiar figures a strangeness somewhat appropriate, Dakon thought, after the deeds of the night. People he thought he knew, whom he’d believed of gentler character, had shown a darker side. Or a weakness for copying what the majority did, though they did not agree with it.

The king had decided that Narvelan would lead every attack on the Sachakan estates, but that each time he should take a different group of magicians. An interesting decision, Dakon had thought. He’s forcing us all to take part in the slaughter, so the responsibility is spread among us. If we all feel guilty, none of us is going to start blaming others.

Dakon was wondering what would happen when it was his turn, and he refused to participate.

So far there had been no shortage of volunteers. Lord Prinan had joined the third group, confessing to Dakon beforehand that he feared if he did not strengthen himself he would be useless in the battles to come.

Will I be useless? Dakon wondered. If I only take power from Tessia I will be weaker, but not useless. Should that mean I am one of the first to fall in the next battle, then that is how it will be. I will not kill slaves for their power.

“You could leave them exhausted instead,” Tessia had suggested, no doubt realising what his refusal to participate might mean.

“And Narvelan will check afterwards and ensure they are dead,” he’d replied. “Don’t worry. It is only a matter of waiting. Once the king realises that we can’t possibly keep our presence in Sachaka a secret, he won’t care if we let the slaves live or not.”

The estates were a few hours’ ride from each other, so they had only attacked seven. In all the houses following the first one they had encountered magicians. Each had fought the attackers and been defeated. Nobody had mentioned if any family of these magicians had been present, and what their fate had been. Dakon doubted all the estates had been empty of their owner’s family and that any had been left alive.

The sound of multiple hoofbeats drew the army’s attention to the side road Narvelan’s latest group had ridden down. Sure enough, the band was coming back. It broke apart as it met the army, the magicians returning to their former positions in the line and Narvelan approaching the king yet again.

Instead of riding on, the king turned to Sabin and nodded. The sword master turned his horse and rode back along the line. As he passed he met Dakon’s eyes.

“The king asks the advisers to meet with him.”

Dakon nodded, then, as Sabin passed out of hearing, sighed.

“Good luck,” Jayan murmured.

“Thanks.” Dakon glanced at Tessia, who offered him a sympathetic smile; then he nudged his horse forward.

He stopped beside Lord Hakkin and watched as the other advisers made their way to the front of the line. The leader of the Elynes joined them. When Sabin returned with the last of them, all turned to face each other, a ring of horses and riders.

“We need a safe place to camp,” the king said. “But there does not appear to be anywhere nearby where a group our size could hide. Magician Sabin suggests we ride on.”

“In daylight, your majesty?” Hakkin asked. “Won’t we be seen?”

The king nodded.

“What we have done this night will eventually be discovered. Perhaps in a day or two, but we should assume we aren’t so lucky and that the news of our arrival began to travel after our first stop. We should keep moving. We may not be able to keep pace with news of ourselves, but for a while we may arrive too soon for our enemy to prepare to meet or avoid us.”

“But when will we sleep?” Perkin asked. “What of the horses?” Sabin smiled grimly. “When the news has outpaced us, we will find a defensible position and take turns resting. And we will take fresh horses wherever we find them. Each estate has had a stable, with between four and twenty horses. This one,” he nodded towards the distant white walls, “had over thirty. I will send servants back to collect them.”

“What will we do when the news has outpaced us? What will they do?” Bolvin asked.

“Advance as quickly as we are able. Give them as little time to unite and prepare as possible.”

“Would we be more successful at keeping pace with the news if we did not stop to attack the Sachakan homes along the way?” Dakon asked.

“We would,” Sabin said. “But we need to strengthen ourselves as well.”

“But we have the storestone,” Dakon pointed out.

Sabin glanced at Dem Ayend. “Which we should not use unless we absolutely have to. It would be a waste if we used it, but still failed because we had not gone to the effort of seeing to our own strength.”

At this the Dem’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.

“And prevented the Sachakans from strengthening themselves,” Narvelan added. “It would be foolish to leave them any source of strength to use against us. We don’t want to be attacked from behind, or have our path of retreat blocked.”

Now it was Sabin’s turn to look amused. Dakon looked around at the other magicians, who were all nodding in agreement, and felt a chill run down his spine, to gather as a knot of cold somewhere in his belly. They’re going to keep killing slaves, he realised. All the way to Arvice. Because they’re too proud to use the Elynes’ storestone. Because they’re afraid. He could not speak for a moment, and when his shock passed the conversation had moved to other matters. Not that anything I say will make a difference. They want to give us the best chance of winning. The lives of a few thousand slaves aren’t going to seem so important next to that.

“Lord Dakon,” the king said. Dakon looked up, realising he hadn’t heard the last part of the discussion.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“Would you gather and lead a group to find food for the army?” He felt a belated relief. “Yes, I can do that.” Here was a task he could participate in without any challenge to his conscience.

“Good.” The king’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I would like to discuss this with you further. The rest of you may return to your positions.”

As the others rode away the king urged his horse closer to Dakon’s.

“I have noticed you have not joined any of the attacks on the estates,” the king said, his eyes sharp and level. “You do not agree with killing the slaves, do you?”

“No, your majesty.” Dakon held the king’s eyes, his heart beating a little faster with dread.

“I remember you saying, at the pass, that we should take care not to become Sachakans. I have not forgotten.” The king smiled briefly, then became serious again. “I do not think we are in any danger of that.”

“I hope you are right.” Dakon glanced at Narvelan deliberately. The king’s eyes flashed.

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

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

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

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

“. . . remaining weaker is penalty enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And looked down at several terrified faces.

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

What do they have to fear other than us?

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 45

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Stara replied. “Is it...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stara.”

She looked up at Tavara. “Yes?”

“We need you to do something for us.”

Stara blinked in surprise. “What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You knew this already?” Tavara asked.

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

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

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

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

“So you’re suggesting I blackmail him?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tessia.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I...I don’t think so.”

“Can’t you heal them?”

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

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

“Try,” he ordered.

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

First I should get rid of as much of the poison as I can, she thought. But not through the throat as he’s having enough trouble breathing as it is. I don’t want to choke him. Sending out magic, she created a flexible barrier around the contents of his stomach shaped like a scoop, and gently eased it through his bowels, gathering all residue on the way. She could not help feeling a wry amusement as she eased it out of his body. This is not going to smell good.

Now for the poison that has entered the channels and paths. She considered his systems carefully. All of the blood was poison-laced. Even if she could remove it all without killing him, how was she going to get it out? Clearly this was not the right approach to take.

Before she could think of another way, the man’s heart began to falter. Alarmed, she drew magic and reached out to it. Concentrating intently, she began to squeeze, timing her pulses in a rhythm that felt natural and familiar for a healthy, relaxed body.

Then she realised that his lungs had also stopped working, seemingly giving up all movement. Drawing more magic, she forced them gently to expand then let them relax. It took all her concentration to keep the two parts working.

I can’t do this for ever, she thought. I have to think of something else.

But as she managed to spare a little attention for the lower systems again, she realised she could feel a familiar energy at work. Magic flowed. Magic not her own, but imbued in the body of the magician. Magic that worked to combat the effect of the poison. Magic concentrated on the liver and kidneys, helping to purify blood and filter away the toxin.

And she realised that it had been working all along. It just hadn’t been strong or fast enough to combat something as potent as the poison. Now that she was working the heart and lungs, she was giving it the time it needed.

All I need to discover is how to boost that natural flow of magic...

But even as she thought it, she found she didn’t need to. The magician’s heart regained animation and strength and suddenly strained against her magic, so she let it pump for itself. The lungs soon did the same.

I have saved him, she thought, feeling a rush of relief and triumph. Thanks to his own ability to heal himself with magic. Which meant that she would never have been able to heal a non-magician from this poison.

She drew away from the magician’s body and opened her eyes. The man was sleeping now, his breathing deep and even.

“I think he’s going to be fine,” she said.

“Ah!” The king moved to her side. “Are you sure? Will he recover?”

“Yes. As best I can tell, anyway,” she added.

The king nodded and patted her on the shoulder. “You are a remarkable young woman, Apprentice Tessia. When we get back to Imardin you must teach others your methods.”

She smiled. “Not quite yet. There is another . . .” But as she turned to face the other sick magician she felt her heart sink. His face was deathly white and his lips were blue. Dakon stood beside him. Then she noticed the cut on the dead man’s arm and the blade in her master’s hand and her heart turned over. Surely Dakon hadn’t ...?

Then realisation dawned as she remembered what Dakon had taught her, early in her training. If the magician had died with magic still locked within his body, it would have escaped in a destructive force. She, the king and the man she had just saved might have died with him, or used a great deal of power shielding themselves.

At least the power he held has not been wasted, she thought. Though I can’t imagine Dakon is too happy taking magic that was gained through slaughtering slaves.

“Unfortunately there is only one Tessia,” the king said, his expression sad.

“Indeed,” she replied. “Perhaps I should have started teaching others earlier. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone would be interested.”

“There is plenty of interest,” he told her. “But I suspect that between being too occupied with other matters to spare the time, uncertainty over whether it is better to wait until you are no longer an apprentice and can legally teach, and the strangeness of the prospect of learning from a young woman, many magicians have hesitated to express it.” The king paused and smiled. “After what I just witnessed I am tempted to send you back to Imardin with a guard to ensure the knowledge you have is kept safe, but I fear you would be in more danger returning there than staying with us. And I need every magician and apprentice here with me.”

“And you’d never persuade me to abandon Lord Dakon,” she told him.

The king smiled again. “Not even if I ordered you to?”

She looked away. “I guess I’d have to go, but I’d be very annoyed with you.”

He laughed. “Well, I can’t have Tessia the magical healer annoyed with me. Who knows when I might need her services?”

CHAPTER 46

For eighteen days and nights Hanara and the other slaves had been chained to the back of a covered wagon. By day they walked behind the wagon as it made its way towards Arvice. By night they slept wherever it stopped, on ground that was sometimes mud, sometimes dry earth, and sometimes hard cobbles. He was glad it was summer, and the nights were relatively warm, though the exhaustion of walking all day would have helped him sleep even if it had been cold.

They were given water twice a day, and whatever leftovers were roused up from the estates they stayed at. Sometimes this was stale bread, sometimes congealed, cold soupy slops or the burned crusts from the bottom of cook pans.

Three men rode in the wagon: the driver, who also tended to the prisoners, and two free men whom Hanara only glimpsed when they got in or out of it. He sometimes imagined that Takado was in the wagon, too. If he was, he did not leave it at night and never spoke loudly enough for the slaves to hear. Now and then Hanara caught himself wanting to call out and tell Takado something, like that they had reached the outskirts of Arvice. And that they’d reached the high walls of the Imperial Palace.

He’s not in the wagon, Hanara told himself firmly. They’ve taken me far away from him, so he has no loyal source slave to call on if the opportunity came. He could be back at the estate where we were taken prisoner, or already in the palace. Or he’s been clever enough to talk someone into helping him escape.

The wagon abruptly turned into a low opening in the side of the palace wall and entered a small courtyard. Doors boomed shut behind it. Two large muscular slaves stood on either side of the doors, holding spears. The two free men clambered down from the wagon and spoke to the palace slave who emerged to abase himself before them. A headband indicated this slave was of higher status than those who guarded the doors. He rose to snap orders at a doorway, from which three lesser slaves emerged. They came forward and, as the cart driver unfastened the chains from the cart, took hold of a prisoner each. Hanara was pushed and guided into the palace, followed by Asara’s and Dachido’s slaves.

A long journey through dark corridors followed, descending first one level, then two, below ground. The magicians had vanished. The air was moist and heavy with a mixture of odours that grew steadily less pleasant, finally becoming a choking mix of excrement, sweat and mould. The doors they passed now were no longer wooden, but iron grates that allowed a glimpse of men and women of different ages, some dressed in slave garb, some in fine but soiled clothes.

Are they going to lock us up here? Hanara wondered. He’d tried in vain not to consider the future, but too often had caught himself wondering if he was to be executed once he arrived wherever his captors were taking him. Surely if they meant to kill me, they’d have done it already. So they must want something from him first. Or perhaps he would find himself owned by some new master. He’d considered whether he’d try to escape and find Takado if that happened. Perhaps only if he found out where Takado was.

It won’t be like Mandryn, he thought. No chance at freedom to tempt me. My place is with Takado. He smiled as he felt pride and the long-life feeling again.

At last they stopped in a large room and were forced to lie face down on the floor before another, rather fat high-status slave.

“Whose are these?” the man rumbled.

“The ichani rebels’.”

“Which is Takado’s?”

“This one.”

“He’s to be questioned. Take him upstairs. The others are to go to the waiting cells.”

As Hanara was dragged to his feet again he saw Asara’s and

Dachido’s slaves being taken through a doorway. They didn’t look back. He found himself being guided out of the same door he had come through into the corridor they had arrived by.

Then they were climbing, ever upwards. Stairs and corridors followed by more stairs and corridors. At every level the air smelled sweeter and the walls were whiter. Yet this only made the knot of dread in his belly grow larger and tighter. The rattle of his chains sounded louder the quieter the corridors became.

At the top of yet another staircase a well-muscled slave emerged to block their path.

“Who?” the man asked.

“Takado’s slave.”

The man narrowed his eyes at Hanara. “Follow me.”

Though Hanara felt a sense of relief and freedom as the first slave let go of his arm and the new one didn’t take hold of him, he knew it was an illusion. If he tried to run he would be caught and beaten. So he obediently trailed behind this new slave. The corridors here were decorated with carvings and hangings, and in places the walls themselves had been painted with colourful scenes.

They stopped before a carved wooden door. The slave knocked quietly. As the door opened a crack Hanara glimpsed a face and an eye.

“Ichani Takado’s slave,” his new guide murmured.

The door closed and they waited. Hanara examined the wall decorations, trying to slow his breathing and heartbeat. When the door opened again he jumped and all the calm he’d managed to summon evaporated.

Before he got a look at the room beyond, he was inside it.

“So. You are the ichani Takado’s slave,” a voice echoed.

The man who had spoken sat on one of many bench seats arranged around the walls. His cropped coat glittered with gold and jewels, which matched the room’s elaborately decorated furniture. Hanara threw himself on the floor.

The emperor! He must be the emperor! He didn’t dare answer. The man’s words had been pitched as a statement, not a question.

“Get up,” the man said.

Reluctantly, but not so slowly as to anger the emperor, Hanara got to his feet. He kept his eyes on the floor.

“Come here.”

He forced his legs to move, taking him closer but ready to freeze at any moment. The instruction to stop did not come and he found himself standing a mere two or three paces from the seated ruler, not daring to look up, fearing the consequences if his gaze even fell upon the man’s shoes.

“Kneel.”

Hanara dropped to the floor, the rattle of his chains echoing loudly in the room. The impact jolted his spine and bruised his knees, but he quickly forgot the pain as he felt hands press onto either side of his head.

Of course, he thought. This is what they want from me. Information about Takado. Everything that happened. Well, I will show him how clever Takado was. How he wanted to help Sachaka.

Sure enough, Emperor Vochira combed through Hanara’s mind, skilfully drawing out memories of Takado’s tour through Kyralia, Hanara’s stay in Mandryn, Takado’s return and then every stage of the war, from the wooing of allies to the morning when, having seen the Kyralian army entering Sachaka, Takado and his last two friends had put aside plans to disappear in order to warn Sachaka of the impending invasion, and help repel the invaders. See! Hanara could not help thinking. His motives aren’t selfish. He always wanted the best for Sachaka! He felt the long-life feeling returning.

– You little fool, Emperor Vochira said into his mind, shattering the feeling. It has been known for centuries that Sachaka could not risk a battle with Kyralia or Elyne. When we first conquered these lands they contained few magicians. Under our rule and influence they adopted our ways, and gained many more. That is why my predecessor granted them independence so long ago. Since then we have enjoyed a beneficial peace. If Takado had only spoken to me of his plans, I would have told him this.

But Takado had never respected the emperor enough to let the ruler veto his grand plan, Hanara knew. His allies had mostly been ichani at first – outcasts who hated the emperor and anyone with a position of power in Sachaka.

– Why didn’t you tell him? Hanara asked. Why did you never explain this?

– Would he have listened? Would he have believed it?

Hanara could not stop a traitorous “no” forming in his mind.

– It was knowledge that was only revealed, when needed, to those we could trust with it. We did not want Kyralia and Elyne discovering they were stronger than they believed. I doubt I would have trusted Takado with it willingly, even had he consulted me. I doubt he would have obeyed me if I had. He is disloyal and disobedient by nature.

– He was loyal to his friends, Hanara pointed out.

– Friends who are now dead. Emperor Vochira’s anger was palpable. The man you are so loyal to has taken an ally of this country and done so much harm to it we may never be anything but enemies again. He has led half of the magicians in this land to their deaths. He has forced the Kyralians to discover strengths they didn’t know they possessed, handed them a victory they didn’t expect and given them the confidence and reason to seek revenge for the harm he did to them.

– He didn’t mean to! He never meant to lose! At least he had the courage to try! –

The courage of an ignorant, greedy, disloyal fool. Emperor Vochira’s mental voice grew dark with something more frightening than anger – bleak resignation. He has doomed us. And I have doomed us by failing to stop him. The Kyralians will soon arrive at Arvice. They will meet the last of the Sachakan army and they will defeat it. Within days we will be the conquered, and they the conquerors. Only then will we know the true extent of their revenge. All this because of your master. Takado the Betrayer. That is how he will be known. Do you still have the long-life feeling now, Hanara? Betrayer’s slave?

He could not help it. He reached for the feeling and felt it splutter and die. The emptiness that followed was unbearable and drew him deep into despair. It was worse, he realised, than finding out Takado had died. At least then Hanara could have remembered his master with pride. But was Takado dead?

– No, the emperor replied. Though I would like the satisfaction of killing him myself, I must sacrifice that in the hope that handing him over to the Kyralians will save some of what survives of Sachaka.

– When he dies, will you tell me?

The emperor paused and Hanara felt a hint of surprise. And was that jealousy, too?

– I will give orders that you be present when he is handed over. That is all I can offer.

“Thank you,” Hanara whispered. But he did not know if the man heard. The sense of the emperor’s mind lifted and Hanara felt the man’s hands slide from his head.

“Take him away,” Vochira said, his voice hoarse with disgust.

Hanara kept his eyes on the floor as footsteps hurried close behind him. Someone grabbed his arm and drew him away. He did not resist, too caught up in the knowledge that his master had brought about the fall of Sachaka, and the traitorous hope that Takado would escape to retake his homeland from the Kyralians.

The Sachakan estates they passed had reduced in size in the last few days, Jayan noticed. He’d learned to identify the markers that indicated a fence was a boundary as well as containment for stock. However, though the land each estate covered was growing smaller, the buildings were growing rapidly larger.

It’s obvious we’re getting close to Arvice, but everything is deserted, he thought. The quiet is... eerie. He’d felt tense and uneasy since they’d set out that morning.

“I heard a rumour about you last night,” a familiar voice said from behind his shoulder.

Recognising Narvelan’s tones, Jayan resisted turning around to look at the magician.

“What this time?” Dakon asked.

Narvelan laughed. Jayan winced at the sound. Narvelan’s lightheartedness and joviality seemed out of place, and a painful contrast to the rest of the army. We’re about to fight our final battle with our ancient enemy, and he’s behaving as if we’re taking a nice ride in the sunshine.

“I overheard some magicians speculating whether you arranged for those two magicians to be poisoned,” Narvelan said. “They wondered if you’d heard the pair criticising you for being too scrupulous to kill slaves.”

“I see,” Dakon said calmly. “Did they see the irony in suspecting someone had done something so unscrupulous because he was accused of being too scrupulous?”

Narvelan chuckled. “I didn’t stop to ask. Have you noticed anyone treating you with increased, ah, respect?”

“No.”

Jayan shook his head. But then he remembered how quiet and obedient the servants had been that morning, as he and Dakon had supervised the preparation of the meal. As a precaution they’d kept a few rassook alive to feed samples to, watching to see if any poison affected the birds. They also mixed supplies from different estates together, in the hope that if one had been tampered with it might be diluted enough to not be lethal.

“Ah,” Narvelan said. “They have finally come out to greet us.”

The magician surged past Jayan, galloping towards the king and Sabin. Looking after him, Jayan realised the walls of the estates ahead were no longer a distance from the road, but instead hugged it. The roofs and upper floors of the buildings within were all that were visible and suggested that most of the area inside was filled with dwellings and other structures.

Where these walls started, a road bisected the one they were riding along. Along this stood a line of people. Sunlight glinted on jewelled and decorated clothing. Jayan counted and realised there were more magicians in this line than in the Kyralian army. He felt his heart sink.

But as he drew closer to the Sachakans he noted other details. Many were old, stooped and grey-haired. Others were as young as a new apprentice. A few were cripples, missing limbs or carrying walking canes. The few women among them looked either terrified or determined, most standing close to a man of their own age or one old enough to be their father.

Jayan exchanged a look of dismay with Dakon. Nearly a third of the enemy were clearly not suited to fighting.

This is a pathetic sight, Jayan thought. And yet instead of feeling relieved that we might have a better chance of winning, I feel sad for these Sachakans. And I can’t help admiring them for being prepared to defend their city.

Magician Sabin and Dem Ayend were riding close on either side of the king now. King Errik was looking from one to the other as they talked, his brows lowered into a frown. The army slowed as it approached the line of Sachakans, finally coming to a halt less than twenty strides away. By then the leaders had stopped talking. They sat, regarding the enemy in silence for a long moment. Then the king nudged his horse a few paces forward.

“Magicians of Sachaka,” he called out. “We know not all of you supported Takado’s invasion of Kyralia. If you surrender to us, if you can prove you were no supporter of Takado and his allies, if you co-operate and show no resistance, we will spare you.”

No voice rose in answer. No Sachakan stepped forward, or left the line. Jayan watched and waited.

“Get on with it, then,” one of them shouted. “You came for a fight. So fight. Or are you going to wait until we die of old age?”

A faint sigh of nervous laughter spread across the enemy line. Jayan saw a few strained smiles.

“Do you speak for the emperor?” the king asked.

“The emperor is waiting at the Imperial Palace. If you get that far he might spare a moment to see you.”

Magician Sabin rode forward to join the king. “I don’t think we have any choice,” Jayan heard him say.

“No,” the king replied. “And we didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

He raised a hand, palm outward, to signal that the army should move into position. A flash seared Jayan’s sight as one of the Sachakans took this to mean the start of the battle. The strike scattered off a shield and Sabin sent off a strike in return. As the Kyralian army spread out into formation, groups forming out of habit as much as intention, the air between the lines filled with flashing, vibrating magic.

As Dakon moved away to take his usual place among the advisers and leaders, Jayan found Everran and Avaria nearby and lent his strength to the pair. He realised he felt neither fear nor confidence. All he felt was the same disquiet that had nagged at him all morning.

At about the same time as the first Sachakan fell, Jayan’s strength ran out.

Unlike the rest of the army, he’d only taken part in one attack on an estate. Even Dakon had more power, since he’d taken the strength of the magician who’d died from poisoning. I am probably the weakest Kyralian magician here. Strange that nobody questioned my decision to not kill slaves, when they clearly questioned Dakon’s.

He remained in the shelter of Everran and Avaria’s group. Instead of feeling useless, as he’d feared he would at this point, he felt as if he wasn’t really there. Absent. An observer at most.

The Sachakans were not protecting each other, he noticed. The lessons Takado’s army had learned had not been taken back into Sachaka. Where is Takado? Jayan wondered. Why isn’t he leading this last, desperate force? I can believe Emperor Vochira is hiding away, letting others fight for him, but I think Takado would face us if he had the choice. For all his nasty ways, he did have pride in himself and his homeland.

If the king had been correct about the number of magicians in Sachaka before the war, then there must be more of them elsewhere. The force facing the army was large, but it didn’t approach a hundred. And some of them looked like unlikely candidates for being taught magic. They might only have had their power loosed and been taught to strike in the last few days. If so, then they might not even have achieved full control yet.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the apprentices and servants waiting several paces behind, as close as they dared to come to the battle, but not so far away that the army couldn’t protect them if they were attacked. Between them, the apprentices had probably recovered enough power overnight to ward off a few strikes, but not a concentrated attack from higher magicians.

“What are they...?” Lord Everran exclaimed quietly. Jayan glanced at him, saw he was looking at the Sachakans, and followed the man’s gaze.

The enemy line had fragmented. Sachakans were dashing sideways, or back along the main road. Disappearing into doorways, though a few were caught by strikes before they could reach them.

They’re running away.

From the bodies on the ground Jayan guessed about a third had fallen. He saw that the leaders and advisers of the Kyralian side were talking, and strained to hear.

“I guess that’s it,” King Errik said, looking at Sabin. “Shall we go after them?”

Sabin shook his head, his voice too low to hear.

“So on to the Imperial Palace,” the king concluded.

Everran straightened, then looked down at the ring on his finger. “We’re to maintain shields. Keep alert and be ready in case of ambush.”

“I have no magic left,” Jayan told Everran quietly.

The magician nodded. “Ride in front and I’ll shield us both.”

Jayan nodded to show he understood. The army formed a protective ring around the servants then started forward, apprentices riding as close as possible to their masters.

Once again, they travelled in an eerie silence. The high white walls loomed over them, stark and threatening, and Jayan knew he would not be the only one worried about what they could be hiding.

“How are you doing?”

He turned to see Tessia riding beside him.

“Fine,” he said. “Other than having no magic left. How is Dakon?”

“Better than he expected.”

The army proceeded slowly and cautiously. The road stretched on, the white walls continuing towards hazy buildings in the distance. They crossed several intersecting roads, all deserted. At first there was the occasional shout as someone caught a glimpse of a face, an arm, or a human-like shadow above the walls, but eventually no further signs of life were seen – or else nobody bothered to draw attention to them any more.

The buildings in the distance grew larger and sharper. They gave a hint of impressive size and grandeur. Tessia wondered aloud if one was the Imperial Palace.

Then everything exploded in a rush of light and roar of sound.

There were shouts of surprise, and screams from both humans and horses. The wall beside Jayan bulged outwards, and he felt himself thrown sideways. As his mount toppled he fell with it. Something heavy landed on his leg as he hit the ground. He tried to pull free but could not. The horse lay still, either stunned or dead, pinning his leg under it.

Trapped under my own horse! he thought, amused at the situation he found himself in despite the deadly magic sizzling through the air around him. And with no magic to free myself with.

Smoke billowed out from beyond one of the broken walls. “Ride!” a voice bellowed, and was taken up by others. Hoofs rapped on the road. Carts rumbled by. Jayan felt hands grasp his shoulders. He looked up. Tessia frowned at him, then began pulling. After several heaves she managed to drag him out from under the horse. They collapsed, leaning up against an upturned cart.

The eerie quiet of the city had returned. Looking down the road, Jayan saw the rear of the army hurrying away.

Thin cheers rang out from the houses around them. Tessia turned to look at Jayan, her eyes wide. His heart was racing. Should we run? From behind the cart came voices.

“Did we get any of them?”

“Nah, just those over there, and I think they’re servants.”

“We’d better hurry then, or we’ll miss the next one.”

The sound of running followed, fading into silence. Tessia let out a long sigh of relief. They both got to their feet. Jayan tested his weight on the leg that had been stuck under his horse. It felt bruised, but wasn’t broken.

He peered around the cart. He had no magic and Tessia did not have enough to defend herself against a higher magician. If Sachakans were lurking behind the walls, waiting to ambush the Kyralian army, then an exhausted magician and an apprentice had no chance of catching up with the army alive. They would have to hide.

There were gaping holes in the walls around them. Behind one a house was burning, though not as much smoke was billowing out now. The closest gap was a few steps away – where the blast that had killed his horse had come from. Hopefully whoever had sent the strike had left to continue the fight elsewhere.

If he or she was still here, they’d have seen us already. “Let’s get out of sight,” he said.

Tessia followed as he dashed towards and through the gap, and then they both skidded to a halt.

Lush greenery surrounded them. Wide-leafed plants fanned out over paved pathways. Vines clung to a lattice roof. In the centre a large stone-edged pool brimmed with water.

“It’s beautiful,” Tessia whispered.

They exchanged a look of wonder, then moved further into the garden, moving as silently as they could. Jayan hoped that the owners of this place, and their slaves, were gone, or staying as far from the battle as possible. They found a small, sheltered alcove and slipped inside, then sat down to wait.

“What do we do now?” Tessia asked.

Jayan shrugged. “Wait.”

She nodded. “Do we wait until night, or until someone comes back for us?”

“Whatever comes first.”

CHAPTER 47

It seemed like years since Stara had been in a crowded room. Nine women sat around her, some chatting, some quietly listening. The youngest was only twelve, though far too wise and self-possessed for her age. The oldest was near Vora’s age, with more grey in her hair than the slave had, but an energy Stara envied. Stara suspected she would have found it hard to keep her entertained if it weren’t for the work the women had brought with them.

Since the Traitors treated all women as equals, free women had contributed in practical ways to the running of the Sanctuary. They were not given unpleasant or physically demanding tasks, however, as that would have been too great a shock to women who had never worked before. Instead they were taught skills like sewing and weaving, cooking and preserving foods. Though they’d fled the Sanctuary in a hurry, they’d each managed to pack tools for their work among the clothes and food they’d brought, and soon took up new projects when they arrived at Kachiro’s house.

Talking Kachiro into letting the women stay had been easy. She’d told him they were friends of his friends’ wives who had fled their estates in the country, and would leave when the Kyralians had been dealt with. Since his friends didn’t seem to know or care exactly how many friends their wives had, he had accepted the half-truth without question.

She’d had to gamble that he wouldn’t recognise Nachira, but he tended to avoid the women as much as possible and had barely spared her brother’s wife a glance. He was distracted by the news that the Kyralians were nearing the city, and often disappeared for hours to discuss plans with his friends.

Nachira had been distraught when she’d learned that Ikaro was probably dead. They’d wept together, Stara surprised at the extent of her own grief. She’d expected to have to soothe and reassure Nachira constantly, but the formally passive woman appeared to have gained some confidence now that she wasn’t under the constant threat of murder. The loss of her husband clearly hurt deeply, but she was alive and determined to stay that way.

Stara looked at her sister by marriage. What will I feel, if Kachiro doesn’t come back? He’d left a few hours before to join his friends, who were all determined to do what they could to defend the city. He said the Kyralians haven’t got a chance, but I can’t help worrying. After all, they wouldn’t have come here if they didn’t think they could defeat us. I hope he’s careful. He may not have been completely honest with me, but he’s not a bad man. Just a man surviving in an overly judgemental society. Like me – and I haven’t exactly been honest with him either.

She’d never been so tempted to tell him about her magical ability. If it weren’t for her obligation to protect the women, she’d have left with him to throw what little magic she had at the invaders. When loud booming and cracking noises had penetrated to the room it had taken all her willpower to stay seated. Slaves had reported that they’d heard fighting a few streets away, but it had moved on.

“Are you worrying about Kachiro again?” a voice said at her elbow.

Stara jumped and looked down. “Vora! You’re back!” The other women looked up and exclaimed, saving Stara from answering Vora’s question.

“Yes.” Vora moved into the circle of women. “And I have news.”

“Tell us,” one of the women murmured. All were gazing at Vora eagerly.

“The Kyralians have entered the city,” Vora confirmed, her expression grave.

“No!”

“But... how?”

“Are many dead?”

Vora raised her hands and they quietened. “A third of the defenders fell.” She looked at one of the women, her expression grave. “I am sorry, Atarca.” The woman hung her head and nodded, but said nothing. “The rest . . .” Vora continued. “When it was clear they would be overcome they retreated. Fortunately they’d planned for such a situation. They started attacking the Kyralians from hidden positions. I followed at a distance for an hour or so. When I knew they were getting close to the palace I came back here.” She stopped to take a deep breath. “I think we should leave the city while we can.”

The women stared at her in silence, then broke it with question after question.

“So the enemy has won?”

“Where will we go?

“Does Tavara think we should go?”

“What would happen if we stayed here?”

Stara felt a chill run down her spine, then another. The women were already in danger of being discovered and recognised by those people in the city they’d fled from in the first place. Now there was the possible threat of the invaders taking their revenge upon the people of Arvice. Without magicians to enforce laws there was the danger of attack from lawless free men taking advantage of the chaos, who would rape and rob them and later claim it was Kyralians. And slaves might stop working once there were no masters to order them about, and with nobody raising or delivering foodstuff Arvice would eventually starve.

We are probably safe here...so long as Kachiro returns. But what will the Kyralians do to the magicians who survive the battle? Even if they let him live, I doubt he could protect us from them . . .

So should they leave? It might reduce the dangers they faced discovery, and lawless free men or slaves. I should be able to fend them off with magic. But where can we go?

She thought of Elyne and her mother. But she had promised to help the Traitors, and she couldn’t take them there. Not when stories of the murder of Sachakan expatriates in Capia were circulating in Arvice. Hopefully nobody remembered that Mother was married to a Sachakan, and has decided that makes her Sachakan too. Kachiro had sent a message to Elyne hoping to find out her mother’s fate, but no reply had come.

“Many, many other Sachakans are leaving,” Vora told them. “There’s a line of carts and people on every road out of the city.”

“Where are they going?”

“Who knows?” Vora replied. “To stay with friends on country estates? Out of Sachaka entirely?”

“Have we got friends on country estates? Or will we go back to the Sanctuary?”

“The Sanctuary is too close to the road to and from Kyralia,” Nachira said. “If there was anywhere else, Tavara would have sent us there instead of bringing us back to the city.”

Vora nodded. “I’m afraid that is most likely true.” She paused. “Wherever we go, we will have to fend for ourselves for a while.”

“We are used to work,” the older woman stated.

“Not tilling fields or handling stock,” Vora reminded her. Then she smiled. “But I’m sure we’ll manage. Stopping other people from taking what we have will be harder.”

“Stara has magic. She can stop them.”

Stara felt her face warm as all the women turned to smile at her.

“She has only her own magic,” Vora warned them. “Magicians who have taken strength from slaves will be stronger than her.”

“Then why don’t we give her our strength?” Nachira said. The women fell silent as they exchanged questioning looks. Then they all nodded. “There,” Nachira continued. “Most magicians will have used up their power during the battle anyway. Stara will quickly end up stronger than them.”

The older woman frowned. “Better that they never know we have anything they want,” she said darkly. “Better we find somewhere to hide, out of sight.”

“Oh,” Stara said.

Somewhere to hide. Somewhere out of sight...

“Oh?” Vora repeated.

“I know of a place.” Stara felt her pulse quicken. “A place in the mountains. But I don’t know how to get there.” Her heart sank. I wonder. Could I follow Chavori’s maps? I’d have to get them first. She blinked as she realised she had risen to her feet. The women were looking at her expectantly. These amazing women. Adaptable. Strong. We’re going to do this. We’re going to leave and make our own Sanctuary. She turned to Vora.

“Can you get the wives?”

Vora’s eyebrows rose. “I can try.”

“Then try. Explain that we’re leaving and see if they want to come. I’m going out to get . . . something. While I’m gone, everyone,” she looked at the women, “pack as much as you can carry and put on travelling clothes. When I get back . . .” She paused to take a deep, calming breath. “When I get back we’ll leave Arvice. For the mountains.”

As the women scattered to collect their belongings, Stara hurried to her bedroom. She opened chests and searched for dark clothes. It would soon be night and she didn’t want to be seen. She heard footsteps behind her.

“I have sent a message to the wives,” Vora said, moving to another chest. “Are you planning what I think you’re planning?”

“What do you think I’m planning?”

“A little evening thievery. For which you’ll need to cover that Elyne skin of yours.” Vora took something from the chest and held it out. It was a dark green wrap, long enough to cover her legs. Stara took it and began to change.

“I’d say I was borrowing without permission, except I’d never convince you.” Grabbing a dark blue blanket woven by one of the women and given in thanks for her help, Stara wrapped it around her shoulders. She stuffed her feet into a pair of sandals and hurried out of the room, Vora following. “Are you coming with me?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Stara looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Thank you.”

The air outside was pleasantly warm, though it held the scent of smoke. The sun hovered near the horizon. Soon the city would be shrouded in a concealing darkness. Which will be the right time to slip away.

The courtyard was deserted. Stara wondered where the slaves had gone as she and Vora slipped out of the doors into the street. Keeping to the shadows cast by the city’s high walls, they hurried away. The slave’s darker skin and drab clothing made her even less noticeable than Stara in the dusky light.

An eerie silence was broken now and then by the sound of running feet, or wailing, or the passing of a cart. They reached a main road and suddenly the air was full of noise. People crowded the thoroughfare. Carts laden with belongings and people rattled past, all heading out of the city.

She and Vora had to weave their way across, dodging animals and people. On the other side they found themselves on empty streets again, though at one point doors opened and a stream of carts spilled out, heading towards the main road.

“Perhaps by night there will be less of a crowd,” she remarked aloud.

“I doubt it,” Vora murmured in reply.

Finally they reached the house Stara remembered from her one visit to her husband’s friend’s home. She’d been surprised to learn that Chavori lived in such a spectacular house. But it turned out that the house belonged to his father, and Chavori lived in a single room located at the rear of the property, out of sight and reached most easily through a slave entrance. It indicated with painful clarity what his family thought of his dedication to drawing maps.

Stara found the door to the slave entrance open and unlocked.

“This is odd,” she murmured.

Vora shrugged and peered inside. “The slaves may have fled. They’d hardly stop to make sure to close the door after them.”

They slipped inside. Stara’s heart was pounding now. If anyone found them... well, she could pretend to be looking for somewhere to hide. It was obvious from her clothes she was a free woman. Or she could pretend to be looking for Kachiro. They might not remember her, but Kachiro was a regular visitor.

Chavori’s room was located down a long corridor that looked long overdue for repainting. She crept along it as quietly as she could. Reaching the door, she was relieved to find it, too, was ajar. No need to break it to get in. But what if someone else had already stolen the maps? The thought made her pause, one hand on the door. And realise she could hear sobbing and a man repeating a name.

And that the voice was familiar. All too familiar.

She exchanged a look with Vora, then pushed open the door. The room was as small and neatly arranged as she remembered. A large desk covered in parchment and writing tools took up one side of the room. Along the opposite wall was a narrow bed. Sitting on the bed was her husband, cradling an unconscious Chavori.

Not unconscious, she corrected herself as she saw the bloodied mess that was his chest. Dead.

Kachiro looked up at her and she felt her heart spasm at the grief she saw in his face. He blinked and recognition came into his eyes, then they widened with surprise.

“Stara?”

“Kachiro,” she breathed, hurrying forward and kneeling before him. “Oh, Kachiro. I am so sorry.”

He looked down at Chavori and she could see the internal struggle that followed. Fear that he’d been discovered, she guessed. Then hate, probably at himself for the fear. And then his eyes filled with tears and he covered his face with one bloodstained hand. She reached out to stroke his head.

“I know you loved him,” she told him. “I know... everything.” He flinched and stared at her. “Remember that I grew up in Elyne.” She smiled crookedly. “You won’t receive any judgement from me. I even understand why you married me.”

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I am a terrible husband.”

She shrugged. “I forgive you. How could I not? You are a good man, Kachiro. You have a good heart. I am proud to be your wife.” Standing up, she held out a hand. “Come home.”

He looked at Chavori again, then sighed deeply. “I want to give him a proper death burning. The Kyralians won’t know who he is. They’ll put him under the ground.”

Stara felt a shiver run over her skin. She’d forgotten the Sachakan custom. Then she shuddered again. Even Kachiro believes the Kyralians have won.

“Is his family here?” she said.

“No. All gone. Or dead. So are the others. Motaro. Dashina. All of them. I am the only . . .” He closed his eyes and grimaced.

“Do it,” she urged. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here. I’m not sure I’m ready to see that.”

He nodded, then gathered Chavori’s body up in his arms and carried it out. The young man suddenly seemed very frail and small, and Kachiro taller and broader.

Once he had gone, she turned to the maps and began looking through them.

“I want to be sure there are no copies left behind,” she whispered to Vora. “No notes or sketches. Nothing to tell anyone this place he described exists.”

The maps on the table were of the volcanos in the north, with flows of lava indicated with rippling red lines. She paused as she realised how close he must have climbed to make his measurements. He’s braver than he appears. Or appeared. She felt a pang of loss. What else would he have invented and discovered, had the Kyralians not ended his life too soon?

Several tubes like the ones Chavori had used to transport his maps stood on end in the corner of the room. Stara took one and opened an end, then tipped the rolls of parchment out onto the table. She unrolled them, one by one. They were of the coast of Sachaka. She cursed under her breath. How long was it going to take Kachiro to burn Chavori’s body and return?

Hearing a sigh of frustration from Vora, she turned to see that the old woman was leafing through bundles of parchment in a small chest, opening the covers and shaking her head.

“He has terrible handwriting,” the slave said. “It could take weeks to read all this.”

“Can we take them with us?”

Vora looked into the chest and grimaced. “It’ll be heavy.”

Stara reached for another tube. “Can we send someone back for them?”

“What are you doing?” Kachiro’s voice came from the doorway.

Stara froze, her back to him. “We can’t let all his work be lost,” she said. The lie tasted sour in her mouth. But in an odd way, it’s true. Who knows what would happen to them, if they were left here? We may be saving them from destruction.

“No,” she heard him say. “He wouldn’t have liked that. Put them back in the tubes.”

Hearing his footsteps approaching, she turned to smile wanly at him. He took the maps on the table and rolled them up, then slipped them into the tube. Picking up half of the tubes, he handed them to Stara. The other half he gave to Vora. Then, with a grunt, he picked up the chest.

“Let’s get these to a safe place,” he said, then strode out of the door.

The pace he set on the return journey was hurried, and though Stara and Vora were less heavily burdened they struggled to keep up. The sun had set and a deepening twilight was leaching everything of colour. Finally they reached Kachiro’s house and slipped inside. Stara saw the surprise on his face as he took in the crowd of women in the master’s room, all dressed ready for travel. The other wives were there, with their children. Stara had no idea if they knew of the fate of their husbands. That news would have to be delivered later. Several women Stara knew to be slaves were in the crowd, wearing similar clothing to the free women. Tavara was not among them. For some reason this filled Stara with relief.

He put the chest down. “Where are you going?”

“Out of the city,” Stara told him. She put the maps down, moved to stand in front of him and searched his gaze. “I didn’t know when or...or if you’d come back, so I started organising it. I think we’ll be safer out of Arvice for a while. Chiara has friends in the country.” That last was a lie, of course.

His eyebrows rose and he began to nod. “Yes. It would be safer for you all. And you should take these too.” He gestured to the chest.

She frowned. “What about you? You’re not coming with us?”

Kachiro paused, then shook his head. “No. The Kyralians can’t kill every Sachakan magician and expect the slaves to keep working – whether as slaves or not. We’ll starve. Someone has to stay and try to save something of what we have.” He grimaced. “And though I’m better at negotiation than fighting, if the chance comes to drive them out, or even take a little revenge, I want to be here for it.”

Stara felt a wistful pride sweep through her. She kissed him on the cheek, and then, as he stared at her in surprise, gave him a stern look. “You take care of yourself. I’ll send word when we’ve reached Chiara’s friends.”

He nodded and smiled wearily. “You take care of yourselves, too. I should go with you, to protect—”

The women all voiced a wordless disagreement. “We’ll stick together, and we have slaves to defend us,” Chiara assured him.

“Now, it’s dark outside and we want to get some distance between ourselves and Arvice before we stop,” Stara said, turning to the women. She picked up the tubes and handed them out. “Take one each, and spread the weight of these out between you.” She bent and opened the chest, handing out bundles of notes.

“Surely the slaves will carry those for you,” Kachiro said.

Stara didn’t have the heart to tell him how many slaves had run away. She already felt guilty at leaving him here, in the city. For a moment she was tempted to talk him into coming, but her dream of a true Sanctuary did not include men.

“I’d rather they carried food, and other necessities,” she told him. “Don’t worry, they’re not much trouble spread out.” The women were now looking at her expectantly. She smiled at Kachiro, and touched his cheek. “Goodbye.”

He smiled faintly, took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”

They gazed at each other for a moment longer, then she tore herself away. “Come along,” she said, gesturing to the door. The women managed smiles and even a few light-hearted comments as they followed Stara out, making it sound as if they were setting out on a pleasure trip. Stara didn’t look back, not wanting to see Kachiro standing, alone, watching them go.

Once outside she breathed a deep sigh of relief, then set a quick but not too tiring pace along the road. The women quietened, all pretence at joviality abandoned. Vora began to walk alongside Stara.

“Which way out, do you think?” the slave murmured.

“The main road,” Stara replied. “All the other roads will be crowded. It’s obvious we’re a bunch of free women travelling with no protectors. I’d rather not have to use any magic until I have to. People might avoid the route the Kyralians took.”

“I guess if the Kyralians won they won’t have reason to leave the city.”

“And if they lost, they’re dead.”

They hurried on, the only sound the rustle of clothing, the patter of footsteps and the breathing of the women. Distant sounds echoed from around the city. A dull boom. An angry shout. A scream that made them all stop and shiver. Stara felt a tension growing inside her. She resisted an urge to start running. Just a jog, her mind urged. Not an outright race. But she did not want to tire herself or the women out. They might need the energy later.

She found herself reaching in to the store of magic within her, giving it the lightest of touches to reassure herself it was still there, ready to be drawn upon. It was tempting to try covering them all in a shield, but while she had learned to do that as part of her basic training, she hadn’t bothered to practise in years and wasn’t sure how much power she’d use stretching it to protect so many people. Still, she was ready to throw up a wall. Ready to strike out, too, if she had to.

They were coming up to the main road now. She slowed as she saw rubble scattered over the highway. Houses on the other side of the road were burning, casting a flickering, hot light. The women made low noises as they noticed the damage. All stopped at the corner to gaze about in grim silence.

Stara heard the faintest of sounds to her right. Then her heart jumped as she realised that the movement she’d seen in the corner of her eye was not the flicker of shadows cast by the fire. She threw out her arms and moved backwards, pushing the women back.

But they had not seen the danger, and moved too slowly. Two figures appeared on the road ahead, walking slowly and staring around. A man and a woman. Their dress was Kyralian. Stara froze and heard the women catch their breaths.

Then the man spun to face them. Stara felt a surge of fear and let loose magic, instinctively shaping it into a force to sweep the invaders away.

And it did. The two strangers were thrown across the road and landed like dolls tossed upon the ground.

Are they dead? Stara stared at the Kyralians, waiting for them to move. As time stretched on she became aware of the gasping, frightened breathing of the women around her. Even Vora was panting with fear.

“They’re not moving,” Chiara said. She took a step forward. “I think you got them.”

“Better make sure,” Tashana advised.

Stara took a deep breath and moved forward. The women followed. They reached the man. She felt her heart skip as she realised he was conscious, and put up a wall of magic. He’d landed on a section of wall. As she approached he moved, pushing himself up then rolling onto his back. His front was covered in blood, which seeped out as she watched. Looking back at the wall, she saw the mangled end of a lamp hook, glistening wetly.

His eyes flickered from face to face. Stara reached for magic, preparing to finish him off. But then a look of recognition and surprise stole over his face.

“You . . .” he said, his voice catching with pain, his eyes on the women behind her.

“It’s the one who let us go,” Nachira said. “The one who found us, at the Sanctuary, and left us without telling the others.”

Stara felt horror wash over her. Why, of all the invaders, had she struck down the only one who had shown any compassion?

“I didn’t see a girl, though,” Nachira added.

Looking past the young man, Stara saw that the woman was lying on her side, eyes closed. They didn’t defend themselves. Perhaps they had no power left. It was impossible to tell whether the woman was unconscious or dead. She grimaced. With the luck I’m having, she’ll turn out to be someone else I shouldn’t have killed. Sighing, she turned away.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Feeling tired in her heart, but pushing doubt aside, she started down the road. As she left the city of her birth, she did not look back. Instead, she lifted the map tube so it rested over one shoulder, and set her mind on her dream of a Sanctuary for women, where all were equal and free. And the women she had befriended and championed here followed.

Rows of trees surrounded by beds of flowering plants lined the wide road to the Imperial Palace. Once the army had reached this thoroughfare the attacks had stopped. Dakon doubted it was because the local magicians didn’t want to ruin the streetscape. Most likely they were rushing to join in a last line of defence at the palace gates.

He looked over his shoulder again, seeking where the road they had fought their way down had met this tree-lined thoroughfare. He found it and searched for movement.

“Don’t worry about them,” Narvelan said. “They’re a smart pair. They’ll keep out of sight until we can go back and fetch them.”

If they’re alive. Dakon sighed and turned back to face the front. But if they aren’t . . . my mind knows Narvelan is right but my heart says otherwise.

“I should go back,” he said for the hundredth time.

“You’d die,” Narvelan replied. “Which won’t do them any good at all.”

“I could go,” another voice said.

Dakon and Narvelan turned to look at Mikken, riding to Dakon’s left.

“No,” they both said together.

“When it gets dark,” the apprentice said. “I’ll keep in the shadows. It doesn’t matter as much if I die – and I was supposed to stay with Jayan—”

“No,” Narvelan repeated. “You’re a better asset to Jayan alive. If anybody is going to slip back at night, it will be all of us plus a few more as extra protection.”

Mikken’s shoulders slumped and he nodded.

They were nearing the palace now. Looking up at the building, Dakon saw that it was a larger, grander version of the mansions they had seen before. The walls were rendered and painted white. They curved sensually. But they were far thicker and taller, and formed dome-topped towers here and there.

As the army neared the gates the magicians shifted into fighting teams without a word spoken. No sound came from the building. No one emerged to challenge them.

There was a muffled clunk, then the gates swung open.

“The emperor invites you to enter,” a voice called.

Dakon watched as the king, Sabin and the Dem discussed their options. We could stay here and wait until someone comes out. We could all go in. Or one of us could go in wearing a blood ring, and communicate if the way is safe.

Sabin turned to scan the faces around him. Looking for a volunteer. Should I? Why not? If Tessia and Jayan are dead, who needs me? My Residence is gone and it’s clear I am of no use as a protector to the people of my ley, who are going to recover their lives quite well without me. He opened his mouth.

“I’ll go,” Narvelan said. “I already have a ring, anyway.” Dakon watched as the magician strode up to the gates and disappeared inside. Long, silent minutes passed. Then Sabin chuckled.

“The way is clear. He’s read a few minds. The emperor has ordered that no obstruction or trap be put in our way.” He turned to look at the servant and the carts. “Even so, I think half of us should stay outside to protect the servants, and be ready to fight if this does turn into a battle.”

More time passed as the arrangements were made. Then finally they were ready. Sabin gave the order, and Dakon walked, with forty other magicians, into Sachaka’s Imperial Palace.

CHAPTER 48

Hanara had been in the middle of a nightmare when the guard slave came to get him, and now, as he was dragged, pushed and shoved through increasingly wider and more opulently decorated corridors, he was not entirely sure if he was truly awake or still caught in the dream. He’d travelled this route many times in his sleep, after all.

There was a lack of strangeness in this journey that told him he was back in the waking world. No monsters lurking in side corridors or rooms full of tortured slaves. No Takado rushing out to rescue him. No Kyralians.

But Takado is sure to feature in this version, at least, he thought. Unless the emperor wants to read my mind again. Or someone else does...

He did not recognise the corridors from the previous journey. They had been narrower than these, and far less populated. Slaves hovered around doors or hurried back and forth. Many wore similar trousers, in a yellow fabric finer than any Hanara had seen on a slave before. They all looked fearful and harried.

A large crowd of slaves hovered round one particular door. Hanara felt his stomach flip over as he realised the guard was taking him towards them. The slaves were frowning, some wringing their hands, and he could hear a frantic, rapid chatter.

They fell silent, however, as the guard pushed Hanara through them to the door. A slave standing next to the door eyed Hanara, then smiled grimly as he looked at the guard.

“Just in time,” he said, then turned to open the door.

Pushed through, Hanara found himself at the side of a huge, narrow room filled with columns. Before him, in the centre, was a large and spectacular throne. The emperor was looking at him, his nose wrinkled with disgust. Hanara threw himself to the floor.

“Get up,” the guard whispered, and Hanara felt a toe jab his leg. He rose slowly, looking towards the emperor. The man had turned away, his attention now somewhere down the long room. Hanara stared down between the columns, but the space was empty. Then he noticed something on the floor.

A man. A naked man lying on his back, covered in cuts and bruises. Hanara looked closer and saw the chest rise and fall. He saw a faint movement and looked at the face. The eyes were open.

And recognition rushed over Hanara like a hot burst of steam.

Takado!

A terrible pity and sorrow rose up to grip his heart. With it came dread. If Takado dies today, what will happen to me? Will I die, too?

Something slammed at the end of the room, making Hanara jump. Footsteps filled the room. Lots of footsteps. Faint but growing louder. He found himself leaning forward to get a better view between the columns, and felt the guard jerk his arm to pull him back.

When the white-faced men marched into sight the room seemed to grow cold.

They made it, he thought. They got through the city and into the Imperial Palace. After all that Takado did to them, they fought back and then kept coming, all the way to Arvice. All the way to here.

He couldn’t help admiring them for that. The barbarian race of Kyralia had come a long way.

Hanara recognised King Errik and the face of the magician at his right. An Elyne stood on the king’s other side. The other men around the king were also familiar from battles. One face jolted him with recognition. The face of the man who had given him freedom and a job. Lord Dakon.

The magician hadn’t seen him. His eyes were on Takado. His expression shifted from horror to anger and back again.

King Errik slowed to a stop several strides from Takado, his eyes moving from the supine man to the emperor. He waited until the rest of his army of magicians stopped and quietened before he spoke.

“Emperor Vochira. This is a strange way to meet a conqueror.”

The emperor smiled. “Does it please you, King Errik?”

The king eyed Takado, his lip curling with hatred and disgust. “He is alive. You expect that to please me?”

“Alive and helpless, near all his strength taken from him. A gift to you, or perhaps a bribe. Or a trade.”

“For what?”

The emperor rose, slowly and gracefully, and stepped down from the throne. “For the lives of my people – at least those whom you haven’t yet taken. For the lives of my family. For my own life, too, perhaps.”

The hoarse, rasping sound of laughing drifted up from the floor, sending a shiver down Hanara’s spine.

“Who is the traitor now?” Takado coughed. “Coward.”

Emperor and king looked at the supine man, and then back at each other.

“Why should I let you live?” the king asked.

“You know I did not initiate the invasion of your country. If your spies did their job well, you should also know that I tried to stop it.”

“But you did endorse it, eventually.”

“Yes. It was a necessary deception. The army I sent was meant to split in three, two parts held in reserve to overcome this...” the emperor sneered down at Takado, “this ichani rebel when he was at his weakest.”

“It looked, to me, as if your intention was to take over at that point, and claim victory for yourself,” the king said.

From Takado came a weak cry of triumph. “See?” he rasped. “Even the barbarian king sees through you!”

“Yet you didn’t,” the emperor reminded him. He looked at the king. “Would you prefer I kill him, or that you do it yourself?” He smiled. “As no doubt you will have your magicians do now?”

The eyes of the king became cold and hard. Then his mouth curled into a smile.

“A foolish ruler bases his rule on magic alone.” His hand moved to his waist and slipped inside the long-sleeved tunic he wore, then came out gripping a long, straight blade. “A wise one bases it on loyalty and duty. And rewards those, magician or not, who serve him well in whichever way suits them best.” He glanced over his shoulder. “All of them have earned my loyalty and gratitude, so I find it impossible to choose who should have this reward.” He turned back to face the emperor.

The king took the blade of the knife between his fingers and held it up to one side. “Whoever takes the blade may make the kill.”

Hanara saw the magicians behind the king hesitate and exchange glances. A tall young magician stepped forward, then hesitated as another followed suit. The young magician turned to stare at the second man in surprise. Hanara’s heart skipped as he saw the other was Lord Dakon. The older magician’s face was dark with unreadable emotions. He stared at the younger man, who bowed his head and stepped back again.

Lord Dakon grasped the handle of the knife. The king let go of the blade, and as he turned to see who had taken it he, too, stared in obvious astonishment.

“Lord Dakon . . .” he began, then frowned and did not continue.

As the magician who had given Hanara freedom stepped up to Takado’s side, Takado hissed.

“You? What joke is this? Of all the Kyralians you choose the most pathetic of all to kill me?” He shook his head weakly. “He won’t kill me. He’s too squeamish.”

Dakon nodded. “Unlike you, I don’t relish killing. I asked myself many times why I joined in this invasion of Sachaka, why I said nothing against the unnecessary slaughter. Now I see it was to get to the necessary slaughter. And I find I’m not squeamish at all.” He dropped to one knee and raised the knife above Takado. Hanara felt the hand on his arm tighten. He realised he had begun to move forward.

“I only did it to help our people,” Takado shouted, straining to look at the emperor.

“Don’t we all,” Dakon replied, and his arm jerked downwards.

Then it was just like Hanara’s nightmare, yet all the details were wrong. His imagination had conjured far more gruesome and magical deaths for his master. Not this one, clean stab.

As Takado gasped and spasmed, Hanara cried out. He strained against the guard’s arm, but didn’t struggle. His eyes took in every twitch Takado made, how his muscles slowly relaxed, how a thin stream of blood spread across his chest and trickled down to pool on the floor. He felt liquid run down his face, as if in mimicry. He knew that several of the magicians had turned to stare at him, but he didn’t care.

Dakon rose and waited, then as Takado stilled he leaned forward and removed the knife. The king reached for it, wiped the blade on a cloth he’d produced from somewhere, then stowed it back in its hidden sheath. Dakon returned to his place behind the king.

Errik looked up at the emperor and smiled. “You and your rebel have, through seeking to conquer us, made us stronger than we have ever been. Without you we’d have remained weak and uncooperative, distrustful of each other. You forced us together, forced us to make magical discoveries that we will be refining and developing for years to come. I would not be surprised if the Sachakan Empire is eventually forgotten, eclipsed by the new age that begins in Kyralia.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, though he kept smiling. “And for me you have done a great favour. Before this war I doubt my people would have accepted a king with no magic. But now I have proved that a king can still lead, still defeat an enemy, still conquer an empire despite having no magic of his own. The ordinary people of Kyralia have, themselves, contributed to the defence of their country. After that I doubt any will dare to suggest their king is not fit to rule.” He paused. “But there is one more decision to be made here. One last step to be taken. You know what it is.”

The emperor’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, I know it,” he said, his voice low and dark. “I am a magician, as you know. I have the strength of the best source slaves of this land. Many of them, many times. But it will not be enough to defeat you. So I will not fight you.” He straightened. “I surrender, myself and all Sachaka, to you.”

“I accept,” the king replied.

Someone muttered something. The two leaders frowned and turned to look at the other magicians. The one who had always been at the king’s side shook his head.

“We can’t trust him. He most likely has the power he claims he holds. While he does he is dangerous.”

The king spread his hands. “He has surrendered. Must I force him to give us his magic as well as his power? It is too much to ask.”

Hanara stared at the king in surprise. The emperor was regarding his conqueror with a knowing look.

“Yes,” the Elyne replied. “But there is another way. Have him transfer his power into the storestone. Not directly, of course. Someone should take it from him and then transfer it.”

“What if he attacks the one transferring it?” someone asked.

“If he hasn’t attacked us already, why would he do so during the transfer?” the Elyne reasoned.

“I volunteer to do the transferring.” The young magician who had stepped back so Dakon could take the king’s knife stepped forward.

“Thank you, Lord Narvelan.” King Errik nodded. “Do it.”

A strange scene followed, in which the young man took the emperor’s hand in one hand, and the Elyne’s in the other. The Elyne brought out a large gemstone which he held in his fist. A long, silent moment passed, then the three broke apart.

I have no idea what happened, Hanara mused. What is a store-stone? Clearly it was capable of holding magic. But why put magic into a stone?

Discussion had begun on practical matters. Hanara stopped listening and found himself gazing at Takado again.

His master’s eyes still stared at the ceiling. His mouth was slightly open. What would happen to him now? Would someone burn the body with the proper rites? Hanara doubted it. He felt the hand holding his arm squeeze, and looked up. One of the magicians was pointing towards him. The others had also turned to regard him.

“Him? He is the slave of the Betrayer,” the emperor said, nodding at Takado’s corpse.

“Really?” the young magician said. Hanara felt his heart sink as the man walked towards him and stopped a few steps away. “Hanara, isn’t it? I think Dakon would like to have a chat with you.” He smiled, but there was no friendliness in it. Hanara looked down, avoiding the man’s eyes, which looked a little crazed.

“Let him go,” the magician ordered.

The hand slid from Hanara’s arm. Surprised, Hanara glanced up, then quickly away from those strange eyes.

“I think I might need a slave of my own while we sort things out here,” the magician said. “You’ll do for now. Come with me.” The magician spun on his heel and walked away.

Swallowing hard, Hanara glanced back at the guard. The man shrugged, then made a shooing motion.

“Come on.”

Hanara looked up. The magician had stopped, and was beckoning. Taking a deep breath, Hanara forced himself to obey.

Forgive me, master, he thought as they passed Takado’s corpse. But I’m only a slave. And a slave, as they say, doesn’t get to choose his master. His master chooses him.

Pain throbbed through Tessia’s head. She wanted to sink back into oblivion, but the sharpness of it gave her no choice. She snapped into full consciousness.

Opening her eyes, she lifted hands to her head and instinctively felt for damage. There was a swelling to one side, but nothing more, and her hands did not come away stained with blood.

Haltingly, cautiously, she shifted other limbs and pushed herself up onto her elbows. She felt more bruises, but nothing worse. Her head swam for a moment, then cleared.

I’m fine. Uninjured.

She could not recall how she had ended up like this. She remembered having to leave the garden after they heard sounds of people moving about inside the house. She recalled hurrying down the main road, trying to keep to the shadows. She remembered passing burning houses. After that... nothing.

Had they been attacked? She’d not even been shielding. Jayan had told her to avoid using any magic unless she needed to. She hadn’t seen what had knocked her out. Her and . . .

Jayan? Where? She sat up and cast about. It was dark, only a glow of red from a fire burning low nearby lighting the road and rubble. Everything smelled of smoke and dust. Not daring to create a light and risk revealing her position, she got to her feet and felt her way forwards, circling about.

Suddenly her hands felt soft cloth rather than harsh stone. She recognised the shape and resistance of a leg beneath the fabric. A familiar smell teased her nose. Metallic. Like blood. But then all she could smell was smoke.

Maybe she had imagined it.

“Jayan?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

Feeling her way up the leg, she reached the waist, and wet stickiness. Her stomach sank. Whoever it was, they were bleeding. Her nose had been right.

I need light. I have to risk it.

Concentrating, she created the tiniest globe of light, cupping it between her hands. At once she knew two things: she had found Jayan and he had terrible injuries. Her heart lurched with dread. Was he dead or alive? She moved her hands further apart so the light spilled out. At once she saw the wound, a hole in his abdomen that seeped blood. Her heart filled with a wry hope. If blood was still flowing, he wasn’t dead yet.

“Jayan,” she said, reaching out and shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open and struggled to focus. Then he grimaced, squeezed his eyes tight then opened them again. This time his gaze locked onto her face.

“Tessia?” he croaked. “Are you all right?”

A wave of affection washed over her, almost overwhelming in its strength. For all his infuriating arrogance, and inability to empathise with others at times, he does think of others before himself.

“I’m fine. A bit bruised.” She paused. “You’re not.”

He grimaced. “I certainly don’t feel all right.”

“I’m going to heal you,” she told him.

He opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again and nodded. “I’d be disappointed in you if you didn’t try, at least,” he said.

She pulled a face at him, then pulled the fabric of his tunic up to expose his belly. Placing her hands either side of the wound, she closed her eyes and sent her mind forth.

At once she knew the damage was far worse than it appeared from outside. Something had penetrated deep into his abdomen, perforating the tube that snaked and coiled out from the stomach. Liquids had leaked from these into places normally protected from them, and were causing more damage. Blood had filled spaces between organs and was crushing them. Too much blood. He could die of blood loss alone.

For a moment she despaired. How could magic fix this? It was impossible. Jayan was doomed.

No! I can’t let him die. I have to try!

Drawing magic, she blocked the openings in the tubes to stop the contents seeping out. Then she gathered up the muck that had escaped and forced it out of his body via the wound. Turning her attention to the blood expanding the cavities it was leaking into, she channelled it out as well. That helped her find the sources of the bleeding, and clamp shut the damaged pulse paths.

What now?

She could feel his body weakening. Remembering how she had sensed the poisoned magician’s body using magic to repair itself, she looked for the same process happening within Jayan.

There. I see it. But there is still no way it is going to heal him in time. There is too much damage.

– Help me.

Surprised, Tessia’s mind nearly slipped out of his body.

– Jayan? Are you talking to me? –

Tessia? Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you. I think I was dreaming...

He was delirious.

– Hold on, she urged. Don’t give up yet.

– I’ll never give up on you.

Turning her mind back to the damage, she considered it carefully. There must be some way to mimic this healing magic. She tried to send magic into him, but could not shape it into anything but heat or force. Something nagged at her. Jayan’s words echoed in her mind. “Help me.” She would never forgive herself if she could not save him. There must be a way to do what his body was doing. “Help me.” Or at least speed his body’s healing up...

Wait... Perhaps she didn’t need to copy his body, just give it more magic. Boost the healing process with a lot more power. Drawing magic, she sent it in a gentle, unformed flow to mingle with that already flowing from him to the wounded areas of his body. It became part of that flow, was shaped in whatever mysterious way his body shaped it for healing.

That’s it!

She had doubled the flow, and saw double the effect. Now she sent greater amounts of power in, and saw the healing increase rapidly. She concentrated on the rents in the tubes and watched them slowly shrink and close. She sent power to the torn pulse paths and felt a rush of triumph as they all but snapped shut. The general damage to his insides from the toxic liquids was more subtle, but soon she could feel a sense of rightness return.

As she channelled power into him she began to feel the way his body used the magic. She understood it in an instinctive way that she could not have explained to another. Perhaps if I somehow memorise the way this feels and flows, I can apply my own magic to a non-magician and heal them, too.

Soon the damage within his abdomen was all but gone. She concentrated on the tear in his skin, boosting the magic until flesh drew close to flesh and knitted itself together. But even as she saw the scar tissue form, she knew that he was not completely healed.

He had lost a lot of blood. Delving deeper, she wondered if there was anything she could do to replace it. Healers did not agree on which organ produced blood. But if he rested, ate and drank some water perhaps his body would recover by itself.

– Tessia?

– Yes, Jayan?

– I felt that. I felt you healing me. I wasn’t imagining it, was I?

– No. I’ve found it. The secret. It’s—

– Don’t tell me.

– What? Why not? More people need to know. In case you’ve forgotten, we are both still in the middle of a war, stuck on our own in a city of people who want to kill us. If I die this discovery will be lost.

She felt a wave of emotion from him. Fear. Protectiveness. Affection. Longing. All mingled, yet something else.

– Don’t talk about dying, he told her. You have to survive this war. I’ve waited too long and it’s almost over.

– What are you talking about?

But she knew even as she asked. She felt it leaking through the cracks of his self-control. Even as she recognised it and felt astonishment, she felt her own body respond in a way that no healer had ever been able to explain in a satisfactory matter. One of the mysteries. One of the more delightful mysteries, her father would have once said. What was the heart for but to pump blood? Why then did it do this other, inexplicable thing?

And why me? Why not some rich woman? Some pretty apprentice?

– I love you, he told her.

Sweet joy rushed through her. But there was a distinct smugness about his words. He’d sensed her feelings in return, and was pleased with himself for doing so.

– Turns out I love you too, she replied, communicating her wry amusement. Of all the annoying people in the world.

– Poor Tessia, he mocked.

– I’m sure as soon as we get back to Imardin you’ll be off flirting with rich, pretty girls. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you the secret of healing. It’ll make you even more appealing to them.

– More appealing than I already am? He didn’t pause to let her retort. Actually, you are right. It would be safer if another person knew.

So she told him, and when she was sure he had grasped it she withdrew her mind from his body. As she opened her eyes she felt a hand slip behind her neck and draw her down. Jayan rose and pressed his mouth to hers. Surprised, she resisted a moment. Then a shiver ran through her, not cold but warm and wonderful. She kissed him back, liking the way his lips moved against hers, and responding in kind.

I could get to like this.

She almost protested when he let her go. They stared at each other for a moment, then both began to smile. Then Jayan’s smile faded again. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down at his bloodied clothes, then grimaced and put a hand to his forehead.

“Dizzy,” he said.

“You’ll be faint and weak for a while,” she told him.

“We can’t stay here.”

“No,” she agreed, standing up. Looking round, she saw that the fire in the house nearby had almost burned itself out. “Let’s hide in there until morning. Nobody will bother entering because anything valuable will have been burned, and the walls might fall in. I can protect us with a shield.”

“Yes. This is the main road, after all. We can keep watch, and come out when someone we know passes by. It might take a while, but someone is sure to come along eventually. Where’s your bag?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, though. If I can make this healing work on non-magicians, I won’t need cures or tools any more.”

He nodded, then rose to his feet in stages, first sitting up, then rising into a squat, then leaning over, and finally straightening. As they started towards the house she felt a wave of tiredness and stumbled. Healing had taken more magic than she’d realised.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jayan asked.

“Yes. Just tired.”

“Well, wait until we get inside before you fall asleep, won’t you?”

She gave him a withering look, then let him lead her into the house.

CHAPTER 49

Anagging thirst dragged Jayan out of sleep. He opened his eyes and saw charred walls bathed in morning light. They looked no softer than the surface he was lying against. His body ached. There was a pressure on his arm. He looked down.

Tessia lay curled up against his side, asleep.

His heart lifted and suddenly the hardness of the wall and ground wasn’t so unbearable.

I should have waited until the war was over and we were safe, he thought. But she was there, too close to my mind, and I couldn’t hide how I felt.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret anything.

She loves me. Despite all the stupid things I’ve said. Despite me pushing her away. He realised he hadn’t expected her to. That he’d thought that, when they returned to Imardin and he gathered the courage to let her know his feelings, she’d turn him away.

Maybe she would change her mind. When she was famous for discovering healing. When she grew older. She was still young. Seventeen or eighteen? He couldn’t remember. When he considered what he had been like at that age – constantly changing his mind – he couldn’t delude himself that she would never grow tired of him and find some other person to be interested in.

But she is not like me at that age. She fixes on something and remains true to it – like healing. Perhaps she will be the same with people. With me. And I wasn’t completely incapable of sticking to one thing back then. Nothing ever took away my interest in magic, or my loyalty to Dakon.

He reached for the bowl of water she had brought him last night, after disappearing into the burned house for a while, and drank deeply. The water tasted of smoke. He closed his eyes and let time slide past.

After a while something roused him. In the distance the sound of hoofbeats echoed. Several horses, coming closer. Jayan felt his heart skip a beat. He and Tessia had meant to take it in turns to sleep, the other watching for passing Kyralians, but they had both succumbed to exhaustion. He suspected the healing had used a lot of Tessia’s power. She had probably needed the sleep as much as he had.

The hoofbeats were growing rapidly louder.

As he shifted, intending to disturb Tessia as little as possible, her eyes flew open. She blinked at him, then frowned.

“Is that horses?”

Instantly awake, she pushed herself to her feet. Jayan rose and they both moved to the broken wall. Peering out, they saw twenty or so Kyralian magicians riding towards them. Jayan looked around, checking for signs that anybody might be watching. The road and nearby houses appeared deserted. He stepped out and waved an arm at the riders.

The magicians slowed to a stop. Jayan smiled as he recognised Lord Bolvin at the front, Lord Tarrakin beside him.

“Any chance of a ride?” he asked.

Bolvin grinned. “Magician Jayan, Apprentice Tessia, it is good to see you both survived. Dakon will be relieved. He came back last night but couldn’t find you.” He looked over his shoulder. “We’re heading to the edge of the city first. You’ll have to ride double.”

Two magicians came forward and Jayan and Tessia climbed up behind them.

Jayan looked around. “Has anyone seen Mikken?”

“He’s back with the army.”

Bolvin urged his horse into motion and the rest of the riders followed suit.

The city was quiet, but now and then Jayan noticed someone scurrying away down a side road. They passed the place where Jayan and Tessia had been separated from the army. Soon after, when walls no longer lined the road, and fields surrounded buildings, the group halted. Five of them, including Bolvin, separated from the rest, each accompanied by a servant and an apprentice and leading a riderless horse laden with baggage. Jayan caught enough of the conversation to understand that they were returning to Imardin. At first he assumed it was to deliver news of the victory, but then he realised that the news would already have reached Kyralia via the blood gem rings.

The thought sent a shiver of excitement down his back. I wish we were going with them. He realised he was tired of war. I want to be home, wherever that is now, with Tessia. I want to start a magicians’ guild and help Tessia develop magical healing.

As Bolvin and his companions rode into the distance, Lord Tarrakin turned his horse around.

“They’re on their own now,” he said. “The king said we should return as quickly as possible.”

The remaining magicians turned and headed back into the city. Soon they were riding through parts of Arvice Jayan hadn’t seen yet. He admired the tree-lined avenue leading up to the Imperial Palace. The palace was, surprisingly, undamaged. Servants came out to take the horses. Jayan dismounted, relieved to no longer be riding on the uncomfortable edge of the saddle.

Moving to Tessia’s side, he followed the magicians into the palace. Just like the Sachakan-built houses in Imardin, a corridor led to a large room for meeting and entertaining guests. But the corridor was wide enough to ride ten horses through, and the room was an enormous column-lined hall. Voices echoed inside.

“We can’t abolish slavery entirely,” a voice declared. “We must do it in stages. Start with personal servants. Leave the slaves that produce food and do the least pleasant work to last, or else Sachaka will starve while drowning in its own refuse.”

Narvelan, Jayan thought, a familiar chill running down his spine. Why doesn’t it surprise me that he wants to keep slavery going? Yet he couldn’t help agreeing with the magician. Freeing all slaves at once would cause chaos.

As Jayan neared the end of the room he saw that several magicians were sitting in a circle. The king wasn’t using the enormous gilt throne in the middle of the room, Jayan noted, though the chair he was sitting on was large and had a back and arms, while the rest were backless stools. Beyond them, other magicians were standing around the room, some listening to the discussion, others talking.

One of the magicians began to rise from his seat, then glanced at the king and sat down again. Dakon. Jayan smiled at his former master’s relieved expression.

“We must also keep the populace here weak,” Narvelan continued. “But not so that we are weakened along with them. Freeing the personal slaves means that the remaining magicians will have to pay the people who serve them.”

Jayan saw the king nod, then look up at the newcomers. “Lord Tarrakin. Have Lord Bolvin and the others left?”

“Yes. We also found Magician Jayan and Apprentice Tessia.”

The king looked at Tessia, then Jayan. “I am glad to hear you both survived the night.” He frowned and looked from Tessia to Dakon. “Since you have agreed to stay and help rule Sachaka, will your apprentice be staying with you?”

Jayan drew in a quick breath. Dakon is staying? Surely not! He has a village to rebuild, and a ley to run.

But he found he could easily believe Dakon would choose to stay and help the Sachakans. Perhaps in order to redress the harm the army had done.

And Tessia will have to stay with him...

“I have been considering that,” Dakon said. “If Tessia does not want to stay here she is free to go.”

“I couldn’t leave you, Lord Dakon,” she said.

The king turned to regard her. “You have a gift, Apprentice Tessia. A gift of healing that you might teach others. If I asked you to return to Imardin with me, would you agree?”

She bit her lip. She glanced at him, then at Dakon.

“Who... who will take over my apprenticeship?”

Jayan felt his heart skip. Could he...?

“I will.”

All turned to see Lady Avaria stride towards the circle from the side of the room.

“Dakon mentioned that he was considering staying,” she explained. “I thought of Tessia, and how she might not want to remain here, and that perhaps it is time I took on an apprentice of my own.” She looked at Tessia and smiled. “I can’t hope to match Lord Dakon’s experience, but I promise to do my best.”

All eyes shifted to Tessia. She looked at Avaria, then at Dakon, then at Jayan, then turned to face the king.

“If Lord Dakon wishes it, I would be honoured to be Lady Avaria’s apprentice.”

Dakon smiled. “Though I would like to finish your training, Tessia, I think it is more important that your knowledge of assisting healing with magic be shared with others.”

The king smiled broadly and slapped his thighs. “Excellent!” He then turned to Jayan. “What are your plans now, Magician Jayan?”

“I will return to Imardin,” Jayan replied. “And, if you approve, begin work on forming a guild of magicians.”

The king smiled. “Ah. The magicians’ guild. Lord Hakkin is exploring this guild idea as well.” He nodded. “You may join him in the endeavour. Now.” He looked around the circle. “Who is going to stay and help Lord Narvelan and Lord Dakon rule Sachaka?”

A shock of cold rushed through Jayan. Lord Narvelan? Rule Sachaka? Is King Errik mad? He turned his attention to Narvelan. The young magician wore a smile, but it looked fixed and strange. It didn’t match the intensity of his gaze. As something distracted him – a slave tugging at his arm – a savage anger crossed his face, to be quickly smothered behind the smile again.

Jayan heard Tessia catch her breath.

“Hanara,” she breathed. “It’s Takado’s slave!”

Looking closer, Jayan realised that the slave now prostrating himself before Narvelan was the man Takado had left in Mandryn. Whom Lord Dakon had freed. Who had betrayed the village to Takado.

“I told you, no throwing yourself on the floor,” Narvelan said to Hanara, as the conversation of the magicians continued. “No wonder you get so dirty so quickly.”

“Yes, master,” Hanara replied.

“Hanara is Narvelan’s slave?” Tessia choked out.

“Yes,” Lord Tarrakin said. “Though apparently he’s told the man he is free now, but he won’t pay attention.”

Tessia shook her head. She glanced at Jayan, then as Hanara hurried away to do Narvelan’s bidding she strode forward to intercept him. Jayan followed. She caught up with the slave near the side wall of the room. When Hanara saw her, his eyes widened and he froze.

“Tessia,” he whispered. Jayan could not decide if his expression was one of horror or amazement.

“Hanara,” she said. Then she said nothing, her mouth slightly open and her eyes suddenly tortured.

Hanara dropped his gaze.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t do anything. I thought if I went to him he might leave. But I also knew he’d learn from me that Lord Dakon wasn’t there. But...he would have worked that out anyway. I...I am...I am glad you were gone.”

The slave’s babble was about Mandryn, Jayan suspected. I ought to want to throttle him, but for some reason I don’t. The magician who had dominated his life had returned. I don’t think anyone could have acted out of anything but fear at that moment. And now he’s serving Narvelan. I’m not sure whether to think of it as a punishment he deserves, or to pity him. Or to worry at the combination of an invader’s former slave and a ruthless, mad magician.

“I forgive you,” Tessia said. Jayan looked at her in surprise. She looked relieved and thoughtful. “You’re free now, Hanara. You don’t have to serve anyone you don’t want to. Don’t . . . don’t punish yourself for your master’s crimes.”

The slave shook his head, then looked around furtively, bent close and whispered: “I serve him to stay alive. If I didn’t, I would not live long.” He straightened. “You go home. Get married. Have children. Live a long life.”

Then he hurried past them and disappeared through a doorway. Tessia turned to look at Jayan, then let out a short laugh.

“I suspect I’ve just been given orders by a slave.”

“Advice,” Jayan corrected. He moved through the same doorway, glanced up and down the empty corridor, then shrugged. “Good advice. Add teaching magicians to heal to it. And helping me set up the guild.” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to work with Lord Hakkin. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“Yes,” she agreed as they started walking along the corridor. “I noticed you didn’t mention to the king that I’d worked out how to heal with magic.”

“No. It didn’t seem the right time. And now that I think of it... I’d rather the teaching of healing didn’t begin in Sachaka. It should start in Kyralia, and be part of our new guild.”

“Incentive for magicians to join?”

“Exactly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You know, for a moment there I was worried you were going to offer to take on my apprenticeship.”

He blinked in surprised. “Worried? Why? Don’t you think I’d be a good teacher?”

“A reasonable teacher,” she replied. “But I suspect Kyralian society would frown upon a master and his apprentice being . . . well... romantically entangled.”

He smiled. “Depends how entangled you want to be.”

Her eyelids lowered and she regarded him in a way that made his pulse speed up. “Very entangled.”

“I see.” He looked up and down the corridor. It was still empty. Reaching out, he drew her close and kissed her. She tensed, then relaxed and he felt her body press against his.

Footsteps suddenly echoed in the corridor and he felt someone brush past him. Belatedly, he and Tessia sprang apart.

“I’m going to have to keep an eye on the two of you, aren’t I?” Lady Avaria said, not looking back as she strode away.

Tessia smothered a giggle, and then her expression grew serious. “Where are you going to live?”

“I don’t know.” Jayan groaned. “Not with my father!”

“Well, we have plenty of time to work these things out,” she said.

“Yes. And plenty to sort out here, first. Like eating. I’m starving. Though I suppose we should find Mikken first.”

She nodded. “That’s what we’ll do next. We’ll do what’s needed, one thing at a time, until there’s nothing left to do and we’re old and grey and we can leave it to someone else to fix.”

He reached out and took her arm. “Come on. The sooner we start, the sooner we get to the good parts.”

CHAPTER 50

Stopping to catch her breath, Stara looked up at the steep slope of rock before her. Like the one she and the women who followed her had just climbed, there were angled creases in the surface that a climber could shuffle along to get to the top. This slope was larger than the previous one, though. It ended at a jagged crest some way above her. Beyond that she could see the top of another sheer wall of stone, and another behind it. Past them, the peaks of the mountains loomed over all with cruel indifference.

Chavori was a tougher man than he looked, she thought for the hundredth time. He must have climbed all over these slopes to take his measurements. And he must have had assistance. Definitely slaves. Possibly also other magicians or free men. We’ll have to keep watch, in case any ever return.

As the other four women caught up, panting and gasping, Stara decided they could all do with a rest. She shrugged her pack off her shoulders. Strapped to it was a tube made of a hollow reed – much lighter than Chavori’s metal tubes. She unstoppered it and drew out the map.

Spreading it out over the flat rock face before her, Stara held the corners down with magic. The women crowded close to examine it. She could smell their sweat. Only the fittest of them had joined her for this exploration, after it became clear what the path to the valley demanded. She’d left the others in Vora’s capable hands at a camp further down the mountain.

One of the women, Shadiya, pointed to the zigzag path they were following.

“I think we’re nearly there.”

Stara nodded in agreement, then rolled up the map and stowed it away. “Let’s have a drink and a bite to eat first.”

The women were quiet as they rested. With backs to the rock wall, they gazed out at the Sachakan plains, stretching into the haze of the distance. Stara stared at the horizon. Somewhere beyond it was Arvice. After two months, how had the city fared under the rule of the Kyralians? Was Kachiro still alive? She felt a weak pang of sadness and regret, then a vague guilt for not feeling more. I would if I wasn’t so tired, she told herself, though she knew it wasn’t true. It wasn’t as if we married for love. But I did like him and hope he survives. She wondered if he’d received news of her mother. I’ll have to send my own messenger, once we’re settled. Perhaps she can come and live with us.

All the women ate sparingly, not having to be reminded how low their supplies were. Stara had been able to supplement their meals by catching birds with magic, but the vegetation that grew in this harsh place was sparse and inedible. She was beginning to worry that Chavori had exaggerated when he’d described the valley they were heading for.

Rising, she hauled her pack onto her back. The others followed suit. Without speaking a word, they sought the start of one of the long creases in the slope, then began to shuffle along it, Stara in the lead.

After a seemingly endless stretch of time, she finally reached the top of the ridge. Dragging herself over the edge, she crawled forward, relieved to have the weight of the pack off her shoulders. She paused to catch her breath, then realised the air she was sucking in wasn’t the dry air that had parched their throats these last weeks. It tasted of damp and mould. Her heart skipped a beat and she pushed herself up and onto her knees.

The next wall was a few strides away. At the base of one of the creases in it was a dark triangle. A gap. She moved closer. From inside came the sound of water, and a gust of damp air.

The entrance was low – she would have to crawl to enter it. Hearing a sound behind her, she restrained her curiosity and moved back to the edge to watch over the next two women as they climbed up to join her. As they reached the top, their eyes went immediately to the opening.

“Sounds like a river inside.”

“Shall we go in?”

“No. Wait until we’ve all made it up,” Stara said.

Finally the last of the women had been helped up over the edge. They stood back and waited to see what Stara would do. She smiled and dropped to the ground like a slave, then crawled through the opening, sending a globe of light ahead of her.

The roof was low for several strides, then it and the floor curved away. She slid forward, then pushed herself up into a crouch. Her light failed to penetrate far in two directions, and from the way the sound of her movements echoed she guessed she was in a tunnel. It was like being inside a long, squashed tube, wider than it was high and on an angle that matched the creases in the rock walls. Along the bottom water rushed.

“Chavori said he thought this was recent, caused by the river changing course upstream,” Stara told them. “So let’s go upstream.”

A few hundred strides later they saw light ahead, then after a few hundred more they stood at the opening of the tunnel. The stream sparkled blue and white. Along its sides grasses stood almost as high as a man, but further from the water were low and dry. A few squat, ancient trees enjoyed a more sheltered position near the steep walls of the valley.

“What do you think?” Stara asked.

“Not quite what I expected,” Shadiya replied. “But we were hardly going to find cultivated fields, were we?”

“It needs the worst weeds removed. Then a few reber to get the grass down. Then water channels. Then we have to sweeten the soil before we can plant crops.” Stara turned to look at the speaker, Ichiva, impressed at her knowledge of farming. The woman shrugged. “When you’re not allowed to talk around men, you do a lot of listening.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Yes, it needs a lot of work,” Stara said. “And it will be interesting getting reber up here. And then there’s the building of houses to do. We have much to learn. Shall we explore further?”

They smiled at her and nodded. Splitting up, they roamed in different directions. Stara headed out into the valley, examining the soil and wishing she knew enough to tell if it was fertile. The trees proved to be a lot larger than they appeared from a distance. Looking up into the branches, she found herself imagining children climbing along them.

Children. If we want them we can’t ban men from our lives completely. Perhaps we can avoid bringing them here, though. Those who want to can visit a town down on the plains and spend the night with someone they fancy.

But what of male children? There was no way any woman was going to agree to send her child away. She shook her head. Perhaps it didn’t matter so much that the Sanctuary was free of men, only that women controlled it.

“Stara!”

She turned to see Ichiva waving to her. The woman turned to point at the wall of the valley. Stara searched the rock surface, frowning as she tried to find what Ichiva was drawing her attention to.

Then suddenly she saw it. And it sent chills down her spine.

The wall of the valley was not natural. Not only could she see where the original slope abruptly changed to a man-made wall, but she could see the lines and curves of deliberate human carving all over the face.

With heart pounding, she hurried forward. The carvings had deteriorated badly, and in places sections had fallen away completely. Whoever had made this had done it many, many years ago. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands.

She felt a rush of excitement. Clearly, if someone had lived here once, others could do so again. The arches and lines looked like highly decorated frames of doorways and windows. Perhaps the ancient occupants had lived within the wall, in caves. As she reached Ichiva she saw that she was right. There was a rectangular hole in the wall. She shared an excited grin with the other woman.

“I don’t think we’re the first to take up residence,” she said. “Get the others. I’m going inside.”

Creating another globe light, Stara stepped through the doorway. Inside was a long corridor, and she could see light coming through the vegetation that covered other doors and windows. Roots splayed and wove together in tangles for the first few strides, but after that all was bare stone. Wide openings on the far wall beckoned her further inside.

She chose the closest. It was a wide corridor with rooms on either side. The walls between were almost as thick as the spaces. In places they were wet from seepage, but most were dry. Hearing footsteps, she waited for the women to catch up with her, then they all went on. After passing six rooms the corridor ended.

Returning to the main corridor, they continued exploring. One of them noticed shallow carvings of people and animals on some walls. Most rooms had one or two, but then they discovered a wide corridor covered in them. It led to an enormous cave. A crack in the roof high above them let in a weak stream of light and straggling roots. It had also obviously let in the rain, as there was a pool in the centre of the cave. Behind this was a raised section of floor, and on it a crumbling slab of stone.

They skirted the pool and climbed up on the dais to examine the slab. On the surface was the faint outline of a human shape, surrounded by lines radiating out from the chest area.

Shadiya peered closer. “What do you reckon that’s about? Is it a coffin cover? Or an altar for human sacrifice?”

Stara shuddered. “Who knows?”

“There’s another doorway behind here,” Ichiva said, pointing to the wall behind the dais. Then she looked to one side. “Do you think that was the door?”

They all stopped to look at a great disc of stone, split in two, that lay in front of the opening. There was a deep groove in the floor before the doorway. It was as wide as the disc, Stara noted.

“Perhaps it was rolled into place, and out again,” she said.

The women hummed in speculation, then turned to examine the opening. Stara directed her globe light inside. A narrow corridor continued into darkness. She stepped inside.

Before too long the corridor split into two, then again. Stara slowed. “This is becoming a bit of a maze. We should mark our way.”

They traced their steps back, then scraped an arrow symbol on a wall at each intersection pointing back the way they’d come.

“We’d best stay together, too,” Stara said. “Don’t stray. Don’t let anybody fall behind.”

“Not likely,” one of them replied nervously, and the others laughed in agreement.

Going on, slowed by the need to mark the way, they explored the maze of passages. Some led to small rooms, some to dead ends. Then abruptly the corridor changed from smooth, carved stone to rough natural rock. It continued for several strides, then opened up into another cave.

The surface of this cave glittered, drawing gasps of amazement and appreciation from the women. Stara moved closer to the wall. There were crystalline shapes all over the surface. In some areas they were the size of her fist, in others as small as her fingernail.

“These look a bit like the gemstones the Duna sell us,” Ichiva observed. “Do you think they’re magical?”

“Magical or not, they are worth a fortune,” Stara replied. She straightened and looked at them all. “So long as we are careful, we can trade them for anything we can’t make or grow ourselves.”

They were all smiling and hopeful now. For a while they lingered, touching the gemstones and competing to find the largest. But hours had passed since their previous snack and hunger drew them out again. Following the markings, Stara was relieved when she had them safely returned to the first cave. They sat on the edge of the dais and unpacked some food. Stara chewed on one of the dry buns, laced with seeds and nuts, that Vora had cooked for them.

“I think there’s another doorway next to that,” Shadiya said, pointing to the left of the opening to the maze. “See the lines in the wall?”

Putting aside her bun, Stara rose and moved closer. Shadiya was right. There was a door-shaped groove in the wall.

“I wonder how you open it,” Shadiya said, coming closer. “There’s no handle or keyhole.”

“That suggests magic, doesn’t it?” Stara said. She stood before the door and drew power, then sent it out and into the cracks. It wrapped around the back with no resistance, so she knew there was a hollow beyond. Probing further, she sensed that there was a hollow above the door. It curved up and to one side, so the door would rest on its side within the cavity.

Exerting her will, she lifted the door. It scraped loudly as it rose and slid sideways at her direction, then settled into place.

The women crowded around the opening Stara had exposed.

Faint walls were visible. Stara sent her globe light inside and all gasped. Every surface of the room within, apart from the floor, was carved. And unlike the rest of the carvings they’d seen, these had been painted in vivid colours.

Stara moved inside. She stared at the scenes depicted. Painted people carved stones from cave walls. The stones were brightly coloured and lines radiated from them. One man, always dressed in white, appeared in several of the scenes. He tended to the gemstones as they grew, before they were cut, and they were given to him afterwards. He also gave them out to others. In all depictions he wore a single blue stone on a chain around his chest, radiating lines.

On another wall a man tied with ropes was presented to this white-dressed man. He was bound to a rectangle marked the same way as the slab in the big cave. The white-dressed man then held the blue stone against his chest. In the next scene the victim was dragged away, clearly dead, and the white man radiated power.

“I was right about the human sacrifice,” Shadiya murmured.

Beneath all the scenes were lines of markings. Some sort of ancient writing. Do they explain what is going on? Stara wondered. Clearly these gemstones have magical properties. Like the stones the Duna make. I wonder... would the Duna be able to read this? She would have to have some phrases copied and taken to them.

Moving out of the room, Stara returned to her pack and her abandoned meal. She watched the women return one by one, all looking awed and giving the slab a sober second look. She listened to their chatter and thought about all they had discovered.

The valley needed a lot of work before it would be habitable, and even more before the women could live here, entirely self-sufficient. But they had wealth now, in the form of the gemstones. From what she could tell from the paintings, the stones needed special tending as they grew to become magical. Those on the walls now could be sold by the Traitors without any risk of putting anything dangerous in the hands of the Kyralians or Sachakans.

She paused. Already I’m thinking of Sachakans as people other than us. We are going to become a new people. Perhaps a small people, like the Duna, but not as primitive. Will we still call ourselves the Traitors?

She nodded to herself. Yes. We should. We must not forget why we came here. Not because of the war, but because as women we were invisible, undervalued and powerless. Sachakan society put us in a place little better than a slave’s. Now we have found a new place, where we make the decisions, where nobody is a slave and all work for the good of everyone. I doubt it’s going to be easy, or that we won’t make mistakes, or perhaps even fail in the end. It’ll probably take more than a lifetime. But this is more exciting than running father’s trade. It isn’t just an escape for me, Vora, Nachira and my friends. If it works, it’ll help many, many women in the years to come.

And that’s something I’m willing to dedicate a lifetime to.

EPILOGUE

Hanara ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He could feel dirt and sweat, and the wiriness of grey hairs. The pack he carried was heavy and made his joints ache. His breath came in gasps.

The man ahead of him stopped and looked back. The crazed, hard look on Lord Narvelan’s face softened.

“Take your time, old friend,” he said. “We’re both not as young as we used to be.”

Only thirty or so, Hanara thought. But like many slaves he had aged faster than free men. Except I haven’t been a slave for ten years. I’ve been a servant. Not that there’s been much difference.

He could have left Narvelan and sought work in another household, but who would have given it to him? Who would want the Betrayer’s slave? Nobody. No, he was stuck with Lord Narvelan. The Crazy Emperor, as the palace servants called him. Crazy, but clever.

Narvelan had all but ruled Sachaka for most of the past decade. Though he was supposed to come to a consensus with two other magicians for all decisions, nearly all the Kyralians who had taken the roles of co-rulers hadn’t been smart or determined enough to oppose Narvelan. Lord Dakon had prevailed for a while, until he was assassinated, his body drained of energy but not a cut or scratch on him. Only Lord Bolvin, who had taken up the role most recently, had ever managed to successfully stand up to the Crazy Emperor.

When Narvelan’s plan to remove the children of Sachakan magicians and have them raised by Kyralian families was thwarted by Bolvin, Hanara’s master had become angry and paranoid. He’d refused to attend meetings for three months, only coming back when decisions began to be made in his absence.

Things had gone downhill from there, with fighting between the magicians and appeals sent to the king. Finally, a week ago, a message had arrived from the king “retiring” Narvelan from his position. A day later, Narvelan had ordered Hanara to pack for a journey. They would be travelling on foot.

Far ahead, Narvelan had stopped. Hanara guessed his master had reached the top of the hill. He trudged on, forcing his aching legs to carry him up. When he finally reached the crest, Narvelan was sitting, cross-legged, on the stony ground.

“Put your pack down,” Narvelan said. “Have a drink. And some food.”

Obeying, Hanara watched his master gazing about. The hill lay at the end of the plains, where the endmost roots of the mountains rippled the ground. They had come more than half the distance to the border, but probably only half the journey time if the slower travel rates on the steep roads nearer the mountains were taken into account.

Are we going to Kyralia? Hanara wondered. Is Narvelan hoping to talk the king around? They weren’t headed for the pass, though. He looked at his master, but remained silent.

Narvelan glanced at him. “You’re wondering where we’re going,” he stated.

Hanara said nothing. He’d learned that asking questions was pointless when his master was in this mood. The man would hear the question he expected, not the one that Hanara voiced.

“Ten years,” Narvelan said. “Ten years I’ve worked, every day and most nights, to keep this country in Kyralian control. Ten years I’ve strived to keep our ancient enemy weak, to prevent an invasion happening again.”

He looked back towards Arvice, which was far beyond the horizon now. His eyes were afire with anger.

“I could have gone home, married and had a family. But then, would I have enjoyed the peace and safety that everyone else has because of me? Without my work here, Sachaka would have recovered, grown powerful, then attacked us again. No. I had to sacrifice a normal life so that others would have one.

“And did I get any thanks?” Narvelan stared at Hanara, then looked away. “No! Not once! And now they’re undoing everything I did! All my work, all my sacrifices, for nothing. They’re going to free the farm slaves. Let Sachakan magicians marry and breed more invaders. They’re going to let them come here,” he swept his arm out to indicate the area, “and start farming again. Letting this land grow wild was intended to reduce the food the Sachakans could grow, keeping their population small and manageable. It was to be an extra layer of protection between Kyralia and Sachaka. It was my great idea. My vision!”

Hanara looked down at the local farmhouses and fields. Though they were supposed to be abandoned, he could see signs of cultivation and occupation. Narvelan’s vision had only led to bandits and ichani taking up residence. We’re lucky we haven’t been attacked, he thought, then pushed the thought away. Narvelan was powerful. He’d had several servants as source slaves. He was strong enough to fight off ichani, who had only one or two slaves to take from.

“I don’t blame the king for retiring me,” Narvelan said, his voice laced with sadness and regret. Hanara looked at him in surprise. “I shouldn’t have stopped attending meetings. If I’d been reasonable, he’d have had no good reason to get rid of me.”

He frowned. “They made me angry because they wanted to undermine the plans I’d worked on for so long. I didn’t realise that there was a way to make them happen anyway. A faster way. I hadn’t thought of it yet. If I’d thought of it earlier... maybe they’d have agreed with me. If what I planned hadn’t been so difficult.”

Narvelan’s gaze was distant. He fell silent and stared towards Arvice for a long time. Brooding. Then abruptly his attention snapped back to his surroundings. He drew in a deep breath and sighed, then smiled and slowly turned to look at the plains, the hills, the mountains, and then the hill they were sitting on.

“This is a good place. I don’t know how far its power will reach, but how far it does will have to be good enough.” He looked at Hanara.

Hanara shrugged. Narvelan often said unfathomable things, especially when he was having one of these one-sided conversations. He watched as his master reached into his pack and dug around.

“Where is it? I know it’s here somewhere. Ah!”

He drew out his arm. His fist was clenched around something. Looking around, Narvelan fixed his gaze on a large, flat rock. It slid towards him, settling before his crossed legs. Then he picked up a smaller rock and hefted it, testing its weight.

“That should do the trick.”

He opened his fist and, with a musical clink, a bright, glittering object landed on the flat rock. Hanara felt his heart stop.

It was the storestone. The one the Elynes had left with the Kyralians, in case they ever faced conflict with Sachakans again. Narvelan must have stolen it. The other magicians certainly wouldn’t have approved of his taking it.

Narvelan looked up at Hanara, and a look of realisation crossed his face.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Hanara. I hadn’t thought what to do about you. Guess we’re in this together.”

Hanara opened his mouth to ask why.

Then Narvelan’s arm rose and fell. The rock hit the store-stone. A crack appeared. Hanara had a moment to wonder why the crack was blindingly white.

Then all sensation and thought ceased.

The path was narrow and steep. It twisted and turned around the precipitous side of the mountain, climbing and descending in order to pass enormous boulders, or wide cracks in the ground. Hunters had advised Jayan and Prinan that the way was too difficult for horses, and though they wished they could declare it unpassable for humans, the truth was it was merely hard work.

Jayan sent healing magic to his legs and felt the ache fade. He’d needed to do this less and less often over the last few days. I might actually be getting fitter, he mused. Looking back, he saw that the dust that covered Prinan’s clothes, skin and hair was only broken by darker patches of sweat under his arms and on his chest and back. And I look just as bad, he mused. I doubt anybody at the Guild would recognise us, and if they did they’d gain much amusement.

Prinan looked up and grinned. “I wish Tessia could see you now. She’d have a good laugh.”

“I’m sure she would,” Jayan agreed. He felt a pang of affection for her, followed by an equally strong pang of anxiety. She’ll be fine, he told himself yet again. She’s still the best healer in the Guild. Of all the women in Kyralia – or the world – she has the best chance of surviving birthing a baby.

But she’d not had a child before.

Yes, but she’s assisted in the birth of plenty. She knows what to expect.

Maybe they’d waited too long.

But there had been so much work to do first. Developing healing and teaching it to others. Getting the Guild established and sorting out all the problems. And magicians certainly have a talent for creating problems...

The path rose and turned round a ridge before him. To stop yet another endless argument in his head, he set his mind on navigating it. He scrambled up, grasping at protruding rocks for extra leverage. His calves protested. His thighs strained. Then at last he’d reached the top. He sat on the ground, gasping for breath. Then he looked up and felt his entire body go rigid with cold.

For many heartbeats, all he could do was stare.

What had been green, fertile land ten years ago was now a blackened, scoured desert. From the foot of the mountains to the horizon stretched nothing but bare, blasted earth. His skin prickled as he realised he could make out lines radiating from somewhere to the north. Lines that were made up of gouges in the land, or the flattened trunks of trees. He barely registered the sound of Prinan reaching the top of the ridge and stopping beside him.

“Ah,” Prinan said. “The wasteland. No matter how many times I see it, I can’t get used to the sight.”

“I can see why.” Jayan glanced up at the magician. “The magicians who investigated still think it was the storestone?”

“We know of nothing else that might have caused so much destruction.”

“And Narvelan did it?”

“He disappeared a few days before, the same time the stone was stolen. And he’d been trying to convince us that we should weaken Sachaka by spoiling the land.”

“But we’ll never know for sure if that was what happened.”

“No.” Prinan sighed. “And the last chance of working out how to make storestones is gone.”

Jayan drew in a deep breath, then rose. “Well, if that’s what storestones can do, maybe it’s better that nobody found out.”

Prinan shook his head in disagreement, but did not argue. “So, do you think we need to build another fort here?”

Turning to look back down the path, Jayan considered. “I will have to think about it. This pass is by no means easy or fast to traverse. The fort in the main pass will only ever slow the advance of an army, not block it. If we cause a few land slips and carve away the path in a few places, this pass may not need anything more than watching.”

Prinan frowned, then nodded. “I suppose you are right. Though Father will feel we are being foolishly neglectful not building a big stone fort to block the way.”

“I understand,” Jayan assured him. “But surely if he has seen this,” Jayan waved a hand at the wasteland below, “he knows there is little chance of another invasion from Sachaka.”

Prinan nodded. “Narvelan may have been mad, but I suspect he was correct in his belief that destroying the Sachakans’ land would weaken the people. What Father fears is retribution. It would only take a few Sachakan magicans to cause havoc in Kyralia.”

“Then I will recommend we post a watcher on the Kyralian side.”

“I guess that’s the best we can do,” Prinan said. He sighed, then looked over his shoulder. “And there’s not much point us continuing on into Sachaka. Shall we head back?”

Jayan smiled and nodded. “Yes.” Back to Tessia. Back to await the birth of our son. Then he grimaced. And back to the never-ending work and arguments of the Magicians’ Guild.

GLOSSARY

ANIMALS

aga moths – pests that eat clothing

anyi – sea mammals with short spines

ceryni – small rodent

enka – horned domestic animal, bred for meat

eyoma – sea leeches

faren – general term for arachnids

gorin – large domestic animal used for food and to haul boats and wagons

harrel – small domestic animal bred for meat

inava – insect believed to bestow good luck

limek – wild predatory dog

mullook – wild nocturnal bird

quannea – rare shells

rassook – domestic bird used for meat and feathers

ravi – rodent, larger than ceryni

reber – domestic animal, bred for wool and meat

sapfly – woodland insect

sevli – poisonous lizard

squimp – squirrel-like creature that steals food

yeel – small domesticated breed of limek used for tracking

zill – small, intelligent mammal sometimes kept as a pet

PLANTS/FOOD

anivope vine – plant sensitive to mental projection

bellspice – spice grown in Sachaka

bol – (also means “river scum’) strong liquor made from tugors

brasi – green leafy vegetable with small buds

briskbark – bark with decongestant properties

cabbas – hollow, bell-shaped vegetable

chebol sauce – rich meat sauce made from bol

cone cakes – bite-sized cakes

creamflower – flower used as a soporific

crots – large, purple beans

curem – smooth, nutty spice

curren – coarse grain with robust flavour

dall – long fruit with tart orange, seedy flesh

dunda – root chewed as a stimulating drug

gan-gan – flowering bush from Lan

husroot – herb used for cleansing wounds

iker – stimulating drug, reputed to have aphrodisiac properties

jerras – long yellow beans

kreppa – foul-smelling medicinal herb

marin – red citrus fruit