Holding the soiled bandages in the air with magic, Sonea sent a flash of heat toward them. They burst into flame and quickly shrivelled into ash. The smell of burnt cloth, mixed with a sickly cooked meat scent, tainted the air. She let the ashes fall into a bucket kept in the room for the purpose, then heated a little scented oil in a dish with magic until the tangy smell covered the less pleasant ones. The clean-up from the last patient finished, she willed the door to the examination room open.
The man who stepped inside was middle-aged, short, and familiar. She felt her heart skip a beat as she recognised him.
“Cery!” she hissed. She cast a quick look around the room, even though she knew nobody was there but her. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged and sat down in one of the chairs for patients and their families. “I tried your rooms in the Guild, but you weren’t there.”
“You could have come back tomorrow night,” she said. If he was recognised, and someone reported his visit back to the Guild, everyone would know she’d been associating with a Thief. Though that’s not against any rules now. But it would be seen as suspicious, so soon after she’d pushed to have the rule changed. If it looked as if she was using the hospice as a place to meet Thieves it could endanger all she had achieved here.
Ironically, he was in greater danger of being recognised at the hospice than at the Guild. Sonea doubted that any magicians other than Rothen would remember Cery after all these years, but some of the patients in the hospice might have had dealings with Cery, and they might tell one of the helpers or Healers who she was meeting.
“It’s too important to wait,” Cery told her.
He met her gaze levelly. His serious expression made him look so different to the young street urchin she had hung out with as a child. He looked haggard and sad, and she felt a fresh pang of sympathy. He was still grieving for his family. She drew in a deep breath and let it out again slowly and quietly.
“How are you getting on?”
His shoulders rose again. “Well enough. Keeping myself occupied finding a rogue magician in the city.”
She blinked, then couldn’t help smiling. “A rogue, eh?”
“Yes.”
Yes, that is too important to wait. She leaned back in her chair. “Go on then. Start from the beginning.”
He nodded. “Well, it all began when my lockmaker claimed the locks to my hideout were opened with magic.”
As he continued, she watched him closely. At any mention of his family he winced as if in pain, and his eyes grew haunted. But each time he spoke of the Thief Hunter his eyes gleamed and his jaw hardened. This search is as much a way to distract himself from the loss as it is a hunt for revenge.
Finally he told her, triumphantly, of watching the foreign woman using magic to open the safebox.
“A woman,” he repeated. “With dark skin like a Lonmar, and straight black hair. From her voice I’d say she was old, but she didn’t move like an elderly person. And her accent was foreign, but not one I’ve heard before. I’d wager she’s not from any of the Allied Lands.”
“Sachakan?”
“No. I’d have known that one.”
Sonea considered his story. There’s nobody of that description in the Guild. Cery might have been mistaken, and the woman was a Lonmar. The Lonmars were dark-skinned, and kept their women hidden away, so a Lonmar woman might be so unusual a sight as to seem like she was of a different race. The Lonmars didn’t allow their women to be taught magic, however. If she was a natural, and her power had developed spontaneously, the Lonmars would have been forced to teach her to control it. But after that… we’re not sure what the Lonmars do with female magicians. We assume they simply forbid the woman to use magic, but it’s possible they block her powers. This rogue might have run away in order to escape that fate.
If that was true, it was strange that she had come to Imardin. Surely she knew that the Guild was bound by the terms of alliance to respect Lonmar’s laws regarding female magicians. If they found her they had to send her home.
But perhaps Cery had guessed why she had: books. If she had run away in order to be free to learn and use magic, then Imardin was the place she’d most likely get hold of magical information. But books on magic can’t be cheap. Is she stealing money from the Thieves she kills, or hiring herself out as a killer of Thieves?
Yet while Cery had said the lock to his hideout was opened with magic, he had not said that his family were killed with it. Perhaps she was only offering magical services, not those of an assassin. Sonea frowned. “How can you be sure this woman and the Thief Hunter are the same person?”
“Either she is, or she’s working for the Thief Hunter, or there are two rogues out there. Once you catch her you can read her mind and find out.”
“Did you question the seller afterwards?”
He shook his head. “We need him and his shop for another trap.” His eyes gleamed. “Only next time you’ll be with me and we’ll catch ourselves a rogue.”
Sonea frowned. “I wish that were possible, but I’m not free to go running around the city these days, Cery. I must ask permission, if I am not going to the hospices.”
His shoulders sagged in almost childlike disappointment. He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps if I lured her here somehow.”
“I doubt she’ll go anywhere near Guild magicians, and hospices are always full of them.”
“Unless you arrange for everyone to leave one night, and we put about a rumour that there are books on Healing lying around here.”
“I’d have to tell them why, and if I do that I may as well just tell the Guild about the rogue and leave it to them to find her.”
“Can’t you come up with another reason?”
Sonea sighed. She doubted that Cery cared if he wasn’t credited with finding a rogue and helping the Guild to catch her. He only wanted revenge – and no doubt to save himself from being the Thief Hunter’s next victim.
I’d like to help him. But the Guild will expect me to pass news about the rogue on to them, and if it is discovered that I didn’t it’ll be yet another reason for people to distrust me. Her flawless record of trustworthiness since the Ichani Invasion would be tainted by the lie, and people were already so touchy about her past and knowledge of black magic. They would curb her freedom to run the hospices. They’d restrict her to the Guild grounds.
I’m better off passing the information on to the Higher Magicians and letting them deal with it. It doesn’t matter if it’s me or someone else who finds the rogue, only that she is found. Either way, Cery will have both revenge and safety.
“Do you know where the woman is now?” she asked.
Cery shook his head. “But I know what she looks like, and her appearance is strange enough that I can set others looking for her too.”
“Don’t let anyone approach her,” she warned. “She’s clearly in control of her powers, and old enough to have some skill in using them.”
“Oh, she’s nothing like you were,” Cery agreed, his lips stretching into a humourless grin. “You might’ve wanted to kill a Thief or two all those years ago, but you never got to the point of hunting them down and… or…” He looked away, his expression suddenly grim.
… or killing their families, she finished silently, feeling a pang of sympathy. “I need to think about this, but I’ll probably have to tell the Guild and leave the hunt to them.”
“No!” he protested. “They’ll just bungle it like they did with you.”
“Or they’ll take what they learned from that experience and tackle this case differently.”
He scowled. “A lot differently, I hope.”
“Are you willing to work with them?” she asked, meeting and holding his gaze.
He grimaced, then sighed. “Maybe. Yes. I guess I have to. Don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Not really. Tell me how they can contact you.”
Cery sighed. “Could you… sleep on it before telling anyone?”
She smiled. “All right. I’ll decide before tonight’s shift. Either you’ll hear from me or the Guild will come knocking at your door.”
The kitchen slave’s eyes had gone round the moment he’d entered the room and spotted the corpse, and had remained wide through all Dannyl’s questions. Yet he answered calmly and without hesitation.
“When did you last see Tyvara?” Dannyl asked.
“Last night. I passed her in the corridor. She was heading for these rooms.”
“Did she say anything?”
“No.”
“Look any different to usual? Nervous, perhaps?”
“No.” The slave paused. “She looked angry, I think. It was dark.”
Dannyl nodded and noted the small detail. He had quite a list of them now, but then, he had been interviewing slaves for several hours.
“You said she and Riva knew each other. Did you ever see them arguing? Any odd behaviour?”
“They argued, yes. Tyvara told Riva what to do a lot. Riva didn’t like it. Tyvara had no right to. But,” the man shrugged, “it happens.”
“That some slaves order around others?”
The man nodded. “Yes.”
“Did you see them arguing any time yesterday, or hear of them arguing?”
The man opened his mouth to reply, but paused at a soft sound from the doorway. Dannyl looked up to see the door slave hovering nervously in the entrance. The man threw himself to the floor.
“You may rise. What did you come to tell me?” Dannyl asked.
“Ashaki Achati has arrived.” The slave was wringing his hands, as he had every time Dannyl had seen him since arriving home.
Dannyl turned to the kitchen slave he was interviewing. “You may go.”
Both slaves scurried away as Dannyl rose and tucked his notebook into his robes. He looked around Lorkin’s rooms, then strode out of them and made his way to the Master’s Room. He arrived just in time to meet Achati.
“Welcome, Ashaki Achati,” he said.
“Ambassador Dannyl,” Achati replied. “I’m afraid it took some time for your slave to track me down. What has happened? All he would tell me was that it was urgent.”
Dannyl beckoned. “Come and I’ll show you.”
The Sachakan followed Dannyl through the Guild House silently, to Dannyl’s relief. The late hour and constant questioning of slaves had begun to take their toll. But there is still much to do. I won’t be sleeping for a while. He drew a little magic and used it to soothe away the tiredness. I’ll be doing that a few more times in the coming days, I suspect.
They arrived at Lorkin’s rooms. Dannyl led Achati in and to the door of the bedroom. Lamps had burned low, but the body was still clear and shocking to behold.
“A dead slave,” Achati said, moving inside and peering at her. “I see why you are concerned.”
“To put it lightly.”
“Did your…?” Achati’s gesture took in the rooms.
“No. The body is empty of energy. Whoever killed her used bl-… higher magic, which Lorkin has not been taught.”
Achati glanced at him, then frowned and touched the dead woman’s arm. While the Guild did not want the Sachakans knowing how few Kyralian magicians could use black magic, it didn’t require Dannyl to pretend that they all did either. It would seem plausible that Lorkin, as a low-status magician, would not yet have been taught it. It’ll be stranger to them that I do not know it.
“So she has,” Achati said, withdrawing his hand with a grimace of distaste. “But this means whoever did kill her had been taught it.”
“One of the other slaves, a woman named Tyvara, is missing. I have questioned most of the slaves here and she looks the most likely culprit.”
Instead of expressing surprise, as Dannyl expected, Achati looked worried. “You read their minds?”
“No. Guild magicians are not allowed to read minds without the permission of the Higher Magicians.”
Achati’s eyebrows rose. “Then how do you know they are telling the truth?”
“The slaves were expecting to have their minds read, so they would not have come up with a false story or planned answers before I started questioning them. I had them wait in the corridor in silence, so they could not do so once they realised I wasn’t going to be reading their minds. Their stories match, so I doubt they are lying.”
The Sachakan looked intrigued. “But what would you learn by questioning them that I wouldn’t by reading their minds?”
“Perhaps nothing.” Dannyl drew out his notebook and smiled. “But there may be advantages. We won’t know until we compare methods.”
Achati looked amused. “Shall I read their minds now to test which is better, or do you want to tell me what you have learned?”
Dannyl looked at the corpse. “It would be better if I told you, to save time. Do you agree that this has the look of a spontaneous killing rather than a planned one?”
Achati nodded.
“I’ve learned that Tyvara and the dead woman, Riva, often argued. Riva appears to have been the subordinate of Tyvara. Riva wanted to be Lorkin’s serving slave the day he arrived, but Tyvara took her place. Both women were formerly of Ashaki Tikako’s household, and often received messages from slaves there – though each had a separate contact. They did not receive messages from slaves in other households, so I think the most likely place Tyvara would have taken Lorkin is there.”
Achati frowned. “If we are to look for them there, we must be sure. Could someone else have taken him?”
“Lorkin had no other visitors. If he was taken against his will, the abductor must be a powerful magician. If not…” Dannyl shrugged. “They must be persuasive.”
Achati sighed and nodded. “If this Tyvara does know higher magic, it is likely she is no true slave. She must be a spy.”
“A spy for whom?” Dannyl asked.
“I don’t know.” Achati grimaced. “Not the king’s, as he would have warned me about her. But if whoever sent her wanted Lorkin dead, he would be. If they have taken him from here alive, they must have a purpose for him.”
“What purpose?”
“Blackmail, perhaps?” Achati looked thoughtful. “The question is, is the target King Amakira, or the Guild – or both?”
Dannyl smiled wryly. “Must be the Guild. If they sought to embarrass the king, they’d have abducted me. A kidnapped Ambassador has more embarrassment value than a mere assistant.”
“But he’s not a mere assistant,” Achati said, his eyebrows rising. “You didn’t believe we were unaware of his parentage, did you?”
Dannyl sighed. “I guess it was too much to hope you hadn’t noticed.”
“If it eases your mind, we did not think he would be in any danger because of it. In truth, we believed the prospect of his mother taking her rightful revenge if he was harmed was enough to deter foolish acts like this. Though…” He stopped, turned back to the dead woman, and frowned as if he’d thought of something.
“Yes?” Dannyl prompted.
The Sachakan shook his head. “There is another group known for abducting people, but they have nothing to gain from taking him and he is not their usual sort of target. No. We will go to Ashaki Tikako’s house. If we are in luck your assistant will be found there and be returned to the Guild House before the day is done.” He paused. “Though you may want to get rid of the slave’s body before then.”
Dannyl nodded in agreement. “Not exactly a pleasant welcome home gift. If you are done examining her, I’ll get the slaves to do with her whatever they do with their dead.”
Since they did not need the new hideout as a trap for the Thief Hunter, Cery had ordered the place to be sealed up. He and Gol had moved back to his storeroom apartment next to the old city wall.
Cery hadn’t said anything to Gol about his conversation with Sonea until the morning. Her response to his news had been so different to what he’d been expecting that he’d needed time to think, to reconsider his plans, and to wonder if he’d regret what he’d agreed to.
“Why isn’t she going after the rogue herself?” Gol asked again.
Cery sighed and lifted his shoulders. “She said she wasn’t free to go running around the city these days. She can go to the hospice, but not anywhere else without asking first.”
Gol scowled. “Ungrateful sods. After all she did to save the city.”
Yes, but most Kyralians are scared of her, Cery thought. They’ve got her as locked away as well they can without actually putting her in a prison. They don’t want to take any risks they don’t have to. I can understand that. But it makes things a bit inconvenient for me.
“So we’re going to work with the Guild?”
“We have to.” Cery grimaced. “Nobody but us can recognise the rogue. And maybe we can help stop them making a complete mess of things.”
Gol’s expression told Cery how little he believed that. “What about Skellin? You going to tell him?”
“We still don’t have proof the woman is the Thief Hunter, only that she uses magic.”
“Which is why you’re calling her ‘the rogue’ now,” Gol observed.
“Yes. Until we know for sure she is the Thief Hunter.”
Gol crossed his arms. “You’re afraid you’ll make a fool of yourself.”
Cery looked at his friend reproachfully. “I don’t want to waste Skellin’s time. Or owe him any favours when I don’t have to.”
“But you said he wasn’t what you thought he’d be.”
“No.” Cery grimaced. “But he’s still a Thief and a rot importer. Better men than me and you have done bad things for reasons they believed were good.”
“They’re the dangerous ones,” Gol agreed. “Use family or the pride of a House or protecting the country and anything is excusable.”
Cery nodded. “I’d rather be honest with myself when it comes to business. I wanted to be better off than most dwells. Don’t want to die a beggar. I’m not pretending I got higher purposes than that.”
“So you need money. And to get money you need to be powerful. And unless you’re from the Houses, there’s no way you’re growing powerful by any honest trade.”
“It’s all about surviving. Which is what I think Skellin is doing. He said he tried importing rot as a way to establish himself as a Thief.”
“It worked.”
Cery sighed. “It did. And his conscience isn’t so bothered that he’s got himself out of the trade.”
“He said he would, though.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. Rot’s made him one of the most powerful men in the city. He’s got most of the Thieves working for him or owing him favours. I don’t think he’d give that up too quick.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to risk getting caught up in that if I don’t have to.”
Gol snorted. “You’re too smart to let him talk you into anything, Cery.”
Cery looked at his friend and bodyguard. “You think I should tell him?”
The big man pursed his lips. “If somethin’s telling you not to, then don’t. But if we have trouble finding the Rogue I reckon it’d be interesting to see what Skellin’s capable of.” He shrugged. “Maybe not much. Or maybe he’d reveal how powerful he really is.”
Despite spending several hours in the room, Lorkin’s eyes still smarted. The air was thick with the smell of the urine stored in open vats to one side. Tyvara had told him to breathe shallowly to avoid burning his lungs, and to keep his eyes closed. She had also told him, before she slipped away again, that only slaves would enter the room, and to stay quiet.
Time passes very slowly when your every breath sets your throat burning with sour fumes. It also made fleeing into the night far less of an exciting adventure than it had first promised.
Not that I did it for the thrill of it. I do believe it was my only choice. That I was in danger. And still could be.
Was he a fool to believe Tyvara? The only evidence he had that she was telling the truth was the reaction of the slave woman she’d killed.
“You! But… he has to die. You… You are a traitor to your people.”
From that he knew three things: the slave had recognised Tyvara, believed he should be killed, and thought Tyvara a traitor. What had Tyvara said in reply?
“I told you I would not let you kill him. You should have taken the warning and left.”
From that he could assume Tyvara had known of the woman’s intent and given the slave a chance to abandon her mission. Or she said it in the hope I’d believe that. But what reason might she have to deceive him? Maybe to convince me she had given the woman a chance to leave. That she wasn’t as merciless a killer as she seemed.
One thing was clear. If Tyvara had wanted to kill him, she would have. After all, she knew black magic. She could easily be many times stronger than him, magically.
But what he wasn’t sure about was whether it was necessary for him to flee with her. Surely once Dannyl learned what had happened he’d have arranged better protection for them. But how would he do that? It will take several days for any Guild magicians to get here, and none of them are as strong as most Sachakan magicians. If Mother or Kallen were sent, they would have to strengthen themselves with black magic before they left and that would take more time. As for the Sachakan magicians… would any deign to act as bodyguard to a Guild Ambassador’s assistant? How could we know they hadn’t sent Riva to kill me to begin with?
As for who wanted him dead, his best guess was the families of the Sachakans his parents had killed during the Ichani Invasion. His mother must be right. Their families must still feel obliged to seek revenge for their relations, despite the fact those relations had been outcasts.
The Higher Magicians were sure there was no danger of that. So were Lord Maron and the other Guild Ambassadors who had lived here. Did those families hide their intentions in the hope that Mother or I would one day travel to Sachaka?
He thought of the ring in his pocket. Should I try to contact my mother again? Slaves had been coming in and out of the room constantly. They didn’t seem surprised to see him there. The first time, he’d been about to use his mother’s blood ring, and had stuffed it into the spine of his notebook just in time. If they saw it would they suspect he was trying to betray them, and take it away?
What would she say to me? Probably to go back to the Guild House and let Dannyl take care of everything. She’ll have no trouble talking the Guild into ordering me home now. He felt a surge of rebellion, but it faded quickly. She was right, he reminded himself. It was too dangerous for me to come here. Yet something tells me going back to the Guild House isn’t a safe option right now. If Tyvara saved my life she wants me alive, and clearly that’s not where she thinks I should-
The door to the room opened abruptly, making Lorkin jump. But it was Tyvara standing in the opening. He could not help thinking, as he had done every time he’d seen her previously, that she was alluringly mysterious and exotic. Now, however, she did not stand with her head bowed and gaze lowered. Nor did she throw herself on the floor. Instead she regarded him with amusement, her pose confident and relaxed.
Which is a definite improvement, he decided.
“How are you doing?” she asked, grimacing at the smell.
“Still breathing,” he replied. “Though I almost wish I wasn’t. Are you going to explain all this to me now?”
She smiled faintly. “Yes. Come out.”
He followed her out into the big workroom beyond. Four slave women sat at a large table, watching him with undisguised curiosity but no hint of friendliness. Two were around Tyvara’s age, the others were older but it was hard to guess whether their wrinkles were from hard work and sunlight or advancing years. As he looked at them, they glanced away, then straightened and brought their attention back to him. As if habit made them avoid meeting my gaze at first. Tyvara, though, has to pretend to be a slave. I think… I think these women were raised as slaves, while Tyvara was born a free woman.
“Sit,” Tyvara invited, indicating a stool beside the table. As he did, she perched on the edge of another. “I’d introduce everyone but it is always safer to avoid sharing names. I can tell you we are safe with these women.”
Lorkin nodded politely at them. “Then I thank you for your help.”
The four said nothing, but their eyebrows had risen and they exchanged a few quick looks.
“We are a people known as the Traitors,” Tyvara told him. “Several hundred years ago, after Sachaka was conquered by the Kyralians, free women joined with female slaves and escaped to a remote and hidden place. There they built a home where none are slaves and all are equal.”
Lorkin frowned. “A society entirely of women? But how do you-”
“Not entirely women.” Tyvara smiled. “There are men there, too. But they are not in charge of everything, as they are everywhere else in the world.”
How fascinating. Lorkin looked at Tyvara closely. Of course. It’s not just that she was born a free woman. She’s used to having authority over others. Then he realised something else. She had always reminded him of someone and now he knew who it was.
My mother! At that thought he felt his stomach sink. That might not be a good thought to have slip into my mind if we ever… no, don’t think about it.
“Any questions?” she asked.
“Why do you call yourselves ‘the Traitors’?”
“Apparently we were named after a Sachakan princess who was killed by her father for being raped by one of his allies. He called her a traitor, and women of the time began calling themselves the same in sympathy.”
Lorkin thought about what the dying slave had said. “You are a traitor to your people.” Did she mean “Traitor”? No, that didn’t make any sense. But if Riva had known Tyvara was a spy…
“Did Riva know you were a Traitor?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she say you were a traitor to your people?”
Tyvara’s mouth twitched into a wry smile. “I’m afraid the fact that we don’t follow the emperor or the law, and have a habit of interfering in Sachakan politics, means most Sachakans consider us traitors.”
“How do you keep Sachakan magicians from finding you all? Surely they have only to read your minds?”
“We have a way of keeping our thoughts hidden from them. They will only see what we want them to see. It means we can have people in the households of powerful Ashaki all through the country.”
Lorkin’s heart skipped. Magic I’ve never heard of!
“Can you tell me how?”
She shook her head. “We Traitors don’t give up our secrets easily.”
He nodded. Something that protects the mind from being read – much like blood gems prevent mental communication between magicians being heard by other magicians.
“Is it like a blood gem ring?” he asked.
One of the other women laughed. Her eyes met his briefly, then she looked at Tyvara. “This one’s smart. You’ll have to watch every word.”
Tyvara snorted softly. “I know.” Then her amusement faded. She sighed, then turned back to Lorkin. “We have to move on from here. This place is too close to the Guild House and some of the slaves there know I had contacts here. You’re going to have to give up those pretty clothes and disguise yourself as a slave. Can you do that?”
Lorkin looked down at his robes and suppressed a sigh. “If I have to.”
“His face is too pale,” one of the younger slave women said. “We’ll have to stain it. And we’ll need to cut his hair.”
An older one looked him up and down. “He’s skinny for a Sachakan. But that’s better than fat. Don’t get many fat slaves.” She rose. “I’ll get some clothes.”
“You’ll need a slave name, too,” Tyvara said. “How about Ork? It’s close enough to your real name that if I call it by mistake people might not notice.”
“Ork,” Lorkin repeated, shrugging. Sounds like a monster. My friends back home would find that very funny. Then he felt a pang of sadness. They’re going to be worried about me when they find out I’ve gone missing. I wish there was a way – other than contacting Mother through the blood ring – I could let them know I was fine. He grimaced. Well, still alive, anyway.
The older slave had pulled a long rectangle of cloth off a rack where several identical lengths were hanging. She brought it to him along with a length of rope. The women exchanged smirks as he removed his overrobe. He wrapped the cloth around his body and belted it with the rope as instructed, then removed his trousers. He was glad he’d hidden his mother’s blood ring in the spine of his notebook. It would have been hard to retrieve it from his robes without it being noticed.
“You can’t take that with you,” Tyvara said as she saw the notebook.
Lorkin looked down at the book. “Can it be sent back to the Guild House?”
The slave women shook their heads. “Hard to do that without anyone knowing it came from here,” one explained.
“It’ll have to be destroyed,” Tyvara decided, reaching for it.
“No!” Lorkin snatched it away. “It has all my research in it.”
“Which no slave would be carrying.”
“I’ll keep it hidden,” he told her. He stuffed it down the front of the wrap.
“And if an Ashaki reads your mind he’ll know you’re hiding it there.”
“If an Ashaki reads his mind, he’ll know he’s not a slave,” one of the older women pointed out, grinning. “Let him keep his book.”
Tyvara frowned, then sighed. “Very well, then. Have we got any shoes?”
One of the other women fetched a pair of simple leather shoes that weren’t much more than a piece of leather stitched up into a foot-shaped pouch that was bound to the ankle with another, thinner piece of rope. Tyvara nodded approvingly.
“We’re halfway there. While our friends here prepare the dye for your skin and cut your hair, I had better tell you how a slave is expected to behave,” Tyvara said. “I suspect that’s going to be the hardest part for you. How convincing you are may be the difference between survival and assassination.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he told her. “It’s not something I’m likely to forget.”
She smiled grimly. “It can be very easy to forget, when you’re being whipped just because someone has had a bad day. Believe me. I know.”
As Sonea walked down the corridor of the Magicians’ Quarters, she yawned. The sun had been creeping up over the hill behind the Guild when she had returned, casting a pale glow across the sky. Now it had retreated behind the city, abandoning all to darkness, lamplight or, for the lucky few, magical illumination.
The night shifts at the hospice were the least popular, so she took them whenever she could manage. There were plenty of patients despite the late hours – some of the Healers joked that the night patients were the more interesting ones. She had certainly treated some unique injuries during those shifts. She suspected that a lot more night visitors than those who were forced to admit their profession due to the nature of their illness or injury were involved in business that would scandalise most Guild magicians and their families.
Cery’s news had slipped back into her thoughts many times. She felt an unreasonable guilt at not agreeing to assist him in searching for the rogue magician. But she couldn’t see how she would be able to without doing so in secret, and once she found the rogue and delivered her to the Guild the truth would be revealed. Her deception would generate more distrust and disapproval. Perhaps enough to persuade the Guild to ban her from working at the hospices.
Still, she hadn’t gone straight to Administrator Osen when she arrived at the Guild. Instead she’d decided to sleep on it as Cery had suggested. And now that she was awake, and sleep hadn’t brought her any certainty, she had decided to discuss it with Rothen. He had, after all, been the one who had searched for and found her, back when she had been a rogue hiding from the Guild.
Reaching his door, she knocked. She heard a familiar voice inside. The door opened and Rothen smiled as he saw her.
“Sonea. Come in.” He opened the door wider, letting her inside. “Sit down. Would you like some raka?”
She looked around the guest room, then turned back to him. “Cery came to see me last night. He’s discovered a new rogue magician in the city. A woman in full control of her power. I can’t deal with it myself, of course, but… do you think the Guild will make a mess of it this time?”
Rothen stared at her in surprise, then looked over her shoulder.
“I’d be willing to bet my family’s fortune they’ll make as big a mess of it as last time,” a familiar voice said.
Sonea’s heart sank. She schooled her face and turned to see a man step out of the room that had once been her bedroom, holding one of the many books Rothen now stored in there.
“Regin and I were discussing some trouble among the novices,” Rothen said, a note of apology in his voice.
Sonea eyed Regin. Curse him. This means I will have to tell the Higher Magicians straightaway. Hopefully they’ll forgive me for seeking Rothen’s advice first.
“More trouble?” she asked him.
“Oh, there’s always some sort of trouble,” Regin said, shrugging.
“As for this rogue… I agree with Regin,” Rothen added. “Though I would not be as pessimistic as he. High Lord Balkan and Administrator Osen would be more subtle in their searching methods, but they don’t have the insight, experience and resources that you and I have.”
Sonea turned back to him. “How can I hunt for a rogue if I can’t move around the city without permission?”
Rothen smiled. “Don’t ask for permission.”
“But if they find out I’ve been sneaking around, or failed to report this to the Higher Magicians, or even that I spoke to a Thief, it’ll prove right all those people who say I can’t be trusted.”
“And if you bring in a rogue, the people who matter will overlook that,” Regin said.
She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to risk the hospices just so that I can do something that others could do.”
“Lady Vinara and the Healers would never let anyone close the hospices,” Regin assured her.
“But they might stop me working at them,” Sonea countered.
“I doubt it. Even your detractors would have to agree that would be a waste of your talents.”
She stared at Regin for a moment, then looked away. He was being far too complimentary. It made her suspicious. Was he urging her to hunt for the rogue in secret in order to reveal it later? It would gain him nothing, except some sort of petty satisfaction at my downfall.
“When the time comes to explain what we were doing, I will tell all that I advised and helped you,” Rothen said. He looked at Regin. “I’m sure Lord Regin will be happy to do the same.”
“Of course. I’ll put it on paper and sign it if you wish.” There was a slight edge of sarcasm to Regin’s voice. He knows I still don’t trust him, she thought, and felt an unexpected guilt. He hadn’t shown a hint of dishonesty or manipulation when she’d worked with him before.
“People will continue to impose restrictions on you so long as you let them,” Rothen told her. “You have given them no reason to mistrust you these last twenty years. It’s, it’s…”
“Ridiculous,” Regin finished. “I don’t see Kallen asking permission to roam around the city, or you sending your lackeys to follow his every movement.”
“That’s because I don’t have lackeys,” Sonea retorted. “Or the time to do it myself.”
“But if you had either, would you?” Regin asked.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Probably.”
His eyebrows rose. “You think him dangerous?”
“No.” She frowned and looked toward the window. “Not dangerous. But one day his… his thoroughness may do more harm than good.”
“Like now,” Rothen said. “He has you too well caged and cowed to do what you know you are the best person to do: find this rogue and bring her to the Guild.”
She stared at the window. The University lay just outside, and beyond that the city, and a woman who was using magic – possibly to kill. “It will not be like before. Cery said she was older, so she may have many years of using magic behind her. And he suspects she is the Thief Hunter.”
“Then it is even more important that we find her quickly,” Regin said. “Before she shifts from killing criminals to anyone who gets in her way.”
Sonea thought of Cery’s family and shuddered. She may already have done that. She turned from the window and looked from Regin to Rothen. “But if I openly defy the restrictions to my movements, I’ll draw attention and censure before we can find her.”
Rothen smiled. “Then it is not entirely our fault we are forced to work in secret. Still, there is no point taking needless risks. As soon as you find out anything, send messages to the both of us. One of us can investigate if you cannot slip away to do it yourself.”
Sonea looked at Regin, who nodded. A wave of relief washed over her. It was a compromise. Not a perfect compromise, though. Failing to bring the matter to the Higher Magicians might still be frowned upon, but at least she wouldn’t be risking that they’d make a mess of finding the woman themselves. But it did mean Rothen and Regin were going to face disapproval from the Guild when it was revealed that they hadn’t passed the information on, either.
Let’s hope Regin is right, and it’ll be overlooked when they find they’ve got a captured rogue to deal with.
“I had better go,” Regin said. He inclined his head to Sonea. “I will be ready to give my assistance when you require it.” He nodded to Rothen, who returned the gesture, then walked to the door and left the room.
Once he had gone, Sonea sat down and let out a sigh. At least I know the hunt is in the right hands, she thought wryly. I have enough to worry about already, with Lorkin in Sachaka and the hospices full of roet users.
“You look tired,” Rothen told her, moving to the side table to prepare sumi and raka for them both.
“I worked the night shift.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospices lately.”
She shrugged. “It gives me something to do.” Then she gave a short laugh. “And now I have even more to do, ferrying information about the rogue to you and Regin.”
“The hospices will take care of themselves,” he told her. Moving to the chairs, he handed her a cup of steaming raka. “And we’ll take care of you.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “You and Regin?”
He nodded. “I told you: he’s matured into a sensible young man.”
“Young man?” Sonea scoffed. “Only in comparison to yourself, old friend. He’s only a year or two younger than me, with two grown daughters.”
“Even so,” Rothen replied with a chuckle. “He’s improved a great deal from the novice you thrashed in the Arena.”
Sonea looked away. “He’d have to, wouldn’t he? Couldn’t have got much worse.” She gave him a searching look. “Can we trust him, do you think?”
He met her eyes, his expression serious. “I believe so. He has always valued the integrity of his House and family, and the Guild. It was the source of his arrogance as a young man and is now his motivation as an adult. It bothers him that so much lawlessness has crept in to all those things. This is another way he can help set things to right. He’s sensible enough to realise the best way is for us to do it together, in secret. The Guild may not make a mess of finding the rogue, but there’s a chance they will. We can’t take that chance.”
“You’re probably right.” Sonea grimaced. “And you had better be right about Regin, because if he wants to make my life unpleasant he certainly has the means to do it now.”
The Black Tub bathhouse wasn’t as clean as Cery would have liked. It stank of mould and the cheap perfume meant to mask the odour, and the gowns he and Gol had been given bore some interesting repairs and stains. But the place was the only establishment within sight of the pawnshop that they could plausibly linger in, so it needed investigation.
They had been led to a changing room and left there. It was on the first floor, with cheap undecorated window screens hiding the customers from the street. After changing into the gowns, Gol had slipped out of the room to investigate those next to it and Cery had moved a chair to one of the windows. Cery slid the screen open and smiled in satisfaction as he saw that the pawnshop was within view.
The door opened again, but it was only Gol returning.
“What do you think?”
“There’s nobody in the rooms around us, but I can’t vouch for upstairs. We can talk, but quietly.” Then he grimaced. “It’s a bit run down.”
“And the service is slow,” Cery agreed. “Probably from lack of staff.” He indicated the window. “But the view is good.”
Gol moved closer and peered outside. “It sure is.”
“We should take it in turns. One watching while the other scrubs up.”
The big man grimaced. “The water better not be as bad as this place smells.” He moved another chair and sat down. “Did our friend say anything about how she intended to do her business?”
Cery shook his head. Sonea’s message had been cryptic, saying only that she would be dealing with the matter he had drawn her attention to, thanking him for the information and telling him to send any further news to the hospice. Clearly she was being cryptic in case the letter was intercepted. If she is dealing with the matter of the rogue then it’s unlikely she’s told the Guild anything. They wouldn’t trust her with the task of finding the woman.
A knock came from the door. Cery slid closed the screen back across the window.
“Come in,” he called.
The same thin young woman who had led them to the changing room opened the door and stepped inside. She did not meet their eyes.
“The bath is nearly ready. Would you like it warm or hot?”
“Hot,” Cery replied.
“Would you like it scented? We have-”
“No,” Gol interrupted firmly.
“Do you have a little salt?” Cery asked. He’d heard a salt bath was good for sore muscles, and he was still aching from the practice knife-fight bout he’d had that morning. It was also good for cleaning bad water, too.
“We do.” She named a price that raised Gol’s eyebrows.
“We’ll have it,” Cery told her.
The girl nodded politely and left the room. Turning to the window, Cery opened the screen again and glanced outside. The street was busier now.
“Should we convince Makkin the Buyer to help us?” Gol asked. “He’s already scared of her so it won’t make her suspicious if he acts a bit nervous.”
“He’s the sort that’ll cooperate with whoever he’s most scared of,” Cery replied. “If he knows she has magic he’ll be more scared of her than us.”
“She sent him out of the room before she opened the safe. That suggests to me he doesn’t know she has magic.”
“Yes, but…”
Gol hissed. Cery looked at the man and found him staring out of the window.
“What?”
“Is that her? In front of Makkin’s shop.”
Cery spun back to the window. A stooped woman had stopped in front of the shop. Her hair was streaked with grey. For a moment Cery was sure Gol was mistaken – so much so that he was about to tease him – then the woman turned her head to survey the street. He felt a shiver of recognition.
He looked at Gol. Gol stared at him. Then they both looked down at the wraps they were wearing.
“I’ll go,” Gol said. “You watch.” He leapt over to the pile of clothes he’d removed and hastily began to dress. Cery turned back to the window and watched as the woman entered the shop.
His heart was hammering. He felt every muscle in his body slowly tense, and counted every breath.
“She still in there?”
“Yes,” Cery replied. “Whatever you do, don’t let her see you’re following her. Even if you have to pay someone to-”
“I know, I know,” Gol said impatiently. Cery heard him open the door. At the same time he saw the door to the shop open and the woman stepped out.
“She’s leaving,” he said.
Gol didn’t reply. Cery turned to find the big man gone and the door swinging open. He looked back down into the street and caught a glimpse of the woman just before she moved out of view. A moment later Gol appeared. Cery breathed a sigh of relief as his friend and bodyguard headed in the same direction, his steps confident.
Take care, old friend, Cery thought.
“Um… sorry for the wait.”
He turned to find the bathhouse girl standing in the doorway. Her eyes shifted from him to the window screen then to the floor. Cery closed the screen and stood up.
“The bath is ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good. My friend had to leave. Take me to the bath.”
Her shoulders drooped at the loss of a customer, then she gestured for him to follow and led him out of the room.
As the slave whimpered, his head squeezed between the large hands of Ashaki Tikako, Dannyl couldn’t help wincing. Though Dannyl had never had his mind read by a black magician, if the reaction of this man’s slaves was anything to go by, he gathered it wasn’t a pleasant experience.
Tikako gave a gasp of anger and frustration and thrust the slave away. The man fell back onto a shoulder, then scrambled away on all fours as his master shouted at him to leave. The slaves kneeling nearby, waiting their turn to be questioned, hunched as the Ashaki’s attention turned to them.
There weren’t many slaves left. Dannyl had counted over eighty so far. None of them had produced any useful information about Lorkin and Tyvara. They couldn’t even confirm if Tyvara had ever spoken to anyone within the estate.
The master’s finger jabbed, and a young woman reluctantly came forward, shuffling on knees reddened from long contact with the rough stone pavement. Tikako grabbed her head before she had even settled before him. Her brows knit together, and Dannyl could not help holding his breath and hoping she would prove to be holding the secret to Lorkin’s whereabouts, even if that did mean she would probably be killed for not coming forward with the information when her master first demanded it.
After a long pause Tikako stared at her, then with a wordless roar of fury he half lifted, half tossed her away from him. Her eyes flew open as he sent her flying across the room. She crashed into one of the large pottery jugs spaced along the walls, from which pretty, flowering plants spilled. Rising to a sitting position, she blinked slowly, her eyes glazed.
Dannyl bit back yet another curse. The brutality of these people. They like to think they are so dignified, with all their rituals and hierarchy, but underneath they still are as cruel as the histories have always described them. After today, Dannyl knew he would not easily forget why the Sachakans were so feared, even when his hosts were being perfectly respectful and well mannered. It was not the power they held that made them cruel, but their willingness to use it to dominate those weaker than themselves.
The girl had not risen to her feet. Nor had any of the other slaves moved to help her. As Ashaki Tikako called another slave, Dannyl slipped away from Ashaki Achati’s side and approached her. She blinked at him in surprise, then looked down quickly as he crouched at her side.
“Let me see that,” he said. She passively bowed her head as he examined the back of her skull. It was bleeding and starting to swell. He placed a hand against the wound and concentrated, sending magic to heal the wound. Her eyes widened, and her gaze cleared.
“Better?” he asked, as he finished.
She nodded, then leaned closer to him.
“The ones you seek are gone,” she told him in a quiet voice. “He is dressed as a slave now, his skin dyed to look like us. They are taking a cart to the master’s country estate to the west.”
“Do you mean…?” Dannyl began. But she shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it, and backed away from him.
“Don’t waste your power, Ambassador.” Dannyl looked up to see Ashaki Tikako smirking at him. “She won’t cost much to replace.”
Dannyl rose to his feet. “Saving you even a little money is the least I can do after you spent so much time and effort questioning your slaves.”
“Without much success, I admit.” Tikako sighed and regarded the last five slaves. He beckoned wearily, his anger now turned to resignation.
As the master began to read their minds, Dannyl moved back to Ashaki Achati’s side. The man gave him a questioning look. Dannyl shook his head slightly. He couldn’t tell Achati what he’d learned within hearing of Tikako. If Tikako learned that the slave had managed to conceal something from his mind-read he would be humiliated. The slave would be questioned again, and possibly killed. That was hardly a nice way to repay her for the information.
Though it is possible it was a decoy. Dannyl frowned. Why not tell her master when he first asked for information, then? If she did not want him to know, why did she tell me? Is her master working with the woman who abducted Lorkin?
Whatever the reason, clearly the Sachakan mind-reading method wasn’t as thorough as they thought it was. Ashaki Tikako sent the last slave away and turned to Dannyl and Achati. He apologised for failing to find Lorkin. Yet there was a defensive tone to his voice. He felt vindicated. None of his slaves had been hiding fugitives. None had lied about knowing nothing.
Or perhaps they did know, and he pretended to find nothing to protect his pride and honour – or involvement in the abduction.
Achati seemed satisfied, however. He thanked Tikako and told him his assistance would be rewarded. Soon he and Dannyl were walking back to the carriage, farewelling their host and climbing inside. Achati’s two slaves, both young men, looked relieved to be leaving.
When the vehicle had rolled out through the gates to Tikako’s mansion, Achati turned to Dannyl, his forehead creased with worry.
“I don’t know where to go next, I have to confess. I-”
“Westward,” Dannyl told him. “Lorkin is dressed as a slave now, and he and Tyvara are in a cart heading for Ashaki Tikako’s country estate.”
Achati stared at him, then smiled. “The slave girl. She told you this?”
“Yes.”
“Your methods of investigation, unlikely as they may be, do appear to be working.” The man’s smile faded. “Hmm. That means… that suggests one of the worst possibilities I have been considering may be the correct one.”
“That Ashaki Tikako read this in his slave’s mind and did not tell us because he is involved with the kidnapping of Lorkin, or that Sachakan mind-reading methods aren’t as effective as they ought to be?”
Achati shrugged. “The first is unlikely. Tikako is related to the king and is one of his greatest supporters. The second has always been the case. You need time and concentration to fully search a mind.” He grimaced. “But it is the way of the mind that what it most wants to hide tends to be in its thoughts when it is being read. Tikako should have seen this information. The fact that this girl managed to hide it hints at abilities that she should not have. Abilities that only the members of a particular group of rebels have.”
“Rebels?”
“They call themselves the Traitors. They use women slaves to do their spying and to carry out assassinations and abductions. Some – mostly women – believe they are a society made up only of women, because it is women in difficult and unfortunate circumstances they most often take. I suspect it is a rumour to encourage cooperation from their victims, and the real reason for stealing the women is to sell them into slavery, here or in some other country.”
Dannyl felt a chill run down his spine. “What do they want with Lorkin, then?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes they meddle in politics. Usually with bribes or blackmail, but sometimes by assassination. The only gain I can see for them in abducting Lorkin is embarrassing the king.” He frowned, thoughtfully. “Unless they want to stir up a war between our countries.”
“Surely they would have killed Lorkin if that was their intention.”
Achati’s expression was grim as he met Dannyl’s eyes. “They may still intend to.”
“Then we have to find them quickly. Are there many west-leading roads to Tikako’s country estate?”
The Sachakan didn’t answer. His expression was of distracted puzzlement. “Why tell us?” he said.
“Who?” Dannyl asked.
“The slave girl. Why did she tell you how to find Lorkin if she is a Traitor? Is she trying to put us off the trail?”
“Perhaps the Traitors aren’t involved, and want to avoid being blamed for Lorkin’s abduction.”
Achati’s frown deepened. “Well, it is the only clue we have. Decoy or not, we have no alternative but to pursue it.”
The road to Tikako’s country estate bore a constant stream of traffic, forcing Lorkin to follow Tyvara’s advice and not speak in case his Kyralian accent drew attention. He could not ask her where they were going, or question her more about her people, or the people who had tried to kill him. His skin itched from the dye that coated it. She frowned at him disapprovingly if he scratched it, and kicked his ankle gently if he forgot himself and looked directly at the people they passed – even the slaves. This was immensely frustrating, and made the slow pace of the cart, hauled by an ancient-looking horse, almost unbearable.
From time to time he stole a glance at her, noting the tension in her body and the way she chewed at her lip. He could not also help admiring her near-flawless brown skin. It was the first time he’d seen her outside and in sunlight, rather than in the glow of lamp or magical globe light. Her skin had a healthy sheen and he found himself wondering if it would be as warm to touch as Riva’s had been. Then the inevitable memory came of Riva’s dead, staring eyes and he’d look away.
Tyvara is a dangerous woman to be attracted to, he mused to himself. But for some reason the mystery that surrounds her, and not knowing how powerful she is, makes her even more alluring. Still, this is not the time to be losing one’s wits over a woman. There’s a real danger I could end up losing more than my wits.
It was on the third day of travelling when she finally muttered to him that they were about to arrive at their destination. The sun was hovering just above the horizon. He felt a relief that they wouldn’t be sleeping in the wagon again, but it quickly evaporated as she told him what he must do next. They would enter another estate, where he would have to pretend to be a slave. They would eat and sleep there, but she didn’t know what they would do after that until she’d made contact with her people.
This would be a more risky test of his disguise. She’d instructed him to say no more than necessary, to keep his eyes to the ground, to obey without hesitation or protest, and to stay in the shadows if he could.
Nodding at a gap in the wall ahead, she told him to steer the cart horse toward it. It was a little odd for a female house slave to be accompanying a delivery slave, so the excuse they had come up with was that she was showing him the route and teaching him to drive the cart because no other slave could be spared. He’d enjoyed the driving lessons, despite not being able to ask many questions for fear of being overheard.
They made it through the gap without mishap, though a corner of the cart brushed one side of the wall. Lorkin looked ahead at the buildings. Figures moved among them – all slaves judging by their clothes and mannerisms. As the cart neared, the slaves stopped to watch for a moment, before continuing with whatever duties they were performing.
“Through here,” Tyvara said, pointing to an archway. He directed the cart into a small courtyard. A large slave wearing the headband of a slave master emerged from a doorway and waved at Lorkin to stop.
They pulled up. Conscious of the slave master’s stare, Lorkin kept his gaze lowered. Two more slaves stepped out and moved to the horse’s head.
“Haven’t seen you two before,” the man observed.
Tyvara nodded. “I’m Vara. This is Ork. He’s new.”
“Bit skinny for a delivery slave.”
“He’ll put on muscle with a bit of work.”
The man nodded. “And why are you here?”
“Got to show him the way.” She sounded smug. “Nobody else free.”
“Hmph.” The slave master beckoned and turned away. “The master wants the cart filled now, so you can leave at first light. We don’t get fed until it’s done.”
Tyvara glanced at Lorkin, then shrugged. “Come on then, Ork.”
They both climbed off the cart. One of the estate’s slaves picked up the reins while another began to undo the harness. Lorkin followed Tyvara into a large wooden room. The smell of reber wool filled the air, heavy and sweet.
“This is the load.” The slave master waved at a pile of fleece bundles wrapped in oil cloth that looked twice the size of what the cart should hold. He looked from Lorkin to Tyvara. “You know how to load up a cart?”
“I’ve watched it plenty of times,” Tyvara said. She began describing the order and arrangement. The man nodded and grunted approval. “You’ve got the gist. I’ll check when I get back. If it’s wrong,” he frowned at Lorkin meaningfully, “you’ll have to unpack and repack it right, and that means you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for a feed.”
“Right,” Tyvara said. She looked at Lorkin. “Time to learn something new.”
Lorkin was glad that the slave master didn’t hang around to watch, but there were plenty of other slaves coming and going, some pausing to look at him and Tyvara. Thankfully, she did seem to know about packing carts, and had him wedge them together in a self-supporting arrangement. But there were a lot of bundles, and he’d had little sleep during the last few nights. Though he had healed away his weariness each time it started to impede him, it was coming back faster each time.
The bundles were all the same, yet somehow they grew heavier as he worked. He had to toss the last of them up to Tyvara, who was balancing at the top of the pile in the cart. Then he heard footsteps right behind him, jumped in surprise and threw one badly. Tyvara’s hands slipped and it dropped, bouncing off the side of the cart. Lorkin stepped backwards to catch it but instead stepped on something.
“Fool!” a familiar voice bellowed. A hand came out of nowhere and whacked Lorkin’s head, setting his ears ringing. He pressed a hand to his head and scrambled away. Figuring it would be more slave-like to stay crouched on the ground than to stand up, he hunched his back and waited.
“Don’t sit there and sulk. Pick it up and finish the job,” the slave master ordered.
Lorkin got to his feet and, bent double and avoiding looking at the man, ran to the last bundle and picked it up. He looked up at Tyvara. She was frowning with worry, but held out her hands to show she was ready. He tossed it and sighed with relief as she caught it and efficiently pressed it into place.
The slave master, apparently having forgiven Lorkin’s trampling of him, pressed ropes into his hands and helped them bind the piles of fleeces securely to the cart. When they were done he nodded in approval.
“I’ll send the kitchen boy out with food and blankets. You can sleep in the store. Be ready to leave early.”
And with that he turned and stalked away. As Lorkin watched the man leave, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. He resisted the temptation to look for the source. The courtyard was no longer lit by the glow of the late afternoon sky, and the shadows under the verandas were almost impenetrable. Pretending to examine his hands in the fading light, Lorkin looked beyond them and made out a female figure standing within a doorway. She was watching him and Tyvara with narrowed eyes.
“Ork,” Tyvara called. He turned to look at her. She was standing beside the cart. “Come help me straighten this up.”
He moved to her side. She was tugging at one of the bundles, which appeared to be perfectly positioned.
“My usual contact hasn’t appeared,” she murmured. “I didn’t see another door to the store. Let’s stay out here for now.”
“There was a woman watching us,” he told her. “Did you see her?”
She frowned and shook her head. The crunch of footsteps made her peer around the cart, and she smiled.
“Food!”
Lorkin followed her as she stepped out to meet the boy approaching them. His eyes widened, then he looked down quickly and held out two fist-sized bread buns, still steaming from the oven, and two mugs. The liquid inside the latter quivered as the boy’s hand shook.
Tyvara took the food, handing Lorkin his share. As soon as he was divested of his burden, the boy turned, ran back to a door and threw himself inside.
“He was terrified,” Lorkin murmured.
“Yes,” Tyvara agreed. “And he shouldn’t be.” She moved back toward the cart. “And he brought no blankets. Follow me.” Passing the cart, she headed for the store. Lorkin followed, taking care not to spill the contents of his mug. A single lamp now lit the room, throwing complicated shadows against the walls. Once inside, she took the mug and bun from him and set it aside, with hers, next to a bucket that smelled strongly of urine.
“We can’t eat them,” she told him as she began to examine the room. “They could be drugged.”
“Drugged?” he looked at the food. “They know who we are?”
“Possibly. Ah! Good. Come here.”
“But how could the news have travelled here that fast?” he asked, following her toward the far wall.
The look she gave him clearly showed she thought him an idiot for asking.
“Don’t Kyralians use blood rings?”
“Yes, but-”
“Even so, surely you know that travelling on horseback is faster than in a cart.”
“Well, yes…”
She rolled her eyes, then turned away and slipped behind some boxes filled with wax-stoppered pottery jars. As he followed, he saw a small doorway that had been fixed permanently closed with boards. She glanced at the lamp, then at the boxes of jars. Stepping back, she stared at the boxes. They began to move, swaying precariously as they slid forward to block the view of the doorway.
Then she turned to stare at the boards fixing the door closed, and they began to flex themselves away from the frame.
“Put out the lamp,” she ordered without taking her eyes off her work.
Lorkin looked over at the lamp, then drew magic and sent it out, shaping it into a small barrier that starved the flame of air. As the lamp went out and the room filled with darkness, he felt a fresh breeze and turned to see a rectangle of dark blue streaked with orange clouds where the door had been. He took a step toward it, but the sky vanished as Tyvara swung the door to again and he felt her hand press on his chest to stop him.
“Wait,” she murmured. “Get out of sight.”
Sounds were coming from the main store doorway. Light streaked into the room, moving and spreading as the source drew closer. Then the slave master and the boy entered, followed by a woman. They both stared at the mugs and buns left untouched, then looked around the store.
“They’re gone,” the boy said.
“They can’t have gone far,” the woman said. “Should we start searching?”
“No,” the slave master said. “Too dangerous. If they are what you say they are, only the master can deal with them, and he’s in the city.”
The woman looked as if she wanted to argue, but instead nodded stiffly and left the store. The slave master looked around the room again. For a moment he looked as if he might search it, but then he shook his head and headed for the door.
As soon as he was gone, Lorkin felt the breeze again. Tyvara grabbed his arm and pulled him through the doorway. She took hold of both of his arms in a strong grip. He felt his stomach sink as they suddenly began to rise into the air.
Levitation, he thought, looking down at where the invisible force beneath their feet must be. I haven’t had reason to do that in years.
They stepped off onto the roof of the store. Tyvara crouched and began to creep across it slowly and quietly, keeping below the peak of the roof so that people in the courtyard wouldn’t see them. Lorkin followed, wincing at every creak of the wooden tiles. The slave shoes were much quieter than magician’s boots, and had surprisingly good grip on the roof tiles.
At the end of the store roof they levitated down to the next building, then the next, and finally to one which provided a good hiding place in the shadow of a large chimney. A loud grinding sound came from below, which would mask any sounds they made.
Perhaps now I can ask her some questions.
“When it’s fully dark we’ll go back to the road,” Tyvara told him.
“And if we encounter anyone?”
“Nobody will look at us closely. Slaves on the road aren’t unusual, even at night, whereas if we cut across the fields we become trespassers. Field slaves won’t approach us, but they’ll report us to their master. Even if we get away before he investigates, anyone paying attention to such reports will know the direction we’re travelling in.” She sighed. “I was hoping to get further away from the city before this happened.”
“You were expecting this?”
“Yes.”
“Are your contacts here safe?”
“Yes.”
“So… they’re here, but so are the people who tried to kill me?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “But… it’s more complicated than that.”
He stared at her expectantly, but she said nothing more, only staring out over the fields. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. But she can’t go hinting that there’s more to this than what she’s told me without expecting me to pursue it.
“Why is it more complicated?” he asked, then frowned in surprise at the hard tone in his voice.
She looked at him, her eyes barely visible in the growing darkness.
“I shouldn’t… but I guess there’s no point keeping it secret any longer.” She drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “We can’t trust any slaves now, not even those that are Traitors. We Traitors… we don’t always agree with each other. Some of us are divided into groups based on our opinions and philosophy.”
“Factions?” he suggested.
“Yes, I suppose they could be called that. The faction that I belong to believes that you are a potential ally and should not be killed. The other… doesn’t.”
Lorkin caught his breath. Her people want me dead! He felt a sinking feeling inside, but pushed it aside. No, only some of them do.
“My faction has more influence on our people,” she told him. “We say that killing you could lead to war between Sachaka and Kyralia. That we should only kill when it is unavoidable. That blaming the child for the actions of the parent is how Sachakans think, not us. But…”
She paused, and when she continued her voice had lowered. “But I have done something that may shift that balance.” She drew in another breath, and this time it shook slightly. “The woman I killed to save you – Riva – was not an assassin sent by a Sachakan family. She was a Traitor. One from the other faction.”
“You lied,” Lorkin stated.
“Yes. Even if I’d had time to explain at the Guild House, you wouldn’t have come with me, and you’d probably be dead by now.”
Lorkin scowled. What else has she lied about? But if all else that she said was true, especially about the Traitors, he understood the deception. I wouldn’t have left with her. I’d have been too confused.
“When my people find out that I killed her, the other faction will gain support,” Tyvara continued. “And from the way things went here I’d say the news has definitely overtaken us. Anyone from the other faction won’t help us, and they’ll try to stop others helping us. They might try to kill you. They might try to kill us both.”
“And the Traitors from your faction?”
“They won’t try to kill us, but they may not help us in case that makes them guilty of helping a murderer. Eventually the news will reach Sanctuary and our leaders will override any orders scout leaders in the estates have made. Official orders will be sent out.”
Lorkin’s head spun with all this new information. Throughout Sachaka there were people – a whole society of them – deciding whether he should be killed or not. He shook his head. And what did she mean by “blaming a child for the actions of a parent”? What did my parents do to make them so angry? He had too many questions, and he and Tyvara could be discovered at any moment. Best stick to the more immediate problems. Like how much danger he was in from these Traitors.
“So, if your faction was in control, why did Riva try to kill me?”
Tyvara gave a short, bitter laugh. “She disobeyed her orders. Disobeyed me.”
“And nobody knows that, so they think you murdered her?”
A pause. “Yes, but even when they find out why I killed her… Traitors don’t kill Traitors. It’s a far more serious crime than disobeying orders. Even my own faction will want me punished for that.”
“They’ll kill you?”
“I… I don’t know.” She sounded so uncertain, even frightened, that he suddenly had to resist the urge to put his arms around her and reassure her that everything would be fine. But the words would be a lie. He had no idea what was going to happen, where to go, or even where he was. She had dragged him away from all he understood. This was her world. She was the resourceful one. Whether he liked it or not, he needed her to be in charge.
“If anyone can get us out of this, you can,” he told her. “So what should we do now? Go back to Arvice? Go to Kyralia?”
“We can’t go to either. We have Traitors in almost every household in Sachaka. Now that my people know what I have done there will be Traitors watching the Pass.” He heard the soft sound of fingers drumming on something. “We can’t run away. What we need to do is reach my people – my faction. We will have a chance to explain, and you will be safe. No matter what happens to me, they will protect you.” She chuckled quietly. “All I have to do is get you safely across most of Sachaka and to the mountains, without the other faction finding us. Or any Kyralians and Sachakans that are bound to start looking for you.”
“The mountains, eh?”
“Yes. And now that it’s dark, I think it’s time we made a start. We’ll drop down by that wall and follow it across to the one that meets the wall that follows the road. Ready?”
He nodded, then grinned ruefully as he realised she couldn’t see him.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m ready.”
The young woman in the examination room had dark shadows under her eyes. In her lap a small baby wriggled, its face screwed up as it howled with almost inhuman volume.
“I don’t know what to do with him,” the woman confessed. “I’ve tried everything.”
“Let me have a look,” Sonea offered.
The mother handed over the child. Taking him into her lap, Sonea examined him thoroughly, both by touch and sight and with magic. To her relief there was no sign of injury or disease. She sensed a more ordinary disturbance, however.
“He’s fine,” she assured the girl. “Just hungry.”
“Already?” The girl’s hand went to her chest. “I can’t seem to make enough-”
Abruptly the door opened and Healer Nikea slipped into the room.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, looking at the young woman apologetically. Then her eyes rose to meet Sonea’s. “There’s a messenger here for you. He says it’s urgent.”
Sonea felt her heart skip a beat. Was it Cery? She rose and handed the baby back to his mother. “You had better send him in. Could you take this young woman to Adrea.” She looked at the mother and smiled. “Adrea is an expert at dealing with production problems and food alternatives. I wish I’d known her when my son was born. She’ll help you out.”
The young woman nodded and followed Nikea out of the room. The door closed behind them. Sonea stared at it as she waited for Cery. When it finally opened, however, it was a large man who entered the room. He looked familiar, and after a moment she remembered who he was.
“Gol, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady,” he said.
She smiled. It had been a long time since anyone had called her “my lady” instead of “Black Magician.” “What news?”
“We’ve found her,” the big man said, his eyes widening with excitement. “I tracked her back to where she lives, and now Cery’s keeping an eye on her until you can come get her.”
Sonea felt her heart skip again, but then her stomach sank. I won’t be getting her. I have to send for Rothen. And Regin. Could she simply neglect to summon Regin? No, if the rogue is a strong magician she might overcome Rothen. Perhaps even kill him. Better that two magicians confront her rather than one. Oh, I wish I could go with him! But if I’m going to have to trust Regin with the knowledge that I’ve withheld information about a rogue, then he needs to get his hands dirty, too.
“How long have we got?” she asked.
Gol shrugged. “I don’t know, but if we’re lucky she’s gone to bed.”
“I need to send for some help. Two magicians are better than one in this situation.” She took a piece of paper and quickly scrawled the words “Northside” and “Now?” on it, then folded it and wrote Regin’s name and title on the back. Then she wrote the same message to Rothen. “Give these to Healer Nikea – the one who brought you in.”
Gol took the notes and slipped out of the room.
When the door opened again, Sonea expected it to be Gol returning. Instead it was Healer Nikea. As the young woman approached, she met Sonea’s eyes, then looked away, and immediately Sonea’s skin began to prickle. She’s going to ask me what all this is about. Maybe she’s recognised Gol, or found out that he works for a Thief. I doubt she’s going to scold me, but Nikea’s not the sort to let anything she disapproves of go unmentioned and ignored.
“Ah… I wanted to say…” the young woman began, rubbing her hands together with uncharacteristic nervousness.
“Yes?” Sonea prompted.
“Whatever it is you’re doing, I know it’s got to be for a good purpose.” Nikea straightened. “If you need someone here to… to ‘cover your tracks’, as they say, you can rely on me. And some of the other Healers, too. We’ll tell people you were here if you need to go out.”
Sonea realised her mouth had dropped open in surprise, and she quickly closed it.
“How many of you think this?” she managed to ask.
“Four of us. Sylia, Gejen, Colea and myself.”
Amused, Sonea suppressed the urge to smile. “You’ve discussed this already?”
Nikea’s gaze was steady. “Yes. We weren’t sure what was going on, if anything. But we all thought it had to be important, and that we were willing to help.”
Sonea felt her face begin to heat. “Thank you, Nikea.”
The girl shrugged, then backed away to the door. “Of course, we’d love to know what is going on, if you can tell us.” She touched the handle, then looked back hopefully.
Sonea chuckled. “When I can, I will.”
Nikea grinned. “I’ll send the next patient in.”
“Thank you. Again.”
As the door closed behind the Healer, Sonea couldn’t help grinning. Seems not all the Guild thinks I’ll turn into a crazed black-magic-wielding murderer the moment I’m out of their sight. The Healers’ trust was touching. Perhaps she could risk leaving the hospice, after all. It would be safer for Rothen and Regin. While there had been no hint that the rogue was a black magician, things could turn very nasty if it turned out she were.
And Sonea had to admit, the idea of sneaking around the city with Cery again filled her with both nostalgia and excitement. It wouldn’t be fair if Rothen and Regin got to have all the fun, while she had to sit and wait for news.
As Gol had warned, the area of the city the rogue lived in was surprisingly respectable, and not the sort where anyone could loiter and remain inconspicuous. She rented the basement of a shoemaker’s shop and home. All of the street’s buildings had a shop at ground level and accommodation for the shopkeeper upstairs.
Cery had sent some of his people out to visit local shops to see if he could watch for the woman from within one of them. One reported overhearing a shopkeeper say his neighbour was away visiting his wife’s family in Elyne, and a few picked locks later Cery was sitting in the absent shopkeeper’s first floor guest room, relaxing in a comfortable chair next to the street side window, watching night fall and lamp-lighters setting the street aglow with light.
He’d also sent people to watch the rear entrance to the shoemaker’s home. The basement was accessible not just via the shop above it but through a sunken back door. Regular reports assured him that she hadn’t left.
Gol was taking longer than he ought to, though. Did I misunderstand Sonea’s message? She said she would be dealing with “the matter” and that I should send information to the hospice. Well, I’ve done that.
A door opened downstairs and he tensed. The footsteps of two or three people thumped up the staircase. Were they his people, or the shopkeeper and his family returning? He moved quickly, concealing himself behind the open door where he could hopefully slip out of the room unnoticed if he needed to. In case they should notice him, he slipped a hand into his coat to where he kept his most visually impressive knife.
“Cery?” a familiar voice called.
Gol. Letting out a sigh of relief, Cery stepped out from behind the door to find his bodyguard and two people wearing long concealing cloaks nearing the top of the stairs. He recognised Sonea. Cery narrowed his eyes at the other man. There was something familiar about him. As the trio came into the light, Cery felt an old memory spring to life.
“Regin,” he said. “Or is that Lord Regin now?”
“It is,” the man replied.
“It always was, Cery,” Sonea reminded him. “But calling novices ‘Lord’ or ‘Lady’ always feels a bit premature. Lord Regin and Lord Rothen have volunteered to assist me in catching the rogue, which could prove vital if I am unable to sneak away unnoticed from the hospice at some point.”
“If luck is with us, you won’t have to slip away again,” Cery told her. “So is Lord Rothen coming?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t see the point, if I was going.”
Cery watched Regin follow Sonea into the room. From what I remember, Sonea didn’t like this man much when she was a novice. He made things bad for her. But when Cery had met Regin during the Ichani Invasion, the young man had volunteered to be the bait that drew a Sachakan magician into Sonea and Akkarin’s trap. It had been a brave move. Had the timing been wrong – and it nearly had been from what Cery recalled – Regin would have had all magic and life drained from him.
If he hadn’t known better, Cery would never have believed the man he was examining had been the prank-playing, mischief-making novice Sonea had complained about. Lord Regin’s face appeared set into a permanent expression of seriousness. Though his build had the healthy weight of someone who’d lived a privileged life, the lines between his brows and around his mouth spoke of worry and resignation. But there’s intelligence in those eyes, he noted. He’s no less dangerous than he was as a novice, I’d wager. Still, Sonea trusts him enough to recruit him for this. Then he looked at her and saw the wariness in her posture as she glanced at her magician helper. Or maybe she has no choice. I’d better ask her about him, as soon as I have a chance to chat to her alone.
“So where is our rogue?” Sonea asked.
Cery moved to the window. “In the basement of the shoemaker across the street.”
She peered outside. “How many entrances?”
“Two. Both watched.”
“We should split into two groups then. One magician in each.”
Cery nodded in agreement. “I’ll go with you in through the front door. Gol can take Regin around to the back. We’ll meet in the basement, where you’ll do whatever it is you do.” He looked at the others. They nodded. “Any questions?” Glances were exchanged, then heads shook. “Let’s go then.”
They filed back down the stairs. Cery explained and demonstrated a few signals that he and Gol would use as warnings or to signal a retreat, then they stepped outside. It was full night now. The lamps cast circles of light on the ground. Gol led Regin away toward the back entrance. Cery and Sonea waited to give them time to get into place, then walked across the road to the shoemaker’s shop.
Climbing the steps, they approached the front door. Cery produced an oil dripper and quickly smeared the door hinges. Then he drew picks from within his coat. Sonea said nothing, her face in shadow, as he worked the lock open. I guess she could do this with magic – possibly faster than I can. So why don’t I suggest it? Am I showing off?
The lock clicked softly. Cery slowly turned the handle, bracing as the latch sprung free. He pulled the door open, relieved when it made only a soft groan. Sonea stepped inside, then waited as he closed the door behind them.
It was dark in the shop and as his eyes adjusted he was able to make out rows of shoes lined up on shelving, and a work table. Opposite the door was a narrow staircase leading down, and another leading up. According to his spies, the shoemaker was asleep upstairs. And about to get a rude wake-up.
Sonea moved to the stairs and looked at the treads leading down. She shook her head, then beckoned to Cery. As he approached, she grabbed his arm and pulled him close. Staring at her in surprise, he realised that in the dim light she looked like the young woman he’d once helped hide from the Guild so many years ago. She wore the same intent, worried expression.
Then he felt himself rising in the air and all thought of the past fled from his mind. He looked down. Though he could feel something beneath his feet, he couldn’t see it. Whatever it was, it was carrying him and Sonea down the staircase.
I guess this means there’s no risk of creaking treads betraying us.
A sparsely furnished room appeared as they neared the floor of the basement. Dazzling light filled the space as a glowing ball appeared above Sonea’s head. Cery looked for the bed, found it, then felt a surge of disappointment. It was unoccupied.
A door opened and they both spun about, then sighed as they saw Regin and Gol enter the room. Both frowned as they saw the rogue was nowhere in sight.
“Search,” Sonea said. “But carefully.”
They each chose a wall, examining the furniture, looking under the bed, opening cupboards.
“This room isn’t being used,” Regin observed. “The clothes in this cupboard are dusty.”
Cery nodded and nudged a basin with soiled cups, bowls and cutlery in it. “And these dishes have been dirty for so long they’re mouldy.”
“Aha!” Gol exclaimed quietly. All turned to see him gesturing at the wall. A section of bricks sat at an angle to the rest, swivelling aside as he pressed on one end. Behind was a dark space. Cery crossed to it and sniffed at the air inside.
“The Thieves’ Road,” he said. “Or a passage to it.”
Sonea chuckled. “Not two entrances after all. I’m surprised you didn’t check for subterranean ones.”
Cery shrugged. “It’s a new street. When the king demolishes the old ones, he makes sure the Road goes too.”
“He wasn’t thorough enough this time,” she said. Coming closer, she ran a hand over the brickwork. “Or perhaps he was. This is new – hardly any dust or cobwebs on it. Should we see where it leads?”
“If you want to explore, go ahead,” Cery told her. “But this isn’t my territory. I can’t enter without permission. If I trespass,” he shrugged, “the Thief Hunter will have one less Thief to do in.”
“Does this passage suggest our rogue is working with the local Thief?” Regin asked.
Sonea looked at Cery. “If she is the Thief Hunter, then I doubt it. But if she’s not, then she’d have skills a Thief would find very useful.”
In other words, she thinks this proves that the rogue isn’t the Thief Hunter, Cery thought.
Regin peered into the tunnel, his expression intent. He looked as if he might move inside, but then he stepped back and straightened.
“I suspect she’s long gone. What do you recommend we do next, Cery?” he asked.
Cery glanced at the magician in surprise. A magician asking him his opinion was not something that happened often. “I agree that you’re unlikely to find her in the tunnels.” He reached out and turned the bricks back into place. “If she doesn’t notice that we invaded her room she might continue using it to access the tunnels. We should make sure everything is exactly how we found it. I’ll put a watch on this place and let you know if she returns.”
“And if she does notice?” Regin asked.
“Then we’ll have to hope another bit of luck leads us to her again.”
Regin nodded, then looked at Sonea. She shrugged. “Not much else we can do for now. If anyone can find her again, Cery will.”
Cery felt a flush of pleasure, followed by a niggling anxiety that she might be wrong. He had spotted the rogue by chance. It might not be so easy to find her again. The four of them moved around the room quickly, making sure everything was in order, then left the way they had come. Sonea relocked the front door with magic. They slipped out the back way. Once in the main street again, they exchanged glances but remained silent. The two magicians raised hands in farewell before they walked away. Cery and Gol returned to the empty shopkeeper’s house.
“Well, that was disappointing,” Gol said.
“Yes,” Cery agreed.
“Do you think the rogue will come back?”
“No. She’ll have had something set up to tell her if anyone came visiting.”
“So what do we do next?”
“Watch and hope I’m wrong.” He looked around the room. “And find out when the owner of this place is due back. We don’t want to scare him and his family half to death at finding a Thief in his house.”
The slave master looked surprised to see Dannyl and Ashaki Achati, before he threw himself to the ground at their feet. His surprise was not because a powerful Sachakan and Kyralian magician had come visiting. The estate had been expecting them, or someone, to arrive.
“You came faster than we hoped,” the big man said when Achati explained that they were looking for an escaped female slave and a Kyralian man dressed as a slave.
“You have seen the pair I described?” Achati asked.
“Yes. Two nights ago. One of the slaves thought they were people we’d been warned about, and when we came to question them they had run away.”
“Did you search for them?”
“No.” The man bowed his head. “We were warned they were magicians, and that only magicians could catch them.”
“Who gave you this warning?”
“The master, in a message.”
“When did the message arrive?”
“A day before the pair arrived here.”
Achati glanced at Dannyl, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. So if Ashaki Tikako didn’t send the message, who did? Dannyl felt his heart skip a beat. The Traitors. They must be very organised to get messages like this out to the country estates so quickly.
“How long ago did you send your message warning your master of their appearance here?”
“Two nights ago – straight after they disappeared.”
Achati turned to Dannyl. “If he is on his way he won’t arrive for another day, even if he rides rather than taking a carriage. I’m afraid we’ll have to wait. I don’t have the authority to read the minds of another man’s slaves.”
“Do you have the authority to question them?” Dannyl asked.
The magician frowned. “There is no custom or law preventing me. Or you.”
“Then let’s question them.”
Achati smiled. “We’ll do it your way? Why not?” He chuckled. “If you do not mind, I would like to watch and learn from you. I would not know what questions to ask that might trick a slave into revealing more than he or she wanted to.”
“There really isn’t any trickery involved,” Dannyl assured him.
“Which do you want to question first?”
“This man, and anyone who saw Lorkin and Tyvara. And most of all, the slave who saw them and thought they might be the people they’d been warned about.” Dannyl drew out his notebook and looked at the slave master. “And I need a room – nothing fancy – where I can question them alone without others overhearing.”
The man looked from Dannyl to Achati uncertainly.
“Arrange it,” Achati ordered. As the man hurried away, the Sachakan magician turned to smile crookedly at Dannyl. “You really must learn to phrase your requests as orders, Ambassador Dannyl.”
“You have the greater authority here,” Dannyl replied. “And I am a foreigner. It would be rude of me to assume I could take control.”
Achati looked at him thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I suppose you are right.”
The slave master returned and then led them into the building to a small room that smelled of grain. The floor was covered in a fine dust patterned with the sweeping grooves of a broom. Particles hung in the beams of sunlight streaming in from a high window. Two chairs had been placed under the window.
“Well, it’s definitely not fancy,” Achati said, not hiding his amusement.
“Where would you suggest we question them?” Dannyl asked.
Achati sighed. “I guess it would be presumptuous if we’d questioned them in the Master’s Room, and guest rooms would have made it obvious we aren’t in charge here. No, I suppose this is an appropriate setting.” He moved to one of the chairs and sat down.
Dannyl took the other seat, then ordered the slave master to enter. The man related how two slaves had arrived with an empty cart, the male apparently new but lacking in muscle for a delivery slave, and the woman there to show him the route. While they’d loaded the cart one of the kitchen slaves had suggested to him that the pair might be the people they’d been warned to watch out for. She suggested drugging their food, as they would be less dangerous asleep.
At the mention of drugged food, Dannyl had to hide his dismay. Fortunately Lorkin and Tyvara hadn’t fallen for the trap. They’d slipped away.
He then questioned the woman who had suspected the pair weren’t who they said they were. As she entered the room, Dannyl noted that her gaze was sharp, though she gave him only one quick look before bowing her head and prostrating herself. He told her to get up, and she kept her gaze lowered.
Her explanation matched the slave master’s, including the contents of the message warning of two dangerous magicians posing as slaves.
“What made you think they were the people you’d been warned about?” Dannyl asked her.
“They were as described. A tall man with pale skin and a shorter Sachakan female.”
Pale skin? Dannyl frowned. The slave master didn’t mention Lorkin’s skin, and surely it would have been unusual enough for the man to notice. Wait… didn’t the woman I healed at Tikako’s home say Lorkin’s skin had been dyed?
Had the dye worn off, or was this woman feeding him the information she thought he expected?
“Tall, short, male, female – none of these things would make them stand out from other slaves surely. What made you notice they were different?”
The woman’s gaze, fixed on the floor, flickered. “The way they moved and talked. Like they weren’t used to following orders.”
So not the pale skin. Dannyl paused, writing down her answer as he considered what to ask next. Perhaps it was time to be more direct.
“A slave I spoke to a few days ago thought the woman was a Traitor and that they mean to kill the man she has abducted. Do you think it likely they will kill him?”
The woman was very still as she answered.
“No.”
“Do you know of the Traitors?”
“Yes. Every slave does.”
“Why do you believe it is unlikely the Traitors intend to kill the man?”
“Because if they wanted him dead they would have killed him, not abducted him.”
“What do you think they intend to do with him then?”
She shook her head. “I am only a slave. I do not know.”
“What do other slaves think the Traitors will do with him?”
She paused and her head lifted slightly before bowing again, as if she resisted the urge to look at him.
“I’ve heard some say,” she said slowly. “That the woman is a murderer. That the Traitors want you to find them.”
Dannyl felt a chill. Tyvara had killed a slave. What if that slave had been the Traitor, not Tyvara?
“Who said this?” he asked.
“I… I can’t remember.”
“Are there any slaves who are more likely to say this sort of thing than others?”
She paused then shook her head. “All slaves gossip.”
After a few more questions, he knew he would not get anything more out of her. She’d said all she wanted to say, and if she was withholding information he would not get it out of her voluntarily. He sent her away.
I’d wager she does know more. And then there’s the description of Lorkin’s pale skin. She wanted me to be sure Lorkin was here. Which makes sense if this rumour that the Traitors want me to find Tyvara and Lorkin is true.
But it could be a decoy. Still, the slave he’d helped at Tikako’s home had spoken the truth. Tyvara and Lorkin had come to his country estate.
What if the Traitors did want him to find the pair? Then they’ll make sure we find them. Though I can’t imagine Tyvara will let us capture her without a fight. And we’ll have to be prepared for any reaction from Lorkin. It’s possible she’s convinced him to accompany her – perhaps even seduced him – and he’ll resist being rescued.
He wanted to believe Lorkin was more sensible than that, but he had heard the gossip in the Guild that the young man had a weakness for pretty, smart women. Being the son of Black Magician Sonea and the late High Lord Akkarin didn’t mean the young man had any of his parents’ wisdom, either. Those characteristics could only come with experience. With making mistakes and choices, and learning from the consequences.
I just hope this isn’t a serious mistake, and that the consequences are the kind he can learn from, not ones that will lead to me spending the rest of my life in Sachaka for fear of what Sonea might do to me if I ever return to the Guild.
Lorkin would have thought that a male and female slave walking along a country road in the middle of the night would raise suspicion, but the few slaves they had passed had barely glanced at them. A carriage had overtaken them once, and Tyvara had hissed something about it probably containing a magician or Ashaki, but all she’d had him do was scamper off the road and keep his gaze lowered.
“If anyone asks, we’ve been sent out to work at Ashaki Catika’s estate,” she’d told him. “We’re both house slaves. We’re travelling at night because he wants us there by tomorrow evening and that means walking night and day.”
“Ashaki Catika is known for that sort of cruelty?”
“All Sachakan magicians are.”
“Surely there are one or two good magicians.”
“There are some who treat their slaves better than others, but ultimately enslaving another person is cruel, so I wouldn’t call any of them good. If they were good, they’d free their slaves and pay those willing to stay and work for them.” She glanced at him. “As Kyralians do.”
“Not all Kyralians are kind to their servants,” Lorkin told her.
“At least those servants can leave and find a new employer.”
“They can, but it is not as easy as it sounds. Servant positions are in high demand and a servant who quits may find it hard to get work elsewhere. Households tend to hire servants from the same family over servants they don’t know. Of course, a servant can try other work, like a trade, but they will be competing with families who have practised that trade for generations.”
“Do you think slavery is better then?”
“No. Definitely not. I am only saying the alternative isn’t easier. How well do Traitors treat their servants?”
“We are all servants. Just as we are all Traitors,” Tyvara explained. “The term isn’t like ‘Ashaki’ or ‘Lord’. It is a word for a people.”
“But not a race?”
“No. We are Sachakans, though we don’t often call ourselves that.”
“So even magicians do the tasks of servants? They clean and cook?”
“Yes and no.” She grimaced then. “At first that was how it was supposed to be. We would all do the same work. A Traitor might clean dirty dishes one moment and then vote on important decisions, like which crops to plant, the next. But it didn’t work. Some bad decisions were made because people who were not smart or educated enough to understand the consequences chose badly.
“We started a range of tests designed to find out what a person’s talent was and to develop it, so the best person would end up taking on the tasks that required their skills. Though that meant we weren’t all doing the same things any more, it was still better than slavery. So long as the tasks required for maintaining our home and feeding our people were met, nobody was forced to do a certain job, or prevented from doing something they were talented at, because of their family status or class.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Lorkin remarked.
She shrugged. “It works most of the time, but like all systems it’s not perfect. There are some magicians who would rather spend their time complaining and manipulating others than wasting their magic on tilling the fields or heating kilns.”
“Most Guild magicians would agree. But we do work for the people in other ways. Maintaining the port. Building bridges and other structures. Defending the country. Healing the sick and in-”
The look she cast him had stopped the words in his throat. It began as a savage glare, then turned into a troubled frown, and then she turned away.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Someone’s coming,” she said, looking into the shadowed road ahead. “Anyone we pass could be a Traitor. We shouldn’t be talking. Someone might overhear us and realise who we are.”
The approaching figure turned out to be another slave. From then on Tyvara would not speak, telling him to be quiet if he attempted to start another conversation. As the sky began to lighten, she began scanning the surrounding area as she had done the previous morning, eventually moving off the road to where some thin trees barely screened a field wall.
They’d hidden among some dense, prickly bushes the previous day. These trees weren’t going to provide the same cover, however. Tyvara was staring at the ground. Lorkin felt a vibration, then heard a strange tearing sound followed by something between a thump and a popping noise. A cloud of dust rose up beyond the wall and the air filled with the smell of grit and dirt.
Before their feet a hole appeared.
“In you go,” Tyvara said, gesturing toward the hole.
“In there?” Lorkin crouched and peered into the darkness. “Are you hoping to bury me alive?”
“No, foolish Kyralian,” she snapped. “I’m trying to hide us both. Get inside before someone sees us.”
He put his hands on either side of the hole and let his legs dangle inside. There was no floor that he could reach. The prospect of falling into darkness didn’t appeal, so he created a spark of light within the space. It illuminated a hollow space under the ground, the curved floor not far below his feet. He let himself drop, then crouched to avoid scraping his head on the “ceiling” as he moved further inside.
The hollow was globe-shaped, mainly situated below the wall. Two holes showed circles of brightening sky above the field, one that he had entered and another that he guessed had been the exit for the dirt. The inside of the hollow was no doubt restrained from falling in and burying him by Tyvara’s magic.
She dropped and slid in beside him, immediately folding herself down into a sitting position facing him. The space was small for two people, and her legs brushed up against his. He hoped the flash of interest this stirred in him didn’t show somehow. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, then she sighed and looked away.
“Sorry for snapping at you. It can’t be easy for you to trust me.”
He smiled ruefully. The trouble is, I want to trust her. I should be questioning every move she makes, especially after what she told me the other night. Well, I would, but when I get her talking something happens and she goes all silent on me again. She was watching him, her expression apologetic. Maybe I should try again.
“That’s fine. But it’s not the first time I’ve annoyed you tonight. What did I say, when we were discussing servants and the Traitors at the beginning of the night, that bothered you?” he asked.
Her eyes widened, then her mouth thinned into a line of reluctance. He thought she wasn’t going to answer, but she shook her head.
“I’ll have to explain eventually.” She grimaced and looked down at her knees. “Many years ago my people noticed that one of the Ichani that roam about the wasteland had a strange slave. A pale man, possibly a Kyralian.” Her gaze flickered up to meet his, then away. “Your father.”
Lorkin felt a chill run across his skin. Though he had heard the story before, his mother had always been reluctant to talk about this part of his father’s life.
“They watched for a long time and eventually realised that the slave was a Guild magician,” Tyvara continued. “This was unusual, as you may know already, as Sachakans don’t tolerate slaves knowing magic. If a slave develops powers naturally they will kill him, or her. Enslaving a foreign magician – especially a Guild magician – was extraordinary and dangerous. But this was no ordinary Ichani. He was cunning and ambitious.
“As my people watched, they guessed that your father did not know higher magic. Then, one day, the daughter of the leader of my people fell terribly ill and soon it was clear she was dying. Our leader had heard of the Guild’s skills in healing with magic. We’ve tried for many years to discover the secret for ourselves, without success. So our leader sent one of us out to meet your father and make an offer.” Tyvara’s face darkened. “She would teach him higher magic in exchange for Healing magic.”
She looked up at him. Lorkin stared back at her. His mother had never mentioned that his father had agreed to exchange anything for black magic, nor had anybody else in the Guild.
“And?” he prompted.
“He agreed.”
“He can’t – couldn’t – do that!” Lorkin blurted.
Tyvara frowned. “Why not?”
“It’s… it’s a decision only the Higher Magicians can make. And then probably only with the approval of the king. To give such valuable knowledge to another race… a people not of the Allied Lands… is too risky. And there would have to be something given in exchange.”
“Higher magic,” she reminded him.
“Which they would never have accepted in exchange. It is…” He caught himself. Revealing that black magic was forbidden would reveal the Guild’s greatest weakness. “It was not his decision to make.”
Tyvara’s mouth set in a disapproving line. “Yet he agreed to the offer,” she said. “He agreed to come to our home and teach us Healing – something he said that could not be taught in a moment, as higher magic can be. So he was taught higher magic and he used it to kill his master. Then he disappeared, returning to Imardin and breaking his promise. Our leader’s daughter died.”
Lorkin found he could not meet her accusing gaze. He looked at the ground and picked up a handful of dirt, letting it fall between his fingers.
“I can see why your people are angry with him,” he said lamely.
She drew in a deep breath and looked away. “Not all of them. One of my people travelled to Imardin later, when it was clear the brother of your father’s former master was preparing to invade Kyralia. She discovered that this Ichani had been sending spies into Imardin for some time, and that your father was killing them off in secret. It could be that your father returned home because he discovered the threat from his master’s brother.”
“Or he assumed you understood he had to persuade the Guild to allow him to teach you Healing before he could return.”
She looked at him. “Do you think that is true?”
Lorkin shook his head. “No. He could not have told them about you without revealing that he had…” – he had learned black magic – “… he had been enslaved here.”
“He broke his promise out of pride?” Her tone was disapproving, though not as much as he would have expected. Perhaps she understood why his father had been reluctant to tell his tale.
“I doubt that was the only reason,” he said. “He did reveal the truth when it was needed. Or most of the truth, as it turns out,” he added.
“Well,” she said, shrugging. “Whatever the reason, he didn’t keep his promise. Some of my people – the faction I mentioned the other night – want you punished for it.” She smiled crookedly as he looked at her in horror. “Which is why Riva was sent to kill you, against our leader’s orders. But the majority of us hold to the principle that we are better than our barbaric Sachakan cousins. We do not punish the child for the crimes of the parent.”
Lorkin sighed with relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”
She smiled. “Instead we give them a chance to make amends.”
“But what can I do? I am a mere Ambassador’s assistant. I don’t even know higher magic.”
Her expression became serious. “You could teach us Healing.”
They stared at each other in silence. Then she looked down.
“But, as you just pointed out, you haven’t the authority to give us that knowledge.”
He shook his head. “Is there anything else I can do?” he asked apologetically.
She frowned, her eyes fixed on the dirt wall as she considered. “No.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “This isn’t good. We have kept the other faction from gaining popularity by promoting the idea that you could give us what your father promised. When my people realise that you can’t give them Healing they will be disappointed. And angry.” She bowed her head. “Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t take you there. Perhaps I should send you back home.”
“Don’t you need me there to help prove that Riva tried to kill me against orders?” he asked.
“It would help my case.”
“Would going to Sanctuary to speak on your behalf improve my standing among your people?”
She frowned and looked at him. “Yes… but…”
As Lorkin considered that, he felt conflicting emotions. I was hoping to see her home and learn about her people – and find out what they know about stones with magical qualities. What will happen to her if I don’t go there? She killed one of her own people to save me. Though Riva was disobeying orders, they may still punish Tyvara. Perhaps even execute her. It doesn’t seem right to run away home when she might die for saving my life. And I don’t much like my chances of getting home – on my own or with Dannyl’s help – with black-magic-wielding Traitors all over Sachaka trying to kill me.
“Then I will travel with you to Sanctuary.”
Her eyes widened and she gazed at him. “Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “I am an Ambassador’s assistant. Perhaps not an actual Ambassador, but it is still my role to assist in establishing and maintaining friendly relations between Kyralia and Sachaka. If it turns out that there’s a part of Sachaka we’ve been failing to establish friendly relations with, it is my duty to ensure that part is not ignored or neglected.”
She was staring at him now, mouth open, though whether from surprise or disbelief or because he’d sounded like a complete idiot he wasn’t sure.
“And since my predecessor made such a bad impression on your people it is even more important that I do what I can to improve their view of the Guild and Kyralians,” he continued. Then he felt a giddying rush of inspiration. “And discuss the possibility of negotiating an exchange of magical knowledge, this time with the appropriate parties and processes involved.”
Tyvara’s mouth snapped shut and, for a moment, she regarded him with an intensity that he could only meet with a hopeful and foolish smile. Then she threw back her head and laughed. The sound echoed in the hole and she smacked a hand over her mouth.
“You are mad,” she said, when her shoulders had stopped shaking. “Fortunately for you it’s a madness I like. If you truly wish to risk your life coming to Sanctuary, whether to defend me or try to persuade my people to give you something in exchange for what they already feel they are owed… then I selfishly feel I shouldn’t try to dissuade you.”
He shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. For you saving my life. And for your people saving my father’s. Will you take me?”
“Yes.” She smiled grimly. “And if you help me then I will do all I can to help you survive when you get there.”
“That would be appreciated, too.”
She looked as if she would say something else, but then looked away. “Well, we have to get there first. It’s a long walk. Better get some sleep.”
He watched her curl up, tucking one arm under her head; then he lay down. It was impossible to find a comfortable position on the curved floor, and eventually he copied her, curling up on his side with his back to her. He could feel the heat from her body. No, don’t think about that, or you’ll never get to sleep.
“Could you turn the light out?” she murmured.
“Can I dim it instead?” The prospect of being underground in complete darkness did not appeal at all.
“If you must.”
He reduced the spark of light until it barely illuminated the two of them. Then he listened to the sound of her breathing, waiting for the slow, deep rhythm of sleep. He knew he was far too conscious of her body so close to his to fall asleep himself. But he was very tired…
Before long he had drifted into strange dreams, in which he walked along a road of dirt so soft he had to wade through it, while Tyvara, being lighter and more nimble, barely stirred the soil and was getting further and further ahead…
In the street below, on the other side, a man stopped and looked up at the window. Cery resisted the urge to shrink back out of sight. It was too late to avoid being seen, and the motion would confirm he should not be there.
“Uh, oh,” Gol said. “That’s the shopkeeper from next door.”
“Looks like he’s worked out his neighbour has some uninvited guests.”
The man looked away, down at the ground. After a moment his shoulders straightened and he strode across the street toward the shop. A loud rapping followed.
Gol rose. “I’ll get rid of him for you.”
“No.” Cery stood up and stretched. “I’ll take care of it. Stay here and keep watch. What’s his name, again?”
“Tevan.”
As Gol sat down again, he muttered something about it all being a waste of time. He’s probably right, Cery thought. The rogue won’t be coming back. But we may as well watch because we’ll look right fools if we’re wrong and she does come back. And we have no other clues to follow.
He walked out of the room and entered the stairway, descending to the ground floor. Pushing through the door to the storekeeper’s shop, Cery looked around with interest. They’d been using the back door, so he hadn’t been in here before. The room was full of fine ceramic bowls. He blinked and looked closer, then chuckled. They were all toilet basins, as finely painted and sculpted as vases or dinner ware.
Through the frosted glass door he could see the next-door shopkeeper’s hunched silhouette. The man had probably promised to keep an eye on his neighbour’s shop and house, and felt obliged to confront these trespassers. He was probably worried that he would regret it, too.
The front door was locked and there was no key in it or in any obvious hiding place close by. Cery was amused to find he had to pick the lock. Once unlocked, he opened the door, smiled at the shopkeeper and effected the sort of cultured accent merchants liked to use to impress rich customers.
“The shop is closed, I’m sorry.” Cery pretended to give the man a second look. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re… Tevan? You run the shop next door, correct?”
The man was of average height and carried the excess weight of a middle-aged man who hadn’t been forced to skip a meal in a long time – if ever.
“Who are you and what are you doing in Wendel’s house?” he demanded.
“I am Wendel’s cousin, Delin, and I am borrowing his house for the week.”
“Wendel doesn’t have a cousin. He has no family. He told me.”
“Second cousin, by marriage,” Cery explained. “He didn’t tell you I was staying here?” He frowned in mock puzzlement. “I suppose it was decided very late.”
“He didn’t. It’s not something he’s likely to neglect to tell me, either.” Tevan narrowed his eyes, then took a step backwards. “I’m calling on the Guard. If you’re lying you’d better get out while you have the chance.” The man turned and took a step away.
“The Guard’s like to get you and Wendel more rub than I ever will,” Cery said, dropping the accent and letting a little slum drawl colour his words. “Crawling all over this place breaking things looking for proof we were here, then saying you made it up. Let’s sort this out ourselves.”
Tevan had stopped, and now he looked at Cery with a worried frown.
“I only need be here for a week, maybe less,” Cery told him. “Wendel won’t see a sign I’ve been here. I’d pay him rent if he was about, but since he’s not here…” He reached into his coat, allowing the hilt of a knife to flash into sight briefly, and drew out a cap of gold coins he kept there for moments like these.
The man’s eyes widened. “A week?” he repeated. He looked transfixed by all the gold.
“Or less.”
Teran’s gaze rose to Cery’s. “Rent’s high around here.”
“Your house would be cheaper,” Cery replied.
Tevan swallowed. He looked at the coins again, then nodded. “What’s your going rate?”
“Half a gold per day,” Cery replied. He slipped the cap back into his coat. “You’ll find ’em dropped by your back door after I’m gone.”
The man nodded, but his mouth was set in a thin line of disbelief. Still, he didn’t voice his doubts. Instead he looked across the road.
“You’re watching something,” he said. “Or looking for someone. Anything I can help with?”
“Hoping to get rid of me sooner?” Cery asked. A look of confusion entered the man’s eyes. No, perhaps he thinks he’s found another way to turn a profit. “Well, if you’ve seen anything suspicious going on over there…”
Tevan frowned. “There’s a foreign woman keeps odd hours. The shoemaker says she rents his basement. We’ve never worked out what she does for a living. Too old and ugly to be whoring around, I’d have thought. My wife’s seen her at the market on Freeday mornings with the spice and herb sellers. We think maybe she…” – he leaned closer and lowered his voice – “unburdens young women of unwanted situations.”
Cery felt his heart skip, but kept his expression blank. Tevan looked at him expectantly.
“Not my line of interest,” Cery said, shrugging. “Anything else?”
The man shook his head. “Supposed to be a clean, honest area, this one. If anything is going on it’s well hidden.” He paused. “Is something going on?”
Cery shook his head. “Nothing you’d want to know about.”
“Right.” Tevan stepped away again. “Good luck then.”
“Good night.”
The man nodded, then turned away and headed for the shop next door. Cery closed the door and locked it, then jogged upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. At the top he paused to catch his breath. His heart hammered in his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Gol asked.
“Nothing. Not… as young… as I used to be,” Cery panted. He returned to his chair. “I should get out more often. Any sign of our rogue?”
“No.”
“Anyone pay much attention to the neighbourly exchange downstairs?”
“Not much.”
“Good. One of us needs to go to the Freeday market tomorrow. To the spice sellers.”
“Oh?”
“Our rogue apparently visits them regularly.”
“That’s Skellin’s territory.”
Cery cursed. Gol was right. While some Thieves did not mind others doing a little snooping around in their territory without permission – so long as the snooping wasn’t on their operations – others definitely did. Cery would wager that Skellin was the latter kind.
“I doubt he’d deny you permission,” Gol said.
“Yes, but to get permission I’d have to explain what I’m doing. And then he’d know I didn’t seek his help in finding someone I thought might be the Thief Hunter, when I said I would.”
“Just tell him the truth: you’re not sure it is, and you didn’t want to bother him until you had proof.”
“If he thinks there’s a chance I’m right, he’ll want to help us search for her,” Cery pointed out.
“We could do with the help,” Gol replied.
Cery sighed. “We could. But what will Sonea think of us involving another Thief?”
Gol gave him a serious look. “She won’t care, so long as the rogue is caught.”
“What will Skellin think of having to work with the Guild?”
“He won’t have any choice.” Gol smiled. “And from what you said about his interest in magicians, he might be thrilled at the chance.”
Cery regarded his friend thoughtfully. “You want me to ask for Skellin’s help, don’t you?”
Gol shrugged. “If this woman is the Thief Hunter, I want her caught quick. The sooner she’s gone the safer you’ll be.”
“And you.”
The big man spread his hands. “Is it wrong to want that?”
“Hmph.” Cery looked outside and saw the first of the lamp-lighters stride into sight. It was growing dark already. “Not at all. Once Skellin learns the Thief Hunter might be a magician, he’ll realise he has no choice but to work with the Guild. He’s not going to be able to catch or kill her himself.”
“So you’ll go see him?”
Cery sighed. “I guess I have to.”
Since Achati had not told Ashaki Tikako of his intention to visit his country estate, as it would have meant pointing out the humiliating fact that the man had not read his slave’s mind properly, he did not want to impose further by staying there for the night. Instead, he and Dannyl travelled further down the road to another estate, owned by an elderly Ashaki, and requested a meal and beds in the name of the king.
The old man and his wife were clearly unused to company and played host and hostess reluctantly. But custom dictated that they could not refuse the king’s representative. Achati took pity on them, eating sparingly and quickly, and the couple were happy to oblige when he indicated that both he and Dannyl were tired and would appreciate an early night.
Once settled in the guest rooms, they did not go to bed straightaway, but sat and discussed what they had learned.
“If the Traitors want us to find Lorkin, we’ll find him,” Achati said.
“You believe they have that much power and influence?”
The Sachakan grimaced as he nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. They have evaded us for centuries. Many previous kings have tried to flush them out, or find their base, but the Traitors have only grown better at what they do. King Amakira has said to me we could be better off leaving them alone, as they may grow weaker if they have nothing to strive against.”
Dannyl chuckled. “He may be right, but I doubt it.”
“Why is that?”
“Without conflict killing them off and taking up their time, they will raise families. They may grow weaker in fighting skills, but greater in numbers.”
Achati frowned thoughtfully. “Eventually there will be too many mouths to feed. They will starve.” He smiled. “So maybe the king is right after all.”
“Only if the Traitors remain hidden.”
“You think they’ll be forced to come out? To come begging for food?”
“Or they’ll choose to reveal themselves in other ways. How strong is your army?”
Achati snorted derisively. “Most likely a hundred times bigger and stronger than theirs. We know their base is in the mountains, where the land is harsh and infertile. They could not feed a population to match the rest of the country, so I doubt their army is the same size or larger than ours.”
Dannyl nodded in agreement. “Which is why they use cunning, secretive methods. I wonder… do you think they could overthrow the country merely by assassinating and manipulating the right people?”
Achati’s expression became serious. “It is possible, but if they could have done it before now, surely they would have.”
“The perfect opportunity may not have presented itself yet. It may require some new and extraordinary factor.”
Achati’s eyebrows rose. “Like the chance to abduct the son of a powerful Guild magician?”
“Do you think that would be extraordinary enough?”
“No.” He shook his head and smiled. “Manipulating Kyralia and Sachaka into a war would be too risky. What if Kyralia won? What if we resisted their manipulations, joined forces and attacked the Traitors together? The Guild may prove better at hunting them than we are.” He paused. “Which reminds me. Has the Guild responded to the news of Lorkin’s abduction yet?”
“No,” Dannyl looked away. I’m not going to be able to put this off any longer. Achati will start wondering why they’re taking so long. “That reminds me – I should check on their progress.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” Achati rose. “It’s late and I should get some rest. Tell me what they say in the morning.”
“I will.”
As the door to the Sachakan’s room closed, Dannyl reached into his robe and drew out Administrator Osen’s blood ring. He stared at it, running through his mind all the ways he’d considered phrasing the bad news, and choosing what he hoped was the best.
Then he slipped on the ring.
As Sonea opened the door to her rooms, she was surprised to find Administrator Osen standing outside with one hand raised ready to knock. The startled look on his face faded and he straightened.
“Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “I must speak with you.”
“It’s lucky we caught you before you left for the hospices,” another voice added.
She turned to see Rothen standing behind and to one side of the Administrator. At once she felt her stomach sink and her heart start to race. There’s that look again. Something’s happened to Lorkin…
“Come in,” she said, stepping back and beckoning impatiently.
Osen strode inside, followed by Rothen. She closed the door and turned to stare at the Administrator expectantly. He regarded her soberly.
“I must inform you that your son has…” Osen paused and frowned. “I’m not sure what to call it. It appears Lorkin has been abducted.”
Sonea’s legs lost all strength and she felt herself sway a little. Rothen took a step toward her, but she gestured for him to stop. She drew in a deep breath, forced herself to stand firmly and turned back to Osen.
“Abducted?” she repeated.
“Yes. By a young female magician posing as a slave. Ambassador Dannyl believes there is a possibility your son went willingly, but he’s not certain of it.”
“Ah.” A traitorous and seductive relief trickled through Sonea. Women. Why is it always women with Lorkin? She felt her heart slow to a calmer rhythm. “So this is more of a matter of social impropriety than impending and certain death?”
“We certainly hope so. But it is more complicated than that. It seems we are not the only people with an underground, secret and not entirely lawful society, and they may be involved.”
“Criminals?”
Osen shook his head. “Ambassador Dannyl described them as rebels. They call themselves the Traitors. It is rumoured that they are all women.” Osen’s eyebrows rose, hinting that he thought this unlikely. “They are also magicians – black magicians. The woman who abducted Lorkin is one. She killed another slave the same night and drained her of power. Dannyl is not sure whether the abductor is the Traitor and the slave just got in her way, or the dead slave was a Traitor and the abductor is not. Either way, the Traitors have indicated that they want her and Lorkin found, and apparently they have such influence that this makes the likeliness of that happening very good.”
Sonea took a moment to absorb that. “So when was Lorkin taken away?”
“Three nights ago.”
Sonea’s heart stopped. “Three nights! Why wasn’t I told immediately!”
“You are being told immediately.” Osen smiled wryly. “When I impressed upon the new Ambassador that he only contact me in the gravest of emergencies, he took me far too seriously. He expected to find Lorkin quickly, and only told me of the situation tonight.”
“I’ll kill him,” she muttered, moving away to pace the room. “If this woman is a black magician – do they have any other kind over there? – how is Dannyl going to force her to give Lorkin back?”
“He has the assistance of the Sachakan king’s representative.”
“What if she doesn’t want to be found? Who knows what she’ll do to survive? Threaten to kill Lorkin?” Sonea stopped, suddenly out of breath. She felt as if her lungs weren’t expelling as much air as she was drawing in. Her head was starting to spin. Grabbing the back of a chair, she forced herself to breathe slowly. When her head had cleared she turned to Osen. “I have to go there. I have to be there when they find him.”
Osen’s expression had been open and sympathetic. Now it closed in and became hard.
“You know you can’t do that,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling a deep fury rising. “Who would dare stop me?”
“The Guild must have two black magicians present at all times,” he reminded her. “The king will never allow you to leave Imardin, let alone Kyralia.”
“This is my son!” she snapped.
“And the Sachakan king might not appreciate us sending – or allowing – you into his country,” Osen continued, “making a politically dangerous situation worse, and implying his people can’t sort something like this out for themselves.”
“And what if they ca-”
“Lorkin isn’t stupid, Sonea,” Rothen interrupted quietly. “And neither is Dannyl.”
She stared at him, struggling to hold back a surge of hurt and anger that he was arguing against her. But if Rothen doesn’t think I should go…
“I don’t believe Lorkin would have gone with this woman if there hadn’t been a good reason.”
“What if that reason was he had no choice?” she argued.
“Then we must trust Dannyl. You know he would have told us straightaway if the situation was truly grim. If Lorkin is a hostage, then you will not be able to do more for him than Dannyl. Dannyl has experience at negotiation. He has the help of the Sachakans.” His voice hardened. “If you barge in there you could make the situation much worse, not just for Lorkin but for Kyralia and Sachaka.”
Suddenly she felt weak and drained. Helpless. What is the use of all this power if I can’t use it to save my own son?
But perhaps he doesn’t need saving, a faint voice said somewhere in the back of her mind.
Osen sighed. “I’m afraid I must forbid you to leave, Black Magician Sonea. Or to speak of this to anyone but myself, the king, High Lord Balkan and Lord Rothen.”
“Not even Akkarin’s family?”
He shook his head. “Not even them. As Lorkin’s mother you have a right to know what is happening, and I will keep you informed of the situation. I will be discussing ways that we may assist Lord Dannyl with High Lord Balkan tonight, including sending someone to help him. If we do that, I will let you know as many details as it is safe to reveal.”
You had better, she thought. “I will look forward to regular reports,” she said stiffly.
He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Good night, Black Magician Sonea.”
She followed him to the door, opening it with magic. Before he stepped out, he nodded politely to her. Then he was gone and she shut the door on the sound of his footsteps striding away down the corridor.
She turned to Rothen.
“I’m going anyway,” she told him, then headed for her bedroom. A small trunk sat upon the clothes cabinet. She lifted it with magic and set it on the floor.
“You won’t be let back in a second time,” Rothen told her, from the doorway.
She moved to the cupboard and opened it. It was full of black robes. “I don’t care. I’ll find Lorkin, then we’ll go travelling. It’ll be their loss, not mine.”
“I didn’t mean the Guild. I mean the country. The Allied Lands.”
“I know. There are lands beyond the Allied ones, you know.”
“Yes. But while the Guild can train another black magician to replace you, you will not find another Guild to replace it. You may not care about that, but will Lorkin?”
She was still staring at the robes. They were not what a magician ought to wear when casting off the shackles of the Guild. She wasn’t sure what a magician ought to wear when rebelling and storming out of the country, only that these were definitely not appropriate. But they were all she had.
I can’t believe I’m worrying about clothing right now!
“You need to find the rogue, Sonea.”
“Regin can find her.”
“Cery doesn’t trust him.”
“I don’t blame him,” she muttered. “Cery will have to make do.”
Rothen sighed. “Sonea.” His voice now had a fatherly, stern tone.
She crossed her arms, put on her best don’t-mess-with-me-I’ve-faced-worse-than-you-and-won stare, which made novices flinch and magicians reconsider their words, and turned to face him. “What?”
As always, he remained unaffected.
“You know you can’t go,” he told her. “You know you will more likely make Lorkin’s situation worse than better, and that after this is over he’ll need a safe, secure Guild to return to – with his mother in it.”
She stared at him, then cursed.
“Why are you always right, Rothen?”
He shrugged. “I’m older and smarter than you. Now, you and I need to discuss and make less obvious and destructive plans. For a start, I think we should send someone to Sachaka to act on our behalf.”
“Who?”
He smiled. “I have a few people in mind. Come sit down and I’ll tell you.”
The stream did not look healthy, even in the soft light of approaching dawn. A mere trickle winding sluggishly along a shallow ditch, it was fringed with green slime and smelled of mould and rotten vegetation. Tyvara was unperturbed. She dropped into a squat and scooped up a palmful of water.
Lorkin watched her stare at it for a moment, then gulp it down.
“You’ll make yourself sick,” he told her.
She looked up at him. “Don’t worry. I’m stripping it first.”
“Stripping?”
“Drawing out all the life within it. It’s still gritty with sediment, but that’s unpleasant, not dangerous. This is much faster and more efficient than what you do, since I’m taking energy, not using it. Are you going to drink? We can’t be sure when we’ll find water again.”
Lorkin looked at her hands, still dirty from the water. “I thought blood was the only substance magic can be drawn through.”
She smiled and scooped up more water. “You know that humans and most animals have a layer of magical protection that naturally sits about the skin?”
“Yes.”
“To reach past it you must break it, and the simplest way is by cutting the skin. Naturally that results in bleeding, so people think the blood is essential. It isn’t.” Her voice grew husky as she spoke. It had been too long since they’d found water. She paused to stare at the liquid cupped in her hands, then drank, before looking up at him again. “There are tiny forms of life in water – you can sense it even when you can’t see it – and they’re what make you sick. But they don’t seem to have a layer of protection, so it’s easy to draw their energy. You wouldn’t want to rely on such a feeble source, though.” She looked down. “Plants seem to have a weaker protection than animals. It’s possible to draw their power without cutting them, though it is slow and there’s so little to gain you wouldn’t bother.” She reached for another palmful of water.
Lorkin sighed and sat down. He drew magic and gathered up a cup’s worth of water from the stream, holding it within an invisible globe of force. The liquid was cloudy and unappealing. Sending out more magic, he heated the water until it boiled.
In Healing classes, where purifying water was taught, he’d been told it was best to boil the water for several minutes. But soon Tyvara had finished drinking and was watching him expectantly, obviously anxious to move on. He stopped heating the water and let it cool to a temperature he could bear to touch and drink. Thankfully by then the grit in the water had settled to the bottom, and he was able to scoop the cleaner water from the top. A few gulps later he was done, and they rose to their feet. Rays of sunlight were streaking through the tops of the trees that surrounded them. He hadn’t realised dawn had been so close.
“Where next?” Lorkin asked.
“Into the forest. I thought you’d appreciate sleeping above ground.
He grimaced. Though they’d slept in a hole underground each day for several days, he had grown no more comfortable with the knowledge that he was one magical barrier away from being buried alive. “I certainly would.”
“Come on then.”
Stepping off the road, she led the way into the trees, and Lorkin followed. At first he stumbled over obstacles, dodging branches that Tyvara pushed out of her way which then sprang back at him, his thin shoes catching on rocks and the uneven ground threatening to unbalance him. It took all his concentration to avoid tripping over. Tyvara drew further and further ahead, until she noticed he was falling behind and stopped to wait for him to catch up.
“Have you ever been in a forest before?” she asked.
“Yes. There’s one in the Guild Grounds, but it has pathways.”
“Ever left Imardin before this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because my mother isn’t allowed to leave the city. But he couldn’t tell her that without explaining why, and he wasn’t supposed to reveal how few Kyralians knew black magic or how it was regarded.
“Never had reason to.”
She shook her head in disbelief, then turned and continued through the forest. This time she appeared to choose her steps more carefully, and their path became much easier. Then he realised that it was a path. A very narrow path, but clearly someone or something had come this way often enough to wear a track in the undergrowth.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“No.”
“So you don’t know where this path goes.”
“It’s an animal track.”
“Ah.” He looked down and his heart skipped a beat. “So why are there shoe prints?”
Tyvara stopped and looked back to where he was pointing.
“The forest belongs to the Ashaki who owns this land. There will be slaves harvesting the wood, or hunting the animals that live here.” She frowned and looked around them. “I suppose this is as far as we can risk going. We should split up – but stay close enough that you can see and hear me. Look for thick vegetation. Or a hollow in the ground we could cover. If you find anything, whistle to me.”
He headed off to the right of the track. After roaming about for a while he found a place where a huge tree had fallen long ago. All that was left of the tree was a massive stump. Roots splayed out like protective arms, and thick, low bushes had grown around the disturbed soil. Guessing there would be a hollow where the roots had once been, he pushed through the bushes. A hole, half as deep as he was tall, remained.
Thick vegetation and a hollow, he thought with satisfaction. It’s perfect.
Turning to look for Tyvara, he saw her walking twenty or so strides away. He whistled, and when she looked up he beckoned. She headed over to him and pushed her way through the bushes. Stopping at the edge of the hole, she examined it with interest. She sniffed the air.
“Smells damp. You first.”
Lorkin drew magic, created a barrier in the shape of a disc, and stepped onto it. He lowered himself into the hole. The soil beneath the barrier was soft, and flattened as he reached the bottom. Removing the barrier, he felt himself start to sink further. The soil wasn’t just soft, but waterlogged. Muddy water welled up and into his shoes. One foot touched firm ground but the other kept going, and he threw out his arms and tried to step sideways to catch his balance.
But the mud held him firmly. He fell backwards and landed with a splash in a sticky, smelly mire.
The forest echoed with Tyvara’s laughter.
Looking up at her, Lorkin smiled ruefully. She has a great laugh, he thought. As if she doesn’t often laugh, but when she does she relishes it. He waited until she had stopped, then patted the mud beside him.
“Come on down. It’s damp, but much softer than those holes in the ground,” he told her.
She chuckled a little more, shook her head, then opened her mouth to speak. But something caught her attention. She looked up, then cursed quietly.
“You!” a voice called. “Come here.”
She did not look at Lorkin, but hissed words out between her teeth.
“Ashaki. He’s seen me. Stay hidden. Stay here.”
Then she walked away, disappearing through the bushes. Lorkin pushed himself up into a crouch. He listened carefully, and heard the tinkle of a horse’s harness somewhere behind him. Behind the fallen tree.
Moving to the mass of roots, he straightened and peered through them. A Sachakan man was standing beside a horse, staring at something below him. His clothing was not the decorated garb of an Ashaki, but it was well made and more practical for riding.
Then Lorkin saw the knife on the man’s belt. His mouth went dry.
“Get up,” the Ashaki said.
From the ground before him, Tyvara rose. Lorkin fought the urge to rush after her. She’s a magician. A black magician. She can look after herself. And probably more easily if she doesn’t have me to protect at the same time.
“What are you doing here?” the man demanded.
Her reply was meek and quiet.
“Where’s your water bottle? Your supplies?”
“I put them down. Now I can’t find them.”
The man regarded her thoughtfully. “Come here,” he said finally.
She took a step closer, her shoulders stooped. Lorkin felt his heart freeze as the man placed his hands either side of her head. I should stop this. He’ll learn who we are. But why would she let him read her mind? Surely once she knew what he intended she would have fought him off?
After a moment the man let her go.
“Seems you are as stupid as you say. Follow me. I’ll take you back to the road.”
As the man turned away to mount his horse, Tyvara glanced back at Lorkin and smiled. The triumph in her expression blew away his earlier alarm. He watched as she meekly followed the man away into the forest. When they were no longer in sight Lorkin turned and sat down on one of the thicker lower roots of the tree.
“Stay hidden. Stay here,” she said. I guess she means she’ll come back once the magician has led her to the road and gone on his way. He looked up at the position of the sunlight streaming between the trees and decided that, if she wasn’t back within what he estimated was an hour, he’d set out in search of her.
It was a long hour. Time dragged by. Sunbeams raked the undergrowth with excruciating slowness. As the mud dried, he scratched and brushed it off his skin and clothes. He tried to stop himself imagining what might happen to her, if the magician discovered who and what she was. He tried not to worry that the magician would find out he was here, come back for him and…
“Good to see you know how to follow orders,” a voice said behind him.
He whirled about to find her standing on top of the stump, smiling down at him. Heart pounding in his chest, he watched her step out into thin air and float down to hover in front of him.
“How did you do that?” he asked.
She frowned and glanced at the shimmering disc of magic just visible beneath her feet. “Same way you did.”
“Not levitation. Stopping him from reading your mind.”
“Ah. That.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you remember me telling you we have a way of making mind-readers see what we want them to see?”
He thought back to the first place they’d hidden, and of the other slave women. “Ah. Yes, I do. Some sort of blood gem, right?”
She smiled. “Might be. Might not be.”
Blood gem. Lorkin’s heart skipped. I could have used Mother’s ring while she was gone, but I forgot all about it! He’d been too concerned about Tyvara. He cursed under his breath.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “What if it had been me he’d spotted? My mind he’d read?”
“I’d have stopped him.” She shrugged. “While it’s always best to avoid confrontation, that isn’t always possible.”
“You’d fight him? Wouldn’t that draw attention to us?”
“It might.” She waved a hand at their surroundings. “But we’re well hidden. I’d try to finish him off quickly.”
“You’d kill him?”
“Of course. He’d come after us if I didn’t.”
“And when his body was discovered, someone else would come after us. Wouldn’t it be better overall if I could hide my thoughts?”
She chuckled. “Even if I was prepared to give the Traitors another reason to be angry with me, even if I thought we couldn’t reach Sanctuary without me revealing this secret to you, I couldn’t do it. I simply don’t have the materials or the time.”
He felt his heart skip. “It’s like a blood gem, isn’t it?”
She rolled her eyes again. “Lie down and go to sleep, Lorkin.”
He looked down at the mud, then up at her in disbelief.
“I was only joking, when I said it made a soft bed.”
She sighed and waved a hand at him.
“Stand back.”
He obeyed, sitting back on his former perch and, guessing what she planned to do, lifting his feet and soggy shoes out of the mud. Soon the air above the sludge began to mist. For a while they were bathed in hot steam, then the air cleared and he saw that only cracked, dried earth remained. Tyvara stepped off the disc of magic under her feet onto the hardened ground. She tapped her foot.
“Get some sleep while you can,” she said. “I’ll wake you in a few hours, then you can watch. I don’t think our host will return any time soon, but he clearly likes taking rides around his estate. We had better keep an eye out for him.”
Sighing, Lorkin lay down on the hard ground, and tried to do as she suggested.
A gentle autumn rain began to patter down on the garden at Sunny House, but the small stone shelter Cery and Skellin were sitting within kept them dry. Gol stood nearby, blinking rain out of his eyes as he watched Skellin’s bodyguard standing on the opposite side of the shelter. They were alone, the locals keeping indoors in the drab weather and the owner of the land mumbling to himself in another corner of the garden.
As Cery finished his brief description of what he and Gol had seen from the roof of the pawnshop, Skellin looked thoughtful.
“A woman, eh? Did you get a good look at her?”
Cery shrugged. “It was dark and we were watching from above, but I reckon I could pick her again. She’s got dark skin and hair. About this tall…” Cery held out a hand to indicate.
“Now that you know she has magic, how do you plan to catch her?”
“Oh, I only have to find her.” Cery shrugged. “It’s up to the Guild to capture rogue magicians. Which is just as well, because if she is the Thief Hunter neither you nor I have a hope of stopping her.”
Skellin’s eyes flashed with interest. “You’re working for the Guild!”
“Helping the Guild. If I was working for them I’d expect to be paid.”
“You’re not being paid?” Skellin shook his head and his expression became serious. “I suppose there are other benefits. When I heard about your family I figured you’d be looking for revenge. Your search for the murderer turned into a search for the Thief Hunter and now your search for the Thief Hunter has turned into a search for a rogue magician.”
“It’s been a wild few weeks,” Cery replied.
“I hope you’ll forgive me pointing out you’ve got a little off track.”
Cery nodded. “It still may turn out that the three are the same person. I guess we’ll find out once we’ve caught her.”
“If you can get the truth out of her.”
Cery opened his mouth to remind Skellin that black magicians were able to read the minds of unwilling subjects, then thought better of it. No point giving away that nugget of information until he had to. “Are you interested in helping us find her?”
The other Thief pursed his lips as he considered, then he nodded. “Of course I am. If she turns out to be a rogue magician at least I’ll have had the chance to make a few friends in the Guild. If she turns out to be the Thief Hunter it will be a boon to us all.” He rubbed his hands together. “So tell me: where did you last see her?”
“We saw a woman coming out of the pawn-dealer’s shop that looked like her, so I sent Gol after her.” As Cery described the basement the woman had used, and the underground tunnel leading away from it, Skellin frowned.
“I didn’t know there were passages there,” he said. “The rebuilding was supposed to have destroyed them. But I guess if you have magic it would be easy and fast to build yourself a new one.”
“I’m a little behind on the borders. Whose territory is it currently part of?”
Skellin grimaced. “Mine, actually.” He met Cery’s surprised gaze, then smiled crookedly. “Do you know what’s going on in every corner of yours at all times?”
Cery shook his head. “Probably not. I don’t have many areas where so much rebuilding has gone on, either. One of the other shopkeepers said she’d been seen in the nearby market, buying herbs.”
“I’ll check it out,” Skellin told him. “And see if any of my contacts have heard of a woman like you describe lurking around. Sounds like she’d be the sort to stick to herself. Which, of course, always makes a person stand out. If I hear anything I’ll let you know. We can set a trap for her and send for your Guild friends.”
Cery nodded. “And I’ll let you know if I track her down.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Skellin said, smiling. “I don’t want to miss out on my chance to meet a few Guild magicians.” His eyebrows rose. “One of them wouldn’t happen to be your famous childhood friend, would it?”
“It might be. But if you want to meet Sonea, you only have to visit one of the hospices.”
“Then I’d have to pretend to be sick.” Skellin shrugged. “And I don’t think she’d like me taking the place of someone who needed her help.”
“No. Probably not. So you never get sick?”
“Never.”
“Lucky you.”
Skellin grinned. “It’s been pleasant talking to you again, Ceryni of Northside. I hope we will meet again soon, and that I have good news for you.”
Cery nodded. “Looking forward to it. Safe journey home.”
“You, too.”
The other Thief turned to his bodyguard and strode away. Stepping out from the shelter, Cery drew his collar in close to keep out the rain and walked over to Gol. The big man said nothing at first, falling into step beside Cery as they headed back. Then, when Sunny House was far behind them, he asked how the meeting had gone. Cery went over the details.
“I didn’t know Skellin’s territory stretched that far,” Gol interrupted.
“Neither did I,” Cery replied. “It’s been too long since we found out where the boundaries were.”
“I can find out for you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Gol chuckled. “Of course you were.”
Why hasn’t he used the ring?
Sonea rose from her chair and paced to the window. Sliding across the paper screen, she stared out over the Guild and sighed. Perhaps Lorkin hadn’t found the blood ring among his possessions. Perhaps it was still at the Guild House in Arvice, deep in his travelling chest.
That thought left her uneasy. With Dannyl and Lorkin both absent from the Guild House, was it possible a snooping slave might find the ring? If it fell into the wrong hands… she shuddered. One of the Sachakan Ichani who had invaded Kyralia twenty years ago had caught Rothen and made a gem from his blood, then used it to send Rothen mental images of all his victims. If Lorkin’s abductor found the ring and used it to send her images of her son being tortured…
Her heart froze. I don’t think I could bear it. I’d agree to their demands, no matter what they were. Rothen is right. It would make the situation worse if I were there. I only hope, if they find the ring, they realise the maker is too far away for it to be effective as a tool of persuasion.
She paced away from the window, circling the room. Her shift at the hospice wouldn’t begin for another few hours. The Healers there had grown bolder since offering to conceal her absence if she needed to venture into the city. They had grown almost annoyingly protective of her, pestering her with questions about how much sleep she was getting if she arrived early for a shift or stayed later.
But if Cery finds the rogue, it’ll be easier and faster for him to contact me at the hospice. I wish he would contact me. Chasing after this woman would at least keep me busy enough to stop fruitlessly worrying about Lorkin for a while.
At once she felt the deep pit of anxiety in her stomach open up and thoughts of what might happen to her son threatened to spill out. She forced her mind elsewhere. The rogue, she thought. Think about the rogue.
It had been only a few days since their failed attempt to catch the woman, but it felt like far longer. She considered the passage entrance they’d found. If the woman had access to the Thieves’ Road did that mean she had links to a Thief? It would have done once, but the old rules and restrictions were no longer in place in Imardin’s underworld.
Another possibility disturbed her. If the woman had access to the Thieves’ Road, did she know about the tunnels under the Guild?
A knock at the main door interrupted Sonea’s thoughts. She rose and hurried toward it. Perhaps it was Rothen. Maybe he had news of Lorkin. Even if it were someone else, at least they’d provide some distraction from her thoughts. A small twist and push of magic unlatched the door and swung it inward.
Regin stood outside. He inclined his head politely.
“Black Magician Sonea,” he said.
“Lord Regin.” She hoped her disappointment didn’t show in her face.
“Have you heard anything?” he asked, lowering his voice.
“No.”
He nodded and looked away. It struck her then that it was unexpectedly considerate of him to stop by and enquire about Lorkin, and she felt guilty for the hostility she felt toward him. She opened her mouth to thank him, but he continued on without realising she had been about to speak.
“I’ve made some enquiries and they’ve led to a few small ideas,” he said, then shrugged and looked at her. “Probably not worth the trouble and they may clash with your friend’s plans, but I thought I should share them with you.”
My friend’s plans? Suddenly Sonea understood. He was not talking about Lorkin, but about Cery and the hunt for the rogue. She shook her head. Of course, he doesn’t even know about Lorkin. I’m such a fool…
“No?” Regin took a step back, seeing her shake her head. “I can come back another time if it is more convenient.”
“Yes – come in. I’d like to hear your ideas,” she told him, beckoning and moving aside. He looked at her questioningly, then smiled faintly and stepped past her into her main room. She gestured to the chairs, inviting him to sit down, then closed the door with magic.
“Sumi?” she asked.
He nodded. “Thank you.” He watched her move to a side-board where she kept a tray containing the sumi-making utensils. “I thought you didn’t like sumi.”
“I don’t, but it’s growing on me. Raka makes me a bit edgy these days. Tell me about your ideas.”
As he began explaining, she carried the tray to the chairs and started making the hot drink. She forced herself to listen. He had met with a few of the magicians he suspected of having links to underworld traders, having befriended them a few months earlier in order to gain information for the Hearing.
Regin grimaced. “They were quite pleased about the result of the Hearing. Changing the ban from associating with criminals to working for them means they can help out their lowlife friends without censure – so long as they don’t get paid for it in any obvious way.” He sighed. “They’re quite pleased with us, which at least has the advantage that they’re still happy to talk to me. And to complain about a certain foreign magician receiving money in exchange for using magic.”
“Foreign, eh?” Sonea handed him a cup. “Cery said the rogue is foreign.”
“Yes.” Regin’s expression became thoughtful, his head tilting slightly as he considered her. “The law against anyone outside the Guild learning and practising magic isn’t always a practical one. It has worked only because the Allied Lands all agreed to it. But what of magicians from other lands? If they set foot on Allied soil and happen to use magic, they immediately break a law. That hardly seems fair.”
“Or practical,” Sonea agreed. “The king and Higher Magicians have been discussing this for years now. Of course, we are hoping that Sachaka will eventually join the Allied Lands and their magicians will become members of the Guild and bound by our laws. Achieving the first may be difficult, since they’d have to give up slavery. The second, in comparison, seems impossible.”
“The other alternative is to change the law.”
“I doubt the Guild would want to relinquish its control of magicians, especially foreign ones.”
“They’ve only ever been concerned with controlling those living in the Allied Lands,” Regin said. “But visitors from other lands might be allowed to enter them without the obligation to join the Guild.”
“With some time restriction to their visit, I hope.”
“Of course. And no trading of magic for profit.”
Sonea smiled. “Can’t have the Guild getting any poorer.”
Regin chuckled. “If the reactions of my magician friends with dubious connections are anything to go by, no foreign magician would gain permission to trade for long.”
“Do they know where this foreign magician is?”
He shook his head. “I could set them digging for information, if you think it won’t clash with Cery’s plans.”
She sipped her cup of sumi and considered, then nodded. “I’ll ask him. In the meantime it won’t hurt if they keep their ears open and pass anything on to you.”
Regin grimaced and set down his empty cup. “It’ll only hurt my sense of good taste. They’re hardly the sort of company I like to keep. Their idea of entertainment is…” His nose wrinkled. “Crude.”
Sonea kept her expression neutral. Regin had always been a snob. But then, there were plenty of magicians from the Houses, and not just the lower classes, whose liking for intoxication, whores and gambling were well known and disapproved of. Like some of Lorkin’s friends, it seems, she thought, remembering the young magicians found in a playhouse. Maybe Lorkin is better off away from Imardin.
Then the whole painful truth about his adventures in Sachaka flooded back, and she winced. Rising, she moved the sumi utensils and empty cups back to the side table.
“Hopefully Cery will find her soon, and you won’t have to deal with them,” she said. Turning back to Regin, she was relieved to see he’d taken the hint and risen to his feet. “Thank you for coming by.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you for hearing me out. I’ll let you know as soon as I have any further information.” He turned to the door and, as she opened it with magic, walked out.
She closed the door, leaned on the back of a chair and sighed. A few minutes’ distraction, at least. Is it too soon to go to the hospice? She looked at the mechanical timepiece that Rothen had given her last year. Yes.
Sighing again, she went back to pacing the room and worrying about her son.
After one night at the old Ashaki’s home, Achati and Dannyl had travelled north-west for half of a day, then stopped at the estate of Achati’s cousin, Ashaki Tanucha. Though not much younger than the previous host, Tanucha was clearly a far wealthier and more sociable man. His much younger wife, in her middle years, only appeared at dinner and was otherwise busy looking after their seven children, including five boys.
“Seven! I know it’s more a city man’s viewpoint, but it seems a touch irresponsible,” Achati said to Dannyl quietly when they retired to the guest rooms after dinner. “Only one can inherit. He must find occupation for the rest. The daughters will be married as best can be arranged, of course. But the sons…” He sighed. “Landless and dependent on their brother, as will be their sons – if they can attract wives at all.” He shook his head. “This is how Ichani come to be.”
“They rebel against their brothers?”
“Against the whole country. It is better that younger sons are not trained in magic, but it is rare for a parent who loves his child to withhold that knowledge, since it means the younger son will have such low status.”
“Younger sons are more likely to become magicians in Kyralia,” Dannyl told him. “Magicians are not supposed to involve themselves in politics, and it’s considered better if the son destined to become the head of the family is the one with political influence.”
Achati nodded thoughtfully. “I think I like your way better. It gives power to both older and younger sons.”
They spent the next day riding around Tanucha’s estate, and the evening in eating and talking. Afterwards Achati and Dannyl chatted late into the night. The next day they slept late, then explored Tanucha’s library, which was disappointingly small and neglected. Though the rest was welcome, Dannyl could not relax. When they retired to the guest rooms for the second night he asked Achati when they would be moving on.
“That depends on the Traitors, doesn’t it?” Achati replied as he reclined on the pillows in the central room.
“Surely we’re not going to wait around for them to deliver Lorkin and Tyvara to us?” Dannyl said, sitting down on one of the stools. He could not get used to lying about on the floor as the Sachakans did.
“Why not? If we keep moving they may not know where to find us. Or we may end up travelling in the wrong direction – away from those who are bringing them to us.”
Dannyl frowned. “I’m not sure why, but I can’t picture these Traitors turning up at the front gate of Tanucha’s estate with Lorkin and Tyvara in chains. They wouldn’t reveal themselves like that.”
“Then how do you think they’ll do it?”
Dannyl considered. “If I were them… I’d lead us to Lorkin and Tyvara. I’d leave us clues or directions – as they have already – so that we will eventually cross paths with the pair.”
“Have they left us any clues or directions lately?”
“No,” Dannyl admitted. “But they haven’t told us to stay put, either.”
Achati laughed. “I am growing very fond of you, Ambassador Dannyl. You have a unique mind.” He turned to one of his slaves, a handsome young man who attended to most of his needs, while the other slave’s role appeared to be to do heavy work and drive the carriage. “Get us some more water, Varn.” The slave picked up a pitcher and hurried away.
“Of course, telling us that they want us to find Lorkin could still be a decoy,” Dannyl said.
“So if it was, then where would we go next?”
Dannyl shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know. If the Traitors did want the girl and Lorkin to evade us, where would they take them?”
“To their mountain home.”
“And which direction has the pair been heading?”
“The mountains.”
“Presumably they are ahead of us.” Dannyl looked up at Achati. “That is the direction I would go.”
Achati nodded, then raised an eyebrow in warning. “We don’t know where their home is,” he reminded Dannyl. “Only that it is in the mountains.”
“I haven’t forgotten that. Have you ever used trackers?”
“Occasionally. When we had a confirmed Traitor to follow.”
“And it failed because?”
“The tracks always stop.” Achati shrugged. “The Traitors are not fools. They know how to erase signs of their passing. Which is not hard when your land is mostly bare rock and you can levitate.”
Dannyl frowned, then shook his head. “If the Traitors wanted us to stop and stay put, or change direction, they’d have let us know.”
“This whole journey and all the clues we’ve followed could have been a ruse,” Achati pointed out. “Designed to keep us busy and heading in the wrong direction.”
“Then it doesn’t matter if we keep going. They’ve already made fools of us. But if there’s a chance they haven’t, and we’re on the right track, then I’m willing to risk being made a slightly bigger fool by continuing toward the mountains. It’s worth it, for the chance we’ll find Lorkin.”
Achati regarded Dannyl thoughtfully, then nodded. The slave returned and handed him the pitcher. “Then we’ll leave. Will the morning be soon enough?” He refilled his goblet but paused to wait for Dannyl’s answer.
Dannyl looked at the man, noting signs of reluctance. I shouldn’t push him too far, he thought. He nodded. “Of course. But early in the morning would be best.”
Achati sighed, nodded, then drained his goblet. “I’ll send a slave to inform Tanucha we’ll be moving on, and request some supplies for the journey. There are fewer estates out by the mountains, and they don’t tend to be that prosperous. We’ll also need some magical support. I’ll contact the king and ask him to send some locals to help us.” With a grunt, he rose to his feet. “Don’t wait for me. Go to bed. This could take some time.”
Magical support. Contacting the king. Dannyl felt a twinge of apprehension. He really does think these Traitors are dangerous.
“Ashaki Achati?” Dannyl said.
The man turned to look back at him. “Yes?”
Dannyl smiled. “Thank you.”
Achati’s frown disappeared and his eyes warmed with good humour. “I think I could get to like Kyralian ideas of manners.” Then he turned and disappeared through the door to his room.
Lorkin opened his eyes. The sky was streaked with orange clouds. He frowned. He’d been dreaming, but he couldn’t remember anything of the dream. Something had woken him. He had that unpleasant, disorienting feeling of being disturbed. Of being wrenched awake before he was ready.
He felt something move against him, and his heart was suddenly pounding.
Lifting his head he saw that Tyvara had fallen asleep. Sitting up against the wall of the old ruin, she had sagged sideways against a protruding stone, and bent her right leg instinctively to avoid toppling sideways. Her knee had come to rest on his arm.
Her skin was wonderfully warm – a stark contrast to the cold ground beneath him and the growing chill of approaching night. Though Sachaka was warm during the day, the evenings could be surprisingly cold.
What should I do? If I move she’ll wake up. But she’s supposed to be keeping watch, and it’s nearly time for us to head off anyway. She needed the sleep, though. She’d been taking longer shifts keeping watch at night, despite him arguing that she could trust him to share the burden. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he could Heal away the weariness. It would be insensitive, considering what his father had promised the Traitors, then failed to deliver.
The cold air told him that she had also let fall the magical shield protecting them, so he put up one of his own, then warmed the air inside it. Keeping still so he didn’t disturb her, he watched her sleeping. The dark circles under her eyes and the little frown creasing her forehead bothered him. But being able to look at her closely without disturbing or embarrassing her… he could appreciate the feminine curve of her jaw and the exotic tilt of her eyes, the curve of her lips…
Which twitched, and he quickly looked away.
He felt her hastily throw up a shield as she woke up and realised she’d dropped hers, so he drew his own in to surround himself. Listening to her draw in a deep breath, then yawn, he considered the ruins they were hiding within. Though Tyvara had been here before, she didn’t know anything about their history. High on a rocky hill, they overlooked the intersection of the road they had been following where it met another. As the sun had risen, just after they’d arrived, he’d been able to pick out details of the mountains, which before had been only a hazy, uneven line of blue-grey at the horizon. Below them was mostly level farmland, broken here and there by plantations of trees or game forests, and criss-crossed by low walls.
“How far away are we?” he had asked.
“Three or four more nights walking to the foothills, then several more to climb into the mountains.”
Now he looked at the area surrounding the hill, checking for signs of life.
“Mind if I have a look around?” he asked as Tyvara rose to her feet and stretched.
She looked up at the sky, which was now a deep scarlet, but the night was not quite dark enough for continuing their trek. “Go ahead. Just keep out of sight of the road.”
“I will.”
They’d sheltered within an open square of walls. He rose and headed for one of the gaps, intending to have a closer look at the outside of the building.
A woman stepped into the gap.
He skidded to a halt. The woman was dressed as a slave, but her demeanour was all wrong. She was smiling at him, but the smile was not friendly. She took a step toward him, her eyes narrowing. Instinctively, he strengthened his shield.
His instinct proved correct. The woman’s nose wrinkled with concentration, and his shield vibrated violently as magic battered it. The air between them shimmered. He backed away.
The woman’s stare was cold and intent. He had no doubt she meant to kill him. Fear set his heart pounding. He felt a growing urge to run. Which would be sensible, he thought. She’s got to be a Traitor, which means she’s a black magician, which means she’s a lot stronger than me.
But before he had even finished that thought, Tyvara stepped past him. The woman’s gaze shifted to her. He felt a giddy rush of relief. Tyvara stopped a step in front of him and he felt her shield envelop his own. Though the battering stopped, he kept his shield strong within hers, in case her own faltered.
“Stop this, Rasha,” Tyvara said.
“Only if you do,” the woman replied.
“Do you swear you will not strike at me or Lorkin?”
“I swear I will not strike you. But he,” the woman’s gaze shifted back to him, “must die.”
Lorkin shivered. But he also noted that the woman had stopped striking at Tyvara.
“The queen ordered that he was not to be killed.”
“She has no right to tell us we cannot have our revenge,” Rasha hissed.
“Ishira was the first to die.”
The woman’s eyes flashed with anger. “First or last, what does it matter?”
“She was my playmate. Do you think I didn’t miss her? Do you think I didn’t grieve?”
“You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child!” the woman shouted.
“No,” Tyvara replied, an edge to her voice. “But I would consider the queen an example of how to live with the loss, not those who would murder someone else’s child for their parent’s mistakes or crimes.”
Rasha stared at Tyvara, her face a mask of hatred. “Not everyone can be so forgiving. Not of that. And not of you murdering one of your own people.” The woman’s eyes gleamed. “You’re wasting your strength protecting him. Let me have him.”
“Once you kill him, what will you do with me?” Tyvara sounded remarkably calm, Lorkin noted. But she stood braced as if she expected another attack any moment. She’s trying to keep the woman talking. Well, I hope she is. She could also be about to start bartering my life for her own.
“You’re coming back to Sanctuary with me. All Traitors need to know that the queen would rather one of our own died than the son of the man who killed her daughter.”
“Actually, the queen would rather people obeyed her orders. Then nobody would get killed,” a high voice said. “It’s quite a reasonable order, and good for everybody.”
Rasha stepped to the side and turned in one movement. Another woman dressed as a slave stood within the gap, leaning against the wall in a deliberately nonchalant pose.
“Chari,” Tyvara said, relief and warmth in her voice.
The newcomer gave them all a cheerful smile, then stepped into the building with all the poise of a young Kyralian woman making a grand entrance at a ball or party.
“I have fresh, shiny orders from the queen,” she told them. “Lord Lorkin is not to be harmed. Tyvara is to be brought to Sanctuary to be put on trial for the murder of Riva.” She turned to Rasha. “Since I outrank you, this little task falls to me. You had better run along, before your master realises you’re gone and sends a whipping party after you.”
Rasha stared at Chari for a moment, then she hissed and stalked through the gap in the wall. The snap and crack of the woman pushing through the spiny bushes covering the hill could be clearly heard.
Chari turned to regard Tyvara. “You’re in so much trouble.”
Tyvara smiled. “Thanks for stepping in. How’d you know where we were?”
The young woman shrugged. “I didn’t. I was keeping an eye out for you, of course, but I didn’t think you’d come here. It’s the most obvious hiding place in this area. What were you thinking?”
Tyvara shrugged. “I don’t know.” She rubbed her face, her weariness suddenly plain to see. “We’d done so well… I thought maybe people were assuming we wouldn’t head for Sanctuary.”
Chari shook her head. “It’s just as well I was keeping an eye on Rasha. She’s head watcher at the estate next to mine and she’s been sweating on catching you. When I heard she’d gathered together a group and was heading out to get you I slipped away and followed.”
“A group?” Tyvara frowned. “Where are the others?”
“Fortunately for you, she told them to wait so she could go on ahead and knock off your new friend here.” Chari glanced at Lorkin and smiled. “I got to them first and told them to go home.”
“I outrank you,” Lorkin recalled her saying to Rasha. She’s obviously a fairly powerful Traitor. And if they have ranks then they aren’t as equal as Tyvara says.
“Well… thank you for that.” Tyvara paused. “So what are you going to do with us?”
Chari did not answer. She looked down, pursed her lips and walked a few steps closer. She stopped a few steps away, then looked at Tyvara searchingly. “Is it true?”
“Yes.”
Chari nodded and sighed. “Riva was a troublemaker. If anyone was going to give you reason, she would.”
Tyvara shook her head. “If there had been any other way…”
“Well, good for you for not denying it. What are your plans?”
“To go home and sort this out.”
Chari’s gaze shifted to Lorkin and moved from his head to his feet and back again. “What about him?”
Lorkin decided to ignore that he was being discussed as if he wasn’t there. He inclined his head politely. “Honoured to meet you, Chari of the Traitors.”
The woman grinned and walked over to face him. “I like him. Honoured to meet you, too, Lorkin of the Guild.”
“He has offered to return with me, to speak in my defence at the trial.” Tyvara’s words were quiet.
Chari’s eyebrows rose. “And are you wanting to go with her?” she asked of him.
“Yes.”
Her expression became both approving and appraising. “You’re a brave man. Are you going to give us what your father didn’t?”
“We’ll discuss that when we get there,” Tyvara replied before he could respond.
The young woman chuckled. “I’m sure you will. Of course, that’s not what’s supposed to happen,” she told him. “You’re supposed to be returned to Arvice. We’re certainly not meant to bring you back to our secret home. I’ll have to get permission for that.”
“How long will that take?” he asked.
Chari considered. “Six or seven days. We can shorten that by meeting Speaker Savara at the tanners’ huts.” She glanced at Tyvara. “Savara was Tyvara’s mentor – and mine – and is one of our leaders. If you still want to come to Sanctuary, you’ll have to talk her into taking you.”
“How would I best do that?”
Chari shrugged.
“With your usual charm and enthusiasm,” Tyvara told him. “Don’t make any promises, though. My people will regard them with suspicion, if they believe them at all. You only need to mention you are willing to consider making amends for your father’s betrayal, not specify how.”
He nodded. “I can do that.”
Tyvara smiled. “I’m looking forward to watching you try.”
“As am I,” Chari said. She looked down at his shoes. “How are your feet?”
“Well used.”
“Fancy a cart ride? We have a load of feed headed for one of the outer estates tomorrow. I’m sure there’s room for two more slaves.”
Lorkin looked at Tyvara. “We can trust her?”
She nodded. “Chari is an old friend of mine. We trained together.”
He smiled at Chari and inclined his head. “Then I accept. In fact, it sounds like an offer too good to refuse.”
“Then don’t.” Chari smiled brightly. “I can offer you more comfortable beds at my estate than a bit of dirt in an old ruin. And,” she leaned toward Lorkin and sniffed, “a bath.”
Lorkin looked toward Tyvara. She was frowning.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing.” Sighing, she looked at Chari. “Are you sure Lorkin is safe at your estate?”
The young woman grinned. “The master’s a sweet old drunk. I make all the decisions there, including which slaves he buys. There’s not one slave there I didn’t approve of, and the few times Speaker Sneaky has tried to get one of her girls in I’ve found them somewhere else to be.”
Tyvara shook her head slowly. “You’re going to be a very scary woman if you ever decide to take a place at the Table.”
“You can bet on it.” Chari grinned. “So you’d better stay on my good side. And you’ll have a better chance of that if you have that bath. Come on. Let’s get home before the master misses me.”
“She wouldn’t ask to meet you if there wasn’t good reason,” Gol said as he hurried after Cery.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Cery retorted.
“Well… all I’m saying is she’s a sensible girl.”
“I’d much rather she was not sensible with no good reason to see me.” Cery scowled. “If she’s sensible and has a good reason then there’s a better chance something bad has happened.”
Gol sighed and said nothing more. Cery wove past boxes and tubs of rotting food in the alley. At least I know that Anyi is still alive, he thought. Gol had occasionally tried to find her, and Cery had been pleased that he’d failed – and tried to tell himself it was because she’d succeeded in hiding rather than because her corpse had never been found or recognised.
Near the end of the alleyway he stopped and hammered on a door. After a short pause, the door swung inward and a man with a scarred face ushered them inside. A familiar woman stepped out of a side door to meet them.
“Donia,” Cery said, managing a half-smile. “How’s business?”
“The usual,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting into a wry smile. “Good to see you again. I’ve got the rooms set the way you like. She’s waiting up there.”
“Thanks.”
He and Gol climbed the stairs. Worry made him edgy, and he couldn’t help glancing through doorways and around corners for signs of ambush. Though Cery did not think Donia would betray him willingly, he never discounted the chance that someone would remember they had been friends in their youth, and set a trap for him in her bolhouse. Or spy on him. He always had Donia empty the top-floor rooms either side of and below the one he held meetings in, so nobody could eavesdrop.
Reaching the door of the same room he had met Anyi in last time, he was amused to see her sitting in the exact position he had been in during the previous meeting. Keeping his expression neutral, he followed Gol inside. The big man looked around the room, then closed the door. Cery looked closely at his daughter.
There were dark circles under her eyes and she appeared to be even thinner, but her gaze was sharp and unflinching.
“Anyi,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’ve kept out of trouble.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “It’s good to see you’re still alive, too. Any luck catching my brothers’ murderer?”
He felt a familiar wrench of grief. “Yes and no.”
“Which means what?”
Cery suppressed a sigh. Her mother had disliked evasive answers, too.
“I’ve been tracking someone, but I won’t be sure if it is the right someone until I catch them.”
She pursed her lips, then nodded. “Why have you let brazier houses open in Northside?”
He blinked in surprise. “I haven’t.”
“You don’t know about them?” Her eyebrows rose and her attention shifted to Gol. “He doesn’t know?”
“No.” Cery glanced at Gol. “But we do now.”
“You’ll shut them down?”
“Of course.”
She frowned. “But you won’t do it yourself, will you? Not in person.”
He shrugged. “Probably not. Why do you ask?”
“One opened next to where I was staying. It’s why I’m not staying there now. Nasty, nasty people. I heard them talking to the previous owner. The walls are pretty thin so it wasn’t hard to listen in.” Her eyes narrowed. “They told the man they were going to take his house and shop. They said if he told anyone they’d do things to him and his family. There was a woman with a strange accent – nothing I’ve ever heard before. She said something and then the bootmaker yelled. When his wife got home after they’d gone, I heard him telling her what had happened. He said they’d hurt him with magic.” Anyi looked at Cery intently. “Do you think that’s possible, or did they trick him?”
Cery stared back at her. If this is the rogue… if it is the Thief Hunter… is she worming her way closer to Skellin by working for his rot-sellers? “A strange accent,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Did you get a look at her?”
“No. But there have been rumours of rogue magicians in the city for years. It kind of makes sense if they’re foreigners. Magicians from countries outside the Allied Lands aren’t going to be part of the Guild.” She paused, then shrugged. “Of course, she could’ve been faking it.”
Cery nodded approvingly. “You were right to leave. Better to assume she has magic and get out of there. Have you got another hiding place?”
She scowled. “No. I had a few, but they’ve all been spoiled in one way or another.” She looked up at him. “You’re doing okay, from the look of it.”
“I’m not sure how much of that is because of what I’ve done, or sheer luck,” he admitted.
“Still, with the money and contacts you have, you must have a better chance than me.”
Cery shrugged. “They do help.”
“They do, do they? Well, how about I come and stay with you, then? Because hiding doesn’t earn me any money, and I’ve used up all mine – as well as my contacts.”
As Cery opened his mouth to protest, she leapt to her feet.
“Don’t go telling me I’d be safer away from you. Nobody but you and Gol know we’re related and I have no intention of making it public gossip. I’m not going to be with you all the time because I’m your daughter.” She straightened and put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to be there as your bodyguard.”
Gol made a choking noise.
“Anyi-” Cery began.
“Face it, you need one. Gol’s getting old and slow. You need someone young. Someone you can trust as much as him.”
Gol’s choking became a spluttering.
“Youth and trustworthiness aren’t all that a bodyguard’s gotta be,” Cery pointed out.
She smiled and crossed her arms. “You don’t think I can fight? I can fight. I’ve even had some training. I’ll prove it.”
Cery bit back the sceptical remark he would normally have made. She is my daughter. We haven’t exchanged this many words in years. I’ll gain nothing by dismissing her. And… perhaps she does have a little of her father’s talent.
“Well, then,” he said. “How about you do that? Show me how old and slow Gol is.”
He nearly laughed aloud at the expression on his bodyguard’s face. Gol’s look of hurt and dismay changed to wariness as Anyi turned to face him and dropped into a crouch. There was a glint of metal in one hand. Cery hadn’t seen her reach for the knife. He noted the way she held it and nodded in approval.
This could be interesting.
“Don’t actually kill him,” he told her.
Gol had recovered from his surprise now, and was drawing closer to Anyi with the careful, well-balanced steps that Cery knew so well. He slowly drew out a knife. The big man might not be fast on his feet, but he was as solid as a wall and knew how to use an adversary’s momentum and weight against him. Or her.
Anyi was edging closer as well, but Cery was pleased to see she wasn’t rushing in. She was circling Gol though, and that wasn’t good. A bodyguard ought to keep him- or herself between an attacker and the person they were supposed to be protecting. I’ll have to teach her that.
Cery caught himself and frowned. Will I? Should I even keep her near me, let alone put her in a position where she is more likely to be attacked? I should give her money and send her away.
Somehow he knew she would not be content with that. Whether he sent her away or let her stay with him, she would want to be doing something. And she has no place to hide. How can I send her away?
But she was tenacious. If he sent her back out into the city – especially if he gave her some money – she would find new places to conceal herself. Or she will decide she can’t stand being cooped up any more and throw all caution to the wind.
A flurry of movement drew his attention back to the fight. Anyi had attacked Gol, he noted. Again, not the best move for a bodyguard. Gol had neatly dodged her knife, caught her arm and used her lunge to propel and twist her to the floor behind him. She gave a yelp of protest and pain as he held her arm behind her back, stopping her from rising.
Cery walked forward and prised the knife out of her hand, then he stepped back.
“Let her up.”
Gol released her and backed away. He met Cery’s gaze and nodded once. “She’s fast, but she has some bad habits. We’ll have to retrain her.”
Cery frowned at the man. He’s already decided I’m going to keep her!
Rising to her feet, Anyi narrowed her eyes at Gol, but said nothing. She glanced at Cery, then looked at the floor.
“I’ll learn,” she said.
“You have a lot to learn,” Cery told her.
“So you’ll take me on as a bodyguard?”
He paused before answering. “I’ll consider it, once you’ve been trained right, and if I think you’re good enough. Either way, you’re working for me now, and that means you must do what I tell you. No arguments. You obey orders, even if you don’t know why.”
She nodded. “That’s fair.”
He walked over to her and handed back the knife. “And Gol’s not old. He’s close to the same age as me.”
Anyi’s eyebrows rose. “If you think that means he’s not old, then you really do need a new bodyguard.”
Healer Nikea stepped into the examination room as the last patient Sonea had seen left – a woman who was trying, unsuccessfully, to give up roet. Sonea had Healed the woman, but it had made no difference to the cravings.
“There’s something I need to show you,” Nikea said.
“Oh?” Sonea looked up from the notes she had been taking. “What is that?”
“Something,” Nikea said. She smiled, and her eyes widened meaningfully.
Somehow Sonea’s heart managed to skip a beat and then, straight after, sink to her stomach. If Cery had merely sent a message, Nikea would have delivered it. This meaningful look suggested that more than a note had arrived, and Sonea suspected that “something” was Cery.
He knew she didn’t like him coming here. Still, there had to be a good reason for him doing so.
Rising, she stepped out of the room and followed Nikea down the corridor. They entered the non-public part of the hospice. A pair of Healers stood in the hallway, heads close as they talked in whispers. Their eyes were on a storeroom door, but shifted to Sonea as she appeared. They immediately straightened and inclined their heads politely.
“Black Magician Sonea,” they murmured, then hurried away.
Nikea led Sonea to the door they’d found so interesting and opened it. Inside, a familiar figure sat on a short ladder, between rows of shelving filled with bandages and other hospice supplies. He stood up. Sighing, Sonea stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind her.
“Cery,” she said. “Is it good news or bad?”
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m good, thanks for asking. How are you?”
She crossed her arms. “Fine.”
“You seem a bit cranky.”
“It’s the middle of the night, yet for some reason we have as many patients as we get during the day, nothing I try cures roet addiction, there’s a rogue magician loose in the city, and instead of telling the Guild about it I’m risking the little freedom I have by working with a Thief who insists on visiting me in a public place, and my son is still missing in Sachaka. I’m supposed to be in a good mood?”
Cery grimaced. “I guess not. So… no news on Lorkin?”
“No.” She sighed again. “I know you wouldn’t have come here if there wasn’t a good reason, Cery. Just don’t expect me to be all calm and relaxed about it. What’s the news?”
He sat down again. “How do you feel about another Thief helping us find the rogue?”
Sonea stared at him in surprise. “Is it anyone I know?”
“I doubt it. He’s one of the new lot. Faren’s successor. Name is Skellin.”
“He’d have to have a lot to offer, for you to consider it.”
Cery nodded. “He does. He’s one of the most powerful Thieves in the city. He has a particular interest in the Thief Hunter. Asked me a while back if I’d keep him informed if I picked up anything. He knows the rogue may not be the Thief Hunter, but feels it’s worth tracking her down to find out.”
“What does he get out of it?”
He smiled. “He’d like to meet you. Sounds like Faren told him stories, so he’s got a hankering to meet the legend.”
Sonea made a rude noise. “So long as he doesn’t have the same ideas Faren had about how useful I could be to him.”
“I’m sure he does, but he’ll not be expecting you to have them, too.”
“Does he have a better chance of finding the rogue than you?”
Cery grew serious. “She did a favour for a rot-seller that set up shop in my area until I put a stop to it. Skellin controls most of the trade, so I’m hoping that he can trace the-”
“The Thief we’re working with is the main source of roet?” Sonea interrupted.
Cery nodded, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “Yes.”
She turned away. “Oh, that’s just wonderful.”
“Will you accept his help?”
She looked at him. His gaze was hard and challenging. Yet what had he said? “… set up shop in my area until I put a stop to it.” Perhaps he did not like what roet did to people any more than she did. But he had no choice but to work with people like Skellin. “He’s one of the most powerful Thieves in the city.” If the rogue was working for a roet seller then it made sense for her and Cery to trace her through the contacts of the Thief importing it. Then something else occurred to her. Perhaps the rogue was addicted to the drug, and the seller was forcing her to use her magic in support of his criminal activities in order to get it.
Sonea rubbed her temples as she considered. I’m already breaking a whole lot of rules and restrictions. Ironically, this will not make things any worse, as far as the Guild is concerned. It will only feel worse to me.
“Go ahead and recruit him. So long as he realises that meeting the legend does not involve anything more than us both being in the same place once and having a nice chat for a reasonable length of time – and so long as you feel it is necessary to involve him – then I have no argument against it.”
Cery nodded. “I do think we need him. And I’ll make sure he understands you’re not for hire.”
Climbing out of the carriage, Dannyl and Achati turned to take in their surroundings. The road they had been travelling northwards along ended where it met an east- to west-running thoroughfare. A stream ran alongside the new road. Hills surrounded them, rocks jutting out from wild vegetation.
“We’ll wait here,” Achati said.
“How long, do you think?” Dannyl asked.
“An hour, maybe two.”
Achati had arranged for the group of local magicians, who would provide magical support, to meet them at the junction. They were bringing a tracker. He’d explained that, if they got as far as the mountains and had to leave the road, the risk of being attacked by the Traitors would increase dramatically.
The Sachakan turned and spoke to his slaves, instructing them to bring out food for him, Dannyl and themselves. As the two young men obeyed, Dannyl found himself thinking, not for the first time, that Achati treated his slaves well. He almost seemed fond of them.
As they ate the small, flat pastries that they’d been given at the last estate, Dannyl looked at the hills again. His gaze was drawn to the rocky outcrops. He frowned as he noticed how some were more like piles of boulders. In places, these boulders fitted together much too well to be natural.
“Is that a ruin up there?” he asked, turning to Achati.
The man looked where Dannyl was pointing, and nodded.
“Probably. There are a few in this area.”
“How old are they?”
Achati shrugged. “Old.”
“Do you mind if I have a look?”
“Of course not.” Achati smiled. “I’ll signal to you if the others arrive.”
Finishing the pastry, Dannyl crossed the road and set off up the slope. The hill was steeper than it had looked from the carriage, and by the time Dannyl reached the first pile of boulders he was breathing hard. Examining the pile, he decided it was part of a wall. For a while he moved across the slope, finding more sections of wall and resting to catch his breath. When he had recovered he decided to see what this fortification surrounded, and headed uphill.
The vegetation grew thicker and taller the closer he got to the summit. He caught his sleeve on a prickly shrub, managing to tear the material, after which he gave such plants a wide berth. It was easy enough to dry cloth with magic, and even remove some stains, but mending tears was beyond him. It might be possible to re-join the fine threads somehow, but it would take time and concentration.
He realised with dismay that while he could see remnants of more walls ahead, they peeked out of a mass of tangled, prickly bushes. He created a magical shield so he could push past them. There was a flat section at the top, within the low walls that were all that was left of a building, but other than that there was nothing to see but weathered stones.
I’m not going to learn anything here, he decided. Not without digging all this up. He looked out over the fields below, noting the mountains in the distance. To the west dark clouds lurked, suggesting a break in the dry, sunny weather they’d enjoyed since leaving Arvice. He could not guess how long it would take for the rain to reach them. Leaving the building, he headed back to the road.
A little way down the slope the vegetation parted and he had a clear view of the carriage and road below. Achati was sitting in the narrow doorway of the vehicle. As Dannyl watched, the handsome slave called Varn knelt before the magician and held out his hands, palm upward. Something in Achati’s hand caught the light.
A knife.
Dannyl’s heart lurched and he stopped. Achati lifted the highly decorated blade that usually sat in its sheath at his side and lightly touched the slave’s wrists. He sheathed the knife and grasped the man’s wrists with both hands. Dannyl watched, his heart racing. After only a short pause, Achati let the slave go.
I guess this means Varn is Achati’s source slave, Dannyl thought. He realised his heart was not racing with fear. More like excitement. I just witnessed an ancient ritual of black magic. Magic had passed from slave to master. And it hadn’t involved anyone being slaughtered. It had been remarkably serene and dignified.
The young man did not stand up, but drew closer to his master. Instead of keeping his gaze lowered as he usually did, he looked up at Achati. Dannyl stared, fascinated by the man’s expression. If I’m not imagining things at this distance, I’d say it was adoring. He smiled to himself. I guess it would be easy to love a master that treated you well.
Then the slave smiled and stepped very close to Achati. The magician placed a hand on the young man’s cheek and shook his head. He leaned forward and kissed Varn on the lips. The slave moved away again, still smiling.
Dannyl realised several things at once. Firstly, that the next thing both of the men were likely to do was glance around themselves to see if anyone had seen them. He looked away so that they didn’t catch him watching them and continued down the slope. Secondly, that the slave didn’t just love his master – he loved his master. And thirdly, that the way Achati had caressed the young man’s face suggested there was more to his ownership of Varn than having a slave for pleasure.
Is this the only way it works here? he wondered. What of men of similar rank?
But he did not have time to consider it. As he broke free from the dense vegetation, he stopped to look down the road toward the west, and saw five men and a cart not far along it. They would reach the junction soon. Dannyl hurried down the hill and stopped on the road, beckoning as Achati saw him. The Sachakan rose to his feet and walked over to join him.
“Excellent timing, Ambassador Dannyl,” he said, squinting at the figures in the distance. “Did you find anything up there?”
“Lots of thorny plants,” Dannyl replied ruefully. “I’m afraid your friends are about to meet a shabby Kyralian.”
Achati looked down at Dannyl’s torn robe. “Ah, yes. Sachakan vegetation can be as prickly as its people. I’ll get Varn to mend it for you.”
Dannyl nodded in gratitude. “Thank you. Now, is there anything in particular I should say or do in greeting our new companions?”
Achati shook his head. “When in doubt, let me do the talking.”
The farm cart was big and moved slowly. It was piled high with bales of stock feed, its load strapped down securely with many ropes. Four gorin hauled it – the first Lorkin had seen of the big animals in Sachaka. The driver was a short, silent male slave who occupied the only seat on the vehicle.
The other three passengers rode in a cave within the bales. Gaps between the bales that formed the roof allowed some air to get into the narrow space, but the walls were tightly packed. Three small packs were stowed at one end, which Lorkin assumed were full of food and supplies for the journey into the mountains. Chari and Tyvara were sitting either side of him on a seat of bales running along the gap, which meant he had to turn his back on Chari to look at Tyvara, and vice versa.
Chari nudged his arm with her elbow. “More comfortable than walking, right?”
“Definitely. Was this your idea?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “No, we’ve been doing this for centuries. Got to move slaves about somehow.”
He frowned. “Won’t any Traitors seeing a cart like this suspect there’s someone travelling inside, then?”
Chari shrugged. “Yes, but unless they’ve got a good reason, they won’t approach us. Especially not during the day. Slaves don’t stop other estate’s carts. None of their business. If an Ashaki saw them doing it, they’d think it odd and investigate.” She frowned. “Keeping you hidden has the added benefit of preventing confrontations like the one you had with Rasha. I have the authority to stop Traitors like her – don’t worry, not all of us want you dead – but dealing with it would delay us. If other Traitors do suspect you’re in here, they’ll rightly assume it wouldn’t be without the knowledge of other Traitors. This is not something you could ever arrange on your own.”
“And let’s not forget the people searching for Lorkin,” Tyvara added. “Ambassador Dannyl and the king’s representative, Ashaki Achati.”
“Those two?” Chari waved a hand dismissively. “We’ve arranged for them to be sent off track, next time they go snooping around an estate.” She smiled. “They could ride past us and never know we’re here.” She looked up at the bales above them. “Though, it can get a bit stuffy on hot days. Good thing you two had a bath last night, eh?”
Lorkin nodded and looked down at himself. The last of the dye had washed off his skin. He patted the clean slave wrap. “Thank you for the new clothes, too.”
She looked at him and grimaced. “We’ll have you out of them and into proper clothes soon.”
“I never thought I’d say it, but I miss my Guild robes,” he lamented.
“Why didn’t you like them before?”
“Because every magician wears them. It gets a bit boring. The only change you get is when you graduate from a novice to a magician – unless you become one of the Higher Magicians, and most of them only wear a different colour sash.”
“A novice is a student, right? How long do they stay novices for?”
“All new entrants to the Guild are novices. They spend about five years in the University before they graduate.”
“So what sorts of magic do you learn at the University?”
“At first a range of things,” he told her. “Magic, of course, but also non-magical studies like history and strategy. Most of us turn out to be better at something, and eventually we get to choose which of the three disciplines we’ll follow: Healing, Warrior Studies or Alchemy.”
“What did you choose?”
“Alchemy. You can tell which of us are Alchemists because we wear purple. Healers wear green and Warriors wear red.”
Chari frowned. “What do Alchemists do?”
“Everything that Healers and Warriors don’t do,” Lorkin explained. “Mainly it involves magic but sometimes not. Ambassador Dannyl, the magician I came here with and am supposed to be assisting, is a historian, which doesn’t involve magic at all.”
“Can you choose two disciplines? Be an Alchemist and a Warrior – or an Alchemist and a Healer? Or-”
“We already know this, Chari,” Tyvara interrupted.
Lorkin turned to regard her. She looked at him apologetically. “We’re taught about the Guild along with the culture of many other lands during our training,” she told him.
“Yes, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time,” Chari replied. “It’s so much more interesting when it comes from an actual Kyralian magician.”
Lorkin turned back to find her looking at him expectantly. “You were saying?” she prompted.
He shook his head. “No, we can’t choose more than one discipline, but we all get a basic education in the three.”
“So you can Heal?”
“Yes, but not with the skill and knowledge of a fully trained Healer.”
Chari opened her mouth to ask another question, but Tyvara cut in before she could speak.
“You can ask questions in return,” she told Lorkin. “Chari may not be able to answer some of them, but if you let her do all the asking she’ll interrogate you all the way to the mountains.”
He looked at Tyvara in surprise. Throughout their journey from Arvice she had been reluctant to answer his questions. At his stare, her lips pressed into a thin line and she shifted her gaze to Chari. He turned to look at the other woman. Chari was regarding Tyvara with amusement.
“Well, then,” she said, turning to Lorkin. “What would you like to know?”
Though there were hundreds of things he wanted to know about the Traitors and their secret home, and Chari seemed much more receptive to questions, he suspected that Tyvara’s habit of secrecy would soon have her stopping him and Chari talking at all. Was there anything he could safely ask about the Traitors, when so much information about them was secret?
I definitely shouldn’t ask how they block mind-reading. Though I still suspect it involves a process similar to making a blood gem. Suddenly he remembered the references to a storestone in the records he’d read for Dannyl.
Was there any risk in mentioning the storestone? It wasn’t as if he knew where to find it, or how to make one, so he wouldn’t be putting a weapon into the Traitor’s hands if he talked about it.
“Remember how I said that Ambassador Dannyl is a historian?” he asked.
Chari nodded.
“He’s writing a history of magic. We’ve both done a bit of research here in Sachaka. Dannyl is more interested in filling the gaps of our history – how the wasteland was created, or when and how Imardin was destroyed and rebuilt. I’m more interested in how old kinds of magic worked.”
He paused to gauge their reaction. Chari was watching him intently, while Tyvara regarded him with one eyebrow raised, which he took to indicate interest and a little surprise.
“When I was taking notes for Dannyl I found a reference to an object called a storestone,” he continued, “that was kept in Arvice after the Sachakan War. It was clearly a thing of great power. It was lost a few years after the war – apparently stolen by a Kyralian magician. Do you know anything about it?”
Chari looked at Tyvara, who shrugged and shook her head.
“I don’t know about that one, but I know a bit about storestones,” Chari told him. “Anyone would guess from the name that they are stones that store power. Which would be very useful. But they’re rare. So rare that individual stones were once given names and their histories recorded as if they were people. All the ones we’ve heard of were destroyed long ago. It’s probably over a thousand years, probably more, since the last one existed. If this storestone existed just after the Sachakan War, it is the most recent record of one. So you didn’t know about it until recently?”
He shook his head.
She looked thoughtful. “Then either the thief hid it much too effectively, or it was broken. You said Imardin was destroyed and rebuilt?”
“Yes.”
“Breaking a storestone is supposed to be dangerous. It releases the power within it in an uncontrolled way. Maybe that’s what destroyed Imardin.”
Lorkin frowned. “I suppose that’s possible.” He considered the idea. I’ve always doubted that the Mad Apprentice could have been powerful enough to cause that much devastation, but what if he had the storestone?
“We could ask the record keepers at Sanctuary,” Chari said. “About older storestones, that is. I doubt they know anything about Imardin’s history.”
“Queen Zarala might,” Tyvara said.
Chari’s eyebrows rose. “I suppose if she lets him into the city, she’ll want to check him out.”
“She will.” Tyvara eyed him with a strange, smug amusement. “Definitely.”
Chari chuckled and turned to Lorkin. “Are you sure you want to come to Sanctuary?”
“Of course.”
“Tyvara has told you that it’s run by women, hasn’t she? Men can’t go bossing people about. Even magicians like you.”
He shrugged. “I have no desire to boss anyone about.”
She smiled. “You’re such a reasonable man. I always thought Kyralians were arrogant and dishonest. I guess you can’t all be the same. Tyvara wouldn’t be taking you there if you were. And it’s so sweet of you to come all this way and risk your life for Tyvara.”
“Well, she did save my life.”
“That’s true.” Chari reached out and patted his arm lightly. “Honourable and good-looking. I reckon you’ll do well. My people will change their minds about Kyralians once they meet you.”
“Yes, in no time we’ll be exchanging gifts and swapping recipes,” Tyvara muttered dryly.
Lorkin turned to look at her. She met his eyes briefly, then looked away, frowning. She’s not happy about something, he thought. His heart skipped a beat. Does she think Chari is going to betray us?
“So tell me more about the Guild,” Chari said behind him.
Tyvara rolled her eyes and sighed. Relief and amusement replaced apprehension. She was simply irritated by Chari’s chatter. Well, I hope that’s it. I wish I could talk to her. They’d not had a private moment together since Chari had found them.
He felt a stab of frustration. I wish I could talk to many people. Mother and Dannyl for a start. He thought of the blood gem still hidden in the spine of his notebook, tucked into his clothing. He’d had no chance to use it without revealing it to Tyvara. And now Chari was with them, there would be even less opportunity to use it. Perhaps he should have let Tyvara know he had it. But it is my only link to the Guild. If I’m going to chance losing it, I must wait until the risk is unavoidable. And if I’m going to negotiate any sort of trade or alliance between the Guild and Traitors, I’ll need a way to communicate between them.
In the meantime, he might as well do his best to establish good relations between his country and the Traitors. Turning back to Chari, he smiled.
“More about the Guild? What would you like to know?”
Sunny House was living up to its name. Warm sunlight bathed the garden and ruins, setting the more colourful flowers glowing in a sea of green vegetation. Skellin was waiting for Cery in the same shelter they had met in last time, his guard standing nearby.
Gol stopped, as far from the shelter as the other guard was. Cery walked on, resisting the urge to turn and look behind, but not because of his friend and bodyguard. As always, he’d arranged for some of his people to follow and watch, ready to help if he needed them, or warn of approaching danger. He called them his “shadow guard.” Only this time there was a new face among the familiar ones.
Anyi. She was learning fast. She was quick and agile, and a bit too reckless at times. It had turned out though that the risks she took were more often out of ignorance than foolishness, and she was taking in his and Gol’s instruction with reassuring enthusiasm and intelligence. Ordering her to follow and watch was the safest way to let her feel she was doing the job she wanted, without risking revealing her identity to anyone or putting her in real danger.
Yet the streets they’d passed through were never completely safe, and he couldn’t help worrying that some stupid thug would try something with her, and it would lead to a fight.
As Cery reached the shelter, Skellin rose to greet him.
“What do you have to tell me, friend?” the other Thief asked.
“Some news I heard the other day.”
The story of the rot-seller and his foreign, female helper brought a frown to the man’s exotic face. Cery lied about the source of the information, saying that it was a washerwoman who’d overheard the conversation. Better to keep Anyi’s name out of this.
“Hmm,” was all Skellin said. He looked displeased. Perhaps even angry.
“I also informed my friend that you would like to meet her,” Cery added. “She agreed to it.”
Skellin’s gaze lightened and he straightened his shoulders. “Did she?” He rubbed his hands together and smiled. “Well, that’s something to look forward to. As for your rather bad news… I will look into it.” He sighed. “It does not look good, does it? First she is seen in my territory, now she is working for my rot-sellers.”
“Unless they’re someone else’s rot-sellers.”
The other Thief’s mouth twitched into a crooked smile. “Which would make it even worse news. I’ll let you know what I find out.” His voice had gained a harder, almost threatening edge. That’s more like what I’d expect from a man with his power and trade, Cery thought.
Cery nodded. They spoke polite farewells, parted and headed in different directions. After all the effort I have to put into getting here, these meetings always feel too brief. But sitting and chatting to Skellin doesn’t appeal either. I’m not sure why. Probably because I’m always waiting for him to try getting me to sell rot for him.
Gol joined him and they set off into the city. Sunny House was several streets behind when a figure stepped out of a doorway and walked toward them. Cery tensed, then relaxed as he recognised Anyi, then tensed again as he realised she was disobeying his orders. She wasn’t supposed to approach him until they were back at the hideout.
Maybe she needs to warn me of something.
Anyi nodded to him politely, her expression serious, then fell into step beside him.
“So,” she said, her voice low. “You got a good reason to be working with the King of Rot?”
Cery glanced at her, amused. “Who calls him that?”
“Half the city,” she replied.
“Which half?”
“The lower half.”
“I’m from the lower half, so why haven’t I heard of it?”
She shrugged. “You’re old and out of touch. So. Have you got a good reason?”
“Yes.”
They walked in silence for several paces.
“Because I hate that man,” she added suddenly.
“Oh? Why is that?”
“We had no rot here until he came along.”
Cery grimaced wryly. “If he hadn’t brought it, someone else would have.”
She scowled. “Why don’t you sell it?”
“I have standards. Pretty low standards, but that’s to be expected. I’m a Thief.”
“There’s a big difference between what he does and what you do.”
“You have no idea what I do.”
“That’s true.” She frowned. “And I’m not in a hurry to find out. But… why don’t you deal in rot?”
He shrugged. “Rot makes people unreliable. If they lose interest in making a living they don’t want loans. If they can’t work they can’t pay back the loans. If they’re broke, they can’t buy things. If they die they’re no good to anyone. Rot isn’t good for business – unless it is the business. And if it was no worse than bol I’d be lining up to trade in it.”
Anyi nodded, then let out a long sigh. “It sure does make people unreliable. There was… I had a friend. We worked together, were going to… do things together. My friend helped me out when you told me I had to hide.
“But we started to run out of money a lot faster than we should have. I knew my friend took rot, only enough to relax and sleep. When it ran out, my friend disappeared off to get more. I went next door to talk to the neighbour’s wife, so I was out when my friend returned. With two thugs. I heard them talking. My so-called ‘friend’ was going to sell me out.”
Cery cursed. “Did he know why you were hiding?”
“Yes.”
“So the thugs know, too.”
“I guess so.”
Cery glanced at Gol.
“They probably wanted to sell Anyi on to someone better positioned to use her against you,” the big man said. “Her boyfriend will have only wanted fast money.”
“So there are two thugs out there who know too much,” Cery said. He turned to Anyi. “Would you like this former friend killed?”
She looked at him sharply. “No.”
He smiled. “Would you mind if I had the thugs killed?”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “No.”
“Good, because I would have them killed whether you minded or not, but I’d rather be certain we got the right ones, and that’ll be easier if you can pick them for us.”
She nodded. Then she looked at him sidelong. “You know, nobody uses that old slum slang any more. ‘Pick’ is so old-fashioned.”
“I’m an old-fashioned kind of man.” They turned into a wider street, which was full of vehicles and people and noise. He lowered his voice. “Just so you know, the reason for today’s meeting is to find the person who you were hiding from.”
Anyi paused in scanning the street to glance at him. “Guess that’s a good reason to be talking to the King of Rot. Can I watch when you kill the murderer?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t be killing her. I doubt I could if I tried.”
“It’s a woman? Why can’t you kill her?” She sent him another quick look, this time full of confusion. He chuckled.
“Don’t worry. I’ll explain when the time is right.”
I bet Regin wishes he was here, Sonea thought as the young female Healer was led to the front of the Guildhall. The woman wasn’t one of the Healers who worked at the hospices, so Sonea did not know her well. Lady Vinara had explained that she was from one of the city’s less powerful Houses – a younger daughter sent to the Guild in order to gain prestige, and Healing for the family without charge.
The Healer had been overheard relating how she had used magic for a smuggler, and, when the information had been reported, she’d been summoned to a Hearing by the Higher Magicians. Rumours claimed that the smuggler was her cousin. It was the first time anyone had been accused of breaking the new rule against magicians working for criminals.
It’s going to be interesting to see how the Higher Magicians deal with this. Regin will be itching to know what is decided. I expect he’ll pay me a visit tonight, to find out the details.
She realised the prospect didn’t bother her that much. Though she could never completely relax in Regin’s company, he seemed genuinely concerned about the new rule and how it affected the welfare of magicians. And, of course, he was keen to find the rogue. But he didn’t drone on about it, like some magicians might, and never outstayed his welcome.
Because he’s a man who’d prefer to take action than whinge about something.
She stilled in surprise. Had she just found something admirable in Regin’s character? Surely not.
Of the rogue, there had been no news. Most nights Sonea worked at the same hospice in Northside, knowing this would make it easier for a messenger from Cery to find her. But no messages had come since he’d visited personally to tell her he was enlisting the help of another Thief.
Below her, Administrator Osen turned to the Higher Magicians.
“Lady Talie is charged with breaking the new rule forbidding a magician to be involved in or benefit from criminal activity,” he told them. “We are to decide if this is true and, if so, how she is to be punished.” He turned to look at a pair of magicians standing to one side. “I call on Lord Jawen to speak as witness.”
One of the pair, a middle-aged Healer, stepped forward. He was frowning and the way he was trying not to look at Lady Talie made it obvious that he was uncomfortable about speaking against her.
“Please tell us what you heard,” Osen said.
The man nodded. “A few nights ago I was gathering cures from a storeroom when I heard voices at the rear of the room. One of the voices belonged to Lady Talie. I heard her say, quite clearly, that what was inside some boxes wasn’t legal. Well, that attracted my attention, and I stopped to listen. She went on to say that she didn’t want to know what was in them. That she moved them, Healed a man then went home.” His frown deepened. “And that someone was stupid for thinking something so big and heavy could be moved by one man.”
“What did you do then?” Osen asked.
Jawen grimaced. “I left the room and went on working. I needed time to think about what to do. A few hours later I decided I had to tell Lady Vinara what I’d heard.”
“That is all you overheard?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is all for now.” As the man retreated to his former position, Osen turned to the young Healer. “Lady Talie, please come forward.”
She obeyed. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, and there was a crease between her brows.
“Please explain to us what Lord Jawen overheard.”
Talie drew in a deep breath and let it out again before answering. “He has the gist of it,” she said. “I did move a box that was probably full of illegal goods – though I don’t know that for sure. When Lord Jawen overheard me, I was worried if this meant I’d broken a rule or law, and was asking a friend what she thought.”
“How did you find yourself in a situation where you might question the legality of your actions?”
She looked at the floor. “I was tricked. Well, not tricked… but I didn’t feel like I could refuse.” She paused to shake her head. “What I mean is, someone I wish I didn’t know took me to that place where the boxes were, saying a person was hurt and needed my help. He wasn’t lying, actually. One of the boxes had fallen on top of a man and his thigh bone had been crushed. I had to lift the box off him so I could Heal him. Once I’d done that they took me home.”
Sonea felt a pang of sympathy. The young woman clearly could not have left the injured man in his predicament. She shouldn’t have gone with the smuggler in the first place, of course, but she wasn’t asked to do anything criminal. Yet, while Healing isn’t a criminal activity, moving a box of illegal goods might be considered so.
“So your only action was to move one box and Heal a man?” Osen asked.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know for sure that the goods inside were illegal.”
She grimaced and shook her head. “No.”
“Did you receive any payment for your help?”
“He tried to give me something but I refused to take it.”
“Is that all you can tell us?”
She paused, then cast a doubtful glance at Lady Vinara. “I’d have Healed that man anyway. And moved the box off him. I couldn’t have left him like that.”
Osen nodded then turned to the Higher Magicians. “Any questions for Lady Talie or Lord Jawen?”
“I have one for Lady Talie. Has this man asked favours or services of you before?” Lord Garrel asked.
“No.”
“What is your connection to him, then?”
Talie looked at Osen and bit her lip. “He has done work and favours for my family, though it was years ago before anyone knew he was involved in anything illegal.”
“Could you take someone back to the place these goods were stored?”
“No. He made sure the carriage windows were covered. When we arrived the carriage was inside a big room. And even if I did know where it was, I doubt the goods are still there.”
Sonea smiled at that. The young Healer was probably right. But by saying so, she had suggested she knew more about smuggling than a magician from a House ought to.
No more questions came, so Osen sent Lord Jawen and Lady Talie out of the hall. When they were gone, Lord Telano sighed.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “She only did what any Healer ought to do. She shouldn’t be punished for that.”
“She wasn’t paid,” Garrel added. “She didn’t benefit from it. I see no wrongdoing here.”
“The rule forbids involvement in criminal activity as well as benefiting from it,” Vinara pointed out. “But I agree. Moving a box is hardly involvement in crime.”
“Still, we ought to be discouraging magicians from having anything to do with such people,” Lord Peakin said.
“Which, as we established recently, is too difficult to enforce and apparently unfair to some Guild members,” Garrel reminded him.
“Has she clearly broken a rule?” Osen asked.
None of the magicians answered. Several shook their heads.
“Does anybody believe she should be punished?”
The question received the same response. Osen nodded. “Then, unless anybody disagrees with me, I will declare she has broken no rule. I will also let it be known that Lord Jawen acted correctly in reporting what he heard, and state that tests of the new rule are beneficial and to be encouraged. We don’t want anyone taking today’s decision as an indicator that doing favours for dubious characters will always be overlooked.”
“Do you think Lady Talie would agree to identify this man and confirm his activities for the Guard?” Rothen asked, looking back at Lady Vinara.
“I imagine she would be reluctant,” Vinara replied. “If he had enough influence to force her to this store, then he may have enough to prevent her speaking against him. I will ask her, but only if the Guard does require her help.”
“If she agrees and a conviction is achieved, it will discourage criminals from taking advantage of magicians,” Osen said. He called the young Healer back in and told her their decision. She looked relieved.
And perhaps a little annoyed to have been put through this, Sonea observed. Osen announced the meeting over and the Higher Magicians began to leave. As she reached the floor of the hall, she found Rothen waiting for her.
“What do you think?” he murmured to her.
“I think the new rule is going to be ineffective at keeping magicians and criminals apart,” she replied.
“But in the past someone of her status would never have been reported, not even if what she’d done was clearly wrong.”
“No, but there is nothing to stop that sort of bias returning as magicians realise the limitations of the new rule. I won’t be convinced it’s an improvement unless the degree of harassment of lower-class-origin magicians lessens.”
“Do you think she would have helped the injured man if there was no incentive to please the man who asked her to?”
Sonea considered the question. “Yes, though not without some disdain.”
He chuckled. “Well, that’s an improvement on the past anyway. Thanks to your hospices, it’s no longer thought of as acceptable to deny Healing because the patient can’t afford it.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Things have changed that much? But surely Vinara hasn’t stopped charging patients who come to the Healers’ Quarters.”
“No.” He smiled. “It’s more of an attitude change. It’s not, well, healerly to ignore anyone you stumble upon who is in great need. That is, if they are injured or dying – not if they’ve got a hangover or the winter cough. It is as if the ideal for a Healer to aspire to is now someone who has Vinara’s cleverness and your compassion.”
She stared at him in disbelief and dismay.
He laughed. “I’d love to come to the end of my life knowing I’d made a change for the good, but despite all my work I don’t think I will. But now I see how uncomfortable it makes you, I wonder if I should be grateful for that.”
“You have made a difference, Rothen,” she protested. “I’d have never become a magician if it were not for you. And what is this talk of your life ending? It’s going to be years – decades – before you need to start planning a gravestone to outdazzle everyone else’s.”
He grimaced. “A plain one will do just fine.”
“That’s good, because by then there’ll be no gold left in the Allied Lands except what’s on magicians’ headstones. Now, that’s enough talk of death. Regin is, no doubt, pacing outside my door wanting to know how we decided, and I’d like to get that little interview over with so I can get some sleep in before tonight’s shift.”
Nine men now rode on either side of Achati’s carriage each day – four Sachakan magicians, their source slaves and one of the grey-skinned Duna tribesmen from the north, who had been hired as a tracker.
Dannyl had been acutely aware that these powerful men had left their comfortable homes and joined the search based on a mere guess that Lorkin and Tyvara were heading for the mountains, and that the Traitors would continue working toward the pair being captured. If he was wrong… it would be embarrassing at the least.
If the four magicians doubted Dannyl’s reasoning, they hid it well. They and Achati had discussed their plans in a way that had included Dannyl, but made it clear he was not in charge. He decided it was best to accept that, to seek their advice on everything and go along with their plans, but always make it clear he was determined to find his assistant and would not easily be persuaded otherwise.
One had asked the Duna tribesman, Unh, if he thought Lorkin and Tyvara were heading toward the Traitor home. The man had nodded and pointed toward the mountains.
The tribesman rarely spoke, and if he did he used as few words as possible to get across his meaning. He wore only a skirt of cloth on top of which a belt was strapped, hung with little drawstring bags, strange carvings and a small knife in a wooden sheath. At night he slept outside, and though he accepted food brought to him by the slaves he never spoke to them or ordered them about.
I wonder if all his people are like this.
“What are you thinking?”
Dannyl blinked and looked at Achati. The Sachakan was regarding him thoughtfully from the opposite seat in the carriage.
“About Unh. He has so few possessions and seems to need so little. Yet he does not behave like a poor man or beggar. He is… dignified.”
“The Duna tribe have lived the same way for thousands of years,” Achati told him. “They are nomads, constantly travelling. I suppose you would learn to keep only what you most needed if you had to carry it all the time.”
“Why do they travel so much?”
“Their land is constantly changing. Cracks open up and leak poisonous fumes, molten blackrock from the nearby volcanoes spills over the land or scorching ash falls on it. Every few hundred years or so my people have tried to take their lands, either by force or by establishing towns and claiming the land by settling on it. In the first case the Duna vanished into the dangerous shadows of the volcanoes, and in the latter they simply traded with the settlers and waited. It soon becomes clear that crops won’t grow consistently and animals die there, and each time my people have abandoned the villages and returned to Sachaka. The Duna returned to their old ways and…” Achati stopped as the carriage turned, and looked out of the window. “Looks like we have arrived.”
They passed low white walls, then a pair of open gates. As soon as the carriage stopped, Achati’s slave opened the door. Following his companion out, Dannyl looked around at the estate courtyard and the slaves lying, face-down, on the dusty ground. The rest of the magicians, their slaves and the Duna tribesman dismounted, and Achati stepped forward to speak to the head slave.
I wonder how many of these slaves are Traitors, Dannyl thought. At each estate they’d stayed at, with the permission of the owners, the Sachakans had read the slave’s minds. Many believed that some of the country estates run by slaves, and a few by Ashaki, were actually controlled by Traitors, and were secret training places for spies.
This estate was run by an Ashaki. Dannyl’s helpers had decided it was the safest one in this area to investigate. Even so, the thought that they might be in a place effectively controlled by Traitors sent a small shiver of excitement and fear down Dannyl’s spine. If the slaves were all Traitors, did that mean they were also magicians? If they were, they outnumbered the visitors.
But even if they were all spies and black magicians, they would need a strong reason to attack a group of visiting Ashaki. The inevitable retaliation would force them to abandon their hold on the estate.
The head slave took them all to the Master’s Room. The Ashaki owner, an old man with a limp, greeted them warmly. When they explained why they were there, and that they needed to read the minds of his slaves, he agreed reluctantly.
“It is likely there are Traitors among my slaves,” he admitted. “Considering how close we are to the mountains. But they seem to have a way of hiding it from their thoughts.” He shrugged, suggesting that he’d given up on finding them.
After an hour, all the slaves but a few field workers had been read. The Ashaki visitors retired to the guest rooms, where they lounged on cushions and discussed what they had learned, after first sending away the slaves sent to attend to them.
“A female slave from another estate visited last night,” one of the Ashaki said. “She wanted food for four people.”
Another nodded. “A lone woman was seen arriving and leaving by one of the field workers. She took food to a stock cart.”
“We heard about this stock cart last night,” Achati said. “Is it the same one? Is it unusual for a cart to be travelling this way?”
“It’s not unusual for more prosperous estates to sell feed to less fertile ones at the foot of the mountains.”
“They are in the cart,” stated a new voice.
All looked up to see Unh standing in the doorway. He looked oddly out of place indoors, Dannyl noted. Like a plant which you know will die from lack of sunlight.
“A slave told me,” the man said. He turned and walked away.
The Ashaki exchanged thoughtful looks. None of them questioned Unh’s claim, Dannyl noted. What reason would the tribesman have to lie? He is being paid to find Lorkin and Tyvara.
Achati turned to Dannyl. “You were right, Ambassador. The Traitors do want us to find them, and they have finally given us directions.”
While not as sturdy as the boots the Guild had provided for Lorkin all his life, the simple leather shoes slaves wore made little noise. The pack he carried had seemed too small and light to contain enough supplies at first, but the weight of it appeared to have grown since he’d first shouldered it. Tyvara had taken the lead, walking with steady, measured steps as the way became more steep and difficult. Chari followed behind Lorkin, uncharacteristically quiet.
They’d told him to avoid using magic in any obvious way, now that he was in territory patrolled by the Traitors. If they’d detected the barrier he’d raised both to protect himself and keep the air around him warm, they must have decided it wasn’t an obvious use of magic, as neither had commented on it. Though they had assured him that the Traitors would not attack him while he was with two of their people, he wasn’t about to gamble his life on it. Not after their encounter with Rasha.
They’d left the cart and the road a few hours before, and were travelling on foot across hills and valleys that grew rapidly more steep and stony. Neither woman spoke. Lorkin found he missed Chari ’s chatter and constant questions. Tyvara had grown more withdrawn the further they travelled. Her frowns made him feel vaguely guilty, but he wasn’t sure why.
She’s heading toward judgement by her people for killing one of their own, which wouldn’t be happening if she hadn’t saved my life.
Abruptly, Tyvara slowed and he pulled up short to avoid stumbling into her. Looking past her shoulder, he saw that, beyond a rise ahead, a group of people were standing before two small huts. They were watching as he, Tyvara and Chari approached.
The huts were small and old and circled by a low fence. From the eaves hung animal skins, and several hide stretchers leaned against the walls, but none of the people gathered outside looked like hunters. All wore simple clothing made of fine cloth. Most were women. He noted two men standing among them and felt a mild surprise. After all that Tyvara and Chari had said about their people, he’d almost come to expect to see no men at all.
A hundred or so paces from the waiting group, Tyvara stopped. She turned to look at Lorkin, frowning as she considered something.
“I can speak for you, if you want,” Chari offered.
Tyvara scowled at her. “I can speak for myself,” she snapped. “Stay here.” Turning on her heel, she stalked toward her people, leaving Chari and Lorkin to exchange a look of bemusement.
“Have you two fallen out over something?” he asked.
Chari shook her head and smiled. “No. Why do you ask?”
“She hasn’t behaved as if the two of you are friends.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Chari chuckled and turned to look at the group. “She’s just jealous. And she doesn’t know it.”
“Jealous of what?”
Chari gave him a lofty look. “You really don’t know? I’ve always wondered how it was that men in the rest of the world are in charge, when they’re so perpetually thick.”
He snorted softly. “And I’m curious to know how Traitor women stay in charge when they’re just as inclined to communicate by indirect hints and innuendo as women everywhere else.”
She laughed. “Oh, I like you, Lorkin. If Tyvara doesn’t wake up to herself and-” A voice called out and she immediately grew serious. She gave him a crooked smile. “Looks like it’s time to introduce you.”
He followed her across the remaining distance to the waiting Traitors. Tyvara watched them, her brow creased with a worried frown. Chari did not look at her friend, but fixed her attention on a middle-aged woman with grey streaks in her long hair.
“Speaker Savara,” she said respectfully. She gestured gracefully toward Lorkin. “Lorkin, assistant to Guild Ambassador Dannyl, of the land of Kyralia.”
The woman nodded. “Lord Lorkin,” she said. “If I am correct.”
“You are, indeed,” he replied, inclining his head. “An honour to meet you, Speaker Savara.”
Savara smiled. “It is polite of you to say so, after all you have been through.” She drew in a deep breath. “First, I wish to convey from the queen, but also heartfelt from myself, an apology for the disruption, fear and threat to your life that you have endured due to the Traitors. Whether Tyvara’s actions are deemed justifiable or not, you have been put through a great deal and for that we feel responsible.”
It did not seem like a good moment to be defending Tyvara, so he nodded. “Thank you.”
“If you wish to rejoin the Guild Ambassador, we can have you safely delivered into his protection. I can also arrange for guides to take you back to the Kyralian border. Which would you prefer?”
“Again, thank you,” Lorkin replied. “I am aware that there will be a trial to judge Tyvara’s actions and I would like to speak in her defence, if that is possible.”
Savara’s eyebrows rose, and a murmur of surprise and interest went through the rest of the gathering.
“That would mean taking him to Sanctuary,” someone said.
“The queen would never agree to it.”
“Unless we hold the trial outside Sanctuary.”
“No, that would be too dangerous. If there was an ambush we’d lose too many valuable people.”
“Nobody is going to ambush us,” Savara said firmly.
She looked back at her people and they fell silent. Turning back to Lorkin, she considered him thoughtfully. “It is an admirable thing you wish to do. I will think on it. How much does the Guild know about us?”
Lorkin shook his head. “Nothing. Well, they’ve heard nothing from me, anyway. I haven’t communicated with anyone there.”
“And what of the Guild magician here?” He has been following you since you left Arvice. With surprising accuracy.”
“I haven’t communicated with Dannyl either,” Lorkin told her firmly. “But I’m not surprised he is searching successfully. He is clever and unlikely to give up.” He paused as he realised the truth of his words. Was Dannyl smart and determined enough to follow him all the way to Sanctuary?
“He’s had plenty of help from Traitors, no doubt,” Tyvara muttered.
Savara looked at her. “You have explained the likely price for entering the city?”
Tyvara paused, then looked down. “No. I was hoping we’d find a way around that.”
The Speaker frowned, then sighed and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Rest and eat.”
With that, the group scattered, some moving into the huts, some sitting on rough, narrow wooden benches that Lorkin had assumed were a crude fence. He, Chari and Tyvara moved to one of the seats and shrugged out of their packs. A young woman dressed as a slave brought them small cakes laced with tart berries. She smiled when he thanked her.
“Lorkin,” Tyvara said.
He turned to her. “Yes?”
“You should take up Savara’s offer. Go back to Kyralia.”
“Not to Arvice?”
She shook her head. “I don’t trust the… the other faction. They might try to kill you again.”
“And how are you going to prove that they’ve tried it before?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll let them read my mind.”
He heard Chari draw in a sharp breath. “You can’t,” she hissed. “You promised the…” She looked at Lorkin, then bit her lip.
Tyvara sighed. “We’ll find a way around it,” she told Chari. She turned to Lorkin. “The price Savara spoke of… if you come to Sanctuary there’s a good chance you won’t be allowed to leave again. Would you be willing to stay there for the rest of your life?”
He stared at her in disbelief. The rest of his life? Never see Mother or Rothen or his friends again?
“You haven’t told him this before?” Chari asked, her tone shocked and disbelieving.
Tyvara flushed and looked away. “No. I couldn’t send him back to Arvice. Someone would have tried to kill him. I knew once I found someone from our faction he’d be safe.”
“Faction?”
“Lorkin came up with the term. I mean those of us who agree with the queen, and Savara, on… most things.”
Chari nodded. “Not a bad term, really.” She looked at him. “We’ve been avoiding calling ourselves anything, because it would mean there was a split within the Traitors, and if we named the two sides it would only encourage people to, well, take sides.” She turned to Tyvara. “They might not want Lorkin to stay, since he is one of the reasons for the split.”
“Nobody from the other side will trust him enough to let him go once he knows the city’s location. And few from our side will, either.”
“Then we cover his eyes and make sure he can’t find it again.”
Tyvara sighed. “We all know how well that worked last time.”
“Last time it was a Sachakan, and he was a spy,” Chari pointed out. “Lorkin is different. And how is Sanctuary ever going to form alliances and trade with other nations if we never let visitors into and out of the city?”
Tyvara opened her mouth, then closed it again. “It’s too soon for that,” she said. “We can’t even trust each other, let alone foreigners.”
“Well, we have to start some time.” Chari sniffed and looked away. “You bring him all this way, and now you want him gone. I think you’re too scared of being responsible for someone.”
Tyvara’s head snapped up and she glared at her friend. “That’s-” But she stopped herself. Her eyes narrowed. Rising, she stalked away, sitting down again several strides away. Chari sighed.
“Don’t worry,” she told Lorkin. “She isn’t always this grumpy.” She looked at him and smiled. “I mean it. When she’s not worried silly, she’s smart, funny and quite lovable. And apparently quite good under the rug, as we say here.” She winked, then grew serious. “Though choosy. Not any and every man for our Tyvara. Don’t worry about that.”
He gazed at her in surprise at this sudden and unexpected flow of personal information, then looked down and hoped his amusement and embarrassment weren’t obvious. So, here’s yet another way Traitor women are different to Kyralian women. He thought back to some of the women he’d taken to bed over the last year. Well, maybe not that different, but certainly more open about it.
Though why Chari was trying to reassure him…
Suddenly, he understood what Chari had been hinting at. She thought there was something romantic going on between him and Tyvara. His heart skipped a beat. Well, there has been, in a regretfully one-sided way. Since he’d first met Tyvara he’d found her alluring and attractive. The night he’d nearly been murdered he’d thought it was her in his bed, and the thought had pleased him a great deal.
Chari seems to think it isn’t one-sided. Is she right?
He stole a glance at Tyvara. She was standing again, staring in the direction she, Chari and he had arrived from, her brows knit with worry. He turned to see what she was looking at. Two women were running up the path. As they passed, Lorkin heard them panting with exertion.
They disappeared into a hut and a moment of tense silence followed as all watched and waited, then Savara strode out followed by a handful of Traitors and the two women. She said something and the globe lights immediately dimmed to a faint glow.
“We must all leave immediately,” she said. Her eyes skimmed over the assembled faces and settled on Lorkin. “The magicians tracking Lord Lorkin are heading this way, and there are now six of them, including the Kyralian. Divide yourselves into three groups. Each will take a different route away from here. Tyvara, Lorkin and Chari, you should come with me.”
Lorkin rose and hurried over to her. “If I talk with Ambassador Dannyl I am sure I can persuade him to call off the search.”
She shook her head. “You may persuade him, but you won’t persuade the others if they think they might catch us this time. There is also a man with them – a tracker – who might succeed where others have failed.” She smiled grimly. “I am sorry. The offer is appreciated, but it is too great a risk.”
Lorkin nodded. Around him people were hastily picking up and packing away all signs of their presence. One began to sweep the ground, but Savara stopped her.
“There’s no point hiding all trace of ourselves. We want them to either split up or follow the wrong trail.” She looked Lorkin up and down. “Find someone with similar sized feet as his and get them to swap shoes.”
Soon the Traitors had formed three groups of near equal size. Savara ordered them to travel without hiding their trail until morning, then head for Sanctuary using the usual precautions. All murmured farewells to the other groups, then departed. Lorkin followed as Savara’s group began to climb the steep side of the valley, his mind shifting between wondering if his suspicions about Tyvara were true, itching to know what Savara’s decision would be, and worrying that Dannyl and the Sachakans would catch up with them.
And if they did, what would the Sachakans do? What would the Traitors do? Would it end in a fight? He didn’t want anyone dying because of him. Well, anyone else, he amended.
If it came to a fight, what should he do? Would he have to choose between joining Dannyl in order to prevent a battle and siding with the Traitors so he could help save Tyvara from execution?
Too slow, Cery’s twist did not bring him out of the way far enough or fast enough to avoid the knife pushing into his ribs. He heard Anyi give a little huff of triumph.
“Good,” he said, resisting a smile as he let go of her and stepped away. “You’ve got the hang of it now.”
She grinned and swapped the wooden practice knife back to her left hand.
“Though you aimed a little high,” he told her. “You’re used to practising with Gol, I suppose.”
“I’d have still cut you,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but your knife might have caught on my ribs.” Cery patted his lower chest where her knife had pressed. “Which is not one of the five weak spots. Eyes, throat, belly, groin, knees.”
“Sometimes it’s better to smash an attacker’s knees and run than try to stab him in the heart,” Gol said. “The heart can be hard to reach. Ribs might skew your aim. If you miss, he can come after you. If you get his knees, he can’t. And he mightn’t be expecting it.”
“A stab to the guts will kill slowly, too,” Cery said. “Not much fun, but enough time to try and get you back for it.”
“And you shouldn’t kill unless ordered to,” Gol added.
“I should get you practising with shorter people.”
“And younger ones,” Anyi said. Gol gave a snort, and she turned to him. “Come on. You’re both not as fast as you used to be, and if anyone’s gonna send somebody after you they’re not going to get some old assassin out of retirement to give you a sporting chance.”
Gol chuckled. “She’s got a point.”
A tapping came from the door and they all turned to face it. They were in one of the upper-storey rooms of a bolhouse Cery owned, known as the Grinder. It was a place where he could meet the people of his territory who had requested an audience. Business had to be maintained, and that meant making himself available now and then. As with all his places, there were plenty of escape routes.
Cery nodded to Gol, who strode over to open the door. The big man paused, then stepped aside. In the entrance stood a squat, solid man, who had worked for Cery for years.
“A messenger’s here to speak to you,” he said. “From Skellin.”
Cery nodded. “Send him in.”
Gol took up a position to the left of Cery, arms crossed in his typical protective pose. Anyi’s eyes narrowed, then she walked past Cery to stand at his right. As he looked at her, she stared back defiantly, daring him to challenge her. He smothered a laugh.
“Did I say the lesson was over?” he asked, looking from her to Gol. His bodyguard blinked, then looked at Anyi. “Get back to work,” Cery ordered.
He watched them walk back to where they had been practising. Gol said something, to which Anyi shrugged, then dropped into a fighting crouch. Good, Cery thought. If Skellin’s messenger reports that I have a new, female bodyguard, I may as well have him report on her skills as well. I can’t hide her forever. If anyone picks that I’m keeping someone hidden they’ll assume there’s a reason and start asking questions.
Still, his skin pricked as a figure moved into the doorway. It was one thing to know one’s loved ones were in danger because of who you were, but quite another to actually put them in a position that involved no small amount of risk.
Skellin’s messenger was lean and tall, with the constant tense poise of a runner. His eyes met Cery’s and he nodded politely. Then his gaze snapped to Gol and Anyi, the latter having just launched herself in an attack. Gol countered it deftly, but she darted gracefully out of his reach.
As Cery had expected, a spark of interest lit the messenger’s gaze, but there was more than just professional assessment in his expression. Suddenly Cery regretted having Anyi and Gol return to practising. It took a great effort to keep his face composed and posture relaxed.
“You have a message for me?” he asked.
“You are Cery of Northside?” the man asked, though his voice held no doubt. It was a formality.
“Yes.”
“Skellin said to tell you that he has found the quarry and is setting a trap. If you bring your friends to the old butchery in Inner Westside when the sun sets tonight, they can take possession of their new pet.”
Cery nodded. “Thank you. We’ll be there. You may go.”
The man gave a slight bow, then left. Gol walked over to the door and closed it, before turning to regard Cery soberly. “You’ve only got a few hours.”
“I know.” Cery frowned. “And my friend won’t be at her place of employment yet.”
“They’ll send a message on to the Guild.”
“The Guild?” Anyi repeated. She gave Cery a hard look. “What is going on? Is this the thing you couldn’t tell me about yet?”
Cery and Gol exchanged a look. The bodyguard nodded once.
They’d discussed since the meeting with Skellin when to tell Anyi the whole story. If they told her about the rogue – and in particular that they suspected she was the Thief Hunter and the killer of his family – she’d want to come along and see the woman captured. If he ordered her to stay behind she would probably disobey him, figuring she’d wear whatever punishment he gave her for it. Assuming he discovered she had disobeyed him.
It wasn’t that she made a habit of defying him, but with something this big she’d make an exception. He would too, in her place.
He could, instead, simply not tell her about the rogue, but there was still a good chance she’d slip away and follow him just to find out. Again, it was what he would have done.
So he and Gol had decided their only choice was to involve her in the capture by giving her a relatively safe job to do. Once again she would be one of his shadow guards. This time she would have to know the nature of the quarry they were chasing. There would be no rushing in to fight this enemy if things went wrong. Fighting magicians with knives was pointless and suicidal.
“Yes, the Guild. It is time you knew what we’re dealing with,” Cery told her. “There are three things you will learn from tonight: even the most powerful Thief has limitations, it pays to have friends in high places, and there are some things best left to magicians.”
There was a long pause between when Sonea knocked on the door of Administrator Osen’s office to when it finally swung open. Osen’s gaze was slightly distracted as he ushered them in.
“Black Magician Sonea, Lord Rothen,” he said hesitantly. “I’ve called you here because Ambassador Dannyl and the Sachakans who have volunteered to help him are close to catching Lord Lorkin and his abductors.”
Sonea’s heart stopped, then lurched into a racing beat. She opened her mouth to ask him… what? What to ask first? Where was Lorkin? Did the Sachakans understand that they weren’t to kill him?
“How long until they do?” Rothen asked.
“Dannyl can’t say exactly. Half an hour. Maybe less. You had better make yourselves comfortable.”
Osen sat down behind his desk, and she and Rothen used magic to move two of the room’s armchairs to the front. Osen’s gaze slid to the distance.
He is linked to Dannyl by a blood ring, she guessed. What can he see? She wanted to demand that he describe everything he saw in detail, but instead took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“You said ‘abductors’,” she pointed out. “Is there more than one?”
Osen paused and his gaze shifted to somewhere far beyond the office walls.
“Yes. Several Traitors. Unh thinks eight.”
“Unh?”
The Administrator’s gaze focused on her with difficulty. “A Duna tribesman. He’s tracking for them. Apparently he’s quite good at it. Wait…” His expression shifted and became eager. “They got a look at them. Just a glimpse…”
He was silent, staring at the desk without seeing it for a painfully long moment. Sonea realised she was gripping the arms of her chair. She forced herself to let go and folded her hands in her lap instead.
“Ah.” Osen’s shoulders dropped with disappointment.
“What?” Rothen asked. Sonea glanced at him. He was leaning forward, his eyes wide.
Osen shook his head. “He’s not there. Not in that group. They’re following the wrong trail – wrong people.” He sucked in a breath, held it, then sighed. “There were three trails, apparently. They thought he was with one of them, but they were wrong. They’re going to have to go back and try another trail.”
Sonea let out a sigh of frustration. Rothen groaned and leaned against the back of his chair. Silence filled the room. Nobody spoke. Osen’s gaze had shifted to the distance again. Rothen was rubbing his forehead.
Then all jumped at a loud knock at the door.
Osen waved a hand. The door opened and a Healer stepped inside. The young man looked at Sonea, smiled and hurried toward her, holding out a slip of paper.
“Forgive the interruption, Administrator,” he said. “I have an urgent message for Black Magician Sonea.”
She took the paper from him and nodded in reply as he bent into a shallow bow. He hurried from the room. When the door closed she looked down at the note, then unfolded it.
Your friend in the city says his friend has found the thing you’re after. You have to be at the old butcher’s building in Inner Westside by sunset. Bring your other friend.
If she’d been in a better mood she would have laughed at the vague and rather silly language. But this was the last thing she needed. How could she race off into the city to catch the rogue when Lorkin could be found at any moment?
A hand passed before her eyes and plucked the message from her. Her heart skipped, but it was only Rothen. He scanned the note, looked at her and narrowed his eyes in thought.
“How long until they backtrack to where the trail split?”
“A few hours,” Osen intoned, his gaze still fixed on far-away things.
“And then a few more before they travel as far down the next one. Shall we leave you to follow their progress, and return later?”
“Of course.” Osen snapped out of his trance and looked at them in turn. “I’m sorry. These blood stones are remarkably involving of the attention. I should have Dannyl take off the ring until he is close to finding Lorkin again.” He waved a hand. “Go.”
Rothen rose, then looked at Sonea. She stood up reluctantly. How can I leave now? But it’ll be hours before they catch up with Lorkin. I can’t sit here waiting while the rogue escapes. And if we don’t turn up and Cery confronts the rogue by himself, he might get hurt.
She forced herself to move, following Rothen to the door, then out into the corridor. Long shadows striped the Guild grounds outside the University doors. The Healer was waiting for her, smiling nervously as she noticed him. Rothen beckoned to the man.
“Has anyone contacted Lord Regin?” he murmured.
The young man frowned and shook his head. Rothen turned to Sonea. “Sunset is not far off. You had better go now. I’ll find Regin and send him to meet you at the hospice.”
Hospice. Of course. I can’t go straight to Inner Westside. Must maintain the ruse, in case this doesn’t work. That means we really don’t have much time…
The urgency of their mission seized her at last, and she shooed Rothen away. “Tell him to go straight there.” She turned to the Healer. “Did you come by carriage?”
He nodded. “It’s waiting outside for you.”
“Good man.” She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go, then.”
It was Unh who had noticed the scatter of stalks beside the road, which he said might be feed that had spilled from a cart when it had stopped there. The local Ashaki hadn’t wanted to investigate, eager to chase after the cart, but Achati had sided with the tribesman, jokingly reminding them that Unh hadn’t been hired so that they had someone to ignore.
The tribesman found the tracks of three people wearing slave shoes – a man and two women – leading away from the road.
“I see this print at the last place,” Unh told them, pointing to a slight depression in the sandy ground. “The shape is longer and thinner than Sachakan foot, and there a hole under the heel.”
They had all been impressed with Unh. Now, hours later, they were not so pleased with him. After finding the tracks, they’d sent the carriages and horses on to the next estate with Achati’s driver, and continued on foot. At the tanner’s huts, they’d followed one of the three clear trails leading away. They’d been in a hurry because the sun was dipping toward the horizon, but it had made the tracker’s job harder. Long shadows, then twilight, made it difficult for him to make out the finer details of the footprints and other signs he was following. The Sachakans resisted creating a light for him, as it would make them visible from a distance in this exposed landscape. Nobody had been concerned, however, as the trail was still clear enough for them to follow it.
It was with a surge of triumph that Dannyl had spotted the figures in the distance. But the feeling hadn’t lasted long. It turned to dismay as he realised Lorkin was not among them.
Much cursing had followed. The Traitors they’d tracked were too far ahead to be caught and questioned, because doing so would take too much time, so Dannyl and his Sachakan helpers had hurried back to the huts. By then it was night, and creating a light for the tracker was unavoidable. To direct the light where he needed it they had to follow closely behind Unh, and several times they wound up trampling the signs he was looking for. It made the process of picking up the trail slow and difficult, so when Unh had lost the trail completely a few hours later, Achati decided they should camp for the night and continue after the sun rose.
The slaves dropped their burdens with obvious relief. But though they were obviously exhausted, their masters were more demanding than usual. The Ashaki groaned and complained, and had their slaves rub their legs and feet. At first Dannyl was puzzled, then he remembered that the one kind of magic the Sachakans didn’t possess knowledge of was Healing. While he had been soothing away the aches and pains and blisters of walking, they had no choice but to suffer.
I hadn’t realised how much of an advantage it is to us. It could be a significant one, if our countries were ever to fight each other, or another enemy. If we both have to trek to meet our foe, the Sachakans will be the only ones sore and tired from the effort.
The Duna tribesman abruptly rose and announced he was going to try locating the trail again. Achati looked at the others, saying that someone should go with him to keep them both shielded. Dannyl stood up.
“I’ll go. Unless you need me here?”
The magician shook his head. “Go. Keep your shield strong and don’t go too far. The Traitors may be watching us. They may not dare to kill anyone, but if they injured one or some of us we’d have to split up or slow down.”
Following Unh out of the camp, Dannyl created a globe light and set it hovering ahead of the man. He stayed several paces back and tried to step wherever the tribesman did so that he couldn’t possibly be trampling on any tracks but Unh’s. The distance between them made keeping both within a shield challenging.
The Sachakans had camped in a bowl-like hollow between two ridges. Unh made his way around the shorter arm of one ridge, keeping his eyes to the ground. After several paces he squatted and stared at the ground, then looked up at Dannyl and beckoned.
Dannyl closed the distance between them, then looked where Unh was pointing.
“See here,” the man said. “That stone has been stepped upon, then pushed back into the dirt. You can see the direction the stepper was going by the way there is a groove at the front, and a tiny mound at the back.”
It was rather obvious now that the man had pointed it out.
“How do you know it was a human and not an animal?”
Unh shrugged. “I don’t. It would have to be a big animal though, and most of those were hunted out long ago.”
He rose and went looking for more signs of passage. Dannyl followed, concentrating on holding the shield, directing the globe light, and walking only where the tribesman did. They stopped again and again, Unh pointing out a thread of cloth caught on one of the few stunted trees, some human hair, and some distinct footprints in a sandy area. Then he spent a long time examining the ground, and Dannyl used the opportunity to look around, trying not to imagine figures watching them in the darkness. He glanced to the side and felt a shiver run down his spine.
“Is that a cave?” he asked, pointing at a crack in the steep slope to one side.
Unh rose and approached the gash of darkness in the rock slowly. He continued to scan the ground, his head nodding from it to the crack and back again.
“Nobody went this way,” he said. He touched the side of the opening. “This happen not long ago.”
He beckoned and Dannyl hurried over. They peered into the darkness. Dannyl drew magic and created another light, which he sent inside. Stones filled the base of the crack, sloping downward then levelling off. The sides of the opening continued for a short way, then ended in darkness.
“There a bigger space inside. Want to look?” Unh asked.
Dannyl glanced back toward the camp, which was not far out of sight, then nodded. Unh grinned, an expression at odds with his usual dignified aloofness. A thrill of eagerness went through Dannyl, not unlike the excitement he’d felt so long ago when exploring the Allied Lands with Tayend.
Unh gestured to the opening. “You first.”
Dannyl chuckled. Of course. He was far more likely to survive if they happened to surprise a wild animal, or Traitors.
The floor was loose gravelly rock, and he half slid down into the space. Looking around, he saw only darkness and the hint of walls all around. He paused as Unh slid down to join him, then he increased the strength of the light…
… and ducked as walls of glittering gemstones shone back at him. A sound echoed in the room, and he realised he had let out a wordless exclamation of fear.
No relentless strikes came. He was breathing heavily, his heart hammering in his chest.
“You seen something like this before,” Unh stated. He was regarding Dannyl with interest.
Dannyl looked at him. “Yes.” No point denying it. His reaction had been nothing less than obvious.
“This not dangerous.”
The man spoke with certainty and authority. Now it was Dannyl’s turn to look at his companion with curiosity.
“You know what this is?”
Unh nodded and looked around, his expression knowing and happy. “Yes. These stones have no power. They have not been raised to have power. They are natural. Safe.”
“So… the stones in the place I was in before were made to be dangerous?”
“Yes. By people. Where was this place?”
“In Elyne. Beneath an ancient ruined city.”
Unh nodded again. “A people once lived in the mountains here. They knew the secret of the stones. But they are gone. All things end.” He shook his head. “Not all,” he corrected. “A few secrets Duna kept.”
“You know how to make gemstones with magic in them?”
“Not me. Some of my people. Trusted ones.” His expression darkened. “And Traitors. Long ago they came and made a pact. But they broke it and stole the secrets. That is why I help the Sachakans, even after what they do to my people. The Duna not forgiven the Traitors.”
“Do the Traitors know how to make caves like the one in Elyne?” Dannyl asked. If he’d known that, he’d never have entered this one like some child exploring for fun.
“No,” Unh replied. “Nobody knows that. Even the Duna forget some things.”
“That’s one thing probably best forgotten.”
“Yes.” Unh grinned. “I like you, Kyralian.”
Dannyl blinked in surprise. “Thank you. I like you, too.”
The man turned away. “We get back to camp now. I found trail.”
It was much harder to get out of the cave than into it, with the stones sliding out from under their feet, but the tribesman set his toes into the rough surface of one side of the crack and climbed out that way. Dannyl created a small disc of magic under his feet and levitated out. Unh seemed to find this very funny.
The walk back to camp was much quicker, since Unh no longer needed to stop and examine the ground. Dannyl was relieved to find that the magicians had let their slaves go to sleep, sprawled on the ground behind them. They were drinking some sort of liquor from the ornate cups each had brought with them. Dannyl accepted a measure of the fiery liquid. He only half listened to their conversation about an Ashaki’s son who had no skill as a trader and was going to ruin his family.
His mind kept returning to the fear that had coursed through him when he’d seen the walls of gemstones. I never even thought to wonder the worth of them as mere jewels, even after I calmed down. Hmm. I don’t think I did last time, either. But then, I was rather distracted…
A memory flashed through his mind of waking up utterly drained of power. Of Tayend, and the realisation of what he’d been hiding from himself for most of his life. That he was a “lad.” That he loved Tayend.
He felt a wave of sadness. A pity we had to change so much. Instead of growing around each other like that romantic notion of couples being like entwined trees, we became uncomfortably tangled, competing for water and soil.
He snorted softly. Such sentimental imagery was more the taste of Tayend’s poet friends. He looked at the Sachakans and Unh. They’d find such notions foolish, though in quite different ways.
Do the Traitors know of the cave? Unh said the crack was recent. I doubt the Sachakans do. From what I recall, the Duna’s main trade is selling gemstones. I wonder if Unh plans to come back with some of his people and harvest them before the Traitors discover them.
Then he recalled what Unh had said. The Duna knew how to make gemstones with magical properties. It was hard to imagine that a people like his could have access to such rare knowledge, yet live a simple, nomadic life.
Maybe it’s not all that simple, after all.
How was it that the Traitors could have such power, but have never left their hidden city? Clearly there were limitations to the gemstones. Maybe they had to be fixed to a surface, in a cave, in great numbers, in order to be an effective weapon.
The records of the storestone did not say it was fixed to anything. If it had been, removing it would have made it worthless. So why bother chasing after the thief?
Lorkin would be very interested to know what he’d learned tonight. But Lorkin was with the Traitors…
… and the Traitors had knowledge of magical gemstones.
Dannyl caught his breath.
Suddenly he understood something that was going to cause him considerable awkwardness with the men he was with, the Sachakan king, the Guild and, not the least, Lorkin’s mother.
Suddenly he understood there was a good chance Lorkin did not want to be found.
Not long after dawn, Savara had called a halt on a high, exposed ridge. The way had grown steeper and more rugged through the night, and all of the Traitors in their group had used tiny, faint lights hovering close to the ground to illuminate the way. After posting guards and sending out scouts, she told the rest of the group to settle just beyond the crest of the ridge, out of sight, and try to sleep.
“Our pursuers are several hours behind us now,” she said. “They’ll have to stop to rest, too, and they’re not as used to moving about in such rough territory as we are. We’ll continue on after sunset.”
The rest of the Traitors wore small packs like the ones Lorkin, Tyvara and Chari had carried since leaving the cart. He now discovered what the rolled-up bundles of thick fabric were. They were unrolling them for use as a mattress. He’d assumed they were some sort of blanket. But it made sense they’d carry a mattress over a blanket: magicians could heat the air but they couldn’t make the ground any softer.
Certainly not around here, he thought as he stretched out next to Chari and Tyvara. The area was all rock and stones, with the occasional twisted tree. Hearing footsteps, he turned to see Savara approaching and quickly got up again.
“I’ve considered your proposal and consulted with the queen,” she told him. Via a blood ring, no doubt, he thought. “If you still wish to accompany us to Sanctuary she will allow it. But she will not be the one to decide if you will be permitted to leave again. That decision will be made by vote, which makes it likely you will have to stay. Many Traitors will fear you will reveal the location of the city if we let you go.”
Lorkin nodded. “I understand.”
“Take some time to think about it,” she said. “But I will need your decision before we leave tonight.”
She moved away, climbing to the top of the ridge and sitting in the shadow of a large boulder. Keeping watch, Lorkin decided. He lay down again, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep with such a decision to make.
“Nobody would think badly of you if you went home,” a voice said nearby.
He rolled over to see Chari watching him, one arm beneath her head as a pillow.
“This other faction – the one that sent someone to kill me – will they try it again if I go to Sanctuary?” he asked.
“No,” she answered without hesitation. “One of our queens decided long ago that there can be no such thing as assassination in Sanctuary. I think a few of our people decided that if it was a good political tool outside of Sanctuary it would be so inside it too. In Sanctuary, murder is murder, except when it’s execution, which is the punishment for murder.”
Lorkin nodded. Which is what Tyvara is facing.
“Is there any chance a Traitor will want to read my mind?”
“They’ll all want to get a look inside that head of yours. But they aren’t allowed to unless you agree to it. Forcibly reading someone’s mind is also a serious crime. It would make us too much like the Ashaki.”
“So if I refuse… surely they will want to check if I’ve got good intentions before letting me into the city.”
“They’d love to. But laws are laws. Some of them are a little crazy. Like how the queen can decide if an outsider is allowed into the city, but not if they can leave again.”
“If I can’t leave, what will be expected of me then?”
“To follow our laws, of course.” She shrugged. “Which includes contributing to the work of the city. You can’t expect to be fed and have a bed to sleep on if you don’t help out in some way.”
“Sounds fair.”
Chari smiled. “Any more questions?”
“No.” Lorkin rolled onto his back. “Not yet, anyway.”
He’d done a lot of thinking since they’d joined Speaker Savara and her companions and learned that he might not be able to leave Sanctuary. In that time he’d listed reasons why he should and shouldn’t go there. The list of reasons not to was short:
I came to Sachaka to assist Dannyl, not go off on adventures of my own – even if those adventures might lead to a beneficial alliance for the Guild.
He didn’t have the authority to negotiate an alliance. But he only needed to get the Traitors to the point of wanting to negotiate and then arrange for a Guild magician with the authority to meet them. Like Dannyl.
Mother will not like it.
But this was a decision for him to make, for himself. Still, thinking of her he felt both longing and guilt. He did not like the thought of never seeing her again. Or never speaking to her. He still hadn’t had a chance to use her blood ring without revealing its existence to anyone. If he entered Sanctuary, would he be searched? Would the Traitors take the ring off him if they found it? If they were so suspicious of him that they wouldn’t let him leave Sanctuary, they certainly wouldn’t want him using a magical device that allowed him to convey everything he knew to the Guild.
He was beginning to think that he should use it soon, even if just to reassure his mother. And then find a place to hide it.
Retaining the ring is another reason not to go to Sanctuary. It’s only a small reason, though. And one I can remove.
There were many more reasons to go than not, however. First, there was Tyvara. He could not contemplate abandoning her. If he didn’t speak on her behalf at the trial, she might be executed. She had saved his life, and might die for it. Which would make it entirely his fault.
Even if I knew she would be fine, the thought of never seeing her again… His chest tightened and his heart began to beat faster. He frowned. There is more to this than an obligation to help her. I like her. A lot. I couldn’t abandon her, even if she doesn’t have the same feelings for me.
He thought about what Chari had hinted at. “Not any and every man for our Tyvara. Don’t worry about that.” The woman believed that Tyvara found him attractive. But Tyvara wasn’t behaving that way. She seemed determined to repel him, frowning and scowling when he talked to her, and trying to talk him into going home. Each time she did, Chari assured him that Tyvara felt guilty for not telling him earlier about the price for entering Sanctuary, and didn’t want him sacrificing his freedom for her sake.
But if I let her talk me into going home, she’d have not only saved me, but possibly sacrificed her own life for me. I can’t let that happen.
Tyvara wasn’t the only reason he ought to go to Sanctuary. To have come so far, got so close to these Traitors, and not attempt to set up negotiations between them and the Guild would be a waste of a great opportunity. He doubted that strangers often had the chance to enter Sanctuary and make such proposals. Even if the Traitors didn’t like the idea, at least he’d have put it into their minds.
But how realistic was it to hope that a people so secretive would, one day, decide to trade with the Guild?
Well, if they want Healing knowledge they’ll have to.
It was possible that the Traitors would decide it was safer to reject Healing and remain hidden to the world, keeping him trapped in Sanctuary. But it was worth the risk.
He had to admit, he did feel a nagging obligation to atone for his father’s betrayal. Though he would never give them Healing knowledge without the permission of the Guild, he could work toward gaining that permission. He felt like he owed the Traitors that much.
And if all goes to plan, we’ll get something in return. Perhaps only this ability to block mind-reading, but I have a feeling they have more to offer than that. I’m sure the mind-blocking is done with some sort of gem like the blood stones. That could be a whole new area of magic to be explored.
There was no way the Guild would agree to a trade with the Traitors while they had Lorkin imprisoned. Eventually, if the Traitors wanted Healing knowledge, they would have to let him go. In the meantime… Chari had mentioned records. Having been hidden away for several centuries, the Traitors must have historical information that Dannyl had never encountered before. Records that might lead to the rediscovery of ancient magic. Magic that the Guild could use for its defence.
Assuming that such magic does exist, can be used for defence, and I ever manage to get the information to the Guild.
Lorkin sighed. Perhaps he was being too optimistic, thinking that one day the Traitors would ally themselves with the Guild and the Allied Lands, and he would regain his freedom. Maybe it was wishful thinking.
Yet the Traitors were much better people than those that ruled the rest of Sachaka. They hated slavery, for a start. They counted all as equals, men and women, magicians and non-magicians.
They also had an incredible amount of influence over the country through their spies. He had to admit, the possibility of them taking over Sachaka one day was appealing. He had no doubt the first thing they would do is abolish slavery. He doubted they’d give up black magic, though. Still, it would be a big step toward Sachaka becoming one of the Allied Lands.
How can I give up and go back to Arvice, after all I’ve seen there? The slaves, the awful hierarchy based on inheritance and black magic. The Traitors’ society can’t be worse than that.
So many reasons to go to Sanctuary. So few to go back to Arvice.
He hadn’t realised he’d stood up until he found himself on his feet. The feeling of determination and decisiveness was exhilarating. He stepped past dozing women and walked to where Savara leaned against the rock wall, her eyes closed.
“I’ll come to Sanctuary,” he told her, guessing that she wasn’t asleep.
Her eyes flew open and snapped to his. She stared at him, her gaze disconcertingly intelligent. He found himself thinking that she must have been quite a beauty in her youth.
“Good,” she said.
“But you’re going to have to let me deal with Ambassador Dannyl,” he added. “He’s not going to give up. If you’d met my mother you’d understand why. Eventually he’ll either find Sanctuary or you’ll have to kill him. I rather like him, and would appreciate you not killing him. And if you did, there would probably be consequences that would not be good for the Traitors.”
“How will you persuade him to stop following you?”
He smiled grimly. “I know what to say to him. I’ll need to speak to him alone, though.”
“I doubt the Ashaki will let you go, if they see you.”
“We’ll have to lure him away from them.”
She frowned as she considered this. “I think we can arrange that.”
“Thank you.”
“Go sleep. We’ll have to let them catch up with us again, so we may as well get some rest in the meantime.”
He walked back to his mattress and found Tyvara sitting up, glaring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You had better not be thinking there is more between you and I than there actually is, Kyralian,” she said in a low voice.
He stared at her, feeling doubts starting to creep in. She stared back, then abruptly turned away and lay down with her back to him. He settled onto his mattress, feeling worry starting to eat at him.
Perhaps this is a one-sided thing…
“Don’t worry,” Chari whispered. “She always does this. The more she likes someone the more she pushes them away.”
“Shut up, Chari,” Tyvara hissed.
Lying on the hard ground, Lorkin knew that sleep was going to be impossible. It was going to be a very long day. And he was beginning to wonder if there might be a significant downside to living in a city of women like these.
As Regin related the final stages of the Ichani Invasion, Sonea cursed Cery again and tried not to listen. After leaving the Guild, she and the Healer who had brought the message had hurried to the hospice by carriage.
So many hours have passed since then, it feels like something that happened yesterday.
There had been a delay, she remembered. A Healer new to the hospice had pinned her down with questions about protocol. Sonea had told the man that he could ask such questions of any Healer there, and some of the helpers, but he didn’t seem to trust them. By the time Sonea extracted herself, Regin was there, waiting for her.
He arrived in a covered cart used to transport supplies to his family home. She had felt strangely out of place, riding in the back of an old cart, the both of them using empty crates as seats. But it was a smart move. They would attract too much attention if they arrived in a Guild carriage.
He’d also brought some threadbare old coats to wear over their robes. For that she was immensely grateful, and a little ashamed that she hadn’t considered how they were going to disguise themselves.
Well, I had a lot on my mind. A lot more than Regin knows. And while Cery knows about Lorkin’s abduction, I haven’t had a chance to tell him that Dannyl is in the midst of tracking Lorkin down right now.
When they arrived at their destination, a man had walked up to them and told them their host was waiting for them – just knock on the last door to the left down that alleyway. They’d entered the old butchery building, whose owner had been forced to move his business away when the area had grown more prosperous and finicky about its neighbours. It was used as a storehouse.
The sun was setting when we arrived. I was worried we were too late. I needn’t have rushed.
They’d been ushered into a surprisingly well-furnished room. An extraordinary-looking man had risen from one of the expensive chairs to bow to them. He was dark like a Lonmar, but with a distinct reddish tone to his skin, and strange, elongated eyes that put her in mind of drawings of the dangerous predatory animals that roamed the mountains.
He had no accent, however. He introduced himself as Skellin and offered them a drink. They’d declined. She assumed Regin was as reluctant to muddle his senses before a possible magical confrontation as she was.
Maybe I should have had that drink.
Skellin was clearly excited to meet them. When he had finally stopped exclaiming about being in the presence of real magicians -and the famous Black Magician Sonea herself, he told them of his history. He and his mother had left their homeland – a land far to the north – when he was a child. Faren, the Thief she had once agreed to use magic for in exchange for hiding her from the Guild, had raised him to be his heir. He remembered little of his homeland, and considered himself a Kyralian.
Sonea had begun to warm to him at this point, though she hadn’t forgotten that he was an importer of roet. Cery had arrived at last and Skellin grew serious. He explained his trap. The rogue, he had learned, worked for a roet seller who bought his supply from a worker in this building. They were due to pick up some more. But the timing was never sure. Sometimes they dropped by early in the evening, sometimes late. Skellin had men ready to tell him when she and the seller arrived. They had only to wait.
And wait we have, she thought. For hours and hours. All I want to do is get back to Osen and find out if Dannyl has caught up with Lorkin yet.
Instead, she and Regin had been urged to tell stories about the Guild. Skellin knew how she had become a magician, but not how Regin had come to join the Guild. Even though Regin’s story was hardly exciting or unusual, it clearly intrigued Skellin. He then wanted to know how their learning in the University was structured. Of the rules that they had to follow. Of the disciplines and what they involved.
It grew less pleasant when he urged them to describe the Ichani Invasion. “You must have amazing tales to tell,” the Thief had said, grinning. “I wasn’t there, of course. My mother and I hadn’t arrived in the country yet.”
Regin had saved her from revisiting the more painful time in her past by taking over the storytelling at that point. She wondered if he had guessed how difficult it would be for her. Either way, she felt even more gratitude toward him.
That’s three things I have to thank him for tonight, she thought. The cart, the coats and saving me from reliving some unpleasant memories. I had better…
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Skellin called out, and a lean man in black clothes opened the door.
“They’re here,” the man said, then backed out of the room again.
Sonea sighed with relief as quietly as she could manage. They all rose to their feet. Skellin looked at them in turn.
“Leave your coats here, if you wish. Nobody but my people and the rogue will see you.” He smiled. “I’m looking forward to seeing those famous powers of yours at work. Follow me.”
They filed through another door into a long corridor. Windows at the far end glowed faintly.
It’s nearly dawn. We’ve been up all night! She felt a stab of apprehension. Has Dannyl found Lorkin yet? What if Osen sent someone to get me and they discovered I’m missing? Even if he hasn’t, my allies at the hospice will have found it hard to stop the new Healer from looking for me to ask yet more questions.
Someone must have noticed my absence by now.
But if they had, it would not matter. When she and Regin returned to the Guild with the rogue there would be no more concealing her venturing outside of the hospices. If Rothen was right, nobody would care. Everybody’s attention would be on the discovery that a magician who not only wasn’t a member of the Guild but had actively been working for criminals had been living in the city.
If he was wrong, things were going to get very unpleasant for both of them.
As Cery had followed Skellin, Sonea and Regin out of the room he’d made a mental note to apologise to Sonea, once they were alone, for the long night she had endured. Perhaps it was only because he’d known her for so long that he’d detected how uncomfortable she’d been with Skellin’s questions about the Ichani Invasion.
Though I’d have thought anyone clever enough to become a Thief as powerful as he was, in such a short time, would realise that she’d hardly want to talk about the battle that led to the death of the man she loved.
Cery had felt an overwhelming gratitude to Regin for taking over at that point and saving Sonea from telling the story, or refusing to. The irony of that wasn’t lost on him. Regin was not a person he’d have ever expected to thank for being considerate.
At the end of the long corridor they climbed stairs to the upper floor of the old building. Skellin led them to a closed door. He paused as he took hold of the handle and looked at Sonea and Regin.
“Ready?”
The two magicians nodded.
Skellin opened the door and stepped through, then moved aside quickly as if eager not to be caught between the magicians and their quarry. Cery followed Sonea and Regin into a room filled with crates, lit with lamps set around the room. Four people had turned to see who had entered. Three were men and one was a woman wearing a cloak, the hood up and shadowing all but the dark skin of her chin and jaw. Two of the men looked unconcerned and unsurprised at the interruption. The third man looked from Skellin to the magicians, his gaze dropping to their robes. He looked shocked and frightened.
But the woman’s reaction was the most dramatic. She backed away, then raised her arms as if to ward off a blow. The air vibrated faintly. Sonea and Regin exchanged a knowing look. That was some sort of magical attack, Cery guessed. The magicians turned their attention back to the woman. She yelped in surprise and tucked her arms in against her sides.
Or is that an involuntary movement? Cery thought. She looks as if something invisible is wrapped around her.
The magicians paused as if waiting for something, but nothing happened. Sonea glanced at Regin again, then walked over to the woman.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“F-Forlie,” the woman answered, her voice trembling.
“Did you know, Forlie, that all magicians in the Allied Lands must be members of the Magicians’ Guild?”
The woman swallowed audibly and nodded.
“Why aren’t you a member?” Sonea asked. There was no accusation in her voice, just curiosity.
The woman blinked, then her head turned toward Skellin. “I… I didn’t want to.”
Sonea smiled, and while it was a reassuring smile there was a sadness to it. “We have to take you to the Guild now. They won’t harm you, but you have broken a law. They’ll have to decide what to do with you. If you cooperate it will be better for you in the long run. Will you come with us quietly?”
Forlie nodded. Sonea reached out a hand to her. Whatever force Sonea or Regin had kept her arms fixed against her body with was removed and the woman’s shoulders relaxed. Tentatively, she reached out to take Sonea’s hand. The two of them walked over to Regin. Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. Skellin looked pleased, Cery noted. Sonea and Regin looked grim but also relieved. Forlie…
Cery frowned, then walked over to the woman and tugged off her hood. He felt a shock as he saw her face.
“This isn’t her. This isn’t the rogue.”
There was a pause, then Skellin coughed. “Of course it is. She used magic, didn’t she?” He looked at Sonea and Regin.
“She did,” Regin agreed.
“Then there must be two rogues,” Cery said. “It might’ve been dark when I saw her, but Forlie doesn’t look anything like the woman I saw doing magic.”
“She has dark skin and she is the right age. You only saw her from above. How can you be so sure?”
“The shape of her face is all wrong.” The woman’s skin was lighter, too. She had Lonmar bloodlines, he guessed, and their typical physique. But the woman he’d seen in the pawnshop had an entirely different build. “She’s too tall.” And too meek to my family’s killer.
“You didn’t tell me this before,” Skellin pointed out.
Cery looked at him. “I guess I didn’t think it was worth going into detail, if there was only one woman using magic in the city.”
“It would have been useful to know.” For a moment a scowl crossed Skellin’s face, then he sighed and shrugged. “Well, I guess it’ll still be useful. You can identify the other one for us.”
Looking at Sonea, Cery saw she was shaking her head in dismay. He remembered how concerned she was that she might be discovered wandering about the city without permission. Once she brought this rogue to the Guild, they would know she’d defied their restrictions.
“Is this going to be a problem for you?” he asked.
“We’ll make sure it isn’t,” Regin replied firmly. “But it may be a problem for you. Once word gets out that we have caught this w-” He glanced at the woman. “Forlie,” he corrected. “The other rogue will be more cautious. She will not be so easy to find.”
“Not that she was in the first place,” Skellin added.
Regin looked at the Thief. “Will you assist us again?”
“Of course,” Skellin smiled.
As the magician’s gaze shifted to him, Cery bowed. “As always.”
“Then we’ll be waiting for your next message,” Sonea said. “In the meantime, we need to get back to the Guild as quickly as possible.” Her eyes flitted away. Following her gaze, Cery saw that the light of dawn was filtering through windows all around the room.
“Yes. Go,” Skellin said. He waved a hand dismissively at the three men still standing over by the crates, watching with bemused expressions. “Continue your work,” he said to them. “Now, let me escort you out,” he said to the magicians. “Come this way.”
Forlie said nothing as she walked with the magicians and Thieves. They backtracked down the stairs, along the wide corridor, and into the room they’d spent most of the night in. The magicians retrieved their coats and stepped into the alley outside. Skellin wished them all well and said he would be in contact as soon as he had something to tell them. At the end of the alley, Cery stopped.
“Good luck and all that,” he said to Sonea. “I’ll be in touch.”
She smiled. “Thanks for your help, Cery.”
He shrugged, then turned away and strode to where Gol was waiting, concealed in the shadows of a doorway opposite the old butchery building.
“Who was that?” the big man asked, stepping out to meet Cery.
“Black Magician Sonea and Lord Regin.”
“Not them.” Gol rolled his eyes. “The woman.”
“The rogue.”
“No she isn’t.”
“Not our rogue. Another one.”
“You’re joking with me?”
Cery shook his head. “Wish I was. Seems we’re still on the hunt for our rogue. I’ll explain later. Let’s get home. It’s been a long night.”
“Sure has,” Gol muttered. He looked back. Following his gaze, Cery saw that Regin and Sonea were still standing by their cart.
“That’s odd. Sonea was in a hurry to get back,” Cery said.
“This whole thing has been odd from the start,” Gol complained.
He’s right, Cery thought. And nothing more odd than Forlie herself. The way she looked at Skellin when Sonea asked her a question… as if looking to him for instruction.
There was no doubt about it. Something wasn’t right. But they had caught a rogue magician. Maybe not the rogue magician he suspected had something to do with the death of his family, but at least there was one less rogue available for hire by unscrupulous characters like himself. Life in the city’s underworld was dangerous enough without magicians hiring themselves out.
Though it would be handy having one to call on now and then. It might make finding my family’s killer a lot easier.
One thing he was sure of, though. The other rogue would not be so easy to catch.
Lorkin sat down on a dried-out old log and waited. Somewhere ahead, several Sachakan magicians and their slaves, a Duna tribesman, and one Kyralian Ambassador were making their way toward him. Somewhere behind him, Tyvara and Chari waited. And all around him, Traitors were taking positions ready to spring the trap they’d planned.
He was alone.
Despite Speaker Savara’s air of confidence, he knew what they were planning was dangerous. She wouldn’t tell him how they planned to separate Dannyl from his companions. She’d said nothing when he’d asked if they were planning to kill anyone. He assumed they weren’t, because they seemed anxious not to give the Sachakan king reason to enter their territory, and the obligation to retaliate or seek revenge for Ashaki deaths would certainly provide that.
Savara had told him he would not have much time. Once the Ashaki realised Dannyl had been deliberately separated from them they would be determined to find him. And if Lorkin was still with Dannyl, he’d be captured.
Lorkin sighed and looked around at the bare, rocky landscape. He hadn’t been alone in weeks. It would have been a nice change, if it weren’t for the circumstances. But he doubted he was unobserved.
If it weren’t for that, I’d try contacting Mother.
The blood ring was now a worrying burden. It wouldn’t surprise him if the Traitors searched him before or just after he arrived in Sanctuary. Though they did not treat him as if he posed much of a threat, he wouldn’t expect them to trust him completely.
And when they do, they’ll find Mother’s ring. It’s too obvious that something has been stuffed into the spine of my notebook. They’ll investigate. They’ll find it and take it off me in case I let her know where I am. Do I trust them to keep it safe?
He wasn’t prepared to take the risk. So far he’d come up with only two solutions: hide it somewhere, or give it to Dannyl. He’d decided on the latter.
Wait a moment… that means I can use it now. It won’t matter if anyone sees me and works out what I’m doing. He’ll have it, and he’ll take it away with him.
He was surprised at the relief that flooded through him, but not at the sudden reluctance that came afterwards. While he wanted to explain what he was doing to his mother, and reassure her he was fine, she was going to take some persuading.
Still, he had to try. And he didn’t have much time.
Reaching inside his clothes, he took the notebook out. A bit of pushing and digging later, he had the ring. He took a deep breath, then slipped it on a finger.
– Mother?
– Lorkin!
Relief and worry filtered through to him like muffled music.
– Are you all right? she asked.
– Yes. I don’t have much time to explain.
– Well… get to it then.
– Someone tried to kill me, but I was saved by a woman who is a member of a people called the Traitors. We had to leave Arvice because it was likely someone would try to kill me again. Now we’re heading toward the secret city she comes from. I’m going with her, but there’s a good chance they won’t let me leave the city in case I tell people where it is.
– Do you have to go?
– Yes. She wasn’t supposed to kill the person who tried to kill me. If I don’t speak in her defence they might execute her for murder.
– She saved you and now you want to save her. She paused. That’s fair, but is it worth being imprisoned?
– I think I can change their minds. But it might take a while. In the meantime… the Guild doesn’t know anything about them. I want to learn as much as I can. They have magic we’ve never seen before.
– The magic you went to Sachaka for in the first place.
– Maybe. I won’t know until I get there.
She was silent for a long moment.
– I can’t stop you… You had better be right about talking them into letting you go. Otherwise I’ll come fetch you myself.
– Give me a few years first. And lots of warning.
– Years!
– Of course. You can’t change a whole society overnight. But I’ll try to make it sooner.
– Well… you had better remember to put on the ring now and then.
– Ah, that’s going to be a problem. I suspect they’ll search me. If they find a blood ring, they’ll take it off me. They’re very keen to keep their city’s location a secret, and considering what the rest of Sachaka is like I don’t blame them. I’m going to give it to Dannyl.
– You haven’t spoken to Dannyl yet?
– No. But I will soon. I have to stop him following me, or the Traitors will have to kill him. I don’t suppose you could get Osen to tell him to stop?
– Not right now. I’m in the city.
A movement caught Lorkin’s eye.
– I have to go.
– Good luck Lorkin. Be careful. I love you.
– I love you, too.
He slipped the ring off and stood up. The movement he’d seen was a Traitor slowly making her way along the top of a ravine. Her attention seemed fixed on something below. Lorkin’s heart skipped a beat.
Dannyl had better be holding a strong shield.
Ahead, Unh was casting about, moving in different directions then returning to the same spot. He shook his head, turned and beckoned to Dannyl. For some reason, the tribesman was more inclined to speak to Dannyl now, whenever there was something to report.
“Tracks stop here,” the man said, pointing to the ground. He looked up at the rock wall that loomed over them on one side. “We try there?”
Dannyl looked up and judged the distance. The top of the wall wasn’t too far away. Drawing magic, he created a disc of force beneath their feet. He took hold of the man’s upper arms, and the man did the same with his. They had done this many times already that day, either rising up to the top of a ridge or wall, or dropping down to a ledge or into a valley.
This close, the tribesman smelled of sweat and spices, a combination that was not entirely pleasing, but not too unpleasant, either. Concentrating, Dannyl lifted the disc upward, bearing them with it.
The rock wall rushed past, then fell away as they passed the top of it. There was a narrow ridge along the top. Dannyl moved them to the middle of this before setting them down. Beyond, the high peaks of the mountains cut the sky to a jagged edge.
“If magicians can do this, why don’t they fly over the mountains and find Traitor city?” Unh asked.
Dannyl looked at the man in surprise. The man hadn’t questioned his ability until now. “Levitation takes concentration,” he replied. “The further from the ground you are, the more concentration it takes. I’m not sure why. But the higher you go, the easier it is to become disorientated, and the further you have to fall.”
The man pursed his lips, then nodded. “I see.”
He turned away and began searching the ground. Moments later he gave a huff of satisfaction. He leaned over the precipice, looking down at the Sachakans, who were staring up in puzzlement.
“Trail goes here,” he called. Then he set off along the ridge.
Dannyl waited and watched as the Sachakans took it in turns to levitate themselves and their slaves up the rock face.
“We’re getting further in,” one of the Ashaki said, looking around. “Has anyone gone this far before?”
“Who knows?” another answered. “We’ve been trying to find them for centuries. I’m sure someone must have.”
“I doubt we’ve got that close to them,” a third pointed out. “They’d have tried to stop us by now.”
Achati chuckled and brushed dust off his clothing. “They won’t risk that our Kyralian friend might get hurt. Attacking us wouldn’t bother them, but they don’t dare kill a Guild magician in case it motivates our neighbours into helping us rid Sachaka of our Traitor problem.”
“We’d better stick close to the Ambassador, then,” the first Ashaki said. Then he lowered his voice. “Though not so close that we have to endure the stink of our tracker.”
The others chuckled. Dannyl looked beyond them to see that Unh was standing a hundred strides or so away, beckoning to him. It was obvious the tribesman preferred his assistance to the Sachakans’. I can’t blame him. Though I have to admit, the man doesn’t smell too good. Still, I bet I don’t either, after walking through the mountains for days without a bath or a change of clothes.
He caught up with Unh and they continued on. Soon they had to levitate down the other side of the ridge, then up two more walls. Every time, Unh found the trail again. Time passed and soon the sun was dropping ever closer to the horizon. They entered a narrow ravine. Unh hesitated at the entrance, then indicated Dannyl should walk beside him.
“You keep magic shield on,” he said. “Keep it strong.”
Dannyl followed the man’s advice. He felt the skin down his back crawl as he and the tribesman slowly walked down the middle of the ravine. He glanced back to see the Sachakans following, their expressions grim. They were casting suspicious glances up at the ravine walls.
After several hundred paces the walls began to retreat and the ravine floor widened. Ahead, it became a small valley. Unh let out a breath and muttered something.
Then a crack and a boom shook the air. The sound came from behind them. Dannyl and Unh spun about, then threw up their hands as stones pattered against the barrier that protected them. They backed away. A fog of dust had filled the ravine.
Slowly it settled to reveal a huge pile of rocks.
Where are the Sachakans? Are they buried? Dannyl took a step forward, but a hand caught his arm. He turned to Unh, but the man wasn’t looking at him. He was looking toward the valley. Following his gaze, Dannyl saw a lone figure walking toward them. His heart skipped a beat.
Lorkin!
“They’ll be fine,” the young magician said. “They had strong barriers. It won’t take long for them to haul themselves out, then to work out how they’re going to get through to you, so I can’t stay long.” He smiled and stopped a few paces from Dannyl. “We need to talk.”
“We certainly do,” Dannyl agreed.
Lorkin looked healthy. He was even a little tanned. He was wearing slave’s clothes, yet he looked strangely comfortable in them. Perhaps only because he’d been wearing them for several days now.
“Let’s sit down,” Lorkin said. He moved to a low boulder and sat. Dannyl found another rock to sit upon. Unh remained standing. The tribesman watched Lorkin with a cautious, knowing expression.
Abruptly all sounds in the ravine were silenced. Dannyl guessed that Lorkin had created a barrier to prevent their conversation being overheard. Overheard by Unh, or others as well?
“You must have many questions,” Lorkin said. “I’ll do my best to answer them.”
Dannyl nodded. Where to start? Perhaps where it had all started to go wrong.
“Who killed the slave in your room?”
Lorkin smiled wryly. “The woman I’ve been travelling with. She saved my life.”
“Tyvara?”
“Yes. The one you found dead in my room tried to kill me. Tyvara said that others would try to finish the job, and offered to take me somewhere safe.”
“Who wants you killed, and why?”
Lorkin grimaced. “That’s kind of complicated. I can’t tell you who, but I can tell you why. It’s because of my father. But not because he killed any Ichani. Because of something else he did. Or rather, something he didn’t do. Do you remember how someone helped him escape Sachaka by teaching him black magic?”
Dannyl, nodded.
“Well, that person was a Traitor. He agreed to give them something in return, and he never did. In fact, it was something he was not authorised to give, but I guess he was desperate to go home and would have agreed to anything.” Lorkin shrugged. “I need to sort that out with the Traitors. And… there are other things. I have to tell them what happened with Riva – the slave Tyvara killed – or Tyvara will be charged for murder and executed. So I need you to stop following me.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?” Dannyl said, sighing.
“They’ll kill you if you don’t.” Lorkin’s expression was more serious than Dannyl had ever seen before. “They don’t want to. I don’t think they want to kill the Sachakans either… well, they’d love to kill them, I suspect, just not here and now. They know that the more people they have to kill to keep their location secret, the more people will try to find them.”
Dannyl nodded. “So you want me and Unh to pretend we lost the trail.”
“Yes. Or whatever you need to say to end the search.”
Somehow I don’t think it’ll take much to convince the Sachakans, after this, he thought, looking at the rocks blocking the ravine. What about Unh? I guess he’ll follow orders. But maybe the truth will suffice. If I decide we don’t need to find Lorkin, will the Ashaki keep searching?
Then Dannyl remembered the gemstones. He looked at Lorkin closely.
“This isn’t just because of your father and this woman, is it?”
The young magician blinked, then smiled.
“No. I want to know more about the Traitors. They don’t have slaves, and the way their society is structured is completely different to the rest of Sachaka. I think they may have forms of magic we’ve never heard of – or haven’t seen in thousands of years. I think they might be good people to establish friendly ties with. I think… I think that we need to get on their good side, because one day we might be dealing with them instead of the people ruling Arvice now.”
Dannyl cursed. “If it comes to a war, don’t take sides,” he warned. “If they lose, you may not be immune to the consequences.”
“I wouldn’t expect to be.” Lorkin shrugged. “I do realise the problems that would cause for the Guild. For now it would be better if everyone acted as if I’d left the Guild. I’m not sure how long I will have to stay here.” He frowned. “There’s a chance they won’t let me leave in case I tell others how to find them. I’ve explained all this to Mother, by the way.”
“Oh. Good.” Dannyl heaved a sigh of relief. “Do you realise how much I dreaded telling her about your disappearance?”
“Yes.” Lorkin chuckled. “Sorry about that.” The amusement left his face and he grimaced. He looked down and uncurled the fingers of one hand. On his palm lay a blood ring. He held it out to Dannyl with obvious reluctance. “Take it. I don’t dare carry it any longer. If they found it on me it would hardly encourage them to trust me and I don’t want to risk it falling into other hands.”
Dannyl took the ring. “It’s Sonea’s?”
“Yes.” A movement caught their attention. Dust rose from the pile of rocks behind them. Lorkin’s gaze flickered to them, and he stood up. “I have to go.”
At the movement, Unh turned to look at them. Once more Dannyl remembered the cave full of gemstones.
“My friend here – he’s from the Duna tribes, by the way – told me something interesting the other day. He said that his people have knowledge of how to make gemstones like those in the Cavern of Ultimate Punishment.”
Lorkin’s eyes brightened with interest.
“He also said,” Dannyl continued. “That the Traitors stole that knowledge from his people. You might want to keep that in mind. Your new friends may not be without a few nasty traits.”
The young magician smiled. “Who is? But I will keep that in mind. It is interesting information. Very interesting.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he looked at Dannyl and grasped his upper arm. “Goodbye, Ambassador. I hope your new assistant is more useful than I’ve proven to be.”
Dannyl returned the gesture. Then he jumped as sound returned. Lorkin moved away, pausing to say something to the tribesman as he passed. Dannyl rose and moved to Unh’s side and they watched the lone magician stride away.
“What did he say to you?” Dannyl asked when Lorkin finally moved out of sight.
“He said, ‘You’re the only one in danger’,” Unh replied. “He means the Traitors fear I may lead you to their city.”
“Not without the help of a magician, I suspect.”
The tribesman looked at him and smiled. “No.”
“So we’d better get you out of here sooner rather than later. How about we levitate over that pile of rocks and see if any of our Sachakan companions have dug themselves out yet?”
“Is a good idea,” the tribesman agreed.
When she had finally left Skellin, Sonea had simultaneously wanted to scream in frustration and cheer in relief.
By now, not only could Dannyl have found Lorkin, she’d thought, but there could have been a battle, funerals for the dead arranged, and a victory celebration held. Osen must have progressed from wondering where I am to discovering I haven’t been at the hospice all night to ordering Kallen to start strengthening himself ready to hunt me down.
And all for nothing. Well, not nothing. They had found one rogue. Just not the one they were looking for.
But at least she was away from Skellin, she’d reasoned, and headed back to the Guild at last. Then something happened that negated all her desire to rush back for news. She’d heard Lorkin’s voice in her mind. And felt hints at what he’d been feeling.
It had been very enlightening.
She’d forgotten how effective a blood ring could be at conveying the mind of the wearer. In a short time she had not only learned that Lorkin was alive, but that he did not fear for his life and was full of hope. Though he was not entirely certain how the people he was with would treat him, in general he respected them and believed they were benevolent. He was smitten with the woman who had rescued him, but the obligation he felt toward her was not entirely based on lust or fondness.
Ah, Lorkin. Why does there always have to be a woman involved?
Lorkin was as safe as she could hope, considering the situation. She’d rather he was home, and she did not like the possibility these Traitors would not let him leave their city, but he had decided to risk that and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
At least he’s a long way from the people who tried to kill him.
She’d got into the cart feeling much better. But before they had travelled far, Forlie had begun to groan and hold her head and stomach. A quick check told Sonea the woman was particularly susceptible to carriage sickness, so they had been forced to tell the driver to slow down.
She wondered if Lorkin had met Dannyl yet. And if Osen was now looking for her, to tell her the good news.
The cart slowed even further. Outside, someone was shouting, and the driver began shouting back. Sonea exchanged a frown with Regin as the vehicle stopped. Forlie began to whimper with fear.
They all jumped as someone began hammering on the side of the cart.
“Black Magician Sonea,” someone called. A young woman, Sonea guessed. “You have to come out. You’ve got the wrong woman.”
Sonea moved to the rear flap of the cart’s cover. She pulled it aside. The street beyond was empty but for a few people in the distance. A knocking came from the side of the cart again.
“I work for Cery,” the woman said. “I-”
“We know she’s the wrong rogue,” Sonea called out. “Cery told us.”
A slim young woman appeared, hurrying around the cart to scowl at Sonea.
“Then… you didn’t… you don’t know…” The girl stopped and took a deep breath. “You’re letting the other rogue go, then?”
Sonea stared at her. “Not if I can help it.”
“Well… I know where the real rogue is. I was watching you and Cery from the roof of one of the other buildings and saw her turn up to do the same. I think she’s still there.”
Regin uttered an oath. Sonea turned to look at him.
“Go,” he said. “I’ll get Forlie to the hospice and come back.”
“But…” But what if the woman has already left? My absence from the hospice might not have been noticed. If it hasn’t, I’ll be able to keep hunting for her. But if I get out of the cart and I’m seen…
“You should go,” she told Regin. “If I go and I’m recognised, the Guild will stop me hunting for h-”
“You must be the one to catch her.” Regin stared at her, his gaze intense and his expression unexpectedly angry. “People need to see you do it. They need to remember that you’re more than a Healer. That restricting you to that is a waste.” He pointed out of the cart. “Go! Before she gets away!”
Sonea stared at him for a moment, then pulled the flap wide and jumped out onto the road. Her coat flared open and the young woman’s eyes widened as she saw the black robes beneath. Sonea took the hint and buttoned the coat up. “What’s your name?”
“Anyi.” The girl straightened. “Follow me.” The girl broke into a jog, heading back toward the old butchery.
“Have you told Cery?” Sonea asked.
The girl shook her head. “I couldn’t find him.”
They moved into a maze of alleys, jogging from shadow to shadow. Sonea realised her heart was beating fast with a strange mix of long-forgotten excitement and something more primal. I’m like a hunter about to catch its prey, she thought. Then she remembered how it had felt to be hounded and frightened, sought by powerful magicians, and she sobered. Still, this woman is no untrained child. Why was she watching us? Did she know about Skellin’s trap?
She must have known about it. How had she found out? Had she sent Forlie in her place? Close to the old butchery, Anyi entered an alleyway. At the far end Sonea could see a busy main road.
“She was on the roof of this building,” she said. “There’s a spot out of sight around here where you can climb up-”
The girl had been about to dive into a small, dead end side alley, but suddenly checked her stride then backed away from the entrance.
“That’s her!” she hissed, pointing.
Her finger pointed upward. Sonea looked up, caught a movement and felt a chill run down her spine. She drew magic and threw up a shield around them. A woman was slowly levitating down into the side alley. She disappeared into the shadows.
“Can you trap her in there?” Anyi asked.
The sound of footsteps suddenly broke out, coming rapidly closer.
“Only one way to find out,” Sonea replied. She looked at Anyi. “Go back. When Regin returns, bring him here. I might need assistance.”
Anyi nodded and raced away. Sonea adjusted her shield to allow the girl out. When she turned back, the woman was about to emerge from the side alley.
Sonea stepped forward and threw up a barrier to block the woman’s way.
Surprise, shock and dismay crossed the woman’s dark face. Then her strange, angular eyes narrowed. A force hammered against the barrier. It was no test strike, but a full blast that was stronger than Sonea expected, and at the same time another strike flashed toward her. The barrier wavered and fell before she had a chance to strengthen it.
The woman dashed out of the dead end alley and ran toward the main road. Sonea ran after her, throwing out another, stronger barrier to envelop her, but the woman smashed this down with a violent blast. A moment later, the rogue was among the people moving up and down the road beyond.
Sonea reached the alley entrance. She saw the woman pause and turn to look at her, well within the flow of traffic. Seeing the distinctive red-brown skin, she knew why Cery had been so sure that Forlie was not the woman he’d seen. As Skellin’s face flashed through Sonea’s memory, she felt a chill run down her spine. Same reddish dark skin. Same strange eyes. This woman is of the same race!
A smile stretched the woman’s lips. A dangerous, triumphant smile.
She thinks I won’t dare use magic with all these people around, and she is right. I also don’t want to risk harming her. Though it would certainly make matters simpler for the Guild if the woman got herself killed.
To deserve that fate, she’d have to do much worse than be a rogue magician working for roet-sellers as a blackmailer. Like killing Cery’s family.
We need her alive to find out if she’s guilty or knows who is. We also need her alive so we can find out where she came from, and if there are more magicians like her. And find out why she was watching us catch Forlie.
And it would be much harder for Sonea to gain forgiveness for not obeying rules if her disobedience had led to her killing someone.
Sonea drew magic. Lots of magic. She had no idea how long she could hold the woman for. Despite knowing how to take power from magicians and people and even animals, and store it away until needed, Sonea had not done so for over twenty years. She was forbidden to unless ordered to do so by the Higher Magicians.
She was no more powerful than she had been before she had learned black magic. No more powerful than she had been as a novice.
But she had been an exceptionally powerful novice.
With the magic she had gathered, Sonea sent power over the heads of the people passing between her and the rogue, and surrounded the woman in a globe of force. At once the woman began striking in all directions, but though her attacks were powerful, Sonea had expected them to be so, and kept the containment barrier strong. The flash and vibration of magic sent people scattering away from the woman. Sonea shrugged out of the old coat and tossed it aside. When people recovered enough to stop and watch, she did not want them wondering why she had been wearing it.
The black cloth of her robes stirred in a breeze as she stepped out of the alley entrance and walked toward the rogue. She heard exclamations, from either side, where crowds of onlookers were no doubt gathering, but kept her attention on the woman. The rogue snarled and increased her attack on the barrier. Sonea strengthened it further, trying not to worry at how rapidly she was using her reserves of magic.
How long can I keep this up? How long can she keep it up?
A sound broke out from either side. Sonea did not realise what it was at first, then as she did her concentration nearly faltered from amazement.
The crowd was cheering.
Through the sound came a different sort of shout. In the corner of her eye she saw someone approaching. Someone wearing purple.
“Need some help?” a young male voice asked.
An Alchemist. Not one she knew, however.
“Yes,” she said. “Come through.”
Letting him into her barrier, she held out a hand to him.
“Send me your magic.”
“The old-fashioned way?” he asked, surprise in his voice.
She laughed. “Of course. I think we can manage one rogue between us.”
He took her hand, and she felt magic flow into her. She channelled it to the containment barrier. The Alchemist called out, and she realised another magician was approaching. This time a Healer. As the woman took Sonea’s other hand, Sonea almost expected the rogue to give up. But the foreign woman fought on.
Yet her strikes were growing weaker and weaker. Sonea felt an unexpected pity as the woman threw all her strength at the barrier until her attack finally faltered. The rogue’s shoulders drooped. She looked haggard and resigned.
Letting go of her fellow magicians’ hands, Sonea glanced at them.
“Thank you.”
The Alchemist shrugged, and the Healer murmured something like “of course.” Sonea turned her attention back to the rogue. She closed the distance between them, taking slow measured strides. The Alchemist and Healer paced beside her, staying within her shield. The rogue regarded Sonea sullenly as she stopped before her.
“What is your name?” Sonea asked.
The woman did not answer.
“Do you know the law regarding magicians in the Allied Lands? The law that states that all magicians must be a member of the Magicians’ Guild?”
“I know it,” the woman replied.
“Yet here you are, a magician who is not a member of the Guild. Why is that?”
The woman laughed. “I don’t need your Guild. I learned magic long before I came to this land. Why should I bow to you?”
Sonea smiled. “Why indeed?”
The woman glowered.
“So,” Sonea continued. “How long have you lived within the Allied Lands?”
“Too long.” The woman spat on the ground.
“If you don’t like it, why do you stay?”
The woman stared balefully at Sonea.
“What is the name of your homeland?”
The rogue’s lips pressed together stubbornly.
“Well, then.” Sonea brought the barrier around the woman in closer. “Whether you like it or not, the Magicians’ Guild is bound by law to deal with you. We’re taking you to the Guild now.”
Anger contorted the woman’s face and a new blast of power pounded the barrier surrounding her, but it was a weak attack. Sonea considered waiting until the woman tired, then decided against it. She shrank the barrier around the woman, then used it to nudge her to the centre of the road. She began pushing the rogue firmly but gently forward. The Healer and Alchemist fell into step beside her.
And in this way, through streets lined with curious onlookers, they escorted the second rogue found that day to the Guild.
The blindfold over Lorkin’s eyes itched, but each of his arms was being held by a Traitor.
“We’re stopping,” one of the women said, gently pulling him to a halt. “Now we’re going up again.”
The other woman let his arm go and he took the opportunity to scratch. He braced himself and felt his stomach lurch as they began to rise. After several heartbeats he felt the unevenness of the ground under his feet again. The woman tugged him into motion.
“Be careful, the ground slopes here. Duck your head.”
He felt a sudden coolness and guessed that they’d moved from sunlight into shadows. That wasn’t all. There was moisture in the air, and a faint smell of rotting vegetation or mould. His guide stopped.
“There’s stairs now, descending. Four of them.”
He found the edge with his toe, then cautiously stepped downward. The steps were wide and shallow, and from the way sounds were echoing he had entered a cave or room. The trickle of water came from a few strides away.
“It’s all flat from here.”
That wasn’t strictly true, he could tell as he walked. The ground was smooth, but there was a definite gradual incline. He listened to the sound of the group’s footsteps, and the flow of water. If they made any turns, they were too large and slow for him to detect.
The sound of wind, vegetation rustling and distant voices came from somewhere ahead. A few more strides and, from the way the noise surrounded him, he knew he was now outside. He felt the warmth of sunlight on his face and a breeze on his skin. He heard someone say Savara’s name.
Without warning, the blindfold was removed and he found himself blinking into the brightness of the midday sun. Before his eyes had adjusted, the Traitor who had been guiding him tugged at his arm, indicating he should continue walking.
Savara led the group, walking along a pathway beside tall, swaying stalks. He realised this was the edge of a crop, the large seed heads peeking out from the topmost leaves. The path ascended steeply and he found himself staring out over a wide valley.
Steep cliff walls rose on either side, meeting at the ends of the valley. Fields filled the floor, each at a different height, like disturbed tiles, but all level. The tiers of green stepped down to a long, narrow lake at the valley’s lowest point. Not one corner wasted, he thought. How else can they feed a whole city of people? But where are the buildings?
A movement up on the nearest cliff wall answered that question. Someone was looking out of a hole in the rock face. A moment later he realised that the entire wall was riddled with holes, from one end of the valley to the other.
A city carved into the rock. He shook his head in wonder.
“It was already here when we found the valley,” a familiar voice said, from beside him.
He looked at Tyvara in surprise. She had barely said a word to him since they’d joined Savara’s group.
“Of course, we’ve made it much bigger,” she continued. “A lot of the old part collapsed and had to be replaced sixty years after the first Traitors settled here.”
“How deep does it go?”
“Mostly it’s only one or two rooms deep. Think of it as a city half the size of Arvice, but more elongated, and tipped on its side. We have tremors here now and then, and parts collapse. Though we’ve got a lot better at judging if the rock is safe before making new rooms, then strengthening them with magic, people feel more comfortable living close to the outside.”
“I can understand how they’d come to feel that way.”
He could see, now, that part of the base of the wall was broken by sturdy archways, through which people were entering and leaving the city. Elsewhere there were smaller, more widely spaced openings. The arches suggested a formal, public entrance, and he was not surprised when Savara headed for them.
But not long after, she was forced to stop. A crowd had begun to gather. Many of the people were staring at him. Some were clearly curious, but others looked suspicious. Some were glaring in anger, but not just at him. Their attention was also on Tyvara.
“Murderer!” someone called out, followed by sounds of agreement here and there. But a few people frowned at the accusation, and some even voiced a protest.
“Move out of the way,” Savara ordered, her tone firm but not angry.
The people blocking the path obeyed. Lorkin read respect in their faces when they looked at Savara. She is definitely a Traitor to get on the good side of, he thought, as the group followed their leader to the arches and into the city.
A wide but shallow hall supported by several rows of columns spread before them.
“Speaker Savara,” a voice called. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely.”
The voice belonged to a short, round woman, who was walking toward them from the back of the hall. Her words had been spoken in a lofty tone. Savara slowed to meet her.
“Speaker Kalia,” Savara replied. “Have the Table assembled?”
“All but you and I.”
Lorkin felt something nudge his arm. He looked down at Tyvara. She mouthed something, but he could not make it out, so she leaned closer.
“Other faction,” she whispered. “Leader.”
He nodded to show he understood, then gave the woman a closer look. So this is the one who ordered me killed. She was older than Savara, possibly older than his mother, if the roundness of her face was smoothing out the lines a woman her age might normally have. The sharpness of her eyes and the set of her mouth contradicted her soft demeanour. They gave her a mean expression, he decided. But maybe his perception was skewed by the knowledge she’d wanted him dead. Maybe other people found her appealing and motherly.
Kalia’s gaze swept over the other members of Savara’s group and her nose twitched. Lorkin realised that the slave garb he and some of the others wore now looked out of place. Like the costume it is. Savara turned to two of her companions.
“Take Tyvara to her room and guard the doors.”
They nodded, and as they looked to Tyvara she stepped forward to join them. Without glancing at him or saying a word, she strode away. Savara looked at another of her people.
“Find Evana and Nayshia and have them replace Ishiya and Ralana as soon as possible.” She looked at the last two women. “Go. Get some rest and proper food.”
As the women left, Savara turned to Lorkin. “I hope you’re ready to answer a lot of questions.”
He smiled. “I am.”
But as she and Kalia fell into step either side of him, leading him out of the hall and into a wide corridor, he realised he did not feel ready. He knew that there was a queen here, but it was suddenly clear that Tyvara and Chari had neglected to tell him how power was divided below the level of royalty. He knew the women flanking him were Speakers, but he had no idea exactly how they fitted into the hierarchy, and he was feeling a fool for not asking.
Savara asked if a Table had been assembled. I’m guessing they don’t mean furniture. They’re both part of it, so I assume it’s some sort of group like the Higher Magicians. With someone directing the formalities and ceremonies, as Administrator Osen does at Guild meets.
Light in the corridor was subdued, but bright enough to illuminate the way. There was colour to it – colour that shifted and changed. He looked around, seeking the source, and realised that it came from bright points of light embedded into the roof.
Gemstones! Magical gemstones! He tried to make out their shape as he passed, but they were too bright to look at directly. They left spots floating before his vision, so he forced himself to avert his eyes.
The corridor was not long, and Savara and Kalia led him through a wide doorway into a large room. A curved stone table had been set at one end. Four women sat along the length of it, with two empty seats waiting. At the far end of the table sat a grey-haired woman, who had the same tired look about her that Osen always seemed to have.
She’s the Traitors’ version of the Administrator, I’d wager.
At the closer end was another chair, larger and studded with gemstones, and empty. The rest of the room was a large wedge shape, fanning out from the table. The floor had been carved into steps, on which cushions had been neatly spaced. For an audience, though there’s nobody here today.
Savara directed him to stand before the table, then she and Kalia took their seats.
“Welcome, Lorkin of the Magicians’ Guild of Kyralia,” the tired woman said. “I am Riaya, Director of the Table. These are Yvali, Shaiya, Kalia, Lanna, Halana and Savara, Speakers for the Traitors.”
“Thank you for allowing me into your city,” he replied, bending in a slight bow that he directed at them all.
“I understand you have come to Sanctuary willingly,” Riaya said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Foremost, to speak in defence of Tyvara at her trial.”
“And why else?”
He paused to consider how to begin. “I understand that my father made a promise to your people that he should not have. If I can, I would like to settle that matter.”
The speakers exchanged glances. Some looked sceptical, others hopeful.
“Is that your only other reason?”
Lorkin shook his head. “Though I was only an assistant to the Guild Ambassador to Sachaka, I know that part of the role – part of the reason for having Ambassadors in the first place – is to seek and maintain peaceful links with other peoples. The Traitors are a part of Sachaka, so if we do not seek links with them we are neglecting an important section of the country. Even the little I know about the Traitors tells me that your values are more compatible with those of the Allied Lands. You reject slavery, for instance.” He took a deep breath. “If there is a chance that a beneficial link might be established between us I feel obliged to explore the possibility.”
“What possible benefit would there be for us in such an alliance?” Kalia asked, her tone full of disbelief.
Lorkin smiled. “Trade.”
Kalia gave a sharp, humourless laugh. “We’ve already sought honest trade with your kind, and regretted it.”
“You refer, of course, to my father,” he said. “I was told that Traitors agreed to teach him black magic in exchange for Healing magic? Is that correct?”
The seven women frowned.
“Black magic?” Riaya repeated.
“Higher magic,” Lorkin explained.
“Then that is true,” Riaya said.
Lorkin shook his head. “Only the Higher Magicians of the Guild, with permission from the leaders of the Allied Lands, could have made that decision. It was not my father’s right to offer you such knowledge.”
The women began to exclaim and speak all at once and, though Lorkin could not make out what all of them said, the general opinion was clear. They were angry, yet also puzzled.
“Why would he make the promise? Did he intend to break his word?”
“It’s obvious why he did what he did,” Lorkin said. “He was-”
But Kalia and the woman beside her were still talking, agreeing with each other – from the bits he caught – on how Kyralians weren’t to be trusted.
“Let him speak,” Riaya said, her voice cutting across theirs. The two women quietened. Kalia crossed her arms and looked at him with haughty expectation.
“My father was desperate,” Lorkin reminded them. “He had been a slave for many years. He knew his country was in danger. He probably felt his personal honour did not matter in the face of his country’s safety. And after years of… being a slave, how much dignity would you have left?”
He stopped as he realised he was allowing too much emotion to enter his words. “I have a question for you,” he said.
“You don’t get to ask us questions,” Kalia sneered. “You must wait until-”
“I would like to hear this question,” Savara interrupted. “Would anyone else?”
The rest of the women paused, then nodded.
“Go on, Lorkin,” Riaya urged.
“I was told your people had known my father was a slave for some time before you offered him this trade. Why did you wait until it was of advantage to you to offer that help? Why did you require such a high price for helping him, when you rescue your own people from such tyranny all the time?”
His last words were drowned in protests.
“How dare you question our generosity!” Kalia shouted.
“He was a man and a foreigner!” another exclaimed.
“The queen’s only daughter died because of him!”
“And hundreds more could have been saved if he’d kept his word.”
His gaze slid across their angry faces and he suddenly regretted speaking out. He needed to charm and woo these women, not anger them. But then his eyes met Savara’s. He saw her nod approvingly.
“Will you give us what your father promised?” Kalia demanded.
Instantly, the women quietened. They stared at him intently. They want Healing so badly, he thought. Why wouldn’t they? The desire to be protected from injury, disease and death is a powerful one. But they don’t realise how powerful the knowledge is. The advantage it gives over an enemy. How it can be used to harm as well as help.
“I am not authorised to do so,” he told them. “But I am willing to help you gain it, through negotiating an exchange with the Guild and the Allied Lands.”
“An exchange?” Riaya frowned. “For what?”
“For something of equal value.”
“We gave you higher magic!” Kalia exclaimed.
“Yes, you gave my father black magic,” Lorkin pointed out. “It is not new to the Guild, nor would they consider it a suitable exchange for Healing.”
Lorkin had expected more protest at this, but the women had fallen into thoughtful silence. Savara regarded him with narrowed eyes. Was that suspicion he read in them?
“What do we have that would be considered of equal value?” Riaya asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I only just got here.”
Kalia sighed loudly. “There is no point wasting time and energy fantasising about trades and alliances. Sanctuary’s location is a secret. We can’t have foreigners coming and going, for trade or otherwise.”
Riaya nodded. She looked at the women, then at Lorkin.
“We are not yet in a position to consider such matters as trade with the Guild. Did Savara warn you that you would not be allowed to leave if you came to Sanctuary?”
“She did.”
She turned to the speakers. “Do any of you see reason why this law should not apply to Lorkin?”
All shook their heads. Even Savara, he noticed. He felt his stomach sink.
“Do you accept this?” Riaya asked him.
He nodded. “I do.”
“Then you are now subject to the laws of Sanctuary. So you had better find out what they are and pay them the respect they deserve. This meeting is over.” Riaya looked at Savara. “Since you brought him in you are charged with ensuring he is obedient and useful.”
Savara nodded, then stood up and waved a hand to indicate he should follow. As they walked out of the room, Lorkin felt a strange gloom settle on him. He’d known there would be a price for following Tyvara to Sanctuary. Though he was prepared to accept it, a part of him still rebelled.
And then he remembered what Riaya had said. “We are not yet in a position to consider such matters…” Not yet. That did not mean “never.” It might take years for them to gather the strength and courage to venture beyond their mountains, but they would have to, if they wanted what the Allied Lands had to offer.
Although if they did steal gem magic from the Duna tribes, he found himself thinking, then I had better be very careful they don’t try to do something similar to me.
Anyi’s hand reached out to caress the fine leather of the carriage seat, then trace the gold inlay set into the edge of the seat’s wooden base. Looking down at the floor, Cery noted, with amusement, that the Guild symbol – a Y within a diamond – had been created with different inlayed timbers, all which had been polished to a rich shine.
“We’re here,” Gol said, his voice hushed with awe.
Cery looked out of the window. The Guild gates were swinging open. The carriage slowed as it passed through, then sped up again to take them to the front of the University. It stopped before the steps and the driver jumped down to open the door for them. As Cery climbed out, a figure in black robes emerged from the building.
“Cery of Northside,” Sonea said, grinning at him.
“Black Magician Sonea,” he replied, bending in an exaggerated bow. Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “This is Anyi,” he told her. “And you know Gol.”
Sonea nodded at his daughter. “I didn’t realise you were that Anyi,” she murmured. “But then, I hadn’t seen you since you were no taller than my knees.”
Anyi bowed. “Let’s not spread that about,” she said. “I’m Cery’s bodyguard, nothing more.”
“And that’s all that the Guild will know,” Sonea assured them. Sonea looked up at Gol. “You’ve got no taller since the other day, I’m glad to see.”
The man sketched a hasty bow. He opened his mouth and closed it again, clearly too overwhelmed by his surroundings to think of a witty reply.
“Come inside.” Sonea beckoned and started climbing the steps. “Everyone is looking forward to hearing your stories.”
Catching the dryness of her tone, Cery looked at her closely. He had been both pleased and dismayed by her summons to the Guild to identify the rogue, but she’d assured him that she had only referred to him as an old friend. There was a chance some of the older magicians would remember him from twenty years before, and knew he’d become a Thief but it was a slim one. But it was worth the risk if it meant his family’s murderer was found.
He also understood she was worried that the Guild would restrict her freedom more now they knew she had been roaming about the city without permission. The fact that she’d been associating with a Thief would not make things any better for her, despite the fact that this was no longer against any Guild rules.
While the hunt for the rogue was over, the matter was hardly settled as far as the Guild was concerned.
“How has the meeting gone so far?” he asked.
“There has been lots and lots of arguing,” she began.
“Of course.”
“Worse than usual. I always suspected that if a magician from beyond the Allied Lands wanted to live in one of our countries it would bring our laws into question. But I always assumed it would be a Sachakan magician.”
“Has the rogue told you anything about where she came from?”
“No. She’s refusing to speak. So is Forlie, though I think that’s more out of fear than stubbornness.”
They reached the top of the stairs and she led them through the entry hall full of impossibly delicate spiralling staircases that Cery remembered from his last visit, over twenty years before. Gol and Anyi both gazed around, their mouths open in astonishment, and Cery had to smother a chuckle. Sonea did not hesitate, but led them into a wide corridor. This finished at the huge Great Hall that contained the old building that was the Guildhall. A building within a building. Cery didn’t think Gol and Anyi’s mouths could open any wider.
“Will you read her mind?” Cery asked Sonea.
“I expect we will eventually. That’s part of what the arguing has been about. Since we don’t know anything about the place she came from we don’t know if reading her mind without her permission would be taken as an unforgivable abuse.”
“But you can’t find out where she came from without reading her mind,” Anyi said.
“No.”
“And that’s why we’re here. You need proof she did something illegal.”
Sonea had reached the doors of the Guildhall, which were slowly opening. She looked at Anyi and smiled crookedly.
“Yes. More than just using magic in self defence.”
As the doors swung wide, Cery caught his breath. The hall was full of magicians. It was a sight he suspected few non-magicians could see and not feel awed and intimidated. Especially when they considered all the magical power these magicians held.
Looks like they’re doing a good job of replacing the numbers they lost during the Ichani Invasion, he noted. The tiered seats on either side were full, but the rows of chairs in the centre of the room were empty. Which are for the novices, he recalled. That’s good. There’s likely to be more people from the low end of town among them, who might recognise me.
Sonea strode forward, black robes swirling. Following her, Cery glanced at Gol and Anyi, walking on either side of him. Both were averting their eyes from the watching magicians, keeping their gaze fixed on the scene ahead of them.
A magician in blue robes stood waiting at the far end of the room. The Administrator. This was a different man to the one Cery remembered wearing those robes long ago, before the Ichani Invasion. He was older than that man had been.
Behind the Administrator were more tiered seats. The Higher Magicians. Cery examined the faces. Some looked familiar, some did not. He recognised Rothen, the magician who had guided Sonea through her early years in the University. The old man met Cery’s gaze and nodded once.
Two women stood before the Higher Magicians. Cery recognised Forlie, who looked frightened out of her wits. The other woman turned to see who was approaching and Cery felt his heart skip.
Yes, that’s her.
As she glared at him, Cery’s blood went cold. In the dim light of the pawnshop attic, he hadn’t seen her too clearly, though enough to recognise her when he saw her the next time. And when he’d seen her in the street outside the shop, it had been at a distance. But here, under the bright glow of many magical globe lights, he noticed something he’d not had the opportunity to see before.
She had the same strange eyes as Skellin’s. They were of the same race.
That’s not something the Guild needs to know, he decided. Skellin would not appreciate me directing the Guild’s attention in his direction. Though I doubt Sonea failed to notice the similarity. She probably hasn’t told anyone because that would mean revealing she had enlisted the help of a Thief…
As Sonea stopped before the Higher Magicians, Cery, Anyi and Gol bowed. She introduced him and his bodyguards and explained that Cery was the friend she had spoken of, who had first seen the foreign rogue and brought the matter to her attention. As she finished, the Administrator looked at Cery.
“Firstly, the Guild offers its thanks for your assistance in capturing these rogue magicians,” he said. “Secondly, we thank you for helping us today.” He gestured to the two women. “Do you recognise either of these women?”
Cery turned to Forlie. “I had not seen Forlie until a few days ago, when she was caught.” He gestured to the other woman. “This one I saw a few months ago. Gol and I were after a murderer, and the clues we’d got led us to spy on a shop owner and his customer – this woman. We saw her use magic to open a safebox.”
The rogue was still staring at him, and as his gaze shifted to her she narrowed her eyes.
“Do you think this woman is the murderer you sought?”
Cery shrugged. “I don’t know. Magic was used in the murder. She has magic. But I have no proof that it was her.”
The Administrator’s attention moved to Gol. “You were there the night your employer spied on this woman.”
Gol nodded. “I was.”
“Was it as he described? Were there any details you noticed that he didn’t?”
“He got it straight,” the big man said.
Now the Administrator looked at Anyi. “And were you there?”
“No,” she replied.
“Have you observed this woman performing magic?”
“Yes. I first put eyes on her an hour or so before S-… Black Magician Sonea caught her. She was watching Forlie being caught. I thought it a bit odd. Then I saw her using magic to kill some birds that were making so much noise fighting they might’ve drawn attention to her. I knew she had to be a rogue, too, so I went to get Black Magician Sonea.”
The Administrator looked thoughtful, then regarded Cery, Anyi and Gol in turn. “Is there anything else you can tell us about either of these women?”
“No,” Cery replied. He glanced at his daughter and bodyguard. They were shaking their heads.
The Administrator turned to regard the Higher Magicians. “Any questions?”
“I have one,” the magician in white robes said. He must be the High Lord, Cery recalled. Sonea had told him the High Lord’s robes had been changed to white after it was decided the Black Magicians should, logically, wear black. “Have you ever seen anyone with the same physical characteristics as this woman?” The man gestured toward the rogue. “Aside from her gender, of course.”
“Maybe once or twice,” Cery replied.
“Do you know where those people came from?”
Cery shook his head. “No.”
The magician nodded, then waved a hand at the Administrator to indicate he had no more questions. Relieved, Cery found he was looking forward to leaving this place. He might be a powerful man in the city’s underworld, but he was not used to being scrutinised by so many people. A Thief works best unnoticed. Better to be known by reputation than by being the centre of attention.
“Thank you for your assistance, Cery of Northside, Anyi and Gol,” the Administrator said. “You may now leave.”
Sonea ushered them out again. Once the Guildhall doors had closed behind them, Cery let out a sigh of relief.
“Did that help?” Anyi asked.
Sonea nodded. “I think it will. They now have witness accounts of the woman breaking the law. The only magic she used within sight of magicians was arguably in her defence, when I captured her and took her to the Guild.”
“So if she has broken the law it is excusable to read her mind?”
“It was already.” Sonea smiled grimly. “But now they won’t feel so bad about it.”
“Will you do it?” Cery asked.
Her smile vanished. “It’ll either be me or Kallen. I suspect they’ll choose Kallen, since he’s had much less involvement in the search and hasn’t been disobeying rules.”
Cery frowned. “Are they going to give you trouble for that?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, her brow creasing with worry. “Kallen doesn’t seem too pleased. He hasn’t had the time to raise the matter so far, but he will eventually. Nobody else has brought it up, but I’m sure someone will.” She sighed and took a step back toward the hall. “I had better return. I’ll let you know what happens.” She paused, then smiled. “Oh, and Lorkin contacted me. He’s alive and well. I’ll tell you all about it another time.”
“Great news!” Cery said. “See you then.”
She waved, then pushed one of the doors open wide enough to slip through. Cery looked from Anyi to Gol. “Let’s see if the carriage is waiting for us.”
They grinned, and followed as he set off back to the front of the University.
When Achati, Dannyl, the other Ashaki and Unh reached the road, they found that the slaves they had sent ahead had the carriage and horses ready and waiting for them. The Ashaki helpers turned to face Dannyl and bid him farewell.
“You have our sympathy,” one of them said. “It must be annoying to have your assistant seduced away from you.”
“Yes,” Dannyl replied. “But at least I know he went willingly and is in no danger – or doesn’t believe himself to be. And… I apologise for his behaviour again. He led you all into danger unnecessarily.”
Another shrugged. “It was worth it for the chance to finally attempt to do something about them, or find their base, even if it led to nothing.”
“But… surely you could not have followed the Traitors much further without them being forced to kill you,” Dannyl said.
The Ashaki exchanged glances, and suddenly Dannyl understood their apparent lack of concern. They did not want to admit that they had been hopelessly outnumbered, or had failed in their task, so they pretended otherwise. In truth they had been well aware and fearful of the risk they had been taking. It would be rude to make them say so aloud, however.
“Well, Ashaki Achati tells me we got further into their territory than anyone has managed to go before,” he said, putting pride and admiration into his tone.
The Ashaki smiled and nodded.
“If you change your mind about retrieving your assistant, let us know,” the more talkative of them told him. “The king would not have much trouble gathering together a small army for the purpose. We are always looking for an excuse to weed them out.”
“That is good to know,” he assured them. “And much appreciated.” He turned to look at Unh. “I know he has good trackers to call upon, too.”
The tribesman inclined his head slightly, but remained expressionless. The Sachakans said nothing, then the quieter of them cleared his throat. “What do you think the Guild will do about Lord Lorkin?”
Dannyl shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But they’ll have to send me a new assistant. Hopefully they’ll be better at choosing one than I was.”
The Sachakans chuckled. Then the talkative Ashaki rubbed his hands together. “We had all best be on our way, then.”
So farewells were uttered and the Sachakans rode away. Unh nodded once at Dannyl, which was somehow more meaningful a farewell than the Sachakans’. The group’s passing stirred up dust as they left. Dannyl and Achati climbed into the carriage and Achati’s two slaves took their positions on the outside. The vehicle jolted into motion, and began swaying gently as it rolled along the other road.
“Now this is better,” Achati said. “Comfort. Privacy. The promise of regular baths.”
“I’m definitely looking forward to a bath.”
“I suspect our helpers are as keen to get home, despite the fact that they didn’t get a chance to rid Sachaka of a few Traitors.”
Dannyl winced. “I apologise again, for causing so much discomfort and risk for no reason.”
“It wasn’t for no reason,” Achati corrected. “You were obliged to search; I was obliged to help you. A young man could have been in danger. The fact that he wasn’t made our journey no less important.”
Dannyl nodded in gratitude for the Sachakan’s understanding. “I suppose I’m apologising on Lorkin’s behalf. I’m sure if he’d been able to tell us of his decision earlier he would have.”
“He may not have decided what he was going to do until just before he spoke to you.” Achati shrugged. “It was not a wasted trip. In fact, it has been educational, both in how Kyralians think and how you think. I made assumptions about your determination to find your assistant, for example. I thought it might… go beyond mere loyalty to a fellow magician and Kyralian.”
Dannyl looked up at Achati in surprise. “You thought we were…?”
“Lovers.” The man’s expression was serious now. He looked away. “My slave is young, good-looking and quite talented. He adores me. But it is the adoration a slave feels for a good master. I envied you your assistant.”
Unable to stop himself staring at Achati in surprise, Dannyl searched for an appropriate answer and found none. Achati chuckled.
“Surely you knew this much about me.”
“Well… yes, but I’ll admit I was a bit slow to notice.”
“You were preoccupied.”
“I gather you weren’t making any great assumption about me?”
Achati shook his head. “We make sure we know everything we can about the Ambassadors the Guild sends our way. And your choice of companions isn’t exactly a secret in Imardin.”
“No,” Dannyl agreed, thinking of Tayend and his parties.
Achati sighed. “I can buy myself a companion – in fact I have done so many times. Someone beautiful. Someone well trained in pleasing a master. I might perhaps find someone intelligent and witty enough to converse with, even be lucky enough to be loved by that slave. But there is always something lacking.”
Dannyl watched Achati closely. “What is that?”
The man’s mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. “Risk. Only when you know the other could easily leave you, do you appreciate when he stays. Only when it’s not easier on them to like you than not, do you appreciate it when they do.”
“An equal.”
Achati shrugged. “Or near enough. For a companion to be truly equal to me would restrict my choices too much. As the king’s envoy I am one of the most powerful men in the country, after all.”
Dannyl nodded. “I’ve never had to consider such differences in status. Though I suppose I might have, if my companion was a servant.”
“But a servant can leave.”
“Yes.”
“Do servants make good conversation?”
“I suppose some might.”
Achati flexed his shoulders, then relaxed. “I enjoy our conversations.”
Dannyl smiled. “That’s just as well. You’ve only got me to talk to between here and Arvice.”
“Indeed.” The other man’s eyes narrowed. “I think I’d enjoy more than just conversation with you.”
Once again, Dannyl was speechless. Surprise was followed by embarrassment, then was overtaken by curiosity, and not a little flattery. This Sachakan – who had just pointed out he was one of the most powerful men in the country – is actually propositioning me! What should I do? How do you turn someone like him down without being impolite or causing a political repercussion? Do I even want to?
He felt a shiver go down his spine. He’s younger than me, but not by many years. He’s good-looking in a Sachakan kind of way. He’s good company. He’s nice to his slaves. But oh, such a liaison would be politically dangerous!
Achati chuckled again. “I don’t expect anything of you, Ambassador Dannyl. I only express a view. And a possibility. Something to think about. For now let’s keep to conversations. After all, I would hate to have ruined our friendship by suggesting anything that you are uncomfortable with.”
Dannyl nodded. “As I said, I’m a bit slow.”
“Not at all.” Achati grinned. “Otherwise I wouldn’t like you so much. You’ve been preoccupied. Focused on one goal. That distraction is gone. You can think of other things. Like how long it will take for the Guild to choose and send you a new assistant.”
“I’m not sure anyone will be willing to volunteer for the position, after what happened to Lorkin.”
Achati chuckled. “You may be surprised. Some might come in the hopes of being snatched away to a secret place ruled by exotic women.”
Dannyl groaned. “Oh, I hope not. I certainly hope not.”
Sonea sat back in her seat and waited for the Higher Magicians to stop procrastinating.
She had tried to prevent bringing Cery into the Guild, but once it was known that others had helped her and Regin find the rogues, the Guild’s habit of exploring all sides to a situation had made it unavoidable. She had told them Cery was an old friend, not that he was a Thief. A few might make the connection to a Thief named Cery who had helped her and Akkarin during the Ichani Invasion, but most would have forgotten that detail in history. Those that preferred to ignore her part in the defeat of the invaders wouldn’t have paid attention to the names of her helpers, and the few who didn’t understood, she hoped, why she wanted to avoid too much attention being drawn to her old friend.
It was only Kallen, who paid too much attention to her already, who might make the connection and speak of it. But he was, if anything, discreet. He would not announce it to the entire Guild. He would consult with other Higher Magicians.
What annoyed Sonea was that bringing Cery in had proved nothing they didn’t already know. The woman was obviously a rogue. She had used magic in front of hundreds of people, including the Alchemist and Healer who had helped Sonea capture her. She had also used it in a vain attempt to resist the magicians who had taken her to her temporary prison, the Dome.
But the Guild, and most likely the king, were worried about offending a foreign land. Especially when they weren’t sure which land they might be offending.
Earlier in the meeting, an advisor of the king had brought maps and described some of the distant lands on them. The woman remained silent, refusing to answer when asked where she was from. The advisor had made a few guesses based on her appearance. If he was right, she made no sign.
“I cannot see any other option,” High Lord Balkan said, and there was a note of finality in his tone. “We must read her mind.”
Administrator Osen nodded. “Then I call on Black Magician Kallen and Black Magician Sonea to descend to the floor. Black Magician Kallen will read the mind of the unnamed rogue and Black Magician Sonea will read Forlie’s mind.”
Though she had been expecting this, Sonea felt a brief disappointment. There were many answers she would like to have from the foreign woman that she couldn’t ask Kallen to search for. Like whether the woman had killed Cery’s family.
Following Kallen down the stairs, she kept her gaze on Forlie. The woman had gone pale, and stared at Sonea with wide eyes.
“I’ll tell you everything,” Forlie blurted out. “You don’t have to read my mind.”
“Stupid woman,” a strangely accented voice said. “Don’t you know they can’t read your mind if you don’t want them to?”
Sonea turned to regard the foreign rogue, and realised that all of the magicians had done the same. The woman glanced from face to face, her expression changing as she read amusement and pity. Doubt and then fear crept into her eyes as Kallen stopped in front of her.
As he reached toward her, his arms were slapped away by magic.
Not wanting to watch the struggle, Sonea turned her attention back to Forlie, who flinched.
“I’m not a magician,” the woman said, looking from Sonea to the Higher Magicians. “I was made to lie. They said…they said they’d kill my daughter and her children if I told you.” She sucked in a shuddering breath, then burst into tears.
Sonea put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you know where they are?”
“I… I think so.”
“They don’t know you have told us anything yet. We’ll go get your children before they find out.”
“Th-thank you.”
“I’m afraid I do have to check that you’re telling the truth. I promise you, mind-reading doesn’t hurt. In fact, you won’t feel anything. You won’t even know I’m there. And I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Forlie stared at Sonea, then nodded.
Reaching out to gently touch the woman’s temples, Sonea sent her mind forth. Fear and anxiety washed over her as she touched the woman’s mind. She let herself waft into Forlie’s thoughts, which were of her daughter and two grandchildren, and the men who had taken them. Sonea recognised the man who had blackmailed Forlie – he was the roet-seller who had been with Forlie when she was captured.
Remembering that moment, Sonea recalled the magical force she’d felt come from Forlie. Someone else must have sent it. Perhaps the real rogue, watching them through the windows.
– Who used magic when we found you?
– I don’t know.
– Where are your daughter and grandchildren now?
A maze of alleys and makeshift houses flashed into Sonea’s mind, then settled on one house in particular. Forlie’s family were in one of the remaining poor areas of the city.
– We’ll find them, Forlie. We’ll punish the people who did this.
Opening her eyes, Sonea withdrew her fingers. Forlie’s expression was hopeful and determined now.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Turning to the Higher Magicians, Sonea related what she had learned. “I recommend that one or more of us go with Forlie to free her children as soon as possible.”
There were many nods of agreement. A small noise drew their attention to the foreign woman. Her face, caught between Kallen’s hands, expressed a mixture of surprise and dismay.
All watched in silence, and when Kallen finally released her Sonea heard a collective sigh of relief. Kallen stepped back, then turned to face the Higher Magicians.
“Her name is Lorandra,” he announced. “She is from Igra, the land beyond the great northern desert. It is a strange place, where all magic is taboo and punishable by death. Yet those who watch for and punish magicians are magicians themselves. They steal the children of those they execute in order to maintain their numbers.” He shook his head in amazement at this hypocrisy and cruelty.
“Lorandra learned magic as a young woman and was forced to flee her country with her newborn son. They managed to cross the desert to Lonmar, then travelled through Elyne to Kyralia. Here they were taken in by a Thief, who protected them in exchange for magical favours. The Thief eventually adopted the boy and made him his heir. He trained the boy in crime, while his mother trained him in magic.”
Kallen looked at Sonea and frowned.
“The son’s name is Skellin, one of the Thieves that Black Magician Sonea and Lord Regin enlisted to help them find the rogue. Of course, he did not want them finding his mother, so he arranged for Forlie to be caught in her place. He even used his own magic to make it look as if she had attacked them.”
He looked back at the Higher Magicians. “Skellin has been sending his mother out to kill off rival Thieves since he came to power. Through murder and alliances he intended to make himself king of the city’s underworld.”
Sonea’s heart skipped a beat. This woman is the Thief Hunter!
Kallen paused and his frown deepened. “And he imported roet to help bind people to him. Not just the poor but the rich as well. And magicians. He seemed to think we would be easy to manipulate once we’d all been introduced to the drug.”
A murmur of voices rose as the magicians began to discuss what they’d learned. Sonea caught dismissive remarks about Skellin’s delusions, but a chill had run down her spine at the mention of roet. She thought of Stoneworker Berrin, whose addiction she had tried and failed to Heal away. If roet addiction could not be Healed, and Skellin knew it, then his grand plan might have succeeded.
“What are you?” the foreign woman said. She was staring at Kallen. Her eyes slid to Sonea. “And you?”
Sonea answered the question with a small smile. Skellin and his mother were magicians, but clearly they weren’t black magicians. That’s something to be grateful for. Hopefully we can assume Igra isn’t a land of black magicians, too. We don’t need another Sachaka to worry about.
Administrator Osen now turned to face the hall and raised his arms. Voices quietened to a near silence.
“We now know the truth. One of our captives is innocent, the other is a murderess and a rogue. We have another rogue in our city to find and deal with. Lorandra will be imprisoned. Forlie is free to go. Certain actions must be taken immediately, so I must end this meeting now.”
The hall filled with the sound of hundreds of magicians standing up and bursting into conversation. Osen strode over to Sonea.
“Take Forlie and find her children quickly,” he ordered quietly. “Before Lorandra thinks to inform Skellin of her betrayal.”
Sonea stared at him in surprise, then nodded. Of course. She only has to communicate with him mentally to tell him what happened here. “I’ll take Lord Regin as backup, if that is acceptable.”
He nodded. “I’ll send Kallen after Skellin once they’re safe.”
She felt her heart warm with appreciation. Osen might be cold toward her, but he wasn’t a man without compassion for others. As he walked away, she looked around the room and found Regin standing by one of the stairs, watching her. She beckoned to him.
“Is that appropriate?”
Kallen’s voice reached her over the chatter and footsteps of the Higher Magicians. She looked over to see him frowning at Osen.
“If you can rouse the support of the majority of Higher Magicians to oppose her going in the next few minutes, I’ll consider sending someone else.”
Kallen glanced at the magicians filing out of the building, then at Sonea, and his lips thinned.
“It’s your decision,” he said. “Not mine.”
As Regin reached her side, Sonea smiled to herself, enjoying a moment of triumph. If Osen now trusted her enough to send her into the city, perhaps the rest of the Guild would forgive her for breaking the rules so often in recent weeks.
“Care to assist me in my next assignment?” she asked Regin.
His eyebrows rose and he almost managed a smile. “Always.”
She hooked an arm around Forlie’s. “Let’s go find your family.”
Lorkin was not completely sure how long had passed since he’d been put in the room. It had no window, so he had no sunlight to track the time of day. He’d shifted from travelling at night and sleeping during the day when with Tyvara to the opposite when travelling with Chari, so he couldn’t judge what time it was by when he grew sleepy. Nor could he judge it by hunger, as he’d been eating whenever opportunity came rather than at regular times.
The meals that were brought to him seemed to follow a pattern, so he was counting the days that way. A simple meal of grainy sweet mush and fruit was followed a few hours later by a larger meal with meat and vegetables. Then after another interval a light meal of flat bread and a cup of warmed milk was served. It was basic food, but wonderful after the scavenged fare he’d had for the weeks he’d been travelling with Tyvara.
He’d been told he had to stay there until Tyvara’s trial. Two and a half days had passed so far, he guessed. He’d kept himself entertained by reading his notebook, and writing observations about everything he had learned about the Traitors so far. He also listed questions he would seek the answer to, when he was free to do so. Each time food was brought, Lorkin glimpsed the Traitor keeping guard on his door. Always a woman, but not always the same woman. Were there no male magicians? Or none willing to guard him? Or did they not trust a man to guard another man?
He’d spent a lot of time sleeping, too. Though he’d been able to Heal away soreness and weariness, it was always better to let the body regain its energy and health through natural means.
Light came from a gemstone set into the ceiling. He’d got a closer look at it by standing on the bed. It was too bright to stare at for long. He’d reached up to it, finding it didn’t give off any heat. The surface was faceted, like stones in jewellery.
Had it naturally formed the shape, or had a human carved it? Would it go on glowing forever, or eventually fade?
Unanswered questions were gradually stacking up in his mind and his notebook.
He wondered how he was supposed to find out about Sanctuary’s laws, as Riaya had suggested. Was he meant to ask for someone to teach him? What would happen if he knocked to get the guard’s attention, then asked for a teacher?
He thought about that for some time. Before he could gather the determination to try it, he heard voices outside. He sat up and turned to face the door as it opened.
A woman he’d never seen before looked him up and down.
“Lord Lorkin,” she said. “You’re to come with me.”
The atmosphere in the city was different now, he noted. More people were about, and many looked as if they were standing around waiting for something. When they noticed him they stared at him with curiosity, but the expectation in the air was clearly for something else.
The trial of Tyvara? he wondered. Well, why else would they come and get me?
His assumption was proved correct when they arrived at the same room in which he’d met the Table of Speakers. The same seven women were seated at the curved table, but this time the gem-encrusted chair was occupied. An old woman sat there, watching him thoughtfully.
The rest of the room was filled with people. The stepped seating was full and many more men and women stood around the walls. Opposite to the entrance was a smaller door that he hadn’t noticed last time. Within it stood Tyvara and two other women. There was a feeling about the room that this meeting had already been going for some time. He wished he could tell how well it was going.
“You don’t bow to Queen Zarala,” his guide murmured into his ear. “You put a hand to your chest and look at her until she nods at you. Now, go stand in front of the Table and answer their questions.”
He did as she instructed. The queen smiled and nodded as he made the hand-over-heart gesture. Her attention shifted to Riaya.
“Lord Lorkin, former assistant to Guild Ambassador to Sachaka, Dannyl,” the Director said, her voice filling the room. “You came to Sanctuary in order to speak in Tyvara’s defence at this trial. That time has come. Tell us how you came to meet Tyvara.”
“She was a slave at the Guild House.”
“Where you would have met Riva as well.”
“I didn’t meet Riva until the night she died.”
Riaya nodded. “How did Riva come to be in your room that night?”
Lorkin bit his lip. “She slipped in while I was asleep.”
“And what did she do?”
“Woke me up.” He pushed aside reluctance at having to describe how. “By getting into my bed and… er… being a lot nicer to me than was required.”
A faint smile touched Riaya’s lips. “So you were not in the habit of bedding slaves, then?”
“No.”
“But you didn’t send her away.”
“No.”
“What happened then?”
“The room lit up. I saw that Tyvara had stabbed Riva.”
“And then?”
“Tyvara explained how Riva had intended to kill me.” He felt his face warm. “With a kind of magic I’d never heard of before. She said if I stayed at the Guild House, others would attempt to assassinate me.”
“You believed her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“The other slave – Riva – said something.” He thought back. “She said: ‘he has to die’. It was obvious that she was referring to me.”
Riaya’s eyebrows rose. She looked at the six women and the queen, then turned back to Lorkin.
“What happened then?”
“We left and went to an estate – to the slave quarters. The slaves there were helpful. But at the estate we went to next, the slaves had set a trap for us. They tried to drug us. After that we didn’t trust anyone – until we met Chari.”
Riaya nodded, then turned to the Table.
“Any questions for Lord Lorkin?”
The first woman nodded. Lorkin recalled their names from the last meeting. Yvali, I think. She fixed Lorkin with a direct stare.
“Did you ever bed Tyvara?”
“No.”
A murmur went through the audience. It sounded like a protest, Lorkin noted. Yvali opened her mouth to ask another question, then thought better of it. She looked at the others.
“Did Tyvara kill anybody else while you were travelling together?” Lanna asked.
“Not as far as I know.”
“Why did you not head for Kyralia?” Shaiya asked.
“Tyvara said that it was the obvious thing to do, so we’d find assassins waiting for us.”
“What did you give Ambassador Dannyl after you persuaded him to stop following us?” Savara asked.
Lorkin looked at her in surprise, but not at the sudden change of subject. If she had seen this, why hadn’t she asked him before now? Her expression was impossible to read. He decided it would be best to tell the truth.
“My mother’s blood ring. I knew it was likely it would be taken from me when I got here, and I don’t think she would have liked it falling into unfamiliar hands.”
A low murmur filled the room, but quickly subsided.
“Did you use it at any time after Tyvara killed Riva?”
“No. Tyvara didn’t know I had it… I think.” He resisted glancing in her direction.
“Do you have any other blood rings?”
“No.”
Savara nodded to indicate she had no more questions.
“Will you consent to a mind-read to confirm the truth of your words?” Kalia asked.
The room fell utterly silent.
“No,” Lorkin replied.
Muttered words and exhalations followed. He met Kalia’s gaze and held it. How stupid does she think I am? If I let anyone read my mind they’ll go looking for the secret to Healing, and then I can forget about ever leaving this place.
No more questions came. Riaya exchanged glances with all of the women at the table, then looked at Lorkin.
“Thank you, Lord Lorkin, for your cooperation. Please stand over by the entrance.”
He nodded to her respectfully out of habit, then to the six women and to the queen in case his gesture would be taken as giving inappropriate favour to the Director. Spotting near the entrance the guide who had taken him to the room, he walked over to stand by her.
She eyed him thoughtfully, then nodded.
“That was well done,” she murmured.
“Thank you,” he replied. He looked across the room to Tyvara. She was frowning, but as he met her gaze she gave him a strained smile.
“We will now deliberate,” Riaya announced.
As the eight women around the table began to talk, the audience broke into noisy chatter. Lorkin tried to pick conversations out of the voices, but could not make out more than the occasional phrase. The leaders around the table had clearly set a magical barrier against noise around themselves. So instead of listening, he examined the people in the room in the hope of learning what he could before he was returned to the windowless cell.
There were many couples sitting on the stairs, he noted, but all others were women. Those standing around the walls were mostly male, however. The clothing of all was simple. Some of the Traitors were dressed in practical trousers and tunics, while others wore long belted shifts in finer cloth. He was surprised to see that both women and men wore these long shifts.
The colour of the cloth ranged from undyed to deep colours, but none were vivid or bright. He guessed it was hard to bring dyes into the city, and with limited space to grow crops, priority would be given to plants that produced food.
Though he tried to keep his attention focused on the audience, he could not help glancing at Tyvara from time to time. Every time he did so, he found her watching him. She did not smile again, however. She looked thoughtful. And worried.
Finally, Riaya’s voice rose over the noise in the room.
“We have finished deliberations,” she announced.
The room quietened. Riaya looked at the other women at the table, then turned to regard Tyvara.
“You offered to allow Speaker Halana to read your mind. We have explored all other avenues as required by law, but I can see no other way to confirm your claims. Please come forward and remove the mind block.”
From the audience came low voices and whispers. Lorkin thought back to a snippet of conversation between Chari and Tyvara, from the journey into the mountains. Tyvara had said she would let the Traitors read her mind. Chari had been shocked. “You can’t,” she had hissed. “You promised…”
Promised what? To who? Lorkin watched as the woman who had saved his life walked with head high to stand before her leaders. He felt his heart lighten with a rush of sudden, giddy affection. She is so proud. So beautiful. Then he felt a familiar doubt and annoyance spoil the moment. I wish I knew whether Chari is right or not about Tyvara’s regard for me. If she is wrong I don’t want to make a fool of myself trying to win over Tyvara. But if she is right… if Tyvara likes me… but makes a habit of pushing away those who admire her… do I have the determination to keep pursuing her?
Every part of him was sure he did.
Stopping in front of the Table, Tyvara held out her left hand. She paused, then grimaced. Lorkin blinked in surprise and horror as blood began to drip from her palm. She kneaded the base of her thumb, then held up something too tiny for him to see. She let it drop on the table.
I was right, he thought. The mind block is an object similar to a blood gem.
The leaders wore expressions of grim sympathy. He watched Halana stand up and reach out to Tyvara, who bent forward a little. The older woman took hold of Tyvara’s head and closed her eyes.
A long pause followed in which all watched the pair expectantly. When Halana drew her hands away at last, she said nothing. She sat down. Tyvara picked up the mind block and backed away from the table.
“What have you learned?” Riaya asked.
“Everything Tyvara has told us is true,” Halana said.
A collective sigh went through the room. Riaya placed her hands on the table.
“Then it is time to cast our votes.” She looked at Tyvara, then the audience. “We have concluded that Tyvara did not need to kill Riva. She should have pushed Riva away from Lorkin, or otherwise separated them. But we also acknowledge that there was no time, upon discovery of the crime taking place, for deliberation. Tyvara acted in order to ensure the wishes of the queen were met, and to prevent a situation that might lead to a threat to Sanctuary and increased danger to our people in Sachaka.” She paused and looked at the Speakers. “Should Tyvara be executed for the murder of Riva?”
Of the six women sitting behind the table, two held their hands up. The rest held their hands out, palm facing downward. Lorkin assumed that since Kalia had her hand up, that signal was for the affirmative.
“Four against, two for,” Riaya said. She looked at the audience. To Lorkin’s surprise, they were making one or the other gesture. “The majority against,” Riaya declared. She looked to the queen, who now held out her hand, palm down. “The answer is ‘no’.”
Hands dropped. Riaya looked pleased, Lorkin noted.
“The death of a fellow Traitor is a serious matter,” she continued. “And no matter the reason for it, penalties must be applied. Tyvara must remain in Sanctuary for the next three years, after which she may take a position as scout or watcher and work to regain the responsibilities she had before. During those three years she is to dedicate one day of each six to the benefit of Riva’s family.” Riaya’s gaze returned to Tyvara. “Do you accept this judgement?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is decided. You are free to go. This trial is concluded and the laws of Sanctuary upheld. May the stones keep singing.”
“May the stones keep singing,” the audience replied.
The room filled with movement as all rose to their feet. Lorkin watched Tyvara. She was looking at the floor. She gave a little shake of her head, then looked up at Savara. The older woman smiled with approval. Then one of her eyebrows rose in query and her gaze shifted to Lorkin. He blinked, then saw Tyvara roll her eyes, turn and stride to the door at the far side of the room. He could see Chari standing there. The young woman was grinning. She looked across to him and winked.
Someone tugged at his sleeve. The guide smiled at him.
“I’m to take you to your quarters next.” Her smile widened. “Your new quarters.”
He felt his heart, in the process of sinking, lighten. “It wouldn’t happen to have a window, would it?”
She gestured for him to follow her. “No. But you’ll have some company, and you’re free to come and go as you please – so long as you don’t leave Sanctuary, of course. I’m Vytra, by the way.”
“Pleased to meet you, Vytra.”
She chuckled. “You Kyralians have funny ways,” she said. “So polite.”
“I can be rude if you want.”
She laughed. “That would be a shame. Now, on the way I should give you a few tips on how to get along with people here.”
Listening carefully, Lorkin followed the woman out into the city.
Cery watched his daughter thoughtfully. She wasn’t doing well in her lessons today, but then Gol had also made some uncharacteristic blunders. Both were still too wound up from their morning visit to the Guild to focus fully on the training session.
They shouldn’t be letting that affect their concentration, he thought. I guess I’m going to have to make sure I can protect myself, if my bodyguards are ever treated to a glimpse of the life of the rich and powerful again.
A knock at the door drew everyone’s attention. They were back at the Grinder Bolhouse, and Cery’s people had been sent out to inform those who had requested a meeting with him that they could see him now.
At a nod from Cery, Gol strode to the door and opened it a crack, before pulling it open. The man standing in the corridor outside had the same awed look on his face that Anyi and Gol had worn for hours after their visit to the Guild.
“Black Magician Sonea, Lord Regin, two women and two children to see you,” he said.
“Send them up.”
The man nodded and hurried away. Anyi and Gol stood and grinned at each other.
“Well, come on. Take your places,” Cery ordered.
They hurried over to stand on either side of his chair. Gol struck a pose that looked more ridiculous than imposing. Anyi flexed her fingers as she always did when nervous. Shaking his head, Cery sighed and waited.
The sound of footsteps grew louder, then the room seemed to fill with magicians’ robes. Sonea’s black ones first, then Regin’s red. Following the pair and looking very plain and meek came Forlie and a younger woman. The latter was carrying a small girl in one arm, and a slightly older boy clung to her other hand.
Anyi and Gol bowed awkwardly, but with enthusiasm.
“Cery,” Sonea said, then she nodded to his daughter and friend. “Anyi and Gol. Thank you for coming to the Guild. I tried to prevent it, but the Guild, when it is investigating something as serious as a rogue magician, tends to be overly thorough.”
“That’s fine,” Cery replied. He turned to Gol. “Bring them some chairs.”
The chunky old chairs that normally sat in the centre of the room had been moved to one side to allow room for training sessions. Gol took a step toward them, but Sonea raised a hand to stop him.
“I’ll do it.”
Anyi, Forlie and the other woman gaped as the heavy chairs rose and floated to the middle of the room, arranging themselves in a square incorporating Cery’s seat. Gol merely grinned in knowing satisfaction. He’d seen plenty of magic back when Cery had been working for the former High Lord.
“We came to tell you the results of our investigation,” Sonea said as she sat down. “And to ask a favour.”
“A favour?” Cery rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Here we go again.”
She smiled. “Yes. Can you find Forlie, her daughter and her grandchildren a safe place to hide?”
Cery looked at the women. They smiled back at him tentatively. The younger woman had not let go of either child as she’d sat down. The girl was in her lap, and the boy was sitting on the arm of the chair.
“They’re in danger?”
“Yes. She was set up to take the place of Lorandra – the real rogue.”
“But you have the real rogue… don’t you?”
“We do. And we don’t.” Sonea paused and considered him for a moment. “Lorandra is Skellin’s mother.”
Cery felt a chill rise up from somewhere behind his chair and flow through all his body. His heart began to thump in his chest. Skellin’s mother. That’s why he was annoyed to learn that I’d seen the rogue fairly clearly and hadn’t told him. It would have told him his ploy of setting up Forlie wouldn’t work. Well, it would have failed anyway because he didn’t know that some of the Guild’s magicians can read minds.
“I can’t imagine he’s a very happy man at the moment,” Cery said dryly.
Regin chuckled. “No. Unfortunately for us all, he evaded the magicians sent to capture him, so we now have a rogue on the loose who knows we’re after him.”
Cery stared at him. “Skellin is a magician?”
Sonea nodded. “Which is why we need you to help Forlie. He blackmailed her by taking her daughter and grandchildren and threatening to kill them. We’re hoping he’s too busy hiding himself from us to worry about seeking revenge on her, but we’d rather not take that risk.”
Cery looked at Forlie and shrugged. “Of course I’ll help her.”
“You’ll want to take some extra precautions yourself,” Regin added.
Cery smiled at the man’s understatement. He’s far more likely to seek revenge on me for the capture of his mother than on Forlie. Maybe I should see if another Thief will take care of her for me. Someone who doesn’t like Skellin…
“There’s more,” Sonea said. “Lorandra is – was – the Thief Hunter. Skellin sent her out to kill off his rivals. He had big plans for himself. He wanted to become king of the underworld. Was going to use roet to keep everyone – even the Guild – in line.”
When Cery thought about how powerful Skellin had already become, that did not seem as impossible as it sounded. How many people did he already have control over? I’m going to have to be very careful who I choose to trade with now.
“Do you know if Lorandra killed Cery’s family?” Anyi asked.
Cery felt his heart shrink. He glanced at his daughter, appreciating her asking the question to save him from having to, but dreading the answer.
Sonea grimaced. “I don’t know. I wasn’t the one who read her mind, and I would have to have asked publicly for Kallen to find out.”
Which would have revealed more about me than I’d have liked.
“I’ll try to find out,” she promised. “Even if she didn’t kill them, if her part was only to break into your hideout using magic, she’ll know who did. Or who ordered it.”
“Skellin most likely,” Regin said. “Unless she did occasional work on the side for other customers.”
“At least we know Skellin can’t have been the actual killer,” Gol said. “He was talking with Cery at the time.”
Anyi made a small humming noise. “It doesn’t make sense. Why send someone to kill another Thief’s family at the same time as inviting them to become an ally?”
They all fell silent for a long moment, frowning in thought.
“Maybe Lorandra knows,” Gol suggested.
Cery shook his head, puzzled. “Well, I do know one thing for sure. We’ve got another rogue to catch.”
“If he’s still in Kyralia,” Regin said.
“Oh, he’s still here,” Cery assured them. “He hasn’t spent all that time and effort on his little empire to scamper off somewhere else. No, there are people here, rich and poor, who’ll fall over themselves to help him, some because they have to, many because they’ll benefit from it. He won’t have that anywhere else.”
Sonea nodded. “His influence over the city is already dangerously strong, but I suspect if he’s removed his empire will fall. We have to find him.” She looked at Cery. “Will you help us again?”
He nodded. “Wouldn’t want to miss the fun.”
She smiled, then stood up. Regin followed suit. “We must get back to the Guild. Thank you for taking care of Forlie and her family.”
Cery looked at the woman, who was watching him expectantly. “I’ll find somewhere safe for you all. Where is their father?” Both women scowled so fiercely Cery couldn’t help but laugh. “Never mind about that then.” He turned back to Sonea and ushered her to the door. “I bet you attracted a lot of attention on the way here.”
She laughed ruefully. “Yes. And the customers downstairs will be talking about it for months.”
“Might not be a bad thing,” Regin said, following her out of the door. “It will remind people who might be considering helping Skellin that you have powerful friends.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt if they thought you were still here. It will give us time to make plans before we leave. The more private way out goes through the kitchen and the side door.”
“We’ll go that way, then. Thanks for your help,” Sonea said. “And take care of yourselves.”
“I always do,” he called after them, as they strode down the corridor to the stairs. Closing the door, he turned back to regard the remaining occupants of the room. Looking at the children made his heart ache, and he pushed painful memories away. “Gol, take Forlie’s family downstairs and see if they’re hungry.”
“Right,” Gol replied. He beckoned, and they followed him out of the room. Cery returned to his chair and let out a sigh.
He looked at Anyi. She was frowning. It was not a worried frown, but a puzzled one.
“What is it?” he asked.
She looked at him, then away again. “Remember that magician at the Guild who was dressed the same as Sonea.”
“Yes. Black Magician Kallen.”
“He looked familiar. I didn’t recognise him at first because of the robes.”
“You’ve seen him without robes on?”
She looked up at him and laughed. “Not in the way you just put it. I didn’t get much of a look at what he was wearing the time I saw him.”
“What was he doing?” he asked.
A crease appeared between her brows, then her forehead smoothed and her mouth opened in a circle of revelation. “Ah! That’s it. I went with my friend one day to get rot. Not for me, of course.” Her eyes flicked up to his, serious and concerned. “In the middle of the dealing a carriage pulled up. The man inside wanted rot, and didn’t want to wait. I got a look at his face.”
“Kallen?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes.” Her eyes twinkled. “I take special note of anyone who looks like they might be doing something they shouldn’t.”
Cery snorted. “That’d be nearly everyone in the city.”
She grinned. “And in particular if it looks like what I learn about them might be useful some time,” she amended. “Do you think Sonea would be interested? Lots of magicians take rot, I’ve heard.”
“Oh, I think she’ll find this interesting,” Cery told her. “I think she’ll find this very interesting. It’ll be a good excuse to sneak into her hospice again. Or maybe I’ll wait until I have something useful to tell her about Skellin.” He looked at Anyi and grimaced. “We’re going to have to be real careful who we trust. Skellin has a lot of friends, and I doubt I’m one of them now. We’ve got to help find him without getting ourselves caught. Things are going to get wild.”
Anyi nodded, then smiled and rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? Nobody says things like ‘wild’ any more.”