Magician: Apprentice

  She put her hand to her mouth, palm outward, her eyes regarding him in wordless denial. Abruptly she turned and fled down the stairs.

  Alone, Roland leaned his elbows on the cold stones of the tower wall. Holding his head in his hands, he said, “Oh, what a fool I have become!”

  —

  “PATROL!” SHOUTED THE guard from the wall of the castle. Arutha and Roland turned from where they watched soldiers giving instructions to levies from the outlying villages.

  They reached the gate, and the patrol came riding slowly in, a dozen dirty, weary riders, with Martin Longbow and two other trackers walking beside. Arutha greeted the Huntmaster and then said, “What have you there?”

  He indicated the three men in short grey robes who stood between the line of horsemen. “Prisoners, Highness,” answered the hunter, leaning on his bow.

  Arutha dismissed the tired riders as other guards came to take position around the prisoners. Arutha walked to where they waited, and when he came within touching distance, all three fell to their knees, putting their foreheads to the dirt.

  Arutha raised his eyebrows in surprise at the display. “I have never seen such as these.”

  Longbow nodded in agreement. “They wear no armor, and they didn’t give fight or run when we found them in the woods. They did as you see now, only then they babbled like fishwives.”

  Arutha said to Roland, “Fetch Father Tully. He may be able to make something of their tongue.” Roland hurried off to find the priest. Longbow dismissed his two trackers, who headed for the kitchen. A guard was dispatched to find Swordmaster Fannon and inform him of the captives.

  A few minutes later Roland returned with Father Tully. The old priest of Astalon was dressed in a deep blue, nearly black, robe, and upon catching a glimpse of him, the three prisoners set up a babble of whispers. When Tully glanced in their direction, they fell completely silent. Arutha looked at Longbow in surprise.

  Tully said, “What have we here?”

  “Prisoners,” said Arutha. “As you are the only man here to have had some dealings with their language, I thought you might get something out of them.”

  “I remember little from my mind contact with the Tsurani Xomich, but I can try.” The priest spoke a few halting words, which resulted in a confusion as all three prisoners spoke at once. The centermost snapped at his companions, who fell silent. He was short, as were the others, but powerfully built. His hair was brown, and his skin swarthy, but his eyes were a startling green. He spoke slowly to Tully, his manner somehow less deferential than his companions’.

  Tully shook his head. “I can’t be certain, but I think he wishes to know if I am a Great One of this world.”

  “Great One?” asked Arutha.

  “The dying soldier was in awe of the man aboard ship he called ‘Great One.’ I think it was a title rather than a specific individual. Perhaps Kulgan was correct in his suspicion these people hold their magicians or priests in awe.”

  “Who are these men?” asked the Prince.

  Tully spoke to them again in halting words. The man in the center spoke slowly, but after a moment Tully cut him off with a wave of his hand. To Arutha he said, “These are slaves.”

  “Slaves?” Until now there had been no contact with any Tsurani except warriors. It was something of a revelation to find they practiced slavery. While not unknown in the Kingdom, slavery was not widespread and was limited to convicted felons. Along the Far Coast, it was nearly nonexistent. Arutha found the idea strange and repugnant. Men might be born to low station, but even the lowliest serf had rights the nobility were obligated to respect and protect. Slaves were property. With a sudden disgust, Arutha said, “Tell them to get up, for mercy’s sake.”

  Tully spoke and the men slowly rose, the two on the flanks looking about like frightened children. The other stood calmly, eyes only slightly downcast. Again Tully questioned the man, finding his understanding of their language returning.

  The centermost man spoke at length, and when he was done Tully said, “They were assigned to work in the enclaves near the river. They say their camp was overrun by the forest people—he refers to the elves, I think—and the short ones.”

  “Dwarves, no doubt,” added Longbow with a grin.

  Tully threw him a withering look. The rangy forester simply continued to smile. Martin was one of the few young men of the castle never intimidated by the old cleric, even before becoming one of the Duke’s staff.

  “As I was saying,” continued the priest, “the elves and dwarves overran their camp. They fled, fearing they would be killed. They wandered in the woods for days until the patrol picked them up this morning.”

  Arutha said, “This fellow in the center seems a bit different from the others. Ask why this is so.”

  Tully spoke slowly to the man, who answered with little inflection in his tones. When he was done, Tully spoke with some surprise. “He says his name is Tchakachakalla. He was once a Tsurani officer!”

  Arutha said, “This may prove most fortunate. If he’ll cooperate, we may finally learn some things about the enemy.”

  Swordmaster Fannon appeared from the keep and hurried to where Arutha was questioning the prisoners. The commander of the Crydee garrison said, “What have you here?”

  Arutha explained as much as he knew about the prisoners, and when he was finished, Fannon said, “Good, continue with the questioning.”

  Arutha said to Tully, “Ask him how he came to be a slave.”

  Without sign of embarrassment, Tchakachakalla told his story. When he was done, Tully stood shaking his head. “He was a Strike Leader. It may take some time to puzzle out what his rank was equivalent to in our armies, but I gather he was at least a Knight-Lieutenant. He says his men broke in one of the early battles and his ‘house’ lost much honor. He wasn’t given permission to take his own life by someone he calls the Warchief. Instead he was made a slave to expiate the shame of his command.”

  Roland whistled low. “His men fled and he was held responsible.”

  Longbow said, “There’s been more than one earl who’s bollixed a command and found himself ordered by his Duke to serve with one of the Border Barons along the Northern Marches.”

  Tully shot Martin and Roland a black look. “If you are finished?” He addressed Arutha and Fannon: “From what he said, it is clear he was stripped of everything. He may prove of use to us.”

  Fannon said, “This may be some trick. I don’t like his looks.”

  The man’s head came up, and he fixed Fannon with a narrow gaze. Martin’s mouth fell open. “By Kilian! I think he understands what you said.”

  Fannon stood directly before Tchakachakalla. “Do you understand me?”

  “Little, master.” His accent was thick, and he spoke with a slow singsong tone alien to the King’s Tongue. “Many Kingdom slaves on Kelewan. Know little King’s Tongue.”

  Fannon said, “Why didn’t you speak before?”

  Again without any show of emotion, he answered, “Not ordered. Slave obey. Not…” He turned to Tully and spoke a few words.

  Tully said, “He says it isn’t a slave’s place to show initiative.”

  Arutha said, “Tully, do you think he can be trusted?”

  “I don’t know. His story is strange, but they are a strange people by our standards. My mind contact with the dying soldier showed me much I still don’t understand.” Tully spoke to the man.

  To Arutha the Tsurani said, “Tchakachakalla tell.” Fighting for words, he said, “I Wedewayo. My house, family. My clan Hunzan. Old, much honor. Now slave. No house, no clan, no Tsuranuanni. No honor. Slave obey.”

  Arutha said, “I think I understand. If you go back to the Tsurani, what would happen to you?”

  Tchakachakalla said, “Be slave, maybe. Be killed, maybe. All same.”

  “And if you stay here?”

  “Be slave, be killed?” He shrugged, showing little concern.

  Arutha said, slowly, “We keep no slaves.
What would you do if we set you free?”

  A flicker of some emotion passed over the slave’s face, and he turned to Tully and spoke rapidly. Tully translated. “He says such a thing is not possible on his world. He asks if you can do such a thing.”

  Arutha nodded. Tchakachakalla pointed to his companions. “They work. They always slaves.”

  “And you?” said Arutha.

  Tchakachakalla looked hard at the Prince and spoke to Tully, never taking his eyes from Arutha. Tully said, “He’s recounting his lineage. He says he is Tchakachakalla, Strike Leader of the Wedewayo, of the Hunzan Clan. His father was a Force Leader, and his great-grandfather Warchief of the Hunzan Clan. He has fought honorably, and only once has he failed in his duty. Now he is only a slave, with no family, no clan, no nation, and no honor. He asks if you mean to give him back his honor.”

  Arutha said, “If the Tsurani come, what will you do?”

  Tchakachakalla indicated his companions. “These men slaves. Tsurani come, they do nothing. Wait. Go with…” He and Tully exchanged brief remarks and Tully supplied him with the word he wished. “…victors. They go with victors.” He looked at Arutha, and his eyes came alive. “You make Tchakachakalla free. Tchakachakalla be your man, lord. Your honor is Tchakachakalla’s honor. Give life if you say. Fight Tsurani if you say.”

  Fannon spoke. “Likely story that. More’s the odds he’s a spy.”

  The barrel-chested Tsurani looked hard at Fannon, then with a sudden motion stepped before the Swordmaster, and before anyone could react, pulled Fannon’s knife from his belt.

  Longbow had his own knife out an instant later, as Arutha’s sword was clearing its scabbard. Roland and the other soldiers were only a moment behind. The Tsurani made no threatening gesture, but simply flipped the knife, reversing it and handing it to Fannon hilt first. “Master think Tchakachakalla enemy? Master kill. Give warrior’s death, return honor.”

  Arutha returned his sword to his scabbard and took the knife from Tchakachakalla’s hand. Returning the knife to Fannon, he said, “No, we will not kill you.” To Tully he said, “I think this man may prove useful. For now, my inclination is to believe him.”

  Fannon looked less than pleased. “He may be a very clever spy, but you’re right. There’s no harm if we keep a close watch on him. Father Tully, why don’t you take these men to soldiers’ commons and see what you can learn from them. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Tully spoke to the three slaves and indicated they should follow. The two timid slaves moved at once, but Tchakachakalla bent his knee before Arutha. He spoke rapidly in the Tsurani tongue; Tully translated. “He’s just demanded you either kill him or make him your man. He asked how a man can be free with no house, clan, or honor. On his world such men are called grey warriors and have no honor.”

  Arutha said, “Our ways are not your ways. Here a man can be free with no family or clan and still have honor.”

  Tchakachakalla bent his head slightly while listening, then nodded. He rose and said, “Tchakachakalla understand.” Then with a grin he added, “Soon, I be your man. Good lord need good warrior. Tchakachakalla good warrior.”

  “Tully, take them along, and find out how much Tchak…Tchakal…” Arutha laughed. “I can’t pronounce that mouthful.” To the slave he said, “If you’re to serve here, you need a Kingdom name.”

  The slave looked about and then gave a curt nod.

  Longbow said, “Call him Charles. It’s as close a name as I can imagine.”

  Arutha said, “As good a name as any. From now on, you will be called Charles.”

  The newly named slave said, “Tcharles?” He shrugged and nodded. Without another word he fell in beside Father Tully, who led the slaves toward the soldiers’ commons.

  Roland said, “What do you make of that?” as the three slaves vanished around the corner.

  Fannon said, “Time will tell if we’ve been duped.”

  Longbow laughed. “I’ll keep an eye on Charles, Swordmaster. He’s a tough little fellow. He traveled at a good pace when we brought them in. Maybe I’ll turn him into a tracker.”

  Arutha interrupted. “It will be some time before I’ll be comfortable letting him outside the castle walls.”

  Fannon let the matter drop. To Longbow he said, “Where did you find them?”

  “To the north, along the Clearbrook branch of the river. We were following the signs of a large party of warriors heading for the coast.”

  Fannon considered this. “Gardan leads another patrol near there. Perhaps he’ll catch sight of them and we’ll find out what the bastards are up to this year.” Without another word he walked back toward the keep.

  Martin laughed; Arutha was surprised to hear him. “What in this strikes you as funny, Huntmaster?”

  Martin shook his head. “A little thing, Highness. It’s the Swordmaster himself. He’ll not speak of it to anyone, but I wager he would give all he owns to have your father back in command. He’s a good soldier, but he dislikes the responsibility.”

  Arutha regarded the retreating back of the Swordmaster, then said, “I think you are right, Martin.” His voice carried a thoughtful note. “I have been at odds with Fannon so much of late, I lost sight of the fact he never requested this commission.”

  Lowering his voice, Martin said, “A suggestion, Arutha.”

  Arutha nodded. Martin pointed to Fannon. “Should anything happen to Fannon, name another Swordmaster quickly; do not wait for your father’s consent. For if you wait, Algon will assume command, and he is a fool.”

  Arutha stiffened at the Huntmaster’s presumption, while Roland tried to silence Martin with a warning look. Arutha coldly said, “I thought you a friend of the Horsemaster.”

  Martin smiled, his eyes hinting at strange humor. “Aye, I am, as are all in the castle. But anyone you ask will tell you the same: take his horses away, and Algon is an indifferent thinker.”

  Nettled by Martin’s manner, Arutha said, “And who should take his place? The Huntmaster?”

  Martin laughed, a sound of such open, clear amusement at the thought, Arutha found himself less angry at his suggestion.

  “I?” said the Huntmaster. “Heaven forfend, Highness. I am a simple hunter, no more. No, should the need come, name Gardan. He is by far the most able soldier in Crydee.”

  Arutha knew Martin was correct, but gave in to impatience. “Enough. Fannon is well, and I trust will remain so.”

  Martin nodded. “May the gods preserve him…and us all. Please excuse me, it was but a passing concern. Now, with Your Highness’s leave, I’ve not had a hot meal in a week.”

  Arutha indicated he could leave, and Martin walked away toward the kitchen. Roland said, “He is wrong on one account, Arutha.”

  Arutha stood with his arms folded across his chest, watching Longbow as he vanished around the corner. “What is that, Roland?”

  “That man is much more than the simple hunter he pretends.”

  Arutha was silent for a moment. “He is. Something about Martin Longbow has always made me uneasy, though I have never found fault with him.”

  Roland laughed, and Arutha said, “Now something strikes you as funny, Roland?”

  Roland shrugged. “Only that many think you and he are much alike.”

  Arutha turned a black gaze upon Roland, who shook his head. “It’s often said we take offense most in what we see of ourselves in others. It’s true, Arutha. You both have that same cutting edge to your humor, almost mocking, and neither of you suffers foolishness.” Roland’s voice became serious. “There’s no mystery to it, I should think. You’re a great deal like your father, and with Martin having no family, it follows he would pattern himself after the Duke.”

  Arutha became thoughtful. “Perhaps you’re right. But something else troubles me about that man.” He left the thought unfinished and turned toward the keep.

  Roland fell into step beside the thoughtful Prince and wondered if he had overstepped himself.

  —
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  THE NIGHT THUNDERED. Ragged bolts of lightning shattered the darkness as clouds rolled in from the west. Roland stood on the southern tower watching the display. Since dinner his mood had been as dark as the western sky. The day had not gone well. First he had felt troubled by his conversation with Arutha by the gate. Then Carline had treated him at dinner with the same stony silence he had endured since their meeting on this very tower two weeks earlier. Carline had seemed more subdued than usual, but Roland felt a stab of anger at himself each time he chanced a glance in her direction. Roland could still see the pain in the Princess’s eyes. “What a witless fool I am,” he said aloud.

  “Not a fool, Roland.”

  Carline was standing a few paces away, looking toward the coming storm. She clutched a shawl around her shoulders, though the air was temperate. The thunder had masked her footfalls, and Roland said, “It is a poor night to be upon the tower, my lady.”

  She came to stand beside him and said, “Will it rain? These hot nights bring thunder and lightning, but usually little rain.”

  “It will rain. Where are your ladies?”

  She indicated the tower door. “Upon the stairs. They fear the lightning, and besides, I wished to speak with you alone.”

  Roland said nothing, and Carline remained silent for a time. The night was sundered with violent displays of energy tearing across the heavens, followed by cracking booms of thunder. “When I was young,” she said at last, “Father used to say on nights such as this the gods were sporting in the sky.”

  Roland looked at her face, illuminated by the single lantern hanging on the wall. “My father told me they made war.”

  She smiled. “Roland, you spoke rightly on the day Lyam left. I have been lost in my own grief, unable to see the truth. Pug would have been the first to tell me that nothing is forever. That living in the past is foolish and robs us of the future.” She lowered her head a little. “Perhaps it has something to do with Father. When Mother died, he never fully recovered. I was very young, but I can still remember how he was. He used to laugh a great deal before she died. He was more like Lyam then. After…well, he became more like Arutha. He’d laugh, but there’d be a hard edge to it, a bitterness.”