When she stepped into the doorway, Dakon and Jayan looked up. Both held books, she saw, but from the chatter she’d heard she guessed they had stopped to talk. The magician smiled, but a frown, quickly smoothed away, creased the apprentice’s brow.
“Ah, Tessia,” Dakon said. “How was your evening with your parents?”
“Good, Lord Dakon. They had a lot of advice.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure how useful it will be, even if it was given with the best of intentions.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure it was. Your mother hasn’t visited Imardin, has she?”
“No. Father has, but not for over ten years. That seems to bother him now. I fear you have put ideas into his head.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I should have invited him to join us. I expect it’s too late for that now.”
She caught her breath. It would have been wonderful to travel to Imardin with her father. He would have enjoyed it, she was sure. But it was likely he would have turned down the opportunity, not wanting to leave the village without a healer.
A short silence followed. She searched for something to say.
“Is there anything else to be done before we leave in the morning?”
Dakon shook his head, but his expression as he regarded her was thoughtful. “There is one matter.” He paused. “Now that you have gained control of your power, it is time we began the ritual of higher magic.”
Tessia blinked, then felt a thrill of both excitement and dread.
“Tonight?” She felt her heartbeat quicken. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“Well then.” She moved into the room. “How does it... work?”
“Perhaps it would be easier to show her,” Jayan suggested. Tessia started in surprise. She had almost forgotten he was there.
Dakon turned to regard the apprentice. The pair exchanged unreadable looks, then Dakon slowly nodded. “Perhaps it would.”
He rose from his seat and stepped into the space between the chairs. Jayan put his book aside, yawned and got to his feet. He smiled faintly, then an expression Tessia had never seen before smoothed his face and he looked older and more dignified.
Moving towards Dakon, he stopped in front of the magician, his gaze fixed on the floor. Then he knelt and lifted his hands, palms upward, to the level of his head.
A shiver ran down Tessia’s spine. Jayan was no longer just a young, disdainful man but a submissive, obedient apprentice. Dakon was no longer the benevolent lord of ley and village, but the master magician. This is the world of magicians that ordinary people do not see, she thought. A world they had kept private until now. A world she was a part of. The idea seemed unreal. Unbelievable. But perhaps after she took part in the ritual she would feel more like someone who belonged in their world.
Dakon reached into his shirt and took out a small, slim object. As he slid the object apart into two pieces, Tessia realised it was a tiny blade. Dakon touched the palms of both Jayan’s hands with the point of the knife. If it hurt, Jayan hid it well. Then the magician put away the knife, placed his palms over Jayan’s and closed his eyes.
Tessia held her breath, her heart still beating quickly. A moment later Dakon lifted his hands from Jayan’s, smiled and murmured something. The rite was over.
That’s it? she thought. No, of course that isn’t it. There’s always much more going on, when magic is involved.
Jayan stood up, reflexively brushed the knees of his trousers with the backs of his hands, then took a cloth from within his clothing and wiped his hands. He glanced at her and shrugged.
“See? Nothing to it.”
Nothing obvious to the eye, she thought wryly. But seeing him cheerfully survive the ritual was reassuring. She suppressed a sudden reluctance and swallowed her nervousness, then stepped forward. Jayan moved away as she approached, and Dakon gave her his usual encouraging smile. Facing him, she looked up, then away again as she realised it would be more uncomfortable the longer she prolonged the next part. She quickly dropped to her knees and held up her palms, keeping her eyes on the floor and trying not to visualise herself looking as submissive as Jayan had.
Submissive and yet respectful, she suddenly thought. There is a dignity to the rite, I suppose. I wonder how the Sachakans do it. There’s probably no ritual at all. They just rip the power from their slaves whenever they want to. So the fact there’s a ritual at all for Kyralian magicians is a good thing. A sign of respect to the apprentices...
She felt a sting of pain in one palm, and resisted the urge to look up. The second pinprick came. Then Dakon’s hands met hers.
A faint feeling of dizziness came next. Then not so faint. She felt herself tilting and tried to recover her balance, but couldn’t get her body to obey her. Hands grasped her shoulders, supporting her. The sensation of weakness became something more distinct and as she concentrated she felt another will drawing on her power. Though she recognised Dakon’s presence linked to the will she instinctively resisted...in vain. For the first time since she had learned to harness her power she had no control over it.
Then, abruptly, it was given back to her. She felt her body jerk as it overreacted to her desire to regain her balance. Once again, hands steadied her.
“Don’t worry. You’ll work out how to stop yourself falling over.”
The voice was Jayan’s and came from behind her. He was the one supporting her. Suddenly, she only wanted to be on her feet and doing anything but kneeling on the floor relying on Jayan to keep her upright. Slipping out of his grasp, she stood up, reaching out to a chair to steady herself as a wave of dizziness came.
“Slowly,” Dakon said. “You did well, but it can be a shock to the body until it grows used to it.”
She turned to him. “That worked, then? I didn’t do anything wrong?”
He smiled. “No. It worked. As Jayan said, your body will work out how to support itself. Your mind will adjust as well. How do you feel?”
She shrugged. “Fine. It was... interesting. Manageable.” She glanced at Jayan, who was watching her with a faint smile on his face. “I’ll be fine.”
Dakon reached into his jacket again, but this time produced a small white cloth. He handed it to her. As she took it she realised that a thin trickle of blood had streaked her palm.
“Any questions?” he asked expectantly.
“Why is the cutting necessary?” she asked as she wiped her hands, pressing against the tiny cuts on each palm. They had already stopped bleeding.
“The skin of humans and animals is a boundary of sorts,” he told her. “Everything within our skin we are in control of. That is why a magician cannot reach into another human’s body and damage it, no matter how powerful he or she is. He can attack it from outside, but not influence anything within.” Dakon moved back to his chair and sat down, and Jayan followed suit. “To gain control, we must break the barrier.”
Tessia considered that information as she moved to her usual seat. “Is the magician taking power always in control? What happens if the person he is trying to control is a higher magician too?”
“The one taking power still has an unbroken barrier,” Dakon pointed out. “Even if he did not, once he begins drawing magic he can also weaken the body. How much depends on the skill and intent of the magician using higher magic. If it is a benevolent exchange, as little as possible. If it is malevolent, the higher magician can paralyse his victim, making it difficult to even think.”
Tessia shuddered. The ritual of higher magic was simple, but it was a tamed version of an act of violence and death. It was akin to asking apprentices to bare their throats to the thrust of a sharpened sword blade by their masters, trusting that the blade would not cut.
But no sword took strength from its victims. No sword, even used gently, could benefit its wielder the way higher magic did. The ritual was also an exchange of power, and of trust and respect. In return apprentices learned to use magic. They gained years of training and knowledge that they would otherwise have to gain from experimentat
ion. They also had food and a home to live in while they learned, as well as nice clothes... and the occasional visit to Imardin to socialise with the powerful and influential. Perhaps even the king.
Suddenly it didn’t seem that Dakon received much in return for his time and energy. Just magic. Unless he had a particular need for that extra magic, it must feel as though the effort and time were not worth it. No wonder that some magicians chose not to take on apprentices.
But as the cuts on Tessia’s palms began to itch faintly, she ruefully acknowledged that there would be times she gave him plenty in return for her training, and made a mental note to herself to get hold of some wound balm before she left.
Under the light of an oil lamp and the half-moon, Hanara and two of the younger stable servants carefully rubbed grease into harness leathers and polished the trim of Lord Dakon’s wagon.
Since he’d accepted Lord Dakon’s offer of work and moved into the stable quarters, Hanara had felt much more comfortable with his surroundings. He felt less at ease with the stable servants, however. They constantly exchanged a teasing banter that no Sachakan master would have approved of. Hanara did not know how to respond to it, so he had decided to pretend that he understood their accent and ways less than he did. Whenever they played their foolish pranks on him he shrugged off the laughter. He’d endured far worse indignities, and his weary acceptance appeared to make them respect him in some strange way.
I was a source slave to an ashaki, he reminded himself. They’ll never understand what that meant – how few slaves gain that status.
One in a thousand might. It was somewhere between being a Kyralian lord’s personal, favourite servant and his apprentice. Except he was still a slave.
Now he was a commoner. But he was free. Surely what he had gained was better than what he had lost.
Like the other stable servants, he received coin each week from Lord Dakon – though it was handed out by Keron, the house master. Hanara hadn’t known what to do with it at first. The women servants from the main house brought out food each morning and night, so he didn’t need to purchase any. Boots and clothing had been given to him the day he’d moved into the stable. They were warmer than his old slave garb, but rough compared to the fine cloth Takado had provided. He slept on a pallet up in the stable loft, thankfully away from the other workers – who seemed to enjoy sleeping close to the horses – so he didn’t need to pay for a roof over his head.
Eventually, by watching the others, Hanara gathered that the stable servants liked to spend their fee on frivolities in the village. The baker made sweets as well as bread. The metal worker’s wife sold preserves, dried foods, scented candles, oils and balms. One of the old men carved scraps of wood into utensils and vessels that would have been better made of metal or pottery, as well as game pieces, bead necklaces and strange little figurines of animals and people.
At first Hanara did not see why he should waste his money on such objects. He watched the other workers compare their purchases when they returned to the stables, and noted whether they kept the item, or gave it as a gift – usually to one of the women of the village.
Slowly he came to realise that buying such items would give him an excuse to explore more of the village, so one day he followed some of the workers out on one of their excursions. They noticed him and insisted he join them. It might be that they accepted and wanted to include him, or they might have wanted to keep an eye on him. He had noticed how he was never left alone, and sometimes caught them watching him.
The villagers were welcoming to the stable servants, but each time they noticed Hanara their smiles became forced. They continued to be friendly, even when he came forward to buy something, but when they turned away he saw their expressions turn to fear, wariness or dislike.
On their return to the stable, he noticed children peering from around the sides of houses, staring at him. Some ran away when he noticed them. It was ironic that they should fear him, who had once been a lowly slave.
The stable servants had also passed a gathering of four young women, who whispered and grimaced with distaste when they noticed Hanara. Two young men who saw this turned to regard Hanara with narrowed eyes as he and his companions went by.
Hanara was not surprised by the villagers’ reaction to him. He was a foreigner. He was from a country that had once conquered their people. A member of a race they feared.
Tessia had told him that if any villagers bothered him, he was to tell her. She had assured him there were laws and rules that would protect him. He smiled as he remembered her visits. She, of all the villagers, did not fear or distrust him. The person who came closest to understanding him did not hate him.
Here, in the stables, it was easy to be amused by the haughtiness of some of the villagers. They weren’t slaves, but they weren’t as free as they thought they were. Most worked hard all the same. They might have their fee and their freedom, but they were bound to the lord they served because he owned the land they cultivated and the houses they lived in. They were subject to his whim as any slave was to his or her master. It just didn’t feel like slavery to them because Lord Dakon was a benevolent and generous man.
He even asked if I would let him read my mind. I think he felt guilty about it, too. How can anyone be that scrupulous? That squeamish? It had been tempting to refuse, to see if Dakon would insist or apologise and leave, but Hanara had wanted the magician to know of the danger. Takado would return for him.
I don’t think he believed it. He looked for evidence. I don’t need evidence. I know Takado. What good is it being given my freedom by a man who can’t protect me because he won’t believe it when I say I’m in danger?
Perhaps he’d have been better off working for another, tougher magician. Or perhaps not. He’d noticed unhappy, fearful servants during Takado’s travels through Kyralia. He’d heard stories and rumours. Kyralian magicians could be cruel, and there was not a lot their servants could do about it.
Not all ashaki are as cruel as Takado, he told himself. Some of them are far worse, of course. But there are stories of ashaki who treat their slaves well.
Takado was a cruel man, but rarely without reason. He did not hurt or kill a slave unless that slave had failed or offended him in some way. The punishment usually fitted the crime. Hanara had never heard of Takado harming a slave for entertainment, though it was not uncommon among other ashaki.
Hanara shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable as a now familiar uneasiness stole over him again, as it had every night since he woke up bandaged head to foot in the Residence.
He could not understand why Takado had beaten him so badly and left him behind, when his mistake had been so small. If Takado is not cruel without reason, then I just haven’t seen the reason yet.
But if Hanara hadn’t earned such a savage punishment, what other reason might Takado have for beating him? Had he been trying to impress Lord Dakon? Had he intended for Hanara to be too badly injured to accompany him home?
What possible use was Hanara to his master while stuck here in Kyralia?
The most obvious answer was that he was meant to spy on Lord Dakon. Why Lord Dakon rather than any of the more powerful magicians, Hanara couldn’t guess.
And how am I supposed to spy on him if I’m out here in the stables, and he’s always in the Residence? If I go creeping around inside it’ll make people suspicious. Not that they aren’t suspicious already.
Dakon would be gone soon, too. How could he spy on the magician if he wasn’t here?
How could Lord Dakon protect Hanara if he wasn’t here? Hanara’s heart began to race as it had when he first heard the magician was going to journey to Imardin.
Can I persuade Lord Dakon to take me with him?
He shook his head and sighed. Lord Dakon had been kind and generous, but Hanara knew the man was not a fool. The last place he’d take a possible spy was the city, where Hanara might learn something useful. He’d want Hanara here, watched by his own people, where he c
ouldn’t do any harm.
I am no spy. I have nothing to tell Takado. Soon I won’t even know where Lord Dakon is.
But even before he’d finished the thought he realised that he was wrong. He knew where Lord Dakon wouldn’t be. He also knew that a magician living nearby would protect the village if it was threatened.
He knew that while Takado could take this information from his mind, he had to reach Hanara first. For now all he could do was hope the precautions Lord Dakon had put in place would work.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 11
The magical shield encompassing the wagon kept the rain and wind at bay, but the only known methods of using magic to smooth the road surface were too slow or too laborious to be worth applying. Rutted mud, sometimes submerged under pools and puddles, the road was a torment to both horses and humans, sucking at the hoofs of the former and shaking and jolting the latter.
Someone needs to invent a better wagon, Dakon thought. He’d had the cover removed from this one because he found being enclosed in a rocking vehicle made him feel sick. Tanner, the driver, had stowed it away in case it was needed later.
Protecting himself and his companions with magic took little effort, and Lord Dakon had no trouble sparing attention for lessons. Two objects were moving through the air between the four passengers. One was a metal disc, the other a small knife. The knife kept shooting towards the centre of the disc, while the disc dodged away. Malia made a small noise and flinched as the knife whizzed past her ear.
“Wouldn’t this be safer if I used something other than a knife?” Tessia asked, her voice strained.
Jayan stared hard at the disc. “It gives you the incentive to concentrate.”
Her frown deepened, then Dakon saw it suddenly ease. Her eyes flickered towards Jayan. A faint smile touched her mouth. The knife wove through the air, then suddenly headed straight towards the disc.