The Magician's Apprentice

  Hakkin frowned. “So even if we do manage to find one of their groups, they’ll call for the help of another group and we’ll find ourselves outnumbered. We are unable to prevent their numbers from continuing to grow by stopping allies coming through the pass, while our numbers are not growing as quickly. But even if we were enough to face them it wouldn’t help because we can’t find them.” He shook his head. “Why did I bother coming out here? I may as well go home and wait for our new Sachakan masters to arrive.

  Dakon couldn’t help a small smile at the man’s use of “we”. Lord Hakkin hadn’t been riding day after day, for weeks, searching for the Sachakans and finding only cold campsites and dead Kyralians.

  “We need to change our tactics,” Lord Olleran said. “Draw them out. Trick them into making a mistake.”

  “How do you suggest we do that?” Werrin asked. Dakon smiled at his patience. The group had discussed this many times already.

  “Herd them into a corner. Bait them.”

  “Herding them would require us to split into smaller, more vulnerable groups.”

  Olleran shrugged. “More dangerous than staying in one, but that danger would be minimal if we stayed close enough together to help each other if one group was attacked.”

  “How do you suggest we communicate instructions to each other in order to co-ordinate our movements, or call for help?

  “We could use mental calls – if the king would allow it.”

  “And alert our quarry to our intentions, or our vulnerabilities?” Werrin shook his head. “It would only work if we already had them trapped. To do so we’d need to split into many different groups. The more groups, the more likely it is that communications will become confused.”

  “What of baiting them?” Lord Moran asked.

  Werrin looked around the group. “Someone would have to volunteer to be the bait.”

  Lord Ardalen shook his head. “I may be willing to risk my own life, but I won’t risk my apprentice’s.” Dakon was pleased to see that many of the newcomers were nodding.

  “Of course, we wouldn’t take any risks unless success was certain,” Hakkin said.

  “If it was certain, it wouldn’t be a risk,” Narvelan pointed out.

  There was a long pause after that, and Dakon noted the signs of suppressed amusement among his colleagues, especially those who had travelled with Lord Hakkin.

  “Surely it will not be long before more substantial reinforcements arrive,” he said. He turned to Hakkin. “Last night you said that others were planning to join us.”

  Hakkin’s gaze, which had locked onto Dakon’s, slid away. “Yes.

  I know of, ah, at least five magicians who said they would come

  – but I couldn’t tell you when they were going to leave or how long they’ll take to get here.”

  “We need more than five,” Bolvin muttered, scowling.

  Prinan gave a sharp huff of anger. “If they’d seen what we’ve seen – the bodies of murdered men, women and children – our fellow magicians might not be so slow to get off their backsides and help defend their country!”

  “Or maybe it would convince them to lock themselves in their homes,” Narvelan said quietly.

  Hakkin’s back straightened and he scowled. “They will come. They will attend to their duty. But this invasion has caught many unprepared. Trips to the far reaches of Kyralia to engage in magical warfare are hardly a commonplace activity.”

  “I have a question,” Magician Genfel said.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “If we did manage to overcome these magicians, how are we going to get them to the border?”

  Werrin smiled. “We keep them drained of power.”

  “Of course, but they will regain it with time. We can’t keep them tied up. They only need regain a little power to be able to burn their bonds away. Do we have some iron manacles, or something similar?”

  “We’ll take turns holding them imprisoned with magic.”

  “I see. And what happens after we take them to the border? What is going to stop them coming back?”

  Werrin frowned. “The border will have to be guarded.”

  As the conversation moved in this new direction, Dakon found his attention wandering. He looked over to the circle of apprentices, now doubled in size. Three of the newcomers were only youngsters, probably new to their powers, including Werrin’s apprentice. He worried that too many magicians were taking on the training of an apprentice out of a sudden need for a magical source to draw from, and would find themselves neglecting their responsibility later.

  Yet I also worry about Narvelan, who has no apprentice to strengthen himself with. He’d suggested Narvelan take power from Jayan or Tessia, but the young magician had refused.

  None of the new apprentices was female, he noticed. The powerful families of Kyralia might risk their sons’ lives in the defence of their homeland, but it would take much more desperate need before they sent their daughters. He looked at Tessia. She was smiling, sitting on a blanket between Jayan and Ardalen’s apprentice. Though he had occasionally seen a tear in her eye or a glimpse of pain and grief in her face, she had borne the journeying and rough living without complaint. He could not imagine the daughters of powerful Imardin families, brought up with all the comforts money could buy, coping nearly as well.

  Even so, I should ask how she is getting on more often. It can’t be easy being the only young woman among so many young men – many just boys – who have been brought up thinking people of her background are little better than servants.

  She and Jayan appeared to be getting along better now. He didn’t think there was much liking or affection between them, but neither went out of their way to obstruct or annoy the other, and they helped each other with practical tasks, like erecting tents, without hesitation. He was relieved at that, as the last thing they needed was bickering to add to what was already a tense, unpleasant situation.

  If only he could say the same thing of the magicians. Sighing, Dakon turned his attention back to the debate.

  Sachakan women’s clothing had always fascinated and scandalised Stara. First they wrapped and tied a long, bright rectangle of colourful fabric, decorated with stitching and all manner of decorations from beads to coins to shells, around the typically voluptuous Sachakan chest, leaving their shoulders and legs bare in a way that would have been regarded as scandalous in Elyne. Then, if they ventured outside, they covered it with a short cape of thick fabric tied at the throat.

  The cape did not cover bare legs and gaped open at the front to reveal the chest, so Stara wondered why they bothered. But the truth was, they did not bother often. Women rarely ventured beyond the walls of their homes, except in covered wagons when visiting friends. They were supposed to avoid the stares of men.

  It would have been far more practical, and an easier way to avoid the stares of men, to wear one demure but feminine layer as women did in Elyne. But Stara had to admit she loved the wraps. They were much more comfortable, and she looked so good in them. Nobody in Elyne wore such bright colours.

  As if the wraps weren’t decoration enough, Sachakan women also wore a lot of jewellery. Their chests, wrists and ankles were covered by multiple strings of beads, shells or chains festooned with metal discs. Their dark hair provided a contrast against which elaborate headdresses draped and glittered. All this Stara embraced with feminine glee, except for one thing.

  A part of the womanly habit of wearing half her body weight in jewellery involved piercing. Vora had told her that most Sachakan women wore several earrings in each ear, at least one ring in their nose, and even rings in their eyebrows, lips and navel.

  Stara had flatly refused to let Vora put holes in any part of her body, much to the slave’s consternation.

  Father had better not have ordered her to, she thought. I don’t care how little it hurts, it’s barbaric.

  At the thought of her father, she felt her stomach clench with nerves. She had seen nothing
of him all week. For the first few days she had thought little of it, reasoning that he must be busy. But as the end of the week neared she grew annoyed. After so many years seeing him only on occasional visits, she wanted to get to know him better. Surely he wanted the same. After four days she sent Vora to him with a request for a meeting, but he didn’t respond.

  The previous morning she had ignored Vora’s warning that it was inappropriate and left her rooms to seek him out. When she reached her father’s apartments a slave had tried to stop her entering. Knowing that he couldn’t touch her, she pushed past him.

  Her father wasn’t there. She had returned to her rooms disappointed and frustrated.

  Tonight, however, she would see him – in the company of her prospective husband. Smothering a scowl, she leaned forward so Vora could drape several heavy strings of beads over her head.

  “So tell me, mistress: when can you leave the master’s room?” Vora asked. The slave had been teaching Stara local customs all week, and testing her all afternoon.

  “After my father and the guests have left.”

  “When must you leave the room?”

  “When my father tells me to. Or if I find myself alone with other men. Unless there are other women present – though that doesn’t include slaves. And unless my father tells me to stay.”

  “Correct, mistress.”

  “What if my father says I must stay, but there are only other men in the room?”

  “You do as Ashaki Sokara bids.”

  “Even if I feel I am in danger? Even if one of the men acts, er, improperly?”

  “Even then, mistress, but Ashaki Sokara would not put you in that situation.”

  “That is stupid. What if he misjudged them? What if he left in a hurry and told me to stay without thinking it through? Surely, as my father, he’d rather I took steps to protect myself than let his mistake lead to a ...a misunderstanding or tactical error. There’s got to be a point where even he sees that unquestioning obedience would be foolish.”

  Vora did not answer, just pressed her lips together in disapproval as she always did when Stara spoke against the Sachakan customs or her father. It invariably made Stara angry and defiant.

  “Unquestioning obedience is for slaves, the uneducated and the pathetic,” Stara declared, moving to the jug of water on a side table and pouring herself a glass.

  “We are all slaves, mistress,” Vora said in reply. “Women. Men, in their own way. There is no such thing as freedom, just different kinds of slavery. Even an ashaki can act only within the restrictions of custom and politics. And the emperor is even more bound.”

  As Stara drank she looked at the woman and considered her words. What a sad state this country is in. Yet it is the most powerful land in the region. Is that the price of power? But I suppose what she says about women and men being slaves to custom and politics is true in Elyne as well. And commoners, though not slaves, answer to the landowner or employer. Maybe we’re not so different.

  But in Elyne, nobody – not even commoners – could be forced to marry anyone they did not wish to. They could leave the service of a landowner or employer and work for another. They were paid for their labour.

  “Mistress, it is time,” Vora said. As Stara turned to face her the woman’s eyes narrowed. “You look acceptable.” Then the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “No, you are beautiful, mistress – and lucky to be so.”

  Stara scowled. “It has only ever brought me trouble, and is likely to again tonight.”

  Vora snorted softly, then gestured to the door. “I’m sure you’ve never used your looks to manipulate others, especially not in trade.”

  “Once, but it had entirely the opposite effect from the one I hoped for.” Stara strode to the door. “If your appearance is all people see, they have no respect for your mind.”

  “Then they underestimate you, mistress. That is a weakness you can exploit,” Vora said as she followed.

  Stara weaved through the corridors of her father’s mansion. For a slave, Vora was unexpectedly forthright. And bossy. Stara knew she was letting the woman get away with it because she was unused to dealing with slaves, and couldn’t bring herself to snap at them as her father did.

  Now, as she reached the master’s room, she felt the knot in her stomach tighten. How will Father behave towards me? Can I do anything to change his mind? And what will this suitor be like? Should I try to put him off marrying me?

  Her father sat in the same chair as he had the day she arrived, but other seats had been arranged around it and were occupied. Two men in richly decorated jackets sat to one side. She noted the knife sheaths at their belts that indicated they were magicians. On the other sat another stranger, in less colourful clothes and with no knife, and a man she recognised. As she realised who he was she felt her stomach sink. As if sensing her dismay, her brother looked up at her and frowned.

  Then her father glanced towards the door and saw her waiting. He beckoned. Remembering Vora’s lessons, Stara lowered her gaze and crossed to the only empty chair, directly across from her father, and waited for his permission to sit down.

  “This is my daughter, Stara,” he said to his guests. “She has recently returned from Elyne.”

  The men looked at Stara appraisingly for a moment, then away. She took care not to meet their eyes, warned by Vora that it was considered rude.

  “It must be a balm to your heart to have such beauty and grace in your home, Ashaki Sokara,” the man in the plain jacket said.

  All formality and charm, she thought. Though if I’m a balm to my father’s heart, then it’s clear his heart hasn’t needed any soothing this week.

  “Yes, you are lucky to have bred such a jewel,” added the younger of the garishly dressed men. Stara swallowed a bitter laugh. That was more accurate. Jewel. Asset. Stock to trade. Something you lock away in a safe place and only take out to show off to guests.

  “Stara has been away for many years, and is still learning our customs and manners,” her father said. He met her eyes and frowned, and she realised she had been looking directly at him. Suppressing a sigh, she set her gaze on the floor.

  “How old is she?” the older garish man asked.

  “Twenty-two,” her father replied. She opened her mouth to correct him, then stopped herself.

  “And she has never been married?” the young man asked, surprise in his tone. “Nor bred any children?”

  “No,” her father replied. She could feel his eyes on her. “Her mother was instructed to prevent either, and did an admirable job.”

  “Indeed she has, considering how the Elyne women behave.” Stara resisted a smile. It hadn’t been her mother’s efforts that had prevented marriage or pregnancy. Stara’s determination that nothing would prevent her becoming a trader had led her to refuse the few offers of marriage that had come her way, and magic had ensured that her enjoyment of lovers’ company hadn’t resulted in any awkward consequences.

  “Sit down, Stara,” her father said.

  She obeyed. To her relief, the conversation now turned from herself to political issues. She was to sit silently, only speaking if questioned, and then only after looking to her father for permission to speak. Eventually food and drink was brought by slaves, served first to her father, then to her brother, then to the guests and finally to her.

  Throughout the meal she pretended moments of forgetfulness, nearly speaking or eating out of turn then quickly catching herself. The young man must be her father’s choice of husband, so she took to tapping her feet quietly when he spoke, and stifling the occasional yawn, in the hope that it would irritate him.

  Aside from that first glance, her brother did not look at her again during the evening. His expression remained aloof and indifferent. He only spoke when the guests sought his opinion.

  Little trade was discussed, to Stara’s disappointment. The talk was all about politics. She listened, knowing that such matters could affect trade, especially in Sachaka.

  “S
achaka needs to fight Kyralia,” the older garish man declared at one point, “or it will turn on itself.”

  “Invading Kyralia will only delay the inevitable,” the sober man disagreed. “We must solve our problems here, not complicate them by involving other lands, and giving those bold enough to disobey the emperor more power than they deserve.”

  “If we defeat them, the Kyralians will hardly be in a position to involve themselves in our politics,” the young garish man pointed out. “And anyone who manages to conquer it will earn respect and power.”

  “But a freshly conquered land needs controlling. As do conquerors, if their ambition is not satisfied but instead increased by their success.”

  “The emperor would never—”

  “Kakato,” the older garish man cut in, silencing his son. “Let us not presume to know what the emperor would or wouldn’t do.”

  At last, a name, Stara thought. So my prospective husband is called Kakato. She made up some rude rhymes to entertain herself. When she turned her attention back to the men their conversation had moved on to a broken agreement with the tribes of the ash desert, and whether it was an unwise or an unlucky move.

  The night wore on, long past the meal’s end. Stara found herself not having to fake her yawns. When her father finally dismissed her she rose and bowed with genuine relief before she left.

  In the corridor outside, Vora was waiting. The woman’s lips were pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing until they reached Stara’s rooms.

  “So, mistress,” the slave said, as always with no trace of subservience, but Stara could not bring herself to correct the woman. “What did you think of your prospective husband?”

  Stara sniffed dismissively. “I wasn’t impressed. He’s a bit young for me, don’t you think?”

  Vora’s eyebrows rose. “Young? How old do you like your men?”

  “Old?” Stara paused, then narrowed her eyes at the woman. “It isn’t Kakato?”

  The slave shook her head.

  “Then one of the old . . . you must be joking! Which one, then?” The soberly dressed man had spoken the most intelligently, Stara noted, whereas the older garish man had seemed little smarter than his son.