The Magician's Apprentice

  Tessia put a hand to her mouth to stop herself laughing, then felt a wave of affection for him. He had no patience with fools. While it was not always a good trait in times of peace, right now it was just what the apprentices needed to snap them out of their panic and get them organised.

  It seemed to take for ever, but within a few minutes they were all mounted and waiting. As the crowd around Jayan diminished she was able to get closer. A servant came to tell Jayan that the carts were loaded and ready. Jayan paused for a moment.

  “Then go. You’ll travel more slowly than us. Is there any road you can take other than the main one, to get you out of the Sachakans’ path?”

  “Yes. It has already been chosen, in case there was need.”

  “Good. Then go.”

  The man bent into a short bow then hurried away. For some reason this sent a shiver down Tessia’s spine. It’s hard enough getting used to Jayan behaving and being treated like a higher magician, but watching him in the role of leader is very strange indeed!

  “Jayan,” she called. His head turned in her direction, then another shout drew his attention away. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to find Ullin, Dakon’s servant and former stable servant, holding the reins of her horse out to her. As she took them he smiled then raced away.

  Only then did she glance at the saddle and realise that her father’s bag was not there. It was back in the tent.

  “The army!” someone shouted, and the call was taken up by several voices. Tessia tried to see past the apprentices to the road, but there was no hope of seeing anything with a crowd of horses milling before her. She turned away and swung into the saddle, then looked back.

  A dark shadow filled the road ahead, and it was advancing rapidly.

  For a moment an eerie quietness descended, through which she could hear the distant shouts of the cart drivers and bellows of gorin somewhere behind the sea of tents, and the thunder of galloping hoofs. Tent walls snapped in a lively breeze. She realised that the sun had come up and she hadn’t noticed it.

  “Where’s your father’s bag?” a familiar voice asked.

  Turning, Tessia found Jayan beside her, Mikken on his other side.

  “Back in the tent. I had no time to go back for it.”

  Jayan gazed at her intently, then turned to look at the advancing army. “There might be.”

  “No,” she told him firmly. “There’s nothing in it I can’t replace.”

  He looked at her again and opened his mouth to speak, but another apprentice drew near.

  “What are we going to do?” he said. “Start galloping ahead of them? Or move aside and let them pass?”

  “They’re slowing down,” Mikken said.

  He was right. The lead horses had slowed to a canter. She watched as they dropped into a trot and then a walk. Lord Sabin and the king rode at the head. She scanned the faces, sighing with relief when she saw Lord Dakon. He was riding a different horse, she noticed.

  But something wasn’t right. Where was the rest of the army? With sinking heart, she began a new search – of her memory. For the names of those who must have fallen. The names of the dead.

  As the magicians stopped they turned to regard each other, heads swivelling as they took stock of their number. Tessia read the same shocked realisation in their faces. Some even blinked back tears.

  A third, she found herself thinking. We’ve lost a third. And where is Lord Werrin?

  She saw the king lean towards Sabin and gesture back down the road. Sabin nodded and stood in his stirrups.

  “Apprentices, join your masters,” he shouted. “We ride to Imardin.”

  As he urged his horse forward Tessia heard Jayan curse. He had risen in his stirrups to peer over the heads of the magicians.

  “What?” she asked.

  “They’re coming,” he said, dropping back into the saddle. “The Sachakans are coming. We should have evacuated Coldbridge. Too late now.”

  Together they hauled on the reins and slapped their heels, and their mounts raced forward with the army.

  The slave had said Stara was to appear in the master’s room in an hour, well dressed, to help her husband entertain their guest, Chavori. Vora had been amused, since it was the same length of time she had made Stara take to prepare for the trip to Motara’s house. “He’s a fast learner,” she said as she laid two elaborately embroidered wraps on the bed. “The blue or the orange?”

  “Blue,” Stara said.

  “I wasn’t asking you, mistress,” Vora said, chuckling. “Though I agree. The orange is more suited to larger gatherings, where you might want to draw attention to yourself. The blue is a calmer colour, better for quiet evenings with single visitors.”

  Stara wondered briefly if “single” meant unmarried, or merely that Chavori would be arriving on his own. She decided not to voice the question. It might lead to another unnecessary lecture on the perils of following her husband’s possible hint she take Chavori as a lover.

  When Stara was dressed and laden down with jewellery, Vora pronounced her ready. “Don’t forget my advice, mistress,” the slave said, shaking a finger at her.

  Stara chuckled. “How could I? He’s handsome, but he’s not that handsome. Have you heard anything from Nachira?”

  “Not since her last message.” Vora sighed. “The slaves say she is sick, but they are reluctant to say anything more.”

  “Not surprising, if Father might read their mind and kill them for betraying his plans. I still can’t believe he and Ikaro left for Kyralia without telling me.” She shook her head. “They must have left right after my wedding, but Father didn’t say anything.”

  “According to the slaves, Nachira fell ill the day after your wedding, too.”

  Stara looked at Vora. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Not give up hope?” Vora sighed, then gestured to the door. “Your husband and his guest await.”

  Though Stara knew the way now, the slave still led her through corridors to the master’s room. Reaching the doorway, they stepped inside and Vora prostrated herself. Within the room, Kachiro and Chavori were looking at one of the pieces of furniture Motara had designed. Stara moved an arm so that her bracelets chimed against one another. The two men looked up.

  “Ah,” Kachiro said. “My wife has finally arrived.”

  Smiling, he extended his arms towards her and beckoned. She walked forward and took his hands. He kissed her knuckles, then let one hand go and turned so they faced Chavori. The young man smiled, a little nervously.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Stara,” he said.

  “And for me to meet you once more,” she replied, lowering her eyes.

  “Let’s sit down and talk,” Kachiro said, leading Stara to the furthest of the three stools in the room. A small table stood in front of them, bowls of nuts gleaming in the light of Kachiro’s magical globe light. He stepped back and indicated that Chavori should sit in the middle, then sat on the other side of the young man. “Tell us about your journey to the mountains. Stara knows nothing of your skills and adventures, Chavori, and I’m sure she would like to hear something of them.”

  The young man glanced at Stara and actually blushed. “I . . . we...I guess I should explain what I do, first. I make charts and maps, but instead of copying what others have done I travel through the places I am mapping and measure – as best I can, using methods taught to me by a shipping merchant and some I’ve developed myself – the distances and positions of everything. Well, not everything, but the features that are important to people who use maps.”

  Stara noticed that he glanced a few times at a large metal cylinder leaning against a wall. It looked very heavy.

  “Do you have any maps here?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes!” He leapt up and strode over to the cylinder. Lifting it, he carried it back to the stools and sat down again. But he did not open it. He caressed the metal with his long fingers. He has elegant hands for a Sachakan, Stara thought. So many o
f them have hands to match their shoulders, broad and strong. In fact, his build is more like that of a Kyralian, though his colouring isn’t. I wonder . . .

  “Have you finished the map you were drawing for the emperor?” Kachiro asked.

  Chavori nodded. “At least, as much as I can with the information I have.” He turned to Stara. “Most people find maps confusing, so I have compiled everything into one, simpler map. But there are blank areas. I refuse to include any information I haven’t confirmed for myself.”

  “Show us,” Kachiro urged.

  Chavori beamed at him, then grasped the end of the tube. The cap came off with a musical pop. Reaching inside, he drew out a thick roll of paper.

  Peeling this back, he unrolled until a large sheaf fell away. It automatically recurled. Kachiro lifted the table and put it aside, so that Chavori could smooth the map out over the floor rug with his elegant hands. Kachiro looked around, then picked up the bowls of nuts and weighed the two far corners down with them. Then he slipped off a shoe and placed it on the near corner at his side, which made Chavori’s nose wrinkle. Stara took off a bracelet and dropped it at the other corner, earning an approving smile from the young man.

  The paper was covered in fine ink lines. Looking closely, Stara gave a little gasp of delight at all the tiny drawings of mountains, houses and boats, and the fancy decorative border framing the map.

  “It’s beautiful!” she said.

  “Chavori is quite an artist,” Kachiro agreed, looking fondly at his friend.

  Chavori shrugged. “Yes, people prefer this sort of thing, but I find it rather silly. It is difficult to be accurate.”

  Stara pointed to a large group of buildings, bisected by a drawing of a wide avenue and the Imperial Palace. “So this is Arvice – where we are.”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at the lines of mountains. At the top of the map was a large blue shape, and some of the mountains had red lines curling out of the top and down the sides. “What are these?”

  “Jenna Lake,” Chavori told her. “And the northern volcanos. They expel fire and ash, and what the Duna tribes call earth-blood.”

  “The red?”

  “Yes. It sprays out and runs down the sides of the mountains, so hot you’d burn if you got near it. When it cools it solidifies into strange rocks.”

  “Do people live there?”

  “No. It is too dangerous. But the tribes risk it now and then, to harvest gemstones, which they say have magical properties. I found the same gemstones in some of the caves further south, and sensed no magic in them.”

  “I want to mine them,” Kachiro told her. “If we can get the secret of their use out of the Duna tribes we may be able to sell them for high prices. But even if we can’t, we can still sell them to jewellers for a good profit.”

  “You should see if Motara can design jewellery as well as furniture,” she suggested.

  His eyes brightened with interest. “There’s an idea...”

  Chavori shrugged. “Just so long as we make enough to enable me to continue my work. Now, let me show Stara what a proper map looks like.”

  Taking the roll of paper, he peeled off another sheet and placed it over the first. This one was not as artistically drawn, and half of the map was blank. Instead of pictures of mountains, there were bursts of radiating lines. Where there had been drawings of buildings there were mere dots.

  “This shows you not just where each mountain is, but where the valleys are between them,” Chavori told her. He ran his finger along the spaces between the radiating mountain shapes. “I can not only show the valley, but indicate the width of the valley by leaving wider spaces. See this one?” He pointed to a large white gap with a blue line meandering along it. “It’s the most beautiful valley you might ever see. No fields, just wild enka grazing. This river cascades along the middle. Mountains on all sides.” He made a graceful upward gesture, then spread his arms. “And the biggest blue sky above.”

  His eyes had misted over at the memory, and Stara felt a pang of longing. Would she ever roam beyond the city again? Was her journey from Elyne the last taste of travel she would ever have?

  Looking down, she sought and found the letters that spelled out “Elyne”. They were drawn sideways, along a red line that followed the mountains at the top left of the map. The red line must be the border, she realised. And if a blue line meant a river, did this thick black line roaming through the mountains from the Elyne border to Arvice indicate the road? She looked at the mountains again and suddenly the map looked as if it had gained depth.

  “Ah,” she said. “I see the illusion now. It’s just as if we are looking at the land from above. The centre point where the mountain lines meet is the peak.”

  “Yes!” Chavori turned to Kachiro. “You were right: you have an exceptionally clever wife.”

  Kachiro smiled broadly. “I have, haven’t I?” he replied smugly.

  Chavori glanced at Stara, then back at Kachiro. “What else can I show you?”

  Kachiro considered the map thoughtfully. “Did you bring any maps of Kyralia?”

  The triumphant smile on Chavori’s face fell away, turning into a tolerant grimace. “Of course. Everyone wants maps of Kyralia these days.”

  “We are at war with them,” Kachiro pointed out.

  “I know, I know.” Chavori sighed and picked up the roll again. Peeling off several more maps like the last, he finally spread out another of the beautifully decorated ones, with drawings of cities and mountains.

  Kachiro pointed at the pass then spread his hand over the mountains that split Kyralia from Elyne. “From what I’ve been told, the ichani gathered under the leadership of Ashaki Takado around here. When there were enough of them to form an army, they moved into the northern rural areas and took control of the villages and towns.”

  Chavori shook his head. “The reports I’ve heard said that they don’t bother staying to control the people. Instead they’ve been destroying the towns and driving the people out.”

  “I doubt they’re driving them out,” Kachiro said. “They’re probably killing them and taking their strength. Driving them towards the Kyralian army will just give their adversary more people to take strength from. Why give them more strength, when you can take it for yourself?”

  “Yes, they’d have to be.” Chavori made a sweeping gesture from the mountains to the cluster of buildings labelled “Imardin’. “They’ll be heading for the capital. But I can’t help wondering...” He looked up at Kachiro. “Do you remember I said I passed Nomako’s army on my way back to Arvice?”

  Kachiro nodded. “Yes.”

  “I noticed at the time that the army was split into three. Nomako at the head of the first group, and two others leading smaller groups.” Chavori looked back down at the map. “It was almost as if he planned to split the army up once it crossed the border.”

  “Why would he do that?” Kachiro asked.

  Chavori shrugged. “If you are right, so they can sweep through different parts of Kyralia and take strength from the people as they go. The Kyralians will not want to split their forces into three – or four if none of the groups join Takado’s – in order to tackle them.”

  “Then all groups will arrive at Imardin at the same time.”

  “Those who haven’t met any resistance still strong and ready for battle.”

  “Hmm,” Kachiro narrowed his eyes at the map. “And which group is most likely to have met resistance?”

  Chavori’s eyes went wide. “Takado’s! He was there first and, if Nomako times things right, will have been the target of the Kyralians. By the time he joins with Nomako’s armies, his will be the weakest.”

  “So Nomako will conquer Imardin and ride home the hero instead of Takado. Emperor Vochira will be admired for outsmarting Takado.” He looked up at Chavori, admiration in his gaze. “You have a good head for battle strategy. Perhaps you should be leading the army!”

  The young man blushed again. For a sec
ond the two looked at each other, then both dropped their gaze to the map again.

  Stara frowned. She felt as if she had just missed something. But then, she was no expert on warfare. Though she felt sure she’d understood everything Chavori had said, she might have missed some nuance that they had both appreciated.

  “Can I ask a question about the war?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Kachiro replied.

  “Why are neither you nor your friends part of the army?” Kachiro’s face fell. “I am relieved that you are not risking your life,” she assured him. “I’d much rather you were here. But I suspect it is political and I wish to understand Sachakan politics better.”

  Kachiro nodded. “Some of the reasons are political, some are not. My father was unable to fulfil an order taken out by the emperor many years ago, due to a fire, and spent years paying back the debt. He died soon after he made the final payment. So my family has been out of favour for some time, though rebuilding trade connections has grown easier with time.”

  His expression was so sad, Stara regretted asking the question.

  “Others of my friends are similarly out of favour, though Chavori’s family has good standing,” he continued. Then he smiled. “The advantage is that if we have no family honour or respect, we do not need to join the army to protect it, though I expect our help would have been accepted if we had volunteered.”

  Chavori nodded. “I told my father that if he won’t give me the respect I deserve, there’s nothing to risk my life to protect. He called me a coward.” He shrugged. “I suspect he hoped I’d go and be killed, and he’d be rid of me.”

  Stara felt a stab of sympathy for this young man, so talented but clearly as unappreciated by his father as she was by hers.

  “Can I buy this map off you?” Kachiro asked.

  Chavori’s mouth dropped open. “Buy it?”

  “Yes. Or do you need it?”