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 w
riggled, 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.”