The Ambassador's Mission

  Her explanation matched the slave master’s, including the contents of the message warning of two dangerous magicians posing as slaves.

  “What made you think they were the people you’d been warned about?” Dannyl asked her.

  “They were as described. A tall man with pale skin and a shorter Sachakan female.”

  Pale skin? Dannyl frowned. The slave master didn’t mention Lorkin’s skin, and surely it would have been unusual enough for the man to notice. Wait … didn’t the woman I healed at Tikako’s home say Lorkin’s skin had been dyed?

  Had the dye worn off, or was this woman feeding him the information she thought he expected?

  “Tall, short, male, female – none of these things would make them stand out from other slaves surely. What made you notice they were different?”

  The woman’s gaze, fixed on the floor, flickered. “The way they moved and talked. Like they weren’t used to following orders.”

  So not the pale skin. Dannyl paused, writing down her answer as he considered what to ask next. Perhaps it was time to be more direct.

  “A slave I spoke to a few days ago thought the woman was a Traitor and that they mean to kill the man she has abducted. Do you think it likely they will kill him?”

  The woman was very still as she answered.

  “No.”

  “Do you know of the Traitors?”

  “Yes. Every slave does.”

  “Why do you believe it is unlikely the Traitors intend to kill the man?”

  “Because if they wanted him dead they would have killed him, not abducted him.”

  “What do you think they intend to do with him then?”

  She shook her head. “I am only a slave. I do not know.”

  “What do other slaves think the Traitors will do with him?”

  She paused and her head lifted slightly before bowing again, as if she resisted the urge to look at him.

  “I’ve heard some say,” she said slowly. “That the woman is a murderer. That the Traitors want you to find them.”

  Dannyl felt a chill. Tyvara had killed a slave. What if that slave had been the Traitor, not Tyvara?

  “Who said this?” he asked.

  “I … I can’t remember.”

  “Are there any slaves who are more likely to say this sort of thing than others?”

  She paused then shook her head. “All slaves gossip.”

  After a few more questions, he knew he would not get anything more out of her. She’d said all she wanted to say, and if she was withholding information he would not get it out of her voluntarily. He sent her away.

  I’d wager she does know more. And then there’s the description of Lorkin’s pale skin. She wanted me to be sure Lorkin was here. Which makes sense if this rumour that the Traitors want me to find Tyvara and Lorkin is true.

  But it could be a decoy. Still, the slave he’d helped at Tikako’s home had spoken the truth. Tyvara and Lorkin had come to his country estate.

  What if the Traitors did want him to find the pair? Then they’ll make sure we find them. Though I can’t imagine Tyvara will let us capture her without a fight. And we’ll have to be prepared for any reaction from Lorkin. It’s possible she’s convinced him to accompany her – perhaps even seduced him – and he’ll resist being rescued.

  He wanted to believe Lorkin was more sensible than that, but he had heard the gossip in the Guild that the young man had a weakness for pretty, smart women. Being the son of Black Magician Sonea and the late High Lord Akkarin didn’t mean the young man had any of his parents’ wisdom, either. Those characteristics could only come with experience. With making mistakes and choices, and learning from the consequences.

  I just hope this isn’t a serious mistake, and that the consequences are the kind he can learn from, not ones that will lead to me spending the rest of my life in Sachaka for fear of what Sonea might do to me if I ever return to the Guild.

  Lorkin would have thought that a male and female slave walking along a country road in the middle of the night would raise suspicion, but the few slaves they had passed had barely glanced at them. A carriage had overtaken them once, and Tyvara had hissed something about it probably containing a magician or Ashaki, but all she’d had him do was scamper off the road and keep his gaze lowered.

  “If anyone asks, we’ve been sent out to work at Ashaki Catika’s estate,” she’d told him. “We’re both house slaves. We’re travelling at night because he wants us there by tomorrow evening and that means walking night and day.”

  “Ashaki Catika is known for that sort of cruelty?”

  “All Sachakan magicians are.”

  “Surely there are one or two good magicians.”

  “There are some who treat their slaves better than others, but ultimately enslaving another person is cruel, so I wouldn’t call any of them good. If they were good, they’d free their slaves and pay those willing to stay and work for them.” She glanced at him. “As Kyralians do.”

  “Not all Kyralians are kind to their servants,” Lorkin told her.

  “At least those servants can leave and find a new employer.”

  “They can, but it is not as easy as it sounds. Servant positions are in high demand and a servant who quits may find it hard to get work elsewhere. Households tend to hire servants from the same family over servants they don’t know. Of course, a servant can try other work, like a trade, but they will be competing with families who have practised that trade for generations.”

  “Do you think slavery is better then?”

  “No. Definitely not. I am only saying the alternative isn’t easier. How well do Traitors treat their servants?”

  “We are all servants. Just as we are all Traitors,” Tyvara explained. “The term isn’t like ‘Ashaki’ or ‘Lord’. It is a word for a people.”

  “But not a race?”

  “No. We are Sachakans, though we don’t often call ourselves that.”

  “So even magicians do the tasks of servants? They clean and cook?”

  “Yes and no.” She grimaced then. “At first that was how it was supposed to be. We would all do the same work. A Traitor might clean dirty dishes one moment and then vote on important decisions, like which crops to plant, the next. But it didn’t work. Some bad decisions were made because people who were not smart or educated enough to understand the consequences chose badly.

  “We started a range of tests designed to find out what a person’s talent was and to develop it, so the best person would end up taking on the tasks that required their skills. Though that meant we weren’t all doing the same things any more, it was still better than slavery. So long as the tasks required for maintaining our home and feeding our people were met, nobody was forced to do a certain job, or prevented from doing something they were talented at, because of their family status or class.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Lorkin remarked.

  She shrugged. “It works most of the time, but like all systems it’s not perfect. There are some magicians who would rather spend their time complaining and manipulating others than wasting their magic on tilling the fields or heating kilns.”

  “Most Guild magicians would agree. But we do work for the people in other ways. Maintaining the port. Building bridges and other structures. Defending the country. Healing the sick and in—”

  The look she cast him had stopped the words in his throat. It began as a savage glare, then turned into a troubled frown, and then she turned away.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Someone’s coming,” she said, looking into the shadowed road ahead. “Anyone we pass could be a Traitor. We shouldn’t be talking. Someone might overhear us and realise who we are.”

  The approaching figure turned out to be another slave. From then on Tyvara would not speak, telling him to be quiet if he attempted to start another conversation. As the sky began to lighten, she began scanning the surrounding area as she had done the previous morning, eventually moving off the road to where
some thin trees barely screened a field wall.

  They’d hidden among some dense, prickly bushes the previous day. These trees weren’t going to provide the same cover, however. Tyvara was staring at the ground. Lorkin felt a vibration, then heard a strange tearing sound followed by something between a thump and a popping noise. A cloud of dust rose up beyond the wall and the air filled with the smell of grit and dirt.

  Before their feet a hole appeared.

  “In you go,” Tyvara said, gesturing toward the hole.

  “In there?” Lorkin crouched and peered into the darkness. “Are you hoping to bury me alive?”

  “No, foolish Kyralian,” she snapped. “I’m trying to hide us both. Get inside before someone sees us.”

  He put his hands on either side of the hole and let his legs dangle inside. There was no floor that he could reach. The prospect of falling into darkness didn’t appeal, so he created a spark of light within the space. It illuminated a hollow space under the ground, the curved floor not far below his feet. He let himself drop, then crouched to avoid scraping his head on the “ceiling” as he moved further inside.

  The hollow was globe-shaped, mainly situated below the wall. Two holes showed circles of brightening sky above the field, one that he had entered and another that he guessed had been the exit for the dirt. The inside of the hollow was no doubt restrained from falling in and burying him by Tyvara’s magic.

  She dropped and slid in beside him, immediately folding herself down into a sitting position facing him. The space was small for two people, and her legs brushed up against his. He hoped the flash of interest this stirred in him didn’t show somehow. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, then she sighed and looked away.

  “Sorry for snapping at you. It can’t be easy for you to trust me.”

  He smiled ruefully. The trouble is, I want to trust her. I should be questioning every move she makes, especially after what she told me the other night. Well, I would, but when I get her talking something happens and she goes all silent on me again. She was watching him, her expression apologetic. Maybe I should try again.

  “That’s fine. But it’s not the first time I’ve annoyed you tonight. What did I say, when we were discussing servants and the Traitors at the beginning of the night, that bothered you?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened, then her mouth thinned into a line of reluctance. He thought she wasn’t going to answer, but she shook her head.

  “I’ll have to explain eventually.” She grimaced and looked down at her knees. “Many years ago my people noticed that one of the Ichani that roam about the wasteland had a strange slave. A pale man, possibly a Kyralian.” Her gaze flickered up to meet his, then away. “Your father.”

  Lorkin felt a chill run across his skin. Though he had heard the story before, his mother had always been reluctant to talk about this part of his father’s life.

  “They watched for a long time and eventually realised that the slave was a Guild magician,” Tyvara continued. “This was unusual, as you may know already, as Sachakans don’t tolerate slaves knowing magic. If a slave develops powers naturally they will kill him, or her. Enslaving a foreign magician – especially a Guild magician – was extraordinary and dangerous. But this was no ordinary Ichani. He was cunning and ambitious.

  “As my people watched, they guessed that your father did not know higher magic. Then, one day, the daughter of the leader of my people fell terribly ill and soon it was clear she was dying. Our leader had heard of the Guild’s skills in healing with magic. We’ve tried for many years to discover the secret for ourselves, without success. So our leader sent one of us out to meet your father and make an offer.” Tyvara’s face darkened. “She would teach him higher magic in exchange for Healing magic.”

  She looked up at him. Lorkin stared back at her. His mother had never mentioned that his father had agreed to exchange anything for black magic, nor had anybody else in the Guild.

  “And?” he prompted.

  “He agreed.”

  “He can’t – couldn’t – do that!” Lorkin blurted.

  Tyvara frowned. “Why not?”

  “It’s … it’s a decision only the Higher Magicians can make. And then probably only with the approval of the king. To give such valuable knowledge to another race … a people not of the Allied Lands … is too risky. And there would have to be something given in exchange.”

  “Higher magic,” she reminded him.

  “Which they would never have accepted in exchange. It is…” He caught himself. Revealing that black magic was forbidden would reveal the Guild’s greatest weakness. “It was not his decision to make.”

  Tyvara’s mouth set in a disapproving line. “Yet he agreed to the offer,” she said. “He agreed to come to our home and teach us Healing – something he said that could not be taught in a moment, as higher magic can be. So he was taught higher magic and he used it to kill his master. Then he disappeared, returning to Imardin and breaking his promise. Our leader’s daughter died.”

  Lorkin found he could not meet her accusing gaze. He looked at the ground and picked up a handful of dirt, letting it fall between his fingers.

  “I can see why your people are angry with him,” he said lamely.

  She drew in a deep breath and looked away. “Not all of them. One of my people travelled to Imardin later, when it was clear the brother of your father’s former master was preparing to invade Kyralia. She discovered that this Ichani had been sending spies into Imardin for some time, and that your father was killing them off in secret. It could be that your father returned home because he discovered the threat from his master’s brother.”

  “Or he assumed you understood he had to persuade the Guild to allow him to teach you Healing before he could return.”

  She looked at him. “Do you think that is true?”

  Lorkin shook his head. “No. He could not have told them about you without revealing that he had …” – he had learned black magic – “… he had been enslaved here.”

  “He broke his promise out of pride?” Her tone was disapproving, though not as much as he would have expected. Perhaps she understood why his father had been reluctant to tell his tale.

  “I doubt that was the only reason,” he said. “He did reveal the truth when it was needed. Or most of the truth, as it turns out,” he added.

  “Well,” she said, shrugging. “Whatever the reason, he didn’t keep his promise. Some of my people – the faction I mentioned the other night – want you punished for it.” She smiled crookedly as he looked at her in horror. “Which is why Riva was sent to kill you, against our leader’s orders. But the majority of us hold to the principle that we are better than our barbaric Sachakan cousins. We do not punish the child for the crimes of the parent.”

  Lorkin sighed with relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She smiled. “Instead we give them a chance to make amends.”

  “But what can I do? I am a mere Ambassador’s assistant. I don’t even know higher magic.”

  Her expression became serious. “You could teach us Healing.”

  They stared at each other in silence. Then she looked down.

  “But, as you just pointed out, you haven’t the authority to give us that knowledge.”

  He shook his head. “Is there anything else I can do?” he asked apologetically.

  She frowned, her eyes fixed on the dirt wall as she considered. “No.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “This isn’t good. We have kept the other faction from gaining popularity by promoting the idea that you could give us what your father promised. When my people realise that you can’t give them Healing they will be disappointed. And angry.” She bowed her head. “Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t take you there. Perhaps I should send you back home.”

  “Don’t you need me there to help prove that Riva tried to kill me against orders?” he asked.

  “It would help my case.”

  “Would going to Sanctuary to speak on your
behalf improve my standing among your people?”

  She frowned and looked at him. “Yes … but …”

  As Lorkin considered that, he felt conflicting emotions. I was hoping to see her home and learn about her people – and find out what they know about stones with magical qualities. What will happen to her if I don’t go there? She killed one of her own people to save me. Though Riva was disobeying orders, they may still punish Tyvara. Perhaps even execute her. It doesn’t seem right to run away home when she might die for saving my life. And I don’t much like my chances of getting home – on my own or with Dannyl’s help – with black-magic-wielding Traitors all over Sachaka trying to kill me.

  “Then I will travel with you to Sanctuary.”

  Her eyes widened and she gazed at him. “Are you sure?”

  He shrugged. “I am an Ambassador’s assistant. Perhaps not an actual Ambassador, but it is still my role to assist in establishing and maintaining friendly relations between Kyralia and Sachaka. If it turns out that there’s a part of Sachaka we’ve been failing to establish friendly relations with, it is my duty to ensure that part is not ignored or neglected.”

  She was staring at him now, mouth open, though whether from surprise or disbelief or because he’d sounded like a complete idiot he wasn’t sure.

  “And since my predecessor made such a bad impression on your people it is even more important that I do what I can to improve their view of the Guild and Kyralians,” he continued. Then he felt a giddying rush of inspiration. “And discuss the possibility of negotiating an exchange of magical knowledge, this time with the appropriate parties and processes involved.”

  Tyvara’s mouth snapped shut and, for a moment, she regarded him with an intensity that he could only meet with a hopeful and foolish smile. Then she threw back her head and laughed. The sound echoed in the hole and she smacked a hand over her mouth.

  “You are mad,” she said, when her shoulders had stopped shaking. “Fortunately for you it’s a madness I like. If you truly wish to risk your life coming to Sanctuary, whether to defend me or try to persuade my people to give you something in exchange for what they already feel they are owed … then I selfishly feel I shouldn’t try to dissuade you.”