The Ambassador''s Mission

  Without waiting for a reply, she strode away toward the door. Dannyl and Lorkin followed, though at a slower pace. Lorkin watched as his mother disappeared through the Guildhall doorway.

  “I have no intention of dying in Sachaka,” Lorkin said. “In fact, I’ll be keeping as low a profile as possible. After all, if the slightest hint of foolishness gets back here, she’ll come fetch me back.”

  “Actually, she can’t,” Dannyl replied.

  Lorkin turned to frown at the tall magician.

  “Remember, she’s a black magician. She’s forbidden to leave the city. If she breaks that condition, she’ll be exiled from the Allied Lands.”

  A small but sharp stab of fear went through Lorkin. So she can’t come and save me if I get in trouble. Well, I had better not get into trouble then. Or rather, I had better be ready to get myself out of it again. He fixed a bright smile on his face and turned to Dannyl.

  “But I don’t need Mother. If anything happens, I know you’ll save me.”

  Dannyl’s eyebrows rose. “Nice to know you have such confidence in me.”

  “Oh, nothing of the sort,” Lorkin replied, grinning. “I just know you’re more scared of her than of the Sachakans.”

  The tall magician shook his head and sighed. “What was I thinking? Of all the assistants I could have wound up with, why did I have to choose the one with the scary mother and troublemaking in his bloodlines? I am doomed.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A JOURNEY BEGINS

  As the carriage pulled up outside the front of the University, Sonea and Lorkin emerged from the building, followed by Rothen. A cluster of young male magicians lurking in the shelter of the entry hall waved and called out, and Lorkin turned to wave in reply. His wave turned into a beckoning gesture, and a servant hurried out, carrying a single, small chest.

  Ah, good. The young man packs light, Dannyl thought.

  Early autumn rain spattered against an invisible shield over their heads. As mother and son reached the carriage, Dannyl heard the sound of rain on the roof cease, and guessed that whichever of the magicians was holding the shield had expanded it to include the vehicle. He opened the door and climbed down to greet them.

  “Ambassador Dannyl,” Sonea said, smiling politely up at him. “I hope your chests are watertight. This rain doesn’t look like it will ease off for some time.”

  Dannyl glanced up at the two boxes strapped to the back of the carriage, on top of which the servant and driver were lashing Lorkin’s chest. “They’re new and untested, but the maker came well recommended.” He turned back to regard her. “I have no original documents in there. All copies. Wrapped in oilskin.”

  She nodded. “Wise.” She turned to Lorkin, who was looking a little pale. “If you need anything, you know what to do.”

  He flashed a quick smile in reply. “I’m sure I’ll be able to buy anything I’ve forgotten. The Sachakans might have a few barbaric customs, but it sounds like they don’t lack for luxuries or practicalities.”

  They regarded each other silently for a long, awkward moment.

  “Well, off you go then.” She waved to the carriage like she was shooing a child away, spoiling the impression of a young man venturing independently into the world. Dannyl suspected she would have liked to envelop her son in a hug, but knew it would embarrass him in front of his friends. He exchanged an amused and knowing look with Rothen. They watched Lorkin climb inside the carriage, clutching a leather bag to his chest.

  “I’ll hold you to that promise, Dannyl,” Sonea said quietly.

  The urge to smile disappeared. He turned back, ready to reassure her again, but there was a glint of amusement in her gaze. He straightened his back.

  “And I mean to uphold it,” he said. “Though if he takes after his mother, I can’t be held completely responsible if he gets it into his head to do something foolish.”

  From Rothen he heard a quiet snort of amusement. Sonea’s eyebrows rose and he expected her to protest, but instead she shrugged. “Well, don’t complain to me if he causes you trouble. You didn’t have to choose him as your assistant.”

  Dannyl feigned worry. “Is he really that bad? I can still change my mind about taking him, can’t I?”

  She raised an eyebrow and regarded him closely. “Don’t tempt me, Dannyl.” Then she drew in a deep breath and sighed. “No, he isn’t that bad. And I do wish you luck, Dannyl. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Rothen chuckled. “Goodbye again, old friend,” he said. Just as Dannyl had once farewelled Rothen many years before, on this spot, before heading off to Elyne and his first ambassadorial role. Where I met Tayend …

  “Farewell, even older friend,” Dannyl retorted. Rothen laughed, the wrinkles on his face deepening. He looks so elderly these days, Dannyl thought. But then, so do I. He felt a pang of regret that he had not visited his old mentor and friend much these last few years. I’ll have to make up for that when I return.

  “Off with you then.” Rothen made the same shooing motion that Sonea had. Dannyl chuckled and obeyed, climbing into the carriage to sit beside Lorkin. He turned to the young man.

  “Ready?”

  Lorkin nodded without hesitation.

  “Driver. Time to depart,” Dannyl called.

  A command rang out and the carriage jerked into motion. Dannyl looked out of the carriage window to see Sonea and Rothen watching. Both wore frowns, but as they saw him they smiled and waved, as did the young men huddled under the University entrance. He waved back, then the carriage turned toward the gates and they were no longer in sight.

  She won’t stop worrying about him the entire time he is gone. Such is the role of a parent. He suppressed a sigh. Why this melancholy? I should be filled with excitement at the coming adventure. Glancing at Lorkin, he saw that the young man was gazing out of the other window. It’s not just me then. I guess all travel involves leaving somewhere, and that often involves a little sadness. Well, at least Lorkin had someone seeing him off.

  He frowned as he thought back over the previous several days. Since their argument Tayend hadn’t spoken a word. Not even when Dannyl had told him he would be leaving the next day. Not a word of farewell. He hadn’t been present when Dannyl had loaded his chests onto the carriage and rode away.

  Why does he have to be like this? It’s not as if he still wants to take part in the research. Tayend had shown less and less interest in the work over the years. He was more excited by court gossip.

  Dannyl had told the silent scholar that if he judged Sachaka safe enough, he’d send a message and if Tayend was still keen to join him he could seek the Elyne king’s approval. But the scholar had glared at Dannyl and left the table, his dinner unfinished.

  I’ve never seen him this angry. It’s unreasonable. My research won’t progress unless I go to Sachaka. Well, I hope it will progress. I might go there and find nothing.

  But he would never know that if he didn’t try.

  The carriage moved through the Inner Wall out into the North Quarter. Lorkin was still staring out of the window. His expression was withdrawn and thoughtful, which made him look more like his father.

  Akkarin had always been brooding about something. It turned out he had a reason to be. Who’d have guessed the man so many magicians had been in awe of had once been a slave? Certainly nobody had suspected their High Lord knew black magic, and had been venturing out into the city to kill Sachakan spies.

  Were there any Sachakan spies in the city now? He smiled. Of course there were. Just not the kind Akkarin had hunted – ex-slaves sent by their Ichani masters. No, the spies here now would be the old-fashioned kind, sent or hired by the rulers of other countries to keep an eye on their neighbours. And they wouldn’t bother with the poorer districts, instead looking for useful positions with access to the court and trade.

  Dannyl looked out of the window. He watched as the neat stone houses of the North Quarter passed, then the carriage trundled through the Outer Wall and entered
what had once been the slums.

  It has changed so much, Dannyl thought. Where a shambles of makeshift building had been now neat brick houses stood. He knew there were still areas of the slums that were dirty and dangerous, but once the Purge had stopped it had quickly become apparent that the yearly forced exodus had hampered the expansion of the city as much as it had restricted access to it by the poor.

  And the poor not only had access to the city, but could join the Guild as well – if they had strong enough magical ability. The wealth that came with such a privilege had lifted more than a few families out of poverty, though the influx of entrants from poor and servant classes had caused some troubles for the Guild.

  Like this recent mess in which magicians and novices of the higher classes had been found in a roet and gambling house run by smugglers, but claimed to have been given directions to the place by the “lowies.” What was most disturbing was that this house had been found hidden down an alley in the Inner Circle, which had always been thought to be free of such bad establishments. And it hadn’t been all that far from Dannyl and Tayend’s home.

  But that was someone else’s concern now. As the carriage moved past the last of the houses and out onto the North Road, Dannyl nodded to himself. His and Lorkin’s future lay ahead of them, in the ancient land of Sachaka.

  The Good Company was one of the largest bolhouses in the south of the city. As Cery and Gol walked in, they were buffeted by the heat of bodies, roar of voices and rich, sweet scent of bol. Men outnumbered women, both standing at tables fixed to the floor. There were no chairs. Chairs did not last long. The brawls that broke out here were famous throughout the city, though by the time the stories reached Northside they’d been embellished well beyond physical possibilities.

  Making his way through the crowd, Cery took in the atmosphere and noted the clientele without looking at anyone long enough to draw attention. Near the back of the huge room were doorways. These led downstairs to the basement, where a different sort of company was for hire.

  Sitting on a bench near one of the doorways was a plump middle-aged woman in bright, overly fancy clothing.

  “Why is it that house-mothers always look the same?” Gol murmured.

  “Sly Lalli is tall and slim,” Cery pointed out. “Goody Sis is short and petite.”

  “But the rest are rather similar. Big, busty and—”

  “Quiet. She’s coming over.”

  The woman had seen them watching her, hauled herself to her feet and was making her way toward them. “You looking for Aunty? She’s over there.” She pointed. “Hey Aunty!” she shouted.

  They both turned to see a tall, elegant woman with long red hair swivel on her heel to regard them. At a gesture from the plump woman she smiled and strode forward.

  “Here for some good company, are we?” she said. She looked at Gol, who was watching the other woman returning to her seat. “People always assume Martia runs the place,” she said. “But she’s here keeping an eye on her son, who works in the servery. Like to go downstairs?”

  “Yes. I’m here to see an old friend,” Cery told her.

  She smiled knowingly. “As are we all. Which old friend would that be?”

  “Terrina.”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose. “That one, eh? Well, no man asks for her who doesn’t already know what he’s getting. I’ll take you to her.”

  She led them through the doorway down a short flight of stairs into a room beneath the bolhouse. It was as large as the room above, but was filled with rows of cubicles. Paper screens were attached to the sides, and most were closed to hide the interior – and from the sounds coming from all sides most of the cubicles were being used for the purpose they were built for.

  Aunty led them to a cubicle near the centre of the room. The screens were open. Inside was a single chair. It was a generously sized chair, with a large cushioned seat and sturdy arms. All of the rooms were furnished thus. The women here did not want their customers to be so comfortable they’d fall asleep and prevent them servicing more customers. Cery turned to nod at Gol, who took up a position a few steps away, outside another empty room.

  As Cery moved into the cubicle, Aunty closed the screens. Sitting down, he listened to the sounds nearby, then extended his focus beyond the moans and laughs in search of sounds that didn’t belong. The sound of breathing. Of footsteps. Of the rustle of cloth.

  His nose caught a scent that brought a rush of memories, many years old. He smiled.

  “Terrina,” he murmured, turning to the back of the little room.

  A panel of the wall slid aside, revealing a woman with short hair and dark clothing. She looks just the same. Perhaps that little crease between her brows is a bit deeper. She was a little too lean and muscular to be called beautiful, but Cery had always found her athletic build attractive. As she recognised him, her eyebrows rose and she relaxed.

  “Well, well. I haven’t seen you in a long time. What must it be? Five years?”

  Cery shrugged. “I told you I was getting married.”

  “So you did.” The assassin leaned against the side of the cubicle and tilted her head to one side, her dark eyes as inscrutable as always. “You also said you were the loyal type. I assumed you’d found another, shall we say, side interest.”

  “You were never a side interest,” Cery told her. “Life is too complicated for more than one lover at a time.”

  She smiled. “Sweet of you to say so. I can’t say the same in return – but you knew that.” Then her expression grew serious. Stepping inside, she pulled the panel closed. “You’re here for business, not pleasure.” It was not a question; it was a statement.

  “You always did read me too easily,” he said.

  “No, I just pretend to. Who do you need killed?” Her eyes flashed with eagerness and anticipation. “Anyone annoyed you lately?”

  “Information.”

  Her shoulders dropped with disappointment. “Why, why, why? All the time they want information.” She threw up her hands. “Or if they want the full deal they coward out of it before I can even get my knives sharp.” She shook her head, then looked at him hopefully. “Will the information lead to the full deal?”

  She enjoys her work far too much, Cery thought. Always did. It was part of what was so exciting about her.

  “It might, but then I’d rather do the job myself.”

  Terrina’s lips formed a pout. “Typical.” Then she smiled and waved a hand. “But I can’t grudge you, if it’s that personal. So what do you need to know?”

  Cery drew in a deep breath, bracing himself for the stab of pain that would come with what he was about to say.

  “Who broke into my hideout and killed my wife and sons,” he said quietly, so none of the other patrons would hear. “If you don’t know for sure, then any gossip you’ve heard will do.”

  She blinked and stared at him.

  “Oh,” was all she said. She regarded him thoughtfully. The gossip of assassins rarely spread beyond their ranks. All accepted that it could be bought, for a high price, but if it led to another assassin losing trade or being killed the seller would be punished severely. “You know how much that will cost?”

  “Of course … depending on if you have the information I need.”

  She nodded, dropped into a crouch so she was at eye level, and stared at him earnestly. “Only for you, Cery. How long ago did it happen?”

  “Nine days.”

  She frowned and gazed into the distance. “I’ve heard nothing like that. Most assassins would have put it about by now. Getting into a Thief’s hideout is impressive. He’ll have tried to kill you there because it proves he’s clever. Tell me how he did it.”

  He described the unbroken locks, the ambushed guards, but left out what the lockmaker had said about magic.

  “I suppose they’d keep their mug shut if they were paid enough. It would cost. So the client is rich, or has saved up a long time. Either that or they did it themselves, or it was someone
close to you who knew the way in – but I suppose you’ve looked into that. Or …” Her gaze snapped to him. “Or else it’s the Thief Hunter.”

  Cery frowned. “But why would he wait until I went out and then kill my family?”

  “Maybe he didn’t know you’d gone out. Maybe he didn’t know you had a wife and children. I didn’t tell anyone you were getting married, though that was ’cause I didn’t believe it. And if you hid them well enough …” She shrugged. “He got in, they saw him, he had to kill them ’cause they could tag him.”

  “If only there was a way I could be sure.” Cery sighed.

  “Every killer has their leavings. Signs. Habits. Skills. You can tag ’em from those, if you’ve got enough killings to compare.” She sighed and stood up. “I’d tell you the details about the Thief Hunter, except we’re keeping them to ourselves for now, in case one of us is the killer.”

  Cery nodded. When Terrina said she would not give any more information, nothing could charm it out of her.

  She looked at him and shook her head. “Sorry, I haven’t been much help. Can’t do anything but get you spooked about someone you already know about, and I can’t tell you anything useful about.” She looked away and frowned. “Can’t really charge you much for that.”

  Cery opened his mouth to start bartering over the fee he’d offer her for the trouble of meeting with him, but she looked up suddenly.

  “Oh, there’s one thing I can tell you, because nobody’s taking it seriously.”

  “Yes?”

  “People reckon the Thief Hunter uses magic.”

  Cold rushed through Cery. He stared at her. “Why do they say that?”

  “I thought it was because he was so good, people thought he must use magic. But I had a chat to a guard at a bolhouse once, who used to work for one of the Thieves that were done, and he says he saw a streak of light, and things flying through the air. Of course, everyone says it was the knock on the head making him see things, but … he was so sure of it, and not a man without a bit of good sense.”