She obeyed. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, and there was a crease between her brows.
“Please explain to us what Lord Jawen overheard.”
Talie drew in a deep breath and let it out again before answering. “He has the gist of it,” she said. “I did move a box that was probably full of illegal goods – though I don’t know that for sure. When Lord Jawen overheard me, I was worried if this meant I’d broken a rule or law, and was asking a friend what she thought.”
“How did you find yourself in a situation where you might question the legality of your actions?”
She looked at the floor. “I was tricked. Well, not tricked … but I didn’t feel like I could refuse.” She paused to shake her head. “What I mean is, someone I wish I didn’t know took me to that place where the boxes were, saying a person was hurt and needed my help. He wasn’t lying, actually. One of the boxes had fallen on top of a man and his thigh bone had been crushed. I had to lift the box off him so I could Heal him. Once I’d done that they took me home.”
Sonea felt a pang of sympathy. The young woman clearly could not have left the injured man in his predicament. She shouldn’t have gone with the smuggler in the first place, of course, but she wasn’t asked to do anything criminal. Yet, while Healing isn’t a criminal activity, moving a box of illegal goods might be considered so.
“So your only action was to move one box and Heal a man?” Osen asked.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know for sure that the goods inside were illegal.”
She grimaced and shook her head. “No.”
“Did you receive any payment for your help?”
“He tried to give me something but I refused to take it.”
“Is that all you can tell us?”
She paused, then cast a doubtful glance at Lady Vinara. “I’d have Healed that man anyway. And moved the box off him. I couldn’t have left him like that.”
Osen nodded then turned to the Higher Magicians. “Any questions for Lady Talie or Lord Jawen?”
“I have one for Lady Talie. Has this man asked favours or services of you before?” Lord Garrel asked.
“No.”
“What is your connection to him, then?”
Talie looked at Osen and bit her lip. “He has done work and favours for my family, though it was years ago before anyone knew he was involved in anything illegal.”
“Could you take someone back to the place these goods were stored?”
“No. He made sure the carriage windows were covered. When we arrived the carriage was inside a big room. And even if I did know where it was, I doubt the goods are still there.”
Sonea smiled at that. The young Healer was probably right. But by saying so, she had suggested she knew more about smuggling than a magician from a House ought to.
No more questions came, so Osen sent Lord Jawen and Lady Talie out of the hall. When they were gone, Lord Telano sighed.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “She only did what any Healer ought to do. She shouldn’t be punished for that.”
“She wasn’t paid,” Garrel added. “She didn’t benefit from it. I see no wrongdoing here.”
“The rule forbids involvement in criminal activity as well as benefiting from it,” Vinara pointed out. “But I agree. Moving a box is hardly involvement in crime.”
“Still, we ought to be discouraging magicians from having anything to do with such people,” Lord Peakin said.
“Which, as we established recently, is too difficult to enforce and apparently unfair to some Guild members,” Garrel reminded him.
“Has she clearly broken a rule?” Osen asked.
None of the magicians answered. Several shook their heads.
“Does anybody believe she should be punished?”
The question received the same response. Osen nodded. “Then, unless anybody disagrees with me, I will declare she has broken no rule. I will also let it be known that Lord Jawen acted correctly in reporting what he heard, and state that tests of the new rule are beneficial and to be encouraged. We don’t want anyone taking today’s decision as an indicator that doing favours for dubious characters will always be overlooked.”
“Do you think Lady Talie would agree to identify this man and confirm his activities for the Guard?” Rothen asked, looking back at Lady Vinara.
“I imagine she would be reluctant,” Vinara replied. “If he had enough influence to force her to this store, then he may have enough to prevent her speaking against him. I will ask her, but only if the Guard does require her help.”
“If she agrees and a conviction is achieved, it will discourage criminals from taking advantage of magicians,” Osen said. He called the young Healer back in and told her their decision. She looked relieved.
And perhaps a little annoyed to have been put through this, Sonea observed. Osen announced the meeting over and the Higher Magicians began to leave. As she reached the floor of the hall, she found Rothen waiting for her.
“What do you think?” he murmured to her.
“I think the new rule is going to be ineffective at keeping magicians and criminals apart,” she replied.
“But in the past someone of her status would never have been reported, not even if what she’d done was clearly wrong.”
“No, but there is nothing to stop that sort of bias returning as magicians realise the limitations of the new rule. I won’t be convinced it’s an improvement unless the degree of harassment of lower-class-origin magicians lessens.”
“Do you think she would have helped the injured man if there was no incentive to please the man who asked her to?”
Sonea considered the question. “Yes, though not without some disdain.”
He chuckled. “Well, that’s an improvement on the past anyway. Thanks to your hospices, it’s no longer thought of as acceptable to deny Healing because the patient can’t afford it.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Things have changed that much? But surely Vinara hasn’t stopped charging patients who come to the Healers’ Quarters.”
“No.” He smiled. “It’s more of an attitude change. It’s not, well, healerly to ignore anyone you stumble upon who is in great need. That is, if they are injured or dying – not if they’ve got a hangover or the winter cough. It is as if the ideal for a Healer to aspire to is now someone who has Vinara’s cleverness and your compassion.”
She stared at him in disbelief and dismay.
He laughed. “I’d love to come to the end of my life knowing I’d made a change for the good, but despite all my work I don’t think I will. But now I see how uncomfortable it makes you, I wonder if I should be grateful for that.”
“You have made a difference, Rothen,” she protested. “I’d have never become a magician if it were not for you. And what is this talk of your life ending? It’s going to be years – decades – before you need to start planning a gravestone to outdazzle everyone else’s.”
He grimaced. “A plain one will do just fine.”
“That’s good, because by then there’ll be no gold left in the Allied Lands except what’s on magicians’ headstones. Now, that’s enough talk of death. Regin is, no doubt, pacing outside my door wanting to know how we decided, and I’d like to get that little interview over with so I can get some sleep in before tonight’s shift.”
Nine men now rode on either side of Achati’s carriage each day – four Sachakan magicians, their source slaves and one of the grey-skinned Duna tribesmen from the north, who had been hired as a tracker.
Dannyl had been acutely aware that these powerful men had left their comfortable homes and joined the search based on a mere guess that Lorkin and Tyvara were heading for the mountains, and that the Traitors would continue working toward the pair being captured. If he was wrong … it would be embarrassing at the least.
If the four magicians doubted Dannyl’s reasoning, they hid it well. They and Achati had discussed their plans in a way that had included Dannyl, but ma
de it clear he was not in charge. He decided it was best to accept that, to seek their advice on everything and go along with their plans, but always make it clear he was determined to find his assistant and would not easily be persuaded otherwise.
One had asked the Duna tribesman, Unh, if he thought Lorkin and Tyvara were heading toward the Traitor home. The man had nodded and pointed toward the mountains.
The tribesman rarely spoke, and if he did he used as few words as possible to get across his meaning. He wore only a skirt of cloth on top of which a belt was strapped, hung with little drawstring bags, strange carvings and a small knife in a wooden sheath. At night he slept outside, and though he accepted food brought to him by the slaves he never spoke to them or ordered them about.
I wonder if all his people are like this.
“What are you thinking?”
Dannyl blinked and looked at Achati. The Sachakan was regarding him thoughtfully from the opposite seat in the carriage.
“About Unh. He has so few possessions and seems to need so little. Yet he does not behave like a poor man or beggar. He is … dignified.”
“The Duna tribe have lived the same way for thousands of years,” Achati told him. “They are nomads, constantly travelling. I suppose you would learn to keep only what you most needed if you had to carry it all the time.”
“Why do they travel so much?”
“Their land is constantly changing. Cracks open up and leak poisonous fumes, molten blackrock from the nearby volcanoes spills over the land or scorching ash falls on it. Every few hundred years or so my people have tried to take their lands, either by force or by establishing towns and claiming the land by settling on it. In the first case the Duna vanished into the dangerous shadows of the volcanoes, and in the latter they simply traded with the settlers and waited. It soon becomes clear that crops won’t grow consistently and animals die there, and each time my people have abandoned the villages and returned to Sachaka. The Duna returned to their old ways and …” Achati stopped as the carriage turned, and looked out of the window. “Looks like we have arrived.”
They passed low white walls, then a pair of open gates. As soon as the carriage stopped, Achati’s slave opened the door. Following his companion out, Dannyl looked around at the estate courtyard and the slaves lying, face-down, on the dusty ground. The rest of the magicians, their slaves and the Duna tribesman dismounted, and Achati stepped forward to speak to the head slave.
I wonder how many of these slaves are Traitors, Dannyl thought. At each estate they’d stayed at, with the permission of the owners, the Sachakans had read the slave’s minds. Many believed that some of the country estates run by slaves, and a few by Ashaki, were actually controlled by Traitors, and were secret training places for spies.
This estate was run by an Ashaki. Dannyl’s helpers had decided it was the safest one in this area to investigate. Even so, the thought that they might be in a place effectively controlled by Traitors sent a small shiver of excitement and fear down Dannyl’s spine. If the slaves were all Traitors, did that mean they were also magicians? If they were, they outnumbered the visitors.
But even if they were all spies and black magicians, they would need a strong reason to attack a group of visiting Ashaki. The inevitable retaliation would force them to abandon their hold on the estate.
The head slave took them all to the Master’s Room. The Ashaki owner, an old man with a limp, greeted them warmly. When they explained why they were there, and that they needed to read the minds of his slaves, he agreed reluctantly.
“It is likely there are Traitors among my slaves,” he admitted. “Considering how close we are to the mountains. But they seem to have a way of hiding it from their thoughts.” He shrugged, suggesting that he’d given up on finding them.
After an hour, all the slaves but a few field workers had been read. The Ashaki visitors retired to the guest rooms, where they lounged on cushions and discussed what they had learned, after first sending away the slaves sent to attend to them.
“A female slave from another estate visited last night,” one of the Ashaki said. “She wanted food for four people.”
Another nodded. “A lone woman was seen arriving and leaving by one of the field workers. She took food to a stock cart.”
“We heard about this stock cart last night,” Achati said. “Is it the same one? Is it unusual for a cart to be travelling this way?”
“It’s not unusual for more prosperous estates to sell feed to less fertile ones at the foot of the mountains.”
“They are in the cart,” stated a new voice.
All looked up to see Unh standing in the doorway. He looked oddly out of place indoors, Dannyl noted. Like a plant which you know will die from lack of sunlight.
“A slave told me,” the man said. He turned and walked away.
The Ashaki exchanged thoughtful looks. None of them questioned Unh’s claim, Dannyl noted. What reason would the tribesman have to lie? He is being paid to find Lorkin and Tyvara.
Achati turned to Dannyl. “You were right, Ambassador. The Traitors do want us to find them, and they have finally given us directions.”
CHAPTER 25
THE MESSENGER’S NEWS
While not as sturdy as the boots the Guild had provided for Lorkin all his life, the simple leather shoes slaves wore made little noise. The pack he carried had seemed too small and light to contain enough supplies at first, but the weight of it appeared to have grown since he’d first shouldered it. Tyvara had taken the lead, walking with steady, measured steps as the way became more steep and difficult. Chari followed behind Lorkin, uncharacteristically quiet.
They’d told him to avoid using magic in any obvious way, now that he was in territory patrolled by the Traitors. If they’d detected the barrier he’d raised both to protect himself and keep the air around him warm, they must have decided it wasn’t an obvious use of magic, as neither had commented on it. Though they had assured him that the Traitors would not attack him while he was with two of their people, he wasn’t about to gamble his life on it. Not after their encounter with Rasha.
They’d left the cart and the road a few hours before, and were travelling on foot across hills and valleys that grew rapidly more steep and stony. Neither woman spoke. Lorkin found he missed Chari’s chatter and constant questions. Tyvara had grown more withdrawn the further they travelled. Her frowns made him feel vaguely guilty, but he wasn’t sure why.
She’s heading toward judgement by her people for killing one of their own, which wouldn’t be happening if she hadn’t saved my life.
Abruptly, Tyvara slowed and he pulled up short to avoid stumbling into her. Looking past her shoulder, he saw that, beyond a rise ahead, a group of people were standing before two small huts. They were watching as he, Tyvara and Chari approached.
The huts were small and old and circled by a low fence. From the eaves hung animal skins, and several hide stretchers leaned against the walls, but none of the people gathered outside looked like hunters. All wore simple clothing made of fine cloth. Most were women. He noted two men standing among them and felt a mild surprise. After all that Tyvara and Chari had said about their people, he’d almost come to expect to see no men at all.
A hundred or so paces from the waiting group, Tyvara stopped. She turned to look at Lorkin, frowning as she considered something.
“I can speak for you, if you want,” Chari offered.
Tyvara scowled at her. “I can speak for myself,” she snapped. “Stay here.” Turning on her heel, she stalked toward her people, leaving Chari and Lorkin to exchange a look of bemusement.
“Have you two fallen out over something?” he asked.
Chari shook her head and smiled. “No. Why do you ask?”
“She hasn’t behaved as if the two of you are friends.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Chari chuckled and turned to look at the group. “She’s just jealous. And she doesn’t know it.”
“Jealous of wha
t?”
Chari gave him a lofty look. “You really don’t know? I’ve always wondered how it was that men in the rest of the world are in charge, when they’re so perpetually thick.”
He snorted softly. “And I’m curious to know how Traitor women stay in charge when they’re just as inclined to communicate by indirect hints and innuendo as women everywhere else.”
She laughed. “Oh, I like you, Lorkin. If Tyvara doesn’t wake up to herself and—” A voice called out and she immediately grew serious. She gave him a crooked smile. “Looks like it’s time to introduce you.”
He followed her across the remaining distance to the waiting Traitors. Tyvara watched them, her brow creased with a worried frown. Chari did not look at her friend, but fixed her attention on a middle-aged woman with grey streaks in her long hair.
“Speaker Savara,” she said respectfully. She gestured gracefully toward Lorkin. “Lorkin, assistant to Guild Ambassador Dannyl, of the land of Kyralia.”
The woman nodded. “Lord Lorkin,” she said. “If I am correct.”
“You are, indeed,” he replied, inclining his head. “An honour to meet you, Speaker Savara.”
Savara smiled. “It is polite of you to say so, after all you have been through.” She drew in a deep breath. “First, I wish to convey from the queen, but also heartfelt from myself, an apology for the disruption, fear and threat to your life that you have endured due to the Traitors. Whether Tyvara’s actions are deemed justifiable or not, you have been put through a great deal and for that we feel responsible.”
It did not seem like a good moment to be defending Tyvara, so he nodded. “Thank you.”
“If you wish to rejoin the Guild Ambassador, we can have you safely delivered into his protection. I can also arrange for guides to take you back to the Kyralian border. Which would you prefer?”
“Again, thank you,” Lorkin replied. “I am aware that there will be a trial to judge Tyvara’s actions and I would like to speak in her defence, if that is possible.”
Savara’s eyebrows rose, and a murmur of surprise and interest went through the rest of the gathering.