“Unfortunately there is only one Tessia,” the king said, his expression sad.
“Indeed,” she replied. “Perhaps I should have started teaching others earlier. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone would be interested.”
“There is plenty of interest,” he told her. “But I suspect that between being too occupied with other matters to spare the time, uncertainty over whether it is better to wait until you are no longer an apprentice and can legally teach, and the strangeness of the prospect of learning from a young woman, many magicians have hesitated to express it.” The king paused and smiled. “After what I just witnessed I am tempted to send you back to Imardin with a guard to ensure the knowledge you have is kept safe, but I fear you would be in more danger returning there than staying with us. And I need every magician and apprentice here with me.”
“And you’d never persuade me to abandon Lord Dakon,” she told him.
The king smiled again. “Not even if I ordered you to?”
She looked away. “I guess I’d have to go, but I’d be very annoyed with you.”
He laughed. “Well, I can’t have Tessia the magical healer annoyed with me. Who knows when I might need her services?”
For eighteen days and nights Hanara and the other slaves had been chained to the back of a covered wagon. By day they walked behind the wagon as it made its way towards Arvice. By night they slept wherever it stopped, on ground that was sometimes mud, sometimes dry earth, and sometimes hard cobbles. He was glad it was summer, and the nights were relatively warm, though the exhaustion of walking all day would have helped him sleep even if it had been cold.
They were given water twice a day, and whatever leftovers were roused up from the estates they stayed at. Sometimes this was stale bread, sometimes congealed, cold soupy slops or the burned crusts from the bottom of cook pans.
Three men rode in the wagon: the driver, who also tended to the prisoners, and two free men whom Hanara only glimpsed when they got in or out of it. He sometimes imagined that Takado was in the wagon, too. If he was, he did not leave it at night and never spoke loudly enough for the slaves to hear. Now and then Hanara caught himself wanting to call out and tell Takado something, like that they had reached the outskirts of Arvice. And that they’d reached the high walls of the Imperial Palace.
He’s not in the wagon, Hanara told himself firmly. They’ve taken me far away from him, so he has no loyal source slave to call on if the opportunity came. He could be back at the estate where we were taken prisoner, or already in the palace. Or he’s been clever enough to talk someone into helping him escape.
The wagon abruptly turned into a low opening in the side of the palace wall and entered a small courtyard. Doors boomed shut behind it. Two large muscular slaves stood on either side of the doors, holding spears. The two free men clambered down from the wagon and spoke to the palace slave who emerged to abase himself before them. A headband indicated this slave was of higher status than those who guarded the doors. He rose to snap orders at a doorway, from which three lesser slaves emerged. They came forward and, as the cart driver unfastened the chains from the cart, took hold of a prisoner each. Hanara was pushed and guided into the palace, followed by Asara’s and Dachido’s slaves.
A long journey through dark corridors followed, descending first one level, then two, below ground. The magicians had vanished. The air was moist and heavy with a mixture of odours that grew steadily less pleasant, finally becoming a choking mix of excrement, sweat and mould. The doors they passed now were no longer wooden, but iron grates that allowed a glimpse of men and women of different ages, some dressed in slave garb, some in fine but soiled clothes.
Are they going to lock us up here? Hanara wondered. He’d tried in vain not to consider the future, but too often had caught himself wondering if he was to be executed once he arrived wherever his captors were taking him. Surely if they meant to kill me, they’d have done it already. So they must want something from him first. Or perhaps he would find himself owned by some new master. He’d considered whether he’d try to escape and find Takado if that happened. Perhaps only if he found out where Takado was.
It won’t be like Mandryn, he thought. No chance at freedom to tempt me. My place is with Takado. He smiled as he felt pride and the long-life feeling again.
At last they stopped in a large room and were forced to lie face down on the floor before another, rather fat high-status slave.
“Whose are these?” the man rumbled.
“The ichani rebels’.”
“Which is Takado’s?”
“This one.”
“He’s to be questioned. Take him upstairs. The others are to go to the waiting cells.”
As Hanara was dragged to his feet again he saw Asara’s and
Dachido’s slaves being taken through a doorway. They didn’t look back. He found himself being guided out of the same door he had come through into the corridor they had arrived by.
Then they were climbing, ever upwards. Stairs and corridors followed by more stairs and corridors. At every level the air smelled sweeter and the walls were whiter. Yet this only made the knot of dread in his belly grow larger and tighter. The rattle of his chains sounded louder the quieter the corridors became.
At the top of yet another staircase a well-muscled slave emerged to block their path.
“Who?” the man asked.
“Takado’s slave.”
The man narrowed his eyes at Hanara. “Follow me.”
Though Hanara felt a sense of relief and freedom as the first slave let go of his arm and the new one didn’t take hold of him, he knew it was an illusion. If he tried to run he would be caught and beaten. So he obediently trailed behind this new slave. The corridors here were decorated with carvings and hangings, and in places the walls themselves had been painted with colourful scenes.
They stopped before a carved wooden door. The slave knocked quietly. As the door opened a crack Hanara glimpsed a face and an eye.
“Ichani Takado’s slave,” his new guide murmured.
The door closed and they waited. Hanara examined the wall decorations, trying to slow his breathing and heartbeat. When the door opened again he jumped and all the calm he’d managed to summon evaporated.
Before he got a look at the room beyond, he was inside it.
“So. You are the ichani Takado’s slave,” a voice echoed.
The man who had spoken sat on one of many bench seats arranged around the walls. His cropped coat glittered with gold and jewels, which matched the room’s elaborately decorated furniture. Hanara threw himself on the floor.
The emperor! He must be the emperor! He didn’t dare answer. The man’s words had been pitched as a statement, not a question.
“Get up,” the man said.
Reluctantly, but not so slowly as to anger the emperor, Hanara got to his feet. He kept his eyes on the floor.
“Come here.”
He forced his legs to move, taking him closer but ready to freeze at any moment. The instruction to stop did not come and he found himself standing a mere two or three paces from the seated ruler, not daring to look up, fearing the consequences if his gaze even fell upon the man’s shoes.
“Kneel.”
Hanara dropped to the floor, the rattle of his chains echoing loudly in the room. The impact jolted his spine and bruised his knees, but he quickly forgot the pain as he felt hands press onto either side of his head.
Of course, he thought. This is what they want from me. Information about Takado. Everything that happened. Well, I will show him how clever Takado was. How he wanted to help Sachaka.
Sure enough, Emperor Vochira combed through Hanara’s mind, skilfully drawing out memories of Takado’s tour through Kyralia, Hanara’s stay in Mandryn, Takado’s return and then every stage of the war, from the wooing of allies to the morning when, having seen the Kyralian army entering Sachaka, Takado and his last two friends had put aside plans to disappear in order to warn Sachaka of the impending invasion, and help repel the invaders. See! Hanara could not help thinking. His motives aren’t selfish. He always wanted the best for Sachaka! He felt the long-life feeling returning.
– You little fool, Emperor Vochira said into his mind, shattering the feeling. It has been known for centuries that Sachaka could not risk a battle with Kyralia or Elyne. When we first conquered these lands they contained few magicians. Under our rule and influence they adopted our ways, and gained many more. That is why my predecessor granted them independence so long ago. Since then we have enjoyed a beneficial peace. If Takado had only spoken to me of his plans, I would have told him this.
But Takado had never respected the emperor enough to let the ruler veto his grand plan, Hanara knew. His allies had mostly been ichani at first – outcasts who hated the emperor and anyone with a position of power in Sachaka.
– Why didn’t you tell him? Hanara asked. Why did you never explain this?
– Would he have listened? Would he have believed it?