When Dakon and Werrin appeared on the ridge Tessia felt a wave of nausea. Part of her desperately wanted an answer, to be released from the suspense of not knowing the fate of her parents. The other part didn’t want any news, if it were bad news.
The two magicians wore grim expressions. As they slowed to meet her and Jayan, Dakon looked straight at her. His expression was sympathetic. He shook his head.
For a moment she searched for another meaning – something else he might be trying to communicate to her. Then she took a deep breath and forced herself to face the truth. Dakon was not fool enough to make such a gesture and not know how she would read it.
They’re dead, she told herself. Father. Mother. Gone. Just like that. It felt unreal, as had the news of the attack so many days ago. What will it take to make me believe this? Do I even want to?
“The village is safe for us to visit,” Dakon told them. “Locals say the Sachakans headed for the mountains after the attack. Most of the buildings are burned or damaged so I’d advise against entering them in case they collapse. The dead . . .” He paused to draw in and then let out a deep breath. “The dead have been buried. Narvelan’s people did not know how long it would take for us to get here. The few survivors – some children who managed to hide – were able to provide names for the markers.”
They came to the top of the ridge. Tessia hadn’t realised they were moving. In the distance a thin thread of smoke marred the sky.
“Narvelan has returned to his village to evacuate his people,” Dakon continued. “We are to join him once we are finished here. It is possible, despite what we’ve been told, that the Sachakans have returned in stealth to await our return.”
They continued in silence. It was easier for Tessia to concentrate on the tension and fear of the others than think about her parents. She eyed distant clumps of trees or houses, looking for movement or human shapes. Was Takado watching? The leering face flashed through her memory and she felt a rush of fear.
Then she remembered her mistake earlier. Her quip about Sachakans seducing her. Jayan had given her an odd look and she had realised what she had revealed . . . this time I can be sure none of them will want to seduce me. This time. Unlike last time. He must have understood what had prompted her to use magic the first time. Did he think she had encouraged Takado? Did he wonder how far Takado’s “seduction” had gone?
At least I don’t have to worry about Mother and Father finding out.
She felt a wrench inside at the thought. Suddenly all the things they would never find out came to her. They would never see her become a higher magician. Her mother would never attend her wedding – if she ever married. Her father would never hear about her visit to the Healers’ Guild, or the dissection she’d watched. She’d never assist him in healing patients again.
The pain was almost too much to bear. She felt tears threatening and, conscious of the three men riding beside her, swallowed hard and blinked them away. She forced herself to think of something else and ended up worrying about the dangers of visiting the village instead.
Cresting another rise, the magicians reined in their horses. Tessia and Jayan joined them. She looked down at the village and caught her breath.
Dakon had been right. Most of the village was in ruins. Many buildings looked like toys smashed by a giant two-year-old child, and smoke still trailed out of a few of them. Where the Residence had been there was only a large pile of rubble. She searched for her parents’ house. It was hard to make out where among the ruins it had been.
As Dakon nudged his horse into motion again, they followed him down into the valley. Only when she reached the bridge did Tessia realise that Takado had torn it down. They rode down the bank beside the ruined spans, and the horses easily waded through the shallow flow of water. Once they’d climbed the other side a youngster Tessia recognised as one of the metal worker’s older boys emerged from behind a broken wall and jogged up to them.
“Lord Dakon,” he said, bobbing his head respectfully.
“Tiken. Would you show Apprentice Tessia and Apprentice Jayan to the graves,” Dakon asked.
The graves. Tessia felt her stomach sink, and shuddered.
The boy nodded, then looked up at Tessia and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Welcome back, Tess. Follow me.”
Silently, Tessia and Jayan rode behind Tiken as he led them down the main road. Finally Tessia was able to recognise the pile of rubble that had been her home. She paused to stare, searching for some sign of familiar furniture.
“I found your father’s bag,” Tiken said. “And some other things that weren’t broken. Been putting everything that might be valuable or useful where it won’t get rained on.”
She looked at him. “Thank you. I’ll need the bag, and if the other things are cures and tools I should take them too. They might be needed, if there’s another attack.”
Tiken nodded. Jayan was frowning. She indicated that the boy should continue on.
Moving between two buildings with smoke wafting from their windows, Tiken led them out into a small field. Long furrows of disturbed earth bulged from the grass. Each had a short, thick plank of wood protruding from the ground beside it, and names had been roughly carved into the surface.
Jayan cursed under his breath. “So many,” he muttered.
Tessia didn’t look at him. She felt fragile and suddenly resented his presence. Dismounting, she paused to stretch and let her legs recover a little, then walked stiffly towards the graves. So many. Dakon had said only a few children had survived. All the rest were dead. Old Neslie the widow. Jornen the metal worker and his wife. Cannia, the kitchen servant at the Residence. Whole families had perished. Mothers, fathers and children. Young women and men she had grown up with. The frail and weak along with the robust and strong. None of them any threat to Takado, but all a source of a little more magic.
Tiken walked toward one corner of the field. She followed him. As she had expected and dreaded, two of the planks of wood were carved with her parents’ names.
So. It’s true. No denying it now.
“Nothing was done to them beforehand,” the boy told her.
She looked up at him, puzzled by his comment. His expression was grave and his eyes haunted. He looked twice as old as she knew him to be. She shuddered. What has he seen?
“Probably ’cause they were old,” he told her. “And maybe... maybe because your father helped the slave.”
She heard Jayan curse again, but ignored him. In her mind she saw Hanara’s thin face and frightened eyes. She looked at the other graves. “Is he...”
“No. He’s not here.” The boy’s expression darkened. “Never found him.”
She frowned, feeling suspicion like some parasite hatching inside her. The boy believes Hanara betrayed us, she thought. Why would he give up his freedom? No, he would only have turned against the village if he thought he had no other choice.
“What did they do to the others?” Jayan asked quietly behind her.
The boy hesitated. “What Sachakans do,” he answered evasively. Leave it at that, she thought at Jayan. Knowing the details will torment you as much as not knowing them will. I’d rather not know.
Jayan asked again. She moved away, closer to her parents’ grave, hoping to get far enough away to not hear. Kneeling in the dirt, she placed a hand on the soil over her father’s body and let grief come and drown out their voices.
Ishould have run away, Hanara thought. But how could I have known what was going to happen?
Nothing had worked out quite as he’d expected, or as he’d feared. After leaving the stables, the former slave had run across fields and along roads, searching and searching. The signal light had disappeared, but he explored the area it must have shone from... and found nothing. He’d circled the village, looking in all the places he’d seen the signal flash from before, but in vain.
When he finally found Takado, the magician was sitting on a tree stump beside a path, at an intersection Hanara had passed several times in his search. Takado had laughed when Hanara threw himself at his feet. He’d laughed, then read Hanara’s mind. Then he’d laughed again.
Did you not like freedom, then? Takado had asked. Did you miss me? Admit it, you like being my slave. None of this humble shovelling of horse manure for you, Hanara. Deep down, you know you are better than that. You vain little man. You are only loyal to the most powerful master.
Hanara had thought of Tessia, then. Unexpectedly. Was that why Takado had attacked the village? Had he been angry that Hanara thought another – a Kyralian – might be worthy of his loyalty? But Hanara had only thought of her briefly – and not convincingly. All he had done was realise that it was possible he might feel loyalty to her...in another life...if Takado hadn’t already been his master.
When Takado had attacked the village Hanara had been shocked and puzzled. But his master never did anything without a reason. So why had he done it?
Hanara looked up at the men sitting around the fire and felt his empty stomach sour. Ichani. Exiles and outcasts. Company unworthy of his master, who owned land and was a respected ashaki. Some were familiar. All had been Takado’s friends for years. In the beginning none of them had been outcasts. But after the first had found himself homeless after a feud with his brother ended badly, the others slipped out of respectability one by one. Sometimes by their own doing. Sometimes not. Takado had helped them in secret, sending supplies and hiding them from their enemies.
A faint whistle nearby brought all heads up, eyes searching the darkness. Footsteps told where to look. Then magical globes of light weaved into the clearing close to the ground, casting an eerie glow on the undersides of the faces of the men approaching.
Takado. As always, Hanara felt a thrill of both fear and relief. He never felt safe around other Sachakan masters if Takado was not present, yet he also feared Takado. His master had not yet punished him for ignoring the signal for so long. He might yet do so. He might yet have plans to kill Hanara, or send him to his death.
Hanara would have assumed Takado had not killed him because he needed a source slave, if his master hadn’t returned to Kyralia with a new source slave. He looked back at the thin young man waiting by Takado’s tent. Jochara hadn’t said a word to Hanara, but his unfriendly stares made it clear he had not expected to be sharing his role with his predecessor.
As Takado and his two companions joined the ichani, Hanara hurried forward and placed the low wooden stool he’d been holding on the ground. His master sat down, not sparing him a glance.