“A few short of twenty.”
“Were there that many to begin with?”
“I doubt it.”
“So others are joining them. Is anyone watching the pass?”
“The scouts we sent haven’t returned.”
“So there must be Sachakans there, too.” Lord Hakkin pinched his bottom lip between two fingers. “A magician should check. He may succeed where a scout would fail.”
“So long as he doesn’t encounter any Sachakan magicians,” Narvelan pointed out.
“One would not be a problem.”
“One can call for assistance. The road to the pass is exposed and surrounded by sheer rock slopes. It is difficult to approach in secret and it would be easy to become trapped between the pass and any Sachakans returning to help their allies.”
“But you said earlier that the Sachakans are avoiding a confrontation with us,” Lord Moran reminded him. “Because they don’t want to risk killing a Kyralian magician for the same reason we want to avoid killing one of them.”
Prinan shrugged. “Yet if they’re relying on new allies coming through the pass to join them, they will have to deal with anyone trying to prevent that. They may prefer to wait until their numbers are large enough to take and hold land before killing any Kyralian magicians, but if we block the pass we may give them no choice.”
The other magicians nodded in agreement.
“All the more reason for us to strike them before they grow that strong,” Lord Hakkin said. “If we must be the ones to spill magician blood first, so be it. They are the invaders, after all. We are defending ourselves.”
Werrin smiled crookedly. “Until the king decides otherwise, we must endeavour to achieve our aims without shedding Sachakan blood.”
Hakkin frowned. “So even if we do manage to find one of their groups, they’ll call for the help of another group and we’ll find ourselves outnumbered. We are unable to prevent their numbers from continuing to grow by stopping allies coming through the pass, while our numbers are not growing as quickly. But even if we were enough to face them it wouldn’t help because we can’t find them.” He shook his head. “Why did I bother coming out here? I may as well go home and wait for our new Sachakan masters to arrive.
Dakon couldn’t help a small smile at the man’s use of “we”. Lord Hakkin hadn’t been riding day after day, for weeks, searching for the Sachakans and finding only cold campsites and dead Kyralians.
“We need to change our tactics,” Lord Olleran said. “Draw them out. Trick them into making a mistake.”
“How do you suggest we do that?” Werrin asked. Dakon smiled at his patience. The group had discussed this many times already.
“Herd them into a corner. Bait them.”
“Herding them would require us to split into smaller, more vulnerable groups.”
Olleran shrugged. “More dangerous than staying in one, but that danger would be minimal if we stayed close enough together to help each other if one group was attacked.”
“How do you suggest we communicate instructions to each other in order to co-ordinate our movements, or call for help?
“We could use mental calls – if the king would allow it.”
“And alert our quarry to our intentions, or our vulnerabilities?” Werrin shook his head. “It would only work if we already had them trapped. To do so we’d need to split into many different groups. The more groups, the more likely it is that communications will become confused.”
“What of baiting them?” Lord Moran asked.
Werrin looked around the group. “Someone would have to volunteer to be the bait.”
Lord Ardalen shook his head. “I may be willing to risk my own life, but I won’t risk my apprentice’s.” Dakon was pleased to see that many of the newcomers were nodding.
“Of course, we wouldn’t take any risks unless success was certain,” Hakkin said.
“If it was certain, it wouldn’t be a risk,” Narvelan pointed out.
There was a long pause after that, and Dakon noted the signs of suppressed amusement among his colleagues, especially those who had travelled with Lord Hakkin.
“Surely it will not be long before more substantial reinforcements arrive,” he said. He turned to Hakkin. “Last night you said that others were planning to join us.”
Hakkin’s gaze, which had locked onto Dakon’s, slid away. “Yes.
I know of, ah, at least five magicians who said they would come
– but I couldn’t tell you when they were going to leave or how long they’ll take to get here.”
“We need more than five,” Bolvin muttered, scowling.
Prinan gave a sharp huff of anger. “If they’d seen what we’ve seen – the bodies of murdered men, women and children – our fellow magicians might not be so slow to get off their backsides and help defend their country!”
“Or maybe it would convince them to lock themselves in their homes,” Narvelan said quietly.
Hakkin’s back straightened and he scowled. “They will come. They will attend to their duty. But this invasion has caught many unprepared. Trips to the far reaches of Kyralia to engage in magical warfare are hardly a commonplace activity.”
“I have a question,” Magician Genfel said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“If we did manage to overcome these magicians, how are we going to get them to the border?”
Werrin smiled. “We keep them drained of power.”
“Of course, but they will regain it with time. We can’t keep them tied up. They only need regain a little power to be able to burn their bonds away. Do we have some iron manacles, or something similar?”
“We’ll take turns holding them imprisoned with magic.”
“I see. And what happens after we take them to the border? What is going to stop them coming back?”
Werrin frowned. “The border will have to be guarded.”
As the conversation moved in this new direction, Dakon found his attention wandering. He looked over to the circle of apprentices, now doubled in size. Three of the newcomers were only youngsters, probably new to their powers, including Werrin’s apprentice. He worried that too many magicians were taking on the training of an apprentice out of a sudden need for a magical source to draw from, and would find themselves neglecting their responsibility later.
Yet I also worry about Narvelan, who has no apprentice to strengthen himself with. He’d suggested Narvelan take power from Jayan or Tessia, but the young magician had refused.
None of the new apprentices was female, he noticed. The powerful families of Kyralia might risk their sons’ lives in the defence of their homeland, but it would take much more desperate need before they sent their daughters. He looked at Tessia. She was smiling, sitting on a blanket between Jayan and Ardalen’s apprentice. Though he had occasionally seen a tear in her eye or a glimpse of pain and grief in her face, she had borne the journeying and rough living without complaint. He could not imagine the daughters of powerful Imardin families, brought up with all the comforts money could buy, coping nearly as well.