“You must go around,” Werrin replied, pointing to the west. After more discussion, the refugees moved to the side of the road so the magicians could ride on. Narvelan, who had managed to keep a position close to the leaders of the group since the reinforcements had arrived, turned his horse and rode back to join Dakon, Everran and Avaria.
“The townspeople say about twenty Sachakan magicians attacked Vennea less than an hour ago,” he told them. “They’re destroying the place, so it’s doubtful they’ll try to occupy it as they did Tecurren.”
“I imagine scouts will confirm the number before we form a plan of attack,” Everran said.
“Yes. It’s likely they—”
– Lord Werrin? Magician Sabin?
Tessia jumped at the voice in her mind. She looked around to see her own surprise reflected in the faces around her. The voice had been familiar...
– Who are you? Werrin replied.
– Mikken of family Loren. Ardalen’s apprentice. He told me to report when I reached a safe place.
– Then report.
– They’re dead. All of our group. Ardalen. Everyone. He paused. We were so careful. Silent. Travelled at night. But the pass...it was full of Sachakans. By the time we came close enough to see it was too late. Ardalen told me to run and hide, so I could tell you. I climbed the cliff... There are about ten of them. They have tents and carts of food and other things that indicate they are planning to stay there and hold the pass for themselves.
Tessia realised her heart was racing. The Sachakans would be hearing this and would know he was still in the area. He was taking a great risk. Be careful, Mikken! she thought. Don’t give yourself away!
– Is there anything else you must tell us? Sabin asked. Anything vital?
– No. –
Then stay silent. Travel quick and quiet. May luck be yours.
– Yes. I’ll do that. Goodbye.
In the silence that followed, furtive, grim looks were exchanged. A few shook their heads. They don’t think he’ll survive, Tessia thought. Her heart twisted. Poor Mikken. She thought back to the apprentice’s first and only attempt to charm her. Despite – or perhaps because of – her rebuff, he’d remained charming, but only in a friendly, light-hearted way. She felt an unexpected wave of affection for him. It was like a joke between us. I knew he wasn’t serious. After all, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice if there had been prettier women around. But it was nice to have someone flirting with me, especially when Jayan is so serious all the time. She sighed. I hope he finds his way back to us.
Then she remembered Lord Ardalen teaching them the method of giving magic to another that they had used to defeat the Sachakans at Tecurren. Such a valuable piece of knowledge. What other knowledge had been lost when the magician died? How much more would be lost in this war? And would any of them survive to form this guild of magicians that Jayan had thought so much about?
The grey-haired woman sagged in Takado’s grip. He let her drop to the ground then extended a hand in Hanara’s direction. Hanara handed his master a clean, damp cloth, watched Takado wipe the blood off his hand, then took it and stowed it in his pack for cleaning later. “A surprisingly strong one,” Takado said. Looking up at Dachido, he smiled. “You can never tell with these Kyralians.”
Dachido shook his head and looked round at the corpses littering the street. The ones who didn’t run fast enough, Hanara thought. The ones who dared to confront us.
“If they were slaves, the strong ones would have been found and made useful. I can’t believe the wastage here.”
A crash drew their attention. The front wall of a house nearby collapsed and the heat of the fire within beat at Hanara, searing his skin. To his relief, Takado moved away.
“How do these Kyralians survive?” Dachido asked. “They should be wallowing in rebellion, the fields untended and thievery everywhere. Instead they prosper.”
“Lord Dakon tried to convince me that slavery was inefficient,” Takado replied. “That a free man will take pride in his work. That a craft worker is more likely to experiment and invent better ways of doing things if it is for his own benefit and his family’s.”
“I don’t see how that would be any greater motivation than the threat of a whipping, or death.”
“Nor did I, until I came here.”
Dachido’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Takado in surprise. “So you agree with him?”
“Perhaps.” Takado turned at the creak of an opening door. Smoke gusted out, followed by a man. The man saw them and tried to run, but he crumpled against an invisible wall. He began to yell as magic drew him towards the two magicians. “Not enough to try to make it work myself.”
“What would be the point of taking over a land only to let the people keep all their wealth and freedom?” Dachido said.
The failed escapee collapsed to his knees but the magic dragged him over the stone-paved ground. He whimpered as the force deposited him in front of Dachido, knees red and bleeding.
“Please,” he begged. “Let me go. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You have him,” Takado said to Dachido. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. Do I ever make an offer I’m not sure of?”
“No.” Dachido drew his knife. Gems glinted in the sun as he stepped up to the man and touched its edge to the exposed skin at the back of the neck. A fine red line of beaded blood appeared.
Hanara waited, bored. He’d seen this too many times to count in his life, though it had not often resulted in death before now. Seeing an approaching figure out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see Asara coming towards them. She said nothing as she reached them, politely waiting for the strength-taking to finish. Dachido let the failed escapee fall to the ground, then started as he realised she was standing beside him.
“Asara,” he said. “Had a good harvest?”
She chuckled. “That’s an interesting way to put it. Yes, I must have replaced what I used, and more. You?”
“Easily.”
She looked at Takado. Hanara saw respect in her eyes, not quite hidden behind her cool, restrained demeanour. “What next, Takado?”
Takado looked around them, considering. They were standing in the middle of a square area surrounded on all sides by houses and bisected by the main road. “We have achieved all we need to here. A start. A message. A beginning to our advance towards Imardin.”
“Will we stay here tonight?”
“No.” Takado’s eyes were dark. “I believe the next major town on the main road is called Halria. If we move quickly we will stay ahead of our pursuers.”
“Another town on the main road? What if they anticipate that and gather together another group of magicians to confront us?” Dachido asked. “We may be caught between two forces.”
“We will move off the road before then,” Takado told him. “But for a time we can take towns that are still full of people. Towns that haven’t been warned of our coming. Towns they won’t expect us to attack.” He smiled. “There has to be a little randomness in war. Otherwise it wouldn’t be as interesting.”
Asara smiled. Hanara felt a shiver run down his spine. He felt a strange emotion, part fear, part pride. It made him want to get away from these three people, yet it also made him want to stay and watch what they did. Never in his life had he seen magicians demonstrate their full powers. Today they had burned and ruined a town while barely showing more effort than a stare or a frown. But he knew they hadn’t been stretched to use their powers to the limit yet. It would be terrible and magnificent when they did. His heart swelled even as it pumped faster.
And I will be there to see it.
The typical Sachakan home was a sprawl that contained clusters of rooms known as quarters. Stara’s father lived in the master’s quarters. She lived in the adjoining family quarters. Ikano and Nachira lived in the son’s quarters – an area reserved for the heir to the master.
In the centre of the son’s quarters was a large main room from which all other rooms were accessed. These smaller rooms were empty but for the couple’s bedroom. The lack of furniture seemed to exude an air of sadness and disapproval. They ought to contain her nephews and nieces.
It would be bad enough failing to live up to that expectation, Stara thought as Vora led her into the main room, but to be reminded of it every day would be awful – especially with the extra fear of murder as a consequence.