Jayan shrugged off disappointment. “I’ll see you at dinner, then, whenever that turns out to be.” He looked up at the stars. “I’ll make sure our old fellow apprentices are behaving themselves.”
Tessia rolled her eyes. “You’re not in charge any more, Jayan.”
“Is it so hard to believe that I enjoy other apprentices’ company?” he asked.
Her eyebrows rose. “The more important question is whether they enjoy yours.”
Turning her horse, she sent it trotting away too quickly for him to think of a retort. He watched her go for a moment, then pushed away the wistfulness that was threatening to creep in, and began to search the crowd for the faces of familiar apprentices. He longed for sleep, but he was hungry and rest could wait until after he’d eaten.
Refan was standing with four other apprentices over by one of the large storehouses, so Jayan made his way over to him. One of the youngsters looked familiar. As Jayan approached the newcomer looked up and grinned, and with a shock Jayan recognised him.
“Mikken!” Jayan exclaimed, slipping off his horse. He looked around and caught the eye of a servant, who stepped forward to take the reins. Then he ran up to Mikken and grasped his arm in greeting. “When did you get here?”
Mikken returned the gesture. “A few hours ago. Fortunately before the army turned off the road, or I would have ridden into the Sachakan army.”
“How did you escape the Sachakans at the pass? No, wait. I bet that story is a long one.”
“Long, but not particularly interesting.” Mikken shrugged. “Unless you find stories about scavenging for food and hiding in caves and abandoned houses interesting.”
Jayan grinned. “You can tell them when we’re trying to get to sleep tonight.”
“You watch out, I might just do that. How’s Tessia?”
A traitorous flash of jealousy shot through Jayan, but he ignored it. “Still healing anyone she can get to sit still long enough.”
“Lots of those, I’d imagine.” Mikken’s gaze became haunted. “I began to wonder, on the way back, if the Sachakans had left anyone alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tessia hasn’t had many patients to work on.”
“She’s had plenty,” Jayan assured him. He thought of the burned man, and shuddered. Deciding to change the subject, he looked up at the storehouse. “Apparently this is a winery.”
“Yes,” Refan replied. “And they don’t just make wine here.”
“What else do they make?” one of the other apprentices asked. “Bol.”
Jayan grimaced, and saw a similar expression on all faces but Refan’s. The boy looked thoughtful.
“You know, by the time all the magicians get their share of Lord Franner’s wine, there probably won’t be any left for apprentices. I bet we could find a barrel or two of bol for ourselves in one of these storehouses. Bol may be a poor man’s drink.” Refan smiled. “But it’s a lot stronger than wine so we wouldn’t have to drink as much.”
As much as what? Jayan wondered. To his dismay, the other apprentices looked interested.
“Where do you think it’s stored?”
Refan looked around, his eyes narrowing as he considered. “Let’s have a look around.” He started along the side of the storehouse they were standing beside.
As the group began to follow, Jayan considered leaving them to it. But I ought to make sure they don’t get into trouble. For their own sakes and mine. Dakon might think twice about making me a higher magician if I let these boys make fools of themselves. He hurried after them.
Reaching the end of the storehouse, Refan rounded the corner and started along the next wall. He stopped where two huge, sturdy doors were bound together with a large iron lock. To Jayan’s amusement, he sniffed at the crack between them.
“Wine,” he said, then shrugged and turned his back, heading across open ground to another storehouse.
The same examination and conclusion were applied to two more storehouses. The fourth was so far from the main gathering of magicians that their voices were a distant hum and the group had to illuminate their way with small magical globe lights.
Refan’s sniff at the doors made him smile.
“Aha! Definitely bol.”
There was a different sort of smell in the air around the storehouse, but the lock was similarly large and robust. Refan glanced towards the gathered magicians in the furtive manner of someone about to do something mischievous, then took hold of the lock. Jayan felt alarm rising.
“What are you... you’re not going to break in, are you?” one of the younger apprentices asked anxiously.
“No.” Refan laughed. “I’m not going to break anything. Or take anything not already offered to us.”
He stared at the lock, then something inside clicked and the mechanism opened. Despite his reasoning, this is wrong, Jayan thought. I should put a stop to it. One of the doors swung outward and Refan slipped inside. Before Jayan could decide what to say, the other apprentices had followed.
A wordless exclamation of disappointment followed. He heard a clink, the murmur of voices, and the apprentices stepped back outside. Refan was holding a bottle.
“It’s not bol. It’s whitewater. For cleaning things. Smell.” He held it out to each of them, and they grimaced as they sniffed the open neck. Jayan recognised a smell he associated with servants and wooden furniture. Refan suddenly grinned. “Watch this.”
He glanced back at the magicians again, then strode round the back of the storehouse. Moving a hundred strides or so he flung the bottle on the ground. It smashed. As the others stopped beside Refan, he sent a tiny burst of firestrike toward the remains.
A wave of heat burst over them as flames shot up into the air. The fire died as quickly, leaving small flames spluttering where there were weeds in the hard, dry ground.
“That was fantastic!” one of the younger apprentices gasped. “Let’s do it again!”
“Wait.” Mikken was staring at the smouldering ground. “I have an idea.”
Everyone turned to look at him, but he remained silent, staring at the ground.
“Well?” someone asked.
Mikken shook his head. “Can you hear that?”
Surprised, they all stood very still and listened. A rhythmic beating, faint but clearly from some sort of four-legged animal, came to Jayan’s ears. More than one animal, perhaps. Whatever they were, they were coming closer. Turning towards the noise, he found himself staring towards the dark shapes of trees a few hundred strides away.
Slowly, out of the gloom, three horses appeared, carrying three riders. The distant light reflected back from exotic coats, knife handles and gleaming eyes.
“Sachakans!” Refan hissed.
“Run!” Mikken wailed.
“Stay together!” Jayan shouted, throwing up a shield and racing after them.
Then he cursed as the first strike nearly shattered his barrier. He strengthened it. How long can I hold against three higher magicians? Who’ve probably got the strength of thousands of source slaves. He winced as another strike beat against the shield. Or have they? If they’ve followed us, they probably didn’t have time to regain much power after the battle.
Refan was nearly at the storehouse, too far ahead for Jayan to be sure he was shielding him. He skidded to a halt before the door, grabbed it and hauled it open. Then he vanished inside with unnatural speed.
“Not in there!” Jayan gasped. “If they use firestrike . . .” But Refan had disappeared within and the others were racing after him. Jayan sighed and followed. In the darkness someone stumbled and there was the sound of glass breaking and the smell of whitewater. Then a globe light flared into existence. Jayan cast about, taking in the huge interior filled with racks of bottles, the apprentices panting and staring at each other as they finally realised how dangerous this place was for a fight – and then the whimpering figure on the floor.