The night sky was clear and the moon bright overhead. Cery breathed a sigh of relief. Though the moonlight made it more likely someone would see them, it also made it easier for them to move about in the forest. Neither he, Gol nor Anyi were used to getting around among trees and vegetation.
Though Lilia was able to supply them with most of what they needed, thanks to Jonna, a few items were beyond her. They’d been back to the farm twice already for more chairs, sacking and straw for making mattresses. Tonight they were after some other practical items.
“A bucket or tub, and more sacks. Nothing else?” Anyi asked.
“No,” Cery told her. “Don’t go looking for more things to take just ’cause you’re there.
“Of course not.”
As she slipped away into the forest, he turned to Gol. “Be careful. Don’t try to do anything else.”
Gol nodded. Cery watched as his friend stumbled off into the trees in the other direction, then cringed as the snap of a branch echoed through the forest. If Anyi hears him… well, he can give her the story I’m going to tell her when she gets back and finds him missing: that he’s looking for the best way to lose pursuit if we ever have to escape this way.
Retreating into the hole, Cery picked up his lamp and headed back down the tunnel. Anyi had insisted that only one of them needed to risk sneaking into the farm. He’d agreed, but only because he wanted to check on the Guild’s experiments with roet.
Unless they’ve moved them after Lilia told them she knew about it.
He found the overhanging roots and pushed them aside. Entering the tunnel, he quietened his steps as he neared the secret cellar door. Everything looked exactly as they’d left it. He bent to the spy hole and saw only darkness. For a moment he could not shake off the idea that there was a dark cloth now covering the spy hole, making it look as if the room was unlit, and there were magicians waiting beyond. Pressing his ear to the door, he listened for some time. All was quiet.
He closed the shutter of the lamp until only a little edge of light spilled out. Slowly he eased the door open. Musty air greeted him, and the sound he made echoed in the room beyond. He opened the shutter of the lamp. Light spilled into an unoccupied room. The same tables stood in the same places as before. He stepped inside and moved over to them. They were covered in small containers. Less than half as many as before, he noted. A pile of broken pots and soil had been swept into a pile to one side. Some of the pots looked burnt. Looking closer, he saw that the ones on the table were seared on one side — and so was the table. He frowned and moved closer. The pots contained only dirt.
Or do they…? He leaned closer. Tiny shoots were emerging from the soil.
Cery smiled. Grow fast, little plants, he thought. Then he shook his head. Never thought I’d think that about roet.
Moving back to the secret entrance, he re-entered the passage and closed the door behind him. He headed back toward the main network of passages, but instead of returning to the room they were now living in, he checked that the passage to the Thieves’ Road was still blocked by Lilia’s shield. It was.
By the time he got back to their new room, enough time had passed for Anyi to have returned before him. But she wasn’t there. He sat down to wait for her. Soon he felt anxiety rising. It was difficult to judge the passing of time here. Too easy to imagine that hours had passed. Too easy to imagine that something had happened to his daughter.
At least, if she’s discovered, it’ll probably be by farm servants or magicians. Neither will harm her.
An old memory rose of a much younger Sonea, standing in a city square, staring down at the burned body of a young man. Magicians could make mistakes.
They did so only because they thought they were under attack. Anyi is a lone young woman and, unlike Sonea, doesn’t have magic.
Yet his heart was beating too fast, causing an ache that kept growing.
Anyi is smart, he told himself. She won’t be caught.
But if she was, she wouldn’t want to reveal that he was here. They’d throw her out of the Guild. Into the city. Where Skellin was waiting…
Stop it, he told himself, rubbing his chest. There’s no point worrying about something until…
A sound came from somewhere outside the room. His blood froze. He held his breath and listened. No sound came again. Then, just as he had decided that he’d imagined the noise, the faintest whisper of sound reached him. He stood up, certain that someone was approaching the room taking great care not to be detected. Had Gol been caught as soon as he entered the city. Had Skellin already tortured Cery’s location out of him?
He cast about. We haven’t even had a chance to set the trap yet. What should I do? He turned toward the hole into the next room. Their escape route.
Then five taps echoed in the passage. The signal! He breathed a sigh of relief and dropped back onto the chair, almost forgetting to rap on a crate in reply. Footsteps drew closer and light illuminated the corridor wall, moving in a way that suggested Anyi’s gait. She peered around the doorway at him and grinned, then came inside carrying two buckets.
“Where’s Gol?” she asked as she set them down.
“Scouting in the forest, in case we have to escape that way. What’s this?” He peered into the buckets, which were full of more than just sacking.
“Fruit. Seemed a waste not to take some, after they’d done all the picking.”
“I told you not to take anything else.”
“Yeah, well, you know how obedient I am. And hungry.”
He looked up at her and narrowed his eyes. “You said you didn’t like fruit.”
She looked away. “I said I didn’t like most fruit.” She sat down and yawned.
“Liar.”
“Should I take it back?”
He made a rude noise. “Get some sleep.”
“But Gol hasn’t returned yet.”
“He won’t for a while. It’s late, and the sooner you sleep the sooner I can as well.”
“Oh, all right then.”
Moving to the mattress, she lay down. Soon she was asleep, leaving Cery to wait, and start worrying all over again.
Be careful, Gol, my old friend. Not just for our sakes. I’ve known you too long to lose you tonight.
As Tyvara left to find out what Savara wanted, Lorkin saw his mother nod.
“She’s smart, that one. I’d wager she wasn’t counting on you coming into her life.”
Lorkin grinned. “She did put up quite a lot of resistance. For a while there I thought I’d only imagined she returned my interest.”
“You’re sure now?”
“Yes.” He felt an echo of doubt. “Mostly.”
She chuckled, then her expression grew serious. “So. Black magic.”
Lorkin looked away, then forced himself to turn back and meet his mother’s gaze. As before, her expression was unreadable. Though her eyes betrayed something. Not disapproval, though.
Sadness, he realised. For some reason that made him feel even more guilty.
“Only so I could learn stone-making, Mother,” he said. Her eyebrows rose. “So the Guild could learn stone-making,” he corrected.
“I thought you volunteered to be Dannyl’s assistant because you wanted to find an alternative to black magic.”
Lorkin sighed. “Yes. I did. I had hoped the Traitors’ stones would be that alternative.”
“Is it really impossible to make them without black magic?”
“Not impossible, but… it is like trying to build a house blindfolded. The way higher magic alters your perceptions and control of magic makes training the stones easier and more accurate.”
“Higher magic?” She smiled and looked away. “I find that is the term used by people who embrace black magic.”
“And black magic is the term used by people who don’t approve of higher magic.” Lorkin shrugged. “Whether that disapproval is justified or not.”
“Is it justified?”
He thought of Evar, drained of all energy out of revenge. Of himself, kept weak as Kalia’s prisoner. But Kalia’s supporters would have found another way to punish Evar if they hadn’t had black magic, and they’d have found other ways to keep Lorkin prisoner.
“Yes and no. All magic can be abused. All power can be abused. The Traitors are proof that a culture that does embrace higher magic doesn’t necessarily turn into Sachaka — the Ashaki kind of Sachaka, that is.”
Mother nodded. “Just as Kallen and I are proof that not every magician goes mad and tries to take over the Guild once he or she learns black magic.”
“I’d have thought Father was proof of that.”
She shrugged. “He’s not the best example, since he did use it to win the position of High Lord.”
“Yes. He turned out to be a man of many secrets.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Plenty. After what you discovered, I
… I wonder what else he kept hidden.”
“So…” He took a deep breath. “Will the Guild accept me now that I know black magic?”
Pursing her lips, she did not answer immediately. “Probably. Stone-making is a new kind of magic with great potential, and they want it.”
“Even if it does require black magic?”
“Yes, though that will probably mean only a few will be allowed to learn it. Myself. Kallen. Lilia. You.”
“Lilia? Oh — the novice who learned it from a book. Now that was unexpected.”
“Yes. I have a hunch that she has a particular talent for it, and others might not so easily learn from a description. Though that might be too much to hope for.”
“Was it another of Father’s deceptions? Did he hope to reduce the danger to the Guild by making us believe it couldn’t be learned from a book, so that nobody would try?”
“I don’t think so.” She frowned. “There is another possibility. Zarala may have told him it could only be taught mind to mind, to reduce the danger of the Guild adopting black magic. He…”
She straightened, her eyes widening. Guessing that Osen was communicating with her, Lorkin waited. The cry of a distant bird drew his attention to the surroundings and he realised that the sun was dipping toward the horizon. The mountains loomed to one side. He was suddenly aware that they were just a small gathering of people — isolated, exposed and insignificant.
But we’re not. We’re magicians. Two of us are powerful figures among our peoples. Important decisions are about to be made. Historic decisions.
His mother sighed. She looked at him, then over at Regin. As if sensing her gaze, Regin looked up. She beckoned, and he rose and moved away from the pair of Traitor women he had been talking to.
“I have an answer,” she told him as he reached them. As she moved to stand, Regin extended a hand and, to Lorkin’s surprise, she took it and let him help her up. “Could you go tell the queen, Lorkin?”
He did as she asked, finding Savara talking quietly with Tyvara. The two looked a little annoyed at the interruption, until Lorkin told them that Black Magician Sonea had received an answer from the Guild.
Savara rose and dusted off her clothes as his mother walked over to join her. They sat down in a small circle where they had settled the night before.
“Your invitation has been discussed among the leaders of the Allied Lands, your majesty,” his mother began. “First, I must convey our thanks. We are honoured that you invited us to join your fight. However, the difference we might make to the outcome is small weighed against the possible consequences of our participation should you lose. As you have already pointed out, we have little to offer an army such as yours at this time. Some in the Allied Lands believe we would be more of a hindrance than a help.” Her mouth twitched into a wry smile, to which Savara responded with similar amusement. “Others are not so pessimistic, pointing out that we have more than once in the past proven stronger and more resourceful than we appeared to be. Unfortunately those of the former opinion outnumber those of the latter, and the decision made is that we cannot join you in a conflict against King Amakira.”
Lorkin’s heart sank. Looking around, he saw looks of disgust on the faces of the Traitors. But not surprise.
“All have expressed support for your aim to end slavery in Sachaka,” she continued. “If you delay your plans we may have time to become a more useful ally in such an endeavour. If you do not, we wish you every success and hope to form bonds of trade if not alliance in the future. In the meantime — if the offer still stands — we are willing to trade our Healers’ services in exchange for magical gemstones, and I have been instructed to negotiate the details of such a deal now if it is convenient.”
Savara nodded. “Please send my thanks for their consideration of our invitation,” she said. “Since we do not need to wait for Allied forces to join us, we will not delay our plans. We leave in the morning. However, we still desire to trade Healing for stones.” She paused to frown. “How long will it take your Healers to reach Arvice? Wait — before you answer that…” She turned to look at Lorkin. “Would you ask Tyvara to bring some raka?”
Lorkin nodded, stood up and hurried over to where Tyvara was sitting alone, watching the meeting.
“Savara said to bring raka,” he told her. “Would you like some help?”
She stared up at him searchingly and didn’t move.
“What is it?” he asked, lowering his voice.
“What will you do? Where will you go?”
He glanced at his mother, then back at her. “I… don’t know.” Mother would expect him to return to Kyralia, despite the matter of him knowing black magic. He wanted to return — to be able to return — but to leave Sachaka would mean leaving Tyvara. And the Traitors. I want to see them win. To leave now would be like leaving in the middle of someone telling a story.
Except that listening to stories wasn’t as dangerous as joining in a war. If he stayed with the Traitors he’d be in the middle of the fighting. The Ashaki would consider him another target. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill him because he was a Guild magician.
The Guild would not want him to get involved, either. The Allied Lands had shied away from direct conflict with King Amakira for fear that the Traitors would lose, and the king would seek revenge. A Guild magician among the Traitors would make it look as though the Guild supported the Traitors.
But they’re going to send Healers. How is that different?
They were simply being hired for their services, and would not join in the fighting. They would probably time their arrival after the battle. They would be of no use before and during it, and it allowed them to retreat to Kyralia, hastily if necessary, if the Traitors lost.
Perhaps he could volunteer to join them. He wasn’t a Healer, but he could Heal, and he could be a mediator between Healers and Traitors. That still means not being there, at the battle. Where Tyvara will be. He knew that there was no way she would abandon her people and go with him to Kyralia. And that he would do anything to ensure she survived. Even fight with the Traitors.
But if he was going to fight with the Traitors, he could not do so as a Guild magician.
He looked at her. “What do you want?”
She stared at him intently. “I want you,” she said. “But not if you won’t be happy. And not if you won’t be safe.”
He smiled. Which is exactly what I want for her. But we can’t both be happy and safe.
Which made the decision easy.
“I won’t be happy if I don’t at least try to make you happy and safe,” he told her. “So I guess I’m going to have to come with you and make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
Her eyes widened. “But… the Guild… What’s the point of you learning stone-making if-”
“Lord Lorkin,” Savara called. “We are getting thirsty.”
He leaned down and kissed Tyvara. “Don’t worry about the Guild. They’ll work something out.”
She nodded. “I’ll get the raka. You go back.”
Turning away, he made his way over to join the queen and his mother. His heart was racing, but he was not sure if it was panic and terror, or joy and excitement. Probably all of those. Am I really prepared to leave the Guild and join the Traitors? Am I crazy enough to risk my life in battle?
As he sat down, he looked back at Tyvara. She gazed back at him, her face shifting from happy to worried and back again. He smiled, and her lips widened in reply.
Yes. Yes I am.
As the Guild House carriage rolled through the gates of Achati’s mansion, slaves hurried out of sight. All of them — except for the door slave, who threw himself at Dannyl’s feet as he climbed out — disappeared. Looking around, Dannyl recalled no female slaves among those he’d seen. Was this because Achati simply preferred male slaves, as with lovers, or did he hope that it would lessen the chance that he had any Traitor spies in his household?
“Take me to Ashaki Achati,” Dannyl ordered.
The slave leapt to his feet with all the nimbleness of youth, and led Dannyl through the unadorned, polished wood door into the coolness of the corridor beyond. Achati’s invitation had arrived that morning. Dannyl had agonised over whether to accept or decline until midday, when he gave in and consulted Tayend.
“Of course you should go,” Tayend had said, barely looking up from his desk. “An Ambassador must maintain good relations, and Achati’s the only one here still willing to have any relations with us.”
So here Dannyl was, walking down the corridor to the Master’s Room, his heart beating a little too fast and his stomach stirring in an annoying and disconcerting way. As he reached the end of the corridor he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, schooling his face into a polite smile as he saw the man waiting for him.
“Ambassador Dannyl.” Achati stepped forward and grasped Dannyl’s arm in the Kyralian manner of greeting.
“Ashaki Achati,” Dannyl replied.
“I am so pleased that you accepted my invitation,” Achati said, smiling broadly. “Come and sit. I’ve ordered the kitchen slaves to do their best tonight. Here — I even have Kyralian wine.”
He beckoned Dannyl over to the stools and leaned down to pick up a bottle. He held it out to show the label.
“Anuren dark!” Dannyl exclaimed, impressed. “How did you get hold of this?”
“I have my sources.” Achati gestured to the stools. “Please sit.”
It appeared Achati was determined to behave as if nothing had happened since the last time Dannyl had visited. Perversely, this made Dannyl feel less comfortable. Surely the Ashaki ought to acknowledge in some way the trials his king had put them through. Pretending they hadn’t happened would not mend their friendship.
Then, just as Dannyl began to grow annoyed, Achati surprised him.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said as he poured a second glass of the wine.
Dannyl paused. “I’m not sure what to say to that,” he said honestly.
“Don’t say anything. You don’t have to lie in order to be diplomatic.”
“If you don’t expect me to forgive you, I gather you won’t be apologising.”
Achati smiled. “No. And you won’t be thanking me for getting Lorkin out of Arvice, although I did arrange it.”
“I should thank you for not handing him over to the king, at least,” Dannyl pointed out.
“I’d have never agreed to anything that required me to.”
“Agreed…?” Dannyl felt his stomach sink. “The king sent you to warn us about the abductor, didn’t he? You didn’t come out of concern for us.”
“Yes, he knew — and no, I was motivated out of concern for you all.” Achati shrugged. “I persuaded the king to let me warn you in the hope Lorkin would trust me. I didn’t think I would get much information out of him, not after what he had done while in prison, but I saw a chance we’d get some information, and that was better than nothing.”
Dannyl frowned. What had Lorkin done in prison?
Achati chuckled. “Lorkin is a lot tougher than he looks. He proved unexpectedly ruthless. All the more so because he couldn’t have known what he did would force the king to free him.” His smile faded. “Everyone I questioned had a different view as to the source of the poison. The king isn’t admitting to it. The Traitors obviously aren’t going to. If it was someone other than the king, they are hardly likely to reveal they acted against his orders — or that he asked them to do it. Whatever the source was, it made it clear that someone had tried to kill a Guild magician, and that upset too many Ashaki.”
Someone tried to kill Lorkin? With poison? Dannyl hoped he was hiding his shock well. “So the king let Lorkin go. Only to try to get hold of him again. But in order to put him somewhere safe from the poisoner?”
“Yes.”
“Then… it couldn’t be the king who tried to poison Lorkin.”
“I don’t believe so, because he let me help Lorkin escape.”
“Why did he do that?”
“He agreed that, if I could get Lorkin to tell me anything about the Traitors, he would let me do whatever I judged right.” Achati was almost smirking.
“It sounds like a wager. I don’t imagine he’s the sort of king’s who likes losing bets.”
“He honours his agreements.”
“What did you stand to lose?”
Achati looked smug as he waved a hand. “My house.”
“Really?” Dannyl looked around. “Do you own any other land?”
“No.”
High stakes, then. But there always were, in politics and war. Dannyl felt familiar feelings of gratitude, affection and admiration, and resisted them. He thought of Tayend’s warnings, and was surprised to find the same feelings rising. He resisted those, too. Tayend is… a friend. Perhaps, if it weren’t for Achati, we would be more than that again. But there was Achati…
The Ashaki was regarding the wine appreciatively. Dannyl couldn’t help thinking that he couldn’t be more different from Tayend. Though not as heavily built as the average Sachakan man, Achati was dark and broad, while Tayend was light and slim. How can I be attracted to such opposites? Ah, but they are both sharp and perceptive. I guess I like smart men. I wonder, though, what he sees in me.
Noticing Dannyl’s gaze, Achati turned to meet his eyes. His expression grew speculative. “Do you remember that moment during out journey to Duna? When Tayend interrupted?”
Memories and mixed emotions tumbled into Dannyl’s mind. Desire, embarrassment, anxiety and anger.
“How could I forget? Meddling little…” he muttered.
Achati laughed. “I’m sure his intentions were good. But I do feel that such moments, such chances, are going to grow rarer for us. Would we still remain friends if we were to go through another difficult time as we’ve had recently, or would there be too much distrust and suspicion? I wish…” He sighed. “It is selfish, I know. I would like us to be more than friends, for a time at least, before circumstances make us feel we must behave like enemies.”
Dannyl drew in a deep breath. His heart was beating too quickly again, and there was a strange but familiar fluttering sensation in his stomach. Which is exactly how I felt when I first arrived, he realised. Only this time there was something exhilarating about it. What would happen if he welcomed it? Embraced it?
Only one way to find out.
“Well, Tayend isn’t here now.”
Achati caught his breath. An expression flickered across his face before a look of careful interest replaced it.
Hope.
Dannyl understood then that, for all his power and wealth, Achati was alone. He doubted he could ever take advantage of that loneliness, even if he wanted to. It was not a weakness, it was part of the life Achati had embraced.
“Though I wouldn’t put it past him to be heading here right now,” Dannyl added.
Achati laughed. “Surely we couldn’t have such bad timing twice?”
“That sounds like a theory worth testing. Question is, how closely do we need to replicate the circumstances?”
“Oh, I think we have all the essential ingredients.” As Achati stood up, Dannyl followed suit. “And if I’m wrong, at least we can rely on the slaves not letting him in.” He paused to stare up at Dannyl. “Ah. Look at you.”
Dannyl blinked. “What?”
He reached up to touch Dannyl’s jaw. “So very tall and… all angles and elegance. It’s just as well you Kyralians don’t learn higher magic out of habit. You’d be much too intimidating.”
Dannyl let out a quick laugh. “You Sachakans are the intimidating ones,” he protested. “What with the black magic and-”
Achati silenced him with a shake of his head and a finger to his lips, and the hand on Dannyl’s jaw slid behind his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.
Then his mouth was beside Dannyl’s ear. “Don’t, or you’ll remind yourself that we are a brutal people. Let me show you that we can aren’t all cruel and heartless.” And he stepped back, then beckoned and led Dannyl out of the Master’s Room.