From high above, the sun poured heat and brightness down onto the wasteland, which threw it back up again in protest. Assailed from the sky and ground, Lorkin trudged along with the Traitors and tried not to imagine facing an Ashaki in battle.
Instead, he thought about the gemstone in his pocket. He had tried last night, after everyone was asleep or on watch, to see if he could sense other stones buried in the area, but his mental search had detected nothing. Yet that was no proof his mother was wrong. She had said he would only find them because he knew black magic, and there had been nothing of black magic in his method of searching.
I should have asked her to explain. But he’d only had one last moment with her, the morning of the previous day, and he’d used the opportunity to question her about another magical puzzle. Her gaze had grown keener as he’d asked if she’d heard of magicians able to read surface thoughts.
“Your father was supposed to have been able to,” she’d told him. “I always assumed he encouraged the rumour in order to maintain the fear or awe people regarded him with — and if questions were raised about other abilities he shouldn’t have, he could point to that rumour as an example of the silly things people thought about him.”
“It might not have been a lie,” Lorkin had told her.
Her surprise had, as always, turned to thoughtful calculation. What she’d said next he hadn’t expected. “Best keep that to yourself,” she’d advised. “It will make even those closest to you uncomfortable. Be careful you don’t learn more about others than you really want to.”
She has a point. He could imagine many situations where hearing someone’s stray thoughts might be embarrassing. Fortunately, it was only the clearest surface thoughts that he could hear, and only when he was concentrating hard.
“Lorkin.”
Tyvara had returned to his side. She had been called over by Savara and the pair had been chatting for some time.
“Yes?”
She smiled. “Tell me more about Lord Regin. Is he particularly important to the Guild? Why do you think he was with your mother?”
Lorkin frowned. “He’s not important. Well, he’s from an important House, but he doesn’t hold a position within the Guild.”
“So is he just a source of magic for your mother?”
He tried to imagine that scenario, and failed. But then, he’d pictured Regin behaving like a Sachakan source slave, when the man didn’t have to. All he has to do is send power out and Mother will take and store it. It would involve touching, of course, but nothing more than clasping hands.
“Maybe,” Lorkin replied. “Well… probably.”
“So how are they related? Friends? Lovers?”
“No. In fact, he and Mother hated each other as novices. He bullied her until she challenged him to a duel. She thrashed him, and after that he left her alone.”
“A duel?” Tyvara’s eyebrows rose and her smile widened. “Interesting custom.”
Lorkin narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you mocking my people’s ways?”
“Not at all.” She tried to look serious.
“You are,” he accused her. Then he grinned. “It is a silly custom. As far as I know, nobody had challenged anyone to a duel for years before, and nobody has since.”
“It must have been her last resort, then.” Tyvara looked thoughtful. “So, did they become good friends after their big confrontation, as so often is the case?”
“No. Mother hasn’t forgiven him.” Though Lorkin could not remember her saying so. If anything, she always pointed out how brave Regin had been during the invasion. Grudgingly.
Tyvara said nothing to that, and he turned to see she was frowning.
“Why do you ask?”
She looked up. “Well… Savara and I both thought that it was odd that the Guild would send two people with such obvious regard for each other on such a mission. If they were captured it would be harder on them, if one was threatened to blackmail the other.”
“My mother and Regin?” Lorkin shook his head. “Impossible. You’ve got the wrong idea.”
She shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe the seeming impossibility of it led to the Guild not realising what a bad choice Regin is. Or maybe Sonea and Regin don’t realise it either.”
Lorkin shook his head and sighed.
“What?”
“The most powerful women in Sachaka, and all you do is waste time gossiping and matchmaking. Ow!” He rubbed her arm where she’d hit him.
“Men gossip more,” she said. “And it’s not a waste of time, when it has political and martial consequences.”
“It does?”
“It will.” Her head lifted and her eyes narrowed. “Ah.”
He turned to stare ahead. Past Savara and the Traitors walking ahead, he saw that they were cresting the top of a dune. Ahead lay a flat plain covered in sparse vegetation and, a few hours walk away, a sprawl of buildings.
“You can still change your mind,” she told him. “Nobody will stop you going back to Kyralia. There are no Ichani around the Pass to fear.”
Am I really brave enough — foolish enough — to join a people I have no ties of blood with and dare to wage war on the legendary black magicians my people have feared for centuries?
He looked at Tyvara and smiled. “Where you go, I go.”
She gazed at him and shook her head. “Whenever I find myself thinking I don’t deserve someone as good as you, Lorkin, I remind myself that, if you’re willing to come with me, you may be a little bit mad.”
“You think my mother and Lord Regin are in love. It’s not my sanity in question here.”
She smirked and looked away. “We’ll see.”
As they walked on in silence, her words repeated in his mind — “… someone as good as you, Lorkin ” — and he felt his smile fade. Would she still think of him as good if she knew what he’d done to the slave girl? He hadn’t told her yet. So far there had been no reason to. No, that’s not entirely true. There have been opportunities. Every time, I decided it would spoil the moment, or sour the conversation. But I shouldn’t put it off. The Traitors might need to know what happened to the girl. If she was a Traitor.
But what if she wasn’t? That was what he was most afraid of: to discover that the girl hadn’t known the water was poisoned. It was much easier to live with his decision, believing that she had deliberately taken her own life.
If this is what it feels like to have killed someone when they wanted it, what is it going to be like when the war starts and I kill people who don’t want it? Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult, given that they had enslaved, tortured and killed others. Maybe it will be easier.
He looked around at the Traitors. Their expressions were grim and determined. Talk had ceased but for the occasional low murmur. Slowly they made their way down the last dune and onto the plain, then toward the sprawling buildings. The first people they encountered were two slaves, watching over a small herd of reber. Both young boys, the pair rushed over to throw themselves on the ground before Savara. She told them to stand, and never to lower themselves before another man or woman again.
“It’s time?” one of them asked, gazing up at her eagerly.
“Yes,” she said, then nodded toward the buildings. “You know what to do?”
“Stay out of reach,” he replied. “Move away from the city. But we can’t get much further away than here.”
“No. Just stay away from the house until we are done.”
He frowned. “If I go back I can tell the others to get out.”
“That would be very brave. You must not let the Ashaki suspect we’re coming, though.”
“We won’t. We’ve all been planning for this for years.”
“Go, then.”
As the boy ran toward the buildings, Savara straightened and beckoned to the Traitors. They continued on, quickening their pace. A thrill of excitement and fear ran down Lorkin’s spine. Some of these outer estates were run by trusted slave masters, so they might not encounter an Ashaki. Or the Ashaki could be out visiting or tending to business. But the boy would have told Savara if that was so.
There’s little chance we’re not heading toward our first fight.
All too soon they were within a few hundred paces of the buildings. Then they were stepping through a gate in the low wall that surrounded them. As the Traitors spread out, in twos and threes, to approach the building from different sides, slaves emerged. They hurried, some running, past the invaders and the low wall, and out onto the plain in all directions.
Spreading out, so that even if the Ashaki used magic to drag them back, he’d have to use more magic and time collecting all of them. Some might still escape.
The Traitors split into smaller groups so that they could enter the buildings from different directions. Tyvara grabbed Lorkin’s hand and drew him toward what looked like a stable.
“Stay with me.” She plucked at her vest. “I’m carrying plenty of stones, but we’re supposed to avoid using them until the battle. Our own power can be replaced, but most stones are single-use.” She glanced at him. “I’ll make sure you have your own set, for the final battle.”
Once in the stable he saw the stalls were furnished with benches covered in blankets. He realised with a shock that this was where the slaves lived. Several were hiding there now, looking confused. Tyvara ordered them out, telling them to run away and come back in a few hours. One very pregnant woman shrank back into her stall, shaking her head.
“Come on,” Tyvara said, extending her hand and smiling. “We’ll protect you. It won’t be for long.”
“What’s going on?” a voice demanded.
They turned to see a slave with a red cloth wrapped around his brow emerge from another building. Judging from the smoke wafting up from a chimney pipe, it contained the kitchen and perhaps other domestic rooms. Lorkin’s stomach turned as he saw the man was carrying a short whip.
From somewhere beyond the building the man had emerged from came a boom. They all jumped and looked up to see fragments of what might be roof tiles flying into the air.
The man turned back and stared at Lorkin and Tyvara, his eyes widening. “It’s time?” he asked.
“It is,” Tyvara replied.
He grinned and tossed the whip onto a pile of firewood. “At last.” Turning from them, he strode away from the buildings.
Lorkin looked at Tyvara, expecting her to stop him, but she only smiled.
“Wherever we could, we let the slave masters know that if they weren’t unnecessarily cruel, we’d consider giving them some of their Ashaki’s estate when we took over.”
More slaves darted from the buildings, some looking terrified. Tyvara glanced back to the pregnant woman, then turned to Lorkin. “We’ll stay here and keep watch in case the Ashaki comes after them.”
Lorkin did as she asked, but the next person to emerge was a Traitor, Adiya. The woman looked around and, seeing Lorkin and Tyvara, walked over to meet them.
“It’s done,” she said.
Tyvara nodded and looked over her shoulder at the pregnant slave. “You’re free now. Our work here is finished. Soon the others will come back and join you. They’ll keep you safe.”
The woman stared at her and said nothing, but she seemed a little less afraid now. Tyvara started toward the building Adiya had emerged from. Lorkin followed her inside. They wound through the familiar layout of passages and emerged at what must have once been the Master’s Room. The roof had been blasted away, and the walls bulged outwards or had toppled into rubble.
A middle-aged Sachakan man lay slumped on the floor, blood seeping from a shallow cut on his arm.
Dead? Yes. Lorkin stared at the corpse and remembered the Ashaki who he and Dannyl had stayed with, when they’d first entered Sachaka. The man had been friendly and generous. Perhaps this dead man had been kind too. Perhaps he had kept slaves only because it was what powerful Sachakans like him had always done. Perhaps he would have surrendered if given the chance. Surely he didn’t deserve to die like this?
It was impossible to know. The Traitors couldn’t imprison all Ashaki and put them on trial to decide if death was an appropriate punishment. To imprison them would take too much of the Traitors’ time and energy.
The Traitors are at war with a way of life, not the individual people, but individuals will pay the price. He suspected, though, that many of the Ashaki would refuse to change their ways, even if they were given a choice.
He looked around and saw that Tyvara had picked her way across the room to one of the collapsed walls. Making his way to her, they helped each other over a pile of rubble into a courtyard. There, a richly dressed woman stood glaring at Savara, her face streaked with tears.
“The Ashaki’s wife,” Tyvara murmured. “We’re hoping it won’t be necessary to kill the women and children.”
“They won’t obey you,” the queen was saying to the woman. “You had better get used to that. My people will do what they can to protect you, but they won’t guard you day and night. The rest is up to you.”
Two Traitors stood behind the queen. As Savara turned away they moved to stand beside her. Tyvara and Lorkin walked over to join her.
“We’re done here,” the queen said. “Time to gather everyone together and move on.” She looked over her shoulder at the broken building, her expression grim. “It’s too much to hope all estates will be this trouble-free.”
More Traitors arrived. As the last pair appeared, one hurried forward to the queen.
“I just heard that Chiva’s group had to fight four Ashaki — a father and his three sons. Vinyi was killed.”
Savara stopped to regard the woman with dismay. “A loss already.” She sighed and started toward the main gates of the courtyard. As she reached it, she stopped abruptly. Lorkin looked beyond and saw what had surprised her.
A crowd of about twenty slaves — ex-slaves, Lorkin corrected — waited outside. As they saw Savara they hurried forward, stopping a few paces away. From the adoring way they looked at the Traitor queen, Lorkin expected them to throw themselves at her feet. None did, though a few looked as if they had to work hard to resist the habit, bending forward then jerking upright again.
Nobody spoke. The foremost ex-slaves glanced at each other, then one held out his wrists to the queen.
“We want to give you… we have nothing to give you… do you need to take power from us?”
Savara drew in a quick breath. “We don’t need to yet but…”
“Take it,” Tyvara murmured. “They will feel they had a part in the fight for their freedom.”
The queen smiled. “I would be honoured.” She looked down at the knife at her belt. “But not with this. This is for our enemies.”
One of the ex-slaves stepped forward. “Then use this.”
In his hand was a small knife obviously meant for a domestic task like tailoring or wood carving. Savara took it and felt the edge for sharpness. She nodded and handed it back. The man looked confused.
“You must make the cut,” she said. “I will not deliberately harm my own people.”
He ran the blade across the back of his thumb, then held out his hand to her. Touching the cut lightly, Savara closed her eyes and bowed her head. The man closed his eyes.
A short time passed. As Savara withdrew her hand she looked up at the rest of the ex-slaves. “We cannot stay long. I cannot take power from all of you.”
“Then we’ll give it to your fighters,” the first speaker declared. The rest nodded and turned their attention to the other Traitors. Lorkin noted that, as domestic knives were found to be lacking, the Traitors were handing over their own knives. When a woman offered her wrists to Lorkin he blinked in surprise.
“Um… Tyvara?”
She chuckled. “You’re one of us now,” she said. “Better get used to it.”
“Oh, that’s not the problem.” He put a hand to his sheath-less belt. “I don’t have a knife.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Then I guess we’d better see to that at the first opportunity. For now,” she looked at the man facing her with hand extended, “we’ll have to share.”
The sun was hovering above the mountains when Sonea and Regin neared the first Ashaki estate. Gold-tinged light bathed the walls the colour of old parchment. In contrast the hole in the roof was an ominous black.
The estate was swarming with people.
“Slaves,” Regin said. “Looting?”
Sonea shook her head. She could see a line of men hauling rubble out of the building. “Cleaning up.”
Regin frowned. “Surely they’d have run away when the Traitors attacked — and stayed away now they have their freedom.”
“They’ve got to live somewhere, and there’s food and shelter here. I wonder: if the Traitors win will they take over the estates or give them to the slaves?”
“Hmm.” Was Regin’s only answer. “They’ve seen us.”
Sure enough, a group of about a dozen slaves had stepped out of the gates and were walking toward them. Sonea pictured what she and Regin must look like. Their robes clearly marked them as Kyralian magicians. As Kyralians they might not be welcome here, but she doubted even newly freed slaves flushed with victory would dare to attack them.
“What do you want to do?” Regin asked.
Sonea stopped. “Meet them. Better to know what reception we’re going to get now, than later, when we’ll be further from the border.”
About twenty strides away, the group slowed to a halt.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” one of them called out.
“I am Black Magician Sonea and this is Lord Regin, of the Magicians’ Guild of Kyralia. We are here as representatives of the Allied Lands.”
“Who invited you here?” the man demanded again.
“We met Queen Savara two days and three nights ago.”
“Why are you following a few days behind, then?”
“To avoid being caught up in the fighting.”
The slaves began discussing this. Osen had agreed that Sonea and Regin could follow the Traitors to Arvice, keeping a safe distance from the fighting, so that the Guild would keep track of the Traitors’ progress. He’d suggested that Sonea use the excuse that she was checking the way was safe for the Healers the Guild was sending — but only if she had to. The fewer who knew of the deal, the less chance the Sachakan king would learn of it. If the Traitors lost but enough of them survived and were still willing to trade their stones, it would be easier to get Healers to them if the king didn’t know about it.
The slave who had spoken strode forward, the others hurrying after him. Regin straightened and crossed his arms, but the man ignored him. The lead slave stopped a few steps from Sonea, staring at her intently, his eyes narrowing.
“We’ll have to check that is the truth.”
She nodded. “Of course.” Inwardly she cursed. If they did manage to contact Savara, the queen would learn that Sonea and Regin were following her. She might try to stop them.
The main straightened. “In the meantime, you must stay here. It will be night soon and we Sachakans pride ourselves on our hospitality.”
She inclined her head. “We would be honoured. With whom are we staying?”
The man paused and looked down, his confidence disappearing as if he had suddenly realised his behaviour had been unnecessarily confrontational. “I am Farchi,” he said. He turned to introduce the others. Too many names to remember, Sonea decided. She took note of the names of the boldest, and the sole woman in the group.
With a gracious movement, Farchi invited her and Regin to accompany him to the estate. As they walked, Sonea figured she might as well find out what had happened here.
“If it is not rude of me to ask, is the damage here from a Traitor attack?”
Farchi nodded. “The queen and her fighters killed the Ashaki and freed his slaves.”
“What will you do now?”
“Try to run things on our own, and with the Traitors’ help.”
“So the Traitors aren’t going to take ownership of this place?”
“Some estates they will take. Most will go to ex-slaves. Some will be divided up.”
“And the rest of the ex-slaves?”
“Will be paid for their work. And be free to live where they want, marry who they want, and keep their children.”
She smiled. “I hope with all my heart that you achieve this.”
Farchi’s chin rose and his back straightened. “We will. The Traitors are Sachakans. They will not abandon the task, as the Guild did.”
She looked at him closely. “How do you know they did? Our records indicate no decision by the Guild or Kyralia to stop trying to end slavery in Sachaka.”
He frowned. “It’s… what everyone says.”
“They also say that the Guild created the wasteland to weaken Sachaka, but historical records found here in Sachaka point toward it being the action of one madman, and many Guild magicians died trying to stop him.”
And we now know that the Traitors are to blame for the wasteland never recovering. She resisted telling him that. The Traitors were the ex-slaves’ rescuers. Even if they did believe her, it would undermine the Traitors’ efforts to prevent Sachakan society falling into chaos once the Ashaki no longer controlled it. But one day the truth will come out. I wonder what the ex-slaves will think of the Traitors then.
“Was this madman Kyralian or Sachakan?”
“Kyralian.”
“So it is still your fault.”
Sonea sighed. “Yes, whether it was deliberate or a mistake, it was still the fault of a Kyralian. Just as it was the fault of all Sachakans that Ichani attacked Kyralia and murdered many of my people.” She met his gaze and held it, and he quickly looked away. “If I don’t blame you for the crimes of the Ichani twenty years ago, can you try to forgive me the act of a madman six hundred years ago?”
Farchi gave her a long, appraising look, then nodded. “That’s fair.”
She smiled, and followed him through the gates into a scene of destruction and hope, grief and newfound freedom.
As Cery joined Gol he drew in a deep breath of clean, forest air.
“Smells like spring.”
“Yes,” Gol agreed. “It’s warm at night now, too.”
“Warm er,” Cery corrected. “As in warmer than cold enough to freeze your eyeballs.”
Gol chuckled. “We’ll have to skirt around the farm to get to the part of wall nearest the meeting place.”
“Lead on, then.”
With most of the undergrowth hidden in the night shadows cast by the forest, it was impossible to walk quietly and without stumbling. The passages below were a lot easier to get around, even in complete darkness. By the time they got to the wall that separated the Guild grounds from the city, Cery was sure that they must have attracted someone’s attention with all the snapped twigs, rustling leaves and stifled curses. They waited for a while to make sure nobody and was coming to investigate, but no magician, servant or guard emerged from the darkness. Satisfied, they scaled the wall with the help of a nearby tree branch. From the top Cery could look over the eastern end of the North Quarter. Houses were built up against the wall, their yards divided by lower brick walls topped with an upside-down “v” embedded with broken glass to discourage climbing. The one below them contained a neat little garden.
Gol looped the end of a rope ladder around the tree branch they’d climbed to get on top of the wall, and knotted it. The rope had been another item stolen from the farm, and Gol had used short branches found in the forest as the rungs. He climbed down into the yard first, the rope creaking. Cery followed. They skirted the garden beds, paused to oil the hinges of the side gate to the yard, then slipped out into the shadows of the street beyond.
To walk the streets of the city felt like freedom. As they made their way through the neighbourhood, Cery wavered between excitement and worry at the risk they were taking. At least Anyi was safely back in the Guild with Lilia. He hadn’t told her his plans for the evening, knowing that she would either try to stop him, or insist on coming. Even if he had talked her into staying behind, she’d have wanted to know why he was going into the city, and he could not think of a good enough reason.
Other than the truth. But I doubt she’d have found that a good enough reason anyway, he thought. She wants me to live in the Guild and leave catching Skellin to the magicians. She trusted the Guild too much. And I don’t? He shook his head. Not with Sonea gone and Kallen in charge of finding Skellin.
He hadn’t completely given up on the Guild, though. They weren’t going to stop trying to find and deal with rogue magicians. But they’d take longer at it than he was prepared to wait.
To force their hand I need minefire, to buy that I need money, and the only caches I had that Skellin hasn’t found are in the hands of minders.
Minders who didn’t believe Cery was alive, and had refused to give the cache to Gol.
The risk of a trap was high, of course. He and Gol had selected the minder least likely to betray them to meet tonight. His name was Perin. Gol had hired three different street urchins as guides, each to take Perin on a winding journey through three Quarters of the city. The last instructions were written down, so that not even the urchins would see where Perin went. The meeting place was within a hundred paces of the wall, so if Cery and Gol had to run they had a fighting chance of reaching the grounds.
Reaching a crossroads, they stopped and looked around. Here the doorways were shallow and the street lamps bright. Nowhere to hide for several strides, so it would be difficult for someone to ambush them. A man stood on the opposite corner, watching them. Though Cery could not see all of the man’s face, what was visible was familiar.
“Perin,” Gol murmured.
Cery nodded. He crossed the road and approached the man. Perin stared at him intently, his eyes widening as he recognised Cery.
“Well, well. You’re alive and breathing.”
“I am,” Cery said, stopping a few paces away.
“Here.” Perin held out a wrapped parcel. “Send a messenger if you want the rest.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
The minder grimaced. “No you don’t. I have my fee, and the satisfaction of knowing the bastard who calls himself king didn’t get to everyone.” He held out a hand. Cery hesitated, then moved closer so the man could briefly clasp his arm, and did the same in return. “Best of luck and health,” Perin said, his brows lowering as his gaze moved over Cery’s face. “Looks like you could do with some.”
Then the man stepped back, smiled tiredly and turned to walk away. Cery heard Gol quietly move closer behind him.
Did he mean luck or health? Or both? Am I looking as old and tired as I feel lately?
He felt a touch on his elbow. Shaking his head, he turned and followed Gol back to the house by the wall, through the gate and up the rope ladder. It was harder climbing up than down, but as they made their way through the forest he felt his mood lift. Their journey had been worth the risk. Gol had money to buy minefire. They were closer to being ready to lure Skellin into their trap.
And it was nice to know that someone, even if just a minder, was pleased to know Cery was still alive.