Lorkin suspected the relief he felt was premature, as the Ashaki interrogator ushered him out of the room. Their path looked as if it would be a reversal of the one they’d taken that morning, from the cell Lorkin had been sent to upon leaving the palace hall, to the room he’d been questioned in. Perhaps they were finished for the day. Perhaps it was night outside. Lorkin’s stomach had been his only indicator of the passing of time, and it wasn’t a particularly good one. During moments when not knotted with anxiety it growled quietly with hunger.
The interrogator, who hadn’t introduced himself, led the way, his assistant following behind Lorkin. Lorkin only knew that he was an Ashaki because a guard had addressed him as such.
They reached a corridor that Lorkin remembered well, because it sloped downward into the prison area. Once again he wondered why there were no stairs, but now the answer became clear: a prison guard was pushing a trolley towards them. On the trolley lay a very thin, very old man wearing nothing but a white cloth from his waist to his knees. As the interrogator moved past, Lorkin stole a look at the old man’s face, then looked closer.
Is he dead? The chest didn’t rise or fall. The old man’s lips were bluish. Looks like it. He scanned hurriedly for wounds but spotted none. Not even marks where manacles might have encircled wrists. Perhaps he died of old age. Or illness. Or starvation. Or black magic
… He resisted he urge to reach out and touch the corpse, and to use his Healing senses to search for the cause of death.
At the end of the sloped corridor they entered a wide room. Manacles hung from walls, red with rust. A pile of similarly tarnished metal objects lay in one corner — shapes that might suggest torture devices to frightened imaginations. In contrast, the bars that criss-crossed the alcoves along two sides of the room were a dull black, without a hint of age or weakness.
Three larger cells took up the longer wall of the room, and five small ones along the shorter. Only two were occupied: one containing two middle-aged men and the other a young couple. Two guards sat near the main room’s entrance with another man dressed in a more sombre version of the usual Ashaki male garb. The latter nodded at the interrogator, who returned the gesture.
Prisoners rarely stayed more than a few weeks, Lorkin had been told. Even if judged guilty. Magicians were too much trouble to keep locked away, and non-magicians were simply sold into slavery. The interrogator hadn’t said whether the magicians were freed or executed.
That’s part of the game, Lorkin thought. Constant hints at dire consequences if I don’t cooperate, but no direct threats. Yet.
The man had gone on to wonder aloud whether Lorkin qualified as a magician, in the Sachakan sense, since his magical knowledge was incomplete. Did not knowing higher magic make Lorkin a half-magician? Keeping a half-magician prisoner might still be more troublesome than it was worth. Still, it had been done before, though not here. With Lorkin’s very own father.
If he was trying to insult me it was a weak attempt. Surely he knows that Guild magicians don’t see our lack of higher magic as any kind of deficiency — rather it is a more honourable state. I suppose pointing out that my father was once a slave was his true aim.
Even so, that fact wasn’t the source of humiliation to Lorkin that it would have been to a Sachakan noble. Akkarin had been enslaved by an Ichani, outcasts who were an embarrassment and annoyance to the rest of Sachaka — and an indication of weakness in their society. Lorkin did not point this out, though.
Aside from a few other attempted jibes, the interrogator had spent the day asking questions and pointing out how bad it would be for Lorkin, the Guild and peace between Sachaka and the Allied Lands if Lorkin didn’t tell him everything about the Traitors. There were only so many questions that could be asked, and versions of the same warning, so the man had repeated himself a lot.
Lorkin had also repeated, apologetically but firmly, his refusal to answer. He did not want to get chatty, and risk inadvertently giving them any information they could use against the Traitors. Eventually he decided his refusals were only going to be ignored, so he stuck to saying nothing. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be, but he only had to think about how much harder it would be to resist torture and his resolve hardened. Still, they hadn’t tried to read his mind yet, so they didn’t know it wouldn’t work — so long, that is, as the Traitors’ mind-read-blocking gem lying under the skin of his palm did its job. Perhaps King Amakira remained reluctant to harm relations with the Allied Lands by doing so. Perhaps he hoped Lorkin would give in to questioning and threats.
Reaching the gate to the cell Lorkin had been locked in previously, the interrogator waved him inside. The gate closed. Lorkin turned back to see that the Ashaki in the sombre garb had approached them.
“Done?” he asked.
“For now,” the interrogator replied.
“He wants you to report.”
The interrogator nodded, then led his companion away.
The newcomer looked through the gate at Lorkin, his eyes narrowing, then moved away. Lorkin watched him glance around the room, his gaze resting on a simple wooden chair. The chair rose in the air and floated to a position in front of Lorkin’s cell, then settled upon its legs.
The well-dressed man sat down and proceeded to watch Lorkin.
Being stared at was not something Lorkin particularly relished, but he figured he would have to get used to it. He looked around the cell. It was empty but for a bucket for excrement in one corner. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all day, so he felt no need to relieve himself strong enough to draw him into using the bucket while being watched.
Eventually I’ll have to. Better get used to that idea, as well.
With no other choice, Lorkin sat down on the dusty floor and rested his back against the rough wall. He’d probably have to sleep on the floor, too. The stone was hard and cold. At least it was sufficiently cool here for his robes no longer to feel uncomfortably hot. It was easy to warm the air with magic, but cooling it involved stirring the air, preferably past water.
He thought back to the moment he had donned robes again after months living as a Traitor. It had been a relief at first. He’d appreciated the generous style of garment and the soft, richly dyed fabric. As the Sachakan spring brought hotter days, he’d begun to find the robes heavy and impractical. When he was alone, in his room at the Guild House, he’d taken off the outer robe and worn only the trousers. He’d begun to long for simple, economical Traitor clothes.
That longing was probably as much to do with wishing he was back in Sanctuary. Immediately memories of Tyvara rose and he felt his heart lighten. The most recent recollection, of the last night they were together, with her naked and smiling as she taught him how lovers used black magic, set his pulse racing. Then older memories rose. Like the way she moved when in Sanctuary, secure and confident — taking for granted the power her society granted her. Like the direct stare that was both playful and intelligent.
He also remembered her before then, as she’d led him across the Sachakan plains toward the mountains, protecting him from Traitor assassins and them both from capture by the Ashaki. She’d been tired and difficult to talk to, yet had impressed him with her determination and resourcefulness.
He sent his mind further back to a memory of her in her guise as a slave of the Guild House. Shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, confused by his attempts to befriend her. He’d been attracted to her even then, though he’d told himself he was only fascinated by her exotic looks. But no other Sachakan woman had drawn his eyes in the same way, and he’d seen plenty of beautiful ones in both Arvice and Sanctuary.
Sanctuary. I actually miss the place, he realised. Now that I’ve left, I can see that I liked it there, despite Kalia. Memories of being abducted, locked away, bound and gagged while Kalia searched his mind for the secret of magical Healing darkened his thoughts, but he pushed them aside. Kalia is no longer a Speaker. No longer in charge of the Care Room, he reminded himself. The Traitors have their flaws, some more than others, but all in all they’re good people. Being stuck working with Kalia in the Care Room, worrying about her manipulations and how he was going to convince the Traitors to trade with the Guild, had distracted him too much to truly appreciate their way of life.
His abduction had been the action of a small number of less scrupulous Traitors. He suspected not all of Kalia’s faction would have condoned her actions. Most of them wouldn’t have been willing to break Traitor laws as Kalia had, even if they agreed with her. They only thought the way they did out of a desire to protect their people. Their fear of the outside world was well ingrained after centuries of hiding in the mountains.
While he wasn’t quite ready to forgive Kalia for stealing Healing knowledge from him, he could hardly begrudge her the desire to be able to use it to save the lives of Traitors. Still, she was planning to kill me and claim I’d attempted to flee Sanctuary and froze in the winter snows. That’s not something I intend to forgive.
As compensation for what was taken from him, Queen Zarala had decreed that he be taught how to make magical gemstones. He’d learned a kind of magic the Guild had never heard of. It was the dream of finding new, powerful magic that had led him to volunteer as Ambassador Dannyl’s assistant in the first place. Looking back, he smiled at his own naivety. The chances of finding something had been ridiculously remote. And yet he had.
His hopes of finding magic that might render black magic obsolete, or at least provide protection against it, hadn’t been fulfilled, however. The potential in magical gemstones to negate the need for black magicians was in turn negated by the fact that a stone-maker needed to learn black magic in order to create them.
He felt his smile fade and a knot of worry form inside his stomach. What will the Guild do when they find out that I know black magic? Will they forgive it, once they understand I could not have learned stone-making otherwise?
He had considered all possible consequences, and had hardened himself to the worst of them: the possibility they would exile him from the Allied Lands, as they had done his father. It would hurt, but would also free him to return to Sanctuary and Tyvara, which wasn’t too bad an outcome. Apart from one thing.
Mother is going to be disappointed in me. No — more than that. She’ll be devastated.
Which was why he hadn’t said anything about it to Ambassador Dannyl or Administrator Osen yet. It was one piece of news he would be putting off for as long as possible. Osen had decided that nobody should be told anything more than necessary, in case the Sachakans did start reading minds. Even so, Lorkin knew he couldn’t avoid Sonea finding out forever.
But when she does, I’d rather she didn’t hear it from anyone else. It’s not going to be easy to tell her, but maybe if I do it myself it’ll be easier for her to hear.
Cery had lost count of the times he’d woken up, but this time he knew there was something different about the waking even before he gathered enough awareness to name what it was.
Light. After Anyi had returned with a little food and water taken from Sonea’s rooms, which they had given to Gol, they’d decided to sleep. To avoid using up all the candles, they’d blown them out — but not before Cery had tricked Anyi into giving him her matches. He hoped that robbing her of a source of portable light would keep her from exploring the passages while he was asleep. Though she assured him she knew most of them now, she had to agree that the lack of maintenance and repair had left many unsafe.
The pile of old pillows had been divided between the three of them. Though he had enough to protect him from the cold, hard floor, keeping them together was a challenge. If he changed position, one would inevitably skitter off into the darkness, and he’d have to grope around to find it and stuff it back underneath him.
I wonder if anyone is living in my old hiding places, enjoying the fancy furniture and drinking my wine, he thought as he sat up. Though broken sleep had left him aching with weariness, he was relieved to be giving up on trying. The light outlined the doorway and was brightening. He heard a familiar voice call out, “It’s just me!”
They could have the wine and the luxuries. All he wanted now was a warm fire and a comfortable bed. And for those he loved to be safe.
The loved ones of a Thief are never safe.
A stab of pain went through him, savage despite its familiarity. For a moment all he could see was a memory of his wife’s and sons’ bodies, but he closed his eyes and willed the vision away. Will I ever stop remembering? Or will it stop hurting to remember? Guilt rose at the thought. I shouldn’t want to, but I can’t do anything to change their deaths and I won’t be able to protect Anyi if I let grief and anger distract and control me. He sighed. And I’d rather remember them whole and happy than… than that.
The source of the light entered the room. Dazzled, Cery looked away from the globe of magical light to the young woman standing below it. Lilia smiled at him and held out a basket.
“I told Jonna that Anyi might be visiting. She brought some extra food. I took a bottle of Sonea’s wine — not from the expensive ones. Well, not the really expensive ones.”
Anyi leapt to her feet, kissed Lilia on the cheek and grabbed the basket.
“You’re a treasure, Lilia,” she said, sitting down on one of the wooden boxes and rifling through. “Buns! Meat-filled and sweet ones.” Then her nose wrinkled. “Urgh. Fruit.”
“It’s good for you and easy to carry,” Lilia told her, but she was looking at Gol. “You look better.”
Cery turned to see his friend sitting up, nodding and stretching. A thoughtful look crossed Gol’s face. “Still tired, though.”
She nodded. “My books says your body will take a couple of days to replenish the blood you lost. Depends how much you bled. If you do start feeling sick again let me know. It might be some poison was left. I should be able to Heal you if there is.”
“A few days.” Anyi looked at Cery. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Cery held out a hand for a meat-filled bun, took a bite and chewed as he considered. He still had loyal people out there. They would start to worry if he didn’t contact them. They might even assume he, Gol and Anyi were dead. What would happen if they did? Cery had no illusions that they’d stand up to Skellin. Most likely the rogue Thief would take control of Cery’s territory. Not personally. He’d arrange for an ally to take over.
“Let them think we’re dead,” Gol said.
Cery looked at his friend in surprise. He hadn’t expected this. What had I expected? That Gol would try to get up and pretend to be healthier than he is, rather than be the reason I lost my territory? Or that he’d tell me to abandon him here? All very noble. Am I so vain that I expect my friends to sacrifice themselves for me? Cery frowned. No, it isn’t that. It’s that I didn’t expect Gol to give up before I did.
“Next time you won’t get away,” Gol said. “We were lucky this time. I’ve been lying here trying to decide who told Skellin’s people you were at Cadia’s house. Who betrayed us? Did they have any choice? You can’t stop Skellin blackmailing and bribing your own people. He’s got too many allies, too much money. You’ve already…”
“… already lost your own territory,” Cery finished. He felt bitterness rising. But it was an emotion too familiar and worn out to do more than make him feel tired. It had crept in after Selia and the boys had been murdered, and he had grown used to it.
“Let them think you’re dead. Maybe Skellin will get smug, let his guard down. Maybe with nobody else fighting him, other people will try. Maybe they’ll set him up. Betray him to the Guild.”
It was tempting. Very tempting.
“You want to stay here? ” Cery asked, pretending disbelief.
“Yes.” Gol looked at Anyi and Lilia. “What do you think?”
Anyi shrugged. “We can block off the entrance to the Guild passages — collapse them if you think it’s safer. There are passages that come out in the forest, so we have escape routes. Well, ones that don’t lead into the Guild buildings, that is.” Anyi glanced at Lilia. “We’ll work out ways to get food and water down here.”
Lilia nodded. “I’m sure Sonea would help.”
“No, we can’t tell her.” Cery paused, surprised at the conviction in his own voice. Why don’t I want Sonea’s help? “She won’t like it. She’ll want to smuggle us out of the city. She’ll tell Kallen.” He didn’t entirely trust Kallen, and it wasn’t only because the man was a roet addict.
“She wouldn’t,” Lilia said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Cery’s right,” Gol said. “Sonea’s leaving for Sachaka. She’ll either want someone else high up in the Guild to know we’re here, or she’ll move us out.”
“So… if you don’t want Kallen to know either,” Anyi said, “then you won’t be able to work with him any more.”
“No.” Cery turned to Lilia. “But he doesn’t need us to tell him that. We can say it’s safer if we communicate through messages, which Lilia will send.”
“We won’t have anything useful to tell him if we stay here and have no contact with your people,” Anyi pointed out.
“No, but he’ll keep us informed as to what’s going on out there,” Cery replied, “before he gives up on us as a source of information. And hopefully we will find a way to be useful again — which we won’t if Sonea sends us away.”
The four of them exchanged looks, then nodded.
“Well, first Lilia and I need to find solutions for the most basic needs, like food and water,” Anyi said decisively, straightening. “And then to make things safer and more comfortable down here.”
Cery smiled at the determined look on her face. If he let her, she would take charge of them all. “No,” he disagreed. “That’s not what we’ll do first.”
She looked at him, frowning in puzzlement. “No?”
He nodded at the basket. “First we eat.”
If there was a code of etiquette that allowed Sachakans to refuse entry to an unwanted guest, Dannyl wished he knew what it was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see the Ashaki who was coming down the entrance passage of the Guild House. He yearned to see the man. But he suspected that the visitor was here in his official capacity, and that was something Dannyl was not looking forward to.
Being friends with the enemy certainly complicates matters.
As Achati entered the room, Dannyl searched the man’s face for some hint of good news, despite knowing the chances were slim. He was surprised when he saw regret and apology there. He’d expected a carefully maintained neutral expression.
“Welcome back to the Guild House, Ashaki Achati,” Dannyl said, falling back on Kyralian manners.
“I wish it were under more amicable circumstances,” Achati replied. “This is an official visit, but I also wish it to be an informal one between friends, if that is still possible.”
Dannyl invited Achati to sit, taking the main chair for himself. “That depends on how the official part goes,” he replied wryly.
“Then let’s get the official part over with first.” Achati paused to regard Dannyl. “King Amakira wants you to persuade Lorkin to answer all questions regarding the Traitors.”
“I doubt I would succeed.”
“Would he refuse if you ordered him to?”
“Yes.”
“And this is acceptable?”
“It isn’t his choice, or mine.”
“But he is your subordinate. He should follow your orders.”
“That depends on the orders.” Dannyl shrugged. “We do not have a… a custom of unquestioning obedience in the Guild, or even outside it. Except in the case of royalty, but even then advisers have the right to advise — to give their opinion and recommendation without reprisal — though they still must obey orders even if they disagree with them.”
“You are also an Ambassador — and not just a Guild Ambassador. Until Ambassador Tayend arrived, you spoke for all the Allied Lands, too. Though you no longer speak for Elyne, you still represent the rest.”
“Yes, I speak for them.” Dannyl spread his hands. “But I cannot make decisions for them.”
“So you are saying that only one of the monarchs of the Allied Lands could order Lorkin to answer questions?”
“Only the Kyralian king. Monarchs of other lands and non-ruling royals cannot give orders to Kyralian magicians.”
Achati’s eyebrows were high. “How do you maintain order?”
Dannyl smiled. “Most of us are smart enough to know that disorder would lead to a loss of freedom and prosperity. Those who don’t… well, the rest of us keep them in line. Like the general rule against magicians involving themselves in politics. Though it’s not strictly enforced, maintaining the appearance that it is being followed restricts the more ambitious of us.”
As Achati paused to ponder this, Dannyl took the opportunity to ask a question.
“Has King Amakira considered that Lorkin may not have any information to give? After all, why would the Traitors have let him return to Arvice if he knew anything that might harm them?”
Achati looked up. “Why doesn’t he answer our questions, then?”
“Perhaps it is a test.”
“Of what? Lorkin’s loyalty to the Traitors?”
Dannyl frowned at the suggestion that Lorkin had changed his loyalties. “Or to Kyralia. Or perhaps it is not a test of Lorkin at all.”
Achati’s eyes narrowed. “It is a test of King Amakira?”
Dannyl spread his hands. “And the Guild, King Merin and the Allied Lands.”
“Put us in a position of conflict and see what happens?” Achati nodded. “We have considered that.”
“Though perhaps Lorkin believed that he could return to Kyralia via Arvice, because he didn’t think King Amakira would break his agreement that all Guild magicians would remain free and unharmed in Sachaka.”
Achati’s expression hardened. “So long as they did not seek to harm Sachaka.” He looked at Dannyl directly. “Do you honestly believe Lorkin’s withholding of knowledge about the Traitors will not harm my country?”
Dannyl held his friend’s gaze but, not prepared for such a direct question, he felt the mix of guilt and suspicion that the question roused shift something in his own expression. Achati would have seen it. He would know if Dannyl lied. So best to answer with a different truth.
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Lorkin has only discussed what he knows with Administrator Osen.”
Achati frowned. “Did he tell you why he returned?”
Dannyl nodded and felt himself relax a little. “To go home. He particularly wants to see his mother. Of course, we did not know if he would ever return, so after months of worry she is anxious to be reunited with him as well.”
“I imagine she is,” Achati replied, standing up. He sounded sympathetic, but his expression was a mix of amusement and defiance. “The sooner Lorkin answers our questions, the sooner that will be.”
Dannyl rose. “What will King Amakira do if he doesn’t?”
Achati paused to consider his answer. “I don’t know,” he replied, his apparent honesty and helplessness a mirror of Dannyl’s.
“The Allied Lands will view the reading of Lorkin’s mind as an act of aggression,” Dannyl warned.
“But hardly something to go to war over,” Achati replied. “Sachaka has prospered for centuries without trade with the lands to the west, thanks to our links with lands over the eastern sea. Without training for all in higher magic, your magicians are hardly a threat. We don’t need you. We don’t fear you. You were only ever an opportunity we wanted to explore.”
Dannyl nodded. “Thank you for your honesty, Ashaki Achati.”
Achati waved a hand dismissively. “I said nothing that wasn’t already obvious.” He sighed. “Personally, I hope we can resolve this in a way that does not ruin our friendship. Now I must go.”
“I, too,” Dannyl replied. The friendship between us, or our countries? Or both? “Goodbye for now.”
The Ashaki nodded, then disappeared down the corridor leading to the Guild House entrance. Dannyl sat down again and considered the conversation. ‘ We don’t need you. We don’t fear you.’ Why had anybody ever thought Sachaka would want to join the Allied Lands?
“How’d it go?”
Looking up, Dannyl saw that Tayend was hovering in the doorway. He sighed and beckoned. His former lover hurried across the room and sat down, leaning forward with almost childlike eagerness. But Tayend’s gaze was sharp and his curiosity was as much from his need as an ambassador to stay up to date on political matters as from a love of gossip.
He is genuinely concerned about Lorkin, too, Dannyl reminded himself. A memory rose unexpectedly of Tayend playing with Sonea’s son as a small child, back when he and Dannyl used to make social visits to the Guild more often. Tayend had had a knack of keeping children occupied and entertained. He found himself wondering if Tayend had ever wished he had children of his own. Dannyl had never wanted them, though he…
“So?” Tayend urged.
Dannyl brought his attention back to the present and, taking care not to give away anything the Guild wanted concealed, began to tell his fellow Ambassador what Achati had asked, and revealed.