Jayan was sure there was no word to properly describe the weariness he felt. He was beyond “tired”. He was long past “exhausted”. He was sure he was on the brink of passing out completely. It took all his will to convince his legs to continue gripping the saddle, and his back to stay upright.

Some time in the last day or so his awareness had begun to shrink. First he became oblivious of their surroundings unless someone drew his attention to them. Then he was aware of Dakon, Tessia and Werrin only as shadows that should always be near; he would only rouse from this state if they weren’t. Then, as the soreness of his body increased and he endeavoured to ignore the pain, he eventually became wrapped up solely in himself for most of the long hours on the road, trusting his horse to keep up with the others without his direction.

A strange feeling crept over him as they descended into the valley he’d called home for so long. A premonition, perhaps. He was certain something bad was about to happen. But as Dakon rode on in front, crossing the bridge and entering Mandryn, Jayan found he was incapable of speaking. Unable to move, to tug on the reins and stop his horse. Unable to stop himself looking at the corpses strewn everywhere: on the road, in doorways, hanging out of windows. He looked, but he could not see details. Exhaustion made his sight blurry, his awareness frayed. His ears were deaf. Or perhaps it was just the stillness and silence of a village occupied only by dead people.

Then he did hear something. Footsteps. The sensuous metallic slide of a blade. He looked at Dakon walking in front. (When had they dismounted? He was so tired, he must have done it without realising.) The magician did not appear to have heard anything. Jayan opened his mouth to shout a warning, but no sound came out. It’s an ambush! he wanted to shout. Watch out! From shadows emerged indistinct figures. There was a flash of dazzling light and—

Jayan.

Startled, Jayan opened his eyes and blinked at his surroundings. He was back astride the horse. He was not in Mandryn. The road climbed a ridge before him, but the horse had stopped.

Jayan! Wake up!

Tessia. The first voice had been different. Dakon’s. He straightened and turned in his saddle to see the pair several paces behind, staring at him. Werrin, the king’s magician, was frowning.

I fell asleep in the saddle, he thought. Lucky I didn’t fall off. Then he smiled wryly. I finally master the skill of sleeping in the saddle and what do I do? Have that same nightmare.

Turning his mount round, he directed it back down the road to join the others. Dakon’s expression was grim. Dark shadows hung under his eyes. Tessia was pale but her eyes were bright.

For the first few days of their journey, to Jayan’s annoyance, he had worried constantly about Tessia. As he had expected, she hadn’t complained once and rode silent and determined throughout each day. Because he knew her now, he’d worried that she wouldn’t speak up if she was suffering, and would fall behind. But in the last few days he’d been too caught up in his own weariness to do more than check now and then that she was still with them, and he felt guilty about that.

“Lord Werrin and I will go on from here,” Dakon said. “You and Tessia will wait here.”

Jayan frowned, then looked round again and felt a shock of recognition. This was a part of the road near Mandryn he and Dakon had occasionally ridden along on their morning rides. The village was not far away.

Tessia looked as if she would have protested, if she hadn’t been too tired to argue. Jayan felt the same. If there were more than one or two Sachakans watching the village, ready to attack any magicians that might approach, the chances were the four of them wouldn’t survive. Dakon no doubt felt that there was no point in risking Jayan and Tessia’s lives as well as his own and Werrin’s. Perhaps he also wanted to make sure there were no nasty sights for Tessia to stumble upon. Jayan watched as Werrin nudged his horse after Dakon’s and the pair rode up the ridge, then disappeared over the top.

“I’m supposed to stay near, aren’t I?” Tessia asked quietly. “Safer for me and him, or something like that.”

“Perhaps,” Jayan replied, thinking of his nightmare. “But it won’t make any difference if there are Sachakans waiting in ambush.”

She said nothing to that, just sat staring at the ridge.

“I guess we could get off and walk around a bit,” he suggested after a while. “Get our legs working again.”

She looked down at her horse, then smiled grimly at him. “I suspect if I did I’d never manage to get back on again. Dakon would come back to find me lying on the side of the road, my legs no longer working.”

Jayan nodded in agreement. “We should be ready to flee if any Sachakans turn up, too.”

“Well, at least this time I can be sure none of them will want to seduce me.” She ran a hand through the hair that had escaped her braid and grimaced. “I’m filthy, and I have riding sores on top of riding sores.”

He gazed at her wearily, amazed that she was still able to make light of their situation when her home and confirmation of the fate of her parents was a short ride away. She looked back at him and her smile faded, then she looked away.

Embarrassed, he realised. I should say something clever and reassuring. But everything that came to mind sounded trite or likely to give her the impression he was romantically interested in her – which he certainly wanted to avoid.

So he said nothing. The haunted look that had come into her eyes so many times during the ride had returned. Definitely better to say nothing, he decided.

When Dakon and Werrin appeared on the ridge Tessia felt a wave of nausea. Part of her desperately wanted an answer, to be released from the suspense of not knowing the fate of her parents. The other part didn’t want any news, if it were bad news.

The two magicians wore grim expressions. As they slowed to meet her and Jayan, Dakon looked straight at her. His expression was sympathetic. He shook his head.

For a moment she searched for another meaning – something else he might be trying to communicate to her. Then she took a deep breath and forced herself to face the truth. Dakon was not fool enough to make such a gesture and not know how she would read it.

They’re dead, she told herself. Father. Mother. Gone. Just like that. It felt unreal, as had the news of the attack so many days ago. What will it take to make me believe this? Do I even want to?

“The village is safe for us to visit,” Dakon told them. “Locals say the Sachakans headed for the mountains after the attack. Most of the buildings are burned or damaged so I’d advise against entering them in case they collapse. The dead . . .” He paused to draw in and then let out a deep breath. “The dead have been buried. Narvelan’s people did not know how long it would take for us to get here. The few survivors – some children who managed to hide – were able to provide names for the markers.”

They came to the top of the ridge. Tessia hadn’t realised they were moving. In the distance a thin thread of smoke marred the sky.

“Narvelan has returned to his village to evacuate his people,” Dakon continued. “We are to join him once we are finished here. It is possible, despite what we’ve been told, that the Sachakans have returned in stealth to await our return.”

They continued in silence. It was easier for Tessia to concentrate on the tension and fear of the others than think about her parents. She eyed distant clumps of trees or houses, looking for movement or human shapes. Was Takado watching? The leering face flashed through her memory and she felt a rush of fear.

Then she remembered her mistake earlier. Her quip about Sachakans seducing her. Jayan had given her an odd look and she had realised what she had revealed . . . this time I can be sure none of them will want to seduce me. This time. Unlike last time. He must have understood what had prompted her to use magic the first time. Did he think she had encouraged Takado? Did he wonder how far Takado’s “seduction” had gone?

At least I don’t have to worry about Mother and Father finding out.

She felt a wrench inside at the thought. Suddenly all the things they would never find out came to her. They would never see her become a higher magician. Her mother would never attend her wedding – if she ever married. Her father would never hear about her visit to the Healers’ Guild, or the dissection she’d watched. She’d never assist him in healing patients again.

The pain was almost too much to bear. She felt tears threatening and, conscious of the three men riding beside her, swallowed hard and blinked them away. She forced herself to think of something else and ended up worrying about the dangers of visiting the village instead.

Cresting another rise, the magicians reined in their horses. Tessia and Jayan joined them. She looked down at the village and caught her breath.

Dakon had been right. Most of the village was in ruins. Many buildings looked like toys smashed by a giant two-year-old child, and smoke still trailed out of a few of them. Where the Residence had been there was only a large pile of rubble. She searched for her parents’ house. It was hard to make out where among the ruins it had been.

As Dakon nudged his horse into motion again, they followed him down into the valley. Only when she reached the bridge did Tessia realise that Takado had torn it down. They rode down the bank beside the ruined spans, and the horses easily waded through the shallow flow of water. Once they’d climbed the other side a youngster Tessia recognised as one of the metal worker’s older boys emerged from behind a broken wall and jogged up to them.

“Lord Dakon,” he said, bobbing his head respectfully.

“Tiken. Would you show Apprentice Tessia and Apprentice Jayan to the graves,” Dakon asked.

The graves. Tessia felt her stomach sink, and shuddered.

The boy nodded, then looked up at Tessia and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Welcome back, Tess. Follow me.”

Silently, Tessia and Jayan rode behind Tiken as he led them down the main road. Finally Tessia was able to recognise the pile of rubble that had been her home. She paused to stare, searching for some sign of familiar furniture.

“I found your father’s bag,” Tiken said. “And some other things that weren’t broken. Been putting everything that might be valuable or useful where it won’t get rained on.”

She looked at him. “Thank you. I’ll need the bag, and if the other things are cures and tools I should take them too. They might be needed, if there’s another attack.”

Tiken nodded. Jayan was frowning. She indicated that the boy should continue on.

Moving between two buildings with smoke wafting from their windows, Tiken led them out into a small field. Long furrows of disturbed earth bulged from the grass. Each had a short, thick plank of wood protruding from the ground beside it, and names had been roughly carved into the surface.

Jayan cursed under his breath. “So many,” he muttered.

Tessia didn’t look at him. She felt fragile and suddenly resented his presence. Dismounting, she paused to stretch and let her legs recover a little, then walked stiffly towards the graves. So many. Dakon had said only a few children had survived. All the rest were dead. Old Neslie the widow. Jornen the metal worker and his wife. Cannia, the kitchen servant at the Residence. Whole families had perished. Mothers, fathers and children. Young women and men she had grown up with. The frail and weak along with the robust and strong. None of them any threat to Takado, but all a source of a little more magic.

Tiken walked toward one corner of the field. She followed him. As she had expected and dreaded, two of the planks of wood were carved with her parents’ names.

So. It’s true. No denying it now.

“Nothing was done to them beforehand,” the boy told her.

She looked up at him, puzzled by his comment. His expression was grave and his eyes haunted. He looked twice as old as she knew him to be. She shuddered. What has he seen?

“Probably ’cause they were old,” he told her. “And maybe... maybe because your father helped the slave.”

She heard Jayan curse again, but ignored him. In her mind she saw Hanara’s thin face and frightened eyes. She looked at the other graves. “Is he...”

“No. He’s not here.” The boy’s expression darkened. “Never found him.”

She frowned, feeling suspicion like some parasite hatching inside her. The boy believes Hanara betrayed us, she thought. Why would he give up his freedom? No, he would only have turned against the village if he thought he had no other choice.

“What did they do to the others?” Jayan asked quietly behind her.

The boy hesitated. “What Sachakans do,” he answered evasively. Leave it at that, she thought at Jayan. Knowing the details will torment you as much as not knowing them will. I’d rather not know.

Jayan asked again. She moved away, closer to her parents’ grave, hoping to get far enough away to not hear. Kneeling in the dirt, she placed a hand on the soil over her father’s body and let grief come and drown out their voices.

CHAPTER 19

Ishould have run away, Hanara thought. But how could I have known what was going to happen?

Nothing had worked out quite as he’d expected, or as he’d feared. After leaving the stables, the former slave had run across fields and along roads, searching and searching. The signal light had disappeared, but he explored the area it must have shone from... and found nothing. He’d circled the village, looking in all the places he’d seen the signal flash from before, but in vain.

When he finally found Takado, the magician was sitting on a tree stump beside a path, at an intersection Hanara had passed several times in his search. Takado had laughed when Hanara threw himself at his feet. He’d laughed, then read Hanara’s mind. Then he’d laughed again.

Did you not like freedom, then? Takado had asked. Did you miss me? Admit it, you like being my slave. None of this humble shovelling of horse manure for you, Hanara. Deep down, you know you are better than that. You vain little man. You are only loyal to the most powerful master.

Hanara had thought of Tessia, then. Unexpectedly. Was that why Takado had attacked the village? Had he been angry that Hanara thought another – a Kyralian – might be worthy of his loyalty? But Hanara had only thought of her briefly – and not convincingly. All he had done was realise that it was possible he might feel loyalty to her...in another life...if Takado hadn’t already been his master.

When Takado had attacked the village Hanara had been shocked and puzzled. But his master never did anything without a reason. So why had he done it?

Hanara looked up at the men sitting around the fire and felt his empty stomach sour. Ichani. Exiles and outcasts. Company unworthy of his master, who owned land and was a respected ashaki. Some were familiar. All had been Takado’s friends for years. In the beginning none of them had been outcasts. But after the first had found himself homeless after a feud with his brother ended badly, the others slipped out of respectability one by one. Sometimes by their own doing. Sometimes not. Takado had helped them in secret, sending supplies and hiding them from their enemies.

A faint whistle nearby brought all heads up, eyes searching the darkness. Footsteps told where to look. Then magical globes of light weaved into the clearing close to the ground, casting an eerie glow on the undersides of the faces of the men approaching.

Takado. As always, Hanara felt a thrill of both fear and relief. He never felt safe around other Sachakan masters if Takado was not present, yet he also feared Takado. His master had not yet punished him for ignoring the signal for so long. He might yet do so. He might yet have plans to kill Hanara, or send him to his death.

Hanara would have assumed Takado had not killed him because he needed a source slave, if his master hadn’t returned to Kyralia with a new source slave. He looked back at the thin young man waiting by Takado’s tent. Jochara hadn’t said a word to Hanara, but his unfriendly stares made it clear he had not expected to be sharing his role with his predecessor.

As Takado and his two companions joined the ichani, Hanara hurried forward and placed the low wooden stool he’d been holding on the ground. His master sat down, not sparing him a glance.

The Sachakans who had left with Takado to see the ruins of Mandryn were unfamiliar. Like the ichani, they wore knives in jewel-encrusted sheaths on their belt to indicate they were magicians. Their own slaves brought stools for their masters to sit on.

“Well?” Rokino, one of the outcasts, asked. “What did you think, Dachido?”

“Looks like it was an easy target,” the newcomer replied. Kochavo, his companion, nodded in agreement.

All turned to look at Takado, who smiled. “They’re all easy targets. Some easier than others. We could take a quarter of the country for ourselves with no real resistance. No immediate resistance, that is.”

“Could we hold it?” Dachido asked.

“To do so permanently we will have to take the whole country, which I believe we can do, with careful planning.”

Kochavo looked thoughtful. “The whole country. Reconquer Kyralia. If the emperor wished this, he would have done it already.”

Takado nodded. “The emperor believes it is not possible. He is wrong.”

Dachido frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“I have examined Kyralia’s defences for myself,” Takado told him. “They have perhaps a hundred magicians, many of whom have never been trained to fight – except in some silly game they play. Most of the time they bicker with each other, never agreeing on anything. Those who live in the city despise those who live in the leys, who distrust them in return. Their king is young and inexperienced with about as much authority over his people as our emperor has over us. The commoners hate the ruling class and are uncooperative and defiant. Their magicians are only allowed, by law, to take strength from apprentices – and many do not even have those.” He smiled. “They are foolish and weak.”

“Some would say much the same of us,” Dachido said, chuckling. Then he sobered. “You are asking us to defy the emperor’s wishes. He has made it clear he will punish anyone who threatens the peace between Sachaka and its neighbours.”

Takado said nothing. He rose and paced around the fire, frowning, then he stopped before the two newcomers.

“The emperor knows that Sachaka may face civil war. Better the landless and disinherited unite to gain new land than fight over the old. If we win enough support, and demonstrate that victory is possible, Emperor Vochira will be forced to endorse a conquest of Kyralia. He may even join us.”

“More likely he’ll send someone to kill us,” Dachido said darkly.

“Only if there are too few of us. The more of us he has to kill, the more allies he has to apologise to and compensate, and the weaker he will appear.” Takado’s teeth flashed in the light of the fire. “Some will join us without much urging, because they have nothing better to do, or love a good fight. Others will join us once they hear how much support we have gained. Even more will come when we have a few victories to our name. Still more will want some of the prizes – land, wealth, fame, power.”

Dachido frowned. He was older than the other outcasts, Hanara saw. His eyes were not afire with excitement at the thought of real battles, of conquest or power. The suggestion they defy the emperor clearly worried him.

The man looked down at the fire and sighed. “I am not the only one who believes Sachaka is in danger of turning on itself,” he said heavily. “Whether we act or not, we face conflict within. This... this may be what we need to minimise that.”

“You see now why I, an ashaki, propose this?” Takado asked quietly. “Not for land or wealth; I have my own. I am no outcast, though I am not ashamed to fight with outcasts.”

Dachido nodded. “You have everything to lose.”

“I do this not just for my friends,” Takado gestured to the two ichani. “But for all Sachaka.”

“I see that now,” Dachido acknowledged. “Kochavo and I will talk.” He looked up at Takado. “We will give you our decision tomorrow morning.”

Takado nodded, then glanced at Hanara. “Then let me offer you a cup of raka to refresh your bodies and minds.”

Even before he had finished speaking, Hanara was hurrying towards Takado’s pack. But then he skidded to a halt. Another was there already. Jochara held the raka powder. With a smug gleam in his eyes, the young man hurried to serve the visitors. Takado said nothing, not caring who served him so long as his needs were fulfilled.

Hanara watched the other slave. The man was young, lithe and unhampered by the stiffness of healed muscles and scars. He was also a source slave, judging by the scars on his palms, but too old to be one of Hanara’s progeny.

Hanara watched and felt worry and resentment stir inside him.

The ride to meet Narvelan seemed to take the whole night. The only light they had was the moon, which kept retreating behind clouds, and a tiny dim globe light created by Lord Werrin that hovered over the ground in front of them. When lights abruptly appeared ahead the relief that swept through Tessia was so powerful she felt tears spring into her eyes. She blinked them away, annoyed at herself. There were more appropriate things to cry about than the prospect of food, sleep and finally getting off a horse.

The lights were held by four men on horseback. One rode forward and held his light high.

“Lord Dakon,” he said.

“Yes,” Dakon replied. “This is Lord Werrin, Apprentice Jayan and Apprentice Tessia.”

“Lord Narvelan told us to wait here for you. I am to escort you to the camp.”

“Thank you.”

Their guide led them off the road into a forest. After several paces of ducking branches and weaving through undergrowth, they came upon a track and began following it.

Time stretched out, slowed by anticipation.

Then, without warning, they entered a clearing. Small fires ringed a knot of makeshift tents. Well-laden carts rested among the tents and animals grazed, tethered to stakes or within rope-and-stake fences around the grassy area. At the edges of the clearing stood men and women, staring into the forest in all directions. Keeping watch, Tessia guessed. Nobody looked surprised to see Lord Dakon.

A tall shadow emerged from a tent and hurried towards them.

“Lord Dakon.” Narvelan’s voice was so strained it took a moment for Tessia to recognise it. As his face came into the light she saw unhidden grief and guilt. “I am so sorry. I came as soon as I could, but it was already too late.”

Dakon swung down from his saddle. “You did everything you could, my friend. Do not apologise when the fault is not yours. If anything, it is mine for not seeing the danger and making better preparations.”

“We were aware of the threat long before I recruited you. We should have posted a watch on the pass. We should—”

“And you would have, had you known this would happen,” Dakon said firmly. “You didn’t. Don’t waste your energy and clever mind on regret. We cannot change the past. But we can learn from it – something I suspect we will have to do quickly.” He turned to Werrin, who dismounted as Dakon introduced him.

Watching Narvelan, Tessia was wearily impressed with the young magician. He clearly felt badly about the fate of Mandryn. She quietly absorbed the implications in Dakon’s heartfelt reply. Dakon had called him my friend. What else had he said? . . . your energy and clever mind. And Narvelan had said before I recruited you.

So Narvelan had been the one to draw Dakon into the Circle of Friends. And he was smart. She filed away these bits of information for consideration when she wasn’t so tired, and forced her aching body to dismount, and then stay upright.

“You don’t have an apprentice, do you?” Werrin asked Narvelan.

“No,” Narvelan replied. “I’ll have to do something about that.”

Tessia noted the reluctance in the young magician’s face and wondered at it. The magicians’ conversation was interrupted as a young man rode out of the trees and approached them.

“Lord Narvelan,” he said, stopping close to the magician.

Narvelan turned to face the young man. “Yes, Rovin? Did you find them?”

“Dek did. He spotted three of them heading north and followed. Lost them in the High Valley forest. They were on foot and not carrying supplies, so he reckons they’re camping up there somewhere.”

“Has Hannel returned?”

“No, but . . .” the young man paused to grimace, “Dek found Garrell’s body. No deep wounds on him, just the sort of cuts you said to look for.”

Narvelan nodded, his expression grim. “I will tell his family. Anything else?”

The young man shook his head.

“Go and get some rest then. And thank you.”

Rovin’s shoulders rose briefly, then he steered his horse away. Narvelan sighed.

“Not the first scout they’ve killed,” he told them. “Now, would you like some food? We’ve packed as light as possible, but there’s plenty of fare that won’t travel well that we may as well use up.”

“That would be much appreciated. We haven’t eaten since morning,” Dakon told him.

At Narvelan’s orders, two men from the camp emerged to take care of the horses. Tessia warned the man who took hers to handle her father’s bag carefully and not let it tip over. Then she followed the magicians to where blankets had been spread out in front of one of the fires. Cold, charred meat, slightly stale bread and fresh vegetables were brought out for them – a simple but welcome meal. Tessia felt her attention slipping as the magicians talked – Dakon about the journey and how the metal worker’s boy refused to leave Mandryn, Narvelan about what he had and hadn’t brought in the carts and how he’d had to be firm with the villagers about what and how many possessions to take.

Her thoughts slipped to a memory of two graves. I didn’t even get to see them dead, she thought. Not that it would have been pleasant. It’s just... the last time I saw them they were healthy and alive. It’s so hard to accept that they’re—

“I know what you’re feeling.”

Tessia blinked in surprise and turned to see Jayan watching her. His expression was serious and earnest.

“Just...if you need to talk about it,” he told her.

Then he smiled, and she felt a sudden and unexpected anger. Of all people, why would she ever talk to him about something so...so... He’d only laugh at her weak nature, or use it against her later. She wasn’t sure how. Maybe he’d consider it a favour she had to repay.

“You don’t know how I feel,” she found herself saying. “How could you know? Were your parents murdered?”

He flinched, then he frowned and she saw a flash of anger in his eyes. “No. But my mother died because my father would not let her see a healer, and wouldn’t pay for any cures she needed. Does your father letting your mother die count?”

She stared at him and felt all her anger drain away, leaving a nasty feeling of shame and horror.

“Oh.” She shook her head. “Sorry.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. They both looked away. An awkward silence followed, then Narvelan asked if they minded sleeping by the fire. All the tents were occupied and at least the magically gifted had the ability to create a shield to shelter themselves if it rained. Dakon assured him they didn’t mind.

Soon Tessia was trussed up in blankets on the hard ground, staring up at the stars and wryly wondering how she had managed to make herself feel even worse than before. Shame at what she’d said to Jayan overlaid the constant ache of grief.

His father let his mother die for want of a healer? she thought. Is that why he disapproves of my wanting to be a healer? But surely such a tragedy would have the opposite effect.

Clouds flowed across the moon, and darkness closed in round the fires. He was trying to be nice. Maybe I shouldn’t be suspicious of him all the time, but how am I supposed to know when he’s being friendly? She grimaced as she remembered his explanation. His mother died and it was his father’s fault.

He might still have a father, but he did lose both his parents that day.

CHAPTER 20

Exhaustion’s blessing was that it brought a sleep that Tessia did not wake from, despite grief, shame and fear, until long after the sun had risen. The stirring of the camp roused her, and she threw herself into helping Narvelan’s people pack and prepare for the day’s journey. They were travelling, Dakon told her and Jayan, to a village in Narvelan’s ley that was notoriously hard to find even by those invited to it. Small and unimportant, it was unlikely to be considered a strategic target by Takado and his allies – if they even knew it existed – unless they realised it was being used as a meeting place. There, other Circle magicians would join Narvelan, Dakon and Werrin to discuss what they should do next.

The journey was made after dusk the next night, with shadowy figures emerging at intervals to assure the magicians the way ahead was safe. All remained in as close a state to silence as a lot of creaky old carts, harassed domestic animals, and the occasionally fretful baby would allow.

The villagers were mainly strangers to Tessia, but in the darkness the impression that she was surrounded by the people of Mandryn kept sneaking into Tessia’s thoughts. The grumble of an old woman, the laugh of two young boys who’d forgotten the order of silence, the stern reproach of their mother – all reminded her of the people she had grown up among. People who were now dead, but for a few.

Other than Tiken, the metal worker’s boy, who had remained in Mandryn, the survivors had joined Narvelan’s people. They now included one of the young stable workers, Ullan, who had run away when Takado had begun attacking villagers, and a few of the children who had hidden themselves successfully. Salia, the baker’s daughter, had been visiting a sister on one of the farms. She was doubly lucky, because Takado and his allies had killed many of the surrounding farmers and their families after attacking the village.

Tessia glanced back and located Salia walking beside a cart laden with barrels and sacks. At once the young woman dropped her gaze to the ground, biting her lip. She looked guilty, but that didn’t make any sense. Even if Salia had been in the village, she couldn’t have prevented what happened. Ullan, in contrast, did not seem at all bothered about having run away.

Why should he? Tessia thought. He would have died too, if he’d stayed. If he hadn’t taken a horse and ridden to tell Narvelan, it would have taken longer for news of the attack to have reached us.

He was scathing in his assessment of Hanara, though, saying the man had run off to join his master. But nobody had seen Hanara return to the village with Takado, so Tessia suspected he’d done no worse than the stable boy had – fled to save himself. She wondered where he was now. With news of a Sachakan attack spreading it was unlikely anyone would take him in.

They had been climbing a gentle slope, but now the ground levelled and abruptly descended again. Dakon looked at Tessia and smiled.

“Nearly there,” he murmured.

The words were picked up by someone close behind, and relayed in a whisper back through those following. A scraping sound disturbed the night as cart drivers were forced to lower brakes to counter the steepness of the road. Tessia found herself leaning back in the saddle, her back resting against the solid shape of her father’s bag strapped securely behind her.

The slope levelled off as abruptly as it had turned steep, and the trees on either side retreated to reveal a handful of small houses, windows glowing with welcoming light. Men and women carrying lamps stood waiting to greet them. Tessia heard sighs and murmurs of relief all around.

Some of Narvelan’s people had ridden ahead to inform the village of their impending arrival, and help the villagers to prepare. Quietly and efficiently, the visitors were divided up among the houses, which were filled with makeshift beds. Animals were penned. Carts were taken into the shelter of stables.

The magicians and apprentices were taken in by the village master, Crannin, who owned a house not much bigger than Tessia’s childhood home. After a hearty but simple meal everyone retired to bed. Crannin and his wife, Nivia, gave up their bedroom for the magicians. The village master and Jayan slept on the floor of the seating room, while Tessia and the man’s wife shared the children’s bedroom. She saw no sign of the children. Perhaps they were being cared for by a neighbour.

Though tired, Tessia did not fall asleep for a long time. She lay awake listening to the breathing of the woman sleeping nearby and thinking about all that had happened since she had visited Dakon’s Residence on her own and unwittingly used magic to fend off Takado.

If she hadn’t slipped away, hoping to impress her father, would she have discovered her ability anyway? Lord Dakon believed so. But maybe it wouldn’t have happened until much later. Maybe she would have still been in the village when Takado attacked. Maybe she would be dead.

And from Tiken’s description, probably taken and used by Takado or one of his allies beforehand. But I guess it’s likely I’d have reacted the same way, and used magic to defend myself. Only he wouldn’t have left me alive after using magic against him, and I’d have been too weak and unschooled to save myself.

If she hadn’t discovered her magic when she had, it was likely she would be dead now along with her parents. Everyone would be dead anyway, whether she had stayed behind when Dakon left for the city or not.

Then she considered what might have happened if Dakon hadn’t left. Tiken hadn’t been sure how many magicians had attacked Mandryn, but there had been more than Takado. He’d run away to hide after seeing only two of them, but he was sure there had been more than that.

Dakon was just one magician. Two Sachakan magicians could have defeated him easily, if they’d prepared themselves by storing lots of power from their slaves. Once he was dead Takado and his allies would have gone on to slaughter the villagers anyway. She and her family would still be dead.

She had to be thankful, though bitterly, that the attack had occurred while she was away. No other scenario she could think of would have allowed her to survive the attack. And no scenario could have saved her parents.

Unless, of course, Lord Dakon and a few other magicians had learned of the attack in time to prepare a defence against it. But there was no point imagining that scenario. Nobody could see into the future. Not even magicians.

Once she fell asleep she slept deeply, and when she woke Crannin’s wife was gone and the smell of cooking filled the house. A dim light suggested early morning. Her stomach grumbled. A basin of water lay on the floor a few steps away, and a clean dress, and she felt a surge of relief and gratitude. Washed and draped in the oversized dress, she bound her hair back and followed the cooking smells to the kitchen.

She found Nivia there assisting a servant to prepare a meal. The pair wouldn’t let her help them, but asked questions about what had happened in Mandryn. Tessia skipped over the more gruesome details, instead telling of Narvelan’s mental call, the subsequent gruelling ride, and the state of the village when they got there.

“What do you think the magicians’ll do?” the servant woman asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” Tessia admitted. “Kill the Sachakans, most likely. I guess they have to find them, and there’ll be a fight.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Will you be fighting?”

Tessia considered. “Not exactly, but I’ll probably be there. Lord Dakon is bound to be fighting, and he’ll need Jayan and me to add to his strength. We can’t let ourselves be separated from—”

She stopped as she heard a shout outside. Nivia dropped the knife she had been chopping vegetables with, wiped her hands and hurried out of the room. Tessia followed her to the front door. The woman opened it a crack and peered outside, then pulled it wide open and stepped outside. Tessia could now see several men on horseback entering the village. Kyralians, from the look of them. And by their clothing and manner she guessed these were the magicians come to help them.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor behind them, then Dakon, Werrin and Narvelan pushed past Tessia and Nivia, stepped outside and strode towards the newcomers.

“They’re here, are they?”

Tessia turned to see Jayan emerging from the seating room, running hands through dishevelled hair. He grimaced and began to rub a shoulder.

“I expect so,” Tessia replied. “Do you recognise them?”

She stepped back as he moved to the door.

“Ah. Lord Prinan, Lord Bolvin, Lord Ardalen and Lord Sudin. And their apprentices, by the looks of it. And a servant each.”

Peering over his shoulder, she saw the men dismount. The more plainly dressed riders immediately took hold of the horses’ leads. The young men hung back as their masters greeted Dakon, Werrin and Narvelan.

“Well, shall we meet our new allies?” Jayan asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped outside and strolled towards the group.

Tessia reluctantly followed. Suddenly she was all too aware how different she was. A woman among all these men. A natural from a humble background among rich young men chosen from powerful families. A beginner among the well trained. It was too easy to imagine them all being like Jayan.

The magicians barely glanced at her and Jayan, but the apprentices eyed Jayan with interest. A few gave her a puzzled look, then seemed to dismiss her. It was not until the magicians had finished their greetings that Dakon paused to introduce her and Jayan. All looked at her in surprise.

Belatedly she realised the oversized dress Nivia had laid out for her would have given them the impression she was one of the villagers. The woman is hardly able to offer up the sort of rich, elaborate clothing that city women prefer. Tessia straightened her shoulders and replied with as much dignity as she could muster, hoping nobody could see how embarrassed and self-conscious she suddenly felt.

Crannin had emerged from his house now, and invited the magicians to eat with him as they discussed plans. He apologised that there was no room for the apprentices now there were so many here, but a table and food would be brought outside as soon as possible.

So once again I’m left out of the important discussions, Tessia thought wryly, but this time at least I’m not the only one.

As the magicians disappeared inside Crannin’s house, the apprentices hovered by the front door, eyeing each other and saying nothing. They looked exhausted. Tessia guessed they had ridden here as quickly, or near to it, as Dakon had to reach Mandryn.

After a few minutes some men from the village emerged from another house and brought benches and tables out of a stable. They washed them down then threw cloths over them. Women emerged from Crannin’s house carrying food and wine and laid out a small feast. The apprentices sat down to eat and soon quiet conversations began among them. They directed all their questions about Mandryn and the Sachakans at Jayan, but Tessia was happy to stay silent and let him deal with them. To her surprise, he was less descriptive than she had been when telling the village women about the attack.

“I don’t think we should tell anyone too much,” he murmured to her after a while. “I’m not sure how much Dakon wants people to know.”

Tessia felt a pang of worry. Had she told Nivia anything she shouldn’t have?

“Like what?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, a little irritably, turning to face one of the villagers as the man approached. She realised the man was looking at her.

“Apprentice Tessia. Forgive me if this is too bold,” the man said. He paused, then hurried on. “You carry a healer’s bag.”

“Yes,” she said when he didn’t continue. “How do you know that?”

“I’m sorry. I thought it smelled of cures so I had a look inside. Who does it belong to?”

“My father,” she answered. “Or it did. He...he was Mandryn’s healer.”

The man’s face fell. “Oh. I am sorry. I had hoped... sorry.”

As he began to back away she reached out towards him. “Wait. You don’t have a healer here, do you?”

The man shook his head, his expression grim.

“Is someone ill?”

He frowned. “Yes. My wife. She...she...”

“I was my father’s assistant,” she told him. “I may not be able to do anything, but I can have a look.”

He smiled. “Thank you. I’ll take you to her. And have someone bring your bag. “

To Tessia’s surprise Jayan stood up and followed her. When they were out of the hearing of the other apprentices he caught her arm.

“What are you doing?” he said quietly. “You’re not a healer.”

She turned to stare at him. “So? I might still be able to help.”

“What if Dakon calls for you? You’re an apprentice now, Tessia. It’s not...not...”

“Not...?

He grimaced. “You can’t go off playing healer whenever you want to. It’s not... appropriate.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What’s more or less ‘appropriate’, Jayan: letting someone sick or in pain stay that way – or perhaps even die – because you’re worried about what the other apprentices or their masters might think, or sitting around being a useless waste of space and food?”

He stared back at her, his expression intense and searching. Then his shoulders sagged.

“All right. But I’m coming with you.”

She bit back a protest, then sighed and hurried after the man whose wife was ill. Let Jayan see the woman he would have abandoned to whatever ailment she suffered, for the sake of being “appropriate”. Let him see that there was more to healing than being able to call a person a “healer”. Let him see that the skill and knowledge she had was valuable, and know it shouldn’t be wasted.

She grimaced. I had better be able to help this woman, or I won’t be letting him see much at all.

The house the man led them to was at the edge of the village. Their guide only paused once to ask a boy to fetch her father’s bag. Once in the house, he led them up the stairs to a bedroom, where a woman was dozing on the bed.

That the woman was ill was undeniable. She was so thin the skin of her shoulders, neck and face was stretched over her bones. Her mouth was open and as Tessia entered she quickly and self-consciously wiped away a line of drool.

Tessia moved to the side of the bed and smiled down at the woman.

“Hello. I’m Tessia,” she said. “My father was a healer and I was his assistant most of my life. What’s your name?”

“Paowa,” the man said. “She can’t talk easily.”

The woman’s eyes were wide with fear, but she managed a faint smile and nod in response.

“Let me have a look then,” Tessia said.

The woman opened her mouth. At once Tessia felt a shiver of sympathetic horror. A growth filled one side of her mouth.

“Ah,” Tessia said. “I’ve seen this before, though most often in men. It hurts when you eat, or even smell food, right?”

The woman nodded.

“Do you chew or smoke leaves?”

The woman looked at her husband.

“She used to chew dunda until this stopped her,” he said. “Her family were hunters a generation back, and they kept some of the mountain ways.”

Tessia nodded. “It’s a hard habit to break, I’ve heard. This is called ‘hunter-mouth’. I can cut out the lump and stitch you up, but you have to promise me two things.”

The woman nodded eagerly.

“Use the mouthwash I give you. It tastes utterly foul and dries you out so much you’ll swear you’ll never have any spit ever again, but it’ll stop the cut fouling.”

“She will,” her husband said, smiling. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tessia nodded. “And stop chewing dunda. It’ll kill you.”

A glint of rebellion entered the woman’s gaze, but Tessia stared back, keeping her expression serious, and after a moment it faded.

“I’ll make sure of that, too,” her husband said softly.

“Now, let me see how much there is.” Tessia gently probed inside the woman’s mouth. Lumps like this had been treated by her father before. While removing them was usually successful, some of the patients sickened and died within a year or two. Others lived to old age. Her father had a theory that this was related to how strongly the lump had “stuck” to the flesh around it.

This one felt loose, like a large, slightly squishy stone inserted under the skin. Promising. Tessia removed her fingers and wiped them on a cloth that the woman’s husband offered her. She considered briefly whether she should attempt to cut the lump out.

As Jayan said, I’m not a healer. But I’ve seen this done. I know how to do it. It won’t be long before the lump grows so large she’ll either starve to death or suffocate. I have all the equipment... well, except the head brace. Her father used a brace he’d devised and had the metal worker make for him to hold open the mouth of patients when working on teeth and such. It prevented them from biting him out of pain or panic.

A knock at the door took the husband away, and he returned a moment later with her father’s bag. She asked him to clear the table beside the bed and, while he did so, performed her father’s routine check of a patient’s heart and breathing rhythms. When the space was clear she opened the bag and began to remove tools, salves and a calming tonic.

“Take this first,” Tessia told the woman, giving her the tonic. “I need you to lie on your side. Right on the edge of the bed. Arrange pillows behind you and under your head. Any blood and spit will drain out, so you’ll want to protect the bed with cloths and put a basin underneath.” The couple obeyed her instructions without question, which for some reason made her less certain of herself. They were relying on her. What if she got it wrong?

Don’t think about that. Just act.

Remembering her father’s advice about involving family members, she instructed the husband to rub a numbing salve inside and outside the woman’s cheek. This had the added benefit of making sure Tessia’s own hands weren’t affected by it.

She took several blades out and checked their sharpness, but as she began to remove the burner she heard Paowa whimper. Looking up, she realised the woman’s breathing had suddenly become rapid. Paowa’s eyes were on the blades. Tessia felt a pang of sympathy.

“It’s going to be fine,” she told the woman. “It will hurt. I’m not going to lie about that. But the salve helps and I’ll work as quickly as I can. It will be done and over with soon, and all you’ll have is a cut in your mouth all stitched up neatly.”

The woman’s breathing slowed a little. Her husband sat on the bed behind her and began rubbing her shoulders. Tessia took a deep breath, picked a blade and realised she hadn’t yet seared any of them.

And realised if she delayed much longer fear would overtake the woman’s reason.

No problem, she thought, and with a slight flexing of her will she seared the blade she was holding with magic. Then she set to work.

It was not easy, but nothing unexpected or disastrous happened either. After half an hour she had coaxed out the lump, sewn up the cut and applied a protective paste. Then she checked the woman’s rhythms again and pronounced her work a success. As the woman rolled onto her back, exhausted from pain and fear, Tessia rose and swayed, suddenly dizzy with weariness.

“Sit down.”

She blinked in surprise at Jayan’s voice, having forgotten he was there. He was offering a small wooden stool. Gratefully, she sat down and immediately her head cleared. Drawing her father’s bag closer, she rummaged inside and drew out a familiar wound cleanser.

“Have you a small clean jar with a lid?” she asked the husband. “And a bowl of clean water?”

The man produced the items, and she set about ensuring the jar was clean by steeping it in water she set boiling with magic.

The man watched calmly without comment, as if water boiling by itself was an ordinary and regular occurrence.

Into a measure of water she counted drops of the cleanser. As she gave it to the man she instructed him how it should be used, and when he should cut and remove the stitches. He drew out a pouch and she heard the sound of coins clinking.

“No, you don’t need to pay me,” she told him.

“But how else can I repay you?” he asked.

“Your whole village is feeding and accommodating us. That’s got to be cutting into everyone’s food stores and stock. My master would not approve of me taking money for this, either.”

He reluctantly pocketed the pouch again. “Then I’ll make sure you two have one of my fattest rassook each for dinner,” he said, smiling.

“Now that I could not easily refuse,” she replied, smiling ruefully. “We’d best get back in case our master needs us.” She looked down at Paowa. The woman was asleep, her mouth closed and face relaxed. “And remember, no more dunda.”

“I will. Whether she does . . .” He shrugged. “I’ll do what I can to help her stop.”

They walked in a weary, comfortable silence back towards where the apprentices were waiting. From the shadows cast by the trees, she guessed only a few hours had passed. Paowa’s husband left, at her request, to take her father’s bag to Crannin’s house instead of the stables. Next time someone took a peek inside they might not be as sensible or respectful of the contents.

As they came in sight of the apprentices she realised Jayan was watching her, and glanced at him. He was looking at her with a quizzical expression.

“What?” she asked.

“I, ah, I’m impressed,” he said, his face reddening. “What you did back there... I’d have given her up for dead.”

She felt her own face warming. He was acknowledging her skill as she had wanted, but for some reason it didn’t feel triumphant. Just... embarrassing.

“It just looked impressive,” she told him, looking away. “But it was simple, really. Routine work.”

“Ah,” he said, in a tone that was too accepting.

No, it wasn’t simple! she wanted to say. I don’t know why I said that! But his attention had moved away, to the apprentices, and even if she could think of a way to correct herself without sounding a fool it was too late to try.

The last rays of sun tinged the highest leaves of the forest when the magicians emerged from Crannin’s house. A feast began, served on makeshift tables outdoors and lit by numerous torches and lamps. When Tessia and Jayan were served a large, fat rassook each, Jayan had smugly commented that Tessia certainly had a way with villagers and he would not be surprised if she could charm pickpockets into putting money into her wallet.

Only after the meal was done did Dakon find a moment in private to talk to his apprentices. He led them away from the main table, walking down to the end of the village, then turning back. From there the sight and sound of laughing and drinking gave the impression of a festival day. It only made the ache and guilt at the loss of Mandryn harder to bear. He turned to Tessia and Jayan. Both looked tired despite not having spent the day in the saddle.

“So what can you tell us?” Jayan asked, the tension in his voice obvious despite the quiet pitch.

Dakon sighed. How much can I tell them? The magicians had agreed that secrecy was necessary for their plans to work, but from what some had said it was clear they intended to let their apprentices know at least the general gist. Dakon too did not think it fair or wise to drag apprentices into danger without their knowledge.

“We’re going to rebuild Mandryn,” he said.

Two pairs of eyebrows rose.

“But . . .” Jayan paused to glance at Tessia. “But who is going to live there? Nearly everyone is dead.”

“People will come from other parts of the ley, or other leys, once it is known that there is no further danger. And we will eventually need a place to live.”

“Eventually,” Jayan echoed. “And in the meantime?”

“We deal with the Sachakans.” Dakon shrugged. “Which involves finding them, of course, then driving them out of Kyralia and making sure, by placing a watch on the mountain passes, that they do not return.”

“Drive them out?” Tessia looked surprised. “Not kill them?”

He looked at her, wondering if she was disappointed or angry. If she wanted revenge. She stared back, her expression growing uncertain.

“No, not killing them unless they force us to,” Dakon answered. “Werrin says the king fears doing so will stir up more support for Takado. Even if it didn’t, relations of those we kill may seek revenge. And we will be obliged to seek justice for further deaths. It could begin a cycle of vengeance – them retaliating for what we do in retaliation for what Takado and his allies have done.” He grimaced. “A cycle like that could start a war.”

His two apprentices nodded in what he hoped was understanding.

What would I prefer? he asked himself. Would I risk war for the sake of avenging the loss of Mandryn? Oh, I want justice for the deaths of my people, for the ruin of the home I grew up in. The thought of the rare, irreplaceable books that had burned stung, but not as much as the thought of the ordinary men, women and children who had been tormented and slaughtered while he was absent. Servants he had known so long they were more like family. People who had known and loved his father. Such a cowardly act, to wait until I was gone. Or did Takado not realise I wasn’t there? Well, I’m sure the king wouldn’t have been so reluctant for us to kill any Sachakans if a member of one of Kyralia’s powerful families had been murdered. That would have been an act of war.

Dakon understood the king’s caution, however. Sachakans would most likely be amused if Kyralians caught a few of their misbehaving ichani and threw them out of the country. But if Kyralians dared to kill Sachakans for merely attacking one little village and slaughtering a few commoners, the Sachakans might decide the empire needed to put their neighbour back in its place.

And if the Sachakan emperor’s grip on his own people was as weak as it was rumoured to be, he would not be able to stop them.

PART THREE

CHAPTER 21

The sun warmed Stara’s back as the wagon climbed the shoulder of the hill. As the horses hauling the heavily laden vehicle reached the top of the rise, the view beyond was revealed, and the young woman caught her breath.

A great city fanned out over the land before her. At the limit of its spread was the coast, and the dark sea lay beyond. The apex of the fan was the mouth of a river. The buildings and roads that radiated from that point were linked by the concentric curves of connecting thoroughfares.

Arvice. She smiled. The largest city ever built. I’m home at last.

She had waited fifteen years for this. Fifteen long years since her father had taken her and her mother to Elyne and left them there. Now, at last, he had sent for her, as he had promised so long ago.

As the line of wagons continued down the other side of the rise it moved into shadow. She shivered and drew her shawl up around her shoulders. For fifteen years of her life the sun had set over water, painting the city of Elyne gold and red. Now if she wanted to see a spectacular meeting of sun and water she would have to wake early enough to catch the dawn.

It feels like I’ve travelled from one side of the world to the other.

The climate was similar in Elyne and southern Sachaka, however. She almost wished it wasn’t. The same kinds of plants fed the same kinds of animals. The same types of trees bore the same kinds of fruit stolen by the same kinds of birds. The same views of fertile farmland surrounded her. Only occasionally did she notice something unfamiliar and exotic – an unknown bird, or a strange tree.

The mountains had been more exciting and interesting, with their cold stone precipices, towering spires, and trees that sprang stunted and twisted from impossibly steep inclines. The wind had sung with the voice of a demented, ageless woman and the air had been crisp and clean.

Once or twice the wagon drivers had spotted distant figures on unfeasibly high paths above. Ichani, they said. They had assured her there was little chance they’d be robbed. The ichani had no use for the dyestuff her father traded, and even if they had been tempted to steal it to sell, the pottery jugs it was transported in were too heavy and fragile to be worth carrying along those precarious mountain tracks. They knew there’d be no money on the wagon, and minimal food.

The wagoners had given Stara men’s clothing to wear, however. A woman of her beauty was worth stealing, they told her, using flattery to persuade her to co-operate.

They hadn’t needed to flatter her. She had liked dressing in the trousers and shift. Not only were they more practical than the dresses she usually wore, but she felt almost as if she was actually working for her father already as she helped the men with the lighter duties to enhance her disguise – much to their amusement.

She doubted her father would give her this sort of work to do when she arrived in Arvice, though. As the daughter of a Sachakan ashaki, she would be set to more dignified tasks. Like making trade deals and entertaining clients. Or overseeing the dye-making process and ensuring orders were filled and delivered.

She was well trained for the responsibility. Her mother had performed such work in Elyne for years, and included her daughter in every part of the process. Stara had hated it at first, but one day it had occurred to her that her father might want her back sooner if she was useful to have around, and from then on she had dedicated herself to learning everything she could about his trade.

Stara smiled to herself as she imagined listing her skills to her father.

I can read and write, do sums and accounts. I know how to talk a client into paying twice what he meant to, and be happy to. I know where all the dyes are made, and how, which minerals set them and what kinds of cloth take them best. I’ve learned the names of all the important families in Elyne and Sachaka, and their alliances. And most useful of all...I can...I have...

She felt her heart skip. Even in her mind it was hard to imagine telling him her greatest secret. One she had never even told her mother.

A few years after arriving in Capia, Stara had befriended the daughter of one of her mother’s friends. Nimelle had just been apprenticed to a magician, and was disappointed to find how few other girl apprentices there were. The girl had tested Stara for magical ability and found plenty. But when Stara had asked her mother what she would do if her daughter had magical ability the woman’s answer was firm and unhesitating.

I need you here with me, Stara. If you became a magician’s apprentice you’d have to live with your master for many years. Do you want to be separated from your mother as well as your father?”

Stara could not bring herself to abandon her mother. When Nimelle had heard this, she had called it a “waste’. She offered to set loose Stara’s magical ability herself, and teach her the basics – but she must keep it a secret. Stara had eagerly agreed. Since then Stara had taught herself to use her magic, borrowing Nimelle’s books and practising with her friend.

I’m going to miss Nimelle, she thought. She was the only person who never treated me differently for being half Sachakan.

They’d both blinked away tears at their last meeting. But Stara suspected Nimelle would be too busy to miss their friendship soon. Granted her independence as a higher magician last summer, Nimelle had married in the autumn and was now expecting her first child.

I’ll be too busy helping Father to pine for her, either, she told herself firmly. We have both started new lives. Yet she was already looking forward to Nimelle’s first letter.

The wagon was now travelling along a long, flat road shrouded in the gloom of dusk. Now and then walled enclosures appeared, bringing back memories of the typical Sachakan mansions, with their endless sprawl of curved walls coated in white render.

She also noticed the slaves working in the fields. She felt slightly discomforted whenever she saw them. Too many years in Elyne had taught her an aversion to slavery, yet she could also remember adoring the slaves who had looked after and indulged her as a child.

I’m sure life is a lot better for a house slave than a field slave, she told herself. But as Mother said, “slavery is slavery’. She had hated it, and Stara knew it was part of the reason her parents had parted and her mother had returned to Elyne.

There were other reasons, Stara knew. Some she had been told, some she had worked out herself. Her mother had run away from her family in order to marry the man she loved, then discovered that he was a different person at home from the one he’d been in Elyne. He needed to be, she had explained to Stara. You have to be tough and cruel to survive Sachakan politics and make slaves obey you. Yet she couldn’t bear to see the effect it had on him. Eventually he had allowed her to return to Elyne. A harder man would have made her stay, she had admitted. Or kept both of their children.

The man who visited them every year had always been the same: loving and generous. Stara had watched him carefully, looking for some hidden monster, but never saw it.

Perhaps because he never had to whip a slave when he was in Elyne.

Her brother, Ikaro, had visited Elyne a few times. Younger than Stara by three years, he had always been reserved to the point of being rude. She had admitted to her mother years before that she was jealous of him for being the one who stayed behind, but also felt sorry for him for growing up without his mother. But when she had expressed the latter to him during one visit, he’d sneeringly told her it didn’t matter as much for a man to grow up without women around, as they weren’t as important as men.

She lost a lot of respect for him that day. The expectation that he would feel the same way about her as he did about other women, especially in regard to her value in the trade, soured the anticipation and excitement of finally reaching her destination. But she was determined not to let him spoil her new life.

The fields between the mansions on either side had been shrinking, and now they disappeared entirely, to be replaced by unending walls broken by the occasional broad alleyway. The wagoners’ cheerful whistling had stopped and their expressions were alert and unsmiling. Slaves hurried back and forth along the road, their eyes downcast. The only light now came from the wagoners’ lamps and those carried by slaves, or the glow of hidden light sources on the other sides of the walls. Stara felt both excitement and disappointment as she realised they had entered the city, and it wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Unlike Capia, Elyne’s capital, the buildings didn’t spread themselves around a great harbour in a glittering display. Instead they hid behind walls in an unending, secretive sprawl.

The wagon slowed as they approached a large wooden gate and Stara’s heart skipped a beat as she realised this must be her father’s mansion. The vehicle stopped and the head wagoner called out. No answer came, but there was a clunk, and then the gates began to swing open, revealing a wide paved courtyard lit by several lamps. The walls around her were white, broken only by doors and the ends of dark wooden beams. Stara’s heart was beating fast. As the wagon moved inside her eyes searched the courtyard for her father, but all the people she saw were strangers.

When the vehicle stopped they threw themselves to the ground. Looking around, she realised that all their heads bowed toward her, and all their feet pointed away, so that bodies radiated away from her in all directions.

Slaves, she thought. Do they always do this? What should I do now? She looked towards the house. No familiar paternal figure appeared. Sagging back in her seat, feeling a little confused and disappointed, she waited to see what would happen next.

“Nobody is going to tell you what to do, mistress,” a voice murmured close by. She glanced down to see a wagoner leaning up against the vehicle, his attention apparently elsewhere. “You give the orders now.”

Understanding came in a rush. Nobody was going to tell her where her father was unless she asked. Nobody would even get up. In Elyne a woman was supposed to wait until she was met by her host – or a senior servant at the least – before alighting from a wagon. This was not Elyne. Here she was not a guest, but part of the family that ruled the estate.

“Go back to what you were doing,” she called out.

The slaves slowly rose from the ground and resumed their tasks, but with a deliberate caution. She noticed that one, a man in a red cap, was ordering some of them about. Rising, she climbed down off the wagon with as much dignity as she could manage. She turned to the man in the red cap.

“I wish to see my father, if he is at home.”

He bowed, this time bending at the waist, then gestured to a shirtless slave standing near the doorway.

“Your wish can be fulfilled, mistress. Follow this man and he will take you to Ashaki Sokara.”

As she followed the slave into the interior she breathed deeply. A familiar scent hung in the air, but she could not identify it. The slave’s thin silhouette led her down a narrow corridor coated in the same white render as the exterior. They emerged into a large room. Stara recognised the floor plan. This room was the centre of the house: the “master room’, where her father met, entertained and fed guests. Doorways led from it to other parts of the house. Her mother’s home followed the same design, as did other Sachakan-built houses in Elyne.

She took all this in with one glance, because a man sat on a large wooden chair in the centre of the room. Recognising him, she felt her heart leap with joy.

“Father,” she said.

“Stara.” He smiled and beckoned.

Walking across the room, she was disappointed when he didn’t rise to greet her. She hesitated, unsure what to do next.

“Sit,” he suggested, indicating a smaller chair next to his.

Taking it, she sighed with appropriate and not entirely faked appreciation. “Ah. You’d think after sitting down all day I wouldn’t want to even look at a chair.”

“Travelling is tiring,” he agreed. “How was the journey? Did my men treat you well?”

“Interesting, and yes,” she replied.

“Are you hungry?”

“A little.” In truth, she was ravenous.

He made a small gesture and a gong on the other side of the room chimed. A moment later a slave ran into the room and threw himself on the floor.

“Bring food for mistress Stara.”

The slave leapt to his feet and hurried away. Stara stared at the doorway he had vanished through. His arrival and departing had been so dramatically performed that Stara could not help finding it comical. She had to suppress the urge to laugh.

“You will grow used to the slaves,” her father told her. “Eventually you forget they are there.”

She looked at him and bit her lip. I don’t want to get so used to them I forget they’re there, she thought. The next step might be forgetting that they’re people.

The conversation turned to her mother. She told him of the latest deals and of new customers, as well as an idea her mother was considering: developing a trade in sail dyeing.

“Sailcloth has always been undyed, but if we can suggest the benefits of dyed cloth to the right people, and the idea becomes popular, we might open up a whole new market.” She grinned. “That was my idea. I was watching some children playing with toy boats, and—”

Annoyingly, slaves chose that moment to enter the room with food. She had hoped for some expression of admiration, or even just an opinion, from her father, but he was completely distracted now. From a box next to his chair he drew two small but deadly-looking knives, one of which he handed to her.

Sighing quietly, she watched as a strange ritual unfolded. The slaves took it in turns to fall to their knees before her father. He selected a few morsels of whatever was presented, picking them up with a stab of his knife then lifting the food to his mouth. Then he gestured that she should sample the dish, and the slave would shuffle sideways until he knelt before Stara.

Her mother had described Sachakan meals to her, and warned her that the master of an estate always ate before anyone else. Stara wasn’t sure how much to try, as he wasn’t taking much from each platter and there appeared to be quite a few dishes coming.

Whenever she had finished eating from a plate the slave remained in place until her father spoke. “Done,” he said each time, then he glanced at her and told her to dismiss the slave when she had had enough.

Before her hunger was quite satisfied, but long after the ritual had lost its novelty, he abruptly waved a hand and simply said: “Go.” The slaves hurried away, their bare feet making no sound on the carpets. Her father turned to regard her.

“In a week I will entertain some important visitors and you will attend. You will need some training in Sachakan manners. The slave who nursed you as a child will teach you what you need to know.” He smiled, his expression becoming a little apologetic. “I wish I could have given you more time to settle in first.”

“I’ll be fine,” she told him.

He nodded, his gaze moving over her face. “Yes. Any mistakes you make will be easily forgiven, I think, especially since you have the excuse of a part-Elyne upbringing.” His smile faded. “You should know that I have one of the men in mind to be your husband.”

Stara blinked, then found she could not move. Husband?

“A link between our families would strengthen an alliance that has been tested these last few years. Your slave will tell you what you need to know, but be assured they have plenty of land and the favour of the emperor.”

Husband?

He scowled. “And unfortunately your brother’s wife is incapable of bearing children. If you do not bear us an heir our land will be passed on to Emperor Vochira when your brother dies.”

Husband?” escaped her throat.

Looking at her, he narrowed his eyes. “Yes. You are a little old to still be unmarried and childless, but your Elyne blood should counter that – unlike Elynes, Sachakans believe a little foreign blood is a strength, not a weakness.”

A little old? She was only twenty-five!

“I thought . . .” She heard the indignation in her voice and stopped to breathe in and out. “I thought you wanted me here to help run the trade.”

His face broke into a smile and he chuckled, at which she could not help bristling. Just as quickly the smile faded into an expression of realisation.

“You really did, didn’t you?” He shook his head and grimaced. “Your mother should not have let you come here with such a misunderstanding. In Sachaka women do not trade.”

“I could,” she said quietly. “If you give me a—”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not only would clients laugh at you, they would stop trading with me. It is not done here.”

“So instead you sell me off like another pot of dye?” she exclaimed. “Without any say in who I marry?”

He stared at her, his expression slowly hardening, and her heart sank.

He means to do this. It was his intention all along. Mother can’t have known. She would never have sent me if she had. All the hopes she’d had of working for her father, of making a new life here with him, crumbled into ashes. She stood up, moved away, then turned to face him.

“I can’t believe it. You sent for me – you tricked me – into coming here. So you can sell me off like stock.”

“Sit down,” he said.

“Surely you didn’t think I’d be happy about it?” she raged. “That after living in Elyne for fifteen years, working for your benefit most of that time, I’d be delighted to become some stranger’s wife? No, a whore. No, a slave, since at least whores get paid for their serv—”

“SIT DOWN!”

She could not help flinching. Still breathing heavily, she closed her eyes and willed the fury inside her to cool and shrink. When it had, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Is this truly why you sent for me?”

His eyes were dark with anger now. “Yes,” he growled.

She walked to the chair and sat down with what she hoped was resolve and dignity.

“Then I must, respectfully, refuse. I will return to Elyne.”

He regarded her with narrowed eyes, then a wry smile pulled at his mouth.

“On your own, with no guards and protectors?”

“If I have to.”

“The mountains are full of ichani. They’re outcasts – they don’t care what family they offend or harm. You would never make it back.”

“I’m willing to try.”

He grimaced and shook his head. “You are right. I shouldn’t have left you in Elyne for fifteen years and expected you to return without some foolish ideas in your head – though I’m not sure why you think your future would be so very different in Elyne. Your mother has been telling me for years that it is long past time for you to marry, and that most women your age have already produced more than one child.” He straightened. “You should rest and think about your future, and I clearly need to reconsider my plans for you. Do bear in mind that I still expect you to behave like a proper Sachakan woman for our visitors.”

She nodded. While a part of her wanted to rebel, to leave for Elyne before this meeting – or at least to convince the man her father had picked as her fiancé that she was a crazed shrew he’d never want to live with – she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of hope. Perhaps there was a way to convince her father her value was in trading, perhaps in ways acceptable to Sachakan society other than as a womb with legs. She had to try.

He made a small gesture. The gong rang again. A woman with streaks of grey in her hair stepped into the room and prostrated herself, her movements stiff with age.

“This is Vora. You may remember her from your childhood. She is sure to remember you. She will take you to your rooms.”

Stara managed a smile and turned away to look at the woman. There was something familiar about the name, but the wrinkled face did not raise any memories. Vora’s eyebrows rose, but she shrugged and said nothing as she led Stara out of the room.

Twenty horses and their riders made their way up the steep track as quietly as twenty horses and their riders could hope to travel. The chink and flap of harness, the equine snorts and the occasional smothered human cough or sneeze were so familiar to Tessia now that she barely heard them. Instead she heard – or didn’t hear – the lack of sound in the trees surrounding them. No birds chirruped or whistled, no wind rustled the leaves, no animals barked or bellowed or howled.

Perhaps the others had noticed the unusual quiet, or perhaps they felt a strangeness without recognising the source, but they were all searching the trees or staring ahead or behind. Frowns marred foreheads. Nervous glances were exchanged. A magician crooked a finger and his apprentice rode closer so they could have a murmured conversation. Signals like this were becoming a kind of language throughout the group, developing through necessity.

Tessia checked that the magical shield she was holding around herself and her horse was strong and complete. They all rode with barriers in place each day, ready in case of an unexpected attack. At night they took it in turns to shield their camp, if they were forced to sleep outside, or patrol whatever village or hamlet they had reached.

A figure appeared on the track ahead, jogging bravely in full view. Tessia recognised one of the scouts who were sent ahead each day. She knew Lord Dakon was not happy about them using non-magicians to do this work, as they were defenceless if the Sachakans found them, but if any of the magicians ventured out alone and encountered more than one of the enemy, or a Sachakan of greater power, he was just as likely to perish. Magicians were in much shorter supply than non-magicians.

The man’s expression was grim. He met the first of the magicians and spoke quietly, pointing back from where he’d come. Slowly the news was passed on, in a murmur, from one person to the next.

“There’s a house ahead,” Dakon told Tessia and Jayan. “All but one of the occupants has been murdered recently. The survivor is not likely to live much longer.”

“Shall we go ahead and see?” Tessia asked. “Perhaps I can help this person.”

He looked thoughtful, then nudged his horse forward. Lord Narvelan and Lord Werrin had become unofficial leaders of the group, though this mainly involved putting questions to the others and offering advice rather than actually making decisions, Tessia had noticed. The others would accept any overriding decision Werrin made, as he was the king’s representative, but they tended to become uncooperative if he didn’t let them debate it among themselves first.

Some of them are so worried that someone will usurp their authority, it comes close to taking precedence over finding and getting rid of the Sachakans. I shouldn’t be surprised if the Sachakans managed to overcome all of Kyralia during one of these “discussions’.

After several minutes, Dakon returned.

“Just us and Narvelan,” he said.

To Tessia’s surprise, two other magicians and their apprentices broke away from the others to follow them up the road: Lord Bolvin and Lord Ardalen. Dakon nodded his thanks.

Seems not everyone is willing to huddle in the protection of the group while some poor ordinary Kyralian dies. Though I suppose Ardalen will want to know more. We are getting close to his ley now.

“Did the scout say what the injury was?” she murmured.

Dakon shook his head.

Several nervous minutes later they came upon a tiny stone building at the side of the track. Insects buzzed around the prone forms of two men, one with grey at his temples, the other much younger. Dakon, Tessia and Jayan dismounted, but the others remained on their horses, forming a protective ring around the front of the house.

Removing her father’s bag, Tessia followed as Dakon cautiously stepped through the open doorway. A light flared into existence, revealing a table that filled most of the room. They stopped and glanced around, looking for the survivor.

As Tessia moved towards the back of the room she felt something snag her foot. Looking down, she saw a leg, then squatted and found a young man lying under the table.

He stared at her with frightened eyes.

“You’re safe now,” she told him. “The house is surrounded by magicians – Kyralian magicians, that is. Where are you hurt?”

Dakon brought the light lower and Tessia felt her heart sink as she saw how pale the man was. His lips were blue. He was shivering. She could see no sign of blood, however. Was it an internal injury? The man hadn’t moved. He just stared at her, his eyes wide.

“Show me where you are hurt,” she said. “I can help you. My father was a healer and taught me much of what he knew.”

When he didn’t move, she began checking his rhythms. The spaces between his heartbeats were impossibly long. His breathing was painfully shallow. Dakon reached out and turned over one of the man’s wrists. A thin cut already sealed by congealed blood stood out against his deathly pale skin.

“That’s not enough to kill him,” Tessia said.

The staring eyes were now fixed on the underside of the table. As she watched, they lost their intense focus. A last slow breath escaped the man. Dakon cursed. He reached out and placed a hand on the pale brow. After a moment he removed it. “Most of the energy within him was taken. He didn’t have enough strength left to keep breathing.”

“Could... could you have given him back some strength?” Tessia asked.

Dakon frowned. “I don’t know. I have never tried – never needed to. Never heard of anyone doing it, either.” He looked regretfully at the man. “I’d try now, but I suspect it is too late.”

Tessia nodded. “My father always said it was foolish and wrong to try to reverse death. He’d read of a man whose rhythms were restarted after they’d stopped, but whose mind was never the same.”

“If we encounter another like this,” Dakon said, “we will try.”

Tessia smiled and felt a wave of gratitude and affection for him. This willingness to help even the lowliest of people was one of the traits she most liked in him. In the past weeks she had come to the realisation that this sense of compassion was rare among magicians.

“Is that wise? You will need all the strength you possess if you have to fight the Sachakans,” Jayan asked. As Tessia looked at him reproachfully he grimaced. “Saving one man might cost us our lives, which might cost many more.”

He had a point, she grudgingly admitted. The harsh practicality of his remark only highlighted how different he was from Lord Dakon. Cold, truthful common sense was harder to like than warm, hopeful generosity. Yet it had replaced Jayan’s former disdain and arrogance, giving him a maturity that hadn’t been apparent before, and she had to admit she disliked him a little less now. Only a little, though.

Dakon straightened and sighed. “I suspect it would not take much energy to bring a man dying this way back to a state from which he could recover. A tiny portion of what I take from either of you each night – and so easily replaced. I wouldn’t consider it dangerous unless we were in a desperate situation.”

Jayan nodded, satisfied. As they stood up and left the house Tessia felt a weary sadness. Messages had been sent out to all the people living in villages, farms, forest and mountain cottages in the leys bordering Sachaka, advising an evacuation to the south until the Sachakans were driven out. But many people had stayed, their lives depending on the sowing of spring crops, hunting or other sources of income. They were easy targets for the invaders.

As she, Dakon and Jayan mounted and started back to rejoin the others, Tessia listened to the magicians quietly discussing how long ago they thought the house had been attacked. They had found several campsites of the enemy as well as their victims, but no sign of the Sachakans. She suspected that the magicians had expected the Sachakans to attack them weeks ago and were puzzled why they had not. Some speculated that there were too few of them. They wanted to split into smaller groups themselves, remaining close enough to help each other if attacked, in order to lure the Sachakans out.

But, as Jayan had pointed out, the Sachakans weren’t going to attack unless they felt they could win. They wouldn’t attack a smaller group if another was close enough to reinforce it.

So they let us follow them along the mountains, constantly giving us the slip and killing commoners as they go. Growing stronger while our magicians have only one apprentice each to draw from – those that have them.

All of the apprentices were expected to stay close to their masters, as much for their own protection as to be a ready source of extra power if needed. Strength was another constantly discussed issue among the Kyralian magicians. They could not know if they had as much stored magic as the Sachakans had. They considered how much power one might gain from slaves, and how many slaves the Sachakans might have with them. They tried to calculate how much power they each held, examining how many times they’d drawn it from their apprentices and how much they used, either habitually or on demanding tasks.

A routine had formed each night, when all the magicians took strength from their apprentices. Neither Werrin nor Narvelan had an apprentice, though apparently Werrin had sent for a young man he had promised to take on when the youth reached the customary age to begin training. The apprentice would travel with a group of magicians who had volunteered to help in the search.

The nightly ritual of higher magic made it clear how much magician and apprentice relied upon each other. One was vulnerable without the other. It was strangely comforting to know that, despite being otherwise untrained and of little use to the group, Tessia was contributing to both her own and Lord Dakon’s protection. And Jayan’s. And thus the whole of Kyralia’s.

And it had one other benefit. It ensured Tessia slept well, despite anger, grief and a nagging fear that if the Kyralian magicians were incapable of tracking down and dealing with a few renegade Sachakans, they had no hope of repelling an invading army.

CHAPTER 22

Asmall exertion of will and magic increased the ambient temperature, and stirring the air helped dry Jayan’s skin. Another gust of artificial wind chased dampness out of his clothes, and he dressed quickly so the next apprentice could use the room.

Part of a mill at the edge of Lord Ardalen’s ley, this room had been a welcome find. Someone had set up an ingenious system which, at the pull of a lever, diverted water from the river through pipes into a large tub. Another lever opened a rather leaky plug and allowed the water to flow out again, probably back into the river.

Without any need for much discussion, the entire group – magicians, apprentices and servants – was taking it in turns to wash themselves and their clothes. Or rather, the servants were washing in the river while the magicians and apprentices enjoyed a much-needed bath.

Jayan picked up his second set of clothes, now also freshly washed and dried, and carried them out of the room. A short corridor led outside, where tents had been erected. Though they could have taken shelter inside the millhouse, both magicians and apprentices preferred to stay together in the open, ever watchful for attackers.

The mill had been deserted when they arrived. A careful inspection had revealed empty cupboards and, to their relief, no corpses. The occupants must have received Ardalen’s message and moved south to safety. There were signs of looting, however. A storeroom had been broken into. A locked trunk had been smashed open, and the contents – mostly clothing, worth nothing to the thieves – had been strewn about. It was impossible to tell if they had been Sachakan or ordinary thieves. Stories of ransacking of abandoned villages by opportunistic locals had reached them.

Inevitable, I suppose, Jayan thought. The fools probably don’t understand or care that if they’re caught by the Sachakans, their deaths will strengthen the enemy.

Jayan paused in the shadows of the corridor and looked out. Tessia was not with the apprentices, he saw. The other four young men were aged from fifteen to twenty-two. Mikken, the next eldest after Jayan, was slim and confident and the best-looking. Leoran was a watchful type who made up for his quietness by always having a witty observation or play on words to offer. Refan was enthusiastic, and always went along with whatever the others said or thought. Aken, the youngest, needed to grow out of a habit of saying what he thought without first thinking about whether it would offend anyone, or make him look a fool.

They tended to ignore Tessia most of the time, though if she spoke they did listen and respond politely. He knew they were unsure how to behave around her. The young women they were used to were easy to categorise: either rich and from powerful families, or servants, or beggars and whores. Those female magicians they had encountered would all have come from the first category, and some of them had quite a reputation for being adventurous, especially in their attitude towards men.

The four laughed, then glanced to one side. Following their gaze, Jayan saw that the magicians were standing in a circle several paces away, probably discussing yet again all the reasons why they hadn’t come face to face with any Sachakans and wishing they could find a risk-free way to lure out the enemy.

Now the apprentices were all looking in the other direction, and Jayan saw where Tessia had got to. She was picking small fruits off a tree and filling a bowl with them.

Probably some cure ingredient, he thought, suppressing a sigh. Does she ever think of anything else? Though her obsession with healing didn’t bother him as much as it used to – not since he’d seen her work on the woman with the growth in her mouth – she was single-minded about it to the point of being predictable and, perhaps, a little bit boring.

As Jayan watched, Mikken rose and sauntered over to her. He held out his hands and she, looking mildly surprised, gave him the bowl. As she continued picking, he talked to her, all smiles.

Jayan’s skin prickled. He didn’t have to know what the apprentice was saying to know what he was up to. Stepping out of the doorway, he strode towards the pair. Mikken looked up and saw Jayan coming, and his expression became both guilty and defiant.

“It’s your turn, Mikken,” Jayan said. He paused, sniffed and smiled. “I wouldn’t put it off much longer if I were you.”

The young man frowned and opened his mouth to retort, then glanced at Tessia and thought better of it. He handed Jayan the bowl.

“I bow to the wisdom of my much, much older peer,” he said mockingly, gave Tessia a parting smile and headed towards the mill.

Tessia raised an eyebrow. “You two still establishing a pecking order?”

“Oh, it’s clear who’s at the top,” Jayan said. “The lesser hordes need to sort out their own hierarchy. Are you enjoying being the prize they’re fighting over?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I’m afraid female magicians have quite a reputation. My young, naive subordinates are trying to work out if any of them stands a chance with you.”

“A chance?” She turned and began picking fruit again. “Am I to expect a marriage proposal, or something much shallower?”

“Definitely shallower,” he said.

She chuckled. “So how do I make it unarguably clear, without offending their sensitive male pride, that I will never accept such a proposal?”

Jayan paused, considering. “Be clear and unhesitating. Give them no reason to doubt your meaning. But don’t insult them, of course. We do have to travel with them.”

Tessia turned back to him, dropped another handful of the small green fruits in the bowl, then took the bowl from him. “Then I had best be unhesitating and clear up this matter.”

She strode toward the apprentices. Jayan paused, suddenly doubting his own advice. He hadn’t meant her to confront them straight away. The eyes of the three younger apprentices brightened as she approached, though Jayan could not tell if it was from apprehension or hope.

But Tessia did not launch into a speech on her unavailability, or reproach them for even considering it a matter for discussion. She sat down on the blanket they were relaxing on and handed the closest – Refan – the bowl.

“Try them. They’re delicious.”

Refan picked up one of the fruits. “But it’s not ripe.”

“It is. People make that mistake all the time. See the dark spot on the end? That’s how you tell they’re ripe. But they’re only like that for a few weeks. When the fruit starts to change colour it’s too late. They go all pithy and dry inside.”

She began peeling the fruit she had retained. Reluctantly, the others began to copy her. As they bit into the flesh underneath Jayan saw the looks of surprise on their faces. Curious, he took one for himself and discovered she was right. They were tart, but sweet.

Soon, Mikken emerged from the mill, his hair glistening with water.

“What’s this?” he said as he joined them. “What are you eating?”

“Ah, Mikken,” Tessia said. “Good. Now you’re here, there’s something I apparently need to make completely and devastatingly clear to all of you.” She glanced at Jayan. “You, too.”

To his horror, Jayan felt his face warming. He sighed, rolled his eyes and affected boredom, all the while hoping his face wasn’t red.

“I’m not planning to bed anyone during this trip, or after it,” Tessia said. “So get the idea out of your heads now.”

Jayan watched as the four boys bowed their heads and began looking anywhere but at Tessia. Aken sent Jayan a brief glare, though.

“We weren’t—” Mikken began, spreading his hands, using the tone of someone trying to explain something.

She cut him off. “Oh, don’t think I’m fool enough to believe that. You’re all male – and young. I’m the only woman around. I’m not being vain; just not stupid.” She chuckled. “I also know if there was a better-looking girl around, the situation would be different. Anyway... put the thought out of your minds. Not going to happen. After all, I’d hardly want to fall pregnant right now, would I?”

The apprentices didn’t answer, but she caught the looks they exchanged.

“What?” she asked, a small measure of anger slipping into her voice. “That didn’t even occur to you?”

“Of course not,” Aken blurted. “You’ve got magic. You can stop that happening.”

Tessia blinked in surprise, then, suspicion in her eyes, she looked at Jayan. “That’s possible?” she asked him quietly.

Not quietly enough, it turned out. Even as Jayan nodded, the others had lifted their heads. They were grinning.

“That changed your mind, by any chance?” Aken asked slyly.

SShe gave him a withering look. “Not if you were the last man in Kyralia.”

The others laughed. Tessia’s mouth twitched, then relaxed into a smile. “Well, we’ve all learned something today, haven’t we?” She picked up another fruit, and as Mikken examined one for himself she began explaining how to judge when it was ripe.

After a while she looked at Jayan and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Did I convince them? he imagined her asking. He shrugged and nodded. She leaned closer, her gaze moving to the magicians still talking several paces away.

“What do you think they’re discussing? The same old things over and over?”

He nodded. “Probably.”

“It’s such a waste of time. If they didn’t keep going over it, Lord Dakon could spend some time teaching us. I haven’t learned any magic since before we arrived in Imardin.”

Jayan gave her a disbelieving look. “I didn’t think you were that interested.”

She snorted softly. “Amazing what a bit of threat to your life and others’ can do. Not to mention the death of your parents.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I haven’t had any lessons either.”

“It’s all very well for you,” she retorted. “You’ve had years of training. I’ve only had months.”

“I could teach you,” Jayan said. Then he gulped a mouthful of air and looked away. Where had that come from?

Then he remembered Lord Dakon, months ago, telling him to help Tessia practise. That helping another learn would benefit Jayan, too. But Dakon hadn’t meant Jayan to teach Tessia, which apprentices weren’t supposed to do.

The thought that she might die simply from lack of training was wrong, however. Surely the circumstances were extreme enough to justify bending the rules a little.

Tessia was staring at him now, but as he met her gaze again she nodded quickly.

“Now?”

He looked at the others. They were stuffing themselves with fruit, too occupied with their feasting to pay much attention to what Tessia and Jayan might do. He stood up. She followed suit and looked at him expectantly. Thinking hard, Jayan moved away from the others, considering what he could possibly teach her.

“More sophisticated defence methods,” he said aloud. “That’s the obvious thing to teach you first.”

“Sounds sensible to me,” she replied.

So he began to teach her ways to modify her shield. Lord Dakon had taught her basic shielding, since that was all a new and powerful apprentice needed to know at first. What had he said? “There’s no point confusing a new apprentice with complications. Just get into a good habit of strong shielding to begin with; then, when you can do it without thinking, start refining.”

Jayan hadn’t noticed that they’d gained an audience until a voice spoke near his shoulder.

“I’ve never tried that. Would you show me?”

He turned to find Leoran standing behind him. He considered the boy, then shrugged and gestured for him to join Tessia. “Of course. This sort of thing could save your life, too.”

“And mine?” Aken asked. The young apprentice didn’t wait for an answer, but jogged to Leoran’s side. Jayan smiled wryly and turned to look at Mikken and Refan. They shook their heads.

“Already know it,” Mikken said.

As Jayan continued teaching the different forms of shielding he knew, Mikken stepped forward and began to help. The older apprentice revealed a method that Jayan hadn’t heard of before, though it had some serious flaws. They began debating the advantages and disadvantages, each demonstrating using the other apprentices.

“Stop! Stop right now!”

All jumped at the shout. Turning, they saw Mikken’s master, Lord Ardalen, striding towards them.

“What are you doing?” the magician demanded. “You’re teaching each other, aren’t you?” Reaching them, he laid a hand on Mikken’s shoulder, his expression sympathetic but his voice revealing anger as he looked at Jayan. “I expect you think you’re showing initiative and co-operation – and you are – but you should not be doing this. Apprentices are forbidden to teach apprentices. You are not allowed to teach until you become higher magicians.”

“But why?” Aken asked, his frustration clear.

“It is dangerous.” This came from Lord Bolvin, Leoran’s master, as he reached them. The other magicians were coming closer, Jayan saw. Dakon was frowning. He felt a pang of guilt and fear that he might have offended his master.

“What is going on?” Lord Dakon asked as he came up to them. When the situation was explained his frown deepened. “I see. Be assured Jayan here has been trained to teach others safely. He is close to the end of his own training, so I have begun preparing him for the day he takes on his own pupil. Your apprentices were quite safe.”

To Jayan’s amusement, the magicians now began debating the issue, forming a new circle that excluded their juniors. He looked over at Tessia, who wore a wry smile. She met his eyes, shrugged, then walked back to the blanket and the near empty bowl of fruit. As Jayan followed, the other apprentices tagged behind.

“That stinks,” Aken said as he dropped sullenly onto the blanket.

The others nodded.

“Well . . .” Jayan began. “Do you think they’d protest if we started playing Kyrima? That’s supposed to be good at developing battle strategy skills.”

The others looked up eagerly. Tessia’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, how wonderful,” she muttered sarcastically.

Jayan ignored her. She’d play if he badgered her. And she wasn’t too bad at it, either. As the others paired off he turned to face her.

“Can’t leave me partnerless,” he said.

She pulled a face, grabbed the bowl and stood up. “Forgot my little speech earlier, have you, Jayan? Not if you were the last man in Kyralia.”

It was reassuring to Hanara to find that many of his master’s new allies had brought more than one slave with them. Some had as many as ten, though not all were source slaves. Knowing this, he was able to tolerate Jochara, and it helped that Takado appeared to prefer to give Hanara the more complex tasks since Jochara, not yet used to their master’s ways, was slower to grasp what was being asked of him.

If Takado had urged them to battle each other for his favour, then it would have been clear he didn’t want two source slaves and would kill the loser. But since they were constantly on the move, there was so much work to do that both Hanara and Jochara were exhausted by the time Takado allowed them to sleep.

If every new ally presents him with gifts, we’re not going to be able to carry everything, Hanara thought now as he shifted the weight on his shoulders.

Takado’s allies had swelled to twelve. Slaves at the pass directed the new arrivals to slaves stationed at intervals along the mountains, all of whom only knew where the next and previous positions were. When Takado made camp at the end of each day he sent a slave to the end of the line, to inform arriving allies where to find him.

Two more had reached them last night. Fortunately the gifts they’d brought had been consumable. Takado needed food for his followers and slaves more than he needed heavy gold trinkets. Though they raided local farms and villages, the habitations were often far apart and most occupants had now left, taking what little food they had. Even those foolish enough to stay didn’t have much in their stores, winter only just having ended.

Sometimes they came across domestic animals to slaughter and cook; otherwise there were wild animals to hunt. Fortunately, they didn’t have to worry about cookfires or smoke revealing their location, as usually one or another magician roasted the meat with magic. Slaves skilled in tracking for hunts kept them informed on the Kryalian magicians’ location and numbers.

As Takado began to climb a steep slope, angling across the incline, Hanara leaned forward and followed. He could hear Jochara panting behind him. Sweat ran down his back, soaking the shirt the stable master had given him. That life – his time in Mandryn – already seemed like a dream. It had been foolish of him to think it might last. There was a reassuring familiarity about serving Takado again. It was hard, but he knew the rules. He fitted in.

He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the top of the slope. Takado, unburdened, had gained some distance and was standing further along the ridge listening to a slave belonging to one of the other magicians. The boy was fast and agile, so he was being used as a scout rather than a carrier.

“. . . saw the light. Heard the boom, boom,” the boy was saying, pointing towards where the road to the pass could be seen, like a wound cut in the forest, below them.

“A magical battle,” Takado said, frowning at the distance. “How long ago?”

“Half a shadow line,” the slave said. “Maybe more.”

How the boy could estimate the time this way without a shadow dial was a mystery. Takado glanced at Hanara and the rest of his group, but said nothing, turning back to stare down at the forest again. Hanara could guess what he was thinking. Had the slaves at the pass failed to meet some potential new allies? Had the newcomers encountered the Kyralians instead? Had they won or lost?

Takado and his allies hadn’t considered the group of Kyralians following them a serious threat, as there were only seven of them against the twelve Sachakans. But Takado wanted to avoid killing Kyralian magicians until the numbers at his side were much greater, and they could withstand whatever retaliation was sure to follow.

Waving the scout away, Takado started down the slope towards the road and the battle’s location. Hanara felt his stomach sink and heard Jochara curse behind him. The other three of Takado’s allies did not protest, though they did order their slaves to be silent and not make any noise.

Time slowed then. With every step Hanara scanned the forest ahead as well as the uneven ground in front. He listened for voices, or the whistling calls the slaves sometimes used to signal each other. Takado set a cautious pace, every step taken carefully. They reached the bottom of the slope, and set out across the valley the road followed. Time stretched on.

The closer they drew to the road, the more Hanara’s heart raced. He kept trying to quieten his breathing by keeping his breaths shallow, but the exertion of carrying Takado’s belongings was too much and he soon found himself gasping for breath.

Then Takado stopped and raised a hand to indicate the others should follow suit. Hanara realised they were now in sight of the road. They waited in silence.

Voices drifted to them from somewhere ahead. Takado didn’t move. Slowly his shoulders relaxed. He shifted his weight to one leg. He crossed his arms.

Around a bend in the road rode two men. Before them walked a man dressed in fine clothing, bound with rope and bleeding from the temple. Behind them followed four slave girls, hunched and thin.

The hairs on the back of Hanara’s neck prickled as he recognised the riders. They were two of Takado’s ichani friends, Dovaka and Nagana. Both had been outcasts for some years now, and were tanned and toughened from surviving in the northern mountains and ash desert. There was something about the older one, Dovaka, that made Hanara’s stomach quiver and his skin prickle.

It was not just that his slaves were always starved, cowed and terrified young women. His conversations were full of such eagerness for violence that even other ichani were repelled by him. As Takado moved forward, out of the trees and onto the road, Hanara’s stomach sank. The rest of the group followed.

“Takado!” Dovaka called as he saw them. “I have a gift for you.” He leapt off his horse, grabbed the bound man by the collar and pushed him forward, then onto his knees in front of Takado. “Emperor Vochira’s messenger. We heard he’d gone through the pass ahead of us, so we caught up with him to see what he was hoping to deliver.”

“Messenger?” Takado repeated.

“Yes. He was carrying this.”

Dovaka’s eyes gleamed as he handed over a metal cylinder. Taking it, Takado slid the end off and pulled out a roll of parchment. He uncurled it and read, and his mouth twitched into a crooked smile.

“So the emperor is sending magicians to deal with us,” he said, looking over his shoulder at his allies. “Or at least he wants the Kyralian king to believe so.” He turned his attention to the messenger. “Is it true?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was?” the man replied defiantly.

“Probably not.”

Takado grasped the man’s head in his two hands and stared at him intently. All was silent but for the occasional bird call, and the distant bellow of some animal. Then Takado straightened.

“You believe it to be true.” He paused and considered the man. “I will let you live if you join us.”

The man blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I won’t slip away at the first opportunity?”

Takado shook his head. “Because, Harika, you failed. Your task was to take the message to the Kyralian king, but, more important, it was to prevent that message from reaching us. Emperor Vochira may not have said as much, but you know it to be true. Even if you manage to get to the Kyralian king and convince him that you aren’t lying about the contents of the message we took from you – even if you manage to return home – Vochira will have you killed or outcast.” Takado smiled. “I’m afraid no matter what happens, you will be dead or an ichani.”

The messenger looked down, his brow furrowed.

“You may as well join us,” Takado said. “I can promise what the emperor can’t, that if we succeed and you survive, you will no longer be a landless, slaveless lackey. You can claim land for yourself, regain the status you have lost, and have something for your son to inherit.”

Taking a deep breath, the messenger sighed and began to nod. “Yes,” he said. He looked up and stared back at Takado. “I’ll join you.”

“Good.” Takado smiled and the bindings fell away from the man’s wrists. “Get up. My slave will take a look at that cut.”

Takado turned and waved at Hanara. Pushing aside a strong desire to go no closer to Dovaka, Hanara hurried forward, set his burden down and brought out some clean water and cloth to clean Harika’s wound. As he worked, he watched Takado and Dovaka move away from the others a little, their conversation too quiet for him to hear, their stance and gestures relaxed and friendly. But there was a deliberation to Takado’s movements, as if he was forcing an impression of calm.

He’s angry at them, probably because they didn’t go where the slaves told them to, he thought. He is not going to have an easy time keeping Dovaka and Nagana under control. Eventually Dovaka is going to challenge Takado’s authority, and when he does I hope I’m a long way away.

CHAPTER 23

It worried Dakon every time he saw an empty village, farmhouse or unploughed field. It worried him despite the fact that they were no longer his empty villages, farmhouses and unploughed fields but Lord Ardalen’s, because he knew the situation was the same in his own ley.

It worried him on two levels: hundreds of people he was responsible for were homeless and dozens of them dead; and part of his land – from which he must earn the money to maintain his ley, pay his servants and rebuild Mandryn – was lying abandoned and neglected at the time of year crops should be planted and domestic animals set to breeding.

People and land, they’re the same, his father used to say. Neglect one and the other suffers eventually. At the moment, while searching in vain for Takado and his allies, Dakon felt he was neglecting both. Fortunately, the area the Sachakans were moving through was mountainous and covered in forest, so it was sparsely inhabited. People living in these areas were likely to be hunters or woodcutters, their quotas negotiated with and agreed to by men Dakon or Ardalen employed for the job, who also did what they could to prevent and deal with poachers.

Fewer people had been killed or displaced than there would have been if the lowlands had been invaded, and there were few fields to be left unplanted. Even so, he wished he was in the lowlands, ensuring those driven from their homes were being given food and shelter in the southern villages, and that resources were not being wasted.

But he also knew his time was better spent dealing with the invaders. The sooner he and his colleagues drove the Sachakans out, the sooner people could return to their homes. He was not the only magician frustrated by their failure to do that. An understanding had grown between them as the weeks had crawled past. All were annoyed by their situation, all tempted by the knowledge that change could be forced if they were willing to take risks. None complained, though, because none wanted to urge anyone else to endanger his life. All were waiting and hoping for some benign influence to shift the balance of power, hopefully in their favour and not the Sachakans’.

Perhaps that benign influence has come today, Dakon thought, looking at the new magicians in the group. Five had arrived the previous night, bringing much needed supplies and Werrin’s new apprentice.

Two were magicians from the Circle of Friends, Lord Moran and Lord Olleran. The other three were city magicians, Magician Genfel, Lord Tarrakin and Lord Hakkin. Magician Genfel had neither supported nor opposed the Circle as far as Dakon or Narvelan knew, but the other two city magicians were detractors. The most surprising of the latter was Lord Hakkin, who had openly mocked Dakon and Everran at the Royal Palace.

Dakon was not sure why Hakkin and his friends had come. Perhaps at the king’s request. Narvelan had suggested a sense of duty, or there being nothing more interesting happening in the city, as possible motivations.

Lord Hakkin appeared to have assumed the leadership of the five during their journey here. Dakon suspected the man would have tried to take over the leadership of the entire group if the king hadn’t already chosen Lord Werrin for the role.

Over the morning meal, the newcomers were coming to understand what they were now a part of.

“We haven’t even come close to what we set out to achieve,” Lord Werrin concluded as he finished describing their search so far.

“What were you hoping to achieve, exactly?” Lord Hakkin asked.

“To drive them out of Kyralia,” Narvelan replied. “Preferably without anyone being killed. Driving them out requires us to find them first, and the trouble is, even when we do gain an idea of where they are, they move before we have a chance to confront them. We have to approach carefully, sending scouts ahead to discover their numbers, because we can’t confront them until we know there is a chance of winning if they decide to fight us.”

“Do they know you’re hunting them?” Magician Genfel asked.

“Yes,” Werrin replied. “They have caught and killed enough of our scouts to know what our intentions are. Those scouts that have returned have given us conflicting reports of their numbers, but we are gaining enough from their descriptions to recognise individuals.”

“We suspect there is more than one group,” Narvelan continued. “Each time a scout has seen the enemy they have counted seven or eight magicians, plus slaves. But the physical descriptions of the individuals are inconsistent. We get different combinations. They may be changing the members of each group around to confuse us.”

“Presumably they meet from time to time,” Lord Olleran said.

“I expect so,” Narvelan agreed. “Though we have to consider that they may be independent of each other, perhaps even competing. The only benefit to us, either way, is that each group appears to be small enough for us to tackle now.”

“Yet we should still be careful,” Werrin said. “Because if we are to avoid killing the Sachakans, and then escort them to the border, it is likely they will call on the other groups for help. And then we will be outnumbered.”

“So we need more magicians?” Lord Tarrakin asked.

“Yes.”

“More than five, from the sound of it,” Lord Hakkin concluded, glancing around the group. “How many Sachakans do you think there are in total?”

“A few short of twenty.”

“Were there that many to begin with?”

“I doubt it.”

“So others are joining them. Is anyone watching the pass?”

“The scouts we sent haven’t returned.”

“So there must be Sachakans there, too.” Lord Hakkin pinched his bottom lip between two fingers. “A magician should check. He may succeed where a scout would fail.”

“So long as he doesn’t encounter any Sachakan magicians,” Narvelan pointed out.

“One would not be a problem.”

“One can call for assistance. The road to the pass is exposed and surrounded by sheer rock slopes. It is difficult to approach in secret and it would be easy to become trapped between the pass and any Sachakans returning to help their allies.”

“But you said earlier that the Sachakans are avoiding a confrontation with us,” Lord Moran reminded him. “Because they don’t want to risk killing a Kyralian magician for the same reason we want to avoid killing one of them.”

Prinan shrugged. “Yet if they’re relying on new allies coming through the pass to join them, they will have to deal with anyone trying to prevent that. They may prefer to wait until their numbers are large enough to take and hold land before killing any Kyralian magicians, but if we block the pass we may give them no choice.”

The other magicians nodded in agreement.

“All the more reason for us to strike them before they grow that strong,” Lord Hakkin said. “If we must be the ones to spill magician blood first, so be it. They are the invaders, after all. We are defending ourselves.”

Werrin smiled crookedly. “Until the king decides otherwise, we must endeavour to achieve our aims without shedding Sachakan blood.”

Hakkin frowned. “So even if we do manage to find one of their groups, they’ll call for the help of another group and we’ll find ourselves outnumbered. We are unable to prevent their numbers from continuing to grow by stopping allies coming through the pass, while our numbers are not growing as quickly. But even if we were enough to face them it wouldn’t help because we can’t find them.” He shook his head. “Why did I bother coming out here? I may as well go home and wait for our new Sachakan masters to arrive.

Dakon couldn’t help a small smile at the man’s use of “we”. Lord Hakkin hadn’t been riding day after day, for weeks, searching for the Sachakans and finding only cold campsites and dead Kyralians.

“We need to change our tactics,” Lord Olleran said. “Draw them out. Trick them into making a mistake.”

“How do you suggest we do that?” Werrin asked. Dakon smiled at his patience. The group had discussed this many times already.

“Herd them into a corner. Bait them.”

“Herding them would require us to split into smaller, more vulnerable groups.”

Olleran shrugged. “More dangerous than staying in one, but that danger would be minimal if we stayed close enough together to help each other if one group was attacked.”

“How do you suggest we communicate instructions to each other in order to co-ordinate our movements, or call for help?

“We could use mental calls – if the king would allow it.”

“And alert our quarry to our intentions, or our vulnerabilities?” Werrin shook his head. “It would only work if we already had them trapped. To do so we’d need to split into many different groups. The more groups, the more likely it is that communications will become confused.”

“What of baiting them?” Lord Moran asked.

Werrin looked around the group. “Someone would have to volunteer to be the bait.”

Lord Ardalen shook his head. “I may be willing to risk my own life, but I won’t risk my apprentice’s.” Dakon was pleased to see that many of the newcomers were nodding.

“Of course, we wouldn’t take any risks unless success was certain,” Hakkin said.

“If it was certain, it wouldn’t be a risk,” Narvelan pointed out.

There was a long pause after that, and Dakon noted the signs of suppressed amusement among his colleagues, especially those who had travelled with Lord Hakkin.

“Surely it will not be long before more substantial reinforcements arrive,” he said. He turned to Hakkin. “Last night you said that others were planning to join us.”

Hakkin’s gaze, which had locked onto Dakon’s, slid away. “Yes.

I know of, ah, at least five magicians who said they would come

– but I couldn’t tell you when they were going to leave or how long they’ll take to get here.”

“We need more than five,” Bolvin muttered, scowling.

Prinan gave a sharp huff of anger. “If they’d seen what we’ve seen – the bodies of murdered men, women and children – our fellow magicians might not be so slow to get off their backsides and help defend their country!”

“Or maybe it would convince them to lock themselves in their homes,” Narvelan said quietly.

Hakkin’s back straightened and he scowled. “They will come. They will attend to their duty. But this invasion has caught many unprepared. Trips to the far reaches of Kyralia to engage in magical warfare are hardly a commonplace activity.”

“I have a question,” Magician Genfel said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“If we did manage to overcome these magicians, how are we going to get them to the border?”

Werrin smiled. “We keep them drained of power.”

“Of course, but they will regain it with time. We can’t keep them tied up. They only need regain a little power to be able to burn their bonds away. Do we have some iron manacles, or something similar?”

“We’ll take turns holding them imprisoned with magic.”

“I see. And what happens after we take them to the border? What is going to stop them coming back?”

Werrin frowned. “The border will have to be guarded.”

As the conversation moved in this new direction, Dakon found his attention wandering. He looked over to the circle of apprentices, now doubled in size. Three of the newcomers were only youngsters, probably new to their powers, including Werrin’s apprentice. He worried that too many magicians were taking on the training of an apprentice out of a sudden need for a magical source to draw from, and would find themselves neglecting their responsibility later.

Yet I also worry about Narvelan, who has no apprentice to strengthen himself with. He’d suggested Narvelan take power from Jayan or Tessia, but the young magician had refused.

None of the new apprentices was female, he noticed. The powerful families of Kyralia might risk their sons’ lives in the defence of their homeland, but it would take much more desperate need before they sent their daughters. He looked at Tessia. She was smiling, sitting on a blanket between Jayan and Ardalen’s apprentice. Though he had occasionally seen a tear in her eye or a glimpse of pain and grief in her face, she had borne the journeying and rough living without complaint. He could not imagine the daughters of powerful Imardin families, brought up with all the comforts money could buy, coping nearly as well.

Even so, I should ask how she is getting on more often. It can’t be easy being the only young woman among so many young men – many just boys – who have been brought up thinking people of her background are little better than servants.

She and Jayan appeared to be getting along better now. He didn’t think there was much liking or affection between them, but neither went out of their way to obstruct or annoy the other, and they helped each other with practical tasks, like erecting tents, without hesitation. He was relieved at that, as the last thing they needed was bickering to add to what was already a tense, unpleasant situation.

If only he could say the same thing of the magicians. Sighing, Dakon turned his attention back to the debate.

Sachakan women’s clothing had always fascinated and scandalised Stara. First they wrapped and tied a long, bright rectangle of colourful fabric, decorated with stitching and all manner of decorations from beads to coins to shells, around the typically voluptuous Sachakan chest, leaving their shoulders and legs bare in a way that would have been regarded as scandalous in Elyne. Then, if they ventured outside, they covered it with a short cape of thick fabric tied at the throat.

The cape did not cover bare legs and gaped open at the front to reveal the chest, so Stara wondered why they bothered. But the truth was, they did not bother often. Women rarely ventured beyond the walls of their homes, except in covered wagons when visiting friends. They were supposed to avoid the stares of men.

It would have been far more practical, and an easier way to avoid the stares of men, to wear one demure but feminine layer as women did in Elyne. But Stara had to admit she loved the wraps. They were much more comfortable, and she looked so good in them. Nobody in Elyne wore such bright colours.

As if the wraps weren’t decoration enough, Sachakan women also wore a lot of jewellery. Their chests, wrists and ankles were covered by multiple strings of beads, shells or chains festooned with metal discs. Their dark hair provided a contrast against which elaborate headdresses draped and glittered. All this Stara embraced with feminine glee, except for one thing.

A part of the womanly habit of wearing half her body weight in jewellery involved piercing. Vora had told her that most Sachakan women wore several earrings in each ear, at least one ring in their nose, and even rings in their eyebrows, lips and navel.

Stara had flatly refused to let Vora put holes in any part of her body, much to the slave’s consternation.

Father had better not have ordered her to, she thought. I don’t care how little it hurts, it’s barbaric.

At the thought of her father, she felt her stomach clench with nerves. She had seen nothing of him all week. For the first few days she had thought little of it, reasoning that he must be busy. But as the end of the week neared she grew annoyed. After so many years seeing him only on occasional visits, she wanted to get to know him better. Surely he wanted the same. After four days she sent Vora to him with a request for a meeting, but he didn’t respond.

The previous morning she had ignored Vora’s warning that it was inappropriate and left her rooms to seek him out. When she reached her father’s apartments a slave had tried to stop her entering. Knowing that he couldn’t touch her, she pushed past him.

Her father wasn’t there. She had returned to her rooms disappointed and frustrated.

Tonight, however, she would see him – in the company of her prospective husband. Smothering a scowl, she leaned forward so Vora could drape several heavy strings of beads over her head.

“So tell me, mistress: when can you leave the master’s room?” Vora asked. The slave had been teaching Stara local customs all week, and testing her all afternoon.

“After my father and the guests have left.”

“When must you leave the room?”

“When my father tells me to. Or if I find myself alone with other men. Unless there are other women present – though that doesn’t include slaves. And unless my father tells me to stay.”

“Correct, mistress.”

“What if my father says I must stay, but there are only other men in the room?”

“You do as Ashaki Sokara bids.”

“Even if I feel I am in danger? Even if one of the men acts, er, improperly?”

“Even then, mistress, but Ashaki Sokara would not put you in that situation.”

“That is stupid. What if he misjudged them? What if he left in a hurry and told me to stay without thinking it through? Surely, as my father, he’d rather I took steps to protect myself than let his mistake lead to a ...a misunderstanding or tactical error. There’s got to be a point where even he sees that unquestioning obedience would be foolish.”

Vora did not answer, just pressed her lips together in disapproval as she always did when Stara spoke against the Sachakan customs or her father. It invariably made Stara angry and defiant.

“Unquestioning obedience is for slaves, the uneducated and the pathetic,” Stara declared, moving to the jug of water on a side table and pouring herself a glass.

“We are all slaves, mistress,” Vora said in reply. “Women. Men, in their own way. There is no such thing as freedom, just different kinds of slavery. Even an ashaki can act only within the restrictions of custom and politics. And the emperor is even more bound.”

As Stara drank she looked at the woman and considered her words. What a sad state this country is in. Yet it is the most powerful land in the region. Is that the price of power? But I suppose what she says about women and men being slaves to custom and politics is true in Elyne as well. And commoners, though not slaves, answer to the landowner or employer. Maybe we’re not so different.

But in Elyne, nobody – not even commoners – could be forced to marry anyone they did not wish to. They could leave the service of a landowner or employer and work for another. They were paid for their labour.

“Mistress, it is time,” Vora said. As Stara turned to face her the woman’s eyes narrowed. “You look acceptable.” Then the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “No, you are beautiful, mistress – and lucky to be so.”

Stara scowled. “It has only ever brought me trouble, and is likely to again tonight.”

Vora snorted softly, then gestured to the door. “I’m sure you’ve never used your looks to manipulate others, especially not in trade.”

“Once, but it had entirely the opposite effect from the one I hoped for.” Stara strode to the door. “If your appearance is all people see, they have no respect for your mind.”

“Then they underestimate you, mistress. That is a weakness you can exploit,” Vora said as she followed.

Stara weaved through the corridors of her father’s mansion. For a slave, Vora was unexpectedly forthright. And bossy. Stara knew she was letting the woman get away with it because she was unused to dealing with slaves, and couldn’t bring herself to snap at them as her father did.

Now, as she reached the master’s room, she felt the knot in her stomach tighten. How will Father behave towards me? Can I do anything to change his mind? And what will this suitor be like? Should I try to put him off marrying me?

Her father sat in the same chair as he had the day she arrived, but other seats had been arranged around it and were occupied. Two men in richly decorated jackets sat to one side. She noted the knife sheaths at their belts that indicated they were magicians. On the other sat another stranger, in less colourful clothes and with no knife, and a man she recognised. As she realised who he was she felt her stomach sink. As if sensing her dismay, her brother looked up at her and frowned.

Then her father glanced towards the door and saw her waiting. He beckoned. Remembering Vora’s lessons, Stara lowered her gaze and crossed to the only empty chair, directly across from her father, and waited for his permission to sit down.

“This is my daughter, Stara,” he said to his guests. “She has recently returned from Elyne.”

The men looked at Stara appraisingly for a moment, then away. She took care not to meet their eyes, warned by Vora that it was considered rude.

“It must be a balm to your heart to have such beauty and grace in your home, Ashaki Sokara,” the man in the plain jacket said.

All formality and charm, she thought. Though if I’m a balm to my father’s heart, then it’s clear his heart hasn’t needed any soothing this week.

“Yes, you are lucky to have bred such a jewel,” added the younger of the garishly dressed men. Stara swallowed a bitter laugh. That was more accurate. Jewel. Asset. Stock to trade. Something you lock away in a safe place and only take out to show off to guests.

“Stara has been away for many years, and is still learning our customs and manners,” her father said. He met her eyes and frowned, and she realised she had been looking directly at him. Suppressing a sigh, she set her gaze on the floor.

“How old is she?” the older garish man asked.

“Twenty-two,” her father replied. She opened her mouth to correct him, then stopped herself.

“And she has never been married?” the young man asked, surprise in his tone. “Nor bred any children?”

“No,” her father replied. She could feel his eyes on her. “Her mother was instructed to prevent either, and did an admirable job.”

“Indeed she has, considering how the Elyne women behave.” Stara resisted a smile. It hadn’t been her mother’s efforts that had prevented marriage or pregnancy. Stara’s determination that nothing would prevent her becoming a trader had led her to refuse the few offers of marriage that had come her way, and magic had ensured that her enjoyment of lovers’ company hadn’t resulted in any awkward consequences.

“Sit down, Stara,” her father said.

She obeyed. To her relief, the conversation now turned from herself to political issues. She was to sit silently, only speaking if questioned, and then only after looking to her father for permission to speak. Eventually food and drink was brought by slaves, served first to her father, then to her brother, then to the guests and finally to her.

Throughout the meal she pretended moments of forgetfulness, nearly speaking or eating out of turn then quickly catching herself. The young man must be her father’s choice of husband, so she took to tapping her feet quietly when he spoke, and stifling the occasional yawn, in the hope that it would irritate him.

Aside from that first glance, her brother did not look at her again during the evening. His expression remained aloof and indifferent. He only spoke when the guests sought his opinion.

Little trade was discussed, to Stara’s disappointment. The talk was all about politics. She listened, knowing that such matters could affect trade, especially in Sachaka.

“Sachaka needs to fight Kyralia,” the older garish man declared at one point, “or it will turn on itself.”

“Invading Kyralia will only delay the inevitable,” the sober man disagreed. “We must solve our problems here, not complicate them by involving other lands, and giving those bold enough to disobey the emperor more power than they deserve.”

“If we defeat them, the Kyralians will hardly be in a position to involve themselves in our politics,” the young garish man pointed out. “And anyone who manages to conquer it will earn respect and power.”

“But a freshly conquered land needs controlling. As do conquerors, if their ambition is not satisfied but instead increased by their success.”

“The emperor would never—”

“Kakato,” the older garish man cut in, silencing his son. “Let us not presume to know what the emperor would or wouldn’t do.”

At last, a name, Stara thought. So my prospective husband is called Kakato. She made up some rude rhymes to entertain herself. When she turned her attention back to the men their conversation had moved on to a broken agreement with the tribes of the ash desert, and whether it was an unwise or an unlucky move.

The night wore on, long past the meal’s end. Stara found herself not having to fake her yawns. When her father finally dismissed her she rose and bowed with genuine relief before she left.

In the corridor outside, Vora was waiting. The woman’s lips were pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing until they reached Stara’s rooms.

“So, mistress,” the slave said, as always with no trace of subservience, but Stara could not bring herself to correct the woman. “What did you think of your prospective husband?”

Stara sniffed dismissively. “I wasn’t impressed. He’s a bit young for me, don’t you think?”

Vora’s eyebrows rose. “Young? How old do you like your men?”

“Old?” Stara paused, then narrowed her eyes at the woman. “It isn’t Kakato?”

The slave shook her head.

“Then one of the old . . . you must be joking! Which one, then?” The soberly dressed man had spoken the most intelligently, Stara noted, whereas the older garish man had seemed little smarter than his son.

“Master Kakato’s father, Master Tokacha.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask, mistress.”

Stara gave the woman a withering look.

“I was ordered to teach you customs, nothing more.” Vora spread her hands. “To do any more than ordered is to disobey.”

“If I order you to tell me anything that might be useful or important, unless that information is specifically restricted by my father, would you be able to?”

The woman smiled and nodded. “Of course, mistress.”

“Then tell me. Everything that might be useful or important.” Stara lifted the necklaces from her neck. It was amazing how tiring the weight of so much jewellery could be. One of them caught on the headdress and she cursed. She felt Vora’s hands plucking at it and soon she was free.

“How was Master Ikaro?” Vora asked as she stowed the head-dress in a wooden box.

“I have no idea. He only looked at me once.”

“Your brother is a kind man. And talented. But like you, a slave. You should ask to see him. I think Master Sokaro would allow it.”

“I doubt my brother would. If he cares that I’m here at all, it’s more likely he wants me married and out of the way.” Stara peeled herself out of the wrap and gave it to Vora, who handed her a sleeping shift.

“Why would you say that?” the old woman asked.

“He made it pretty clear what he thought of women the last time he visited us in Elyne.”

“That was some time ago. You may find he has changed. He would be a good ally. Shall I arrange it, mistress?”

Stara turned away. “I don’t know. Ask me in the morning.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Moving to the bed, Stara sat down and relished a full, unsuppressed yawn.

“I know what you were doing tonight,” Vora said from the doorway. “It will take more than that to put off your prospective husband.”

Her lips were back in that narrow line. Stara frowned in annoyance. “Sachakans may treat women like stock, but we both know women aren’t dumb animals or mindless objects. We have minds and hearts. Nobody can blame us for wanting, at the least, to influence who we are sold to.”

Even as she said the words, Stara knew she had given herself away. If not by her behaviour during the evening, which Vora must have been able to see or hear, then by responding to Vora’s accurate guess.

The woman lips softened and quirked upward.

“You’re not going to influence anyone by being so obvious about it, mistress.” Then she turned and vanished into the corridor beyond.

Stara stared at the empty doorway and considered a possibility she hadn’t thought of before. Could Vora actually be on my side?

CHAPTER 24

As Tessia replaited her freshly combed hair she noticed that the voices of the magicians and apprentices outside the tent walls had grown from a few occasional murmured comments to a full, multi-voiced discussion. After tying off the plait, she crawled outside and stood up.

The morning sun filtered through the forest, striping the small abandoned field they had camped in with shadows. A knot of magicians had gathered between the tents, their apprentices hovering close by. All wore expressions of worry or annoyance. Spotting Jayan, she moved to his side.

“What’s happening?”

“Lord Sudin has gone, taking Aken with him.”

“Does anybody know why?”

“No, but Lord Hakkin has admitted that he and Lord Sudin discussed strategies for luring Sachakans into revealing themselves last night, or possibly scouting for themselves. He thinks Sudin might have left to try out one of his own ideas.”

“We are getting closer to Sudin’s ley,” Mikken added, moving to her other side. As she turned to regard him he smiled briefly. She found herself noticing, not for the first time, that he was rather good-looking. And nice, too, she added. Cheeky when the other apprentices are around, but never in a mean way.

“When did he leave?” she asked him.

“We’re not sure, but probably not long ago,” Jayan replied. She turned to see him scowling. Annoyed that a magician should so foolishly disobey Lord Werrin, she guessed. He saw that she was looking at him and his expression abruptly became neutral.

The knot of magicians broke apart.

“Pack up,” Werrin ordered. “Make it quick.”

At once the camp filled with activity and noise as all hastened to dismantle tents and stuff belongings into the saddlebags of the pack horses. When all were ready and mounted a scout led the group away, his gaze on the ground. Magicians and apprentices followed close behind, Werrin at the front. Servants followed nervously at the rear, but Werrin was reluctant to split the magicians up in order to keep the servants protected between them, especially as they were often forced by the terrain to travel in single file and a group of servants in the middle would be just as vulnerable to a surprise attack as one at the end.

Tessia heard Jayan’s stomach growl, and smiled grimly. She doubted they’d be eating any time soon. At least their supplies of food would last a little longer. The fresh supplies Lord Hakkin and the other newcomers had brought with them had only lasted five days, and with a larger number to feed and so much of the local area looted by Sachakans, the magicians were finding it ever harder to gather enough food for people and horses. Werrin had sent a scout south requesting that regular deliveries of supplies be organised. Dakon had expressed his worry to Tessia and Jayan that, if not arranged carefully and without magicians as escort, those supplies would only end up feeding the Sachakans.

The mood of the group had changed with the arrival of the newcomers. The magicians’ debates were more heated. Dakon had not revealed what the disagreements were about, but from watching closely Tessia was sure a battle of some sort was going on between Hakkin and Narvelan, and the rest of the magicians had either taken one side or the other, or were undecided.

Whatever the conflict was, she was not surprised to learn it might have led to Sudin’s leaving the group. Has he left to return home? Or is he planning some sort of attack on the Sachakans? I’d have guessed the former, since it would be madness to confront the enemy alone. But soon it became clear that the tracks of Sudin’s and Aken’s horses weren’t heading south. They were heading north-east, away from the city.

Confrontation might not be Sudin’s plan, though. He might have decided to scout for himself. Perhaps make his way to the pass, from which no scouts had returned. Or maybe he intended to find a high place from which he might spot the Sachakans, then guide the rest of the group with mental instructions. It would be risky, as the Sachakans would hear the same communications and no doubt send someone to stop him.

Jayan’s horse drew alongside hers. She glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking. His brow was creased in a frown. Had he guessed what Sudin was up to? She could not ask him. They were not to speak while travelling, unless necessity demanded it.

Looking ahead, she saw that they were moving into a narrow valley, and the horses, once again, were forced into a line. A new hierarchy had formed to include the newcomers, and she smiled wryly as she watched magicians hesitate or push forward to take their place in an order of rank only they understood.

The walls of the valley drew together and she found their closeness oppressive. She checked her shield to make sure it was strong. As time passed, they climbed ever higher. Up and up, steeper and steeper, until she began to worry that they would have to dismount and lead the horses.

Finally, the line of riders visible before her began to shorten as those at the front reached a crest of some sort and moved out of sight beyond it. As her own horse reached the end of the ascent she sighed with relief. They were riding along a ridge now. Through the thin spread of trees she could see the face of higher slopes. She realised they could probably be seen as easily in this scant cover.

Lord Werrin!

She jumped. The mental voice was Sudin’s, and it carried a hint of panic. Looking around, she saw heads turning as magicians and apprentices glanced about the forest as if the call had reached their ears rather than their minds.

Lord Sudin? Werrin replied. Where are—

Too late! We’re—

A pause followed.

Help! Heeeelp! Tessia flinched at Aken’s voice in her mind, and the echo of his terror. She found herself staring at Jayan, who gazed back at her in horror.

We took the track north-east, Sudin said quickly. Over the ridge and to the left...into...a... valley. Two... Sacha—

A faint thin cry filtered through the forest. It took Tessia a moment to realise her ears had heard it, not her mind. Something flashed before her mind’s eye. An impression. Of blood. A lot of blood.

“Left!” Werrin exclaimed. The scout was already running back long the column, his expression stiff with shame. Werrin urged his horse after the man. After a moment he stopped and called out. “Four with me,” he said. “The rest stay.”

That meant five magicians and their apprentices. Dismay mingled with relief as she saw Dakon move to the side of the track, indicating that she and Jayan should too. Narvelan, Hakkin, Prinan and Ardalen and their apprentices hurried after Werrin.

I want to help, she thought. But what if it’s a trap?

The sound of hoofbeats faded rapidly. For a long moment the rest remained still and silent. Then Dakon moved along the line and, finding that the servants were still on the steep track, brought them up onto the ridge to wait next to the remaining magicians.

The wait was not long, but it was slow and strained and full of dread. At every sound in the forest all jumped or searched the trees fearfully. Every exchanged glance was full of unspoken questions. Tessia realised she was no longer hungry. In fact, she felt a little queasy. She checked her shield again.

When the sound of approaching hoofbeats reached her Tessia held her breath. Dakon moved forward. Jayan urged his horse after, and Tessia nudged hers to follow. Heart racing, she gazed down the track.

Then Narvelan appeared and she let out a sigh of relief. But as she read his expression she felt her stomach sink. The young magician looked pale and grim. As Werrin came into sight she flinched at the fury in his face. Then Hakkin appeared. He hung his head, his expression tortured and bleak.

Narvelan looked up at those waiting.

“They’re dead,” he said.

None said a word for a long moment. The only sound was the movement of the horses returning to the group.

“Both of them?” a weak voice asked. Tessia turned as she realised Leoran had spoken.

“Yes,” Werrin replied.

“You buried them, then?” Bolvin asked.

Werrin and Narvelan exchanged glances. “Yes.”

Tessia felt a chill run down her spine. There had been more to it than that, she suspected. The glance between the two magicians hinted at something bad. Something they felt was better left unmentioned. She looked at the other magicians and their apprentices. Lord Ardalen looked ill. Lord Prinan’s eyes were haunted but there was determination in the set of his jaw. The apprentices... they were pale and their eyes were wide. They kept glancing back over their shoulders. Mikken met her gaze, then looked at the ground.

“This changes things,” Werrin said, addressing them all. “They have killed a Kyralian magician. Even by their standards, retaliation is justified. We must camp and discuss our next move, and notify the king of Lord Sudin’s death. And Apprentice Aken’s.” He shook his head.

“I must accept responsibility,” Lord Hakkin said. “I encouraged Sudin to contemplate the action he took today. I can see now that such risks are not worth taking. Should never be taken again. I...am sorry.” He bowed his head.

“We have been only guessing the extent of the danger we face until now, balancing caution with courage,” Narvelan said. “But now we know the truth, and it is a hard and bitter lesson for all of us. We know what we risk, both magician and apprentice.”

“I have been thinking about that,” Lord Bolvin said. “Since they share the risk, should we include the apprentices in our discussions? They may not have the experience to offer suggestions or insight, but they deserve to know what they are fighting against, and how.”

To Tessia’s surprise, all of the magicians nodded.

“Then let’s get away from this place and return to somewhere less exposed and more protected,” Ardalen said.

Without another word, the magicians led the group back down into the valley.

There were some truths you didn’t need to know, but had to know, Jayan believed. He didn’t need to know anything more than that Lord Sudin and Aken had been killed by the Sachakans. But something in him wanted to know the details. Wanted to know exactly how sadistic the Sachakans could be. Maybe there was a part of him that needed the details in order to prove that what he’d been told was true, and not something invented to encourage everyone in the group to co-operate, or to justify killing the invaders.

Or perhaps just because he couldn’t quite believe he was never going to talk to, or tease, Aken again. Or play Kyrima against him. The young man he’d barely got to know was never going to grow into a higher magician, with power and authority. Never take on his own apprentice.

So at the first opportunity, as they were making camp, he sidled up to Mikken and asked.

The young man looked at Jayan in disbelief, then annoyance, but then his gaze became thoughtful and he nodded in understanding.

“They were in pieces,” he said, then went on to describe what must have been the result of a planned, deliberate sequence of torture. Since then, whenever Jayan thought about what Mikken had told him he felt cold right down to his bones. He realised that, for most of his life, he’d imagined the Sachakan magicians as being not so different from Kyralians. They kept slaves instead of lording it over commoners. They maintained land and trade, as Kyralian lords did.

He’d reasoned that these invaders were merely bored young men with high ambitions – of which there were plenty in Kyralia, though none held ambitions as high as conquering another land. But now Jayan knew better. Now he knew they were savages. No ambitious young Kyralian magician would have killed with such deliberate, undeserved cruelty. Not unless he was dealing out revenge for a truly atrocious act. And even then... Jayan had to acknowledge that if anyone he’d known had shown he was capable of such savagery he would have regarded them with disgust and wariness from then on.

What the Sachakans had done to Sudin and Aken took planning. And practice. That’s what angered and frightened Jayan the most.

“Don’t tell Tessia,” Mikken said.

Though Jayan appreciated that Mikken had Tessia’s well-being in mind, he wasn’t going to keep anything from her just because the young man fancied her. Besides, Tessia had seen plenty of gruesome things as a healer’s assistant. As the set-up of camp finished and Tessia approached Jayan to ask what he had learned, he considered telling her everything. And immediately decided against it. She would wonder if such things had been done to the villagers of Mandryn, or her parents. She was also more trusting than he. It probably wouldn’t even occur to her to question whether she’d been told the full truth.

So he glossed over the details, only saying that Aken had been killed first, and that their bodies had been left in a state meant to shock and scare anyone who found them. Then the magicians called everyone to their meeting, rescuing Jayan from any further questions.

The decision to include apprentices in the meeting had surprised Jayan, and now he felt a twinge of excitement. The magicians sat in a wide circle and their apprentices settled beside them. The sound of the forest around them faded as Werrin raised a shield to prevent their words from being heard outside the group. Jayan glanced beyond, to where scouts and servants kept watch, holding the lanterns they were to signal with if anything suspicious was seen or heard.

Jayan glanced at Dakon, who smiled knowingly.

“Don’t say anything unless invited,” he murmured.

Nodding, Jayan suppressed a fleeting annoyance. Normally he had a chance to talk to Dakon before the magicians met. Dakon always asked if Jayan had anything to suggest or comment on. But there had been no time today.

Lord Werrin began by going over the events of the day, glossing over the gory details much as Jayan had for Tessia. Once again, Lord Hakkin admitted his part in encouraging Lord Sudin to risk venturing out on his own, and then all tried in vain to guess what the magician’s plan had been.

When the possible reasons and consequences had been fully covered, Werrin sighed and straightened.

“Sudin’s death changes much. A magician has been killed. This frees us to consider strategies that may result in Sachakan deaths. But we must consult the king first.”

“Surely he will not prevent us from killing them now,” Prinan said.

“I doubt it, but he will still expect some restraint,” Werrin replied. “Every Sachakan we kill has a family who may feel obliged to seek revenge or compensation, whether that death was justified or not. The more Sachakans we kill, the more Sachakan families will have the obligation to strike back in common. If they unite . . . this could become a war.”

“But we can’t sit back and let these invaders kill and loot for fear of war,” Lord Ardalen protested.

“If the choice is to be conquered again by these people, or face a war, I’d choose the war any time,” Lord Bolvin said firmly.

“But would we win?” Narvelan asked.

The magicians exchanged frowns. Jayan’s heart sank. They’re not sure. He shivered. Us against the might of the Sachakan empire. Does Kyralia have any hope of surviving the next few years?

“Would the Elynes help us?” Prinan asked.

Hakkin grimaced. “They would not want to make themselves a target.”

“But they could be brought to see that if Sachaka conquered Kyralia, Elyne would be next,” Magician Genfel said. “And that if Sachaka was occupied in fighting us both it is more likely to lose.”

“Best we avoid having to ask them at all,” Bolvin said. “We must halt this invasion now. Drive out the Sachakans. Make it clear we will not be easily conquered again. We may try to avoid killing too many in the process, but it is more important to demonstrate that we will not tolerate these incursions. And murders.”

The others nodded, and Jayan felt the same determination that was written on all their faces.

“Nevertheless,” Genfel said, “if we wait too long to ask for help, it may not arrive in time. Someone needs to seek the promise of assistance, at the least.” He paused. “I have friends in other lands who might be able to persuade magicians in their home-land to join us if we are not successful in driving the invaders out ourselves.”

“Discovering that other lands are willing to join us might make Takado reconsider his plans,” Narvelan said, his expression thoughtful. “And dissuade other Sachakans from joining him.”

Werrin looked at Genfel. “You will need the king’s endorsement.”

Genfel shrugged. “Of course.”

“If I may speak?” Hakkin looked at Werrin, who looked amused as he nodded. Hakkin turned to regard the other magicians. “Chasing the Sachakans with such a small party is ridiculous. We need more magicians and we need them now. With enough support, we could fan out across the north and sweep them out like the scum and dirt they are.”

“With respect, Lord Hakkin,” Dakon said – speaking for the first time, Jayan noted, “but the area you speak of is extensive and mountainous. It would take more magicians than we have in Kyralia to spread across it as you suggest, and even if we did they would be stretched so thin it would be no effort for the Sachakans to break through.”

Hakkin looked at Dakon thoughtfully, and then, to Jayan’s surprise, nodded. “You’re right, of course. I am not familiar enough with this part of Kyralia and am only just coming to understand the challenges of moving in this type of terrain.”

“We should, as you have suggested before, Lord Hakkin, regain control of the pass,” Narvelan said.

Hakkin admitting his ignorance? Narvelan supporting Hakkin? Jayan resisted a wry smile. If only it hadn’t taken the gruesome death of a magician and his apprentice to get these men to co-operate.

“I agree,” Werrin said. “I suspect a large part of the Sachakans’ plan is that news of their continuing existence here – and now the killing of one of us – should inspire their countrymen into joining them. We must make that as difficult as possible. But controlling the pass will have to become a separate task from ours.”

“Then I volunteer to gather the forces necessary,” Lord Ardalen said, “and to take them there and hold as best we can.”

Eyebrows rose, then all nodded. Werrin smiled. “We must, as always, seek the king’s approval, but I will also suggest that he would not err in granting the responsibility to one as capable as yourself.”

Ardalen flushed. “Thank you.” He grimaced. “I think.”

“I’ll send a scout south. We should have a reply in four or five days. I will suggest he replies with mental communication, using code words to indicate approval or disapproval, as Lord Olleran suggested a few days ago.”

“If we block the pass,” Prinan said quietly, “then I suspect any Sachakans determined to enter Kyralia will attempt to use the new pass in my father’s ley. He should be warned and...and action taken to prevent access that way.”

“Yes,” Werrin said. “You are probably right.” He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “I will also suggest this to the king.” He glanced around the group. “It would not hurt to have one who saw today’s crime with his own eyes speak of it to those who do not yet grasp the situation we are in, and the future we face if we lose.”

“In the meantime, we are too few and too weak,” Bolvin said. “Is there any way we can strengthen ourselves more effectively?”

“We cannot speed or increase the rate at which we gain magic,” Narvelan said, spreading his hands. “Even if we were allowed to seek power from commoners, most in these parts have fled or been killed.”

“The king cannot grant us access to the strength of commoners, no matter how willing, until we are officially at war,” Werrin said. “But...I know he has been considering how he might make exceptions.”

“There is power and there is knowledge and skill,” Dakon said. “We can, in the meantime, hone our skills. And improve our abilities, if we are willing to share what we know and practise working together.”

“But that will use up magic we may need to deal with the enemy,” Werrin pointed out.

“We do not have to use full-strength strikes,” Dakon said. “Only beams of light. It would be considerably safer, too. Other magical applications... I’m sure we can come up with ways to teach or demonstrate to each other without overly tapping into our resources.”

Werrin looked at the other magicians. “What do you all think?”

Shoulders lifted and heads nodded. “I doubt I have anything new to add,” Prinan said wryly. “I’m no keeper of any great magical secrets.”

“I may have something to offer,” Ardalen said, smiling crookedly. “A little trick my master taught me that may prove useful, which I’m more than willing to share if it helps to protect Kyralia.”

“I think that must be the aim against which we must all weigh any ownership of magical knowledge,” Werrin said. “Secrets may be lost for ever if we lose. And you can be sure no Sachakan master will be paying any Kyralian magician for his unique talents – if we survive being conquered.”

“I doubt there will be any Kyralian magicians left, should the Sachakans be in charge,” Narvelan muttered darkly.

A long silence followed, then Werrin looked around the circle again, this time meeting the eyes of the apprentices.

“Now, do our young charges have any questions, or suggestions?”

Magicians looked at their apprentices, who shook their heads or shrugged. Jayan bit his lip. He realised Dakon was looking at him, one eyebrow raised in question. As Werrin opened his mouth to announce the meeting over, Jayan cleared his throat.

“I have one suggestion,” he said.

All eyes turned to him, and he had to push aside a sudden nervousness.

“Yes, Apprentice Jayan?” Werrin said.

“I know this has come up before, and been rejected, but I would ask that it be reconsidered,” Jayan began, choosing his words carefully. He glanced at Tessia to draw their eyes to her briefly. “Apprentice Tessia and I have had little training from our master since leaving Imardin. For me this is not such a loss, since I have many years of training behind me. Tessia and many of the other apprentices here have had almost no training – perhaps only rudimentary instruction in defending themselves, if any.” He paused to take a breath. “Could we begin training each other now?”

Werrin had already begun to frown in disapproval, anticipating Jayan’s request. He looked at his fellow magicians, most of whom appeared as unimpressed as he with the idea.

“Might I make a different suggestion?” Dakon said.

Jayan looked at his master in surprise, and not a little disappointment. He had been hoping for support, not an alternative.

“I’m sure we all acknowledge how unfortunate it is that we must neglect the training we are obliged to give our apprentices in exchange for strength,” Dakon said.

“Strength they should not be using up needlessly,” Ardalen injected.

“No,” Dakon agreed. “They should not need to protect themselves unless in an unusual or desperate situation. In that case, it would be better to have a weakened apprentice than a dead one, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ardalen nodded and shrugged in agreement.

“Apprentices do not teach apprentices, however,” Dakon continued. “It has been a rule for as long as we remember. We do not have time to spare in instruction. Or do we? How much time does it take for seven magicians to teach the same lesson to seven apprentices? The same time as it would take for one magician to teach the lesson to seven apprentices? I think not.” He smiled. “If we are in agreement on what is taught, is there any harm in one of us teaching a group of apprentices, perhaps sharing the responsibility by teaching in turn, a different magician each time, as the opportunity comes?”

For a while none of the magicians spoke. All looked thoughtful, their gazes moving about the circle and finally settling on Werrin.

“That is a suggestion we may have to think on,” he began.

“No,” Hakkin interrupted. “I think we can decide on this now. So long as these lessons do not take time or power from more immediate and important matters, and we are in agreement over their contents, I am in support of them. I think it will raise our spirits. Help us to feel we are achieving something, at least.”

“Very well.” Werrin looked around the magicians. “Does anyone disagree?”

None of the magicians responded. Jayan felt as if his heart was singing some kind of victory song. It wasn’t what he had been hoping for. It was better, since he had suspected that, as the most experienced apprentice, he’d have been doing most of the teaching if the magicians had agreed to his suggestion.

“Then we shall begin group lessons,” Werrin decided. “Before we discuss the contents of these lessons, and agree on a roster of teachers, let’s attend to the matter of food. I believe the meal is ready.”

Following Werrin’s gaze, Jayan saw that some of the servants were stirring the contents of three large pots, which were sitting on a flat rock that one of the magicians had heated with magic to avoid the smoke of a cookfire.

Soup again, Jayan thought, groaning quietly. It wouldn’t be so bad if the ingredients weren’t mostly shrivelled vegetables and the occasional bit of hard, overly salty dried meat.

But he doubted anybody would be complaining. And he knew he’d be too hungry to care anyway.

CHAPTER 25

As Hanara swung the pile of dead branches and twigs off his back he felt the chill air of the night turn his sweat ice-cold. He dropped them beside the fire. Takado was seated before the flames and was staring into them, his expression thoughtful but with hints of the suppressed annoyance that only Hanara knew well enough to recognise.

Jochara squatted beside Takado, ready to leap up and do his master’s bidding. It had taken the new source slave a long time, in Hanara’s opinion, to learn not to interrupt Takado when in one of these moods. The burn across his cheek must hurt. Hanara felt a faint pity, but no great sympathy. Having seen how some of Takado’s allies treated their slaves, he knew he and Jochara were lucky.

And I’m luckier than all of them, because for a short time I was free.

He resisted snorting aloud at himself. The freedom he’d experienced had never been true freedom. He’d known from the start that Takado would return for him. If his freedom had been real, it would not have been temporary. It had been like a small reward. Maybe just a concession – time to recuperate.

The rest of the magicians and their slaves were busy setting up their tents and bringing out food. Since Takado did not indicate otherwise, Hanara returned to the forest. It was getting dark and finding firewood was growing more difficult. At one point something dark slithered across his hand. He dropped the branch he’d picked up, heart pounding, then continued to gather wood while trying to ignore the memory of multiple tiny legs running over his skin.

The fire was a luxury. Takado had chosen to camp in a twisting valley that hid the light of the fire from all but those about to stumble upon it. This far up in the mountains it was still chilly at night. The magicians could keep themselves warm with magic, but they preferred to save their strength.

Just as he had tied the first bundle of sticks together and hoisted it onto his shoulders he heard a voice. Looking further down the valley, he saw floating globes of light appear and several shadows approaching. The glimpses he caught through the trees were fleeting, but there was something familiar about the way these people walked. He abandoned his bundle of sticks and bolted back to the camp.

Takado looked up as Hanara hurried to his side. One eyebrow rose.

“Dovaka,” Hanara panted.

A fleeting scowl darkened Takado’s face, then his expression became calm again. He nodded to the ground.

Hanara huddled down beside Jochara and waited. This is going to be interesting, he thought. From what Hanara had overheard, some sort of confrontation had happened between some of Takado’s allies and some Kyralians. Takado had been quiet since. And not a good kind of quiet. His voice had been calm and measured in a way Hanara had learned to dread.

Takado was angry. Very angry.

The other magicians in his group had been cautiously enthusiastic, phrasing their words carefully. One fewer Kyralian, they said, meant one more success to attract supporters to Takado. But mostly they kept their opinions to themselves. Takado had said little, and nothing to indicate his approval or disapproval.

After the camp was established and slaves were sent to the end of the line of communication so that the other group of magicians could find it, they had settled down to wait. Eventually the second group arrived, minus two members, Dovaka and Nagana. None knew anything about the confrontation.

Calls of greeting preceded Dovaka’s arrival, then the man and his friend appeared and slaves of his group followed him into the clearing. Takado rose.

“I hear you have had a busy day,” he said.

Dovaka grinned. “Yes. One of those weak white barbarians came sniffing, all on his own.”

“He found you?” Takado’s eyebrows rose.

A line deepened above Dovaka’s brows at the suggestion he’d failed to remain hidden. “No. He came snooping so we taught him better manners.”

“A lesson I’m sure he’ll have plenty of opportunities to put into practice in future.” Takado finished with a smile.

Dovaka hesitated, then grinned. “No chance at all.”

A silence followed. Hanara noted that the rest of the magicians were watching Takado closely.

Takado’s smile broadened. “Then congratulations on being the first of us to kill a Kyralian magician. You may go down in the records for that. Here.” He glanced down at Jochara. “Let’s sit and celebrate your achievement.” The slave dashed away to the packs and brought back a bottle of spirits, while the magicians all sat down round the fire. As Takado offered Dovaka the first drink his smile faded. “I hope you don’t go down as the man who spoiled our chances of conquering Kyralia.”

Dovaka shrugged. “By killing one Kyralian?”

“Which we all know will have consequences,” Takado replied. “They will have been restraining themselves for the same reasons we have been. Now that we’ve killed one of them they’ll be free to kill us. Their tactics will change. So must ours. Don’t tell me you didn’t realise this? It was why I asked that no Kyralian magician be killed until we were ready.”

“We’re ready,” Dovaka scoffed. “We have the numbers and strength to take over ten villages. You would wait until all of Sachaka was roaming the mountains in hiding.”

“Ten villages.” Takado chuckled. He didn’t say anything more. The bottle had come around the circle, so he offered it to Dovaka again.

“The Kyralians are few and they’re stupid,” Dovaka said, then drank deeply. His gaze moved from Takado to the other magicians, moving from face to face. “We could take a third of their land now. Their villages are spread too far apart for them to be defended.”

“By them or us,” Takado replied. “Why waste time and energy, and Sachakan lives, taking a village that you would lose again?”

“We could leave as easily as we could arrive – and once news we have taken land reaches home, those joining us will increase tenfold. Hiding and skulking in the forest is not going to inspire anyone to leave the comfort of their mansions. Taking land will. And when they join us we could take more land, until we have only Imardin to make our own.” Dovaka took another swig of the spirit.

“Are you inspired?” Takado asked.

Dovaka blinked, looked down at the bottle then passed it to the next magician. “I am more than inspired. I have a goal, and a plan.”

“Hmm,” Takado said quietly, nodding. “So do I. What is yours? What do you want from all this?”

Dovaka’s eye gleamed. “Kyralia.”

“All to yourself?”

“No! For Sachaka.” Dovaka grinned. “Well, with a part of it mine. I’d want something in return for taking the lea— all the risks.”

“Yes,” Takado said. “We all do. Every one of us has something to offer, whether they be risk takers or cautious planners, in this enterprise, as we all have something to gain. We must all act as our good sense tells us to.”

As food was brought out and shared, including a magic-roasted leg of a reber brought by Dovaka’s group, talk moved on to more practical subjects. Takado’s bottle of spirit was emptied, then another produced. It felt like a celebration, and though Hanara was relieved the meeting of Dovaka and Takado hadn’t turned into a confrontation, he knew all was not well.

The night deepened. Magicians yawned and began to retire for the night. Dovaka and Nagana stagged off to their beds and their slave women. When they were gone, Dachido leaned closer to Takado.

“What will you do?” he murmured.

A small crooked smile tweaked Takado’s lips. “Nothing. In fact, I’m glad the first death has occurred, as some parts of my plan may now be set in motion.” He nodded. “Our risk-taking friend has his uses.”

Dachido looked doubtful, then considered Takado again. “I’d ask what you were up to, if I didn’t already know there was no point. We’ll find out in time. Sleep well.”

As the man left Hanara felt a weight on his shoulder and realised Jochara was falling asleep on him. He elbowed the young man awake, getting a sullen scowl in return for the favour. Then Takado stood up and walked away to his tent, and they both hurried to follow.

Somewhere behind the thick cloud, the sun was slowly climbing up from the horizon. Only a dim natural light seeped through to the clearing, so a few globe lights had been created to illuminate the camp. Most of the magicians were still asleep – only a few early risers had emerged from their tents to relieve those on watch.

The apprentices standing before Dakon looked mainly puzzled or sullen, though more and more were blinking with sudden realisation and looking more enthusiastic.

“Some of you have guessed why I’ve woken you all up so early,” he said. “A few nights ago we decided that your training must not be neglected, but the only practical way for your lessons to continue was for one magician to teach all of you simultaneously. I volunteered to be your first teacher.”

He examined each of them, noting which apprentices looked worried, doubtful or eager. The death of Sudin and Aken might have forced everyone to see how dangerous the Sachakan invasion was, but he knew that some magicians still disagreed with and feared the sharing of knowledge.

To reassure the doubters, Dakon had a plan. They all agreed that apprentices ought to be able to defend themselves. So lessons should be all about magical fighting skills, with a heavy emphasis on defence.

He’d thought about it long into the night. He’d imagined lessons rather like games of Kyrima, but there were great differences between real life battles and the way Kyrima was played.

“We’re going to start with a game of Kyrima where you are the pieces,” he told them. “Before we begin, there are some basic rules that you should all follow. All strikes must be harmless bolts of non-continuous light. Do any of you not know how to do this?” None of the apprentices responded, so Dakon nodded. “We’ll consider an apprentice’s shield broken if it is struck once, but if he or she hasn’t given strength to their magician yet that round, they get two strikes. When your shield is broken you must leave the game. Be honest: what we’re trying to do here is learn, not achieve high individual scores.

“One of each side will choose someone to play the magician. A magician may shield, but can only be struck five times plus once for every apprentice he or she manages to take strength from. Magicians can elevate apprentices between rounds. Of course, those playing magician will not have to cut their apprentices, but they do need to touch for at least a count of thirty. If I catch anyone cutting someone or using harmful or painful strikes, they will be excluded from training.”

He walked between them, effectively separating them into two near-equally sized groups. “Those to the left of me will form one group; those on the right the other,” he continued. “As you play, note the ways in which Kyrima does not reflect real magical battles. We’ll come back together and discuss them, and how to deal with them.”

Most of the apprentices were smiling now, thinking that their lesson was going to be an easy, fun game. I hope this doesn’t turn out to be pointless, or and up with anyone getting hurt. He’d never tried setting up a real life game of Kyrima. But then, I’ve never taught more than two apprentices at once before. I’ll just have to work it out as I go along.

“Which rules do we follow, Lord Dakon?” Mikken asked.

“Standard.” Dakon had considered using no system of rules, but many of them were intended to make the game easier or more interesting to play. Those that weren’t could be removed once they’d played a few games and worked out which of the rules weren’t practical.

“Are we going to roll dice to decide how strong the magicians are?” Leoran asked.

Dakon shook his head. “Since we’re using harmless bolts of light, strength won’t matter. We could give each magician a different number of bolts they could use up, but it will be hard to keep count. Still, we might try that later.”

“Will you be keeping score?” Tessia asked.

“No scoring.” Dakon smiled grimly. “The game ends when one magician’s shield has broken.”

At that their expressions turned sombre. They know that means he is “dead”. This is good; they will take the game seriously and question rules that don’t work.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting to see if anyone had more questions to pose, but everyone was silent and expectant. “Shall we start? Choose your leader, then.”

Even as the two groups separated and began debating who should be their magician they began to point out differences between what they were doing and real life. Apprentices didn’t get to choose their masters. Most magicians had one apprentice and, from what they’d been able to discover, the invaders did not have more than four or five slaves on average.

Once the “magicians” had been nominated, one group turned its back so the other could position itself around the camp, then the hidden group were trusted to avert their eyes as their opponents arranged themselves. Dakon noticed that some magicians had emerged from the tents and had stopped to watch.

There was much laughter and cursing as the “battle” unfolded. Dakon noted how vulnerable apprentices were once their strength had been taken. Their best strategy was to hide or keep close to their master, staying behind his shield. One “magician”, frustrated at being the only one attacking his opponent, elevated an apprentice to “magician”, but chose a friend rather than the apprentice who would have suited the role best.

When the game ended, they all came together to discuss the battle. Aside from a few accusations of dishonesty – apprentices who hadn’t sat down after their shield was “broken” – they buzzed with ideas. All agreed that there should be more “magicians” on each side, with no more than two apprentices each, and they should have a limited number of strikes, all decided by the roll of dice. They started another game.

This was dramatically different. Suddenly there were more attackers and more targets. Immediately all had problems with communication and co-ordination. Both sides began to use signals to indicate their intentions, but these were spotted by the opposing side. Having no particular magician in charge led to arguments and the actions of some countering and hampering others.

At one point two “magician” friends tried to co-ordinate their attacks by striking at their opponent simultaneously, and several bolts were wasted because of bad timing.

Suddenly Dakon realised Lord Ardalen was standing at his side.

“There is a trick I should teach you before I leave,” he murmured. “Once the game is finished.”

Dakon glanced at him in surprise, then nodded. Looking around, he realised that all the magicians were awake and watching now. He began to wish the game would finish quickly so he could avoid their scrutiny, but he forced himself to keep analysing the battle. What could Lord Ardalen know that he was sure Dakon didn’t? He definitely said “you”, not “them”.

When one side finally fell, Dakon restrained the temptation to dismiss them straight away. He told them to debate what they had done and learned, and whether the game needed more modifications. Then he turned to Ardalen.

“About that trick,” he said.

“Yes,” Ardalen replied. “I need two apprentices in order to demonstrate.” He looked at the small crowd of eager faces and pointed at Refan and Leoran. “You’ll do. I want one of you to strike at that old tree trunk.” He patted Refan’s shoulder and indicated an enormous broken stump at the edge of the clearing. “Now strike at it – using enough power to produce a visible result.”

The air shivered and splinters of wood burst from the side of the trunk.

“Now, Leoran. Put your hand on Refan’s shoulder. I want you to send magic to him. Don’t form it into heat or force. Just let it seep out as unshaped magic. Refan. See if you can sense and draw in that magic.”

Dakon’s stomach sank with dismay. This was too much like higher magic. He saw other magicians moving closer, frowning with alarm.

“I feel it but I...I can’t hold on to it,” Refan said.

“No, you won’t be able to,” Ardalen confirmed. “Because until you learn higher magic you won’t be able to store it in yourself. But you can channel it. Take the magic but use none of your own and strike the tree again.”

Once again the air shimmered and splinters burst from the tree. Refan gasped. “I used Leoran’s magic!”

“Yes,” Ardalen said. “When my master was an apprentice, he and a friend couldn’t wait to become higher magicians. They tried to teach themselves, and instead of higher magic they discovered this. It is useful if one magician is uniquely skilled, or a task needs a singular, accurate direction of magic, but more strength is needed than one magician can provide – then other magicians can add their own magic to the strike. I can see now that it would be useful in battle for the same reason.”

Dakon felt a thrill of excitement. “I’ve had the apprentices playing magicians count to thirty while they pretend to take an apprentice’s power. This eliminates the need for that – oh, my! Our apprentices don’t need to be cut at all, do they?”

Ardalen shook his head. “Not in these circumstances, but I suspect magicians will continue the tradition of cutting because it keeps control in their hands. There are disadvantages to losing that control. Without it, the giver must send power exactly when the channeller is ready to take it, or the magic dissipates and is wasted.” He paused. “But one great advantage is that, done correctly, a shield made with the magic of two or more magicians will allow the strikes of all of them through rather than react as if struck from the inside by the one not making the shield.”

The other magicians had drawn close to hear Ardalen’s instructions. All looked thoughtful and no longer suspicious or worried.

“Moving about with an apprentice or magician holding your shoulder could be awkward, too,” Narvelan said. “But I can see much potential in this. Two apprentices could protect themselves with a double-strength shield if attacked by an enemy, for example.”

Other magicians began discussing ways that they could use Ardalen’s method. Dakon looked at the magician and saw the man look across the camp to where servants waited with several horses.

Ardalen sighed. “I wish I could stay to help refine and discuss my master’s discovery, but Lord Prinan, Magician Genfel and I must leave now.” The others quietened. “I have a pass to retake.” He smiled grimly. “Genfel has foreign magicians to woo and Prinan has another pass to protect. And you have Sachakans to hunt. Good luck.”

“I suspect you’ll need it more than us,” Narvelan replied. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

“And thank you,” Dakon added.

Ardalen looked back at Dakon and smiled, then moved away. Farewells were murmured among the apprentices as Mikken, Refan and Genfel’s apprentice extracted themselves and followed. Those remaining behind watched silently as the smaller party mounted their horses and rode away.

“Will they be safe?” a small voice whispered at Dakon’s side. He looked down to see Tessia frowning anxiously.

“They are heading south to raise their forces and as far as we know the Sachakans are still in the mountains,” he told her quietly. “Nobody can say whether they’ll be completely safe, but travelling in a group is definitely wiser than alone. What did you think of my lesson?”

Her mouth quirked into a half-smile. “I think I enjoyed Kyrima for the first time. Though I’m not sure ‘enjoyed’ is the right word. It made sense for once.”

Dakon nodded. Because it reflects the grim reality of war. A shame it took that to make us question how we train our magicians.

CHAPTER 26

Stara found she was pacing the room again and stopped. She clenched her fists and turned to Vora.

“How long am I going to be cooped up in here? It’s been two weeks! The only time I’ve seen my father was the night he entertained his guests. Why doesn’t he come to see me, or grant me a visit?” Isn’t he at all interested in knowing how I am? she wanted to add. In spending time with me? In finding out if I felt anything – liking, hate, indifference – for my prospective husband?

Vora shrugged. “Master Sokara is very busy, from what I have heard among the slaves, mistress. A load of dyes sent to Elyne has disappeared. And the troubles the ichani are making in Kyralia have lost him some buyers in Elyne too.”

Stara stared at the slave woman. “Mother has lost goods and trade? Do you know how bad it is?”

“That is all I heard. Except that your father is trying to make deals here to make up for his loss there.”

His loss?” Stara sniffed. “She does all the work in Elyne.” She began to pace the room again. “If only he would talk to me. Not knowing what is going on is driving me mad!” Stopping, she looked around the room and scowled. “I’m sick of these walls. If I can’t see him, I will go out. Is there a market in the city?” She stopped. “Of course there is. Even if I have no coin to spend, I can at least find out what I might buy in future. And I might learn more about the situation in Elyne.” She moved to the chest she knew Vora kept her capes in, and opened it.

“You can’t leave, mistress,” Vora said. “Not without his permission.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, not a child.” Stara selected the least garish cape and swung it around her shoulders.

“That is not how things are here,” Vora told her. “You need guards and the protection of a male. I could ask Master Ikaro if—”

“No.” Stara cut her off. “Leave my brother out of this. I’ll take some slaves. And a covered wagon. If anyone asks, we can tell people my father is in it but doesn’t want to speak to anyone. Or my brother.” She knotted the ties of the cape and started towards the door. Vora hurried after her and she felt a tug. Cloth bunched up behind her back came loose and rustled down to her ankles. “Thank you,” she murmured to the woman. “And stop arguing with me. I’m going. We’re going. If something happens I’ll just . . .” She paused and finished silently, zap them with magic. “We’ll be fine, I promise. As Elyne traders like to say, all you need in life is confidence, knowledge and a lot of bluff.”

Ten minutes later she and Vora were in a covered wagon rolling out of the mansion and into the streets of the city, with four burly slave men as protectors and one as a driver.

“See?” Stara said. “Nobody stopped us.”

“This isn’t very fair on the slaves,” Vora told her disapprovingly. “They will be punished.”

“For obeying orders? Surely Father wouldn’t be that cruel.”

Vora’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.

Yet disappointment diminished Stara’s triumph at getting out of the mansion without opposition. She would rather her father had emerged to prevent her, so she could have asked him about trade and her mother. Sighing, she leaned back in the seat of the wagon and watched the high white walls move past.

Is all the city like this? she wondered. I don’t have many memories of Arvice. Maybe I never went out. I can’t imagine Mother wanting to be cooped up inside all the time. But I suppose that might have been part of the reason she hated it here. Maybe it wasn’t all to do with Father having to be mean to his slaves.

Maybe he had had to be mean to her, to make her comply with Sachakan ways. Stara felt her stomach sink. If that was so, he would probably be the same to her. And any man he chose to be her husband. She shuddered. I have to find a way to avoid being married off. And then convince him I can work for him in some way.

She began to imagine herself finding him new customers at the market. It was highly unlikely, she knew, but the idea kept her entertained as they travelled. Then the scene outside the wagon changed so suddenly that it took her a moment to grasp what she was seeing.

The white walls fell away, and then they were crossing a wide avenue, giving her a view down avenues of perfectly shaped trees and beds of brightly coloured flowers to a grand building. Instantly she recognised the white curved walls and domes of the Imperial Palace from pictures and paintings – and perhaps even a twinge of memory.

There isn’t a straight wall in the whole place, she remembered her father saying. You go around and round and it’s easy to get lost – which is the point. Anybody trying to invade would be utterly confused. The walls are very thick, but I’ve heard they’re hollow and defenders can unplug holes and attack intruders from inside.

Just as abruptly, the wagon reached the opposite road and the view of the palace was replaced by boring high walls again. Stara closed her eyes and held on to the memory of the palace for a moment, and the feeling of love and connection with her father. It faded slowly and was replaced by anxiety and sadness.

Perhaps if I had lived with him all my life things would be different. But then I wouldn’t have known my mother. Or enjoyed so many freedoms. Or learned magic.

The wagon turned and slowed to a stop, and as it did, muffled through the cloth walls of the canopy came the sound of voices mixed with the twitter and snort of animals combined with the clang and creak of metal and wood. Stara looked at Vora.

“The market?”

Vora nodded. “You should take two slaves, mistress.”

Wrinkles of worry and a shadow of fear in Vora’s eyes made her look even older than her years, Stara saw. “Should we go at all?” she asked.

The woman’s lips pressed together and her eyes flashed with annoyance and perhaps a little defiance. “Go back now, mistress? That would be a waste of a trip.”

Stara smiled and called out to the guards to open the flap.

Emerging, she saw that the market was surrounded by yet another high white wall. The entrance was a plain archway. Guards stood on either side, but their expressions were of boredom and they ignored Stara, Vora and the two slave guards passing through into the noise and bustle inside.

At once Stara noticed that there were other women there. Wearing capes, as she was, they were each accompanied by a man, though she saw one chaperon who was so young she’d have called him a boy if it weren’t for the spotty skin on his forehead. Reassured, she strolled slowly up and down the rows of permanent stalls, looking at the wares and the prices, and often seeing women and children huddled or working in the dim rear of each stall.

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