He felt his heart leap with mingled terror and glee as Takado stepped forward to face Nomako, his face dark with anger.

I lead this army, Nomako,” he snapped. “Not you. Not even the emperor. If that isn’t to your satisfaction – or his – then go home and leave the fighting to us.”

Nomako stared back at Takado and his face tightened with annoyance and dislike for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to the ground. “I apologise, Takado. I thought only to save you more losses.”

“Then you are a fool! They are spent.” Takado turned away and called to Dachido and Asara.

“They have not lost a single magician,” Nomako protested. “And we have lost nearly a dozen. It is a trick. A trap. I promised the families of Sachaka that we would not spend lives needlessly. We must analyse what they are doing and find a way to combat it.”

Takado looked at his army and frowned. Hanara tried to read the mood of the fighters. Many looked uncertain. Some had backed away several steps and appeared to be expecting Takado to confirm Nomako’s order. None seemed eager to pursue the Kyralians.

They did not expect us to lose fighters without the enemy suffering the same.

Sighing, Takado shrugged his shoulders. “We stay,” he said. The relief on the faces of his followers and Nomako’s was clear. Some gathered into pairs or groups to talk, others headed back towards the village. Nomako joined the three men who appeared to be his most trusted companions.

Dachido and Asara reached Takado’s side.

“What were they doing?” Dachido said. “Why did none of them fall?”

“They are protecting and supporting each other. Something we should be doing. Though I doubt we can expect it from one quarter,” he added in a quieter voice. The three allies began talking in murmurs. Hanara crept closer, straining to hear.

“. . . not retreat if they weren’t,” Asara was saying.

“We cannot be sure,” Dachido replied. “It may be a trap.”

Asara nodded, then turned to Takado. “I like your idea last night,” she said. “Let’s do that instead.”

“We need horses,” Dachido warned.

Asara shrugged. “We could demand some of Nomako’s as reparation.”

“And give the impression we need his assistance?” Takado asked, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the emperor’s representative.

Asara grimaced and said nothing.

Takado looked towards the village. “Are there any horses left in the area?”

Dachido followed his gaze. “There was one, but it was old and we slaughtered it to feed the slaves.”

“If we look further afield we might find some,” Asara said.

“Further west, where they do not expect us to go.” Takado smiled.

“So we’ll try it?” Asara asked, her eyes gleaming.

“Yes. And I have a first target in mind.”

The pair looked at him expectantly.

“Did you notice their apprentices were not with them?”

“Ah,” Dachido said.

“Ah!” Asara exclaimed.

“Yes,” Takado replied. “It seems they have forgotten one of the key rules of battle, and we are going to remind them.”

CHAPTER 35

By the time the army stopped for the night, exhaustion had almost overcome Jayan’s curiosity to know what had happened when the magicians had confronted the Sachakan invaders. All Dakon had said was that the enemy had been stronger than the Kyralian army. Sabin had ordered a retreat. The Sachakans hadn’t pursued them, but the possibility they were following at a distance couldn’t be discounted. The Kyralian army needed to gain some ground between themselves and the enemy, so they had a chance to recover some magical strength before the next confrontation.

It was amazing to think that, despite losing the battle, nobody had died. But from the uneasiness and haste of the magicians, Jayan guessed that was due to luck or the ignorance of the enemy.

All day Jayan had seen the flashes of blades and hands briefly linked as magic was transferred on the ride. Though the apprentices and servants had given their strength only that morning, and so did not have much to offer, the magicians feared attack at any moment and wanted to be as prepared as possible.

Dakon, however, shook his head when Jayan suggested they do the same. “I am fine,” he said. “The benefit of having two apprentices. I’d rather you and Tessia had a chance of defending yourselves if we are attacked. And you may need to take charge of the apprentices again, if we do engage the enemy.”

The army had moved off the main road a while before in a weak attempt to confuse any pursuit, and followed a smooth road into a fold between two hills. They were hidden from the sight of anyone travelling down the main road, but Jayan suspected they’d left so much evidence of their passing that even the most unskilled scout would have been able to locate them.

The road wound through low hills and shallow valleys, all striped and divided by fields. Dusk settled like a growing mist, then darkness fell. Scouts galloping along the road reported no pursuit. The Sachakans had returned to the village of Lonner and appeared to be settling for the night.

Then, long past nightfall, the ghostly white walls of buildings appeared ahead. Several were storehouses, one had many doors and Jayan guessed it was accommodation for servants, and the two-storey mansion was clearly the owner’s residence.

“What is this place?” he asked Dakon.

“Lord Franner’s winery.”

“Oh.” Jayan grimaced.

Dakon chuckled. “His wine may not be particularly good, but he has plenty of food to offer. As he pointed out, better we have it than the Sachakans.”

“Is there another exit from this valley?”

“Yes.” Dakon smiled approvingly. “Sabin made sure of that. We won’t be trapped here.”

As the army gathered between the buildings, Jayan saw Werrin turn in his saddle, searching the crowd. His gaze snapped to Dakon and he beckoned.

“Ah, the inevitable meeting,” Dakon murmured. He looked at Tessia, who had been silent the whole afternoon, then at Jayan. “Will you two be all right alone?”

Jayan grinned. “Of course. And we’ll hardly be alone.” He gestured at the army around them.

Dakon nodded, then rode away towards Werrin and the small group of magicians gathering about him. Looking at Tessia, Jayan shrugged.

“Want to explore this place?”

She shook her head. “Avaria asked me to see her tonight.”

Jayan shrugged off disappointment. “I’ll see you at dinner, then, whenever that turns out to be.” He looked up at the stars. “I’ll make sure our old fellow apprentices are behaving themselves.”

Tessia rolled her eyes. “You’re not in charge any more, Jayan.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I enjoy other apprentices’ company?” he asked.

Her eyebrows rose. “The more important question is whether they enjoy yours.”

Turning her horse, she sent it trotting away too quickly for him to think of a retort. He watched her go for a moment, then pushed away the wistfulness that was threatening to creep in, and began to search the crowd for the faces of familiar apprentices. He longed for sleep, but he was hungry and rest could wait until after he’d eaten.

Refan was standing with four other apprentices over by one of the large storehouses, so Jayan made his way over to him. One of the youngsters looked familiar. As Jayan approached the newcomer looked up and grinned, and with a shock Jayan recognised him.

“Mikken!” Jayan exclaimed, slipping off his horse. He looked around and caught the eye of a servant, who stepped forward to take the reins. Then he ran up to Mikken and grasped his arm in greeting. “When did you get here?”

Mikken returned the gesture. “A few hours ago. Fortunately before the army turned off the road, or I would have ridden into the Sachakan army.”

“How did you escape the Sachakans at the pass? No, wait. I bet that story is a long one.”

“Long, but not particularly interesting.” Mikken shrugged. “Unless you find stories about scavenging for food and hiding in caves and abandoned houses interesting.”

Jayan grinned. “You can tell them when we’re trying to get to sleep tonight.”

“You watch out, I might just do that. How’s Tessia?”

A traitorous flash of jealousy shot through Jayan, but he ignored it. “Still healing anyone she can get to sit still long enough.”

“Lots of those, I’d imagine.” Mikken’s gaze became haunted. “I began to wonder, on the way back, if the Sachakans had left anyone alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tessia hasn’t had many patients to work on.”

“She’s had plenty,” Jayan assured him. He thought of the burned man, and shuddered. Deciding to change the subject, he looked up at the storehouse. “Apparently this is a winery.”

“Yes,” Refan replied. “And they don’t just make wine here.”

“What else do they make?” one of the other apprentices asked. “Bol.”

Jayan grimaced, and saw a similar expression on all faces but Refan’s. The boy looked thoughtful.

“You know, by the time all the magicians get their share of Lord Franner’s wine, there probably won’t be any left for apprentices. I bet we could find a barrel or two of bol for ourselves in one of these storehouses. Bol may be a poor man’s drink.” Refan smiled. “But it’s a lot stronger than wine so we wouldn’t have to drink as much.”

As much as what? Jayan wondered. To his dismay, the other apprentices looked interested.

“Where do you think it’s stored?”

Refan looked around, his eyes narrowing as he considered. “Let’s have a look around.” He started along the side of the storehouse they were standing beside.

As the group began to follow, Jayan considered leaving them to it. But I ought to make sure they don’t get into trouble. For their own sakes and mine. Dakon might think twice about making me a higher magician if I let these boys make fools of themselves. He hurried after them.

Reaching the end of the storehouse, Refan rounded the corner and started along the next wall. He stopped where two huge, sturdy doors were bound together with a large iron lock. To Jayan’s amusement, he sniffed at the crack between them.

“Wine,” he said, then shrugged and turned his back, heading across open ground to another storehouse.

The same examination and conclusion were applied to two more storehouses. The fourth was so far from the main gathering of magicians that their voices were a distant hum and the group had to illuminate their way with small magical globe lights.

Refan’s sniff at the doors made him smile.

“Aha! Definitely bol.”

There was a different sort of smell in the air around the storehouse, but the lock was similarly large and robust. Refan glanced towards the gathered magicians in the furtive manner of someone about to do something mischievous, then took hold of the lock. Jayan felt alarm rising.

“What are you... you’re not going to break in, are you?” one of the younger apprentices asked anxiously.

“No.” Refan laughed. “I’m not going to break anything. Or take anything not already offered to us.”

He stared at the lock, then something inside clicked and the mechanism opened. Despite his reasoning, this is wrong, Jayan thought. I should put a stop to it. One of the doors swung outward and Refan slipped inside. Before Jayan could decide what to say, the other apprentices had followed.

A wordless exclamation of disappointment followed. He heard a clink, the murmur of voices, and the apprentices stepped back outside. Refan was holding a bottle.

“It’s not bol. It’s whitewater. For cleaning things. Smell.” He held it out to each of them, and they grimaced as they sniffed the open neck. Jayan recognised a smell he associated with servants and wooden furniture. Refan suddenly grinned. “Watch this.”

He glanced back at the magicians again, then strode round the back of the storehouse. Moving a hundred strides or so he flung the bottle on the ground. It smashed. As the others stopped beside Refan, he sent a tiny burst of firestrike toward the remains.

A wave of heat burst over them as flames shot up into the air. The fire died as quickly, leaving small flames spluttering where there were weeds in the hard, dry ground.

“That was fantastic!” one of the younger apprentices gasped. “Let’s do it again!”

“Wait.” Mikken was staring at the smouldering ground. “I have an idea.”

Everyone turned to look at him, but he remained silent, staring at the ground.

“Well?” someone asked.

Mikken shook his head. “Can you hear that?”

Surprised, they all stood very still and listened. A rhythmic beating, faint but clearly from some sort of four-legged animal, came to Jayan’s ears. More than one animal, perhaps. Whatever they were, they were coming closer. Turning towards the noise, he found himself staring towards the dark shapes of trees a few hundred strides away.

Slowly, out of the gloom, three horses appeared, carrying three riders. The distant light reflected back from exotic coats, knife handles and gleaming eyes.

“Sachakans!” Refan hissed.

“Run!” Mikken wailed.

“Stay together!” Jayan shouted, throwing up a shield and racing after them.

Then he cursed as the first strike nearly shattered his barrier. He strengthened it. How long can I hold against three higher magicians? Who’ve probably got the strength of thousands of source slaves. He winced as another strike beat against the shield. Or have they? If they’ve followed us, they probably didn’t have time to regain much power after the battle.

Refan was nearly at the storehouse, too far ahead for Jayan to be sure he was shielding him. He skidded to a halt before the door, grabbed it and hauled it open. Then he vanished inside with unnatural speed.

“Not in there!” Jayan gasped. “If they use firestrike . . .” But Refan had disappeared within and the others were racing after him. Jayan sighed and followed. In the darkness someone stumbled and there was the sound of glass breaking and the smell of whitewater. Then a globe light flared into existence. Jayan cast about, taking in the huge interior filled with racks of bottles, the apprentices panting and staring at each other as they finally realised how dangerous this place was for a fight – and then the whimpering figure on the floor.

“Refan?” Jayan moved to the boy’s side and knelt.

“Hurts,” Refan panted. “Back. Hurts. Can’t . . . can’t move my legs.”

Jayan cursed as he realised that Refan hadn’t thrown himself inside the storehouse, but had been knocked in by forcestrike.

The sound of hoofbeats came from outside the doors. They stopped and were replaced by footsteps. Jayan looked around, at the bottles, then towards the back of the interior. Trapped. They only need the tiniest spark of power to set this place burning. And it will take a lot more to protect us.

Protect us...or them? The glimmer of an idea set his heart racing with excitement.

“Quickly,” he hissed to the others. “Drag him to the back and wait – and do it gently. When I say “Now’, break through the wall.”

Refan yelled in pain as they began to move him. They let go as if he’d burned them. Jayan saw movement in the doorway.

“Pick him up and get him out!” he found himself roaring. Their eyes widened in shock and surprise. Grabbing Refan, ignoring his yells, they carried him away. Jayan followed, walking backwards, not taking his eyes from the three Sachakans entering the storehouse. He threw up a shield to protect himself and the apprentices behind him.

Two men and one woman, he noted. One is familiar. Surely... surely that’s not Takado. Surely he wouldn’t leave his army and risk sneaking up on us with only two others to support him?

The Sachakans stared at him. They smiled. They came closer, strolling as if they had all the time in the world. He could hear the apprentices retreating. Refan’s yells had turned to whimpers. Someone else was also whimpering. Or crying.

“We’re at the back,” Mikken said.

At the same time the Sachakans stopped. He saw their heads start to turn as they began to look at each other, to gain silent agreement that it was time to strike.

“Get out! Now!” Jayan yelled. At the same time he strengthened his shield and sent several firestrikes fanning out on either side.

White light filled the space before him. He felt scorching heat, then the ground hit his back. Something grabbed his collar and hauled him backwards. He found himself sliding across the ground, through a gap in the storehouse wall. The wall suddenly crumbled and heat enveloped him again, but not as ferociously.

Then he wasn’t sliding any more. Looking up, he saw Mikken grinning down at him, the apprentice’s chest heaving and face flushed with effort. Mikken released his collar.

“You’re heavy,” the young man told him. Then he grinned. “And I think it worked.”

Climbing to his feet, Jayan quickly took in the other apprentices standing beside a prone and silent Refan, then turned back to the storehouse. It was burning with a more natural fire now, the flames eating wood rather than whitewater.

Then he saw movement. Three figures running towards the trees. So they’re not dead. He didn’t feel as disappointed as he expected. I never really thought it would kill them, but they must have used a lot of power protecting themselves. He considered himself and felt a new kind of exhaustion on top of mere physical tiredness. As did I.

“Their horses will have run off,” Mikken said. He turned. “Here come the magicians. We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

Jayan turned to see the crowd hurrying towards them and nodded.

“Yes. Let’s not tell them why Refan was so keen to explore, shall we?”

“I won’t if you don’t. And I’ll make sure the others stay silent.”

As he moved away, Jayan smiled. Then he remembered the price Refan had paid for their little adventure and all satisfaction at weakening the Sachakans fled.

I should have protected him better. I should never have let him lead us away from the protection of the army in the first place. This is all my fault. He saw Dakon hurrying towards him and felt his heart sink. He’s not going to want to make me a higher magician now. And I won’t blame him.

When the boom shook the air, it seemed like the answer to Tessia’s silent, heartfelt wishes.

Avaria had taken her to meet two other female magicians, Magician Jialia and Lady Viria. Both women had been questioning Tessia closely.

“Have you really been travelling with the magicians in pursuit of the Sachakans right from the start?” Viria asked.

“Yes,” Tessia replied, suppressing a sigh at the question. Did the woman think she’d been making it all up?

“Have the other apprentices been polite to you? Have they made any inappropriate suggestions?” Jialia paused and leaned forward. “None of them have tried to force themselves on you, have they?”

“No, they’ve been very well behaved,” Tessia assured them. “Besides, Lord Dakon would do something about it if they weren’t.”

The two women exchanged glances. Viria frowned and regarded Tessia closely.

“Lord Dakon hasn’t . . . ah . . . made any inappropriate advances, has he?”

Tessia stared at her, appalled. “No!” she replied firmly.

Viria spread her hands. “It’s not unheard of. A master seducing his female apprentice – or the other way around. When I was a girl I knew a young woman who married her master, after she conceived a child by him. We thought she’d been taken advantage of, but it turned out to be the other way around, though I imagine he couldn’t have objected that much. It’s not uncommon for young female apprentices to fall in love with their masters.”

This is worse than talking to my mother! Tessia thought. Then she felt a wrench and a pang of guilt for thinking of her mother that way. Still, she wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong with me falling in love with and marrying Dakon.

Looking over to where her master was sitting with the other army leaders and advisers, she considered her feelings for him. Many times she’d felt an affection for him. And admiration. But both feelings were for his good nature. There was no deeper feeling. No physical longing.

“Don’t be silly, Viria,” Jialia said. “Young women prefer men closer to their age. If Tessia is infatuated with anyone, it’s more likely to be young Jayan of Drayn.” Her gaze became speculative. “I do hope Lord Dakon has taught you how to avoid conceiving.”

Tessia shook her head and sighed. If you knew Jayan, you’d know how unlikely that is, she thought. Though he has improved. It would be unfair to say he was completely loathsome.

“Jialia,” Avaria cut in. “It’s hardly something a male magician is going to teach a female apprentice.”

Viria nodded, then looked from Avaria to Tessia and back again. “So will you teach Tessia yourself?”

“I...if she wishes me to.”

Tessia decided to say nothing. It was taking all her will to stop herself grinding her teeth. Someone please come and take me away from these insane women, she thought.

And then the sound of an explosion had assaulted their ears, coming from behind Tessia. She and Avaria jumped to their feet and turned around.

“What was that?” Avaria asked.

Magicians began moving towards the noise, their faces hard with fear and determination. Tessia took a step away from the women.

“No! Stay here,” Jialia said, a note of command in her voice despite the fear that made it waver. Tessia turned to find the pair still sitting on their blankets. “Don’t get in the way.”

A surge of rebellion fought common sense and her habit of obedience. Tessia looked at Avaria. If she says I should stay, I will.

Avaria glanced at Tessia, frowned and reluctantly sat down. “Yes, we should wait for orders.” Her eyes narrowed as she watched the magicians disappear behind the storehouses.

Tessia sat down, but turned so that her shoulder was to the women and she could keep watching the magicians. Time dragged by. The women tried to resume the conversation, this time targeting Avaria with their questions.

“Well, they’d have ordered us to fight or flee by now if it was an attack,” one of them said. She turned to Avaria. “So, when are you going to give Everran some boys to indulge?”

Tessia saw Avaria wince and smothered a smile.

“When there isn’t a good chance the Sachakans will eat them before they grow old enough to talk,” Avaria retorted.

“Well,” the woman said, her eyebrows rising.

“I thought that was only a rumour,” the other murmured to her.

Tessia didn’t hear what they said next. Lord Werrin’s servant had rounded the end of a storehouse and was hurrying towards her. Perhaps Avaria would ask for news as he passed. But as he came closer she realised he was looking at her.

“Apprentice Tessia,” he called.

She rose. “Yes?”

“Your services are required.”

Picking up her father’s bag, she hurried forward. He led her back towards the end of the storehouse.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Sachakans attacked,” he said, breathing heavily. “Only three, but gone now. They sneaked up on a group of apprentices exploring the estate.” As she followed him round the corner she nearly stopped in shock. One of the huge buildings had collapsed, and the remains were burning.

“Anyone hurt?” she asked. But of course someone is. Why else summon me? Unless... unless I know them. She felt her insides clench with fear and dread. Jayan? No. Surely not Jayan. He’s too annoying to have been killed. Besides, this one said my “services” were needed. That can only mean healing.

“The apprentices lured them inside,” the servant continued. “The storehouse was filled with whitewater. Apprentice Jayan set it alight.” He glanced back, grinning. “Must’ve cost them a bit of power shielding from that.”

“But they survived.”

The servant nodded. “Ran off into the night. Some magicians have gone off after them.”

She’d meant the apprentices, but was glad he’d told her that bit of news anyway. He was leading her towards a group of magicians and servants standing around something. Recognising the two guild healers, she felt her stomach sink. Someone saw her approaching and all turned to stare at her. Then she saw Lord Dakon and Jayan.

Jayan looks unharmed. The relief she felt was stronger than she’d have thought warranted. So who are they... ah. Refan.

The young man was lying on the ground, face down. He was groaning with pain. As she reached the magicians, Lord Dakon moved to her side.

“It’s his back,” he told her quietly. “Hit by forcestrike. He can’t feel his legs. The healers say the paths to those parts of his body have been broken. He’ll live for a while, in pain, before those parts die and poison the rest of him.”

She nodded. A broken back was a terrible injury. The healers were right, though it depended on where the break was, and whether the patient had constant, specific care. They could live for a few years, if they were lucky.

But even if Refan was so lucky, he couldn’t ride. He probably couldn’t travel in a cart, either. The jostling would worsen the injury. If he stayed, the Sachakans would kill him. She looked at Lord Dakon.

“Why call for me?”

He smiled faintly. “Jayan suggested it. He says you’ve found a way to use magic to stop the pain.”

“Ah.” She looked at the magicians and healers. They wore expressions of curiosity, mostly. Some looked doubtful. “I can’t promise anything, but it’s always worth trying.”

Moving to Refan’s side, she knelt beside him and placed a hand on the side of his neck. His skin was hot. She closed her eyes and for a moment struggled to put the thought of all the eyes watching her out of her mind.

Concentrate. Look inward. Inside. An awareness of Refan’s body came to her. She gently probed beyond the skin, letting the signals and rhythms guide her. Spreading her awareness down his spine she found the source of the body’s alarm.

The bones had been knocked out of alignment. Swelling around them radiated heat and pain. And once she became aware of that pain, it swamped her senses. She felt herself go rigid to match Refan’s own agony-tensed muscles, and the same desperate need for the pain to stop that Refan must be feeling. But her need was not desperate. She could do something to stop it. Searching for the right place, she exerted her will and pinched.

The pain ended.

Relieved, she paused to rest and regain a sense of herself. As she did, she noticed something about the injury. The areas of swelling were acting as blockages. They were compressing the cord that threaded the bones, and some of the pathways that sprouted from it.

Then she realised that none of those pathways had been severed. Looking closer, she saw that none of the bones were broken or cracked, either.

It must have been a weak or glancing blow. Forcestrike should have made a much worse mess than this. Still, if the Sachakans had wanted to prolong his agony, they couldn’t have chosen a better way to do it other than to stay and torture him. And the pain...

Abruptly she realised the pain was returning. Returning to the pathway she had pinched, she saw that it was recovering.

He’s healing.

For a moment she marvelled at the futile but persistent efforts his body was going to in order to try to fix itself. Then she felt her skin prickle. I’ve never noticed this before. I’ve never seen a body healing so fast I could sense it. Curious, she looked closer, trying to understand the mechanism that was driving this unnaturally fast healing.

And she sensed magic.

The meaning of this came to her in a jolt. Dakon had told her that magicians were more robust than people who had no or little latent ability. Even those people with magical talents who never learned magic tended to heal faster and resist disease better. It made sense, then, that magic was, literally, the reason.

Am I the first person to watch this process? she wondered.

Unfortunately, it was acting against her intentions. The pain of the injury was returning as the pinched pathway recovered, and when she concentrated on the injury itself she saw that the speedy healing wasn’t going to succeed. The bones would remain in the position they’d been forced into. Refan would not be able to walk, and it was even possible his internal organs might not work properly.

But I can fix that, she realised.

Taking a deep breath, she thought her way through the task. First she must pinch the pain pathway again. Then she would have to gently encourage excess moisture to leave the swollen areas. Finally, when she had enough space, she must nudge the bones slowly and carefully back into their correct positions. All the interconnecting tissues should then return with them.

When she had thought her way through the process a few times, deciding what to move first, she set to work.

It was a slow process. As she pinched and squeezed and nudged, she wondered what the magicians and healers watching her were thinking. Did they think she was taking a long time, for the simple task of blocking pain? Could they see any of the change she was making? Or had they grown bored and left? After all, the much anticipated and very late meal they were all waiting for must be cooked by now.

Finally everything was back in place. She noticed that Refan’s body was now applying magic to healing him in much more effective ways. He’s going to survive, she realised. He might not even be crippled. A thrill of pride ran through her, and she immediately suppressed it. This still may not work. It’s the first time I’ve done it – maybe the first time anyone has – and I can’t know the full outcome. And besides, it will still take days or weeks for him to heal properly and he’s still going to be a burden to the army.

After one last check, and pinching the pain pathway one more time to delay what would be an unpleasant revival despite her efforts, she drew her consciousness back into herself and opened her eyes.

Looking around, she saw that all the magicians were still there. And the healers. They were staring at her, some frowning in puzzlement. Then Refan groaned and all attention returned to him.

“What...what happened?” he said. “Pain’s gone... but I still can’t feel my legs.”

“You will soon,” Tessia told him. “And you’re not going to like it.” She looked up at Lord Dakon. “His back wasn’t broken, but it was all out of place and the pathways were being squashed.”

He smiled, his eyes shining. “Will he recover?”

“If he has the time to.” She grimaced. “If he has the time to, he’ll even walk again.”

His expression became grim, and his eyes shifted to Lord Werrin. The king’s magician frowned and nodded. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

That appeared to be a signal for the onlookers to leave. Tessia beckoned to some servants standing nearby and instructed them to get a long board of wood, then slide Refan onto it, still face-down and without flexing his back too much, so they could carry him somewhere sheltered. As they hurried away, Dakon and Jayan moved closer.

“That was well done. Very impressive,” Dakon said.

“Thank you.” She felt heat come to her face and pushed away another surge of pride.

Dakon looked at Jayan. “I’ve been proud to be the master of both of my apprentices tonight,” he said, smiling broadly. Jayan looked doubtful, Tessia noticed. “Both of you are far too clever for a humble country magician like me.”

She voiced a protest and heard Jayan do the same.

“Ah, but it is true,” Dakon said. “That’s why I have decided that, as soon as we get the chance, I am going to teach Jayan higher magic and send him off into the world as his own master.”

Tessia smothered a laugh at Jayan’s open-mouthed astonishment. I was right. Clearly he didn’t believe me.

Then she felt an unexpected pang of sadness. I think I may actually miss him. Then she wrinkled her nose. For a few hours, anyway. Then I’ll realise nobody has said anything annoying to me in a while and I’ll realise how nice it is to be rid of him.

CHAPTER 36

The wagon rolled slowly through Arvice. Kachiro had ordered the flaps to be tied open so Stara could enjoy the scenery. Warm spring air lingered as the sun dipped towards the horizon. Flowers covered the trees that lined the larger, main roads of the city, and the air was sweet with their scent. Insects also abounded – in swarms that darkened the air as they passed and set slaves to slapping themselves – but at the wagon openings they vanished in a sizzle and spark of light as they encountered Kachiro’s magical barriers.

The barriers only protected those inside the wagon. Stara thought of Vora clinging to the back. It must be hard and unpleasant for the old woman to ride that way, her hands gripping handholds and her legs braced on the narrow foot ledge.

Stara had suggested Vora stay behind, but the slave had shaken her head. “This is your first experience of Sachakan society outside your father’s house,” she’d said. “You’ll need my guidance.”

“Here we are,” Kachiro said. The wagon slowed as it neared a pair of impressive double gates standing open to allow passage. He turned to look at her, smiling as his eyes travelled from her shoes to her headdress. “You look wonderful,” he told her, and she could detect nothing but honest admiration. “As always, an excellent combination of cloth and decoration. I am lucky to have a wife with not just beauty, but good taste.”

Stara smiled. “Thank you. I am lucky to have a husband who appreciates such things.” She met his gaze, knowing she could not hide the fact that his compliment filled her mind with doubts and questions.

“I do,” he said. Then he looked down for a moment. “I would also appreciate it if you did not mention...my difficulty, to the wives,” he added in a murmur.

“Of course not!” she replied quickly. “It is our secret.”

He smiled. “My friends’ wives love a good secret,” he warned her.

“Not this one,” she assured him.

“Thank you.” The wagon was now turning through the open gates into a large courtyard abuzz with slaves. Kachiro helped her climb down to the ground, then turned to the slaves waiting nearby, who had prostrated themselves. “We’re here to join Master Motara in celebrating his birthing day. Take us to the gathering place.”

One of the slaves rose. “It is this way,” he said.

They headed inside, Vora and one of Kachiro’s slaves following. Stara recognised the restrained decoration and beautiful furniture immediately. As she slowed to admire a long cabinet full of drawers of different sizes, Kachiro chuckled.

“Of course, Motara keeps all his best pieces. I’ve tried to persuade him to sell that one to me many times. He won’t even risk it when gambling.”

“So Master Motara is your friend who designs the furniture?”

“Yes.”

“I must compliment him on it, then.”

Kachiro looked surprised, then thoughtful. “He would like that. Yes – do it. Women do not usually take an interest in such things. At least, not when they are around men.”

Stara frowned. “Should I say nothing? Would it offend him more to voice an opinion?” She felt a moment’s disbelief that she was asking this. Since when had she cared whether anyone wanted her opinion or not?

“He won’t be offended. Only surprised,” he assured her. Then he gave her that admiring smile that was so infuriatingly puzzling. “I am liking your unconventionality more and more, Stara. It is refreshing. Women are too secretive and reserved. They should be more like you, open and interested in things.”

“I can also be stubborn and nosy. You might not like that sort of unconventionality.”

He laughed. “For now, I choose to believe that is the price I paid for marrying a woman who is not only beautiful, but clever too.”

Stara felt her heart flip over. Then she felt herself begin to scowl and forced herself to look down to hide her expression, hoping he thought her embarrassed by the compliment. There would be no harm in falling in love with Kachiro, she thought. But it would be very, very annoying. And frustrating. But then, I might not mind his “difficulty” if I were in love with him. If the romantic tales are right.

The slave stopped at the entrance to a large room and stepped aside, his head bowed. Kachiro led Stara past him, then took her arm. Five men turned to look at them. All had the broad shoulders and wide face of the typical Sachakan male, but one was fat, another was skinny, and one had dark pigmentation under his eyes. They ranged in age from not long past youthful boyhood to middle age. The skinny one rose and stepped forward.

“Kachiro! You’re even later than usual!”

Kachiro chuckled. “I confess it is my fault, Motara. I didn’t think to tell my wife we were visiting until it was nearly time to leave, forgetting that she would need time to prepare. This,” he gestured gracefully toward her, “is the lovely Stara.”

Stara smiled. She could have been ready in minutes, but Vora had insisted on taking an hour “to teach your husband that he needs to be more considerate in plans that include a wife’.

The other four men had risen and now joined Motara in approving of her. She kept her gaze lowered as Vora had taught her, but could tell they were examining her closely and appreciatively.

“She is exquisite,” Motara said. “Knowing you so well, I was confident you would apply your eye for beauty to even the difficult task of finding an appropriate wife. But even I am impressed at the result.” The others murmured agreement.

Kachiro looked at her and smiled. “She is more than that. She has a sharp mind and wit, and an eye for beauty and taste to rival my own.” He nudged her gently. “What did you say to me before?”

She looked up fleetingly to meet Motara’s gaze. “That Master Motara’s furniture, here and at home, is exceptional. Graceful in proportion and shape. The cabinet with the drawers . . .” She sighed. “So beautiful.”

Motara seemed to grow a little taller, and for a moment he bounced on the balls of his feet. Then he chuckled. “You didn’t tell her to say that in another of your attempts to get hold of it, did you, Kachiro?”

“Oh! No!” Stara protested. “He did not!”

“No,” Kachiro replied, a hint of smugness in his voice. “She stopped to admire it on the way in. You can ask your slave to confirm it.”

Motara laughed again. “I may just do that, though you still could have described it to her before arriving. Now, on to more important matters. Dashina has kept his promise. We have a bottle each! Vikaro and Rikacha were hoping you weren’t coming, so they could share yours. Chavori wanted it all for himself, but we know how bad he is at drinking.” Motara turned towards the chairs the men had been sitting on.

“And Chiara?” Kachiro asked.

Motara made a dismissive gesture. “With the other women, no doubt whining about us.” He looked at Stara, and she dropped her gaze. “Don’t believe half of what they say,” he warned her.

She looked up at Kachiro questioningly, and he smiled. “They’re not as scary as he makes out. Go and join them. They’re probably itching with curiosity about you.”

He made a gesture and she turned to see a slave step forward. Glancing back at Vora, who nodded, she moved towards him.

“Take me to the women,” she ordered quietly. The slave bowed, then led her towards another exit from the room and into a corridor.

So I don’t get to talk to Kachiro’s friends, she thought. Not that I expected to. He didn’t so much want me to meet them as to show me off to them. She considered whether this bothered her. It does, but I can forgive him that. It’s nice that he considers me clever, but even nicer that he’s willing to tell people that he thinks I am, in a way that shows he thinks it’s a good character trait and not a bad one.

The women were in a room not far away from the men, sitting on cushion-covered wooden benches. There were only four of them, which she guessed meant one of the men was unmarried. They turned to regard her as the slave prostrated himself.

“And who is this?” a slim woman with a protruding belly asked, but with the tone of someone who knows the answer and is following a ritual.

“She is Stara, wife of Ashaki Kachiro,” the slave replied.

“Go,” she told him then, rising and moving forward to meet Stara.

“Welcome, Stara. I am Chiara,” she said, offering a hand and smiling. Stara took it and was led to the rest of the women. “Here is a space for you,” Chiara told her, gesturing to the end of a bench, beside a woman who would have been beautiful but for the scars that marred her skin. “Your slave can stay in the next room with ours. She’ll hear you if you call out.”

As Vora slipped away, her lips pressed in an unhappy line, Stara sat down. She felt a prickle of self-conscious nervousness as the four woman gazed at her with obvious interest.

“Aren’t you a pretty one?” one of them said admiringly.

“She is, isn’t she?” another agreed. “Quite an exotic beauty. Her skin is so lovely.”

“Kachiro said you had Elyne blood, you lucky thing,” a third said wistfully. Though Stara’s mother had told her mixed bloodlines were seen as a strength in Sachakan society, she could not help feeling disbelief at the envious looks of the women.

“Don’t overwhelm her with compliments,” Chiara said, laughing. “Or at least let me introduce you all first.” She turned to the scarred woman. “This is Tashana, wife of Dashina. Next is Aranira, Vikaro’s wife.” She gestured to a rather plain, tall woman who looked to be the youngest. “And finally, this is Sharina, whose husband is Rikacha.” The last woman was appealingly plump and flashed a bright but shy smile.

“Do you like your new home?” she asked.

“And your husband?” Tashana added. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she smiled. “Don’t feel you must dress up the truth, if you’re not pleased. We were all given to men not of our choosing. That gives us the right to complain as much as we want.”

Stara chuckled. “And if I did choose him, am I still allowed to complain?”

“You chose him?” Aranira asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “Not that he isn’t handsome...”

“Of course you are,” Tashana said. “Though you’ll have to allow us to be jealous.”

“I didn’t,” Stara said quickly. “Choose him, that is. I was just curious to know what I should expect if I met someone who had chosen her husband.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “Now I’m not sure if you’ll believe me if I say anything good about him.”

Tashana laughed, and the others joined in. “Give it a try and see what happens.”

“He’s not what I had been led to expect of Sachakan men,” she began, noting how this brought a wry twist to their lips. “He’s considerate and respectful. He’s happy to tell me about his trade and listen to suggestions. He’s . . . he’s surprisingly good company.”

A short silence followed as the women exchanged glances.

“But?” Aranira asked hopefully.

Stara shrugged. “Nothing. Yet. Give it time.”

They chuckled and nodded. “Good to see you’re not too naive about marriage,” Chiara said. “Not like I was. Though ...I was a lot younger, I suspect.”

“How old are you?” Sharina asked.

“Twenty-five.”

“Rikacha said you were younger.”

“I suspect my father lied about my age.”

Tashana nodded. “Have you been married before?”

Stara shook her head. The women exchanged looks of surprise. “I expect you think I’m a little old to be marrying for the first time.” They nodded. “I hadn’t planned to get married at all.”

They frowned and looked at her closely. “Why not?”

Suddenly Stara was not sure what to say. Would they think her odd if she admitted to ambitions in trading? They knew she had Elyne blood, but did they know she had spent half her childhood and her early adult life in Elyne? Should she tell them? It was probably safe enough to, she decided, especially as Kachiro knew and would probably tell his friends. Should I admit I had lovers? They’d love that, but it might get back to Kachiro. I’m not sure he’d find that so “refreshing”.

“Perhaps that is too private a subject to discuss so soon,” Chiara suggested. “You barely know us.” She turned to look at the others. “Perhaps we should tell her more about ourselves. Our stories.”

They nodded.

“I’ll go first,” Aranira said. She looked at Tashana, who smiled and nodded. “Tashana was married at fifteen to Dashina, who was twenty. He approved of his wife greatly, but also of his and other men’s many pleasure slaves, some of which were never properly cared for. From them he caught slavespot, which he passed on to her and to her first child – who died – and since she began to scar he won’t bed her.”

Tashana nodded, smiling despite the pain in her eyes. “At least I kept my figure.” She turned to Sharina. “Sharina was married at eighteen to Rikacha, a man fifteen years older than her. A man with no heart who beats her like a slave. She lost her first child after he hit her in the stomach. Motara threatened to stop talking to and trading with him if he ever hurt her again. Now he hits her only where it won’t show. She has two boys.”

Sharina glanced at Stara and shrugged. “But I am so lucky to have them.” She turned to Chiara. “Chiara was fourteen when she married Motara, who was eighteen. Though he is sweet and generous and appears to be fond of her, he refuses to see what we all can see. She has swelled with child twelve times, birthed eight times, and her body is worn out and broken. Each time she grows sicker and we fear it will kill her. He should let her be – let her rest, at least. How many children does a man need?”

Chiara smiled. “How can I deny him them? He does love them all – and me.”

“You don’t have any choice,” Tashana said darkly.

Sighing, Chiara turned to Aranira and her smile was strained. “Aranira married Vikaro when they were both sixteen. For the first few years all was well. She bore two children, a girl and a boy. But he lost interest in her too quickly. And in the children. It all sounded too strange, until friends of ours discovered the reason. He is infatuated with another woman. A powerful, beautiful woman who desires him in return. A widow whose husband died of an illness the slaves say was too much like poison.”

“He does not have the courage to risk my family’s anger if he is found out,” Aranira said. But there was doubt in her voice.

Stara saw the fear in the plain girl’s eyes and nodded to show her understanding. Her situation is much like Nachira’s, except at least Ikaro loves Nachira and is trying to protect her. The women turned to regard her. This is like a ritual to them, she thought. They tell each other’s stories. It is as if they all gain something from the ritual. Acknowledgement, perhaps. Yet each has made light of her own situation, too. Perhaps it helps them hold on to the good in their lives, too.

She wondered, then, at how willingly they had offered up their private lives to her. Perhaps because, as Kachiro’s wife, they had no choice but to include her in their group. Yet it felt as if they were challenging her as well as revealing themselves. Challenging her to be honest, perhaps? Or to accept their ways.

“We do what we can to help each other,” Tashana told her. “If we can, we will help you, too. So if you need help, don’t fear to ask.”

Stara nodded again. “I understand. If I can help any of you, I will,” she promised. “Though I have no idea how I could.”

Abruptly she thought of magic. It was one asset she had that they didn’t, as far as she knew. But she would not mention it unless she needed to, or could see how it might be of use to them. And though I do like what I’ve seen of them so far, I still barely know them. I’m not going to tell them any secrets until I know I can trust them.

“Admittedly, most of the time all we can offer is sympathy,” Chiara said. “But we have learned that friendship and someone to talk to is worth more than gold. Perhaps more than freedom.”

I’m not sure many slaves would agree with that, Stara thought. Still, a life with no friends or family – no loving, supportive family, that is – would be a sad one, no matter how rich and powerful you were.

Tashana began telling Stara about a friend they had helped, who had moved away with her husband to the north, to a place on the edge of the ash desert. The conversation turned to travel and Stara was surprised to find that all of the women had visited different parts of Sachaka, and most had moved to the city after they were married. Stara decided it would be safe to admit she had grown up partly in Elyne, and they bombarded her with questions about the country.

The conversation shifted and changed, sometimes informative, sometimes sad and often funny. When a slave came to announce the men were leaving Stara felt disappointment and realised she had been enjoying herself. And not just because I’ve been starved for company. I think I like these women. Which made it harder to know about their individual troubles. When she thought about their stories she felt anger stir deep inside. I do want to help them. But I have no idea how. I have magic, but what use is it here?

Magic couldn’t heal Chiara’s worn-out body, or rid Tashana of her disease. It couldn’t stop Sharina’s husband beating her, or stop Aranira’s lusting after another woman and contemplating murder. At this moment, magic seemed like a useless and pointless indulgence.

But it might discourage Kachiro from beating or trying to murder me, if he was so inclined, she thought. I wonder if I could teach Sharina and Aranira magic...

She followed as the women streamed out of the room, down the corridors and into the main meeting room. The men were on their feet, laughing at something. As the women entered they separated, moving to their wife’s side or beckoning their wife to join them. Kachiro slipped a hand lightly around Stara’s waist. He smelled of something sweet and fermented.

As the men began to voice their farewells, she forced her gaze to the ground. What she had learned about the other men made her want to stare at them. Then she noticed Chavori. The women had said nothing about the young man, except that he had recently returned from a journey to the mountains and would talk for hours about it if allowed to. He looked very drunk, she noticed. Even leaning against the wall he seemed unable to keep his balance easily.

She felt Kachiro stir. “What do you think of our young friend?” he murmured.

“I haven’t spoken to him.”

“But he is good-looking, don’t you think?”

She glanced up at Kachiro. Was this a poorly disguised test of her loyalty?

“He might be, if he wasn’t completely drunk.”

He laughed. “Indeed.” Looking up at Chavori, his eyes narrowed in assessment and approval. “I do not mind if you find him attractive,” he said, very quietly. He looked down at her again.

She looked back at him. His expression was expectant and curious. And, if she was reading him correctly, hopeful.

“I could never find him as handsome as you,” she told him.

His smile broadened and he turned away as Motara spoke his name.

What is he up to? she wondered. Is he testing me, or looking for a way for me to become pregnant? Does he have a reason to avoid siring a child?

She pondered this through the last of the farewells, on the way through the house to their wagon, and all the way home. During the journey she was acutely conscious of Vora clinging on to the wagon behind her. She itched to discuss everything with the slave. When she finally extracted herself from Kachiro’s company and retired to the bedroom, the information she’d planned to give spilled out too quickly and all jumbled together.

“Wait!” Vora exclaimed. “Are you saying he’s picked out a lover for you?”

“Not... exactly. He just said he didn’t mind if I found Chavori attractive.”

Vora nodded. “Ah,” was all she said.

“You don’t look surprised,” Stara observed.

“I have learned a great deal about your new husband’s friends and their wives.”

“About Sharina’s husband beating her, and Dashina’s having a taste for diseased pleasure slaves?” Stara asked.

“Yes.” Vora nodded. “And it’s no secret among the slaves that Vikaro wants to get rid of Aranira. They don’t like Chiara’s chances of living through this pregnancy, either.”

Stara sighed and nodded. “I thought my situation was bad, but now I can see that other Sachakan women have far worse lives.”

“They’re still better off than female slaves,” Vora reminded her. She looked away. “Cursed to be used for pleasure if beautiful, bred like animals if not. Their children taken and set to work too young. Girl children killed if there are too many already. Beaten, whipped, or mutilated as punishment, with no effort taken to find out if they committed the crime or not. Worked to death . . .” Vora drew in a deep breath and let it out, then straightened and turned to face Stara. “Or, worse still, handed over as a wedding gift to tend to the whims of a magician’s wife with no idea of Sachakan manners or her proper place in society.”

Stara made a rude noise. “You enjoy it. Admit it.” She paused. “How are your hands? I hope you weren’t stung too badly.”

Vora’s lips thinned, but Stara could tell she was pleased. “My hands will be a little stiff tomorrow. I have a paste for the stings.”

Yet Vora did not seem at all pained. Her movements suggested a repressed excitement. Stara watched the woman move about the room, restless and efficient.

“You seem unusually pleased with yourself tonight,” she remarked.

Vora stopped and looked up in surprise. “I do?”

Stara considered the woman’s expression. Was that surprise, or dismay? She couldn’t tell.

She shook her head. “So what should I do?” she asked. “If my husband does want me to bed pretty Chavori, should I?”

Vora’s expression became thoughtful. As the woman began to list the possibilities aloud, and their consequences, Stara felt an unexpected surge of affection and gratitude.

One day, she thought, I am going to repay her for all her help. I’m not sure how yet. I’d give her her freedom, but I’m not sure she’d take it. And besides, I need her with me.

She smiled. The best I can do for now is consider all her advice, and treat her as little like a slave as possible.

To Jayan it felt as if they had been travelling in circles. The last day had been a repeat of the same scene, over and over.

The army had risen at dawn, packed and waited while the leaders deliberated. Then a message spread that they would retreat further south-east towards Imardin. Magicians, apprentices and servants travelled west until they reached the main road, then continued on towards Imardin, setting a pace that always seemed both excruciatingly slow and immorally fast. Slow, because all were conscious of the Sachakan army following. Fast, because every step they took meant giving up land to the enemy.

Each time they passed through a village or a town, the occupants came out to greet them, awed at the number of magicians visiting their home but anxious about what it meant. They did not always take kindly to orders that they leave their homes and flee the advancing army. But most understood warnings that every person who stayed behind would not only be killed, but add to the enemy’s strength. People had begun to regard avoiding evacuation as an act of treachery, as bad as returning to steal from abandoned homes. More than a few times, Jayan observed villagers chasing down those who refused to leave, tying them up and throwing them into carts.

The magicians encouraged the villagers to collect what food and livestock could be gathered quickly and take it with them. They didn’t want to leave the enemy anything that could be eaten or provide magical strength. More important, we’ll need supplies to feed our people, Jayan thought. The Sachakans don’t have increasing numbers of ordinary folk to care for. They’ll probably manage to scrounge up enough food, but we aren’t going to make it easy for them.

Hearing a smothered sound, Jayan turned to look at Mikken. A glint of light reflected out of the corners of the apprentice’s eyes.

“Are you all right?” Jayan asked.

Mikken glanced at him. “Yes.” His jaw tightened, then he sighed. “We just passed the place my family used to visit in summer, when I was a boy. How much more are we going to let them burn and wreck?”

“As much as we have to,” Jayan replied.

“I can’t help wishing the king would hurry up.”

Jayan nodded in agreement. Dakon had told him the army would have to keep retreating until it met the king, who was bringing the last of Kyralia’s magicians with him. Jayan suspected they might also retreat further in order to give the Elyne magicians, travelling down from the north to offer their assistance, time to reach them.

Looking ahead, Jayan saw that Tessia was riding beside Lord Dakon, as she had these last few days. It was to be expected: she was Dakon’s sole apprentice now. Jayan felt a tiny thrill. I am a higher magician now. Independent. In charge of my own life. Able to earn money in exchange for magical tasks.

A pity it had to happen in the middle of a war.

A new weight rested against his chest, within his tunic. He had no idea where Dakon had found the decorated knife he’d presented to Jayan as part of the ceremony. Blades of that style, with fine scrollwork along the handle, were usually made solely for the use of higher magicians, but where would Dakon have found a craftsman to do it, or the time? Had he been carrying it all along, anticipating that he would grant Jayan his independence soon?

Jayan considered the information Dakon had given him. Higher magic had been surprisingly simple to learn, once he’d stopped trying to work it out intellectually and consciously, and simply felt how it was done. But it would take some practice before he could use it efficiently.

Mikken had volunteered to be the source for Dakon’s demonstration of higher magic. Jayan had been glad it was not Tessia, as the thought of taking power from her had made him strangely uncomfortable. Yet he also found taking power from Mikken disturbing, too. It felt wrong to be sapping the strength of people he knew, even if it didn’t affect them physically.

When Mikken had then offered to be Jayan’s ongoing source, Jayan had fought off a strong reluctance to agree. At first he suspected he didn’t want to out of jealousy. He often saw Tessia and Mikken talking now, and couldn’t help questioning his resolve not to get too attached to her while Kyralia was at war. The only thing that kept him from refusing was the knowledge that, as a new higher magician, he was weak and vulnerable. He needed to build up his strength so he could fight in the next confrontation with the Sachakans.

But then, so did most of the magicians in the army. More than half of them had been exhausted by the confrontation with the enemy. The only consolation was that the enemy must also have depleted much of its strength, too.

If the conclusion of the next battle was decided by a race between the two armies to recover their strength, then the Kyralian side had the advantage. By removing as many sources of strength from the Sachakans as possible, they were preventing the enemy from recovering.

But we are doing no better than they. It’s taken all our time and persuasion to get the people to leave, leaving no opportunity to gain any power from them. None of the magicians wanted to round up the villagers and forcibly take their strength from them. Jayan kept hearing them muttering that they would have to find time to convince the people to co-operate later.

His attention was drawn to a rider who galloped past and pulled up alongside Werrin and Sabin at the front of the army. Recognising one of the scouts, Jayan watched as a short conversation followed. Then the rider steered his horse away.

He watched as information melted back through the army. One by one the magicians riding before him looked over their shoulder at those riding behind, lips moving. Narvelan turned to speak to Dakon. Then Tessia’s horse moved to the side of the road and slowed. She looked back at him.

Stop it, he told himself as his heart suddenly began beating faster.

“What are you scowling at?” she asked as she guided her horse in alongside his.

“I’m not,” he told her. “But everyone else is. What’s got them stirred up?”

Her brows lowered and she glowered at the back of her horse’s neck. “News has come that another group of Sachakans have been attacking villages in the north-west. They might have headed west to cut off the Elynes, or they may be taking advantage of the fact that the people in the western leys weren’t evacuated.”

“Oh,” he said. He opened his mouth to say more, then realised he had nothing to say that wasn’t obvious or didn’t involve cursing. Not that Tessia wasn’t used to cursing. But he wasn’t about to break a long habit of avoiding it around women just because she was used to it.

They continued in silence for a while. “Sorry,” she said eventually. “I keep forgetting to call you ‘Magician Jayan’.”

“So do I,” Mikken inserted quietly.

Jayan looked from one side to the other, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re my friends. I’d rather nothing changed between us.”

Tessia looked up at him, her eyebrows rising. “Really? Nothing?”

“Yes.”

“How wonderful.” She looked across at Mikken. “I guess that means he wants to continue to be as rude and annoying as ever.”

Mikken laughed, then, as Jayan shot him a glare, covered his mouth.

Jayan turned to her. “If I have been rude I apologise. I do believe, as a higher magician, I have an obligation to . . .” He stopped. Tessia’s eyes were bright with humour and anticipation. Relaxing, he allowed himself a rueful smile. “Yes, I promise to be as rude and annoying as before.”

She sniffed with disappointment. “You were supposed to promise to not be rude and annoying.”

“I know.”

“Hmph!” She urged her horse forward, leaving him and Mikken behind as she returned to Dakon’s side.

“You two are like old friends, or brother and sister,” Mikken said. Then he added: “Magician Jayan.”

Jayan stopped himself from wincing. But I don’t want us to be. Curse this war! Sighing, he resolutely set his gaze on the road ahead.

CHAPTER 37

Towards the end of the day, reports of the distance between the army and the king grew more frequent. At first both forces were on the road, closing the gap between them steadily. Then news reached them that the king had camped outside Coldbridge. He would wait for them to arrive. Dakon could not help feeling annoyance that the king was giving up more ground to the Sachakans, probably for the convenience of having a town nearby to service the army.

But it made sense. The army servants were exhausted. Several were ill and were travelling in a cart. With all the best food served to the magicians, some of the servants had cooked meat kept too long after slaughter for themselves. Two had died, and neither the guild healers nor Tessia had been able to help.

“What water or sustenance we give them goes straight through their bodies,” she’d told him. “We’ll see more of this, if we begin to run short of food.”

It was incredible that she could mend a broken back, yet was helpless to stop simple gut sickness claiming lives. Refan had the advantage of magic giving him resilience, though. Tessia’s description of sensing magic repairing Refan’s body had fascinated Dakon. It confirmed what all magicians had long believed without any proof, except the observation that they lived long, healed fast and were resistant to disease.

A murmur among the magicians and apprentices around him brought his attention back from his thoughts. Looking ahead, he saw what the others were remarking on. A town lay ahead, houses dotted along each side of the road.

Coldbridge. Spread before it were lines of tents and wagons, with tiny figures roaming about the space between them. The king and the rest of Kyralia’s magicians, he thought. Which should increase the size of our army to just over a hundred.

At the centre, beside the road, was a large tent striped in the colours of the king’s family. Already a crowd was gathering around the tent, no doubt in expectation of meeting the advancing army.

The pace quickened and the sound of voices rose around Dakon. He glanced around, noting the excitement and relief in the expressions of magicians and apprentices alike. Tessia, however, was frowning.

“What are you worrying over, Tessia?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “I’m not sure. Every time we gain more magicians we have to teach them so much. Not just Ardalen’s method, but not to wander off, or who’s in charge. Do we have the time, this time?”

Dakon looked at the tents ahead and considered. “We may have to give up more ground in order to gain the time we need.”

She nodded. “There is another thing I’ve been wondering about.”

“Yes?”

“Lord Ardalen taught us how to give power to another magician. He died at the pass. Would the Sachakan who killed him have had the chance to read his mind and discover the trick?”

Dakon shook his head. “Mikken said his master was killed instantly, once his shield was overcome.”

She grimaced. “I guess we should be thankful for that.”

He sighed. “Yes, I guess we should. Though . . . I’m not sure a Sachakan would have paid much attention anyway. He or she would not have known the significance of what he saw, since we hadn’t fought them in direct battle at that time. If a Kyralian magician were captured now, however, I’m sure their mind would be thoroughly searched.”

“Let’s hope they don’t get the chance, then.”

The front of the column had reached the edge of the field of tents now. All fell silent as the leaders of the army approached the king’s tent. Dakon saw that a line of three men stood waiting. He recognised the young man standing at the centre. The two men on either side of King Errik were magicians more than twice his age, regarded as two of the most powerful and wealthy men in Kyralia.

Werrin and Sabin signalled for the army to stop several paces from the king. Slowly the long column widened as magicians and apprentices gathered before the tent. Then, as all movement ceased and sounds quietened, Werrin and Sabin dismounted and bowed, and the rest of the army followed suit.

“Lord Werrin,” King Errik said, stopping before them. “Magician Sabin. My loyal friends and magicians. It is good to see you again.” He grasped their arms in turn, then straightened and faced the army, raising his voice. “Welcome, magicians of Kyralia. You risked your lives to face our enemy, responding quickly and bravely to the country’s need. Though the first battle was lost, we are far from beaten. We have the rest of Kyralia’s magicians with me, bar those too feeble to ride and fight. We are now one army, and as such we must ready ourselves to face the enemy with our full strength. We have the assistance of magicians from other lands.” He turned and gestured towards five men standing nearby. Dakon saw, with surprise, that two were tall, well-tattooed Lans and the other three were of the less imposing Vindo race. Between them stood Magician Genfel, looking pleased with himself.

The king had paused, and his expression grew more serious as he scanned the faces of the newcomers. “There is no time to lose. The leaders are to join me to discuss our strategy. The rest of you may rest, eat and make camp for the night. By tomorrow we will have decided what our next move will be.”

As he turned back to Sabin, the army stirred and began to disperse. Dakon looked at Tessia.

“Duty summons me yet again,” he said.

The corner of her mouth twitched in a half-smile. “I expect a full report later, Lord Dakon,” she said loftily, then nudged her horse after the crowd.

He chuckled, then rode up beside Werrin’s horse, dismounted, and handed his reins to a waiting servant. Narvelan was already hovering nearby. Dakon moved to the young magician’s side.

“That’s Lord Perkin. And Lord Innali,” Narvelan choked out. Dakon looked at the two older men who had been standing beside the king. “The unofficial patriarchs of Kyralia?” He shrugged. “They had to show their faces eventually. And they’re hardly going to be excluded from this discussion.”

“I guess not,” Narvelan said, his voice thin with resignation.

“Don’t let them intimidate you,” Dakon told him. “They may have money, and ancestry that goes back before the Sachakan occupation, but neither will matter in battle. You have fought and killed Sachakans. That makes you far more impressive than a pair of old men with only fancy names to speak of.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Narvelan said. He sighed. “I almost wish it weren’t so. Though it was easier the second time. And the third.”

Dakon frowned at his friend. “What was easier?”

“Killing Sachakans.” Narvelan glanced at Dakon nervously. “I’m not sure whether to be relieved or worried that it gets easier.”

“Choose relieved,” Dakon advised. “If all goes well we will kill many more Sachakans. If it doesn’t, I doubt we’ll have the chance to worry if it was easy or not. Ah, we’re heading inside.”

The king, Werrin and Sabin were moving towards the tent. Dakon saw that the rest of the army advisers were edging after them. The king beckoned to the two patriarchs, who strode forward to follow him inside. Dakon, Narvelan and the rest came after.

Wooden chairs had been arranged in a circle. The king took the larger, fancier one, and the others settled into the rest. Magician Genfel introduced the Vindo and Lans magicians.

“I have some reports of the first battle,” Errik told them. “But not a detailed account.” He looked at Sabin. “Describe it to me.”

Sabin obeyed, and Dakon was struck by how much the army leader had actually missed. Sabin’s attention had been on attacking the enemy, relying on those around him to tell him how the rest of the Kyralian army fared.

Another advantage to our new methods of fighting, Dakon thought. His attention did not need to be divided. But the disadvantage is this lack of the whole picture.

To fill in the details he could not relate himself, Sabin turned to Werrin. After a while the king interrupted.

“This strategy of fighting in groups shaped much of what you were able to do. Tell me more.”

Dakon smiled as Werrin related how Ardalen demonstrated his magical trick of giving power to another, and the advantages and drawbacks of the method. He then explained how setting the apprentices to playing Kyrima with themselves as pieces and using only strikes of light had led to fighting in groups, with one given the task of striking and another of shielding to focus concentration.

A message arrived for the king then, and servants brought food and drink. The king returned quickly, his face grim.

“The Sachakans have overtaken Calia,” he told them. “They have not wreaked the destruction they have in the past, however.”

Dakon shook his head. Calia was a major town, prospering from its position near the meeting point of two major roads.

“They aren’t wasting their strength,” Innali said. “At least there are no people left for them to take more from.”

The king frowned. “Then why did I receive reports of bodies?”

Werrin sighed. “There are always some who refuse to leave, who hide to avoid being taken away against their will. Some even skirt around the army and return home.”

“Why?” Innali asked. “Do they not understand the danger?”

“Some do, some don’t. They think they can hide from the Sachakans – and some do manage to. To them protecting their property from thieves is more important. Or else their plan is the thievery itself.”

Innali scowled.

“The enemy isn’t keeping them alive to continue using them as a source,” Sabin added. “So to them they are a limited resource.” He looked at the king. “The Sachakans have their slaves, but we have the people of Kyralia. If they are willing, they could be our best resource.”

“But they are a resource we haven’t been using,” Werrin pointed out. “It has been difficult enough getting villagers and townsfolk to leave their homes, giving them a chance to gather what food and possessions they can. We haven’t had time to persuade any of them to let us take their magical strength.”

Lord Perkin shook his head. “And the people of Kyralia aren’t here for us to take power from. Instead they are arriving in Imardin in droves. The supplies they bring won’t last long and most have no roof to sleep under. We will soon begin to lose them to starvation and disease.”

The king frowned. “If the Sachakans decided to, they could ride here in a few hours. The towns and villages between here and Imardin are yet to be evacuated, and as you’ve said, that takes time. More than usual, since they contain not just their normal occupants, but those who have not travelled as far as Imardin but chosen to stay in these villages instead. I am reluctant to give any more ground.

“Then there is the news of another group of Sachakans in the north-west, travelling this way,” he continued. “If we wait too long they may join with the main army. Are we strong enough to confront the Sachakans now? Tonight?”

The magicians exchanged glances.

“Let’s sum up,” Sabin said. “After the battle more than half of us were exhausted of power, the rest depleted to some degree. We each have had one day’s recovered power from our apprentice or servant. Tomorrow we will have had two. And we have over thirty magicians who have not used up any power in battle yet. Together, we number over a hundred.

“We have no idea how depleted the Sachakans were after the battle, but we did kill twelve of them and we can assume several more were near exhaustion. They have more slaves per magician than we have apprentices or servants. They have been taking power from those people who foolishly remained in their path. As far as we know, no reinforcements or new allies have joined them. They number something over fifty.”

“It sounds as if we have the advantage,” the king said. Sabin nodded. “We do.”

The king nodded. As his expression turned to one of determination Dakon cleared his throat. There was one issue they had overlooked, which had to be tackled before this new army threw itself into battle too quickly.

“There is one other matter we have to address, your majesty. We need time to train the rest of the army in our new methods.”

The king’s stare was direct and challenging.

“How long will that take?”

“A day last time,” Sabin told him.

“Which was longer than it should have been,” Dakon added. “Too few of us volunteered to teach the newcomers.” He shrugged. “We had the luxury of time.”

The king looked at Werrin.

“I’m sure it could be done faster,” Werrin said, “if all were willing to teach. Perhaps a few hours.”

The king looked at Sabin. “Is it worth denying a few magicians their sleep for?” he asked, smiling wryly.

Sabin nodded. “Though we lost the last battle, it proved the value of Ardalen’s gift. Though the Sachakans were stronger, they lost some of their number. We may have been weaker, but none of us died. Had we fought as we used to – as they do – all those who exhausted their power would have perished. Not a dozen, not two dozen, but more than half our number. We lived to strengthen ourselves again. We lived to fight again. That is worth giving up a few hours’ sleep for.”

Errik nodded, then he sighed and looked at Perkin. “Gather up those who need to be taught.” He looked at Dakon. “You will have the unenviable task of rousing some volunteers.” Dakon bowed his head.

“I would like to make request,” one of the Vindo magicians said in halting Kyralian.

The king turned to him. “Yes, Varno? What is it?”

“Would I and my fellow Vindo be welcome to learn new magic?”

Errik paused and looked at Sabin. “I must consult with my advisers, of course...”

“We can make exchange,” Varno said, smiling. He reached into his jacket and drew out a small object. A ring, Dakon saw. A simple loop of gold holding a smooth red bead. All looked at it in curiosity and puzzlement.

Surely he doesn’t mean to buy the knowledge with this rather un-impressive bit of jewellery, Dakon thought.

“It is call a blood gem,” Varno explained. “Not stone; it glass imbued with blood of Vindo king. It allows him to reach wearer’s mind.” He smiled. “Very good if ships trading far away.”

That revelation had roused murmurs of surprise from around the table.

“I check with him short time ago if I may tell you this,” Varno added.

“Communication by mind,” Sabin said. “But others cannot hear it.”

“Yes,” Varno replied. “My people keep knowledge of making many, many hundreds years.”

“Communication in battle, without the enemy knowing or guessing your signals,” Narvelan breathed.

The king looked at Varno. “How fast can you teach the making of these?”

The Vindo spread his hands. “Some moments, no more.”

Errik smiled. “Then we have a trade. I suggest that the fastest way to do this is for your companions to join Lord Dakon for lessons in Ardalen’s method, and then teach you later, while you come with me and teach the making of these blood gems.”

Varno bobbed his head. “That faster.”

The king rose, and gestured for them to follow suit. “Aside from Magicians Sabin, Werrin and Varno, who are to come with me, you are all to follow Lord Dakon’s instructions.” Dakon saw the two Lans magicians exchanging looks of uncertainty. Sabin leaned close to the king and murmured something, and the king turned to consider the pair. “Your help and willingness to risk your life for the good of our land is payment enough,” he said quietly. “Go with Lord Dakon.”

As the king and his companions left, the rest turned to regard Dakon expectantly. He found himself momentarily unable to speak. Then, recovering from his surprise, he smiled grimly and began to give instructions. To his relief, the magicians began to nod. Soon all were marching out of the tent, intent on the task at hand.

When Hanara opened his eyes again he noticed no change at first. It was still dark. He was still lying beside the entrance of Takado’s tent. His master was still on the pallet in the middle, snoring faintly. Hanara pushed himself up and peered outside. The three shapes of the other slaves were still where they had been before he’d fallen asleep, on blankets laid on the ground outside. He knew he had been asleep, but for how long?

Then he realised someone was shouting, in the distance, but close enough to allow him to make out the words.

“Wake up! They’re coming! The Kyralians! They’re attacking!”

Muffled sounds of movement and voices raised in protest came from within other tents. Hanara heard a low groan behind him. He turned away from the tent opening and moved to Takado’s side.

“Master,” he said, quietly but urgently. “Wake up. The Kyralians are coming.”

An eye opened. Takado blinked. He muttered something.

“The Kyralians, master,” Hanara repeated. “They are attacking – or will be soon. I do not know if it is a trick or not. Do you want me to check?”

Takado’s brows lowered, then abruptly he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“No.” He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed his face. “Get me a drink.”

Hanara dashed to a small chest Takado had taken from one of the towns. On top were a half-empty bottle, a gold jug and a matching goblet.

“Water or wine?”

“Wine,” Takado snapped. “No... water.” He shook his head. “Just give me both. Quickly.”

Hanara grabbed the bottle and the jug and brought them both to Takado. His master drank from the bottle first, then from the jug, then splashed water over his face. He thrust bottle and jug back into Hanara’s arms, moved to the tent entrance and disappeared outside.

Taking the opportunity, Hanara drank some water. It tasted of silt. He considered the wine and decided against it. He’d need a clear head if he was to serve his master well in battle. But what should he do next? If the Kyralians are about to attack he’ll probably want to take as much power as he can, so I’d better wake the others. Hanara felt remarkably calm as he moved outside and prodded the other slaves awake. As he explained, the slaves began to glance around the camp anxiously. They do not have what I have, Hanara thought, smiling. I have achieved the long-life feeling, in serving Takado. It doesn’t matter if I die tonight. Perhaps that is why I am calm.

Yet doubts began to creep in again, as they had since the night after the battle, when Takado had disappeared with Asara and Dachido, then returned with new horses, but in a foul mood. Hanara did not know what had angered Takado so much, but his master hadn’t regained his confidence and good humour. Takado had taken magic from his four slaves two or three times over the next day, and hunted down the Kyralians foolish enough to cross his path with a frightening savagery. He’d even chased down domestic animals.

At least we ate well last night.

Takado’s mood had swung back to its normal confidence when, at sundown, twenty Sachakans had ridden into Calia to join the army. They had been preparing themselves for battle by roaming about in north-west Kryalia, attacking villages and towns. But they brought news of a group of Elyne magicians travelling south to join the Kyralians. Takado had roused the army and set forth, intending to find and defeat the Kyralians before that help could arrive.

After a few hours’ travelling, however, he had stopped the army and ordered them to make camp. Nomako’s scouts had brought news that the Kyralian army had grown larger, and the Elynes would not arrive for another full day. He wanted to gather more information and debate tactics, and threatened to withdraw his assistance. Instead of engaging in a debate, Takado had retired to his tent, saying they could argue about it in the morning.

It wasn’t morning. Hanara estimated morning was still several hours away. But the camp was alive with activity. Magicians strode about or gathered in tense knots. Slaves dashed here and there. Hanara saw Takado talking to Asara and Dachido. Nomako approached them, pointing south. Takado glanced in that direction, said something, then turned on his heel and headed for Hanara. Recognising the look on his master’s face, Hanara dropped to his knees and held out his wrists. Takado’s knife flashed into his hand.

The taking of power was rapid and left Hanara reeling. He saw the other slaves sway as they endured the ritual. Then Takado barked Hanara’s name and strode away.

Hurrying after, Hanara looked beyond the camp and saw a sight that set his heart racing. A long shadow stretched across the southern end of the field. A dark ribbon of movement blown steadily closer, by a wind he could feel only in his imagination. The slip of moon skulking within the trees allowed only hints and glimpses of the Kyralians’ approach.

White faces in the dark, he thought. They look like what the barbarian tribes of old must have looked like, but they’ve grown clever and strong.

As in nightmares, his feet felt weighty and encumbered as he walked towards them, but he forced himself to follow Takado. Memories of slaves struck by stray magic slipped into his mind, despite his attempts to keep them out. I will stay close to Takado. I will keep close to the ground. If he holds I will be protected. If he fails I will not want to live anyway.

Or did he? Again, traitorous doubts crept in. He pushed them aside.

From all around him, Sachakan magicians and their slaves hurried forward. As Takado stopped, they fell into a line stretching out on both sides of him. Asara and Dachido, instead of standing among their own people, took their places by his side, showing Nomako who they considered the leader of the army to be.

A globe of light flared into existence far above Takado’s head, brightening the pale faces of the Kyralians. They had stopped advancing, Hanara saw. Once again they’d formed knots of five or six magicians. Many, many more knots than had been at the last battle.

“Have you come back to surrender?” Takado called out.

“No,” a voice replied. “We have come here to accept yours, Ashaki Takado, though I expect you will take some persuading.”

All eyes fell on a young man stepping forward from a knot of magicians near the centre of the Kyralian line.

Takado burst into laughter. “King Errik! The runt himself has scurried out of his castle to squeak at us. Which is about all he can contribute to a fight,” Takado glanced at his fellow Sachakans on either side, “from what I’ve been told.”

“I have plenty to contribute,” the king replied. As if copying Takado, he looked up and down the line of Kyralian magicians. “I have my people. I have magicians, united in knowledge and strength. I have ordinary people, willing and ready to defend their country any way they—”

“Magicians who have already failed you once,” Takado said. “And will again.”

The Kyralian king smiled. “How many of your allies died in that last battle?”

Takado shrugged. “A mere handful. Nothing compared to how many we will slaughter in revenge tonight. You’ll make a good start.”

From him burst a sizzling flash of light. It pounded the air just in front of the king, who staggered backwards. Hanara saw a magician step forward to steady his ruler, then the air began to flash and ripple between the Sachakans and the Kyralians.

Throwing himself to the ground, Hanara shivered as magic once again seared the space between the two armies. He peered through the remnants of whatever trampled, half-grown crop had been sown in the field. Mostly he watched in case Takado signalled for him, or snapped an order, but he could not help stealing glances to either side, dreading the moment when the first Sachakan fell.

It happened much sooner than last time. Hanara flinched and felt his heart jolt as a magician a mere twenty strides away burst into flames. He felt the heat, cringed at the screams. Then slaves surged forward to pat out the fire, but after the magician stilled he did not rise again. He heard the slaves’ fearful lamenting as they realised they were now masterless and unprotected.

When the next magician fell, Takado made a disgusted noise. “What will it take for us to trust each other?” he muttered. “Do as they do,” he called out. “Protect each other.”

Looking down the line of magicians, Hanara saw one take a step back, then glance at both of his neighbours indecisively. Then he staggered to his knees as a strike pounded his shield. He quickly crawled behind the magician to his left and rose to his feet, looking uncomfortable but relieved.

Now magician after magician began to either slip behind his or her neighbour, or die before managing to. Hanara’s stomach sank ever lower as more and more died or stepped aside, and he grew nauseous with dread. How can we win at this rate? Then a cry of triumph rang out. Lifting himself up on his elbows, Hanara saw that one of the Kyralian groups had disintegrated. Two corpses lay on the ground, and three magicians were running away. As he watched, one buckled in mid-stride and dropped. The other two swerved out of sight behind the enemy’s line.

Now Hanara watched the Kyralians intently, refusing to look when one of his own people fell. Laughter broke from Takado as one of the enemy shrieked in pain, his face blackened and clothes alight. All but one of the magicians around the victim fled to either side, hiding in the protection of other groups. The one who stayed tried to drag the burning man aside, but then both were knocked off their feet and fell to the ground, where they lay still.

Seeking the enemy king, Hanara found him within another group, scanning the two lines and scowling as another magician spoke rapidly to him.

They’re worried they’re losing, Hanara thought, his heart lifting. They’re going to try retreating again. But this time Takado won’t let them go. He’ll chase them down.

A sound beside him threatened to drag his attention away. He saw someone in the corner of his eye, crawling closer. It could only be a slave. He resisted looking back.

“Hanara? Are you the one called Hanara?”

Annoyed, he glanced back quickly. It was one of Nomako’s slaves. Hanara grimaced.

“Yes. Why?”

“Message. For Takado. He requests Takado retreat. Nomako’s men are nearly exhausted.”

Hanara nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

As the other slave crawled backwards, Hanara edged forward, slowly closing the gap between himself and Takado.

“Master,” he called. “Master Takado.”

He waited, but Takado was rigid with concentration. In case his master hadn’t heard, he called again.

“What is it?” Takado snapped.

Hanara repeated what the slave said. Takado scowled, but said nothing.

“My people are signalling that they are tiring,” Asara said after a moment.

“But so are the Kyralians, I think,” Dachido said.

“Yes,” Takado agreed. “We are too closely matched.”

“It doesn’t matter if these Elynes are an hour away or half a day,” Asara said. “Even if we win here, they will find us exhausted and have no trouble finishing us off.”

Takado gave a low growl. “If they find us.”

“Look at their faces,” Dachido said, nodding towards the Kyralians. “They’re worried. Either they know the Elynes will arrive too late to save them, or they don’t yet know the Elynes are close by. Let them be the ones to retreat.”

Takado straightened. “We have only to bluff them. Intimidate them.” He smiled. “When the next group falter, turn all your power on them so none have a chance to seek shelter.”

The three allies fell silent. Hanara searched the enemy line, looking for groups that might be reaching the end of their combined strength. He noticed that one group did not appear to be striking.

“That one with the tall magician at the front,” he said, loud enough for his master to hear. “Are they attacking at all? Or just shielding?”

Takado looked in the right direction. “Ahhh,” he said. “We have our target.” He sent a streak of light towards the tall magician and his group. It scattered off a shield. Hanara saw the man turn to see who had attacked him, and turn grey with terror.

In the next moment, the five magicians in the group fell under a barrage of magical strikes. Not one of the group survived.

Hanara watched realisation and horror spread across the faces of the Kyralians. He realised he was giggling, and felt a rush of loathing at himself, followed by a contradictory pride. I found the target. Takado won’t forget that.

Then all smugness evaporated as several Sachakans fell, one after another. Looking in the direction of the attackers, he saw five magicians calmly separate and walk behind their neighbouring groups.

They expelled their last strength deliberately, so they could hide before anyone could kill them. He could not help admiring them for that. It’s this cool, calculating approach that makes them more formidable than they should be.

The Kyralians now stood in groups of ten to fifteen magicians. As Hanara watched, magicians in the king’s group shouted orders. The smaller groups moved together to form five larger groups.

But they did not retreat.

He looked up at Takado. His master’s teeth were set in a grimace. Hanara hoped nobody could see this but Asara and Dachido. Perhaps from a distance it looked like a smile. On either side, two more magicians fell.

Then the Kyralians began to back away.

Takado gave a cry of triumph. “At last!”

“Now we give chase?” Asara asked. “Not yet,” Takado said. “We must wait until they break into smaller groups.”

“But they’re not.”

Sure enough, the Kyralians were retreating in an ordered formation, protected by those still strong enough to shield the rest of the army.

Takado hummed in thought. “They’ll probably keep that up until they reach their horses. Then we might have our chance.” Asara drew in a sharp breath.

“Ah! I have an idea,” she said. Looking at Takado, she grinned. Then, as she told him, he also began to smile.

“A bold idea,” he said. “Go. Try it if you dare.”

She chuckled, then turned and sprang away from the fight.

CHAPTER 38

It was growing clear that staring at the roof of the tent was not going to send Tessia back to sleep. Sighing, she turned on her side and looked at the other young women asleep on their pallets. Someone had decided that, now there were more female apprentices in the army, they should all share the same tent. There were five of them, not including herself, ranging in age from fourteen to twenty-five.

Is this really all the female apprentices in Kyralia? There must be more than seventy male apprentices, though she was not sure if that number had been skewed by magicians taking on new apprentices in order to strengthen themselves as preparation for war. How many women have magical talent, but never develop it? How many never know they have it?

She wondered why these particular girls had become apprentices. They were all a little frightened to find themselves at war, Tessia suspected. Even those who had been flippant, or enthusiastic about seeing a fight.

Yet nobody complained that we apprentices get to sit around waiting while our masters go off to fight.

Tessia felt a rush of apprehension. No magicians had died the last time, but that didn’t mean none would this time. Mistakes could be made. The Sachakans might not let the Kyralians retreat this time, if it came to that.

But at least she didn’t have to worry about Jayan. Once again, despite now being a higher magician, he’d been left in charge of the apprentices. He was a logical choice for the role, since he’d led them before and they all regarded him as a hero since “defeating” three Sachakans “all on his own” in the bol storehouse. She had to admit his solution had been clever, and admire his quick thinking.

And now the girls are even more inclined to swoon over him. She thought back to the previous night’s conversation with the female apprentices. They’ve started with Mikken, too, sighing over his tragic but brave escape from the pass, making his way back all alone, and rejoining the army when he could have gone back to Imardin. She smiled to herself. Still, you can’t help admiring him for that.

Tessia sighed. She was not going to fall back to sleep again. I may as well get up and see if I can make myself useful.

As quietly as she could, she rose and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. Picking up her boots, she took them outside the tent and sat down on a box to pull them on. It was not quite the full darkness of night, nor the brightening gloom of dawn, but she could see figures pacing the boundary of the camp in the distance, and the pointed shapes of other tents. Fires glowed with dying embers. Lamps flickered, thirsty for oil.

Rising, she began to wander, no destination in mind. Just a circuit of the camp, she decided. The male apprentices either slept in their master’s tent, or had their own individual shelters. She passed a small group of them playing a game of some sort. They saw her and beckoned, but aside from smiling politely she ignored them and continued walking.

A gap of about ten strides curved through the camp, and it wasn’t until she had crossed it and passed a few more tents that she realised it divided the magicians and apprentices from the servants’ area. The tents here were certainly plainer, and rectangular. She saw tables covered in pots, pans and kettles, as well as baskets and boxes filled with sacks, fruit, vegetables and other foodstuffs. She glimpsed people sleeping shoulder to shoulder with only blankets or mats of dried grass between themselves and the ground. She noticed the smell of animals, held within pens or cages.

Then a familiar mix of odours caught her attention. She stopped, recognising the twin scent of illness and cures, then quickened her pace. A large rectangular tent appeared ahead. She paused at the entrance, taking in the makeshift beds of dried grass matting covered in blankets, the sick men and women, the bowls for excrement or washing water, and the table covered in cures, some mixed, some not, some in the process of being prepared.

In the shadows at the back of the tent someone was bending over a patient. Tessia could hear the rasping sound of breathing. She moved into the tent and approached.

“I have some briskbark ointment back in my tent,” she said. “Shall I go and get it?”

The figure straightened, then turned to face Tessia. Instead of the surprised face of a man, she was confronted by a beaming, familiar smile.

“Tessia!” Kendaria exclaimed. “I heard you were here. I was going to seek you out, but the healers put me on night duty.”

“Alone?” Tessia glanced at the other patients. “Without even an assistant?”

Kendaria scowled. “It’s my punishment for daring to be a woman. Besides, most of them are managing to sleep, except for this fellow here.” She took Tessia’s arm and led her out of the tent. “And he’s not going to live much longer, no matter who watches over him,” she added quietly. “Poor man.”

“I can get my bag,” Tessia offered. “Might ease his pain.”

Kendaria shook her head. “What I’ve given him will do the job well enough. So, how are you? I’ve heard so many stories of chasing Sachakans, battles and such, and you’ve been there right from the start. How have you managed it?”

Tessia shrugged. “I don’t know if management has been part of it. Wherever Lord Dakon went, I went too. He has gone wherever Lord Werrin then Magician Sabin and now the king took him. And they’ve gone wherever the Sachakans forced them to go.” She looked back at the tent. “You’ve obviously managed to convince the guild to let you do a little healing.”

“Only the boring or unpleasant work that they don’t want to do.” Kendaria’s face darkened. “They treat me like a servant most of the time, sending me off to get them food or drink. One even thought he could help himself to my bed, but he was so obvious about his intentions I put some papea spice under my pillow and blew it into his eyes. They were streaming for days afterwards.”

“That’s terrible!” Tessia gasped. “Did you complain about his behaviour?”

“Of course, but the guild master told me that since most people think the only women who hang about armies are there to service the men, I should not be surprised if men make assumptions about me.”

Tessia gaped at her. “He said what? Does he make that assumption about me? Or the other female apprentices or magicians?” She shook her head. “Or the servants? Do they work hard to feed and support us only to be treated like...like...?”

Kendaria grimaced and nodded. “I’ve had more than a few women come to me asking for a preventative for conception. Who do you think got me the papea spice? It’s not a cure ingredient.”

Appalled, Tessia could not speak. She considered telling Lord Dakon. He would tell Magician Sabin, she was sure. But would anybody do anything about it? Even if they forbade it, would the men taking advantage of the servant women pay any attention?

“Is it true what they’re saying about you?” Kendaria asked, a little hesitantly.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Tessia turned to look at the healer. “What are they saying about me?”

“That you can heal with magic. That you mended a broken back.”

“Oh.” Tessia smiled. “It is and it isn’t. I’ve been trying to use magic to heal, but haven’t found a way yet. What I’ve been able to do is things like moving broken bones back into place, or holding a wound closed while it is stitched, or stopping bleeding. And I’ve recently worked out how to pinch the pain paths to numb an area of the body. That’s all, though.”

“So how did you mend the broken back?”

“It wasn’t broken. It was all out of alignment. Once I put it right all the pathways straightened and unblocked. Though there was a lot of swelling that had to be discouraged.”

“But... how did you know it wasn’t broken?”

Tessia paused. Of course, ordinary healers couldn’t see into their patient’s bodies. I hadn’t realised how great an advantage that was. I’ve been thinking less of the healers for misdiagnosing their patients, when they really can’t help it.

“I’m able to see inside people,” she explained.

Kendaria smiled. “You might not be able to actually heal magically, but what you can do is marvellous.” Then her smile faded a little. “Which is why the healers aren’t happy about what you’re doing. Don’t be surprised if they try to stop you. They’re worried that if magicians can heal then they’ll lose their richer customers.”

“How could they stop me?”

“By convincing the king that, because you’re not guild trained, you might do more harm than good out of ignorance. Or that magicians will take all the work from the healers, which will leave them less able to afford to do charitable work with people who can’t afford to pay magicians. Not that they do much of it, anyway.”

Tessia laughed quietly. “In other words, they’re afraid they’ll end up no better than a lowly village healer.”

“Yes.” Kendaria gave her a serious look. “Don’t dismiss them. They are the most powerful guild in the city. They won’t give up what they have without a fight.”

“I’ll be careful,” Tessia assured her. “I’m not going to stir them up then disappear like my grandfather did. He used to say the mistake he made was to try to change them too quickly. He’d have had more success making changes so slowly that they didn’t notice them. But he was young and impatient, and people were dying... what’s that shouting?”

The calls in the background were growing rapidly louder and more numerous. Kendaria frowned as she listened.

“Go! Get in the carts!”

“They’re coming!”

“Leave it! Just go!”

Suddenly there were people everywhere, darting between tents and shouting. Servants were emerging. There were questioning calls from within the healers’ tent. A man strode up to Kendaria and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. She yelped in fright.

“The army is coming and the Sachakans are close behind. We have to get everyone onto the carts and leave. No packing. Just get the people out.” He looked at Tessia and blinked. “Apprentice Tessia? Master Jayan is looking for you.” He pointed towards the centre of the camp.

“Thank you,” Tessia said. She looked at Kendaria. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

Turning away, Tessia jogged through the tents. She was forced to dodge several times as men and women raced towards the outskirts of the camp where horses and gorin were most likely being harnessed to carts as quickly as possible. Once she crossed the gap between servant and magicians’ tents, she found herself following apprentices all moving in the same direction.

As she emerged onto the road, into the space before the king’s tent, she saw Jayan standing on a large box. He was shouting orders and repeating the same information again and again, in response to the apprentices’ frantic questions.

“Our army is retreating. The Sachakans are following. They will be here soon. We must be ready. The servants are bringing horses.” He paused and frowned at one of the apprentices. “Stop wasting time asking stupid questions and see if your horse is here!” he snapped. He turned away and pointed. “You! Arlenin. I can see someone bringing your horse. Yes, I’d hardly miss that ugly beast if it were on the other side of the country. Go and get it.”

Tessia put a hand to her mouth to stop herself laughing, then felt a wave of affection for him. He had no patience with fools. While it was not always a good trait in times of peace, right now it was just what the apprentices needed to snap them out of their panic and get them organised.

It seemed to take for ever, but within a few minutes they were all mounted and waiting. As the crowd around Jayan diminished she was able to get closer. A servant came to tell Jayan that the carts were loaded and ready. Jayan paused for a moment.

“Then go. You’ll travel more slowly than us. Is there any road you can take other than the main one, to get you out of the Sachakans’ path?”

“Yes. It has already been chosen, in case there was need.”

“Good. Then go.”

The man bent into a short bow then hurried away. For some reason this sent a shiver down Tessia’s spine. It’s hard enough getting used to Jayan behaving and being treated like a higher magician, but watching him in the role of leader is very strange indeed!

“Jayan,” she called. His head turned in her direction, then another shout drew his attention away. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to find Ullin, Dakon’s servant and former stable servant, holding the reins of her horse out to her. As she took them he smiled then raced away.

Only then did she glance at the saddle and realise that her father’s bag was not there. It was back in the tent.

“The army!” someone shouted, and the call was taken up by several voices. Tessia tried to see past the apprentices to the road, but there was no hope of seeing anything with a crowd of horses milling before her. She turned away and swung into the saddle, then looked back.

A dark shadow filled the road ahead, and it was advancing rapidly.

For a moment an eerie quietness descended, through which she could hear the distant shouts of the cart drivers and bellows of gorin somewhere behind the sea of tents, and the thunder of galloping hoofs. Tent walls snapped in a lively breeze. She realised that the sun had come up and she hadn’t noticed it.

“Where’s your father’s bag?” a familiar voice asked.

Turning, Tessia found Jayan beside her, Mikken on his other side.

“Back in the tent. I had no time to go back for it.”

Jayan gazed at her intently, then turned to look at the advancing army. “There might be.”

“No,” she told him firmly. “There’s nothing in it I can’t replace.”

He looked at her again and opened his mouth to speak, but another apprentice drew near.

“What are we going to do?” he said. “Start galloping ahead of them? Or move aside and let them pass?”

“They’re slowing down,” Mikken said.

He was right. The lead horses had slowed to a canter. She watched as they dropped into a trot and then a walk. Lord Sabin and the king rode at the head. She scanned the faces, sighing with relief when she saw Lord Dakon. He was riding a different horse, she noticed.

But something wasn’t right. Where was the rest of the army? With sinking heart, she began a new search – of her memory. For the names of those who must have fallen. The names of the dead.

As the magicians stopped they turned to regard each other, heads swivelling as they took stock of their number. Tessia read the same shocked realisation in their faces. Some even blinked back tears.

A third, she found herself thinking. We’ve lost a third. And where is Lord Werrin?

She saw the king lean towards Sabin and gesture back down the road. Sabin nodded and stood in his stirrups.

“Apprentices, join your masters,” he shouted. “We ride to Imardin.”

As he urged his horse forward Tessia heard Jayan curse. He had risen in his stirrups to peer over the heads of the magicians.

“What?” she asked.

“They’re coming,” he said, dropping back into the saddle. “The Sachakans are coming. We should have evacuated Coldbridge. Too late now.”

Together they hauled on the reins and slapped their heels, and their mounts raced forward with the army.

The slave had said Stara was to appear in the master’s room in an hour, well dressed, to help her husband entertain their guest, Chavori. Vora had been amused, since it was the same length of time she had made Stara take to prepare for the trip to Motara’s house. “He’s a fast learner,” she said as she laid two elaborately embroidered wraps on the bed. “The blue or the orange?”

“Blue,” Stara said.

“I wasn’t asking you, mistress,” Vora said, chuckling. “Though I agree. The orange is more suited to larger gatherings, where you might want to draw attention to yourself. The blue is a calmer colour, better for quiet evenings with single visitors.”

Stara wondered briefly if “single” meant unmarried, or merely that Chavori would be arriving on his own. She decided not to voice the question. It might lead to another unnecessary lecture on the perils of following her husband’s possible hint she take Chavori as a lover.

When Stara was dressed and laden down with jewellery, Vora pronounced her ready. “Don’t forget my advice, mistress,” the slave said, shaking a finger at her.

Stara chuckled. “How could I? He’s handsome, but he’s not that handsome. Have you heard anything from Nachira?”

“Not since her last message.” Vora sighed. “The slaves say she is sick, but they are reluctant to say anything more.”

“Not surprising, if Father might read their mind and kill them for betraying his plans. I still can’t believe he and Ikaro left for Kyralia without telling me.” She shook her head. “They must have left right after my wedding, but Father didn’t say anything.”

“According to the slaves, Nachira fell ill the day after your wedding, too.”

Stara looked at Vora. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Not give up hope?” Vora sighed, then gestured to the door. “Your husband and his guest await.”

Though Stara knew the way now, the slave still led her through corridors to the master’s room. Reaching the doorway, they stepped inside and Vora prostrated herself. Within the room, Kachiro and Chavori were looking at one of the pieces of furniture Motara had designed. Stara moved an arm so that her bracelets chimed against one another. The two men looked up.

“Ah,” Kachiro said. “My wife has finally arrived.”

Smiling, he extended his arms towards her and beckoned. She walked forward and took his hands. He kissed her knuckles, then let one hand go and turned so they faced Chavori. The young man smiled, a little nervously.

“A pleasure to see you again, Stara,” he said.

“And for me to meet you once more,” she replied, lowering her eyes.

“Let’s sit down and talk,” Kachiro said, leading Stara to the furthest of the three stools in the room. A small table stood in front of them, bowls of nuts gleaming in the light of Kachiro’s magical globe light. He stepped back and indicated that Chavori should sit in the middle, then sat on the other side of the young man. “Tell us about your journey to the mountains. Stara knows nothing of your skills and adventures, Chavori, and I’m sure she would like to hear something of them.”

The young man glanced at Stara and actually blushed. “I . . . we...I guess I should explain what I do, first. I make charts and maps, but instead of copying what others have done I travel through the places I am mapping and measure – as best I can, using methods taught to me by a shipping merchant and some I’ve developed myself – the distances and positions of everything. Well, not everything, but the features that are important to people who use maps.”

Stara noticed that he glanced a few times at a large metal cylinder leaning against a wall. It looked very heavy.

“Do you have any maps here?” she asked.

“Oh, yes!” He leapt up and strode over to the cylinder. Lifting it, he carried it back to the stools and sat down again. But he did not open it. He caressed the metal with his long fingers. He has elegant hands for a Sachakan, Stara thought. So many of them have hands to match their shoulders, broad and strong. In fact, his build is more like that of a Kyralian, though his colouring isn’t. I wonder . . .

“Have you finished the map you were drawing for the emperor?” Kachiro asked.

Chavori nodded. “At least, as much as I can with the information I have.” He turned to Stara. “Most people find maps confusing, so I have compiled everything into one, simpler map. But there are blank areas. I refuse to include any information I haven’t confirmed for myself.”

“Show us,” Kachiro urged.

Chavori beamed at him, then grasped the end of the tube. The cap came off with a musical pop. Reaching inside, he drew out a thick roll of paper.

Peeling this back, he unrolled until a large sheaf fell away. It automatically recurled. Kachiro lifted the table and put it aside, so that Chavori could smooth the map out over the floor rug with his elegant hands. Kachiro looked around, then picked up the bowls of nuts and weighed the two far corners down with them. Then he slipped off a shoe and placed it on the near corner at his side, which made Chavori’s nose wrinkle. Stara took off a bracelet and dropped it at the other corner, earning an approving smile from the young man.

The paper was covered in fine ink lines. Looking closely, Stara gave a little gasp of delight at all the tiny drawings of mountains, houses and boats, and the fancy decorative border framing the map.

“It’s beautiful!” she said.

“Chavori is quite an artist,” Kachiro agreed, looking fondly at his friend.

Chavori shrugged. “Yes, people prefer this sort of thing, but I find it rather silly. It is difficult to be accurate.”

Stara pointed to a large group of buildings, bisected by a drawing of a wide avenue and the Imperial Palace. “So this is Arvice – where we are.”

“Yes.”

She looked at the lines of mountains. At the top of the map was a large blue shape, and some of the mountains had red lines curling out of the top and down the sides. “What are these?”

“Jenna Lake,” Chavori told her. “And the northern volcanos. They expel fire and ash, and what the Duna tribes call earth-blood.”

“The red?”

“Yes. It sprays out and runs down the sides of the mountains, so hot you’d burn if you got near it. When it cools it solidifies into strange rocks.”

“Do people live there?”

“No. It is too dangerous. But the tribes risk it now and then, to harvest gemstones, which they say have magical properties. I found the same gemstones in some of the caves further south, and sensed no magic in them.”

“I want to mine them,” Kachiro told her. “If we can get the secret of their use out of the Duna tribes we may be able to sell them for high prices. But even if we can’t, we can still sell them to jewellers for a good profit.”

“You should see if Motara can design jewellery as well as furniture,” she suggested.

His eyes brightened with interest. “There’s an idea...”

Chavori shrugged. “Just so long as we make enough to enable me to continue my work. Now, let me show Stara what a proper map looks like.”

Taking the roll of paper, he peeled off another sheet and placed it over the first. This one was not as artistically drawn, and half of the map was blank. Instead of pictures of mountains, there were bursts of radiating lines. Where there had been drawings of buildings there were mere dots.

“This shows you not just where each mountain is, but where the valleys are between them,” Chavori told her. He ran his finger along the spaces between the radiating mountain shapes. “I can not only show the valley, but indicate the width of the valley by leaving wider spaces. See this one?” He pointed to a large white gap with a blue line meandering along it. “It’s the most beautiful valley you might ever see. No fields, just wild enka grazing. This river cascades along the middle. Mountains on all sides.” He made a graceful upward gesture, then spread his arms. “And the biggest blue sky above.”

His eyes had misted over at the memory, and Stara felt a pang of longing. Would she ever roam beyond the city again? Was her journey from Elyne the last taste of travel she would ever have?

Looking down, she sought and found the letters that spelled out “Elyne”. They were drawn sideways, along a red line that followed the mountains at the top left of the map. The red line must be the border, she realised. And if a blue line meant a river, did this thick black line roaming through the mountains from the Elyne border to Arvice indicate the road? She looked at the mountains again and suddenly the map looked as if it had gained depth.

“Ah,” she said. “I see the illusion now. It’s just as if we are looking at the land from above. The centre point where the mountain lines meet is the peak.”

“Yes!” Chavori turned to Kachiro. “You were right: you have an exceptionally clever wife.”

Kachiro smiled broadly. “I have, haven’t I?” he replied smugly.

Chavori glanced at Stara, then back at Kachiro. “What else can I show you?”

Kachiro considered the map thoughtfully. “Did you bring any maps of Kyralia?”

The triumphant smile on Chavori’s face fell away, turning into a tolerant grimace. “Of course. Everyone wants maps of Kyralia these days.”

“We are at war with them,” Kachiro pointed out.

“I know, I know.” Chavori sighed and picked up the roll again. Peeling off several more maps like the last, he finally spread out another of the beautifully decorated ones, with drawings of cities and mountains.

Kachiro pointed at the pass then spread his hand over the mountains that split Kyralia from Elyne. “From what I’ve been told, the ichani gathered under the leadership of Ashaki Takado around here. When there were enough of them to form an army, they moved into the northern rural areas and took control of the villages and towns.”

Chavori shook his head. “The reports I’ve heard said that they don’t bother staying to control the people. Instead they’ve been destroying the towns and driving the people out.”

“I doubt they’re driving them out,” Kachiro said. “They’re probably killing them and taking their strength. Driving them towards the Kyralian army will just give their adversary more people to take strength from. Why give them more strength, when you can take it for yourself?”

“Yes, they’d have to be.” Chavori made a sweeping gesture from the mountains to the cluster of buildings labelled “Imardin’. “They’ll be heading for the capital. But I can’t help wondering...” He looked up at Kachiro. “Do you remember I said I passed Nomako’s army on my way back to Arvice?”

Kachiro nodded. “Yes.”

“I noticed at the time that the army was split into three. Nomako at the head of the first group, and two others leading smaller groups.” Chavori looked back down at the map. “It was almost as if he planned to split the army up once it crossed the border.”

“Why would he do that?” Kachiro asked.

Chavori shrugged. “If you are right, so they can sweep through different parts of Kyralia and take strength from the people as they go. The Kyralians will not want to split their forces into three – or four if none of the groups join Takado’s – in order to tackle them.”

“Then all groups will arrive at Imardin at the same time.”

“Those who haven’t met any resistance still strong and ready for battle.”

“Hmm,” Kachiro narrowed his eyes at the map. “And which group is most likely to have met resistance?”

Chavori’s eyes went wide. “Takado’s! He was there first and, if Nomako times things right, will have been the target of the Kyralians. By the time he joins with Nomako’s armies, his will be the weakest.”

“So Nomako will conquer Imardin and ride home the hero instead of Takado. Emperor Vochira will be admired for outsmarting Takado.” He looked up at Chavori, admiration in his gaze. “You have a good head for battle strategy. Perhaps you should be leading the army!”

The young man blushed again. For a second the two looked at each other, then both dropped their gaze to the map again.

Stara frowned. She felt as if she had just missed something. But then, she was no expert on warfare. Though she felt sure she’d understood everything Chavori had said, she might have missed some nuance that they had both appreciated.

“Can I ask a question about the war?” she asked.

“Of course,” Kachiro replied.

“Why are neither you nor your friends part of the army?” Kachiro’s face fell. “I am relieved that you are not risking your life,” she assured him. “I’d much rather you were here. But I suspect it is political and I wish to understand Sachakan politics better.”

Kachiro nodded. “Some of the reasons are political, some are not. My father was unable to fulfil an order taken out by the emperor many years ago, due to a fire, and spent years paying back the debt. He died soon after he made the final payment. So my family has been out of favour for some time, though rebuilding trade connections has grown easier with time.”

His expression was so sad, Stara regretted asking the question.

“Others of my friends are similarly out of favour, though Chavori’s family has good standing,” he continued. Then he smiled. “The advantage is that if we have no family honour or respect, we do not need to join the army to protect it, though I expect our help would have been accepted if we had volunteered.”

Chavori nodded. “I told my father that if he won’t give me the respect I deserve, there’s nothing to risk my life to protect. He called me a coward.” He shrugged. “I suspect he hoped I’d go and be killed, and he’d be rid of me.”

Stara felt a stab of sympathy for this young man, so talented but clearly as unappreciated by his father as she was by hers.

“Can I buy this map off you?” Kachiro asked.

Chavori’s mouth dropped open. “Buy it?”

“Yes. Or do you need it?”

“No,” Chavori said quickly. “I make these to sell. I sell them all the time. Well, not all the time – maybe a few each year.”

“Then can I buy it?” Kachiro looked up at the far wall of the room. “I think I will buy more, too. Perhaps one of every country, to put up on that wall. It would be good for starting conversations with guests, especially if Sachaka continues to reclaim the lands it used to rule. How much do you want for it?”

Stara felt a chill run down her back, and did not hear the price Chavori asked, or how much extra Kachiro offered. Does he mean Elyne? Well, of course he does. It was part of the empire, just as Kyralia was. They both were given independence at the same time. The thought of Elyne at war made her heart sink. So many of the wonderful things about Elyne rely on the freedom of her people.

Kachiro rose. “I’ll get it now.” He strode to the door. Pausing in the opening, he looked back at Stara and smiled at her, before disappearing.

The smile left her both amused and uncomfortable. It had a hint of mischief in it. A hint of challenge. Was he hoping she’d seduce Chavori right there and then?

I’m not that stupid, she thought. She turned to the young man.

“When will you be taking your maps to the emperor?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Just as soon as he grants me an audience. I’ve been trying to see him for weeks. I guess the war is taking all his attention. But the war is why he needs to see them.”

“Why is that?”

His expression became serious. “Because there are places in the mountains where an enemy could easily hide and live. Caves and valleys where they could grow crops and raise animals for food, and live independently of the rest of us. They could attack the Sachakan people, then disappear again. If the ichani found those places . . .” He shivered. “Once the war with Kyralia is over Emperor Vochira will be too busy establishing his rule over that country to deal with attacks from the mountains.”

Stara frowned. “That is a frightening thought. But if these places exist, why isn’t anyone living there already? Why haven’t the ichani already established themselves there?”

Chavori’s expression was grave. “Access is through a cave through which a river flows. I suspect the river path changed recently – I found signs of a dry bed where a landslide blocked the river some years back. The water must have created or widened the cave...”

“Here you go.” Kachiro strode into the room, carrying a small pouch that clinked in his hand. Chavori rose and smiled with embarrassed gratitude as Kachiro pressed the bag into his hands. “Now, there is something I want to show you.” Kachiro looked up at Stara. “I’m afraid you would not find it interesting, Stara dear,” he said apologetically.

She smiled. “Then I will return to my room, if you wish.”

He nodded.

“Thank you for showing interest in my maps,” Chavori said, looking at her a little plaintively. “I hope you were not bored.”

“No, not at all,” she assured him. “They were fascinating. I look forward to seeing more on our walls, and hearing how they are made.”

He beamed at her. Smiling, she turned away and walked out of the room. A moment later, Vora slipped out of a side corridor and fell into step behind her.

“How was our guest, mistress?”

“Surprisingly pleasant company.” Stara chuckled. “An intelligent man, though a little awkward socially. He will grow out of that in time, I expect.”

Vora hummed non-committally. They reached Stara’s room, and the slave closed the door.

“So, mistress, do you think he’s the sort of man who would admit to being the father of your child, if bribed or blackmailed?”

Stara laughed ruefully. “As subtle as ever, Vora. Yes, he would,” she said. “Whether at the threat of being discredited, or the temptation of having his work funded, he would do it. Don’t worry. I am not going to fall in love with him.”

“That is good. Though . . .” The slave frowned.

“What is it?”

Vora looked up at Stara and her eyes narrowed in thought. “The reason for you remaining childless may have been removed.”

Stara felt her heart stop for a moment, then start racing. “Nachira? You heard news? Is she...is she dead?”

Vora smiled and shook her head. “No.”

Sighing with relief, Stara sat down on the bed. “Then what?” As a possibility occurred to her she felt a thrill of excitement. “Is she pregnant?”

“Not as far as I know.” Vora chuckled.

“Then what?” Stara scowled at the slave. “Stop playing with me! This is serious!”

Vora paused, her gaze becoming thoughtful and, to Stara’s alarm, wary. Then she sighed. “Nachira has vanished. Either left or been taken from your father’s house.”

Stara stared at the old woman. “I see. You don’t appear as alarmed by that as you should be.”

“I am,” Vora assured her.

“No. You’re not.” Stara rose and moved to stand in front of the slave. “What aren’t you telling me?”

A hint of fear entered Vora’s eyes. “Do you trust me, mistress?”

Stara frowned. Do I? She nodded. “Yes, but there are limits, Vora.”

The slave nodded, then looked down. “There are some things I have learned through... through new connections with your husband’s slaves... that I cannot tell you because if I do, and your mind is read by your husband or your father, people will die. People who do good things. People they’ve helped, like Nachira.” She looked up at Stara. “All I can tell you is that Nachira is safe.”

Stara searched the woman’s gaze, which did not waver. Do I trust her enough to accept this? she asked herself. I believe she loves and is loyal to Ikaro, and therefore Nachira. I’m not as sure she loves me as much, but it would be reasonable if she didn’t since she does not know me as well. Yet I think she would try to avoid choosing between us. Which might mean keeping information from me.

I could try reading her mind. But I don’t want to do that to her. And is it worth the risk of endangering Nachira just to find out what happened to her?

“She had better be safe,” Stara said. “And as soon as you can tell me where she is, I expect you to do so.”

Vora’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away quickly. “I will. I promise. Thank you, mistress.”

“Does Ikaro know yet?”

“That would be impossible. She only disappeared last night. No messenger could have got the news to him so fast, even if he knew where in Kyralia Ikaro was.”

Stara moved back to the bed and lay down. “Poor Ikaro. I hope he is all right.”

“I too,” Vora assured her. “I too.”

CHAPTER 39

Who would have thought that horses could turn out to be so vital to the survival of the army? Dakon thought.

Thinking back, he remembered the discussion among the leaders, prior to battle, about whether to leave magicians with the horses or not. All had agreed that they needed as much of their magical strength engaged in fighting the Sachakans as possible. It would be no consolation to have saved their horses, if Kyralia was lost to the Sachakans because of it.

Leaving the apprentices in the protection of one magician had been a risk, too, Dakon thought. But at least they have a little magic of their own, their wits, and the ability to tell us if they’re being attacked.

According to the servants who had been tending to the horses, only a handful of Sachakans had attacked them. It took only a few to wreak so much havoc. Fortunately, the Sachakans had set out to steal the mounts, not kill them. They could have slaughtered them quickly, but instead each had taken one horse, then gathered up the reins of as many others as possible, and left.

Once the servants had realised what the enemy’s intentions were, they had bravely emerged from hiding to untie and cut lead ropes, setting horses free and encouraging them to run away. Then, when the Sachakans had left, the servants had rounded up the scattered mounts as best they could.

I hope the king rewards them for their courage and quick thinking, Dakon thought. Nobody thought to tell them what to do if they were attacked. They acted all on their own.

None of the magicians knew the horses had been taken until they tried to retreat. Sabin had restricted the blood gem rings he’d made to the leaders of each team, saying too many minds connected to his was too distracting. He hadn’t given one to Jayan, for the same reason.

As the army had retreated, the Sachakans had followed. Having to wait until horses were rounded up delayed their escape. Several more Kyralians had died when the magician protecting them ran out of magic. Eventually fewer than ten magicians had been left with the burden of protecting the entire army. The enemy continued to attack and pursued the Kyralian army step for step.

They were determined to press their advantage. But they should not have had the advantage. Their numbers were smaller, even with the addition of new allies. They should not have had enough opportunities to regain the strength they lost in the last battle.

But they had. With more slaves to draw strength from than the apprentices and servants the Kyralians relied upon, plus the lives of those killed in villages and towns, the Sachakans had managed to fend off the attack and chase their attackers all the way to Coldbridge, where they broke off the pursuit to hunt down any villagers who hadn’t managed to flee fast enough.

They lost plenty of fighters, though. We lost nearly a third, but they lost more.

Dakon looked up at the road stretching ahead, curving and leading his eye towards the jumble of walls and roofs ahead. Imardin. Kyralia’s capital. I can’t believe they’ve driven us this far.

Abruptly, his horse skittered away from the side of the road. Tightening his grip on the reins, and bracing himself, he glanced back. Nothing. Just crops swaying in the breeze. No strand of curren looking any different from or more dangerous than any other.

He sighed and shook his head. He’d lost his favourite riding horse at Mandryn; then, while pursuing the invaders, he had changed mounts whenever possible as it had been impossible to care for them properly. Once the army had grown large enough, and they had access to better feed and took time to rest, he’d found himself growing to like the quiet brown gelding he’d ended up with, and had named him Curem for the colour of his coat. It irked him to know Curem was now in the hands of the Sachakans, or had been killed for his strength.

Tiro, the new horse, had an irritating habit of trying to bite him. And he was ugly. Dakon did not know which of the magicians who had died had owned Tiro. Whoever he’d been, he must have had great patience.

He looked over at Narvelan. The young magician’s expression was dark and brooding. It was always dark and brooding these days. The light-hearted friend Dakon knew still surfaced now and then, but Narvelan’s sense of humour now had a nasty edge to it. He had been the only magician willing to take Lord Werrin’s horse. Nobody else had wanted to, knowing she would remind them constantly of her former owner’s sacrifice.

Dakon shivered as he remembered. As the last of the magicians’ power began to fail, Lord Werrin had shielded the army as all struggled to mount and leave. The king had led a horse to him. The magician had murmured a few words to the king, who had turned white and stared at him for a moment. Then Errik’s face had hardened. He’d nodded, grasped his friend’s arm, then turned away, taking the horse with him.

Werrin had still been shielding as the last of the magicians rode away. Dakon had paused to look back, before Narvelan shouted at him to leave and they both galloped off.

Werrin could not have lived much longer than that.

Later that day, the Elynes had joined the army.

Ah, the bitterness of bad timing, Dakon thought. If only they’d come a day or two earlier. Or if we’d known they were coming, we might have waited another day before confronting the Sachakans.

So much tragedy had happened because information had not been gained in time. He would not have left Mandryn if he’d known Takado was going to attack. He’d have evacuated the village. If the king had been certain the Sachakans were going to invade, and when, he’d have been able to prepare for it. Perhaps even prevent it.

Nobody could predict the future. Not even magicians. And even magicians could only guess at their own strength, or their enemy’s. Dakon had been so sure that, with an army larger than the enemy’s, they would win the battle. He, and many, many others, had been wrong.

Would they be again? They had no choice but to guess at the strength of both sides again, based on what they knew. More Sachakans had died than Kyralians, despite their efforts to emulate their adversary’s ploy of protecting each other. So though many Kyralians had been lost, their numbers were still larger.

Once more they had lived to strengthen themselves again. So far they had only one day’s strength gained from their apprentices. The Sachakans had slaves and whoever happened to be unlucky enough to cross their path. Unfortunately there hadn’t been time to evacuate the villages between Coldbridge and Imardin effectively. And then there were the servants of the army, abandoned at Coldbridge. Though they had been given a little more warning to flee than the townspeople, the Sachakans could easily have caught up with them.

Kyralia had new allies, though: the Elynes.

Sent by the Elyne king, their leader was a small but sharply intelligent magician named Dem Ayend. The Dem was riding at the front, with the king and Sabin. Looking up, Dakon’s gaze was drawn immediately away from the leaders to the scene ahead. They had crested a low rise approaching the city, and could now see the land surrounding it.

Which was covered in a great spread of makeshift shelters, and people.

His heart ached as he realised what it was. The slums around the city had bloated to ten times their former size as the people of the country had arrived, owning little more than what they could carry, and settled where they could find the space. As the army drew closer a stench grew stronger. He’d noticed it earlier, but assumed it was the excrement of the many domestic animals grazing on the slopes of the wide valley, no doubt brought by those fleeing the invaders. Now he recognised it as that particular smell of people living in close quarters with no sanitation. A smell he already associated with the city’s slums, now much worse.

As the army drew closer, people began to move through the shelters, and a crowd rapidly formed on either side of the road. What do they know? Have they heard we were defeated? Are they expecting a triumphant announcement of victory? Dakon saw that people were already lining the streets within the city.

Thousands of expectant faces watched as the king led the army through the expanded slums. Voices rose in a roar of sound. Dakon could not make out whether people were cheering or jeering, merely shouting at each other over the din or yelling at the army, but the sound was full of expectation.

The army made its way to the Market Square, where the king stopped. Lord Sabin gestured for the magicians and apprentices to gather behind him, their backs to the docks. A cart was rolled forward, and the king dismounted onto it. There he stood straight and silent, gazing at the crowd gathering before him with an expression of sober patience. Lord Sabin stepped up beside him.

“Please be quiet, so the king may speak,” he called out, repeating the request several times.

Slowly the noise diminished.

“People of Kyralia,” King Errik began. “Your magicians have been fighting for your freedom. They have been fighting, and they have been dying. Twice they have engaged the enemy in battle; twice they have retreated.”

Watching the faces in the crowd, Dakon saw dismay and fear. The king paused long enough to let the news sink in, then continued. He smiled.

“But, as is the way with magic, nothing is simple or straightforward.” Dakon was amused to see people in the crowd nodding as if they knew what the king was talking about. “The Sachakans may have overcome us, but each time at a price. At the first battle many of them died, but all of our magicians lived to fight again. At the second both sides bore losses, but we were closely matched. We lost by the smallest margin. And we survived to fight again.”

He paused again, scanning the crowd, his expression grim. “The third battle will decide our future.” A hint of a smile returned. “I think we can win it. Why? Because our fate now relies not only on the magicians behind me. It relies on you.”

Dakon saw people frowning, but mostly in puzzlement. He caught a few sceptical looks. A murmur rose but quickly faded. The king spread his hands wide as if he would wrap his arms around the crowd.

“It relies on you giving your strength to your magicians. A strength all of you have, no matter how rich or poor. I say ‘giving it’ because I would not demand this from any man or woman. You are not slaves – though if the Sachakans have their way you soon will be. I would rather die than lower myself or my people to the barbarity of their ways.”

He straightened his shoulders. “But if you choose to give your strength to your magicians, it will not just be magical strength we use to defeat the Sachakans. It will be the strength of unity. Of trust and respect for what we can all do together, magician and non-magician, rich and poor, servant and master. The strength of freedom over slavery.” His voice rose. “You will prove that one does not have to be a magician to have the power and influence to defeat our enemies.”

Hearing the passion in the king’s voice, Dakon felt a thrill run through him. He searched the faces of the people again. Many were gazing at the king in hope and awe. As he lifted his arms and spread out his hands again in appeal, voices rang out in agreement.

“What do the people of Kyralia say?” the king shouted. “Will you help us?”

The response was a mix of affirmation and cheering. “Will you help yourselves?”

Another cheer, louder, roared out.

“Then come and give your strength to those charged with the duty of protecting you.”

The crowd surged forward. Dakon saw Sabin’s smile turn to a look of alarm. A few strides from the cart the wave of people crashed into an invisible barrier. But they didn’t appear to mind. Arms stretched out, wrists upturned.

“Yes! Oh, yes!” came a voice beside him. Dakon turned to see Narvelan gazing at the crowd, his eyes bright, almost hungry. He looked at Dakon. “How can we lose now? Even if Takado finds the servants... how could they match what we have here? All these people, begging us to take their power. The king... I never knew he was so good at this.”

“He probably didn’t either,” Dakon pointed out. “It’s not as if he’s had to do it before.”

“No,” Narvelan agreed. “But if it’s the result of good training, I want to hire his teacher.”

Dakon chuckled. Sabin turned to address the magicians, explaining how they were going to organise themselves in order to take power from the crowd. Dakon sobered. They were going to have to work fast, before doubt or impatience dulled the people’s enthusiasm.

And we have no idea how long we have before the Sachakans arrive to finish us off.

The idea of taking power from hundreds of ordinary men and women had discomforted Jayan so much at first, that he had to force himself through every step of the somewhat simplified ritual. The volunteers were nervous at first, but once those behind the first man saw how easy it was, and how he shrugged and grinned as he walked off, they relaxed and began chatting among themselves.

The magicians had spread into a wide line. The crowd hovered, someone stepping forward to face a magician as soon as the previous volunteer moved away. Almost all those who approached Jayan voiced encouragement, urging him to “give the Sachakans some of their own treatment” or “wipe out the lot of them’.

He nodded each time, assuring them he’d do everything he could. He also thanked them. Time passed in a seemingly endless stream of support, reassurance, and taking of strength. Simmering beneath the civility was a sense of urgency. A tension that would have had him looking over his shoulder constantly, if he could have seen outside the city.

The king moved up and down the lines, thanking people and giving encouragement. Jayan saw the families of magicians come to greet them and express their relief that they were alive. He also saw the grief of those who came only to learn that their loved ones had perished. His own father and brother did not appear. He would have been astonished if they had.

As the day wore on a weariness stole over him, and he stopped worrying or pausing to watch these emotional encounters, and fixed his attention on the task of taking power. Face after face appeared and disappeared. He no longer noticed if the arms stretched towards him in offering were dirty or clean, clothed in rags or decked in fine cloth. But then a particular pair of very thin arms made him pause and look twice at the volunteer before him.

A boy no more than nine years old stared back at him. Behind the boy, the volunteers had thinned to a few people, so that he could see through them to where a crowd now lingered around the edges of the square, watching and waiting for the final battle to begin. The dim light of dusk shrouded all. The day had passed. What power the people could offer was nearly all taken. He was thirsty. Mikken had brought him food and water earlier, but the apprentice was no longer near.

Looking at the boy, he shook his head. “You have courage, young one,” he said, smiling. “But we don’t take power from children.”

The boy’s shoulders drooped. He gave a deep, comical sigh. Then he reached into a pocket and thrust his hand at Jayan.

What is this? Is he trying to give me money? Or something else? Something dirty... Pushing aside doubts, Jayan opened his palm. The boy dropped something small and dark into it. He smiled.

“Give you luck.” Then he turned and darted away.

Jayan looked at the object. It was an unglazed square of pottery, chipped at one corner. A hole in the top had been made for a loop of leather or rope, and into the surface had been carved lines to form a stylised insect that he recognised from one of Dakon’s books.

An inava, he thought. I wonder if he knew inavas are found in northern parts of Sachaka? Probably not.

Pocketing it, he looked up and realised that the reason nobody had stepped forward to take the place of the child was that the crowd was now gone. Magicians were striding about, or gathering in groups. Looking around, he located Dakon and Tessia, and began walking towards them, but before he reached them the magician turned and hurried away. Tessia saw him and beckoned.

“The Sachakans have been seen from the palace towers,” she told him. “They’ll be here in an hour or so.” She frowned. “Do you think we’re strong enough to defeat them this time?”

Jayan nodded. “Even if they managed to hunt down all the servants, and people from the villages, that’s only a few hundred people. We’ve just taken the strength of thousands.”

“The healers arrived an hour ago. They said the servants split up and headed in different directions so it would take a lot of time for the Sachakans to track them all down. The healers had their own horses, of course, so they rode straight here.”

He could hear the disgust in her voice.

“It’s unlikely anyone the Sachakans found would need healing,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but there were sick people the healers were tending. I’d have waited until the Sachakans had moved on towards Imardin, then gone back to see if my patients had survived.” Then she flashed a wry smile. “But I have to admit to being selfishly glad to see Kendaria again.”

He smiled. “I expect the two of you will go around trying to heal people tonight. Safely inside the city, I hope.”

Tessia pulled a face at him, then her frown returned. “While you’ll fight the Sachakans for the first time.”

He felt a flash of fear, but pushed it aside. The strength of thousands, he reminded himself. We can’t lose. “At least this time I have something to contribute.”

“You will be careful, won’t you?”

She was staring at him so intently, and the concern in her voice had been so obvious, he found he could not meet her eyes. I can’t hope that this is more than the concern of a friend, he told himself. It is still good that someone cares if I live or die, though, he found himself thinking. I doubt my father and brother do. “Of course,” he told her. “I haven’t spent nearly a decade studying and itching to be independent only to die just after becoming a higher magician.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Good. Just making sure the sudden independence and recent taste of leadership hasn’t gone to your head and given you more silly ideas.”

He looked up at her. “More silly ideas? What—?”

“I’ll be watching you,” she warned him. “Though . . . where do you think the battle will take place? In the city?”

“No,” he replied. Does she mean my guild of magicians idea? “That would put the people in danger, from both our magic and the enemy’s, and rubble from any houses that are struck. We’ll go outside to meet them. What do you mean, sil—?”

“Where do you think the best place to watch would be?”

He felt a pang of concern. She should stay out of sight – out of any danger. But he doubted she would, so he had better think of a safe place to suggest. “Somewhere elevated, so the closer to the palace the better. Avoid houses. You don’t want to be inside a house if a bit of stray magic comes your way.”

“But magic could come my way anyway.”

“If your feet are on the ground, all you’ll need to do is shield. If you’re in a collapsing house you have a bit more to deal with.”

“Ah.” She grinned. “I see what you mean.”

His heart seemed to shiver within his chest. I don’t think I could endure it if she died... He pushed the thought away. “So what did you mean by—?”

A gong rang out, drowning out his words. Tessia turned away. Sighing, Jayan followed her gaze to the cart in the centre of the square. The king had returned and was climbing up onto it. Sabin followed, holding a large striker. A large golden gong hanging within a frame had been placed beside the cart, probably wheeled down from the palace.

Magicians and apprentices shuffled closer. Dakon appeared with Narvelan and the other leaders. Seeing Jayan and Tessia, he beckoned. Together, they wove through the crowd to his side where, curiously, they found Mikken. The young man grimaced apologetically at Jayan.

“Sorry for disappearing. They recruited me as a messenger,” he murmured.

Dakon leaned closer. “There are more Sachakans,” he told Jayan. “They appeared in the south a few days ago and made their way here.”

Jayan felt his heart sink.

“How many?” he asked.

“About twenty.”

Surely it won’t be enough. Not against the strength of thousands. But then he realised that if Takado thought his army wasn’t a match for the Kyralian army, strengthened by its people, he wouldn’t be attacking again.

Dakon looked at Tessia. “The king has said that if we lose this battle, apprentices should leave Kyralia.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Dakon lifted a hand to stop her.

“The Sachakans will kill you all. Your only chance is to seek safety in other lands. Then, perhaps, you might work towards winning back Kyralia in the future.”

She closed her mouth and nodded. The crowd had quietened now, and everyone turned towards the king.

“People of Kyralia,” Errik began.

As the ruler addressed the crowd, in a speech similar to the one he’d made on arrival, but full of thanks and praise, Jayan’s attention strayed to the small group of Elynes standing nearby. They looked relaxed and unworried. Some of them looked bored, though the leader was watching King Errik with thoughtful attentiveness. Dakon had told him that Ardalen’s method had been no revelation to the Elynes.

I wonder what other magical tricks they’ve known all along that we haven’t yet discovered? Could they be persuaded to share them with us? Perhaps in exchange for being part of a magicians’ guild? He glanced at Tessia. Does she really think it’s silly?

Suddenly everyone was cheering. Jayan joined in.

“Tonight Sachaka will learn to fear the people who once feared them,” the king shouted. “Tonight the Sachakan empire ends for ever!”

More cheers followed. The king jumped down from the cart, Sabin following. As he strode forward, magicians began to follow. Dakon paused to look at Tessia. She patted his arm and shooed at him. Then she looked at Jayan and her eyes narrowed.

“I’ll be watching,” she told him, barely audible over the noise.

Then she hitched an arm in Mikken’s and led him away. Jayan quashed a sudden flare of jealousy and hurried after Dakon as the magicians of Kyralia started towards the edge of the city, and their last chance to defeat Takado and his allies.

CHAPTER 40

Tessia wasn’t able to take Jayan’s advice at first. Once the magicians had passed, the crowd fell in behind and she was carried along with it. Her arm slipped out of Mikken’s and when he looked back at her anxiously she waved to show she was fine. Whenever she could, she resisted moving left towards the river side of the road, and took every opportunity to move right, where the land sloped upwards.

Soon the last of the city buildings slipped by and the crowd was moving past the slum houses and makeshift shelters of the poor and homeless. Tessia finally made it to the edge of the crowd. As she stepped out of the tide of people, she joined a thick wall of spectators. Back towards the city, she noticed a group dressed more finely than the rest, and then her heart skipped a beat as she recognised them.

The healers, she thought. And Kendaria!

Her friend had seen her, and was beckoning. Weaving and dodging between the spectators and the edge of the moving crowd, Tessia made her way back. A few of the healers nodded to her politely, but they said nothing. She saw one lean close to another and whisper something, and they both stared at her with narrowed eyes.

“Apprentice Tessia,” Kendaria said, shouting over the noise. “What is going on? Why are the people leaving the city?”

“Probably to watch the battle,” Tessia shouted back. “Which is not a good idea. They should stay inside. Keep their distance.”

Kendaria grimaced. “Can’t stop people being curious. Where are you planning to watch from?”

Tessia smiled. “Jayan recommended I go up there somewhere.” She pointed uphill. “Near the palace. Can I get there from here?”

“Sure, but you’ll have to cut through the slums. Can I come with you?”

“Of course.” Tessia looked at the other healers. Kendaria glanced at them, then shrugged.

“Don’t worry; they don’t care where I go.” She hitched a hand through Tessia’s arm. “Let’s go.”

The makeshift shelters were a disordered, confusing maze, but Tessia kept heading uphill, keeping a globe of magical light hovering above them. She was surprised to see how many people were here, either unaware or not caring that a battle to decide their future was about to take place close by. Many looked too sick to care. Some were drunk, slouching or staggering about, or asleep. At one point they stepped over a dead man lying across a gap between shelters. She exchanged several looks with Kendaria, each time seeing that the woman was as dismayed as she by what they encountered. Some day I’ll come back here and try to help...

At last the number of shelters began to thin and the slope grew steeper. Twenty or so paces past the last, collapsed shelter, Kendaria turned.

“Do you... think... this will do?” she panted.

They were still nowhere near the palace. Tessia stopped and looked back. “I think it will.”

The slums, road and land before the city spread before them. The crowd had spilled out on either side of the road, stretching from the edge of the river in a widening arc that reached up the slope of the hill, in front of the shelters. Lamps had been set around the entrance to the city. Beyond it was the Kyralian army, now split into groups of seven magicians and moving out to form a line.

Several strides further away was the Sachakan army. It was two-thirds the size of the Kyralian one. To most of the people watching, this would appear to put the advantage firmly on the Kyralian side. But the group of newcomers to the Sachakan army had been making its way, unresisted, through the south of Kyralia, strengthening itself as it came. Who knew how powerful they’d become?

But we have the strength of all these people, she reminded herself. Surely that will be enough.

Lights floated above the two armies, creating two pools of brightness. Two figures moved from the Kyralian side towards the enemy. Tessia recognised them as King Errik and Magician Sabin.

From the opposite side a lone figure stepped forward. She narrowed her eyes, then felt a chill as she recognised Takado. A memory of him leering at her flashed into her mind. Thinking of the harm he had done since that moment, she knew she had been very lucky. Not just to find the magic in herself to push him away, but that he hadn’t been able to risk killing her at that moment.

Oh, but I wish I had killed him, instead of throwing him across the room. I would have hated myself for doing so, not knowing that he planned to invade Kyralia, but it would have saved us so much death and pain.

With the thought came anger and for a moment she imagined herself down there, throwing the final strike at Takado. The one that reduced him to ashes, or shattered all the bones in his body. She shuddered then, repelled by her own imaginings.

How can I think about wounding and killing, when what I most want to do is heal people and save lives? She sighed. I guess I have a bit of the fighter in me after all.

“What do you think they’re saying?” Kendaria asked.

Tessia shrugged. “Pointing out their strengths and the other’s weaknesses? Calling each other names?”

“Swapping threats, I suppose.”

“Yes. That sort of thing. Perhaps inviting the other side to surrender.”

Abruptly a flash of light shot from Takado to King Errik. A moment later the air began to flash and vibrate. A sound like thunder echoed over the hillside, forming a constant rumble as the last boom never quite fell silent before the next. Through the dazzling streaks of light, Tessia saw Errik and Sabin step calmly backwards, rejoining their group. Tessia recognised Dakon among them.

Suddenly her heart was racing with fear. The apprentices hadn’t witnessed the last two battles, instead keeping safely out of the way. She had been full of impatience and frustration at not knowing what was happening. But now she almost lamented that ignorance. Now, if Dakon or Jayan died, she would see it, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Jayan! Where is Jayan? She began looking for him.

“The crowd is having second thoughts,” Kendaria observed.

“What? Oh.” Tessia realised that the arc of spectators was retreating hastily, some people tripping over others in their haste to put some distance between themselves and the heat and vibration of magic.

Yet not one strike, stray or deliberate, escaped the battlefield. Were the Kyralians shielding the city? On the other hand, she had not caught any obvious Sachakan attack directed beyond the army.

Destroying commoners and buildings will come later. For now it will be more important to direct all their power towards fighting. It won’t count as a victory if they’ve smashed a few walls but not defeated the army.

“It’s quite spectacular,” Kendaria said quietly. “If it weren’t for the fact that they’re trying to kill each other I’d find it quite pretty.”

Tessia looked at her friend. A flash of light illuminated Kendaria’s face for a moment, showing an expression of awe and sadness.

“Oh... there goes one of the enemy.”

Tessia looked down and searched the enemy line. Sure enough, one Sachakan had fallen. A slave was trying to drag him away. Looking beyond the enemy line, she noticed tiny figures lying in the grass, faces rising now and then to watch the battle.

Their slaves. I wonder if Hanara is among them? Thinking back, she remembered his shy, nervous smile. Did he really betray us, by leaving to tell Takado the village was unprotected? I thought he was happy, or at least relieved to be safe and free. I guess I never really understood him.

“Oh, there goes another, and another,” Kendaria murmured. “Has anyone on our side fallen yet?”

Tessia searched the Kyralian line. “No.” There was something familiar about a figure at the far end of it. Her heart leapt as she recognised him.

Jayan. There he is. Alive.

He stood with a hand pressed to the shoulder of Lord Everran. Lady Avaria also stood in the same group. Other magicians were giving her power, Tessia noted. She wondered which of the couple was striking and which shielding.

Turning to look at the other side again, her eyes were drawn to a slave who had begun to run away from the battle. As Tessia watched, he stumbled and fell onto his front. Then his foot rose and he began to slide back toward the Sachakan line, clawing uselessly at the soil. As he came within reach of his master, the magician grabbed an arm. A blade flashed. A moment of stillness passed. Then the Sachakan turned to face the battle, the slave remaining motionless behind him.

Tessia could not drag her eyes away from that tiny figure. I’ve just seen something talked about in lessons and acted out in mock battles so many times. A Sachakan killing a slave for power. But that means...

“Are we winning?” Kendaria asked, a little breathlessly. She looked at Tessia, “We are, aren’t we? More of them have fallen.”

“It’s hard to tell.”

A Sachakan master only killed a source slave if he was running out of power. If he was desperate. As she watched, the Sachakan who’d killed his slave stepped behind another magician, no longer fighting.

But not all the Sachakans were seeking the protection of their allies. Though over half were now dead or seeking the protection of fellow magicians, the rest were fighting confidently. She forced herself to examine the Kyralian side, and her heart lifted.

None had died. She looked closer. Only one group had sought the protection of another. From the clothing they wore, she recognised them as the Elynes.

Ah! The Elynes wouldn’t have taken magic from the Kyralian people. It would have been too presumptuous of them or the Lans or Vindo to take magic from people not of their own country. And Kyralians might not have volunteered to give magic to foreigners, either. Even foreigners who have come to help us.

She felt a surge of excitement. “It does look promising,” she said.

Kendaria chuckled. “It does, doesn’t it?”

No crops hid Hanara from the sight of the Kyralians, or gave an illusion of protection from the magic that blasted towards him. He ducked every time a strike flashed his way, but each time it was deflected by Takado’s shield.

Only a dozen paces away, a Sachakan magician exploded in flames. Those sheltering behind him scattered hastily to either side. One tripped over slaves groping towards their dead master. He turned and cursed the men, then a thoughtful and calculating look crossed his face. Stepping forward, he grabbed a slave’s arm and drew his knife in one fluid movement. The slave’s wail of protest ended abruptly as the man began to draw power.

The other slaves rose and fled. By the time the magician was finished, they had sought refuge among the slaves holding the horses. The magician scowled and retreated to shelter. Hanara saw that the eyes of the dead slave were open, staring toward his dead master, and shuddered.

He looked up at Takado. Is he strong enough? Can he match Nomako’s reinforcements or will he be forced to take shelter behind the emperor’s fighters?

After the last battle Takado and his allies had ridden down the road, stopping at each town or village then roaming about the area hunting down and killing as many people as they could find. They must have killed hundreds.

But later that day they had encountered another group of twenty Sachakans, who claimed to have come to join Takado. While Takado was welcoming to these newcomers, he told Asara and Dachido later that he had recognised some of the fighters.

“They are Nomako’s allies,” he’d said. “Did you notice how some of them are being so friendly with the last group that joined us? Who, coincidentally, also numbered twenty.”

“Their timing worries me even as it pleases me,” Dachido admitted. “Do you think Nomako sent them south?”

Takado had nodded. “To join us just when we have spent much of our strength on previous battles.”

Asara scowled. “They mean to steal our victory.”

“Not if I can help it,” Takado growled.

So the three had delayed the journey to Imardin a few more hours, so that they could hunt for more strength. They killed people and animals. Anything that might give them the slightest scrap more of magic.

But it hasn’t done them any good, Hanara thought. Looking past Takado, he could see that no Kyralians had fallen. They were not tiring and seeking the protection of their neighbours. Their attack was not failing.

In the next three breaths, two more Sachakans fell.

“Jochara!”

From a few steps away the young slave rose and hurried to Takado’s side. He started to prostrate himself, but Takado’s hand snaked out and grabbed his arm. Hanara saw the flash of a blade and a shock went through him. Jochara stared at Takado in surprise, and kept staring, and was still staring when he slumped, lifeless, to the ground.

“Chinka!”

Hanara looked up to see the female slave, her shoulders back and her expression grim, walk to his master. She knelt and held out her wrist. Takado paused only briefly. Then his knife touched her skin. She closed her eyes and died with a look of relief on her face.

That is how I should die, Hanara found himself thinking. Accepting. Knowing that I served my master well. So why is my heart beating so fast?

“Dokko!”

A wordless protest came from Hanara’s left. He turned to see the big man scramble to his feet and break into a run. But he did not get far. An invisible force pushed him backwards. He fell to the ground and yelled as he slid across the ground. Takado’s face was a mask of anger.

He is annoyed at having to waste power.

The slave’s yells stopped. Takado turned away to access the battlefield.

“Hanara!”

A warmth spread over Hanara’s groin. He looked down, appalled at his loss of control. At his inability to push aside terror and accept his fate. He tried to force his shaking arms to lever his body up.

“Hanara! Get the horse!”

Sweet, sweet relief flooded through him. Strength returned. He scrambled up and raced back to the slaves holding the horses. His hands hadn’t yet caught up with the news he wasn’t to die, and shook as he grabbed the horse’s reins. Fortunately it did not cause him any trouble, though it was not happy to be led towards the noise and vibration of magical battle. He realised other slaves were bringing horses forward. Those magicians who had noticed were looking at Takado, their faces taut with horrified realisation, panic and anger.

“Master,” he called as he drew near.

“Wait,” Takado ordered.

Looking beyond, Hanara saw several magicians in the Kyralian army take a step forward, then stop.

Perhaps it had been a collective reflex. Perhaps it was a quickly reversed order to charge. But the effect was like a gust of wind. Suddenly the Sachakan line broke. Magicians were running. Slaves were fleeing. All were dying.

A great roar came from the city. The ordinary Kyralians were cheering. The sound was deafening.

Takado turned and strode towards Hanara. He took the reins of the horse and swung up into the saddle. Then he paused and looked down at Hanara.

“Get on.”

Hanara scrambled up behind his master, all too conscious of the dampness of his pants pressing against Takado’s back. He felt Takado stiffen, then heard him sniff.

“If I didn’t need a source slave, Hanara . . .” Takado said. He didn’t finish the sentence. He shook his head, then kicked the horse into a gallop and then all Hanara could do was cling on and hope his master’s power lasted long enough to see them beyond the enemy’s range of attack.

As the sound rolled up the slope towards her, Tessia realised the people of Kyralia were cheering. Beside her Kendaria whooped with delight. Grinning, Tessia let out a yell. They looked at each other and both laughed. Then they were both leaping on the spot, throwing their arms around and shouting with abandon. “We beat them! We beat them!” Kendaria chanted. Something inside Tessia relaxed, like a knot released, and she felt the fear and tension of the last months flow out of her. They had won. They had finally overcome the Sachakans. Kyralia was saved.

Growing breathless, Tessia stopped, and as weariness overcame her elation she felt a sadness return. Yes, we beat them. But we have lost so much. So much death and ruin.

“They’re going after them,” Kendaria said.

Looking down the hill again, Tessia saw servants hurrying forward with horses for the magicians.

The healer was no longer smiling. “I hope they find them quickly. We don’t want them roaming around preying on anybody.”

“There’s hardly anybody out there to prey on,” Tessia said. But she knew that couldn’t be true. People had been evading the Sachakans, staying behind to protect their property from looters, or to tend sick loved ones who couldn’t travel.

“Let’s go down and join in the celebrations.”

Tessia grinned and fell into step beside her friend. “Yes. I suspect most Kyralians are going to have one very bad hangover tomorrow morning.”

“You can count on it,” Kendaria said. “I hope you still have some pain cures in your father’s bag.”

Tessia flinched as a familiar ache returned. “It was left behind after the last battle.”

Her friend looked at her and grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It doesn’t matter, really.” Tessia forced herself to shrug. “I can always get another bag, new tools and more cures. It’s what my father taught me that matters most.” She tapped her forehead. “This is worth something to others; the bag only meant something to me.”

Kendaria gave her a sidelong look. “And I expect you won’t need tool or cures soon, when you find out how to heal with magic.”

Tessia managed a smile. “But that will take a while. If I ever manage it at all. Until then I think I had better stick to doing things the old-fashioned way.”

PART FIVE

CHAPTER 41

As the wagon rolled through the gates, Stara looked up in surprise. Though they had entered the familiar courtyard entrance of most Sachakan homes, a two-storey house dominated one side and it was not rendered in white. Smooth white stone, veined in grey, stretched across the longer side of the courtyard.

“It’s one of the oldest houses in Arvice,” Kachiro told her. “Dashina claims it is nearly six hundred years old.”

“There’s no sign of deterioration,” Stara said.

“His family have always repaired and maintained it well. A great deal of the front had to be replaced after an earthquake a hundred years ago.”

Inside, the house had high ceilings and opened quickly onto a large, sunken master’s room. Openings on either side revealed corridors running parallel to the room, and above them were more openings onto second-storey corridors directly above the lower ones.

The usual ritual of greeting followed. She and Kachiro were welcomed by Dashina, and her husband’s friends drew close to take their parts. While the others ignored her, Chavori caught her eye and smiled at her. She nodded politely in reply. He had visited her husband’s house (she hadn’t quite got used to calling it “home” yet) three more times, always bringing more maps. Though he always took the time to show and explain them to her, at each visit he spent less time with her and more time with Kachiro. Her husband had not made any more comments to suggest he might not disapprove if she took the young man as her lover.

Looking around the room, she found her eyes drawn to the slaves. All were women, she realised, and all were young and beautiful. They wore very short wraps and were draped in an excess of jewellery. She thought of Tashana’s story and how her husband had a taste for pleasure slaves. Is that what these women are? But of course they are. They’re all too beautiful to be anything else. For a moment she worried about Kachiro. If Dashina was bedding these women, they could all carry the disease he’d given to his wife, and if Dashina invited Kachiro to . . . but that couldn’t happen. Not if Kachiro truly was incapable, as he claimed.

What a strange place I’ve ended up in, she mused. With a husband I like enough to feel jealousy over, but with no reason to be jealous!

Tashana appeared in one of the corridor openings, then stepped into the room. She crossed quietly to Stara and took her hand.

“Can I steal your wife now, Kachiro? Please say yes.”

He turned and laughed. “Of course. I know she has been looking forward to seeing you again.” He smiled at Stara. “Go,” he urged quietly. “Enjoy yourself.”

Drawing Stara out of the room, Tashana led her down the corridor, which stretched long past the main room. Out of habit, Stara listened for Vora’s steps behind her. The slave walked so quietly, Stara sometimes worried she’d left the woman behind and glanced back to check, which always earned her a disapproving frown. She wasn’t supposed to show so much concern for a slave.

“Are you well?” Tashana asked. “Finding the summer too hot?”

“Healthy and happy,” Stara replied. “And I’m used to hot summers. Elyne is the same, though it rains more and the damp makes the heat more uncomfortable. How are you? Your skin is looking good.”

Tashana shrugged. “Well enough. The spots go away from time to time, but they always come back. I do enjoy it when they’re gone.” She smiled at Stara, then turned through a doorway into a spacious room.

The other wives were sitting on benches covered in cushions. They rose as Stara and Tashana entered. The usual greetings were exchanged, but when they were over the women didn’t return to the seats.

“We thought it would be nice if Tashana showed you around the house,” Chiara told Stara. She looked at Tashana. “Lead the way.”

As the hostess beckoned and moved through a doorway, Stara noted that the wives’ slaves had emerged and joined Vora in following. Women and slaves together made for quite a crowd roaming the corridors and rooms of Dashina and Tashana’s house. This became even more obvious when they left the large, luxurious rooms and entered a plain, narrow corridor, which echoed with their voices and footsteps.

This doesn’t look like part of the house its master and mistress would venture into, Stara thought. It looks more like a part slaves would use. Not that I’ve seen many slave quarters since coming back to Sachaka.

At the end of the corridor Tashana entered a large room containing robust wooden tables and occupied by several slave women, all of whom turned to stare at her and the other wives. Stara nodded to herself. She’d guessed right. But why were they here? She turned to look at Tashana. The woman smiled, then nodded at something over Stara’s shoulder. Turning back to face the slave women, Stara realised that one, a woman with grey in her hair but a sturdy frame, had risen to her feet and was walking towards her.

“Welcome, Stara,” the woman said. Though a slave, she looked Stara directly in the eyes. Neither she nor the other slaves had prostrated themselves before the mistress of the house, either. “I am Tavara. As you can see, I am a woman and a slave. But that is not all that I am.” She gestured at the women beside Stara and those sitting at the tables. “I am a leader of sorts. I speak for these women, and others, who are all bound together by a secret agreement to help other women, in exchange for the help we all need.”

Stara glanced at the wives, who nodded at her, serious but encouraging. She looked at the slaves and saw how they regarded her with suspicion... and something else. Hope?

A secret group, she thought. Of women. Are these the people who saved Nachira? She turned to look at Vora. The old woman chuckled.

“Yes. These are the people I asked you not to ask me about.”

Stara turned back to Tavara. “You have Nachira?”

The woman smiled. “Yes. We took her away from your father’s house and nursed her back to health when it was clear nothing else could save her. Save, perhaps, the death of your father.” The woman grimaced. “But we prefer to avoid such extreme measures.”

“And we didn’t think you’d think fondly of us,” Chiara added.

Stara shrugged. “Quite the opposite, actually. Though...to be honest I’d rather not commit patricide, even if he is a heartless monster.” She met Tavara’s eyes again. “So clearly you have the means to, if you need it.”

“Yes. There is much we can do, yet much we can’t. We were all slaves, to begin with. Slaves are invisible, and so can move about, delivering messages, easily. But we came to recognise that free women are often as helpless as we, sometimes even more so since they are not invisible and cannot roam beyond their homes. Yet they do have some advantages that we do not. Money. Access to some places forbidden to slaves. Political influence, through family or access to powerful ears. We came to trust them and they us.”

“And you trust me?” Stara looked around. “You must do, or else you would never have brought me here.”

“We had Vora’s mind read,” Tavara told her. “She trusts you. That will have to be enough.”

“You read . . .” Stara looked at Vora, who shrugged. “Then you must have a magician in your group.”

“Yes.” Tavara nodded. “And hopefully we still do. She was obliged to join the army and left to fight in the war in Kyralia. You will no doubt see that this means we can’t have your mind read.”

“Yet you’re still willing to trust me.”

“We are.” Tavara crossed her arms. “You should also have realised by now that we know something about you that your husband does not yet know – that you are a magician.”

Stara nodded. “I hadn’t quite got to working that part out, but it makes sense, since you read Vora’s mind.” She paused as a possibility occurred to her. “You want me to read minds for you? I haven’t tried it yet. Not deliberately, anyway.”

Tavara smiled. “Perhaps eventually. We do expect that, if you join us, you will work for us. Although you’ll still have the right to refuse a task, if it is objectionable to you.”

“If I’m too squeamish to commit murder, for instance.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s a relief. What else?”

“We are all equal when we are together. Slave, free woman, magician.”

Stara let out a sigh. “Oh, what a relief!”

The woman looked at her oddly. “You may not find this as easy as you think.”

“I spent most of my life in Elyne,” Stara retorted. “You have no idea how hard it has been to get used to having slaves. So when are you going to rise up and end it?”

The woman’s eyebrows rose and she regarded Stara thoughtfully. “It wasn’t among our plans,” she admitted. “All our energies go towards trying to save women’s lives. Your brother’s wife lives in a place outside the city we call the sanctuary. Removing women from their homes is dangerous, but that is not the end of it. We have to transport them there, at the risk of exposing both the sanctuary and ourselves. Keeping the sanctuary stocked with food is difficult. We have plenty of money, but must ensure no transaction is traceable to us. Only a few women can know the location, and those who stay there cannot leave, for if their minds were read our work would be discovered.”

Tavara looked at the other wives. “This is why we prefer not to take women from their homes. We try to make their lives better by other means. Sometimes by manipulating politics. The right rumour in the right ears can kill the emperor, as they say. Sometimes we use trade to change a family’s fortunes. Sometimes, as I mentioned earlier, we are willing to go further: to make someone sick, or even have them killed.” Tavara’s gaze shifted back to Stara. “Knowing this, would you still be willing to join us?”

Stara nodded. “Oh, definitely. But are you sure you want to recruit me? What if my father visits, and reads my mind again? What if Kachiro decides to?”

Tavara smiled and reached into the tunic-like dress she wore. From some secret place within she drew out something that shone silver and green. She took Stara’s hand and dropped the object into her palm.

It was an earring. Silver threads encircled a clear, vibrantly green stone. A thicker circle of wire protruded from the back, turning back on itself to fix securely into the setting again.

“It is a storestone. We buy these from the Duna tribes in the north. They make several types for different purposes, but will only sell us this kind. It protects the wearer from mind-reading – and not just by blocking all thoughts. Once you learn the trick of it, you can feed whoever is reading your mind the sorts of thoughts he is expecting, while still hiding what you don’t want him to see.”

Stara stared at the gemstone in amazement. “I’ve never heard of anything like this before. Not here or in Elyne.”

“No. Magicians do buy stones from the Duna tribes, but they don’t believe they have magical properties. So the tribes only sell them the ones too flawed to be useful. But they sell these to us, the Traitors.”

Stara looked up. “The Traitors? You call yourselves the Traitors?”

Tavara nodded and looked away. “Yes. Twenty years ago the previous emperor’s daughter was raped by one of his allies. She spoke openly of the crime, calling for him to be punished. But the emperor decided that the support of his ally was more important, and he had plenty of daughters. He called her a traitor and had her killed.” Tavara met Stara’s eyes again. “She was one of the first free women to help us. Through her efforts many women were saved. But we failed to save her. So we call ourselves the Traitors in her memory.”

“Even an emperor’s daughter . . .” Stara shook her head, then straightened. “I want to help, but what can I do?”

Tavara smiled. “For a start, there is a simple vow, and we put this earring in for you.”

Stara looked down at the earring and grimaced. “I’ve never liked the idea of piercing my ears, or anything else for that matter. Won’t my husband be suspicious if he sees this?”

“No. Free Sachakan women love jewellery and give it to each other all the time. It will hurt, but it will be over in a moment.” Tavara plucked the earring from Stara’s hand. “Who has the salve?”

From somewhere Chiara produced a small jar. Stara felt her stomach sink as Tavara took hold of her ear lobe. She stiffened, worried what would happen if she moved while the pin went through.

“Repeat after me,” Tavara said. “I vow that I will never willingly reveal the existence of the Traitors, their pledge and plans.”

Stara repeated the words, wincing in anticipation.

“And to help all women, whether slave or free.”

She knew she was speaking faster and at a higher pitch than normal, her heart beating fast in dread. I’m not going to yell, she told herself, biting her lip.

“And do what I can to save them from the tyranny of men.”

As she uttered the word “men’, Stara felt a flare of pain in her ear lobe and let out a stifled squeak. Then her entire ear went hot. Chiara and Tavara were fussing with the earring. Something cool spread over her ear lobe. Tavara stepped back.

“Here.” Chiara pressed the jar into Stara’s hand. “Put this on twice a day until it heals. But remember, the gem has to touch your skin to work and the salve can act as a barrier.”

Tavara was smiling. “Well done, Stara. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the Traitors.”

At that Stara found herself the object of many welcoming hugs, from both wives and slaves. And none quite so tight as that from Vora.

“Well done,” the slave murmured.

“Hmph,” Stara replied. “You could have warned me about the piercing part.”

“And miss the look on your face?” The old woman grinned. “Never.”

Though it was cooler in the mountains, it was always a relief when the blinding summer sun eased into golden evening light. Dakon looked ahead and was unable to suppress a twinge of anxiety. Scouts had reported that the road leading up to the pass was clear. No Sachakans, magicians or otherwise, lingered there.

It still felt unwise to camp there overnight, but that was the king’s intention. Dakon suspected most of the magicians needed to stop at the border in order to feel sure and satisfied that they’d finally driven the last of the invaders out of Kyralia.

Whether they truly had, nobody could say with complete confidence. For several weeks the Kyralian army, with the assistance of the Elynes, had split up in order to pursue the survivors of Takado’s force. A handful had been found and killed. None had surrendered, though Dakon had doubts about the last one his group had tracked down. The man had emerged on his own, hands waving frantically, before being struck down. Dakon had resisted asking if the others also wondered whether the man had been trying to give himself up. He did not want to cause them to doubt themselves unnecessarily. Especially not Narvelan, who had suffered enough doubt in himself after the first time he’d killed.

A small number of Sachakans had survived by keeping far enough ahead of their pursuers to reach the northern pass and escape into Sachaka. Dakon knew Takado was among them.

As the different groups of Kyralian magicians swept across the country they eventually joined together in the north, on the road to the pass. Timing their simultaneous arrival had been easy with the use of the blood gems.

Only two magicians had been taught the trick of making the gems. Sabin was one, Innali the other. Sabin had made a blood gem ring for the leaders of every group that left in search of the surviving invaders. Innali was their link to Imardin.

Narvelan, as the leader of the group Dakon had been a part of, had worn one of Sabin’s blood gem rings. He had not worn it constantly, as the rings communicated a continual flow of the wearer’s thoughts and if too many rings were worn at once it was overwhelming to the maker. Dakon was not sure he’d have liked giving anyone constant access to his mind. Not even Sabin.

He sighed and looked ahead. The road had been climbing the side of a steep slope, cut into the rock by someone long forgotten – perhaps back when Sachaka had ruled Kyralia, perhaps even earlier, when the two countries had begun trading. It now curved to the right and wound through a near-level ravine. The road was relatively clear of stones and rock, swept clean by hundreds of years of traffic. But as Dakon rode round a fold in the wall he could see that the king and magicians ahead of him had stopped. Beyond them was a pile of rocks several times the height of a man.

“Takado’s parting gift,” Jayan said, moving up beside him. Scouts carrying blood gem rings had warned Sabin of the obstruction. Dakon looked up at the rock walls stretching above them. He could see where the rock had been blasted.

“Hopefully such a waste of power means he is not waiting in ambush for us.”

“Hopefully,” Jayan agreed.

Dakon glanced at Tessia, who was gazing up at the walls. Abruptly a memory rose of the moment Jayan had caught up with them, some weeks back. He’d taken a side trip to the abandoned servants’ camp, now being scavenged by people returning to the country, and found her father’s bag dumped in a pile of rubbish with most of the contents missing. As he’d handed it to her she’d burst into tears, hugging the bag to herself and apologising for her outburst at the same time. Jayan had looked embarrassed and unable to think of anything to say, yet afterwards he had seemed very pleased with himself.

The bag was now restocked with a new burner and surgery tools, and cures made by Tessia or donated by village healers.

As they reached the magicians standing before the rocks, Sabin looked up at them.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” he said. “And decide what to do next.”

Having dismounted, Dakon sat on one of the boulders and watched as the rest of the army arrived. A few magicians decided to sweep the area clear of rocks and stones from the fall. As soon as the servants reached the pass they set to work. Horses were tended to. The ground was too solid for tent hooks, so it was decided that everyone would have to sleep in the open and hope it didn’t rain. Cooking smells began to waft about and made Dakon’s stomach rumble.

As what little sunlight made its way into the ravine began to dwindle, the king, his advisers and the foreign magicians moved boulders into a circle and sat down. The rest of the magicians followed suit, arranging themselves outside the circle.

Lord Hakkin looked up at the rocks. “Since we got here and I saw this, I can’t help wondering if we’d be better off adding to it rather than clearing it.”

“Block the pass?” Lord Perkin asked.

Hakkin nodded. “It wouldn’t prevent them coming back if they were determined enough. But it would slow them down.”

“It is the main trade route, though,” Perkin reminded him.

“Who’s going to trade with them now?” Narvelan asked, narrowing his eyes and looking around the circle.

“An end to trade would harm us as much as them,” the king pointed out. “Perhaps harm us more. They have better access to other lands.”

“I have to agree with you, your majesty,” Dem Ayend said. “When news came that Sachaka had invaded Kyralia some of my people took it upon themselves to murder the Sachakan traders based in Elyne. We will come to regret that, though I’m sure trade links will be re-established in time.”

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