The Magician's Apprentice (42 page)

“More than one attacker?” Werrin asked.

“Have to be. They’ve all been killed with higher magic. One attacker would have to gather them together in order to kill them one at a time. This looks like at least four or five.”

“If these people scattered, then someone might have got away,” Werrin said. “We should follow all the trails and see if any don’t end with a corpse.”

Apprentices and magicians looked at each other in silent dismay, then each magician chose a trail and, with apprentices following, began to ride along it. As corpses were discovered calls of “found it” were heard. Dakon continued on towards a line of trees. Tessia heard the sound of running water and realised they were heading towards a stream.

Just before it they found the trail’s maker. He lay face down over a log. He turned his head to the side and stared up at them, eyes full of terror and pain. His breath came in short, painful gasps.

“He’s alive!” Jayan exclaimed.

Together they leapt to the ground and approached the man. Dakon spoke reassuringly, dropping to his haunches. Slowly the fear in the man’s face changed to hope.

“What happened here?”

“Told to leave,” the man whispered. “Magicians. Sachakans. On road.” He paused, the effort of talking clearly painful. “They… Elia. She told me… keep run… then…hit…”

Tessia gently examined him. “What hurts?”

“Back,” he gasped. “Front. Everything.”

She gently felt around his body. His ribs had broken in several places, some by an impact from behind and some from landing on the log, she guessed.

“Let’s get you off that,” Tessia said. She surrounded him with magic and eased him back off the log and onto his back. He groaned loudly, eyes wide and breathing fast.
At least there’s no sign of the ribs piercing his lungs. He’s a very lucky man.

“Can you fix him?” Jayan asked. Tessia frowned at him, then was saved from having to choose between lying or voicing her doubts in front of the man by Dakon.

“Did you see which way they went afterwards?”

“Te…Tecurren.”

Dakon straightened, his face creased with worry. “I should tell the others.” He looked around. “It is not safe for you to stay here, if one stayed behind.”

“I doubt any would, if they were headed for Tecurren,” Jayan said. “They haven’t targeted anything that big or far from the mountains since Mandryn. If any of them are about they won’t risk drawing the attention of eight magicians.”

Dakon looked from Jayan to Tessia, then nodded. “You won’t have long. Werrin will want to get to Tecurren quickly.”

“I won’t take long,” Tessia assured him.

As Dakon strode away, Jayan stood up. “I’ll get your bag.”

“Thanks,” she said. As he hurried to her horse she turned her attention to the injured man. He stared back at her. Normally she would have known there was no way she could save him in the time she had. Most of the patients her father had treated for broken ribs had still died, despite being treated sooner and for less severe wounds.

But she had magic. Using it, she didn’t have to cut him open. She could move bone and cinch pulse paths. Placing her hands on his chest, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the flesh beneath the skin.

At once she knew that the damage had been worse than she had first realised. Most of his ribs had been shattered. Though the bones hadn’t pierced the lungs, they’d torn through pulse paths and damaged other organs. Drawing magic, she reached inside and tried to squeeze shut one of the ruptured pulse paths.

The man gasped in agony. Drawing away, she considered him again. What she had to do was going to be extremely painful. Footsteps behind her drew her attention. She sighed with relief as Jayan threw himself down beside her, her father’s bag rattling as it hit the ground.

“Careful with that,” she said. Opening it, she drew out her strongest cure for deadening pain. To her surprise, Jayan took the bottle from her.

“I can do the mixing,” he said. “Just tell me how much.”

He followed her instructions carefully while she cut away the man’s clothes, then they gave him the dose and watched impatiently as it took effect. Tessia placed her hands on his chest again.

Drawing magic, she pinched broken pulse paths and shifted broken bones back into place. But even as she worked she knew it wasn’t enough. There was already too much blood pooling inside him and too little in his pulse paths. Flesh that had been cut could not be held together by magic long enough to heal.
If only I could make the flesh heal faster
, she thought.

Even as she removed blood from within him to give room to his organs, she knew that too much had been lost. Then a shock went through the man’s body. She felt the rhythms essential to life become irregular, then fail.

When Dakon’s call interrupted her thoughts, she was not sure how long she had been staring at the dead man, trying to think how she could have saved him.
There must be a way.

“Come on, Tessia,” Jayan said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “We have to go. You gave it your best try.” He looked down. “Better wash your hands first, though.”

She looked down at her bloodied hands and nodded. Moving to the stream, she squatted and let the water rinse her clean. Jayan picked up her father’s bag and waited for her.

Then she gave the dead man a last thoughtful, sorrowful look and headed across the field to join the magicians.

Eight magicians and eight apprentices waited at the edge of the forest, silently looking at the cluster of houses several strides away. The village was quiet. None of the buildings bore any sign of damage. It was a scene of deceptive peace that might have proved a fatal trap to any visitor or passing traveller.

Would it have been the same had Takado intended to stay and occupy Mandryn?
Dakon wondered.
Did he kill my people and destroy my home only to make a point, and was that point directed only at me or to prove he could do what he did?

A family who had managed to hide from the Sachakans, then slip away during the early hours of the morning, had told the magicians what had happened in Tecurren. The tale they’d related, taking it in turns to pick up the story whenever the one speaking faltered, had brought back the horror and anger Dakon had felt when he’d learned what had happened to his own people. With the horror and anger came guilt and frustration that he could not have done anything to prevent it. And the knowledge, which brought no comfort, that he, Jayan and Tessia would have been tortured and killed along with everybody else if they hadn’t been absent.

None of the four Sachakans who had taken possession of Tecurren matched Takado’s description, however. Their leader was the most vicious of all, tormenting his victims after taking their power and then dismembering them.

Sounds familiar
, Dakon thought darkly,
though we can’t assume there is only one Sachakan with that habit.

The young women, according to the escapees, had been taken away together into the largest house, owned by the now deceased town master. The rest of the villagers still alive had been locked up in a small hall used for social gatherings, probably in order to be drained of power each day. Scouts sent ahead to investigate had seen glimpses of figures in the main house, but couldn’t get close enough to confirm if the hall was occupied. But they did report no sign of villagers elsewhere, though the Sachakans’ slaves were keeping watch or raiding houses for food or drink.

Werrin looked from left to right, nodding to indicate that the magicians should take up their positions. They split into two groups. Separating into smaller, weaker forces had been a risk, but not a great one. They weren’t going to be out of sight of each other for long, and never out of earshot.

“We are eight and they are four,” Werrin had said the previous night, in summing up the situation. “The numbers are in our favour. We do not know their strength, however, so we must be ready to retreat at any moment.”

They had anticipated three responses from the Sachakans: that they might flee in the face of a larger enemy, that they would scatter and try to ambush the rescuers, or that they might stand together and confront the Kyralians directly. The idea of splitting into two groups had first been suggested to prevent the first possibility. Nobody wanted the Sachakans to escape.

I fear nobody wants them to live, either.

Dakon wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But he had to agree with Werrin. Until the pass was in Kyralian control again, any Sachakan they caught would have to be kept prisoner, which would be dangerous and take attention and resources they couldn’t spare.

As Narvelan led his group out of the forest and angled towards the town, Dakon realised his heart was racing. Yet he wasn’t as frightened as he expected. Instead he felt a cautious eagerness.
We’ve been chasing them too long. It is good to be able to take action at last. But I hope we don’t make mistakes out of pent-up frustration.

They neared the first house. No sign of life. Not even a patrol of slaves. All was quiet. Moving into the shadows between two houses, Dakon thought he heard the faintest sound of screaming, but it was hard to be sure.
Probably my imagination.

A man stepped around the end of the building.

For a moment everyone stood frozen. The stranger was wearing nothing but a pair of dirty trousers, Dakon saw.
A slave.

Then the man gasped and buckled in the middle, the force that struck him tossing him back out into the main road. Dakon looked at Narvelan and the other magicians. All but Bolvin were doing the same. The tall magician shrugged. “He surprised me.”

A shout came from further down the road.

“Have they seen Werrin’s group?” Narvelan murmured, peering round the corner of the house. “I think they have. Now we’ll see if they flee or fight.”

Magicians and apprentices waited. More shouts came from within the village. The distant sound of screaming stopped and Dakon’s stomach turned over. He hadn’t been imagining it.

Then a booming sound rang out and Dakon’s heart skipped a beat.

“The signal,” Tarrakin breathed. “They’re coming out together to confront us.”

Then another boom, doubled to indicate ambush, came. “Are all four of them there?” Dakon asked Narvelan, who was still peering around the corner.

“No. Just three. One could be doing what we’re doing, hoping to sneak up and surprise our opponents.”

Somehow calling the Sachakans “opponents’, as if they were mere game pieces, sounded foolish and inappropriate. Narvelan backed away from the corner.

“Werrin’s ready to come out. We need to get behind the main three. But we’ll have to keep a look out for the missing fourth one.”

A lot of skulking and dashing between buildings followed until they were behind the line of Sachakan magicians advancing down the street.

“Come out and face us, cowards!” one of the Sachakans called. “We know you’re here.”

Dakon felt his heart jump as a strike shot out from behind a building and stopped abruptly an arm’s length from the lead Sachakan. The man’s shield flashed, revealing that it encompassed only him.

“Shielding only themselves,” Narvelan muttered.

“Werrin’s out!” Tarrakin exclaimed.

Sure enough, the other group of Kyralians had emerged. They spread out across the road, as if barring the way, and began advancing, magicians in front and apprentices following close behind. The Sachakans threw strikes, but the Kyralians’ shields held. The air sizzled as both sides exchanged bolts of power.

A confrontation like this ought to be a simple matter of one side running out of power faster than the other, Dakon knew. It only occurred when both sides were confident of their superior strength, or underestimated that of the enemy. But usually there was some other trickery at work. Like Narvelan’s group waiting for the right moment. Or some new use of magic.

“They look distracted enough,” Narvelan said, glancing back at them. “It’s time.”

As planned, Dakon and the other magicians crowded behind Narvelan and placed their hands on his shoulders. Dakon readied himself to draw power and send it out at Narvelan’s instruction.

The sound of footsteps came from somewhere close by. Dakon heard Tessia’s indrawn breath and Jayan’s curse. He looked round to see a man standing in the gap between the houses, staring at them in surprise. A Sachakan. Who was not dressed like a slave.

“Now!” Narvelan snapped.

Not knowing if Narvelan had registered the Sachakan, Dakon drew power and sent it through his arm anyway. Heat rushed past his face towards the Sachakan, and he flinched. The Sachakan’s shield held for a moment, then crumpled inward. His face, blackening, stretched as he tried to scream, but the heat of firestrike must have burned away his voice instantly.

As the man fell to the ground Narvelan muttered a wordless exclamation. “I didn’t think it would work
that
well!”

“For a moment I was worried you hadn’t seen him,” Jayan muttered.

“Only at the last moment. I figured we’d better deal with him first.” Narvelan looked out at the battle still raging in the street. “Well then. Time to show the rest of them what we can do now.”

As they all crowded close again, Dakon felt a tiny twinge of anxiety.
I can’t help wondering how much power I’m using. How long will what I’ve gathered last? How long will it take to replace it? I guess that’s the great uncertainty of magical warfare.
He felt his resolve harden.
But I’d rather end up as depleted as an apprentice than risk letting these bastards continue harming Kyralians.

“Now!” Narvelan said again. Power flowed and the faintest shimmer in the air betrayed the path of his strike. It pounded the shield of the closest Sachakan. The man gave a yelp and staggered forward, then froze with his arms raised and face taut with effort.

“More!” Narvelan cried. Dakon closed his eyes and increased the flow of magic from himself to his friend.

He heard a shout of anger from the road, then a triumphant laugh from Bolvin. “That did it!”