The Magician's Apprentice (57 page)

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.