The Magician's Apprentice (63 page)

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.