The Magician’s Apprentice

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.