The Magician’s Apprentice

“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!”