A warmth spread over Hanara’s groin. He looked down, appalled at his loss of control. At his inability to push aside terror and accept his fate. He tried to force his shaking arms to lever his body up.
“Hanara! Get the horse!”
Sweet, sweet relief flooded through him. Strength returned. He scrambled up and raced back to the slaves holding the horses. His hands hadn’t yet caught up with the news he wasn’t to die, and shook as he grabbed the horse’s reins. Fortunately it did not cause him any trouble, though it was not happy to be led towards the noise and vibration of magical battle. He realised other slaves were bringing horses forward. Those magicians who had noticed were looking at Takado, their faces taut with horrified realisation, panic and anger.
“Master,” he called as he drew near.
“Wait,” Takado ordered.
Looking beyond, Hanara saw several magicians in the Kyralian army take a step forward, then stop.
Perhaps it had been a collective reflex. Perhaps it was a quickly reversed order to charge. But the effect was like a gust of wind. Suddenly the Sachakan line broke. Magicians were running. Slaves were fleeing. All were dying.
A great roar came from the city. The ordinary Kyralians were cheering. The sound was deafening.
Takado turned and strode towards Hanara. He took the reins of the horse and swung up into the saddle. Then he paused and looked down at Hanara.
“Get on.”
Hanara scrambled up behind his master, all too conscious of the dampness of his pants pressing against Takado’s back. He felt Takado stiffen, then heard him sniff.
“If I didn’t need a source slave, Hanara . . .” Takado said. He didn’t finish the sentence. He shook his head, then kicked the horse into a gallop and then all Hanara could do was cling on and hope his master’s power lasted long enough to see them beyond the enemy’s range of attack.
As the sound rolled up the slope towards her, Tessia realised the people of Kyralia were cheering. Beside her Kendaria whooped with delight. Grinning, Tessia let out a yell. They looked at each other and both laughed. Then they were both leaping on the spot, throwing their arms around and shouting with abandon. “We beat them! We beat them!” Kendaria chanted. Something inside Tessia relaxed, like a knot released, and she felt the fear and tension of the last months flow out of her. They had won. They had finally overcome the Sachakans. Kyralia was saved.
Growing breathless, Tessia stopped, and as weariness overcame her elation she felt a sadness return.
“They’re going after them,” Kendaria said.
Looking down the hill again, Tessia saw servants hurrying forward with horses for the magicians.
The healer was no longer smiling. “I hope they find them quickly. We don’t want them roaming around preying on anybody.”
“There’s hardly anybody out there to prey on,” Tessia said. But she knew that couldn’t be true. People had been evading the Sachakans, staying behind to protect their property from looters, or to tend sick loved ones who couldn’t travel.
“Let’s go down and join in the celebrations.”
Tessia grinned and fell into step beside her friend. “Yes. I suspect most Kyralians are going to have one very bad hangover tomorrow morning.”
“You can count on it,” Kendaria said. “I hope you still have some pain cures in your father’s bag.”
Tessia flinched as a familiar ache returned. “It was left behind after the last battle.”
Her friend looked at her and grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It doesn’t matter, really.” Tessia forced herself to shrug. “I can always get another bag, new tools and more cures. It’s what my father taught me that matters most.” She tapped her forehead. “This is worth something to others; the bag only meant something to me.”
Kendaria gave her a sidelong look. “And I expect you won’t need tool or cures soon, when you find out how to heal with magic.”
Tessia managed a smile. “But that will take a while. If I ever manage it at all. Until then I think I had better stick to doing things the old-fashioned way.”
As the wagon rolled through the gates, Stara looked up in surprise. Though they had entered the familiar courtyard entrance of most Sachakan homes, a two-storey house dominated one side and it was not rendered in white. Smooth white stone, veined in grey, stretched across the longer side of the courtyard.
“It’s one of the oldest houses in Arvice,” Kachiro told her. “Dashina claims it is nearly six hundred years old.”
“There’s no sign of deterioration,” Stara said.
“His family have always repaired and maintained it well. A great deal of the front had to be replaced after an earthquake a hundred years ago.”
Inside, the house had high ceilings and opened quickly onto a large, sunken master’s room. Openings on either side revealed corridors running parallel to the room, and above them were more openings onto second-storey corridors directly above the lower ones.
The usual ritual of greeting followed. She and Kachiro were welcomed by Dashina, and her husband’s friends drew close to take their parts. While the others ignored her, Chavori caught her eye and smiled at her. She nodded politely in reply. He had visited her husband’s house (she hadn’t quite got used to calling it “home” yet) three more times, always bringing more maps. Though he always took the time to show and explain them to her, at each visit he spent less time with her and more time with Kachiro. Her husband had not made any more comments to suggest he might not disapprove if she took the young man as her lover.
Looking around the room, she found her eyes drawn to the slaves. All were women, she realised, and all were young and beautiful. They wore very short wraps and were draped in an excess of jewellery. She thought of Tashana’s story and how her husband had a taste for pleasure slaves.
Tashana appeared in one of the corridor openings, then stepped into the room. She crossed quietly to Stara and took her hand.
“Can I steal your wife now, Kachiro? Please say yes.”
He turned and laughed. “Of course. I know she has been looking forward to seeing you again.” He smiled at Stara. “Go,” he urged quietly. “Enjoy yourself.”
Drawing Stara out of the room, Tashana led her down the corridor, which stretched long past the main room. Out of habit, Stara listened for Vora’s steps behind her. The slave walked so quietly, Stara sometimes worried she’d left the woman behind and glanced back to check, which always earned her a disapproving frown. She wasn’t supposed to show so much concern for a slave.
“Are you well?” Tashana asked. “Finding the summer too hot?”
“Healthy and happy,” Stara replied. “And I’m used to hot summers. Elyne is the same, though it rains more and the damp makes the heat more uncomfortable. How are you? Your skin is looking good.”
Tashana shrugged. “Well enough. The spots go away from time to time, but they always come back. I do enjoy it when they’re gone.” She smiled at Stara, then turned through a doorway into a spacious room.
The other wives were sitting on benches covered in cushions. They rose as Stara and Tashana entered. The usual greetings were exchanged, but when they were over the women didn’t return to the seats.
“We thought it would be nice if Tashana showed you around the house,” Chiara told Stara. She looked at Tashana. “Lead the way.”
As the hostess beckoned and moved through a doorway, Stara noted that the wives’ slaves had emerged and
