The Magician’s Apprentice

needed.

All I need to discover is how to boost that natural flow of magic...

But even as she thought it, she found she didn’t need to. The magician’s heart regained animation and strength and suddenly strained against her magic, so she let it pump for itself. The lungs soon did the same.

I have saved him, she thought, feeling a rush of relief and triumph. Thanks to his own ability to heal himself with magic. Which meant that she would never have been able to heal a non-magician from this poison.

She drew away from the magician’s body and opened her eyes. The man was sleeping now, his breathing deep and even.

“I think he’s going to be fine,” she said.

“Ah!” The king moved to her side. “Are you sure? Will he recover?”

“Yes. As best I can tell, anyway,” she added.

The king nodded and patted her on the shoulder. “You are a remarkable young woman, Apprentice Tessia. When we get back to Imardin you must teach others your methods.”

She smiled. “Not quite yet. There is another . . .” But as she turned to face the other sick magician she felt her heart sink. His face was deathly white and his lips were blue. Dakon stood beside him. Then she noticed the cut on the dead man’s arm and the blade in her master’s hand and her heart turned over. Surely Dakon hadn’t ...?

Then realisation dawned as she remembered what Dakon had taught her, early in her training. If the magician had died with magic still locked within his body, it would have escaped in a destructive force. She, the king and the man she had just saved might have died with him, or used a great deal of power shielding themselves.

At least the power he held has not been wasted, she thought. Though I can’t imagine Dakon is too happy taking magic that was gained through slaughtering slaves.

“Unfortunately there is only one Tessia,” the king said, his expression sad.

“Indeed,” she replied. “Perhaps I should have started teaching others earlier. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone would be interested.”

“There is plenty of interest,” he told her. “But I suspect that between being too occupied with other matters to spare the time, uncertainty over whether it is better to wait until you are no longer an apprentice and can legally teach, and the strangeness of the prospect of learning from a young woman, many magicians have hesitated to express it.” The king paused and smiled. “After what I just witnessed I am tempted to send you back to Imardin with a guard to ensure the knowledge you have is kept safe, but I fear you would be in more danger returning there than staying with us. And I need every magician and apprentice here with me.”

“And you’d never persuade me to abandon Lord Dakon,” she told him.

The king smiled again. “Not even if I ordered you to?”

She looked away. “I guess I’d have to go, but I’d be very annoyed with you.”

He laughed. “Well, I can’t have Tessia the magical healer annoyed with me. Who knows when I might need her services?”

CHAPTER 46

For eighteen days and nights Hanara and the other slaves had been chained to the back of a covered wagon. By day they walked behind the wagon as it made its way towards Arvice. By night they slept wherever it stopped, on ground that was sometimes mud, sometimes dry earth, and sometimes hard cobbles. He was glad it was summer, and the nights were relatively warm, though the exhaustion of walking all day would have helped him sleep even if it had been cold.

They were given water twice a day, and whatever leftovers were roused up from the estates they stayed at. Sometimes this was stale bread, sometimes congealed, cold soupy slops or the burned crusts from the bottom of cook pans.

Three men rode in the wagon: the driver, who also tended to the prisoners, and two free men whom Hanara only glimpsed when they got in or out of it. He sometimes imagined that Takado was in the wagon, too. If he was, he did not leave it at night and never spoke loudly enough for the slaves to hear. Now and then Hanara caught himself wanting to call out and tell Takado something, like that they had reached the outskirts of Arvice. And that they’d reached the high walls of the Imperial Palace.

He’s not in the wagon, Hanara told himself firmly. They’ve taken me far away from him, so he has no loyal source slave to call on if the opportunity came. He could be back at the estate where we were taken prisoner, or already in the palace. Or he’s been clever enough to talk someone into helping him escape.

The wagon abruptly turned into a low opening in the side of the palace wall and entered a small courtyard. Doors boomed shut behind it. Two large muscular slaves stood on either side of the doors, holding spears. The two free men clambered down from the wagon and spoke to the palace slave who emerged to abase himself before them. A headband indicated this slave was of higher status than those who guarded the doors. He rose to snap orders at a doorway, from which three lesser slaves emerged. They came forward and, as the cart driver unfastened the chains from the cart, took hold of a prisoner each. Hanara was pushed and guided into the palace, followed by Asara’s and Dachido’s slaves.

A long journey through dark corridors followed, descending first one level, then two, below ground. The magicians had vanished. The air was moist and heavy with a mixture of odours that grew steadily less pleasant, finally becoming a choking mix of excrement, sweat and mould. The doors they passed now were no longer wooden, but iron grates that allowed a glimpse of men and women of different ages, some dressed in slave garb, some in fine but soiled clothes.

Are they going to lock us up here? Hanara wondered. He’d tried in vain not to consider the future, but too often had caught himself wondering if he was to be executed once he arrived wherever his captors were taking him. Surely if they meant to kill me, they’d have done it already. So they must want something from him first. Or perhaps he would find himself owned by some new master. He’d considered whether he’d try to escape and find Takado if that happened. Perhaps only if he found out where Takado was.

It won’t be like Mandryn, he thought. No chance at freedom to tempt me. My place is with Takado. He smiled as he felt pride and the long-life feeling again.

At last they stopped in a large room and were forced to lie face down on the floor before another, rather fat high-status slave.

“Whose are these?” the man rumbled.

“The ichani rebels’.”

“Which is Takado’s?”

“This one.”

“He’s to be questioned. Take him upstairs. The others are to go to the waiting cells.”

As Hanara was dragged to his feet again he saw Asara’s and

Dachido’s slaves being taken through a doorway. They didn’t look back. He found himself being guided out of the same door he had come through into the corridor they had arrived by.

Then they were climbing, ever upwards. Stairs and corridors followed by more stairs and corridors. At every level the air smelled sweeter and the walls were whiter. Yet this only made the knot of dread in his belly grow larger and tighter. The rattle of his chains sounded louder the quieter the corridors became.

At the top of yet another staircase a well-muscled slave emerged to block their path.

“Who?” the man asked.

“Takado’s slave.”

The man narrowed his eyes at Hanara. “Follow me.”

Though Hanara felt a sense of relief and freedom as the first slave let go of his arm and the new one didn’t take hold of him, he knew it was an illusion. If he tried to run he would be caught and beaten. So he obediently trailed behind this new slave. The corridors here were decorated with carvings and hangings, and in places the walls themselves had been painted with colourful scenes.

They stopped before a carved wooden door. The slave knocked quietly. As the door opened a crack Hanara glimpsed a face and an eye.

“Ichani Takado’s slave,” his new guide murmured.