The Magician’s Apprentice

“Who knows?” Vora replied. “To stay with friends on country estates? Out of Sachaka entirely?”

“Have we got friends on country estates? Or will we go back to the Sanctuary?”

“The Sanctuary is too close to the road to and from Kyralia,” Nachira said. “If there was anywhere else, Tavara would have sent us there instead of bringing us back to the city.”

Vora nodded. “I’m afraid that is most likely true.” She paused. “Wherever we go, we will have to fend for ourselves for a while.”

“We are used to work,” the older woman stated.

“Not tilling fields or handling stock,” Vora reminded her. Then she smiled. “But I’m sure we’ll manage. Stopping other people from taking what we have will be harder.”

“Stara has magic. She can stop them.”

Stara felt her face warm as all the women turned to smile at her.

“She has only her own magic,” Vora warned them. “Magicians who have taken strength from slaves will be stronger than her.”

“Then why don’t we give her our strength?” Nachira said. The women fell silent as they exchanged questioning looks. Then they all nodded. “There,” Nachira continued. “Most magicians will have used up their power during the battle anyway. Stara will quickly end up stronger than them.”

The older woman frowned. “Better that they never know we have anything they want,” she said darkly. “Better we find somewhere to hide, out of sight.”

“Oh,” Stara said.

Somewhere to hide. Somewhere out of sight...

“Oh?” Vora repeated.

“I know of a place.” Stara felt her pulse quicken. “A place in the mountains. But I don’t know how to get there.” Her heart sank. I wonder. Could I follow Chavori’s maps? I’d have to get them first. She blinked as she realised she had risen to her feet. The women were looking at her expectantly. These amazing women. Adaptable. Strong. We’re going to do this. We’re going to leave and make our own Sanctuary. She turned to Vora.

“Can you get the wives?”

Vora’s eyebrows rose. “I can try.”

“Then try. Explain that we’re leaving and see if they want to come. I’m going out to get . . . something. While I’m gone, everyone,” she looked at the women, “pack as much as you can carry and put on travelling clothes. When I get back . . .” She paused to take a deep, calming breath. “When I get back we’ll leave Arvice. For the mountains.”

As the women scattered to collect their belongings, Stara hurried to her bedroom. She opened chests and searched for dark clothes. It would soon be night and she didn’t want to be seen. She heard footsteps behind her.

“I have sent a message to the wives,” Vora said, moving to another chest. “Are you planning what I think you’re planning?”

“What do you think I’m planning?”

“A little evening thievery. For which you’ll need to cover that Elyne skin of yours.” Vora took something from the chest and held it out. It was a dark green wrap, long enough to cover her legs. Stara took it and began to change.

“I’d say I was borrowing without permission, except I’d never convince you.” Grabbing a dark blue blanket woven by one of the women and given in thanks for her help, Stara wrapped it around her shoulders. She stuffed her feet into a pair of sandals and hurried out of the room, Vora following. “Are you coming with me?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Stara looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Thank you.”

The air outside was pleasantly warm, though it held the scent of smoke. The sun hovered near the horizon. Soon the city would be shrouded in a concealing darkness. Which will be the right time to slip away.

The courtyard was deserted. Stara wondered where the slaves had gone as she and Vora slipped out of the doors into the street. Keeping to the shadows cast by the city’s high walls, they hurried away. The slave’s darker skin and drab clothing made her even less noticeable than Stara in the dusky light.

An eerie silence was broken now and then by the sound of running feet, or wailing, or the passing of a cart. They reached a main road and suddenly the air was full of noise. People crowded the thoroughfare. Carts laden with belongings and people rattled past, all heading out of the city.

She and Vora had to weave their way across, dodging animals and people. On the other side they found themselves on empty streets again, though at one point doors opened and a stream of carts spilled out, heading towards the main road.

“Perhaps by night there will be less of a crowd,” she remarked aloud.

“I doubt it,” Vora murmured in reply.

Finally they reached the house Stara remembered from her one visit to her husband’s friend’s home. She’d been surprised to learn that Chavori lived in such a spectacular house. But it turned out that the house belonged to his father, and Chavori lived in a single room located at the rear of the property, out of sight and reached most easily through a slave entrance. It indicated with painful clarity what his family thought of his dedication to drawing maps.

Stara found the door to the slave entrance open and unlocked.

“This is odd,” she murmured.

Vora shrugged and peered inside. “The slaves may have fled. They’d hardly stop to make sure to close the door after them.”

They slipped inside. Stara’s heart was pounding now. If anyone found them... well, she could pretend to be looking for somewhere to hide. It was obvious from her clothes she was a free woman. Or she could pretend to be looking for Kachiro. They might not remember her, but Kachiro was a regular visitor.

Chavori’s room was located down a long corridor that looked long overdue for repainting. She crept along it as quietly as she could. Reaching the door, she was relieved to find it, too, was ajar. No need to break it to get in. But what if someone else had already stolen the maps? The thought made her pause, one hand on the door. And realise she could hear sobbing and a man repeating a name.

And that the voice was familiar. All too familiar.

She exchanged a look with Vora, then pushed open the door. The room was as small and neatly arranged as she remembered. A large desk covered in parchment and writing tools took up one side of the room. Along the opposite wall was a narrow bed. Sitting on the bed was her husband, cradling an unconscious Chavori.

Not unconscious, she corrected herself as she saw the bloodied mess that was his chest. Dead.

Kachiro looked up at her and she felt her heart spasm at the grief she saw in his face. He blinked and recognition came into his eyes, then they widened with surprise.

“Stara?”

“Kachiro,” she breathed, hurrying forward and kneeling before him. “Oh, Kachiro. I am so sorry.”

He looked down at Chavori and she could see the internal struggle that followed. Fear that he’d been discovered, she guessed. Then hate, probably at himself for the fear. And then his eyes filled with tears and he covered his face with one bloodstained hand. She reached out to stroke his head.

“I know you loved him,” she told him. “I know... everything.” He flinched and stared at her. “Remember that I grew up in Elyne.” She smiled crookedly. “You won’t receive any judgement from me. I even understand why you married me.”

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I am a terrible husband.”

She shrugged. “I forgive you. How could I not? You are a good man, Kachiro. You have a good heart. I am proud to be your wife.” Standing up, she held out a hand. “Come home.”

He looked at Chavori again, then sighed deeply. “I want to give him a proper death burning. The Kyralians won’t know who he is. They’ll put him under the ground.”

Stara felt a shiver run over her skin. She’d forgotten the Sachakan custom. Then she shuddered again.