The Magician’s Apprentice

Even Kachiro believes the Kyralians have won.

“Is his family here?” she said.

“No. All gone. Or dead. So are the others. Motaro. Dashina. All of them. I am the only . . .” He closed his eyes and grimaced.

“Do it,” she urged. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here. I’m not sure I’m ready to see that.”

He nodded, then gathered Chavori’s body up in his arms and carried it out. The young man suddenly seemed very frail and small, and Kachiro taller and broader.

Once he had gone, she turned to the maps and began looking through them.

“I want to be sure there are no copies left behind,” she whispered to Vora. “No notes or sketches. Nothing to tell anyone this place he described exists.”

The maps on the table were of the volcanos in the north, with flows of lava indicated with rippling red lines. She paused as she realised how close he must have climbed to make his measurements. He’s braver than he appears. Or appeared. She felt a pang of loss. What else would he have invented and discovered, had the Kyralians not ended his life too soon?

Several tubes like the ones Chavori had used to transport his maps stood on end in the corner of the room. Stara took one and opened an end, then tipped the rolls of parchment out onto the table. She unrolled them, one by one. They were of the coast of Sachaka. She cursed under her breath. How long was it going to take Kachiro to burn Chavori’s body and return?

Hearing a sigh of frustration from Vora, she turned to see that the old woman was leafing through bundles of parchment in a small chest, opening the covers and shaking her head.

“He has terrible handwriting,” the slave said. “It could take weeks to read all this.”

“Can we take them with us?”

Vora looked into the chest and grimaced. “It’ll be heavy.”

Stara reached for another tube. “Can we send someone back for them?”

“What are you doing?” Kachiro’s voice came from the doorway.

Stara froze, her back to him. “We can’t let all his work be lost,” she said. The lie tasted sour in her mouth. But in an odd way, it’s true. Who knows what would happen to them, if they were left here? We may be saving them from destruction.

“No,” she heard him say. “He wouldn’t have liked that. Put them back in the tubes.”

Hearing his footsteps approaching, she turned to smile wanly at him. He took the maps on the table and rolled them up, then slipped them into the tube. Picking up half of the tubes, he handed them to Stara. The other half he gave to Vora. Then, with a grunt, he picked up the chest.

“Let’s get these to a safe place,” he said, then strode out of the door.

The pace he set on the return journey was hurried, and though Stara and Vora were less heavily burdened they struggled to keep up. The sun had set and a deepening twilight was leaching everything of colour. Finally they reached Kachiro’s house and slipped inside. Stara saw the surprise on his face as he took in the crowd of women in the master’s room, all dressed ready for travel. The other wives were there, with their children. Stara had no idea if they knew of the fate of their husbands. That news would have to be delivered later. Several women Stara knew to be slaves were in the crowd, wearing similar clothing to the free women. Tavara was not among them. For some reason this filled Stara with relief.

He put the chest down. “Where are you going?”

“Out of the city,” Stara told him. She put the maps down, moved to stand in front of him and searched his gaze. “I didn’t know when or...or if you’d come back, so I started organising it. I think we’ll be safer out of Arvice for a while. Chiara has friends in the country.” That last was a lie, of course.

His eyebrows rose and he began to nod. “Yes. It would be safer for you all. And you should take these too.” He gestured to the chest.

She frowned. “What about you? You’re not coming with us?”

Kachiro paused, then shook his head. “No. The Kyralians can’t kill every Sachakan magician and expect the slaves to keep working – whether as slaves or not. We’ll starve. Someone has to stay and try to save something of what we have.” He grimaced. “And though I’m better at negotiation than fighting, if the chance comes to drive them out, or even take a little revenge, I want to be here for it.”

Stara felt a wistful pride sweep through her. She kissed him on the cheek, and then, as he stared at her in surprise, gave him a stern look. “You take care of yourself. I’ll send word when we’ve reached Chiara’s friends.”

He nodded and smiled wearily. “You take care of yourselves, too. I should go with you, to protect—”

The women all voiced a wordless disagreement. “We’ll stick together, and we have slaves to defend us,” Chiara assured him.

“Now, it’s dark outside and we want to get some distance between ourselves and Arvice before we stop,” Stara said, turning to the women. She picked up the tubes and handed them out. “Take one each, and spread the weight of these out between you.” She bent and opened the chest, handing out bundles of notes.

“Surely the slaves will carry those for you,” Kachiro said.

Stara didn’t have the heart to tell him how many slaves had run away. She already felt guilty at leaving him here, in the city. For a moment she was tempted to talk him into coming, but her dream of a true Sanctuary did not include men.

“I’d rather they carried food, and other necessities,” she told him. “Don’t worry, they’re not much trouble spread out.” The women were now looking at her expectantly. She smiled at Kachiro, and touched his cheek. “Goodbye.”

He smiled faintly, took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”

They gazed at each other for a moment longer, then she tore herself away. “Come along,” she said, gesturing to the door. The women managed smiles and even a few light-hearted comments as they followed Stara out, making it sound as if they were setting out on a pleasure trip. Stara didn’t look back, not wanting to see Kachiro standing, alone, watching them go.

Once outside she breathed a deep sigh of relief, then set a quick but not too tiring pace along the road. The women quietened, all pretence at joviality abandoned. Vora began to walk alongside Stara.

“Which way out, do you think?” the slave murmured.

“The main road,” Stara replied. “All the other roads will be crowded. It’s obvious we’re a bunch of free women travelling with no protectors. I’d rather not have to use any magic until I have to. People might avoid the route the Kyralians took.”

“I guess if the Kyralians won they won’t have reason to leave the city.”

“And if they lost, they’re dead.”

They hurried on, the only sound the rustle of clothing, the patter of footsteps and the breathing of the women. Distant sounds echoed from around the city. A dull boom. An angry shout. A scream that made them all stop and shiver. Stara felt a tension growing inside her. She resisted an urge to start running. Just a jog, her mind urged. Not an outright race. But she did not want to tire herself or the women out. They might need the energy later.

She found herself reaching in to the store of magic within her, giving it the lightest of touches to reassure herself it was still there, ready to be drawn upon. It was tempting to try covering them all in a shield, but while she had learned to do that as part of her basic training, she hadn’t bothered to practise in years and wasn’t sure how much power she’d use stretching it to protect so many people. Still, she was ready to throw up a wall. Ready to strike out, too, if she had to.

They were coming up to the main road now. She slowed as she saw rubble scattered over the highway. Houses on the other side of the road were burning, casting a flickering, hot light. The women made low noises as they noticed the damage. All stopped at the corner to gaze about in grim silence.

Stara heard the faintest of sounds to her right. Then her heart jumped as she realised that the movement she’d seen in the corner of her eye was not the flicker of shadows cast by the fire. She threw out her arms and moved backwards, pushing the women back.

But they had not seen the danger, and moved too slowly. Two figures appeared on the road ahead, walking slowly and staring around. A man and a woman. Their dress was Kyralian. Stara froze and heard the women catch their breaths.