The Magician’s Apprentice

Then the man spun to face them. Stara felt a surge of fear and let loose magic, instinctively shaping it into a force to sweep the invaders away.

And it did. The two strangers were thrown across the road and landed like dolls tossed upon the ground.

Are they dead? Stara stared at the Kyralians, waiting for them to move. As time stretched on she became aware of the gasping, frightened breathing of the women around her. Even Vora was panting with fear.

“They’re not moving,” Chiara said. She took a step forward. “I think you got them.”

“Better make sure,” Tashana advised.

Stara took a deep breath and moved forward. The women followed. They reached the man. She felt her heart skip as she realised he was conscious, and put up a wall of magic. He’d landed on a section of wall. As she approached he moved, pushing himself up then rolling onto his back. His front was covered in blood, which seeped out as she watched. Looking back at the wall, she saw the mangled end of a lamp hook, glistening wetly.

His eyes flickered from face to face. Stara reached for magic, preparing to finish him off. But then a look of recognition and surprise stole over his face.

“You . . .” he said, his voice catching with pain, his eyes on the women behind her.

“It’s the one who let us go,” Nachira said. “The one who found us, at the Sanctuary, and left us without telling the others.”

Stara felt horror wash over her. Why, of all the invaders, had she struck down the only one who had shown any compassion?

“I didn’t see a girl, though,” Nachira added.

Looking past the young man, Stara saw that the woman was lying on her side, eyes closed. They didn’t defend themselves. Perhaps they had no power left. It was impossible to tell whether the woman was unconscious or dead. She grimaced. With the luck I’m having, she’ll turn out to be someone else I shouldn’t have killed. Sighing, she turned away.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Feeling tired in her heart, but pushing doubt aside, she started down the road. As she left the city of her birth, she did not look back. Instead, she lifted the map tube so it rested over one shoulder, and set her mind on her dream of a Sanctuary for women, where all were equal and free. And the women she had befriended and championed here followed.

Rows of trees surrounded by beds of flowering plants lined the wide road to the Imperial Palace. Once the army had reached this thoroughfare the attacks had stopped. Dakon doubted it was because the local magicians didn’t want to ruin the streetscape. Most likely they were rushing to join in a last line of defence at the palace gates.

He looked over his shoulder again, seeking where the road they had fought their way down had met this tree- lined thoroughfare. He found it and searched for movement.

“Don’t worry about them,” Narvelan said. “They’re a smart pair. They’ll keep out of sight until we can go back and fetch them.”

If they’re alive. Dakon sighed and turned back to face the front. But if they aren’t . . . my mind knows Narvelan is right but my heart says otherwise.

“I should go back,” he said for the hundredth time.

“You’d die,” Narvelan replied. “Which won’t do them any good at all.”

“I could go,” another voice said.

Dakon and Narvelan turned to look at Mikken, riding to Dakon’s left.

“No,” they both said together.

“When it gets dark,” the apprentice said. “I’ll keep in the shadows. It doesn’t matter as much if I die – and I was supposed to stay with Jayan—”

“No,” Narvelan repeated. “You’re a better asset to Jayan alive. If anybody is going to slip back at night, it will be all of us plus a few more as extra protection.”

Mikken’s shoulders slumped and he nodded.

They were nearing the palace now. Looking up at the building, Dakon saw that it was a larger, grander version of the mansions they had seen before. The walls were rendered and painted white. They curved sensually. But they were far thicker and taller, and formed dome-topped towers here and there.

As the army neared the gates the magicians shifted into fighting teams without a word spoken. No sound came from the building. No one emerged to challenge them.

There was a muffled clunk, then the gates swung open.

“The emperor invites you to enter,” a voice called.

Dakon watched as the king, Sabin and the Dem discussed their options. We could stay here and wait until someone comes out. We could all go in. Or one of us could go in wearing a blood ring, and communicate if the way is safe.

Sabin turned to scan the faces around him. Looking for a volunteer. Should I? Why not? If Tessia and Jayan are dead, who needs me? My Residence is gone and it’s clear I am of no use as a protector to the people of my ley, who are going to recover their lives quite well without me. He opened his mouth.

“I’ll go,” Narvelan said. “I already have a ring, anyway.” Dakon watched as the magician strode up to the gates and disappeared inside. Long, silent minutes passed. Then Sabin chuckled.

“The way is clear. He’s read a few minds. The emperor has ordered that no obstruction or trap be put in our way.” He turned to look at the servant and the carts. “Even so, I think half of us should stay outside to protect the servants, and be ready to fight if this does turn into a battle.”

More time passed as the arrangements were made. Then finally they were ready. Sabin gave the order, and Dakon walked, with forty other magicians, into Sachaka’s Imperial Palace.

CHAPTER 48

Hanara had been in the middle of a nightmare when the guard slave came to get him, and now, as he was dragged, pushed and shoved through increasingly wider and more opulently decorated corridors, he was not entirely sure if he was truly awake or still caught in the dream. He’d travelled this route many times in his sleep, after all.

There was a lack of strangeness in this journey that told him he was back in the waking world. No monsters lurking in side corridors or rooms full of tortured slaves. No Takado rushing out to rescue him. No Kyralians.

But Takado is sure to feature in this version, at least, he thought. Unless the emperor wants to read my mind again. Or someone else does...

He did not recognise the corridors from the previous journey. They had been narrower than these, and far less populated. Slaves hovered around doors or hurried back and forth. Many wore similar trousers, in a yellow fabric finer than any Hanara had seen on a slave before. They all looked fearful and harried.

A large crowd of slaves hovered round one particular door. Hanara felt his stomach flip over as he realised the guard was taking him towards them. The slaves were frowning, some wringing their hands, and he could hear a frantic, rapid chatter.

They fell silent, however, as the guard pushed Hanara through them to the door. A slave standing next to the door eyed Hanara, then smiled grimly as he looked at the guard.

“Just in time,” he said, then turned to open the door.

Pushed through, Hanara found himself at the side of a huge, narrow room filled with columns. Before him, in the centre, was a large and spectacular throne. The emperor was looking at him, his nose wrinkled with disgust. Hanara threw himself to the floor.

“Get up,” the guard whispered, and Hanara felt a toe jab his leg. He rose slowly, looking towards the emperor. The man had turned away, his attention now somewhere down the long room. Hanara stared down between the columns, but the space was empty. Then he noticed something on the floor.

A man. A naked man lying on his back, covered in cuts and bruises. Hanara looked closer and saw the chest rise and fall. He saw a faint movement and looked at the face. The eyes were open.

And recognition rushed over Hanara like a hot burst of steam.

Takado!

A terrible pity and sorrow rose up to grip his heart. With it came dread. If Takado dies today, what will happen to me? Will I die, too?