He hadn’t gone much further when he heard footsteps coming closer. As the two young men approached he felt his stomach sink. They were an irritation most of the time, but if they made him drop his burden and something broke there would be trouble back at the stables.
He kept walking. The pair moved to either side, keeping pace.
“Hanar
As always, he stayed silent. Kept walking.
“Do you miss her? Do you miss
“Does your Sachakan master do that now?”
One foot in front of the other. Their taunting was meaningless. They knew too little to hurt him. The benefit of not being allowed to care for anyone was that there was nobody that could be used against you.
“Or did he do that with
It was a strange saying, this “bedding”. As if the act of human breeding was done with mattresses rather than body parts.
“I bet he’ll get into trouble if he drops those boxes.”
“That’s stuff for the Residence,” the other said.
“So? Lord Dakon can afford to replace it if it breaks. But Hanar
The cartway entrance was only a hundred paces away. Hanara felt a shove from one side. He swayed, keeping the load balanced. There was a shove from the other side. This time he stepped on one of the lout’s feet as he swerved. The young man swore.
“Stupid slave,” he snarled. Stepping in front of Hanara, he slammed his fist into Hanara’s stomach.
There was a crack. The young man recoiled, his face distorted in open-mouthed pain. Hanara felt the tablet shift as broken pieces fell downward to settle against his belt. He stepped round the lout and continued on his way.
From behind he heard the other lout asking what had happened.
“Don’t know. It’s like he was wearing
Hanara smiled. He stepped into the cartway, then couldn’t resist turning and looking back towards the village. But before he could make out the two louts in the gloom, something else caught his eye.
Beyond the village, on the ridge above, a blue light was blinking slowly in and out of existence.
His blood went cold.
Turning, he fled down the cartway to the stables, his heart racing. He couldn’t read the writing on the broken tablet down his shirt, but he was able to decode the pulsing light on the hill. The pattern represented one word. One order.
Takado had returned.
The master’s room of Everran’s house smelled of marin flowers, a crisp yet rich scent that gave the space a mood both lively and meditative. Dakon and Jayan had settled onto one of the bench chairs. They hadn’t seen Tessia or Avaria yet today. The two women had left early to explore the city, and would spend the afternoon with one of Avaria’s friends.
Everran had vanished, but now he re-entered the room rubbing his hands together eagerly.
“Our visitors should begin arriving soon.”
Dakon nodded. His father and Everran’s grandfather had been cousins, so they had a link through family ties, albeit a distant one. Dakon had continued his father’s custom of staying with Everran’s father when visiting Imardin. Then, when the man died five years ago from a seizure of the heart, his son insisted on taking over the role of Dakon’s host when he visited Imardin.
Everran was a likeable and smart young man. He had come into his inheritance too young, but he had shouldered the burden with admirable maturity, and had a good grasp of politics. It had pleased Dakon when Everran had joined the Circle of Friends, and not just because he liked the young magician. It was heartening to see that some city magicians were as concerned about the threat from Sachaka as the country lords, and willing to support their cause.
“What are they expecting?” Dakon asked. “Will they be wanting information? News?”
Everran shrugged. “No. It’s unlikely you’ll know anything they don’t already. We’ll be discussing how you should approach the king.”
“All advice is welcome.” Dakon grimaced wryly. “It’s been a long time since I met the king, and then it wasn’t on official business.”
“It’s in all our interests that you succeed. They – ah, here’s the first of them now.”
Footsteps drew their attention to the passage leading from the front entrance of the house. Everran rose and Dakon and Jayan followed suit. A short, slightly overweight man with grey in his black hair appeared, escorted by Lerran the doorman. He paused to smile and nod to Everran, and then to Dakon as Everran introduced him.
“This is Magician Wayel of the Paren family, the new trade master.”
“Congratulations. I hope it has been a smooth transition.”
Wayel shrugged. “As smooth as can be expected.”
“What is Lord Gregar up to now?” Dakon asked.
“Resting at home.” At Everran’s urging, they moved to the benches and sat down again. “I’ve heard he isn’t well. Some say he gave away the position too early and is expiring of boredom, but I’ve been told that he might have quit because he was unwell. Perhaps dying.”
Thinking of the energetic old man whose task it had been to settle trading disputes between the leys, Dakon felt a pang of sadness. Men like Lord Gregar, efficient and intelligent, were hard to find. He hoped Magician Wayel would live up to his predecessor’s standards, though he didn’t envy the man the demands of the job.
Laughter echoed down the corridor. Two men were ushered into the room. All rose to greet the newcomers.
“Lord Prinan is here on behalf of his father, Lord Ruskel,” Everran told Dakon. “Lord Bolvin is from Eyren ley.”
Lord Ruskel’s ley was located at the south-eastern end of the mountains bordering Sachaka. It had been Ruskel who had stumbled upon the three “lost” Sachakan magicians in his land, Dakon remembered. Prinan was a young, newly independent magician, trained by his father. He greeted Dakon with nervous deference. Dakon noted that Everran had adopted the new habit of using the title “Lord” for an heir to a ley or house, helping to indicate which offspring would inherit. It was a new custom, which he’d noticed becoming popular during his last few city visits. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
He had met Bolvin some years before, but the man had changed considerably. Several years older than Prinan, and a full head taller, Bolvin had an air of maturity not usually found in one so young. He, like Everran, had inherited too young when his father had disappeared with his ship during a storm; he had an entire ley to manage as well as the family fortune.
Eyren ley was on the west coast, far from any immediate danger in the event of an invasion, yet Lord Bolvin’s expression was serious and sympathetic as he greeted Dakon.
Before they had finished their greetings another voice came from the room’s entrance.
“Ah, good, I’m not the only early arrival.”
A tall, slim, middle-aged man walked gracefully into the room. Dakon recognised the man with surprise.
Everran laughed. “You’re actually on time for once, Lord Olleran.”
Olleran was very much a city lord, who had admitted in the past (when turning down invitations to stay with lords outside the city) that he found the country boring and dirty. But it wasn’t that which made his presence at this meeting so surprising. He was also married to a Sachakan. He came forward to grasp Dakon’s arm.
“Welcome back to Imardin, Lord Dakon,” he said. “In case you’re too polite to ask, it was my wife who convinced me that I should join your cause. She says she likes Kyralia just how it is and ordered me to find and help anyone who was doing something to keep it that way.”
