The Magician’s Apprentice

She stopped as she heard a shout outside. Nivia dropped the knife she had been chopping vegetables with, wiped her hands and hurried out of the room. Tessia followed her to the front door. The woman opened it a crack and peered outside, then pulled it wide open and stepped outside. Tessia could now see several men on horseback entering the village. Kyralians, from the look of them. And by their clothing and manner she guessed these were the magicians come to help them.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor behind them, then Dakon, Werrin and Narvelan pushed past Tessia and Nivia, stepped outside and strode towards the newcomers.

“They’re here, are they?”

Tessia turned to see Jayan emerging from the seating room, running hands through dishevelled hair. He grimaced and began to rub a shoulder.

“I expect so,” Tessia replied. “Do you recognise them?”

She stepped back as he moved to the door.

“Ah. Lord Prinan, Lord Bolvin, Lord Ardalen and Lord Sudin. And their apprentices, by the looks of it. And a servant each.”

Peering over his shoulder, she saw the men dismount. The more plainly dressed riders immediately took hold of the horses’ leads. The young men hung back as their masters greeted Dakon, Werrin and Narvelan.

“Well, shall we meet our new allies?” Jayan asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped outside and strolled towards the group.

Tessia reluctantly followed. Suddenly she was all too aware how different she was. A woman among all these men. A natural from a humble background among rich young men chosen from powerful families. A beginner among the well trained. It was too easy to imagine them all being like Jayan.

The magicians barely glanced at her and Jayan, but the apprentices eyed Jayan with interest. A few gave her a puzzled look, then seemed to dismiss her. It was not until the magicians had finished their greetings that Dakon paused to introduce her and Jayan. All looked at her in surprise.

Belatedly she realised the oversized dress Nivia had laid out for her would have given them the impression she was one of the villagers. The woman is hardly able to offer up the sort of rich, elaborate clothing that city women prefer. Tessia straightened her shoulders and replied with as much dignity as she could muster, hoping nobody could see how embarrassed and self-conscious she suddenly felt.

Crannin had emerged from his house now, and invited the magicians to eat with him as they discussed plans. He apologised that there was no room for the apprentices now there were so many here, but a table and food would be brought outside as soon as possible.

So once again I’m left out of the important discussions, Tessia thought wryly, but this time at least I’m not the only one.

As the magicians disappeared inside Crannin’s house, the apprentices hovered by the front door, eyeing each other and saying nothing. They looked exhausted. Tessia guessed they had ridden here as quickly, or near to it, as Dakon had to reach Mandryn.

After a few minutes some men from the village emerged from another house and brought benches and tables out of a stable. They washed them down then threw cloths over them. Women emerged from Crannin’s house carrying food and wine and laid out a small feast. The apprentices sat down to eat and soon quiet conversations began among them. They directed all their questions about Mandryn and the Sachakans at Jayan, but Tessia was happy to stay silent and let him deal with them. To her surprise, he was less descriptive than she had been when telling the village women about the attack.

“I don’t think we should tell anyone too much,” he murmured to her after a while. “I’m not sure how much Dakon wants people to know.”

Tessia felt a pang of worry. Had she told Nivia anything she shouldn’t have?

“Like what?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, a little irritably, turning to face one of the villagers as the man approached. She realised the man was looking at her.

“Apprentice Tessia. Forgive me if this is too bold,” the man said. He paused, then hurried on. “You carry a healer’s bag.”

“Yes,” she said when he didn’t continue. “How do you know that?”

“I’m sorry. I thought it smelled of cures so I had a look inside. Who does it belong to?”

“My father,” she answered. “Or it did. He...he was Mandryn’s healer.”

The man’s face fell. “Oh. I am sorry. I had hoped... sorry.”

As he began to back away she reached out towards him. “Wait. You don’t have a healer here, do you?”

The man shook his head, his expression grim.

“Is someone ill?”

He frowned. “Yes. My wife. She...she...”

“I was my father’s assistant,” she told him. “I may not be able to do anything, but I can have a look.”

He smiled. “Thank you. I’ll take you to her. And have someone bring your bag. “

To Tessia’s surprise Jayan stood up and followed her. When they were out of the hearing of the other apprentices he caught her arm.

“What are you doing?” he said quietly. “You’re not a healer.”

She turned to stare at him. “So? I might still be able to help.”

“What if Dakon calls for you? You’re an apprentice now, Tessia. It’s not...not...”

“Not...?

He grimaced. “You can’t go off playing healer whenever you want to. It’s not... appropriate.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What’s more or less ‘appropriate’, Jayan: letting someone sick or in pain stay that way – or perhaps even die – because you’re worried about what the other apprentices or their masters might think, or sitting around being a useless waste of space and food?”

He stared back at her, his expression intense and searching. Then his shoulders sagged.

“All right. But I’m coming with you.”

She bit back a protest, then sighed and hurried after the man whose wife was ill. Let Jayan see the woman he would have abandoned to whatever ailment she suffered, for the sake of being “appropriate”. Let him see that there was more to healing than being able to call a person a “healer”. Let him see that the skill and knowledge she had was valuable, and know it shouldn’t be wasted.

She grimaced. I had better be able to help this woman, or I won’t be letting him see much at all.

The house the man led them to was at the edge of the village. Their guide only paused once to ask a boy to fetch her father’s bag. Once in the house, he led them up the stairs to a bedroom, where a woman was dozing on the bed.

That the woman was ill was undeniable. She was so thin the skin of her shoulders, neck and face was stretched over her bones. Her mouth was open and as Tessia entered she quickly and self-consciously wiped away a line of drool.

Tessia moved to the side of the bed and smiled down at the woman.

“Hello. I’m Tessia,” she said. “My father was a healer and I was his assistant most of my life. What’s your name?”

“Paowa,” the man said. “She can’t talk easily.”

The woman’s eyes were wide with fear, but she managed a faint smile and nod in response.

“Let me have a look then,” Tessia said.

The woman opened her mouth. At once Tessia felt a shiver of sympathetic horror. A growth filled one side of her mouth.

“Ah,” Tessia said. “I’ve seen this before, though most often in men. It hurts when you eat, or even smell food, right?”

The woman nodded.

“Do you chew or smoke leaves?”

The woman looked at her husband.

“She used to chew dunda until this stopped her,” he said. “Her family were hunters a generation back, and they