“Might I make a different suggestion?” Dakon said.
Jayan looked at his master in surprise, and not a little disappointment. He had been hoping for support, not an alternative.
“I’m sure we all acknowledge how unfortunate it is that we must neglect the training we are obliged to give our apprentices in exchange for strength,” Dakon said.
“Strength they should not be using up needlessly,” Ardalen injected.
“No,” Dakon agreed. “They should not need to protect themselves unless in an unusual or desperate situation. In that case, it would be better to have a weakened apprentice than a dead one, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ardalen nodded and shrugged in agreement.
“Apprentices do not teach apprentices, however,” Dakon continued. “It has been a rule for as long as we remember. We do not have time to spare in instruction. Or do we? How much time does it take for seven magicians to teach the same lesson to seven apprentices? The same time as it would take for one magician to teach the lesson to seven apprentices? I think not.” He smiled. “If we are in agreement on what is taught, is there any harm in one of us teaching a group of apprentices, perhaps sharing the responsibility by teaching in turn, a different magician each time, as the opportunity comes?”
For a while none of the magicians spoke. All looked thoughtful, their gazes moving about the circle and finally settling on Werrin.
“That is a suggestion we may have to think on,” he began.
“No,” Hakkin interrupted. “I think we can decide on this now. So long as these lessons do not take time or power from more immediate and important matters, and we are in agreement over their contents, I am in support of them. I think it will raise our spirits. Help us to feel we are achieving something, at least.”
“Very well.” Werrin looked around the magicians. “Does anyone disagree?”
None of the magicians responded. Jayan felt as if his heart was singing some kind of victory song. It wasn’t what he had been hoping for. It was better, since he had suspected that, as the most experienced apprentice, he’d have been doing most of the teaching if the magicians had agreed to his suggestion.
“Then we shall begin group lessons,” Werrin decided. “Before we discuss the contents of these lessons, and agree on a roster of teachers, let’s attend to the matter of food. I believe the meal is ready.”
Following Werrin’s gaze, Jayan saw that some of the servants were stirring the contents of three large pots, which were sitting on a flat rock that one of the magicians had heated with magic to avoid the smoke of a cookfire.
But he doubted anybody would be complaining. And he knew he’d be too hungry to care anyway.
As Hanara swung the pile of dead branches and twigs off his back he felt the chill air of the night turn his sweat ice-cold. He dropped them beside the fire. Takado was seated before the flames and was staring into them, his expression thoughtful but with hints of the suppressed annoyance that only Hanara knew well enough to recognise.
Jochara squatted beside Takado, ready to leap up and do his master’s bidding. It had taken the new source slave a long time, in Hanara’s opinion, to learn not to interrupt Takado when in one of these moods. The burn across his cheek must hurt. Hanara felt a faint pity, but no great sympathy. Having seen how some of Takado’s allies treated their slaves, he knew he and Jochara were lucky.
He resisted snorting aloud at himself. The freedom he’d experienced had never been true freedom. He’d known from the start that Takado would return for him. If his freedom had been real, it would not have been temporary. It had been like a small reward. Maybe just a concession – time to recuperate.
The rest of the magicians and their slaves were busy setting up their tents and bringing out food. Since Takado did not indicate otherwise, Hanara returned to the forest. It was getting dark and finding firewood was growing more difficult. At one point something dark slithered across his hand. He dropped the branch he’d picked up, heart pounding, then continued to gather wood while trying to ignore the memory of multiple tiny legs running over his skin.
The fire was a luxury. Takado had chosen to camp in a twisting valley that hid the light of the fire from all but those about to stumble upon it. This far up in the mountains it was still chilly at night. The magicians could keep themselves warm with magic, but they preferred to save their strength.
Just as he had tied the first bundle of sticks together and hoisted it onto his shoulders he heard a voice. Looking further down the valley, he saw floating globes of light appear and several shadows approaching. The glimpses he caught through the trees were fleeting, but there was something familiar about the way these people walked. He abandoned his bundle of sticks and bolted back to the camp.
Takado looked up as Hanara hurried to his side. One eyebrow rose.
“Dovaka,” Hanara panted.
A fleeting scowl darkened Takado’s face, then his expression became calm again. He nodded to the ground.
Hanara huddled down beside Jochara and waited.
Takado was angry. Very angry.
The other magicians in his group had been cautiously enthusiastic, phrasing their words carefully. One fewer Kyralian, they said, meant one more success to attract supporters to Takado. But mostly they kept their opinions to themselves. Takado had said little, and nothing to indicate his approval or disapproval.
After the camp was established and slaves were sent to the end of the line of communication so that the other group of magicians could find it, they had settled down to wait. Eventually the second group arrived, minus two members, Dovaka and Nagana. None knew anything about the confrontation.
Calls of greeting preceded Dovaka’s arrival, then the man and his friend appeared and slaves of his group followed him into the clearing. Takado rose.
“I hear you have had a busy day,” he said.
Dovaka grinned. “Yes. One of those weak white barbarians came sniffing, all on his own.”
“He found you?” Takado’s eyebrows rose.
A line deepened above Dovaka’s brows at the suggestion he’d failed to remain hidden. “No. He came snooping so we taught him better manners.”
“A lesson I’m sure he’ll have plenty of opportunities to put into practice in future.” Takado finished with a smile.
Dovaka hesitated, then grinned. “No chance at all.”
A silence followed. Hanara noted that the rest of the magicians were watching Takado closely.
Takado’s smile broadened. “Then congratulations on being the first of us to kill a Kyralian magician. You may go down in the records for that. Here.” He glanced down at Jochara. “Let’s sit and celebrate your achievement.” The slave dashed away to the packs and brought back a bottle of spirits, while the magicians all sat down round the fire. As Takado offered Dovaka the first drink his smile faded. “I hope you don’t go down as the man who spoiled our chances of conquering Kyralia.”
Dovaka shrugged. “By killing one Kyralian?”
“Which we all know will have consequences,” Takado replied. “They will have been restraining themselves for the same reasons we have been. Now that we’ve killed one of them they’ll be free to kill us. Their tactics will change. So must ours. Don’t tell me you didn’t realise this? It was why I asked that no Kyralian magician be killed until we were ready.”
“We’re ready,” Dovaka scoffed. “We have the numbers and strength to take over ten villages. You would wait until all of Sachaka was roaming the mountains in hiding.”
“Ten villages.” Takado chuckled. He didn’t say anything more. The bottle had come around the circle, so he
