The Magician’s Apprentice

done anything to prevent it. And the knowledge, which brought no comfort, that he, Jayan and Tessia would have been tortured and killed along with everybody else if they hadn’t been absent.

None of the four Sachakans who had taken possession of Tecurren matched Takado’s description, however. Their leader was the most vicious of all, tormenting his victims after taking their power and then dismembering them.

Sounds familiar, Dakon thought darkly, though we can’t assume there is only one Sachakan with that habit.

The young women, according to the escapees, had been taken away together into the largest house, owned by the now deceased town master. The rest of the villagers still alive had been locked up in a small hall used for social gatherings, probably in order to be drained of power each day. Scouts sent ahead to investigate had seen glimpses of figures in the main house, but couldn’t get close enough to confirm if the hall was occupied. But they did report no sign of villagers elsewhere, though the Sachakans’ slaves were keeping watch or raiding houses for food or drink.

Werrin looked from left to right, nodding to indicate that the magicians should take up their positions. They split into two groups. Separating into smaller, weaker forces had been a risk, but not a great one. They weren’t going to be out of sight of each other for long, and never out of earshot.

“We are eight and they are four,” Werrin had said the previous night, in summing up the situation. “The numbers are in our favour. We do not know their strength, however, so we must be ready to retreat at any moment.”

They had anticipated three responses from the Sachakans: that they might flee in the face of a larger enemy, that they would scatter and try to ambush the rescuers, or that they might stand together and confront the Kyralians directly. The idea of splitting into two groups had first been suggested to prevent the first possibility. Nobody wanted the Sachakans to escape.

I fear nobody wants them to live, either.

Dakon wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But he had to agree with Werrin. Until the pass was in Kyralian control again, any Sachakan they caught would have to be kept prisoner, which would be dangerous and take attention and resources they couldn’t spare.

As Narvelan led his group out of the forest and angled towards the town, Dakon realised his heart was racing. Yet he wasn’t as frightened as he expected. Instead he felt a cautious eagerness. We’ve been chasing them too long. It is good to be able to take action at last. But I hope we don’t make mistakes out of pent-up frustration.

They neared the first house. No sign of life. Not even a patrol of slaves. All was quiet. Moving into the shadows between two houses, Dakon thought he heard the faintest sound of screaming, but it was hard to be sure. Probably my imagination.

A man stepped around the end of the building.

For a moment everyone stood frozen. The stranger was wearing nothing but a pair of dirty trousers, Dakon saw. A slave.

Then the man gasped and buckled in the middle, the force that struck him tossing him back out into the main road. Dakon looked at Narvelan and the other magicians. All but Bolvin were doing the same. The tall magician shrugged. “He surprised me.”

A shout came from further down the road.

“Have they seen Werrin’s group?” Narvelan murmured, peering round the corner of the house. “I think they have. Now we’ll see if they flee or fight.”

Magicians and apprentices waited. More shouts came from within the village. The distant sound of screaming stopped and Dakon’s stomach turned over. He hadn’t been imagining it.

Then a booming sound rang out and Dakon’s heart skipped a beat.

“The signal,” Tarrakin breathed. “They’re coming out together to confront us.”

Then another boom, doubled to indicate ambush, came. “Are all four of them there?” Dakon asked Narvelan, who was still peering around the corner.

“No. Just three. One could be doing what we’re doing, hoping to sneak up and surprise our opponents.”

Somehow calling the Sachakans “opponents’, as if they were mere game pieces, sounded foolish and inappropriate. Narvelan backed away from the corner.

“Werrin’s ready to come out. We need to get behind the main three. But we’ll have to keep a look out for the missing fourth one.”

A lot of skulking and dashing between buildings followed until they were behind the line of Sachakan magicians advancing down the street.

“Come out and face us, cowards!” one of the Sachakans called. “We know you’re here.”

Dakon felt his heart jump as a strike shot out from behind a building and stopped abruptly an arm’s length from the lead Sachakan. The man’s shield flashed, revealing that it encompassed only him.

“Shielding only themselves,” Narvelan muttered.

“Werrin’s out!” Tarrakin exclaimed.

Sure enough, the other group of Kyralians had emerged. They spread out across the road, as if barring the way, and began advancing, magicians in front and apprentices following close behind. The Sachakans threw strikes, but the Kyralians’ shields held. The air sizzled as both sides exchanged bolts of power.

A confrontation like this ought to be a simple matter of one side running out of power faster than the other, Dakon knew. It only occurred when both sides were confident of their superior strength, or underestimated that of the enemy. But usually there was some other trickery at work. Like Narvelan’s group waiting for the right moment. Or some new use of magic.

“They look distracted enough,” Narvelan said, glancing back at them. “It’s time.”

As planned, Dakon and the other magicians crowded behind Narvelan and placed their hands on his shoulders. Dakon readied himself to draw power and send it out at Narvelan’s instruction.

The sound of footsteps came from somewhere close by. Dakon heard Tessia’s indrawn breath and Jayan’s curse. He looked round to see a man standing in the gap between the houses, staring at them in surprise. A Sachakan. Who was not dressed like a slave.

“Now!” Narvelan snapped.

Not knowing if Narvelan had registered the Sachakan, Dakon drew power and sent it through his arm anyway. Heat rushed past his face towards the Sachakan, and he flinched. The Sachakan’s shield held for a moment, then crumpled inward. His face, blackening, stretched as he tried to scream, but the heat of firestrike must have burned away his voice instantly.

As the man fell to the ground Narvelan muttered a wordless exclamation. “I didn’t think it would work that well!”

“For a moment I was worried you hadn’t seen him,” Jayan muttered.

“Only at the last moment. I figured we’d better deal with him first.” Narvelan looked out at the battle still raging in the street. “Well then. Time to show the rest of them what we can do now.”

As they all crowded close again, Dakon felt a tiny twinge of anxiety. I can’t help wondering how much power I’m using. How long will what I’ve gathered last? How long will it take to replace it? I guess that’s the great uncertainty of magical warfare. He felt his resolve harden. But I’d rather end up as depleted as an apprentice than risk letting these bastards continue harming Kyralians.

“Now!” Narvelan said again. Power flowed and the faintest shimmer in the air betrayed the path of his strike. It pounded the shield of the closest Sachakan. The man gave a yelp and staggered forward, then froze with his arms raised and face taut with effort.

“More!” Narvelan cried. Dakon closed his eyes and increased the flow of magic from himself to his friend.

He heard a shout of anger from the road, then a triumphant laugh from Bolvin. “That did it!”

“Now the last one,” Narvelan muttered.

Last one? Dakon opened his eyes and looked out. Two Sachakans lay still, a curl of smoke rising from one, in the road. The leader now faced Narvelan, his face twisted in fury – or is that fear? – and began striding towards their hiding place.

“Let’s show ourselves,” Tarrakin said.

“Tempting,” Narvelan said. “But we don’t want anybody seeing us using Ardalen’s method unless we have to.