The Magician’s Apprentice

let it out slowly. He’s a good-looking man. So long as he doesn’t have any nasty habits in the bedroom it shouldn’t be an unpleasant night. It might even be enjoyable. After all, I did fancy him the first time I met him... Hearing footsteps behind, she knew Vora was following. Relief was followed by a nagging worry. I hope she isn’t supposed to stay and watch!

At the end of the corridor they entered a large white room. Like the main room, its few pieces of furniture were graceful and well made. Another blue rug covered the floor. Small, plain squares of cloth hung on the walls. She made herself ignore the bed and turn to him.

“This furniture is all from your workers?”

He nodded. “A friend of mine draws the shapes, and my slaves make it. He has a good eye.”

“He has,” she replied. “It’s beautiful.”

He was still holding her hand. She was too aware of it, and the warmth of his touch. I’ve hardly touched anyone since I got here. Everyone’s so touchy-touchy in Elyne, but Sachakans act as though touching is an affront...

“I’m afraid I must leave you here,” Kachiro said. “I have urgent business in the city to attend to. I will return tomorrow, however. My slaves will attend to you, and your slave will be given a room of her own close by so she can respond quickly to your needs.”

He’s leaving? Stara felt a stab of disappointment, then amusement. Was I looking forward to this after all? Did I give him the impression I was too nervous? All she managed was a slightly puzzled. “Ah. Yes. Look forward to it.”

He let go of her hand, smiled again, then turned and left.

She watched him walk down the corridor, then when he had turned out of sight she moved to the bed, sat on the edge of it, and looked at Vora.

“So. My father’s neighbour. The one he’s supposed to dislike.”

The slave shrugged. “It would not make sense for him to marry you to an enemy, mistress, and he would not offer a daughter with magic to an ally because it might be taken as an insult and endanger an agreement.”

“So he chose someone he has no links to.”

“Yes. And though he dislikes Kachiro, you did say you thought him decent.”

Stara nodded. It almost made her father sound as if he wasn’t the monster she thought he was. No. He read my mind. That still makes him a monster.

“Why do you think he left?”

“Ashaki Kachiro?” Vora frowned. “He probably does have pressing business to attend to. I can’t imagine any man walking away from your bed willingly. A lesser man would have made it quick. Perhaps he doesn’t want to rush you.”

“We spent the whole day eating and talking. Is that part of the tradition?”

Vora smiled. “No. None of it was.”

Stara sighed. “Ah, well, at least Father let me keep you.”

At that, Vora’s brow creased into a frown. “Yes,” she said, but she did not sound happy.

“Oh.” Stara grimaced and tried to smother a pang of hurt. “I’m sorry, Vora. I didn’t realise you wanted to stay behind.”

The woman looked up at Stara and gave a wry smile. “I am delighted to remain your slave, mistress, but I am worried about Master Ikaro and Mistress Nachira. I can’t do anything to help them here.”

Stara felt her heart skip a beat. “Are they still in danger?”

Vora grimaced. “We can never be certain.”

“Do you think Father worked out what you were doing? That he sold you to Kachiro so we were both out of the way?”

“It’s possible.”

Stara sighed again, then lay back on the bed. “Then I had better hurry up and have a baby.” Staring up at the ceiling, she wondered how long it would take. If Kachiro running off to take care of business would be a common occurrence. If she would grow to like the confined life of a wife and mother.

“Come on then, mistress,” Vora said. “Stand up and I’ll help you get out of that gown.”

The streets of Calia were abuzz with activity. Dakon strode down the main road looking for Tessia, who had gone in search of cures and their ingredients several hours ago. Seeing a shop selling herbs and spice, he turned and took a step towards it.

And felt a stone slip through the hole in his shoe.

He muttered a curse and kept walking, but the movement rolled the stone under his heel and at the next step he felt it gouge into his sole. Shaking the stone to the front of his shoe, he walked back to the side of the road and into the shadow of a gap between two buildings.

I should get these resoled, he told himself. But as he grasped the shoe to take it off he took in the frayed stitching, the tears and the worn-out soles. No, I’m going to have to get new ones.

He had put off replacing his shoes for as long as possible, despite knowing it made him look shabby. The other magicians believed they had to look dignified and well groomed in order to persuade ordinary Kyralians to obey them. But Dakon did not like taking from the very people who were suffering most in this war.

We turn up, tell them to pack up their belongings and leave, and then say, “By the way, you’ll have to do without your shoes and your best coat.”

As the shoe slipped off he heard women’s voices in the house beside him, through an open window.

“. . . same thing happened there. First the people come from the last village that was attacked, running away from the Sachakans. Then the magicians turn up and tell us to leave.”

“I can’t see why we should leave until we have to. My ukkas will die if nobody waters and feeds them. What if the Sachakans never come here? It would have been a waste. A complete waste.”

“I don’t know, Ti. The things I’ve heard about those Sachakans. It’s said they eat the babies of their slaves. Breed them for it. Fatten them up, then whack them in the oven alive.”

Dakon froze in the middle of shaking out the stone.

“Oh! That’s horrible!” the second woman exclaimed.

“And since they can’t take babies to war with them, they’ve been eating Kyralian babies instead.”

“No!”

As Dakon shook his shoe again, the stone rolled out onto the ground. Where did those women hear that? he wondered as he put his shoe back on. Surely they don’t believe it. Nothing I’ve ever been told or read mentioned such habits.

More likely it was a rumour started either in revenge or to ensure nobody considered turning traitor. Or perhaps to persuade those reluctant to leave their homes to comply with the order to leave.

But what will the consequences be, when all this is over? Will people keep believing it? If we lose it will do nothing but make occupation and a return to slavery more terrifying. But if we win...it will be just another reason to hate the Sachakans. How far that hate takes us I can’t guess. It’s hard enough imagining us defeating the Sachakans, a far older and more sophisticated people and our former rulers, in the first place.

He started across the road again only to find a long line of riders and carts blocking his way. Looking to the front of the line, he saw the backs of several well-dressed men. The people passing him were servants, he guessed, and the carts contained much-needed supplies.

More magicians for our army, Dakon thought. I hope there are new shoes in those carts.

“Oh, good,” a familiar voice said at his shoulder. “I hope they brought a healer or two, or at least some cures and clean bandages.”

Dakon turned to Tessia. “There you are! Did you find what you were looking for?”

Her nose wrinkled. “More or less. The town healer has upped his prices so much he ought to be jailed for it. I had to visit a crazy widow on the edge of town. She puts all sorts of ridiculous things in her cures that haven’t any provable benefit, so I bought ingredients instead.” She lifted a basket full of vegetation, both fresh and dried, under which he could see jars and wrapped objects. “I’ll be up all night mixing my own.”

The smell of the plants was strong and not particularly pleasant. As the last of the servants and carts passed Dakon gestured for her to follow, and started after them.