The Magician’s Apprentice

The man shrugged. “Hope so.”

“How many Sachakans?”

“Just over sixty.”

“And how many are magicians?”

The scout grimaced. “I only counted the magicians. There’s two or three times as many slaves, I reckon.”

Sabin frowned and looked at Lord Werrin, who shrugged.

“Perhaps they have dressed some of their slaves as magicians, to fool us,” Werrin suggested.

“Perhaps,” Sabin repeated. “We’ll see what the other scouts say. Thank you, Nim.”

The scout bowed, and moved away. All eyes looked towards the village ahead. Lonner was a typical small settlement, built on either side of a road with a river to one side. Just like Mandryn, Dakon thought, and felt a pang of grief and loss.

The Kyralian army was waiting off the road, concealed behind a farmhouse and a copse. Servants and the supply carts waited several hundred strides further back down the road, though some servants had volunteered to stay with the army to tend to the horses while the magicians were fighting.

Dakon was standing among the seven advisers and leaders of the army.

“We shouldn’t discount the possibility that more of Takado’s friends may have joined him,” Narvelan said.

Sabin nodded. “Though for his army to grow so large, he must be able to claim friendship with half the magicians in Sachaka. No, I am more worried that those who don’t consider themselves his allies or friends are joining him, because there are a lot more of those across the border.” He scowled and turned to stare at the village.

“What should we do?” Hakkin asked. “Will we still confront them?”

Sabin’s frown deepened. “We still outnumber them, though not by much.”

“We have Ardalen’s method. That may give us an advantage,” Dakon added.

“I suspect the benefits will be reduced in a direct confrontation,” Sabin said. “Our strength is the same, whether we fight in teams and direct our strikes through one, or fight individually.”

“But our defence will be more efficient. Those who run out of strength are protected by the shield of their team, and live to fight another day,” Hakkin pointed out.

“Can we avoid a direct confrontation, then?” Bolvin asked.

“Not from the look of it,” Werrin replied. He lifted an arm to point towards the village and everyone turned to look.

Streams of people were spilling out between the houses, slowly forming a wide line stretching out into the unfenced fields on either side of the road. Dakon felt a chill run down his spine. If these were all Sachakan magicians, their numbers had, indeed, swelled alarmingly.

“I gather their own scouts have reported our approach,” Werrin murmured.

“And they don’t think our greater numbers are a problem,” Narvelan added.

Sabin drew in a deep breath, then let it out. He looked at the other magicians. “Then, unless any of you disagree – and if you wish to debate it you had better make it quick – I say it is time we demonstrated the effect of both our greater numbers and our improved fighting skills.” As Sabin looked around at the other six magicians, they nodded. He smiled grimly. “It is decided.”

Turning, he faced the rest of the magicians, milling around in groups as they waited for the leaders to decide their next move. “Ready yourselves,” he called out. “The Sachakans are coming to us for a fight and we are going to give them one they’ll never forget. Gather into your fighting teams. Spread out to match their line. Shield yourselves and be ready. It is time we went to war!”

To Dakon’s surprise, the magicians responded with a cheer. He knew that some were too young or naive to realise the danger they faced, but most would not have been looking forward to this magical confrontation.

Yet we have been skulking about for too long, avoiding confrontations or not being able to find the enemy. There is a strange satisfaction in finally being able to engage the Sachakans. To test our strength against theirs – and vent our anger – whatever the outcome.

With the rest of the advisers, Dakon followed Sabin round the copse, past the farmhouse and onto the road. The rest of the army followed. Ahead, the Sachakan force was a wide, advancing wall. Glancing back and to either side, he saw that the Kyralian army had broken into teams of five or six magicians. These groups had moved out into the fields on either side to form a broken line as wide as the Sachakans’. Each group had nominated one member to strike and one to shield, and the others would add their power to either, or both, according to need.

For an endless time, the only sounds were of boots swishing and stomping through crops and on the road, the breathing of those close by and the faint whine of the wind. Dakon could feel his own heart racing.

He found himself worrying about Jayan and Tessia. Much debate had raged over whether the apprentices should stay with their masters, or remain behind. Traditionally, apprentices stayed close to their masters, both for their own protection and in case the magician needed more power. But if a magician took as much power as was safe from his apprentice just before battle, he didn’t need one with him. Unless, like a Sachakan, he killed to gain every last shred of power. As far as Dakon knew, the king hadn’t revoked the law against Kyralian masters killing their apprentices for magic. Since most apprentices were offspring of powerful families, it was unlikely he would. Would he, if things got desperate enough?

Lone apprentices whose strength had been tapped were vulnerable if parted from their masters. But in a direct confrontation, the enemy magician was too engaged in fighting to find and attack apprentices. The danger came most often from the enemy’s apprentices or slaves. Any attack would be physical if it came from slaves, who were unable to use their own magic.

But as a large group, the apprentices were less vulnerable to attack. A few had been left with their power undrained, so that they could defend the group. Dakon had volunteered Jayan for the task since, unlike most magicians, he had a second apprentice to take power from. Jayan was one of the older and more experienced apprentices, and had been nominated their temporary leader.

So I have nothing to worry about, Dakon told himself, and then continued to fret. Only when he realised he could make out the faces of the Sachakans did his attention return fully to the enemy. Then he heard Sabin mutter a curse.

“Is that...?” Werrin murmured.

“Yes,” Sabin replied. “Emperor Vochira’s most favoured and loyal magician, Ashaki Nomako.”

“That explains the sudden increase in numbers.”

A voice called out and the Sachakans stopped. Seeking the speaker, Dakon felt a jolt as he recognised Takado. He felt hatred well up inside him.

Takado. My former houseguest. A traveller supposedly come to satisfy his curiosity about a neighbouring land. All along he planned to return in force. We were right to be suspicious. Dakon scowled. We should have arranged for him to die in some accident.

“Halt!” Sabin called. Dakon stopped, as did the sound of movement around him.

A quietness followed. The air vibrated with expectation. How can such near silence carry so much tension? Dakon wondered. Quiet is supposed to be calming.

“Magicians of Kyralia,” Takado shouted. “You make a fine army. I am impressed.” He took a step forward, looking from left to right. “No doubt you are here to put a stop to our attacks. To seek retaliation for the deaths of your people. To send us back to our homeland.” He paused and smiled. “I tell you now, that you can only succeed in one of these aims. We are not going home. We came here to conquer you. To reclaim what was foolishly given up in the past. To make our lands one again. Which, though painful in the beginning, will ultimately benefit us all.” He smiled. “Naturally, we will not allow you to take out your revenge on us. But . . .” His eyes moved from left to right as he met the eyes of individual Kyralians. He paused briefly when he saw Dakon, and a faint smile twitched his lips. That fleeting expression of smugness sent anger burning through Dakon. “You can put an end to our attacks. All you need do is give over rule of your land peacefully and we will take it peacefully. Surrender and join us.”

“And who will rule us? You, or the emperor?”

Sabin’s voice cut through the air. Turning a little, Dakon saw the war master look from Takado to another Sachakan. Perhaps the man with narrowed eyes, Dakon guessed. What do the emperor’s magicians wear to indicate their status? A ring, isn’t it? There were many bands around the man’s fingers, as was the fashion among most Sachakans, and he was too far away to see if any bore some mark of the