The Magician’s Apprentice

Reaching the end of the storehouse, Refan rounded the corner and started along the next wall. He stopped where two huge, sturdy doors were bound together with a large iron lock. To Jayan’s amusement, he sniffed at the crack between them.

“Wine,” he said, then shrugged and turned his back, heading across open ground to another storehouse.

The same examination and conclusion were applied to two more storehouses. The fourth was so far from the main gathering of magicians that their voices were a distant hum and the group had to illuminate their way with small magical globe lights.

Refan’s sniff at the doors made him smile.

“Aha! Definitely bol.”

There was a different sort of smell in the air around the storehouse, but the lock was similarly large and robust. Refan glanced towards the gathered magicians in the furtive manner of someone about to do something mischievous, then took hold of the lock. Jayan felt alarm rising.

“What are you... you’re not going to break in, are you?” one of the younger apprentices asked anxiously.

“No.” Refan laughed. “I’m not going to break anything. Or take anything not already offered to us.”

He stared at the lock, then something inside clicked and the mechanism opened. Despite his reasoning, this is wrong, Jayan thought. I should put a stop to it. One of the doors swung outward and Refan slipped inside. Before Jayan could decide what to say, the other apprentices had followed.

A wordless exclamation of disappointment followed. He heard a clink, the murmur of voices, and the apprentices stepped back outside. Refan was holding a bottle.

“It’s not bol. It’s whitewater. For cleaning things. Smell.” He held it out to each of them, and they grimaced as they sniffed the open neck. Jayan recognised a smell he associated with servants and wooden furniture. Refan suddenly grinned. “Watch this.”

He glanced back at the magicians again, then strode round the back of the storehouse. Moving a hundred strides or so he flung the bottle on the ground. It smashed. As the others stopped beside Refan, he sent a tiny burst of firestrike toward the remains.

A wave of heat burst over them as flames shot up into the air. The fire died as quickly, leaving small flames spluttering where there were weeds in the hard, dry ground.

“That was fantastic!” one of the younger apprentices gasped. “Let’s do it again!”

“Wait.” Mikken was staring at the smouldering ground. “I have an idea.”

Everyone turned to look at him, but he remained silent, staring at the ground.

“Well?” someone asked.

Mikken shook his head. “Can you hear that?”

Surprised, they all stood very still and listened. A rhythmic beating, faint but clearly from some sort of four- legged animal, came to Jayan’s ears. More than one animal, perhaps. Whatever they were, they were coming closer. Turning towards the noise, he found himself staring towards the dark shapes of trees a few hundred strides away.

Slowly, out of the gloom, three horses appeared, carrying three riders. The distant light reflected back from exotic coats, knife handles and gleaming eyes.

“Sachakans!” Refan hissed.

“Run!” Mikken wailed.

“Stay together!” Jayan shouted, throwing up a shield and racing after them.

Then he cursed as the first strike nearly shattered his barrier. He strengthened it. How long can I hold against three higher magicians? Who’ve probably got the strength of thousands of source slaves. He winced as another strike beat against the shield. Or have they? If they’ve followed us, they probably didn’t have time to regain much power after the battle.

Refan was nearly at the storehouse, too far ahead for Jayan to be sure he was shielding him. He skidded to a halt before the door, grabbed it and hauled it open. Then he vanished inside with unnatural speed.

“Not in there!” Jayan gasped. “If they use firestrike . . .” But Refan had disappeared within and the others were racing after him. Jayan sighed and followed. In the darkness someone stumbled and there was the sound of glass breaking and the smell of whitewater. Then a globe light flared into existence. Jayan cast about, taking in the huge interior filled with racks of bottles, the apprentices panting and staring at each other as they finally realised how dangerous this place was for a fight – and then the whimpering figure on the floor.

“Refan?” Jayan moved to the boy’s side and knelt.

“Hurts,” Refan panted. “Back. Hurts. Can’t . . . can’t move my legs.”

Jayan cursed as he realised that Refan hadn’t thrown himself inside the storehouse, but had been knocked in by forcestrike.

The sound of hoofbeats came from outside the doors. They stopped and were replaced by footsteps. Jayan looked around, at the bottles, then towards the back of the interior. Trapped. They only need the tiniest spark of power to set this place burning. And it will take a lot more to protect us.

Protect us...or them? The glimmer of an idea set his heart racing with excitement.

“Quickly,” he hissed to the others. “Drag him to the back and wait – and do it gently. When I say “Now’, break through the wall.”

Refan yelled in pain as they began to move him. They let go as if he’d burned them. Jayan saw movement in the doorway.

“Pick him up and get him out!” he found himself roaring. Their eyes widened in shock and surprise. Grabbing Refan, ignoring his yells, they carried him away. Jayan followed, walking backwards, not taking his eyes from the three Sachakans entering the storehouse. He threw up a shield to protect himself and the apprentices behind him.

Two men and one woman, he noted. One is familiar. Surely... surely that’s not Takado. Surely he wouldn’t leave his army and risk sneaking up on us with only two others to support him?

The Sachakans stared at him. They smiled. They came closer, strolling as if they had all the time in the world. He could hear the apprentices retreating. Refan’s yells had turned to whimpers. Someone else was also whimpering. Or crying.

“We’re at the back,” Mikken said.

At the same time the Sachakans stopped. He saw their heads start to turn as they began to look at each other, to gain silent agreement that it was time to strike.

“Get out! Now!” Jayan yelled. At the same time he strengthened his shield and sent several firestrikes fanning out on either side.

White light filled the space before him. He felt scorching heat, then the ground hit his back. Something grabbed his collar and hauled him backwards. He found himself sliding across the ground, through a gap in the storehouse wall. The wall suddenly crumbled and heat enveloped him again, but not as ferociously.

Then he wasn’t sliding any more. Looking up, he saw Mikken grinning down at him, the apprentice’s chest heaving and face flushed with effort. Mikken released his collar.

“You’re heavy,” the young man told him. Then he grinned. “And I think it worked.”

Climbing to his feet, Jayan quickly took in the other apprentices standing beside a prone and silent Refan, then turned back to the storehouse. It was burning with a more natural fire now, the flames eating wood rather than whitewater.

Then he saw movement. Three figures running towards the trees. So they’re not dead. He didn’t feel as disappointed as he expected. I never really thought it would kill them, but they must have used a lot of power protecting themselves. He considered himself and felt a new kind of exhaustion on top of mere physical tiredness. As did I.

“Their horses will have run off,” Mikken said. He turned. “Here come the magicians. We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

Jayan turned to see the crowd hurrying towards them and nodded.

“Yes. Let’s not tell them why Refan was so keen to explore, shall we?”

“I won’t if you don’t. And I’ll make sure the others stay silent.”