The Rogue

It was a plain building, just a round tower twice as tall as the trees surrounding it. The surface was smooth and the windows small, reminding her of the Fort with its magically bonded stone face and tiny windows. Guards were posted around the exterior. One of them, standing beside the heavy wooden door, bowed as she approached, then opened the door for her.

She stepped into a large room lit by several small lamps. Two more guards and their captain rose and bowed. They had been sitting at a table with a young Warrior, who nodded respectfully to Sonea.

The captain stepped forward and bowed again.

“Black Magician Sonea. I am Captain Sotin,” he said.

“I’m here to see the prisoner,” she told him.

“Follow me.”

He led her up a winding staircase and stopped at a wooden door into which a small hatch had been recently cut. Opening the hatch, he gestured for her to look inside. She saw a bed and a desk, and a familiar reddish-skinned old woman sitting in a chair. Lorandra’s attention was on something in her hands.

“Black Magician Sonea is here to see you,” the captain announced, his voice loud in Sonea’s ear.

The woman looked up and stared at the hatch without expression. Her gaze dropped back to her still-moving hands.

“She doesn’t say much,” the captain said apologetically.

“She never has,” Sonea replied. “Unlock the door.”

He obeyed, taking a ring of keys from his belt and releasing the locks. Two locks, Sonea noted. She must really make them nervous. Sonea stepped into the room and heard the door close behind her. Lorandra looked up again, giving Sonea a hard stare before turning her attention back to the object in her hands. Looking closer, Sonea saw that it was some sort of fabric, which the woman was creating with thick thread and a short, bent piece of thick wire. The speed with which the makeshift hook moved through the edge of the fabric and formed looping knots suggested many years of practice.

“What are you doing?” Sonea asked.

Lorandra regarded Sonea with narrowed eyes. “It is called ‘binda’ and most of the women of my homeland know it.”

The fabric shifted in her hands, revealing that it was forming a tube. Surprised and encouraged by Lorandra’s willingness to speak, she considered how she could encourage the woman to continue.

“And what are you making?”

Lorandra looked down. “Something to keep me warm.”

Sonea nodded. Of course. We are not far off mid-winter so it’s only going to get colder. She can’t use magic to warm the air any more. There is no fireplace and the guards won’t trust her with a brazier. Yet the room wasn’t particularly cold. The warmth from the rooms below must go some way toward easing the chill.

“We usually use a stick with a hook carved into the end, but they think I’ll use it to kill myself,” Lorandra added.

Sonea couldn’t help smiling a little. “Would you?”

The woman shrugged and did not answer. She would not expect me to believe it, so why bother.

“Are they treating you well?” Sonea asked.

Lorandra shrugged again.

“Anything I can bring you?”

A disbelieving twitch of the mouth. And no answer again.

“Your son, perhaps?” Sonea asked, allowing a little scepticism into her voice. She was not surprised when Lorandra didn’t answer. Suppressing a sigh, she moved to the low bed, sat down and returned to the subject the woman seemed willing to talk about. If she could foster a habit of conversation, who knew where it would lead? “So what do the women of your homeland make with binda?”

Lorandra worked on in silence but something about the set of her mouth told Sonea she was considering answering.

“Hats. Gloves. Garments. Blankets. Baskets. Depends on the thread. Softer and finer for gloves. Strong and resilient for baskets.”

“Does it take long?”

“Depends what you’re making and how thick the thread is. Binda stretches, which is good for some things and not for others. If we want a firm cloth we weave.”

“What do you make the thread out of?”

Lorandra’s gaze became distant. “Reber wool mostly. There is a type of grass that can be softened and spun for baskets, but I haven’t seen it south of the desert, and a fine, soft thread spun from the nests of bird moths that only the rich can afford.”

“Moths? Here moths eat clothing, not make thread to weave clothing from.” Sonea smiled. “What is the cloth like?”

“Soft but strong. It’s usually polished to a shine, and more thread is used to stitch patterns and pictures onto it.” Lorandra frowned. “I’ve heard of women wearing skirts that took years to stitch.”

“You’ve not seen them yourself?”

Lorandra scowled. “Only bird cloth I’ve seen was worn by the kagar.”

Catching a hint of contempt and fear in the woman’s eyes and voice, Sonea considered who these “kagar” might be.

“Are they the people who kill anyone possessing magic? Who are magicians themselves?”

Lorandra shot her an unfriendly look. “Yes.”

“Why do they kill magicians?”

“Magic is evil.”

“But they use it themselves?”

“Their great sacrifice, in order to cleanse our society.” There was bitterness in her voice.

“Do you think magic is evil?”

Lorandra shrugged.

“Do you think, with your powers blocked, they’d let you live if you went back?”

The woman turned to regard Sonea.

“Planning to send me back?”

Sonea decided not to answer.

Lorandra sighed. “No. They aim to purge magic from our bloodlines. It wouldn’t matter that I’m too old to bear children. I might teach the evil to others.”

“It is incredible. They must have no enemies to defend themselves against. What of neighbouring lands? Do they forbid magic, too?”

The woman shook her head. “We have no neighbouring lands. The kagar defeated them all a hundred years ago.”

“All of them? How many were there?”

“Hundreds. Most of them small, but together they make your Allied Lands look tiny.” Lorandra smiled grimly. “You had best hope they never look across the desert, or Sachaka will be the least of your worries.”

Sonea felt her stomach clench, but then she remembered how Lorandra had not known that Kallen would be able to read her mind. Lorandra’s people don’t have black magic, and they are actively trying to purge the magic from their bloodlines. And yet they had conquered all their neighbours.

“If they did, and truly are a threat, you and Skellin would be in as much trouble as us,” Sonea pointed out. “It is a pity you didn’t join us when you arrived. We would have learned about a new land, and you would have had our protection. If Skellin—”