The Rogue

back quickly. The fact that Kalia has that one little advantage over us is the only thing keeping her faction happy.”

“Nobody has to know.”

She chuckled. “Zarala said you might offer this.”

“Really?” He felt strangely affronted. Was he that predictable?

“Yes. She told me to refuse.” Picking up the tow ropes of the sledges, Tyvara handed one to him. “Let’s go.”

They moved to the entrance of the cave and stepped out into a landscape coated with fresh, undisturbed snow. Bright morning light made everything dazzlingly white. The walls of the valley were steep and close, but widened as they reached eastwards. He could make out the line of the path they’d taken to descend into the valley, and another narrow one continuing down to the valley floor and a frozen river.

They turned to each other. They stared at each other. Neither spoke.

Then a distant rumble drew both to look at the sky. They were too deep in the valley to see the coming weather. Tyvara cursed under her breath.

“I’ll go first, so that I don’t toss snow down onto you,” she said. “Try to get to the hunter’s shack before the next storm.”

He nodded. She strode away, pushing snow off the path with magic. He watched her go, feeling that every step she took stretched some invisible bond between them. She did not look back, and he could not decide if he was disappointed or relieved.

When she finally reached the top of the wall, she did stop. Looking down, she lifted an arm and waved. It was less a gesture of farewell as one of impatience. His imagination conjured her voice and expression. “What are you waiting for? Get going!” He chuckled and set off into the valley, like her shoving snow off the path with magic as he went. When he reached the bottom he looked up.

She was gone. He felt strangely empty.

Then his eyes were drawn to the wall of ice that had covered one side of the cave they’d spent the last day and night in, and he gasped. It was a curtain of water, frozen in place.

A waterfall, he thought. It’s beautiful.

He wished Tyvara had been with him to see it. But then, she had probably travelled this path before, and seen it already. Still, it would have been nice to share such a sight with her.

He sighed. There was no point wishing things were otherwise, and he must put all romantic notions aside and concentrate on getting back to Kyralia. There would be rough and dangerous times ahead, and important meetings and negotiations to arrange if all went well.

He turned away and hauled his sledge toward home.

The journey down the path into the canyon seemed far more precarious than the journey up. It was much harder to ignore the dizzying drop to one side, and instead of facing into the wall when making one of the sharp turns, travellers were forced to face outward over the valley.

Achati was even more silent and tight-lipped than before. Tayend was uncharacteristically quiet. Nobody wanted to turn in their saddle to look at others in case the movement unbalanced the horses and they swayed closer to the edge.

This left Dannyl with many hours to think about what he had learned from the Duna.

It had been late when he’d rejoined Achati and Tayend the previous night, having spent many hours listening to and writing down the Keeper’s legends and stories. He’d told them what he’d learned of storestones, and shared his relief that they were so difficult and dangerous to make and that stones capable of holding so much power were very rare.

He hadn’t mentioned that the Traitors had stones that could block a mind-read and present a mind-reader with the thoughts he might expect. Concealing such information from Achati gave him twinges of guilt, but he knew he’d feel much worse if he passed it on and brought about the slaughter of thousands of slaves and rebels. Though Dannyl resented the Traitors for taking Lorkin away, they hadn’t killed the young man and certainly didn’t deserve to be hunted down and murdered for it.

There were plenty of strategic reasons for protecting the knowledge of how to make magical stones, too. If the Ashaki took such secrets from the Traitors, Kyralia’s former enemy would be even stronger, and less inclined to change its ways in order to join the Allied Lands. The Duna had trusted him with the information in the hope that they could form friendly links with the latter. Perhaps they would exchange stone-making knowledge in return for something.

What could we offer in return? he wondered. Protection? With the Ashaki between Duna and Kyralia, and most Guild magicians not using black magic, how could the Allied Lands ever help the Duna?

They couldn’t. Kyralia didn’t have any caves full of stones, as far as he knew, so stone-making knowledge would be equally useless to the Guild. There might be caves in Elyne, or other Allied lands, though. The Cavern of Ultimate Punishment might be such a cave. But he had his doubts about that. It had looked too symmetrical to be natural. He suspected it had been built, or carved out of the rock, and the crystals attached to the walls later.

The Duna knew that they could not gain effective protection from the Allied Lands. They wanted trade. They would supply the Guild with magical stones – once their own caves recovered from the Traitors’ attack. It was up to the Guild to find something the Duna might want in exchange.

The Keeper had told him how the Traitors had always worked to destroy or steal any magical stones the Ashaki had taken from the tribes, and warned him that the Traitors would try to stop any trade with Kyralia. The Duna did not normally allow their own people to take magical stones out of their secret hiding places. A way would have to be found to transport them without raising Traitor or Sachakan suspicions.

Such precautions taken by both Duna and Traitors explained why the Ashaki had all but forgotten that such things existed. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few have a secret stash hidden away in their estates. Maybe they pass down the knowledge of how to use them to their heirs, maybe they’ve forgotten that they own anything more than pretty jewellery.

After all, if the Guild could forget that it had ever used black magic, it was possible the Ashaki had forgotten they had ever stolen magical gemstones from the Duna.

Dannyl hoped they had, otherwise getting the stones from Duna to Kyralia without the Ashaki finding out could be even more difficult. All it would take was one shipment to be discovered to put him in a diplomatically awkward and dangerous position. Achati’s anger would be the least of Dannyl’s worries.

He hadn’t had a chance to contact Administrator Osen yet. He’d been tempted to try back at the tent, but had been worried that Achati would think he was in a greater hurry to report to his superiors than he ought to be, when he’d essentially learned that storestones weren’t a threat and the rest of the information related only to his research.

What about now? he asked himself. He had to admit, he did not like the thought of transferring his attention elsewhere when a deadly precipice was a mere few steps away. The guide had assured them that the horses did not need directing. They knew the path and were as keen to avoid falling off it as their riders were. I’ll just have to trust mine won’t sense my mind is elsewhere and pitch me off for the fun of it. While the horses had so far only displayed a sturdy, placid temperament, he’d encountered enough contrary animals in his life to suspect that the species, as a whole, had a mischievous sense of humour and was inclined to play tricks the moment a rider’s attention strayed.

Pushing aside reluctance, he reached into his robes for Osen’s ring, slipped it on a finger and closed his eyes.

—Osen?

—Dannyl!

—Are you free to talk? I have some information to pass on.

—We are waiting for a Hearing to begin, but I have a little time to fill. I may have to end the conversation abruptly, however.

—I will be as concise as I can. Dannyl described his meeting with the tribesmen