The Rogue

them, that I wanted to see them for myself. I have seen nothing like them before.”

“Did you learn all you wanted to learn?”

He shrugged. “I would like to learn how to make them, of course, but I did not expect to learn that by looking at them. Evar assured me it was not possible, and if he had not I would not have gone there. Just as you respect my right to keep secure the valuable knowledge I am entrusted with, I respect yours.”

There. That should remind them of the potential for a trade between the Guild and Traitors.

Kalia’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned, but the others looked more thoughtful than sceptical. As he let his gaze move along the line of women, he noted the faintest smile curling Savara’s lips, but it vanished as he met her gaze.

Speaker Savara had been Tyvara’s mentor and was the unofficial leader of the faction that opposed Kalia’s. She had been charged with making sure he was “obedient and useful” as well.

“Why didn’t you inform anyone other than Evar of your intention to visit the caves?” she asked.

“I was not aware that I needed to.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Someone who acknowledges that the secret of making the stones is ours to keep should be smart enough to work out that we want to be consulted before any tours of the stone-makers’ cave are undertaken.”

He hung his head a little. “I apologise. I still find the more subtle manners of Sanctuary a little confusing. I will try harder to learn and adapt.”

She gave the faintest snort, but said nothing more, instead looking at the Director and shaking her head. The other Speakers also shook their heads, and whatever this indicated made the Director sigh faintly.

“Since you have not broken a law or rule, or disobeyed an order, you are not to be punished,” Riaya said. “We are partly to blame for not anticipating this situation, but we can prevent it occurring again. Lorkin,” she paused and fixed him with an unwavering stare, “you are ordered to keep away from the stone-making caves, unless taken there by a Speaker or her representative. Is that clear?”

He gave her a typical shallow Kyralian bow. “Perfectly.”

She nodded. “You may go.”

He walked away, fighting the urge to smile, knowing that anyone who saw it might interpret it as proof he had been up to something – or at least did not take this little slap on the wrist seriously. Then Evar entered the room, his thin face taut with worry, and the urge to smile vanished.

As they passed, Lorkin nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring way. The young magician grimaced, but his eyes seemed to warm a little at Lorkin’s gesture. Stepping into the corridor, Lorkin felt a pang of guilt at getting his friend into trouble.

Evar knew what he was getting into, he reminded himself. It was mostly his idea, and I did try to talk him out of it. We both knew that if we were discovered, though we would break no laws, Kalia would find a way to punish us anyway.

He suspected the young magician had his own reasons for arranging something that would irk the leaders of Sanctuary. There had definitely been some sort of vengeance or spite involved. Whenever Lorkin had tried to find out what it was, Evar had muttered things about the Traitors not being as fair as they claimed to be.

Whatever the reason, Lorkin hoped the young man had gained whatever satisfaction he’d been seeking, and that he wouldn’t come to regret it.

As the carriage pulled to a gentle stop before the Sachakan king’s palace, Dannyl drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. A slave opened the door of the vehicle and stepped aside. Climbing out, Dannyl paused to smooth his robes and look up at the building.

A wide central archway lay ahead of him. From either side, white walls rippled outwards in wide curves. Above them, only narrow bands of gold were visible of the shallow domes that topped the building.

Dannyl straightened his back, fixed his eyes on the shadowed corridor within the archway, and strode inside. He passed immobile guards, one of the few classes of free servants in Sachaka. It was better to have willing, loyal men protecting you than resentful, easily cowed slaves, Dannyl mused. Guards who were obliged to throw themselves to the ground every time a free man or woman walked by weren’t going to be much good at stopping invaders.

As in the typical Sachakan home, the entry corridor was straight and took visitors to a large room designed for greeting guests. Only this corridor was wide enough for six men to walk abreast. According to Ashaki Achati, the walls were hollow and contained concealed holes, so that attackers could shoot arrows and darts at unwelcome visitors. Dannyl could see no obvious holes and hatches, but he suspected the alcoves that were spaced along the corridor, each containing a beautifully crafted pot, could be reached from within, their inner surface broken if needed. Picturing such a scenario, he wondered if the warriors within the walls would carefully put the precious vessels aside, or knock them out of the way.

The other difference between a humble Sachakan mansion and the palace was that the corridor ended at a very large room. Dannyl entered the great hall, feeling his skin prickle in the cold air. Walls, floor and the many columns that supported the ceiling were polished white stone, as was the throne.

Which was empty.

Dannyl slowed as he approached the stone chair, trying not to look dismayed or worried by the absence of the monarch who had summoned him. As always, there were a few Sachakan men in the room: a group of three to the left and a lone man to the right. All wore elaborately decorated short jackets over plain shirts and trousers, the traditional formal garb of Sachakan men. All were watching Dannyl.

Into the silence and stillness came slow, firm footsteps. All attention shifted to a doorway to the right. The four Sachakans bowed deeply as King Amakira strode past them. Dannyl dropped to one knee – the Kyralian obeisance appropriate to a king.

“Rise, Guild Ambassador Dannyl,” he said.

Dannyl stood. “Greetings, King Amakira. It is an honour to be summoned to the palace again.”

The old king’s gaze was sharp, his expression thoughtful and amused as if he were considering something.

“Come with me, Ambassador Dannyl. There is something I wish to discuss with you and it would be better explored in more comfortable surrounds.”

The king turned and strode back toward the side entrance. Dannyl followed, keeping a few steps back and to the side of the monarch, since he had not been invited to walk beside him. They moved into a corridor, crossed it and went through a door held open by a guard into a smaller room. The furniture and decorations were, once again, more elaborate versions of typical Sachakan ones. Stools were larger and highly decorated. Cupboards were so big they could only have been assembled in the room, since the doors, though large enough for two people to pass through side by side, were too small to allow them through. Cushions on the floor were encrusted with so many gemstones that Dannyl doubted they were comfortable, suspecting that sitting on them might even cause injury to clothing or skin.

“This is the audience room,” Amakira told him. He sat down on a stool and indicated another. “Sit.”

“It is magnificent, your majesty.” Dannyl complied, glancing around at the hangings and precious objects in wall alcoves and cupboards. “Such fine examples of Sachakan skill and artistry.”

“So your friend, the Elyne Ambassador, said. He was particularly taken with the glassware.”

Surprise was followed by annoyance. How had Tayend managed to gain an audience with the king within a few days of arriving? I suppose he is the first non-Guild Ambassador to take residence in Sachaka, whereas I was just another Guild Ambassador. Dannyl made himself nod and hoped his efforts at hiding his jealousy were effective. “Ambassador Tayend has a great liking for brightly coloured, elaborate things.”

“How is he? Settling in well?”

Dannyl shrugged. “It is too early to tell, and we have been too busy to exchange much more than greetings.”

The king nodded. “Of course. I found him witty and insightful. I’m sure a man of his charm and enthusiasm