Traitors. He’d refused to answer questions about even the most trivial details of Traitor life, saying that he dare not say anything until he had permission to from Ambassador Dannyl. Fortunately, their continuing attempts to worm something out of him were in a spirit of trying their luck. His silence on the subject was a challenge to them, but they did not want to risk the censure of those higher up in the Sachakan hierarchy – especially not the king.
The three men were determined to take Lorkin back to Arvice as quickly as possible. Lorkin hoped their motive was a desire to be credited with his rescue and safe return, rather than an expectation that the king would be eager to get hold of him and extract information. Master Akami had ordered the slaves to drive the carriage as fast as could be managed without ruining the horses, stopping off to change to fresh ones at estates along the way. The slaves took it in turns to drive, those who were resting binding themselves to the exterior seat at the back of the carriage so that they didn’t fall off while they dozed or slept.
It had grown unpleasantly fragrant in the cabin, not helped by the pungent odour of the hunter’s clothes Lorkin was wearing. They’d insisted he ditch the cape, but when they’d offered him typical Sachakan garb he’d declined, saying it was more appropriate that the next change of clothes he made was into Guild robes.
Looking out of the carriage window, he saw that everywhere was bathed in a pale light. It illuminated walls on either side of the road, and that could only mean one thing.
It seemed incredible, considering how long it had taken him to get from the city to the mountains, but he and Tyvara had been on foot, not in carriages travelling at their fastest, with a change of horses whenever they tired.
“We’re back,” a voice said. Lorkin looked up to see that Master Akami was awake, stretching his arms and legs, and yawning simultaneously. The young Sachakan smiled at Lorkin, then tapped on the roof. “To the Palace,” he said.
Lorkin felt a chill run down his spine.
“Straight to the Palace?” he asked.
Akami nodded. “We should get you delivered as soon as possible.”
“But … I need to go the Guild House first. It would be better if I had a bath and changed into robes before I presented myself to the king.” Lorkin grimaced. “It’s early, and if I were the king I wouldn’t want to be woken up only to be greeted by a filthy Kyralian magician.”
Akami frowned as he considered this.
“He’s right.”
Lorkin turned to see that Master Chatiko was awake, rubbing at his eyes. “The Palace will need to be told Lord Lorkin has returned, but they don’t need him hanging about waiting for the king to emerge.” Chatiko yawned. “And it’s likely to be a waste of everyone’s time, since Lord Lorkin is probably obliged to consult with the Ambassador before speaking to the king.”
Akami looked thoughtful. He nudged Master Voriko with a foot, and the young Sachakan roused himself reluctantly.
“What do you think, Vori? Take Lorkin to the Palace or the Guild House?”
Voriko had to be asked three times before he was awake enough to understand. He looked from Lorkin back to Akami, his eyebrows raised in an expression that suggested his friend was an idiot.
“Take him to the Guild House, of course. They won’t even let him in the Palace, in that state. They mightn’t even recognise him.”
Akami shrugged, then nodded. He tapped on the roof again. “Take us to the Guild House.”
As the carriage turned, Lorkin caught a glimpse of the crossroad they had been heading toward. The trees and flowers were familiar. It was the parade that led to the Palace.
He hoped he didn’t look too relieved.
A wait followed, in which all but Lorkin and Akami fell asleep again. When the carriage finally passed through the gate of the Guild House, Lorkin let out what he hoped was a silent sigh of relief.
“Here you are, Lord Lorkin,” Akami said, opening the door with magic. The others woke and sat up. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you,” Lorkin said. “Thank you for bringing me home, too.”
Akami smiled and patted Lorkin on the shoulder as he started down the carriage steps. “We’ll let the Palace know you’re back.”
Lorkin turned and watched the carriage leave. The Guild House slaves pushed gates closed behind it. He turned around to see two slaves lying face-down on the ground. One was the door slave, he remembered.
“Get up,” he ordered.
The two slaves rose, keeping their eyes downcast. He felt a long-forgotten disgust and anger at their situation, followed by curiosity. Were either of these men Traitor spies?
“I am Lord Lorkin, Ambassador Dannyl’s assistant,” he said. “Take me to Ambassador Dannyl.”
“Ambassador Dannyl is not here,” the door slave said.
“Oh. Well. Take me inside. I’d like a wash and some clean robes.”
The door slave beckoned and headed for the Guild House. Lorkin followed, feeling strangely powerful waves of sentimentality at the sight of the Master’s Room and the rendered, curved walls.
The slave paused to whisper to a female slave. She nodded and hurried away. A less pleasant memory rose as the door slave led him into his old rooms: a memory of a dead woman, lying naked on his bed. That room was dark. The slave led him into a different bedroom in the suite, then prostrated himself. Lorkin told him to go.
Lorkin created a globe light, looked around and nodded. It had been very considerate of the slave to choose another room.
The female slave returned with a large bowl of water and some towels, then left. Another brought a set of robes. Lorkin warmed the water with magic, then stripped off the hunter’s tunic and began to wash.
A sound drew his attention back to the doorway. He expected another slave, but instead found himself staring at a woman in green robes. She was staring at him with equal astonishment, and a little hostility.
Then it occurred to him who she must be.
“You’re my replacement,” he exclaimed.
She blinked, then understanding dawned. “Lord Lorkin! You’re back!”
He nodded. “Yes. Where’s Ambassador Dannyl?”
She rolled her eyes. “In Duna, having a nice time getting to know the locals. He left me all alone to deal with anything that turned up.” Her gaze dropped to the hunter’s trousers, then back to his face. “Like you.”
“I’m Merria, by the way,” she said. She smiled. “I’ll let you finish. When you’re ready, send one of the slaves to let me know. I’ll be in the Master’s Room. We had better work out what we’re going to do. Do you need to get some sleep first?”
“No, but some food would be nice.”
She nodded. “I’ll arrange it.”
Waking from a doze, Dannyl looked around the cabin. Soft snores were coming from Tayend’s bed. The ship’s pitching and rolling was still pronounced, but it had stopped shuddering and groaning for some time now. Dannyl had no idea how much time had passed. More than a few days, he suspected.
He heard a heavy footstep, then realised that this was what had woken him. The cabin door opened. Achati paused at the threshold, then let go of the door frame, staggered forward and grabbed the edge of his bed. He crawled onto it and collapsed, face down.
Dannyl got out of the chair and approached the Sachakan.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Achati groaned, then sighed. “Yes. Just … tired.” He rolled over onto his back with an effort. “Storm’s
