The Ambassador's Mission

“Perhaps you’re underestimating him, as the Guild of the time clearly did.”

The young magician’s eyebrows rose expectantly. Dannyl almost smiled at the challenge. Lorkin had been an intelligent novice, willing to question all of his teachers.

“Perhaps I am.” Dannyl looked down at the small pile of documents and books. “The Guild... well, it is as though they didn’t set out only to wipe out all knowledge of black magic, but also the embarrassing fact that a mere apprentice had nearly destroyed them. If it weren’t for Recordkeeper Gilken, we wouldn’t even have the books Akkarin found to tell us what happened.”

Gilken had saved and buried information about black magic out of fear that the Guild would need it for the land’s defence one day. We had five hundred years of peace in which to forget about the stash, that we had ever used black magic at all, and that over the mountains our ancient enemy, Sachaka, still practised it. If Akkarin hadn’t found the stash – and learned black magic – we would now be dead or slaves.

“The final pile,” Lorkin said. Dannyl saw that Lorkin was looking at a thick, leather-bound notebook at the end of the table.

“Yes.” Dannyl picked it up. “It contains the stories I collected from those who witnessed the Ichani Invasion.”

“Including my mother’s?”

“Of course.”

Lorkin nodded, then smiled wryly. “Well, that must be the one part of history you don’t need to do more research on.”

“No,” Dannyl agreed.

The young magician’s gaze moved across the piles of books, documents and records. “I’d like to read what you have. And... is there a way I can help with the research?”

Dannyl regarded Lorkin in surprise. He would never have guessed that Sonea’s son had an interest in history. Perhaps the young man was bored and looking for something to put his mind to. He might lose interest quickly, especially once he realised that Dannyl had already exhausted all sources of information. There was little chance either of them would ever fill the gaps in history.

If he loses interest, there will be no harm done. I can’t see why I shouldn’t let him give it a try.

And a fresh eye, a different approach, might unveil new discoveries.

And it would be good to have someone here in Kyralia familiar with the work Dannyl had done so far, if he decided to leave to pursue any new sources of information.

Which might happen sooner rather than later.

Since the Ichani Invasion, Sachaka and Kyralia had been watching each other closely. Fortunately, both sides were keen to avoid future conflicts. Both had sent an Ambassador and an assistant to the other country. No other magicians were allowed to cross the border, however.

Dannyl had questioned the Guild Ambassadors sent to Sachaka over the years, asking them to seek out material for his book. They had provided some information, but they did not know what to look for, and what they sent had contained tantalising hints at uncensored records with a fresh perspective on historical events.

The position of Ambassador became available every few years, but Dannyl hadn’t applied for it. Partly because he had been afraid to. The thought of entering a land of black magicians was daunting. He was used to taking for granted that he was one of the powerful people in his society. In Sachaka he would not only be weak and vulnerable, but by all accounts Sachakan higher magicians regarded magicians who did not know black magic with distaste, distrust or derision.

They were growing used to the idea though, he’d been told. They treated Guild Ambassadors with more respect these days. They’d even protested when the most recent Ambassador had to return to Kyralia, due to problems with his family’s finances. They had actually grown to like him.

Which left a gap open for a new Ambassador that Dannyl found too hard to resist. He had worked in the position before, in Elyne, so he felt confident that the Higher Magicians would consider him for the place. If it did not work out he could simply come home early – and he would not be the first to do so. While he was in Sachaka he could seek records that might fill in the gaps in his history of magic, and perhaps discover new magical histories.

“Lord Dannyl?”

Dannyl looked up at Lorkin, then smiled. “I’d be delighted to have a fellow magician help me in my research. When would you like to start?”

“Would tomorrow be convenient?” Lorkin looked at the table. “I have a lot of reading to do, I suspect.”

“Of course it is,” Dannyl replied. “Though... we should ask Tayend what he has planned. Let’s go talk to him now – and have that bottle of wine.”

As he led the young magician to the guest room where Tayend usually relaxed during most evenings, Dannyl’s thoughts returned to Sachaka.

I have run out of sources. I can think of nowhere else I might find the missing pieces of my history. The opportunity has come and I think I have the courage to take it.

But the other reason he had never sought to visit Sachaka was that it meant leaving Tayend behind. The scholar would have to gain permission from the Elyne king to go to Sachaka, and it was unlikely he would be granted it. Partly this was because Tayend wasn’t well known or in favour in court, and hadn’t been so even before he’d moved to Kyralia to live with Dannyl. Partly it was because he was a “lad” – a man who preferred men over women. Sachakan society wasn’t as accepting of lads as Elyne society was. It was more like Kyralian society – such things were hidden and ignored. The Elyne king would not want to risk offending a land that could still easily defeat it by sending a man they would disapprove of into their midst.

But what about me? Why do I think the Kyralian king or the Guild won’t reject my application for the same reason?

The truth was, Tayend wasn’t as good as Dannyl at hiding what he was. Not long after settling in Imardin, the scholar had gathered a circle of friends around him. He’d been delighted to find there were as many lads in the Kyralian Houses as in the Elyne elite class, and they had enthusiastically embraced his Elyne habit of holding parties. They called themselves the Secret Club. Yet the club was not particularly secret. Plenty in Kyralian society knew of it, and many had expressed disapproval.

Dannyl knew that his discomfort came from long years of hiding his nature. Maybe I’m a coward, or perhaps overly prudent, but I’d rather keep my personal life... well... personal. With Tayend I never got the choice. He never asked me how I wanted to live, or if I was comfortable with the whole of Kyralia knowing what we are.

There was more to his resentment than that, however. Over the years, more and more of Tayend’s attention had gone to his friends. Though there were a few in the group whose company Dannyl enjoyed, most were spoilt higher-class brats. And sometimes Tayend was more like them than the young man Dannyl had travelled with all those years ago.

Dannyl sighed. He did not want to travel with the man Tayend had become. He was a little afraid that being stuck with each other in another land would cause them to part permanently. He also could not help wondering if some time apart would make them appreciate each other’s company more.

But while a few weeks’ or months’ separation might do us good, could we survive two years apart?

As he entered the guest room and found that Tayend had already opened the bottle and drunk half the contents, he shook his head.

If he was ever going to fill in the gaps of this history of magic – this great work of his life – he could not sit around hoping that someone would send him the right record or document. He had to seek the answers for himself, even if it meant risking his life, or leaving Tayend behind.

One thing I’m sure of. For all that there are sides of Tayend that I don’t like, I care enough about him to not want to risk his life. He’s going to want to come with me, and I’m going to refuse to take him.

And Tayend was not going to be happy about it. Not happy at all.

She hadn’t grown any taller since Cery had last seen her. Her dark hair had been cut badly, uneven where it barely touched her shoulders. Her fringe swept sharply to one side, covering one of her knife-slash straight brows.