Lorkin want to visit the Tomb of White Tears and the ruins of Armje himself.
It would be a completely different Sachaka to the one his father had stumbled into. There would be no Ichani waiting to enslave him. If anything, from what Perler had described, the powerful men and women of the capital, especially the Ashaki patriarchs, would deign to notice an Ambassador’s assistant only reluctantly.
Still, he was reassured by the slight weight of the ring buried deep in the pocket of his robe. He’d found it in his chest that morning, in a small box buried deep among his belongings. There had been no note or explanation, but he recognised the plain gold band and the smooth red gemstone set within it. Had his mother slipped her blood gem ring into his chest secretly because she did not have permission to give it to him, or because she didn’t want to risk that he would refuse to take it?
He and Dannyl had begun each day’s journey by listing off the members of the most powerful Sachakan families several times, recalling key characteristics and alliances, correcting and helping each other memorise them. They had gone over what they knew of Sachakan society, and speculated where there were gaps in their knowledge. Lorkin noticed signs of nervousness and uncertainty in his companion. He felt almost an equal to the older magician, but he was sure that would change once they arrived and had to assume their roles.
The swaying of the carriage changed and Lorkin looked up. Only darkness lay beyond the windows, but the dull rapping of hoof on road had slowed. Dannyl sat up straighter and smiled.
“Either there’s an obstruction on the road or we’re about to be released from our cage for the night,” he murmured.
As the carriage came to a stop, it swayed gently on its springs, then stilled. Lorkin could see a building lit by the glow of lamplight outside the left window. The driver made an incomprehensible noise, which Dannyl somehow interpreted as a signal to get out. The magician opened the door and climbed outside.
Following, Lorkin breathed in fresh night air and felt his head start to clear. He looked around. They had arrived in a tiny village, just a few buildings on either side of the road. It probably existed only to service travellers. The largest, which they had pulled up beside, was a Stayhouse. A stocky man stood within the entrance, beckoning and bowing.
“Welcome, my lords, to Fergun’s Rest,” he said. “I am Fondin. My stable workers will look after your horses, if you drive them around the back. We have clean beds and good food, all served with a smile.”
There was a look of surprise and amusement on Dannyl’s face, but the magician said nothing and led the way inside. Lorkin wondered if it was from wondering if the man had meant to suggest his beds were served with a smile.
Dannyl introduced them and asked for a meal to be served to them and the driver. The owner ushered them to a pair of seats inside a large guest room. Only one other group of visitors occupied the room. Traders, by the look of them. They were talking quietly and only cast a few curious glances at Lorkin and Dannyl.
It was not long before the meal arrived. A young woman arrived with a platter containing meats, savoury buns, well-sauteed vegetables and small, probably local fruit. She smiled politely at them both, but her gaze brightened as she looked at Lorkin. When she returned with two complimentary cups of bol she paused to give him a coy look as she handed him his. As she walked away, her hips swayed invitingly. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled as she saw him watching her.
“I wonder if Sonea expects me to protect your virtue while we are away from the Guild,” Dannyl said.
Lorkin chuckled and turned back to the other magician. Dannyl was filling his plate from the platter, and didn’t look up.
“Virtue?”
“Yes, well, I figure your virtue is your own to protect. But as an older and wiser companion I feel, at this moment, a strange urge to steer you away from temptation for the sake of your health and wallet.”
“Your concern is noted,” Lorkin said, smiling. “Should I offer the same service in return?”
Dannyl looked up at Lorkin, his expression guarded and serious for a moment. Then he smiled. “Of course. We shall look out for one another.” Then he gave a short, quiet laugh. “Though I suspect you may have a much easier task than I.”
The ground vibrated in a way that brought a rush of memories to Cery’s mind. Once, he would have passed this section of the Outer Wall via the city’s sewers below. It had been an unpleasant and sometimes dangerous route. The city guard had discovered the sewer being used as a route into the city and started flushing it at intervals. An arrangement made between the Thieves to post watchers, who would signal if a flush was starting, got around that problem. It had been a reliable system, and he had used it to take Sonea to see the Guild many years ago, before she had become a magician.
But now the sewers were divided up among the Thieves whose territory they crossed, and many of these were rivals. It cost a fortune to gain access to them, and the watchers were no longer reliable. It was rumoured that this was how the Thief who’d drowned had been killed. A watcher upstream had been murdered by the Thief Hunter, and not only had the Thief died but all the watchers downstream as well.
Since he no longer used the Thieves’ Road to travel long distances either, Cery walked the streets of Imardin, in the daytime, like most of its citizens. It was safer, despite the risk of robbers or gangs. Gol’s bulk deterred the former, while Cery’s status still protected him from the latter.
Passing through one of the new archways cut into the old wall, Cery started toward his own part of the former slums, Gol walking beside him.
“What did you make of Thim’s story, Gol?”
The big man scowled. “We heard nothing new. Nobody’s got any information, but plenty of the same old rumours.”
“Yes. But at least they are the same. Everyone thinks it’s the same person. Everyone has the same ideas about that person’s skills.”
“But everyone has a different reason for coming up with those ideas,” Gol pointed out.
“Yes. Things moving through the air that have no right to be. Strange scorch marks. Shadowy figures that can’t be stabbed. Flashing lights. Invisible walls. What do you believe, Gol?”
“That it’s always better to be over-careful than dead.”
Cery felt a flash of amusement. He stopped walking and turned to face his bodyguard. “So we act like the Thief Hunter is real and uses magic and has already had a go at me.”
Gol frowned and glanced around to see if anyone had heard Cery. “You heard what I said about being over- careful?” he asked, a touch of annoyance in his tone.
“Yes.” Cery sighed. “But what difference does it make if someone hears us? If my enemy is a magician I’m doomed.”
The big man’s frown deepened. “What about the Guild? They’d want to know if... about this. You could tell... your old friend.”
“I could. But unless I have something real to tell her, she won’t be able to do anything. We have to know for sure.”
“Then we’ve got to lay a trap.”
Cery stared at Gol in surprise, then shook his head. “And how do you think we’re going to keep that sort of prisoner in it?”
“Not to catch him.” Gol shrugged. “Just to confirm that’s what he is. To lure him somewhere and into using what he can use, with us watching. Better still if he doesn’t realise it was a trap.”
Starting to walk again, Cery considered the idea. It wasn’t a bad one. “Yes. Wouldn’t want him getting mad... and if he doesn’t realise he’s walked into a trap the first time then we could trap him again – with my friend around to see.”
