The Ambassador's Mission

“Now you’re catching up,” Gol said with an exaggerated sigh. “Sometimes you can be so slow to see—”

“Of course, I’d have to be the bait,” Cery said.

Gol’s teasing tone vanished. “No you won’t. Well, you will, but you don’t actually have to be there. The bait’ll be the rumour that you will be there.”

“It’ll have to be a pretty convincing rumour,” Cery told him.

“We’ll sort something out.”

They fell silent as they continued on their way. Cery found himself plotting out the details. So where can we lure the Thief Hunter to? It will have to be somewhere people would expect me to be. Terrina said he struck the hideout because it was more clever to kill me in my safest place. So I need to set myself up in a new hideout, and arrange for some people to blab about it and how much safer it is than my old one. It’ll have to have a few good spy holes, and an escape route or three. And it has to make the Thief Hunter use his powers in an obvious way.

For the first time in weeks Cery felt a tingle of excitement and anticipation ruffle the surface of the gloom and suffocating pain that had settled on him. Even if the trap didn’t lead to him avenging his family’s deaths, planning and setting it up would keep him from brooding over them. He needed to act, not sit around feeling sorry for himself, frustrated at the lack of clues to their killer.

The steep, winding mountain road leading toward the Pass reminded Dannyl of those that he and Tayend had travelled to the city of Armje so many years before. Which was not surprising, since the peaks here belonged to the same range dividing Sachaka from the Allied Lands. Here, too, the forest that edged the mountains thinned and gave way to stunted plants and rocky slopes.

The carriage travelled slowly as the horses hauled it steadily uphill. Lorkin had a now familiar look of boredom in his eyes, staring out of the window with a gloomy, resigned expression. They were both beyond conversation already, though it was not yet midday, and the silence only made the crawling pace more unbearable.

Then, without warning, the carriage abruptly turned and gained speed as the road levelled out. They began moving between two smooth walls of rock. Lorkin straightened, unlatched the window beside him and peered out.

“We’re here,” he said.

Dannyl felt excitement prickle his skin. He smiled with relief, and Lorkin grinned in reply. They sat in tense expectation, all attention on the movement of the carriage, the passing walls, and the sound of the hoof beats, until the driver called out and the vehicle slowed to a stop.

A face appeared at the window beside Lorkin. A man in red robes looked from Lorkin to Dannyl and nodded politely.

“Welcome to the Fort, Ambassador Dannyl and Lord Lorkin. I am Watcher Orton. Will you be staying for the night or continuing into Sachaka?”

“Unfortunately we cannot linger, as Administrator Osen is anxious to see us settled in Sachaka as quickly as possible,” Dannyl said.

The man smiled sympathetically. “Then I invite you to stretch your legs and look around as we change your horses for fresh ones.”

“We will gladly accept.”

Lorkin unlatched the door and then followed as Dannyl stepped out of the carriage. As soon as the young man set foot on the ground, he looked up and gave a little gasp.

“Ah, yes. It is an impressive structure,” Orton said, following Lorkin’s gaze.

Dannyl looked up and felt a shiver run up his spine. The face of the Fort towered over him, stretching from one side of the narrow ravine to the other. It was smooth and unblemished except where the shadows of huge cracks, filled in with more stone, showed where repairs had been made.

“Was that damage from the Ichani Invasion?” Lorkin asked.

“Yes, though it was worse inside,” Orton replied. He started forward, leading them into a cavernous opening. It took a few moments for Dannyl’s eyes to adjust, then he was able to make out tunnel walls stretching before them, lit by lamps. Slight variations in colour showed where sections had been filled with new stone. In some places there were gaps that went up several floors.

“Did we replace the traps that were originally here?” Dannyl asked.

“Some.” Orton shrugged. “Most were simple barriers, designed to delay and use up an attacker’s strength. We have installed more complex systems of defence to replace them. Tricks that might catch an invader if their guard was lowered. Illusions that will waste his power. But nothing that could hold off a group of powerful Sachakan black magicians for long, which is why we have spent as much time and energy creating means of escaping the Fort as well. Too many died in the Invasion who need not have, for lack of escape routes. Ah – here we have a memorial to those who gave up their lives bravely defending the Pass.”

Between two lamps a list of names had been carved into the wall. Dannyl felt a mix of disquiet and amusement as he caught a familiar name. From what I recall, Fergun was dragged out of some hiding place by the Sachakans. Hardly what I’d call bravely defending the Pass. But the rest... they died not understanding what they faced, because the Guild did not believe Akkarin’s warning. It could not comprehend the threat he described, having forgotten what black magic could make a magician capable of.

They stood in silence for a while, then the sound of hooves and the creak of wheels and springs echoed in the tunnel. Turning, Dannyl saw that the driver was leading a new set of horses, harnessed to the carriage, toward them.

“You must see the Fort from the Sachakan side,” Orton told him, continuing down the tunnel.

Dannyl and Lorkin followed. The sound of the carriage was loud in the confined space, so none of them spoke until they had emerged from the tunnel. Once again, high ravine walls rose on either side. They curved away in front of the Fort, giving no view of Sachaka. As Orton turned around and looked up, Lorkin and Dannyl followed suit. Another smooth wall stretched between the ravine walls, broken by many small windows. Two huge slabs of stone that had clearly once been a single square lay against the ravine wall to one side.

“That was once a door of sorts,” Orton told them. “It was dropped down to block the tunnel.” He shrugged. “I do wonder why the magicians who built the Fort, who were black magicians themselves, thought such things would slow down an invader.”

“Every little bit of power used by the enemy might be a life saved,” Lorkin said.

Orton looked at the young man and nodded. “Perhaps.” The carriage emerged from the tunnel and the driver pulled the horses to a stop beside them. Orton turned to Dannyl. “Fresh horses, plus feed and water for the three days it will take you to cross the wasteland, are on board. There are also supplies for yourself in the cabin, and I asked the cook to throw together something nicer for your next meal. Nothing fancy, but it might be the last Kyralian meal you have for a while.”

“Thank you, Watcher Orton.”

The man smiled. “My pleasure, Ambassador Dannyl.” He looked at Lorkin. “I hope you and Lord Lorkin have a safe journey, and that you will stop for a while on your return to Kyralia.”

Dannyl nodded. “We’ll do our best to keep any invaders from testing out those new defences.”

Orton chuckled and turned to the carriage. “I know you will.”

The carriage door swung open, no doubt by Orton’s magic. Dannyl climbed aboard and sat down, bracing himself against the sway of the vehicle as Lorkin eagerly followed him. They waved goodbye and called out thanks as the carriage rolled away and Orton moved out of sight.

Dannyl looked at Lorkin, who grinned back.

“I suspect Watcher Orton doesn’t get many visitors,” Lorkin said quietly.

“No. You look a lot more cheerful than you were this morning,” Dannyl remarked.

Lorkin’s grin widened. “We’re in Sachaka now.”

A shiver ran down Dannyl’s spine. He’s right. The moment we stepped out of the tunnel we were no longer in our own land. We’re in exotic Sachaka, the heart of the former Empire that once included Kyralia and Elyne. The land of black magicians. All so much more powerful than me...

This must be what it felt like to be a trader or diplomat who dealt with magicians in the Allied Lands, always