The Ambassador's Mission

“What do other slaves think the Traitors will do with him?”

She paused and her head lifted slightly before bowing again, as if she resisted the urge to look at him.

“I’ve heard some say,” she said slowly. “That the woman is a murderer. That the Traitors want you to find them.”

Dannyl felt a chill. Tyvara had killed a slave. What if that slave had been the Traitor, not Tyvara?

“Who said this?” he asked.

“I... I can’t remember.”

“Are there any slaves who are more likely to say this sort of thing than others?”

She paused then shook her head. “All slaves gossip.”

After a few more questions, he knew he would not get anything more out of her. She’d said all she wanted to say, and if she was withholding information he would not get it out of her voluntarily. He sent her away.

I’d wager she does know more. And then there’s the description of Lorkin’s pale skin. She wanted me to be sure Lorkin was here. Which makes sense if this rumour that the Traitors want me to find Tyvara and Lorkin is true.

But it could be a decoy. Still, the slave he’d helped at Tikako’s home had spoken the truth. Tyvara and Lorkin had come to his country estate.

What if the Traitors did want him to find the pair? Then they’ll make sure we find them. Though I can’t imagine Tyvara will let us capture her without a fight. And we’ll have to be prepared for any reaction from Lorkin. It’s possible she’s convinced him to accompany her – perhaps even seduced him – and he’ll resist being rescued.

He wanted to believe Lorkin was more sensible than that, but he had heard the gossip in the Guild that the young man had a weakness for pretty, smart women. Being the son of Black Magician Sonea and the late High Lord Akkarin didn’t mean the young man had any of his parents’ wisdom, either. Those characteristics could only come with experience. With making mistakes and choices, and learning from the consequences.

I just hope this isn’t a serious mistake, and that the consequences are the kind he can learn from, not ones that will lead to me spending the rest of my life in Sachaka for fear of what Sonea might do to me if I ever return to the Guild.

Lorkin would have thought that a male and female slave walking along a country road in the middle of the night would raise suspicion, but the few slaves they had passed had barely glanced at them. A carriage had overtaken them once, and Tyvara had hissed something about it probably containing a magician or Ashaki, but all she’d had him do was scamper off the road and keep his gaze lowered.

“If anyone asks, we’ve been sent out to work at Ashaki Catika’s estate,” she’d told him. “We’re both house slaves. We’re travelling at night because he wants us there by tomorrow evening and that means walking night and day.”

“Ashaki Catika is known for that sort of cruelty?”

“All Sachakan magicians are.”

“Surely there are one or two good magicians.”

“There are some who treat their slaves better than others, but ultimately enslaving another person is cruel, so I wouldn’t call any of them good. If they were good, they’d free their slaves and pay those willing to stay and work for them.” She glanced at him. “As Kyralians do.”

“Not all Kyralians are kind to their servants,” Lorkin told her.

“At least those servants can leave and find a new employer.”

“They can, but it is not as easy as it sounds. Servant positions are in high demand and a servant who quits may find it hard to get work elsewhere. Households tend to hire servants from the same family over servants they don’t know. Of course, a servant can try other work, like a trade, but they will be competing with families who have practised that trade for generations.”

“Do you think slavery is better then?”

“No. Definitely not. I am only saying the alternative isn’t easier. How well do Traitors treat their servants?”

“We are all servants. Just as we are all Traitors,” Tyvara explained. “The term isn’t like ‘Ashaki’ or ‘Lord’. It is a word for a people.”

“But not a race?”

“No. We are Sachakans, though we don’t often call ourselves that.”

“So even magicians do the tasks of servants? They clean and cook?”

“Yes and no.” She grimaced then. “At first that was how it was supposed to be. We would all do the same work. A Traitor might clean dirty dishes one moment and then vote on important decisions, like which crops to plant, the next. But it didn’t work. Some bad decisions were made because people who were not smart or educated enough to understand the consequences chose badly.

“We started a range of tests designed to find out what a person’s talent was and to develop it, so the best person would end up taking on the tasks that required their skills. Though that meant we weren’t all doing the same things any more, it was still better than slavery. So long as the tasks required for maintaining our home and feeding our people were met, nobody was forced to do a certain job, or prevented from doing something they were talented at, because of their family status or class.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Lorkin remarked.

She shrugged. “It works most of the time, but like all systems it’s not perfect. There are some magicians who would rather spend their time complaining and manipulating others than wasting their magic on tilling the fields or heating kilns.”

“Most Guild magicians would agree. But we do work for the people in other ways. Maintaining the port. Building bridges and other structures. Defending the country. Healing the sick and in—”

The look she cast him had stopped the words in his throat. It began as a savage glare, then turned into a troubled frown, and then she turned away.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Someone’s coming,” she said, looking into the shadowed road ahead. “Anyone we pass could be a Traitor. We shouldn’t be talking. Someone might overhear us and realise who we are.”

The approaching figure turned out to be another slave. From then on Tyvara would not speak, telling him to be quiet if he attempted to start another conversation. As the sky began to lighten, she began scanning the surrounding area as she had done the previous morning, eventually moving off the road to where some thin trees barely screened a field wall.

They’d hidden among some dense, prickly bushes the previous day. These trees weren’t going to provide the same cover, however. Tyvara was staring at the ground. Lorkin felt a vibration, then heard a strange tearing sound followed by something between a thump and a popping noise. A cloud of dust rose up beyond the wall and the air filled with the smell of grit and dirt.

Before their feet a hole appeared.

“In you go,” Tyvara said, gesturing toward the hole.

“In there?” Lorkin crouched and peered into the darkness. “Are you hoping to bury me alive?”

“No, foolish Kyralian,” she snapped. “I’m trying to hide us both. Get inside before someone sees us.”

He put his hands on either side of the hole and let his legs dangle inside. There was no floor that he could reach. The prospect of falling into darkness didn’t appeal, so he created a spark of light within the space. It illuminated a hollow space under the ground, the curved floor not far below his feet. He let himself drop, then crouched to avoid scraping his head on the “ceiling” as he moved further inside.

The hollow was globe-shaped, mainly situated below the wall. Two holes showed circles of brightening sky above the field, one that he had entered and another that he guessed had been the exit for the dirt. The inside of the hollow was no doubt restrained from falling in and burying him by Tyvara’s magic.

She dropped and slid in beside him, immediately folding herself down into a sitting position facing him. The space was small for two people, and her legs brushed up against his. He hoped the flash of interest this stirred in him didn’t show somehow. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, then she sighed and looked away.

“Sorry for snapping at you. It can’t be easy for you to trust me.”