The Ambassador's Mission

Dannyl. “Only that it is in the mountains.”

“I haven’t forgotten that. Have you ever used trackers?”

“Occasionally. When we had a confirmed Traitor to follow.”

“And it failed because?”

“The tracks always stop.” Achati shrugged. “The Traitors are not fools. They know how to erase signs of their passing. Which is not hard when your land is mostly bare rock and you can levitate.”

Dannyl frowned, then shook his head. “If the Traitors wanted us to stop and stay put, or change direction, they’d have let us know.”

“This whole journey and all the clues we’ve followed could have been a ruse,” Achati pointed out. “Designed to keep us busy and heading in the wrong direction.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if we keep going. They’ve already made fools of us. But if there’s a chance they haven’t, and we’re on the right track, then I’m willing to risk being made a slightly bigger fool by continuing toward the mountains. It’s worth it, for the chance we’ll find Lorkin.”

Achati regarded Dannyl thoughtfully, then nodded. The slave returned and handed him the pitcher. “Then we’ll leave. Will the morning be soon enough?” He refilled his goblet but paused to wait for Dannyl’s answer.

Dannyl looked at the man, noting signs of reluctance. I shouldn’t push him too far, he thought. He nodded. “Of course. But early in the morning would be best.”

Achati sighed, nodded, then drained his goblet. “I’ll send a slave to inform Tanucha we’ll be moving on, and request some supplies for the journey. There are fewer estates out by the mountains, and they don’t tend to be that prosperous. We’ll also need some magical support. I’ll contact the king and ask him to send some locals to help us.” With a grunt, he rose to his feet. “Don’t wait for me. Go to bed. This could take some time.”

Magical support. Contacting the king. Dannyl felt a twinge of apprehension. He really does think these Traitors are dangerous.

“Ashaki Achati?” Dannyl said.

The man turned to look back at him. “Yes?”

Dannyl smiled. “Thank you.”

Achati’s frown disappeared and his eyes warmed with good humour. “I think I could get to like Kyralian ideas of manners.” Then he turned and disappeared through the door to his room.

Lorkin opened his eyes. The sky was streaked with orange clouds. He frowned. He’d been dreaming, but he couldn’t remember anything of the dream. Something had woken him. He had that unpleasant, disorienting feeling of being disturbed. Of being wrenched awake before he was ready.

He felt something move against him, and his heart was suddenly pounding.

Lifting his head he saw that Tyvara had fallen asleep. Sitting up against the wall of the old ruin, she had sagged sideways against a protruding stone, and bent her right leg instinctively to avoid toppling sideways. Her knee had come to rest on his arm.

Her skin was wonderfully warm – a stark contrast to the cold ground beneath him and the growing chill of approaching night. Though Sachaka was warm during the day, the evenings could be surprisingly cold.

What should I do? If I move she’ll wake up. But she’s supposed to be keeping watch, and it’s nearly time for us to head off anyway. She needed the sleep, though. She’d been taking longer shifts keeping watch at night, despite him arguing that she could trust him to share the burden. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he could Heal away the weariness. It would be insensitive, considering what his father had promised the Traitors, then failed to deliver.

The cold air told him that she had also let fall the magical shield protecting them, so he put up one of his own, then warmed the air inside it. Keeping still so he didn’t disturb her, he watched her sleeping. The dark circles under her eyes and the little frown creasing her forehead bothered him. But being able to look at her closely without disturbing or embarrassing her... he could appreciate the feminine curve of her jaw and the exotic tilt of her eyes, the curve of her lips...

Which twitched, and he quickly looked away.

He felt her hastily throw up a shield as she woke up and realised she’d dropped hers, so he drew his own in to surround himself. Listening to her draw in a deep breath, then yawn, he considered the ruins they were hiding within. Though Tyvara had been here before, she didn’t know anything about their history. High on a rocky hill, they overlooked the intersection of the road they had been following where it met another. As the sun had risen, just after they’d arrived, he’d been able to pick out details of the mountains, which before had been only a hazy, uneven line of blue-grey at the horizon. Below them was mostly level farmland, broken here and there by plantations of trees or game forests, and criss-crossed by low walls.

“How far away are we?” he had asked.

“Three or four more nights walking to the foothills, then several more to climb into the mountains.”

Now he looked at the area surrounding the hill, checking for signs of life.

“Mind if I have a look around?” he asked as Tyvara rose to her feet and stretched.

She looked up at the sky, which was now a deep scarlet, but the night was not quite dark enough for continuing their trek. “Go ahead. Just keep out of sight of the road.”

“I will.”

They’d sheltered within an open square of walls. He rose and headed for one of the gaps, intending to have a closer look at the outside of the building.

A woman stepped into the gap.

He skidded to a halt. The woman was dressed as a slave, but her demeanour was all wrong. She was smiling at him, but the smile was not friendly. She took a step toward him, her eyes narrowing. Instinctively, he strengthened his shield.

His instinct proved correct. The woman’s nose wrinkled with concentration, and his shield vibrated violently as magic battered it. The air between them shimmered. He backed away.

The woman’s stare was cold and intent. He had no doubt she meant to kill him. Fear set his heart pounding. He felt a growing urge to run. Which would be sensible, he thought. She’s got to be a Traitor, which means she’s a black magician, which means she’s a lot stronger than me.

But before he had even finished that thought, Tyvara stepped past him. The woman’s gaze shifted to her. He felt a giddy rush of relief. Tyvara stopped a step in front of him and he felt her shield envelop his own. Though the battering stopped, he kept his shield strong within hers, in case her own faltered.

“Stop this, Rasha,” Tyvara said.

“Only if you do,” the woman replied.

“Do you swear you will not strike at me or Lorkin?”

“I swear I will not strike you. But he,” the woman’s gaze shifted back to him, “must die.”

Lorkin shivered. But he also noted that the woman had stopped striking at Tyvara.

“The queen ordered that he was not to be killed.”

“She has no right to tell us we cannot have our revenge,” Rasha hissed.

“Ishira was the first to die.”

The woman’s eyes flashed with anger. “First or last, what does it matter?”

“She was my playmate. Do you think I didn’t miss her? Do you think I didn’t grieve?”

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child!” the woman shouted.

“No,” Tyvara replied, an edge to her voice. “But I would consider the queen an example of how to live with the loss, not those who would murder someone else’s child for their parent’s mistakes or crimes.”

Rasha stared at Tyvara, her face a mask of hatred. “Not everyone can be so forgiving. Not of that. And not of you murdering one of your own people.” The woman’s eyes gleamed. “You’re wasting your strength protecting him. Let me have him.”

“Once you kill him, what will you do with me?” Tyvara sounded remarkably calm, Lorkin noted. But she stood braced as if she expected another attack any moment. She’s trying to keep the woman talking. Well, I hope she is. She could also be about to start bartering my life for her own.