The Ambassador's Mission

“You should take up Savara’s offer. Go back to Kyralia.”

“Not to Arvice?”

She shook her head. “I don’t trust the... the other faction. They might try to kill you again.”

“And how are you going to prove that they’ve tried it before?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll let them read my mind.”

He heard Chari draw in a sharp breath. “You can’t,” she hissed. “You promised the...” She looked at Lorkin, then bit her lip.

Tyvara sighed. “We’ll find a way around it,” she told Chari. She turned to Lorkin. “The price Savara spoke of... if you come to Sanctuary there’s a good chance you won’t be allowed to leave again. Would you be willing to stay there for the rest of your life?”

He stared at her in disbelief. The rest of his life? Never see Mother or Rothen or his friends again?

“You haven’t told him this before?” Chari asked, her tone shocked and disbelieving.

Tyvara flushed and looked away. “No. I couldn’t send him back to Arvice. Someone would have tried to kill him. I knew once I found someone from our faction he’d be safe.”

“Faction?”

“Lorkin came up with the term. I mean those of us who agree with the queen, and Savara, on... most things.”

Chari nodded. “Not a bad term, really.” She looked at him. “We’ve been avoiding calling ourselves anything, because it would mean there was a split within the Traitors, and if we named the two sides it would only encourage people to, well, take sides.” She turned to Tyvara. “They might not want Lorkin to stay, since he is one of the reasons for the split.”

“Nobody from the other side will trust him enough to let him go once he knows the city’s location. And few from our side will, either.”

“Then we cover his eyes and make sure he can’t find it again.”

Tyvara sighed. “We all know how well that worked last time.”

“Last time it was a Sachakan, and he was a spy,” Chari pointed out. “Lorkin is different. And how is Sanctuary ever going to form alliances and trade with other nations if we never let visitors into and out of the city?”

Tyvara opened her mouth, then closed it again. “It’s too soon for that,” she said. “We can’t even trust each other, let alone foreigners.”

“Well, we have to start some time.” Chari sniffed and looked away. “You bring him all this way, and now you want him gone. I think you’re too scared of being responsible for someone.”

Tyvara’s head snapped up and she glared at her friend. “That’s—” But she stopped herself. Her eyes narrowed. Rising, she stalked away, sitting down again several strides away. Chari sighed.

“Don’t worry,” she told Lorkin. “She isn’t always this grumpy.” She looked at him and smiled. “I mean it. When she’s not worried silly, she’s smart, funny and quite lovable. And apparently quite good under the rug, as we say here.” She winked, then grew serious. “Though choosy. Not any and every man for our Tyvara. Don’t worry about that.”

He gazed at her in surprise at this sudden and unexpected flow of personal information, then looked down and hoped his amusement and embarrassment weren’t obvious. So, here’s yet another way Traitor women are different to Kyralian women. He thought back to some of the women he’d taken to bed over the last year. Well, maybe not that different, but certainly more open about it.

Though why Chari was trying to reassure him...

Suddenly, he understood what Chari had been hinting at. She thought there was something romantic going on between him and Tyvara. His heart skipped a beat. Well, there has been, in a regretfully one-sided way. Since he’d first met Tyvara he’d found her alluring and attractive. The night he’d nearly been murdered he’d thought it was her in his bed, and the thought had pleased him a great deal.

Chari seems to think it isn’t one-sided. Is she right?

He stole a glance at Tyvara. She was standing again, staring in the direction she, Chari and he had arrived from, her brows knit with worry. He turned to see what she was looking at. Two women were running up the path. As they passed, Lorkin heard them panting with exertion.

They disappeared into a hut and a moment of tense silence followed as all watched and waited, then Savara strode out followed by a handful of Traitors and the two women. She said something and the globe lights immediately dimmed to a faint glow.

“We must all leave immediately,” she said. Her eyes skimmed over the assembled faces and settled on Lorkin. “The magicians tracking Lord Lorkin are heading this way, and there are now six of them, including the Kyralian. Divide yourselves into three groups. Each will take a different route away from here. Tyvara, Lorkin and Chari, you should come with me.”

Lorkin rose and hurried over to her. “If I talk with Ambassador Dannyl I am sure I can persuade him to call off the search.”

She shook her head. “You may persuade him, but you won’t persuade the others if they think they might catch us this time. There is also a man with them – a tracker – who might succeed where others have failed.” She smiled grimly. “I am sorry. The offer is appreciated, but it is too great a risk.”

Lorkin nodded. Around him people were hastily picking up and packing away all signs of their presence. One began to sweep the ground, but Savara stopped her.

“There’s no point hiding all trace of ourselves. We want them to either split up or follow the wrong trail.” She looked Lorkin up and down. “Find someone with similar sized feet as his and get them to swap shoes.”

Soon the Traitors had formed three groups of near equal size. Savara ordered them to travel without hiding their trail until morning, then head for Sanctuary using the usual precautions. All murmured farewells to the other groups, then departed. Lorkin followed as Savara’s group began to climb the steep side of the valley, his mind shifting between wondering if his suspicions about Tyvara were true, itching to know what Savara’s decision would be, and worrying that Dannyl and the Sachakans would catch up with them.

And if they did, what would the Sachakans do? What would the Traitors do? Would it end in a fight? He didn’t want anyone dying because of him. Well, anyone else, he amended.

If it came to a fight, what should he do? Would he have to choose between joining Dannyl in order to prevent a battle and siding with the Traitors so he could help save Tyvara from execution?

Too slow, Cery’s twist did not bring him out of the way far enough or fast enough to avoid the knife pushing into his ribs. He heard Anyi give a little huff of triumph.

“Good,” he said, resisting a smile as he let go of her and stepped away. “You’ve got the hang of it now.”

She grinned and swapped the wooden practice knife back to her left hand.

“Though you aimed a little high,” he told her. “You’re used to practising with Gol, I suppose.”

“I’d have still cut you,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but your knife might have caught on my ribs.” Cery patted his lower chest where her knife had pressed. “Which is not one of the five weak spots. Eyes, throat, belly, groin, knees.”

“Sometimes it’s better to smash an attacker’s knees and run than try to stab him in the heart,” Gol said. “The heart can be hard to reach. Ribs might skew your aim. If you miss, he can come after you. If you get his knees, he can’t. And he mightn’t be expecting it.”

“A stab to the guts will kill slowly, too,” Cery said. “Not much fun, but enough time to try and get you back for it.”

“And you shouldn’t kill unless ordered to,” Gol added.

“I should get you practising with shorter people.”

“And younger ones,” Anyi said. Gol gave a snort, and she turned to him. “Come on. You’re both not as fast as you used to be, and if anyone’s gonna send somebody after you they’re not going to get some old assassin out of retirement to give you a sporting chance.”

Gol chuckled. “She’s got a point.”