The Traitor Queen

Let’s hope bullying is all he tries.

“You be careful, too,” Merria said.

Dannyl realised she was looking at him, and blinked in surprise. She had been giving him dark looks since he’d returned, letting him know that she hadn’t forgiven him for not taking her to Duna. He wasn’t sure how to respond to her concern, especially since he didn’t want to think about what would happen to himself should matters take a turn for the worse.

“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “We’ll be fine,” he added. Tayend was looking at Dannyl in a concerned way that Dannyl did not want to think about either, so he turned towards the corridor leading out of the Guild House. “Well, let’s not keep the king waiting.”

“No,” Lorkin said softly.

Dannyl looked over to Kai, the man who was now his personal slave. Merria had learned from her friends that it was a typical ploy of slaves to switch tasks a lot, since it was harder for a master to find the right slave to punish for a particular error if many different slaves could be responsible. The more slaves you saw the harder it was to remember their names, and if you couldn’t remember a slave’s name it was harder to order them punished.

Merria had demanded that each occupant of the Guild House have one or two slaves dedicated to meeting their needs. But though the arrangement was closer to having a servant there were still disadvantages. A servant asked questions. A servant would tell you if something was impossible or difficult to do. A servant didn’t throw himself onto the floor every time he came into your presence. Despite having had some irritatingly argumentative servants over the years, Dannyl would rather that than the inconvenience of unquestioning obedience.

“Let the carriage slaves know we’re ready, Kai,” Dannyl instructed.

Kai hurried ahead. Dannyl led Lorkin down the corridor to the front door. As they stepped out, bright sunlight dazzled Dannyl’s eyes and he lifted a hand to shade them. The sky was blue and cloudless, and there was a warmth and dryness to the air that, in Kyralia, he’d have associated with the onset of summer. Here it was only early spring. As always, the slaves threw themselves onto the ground. Dannyl ordered them to rise, then he and Lorkin climbed on board the waiting carriage.

They rode in silence. Dannyl considered all that Osen had told him to say, and to avoid saying. He wished he knew more of what Lorkin and the Guild planned. Not knowing the full truth made him uneasy. All too soon the carriage turned into the wide tree-lined avenue leading to the palace, then pulled up outside the building. The slaves clambered to the ground and opened the door.

Dannyl climbed out and waited for Lorkin to join him.

“Pretty,” Lorkin said, gazing up at the building in admiration. Of course, he hasn’t seen the palace before, Dannyl thought. Looking up at the curved white walls, and the top of the glittering gold dome just visible above, he remembered how impressed he’d been the first time he’d visited. He was too worried about the coming interview to feel admiration now.

Turning his attention to the entrance, he led Lorkin inside. They strode down the wide corridor, past the guards, out into the huge, column-filled hall that served as the king’s grand Master’s Room. Dannyl’s heart began to beat faster as he saw many more people were present than at any time when he’d met the king before. Instead of a cluster of two or three people here and there, there was a small crowd. Judging by their highly decorated short jackets and confident poses, most of them were Ashaki. He counted quickly. About fifty.

Knowing that there were so many black magicians surrounding him sent an unpleasant chill down his spine. He concentrated on keeping his face impassive and his walk dignified, hoping he was hiding his fear successfully.

King Amakira was sitting on his throne. Though old, he looked as tense and alert as the youngest of the Sachakans in the room. His eyes never left Lorkin until Dannyl stopped and dropped to one knee. Lorkin, as instructed, followed suit.

“Rise, Ambassador Dannyl,” the king said.

Dannyl stood up and resisted looking at Lorkin, who was obliged to remain kneeling until told otherwise. The king’s gaze had shifted back to the young magician. His gaze was intense.

“Rise, Lord Lorkin.”

Lorkin got to his feet, looked at the king, then lowered his gaze politely.

“Welcome back,” the king said.

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“Have you recovered from your journey back to Arvice?”

“I have, your majesty.”

“That is good to hear.” The king looked at Dannyl and a kind of cold amusement crept into his eyes. “Ambassador, I wish to hear Lorkin tell how he came to leave Arvice, live with the Traitors and then return.”

Dannyl nodded. “I expected you would, your majesty,” he replied, managing a smile. He turned to Lorkin. “Tell him what you told me, Lord Lorkin.”

The young magician gave Dannyl an amused, almost reproachful look before he turned back to the king. Dannyl suppressed a smile. If he tells them what he told me, he’ll hardly be telling them much at all.

“On the night that I left the Guild House,” Lorkin began, “a slave crept into my bed and tried to kill me. I was saved by another slave, who convinced me that assassins would return to finish me off if I didn’t leave with her. My rescuer, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, was not really a slave at all, but one of the Traitors.

“She explained that the society she belonged to was formed before the Sachakan War, when a group of women were driven to unite by their ill treatment in Sachakan society. The war forced them into the mountains, where they became a new people, rejecting slavery and inequality between men and women.”

“They are ruled by women,” the king interrupted. “How is that equal?”

Lorkin shrugged. “It’s not a perfect arrangement, but still fairer than any I’ve encountered or heard of.”

“So you went to their base?”

“Yes. It was the safest place to go, what with the assassins still hunting for me.”

“Could you find it again?”

Lorkin shook his head. “No. I was blindfolded.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “How big is their base? How many Traitors are there?”

“I... I can’t really say.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“It wasn’t the sort of place where you can easily guess how many people are around.”

“Take a guess anyway.”

Lorkin spread his hands. “More than a hundred.”

“Did you gain any impressions of their fighting strength?”

Once again, Lorkin shook his head. “I never saw them fight. Some are magicians. You know that already. I can’t tell you numbers, their strength or how well trained they are.”

A movement among the Ashaki near the throne attracted Dannyl’s attention, and his heart skipped at he recognised Achati. The man met Dannyl’s eyes briefly, but his only expression was one of thoughtfulness. He leaned closer to the king and murmured something. The king’s stare didn’t waver from Lorkin, but his eyebrows lowered slightly.

“What did you do while with the Traitors?” he asked.

“I helped treat the sick.”

“They trusted you, a foreigner, to heal them?”

“Yes.”

“Did you teach them anything?”

“A few things. I learned a few things, too.”

“What did you teach them?”

“Some new cures – and I learned several from them, though some require plants we don’t have in Kyralia.”

“Why did you leave them?”

Lorkin paused, obviously not expecting the question so soon. “Because I wanted to return home.”