The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (35 page)

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.”

He smiled ruefully.
The trouble is, I
want
to trust her. I should be questioning every move she makes, especially after what she told me the other night. Well, I would, but when I get her talking something happens and she goes all silent on me again.
She was watching him, her expression apologetic.
Maybe I should try again.

“That’s fine. But it’s not the first time I’ve annoyed you tonight. What did I say, when we were discussing servants and the Traitors at the beginning of the night, that bothered you?” he asked.

Her eyes widened, then her mouth thinned into a line of reluctance. He thought she wasn’t going to answer, but she shook her head.

“I’ll have to explain eventually.” She grimaced and looked down at her knees. “Many years ago my people noticed that one of the Ichani that roam about the wasteland had a strange slave. A pale man, possibly a Kyralian.” Her gaze flickered up to meet his, then away. “Your father.”

Lorkin felt a chill run across his skin. Though he had heard the story before, his mother had always been reluctant to talk about this part of his father’s life.

“They watched for a long time and eventually realised that the slave was a Guild magician,” Tyvara continued. “This was unusual, as you may know already, as Sachakans don’t tolerate slaves knowing magic. If a slave develops powers naturally they will kill him, or her. Enslaving a foreign magician – especially a Guild magician – was extraordinary and dangerous. But this was no ordinary Ichani. He was cunning and ambitious.

“As my people watched, they guessed that your father did not know higher magic. Then, one day, the daughter of the leader of my people fell terribly ill and soon it was clear she was dying. Our leader had heard of the Guild’s skills in healing with magic. We’ve tried for many years to discover the secret for ourselves, without success. So our leader sent one of us out to meet your father and make an offer.” Tyvara’s face darkened. “She would teach him higher magic in exchange for Healing magic.”

She looked up at him. Lorkin stared back at her. His mother had never mentioned that his father had agreed to exchange anything for black magic, nor had anybody else in the Guild.

“And?” he prompted.

“He agreed.”

“He can’t – couldn’t – do that!” Lorkin blurted.

Tyvara frowned. “Why not?”

“It’s … it’s a decision only the Higher Magicians can make. And then probably only with the approval of the king. To give such valuable knowledge to another race … a people not of the Allied Lands … is too risky. And there would have to be something given in exchange.”

“Higher magic,” she reminded him.

“Which they would never have accepted in exchange. It is…” He caught himself. Revealing that black magic was forbidden would reveal the Guild’s greatest weakness. “It was not his decision to make.”

Tyvara’s mouth set in a disapproving line. “Yet he agreed to the offer,” she said. “He agreed to come to our home and teach us Healing – something he said that could not be taught in a moment, as higher magic can be. So he was taught higher magic and he used it to kill his master. Then he disappeared, returning to Imardin and breaking his promise. Our leader’s daughter died.”

Lorkin found he could not meet her accusing gaze. He looked at the ground and picked up a handful of dirt, letting it fall between his fingers.

“I can see why your people are angry with him,” he said lamely.

She drew in a deep breath and looked away. “Not all of them. One of my people travelled to Imardin later, when it was clear the brother of your father’s former master was preparing to invade Kyralia. She discovered that this Ichani had been sending spies into Imardin for some time, and that your father was killing them off in secret. It could be that your father returned home because he discovered the threat from his master’s brother.”

“Or he assumed you understood he had to persuade the Guild to allow him to teach you Healing before he could return.”

She looked at him. “Do you think that is true?”

Lorkin shook his head. “No. He could not have told them about you without revealing that he had …” –
he had learned black magic
– “… he had been enslaved here.”

“He broke his promise out of pride?” Her tone was disapproving, though not as much as he would have expected. Perhaps she understood why his father had been reluctant to tell his tale.

“I doubt that was the only reason,” he said. “He did reveal the truth when it was needed. Or most of the truth, as it turns out,” he added.

“Well,” she said, shrugging. “Whatever the reason, he didn’t keep his promise. Some of my people – the faction I mentioned the other night – want you punished for it.” She smiled crookedly as he looked at her in horror. “Which is why Riva was sent to kill you, against our leader’s orders. But the majority of us hold to the principle that we are better than our barbaric Sachakan cousins. We do not punish the child for the crimes of the parent.”

Lorkin sighed with relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She smiled. “Instead we give them a chance to make amends.”

“But what can I do? I am a mere Ambassador’s assistant. I don’t even know higher magic.”

Her expression became serious. “You could teach us Healing.”

They stared at each other in silence. Then she looked down.

“But, as you just pointed out, you haven’t the authority to give us that knowledge.”

He shook his head. “Is there anything else I can do?” he asked apologetically.

She frowned, her eyes fixed on the dirt wall as she considered. “No.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “This isn’t good. We have kept the other faction from gaining popularity by promoting the idea that you could give us what your father promised. When my people realise that you can’t give them Healing they will be disappointed. And angry.” She bowed her head. “Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t take you there. Perhaps I should send you back home.”

“Don’t you need me there to help prove that Riva tried to kill me against orders?” he asked.

“It would help my case.”

“Would going to Sanctuary to speak on your behalf improve my standing among your people?”

She frowned and looked at him. “Yes … but …”

As Lorkin considered that, he felt conflicting emotions.
I was hoping to see her home and learn about her people – and find out what they know about stones with magical qualities. What will happen to her if I don’t go there? She killed one of her own people to save me. Though Riva was disobeying orders, they may still punish Tyvara. Perhaps even execute her. It doesn’t seem right to run away home when she might die for saving my life. And I don’t much like my chances of getting home – on my own or with Dannyl’s help – with black-magic-wielding Traitors all over Sachaka trying to kill me.

“Then I will travel with you to Sanctuary.”

Her eyes widened and she gazed at him. “Are you sure?”

He shrugged. “I am an Ambassador’s assistant. Perhaps not an actual Ambassador, but it is still my role to assist in establishing and maintaining friendly relations between Kyralia and Sachaka. If it turns out that there’s a part of Sachaka we’ve been failing to establish friendly relations with, it is my duty to ensure that part is not ignored or neglected.”

She was staring at him now, mouth open, though whether from surprise or disbelief or because he’d sounded like a complete idiot he wasn’t sure.

“And since my predecessor made such a bad impression on your people it is even more important that I do what I can to improve their view of the Guild and Kyralians,” he continued. Then he felt a giddying rush of inspiration. “And discuss the possibility of negotiating an exchange of magical knowledge, this time with the appropriate parties and processes involved.”

Tyvara’s mouth snapped shut and, for a moment, she regarded him with an intensity that he could only meet with a hopeful and foolish smile. Then she threw back her head and laughed. The sound echoed in the hole and she smacked a hand over her mouth.

“You are mad,” she said, when her shoulders had stopped shaking. “Fortunately for you it’s a madness I like. If you truly wish to risk your life coming to Sanctuary, whether to defend me or try to persuade my people to give you something in exchange for what they already feel they are owed … then I selfishly feel I shouldn’t try to dissuade you.”

He shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. For you saving my life. And for your people saving my father’s. Will you take me?”

“Yes.” She smiled grimly. “And if you help me then I will do all I can to help you survive when you get there.”

“That would be appreciated, too.”

She looked as if she would say something else, but then looked away. “Well, we have to get there first. It’s a long walk. Better get some sleep.”

He watched her curl up, tucking one arm under her head; then he lay down. It was impossible to find a comfortable position on the curved floor, and eventually he copied her, curling up on his side with his back to her. He could feel the heat from her body.
No, don’t think about that, or you’ll never get to sleep.

“Could you turn the light out?” she murmured.

“Can I dim it instead?” The prospect of being underground in complete darkness did not appeal at all.

“If you must.”

He reduced the spark of light until it barely illuminated the two of them. Then he listened to the sound of her breathing, waiting for the slow, deep rhythm of sleep. He knew he was far too conscious of her body so close to his to fall asleep himself. But he was very tired …

Before long he had drifted into strange dreams, in which he walked along a road of dirt so soft he had to wade through it, while Tyvara, being lighter and more nimble, barely stirred the soil and was getting further and further ahead …

I
n the street below, on the other side, a man stopped and looked up at the window. Cery resisted the urge to shrink back out of sight. It was too late to avoid being seen, and the motion would confirm he should not be there.

“Uh, oh,” Gol said. “That’s the shopkeeper from next door.”

“Looks like he’s worked out his neighbour has some uninvited guests.”

The man looked away, down at the ground. After a moment his shoulders straightened and he strode across the street toward the shop. A loud rapping followed.

Gol rose. “I’ll get rid of him for you.”

“No.” Cery stood up and stretched. “I’ll take care of it. Stay here and keep watch. What’s his name, again?”

“Tevan.”

As Gol sat down again, he muttered something about it all being a waste of time.
He’s probably right
, Cery thought.
The rogue won’t be coming back. But we may as well watch because we’ll look right fools if we’re wrong and she does come back. And we have no other clues to follow.

He walked out of the room and entered the stairway, descending to the ground floor. Pushing through the door to the storekeeper’s shop, Cery looked around with interest. They’d been using the back door, so he hadn’t been in here before. The room was full of fine ceramic bowls. He blinked and looked closer, then chuckled. They were all toilet basins, as finely painted and sculpted as vases or dinner ware.

Through the frosted glass door he could see the next-door shopkeeper’s hunched silhouette. The man had probably promised to keep an eye on his neighbour’s shop and house, and felt obliged to confront these trespassers. He was probably worried that he would regret it, too.

The front door was locked and there was no key in it or in any obvious hiding place close by. Cery was amused to find he had to pick the lock. Once unlocked, he opened the door, smiled at the shopkeeper and effected the sort of cultured accent merchants liked to use to impress rich customers.

“The shop is closed, I’m sorry.” Cery pretended to give the man a second look. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re … Tevan? You run the shop next door, correct?”

The man was of average height and carried the excess weight of a middle-aged man who hadn’t been forced to skip a meal in a long time – if ever.

“Who are you and what are you doing in Wendel’s house?” he demanded.

“I am Wendel’s cousin, Delin, and I am borrowing his house for the week.”

“Wendel doesn’t have a cousin. He has no family. He told me.”

“Second cousin, by marriage,” Cery explained. “He didn’t tell you I was staying here?” He frowned in mock puzzlement. “I suppose it was decided very late.”

“He didn’t. It’s not something he’s likely to neglect to tell me, either.” Tevan narrowed his eyes, then took a step backwards. “I’m calling on the Guard. If you’re lying you’d better get out while you have the chance.” The man turned and took a step away.

“The Guard’s like to get you and Wendel more rub than I ever will,” Cery said, dropping the accent and letting a little slum drawl colour his words. “Crawling all over this place breaking things looking for proof we were here, then saying you made it up. Let’s sort this out ourselves.”

Tevan had stopped, and now he looked at Cery with a worried frown.

“I only need be here for a week, maybe less,” Cery told him. “Wendel won’t see a sign I’ve been here. I’d pay him rent if he was about, but since he’s not here …” He reached into his coat, allowing the hilt of a knife to flash into sight briefly, and drew out a cap of gold coins he kept there for moments like these.

The man’s eyes widened. “A week?” he repeated. He looked transfixed by all the gold.