The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (50 page)

Surprise, shock and dismay crossed the woman’s dark face. Then her strange, angular eyes narrowed. A force hammered against the barrier. It was no test strike, but a full blast that was stronger than Sonea expected, and at the same time another strike flashed toward her. The barrier wavered and fell before she had a chance to strengthen it.

The woman dashed out of the dead end alley and ran toward the main road. Sonea ran after her, throwing out another, stronger barrier to envelop her, but the woman smashed this down with a violent blast. A moment later, the rogue was among the people moving up and down the road beyond.

Sonea reached the alley entrance. She saw the woman pause and turn to look at her, well within the flow of traffic. Seeing the distinctive red-brown skin, she knew why Cery had been so sure that Forlie was not the woman he’d seen. As Skellin’s face flashed through Sonea’s memory, she felt a chill run down her spine. Same reddish dark skin. Same strange eyes.
This woman is of the same race!

A smile stretched the woman’s lips. A dangerous, triumphant smile.

She thinks I won’t dare use magic with all these people around, and she is right. I also don’t want to risk harming her. Though it would certainly make matters simpler for the Guild if the woman got herself killed.

To deserve that fate, she’d have to do much worse than be a rogue magician working for roet-sellers as a blackmailer. Like killing Cery’s family.

We need her alive to find out if she’s guilty or knows who is. We also need her alive so we can find out where she came from, and if there are more magicians like her. And find out why she was watching us catch Forlie.

And it would be much harder for Sonea to gain forgiveness for not obeying rules if her disobedience had led to her killing someone.

Sonea drew magic. Lots of magic. She had no idea how long she could hold the woman for. Despite knowing how to take power from magicians and people and even animals, and store it away until needed, Sonea had not done so for over twenty years. She was forbidden to unless ordered to do so by the Higher Magicians.

She was no more powerful than she had been before she had learned black magic. No more powerful than she had been as a novice.

But she had been an exceptionally powerful novice.

With the magic she had gathered, Sonea sent power over the heads of the people passing between her and the rogue, and surrounded the woman in a globe of force. At once the woman began striking in all directions, but though her attacks were powerful, Sonea had expected them to be so, and kept the containment barrier strong. The flash and vibration of magic sent people scattering away from the woman. Sonea shrugged out of the old coat and tossed it aside. When people recovered enough to stop and watch, she did not want them wondering why she had been wearing it.

The black cloth of her robes stirred in a breeze as she stepped out of the alley entrance and walked toward the rogue. She heard exclamations, from either side, where crowds of onlookers were no doubt gathering, but kept her attention on the woman. The rogue snarled and increased her attack on the barrier. Sonea strengthened it further, trying not to worry at how rapidly she was using her reserves of magic.

How long can I keep this up? How long can
she
keep it up?

A sound broke out from either side. Sonea did not realise what it was at first, then as she did her concentration nearly faltered from amazement.

The crowd was cheering.

Through the sound came a different sort of shout. In the corner of her eye she saw someone approaching. Someone wearing purple.

“Need some help?” a young male voice asked.

An Alchemist. Not one she knew, however.

“Yes,” she said. “Come through.”

Letting him into her barrier, she held out a hand to him.

“Send me your magic.”

“The old-fashioned way?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

She laughed. “Of course. I think we can manage one rogue between us.”

He took her hand, and she felt magic flow into her. She channelled it to the containment barrier. The Alchemist called out, and she realised another magician was approaching. This time a Healer. As the woman took Sonea’s other hand, Sonea almost expected the rogue to give up. But the foreign woman fought on.

Yet her strikes were growing weaker and weaker. Sonea felt an unexpected pity as the woman threw all her strength at the barrier until her attack finally faltered. The rogue’s shoulders drooped. She looked haggard and resigned.

Letting go of her fellow magicians’ hands, Sonea glanced at them.

“Thank you.”

The Alchemist shrugged, and the Healer murmured something like “of course.” Sonea turned her attention back to the rogue. She closed the distance between them, taking slow measured strides. The Alchemist and Healer paced beside her, staying within her shield. The rogue regarded Sonea sullenly as she stopped before her.

“What is your name?” Sonea asked.

The woman did not answer.

“Do you know the law regarding magicians in the Allied Lands? The law that states that all magicians must be a member of the Magicians’ Guild?”

“I know it,” the woman replied.

“Yet here you are, a magician who is not a member of the Guild. Why is that?”

The woman laughed. “I don’t need your Guild. I learned magic long before I came to this land. Why should I bow to you?”

Sonea smiled. “Why indeed?”

The woman glowered.

“So,” Sonea continued. “How long have you lived within the Allied Lands?”

“Too long.” The woman spat on the ground.

“If you don’t like it, why do you stay?”

The woman stared balefully at Sonea.

“What is the name of your homeland?”

The rogue’s lips pressed together stubbornly.

“Well, then.” Sonea brought the barrier around the woman in closer. “Whether you like it or not, the Magicians’ Guild is bound by law to deal with you. We’re taking you to the Guild now.”

Anger contorted the woman’s face and a new blast of power pounded the barrier surrounding her, but it was a weak attack. Sonea considered waiting until the woman tired, then decided against it. She shrank the barrier around the woman, then used it to nudge her to the centre of the road. She began pushing the rogue firmly but gently forward. The Healer and Alchemist fell into step beside her.

And in this way, through streets lined with curious onlookers, they escorted the second rogue found that day to the Guild.

T
he blindfold over Lorkin’s eyes itched, but each of his arms was being held by a Traitor.

“We’re stopping,” one of the women said, gently pulling him to a halt. “Now we’re going up again.”

The other woman let his arm go and he took the opportunity to scratch. He braced himself and felt his stomach lurch as they began to rise. After several heartbeats he felt the unevenness of the ground under his feet again. The woman tugged him into motion.

“Be careful, the ground slopes here. Duck your head.”

He felt a sudden coolness and guessed that they’d moved from sunlight into shadows. That wasn’t all. There was moisture in the air, and a faint smell of rotting vegetation or mould. His guide stopped.

“There’s stairs now, descending. Four of them.”

He found the edge with his toe, then cautiously stepped downward. The steps were wide and shallow, and from the way sounds were echoing he had entered a cave or room. The trickle of water came from a few strides away.

“It’s all flat from here.”

That wasn’t strictly true, he could tell as he walked. The ground was smooth, but there was a definite gradual incline. He listened to the sound of the group’s footsteps, and the flow of water. If they made any turns, they were too large and slow for him to detect.

The sound of wind, vegetation rustling and distant voices came from somewhere ahead. A few more strides and, from the way the noise surrounded him, he knew he was now outside. He felt the warmth of sunlight on his face and a breeze on his skin. He heard someone say Savara’s name.

Without warning, the blindfold was removed and he found himself blinking into the brightness of the midday sun. Before his eyes had adjusted, the Traitor who had been guiding him tugged at his arm, indicating he should continue walking.

Savara led the group, walking along a pathway beside tall, swaying stalks. He realised this was the edge of a crop, the large seed heads peeking out from the topmost leaves. The path ascended steeply and he found himself staring out over a wide valley.

Steep cliff walls rose on either side, meeting at the ends of the valley. Fields filled the floor, each at a different height, like disturbed tiles, but all level. The tiers of green stepped down to a long, narrow lake at the valley’s lowest point.
Not one corner wasted
, he thought.
How else can they feed a whole city of people? But where are the buildings?

A movement up on the nearest cliff wall answered that question. Someone was looking out of a hole in the rock face. A moment later he realised that the entire wall was riddled with holes, from one end of the valley to the other.

A city carved into the rock.
He shook his head in wonder.

“It was already here when we found the valley,” a familiar voice said, from beside him.

He looked at Tyvara in surprise. She had barely said a word to him since they’d joined Savara’s group.

“Of course, we’ve made it much bigger,” she continued. “A lot of the old part collapsed and had to be replaced sixty years after the first Traitors settled here.”

“How deep does it go?”

“Mostly it’s only one or two rooms deep. Think of it as a city half the size of Arvice, but more elongated, and tipped on its side. We have tremors here now and then, and parts collapse. Though we’ve got a lot better at judging if the rock is safe before making new rooms, then strengthening them with magic, people feel more comfortable living close to the outside.”

“I can understand how they’d come to feel that way.”

He could see, now, that part of the base of the wall was broken by sturdy archways, through which people were entering and leaving the city. Elsewhere there were smaller, more widely spaced openings. The arches suggested a formal, public entrance, and he was not surprised when Savara headed for them.

But not long after, she was forced to stop. A crowd had begun to gather. Many of the people were staring at him. Some were clearly curious, but others looked suspicious. Some were glaring in anger, but not just at him. Their attention was also on Tyvara.

“Murderer!” someone called out, followed by sounds of agreement here and there. But a few people frowned at the accusation, and some even voiced a protest.

“Move out of the way,” Savara ordered, her tone firm but not angry.

The people blocking the path obeyed. Lorkin read respect in their faces when they looked at Savara.
She is definitely a Traitor to get on the good side of
, he thought, as the group followed their leader to the arches and into the city.

A wide but shallow hall supported by several rows of columns spread before them.

“Speaker Savara,” a voice called. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely.”

The voice belonged to a short, round woman, who was walking toward them from the back of the hall. Her words had been spoken in a lofty tone. Savara slowed to meet her.

“Speaker Kalia,” Savara replied. “Have the Table assembled?”

“All but you and I.”

Lorkin felt something nudge his arm. He looked down at Tyvara. She mouthed something, but he could not make it out, so she leaned closer.

“
Other faction
,” she whispered. “
Leader
.”

He nodded to show he understood, then gave the woman a closer look.
So this is the one who ordered me killed.
She was older than Savara, possibly older than his mother, if the roundness of her face was smoothing out the lines a woman her age might normally have. The sharpness of her eyes and the set of her mouth contradicted her soft demeanour. They gave her a mean expression, he decided. But maybe his perception was skewed by the knowledge she’d wanted him dead. Maybe other people found her appealing and motherly.

Kalia’s gaze swept over the other members of Savara’s group and her nose twitched. Lorkin realised that the slave garb he and some of the others wore now looked out of place.
Like the costume it is.
Savara turned to two of her companions.

“Take Tyvara to her room and guard the doors.”

They nodded, and as they looked to Tyvara she stepped forward to join them. Without glancing at him or saying a word, she strode away. Savara looked at another of her people.

“Find Evana and Nayshia and have them replace Ishiya and Ralana as soon as possible.” She looked at the last two women. “Go. Get some rest and proper food.”

As the women left, Savara turned to Lorkin. “I hope you’re ready to answer a lot of questions.”

He smiled. “I am.”

But as she and Kalia fell into step either side of him, leading him out of the hall and into a wide corridor, he realised he did not feel ready. He knew that there was a queen here, but it was suddenly clear that Tyvara and Chari had neglected to tell him how power was divided below the level of royalty. He knew the women flanking him were Speakers, but he had no idea exactly how they fitted into the hierarchy, and he was feeling a fool for not asking.

Savara asked if a Table had been assembled. I’m guessing they don’t mean furniture. They’re both part of it, so I assume it’s some sort of group like the Higher Magicians. With someone directing the formalities and ceremonies, as Administrator Osen does at Guild meets.

Light in the corridor was subdued, but bright enough to illuminate the way. There was colour to it – colour that shifted and changed. He looked around, seeking the source, and realised that it came from bright points of light embedded into the roof.

Gemstones! Magical gemstones!
He tried to make out their shape as he passed, but they were too bright to look at directly. They left spots floating before his vision, so he forced himself to avert his eyes.