The Magician's Apprentice (20 page)

The wagon turned into one of the side streets. Realising she had forgotten to count the streets, Tessia glanced around for some indication of which one they had entered. On the wall of one of the corner buildings was a painted metal plaque.

Fourth Street,
it read.

Remembering her lessons on Imardin, Tessia knew that people living in houses closer to the palace were usually more important and powerful than those living further down the hill, although it wasn’t always true. Some powerful families lived closer to Market Square because they or their predecessors had lost their wealth but not their influence, or perhaps because they simply
liked
their house and didn’t want to move. But the opposite did not happen: no poor or insignificant families lived above Third Street.

Tessia had wondered, back when Dakon had told her of the social structure in Imardin, if there was a constant shuffle of householders as wealth and influence waxed and waned. He had told her that houses changed owners only rarely. The powerful families of Kyralia had learned to hold on to what they had, and only the most dramatic of circumstances wrested it from their hands.

If Dakon’s hosts lived on Fourth Street they must be important. Most of the houses that Tessia could see were Sachakan-built – or perhaps facsimiles. The wagon pulled up before a large wooden door within a recessed porch. A man dressed in uniform stepped forward and bowed.

“Welcome, Lord Dakon,” the man said. He nodded stiffly to Jayan, “Apprentice Jayan,” and then, to her surprise, towards herself. “Apprentice Tessia. Lord Everran and Lady Avaria are expecting you, and bid you enter and join them for afternoon refreshments.”

“Thank you, Lerran,” Dakon said, climbing out of the wagon. “Are the lord and lady well?”

“Lady Avaria has been a bit low and slow, but much better this past month.”

Tessia smiled. “Low and slow” referred to the assumption that someone who appeared pale and tired probably had a cool body and a slow heartbeat. It was not always the case, and the saying had more to do with ideas the uneducated had come up with from overheard comments by healers.

When they had all alighted, the driver took the wagon away, steering it through a much larger opening in the house’s façade. Lerran led them through the doors. Instead of a grand greeting hall, they entered a wide passage. Dakon looked back at Tessia.

“In Sachakan homes this is known as the ‘approach’,” he told her. “The room at the end is known as the ‘master’s room’ as it is where the owner of the house greets and entertains visitors, and serves meals.”

The room they entered was huge. Benches covered in cushions were spread around the floor, and where large cabinets did not cover the walls, paintings, hangings and carvings hung. Doors led away in all directions. There was no stairway visible, so Tessia assumed access to the upper floor must be located elsewhere in the house.

In the middle of the room stood a couple, smiling at their visitors.
This must be Lord Everran and Lady Avaria.
They were younger than Tessia had expected, probably in their twenties. Lord Everran was a tall, thin man with typically black Kyralian hair, but his skin was darker than the norm – a pleasant golden hue. He was quite handsome in a sleek, groomed way, she decided.

Tessia had never seen a woman like Lady Avaria. Her hostess was attractive, but in a restrained way.
She is what Mother meant when she tried to describe “elegance” to me
, Tessia mused. But there was something in Avaria’s face – a glint of mischief in her eye, a quirk in her smile – suggesting something playful underneath the restraint.
And this woman is a magician
, she reminded herself.

Everran’s expression was openly pleased as he greeted Dakon, slapping his guest’s upper arms in what Tessia now concluded was some sort of greeting among important men. She noted that he did not favour Jayan with the same gesture. Lord Gilar hadn’t either, she recalled. Perhaps Jayan would not be considered important until he was a higher magician.

Lady Avaria did not follow suit. She smiled and touched Dakon lightly on the cheek.

“It is good to have you back, Dakon,” she said in a warm, low voice. She turned to Jayan. “Welcome back, Apprentice Jayan of Drayn.”

Both host and hostess had an alertness to their gaze, Tessia noted. As they turned to regard her she had the distinct feeling she was being examined with astute care.
It is a good thing I’m not the sort to babble when I’m nervous
, she thought as she answered their questions,
and have nothing to hide. I have a feeling they’d never miss a slip of the tongue.

“A healer’s assistant?” Avaria said. “I have a friend who is in training to become a healer. I should arrange a meeting, over lunch or something.”

Tessia blinked in surprise. “I was only an assistant. They may find me, ah, rather wanting.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fascinating,” Avaria assured her. “And I’ve been looking forward to a new shopping companion.” She turned to Dakon. “Now, have you given your apprentices the usual allowance?”

Dakon chuckled. “Just as soon as we have all unpacked.”

“Prices have risen considerably since your last visit,” Avaria warned. “Since this is Tessia’s first visit she has more than the usual stocking up to do.”

Tessia felt her face warming. “I don’t—” she began then stopped as Jayan put out a hand to stall her.

“Oh, yes you do,” Jayan told her quietly, “if you’re going to survive Avaria’s company for more than five minutes.”

The lady looked back at him and narrowed her eyes. “I heard that.”

“She also has very sharp ears,” he warned Tessia.

“Five minutes.” Avaria clicked her tongue, her eyes flashing with amusement. “A whole five minutes. I shall have to do something to salvage my reputation.”

“Hanar!”

Suppressing a grimace, Hanara straightened and looked towards the voice. No self-respecting Kyralian man had a name ending in a, as their women did – or so the stable servants had told him – so they had shortened his.

The stable master, Ravern, was standing at the door. He beckoned, so Hanara put aside his shovel and walked over.

“Take this to Bregar, the store master,” Ravern said, handing Hanara a waxed tablet with writing scrawled over it. “Bring back what he gives you. And be quick, or you’ll interrupt his dinner.”

Hanara nodded his head as the other stable servants did to show respect to the man, and strode out into the late afternoon light. He tucked the tablet into his tunic, where it sat wax-side outward against his belt. Hurrying down the cartway to the gate, he paused to quickly scan the village.

No people about. It was not surprising. The air had a chill to it that promised a late snow.

Stepping out onto the road, he strode purposefully towards the large store building. It was both a shop and the place where produce made in the ley, or brought in from outside for the use of the ley’s populace, was kept. The stable master had sent him out on errands like this a few times now. Hanara suspected his trustworthiness was being tested. And his usefulness.

Reaching the store, Hanara entered and removed the tablet from his tunic. The store master was absent, so he rang the bell. Bregar shuffled into the room from a door at the back, his scowl softening into a frown when he saw Hanara. The man didn’t trust Hanara, but he never mocked him either. He reached out to take the tablet.

Bregar was a big man for a Kyralian. Hanara suspected there was quite a bit of Sachakan in his bloodline. As he watched, the store master piled up solid blocks of a glossy substance on a table, then bags of grain and a heavy ceramic jar, its stopper sealed generously with wax. All the items were for the stables, which made sense, but Hanara had noticed that he had never been sent – as other stable servants often were – to collect food for the Residence or to take items to be sharpened to the metal worker.

Bregar handed back the tablet. The pile on the table was large, and the store master set about packing everything into a wooden crate. Seeing this, Hanara dropped the tablet down his tunic front again. He would need both hands to carry the crate. As Bregar lifted the container, Hanara bent over and indicated that the man should place it on his shoulders. He straightened up, and the man frowned and made a questioning grunt.

Hanara nodded. The store master shrugged and opened the door.

Outside the light of day was failing. As Hanara started back towards the Residence, he mused that the grunt had been the closest thing to a conversation that he’d ever had with Bregar. He didn’t mind. Slaves tended to be as reticent. Chatter got you into trouble.

Halfway to the Residence something stung Hanara’s arm. He flinched and kept walking. This often happened when he was out in the village alone. Usually when the two young louts were about.

He hadn’t gone much further when he heard footsteps coming closer. As the two young men approached he felt his stomach sink. They were an irritation most of the time, but if they made him drop his burden and something broke there would be trouble back at the stables.

He kept walking. The pair moved to either side, keeping pace.

“Hanar
a
,” one said. “Do you have a wife back in Sachaka?”

As always, he stayed silent. Kept walking.

“Do you miss her? Do you miss
bedding
her?”

“Does your Sachakan master do that now?”

One foot in front of the other. Their taunting was meaningless. They knew too little to hurt him. The benefit of not being allowed to care for anyone was that there was nobody that could be used against you.

“Or did he do that with
you
?”

It was a strange saying, this “bedding”. As if the act of human breeding was done with mattresses rather than body parts.

“I bet he’ll get into trouble if he drops those boxes.”

“That’s stuff for the Residence,” the other said.

“So? Lord Dakon can afford to replace it if it breaks. But Hanar
a
here can’t afford to do anything wrong, or he’ll get kicked out.”

The cartway entrance was only a hundred paces away. Hanara felt a shove from one side. He swayed, keeping the load balanced. There was a shove from the other side. This time he stepped on one of the lout’s feet as he swerved. The young man swore.

“Stupid slave,” he snarled. Stepping in front of Hanara, he slammed his fist into Hanara’s stomach.

There was a crack. The young man recoiled, his face distorted in open-mouthed pain. Hanara felt the tablet shift as broken pieces fell downward to settle against his belt. He stepped round the lout and continued on his way.

From behind he heard the other lout asking what had happened.

“Don’t know. It’s like he was wearing
armour
. Ouch! My thumb feels like it’s
broken
.”

Hanara smiled. He stepped into the cartway, then couldn’t resist turning and looking back towards the village. But before he could make out the two louts in the gloom, something else caught his eye.

Beyond the village, on the ridge above, a blue light was blinking slowly in and out of existence.

His blood went cold.

Turning, he fled down the cartway to the stables, his heart racing. He couldn’t read the writing on the broken tablet down his shirt, but he was able to decode the pulsing light on the hill. The pattern represented one word. One order.

Report.

Takado had returned.

The master’s room of Everran’s house smelled of marin flowers, a crisp yet rich scent that gave the space a mood both lively and meditative. Dakon and Jayan had settled onto one of the bench chairs. They hadn’t seen Tessia or Avaria yet today. The two women had left early to explore the city, and would spend the afternoon with one of Avaria’s friends.

Everran had vanished, but now he re-entered the room rubbing his hands together eagerly.

“Our visitors should begin arriving soon.”

Dakon nodded. His father and Everran’s grandfather had been cousins, so they had a link through family ties, albeit a distant one. Dakon had continued his father’s custom of staying with Everran’s father when visiting Imardin. Then, when the man died five years ago from a seizure of the heart, his son insisted on taking over the role of Dakon’s host when he visited Imardin.

Everran was a likeable and smart young man. He had come into his inheritance too young, but he had shouldered the burden with admirable maturity, and had a good grasp of politics. It had pleased Dakon when Everran had joined the Circle of Friends, and not just because he liked the young magician. It was heartening to see that some city magicians were as concerned about the threat from Sachaka as the country lords, and willing to support their cause.

“What are they expecting?” Dakon asked. “Will they be wanting information? News?”

Everran shrugged. “No. It’s unlikely you’ll know anything they don’t already. We’ll be discussing how you should approach the king.”

“All advice is welcome.” Dakon grimaced wryly. “It’s been a long time since I met the king, and then it wasn’t on official business.”

“It’s in all our interests that you succeed. They – ah, here’s the first of them now.”

Footsteps drew their attention to the passage leading from the front entrance of the house. Everran rose and Dakon and Jayan followed suit. A short, slightly overweight man with grey in his black hair appeared, escorted by Lerran the doorman. He paused to smile and nod to Everran, and then to Dakon as Everran introduced him.

“This is Magician Wayel of the Paren family, the new trade master.”

“Congratulations. I hope it has been a smooth transition.”

Wayel shrugged. “As smooth as can be expected.”

“What is Lord Gregar up to now?” Dakon asked.

“Resting at home.” At Everran’s urging, they moved to the benches and sat down again. “I’ve heard he isn’t well. Some say he gave away the position too early and is expiring of boredom, but I’ve been told that he might have quit because he was unwell. Perhaps dying.”

Thinking of the energetic old man whose task it had been to settle trading disputes between the leys, Dakon felt a pang of sadness. Men like Lord Gregar, efficient and intelligent, were hard to find. He hoped Magician Wayel would live up to his predecessor’s standards, though he didn’t envy the man the demands of the job.