The Magician's Apprentice (16 page)

What possible use was Hanara to his master while stuck here in Kyralia?

The most obvious answer was that he was meant to spy on Lord Dakon. Why Lord Dakon rather than any of the more powerful magicians, Hanara couldn’t guess.

And how am I supposed to spy on him if I’m out here in the stables, and he’s always in the Residence? If I go creeping around inside it’ll make people suspicious. Not that they aren’t suspicious already.

Dakon would be gone soon, too. How could he spy on the magician if he wasn’t here?

How could Lord Dakon protect Hanara if he wasn’t here? Hanara’s heart began to race as it had when he first heard the magician was going to journey to Imardin.

Can I persuade Lord Dakon to take me with him?

He shook his head and sighed. Lord Dakon had been kind and generous, but Hanara knew the man was not a fool. The last place he’d take a possible spy was the city, where Hanara might learn something useful. He’d want Hanara here, watched by his own people, where he couldn’t do any harm.

I am no spy. I have nothing to tell Takado. Soon I won’t even know where Lord Dakon is.

But even before he’d finished the thought he realised that he was wrong. He knew where Lord Dakon
wouldn’t
be. He also knew that a magician living nearby would protect the village if it was threatened.

He knew that while Takado could take this information from his mind, he had to reach Hanara first. For now all he could do was hope the precautions Lord Dakon had put in place would work.

The magical shield encompassing the wagon kept the rain and wind at bay, but the only known methods of using magic to smooth the road surface were too slow or too laborious to be worth applying. Rutted mud, sometimes submerged under pools and puddles, the road was a torment to both horses and humans, sucking at the hoofs of the former and shaking and jolting the latter.

Someone needs to invent a better wagon
, Dakon thought. He’d had the cover removed from this one because he found being enclosed in a rocking vehicle made him feel sick. Tanner, the driver, had stowed it away in case it was needed later.

Protecting himself and his companions with magic took little effort, and Lord Dakon had no trouble sparing attention for lessons. Two objects were moving through the air between the four passengers. One was a metal disc, the other a small knife. The knife kept shooting towards the centre of the disc, while the disc dodged away. Malia made a small noise and flinched as the knife whizzed past her ear.

“Wouldn’t this be safer if I used something other than a knife?” Tessia asked, her voice strained.

Jayan stared hard at the disc. “It gives you the incentive to concentrate.”

Her frown deepened, then Dakon saw it suddenly ease. Her eyes flickered towards Jayan. A faint smile touched her mouth. The knife wove through the air, then suddenly headed straight towards the disc.

A metallic clink was followed by a muttered curse from Jayan.

Dakon laughed at his older apprentice’s expression of surprise.

“What did you do, Tessia?” he asked.

“I imagined what Jayan would see if the disc was between him and the knife. It blocked his view.”

Dakon nodded. “Good. You used reasoning and imagination. You’re no match for him in control and reaction speed yet, and until you are it is thinking like this that will win the game for you. Either that, or his laziness.” Jayan frowned at Dakon in protest. “But it is dexterity that you need to learn. Now swap places.”

Tessia’s gaze remained fixed on the disc as she dodged and evaded the pursuing knife. They had played this game many times now. Jayan was running out of tricks to surprise her with and she was becoming more skilled at manipulating objects with magic and her will.

Dakon suppressed a smile. Travel was exciting only when venturing somewhere new, not when enduring the same bad roads that had jolted his bones every time he made this journey. How many times had he travelled to Imardin? He’d lost count.

As always, his apprentices provided distraction and alleviated the boredom. However, Dakon missed the conversations that had kept him entertained on previous journeys, as Jayan was reticent around Tessia and Tessia wasn’t making up for the lack of talk, either. She was not the type of woman to chatter incessantly, thank goodness, but she, too, was disinclined to speak around her fellow apprentice.

Really
, Dakon thought,
the two of them were a right pair of sulks when they were together
.

So he kept them both occupied with lessons. Even Malia appeared to draw some entertainment from the exercises, watching with fascination and sometimes a worried frown as she witnessed more magic being used than most country people saw in their lifetimes.

The servant had become more subdued and respectful as the days passed, Dakon noted. Perhaps she was intimidated by the display of power. Or perhaps it was exhaustion. She was the only house servant accompanying them – Cannia had asked him to take Malia instead of herself, saying she was getting too old for such journeys and the young woman needed the “maturing” effect of travel.

A cry of triumph from Jayan told Dakon the apprentice had finally got the knife to touch the centre of the disc. Dakon made a small gesture, and the two swapped roles again.

Jayan made a small chuckling noise. His disc abruptly halted, poised between himself and Tessia, and began to spin in circles. When she tried to send the knife at it, the spinning sides of the disc knocked it away. She looked at Dakon.

“Is that allowed?”

He shrugged. “No rule against it.”

“But that’s not fair. How am I supposed to get the knife in?”

He didn’t answer, just looked at her expectantly. She turned her gaze back to the spinning disc.

“I suppose if I got the knife to spin around the disc at the same rate…”

Dakon smiled. “Let’s see if you can, then.”

The knife began to revolve round the disc, point always directed toward its quarry. But though its speed increased, it never matched the disc, which now spun so rapidly it had blurred into a sphere.

“I can’t,” she said and, frustrated, abandoned her attempt. “I can’t see how fast it’s going, so how can I match the speed?”

Jayan was trying hard to not look smug, Dakon noticed.

“You can’t,” Dakon told her.

“So why did you have me…?” She caught herself and looked thoughtful. “To learn that it’s impossible,” she concluded.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “The most powerful magician in all history would still be vulnerable if he were blind. Our physical form is our greatest limitation.”

She rubbed her temples. “I didn’t need the demonstration,” she said wryly, but without reproach. “I have a headache that’s reminding me of my physical form very effectively.”

“Then rest,” he said. “It’ll go away soon.”

He looked at Jayan, considering what activity to suggest next. Jayan needed to hone his fighting skills, both magical and strategic. It was all too easy to skip battle exercises when settled in a peaceful and safe environment. The magical ones could be dangerous, both to magician and apprentice and to local buildings and people. Now that there were hints of a threat from Sachaka, he ought to make sure that Jayan, at least, was well prepared. But clearly they couldn’t start throwing magic about while travelling.

A hopeful look had entered the young man’s gaze. “Kyrima?”

Dakon nodded.

As Jayan dived into the baggage for the box of game pieces, Dakon smiled. He remembered playing the game with his own master. Kyrima had been banned by the Sachakans when they had occupied Kyralia, which was proof of its effectiveness in teaching battle strategy. Once independence had been regained, the game resurfaced, though after three hundred years of secret practice the rules had to be re-established, as so many different variations had evolved. Most magicians took the opportunity to play against new opponents whenever they could, because a player eventually learned the habits and mannerisms of those he or she regularly played against.

Malia and Jayan swapped seats in the wagon so Dakon and his apprentice were sitting opposite each other. They selected their pieces – a magician each and a number of “sources” decided by the roll of three dice. Another dice throw decided the strength of the magician. Jayan looked at Tessia and held out a waxed tablet and scribe.

“Score for us?”

She sighed and took the items. “Why is it that so many of your games are about war and fighting?”

“Conflict challenges us to extend ourselves – to stretch the limits of our skills and power,” Dakon replied.

“Being able to defend our people and our country is part of our responsibility as magicians,” Jayan told her. “To neglect to learn to fight is… well, it makes us the useless, glorified parasites that some say we are.”

Dakon blinked and stared at Jayan, wanting to ask where the apprentice had heard such things said, but he did not want to be distracted from answering Tessia’s question so he turned back to her.

“What we learn from these games we can apply elsewhere. The control you need for the disc and knife game might come in handy if you are occupied with something that takes more than two hands, and you do not have an assistant – or an assistant with the appropriate skill for the task.”

As he’d expected, a familiar expression of comprehension came to her face, then an almost secretive thoughtfulness. He knew she was thinking how such a skill could be used in healing. That same expression had crossed her face when their discussions had touched on healing and magic too many times now for him to not recognise it.

Would she ever lose her interest – perhaps obsession – with healing? Was there any harm in it? He hoped the answer to both questions was no. While her apprenticeship might have benefited if she had been as captivated by magic for its own sake, she was absorbing his lessons and gaining skills at an acceptable rate. More than acceptable, he was pleased to see. For an apprentice forced to learn while travelling, and sharing her master’s time and attention with another, she was learning with impressive speed.

What was most startling was
how
she learned. She saw everything in reference to her physical self. He had been telling himself that this was because she had already learned to think from the perspective of a healer, but he had a nagging feeling that there was more to it than that. When shown how to use magic in a certain way, she grasped the concept immediately and understood all the variations, almost as instinctively as a newborn enka knows how to walk and then run and then jump.

He had no doubt that one day she would surpass him not just in strength, but in ability. It was going to be interesting to watch.

But when it came to battle training she showed a strong reluctance. Perhaps it was natural that someone so focused on mending was repelled by actions designed for harming. She needed to see the value of defensive skills. It was better to prevent an injury in the first place, than to have to treat it.

Turning back to the game, he gave his pieces their own tiny protective shields and suspended them. Jayan followed suit. Various items were positioned between them to act as obstacles, and they took it in turns to block the other’s view by holding up a travel rug while they arranged their pieces. Then the rug was lowered and the game began.

At the end of the first round they had both used up most of their source pieces’ value. Dakon took a risk and elevated one of his sources to a magician. This meant he had lost a source, but had two positions from which to attack. The start of a new round re-energised the sources, as it represented a night’s rest.

“Why do your magicians have so many sources?” Tessia asked. “Kyralian magicians don’t have that many apprentices.”

“We don’t,” Dakon agreed. “But in war people can volunteer to be sources.”

“Do you ever play with one or both sides arranged as if they are Sachakan magicians?”

“Yes.”

“How is that different? Do you have to take the sources out of the game once they are used?”

“Not necessarily, though when playing ‘Sachakan’ you’re allowed to kill sources and give your magician extra points. Sachakan magicians are not as inclined to kill their sources as they are rumoured to be. Sources are more valuable in an extended battle if they are alive to be useful again the next day.”

“But not in a short battle.”

“Or in a desperate situation,” Dakon added.

“Why don’t you represent non-magicians in the game? Ordinary people – or fighters.”

“Ordinary weapons aren’t much good against magicians,” Jayan pointed out.

“Not unless the enemy is exhausted,” she said. “If weapons are always ineffective, why do ordinary people make and learn to use them?”

“Ordinary people are a potential source of power during battle,” Dakon told her. “They’re best kept well out of the reach of the enemy. Non-magicians who use ordinary weapons are usually guards, and their purpose is mainly to protect or control ordinary people. It’s been many hundreds of years since Kyralia had soldiers as part of its defence. Not since the times when magicians were few and expensive to hire. Hey!”

Taking advantage of Dakon’s distraction, Jayan had struck one of the lord’s magicians. Dakon didn’t manage to strengthen its shield in time, and the piece glowed and began to melt. Sighing, and ignoring Jayan’s triumphant grin, he drew it out of the game, carefully reshaped it while it was still hot, and held it to one side to cool before he put it in the box.

“Lord Dakon.”

Tanner had spoken. Dakon looked up. The driver jerked his head in the direction of something further down the road. As Dakon looked beyond the man and took in the scene they were approaching, his stomach sank. Jayan turned and glanced behind, then looked back at Dakon. Without saying a word, they returned the pieces to the box, discarded the “obstacles” and, as the wagon slowed to a stop, climbed out.

Once the wagon was still, Tessia stood up to get a better view of the scene before it. A stream or small river, bloated from the rain, crossed their path. The water’s flow was fast, swirling around the broken wooden supports of a bridge and the remains of the carts that must have been crossing it when the bridge gave way.