The Magician's Apprentice (44 page)

She turned her head to the side slightly and considered him. “You’re a very contradictory man, Jayan.”

He blinked and stared at her. “I am?”

“Yes.”

He could not think of anything to say to that, so he turned his attention back to the magicians’ debate. Then he rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. It could be days before the villagers get an answer. Weeks even. Perhaps we should warn the villagers not to wait, or they might starve.”

“Perhaps their offer won’t be necessary,” Tessia said quietly.

He realised she had turned away, and that some of the other apprentices were staring in the same direction. He followed their gaze and saw that a group of men on horseback were riding into the village. The magicians’ voices faltered and faded.

“Reinforcements?” someone asked.

“That’s Lord Ardalen. This must be the group headed for the pass,” another muttered.

“That’s Lord Everran – and Lady Avaria!” Tessia exclaimed. Sure enough, the couple rode behind Lord Ardalen. Beside Ardalen rose Magician Sabin, sword master and friend of the king. Jayan began counting. If all the well-dressed newcomers were magicians – his idea for a badge to mark members of his imagined guild would have made it certain – then there were eighteen magicians arriving to either regain the pass or join Werrin.

The newcomers dismounted and Magician Sabin stepped forward to greet Werrin, Ardalen at his side. Jayan edged closer and strained to hear the conversation.

“Magician Sabin,” Werrin said. “Please tell me you’re here to join us. We could do with your insight and advice.”

“I am here to join you,” Sabin replied. “As are twelve of this company. Five will go with Ardalen to retake the pass.” He looked at the villagers. “Your scouts told us you have won a battle here.”

“Yes, we have,” Werrin’s tone was grim. “Four Sachakans took the town. We regained it.”

“They are dead?”

“Yes.”

Sabin pursed his lips briefly, then nodded. “You must tell me in more detail.”

“Of course.” Werrin glanced back at the villagers, who watched the newcomers with nervous interest. “We were just debating how to respond to a noble offer made by the survivors. They want us to take strength from them, both out of gratitude and so that we may use it to fight.”

Sabin’s eyebrows rose. “A noble offer indeed, if they have already been subjected to that unwillingly.” He looked thoughtful. “The king has been examining the law against taking magic from anyone but apprentices. He acknowledges that there may not be enough magically talented young men in the higher classes to supply all the magicians needed to remove Takado and his allies. He is also worried that we may lose many of our magical blood-lines if things go badly. So he has decreed that servants may be employed as sources if a magician has no apprentice, so long as they are paid well.”

“They should be tested first, as there would be little point if they had little or no latent talent,” Werrin said. “I guess this means we can’t accept the villagers’ offer.”

Sabin’s eyes narrowed. “The law against taking magic from people other than apprentices does not apply in time of war. Sounds like what happened here qualifies as an action of war.”

As Werrin and Sabin exchanged a silent, meaningful look, Jayan felt a chill run over his skin.

I think that means we’re officially at war.

“I don’t see how walking around the same old mansion is going to cheer me up,” Stara told Vora as the woman led her down the corridor. “It might be a large prison, but it’s still a prison.”

“Don’t dismiss what you haven’t tried, mistress,” the slave replied calmly. “This place won’t keep a mind like yours entertained for long, I agree. But it has many interesting little corners, and finding them may provide some temporary relief from the boredom.”

I’m not bored. How can I be bored? I’ve been too busy thinking about the monster my father is, and what he’s going to do with me now I’m “unmarriageable”, to be bored. If I’m wearing grooves into the floor with my pacing, it’s because I want to go home.
Stara sighed.
Pity I had to come here to find out where “home” really is.

“Are there any walls here that aren’t white?”

“No, mistress.”

Stara sighed again. It had taken Vora some days to talk Stara into leaving her room. Stara wouldn’t admit it to her slave, but she was afraid of encountering her father. Vora kept badgering her, and in the end Stara had agreed out of disgust at herself for letting him turn her into a coward. Though she imagined it would be difficult to talk him into sending her home, it would be impossible if she never encountered him again.

A curious smell had entered the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, or sickly sweet like the fragrances Sachakans preferred. Vora led Stara into a curved corridor. Arched windows on the inside wall opened onto a mass of green. Stara stopped, surprised to see so much plant life before her.

As she moved to one of the windows she realised that the garden on the other side was enclosed within a circular room, whose roof was a segmented circle of woven fabric stretched between metal hooks fixed in the walls.

“Yes, this is rather nice – and unexpected,” she said aloud.

Vora chuckled. As the woman moved to a doorway into the garden, Stara considered the slave.
I’m almost sure she likes me. I hope so. I’ve come to like her, and it would be a shame if it wasn’t mutual.

She still couldn’t bring herself to treat Vora as anything less than a servant. The woman’s bossy manner hardly emphasised her slave status, either.
I probably trust her more than I should
, Stara thought.
If her descriptions of Sachakan politics and intrigue aren’t exaggerated then I should consider the possibility that an enemy might recruit her to poison me or something. One of Father’s enemies, more like it…or Father himself.
She shivered.
But he wouldn’t do that. Even if only because Mother would refuse to send her profits to him any more. Still…if she never knew it was him…I should think of something else.

A small stone-lined creek wound across the garden, crossed by a bridge at the centre. At the far end water emerged through a pipe protruding from the wall. It was so pleasant that Stara was disappointed when Vora led her across the corridor and into an empty room. Here the walls were lined with grey stone.

“So the walls aren’t all wh—” Stara began, but stopped as Vora indicated she should remain silent.

Intrigued, Stara followed the slave to a wooden doorway on the other side of the room. Vora stopped and beckoned for Stara to come nearer. The faint sound of music filtered through the door. Stara looked at Vora in surprise. She hadn’t heard any music since coming to Sachaka. The woman smiled and repeated her gesture for silence.

Stara listened. The musician was playing a stringed instrument she was more used to hearing in the homes of rich Elynes. And the musician was good. Very good. As the player shifted from one tune to another, sometimes repeating a phrase to fix a mistake or alter the speed, Stara grew more impressed. Finally she could not stand the suspense any longer. She moved away from the door.

“Who is it?” she whispered to Vora.

The woman’s smile widened. “Master Ikaro.”

Stara straightened in shock. “My brother?”

“Yes, mistress. I told you. He is not who you think he is.”

“How did he learn to play like that?”

“Listening. Practising.” Vora’s smile faced. “When Master Sokara found out he smashed Master Ikaro’s first vyer. I don’t know how your brother managed to get hold of another. He won’t tell me, for fear your father will read my mind.”

Stara looked at Vora, then at the door, unable to reconcile the picture she’d created in her mind of a handsome young vyer player come to make her prison more bearable with that of her memory of a hard-faced young man who thought women were useless.

“You two have more in common than you realise,” Vora said firmly. “You should be allies.”

Stara looked at the woman again, then stepped past her and pushed through the door.

“Wait, mistress!” Vora exclaimed. “It’s a—”

Bathing room
, Stara finished as she took in the scene before her. A man sat at the edge of a pool of steaming water, naked except for a length of cloth draped over his lap. He was staring at her in horror. She looked down at the large hump in the cloth.

“Did you really think you could hide it under that?” she blurted out. “Surely you could have come up with a better plan. And you do know that playing in damp air could ruin a vyer, don’t you?”

Ikaro’s gaze slid away from her to somewhere behind her left shoulder, the surprise in his face changing to annoyance.

“Vora,” he said disapprovingly, but with no great force. “I told you not to meddle.”

“As you’ve always said, Master Ikaro, I’m not very good at obeying orders I don’t like,” the woman replied. She moved to Stara’s side. “Though I wasn’t expecting your sister to take my advice so literally.”

Stara looked at her and shrugged. “Well, I’m here now. You want us to talk?” She looked at Ikaro and crossed her arms. “Then let’s talk.”

He gave her an unreadable look, then slid the vyer out from under the cloth and put it gently aside. Then he tied the fabric around his waist, retrieved the vyer and stood up. “There are better places than this,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. “Places where we can still talk privately, but much drier.”

They moved down the room beside the pool to a door at the far end. The next room was smaller, with stone benches on either side. A neat pile of clothes lay on one. Ikaro indicated the women should continue to the next room, which was an ordinary, white-walled one with a few chairs and tables. He did not follow immediately, but appeared a moment later fully dressed. And not carrying the vyer, Stara noted. Where in those stone-lined rooms was he keeping it?

I suppose if it’s always kept in a moist place, and never dries out too fast, it shouldn’t split.

Still silent, he led them into a corridor then out into a walled courtyard. Potted plants shaded the area and a fountain in the centre filled the air with the constant patter of water. They sat at the edge of the pool.

Ah, yes. The old fountain trick. Hides the sound of voices. Good to know Elynes aren’t the only ones who do this.

“We can talk safely here,” he told them.

“None of the slaves are mouth-readers, then.”

He looked at her oddly.

“Mouth-reading,” she explained. “The trick of reading what someone is saying by the movements of their lips.”

“I had no idea anyone could do that,” he admitted, glancing nervously around the courtyard. Then he shrugged and turned back to her. “So what would you like to talk about?”

She searched for any sign of the aloof, cold man who had ignored her at the dinner a few weeks back. He looked a little anxious, but there was no animosity or distance in his face. He almost seemed a different person.

“Vora tells me you’re not like the person I thought I knew,” she told him, deciding to be blunt. “But you barely looked at me the one time I’ve seen you since I arrived.”

He grimaced and nodded. “I wasn’t to show any feeling towards you, good or bad, or it might affect the outcome.”

“It might put my prospective husband off?”

“Yes.”

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “I might have wanted him put off. But, of course, what my father wanted was more important than what I wanted.”

His eyes were dark and haunted as he nodded and met her eyes. “There is not much point resisting him.”

She looked back towards where she thought the bath was situated. “You don’t seem to be giving up.”

“A small victory that could be lost at any moment, any day. The larger issues . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “I’ve been so jealous of you, living with Mother and able to do whatever you wanted.”

Stara stared at him. “You were jealous of
me
? I thought you… You said women weren’t important and I figured that had to include me. Why would you have given me any thought at all?”

“I was sixteen when I said that, Stara,” he chided her quietly. “You can’t hold anyone responsible for the opinions they form at that age, especially growing up in this place. Everything is at the extreme here. There is no middle ground. When I met my wife I learned that things weren’t that simple.”

“
I
was jealous of
you
,” she told him. “All my life I worked towards learning what I thought I’d need to know when Father finally called me home.” She clenched her fists. “And when he did it turned out all he wanted was to marry me off like a piece of stock.”

Ikaro chuckled. “He was furious that you’d learned magic. Nachira and I laughed so hard when I told her. You must meet her – you’d like her. I know she wants to meet you. How did you manage to learn and keep it a secret?”

She shrugged. “Friends in Elyne. Mother wouldn’t let me become an apprentice, and I didn’t want to leave her to do all the work alone. So I learned from a friend and from books.”

“Father said you’d lacked any good training. I took that to mean you didn’t know higher magic.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “You’ve been to Elyne. You know the laws.”

“All magicians are bound by some oath before they’re allowed to learn higher magic, right?”

“Yes. My friend said she wouldn’t teach me higher magic, because it was a law she respected. Not that I resent her for it.” She shrugged. “What I had learned was precious enough. Do any Sachakan women learn magic?”

He nodded. “Sometimes. Usually because they’re the only heir to a magician’s property, but there are tales of husbands who foolishly taught their wives and came to regret it, or of women who received training in exchange for some favour.”

“Does it really mean no one will marry them?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t want to be married.”

“Just not to someone I don’t know and like.”

“I see.” He looked away, frowning. Stara looked at Vora. The woman was watching him closely, her face creased with worry.

“Having magic doesn’t make a woman unmarriageable, but it is unlikely anyone of high status would take her.” He looked up at her quickly. “Father has chosen someone of lower status than he wanted. That’s all I know.”