The Magician's Apprentice (58 page)

“You two are like old friends, or brother and sister,” Mikken said. Then he added: “Magician Jayan.”

Jayan stopped himself from wincing.
But I don’t want us to be. Curse this war!
Sighing, he resolutely set his gaze on the road ahead.

Towards the end of the day, reports of the distance between the army and the king grew more frequent. At first both forces were on the road, closing the gap between them steadily. Then news reached them that the king had camped outside Coldbridge. He would wait for them to arrive. Dakon could not help feeling annoyance that the king was giving up more ground to the Sachakans, probably for the convenience of having a town nearby to service the army.

But it made sense. The army servants were exhausted. Several were ill and were travelling in a cart. With all the best food served to the magicians, some of the servants had cooked meat kept too long after slaughter for themselves. Two had died, and neither the guild healers nor Tessia had been able to help.

“What water or sustenance we give them goes straight through their bodies,” she’d told him. “We’ll see more of this, if we begin to run short of food.”

It was incredible that she could mend a broken back, yet was helpless to stop simple gut sickness claiming lives. Refan had the advantage of magic giving him resilience, though. Tessia’s description of sensing magic repairing Refan’s body had fascinated Dakon. It confirmed what all magicians had long believed without any proof, except the observation that they lived long, healed fast and were resistant to disease.

A murmur among the magicians and apprentices around him brought his attention back from his thoughts. Looking ahead, he saw what the others were remarking on. A town lay ahead, houses dotted along each side of the road.

Coldbridge.
Spread before it were lines of tents and wagons, with tiny figures roaming about the space between them.
The king and the rest of Kyralia’s magicians
, he thought.
Which should increase the size of our army to just over a hundred.

At the centre, beside the road, was a large tent striped in the colours of the king’s family. Already a crowd was gathering around the tent, no doubt in expectation of meeting the advancing army.

The pace quickened and the sound of voices rose around Dakon. He glanced around, noting the excitement and relief in the expressions of magicians and apprentices alike. Tessia, however, was frowning.

“What are you worrying over, Tessia?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “I’m not sure. Every time we gain more magicians we have to teach them so much. Not just Ardalen’s method, but not to wander off, or who’s in charge. Do we have the time, this time?”

Dakon looked at the tents ahead and considered. “We may have to give up more ground in order to gain the time we need.”

She nodded. “There is another thing I’ve been wondering about.”

“Yes?”

“Lord Ardalen taught us how to give power to another magician. He died at the pass. Would the Sachakan who killed him have had the chance to read his mind and discover the trick?”

Dakon shook his head. “Mikken said his master was killed instantly, once his shield was overcome.”

She grimaced. “I guess we should be thankful for that.”

He sighed. “Yes, I guess we should. Though . . . I’m not sure a Sachakan would have paid much attention anyway. He or she would not have known the significance of what he saw, since we hadn’t fought them in direct battle at that time. If a Kyralian magician were captured now, however, I’m sure their mind would be thoroughly searched.”

“Let’s hope they don’t get the chance, then.”

The front of the column had reached the edge of the field of tents now. All fell silent as the leaders of the army approached the king’s tent. Dakon saw that a line of three men stood waiting. He recognised the young man standing at the centre. The two men on either side of King Errik were magicians more than twice his age, regarded as two of the most powerful and wealthy men in Kyralia.

Werrin and Sabin signalled for the army to stop several paces from the king. Slowly the long column widened as magicians and apprentices gathered before the tent. Then, as all movement ceased and sounds quietened, Werrin and Sabin dismounted and bowed, and the rest of the army followed suit.

“Lord Werrin,” King Errik said, stopping before them. “Magician Sabin. My loyal friends and magicians. It is good to see you again.” He grasped their arms in turn, then straightened and faced the army, raising his voice. “Welcome, magicians of Kyralia. You risked your lives to face our enemy, responding quickly and bravely to the country’s need. Though the first battle was lost, we are far from beaten. We have the rest of Kyralia’s magicians with me, bar those too feeble to ride and fight. We are now one army, and as such we must ready ourselves to face the enemy with our full strength. We have the assistance of magicians from other lands.” He turned and gestured towards five men standing nearby. Dakon saw, with surprise, that two were tall, well-tattooed Lans and the other three were of the less imposing Vindo race. Between them stood Magician Genfel, looking pleased with himself.

The king had paused, and his expression grew more serious as he scanned the faces of the newcomers. “There is no time to lose. The leaders are to join me to discuss our strategy. The rest of you may rest, eat and make camp for the night. By tomorrow we will have decided what our next move will be.”

As he turned back to Sabin, the army stirred and began to disperse. Dakon looked at Tessia.

“Duty summons me yet again,” he said.

The corner of her mouth twitched in a half-smile. “I expect a full report later, Lord Dakon,” she said loftily, then nudged her horse after the crowd.

He chuckled, then rode up beside Werrin’s horse, dismounted, and handed his reins to a waiting servant. Narvelan was already hovering nearby. Dakon moved to the young magician’s side.

“That’s Lord Perkin. And Lord Innali,” Narvelan choked out. Dakon looked at the two older men who had been standing beside the king. “The unofficial patriarchs of Kyralia?” He shrugged. “They had to show their faces eventually. And they’re hardly going to be excluded from this discussion.”

“I guess not,” Narvelan said, his voice thin with resignation.

“Don’t let them intimidate you,” Dakon told him. “They may have money, and ancestry that goes back before the Sachakan occupation, but neither will matter in battle. You have fought and killed Sachakans. That makes you far more impressive than a pair of old men with only fancy names to speak of.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Narvelan said. He sighed. “I almost wish it weren’t so. Though it was easier the second time. And the third.”

Dakon frowned at his friend. “What was easier?”

“Killing Sachakans.” Narvelan glanced at Dakon nervously. “I’m not sure whether to be relieved or worried that it gets easier.”

“Choose relieved,” Dakon advised. “If all goes well we will kill many more Sachakans. If it doesn’t, I doubt we’ll have the chance to worry if it was easy or not. Ah, we’re heading inside.”

The king, Werrin and Sabin were moving towards the tent. Dakon saw that the rest of the army advisers were edging after them. The king beckoned to the two patriarchs, who strode forward to follow him inside. Dakon, Narvelan and the rest came after.

Wooden chairs had been arranged in a circle. The king took the larger, fancier one, and the others settled into the rest. Magician Genfel introduced the Vindo and Lans magicians.

“I have some reports of the first battle,” Errik told them. “But not a detailed account.” He looked at Sabin. “Describe it to me.”

Sabin obeyed, and Dakon was struck by how much the army leader had actually missed. Sabin’s attention had been on attacking the enemy, relying on those around him to tell him how the rest of the Kyralian army fared.

Another advantage to our new methods of fighting
, Dakon thought.
His attention did not need to be divided. But the disadvantage is this lack of the whole picture.

To fill in the details he could not relate himself, Sabin turned to Werrin. After a while the king interrupted.

“This strategy of fighting in groups shaped much of what you were able to do. Tell me more.”

Dakon smiled as Werrin related how Ardalen demonstrated his magical trick of giving power to another, and the advantages and drawbacks of the method. He then explained how setting the apprentices to playing Kyrima with themselves as pieces and using only strikes of light had led to fighting in groups, with one given the task of striking and another of shielding to focus concentration.

A message arrived for the king then, and servants brought food and drink. The king returned quickly, his face grim.

“The Sachakans have overtaken Calia,” he told them. “They have not wreaked the destruction they have in the past, however.”

Dakon shook his head. Calia was a major town, prospering from its position near the meeting point of two major roads.

“They aren’t wasting their strength,” Innali said. “At least there are no people left for them to take more from.”

The king frowned. “Then why did I receive reports of bodies?”

Werrin sighed. “There are always some who refuse to leave, who hide to avoid being taken away against their will. Some even skirt around the army and return home.”

“Why?” Innali asked. “Do they not understand the danger?”

“Some do, some don’t. They think they can hide from the Sachakans – and some do manage to. To them protecting their property from thieves is more important. Or else their plan is the thievery itself.”

Innali scowled.

“The enemy isn’t keeping them alive to continue using them as a source,” Sabin added. “So to them they are a limited resource.” He looked at the king. “The Sachakans have their slaves, but we have the people of Kyralia. If they are willing, they could be our best resource.”

“But they are a resource we haven’t been using,” Werrin pointed out. “It has been difficult enough getting villagers and townsfolk to leave their homes, giving them a chance to gather what food and possessions they can. We haven’t had time to persuade any of them to let us take their magical strength.”

Lord Perkin shook his head. “And the people of Kyralia aren’t here for us to take power from. Instead they are arriving in Imardin in droves. The supplies they bring won’t last long and most have no roof to sleep under. We will soon begin to lose them to starvation and disease.”

The king frowned. “If the Sachakans decided to, they could ride here in a few hours. The towns and villages between here and Imardin are yet to be evacuated, and as you’ve said, that takes time. More than usual, since they contain not just their normal occupants, but those who have not travelled as far as Imardin but chosen to stay in these villages instead. I am reluctant to give any more ground.

“Then there is the news of another group of Sachakans in the north-west, travelling this way,” he continued. “If we wait too long they may join with the main army. Are we strong enough to confront the Sachakans now? Tonight?”

The magicians exchanged glances.

“Let’s sum up,” Sabin said. “After the battle more than half of us were exhausted of power, the rest depleted to some degree. We each have had one day’s recovered power from our apprentice or servant. Tomorrow we will have had two. And we have over thirty magicians who have not used up any power in battle yet. Together, we number over a hundred.

“We have no idea how depleted the Sachakans were after the battle, but we did kill twelve of them and we can assume several more were near exhaustion. They have more slaves per magician than we have apprentices or servants. They have been taking power from those people who foolishly remained in their path. As far as we know, no reinforcements or new allies have joined them. They number something over fifty.”

“It sounds as if we have the advantage,” the king said. Sabin nodded. “We do.”

The king nodded. As his expression turned to one of determination Dakon cleared his throat. There was one issue they had overlooked, which had to be tackled before this new army threw itself into battle too quickly.

“There is one other matter we have to address, your majesty. We need time to train the rest of the army in our new methods.”

The king’s stare was direct and challenging.

“How long will that take?”

“A day last time,” Sabin told him.

“Which was longer than it should have been,” Dakon added. “Too few of us volunteered to teach the newcomers.” He shrugged. “We had the luxury of time.”

The king looked at Werrin.

“I’m sure it could be done faster,” Werrin said, “if all were willing to teach. Perhaps a few hours.”

The king looked at Sabin. “Is it worth denying a few magicians their sleep for?” he asked, smiling wryly.

Sabin nodded. “Though we lost the last battle, it proved the value of Ardalen’s gift. Though the Sachakans were stronger, they lost some of their number. We may have been weaker, but
none of us died
. Had we fought as we used to – as they do – all those who exhausted their power would have perished. Not a dozen, not two dozen, but more than half our number. We lived to strengthen ourselves again. We lived to fight again. That is worth giving up a few hours’ sleep for.”

Errik nodded, then he sighed and looked at Perkin. “Gather up those who need to be taught.” He looked at Dakon. “You will have the unenviable task of rousing some volunteers.” Dakon bowed his head.

“I would like to make request,” one of the Vindo magicians said in halting Kyralian.

The king turned to him. “Yes, Varno? What is it?”

“Would I and my fellow Vindo be welcome to learn new magic?”

Errik paused and looked at Sabin. “I must consult with my advisers, of course…”

“We can make exchange,” Varno said, smiling. He reached into his jacket and drew out a small object. A ring, Dakon saw. A simple loop of gold holding a smooth red bead. All looked at it in curiosity and puzzlement.

Surely he doesn’t mean to buy the knowledge with this rather un-impressive bit of jewellery
, Dakon thought.