The Magician's Apprentice (59 page)

“It is call a blood gem,” Varno explained. “Not stone; it glass imbued with blood of Vindo king. It allows him to reach wearer’s mind.” He smiled. “Very good if ships trading far away.”

That revelation had roused murmurs of surprise from around the table.

“I check with him short time ago if I may tell you this,” Varno added.

“Communication by mind,” Sabin said. “But others cannot hear it.”

“Yes,” Varno replied. “My people keep knowledge of making many, many hundreds years.”

“Communication in battle, without the enemy knowing or guessing your signals,” Narvelan breathed.

The king looked at Varno. “How fast can you teach the making of these?”

The Vindo spread his hands. “Some moments, no more.”

Errik smiled. “Then we have a trade. I suggest that the fastest way to do this is for your companions to join Lord Dakon for lessons in Ardalen’s method, and then teach you later, while you come with me and teach the making of these blood gems.”

Varno bobbed his head. “That faster.”

The king rose, and gestured for them to follow suit. “Aside from Magicians Sabin, Werrin and Varno, who are to come with me, you are all to follow Lord Dakon’s instructions.” Dakon saw the two Lans magicians exchanging looks of uncertainty. Sabin leaned close to the king and murmured something, and the king turned to consider the pair. “Your help and willingness to risk your life for the good of our land is payment enough,” he said quietly. “Go with Lord Dakon.”

As the king and his companions left, the rest turned to regard Dakon expectantly. He found himself momentarily unable to speak. Then, recovering from his surprise, he smiled grimly and began to give instructions. To his relief, the magicians began to nod. Soon all were marching out of the tent, intent on the task at hand.

When Hanara opened his eyes again he noticed no change at first. It was still dark. He was still lying beside the entrance of Takado’s tent. His master was still on the pallet in the middle, snoring faintly. Hanara pushed himself up and peered outside. The three shapes of the other slaves were still where they had been before he’d fallen asleep, on blankets laid on the ground outside. He knew he had been asleep, but for how long?

Then he realised someone was shouting, in the distance, but close enough to allow him to make out the words.

“Wake up! They’re coming! The Kyralians! They’re attacking!”

Muffled sounds of movement and voices raised in protest came from within other tents. Hanara heard a low groan behind him. He turned away from the tent opening and moved to Takado’s side.

“Master,” he said, quietly but urgently. “Wake up. The Kyralians are coming.”

An eye opened. Takado blinked. He muttered something.

“The Kyralians, master,” Hanara repeated. “They are attacking – or will be soon. I do not know if it is a trick or not. Do you want me to check?”

Takado’s brows lowered, then abruptly he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“No.” He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed his face. “Get me a drink.”

Hanara dashed to a small chest Takado had taken from one of the towns. On top were a half-empty bottle, a gold jug and a matching goblet.

“Water or wine?”

“Wine,” Takado snapped. “No… water.” He shook his head. “Just give me both. Quickly.”

Hanara grabbed the bottle and the jug and brought them both to Takado. His master drank from the bottle first, then from the jug, then splashed water over his face. He thrust bottle and jug back into Hanara’s arms, moved to the tent entrance and disappeared outside.

Taking the opportunity, Hanara drank some water. It tasted of silt. He considered the wine and decided against it. He’d need a clear head if he was to serve his master well in battle. But what should he do next?
If the Kyralians are about to attack he’ll probably want to take as much power as he can, so I’d better wake the others.
Hanara felt remarkably calm as he moved outside and prodded the other slaves awake. As he explained, the slaves began to glance around the camp anxiously.
They do not have what I have
, Hanara thought, smiling.
I have achieved the long-life feeling, in serving Takado. It doesn’t matter if I die tonight. Perhaps that is why I am calm.

Yet doubts began to creep in again, as they had since the night after the battle, when Takado had disappeared with Asara and Dachido, then returned with new horses, but in a foul mood. Hanara did not know what had angered Takado so much, but his master hadn’t regained his confidence and good humour. Takado had taken magic from his four slaves two or three times over the next day, and hunted down the Kyralians foolish enough to cross his path with a frightening savagery. He’d even chased down domestic animals.

At least we ate well last night.

Takado’s mood had swung back to its normal confidence when, at sundown, twenty Sachakans had ridden into Calia to join the army. They had been preparing themselves for battle by roaming about in north-west Kryalia, attacking villages and towns. But they brought news of a group of Elyne magicians travelling south to join the Kyralians. Takado had roused the army and set forth, intending to find and defeat the Kyralians before that help could arrive.

After a few hours’ travelling, however, he had stopped the army and ordered them to make camp. Nomako’s scouts had brought news that the Kyralian army had grown larger, and the Elynes would not arrive for another full day. He wanted to gather more information and debate tactics, and threatened to withdraw his assistance. Instead of engaging in a debate, Takado had retired to his tent, saying they could argue about it in the morning.

It wasn’t morning. Hanara estimated morning was still several hours away. But the camp was alive with activity. Magicians strode about or gathered in tense knots. Slaves dashed here and there. Hanara saw Takado talking to Asara and Dachido. Nomako approached them, pointing south. Takado glanced in that direction, said something, then turned on his heel and headed for Hanara. Recognising the look on his master’s face, Hanara dropped to his knees and held out his wrists. Takado’s knife flashed into his hand.

The taking of power was rapid and left Hanara reeling. He saw the other slaves sway as they endured the ritual. Then Takado barked Hanara’s name and strode away.

Hurrying after, Hanara looked beyond the camp and saw a sight that set his heart racing. A long shadow stretched across the southern end of the field. A dark ribbon of movement blown steadily closer, by a wind he could feel only in his imagination. The slip of moon skulking within the trees allowed only hints and glimpses of the Kyralians’ approach.

White faces in the dark
, he thought.
They look like what the barbarian tribes of old must have looked like, but they’ve grown clever and strong.

As in nightmares, his feet felt weighty and encumbered as he walked towards them, but he forced himself to follow Takado. Memories of slaves struck by stray magic slipped into his mind, despite his attempts to keep them out.
I will stay close to Takado. I will keep close to the ground. If he holds I will be protected. If he fails I will not want to live anyway.

Or did he? Again, traitorous doubts crept in. He pushed them aside.

From all around him, Sachakan magicians and their slaves hurried forward. As Takado stopped, they fell into a line stretching out on both sides of him. Asara and Dachido, instead of standing among their own people, took their places by his side, showing Nomako who they considered the leader of the army to be.

A globe of light flared into existence far above Takado’s head, brightening the pale faces of the Kyralians. They had stopped advancing, Hanara saw. Once again they’d formed knots of five or six magicians. Many, many more knots than had been at the last battle.

“Have you come back to surrender?” Takado called out.

“No,” a voice replied. “We have come here to accept yours, Ashaki Takado, though I expect you will take some persuading.”

All eyes fell on a young man stepping forward from a knot of magicians near the centre of the Kyralian line.

Takado burst into laughter. “King Errik! The runt himself has scurried out of his castle to squeak at us. Which is about all he can contribute to a fight,” Takado glanced at his fellow Sachakans on either side, “from what I’ve been told.”

“I have plenty to contribute,” the king replied. As if copying Takado, he looked up and down the line of Kyralian magicians. “I have my people. I have magicians, united in knowledge and strength. I have ordinary people, willing and ready to defend their country any way they—”

“Magicians who have already failed you once,” Takado said. “And will again.”

The Kyralian king smiled. “How many of your allies died in that last battle?”

Takado shrugged. “A mere handful. Nothing compared to how many we will slaughter in revenge tonight. You’ll make a good start.”

From him burst a sizzling flash of light. It pounded the air just in front of the king, who staggered backwards. Hanara saw a magician step forward to steady his ruler, then the air began to flash and ripple between the Sachakans and the Kyralians.

Throwing himself to the ground, Hanara shivered as magic once again seared the space between the two armies. He peered through the remnants of whatever trampled, half-grown crop had been sown in the field. Mostly he watched in case Takado signalled for him, or snapped an order, but he could not help stealing glances to either side, dreading the moment when the first Sachakan fell.

It happened much sooner than last time. Hanara flinched and felt his heart jolt as a magician a mere twenty strides away burst into flames. He felt the heat, cringed at the screams. Then slaves surged forward to pat out the fire, but after the magician stilled he did not rise again. He heard the slaves’ fearful lamenting as they realised they were now masterless and unprotected.

When the next magician fell, Takado made a disgusted noise. “What will it take for us to trust each other?” he muttered. “Do as they do,” he called out. “Protect each other.”

Looking down the line of magicians, Hanara saw one take a step back, then glance at both of his neighbours indecisively. Then he staggered to his knees as a strike pounded his shield. He quickly crawled behind the magician to his left and rose to his feet, looking uncomfortable but relieved.

Now magician after magician began to either slip behind his or her neighbour, or die before managing to. Hanara’s stomach sank ever lower as more and more died or stepped aside, and he grew nauseous with dread.
How can we win at this rate?
Then a cry of triumph rang out. Lifting himself up on his elbows, Hanara saw that one of the Kyralian groups had disintegrated. Two corpses lay on the ground, and three magicians were running away. As he watched, one buckled in mid-stride and dropped. The other two swerved out of sight behind the enemy’s line.

Now Hanara watched the Kyralians intently, refusing to look when one of his own people fell. Laughter broke from Takado as one of the enemy shrieked in pain, his face blackened and clothes alight. All but one of the magicians around the victim fled to either side, hiding in the protection of other groups. The one who stayed tried to drag the burning man aside, but then both were knocked off their feet and fell to the ground, where they lay still.

Seeking the enemy king, Hanara found him within another group, scanning the two lines and scowling as another magician spoke rapidly to him.

They’re worried they’re losing
, Hanara thought, his heart lifting.
They’re going to try retreating again. But this time Takado won’t let them go. He’ll chase them down.

A sound beside him threatened to drag his attention away. He saw someone in the corner of his eye, crawling closer. It could only be a slave. He resisted looking back.

“Hanara? Are you the one called Hanara?”

Annoyed, he glanced back quickly. It was one of Nomako’s slaves. Hanara grimaced.

“Yes. Why?”

“Message. For Takado. He requests Takado retreat. Nomako’s men are nearly exhausted.”

Hanara nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

As the other slave crawled backwards, Hanara edged forward, slowly closing the gap between himself and Takado.

“Master,” he called. “Master Takado.”

He waited, but Takado was rigid with concentration. In case his master hadn’t heard, he called again.

“What is it?” Takado snapped.

Hanara repeated what the slave said. Takado scowled, but said nothing.

“My people are signalling that they are tiring,” Asara said after a moment.

“But so are the Kyralians, I think,” Dachido said.

“Yes,” Takado agreed. “We are too closely matched.”

“It doesn’t matter if these Elynes are an hour away or half a day,” Asara said. “Even if we win here, they will find us exhausted and have no trouble finishing us off.”

Takado gave a low growl. “If they find us.”

“Look at their faces,” Dachido said, nodding towards the Kyralians. “They’re worried. Either they know the Elynes will arrive too late to save them, or they don’t yet know the Elynes are close by. Let them be the ones to retreat.”

Takado straightened. “We have only to bluff them. Intimidate them.” He smiled. “When the next group falter, turn all your power on them so none have a chance to seek shelter.”

The three allies fell silent. Hanara searched the enemy line, looking for groups that might be reaching the end of their combined strength. He noticed that one group did not appear to be striking.

“That one with the tall magician at the front,” he said, loud enough for his master to hear. “Are they attacking at all? Or just shielding?”

Takado looked in the right direction. “Ahhh,” he said. “We have our target.” He sent a streak of light towards the tall magician and his group. It scattered off a shield. Hanara saw the man turn to see who had attacked him, and turn grey with terror.

In the next moment, the five magicians in the group fell under a barrage of magical strikes. Not one of the group survived.

Hanara watched realisation and horror spread across the faces of the Kyralians. He realised he was giggling, and felt a rush of loathing at himself, followed by a contradictory pride.
I found the target. Takado won’t forget that.