The Magician's Apprentice (73 page)

They’re running away
.

From the bodies on the ground Jayan guessed about a third had fallen. He saw that the leaders and advisers of the Kyralian side were talking, and strained to hear.

“I guess that’s it,” King Errik said, looking at Sabin. “Shall we go after them?”

Sabin shook his head, his voice too low to hear.

“So on to the Imperial Palace,” the king concluded.

Everran straightened, then looked down at the ring on his finger. “We’re to maintain shields. Keep alert and be ready in case of ambush.”

“I have no magic left,” Jayan told Everran quietly.

The magician nodded. “Ride in front and I’ll shield us both.”

Jayan nodded to show he understood. The army formed a protective ring around the servants then started forward, apprentices riding as close as possible to their masters.

Once again, they travelled in an eerie silence. The high white walls loomed over them, stark and threatening, and Jayan knew he would not be the only one worried about what they could be hiding.

“How are you doing?”

He turned to see Tessia riding beside him.

“Fine,” he said. “Other than having no magic left. How is Dakon?”

“Better than he expected.”

The army proceeded slowly and cautiously. The road stretched on, the white walls continuing towards hazy buildings in the distance. They crossed several intersecting roads, all deserted. At first there was the occasional shout as someone caught a glimpse of a face, an arm, or a human-like shadow above the walls, but eventually no further signs of life were seen – or else nobody bothered to draw attention to them any more.

The buildings in the distance grew larger and sharper. They gave a hint of impressive size and grandeur. Tessia wondered aloud if one was the Imperial Palace.

Then everything exploded in a rush of light and roar of sound.

There were shouts of surprise, and screams from both humans and horses. The wall beside Jayan bulged outwards, and he felt himself thrown sideways. As his mount toppled he fell with it. Something heavy landed on his leg as he hit the ground. He tried to pull free but could not. The horse lay still, either stunned or dead, pinning his leg under it.

Trapped under my own horse!
he thought, amused at the situation he found himself in despite the deadly magic sizzling through the air around him.
And with no magic to free myself with.

Smoke billowed out from beyond one of the broken walls. “Ride!” a voice bellowed, and was taken up by others. Hoofs rapped on the road. Carts rumbled by. Jayan felt hands grasp his shoulders. He looked up. Tessia frowned at him, then began pulling. After several heaves she managed to drag him out from under the horse. They collapsed, leaning up against an upturned cart.

The eerie quiet of the city had returned. Looking down the road, Jayan saw the rear of the army hurrying away.

Thin cheers rang out from the houses around them. Tessia turned to look at Jayan, her eyes wide. His heart was racing.
Should we run?
From behind the cart came voices.

“Did we get any of them?”

“Nah, just those over there, and I think they’re servants.”

“We’d better hurry then, or we’ll miss the next one.”

The sound of running followed, fading into silence. Tessia let out a long sigh of relief. They both got to their feet. Jayan tested his weight on the leg that had been stuck under his horse. It felt bruised, but wasn’t broken.

He peered around the cart. He had no magic and Tessia did not have enough to defend herself against a higher magician. If Sachakans were lurking behind the walls, waiting to ambush the Kyralian army, then an exhausted magician and an apprentice had no chance of catching up with the army alive. They would have to hide.

There were gaping holes in the walls around them. Behind one a house was burning, though not as much smoke was billowing out now. The closest gap was a few steps away – where the blast that had killed his horse had come from. Hopefully whoever had sent the strike had left to continue the fight elsewhere.

If he or she was still here, they’d have seen us already
. “Let’s get out of sight,” he said.

Tessia followed as he dashed towards and through the gap, and then they both skidded to a halt.

Lush greenery surrounded them. Wide-leafed plants fanned out over paved pathways. Vines clung to a lattice roof. In the centre a large stone-edged pool brimmed with water.

“It’s beautiful,” Tessia whispered.

They exchanged a look of wonder, then moved further into the garden, moving as silently as they could. Jayan hoped that the owners of this place, and their slaves, were gone, or staying as far from the battle as possible. They found a small, sheltered alcove and slipped inside, then sat down to wait.

“What do we do now?” Tessia asked.

Jayan shrugged. “Wait.”

She nodded. “Do we wait until night, or until someone comes back for us?”

“Whatever comes first.”

It seemed like years since Stara had been in a crowded room. Nine women sat around her, some chatting, some quietly listening. The youngest was only twelve, though far too wise and self-possessed for her age. The oldest was near Vora’s age, with more grey in her hair than the slave had, but an energy Stara envied. Stara suspected she would have found it hard to keep her entertained if it weren’t for the work the women had brought with them.

Since the Traitors treated all women as equals, free women had contributed in practical ways to the running of the Sanctuary. They were not given unpleasant or physically demanding tasks, however, as that would have been too great a shock to women who had never worked before. Instead they were taught skills like sewing and weaving, cooking and preserving foods. Though they’d fled the Sanctuary in a hurry, they’d each managed to pack tools for their work among the clothes and food they’d brought, and soon took up new projects when they arrived at Kachiro’s house.

Talking Kachiro into letting the women stay had been easy. She’d told him they were friends of his friends’ wives who had fled their estates in the country, and would leave when the Kyralians had been dealt with. Since his friends didn’t seem to know or care exactly how many friends their wives had, he had accepted the half-truth without question.

She’d had to gamble that he wouldn’t recognise Nachira, but he tended to avoid the women as much as possible and had barely spared her brother’s wife a glance. He was distracted by the news that the Kyralians were nearing the city, and often disappeared for hours to discuss plans with his friends.

Nachira had been distraught when she’d learned that Ikaro was probably dead. They’d wept together, Stara surprised at the extent of her own grief. She’d expected to have to soothe and reassure Nachira constantly, but the formally passive woman appeared to have gained some confidence now that she wasn’t under the constant threat of murder. The loss of her husband clearly hurt deeply, but she was alive and determined to stay that way.

Stara looked at her sister by marriage.
What will I feel, if Kachiro doesn’t come back?
He’d left a few hours before to join his friends, who were all determined to do what they could to defend the city.
He said the Kyralians haven’t got a chance, but I can’t help worrying. After all, they wouldn’t have come here if they didn’t think they could defeat us. I hope he’s careful. He may not have been completely honest with me, but he’s not a bad man. Just a man surviving in an overly judgemental society. Like me – and I haven’t exactly been honest with him either.

She’d never been so tempted to tell him about her magical ability. If it weren’t for her obligation to protect the women, she’d have left with him to throw what little magic she had at the invaders. When loud booming and cracking noises had penetrated to the room it had taken all her willpower to stay seated. Slaves had reported that they’d heard fighting a few streets away, but it had moved on.

“Are you worrying about Kachiro again?” a voice said at her elbow.

Stara jumped and looked down. “Vora! You’re back!” The other women looked up and exclaimed, saving Stara from answering Vora’s question.

“Yes.” Vora moved into the circle of women. “And I have news.”

“Tell us,” one of the women murmured. All were gazing at Vora eagerly.

“The Kyralians have entered the city,” Vora confirmed, her expression grave.

“No!”

“But… how?”

“Are many dead?”

Vora raised her hands and they quietened. “A third of the defenders fell.” She looked at one of the women, her expression grave. “I am sorry, Atarca.” The woman hung her head and nodded, but said nothing. “The rest . . .” Vora continued. “When it was clear they would be overcome they retreated. Fortunately they’d planned for such a situation. They started attacking the Kyralians from hidden positions. I followed at a distance for an hour or so. When I knew they were getting close to the palace I came back here.” She stopped to take a deep breath. “I think we should leave the city while we can.”

The women stared at her in silence, then broke it with question after question.

“So the enemy has won?”

“Where will we go?

“Does Tavara think we should go?”

“What would happen if we stayed here?”

Stara felt a chill run down her spine, then another. The women were already in danger of being discovered and recognised by those people in the city they’d fled from in the first place. Now there was the possible threat of the invaders taking their revenge upon the people of Arvice. Without magicians to enforce laws there was the danger of attack from lawless free men taking advantage of the chaos, who would rape and rob them and later claim it was Kyralians. And slaves might stop working once there were no masters to order them about, and with nobody raising or delivering foodstuff Arvice would eventually starve.

We are probably safe here…so long as Kachiro returns. But what will the Kyralians do to the magicians who survive the battle? Even if they let him live, I doubt he could protect us from them . . .

So should they leave? It might reduce the dangers they faced discovery, and lawless free men or slaves.
I should be able to fend them off with magic. But where can we go?

She thought of Elyne and her mother. But she had promised to help the Traitors, and she couldn’t take them there. Not when stories of the murder of Sachakan expatriates in Capia were circulating in Arvice.
Hopefully nobody remembered that Mother was married to a Sachakan, and has decided that makes her Sachakan too.
Kachiro had sent a message to Elyne hoping to find out her mother’s fate, but no reply had come.

“Many, many other Sachakans are leaving,” Vora told them. “There’s a line of carts and people on every road out of the city.”

“Where are they going?”

“Who knows?” Vora replied. “To stay with friends on country estates? Out of Sachaka entirely?”

“Have we got friends on country estates? Or will we go back to the Sanctuary?”

“The Sanctuary is too close to the road to and from Kyralia,” Nachira said. “If there was anywhere else, Tavara would have sent us there instead of bringing us back to the city.”

Vora nodded. “I’m afraid that is most likely true.” She paused. “Wherever we go, we will have to fend for ourselves for a while.”

“We are used to work,” the older woman stated.

“Not tilling fields or handling stock,” Vora reminded her. Then she smiled. “But I’m sure we’ll manage. Stopping other people from taking what we have will be harder.”

“Stara has magic. She can stop them.”

Stara felt her face warm as all the women turned to smile at her.

“She has only her own magic,” Vora warned them. “Magicians who have taken strength from slaves will be stronger than her.”

“Then why don’t we give her our strength?” Nachira said. The women fell silent as they exchanged questioning looks. Then they all nodded. “There,” Nachira continued. “Most magicians will have used up their power during the battle anyway. Stara will quickly end up stronger than them.”

The older woman frowned. “Better that they never know we have anything they want,” she said darkly. “Better we find somewhere to hide, out of sight.”

“Oh,” Stara said.

Somewhere to hide. Somewhere out of sight…

“Oh?” Vora repeated.

“I know of a place.” Stara felt her pulse quicken. “A place in the mountains. But I don’t know how to get there.” Her heart sank.
I wonder. Could I follow Chavori’s maps? I’d have to get them first.
She blinked as she realised she had risen to her feet. The women were looking at her expectantly. These amazing women. Adaptable. Strong.
We’re going to do this. We’re going to leave and make our own Sanctuary.
She turned to Vora.

“Can you get the wives?”

Vora’s eyebrows rose. “I can try.”

“Then try. Explain that we’re leaving and see if they want to come. I’m going out to get . . . something. While I’m gone, everyone,” she looked at the women, “pack as much as you can carry and put on travelling clothes. When I get back . . .” She paused to take a deep, calming breath. “When I get back we’ll leave Arvice. For the mountains.”

As the women scattered to collect their belongings, Stara hurried to her bedroom. She opened chests and searched for dark clothes. It would soon be night and she didn’t want to be seen. She heard footsteps behind her.

“I have sent a message to the wives,” Vora said, moving to another chest. “Are you planning what I think you’re planning?”

“What do you think I’m planning?”

“A little evening thievery. For which you’ll need to cover that Elyne skin of yours.” Vora took something from the chest and held it out. It was a dark green wrap, long enough to cover her legs. Stara took it and began to change.

“I’d say I was borrowing without permission, except I’d never convince you.” Grabbing a dark blue blanket woven by one of the women and given in thanks for her help, Stara wrapped it around her shoulders. She stuffed her feet into a pair of sandals and hurried out of the room, Vora following. “Are you coming with me?” she asked.