More Traitors arrived. As the last pair appeared, one hurried forward to the queen.
“I just heard that Chiva’s group had to fight four Ashaki – a father and his three sons. Vinyi was killed.”
Savara stopped to regard the woman with dismay. “A loss already.” She sighed and started toward the main gates of the courtyard. As she reached it, she stopped abruptly. Lorkin looked beyond and saw what had surprised her.
A crowd of about twenty slaves – ex-slaves, Lorkin corrected – waited outside. As they saw Savara they hurried forward, stopping a few paces away. From the adoring way they looked at the Traitor queen, Lorkin expected them to throw themselves at her feet. None did, though a few looked as if they had to work hard to resist the habit, bending forward then jerking upright again.
Nobody spoke. The foremost ex-slaves glanced at each other, then one held out his wrists to the queen.
“We want to give you … we have nothing to give you … do you need to take power from us?”
Savara drew in a quick breath. “We don’t need to yet but …”
“Take it,” Tyvara murmured. “They will feel they had a part in the fight for their freedom.”
The queen smiled. “I would be honoured.” She looked down at the knife at her belt. “But not with this. This is for our enemies.”
One of the ex-slaves stepped forward. “Then use this.”
In his hand was a small knife obviously meant for a domestic task like tailoring or wood carving. Savara took it and felt the edge for sharpness. She nodded and handed it back. The man looked confused.
“You must make the cut,” she said. “I will not deliberately harm my own people.”
He ran the blade across the back of his thumb, then held out his hand to her. Touching the cut lightly, Savara closed her eyes and bowed her head. The man closed his eyes.
A short time passed. As Savara withdrew her hand she looked up at the rest of the ex-slaves. “We cannot stay long. I cannot take power from all of you.”
“Then we’ll give it to your fighters,” the first speaker declared. The rest nodded and turned their attention to the other Traitors. Lorkin noted that, as domestic knives were found to be lacking, the Traitors were handing over their own knives. When a woman offered her wrists to Lorkin he blinked in surprise.
“Um … Tyvara?”
She chuckled. “You’re one of us now,” she said. “Better get used to it.”
“Oh, that’s not the problem.” He put a hand to his sheath-less belt. “I don’t have a knife.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Then I guess we’d better see to that at the first opportunity. For now,” she looked at the man facing her with hand extended, “we’ll have to share.”
The sun was hovering above the mountains when Sonea and Regin neared the first Ashaki estate. Gold-tinged light bathed the walls the colour of old parchment. In contrast the hole in the roof was an ominous black.
The estate was swarming with people.
“Slaves,” Regin said. “Looting?”
Sonea shook her head. She could see a line of men hauling rubble out of the building. “Cleaning up.”
Regin frowned. “Surely they’d have run away when the Traitors attacked – and stayed away now they have their freedom.”
“They’ve got to live somewhere, and there’s food and shelter here. I wonder: if the Traitors win will they take over the estates or give them to the slaves?”
“Hmm.” Was Regin’s only answer. “They’ve seen us.”
Sure enough, a group of about a dozen slaves had stepped out of the gates and were walking toward them. Sonea pictured what she and Regin must look like. Their robes clearly marked them as Kyralian magicians. As Kyralians they might not be welcome here, but she doubted even newly freed slaves flushed with victory would dare to attack them.
“What do you want to do?” Regin asked.
Sonea stopped. “Meet them. Better to know what reception we’re going to get now, than later, when we’ll be further from the border.”
About twenty strides away, the group slowed to a halt.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” one of them called out.
“I am Black Magician Sonea and this is Lord Regin, of the Magicians’ Guild of Kyralia. We are here as representatives of the Allied Lands.”
“Who invited you here?” the man demanded again.
“We met Queen Savara two days and three nights ago.”
“Why are you following a few days behind, then?”
“To avoid being caught up in the fighting.”
The slaves began discussing this. Osen had agreed that Sonea and Regin could follow the Traitors to Arvice, keeping a safe distance from the fighting, so that the Guild would keep track of the Traitors’ progress. He’d suggested that Sonea use the excuse that she was checking the way was safe for the Healers the Guild was sending – but only if she had to. The fewer who knew of the deal, the less chance the Sachakan king would learn of it. If the Traitors lost but enough of them survived and were still willing to trade their stones, it would be easier to get Healers to them if the king didn’t know about it.
The slave who had spoken strode forward, the others hurrying after him. Regin straightened and crossed his arms, but the man ignored him. The lead slave stopped a few steps from Sonea, staring at her intently, his eyes narrowing.
“We’ll have to check that is the truth.”
She nodded. “Of course.” Inwardly she cursed. If they did manage to contact Savara, the queen would learn that Sonea and Regin were following her. She might try to stop them.
The main straightened. “In the meantime, you must stay here. It will be night soon and we Sachakans pride ourselves on our hospitality.”
She inclined her head. “We would be honoured. With whom are we staying?”
The man paused and looked down, his confidence disappearing as if he had suddenly realised his behaviour had been unnecessarily confrontational. “I am Farchi,” he said. He turned to introduce the others. Too many names to remember, Sonea decided. She took note of the names of the boldest, and the sole woman in the group.
With a gracious movement, Farchi invited her and Regin to accompany him to the estate. As they walked, Sonea figured she might as well find out what had happened here.
“If it is not rude of me to ask, is the damage here from a Traitor attack?”
Farchi nodded. “The queen and her fighters killed the Ashaki and freed his slaves.”
“What will you do now?”
“Try to run things on our own, and with the Traitors’ help.”
“So the Traitors aren’t going to take ownership of this place?”
“Some estates they will take. Most will go to ex-slaves. Some will be divided up.”
“And the rest of the ex-slaves?”
“Will be paid for their work. And be free to live where they want, marry who they want, and keep their children.”
She smiled. “I hope with all my heart that you achieve this.”
Farchi’s chin rose and his back straightened. “We will. The Traitors are Sachakans. They will not abandon the task, as the Guild did.”
She looked at him closely. “How do you know they did? Our records indicate no decision by the Guild or Kyralia to stop trying to end slavery in Sachaka.”
He frowned. “It’s … what everyone says.”
“They also say that the Guild created the wasteland to weaken Sachaka, but historical records found here in Sachaka point toward it being the action of one madman, and many Guild magicians died trying to stop him.”
And we now know that the Traitors are to blame for the wasteland never recovering. She resisted telling him that. The Traitors were the ex-slaves’ rescuers. Even if they did believe her, it would undermine the Traitors’ efforts to prevent Sachakan society falling into chaos once the Ashaki no longer controlled it. But one day the truth will come out. I wonder what the ex-slaves will think of the Traitors then.
; “Was this madman Kyralian or Sachakan?”
“Kyralian.”
“So it is still your fault.”
Sonea sighed. “Yes, whether it was deliberate or a mistake, it was still the fault of a Kyralian. Just as it was the fault of all Sachakans that Ichani attacked Kyralia and murdered many of my people.” She met his gaze and held it, and he quickly looked away. “If I don’t blame you for the crimes of the Ichani twenty years ago, can you try to forgive me the act of a madman six hundred years ago?”
Farchi gave her a long, appraising look, then nodded. “That’s fair.”
She smiled, and followed him through the gates into a scene of destruction and hope, grief and newfound freedom.
As Cery joined Gol he drew in a deep breath of clean, forest air.
“Smells like spring.”
“Yes,” Gol agreed. “It’s warm at night now, too.”
“Warmer,” Cery corrected. “As in warmer than cold enough to freeze your eyeballs.”
Gol chuckled. “We’ll have to skirt around the farm to get to the part of wall nearest the meeting place.”
“Lead on, then.”
With most of the undergrowth hidden in the night shadows cast by the forest, it was impossible to walk quietly and without stumbling. The passages below were a lot easier to get around, even in complete darkness. By the time they got to the wall that separated the Guild grounds from the city, Cery was sure that they must have attracted someone’s attention with all the snapped twigs, rustling leaves and stifled curses. They waited for a while to make sure nobody and was coming to investigate, but no magician, servant or guard emerged from the darkness. Satisfied, they scaled the wall with the help of a nearby tree branch. From the top Cery could look over the eastern end of the North Quarter. Houses were built up against the wall, their yards divided by lower brick walls topped with an upside-down “v” embedded with broken glass to discourage climbing. The one below them contained a neat little garden.
Gol looped the end of a rope ladder around the tree branch they’d climbed to get on top of the wall, and knotted it. The rope had been another item stolen from the farm, and Gol had used short branches found in the forest as the rungs. He climbed down into the yard first, the rope creaking. Cery followed. They skirted the garden beds, paused to oil the hinges of the side gate to the yard, then slipped out into the shadows of the street beyond.
To walk the streets of the city felt like freedom. As they made their way through the neighbourhood, Cery wavered between excitement and worry at the risk they were taking. At least Anyi was safely back in the Guild with Lilia. He hadn’t told her his plans for the evening, knowing that she would either try to stop him, or insist on coming. Even if he had talked her into staying behind, she’d have wanted to know why he was going into the city, and he could not think of a good enough reason.
Other than the truth. But I doubt she’d have found that a good enough reason anyway, he thought. She wants me to live in the Guild and leave catching Skellin to the magicians. She trusted the Guild too much. And I don’t? He shook his head. Not with Sonea gone and Kallen in charge of finding Skellin.
He hadn’t completely given up on the Guild, though. They weren’t going to stop trying to find and deal with rogue magicians. But they’d take longer at it than he was prepared to wait.
To force their hand I need minefire, to buy that I need money, and the only caches I had that Skellin hasn’t found are in the hands of minders.
Minders who didn’t believe Cery was alive, and had refused to give the cache to Gol.
The risk of a trap was high, of course. He and Gol had selected the minder least likely to betray them to meet tonight. His name was Perin. Gol had hired three different street urchins as guides, each to take Perin on a winding journey through three Quarters of the city. The last instructions were written down, so that not even the urchins would see where Perin went. The meeting place was within a hundred paces of the wall, so if Cery and Gol had to run they had a fighting chance of reaching the grounds.
Reaching a crossroads, they stopped and looked around. Here the doorways were shallow and the street lamps bright. Nowhere to hide for several strides, so it would be difficult for someone to ambush them. A man stood on the opposite corner, watching them. Though Cery could not see all of the man’s face, what was visible was familiar.
“Perin,” Gol murmured.
Cery nodded. He crossed the road and approached the man. Perin stared at him intently, his eyes widening as he recognised Cery.
“Well, well. You’re alive and breathing.”
“I am,” Cery said, stopping a few paces away.
“Here.” Perin held out a wrapped parcel. “Send a messenger if you want the rest.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
The minder grimaced. “No you don’t. I have my fee, and the satisfaction of knowing the bastard who calls himself king didn’t get to everyone.” He held out a hand. Cery hesitated, then moved closer so the man could briefly clasp his arm, and did the same in return. “Best of luck and health,” Perin said, his brows lowering as his gaze moved over Cery’s face. “Looks like you could do with some.”
Then the man stepped back, smiled tiredly and turned to walk away. Cery heard Gol quietly move closer behind him.
Did he mean luck or health? Or both? Am I looking as old and tired as I feel lately?
He felt a touch on his elbow. Shaking his head, he turned and followed Gol back to the house by the wall, through the gate and up the rope ladder. It was harder climbing up than down, but as they made their way through the forest he felt his mood lift. Their journey had been worth the risk. Gol had money to buy minefire. They were closer to being ready to lure Skellin into their trap.
And it was nice to know that someone, even if just a minder, was pleased to know Cery was still alive.
CHAPTER 21
INTRUDER
Sitting down at his desk, Dannyl took Osen’s blood ring out of his pocket. Oh, how I wish I could put this off a little longer. But he couldn’t. Osen expected Dannyl to report back to him every two or three days. He would be annoyed or alarmed if Dannyl didn’t.
Even so, Dannyl hesitated. I’ve never been able to tell how much of my mind Osen can read during our communications. I always assumed he, knowing my preferences, doesn’t look too deeply – and that he would have objected already if they thought I was getting too friendly with Achati. And that Osen could only read the thoughts Dannyl was actively thinking while wearing the ring, not all his memories.
It should be enough, then, to avoid thinking about his night with Achati while communicating with Osen. Of course, the subject a person was most worried about was the one their mind would most likely turn to. Overcoming that took concentration and control, skills Dannyl had painstakingly cultivated as a novice.
He closed his eyes and practised some mind-calming exercises. When he felt he had control over his thoughts, he slipped on the ring. Osen’s mental voice immediately spoke.
—Dannyl. Good. I have urgent news for you. Sonea met with the Traitors a few nights ago. Their queen, Savara, revealed their intention to overthrow Amakira and the Ashaki, and free all slaves.
He needn’t have worried how much Osen would see in his mind. The Administrator would be well distracted by this news. Dannyl felt his heart skip as Osen told him of the declined invitation to the Allied Lands to join them, and the deal they’d struck instead.
—Lorkin has joined the Traitors. Sonea and Regin are heading to Arvice, following them.
—The Traitors are on their way?!
—Yes. They attacked the first estates yesterday. I don’t know how long it will take them to get to Arvice, if they get that far at all.
—Do you think they’ll win? If Lorkin was with them, surely he believed they could. But if Lorkin’s loyalty was with the Traitors now, he might choose to help them because their chances weren’t good.
—Impossible to say. Sonea believes they’ve been organising thi
s for a very long time. They weren’t forced into confronting the Ashaki. She doesn’t think they’d risk everything they have if they didn’t think they’d win.
And yet Achati didn’t think they had a chance. The man’s face rose in Dannyl’s mind and he felt a stab of apprehension before he pushed it aside.
—I’m sorry, Dannyl. I know you regard Achati as a friend, but you cannot warn him. It would alert Amakira to the fact that we knew about this before he did. Do not do anything to raise suspicions of our foreknowledge of this.
—I understand. What should we do?
—Stay where you are. Stay together – and that includes Tayend. Stay out of sight. The Traitors won’t harm you. The Ashaki shouldn’t, if they don’t suspect we’re siding with the Traitors. Make sure Merria and Tayend understand all I have told you.
—I will. Any messages for them?
—No. Sonea and Regin will join you when they get there, but I doubt they’ll reach you until after the conflict is over.
—We’ll stay put. At least they’ll know where to find us.
—Yes. From now on report to me once a day, or as soon as you learn anything new. Take care, Dannyl. Contact me if anything happens.
Slipping off the ring, Dannyl stared at it again. Sachaka is at war, he thought. An army is heading this way. An army of black magicians. Who will no doubt encounter an army of King Amakira’s black magicians – a conflict of a kind not seen in over six centuries.
He pocketed the ring, rose and strode out of the room, slaves scattering before him. He’d only taken twenty or so steps down the corridor when a female voice called out.
“Ambassador!”
He turned to see Merria hurrying toward him.
“I heard something last night you will find interesting,” she said.
“Should Tayend know this, too?”
She nodded.
He beckoned and heard her fall into step behind him. They passed through the Master’s Room, entered the corridor beyond and soon reached the door to Tayend’s rooms. The female slave waiting attentively inside the main door threw herself onto the floor.