The Ambassador's Mission

CHAPTER 15

LATE-NIGHT VISITORS



The room’s walls were round, like the inside of a sphere. Like the Dome at the Guild, Lorkin thought. Are we home already?

A large rock lay on the floor, at the lowest point of the curved surface. It was about the size of a small child curled up, but when he reached out to it he found it was small enough to fit into his palm. As he cupped it in his hand, it shrank rapidly, then vanished.

Oh, no! I found the storestone, but I’ve lost it again. I’ve destroyed it. When the Sachakans find out they’re going to be furious! They’ll kill me and Dannyl …

Yet the feeling of fear faded quickly. Instead he felt good. No, he felt very good. As if the sheets on his bed were moving across his skin, and getting rather personal in a nice way with parts of him that—

Suddenly he was wide awake.

And someone else was there, very, very close to him. Crouched on top of him. Smooth skin brushed against his. A pleasant scent filled his nostrils. The sound of breathing caressed his ear. He could see nothing. It was utterly dark in the room. But the sound of breathing was somehow recognisable as coming from a woman’s throat.

Tyvara!

He could feel that she was naked. And she now let her weight settle onto his body. He ought to be dismayed – to push her off – but instead a rush of interest went through him. She chose that moment to take advantage of his arousal and he gasped at the unexpected pleasure of her body and his locking together. Traitor, he admonished his body. I should stop her. But he didn’t. It’s not as if she isn’t willing, came another thought.

He thought briefly of the time they’d spent talking, and how he had grown to like the glimpses he’d seen of a smart, strong woman under the forced submissiveness. You like her, he assured himself. That makes it all right, doesn’t it? But it was getting harder to think. His thoughts kept dissolving under waves of sheer physical pleasure.

Her breathing and movements began to quicken and sensation intensified. He stopped trying to think and gave in. Then her body stiffened and she stopped moving. Her chest lifted away from his as she arched back. He smiled. Well, that proves that she is enjoying it, too. She gave a muffled cry.

Muffled?

Brilliant light suddenly dazzled his eyes. He squinted as his eyes adjusted, then realised two things.

There was a hand covering Tyvara’s mouth.

And it wasn’t Tyvara.

Another woman loomed over him and the stranger, and he recognised her with a jolt. This was Tyvara.

But her face was distorted by a savage scowl. She was straining to hold the stranger, who was still making muffled sounds and struggling. Something warm and wet dripped onto his chest. He looked down. It was red, and a trail of it was running down the stranger’s side.

Blood!

He felt cold all over, then horror filled him with strength and he pushed the stranger and Tyvara off him and scrambled away. The push caused Tyvara’s hand to slip from the stranger’s mouth and for her to nearly tumble off the end of the bed. As the stranger rolled onto her side, her eyes locked with Tyvara’s.

“You! But … he has to die. You …” Blood leaked from her mouth. She coughed and clutched at her side. Her expression filled with hatred even as she seemed to lose strength. “You are a traitor to your people,” she spat.

“I told you I would not let you kill him. You should have heeded my warning and left.”

The woman opened her mouth to reply, then tensed as a spasm locked her muscles. Tyvara grabbed the woman’s arm.

She’s dying, Lorkin realised. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t just let her die. He sent out magic and surrounded Tyvara, pushing her away, then leapt onto the bed and reached out to the dying woman.

And felt himself and his magic effortlessly countered by another force. It shattered the containment and rolled him off the end of the bed to land on the hard floor. He lay still, stunned. She has magic. Tyvara has magic. She isn’t what she is supposed to be. And … ouch!

“I’m sorry, Lord Lorkin.”

He looked up to see Tyvara standing over him. He glanced at the other slave, but she lay still with her back to him. He looked back at Tyvara. How strong is she? He eyed her doubtfully. Is she a Sachakan black magician? But they don’t teach women magic. Well, I suppose they might if they need a spy …

“That woman was about to kill you,” she told him.

He stared at her. “That wasn’t the impression I got.”

She smiled, but there was no humour in it. “Yes, she was. She was sent here to do it. You’re lucky I arrived in time to stop her.”

She’s mad, he thought. But she was also a magician of undetermined power. It would be safer to reason with her than try to call for help. And reasoning with her might be more convincing if he wasn’t half sitting, half lying on the floor with no clothes on.

Slowly he got to his feet. She made no move to stop him. He saw that the woman she had stabbed was staring up at the ceiling. Or beyond it. And not seeing anything at all – or ever again. He shuddered.

Backing up to the set of robes that the slaves had cleaned and left ready for him, hanging on the wall, he took the trousers. Blood had smeared across his chest. He wiped it off onto a cloth the slaves left each night, along with water and a bowl, so he could wash in the morning.

“I gather from your sceptical manner that you don’t know of Lover’s Death,” Tyvara said. “It’s a form of higher magic. When a man or woman reaches the peak of pleasure during lovemaking their natural protection against invasive magic falters, and they are vulnerable to being stripped of all power – and their life. Sachakan men know of Lover’s Death and are wary of it, but they don’t know how to do it. They used to, apparently, but lost the knowledge when they stopped teaching women magic.”

“You’re a woman,” Lorkin pointed out as he pulled his trousers on. “So how is it you know magic?”

She smiled. “Men stopped teaching women magic. Women, however, did not.”

“You know how to do this Lover’s Death thing, too?” His notebook and his mother’s blood ring lay on the table. He picked up the ring as he reached out to the overrobe, hoping she only saw the latter movement, and held it in his hand as he put on the overrobe. Then he picked up his notebook, slipped it into the internal pocket and dropped the ring in at the same time.

“Yes. Although it’s not my preferred method of assassination.” She looked at the stranger. Following her gaze, Lorkin considered the corpse. If Tyvara knows one method of higher magic there’s a good chance she knows others. And that she is much, much stronger than me.

“What are you, really? You’re obviously not a real slave.”

“I am a spy. I was sent here to protect you.”

“By who?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“But whoever it is, he or she wants me alive?”

“Yes.”

He looked at the dead woman. “You … you, er, killed her to save me.”

“Yes. If I hadn’t found her here with you, you would have been the corpse, not her.” She sighed. “I apologise. I made a mistake. I thought you were safe. After all, you told me you weren’t intending to bed any slaves. I should not have believed you.”

He felt his face heat. “I didn’t intend to.”

“You weren’t exactly trying to stop her.”

“It was dark. I thought she was …” He caught himself. Tyvara wasn’t the person he’d thought she was. She was a black magician, a spy, and admitted to having preferred methods of assassination. It might not be a good idea to let her think he found her attractive. And I’m not sure I do find the person she really is attractive, after all.

Her eyes were darker than ever. They narrowed. “You thought she was what?”

He looked away, then forced himself to meet her gaze. “Someone else. I hadn’t woken up properly. I thought I was dreaming.”

“You must have interesting and pleasant dreams,” she observed. “Now, grab your things.”

“Things?”

“Whatever you don’t want to leave behind.”

“I’m leaving?”

“Yes.” She looked at the dead woman again. “When the people who sent her realise she failed to kill you they’ll send someone else to finish the job. And they’ll send someone to kill me at the same time. It’s not safe here for either of us, and I need you alive.”

“And D— … Ambassador Dannyl?”

She smiled. “He’s not a target.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because he’s not the son of the man who crossed them.”

He froze in surprise. Was Mother right? She was so sure someone would hold a grudge against me because of what she and father had done.

She took a step toward the door. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

He did not move. Do I believe her? Do I have a choice? She knows black magic. She can probably force me to go with her. And if she wants me dead why would she save my life? Unless that was a lie, and she just killed an innocent slave in order to convince me of … something.

Then he remembered the look on the stranger’s face when she saw Tyvara. “But … he has to die,” she’d said. That confirmed that she’d wanted to kill him. “You are a traitor to your people!” she’d also said to Tyvara. Did “your people” mean the Sachakan people? Suddenly his mother’s concerns seemed much too real. At least Tyvara seems to want to keep me alive. If I stay here, who knows what will happen? Well, Tyvara believes someone else will try to kill me.

He was in trouble. But he remembered what he’d decided at the Hearing. Whatever trouble he got into, he had to get himself out of again. Weighing up the choices he had, he settled on what he hoped was the best one.

He glanced around the room. Did he need anything else? No. He already had his mother’s ring. He walked over to Tyvara.

“I have everything I need.”

She nodded and turned to the doorway, peering out into the corridor.

“So, who was it exactly that you said my father crossed?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “We don’t have time for me to explain.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“But I will, later.”

“I’m taking that as a promise,” he told her.

She frowned, placed a hand on her lips to indicate silence, then beckoned and quietly slipped out into the dark corridors of the Guild House.


Once Cery would have travelled familiar parts of the Thieves’ Road without a light. There had been little danger of encountering a knife in the dark, as only those who had the approval of the Thieves had used the network of passages under the city, and the truce between the Thieves prevented any but approved murders happening on the road.

Now there was no truce, and anyone who dared could travel the road. It had quickly become so dangerous that few did, which, ironically, made the deserted parts safer. And stories of oversized rodents and monsters kept all but the boldest from exploring.

But I still wouldn’t travel without a light, Cery thought as he approached a corner. His heart had been beating uncomfortably fast since they had entered the road. He would not relax again until they’d left it. Peering around the turn, he lifted the lamp and felt yet another wave of relief as he saw the tunnel ahead was unoccupied. Then he realised that what he’d assumed was the next turn was actually rubble filling the space. He sighed and turned back to Gol.

“Another blockage,” he said.

Gol’s eyebrows rose. “It wasn’t there last time.”

“No.” Cery looked up at the ceiling. He winced as he saw the crack where brickwork was separating. “Nobody does any maintenance any more. We’ll have to go around.”

They backtracked and Cery took a right-hand passage. Gol hesitated before following.

“Aren’t we … ?” the big man asked.

“Getting real close to the Slig City?” Cery finished. “Yes. We better be quiet.”

The Sligs had been a group of street urchins who’d found refuge in the underground passages after their area of slums had been lost to new roads and buildings. They’d settled underground, only coming up to steal food. Somehow they’d survived, grown up and bred in the darkness, and now they defended their territory with savage ferocity.

The Thief who operated in the area above Slig City had once tried to gain control of them. His corpse and those of his men had washed out of the sewers a few days later.

After that, people living above had begun leaving food out by known tunnel entrances in the hopes of keeping the Sligs’ favour.

At each tunnel entrance, Cery lifted his lamp and examined the brickwork. The Sligs always painted a symbol on the walls around the edges of their territory. Only when he and Gol had moved away from the underworld citizen’s domain again did he stop looking for signs of them. Unfortunately, he began to encounter cave-ins and signs of decay again. But soon they’d reached the old entrance to the passages under the Guild.

The entrance had been destroyed after the Ichani Invasion, but Cery had arranged for a new tunnel to be dug. As a precaution, he’d included false entrances and clever deceptions that would lead explorers away again. Cery paused to listen and look for any observers, then slipped through the correct one, Gol following.

“Good luck,” Gol said as he stopped beside the niche where he usually waited when Cery made one of his journeys to meet Sonea.

“You, too,” Cery replied. “Don’t talk to any strangers.”

The big man humphed and lifted his lamp up to examine the niche. Brushing away a few faren webs, he sat down on the shelf and yawned. Cery turned away and set off into the passages under the Guild Grounds.

Like much of the Thieves’ Road, these passages were in disrepair. They had never been in good condition anyway, except where High Lord Akkarin had made repairs. But the secretive magician hadn’t been able to source much in the way of building materials, since it would have aroused suspicion, and had mostly reused bricks from other parts of the maze to patch the walls. The underlying problems of damp and shifting soil had never been solved.

I’m sure the Guild would rather they were filled in. I’d fix them myself, but if the Guild discovered a Thief repairing their underground passages I don’t think they’d be too pleased. I doubt they’d accept the excuse that all I really want is to be able to meet up with Sonea now and then.

Cery’s heart was still beating quickly, but more from excitement than fear now. Sneaking into the Guild always gave him a childish thrill. Skirting dangerous areas or cave-ins made Cery’s path more complicated than it needed to be, but once he was under the University foundations things improved. The passage from the University to the Magicians’ Quarters was the most worrying, as it was the only underground route between the buildings. Its main function was as a sewer, with a maintenance shelf along one side of the ditch. But nobody had maintained it for years, he suspected. Water ran from cracks in the walls and seeped down through the domed ceiling.

One day there’ll be a cave-in, and they’re going to discover a rather fragrant downside to not servicing their sewer.

Once under the Quarters’ foundations, the passage widened a little. Numbers had been carved below rectangular holes in the ceiling. He found the one he was looking for, set his lamp down in a dry spot, then climbed up the wall into the opening.

This was the hardest part of the journey. The openings were at the base of some sort of unused chute system that connected to the roof of the building above. Clean air constantly flowed down them. He had two favourite theories: either it was a ventilation system to keep the sewer air from getting too poisonous, or it was a rubbish disposal system designed not to reek of the sewer below.

The interior was small, but thankfully dry. He climbed slowly, taking his time and resting often. One day I’m going to be too old to do this. Then I’ll have to walk in via the Guild Gates. Or Sonea will have to come see me.

Finally, he reached the wall behind her rooms. He’d removed a section of bricks long ago, exposing the wood panelling behind. He put his eye to the spy hole he’d drilled into the wood.

The room beyond was dark and empty. But that was the usual situation at this time of night. He carefully and quietly grasped the handles he’d attached to the back of a section of panelling, lifted and twisted.

The panelling squeaked a little as it came free. I should bring some wax next time to fix that, he thought. He stepped through the opening, then set the panelling back in place.

It was a matter of some pride and satisfaction to him that Sonea had never seen him enter this way. She insisted on not knowing how he entered or left her rooms. The less she knew, the better for the both of them. It was not mortally dangerous to come here, but the consequences wouldn’t be good for her if his visits were discovered, and that knowledge tempered the mischievous delight he felt at reaching her quarters unnoticed.

He made a few deliberate noises, knocking against furniture and stepping on a floorboard he knew creaked, then waited. But she did not emerge from the bedroom. Moving to the door, he opened it a crack. The bed was neat and unused. The room was empty.

Disappointment extinguished the lingering excitement of his journey. He sat down. She had never been absent before. I never considered she might not be here. What do I do now? Wait for her?

But if someone else returned with her it would be a bit awkward. He’d have no time to escape to the chute. And the chute was too uncomfortable a place to wait and watch for her.

Cursing under his breath, he stood up again and quietly searched her furniture. He found what he sought in a drawer: paper and a pen. Tearing a small corner from a sheet of paper, he drew a tiny picture of a ceryni, the rodent that was his namesake, and slipped it under the door to her bedroom.

Then he returned to the panelling and started the long journey home.


The slave that greeted Dannyl at the door of the Guild House was especially quick to abase himself. Too many exciting discoveries were hovering at the fore of Dannyl’s thoughts, however, and he did not register what the man said. On the way home from the palace, he had written in his notebook as much as he could of what the king had told him of Sachakan history, but even as he walked down the corridor he remembered something he’d forgotten.

I need to sit down and get it all onto paper. It’s going to be a long night, I suspect. I wonder if Achati could arrange a quiet night for me tomorrow … what’s this?

In the Master’s Room a sea of slaves covered the floor, their bodies fanning out from the doorway. The door slave had joined them. It was such a surreal sight he could not speak for a moment.

“Rise,” he ordered.

As one the group slowly got to its feet. He saw men and women he did not recognise. Some with robust clothing suited to outdoors work, others with what looked like food stains down their leather aprons.

“Why are you all here?” he asked.

The slaves exchanged glances, then their gazes locked on the door slave. The man hunched over as if their stares had weight.

“L-Lord Lorkin is … is … is …”

Dannyl felt his heart skip a beat, then start racing. Only something terrible warranted this amount of cowering.

“He is what? Dead?”

The man shook his head and relief rushed over Dannyl. “Then what?”

“G-gone.”

The man threw himself on the floor again, then the rest of the slaves followed suit. Irritated, Dannyl drew in a deep breath and made himself speak calmly.

“Gone where?”

“We don’t know,” the door slave said, his voice strangled. “But … he left … in his room.”

He left something in his room. Most likely a letter explaining why he’s gone. And for some reason the slaves think I’ll be angry. Has Lorkin taken it into his head to go home?

“Get up,” he ordered. “All of you. Go back to what you were doing. No. Wait.” The slaves had begun to scramble to their feet. I might need to question them. “Stay here. You,” he pointed to the door slave, “come with me.”

The man’s brown face went a pasty colour. He followed Dannyl silently through the Guild House to Lorkin’s rooms. Lamps had been lit around the main room, and one still burned in the bedroom.

“Lord Lorkin?” Dannyl called, not really expecting an answer. If Lorkin had told them he was leaving, he wasn’t likely to be here. Still, Dannyl walked across to the bedroom door and looked inside.

What he saw made his blood turn to ice.

A naked Sachakan woman lay there, twisted so that her head faced the ceiling but her back was turned toward him. Her eyes staring up at the ceiling blankly. The sheets about her were stained dark red. In places they still glistened wetly. He could see the wound in her back.

Spinning around, Dannyl fixed the door slave with a stern stare. “How did this happen?”

The man cringed. “I don’t know. Nobody knows. We heard noises. Voices. After they stopped we came to see.” His eyes slid to the corpse, then quickly away again.

Did Lorkin do this? Dannyl wanted to ask. But if the man says he doesn’t know what happened, he won’t know if Lorkin was responsible.

“Who is she?” Dannyl asked instead.

“Riva.”

“Is she one of the slaves of this house?”

“Y-yes.”

“Is anyone else missing?”

The man frowned, then his eyes widened. “Tyvara.”

“Another slave?”

“Yes. Like Riva. A serving slave.”

Dannyl considered the dead woman again. Had this Tyvara been involved in the murder somehow? Or had she suffered the same fate?

“Were Riva and Tyvara … friendly to each other?” Dannyl asked. “Has anyone seen them speaking?”

“I-I don’t know.” The man looked at the floor. “I will ask.”

“No,” Dannyl said. “Bring the slaves to me. Have them line up in the corridor outside and tell them not to speak.” The man hurried away. I suppose they’ve already had time to collude and think of good alibis or excuses. But they won’t be able to modify their story.

He would have to send a message to Ashaki Achati without delay. The slaves belonged to the king. Dannyl wasn’t sure if the murder of one of them would be of much concern. But Lorkin’s leaving was. Especially if he had been taken against his will. Especially if he’d murdered the slave.

Achati will no doubt question all the slaves himself. He’ll probably read their minds. It’s possible he’ll hide any information he doesn’t think I ought to hear. So I must find out everything I can before Achati arrives.

He straightened as a chill ran down his spine. Is it a coincidence that I was finally invited to the palace the night one of his slaves was murdered here?

Had Lorkin killed the slave? Surely not. But it certainly looked like it. Was it self-defence? I should check for evidence either way before the king’s men turn up. Moving into the room, he stared at the body. Aside from the wound, there was a line of red beaded blood along a shallow cut on her arm. Interesting. That looks like evidence of black magic. He forced himself to touch the skin of the woman’s thigh and search with his senses. Sure enough, the body had been drained of energy. Black magic had been used. The relief he felt was overwhelming. It can’t have been Lorkin.

Then why had Lorkin left? Was he a prisoner of a Sachakan black magician? Suddenly Dannyl felt ill.

When Sonea finds out … But would she have to yet? If he managed to track down Lorkin quickly there’d be no bad news to deliver, just a story with a happy ending. He hoped.

He had to find Lorkin, and fast. Sounds from the corridor told him the slaves had arrived for questioning. He sighed. It was going to be a long night. But not for the reasons he would have preferred.