The Ambassador's Mission

CHAPTER 17

HUNTED



Despite spending several hours in the room, Lorkin’s eyes still smarted. The air was thick with the smell of the urine stored in open vats to one side. Tyvara had told him to breathe shallowly to avoid burning his lungs, and to keep his eyes closed. She had also told him, before she slipped away again, that only slaves would enter the room, and to stay quiet.

Time passes very slowly when your every breath sets your throat burning with sour fumes. It also made fleeing into the night far less of an exciting adventure than it had first promised.

Not that I did it for the thrill of it. I do believe it was my only choice. That I was in danger. And still could be.

Was he a fool to believe Tyvara? The only evidence he had that she was telling the truth was the reaction of the slave woman she’d killed.

“You! But … he has to die. You … You are a traitor to your people.”

From that he knew three things: the slave had recognised Tyvara, believed he should be killed, and thought Tyvara a traitor. What had Tyvara said in reply?

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

From that he could assume Tyvara had known of the woman’s intent and given the slave a chance to abandon her mission. Or she said it in the hope I’d believe that. But what reason might she have to deceive him? Maybe to convince me she had given the woman a chance to leave. That she wasn’t as merciless a killer as she seemed.

One thing was clear. If Tyvara had wanted to kill him, she would have. After all, she knew black magic. She could easily be many times stronger than him, magically.

But what he wasn’t sure about was whether it was necessary for him to flee with her. Surely once Dannyl learned what had happened he’d have arranged better protection for them. But how would he do that? It will take several days for any Guild magicians to get here, and none of them are as strong as most Sachakan magicians. If Mother or Kallen were sent, they would have to strengthen themselves with black magic before they left and that would take more time. As for the Sachakan magicians … would any deign to act as bodyguard to a Guild Ambassador’s assistant? How could we know they hadn’t sent Riva to kill me to begin with?

As for who wanted him dead, his best guess was the families of the Sachakans his parents had killed during the Ichani Invasion. His mother must be right. Their families must still feel obliged to seek revenge for their relations, despite the fact those relations had been outcasts.

The Higher Magicians were sure there was no danger of that. So were Lord Maron and the other Guild Ambassadors who had lived here. Did those families hide their intentions in the hope that Mother or I would one day travel to Sachaka?

He thought of the ring in his pocket. Should I try to contact my mother again? Slaves had been coming in and out of the room constantly. They didn’t seem surprised to see him there. The first time, he’d been about to use his mother’s blood ring, and had stuffed it into the spine of his notebook just in time. If they saw it would they suspect he was trying to betray them, and take it away?

What would she say to me? Probably to go back to the Guild House and let Dannyl take care of everything. She’ll have no trouble talking the Guild into ordering me home now. He felt a surge of rebellion, but it faded quickly. She was right, he reminded himself. It was too dangerous for me to come here. Yet something tells me going back to the Guild House isn’t a safe option right now. If Tyvara saved my life she wants me alive, and clearly that’s not where she thinks I should—

The door to the room opened abruptly, making Lorkin jump. But it was Tyvara standing in the opening. He could not help thinking, as he had done every time he’d seen her previously, that she was alluringly mysterious and exotic. Now, however, she did not stand with her head bowed and gaze lowered. Nor did she throw herself on the floor. Instead she regarded him with amusement, her pose confident and relaxed.

Which is a definite improvement, he decided.

“How are you doing?” she asked, grimacing at the smell.

“Still breathing,” he replied. “Though I almost wish I wasn’t. Are you going to explain all this to me now?”

She smiled faintly. “Yes. Come out.”

He followed her out into the big workroom beyond. Four slave women sat at a large table, watching him with undisguised curiosity but no hint of friendliness. Two were around Tyvara’s age, the others were older but it was hard to guess whether their wrinkles were from hard work and sunlight or advancing years. As he looked at them, they glanced away, then straightened and brought their attention back to him. As if habit made them avoid meeting my gaze at first. Tyvara, though, has to pretend to be a slave. I think … I think these women were raised as slaves, while Tyvara was born a free woman.

“Sit,” Tyvara invited, indicating a stool beside the table. As he did, she perched on the edge of another. “I’d introduce everyone but it is always safer to avoid sharing names. I can tell you we are safe with these women.”

Lorkin nodded politely at them. “Then I thank you for your help.”

The four said nothing, but their eyebrows had risen and they exchanged a few quick looks.

“We are a people known as the Traitors,” Tyvara told him. “Several hundred years ago, after Sachaka was conquered by the Kyralians, free women joined with female slaves and escaped to a remote and hidden place. There they built a home where none are slaves and all are equal.”

Lorkin frowned. “A society entirely of women? But how do you—”

“Not entirely women.” Tyvara smiled. “There are men there, too. But they are not in charge of everything, as they are everywhere else in the world.”

How fascinating. Lorkin looked at Tyvara closely. Of course. It’s not just that she was born a free woman. She’s used to having authority over others. Then he realised something else. She had always reminded him of someone and now he knew who it was.

My mother! At that thought he felt his stomach sink. That might not be a good thought to have slip into my mind if we ever … no, don’t think about it.

“Any questions?” she asked.

“Why do you call yourselves ‘the Traitors’?”

“Apparently we were named after a Sachakan princess who was killed by her father for being raped by one of his allies. He called her a traitor, and women of the time began calling themselves the same in sympathy.”

Lorkin thought about what the dying slave had said. “You are a traitor to your people.” Did she mean “Traitor”? No, that didn’t make any sense. But if Riva had known Tyvara was a spy …

“Did Riva know you were a Traitor?”

“Yes.”

“Why did she say you were a traitor to your people?”

Tyvara’s mouth twitched into a wry smile. “I’m afraid the fact that we don’t follow the emperor or the law, and have a habit of interfering in Sachakan politics, means most Sachakans consider us traitors.”

“How do you keep Sachakan magicians from finding you all? Surely they have only to read your minds?”

“We have a way of keeping our thoughts hidden from them. They will only see what we want them to see. It means we can have people in the households of powerful Ashaki all through the country.”

Lorkin’s heart skipped. Magic I’ve never heard of!

“Can you tell me how?”

She shook her head. “We Traitors don’t give up our secrets easily.”

He nodded. Something that protects the mind from being read – much like blood gems prevent mental communication between magicians being heard by other magicians.

“Is it like a blood gem ring?” he asked.

One of the other women laughed. Her eyes met his briefly, then she looked at Tyvara. “This one’s smart. You’ll have to watch every word.”

Tyvara snorted softly. “I know.” Then her amusement faded. She sighed, then turned back to Lorkin. “We have to move on from here. This place is too close to the Guild House and some of the slaves there know I had contacts here. You’re going to have to give up those pretty clothes and disguise yourself as a slave. Can you do that?”

Lorkin looked down at his robes and suppressed a sigh. “If I have to.”

“His face is too pale,” one of the younger slave women said. “We’ll have to stain it. And we’ll need to cut his hair.”

An older one looked him up and down. “He’s skinny for a Sachakan. But that’s better than fat. Don’t get many fat slaves.” She rose. “I’ll get some clothes.”

“You’ll need a slave name, too,” Tyvara said. “How about Ork? It’s close enough to your real name that if I call it by mistake people might not notice.”

“Ork,” Lorkin repeated, shrugging. Sounds like a monster. My friends back home would find that very funny. Then he felt a pang of sadness. They’re going to be worried about me when they find out I’ve gone missing. I wish there was a way – other than contacting Mother through the blood ring – I could let them know I was fine. He grimaced. Well, still alive, anyway.

The older slave had pulled a long rectangle of cloth off a rack where several identical lengths were hanging. She brought it to him along with a length of rope. The women exchanged smirks as he removed his overrobe. He wrapped the cloth around his body and belted it with the rope as instructed, then removed his trousers. He was glad he’d hidden his mother’s blood ring in the spine of his notebook. It would have been hard to retrieve it from his robes without it being noticed.

“You can’t take that with you,” Tyvara said as she saw the notebook.

Lorkin looked down at the book. “Can it be sent back to the Guild House?”

The slave women shook their heads. “Hard to do that without anyone knowing it came from here,” one explained.

“It’ll have to be destroyed,” Tyvara decided, reaching for it.

“No!” Lorkin snatched it away. “It has all my research in it.”

“Which no slave would be carrying.”

“I’ll keep it hidden,” he told her. He stuffed it down the front of the wrap.

“And if an Ashaki reads your mind he’ll know you’re hiding it there.”

“If an Ashaki reads his mind, he’ll know he’s not a slave,” one of the older women pointed out, grinning. “Let him keep his book.”

Tyvara frowned, then sighed. “Very well, then. Have we got any shoes?”

One of the other women fetched a pair of simple leather shoes that weren’t much more than a piece of leather stitched up into a foot-shaped pouch that was bound to the ankle with another, thinner piece of rope. Tyvara nodded approvingly.

“We’re halfway there. While our friends here prepare the dye for your skin and cut your hair, I had better tell you how a slave is expected to behave,” Tyvara said. “I suspect that’s going to be the hardest part for you. How convincing you are may be the difference between survival and assassination.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he told her. “It’s not something I’m likely to forget.”

She smiled grimly. “It can be very easy to forget, when you’re being whipped just because someone has had a bad day. Believe me. I know.”


As Sonea walked down the corridor of the Magicians’ Quarters, she yawned. The sun had been creeping up over the hill behind the Guild when she had returned, casting a pale glow across the sky. Now it had retreated behind the city, abandoning all to darkness, lamplight or, for the lucky few, magical illumination.

The night shifts at the hospice were the least popular, so she took them whenever she could manage. There were plenty of patients despite the late hours – some of the Healers joked that the night patients were the more interesting ones. She had certainly treated some unique injuries during those shifts. She suspected that a lot more night visitors than those who were forced to admit their profession due to the nature of their illness or injury were involved in business that would scandalise most Guild magicians and their families.

Cery’s news had slipped back into her thoughts many times. She felt an unreasonable guilt at not agreeing to assist him in searching for the rogue magician. But she couldn’t see how she would be able to without doing so in secret, and once she found the rogue and delivered her to the Guild the truth would be revealed. Her deception would generate more distrust and disapproval. Perhaps enough to persuade the Guild to ban her from working at the hospices.

Still, she hadn’t gone straight to Administrator Osen when she arrived at the Guild. Instead she’d decided to sleep on it as Cery had suggested. And now that she was awake, and sleep hadn’t brought her any certainty, she had decided to discuss it with Rothen. He had, after all, been the one who had searched for and found her, back when she had been a rogue hiding from the Guild.

Reaching his door, she knocked. She heard a familiar voice inside. The door opened and Rothen smiled as he saw her.

“Sonea. Come in.” He opened the door wider, letting her inside. “Sit down. Would you like some raka?”

She looked around the guest room, then turned back to him. “Cery came to see me last night. He’s discovered a new rogue magician in the city. A woman in full control of her power. I can’t deal with it myself, of course, but … do you think the Guild will make a mess of it this time?”

Rothen stared at her in surprise, then looked over her shoulder.

“I’d be willing to bet my family’s fortune they’ll make as big a mess of it as last time,” a familiar voice said.

Sonea’s heart sank. She schooled her face and turned to see a man step out of the room that had once been her bedroom, holding one of the many books Rothen now stored in there.

“Regin and I were discussing some trouble among the novices,” Rothen said, a note of apology in his voice.

Sonea eyed Regin. Curse him. This means I will have to tell the Higher Magicians straightaway. Hopefully they’ll forgive me for seeking Rothen’s advice first.

“More trouble?” she asked him.

“Oh, there’s always some sort of trouble,” Regin said, shrugging.

“As for this rogue … I agree with Regin,” Rothen added. “Though I would not be as pessimistic as he. High Lord Balkan and Administrator Osen would be more subtle in their searching methods, but they don’t have the insight, experience and resources that you and I have.”

Sonea turned back to him. “How can I hunt for a rogue if I can’t move around the city without permission?”

Rothen smiled. “Don’t ask for permission.”

“But if they find out I’ve been sneaking around, or failed to report this to the Higher Magicians, or even that I spoke to a Thief, it’ll prove right all those people who say I can’t be trusted.”

“And if you bring in a rogue, the people who matter will overlook that,” Regin said.

She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to risk the hospices just so that I can do something that others could do.”

“Lady Vinara and the Healers would never let anyone close the hospices,” Regin assured her.

“But they might stop me working at them,” Sonea countered.

“I doubt it. Even your detractors would have to agree that would be a waste of your talents.”

She stared at Regin for a moment, then looked away. He was being far too complimentary. It made her suspicious. Was he urging her to hunt for the rogue in secret in order to reveal it later? It would gain him nothing, except some sort of petty satisfaction at my downfall.

“When the time comes to explain what we were doing, I will tell all that I advised and helped you,” Rothen said. He looked at Regin. “I’m sure Lord Regin will be happy to do the same.”

“Of course. I’ll put it on paper and sign it if you wish.” There was a slight edge of sarcasm to Regin’s voice. He knows I still don’t trust him, she thought, and felt an unexpected guilt. He hadn’t shown a hint of dishonesty or manipulation when she’d worked with him before.

“People will continue to impose restrictions on you so long as you let them,” Rothen told her. “You have given them no reason to mistrust you these last twenty years. It’s, it’s …”

“Ridiculous,” Regin finished. “I don’t see Kallen asking permission to roam around the city, or you sending your lackeys to follow his every movement.”

“That’s because I don’t have lackeys,” Sonea retorted. “Or the time to do it myself.”

“But if you had either, would you?” Regin asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Probably.”

His eyebrows rose. “You think him dangerous?”

“No.” She frowned and looked toward the window. “Not dangerous. But one day his … his thoroughness may do more harm than good.”

“Like now,” Rothen said. “He has you too well caged and cowed to do what you know you are the best person to do: find this rogue and bring her to the Guild.”

She stared at the window. The University lay just outside, and beyond that the city, and a woman who was using magic – possibly to kill. “It will not be like before. Cery said she was older, so she may have many years of using magic behind her. And he suspects she is the Thief Hunter.”

“Then it is even more important that we find her quickly,” Regin said. “Before she shifts from killing criminals to anyone who gets in her way.”

Sonea thought of Cery’s family and shuddered. She may already have done that. She turned from the window and looked from Regin to Rothen. “But if I openly defy the restrictions to my movements, I’ll draw attention and censure before we can find her.”

Rothen smiled. “Then it is not entirely our fault we are forced to work in secret. Still, there is no point taking needless risks. As soon as you find out anything, send messages to the both of us. One of us can investigate if you cannot slip away to do it yourself.”

Sonea looked at Regin, who nodded. A wave of relief washed over her. It was a compromise. Not a perfect compromise, though. Failing to bring the matter to the Higher Magicians might still be frowned upon, but at least she wouldn’t be risking that they’d make a mess of finding the woman themselves. But it did mean Rothen and Regin were going to face disapproval from the Guild when it was revealed that they hadn’t passed the information on, either.

Let’s hope Regin is right, and it’ll be overlooked when they find they’ve got a captured rogue to deal with.

“I had better go,” Regin said. He inclined his head to Sonea. “I will be ready to give my assistance when you require it.” He nodded to Rothen, who returned the gesture, then walked to the door and left the room.

Once he had gone, Sonea sat down and let out a sigh. At least I know the hunt is in the right hands, she thought wryly. I have enough to worry about already, with Lorkin in Sachaka and the hospices full of roet users.

“You look tired,” Rothen told her, moving to the side table to prepare sumi and raka for them both.

“I worked the night shift.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospices lately.”

She shrugged. “It gives me something to do.” Then she gave a short laugh. “And now I have even more to do, ferrying information about the rogue to you and Regin.”

“The hospices will take care of themselves,” he told her. Moving to the chairs, he handed her a cup of steaming raka. “And we’ll take care of you.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You and Regin?”

He nodded. “I told you: he’s matured into a sensible young man.”

“Young man?” Sonea scoffed. “Only in comparison to yourself, old friend. He’s only a year or two younger than me, with two grown daughters.”

“Even so,” Rothen replied with a chuckle. “He’s improved a great deal from the novice you thrashed in the Arena.”

Sonea looked away. “He’d have to, wouldn’t he? Couldn’t have got much worse.” She gave him a searching look. “Can we trust him, do you think?”

He met her eyes, his expression serious. “I believe so. He has always valued the integrity of his House and family, and the Guild. It was the source of his arrogance as a young man and is now his motivation as an adult. It bothers him that so much lawlessness has crept in to all those things. This is another way he can help set things to right. He’s sensible enough to realise the best way is for us to do it together, in secret. The Guild may not make a mess of finding the rogue, but there’s a chance they will. We can’t take that chance.”

“You’re probably right.” Sonea grimaced. “And you had better be right about Regin, because if he wants to make my life unpleasant he certainly has the means to do it now.”


The Black Tub bathhouse wasn’t as clean as Cery would have liked. It stank of mould and the cheap perfume meant to mask the odour, and the gowns he and Gol had been given bore some interesting repairs and stains. But the place was the only establishment within sight of the pawnshop that they could plausibly linger in, so it needed investigation.

They had been led to a changing room and left there. It was on the first floor, with cheap undecorated window screens hiding the customers from the street. After changing into the gowns, Gol had slipped out of the room to investigate those next to it and Cery had moved a chair to one of the windows. Cery slid the screen open and smiled in satisfaction as he saw that the pawnshop was within view.

The door opened again, but it was only Gol returning.

“What do you think?”

“There’s nobody in the rooms around us, but I can’t vouch for upstairs. We can talk, but quietly.” Then he grimaced. “It’s a bit run down.”

“And the service is slow,” Cery agreed. “Probably from lack of staff.” He indicated the window. “But the view is good.”

Gol moved closer and peered outside. “It sure is.”

“We should take it in turns. One watching while the other scrubs up.”

The big man grimaced. “The water better not be as bad as this place smells.” He moved another chair and sat down. “Did our friend say anything about how she intended to do her business?”

Cery shook his head. Sonea’s message had been cryptic, saying only that she would be dealing with the matter he had drawn her attention to, thanking him for the information and telling him to send any further news to the hospice. Clearly she was being cryptic in case the letter was intercepted. If she is dealing with the matter of the rogue then it’s unlikely she’s told the Guild anything. They wouldn’t trust her with the task of finding the woman.

A knock came from the door. Cery slid closed the screen back across the window.

“Come in,” he called.

The same thin young woman who had led them to the changing room opened the door and stepped inside. She did not meet their eyes.

“The bath is nearly ready. Would you like it warm or hot?”

“Hot,” Cery replied.

“Would you like it scented? We have—”

“No,” Gol interrupted firmly.

“Do you have a little salt?” Cery asked. He’d heard a salt bath was good for sore muscles, and he was still aching from the practice knife-fight bout he’d had that morning. It was also good for cleaning bad water, too.

“We do.” She named a price that raised Gol’s eyebrows.

“We’ll have it,” Cery told her.

The girl nodded politely and left the room. Turning to the window, Cery opened the screen again and glanced outside. The street was busier now.

“Should we convince Makkin the Buyer to help us?” Gol asked. “He’s already scared of her so it won’t make her suspicious if he acts a bit nervous.”

“He’s the sort that’ll cooperate with whoever he’s most scared of,” Cery replied. “If he knows she has magic he’ll be more scared of her than us.”

“She sent him out of the room before she opened the safe. That suggests to me he doesn’t know she has magic.”

“Yes, but …”

Gol hissed. Cery looked at the man and found him staring out of the window.

“What?”

“Is that her? In front of Makkin’s shop.”

Cery spun back to the window. A stooped woman had stopped in front of the shop. Her hair was streaked with grey. For a moment Cery was sure Gol was mistaken – so much so that he was about to tease him – then the woman turned her head to survey the street. He felt a shiver of recognition.

He looked at Gol. Gol stared at him. Then they both looked down at the wraps they were wearing.

“I’ll go,” Gol said. “You watch.” He leapt over to the pile of clothes he’d removed and hastily began to dress. Cery turned back to the window and watched as the woman entered the shop.

His heart was hammering. He felt every muscle in his body slowly tense, and counted every breath.

“She still in there?”

“Yes,” Cery replied. “Whatever you do, don’t let her see you’re following her. Even if you have to pay someone to—”

“I know, I know,” Gol said impatiently. Cery heard him open the door. At the same time he saw the door to the shop open and the woman stepped out.

“She’s leaving,” he said.

Gol didn’t reply. Cery turned to find the big man gone and the door swinging open. He looked back down into the street and caught a glimpse of the woman just before she moved out of view. A moment later Gol appeared. Cery breathed a sigh of relief as his friend and bodyguard headed in the same direction, his steps confident.

Take care, old friend, Cery thought.

“Um … sorry for the wait.”

He turned to find the bathhouse girl standing in the doorway. Her eyes shifted from him to the window screen then to the floor. Cery closed the screen and stood up.

“The bath is ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. My friend had to leave. Take me to the bath.”

Her shoulders drooped at the loss of a customer, then she gestured for him to follow and led him out of the room.