The Ambassador's Mission

CHAPTER 20

ALLIES AND ENEMIES



In the street below, on the other side, a man stopped and looked up at the window. Cery resisted the urge to shrink back out of sight. It was too late to avoid being seen, and the motion would confirm he should not be there.

“Uh, oh,” Gol said. “That’s the shopkeeper from next door.”

“Looks like he’s worked out his neighbour has some uninvited guests.”

The man looked away, down at the ground. After a moment his shoulders straightened and he strode across the street toward the shop. A loud rapping followed.

Gol rose. “I’ll get rid of him for you.”

“No.” Cery stood up and stretched. “I’ll take care of it. Stay here and keep watch. What’s his name, again?”

“Tevan.”

As Gol sat down again, he muttered something about it all being a waste of time. He’s probably right, Cery thought. The rogue won’t be coming back. But we may as well watch because we’ll look right fools if we’re wrong and she does come back. And we have no other clues to follow.

He walked out of the room and entered the stairway, descending to the ground floor. Pushing through the door to the storekeeper’s shop, Cery looked around with interest. They’d been using the back door, so he hadn’t been in here before. The room was full of fine ceramic bowls. He blinked and looked closer, then chuckled. They were all toilet basins, as finely painted and sculpted as vases or dinner ware.

Through the frosted glass door he could see the next-door shopkeeper’s hunched silhouette. The man had probably promised to keep an eye on his neighbour’s shop and house, and felt obliged to confront these trespassers. He was probably worried that he would regret it, too.

The front door was locked and there was no key in it or in any obvious hiding place close by. Cery was amused to find he had to pick the lock. Once unlocked, he opened the door, smiled at the shopkeeper and effected the sort of cultured accent merchants liked to use to impress rich customers.

“The shop is closed, I’m sorry.” Cery pretended to give the man a second look. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re … Tevan? You run the shop next door, correct?”

The man was of average height and carried the excess weight of a middle-aged man who hadn’t been forced to skip a meal in a long time – if ever.

“Who are you and what are you doing in Wendel’s house?” he demanded.

“I am Wendel’s cousin, Delin, and I am borrowing his house for the week.”

“Wendel doesn’t have a cousin. He has no family. He told me.”

“Second cousin, by marriage,” Cery explained. “He didn’t tell you I was staying here?” He frowned in mock puzzlement. “I suppose it was decided very late.”

“He didn’t. It’s not something he’s likely to neglect to tell me, either.” Tevan narrowed his eyes, then took a step backwards. “I’m calling on the Guard. If you’re lying you’d better get out while you have the chance.” The man turned and took a step away.

“The Guard’s like to get you and Wendel more rub than I ever will,” Cery said, dropping the accent and letting a little slum drawl colour his words. “Crawling all over this place breaking things looking for proof we were here, then saying you made it up. Let’s sort this out ourselves.”

Tevan had stopped, and now he looked at Cery with a worried frown.

“I only need be here for a week, maybe less,” Cery told him. “Wendel won’t see a sign I’ve been here. I’d pay him rent if he was about, but since he’s not here …” He reached into his coat, allowing the hilt of a knife to flash into sight briefly, and drew out a cap of gold coins he kept there for moments like these.

The man’s eyes widened. “A week?” he repeated. He looked transfixed by all the gold.

“Or less.”

Teran’s gaze rose to Cery’s. “Rent’s high around here.”

“Your house would be cheaper,” Cery replied.

Tevan swallowed. He looked at the coins again, then nodded. “What’s your going rate?”

“Half a gold per day,” Cery replied. He slipped the cap back into his coat. “You’ll find ’em dropped by your back door after I’m gone.”

The man nodded, but his mouth was set in a thin line of disbelief. Still, he didn’t voice his doubts. Instead he looked across the road.

“You’re watching something,” he said. “Or looking for someone. Anything I can help with?”

“Hoping to get rid of me sooner?” Cery asked. A look of confusion entered the man’s eyes. No, perhaps he thinks he’s found another way to turn a profit. “Well, if you’ve seen anything suspicious going on over there …”

Tevan frowned. “There’s a foreign woman keeps odd hours. The shoemaker says she rents his basement. We’ve never worked out what she does for a living. Too old and ugly to be whoring around, I’d have thought. My wife’s seen her at the market on Freeday mornings with the spice and herb sellers. We think maybe she …” – he leaned closer and lowered his voice – “unburdens young women of unwanted situations.”

Cery felt his heart skip, but kept his expression blank. Tevan looked at him expectantly.

“Not my line of interest,” Cery said, shrugging. “Anything else?”

The man shook his head. “Supposed to be a clean, honest area, this one. If anything is going on it’s well hidden.” He paused. “Is something going on?”

Cery shook his head. “Nothing you’d want to know about.”

“Right.” Tevan stepped away again. “Good luck then.”

“Good night.”

The man nodded, then turned away and headed for the shop next door. Cery closed the door and locked it, then jogged upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. At the top he paused to catch his breath. His heart hammered in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Gol asked.

“Nothing. Not … as young … as I used to be,” Cery panted. He returned to his chair. “I should get out more often. Any sign of our rogue?”

“No.”

“Anyone pay much attention to the neighbourly exchange downstairs?”

“Not much.”

“Good. One of us needs to go to the Freeday market tomorrow. To the spice sellers.”

“Oh?”

“Our rogue apparently visits them regularly.”

“That’s Skellin’s territory.”

Cery cursed. Gol was right. While some Thieves did not mind others doing a little snooping around in their territory without permission – so long as the snooping wasn’t on their operations – others definitely did. Cery would wager that Skellin was the latter kind.

“I doubt he’d deny you permission,” Gol said.

“Yes, but to get permission I’d have to explain what I’m doing. And then he’d know I didn’t seek his help in finding someone I thought might be the Thief Hunter, when I said I would.”

“Just tell him the truth: you’re not sure it is, and you didn’t want to bother him until you had proof.”

“If he thinks there’s a chance I’m right, he’ll want to help us search for her,” Cery pointed out.

“We could do with the help,” Gol replied.

Cery sighed. “We could. But what will Sonea think of us involving another Thief?”

Gol gave him a serious look. “She won’t care, so long as the rogue is caught.”

“What will Skellin think of having to work with the Guild?”

“He won’t have any choice.” Gol smiled. “And from what you said about his interest in magicians, he might be thrilled at the chance.”

Cery regarded his friend thoughtfully. “You want me to ask for Skellin’s help, don’t you?”

Gol shrugged. “If this woman is the Thief Hunter, I want her caught quick. The sooner she’s gone the safer you’ll be.”

“And you.”

The big man spread his hands. “Is it wrong to want that?”

“Hmph.” Cery looked outside and saw the first of the lamp-lighters stride into sight. It was growing dark already. “Not at all. Once Skellin learns the Thief Hunter might be a magician, he’ll realise he has no choice but to work with the Guild. He’s not going to be able to catch or kill her himself.”

“So you’ll go see him?”

Cery sighed. “I guess I have to.”


Since Achati had not told Ashaki Tikako of his intention to visit his country estate, as it would have meant pointing out the humiliating fact that the man had not read his slave’s mind properly, he did not want to impose further by staying there for the night. Instead, he and Dannyl travelled further down the road to another estate, owned by an elderly Ashaki, and requested a meal and beds in the name of the king.

The old man and his wife were clearly unused to company and played host and hostess reluctantly. But custom dictated that they could not refuse the king’s representative. Achati took pity on them, eating sparingly and quickly, and the couple were happy to oblige when he indicated that both he and Dannyl were tired and would appreciate an early night.

Once settled in the guest rooms, they did not go to bed straightaway, but sat and discussed what they had learned.

“If the Traitors want us to find Lorkin, we’ll find him,” Achati said.

“You believe they have that much power and influence?”

The Sachakan grimaced as he nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. They have evaded us for centuries. Many previous kings have tried to flush them out, or find their base, but the Traitors have only grown better at what they do. King Amakira has said to me we could be better off leaving them alone, as they may grow weaker if they have nothing to strive against.”

Dannyl chuckled. “He may be right, but I doubt it.”

“Why is that?”

“Without conflict killing them off and taking up their time, they will raise families. They may grow weaker in fighting skills, but greater in numbers.”

Achati frowned thoughtfully. “Eventually there will be too many mouths to feed. They will starve.” He smiled. “So maybe the king is right after all.”

“Only if the Traitors remain hidden.”

“You think they’ll be forced to come out? To come begging for food?”

“Or they’ll choose to reveal themselves in other ways. How strong is your army?”

Achati snorted derisively. “Most likely a hundred times bigger and stronger than theirs. We know their base is in the mountains, where the land is harsh and infertile. They could not feed a population to match the rest of the country, so I doubt their army is the same size or larger than ours.”

Dannyl nodded in agreement. “Which is why they use cunning, secretive methods. I wonder … do you think they could overthrow the country merely by assassinating and manipulating the right people?”

Achati’s expression became serious. “It is possible, but if they could have done it before now, surely they would have.”

“The perfect opportunity may not have presented itself yet. It may require some new and extraordinary factor.”

Achati’s eyebrows rose. “Like the chance to abduct the son of a powerful Guild magician?”

“Do you think that would be extraordinary enough?”

“No.” He shook his head and smiled. “Manipulating Kyralia and Sachaka into a war would be too risky. What if Kyralia won? What if we resisted their manipulations, joined forces and attacked the Traitors together? The Guild may prove better at hunting them than we are.” He paused. “Which reminds me. Has the Guild responded to the news of Lorkin’s abduction yet?”

“No,” Dannyl looked away. I’m not going to be able to put this off any longer. Achati will start wondering why they’re taking so long. “That reminds me – I should check on their progress.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Achati rose. “It’s late and I should get some rest. Tell me what they say in the morning.”

“I will.”

As the door to the Sachakan’s room closed, Dannyl reached into his robe and drew out Administrator Osen’s blood ring. He stared at it, running through his mind all the ways he’d considered phrasing the bad news, and choosing what he hoped was the best.

Then he slipped on the ring.


As Sonea opened the door to her rooms, she was surprised to find Administrator Osen standing outside with one hand raised ready to knock. The startled look on his face faded and he straightened.

“Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “I must speak with you.”

“It’s lucky we caught you before you left for the hospices,” another voice added.

She turned to see Rothen standing behind and to one side of the Administrator. At once she felt her stomach sink and her heart start to race. There’s that look again. Something’s happened to Lorkin …

“Come in,” she said, stepping back and beckoning impatiently.

Osen strode inside, followed by Rothen. She closed the door and turned to stare at the Administrator expectantly. He regarded her soberly.

“I must inform you that your son has …” Osen paused and frowned. “I’m not sure what to call it. It appears Lorkin has been abducted.”

Sonea’s legs lost all strength and she felt herself sway a little. Rothen took a step toward her, but she gestured for him to stop. She drew in a deep breath, forced herself to stand firmly and turned back to Osen.

“Abducted?” she repeated.

“Yes. By a young female magician posing as a slave. Ambassador Dannyl believes there is a possibility your son went willingly, but he’s not certain of it.”

“Ah.” A traitorous and seductive relief trickled through Sonea. Women. Why is it always women with Lorkin? She felt her heart slow to a calmer rhythm. “So this is more of a matter of social impropriety than impending and certain death?”

“We certainly hope so. But it is more complicated than that. It seems we are not the only people with an underground, secret and not entirely lawful society, and they may be involved.”

“Criminals?”

Osen shook his head. “Ambassador Dannyl described them as rebels. They call themselves the Traitors. It is rumoured that they are all women.” Osen’s eyebrows rose, hinting that he thought this unlikely. “They are also magicians – black magicians. The woman who abducted Lorkin is one. She killed another slave the same night and drained her of power. Dannyl is not sure whether the abductor is the Traitor and the slave just got in her way, or the dead slave was a Traitor and the abductor is not. Either way, the Traitors have indicated that they want her and Lorkin found, and apparently they have such influence that this makes the likeliness of that happening very good.”

Sonea took a moment to absorb that. “So when was Lorkin taken away?”

“Three nights ago.”

Sonea’s heart stopped. “Three nights! Why wasn’t I told immediately!”

“You are being told immediately.” Osen smiled wryly. “When I impressed upon the new Ambassador that he only contact me in the gravest of emergencies, he took me far too seriously. He expected to find Lorkin quickly, and only told me of the situation tonight.”

“I’ll kill him,” she muttered, moving away to pace the room. “If this woman is a black magician – do they have any other kind over there? – how is Dannyl going to force her to give Lorkin back?”

“He has the assistance of the Sachakan king’s representative.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be found? Who knows what she’ll do to survive? Threaten to kill Lorkin?” Sonea stopped, suddenly out of breath. She felt as if her lungs weren’t expelling as much air as she was drawing in. Her head was starting to spin. Grabbing the back of a chair, she forced herself to breathe slowly. When her head had cleared she turned to Osen. “I have to go there. I have to be there when they find him.”

Osen’s expression had been open and sympathetic. Now it closed in and became hard.

“You know you can’t do that,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling a deep fury rising. “Who would dare stop me?”

“The Guild must have two black magicians present at all times,” he reminded her. “The king will never allow you to leave Imardin, let alone Kyralia.”

“This is my son!” she snapped.

“And the Sachakan king might not appreciate us sending – or allowing – you into his country,” Osen continued, “making a politically dangerous situation worse, and implying his people can’t sort something like this out for themselves.”

“And what if they ca—”

“Lorkin isn’t stupid, Sonea,” Rothen interrupted quietly. “And neither is Dannyl.”

She stared at him, struggling to hold back a surge of hurt and anger that he was arguing against her. But if Rothen doesn’t think I should go …

“I don’t believe Lorkin would have gone with this woman if there hadn’t been a good reason.”

“What if that reason was he had no choice?” she argued.

“Then we must trust Dannyl. You know he would have told us straightaway if the situation was truly grim. If Lorkin is a hostage, then you will not be able to do more for him than Dannyl. Dannyl has experience at negotiation. He has the help of the Sachakans.” His voice hardened. “If you barge in there you could make the situation much worse, not just for Lorkin but for Kyralia and Sachaka.”

Suddenly she felt weak and drained. Helpless. What is the use of all this power if I can’t use it to save my own son?

But perhaps he doesn’t need saving, a faint voice said somewhere in the back of her mind.

Osen sighed. “I’m afraid I must forbid you to leave, Black Magician Sonea. Or to speak of this to anyone but myself, the king, High Lord Balkan and Lord Rothen.”

“Not even Akkarin’s family?”

He shook his head. “Not even them. As Lorkin’s mother you have a right to know what is happening, and I will keep you informed of the situation. I will be discussing ways that we may assist Lord Dannyl with High Lord Balkan tonight, including sending someone to help him. If we do that, I will let you know as many details as it is safe to reveal.”

You had better, she thought. “I will look forward to regular reports,” she said stiffly.

He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Good night, Black Magician Sonea.”

She followed him to the door, opening it with magic. Before he stepped out, he nodded politely to her. Then he was gone and she shut the door on the sound of his footsteps striding away down the corridor.

She turned to Rothen.

“I’m going anyway,” she told him, then headed for her bedroom. A small trunk sat upon the clothes cabinet. She lifted it with magic and set it on the floor.

“You won’t be let back in a second time,” Rothen told her, from the doorway.

She moved to the cupboard and opened it. It was full of black robes. “I don’t care. I’ll find Lorkin, then we’ll go travelling. It’ll be their loss, not mine.”

“I didn’t mean the Guild. I mean the country. The Allied Lands.”

“I know. There are lands beyond the Allied ones, you know.”

“Yes. But while the Guild can train another black magician to replace you, you will not find another Guild to replace it. You may not care about that, but will Lorkin?”

She was still staring at the robes. They were not what a magician ought to wear when casting off the shackles of the Guild. She wasn’t sure what a magician ought to wear when rebelling and storming out of the country, only that these were definitely not appropriate. But they were all she had.

I can’t believe I’m worrying about clothing right now!

“You need to find the rogue, Sonea.”

“Regin can find her.”

“Cery doesn’t trust him.”

“I don’t blame him,” she muttered. “Cery will have to make do.”

Rothen sighed. “Sonea.” His voice now had a fatherly, stern tone.

She crossed her arms, put on her best don’t-mess-with-me-I’ve-faced-worse-than-you-and-won stare, which made novices flinch and magicians reconsider their words, and turned to face him. “What?”

As always, he remained unaffected.

“You know you can’t go,” he told her. “You know you will more likely make Lorkin’s situation worse than better, and that after this is over he’ll need a safe, secure Guild to return to – with his mother in it.”

She stared at him, then cursed.

“Why are you always right, Rothen?”

He shrugged. “I’m older and smarter than you. Now, you and I need to discuss and make less obvious and destructive plans. For a start, I think we should send someone to Sachaka to act on our behalf.”

“Who?”

He smiled. “I have a few people in mind. Come sit down and I’ll tell you.”