The Ambassador's Mission

CHAPTER 5

PREPARATIONS



Reaching out to touch the wall, Cery felt a wry affection. Once, the old outer city defences had been a symbol of the division between rich and poor – a barrier beyond which, after the Purge had driven all the homeless and the occupants of overcrowded safehouses out of the city and into the slums each winter, only Thieves and their friends could pass.

Now it was meaningless to Imardians except as a lingering reminder of the past. It formed part of the structure of one of Cery’s properties, this time a sprawling storehouse for importers to keep their wares, both legal and smuggled. There were still a few entrances to the underground network of passages known as the Thieves’ Road, but they were rarely used. He’d kept them only as possible escape routes, but these days a Thief using the Road was as likely to meet trouble as escape it.

Cery moved away from the wall and sat down. He had decided that the well-appointed apartment on the second floor of the storehouse was as good a place to settle as any. Returning to his old hideout was unthinkable. Even if it hadn’t contained painful memories, it clearly hadn’t been secure enough. Not that any of his other hideouts were better protected, but there was a chance, at least, that their location wasn’t known by his family’s killer.

But he had no intention of hiding away. As always, every time he ventured out into the city, whether in his own district or not, someone could attack him. Which made him wonder if he was wrong to assume he had been the killer’s true target.

No. Even though they waited until I was gone to kill my family, the true target was me. Selia and the boys had no enemies.

His chest constricted at the thought of them, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Somehow he took that suffocating grief and channelled it into something else: a deep, growing fury. If the killer or killers, or their employer, had intended to hurt Cery they had succeeded. And they were going to pay for it. Which meant it was more important to find out who had killed his family, and why, than how they’d managed to discover and break into his rooms.

He took a few long, deep breaths. Gol had suggested the Thief Hunter might have killed them, but Cery dismissed the idea. The legendary vigilante did not target the families of Thieves, or kill them to hurt Thieves. He only killed Thieves.

A faint chiming reached his ears in a pattern he recognised, so he rose and moved to a tube protruding from the wall, and placed his ear to it. The voice that echoed within was distorted, but recognisable. Cery moved around the room pulling levers and turning knobs until a section of wall swivelled open. Gol stepped inside.

“How did it go?” Cery asked, moving back to his chair. Gol took the seat opposite and rubbed his hands together.

“There are rumours about already. Don’t know if one of our lot let it slip or the knife’s been boasting.” Cery nodded. Some assassins liked to own up to their high-profile targets, as it demonstrated how clever they were. “I doubt Anyi would say anything,” Gol added.

“She might, if she had to. Did you do the usual rounds?”

Gol nodded.

“So how is business?”

Leaning back in the chair, Cery listened as his bodyguard and friend related where he’d been and who he’d spoken to since venturing out early that morning. It took an effort to keep his mind on the man’s words, but Cery forced himself to concentrate. To his relief, business in his district appeared to be continuing as it always did. Gol hadn’t found any evidence that someone was taking advantage of Cery’s distraction yet.

“So,” Gol said. “What are you going to do now?”

Cery shrugged. “Nothing. Obviously somebody wants me to react in some way. I’m not going to oblige them. I’ll continue business as usual.”

Gol frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything. Cery managed a humourless smile.

“Oh, don’t think that I’m not fired about my family’s murder, Gol. I’ll have my revenge. But whoever broke into the hideout was clever and careful. Finding out who and why is going to take time.”

“Once we’ve got the knife we’ll find out who paid him,” Gol assured him.

“We’ll see. I’ve a hunch it will take more than that.”

Gol nodded, then frowned.

“Something else?” Cery asked.

The big man bit his lip, then sighed. “Well … you know how Neg thought that magic must have been used to break into your hideout?”

“Yes.” Cery frowned.

“Dern agrees with him. Said there was no sign of picking. That he’d put in some putty when he made the lock so he’d be able to tell.”

Dern was the lockmaker who had designed and installed the locking system on Cery’s hideout.

“Could it have been a very clever lock pick? Or even Dern himself?”

Gol shook his head. “He showed me a lever that would only turn if the lock was undone from the inside – inside the lock, that is – which could only be done with magic. I asked him why he bothered, and he said to protect himself. He won’t ever promise his locks are safe against magic, so he needs to prove that’s the cause if they’re ever broken into. I don’t know. It seems a bit far to go to. Could be he’s making it up to cover himself.”

Or maybe not. Cery felt his skin prickle. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps finding out how the killers had reached his family was important.

He would question Dern himself, and inspect the lock, to be sure. But if it proved to be true then he had one clue to his family’s killer. A clue that, though disturbing, was a start, at least.

“I need to have a chat with our lockmaker.”

Gol nodded. “I’ll arrange it now.”


Perler smiled and nodded at Lorkin as he entered the room. Lord Maron, however, frowned.

“Thank you for agreeing to brief us at such short notice,” Lord Dannyl said. He gestured to the tables and chairs, the only furniture in the small University room Osen had arranged for the meeting, and they all sat down.

Maron’s attention shifted from Lorkin to Dannyl, then he smiled. “You must be confident that the Higher Magicians will grant Lorkin his request to accompany you to Sachaka,” he said. “And that Black Magician Sonea’s protest will fail.”

Dannyl chuckled. “Not completely confident. I never underestimate his mother’s influence, and there may be factors that will sway the other Higher Magicians that none of us know about. But if we wait for the decision before briefing Lorkin then he may leave under-informed – and that would be a mistake.”

“As will a replacement, if they decide Lorkin cannot go.”

Dannyl nodded in agreement. “I would have brought a possible replacement, but there have been no other volunteers.”

“Well, if that happens I will find another assistant, brief him for you and send him when he is ready,” Maron offered.

“That would be most appreciated,” Dannyl said, nodding in gratitude.

Lorkin kept his expression neutral. It was a little annoying being discussed as if he wasn’t there. Still, he could easily have been left out of the meeting, and he was grateful to Dannyl for including him.

“Now, where to start?” Maron said, opening a satchel and pulling out several sheets of paper. “These are the notes I compiled last night, to add to those of my predecessors. You have all the reports of the past Guild Ambassadors?”

“Yes. And I have read them all. It makes for fascinating reading.”

Maron chuckled wryly. “Sachaka is very different to Kyralia. And to all the other Allied Lands. The obvious differences stem from the common use of black magic, and from slavery, but there are subtle ones as well. How their women are regarded for instance. Though men are very protective of the women in their family, they regard all other women with suspicion and fear. They have a strange belief that women band together when away from men and plot all sorts of mischief. Some even believe there is a secret organisation or cult that steals women away from their families and alters their minds with magic in order to convince their victims of their ideas.”

“Do you think it’s true?” Lorkin asked.

Maron shrugged. “Most likely an exaggeration. A scary story to stop women gathering together to gossip and swap ideas on how to manipulate their men.” He chuckled, then sighed and looked sad. “The few I met were meek and lonely. I came to miss the company of educated, confident women, though I suspect I’ll get over that once I catch up with my sister.” He waved a hand. “But I’m digressing. The important thing to know is that you must not speak to women unless invited to.”

As the former Ambassador continued, Lorkin began to make notes in an unused leather-bound notebook left over from his novice days. Maron moved from the subject of women to marriage, family life and inheritance to the complex alliances and conflicts between the main Sachakan families, and finally to the protocols to follow in regard to the king.

“There used to be a Sachakan emperor,” Dannyl pointed out. “Now they have a king. I’ve only been able to narrow down that change to the first few hundred years after the Sachakan War. Do you know when the change happened, and why the Sachakans did not return to calling their leaders ‘emperor’ after they began to rule themselves again?”

“I’m afraid I never thought to question anyone about it,” Maron admitted. “I found it was best not to refer too openly to the fact that the Guild once ruled Sachaka. There is much resentment of it, though …” He paused and frowned. “I suspect it has more to do with the wasteland than the changes the Guild made – or failed to make to their society.”

“Do they know how the wasteland was created?” Dannyl asked.

Maron shook his head. “If they do, they never mentioned it to me. You’ll have to ask those questions yourself. Just be careful how and when you do. From what I’ve seen, they bear grudges a very long time.”

Dannyl glanced at Lorkin. “Do you think it will be dangerous for Lorkin to enter Sachaka?”

Pausing at his note-taking, Lorkin looked up at the former Ambassador. His heart beat a little faster. His skin prickled.

Maron considered Lorkin. “Logically, no more than for any other young magician. I would not mention your father’s name too often, though,” he said to Lorkin. “They would respect him as a defender of Kyralia, but not for what happened before that. Yet at the same time they acknowledge that Dakova, the Ichani who Akkarin killed, was an outcast and a fool for enslaving a magician and foreigner, and deserved his fate. I do not think anyone but Davoka’s brother would feel obliged to seek revenge – and he died in the invasion.”

Lorkin nodded, feeling relief ease the tension in his body.

“Even so,” Dannyl said. “Should Lorkin expect the Sachakans, or their slaves, to be uncooperative?”

“Of course.” Maron smiled and looked at Perler, who grimaced. “They will be uncooperative at times no matter who you are. Aside from the general problems of status and hierarchy, the slaves take some getting used to. They may not be able to do something for you, but they won’t say so because that would be refusing an order. You have to learn to interpret what they say and do – there are signals and gestures you’ll pick up on eventually – and I’ll tell you how best to phrase an order.”

A complicated but surprisingly logical code of behaviour for dealing with slaves followed, and Lorkin was annoyed when, a while later, a knocking at the door interrupted them. Dannyl gestured at the door and it swung open. Lorkin felt his heart sink a little as he recognised the magician standing beyond.

Uh, oh. What’s Mother done now?

“Sorry for interrupting,” Lord Rothen said, his wrinkled face creasing into a smile. “Could I speak to Lord Lorkin for a moment?”

“Of course, Lord Rothen,” Dannyl said, smiling broadly. He looked at Lorkin, then nodded toward the old magician. “Go on.”

Lorkin suppressed a sigh and rose. “I’ll be back as quickly as possible,” he told the others, then walked to the doorway and stepped past Rothen into the corridor outside. As the door closed, Lorkin crossed his arms, steeling himself for the lecture that was bound to come.

Rothen, as always, looked both stern and amused. “Are you sure you want to go to Sachaka, Lorkin?” he asked quietly. “You’re not just doing it to spite your mother?”

“Yes,” Lorkin replied. “And no. I do want to go and I’m not trying to annoy Mother.”

The old magician nodded, his expression now thoughtful. “You are aware of the risks?”

“Of course.”

“So you admit there are risks.”

Ha. Outsmarted! Lorkin found himself having to resist a smile as a wave of affection for the old man swept over him. All the years of Lorkin’s life, Rothen had been there, looking after him when his mother’s duties called her away, helping him when he needed defending or support, lecturing and occasionally punishing him when he had done something foolish, or broken Guild rules.

This was different, and Rothen must know it. Lorkin wasn’t breaking any rules. He had only to convince his old friend and protector that he wasn’t doing anything foolish.

“Of course there are risks – there are risks to everything a magician does,” Lorkin replied, mimicking something Rothen liked to say to novices.

The old magician’s eyes narrowed. “But are they too great?”

“It’ll be up to the Higher Magicians to decide that,” Lorkin said.

“And you’ll accept whatever decision they make?”

“Of course.”

Rothen looked down, then when he met Lorkin’s eyes again his own were full of sympathy. “I understand that you want to do something with your life. You’ve certainly got a lot of expectation to live up to. You know Sonea and I have never wanted anything for you but a safe, happy life?”

Lorkin nodded.

“There will be other ways you can make your mark,” Rothen told him. “Ways that are as satisfying, with far less risk. You only need to be patient, and ready to grasp opportunities when they come.”

“And I will. I have every intention of surviving Sachaka and returning to do whatever else comes my way,” Lorkin said firmly. “But for now this is what I want to do.”

Rothen stared at Lorkin in silence, then shrugged and took a step away. “So long as you’re sure, and you’ve considered the full consequences … oh, and before I forget, your mother asked me to say she would like you to join her at dinner tonight.”

Lorkin swallowed a groan. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

As if I have a choice, he mused. He had learned the hard way that refusing a dinner invitation was something his mother would not easily forgive. There was one missed dinner from five years ago – not entirely his fault, either – that she still managed to make him feel guilty about.

Rothen turned to go. Lorkin turned back to the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Will you be joining us, Rothen?”

The old man paused to look back, and smiled. “Oh, no. She’ll have you all to herself tonight.”

This time Lorkin did not manage to suppress a groan. As he sent magic out to turn the door handle, he heard Rothen chuckling as he walked away.


Sonea regarded the man sitting across the table from her and wondered, not for the first time that evening, why he had bothered coming to see her. Seeking to sway the vote of the Higher Magicians on the petition was normal and expected for both petitioners and opposition. But surely it was obvious how she would vote, when her origins and sympathies were clearly with the lower class. Why waste the time, when his efforts would be better spent persuading other Higher Magicians to take his side?

“The rule has clearly been applied unfairly, most often in the case of lower-class novices,” Regin conceded. “But the fact is, some do come from families involved in criminal activities.”

“I regularly heal people involved in criminal activities,” she told him. “And I know people in the city who earn money in less than legal ways. That does not make me a criminal. Neither does a magician become a criminal because a relative happens to be one. Surely it is enough that a magician – or novice – behaves as we wish them to.”

“If only we could trust that they would,” Regin replied. “But it is true of all novices and magicians, no matter their background and fortune, that those exposed through family or friends to dishonest people and business are more likely to succumb to the temptation of criminal involvement than those who are not.” He grimaced. “I believe this rule helps them, particularly when they are unable to help themselves. It can be an excuse to back out of a situation when under pressure from others.”

“Or it can drive them to rebel, when the rule is seen to be unfairly upheld. Or if it is inadvertently broken then they may reason that having broken one rule it will not matter so much if they break another. Then there are those who find what is most forbidden is the most exciting.”

“For which we need the deterrent effect of the rule.”

“Deterrent or, perversely, encouragement?” She sighed. “The weakness of this rule is that it is inconsistently applied – and I don’t believe that can be resolved.”

“I agree that is the weakness, but not that it cannot be resolved.” Regin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “The trouble is, things have changed. Crime has seeped up into the higher classes like damp rising through the walls. It is they we need the rule for, not the lower classes.”

Sonea raised her eyebrows. “Surely you don’t believe that the higher classes weren’t gambling and whoring in the past? I can tell you some stories—”

“No.” Regin opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m not talking about the usual mischief. This is bigger. Nastier. And far more organised.”

Sonea opened her mouth to ask him to elaborate, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. She turned away and sent a little magic out to unlatch the door, and as it swung inward she felt her heart lift as Jonna entered the room, carrying a large platter laden with food.

Sonea’s aunt and servant looked from her to Regin, then bowed politely. “Lord Regin.” She set the platter down, then glanced at Sonea and took a step back.

“Don’t leave for my sake.” Regin rose and turned to face Sonea. “I will return another time.” He inclined his head. “Thank you for hearing me out, Black Magician Sonea.”

“Good night, Lord Regin,” she replied.

Jonna stepped aside to allow him past. As the door closed behind him, the woman raised an eyebrow.

“Did I interrupt?” she asked.

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.”

As her aunt arranged the covered dishes on the table, Sonea sighed and looked around the room.

When she had first seen inside the rooms in the Magicians’ Quarters, she had been impressed by how luxurious they were, but hadn’t noticed anything unusual about their size. She hadn’t known that they were small compared to the houses most higher-class men and women lived in. Each suite contained two to four rooms, depending on the size of the magician’s family, and the rooms were of a modest size.

Aside from the occasional complaint, most magicians were willing to live in such small quarters in order to reside within the Guild. They had adapted to the restrictions. They did not eat at a dining table, but instead meals were served on a low table set before the guest room chairs. The only exceptions were the formal meals of the Guild, served at a long dining table in the Banquet Room within a purpose-built building.

Though there was another exception – the small dining room in the High Lord’s Residence.

A memory flashed through her mind of that room, and flavours she hadn’t tasted in years. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to Akkarin’s servant, Takan, the Sachakan ex-slave who had cooked such amazing meals. Nothing had been heard or seen of him since the invasion. She had always hoped he had survived.

Jonna sat down with a heavy sigh of relief. Sonea looked down at the cooling dishes on the table. It wasn’t an exotic meal, just the usual fare from the Guild kitchens. She frowned. It should have been Lorkin who had interrupted Regin.

“He’ll be here soon,” Jonna assured her, guessing the source of her worry. “He wouldn’t dare miss a meal with his mother.”

Sonea humphed. “He seems quite prepared to defy me and get himself killed in Sachaka. Why would a mere missed dinner bother him?”

“Because he’d have me to answer to as well,” Jonna replied.

Sonea met her aunt’s eyes and smiled. “You may as well go. I’ll only end up wearing your ears out.”

“My ears are robust enough. Besides, if he doesn’t come we can’t let all this food go to waste.”

“You know I’ll wait until well after it’s spoiled, so there’s no point the two of us staying hungry while we wait. Go. Ranek must be hungry.”

“He’s working late tonight and will eat over at the servants’ quarters.” Jonna rose and examined the bookshelves, then brought a rag out of her uniform and wiped a shelf.

There’s no budging her, Sonea thought. After coming to stay in the Guild in order to help Sonea through her pregnancy, birth and motherhood, Jonna and Ranek had settled in and found places as servants – Jonna as Sonea’s servant and Ranek among the robe-makers. Their two children had grown up here, had played with Lorkin and eventually gained well-paid places as servants in rich homes in the city. Jonna was well pleased with this. It was the best anyone of her class could hope for. Only by becoming a magician could someone born outside the Houses enter the country’s noble class.

A knock brought their attention to the door. Sonea drew in a deep breath, then sent a little magic toward the door latch. It clicked open and Lorkin stepped inside, looking contrite. She sighed with relief.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Mother. Jonna.” He nodded to them both. “The meeting didn’t finish until a few minutes ago.”

“Well, you’re just in time,” Jonna said, walking to the door. “Any longer and I was going to eat your meal for you.”

“Why don’t you stay and join us?” he asked, smiling hopefully.

She gave him a measured look. “And have the two of us telling you what a fool you are?”

He blinked, then grinned ruefully. “Good night, Jonna.”

She sniffed in amusement, before she slipped out of the door, pulling it closed behind her.

Sonea looked at him. He met her eyes briefly, and looked around the room.

“Is something different?” he asked.

“No.” She gestured to the other chair. “Sit down. Eat. No point letting the food get any colder.”

He nodded and they began to fill their plates with food. Sonea noted he ate with his usual enthusiasm. Or was he hurrying? Did he want this meal over with? To escape his overbearing mother and stop being reminded of things he wanted to ignore – like the risks in travelling to Sachaka?

She waited until the meal was over and he looked a bit more relaxed, before raising the subject he must know she’d invited him here in order to discuss.

“So,” she began. “Why Sachaka?”

He blinked and turned to meet her eyes.

“Because … because it’s where I want to go.”

“But why do you want to go there? Of all the places, it is the most dangerous – especially for you.”

“Lord Maron doesn’t think so. Nor does Lord Dannyl. At least, they don’t think it will be any more dangerous for me than for anyone else.”

Sonea looked at him closely. “That is only because they don’t believe something unless they see proof. The only way they can see proof that it is dangerous for you to enter Sachaka is to take you there and observe something bad happen to you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then you don’t have proof either.”

“Not that sort of proof.” She forced a smile. “I’d hardly be a responsible parent if I took you to Sachaka to test my belief that it is dangerous.”

“So how do you know it’s dangerous?”

“From what your father told me. From what Guild Ambassadors and traders have confirmed since. They all agree that Sachakans are bound by their code of honour to seek revenge for the death of a family member – even if they didn’t like that family member, and even if that family member was an outcast.”

“But the Guild Ambassadors looked into it. They said the family of Kariko and Dakova did not want revenge. The brothers had been a liability to them; it was clearly a relief to them that they had died.”

“They also said that the family had gained some admiration for the brother’s daring invasion, despite the fact they were outcasts and the invasion failed.” Sonea shrugged. “It is easier to feel gratitude and loyalty to someone after they are dead. You can’t discount the fact that the Ambassadors only spoke to some family members, not all. That if the head of the family expressed one view then others who disagreed would stay quiet.”

“But they wouldn’t act against the head of the family, either,” he pointed out.

“Not in any way that could be traced to them.”

Lorkin shook his head in frustration. “Nobody is going to slip poison into my food or cut my throat in my sleep. Even if I wasn’t able to use magic to treat one and shield against the other, nobody is going to risk breaking the peace between our countries.”

“Or else they’ll see you as the perfect excuse to spoil it.” Sonea leaned forward. “They might be offended that the Guild sent Akkarin’s son there. Your little sight-seeing trip might ruin everything the Guild has worked for since the invasion.”

His eyes widened, then his face hardened.

“It’s not a sight-seeing trip. I … I want to help Lord Dannyl. I think what he’s trying to do is … is … it could help us. By looking into the past we might find new knowledge – new magic – that could help us defend ourselves. Perhaps we won’t have to use black magic any more.”

For a moment Sonea could not speak. Surprise was quickly followed by a wave of guilt.

“You’re not on a quest to save me, or something, are you?” she asked, her voice unintentionally weak.

“No!” He shook his head. “If we found such magic it would help us all. It might even help the Sachakans. If they didn’t need black magic they might be less resistant to ending slavery.”

Sonea nodded. “It seems to me that anyone could go looking for this new magic. Lord Dannyl is already seeking it. Why do you have to go?”

Lorkin paused. “Lord Dannyl is only interested in filling in the gaps in history. I’m more interested in how that history – that knowledge – could be used now. And in the future.”

She felt a chill run down her spine. A quest for magical knowledge. Exactly what had spurred Akkarin on to explore the world, and eventually enter Sachaka. And that quest had ended very, very badly.

“Such a desire for knowledge led to your father becoming a slave,” she told him, “and he was lucky it only led to that, and not his death.”

A thoughtful look passed over Lorkin’s face, then he straightened and shook his head.

“But this is different. I’m not wandering, unwelcome and uninformed, into a hostile land. The Guild knows much more about Sachaka now. Sachakans know more about us.”

“The Guild knows only what the Sachakans have allowed us to know. There must be – will be – plenty that was kept from our Ambassadors. They can’t be completely sure you will be safe there.”

He nodded. “I won’t argue that there’s no risk. But it is up to the Higher Magicians to decide if the risk is higher for me.”

He has doubts, she thought. He isn’t turning a blind eye to the risks.

“And I’m sure you’ll make them consider every possible consequence,” he added. He looked up at her. “If I promise that I will come home the moment Lord Dannyl or I have the slightest suspicion of danger, will you withdraw your protest?”

She smiled wryly. “Of course not.”

He scowled.

“I am your mother,” she reminded him. “I’m supposed to stop you harming yourself.”

“I’m not a child any more. I’m twenty years old.”

“But you are still my son.” She met his gaze, holding it despite the anger in his eyes. “I know you will be angry at me if I succeed in preventing you going. I’d rather that than you were dead. I’d rather you joined the Lonmar cult and I never saw you again. At least I’d know you were alive and happy.” She paused. “You say you are not a child any more. Then ask yourself: are you doing this, even only partly, in order to defy your mother? How much of your wanting to go comes from wanting to make your mark as an adult? If you took those two desires away, would you want to go as much?”

Lorkin said nothing, but his face was tight with anger. Suddenly he stood up.

“You don’t understand. I finally find something worth doing and you … you have to try to spoil it. Why can’t you just wish me luck and be glad that I might achieve something with my life instead of sitting around getting drunk or taking roet?”

His face red, he strode to the door and left her room.

Leaving Sonea frozen, unable to do anything but stare at the door, her heart torn between love and pride, the determination to protect him and the fear that she might fail.