Труди Канаван - The Magician’s Apprentice

Stara found the door to the slave entrance open and unlocked.

“This is odd,” she murmured.

Vora shrugged and peered inside. “The slaves may have fled. They’d hardly stop to make sure to close the door after them.”

They slipped inside. Stara’s heart was pounding now. If anyone found them... well, she could pretend to be looking for somewhere to hide. It was obvious from her clothes she was a free woman. Or she could pretend to be looking for Kachiro. They might not remember her, but Kachiro was a regular visitor.

Chavori’s room was located down a long corridor that looked long overdue for repainting. She crept along it as quietly as she could. Reaching the door, she was relieved to find it, too, was ajar. No need to break it to get in. But what if someone else had already stolen the maps? The thought made her pause, one hand on the door. And realise she could hear sobbing and a man repeating a name.

And that the voice was familiar. All too familiar.

She exchanged a look with Vora, then pushed open the door. The room was as small and neatly arranged as she remembered. A large desk covered in parchment and writing tools took up one side of the room. Along the opposite wall was a narrow bed. Sitting on the bed was her husband, cradling an unconscious Chavori.

Not unconscious , she corrected herself as she saw the bloodied mess that was his chest. Dead.

Kachiro looked up at her and she felt her heart spasm at the grief she saw in his face. He blinked and recognition came into his eyes, then they widened with surprise.

“Stara?”

“Kachiro,” she breathed, hurrying forward and kneeling before him. “Oh, Kachiro. I am so sorry.”

He looked down at Chavori and she could see the internal struggle that followed. Fear that he’d been discovered, she guessed. Then hate, probably at himself for the fear. And then his eyes filled with tears and he covered his face with one bloodstained hand. She reached out to stroke his head.

“I know you loved him,” she told him. “I know... everything.” He flinched and stared at her. “Remember that I grew up in Elyne.” She smiled crookedly. “You won’t receive any judgement from me. I even understand why you married me.”

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I am a terrible husband.”

She shrugged. “I forgive you. How could I not? You are a good man, Kachiro. You have a good heart. I am proud to be your wife.” Standing up, she held out a hand. “Come home.”

He looked at Chavori again, then sighed deeply. “I want to give him a proper death burning. The Kyralians won’t know who he is. They’ll put him under the ground.”

Stara felt a shiver run over her skin. She’d forgotten the Sachakan custom. Then she shuddered again. Even Kachiro believes the Kyralians have won.

“Is his family here?” she said.

“No. All gone. Or dead. So are the others. Motaro. Dashina. All of them. I am the only . . .” He closed his eyes and grimaced.

“Do it,” she urged. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here. I’m not sure I’m ready to see that.”

He nodded, then gathered Chavori’s body up in his arms and carried it out. The young man suddenly seemed very frail and small, and Kachiro taller and broader.

Once he had gone, she turned to the maps and began looking through them.

“I want to be sure there are no copies left behind,” she whispered to Vora. “No notes or sketches. Nothing to tell anyone this place he described exists.”

The maps on the table were of the volcanos in the north, with flows of lava indicated with rippling red lines. She paused as she realised how close he must have climbed to make his measurements. He’s braver than he appears. Or appeared. She felt a pang of loss. What else would he have invented and discovered, had the Kyralians not ended his life too soon?

Several tubes like the ones Chavori had used to transport his maps stood on end in the corner of the room. Stara took one and opened an end, then tipped the rolls of parchment out onto the table. She unrolled them, one by one. They were of the coast of Sachaka. She cursed under her breath. How long was it going to take Kachiro to burn Chavori’s body and return?

Hearing a sigh of frustration from Vora, she turned to see that the old woman was leafing through bundles of parchment in a small chest, opening the covers and shaking her head.

“He has terrible handwriting,” the slave said. “It could take weeks to read all this.”

“Can we take them with us?”

Vora looked into the chest and grimaced. “It’ll be heavy.”

Stara reached for another tube. “Can we send someone back for them?”

“What are you doing?” Kachiro’s voice came from the doorway.

Stara froze, her back to him. “We can’t let all his work be lost,” she said. The lie tasted sour in her mouth. But in an odd way, it’s true. Who knows what would happen to them, if they were left here? We may be saving them from destruction.

“No,” she heard him say. “He wouldn’t have liked that. Put them back in the tubes.”

Hearing his footsteps approaching, she turned to smile wanly at him. He took the maps on the table and rolled them up, then slipped them into the tube. Picking up half of the tubes, he handed them to Stara. The other half he gave to Vora. Then, with a grunt, he picked up the chest.

“Let’s get these to a safe place,” he said, then strode out of the door.

The pace he set on the return journey was hurried, and though Stara and Vora were less heavily burdened they struggled to keep up. The sun had set and a deepening twilight was leaching everything of colour. Finally they reached Kachiro’s house and slipped inside. Stara saw the surprise on his face as he took in the crowd of women in the master’s room, all dressed ready for travel. The other wives were there, with their children. Stara had no idea if they knew of the fate of their husbands. That news would have to be delivered later. Several women Stara knew to be slaves were in the crowd, wearing similar clothing to the free women. Tavara was not among them. For some reason this filled Stara with relief.

He put the chest down. “Where are you going?”

“Out of the city,” Stara told him. She put the maps down, moved to stand in front of him and searched his gaze. “I didn’t know when or...or if you’d come back, so I started organising it. I think we’ll be safer out of Arvice for a while. Chiara has friends in the country.” That last was a lie, of course.

His eyebrows rose and he began to nod. “Yes. It would be safer for you all. And you should take these too.” He gestured to the chest.

She frowned. “What about you? You’re not coming with us?”

Kachiro paused, then shook his head. “No. The Kyralians can’t kill every Sachakan magician and expect the slaves to keep working – whether as slaves or not. We’ll starve. Someone has to stay and try to save something of what we have.” He grimaced. “And though I’m better at negotiation than fighting, if the chance comes to drive them out, or even take a little revenge, I want to be here for it.”

Stara felt a wistful pride sweep through her. She kissed him on the cheek, and then, as he stared at her in surprise, gave him a stern look. “You take care of yourself. I’ll send word when we’ve reached Chiara’s friends.”

He nodded and smiled wearily. “You take care of yourselves, too. I should go with you, to protect—”

The women all voiced a wordless disagreement. “We’ll stick together, and we have slaves to defend us,” Chiara assured him.

“Now, it’s dark outside and we want to get some distance between ourselves and Arvice before we stop,” Stara said, turning to the women. She picked up the tubes and handed them out. “Take one each, and spread the weight of these out between you.” She bent and opened the chest, handing out bundles of notes.