Труди Канаван - The Magician’s Apprentice

“Surely the slaves will carry those for you,” Kachiro said.

Stara didn’t have the heart to tell him how many slaves had run away. She already felt guilty at leaving him here, in the city. For a moment she was tempted to talk him into coming, but her dream of a true Sanctuary did not include men.

“I’d rather they carried food, and other necessities,” she told him. “Don’t worry, they’re not much trouble spread out.” The women were now looking at her expectantly. She smiled at Kachiro, and touched his cheek. “Goodbye.”

He smiled faintly, took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”

They gazed at each other for a moment longer, then she tore herself away. “Come along,” she said, gesturing to the door. The women managed smiles and even a few light-hearted comments as they followed Stara out, making it sound as if they were setting out on a pleasure trip. Stara didn’t look back, not wanting to see Kachiro standing, alone, watching them go.

Once outside she breathed a deep sigh of relief, then set a quick but not too tiring pace along the road. The women quietened, all pretence at joviality abandoned. Vora began to walk alongside Stara.

“Which way out, do you think?” the slave murmured.

“The main road,” Stara replied. “All the other roads will be crowded. It’s obvious we’re a bunch of free women travelling with no protectors. I’d rather not have to use any magic until I have to. People might avoid the route the Kyralians took.”

“I guess if the Kyralians won they won’t have reason to leave the city.”

“And if they lost, they’re dead.”

They hurried on, the only sound the rustle of clothing, the patter of footsteps and the breathing of the women. Distant sounds echoed from around the city. A dull boom. An angry shout. A scream that made them all stop and shiver. Stara felt a tension growing inside her. She resisted an urge to start running. Just a jog , her mind urged. Not an outright race. But she did not want to tire herself or the women out. They might need the energy later.

She found herself reaching in to the store of magic within her, giving it the lightest of touches to reassure herself it was still there, ready to be drawn upon. It was tempting to try covering them all in a shield, but while she had learned to do that as part of her basic training, she hadn’t bothered to practise in years and wasn’t sure how much power she’d use stretching it to protect so many people. Still, she was ready to throw up a wall. Ready to strike out, too, if she had to.

They were coming up to the main road now. She slowed as she saw rubble scattered over the highway. Houses on the other side of the road were burning, casting a flickering, hot light. The women made low noises as they noticed the damage. All stopped at the corner to gaze about in grim silence.

Stara heard the faintest of sounds to her right. Then her heart jumped as she realised that the movement she’d seen in the corner of her eye was not the flicker of shadows cast by the fire. She threw out her arms and moved backwards, pushing the women back.

But they had not seen the danger, and moved too slowly. Two figures appeared on the road ahead, walking slowly and staring around. A man and a woman. Their dress was Kyralian. Stara froze and heard the women catch their breaths.

Then the man spun to face them. Stara felt a surge of fear and let loose magic, instinctively shaping it into a force to sweep the invaders away.

And it did. The two strangers were thrown across the road and landed like dolls tossed upon the ground.

Are they dead? Stara stared at the Kyralians, waiting for them to move. As time stretched on she became aware of the gasping, frightened breathing of the women around her. Even Vora was panting with fear.

“They’re not moving,” Chiara said. She took a step forward. “I think you got them.”

“Better make sure,” Tashana advised.

Stara took a deep breath and moved forward. The women followed. They reached the man. She felt her heart skip as she realised he was conscious, and put up a wall of magic. He’d landed on a section of wall. As she approached he moved, pushing himself up then rolling onto his back. His front was covered in blood, which seeped out as she watched. Looking back at the wall, she saw the mangled end of a lamp hook, glistening wetly.

His eyes flickered from face to face. Stara reached for magic, preparing to finish him off. But then a look of recognition and surprise stole over his face.

“You . . .” he said, his voice catching with pain, his eyes on the women behind her.

“It’s the one who let us go,” Nachira said. “The one who found us, at the Sanctuary, and left us without telling the others.”

Stara felt horror wash over her. Why, of all the invaders, had she struck down the only one who had shown any compassion?

“I didn’t see a girl, though,” Nachira added.

Looking past the young man, Stara saw that the woman was lying on her side, eyes closed. They didn’t defend themselves. Perhaps they had no power left. It was impossible to tell whether the woman was unconscious or dead. She grimaced. With the luck I’m having, she’ll turn out to be someone else I shouldn’t have killed. Sighing, she turned away.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Feeling tired in her heart, but pushing doubt aside, she started down the road. As she left the city of her birth, she did not look back. Instead, she lifted the map tube so it rested over one shoulder, and set her mind on her dream of a Sanctuary for women, where all were equal and free. And the women she had befriended and championed here followed.

Rows of trees surrounded by beds of flowering plants lined the wide road to the Imperial Palace. Once the army had reached this thoroughfare the attacks had stopped. Dakon doubted it was because the local magicians didn’t want to ruin the streetscape. Most likely they were rushing to join in a last line of defence at the palace gates.

He looked over his shoulder again, seeking where the road they had fought their way down had met this tree-lined thoroughfare. He found it and searched for movement.

“Don’t worry about them,” Narvelan said. “They’re a smart pair. They’ll keep out of sight until we can go back and fetch them.”

If they’re alive . Dakon sighed and turned back to face the front. But if they aren’t . . . my mind knows Narvelan is right but my heart says otherwise.

“I should go back,” he said for the hundredth time.

“You’d die,” Narvelan replied. “Which won’t do them any good at all.”

“I could go,” another voice said.

Dakon and Narvelan turned to look at Mikken, riding to Dakon’s left.

“No,” they both said together.

“When it gets dark,” the apprentice said. “I’ll keep in the shadows. It doesn’t matter as much if I die – and I was supposed to stay with Jayan—”

“No,” Narvelan repeated. “You’re a better asset to Jayan alive. If anybody is going to slip back at night, it will be all of us plus a few more as extra protection.”

Mikken’s shoulders slumped and he nodded.

They were nearing the palace now. Looking up at the building, Dakon saw that it was a larger, grander version of the mansions they had seen before. The walls were rendered and painted white. They curved sensually. But they were far thicker and taller, and formed dome-topped towers here and there.

As the army neared the gates the magicians shifted into fighting teams without a word spoken. No sound came from the building. No one emerged to challenge them.

There was a muffled clunk, then the gates swung open.

“The emperor invites you to enter,” a voice called.