Труди Канаван: The Magician’s Apprentice

And that’s something I’m willing to dedicate a lifetime to.

EPILOGUE

Hanara ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He could feel dirt and sweat, and the wiriness of grey hairs. The pack he carried was heavy and made his joints ache. His breath came in gasps.

The man ahead of him stopped and looked back. The crazed, hard look on Lord Narvelan’s face softened.

“Take your time, old friend,” he said. “We’re both not as young as we used to be.”

Only thirty or so, Hanara thought. But like many slaves he had aged faster than free men. Except I haven’t been a slave for ten years. I’ve been a servant. Not that there’s been much difference.

He could have left Narvelan and sought work in another household, but who would have given it to him? Who would want the Betrayer’s slave? Nobody. No, he was stuck with Lord Narvelan. The Crazy Emperor, as the palace servants called him. Crazy, but clever.

Narvelan had all but ruled Sachaka for most of the past decade. Though he was supposed to come to a consensus with two other magicians for all decisions, nearly all the Kyralians who had taken the roles of co-rulers hadn’t been smart or determined enough to oppose Narvelan. Lord Dakon had prevailed for a while, until he was assassinated, his body drained of energy but not a cut or scratch on him. Only Lord Bolvin, who had taken up the role most recently, had ever managed to successfully stand up to the Crazy Emperor.

When Narvelan’s plan to remove the children of Sachakan magicians and have them raised by Kyralian families was thwarted by Bolvin, Hanara’s master had become angry and paranoid. He’d refused to attend meetings for three months, only coming back when decisions began to be made in his absence.

Things had gone downhill from there, with fighting between the magicians and appeals sent to the king. Finally, a week ago, a message had arrived from the king “retiring” Narvelan from his position. A day later, Narvelan had ordered Hanara to pack for a journey. They would be travelling on foot.

Far ahead, Narvelan had stopped. Hanara guessed his master had reached the top of the hill. He trudged on, forcing his aching legs to carry him up. When he finally reached the crest, Narvelan was sitting, cross-legged, on the stony ground.

“Put your pack down,” Narvelan said. “Have a drink. And some food.”

Obeying, Hanara watched his master gazing about. The hill lay at the end of the plains, where the endmost roots of the mountains rippled the ground. They had come more than half the distance to the border, but probably only half the journey time if the slower travel rates on the steep roads nearer the mountains were taken into account.

Are we going to Kyralia? Hanara wondered. Is Narvelan hoping to talk the king around? They weren’t headed for the pass, though. He looked at his master, but remained silent.

Narvelan glanced at him. “You’re wondering where we’re going,” he stated.

Hanara said nothing. He’d learned that asking questions was pointless when his master was in this mood. The man would hear the question he expected, not the one that Hanara voiced.

“Ten years,” Narvelan said. “Ten years I’ve worked, every day and most nights, to keep this country in Kyralian control. Ten years I’ve strived to keep our ancient enemy weak, to prevent an invasion happening again.”

He looked back towards Arvice, which was far beyond the horizon now. His eyes were afire with anger.

“I could have gone home, married and had a family. But then, would I have enjoyed the peace and safety that everyone else has because of me? Without my work here, Sachaka would have recovered, grown powerful, then attacked us again. No. I had to sacrifice a normal life so that others would have one.

“And did I get any thanks?” Narvelan stared at Hanara, then looked away. “No! Not once! And now they’re undoing everything I did! All my work, all my sacrifices, for nothing. They’re going to free the farm slaves. Let Sachakan magicians marry and breed more invaders. They’re going to let them come here,” he swept his arm out to indicate the area, “and start farming again. Letting this land grow wild was intended to reduce the food the Sachakans could grow, keeping their population small and manageable. It was to be an extra layer of protection between Kyralia and Sachaka. It was my great idea. My vision!”

Hanara looked down at the local farmhouses and fields. Though they were supposed to be abandoned, he could see signs of cultivation and occupation. Narvelan’s vision had only led to bandits and ichani taking up residence. We’re lucky we haven’t been attacked, he thought, then pushed the thought away. Narvelan was powerful. He’d had several servants as source slaves. He was strong enough to fight off ichani, who had only one or two slaves to take from.

“I don’t blame the king for retiring me,” Narvelan said, his voice laced with sadness and regret. Hanara looked at him in surprise. “I shouldn’t have stopped attending meetings. If I’d been reasonable, he’d have had no good reason to get rid of me.”

He frowned. “They made me angry because they wanted to undermine the plans I’d worked on for so long. I didn’t realise that there was a way to make them happen anyway. A faster way. I hadn’t thought of it yet. If I’d thought of it earlier... maybe they’d have agreed with me. If what I planned hadn’t been so difficult.”

Narvelan’s gaze was distant. He fell silent and stared towards Arvice for a long time. Brooding. Then abruptly his attention snapped back to his surroundings. He drew in a deep breath and sighed, then smiled and slowly turned to look at the plains, the hills, the mountains, and then the hill they were sitting on.

“This is a good place. I don’t know how far its power will reach, but how far it does will have to be good enough.” He looked at Hanara.

Hanara shrugged. Narvelan often said unfathomable things, especially when he was having one of these one-sided conversations. He watched as his master reached into his pack and dug around.

“Where is it? I know it’s here somewhere. Ah!”

He drew out his arm. His fist was clenched around something. Looking around, Narvelan fixed his gaze on a large, flat rock. It slid towards him, settling before his crossed legs. Then he picked up a smaller rock and hefted it, testing its weight.

“That should do the trick.”

He opened his fist and, with a musical clink, a bright, glittering object landed on the flat rock. Hanara felt his heart stop.

It was the storestone. The one the Elynes had left with the Kyralians, in case they ever faced conflict with Sachakans again. Narvelan must have stolen it. The other magicians certainly wouldn’t have approved of his taking it.

Narvelan looked up at Hanara, and a look of realisation crossed his face.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Hanara. I hadn’t thought what to do about you. Guess we’re in this together.”

Hanara opened his mouth to ask why.

Then Narvelan’s arm rose and fell. The rock hit the store-stone. A crack appeared. Hanara had a moment to wonder why the crack was blindingly white.

Then all sensation and thought ceased.

The path was narrow and steep. It twisted and turned around the precipitous side of the mountain, climbing and descending in order to pass enormous boulders, or wide cracks in the ground. Hunters had advised Jayan and Prinan that the way was too difficult for horses, and though they wished they could declare it unpassable for humans, the truth was it was merely hard work.

Jayan sent healing magic to his legs and felt the ache fade. He’d needed to do this less and less often over the last few days. I might actually be getting fitter, he mused. Looking back, he saw that the dust that covered Prinan’s clothes, skin and hair was only broken by darker patches of sweat under his arms and on his chest and back. And I look just as bad, he mused. I doubt anybody at the Guild would recognise us, and if they did they’d gain much amusement.