Trudi Canavan - The Rogue

She slipped behind it and put down the basket. Workers further along the alley eyed her, but as she began rubbing her back, they politely looked away. She looked back down the alley. Sure enough, a short, thin man with a mean expression was making his way toward her. He looked like he belonged here as much as she did. The workers paused when they saw him and gave him a wide berth. They, like her, knew the look of a Thief’s man when they saw one.

Looking at the obstructions between herself and her pursuer, Sonea found what she was looking for. She sent out a little magic and held it in place. Then she turned and continued down the alley, keeping to her former hurried pace.

She counted down in her head and gave a push with the magic. A crash came from behind her, then yells and curses. She paused to look back, feigning surprise. Her pursuer’s path was now blocked by a woodpile that had collapsed under its own weight. She turned and hurried on.

A few streets and another alley later, and several stops to check, she decided that she was no longer being followed and made her way to the laundry, sweet shop and the room beneath. Cery and Gol looked relieved as she entered the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she sat down. “Had to deal with a tag.”

Cery’s eyebrows rose, then he smiled thinly. “Nobody talks like that any more.”

Gol made a smothered choking sound. She looked from one to the other.

“Like what? You mean slum slang?”

“Yes.” Cery rose. “Or so my daughter tells me.”

“Where is she?”

He grimaced. “Off playing spy for me.”

She felt her heart skip a beat. “You let her …?”

“Not really a matter of letting with Anyi.” He sighed. “She rightly pointed out that we’ve had no other ideas for months.” He paced a few steps to the right. “Her intention is to convince whoever employs her that she’s truly turned on me by betraying my location.” He stopped and paced to the left. “Of course, Gol and I will make a narrow escape.” He turned to face her. “That’s where you will come in.”

“I will?”

“Yes.” He shook his head, not bothering to hide his worry and doubts. “You’ll be the factor she couldn’t plan for.”

“I see.”

Cery resumed his pacing. “I was hoping to have you and Regin lined up for this, so that if one of you couldn’t make it the other could step in—”

“Wait a few days and I’ll have a replacement for Regin.”

“Really?” Cery stopped. “Who is it?”

“Dorrien. Rothen’s son.”

“I thought he lived in the country.”

“He did, but he’s decided to move to the city to get his daughter settled here before she starts at the University.”

Cery chuckled. “I bet Rothen doesn’t know whether to be pleased or horrified.”

She smiled and nodded. “I wish we didn’t have to bring him into this. I wish you didn’t need to involve Anyi.”

“It’s our children’s purpose in life to make us worry,” Cery replied wryly. He looked up. “Have you heard from Lorkin?”

Sonea felt a stab of pain, but it was more a dull ache than the sharp terror she’d felt when he’d first disappeared. “No. I guess I should be glad he isn’t being dragged into this.”

He nodded. “Perhaps I should have sent Anyi off to Sachaka.” His expression suddenly became distant and thoughtful. He shook his head and looked at Sonea. “Anything else?”

“No. You?”

“Nothing. I’ll send a message to the hospice when I know what Anyi is planning. Could you stay here a while, just in case you were followed?”

“Sure. I did lose the t … whatever you call them now.”

“Of course you did,” he said in a consolatory tone.

“You doubt my ability to lose a tag?” She crossed her arms.

“Not at all.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He feigned innocence. Behind him, Gol slid a panel in the wall open.

“Coming?” he asked.

Cery smiled and turned away. Shaking her head, Sonea watched as they slipped through into darkness and the panel slid shut again. Then she sat down and waited until they’d put some distance between themselves and the shop before she headed back to the hospice.

Stomach full, and with a mouth burning pleasantly from the spices he’d consumed, Dannyl sipped his wine contentedly. It was good to get away from the Guild House. These days the only Sachakan home Dannyl saw the inside of was Achati’s. It followed the typical format, but the interior walls were painted a softer colour than the traditional stark white. The carpets and decorations were simple and elegant. He preferred the soft light of lamps to magical globe lights.

Dannyl had seen no glimpse of Achati’s source slave and lover, Varn, since their journey in search of Lorkin. Achati had not mentioned his interest in Dannyl beyond friendship since then either – at least not directly. Dannyl was not sure if the Ashaki had given up on such a liaison happening, content to enjoy their friendship, or whether he was giving Dannyl time to contemplate the idea.

I must admit, I hope he hasn’t given up, but at the same time, the fact that Achati is such a powerful man is as sobering as it is interesting. Not to forget the fact that he is Sachakan and I’m Kyralian, and some still feel we are enemies. Having a Sachakan friend would be seen to be beneficial, encouraging respect and understanding between our people. Having a Sachakan lover would raise suspicions of divided loyalties.

“So the treasure that was stolen from the palace was a magic-storing object,” Achati said, his expression thoughtful.

Dannyl looked up and nodded. “The king told me something had been taken long ago. I thought you’d be interested to know what its purpose was.”

“Yes.” Achati’s eyes wrinkled with amusement. “We did not remember what it was, only that it was stolen. If only we’d remembered that it was an object used to control us – an object powerful enough to create the wasteland – we might not have nursed such resentment. Or resented it as much,” he added. “Since your people did use it to create the wasteland.”

“A resentment that is deserved.” Dannyl shuddered as he thought of the lifeless land he’d travelled across to get to Arvice. “I’ve often wondered how the Kyralians maintained control here. As far as I can tell, there weren’t as many Kyralian magicians here as there were Sachakan magicians. Perhaps the threat of the storestone is the answer.”

“It wasn’t long after the object was stolen that the Kyralians relinquished control of my country,” Achati told him.

Dannyl nodded. “We always assumed it was because the wasteland was considered protection and deterrent enough.”

Achati grimaced. “It certainly weakened Sachaka. Our most fertile lands were gone, and we were already a country bursting with more people than we could feed, despite losing so many Ashaki in the war.” He sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “The king will be interested in what you said earlier: that there was initial success in reclaiming the wastes. Restoring the land is a hope of his.”

“It would be a great achievement.”

“Yes.” Achati frowned. “It is a peculiar thing that Kyralians have no memory of this storestone.”

“I can only assume that all reference to it was lost when Imardin was destroyed, which I now believe happened centuries later.” Dannyl sighed. “All good discoveries raise more questions. Why did Narvelan steal it? Why did he use it? I doubt we’ll ever know, since he and those that might have confronted him did not live to tell the tale.”

Achati nodded. “I’d like to know where the storestone came from. Did it originate in Kyralia? Was it made or natural?” He shook his head. “I’m sure you would like to know as much for Kyralia’s sake as for your book. All would face as great a threat of disaster as Sachaka suffered, if such a weapon fell into the hands of an enemy.”