The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (15 page)

But now the sewers were divided up among the Thieves whose territory they crossed, and many of these were rivals. It cost a fortune to gain access to them, and the watchers were no longer reliable. It was rumoured that this was how the Thief who’d drowned had been killed. A watcher upstream had been murdered by the Thief Hunter, and not only had the Thief died but all the watchers downstream as well.

There’s not much reason to use the sewers now that the Purge has ended
, Cery thought.
It’s only useful if you have a powerful need to travel unseen.

Since he no longer used the Thieves’ Road to travel long distances either, Cery walked the streets of Imardin, in the daytime, like most of its citizens. It was safer, despite the risk of robbers or gangs. Gol’s bulk deterred the former, while Cery’s status still protected him from the latter.

I probably shouldn’t rely on it so much. Or on poor Gol to intimidate possible attackers. Some day, one or the other won’t work as a deterrent, and we’ll be in trouble. But unless I want to go everywhere in a crowd of guards, that’s a risk I have to take.

Passing through one of the new archways cut into the old wall, Cery started toward his own part of the former slums, Gol walking beside him.

“What did you make of Thim’s story, Gol?”

The big man scowled. “We heard nothing new. Nobody’s got any information, but plenty of the same old rumours.”

“Yes. But at least they are the same. Everyone thinks it’s the same person. Everyone has the same ideas about that person’s skills.”

“But everyone has a different reason for coming up with those ideas,” Gol pointed out.

“Yes. Things moving through the air that have no right to be. Strange scorch marks. Shadowy figures that can’t be stabbed. Flashing lights. Invisible walls. What do you believe, Gol?”

“That it’s always better to be over-careful than dead.”

Cery felt a flash of amusement. He stopped walking and turned to face his bodyguard. “So we act like the Thief Hunter is real and uses magic and has already had a go at me.”

Gol frowned and glanced around to see if anyone had heard Cery. “You heard what I said about being over-careful?” he asked, a touch of annoyance in his tone.

“Yes.” Cery sighed. “But what difference does it make if someone hears us? If my enemy is a magician I’m doomed.”

The big man’s frown deepened. “What about the Guild? They’d want to know if … about this. You could tell … your old friend.”

“I could. But unless I have something real to tell her, she won’t be able to do anything. We have to know for sure.”

“Then we’ve got to lay a trap.”

Cery stared at Gol in surprise, then shook his head. “And how do you think we’re going to keep that sort of prisoner in it?”

“Not to catch him.” Gol shrugged. “Just to confirm that’s what he is. To lure him somewhere and into using what he can use, with us watching. Better still if he doesn’t realise it was a trap.”

Starting to walk again, Cery considered the idea. It wasn’t a bad one. “Yes. Wouldn’t want him getting mad … and if he doesn’t realise he’s walked into a trap the first time then we could trap him again – with my friend around to see.”

“Now you’re catching up,” Gol said with an exaggerated sigh. “Sometimes you can be so slow to see—”

“Of course, I’d have to be the bait,” Cery said.

Gol’s teasing tone vanished. “No you won’t. Well, you will, but you don’t actually have to
be
there. The bait’ll be the
rumour
that you will be there.”

“It’ll have to be a pretty convincing rumour,” Cery told him.

“We’ll sort something out.”

They fell silent as they continued on their way. Cery found himself plotting out the details.
So where can we lure the Thief Hunter to? It will have to be somewhere people would expect me to be. Terrina said he struck the hideout because it was more clever to kill me in my safest place. So I need to set myself up in a new hideout, and arrange for some people to blab about it and how much safer it is than my old one. It’ll have to have a few good spy holes, and an escape route or three. And it has to make the Thief Hunter use his powers in an obvious way.

For the first time in weeks Cery felt a tingle of excitement and anticipation ruffle the surface of the gloom and suffocating pain that had settled on him. Even if the trap didn’t lead to him avenging his family’s deaths, planning and setting it up would keep him from brooding over them. He needed to act, not sit around feeling sorry for himself, frustrated at the lack of clues to their killer.

The steep, winding mountain road leading toward the Pass reminded Dannyl of those that he and Tayend had travelled to the city of Armje so many years before. Which was not surprising, since the peaks here belonged to the same range dividing Sachaka from the Allied Lands. Here, too, the forest that edged the mountains thinned and gave way to stunted plants and rocky slopes.

The carriage travelled slowly as the horses hauled it steadily uphill. Lorkin had a now familiar look of boredom in his eyes, staring out of the window with a gloomy, resigned expression. They were both beyond conversation already, though it was not yet midday, and the silence only made the crawling pace more unbearable.

Then, without warning, the carriage abruptly turned and gained speed as the road levelled out. They began moving between two smooth walls of rock. Lorkin straightened, unlatched the window beside him and peered out.

“We’re here,” he said.

Dannyl felt excitement prickle his skin. He smiled with relief, and Lorkin grinned in reply. They sat in tense expectation, all attention on the movement of the carriage, the passing walls, and the sound of the hoof beats, until the driver called out and the vehicle slowed to a stop.

A face appeared at the window beside Lorkin. A man in red robes looked from Lorkin to Dannyl and nodded politely.

“Welcome to the Fort, Ambassador Dannyl and Lord Lorkin. I am Watcher Orton. Will you be staying for the night or continuing into Sachaka?”

“Unfortunately we cannot linger, as Administrator Osen is anxious to see us settled in Sachaka as quickly as possible,” Dannyl said.

The man smiled sympathetically. “Then I invite you to stretch your legs and look around as we change your horses for fresh ones.”

“We will gladly accept.”

Lorkin unlatched the door and then followed as Dannyl stepped out of the carriage. As soon as the young man set foot on the ground, he looked up and gave a little gasp.

“Ah, yes. It is an impressive structure,” Orton said, following Lorkin’s gaze.

Dannyl looked up and felt a shiver run up his spine. The face of the Fort towered over him, stretching from one side of the narrow ravine to the other. It was smooth and unblemished except where the shadows of huge cracks, filled in with more stone, showed where repairs had been made.

“Was that damage from the Ichani Invasion?” Lorkin asked.

“Yes, though it was worse inside,” Orton replied. He started forward, leading them into a cavernous opening. It took a few moments for Dannyl’s eyes to adjust, then he was able to make out tunnel walls stretching before them, lit by lamps. Slight variations in colour showed where sections had been filled with new stone. In some places there were gaps that went up several floors.

“Did we replace the traps that were originally here?” Dannyl asked.

“Some.” Orton shrugged. “Most were simple barriers, designed to delay and use up an attacker’s strength. We have installed more complex systems of defence to replace them. Tricks that might catch an invader if their guard was lowered. Illusions that will waste his power. But nothing that could hold off a group of powerful Sachakan black magicians for long, which is why we have spent as much time and energy creating means of escaping the Fort as well. Too many died in the Invasion who need not have, for lack of escape routes. Ah – here we have a memorial to those who gave up their lives bravely defending the Pass.”

Between two lamps a list of names had been carved into the wall. Dannyl felt a mix of disquiet and amusement as he caught a familiar name.
From what I recall, Fergun was dragged out of some hiding place by the Sachakans. Hardly what I’d call bravely defending the Pass. But the rest … they died not understanding what they faced, because the Guild did not believe Akkarin’s warning. It could not comprehend the threat he described, having forgotten what black magic could make a magician capable of.

They stood in silence for a while, then the sound of hooves and the creak of wheels and springs echoed in the tunnel. Turning, Dannyl saw that the driver was leading a new set of horses, harnessed to the carriage, toward them.

“You must see the Fort from the Sachakan side,” Orton told him, continuing down the tunnel.

Dannyl and Lorkin followed. The sound of the carriage was loud in the confined space, so none of them spoke until they had emerged from the tunnel. Once again, high ravine walls rose on either side. They curved away in front of the Fort, giving no view of Sachaka. As Orton turned around and looked up, Lorkin and Dannyl followed suit. Another smooth wall stretched between the ravine walls, broken by many small windows. Two huge slabs of stone that had clearly once been a single square lay against the ravine wall to one side.

“That was once a door of sorts,” Orton told them. “It was dropped down to block the tunnel.” He shrugged. “I do wonder why the magicians who built the Fort, who were black magicians themselves, thought such things would slow down an invader.”

“Every little bit of power used by the enemy might be a life saved,” Lorkin said.

Orton looked at the young man and nodded. “Perhaps.” The carriage emerged from the tunnel and the driver pulled the horses to a stop beside them. Orton turned to Dannyl. “Fresh horses, plus feed and water for the three days it will take you to cross the wasteland, are on board. There are also supplies for yourself in the cabin, and I asked the cook to throw together something nicer for your next meal. Nothing fancy, but it might be the last Kyralian meal you have for a while.”

“Thank you, Watcher Orton.”

The man smiled. “My pleasure, Ambassador Dannyl.” He looked at Lorkin. “I hope you and Lord Lorkin have a safe journey, and that you will stop for a while on your return to Kyralia.”

Dannyl nodded. “We’ll do our best to keep any invaders from testing out those new defences.”

Orton chuckled and turned to the carriage. “I know you will.”

The carriage door swung open, no doubt by Orton’s magic. Dannyl climbed aboard and sat down, bracing himself against the sway of the vehicle as Lorkin eagerly followed him. They waved goodbye and called out thanks as the carriage rolled away and Orton moved out of sight.

Dannyl looked at Lorkin, who grinned back.

“I suspect Watcher Orton doesn’t get many visitors,” Lorkin said quietly.

“No. You look a lot more cheerful than you were this morning,” Dannyl remarked.

Lorkin’s grin widened. “We’re in Sachaka now.”

A shiver ran down Dannyl’s spine.
He’s right. The moment we stepped out of the tunnel we were no longer in our own land. We’re in exotic Sachaka, the heart of the former Empire that once included Kyralia and Elyne. The land of black magicians. All so much more powerful than me …

This must be what it felt like to be a trader or diplomat who dealt with magicians in the Allied Lands, always aware how helpless they’d be in the face of magic, but relying on diplomacy and the threat of retaliation from their homeland to keep them safe from harm. Dannyl thought of the blood ring Administrator Osen had given him, made by Black Magician Kallen out of Osen’s blood so that Dannyl could contact him.
For monthly reports, otherwise only to be used in emergencies. As if he could stop a black magician killing me from all the way—

Suddenly the wall of rock beside him was gone, and in its place was a great, pale expanse. Lorkin made a wordless exclamation, changed to the seat opposite Dannyl and moved close to the window to look out.

“So that’s the wasteland,” he breathed.

A treeless slope fell steeply from the edge of the road down to rocky, eroded hills below. Lapping around them like a frozen sea was a desert, dunes rippling across the land. The air was dry, Dannyl noticed suddenly, and tasted of dust.

“I guess it is,” he replied.

“It’s … bigger than I thought,” Lorkin said.

“We are taught that it was meant to be a barrier,” Dannyl said. “But the older records only comment that it
might
act as one. That suggests the wasteland wasn’t entirely deliberate. At least, not what the Guild had planned.”

“So nobody knows for sure why it was created, let alone how?”

“There are some records that state that those who made it intended to weaken Sachaka by ruining its most productive land. I’ve found letters in which magicians support the idea, and others who thought it an appalling idea. But the letters have the tone of people reacting to rumour and gossip, not an official decision.”

Lorkin grimaced. “It wouldn’t be the first time in history someone acted independently of the Guild.”

“No.” Dannyl wondered if Lorkin was referring to his parents. His tone had been wry.

They sat and stared at the wasteland for several minutes without speaking. Then Lorkin shook his head and sighed.

“The land has never recovered. Not after seven hundred years. Has anyone tried to restore it?”

Dannyl shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing nobody knows how it was done. If we ever face a proper war – rather than a bunch of outcasts – we’d be in some serious trouble.”

Looking out over the ruined land, Dannyl had to agree. “From all accounts, the Sachakans were furious at the devastation. If they’d known how to strike back, they would have. I don’t think they know any more than we do.”

Lorkin nodded. “It’s probably better that way.” He frowned and looked at Dannyl. “But if we do find anything …”

“We will have to keep it a secret. At least until we can pass on the information to the High Lord Balkan. It would be even more dangerous than the knowledge of black magic.”