The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (16 page)

L
ike many low-born novices from the poorer parts of the city, Norrin was of small stature. But he looked even smaller walking between the two Warriors escorting him into the Guildhall. Sonea felt her heart twist in sympathy as he glanced up at the rows of magicians staring down at him on either side, turned white, then set his gaze on the floor.

It is cruel to drag him before the entire Guild
, she thought.
A Hearing before the Higher Magicians would have been intimidating and humiliating enough. But someone wanted to make an example of him.

By Guild rules, any novice who failed to attend the University or reside in the Grounds without permission to live elsewhere was considered a potential rogue, and must be brought before the assembled Guild to explain themselves, even if only the Higher Magicians were to judge their actions and decide on a punishment.

If he hadn’t been found right before a Meet day, he might have been spared this. But it is much easier to tack a Hearing onto the end of a Meet than arrange a separate one. I suspect if Osen had been faced with getting the whole Guild together just for this Hearing, he’d have bent the rules and kept it to the Higher Magicians.

The escorts stopped at the front, Norrin halting beside them and bowing to the Higher Magicians. Administrator Osen glanced back at the Higher Magicians – at Sonea. For a second their gazes locked, then he looked away.

Others had noted his glance, and she found herself the subject of speculative looks from High Lord Balkan, Lady Vinara and Director Jerrik. She resisted the urge to shrug to indicate she had no idea why Osen had chosen that moment to look at her, instead ignoring them and keeping her attention on the novice.

The Administrator approached Norrin, whose shoulders hunched, but he didn’t look up.

“Novice Norrin,” Osen said. “You have been absent from the Guild Grounds and University for two months. You have ignored requests that you return, forcing us to take you into custody. You know the law restricting a novice’s movements and where he or she may reside. Why have you broken it?”

Norrin’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath and let it out again. He straightened and looked up at the Administrator.

“I don’t want to be a magician,” he said. “I’d want to, if I didn’t want to look after my family more.” He stopped and looked down again. Sonea could not see Osen’s face, but his posture was all patient expectation.

“Your family?” he prompted.

Norrin looked around, then flushed. “My little brothers and sisters. Mother can’t look after them. She’s sick.”

“And nobody else can take on this responsibility?” Osen asked.

“No. My sister – next oldest after me – died last year. The rest are too young. I didn’t use magic once,” he added quickly. “I know I’m not supposed to if I’m not gonna be a magician.”

“If you do not wish to be a magician – if you wish to leave the Guild – you must have your powers blocked,” Osen told him.

The novice blinked, then looked up at the Administrator with such hope that Sonea felt a pain in her chest. “You can do that?” Norrin said in a barely audible voice. “Then I can go look after my family and nobody will mind?” He frowned. “It doesn’t cost a lot, does it?”

Osen said nothing, then shook his head. “It costs nothing, except in lost opportunities for yourself. Can’t you wait a few more years? Wouldn’t it be better for your family if you were a magician?”

Norrin’s face darkened. “No. I can’t see them. I can’t get money to them. I can’t make Mother’s … sickness go away. And the others’re too young to look after themselves.”

Osen then turned to the Higher Magicians. “I suggest we discuss this.”

Sonea nodded her agreement along with the others. The Administrator indicated that the escort should take the boy out of the hall. As soon as the doors closed, Lady Vinara sighed loudly and turned to face them.

“The boy’s mother is a whore. She is not sick, she is addicted to roet.”

“It is true,” University Director Jerrik said. “But he has not picked up the habits of his mother. He is a sensible young man, studious and well mannered, with strong powers. It would be a pity to lose him.”

“He is too young to know what he is giving up,” Lord Garrel added. “He will regret sacrificing magic for the sake of his family.”

“But he would regret it more if he sacrificed his family for magic,” Sonea could not help adding.

Faces turned toward her. She had not made a habit of participating in the debates of the Higher Magicians these last twenty years. At first, because she felt too young and inexperienced in Guild politics to contribute, later because it had become clear to her that her position among them had been bestowed not out of respect but out of a begrudging acknowledgement of her powers and assistance in defending the country.

Yet whenever I speak I seem to attract a lot more attention than is warranted.

“You have much in common with Norrin, Black Magician Sonea,” Osen began. “In having not wanted to join the Guild – though not due to family circumstances, of course,” he added. “What would you suggest we do to persuade him to stay?”

Sonea resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “He wants to visit and help his family. Grant him that and I’m sure he’d be delighted to remain with us.”

The Higher Magicians exchanged glances. She looked at Rothen. He grimaced, communicating in that one look how unlikely it was the Higher Magicians would agree to that.

“But that would result in Guild money going to a whore, and no doubt feed her addiction,” Garrel pointed out.

“Plenty more Guild money goes toward hiring the services of whores each night than would be required to keep Norrin’s family fed and accommodated for the year,” Sonea replied, then winced at the tartness in her voice.

The magicians paused again.
And this, too, always seems to happen when I dare to speak
, she mused. Lady Vinara had covered her mouth with a hand, she noticed.

“It will have to be up to Norrin to ensure that the money he gives his mother does not go toward roet,” Sonea told them in what she hoped was a more conciliatory tone. “It is clearly not his aim to kill his mother.” Then she had a flash of inspiration. “If he agrees to stay, send him to the hospices to work – as punishment if you must. I will arrange for his family to visit. That way he can see them
and
be seen to be disciplined for breaking the law.”

There were nods all around.

“An excellent solution,” Lord Osen said. “Perhaps you can persuade his mother to give up the drug at the same time.” He looked at her expectantly. She said nothing, just met his gaze levelly.
I’m not stupid enough to make any promises, when it comes to roet.

Osen looked away, turning to the others. “Does anyone object, or have another suggestion?”

The Higher Magicians shook their heads. Osen called in the escorts and Norrin. When Sonea’s suggestion was offered to him, he gazed up at her with open gratitude.
That’s a little too much like adoration
, she thought.
I had better make sure I keep him working hard, so he doesn’t start idolising me – or, more importantly, thinking that breaking rules leads to him getting his way.

As Osen announced the Hearing and Meet concluded, and Sonea rose and started descending the stairs, Lady Vinara stepped out to block her path.

“It is good to see you speaking your mind at last,” the elderly Healer said. “You should do so more often.”

Sonea blinked in surprise, and found she could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t sound trite. Vinara’s smile changed to a more serious look. She glanced down at where Norrin had been standing.

“This case clearly demonstrates the need to make a prompt decision on whether to change or abolish the rule against associating with criminals and characters of low repute.” She lowered her voice. “I am in favour of a clarification. The rule is too easily interpreted in a way that would restrict the work of my Healers.”

Sonea nodded and managed a smile. “Mine even more so. When do you think the Administrator will call for a decision?”

Vinara frowned. “He has not yet concluded whether it should be a decision for us or the Guild. It may be perceived as unfair, should it be the former, as you are the only Higher Magician who might be seen to represent the magicians and novices of lower-class origins. But if we open it up to the entire Guild …”

“It may not make that much difference,” Sonea finished. “And there are sure to be remarks made that, stated publicly, may cause lasting resentment.”

Vinara shrugged. “Oh, I don’t think we can avoid that. But it will cause a lot more fuss and work, and Osen is not sure the issue warrants that.”

“Well, then.” Sonea smiled grimly and stepped past the woman. “Perhaps Norrin’s case will convince him otherwise.”

Lorkin gazed out at the fields beside the road, wondering how long it would take for him to get used to the greenness of it all. For three days they had travelled across the wasteland, and it felt as if the dry dustiness of the place had filled every crease in his skin and hollow of his lungs. He was looking forward to a bath more than he had ever before in his life.

At night they had taken turns keeping watch for the approach of Ichani, or sleeping in the carriage. The wasteland was considered the most dangerous part of their journey – hence the precautions – but no attacks by outcast Sachakan magicians had ever been made on Guild magicians since the invasion. Previous Guild Ambassadors had seen figures in the distance watching them, but none had ever approached.

Lorkin doubted they could have held off an attack by Ichani bandits for long, but the previous Ambassador had told them that they’d always relied on the hope that looking like they were prepared for a fight was deterrent enough. The Ichani roaming the wastes and mountains knew that the Guild had managed to kill Kariko and his gang, though not
how
they had, and so kept a cautious distance from any robed visitors.

On the second day a sandstorm had forced Dannyl to sit beside the driver and protect horse and carriage, as well as keep the road visible, with a magical barrier. On the third day the sands gave way to tussocks and stunted bushes. As the vegetation thickened, grazing animals had appeared. Then those gave way to the first struggling crops, which slowly improved in health and lushness until all looked appealingly rural and normal – so long as one didn’t look too closely at the south-western horizon.

Now and then clusters of white buildings and walls appeared several hundred paces from the road. These were the estates of Sachaka’s powerful landowners, the Ashaki. Only when they passed the first of these did Lorkin realise that the ruins the carriage had passed in the wasteland had probably once looked just like them.

Tonight, Lorkin and Dannyl were to visit and stay with an Ashaki. Lorkin was not sure how much of the nervous tingle of anticipation he felt at finally meeting a Sachakan was excitement or dread. Dannyl had met with the Sachakan Ambassador in Imardin, but Lorkin had not been confirmed as his assistant at the time and so was not invited to the meeting.

I want us to hurry up and get there, but how much of that is due to hunger and wanting a comfortable bed and a whole night’s sleep?

The carriage slowed, then turned off the main road. Lorkin’s heart began racing. Leaning close to the window he saw white buildings at the end of the narrow road the carriage was following. The walls were smooth and curved, with no sharp edges. As they drew closer, he could see, through an archway ahead, thin figures moving about inside a space beyond the wall. One stopped within the archway, then turned to wave at the others before moving out of sight.

When they passed through the archway they found themselves in a near-deserted courtyard. Whoever the people were, they had made themselves scarce. A single figure stepped out of a narrow doorway as the carriage drew to a halt, and dropped smoothly face-down on the ground.

Clearly he was a slave. Lorkin looked at Dannyl, who smiled grimly and moved to the door of the carriage. As the Ambassador climbed out, the man on the ground did not move. Lorkin followed. He looked up at the driver. The man wore a frown of disapproval.

Well, we were told to expect this. It doesn’t make it any less discomfiting. And it feels a bit rude, too. Still, they do things differently here. The master of the house does not emerge to greet his guests. He welcomes them once they’re inside.

“Take us to your master,” Dannyl ordered. His tone was neither commanding, nor did it sound like a request. Lorkin decided this was a good compromise and resolved to do the same when addressing a slave.

The prone man rose and, without looking up or saying anything, moved back through the doorway into the building. Dannyl and Lorkin followed. They entered a corridor. The interior walls were the same as the exterior, though perhaps a little smoother. Looking closely, Lorkin saw that there were fingermarks in the surface. The walls had been coated with some kind of paste. He wondered if there was a solid stone or brick core to the walls, or if they had been made entirely of some sort of clay, built up in successive layers.

Reaching the end of the corridor, the slave stepped aside and threw himself on the floor. Dannyl and Lorkin entered a large room, the white walls decorated with hangings and carvings. A man was sitting on one of three low stools, and now he rose and smiled at them.

“Welcome. I am Ashaki Tariko. You must be Ambassador Dannyl and Lord Lorkin.”

“We are,” Dannyl replied. “It is an honour to meet you and we thank you for inviting us to stay in your home.”

The man was a head shorter than Dannyl, but his broad stature gave the impression of strength. His skin was the typical Sachakan brown – lighter than a Lonmar’s but darker than an Elyne’s honey-brown. From the wrinkles about his mouth and eyes Lorkin guessed he was between forty and fifty years old. He wore a short jacket covered in colourful stitchwork over some sort of plain garment, and a pair of trousers in the same cloth as the jacket, but not as elaborately decorated.