The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (5 page)

“Once they ban black magic we will, too,” Perler said confidently.

Dekker turned to grin at Lorkin. “If that happens Lorkin won’t be taking over from his mother.”

Lorkin gave a snort of derision. “As if she’d let me. She’d much rather I took over running the hospices.”

“Would that be so bad?” Orlon asked quietly. “Just because you chose Alchemy doesn’t mean you couldn’t help out the Healers.”

“You need to be driven by absolute, unwavering dedication to run something like a hospice,” Lorkin replied. “I’m not. Though I almost wish I was.”

“Why?” Jalie asked.

Lorkin spread his hands. “I’d like to do
something
useful with my life.”

“Pah!” Dekker said. “If you can afford to spend your life indulging yourself, why wouldn’t you?”

“Boredom?” Orlon suggested.

“Who is bored?” a new, feminine voice said.

A completely different sort of thrill ran down Lorkin’s spine. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and his stomach clenched unpleasantly. All turned to see a dark-haired young woman slip through the door. She smiled as she looked around the room. As her eyes met Lorkin’s, her smile faltered, but only for a moment.

“Beriya.” He spoke her name almost without wanting to, and he instantly hated how it came out in a weak, pathetic gasp.

“Come join us,” Dekker invited.

No
, Lorkin wanted to say. But he was supposed to be over Beriya. It had been two years since her family had taken her away to Elyne. As she sat down, he looked away as if uninterested in her, and tried to relax the muscles that had stiffened the moment he’d heard her voice. Which was most of them.

She was the first woman he’d fallen in love with – and so far the only one. They’d met at every opportunity, openly and in secret. Every waking moment she had been in his thoughts, and she’d claimed it was the same for her. He would have done anything for her.

Some people had encouraged them, some people had made half-hearted attempts to help him keep his feet on the ground – at least when it came to his magical studies. The trouble was, there was no reason for either his mother or Beriya’s family to disapprove of the pairing. And it turned out that he was the sort who became so entranced when in love that no amount of sympathy or stern lectures, not even from Lord Rothen, who he respected and loved like a favourite grandfather, could keep him anchored in reality. Everyone had decided to wait until he recovered his mind enough to concentrate on something other than Beriya, then help him catch up with his training.

Then her cousin had discovered them in bed together and her family had insisted that the two of them marry as soon as possible. It did not matter that he, as a magician, could prevent Beriya becoming pregnant. If they did not marry, she would be regarded as “spoiled” to any future suitor.

Lorkin, and his mother, had agreed. It was Beriya who had refused.

She also refused to see him. When he finally managed to ambush her one day, she had told him she had never loved him. That she had encouraged him because she had heard that magicians could make love without the danger of siring a child. That she was sorry for lying to him.

His mother had told him that the awful way he felt was the closest that most magicians came to knowing what it felt like for a non-magician to be sick. The best cure was time and the kindness of family and friends. And then she’d used some words to describe Beriya’s behaviour that he could not have repeated in the company of most people he knew.

Fortunately, Beriya’s family had taken her away to Elyne, so by the time the hurt subsided enough for him to feel anger she was well out of sight. He’d vowed not to fall in love again, but when a girl in his Alchemy class had shown an interest, his resolve had weakened. He liked her practical nature. She was everything Beriya hadn’t been. A strange hypocrisy existed in Kyralian culture: nobody expected women magicians to remain celibate. But by the time he’d realised that he didn’t love her, she was well and truly infatuated with him. He’d done all he could to end that entanglement as gently as possible, but he knew she now resented him deeply.

Love, he’d decided, was one messy business.

Beriya moved to a chair and sank into it gracefully. “So who is bored?” she asked.

As the others denied it, Lorkin considered her and the lessons he’d learned. In the last year he’d met a few women who were both good company and good lovers, and wanted no more than that. He’d found he preferred this sort of encounter. The seductions that Dekker undertook, which only ended in hurt and scandal – or worse – did not appeal. And the affectionless marriage that Reater had been forced into by his parents sounded like his worst nightmare.

Father’s family hasn’t attempted to find me a bride in a while now. Maybe they’re starting to realise how much pleasure Mother gets from spoiling all their plans for me. Though I’m sure she wouldn’t block anything if I wanted it.

He dragged his thoughts back to the present as the conversation turned to the exploits of mutual friends of Beriya and Dekker. Lorkin listened and let the afternoon slip by. Eventually the two Healers left to visit the new racecourse, and Beriya left for a dress fitting. Dekker, Sherran and Jalie set off on foot to their family homes, which were in the same main street of the Inner Circle, leaving Lorkin to return to the Guild alone.

Walking through the streets of the Inner Circle, Lorkin looked at the grand buildings thoughtfully. This place had been his home all his life. He had never lived outside of it. Never been to a foreign country. Never even left the city. Ahead he could see the Guild Gates.

Are they the bars of a prison to me, or a wall to keep out danger?
Beyond was the front of the University, where his parents had once fought Sachakan black magicians in a last desperate battle.
Those magicians were only Ichani, the Sachakan version of outcast criminals. How would that battle have ended if they’d been Ashaki, black-magic-wielding noble warriors? We were lucky to have won that battle. Everyone knows that. Black Magician Kallen and my mother may not be able to save us if the Sachakans ever decide to invade us properly.

A familiar figure was approaching the gates from within. As the man passed through them, Lorkin smiled. He knew Lord Dannyl through his mother and Lord Rothen. It had been a while since he’d seen the historian. As always, Dannyl wore a slightly distracted frown, and Lorkin knew the older magician could easily walk past without seeing him.

—Lord Dannyl
, Lorkin called, keeping his mental voice quiet. Mental communication was frowned upon, since it could be heard by all magicians – whether friends or enemies. But calling another magician’s name was considered safe, as doing so gave away little information to anyone listening.

The tall magician looked up, saw Lorkin, and his frown disappeared. They walked toward each other, meeting at the entrance of the street Dannyl lived on.

“Lord Lorkin. How are things?”

Lorkin shrugged. “Well enough. How’s your research going?”

Dannyl frowned down at the bundle he was carrying. “The Great Library sent some records that I hoped would provide more details of the state of Imardin after Tagin’s death.”

Lorkin could not remember who Tagin was, but he nodded anyway. Dannyl had been caught up in his history of magic for so long he often forgot that other people did not know the details as well as he.
It must be a relief to know what you want to dedicate your life to
, Lorkin thought.
None of this wondering what to do with yourself
.

“How … how did you come up with the idea to write a history of magic?” Lorkin asked.

Dannyl looked at Lorkin and shrugged. “The task found me,” he said. “I sometimes wish it hadn’t, but then I find some new piece of information and,” he smiled wryly, “I remember how important it is that the past isn’t lost. History has lessons to teach us, and perhaps one day I’ll stumble on some secret that will benefit us.”

“Like black magic?” Lorkin suggested.

Dannyl grimaced. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve as much risk and sacrifice.”

Lorkin felt his heart skip. “Another sort of defensive magic? That would be a great thing to find.”
It would not only free the Guild from having to use black magic, but could either provide a defence against the Sachakans, or persuade the Sachakans to give up black magic and slavery and join the Allied Lands. If I found such a thing … but this is Dannyl’s idea, not mine …

Dannyl shrugged. “I might find nothing at all. But to find the truth, record and preserve it, is achievement enough, for me.”

Well … if Dannyl doesn’t care … would he mind if someone else searched for an alternative to black magic? Would he mind if I did?
A tingle of hope ran down Lorkin’s spine.

Lorkin took a deep breath. “Could … could I look at the work you’ve done so far?”

The older magician’s eyebrows rose. “Of course. I’ll be interested to hear what you think of it. You might notice something I haven’t.” He looked down the street, then shrugged. “Why don’t you join Tayend and me for dinner? Afterwards I’ll show you my notes and sources, and explain the gaps in history I’m trying to plug.”

Lorkin found himself nodding. “Thank you.” If he went back to his room in the Guild, he’d only end up alternating between brooding over Beriya and telling himself his life was better without her. “I’m sure it’ll be fascinating.”

Dannyl gestured toward his house, a grand two-storey building he had rented since retiring from the position of Guild Ambassador to Elyne. Though it was known that Dannyl and Tayend were more than mere friends, little was said about it these days. Dannyl had chosen to live in the city rather than the Guild grounds because, as he said, “it’s an agreement of sorts: the Guild pretends blindness, so we give them nothing to see.”

“Do you need to return to the Guild first?”

Lorkin shook his head. “No, but if you need to give Tayend and the servants some warning—”

“No, they won’t mind. Tayend brings unexpected visitors to the house all the time. Our servants are used to it.”

He beckoned and started toward his home, and Lorkin fell into step beside him.

H
is desk is always such a mess,” Tayend told Lorkin. As Dannyl frowned at the scholar, Tayend grinned, the few lines crossing his forehead smoothing out.
Nobody would guess that he’s more than forty years old
, Dannyl thought.
I’m turning into a wrinkly skeleton while Tayend …
Tayend looked better than ever, he noted. He’d put on a little weight, but it suited him.

“It only
looks
disorganised,” Dannyl said, not for the first time. “
I
know where everything is.”

Tayend chuckled. “I’m sure it’s just a ploy to ensure nobody can steal his research and ideas.” He grinned at Lorkin. “Now, don’t let him bore you to death. If you feel your mind is starting to shrivel up, come talk to me, and we’ll open another bottle of wine.”

Lorkin smiled and nodded. “I will.”

The scholar waved a hand in farewell, then effected a jaunty walk as he left the room. Dannyl resisted rolling his eyes and sighing, and turned back to Sonea’s son. The young man was eyeing the piles of documents and books on Dannyl’s desk doubtfully.

“There is order to the madness,” Dannyl assured him. “It starts at the back. That first pile contains everything relating to the earliest records of magic. It’s full of descriptions of places like the Tomb of White Tears, and a lot of conjecture about what the glyphs suggest magic was used for.” Dannyl took out the sketches Tayend had made when they had visited the Tombs over twenty years before. He pointed out the glyph of a man kneeling before a woman, who was touching his upraised palms. “This glyph means ‘high magic’.”

“Black magic?”

“Perhaps. But it might be Healing magic. It may be only coincidence that our predecessors called black magic ‘higher magic’.” Dannyl leafed through the pile and another sketch, this time of a crescent moon and hand, flipped into view.

“What is that?” Lorkin asked.

“A symbol we found in the ruined city of Armje. It was a symbol that represented the royal family of that city like an incal symbolises a Kyralian House. Armje is thought to have been abandoned over two thousand years ago.”

“What was the symbol written on?”

“It was carved above house lintels, and we saw it once on what I suspect was a blood ring.” Dannyl smiled as he remembered Dem Ladeiri, the eccentric noble and collector he and Tayend had stayed with in an old castle in the Elyne mountains, near Armje. Then he felt his smile fade as he remembered the underground chamber he’d found in the ruins, called the “Cavern of Ultimate Punishment.” Strange crystalline walls had attacked him with magic and would have killed him if Tayend hadn’t dragged him out just as his shield had failed.

The former High Lord, Akkarin, had asked Dannyl to keep the Cavern a secret to prevent other magicians stumbling inside to their death. After the Ichani Invasion, Dannyl had told the new High Lord, Balkan, of the Cavern, and the Guild leader had ordered him to record what he knew, but also to keep it secret. When the book was finished, Balkan would reconsider whether to allow others to know of the place.

Has Balkan sent anyone there to investigate? I can’t imagine the Warrior would be able to resist trying to find out how the Cavern works. Especially as it has so much potential as a defensive weapon.

“So they knew how to make blood rings two thousand years ago?”

Dannyl looked up at Lorkin, then nodded. “And who knows what else? But that knowledge was lost.” He pointed to the second, smaller pile. “This is all I have relating to the time before the Sachakan Empire conquered Kyralia and Elyne, over a thousand years ago. The few records that we have only survived from that time because they are copies, and they suggest that there were only two or three magicians, and that those had limited skills and power.”

“So if the people who knew how to make blood rings, and whatever high magic was, died without passing that knowledge on …”