The Traitor Queen (9 page)

Sonea felt her stomach sink. No matter how many times she heard it spoken, the thought of Lorkin in a dank cell made her heart
shrivel.

The hall had grown quiet.
Funny, I expected there to be protests and anger. I think they’re mostly too shocked to speak, though I’m
not sure whether they’re more appalled at the audacity of Amakira daring to imprison a Guild magician, or at the possibility
this might lead to another conflict with Sachaka
.

“The king has approved our request to send a negotiator to seek Lorkin’s release,” Osen continued. “We chose our negotiator
carefully, considering who might have the greatest influence on the Sachakan king. The Sachakan prejudice against magicians
who do not know black magic narrowed our choices.” Osen turned to look up at the Higher Magicians and held out his arm toward
Sonea as if offering her a hand out of a carriage. “We chose Black Magician Sonea.”

She felt her skin prickle and her face heat as hundreds of gazes shifted to her. A murmur of voices filled the hall. Resisting
an urge to look down and away, she stared back at the assembled magicians, heart beating a little too fast.
What will they do?

Osen’s outstretched hand beckoned. Swallowing a sigh, she rose and started to descend the steep stairs to the Front.

“But the advantage in sending a black magician will not count unless that black magician is as powerful as we can make her,”
Osen continued. As Sonea reached his side, he glanced at her once then turned to face the assembly. “The permission of the
king has been granted for Black Magician Sonea to gather strength for this mission. We call for volunteers to give their power
to this cause.”

The hum of voices that had been gathering now grew louder, swelled, then diminished again. Osen, judging their mood, raised
his arms and the room fell into a restless quiet.

“This is the first time such permission has been granted, and thankfully not for the reason we have long feared. We have learned,
in the last twenty years, that black magic need
not involve barbaric rituals and unpleasant bloodletting. Though this fact is taught to our novices and such reassurances
given to all else, there may be some for whom this is not clear. I call upon Black Magician Sonea to explain.”

Sonea drew in a deep breath and worked magic into the air before her to amplify her voice.

“Sachakan magicians cut the skins of their slaves because their slaves are not magicians and can’t offer up their power. They
do the same to their victims in war because their victims are hardly going to offer up their power willingly. The ritual of
higher magic in our past was a symbolic gesture of an apprentice’s submission to his master, and no longer relevant.”

She managed a smile, though she suspected it would look more grim than reassuring. “I only require a magician to draw and
send power to me so I can take it and store it. That is all. The giver need do nothing more than a trick taught to every novice
in their first year of University.” She looked around the hall.
That’s really all the explanation it needs
, she thought, but as Osen began to turn away from her she thought of something else.

“It seems only a small thing to ask of each of you,” she said. “A day’s strength. But if it leads to the freeing of my son
you … at the least you’ll have my own and my son’s heartfelt gratitude.”

Osen nodded. “And you’ll have ensured the safety of a member of the Guild, a citizen of Kyralia and the Allied Lands, while
securing ongoing peace with Sachaka. Which is no small thing at all.” He turned to face the tiered seats. “We will begin with
the Higher Magicians.”

Sonea felt her heart skip as High Lord Balkan rose and descended from the tiered seats, followed by several other
Higher Magicians. As Balkan approached, a voice called his name from the side of the hall. All turned to see that King’s Advisers
had come down from the highest row.

“Would you permit me to be the first,” the adviser asked Balkan. The High Lord smiled and stepped aside, gesturing to Sonea.

“The king sends his best wishes,” Glarrin told her. He held out his hands to her.

Taking them, she nodded. “Please convey my thanks in return, Adviser.” She felt her skin tingle as he sent power to her. Drawing
it inward, she felt a slight sensation that told her she now held more magic than her natural limit, but when he was done
she could not judge how much power he had given her.

Glarrin stepped away, bowing slightly toward Balkan. Sonea looked up at the tall Guild leader. He regarded her with a familiar
slightly surprised expression.
As if he has as much trouble thinking of me as a Higher Magician as I do of him being High Lord. Though Balkan is a competent
leader, only Akkarin will ever fit the title in my mind
.

She took his hands and power, and slowly the rest of the Higher Magicians took their turn. All but Kallen. Osen had decided
that a few magicians should still retain their full strength at the end of the meeting. When the last of the Higher Magicians
stepped away, Sonea turned to face the hall.

And felt her heart stop.

All of the seats were empty. Every magician was standing in the centre of the hall, waiting.
Well, it’s possible that those who don’t intend to volunteer have slipped out already
, she told herself. But the crowd that waited was too large for many to have decided not to participate.

She realised she had stopped breathing, and heard a gasp escape her mouth as the first magician stepped forward.

Regin
. His eyes brightened with unexpected humour as he reached out to take her hands.

“You really don’t know how much people respect you, do you?” he murmured as he sent her magic.

“Respect me?” She shook her head. “They’re not doing this for me. They’re doing it for a fellow magician and Kyralia.”

“That as well,” he admitted. “But it’s not the only reason.”

He gave her a lot of power. At least it seemed that way. She watched him walk away, looking for indications of physical weariness
and worried that he would be tired at the start of their journey that night, but the next magician stepped forward and she
had to turn away.

And then the next, and the next. Healers, Warriors, Alchemists. Men and women. Old and young. Magicians from the Houses and
all other classes. They all spoke a few words, wishing her luck, expressing their hopes that Lorkin had been treated well
and would be released, even warning her to watch out for Ichani when crossing the wasteland, and urging her to come home safely.
Overwhelmed and surprised, she struggled at times to appear calm and dignified. At one point she felt a wave of sadness as
she suddenly remembered another time, standing in this hall while magicians filed past. Then, they had been tearing her robes
and those of Akkarin as they spoke ritual words of banishment.

Because we learned black magic in order to defend Kyralia. How much things have changed
.

When finally a magician moved away and she found there were no more waiting, she felt a great relief and weariness. She nearly
laughed aloud at that. This taking of power was
supposed to make her stronger, not tired. She focused on the power within her, detecting that a glow of magic was escaping
from her control. Remembering Akkarin’s instruction, she strengthened the barrier of influence lying at her skin, and felt
the leakage stop. Then she considered the power within.

Aside from knowing her strength had been boosted, the only way she could guess at how strong she’d become was to add up the
number of magicians who had given her magic. She wasn’t even sure how powerful the average Guild magician was.
I haven’t held this much power since the Ichani Invasion, when the poor people offered their strength in preparation for the
battle ahead
.

Osen was still standing beside her. The hall was empty but for him, Regin and Rothen. A gong rang out, indicating the end
of the Meet despite most of the magicians not being present to hear it.

“What time is it?” she found herself asking.

Osen considered. “I believe the University gong rang a short while ago.”

She looked at him in surprise. “That late?” She looked at Regin. “It’s nearly time to load up the carriage.”

“You have a few hours still.” Osen smiled. “You should both eat a good meal before you go.”

Sonea felt her stomach knot. “I’m not sure I can.”

“That’ll disappoint everyone.”

She frowned at him. “Why?”

His smile widened. “The Higher Magicians have a farewell dinner waiting for you in the banquet room. You didn’t think we’d
let you go without saying goodbye, did you?”

She looked at him in amazement. Osen chuckled. “Come on, they’re all in the Night Room having a drink while they wait for
you to join them.”

“T
he roof is unstable here,” Anyi said. Looking up, Cery noted the cracks in the walls and the slight sag in the roof. Fine
roots matted the passage ceiling – perhaps from a tree above.

“If we have to use this escape route, and Lilia is with us,” Anyi continued, “we could get her to collapse it when we’re all
far enough past, to stop anyone following us. Or we could rig it up to collapse. Lilia could help us by supporting it with
magic while we install weights and ropes that we can operate from further down the tunnel.”

Cery nodded.
I like the way she thinks
. “We’ll ask her.”

“Now, where does this go?” Anyi grinned and hurried past the unstable area, leading Cery down an increasingly deteriorated
passage. It ended not at a tunnel entrance, but where a tree had fallen through the roof and blocked the way. A weak, grey
light filtered through a hole between two of the great roots. Bricks and rubble, smoothed by accumulated dirt and moss, provided
a rough ramp up which Anyi scrambled.

She peered out, then looked back at him and beckoned. Picking his way up to her, he took her place and peered up through the
hole.

A forest surrounded him, lit by pre-dawn light. He sighed as he remembered taking Sonea through the Guild forest many years
ago – before she had been captured by the magicians – so she could watch magic being performed and perhaps learn to control
her powers. It hadn’t worked, of course. Only another magician can teach a novice how to handle magic safely. But they hadn’t
known that then.

So much has changed
, Cery thought,
but thankfully the forest is still here
. He extinguished his lamp and set it down, then climbed out of the hole. Anyi followed.

“Where in the Guild do you think we are?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Probably north of the buildings, since the southern part of the grounds are hillier than this.”

“The servant quarters are to the north.”

“Yes.”

“We might find discarded things there. Furniture. Blankets.”

“We might.”

Cery moved away from the tree, then looked back and slowly circled it, trying to fix the image of it in his mind. Neither
he nor Anyi were used to navigating their way through a forest, and he could see it would be easy to get lost and not find
the tunnel opening again. Fortunately the tree did look a little different from the others, thanks to it being half dead,
partly sunk into the ground and leaning at an angle.

Turning away, Cery led the way through the trees, counting his steps and noting they were moving downhill. He knew the ground
rose up from the Inner Wall to behind and above the Guild buildings, so he guessed he was heading west. After several hundred
strides he discovered he was wrong. The slope met another and, in the crease between, a little stream flowed off to the right.
Oh well, at least the stream is something we can
follow. It should take us downhill, at least
. He marked the place by moving some stones into a circle and a line pointing back the way they’d come, then headed downstream.

It was not long before they saw signs of habitation ahead. Creeping forward, they made out simple shacks and fences. “Servants
quarters?” Anyi murmured.

Cery shook his head. “Too shabby.” The ramshackle appearance of the buildings was puzzling. A few large structures appeared
to be made from glass, but from the overgrown look of the vegetation inside he guessed they were abandoned. It wasn’t until
they finally drew close enough to see what the fences surrounded that he worked out where they were.

“The farm.”

“Ah. Of course.” Anyi pointed. “Is that an orchard over there?”

He looked in the direction she indicated and nodded as he made out rows of carefully pruned trees and arches of berry vines.
Next to them were small fenced areas of ground, the earth grooved as if someone had run a very large rake along them.

“The question is: does anybody live here?” he murmured.

Anyi glanced at him. “Let’s take a closer look.”

They moved closer, hiding behind trees and then the long arched rows of berries. The shacks were spaced along the other side
of the crops. Cery’s heart sank as he noticed smoke wafting out of a chimney. Further away, a woman in servant’s clothing
had emerged from one of the shacks. He watched as she disappeared into what looked like a rassook pen.

“Looks occupied to me,” Anyi said. “Want to move further along?”

Cery nodded. Retreating to the edge of the forest to take
advantage of the undergrowth, they made their way along the length of the farm. He was right about the rassook pen. At the
end of the crops and buildings there were larger open fields where enka, reber and even a few big, lumbering gorin grazed.

Not enough to feed the Guild
, he noted,
but they’re making use of what space they have
.

“Over there,” Anyi said, pointing to the last of the buildings.

He looked, and realised it wasn’t the building she was indicating, but a collection of old wooden furniture. Mismatched chairs
circled a plank set upon tree stumps. Benches had been constructed out of scrap timber and placed on old barrels.

“We could use some of that straw to make mattresses,” Anyi said, pointing toward a shelter under which several bundles had
been piled. “I saw it done at the market. You need some old sacks and a needle and thread.”

“You can sew?”

“Not very well, but we need mattresses, not ball gowns.”

Cery chuckled. “Just as well, eh? I remember your mother couldn’t get you to wear a dress. I don’t think even the king could
get you to wear a ball gown.”

“Not a chance,” Anyi replied. “Not even if he was the handsomest man in the world.”

“Pity,” Cery said. “It would be nice to see you all dressed up. Just once.”

“I’d settle for a change of clothes.” Anyi narrowed her eyes at the huts. “I wonder how many people live here, and what they
wear. Probably servant uniforms. I suppose it would be handy to look like servants whenever we sneak out of the tunnels.”
She pursed her lips. “I’ll come back here later and spy on them for a bit, if that’s fine with you.”

“Good idea. But stay in the forest and don’t try to steal anything yet.” Cery nodded. “For that we’ll come back at night.”

Dannyl stared out of the carriage window, not registering the view outside as he braced himself for the morning’s dismissal.

Lorkin had been in the palace prison for only three days, but it felt much longer.
Of course, it probably feels even longer to Lorkin
. Ashaki Achati hadn’t visited again. Dannyl couldn’t decide if he was relieved or regretful about that. Any meeting with
Achati was likely to be tense and full of resentment and awkwardness over the situation with Lorkin, but Dannyl missed Achati’s
company and longed for his advice.

It’s a pity he’s so close to the king. If only I’d made friends with a Sachakan in a more neutral position. He’d have been
able to tell me how best to deal with the situation
.

Were
any
of the Ashaki in a neutral position, politically? From what Dannyl had learned, most were either loyal to the king or were
allied with Ashaki who would happily seize the reins of power if they had the chance – which they were not likely to get.
King Amakira’s position was secure, supported by most of the powerful Ashaki.

As the carriage pulled up outside the palace, Dannyl sighed. He waited until the Guild House slave opened the door, then rose
and climbed out. Smoothing his robes, he straightened his back and strode toward the entrance.

Nobody stopped him. He had wondered why they’d let him in the previous day, when all they intended to tell him was to go home.
Once again he stepped out of the broad passage into the hall, and was told by a slave to wait to one side.

Several people were standing around the hall. The king was present this time. At least Dannyl would be able to give his
request directly to Amakira. Not that it would gain him a favourable response. The king finished talking to a pair of men
and invited another three to approach.

Time passed. More people arrived. The king saw some of them not long after they arrived – sooner than Dannyl and some of the
others waiting for an audience. They must have been more important, or at least the matter to be discussed was.
Or he’s deliberately ignoring me to put me in my place
.

Dannyl guessed that a few hours had passed by the time the king looked his way, then beckoned.

“Guild Ambassador Dannyl,” he said.

Dannyl approached and knelt. “Your majesty.”

“Rise and come closer.”

He obeyed. The air vibrated faintly, and Dannyl realised that the king, or someone else, had placed a shield about them to
prevent sound escaping.

“You’re here, no doubt, to ask me to give Lorkin back,” the old man said.

“I am,” Dannyl replied.

“The answer is no.”

“May I at least see him, your majesty?”

“Of course.” The king’s stare was cold. “If you promise to order him to tell me everything he knows about the Traitors.”

“I cannot give that order,” Dannyl replied.

Amakira’s stare did not waver. “So you said. I’m sure you could convince him that the order came from those with the authority
to give it.”

Dannyl opened his mouth to refuse, then paused.
I could agree to try, in order to see Lorkin and confirm he is alive and well
. But what if the king decided that Dannyl had broken his promise? Was that crime enough to be imprisoned for?
Osen
made it clear that I should avoid that. And if they take me prisoner, they’ll take Osen’s ring from me
.

“I cannot do that either, your majesty,” Dannyl replied.

The king leaned back in his chair. “Then come back when you can.” He made a dismissive gesture. Taking the hint, Dannyl bowed
and backed away for an appropriate distance, then turned and left.

Well, at least I got to see the king this time
, he thought as he waited for the carriage.
A rejection from the ruler is a slightly better-quality failure than a rejection from one of his lackeys
. He wondered which he’d receive tomorrow, or if they would start refusing him admission to the palace.

When the carriage arrived at the Guild House he opened the door for himself, before any slave could do it. The air outside
the house was hot and dry, and it was a relief to escape it into the cooler interior. He headed for his rooms, but before
he got there Merria appeared in the corridor ahead.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Dannyl shrugged. “No better, though this time I was given a royal refusal.”

She shook her head. “Poor Lorkin. I hope he’s all right.”

“Any news from your friends?”

“No. They said they’re doing what they can to manipulate the Ashaki into objecting to the taking of a Kyralian magician prisoner,
but it requires careful timing and can’t be hurried.”

He nodded. “Well … I appreciate their efforts. We all do.”

They had reached the entrance to his rooms. She looked up at him, her expression concerned, then patted him on the arm. “You’re
doing everything you can,” she told him. “Everything they’ll let you do, anyway.”

He frowned. “So you think there’s nothing else I could do? Nothing that the Guild is preventing me from doing that I should
do? Nothing we haven’t thought of yet?”

She looked away. “No … nothing that doesn’t include a risk of making the situation worse if it fails to work, anyway. Are
you hungry? I was going to ask Vai to make me something to eat.”

What is this risky idea?
he wondered.
Should I ask about it?
“Yes,” he said. “But not straightaway. I want to contact the Administrator first.”

“I’ll arrange something.” She headed back down the corridor and disappeared.

The interrogator didn’t turn up until some hours after the morning meal. Food had arrived – a slurry of ground grain. A faint
symbol drawn with water on the porous wooden tray reassured him it was safe.

Lorkin’s stomach stirred unpleasantly as the Ashaki interrogator and his assistant led him in a new direction. The man chose
another corridor and stopped at a different doorway, but the room inside was little different from the previous one. Plain,
white walls surrounded three worn old stools.

The interrogator sat down and gestured for Lorkin to take one of the other stools, then looked at his assistant and nodded.
The man slipped out of the room. Lorkin braced himself for more questions.

None came. The interrogator looked around, then shrugged and began staring at Lorkin with a distant expression. When the assistant
returned, he shoved a female slave into the room before him. She threw herself onto the floor before the Ashaki. Lorkin tried
to keep his expression neutral, to hide the wave
of hatred for slavery he felt at her grovelling and the Ashaki’s expectation of it.

“Stand,” the interrogator ordered.

She got to her feet, facing the Ashaki with hunched shoulders and keeping her eyes downcast.

“Look at him.” The interrogator pointed at Lorkin.

The woman turned to face him, her gaze fixed on the floor. She was beautiful, he realised – or would have been if she hadn’t
been terrified. Long, glossy hair framed a sculpted jaw and cheek bones that, for a moment, stirred memories of Tyvara that
made his heart skip and fill with longing. But this woman’s limbs, while as graceful, were trembling, and her dark eyes were
wide. At her obvious fear he felt his stomach sink. She expected something bad to happen.

“
Look
at him. Don’t look away.”

Her gaze flitted up to meet his. Lorkin forced himself not to look away. If he did, he knew the Ashaki would make him regret
it somehow. He could not help searching for some hint of resolve in her face, or an effort at communication that might indicate
that she was a Traitor. All he saw was fear and resignation.

She expects pain, or worse. The only slaves I’ve seen down here were carrying things. Why else would she – a beautiful young
woman – be down here with no obvious menial purpose?