As the magicians stopped they turned to regard each other, heads swivelling as they took stock of their number. Tessia read the same shocked realisation in their faces. Some even blinked back tears.
A third, she found herself thinking. We’ve lost a third. And where is Lord Werrin?
She saw the king lean towards Sabin and gesture back down the road. Sabin nodded and stood in his stirrups.
“Apprentices, join your masters,” he shouted. “We ride to Imardin.”
As he urged his horse forward Tessia heard Jayan curse. He had risen in his stirrups to peer over the heads of the magicians.
“What?” she asked.
“They’re coming,” he said, dropping back into the saddle. “The Sachakans are coming. We should have evacuated Coldbridge. Too late now.”
Together they hauled on the reins and slapped their heels, and their mounts raced forward with the army.
The slave had said Stara was to appear in the master’s room in an hour, well dressed, to help her husband entertain their guest, Chavori. Vora had been amused, since it was the same length of time she had made Stara take to prepare for the trip to Motara’s house. “He’s a fast learner,” she said as she laid two elaborately embroidered wraps on the bed. “The blue or the orange?”
“Blue,” Stara said.
“I wasn’t asking you, mistress,” Vora said, chuckling. “Though I agree. The orange is more suited to larger gatherings, where you might want to draw attention to yourself. The blue is a calmer colour, better for quiet evenings with single visitors.”
Stara wondered briefly if “single” meant unmarried, or merely that Chavori would be arriving on his own. She decided not to voice the question. It might lead to another unnecessary lecture on the perils of following her husband’s possible hint she take Chavori as a lover.
When Stara was dressed and laden down with jewellery, Vora pronounced her ready. “Don’t forget my advice, mistress,” the slave said, shaking a finger at her.
Stara chuckled. “How could I? He’s handsome, but he’s not that handsome. Have you heard anything from Nachira?”
“Not since her last message.” Vora sighed. “The slaves say she is sick, but they are reluctant to say anything more.”
“Not surprising, if Father might read their mind and kill them for betraying his plans. I still can’t believe he and Ikaro left for Kyralia without telling me.” She shook her head. “They must have left right after my wedding, but Father didn’t say anything.”
“According to the slaves, Nachira fell ill the day after your wedding, too.”
Stara looked at Vora. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Not give up hope?” Vora sighed, then gestured to the door. “Your husband and his guest await.”
Though Stara knew the way now, the slave still led her through corridors to the master’s room. Reaching the doorway, they stepped inside and Vora prostrated herself. Within the room, Kachiro and Chavori were looking at one of the pieces of furniture Motara had designed. Stara moved an arm so that her bracelets chimed against one another. The two men looked up.
“Ah,” Kachiro said. “My wife has finally arrived.”
Smiling, he extended his arms towards her and beckoned. She walked forward and took his hands. He kissed her knuckles, then let one hand go and turned so they faced Chavori. The young man smiled, a little nervously.
“A pleasure to see you again, Stara,” he said.
“And for me to meet you once more,” she replied, lowering her eyes.
“Let’s sit down and talk,” Kachiro said, leading Stara to the furthest of the three stools in the room. A small table stood in front of them, bowls of nuts gleaming in the light of Kachiro’s magical globe light. He stepped back and indicated that Chavori should sit in the middle, then sat on the other side of the young man. “Tell us about your journey to the mountains. Stara knows nothing of your skills and adventures, Chavori, and I’m sure she would like to hear something of them.”
The young man glanced at Stara and actually blushed. “I . . . we...I guess I should explain what I do, first. I make charts and maps, but instead of copying what others have done I travel through the places I am mapping and measure – as best I can, using methods taught to me by a shipping merchant and some I’ve developed myself – the distances and positions of everything. Well, not everything, but the features that are important to people who use maps.”
Stara noticed that he glanced a few times at a large metal cylinder leaning against a wall. It looked very heavy.
“Do you have any maps here?” she asked.
“Oh, yes!” He leapt up and strode over to the cylinder. Lifting it, he carried it back to the stools and sat down again. But he did not open it. He caressed the metal with his long fingers. He has elegant hands for a Sachakan, Stara thought. So many of them have hands to match their shoulders, broad and strong. In fact, his build is more like that of a Kyralian, though his colouring isn’t. I wonder . . .
“Have you finished the map you were drawing for the emperor?” Kachiro asked.
Chavori nodded. “At least, as much as I can with the information I have.” He turned to Stara. “Most people find maps confusing, so I have compiled everything into one, simpler map. But there are blank areas. I refuse to include any information I haven’t confirmed for myself.”
“Show us,” Kachiro urged.
Chavori beamed at him, then grasped the end of the tube. The cap came off with a musical pop. Reaching inside, he drew out a thick roll of paper.
Peeling this back, he unrolled until a large sheaf fell away. It automatically recurled. Kachiro lifted the table and put it aside, so that Chavori could smooth the map out over the floor rug with his elegant hands. Kachiro looked around, then picked up the bowls of nuts and weighed the two far corners down with them. Then he slipped off a shoe and placed it on the near corner at his side, which made Chavori’s nose wrinkle. Stara took off a bracelet and dropped it at the other corner, earning an approving smile from the young man.
The paper was covered in fine ink lines. Looking closely, Stara gave a little gasp of delight at all the tiny drawings of mountains, houses and boats, and the fancy decorative border framing the map.
“It’s beautiful!” she said.
“Chavori is quite an artist,” Kachiro agreed, looking fondly at his friend.
Chavori shrugged. “Yes, people prefer this sort of thing, but I find it rather silly. It is difficult to be accurate.”
Stara pointed to a large group of buildings, bisected by a drawing of a wide avenue and the Imperial Palace. “So this is Arvice – where we are.”
“Yes.”
She looked at the lines of mountains. At the top of the map was a large blue shape, and some of the mountains had red lines curling out of the top and down the sides. “What are these?”
“Jenna Lake,” Chavori told her. “And the northern volcanos. They expel fire and ash, and what the Duna tribes call earth-blood.”
“The red?”
“Yes. It sprays out and runs down the sides of the mountains, so hot you’d burn if you got near it. When it cools it solidifies into strange rocks.”
“Do people live there?”
“No. It is too dangerous. But the tribes risk it now and then, to harvest gemstones, which they say have magical properties. I found the same gemstones in some of the caves further south, and sensed no magic in them.”
“I want to mine them,” Kachiro told her. “If we can get the secret of their use out of the Duna tribes we may be able to sell them for high prices. But even if we can’t, we can still sell them to jewellers for a good profit.”
“You should see if Motara can design jewellery as well as furniture,” she suggested.
His eyes brightened with interest. “There’s an idea...”
Chavori shrugged. “Just so long as we make enough to enable me to continue my work. Now, let me show Stara what a proper map looks like.”