“Even if those Sachakans have the strength of all the slaves here?” She turned to look at him.
Darn it, she’s right. He bit his lip. “Are you suggesting we kill the slaves, just in case we lose?”
“No!” She glared at him. “We shouldn’t be invading in the first place. It’s justifiable to kill in defence, but saying we’re here to protect ourselves from future invasions is... you could justify anything saying that. It’s . . . wrong.”
Jayan stared back at her. He remembered what Dakon had said the night before. “If we must invade Sachaka in order to save Kyralia, let’s not become Sachakans.”
Perhaps he could dismiss Tessia’s worries as those of someone whose morals were good, but impractical. Even as he disagreed with her he could not help admiring her for her desire to do right. He could not so easily dismiss the opinion of his former master and teacher, either.
“Strategically, we should kill the slaves, but we won’t. We have the luxury of doing things differently from the Sachakans because we have the storestone. And our different ways... our better morals... maybe they’re something we can give to them. Freedom for the slaves and better morals for the magicians. Surely that’s something worth fighting for?”
She glanced at him then looked away, her expression full of doubt. Whether it was at what he said, or at her own opinions, he couldn’t tell. She said nothing, and they rode on in an awkward silence for some time, before Jayan gave up and dropped back to ride next to Mikken again.
The road into Sachaka had stretched across the bare skin of the mountains first, twisting this way and that as it descended steeply. Then, abruptly, it reached the hills below, where it took the easier route along flat valley floors, going wherever the water-courses went.
But the Kyralian army did not venture into the gentler landscape at first. It had camped in the shelter of a forest. Though it had been late afternoon, all but the first watch lay down to sleep. Or attempt to, Tessia thought wryly. She had lain on her pallet, listening to the other women breathing, wide awake and unable to stop worrying about Jayan and the outcome of this conquest.
Now, as the army rode silently into the populated lowlands of Sachaka, she ached with tiredness and wished she’d managed to sleep. Tired in my body; tired in my mind. Tired of worrying; tired of arguing with Jayan over what we’re doing.
They’d talked twice more, once after he’d volunteered to go with the group of magicians who would investigate the groups of buildings they encountered on the way, and again, briefly, as they had neared the first settlement.
Now he was gone, riding with twenty or so other magicians, led by Narvelan, down a side road towards distant white walls glowing in the moonlight.
What I suspect bothers me the most is that I know he’s right, she thought. But I’m also sure he isn’t. Invasion is wrong. It makes us the aggressor. It makes us more like the Sachakans. Less certain we are better than them.
Yet I also can’t help thinking we would have to do far worse to be as cruel and immoral as they. Perhaps the harm we do will be balanced by the good. We could make Sachaka a better place. We could end slavery for good.
It’s going to come at a cost. It’s going to change the way we see ourselves. How much are we willing to restrain ourselves in order to be right and moral? If we justify this, then how much easier will it be to justify worse? If Kyralians believe a little wrongdoing is excusable for the right reason, what else will we excuse, or assume others will excuse?
She sighed. If Jayan is right, then we are risking our future for the benefit of a people who have torn our country apart. I’m not sure many magicians would be putting their lives in danger if they saw it that way. A few may be that noble, but not all. No, most magicians are here to take advantage of our sudden magical superiority and, I suspect, to have their revenge.
A faint murmur among the magicians roused her from her thoughts. She looked down the side road towards the faint shapes of the distant buildings. Shadows moved before them. Though she could not make out recognisable shapes, they moved in the rhythmic, jolting way of riders coming at speed. Something about this haste filled her with dread.
As the riders came close they shifted from shadows to familiar figures. She was relieved to see Jayan among them, and that nobody was missing. Jayan wore a grim, unhappy expression. So did most of the others. Narvelan did not. His straight back suggested defiance or indignation.
Or I am reading too much into this? she thought, watching Narvelan and two others meet with the king, Sabin and the leader of the Elynes. The rest of the group split up, some staying to listen to the men talking, some moving away. Tessia saw Jayan shake his head, then direct his horse towards her, Mikken and Dakon.
“So,” Dakon murmured. “Did our neighbours give you a friendly reception?”
Jayan didn’t quite manage a smile. “The master of the estate wasn’t home. Just... slaves.” He looked away, a haunted look in his eyes.
“And the slaves?” Dakon prompted when Jayan didn’t continue.
Jayan sighed. “Weren’t happy to see us and didn’t much like our plans for them.”
“So Narvelan offered them their freedom?”
“Yes.” Jayan frowned and looked at Dakon again. Tessia glimpsed pain, guilt and a darkness in his eyes, then his expression became guarded. “When we arrived they opened doors for us, then threw themselves flat on the ground. Narvelan told them to get up. He told them we were there to free them, if they cooperated with us. Then he began to ask questions. They told us their master was away, and who he was, but when he asked where he was it was clear they were lying.”
He grimaced. “So Narvelan ordered one to approach, and he read the man’s mind. He saw that they had sent messengers to their master, who is visiting a neighbour, and that they were loyal to him. Afraid of him, but loyal. They did not understand what freedom was. Our offer was meaningless to them.
“We started to argue about what to do next, but Narvelan said we had no time. The slaves were already spreading word of us. We must stop them and we must take their power. So we did, while he left to catch up with the messengers.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “When he returned he found we had done what we’d agreed – left the slaves alive but too exhausted to move. He looked at them and said we had to kill them. In a few hours they would have regained enough strength to leave and warn of our approach. So . . .” Jayan closed his eyes. “So he killed them. To save us the... from feeling responsible.”
A shiver of horror ran down Tessia’s spine and she heard Mikken curse under his breath. She tried not to imagine the slaves, too exhausted to move, realising as the first of their number died that they faced the same fate and knowing they were helpless to stop it, to even run.
Dakon looked at Narvelan and the king, then back at Jayan.
“Ah,” he said. Instead of anger, Tessia saw sadness in her master’s face. Then his eyes narrowed. She looked over at the army leaders. They had begun to move forward, Narvelan riding at the king’s side, smiling.
Smiling! After just killing so many... How many? She turned to Jayan.
“How many? How many slaves?” she asked, then wondered why it was suddenly so important.
He looked at her strangely. “Over a hundred.” Then his frown faded and he managed a weak smile. “Not even your healing will help, I’m afraid. Not this time.” He looked away. “I wish it could.”