“Put your pack down,” Narvelan said. “Have a drink. And some food.”
Obeying, Hanara watched his master gazing about. The hill lay at the end of the plains, where the endmost roots of the mountains rippled the ground. They had come more than half the distance to the border, but probably only half the journey time if the slower travel rates on the steep roads nearer the mountains were taken into account.
Are we going to Kyralia? Hanara wondered. Is Narvelan hoping to talk the king around? They weren’t headed for the pass, though. He looked at his master, but remained silent.
Narvelan glanced at him. “You’re wondering where we’re going,” he stated.
Hanara said nothing. He’d learned that asking questions was pointless when his master was in this mood. The man would hear the question he expected, not the one that Hanara voiced.
“Ten years,” Narvelan said. “Ten years I’ve worked, every day and most nights, to keep this country in Kyralian control. Ten years I’ve strived to keep our ancient enemy weak, to prevent an invasion happening again.”
He looked back towards Arvice, which was far beyond the horizon now. His eyes were afire with anger.
“I could have gone home, married and had a family. But then, would I have enjoyed the peace and safety that everyone else has because of me? Without my work here, Sachaka would have recovered, grown powerful, then attacked us again. No. I had to sacrifice a normal life so that others would have one.
“And did I get any thanks?” Narvelan stared at Hanara, then looked away. “No! Not once! And now they’re undoing everything I did! All my work, all my sacrifices, for nothing. They’re going to free the farm slaves. Let Sachakan magicians marry and breed more invaders. They’re going to let them come here,” he swept his arm out to indicate the area, “and start farming again. Letting this land grow wild was intended to reduce the food the Sachakans could grow, keeping their population small and manageable. It was to be an extra layer of protection between Kyralia and Sachaka. It was my great idea. My vision!”
Hanara looked down at the local farmhouses and fields. Though they were supposed to be abandoned, he could see signs of cultivation and occupation. Narvelan’s vision had only led to bandits and ichani taking up residence. We’re lucky we haven’t been attacked, he thought, then pushed the thought away. Narvelan was powerful. He’d had several servants as source slaves. He was strong enough to fight off ichani, who had only one or two slaves to take from.
“I don’t blame the king for retiring me,” Narvelan said, his voice laced with sadness and regret. Hanara looked at him in surprise. “I shouldn’t have stopped attending meetings. If I’d been reasonable, he’d have had no good reason to get rid of me.”
He frowned. “They made me angry because they wanted to undermine the plans I’d worked on for so long. I didn’t realise that there was a way to make them happen anyway. A faster way. I hadn’t thought of it yet. If I’d thought of it earlier... maybe they’d have agreed with me. If what I planned hadn’t been so difficult.”
Narvelan’s gaze was distant. He fell silent and stared towards Arvice for a long time. Brooding. Then abruptly his attention snapped back to his surroundings. He drew in a deep breath and sighed, then smiled and slowly turned to look at the plains, the hills, the mountains, and then the hill they were sitting on.
“This is a good place. I don’t know how far its power will reach, but how far it does will have to be good enough.” He looked at Hanara.
Hanara shrugged. Narvelan often said unfathomable things, especially when he was having one of these one-sided conversations. He watched as his master reached into his pack and dug around.
“Where is it? I know it’s here somewhere. Ah!”
He drew out his arm. His fist was clenched around something. Looking around, Narvelan fixed his gaze on a large, flat rock. It slid towards him, settling before his crossed legs. Then he picked up a smaller rock and hefted it, testing its weight.
“That should do the trick.”
He opened his fist and, with a musical clink, a bright, glittering object landed on the flat rock. Hanara felt his heart stop.
It was the storestone. The one the Elynes had left with the Kyralians, in case they ever faced conflict with Sachakans again. Narvelan must have stolen it. The other magicians certainly wouldn’t have approved of his taking it.
Narvelan looked up at Hanara, and a look of realisation crossed his face.
“Oh. I’m sorry, Hanara. I hadn’t thought what to do about you. Guess we’re in this together.”
Hanara opened his mouth to ask why.
Then Narvelan’s arm rose and fell. The rock hit the store-stone. A crack appeared. Hanara had a moment to wonder why the crack was blindingly white.
Then all sensation and thought ceased.
The path was narrow and steep. It twisted and turned around the precipitous side of the mountain, climbing and descending in order to pass enormous boulders, or wide cracks in the ground. Hunters had advised Jayan and Prinan that the way was too difficult for horses, and though they wished they could declare it unpassable for humans, the truth was it was merely hard work.
Jayan sent healing magic to his legs and felt the ache fade. He’d needed to do this less and less often over the last few days. I might actually be getting fitter, he mused. Looking back, he saw that the dust that covered Prinan’s clothes, skin and hair was only broken by darker patches of sweat under his arms and on his chest and back. And I look just as bad, he mused. I doubt anybody at the Guild would recognise us, and if they did they’d gain much amusement.
Prinan looked up and grinned. “I wish Tessia could see you now. She’d have a good laugh.”
“I’m sure she would,” Jayan agreed. He felt a pang of affection for her, followed by an equally strong pang of anxiety. She’ll be fine, he told himself yet again. She’s still the best healer in the Guild. Of all the women in Kyralia – or the world – she has the best chance of surviving birthing a baby.
But she’d not had a child before.
Yes, but she’s assisted in the birth of plenty. She knows what to expect.
Maybe they’d waited too long.
But there had been so much work to do first. Developing healing and teaching it to others. Getting the Guild established and sorting out all the problems. And magicians certainly have a talent for creating problems...
The path rose and turned round a ridge before him. To stop yet another endless argument in his head, he set his mind on navigating it. He scrambled up, grasping at protruding rocks for extra leverage. His calves protested. His thighs strained. Then at last he’d reached the top. He sat on the ground, gasping for breath. Then he looked up and felt his entire body go rigid with cold.
For many heartbeats, all he could do was stare.
What had been green, fertile land ten years ago was now a blackened, scoured desert. From the foot of the mountains to the horizon stretched nothing but bare, blasted earth. His skin prickled as he realised he could make out lines radiating from somewhere to the north. Lines that were made up of gouges in the land, or the flattened trunks of trees. He barely registered the sound of Prinan reaching the top of the ridge and stopping beside him.
“Ah,” Prinan said. “The wasteland. No matter how many times I see it, I can’t get used to the sight.”
“I can see why.” Jayan glanced up at the magician. “The magicians who investigated still think it was the storestone?”
“We know of nothing else that might have caused so much destruction.”
“And Narvelan did it?”
“He disappeared a few days before, the same time the stone was stolen. And he’d been trying to convince us that we should weaken Sachaka by spoiling the land.”
“But we’ll never know for sure if that was what happened.”
“No.” Prinan sighed. “And the last chance of working out how to make storestones is gone.”