Olleran shrugged. “More dangerous than staying in one, but that danger would be minimal if we stayed close enough together to help each other if one group was attacked.”
“How do you suggest we communicate instructions to each other in order to co-ordinate our movements, or call for help?
“We could use mental calls – if the king would allow it.”
“And alert our quarry to our intentions, or our vulnerabilities?” Werrin shook his head. “It would only work if we already had them trapped. To do so we’d need to split into many different groups. The more groups, the more likely it is that communications will become confused.”
“What of baiting them?” Lord Moran asked.
Werrin looked around the group. “Someone would have to volunteer to be the bait.”
Lord Ardalen shook his head. “I may be willing to risk my own life, but I won’t risk my apprentice’s.” Dakon was pleased to see that many of the newcomers were nodding.
“Of course, we wouldn’t take any risks unless success was certain,” Hakkin said.
“If it was certain, it wouldn’t be a risk,” Narvelan pointed out.
There was a long pause after that, and Dakon noted the signs of suppressed amusement among his colleagues, especially those who had travelled with Lord Hakkin.
“Surely it will not be long before more substantial reinforcements arrive,” he said. He turned to Hakkin. “Last night you said that others were planning to join us.”
Hakkin’s gaze, which had locked onto Dakon’s, slid away. “Yes.
I know of, ah, at least five magicians who said they would come
– but I couldn’t tell you when they were going to leave or how long they’ll take to get here.”
“We need more than five,” Bolvin muttered, scowling.
Prinan gave a sharp huff of anger. “If they’d seen what we’ve seen – the bodies of murdered men, women and children – our fellow magicians might not be so slow to get off their backsides and help defend their country!”
“Or maybe it would convince them to lock themselves in their homes,” Narvelan said quietly.
Hakkin’s back straightened and he scowled. “They will come. They will attend to their duty. But this invasion has caught many unprepared. Trips to the far reaches of Kyralia to engage in magical warfare are hardly a commonplace activity.”
“I have a question,” Magician Genfel said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“If we did manage to overcome these magicians, how are we going to get them to the border?”
Werrin smiled. “We keep them drained of power.”
“Of course, but they will regain it with time. We can’t keep them tied up. They only need regain a little power to be able to burn their bonds away. Do we have some iron manacles, or something similar?”
“We’ll take turns holding them imprisoned with magic.”
“I see. And what happens after we take them to the border? What is going to stop them coming back?”
Werrin frowned. “The border will have to be guarded.”
As the conversation moved in this new direction, Dakon found his attention wandering. He looked over to the circle of apprentices, now doubled in size. Three of the newcomers were only youngsters, probably new to their powers, including Werrin’s apprentice. He worried that too many magicians were taking on the training of an apprentice out of a sudden need for a magical source to draw from, and would find themselves neglecting their responsibility later.
Yet I also worry about Narvelan, who has no apprentice to strengthen himself with. He’d suggested Narvelan take power from Jayan or Tessia, but the young magician had refused.
None of the new apprentices was female, he noticed. The powerful families of Kyralia might risk their sons’ lives in the defence of their homeland, but it would take much more desperate need before they sent their daughters. He looked at Tessia. She was smiling, sitting on a blanket between Jayan and Ardalen’s apprentice. Though he had occasionally seen a tear in her eye or a glimpse of pain and grief in her face, she had borne the journeying and rough living without complaint. He could not imagine the daughters of powerful Imardin families, brought up with all the comforts money could buy, coping nearly as well.
Even so, I should ask how she is getting on more often. It can’t be easy being the only young woman among so many young men – many just boys – who have been brought up thinking people of her background are little better than servants.
She and Jayan appeared to be getting along better now. He didn’t think there was much liking or affection between them, but neither went out of their way to obstruct or annoy the other, and they helped each other with practical tasks, like erecting tents, without hesitation. He was relieved at that, as the last thing they needed was bickering to add to what was already a tense, unpleasant situation.
If only he could say the same thing of the magicians. Sighing, Dakon turned his attention back to the debate.
Sachakan women’s clothing had always fascinated and scandalised Stara. First they wrapped and tied a long, bright rectangle of colourful fabric, decorated with stitching and all manner of decorations from beads to coins to shells, around the typically voluptuous Sachakan chest, leaving their shoulders and legs bare in a way that would have been regarded as scandalous in Elyne. Then, if they ventured outside, they covered it with a short cape of thick fabric tied at the throat.
The cape did not cover bare legs and gaped open at the front to reveal the chest, so Stara wondered why they bothered. But the truth was, they did not bother often. Women rarely ventured beyond the walls of their homes, except in covered wagons when visiting friends. They were supposed to avoid the stares of men.
It would have been far more practical, and an easier way to avoid the stares of men, to wear one demure but feminine layer as women did in Elyne. But Stara had to admit she loved the wraps. They were much more comfortable, and she looked so good in them. Nobody in Elyne wore such bright colours.
As if the wraps weren’t decoration enough, Sachakan women also wore a lot of jewellery. Their chests, wrists and ankles were covered by multiple strings of beads, shells or chains festooned with metal discs. Their dark hair provided a contrast against which elaborate headdresses draped and glittered. All this Stara embraced with feminine glee, except for one thing.
A part of the womanly habit of wearing half her body weight in jewellery involved piercing. Vora had told her that most Sachakan women wore several earrings in each ear, at least one ring in their nose, and even rings in their eyebrows, lips and navel.
Stara had flatly refused to let Vora put holes in any part of her body, much to the slave’s consternation.
Father had better not have ordered her to, she thought. I don’t care how little it hurts, it’s barbaric.
At the thought of her father, she felt her stomach clench with nerves. She had seen nothing of him all week. For the first few days she had thought little of it, reasoning that he must be busy. But as the end of the week neared she grew annoyed. After so many years seeing him only on occasional visits, she wanted to get to know him better. Surely he wanted the same. After four days she sent Vora to him with a request for a meeting, but he didn’t respond.
The previous morning she had ignored Vora’s warning that it was inappropriate and left her rooms to seek him out. When she reached her father’s apartments a slave had tried to stop her entering. Knowing that he couldn’t touch her, she pushed past him.
Her father wasn’t there. She had returned to her rooms disappointed and frustrated.
Tonight, however, she would see him – in the company of her prospective husband. Smothering a scowl, she leaned forward so Vora could drape several heavy strings of beads over her head.
“So tell me, mistress: when can you leave the master’s room?” Vora asked. The slave had been teaching Stara local customs all week, and testing her all afternoon.