The carriage neared a young woman, walking barefoot along the street and wearing the plain, belted wrap of a slave. She glanced up as the vehicle approached, then her eyes widened. Veering away, she hunched over and fixed her eyes on the ground as it passed.
Dannyl frowned, then leaned closer to the window so he could see ahead. More slaves populated the road in front of them. They, too, reacted with fear as the carriage approached. Some turned and ran in the other direction. Those near side streets took advantage of them. Others froze and shrank against the nearest wall.
Is this normal slave behaviour? Do they shrink away from all carriages, or is it because this is a Guild carriage? If the latter, why do they fear us? Have any of my or Lorkin’s predecessors given them reason to? Or do they fear Kyralians only because of past events?
The carriage turned into another street, then crossed a wider thoroughfare. Dannyl noticed that the slaves here were not as fearful, though they did give the carriage a wide berth. After it rounded a few more corners it abruptly turned between two gates into a courtyard, and stopped. A glint of gold caught his eye, and he saw that a plaque on the side of the house stated: Guild House of Arvice.
Dannyl turned to regard Lorkin. The young man was sitting straight, his eyes bright with excitement. He looked at Dannyl, then waved at the carriage door.
“Ambassadors first,” he said, grinning.
Moving across the cabin, Dannyl opened the door and climbed down. A man was lying on the ground nearby. For a moment Dannyl felt a flash of concern, worried that the stranger had collapsed. Then he remembered.
“I am Guild Ambassador Dannyl,” he said. “This is Lord Lorkin, my assistant. You may rise.”
The man climbed to his feet, keeping his gaze on the ground. “Welcome, Ambassador Dannyl and Lord Lorkin.”
“Thank you,” Dannyl replied automatically, remembering too late that such social habits were seen as amusing and foolish to the Sachakans. “Take us inside.”
The man gestured to a nearby door, then turned and walked through it. He glanced back to ensure they were following as he led the way down a corridor. Just as in Ashaki Tariko’s house, it led to a large room – the Master’s Room. But this room was abuzz with voices. Dannyl was surprised to find at least twenty men standing there, all in the highly decorated short jackets that Sachakan men wore as traditional formal attire. All turned to regard him as he entered, and the voices immediately fell silent.
“Ambassador Dannyl and Lord Lorkin,” the slave announced.
One of the men stepped forward, smiling. He had the typical broad-shouldered stature of his race, but there was a little grey in his hair and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth gave his face a cheerful expression. His jacket was a dark blue with gold stitchery, and there was an ornate knife in his belt.
“Welcome to Arvice, Ambassador Dannyl, Lord Lorkin,” he said, glancing at Lorkin briefly before turning his attention back to Dannyl. “I am Ashaki Achati. My friends and I have been waiting to greet you, and give you your first taste of Sachakan hospitality.”
Ashaki Achati. Dannyl felt a small rush of excitement as he recalled the name. A major political player, and friend to the Sachakan king.
“Thank you,” Dannyl replied. “I...” He looked at Lorkin and smiled. “We are flattered and honoured.”
Ashaki Achati’s smile widened. “Let me introduce you both to everyone.”
Voices filled the room again as Achati called over the rest of the men, individually or in pairs, to meet Dannyl. One portly man was introduced as the king’s Master of Trade; a short, stooped man turned out to be the Master of Law. The Master of War seemed a strange choice – thin for a Sachakan, and overly flippant in manner for such a weighty and serious role. The Master of Records’ friendliness seemed forced, but Dannyl picked up no dislike in his manner, just a hint of boredom.
“So do you have any plans to entertain yourself, when not buried in ambassadorial duties?” a man named Ashaki Vikato asked after they were introduced.
“I find the past fascinating,” Dannyl replied. “I would like to know more about Sachaka’s history.”
“Ah! Well you should talk to Kirota.” The man waved toward the Master of War. “He is always talking about some obscure bit of the past, or reading old books. What is a chore to most Sachakan boys is a pleasant pastime to him.”
Dannyl looked across at the thin man, who was grinning at something he was being told.
“Not the Master of Records?”
“No,” Ashaki Achati said, shaking his head. “Not unless you’re having trouble sleeping.”
Ashaki Vikato chuckled. “Old Richaki is more interested in recording the present than dredging up the past. Master Kirota!”
The thin man turned and then smiled as Vikato beckoned. He wove his way across the room.
“Yes, Ashaki Vikato?”
“Ambassador Dannyl has an interest in history. How would you suggest he go about satisfying it while he is in Arvice?”
Kirota’s eyebrows rose. “You do?” Then he frowned as he considered. “It isn’t easy to gain access to records or libraries,” he warned. “All our libraries are privately owned, and you have to get permission from Master Richaki to view the palace records.”
Achati nodded. “I’m on good terms with most of the library owners in Arvice.” He looked at Dannyl. “If you’d like, I can introduce you and see if we can gain access to some of them.”
“I would be most grateful if you did,” Dannyl replied.
Achati smiled. “It’ll be easy. They’ll all want to meet the latest Guild Ambassador. Only trouble you might have is getting them to leave you alone long enough to read anything. Is there any aspect of history that you are most interested in?”
“The older, the better. And...” Dannyl paused to consider how to phrase what he wanted to say. “While I’d like to fill the gaps in my knowledge of Sachakan history, I’m also interested in anything that might fill some of the gaps in Kryalian history as well.”
“You have gaps?” Kirota’s eyebrows rose again. “But then, don’t we all?” He smiled, the lines on his thin face deepening and making Dannyl realise the man was older than he’d first guessed. “Perhaps you can help me fill some of the gaps in ours as well, Ambassador Dannyl.”
Dannyl nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
As Achati looked around the room, perhaps to check if he’d neglected to introduce anyone yet, Dannyl realised that, despite being surrounded by black magicians, he felt perfectly at ease. These were men of power and influence, and he’d had plenty of dealings with such men in the past. Perhaps this role should not be much harder than it was in Elyne. Not that that one was easy. And it seems black magic is no obstacle to having scholarly interests, too. He felt a tingle of anticipation, thinking of the records he might stumble upon in these private libraries Achati had mentioned. Then he felt a twinge of guilt and sadness. It would have been good to share the discoveries with Tayend. But I’m not sure he’d be that interested now. And for all that these men seem friendly, he is safer back in Kyralia.
The crowd outside the Northside Hospice was smaller than usual. Pale faces turned toward the carriage, eyes bright with hope but expressions guarded. As the vehicle turned and passed between the gates, Sonea sighed.
When the hospices had first opened, hordes of sick had gathered outside the doors, along with those hopeful of seeing the legendary slum magician, former exile and defender of Kyralia. Those not intimidated by her black robes had surrounded her, begging or babbling, making it difficult to get inside the hospice and do the work she needed to do. She could not bring herself to push them away with magic. Other Healers had experienced similar problems, as the sick not yet admitted to the hospice, or their families, begged and pleaded for help.