Ashaki Itoki is one of the most powerful men in Sachaka. I have no idea how I should behave around him. And, if that isn’t enough, I still can’t get used to the idea these men are black magicians who might hold immense magical power and could probably fry me to ashes if I happened to offend them.
The slave reached the end of the corridor, took a few steps into the room and threw himself onto the floor. Lorkin felt his stomach lurch and a crawling, uncomfortable feeling run up his spine. I can’t get used to seeing people do that, either. And it’s worse when they do it to me.
He looked up to see a large man, his flashy, overly decorated clothes stretching tightly around his ample girth. As the slave informed him of Lorkin’s identity, the man smiled thinly.
“Welcome, Lord Lorkin. You have a long task ahead of you, so I will not delay you. My slave will take you to my library and do his best to supply you with anything you need.”
Lorkin inclined his head. “Thank you, Ashaki Itoki.”
“Ukka. Take Lord Lorkin to the library,” the Sachakan ordered. The man leapt to his feet, beckoned to Lorkin with his eyes lowered, then moved away toward a doorway. Lorkin nodded to Itoki again, then followed the slave out of the room.
Out of the Ashaki’s presence, Lorkin let out a sigh of relief. He would not relax completely until he had left the man’s house. And then maybe not until he was back at the Guild House. But I’m not here in Sachaka to relax or feel safe and comfortable. I’m here to help Dannyl in his research.
The slave turned into a cluster of rooms similar to those Lorkin had use of in the Guild House, and moved into one of the side rooms. He stopped before a cabinet.
“My master says the records you want to see are in here,” he said, extending a hand toward it. Then he moved to the wall beside the door and stood with his back to it, just as the slaves at the Guild House did when not engaged in a task or dismissed.
Ready to serve me if required. And perhaps to keep watch and make sure I don’t look at anything I wasn’t invited to. Or steal anything.
Opening the double doors, Lorkin examined the piles of papers wrapped in leather satchels, the rolls of parchment and the books. He found the book Dannyl had described and took it out, then drew his notebook out of his robes. Casting about, he realised there was nowhere to sit and no table to work on. He turned to the slave.
“Is there something I can sit on?”
The slave hesitated, then nodded. Curses, I’ve done it again. I must remember to phrase requests as an order rather than a question.
“Bring it to me,” he said, biting back the “please” that he would usually have added, which he’d discovered sounded lame, and both free Sachakans and slaves seemed to find strange and amusing.
The man moved into the main room and brought in one of the simple stools Sachakans preferred. Strange that a people with so much power and all the country’s wealth use such basic furniture. I’d expect them to be reclining in chairs as big and over-decorated as they are.
There didn’t appear to be anything resembling a table in the main room, so Dannyl drew out one of the sturdier books from the cabinet. He sat down, rested the book on his knees and placed his notebook on it. Then he began to read.
Within a few pages of the record book Lorkin began to struggle with uncertainty. Clearly he could not copy the entire contents in the time he had. Dannyl hadn’t told him to copy out any particular passage, just to note anything that might be relevant. It was flattering that the magician trusted Lorkin to judge what was relevant – or else he had no choice but to leave it to me – but that didn’t make the task any easier.
The book wasn’t the rich source of information that Lorkin had hoped, either. It was part accounting, part diary, as record books of landowning magicians often were in those times. He could not afford to skim anything, or become distracted, or he might miss something. But the lists of household purchases and descriptions of trade agreements were hardly fascinating reading.
He noted any reference to magic and the names of visitors to the magician’s home. When he had finished he put the book away and began to read a bundle of letters. They were old but in good condition, written on small squares of paper that hadn’t been folded, so they did not break into pieces. They had been sent to the magician from a friend in Imardin. Lorkin couldn’t tell if the friend was a magician or not, as he knew that the title “Lord” had been used only by landowners and their heirs at the time. The friend enquired in most letters on progress toward ending slavery in Sachaka, which he and others in Imardin were anxious to achieve.
From the sounds of it, that was a matter of great urgency, Lorkin thought. But I suppose it hadn’t been that long since Kyralians had been slaves.
Finishing the letters, he examined the rolls of parchment, which proved to be accounting charts. Other satchels contained more letters, this time from the magician’s sister. She seemed more interested in how the slaves who had been freed were faring, and Lorkin found himself liking her for her compassionate yet practical suggestions.
I wish I could read his replies. I’d like to know the answers to the questions she asks about the Guild’s plans for Sachaka. Maybe that would give us clues as to why Kyralia relinquished control of the country it had conquered.
A slave arrived with food and drink. Lorkin ate quickly, then launched into his work again. When he’d finally read everything in the cabinet, he realised several hours had passed. He looked at his notebook and felt a vague disappointment. I’m not sure I found anything particularly useful, but perhaps Dannyl will see something I haven’t.
As he reached out to close the cabinet doors, he realised he was still holding the book he’d been using as a support for his notebook. Opening it, he saw it was another record book. It appeared to continue where the last one had ended, but only a third of the pages contained text. Lorkin started to read the last entry. Immediately his skin began to prickle. The writing was short and hurried.
“Terrible news. The Storestone is missing. Lord Narvelan has also disappeared and many believe he is the thief. The fool knows it is essential to our control over the Sachakans. I must leave now and join the search for him.”
The blank pages after the entry were suddenly rife with questions and possibilities. Why hadn’t the magician resumed his record-keeping? Had he died? Had he confronted this Lord Narvelan and perished as a result?
And what is this “Storestone” that is so essential to the Guild’s control of Sachaka? Was it recovered? If it wasn’t, was that the reason Kyralia gave control of Sachaka back to its people?
And if it was never recovered, what happened to it? Did some magical object exist that was powerful enough to keep a nation – a feared empire of black magicians – subjugated? Lorkin sat back down on the stool and began to copy out the entry.
I’m right. There is some sort of ancient magic that could help protect Kyralia. It’s been lost for over seven hundred years, and I’m going to find it.