Like beating his own slave to death?
I guess he has made his point already. He’s shown us he still has power over other human lives, and he’s done so without breaking any Kyralian laws.
That thought made Jayan feel oddly relieved. Now that the Sachakan had made his point he would leave – was leaving – and soon Jayan would be out of danger. He could leave the room. And the Residence, if he wished. Life would return to normal.
Jayan felt his mood lighten. He had never thought he would get sick of his own company or of reading. It turned out he could reach a point where he began to long for sunlight and fresh air. He’d passed that point a few days ago, and since then he’d been restless.
Only so much of magic could be learned from reading. To gain any skill took practice. It had been weeks since he’d had a lesson from Lord Dakon. Each day that passed was a lesson delayed. Each delayed lesson meant it would be longer before the day Lord Dakon taught him higher magic and Jayan became a magician in his own right.
Then Jayan would enjoy the respect and power due him as a higher magician, and begin to earn his own fortune. He, like his older brother, Lord Velan, would have a title, though “Magician” would never surpass “Lord” in importance. Nothing was more respected in Kyralia than ownership of land, even if all it encompassed was one of the city’s grand old houses.
But ownership of a ley was rated more highly than ownership of a house, which was ironic since magicians who lived in the country were considered backward-thinking and out of touch. If Jayan stayed on good terms with his master, and Dakon did not marry and sire an heir, there was a chance the lord would nominate him as his successor. It was not unheard of for a magician to favour a former apprentice in this way.
It was not just the thought of surpassing his brother in land ownership that appealed to Jayan, though. The idea of retiring to Mandryn some day was also very attractive. He had found he liked this quiet existence, far from the social games of the city he’d once enjoyed watching, and far from the influence of his father and brother.
But Dakon isn’t too old to marry and have children, he thought. His father did both quite late in life. Even if Dakon doesn’t, he’s got several years in him yet, so I have plenty of time to explore the world first. And the sooner I learn what I need to become a higher magician, the sooner I’ll be free to travel wherever I want.
The light spilling around the window screens of Tessia’s bedroom was all wrong. Then she remembered the work of the night before, and how she and her parents had gone to bed in the morning. Of course the light was wrong. It was midday.
For a while she lay there, expecting to fall asleep again, but she didn’t. Despite having slept only a few hours, and still feeling a cloying weariness, she remained awake. Her stomach growled. Perhaps it was hunger keeping her from sleep. She climbed out of bed, dressed, and tidied her hair. Stepping quietly out of her room, she saw that her parents’ door was still closed. She could hear faint snoring.
At the bottom of the stairs she turned into the kitchen. The hearth was cold, the fire of the morning having burned itself out. She helped herself to some pachi fruit in a bowl on the table. Then she noticed her father’s bag on the floor.
The slave, she thought. Father said the first day of care after treatment was the most important. Bandages will need changing. Wounds will need cleaning. And the pain cures will be wearing off.
Looking up at the ceiling, toward her parents’ room, she considered whether to rouse her father. Not yet, she decided. He needs sleep more than I do, at his age.
So she waited. She considered trying to cook something, but doubted she could do so without rousing her parents. Instead she went through her father’s bag. Slipping into his workroom, she topped up and replaced medicines, thread and bandages. Then she carefully cleaned and sharpened all his tools, while the sunlight streaming through the windows crept slowly across the room.
Her work kept her busy for a few hours. When she could not think of any new task to do, she returned to the kitchen, leaving her father’s bag by the front door. Creeping up the staircase, she listened to the sound of snoring and deliberated.
We must check on the slave soon, she thought. I should wake Father up – which will wake Mother up in the process. Or I could go myself.
The last thought sent a thrill of excitement through her. If she tended to the slave by herself – if the servants at Lord Dakon’s house allowed her to – wouldn’t that prove that the villagers did have confidence in her as a healer? Wouldn’t it show that she might, given time, replace her father?
She backed down the stairs and moved to the front door. Looking at her father’s bag, she felt a twinge of doubt.
It could make Father angry. Doing something he didn’t ask me to do isn’t as bad as disobeying an order, though. And it’s not as if I’m doing anything more than the simple routine of care after treatment. She smiled to herself. And if I get one of the Residence servants to stay with me, I can show I at least took Mother’s worries about my safety into consideration.
Taking the bag’s handles, she lifted it, opened the front door as quietly as possible, then slipped outside.
Several of the villagers were about, she saw. The baker’s two sons were slouching against the wall of their house, enjoying the sunny afternoon. They nodded to her and she smiled back. Are they on my mother’s list of prospective husbands? she wondered. Neither of them interested her. Though they were polite enough now, she could not help remembering how annoying they’d been as boys, calling her names and pulling her hair.
The former metal worker’s widow was walking with slow, deliberate steps down the main road, steadying herself with two canes. She’d walked the length of the village and back every sunny day for as long as Tessia could remember. When Tessia was a child, and the widow less withered, other older women of the village had joined her and much gossiping had transpired during their circuit. Now the other women said they were too old to venture out, and feared they would trip or be knocked over by the village children.
Faint childish screams and laughter drew Tessia’s attention to the river, where small figures swarmed around the broad, flat curve of the waterway where she had played as a child. Then she heard her name spoken, and turned in time to see a local farmer nod at her as he passed.
He had come from the direction of Lord Dakon’s house, now only a few dozen steps away. Entering the alley beside the Residence, she walked up to the side door she and her father had entered the previous day, and knocked.
The door was opened by Cannia. The woman smiled at Tessia, then glanced around the alley.
“Father is still resting,” Tessia explained. “I’m to check on the slave and report back.”
Cannia nodded and beckoned Tessia inside. “Took him some broth this morning. Tried to feed it to him, since he can’t in the state he’s in. Didn’t take more than a few mouthfuls, I reckon.”
“So he’s awake.”
“Sure is, though I dare say he wishes he wasn’t.”
“Could you or someone else assist while I tend to him?”
“Of course.” She lit a lamp and gave it to Tessia. “Go on ahead and I’ll send someone to help you.”
Tessia felt her skin prickle slightly as she climbed the stairs to the slave’s room. She could not help wondering where the Sachakan was, and hoping she wouldn’t encounter him. When she reached the slave’s room and found it empty but for her patient, she sighed with relief.