“The farm.”
“Ah. Of course.” Anyi pointed. “Is that an orchard over there?”
He looked in the direction she indicated and nodded as he made out rows of carefully pruned trees and arches of berry vines. Next to them were small fenced areas of ground, the earth grooved as if someone had run a very large rake along them.
“The question is: does anybody live here?” he murmured.
Anyi glanced at him. “Let’s take a closer look.”
They moved closer, hiding behind trees and then the long arched rows of berries. The shacks were spaced along the other side of the crops. Cery’s heart sank as he noticed smoke wafting out of a chimney. Further away, a woman in servant’s clothing had emerged from one of the shacks. He watched as she disappeared into what looked like a rassook pen.
“Looks occupied to me,” Anyi said. “Want to move further along?”
Cery nodded. Retreating to the edge of the forest to take advantage of the undergrowth, they made their way along the length of the farm. He was right about the rassook pen. At the end of the crops and buildings there were larger open fields where enka, reber and even a few big, lumbering gorin grazed.
Not enough to feed the Guild, he noted, but they’re making use of what space they have.
“Over there,” Anyi said, pointing to the last of the buildings.
He looked, and realised it wasn’t the building she was indicating, but a collection of old wooden furniture. Mismatched chairs circled a plank set upon tree stumps. Benches had been constructed out of scrap timber and placed on old barrels.
“We could use some of that straw to make mattresses,” Anyi said, pointing toward a shelter under which several bundles had been piled. “I saw it done at the market. You need some old sacks and a needle and thread.”
“You can sew?”
“Not very well, but we need mattresses, not ball gowns.”
Cery chuckled. “Just as well, eh? I remember your mother couldn’t get you to wear a dress. I don’t think even the king could get you to wear a ball gown.”
“Not a chance,” Anyi replied. “Not even if he was the handsomest man in the world.”
“Pity,” Cery said. “It would be nice to see you all dressed up. Just once.”
“I’d settle for a change of clothes.” Anyi narrowed her eyes at the huts. “I wonder how many people live here, and what they wear. Probably servant uniforms. I suppose it would be handy to look like servants whenever we sneak out of the tunnels.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll come back here later and spy on them for a bit, if that’s fine with you.”
“Good idea. But stay in the forest and don’t try to steal anything yet.” Cery nodded. “For that we’ll come back at night.”
Dannyl stared out of the carriage window, not registering the view outside as he braced himself for the morning’s dismissal.
Lorkin had been in the palace prison for only three days, but it felt much longer. Of course, it probably feels even longer to Lorkin. Ashaki Achati hadn’t visited again. Dannyl couldn’t decide if he was relieved or regretful about that. Any meeting with Achati was likely to be tense and full of resentment and awkwardness over the situation with Lorkin, but Dannyl missed Achati’s company and longed for his advice.
It’s a pity he’s so close to the king. If only I’d made friends with a Sachakan in a more neutral position. He’d have been able to tell me how best to deal with the situation.
Were any of the Ashaki in a neutral position, politically? From what Dannyl had learned, most were either loyal to the king or were allied with Ashaki who would happily seize the reins of power if they had the chance – which they were not likely to get. King Amakira’s position was secure, supported by most of the powerful Ashaki.
As the carriage pulled up outside the palace, Dannyl sighed. He waited until the Guild House slave opened the door, then rose and climbed out. Smoothing his robes, he straightened his back and strode toward the entrance.
Nobody stopped him. He had wondered why they’d let him in the previous day, when all they intended to tell him was to go home. Once again he stepped out of the broad passage into the hall, and was told by a slave to wait to one side.
Several people were standing around the hall. The king was present this time. At least Dannyl would be able to give his request directly to Amakira. Not that it would gain him a favourable response. The king finished talking to a pair of men and invited another three to approach.
Time passed. More people arrived. The king saw some of them not long after they arrived – sooner than Dannyl and some of the others waiting for an audience. They must have been more important, or at least the matter to be discussed was. Or he’s deliberately ignoring me to put me in my place.
Dannyl guessed that a few hours had passed by the time the king looked his way, then beckoned.
“Guild Ambassador Dannyl,” he said.
Dannyl approached and knelt. “Your majesty.”
“Rise and come closer.”
He obeyed. The air vibrated faintly, and Dannyl realised that the king, or someone else, had placed a shield about them to prevent sound escaping.
“You’re here, no doubt, to ask me to give Lorkin back,” the old man said.
“I am,” Dannyl replied.
“The answer is no.”
“May I at least see him, your majesty?”
“Of course.” The king’s stare was cold. “If you promise to order him to tell me everything he knows about the Traitors.”
“I cannot give that order,” Dannyl replied.
Amakira’s stare did not waver. “So you said. I’m sure you could convince him that the order came from those with the authority to give it.”
Dannyl opened his mouth to refuse, then paused. I could agree to try, in order to see Lorkin and confirm he is alive and well. But what if the king decided that Dannyl had broken his promise? Was that crime enough to be imprisoned for? Osen made it clear that I should avoid that. And if they take me prisoner, they’ll take Osen’s ring from me.
“I cannot do that either, your majesty,” Dannyl replied.
The king leaned back in his chair. “Then come back when you can.” He made a dismissive gesture. Taking the hint, Dannyl bowed and backed away for an appropriate distance, then turned and left.
Well, at least I got to see the king this time, he thought as he waited for the carriage. A rejection from the ruler is a slightly better-quality failure than a rejection from one of his lackeys. He wondered which he’d receive tomorrow, or if they would start refusing him admission to the palace.
When the carriage arrived at the Guild House he opened the door for himself, before any slave could do it. The air outside the house was hot and dry, and it was a relief to escape it into the cooler interior. He headed for his rooms, but before he got there Merria appeared in the corridor ahead.
“How did it go?” she asked.
Dannyl shrugged. “No better, though this time I was given a royal refusal.”
She shook her head. “Poor Lorkin. I hope he’s all right.”
“Any news from your friends?”
“No. They said they’re doing what they can to manipulate the Ashaki into objecting to the taking of a Kyralian magician prisoner, but it requires careful timing and can’t be hurried.”
He nodded. “Well... I appreciate their efforts. We all do.”
They had reached the entrance to his rooms. She looked up at him, her expression concerned, then patted him on the arm. “You’re doing everything you can,” she told him. “Everything they’ll let you do, anyway.”