Trudi Canavan lives in Melbourne, Australia. She has been making up stories about people and places that don’t exist for as long as she can remember. Her first short story, ‘Whispers of the Mist Children’, received an Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Short Story in 1999. When she recovered from the surprise, she went on to finish the fantasy novel-that-became-three, the bestselling Black Magician Trilogy: The Magicians’ Guild, The Novice and The High Lord followed by another trilogy, Age of the Five. Last year the prequel to the Black Magician Trilogy, The Magician’s Apprentice was released and she is now working on the sequel, the Traitor Spy Trilogy. One day she will write a series that doesn’t contain three books.
* * * *
The sumi pot rose in the air seemingly of its own volition, tilted and poured the hot drink into her cup. Indria looked at her brother. He grinned, and she rolled her eyes.
‘I see your magic training is coming along well, Tagin,’ she observed.
Tagin waved dismissively at the pot as it settled on the table again. ‘That was nothing. First year exercises. Boring.’
Sipping the hot drink, Indria considered her brother over the rim of her cup. His eyes were bright and he had fidgeted constantly since arriving. This usually meant he was in a good mood. When he was hunched and glowering she had to be doubly careful what she said and did, as his temper was much easier to spark. But something was different about him today. Though he was cheerful, there was a hint of tension in his movements, and his eyes kept darting about the room.
‘Is what you’re learning now more interesting?’
‘With Magician Herrol teaching me?’ He sniffed derisively and looked away. ‘Hardly.’
Indria suppressed a sigh and put down her cup. Tagin had been an apprentice magician for over two years but, like with most of his obsessions, he had grown impatient with his training and teacher. Usually he found something new to engage his brilliant mind. But magic was no hobby or pastime. It was supposed to become the source of his income and place in society. If he ended his apprenticeship, rather than remaining until his master taught him higher magic and granted him independence, he would not receive income from the king, or attract work from the Houses.
‘Perhaps if Magician Herrol moved back to the city — to the Guild — it would be better. You’d have a greater variety of teachers.’
Tagin sneered. ‘He suggested it, but what’s the point? All the Guild magicians are like him: stuffy old men. I’d rather be away from them, but close enough to visit you.’ He smiled. ‘You wouldn’t want me to leave you all alone with Demrel for company, would you?’
Indria grimaced. Lord Demrel was an excellent husband, according to her family. He’d improved their connections among the Houses, earning them valuable favours in trade. He was wealthy and generous. But he was also a boorish, possessive man, and old enough to be her father. Growing up with her volatile brother had taught her how to handle difficult men, and Demrel was a lot less troublesome than Tagin. But she hated how Demrel treated her like a child and an idiot.
Tagin may be a handful, but he doesn’t think I’m stupid, she thought. And at least he loves me — in his way.
‘When we rule the world, I’ll build us a palace in the city,’ Tagin said, his eyes flashing. ‘We’ll get rid of Demrel and all the boring, old magicians.’
She smiled at this familiar game. They had played it since they were children.
‘When we rule the world, Demrel and the Guild will search all the lands for gifts to lay at our feet,’ she replied.
He grinned. ‘When we rule the world ...’ He paused as his attention was drawn elsewhere, toward the windows. Indria listened, and heard the sound of galloping horses.
‘Visitors,’ she said. ‘I wonder who it could —’
She faltered as Tagin leapt to his feet and hurried to the windows, stopping a few steps short and peering down at the courtyard below.
‘Ah. Rot them,’ he said in a sullen, resigned tone. ‘I have to go.’
‘What is it?’ Standing up, she moved to one of the panes of glass. Directly below them three horses milled. Their riders — wearing the uniforms of higher magicians — were handing their reins to the servants who had greeted them. One looked up at the house and saw her. In the corner of her eye she saw Tagin duck back out of sight. She glanced at him, then down at the magicians, and felt her stomach sink.
They’re here for Tagin, she guessed. And this is no social visit. But she knew from long experience not to speak such thoughts aloud. If she was right, Tagin might jump to the conclusion that she had already known they were coming, and perhaps even betrayed him to them.
‘Who are they?’ she asked.
‘Magicians,’ he told her.
‘I can see that from their robes,’ she said crossly. ‘What are their names? Why are they here? Do they want to see Demrel?’
‘They want me. They want to kill me.’
As she turned to stare at him, he smiled crookedly. Sometimes Tagin believed everyone wanted to do him harm. Even herself. She shook her head.
‘Why are they here, really?’
His smile faded. ‘I did something bad.’ He turned away and strode toward the door.
Indria rolled her eyes. ‘What this time?’
‘I killed Magician Herrol,’ he told her, without looking back.
She stared at his back. He’s joking. Tagin might have a temper, and a cruel sense of humour, but he was no killer. He had beaten servants and horses and, when a boy, had been inclined to torment her mother’s pets, but he’d never killed anything.
He opened the door. From beyond came the sound of voices and footsteps, growing louder. He closed the door and cast about, his gaze suddenly flat with terror. ‘Help me, Indria,’ he said helplessly. ‘I’ve got to get out of here!’
Her heart twisted. He truly believed they meant him harm. And when he was in this mood it was better to let him run away and hide than try to reason with him. He’d calm down and return later. If the magicians believed Tagin to be a murderer they might try to kill him before he had a chance to calm down, explain himself and prove his innocence.
She beckoned and started toward a side door. As they passed through it into a narrow corridor she considered whether she’d be punished for helping him. Surely not. If she claimed to be too frightened to do otherwise, the Guild would see her as more of a victim than an accomplice.
But is there still some truth to that? she wondered. Am I still scared of Tagin? She thought of the bruises he’d given her, before she’d learned to avoid rousing his temper or to calm him down. After she’d married he hadn’t dared hurt her, lest Demrel notice and stop him from seeing her.
Yet if I thought I could turn him over without either of us getting hurt, would I?
Probably not. He was her brother. Beneath the temper there was a fragile, lonely boy with a clever mind. She would not want to see him imprisoned. He’d go mad — madder than he already was — if he was ever locked away.
They reached the door to her husband’s study. Tagin’s footsteps were loud behind her as they entered the room.
‘You’re lucky Demrel’s away. He’d never let you in here,’ she told Tagin as she moved to a large wooden cupboard. ‘Open this for me, will you?’
He narrowed his eyes at the lock and she heard it click open. She pulled the doors apart and slid aside the bolt locking the inner doors. Cold air rushed in from the narrow cavity beyond. ‘There’s a ladder. I don’t know where it comes out — and I don’t want to know — but it must be safe or Demrel wouldn’t use it.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Why doesn’t it surprise me that your husband has a secret way out of his own house?’
‘I only know about it because he got stuck one day and nobody else heard him shouting for help. He wouldn’t let me get any of the servants. I had to pull him out all by myself.’
Tagin’s lip curled in disgust. ‘You should leave him and come with me.’
She shook her head.
‘But you hate him.’
‘Yes, but I’d also hate being homeless and hunted.’ She gave him a serious look. ‘And I’d slow you down. I’ll be more able to help you if I stay here.’
He stared at her and opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of footsteps in the main corridor outside the room reached them. ‘Hurry!’ she hissed. ‘Get inside and lock the door behind you.’
As he climbed in she felt her heart starting to pound. She closed the doors and heard the lock click. A scuffling inside the cupboard followed. The footsteps outside the room grew ever louder. Her heart raced. If Tagin didn’t stop making noise soon the magicians would hear him and investigate the cupboard. A knock came from the study door and her heart lurched.
The sounds inside the cupboard finally stopped. Taking a deep breath, Indria wiped sweaty hands on the sides of her dress and walked slowly across the room. Opening the study door, she forced herself not to flinch at the wall of masculine, uniformed power that stood before her.
‘Welcome, my lords,’ she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘If you are after my husband I’m afraid he is absent. Is there anything I can help you with?’
The magicians stepped into the room. The first was tall and quite handsome — nothing like the way Tagin had described the magicians he’d encountered The second was as grey and stooped with age as her brother had described. The third was of an age somewhere between his companions and wore an expression of disapproval and disappointment.
‘I am Lord Arfon,’ the tall magician said. ‘This is Lord Towin and Magician Beller. Is your brother, Apprentice Tagin, here?’
‘He was, but he has left.’
Arfon frowned down at her. ‘Do you know where he is now?’
‘No. What is this about?’
‘He has committed a terrible crime. He has murdered Magician Herrol.’
She feigned shock and surprise. ‘Murdered?’
‘Yes. You brother told you nothing of this, I gather.’
‘No.’ She looked away. ‘He said something about being in trouble. He didn’t explain.’ That is close enough to the truth. She turned to regard him closely. ‘Are you sure Tagin is the murderer?’
‘Yes,’ he replied returning her gaze steadily. ‘I read the mind of a servant who witnessed the crime — and other, earlier, crimes. Did you know your brother had learned higher magic in secret, against the king’s law?’
Indria shook her head, not having to fake her shock this time.
‘He’s been taking magical strength from the servants for months, no doubt in preparation for dispatching his master,’ the scowling magician said with unconcealed disgust.
‘But ...’ Indria finally managed. ‘Tagin wouldn’t do that. Well, I can imagine him learning something forbidden out of boredom. But he’s not the murdering type.’
Lord Arfon’s eyebrows rose. ‘Are you saying you’ve known enough murdering types to be able to tell them from non-murdering types?’
‘Don’t mock me.’ She raised her chin and met his gaze. ‘He’s my brother. I know him better than anyone.’
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. ‘Forgive me. That was tactless, and this is a serious matter. Can you guess where your bother may have gone? A simple read of your brother’s mind would confirm or disprove his guilt.’
‘No,’ she said, honestly.
He nodded. ‘Then I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you with us.’
* * * *
Record of the 235th Year.
News arrived today of the death of Magician Herrol, family Agyll, House Parin and of a terrible crime. A mind-read of the servant who reported the death revealed that Magician Herrol had been murdered, the strength drained from him with the use of higher magic, by his very own apprentice, Tagin. How this apprentice came upon the knowledge is unknown, but it appears he was able to overcome his master by first strengthening himself by draining servants, who were kept silent through threats. His crimes are threefold: first in learning higher magic before being granted independence by his master, second in applying it to commoners to strengthen himself, and third in using it to kill.
Lord Arfon has been given the task of finding Tagin. He has taken Tagin’s sister, Indria, into custody as the siblings are close and the apprentice may emerge from hiding in an attempt to free her. He has informed me that she is cooperating with efforts to detain her brother.
Gilken, family Balen, House Sorrel, Record-keeper of the Magicians’ Guild.
* * * *
Gilken wiped the nib of his pen and set it down next to the old leather book. Moving over to the tower window, he looked out over Imardin, capital city of Kyralia. The high wall of the Royal Palace rose to the left, facing down the mansions of the rich and powerful Houses. He could not see the King’s Parade leading down from the Palace to Market Square and the docks, but his memory supplied images of it willingly, along with the remembered smells and sounds of the busiest parts of the city.
If he listened, he could hear a constant hum, but a wide stretch of gardens separated him from the bustling metropolis, keeping the noise and hustle at a distance. Two hundred years ago, after the magicians of Kyralia had defeated invading forces from Sachaka, King Errik had granted them a generous area of land and ordered a Guildhall to be built to house their newly-formed Magicians’ Guild. The Record-keeper’s Room, Gilken’s domain and responsibility for the past twenty-three years, was in the highest room of the southwest tower.
While he had never grown tired of the view, he was liking the long climb up to it a lot less as the years passed. He had never gained the mental control necessary to levitate himself around and around and up the staircase, and the only way he could have gone straight up — on the outside of the building, then somehow crawling in through a window — would hardly be a dignified way for a magician to behave.
There are worse things for a magician to be guilty of than being undignified, he thought, and his mind turned back to the ill news he had recorded that day. Murder. Blackmail. The unauthorised learning and use of higher magic. Surely no apprentice would abandon his training and future by committing such crimes without good reason? What could have driven him to do it?
Gilken knew little about the apprentice. Only that Tagin had a sister and that his family was of a weaker, less favoured House. It was unusual for the only son and heir of a family to be given magical training, since magicians were forbidden, by law, to act as head of a family in political matters. The law was meant to stop power in Kyralia shifting entirely into magicians’ — and the Guild’s — hands, though it was by no means entirely successful. By allowing Tagin to become a magician, his father had put future control of the family and its assets into the hands of his daughter’s husband.
Lord Herrol must have known this when he took on the young man as his apprentice. Gilken considered what he knew of the magician. Herrol’s wife had died ten years ago, and his five children were grown and married. He had been a good-humoured, intelligent man.
Having grown up in the country, Herrol had returned there a few years ago. His home was a day’s ride from the city. And a few hours’ ride from Tagin’s sister’s home. Herrol, knowing how close the siblings were, may have taken that into account when he made his decision to move.
If he had, then Tagin chose a terrible way to repay that favour.
Gilken looked out over the Guild grounds to the city again. Herrol had been well liked in the Guild. Many were upset at his death, especially his ex-apprentices. Magicians had been alerted across the country. The docks and borders were being watched day and night.
Wherever Tagin is, he’ll not evade the Guild and justice for long.
* * * *
Lord Arfon lifted a glass jug and poured clear liquid into a matching goblet. He handed the goblet to Indria. She sniffed at the contents, then sipped.
‘Water?’ she said, surprised and a little disappointed. She’d expected an exotic and expensive liquor that only royalty or the Guild could afford.
‘There’s a spring in the Guild grounds,’ he told her. ‘The water from it is the purest you’ll ever drink. It is piped only to this building and to the Royal Palace — and in the Palace it goes first to the king’s rooms.’
Taking a larger sip, she swirled the water around in her mouth, then swallowed. It had almost no taste to it. Perhaps a faint suggestion of stone and rock. Arfon poured himself a glass.
‘Tell me more about your brother.’
She shrugged. ‘What haven’t I told you already?’
He gave her a level look. ‘The servants at your family home say he was prone to violent tantrums, and that he often struck you.’
She looked away. ‘Not often,’ she corrected, figuring there was no point denying the truth when it could be confirmed by a mind-read. ‘Just ... when he was frustrated. He’s smart, you see. Too smart. People don’t understand him, and he’s not good at explaining himself in a way ordinary people understand.’
‘Did you understand him?’
‘Not always. That’s why he loses his temper with me.’ She waved a hand. ‘But I see his frustration and his ...’ His loneliness, she was going to say. But Tagin would not have liked her to speak of him as if he was weak or pitiful.
‘You want to protect him?’ Arfon observed.
‘Of course. I’m his sister.’
‘Would you still want to, if you knew he’d murdered Lord Herrol? Would you still hide his location, if you knew it?’
She looked at him and smiled crookedly. ‘Probably.’
‘Why?’
She sighed and turned away. ‘He’s the only one who ever cared about me. Mother and Father never did. And Demrel certainly doesn’t.’
Arfon said nothing. The silence stretched between them and eventually drew her eyes back to him. He was looking at her intently. His expression was not disapproving. It was unfathomable, and yet it sent a shiver up her spine.
Stop it, she told herself. It’s not right to fancy the man who wants to catch and possibly execute your own brother. Then, belatedly, she added to that and you’re a married woman.
She could not help liking Arfon, though. He’d treated her so differently to her husband — as if he not only saw that she had a mind but was interested in its contents. He had been gentle and apologetic the few times he’d had to physically force her to co-operate. The only time she’d seen him angry it had fascinated her to see how he’d held the anger back, and how quickly it had faded away.
And it doesn’t help that he’s so good looking. She sighed. I guess that’s part of the Guild’s ploy to get information out of me. I might give more away if I wanted to impress that person. Fortunately I don’t have any information to give.
Arfon drew in a deep breath and stood up. ‘It’s late. I’ll take you back to your room.’
My ‘room’? she thought as she followed him up the stairs. My ‘prison’ is more accurate. Though the little bedroom the Guild had set up for her in one of the Guildhall towers was comfortable, she had not left it or the room below it for two weeks.
Arfon left her as soon as she was safely locked away. It did not take her long to change into her nightclothes, and she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. The next thing she was aware of was the patterns of light and shadow the moon had cast on the ceiling.
Then she frowned. I’m awake and it’s still night. Why am I awake?
Something interrupted the pattern. She raised her head and stared at the window. A shadowed face was pressed up to the glass.
That’s impossible. This room is three floors up and there are guards outside. She let her head drop back onto the pillow. I must be dreaming.
‘Indria!’ a muffled voice hissed. ‘Get up! It’s me. Tagin.’
Her heart skipped. She wasn’t dreaming. Someone really was there, and that someone was Tagin. The fool! They’ll catch him for sure! She scrambled out of the bed and stumbled to the window. Cold air surrounded her. The paper screens had been pushed aside and the frame of mullioned glass hinged outward. Tagin was outside. Below his feet was something flat, hovering in the chill air. It looked suspiciously like a piece of the paving from the Guild gardens.
‘How are you ... ?’ she asked.
‘Same way I move a pot of sumi,’ he said. ‘Only this time I’m standing on it. Took some practice to keep my balance, though. Don’t worry. I’m used to it now. I won’t drop you.’
‘Drop me?’
He grinned. ‘I’ve come to rescue you. Can’t have my sister in prison because of something she didn’t do.’
‘I don’t need rescuing,’ she told him. ‘When they realise you’re not coming to get me they’ll give up and let me go.’
‘But I have come to get you.’
‘And take me where?’
‘Away from here.’
She shook her head. ‘They’ll find us, Tagin. Listen, I believe they won’t harm you if you give yourself up. They’ll give you a chance to prove that you’re innocent. Once they read your mind they’ll know you didn’t kill anyone, and they’ll let you go.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘But I did kill Herrol. And most of his servants. And ...’ he looked down and shrugged.
She followed his gaze, past the floating stone beneath his feet, and caught her breath. Three men lay on the ground below, their eyes open and staring. Dead. Had Tagin killed them? Of course he had. To save me. She felt guilt welling up, but pushed it away. The Guild had set a trap for him. If it had gone badly then it was hardly her fault.
But it did mean her brother had killed. And once again admitted to killing his master.
‘Oh, Tagin,’ she heard herself say. ‘They’ll definitely execute you now. And me, if I come with you.’
‘They won’t find us,’ he told her, extending a hand.
‘But ...’ But I don’t want to leave and become a fugitive, she wanted to say. His eyes narrowed. She could see the first signs of suspicion and anger. His anger was always worst when he thought he’d been betrayed. Only this time he’s killed people. But he won’t kill me.
Still, he might take his anger out on others. He’ll blame the Guild and my husband for turning me against him. She felt her heart sink. If I go with him, I might be able to persuade him otherwise. Steer him away from further trouble. From murdering people.
It would mean leaving her life of comfort and safety.
But he’s my brother. I’m the only one who can save him.
Sighing, knowing that he did not comprehend what he asked her to sacrifice, she climbed up onto the window sill and took his hand. His face was transformed by a grin. Pulling her forward, he steadied her as she stepped onto the slab. She looked down as they began to descend.
Lord Arfon was going to be so disappointed in her.
* * * *
Record of the 235th Year.
The rogue apprentice has rescued his sister, killing two guards and Lord Towin in the process. Lord Towin’s death is a shock and loss to both his family and the Guild. He had so much potential, and his innovative study of the application of magic in shaping metals will be left unfinished.
Towin’s death has roused and united the Guild. Apprentice Tagin has shown himself to have little moral character, willing to use higher magic as cruelly as the Sachakans did before the War. We cannot leave him to roam the world unchecked and unpunished. Lord Arfon believes that we must capture him and find out how he learned higher magic without the assistance of a teacher, but many of the others feel Tagin is too dangerous and must be killed at the soonest oppor
* * * *
Gilken let his pen hover over the page for a moment, listening to the expectant silence that came after the knock at his door. Then he finished the sentence, wiped the pen and set it aside. Rising from his chair, he sent a little magic out to the door to nudge the latch open and then tug the door inward.
Lord Arfon nodded politely at him. ‘Record-keeper Gilken, may I speak with you?’
‘Of course, Lord Arfon,’ Gilken replied, waving to the comfortable chairs he kept in the room for visitors. ‘Would you like a drink of water?’
‘No, thank you.’ Arfon sat down, his gaze distracted and a crease deepening between his brows. ‘I thought you should know that Lord Valin, Magician Loral and Lord Greyer haven’t been seen since last night’s meeting. You know they volunteered to search for Tagin, but I didn’t choose them?’
‘Yes.’ Gilken nodded to show he understood Arfon’s alarm. The young magicians had been friends of Lord Towin, the magician who had been guarding Indria, and were so outraged at the murder it was clear to all that if they’d found Tagin it was unlikely there’d be an apprentice alive to question and put to trial.
Would that be so terrible? he asked himself. He considered how conflicted his feelings had been the previous night, at the meeting. While he felt the same sense of loss and anger at the murders as many of the magicians, he had been disturbed by the fierce, unquestioning drive for revenge raging among the magicians. We are supposed to be examples of calm and reason. And justice. Tagin deserves a trial.
‘You fear they will kill Tagin,’ Gilken said.
Arfon looked at him. ‘Or in attempting their own search they will upset our arrangements for capturing him.’
Gilken nodded again. He wants me to put something in the record, so that if the trio upset his plans and Tagin gets away, Argon and his helpers won’t be blamed. It is a pity that he feels the Guild might react that way, but he is no fool. If things go very wrong, people always look for someone to blame, and leaders always fall first.
‘I should make note of their absence,’ Gilken said, rising from this chair.
Taking the hint, Arfon stood up. ‘Thank you. I will distract you no longer.’
Gilken smiled. ‘Receiving information for the record is more necessity than distraction. And you are always welcome, Lord Arfon.’
The young magician bent at the waist in a half bow, then left the room. Gilken sat down at his desk again and considered the last sentence he had written. Then he picked up his pen and resumed writing.
* * * *
Though she wanted to look away, to flee from the scene before her, Indria forced herself to look at the five bodies. Three magicians and two apprentices lay sprawled around the campfire — three men and two boys a few years older than Tagin. They looked as if they had fallen into a drunken sleep, but she knew better. Each bled from a small cut, through which her brother had taken their magic and their lives while they had been drugged. She wrapped her arms around the simple commoner’s tunic Tagin had brought for her as part of her rescue and disguise, and shivered.
It had been her idea to let the magicians catch her, convince them she had been Tagin’s prisoner, then drug them so she and Tagin could gain some distance or even get them off their trail. She had bought the tincture at a market, pretending to be suffering from insomnia and women’s pains but wanting something that didn’t taste foul. As the herbalist had recommended, Indria had mixed it into the magicians’ wine, taking care not to make it too strong and risk poisoning them.
But Tagin had decided it was too great an opportunity to pass up. He’d taken their power, and in doing so he’d killed them. And now he was dancing around the fire, crowing with triumph.
‘Too easy!’ he exclaimed. ‘And all it took was this.’ He slipped a hand into the pocket of his jacket and brought out the little bottle containing the drug. ‘Not a bit of magic wasted — none of mine, none of theirs, and now it’s all mine!’
He grabbed her hands and whirled her about. Her foot caught on a fallen branch and she stumbled, so he stopped and steadied her. ‘Did you hear me?’ he asked. ‘Do you understand?’
She nodded. ‘Not a bit wasted,’ she repeated. ‘And now they’re off our trail. We’ve gained ... how many days? How long do you think it’ll take before they’re found or missed?’
‘A few days.’ He shrugged. ‘More if I burn their bodies.’
‘Long enough for us to make it to the border, if we take their horses. We’ll have to hope the Elynes aren’t waiting for us.’ She looked at the dead magicians again and forced herself to see the situation with cold practicality. ‘Are they carrying any money? We could buy passage on a ship. Head for Vin. Or Lonmar.’
Tagin shook his head. A familiar mad gleam came into his eyes. ‘We’re not going to Vin, sister. Or Lonmar. Or Elyne. We’re going to Imardin.’
‘The city? But ...’
His grip on her hands tightened. ‘Think of all the times we pretended we’d rule the world one day ...’ He laughed as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘Yes, I know it was a game, but I think ... I think it’s possible. We could change the world. We could make the Guild see that their rules and restrictions are wrong.’ He looked at her and his expression became serious. ‘It would be a way to make up for what I did. Which is all their fault, really.’
‘But ...’
His face darkened suddenly, and he flung her hands away. ‘You don’t know what it was like, Indria. Every night, Herrol taking all my strength so I could barely do anything he’d taught me.’ Tagin flushed and turned from her, his head dropping so she could not see his face.
‘That’s the secret, you know,’ he said in a quieter voice. ‘The secret of higher magic. Masters take the strength from the apprentices, supposedly in exchange for their teaching. It seems fair at first. Strength in exchange for knowledge. But Herrol kept holding me back. When I started teaching myself — things in his own books — he was angry. He started taking extra power so I couldn’t try anything. I couldn’t learn anything.’ Tagin looked up at her, his gaze tortured and his face older than it had ever appeared before. ‘It doesn’t have to take ten years for an apprentice to become a higher magician. They hold us back — stop us from learning at our natural pace — so that they can take magic from us for longer.’
Indria felt her heart twist. That might not be so bad for any ordinary apprentice, but for Tagin it would have been intolerable. He was clever. He learned quickly, and grew bored even faster. Herrol should have realised that. Should have rewarded Tagin for his initiative, not punished him.
‘But I’m going to reveal the lie,’ Tagin continued, straightening as determination filled him. ‘I’m going to make the Guild tell everyone the truth.’ His gaze shifted to the distance and he was silent a moment. Then his eyes snapped to her and he smiled. ‘We’re going to change the world, Indria, and this time it’s not a game. It’s real.’
* * * *
Record of the 235th Year.
We now know that the three burned corpses found yesterday are the remains of Lord Valin, Magician Loral and Lord Greyer. They were identified by the charred scraps of their clothing brought back to the city.
Today our minds have been buzzing with mental communications as magicians here and there have reported more terrible news. Nine of Arfon’s searchers and two apprentices had stopped at a Stayhouse for the evening. By the morning they, their servants, the Stayhouse owner and his wife, and many of the staff and customers at the Stayhouse, had perished. Most died in the fire that burned the building to the ground, but we suspect the magicians were first killed by Tagin and his sister as the pair were identified by those lucky enough to escape the blaze.
All here are shocked by this tragic loss of life.
* * * *
Gilken paused. His mind crowded with questions, but he always tried (and often failed) to keep speculation to a minimum in his reporting. Records should be strictly factual. Had the searchers come upon Tagin and his sister, and if so, was their attempt to capture them a catastrophic failure? Why did none of them report the encounter to the Guild via mental communication before they died? He could not help but think the location of the two groups of perished magicians was significant. The bodies of the three young magicians were found further from the city than the Stayhouse. Instead of fleeing after the first encounter, Tagin and Indria had turned and headed toward the city.
Almost as though Tagin is hunting magicians, not the other way around.
But he couldn’t write that in the record. With a shudder, he wiped his pen, set it down and went to bed hoping for a night uninterrupted by mental calls reporting ill news, or nightmares.
* * * *
When Indria had turned herself in to the first three magicians, they’d decided not to tell the Guild in case Tagin heard their mental conversation and their intention to sneak up on him. It had surprised her to learn that any mental communication could be overheard by all other magicians. She’d wondered why they bothered to use it at all.
The second group had no reason to contact other magicians — they had fallen asleep from the drug Tagin had forced the innkeeper to add to their drinks, and never knew they’d just eaten their last meal.
However, the third lot of magicians to fall foul of Tagin’s grand plan did not die silently.
To Indria’s relief, Tagin hadn’t told her to approach and drug the four magicians they’d seen at the village. Instead they’d watched the men buy food and a bottle of wine, then followed them at a distance. The four did not have any apprentices with them, she’d noted. As dusk greyed the landscape, the magicians had stopped to eat their meal, though they remained on their horses. Tagin and Indria had tied their own horses to a fence post out of sight, then crept closer, hidden by a stone wall.
Bringing out the bottle of poison, Tagin had somehow taken a large drop of it out of the bottle with magic. The drop floated up in the air to hover above the magicians. Indria had watched, heart racing and wondering how they could not have noticed it.
Then one of the magicians had brought out wine to share around. The droplet had shot downward and into the wine bottle so fast that none of them had seen it. The magicians had begun taking it in turns to drink straight from the bottle.
It had seemed a needless risk to keep peering over the wall at the men, so Tagin and Indria had slipped away to reclaim their mounts. That had been their mistake, Indria realised. The magicians had ridden on for several minutes before the drug began to take effect. As they began to fall from their saddles, Tagin confidently rode up to them, grinning widely. But one magician did not fall. One magician hadn’t drunk from the bottle, or else had drunk too little, and that magician had attacked Tagin. The strike had knocked Tagin from his horse, and the animal had raced off down the road. ‘Get out of range!’ Tagin had shouted to Indria, so she’d raced off to shelter behind a copse of trees.
It was hard to tell what was happening, watching the battle from a distance. Night was advancing, and she caught flashes of light and booming noises, but only glimpses of her brother and the magician. Her heart pounded, and she felt sick.
Don’t kill him, she pleaded silently at the magician.
Suddenly all went black. For a long moment there was only darkness and silence, then a figure appeared, lit by his own magic. It waved at her, beckoning. She felt a rush of relief as she recognised it. Guilt followed as she realised the magician must be dead. Then something else stirred. Something darker.
Dread.
Tagin was alive and well, but so were his plans. Until she could talk him out of them, more people would die. Sighing, she urged her horse out of the copse toward the site of the battle. The dust was settling now. Tagin was crouching beside one of the unconscious men. Perhaps she could talk him into letting them live.
But before she had moved far from the trees a flame suddenly shot up from the ground, twice as high as the trees, and she felt heat on her skin. Her horse started and she clung to its back, heart pounding. What was that? Tagin shouted — though it sounded more like a curse than surprise or pain. Another flash of light burned the night. She felt her horse tense, ready to leap into a run, and quickly hauled on the reins. It danced in a circle, slowly settling at she talked to it soothingly. She looked toward Tagin to see him standing near where the flames had come from. He turned away and started toward her.
When he reached her, he frowned up at her.
‘Are you sure that’s the same poison you bought last time?’
She nodded, then shrugged. ‘It smells the same.’
Tagin scowled. ‘Two of them died from it before I got a chance to take their power. That’s what the light was — the last of their magic released from their bodies when they died. Good thing I was shielding.’
A shock went through Indria, despite knowing that he would have killed them anyway. She thought of the size of the drop of poison Tagin had put into the wine. Much bigger than the single drop per person she’d used before. Had he used too much?
‘Maybe it’s stronger,’ she suggested. ‘Maybe the ones we drugged before this would have died too, if you’d been delayed this long.’ The herbalist was very insistent that I not use too much.
He nodded. ‘I’ve used too much power in the fight.’ He looked up at her, his expression thoughtful. ‘I’m a strong magician, so as my sister it’s possible you have strong powers, too.’
She frowned. ‘But I’m not a magician.’
He smiled. ‘No, but you have the potential. You can’t use any of your magic, but I can.’ He beckoned. ‘Get down.’
Reluctantly, she dismounted. He took her hands and looked into her eyes earnestly. ‘I know I said that having power taken from you is awful, but it isn’t if it’s done gently. If you aren’t drained dry you hardly know the difference. Will you let me take your strength?’
She stared back at him. He wanted her to endure the same thing that he’d killed Lord Herrol for.
‘We need to do this,’ he told her. ‘Or the next time we meet any magicians they’ll kill us.’
After what he’s done, of course they will. But his expression was so direct and anxious. Not a hint of crazed ambition, or deception. He looked far more sane than she’d seen him in weeks.
She nodded. He smiled briefly in thanks, then became serious again. From somewhere in his clothing he produced a knife. The blade touched each of her palms. She felt a pressure, then a slowly growing sting. Covering her hands with his, he closed his eyes.
First she went a bit wobbly as a feeling of weakness spread through her, but somehow she stayed on her feet. Then she felt languid and passive. After a time the feeling eased, and she felt normal but for a tingle in her palms. Tagin grinned and let her hands go. The cuts he’d made were gone, healed away with magic. He reached out to touch her cheek, his eyes warm with affection.
‘Thank you. How do you feel?’ he asked.
She considered. ‘Fine. It was a bit draining, at first.’
He nodded. ‘Took me a while to judge the speed of it. I’m not used to having to do it slowly.’
‘How do you feel?’ she asked.
He frowned and looked at the ground, then he shook his head. ‘You’re strong, but you’re only one person. I need more magic.’ He turned around, stopping as he faced the road to the village they’d just left. Tiny lights glinted in the distance.
‘Stay here, hidden behind the wall,’ he said, taking the reins of her horse. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so.’
* * * *
Record of the 235th Year.
Our worst fears have come to pass. Apprentice Tagin, now being called ‘The Mad Apprentice’ has turned on the common man and woman in his pursuit of power. Lord Telkan, on his way to the city after a visit to Elyne, found the entire village of Whiteriver dead and left to rot. All victims had been killed with higher magic. Even the locals’ enka, gorin and reber had perished. Only small children were spared.
After informing the Guild of the tragedy, Lord Telkan continued on his way only to encounter signs of a magical battle, and the bodies of Lord Purwe and Lord Horet. The two deceased were not even on Tagin’s trail, instead, misfortune brought them in contact with their killer. Fortunately Lord Telkan was not so unlucky, and has this evening reached the Guild safely.
* * * *
Looking down at his entry, Gilken shook his head in disbelief.
‘Nearly a quarter of Kyralian magicians have died at Tagin’s hands. I’m beginning to find my opinion swaying toward those who believe he should be killed as soon as possible, rather than risk further lives in the attempt to catch him.’
Lord Arfon sighed. ‘You are not the only one, if whispers in the Guildhall corridors are any indication.’
‘But you still feel strongly that we must find out how he came to learn higher magic without assistance?’
‘Yes. And it is less likely Indria will be harmed if we capture him.’
Gilken looked at Arfon closely. The man had spent several nights talking to Indria while she had been held at the Guildhall. Had he grown fond of her? While the general opinion of the magicians was that Tagin’s sister was guilty of helping a murderer, Arfon had pointed out many times that she may not have any choice. But when her husband, who had been found in Lonmar visiting his trading partners, was told of her involvement in her brother’s crimes he had all but disowned her, and many in the Guild had taken that as proof of her bad character.
‘What will you do now?’ Gilken asked.
Arfon frowned as he considered. ‘He’s so unpredictable. First he runs, now he attacks. I’ve instructed the searchers to report his position if they see him, but to avoid approaching or confronting him. Once we know where he is, we can gather together and decide how best to corner him.’
‘You don’t have any idea how strong he is, do you?’
‘No.’ Arfon’s expression was grim. ‘Only that, now he has taken to attacking commoners, he will grow rapidly stronger. The longer it takes for us to find and subdue him, the stronger he will get.’
‘Do you need my help?’
The younger magician looked at Gilken in surprise and gratitude, and shook his head. ‘The Guild needs a record of these events,’ he said. ‘Hopefully only as a warning to those who come after us. But thank you for offering.’
Gilken smiled and shrugged, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration. If only there was something he could do to help. But he was old, and perhaps the best he could do was the task already in his hands.
* * * *
Exhausted, Indria sat down on a low wall and stared at the ground. She did not want to see the bodies of the villagers around her. Despair and guilt would only drain the last of her energy — though deliberately avoiding the sight brought a wave of shame anyway.
Every night Tagin took magical energy from her. He said it not only kept them strong and safe, but it would help her sleep. He was right: she all but fell unconscious and only woke when he shook her the next day. She would have been grateful for the lack of dreams, if her waking hours had not become so nightmarish.
He insisted she come with him each time he attacked a village, afraid that the magicians would find her and use her against him. When she had seen what he did to the people she had protested, too tired to care what he might do to her. But she had been too worn out to argue convincingly, and he had obviously been expecting and preparing for her reaction. He wore her down with his reasoning.
Or maybe it was the sheer madness of his reasoning that left her unable to speak or resist. He has gone so far past the point of ordinary human boundaries, so beyond my reach, that there is no use in me arguing with him.
Still, she clung to hope. Perhaps he would return from his delusion. If he did, she must be there to steer him back to sanity. The right word at the right time, and she might persuade him to flee Kyralia and hide somewhere remote and safe from the Guild.
Either that, or turn him in. But even now, that was unthinkable.
A movement caught her eye and she reluctantly looked up. A figure was approaching her. Tagin.
‘We’ll have magical company soon,’ he told her.
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I saw it in the mind of the village leader. The local Lord told him to send a messenger if we turned up. Once he knows we’re here, he’ll call on five other country magicians for help. They’ll come after us.’
‘Oh.’ She stood up with an effort.
‘Rest, sister,’ Tagin said, his voice growing gentle for a moment. ‘We’re not going anywhere.’
‘We aren’t running away?’
‘No.’
‘Are we going to poison them?’
‘No. No more poison. No more tricks. It is time for good, honest battle.’
She felt her heart start to beat faster, and suddenly felt a little more awake. It was not a pleasant sensation. ‘How many magicians did the man say there were?’
‘Six.’
‘But... you’re ... one.’
‘Yes, but they are weaker.’
‘How do you know? Don’t they take power from their apprentices?’
‘Yes. One apprentice, once a day. I have taken magic from many hundreds, and you would not believe how many commoners have as much latent power as a trained magician. I can see why the Sachakans have slaves ...’ His voice faded, then he shook his head. ‘Guild magicians aren’t allowed to take magic from anyone but their apprentices. Not unless there’s a war.’
‘Do ... do you know anything about fighting?’
He smiled. ‘A lot more than they do. It’s been over two hundred years since the Sachakan War. Kyralian magicians have forgotten how to fight. There’s been no reason to, since the wasteland ruined Sachaka.’ He frowned. ‘Herrol had a big library, most of it inherited, and I don’t think he’d read all of it. I found books on strategy. Books all about fighting and planning battles. I’ve practised as much as I could, trying different kinds of barriers and strikes. It wasn’t as good as real fighting practice, but it was more than what the Guild teaches.’
‘But ... if you attack them ... does that make it war?’
He looked at her and smiled. ‘They’re already in a war, they just don’t know it yet. And by the time they realise it, it will be too late.’
* * * *
Record of the 235th Year.
It is difficult to believe that any man could be capable of such acts of needless violence. Yesterday’s attempt to subdue him appears to have sent him into a passion. The last reports say he has slaughtered all in the villages of Tenker and Forei. He is beyond all controlling and I fear for the future of us all. I am amazed that he has not turned on us yet — but perhaps this is his preparation for that final strike.
Gilken, family Balen, House Sorrel, Record-keeper of the Magicians’ Guild.
* * * *
I definitely should not include my suspicions in my entries, Gilken thought as he finished re-reading his previous entry. Whenever I do, they prove to be correct in the most unpleasant way.
He sighed and dipped his pen into the bottle of ink.
* * * *
It is looking more and more likely that the confrontation between Tagin and the country magicians was a deliberate move. Most here now believe he was ridding himself of the threat of attack from the rear in preparation for his advance toward the city.
Today, reports have been arriving every hour of villages and towns emptied of life, the luckier citizens having fled on Tagin’s arrival, and of country magicians found dead in their homes or searchers perishing on the road.
The only benefit to this is that Tagin is no longer hiding. Today Lord Arfon left with twenty-three magicians with orders to kill, not capture, the Mad Apprentice and his sister, Indria.
* * * *
A sound in the stairwell leading to his room made his heart skip. Had Lord Arfon returned? Had he been successful?
The steps were slow and dragged with weariness. Gilken wiped his pen, set it down, and hurried to the door. As he opened it, the man climbing the stairs looked up. Arfon’s expression was grim, but it softened as he saw Gilken. By the time he had entered the room and collapsed into a chair his face was drawn and strained.
‘It’s not good news, is it?’ Gilken said, taking the other chair.
‘No.’ Arfon covered his face with his hands, drew in a deep breath and shook his head. He looked up at Gilken. ‘He defeated us. I only survived because ... Indria suggested Tagin let me return to the Guild to deliver the news and suggest we surrender.’
Gilken felt his heart sink down low in his chest. ‘How is that possible? How could we have got to this point in a few short months. How can we fall to one crazed apprentice?’
‘Because we have underestimated him,’ Arfon replied. ‘He is no apprentice; he knows higher magic, therefore we should have treated him as a higher magician. And because we are fools, too slow and arrogant to consider we could ever be challenged, too split by politics to cooperate when we were, and too proud to foresee that one of our own might turn on us one day.’
‘You could not have predicted any of this,’ Gilken protested. ‘How could anyone have guessed that Tagin would dare to attack us?’
‘We should have considered it.’ Arfon shook his head. ‘I should have considered it. But there is no point arguing about it now. We can argue all we want, but it won’t undo our mistakes.’
Gilken regarded the young magician with dismay. He’d never seen Arfon so resigned and hopeless.
‘What will your next move be?’
Arfon shook his head. ‘The hunt has been taken out of my hands.’
Gilken’s stared at Arfon in disbelief. There was little wonder Arfon looked so defeated. ‘But surely Tagin has been weakened by the fight. He is just one magician. Another attack will surely —’
‘If anyone wants to gather a force to confront Tagin now it has to be at their own arranging,’ Arfon told him. ‘But the Guild may not approve it. When I left the meeting room talk had turned to bargaining and negotiation.’
‘Do you think Tagin will be willing to negotiate?’ he found himself asking, not quite ready to abandon the future he’d always assumed would come to pass.
Arfon shrugged. ‘I’ve given up guessing what he will do. Maybe there will be no Guild left to negotiate with. I suspect those of a less optimistic outlook will have gathered their most valued possessions and found somewhere else to be by tomorrow morning.’
‘Can’t we ... can’t we call upon the people of Imardin to give us their strength?’
‘That was also discussed, but I have to agree with the prevailing opinion: the people are unlikely to agree to it. This has happened too fast for them to comprehend the danger. There is no army at the gates — no foreign enemy. There is one man. One of our own members, who we are responsible for dealing with. They don’t understand how one apprentice could be such a threat. Even if we tried to explain ... they don’t trust magicians like they used to, and this king is hardly the type to stir love from his people.’
Gilken looked away. So they weren’t even going to try to persuade the people to help? Or confront Tagin one more time, while he was weak? He pushed himself to his feet.
‘I’m going down to this meeting. There are other options they may not have considered.’
Arfon looked up at him in surprise, then nodded.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.
Gilken smiled in gratitude, then led the way out of the Record-keeper’s room to talk some sense into what was left of the Guild.
* * * *
Indria had lost all sense of feeling, apart from a numbness that frightened her. It had been hard to justify the deaths of the magicians that had pursued Tagin, but she’d managed it. Watching her brother strip the life from one person after another, sparing only the youngest of the children, she had found she could not reason it away, so she stopped reasoning at all.
He is a monster. My brother. A monster, the shreds of her conscience told her.
But if he is, then the Guild made him so.
They may have used their apprentices badly, but did they deserve this in return?
She ignored the question. Once more she told herself that, once all this was over, the monster in her brother would go and the old Tagin would return. It was madness to hold onto this hope, but she did. Stupidly, stubbornly. There was nothing left but that hope. It was all out of her hands. Never had been in them to start with.
He never listened to me before all this started. Why did I think he would if I came with him?
She had been a fool to think she could keep him out of trouble and stop him from killing more people. Nothing she had said or did had turned him from this path.
But at least she had tried.
Not hard enough. You could have refused to go with him. You could have neglected to slip the poison in the wine that first time. Look at what your cowardice has brought about.
She looked up. The road before her was littered with the bodies of magicians.
As the last of the magicians fell, Tagin turned to grin at her. He beckoned. Obediently she followed him into the city. The people of Imardin shrank back, watching the lone figure and his sister. Indria thought back to the apprentices who had sought her brother out, traitors seeking to join him and thereby save themselves.
‘You would give your lives to my cause?’ he’d asked.
‘Yes,’ they’d assured him. So he’d taken what they offered, wiping their blood from his knife onto their robes.
As he turned into King’s Parade a chill of foreboding shivered through her. He was not heading for the Guild, he was heading for the Palace. Somehow that realisation stirred up an emotion deep within the emptiness and she faltered. It briefly pushed away the numbness and after a moment of confusion she realised what she felt was anger.
‘When you and I rule the world ...’ he had said to her, playing their familiar game. This was his plan all along. All the talk of changing the Guild has been a lie.
No. He was merely heading to the Palace because he knew that was where the magicians would be. Tagin looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes gleamed with mad eagerness, but as he looked at her it faded and changed to concern.
‘Are you well, sister? Am I walking too fast for you?’
She felt her heart lift a little. There was still good in him. She managed a smile. ‘I’m fine.’
As he turned back she let the chill in her heart numb her doubts and held onto a hope that had shrivelled and shrunk, but somehow refused to wither away entirely.
* * * *
Record of the 235th Year.
My worst fears have come to life. Today Tagin killed Lord Gerin, Lord Dirron, Lord Winnel and Lady Ella. Will it end only when all magicians are dead, or will he not be satisfied until all life has been drained from the world? The view from my window is ghastly. Thousands of gorin, enka and reber rot in the fields, their strength given to the defence of Kyralia. Too many to eat, even.
Thousands of people are leaving the city while Tagin is too occupied with establishing control in the Palace to stop them. The Guild is all but empty. Aside from a few brave magicians, we have all fled to safer locations to wait and observe. Some are planning to leave Kyralia. I am undecided. Should I leave the country and take this record with me, or stay and continue in my duty to document these events? Some would reason that the Guild is finished so there is nothing more to record. But we are not all dead yet.
Gilken, family Balen, House Sorrel, Record-keeper of the Magicians’ Guild.
* * * *
The carriage bounced and swayed as Gilken put aside the record book. The driver had been instructed to get them all as far away from the city as possible, as quickly as possible so, once the vehicle had passed all the people fleeing the city on foot or in carts, it had sped up. The combination of speed and the rougher country roads made writing impossible.
His fellow passengers, two female magicians and one male apprentice, were silent. Along with me, a grey-haired old man, we are hardly a formidable force. He thought of the rest of the Guild members, now scattering across the country: mostly the older or younger magicians, a handful of women — and far more apprentices than magicians, since so many had lost their masters.
Though two hundred years had passed since the Sachakan War, the Guild’s Kyralian membership hadn’t reached the number of magicians that had existed before the war. Now, even if Tagin was somehow defeated and all surviving magicians returned to the Guild, it would take many more years to replace those that had been lost to the Mad Apprentice.
Not to forget the emptied villages and towns. And however many Imardians Tagin killed in future to keep himself in charge of the country. But I suppose he’ll have to keep some alive, otherwise he’ll run out of people to take power from. He’ll keep the ones with the greatest latent magic as slaves, most likely. Gilken shuddered. Maybe it is better that I am leaving. I not sure I’d be able to bear recording it all.
* * * *
‘They have what!’
The old servant flinched at Tagin’s anger.
‘Left, my lord.’
‘Where did they go?’
‘I don’t know. They took carriages and headed in different directions. Some to the south, some to th —’
‘Good,’ Tagin declared. ‘If they’ve split up, they won’t be coming back to fight me any time soon.’ He moved back to the throne and sat down. ‘I want a list of all the magicians that left.’ Tagin narrowed his eyes at the man. ‘I know you’ll try to hide some. For every magician I learn you’ve left off the list I’ll ... I’ll kill a member of your family.’
The man nodded. ‘I understand.’
Tagin looked away, his expression thoughtful. ‘I also want everyone in Kyralia to know that any magicians that are found are to be sent to me. And their apprentices. Let it be known that no magician is allowed to use higher magic to strengthen themselves.’
‘I will summon the street callers,’ the man murmured.
‘Thirdly, I want all the books in the Guild sent here.’ Tagin pointed to one of the courtiers he’d selected, after reading their minds, to serve him. ‘My assistant will go with you to make sure you don’t hide any.’ He waved a hand. ‘Go.’
The man bowed and backed away. Tagin ignored him, reaching for his glass of water.
Indria watched from a chair that had been placed beside the throne for her. As Tagin drank, a memory flashed into her mind of a glass goblet full of clear water that had tasted faintly of rocks. A memory of Lord Arfon.
‘There’s a spring in the Guild grounds,’ he told her. ‘The water from it is the purest you’ll ever drink. It is piped only to this building and to the Royal Palace — and in the palace it goes first to the king’s rooms.’ She had told Tagin about the spring, but not about its location in the Guild, and he had decided to drink only from this safe source.
‘Oh, that’s right.’ Tagin looked up at the retreating man. ‘Stop! I have another instruction. Send me the Guild records. I want to know what’s been said about me.’
The servant bowed again, then hurried out of the entrance to the audience chamber. Indria felt a pang of sympathy and sighed.
‘Are you well, sister? You look pale.’
Indria looked up to find Tagin looking at her, and shrugged. ‘Just tired.’
He considered her thoughtfully. Since taking over the Palace he had insisted she stay by his side. She told herself he was being protective, but sometimes she detected an old, familiar mood of suspicion and distrust. Worry grew like a tangled knot inside her. She knew that mood. It had always been a dangerous one. In the past it had led to accusations of imagined slights against him and, when she was younger, beatings. Now that he had grown accustomed to killing with little hesitation, what would he do if he imagined she was betraying him?
Suddenly he smiled. ‘Go on, sister. This has all been exhausting for you. Rest and return when you feel better.’
Somehow she forced her weary legs to take her to the rooms Tagin had chosen for her. The beauty of the decorations and furnishings within the Palace only made her more melancholy. As she reached the door to her apartment a guard held it open for her. She all but staggered through to the greeting room, relieved when the door clicked shut behind her. Then she froze.
A man stood in the centre of the room. She blinked at him stupidly for a moment. He was not a servant. He was familiar, but for a moment she didn’t recognise him because he wasn’t wearing his robes.
‘Lord Arfon?’
He nodded. She glanced back at the door. Had the guard noticed the intruder? Surely if he had, he would have said or done something. Or did the guard know Lord Arfon was here and was helping the magician?
‘Tagin will kill you if he sees you,’ she warned.
Arfon nodded again. He gazed back at her, saying nothing but looking hesitant. As if he wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked.
He swallowed. ‘To find out if there is anything that can be done.’
She looked down at the floor, realising only as the feeling faded that the sight of Arfon had lightened her heart a little.
‘Nothing. Even if there was, it’s too late.’
‘He trusts you.’
She looked at him. His eyebrows rose suggestively, even while his expression remained grim.
‘I can’t do that,’ she told him. ‘I can’t kill someone. Least of all my own brother.’
Arfon nodded, then sighed and sat down on the edge of one of the chairs. All the determination fell from him and he shook his head.
‘I wish the world could have heard you say that. It is such a strange thing, that the sibling of the worst killer in history has the gentlest of natures. It is too hard to believe, for most people.’
She frowned. ‘What do they believe?’
He looked away. ‘That you are his ally. You are, aren’t you?’ His gaze returned, and his eyes were now hard and judgemental.
I tried to stop him, she wanted to say. But that was a lie.
‘I was never able to stop him, once he got something into his head,’ she said instead. ‘Not when we were children. Not now.’
Arfon nodded, then rose and walked to one of the large paintings. To her astonishment, it hinged away from the wall like a door. Behind was a square opening. He paused and looked back at her.
‘If you decide to do something, I will help you.’
Then he stepped into the hole, reached back and pulled the painting-door closed behind him.
Indria stared at the painting. She felt a strange disappointment. I wanted him to stay and argue with me, she realised. He accepted my excuse too easily.
But she had tried to stop Tagin. In her mind she heard the argument begin again. No. You haven’t, the quiet voice in the back of her mind replied. You could have stopped him many times. But you were afraid of what he’d do if you failed, or he escaped. You were a coward.
But he was her brother.
And your responsibility. What would have been worse: betraying him to the Guild when he had only murdered a few, or letting him kill again and again until he became the monster he is now?
Her head spun. There was no point acting now. It was too late. Tagin was on the throne. Things could not get any worse.
Oh, yes they can.
He would have to keep killing to stay strong enough to repel attempts by the Guild to rescue the city. Or else he would enslave people so that he could take power from them, over and over.
Slaves. We’ll end up like the Sachakans. Only there’ll be just one master, my brother, and all Kyralians will be slaves.
There was nothing she could do.
Oh, yes there is.
Her mouth went dry as she thought of it. The solution had been there right from the start. She only needed the courage to use it. She walked slowly to the cabinet that held the few possessions she had carried these last months and took out a small vial, paper, ink and a pen.
Nothing stopped her. She resolved to keep going until her nerve failed, or her conscience stopped arguing with her, and stilled her hands.
Some time later she found Tagin digging through a chest of dusty books in the middle of the audience chamber.
‘Look!’ he said as she approached. ‘Books from the Guild.’
She grimaced. ‘They smell old.’
‘They are,’ he told her. ‘This one is a record of the Guild magicians who ruled Sachaka after the war.’ As he dug through them dust billowed up and he coughed. He waved a hand. ‘Get me a drink, sister.’
Her spine tingled as she picked up the goblet beside the throne and moved to the back of the room. The spring water was clear and cold. She filled the vessel and returned to Tagin’s side. As he watched, she raised the goblet to her lips and sipped.
Satisfied, he took the glass, drained it and handed it back to her. She refilled it. He selected a book and returned to the throne. She watched as he began to read. Then, as his eyes closed and his head began to nod she set the goblet aside.
Moving to the throne, she leaned close as if to look at the pages. He swayed as he looked up at her.
‘Sister,’ he said, his eyes slowly closing and opening again. He let the book drop. ‘I am very tired.’
‘Brother,’ she replied. ‘I am, too. Lean on me. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.’
She caught him as he fell and held him as his eyes closed. Slowly his breathing slowed and his lips turned blue. Reaching out to take the glass and drain it, she marvelled at how the taste of the drug was barely noticeable in the clear water, even when strong enough to kill.
Then her eyes were assailed by a flash of intense white, and a sensation too brief to register as pain.
* * * *
A few weeks’ absence had not made the tower steps any easier to climb. This time Gilken had a burden to carry, too. The record book and writing equipment felt heavier than they had when he’d taken them out of the room. Finally he reached the last step, and the platform before the door. He stopped to gaze at the plain wood and the plaque stating that this room was for the ‘Record-keeper of the Magicians’ Guild’. For a moment he was overwhelmed by emotion.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed into the room beyond.
There were a few signs of disturbance. Cupboards had been opened. A glass water jug had been smashed. The bed was at an angle, suggesting it had been moved. But the small, high table on which he always worked remained whole and in place.
He put his burden down on the table, then moved to the window. What he saw made his breath catch.
Though he had seen the ruins of the city as his carriage had passed through to the Guild, it had been a confusing jumble of stone and wood. Now, from the higher position, he could see patterns in the devastation. The explosion that had levelled so many buildings had fanned out from the Palace. It had missed the Guild, instead smashing everything between the throne room and the docks. It was a terrible sight, but it stirred a guilty relief.
Tagin was dead.
So were thousands of people. Magicians and non-magicians. Lords and servants. Men and women. Adults and children. Either murdered by the Mad Apprentice, or killed when all the magic he had stolen had been released on his death.
Gilken stared at the view for a long time, until he could no longer bear the sight. He turned from the window and moved back to the high table. Taking the record book out of its wrappings, he placed it on the sloped surface. He returned the inkpot to its place and removed his pen from its carry case.
He wet the nib.
And began writing.
* * * *
Record of the 235th Year.
It is over. When Alyk told me the news I dared not believe it, but an hour ago I climbed the stairs of the Lookout and saw the truth with my own eyes. It is true. Tagin is dead. Only he could have created such destruction in his final moments.
Lord Eland called us together and read a letter sent from Indria, Tagin’s sister. She told of her intention to poison him. We can only assume that she succeeded.
Did she know that killing him would release the power he contained? Did she know it would blast the Palace and much of the city to rubble? Why did she support him despite all he did, only to turn on him at the end?
We will never know. It is likely we will see more stringent rules governing apprentices and the teaching of higher magic. Some have even suggested higher magic be banned altogether, though that would leave us foolishly vulnerable to attack. Still, Sachaka is no longer a threat and we are on friendly terms with our other neighbours.
One suggestion gaining support is to encourage magicians to dedicate themselves to learning and using magic for fighting and warfare in the same way that some of us do with magical healing. Perhaps then we’ll be ready for the next threat, and not repeat the many mistakes we made in dealing with the Mad Apprentice.
Change is certain. I suspect the effects of this tragic story will haunt us for many years to come, but I am starting to believe that we will grow stronger and wiser as a result.
Good things can come from awful events, so long as we learn from our mistakes and record what we have learned for future generations.
Gilken, family Balen, House Sorrel, Record-keeper of the Magicians’ Guild.
* * * *
The story of Tagin was a little runt of a tale that sprang out of creating history for the Black Magician Trilogy. Unlike the story of the Sachakan War, which turned into The Magician’s Apprentice, it was not substantial enough to fill an entire book. Yet it had too much substance to comfortably squeeze into a short story. I always considered it good novella material, but it is hard to justify taking time out from book schedules to write a novella when there isn’t as great a market for them as there is for short stories. So when Jack told me of the Australian Legends anthology, I had the perfect excuse to tell Tagin’s tale.
While it had begun as a lesson in the destructive potential of black magic in the wrong hands, the story had to be more than that as a novella. I could have written it from Tagin’s perspective, and enjoyed a black ride seeing the world through his mad eyes. But when I came up with the idea of writing it through his sister’s perspective I knew it would be more than a lesson or mad ride. It would be about family, loyalty and the pain, denial and dread of being related to someone with a somewhat shaky grip on morality, reality and his temper.
— Trudi Canavan