The Ambassador's Mission

Lorkin sighed and sat down. He drew magic and gathered up a cup’s worth of water from the stream, holding it within an invisible globe of force. The liquid was cloudy and unappealing. Sending out more magic, he heated the water until it boiled.

In Healing classes, where purifying water was taught, he’d been told it was best to boil the water for several minutes. But soon Tyvara had finished drinking and was watching him expectantly, obviously anxious to move on. He stopped heating the water and let it cool to a temperature he could bear to touch and drink. Thankfully by then the grit in the water had settled to the bottom, and he was able to scoop the cleaner water from the top. A few gulps later he was done, and they rose to their feet. Rays of sunlight were streaking through the tops of the trees that surrounded them. He hadn’t realised dawn had been so close.

“Where next?” Lorkin asked.

“Into the forest. I thought you’d appreciate sleeping above ground.

He grimaced. Though they’d slept in a hole underground each day for several days, he had grown no more comfortable with the knowledge that he was one magical barrier away from being buried alive. “I certainly would.”

“Come on then.”

Stepping off the road, she led the way into the trees, and Lorkin followed. At first he stumbled over obstacles, dodging branches that Tyvara pushed out of her way which then sprang back at him, his thin shoes catching on rocks and the uneven ground threatening to unbalance him. It took all his concentration to avoid tripping over. Tyvara drew further and further ahead, until she noticed he was falling behind and stopped to wait for him to catch up.

“Have you ever been in a forest before?” she asked.

“Yes. There’s one in the Guild Grounds, but it has pathways.”

“Ever left Imardin before this?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because my mother isn’t allowed to leave the city

. But he couldn’t tell her that without explaining why, and he wasn’t supposed to reveal how few Kyralians knew black magic or how it was regarded.

“Never had reason to.”

She shook her head in disbelief, then turned and continued through the forest. This time she appeared to choose her steps more carefully, and their path became much easier. Then he realised that it was a path. A very narrow path, but clearly someone or something had come this way often enough to wear a track in the undergrowth.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

“No.”

“So you don’t know where this path goes.”

“It’s an animal track.”

“Ah.” He looked down and his heart skipped a beat. “So why are there shoe prints?”

Tyvara stopped and looked back to where he was pointing.

“The forest belongs to the Ashaki who owns this land. There will be slaves harvesting the wood, or hunting the animals that live here.” She frowned and looked around them. “I suppose this is as far as we can risk going. We should split up – but stay close enough that you can see and hear me. Look for thick vegetation. Or a hollow in the ground we could cover. If you find anything, whistle to me.”

He headed off to the right of the track. After roaming about for a while he found a place where a huge tree had fallen long ago. All that was left of the tree was a massive stump. Roots splayed out like protective arms, and thick, low bushes had grown around the disturbed soil. Guessing there would be a hollow where the roots had once been, he pushed through the bushes. A hole, half as deep as he was tall, remained.

Thick vegetation and a hollow, he thought with satisfaction. It’s perfect.

Turning to look for Tyvara, he saw her walking twenty or so strides away. He whistled, and when she looked up he beckoned. She headed over to him and pushed her way through the bushes. Stopping at the edge of the hole, she examined it with interest. She sniffed the air.

“Smells damp. You first.”

Lorkin drew magic, created a barrier in the shape of a disc, and stepped onto it. He lowered himself into the hole. The soil beneath the barrier was soft, and flattened as he reached the bottom. Removing the barrier, he felt himself start to sink further. The soil wasn’t just soft, but waterlogged. Muddy water welled up and into his shoes. One foot touched firm ground but the other kept going, and he threw out his arms and tried to step sideways to catch his balance.

But the mud held him firmly. He fell backwards and landed with a splash in a sticky, smelly mire.

The forest echoed with Tyvara’s laughter.

Looking up at her, Lorkin smiled ruefully. She has a great laugh, he thought. As if she doesn’t often laugh, but when she does she relishes it. He waited until she had stopped, then patted the mud beside him.

“Come on down. It’s damp, but much softer than those holes in the ground,” he told her.