There were nods all around.

“An excellent solution,” Lord Osen said. “Perhaps you can persuade his mother to give up the drug at the same time.” He looked at her expectantly. She said nothing, just met his gaze levelly. I’m not stupid enough to make any promises, when it comes to roet.

Osen looked away, turning to the others. “Does anyone object, or have another suggestion?”

The Higher Magicians shook their heads. Osen called in the escorts and Norrin. When Sonea’s suggestion was offered to him, he gazed up at her with open gratitude. That’s a little too much like adoration, she thought. I had better make sure I keep him working hard, so he doesn’t start idolising me – or, more importantly, thinking that breaking rules leads to him getting his way.

As Osen announced the Hearing and Meet concluded, and Sonea rose and started descending the stairs, Lady Vinara stepped out to block her path.

“It is good to see you speaking your mind at last,” the elderly Healer said. “You should do so more often.”

Sonea blinked in surprise, and found she could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t sound trite. Vinara’s smile changed to a more serious look. She glanced down at where Norrin had been standing.

“This case clearly demonstrates the need to make a prompt decision on whether to change or abolish the rule against associating with criminals and characters of low repute.” She lowered her voice. “I am in favour of a clarification. The rule is too easily interpreted in a way that would restrict the work of my Healers.”

Sonea nodded and managed a smile. “Mine even more so. When do you think the Administrator will call for a decision?”

Vinara frowned. “He has not yet concluded whether it should be a decision for us or the Guild. It may be perceived as unfair, should it be the former, as you are the only Higher Magician who might be seen to represent the magicians and novices of lower-class origins. But if we open it up to the entire Guild…”

“It may not make that much difference,” Sonea finished. “And there are sure to be remarks made that, stated publicly, may cause lasting resentment.”

Vinara shrugged. “Oh, I don’t think we can avoid that. But it will cause a lot more fuss and work, and Osen is not sure the issue warrants that.”

“Well, then.” Sonea smiled grimly and stepped past the woman. “Perhaps Norrin’s case will convince him otherwise.”

Lorkin gazed out at the fields beside the road, wondering how long it would take for him to get used to the greenness of it all. For three days they had travelled across the wasteland, and it felt as if the dry dustiness of the place had filled every crease in his skin and hollow of his lungs. He was looking forward to a bath more than he had ever before in his life.

At night they had taken turns keeping watch for the approach of Ichani, or sleeping in the carriage. The wasteland was considered the most dangerous part of their journey – hence the precautions – but no attacks by outcast Sachakan magicians had ever been made on Guild magicians since the invasion. Previous Guild Ambassadors had seen figures in the distance watching them, but none had ever approached.

Lorkin doubted they could have held off an attack by Ichani bandits for long, but the previous Ambassador had told them that they’d always relied on the hope that looking like they were prepared for a fight was deterrent enough. The Ichani roaming the wastes and mountains knew that the Guild had managed to kill Kariko and his gang, though not how they had, and so kept a cautious distance from any robed visitors.

On the second day a sandstorm had forced Dannyl to sit beside the driver and protect horse and carriage, as well as keep the road visible, with a magical barrier. On the third day the sands gave way to tussocks and stunted bushes. As the vegetation thickened, grazing animals had appeared. Then those gave way to the first struggling crops, which slowly improved in health and lushness until all looked appealingly rural and normal – so long as one didn’t look too closely at the south-western horizon.

Now and then clusters of white buildings and walls appeared several hundred paces from the road. These were the estates of Sachaka’s powerful landowners, the Ashaki. Only when they passed the first of these did Lorkin realise that the ruins the carriage had passed in the wasteland had probably once looked just like them.

Tonight, Lorkin and Dannyl were to visit and stay with an Ashaki. Lorkin was not sure how much of the nervous tingle of anticipation he felt at finally meeting a Sachakan was excitement or dread. Dannyl had met with the Sachakan Ambassador in Imardin, but Lorkin had not been confirmed as his assistant at the time and so was not invited to the meeting.

I want us to hurry up and get there, but how much of that is due to hunger and wanting a comfortable bed and a whole night’s sleep?

The carriage slowed, then turned off the main road. Lorkin’s heart began racing. Leaning close to the window he saw white buildings at the end of the narrow road the carriage was following. The walls were smooth and curved, with no sharp edges. As they drew closer, he could see, through an archway ahead, thin figures moving about inside a space beyond the wall. One stopped within the archway, then turned to wave at the others before moving out of sight.

When they passed through the archway they found themselves in a near-deserted courtyard. Whoever the people were, they had made themselves scarce. A single figure stepped out of a narrow doorway as the carriage drew to a halt, and dropped smoothly face-down on the ground.

Clearly he was a slave. Lorkin looked at Dannyl, who smiled grimly and moved to the door of the carriage. As the Ambassador climbed out, the man on the ground did not move. Lorkin followed. He looked up at the driver. The man wore a frown of disapproval.

Well, we were told to expect this. It doesn’t make it any less discomfiting. And it feels a bit rude, too. Still, they do things differently here. The master of the house does not emerge to greet his guests. He welcomes them once they’re inside.

“Take us to your master,” Dannyl ordered. His tone was neither commanding, nor did it sound like a request. Lorkin decided this was a good compromise and resolved to do the same when addressing a slave.

The prone man rose and, without looking up or saying anything, moved back through the doorway into the building. Dannyl and Lorkin followed. They entered a corridor. The interior walls were the same as the exterior, though perhaps a little smoother. Looking closely, Lorkin saw that there were fingermarks in the surface. The walls had been coated with some kind of paste. He wondered if there was a solid stone or brick core to the walls, or if they had been made entirely of some sort of clay, built up in successive layers.

Reaching the end of the corridor, the slave stepped aside and threw himself on the floor. Dannyl and Lorkin entered a large room, the white walls decorated with hangings and carvings. A man was sitting on one of three low stools, and now he rose and smiled at them.

“Welcome. I am Ashaki Tariko. You must be Ambassador Dannyl and Lord Lorkin.”

“We are,” Dannyl replied. “It is an honour to meet you and we thank you for inviting us to stay in your home.”

The man was a head shorter than Dannyl, but his broad stature gave the impression of strength. His skin was the typical Sachakan brown – lighter than a Lonmar’s but darker than an Elyne’s honey-brown. From the wrinkles about his mouth and eyes Lorkin guessed he was between forty and fifty years old. He wore a short jacket covered in colourful stitchwork over some sort of plain garment, and a pair of trousers in the same cloth as the jacket, but not as elaborately decorated.

“Come sit with me,” Ashaki Tariko invited, gesturing to the stools. “I set watchers on the road to alert me when you were near, so I could have a meal prepared ready for your arrival.” He turned to the prone slave. “Alert the kitchen that our guests are here,” he ordered.