The Ambassador’s Mission

Cery nodded. “He does. He’s one of the most powerful Thieves in the city. He has a particular interest in the Thief Hunter. Asked me a while back if I’d keep him informed if I picked up anything. He knows the rogue may not be the Thief Hunter, but feels it’s worth tracking her down to find out.”

“What does he get out of it?”

He smiled. “He’d like to meet you. Sounds like Faren told him stories, so he’s got a hankering to meet the legend.”

Sonea made a rude noise. “So long as he doesn’t have the same ideas Faren had about how useful I could be to him.”

“I’m sure he does, but he’ll not be expecting you to have them, too.”

“Does he have a better chance of finding the rogue than you?”

Cery grew serious. “She did a favour for a rot-seller that set up shop in my area until I put a stop to it. Skellin controls most of the trade, so I’m hoping that he can trace the-”

“The Thief we’re working with is the main source of roet?” Sonea interrupted.

Cery nodded, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “Yes.”

She turned away. “Oh, that’s just wonderful.”

“Will you accept his help?”

She looked at him. His gaze was hard and challenging. Yet what had he said? “… set up shop in my area until I put a stop to it.” Perhaps he did not like what roet did to people any more than she did. But he had no choice but to work with people like Skellin. “He’s one of the most powerful Thieves in the city.” If the rogue was working for a roet seller then it made sense for her and Cery to trace her through the contacts of the Thief importing it. Then something else occurred to her. Perhaps the rogue was addicted to the drug, and the seller was forcing her to use her magic in support of his criminal activities in order to get it.

Sonea rubbed her temples as she considered. I’m already breaking a whole lot of rules and restrictions. Ironically, this will not make things any worse, as far as the Guild is concerned. It will only feel worse to me.

“Go ahead and recruit him. So long as he realises that meeting the legend does not involve anything more than us both being in the same place once and having a nice chat for a reasonable length of time – and so long as you feel it is necessary to involve him – then I have no argument against it.”

Cery nodded. “I do think we need him. And I’ll make sure he understands you’re not for hire.”

Climbing out of the carriage, Dannyl and Achati turned to take in their surroundings. The road they had been travelling northwards along ended where it met an east- to west-running thoroughfare. A stream ran alongside the new road. Hills surrounded them, rocks jutting out from wild vegetation.

“We’ll wait here,” Achati said.

“How long, do you think?” Dannyl asked.

“An hour, maybe two.”

Achati had arranged for the group of local magicians, who would provide magical support, to meet them at the junction. They were bringing a tracker. He’d explained that, if they got as far as the mountains and had to leave the road, the risk of being attacked by the Traitors would increase dramatically.

The Sachakan turned and spoke to his slaves, instructing them to bring out food for him, Dannyl and themselves. As the two young men obeyed, Dannyl found himself thinking, not for the first time, that Achati treated his slaves well. He almost seemed fond of them.

As they ate the small, flat pastries that they’d been given at the last estate, Dannyl looked at the hills again. His gaze was drawn to the rocky outcrops. He frowned as he noticed how some were more like piles of boulders. In places, these boulders fitted together much too well to be natural.

“Is that a ruin up there?” he asked, turning to Achati.

The man looked where Dannyl was pointing, and nodded.

“Probably. There are a few in this area.”

“How old are they?”

Achati shrugged. “Old.”

“Do you mind if I have a look?”

“Of course not.” Achati smiled. “I’ll signal to you if the others arrive.”

Finishing the pastry, Dannyl crossed the road and set off up the slope. The hill was steeper than it had looked from the carriage, and by the time Dannyl reached the first pile of boulders he was breathing hard. Examining the pile, he decided it was part of a wall. For a while he moved across the slope, finding more sections of wall and resting to catch his breath. When he had recovered he decided to see what this fortification surrounded, and headed uphill.

The vegetation grew thicker and taller the closer he got to the summit. He caught his sleeve on a prickly shrub, managing to tear the material, after which he gave such plants a wide berth. It was easy enough to dry cloth with magic, and even remove some stains, but mending tears was beyond him. It might be possible to re-join the fine threads somehow, but it would take time and concentration.