The Ambassador's Mission: Book One of th - By Trudi Canavan Page 0,109

work at Ashaki Catika’s estate,” she’d told him. “We’re both house slaves. We’re travelling at night because he wants us there by tomorrow evening and that means walking night and day.”

“Ashaki Catika is known for that sort of cruelty?”

“All Sachakan magicians are.”

“Surely there are one or two good magicians.”

“There are some who treat their slaves better than others, but ultimately enslaving another person is cruel, so I wouldn’t call any of them good. If they were good, they’d free their slaves and pay those willing to stay and work for them.” She glanced at him. “As Kyralians do.”

“Not all Kyralians are kind to their servants,” Lorkin told her.

“At least those servants can leave and find a new employer.”

“They can, but it is not as easy as it sounds. Servant positions are in high demand and a servant who quits may find it hard to get work elsewhere. Households tend to hire servants from the same family over servants they don’t know. Of course, a servant can try other work, like a trade, but they will be competing with families who have practised that trade for generations.”

“Do you think slavery is better then?”

“No. Definitely not. I am only saying the alternative isn’t easier. How well do Traitors treat their servants?”

“We are all servants. Just as we are all Traitors,” Tyvara explained. “The term isn’t like ‘Ashaki’ or ‘Lord’. It is a word for a people.”

“But not a race?”

“No. We are Sachakans, though we don’t often call ourselves that.”

“So even magicians do the tasks of servants? They clean and cook?”

“Yes and no.” She grimaced then. “At first that was how it was supposed to be. We would all do the same work. A Traitor might clean dirty dishes one moment and then vote on important decisions, like which crops to plant, the next. But it didn’t work. Some bad decisions were made because people who were not smart or educated enough to understand the consequences chose badly.

“We started a range of tests designed to find out what a person’s talent was and to develop it, so the best person would end up taking on the tasks that required their skills. Though that meant we weren’t all doing the same things any more, it was still better than slavery. So long as the tasks required for maintaining our home and feeding our people were met, nobody was forced to do a certain job, or prevented from doing something they were talented at, because of their family status or class.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Lorkin remarked.

She shrugged. “It works most of the time, but like all systems it’s not perfect. There are some magicians who would rather spend their time complaining and manipulating others than wasting their magic on tilling the fields or heating kilns.”

“Most Guild magicians would agree. But we do work for the people in other ways. Maintaining the port. Building bridges and other structures. Defending the country. Healing the sick and in—”

The look she cast him had stopped the words in his throat. It began as a savage glare, then turned into a troubled frown, and then she turned away.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Someone’s coming,” she said, looking into the shadowed road ahead. “Anyone we pass could be a Traitor. We shouldn’t be talking. Someone might overhear us and realise who we are.”

The approaching figure turned out to be another slave. From then on Tyvara would not speak, telling him to be quiet if he attempted to start another conversation. As the sky began to lighten, she began scanning the surrounding area as she had done the previous morning, eventually moving off the road to where some thin trees barely screened a field wall.

They’d hidden among some dense, prickly bushes the previous day. These trees weren’t going to provide the same cover, however. Tyvara was staring at the ground. Lorkin felt a vibration, then heard a strange tearing sound followed by something between a thump and a popping noise. A cloud of dust rose up beyond the wall and the air filled with the smell of grit and dirt.

Before their feet a hole appeared.

“In you go,” Tyvara said, gesturing toward the hole.

“In there?” Lorkin crouched and peered into the darkness. “Are you hoping to bury me alive?”

“No, foolish Kyralian,” she snapped. “I’m trying to hide us both. Get inside before someone sees us.”

He put his hands on either side of the hole and let his legs dangle inside. There was no floor that he could reach. The prospect of falling into darkness didn’t appeal,