The Ambassador's Mission полностью

He noted any reference to magic and the names of visitors to the magician’s home. When he had finished he put the book away and began to read a bundle of letters. They were old but in good condition, written on small squares of paper that hadn’t been folded, so they did not break into pieces. They had been sent to the magician from a friend in Imardin. Lorkin couldn’t tell if the friend was a magician or not, as he knew that the title “Lord” had been used only by landowners and their heirs at the time. The friend enquired in most letters on progress toward ending slavery in Sachaka, which he and others in Imardin were anxious to achieve.

From the sounds of it, that was a matter of great urgency, Lorkin thought. But I suppose it hadn’t been that long since Kyralians had been slaves.

Finishing the letters, he examined the rolls of parchment, which proved to be accounting charts. Other satchels contained more letters, this time from the magician’s sister. She seemed more interested in how the slaves who had been freed were faring, and Lorkin found himself liking her for her compassionate yet practical suggestions.

I wish I could read his replies. I’d like to know the answers to the questions she asks about the Guild’s plans for Sachaka. Maybe that would give us clues as to why Kyralia relinquished control of the country it had conquered.

A slave arrived with food and drink. Lorkin ate quickly, then launched into his work again. When he’d finally read everything in the cabinet, he realised several hours had passed. He looked at his notebook and felt a vague disappointment. I’m not sure I found anything particularly useful, but perhaps Dannyl will see something I haven’t.

As he reached out to close the cabinet doors, he realised he was still holding the book he’d been using as a support for his notebook. Opening it, he saw it was another record book. It appeared to continue where the last one had ended, but only a third of the pages contained text. Lorkin started to read the last entry. Immediately his skin began to prickle. The writing was short and hurried.

“Terrible news. The Storestone is missing. Lord Narvelan has also disappeared and many believe he is the thief. The fool knows it is essential to our control over the Sachakans. I must leave now and join the search for him.”

The blank pages after the entry were suddenly rife with questions and possibilities. Why hadn’t the magician resumed his record-keeping? Had he died? Had he confronted this Lord Narvelan and perished as a result?

And what is this “Storestone” that is so essential to the Guild’s control of Sachaka? Was it recovered? If it wasn’t, was that the reason Kyralia gave control of Sachaka back to its people?

And if it was never recovered, what happened to it? Did some magical object exist that was powerful enough to keep a nation – a feared empire of black magicians – subjugated? Lorkin sat back down on the stool and began to copy out the entry.

I’m right. There is some sort of ancient magic that could help protect Kyralia. It’s been lost for over seven hundred years, and I’m going to find it.

Gol had done his research well. The shop was the kind that bought and sold the belongings of debtors and the desperate. It was also located in a part of the city where Cery was unlikely to be recognised. In one corner, paper window screens of all sizes and shapes leaned against the wall. Coats and cloaks hung on racks and shoes sat in pairs below them. All manner of pottery, glass, metal and stone domestic vessels and objects crowded shelves behind the owner’s chair and side bench. And a heavy, decorative ironwork cage protected trays of jewellery – though from the look of it most was badly made or fake.

Another set of shelves held books of all sizes. Some were bound with paper, the threads of the binding exposed and fraying. Some were bound in leather and, of those, most were worn and cracked, but a few gleamed with newness.