Kyralia 01 - [Black Magician 03] - The High Lord

by Trudi Canavan

  “They do.” She sighed. “I worry about Cery and my old friends, though.”

  “I’m sure your thief friend can take care of himself.”

  She nodded. “You’re probably right.” As they passed the gardens, she thought about her early morning encounter with Rothen. She felt another stab of guilt. She hadn’t lied to him, as such. Akkarin had never asked her to learn black magic.

  But she felt terrible when she considered how Rothen would feel if he learned the truth. He had done so much for her, and sometimes it seemed like all she’d ever brought him was trouble. Perhaps it was good that they had been separated.

  And she had to admit, begrudgingly, Akkarin had done more than Rothen could have to ensure she had the best training. She would never have been much good at Warrior Skills if he hadn’t pushed her. Now it looked like she would need to use those skills to fight the spies.

  As they reached the residence and the door swung open, Akkarin paused and glanced upward. “I believe Takan is waiting for us.” He moved inside and approached the wine cabinet. “Go on up.”

  As she climbed the stairs she thought back to his comment at the Arena. Had there been a hint of pride in his voice? Was he actually pleased with her as a novice? The idea was strangely appealing. Perhaps she really had earned the title: the High Lord’s favorite.

  Her. The slum girl.

  She slowed her step. Thinking back, she could not remember him ever expressing disdain or distaste about her origins. He had been threatening, manipulative and cruel, but he had never once reminded her that she had come from the poorest part of the city.

  But then, how could he look down on another person? she suddenly thought. He was a slave once.

  The ship was from the Elyne King’s fleet and was larger than the Vindo vessels Dannyl had travelled in before. Made solely to transport important personages rather than cargo, there was space inside for several small but luxurious rooms.

  Though Dannyl had managed to sleep for most of the day, he found it difficult to stop yawning as he rose, washed and dressed. A servant brought him a plate of roast harrel and some elaborately prepared vegetables. He felt better after eating, and a cup of sumi helped wake him up completely.

  Through the ship’s small windows he could see the sails of the other vessels glowing orange in the light of the setting sun. He left his room, then made his way down a long corridor to Farand’s cell.

  It wasn’t a cell, really. Though it was the smallest and plainest room in the ship, it was comfortably furnished. Dannyl knocked on the door. A short magician with a round face greeted him.

  “Your turn then, Ambassador,” Lord Barene said, obviously relieved that his shift was over. He stared at Dannyl, then shook his head, muttered something under his breath and left.

  Farand was lying on the bed. He looked at Dannyl and smiled faintly. Two plates lay on a small table. From the harrel bones left on them, Dannyl guessed they’d had the same meal as he.

  “How are you feeling, Farand?”

  The young man yawned. “Tired.”

  Dannyl sat down in one of the cushioned chairs. He knew Farand wasn’t sleeping too well. Neither would I, he thought, if I thought I might face death in a week.

  He did not believe the Guild would execute Farand. A rogue magician hadn’t been discovered for over a century, however, and he had to admit he had no idea what would happen. The hardest part was, he wanted to reassure Farand, but he couldn’t. It would be cruel if he turned out to be wrong.

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Talking to Barene. Or he’s been talking to me. About you.”

  “Really?”

  Farand sighed. “Royend is telling everyone about you and your lover.”

  Dannyl felt a chill. So it had started.

  “I’m sorry,” Farand added.

  Dannyl blinked in surprise. “Don’t be, Farand. It was part of the deception. A way to convince him to trust us.”

  Farand frowned. “I don’t believe it.”

  “No?” Dannyl forced himself to smile. “When we get to Kyralia, the High Lord will confirm it. It was his idea to have us pretend to be lovers, so the rebels felt they had something to blackmail us with.”

  “But what he’s telling them is true,” Farand said softly. “When I saw you two together, it was obvious. Don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone my views on the matter.” He yawned again. “I won’t. But I can’t help thinking you must be wrong about the Guild.”

  “How so?”

  “You keep telling me the Guild is always fair and reasonable. But from the way the other magicians are reacting to this news about you, I’m beginning to think it’s not. And it wasn’t fair of your High Lord to make you reveal something like that if he knew this was how the other magicians would react.” His eyelids closed, then fluttered open again. “I’m so tired. And I don’t feel so good.”

  “Get some rest then.”

  The young man closed his eyes. His breathing immediately slowed and Dannyl guessed he had fallen asleep. No conversation tonight, he mused. It’s going to be a long one.

  He looked out of the window at the other ships. So Royend was taking his revenge. It doesn’t matter if Farand believes it’s true, he told himself. When Akkarin confirms that it was all a deception, nobody will believe the Dem.

  Was Farand right, though? Was it unfair of Akkarin to have used him and Tayend in this way? Dannyl could no longer pretend that he didn’t know Tayend was a lad. Would people expect him to avoid Tayend from now on? What would they say when he didn’t?

  He sighed. He hated living with this fear. He hated pretending that Tayend meant nothing more to him than a useful assistant should. He had no delusions that he could boldly admit to the truth, however, and somehow change Kyralian attitudes. And he missed Tayend already, like a part of himself had been left behind in Elyne.

  Think of something else, he told himself.

  His thoughts strayed to the book that Tayend had “borrowed” from the Dem, now stowed with Dannyl’s belongings. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not even Errend. Though finding the book had helped him decide it was time to arrest the rebels, it hadn’t been necessary to reveal its existence. And he didn’t want to. By reading those passages, Dannyl had broken the law against learning about black magic. The words were still in his memory…

  Minor skills include the ability to create “blood stones” or “blood gems” which enhance the maker’s ability to mind-speak with another person at a distance…

  He thought about the eccentric Dem he and Tayend had visited in the mountains over a year ago, during their second journey to search for information about ancient magic. In the Dem Ladeiri’s impressive collection of books and artifacts had been a ring, the symbol for high magic carved into the red glass “gem” in the setting. A ring that according to the Dem enabled the wearer to communicate with another magician without the conversation being overheard. Was the gem in the ring one of these blood gems?

  Dannyl shivered. Had he handled an object of black magic? The thought made him feel cold. He had actually put the ring on.

  …and “store stones” or “store gems” which can hold and release magic in specific ways.

  He and Tayend had trekked up the mountains above Ladeiri’s home to an ancient ruined city. They had found a hidden tunnel which led, according to Tayend’s translation of the writing carved into it, to a “Chamber of Ultimate Justice.” Dannyl had followed the tunnel to a large room with a domed ceiling covered in glittering stones. Those stones had attacked him with magical strikes, and he had barely escaped alive.

  His skin prickled. Was the ceiling of the Chamber of Ultimate Justice made from these store stones? Was this what Akkarin had meant when he’d said there were political reasons for keeping the chamber’s existence a secret? It was a room full of black magic gems.

  Akkarin had said something about the chamber losing strength, too. Clearly, he understood what it was. Knowing how to recognize and deal
with such magic would be the High Lord’s responsibility. Which was all the more reason why the book must remain concealed for now. He would give it to Akkarin when he arrived.

  Farand made a small noise of distress in his sleep. Looking up, Dannyl frowned. The young man was pale and sickly. The distress of capture had taken quite a toll. Then Dannyl looked closer. Farand’s lips were darker. They were almost blue…

  Dannyl moved to the bed. He grabbed Farand’s shoulder and shook him. The man’s eyes opened, but didn’t focus.

  Putting a hand to the man’s forehead, Dannyl closed his eyes and sent his mind forth. He sucked in a breath as he sensed the chaos within the man’s body.

  Someone had poisoned him.

  Drawing on his power, Dannyl sent Healing energy out, but it was hard to know where to start. He applied it to the most affected organs first. But the deterioration continued as the poison gradually spread through the body.

  This is beyond me, Dannyl thought desperately. I need a Healer.

  He thought about the other two magicians in the ship. Neither were Healers. Both were Elynes. He thought of Dem Marane’s warning.

  “You do realize the King might kill him rather than let the Guild discover whatever it is that he knows.”

  Barene had been here when the meal had been served. Had he given Farand the poison? Best not to call him, just in case. The other magician, Lord Hemend, was close to the Elyne King. Dannyl didn’t trust him either.

  There was only one other choice. Dannyl closed his eyes.

  —Vinara!

  —Dannyl?

  —I need your help. Someone has poisoned the rogue.

  The other two magicians would hear this call, but Dannyl couldn’t help that. He put a magical binding on the door. Though it would not keep out a magician for long, it would prevent surprise intrusions or interruptions from non-magicians.

  The sense of Lady Vinara’s personality grew stronger, full of concern and urgency.

  —Describe the symptoms.

  Dannyl showed her an image of Farand, his skin now very white and his breathing labored. Then he sent his mind back into the man’s body and conveyed his impressions to her.

  —You must purge the poison, then attend to the damage.

  Following her instructions, Dannyl began a painfully complicated process. First he made Farand throw up. Then he took one of the knives used for the meal, cleaned and sharpened it with magic, and cut open a vein in the man’s arm. Vinara explained how to keep the man’s failing organs working, fight the effects of the poison, and encourage the body to make more blood as the contaminated fluid slowly drained away.

  It took a great toll on Farand’s body. Healing magic could not replace the nutrients needed to make blood and tissue. Reserves of fat and some muscle tissue were depleted. When he woke—if he woke—Farand would be barely strong enough to breathe.

  When Dannyl had done all he could, he opened his eyes and, as he became aware of the room again, realized that someone was hammering on the door.

  —Do you know who did this? Vinara asked.

  —No. But I have an idea why. I could investigate…

  —Let the others investigate. You must stay and guard the patient.

  —I don’t trust them. There. It had been said.

  —Nevertheless, Farand is your responsibility. You can’t protect him and look for the poisoner at the same time. Be vigilant, Dannyl.

  She was right, of course. Rising from the bed, Dannyl straightened his shoulders and readied himself to face whoever was knocking at the door.

  13

  The Murderess

  As Sonea entered the underground room, she noted the objects on the table. A dish contained some pieces of broken glass. Beside it was a broken silver fork, a bowl and a cloth. Next to these lay the wooden box that contained Akkarin’s knife.

  For two weeks she had been practicing black magic. She had gained in skill and could now take a lot of power quickly, or a little power through the tiniest pinprick. She had drawn energy from small animals, plants and even water. The objects on the table were different tonight, and she paused to wonder what Akkarin intended to teach her next.

  “Good evening, Sonea.”

  She looked up. Akkarin was leaning over the chest. It was open, revealing several old books. He was examining one of them. She bowed.

  “Good evening, High Lord.”

  He closed the book, then walked across the room and set it beside the other objects on the table.

  “Did you finish the records of the Sachakan war?”

  “Nearly. It’s hard to believe the Guild managed to lose so much of its history.”

  “They didn’t lose it,” he corrected. “They purged it. Those history books not destroyed were rewritten so there was no mention of higher magic.”

  Sonea shook her head. When she considered how much effort the Guild had once spent getting rid of all mention of black magic, she understood why Akkarin did not want to risk telling the present Guild the truth about his past. Yet still she could not imagine Lorlen and the Higher Magicians reacting so blindly to black magic if they knew the reason Akkarin had learned it, or if they understood the threat of the Ichani.

  It’s me they would condemn, she thought suddenly, because I chose to learn it.

  “Tonight I am going to show you how to make blood gems,” Akkarin told her.

  Blood gems? Her heart skipped as she realized what he was referring to. She would be making a gem like the one in the tooth of the spy, and in Lorlen’s ring.

  “A blood gem allows a magician to see and hear whatever the wearer sees and hears—and thinks,” Akkarin told her. “If the wearer cannot see, neither can the maker. The gem also focuses mind communication on its maker, so that no other can hear conversations between maker and wearer.

  “It has limitations, however,” he warned. “The maker is constantly connected to the gem. A part of the maker’s mind is always receiving images and thoughts from the wearer, and this can be quite a distraction. After a while you learn to block it out.

  “Once made, the connection to the maker cannot be broken unless the gem is destroyed. So if a gem is lost by its wearer, and another finds and wears it, the maker will have to put up with the distraction of an unwanted mind connected to his own.” He smiled faintly. “Takan told me a story once of an Ichani who had staked a slave out to be eaten alive by wild limek, and put a gem on the man so he could watch. One of the animals ate the gem, and the Ichani spent several days driven to distraction by its thoughts.”

  His smile faded then, and his gaze became distant. “But the Ichani are skilled at turning magic to cruel uses. Dakova once made a gem out of a man’s blood, then made the man watch as his brother was tortured.” He grimaced. “Fortunately, glass blood gems are easy to destroy. The brother managed to smash the gem.”

  He rubbed his forehead and frowned. “Because this connection to another mind can be distracting, it is not a good idea to make too many blood gems. I have three, at the moment. Do you know who carries them?”

  Sonea nodded. “Lorlen.”

  “Yes.”

  “And…Takan?” She frowned. “He doesn’t wear a ring, though.”

  “No, he doesn’t. Takan’s gem is hidden.”

  “Who has the third?”

  “A friend in a useful place.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t think I could ever guess. Why Lorlen?”

  Akkarin’s eyebrows rose at the question. “I needed to keep an eye on him. Rothen would never have done anything to cause you harm. Lorlen, however, would sacrifice you if it meant saving the Guild.”

  Sacrifice me? But of course he would. She shivered. I probably would too, if I were in his position. Knowing this, she wished even more that Akkarin could tell Lorlen the truth.

  “He has proven very useful, however,” Akkarin added. “He is in contact with the Captain in the Guard who is investigating the murders. I have been able to estimate how strong each of the spies is based
on the number of bodies that are found.”

  “Does he know what the gem is?”

  “He knows what it does.”

  Poor Lorlen, she thought. He believes his friend has turned to evil magic, and knows that Akkarin can read his every thought. She frowned. But how hard is it for Akkarin to be always conscious of how his friend fears and disapproves of him?

  Akkarin turned to face the table. “Come here.”

  As she moved to the other side of the table, Akkarin flipped open the lid of the box. He lifted out the knife and handed it to her.

  “When I first saw Dakova make a blood gem, I thought there must be something magical in blood. It wasn’t until years later that I discovered this wasn’t true. The blood merely imprints the maker’s identity on the glass.”

  “You learned to make them from the books?”

  “No. A great part of the magic I learned by studying an ancient example I had come across during the first year of my research. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but later I borrowed it for a while to study. Though its maker was long dead, and it no longer worked, enough magic was still imprinted in the glass for me to gain a sense of how it functioned.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “No, I returned it to its owner. Unfortunately, he died soon after, and I don’t know what happened to his collection of ancient jewelry.”

  She nodded and looked down at the items on the table.

  “Any living part of yourself can be used,” Akkarin told her. “Hair works, but not well because most of it is dead. There is a Sachakan folk tale in which tears were used, but I suspect that is just a romantic fancy. You could cut out a piece of your flesh, but that wouldn’t be pleasant or convenient. Blood is the easiest.” He tapped the bowl. “You’ll only need a few drops.”

  Sonea looked at the bowl and then the blade. Akkarin watched her silently. She considered her left arm. Where should she cut? Turning over her hand she noticed an old, faint scar on her palm from when she had cut herself on a drainpipe as a child. She brought the tip of the knife over to touch her palm. To her surprise, she felt no pain as the blade sliced open her skin.