“No, but if I failed, you could help what was left of the Guild regain Kyralia. The rest of the Allied lands will not like having Sachakan black magicians as neighbors. They would—”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I’m not going to stay away until the battle is over.”
Akkarin pulled his shirt over his head, shrugged into the sleeves, then moved to her side. He took her hand and regarded her intently.
“It would be easier for me to face the Ichani if I did not have to worry about what they might do to you if I fail.”
She stared back at him. “Do you think it’s any easier for me,” she asked softly, “when I know what they will do to you?”
“At least one of us would be safe if you went south.”
“Why don’t you go, then?” she retorted. “I’ll stay and fix the Guild’s little Ichani problem.”
His jaw tightened, then his mouth widened into a smile and he chuckled.
“No good. I’d have to come with you to see that for myself.”
She grinned, then grew serious again. “I’m not going to let you do all the fighting and take all the risks. We face them together.” She paused. “Well, we should probably avoid facing this one in the Pass. I’m sure, between the two of us, we’ll come up with an alternative.”
The stack of letters on Lorlen’s desk slowly toppled over. Osen caught them in time, then divided them into two piles.
“This ban on mental communication will generate some extra employment for couriers,” the young magician observed.
“Yes,” Lorlen agreed. “And pen makers. I’ll probably wear them out twice as fast now. How many more letters do we have to answer?”
“This is the last,” Osen replied.
Lorlen signed it with a flourish, then busied himself cleaning the pen.
“It’s good to have you back, Osen,” he said. “I don’t know how I would manage without you.”
Osen smiled. “You wouldn’t. Not with the responsibilities of both Administrator and High Lord to look after.” He paused. “When will we elect a new High Lord?”
Lorlen sighed. It was a subject he had been avoiding. He just couldn’t imagine someone other than Akkarin in the role. Yet it would have to be filled eventually—and the sooner the better, if Akkarin’s predictions came true.
“Now that the Elyne rebels have been taken care of, candidates will probably be nominated at the next Meet.”
“A month from now?” Osen grimaced and looked at the pile of letters. “Can’t you begin earlier than that?”
“Perhaps. None of the Higher Magicians have suggested we tackle the matter sooner, however.”
Osen nodded. He had been unusually distracted this morning, Lorlen noted.
“What’s bothering you?”
The young magician glanced at Lorlen, then frowned.
“Will the Guild reinstate Akkarin if his story does prove to be true?”
Lorlen grimaced. “I doubt it. Nobody will want a black magician as High Lord. I’m not sure Akkarin would even be accepted back into the Guild.”
“What about Sonea?”
“She defied the King. If the King allows a black magician in the Guild, he will want someone he knows he, or the Guild, can control.”
Osen scowled and looked away. “So Sonea will never finish her training.”
“No.” As Lorlen said it, he realized it was true and felt a pang of grief.
“The bastard,” Osen hissed, rising from his chair. He paused. “I’m sorry. I know he was a friend, and you still feel some regard for him. But she could have been…something amazing. I knew she was unhappy. It was so obvious he was part of the reason, but I didn’t do anything.”
“You couldn’t have,” Lorlen said.
Osen shook his head. “If I’d known, I would have taken her away. Without her as hostage, what could he have done?”
Lorlen looked down at his hand, at the finger the ring had encircled. “Taken over the Guild? Killed you and Rothen? Don’t torture yourself, Osen. You didn’t know, and couldn’t have helped her if you had.”
The young magician didn’t reply. “You’re not wearing that ring any more,” he said suddenly.
Lorlen looked up. “No. I grew tired of it.” He felt a twinge of anxiety. Had Osen heard enough about blood gems to suspect what it was? If he did, and he remembered that Lorlen had been wearing the ring for a year and a half, he might realize that Lorlen had been aware of Akkarin’s secret for much longer than he had admitted.
Osen picked up the two piles of letters and smiled crookedly. “You don’t need me to start lamenting the past. I guess I should make myself useful and arrange couriers for these.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”
Lorlen watched his assistant stride across the room. When the door had closed, he regarded his ringless hand again. For so long he had wished he could get rid of it. Now he desperately wanted it back. It was securely locked within the Magicians’ Library, however. He could retrieve it at any time…
Or could he? He knew what Balkan would say. It was too dangerous. The other Higher Magicians would agree.
Did Balkan, or the others, have to know?
Of course they do. And they’re right: it is too dangerous. I just wish I knew what was going on.
Sighing, Lorlen turned his attention back to the requests and letters on his desk.
26
The South Pass
As they approached one of the exits from Cery’s rooms, Gol paused and looked back.
“Do you think you ought to tell the other Thieves about these magicians?”
Cery sighed. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if they’d believe me.”
“Perhaps later, when you got proof.”
“Perhaps.”
The big man climbed a ladder to a hatch in the roof. He unbolted it, then cautiously pushed it up. The sound of voices reached Cery’s ears. Gol climbed through, then signalled that it was safe for Cery to follow.
He entered a small bol storeroom. Two men sat at a table, playing tiles. They nodded at Cery and Gol politely. Though they knew they were employed to guard one of the entrances to the Thieves’ Road, they did not know it led to the lair of a Thief.
The following journey was short, but Cery stopped at a baker and a few other crafters’ shops on the way. The owners were as oblivious to their customer’s identity as the guards. Cery made a few subtle inquiries about whether they were happy with their arrangements with “the Thief,” and all but one behaved favorably.
“Get someone to check what’s up with the matmaker when we’re done,” Cery said to Gol when they had descended into the underground passages again. “He’s not happy about something.”
Gol nodded. When they arrived at their destination, he stepped forward to haul open a heavy metal door. A thin man sat in the short corridor beyond.
“Ren. How’s our guest?” Cery asked.
The man stood up. “He’s been pacing. Worried, I think.”
Cery frowned. “Open the door, then.”
Ren stooped and grabbed a chain on the floor. He pulled and a vibration ran through the floor. The far wall slid sideways, revealing a luxurious room.
Takan stood a few paces away, the sound having warned him of their arrival. He looked tense and eager. Cery waited until the door had closed behind Gol before he spoke.
“What is it?”
The Sachakan let out a short breath. “Akkarin has spoken to me. He has asked me to explain some things to you.”
Cery blinked in surprise, then gestured to the chairs.
“Let’s sit, then. I’ve brought some food and wine.”
Takan moved to a guestroom chair and perched himself on the edge of the seat. Cery sat down opposite him, while Gol disappeared into the kitchen to find plates and glasses.
“You know that these murderers Akkarin employed you to find were Sachakan magicians,” Takan began. “And you know that Akkarin and So
nea were exiled for using black magic.”
Cery nodded.
“The murderers were former slaves,” Takan explained, “sent by their masters to spy on Kyralia and the Guild—and kill Akkarin if they had the chance. Their masters are powerful magicians known as the Ichani. They use black magic to draw magical strength from their slaves—or their victims. The people in my country call this higher magic, and have no law against its use.”
“This magic makes them stronger?” Cery asked. Though he knew all this from Savara, he must pretend it was all new.
“Yes. Akkarin learned black magic in my country. I returned to Kyralia with him, and he has been taking strength from me so he could fight the spies.”
“You were a slave?”
Takan nodded.
“You say these murderers—spies—were once slaves. Yet they used black magic, too.”
“They were taught the secret of higher magic so that they might survive long enough to gather information about Kyralia’s defenses.”
Cery frowned. “If they were free, why did they continue to do what their masters wanted?”
Takan looked down at the floor. “Servitude is a hard habit to break, especially when you are born to it,” he said quietly. “And the spies feared the Guild as much as they feared the Ichani. They saw only two choices: to hide in the enemy’s land, or return to Sachaka. Until Akkarin and Sonea were so publicly exiled, most Sachakans believed the Guild still used higher magic. All previous spies had been killed. Sachaka seemed a safer place. The dangers there are familiar. But they knew the Ichani would kill them if they returned without completing their mission.”
Gol returned carrying wine, glasses, and a plate laden with meat-filled savory buns. The big man offered Takan a glass of wine, but the servant shook his head.
“The Ichani know the Guild do not use higher magic now,” Takan continued. “They know they are stronger. Their leader, a man named Kariko, has been trying to unite them for years. Now he has succeeded. Akkarin contacted me this morning, and told me to tell you this: they plan to enter Kyralia in the next few days. You must warn the Guild.”
“And they’ll believe me?” Cery asked dubiously.
“The message must be anonymous, but its recipient will know from the content who it is from. Akkarin has told me what it should contain.”
Cery nodded, then sat back in his chair and took a sip of the wine.
“How much does the Guild know?”
“All but this latest news. They do not believe any of it, but Akkarin hopes they will prepare in case it proves true.” Takan hesitated. “You do not seem alarmed to learn that your country is about to face a war.”
Cery shrugged. “Oh, I am. But I am not surprised. I had a feeling something big was about to happen.”
“You are not concerned?”
“Why? It is magicians’ business.”
Takan’s eyes widened. “I wish, for your sake, that it was so. But when these Ichani have removed the Guild and the King, they will not leave ordinary people to continue their lives as if nothing happened. Those they do not enslave, they will kill.”
“They have to find us first.”
“They will collapse all your tunnels and tear down your houses. Your secret world will not survive.”
Cery smiled as he thought of Savara’s suggestions for killing magicians.
“They won’t find it as easy as they think,” he said darkly. “Not if I have any say in it.”
Dannyl stepped out of the University and considered the busy courtyard. Midbreak had just begun, and the grounds were full of novices enjoying the summer warmth. He decided to follow their example and take a stroll through the gardens.
As he entered the shady walkways, he considered his interview with Lord Sarrin. Now that the fate of the rebels had been decided, and Rothen had left for Sachaka, Dannyl had very little to do, so he had volunteered to help in the construction of the new Lookout. The Head of Alchemists had been surprised by Dannyl’s proposal, as if he had forgotten all about the project.
“The Lookout. Yes. Of course,” Sarrin had said distractedly. “It’ll keep us occupied, unless…but then it won’t matter. Yes,” he repeated, in a firmer tone. “You may ask Lord Davin how you may assist.”
On the way out of the University, Dannyl had glimpsed Lord Balkan leaving the Administrator’s office. The Warrior had looked worried. That was to be expected, but his manner suggested he had something new on his mind.
I wish I knew what was going on, Dannyl thought. He looked around, noting the tense expressions of a group of novices gathered together nearby. It looks like I’m not the only one.
He turned a corner and noted a lone novice sitting on a garden seat. The boy was older, probably a fifth year, and very thin and sickly. He looked strangely familiar.
Dannyl stopped as he realized this was no boy. It was Farand. He stepped off the path and approached the garden seat.
“Farand.”
The young man looked up, then smiled self-consciously.
“Ambassador.”
Dannyl sat down. “I see they’ve got you a set of robes. Have you started training yet?”
Farand nodded. “Private lessons for now. I’m hoping they’re going to spare me the humiliation of joining the younger novices.”
Dannyl chuckled. “And miss all the fooling around?”
“From what I’ve heard, you didn’t have an easy time as a novice.”
“No.” Dannyl sobered. “Not in the first few years. But don’t let my experiences put you off. I’ve heard some magicians say their years in the University were their most enjoyable.”
The young man frowned. “I was hoping it would all be easier from here, but I’m beginning to wonder. I’ve heard it said that the Guild is facing a war. We’re going to either fight Akkarin or Sachakan magicians. Either way, nobody is sure if we’ll win.”
Dannyl nodded. “You may have joined the Guild at the worst possible time, Farand. But if you hadn’t, you would not have escaped the strife for long. If Kyralia falls to either enemy, Elyne would fall soon after.”
“Better that I’m here, then. I’d rather be a help, than gain a few safe months at home.” Farand paused, then sighed. “I have only one regret, however.”
“Dem Marane.”
“Yes.”
“It is my one regret, too,” Dannyl admitted. “I had hoped the Guild would be more forgiving.”
“I think, perhaps, this strife with your High Lord influenced the decision. The Guild ought to have noticed that its leader had learned black magic. It hadn’t, so it didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. And it should have executed Akkarin, but it couldn’t. So it dealt out the full punishment to the next man to break that law, to show itself and the world that it would not condone such crimes.” Farand paused. “I’m not saying that each magician was aware of this, just that the situation may have influenced their thinking.”
Dannyl glanced at Farand, surprised at the young man’s perceptiveness. “So we have Akkarin to blame.”
Farand shook his head. “I’m done with blaming people. I am here, where I was supposed to be all along. I’m expected to put all political matters behind me, and that is what I will do.” He hesitated. “Though I am not sure I could have if my sister hadn’t been pardoned.”
Dannyl nodded. “Did you see her before she left?”
“Yes.”
“How is she?”
“She grieves, but the children will give her something to hold to. I will miss them all.” He looked up as the gong signalling the end of midbreak rang out. “Time to go. Thank you for stopping to talk to me, Ambassador. Will you be returning to Elyne soon?”
“Not for a while. Administrator Lorlen wants as many magicians to remain here as possible, until he knows more about Sachaka.”
“Then I hope I have an opportunity to talk to you again, Ambassador.” Farand bowed, then strode away.
Dannyl watched the young man leave. Farand had be
en through so much, and faced the prospect of death three times—through loss of control, poisoning, and possible execution. Somehow he managed to view it all without resentment.
It was humbling. And his thoughts on the reason for Dem Marane’s execution were interesting.
He might make a good Ambassador one day, Dannyl mused. If he gets the chance.
But for now, the Guild could only go on as it always had. Dannyl sighed, stood up and went in search of Lord Davin.
Something brushed against Sonea’s lips. She blinked her eyes open and stared at the face hovering above hers. Akkarin.
He smiled and kissed her again. “Wake up,” he murmured, then he straightened, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. She looked around. An eerie half-light had turned everything to gray. The sky was covered in cloud, but she guessed it was too early for the sun to have dropped below the horizon yet.
“We should find the road now, before the sun sets,” Akkarin said. “It will be very dark until the moon rises, and we can’t afford to stop.”
Sonea yawned and looked up at the gap between the two peaks. They had left the waterfall after the Ichani’s visit that morning, and continued up the ravine as far as they dared. A small space between some boulders and the rock wall had provided enough shelter to hide them as they slept. While it was not as concealed as the ledge behind the waterfall, there was no reason for the Ichani or his slaves to visit it.
Now, as the ravine narrowed and the light faded, the way became steadily more difficult. The small river filled most of the ravine, and the banks were strewn with huge rocks. After an hour or so, Akkarin stopped and pointed up at the ravine wall. In the fading light, Sonea could only see that a steep rock slope continued up from just beyond the top. Then Sonea blinked in surprise as she made out the stone steps hewn into the wall.
“The road runs alongside the ravine from here,” Akkarin murmured.
He started toward the stairs. They reached the base, then began to climb. When they finally reached the top, the darkness was like a thick smoke all around, and Akkarin a warm shadow within it.
“Be as silent as you can,” he murmured into her ear. “Put one hand to the rock wall. If you want to speak, take hold of my hand so we can communicate mind to mind without the Ichani hearing us.”
Kyralia 01 - [Black Magician 03] - The High Lord Page 36
