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

by Trudi Canavan

  —Get away, Balkan called. You’ve done all you can.

  Figures strode out of the dust cloud. Makin stepped aside as the first reached him. The man gave Makin a dismissive glance and walked past.

  —If the guard have followed orders, the last door should have been secured when the first one fell, Makin sent.

  The lead Sachakan stopped before the door. Six more Sachakans strode past Makin to join the first. It took one blast to fling the doors off their hinges. The Sachakans stepped out into the sunlight.

  “Welcome to Kyralia,” the leader said, glancing at his companions. Then he turned and regarded the corridor. His eyes snapped to Makin. “You. You’re the one sending this.”

  An invisible force pushed Makin forward. Dannyl felt Makin’s fear, then the magician’s communication abruptly stopped.

  Dannyl blinked and found himself staring at his surroundings again. Peakin staggered to a chair and collapsed into it.

  “It’s true,” he gasped. “Akkarin was right.”

  There was a crackle of paper. Dannyl looked at Davin. The magician was regarding a rolled plan. It was crushed in the middle where he had gripped it tightly. He unrolled it and smoothed the plan out, then let it spring into a half-crumpled roll again.

  Seeing the glitter of tears in the Alchemist’s eyes, Dannyl turned away. The man had worked for years to have his weather-predicting methods accepted. What point was there in building the Lookout now?

  Dannyl stared out of the window. Novices and magicians stood alone or in groups in the gardens below, frozen like statues. Only a few servants were still moving about, looking both puzzled and unnerved by the strange behavior of the magicians.

  Then a new image of the Fort reached those gifted with the ability to see it.

  When Makin’s communication ended, Lorlen found himself gripping the rail of the balcony tightly. His heart was pounding in reaction to the Warrior’s last moment of terror.

  “Administrator?”

  Lorlen turned to regard the King. The man was pale, but his face was stiff with anger and determination.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “Summon Lord Balkan.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Balkan responded to Lorlen’s mental call immediately.

  —The King wants you to come to the Palace.

  —I thought he might. I’m already on my way.

  “He’s coming,” Lorlen said.

  The King nodded. He turned and walked back into the Palace tower. Lorlen followed, then froze as a new image of the Fort flashed into his mind. He felt something sharp against his throat. Forcing his attention back to his real surroundings, he saw that the King’s Advisors had both put their hands to their throats.

  The King glanced at the three of them.

  “What is it?”

  “Lord Makin is still alive,” Lord Rolden replied.

  The King grabbed the magician’s hand and pressed it to his forehead.

  “Show me,” he ordered.

  The image Makin was sending was of the Fort again, but viewed from the outside. A small crowd of plainly dressed Sachakans were hurrying out of the building, some leading the small limek-like animals.

  A voice spoke in Makin’s ear.

  “That’s right. Tell them this. I will—”

  “Kariko! Look what I’ve found,” a woman called.

  This voice came from within the Fort. A Guild magician staggered from the corridor and fell to his knees. Lorlen recognized Lord Fergun with a jolt. Of course, he thought. Fergun was sent away…

  Makin felt surprise, then anger. The attack had happened so fast, he hadn’t noticed the disgraced Warrior’s absence.

  A Sachakan woman in a glittering coat strode out of the building. She stopped beside Fergun and looked toward Makin.

  “Pretty, isn’t he?”

  “You can’t keep him, Avala,” said the voice at Makin’s ear.

  “But he’s weak. I can’t believe they bothered to teach him. He probably can’t even boil water.”

  “No, Avala. He might be weak, but he can send them information.”

  The woman reached down and ran her fingers through Fergun’s hair, then yanked his head backward.

  “I could break his ears. He wouldn’t be able to hear us.”

  “And burn out his pretty eyes, too?”

  She pulled a face. “No. That would spoil him.”

  “Kill him, Avala. You’ll find other pretty men in Imardin.”

  Avala pouted, then shrugged. She pulled out a knife and slashed it across Fergun’s throat. His eyes widened and he tried to pull away, but he was clearly too weak to break her hold. She slapped a hand over the cut and he went limp. After a moment the woman let go and he slumped to the ground.

  She stepped over his body and approached Makin, though her eyes were fixed on the Sachakan behind him.

  “So where next?”

  “Imardin,” Kariko replied. The knife pressed harder against Makin’s throat. “Now listen, magician. Tell your Guild I will see them soon. If they open the gates for me I might let them live. Well, some of them, anyway. I expect a big welcome. Gifts. Slaves. Gold…”

  The knife moved. There was a flash of pain…

  Lorlen gasped as his awareness returned abruptly to his surroundings. We just lost twenty magicians in less than an hour! Twenty of our finest Warriors…

  “Sit down, Administrator.”

  Lorlen looked up at the King. His voice had been unexpectedly kind. He allowed himself to be ushered to a chair. The King and his Advisors took the seats on either side.

  The ruler rubbed his forehead and sighed. “That was not the way I would have chosen to learn that Akkarin’s claims were true.”

  “No,” Lorlen agreed. Memories of the battle still flashed through his thoughts.

  “I must make a choice,” the King continued. “Either I allow one or more magicians to learn black magic, or I ask Akkarin to return and help us. Which would you choose, Administrator?”

  “I would call Akkarin back,” Lorlen replied.

  “Why?”

  “We know he spoke the truth.”

  “Do we?” the King asked quietly. “He may have given us only part of the truth. He could have formed an alliance with these magicians.”

  “Why would he send a message warning of their attack?”

  “To fool us. He said they would attack in a few days, not today.”

  Lorlen nodded. “He might simply have been mistaken.” He leaned forward and met the monarch’s gaze. “I believe Akkarin is honorable. I believe he would leave again after helping us, if we asked him to. Why have one of our own learn black magic, who we could not then justify sending away, when we can call on someone who already has that skill?”

  “Because I don’t trust him.”

  Lorlen felt his shoulders slump. There was no arguing with that.

  “I have put this question to your Heads of Disciplines,” the King said. “They agree with me. Lord Sarrin is my preference, but I will not make that decision for the Guild. Put it to a vote.”

  He rose and walked to the open door of the balcony.

  “There is another, more practical reason for my choice,” he continued. “Akkarin is in Sachaka. He may not be able to reach us in time. Lord Sarrin believes Sonea learned black magic in a week, despite lessons and other activities taking up her time. If a magician dedicates all his or her time to the task, he should learn it faster. I—” A knock at the door interrupted him. “Enter.”

  A boy hurried inside and dropped to one knee.

  “Lord Balkan to see you, Your Majesty.”

  The King nodded and the boy hurried out. Balkan strode in and knelt before the King.

  “At ease.” The King smiled grimly. “A well-timed visit, Lord Balkan.”

  “I thought you might want to speak to me, Your Majesty,” Balkan replied as he stood up. He glanced at Lorlen and nodded politely. “You have heard that the Fort has fallen?”

/>   “Yes,” the King replied. “I have decided that one magician must be allowed to learn black magic. The Guild will nominate candidates and choose one by vote. If the Sachakans draw close to Imardin before the magician you select has learned black magic, the reinforcements you sent to the Fort will engage them.”

  Lorlen stared at the monarch. He was sending those magicians to their deaths. “We need them here, Your Majesty, so that the magician who is chosen can increase his or her strength as quickly as possible.”

  “You will not order them to attack the Sachakans until it is clear we require the delay.” The King turned to Balkan. “Can you suggest any strategy that might otherwise slow or weaken the enemy?”

  The Warrior nodded. “We can take advantage of the city’s defenses. Every obstacle the Sachakans overcome will use up some of their strength.”

  “What of the Guard? Can they be used?”

  Balkan shook his head. “I fear they would be easily turned against us.”

  The King frowned. “How so?”

  “Any non-magician with latent magical ability is a potential source of strength. I recommend keeping all non-magicians well out of the way.”

  “Perhaps I should send them out of Imardin.”

  Balkan paused, then nodded. “If that is possible.”

  The King gave a short laugh. “Once the news spreads that several Sachakan black magicians are about to attack Imardin, the city will empty itself without any urging from me. I will employ the Guard to keep order, and to ensure that any ship leaving the Marina carries a reasonable number of evacuees, then I will send them away. Do you have any other recommendations?”

  Balkan shook his head.

  “Stay with me. I want you to discuss fortification with the Guard.” The King turned to regard Lorlen. “Administrator. Return to the Guild and arrange the selection of a black magician. The sooner he or she begins, the better prepared we will be.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Lorlen rose, knelt, then strode out of the room.

  “What will you do now?”

  Rothen turned to regard Raven. The spy’s expression was grim.

  “I don’t know,” Rothen confessed. “Obviously, I don’t need to enter Sachaka now.”

  “But finding out if the Ichani exist was not your only reason for going. You might still search for Sonea.”

  “Yes.” Rothen looked away to the northeast. “But the Guild…Kyralia…will need every magician it has to fight these Sachakans. Sonea…Sonea might need my help but helping her won’t save Kyralia.”

  Raven watched Rothen silently and expectantly. Rothen felt a pain in his chest, as if his heart were being pulled in two directions.

  The Ichani exist, he thought. Akkarin wasn’t lying. Sonea hasn’t been deceived. He felt a flood of relief, then, knowing that the decisions she had made were for good reasons, even if they weren’t the right ones.

  Sonea is in Sachaka. The Ichani are here. She is safe, perhaps, for now. If I help the Guild, maybe she will have a home to return to.

  “I will stay,” he said aloud. “I will return to Imardin.”

  Raven nodded. “We can trade the cart and the goods in Calia for two fresh horses—if the reinforcements didn’t take them all.”

  The reinforcements. Lord Yikmo and the others would not have reached the Fort yet. They would probably return to Imardin to join the rest of the Guild.

  “I may as well wait in Calia and join the reinforcements on their return,” Rothen said.

  The spy nodded. “Then we will part there. It has been an honor working with you, Lord Rothen.”

  Rothen managed a wan smile. “I have enjoyed your company, and your lessons, Raven.”

  The spy snorted at Rothen’s comment. “You lie well, Lord Rothen.” Then he shrugged. “But then, I trained you. Pity those lessons won’t be put into practice. But now you must do what you have been trained to do as a magician.” He glanced at Rothen. “Defend Kyralia.”

  When the tiny house appeared between the trees, Sonea assumed it was another farmer’s cottage, but as they left the track Dorrien gestured proudly at the building.

  “My home.”

  He reined his horse in before the house. The other riders watched nervously as Akkarin and Sonea dismounted. Sonea led her mount to one of the men.

  “Thanks for the loan,” she offered.

  He gave her a distrustful look before taking the reins. She returned to Akkarin’s side and watched as Dorrien thanked the men and sent them away.

  “They’re worried,” Dorrien said as he returned. “One moment I’m escorting you out, the next there’s a dead Sachakan on the road and I’ve changed my mind about you two.”

  “What did you tell them?” Akkarin asked.

  “That we were attacked and you saved us. That I’ve decided you deserve a night’s rest and a meal in return, and I’d appreciate it if they kept that to themselves.”

  “Will they?”

  “They’re no fools. They know something important is happening, even if they don’t know the details. But they’ll do as I ask.”

  Akkarin nodded. “We are in their debt. If they hadn’t caught the horses and come back for us, we’d still be walking. That took courage.”

  Dorrien nodded. “Go on inside. The door is unlocked. If you’re hungry, there’s some fresh bread and a pot of leftover soup. I’ll be with you once I’ve tended to my horse.”

  Sonea followed Akkarin through the cottage door. They entered a room as wide as the building. A bench and shelves ran along one side. From the baskets of vegetables and fruit, and the pots and utensils scattered about, Sonea guessed this was where he prepared his meals. Several wooden chairs and a large, low table filled the rest of the room. Shelving covered the walls, and every space was filled with jars, bottles, boxes and books.

  Two doors led to other rooms. One was open, allowing a glimpse of an unmade bed.

  As Akkarin moved to the cooking area, Sonea sat down in one of the chairs and gazed about at everything. It’s so messy, she mused. Not like Rothen’s rooms at all.

  She felt strangely calm. The images Makin had sent from the Fort had filled her with horror, but now, hours later, she felt only numb and bone weary. She also felt a peculiar relief.

  They know, she thought. The Guild—Rothen—everyone—knows that we spoke the truth.

  Not that it will do any good, now.

  “Hungry?”

  She looked at Akkarin. “Silly question.”

  He picked up two bowls, poured soup from a pot into them, then broke off two fistfuls of bread from a large loaf on the bench. As he carried the bowls to the table they began to steam.

  “Real food,” Sonea murmured as Akkarin put a bowl in her hands. “Not that I didn’t like your cooking,” she added. “You had somewhat limited ingredients.”

  “Yes, and I don’t have Takan’s gifts.”

  “Even Takan couldn’t have done better.”

  “You’d be surprised. Why do you think Dakova kept him so long?”

  They ate in silence, savoring the simple meal. Dorrien entered the room just as Sonea put down her empty bowl. He glanced at it and smiled.

  “Good?”

  She nodded.

  He collapsed into a chair.

  “You should get some sleep,” Akkarin said.

  “I know,” Dorrien replied, “but I don’t think I can. I have too many questions.” He shook his head. “That magician…how did you get through the Pass if he was guarding it?”

  “A little deception,” Akkarin replied. As he began to explain, Sonea watched him closely. He seemed different. Not as aloof and distant. “I thought Parika had entered Kyralia with the intention of finding us, but once the Fort was attacked I knew it was part of the invasion.”

  “He was so strong.” Dorrien looked at Sonea. “How did you stop him?”

  She felt heat rush to her cheeks. “I stopped his heart. With Healing magic.”

  Dorrien looked surprised. �
��He didn’t resist?”

  “The Ichani don’t know how to Heal, so he didn’t know I could do that to him.” She shuddered. “I didn’t think I’d ever do something like that to someone.”

  “I would have done the same in your place. He was trying to kill you, after all.” He looked at Akkarin. “Was Parika the only Sachakan in the Pass?”

  “Yes. That does not mean others won’t come later, however.”

  “Then I should warn the locals.”

  Akkarin nodded. “The Ichani will prey on non-magicians, particularly those with latent magical potential.” The Healer’s eyes widened. “So they’ll hunt down farmers and villagers all the way from the Fort to Imardin.”

  “If the Guild is sensible, it will evacuate all the villages and farms on the road. Kariko won’t let the other Ichani waste too much time on the journey, however. He will be worried that the Guild will change their mind about me, and allow Sonea and me to return so I can strengthen myself in time to face him.”

  Dorrien paused and stared at Akkarin. He seemed to struggle with himself, then he glanced at Sonea.

  “What will happen if the Guild does not call you back? What can they do?”

  Akkarin shook his head. “Nothing. Even if they do call me back and allow me to use black magic, I don’t have enough time to grow as strong as eight Ichani. If I were High Lord now, I would have the Guild leave Imardin. I would teach black magic to a selected few, then return and take Kyralia back.”

  Dorrien stared at him in horror. “Abandon Kyralia?”

  “Yes.”

  “There must be another way.”

  Akkarin shook his head.

  “But you came back. Why would you do that, if you did not intend to fight?”

  Akkarin smiled wanly. “I don’t expect to win.”

  Dorrien’s eyes shifted to Sonea. She could almost hear him thinking: And you are in this, too?

  “What will you do?” he asked quietly.

  Akkarin frowned. “I haven’t decided. I had hoped to return to Imardin in secret and wait for the Guild to call me.”

  “We can still do that,” Sonea interjected.

  “We have no horses and no money. Without them, we cannot reach Imardin before the Ichani.”