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

by Trudi Canavan

  “There’s another tunnel close to the Guild wall,” the Guide told them.

  Akkarin looked up. “The gap in the wall is almost above us.”

  “That would be faster,” the guide said, shrugging. “But you may be seen.”

  “The Guild and Ichani are outside the Palace. To anyone else, we will look like two more ordinary Imardians escaping the city. Take us to an exit as close to the wall as possible.”

  The guide nodded and led them away. After a few turns, he stopped at a ladder bolted to a wall and pointed up at a hatch.

  “That’ll put you in a storeroom. There’s a door to an alley.” He gave them instructions on finding an entrance to the passages on the other side of the wall. “You’ll find guides there. They know the North Quarter better than me.”

  Akkarin began to climb. Following him, Sonea found herself in a large room filled with foodstuffs. They pushed through a door into a narrow, dead-end alley. Akkarin glided forward and stopped at the entrance. Drawing alongside, Sonea saw that they were on the other side of the road that followed the Inner Wall. Her heart sank as she took in the ruins.

  A gust of wind chased away the dust and she saw familiar colors among the rubble. As she looked closer, she realized they were the robes of magicians.

  “The way is clear,” Akkarin murmured. As they moved out of the ally, she took a step toward the magicians, and felt Akkarin’s hand on her arm.

  “They’re dead, Sonea,” he murmured gently. “The Guild would not have left them, otherwise.”

  “I know,” she said. “I just want to know who they are.”

  “Not yet. There will be time for that later.”

  Akkarin drew her toward the gap in the wall. Rubble covered the ground, forcing them to slow as they neared the gap. They had just reached the base of the fallen gates when he stopped. Sonea looked at him, and felt a stab of alarm. His face had turned white, and he was staring at a point somewhere far below the ground.

  “What is it?”

  “Lorlen.” He turned abruptly to face the Inner Circle. “I have to find him. Go on ahead. Find this Ichani, but do nothing until I arrive.”

  “But—”

  “Go,” he said, turning to fix her with a cold stare. “I must do this alone.”

  “Do what?”

  “Just do as I say, Sonea.”

  She could not help feeling a pang of hurt and anger at the impatience in his tone. This was not a good time for him to be mysterious and secretive with her. If they parted, how would they find each other again? Then she remembered the ring.

  “Should I put on your blood ring now? You said we should wear them if we’re separated.”

  A look of alarm crossed his face, then his expression softened. “Yes,” he said, “but I will not put yours on yet. I would not show you what I fear I may see in the next hour.”

  She stared back at him. What would happen that he didn’t want her to see? Did it have something to do with Lorlen?

  “I must go,” he said. She nodded, then watched him stride away.

  After he had disappeared, she hurried into the North Quarter. Reaching the shadows of an alley, she took his ring out of her pocket and considered it. His warning from the previous night repeated in her mind.

  “Sometimes, hearing and knowing exactly how another person regards you can be an unpleasant experience. It can end friendships, turn love to resentment…”

  But they had to be able to contact each other when apart. She pushed aside her doubts and slipped the ring onto her finger. No feeling of his presence appeared at the edge of her thoughts. She searched, but sensed nothing. Perhaps it wasn’t working.

  No, she thought, the maker controls how much the wearer senses. But the maker couldn’t stop sensing the wearer’s thoughts and experiences. That meant Akkarin was attuned to her every thought now.

  Hello? she thought.

  No answer came. She smiled and shrugged. Whatever he was doing, he wouldn’t want her distracting him—and the last thing she wanted to do was divert his attention when he most needed to concentrate.

  She followed the guide’s directions and found the passage entrance easily. To her surprise, Faren was waiting inside. His second, the silent man who had watched her approach the Thief only a day before, stood beside him.

  “The Guild have killed an Ichani,” Faren told her excitedly. “I thought I’d tell you myself.”

  She smiled and felt her mood lighten a little. “Now that’s good news. What about the rest of the Ichani?”

  “The woman is roaming about on her own. The one with the slaves was still in Northside at the last report. I expect the rest are heading for the Palace. Where’s your constant companion?”

  She frowned. “Had to sort something out on his own. I’m to find the Ichani with the slaves, then sit.”

  Faren grinned. “Then let’s go find him.”

  After a short trip, they emerged in an alleyway. He led her to a high stack of boxes and stepped through a narrow gap. At the center was a cramped space. He crouched and rapped on something metallic.

  Sonea smothered a groan as a hatch opened and an unpleasant smell wafted out.

  “The sewers again.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Faren replied. “They’re the most direct route out of the city.”

  They descended into the murky darkness. A man with a wide face stood by the ladder, a lamp in one hand and another casting a pool of light around his feet. The Thief took the lamp and started along the ledge that ran down one side of the tunnel. They passed several hatch guards. At one point, Faren told her that they had just passed under the Outer Wall. When they climbed out of the sewer, she found herself in a familiar part of the slums. Faren quickly led her back through a grate in a wall to the Thieves’ Road.

  A boy waiting inside informed them that the lone Ichani and the slaves were now only a few streets away.

  “They’re headed for the main road,” the boy said.

  “Tell everyone to be ready, then report back.”

  The boy nodded, then hurried away.

  After a short journey, they ascended into a house and climbed up a rickety staircase to the second floor. Faren led her to a window. Looking out, Sonea saw that the Sachakan slaves were standing in the street below. The Ichani was watching as two emerged from a bakery carrying trays of rolls. Several of the limek-like animals were fighting over a reber carcass. The carts were nowhere to be seen.

  The boy from the Road entered the room. His eyes were bright with excitement.

  “Everything’s ready,” he announced.

  Sonea looked at Faren questioningly. “For what?”

  “We set up a few traps for the Sachakans,” Faren explained. “It was Cery’s idea.”

  She smiled. “Of course. What’s the plan?”

  He moved to a side window. Below, a small walled courtyard backed onto a narrow alleyway. Two heavily built men held a long metal pole with a sharpened point to the wall. They glanced up at the window anxiously. Faren gave them the signal for “wait.”

  “Another two are on the other side of the alley,” Faren told her. “There’s a hole in each wall, filled with false mortar. One of our fake magicians will lure the Ichani into the alley. When he reaches the right place, the men will skewer him.”

  Sonea stared at him in disbelief. “That’s your plan? It will never work. The Ichani’s shield will protect him.”

  “Maybe he’ll get lazy, and think the walls are enough protection.”

  “Maybe,” she said, “but there’s only a slim chance he will. You’re taking a terrible risk.”

  “Do you think our helpers don’t know that?” Faren said quietly. “They know there’s a good chance it won’t work. They’re just as determined to fight these Sachakans as you are.”

  She sighed. Of course the dwells wanted to fight, even if it meant taking enormous risks. “Well, if it doesn’t work, I should be down there to—”

  “Too late,” Faren’s second said. �
�Look.”

  Moving to the street-side window, Sonea saw that the Ichani and his slaves were approaching. A group of youths ran out in front of them from the other side of the street and began throwing stones. As the Ichani stepped toward them, Sonea heard a muffled shout and saw a robed man walk out into the street from somewhere directly below her. He strode toward the Ichani, then stopped at the alley entrance. As the Ichani saw the fake magician, he smiled.

  A strike flashed through the air. The fake magician dodged, narrowly avoiding it. He dashed into the alley.

  Sonea hurried to the side window. The two men with the spear were poised and ready. Surely it wouldn’t work…but if it did…She felt a stab of alarm as she realized what would happen.

  “Faren, I have to get down there.”

  “There’s not enough time,” he told her. “Watch.”

  The Ichani strode into the alley. The robed man had stopped. Sonea could see the faint flare of a barrier blocking his path. When the Ichani was a step away from the hidden men, the fake magician yelled something. The spears burst through the wall…

  …and sank deep into the Ichani’s body. The Sachakan yelled in surprise and pain.

  “It worked!” Faren crowed. Sonea heard similar triumphant cries from outside, muffled through the window. She shuddered in sympathy as she saw the agony in the Ichani’s face. As he began to sag against the spears, she knew she would never have time to get to him before he died.

  Nevertheless, she smashed the window and yelled at the men below.

  “Get away from him!”

  They stared up at her in surprise.

  Then everything went white.

  She threw a shield around herself, Faren and his second. A moment later, the wall of the room exploded inward. Searing heat radiated through her shield, forcing her to strengthen it further. She felt the floor tilt and drop away, and the sensation of falling. As she landed, she tumbled to her knees.

  Then the released magic of the dead Ichani abruptly ended. She found she was crouched on top of a pile of bricks and smoking wood. Standing up, she saw she was surrounded by a circle of ruins.

  Everything for a hundred paces in any direction was now charred, smoking rubble. Sonea looked toward the alley, but there was no sign of the men who had wielded the spears. She felt a terrible sadness. I could have saved them, had I known what they’d planned.

  Faren and his second climbed to their feet. They stared at the destruction around them in dismay.

  “Cery said something like this might happen,” Faren said. “He said everyone should get away as quick as they could. He didn’t say it would reach this far.”

  “What happened?” his second asked in a small voice.

  Sonea tried to speak, but her throat was too tight. She swallowed and tried again. “What always happens when a magician dies,” she managed. “Any magic he or she has left is released.”

  He looked at her with wide eyes. “Will…will that happen to you, too?”

  “I’m afraid so. Unless I’m exhausted, or the Ichani take all my power.”

  “Oh.” The man shivered and looked away.

  “We were lucky you were here,” Faren said quietly. “If you hadn’t been, we’d be like those slaves down there.”

  Sonea followed his gaze to the street. Several dark shapes lay on the ground. She shuddered. At least their deaths had been quick.

  Faren chuckled. “Well, we don’t have to figure out what to do with them now, do we?”

  “Help me!”

  Dannyl looked up, startled out of his daze by the plea. Lord Osen was standing within a gaping hole in the side of a house. He was covered in dust, and his face was streaked with tears.

  “Lorlen is buried,” Osen gasped. “Do either of you have any strength left?”

  Dannyl glanced at Farand, then shook his head.

  “Then…then at least help me dig him out.”

  They followed Osen into the house. A huge mound of rubble filled the inside. Light streamed down through dust. Looking up, Dannyl saw that the floor above, and the roof, were missing.

  “He’s here, I think,” Osen said, stopping near the half buried front door. He dropped to his knees and began digging with his bare hands.

  Dannyl and Farand joined him. There was nothing else they could do. They tossed rubble aside, but their progress was slow. Dannyl cut himself as he encountered shards of broken glass in the dust. He was just beginning to wonder how anyone could have survived being this thoroughly buried, when the whole mound suddenly shifted. Bricks, wooden beams and shattered glass began to roll back toward the far wall of the house.

  Osen shook his head as if to clear it, then looked around the room. His eyes snapped to a point somewhere behind Dannyl, then widened.

  Twisting around, Dannyl saw that a figure stood within the hole in the side wall of the house, silhouetted against the bright light outside. He could see that the man wore plain clothes, but the stranger’s face was hidden in shadow.

  The sound of shifting rubble dwindled to silence.

  “You came back.”

  This voice was familiar but weak. Dannyl turned back and felt his heart fill with hope as he saw that Lorlen had been uncovered. The Administrator’s robes were covered in dust. His face was bruised, but his eyes were bright.

  “Yes. I came back.”

  Dannyl sucked in a breath as he recognized the voice. He turned to stare at Akkarin. The exiled magician moved into the room.

  “No!” Lorlen said. “Don’t come…any closer.”

  Akkarin stopped. “You are dying, Lorlen.”

  “I know.” Lorlen’s breathing was labored. “I won’t…I won’t have you waste your power on me.”

  Akkarin took another step. “But it—”

  “Stop. Or I’ll be dead before you reach me,” Lorlen gasped. “Just a little power left, keeping me conscious. All I have to do is use it up faster.”

  “Lorlen,” Akkarin said. “It would only take a little magic. Just enough to keep you alive until—”

  “Until the Ichani come to finish me off.” Lorlen’s eyes closed. “I was a Healer, remember. I know what it would take to fix me. Too much magic. You will need everything to stop them.” He opened his eyes and stared at Akkarin. “I understand why you did it. Why you lied to me. Kyralia’s safety was more important than our friendship. It still is. I only want to know one thing. Why didn’t you answer when I called you?”

  “I couldn’t,” Akkarin said. “If the Guild knew I was here, the Ichani would read it from the mind of their first victim. They would stay together. Alone, they are vulnerable.”

  “Ah,” Lorlen smiled faintly. “I see.”

  His eyes closed again. Akkarin took another step toward his friend. Lorlen’s eyes fluttered open.

  “No, you don’t,” he whispered. “Stay there. Tell me…tell me about Sonea.”

  “She is alive,” Akkarin said. “She is…”

  Though Akkarin did not finish the sentence, Lorlen’s mouth twitched into a crooked smile.

  “Good,” he said.

  Then his face relaxed and he let out a long sigh. Akkarin hurried forward and dropped into a crouch. He touched Lorlen’s forehead and an expression of pain crossed his face. Taking Lorlen’s hand, he bowed his head, then removed a ring.

  “Lord Osen,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “You, Ambassador Dannyl and…” he glanced at Farand, “his companion must not tell anyone I am here. If the Ichani discover that Sonea and I are here, any chance we have of defeating them will be lost. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Osen said quietly.

  “All but one Ichani are in the Palace. Get out of the city while you still can.”

  Akkarin rose and turned away in one abrupt movement. He moved to the hole in the wall. For a moment, before he strode outside, Dannyl caught a glimpse of his face. Though his expression was hard and set, his eyes glittered brightly in the sunlight.

  Several hundred pace
s from the outskirts of the slums, Rothen left the road. He could see the gaping hole where the Northern Gates had been. Through it, he had seen the wider gap in the Inner Wall.

  He didn’t need to enter the city that way, however. There was always the gap in the Outer Wall around the Guild grounds.

  He wondered, then, why the Ichani had chosen to waste their power on destroying the city gates. They must have learned about the breach in the Outer Wall from the minds of the magicians they had caught and killed at the Fort and in Calia. Perhaps they had wanted to demonstrate their superior strength to the Guild. And maybe they intended to replace the magic they had lost by preying on ordinary Imardians.

  Either way, they must feel sure that their strength, or their ability to replace it, would win them Kyralia. As Rothen urged his horse toward the forested hill behind the grounds, he felt a growing dread. Would he arrive too late? Would he find the Guild destroyed and Ichani waiting? He must approach the grounds carefully.

  He let the horse slow as she reached the first trees. The forest grew rapidly denser, until he was forced to dismount and lead her. An image flashed before his eyes. Not again…

  He kept walking as the experience of death overlaid his surroundings. This time it was a Palace guard. When the vision faded to nothing, Rothen sighed with relief.

  How many has it been? he thought. Twenty? Thirty?

  The slope grew steeper. He stumbled through low vegetation, over logs, rocks and holes. Reaching a bare stretch of ground, he looked up and saw glimpses of white through the trees ahead.

  At the sight of the buildings, relief and happiness rushed over him. He hurried forward until he stood at the edge of the forest. Dozens of small houses filled a clearing below. It was like a tiny village.

  A deserted village, he amended. Though Rothen had lived only a few hundred paces from this place, he had only seen it once before, as a novice. The collection of houses was known as the Servants’ Quarters.

  He started walking down to the buildings. As he did, a door opened. A man in a servant uniform hurried forward to meet him.

  “My lord,” the man said, sketching a quick bow. “How goes the battle?”

  “I don’t know,” Rothen replied. “I just arrived. Why are you still here?”