Black Magician 03 - The High Lord

by Trudi Canavan

  Akkarin stilled. Sensing that something had caught his at­tention, she squinted at him, but he was a dark shape against the brightness. Instinctively, she sought him with her mind instead. At once she saw an image.

  A face, framed by hair shining in the morning sunlight.

  Eyes... so dark... and pale, perfect skin ...

  It was her own face, but it was unlike any reflection she had seen in a mirror. Her eyes held a mysterious shine, her hair seemed to ripple as if moving in a breeze, and her lips surely did not curve so invitingly . . .

  He snatched his hand away and took a step back.

  This is how he sees me, she thought suddenly. There was no mistaking the desire she had sensed. She felt her own heart racing. All this time, I resisted because I thought it was just me, she thought. And so has he.

  She took a step toward him, then another. He watched her intently, frowning. She willed him to see beyond her eyes, to sense her own thoughts, and that she knew his. His eyes widened with surprise as she stepped very close. She felt his hands encircle her arms, then tighten as she rose up on the balls of her feet, and kissed him.

  He went very still. Leaning against him, she felt his heart beating quickly. His eyes closed, then he pulled away.

  "Stop. Stop this," he breathed. He opened his eyes and stared at her intently.

  Despite the words, his hands still held her arms tightly as if reluctant to let go of her. Sonea searched his face. Had she read him wrong? No, she was sure of what she had sensed.

  "Why?"

  He frowned. "This is wrong."

  "Wrong?" she heard herself ask. "How? We both feel. . . feel.. ."

  "Yes," he said softly. He looked away. "But there is more to consider."

  "Like?"

  Akkarin released her arms and took a step back. "It would not be fair—to you."

  Sonea considered him carefully. "Me? But—"

  "You're young. I am twelve—no, thirteen—years older than you."

  Suddenly his hesitation made sense. "That is true," she answered carefully. "But women in the Houses are matched with older men all the time. Much older men. Some when they're as young as sixteen. I'm nearly twenty."

  Akkarin seemed to struggle with himself. "I am your guardian," he reminded her sternly.

  She could not help smiling. "Not any more."

  "But if we return to the Guild—"

  "Will we cause a scandal?" She chuckled. "I think they're getting used to that." She hoped he would smile at that, but he only frowned. She sobered. "You speak as if we'll go back and everything will be the same again. Even if we re­turn, nothing will ever be as it was for us. I am a black ma­gician. So are you."

  He winced. "I am sorry. I should never have—"

  "Don't apologize for that," she exclaimed. "I chose to learn black magic. And I didn't do it for you."

  Akkarin regarded her silently.

  She sighed and turned away. "Well, this is going to make things awkward."

  "Sonea."

  She looked back and stilled as he stepped closer. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She felt her pulse quicken at the touch.

  "Either of us could die in the next few weeks," he said quietly.

  She nodded. "I know."

  "I'd be happier knowing you were safe."

  Sonea narrowed her eyes at him. He smiled.

  "No, I will not start that argument again, but. . . you test my loyalties, Sonea."

  She frowned, not understanding. "How?"

  He reached out and ran a finger across her brow. "It doesn't matter." The corner of his mouth curled upward. "It's too late, anyway. I started to fail that test the night you killed the Ichani."

  She blinked in surprise. Did that mean . . . ? for that long...?

  He smiled. She felt his hands slip around her waist. As he pulled her closer, she decided her questions could wait. She reached up and traced the curl in his lips with the tip of her finger. Then he leaned forward and his mouth met hers, and all questions were forgotten.

  25

  A Chance Encounter

  Gorin, Rothen had discovered, were fnistratingly slow walk­ers. The enormous beasts were the favorite of merchants, however. They were strong, docile and easy to handle and direct and much more resilient than horses.

  But they were impossible to hurry. Rothen sighed and glanced back at Raven, but the spy was dozing among the sacks of cloth in the cart, a wide-brimmed hat covering his face. Rothen allowed himself a smile and turned his atten­tion back to the road. The previous night, they had hired rooms above a bolhouse in a town called Coldbridge. The spy, posing as Rothen's cousin, had drunk more bol than anyone ought to be able to, then spent the night swaying from his bed to the piss drain and back again.

  Which probably meant Raven was doing a much better job at playing the part of intrepid merchant than Rothen was. Or am I supposed to be the sensible older cousin?

  Rothen adjusted his shirt. The closely fitting garment was much less comfortable than robes. He was grateful for his traveller's hat, however. Though it was early morning, the day was promising to be a hot one.

  A haze of dust hung in the air over the road and blurred the horizon. No mountains had appeared in the distance, though he had been travelling for two days. Rothen knew that the road ran near-straight to Calia, where it split into two. Turn left and it took you north to the Fort; turn right and you headed northeast to the South Pass. That was where he and Raven were headed.

  It seemed strange to be travelling northeast to a southern pass, Rothen mused. The route was probably named for its location in the mountains, not for its general position in Kyralia. He had come close to it once, while visiting his son during the summer break five years ago.

  He frowned as he thought of Dorrien. His son was watch­ing the road to the Pass, and a meeting was inevitable. Rothen would have to explain where he was going, and why, and Dorrien wasn't going to like it.

  He will probably try to join us. Rothen snorted quietly. That's an argument I'm not looking forward to.

  It would be several days before he faced his son, however. Raven had said it took six or seven days to reach the South Pass by cart. By then Sonea will have been in Sachaka for fifteen days, Rothen thought. If she stays alive that long.

  He had been relieved to hear from Lorlen that Akkarin had contacted the Higher Magicians, now five days ago. Sonea had been alive. Lorlen had also described an

  overheard discussion between two Sachakans that disturbed Rothen greatly. Whether the strangers were Ichani or not, they clearly wanted Akkarin and Sonea dead.

  "They called them 'the Kyralians,' " Lorlen had said. "I hope this doesn't mean they'll treat all Kyralians entering Sachaka the same way. Kyralian merchants have been mak­ing the journey to and from Arvice safely for years, though, and say they see no reason why that might have changed re­cently. Just be careful."

  "Someone's approaching," Raven said. "From behind us."

  Rothen glanced at the spy. The man shifted slightly, and one eye appeared beneath the brim of his hat. Looking down the road, Rothen realized that he could see movement be­yond the dust stirred up by their passing. Horses and riders emerged from the cloud, and Rothen felt his pulse quicken.

  "Magicians," he said. "Balkan's reinforcements for the Fort."

  "Better move to one side of the road," Raven advised. "And keep your head down. You don't want them recogniz­ing you."

  Rothen pulled gently on the reins. The gorin tossed their

  heads halfheartedly, and slowly moved to the left side of the road. The sound of drumming hoof beats drew nearer.

  "Feel free to gawk, though," Raven added. "They'll ex­pect that."

  The spy was sitting up now. Rothen turned and peered under the rim of his hat at the approaching magicians. The first to pass the cart was Lord Yikmo, the Warrior who had been Sonea's special tutor last year. The magician did not even glance at Rothen and Raven as he passed.

  The other magicians thunde
red by, kicking up a dense cloud of dust in their wake. Raven coughed and waved a hand.

  "Twenty-two," he said, climbing onto the seat beside Rothen. "That'll double what's at the Fort. Is the Guild send­ing magicians to the South Pass?"

  "I don't know."

  "Good."

  Rothen looked at Raven, amused.

  "The less you know, the less an Ichani can learn from you," the spy said.

  Rothen nodded. "I do know that the South Pass is being watched. If the Ichani enter there, the Guild will be alerted. Those at the Fort should have time enough to ride back to Imardin and join the Guild. The distance is about the same, from either pass."

  "Hmmm." Raven clucked his tongue, as he had a habit of doing when he was thinking hard. "If I were these Ichani, I would use the South Pass. There are no magicians there, and no Fort, so they can enter without using any power in fight­ing. That doesn't bode well for us, I'm afraid. Though . . ." He frowned. "These Ichani do not know how to fight as one. If the entire Guild faces them, it may be able to kill one or two. If the Guild is split, however, there is no danger of that. The Fort may be the better option."

  Rothen shrugged and turned his attention to guiding the gorin back from the side of the road. Raven spent a little time in thoughtful silence.

  "Of course, the Ichani may be an invention of the former High Lord," he said eventually, "created simply to convince

  the Guild to let him live. And your former novice believed him."

  Seeing his companion's sidelong look, Rothen scowled. "So you keep reminding me."

  "If we are to work effectively together, I need to know what is between you and Sonea, and her companion," Raven said. His tone was respectful but also determined. "I know it is not simple loyalty to the Guild that motivated you to vol­unteer for this mission."

  "No." Rothen sighed. Raven would keep prying until he was satisfied he had all the information he could get. "She means more to me than just another novice. I took her from the slums and tried to teach her how to fit in."

  "But she didn't."

  "No."

  "Then Akkarin took her hostage, and you couldn't do anything about it. Now you can."

  "Maybe. It would be nice if I could just slip into Sachaka and take her back." Rothen glanced at the spy. "Somehow I don't think it's going to be as easy as that."

  Raven chuckled. "It never is. Do you think Sonea might be in love with Akkarin?"

  Rothen felt a flash of anger. "No. She hated him."

  "Enough to learn forbidden magic and follow him into exile, to ensure he survived long enough for, as she put it, the Guild to come to its senses?"

  Taking a deep breath, Rothen pushed away a nagging fear. "If she believes these Ichani exist, it would have been easy for him to convince her to do all those things for the sake of the Guild."

  "Why would he, if the Ichani weren't real?"

  "So she would follow him. He needs her."

  "What for?"

  "Her strength."

  "Why teach her black magic, then? That gained him nothing."

  "I don't know. She said she asked him to. Perhaps he could not refuse without losing her support."

  "So now she's potentially as powerful as he. If she dis-

  covered he was lying, why wouldn't she return to Imardin, or at least tell the Guild?"

  Rothen closed his eyes. "Because . . . just because . . ."

  "I know this is distressing," Raven said in a low voice, "but we must examine all the possible motivations and con­sequences before we meet them."

  "I know." Rothen considered the question, then grimaced. "Just because she has learned black magic, doesn't mean she is powerful. Black magicians grow stronger by taking en­ergy from others. If she hasn't had the opportunity to do that, Akkarin may be much more powerful than her. He may also be keeping her weaker by taking all her strength from her each day—and he may have threatened to kill her if she communicates with the Guild."

  "I see." Raven frowned. "That doesn't bode well for us ei­ther."

  "No."

  "I hate to say it, but I am hoping we find your novice in such a situation. The alternative is much worse, for Kyralia." He clucked his tongue. "Now, tell me about your son."

  As Akkarin stopped, Sonea breathed a sigh of relief. Though she had grown used to the long days of walking, every rest was welcome. The morning sun was warm and made her feel sleepy.

  Akkarin stood at the top of a short slope, waiting as she trudged up to meet him. Reaching the top, Sonea saw that their way was blocked by another crevasse. This one was broad and shallow. Looking down, she caught her breath.

  A ribbon of blue ran down the middle. Water rushed around boulders and cascaded down short drops in the ravine floor before running away toward the wasteland. Trees and other vegetation crowded the banks of this little river, and in places extended out to the rock walls on either side.

  'The Krikara River," Akkarin murmured. "If we follow it, we will reach the road to the South Pass."

  He looked at the mountains. Sonea followed his gaze and noted how the gap between the peaks on either side of the

  ravine was much wider than the rest. She felt a twinge of ex­citement and longing. Kyralia lay beyond that gap.

  "How far to the Pass?"

  "It is a long day's walk." He frowned. "We should get as close as possible to the road, then wait until darkness." He looked down at the ravine. "Though Parika must be at least a day's travel behind us now, his slaves will be there, watch­ing it for him."

  He rose, then turned to face her. Guessing what he in­tended to do, she grasped his hands.

  "Let me do it," she said, smiling.

  Drawing magic to her will, she created a disk beneath their feet, then lifted them up and over the lip of the ravine. She lowered them down between the trees and they landed on a patch of grass.

  Looking up, she found Akkarin regarding her closely.

  "What are you looking at me like that for?"

  He smiled. "No reason." He turned away and started walking along the river. Sonea shook her head and followed.

  After so long walking in the dry slopes of the mountains, the sight of so much clean running water and vegetation lifted her spirits. She imagined rain falling high up, gather­ing into streamlets and then streams, all joining to form the river that flowed through this ravine. Glancing behind, she wondered where it ended. Did it continue though the dry wasteland below?

  The trees and undergrowth made travelling a little harder, however. Akkarin moved to the shadows by one wall, so they could avoid the vegetation as much as possible. After an hour, they encountered a thick forest that seemed to stretch from one side of the ravine to the other, blocking the river from view. In single file, they pushed their way through un­dergrowth, and as they walked on, the sound of water splash­ing over stone grew ever louder. When they emerged into the sunlight again, they found their way blocked by a wide pool.

  Sonea drew in a breath. Above them stood a rock wall over which the river fell in wide sheets of water to fill the pool below. The sound of it was deafening after the silence of the mountain slopes. She turned to Akkarin.

  "Can we stop?" she asked eagerly. "We can stop, can't we? I haven't had a real bath for weeks."

  Akkarin smiled. "I guess a short stop won't hurt."

  She grinned at him, then sat on a nearby rock and pulled off her boots. As she stepped into the shallows of the pool, she let out a gasp.

  "It's freezing!"

  She focused her mind and sent heat out into the water. Her ankles began to warm. Moving slowly, she waded deeper. She found that she could keep the water around her com­fortably heated if she did not move too abruptly and stir up eddies of cold.

  As her trousers soaked up the water, they grew heavier. She could see that the pool was much deeper at the middle. When the water was just past knee-deep, she stopped and sat down, immersing herself to the neck.

  The rock floor was a little slimy, but she didn't care. Lean
ing back, she slowly let her head fall beneath the surface. As she came up for air, she heard a sloshing nearby. She turned to see Akkarin wading into the water. He stared intently at the pool, then suddenly dived under the surface. A splash of icy cold water engulfed her, and she cursed.

  She watched him glide under the water. When he sur­faced, his long hair was plastered to his face. He flicked it back and turned to regard her.

  "Come here."

  She could see his feet kicking beneath the water. The pool was deep. She shook her head.

  "I can't swim."

  He glided a little closer, then rolled onto his back. "My family used to spend every summer by the sea," he told her. "We swam nearly every day."

  Sonea tried to picture him as a boy, swimming in the ocean, and failed. "I lived near the river a few times, but no­body swims in that."

  Akkarin chuckled. "Not willingly, anyway."

  He turned over again and swam toward the waterfall. As he reached it, his shoulders rose out of the water and he

  stood regarding the fall. He ran a hand through the curtain of water, then stepped through it.

  A faint shadow of him was visible for a moment, then nothing. She waited for him to return. After several minutes she grew curious. What had he found behind there?

  She stood up and made her way around the pool. It was little more than ankle deep at first, then grew steadily deeper as she neared the waterfall. By the time she had reached the beginning of the curtain, the pool was past waist deep, but she could feel that the rock slope angled upward under the fall.

  She ran a hand through the falling water. It was heavy and cold. Bracing herself, she moved through the curtain and felt her knees meet rock.

  A ledge had formed behind the fall, at about shoulder height. Akkarin was sitting in it, his back against the wall and his legs crossed. He smiled at Sonea.

  "It's quite private in here, if a bit cramped."

  "And noisy," she added.

  Hoisting herself up onto the ledge, she turned and put her back to the wall. The greens and blues of the outside world colored the curtain of water.

  "It's beautiful," she said.

  "Yes."

  She felt fingers curl around her hand and looked down.

  "You're cold," he said.