Black Magician 03 - The High Lord

by Trudi Canavan

  "She explained to me that the slaves considered it an honor to serve a magician. She said the slaves' sense of honor made their life easier to bear. I could understand that they might allow themselves to think that way when they had no choice, but not when they did have a choice—or when they knew their master intended to kill them."

  Sonea thought of Takan, of how he had called Akkarin "master," and of the peculiar way he had handed the Ichani knife to Akkarin across his upturned wrists, as if he was of­fering something more than the blade. Perhaps he was.

  "Takan has never stopped thinking that way, has he?" she asked quietly.

  Akkarin glanced at her. "No," he said. "He could not let go of a lifetime of habits." He paused to chuckle. "I think in the last few years he persisted with the rituals just to infuri­ate me. I know he would never go back to that life willingly."

  "Yet he stayed with you, and would not let you teach him magic."

  "No, but there were practical reasons for that. Takan could not join the Guild. Too many questions would have been asked. Even if we invented a past for him, it would have been difficult for him to avoid those lessons that in­volve mind sharing. It would have been too risky to teach him magic secretly. If he had returned to Sachaka, he would not have survived unless he knew black magic. I don't think he trusted himself with that knowledge, in that place. In Sachaka, there are only masters and slaves. To survive as a master, he would need his own slaves."

  Sonea shuddered. "It sounds like an evil place."

  Akkarin shrugged. "Not every master is cruel. The Ichani are outcasts. They are the magicians the King has banished from the city—and not just for being overly ambitious."

  "How did the King make them leave?"

  "His own powers are considerable, and he has support­ers."

  "The Sachakan King is a magician!"

  "Yes." Akkarin smiled. "Only the Allied Lands have laws preventing magicians from ruling, or having too much influ­ence in politics."

  "Does our King know this?"

  "Yes, though he does not understand how powerful the Sachakan magicians are. Well, he does now."

  "What does the Sachakan King think of the Ichani invad­ing Kyralia?"

  Akkarin frowned. "I don't know. If he knew of Kariko's plan, he would not have liked it, but he probably believed it would never work. The Ichani were always too busy fighting each other to think of forming an alliance. It will be inter­esting to see what the Sachakan King will do when he has a neighboring land ruled by Ichani."

  "He'll help us?"

  "Oh, no." Akkarin laughed grimly. "You forget how much Sachakans hate the Guild."

  "Because of the war? But that was so long ago."

  "To the Guild it is. The Sachakans cannot forget, not with half their country a wasteland." Akkarin shook his head. "The Guild should never have ignored Sachaka after it had won the war."

  "What should it have done?"

  Akkarin turned his head and gazed at the mountains. Sonea followed his eyes. Only a few days before, they had been on the other side of that jagged line.

  "It was a war between magicians," Akkarin murmured. "There is never any point in sending armies of non-magicians against magicians, especially magicians who use black magic. Sachaka was conquered by Kyralian magicians, who promptly returned to their rich homes. They knew the Sachakan empire would eventually recover and become a danger again; so they created the wasteland to keep the country poor. If some of the Guild magicians had taken up residence in Sachaka instead, freed the slaves and shown that magicians can use their pow­ers to help the people, the Sachakans might have been guided toward becoming a more peaceful, free society, and we might not be facing this situation today."

  "I see," Sonea said slowly, "but I can also see why it never happened. Why would the Guild help ordinary Sachakans when they don't help ordinary Kyralians?"

  Akkarin regarded her speculatively. "Some do. Dorrien, for instance."

  Sonea held his gaze. "Dorrien is an exception. The Guild could do a lot more."

  "We can't do anything if nobody volunteers to do it."

  "Of course you can."

  "Would you force magicians to work against their will?"

  "Yes."

  His eyebrows rose. "I doubt they would cooperate."

  "Perhaps their income should be reduced if they don't."

  Akkarin smiled. "They would feel they were being treated like servants. No one will want their children to join the Guild if it means they must work like commoners."

  "No one from the Houses," Sonea corrected him.

  Akkarin blinked, then chuckled. "I knew you'd be a dis­ruptive influence the moment the Guild proposed teaching you. They ought to be grateful I took you away."

  She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped as she real­ized Dorrien was approaching. He was riding a new horse and was leading two others.

  "They're not the best," he said, handing them the reins, "but they'll have to do. Magicians all over the country are hurrying to Imardin, so the supply of fresh horses at rest-houses is dwindling fast."

  Akkarin nodded grimly. "Then we must hurry or the sup­ply will run out." He moved around to the side of a horse and swung up into the saddle. Sonea hauled herself up onto the other horse. As she slipped her other boot into the stirrup, she watched Akkarin closely. He had called her a disruptive influence, but that didn't mean he disapproved. He might even agree with her.

  Did it matter? In a few days there might not be a Guild, and the poor would discover there were worse things to en­dure than the Purge.

  Sonea shivered and pushed that thought from her mind.

  The corridor of the Magicians' Quarters was almost as busy as the University at midbreak, Dannyl mused. He walked with Yaldin past knots of magicians, their wives, husbands and children. All were discussing the Meet.

  As Yaldin reached the door to his rooms, the old magician looked up at him and sighed.

  "Come in for a cup of sumi?" he asked.

  Dannyl nodded. "If Ezrille doesn't mind."

  Yaldin chuckled. "She likes to tell people I'm in charge, but you and I—and Rothen—know better."

  He opened the door and ushered Dannyl into his

  guestroom. Ezrille was sitting in one of the chairs, dressed in a gown of shimmering blue material.

  "That was a quick Meet," she said, frowning.

  "Yes," Dannyl replied. "You are looking beautiful today, Ezrille."

  She smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling. "You should come home more often, Dannyl." Then she shook her head. "With manners like yours, I'm amazed you still haven't found yourself a wife. Sumi?"

  "Yes, please."

  She rose and busied herself with cups and water. Dannyl and Yaldin sat down. The old magician's brow furrowed.

  "I can't believe they've decided to allow black magic."

  Dannyl nodded. "Lorlen said that some of Akkarin's claims have proven to be true."

  "The worst ones."

  "Yes, but I wonder if that means some of his claims were proven to be untrue."

  "Which ones?"

  "Obviously not the ones about Sachakan black magicians invading Kyralia," Ezrille said as she laid a tray on the table before the chairs. "What will Rothen do? He doesn't need to go to Sachaka now."

  "He'll probably come back." Dannyl took the cup she of­fered and sipped at the steaming brew.

  "Unless he decides to go on in the hope of finding Sonea."

  Dannyl frowned. Rothen might just do that. ..

  They looked up at a knock on the door. Yaldin waved a hand and the door opened. A messenger bowed, glanced around the room, then stepped inside when he saw Dannyl.

  "Ambassador. A man is here to see you. All the places for receiving visitors are in use, so I brought him to your rooms. Your servant was present and admitted him."

  A visitor? Dannyl put down his cup and rose. "Thank you," he said to the messenger. The man bowed and re­treated from the room.

  Dannyl smiled
apologetically at Yaldin and Ezrille. "Thanks for the sumi. I had better find out who my visitor is."

  "Of course," Ezrille replied. "You must come back later and tell us about him."

  The corridor was a little quieter now that most magicians had returned to their rooms or duties after the Meet. Dannyl strode to his door and opened it. A young man with blond

  hair rose from one of his guestroom chairs and bowed. For a moment Dannyl didn't recognize him, as he was dressed in the sober fashion preferred by Kyralians.

  Then he hastily stepped inside and let the door close.

  "Greetings, Ambassador Dannyl." Tayend grinned. "Did you miss me?"

  30

  Delaying the Enemy

  At first Imardin appeared as a shadow against the yellow-green of the fields. Then, as they drew nearer, the city sprawled out on either side of the road like outstretched arms welcoming them back. Now, hours later, a thousand lamps burned before them, lighting their way through the rain and the darkness to the Northern Gates.

  When they were close enough to hear the rain beating on the glass of the first lamp, Dorrien drew his horse to a halt and looked back at Akkarin and Sonea. His eyes strayed to the other people using the road. They must make their farewells quick, and be careful what they said. People would think it strange, if he spoke to his "commoner" companions with too much familiarity.

  "Good luck," he said. "Be careful."

  "You be in more rub than us, my Lord," Sonea replied, speaking with the typical slum dweller drawl. "Thanks for your help. Don't let those foreign magicians get you."

  "You either," he replied, smiling at her accent. He nodded at Akkarin, then turned away and urged his horse forward.

  Sonea's stomach clenched with anxiety as she watched him ride away toward the gates. When he had disappeared, she glanced at Akkarin. He was a tall shadow, his face hid­den in the hood of his cloak.

  "Lead on," he said.

  She directed her horse off the main road and into a narrow street. Dwells eyed them and their bedraggled horses. Don't try anything, she thought at them. We might look like simple

  country people oblivious to the dangers of the city, but we aren 't. And we can't afford to draw attention to ourselves.

  After winding their way through the slums for half an hour, they reached the horse sellers at the edge of the Mar­ket. They stopped in front of a sign with a painting of a horseshoe on it. A wiry-looking man limped through the rain toward them.

  "Greetings," he said in a gruff voice. "You looking to sell your horses?"

  "Maybe," Sonea replied. "Depends on the price."

  "Let me have an eye, then." He beckoned. "Come on in out of the rain."

  They followed the man into a large stable. Stalls had been built on either side, some occupied. They dismounted and watched as the man examined their horses.

  "What's this one's name, then?"

  She paused. They had changed horses three times, and she had given up remembering their names.

  "Ceryni," she said. "After a friend of mine."

  The man straightened and turned to stare at her.

  "Ceryni?"

  "Yes. Do you know him?"

  Then from one of the stalls came the sound of laughter.

  "You named your horse after me?"

  A stable door opened and a short man in a gray coat strode out, followed by Takan and a large, muscular man. Sonea looked closer at the speaker, then gasped as she rec­ognized him.

  "Cery!"

  He grinned. "Hai! Welcome back." Then he turned to the horse seller and the grin disappeared. "You didn't see this."

  "N-no," the man agreed. His face was white.

  "Take the horses and leave," Cery ordered.

  The man grabbed the reins of the horses, and Sonea watched, bemused, as he hurried away. Akkarin had told her that Takan was hiding with a Thief. If Cery was also work­ing for this Thief, then was the Thief Faren, or had Cery started working for another? In any case, it seemed he had gained some influence in the last few years, if the horse

  seller's reaction was any indication. Sonea turned to see Takan drop to his knees before Akkarin.

  "Master."

  Takan's voice was laden with emotion. Akkarin pushed back his hood and sighed.

  "Get up, Takan," he said quietly. Though his voice was all command and tolerance, Sonea recognized signs of embar­rassment in his face. She smothered a smile.

  The servant climbed to his feet. "It is good to see you again, master, though I fear you have returned to a danger­ous and impossible situation."

  "Nevertheless, we must do what we can," Akkarin replied. He turned to Cery. "Has Takan explained what we intend to do?"

  Cery nodded. "There'll be a meeting of the Thieves tomor­row. Seems most of them have heard something's up, even if it's just that the Houses are all packing up and leaving the city. You need to tell me how much you want them to know."

  "Everything," Akkarin replied, "if that will not damage your standing among them."

  Cery shrugged. "It won't, in the long term—and I get the feeling we'll have no city left to deal in if these Sachakan magicians win. Now, before we get to the grit of it, I'll take you somewhere better than a stable. I'm sure you'd like a bit of food, too."

  As he strode back to the stall he had emerged from, Sonea watched him closely. There was a sureness about the way he carried himself that she hadn't seen before. He had ex­pressed none of the fear or awe of Akkarin that she had ex­pected. They spoke as if they had dealt with each other before.

  No doubt he was one of the men helping Akkarin find the spies. But why didn't Akkarin tell me Cery was involved?

  Cery unlocked a hatch at the back of the stall and held it open.

  "Lead the way, Gol."

  The large, silent man bent double and stepped through, then began to descend a ladder. Takan followed, then Akkarin. Sonea paused to look at Cery. He grinned.

  "Go on. We'll catch up when we get to my place."

  She climbed down the ladder into a large passage. Gol held a lamp. Familiar smells brought back old memories of the Thieves' Road. As Cery joined them, he nodded to Gol, and they set off through the passage.

  They travelled for several minutes, then passed through a large metal door into a luxuriously furnished guestroom. A low table at the center was covered with several plates of food, glasses, and bottles of wine.

  Sonea collapsed into a chair and helped herself to a few morsels of food. Akkarin sat down beside her and picked up one of the bottles. His eyebrows rose. "You live better than magicians do, Ceryni."

  "Oh, I don't live here," Cery said, taking another of the seats. 'This is one of my guest places. Takan's been staying here."

  "The Thief has been generous," Takan said quietly, nod­ding at Cery.

  The Thief? Sonea choked, swallowed, then stared at Cery. Catching her look, he grinned. "Only just clicked, did it?"

  "But. . ." She shook her head. "How is that possible?"

  He spread his hands. "Hard work, clever moves, good connections . . . and a little help from your High Lord."

  "So you're the Thief who helped Akkarin find the spies?"

  "That's right. I started after he helped you and me with Fergun," Cery explained. "He wanted someone to find the murderers for him. Someone with the right connections and influence."

  "I see." So Akkarin has known about this since my guardianship Hearing. She turned to glare at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  Akkarin's lips curled into a faint smile. "Initially, I couldn't. You would have believed I had forced or tricked Cery into helping me."

  "You could have told me after I had learned the truth about the Ichani."

  He shook his head. "I am always wary of revealing more than I need to. If you were captured by the Ichani, they might discover Cery's connection to me from your mind. As

  it turns out, I do need the association to remain a secret." He turned to Cery. "It is important that our presence in Imardin does not
become common knowledge. If the Ichani read it from someone's mind, our only chance of winning the bat­tle will be lost. The fewer who know we are here, the better."

  Cery nodded. "Only Gol and I know you are here. The other Thieves think we're just going to talk about what's stirring up the city." He smiled. "They'll be surprised to see you."

  "Do you think they will agree to keep our presence a se­cret?"

  Cery shrugged. "Once they know what's going on and see that they'll lose everything they've got if the Sachakans win, they'll mind you like their own children."

  "You told Takan you had been considering ways of killing magicians," Akkarin said. "What were you—"

  —Balkan?

  Sonea straightened in her seat. The mental voice belonged to—

  —Yikmo? Balkan replied.

  —The Sachakans are nearing Calia.

  —I will advise you shortly.

  "What is it, master?" Takan asked.

  "A communication," Akkarin replied. "Lord Yikmo re­ported that the Ichani are approaching Calia. He must be there."

  Sonea felt a shiver run down her spine. "Surely the Guild hasn't gone out to meet them?" She looked at Cery. "You'd have heard if they had left the city."

  Cery shook his head. "Nothing like that has been re­ported."

  Akkarin frowned. "I wish Lorlen would use the ring."

  "About twenty magicians left the city four days ago," Gol interjected. "In the morning."

  —Yikmo?

  —Balkan.

  —Take your time.

  —We will.

  frowned at Akkarin. "What does that mean?"

  His expression darkened. "No doubt it's a prearranged code for an instruction. They can't tell Yikmo and his men what to do without giving away their intentions to the Ichani."

  "But what does it mean?"

  He drummed the tips of his fingers together. "Twenty ma­gicians. Four days ago. They left before the Ichani attacked the Fort. What purpose could they have had?"

  "A guard for the South Pass?" Sonea suggested. "Balkan left our escort at the Fort. Perhaps he thought the South Pass needed guarding, too."

  Akkarin shook his head. "We would have passed them on the road. They must have been north of Calia, where the road forks. Whatever the reason, they could not have trav­elled so far before the attack that they could have returned to Imardin again. They have remained in Calia for a reason."