The High Lord bmt-3

by Trudi Canavan

  The procession had attracted large crowds, and by the time the escort had reached the North Gates an expectant throng of slum dwellers had gathered. As stones flew toward Sonea, she had hastily created a shield.

  An awful feeling of betrayal had come over her as the dwells shouted and threw missiles at her and Akkarin, but it had quickly faded. The dwells probably saw two bad magicians from a Guild they despised anyway, and had taken advantage of the opportunity to throw stones and insults without reprisal.

  Turning in her saddle, Sonea looked back down the road. The city was far beyond the horizon now. The Warriors behind her watched her closely.

  Lord Osen was among them. His frown deepened as their eyes met. He had spoken to her several times during the journey, mostly to help her with the horses she had ridden.

  A few times he had hinted that the Guild might allow her to return to Imardin if she changed her mind. She had decided not to respond whenever he made any such suggestion.

  But fear, discomfort and Akkarin's silence had worked against her resolve. Turning away from Osen, she considered Akkarin again. Her attempts to talk to him had been met with stony silence. He seemed determined to ignore her.

  Yet, now and then, she had seen him watching her. If she gave no indication that she had noticed him, his gaze lingered for a long time, but if she looked in his direction his attention turned to something else.

  This was both infuriating and intriguing. It was not his looking that bothered her; it was that he did not want her to see him looking. Sonea smiled wryly. Was she actually beginning to miss the penetrating, hard-to-meet stares that she had avoided for so long?

  She sobered. No doubt he wanted her to feel unwelcome, so that she would turn tail and scamper back to the Guild. Or was it something simpler? Did he truly not want her around? She had wondered many times if he blamed her for the discovery of their secret. Would Balkan have forced his way into Akkarin's underground room if he hadn't found books on black magic in her bedroom? Akkarin had told her to keep them hidden. She had, but obviously not well enough.

  Perhaps he simply thought he would be better off without her.

  Then he is wrong, she told herself. Without a companion from whom he could draw strength, he would only grow weaker each time he used his powers. With her there, he might be able to defend himself against an Ichani attack. It doesn't matter whether he likes having me around.

  Ah, but it would be so much better if he did.

  Would he be friendlier once they had reached Sachaka, and there was no longer any point in trying to persuade her to leave him? Would he accept her choice, or would he continue to be angry with her for disobeying him? She frowned. Didn't he understand that she had given up everything to save him?

  She shook her head. It didn't matter. She didn't want his gratitude. He could be as silent and sulky as he liked. She only wanted to be sure he survived, and not just because this meant he would be able to return and help save the Guild from the Ichani. If she truly hadn't cared about him, she would have stayed in Imardin, even if it meant becoming a prisoner of the Guild. No, she had come with him because she could not bear the thought of abandoning him after all he'd been through.

  I've replaced Takan, she thought suddenly. The former slave had followed Akkarin out of Sachaka and become his faithful servant. Now she was following Akkarin into Sachaka. What was it about him that inspired such devotion?

  Me, devoted to Akkarin? She almost laughed aloud. So much has changed. I think I might even like him, now.

  Then her heart skipped a beat.

  Or is it more than that?

  She considered the question carefully. Surely, if there was more to it, she would have noticed before now. Abruptly, she remembered the night she had killed the Ichani. Afterward, Akkarin had brushed something out of her hair. The touch had left her feeling so strange. Light. Elated.

  But that was just an effect of the battle. Surviving such a close scrape with death was sure to generate feelings of elation. It didn't mean she was... she felt...

  All I have to do is look at him, and I'll know.

  Suddenly she was afraid to. What if it was true? What if he met her gaze and read something foolish in her expression? He'd be even more determined to make her stay in Kyralia.

  A murmuring between the escorts saved her. She looked up and saw that the Warrior who had ridden into the village was returning. Across the man's knees lay a sack and a bundle. He handed the bundle to Balkan as he reached the group.

  Balkan untied it, then lifted up a coarsely woven shirt and a pair of narrow-legged trousers and a long woollen shirt like those Sonea had seen village women wearing. He looked at Akkarin.

  "Suitable?"

  Akkarin nodded. "They will do."

  Balkan rolled up the clothes again and tossed them to Akkarin. Sonea hesitated as Akkarin began to dismount, then forced her aching legs to move. As her feet touched the ground, Akkarin pressed the long shirt and a second pair of trousers into her hands.

  "Look away," Balkan ordered.

  Sonea glanced around and saw that the rest of the magicians were turning their backs. She heard a silken rip as Akkarin pulled off the top part of his robe and let it drop to the ground. The material shimmered in the sunlight, the ribbons of torn cloth fluttering as the wind caught them. Akkarin paused to look at it, his expression unreadable, then straightened and reached for the waist of his trousers.

  Sonea quickly turned away, her face suddenly hot. She looked down at her robes and swallowed hard.

  Best get this over with.

  Taking a deep breath, she undid her sash and quickly pulled off the top half of her robes. Her horse edged away nervously as Sonea dropped the garment onto the ground and hurriedly pulled the shirt over her head.

  She was grateful for the generous length of the shirt, covering her almost to the knees, as she changed into the trousers. Turning around, she found Akkarin regarding the reins of his horse closely. He glanced at her once, then swung up onto his horse.

  Balkan, she saw, had remained facing them. Well, someone had to keep an eye on us, she thought wryly. She stepped over to her horse, put her boot into the stirrup, and managed to haul herself up into the saddle.

  Akkarin looked strange in the heavy clothing. His shirt hung awkwardly on his thin frame. His chin was shadowed where a dark stubble was beginning to grow. He looked nothing like the imposing High Lord who had intimidated most of the Guild for so long.

  She looked down at herself and snorted softly. She was hardly the picture of elegance herself. The shirt was probably the cast-off of a farmer's wife. The rough weave felt harsh against her skin, but it was no worse than what she had worn before she had joined the Guild.

  "Hungry?"

  Sonea started as she realized Lord Osen had brought his horse alongside hers. He held out a chunk of grainy bread and a mug. She took them gratefully and began to eat, washing down the bread with gulps of watered wine. The wine was cheap and sour, but it numbed the ache in her muscles a little. She gave the mug back.

  When the escort finished eating, they resumed their journey, and her horse returned to its jolting gait. She smothered a groan and resigned herself to many more hours of riding and sore muscles.

  As Gol entered Cery's guestroom, his eyes strayed to Savara. He nodded politely, then turned to Cery.

  "Takan says they're close to the border," he reported. "They'll reach the Fort tomorrow night."

  Cery nodded. He had given Takan a comfortable suite of underground rooms to stay in, but had been careful to hire servants who hadn't heard of the mysterious foreign woman Ceryni had taken a liking to. Savara had asked him to ensure Takan never learned anything of her. She had rightly guessed that Akkarin was able to communicate with his servant, and if Akkarin was captured by the Ichani, she explained, they might learn from him of her presence in Kyralia. "There is much hatred between my people and the Ichani," she had said. She did not say why, and Cery knew better than to press for more information
.

  Gol sat down and sighed. "What are we going to do?"

  "Nothing," Cery replied.

  Gol frowned. "What if another murderer gets into the city?"

  Cery looked at Savara and smiled. "I think we can handle it. I did promise Savara the next one."

  To his surprise, she shook her head.

  "I cannot help you now. Not with Akkarin gone. The Ichani will suspect others are involved if their slaves continue dying."

  Cery regarded her soberly. "That would put them off sending them, wouldn't it?"

  "Perhaps. But my orders are to draw no attention to my people."

  "So. It's up to us, now. How do you suggest we kill them?"

  "I do not think you will have to. They have what they sent the slaves for."

  "So it was Akkarin they were after?" Gol asked.

  "Yes and no," she replied. "They will kill him, if they can. But now that they know the Guild's weakness, it will be their target."

  Gol stared at her. "They'll attack the Guild?"

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "Soon. The Guild might have had some time to prepare if they had sent Akkarin away quietly. But they have told all the lands about him."

  Cery sighed and rubbed his temples. "The procession."

  "No," she replied. "Though it was foolish of them to announce Akkarin's crime and punishment publicly, it would have taken days or even a week or two for the Ichani to hear about it." She shook her head. "The Guild magicians have been discussing Akkarin mind to mind for days. The Ichani will have heard everything."

  "Has the Guild got a chance?" Gol asked.

  She looked sad, "No."

  Gol's eyes widened. "The Guild can't stop them?"

  "Not without higher magic."

  Cery rose and began to pace the room. "How many Ichani are there?"

  "Twenty-eight, but the ones you need to be concerned with form a band of up to ten."

  "Hai! Only ten?"

  "Each of them is many, many times stronger than a Guild magician. Together, they can defeat the Guild easily."

  "Oh." Cery crossed the room a few more times. "You said you'd have killed that Ichani woman on your own. So you've got to be stronger than a Guild magician."

  She smiled. "Much stronger."

  Cery noticed that Gol had turned a little pale. "What about the rest of your people?"

  "Many are equal to, or stronger, than me."

  He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "What would your people want in return for helping Kyralia?"

  She smiled. "Your people would be no happier to accept my people's help than Ichani rule. We, too, use what the Guild calls black magic."

  Cery made a dismissive gesture. "If the Ichani come, they might change their minds about that."

  "They might. But my people will not reveal themselves."

  "You said they didn't want the Ichani in Kyralia."

  "Yes, that is true. But they will not intervene if it puts themselves at risk. We are just another faction in Sachaka, and one many powerful people fear and would destroy. We can only do so much."

  "Will you help us?" Gol asked.

  She sighed heavily. "I wish I could. But my orders are to keep out of this conflict. My orders..." she looked at Cery, "are to go home."

  Cery nodded slowly. So she was leaving. He had guessed she would that night on the rooftop. It was not going to be easy saying goodbye, but he, too, could not afford to let his heart rule his head.

  "When?"

  She looked down. "Straightaway. It is a long journey. The Ichani will be watching the Kyralian border. I must go through Elyne. But..." She smiled slyly. "I do not see why leaving tonight or tomorrow morning will make much difference."

  Gol covered his mouth with a hand and coughed.

  "I don't know," Cery replied. "It might make plenty of difference. For the sake of Kyralia, I ought to give turning your mind around a good go. With a little roasted rasook and a bottle of Anuren dark..."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Anuren dark? You Thieves do better than I thought."

  "Actually, I've got a deal going with a few wine smugglers."

  She grinned. "Of course you have."

  At a knock on the main door to his rooms, Rothen sighed and extended his will. He didn't bother turning to see who it was.

  "Back again, Dannyl? You've spent more time in my rooms than your own since you arrived. Haven't you got any rebels or secret missions to keep you busy?"

  Dannyl chuckled. "Not for another week. In the meantime, I thought I'd catch up with my old friend before they send me away again." He stepped into the half-circle of chairs in the guestroom and sat down opposite Rothen. "I guessed you wouldn't be visiting the Night Room tonight."

  Rothen looked up to see understanding in Dannyl's eyes. "No."

  Dannyl sighed. "I really ought to go. Face the gossips, and all that. But..."

  It isn't easy, Rothen finished. Dannyl had told him what Akkarin's plan to catch the rebels had involved. Dem Marane's claims about his captor had reached every corner of the Guild now. Though most magicians appeared willing to dismiss them, Rothen knew there were always some who believed any scandal that came their way.

  Rothen had endured the same speculative and disapproving looks two years before when the Guild had questioned the appropriateness of Sonea staying in his rooms. Facing the gossips had been hard, but important - and having Yaldin and Ezrille to support him had also helped.

  As I ought to support Dannyl now.

  Rothen drew in a deep breath, then stood up. "Well, we had better move along, then, if we're not going to miss the fun."

  Dannyl blinked in surprise. "I thought you weren't...?"

  "Like it or not, I've got two former novices to look after." Rothen shrugged. "I'm not going to do either of you any favors moping away in my rooms."

  Dannyl rose. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Thank you."

  Rothen smiled at the gratitude in Dannyl's voice. He had been relieved to find his friend was, in private, still the same man he had always been. Dannyl didn't appear to be conscious of it, but he adopted a different manner in public now. There was a new confidence and authority in his bearing that, when added to his height, gave him a formidable presence.

  Amazing what a little responsibility can do, Rothen mused.

  Dannyl followed Rothen out into the corridor, then down the stairs to the entrance of the Magicians' Quarters. The sun was setting and the courtyard outside was bathed in red-orange light. They crossed to the Night Room door.

  Inside, it was warm and noisy. Rothen noted how many magicians turned to note their arrival and continued to watch them. It did not take long before the first few stepped forward and the questions began.

  For over an hour, he and Dannyl were approached by magicians who wanted to know more about the rebels. Rothen read both respect and curiosity in their faces and very little suspicion. Dannyl was hesitant at first, then grew more confident. After one group of Healers left, having finished discussing Vinara's instructions on saving the rogue from poisoning, Dannyl turned to Rothen and smiled ruefully.

  "I'm afraid I'm stealing all the attention from you, my friend."

  Rothen shrugged. "What attention? I'm hardly fending off questions about Sonea."

  "No. Perhaps they've decided to leave you in peace, for once."

  "That's not likely. It's just that—"

  "Ambassador Dannyl."

  They turned to find Lord Garrel approaching. Rothen frowned as the Warrior inclined his head politely. He had never liked Garrel, and still felt the magician could have tried harder to discourage his favorite, Regin, from taunting Sonea.

  "Lord Garrel," Dannyl replied.

  "Welcome back," the Warrior said. "Is it good to be home?"

  Dannyl shrugged. "Yes, it is nice to see my friends again."

  Garrel glanced at Rothen. "You've done us yet another great service. At great personal sacrifice, too, I hear." He leaned a little close
r. "I admire your courage. I wouldn't have taken such a risk, myself. But then, I prefer direct action to subterfuge."

  "And you're so much better at it, from what I hear," Dannyl replied.

  Rothen blinked in surprise, then turned away to hide his smile. As the conversation continued, he found himself growing increasingly glad that he had come to the Night Room. Clearly, Elyne court had taught Dannyl more than how to look and sound authoritative.

  "Lord Garrel," a new voice said. A young Alchemist stepped around the Warrior's shoulder. Lord Larkin, the Building and Construction teacher.

  "Yes?" Garrel replied.

  "I thought you might like to know: Lord Harsin expressed a desire to talk to you about your novice's progress in Ailments."

  The Warrior frowned. "I had better seek him out, then. Good night, Lord Rothen, Ambassador Dannyl."

  As Garrel walked away, Larkin grimaced. "I thought you might want rescuing," the young magician said. "Not that you'd need it, Ambassador. It's just that several of us have noticed that those who Garrel engages in conversation tend to crave an interruption sooner or later. Generally sooner."

  "Thank you, Lord Larkin," Dannyl said. He glanced at Rothen and smiled crookedly. "I thought we were the only ones who'd noticed."

  "Oh, being that skilled at making people uncomfortable takes practice. I expected Garrel figured you'd be a good target, after this latest bit of fuss about nothing."

  Dannyl's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Do you think so?"

  "Well, it's hardly as bad as... as using black magic," the young magician said. He looked at Rothen, then flushed. "Not that I believe what the rebel says, of course, but..." He glanced around the room, then took a step back. "Excuse me, Ambassador, Lord Rothen. Lord Sarrin just indicated that he wishes to speak to me."

  Larkin nodded to them both, then hurried away. Dannyl glanced around the room.

  "How interesting. Sarrin's not even here."

  "Yes," Rothen replied. "It is interesting. Particularly the bit about you needing rescuing. You clearly don't, Dannyl. In fact, I don't believe you even needed me to come along at all." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "It really is quite deflating."