The Rogue

  Lilia sat up, then paused and closed her eyes as her head began to spin. “The library? Why the library? Why now?”

  “Because there’s something I want to show you before Father gets home. I want some more roet.”

  “You keep roet in the library?”

  “Father does.”

  “Your father uses roet?”

  Naki gave a humourless laugh. “Of course he does.”

  She led the way out of her rooms and through corridors and down staircases. Lilia wondered what time it was. Late enough that there were no servants about, it seemed.

  “My father’s family have lots of sordid habits,” Naki said. “For my uncle it was girls. I don’t mean he likes women a lot. I mean he likes little girls. The servants knew and kept me out of his way whenever he came visiting. Father never believed me when I told him.”

  Lilia shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

  Naki glanced back and smiled, but her eyes were hard. “Oh, he paid for it in the end.” She turned away and stopped at a door. “Here we are.”

  She pushed through the door into an enormous room. Lilia could not restrain a gasp as she took in all the shelves stuffed with books and rolls of paper. She had learned quickly that Naki thought that appearing to be too interested in study was boring, but she couldn’t contain her awe and delight now.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  Lilia looked at Naki, who was grinning widely, and pretended to look embarrassed.

  Naki laughed. “You’re a terrible actor. Come see something.”

  She headed for a glass-topped side table. Lilia saw that the glass covered a drawer-like cavity filled with very old books, scrolls, a few sculptures and some jewellery. Naki ran her hand down the narrow side. There was a soft click.

  “Father has the top locked with both key and magic, but he’s not so powerful a magician that he’d waste magic protecting the whole case,” Naki murmured. She reached inside and drew out a small book, then handed it to Lilia.

  The cover was soft skin, slightly powdery with age, and the title had worn off. Opening it, Lilia was disturbed by the brittle stiffness of the pages. They felt as if they would shatter if she attempted to bend them. The writing was faded but still readable, and in an old formal style that was not easy to read.

  “What is it?”

  “A book on how to use magic,” Naki said. “Most of it we know already. Magicians have learned a lot in the last seven hundred years.”

  “Seven hundred,” Lilia breathed. “It’s amazing this is still intact.”

  “It’s not that old. This is a copy of the original, and has been rebound several times.” Naki looked at Lilia closely. “There is one kind of magic in there that we don’t know. Can you guess what it is?”

  Lilia considered. “Seven hundred years? Before the Sachakan War … oh!” She turned to stare at her friend. “You’re not serious!”

  “Yes.” A single glint of light lit Naki’s dark eyes. “Black magic.” She took the book from Lilia and put it back in the case. “I told you my father’s family had some dark secrets.”

  “They don’t … they don’t know black magic, do they?”

  “No. Well, I don’t think they do. It wouldn’t be hard to hide, you know. Black Magician Sonea knew it for ages before the Guild found out, and they only found out about her because High Lord Akkarin got caught. And he was only caught because the Sachakans set him up.” She looked at the case. “I reckon you could keep it secret for all your life, and nobody would know. Now this is old.”

  She reached inside and brought out a ring. It was made of gold and a pale stone was set into it.

  “My grandmother on my mother’s side used to wear this. It was passed down to her by her grandmother, down the line of women for centuries. Mother told me that the stone is magical and she would teach me how to use it one day. Of course, she died before she had a chance to, and Father said I couldn’t have it.”

  “What is it supposed to do?”

  “She said it helped a woman to keep secrets.”

  “Not much point unless you have a secret to hide.”

  “Or someone to hide it from.”

  “Have you tried to discover how it works?”

  “Of course. It’s why I found a way to get to it. But I haven’t been able to find a way to test if it works, and the one secret I’m sure it won’t hide is whether it’s been stolen or not, so I have to put it back each time.”

  “How could something like that work?”

  “Who knows? I think it’s just a silly story my mother told me to keep me entertained.” Smiling wryly, Naki put back the ring and replaced the side of the case.

  “Maybe your father doesn’t know black magic. After all, surely he’d wear the ring if it helps hide secrets – if it really does.”

  Naki’s nose wrinkled as she thought about it. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think even he would try learning it. He’s not one for taking big risks.”

  Lilia nodded in agreement, surprised at how relieved she was to hear Naki say so.

  Her friend suddenly looked up and grinned. “Let’s steal more of Father’s roet!” Without waiting for an answer, she skipped away to the other side of the room, and Lilia followed.

  CHAPTER 7

  DECISIONS AND DISCOVERIES

  Whenever the Higher Magicians met in the Guildhall without the rest of the Guild present, their voices echoed in a way that Sonea always found disturbing. She looked out at the two sets of tiered seating that lined the longer walls of the hall. Between was a long, empty space that was only occupied on the few occasions each year when novices were included in ceremonies. At the far end were two large doors. They were the original doors of the building, still sturdy despite being over six hundred years old and having spent a few hundred exposed to the elements before the University was built around the old hall.

  The other end of the hall, known as the Front, was where Sonea and the Higher Magicians were seated. The steeply tiered chairs were reached by narrow staircases. Not only did this arrangement allow a good view of the hall for them all, but it made clear the hierarchy of power among the magicians. The topmost seats were for the king and his advisers. The next row down was for the Guild’s leader, the High Lord, and the two newest Higher Magicians – the black magicians.

  I’ve never felt comfortable with the decision to put us up here, Sonea mused. While she and Kallen had the potential to become stronger than any other magician in the Guild, they had no greater power or influence than any other Higher Magician. They were forbidden to use black magic unless ordered to and, unlike most ordinary magicians, were restricted in where they could go.

  Perhaps putting us up here was intended as compensation for that. But I suspect the main reason was to avoid having to do some major carpentry to the Front. There’s simply no room to add two more magicians below us.

  Her attention snapped back to the meeting as Administrator Osen’s voice rose to address them all.

  “Those in favour of blocking Lorandra’s powers, raise your hands.”

  Sonea lifted hers. She counted the raised hands around her and was relieved to see that most of the Higher Magicians supported the action.

  “The vote is cast; Lorandra’s powers will be blocked.” Osen looked up at Kallen. “Black Magician Kallen will establish the block.”

  A few magicians glanced at Sonea and she resisted a grim smile. There was no reason a black magician had to put the block in place, but it had become one of the duties that she and Kallen were expected to perform. I think everyone assumes it’s easier for us, since we can get around a mind’s natural tendency to push out an unwelcome visitor. Perhaps it is; I never had to do it before I learned black magic, so I have no way to compare.

  Forcing a block onto an unwilling person was never a pleasant task, but she would have made herself do it if it had given her the opportunity to read Lorandra’s mind. When Administrator Osen had asked if she would do it, however, she’d
had to refuse. If she was to bribe Lorandra with the promise of unblocking her power, the intention of dishonesty might be faintly detectable, and warn the woman to not trust Sonea. She hadn’t been so specific when explaining the reason for her refusal to Osen. She’d simply said she didn’t want to give Lorandra even more reason to refuse to cooperate with her in the search for Skellin.

  Sonea did not want to have to deceive Lorandra, but the search for the rogue magician was going nowhere. They’d lost Regin’s help. Cery was expending as much effort keeping out of the reach of Skellin’s people and allies as in trying to find where Skellin was. To send Anyi off to spy for Cery, or to drag Dorrien’s family to Imardin so he could risk his life helping her, seemed far worse than lying to a woman who had defied the Guild’s laws, murdered Thieves and imported roet in the hope of setting her son up as king of the underworld.

  I admit that, for all that I was impatient for the Guild to stop dithering and make the obvious decision, I was in no hurry to start the deception. Until Lorandra’s powers were blocked there was nothing to bribe her with. But now … she sighed … now there will be no putting it off for much longer.

  Osen announced the meeting was over, and the hall began to echo with the sounds of boots on wooden steps, voices and the rustle of robes. Rothen waited for Sonea to descend to the level of the Heads of Studies, then followed close behind her.

  “It turns out Dorrien is as good as he claims to be at attracting gossips,” he murmured.

  Reaching the floor, she moved a little apart from the rest of the magicians.

  “What did he say?”

  “That Lord Regin and his wife are at odds.”

  “That’s illuminating,” Sonea said dryly. “Did he find out what they were at odds over?”

  Rothen opened his mouth, then, as he saw Lady Vinara coming toward them, closed it again and shook his head.

  “Lady Vinara,” Sonea said as the woman reached them, Rothen echoing the greeting.

  “Black Magician Sonea, Lord Rothen,” the elderly Healer said, nodding at each of them in turn. “You must be looking forward to having Lord Dorrien and his family living in Imardin sooner than first planned.”

  Sonea looked at Rothen, who returned her questioning look with one of his own.

  “So he’s made definite arrangements now?” Rothen asked, his tone full of resigned amusement.

  Vinara smiled sympathetically. “Yes. He set a date so I can schedule him in to work at the Healers’ Quarters.” She turned to Sonea. “He wants to work at the hospices, but I felt it would be wise to have him for a short time where I can evaluate his grasp of recent Healing advances before I set him loose on the city.”

  Sonea nodded. “I agree. Thank you,” she said, with heartfelt gratitude. She had never needed to order Dorrien around, and suspected he would be more challenging to direct than any other Healer. As a more senior Healer, who had once been his teacher, rather than a younger woman he had first met as a novice, Vinara would have no trouble correcting any bad habits Dorrien might have picked up.

  Vinara nodded and moved away. Turning to Rothen, Sonea gave him a speculative look. He spread his hands and opened his eyes wide.

  “Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t know!” He shook his head in exasperation. “He realised we’d both work together to make him promise not to come back to the Guild if he told us before he left.”

  Sonea shrugged. “Do you mind if he joins me? Just because he’s moving back to Imardin earlier than planned doesn’t mean he has to be involved in the search.”

  Rothen’s eyebrows rose. “I doubt you’d be able to stop him.”

  She smiled wryly. “No, not once he starts working at the hospices. I’m sorry Rothen. I’ll do what I can to ensure he stays safe.”

  “Why are you apologising to me?”

  “For getting your son involved in a dangerous search for a rogue magician.”

  “You haven’t done anything to encourage him,” he pointed out. “Instead, I should apologise for raising my son to be such a stubborn, persistent man.”

  Sonea laughed bitterly. “I don’t think either of us can be blamed for how our sons turned out, Rothen. Some things are out of a parent’s hands.”

  The record books that Dannyl had bought in the market had cost him a small fortune. The seller wouldn’t tell him at first where they’d come from, but when Dannyl had hinted he’d be keen to buy more the man had admitted they came from an estate at the edge of the wasteland which, like many, was failing due to the advance of the dust and sands.

  The seller might have meant it as a reproach, but Dannyl had felt a guilty excitement in response. If other estates were selling their property to survive, there might be more records to buy. The drying effect of the wastes had kept the books and scrolls in good condition, too.

  Not surprisingly, the records Dannyl had purchased often referred to the wasteland.

  Visited Ashaki Tachika. He took me to see the damage to his estate. All within the area was burned. Not even bones of animals to remind us of the deaths here. The exact edge is hard to find, as wind has blown ash into the unburned land, and in the weeks since the blast plants have begun to sprout within the burned parts. The air smelled of smoke and unanswered questions. Agreed to twenty gold for five reber, including a young male.

  The record Dannyl was reading was written in an economical style, but from time to time the Ashaki author slipped from strict record-keeping into evocative description. Dannyl was intrigued by the reference to plants growing within the wasteland so soon after its creation. It made him wonder afresh why the land had not recovered. Had these plants struggled for a time, then failed?

  Reading on, Dannyl spent hours skimming the record before he found anything interesting again. When he did, he checked dates and was surprised. Nearly twenty years had passed before the author mentioned the wasteland again.

  Ashaki Tachika has sold his estate and moved to Arvice. He says he will be dead before the damaged land recovers and worries that the land will never support crops again. It is a pity. He had such success at first, but recently many estates have suffered the same reversal. It is a mystery why this is so.

  Mentions of the wasteland grew in frequency after that. Picking up the last of the record books in the set, he soon encountered what he had begun to anticipate.

  The wastes have passed the boundary. The slaves reported it to Kova, and when he told me I rode out to see it for myself. It has taken more than thirty years for it to touch my estate, though the dusts have preceded it since the day after the great blast.

  Ashaki Tachika’s land is gone. Will mine and Valicha’s die in the next thirty years? Will my son inherit a doomed estate and future? Despite all the Ashaki say to deny it, their rejection of my son’s proposals of marriage to their daughters reveals their lie. Maybe it will be better if there is no grandson to inherit our troubles.

  Not long after the entry, the handwriting changed. The son reported his father’s death and continued in the old man’s habit of brief entries mainly recording trade agreements. Dannyl’s heart was heavy with sympathy for the family, even after reminding himself that they were black magicians and slave owners. In the world that they knew and understood, they were sliding toward poverty and extinction.

  Dannyl looked at his notes, leafing back to where he’d started. The record had begun a few years after occupation by Kyralia. The original author had been young, perhaps having inherited from an Ashaki who had died in the war. He wrote little about his Kyralian rulers. On the day the wasteland was created he described a bright light coming in his window, and later mentioned that it had taken three days for the slaves blinded by it to recover enough to work.

  He did not speculate in the record on the cause of the light or destruction. Perhaps he was wary of putting any accusations or discontent toward Kyralians down on paper.

  One last book remained of the pile he’d bought. It was a small and tattered thing, and grains of sand had worked their way
into every fold and crack, suggesting it had once been buried. When he opened it he saw that the writing was so faded it was almost impossible to read.

  He was well prepared for that. Librarians at the Great Library in Elyne had developed methods for reviving old texts. Some of these ultimately destroyed the book, while others were gentler and could revive the ink for a short time. How effective they were depended on the type of paper and ink. In either case, if pages were treated one at a time a copy could be made before they disintegrated or faded.

  Taking out jars of solutions and powders from a box on his desk, he set to work testing them on the corners of a few pages. To his relief, one of the less destructive methods enhanced the ink enough to make the writing just readable for a while. He began to apply it to the first page, and as the words became clear he felt his heart beat a little faster.

  The book, written in very tiny handwriting, had belonged to the wife of an Ashaki. Though she began each page with a heading suggesting that the text was about some domestic or cosmetic matter, the writing that followed quickly changed to matters of politics. “Salve for Dry Hair and Scalp”, for example, turned into a scathing assessment of the emperor’s cousin.

  “Emperor”? Dannyl frowned. If there is an emperor, then this was written before the Sachakan War.

  He read on, carefully treating each page with the solution and impatiently watching the words appear. Soon he realised he was wrong. The woman only referred to the defeated emperor by his title because she did not have an alternative, and the Sachakans hadn’t yet adopted the term “king” for their ruler.

  Which means this diary was written some time after the war but within twenty years of it.