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

  “Ambassador Dannyl,” he said, “welcome to my latest hiding hole.”

  “It’s a little cold,” Dannyl remarked. He sent out a glow of magic to warm the air. Farand grinned and shrugged out of the coat. “I used to dream of doing grand and dramatic things with magic. Now I think I’ll be happy if all I can do is something like that.”

  Dannyl glanced pointedly at Royend. The Dem smiled and shrugged. “Not everyone’s sentiments, I assure you. I’m sure Farand wants to learn more than the basics.”

  He was standing beside a rope that hung from a hole in the ceiling. The other end was probably attached to a bell, Dannyl guessed. He wondered who was waiting by it.

  “Well,” Dannyl said. “We’d best get started, then. No sense keeping you in cold hiding holes for any longer than necessary.”

  Farand moved to a chair and sat down. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and began the calming exercise that he had been taught. When the man’s face had relaxed, Dannyl approached.

  “This may be your last lesson,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “It may not. Control must become a well-learned habit, to keep you safe both day and night. It is better to learn it at your own pace, than to hurry it along.” He touched Farand’s temples lightly, then closed his eyes.

  It was impossible to lie effectively during mental communication, but the truth could be hidden. So far Dannyl had kept his mission and ultimate plan to betray the rebels safely concealed. Each time Dannyl had guided Farand mentally, however, the man had grown more used to the method of communication. He was beginning to sense more from Dannyl.

  And now that the time had come to arrest the rebels, Dannyl could not conceal a feeling of tension and anticipation. Farand sensed it and grew curious.

  —What are you expecting will happen tonight? he asked.

  —You will probably achieve Control, Dannyl replied. This was true, and part of what Dannyl knew was coming. It was an important enough event that the young man would accept it as the reason for Dannyl’s excitement. But Farand’s awareness of the consequences of learning magic illegally made him more suspicious than usual.

  —There’s more. You’re hiding something from me.

  —Of course, Dannyl replied. I will keep much from you, until I know your people are not going to disappear as soon as you have learned Control.

  —The Dem is honorable. He promised to protect Tayend in exchange for your help. He won’t break that promise.

  Dannyl felt a momentary sympathy for this naive young man. He pushed it away, reminding himself that Farand might be young, but he was no fool.

  —We’ll see. Now, take me to that place where your power is.

  It took less time for Farand to understand the finest nuances of Control than Dannyl had expected. As Farand contemplated his achievement, Dannyl steeled himself for what must come next. He cut into Farand’s jubilant thoughts with a question.

  —Where are we?

  An image of a tunnel appeared, then the room they were in. Farand had no more idea of their location than Dannyl did.

  —Who is your host?

  Again, Farand didn’t know.

  But then, Royend would have guessed that Dannyl might be able to read this information from the young man’s mind, so he would have made sure Farand knew nothing. Hopefully, discovering their location would only involve finding his way out of the passages and seeing where the tunnel emerged.

  Farand had caught enough of Dannyl’s thoughts to grow alarmed.

  —What are you…?

  Dannyl removed his hand from Farand’s temples and broke the connection. At the same time, he created a weak shield in case Farand attempted to use his magic. The young man was staring at him.

  “It was a trick,” Farand gasped. “It was all a trick.” He turned to Royend. “He means to betray us.”

  Royend turned to stare at Dannyl, his expression hardening. As the Dem reached for the bell rope, Dannyl exerted his will. The man snatched his hand back from the sting of a barrier.

  Dannyl focussed his mind beyond the room.

  —Errend?

  Farand’s eyes widened as he heard the communication.

  —Dannyl. Do you have the rogue?

  —Yes.

  At once, the edges of Dannyl’s senses buzzed with the communications of a dozen magicians, Farand’s eyes roved across the walls as he listened to them.

  “They’re arresting the others,” he said. “No! This is all because of me!”

  “No, it isn’t,” Dannyl told him. “It is the result of your King misusing a potential magician’s abilities, and your sister’s husband taking advantage of the situation in the hopes of achieving his own aims. I suspect your sister knows this, though I don’t believe she would have betrayed either of you.”

  Farand looked at Royend, and Dannyl saw from the accusing look in the young man’s eyes that he was right.

  “Don’t try to turn us against each other, Ambassador,” Royend said. “It will not work.”

  —Where are you? Errend asked.

  —I don’t know exactly. An hour’s carriage ride from the city. He sent an image of the tunnel. Look familiar?

  —No.

  Farand glanced at Dannyl, then back at Royend. “He still doesn’t know where we are,” he said hopefully.

  “Finding out will not be difficult,” Dannyl assured him. “And you should know already, Farand, that it is considered rude for a magician to listen in on others’ conversations.”

  “We don’t follow your rules,” Royend snapped.

  Dannyl turned to regard the Dem. “I’ve noticed.”

  The man’s gaze wavered, then he straightened his shoulders. “They will execute us for this. Can you live with that?”

  Dannyl held the Dem’s gaze. “You knew what you risked, at every step. If all of what you have done and planned was motivated by the need to protect and save Farand, you might be pardoned. I don’t believe your motives were that honorable, however.”

  “No,” the Dem growled. “It wasn’t just Farand. It was the injustice of it all. Why should the Guild decide who can use and teach magic? There are so many whose potential is wasted, who—”

  “The Guild does not decide who learns to use magic,” Dannyl corrected. “In Kyralia it is left to each family to decide if their sons or daughters will attend. In Elyne, the King decides who will be taught. Each country has its own system for choosing candidates. We only refuse those whose minds are unstable, or who have committed crimes.”

  Royend’s eyes flashed with anger. “But what if Farand, or any other man, does not want to learn from the Guild? Why can’t he learn elsewhere?”

  “Where? At your own Guild?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who would you be answerable to?”

  The Dem opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking. He looked at Farand, then sighed.

  “I am no monster,” he said. “I did encourage Farand, but I would not have if I had known how dangerous it was.” He looked at Dannyl. “You do realize the King might kill him rather than let the Guild discover whatever it is that he knows.”

  “Then he will have to kill me as well,” Dannyl replied. “And I don’t think he will dare to attempt that. It would only take a short mental call for all magicians in the lands to know his little secret. And now that Farand has learned Control, he is a magician, and the King would break the treaty of the Allied Lands if he tried to harm him. Farand is the Guild’s concern now. Once there, he should be safe from assassins.”

  “The Guild,” Farand said in a small voice. “I’m going to see the Guild.”

  Royend ignored him. “And what then?”

  Dannyl shook his head. “I cannot say. I would not give you false hopes by guessing what the outcome of this will be.”

  Royend scowled. “Of course not.”

  “So. Will you cooperate? Or shall I drag you both with me as I find the way out of here?”

  A glint of rebellion enter
ed the Dem’s eyes. Dannyl smiled at the man’s expression, guessing at the thoughts behind it.

  —Errend?

  —Dannyl.

  —Have you arrested the others?

  —Everyone. Can you tell us your location yet?

  —No, but I will have it soon.

  Dannyl looked up at Royend. “Delaying will not give your friends time to escape. Farand will tell you this is so.”

  The young man looked away and nodded. “He’s right.” His gaze strayed to the bell rope. Dannyl looked up at the ceiling, wondering who was stationed above. Farand’s host, no doubt, with some method in place for warning others in the group. Would there be an opportunity to arrest this rebel as well? Probably not. Errend had agreed that Dannyl’s first priority should be to capture Farand and Dem Marane. If he identified or arrested anyone else, it should not be at the risk of losing the rogue.

  Royend followed Dannyl’s gaze, then straightened his shoulders. “Very well. I will show you out.”

  The day had been bright and warm, but darkness had brought a chill that Sonea could not banish, even by warming the air in her room with magic. She had slept well the last few nights, but this one was different and she couldn’t work out why.

  Perhaps it was because Akkarin hadn’t been present all evening. Takan had met her at the door when she returned from classes to tell her that the High Lord had been called away. She had eaten dinner alone.

  He was probably carrying out official duties at court. Yet her imagination kept placing him in darker parts of the city, tending to his secret arrangements with the Thieves or facing another spy.

  Sonea stopped in front of her desk and stared down at her books. If I can’t sleep, she told herself, I may as well study. At least then I’d have something to occupy my mind.

  Then she heard a noise outside her room.

  Gliding to the door, she opened it a crack. Slow footsteps echoed softly in the far stairwell, growing louder. She heard them stop in the corridor, and then heard the click of a door latch.

  He’s back.

  Something loosened within her and she sighed with relief. Then she nearly laughed aloud. Surely I’m not worrying about Akkarin.

  But was that so strange? He was all that stood between the Ichani and Kyralia. Worrying about him being alive and well was perfectly reasonable when considered in that light.

  She was about to close her door when a new set of footsteps filled the corridor.

  “Master?”

  Takan sounded surprised and alarmed. Sonea felt a chill run across her skin.

  “Takan,” Akkarin’s voice was barely audible. “Stay and I will give you this to dispose of.”

  “What happened?”

  The shock in the servant’s voice was clear. Before she could think twice, Sonea pulled open her door and padded down the corridor. Takan was standing in the entrance of Akkarin’s bedroom. He turned as she approached, his expression uncertain.

  “Sonea.” Akkarin’s voice was low and quiet.

  A tiny, weak globe light illuminated his bedroom. He was sitting on the end of a large bed. In the dim light his robes seemed to retreat into the darkness, leaving only his face and hands visible…and one forearm.

  Sonea drew in a breath. The right sleeve of his robe hung strangely, and she saw that it had been cut open. A red mark ran down his arm from elbow to wrist. His pale skin was stained with streaks and smudges of blood.

  “What happened?” she breathed, then added, “High Lord.”

  Akkarin looked from her to Takan and snorted softly. “I can see I’ll have no rest until you have both heard everything. Come in and sit down.”

  Takan stepped inside the room. Sonea hesitated, then followed. She had never seen inside his bedroom before. A week ago it would have terrified her to think of entering it. As she looked around, she felt a wry disappointment. The furniture was similar to hers. The paper screens that covered his windows were a dark blue, matching the border of a large carpet that covered most of the floor. The door to his cabinet was open. It contained only robes, a few cloaks and a longcoat.

  As she turned to look at Akkarin again, she found he was watching her, a faint smile on his lips. He gestured to a chair.

  Takan had taken a jug of water from a cabinet beside the bed. He produced a cloth from within his uniform, moistened it, and reached toward Akkarin’s arm. The High Lord plucked the cloth out of his hand.

  “We have another spy in the city,” he said, wiping the blood from his arm. “But she is no ordinary spy, I think.”

  “She?” Sonea interrupted.

  “Yes. A woman.” Akkarin handed the cloth back to Takan. “That is not the only difference between her and the previous spies. She is unusually strong for a former slave. She has not been here long, and could not have grown so strong by killing Imardians. We would have heard, if she had killed people.”

  “They prepared her?” Takan suggested. His hands gripped the stained cloth tightly. “Let her take strength from their slaves before she left?”

  “Perhaps. Whatever the reason, she was ready for the fight. She let me think she was exhausted, then when I came close she cut me. She wasn’t quick enough to get a hold on my wound and draw power, however. After that, she tried to draw attention to our fighting.”

  “So you let her escape,” Takan concluded.

  “Yes. She must have thought I’d let her go rather than endanger the lives of others.”

  “Or she knows you’d rather the Guild didn’t hear of magical battles in the slums.” Takan’s lips thinned. “She will be killing to strengthen herself again.”

  Akkarin smiled grimly. “I don’t doubt it.”

  “And you are weaker now. You’ve had little time to strengthen yourself after the last one.”

  “That will not be a problem.” He looked at Sonea. “I have one of the Guild’s strongest magicians to help me.”

  Sonea looked away, and felt her face warming. Takan was shaking his head.

  “This sounds wrong to me. She is too different. A woman. No Ichani would free a woman slave. And she is strong. Cunning. Not like a slave at all.”

  Akkarin regarded his servant closely. “You think she is an Ichani?”

  “Possibly. You should prepare as if she was. You should…” He glanced at Sonea. “You should take an ally.”

  Sonea blinked at the servant in surprise. Did he mean she should go with Akkarin when he faced this woman again?

  “We have already discussed this,” Akkarin began.

  “And you said you would reconsider it if they attack Kyralia,” Takan replied. “If this woman is Ichani, they are already here. What if she is too strong for you? You can’t risk losing your life, and leaving the Guild with no defense.”

  Sonea felt her pulse quickening. “And two pairs of eyes are better than one,” she said quickly. “If I had come with you tonight—”

  “You might have got in the way.”

  That stung. Sonea felt a flare of anger. “You think so, do you? I’m just a soft novice like the rest. Don’t know my way around the slums, or how to hide from magicians.”

  He stared at her, then his shoulders slumped and he began to laugh softly.

  “What am I to do?” he asked. “You are both determined to wear me down on this.”

  He rubbed his arm absently. Sonea looked down and blinked in surprise. The red wounds were now only pink. He had been Healing himself even as they spoke.

  “I will teach Sonea only if this woman is Ichani. Then we will know they have become a real threat.”

  “If she is Ichani, you may end up dead,” Takan said bluntly. “Be prepared, master.”

  Akkarin looked up at Sonea. His eyes were shadowed, his expression distant and thoughtful.

  “What do you think, Sonea? This is not something you should agree to without much careful consideration.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I have considered it. If there’s no other way, then I’ll take the risk and learn black magic
. After all, what is the point of being a good, law-abiding novice if there is no Guild? If you die, the rest of us probably will, too.”

  Slowly, Akkarin nodded.

  “Very well. I do not like it. If there was another way, I would take it.” He sighed. “But there isn’t. We will begin tomorrow night.”

  11

  Forbidden Knowledge

  Three yerim thumped spike first into the door of Cery’s office. Rising from his desk, he pulled out the scribe tools and returned to his seat. He stared at the door, then tossed the yerim again, one after another.

  They landed just where he intended, at the points of an imagined triangle. Standing up again, he strolled across the room to retrieve them. Thinking of the merchant who was waiting behind that door, Cery smiled. What did the man make of this regular thudding on the Thief’s door?

  Then he sighed. He really ought to see the merchant and get it over with, but he wasn’t in a generous mood, and this man usually visited to beg for more time to pay back his debts. Cery wasn’t yet sure whether or not the man was testing the newest, youngest Thief to see how far he could be pushed. A slowly repaid debt was better than one not paid at all, but a Thief with a reputation for endless patience was a Thief without respect.

  Sometimes he needed to show he was willing to use a firm hand.

  Cery looked at the yerim, their points embedded deep in the grain of the door. He had to admit it. The merchant wasn’t the real reason for his brooding.

  “She got away,” Morren had reported. “He let her.”

  Pressed for details, Morren had described a fierce battle. Clearly, this woman had been stronger than Akkarin expected. He had been unable to contain her magic. It had wrecked the room in the bolhouse she had been staying in. Several other patrons had witnessed more than they should have—though Cery had ensured that most were well and truly inebriated beforehand by sending a few men into the bol servery with considerable “winnings” from the races to share. Those who had not been drunk, or had been outside the bolhouse, had been paid to stay quiet—though that rarely stopped gossip for long. Not when it involved a woman floating to the ground from a third-story window.