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

  Dannyl nodded. “Yes, though I do not know why.”

  “I wanted to retrieve some of the knowledge that Akkarin lost,” Lorlen said. “But Akkarin learned of the research, and made it clear he didn’t approve. I told Lord Dannyl that his help was no longer needed.”

  “And you didn’t obey that order?” Sarrin asked Dannyl.

  “It wasn’t an order,” Lorlen said. “I said only that the research was no longer needed. I believe Dannyl continued out of his own interest.”

  “I did,” Dannyl confirmed. “Later, Akkarin heard that I had continued and called me back to the Guild. He seemed pleased by my progress and encouraged me to continue. Unfortunately, I made little further progress. The only sources I hadn’t explored were in Sachaka, and he had made it clear I must not go there.”

  Sarrin leaned back in his chair. “Interesting. He discouraged the research, then encouraged it. Perhaps you had already found something he didn’t want you to find, but you hadn’t understood its significance. Then he would have felt safe allowing you to continue.”

  “I have considered that, too,” Dannyl agreed. “It wasn’t until I saw the rebel’s book that I realized the ancient magic I’d been researching was actually black magic. I don’t think he intended me to know that.”

  Sarrin shook his head. “No. If that is so, he would not have wanted you to read that book. So he probably didn’t know that Dem Marane possessed it, and the arrest of the rebels was not an exercise designed to bring it into his possession.” He frowned. “And it may contain information that he does not know. How very interesting.”

  Dannyl looked from face to face while the magicians considered this.

  “May I ask a question?”

  Lorlen smiled. “Of course, Ambassador.”

  “Have you discovered anything that proves Akkarin’s story is true?”

  The Administrator sobered. “Not yet.” He hesitated. “Despite Akkarin’s warning, we can see no other way to learn the truth but to send spies into Sachaka.”

  Dannyl nodded. “I suppose their identity will be a secret, even to members of the Guild.”

  “Yes,” Lorlen replied. “But some, like yourself, will be permitted to know, because they will probably guess the real reason for the absence of certain magicians.”

  Dannyl straightened. “Really?”

  “One of the spies will be your mentor, Lord Rothen.”

  The climb into the mountains seemed endless.

  The morning sun had revealed steep, heavily forested slopes on either side. Though the road was well maintained, and showed signs of recent repair, all else appeared to be wilderness. If the escort had passed any houses during the night, they had been well hidden in the darkness.

  The road followed the curve of the mountainous slopes and climbed through steep ravines. Sonea occasionally caught a glimpse of rocky outcrops above. The air grew steadily colder, until she was forced to keep a barrier of warmth about herself all the time to stop from shivering.

  She longed for the end of the journey, yet dreaded it. The constant uphill climb altered her position in the saddle subtly, and a whole new range of muscles had begun to protest. In addition, the coarse material of her trousers had chafed her skin raw and she had to Heal herself every few hours to ease the pain.

  “Halt!”

  At Balkan’s order, Sonea sighed with relief. They hadn’t stopped since the morning, and then only briefly. She felt her horse draw in a deep breath as it came to a halt, then gust it out again.

  Several of the escort dismounted to tend to the horses. Akkarin stared into the distance. Following his gaze, she saw that the land below the mountain was visible through a gap in the trees. Hills rolled outward, gradually smoothing out into a flat plain in the far distance. Narrow rivers and streams glittered in the creases between them. Everything glowed with the warm light of the late afternoon sun. The horizon was a misty edge. Somewhere over it lay Imardin. Her home.

  At every step in the journey, she moved farther away from everything she had ever known: her family, her old friends, Cery, Rothen, Dorrien. The names of people she had grown to like in the last few years ran through her mind: Tania, Dannyl, Tya, and Yikmo—and even some of the novices. She might never see any of them again. She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to most of them. Her throat tightened, and she felt her eyes begin to sting.

  Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe slowly and normally. This is not the time or place to start crying. Not now, with Balkan and the other magicians watching—and especially not Akkarin. She swallowed hard and forced herself to turn away from the view.

  As she opened her eyes again, she saw Akkarin’s expression shift. For a moment, before the familiar mask settled over his face, she glimpsed a look of intense frustration and bitterness. She looked down, disturbed by what she had seen.

  Osen began handing out bread, cold cooked vegetables and chunks of salted meat. Akkarin accepted his share silently, and returned to his brooding. Sonea chewed slowly, determined to force thoughts of the Guild out of her head, and concentrate instead on the days ahead. Where would they find food in Sachaka? The area beyond the pass was wasteland. Perhaps they could buy food. Would Balkan give them money?

  Osen returned to her side and offered a mug full of watered wine. She drank it quickly and handed back the cup. He paused, as if he wanted to say something, and she quickly straightened and looked away. She heard a sigh, then footsteps retreating as he walked back to his horse.

  “Onward,” Balkan called.

  Breaks in the trees became more common as they continued on. In the spaces, great sheets of bare rock were exposed. A chill wind whipped the horses’ tails. The sun steadily descended toward the horizon, then the road straightened and passed between two tall, smooth walls of rock. Ahead, stained orange by the setting sun, was an enormous, squat column of stone punctured by rows of tiny square holes.

  The Fort.

  Sonea stared up at the building as they drew closer. In history lessons, she had learned that the Fort had been built soon after the Sachakan War. It was taller than she had imagined, probably two or three times taller than the main University building. The huge cylinder of rock filled the narrow gap between the two high rock walls. Nothing could pass this way without going through the building.

  There was no sign of cracks or mortar, yet the Fort had been made long before Lord Coren had discovered how to meld rock. She shook her head in wonder. Those long-dead builders must have carved the Fort out of the mountain itself.

  A pair of large metal doors at the base of the building began to swing open as they approached. Two figures stepped out. One wore the uniform of a captain of the guard, the other wore red Warrior robes. Sonea blinked in surprise, then stared at the magician in disbelief.

  “Lord Balkan,” Fergun said as the captain bowed respectfully, “this is Captain Larwen.”

  Of course, she thought. Fergun was sent away to a distant Fort as punishment for blackmailing me. I hadn’t realized it would be this Fort.

  As the Captain addressed Lord Balkan, Sonea looked down at her hands and cursed her luck. No doubt Fergun had been looking forward to this moment. He had risked much in his efforts to convince the Guild that they should not admit anyone from outside the Houses. Now his claims that slum dwellers are not to be trusted have been proven true, she thought.

  But that was wrong. She had only learned and used black magic to save the Guild and Kyralia.

  He, too, had believed he was saving the Guild. She felt an uncomfortable sympathy for him. Was there really any difference between her and her former enemy?

  Yes, she thought. I’m trying to save all of Kyralia. He only wanted to prevent lower-class Kyralians learning magic.

  In the corner of her eye, she saw that he was staring at her.

  Ignore him, she told herself. He’s not worth it.

  But why should she? He was no better than her. Steeling herself, she lifted her head and returned his stare. His
lips curled with contempt and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

  You think you’re so superior, she thought at him, but consider this. I am stronger than you. Even without the forbidden magic I have learned, I could beat you in the Arena any day, Warrior.

  His eyes narrowed, and his jaw stiffened with hatred. She returned his stare coldly. I have killed a magician who, like you, preyed on the helpless. I would kill again, if it were the only way to protect Kyralia. You do not frighten me, magician. You are nothing, a petty fool, a…

  Fergun suddenly turned to regard the Captain, as if the man had said something significant. She waited for him to meet her gaze again, but he didn’t. The formalities ended, and the Captain stepped aside and blew on a whistle. The escort began to move into the Fort.

  As they did, the wide corridor beyond filled with the echoing clatter of hooves. The escort continued for several paces, then slowed as it approached a wall of stone blocking half the passage. Passing this in single file, they then stopped before a pair of closed metal doors a hundred paces farther along the corridor. These swung open slowly. They passed through and crossed a wooden section of floor that echoed hollowly under the horses’ hooves, then filed past another stone wall.

  Sonea felt cool air on her face. She looked up and saw a pair of open metal doors leading to another walled ravine. Night had already descended on the other side of the Fort. Steep walls were illuminated by two rows of lamps. Beyond them, the road continued into darkness.

  As the escort moved into the open, Sonea found that her heart was beating fast. If they had passed through the Fort, then her horse was now walking on Sachakan soil. She looked down.

  Rock is a better description, she amended.

  She turned in her saddle and looked back up at the Fort. Lights beyond some of the windows made silhouettes of the watching occupants.

  The sound of hoofbeats faded. Her horse stopped.

  “Dismount.”

  As Akkarin swung out of the saddle, Sonea realized that Balkan’s order had been solely for her and Akkarin. She slid to the ground, wincing at the stiffness in her legs. Lord Osen leaned down to take the reins and led the horses away.

  With the horses and Osen gone, only she and Akkarin remained standing within the ring of Warriors. A globe of light flared above Balkan’s head, flooding the area with brightness.

  “Remember the faces of these two magicians,” Balkan called. “They are Akkarin, former High Lord of the Magicians’ Guild, and Sonea, former novice of the High Lord. They have been cast out of the Guild and exiled from the Allied Lands for the crime of practicing black magic.”

  A chill entered Sonea’s blood. At least this was the last time she would hear those ritual words. She glanced at the darkened road beyond the lamplight.

  “Wait!”

  Her heart skipped. Osen stepped forward.

  “Yes, Lord Osen?”

  “I would speak to Sonea once more before she leaves.”

  Balkan nodded slowly. “Very well.”

  Sonea sighed as Osen climbed down from his horse. He approached her slowly, his expression tense.

  “Sonea, this is your last chance.” He spoke quietly, perhaps so the escort would not hear. “Come back with me.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He turned to regard Akkarin. “Would you have her turn down this opportunity?”

  Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. “No, but she seems determined to discard it. I doubt I could change her mind.”

  Osen frowned and turned to regard Sonea again. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and merely shook his head. He looked at Akkarin again.

  “You had better look after her,” he muttered.

  Akkarin stared impassively at the magician. Osen scowled and turned on his heel. He strode back to his horse and stepped up into the saddle.

  At a signal from Balkan, the escorts blocking the road into Sachaka fell back.

  “Be gone from the Allied Lands,” Balkan said. His voice was neither angry nor regretful.

  “Come, Sonea,” Akkarin said quietly “We have a way to go yet.”

  She looked at him. His expression was distant and hard to read. As he turned away and started walking, she followed a few steps behind.

  A voice murmured behind them. She listened carefully. It was Lord Osen.

  “…lands again. I cast you out, Sonea. Do not enter my lands again.”

  She shivered, then set her gaze upon the darkening road before her.

  As the last of the sun’s rays left the garden, Lorlen turned from the window of his office and began to pace. The route took him around the room, from chair to chair, then back to his desk. He stopped, looked down at the mass of paper, and sighed.

  Why, of all places, did they have to send Akkarin to Sachaka?

  He knew why. He knew, with a cold certainty, that the King hoped Akkarin would perish in Sachaka. Akkarin had broken one of the most serious Guild laws. No matter how much the King had liked the High Lord, he knew there was nothing more dangerous than a magician who would not obey laws, and was too powerful to control. If the Guild could not execute Akkarin, then they must send him to the only magicians who could: the Ichani.

  Of course, the Ichani might not exist. If they didn’t, the Guild was about to free a magician who had learned black magic willingly. He might come back, stronger than ever. That couldn’t be helped, however.

  If the Ichani did exist, it seemed foolish to send to his death the only magician who could tell them about their enemy. Akkarin wasn’t the only one, though. There was Sonea.

  That was where the King had misjudged the situation badly. He had assumed the ex-slum girl, who’d been guided and manipulated by more than one magician, would be easily swayed. Lorlen smiled wryly as he remembered her angry refusal.

  “If you send High Lord Akkarin into exile, you must send me too. Then, when you come to your senses, he might still be alive and able to help you.”

  The King had been angry at her defiance. What do you expect? Lorlen had wanted to say. Loyalty? From one who once lived among those you drive out of the city during the Purge each year? Eventually the King had concluded that, if she would not accept the judgment of the Guild and her ruler, then perhaps exile was for the best.

  Lorlen sighed and began pacing again. In truth, the Guild didn’t need Sonea to tell them about the Ichani so long as he had Akkarin’s ring…and Akkarin remained alive. But if Lorlen began relaying information from Akkarin to the rest of the Guild, he would eventually have to admit how he was receiving it. The ring was a tool of black magic. How would the Guild react to the news that their Administrator owned and continued to use such a thing?

  I should throw it away, he thought. But he knew he wouldn’t. He took out the ring and considered it, then slipped it on a finger.

  —Akkarin? Are you there?

  Nothing.

  Lorlen had tried to contact Akkarin through the ring several times. Occasionally he thought he had detected a faint feeling of anger or fear, but had decided this was only his imagination. The silence tortured him. If it wasn’t for Osen’s mental reports on the journey, Lorlen might have worried that Akkarin was dead.

  Lorlen finished his circuit of the room, then stepped behind his desk and collapsed into his chair. He removed the ring and put it back in his pocket. A moment later, there was a sharp knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  “A message from the King, my lord.”

  A servant entered, bowed, and placed a wooden cylinder on Lorlen’s desk. The King’s incal was imprinted on the stopper and the wax was dusted with gold powder.

  “Thank you. You may go.”

  The servant bowed again, then retreated from the room. Lorlen broke the seal and pulled out a rolled sheet of paper.

  So the King wants to talk about Sachaka, Lorlen mused as he read the formal script. He let the letter curl back into a roll, returned it to the cylinder and stowed it inside a box he kept for royal messages.

/>   A meeting with the King was unexpectedly appealing. What he had longed for most was just to be able to do something. For too long he had been restrained and helpless to act. He stood up, then froze as he heard his name echo at the edge of his senses.

  —Lorlen!

  Osen. Lorlen sensed the minds of other magicians, attracted by the call, fade as they turned their attention away.

  —Yes, Osen?

  —It is done. Sonea and Akkarin are in Sachaka.

  Lorlen felt his heart sink.

  —Could you ask Fergun and the Captain if anyone in the Fort or surrounding locality has noticed anything unusual going on in Sachaka?

  —I will ask and tell you his reply tomorrow. He has requested that some magicians remain here in case Akkarin and Sonea try to return.

  —Did you explain that it would make no difference?

  —No, I didn’t want to make them more nervous than they already are.

  Lorlen considered the Captain’s request.

  —I’ll leave that decision to Balkan.

  —I’ll tell him. There was a pause. I must go. The image of a hall with a large open fire and magicians taking seats at a long dining table reached Lorlen’s mind. He smiled.

  —Enjoy your meal, Osen. Thank you for informing me.

  —Thank you for informing me, another voice replied. Lorlen blinked in surprise.

  —Who was that? Osen asked.

  —I don’t know, Lorlen replied. He thought back over their conversation and shivered. If someone was waiting over the border, ready to ambush visitors, then they now knew Akkarin and Sonea were on their way.

  Then he considered what might have been discussed by magicians in the last few days and his heart sank even further. We’ve been fools, Lorlen thought. Not one of us has really considered what it might mean if Akkarin’s story is true.

  —Balkan, he called.

  —Yes?

  —Please tell your men that all mental communication must cease from this moment. I will inform the rest of the Guild.

  As Osen and Balkan’s presence withdrew, Lorlen drew Akkarin’s ring out of his pocket. His hands shook as he slipped it over his finger.