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

  From then on, Rothen was frighteningly aware that his attempts to save the young Warrior had depleted most of his strength. Not all of it, though. After coming across two bodies half an hour later, he decided he would strike at a Sachakan one more time before he slipped away to hide.

  More than an hour had passed since the carts had arrived, and he was far from the main street. Balkan’s orders had been to delay the Sachakans as long as possible. He was not sure how long or how far the enemy would continue to hunt for Guild magicians.

  Not all night, he thought. They’ll eventually head back. And they won’t expect anyone to be there to attack them.

  Rothen smiled. Slowly and cautiously, he made his way back toward the main road. Entering one of the houses, he listened carefully for other movements inside. All was silent.

  Moving to a window at the front of the house, he saw that the carts were still where they had been before. Several of the Sachakans were walking near them, stretching their legs.

  A slave was inspecting one of the wheels.

  A broken wheel would slow them down, Rothen mused. Then he grinned to himself. Better still would be a few broken carts.

  He drew in a deep breath and reached for his remaining power.

  Then he heard a floorboard squeak behind him and felt his blood go cold.

  “Rothen,” a voice whispered.

  He turned and let the breath out in a rush. “Yikmo.”

  The Warrior moved to the window.

  “I heard one boasting that he had killed five of us,” Yikmo said grimly. “The other claims he took three.”

  “I was about to strike the carts,” Rothen murmured. “They would have to replace them, and I think most vehicles here went with the villagers.”

  Yikmo nodded. “They were protecting them before, but they might not be n—”

  He fell abruptly silent as two Sachakans sauntered into view from the houses on the other side of the street. A woman called out to them.

  “How many, Kariko?”

  “Seven,” the man replied.

  “I got five,” his companion added.

  Yikmo drew in a sharp breath. “It can’t be. If the two I heard on this side are telling the truth, we are the only two left.”

  Rothen shivered. “Unless they are exaggerating.”

  “Did you get all of them?” the woman asked.

  “Most,” Kariko replied. “There were twenty-two.”

  “I could send my tracker after them.”

  “No, we have wasted enough time already.” He straightened and Rothen stiffened as he heard the man’s mental voice.

  —Come back now.

  Yikmo turned to regard Rothen. “This is our last chance to hit those carts.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll strike the first. You take the second. Ready?”

  Rothen nodded and drew on the last of his power.

  “Go.”

  Their strikes flashed to the carts. Wood shattered, then humans and horses screamed. Several of the plain-clothed Sachakans fell to the ground, cut and bleeding from flying splinters of wood. One horse kicked its way free and galloped away.

  The Sachakan magicians whirled around to stare in Rothen’s direction.

  “Run!” Yikmo gasped.

  Rothen made it halfway across the room before the wall behind him exploded. The force slammed into his back and threw him forward. As he slammed against a wall, pain shot through his chest and arm.

  He fell to the floor and lay still, too stunned to move.

  Get up! he told himself. You’ve got to get away!

  But when he moved, pain stabbed through his shoulder and arm. Something’s broken, he thought. And I have no strength left for Healing. He gasped and, with a great effort, forced himself up onto one elbow, then his knees. Dust filled his eyes and he tried to blink it away. He felt a hand grasp his other arm. Yikmo, he thought. He felt a flood of gratitude. He stayed to help.

  The hand hauled him to his feet, sending rips of agony through his upper body. He looked up at his helper and gratitude turned to horror.

  Kariko stared at him, his face contorted with anger. “I’m going to make you very sorry you did that, magician.”

  A force pushed Rothen against the wall and held him there. The pressure sent pain shooting through his shoulder. Kariko grasped Rothen’s head with both hands.

  He’s going to read my mind! Rothen thought, feeling panic rising. He instinctively struggled to block an intrusion, but felt nothing. For a moment, he wondered if mind reading was Kariko’s intention, then a voice boomed within his head.

  —What is your greatest fear?

  Sonea’s face flashed into Rothen’s mind. He pushed it away, but Kariko caught and sent the image back again.

  —Who is this, then? Ah, someone you taught magic to. Someone you care for. But she is gone. Sent away by the Guild. Where? Sachaka! Ah! So that’s who she is. Akkarin’s companion. Such a naughty girl, breaking Guild rules.

  Rothen tried to still his mind, to think of nothing, but Kariko began sending tantalizing images of Akkarin into Rothen’s mind. He saw a younger Akkarin, in clothes like those of the slaves in the carts, cowering before another Sachakan.

  —He was a slave, Kariko told him. Your noble High Lord was once a pathetic, grovelling slave who served my brother.

  Rothen felt a pang of sympathy and regret as he realized that Akkarin had told the truth. The last of the anger he had felt toward Sonea’s “corruptor” melted away. He felt a wistful pride. She had made the right decision. A hard decision, but the right one. He wished he could tell her so, but knew he would never get the chance. At least I did everything I could, he thought. And she is far from all this trouble, now that the Ichani have left Sachaka.

  —Far from trouble? I have allies there still, Kariko sent. They will find her and bring her to me. When I have her, I will make her suffer. And you…you will be alive to see it, slave-killer. Yes, I see no harm in that. You are weak and your body is broken, so you will not reach your city in time to help your Guild.

  Rothen felt the hands against his head slide away. Kariko was looking at the floor. He stepped away and bent down to pick up a broken piece of glass.

  Drawing close again, he ran the edge of the shard over Rothen’s cheek. The touch of the glass was followed by a sharp pain, then the sensation of a warm trickle running down his face. Kariko cupped his hand under Rothen’s chin, then pulled it away. His palm held a small pool of blood.

  Kariko held the shard of glass in the air. The tip slowly began to glow and melt, until a small globule had formed. This fell from the tip of the shard into Kariko’s palm.

  Kariko closed his fingers around it and shut his eyes. Something stirred at the edge of Rothen’s thoughts. He sensed another mind and caught a glimpse of what this strange ritual meant. His mind was linked to the glass now, and to anyone who touched it. Kariko intended to make it into a ring and—

  Suddenly the link broke. Kariko smiled and turned away. Rothen felt the force holding him to the wall dissipate. He gasped as his shoulder flared with pain. Looking up, he watched in disbelief as the Sachakan walked away through the ruined front of the house toward the broken carts.

  He let me live.

  Rothen thought of the little sphere of glass. He thought back to Lord Sarrin’s briefing about the uses of black magic, and realized that Kariko had just made a blood gem.

  The sound of voices outside sent a chill through his veins. I must get away now, he thought, while I still can. Turning away, he hurried through the house to the back door, and stumbled out into the night.

  Looking at Sonea, Cery felt unexpectedly calm.

  He had expected to be tormented by conflicting emotions at the first sight of her. There had been no thrill of excitement and admiration, as in the early days, nor any of the painful longing that had lingered after she had joined the Guild. Mostly he felt fondness—and concern.

  I suspect I’ll always be worrying about her for on
e reason or another. Watching her now, he noted how her attention constantly returned to Akkarin. He smiled. At first he had assumed this was because Akkarin was her former guardian and she was used to obeying his every command, but he wasn’t so sure now. She hadn’t hesitated to confront him about concealing Cery’s status. And Akkarin hadn’t been too bothered by her defiance either.

  They aren’t Guild magicians any more, Cery reminded himself. They probably had to abandon all that guardian-novice stuff.

  But he was beginning to suspect there was more to it than that.

  “Do you have my knife?” Akkarin asked his servant.

  Takan nodded, rose and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. He returned with a sheathed knife hanging on a belt, and offered it to Akkarin with his head bowed.

  Akkarin took it solemnly. He draped the belt across his knees, then suddenly looked up at the far wall. At the same time Sonea drew in a sharp breath.

  The room fell silent. Cery watched the pair gaze into the distance. Akkarin’s brows came together and he shook his head, then Sonea’s eyes widened.

  “No!” she gasped. “Rothen!” Her face drained of all color, then she buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

  Cery felt his heart twist with concern, and saw the same emotion on Akkarin’s face. The magician pushed the belt to one side and slipped out of his chair to kneel beside her. He drew her against him and held her tightly.

  “Sonea,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  Clearly something terrible had happened. “What is it?” Cery asked.

  “Lord Yikmo just reported that all of his men have been killed,” Akkarin said. “Rothen, Sonea’s guardian before me, was among them.” He paused. “Yikmo is badly injured. He said something about successfully delaying the Ichani. I think that may be why they ambushed them, but I don’t know why the Guild needs the delay.”

  The sound of Sonea’s sobs changed. She was clearly trying to stop. Akkarin looked down at her, then glanced at Cery.

  “Where can we sleep?”

  Takan gestured to a room. “Through there, master.” Cery noted that the servant had indicated the room with the larger bed.

  Akkarin rose, drawing Sonea to her feet. “Come on, Sonea. We’ve not slept a full night for weeks.”

  “I can’t sleep,” she said.

  “Then lie there and warm the bed up for me.”

  Well, that leaves no doubt, Cery thought.

  They moved into the room. After a moment, Akkarin returned. Cery stood up.

  “It’s late,” Cery said. “I’ll return early tomorrow, so we can talk about the meeting.”

  Akkarin nodded. “Thank you, Ceryni.” He returned to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Cery regarded the closed door. Akkarin, eh? An interesting choice.

  “I hope this does not upset you.”

  Cery turned to regard Takan. The servant nodded toward the bedroom.

  “Those two?” Cery shrugged. “No.”

  Takan nodded. “I thought not, since you are now occupied with another woman.”

  Cery felt his blood turn cold. He glanced at Gol, who was frowning. “How did you know about that?”

  “I heard it from one of my guards.” Takan glanced from Cery to Gol. “This was meant to be a secret, then?”

  “Yes. It is not always safe being friends with a Thief.”

  The servant looked genuinely concerned. “They did not know her name. A young man like yourself would be expected to have a woman, or many women.”

  Cery managed a grim smile. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll have to look into these rumors. Good night, then.”

  Takan nodded. “Good night, Thief.”

  31

  Preparations for War

  The guide led Lorlen into a spacious room. Early morning sunlight streamed through enormous windows on one side. A small crowd of men surrounded a large table in the center. The King stood at the middle of this, Lord Balkan on his left and Captain Arin, his military advisor, on the right. The rest of the group was made up of captains and courtiers, some familiar, some not.

  The King acknowledged Lorlen with a glance and a nod, then turned his attention back to a hand-drawn map of the city spread before him.

  “And how soon until the Outer Wall gate supports are finished, Captain Vettan?” he asked of a gray-haired man.

  “The Northern and Western Gates are ready. The Southern will be finished by this evening,” the Captain replied.

  “A question, Your Majesty?” This came from a finely dressed young man standing on the other side of the table.

  The King looked up. “Yes, Ilorin?”

  Lorlen regarded the young man with surprise. This was the King’s cousin, a youth no older than a new novice, and a possible heir to the throne.

  “Why are we fortifying the gates, when the Outer Wall has fallen into disrepair around the Guild?” the young man asked. “The Sachakans only need to send scouts out to circle the city, to discover this.”

  The King smiled grimly. “We’re hoping the Sachakans don’t try that.”

  “We are expecting the Sachakans to attack us boldly,” Balkan told Ilorin, “and since these slaves are a source of power to them, I doubt they will risk sending them out as scouts.” Lorlen noted that Balkan did not mention the possiblity that the Sachakans had read this weakness from the minds of the Warriors at the Fort, or Calia. Perhaps the King had asked him to keep the true hopelessness of their position from his cousin.

  “Do you believe these fortifications will stop the Sachakans?” Ilorin asked.

  “No,” Balkan replied. “Slow them, perhaps, but not stop them. Their purpose is to force the Sachakans to use up some of their power.”

  “What will happen once they have entered the city?”

  Balkan glanced at the King. “We will continue to fight them for as long as we can.”

  The King turned to one of the other captains. “Have the Houses evacuated?”

  “Most have left,” the man replied.

  “And the rest of the people?”

  “The gate guards report that the number of people leaving the city has increased fourfold.”

  The King looked at the map again and sighed. “I wish this map included the slums.” He looked at Lord Balkan. “Will they be a problem during the battle?”

  The Warrior frowned. “Only if the Sachakan decide to conceal themselves there.”

  “If they do, we could set the buildings alight,” Ilorin suggested.

  “Or burn them now, to ensure they don’t use them to their advantage,” another courtier added.

  “They will burn for days,” Captain Arin warned. “The smoke will help conceal the enemy, and falling embers might set the rest of the city alight. I recommend leaving the slums standing unless we have no other choice.”

  The King nodded. He straightened, then looked at Lorlen.

  “Leave me,” he ordered. “Administrator Lorlen and Lord Balkan may stay.”

  The guard promptly left the room. Lorlen noted that the two King’s Advisors remained.

  “Do you have good news for me?” the King asked.

  “No, Your Majesty,” Lorlen replied. “Lord Sarrin has not been able to discover how to use black magic. He sends his apologies and says he will continue trying.”

  “Does he feel he is even close?”

  Lorlen sighed and shook his head. “No.”

  The King looked down at the map and scowled.

  “The Sachakans will be here in a day, two if we are lucky.” He looked at Balkan. “Did you bring it?”

  The Warrior nodded. He drew a small pouch from his robes, opened it and tipped its contents on the table. Lorlen drew in a quick breath as he recognized Akkarin’s ring.

  “Do you intend to call Akkarin back?”

  The King nodded. “Yes. It is a risk, but what difference will it make if he betrays us? We will lose this battle without him anyway.” He picked the ring up by its band, and held it out to
Lorlen. “Call him back.”

  The ring was cool. Lorlen slipped it on his finger and closed his eyes.

  —Akkarin!

  He waited, but no answer came. After counting to a hundred, he called again. Still no reply. He shook his head.

  “He isn’t responding.”

  “Perhaps there is something wrong with it,” the King said.

  “I’ll try again.”

  —Akkarin!

  No answer came. Lorlen tried a few more times, then sighed and took off the ring.

  “Perhaps he’s asleep,” he said. “I could try again in an hour.”

  The King frowned. He looked up at the windows. “Call him without the ring. Perhaps he will answer that.”

  Balkan and Lorlen exchanged worried glances.

  “The enemy will hear us,” the Warrior pointed out.

  “I know. Call him.”

  Balkan nodded, then closed his eyes.

  —Akkarin!

  Silence followed. Lorlen sent out his own call.

  —Akkarin! The King bids you return.

  —Ak—

  —AKKARIN! AKKARIN! AKKARIN! AKKARIN!

  Lorlen gasped as another mind thundered against his own like a striking hammer. He heard other mental voices shouting Akkarin’s name mockingly before he drew away with a shudder.

  “Well, that was unpleasant,” Balkan muttered, rubbing his temples.

  “What happened?” the King asked.

  “The Sachakans answered.”

  “With mindstrike,” Lorlen added.

  The King scowled, then turned away from the table and clenched his fists. He paced for a few minutes, then turned to regard Lorlen.

  “Try again in an hour.”

  Lorlen nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”