Feeling a little better, Rothen rose, gave his empty glass to a servant, then went in search of Yaldin.
Since Irand had allocated them a study room, Dannyl and Tayend had gradually added furnishings until it was as comfortable as any nobleman’s guestroom. In addition to the large table that had once dominated the room, there were comfortable chairs and a couch, a well-stocked wine cabinet and oil lamps for reading. The lamps were also the only source of heat when Dannyl was not there. Today, however, he had set a globe of magic in an alcove in one wall, and the heat had quickly chased away the chill of the stone walls.
Tayend had been absent when Dannyl arrived at the library. After talking to Irand for an hour, Dannyl had continued on to their study room to wait for his friend. He was struggling through the records of a seaside estate in the vague hope of finding a reference to ancient magic when Tayend finally arrived.
The scholar stopped in the middle of the room and swayed, clearly a little drunk.
“Looks like you’ve been having a good time,” Dannyl observed.
Tayend sighed dramatically. “Ah, yes. There was good wine. There was fine music. There were even a few rather good-looking acrobats to admire…But I dragged myself away, knowing that I could only escape for a few sweet hours from slaving in the library for my relentlessly demanding Guild Ambassador.”
Dannyl crossed his arms and smiled. “Slaving, indeed. You’ve never done an honorable day’s work in your life.”
“Plenty of dishonorable ones, though.” Tayend grinned. “And besides, I did a little work for us at this party. Dem Marane was there—the man who might be a rebel.”
“Really?” Dannyl uncrossed his arms. “That’s a coincidence.”
“Not really.” Tayend shrugged. “I see him occasionally at parties, but I haven’t had much conversation with him since he first introduced himself. Anyway, I decided to have a chat and give him a hint that we were interested in attending his parties.”
Dannyl felt a stab of alarm. “What did you say?”
Tayend waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing specific. I just commented that his invitations had stopped once I’d started assisting you, then I looked cautious, but interested.”
“You shouldn’t have…” Dannyl frowned. “How many times have you had these invitations?”
The scholar chuckled. “You sound jealous, Dannyl. Only once or twice a year. Not invitations, really. He just hints that I’m still welcome to attend his parties.”
“And these hints stopped when you started assisting me?”
“Obviously he’s terribly intimidated by you.”
Dannyl paced the room. “You’ve just hinted that we’ve guessed what he and his friends are up to. If they are as involved as Akkarin says, they’ll take even the slightest hint of danger seriously. Very seriously.”
Tayend’s eyes widened. “I just…sounded interested.”
“That is probably enough to send Marane into a panic. He’s probably considering what to do about us right now.”
“What will he do?”
Dannyl sighed. “I doubt he’ll wait around to see if the Guild comes to arrest him. He’s probably considering ways to silence us. Blackmail. Murder.”
“Murder! But…surely he’d know I wouldn’t have approached him if I was going to turn him in? If I was going to turn him in I’d just…turn him in.”
“Because you only suspect he’s a rebel,” Dannyl replied. “He’ll be expecting us to do exactly what we’re planning to do—pretend to want to join them in order to confirm our suspicions. That’s why Akkarin suggested we give him something to blackmail us with.”
Tayend sat down and rubbed his forehead. “Do you really think he might try to kill me?” He cursed, “I just saw an opportunity and, and…”
“No. If he has any sense, he won’t risk trying to kill you.” Dannyl leaned against the table. “He’ll be finding out as much about us as possible, considering what is precious to us. What he could threaten to harm. Family. Wealth. Honor.”
“Us?”
Dannyl shook his head. “Even if he has heard rumors, he would not rely on them. He wants something he’s sure of. If we’d arranged for our little secret to come into his hands before this, we could rely on him aiming for that.”
“Do we still have time?”
Dannyl considered the scholar. “I suppose if we act quickly…”
The bright excitement in the scholar’s eyes was gone. Dannyl wasn’t sure what he wanted to do more: give Tayend a reassuring hug or shake some sense into him. By seeking to learn magic on their own, the Elyne courtiers had broken one of the Allied Land’s most important laws. Punishment for breaking it, depending on the circumstances, was imprisonment for life or even execution. The rebels would take any threat of discovery very seriously.
By the miserable look on Tayend’s face, Dannyl knew that if the danger hadn’t sunk in before, it had now. Sighing, he crossed the room and rested his hands on Tayend’s shoulders.
“Don’t worry, Tayend. You set things in motion a little early, that’s all. Let’s find Irand and tell him we need to act straightaway.”
Tayend nodded, then rose and followed him to the door.
It was late when Sonea heard the tapping at her bedroom door. She sighed with relief. Her servant, Viola, was late and Sonea was craving her nightly cup of raka.
“Come in.” Without looking up, she sent a thought at the door and willed it open. When the servant didn’t move into the room, Sonea looked up and felt her blood freeze.
Akkarin stood in the doorway, all but his pale face hidden in the shadowy passage. He moved and she saw that he was carrying two large, heavy books. The cover of one was stained and tattered.
With her heart beating quickly, she stood and reluctantly approached the door, stopping a few strides away to bow.
“Have you finished the diary?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”
“And what did you make of it?”
What should she say? “It…it answers a lot of questions,” she said evasively.
“Such as?”
“How Lord Coren discovered how to manipulate stone.”
“Anything else?”
That he learned black magic. She didn’t want to say it, but Akkarin obviously wanted some sort of acknowledgment of the fact. What would he do if she refused to talk about it? He would probably keep pressing her. She was too tired to think her way around a conversation like that.
“He used black magic. He saw it was wrong,” she said shortly. “He stopped.”
The corner of his mouth curled up into a half-smile. “Indeed. I do not think the Guild would like to discover that. The real Coren is not a figure they would want young novices to idolize, even if he redeemed himself in the end.” He held out the books. “This is a far older record. I have brought an original as well as a copy. The original is deteriorating, so handle it only as much as you need to confirm the copy is true.”
“Why are you showing me these books?”
The question came out before she could stop it. She winced at the insolence and suspicion in her voice. Akkarin’s eyes bored into her own and she looked away.
“You want to know the truth,” he said. It was not a question.
He was right. She did want to know. A part of her wanted to ignore the books—to refuse to read them just because he wanted her to. Instead, she stepped forward and took them from him. She did not meet his eyes, though she knew he was watching her closely.
“As with the diary, you should not allow anyone to learn of these records,” he said quietly. “Do not even allow your servant to see them.”
She backed away and looked down at the cover of the older book. Record of the 235th Year, the cover stated. The book was over five hundred years old! Impressed, she glanced up at Akkarin. He nodded once, knowingly, then turned away. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, then she heard the faint sound of his bedroom door closing.
The bo
oks were heavy. She pushed the door closed with a small pulse of magic, and moved to her desk. Pushing aside her notes, she laid the two books side by side.
Opening the original, she gently turned the first pages. The writing was faint and unreadable in places. Opening the copy, she felt a strange frisson as lines of elegant handwriting appeared. Akkarin’s handwriting.
After reading a few lines of the original, she checked them against the copy and confirmed that the two were identical. Akkarin had left notes where the text had faded, outlining what he thought the missing words might be. She turned more pages, checked again, then chose another page from the center of the book and one from near the end. All seemed to match the copy perfectly. Later, she decided, she would check every page and every word.
Putting the original aside, she turned back to the first page of the copy and began to read.
It was a day-by-day record of a Guild much younger and smaller than the current one. After several pages, she had grown fond of the record-keeper, who clearly admired the people he was writing about. The Guild he knew was very different from the one she understood. Magicians took on apprentices in exchange for money or assistance. Then a comment by the author made it clear what that assistance entailed, and she stopped, aghast.
These early magicians strengthened themselves by drawing magic from their apprentices. They used black magic.
She read and reread the passage over and over, but its meaning was clear. They called it “higher magic.”
She looked at the spine and saw that she was a quarter of the way through the book. Continuing, she found the records gradually focused on the activities of a wayward apprentice, Tagin. It was discovered that the young man had taught himself higher magic against the wishes of his master. Abuses were uncovered. Tagin had taken strength from ordinary folk, which was never done except in times of great need. The record-keeper expressed disapproval and anger, then his tone abruptly changed to fear. Tagin had used higher magic to kill his master.
The situation grew steadily worse. As the magicians of the Guild sought to punish him, Tagin killed indiscriminately to gain the strength to resist them. Magicians reported the slaughter of men, women and children. Whole villages were all but destroyed, with only a few survivors to report the malicious nature of their attacker.
At a knock at her door, she jumped. She quickly closed the books, pushed them spine-first against the wall, and stacked several ordinary study books on top. Drawing her notes back in front of her, she arranged the desk as if she had been studying.
As she willed the door open Takan glided in with her raka. She thanked him, but felt too distracted to ask where Viola was. Once he had left, she gulped a few mouthfuls, then retrieved the records and began reading again:
It is difficult to believe that any man could be capable of such acts of needless violence. Yesterday’s attempt to subdue him appears to have sent him into a passion. The last reports say he has slaughtered all in the villages of Tenker and Forei. He is beyond all controlling and I fear for the future of us all. I am amazed that he has not turned on us yet—but perhaps this is his preparation for that final strike.
Sonea sat back in her chair and shook her head in disbelief. She flicked back to the previous page and reread the last entry. Fifty-two magicians, strengthened by their apprentices and the livestock donated by frightened commoners, hadn’t been able to defeat Tagin. The next few entries recorded Tagin’s seemingly random path through Kyralia. Then came the words Sonea had been dreading:
My worst fears have come to life. Today Tagin killed Lord Gerin, Lord Dirron, Lord Winnel and Lady Ella. Will it end only when all magicians are dead, or will he not be satisfied until all life has been drained from the world? The view from my window is ghastly. Thousands of gorin, enka and reber rot in the fields, their strength given to the defense of Kyralia. Too many to eat…
From there the situation grew worse until over half the magicians in the Guild were dead. Another quarter had already taken their belongings and fled. The remainder were making a valiant effort to save stores of books and medicines.
What if this happened now? The Guild was larger but each magician wielded only a tiny portion of the strength of their long-dead predecessors. If Akkarin did as Tagin had…she shivered and continued reading. The next entry caught her by surprise.
It is over. When Alyk told me the news I dared not believe it, but an hour ago I climbed the stairs of the Lookout and saw the truth with my own eyes. It is true. Tagin is dead. Only he could have created such destruction in his final moments.
Lord Eland called us together and read a letter sent from Indria, Tagin’s sister. She told of her intention to poison him. We can only assume that she succeeded.
The record-keeper recounted a slow restoration. The magicians who had left returned. The stores and libraries were set in order again. Sonea mused over the long entries covering the common people’s losses and recovery. It appeared the Guild had once been concerned for the wellbeing of ordinary people.
Truly the old Guild was destroyed with Tagin. I have heard some say that a new Guild was born today. The first of the changes occurred this morning when five young men joined us. They are our first “novices,” apprenticed to all and not one. They will not be taught the higher magics until they have proven themselves trustworthy. If Lord Karron has his way they will never learn them at all.
Support for the ban of what Lord Karron had begun to call “black” magic increased. Sonea turned a page and found one last entry, followed by blank pages.
I have not the gift of foresight, nor do I pretend to know enough of men and magic to guess the future, but after we made our decision I was gripped by a fear that the Sachakans might rise against us again in the future, and the Guild would be found unprepared. I proposed a secret store of knowledge, to be opened only if the Guild faced certain destruction. The others of my company agreed, for many of my fellows held the same secret fear.
It was decided that the existence of a secret weapon would be known of by the Head of Warriors only. He would not know its nature, but would pass the location down to his successor. I now finish this record here. Tomorrow I will begin a new one. I sincerely hope that nobody will ever open this book and read these words.
Below this last entry was a note:
Seventy years later Lord Koril, Head of Warriors, died in a practice bout at the age of twenty-eight. It is likely that he did not have an opportunity to pass on the knowledge of the secret “weapon.”
Sonea stared at Akkarin’s postscript. Lord Coren had discovered a chest full of books. Was this the secret store of knowledge?
She sighed and closed the book. The more she learned, the more questions arose. She got to her feet and swayed, realizing belatedly that she had been reading for hours. Yawning, she covered Akkarin’s books with her notes, then changed into her bedclothes, slipped into bed and fell into a sleep filled with nightmarish scenes of power-crazed magicians stalking livestock and villagers.
5
Speculation
Though he received news of a murder bearing all the indicators he’d been taught to look for, Cery had waited until a week passed since his meeting with Savara before he let her know she had been right. He wanted to see how long she would endure her self-imposed imprisonment in her hired room. When he heard that she had suggested some fighting practice with one of her “guards,” he knew her patience was running out. And curiosity got the better of him when the man admitted to losing every bout.
He paced his room as he waited for her to arrive. His investigations had revealed little. The owner of the room could only say Savara had started renting it a few days before her visit to Cery. Only two of the city’s weapons sellers recognized her knife as Sachakan. The city’s gutters all claimed, after bribes and other means of ensuring they told the truth, that they had never fenced a weapon like it before. He doubted he would find anyone in the city who could tell him more.
At a knock on the door he stoppe
d pacing. He returned to his chair and cleared his throat.
“Come in.”
She smiled warmly as she entered the room. Oh, she knows she’s beautiful, and how to use it to get what she wants, he thought. He kept his expression neutral.
“Ceryni,” she said.
“Savara. I hear my tag gave you some sport.”
A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Yes, he was energetic, but needed the practice more than I.” She paused. “The others might have proved more challenging.”
Cery resisted a smile. She had noticed more than one other watcher. Very observant.
“Too late to find out,” he said, shrugging. “I have given them something else to do.”
The crease between her brows deepened. “What of the slave? Did he not kill?”
“‘Slave’?” Cery repeated.
“The man who replaced the last murderer.”
Interesting. Slaves owned by whom?
“He killed, like you said,” Cery confirmed.
Her eyes flashed with triumph at the news. “Then will you accept my help?”
“Can you lead us to him?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.
“What do you want in return?”
She moved closer to his desk. “That you say nothing of me to your master.”
A chill ran over his skin. “My master?”
“The one who has ordered you to kill these men,” she said softly.
She should not know about him. She shouldn’t even know that Cery was acting on the orders of another.
This changed everything. Cery crossed his arms and considered her carefully. Investigating her usefulness without consulting the one who arranged the hunt had seemed like a small risk. Now it appeared to have been greater than he had thought.
She knew too much. He ought to send his best knife to despatch her. Or kill her himself. Now.
Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t. And it’s not just because I find her interesting, he told himself. I need to know how she learned so much about the arrangement. I’ll wait, have her watched, and see where this leads.