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

by Trudi Canavan

  Power rushed into Sonea, then abruptly stopped. She drew her hand away and the woman fell onto her back. The Sachakan’s eyes stared blankly at nothing.

  Dead. A wave of relief washed over Sonea. It worked, she thought. It actually worked.

  Then she looked at her hand. In the moonlight spilling through the ruined roof the blood covering her palm looked black. A cold horror rushed over her. She staggered to her feet.

  I have just killed someone with black magic.

  Suddenly dizzy, she stumbled backward. She knew she was breathing too fast, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. Hands gripped her shoulders and stopped her falling.

  “Sonea,” a voice said, “take a deep breath. Hold it. Let it out.”

  Akkarin. She tried to do as he said. It took a few attempts. From somewhere he produced a cloth and wiped her hand.

  “It’s not pleasant, is it?”

  She shook her head.

  “It shouldn’t be.”

  She shook her head again. Her mind spun with contradictory thoughts.

  She would have killed me, if I hadn’t. She would have killed others. So why does it feel so horrible to know I’ve done this?

  Perhaps because it makes me just that little bit more like them.

  What if there are no spies to kill, and Takan isn’t enough, and I have to look for other ways to strengthen myself to fight the Ichani? Will I start haunting the streets, killing the odd thug or mugger? Will I use the defense of Kyralia to justify preying on the innocent?

  Sonea shook her head at the bewildering mixture of emotions she felt. She had never felt such doubt before.

  “Look at me, Sonea.”

  He turned her around. She reluctantly met his gaze. He reached out and she felt him gently tug something from her hair. A piece of the sacking fell from his hand to the ground.

  “It is not an easy choice, the one you’ve made,” he said, “but you will learn to trust yourself.” He looked up. Following his gaze, she saw that the full moon hung in the middle of the gap in the roof.

  The Eye, Sonea thought. It’s open. Either it allowed me to do this because it was not evil, or I’m going to sink into madness.

  But I don’t believe in silly superstitions, she reminded herself.

  “We must get away from here quickly,” he said. “The Thieves will take care of the body.”

  Sonea nodded. As Akkarin moved away she reached up to smooth her hair. Her scalp tingled where he had touched her. Keeping her eyes averted from the body of the dead woman, she followed him out of the room.

  14

  The Witness

  Something was pressing gently against Cery’s back. Something warm. A hand.

  Savara’s hand, he realized.

  Her touch brought him back to the present. He realized he had been in a daze. At the moment Sonea had killed the Sachakan woman, the world had tilted and spun around him. Since then he had been aware of nothing but the thought of what she had done.

  Well, almost nothing. Savara had said something. He frowned. Something about Akkarin having an apprentice. He turned to look at the woman at his side.

  She smiled crookedly. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

  He looked down. They were sitting on a section of the roof that was still intact. The top of the Hole had seemed a good place to watch the battle from. The roof was made of scraps of wood and the occasional patch of cracked tiles, leaving plenty of gaps. As long as they kept their weight on the beams, they were fairly safe.

  Unfortunately, neither Cery nor Savara had considered the possibility that the combatants might knock their perch out from under them.

  As the roof had collapsed, however, something had prevented Cery from falling. Before he could grasp how it was possible that he and Savara could be floating in the air, they had moved to the remaining area of roof, out of sight of the fighters below.

  Everything about Savara now suddenly made sense: how she knew when a new murderer arrived, how she knew so much about the people the High Lord was fighting, and why she was so confident she could kill these murderers herself.

  “So, when were you going to tell me?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “When you trusted me enough. I might have ended up like her if I had told you at the start.” She looked down at the corpse Gol and his assistants were dragging away.

  “You still might,” he said. “It is getting hard to tell the difference between you Sachakans.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger, but her voice was calm as she replied.

  “Not all magicians in my country are like the Ichani, Thief. Our society has many groups…factions…” She shook her head in frustration. “You do not have a word that quite suits. The Ichani are outcasts, sent into the wasteland as punishment. They are the worst of my country. Do not judge us all by them.

  “My own people have always feared the Ichani would band together one day, but we have no influence over the King, and cannot persuade him to stop this tradition of banishment to the wastes as punishment. We have watched them for many hundreds of years, and killed those most likely to control others. We have tried to prevent what is happening here, but we must be careful not to show our hand, as many in Sachaka need only a small excuse to attack us.”

  “What is happening here?”

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure how much I may tell you.” To Cery’s amusement, she began chewing her lip like a child questioned by its parent. At his chuckle, she looked at him and frowned. “What?”

  “You don’t seem the sort to ask for anyone’s say so.”

  She returned his gaze steadily, then looked down. Following her gaze, Cery saw that Gol and the body were gone.

  “You did not expect to see her, did you?” she said softly. “Does it disturb you, to see your lost love kill another?”

  He stared at her, suddenly uncomfortable. “How did you know that?”

  She smiled. “It is in your face, when you see her or talk of her.”

  He looked down at the room. An image of Sonea leaping at the woman flashed through his mind. Her face had been set with determination. She really had come a long way from the uncertain girl who had been so dismayed to discover she had magical abilities.

  Then he remembered how the expression on her face had changed when Akkarin had brushed something out of her hair.

  “It was a childhood crush,” he told Savara. “I’ve known for a long time that she’s not for me.”

  “No, you have not,” she said, setting the roof creaking as she shifted her weight. “You only learned that tonight.”

  He turned back to face her. “How can you—”

  To his surprise, she had edged closer. As he turned to face her she put a hand behind his head, pulled him nearer and kissed him.

  Her lips were warm and strong. He felt heat rush through his body. Reaching out, he tried to pull her closer, but the piece of wood he was sitting on slid sideways and he felt himself losing his balance. Their lips parted as he began to fall backward.

  Something steadied him. He recognized the touch of magic. Savara smiled mischievously, leaned forward and grabbed his shirt. She dropped her shoulder to the roof and pulled him over her, and the supports creaked alarmingly as they rolled farther away from the damaged area. When they stopped, she was lying on top of him. She smiled—the breathtakingly sensual smile that always set his pulse racing.

  “Well,” he said. “This is nice.”

  She laughed quietly, then bent to kiss him again. He hesitated only a moment, as a feeling, like a premonition, touched the edge of his thoughts.

  The day Sonea discovered her magic, she belonged somewhere else. Savara has magic, too. And she already belongs somewhere else…

  But right now, he didn’t care.

  Lorlen frowned and blinked open his eyes. His bedroom was mostly dark. The light of the full moon set his window screens glowing faintly, making the gold Guild symbols appear as stark black shapes on the fine paper.

  Then he realized w
hy he was awake. Someone was hammering on his door.

  What time is it? Sitting up, he massaged his eyes in an attempt to rub away sleepiness. The hammering continued. He sighed, rose and staggered out of his bedroom to the main door of his rooms.

  Lord Osen stood outside, looking dishevelled and frantic.

  “Administrator,” he whispered. “Lord Jolen and his family have been murdered.”

  Lorlen stared at his assistant. Lord Jolen. One of the Healers. A young man, recently married. Murdered?

  “Lord Balkan has sent for the Higher Magicians,” Osen said urgently. “You’re to meet in the Day Room. Would you like me to go back, while you get dressed, and tell them you’re on your way?”

  Lorlen glanced down at his bed clothes. “Of course.”

  Osen nodded, then hurried away. Lorlen closed the door and walked back into his bedroom. He took down a set of blue robes from his cupboard and began to change.

  Jolen was dead. So was his family. Murdered, according to Osen. Lorlen frowned as his mind began to fill with questions. How was this possible? Magicians were not easy to kill. The murderer was either knowledgeable and clever, or another magician. Or worse, he thought. A black magician.

  He looked down at his ring as dreadful possibilities began to form in his mind.

  No, he told himself. Wait until you’ve heard the details.

  He tied the sash of his robe about his waist, then hurried out of his room. Once outside the Magicians’ Quarters, he strode across the courtyard to the building called The Seven Arches. The leftmost room of this building was the Night Room, where the weekly social gathering of magicians was held. The room at the center was the Banquet Room. On the right side of the building was the Day Room, a place created for receiving and entertaining important guests.

  As Lorlen entered he blinked at the sudden brightness. The Night Room was all dark blue and silver but, in contrast, the Day Room was decorated in shades of white and gold, now lit by several globe lights. The effect was harsh.

  Seven men stood in the center of the room. Lord Balkan and Lord Sarrin nodded to Lorlen. Director Jerrik was talking to the two Heads of Studies, Peakin and Telano. Lord Osen was standing next to the only man not wearing robes.

  As Lorlen recognized Captain Barran, his heart sank. A magician was dead, and the captain investigating the strange murders was here. Perhaps the situation was as bad as he feared.

  Balkan stepped forward to greet him. “Administrator.”

  “Lord Balkan,” Lorlen replied. “I guess you’ll want me to hold my questions until Lady Vinara, Administrator Kito and the High Lord arrive.”

  Balkan hesitated. “Yes. But I have not summoned the High Lord. My reasons will be explained soon.”

  Lorlen endeavored to look surprised.

  “Not Akkarin?”

  “Not yet.”

  They turned as the door opened. A Vindo magician entered. Kito’s role as Expatriate Administrator kept him outside of the Guild and Kyralia most of the time. He had returned from Vin only a few days ago to deal with the rogue magician Dannyl was bringing for trial.

  Lorlen remembered Akkarin’s prediction: The Guild will lose interest in the murderer once Ambassador Dannyl arrives with the rogue, Lorlen.

  If this is as bad as I fear, Lorlen thought, I think the situation will be quite the opposite.

  As Balkan greeted Kito, Captain Barran approached Lorlen. The young guard managed a grim smile.

  “Good evening, Administrator. This is the first time the Guild has brought my attention to a murder, instead of the other way around.”

  “Really?” Lorlen replied. “Who informed you?”

  “Lord Balkan. It seems Lord Jolen managed to communicate with him briefly before he died.”

  Lorlen’s heart skipped. Did Balkan know who the murderer was, then? As he turned to regard the Warrior, the door of the Day Room opened again and Lady Vinara stalked into the room.

  She looked around at the faces, noting who was present, then nodded to herself. “You’re all here. Good. I think, perhaps, we should be seated. We have a serious and shocking situation to deal with.”

  Chairs at the sides of the room floated to the center. Captain Barran’s expression was a mixture of fascination and awe as he watched the chairs arrange themselves into a circle. Once everyone was seated, Vinara looked at Balkan.

  “I think Lord Balkan should begin,” she said, “as he was the first to be alerted to the murders.”

  Balkan nodded in agreement. He looked around the circle. “Two hours ago my attention was caught by a mental call from Lord Jolen. It was very faint, but I heard my name and detected great fear. When I concentrated on it, however, all I caught was the identity of the caller, and the sense that he was being harmed by another—with magic—before the communication ended abruptly. I attempted to call Lord Jolen, but received no answer.

  “I informed Lady Vinara of the communication, and she told me Lord Jolen was staying with his family in the city. She could not contact him either, so I decided to visit the family home. When I arrived, no servant came to open the door. I unlocked it, and found a terrible scene inside.”

  Balkan’s expression darkened. “The entire household had been killed. I searched the house, discovering the bodies of Jolen’s family and servants as I went. I investigated the victims, but could find nothing more than scratches and bruises. Then I found Jolen’s body.”

  He paused, then Lord Telano made a noise of confusion.

  “His body? How can it still be whole? Did he exhaust himself?”

  Vinara, Lorlen saw, was staring at the floor, shaking her head.

  “I then called to Vinara, to ask her to come and examine the victims,” Balkan continued. “After she arrived, I hurried to the Guard House to see if they had received any reports of strange activity in the area. Captain Barran was there, having just interviewed a witness.” Balkan paused. “Captain, I think you should relate her tale to us.”

  The young guard glanced around the circle, then cleared his throat.

  “Yes, my lords—and lady.” He folded his hands together. “With the increase in murders taking place, I have interviewed many witnesses lately, but few have seen anything useful. Some people come in the hope that something they have seen—say, a stranger walking about their street at night—might be relevant. This woman’s story was much the same, but there was one striking element to it.

  “She had been walking home late after delivering fruit and vegetables to one of the houses in the Inner Circle. Partway home, she heard screams inside a house—the residence of Lord Jolen’s family. She decided to hurry on, but as she reached the next house, she heard a noise behind her. She was frightened and stepped into the shadows of a doorway. Looking back, she saw a man emerge from the servants’ entrance of the house she had just passed.”

  Barran paused and looked around the circle. “She said this man wore magicians’ robes. Black magicians’ robes.”

  The Higher Magicians frowned and exchanged glances. All except Balkan and Osen looked doubtful, Lorlen noted. Vinara did not look surprised.

  “Was she sure they were black?” Sarrin asked. “Any color may look black in the darkness.”

  Barran nodded. “I asked her the same question. She was sure of it. He walked past the doorway she was hiding in. She described black robes, with an incal on the sleeve.”

  Expressions changed from skepticism to alarm. Lorlen stared at Barran. He could hardly breathe.

  “Surely n—” Sarrin began, but fell silent as Balkan gestured for him to wait.

  “Go on, Captain,” Balkan said quietly, “tell them the rest.”

  Barran nodded. “She said his hands were covered in blood, and he was carrying a knife. She described it well. A curved blade, with gemstones set into the handle.”

  A long pause followed, then Sarrin drew in a deep breath. “How reliable is this witness? Can you bring her here?”

  Barran shrugged. “I took her name and noted the w
orkplace on her token. To tell the truth, I did not begin to give her story any credit until I heard what Lord Balkan had discovered in the house. Now I wish I had asked her more questions, or kept her at the Guard House longer.”

  Balkan nodded. “She will be found again. Now,” he turned to Vinara, “perhaps it is time to hear what Lady Vinara has discovered.”

  The Healer straightened. “Yes, I fear it is. Lord Jolen was living with his family so that he could tend to his sister, who was having a difficult pregnancy. I investigated his body first and I made two disturbing discoveries. The first…” she reached into her robe and pulled out a scrap of black cloth embroidered with gold thread, “was this, clutched in his right hand.”

  As she held it up Lorlen went completely cold. The embroidery formed part of a symbol that was all too familiar to him: the incal of the High Lord. Vinara’s eyes flickered to his and she frowned with concern and sympathy.

  “What was the second discovery?” Balkan asked, his voice low.

  Vinara hesitated, then drew in a deep breath. “The reason Lord Jolen’s body still exists is because it was completely drained of energy. The only wound on his body was a shallow cut down one side of his neck. The other bodies bore the same indicators. I was taught to recognize these indicators by my predecessor.” She paused and looked around the circle. “Lord Jolen, his family and their servants, were killed with black magic.”

  Gasps and exclamations followed, then a long silence as the implications began to sink in. Lorlen could almost hear them thinking about Akkarin’s strength, and weighing the chances of the Guild defeating him in battle. He saw fear and panic in their faces.

  He felt strangely calm and…relieved. For over two years he had been burdened with the secret of Akkarin’s crime. Now, for better or worse, the Guild had discovered that secret for itself. He looked around at the Higher Magicians. Should he admit to having known of Akkarin’s crime? Not unless I have to, he thought.

  Then what should he do? The Guild was no stronger, and Akkarin—if he was guilty of this crime—was certainly no weaker. He felt a familiar fear chase away his relief.