Black Magician 03 - The High Lord

by Trudi Canavan

  They know, she thought. The Guild—Rothen— everyone—knows that we spoke the truth.

  Not that it will do any good, now.

  "Hungry?"

  She looked at Akkarin. "Silly question."

  He picked up two bowls, poured soup from a pot into them, then broke off two fistfuls of bread from a large loaf on the bench. As he carried the bowls to the table they began to steam.

  "Real food," Sonea murmured as Akkarin put a bowl in her hands. "Not that I didn't like your cooking," she added. "You had somewhat limited ingredients."

  "Yes, and I don't have Takan's gifts."

  "Even Takan couldn't have done better."

  "You'd be surprised. Why do you think Dakova kept him so long?"

  They ate in silence, savoring the simple meal. Dorrien en­tered the room just as Sonea put down her empty bowl. He glanced at it and smiled.

  "Good?"

  She nodded.

  He collapsed into a chair.

  "You should get some sleep," Akkarin said.

  "I know," Dorrien replied, "but I don't think I can. I have too many questions." He shook his head. "That magi­cian . . . how did you get through the Pass if he was guard­ing it?"

  "A little deception," Akkarin replied. As he began to ex­plain, Sonea watched him closely. He seemed different. Not as aloof and distant. "I thought Parika had entered Kyralia with the intention of finding us, but once the Fort was at­tacked I knew it was part of the invasion."

  "He was so strong." Dorrien looked at Sonea. "How did you stop him?"

  She felt heat rush to her cheeks. "I stopped his heart. With Healing magic."

  Dorrien looked surprised. "He didn't resist?"

  "The Ichani don't know how to Heal, so he didn't know I could do that to him." She shuddered. "I didn't think I'd ever do something like that to someone."

  "I would have done the same in your place. He was trying to kill you, after all." He looked at Akkarin. "Was Parika the only Sachakan in the Pass?"

  "Yes. That does not mean others won't come later, how­ever."

  "Then I should warn the locals."

  Akkarin nodded. "The Ichani will prey on non-magicians, particularly those with latent magical potential." The Healer's eyes widened. "So they'll hunt down farmers and villagers all the way from the Fort to Imardin."

  "If the Guild is sensible, it will evacuate all the villages and farms on the road. Kariko won't let the other Ichani waste too much time on the journey, however. He will be worried that the Guild will change their mind about me, and allow Sonea and me to return so I can strengthen myself in time to face him."

  Dorrien paused and stared at Akkarin. He seemed to struggle with himself, then he glanced at Sonea.

  "What will happen if the Guild does not call you back? What can they do?"

  Akkarin shook his head. "Nothing. Even if they do call me back and allow me to use black magic, I don't have enough time to grow as strong as eight Ichani. If I were High Lord now, I would have the Guild leave Imardin. I would teach black magic to a selected few, then return and take Kyralia back."

  Dorrien stared at him in horror. "Abandon Kyralia?"

  "Yes."

  "There must be another way."

  Akkarin shook his head.

  "But you came back. Why would you do that, if you did not intend to fight?"

  Akkarin smiled wanly. "I don't expect to win."

  Dorrien's eyes shifted to Sonea. She could almost hear him thinking: And you are in this, too?

  "What will you do?" he asked quietly.

  Akkarin frowned. "I haven't decided. I had hoped to re­turn to Imardin in secret and wait for the Guild to call me."

  "We can still do that," Sonea interjected.

  "We have no horses and no money. Without them, we can­not reach Imardin before the Ichani."

  Dorrien smiled thinly. "I can help you with that."

  "You would disobey the Guild's orders?"

  The Healer nodded. "Yes. What will you do once you reach the city?"

  "Wait for the Guild to call me back."

  "And if they don't?"

  Akkarin sighed. "Then I can do nothing. I gained some power from Parika today, but not enough to face an Ichani."

  Sonea shook her head. "We weren't strong enough to face an Ichani this morning either, but we still managed to kill one. Why don't we do the same thing to the others? We can pretend to be exhausted, let them catch us, then use our Healing powers to kill them."

  Akkarin frowned. "That would be very dangerous. You have never experienced the drawing of power. Once it be­gins, you cannot use your own magic. You would not be able to Heal."

  "Then we'll have to be quick."

  Akkarin's expression darkened further. "The other Ichani will see what you have done. Even if they don't understand it, they will be cautious. It would only take a barrier at the skin to stop you using Healing power on them."

  "Then we have to make sure they don't see." Sonea leaned forward. "We get them when they're alone."

  "They may stay together."

  "Then we'll have to trick them into separating."

  Akkarin looked thoughtful. "They are unused to city sur­rounds, and the slums are quite a labyrinth."

  "We could enlist the Thieves."

  Dorrien looked at her, then narrowed his eyes. "Rothen said you had broken all connections with them."

  She winced at Rothen's name. "How is he?"

  "I haven't heard from him since before Lorlen's order to

  cease mental communication," Dorrien replied. He looked at Akkarin. "He would be relieved to know Sonea is still alive. If I tell the Guild that I have seen you, I can tell them that you are willing to help."

  "No." Akkarin's expression was distant and thoughtful. "If Sonea and I are to ambush Ichani in the city, they must not know we are there. If they do, they will band together and hunt us down."

  Dorrien straightened. "The Guild would keep your pres­ence a—"

  "The Ichani will read it from the mind of the first magi­cian they kill." Akkarin looked at Dorrien, his eyes dark. "Where do you think I learned that trick?"

  Dorrien paled. "Oh."

  "The Guild must not know we are in the city," Akkarin said, a note of determination entering his voice. "So you must not tell them you have met us, or of your encounter with Parika today. The fewer who know of our return, the less chance of the Ichani discovering what we plan."

  "So we have a plan now?" Sonea asked.

  Akkarin smiled at her. "The beginning of one, perhaps. Your suggestion may work, though perhaps not on Kariko. Dakova learned to Heal from me, but he kept that secret to himself. I'm not sure if he ever taught the skill to his brother, but even if he didn't, Kariko is more likely to know Healing is possible and have considered how it might be used to harm another."

  "So we avoid Kariko," she said. "That leaves us seven Ichani to kill. I think that will keep us occupied for a while."

  Dorrien chuckled. "Sounds like you do have a plan. I might be able to drop a hint or two here and there when the Guild are debating strategy. If there's anything you'd have me say . .. ?"

  "I don't imagine anything you say will persuade them to hide," Akkarin replied.

  "But they might, once they've fought and exhausted themselves," Sonea pointed out.

  Akkarin nodded. "Suggest they focus their power on one Ichani. The Sachakans are not used to helping and support­ing each other. They don't know how to shield together."

  Dorrien nodded. "Anything else?"

  "I will consider on the way. The sooner we leave, the bet­ter."

  The Healer rose. "I'll saddle up again and find horses for you both."

  "Could you get us some clean clothes, too?" Sonea asked.

  "We should travel in disguise," Akkarin added. "A servant uniform would be ideal, but anything plain should do well enough."

  Dorrien's eyebrows rose. "You're going to pose as my servants?"

  Sonea shook a finger at him in warning. "Y
es. Just don't get used to it."

  29

  Legacy of the Past

  The Guildhall fell utterly silent as Lorlen rose from his seat.

  "I have called this Meet at the request of the King. As you must all know, the Fort was attacked and breached by eight Sachakan magicians yesterday. All but two of the twenty-one Warriors at the Fort were killed."

  A whispering rose from the audience. The discovery that two of the Warriors had escaped the Fort had been the only good news Lorlen had received in the last day.

  "It appears that some of the former High Lord's claims and predictions are right. We have been invaded by Sachakan magicians of immense strength. Magicians who use black magic."

  Lorlen paused and looked around the hall. "We are unable to avoid the possibility that we are too few and too weak to defend the Allied Lands. In these circumstances, the King has asked that we set aside our laws. He has asked us to choose one among us, one we consider unfailingly trustwor­thy, to learn black magic."

  The hall filled with voices. Lorlen read a mixed reaction from the crowd. Some magicians voiced protests, while oth­ers looked resigned.

  "I ask you now to suggest candidates for this role," he called out over the noise. "Consider carefully. Strict rules will curtail the activities of this magician. They must remain within the Guild grounds for the rest of their life. They may not hold a position of authority within the Guild. They will not be allowed to teach. These rules may become more re-

  strictive, as we consider the consequences of creating this position." Lorlen was pleased to see no sign of eagerness on any magicians' face, "Any questions?"

  "Can the Guild refuse to do this?" a voice called.

  Lorlen shook his head. "The King has ordered it."

  "The Council of Elders would never agree to this!" a Lonmar magician declared.

  "According to the Allied agreement, the Kyralian King is obliged to undertake whatever measures necessary to protect the Allied Lands from a magical threat," Lorlen replied. "The Higher Magicians and I have discussed this with the King many times. Believe me, he would not have made this decision if he did not feel there was no better option."

  "What about Akkarin?" another magician called. "Why not call him back?"

  "The King considers this the wiser path," Lorlen replied stiffly.

  No more questions came. Lorlen nodded.

  "You have half an hour to consider. If you wish to nomi­nate someone, please speak to Lord Osen."

  He watched as magicians left their seats and gathered in small groups to discuss the King's order. Some approached Lord Osen directly. The Higher Magicians were uncharac­teristically silent. Time seemed to slow. When the half-hour had ended, Lorlen rose and struck the gong beside his seat.

  "Please be seated."

  As the magicians returned to their places, Osen climbed the stairs to Lorlen.

  "This will be interesting," Director Jerrik murmured. "Who do they consider worthy of this dubious honor?"

  Osen's shoulders lifted. "No surprises. They suggest Lord Sarrin, Lord Balkan, Lady Vinara or," he looked at Lorlen, "Administrator Lorlen."

  "Me?" Lorlen exclaimed, before he could stop himself.

  "Yes." Osen looked amused. "You're very popular, you know. One magician suggested that a King's Advisor should take on the burden."

  "Interesting idea." Balkan chuckled, then quite deliber-

  ately looked up at the topmost row of chairs. Lord Mirkan blinked down at him, his face changing from watchfulness to sudden anxiety. "Let the King face whatever conse­quences this may lead to."

  "He would find himself a new Advisor within a day," Vinara said flatly. She looked at Lorlen. "Let's get this over with, then."

  Lorlen nodded and turned to the Hall. "Nominations for the role of ... black magician are as follows: Lord Sarrin, Lord Balkan, Lady Vinara, and myself." Surely they won't choose me, he thought. What if they do? "Nominees will ab­stain from the vote. Please create your lights."

  Hundreds of globe lights floated up to the ceiling. Lorlen's heart was beating too fast. He kept hearing Osen's comment, repeating in his mind. "You're very popular, you know." The possibility that he might lose his position as Am­bassador and force himself to learn what Akkarin had ad­mitted was evil magic turned his blood to ice.

  'Those in favor of Lord Sarrin, change your lights to pur­ple," he ordered. "Those in favor of Lord Balkan, choose red. For Lady Vinara, choose green." He paused and swal­lowed. "For myself, blue."

  Some of the globe lights had begun to take on color be­fore he had finished, as magicians anticipated that Lorlen would suggest the color of each candidate's robes. Slowly, the remaining white globe lights changed.

  It's close, Lorlen thought. He started counting . . .

  "Sarrin," Balkan said.

  "Yes, I get that result, too," Vinara confirmed. "Though you were their second choice."

  Lorlen breathed a sigh of relief as he realized they were right. He looked down at Sarrin, then felt a pang of sympa­thy. The old magician looked pale and ill.

  "Lord Sarrin will be our defender," Lorlen announced. Looking closely at the audience, he saw reluctant accept­ance on most faces. "He will relinquish his role as Head of Alchemy and begin learning black magic immediately. I now declare this Meet ended."

  "Wake up, little Sonea."

  Sonea grew aware of her surroundings with a start. She saw with surprise that her horse had stopped. Looking around, she found Dorrien watching her with an odd look on his face. They had pulled up by a road leading to a house, and Akkarin was nowhere to be seen.

  "He's gone to get us some food," Dorrien explained.

  She nodded, then yawned and rubbed her face. When she looked at Dorrien again, he was still watching her thought­fully.

  "What are you thinking?" she asked.

  He looked away and smiled crookedly. "I was thinking that I should have kidnapped you from the Guild while I had the chance."

  She felt a familiar pang of guilt. "The Guild wouldn't have let you. I wouldn't have let you."

  He lifted an eyebrow. "No?"

  "No." She avoided his eyes. "It took a lot before I really decided I wanted to stay and learn magic. It would take a lot more to make me change my mind."

  He paused. "Do you ... do you think you would have been tempted?"

  She thought back to the day they went to the spring to­gether, and his kiss, and she couldn't help smiling. "A little. But I hardly knew you, Dorrien. A few weeks isn't enough time to be sure about someone."

  His eyes flickered over her shoulder. She turned to see that Akkarin was riding toward them. With his short beard and simple clothing, she doubted he would be recognized. Anyone looking closely would notice he rode too well, how­ever. She would have to point this out.

  "And you're sure now?"

  She turned back to Dorrien. "Yes."

  He let out a long breath, then nodded. Sonea looked at Akkarin again. His expression was grim and hard.

  "Though it took a lot to convince him," she added.

  Dorrien made a choking noise. She turned, cursing herself for making such a thoughtless comment, only to have him burst into laughter.

  "Poor Akkarin!" he said, shaking his head. He looked at her sideways and shook his head. "You're going to be a for­midable woman one day."

  Sonea stared at him, then felt her face grow hot. She tried to think of a retort, but the words refused to come. Then Akkarin reached them and she gave up.

  As he handed her a bread roll, Akkarin looked at her closely. She felt her face warming again. His eyebrows rose, and he looked at Dorrien speculatively. The Healer smiled, tapped his heels against his horse's flank and started for­ward.

  They moved on, eating as they rode. An hour later, they arrived at a small village. She and Akkarin dismounted and handed the reins of their horses to Dorrien, and the Healer left to find fresh mounts.

  "So what were you and Dorrien discussing before?" Akkarin asked.

&nb
sp; She turned to regard him. "Discussing?"

  "Outside the farmhouse when I was buying the food."

  "Oh. Then. Nothing."

  He smiled and nodded. "Nothing. Amazing subject, that one. Produces such fascinating reactions in people."

  She regarded him coolly. "Perhaps it's a polite way of saying it's none of your business."

  "If you say so."

  She felt a flash of irritation at the knowing look on his face. Was she so easy to read? But if I can guess his moods now, he can probably read mine just as easily.

  He yawned, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked more alert. When was the last time we slept? she thought. The morning after we slipped through the Pass. Before then? A few hours' sleep each day. And for the first half of our journey, Akkarin hadn't slept at all. . .

  "You haven't had any more nightmares," she said sud­denly.

  Akkarin frowned. "No."

  "What did you dream about?"

  He gave her a sharp look, and she instantly regretted the question.

  "Sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have asked."

  Akkarin drew in a deep breath. "No, I should tell you. I dream of events that happened when I was a slave. Mostly events concerning one person." He paused. "Dakova's slave girl."

  "The one who helped you, in the beginning?"

  "Yes," he said quietly. He paused, and looked away. "I loved her."

  Sonea blinked in surprise. Akkarin and the slave girl? He had loved her? He had loved another? She felt a growing uncertainty and annoyance, then guilt. Was she jealous of a girl who had died years before? That was ridiculous.

  "Dakova knew it," Akkarin continued. "We dared not touch each other. He would have killed us if we had. As it was, he enjoyed tormenting us any way he could. She was his ... his pleasure slave."

  Sonea shivered as she began to understand what that must have been like. To always see each other, yet never be able to touch. To watch as the other was tormented. She could not imagine what Akkarin had felt, knowing what the girl en­dured.

  Akkarin sighed. "I used to dream about her death every night. In my dreams, I tell her that I'll distract Dakova so she can get away. I tell her I'll stop him finding her. But she al­ways ignores me. She always goes to him."

  She reached out and touched the back of his hand. His fin­gers curled around hers.