The High Lord

1 The Message

In ancient Kyralian poetry the moon is known as the Eye. When the Eye is wide open, its watchful presence deters evil—or encourages madness in those who do wrong under its gaze. Closed, with only a sliver of white to mark its sleeping presence, the Eye allows hidden deeds of both good or ill to remain unnoticed.

Looking up at the moon, Cery smiled wryly. This phase of the Eye, a narrow slit, was the one preferred by secret lovers, but he was not hurrying through the shadows of the city to such a rendezvous. His purpose was of a darker kind.

Whether his deeds were good or ill, however, was difficult for him to know. The men he hunted deserved their fate, but Cery suspected there was a deeper purpose to the work he’d been commissioned to do than just reducing the murders that had plagued the city for the last few years. He did not know everything about the whole nasty business—of that he was sure—but he probably knew more than anyone else in the city.

As he walked, he considered what he did know. He had learned that these murders were not carried out by one man, but by a succession of them. He had also noted that these men were of the same race: Sachakan. Most importantly, however, he knew they were magicians.

As far as Cery knew, there were no Sachakans in the Guild.

If the Thieves were aware of any of this, they were keeping their knowledge well hidden. He thought back to a meeting of Thieves he had attended two years ago. The leaders of the loosely allied underworld groups had been amused by Cery’s offer to find and stop the killer. Those who asked slyly why Cery hadn’t succeeded after so long might be assuming there was only one murderer, or they might want him to think that was all they knew.

Each time Cery dealt with one of the murderers, another began his grisly work. Unfortunately, this made it appear to the Thieves that Cery was failing at his task. All he could do was shrug off their questions, and hope his success in other underworld activities made up for it.

From the dark square of a doorway the shape of a large man emerged. Distant lamplight revealed a grim, familiar face. Gol nodded once, then fell into step beside Cery.

Reaching an intersection of five roads, they approached a wedge-shaped building. As they stepped through the open doors, Cery savored the heavy odor of sweat, bol and cooking. It was early evening and the bolhouse was full. He moved to a seat at the counter, where Gol ordered two mugs of bol and a dish of salted crots.

Gol munched his way through half of the beans before he spoke.

“At the back. Hash ring. What you say, son?”

Cery and Gol often pretended to be father and son when they did not want their true identities known—which was most of the time they spent in public these days. Cery was only a few years younger than Gol but, with his small stature and boyish face, he was often mistaken for a youth. He waited a few minutes, then let his gaze shift to the back of the bolhouse.

Though the room was crowded, it was easy to locate the man Gol had pointed out. His distinctive wide, brown Sachakan face stood out among the pale Kyralian ones and he was watching the crowd carefully. Glancing at the man’s fingers, Cery noted a glint of red in the dull silver of a ring. He looked away.

“What you think?” Gol murmured.

Cery picked up his mug and pretended to gulp a mouthful of bol. “Too much rub for us, da. Leave him for another.”

Grunting in answer, Gol drained his mug and set it down. Cery followed him outside. A few streets from the bolhouse, he reached into his coat, pulled out three copper coins and pressed them into Gol’s large hand. The big man sighed and walked away.

Cery smiled wryly, then stooped and opened a grille set into a nearby wall. To any stranger, Gol appeared to be completely unperturbed by any situation. Yet Cery knew that sigh. Gol was scared—and he had good reason to be. Every man, woman and child in the slums was in danger while these murderers were about.

Cery slipped behind the grille into the passage below. The three coins he’d given Gol would pay three street urchins to deliver a message—three urchins in case the message was lost or delayed. The recipients were crafters of one kind or another, who would pass on the message via city guard or delivery boy or trained animal. Each man or woman along the path of the message knew nothing of the meaning behind the objects or passwords they were given. Only the man at the final destination would understand their significance.

When he did, the hunt would begin again.

Leaving the classroom, Sonea slowly made her way down the crowded, noisy main corridor of the University. She usually paid little attention to the antics of the other novices, but today was different.

A year today since the Challenge, she thought. A whole year since I fought Regin in the Arena, and so much has changed.

Most novices had gathered into groups of two or more and were walking toward the rear staircase and the Foodhall. A few girls lingered by a classroom door, talking in conspiratorial murmurs. At the far end of the corridor a teacher emerged from a classroom, followed by two novices carrying large boxes.

Sonea watched the faces of the few novices who noticed her. None glared or looked down their noses. Some of the first years stared at the incal on her sleeve—the symbol that declared her the favorite novice of the High Lord—then quickly looked away.

Reaching the end of the corridor, she started down the delicate, magically-fashioned staircase of the Entrance Hall. Her boots made a soft, bell-like sound on the treads. The hall echoed as more ringing steps joined hers. Looking up, she saw that three novices were ascending toward her, and she felt a chill run down her back.

The novice at the center of the trio was Regin. His two closest friends, Kano and Alend, were by his side. Keeping her expression neutral, she continued her descent. As Regin noticed her, his smile vanished. His gaze met hers, then moved away again as they passed each other.

She glanced back and let out a small sigh of relief. Every encounter since the Challenge had been like this. Regin had adopted the demeanor of a gracious and dignified loser, and she let him. Rubbing in his defeat would have been satisfying, but she was sure he would come up with anonymous and subtle ways of getting his revenge if she did. Better they ignored each other.

Beating Regin in a public fight had done more than stop his harassment of her, though. It appeared to have won her the respect of other novices and most of the teachers. She wasn’t just the slum girl now, whose powers had first manifested in an attack on the Guild during the yearly Purge of vagrants and miscreants from the city. Remembering that day, she smiled ruefully. I was just as surprised that I had used magic as they were.

Nor was she remembered for being the “rogue” who had evaded capture by making a deal with the Thieves. It seemed like a good idea at the time, she thought. I believed the Guild wanted to kill me. After all, they have never trained anyone outside the Houses before. It didn’t do the Thieves any good, though. I was never able to control my powers well enough to be of use.

Though some still resented it, she was no longer thought of as the outsider who brought about Lord Fergun’s downfall, either. Well, he shouldn’t have locked Cery up and threatened to kill him to force me into cooperating with his schemes. He wanted to convince the Guild that lower class people couldn’t be trusted with magic, but instead he proved that some magicians can’t be.

Thinking back to the novices in the corridor, Sonea smiled. From their wary curiosity she guessed the first thing they remembered about her was how easily she had won the Challenge. They wondered just how powerful she was going to become. She suspected that even some of the teachers were a little frightened of her.

At the bottom of the stairs Sonea crossed the Entrance Hall to the open University doors. Standing on the threshold, she looked at the gray, two-story building at the edge of the garden and felt her smile fade.

A year since the Challenge, but some things haven’t changed.

Despite winning the novices’ respect, she still had no close friends. It wasn’t that they were all intimidated by her—or her guardian. Several novices had made an effort to include her in their conversations since the Challenge. But while she was happy to talk to them during lessons or midbreak, she always refused invitations to join them outside class.

She sighed and started down the University steps. Every friend she made was another tool the High Lord could use against her. If she ever found the opportunity to reveal his crimes to the Guild, everyone she cared about would be in danger. There was no sense in giving Akkarin a larger selection of victims to choose from.

Sonea thought back to the night, now over two and a half years ago, when she had slipped into the Guild with her friend Cery. Though she had believed the Guild wanted her dead, the risk seemed worth taking. She had not been able to control her powers, making her useless to the Thieves, and Cery had hoped that she might learn how to do so by watching magicians.

Late that night, after seeing much that fascinated her, she had approached a gray building set apart from the rest. Peering through a ventilation grille into an underground room, she had witnessed a black-robed magician performing strange magic...

The magician took the glittering dagger and looked up at the servant.

“The fight has weakened me. I need your strength.”

The servant dropped to one knee and offered his arm. The magician ran the blade over the man’s skin, then placed a hand over the wound...

... then she felt a strange sensation, like a fluttering of insects in her ears.

Sonea shivered as she remembered. She hadn’t understood what she’d seen that night, and so much happened afterward, she had tried to forget. Her powers had grown so dangerous that the Thieves had turned her over to the Guild and she discovered that the magicians did not want to kill her; they decided she could join them. Then Lord Fergun had captured Cery and blackmailed her into cooperating with him. The Warrior’s plans had failed, however, when Cery was found imprisoned under the University, and Sonea consented to a truth-read by Administrator Lorlen to prove that Fergun had manipulated her. It was only during this mind-reading that her memory of the black-robed magician in that underground room had returned in full.

Lorlen had recognized the magician as his friend Akkarin, the High Lord of the Guild. He had also recognized the forbidden ritual of black magic.

From Lorlen’s mind, Sonea had gleaned an understanding of what a black magician was capable of. By using the forbidden art, Akkarin would have gained strength beyond his natural limit. The High Lord was known to be unusually powerful as it was, but as a black magician he would be so powerful that Lorlen did not think even the combined strength of the Guild could defeat him.

Lorlen had therefore decided that a confrontation with the High Lord was out of the question. The crime must remain a secret until a way to deal with Akkarin safely was found. Only Rothen, the magician who was to be Sonea’s guardian, was allowed to know the truth—in the course of teaching her he was likely to see her memory of Akkarin and learn the truth for himself anyway.

At the thought of Rothen she felt a pang of sadness, followed by a dull anger. Rothen had been more than a guardian and teacher; he had been like a father. She was not sure she could have endured Regin’s harassment without Rothen’s support and help. For his trouble, he had endured the effects of the malicious rumors that Regin had started suggesting that Rothen’s guardianship was gained in exchange for bedroom favors.

And then, just as it seemed the gossip and suspicion had passed, everything had changed. Akkarin had come to Rothen’s room to tell them that he had discovered that they knew of his secret. He had read Lorlen’s mind, and wanted to read theirs. Knowing that Akkarin was too powerful to fight, they dared not refuse. Afterward, she remembered, Akkarin had paced the room.

“You would both expose me if you could,” he said. “I will claim Sonea’s guardianship. She will ensure your silence. You will never cause anyone to know that I practice black magic while she is mine.” His eyes shifted to Sonea’s. “And Rothen’s wellbeing will be my guarantee that you will cooperate.”

Sonea set her feet on the path to the High Lord’s Residence. That confrontation had taken place so long ago, it felt as if it had happened to someone else, or to a character in a story she had heard. She had been Akkarin’s favorite for a year and a half now and it was not as bad as she’d feared. He hadn’t used her as a source of extra power, or tried to involve her in his evil practices. Aside from the sumptuous dinners she attended with him every Firstday evening, she rarely saw him at all. When they did speak, it was only of her training in the University.

Except for that one night, she thought.

She slowed as she remembered. Many months ago, returning after classes, she had heard loud noises and shouting from below the residence. Descending the stairs to the underground room, she had witnessed Akkarin kill a man with black magic. He had claimed the man was a Sachakan assassin, sent to murder him.

“Why did you kill him?” she asked. “Why not hand him over to the Guild?”

“Because, as you’ve no doubt guessed, he and his kind know things about me that I’d rather the Guild did not. You must be wondering who these people are, and why they want me dead. I can tell you only this: the Sachakans still hate the Guild, but they also fear us. From time to time they send one of these, to test me.”

Sonea knew as much about Kyralia’s neighbor as any other third-year novice. All novices studied the war between the Sachakan Empire and the Kyralian magicians. They were taught that the Kyralians had won the war by forming the Guild and sharing magical knowledge. Seven centuries later, the Sachakan Empire was all but gone and much of Sachaka remained a wasteland.

When she thought about it, it was not hard to believe that the Sachakans still hated the Guild. This was probably the reason, too, why Sachaka was not a member of the Allied Lands. Unlike Kyralia, Elyne, Vin, Lonmar and Lan, Sachaka was not bound to the agreement that all magicians must be taught and watched over by the Guild. It was possible magicians existed in Sachaka, though she doubted they were well trained.

If they were a threat, surely the Guild knew about it. Sonea frowned. Perhaps some magicians did know. Perhaps it was a secret only the Higher Magicians and the King were allowed to know. The King would not want ordinary people worrying about the existence of Sachakan magicians—unless the Sachakans became a serious threat, of course.

Were these assassins threat enough? She shook her head. The occasional assassin sent to kill the High Lord wasn’t a serious matter if he could fend them off easily enough.

She checked her stride. Perhaps the only reason Akkarin could fend them off was because he strengthened himself with black magic. Her heart skipped a beat. That would mean the assassins were frighteningly strong. Akkarin had suggested that they knew he used black magic. They would not attack him without making sure they had a chance of killing him. Did this mean they, too, used black magic?

She shivered. And each night I sleep in the same house as the man they’re trying to kill.

Perhaps this was why Lorlen hadn’t come up with a way to get rid of Akkarin yet. Perhaps he knew Akkarin had a good reason for using black magic. Perhaps he didn’t intend to oust Akkarin at all.

No, she thought. If Akkarin’s reasons were honorable, I would not be his hostage. If he’d been able to prove his motives were good, he would have tried to, rather than have two magicians and a novice constantly searching for a way to defeat him.

And if he was at all concerned for my wellbeing, why keep me in the residence, where the assassins are likely to strike?

She was sure Lorlen was concerned for her wellbeing. He would tell her, if he knew Akkarin’s motives were honorable. He wouldn’t want her to believe she was in a worse situation than she really was.

Abruptly, she remembered the ring on Lorlen’s finger. For more than a year, rumors had been circulating in the city about a killer who wore a silver ring with a red gemstone. Just like the one Lorlen wore.

But this had to be a coincidence. She knew a little of Lorlen’s mind and she could not imagine Lorlen murdering anyone.

Reaching the door of the residence, Sonea stopped and took a deep breath. What if the man Akkarin had killed hadn’t been an assassin? What if he had been a Sachakan diplomat who’d discovered Akkarin’s crime, and Akkarin had lured him to the residence to kill him... and then discovered the man was a magician?

Stop! Enough!

She shook her head as if that would clear it of this fruitless speculation. For months she had considered these possibilities, going over and over what she had seen and been told. Every week she looked at Akkarin over the dinner table and wished she had the courage to ask him why he had learned black magic, but stayed silent. If she could not be sure that the answers were truthful, why bother asking the questions?

Reaching out, she brushed the handle of the door with her fingers. As always, it swung inward at the lightest touch. She stepped inside.

His tall, dark figure rose from one of the guestroom chairs. She felt a familiar twinge of fear and pushed it aside. A single globe light hovered above his head, casting his eyes into shadow. His lips curled upward at one side as if he was mildly amused.

“Good evening, Sonea.”

She bowed. “High Lord.”

His pale hand gestured to the stairway entrance. Putting her case of books and notes down, Sonea entered the stairway and started climbing. Akkarin’s globe light floated up the center of the stairwell as he followed. Reaching the second level, she walked down the corridor and entered a room furnished with a large table and several chairs. A delicious smell filled the air and set her stomach rumbling quietly.

Akkarin’s servant, Takan, bowed to her as she sat down, then left.

“What did you study today, Sonea?” Akkarin asked.

“Architecture,” she replied. “Construction methods.”

One eyebrow rose slightly. “Shaping stone with magic?”

“Yes.”

He looked thoughtful. Takan returned to the room carrying a large platter, from which he transferred several small bowls to the table, then strode away. Sonea waited until Akkarin began to select from the bowls, before loading her own plate with food.

“Did you find it difficult, or easy?”

Sonea hesitated. “Difficult at first, then easier. It’s... not unlike Healing.”

His gaze sharpened. “Indeed. And how is it different?”

She considered. “Stone does not have the natural barrier of resistance that the body has. It has no skin.”

“That’s true, but something like a barrier can be created if...”

His voice trailed off. She looked up to find him frowning, his gaze fixed on the wall behind her. His eyes shifted to hers, then he relaxed and looked down at the table.

“I have a meeting to attend tonight,” he said, pushing back his chair. “Enjoy the rest of the meal, Sonea.”

Surprised, she watched him stride to the door, then looked at his half-eaten meal. Occasionally she arrived for the weekly dinner to find Takan waiting in the guestroom with the good news that the High Lord would not be attending. But only twice before had Akkarin left the meal early. She shrugged and continued eating.

As she finished the course, Takan reappeared. He stacked the bowls and plates onto the platter. Watching him, she noticed a tiny crease between his eyebrows.

He looks worried, she thought.

Remembering her earlier speculations, she felt a chill run up her spine. Was Takan afraid that another assassin might enter the residence looking for Akkarin?

Suddenly she wanted only to get back to the University. She stood up and looked at the servant. “Don’t worry about dessert, Takan.”

The man’s face changed subtly. Reading disappointment, she could not help feeling a pang of guilt. He might be Akkarin’s loyal servant, but he was also a gifted cook. Had he made a dish he was particularly proud of, and was dismayed that they were both leaving it uneaten?

“Was it something that will... keep a few hours?” she asked hesitantly.

He met her gaze briefly and, not for the first time, she caught a glimpse of a sharp intelligence there, not completely hidden behind his deferential manner.

“It will, my lady. Shall I bring it to your room when you return?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

Takan bowed.

Leaving the room, Sonea strode down the corridor and started down the stairs. She wondered again what part Takan played in Akkarin’s secrets. She had witnessed Akkarin taking strength from Takan, yet Takan obviously hadn’t been killed or harmed by it. And on the night of the assassination attempt, Akkarin had told her that Takan was from Sachaka. That brought up another question: if the Sachakans hated the Guild, why was one of them a servant of the High Lord?

And why did Takan sometimes call Akkarin “master” instead of “my lord?”

Lorlen was dictating an order for building materials when a messenger arrived. Taking the slip of paper from the man, Lorlen read it, then nodded.

“Tell the Stablemaster to prepare a carriage for me.”

“Yes, my lord.” The messenger bowed, then strode from the room.

“Visiting Captain Barran again?” Osen asked.

Lorlen smiled grimly at his assistant. “I’m afraid so.” He looked at the pen Osen was holding, poised above a sheet of paper, and shook his head. “I’ve lost the direction of my thoughts,” he added. “We’ll finish that tomorrow.”

Osen wiped the pen dry. “I hope Barran has found the killer this time.” He followed Lorlen out of the office. “Good night, Administrator.”

“Good night, Osen.”

As his assistant started down the University corridor toward the Magicians’ Quarters, Lorlen considered the young magician. Osen had noted Lorlen’s regular visits to the Guard House soon after they had begun. The young man was observant, and Lorlen knew better than to start making up complicated excuses. Sometimes giving the right amount of the truth was better than outright deceit.

He had explained to Osen that Akkarin had asked him to monitor the Guards’ efforts to find the murderer.

“Why you?” Osen had asked.

Lorlen had been expecting that. “Oh, I needed something to do in my spare time,” he had joked. “Barran is a family friend. I was hearing about these murders from him anyway, so the communication between us has just become an official one. I could send someone else, but I don’t want to be receiving the latest news thirdhand.”

“Can I ask if there’s a particular reason for the Guild to take an interest?” Osen had probed.

“You can ask,” Lorlen had replied with a smile. “I may not answer. Do you think there’s a reason?”

“I had heard that some people in the city believe magic is involved.”

“Which is why the Guild must be seen to be keeping an eye on the situation. The people should feel we’re not ignoring their troubles. We must take care not to show too much interest, however, or they’ll think there is truth to the rumor.”

Osen had agreed to keep his knowledge of Lorlen’s visits to the Guard to himself. If the rest of the Guild heard that Lorlen was following Captain Barran’s progress they, too, would wonder if magic was involved.

Lorlen was still uncertain whether magic was involved. There had been one incident, over a year before, in which a dying witness had claimed the murderer had attacked him with magic. The burns on the witness had looked like those from a heatstrike, but since then Barran had found no other evidence to confirm that the murderer—or murderers—used magic.

Barran had agreed to keep the possibility that the murderer might be a rogue magician to himself for now. If the news got out, Lorlen had explained, the King and the Houses would expect another hunt like the one that had been conducted for Sonea. They had learned from that experience that having magicians roaming all over the city would only send a rogue into hiding.

Lorlen strolled into the Entrance Hall. He watched as a carriage emerged from the stables and rolled down the road toward the University steps. As it pulled up, he descended to the vehicle, told the driver his destination and climbed aboard.

So what do we know? he asked himself.

For weeks, sometimes months, victims had been killed with the same, ritualized method—a method that occasionally resembled a black magic ritual. Then, for a few months, there were no deaths at all, until a new series of murders gained the Guard’s attention. These, too, would be ritualized murders, but using a slightly different method than previously.

Barren had sorted the possible reasons for the change of method into two main categories. Either the murderer was acting alone and kept changing his habits, or each series of murders was carried out by a different man. A single man might change his habits to avoid detection, or to perfect the ritual; a succession of murderers might indicate some kind of gang or cult which required killing as an initiation or test.

Lorlen looked down at the ring on his hand. A few witnesses lucky enough to see the murderer and survive had reported seeing a ring with a red gem on his hand. A ring like this? he wondered. Akkarin had created the gem out of glass and his own blood on the night he had discovered Lorlen, Sonea and Rothen knew he had learned and used black magic. It enabled him to see and hear everything Lorlen did, and to communicate by mind without other magicians hearing.

Whenever the murders resembled a black magic ritual, Lorlen was unable to avoid considering the possibility that Akkarin might be responsible. Akkarin did not wear a ring in public, yet he could be slipping one on when he left the Guild. Why would he, though? He didn’t need to keep track of himself.

What if the ring allows someone else to see what the murderer is doing?

Lorlen frowned. Why would Akkarin want another person to see what he was doing? Unless he was acting on the orders of another. Now that was a frightening possibility...

Lorlen sighed. Sometimes he found himself hoping he would never learn the truth. He knew that, if Akkarin was the murderer, he would feel partly responsible for the deaths of his victims. He ought to have dealt with Akkarin long ago, when he had first discovered from Sonea that the High Lord used black magic. But he had feared that the Guild could not defeat Akkarin in a fight.

So Lorlen had kept the High Lord’s crime a secret, persuading Sonea and Rothen to do the same. Then Akkarin had discovered that his crime was known, and had taken Sonea hostage to ensure Lorlen and Rothen remained silent. Now Lorlen could not move against Akkarin without risking her life.

But if I discovered that Akkarin was the murderer, and knew the Guild could defeat him, I would not hesitate. Not for our old friendship, or even Sonea’s wellbeing, would I allow him to continue.

And Akkarin, through the ring, must know that.

Of course, Akkarin might not be the murderer. He had told Lorlen to investigate the murders, but that proved nothing. He might simply want to know how close the Guard was to discovering his crimes...

The carriage stopped. Lorlen glanced out of the window and blinked in surprise when he saw the front of the Guard House outside. He had been so lost in thought, he had barely noticed the journey. The carriage rocked a little as the driver climbed down to open the door. Lorlen stepped out and strode across the pavement to the Guard House entrance. Captain Barran greeted him in the narrow hall inside.

“Good evening, Administrator. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Though Barran was still young, frown lines already marked his forehead. Those lines seemed deeper tonight.

“Good evening, Captain.”

“I have some interesting news, and something to show you. Come to my office.”

Lorlen followed the man down a corridor to a small room. The rest of the building was quiet, though a few guards were always present in the evenings. Barran ushered Lorlen to a seat, then closed the door.

“Do you remember me saying that the Thieves might be looking for the killer?”

“Yes.”

Barran smiled crookedly. “I have had confirmation of sorts. It was inevitable that, if the Guard and the Thieves were both investigating the murders, we’d cross paths. It turns out they have had spies here for months.”

“Spies? In the Guard?”

“Yes. Even an honorable man would be tempted to accept coin in exchange for information, when that information might lead to this murderer being found—particularly when the Guard aren’t getting anywhere.” Barran shrugged. “I don’t know who all the spies are yet, but for now I’m happy to let them remain in place.”

Lorlen chuckled. “If you want advice on negotiating with the Thieves I would send Lord Dannyl to you, but he is now a Guild Ambassador in Elyne.”

The Captain’s eyebrows rose. “That would have been interesting advice, even if I never had the opportunity to use it. I do not intend to negotiate for a cooperative effort with the Thieves, however. The Houses would never approve of it. I have made an arrangement with one of the spies that he pass on whatever he can safely divulge to me. None of his information has been useful yet, but it might lead to something that is.” The creases between his brows deepened again. “Now, I have something to show you. You said you wanted to examine the next victim. One was discovered tonight, so I had the body brought here.”

A chill ran down Lorlen’s spine, as if a cold draft had found its way under the collar of his robes. Barran gestured to the door.

“It’s in the basement. Would you like to see it now.”

“Yes.”

He rose and followed Barran out into the corridor. The man remained silent as they descended a flight of stairs and continued down another corridor. The air grew distinctly colder. Stopping before a heavy wooden door, Barran unlocked and opened it.

A strong medicinal smell gusted into the corridor, not quite hiding a less pleasant odor. The room beyond was sparsely furnished. Bare stone walls surrounded three plain benches. On one was the naked corpse of a man. On another was a set of clothing, neatly folded.

Drawing closer, Lorlen studied the body reluctantly. As with all the recent killings, the victim had been stabbed through the heart, and a shallow cut ran down one side of the man’s neck. Despite this the man’s expression was unexpectedly peaceful.

As Barran began to describe the place where the victim was found, Lorlen considered a conversation he’d overheard during one of the regular Guild social gatherings in the Night Room. Lord Darlen, a young Healer, had been describing a patient to three of his friends.

“He was dead when he arrived,” Darlen had said, shaking his head, “but the wife wanted a performance so she would know we’d done all we could. So I checked.”

“And found nothing?”

Darlen had grimaced. “There’s always plenty of life energy to detect afterward, plenty of organisms that are active throughout decomposition, but his heart was still and his mind was silent. However, I detected another heartbeat. Small and slow, but definitely a heartbeat.”

“How can that be? He had two hearts?”

“No.” Darlen’s voice was tortured. “He’d... he’d choked on a sevli.”

At once the two Healers had burst into laughter. The third friend, an Alchemist, looked puzzled. “What was he doing with a sevli in his throat? They’re poisonous. Did someone murder him?”

“No.” Darlen had sighed. “Their bite is poisonous, but their skin contains a substance that causes euphoria and visions. Some people like the effect. They suck on the reptiles.”

“Suck on reptiles?” The young Alchemist had been incredulous. “So what did you do?”

Darlen’s face had reddened. “The sevli was suffocating, so I fished it out. Seems the wife didn’t know about her husband’s habit. She became hysterical. Wouldn’t go home for fear her house was infested with them, and one crawled down her throat during the night.”

This had sent the two older Healers into new bouts of laughter. Lorlen almost smiled at the memory. Healers needed a sense of humor, though it was often a strange one. The conversation had given him an idea, however. A dead body was still full of life energy, but a body of someone who had been killed by black magic ought to have been drained of all energy. To confirm whether the murderer was using black magic, Lorlen only needed to examine a victim with his Healing senses. As Barran finished his description of the scene, Lorlen stepped forward. Steeling himself, he placed a hand on the dead man’s arm, closed his eyes and sent his senses out into the body.

He was startled at how easy it was, until he remembered that the natural barrier in living things that resisted magical interference dissipated at the moment of death. Sending his mind outward, he searched the body and found only the faintest traces of life energy. The process of decomposition had been interrupted—delayed—because of the lack of anything alive within the body to start it.

Opening his eyes, Lorlen lifted his hand from the man’s arm. He stared at the shallow cut along the victim’s neck, sure now that this was the wound that had killed the man. The stab wound to the heart had probably been made later, to provide a more plausible cause of death. Looking down, he regarded the ring on his finger.

So it’s true, he thought. The killer uses black magic. But is this Akkarin’s victim, or do we have another black magician loose in the city?

2 The High Lord’s Orders

Picking up the steaming cup of sumi from the low dining table, Rothen walked over to one of the paper screens covering his guestroom windows. He slid it aside and looked out over the gardens.

Spring had come early this year. The hedges and trees bore small blossoms, and an enthusiastic new gardener had planted rows of brightly colored flowers along the pathways. Though it was early morning, magicians and novices were walking through the garden.

Rothen lifted his cup and sipped. The sumi was fresh and bitter. He thought back to the previous evening and grimaced. Once a week he joined his elderly friend Lord Yaldin, and his wife Ezrille, for dinner. Yaldin had been a friend of Rothen’s late mentor, Lord Margen, and still considered it his duty to keep an eye on Rothen—which was why, during the meal last night, Yaldin had felt he must tell Rothen to stop worrying about Sonea.

“I know you’re still watching her,” the old magician had said.

Rothen shrugged. “I’m interested in her wellbeing.”

Yaldin snorted softly. “She’s the High Lord’s novice. She doesn’t need you to monitor her wellbeing.”

“She does,” Rothen replied. “Do you think the High Lord cares if she’s happy or not? He’s only concerned about her academic progress. Life isn’t only about magic.”

Ezrille smiled sadly. “Of course it isn’t, but...” She hesitated, then sighed. “Sonea has barely spoken a word to you since the High Lord claimed her guardianship. Don’t you think she would have visited you by now? It’s been over a year. No matter how busy she is with her studies, surely she would have found some time to see you.”

Rothen winced. He could not help himself. From their sympathetic expressions, he knew they had seen his reaction and thought he was merely hurt by Sonea’s apparent abandonment of him.

“She is doing well,” Yaldin said gently. “And that nonsense with the other novices ended long ago. Leave it be, Rothen.”

Rothen had pretended to agree. He couldn’t tell them his true reasons for watching Sonea. To do so would place more than Sonea’s life at risk. Even if Yaldin and Ezrille agreed to keep silent to protect Sonea, Akkarin had said no others were to know. Breaking that “order” might be all the excuse Akkarin needed to... to what? Use black magic to take over the Guild? He was already the High Lord. What else could he possibly want?

More power, perhaps. To rule in place of the King. To rule all of the Allied Lands. To be free to strengthen himself with black magic until he was more powerful than any magician who had ever existed.

But if Akkarin had wanted to do any of that, surely he would have done it long ago. Rothen had to acknowledge, grudgingly, that Akkarin had done nothing to harm Sonea, as far as he could tell. The only time he had seen her in the company of her guardian had been the day of the Challenge.

Yaldin and Ezrille had let the subject drop eventually. “Well, at least you’ve stopped taking nemmin,” Ezrille had murmured before asking after Dorrien, Rothen’s son.

Rothen felt a small flash of annoyance at the memory. He looked at Tania, his servant. She was carefully wiping the dust off his bookshelf with a cloth.

He knew Tania had told Ezrille and Yaldin out of concern for his health, and would never reveal his use of a sleeping drug to anyone else, but he still could not help feeling a little resentful. But how could he complain when she willingly played the spy for him? Tania, through her friendship with Sonea’s servant, Viola, kept him informed of Sonea’s health, moods and occasional visits to her aunt and uncle in the slums. Clearly Tania hadn’t told Yaldin and Ezrille of her own part in this, or they would have mentioned it as proof of his “worrying.”

Dannyl would have been amused by all this “spying.” Taking another sip of sumi, Rothen considered what he knew of his friend’s activities in the last year. From letters, Rothen guessed that Dannyl had become close friends with his assistant, Tayend. The speculation regarding Tayend’s sexual orientation had disappeared within weeks of it beginning. Everyone knew what self-indulgent gossips the Elynes were, and the only reason the assistant’s rumored tastes in lovers had drawn the attention of Guild magicians was because Dannyl had been accused of interest in other men in his youth. That accusation had never been proven to be true. When no further gossip about Dannyl or his assistant arose, most magicians had forgotten about the pair.

Rothen was more concerned about the research he had asked Dannyl to carry out. Wondering when Akkarin had found the opportunity to learn black magic had led Rothen to speculate on the journey Akkarin had made, years before, to study ancient magic. It seemed likely that Akkarin had discovered the forbidden arts during that time. The same sources of information might also reveal any weakness black magicians might have that could be exploited, so Rothen had asked Dannyl to do a little research on ancient magic for a “book” he was writing.

Unfortunately, Dannyl had produced little that was useful. When he had returned to the Guild unannounced over a year before, to report to Akkarin, Rothen had been worried that he’d been found out. Dannyl had assurred Rothen afterward that he’d told Akkarin the research had been for his own interest—and to Rothen’s surprise Akkarin had encouraged Dannyl to continue. Dannyl still sent research notes every few months, but each bundle was smaller. Dannyl had expressed frustration at having exhausted all sources of knowledge in Elyne, yet, remembering how distant and evasive Dannyl had been during his visit to the Guild, Rothen could not help wondering occasionally if his friend was holding something back. Furthermore, Dannyl had mentioned discussing something confidential with the High Lord.

Rothen brought his empty cup back to the dining table. Dannyl was a Guild Ambassador and as such he would be trusted with all kinds of information he could not share with ordinary magicians. The confidential matter could have just been something political.

But he couldn’t help worrying that Dannyl was unknowingly helping Akkarin in some dreadful, sinister plot.

He could do nothing about that, however. He could only trust in Dannyl’s good sense. His friend would not follow orders blindly, especially not if he was asked to do something questionable or wrong.

No matter how many times Dannyl visited the Great Library, the sight of it still filled him with wonder. Cut into a high cliff, the building’s enormous door and windows were so large it was easy to imagine that a race of giant men had carved it out of the rock for their use. The corridors and rooms inside, however, were made to suit an ordinary man’s proportions, so no race of giants had made them. As his carriage pulled up outside the massive door, a smaller door at the base of it opened and a striking young man stepped out.

Dannyl smiled and felt a glow of affection as he climbed out to greet his friend and lover. Tayend’s bow was respectful, but was followed by a familiar grin.

“You took your time getting here, Ambassador,” he said.

“Don’t blame me. You Elynes should have built your city closer to the library.”

“Now there’s a good idea. I’ll suggest it to the King next time I attend court.”

“You never attend court.”

“That’s right.” Tayend smiled. “Irand wants to speak to you.”

Dannyl paused. Did the librarian already know about the matters covered in the letter Dannyl had just received? Had he received a similar letter himself?

“What about?”

Tayend shrugged. “I think he just wants to chat.”

They entered a corridor, then climbed a flight of stairs to a long narrow room. Mullioned windows dominated one side of the room, and groups of chairs were arranged informally along the length of the hall.

An elderly man sat in one of the closest chairs. As he began to push himself up out of it, Dannyl waved a hand.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Librarian.” He dropped into a chair. “How are you?”

Irand’s shoulders lifted slightly. “Well enough for an old man. Well enough. How are you, Ambassador?”

“Good. There isn’t much work at the Guild House at the moment. A few testings, a few minor disputes, a few small parties. Nothing overly time-consuming.”

“And Errend?”

Dannyl smiled. “The First Guild Ambassador is as cheerful as ever,” he replied. “And most relieved to have me out of his way for the day.”

Irand chuckled. “Tayend tells me your research is going nowhere.”

Dannyl sighed and glanced at Tayend. “We could read every book in the library on the odd chance we might find something new, but we would need several lifetimes or a hundred assistants.”

While Dannyl had first started researching ancient magic at Lorlen’s request, he had himself become intrigued by the subject. Akkarin had begun a similar search, long before he became High Lord, which had kept him roaming the lands for five years. He had returned empty-handed, however, and Dannyl had initially assumed Lorlen had asked him to retrace Akkarin’s steps in order to gift his friend with some of the information he had lost.

But six months later, after Dannyl had travelled to Lonmar and Vin, Lorlen had abruptly informed Dannyl that he no longer needed the information. At the same time, Rothen had suddenly gained an interest in the same subject. This strange coincidence, and Dannyl’s own growing fascination with the mysteries of ancient magic, had encouraged Dannyl and Tayend to continue.

Akkarin had eventually learned of Dannyl’s project and ordered him home to report. To Dannyl’s relief, the High Lord had been pleased with his work, though he had ordered Dannyl and Tayend to keep their strangest discovery, the Chamber of Ultimate Justice, a secret. The chamber, which they had found under the ruins of a city in the Elyne mountains, had contained a magically charged ceiling of stones that had attacked Dannyl, and nearly killed him.

How it worked was a mystery. After Dannyl had returned to reseal the entrance, he had searched the Great Library in vain for a reference to it. Clearly it used a form of magic unknown to the Guild.

“I suspect I’d find out more if I went to Sachaka,” Dannyl added, “but the High Lord denied my request to journey there.”

Irand nodded. “A wise decision. You can’t be sure how well you’d be received. There’s sure to be magicians there. Though they would not be as skilled as you and your colleagues, they would pose a danger to a lone Guild magician. After all, the Guild left much of their land wasted. There’s bound to be some lingering resentment for that. So what will you do now?”

Dannyl drew a folded letter from his robes and gave it to Irand. “I have a new task to perform.”

The librarian hesitated as he saw the remains of the High Lord’s seal, then opened the letter and began to read.

“What is it?” Tayend asked.

“An investigation,” Dannyl replied. “It seems some nobles in this land are trying to start their own rogue Guild.”

The scholar’s eyes widened, then his expression became thoughtful. Irand drew in a breath and looked at Dannyl over the page.

“So he knows.”

Dannyl nodded. “It appears so.”

“Knows what?” Tayend asked.

Irand handed the letter to Tayend. The scholar began to read aloud.

“ ‘I have been watching for some years the efforts of a small group of Elyne courtiers to learn magic without the Guild’s aid or knowledge. Only recently have they had some success. Now that at least one of them has managed to develop his powers, the Guild is entitled and obliged to deal with them. I have included information on this group with this letter. You will find your relationship with the scholar, Tayend of Tremmelin, helpful in persuading them that you can be trusted.’ ”

Tayend paused and stared at Dannyl. “What does he mean by that?” he exclaimed.

Dannyl nodded at the letter. “Read on.”

“ ‘It is possible the rebels will try to use this personal information against you once you have arrested them. I will ensure that it is understood that I asked you to give them this information in order to achieve your goal.’ ”

Tayend stared at Dannyl. “You said he didn’t know about us. How can he know? Or has he just listened to the rumors and taken a chance that they might be true?”

“I doubt it,” Irand replied. “A man like the High Lord does not take chances. Who else have you allowed to know of your relationship?”

Tayend shook his head. “There is no one else. Unless we have been overheard...” He glanced around.

“Before we start hunting for spies, there is one possibility we should consider,” Dannyl said. He grimaced and rubbed his temples. “Akkarin has some unusual abilities. For the rest of us, there are limits to mind reading. We can’t read an unwilling mind, and we must touch another person to be able to read them at all. Akkarin once searched the mind of a criminal to confirm his guilt. The man should have been able to block him, yet somehow Akkarin got past his mental barriers. Some magicians believe Akkarin can even read minds at a distance.”

“So you suspect he read your mind when you were in Kyralia?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he did when he ordered me to return to the Guild.”

Irand’s eyebrows rose. “While you were in the mountains? That he can read minds at such a distance is extraordinary.”

“I doubt he could have if I had not answered his call. Once contact is established, however, he might have been able to see more than I intended.” Dannyl nodded at the letter. “Read on, Tayend. There is one more paragraph.”

Tayend looked down at the letter. “ ‘Your assistant has encountered these rebels before. He ought to be able to arrange an introduction.’ How could he possibly know that?”

“I hoped you could tell me.”

The scholar frowned down at the letter. “Everyone in Elyne has a secret or two. Some you talk about, some are best kept to oneself.” He glanced at Dannyl and Irand. “A few years ago I was invited to a secret party by a man named Royend of Marane. When I declined, he assured me it wasn’t what I thought, that there’d be no, ah, indulgences of the flesh or the mind. He said it would be a scholarly gathering. But his manner was furtive, and I took that as a warning and didn’t attend.”

“Did he give any hints that he was offering magical knowledge?” Irand asked.

“No, but what other scholarly pursuits would ever need to be kept hidden? It is no secret that I was once offered a place in the Guild, but declined. And my inclinations are well known.” He glanced at Dannyl. “So he knows I had magical ability, and could guess at my reasons for not accepting the robes.”

Irand nodded. “The High Lord probably knows this, too. It makes sense that these rebels approach all who decline or are refused entry into the Guild.” He paused and looked at Dannyl. “And while Akkarin clearly knows the truth about you, he has not recalled or denounced you. Perhaps he is more tolerant than the average Kyralian.”

A chill ran down Dannyl’s spine. “Only because I am useful to him. He would have me risk much for the sake of finding these rebels.”

“A man in his position must be willing to use those that serve him,” Irand said sternly. “You chose to be a Guild Ambassador, Dannyl. Your role is to act on behalf of the High Lord in matters that are the domain and responsibility of the Guild. Sometimes carrying out that role means taking risks. Let’s hope this task risks only your reputation, and not your life.”

Dannyl sighed and bowed his head. “You’re right, of course.”

Tayend chuckled. “Irand’s always right, except when it comes to cataloguing meth—” He grinned as the librarian turned to glare at him. “So I guess if the rebels thought Dannyl had reason to resent the Guild, they might consider him as a potential recruit, too.”

“And teacher,” Irand added.

Dannyl nodded. “And they would believe that if I proved uncooperative, they could blackmail me into silence by threatening to reveal my relationship with Tayend.”

“Yes. You must plan this carefully, however,” Irand cautioned.

They began to discuss ways to approach the rebels. Not for the first time, Dannyl was glad to have the librarian’s confidence. Tayend had insisted several months ago that they tell his mentor about their relationship, assuring Dannyl that he would trust Irand with his life. To Dannyl’s consternation, the old man hadn’t been at all surprised.

As far as Dannyl and Tayend could tell, the rest of the Elyne court still believed Dannyl was oblivious to, and certainly didn’t share, Tayend’s attraction to men. Rothen had told Dannyl that similar rumors had circulated in the Guild, but had been quickly forgotten. Despite this, Dannyl still feared that the truth about him would reach the Guild, and he would be stripped of his position and ordered home.

Which was why he had been shocked and angered by Akkarin’s request that he allow the rebels to find out the truth. It was difficult enough keeping his relationship with Tayend a secret. Allowing the rebels to know was a risk he did not want to take.

It was late when the knock came. Looking up from her desk, Sonea regarded the door of her room. Was it her servant bringing a late cup of hot raka? She lifted a hand, then stopped. Lord Yikmo, the Warrior who had trained her in preparation for the Challenge, always said a magician should avoid the habit of gesturing when using magic—it gave away a magician’s intent. Hands still, she now willed the door to open. Takan stood in the corridor beyond.

“My Lady,” he said. “The High Lord requests your presence in the library.”

She stared at him and felt her blood slowly turn cold. What did Akkarin want with her at this time of night?

Takan gazed at Sonea and waited.

Pushing her chair back, she rose and approached the doorway. As Sonea entered the corridor, Takan started toward the library. When she reached the door, she peered through.

A large desk stood at one side. The walls were covered in bookcases. Two large chairs and a small table were arranged at the center. Akkarin was sitting in one of the chairs. As she bowed, he gestured to the other, where a small book lay.

“This book is for you to read,” he said. “It will help you with your studies on the construction of buildings with magic.”

Sonea entered the room and approached the chair. The book was small, bound in leather and very worn. She picked it up and opened it. The pages were filled with faded handwriting. She read the first few lines and drew in a quick breath. It was the diary of Lord Coren, the architect who had designed most of the Guild buildings, and who had discovered how to shape stone with magic.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how valuable that book is,” Akkarin said quietly. “It is rare and irreplaceable and,” his voice deepened, “is not to leave this room.”

Sonea looked at him and nodded. His expression was serious, and his dark eyes bore into hers.

“You will not speak of it to anyone,” he added softly. “Only a few people know it exists, and I would prefer it stayed that way.”

She took a step away as he pushed himself out of the chair and walked to the door. As he moved into the corridor she found that Takan was watching her with uncustomary directness, as if he was assessing her closely. She met his eyes. He nodded, as if to himself, then turned away. Two sets of footsteps faded into the distance. She looked down at the book in her hands.

Sitting down, she opened the cover and began to read:

Sonea looked to the top of the page and noted the date. She realized from her recent studies that at the time of writing this diary Lord Coren had been young, restless and in disfavor with his elders for drinking excessively and designing strange, impractical buildings.

Sonea smiled as she pictured the young magician locked away in his room reading. His following entries were haphazard, often skipping several days. Then came a short entry, underlined several times.

He named some of the books, but Sonea did not recognize any of them. These missing volumes were “full of forbidden knowledge” and Coren was reluctant to describe their contents. After a gap of several weeks there was a long entry describing an experiment, the conclusion of which read:

Yet it did not deter him. Sonea found herself struggling to understand why this young man continued to do something that he clearly saw was wrong. He seemed unable to stop, driven forward to whatever end this discovery was leading him to, even if it be the discovery of his crime.

But it led to something else...

Sonea gripped the little book tightly, unable to take her eyes from the lines of text. This was the discovery that made Coren famous, and influenced Guild architecture for centuries to come. It was said to be the greatest development in magical knowledge for centuries. Though what he had done was not actually black magic, the forbidden arts had led to the discovery.

Sonea closed her eyes and shook her head. Lord Larkin, the architecture teacher, would give all his wealth for this diary, but he would be devastated if he learned the truth about his idol. She sighed, looked down at the pages and continued to read.

3 Old Friends, New Allies

Cery signed the letter with a flourish, then regarded his work with satisfaction. His writing was neat and elegant. The paper was quality, and the ink dark and black. Despite the slang terms throughout—he had requested that Serin teach him to read and write, not make him sound like a member of one of the Houses—and the fact that it was a request for the execution of a man who had cheated him and fled to the Southside, it was a fine, well-written letter.

He smiled as he remembered asking Faren, the Thief who had hidden Sonea from the Guild, if he could “borrow” Faren’s scribe for a while. From Faren’s mixed expression of reluctance and gratitude, Cery knew that the Thief would have refused if he hadn’t desperately needed the boost to his position that the arrangement would bring.

Faren’s hold on his status as Thief had been precarious for the first year after he had turned Sonea over to the Guild. A Thief’s ability to do business relied on a network of people willing to work for him. While some worked for money, most preferred to “help out” and be paid back in kind later. Favors were the second currency of the underworld.

Faren had used a lot of the favors owed to him while keeping Sonea out of the Guild’s hands, but that should not have held him back for long. People knew he had made a deal with Sonea to hide her from the Guild in exchange for her using her magic for him—a deal he had broken. The other Thieves, worried by the Guild’s warnings that her powers would grow dangerous if she wasn’t trained to control them, had “asked” him to turn her in. While he could hardly have refused the request of the other underworld leaders, a deal had been broken. Thieves needed people to believe they had at least some integrity, or only the desperate or the foolish would do business with them. Only the fact that Sonea had never used magic in any useful way, failing to uphold her side of the deal, had saved Faren from complete ruin.

Serin had remained loyal, however. He had given Cery little information about Faren’s affairs during the reading and writing lessons—nothing Cery didn’t already know, anyway. Cery had learned fast, though he attributed that partly to having watched some of Sonea’s lessons with the scribe.

And by showing that he—Sonea’s friend—was willing to deal with Faren—Sonea’s “betrayer”—Cery had assured people that the Thief was still trustworthy.

Taking a slim tube of dried reed out of his desk drawer, Cery rolled the letter and slipped it inside. He stoppered the tube and sealed it with wax. Picking up a yerim—a slim metal tool with a needle-like point—he scratched a name on the side.

Putting the tube aside, Cery balanced the yerim in his hand, then, with a flick of his wrist, threw it across the room. It landed point first in the wooden panelling of the opposite wall. He gave a small sigh of satisfaction. He’d had his own yerim made to be well balanced for throwing. Looking down at the three remaining in the drawer, he reached out to take another, then stopped at a knock on the door.

Rising, Cery crossed the room to retrieve the yerim from the panelling before returning to his desk.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and Gol stepped inside. The man’s expression was respectful. Cery looked closer. In Gol’s eyes was a hint of... expectation, perhaps?

“A woman to see you, Ceryni.”

Cery smiled at Gol’s use of his full name. This was an unusual woman, if Gol’s manner was any indication. What would she be: spirited, beautiful, or important?

“Name?”

“Savara.”

No one Cery knew of, unless the name was false. It was not a typical Kyralian name, however. It sounded more like a Lonmar name.

“Occupation?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

Then perhaps her name is Savara, Cery mused. If she had lied about her name, why not make up an occupation as well?

“Why’s she come?”

“Says she can help you with a problem, but wouldn’t say what the problem was.”

Cery was thoughtful. So she thinks I have a problem. Interesting.

“Show her in, then.”

Gol nodded, then backed out of the room. Cery closed his desk drawer, then leaned back in his chair to wait. After a few minutes, the door opened again.

He and the newcomer regarded each other in surprise.

She had the strangest face he had ever seen. A broad forehead and high cheekbones angled down to a fine chin. Thick, black hair hung heavy and straight past her shoulders, but her most startling feature was her eyes. They were large and tilted upward at the outer corners, and the same light gold-brown as her skin. Strange, exotic eyes... and they were examining him with barely concealed amusement.

He was used to this reaction. Most customers hesitated when they first saw him, as they noted his stature, and his name, which was also the name of a little rodent common in the slums. Then they reminded themselves of his position and the likely consequences if they laughed out loud.

“Ceryni,” the woman said. “You are Ceryni?” Her voice was rich and deep, and she had spoken with an accent he could not place. Definitely not Lonmar.

“Yes. And you’re Savara.” He did not phrase it as a question. If she had lied about her name, he doubted she would offer the real one now just because he asked for it.

“I am.”

She took a step closer to the desk, her eyes shifting away to note features of the room, then back to him again.

“You say I’ve a problem you can fix,” he prompted.

A hint of a smile crossed her face and he caught his breath. If she fully smiled, she may just turn out to be astonishingly beautiful. No doubt this was the cause of Gol’s suppressed excitement.

“I do.” She frowned. “You do.” Her gaze slipped from his, moved over him as if considering something, then snapped back. “The other Thieves say you are the one hunting the murderers.”

Murderers? Cery narrowed his eyes. So she knows there is more than one.

“How’d you plan to help me?”

She smiled and Cery’s suspicion was confirmed—she was astonishingly beautiful. He hadn’t anticipated the challenge and confidence that came with it, however. This one knew how to use her looks to get her way.

“I can help you find and kill them.”

Cery’s heart began to race. If she knew who these murderers were, and believed she could kill them...

“And how’re you going to do that?” he asked.

The smile vanished. She took another step closer. “Find or kill?”

“Both.”

“I will say nothing of my methods of killing today. As for finding them,” a crease appeared between her brows, “that will be harder, but easier for me than for you. I have ways of recognizing them.”

“So do I,” Cery pointed out. “Why’s your way better?”

She smiled again. “I know more about them. For now, I will tell you that the next one entered the city today. He will probably take a day or two to gather the courage, and then you’ll hear of his first kill.”

He considered her reply carefully. If she didn’t know anything, why offer this proof? Unless she planned to manufacture proof by murdering someone herself. He looked at her closely and his heart went cold as he belatedly recognized the broad facial features and that particular shade of gold-brown skin. How had he not seen it earlier? But he had never seen a Sachakan woman before...

He had no doubt now that she was dangerous. Whether she was dangerous to him, or to the murderers from her homeland, remained to be seen. The more he could get her to reveal of herself, the better.

“So you have watchers in your homeland,” he prompted, “who tell you when a killer has entered Kyralia?”

She paused. “Yes.”

Cery nodded. “Or,” he said slowly, “you’ll wait a few days and kill someone yourself.”

Her gaze became steely. “Then have your tags watch me. I will stay in my room and have food brought to me.”

“We both need to prove ourselves right-sided,” he told her. “You came to me, so you do the proving first. I’ll put a watcher on you now, and we’ll have a chat once this man has done his deed. Happy with that?”

She nodded once. “Yes.”

“Wait in the first room. I’ll set things out, and have a friend take you back to your place.”

He watched, taking in as much detail as possible, as she walked to the door. Her clothes were plain, neither shabby nor expensive. The heavy shirt and trousers were typical of common Kyralians, but from the way she walked he doubted she had been ordered about much in her life. No, this one did the ordering.

Gol returned to the room promptly after she had left, his face tight with the effort of hiding his curiosity.

“Put four tags on her,” Cery told him. “I want to know every move she makes. Keep an eye on whoever brings anything to her, food or otherwise. She knows she’s going to be watched, so let her see two of the tags.”

Gol nodded. “Want to see what she was carrying?”

He held out a bundle of cloth. Cery regarded it with mild surprise. She had offered to kill the murderers, he reasoned. I doubt she plans to do it with her bare hands. He nodded.

Gol carefully unrolled the cloth on the desk. Cery chuckled as he saw the array of knives and daggers. He picked them up one by one, testing their weight. Some were etched with unusual designs and symbols, some with gems set into the metal. He sobered. Sachakan, most likely. He set the largest of the jeweled ones aside, then nodded to Gol.

“Give them back.”

Gol nodded, then rolled up the bundle and took it out of the room. When the door had closed, Cery leaned back in his chair and considered this strange woman. If everything she had said proved true, she could be as useful as she claimed.

If she was lying? He frowned. Was it possible a Thief had sent her? She had mentioned speaking to the “other Thieves.” He could not think of a good reason for one to interfere, however. Time must be spent considering all the possibilities. He would be questioning his watchers closely.

And should I tell him? Cery thought. To communicate anything other than the arranged coded messages would require a meeting, and he was not about to arrange one unless it was absolutely necessary. Was this important enough?

A Sachakan woman who had contacts in her homeland. Of course it was.

But something made Cery pause. Perhaps he should wait and see if she proved herself useful first. And he had to admit, he didn’t like consulting someone else every time he changed his tactics slightly. Even if he did owe that someone a great debt.

It was time he came up with a few strategies of his own.

As Sonea waited for Warrior class to begin she closed her eyes and rubbed them, then fought off the urge to yawn. She had finished Coren’s diary late in the night, drawn on by the architect’s recollections and half afraid that, if she left it there unfinished, she might return the next night to find it gone and never know how the story ended.

As the night turned to the earliest hours of morning, she had read the final entry:

I have decided. When the foundations of the University are complete I will secretly bury the chest, with all its contents, in the soil beneath it. Along with those terrible truths will go my own, in the physical form of this book. Perhaps, by carrying out this act of concealment, I will finally smother this nagging guilt at what I have learned and used.

If I had the courage, I would destroy the chest and its contents, but I fear to judge differently from those who placed it in the ground in the first place. They were most definitely wiser men than I.

The chest must have been rediscovered, however, or she would not have had Coren’s diary in her hands. What had happened to the rest of the books? Did Akkarin have them?

Or was the diary a fake, created by Akkarin to persuade the Guild that black magic was not as bad as it was thought to be? He might be testing it on her, to see if it would convince her.

If that were so, then he had made a mistake. Coren had believed that black magic was wrong. Reading the account, whether fictional or not, was not going to persuade anyone otherwise.

If it was real, why had Akkarin given it to her? Sonea frowned down at her notebook. He would not have allowed her to know of its existence on a whim. He must have a reason.

What had he revealed to her? That Coren had used black magic and that it had led him to discover how to manipulate stone. That another magician—a famous magician—had committed the same crime as he. Perhaps Akkarin wanted her to consider that he, too, might have learned it against his better judgment. Perhaps he wanted her sympathy and understanding.

Coren hadn’t held a novice hostage to keep his crimes secret, however.

Would he have, if he had been faced with losing his powers, position, or even his life, as punishment? Sonea shook her head. Perhaps Akkarin simply wanted to destroy whatever illusions she might have of the famous figure that Coren was.

The sudden appearance of Lord Makin interrupted her thoughts. The teacher placed a large box on the front desk, then faced the class.

“Today I will be teaching you about illusion,” the Warrior told them. “And how it is used in battle. The most important thing to remember with illusion is this: it is all about deception. An illusion cannot harm you, but it can lead you into danger. I’ll demonstrate this with a story.”

Makin moved to his chair and sat down, folding his hands on the table. All sounds of boots scuffing the floor or novices shifting in their seats ceased. Lord Makin’s stories were always interesting.

“Our histories tell us that, five centuries ago, two brothers lived in the Elyne mountains. Grind and Lond were both magicians skilled in battle. One day a caravan of travellers passed, led by a merchant named Kamaka. His daughter, a beautiful young woman, travelled with him. The two brothers saw the caravan and descended from their mountain home to buy goods. When they laid eyes on Kamaka’s daughter they both fell instantly in love.”

Makin sighed and shook his head sadly, gaining smiles from the novices. “An argument ensued between them over who would have the girl. The two brothers could not resolve their dispute with words, so they began to fight each other. It is said the battle continued for days (which is unlikely) and the brothers found themselves evenly matched in strength and skill. It was Grind who broke the stalemate. Seeing that his brother stood by a cliff on which was poised a large boulder, he contrived that this boulder should fall, but preceded it with another, illusory boulder.

“Lond saw his brother staring at something above his head. He looked up to see a boulder falling toward him, and instantly dismissed it as the illusion it was. Of course he did not see the second boulder, which was concealed behind the illusory one.

“Grind had expected his brother to detect the deception. When he realized he had killed his own brother, he became distracted with grief. The caravan was able to continue on its way, taking Kamaka’s daughter with it. So you see,” Makin finished, “while illusions cannot hurt you, allowing yourself to be deceived by them might.”

The Warrior rose. “How do you make illusions? That is what I will be teaching you today. We will start by copying the objects I have brought with me. Seno, come to the front of the class.”

Sonea listened as the magician explained different ways of creating an image of something with magic, and watched as Seno followed the teacher’s instructions. When the demonstration was finished, Seno passed Sonea’s desk on the way to his own. He looked at Sonea and smiled. She let the corner of her mouth curl upward in response. He had been particularly friendly toward her since a Warrior practice session some weeks before, in which she had taught him a trick that weaker magicians could use against stronger ones.

As the lesson continued, she turned her mind to learning the illusion techniques. Just when she had managed to form an illusion of a pachi fruit something appeared in the air in front of her.

It was a flower, the petals made of bright orange autumn leaves. She reached out and her fingers passed through the strange blossom. It shattered into a thousand sparks of light that spun in a quick dance before vanishing.

“Well done!” Trassia exclaimed.

“It wasn’t me.” Sonea turned to see Seno grinning at her, an orange leaf lying on the table in front of him.

At the front of the class, Lord Makin cleared his throat loudly. Sonea turned back to see the teacher regarding her sternly. She shrugged to protest her innocence. He looked pointedly at the fruit in front of her.

She concentrated until an illusory copy appeared beside it. It was a redder shade than it ought to be, and the texture of its skin was suspiciously like the veins of a leaf. She sighed. It would be easier if she didn’t have a memory of autumn leaves so fresh in her mind. She pushed away her annoyance. Seno hadn’t intended to distract her. He’d just been showing off.

But why flaunt his success to her and no one else? Surely he wasn’t trying to impress her.

Or was he?

She resisted the temptation to turn and see what he was doing. Seno was a cheerful boy, talkative and easy to like, and she was probably the only Kyralian girl who didn’t tower over him...

What am I thinking? She scowled as she realized her illusion had changed into a shapeless glowing ball. Even if I didn’t have Akkarin to worry about, what of Dorrien?

A memory flitted into her mind of Rothen’s son standing by the spring in the forest behind the Guild. Of him leaning closer to kiss her. She pushed it away.

She hadn’t seen Dorrien for over a year. Whenever she found herself thinking of him, she forced herself to concentrate on something else. There was nothing to be gained from regret—not when it would have been an impossible relationship anyway, with her stuck in the Guild until graduation, and him living—all but a few weeks each year—far away, in a village at the base of the mountains.

Sighing, she concentrated on the fruit, and began restoring her illusion.

As Lorlen reached the door of his office he heard a familiar voice call his name. Glancing behind, he smiled as he saw his assistant striding forward to meet him.

“Good evening, Lord Osen.”

The magical lock unwound under his will, and the door clicked open. Lorlen stepped aside and gestured for Osen to enter, but his assistant hesitated as he looked inside the room, his expression changing from surprise to a scowl. Following Osen’s gaze, Lorlen saw the black-robed man who was relaxing in one of the room’s comfortable chairs.

Akkarin had a way of turning up in locked rooms, or unexpected places, but this did not explain Osen’s scowl. Lorlen looked at his assistant again. The young magician’s expression was respectful now; no sign remained of the fleeting disapproval Lorlen had glimpsed.

I hadn’t noticed his dislike of Akkarin before, Lorlen mused as he walked to his desk. I wonder how long he has nursed it.

“Good evening, High Lord,” Lorlen said.

“Administrator,” Akkarin replied. “Lord Osen.”

“High Lord,” Osen replied, nodding.

Lorlen sat down at his desk and looked up at Osen. “Was there something...?”

“Yes,” Osen replied. “I found a messenger waiting at the door about half an hour ago. Captain Barran says he has something interesting to show you if you are free.”

Another victim? Lorlen suppressed a shudder. “Then I had better see what it is, unless the High Lord has reason to detain me.” He looked at Akkarin.

Deep creases had formed between Akkarin’s eyebrows. He looks genuinely concerned, Lorlen thought. Very concerned.

“No,” Akkarin said. “Captain Barran’s request is more important than the issues I came to discuss.”

A short and awkward silence followed as Osen stayed by the desk and Akkarin remained in his chair. Lorlen glanced from one to the other, then rose.

“Thank you, Osen. Could you see to the ordering of a carriage for me?”

“Yes, Administrator.” The young magician nodded politely to Akkarin, then strode out of the room. Lorlen looked at Akkarin closely, wondering if Osen’s dislike had communicated itself.

What am I thinking? Of course Akkarin knows.

Akkarin had paid little attention to Osen’s departure, however. He was still frowning as he rose and followed Lorlen to the door.

“You weren’t expecting this?” Lorlen ventured as he stepped into the Entrance Hall. It was raining outside, so he stopped within the doors to wait for the carriage.

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“You could come with me.”

“Better that you take care of it.”

He’ll be watching, I’d wager. Lorlen looked down at the ring on his finger.

“Good night, then,” Lorlen ventured.

Akkarin’s expression softened slightly. “Good night. I’m looking forward to your views on this.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward, then he turned away and started down the stairs, the rain hissing as it met the invisible shield around him.

Lorlen shook his head at Akkarin’s little joke. A carriage emerged from the stables and started along the road to the University. It pulled up at the bottom of the stairs and the driver jumped down to open the door. Lorlen hurried down and climbed aboard.

The journey through the city to the Guard House seemed longer than usual. The rain clouds blocked the starlight, but the wet road reflected lamplight up onto the buildings. Those few people roaming about hurried by in their cloaks, the hoods covering their heads. Only one delivery boy stopped to stare at the carriage as it passed.

The carriage finally pulled up outside the Guard House. Lorlen climbed out and strode to the door. He was greeted by Captain Barran.

“Sorry to call you out on such a miserable night, Administrator,” Barran said as he led Lorlen down the corridor to his office. “I considered delaying my message until tomorrow, but that would have made what I have to show you even less pleasant.”

Barran did not stop at his office, but descended to the same basement room he had taken Lorlen to before. As they stepped through the door, a powerful smell of rot enveloped them. Lorlen saw with dismay that something human-shaped lay under a heavy cloth on one of the tables.

“Here.” The Captain moved quickly to a cupboard and took out a jar and two squares of cloth. He unstoppered the jar and tipped a few drops of yellow oil onto the cloths, then handed one to Lorlen. “Hold this over your nose.”

As Lorlen did, a sharp and familiar medicinal smell overwhelmed the room’s odor. Holding the other cloth to his own face, Barran moved over to the table.

“This man was found floating in the river today,” he said, his voice muffled. “He’s been dead a couple of days.” He lifted the cloth covering the body to reveal a pale face. The corpse’s eyes were covered by small squares of material. As more of the body was revealed, Lorlen forced himself to ignore the signs of decay and what he guessed were the nibblings of fish. Instead, he noted the wound over the heart and the long slash down the man’s neck.

“Another victim.”

“No.” Barran looked at Lorlen. “He’s been identified by two witnesses. This appears to be the murderer.”

Lorlen stared at Barran, then the corpse. “But he’s been killed in the same way.”

“Yes. In revenge, perhaps. See here.” The guard pointed to the left hand of the corpse. A finger was missing. “He was wearing a ring. We had to cut it off.” Barran replaced the cloth, then moved to a covered dish on a nearby bench. The guard drew off the cover to reveal a dirty silver band.

“It had a stone, but it wasn’t removed. Our investigator found shards of glass embedded in the skin, and the grips of the setting were bent in a way that suggests the ring was smashed. He believes the stone was glass.”

Lorlen resisted looking down at his own ring. Akkarin’s ring. So my suspicion about the murderer’s ring must be true. I wonder...

He turned to regard the covered corpse.

“Are you sure this is the murderer?”

“The witnesses were very convincing.”

Lorlen moved to the corpse and uncovered an arm. Steeling himself, he placed two fingers on the skin and sent his senses out. At once he detected energy within it, and felt relief. Something was odd, however. He searched, then drew back as he realized what the strangeness was. The life within the body was concentrated around the stomach, lungs, skin and wounds. The rest was all but empty.

Of course, he thought. This man has probably been floating in the river for a few days. Time enough for small organisms to invade. Another day or two and the true cause of death would have been undetectable.

Lorlen drew away from the table.

“Seen enough?” Barran asked.

“Yes.” Lorlen paused to wipe his fingers on the cloth before giving it to Barran. He held his breath until they were back in the corridor and the door was shut firmly behind them.

“What now?” Lorlen wondered aloud.

Barran sighed. “We wait. If the murders begin again, we’ll know for sure that we have a gang of killers to look for.”

“I’d prefer it if the murders simply stopped now,” Lorlen replied.

“As would most Imardians,” Barran agreed, “but I still have the murderer’s killer to look for.”

The murderer’s killer. Another black magician. Akkarin, perhaps? He glanced at the door they had just passed through. That corpse was proof that there were—or had been—black magicians in the city other than Akkarin. Was the city filled with them? Now that was not a comforting thought. Suddenly, all Lorlen wanted was to go back to the Guild, to the safety of his rooms, and try to sort out the implications.

But Barran obviously needed to discuss the discovery further. Smothering a sigh, Lorlen followed the guard back to his office.

4 The Next Step

Rothen sat in his favorite chair to one side of the Night Room and watched his fellow magicians. Every week, Guild members came to this room to talk and exchange gossip. Some remained in pairs or small circles, bound together by friendship or familiarity with others of the same discipline. Others were drawn together by family and House ties; though magicians were supposed to put aside such loyalties when they joined the Guild, the inclination to trust and distrust according to tradition and politics remained strong.

At the other side of the room sat three magicians who appeared to be engaged in anything but idle chatter. Lord Balkan, wearing the red robes and black sash of the Head of Warriors, was the youngest of them. Lady Vinara, the green-robed Head of Healers, was a stern, middle-aged woman. White-haired Lord Sarrin, the Head of Alchemists, wore his purple robes.

Rothen wished he could hear their conversation. The three had been talking energetically for an hour. Whenever anything was debated among the Higher Magicians, these three were the most vocal and most influential speakers. Between Balkan’s direct reasoning, Vinara’s compassion and insight, and Sarrin’s conservative opinions, they usually managed to cover most sides of an issue.

But Rothen knew he would never get near enough to the trio to listen without being observed. Instead, he turned his attention to closer magicians. At once his heart skipped as he recognized a familiar voice. Administrator Lorlen... somewhere behind his chair. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the voice.

“... I understand that many of the Alchemists have been involved in long-term projects they are reluctant to put aside,” Lorlen said. “All will have an opportunity to object to their involvement in the construction of the new Lookout, but they must prove that their work will be irretrievably harmed by the delay.”

“But...”

“Yes?”

There was a sigh. “I just cannot see why we are wasting Alchemists’ time on such... such foolery. Weather monitoring, of all things! Can’t Davin build himself a little hut on that hill? Why a tower?” The magician objecting to the project was Lord Peakin, the Head of Alchemic Studies. “And I do not see the need for the Warriors’ involvement. Is this structure going to be for alchemic or military use?”

“Both,” Lorlen told him. “The High Lord decided it would be short-sighted to construct a building of this kind without considering its defensive potential. He also saw that it was unlikely that the building would be approved by the King if its use was solely for monitoring the weather.”

“Then who will design this structure?”

“That is yet to be decided.”

Rothen smiled. Lord Davin had been considered an eccentric for years, but recently his study of weather patterns and prediction had gained a little respect and interest. Lord Peakin, however, had always found Davin’s gushing enthusiasm and peculiar obsession irritating.

The discussion about the tower ended as a new voice joined the others.

“Good evening, Administrator, Lord Peakin.”

“Director Jerrik,” Peakin said. “I have heard that Sonea will not be attending evening classes now. Is this true?”

At Sonea’s name, Rothen was instantly tense and alert. And Jerrik, as University Director, oversaw all matters involving the training of novices. From this conversation, Rothen might learn about her progress.

“It is,” Jerrik replied. “The High Lord spoke to me yesterday. A few of her teachers had commented to me that she appeared to be tired and was easily distracted. Akkarin had made the same observation, and agreed to let her have the evenings free for the rest of the year.”

“What of those subjects she has already begun studying?”

“She’ll have to begin them again next year, though she won’t have to repeat any projects if she doesn’t need to. Her teachers will take into account what she has covered already.”

The voices were growing fainter. Rothen resisted the urge to look around.

“Will she be favoring a discipline?” Peakin asked. “This will make it even more necessary that she focus her efforts on one soon, or she will not be proficient in any by graduation.”

“Akkarin hasn’t decided yet,” Lorlen replied.

“Akkarin hasn’t decided?” Jerrik repeated. “The choice is Sonea’s.”

There was a pause. “Of course,” Lorlen agreed. “What I meant by that is Akkarin hasn’t indicated to me which he’d prefer her to choose, so I’m assuming he hasn’t decided what to recommend.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to influence her in any way,” Peakin said. “Which is why he... a good grounding... before...”

The voices faded into the distance. Guessing that the magicians were moving away, Rothen sighed and drained his glass.

So Sonea had her evenings to herself. His mood darkened at the thought of her stuck in her room in the High Lord’s Residence, close to Akkarin and his evil habits. Then he remembered that she had always spent her spare time in the Novices’ Library. No doubt she would simply go there every evening now she was free of classes.

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 books 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.

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:

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:

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.

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.

Below this last entry was a note:

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 stopped 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.

“Have you told him about me?” she asked.

“Why don’t you want him to know about you?”

Her expression darkened. “Two reasons. These slaves know only one enemy hunts them. It will be easier for me to help you if they do not know I am here. And there are people in my country who would suffer if the slaves’ masters learned I was here.”

“And you think that these slaves would find out about you if my ‘master,’ as you call him, knew?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’d rather not take the risk.”

“You are only asking this now. I might have told my customer about you already.”

“Did you?”

He shook his head. She smiled, clearly relieved. “I didn’t think you would. Not until you knew I could do what I said I could. So, do we have a deal, as you Thieves say?”

Cery opened the drawer of his desk and drew out her knife. He heard her indrawn breath. The jewels in the handle glittered in the lamplight. He slid it across the table.

“Tonight you’ll tag this man for us. That’s all. No killing. I want to be sure he is who you say he is before he’s done in. In return, I keep my mug shut about you. For now.”

She smiled, her eyes bright with eagerness. “I will go back to my room until then.”

Watching her saunter to the door, Cery felt his heartbeat quicken. How many men have lost their wits over that walk—or that smile? he wondered. Ah, but I’d wager some of them lost more than their wits.

Not me, he thought. I’ll be watching her very closely.

Sonea closed the book she had been trying to read and looked around the library. It was too difficult to concentrate. Her mind kept returning to Akkarin and the records.

It had been a week since he’d given them to her, and he hadn’t yet returned to collect them. The thought of what was lying on her desk in her room, hidden under a pile of notes, was like an itch no amount of scratching could ease. She wouldn’t be able to relax until he took them back.

But she dreaded facing Akkarin again. She dreaded the conversation that would follow. Would he bring more books? What would they contain? So far, he had only shown her pieces of forgotten history. There had been no instructions on how to use black magic, yet the secret trunk that the record-keeper had buried—probably the same trunk that the architect Lord Coren had discovered and reburied—must contain enough information about the “secret weapon” of black magic for a magician to learn it. What would she do if Akkarin gave her one of those books to read?

To learn about black magic was to break a Guild law. If she found herself reading instructions on its use, she would stop and refuse to read any more.

“Look, there’s Lord Larkin!”

The voice was female and close by. Looking around, Sonea saw a movement at the end of a bookshelf. A girl was just visible, standing by one of the Novices’ Library windows.

“The Building and Construction teacher?” another girlish voice replied. “I never considered him before, but he is fairly good-looking, I suppose.”

“And still unmarried.”

“Not showing much interest in getting married, from what I hear.”

There was a giggle. Leaning out from her chair, Sonea recognized the first girl as one of the fifth-year novices.

“Oh, look! There’s Lord Darlen. He’s nice.”

The other girl made an appreciative noise. “Pity he’s married.”

“Mmm,” the first agreed. “What do you think of Lord Vorel?”

“Vorel! You’re kidding!”

“Not one for strong Warrior types, are you?”

Sonea guessed the girls were watching magicians heading toward the Night Room. She listened, amused, as they assessed the merits of many of the younger magicians.

“No... look there... now that I wouldn’t turn down.”

“Oh, yes,” the other agreed in a hushed voice. “Look, he’s stopped to talk to Director Jerrik.”

“He’s a bit... cold, though.”

“Oh, I’m sure he could be warmed up.”

The girls laughed slyly. When they had quietened again, one gave a sigh of longing. “He’s so handsome. Pity he’s too old for us.”

“I don’t know,” the other replied. “He’s not that old. My cousin was married off to a man much older. He might not look it, but the High Lord is no more than thirty-three or four.”

Sonea stiffened with surprise and disbelief. They were talking about Akkarin!

But, of course, they didn’t know what he was like. They saw only an unmarried man who was mysterious, powerful and—

“The library is closing.”

Sonea jumped and turned to find Tya, the librarian, striding along the aisle between the bookshelves. Tya smiled at Sonea as she passed. The girls at the window gave one last sigh and left.

Rising, Sonea stacked up her books and notes. She lifted them in her arms, then paused and looked back at the window. Was he still there?

She moved over to the glass and peered out. Sure enough, Akkarin was standing with Jerrik. Lines creased his forehead. Though his expression was attentive, it gave nothing of his thoughts away.

How could those girls find him attractive? she wondered. He was harsh and aloof. Not bright-eyed and warm like Dorrien, or even slickly handsome like Lord Fergun.

If the girls she had overheard hadn’t joined the Guild, they would have been married off for the sake of family alliances. Perhaps they still looked for power and influence in men out of habit or long tradition. She smiled grimly.

If they knew the truth, she thought, they would not find him very attractive at all.

At midnight, three hours’ carriage ride from the lights of Capia, the darkness was heavy and impenetrable. Only the small pools of light cast by the carriage lamps lit their passage down the road. Staring out into the blackness, Dannyl wondered what the carriage looked like to the occupants of unseen country houses; probably a moving cluster of lights, visible for miles around. The vehicle crested a rise and a point of brightness appeared beside the road ahead. As they drew rapidly closer, Dannyl saw that it was a lamp, the weak light illuminating the front of a building. The carriage began to slow.

“We’re here,” Dannyl murmured.

He heard Tayend shift in his seat to look out the window. The scholar yawned as the carriage drew closer to the building and swayed to a stop. The sign on the resthouse read: “River Rest: Beds, Meals & Drinks.”

The driver muttered to himself as he clambered down to open the door. Dannyl passed the man a coin.

“Wait for us inside,” he instructed. “We’ll be travelling on in an hour.”

The man bowed, then rapped on the door for them. There was a short pause and a hatch in the middle of the door opened. Dannyl could hear wheezing beyond.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” a muffled voice asked.

“A drink,” Dannyl replied. “An hour’s rest.”

There was no reply, but a metallic clang followed and the door swung inward. A small, wrinkled man bowed, then ushered them into a large room filled with tables and chairs. The heavy, sweet smell of bol hung in the air. Dannyl smiled wistfully as memories of his search for Sonea, so long ago now, returned. It had been a long time since he’d tasted bol.

“Urrend’s my name. What you like to drink, then?” the man asked.

Dannyl sighed. “Do you have any Porreni rumia?”

The man chuckled. “You got good taste in wine. But of course you have, two high-born men like yourselves. Got a nice guestroom for rich people upstairs. Follow me.”

The carriage driver had swaggered over to the bench where the bol was served. Dannyl wondered belatedly if he should have given the man the coin—he didn’t want to find himself in an upturned carriage halfway to Tayend’s sister’s home.

They followed the resthouse owner up a narrow flight of stairs into a corridor. He stopped outside a door.

“This is my best room. I hope you find it comfortable.”

He gave a push, and the door opened. Dannyl stepped inside slowly, taking note of the well-worn furniture, the second door, and the man sitting near it.

“Good evening, Ambassador.” The man rose and bowed gracefully. “I am Royend of Marane.”

“Honored to meet you,” Dannyl replied. “I believe you are already acquainted with Tayend of Tremmelin?”

The man nodded. “Indeed I am. I have ordered some wine. Would you like some?”

“A little, thank you,” Dannyl replied. “We will be travelling on in an hour.”

Dannyl and Tayend settled into two of the chairs. The Dem strolled around the room, inspecting the furniture and grimacing with distaste, then paused to look out of the windows. He was taller than the average Elyne, and his hair was black. Dannyl had learned from Errend that Dem Marane’s grandmother had been Kyralian. He was middle-aged, married, father to two sons and very, very rich.

“So what do you think of Elyne, Ambassador?”

“I have grown to like it here,” Dannyl replied.

“You did not, at first?”

“It was not that I liked or disliked the country. It merely took some time to become used to the differences. Some of them were appealing, some were strange.”

The Dem’s brows rose. “What did you find strange about us?”

Dannyl chuckled. “Elynes speak their mind, though not often plainly.”

A smile creased the man’s face, but it disappeared again at a knock on the door. As he started toward it Dannyl waved a hand and exerted his will. The door swung open. The Dem halted and, as he realized that Dannyl had used magic, a look of hunger and frustrated desire crossed his face. It vanished a moment later as the resthouse owner stepped into the room with a bottle and three wine glasses.

No word was spoken as the bottle was unstoppered and the wine poured. When the resthouse owner left, the Dem picked up a glass and settled into a chair.

“So what do you find appealing about Elyne, then?”

“You have excellent wine.” Dannyl lifted his glass and smiled. “And your minds are open and accepting. Much is tolerated here that would shock and scandalize Kyralians.”

Royend glanced at Tayend. “You must be aware of those shocking and scandalous goings on, or you would not list them among the differences you find appealing in us.”

“Would I be a suitable Guild Ambassador if I was oblivious to such matters... as the Elyne court believe me to be?”

The Dem smiled, but his eyes remained hard. “You have already proven yourself to be more well-informed than I believed you to be. It makes me wonder. Are you as open-minded and tolerant as we are? Or do you hold the same rigid opinions as other Kyralian magicians?”

Dannyl looked at Tayend. “I am no typical Kyralian magician.” The scholar smiled crookedly and shook his head. “Though I have grown adept at pretending I am,” Dannyl continued. “I think, if my peers knew me better, they would not find me a suitable representative of the Guild at all.”

“Ah,” Tayend interjected quietly, “but is it that you are unsuited to the Guild, or the Guild is unsuited to you?”

Royend chuckled at the comment. “Yet they offered you a role as Ambassador.”

Dannyl shrugged. “And it brought me here. I have often wished that the Guild had been formed in a less rigid culture. Differences in viewpoint stimulate debate, which improves understanding. Recently I have had more reason to wish this were so. Tayend has great potential. It is a great pity he cannot develop it simply because Kyralians do not tolerate men of his nature. There are some things I can teach him, without breaking Guild law, but not nearly enough to do his talents justice.”

The Dem’s gaze sharpened. “Have you?”

“No,” Dannyl shook his head, “but I’m not averse to bending the Guild rules a little for his benefit. I killed a man once to save Tayend’s life. Next time I might not be around to help him. I would like to teach him to Heal, but then a line would have been crossed, and I might place him in even greater danger.”

“From the Guild?”

“Yes.”

The Dem smiled. “Only if they found out. It is a risk, but is it worth taking?”

Dannyl frowned. “I would not take a risk like that without first planning for the worst. If it should ever be discovered that Tayend has learned magic, he must be able to evade the Guild. He has nobody to turn to but his family and his friends in the library—and I fear they could do little.”

“What about you?”

“There is nothing that frightens the Guild more than a fully trained magician turned rogue. If I disappeared, they would be much more determined to find us both. I would stay in Capia, and do what I could to help Tayend avoid capture.”

“It sounds as if you need others to protect him. People who know how to hide a fugitive.”

Dannyl nodded.

“And what would you be prepared to give in return?”

Narrowing his eyes, Dannyl regarded the man. “Nothing that could be used to harm others. Not even the Guild. I know Tayend. I would be sure of the intentions of others before I trusted them as I trust him.”

The Dem nodded slowly. “Of course.”

“So,” Dannyl continued, “what do you think Tayend’s protection would cost?”

Dem Marane picked up the bottle and refilled his glass. “I can’t say for sure. It is an interesting question. I would have to ask some colleagues of mine.”

“Of course,” Dannyl said smoothly. He stood and looked down at the man. “I look forward to hearing their opinions. I’m afraid we must depart now. Tayend’s family is expecting us.”

The Dem stood up and bowed. “I have enjoyed our conversation, Ambassador Dannyl, Tayend of Tremmelin. I hope we have many more opportunities to further our acquaintance in the future.”

Dannyl inclined his head politely. He paused and passed a hand over the Dem’s glass, warming the wine with a little magical heat. Smiling at the Dem’s quick intake of breath, he turned away and walked to the door, Tayend following.

As they stepped into the corridor Dannyl looked back. The Dem was holding his glass cupped in both hands, his expression thoughtful.

6 The Spy

As always the door to the High Lord’s Residence opened at the slightest touch. Stepping inside, Sonea was relieved and surprised to find only Takan waiting for her. He bowed. “The High Lord wishes to speak to you, my lady.” Anxiety replaced relief. Was he going to give her another book to read? Would this be the book she dreaded: the one containing information about black magic?

Sonea took a deep breath. “Then you’d better take me to him.”

“This way,” he said. He turned and started toward the right-hand stairway.

Sonea felt her heart skip a beat. That stairway led down to the underground room where Akkarin performed his secret, forbidden magic. It also, like the left-hand stairway, led up to the top floor, where the library and banquet room lay.

She followed Takan to the door. The stairwell was dark, and she could not see which way he had chosen until she created a globe light.

He was descending to the underground room.

She stopped, her heart racing, and watched him continue down. At the door to the room below, he halted and looked up at her.

“He will not harm you, my lady,” he assured her. Opening the door, he gestured for her to enter.

She stared at him. Of all places in the Guild—in the whole city—this was the one she most feared. She glanced back at the guestroom. I could run. It’s not far to the guest room door... “Come here, Sonea.”

The voice was Akkarin’s. It was full of command, and a warning. She thought of Rothen, her aunt Jonna and uncle Ranel and her cousins; their safety depended on her cooperation. She forced herself to move.

Takan stepped aside as she reached the doorway. The underground room looked much as it had the previous times she had seen inside it. Two old, heavy tables had been placed against the left-hand wall. A lantern and a dark bundle of cloth lay on the closest table. Bookcases and cupboards stood against the other walls. Some showed signs of repair, reminding her of the damage the “assassin” had done. In one corner was an old battered chest. Was this the chest that had contained the books on black magic?

“Good evening, Sonea.”

Akkarin was leaning back against a table, his arms crossed. She bowed. “High L—”

She blinked in surprise as she realized he was wearing simple, roughly woven clothing. His trousers and coat were shabby, even threadbare in places. “I have something to show you,” he told her. “In the city.” She took a step back, instantly wary. “What?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. The only way for you to know the truth is for you to see it for yourself.”

She read a challenge in his eyes. Looking at his plain clothes, she recalled him wearing similar ones, covered in blood.

“I’m not sure I want to see your truth.”

His mouth curled up at one corner. “You’ve wondered why I do what I do since you first learned of it. Though I will not show you the how, I can show you the why. Someone should know, other than Takan and myself.”

“Why me?”

“That will become clear, in time.” He reached behind and picked up the dark bundle from the table. “Put this on.” I should refuse to go, she thought. But will he let me? She stared at the bundle in his hands. And if I go, I might learn something that can be used against him later.

And what if he shows me something forbidden? Something that will get me thrown out of the Guild?

If it comes to that, I’ll tell them the truth. I took the risk in the hope of saving myself, and the Guild.

She forced herself to approach him and take the bundle. As he let go, it unrolled and she found herself holding a long, black cloak. Taking hold of the clasp, she swung the garment around her shoulders and fastened it.

“Keep your robes well covered,” he instructed. He picked up the lantern and strode toward a wall. A section slid aside, and the chill air of the underground tunnels spilled into the room.

Of course, she thought. She remembered the nights she had spent exploring the passages under the Guild, until Akkarin found her and ordered her out. She had followed one to this room. The shock of finding herself on the threshold of his secret domain had sent her hurrying away, and she had never returned to explore farther along the passage.

It must lead to the city, if what Akkarin says is true.

Akkarin entered the passage, turned and beckoned to her. Sonea took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Walking to the opening, she followed him into darkness.

The lantern wick spluttered and a flame appeared. She wondered briefly why he bothered with an ordinary light source, then realized that, if he wasn’t wearing robes, he intended to remain disguised as a non-magician. No non-magician would be following a globe light.

If it’s important that nobody recognizes him, then I have something I can use against him tonight, if I need to.

As she expected, he led off in the opposite direction to the University. He continued for over two hundred strides, then slowed to a stop. She sensed the vibration of a barrier blocking the way. A faint ripple of light flashed across the passage as the barrier dissipated. He continued on without speaking a word.

He stopped three more times to dismantle barriers. After they had passed the fourth, Akkarin turned and recreated it behind them. Sonea looked back. If she had dared to continue past Akkarin’s underground room during her previous exploration, she would have encountered these barriers.

The passage curved slightly to the right. Side passages appeared. Akkarin turned into one without hesitation, and their path twisted through several crumbling rooms. When he stopped again they faced a fall of rocks and earth where the roof had caved in. She looked at him questioningly.

His eyes glittered in the lamplight. He stared at the blockage intently. A dry scraping sound filled the passage as stones crumpled inward to form rough stairs. A hole appeared at the top. Akkarin set his foot on the first tread and began to climb.

Sonea followed. At the top was another passage. The lamplight revealed rough walls made from a patchy mixture of small low-quality bricks. The air smelt damp and familiar. This place reminded her strongly of... of...

The Thieves’ Road.

They had entered the tunnels under the city used by the criminal underworld. Akkarin turned and gazed back down the stairs. The treads slid forward to block the stairwell. Once they were in place, he started down the passage.

Questions began crowding Sonea’s thoughts. Did the Thieves know that the High Lord of the Magicians’ Guild used their passages, and that there were tunnels under the Guild that connected with their own? She knew they guarded their domain carefully, so she doubted he had avoided their notice. Had he gained their permission to use the road, then? She considered his rough clothing. Perhaps he had gained it using a false identity.

Several hundred paces on, a thin man with bleary eyes stepped out from an alcove and nodded to Akkarin. He paused to stare at Sonea, obviously surprised at her presence, but said nothing. Turning away, he started down the passage before them.

Their silent guide set a rapid pace, taking them on a long journey through a twisting, complex labyrinth of passages. Slowly Sonea became aware of an odor she knew but could not put a name to. It changed as much as the walls, but something about the changeability of the smell was also familiar. It wasn’t until Akkarin stopped and rapped on a door that Sonea realized what she was smelling.

It was the slums. The smell was a mix of human and animal waste, sweat, garbage, smoke and bol. Sonea swayed as memories rushed over her: of working with her aunt and uncle, of sneaking out to join Cery and the gang of street urchins they hung about with.

Then the door opened and she returned to the present.

A large man filled the doorway, his rough shirt stretched over a broad chest. He nodded respectfully at Akkarin, then, as he looked at her, he frowned as if he recognized her face but wasn’t sure why. After a moment he shrugged and stepped aside.

“Come in.”

Sonea followed Akkarin into a tiny room, barely large enough to fit the three of them and a narrow cupboard. On the opposite side was a heavy door. Sonea detected a vibration about it and realized it was strengthened by a strong magical barrier. Her skin prickled. What, in the slums, could possibly need such a potent binding?

The man turned to regard Akkarin. From his hesitant and anxious manner, Sonea guessed he knew who his visitor was—or at least enough to know he was facing someone important and powerful.

“He’s awake,” he rumbled, casting a fearful look at the door.

“Thank you for watching him, Morren,” Akkarin said smoothly.

“No rub.”

“Did you find a red gem on him?”

“No. Searched him good. Found nothing.”

Akkarin frowned. “Very well. Stay here. This is Sonea. I will send her out in a while.”

Morren’s eyes snapped to hers.

“The Sonea?”

“Yes, the living, breathing legend,” Akkarin replied dryly.

Morren smiled at her. “Honored to meet you, my lady.”

“Honored to meet you, Morren,” she replied, bemusement overcoming her anxiety for a moment. Living, breathing legend?

Taking a key from his pocket, Morren inserted it in the door’s lock and twisted. He stepped back, allowing Akkarin to approach. Sonea blinked as she sensed magic surround her. Akkarin had created a shield about them both. She peered around his shoulder, tense with curiosity. Slowly the door swung outward.

The room beyond was small. A stone bench was the only furniture. On the bench lay a man, his legs and arms manacled.

As the man saw Akkarin his eyes filled with terror. He began to struggle weakly. Sonea stared at him in dismay. He was young, probably not much older than her. His face was broad and his skin a sickly brown. His thin arms were covered in scars, and a fresh cut fringed in dried blood ran down one forearm. He did not look as if he could harm anything.

Akkarin moved to the man’s side, then placed a hand on his forehead. The captive’s eyes widened. Sonea shivered as she realized Akkarin was reading the man’s mind.

His hand shifted abruptly and he grasped the captive’s jaw. At once the man closed his mouth tightly and began to struggle. Akkarin prised open the man’s mouth. Sonea caught a glimpse of gold, then Akkarin tossed something on the floor.

A gold tooth. Sonea took a step backward, appalled, then jumped as the man began to laugh.

“They have stheen your woman now,” he said in a thickly accented voice, hampered by the missing tooth. “Kariko sthays sthee will be histh after he killsth you.”

Akkarin smiled and glanced at her. “What a pity neither you or I will be alive to see him try that.”

He lifted a foot and stamped on the tooth. To Sonea’s surprise, it crunched under his boot. When he stepped away, she was surprised to see that the gold had split, and tiny fragments of red littered the floor.

Sonea frowned at the twisted lump that had been the tooth, trying to make sense of the exchange. What had the man meant? “They have seen your woman.” Who were “they.” How could they have seen her? Clearly it had something to do with the tooth. Why put a gem inside a tooth? And it obviously wasn’t a gem. It looked as if it had been glass. As she considered the fragments, she remembered that Akkarin had asked if Morren had found a red gem. The famous murderer wore a ring with a red gem. And Lorlen.

She looked at the captive. He was completely limp now. He stared at Akkarin fearfully.

“Sonea.”

She looked at Akkarin. His eyes were cold and steady.

“I have brought you here to answer some of your questions,” he told her. “I know you will not believe me unless you see the truth for yourself, so I have decided to teach you something that I never intended to teach anyone. It is a skill that can too easily be abused, but if you—”

“No!” She straightened her back. “I will not learn—”

“I do not mean black magic.” Akkarin’s eyes flashed. “I would not teach you that, even if you were willing. I wish to teach you how to read minds.”

“But...” She drew in a quick breath as she realized what he meant. He, of all the magicians in the Guild, was able to read another person’s mind whether they were willing or not. She had experienced his mind-reading skills herself, when he had first discovered that she, Lorlen and Rothen knew that he practiced black magic.

And now he wanted to teach her how to do it. “Why?” she blurted out.

“As I said, I want you to know the truth for yourself. You would not believe me if I told you.” His eyes narrowed. “I would not trust you with this secret if I did not know you have a strong sense of honor and morality. Even so, you must vow never to use this method of mind-reading on an unwilling recipient unless Kyralia is in great danger, and there is no other course of action.”

Sonea swallowed hard and kept her gaze steady. “You expect me to restrict my use of it as you say, when you have not yourself?”

His eyes darkened, but his mouth widened into a humorless smile. “Yes. Will you make the vow, or shall we return to the Guild now?”

She looked at the captive. Obviously Akkarin intended for her to read this man’s mind. He would not have her do it if what she saw would endanger him. But would she see anything that would endanger herself?

It was impossible for the mind to lie. Conceal the truth, perhaps, but that was difficult—and impossible with Akkarin’s mind-reading method. If he had arranged for this man to believe certain lies were truth, however, she could still be deceived.

But if she kept that in mind and carefully considered all she learned...

Knowing how to read minds could be a useful skill. Even if she did make this vow, it would not stop her using it in the fight against him. Kyralia was already in great danger just by having a black magician at the heart of the Magicians’ Guild.

The captive stared back at her.

“You would have me vow never to read a mind unless Kyralia was in danger,” she said. “Yet you want me to read his. Surely he is not a threat to Kyralia.”

Akkarin smiled. He seemed pleased by her question. “He isn’t now. But he was. And his claims that his master will enslave you after he kills me should prove there is a possible future threat. How can you know whether his master is capable of it, if you do not read his mind?”

“With that reasoning, you could justify reading the mind of anyone who made a threat.”

His smile broadened. “Which is why I require you to make that vow. You will not use this skill unless there is no other choice.” His expression became serious. “There is no other way I can show you the truth—not without putting your life at risk. Will you make the vow?”

She hesitated, then nodded. He crossed his arms and waited. She took a deep breath.

“I vow never to read the mind of an unwilling person unless Kyralia is in great danger and there is no other way of avoiding that danger.”

He nodded. “Good. If I ever discover that you have broken that vow, I will ensure you regret it.” He turned to regard the captive. The man had been watching them closely.

“Will you let me go now?” the man said, his voice pleading. “You know I had to do what I did. They made me. Now the sthtone is gone, they can’t find me. I won’t—”

“Silence.”

The man cringed at the command, then whimpered as Akkarin crouched beside him.

“Put your hand on his forehead.”

Sonea pushed aside her reluctance and squatted beside the captive. She rested a hand on his forehead. Her heart skipped as Akkarin pressed his hand over hers. His touch was cool at first, but quickly warmed.

— I will show you how to read him, but once you have the skill of it, I will let you explore as you wish.

She felt his presence at the edge of her thoughts. Closing her eyes, she visualized her mind as a room, as Rothen had taught her. She took a step toward the doors, intending to open them to greet him, then jumped back in surprise as Akkarin appeared within the room. He waved a hand at the walls.

— Forget this. Forget everything you have been taught. Visualization slows and restricts your mind. Using it, you will only understand what you can translate into images.

The room disintegrated around her. So did the image of him. But the sense of his presence remained. Before, when he had read her mind, she had sensed little presence at all. Now she detected a hint of personality and a power that was stronger than anything she had encountered before.

— Follow me...

His presence moved away. Pursuing it, she sensed herself drawing close to a third mind. Fear emanated from this mind, and she encountered resistance.

— He can stop you only if he can sense you. To prevent him sensing you, put aside all will and intent except for the single purpose of easing into his mind without disturbing it. Like this...

To her amazement, Akkarin’s presence changed. Instead of exerting his will on the man’s mind, he seemed to give up.

Only the faintest presence remained, a vague desire to drift into another’s thoughts. Then his presence strengthened again.

— Now you.

She had a lingering sense of what he had done. It had seemed easy, yet every time she tried to emulate him she bumped up against the captive’s mind. Then she felt Akkarin’s mind drift into hers. Before she could feel any alarm, he sent something—a concept—into hers. Instead of trying to separate and lose all the intentions but one, she should concentrate only on the one needed.

Suddenly she knew exactly how to slip past the captive’s resistance. In less than a heartbeat she had drifted into his mind.

— Good. Now keep that light touch. Watch his thoughts. When you see a memory you wish to explore, exert your will on his mind. This is more difficult. Watch me.

The man was thinking about the tooth, wondering if his master had been watching when the girl had appeared.

— Who are you? Akkarin asked.

— Tavaka.

Abruptly, Sonea became aware that he had been a slave, until recently.

— Who is your master?

— Harikava. A powerful Ichani. A face, distinctly Sachakan, flashed through his mind. It was a cruel face, hard and clever.

— What are the Ichani?

— Powerful magicians.

— Why do they keep slaves?

— For magic.

A multilayered memory flashed through Sonea’s mind. She had the impression of countless memories of the same incident: the slight pain of a shallow cut, the drawing of power...

The Ichani, she understood suddenly, used black magic to draw power from their slaves, constantly strengthening themselves.

— No more! I am a slave no longer. Harikava freed me.

— Show me.

The memory flashed through Tavaka’s mind. Harikava sat in a tent. He spoke, saying that he would free Tavaka if he undertook a dangerous mission. Sonea sensed Akkarin take control of the memory. The mission was to enter Kyralia and find out if Kariko’s words were true. Was the Guild weak? Had it spurned the use of greater magic? Many slaves had failed. If he succeeded, he would be accepted among the Ichani. If he did not, they would hunt him down.

Harikava opened a wooden box trimmed in gold and gems. Taking out a sliver of something clear and hard, he tossed it in the air. It floated there, slowly melting before Tavaka’s gaze. Harikava reached to his belt and drew an elaborate curved dagger with a jeweled handle. Sonea recognized the shape. It was similar to the one she had seen Akkarin use on Takan, so long ago.

Cutting his hand, Harikava dripped blood over the molten globule. It turned red and solidified. Taking off a thin band of gold from many that ringed his fingers, he molded it around the gem so that a tiny red glint was all that could be seen. She understood what this gem would do. Every sight, every sound, and every thought he had would be sensed by his master.

The man’s eyes rose to meet Tavaka’s. She felt an echo of the slave’s fear and hope. The master beckoned and, with his bleeding hand, reached for his knife again.

The memory ended abruptly.

— Now you try, Sonea.

For a moment she considered what image to prompt the man with. On impulse, she sent a memory of Akkarin in black robes.

She was not prepared for the hatred and fear that filled the man’s mind. Glimpses of a recent magical battle followed. Akkarin had found him before he could strengthen himself enough. Harikava would be disappointed and angry. Kariko would be too. An image of several men and women sitting in a circle around a fire appeared: a memory Tavaka did not want her to see. He forced it away with the skill of someone well practiced in hiding memories from searching minds. She realized she had forgotten to grasp for control of it.

— Try again. You must catch the memory and protect it.

She sent Tavaka an image of the circle of strangers as she remembered it. The faces were wrong, he thought. The face of Harikava appeared in his mind. Exerting her will, she “caught” the memory and blocked his efforts to stop it.

— That’s right. Now explore as you wish.

She examined the faces carefully.

— Who are these Ichani?

Names and faces followed, but one stood out.

— Kariko. The man who wants to kill Akkarin.

— Why?

— Akkarin killed his brother. Any slave that turns on his master must be hunted down and punished.

She almost lost control of his memory at that. Akkarin had been a slave! Tavaka must have sensed her surprise. She sensed a wave of savage glee.

— Because of Akkarin, because Kariko’s brother captured Akkarin and read his mind, we know the Guild is weak. Kariko says the Guild does not use the greater magics. He says we will invade Kyralia and defeat the Guild easily. It will be a fine revenge for what the Guild did to us after the war.

Sonea’s blood turned cold. This group of immensely strong black magicians intended to invade Kyralia!

— When will this invasion be? Akkarin asked suddenly.

Doubts entered the man’s mind.

— Don’t know. Others are afraid of the Guild. No slaves return. Neither will I... I don’t want to die!

Abruptly a small white house appeared, accompanied by a terrible guilt. A plump woman—Tavaka’s mother. A wiry father with leathery skin. A pretty girl with large eyes—his sister. His sister’s body after Harikava came and—

It took all Sonea’s control to resist fleeing the man’s mind. She had heard and seen the aftermath of some cruel attacks by thugs while she had lived in the slums. Tavaka’s family had died because of him. His parents might produce more gifted offspring. The sister might develop powers, too. The Ichani master did not want to cart the entire group around with him just in case, and he would not leave any potential sources of power around for his enemies to find and use.

Pity and fear warred within her. Tavaka had lived a dreadful life. Yet she also sensed his ambition. Given the opportunity, he would return to his homeland to become one of these monstrous Ichani.

— What have you done since entering Imardin? Akkarin asked.

Memories of a shabby bedroom in a bolhouse followed, then the crowded drinking room. Sitting in a place where he might briefly touch others, and search for magical potential. No sense in wasting time stalking a victim, unless he or she had strong latent magic. If he was careful, he would grow strong enough to defeat Akkarin. Then he would return to Sachaka, help Kariko gather the Ichani, and they would invade Kyralia.

A man was chosen and followed. A knife, a gift from Harikava, drawn and—

— Time to leave, Sonea.

She felt Akkarin’s hand tighten over hers. As he pulled it away from Tavaka’s forehead, the man’s mind slipped immediately from her own. She frowned at Akkarin as suspicions rose.

“Why did I do that?” He smiled grimly. “You were about to learn what you don’t wish to learn.” He rose and looked down at Tavaka. The man was breathing quickly.

“Leave us, Sonea.”

She stared at Akkarin. It was not hard to guess what he intended to do. She wanted to protest, and yet she knew that she would not stop him even if she could. To release Tavaka would be to set loose a killer. He would continue preying on Kyralians. With black magic.

She forced herself to turn away, open the door and step out of the room. The door swung shut behind her. Morren looked up, and his expression softened. He held out a mug.

Recognizing the sweet smell of bol, she accepted the mug and took several gulps. A warmth began to spread through her. When she had finished the drink, she handed the mug back to Morren.

“Better?”

She nodded.

The door clicked open behind her. She turned to face Akkarin. They regarded each other in silence. She thought of what he had revealed to her. The Ichani. Their plans to invade Kyralia. That he had been a slave... too elaborate to be a deception. Akkarin could not have arranged this.

“You have much to think about,” he said softly. “Come. We will return to the Guild.” He stepped past her. “Thank you, Morren. Dispose of him in the usual way.”

“Yes, my lord. Did you find out anything useful?”

“Perhaps,” Akkarin glanced back at Sonea. “We shall see.”

“They’re coming more often now, aren’t they?” Morren asked.

Sonea caught the slightest hesitation in Akkarin’s reply.

“Yes, but your employer is also locating them faster. Pass on my thanks, will you?”

The man nodded and handed Akkarin his lantern. “I will.”

Akkarin opened the door and stepped through. As he started down the passage, Sonea followed, her mind still reeling from all that she had learned.

7 Akkarin’s Story

The sound of metal striking metal echoed down the passage, followed by a gasp of pain. Cery stopped and looked at Gol in alarm. The big man frowned.

Cery jerked his head at the doorway ahead. Taking a long, wicked-looking knife from his belt, Gol hurried forward. He reached the door and peered into the room. His frown disappeared.

He glanced at Cery and grinned. Relieved, and now more curious than concerned, Cery strode forward and looked inside.

Two figures were frozen in position, one crouched awkwardly with a knife held at his throat. Cery recognized the loser as Krinn, the assassin and skilled fighter he usually hired for more important assignments. Krinn’s eyes flickered toward Cery. His expression changed from surprise to embarrassment.

“Yield?” Savara asked.

“Yes,” Krinn replied in a strained voice.

Savara withdrew the knife and stepped away in one fluid movement. Krinn rose and looked down at her warily. He was at least a head taller than her, Cery noted with amusement.

“Practicing on my men again, Savara?”

She smiled slyly. “Only on invitation, Ceryni.”

He considered her carefully. What if he...? There would be some risk, but there always was. He glanced at Krinn, who was edging toward the door.

“Go on, Krinn. Close the door behind you.” The assassin hurried away. When the door had shut, Cery stepped toward Savara. “I invite you to try me out.”

He heard Gol’s indrawn breath.

Her smile broadened. “I accept.”

Cery drew a pair of daggers out of his coat. Leather loops had been attached to the handles to prevent them slipping out of his grasp, and to allow him to grab and pull. Her eyebrows rose as he slipped his palms through the loops.

“Two are hardly ever better than one,” she commented.

“I know,” Cery replied as he approached her.

“But you do look like you know what you are doing,” she mused. “I expect that would intimidate the average lout.”

“Yes, it does.”

She took a few steps to the left, drawing a little closer. “I’m not the average lout, Ceryni.”

“No. I can see that.”

He smiled. If her reason for offering to help him was to gain his trust long enough to get a chance to kill him, he was probably handing her the perfect opportunity. She would die for it, however. Gol would ensure that.

She darted toward him. He dodged out of reach, then stepped in and aimed for her shoulder. She spun away.

They continued like this for a few minutes, each testing the reflexes and reach of the other. Then she came closer and he blocked and returned several quick attacks. Neither quite managed to get past the other’s guard. They stepped away from each other, both breathing heavily.

“What have you done about the slave?” she asked.

“He’s dead.”

He watched her face closely. She did not look surprised, only a little annoyed. “He did it?”

“Of course.”

“I could have done it for you.”

He frowned. She sounded so confident. Too confident.

She darted forward, blade flashing in the lamplight. Cery slapped her arm away with his forearm. A fast and frantic struggle followed, and he grinned with triumph as he managed to lock her right arm out of the way, and slip his knife into her left armpit.

She froze, also grinning.

“Yield?” she asked.

A sharp point pressed into his stomach. Looking down, he saw a different knife in her left hand. The other still held her original knife. He smiled, then pressed his knife a little harder into her armpit.

“There’s a vein here that goes straight to the heart. If cut, it would bleed so fast you wouldn’t live long enough to decide how to curse me.”

He was gratified to see her eyes widen in surprise and her grin disappear. “Stalemate, then?”

They were very close. She smelt wonderful, a mixture of fresh sweat and something spicy. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but her mouth was a tightly held thin line.

“Stalemate,” he agreed. He stepped back and to one side so that her blade left his stomach before he removed his from her armpit. His heart was beating quickly. It was not an unpleasant sensation.

“You know these slaves are magicians?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How do you plan to kill them?”

“I have my own ways.”

Cery smiled grimly. “If I tell my customer that I don’t need him to do in the murderers, he’s going to ask some rough questions. Like, who’s doing it instead?”

“If he did not know you found a slave, he would not need to know who did the killing.”

“But he knows when they’re about. He’s got the guard telling him about the victims. If they stop finding victims, without him killing the murderer, he’s got to wonder why.”

She shrugged. “That will not matter. They are not sending slaves one by one now. I can kill some of them, and he will not notice.”

This was news. Bad news. “Who are ‘they’?”

Her eyebrows rose. “He has not told you?”

Cery smiled, while silently cursing himself for revealing his ignorance. “Perhaps he has, perhaps he hasn’t,” he replied. “I want to hear what you say.”

Her expression darkened. “They are the Ichani. Outcasts. The Sachakan King sends those who have earned his disfavor out into the wastes.”

“Why are they sending their slaves here?”

“They seek to regain power and status by defeating Sachaka’s old enemy, the Guild.”

This was also news. He slipped the loops of his knives from his palms. Probably nothing to worry about, he thought. We’re killing off these “slaves” easily enough.

“Will you let me kill some of these slaves?” she asked.

“Why do you need to ask? If you can find and kill them, you don’t need to work with me.”

“Ah, but if I did not, you might mistake me for one of them.”

He chuckled. “That could be unfort—”

A knock interrupted him. He looked at Gol expectantly. The big man moved to the door. An even larger man entered, his eyes flitting nervously from Gol to Cery to Savara.

“Morren.” Cery frowned. The man had sent the usual one-word message late last night to confirm that he had disposed of the murderer’s body. He was not supposed to visit Cery personally unless he had something important to report.

“Ceryni,” Morren replied. He glanced at Savara again, his expression wary.

Cery turned to the Sachakan woman. “Thanks for the practice,” he said.

She nodded. “Thank you, Ceryni. I will let you know when I find the next one. It should not be long.”

Cery watched her walk out of the room. When the door closed behind her, he turned to Morren.

“What is it?”

The big man grimaced. “It may be nothing, but I thought you might want to know. He didn’t kill the murderer straightaway. He tied him up, then left. When he came back, he brought someone with him.”

“Who?”

“The girl from the slums who joined the Guild.”

Cery stared at the man. “Sonea?”

“Yeah.”

An unexpected feeling of guilt stole over Cery. He thought of the way Savara had sent his heart racing. How could he let himself admire some strange woman, and one who probably couldn’t be trusted, when he still loved Sonea? But Sonea was beyond his reach. And she had never loved him anyway. Not in the way he had loved her. Why shouldn’t he consider another?

Then the implications of what Morren was saying sank in, and he began pacing the room. Sonea had been taken to see the murderer. She had been brought into the presence of a dangerous man. Though he knew she had probably been safe enough with Akkarin, he still felt a protective anger. He did not want her involved in this.

But had she been aware, all along, of the secret battle taking place in the darkest parts of Imardin? Was she being readied to join the fight?

He had to know. Turning on his heel, he strode toward the door.

“Gol. Send the High Lord a message. We need to talk.”

Lorlen stepped into the Entrance Hall of the University and stopped as he saw Akkarin pass between the enormous doors.

“Lorlen,” Akkarin said, “are you busy?”

“I’m always busy,” Lorlen replied.

Akkarin’s mouth curled into a wry smile. “This should take only a few minutes.”

“Very well.”

Akkarin gestured toward Lorlen’s office. Something private, then, Lorlen mused. He moved out of the Hall back into the corridor, but was only a few steps away from his office when a voice called out.

“High Lord.”

An Alchemist stood just outside the door of a classroom farther down the corridor.

Akkarin stopped. “Yes, Lord Halvin?”

The teacher hurried forward. “Sonea has not appeared for class this morning. Is she unwell?”

Lorlen saw a look of concern cross Akkarin’s face, but he could not tell if it was for Sonea’s wellbeing, or that she was not where she was supposed to be.

“Her servant has not informed me of any sickness,” Akkarin replied.

“I’m sure there is a good reason. I just thought it unusual. She is normally so punctual.” Halvin glanced back at the classroom he had left. “I’d best get back, before they turn into wild animals.”

“Thank you for informing me,” Akkarin said. Halvin nodded again, then hurried away. Akkarin turned to regard Lorlen. “This other issue will have to wait. I had best find out what my novice is up to.”

Watching him stalk away, Lorlen struggled to hold back a growing feeling of foreboding. Surely if she was sick her servant would have informed Akkarin. Why would she deliberately neglect to attend classes? His blood turned cold. Had she and Rothen decided to move against Akkarin? Surely, if they had, they would have told him first.

Wouldn’t they?

Returning to the Entrance Hall, he looked up the stairs. If they had planned something together, they would both be missing. He had only to check Rothen’s classroom.

Moving to the stairs, he hurried upward.

The noon sun streaked through the forest, touching the bright green of new leaves. Its warmth still radiated from the large rock shelf Sonea was sitting on, and lingered in the boulder she had set her back against.

In the distance a gong sounded. Novices would be hurrying out to enjoy the early autumn weather. She should go back, and pretend her absence was due to a sudden headache or other minor illness.

But she couldn’t get herself to move.

She had climbed up to the spring in the early morning, hoping that the walk would clear her head. It hadn’t, though. All that she had learned kept turning through her mind in a jumbled mess. Perhaps this was because she hadn’t slept at all. She was too weary to make sense of everything—and too tired to face returning to classes and behaving as if nothing had changed.

But everything has changed. I have to take time to think about what I have learned, she told herself. I have to sort out what it means before I face Akkarin again.

She closed her eyes and drew on a little Healing power to chase away the weariness.

What have I learned?

The Guild, and all of Kyralia, were in danger of being invaded by Sachakan black magicians.

Why hadn’t Akkarin told anyone? If the Guild knew it faced a possible invasion, it could prepare for it. It couldn’t defend itself if it didn’t know of the threat.

Yet, if Akkarin told them, he would have to admit to learning black magic. Was the reason for his silence as simple and selfish as that? Maybe there was another reason.

She still didn’t know how he had learned to use black magic. Tavaka had believed that only Ichani possessed that knowledge. He had only been taught it so that he could kill Akkarin.

And Akkarin had been a slave.

It was impossible to imagine the aloof, dignified, powerful High Lord living as, of all things, a slave.

But he had been one, of that she was sure. He had escaped somehow and returned to Kyralia. He had become High Lord. Now he was secretly and singlehandedly keeping these Ichani at bay by killing off their spies.

He was not the person she had thought he was.

He might even be a good person.

She frowned. Let’s not go that far. He learned black magic somehow, and I’m still a hostage.

Without black magic, however, how could he defeat these spies? And if there was a good reason for keeping all this a secret, he’d had no choice but to ensure she, Rothen and Lorlen remained silent.

“Sonea.”

She jumped, then turned toward the voice. Akkarin stood in the shadow of a large tree, his arms crossed. She rose hastily and bowed.

“High Lord.”

He stood regarding her for a moment, then he uncrossed his arms and started toward her. As he stepped up onto the rock shelf, his gaze shifted to the boulder she had been resting against. He dropped into a crouch and examined its surface carefully. She heard the scrape of stone against stone and blinked in surprise as a section slid outward, revealing an irregularly shaped hole.

“Ah, it’s still here,” he said quietly. Putting down the slab of rock that he had removed, he reached inside the hole and drew out a small, battered wooden box. Several holes had been drilled into the lid in grid pattern. The lid sprang open. He tilted the box so Sonea could see the contents clearly.

Inside lay a set of game pieces, each with a small peg to fit into the holes in the lid.

“Lorlen and I used to come here to escape Lord Margen’s lessons.” He plucked out one of the pieces and examined it.

Sonea blinked in surprise. “Lord Margen? Rothen’s mentor?”

“Yes. He was a strict teacher. We called him ‘the monster.’ Rothen took over his classes the year after I graduated.”

It was as hard to picture Akkarin as a young novice as it was to imagine him as a slave. She knew he was only a few years older than Dannyl, yet Dannyl seemed much younger. It was not that Akkarin looked older, she mused, it was simply his manner and position that added an impression of greater maturity.

Replacing the game pieces, Akkarin closed the box and returned it to its hiding place. He sat down, bracing his back against the boulder. Sonea felt a strange discomfort. Gone was the dignified, threatening High Lord who had taken her guardianship from Rothen to ensure his crimes remained undiscovered. She wasn’t sure how to react to this casualness. Sitting down a few steps away, she watched him looking around the spring as if checking that it was still the same as he remembered.

“I was not much older than you when I left the Guild,” he said. “I was twenty, and I’d chosen the Warrior Skills discipline out of a hunger for challenge and excitement. But there was no adventure to be found here in the Guild. I had to escape it for a while. So I decided to write a book on ancient magic as an excuse to travel and see the world.”

She stared at him in surprise. His gaze had become distant, as if he were seeing an old memory rather than the trees around the spring. It seemed he intended to tell her his story.

“During my research I found some strange references to old magic that intrigued me. Those references led me into Sachaka.” He shook his head. “If I’d kept to the main road, I might have been safe. The occasional Kyralian trader enters Sachaka in search of exotic goods. The King sends diplomats there every few years, in the company of magicians. But Sachaka is a big country, and a secretive one. The Guild knows there are magicians there, but understands little about them.

“I entered from Elyne, however. Straight into the wastes. I was there for a month before I encountered one of the Ichani. I saw tents and animals and thought to introduce myself to this wealthy and important traveller. He welcomed me warmly enough, and introduced himself as Dakova. I sensed that he was a magician and was intrigued. He pointed at my robes and asked if I was of the Guild. I said I was.”

Akkarin paused. “I thought that, being one of the strongest magicians of the Guild, I would be able to defend myself against anything. The Sachakans I’d encountered were poor farmers, frightened by visitors. I should have taken that as a warning. When Dakova attacked me I was surprised. I asked if I had offended him, but he didn’t reply. His strikes were incredibly powerful and I barely had time to realize I was going to lose before I neared the end of my strength. I told him that stronger magicians would come looking for me if I did not return to the Guild. That must have worried him. He stopped. I was so exhausted, I could barely stand and I thought that was the reason he managed to read my mind so effectively. For a few days, I thought I’d betrayed the Guild. But later, when I spoke to Dakova’s slaves, I learned that the Ichani were able to get past the mind’s barriers at any time.”

As he paused, Sonea held her breath. Would he relate to her what it had been like to be a slave? She felt a mingled dread and anticipation.

Akkarin looked down at the pool below them. “Dakova learned from my mind that the Guild had banned black magic, and was much weaker than the Sachakans believed. He was so amused by what he saw in my mind, he decided that other Ichani had to see it. I was too exhausted to resist. Slaves took my robes and gave me old rags to wear. At first I couldn’t grasp that these people were slaves and that I was now one as well. Then, when I understood, I would not accept it. I tried to escape, but Dakova found me easily. He seemed to enjoy the hunt—and the punishment he dealt out afterward.”

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. He turned his head a little toward her and she dropped her eyes, afraid to meet them.

“I was appalled by my situation,” he continued quietly. “Dakova called me his ‘pet Guild magician.’ I was a trophy, kept to entertain his guests. Keeping me was a risk, though. Unlike his other slaves, I was a trained magician. So every night he read my mind and, to keep me from becoming dangerous, took from me the strength I had regained that day.”

Akkarin pulled up a sleeve. Hundreds of thin, shiny lines covered his arm. Scars. Sonea felt a chill run down her spine. This evidence of his past had been in front of her so many times, hidden by a mere layer of cloth.

“The rest of his slaves were made up of those he had taken from Ichani he had fought and defeated, and young men and women with latent magical potential that he had found among the Sachakan farmers and miners in the region. Every day he would take magical strength from them. He was powerful, but also strangely isolated. I eventually understood that Dakova, and the other Ichani that live in the wastes, were outcasts. For one reason or another—failed involvement in plots, inability to pay bribes or taxes or committing crimes—they had fallen out of favor with the Sachakan King. He had ordered them confined to the wastes, and forbidden others to contact them.

“You might think they would band together in this situation, but they nursed too much resentment and ambition for that. They constantly plotted against each other, hoping to increase their wealth and strength or take revenge for past insults, or simply steal supplies of food. An outcast Ichani can only feed so many slaves. The wastes yield little food, and terrorizing and killing farmers certainly doesn’t help increase productivity.”

He paused then to take a deep breath. “The woman who explained everything to me at the beginning was a strong potential magician. She might have been a powerful Healer if she had been born Kyralian. Instead, Dakova kept her as a bed slave.” Akkarin grimaced.

“Dakova attacked another Ichani one day, and found himself losing. In desperation, he took all the strength of each of his slaves, killing them. He left the strongest of us to last, and managed to overcome his adversary before killing us all. Only myself and Takan survived.”

Sonea blinked. Takan? Akkarin’s servant?

“Dakova was vulnerable for several weeks while he recovered the strength he’d lost,” Akkarin continued. “He was less worried that another would take advantage of this than he might have been, however. All Ichani knew he had a brother, Kariko. The pair had made it known that if one should be killed, the other would avenge his death. No Ichani in the wastes could defeat one of the brothers and regain their strength in time to survive an attack by the other. Soon after Dakova’s near defeat, Kariko arrived and gave Dakova several slaves to help him regain his strength.

“Most of the slaves I encountered dreamed that Dakova or one of his enemies would release their powers and teach them how to use black magic, so they could be free. They would look at me with envy; I had only to learn black magic to be able to escape. They didn’t know that the Guild forbade black magic.

“But as I witnessed what Dakova was capable of, I cared less about what the Guild did and didn’t allow. He did not need black magic to perform evil. I saw him do things with his bare hands that I will never forget.”

Akkarin’s gaze was haunted. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again they were hard and cold.

“For five years I was trapped in Sachaka. Then one day, not long after receiving his brother’s gift of new slaves, Dakova heard that an Ichani he despised was hiding in a mine after exhausting himself in a fight. He decided that he would find and kill this man.

“When Dakova arrived, the mine appeared to be deserted. He, myself and the other slaves entered the tunnels in search of his enemy. After several hundred paces the floor collapsed under me. I felt myself caught by magic and set down on a hard surface.”

Akkarin smiled grimly. “I had been saved by another Ichani. I thought he would kill me or take me as his own. Instead, he took me through the tunnels to a small hidden room. There, he made me an offer. He would teach me black magic if I would return to Dakova and kill him.

“I saw that it was an arrangement that would probably end in my death. I would fail and die, or succeed and be hunted down by Kariko. By then I cared little for my life, or for the Guild’s ban on black magic, so I agreed.

“Dakova had been gathering strength over many weeks. I might know the secret of black magic, but I had no time to grow strong. The man understood this and told me what I must do.

“I did as the Ichani instructed. Returning to Dakova I told him I had been knocked unconscious in the fall, but had found a storeroom full of food and treasures on my way out. Though annoyed that his enemy had evaded him, Dakova was pleased at this find. He left me and the other slaves to cart the bounty out of the mines to his tent. I was relieved. If Dakova sensed even the slightest surface thought of betrayal, he would read my mind and discover the plot. I sent a slave out with a box of Elyne wine. The dust coating the bottles reassured Dakova that they hadn’t been tampered with, and he began drinking. They were laced with myk, a drug that confuses the mind and distorts the senses. When I left the mine, he was lying in a dreamlike state.”

Akkarin fell silent. He stared out into the trees, his gaze fixed on some distant place. As the silence lengthened, Sonea began to worry that he would not go on. Tell me, she thought. You can’t stop now!

Akkarin drew in a deep breath and sighed. He looked down at the stony ground, his expression bleak. “I did a terrible thing, then. I killed all Dakova’s new slaves. I needed their strength. I could not bear to kill Takan. Not because we had been friends, but because he had been there since the beginning and we had got into the habit of helping each other out.

“Dakova was too addled by the drug and the wine to notice much. He woke as I cut him, but once the draining of power begins, it is almost impossible to use your powers.”

Akkarin’s voice was low and quiet. “Though I was now stronger than I had ever imagined I could be, I knew Kariko was not far away. He would try to contact Dakova soon, and then come looking for an explanation for his brother’s silence. All I could think of was leaving Sachaka. I didn’t even think to take food. I didn’t expect to live. After a day I realized Takan was following me. He had packed a bag full of supplies. I told him to leave me, or Kariko would kill him too, but he insisted on staying—and on treating me like an Ichani master. We walked for weeks, though sometimes in the mountains it seemed like we had spent more time climbing than walking. Finally, we found ourselves in the foothills of the Steelbelt Ranges. I realized I had evaded Kariko and made it home.”

For the first time, Akkarin looked up to meet her eyes. “All I could think of was returning to the safety of the Guild. I wanted to forget everything, and vowed never to use black magic again. Takan wouldn’t leave me, but by making him my servant I felt as if I had freed him as best I could.” He looked toward the Guild buildings hidden behind the trees. “I was greeted warmly and welcomed back. When asked where I had disappeared to, I related my experiences in the allied countries, then made up a story of retreating to the mountains to study in solitude.

“Then, soon after my return, the High Lord died. Custom dictated that the strongest magician take the position. I never considered I might be a candidate. I was only twenty-five, after all. But I had accidentally allowed Lord Balkan to sense my strength. I was surprised when he proposed that I be considered, and amazed at how much support the idea had. It is interesting what people will overlook when they desperately want to avoid electing a man they don’t like.”

Intrigued, Sonea opened her mouth to ask who, but Akkarin continued.

“Balkan said that my travels had matured me, and I had experience in dealing with other cultures.” Akkarin snorted softly. “If he had known the truth, he might not have been so insistent. While the idea seemed absurd, I began to see possibilities in it. I needed to distract myself from the memories of the previous five years. And I had begun to worry about the Ichani. Dakova and his brother had talked many times of how easy it would be to invade Kyralia. Though Kariko was alone now, and would probably never get the other Ichani to join him, an invasion was not impossible. What if he regained the favor of the King and convinced him to invade? I decided I needed to keep an eye on the Sachakans, and it would be easier to do that if I had the resources of a High Lord. And it was not difficult to convince the Guild to elect me, once I let them test my strength.

“After a few years I heard about murders in the city that sounded suspiciously like black magic. I investigated and found the first spy. From him I learned that Kariko had been stirring up the other Ichani with ideas of plundering Imardin, taking revenge for the Sachakan War, and forcing the Sachakan King to accept them again. He first had to convince them that the Guild does not use black magic. I have been convincing them otherwise ever since.” He smiled, then turned to face her. “You are a good listener, Sonea. You did not interrupt me once. You must have some questions, now.”

She nodded slowly. Where to start? She considered the questions that crowded her mind.

“Why didn’t you tell the Guild about the Ichani?”

Akkarin’s brows rose. “Do you think they would have believed me?”

“Lorlen might.”

He looked away. “I am not sure of that.”

She thought of Lorlen’s outrage when he had seen her memory of Akkarin performing black magic. When Akkarin had read her mind, he would have seen that outrage. She felt a pang of sympathy. It must have hurt to have their friendship spoiled by a secret he dare not tell.

“I think Lorlen would believe you,” she said. “If he didn’t, you could let him perform a truth-read.” She winced as she said it. After all that mind-reading from Dakova, Akkarin probably never wanted another person probing his memories again.

He shook his head. “I can’t risk that. Anyone reading my mind could easily learn the secret of black magic. That is why I stopped your mind-read of Tavaka last night.”

“Then... the Guild could send several magicians to Sachaka to confirm your story.”

“If they entered in large numbers and started asking dangerous questions, they would be considered a threat. It might start the very conflict we fear. Remember, too, that I knew there was no immediate threat from Sachaka when I first arrived here. I was so relieved to be home, and there seemed no sense in revealing that I’d broken the magicians’ vow unless I had to.”

“But now there is a threat.”

His gaze flickered. “Not until Kariko convinces the other Ichani to join him.”

“But the sooner the Guild knows, the better prepared it would be.”

Akkarin’s expression hardened. “I am the only one capable of confronting these spies. Do you think the Guild will allow me to continue as High Lord if it knows I have learned black magic? If I told them now, they would lose all of the trust they have in me. Their fear would blind them to the real threat. Until I have found a way for them to fight these Ichani without black magic, it is better they know nothing.”

She nodded, though she could not believe the Guild would punish him once they heard what he had just told her.

“Is there another way?”

“I have not found one yet.”

“So what will you do?”

“Continue hunting spies. My allies in the Thieves are proving more effective than those I previously hired to locate them.”

“The Thieves.” Sonea smiled. “I thought so. How long have you been working with them?”

“About two years.”

“How much do they know?”

“Only that they are hunting rogue magicians with a nasty habit of killing people, and that these rogues all happen to come from Sachaka. They locate them, inform me, and get rid of the bodies.”

A memory flashed through her mind of Tavaka, pleading for his life. Promising to be good, while intending to kill as many Kyralians as he could so he might return to Sachaka and join the Ichani. If it weren’t for Akkarin, Tavaka would be doing just that right now.

She frowned. So much depended on Akkarin. What if he died? Who would stop the spies then? Only Takan and she would know what was really going on, but neither of them knew black magic. Neither could do anything to stop the Ichani.

She froze as the implication of that rushed over her like icy water.

“Why did you tell me this?”

He smiled grimly. “Somebody else needs to know.”

“But why me?”

“You knew much already.”

She paused. “Then... can we tell Rothen? I know he’d keep quiet if he understood the threat.”

He frowned. “No. Not unless we must reveal everything to the Guild.”

“But he still believes that I... What if he tries to do something? About me.”

“Oh, I’m watching Rothen closely.”

In the distance a gong rang. Akkarin pushed himself to his feet. The hem of his black robes brushed across her hand. Sonea looked up at him and felt a strange mixture of fear and respect. He had killed many times. He had learned and used the darkest magic. Yet he had done it to escape slavery, and to keep the Guild safe. And nobody but she and Takan knew.

Akkarin crossed his arms and smiled. “Go back to your lessons now, Sonea. My favorite does not skip classes.”

Sonea dropped her eyes and nodded.

“Yes, High Lord.”

8 Contemplating a Crime

The corridor of the University echoed with the voices of the novices. The two who followed Rothen, carrying boxes of the chemistry tools and substances used in the previous class, were having a fascinating conversation in low voices. They had observed a girl watching them at the horse races last Freeday, and they couldn’t decide which one she might be interested in.

Rothen was having a hard time keeping a straight face. But his mood darkened as a slight figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Sonea’s expression was tight with annoyance. A large stack of heavy books filled her arms. She turned into the side passage that led to the Novices’ Library.

The boys behind Rothen stopped talking and hummed with sympathy.

“Guess she asked for it,” one said. “Got to admire her guts, though. I wouldn’t dare skip classes if he was my guardian.”

Rothen glanced behind.

“Who skipped classes?”

The boy flushed as he realized he’d been overheard. “Sonea,” he said.

“The High Lord punished her with a week’s work in the library,” the other boy added.

Rothen couldn’t help smiling. “She’d like that.”

“Oh, no. The Magicians’ Library. Lord Jullen makes sure punishment really is punishment.”

So Sonea had skipped a class, as Tania had said. He wondered why and where she had gone instead. She had no friends to slip away with, and no other hobbies or interests that might tempt her away from lessons. She knew that he and Lorlen would quickly become suspicious if she went missing. If she had risked alarming them, she must have had a better reason for skipping the class than a rebellious whim.

The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. He listened as the boys resumed the conversation, hoping to glean more information.

“She’ll turn you down. She turned Seno down.”

“Maybe she turned Seno down because she doesn’t like him.”

“Maybe. It doesn’t matter, anyway. The punishment was for a week. That probably includes Freeday. She won’t be able to come with us.”

Rothen resisted the urge to turn and stare at them in surprise. They were still talking about Sonea. Which meant that they, and another boy named Seno, had considered inviting her out to the races. He felt his mood lighten a little. He had hoped the other novices would eventually accept her. Now it looked as if some might even be interested in more than just friendship.

Then Rothen sighed. She had turned down this boy called Seno, and he knew she would probably turn down any other offers, too. It was a cruel irony that now the novices had started to accept her, she dared not befriend any for fear of complicating the situation with Akkarin.

As the carriage pulled up outside the mansion, Dannyl and Tayend regarded each other doubtfully.

“Nervous?” Tayend asked.

“No,” Dannyl assured him.

Tayend snorted. “Liar.”

The door of the carriage opened, and the driver bowed as they stepped out. Like many Elyne mansions, the front of Dem Marane’s house was open to the air. Arched openings allowed access to a tiled room decorated with sculptures and plants.

Dannyl and Tayend stepped through an archway and crossed the room. A large wooden door barred entry into the enclosed part of the house. Tayend tugged a rope hanging beside the door. A distant ringing sounded somewhere above.

They heard muffled footsteps inside the house, then the door opened and Dem Marane greeted them with a bow.

“Ambassador Dannyl. Tayend of Tremmelin. You are most welcome in my home.”

“We were honored by your invitation, Dem Marane,” Dannyl replied.

The Dem ushered them into a luxuriously furnished room. He continued through two more, until they arrived at another open room. Archways allowed views of the sea and the carefully tended garden falling in tiers to the beach below. On the opposite wall, benches lined with cushions supplied seating for six other men. A woman sat demurely on a small couch in the center of the room.

The strangers stared at Dannyl. They looked tense, and fearful. He knew the combination of his height and robes made him an imposing figure.

“May I introduce the Second Guild Ambassador to Klyne, Lord Dannyl,” Royend announced. “And some of you already know his companion, Tayend of Tremmelin.”

One of the men stood and bowed, and the others hesitantly followed suit. Dannyl nodded politely in return. Was this all there was of the group? He doubted it. Some would not reveal themselves until they were sure he could be trusted.

The Dem introduced them one by one. Royend was the oldest, Dannyl guessed. All were Elyne aristocrats of one wealthy family or another. The woman was the Dem’s wife, Kaslie. When he was finished, she invited them all to sit while she fetched some refreshments. Dannyl chose an empty bench, and Tayend sat close beside him. Dannyl could not help feeling a twinge of anxiety as he saw the others taking note of this.

Idle talk followed. Dannyl was asked the usual questions: what he thought of Elyne, if he had met certain famous and important people yet. Some demonstrated that they had gathered information about him by asking about his journey to Lonmar and Vin.

Kaslie returned with servants carrying wine and plates of food. After all had been given a drink, the Dem sent the servants away and surveyed the room.

“It is time to talk of the business that has brought us here. We have come together because of a common loss. The loss of opportunity.” The Dem looked at Tayend. “Some of us were offered this opportunity and were forced by circumstances to turn it down. Others were never offered that choice, or were given it, then had it taken away. Still more wish for an opportunity that does not require being shackled to an institution whose principles they do not agree with, based in a country they do not belong to.” The Dem paused to look around the room. “We all know the opportunity I speak of. The opportunity to learn magic.”

He looked at Dannyl. “For the last two centuries the only legal way a man or woman could learn magic was to join the Guild. For us to learn to use magic outside of the Guild’s influence, we must break a law. Ambassador Dannyl has complied with this law. But he, too, laments the loss of opportunity. His companion, Tayend of Tremmelin, has magical talent. Ambassador Dannyl wishes to teach him how to protect or Heal himself. A reasonable—no, an honorable wish.”

The Dem looked at the others, who were nodding. “But should the Guild ever discover this, Tayend will need people who can hide and protect him. We have the right connections and arrangements. We can help him.”

He turned back to regard Dannyl. “So, Ambassador, what will you give us in exchange for protecting your friend?”

The room fell silent. Dannyl smiled and glanced around at the faces.

“I can offer you the opportunity you have lost. I can teach you a little magic.”

“A little?”

“Yes. There are some things I will not teach you, and some things I cannot teach you.”

“Such as?”

“I would not teach the offensive Warrior Skills to anyone I did not trust. They are dangerous in the wrong hands. And I am an Alchemist, so my knowledge of Healing is limited to the basics.”

“That makes sense.”

“And I must be sure that you are able to protect Tayend, before I teach you anything.”

The Dem smiled. “And we, of course, don’t wish to give away any secrets until we are sure you will uphold your side of the bargain. For now I can only swear on my honor that we can protect your friend. I will not show you how it can be done yet. Not until you have demonstrated to us that you can be trusted.”

“How do I know you can be trusted?” Dannyl asked, gesturing around the room.

“You don’t,” the Dem said simply. “But I think you have the advantage over us tonight. A magician considering teaching a friend is not taking as great a risk as a group of non-magicians gathering for the purpose of learning magic. We have committed ourselves to the purpose, you have only dallied with an idea. It is unlikely the Guild will execute you for that, whereas we might face that penalty just for meeting like this.”

Dannyl nodded slowly. “If you have evaded the Guild’s notice for so long, perhaps you can keep Tayend from them. And you would not invite me here if you did not have a plan to escape should I prove to be a Guild spy.”

The Dem’s eyes flashed. “Exactly.”

“So what must I do to gain your trust?” Dannyl asked.

“Help us.”

Kaslie had spoken. Dannyl looked at her in surprise. Her voice had betrayed urgency and concern. She stared at Dannyl, her eyes filled with a desperate hope.

A suspicion slowly stole over Dannyl. He remembered Akkarin’s letter. Only recently have they had some success. Now that at least one of them has managed to develop his powers, the Guild is entitled and obliged to deal with them.

Developed his powers, but not learned to control them. Thinking back quickly, Dannyl counted the weeks since he had received the letter, and added two for it to reach him. He looked up at the Dem.

“Help you with what?”

The man’s expression was sober. “I will show you.”

As Dannyl rose, Tayend followed suit. Royend shook his head. “Stay, young Tremmelin. For your safety, it is best only the Ambassador come.”

Dannyl hesitated, then nodded at Tayend. The scholar dropped back onto the seat, frowning.

The Dem gestured for Dannyl to follow him. They left the room and started down a corridor. At the end was a stairway which descended to another corridor. They stopped before a heavy wooden door. The faint smell of smoke tainted the air.

“He’s expecting you, but I have no idea what he’ll do when he sees you,” the Dem warned.

Dannyl nodded. The Dem knocked on the door. After a long pause, he lifted a hand to knock again, but paused as the handle turned and the door swung inward.

A young man peered out. His eyes slid to Dannyl and widened.

A crash came from inside the room. The young man glanced inside and cursed. When he turned to look at Dannyl again, his expression was anxious.

“This is Ambassador Dannyl,” the Dem told the young man, then looked at Dannyl. “This is my wife’s brother, Farand of Darellas.”

“Honored to meet you,” Dannyl told the man. Farand mumbled a reply.

“Are you going to invite us in?” the Dem said patiently.

“Oh. Yes,” the young man replied. “Come in.” He pulled the door fully open and sketched an awkward bow.

Dannyl entered a large room with stone walls. It might have once been a cellar, but now it held a bed and other furniture, all looking battered and scorched. A pile of wood on one side of the room looked suspiciously like the remains of more furniture. On the floor were pieces of a large urn, surrounded by a rapidly spreading pool of water. Dannyl guessed this was what he had heard shatter.

A magician with no control tended to let loose magic when he or she reacted to strong emotions. For Farand, fear was his main enemy: fear of the magic he wielded, and fear of the Guild. Dannyl needed to reassure the man, before he did anything else.

He allowed himself a small smile. A situation like this came along so rarely, and yet he now encountered it for the second time in a handful of years. Rothen had managed to teach Sonea control, despite her deep distrust of the Guild. Teaching Farand could only be easier. And it would help if Farand knew that another had survived the same situation.

“From what I can see, your powers have surfaced, but you have no control of them,” Dannyl said. “This is very rare, but we found another like you only a few years ago. She learned Control within a few weeks and is a novice now. Tell me, were you trying to bring them out, or did it just happen?”

The man lowered his gaze. “I think I made it happen.”

Dannyl sat down in one of the chairs. The less intimidating he looked, the better. “May I ask how?”

Farand swallowed and looked away. “I’ve always been able to hear the thought conversations magicians have. I used to listen every day in the hope of discovering how to use magic. A few months ago I overheard a conversation about releasing magical potential. I tried what they said several times, but I didn’t think it had worked. Then I started doing things without meaning to.”

Dannyl nodded. “You have released your power, but you do not know how to control it. The Guild teaches the two together. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous it is to have magic, but no control over it. You are fortunate that Royend has found a magician willing to teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?” Farand whispered.

Dannyl smiled. “Yes.”

Farand sagged against the bed with relief. “I was so afraid they would have to send me to the Guild, and everyone would be found out because of me.” He straightened and squared his shoulders. “When can we begin?”

“I don’t see why we can’t make a start now,” Dannyl said, shrugging.

A little fear crept back into the man’s eyes. He swallowed, then nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

Dannyl rose and looked around. He gestured at the chair. “Sit down.”

Farand blinked at the chair, then hesitantly walked to it and sat down. Dannyl crossed his arms and regarded him thoughtfully. He was aware of the effect this change of position—from Farand standing over him, to him standing over Farand—would have. Now that he had agreed to cooperate, Farand needed to feel that Dannyl was in command, and knew what he was doing.

“Close your eyes,” Dannyl instructed. “Concentrate on your breathing.” He talked Farand through the standard breathing exercises, keeping his voice low and steady. When he judged that the man had gained a measure of calm, he stepped behind the chair and lightly touched the man’s temples. But before he could send his mind forth, the man jerked away.

“You’re going to read my mind!” he exclaimed.

“No,” Dannyl assured him. “It is not possible to read a mind that is unwilling. But I must direct you to that place in your mind where you access your power. The only way I can do that is if you allow me in to show you the way.”

“Is that the only way?” the Dem asked. Dannyl looked at Royend.

“Yes.”

“Is it at all possible that you might see things,” Farand asked, “things I must keep secret?”

Dannyl regarded him soberly. He could not deny it. Once he was in Farand’s mind the secrets would probably leap out at him. Secrets had a habit of doing that.

“It is possible,” Dannyl told him. “To be honest, if you are worried about concealing something, then it will be foremost in your thoughts. That is why the Guild prefers to train novices as young as possible. The younger you are, the fewer secrets you have.”

Farand buried his face in his hands. “Nooo,” he groaned. “Nobody can teach me. I’m going to be like this forever.”

The covers of the bed began to smoke. The Dem drew in a sharp breath and stepped forward.

“Perhaps Lord Dannyl can swear that he would keep everything he sees to himself,” he suggested.

Farand laughed bitterly. “How can I trust him to keep a promise when he’s about to break a law?”

“How indeed?” Dannyl said dryly. “You have, my promise that I will not pass on any information I discover. If that is not acceptable, I suggest you put your affairs in order and leave here. Take yourself far from anyone and anything you don’t wish to destroy, for when your powers break free completely they will not only consume you, but everything around you.”

The man paled. “There really is no choice, is there?” he said in a small voice. “I’ll die if I don’t do this. So it’s death or...” His eyes flashed with sudden anger, then he drew in a deep breath and straightened. “If that’s the only choice, I’ll just have to trust you won’t tell anyone.”

Amused by this abrupt change, Dannyl talked Farand through the calming exercises once more. When he rested his fingers on the man’s temples, Farand remained still. Dannyl closed his eyes and sent his mind forth.

Novices were usually taught Control by their teachers, and Dannyl had never been a teacher. He did not have Rothen’s skill, but after several attempts he managed to get Farand to visualize a room and invite him into it. Tantalizing hints of the man’s secret appeared, but Dannyl concentrated on teaching Farand to hide them behind doors. They found the door to the man’s power, but lost track of it as the secrets Farand was struggling to hide leaked out of the doors they had been stowed behind.

— We both know I’m going to find out anyway. Show me, and we can get on with Control lessons, Dannyl suggested.

Farand seemed relieved to be able to tell someone his secret. He showed Dannyl his memories of hearing mental conversations as he grew out of childhood. This was unusual, but not unheard of in those with magical potential. Farand was tested for ability and told he could apply to join the Guild when he was older. In the meantime the Elyne King learned of his ability to eavesdrop on magicians’ mental conversations, and Farand was summoned to court where he kept the King informed of what he overheard.

One day, however, Farand accidentally witnessed the King making an agreement with one of the powerful Dems to have the Dem’s political rival murdered, and upon realizing this the King extracted an oath of silence from him. Later, when Farand had applied to join the Guild, he was refused. He did not discover until later that the King knew the secret agreement would be revealed during mind-reading lessons, and therefore had prevented him from becoming a magician.

It was an unfortunate situation, and one which had shattered Farand’s dreams. Dannyl felt genuine sympathy for him. Now that the secret had been told, Farand was not as distracted. He found his source of power easily. After a few attempts to show Farand how to influence it, Dannyl left the man’s mind room and opened his eyes.

“Is that it?” Farand asked. “Have I got it?”

“No.” Dannyl chuckled and moved around the chair to face him. “It takes a few sessions.”

“When will we try again?” There was an edge of panic to the man’s voice.

Dannyl looked at Dem Marane. “I will try to return tomorrow, if that is convenient.”

“It is,” the Dem confirmed.

Dannyl nodded at Farand. “Do not drink wine or take any mind-affecting substance. Novices usually learn Control over a week or two. If you stay calm and avoid trying to use magic, you should be safe.”

Farand looked relieved, and there was a glint of excitement in Royend’s eyes. The Dem moved to the door and pulled a chain that hung from a small hole in the roof.

“Shall we return to the others, Ambassador? They will be pleased to hear of our progress.”

“If you wish.”

The Dem did not take Dannyl back to the previous room, but to another section of the mansion. They entered a small library, where Tayend and the other members of the group were sitting in comfortable chairs. Royend nodded at Kaslie, and the woman closed her eyes and sighed with relief.

Tayend was reading a large and very worn book. He looked up at Dannyl, his eyes bright with eagerness.

“Look,” he said, waving at one of the bookcases. “Books on magic. We might find something here to help us with our research.”

Dannyl could not help smiling. “It went well. Thanks for asking.”

“What?” Tayend looked up from the book. “Oh, that. I know you can take care of yourself. What did he show you?” Before Dannyl could reply, Tayend looked up at the Dem. “Can I borrow this some time?”

Royend smiled. “You can take it home with you tonight, if you wish. The Ambassador will be returning tomorrow. You are welcome to come as well.”

“Thank you.” Tayend turned to the Dem’s wife, who was sitting beside him. “Have you ever heard of the Chakan King?”

Dannyl did not hear her murmured reply. He looked around the room at the excited faces of the Dem and his friends. They would not trust him yet. Not until Farand was able to demonstrate an improvement in his control of magic. Once Farand had, however, he would be a dangerous man. He would be able to release magical ability in others, and teach them to control it. The group would not need Dannyl anymore. They might decide it was safer to disappear than continue associating with a Guild magician.

He could stretch out the lessons over a few weeks, but no more. The moment Farand achieved Control, Dannyl ought to arrest him and the others. But he might not catch all of the group. The longer he remained with them, the more identities he might discover. He would have liked to consult with the High Lord. But Farand’s ability to overhear mind communication prevented that and Dannyl did not have time to contact Akkarin by letter.

Dannyl accepted a fresh glass of wine. As the Dem began grilling him on what he was willing to teach them, Dannyl pushed all thought of arresting these people to the back of his mind and concentrated on his role as the rebellious Guild magician.

Sonea stood at her bedroom window and watched as gray wisps of cloud drifted across the night sky. The stars blinked in and out of sight and the moon was surrounded by a pale mist. The grounds were empty and silent.

She was bone tired. Despite a sleepless night, and carting books around for Lord Jullen for several hours after classes, she couldn’t sleep. She still had many questions, but by listing them in her mind ready for her next encounter with Akkarin, she found she could push them out of her thoughts. One, however, refused to go away.

Why did he tell me?

He had said that someone else needed to know. A reasonable answer, but something still nagged at her. He could have written down his story and left it for Lorlen to find if he should ever be killed. So why tell her, a mere novice in no position to make decisions or act in his place?

There had to be another reason. The only reason she could think of was one that sent chills down her spine.

He wanted her to take over the fight if he died. He wanted her to learn black magic.

Leaving the window, she began pacing her room. He had said several times that he would not teach it to her. Had he said that just to reassure her? Was he waiting for her to grow older, perhaps until after she had graduated, when it would be clear to anyone else that she had made such a decision for herself?

She bit her lip gently. It would be a terrible thing to ask of someone. To learn something that most magicians believed was evil. To break a Guild law.

And to break this law was no small matter that would earn her some menial task or the withdrawal of luxuries or favor. No, the punishment for this was likely to be much, much worse. Expulsion perhaps, with her powers bound, or possibly imprisonment.

Only if the crime was discovered.

Akkarin had managed to hide his secret for years. But he was the High Lord. That gave him a lot of room to be mysterious and secretive. Which meant it would not be difficult for her to join him.

But what would happen if he died? She frowned. Lorlen and Rothen would reveal Akkarin’s crime, and that her guardianship had been only a way to gain their silence. If she did not consent to a truth-read, there was no reason why anyone would discover that she had learned black magic. She could play the unhappy victim and attract no suspicion.

After that she would be dismissed and ignored. No longer the High Lord’s favorite, she could hide in her ordinariness. She would slip away into the hidden passages at night. Akkarin had already arranged for the Thieves’ help. They would find the spies for her...

She stopped and sat down on the end of her bed.

I can’t believe I’m considering this. There’s a reason black magic is banned. It’s evil.

Or was it? Years before, Rothen had pointed out to her that magic was neither good nor evil; it was what the wielder did with it that mattered.

Black magic involved taking power from another. It didn’t have to involve killing. Even the Ichani did not kill their slaves unless they had to. When she had first seen Akkarin using it, he had been taking power from Takan. Power that was obviously willingly given.

She thought back to the records that Akkarin had shown her. Black magic had once been commonly used by the Guild. Apprentices would willingly give strength to their masters in exchange for knowledge. Once deemed ready, the apprentices were taught the secret of “higher magic” and became masters themselves. It was an arrangement that had encouraged cooperation and peace. No one was killed. No one was enslaved.

It had only taken one man with an insane desire for power to change that. And the Ichani used black magic to maintain a culture of slavery. When she considered these things, she understood why the Guild had banned black magic. It could be abused so easily.

But Akkarin hadn’t abused it. Or had he?

Akkarin has used it to kill. Isn’t that the worst abuse of power?

Akkarin had used it to free himself, and only killed the spies to keep Kyralia safe. That was not an abuse of power. It was reasonable to kill to protect oneself, and others... wasn’t it?

As a child surviving in the slums, she had decided that she would not hesitate to kill to defend herself. If she could avoid harming another, she would, but she was not going to let herself become a victim either. That determination had paid off a few years later when she had fended off an attacker with her knife. She didn’t know if he had lived, and she had not spared much time wondering.

The Warriors learned how to fight with magic. The Guild continued passing on that knowledge in case the Allied Lands should ever be attacked. She never heard Lord Balkan agonizing over whether magic should be used to kill in defense.

She lay back on the bed. Perhaps Akkarin was wrong about the Guild. Perhaps, when faced with no choice, they would accept the use of black magic only in defense.

Would magicians respect that restriction? She shivered as she imagined what Lord Fergun might have done with the knowledge. Fergun had been punished, though. As a whole, the Guild could probably keep control of its magicians.

Then she remembered the Purge. If the King did not balk at using the Guild to drive the poor from the city to keep the Houses happy, what might he do with black magicians at his bidding?

The Guild would always be cautious about how black magic was used. If laws were put in place, if only those deemed worthy were taught—determined by a truth-read to test a candidate’s character and moral integrity...

Who am I to think I have the wisdom to reshape the Guild? I probably wouldn’t even be considered as a candidate if this system was in place.

She was the slum girl. Naturally, she had no moral integrity. No one would even consider her.

I am considering me.

Rising, she moved to the window.

The people I care about are in danger. I have to do something. Surely the Guild will not execute me if I break a law trying to protect it. They may expel me, but if I must lose this luxury called magic in exchange for the lives of those I love, so be it.

She shivered, chilled by and yet sure of the rightness of this revelation.

There, it is decided. I will learn black magic.

She turned to regard the door of her room. Akkarin was probably in bed. She could not wake him up just to tell him this. It could wait until tomorrow.

Sighing, she slipped under the covers of her bed. She closed her eyes, hoping she would finally be able to sleep now that she had made her decision.

Am I being deceived? Once I learn this, I can’t unlearn it.

She considered the books Akkarin had given her to read. They looked genuine, but they could have been clever fakes. She did not know enough about forgery to be able to tell.

The spy could have been manipulated to believe certain things in order for her to be deceived, but she was sure Akkarin could not have invented it all. Tavaka’s mind had held a lifetime’s worth of memories of the Ichani and slavery that could not have been arranged by the High Lord.

And Akkarin’s story?

If he wanted to trick her into learning black magic so he could blackmail and control her, then he had only needed to convince her that the Guild was in great danger. Why admit to having been a slave?

She yawned. She must get some sleep. She needed a clear head.

Tomorrow she was going to break one of the Guild’s strictest laws.

The room was too small for pacing. A single lamp hung from the roof, casting yellow light on the rough brick walls. Cery crossed his arms and silently cursed himself. Akkarin had told him they must avoid meeting unless they had to discuss something of great concern that could only be settled face to face.

Sonea’s welfare is of great concern, Cery reasoned. And this can only be settled face to face.

But it was unlikely the High Lord would agree. Cery felt another twinge of anxiety. So far, he hadn’t regretted any of the work he had done in return for being rescued from Lord Fergun, and for the assistance he’d received from Akkarin in establishing his place among the Thieves. Tracking the murderers was easy enough. Once you knew what to look for, they stood out like a guard in a smuggler’s den. Getting rid of the bodies afterward was standard work, though dumping them in the river was out of the question now the Guard were keeping an eye on it.

But bringing Sonea into it? No, that was too much. Not that Cery could make the decision for her. But, at the very least, he wanted to make sure Akkarin knew he disapproved.

The High Lord needed him. He was sure of that. Perhaps today he would discover how much.

Cery drummed his fingers against his sleeve. If the High Lord ever arrives. There were few men in the city who would dare to be late to a meeting with a Thief. None but... the King, most in the Houses, the entire Guild...

He sighed, then considered once again the only other piece of information he had for the Guild leader: that another Sachakan had been seen entering the city. Perhaps this little tidbit would mollify Akkarin when he discovered Cery’s real reason for requesting a meeting. Not for the first time, Cery wondered what Akkarin’s reaction would be if he knew the source of the information. He chuckled as he pictured Savara. That smile. The way she walked. She was definitely not a safe person to be around.

But, then, neither was he these days.

A tap brought him back to the present. He peered through a spy hole in the door. A tall figure stood beside Gol’s heavier frame, his face concealed in the hood of his cloak. Gol made the signal to confirm the visitor was the High Lord.

Cery drew in a deep breath, then opened the door. Akkarin stalked inside. The cloak parted slightly to reveal black robes beneath. A shiver ran down Cery’s spine. Akkarin usually wore plain clothing when he was on the Thieves’ Road. Was this a deliberate move to remind Cery just who he was dealing with?

“Ceryni,” Akkarin said, smoothly tugging the hood from his head.

“High Lord.”

“I do not have much time to spare. What is it you need to speak to me about?”

Cery hesitated. “I think we’ve got another... murderer, in the city.” He had been about to say “slave,” but caught himself in time. Using that term would no doubt reveal that he’d been in contact with someone from Sachaka.

Akkarin frowned, his eyes almost disappearing in the shadows of his brows. “You think?”

“Yes.” Cery smiled. “There’s been no murder yet, but the last killer arrived so soon after the one before, I have been paying some ear to talk I don’t usually. Word is, she stands out. Should be easy to catch.”

“She?” Akkarin repeated. “A woman. So... if the Thieves hear this they’ll know there is more than one murderer. Will this be a problem for you?”

9 Akkarin’s Helper

Cery shrugged. “It won’t change anything. They might even give a little more respect. Better we catch her quick, though, so they don’t find out at all.”

Akkarin nodded. “Is that all?”

Cery hesitated. He drew in a deep breath and pushed aside his doubts.

“You brought Sonea.”

Akkarin straightened. The lamplight reached his eyes. He looked amused.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I had my reasons.”

“Good ones, I hope,” Cery said, forcing himself to meet and hold Akkarin’s gaze.

The High Lord’s stare didn’t waver. “Yes. She was in no great danger.”

“Are you going to get her into any of this?”

“A little. Not in the way you fear, however. I need someone in the Guild to be aware of what I am doing.”

Cery forced out the next question. Just thinking about asking it brought difficult, contrary feelings. “Will you bring her again?”

“No, I do not intend to.”

He breathed a short sigh of relief. “Does she... does she know about me?”

“No.”

Cery felt a wistful disappointment. He wouldn’t have minded showing off his success a little. He’d come a long way in the last few years. Though he knew she did not think too highly of Thieves...

“Is that all?” Akkarin asked. There was a hint of respect in his voice—or was it simply tolerance?

Cery nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

He watched the High Lord turn to the door and open it. Take care of her, he thought. Akkarin glanced back, nodded once, then strode away down the passage, his cloak flaring around his ankles.

Well, that went better than I expected, Cery mused.

Dannyl’s rooms in the Guild House of Capia were large and luxurious. He had a bedroom, office and guestroom to himself, and he had only to ring one of many little bells around the place to attract a servant.

One had just brought a steaming cup of sumi when another entered the office to tell him he had a visitor.

“Tayend of Tremmelin is here to see you,” the servant informed him.

Dannyl put down his cup, surprised. Tayend rarely visited him here. They preferred the privacy of the Great Library, where they didn’t have to worry about servants noticing anything in their behavior toward each other.

“Send him in.”

Tayend was dressed appropriately for a meeting with an important personage. Though Dannyl was growing used to the flamboyant court dress of Elyne, he still found it amusing. However, the tightly fitting clothes, which looked so ridiculous on older courtiers, were flattering on Tayend.

“Ambassador Dannyl,” Tayend said, bowing gracefully. “I have been reading Dem Marane’s book and it contains some very interesting information.”

Dannyl gestured to one of the chairs set before his desk. “Please sit down. Just... give me a moment.” Tayend had reminded him of something. He took a fresh piece of paper and began composing a short letter.

“What are you writing?” Tayend,asked.

“A letter to Dem Marane expressing my deepest regrets that I cannot attend his dinner party tonight, due to some unexpected work that I must attend to without delay.”

“What about Farand?”

“He will survive. I do have work to sort out, but I also want to make them wait a little. Once I finish teaching Farand Control, they will no longer need me, and we might find our new friends have taken an unexpected journey abroad.”

“They’d be fools, then. Do they think all those years of training you went through are for nothing?”

“They can’t appreciate the value of what they don’t understand.”

“So you’ll be arresting them as soon as Farand’s ready?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. It might be worth taking the risk that they’d disappear on us. I’m sure we haven’t met everyone involved. If I wait, I might be introduced to more of the group.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you to Kyralia once you’ve arrested them? The Guild might need another witness.”

“They don’t need any more proof than Farand.” Dannyl looked up and shook a finger at the scholar. “You just want to see the Guild for yourself. But when our new friends retaliate by spreading rumors about us, it won’t help if we’re seen together.”

“But we wouldn’t be together all the time. I don’t have to stay in the Guild. I have distant relatives in Imardin. And you said Akkarin would tell everyone it was all just a trick.”

Dannyl sighed. He didn’t want to leave Tayend. Not even for a few weeks. If he was sure he could get away with returning to the Guild with the scholar in tow, he would make arrangements to take him. It might even help to disprove the rumors once and for all if they were seen to behave “normally.” But he knew that it would take only a small hint of the truth to put ideas in suspicious minds—and he already knew there were plenty of those in the Guild.

“I’ll be returning by sea,” he reminded Tayend. “I would have thought you’d want to avoid that.”

Tayend’s face clouded, but only for a moment. “I’d put up with a little seasickness, if it came with good company.”

“Not this time,” Dannyl said firmly. “One day we’ll travel by carriage to Imardin. Then you’ll be good company as well.” He smiled at Tayend’s indignant glare, then signed the letter and put it aside. “Now, what have you found?”

“Do you remember how the writing on the woman’s tomb in the Tombs of White Tears said she performed ‘high magic’?”

Dannyl nodded. The visit to Vin in search of evidence of ancient magic seemed so long ago now.

“The words ‘high magic’ were represented by a glyph containing a crescent moon and a hand,” Tayend opened the Dem’s book and slid it across the desk toward Dannyl. “This is a copy of a book written two centuries ago, when the Alliance was made and the law was laid down that all magicians must be taught and controlled by the Guild. Most magicians outside Kyralia were members of the Guild, but some weren’t. This belonged to one who wasn’t.”

Drawing the book to him, Dannyl saw that the top of the page bore the same glyph they had been puzzling over for a year. He began to read the text below it:

Dannyl had turned completely cold. In preparation for his position, he had been given information that was kept from ordinary magicians. Some of it was political; some of it magical. Included among the magical warning signs he was taught to recognize were those for black magic.

And here he was, holding a book containing instructions on its use. Just by reading it, he was breaking a law.

“Dannyl? Are you all right?”

He looked up at Tayend, but couldn’t speak. Tayend stared back, frowning with concern.

“You’ve gone completely white. I thought... well... if this book is right, we’ve discovered what high magic is.”

Dannyl opened his mouth, then closed it again and looked down at the book. He stared at the glyph of the crescent moon and hand. Not a crescent moon, he realized. A blade. Higher magic was black magic.

Akkarin had been researching black magic.

No. He wouldn’t have known. He didn’t get this far, Dannyl reminded himself. He probably still doesn’t know. Otherwise he wouldn’t have encouraged me to continue my research. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Tayend, I think it’s time to tell Errend about the rebels. I may be taking that trip earlier than I thought.”

Sonea’s heart beat faster as she approached the High Lord’s Residence. All day she had been waiting for this moment. It had been difficult to concentrate during classes, even more difficult to endure Mien’s attempts to make her punishment in the library as tedious as possible.

The gray stone building loomed over her in the darkness. She stopped to take one long deep breath and gather her courage, then she walked up to the door and brushed the handle with her fingers. It clicked open and swung inward.

As always, Akkarin was sitting in one of the guestroom chairs. His long fingers were curled around a glass filled with dark red wine.

“Good evening, Sonea. How were your lessons today?”

Her mouth was dry. She swallowed, drew another deep breath, stepped inside, and heard the door close behind her.

“I want to help,” she told him.

His eyebrows lowered, and he stared intently at her. She struggled to hold his gaze, but soon found herself looking at the floor. Silence stretched between them, then in one movement he stood and set the glass aside.

“Very well. Come with me.”

He walked to the door of the stairway leading to the underground room. Opening it, he gestured for her to enter. Her legs were unsteady, but she forced them to move.

As she reached him there was a knock at the main door, and they both froze.

“Go on,” he murmured to her. “It is Lorlen. I will have Takan deal with him.”

For a moment, she wondered how he knew it was Lorlen. Then understanding came in a flash. The ring Lorlen wore did contain a gem like the one in the spy’s tooth.

As she descended the stairs she heard a new set of footsteps in the guestroom above. Akkarin gently closed the stairway door and followed her down. She stopped outside the door to the underground room, then stepped aside as Akkarin reached her. The door opened at a touch of his hand.

The room beyond was dark, but it brightened as two globe lights appeared. She looked at the two tables, the battered old chest, and the bookcases and cupboards. Really, there was nothing threatening in there at all.

Akkarin appeared to be waiting for her to enter. She took a few steps inside, then turned to face him. He looked up at the ceiling and grimaced.

“He’s gone. I have something to tell him, but it can wait.”

“Do you... should we do this later?” she ventured, half hoping he would agree.

The look he gave her was so direct, and predatory, she took a step backward.

“No,” he said. “This is more important.” He crossed his arms, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. “Well then. How do you intend to help me?”

“I... you...” She was suddenly short of breath. “By learning black magic,” she finally managed.

His smile vanished.

“No.” He uncrossed his arms. “I cannot teach you that, Sonea.”

She stared at him, astonished. “Then... then why did you show me the truth? Why did you tell me about the Ichani if you didn’t mean for me to join you?”

“I never intended to teach you black magic,” he said firmly. “I would not have you endanger your future in the Guild. Even if that did not concern me, I would not pass this knowledge on to anyone.”

“Then... how can I help you?”

“I intended...” He hesitated, then sighed and looked away. “I intended you to be a willing source of power, as Takan is.”

A chill swept through her, but it quickly faded. Of course, she thought. That’s what all this was leading to.

“The Ichani may never invade,” he said. “If you learn black magic you will have risked your future for nothing.”

“It is a risk I’m willing to take,” she replied, her voice small in the large room.

Looking up, he fixed her with a disapproving stare. “You would so easily break your vow?”

She held his gaze. “If it was the only way I could protect Kyralia.”

His stare lost its fierceness. She could not name the expression that he wore now.

“Teach her, master.”

They both turned at this new voice. Takan was standing in the doorway of the room, regarding Akkarin intently.

“Teach her,” he repeated. “You need an ally.”

“No,” Akkarin replied. “What use is Sonea to me if I do? If I take her strength she is of no use as a black magician. If she is a black magician, who is she going to gather strength from? You? No. You already bear too much of that burden.”

Takan’s gaze did not waver. “Someone needs to know that secret other than you, master. Sonea does not need to use it, only be there to take your place if you die.”

Akkarin returned the servant’s stare. For a long time they regarded each other in silence.

“No,” Akkarin said eventually. “But... I will reconsider if they attack Kyralia.”

“By then it will be too late,” Takan replied quietly. “They will not attack until they have removed you.”

“He’s right,” Sonea interjected, her voice trembling. “Teach me and use me as a source. I will not use black magic unless I have no other choice.”

He stared at her coldly. “Do you know what the punishment is for learning and using black magic?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“Execution. No other crime earns such a punishment. Just seeking to learn about black magic will have you expelled from the Guild.”

A chill ran over her skin. His mouth twisted into a grim smile.

“But you can make yourself useful to me without committing a crime. There is no law against giving power to another magician. Indeed, you have already been taught to in Warrior Skills classes. The only difference is that I can store the power you give.”

She blinked in surprise. No knife? No cutting of the skin. But, of course, there was no need.

“A night’s sleep was all you needed to recover most of your strength after facing Regin and his followers,” he continued. “We should take care that you do not give too much power if you must tackle Warrior Skills classes the next day, however. And if you do intend to be capable of fighting these spies in my place, then I should take a hand in your training.”

Sonea felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. Warrior Skills lessons? With Akkarin?

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

She took yet another deep breath. “Yes.”

He frowned and considered her. a moment. “I will take a little of your strength tonight. Tomorrow we will see if you still wish to help.”

He beckoned. “Give me your hands.”

She walked forward and offered her hands. She shivered as his long fingers linked with hers.

“Send out your power, as you have learned to when channelling power to another in Warrior Skills class.”

Drawing power, she sent it flowing out of her hands. His expression changed slightly as he became conscious of the energy and drew it into himself. She wondered how he stored it. Even though she had been taught how to receive power from other novices, she had always channelled it into strikes or added it to her shield.

“Leave yourself some energy for classes,” he murmured.

She shrugged. “I barely use any. Not even in Warrior Skills classes.”

“You will soon.” His grip loosened. “That is enough.”

She stopped sending power. As he released her hands she took a step back. He glanced at Takan, then nodded at her.

“Thank you, Sonea. Now, get some rest. Give Takan a copy of your schedule in the morning so that we can work around your Warrior Skills classes. If you are still willing, we will continue with this tomorrow night.”

Sonea nodded. She took a step toward the door, then stopped and bowed.

“Good night, High Lord.”

His stare was unwavering. “Good night, Sonea.”

Her heart was pounding again. As she climbed the stairs she realized it was not with fear anymore. It was racing with a strange kind of excitement.

I might not be helping him in the way I expected, she thought, but I am helping.

Then she chuckled ruefully. But I might not be so happy about that when he starts assisting in my Warrior Skills lessons!

10 An Unexpected Adversary

As Rothen waited for the last of his pupils to arrive, he looked out of the window. Longer, warmer days were turning the gardens into a labyrinth of green. Even the gray High Lord’s Residence looked welcoming in the bright morning light.

As he watched, the door to the residence opened. He felt his heart skip as Sonea stepped out. It was a late start for her, he realized. According to Tania, she still rose at dawn.

Then a taller figure emerged, and Rothen felt his entire body tense. The folds of Akkarin’s black robes were almost gray in the bright sunlight. The High Lord turned to Sonea and spoke. Her lips curled up into a small smile. Then the pair straightened and started toward the University, their expressions sober again. Rothen watched them until they moved out of sight.

Turning away from the window, he shivered. A chill had caught hold of him, and wouldn’t let go.

She had smiled at Akkarin.

It had not been a polite, forced smile. Nor an open, unguarded smile. It had been sly and secretive.

No, he told himself. I’m just seeing that which I most fear because it’s what I’m always watching for. She was probably smiling to deceive or mollify Akkarin. Or perhaps she had found some comment he made amusing, was enjoying a little joke at his expense...

But what if she hadn’t been? What if there’s another reason?

“Lord Rothen?”

Turning, he saw that the rest of the class had arrived and were patiently waiting for him to begin. He managed a rueful smile, then moved toward the desk.

He could not charge out of the classroom and demand an explanation from Sonea. No, for now he must put her out of his mind and concentrate on teaching. But later he would consider carefully what he had seen.

And watch her more closely.

As the carriage pulled away, Dannyl strode up to the door of Dem Marane’s house and pulled on the bell cord.

He yawned, then drew on a little magic to soothe away weariness. A week had passed since Tayend had shown him the book, and many secret meetings had been held with Ambassador Errend and other Elyne magicians in preparation for this night. Now they would know if their plans would be successful.

Footsteps drew close to the door, then it opened and the master of the house bowed gracefully.

“Ambassador Dannyl. A pleasure to see you again. Please come in.”

“Thank you.” Dannyl stepped inside.

“Where is young Tremmelin?” the Dem asked.

“With his father,” Dannyl replied. “They had a family matter to discuss. He sends his regards and said to tell you the book is enlightening and he will finish reading it tonight. I know he would much prefer to be talking to you and your friends than dealing with family business.”

Royend nodded and smiled, but his eyes expressed wariness. “I shall miss his company.”

“How is Farand? No unintended events?” Dannyl asked, letting a hint of anxiousness enter his tone.

“No.” The Dem hesitated. “One intentional one, however. Being young and impatient, he could not resist trying to do something.”

Dannyl let alarm show in his face. “What happened?”

“Just another little fire.” The Dem smiled crookedly. “I had to buy his host another bed.”

“The same hosts as last time?”

“No. Once again, I have moved Farand. I felt it prudent, for all our sakes, to move him away from the city, in case his little accidents grew so dramatic they started to draw unwanted attention.”

Dannyl nodded. “That was wise, though probably unnecessary. I hope he is not too far away. I can only stay a few hours.”

“No, not far,” the Dem assured him.

They had reached the doorway of the next room. Royend’s wife, Kaslie, rose to greet Dannyl.

“Greetings, Ambassador. It is good to see you again. Do you think my brother will learn Control soon?”

“Yes,” Dannyl replied gravely. “Either tonight, or the next time. It will not be long now.”

She nodded, obviously relieved. “I can’t thank you enough for your help.” She turned to Royend. “Best be on your way, then, husband.”

There was a note of resentment in her voice. The Dem’s mouth twitched into a crooked smile. “Farand will be safe soon, my dear.”

Her frown only deepened. Dannyl kept his expression politely neutral. Tayend had observed that Kaslie rarely looked happy and sometimes appeared to be annoyed at her husband. He had guessed that she blamed Royend for her brother’s situation because he had encouraged the young man to develop his abilities.

The Dem ushered Dannyl out of the house to a waiting carriage. It began to move before they had even settled into their seats. The windows were covered.

“For the protection of Farand’s hosts,” the Dem explained. “I may be willing to allow you to know my identity and residence, but there are others in the group who are less trusting. They have allowed Farand to stay with them only if I take these precautions.” He paused. “Do you think me a fool for trusting you?”

Dannyl blinked in surprise. He considered the question, then shrugged. “I expected you to take smaller steps. Arrange a few tests of my honesty, perhaps. But you couldn’t; Farand needed help. You took a risk, but I’m sure it was a calculated one.” He chuckled. “You would have had a few escape routes in place, and probably still have.”

“And you have Tayend to protect.”

“Yes.” Dannyl smiled good-naturedly. “What I am waiting to discover is whether I will find myself no longer welcome in your house once I have taught Farand Control?”

The Dem laughed quietly. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

“And I expect I don’t have to remind you of all the wonderful things I could teach Farand, once he has learned Control.”

Royend’s gaze brightened. “Please do.”

For the next hour they discussed uses of magic. Dannyl took care to describe only what was possible, not how it was done, and the Dem was obviously aware he was being deliberately evasive. Finally, the carriage slowed to a stop.

The Dem waited until the door opened, then gestured for Dannyl to exit. It was dark outside, and Dannyl automatically created a globe light. It illuminated a tunnel, the brick walls glistening with moisture.

“Put that out, please,” the Dem requested.

Dannyl extinguished the light. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s a habit.”

After the brightness of the light, all was utterly dark. A hand touched his shoulder and pushed him forward. Extending his senses, he detected a break in the wall. They moved into it.

“Careful,” Royend murmured. “There are stairs here.”

The toe of Dannyl’s boot met a hard edge. He carefully climbed a steep staircase, then was guided along a passage with many twists, turns and side entrances. Then he sensed a large room and a familiar presence, and the hand slid from his shoulder.

A lamp spluttered into life, revealing several pieces of practical furniture in a room carved out of solid rock. Water trickled from a crack in one wall into a basin, then out through a hole in the floor. The air was cold, and Farand was dressed in a large fur-collared coat.

The young man bowed, his movements more confident now that he was drawing closer to escaping his predicament.

“Ambassador Dannyl,” he said, “welcome to my latest hiding hole.”

“It’s a little cold,” Dannyl remarked. He sent out a glow of magic to warm the air. Farand grinned and shrugged out of the coat. “I used to dream of doing grand and dramatic’ things with magic. Now I think I’ll be happy if all I can do is something like that.”

Dannyl glanced pointedly at Royend. The Dem smiled and shrugged. “Not everyone’s sentiments, I assure you. I’m sure Farand wants to learn more than the basics.”

He was standing beside a rope that hung from a hole in the ceiling. The other end was probably attached to a bell, Dannyl guessed. He wondered who was waiting by it.

“Well,” Dannyl said. “We’d best get started, then. No sense keeping you in cold hiding holes for any longer than necessary.”

Farand moved to a chair and sat down. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and began the calming exercise that he had been taught. When the man’s face had relaxed, Dannyl approached.

“This may be your last lesson,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “It may not. Control must become a well-learned habit, to keep you safe both day and night. It is better to learn it at your own pace, than to hurry it along.” He touched Farand’s temples lightly, then closed his eyes.

It was impossible to lie effectively during mental communication, but the truth could be hidden. So far Dannyl had kept his mission and ultimate plan to betray the rebels safely concealed. Each time Dannyl had guided Farand mentally, however, the man had grown more used to the method of communication. He was beginning to sense more from Dannyl.

And now that the time had come to arrest the rebels, Dannyl could not conceal a feeling of tension and anticipation. Farand sensed it and grew curious.

— What are you expecting will happen tonight? he asked.

— You will probably achieve Control, Dannyl replied.

This was true, and part of what Dannyl knew was coming. It was an important enough event that the young man would accept it as the reason for Dannyl’s excitement. But Farand’s awareness of the consequences of learning magic illegally made him more suspicious than usual.

— There’s more. You’re hiding something from me.

— Of course, Dannyl replied. I will keep much from you, until I know your people are not going to disappear as soon as you have learned Control.

— The Dem is honorable. He promised to protect Tayend in exchange for your help. He won’t break that promise.

Dannyl felt a momentary sympathy for this naive young man. He pushed it away, reminding himself that Farand might be young, but he was no fool.

— We’ll see. Now, take me to that place where your power is.

It took less time for Farand to understand the finest nuances of Control than Dannyl had expected. As Farand contemplated his achievement, Dannyl steeled himself for what must come next. He cut into Farand’s jubilant thoughts with a question.

— Where are we?

An image of a tunnel appeared, then the room they were in. Farand had no more idea of their location than Dannyl did.

— Who is your host?

Again, Farand didn’t know.

But then, Royend would have guessed that Dannyl might be able to read this information from the young man’s mind, so he would have made sure Farand knew nothing. Hopefully, discovering their location would only involve finding his way out of the passages and seeing where the tunnel emerged.

Farand had caught enough of Dannyl’s thoughts to grow alarmed.

— What are you...?

Dannyl removed his hand from Farand’s temples and broke the connection. At the same time, he created a weak shield in case Farand attempted to use his magic. The young man was staring at him.

“It was a trick,” Farand gasped. “It was all a trick.” He turned to Royend. “He means to betray us.”

Royend turned to stare at Dannyl, his expression hardening. As the Dem reached for the bell rope, Dannyl exerted his will. The man snatched his hand back from the sting of a barrier.

Dannyl focussed his mind beyond the room.

— Errend?

Farand’s eyes widened as he heard the communication.

— Dannyl. Do you have the rogue?

— Yes.

At once, the edges of Dannyl’s senses buzzed with the communications of a dozen magicians, Farand’s eyes roved across the walls as he listened to them.

“They’re arresting the others,” he said. “No! This is all because of me!”

“No, it isn’t,” Dannyl told him. “It is the result of your King misusing a potential magician’s abilities, and your sister’s husband taking advantage of the situation in the hopes of achieving his own aims. I suspect your sister knows this, though I don’t believe she would have betrayed either of you.”

Farand looked at Royend, and Dannyl saw from the accusing look in the young man’s eyes that he was right.

“Don’t try to turn us against each other, Ambassador,” Royend said. “It will not work.”

— Where are you? Errend asked.

— I don’t know exactly. An hour’s carriage ride from the city. He sent an image of the tunnel. Look familiar?

— No.

Farand glanced at Dannyl, then back at Royend. “He still doesn’t know where we are,” he said hopefully.

“Finding out will not be difficult,” Dannyl assured him. “And you should know already, Farand, that it is considered rude for a magician to listen in on others’ conversations.”

“We don’t follow your rules,” Royend snapped.

Dannyl turned to regard the Dem. “I’ve noticed.”

The man’s gaze wavered, then he straightened his shoulders. “They will execute us for this. Can you live with that?”

Dannyl held the Dem’s gaze. “You knew what you risked, at every step. If all of what you have done and planned was motivated by the need to protect and save Farand, you might be pardoned. I don’t believe your motives were that honorable, however.”

“No,” the Dem growled. “It wasn’t just Farand. It was the injustice of it all. Why should the Guild decide who can use and teach magic? There are so many whose potential is wasted, who—”

“The Guild does not decide who learns to use magic,” Dannyl corrected. “In Kyralia it is left to each family to decide if their sons or daughters will attend. In Elyne, the King decides who will be taught. Each country has its own system for choosing candidates. We only refuse those whose minds are unstable, or who have committed crimes.”

Royend’s eyes flashed with anger. “But what if Farand, or any other man, does not want to learn from the Guild? Why can’t he learn elsewhere?”

“Where? At your own Guild?”

“Yes.”

“And who would you be answerable to?”

The Dem opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking. He looked at Farand, then sighed.

“I am no monster,” he said. “I did encourage Farand, but I would not have if I had known how dangerous it was.” He looked at Dannyl. “You do realize the King might kill him rather than let the Guild discover whatever it is that he knows.”

“Then he will have to kill me as well,” Dannyl replied. “And I don’t think he will dare to attempt that. It would only take a short mental call for all magicians in the lands to know his little secret. And now that Farand has learned Control, he is a magician, and the King would break the treaty of the Allied Lands if he tried to harm him. Farand is the Guild’s concern now. Once there, he should be safe from assassins.”

“The Guild,” Farand said in a small voice. “I’m going to see the Guild.”

Royend ignored him. “And what then?”

Dannyl shook his head. “I cannot say. I would not give you false hopes by guessing what the outcome of this will be.”

Royend scowled. “Of course not.”

“So. Will you cooperate? Or shall I drag you both with me as I find the way out of here?”

A glint of rebellion entered the Dem’s eyes. Dannyl smiled at the man’s expression, guessing at the thoughts behind it.

— Errend?

— Dannyl.

— Have you arrested the others?

— Everyone. Can you tell us your location yet?

— No, but I will have it soon.

Dannyl looked up at Royend. “Delaying will not give your friends time to escape. Farand will tell you this is so.”

The young man looked away and nodded. “He’s right.” His gaze strayed to the bell rope. Dannyl looked up at the ceiling, wondering who was stationed above. Farand’s host, no doubt, with some method in place for warning others in the group. Would there be an opportunity to arrest this rebel as well? Probably not. Errend had agreed that Dannyl’s first priority should be to capture Farand and Dem Marane. If he identified or arrested anyone else, it should not be at the risk of losing the rogue.

Royend followed Dannyl’s gaze, then straightened his shoulders. “Very well. I will show, you out.”

The day had been bright and warm, but darkness had brought a chill that Sonea could not banish, even by warming the air in her room with magic. She had slept well the last few nights, but this one was different and she couldn’t work out why.

Perhaps it was because Akkarin hadn’t been present all evening. Takan had met her at the door when she returned from classes to tell her that the High Lord had been called away. She had eaten dinner alone.

He was probably carrying out official duties at court. Yet her imagination kept placing him in darker parts of the city, tending to his secret arrangements with the Thieves or facing another spy.

Sonea stopped in front of her desk and stared down at her books. If I can’t sleep, she told herself, I may as well study. At least then I’d have something to occupy my mind.

Then she heard a noise outside her room.

Gliding to the door, she opened it a crack. Slow footsteps echoed softly in the far stairwell, growing louder. She heard them stop in the corridor, and then heard the click of a door latch.

He’s back.

Something loosened within her and she sighed with relief. Then she nearly laughed aloud. Surely I’m not worrying about Akkarin.

But was that so strange? He was all that stood between the Ichani and Kyralia. Worrying about him being alive and well was perfectly reasonable when considered in that light.

She was about to close her door when a new set of footsteps filled the corridor.

“Master?”

Takan sounded surprised and alarmed. Sonea felt a chill run across her skin.

“Takan,” Akkarin’s voice was barely audible. “Stay and I will give you this to dispose of.”

“What happened?”

The shock in the servant’s voice was clear. Before she could think twice, Sonea pulled open her door and padded down the corridor. Takan was standing in the entrance of Akkarin’s bedroom. He turned as she approached, his expression uncertain.

“Sonea.” Akkarin’s voice was low and quiet.

A tiny, weak globe light illuminated his bedroom. He was sitting on the end of a large bed. In the dim light his robes seemed to retreat into the darkness, leaving only his face and hands visible... and one forearm.

Sonea drew in a breath. The right sleeve of his robe hung strangely, and she saw that it had been cut open. A red mark ran down his arm from elbow to wrist. His pale skin was stained with streaks and smudges of blood.

“What happened?” she breathed, then added, “High Lord.”

Akkarin looked from her to Takan and snorted softly. “I can see I’ll have no rest until you have both heard everything. Come in and sit down.”

Takan stepped inside the room. Sonea hesitated, then followed. She had never seen inside his bedroom before. A week ago it would have terrified her to think of entering it. As she looked around, she felt a wry disappointment. The furniture was similar to hers. The paper screens that covered his windows were a dark blue, matching the border of a large carpet that covered most of the floor. The door to his cabinet was open. It contained only robes, a few cloaks and a longcoat.

As she turned to look at Akkarin again, she found he was watching her, a faint smile on his lips. He gestured to a chair.

Takan had taken a jug of water from a cabinet beside the bed. He produced a cloth from within his uniform, moistened it, and reached toward Akkarin’s arm. The High Lord plucked the cloth out of his hand.

“We have another spy in the city,” he said, wiping the blood from his arm. “But she is no ordinary spy, I think.”

“She?” Sonea interrupted.

“Yes. A woman.” Akkarin handed the cloth back to Takan. “That is not the only difference between her and the previous spies. She is unusually strong for a former slave. She has not been here long, and could not have grown so strong by killing Imardians. We would have heard, if she had killed people.”

“They prepared her?” Takan suggested. His hands gripped the stained cloth tightly. “Let her take strength from their slaves before she left?”

“Perhaps. Whatever the reason, she was ready for the fight. She let me think she was exhausted, then when I came close she cut me. She wasn’t quick enough to get a hold on my wound and draw power, however. After that, she tried to draw attention to our fighting.”

“So you let her escape,” Takan concluded.

“Yes. She must have thought I’d let her go rather than endanger the lives of others.”

“Or she knows you’d rather the Guild didn’t hear of magical battles in the slums.” Takan’s lips thinned. “She will be killing to strengthen herself again.”

Akkarin smiled grimly. “I don’t doubt it.”

“And you are weaker now. You’ve had little time to strengthen yourself after the last one.”

“That will not be a problem.” He looked at Sonea. “I have one of the Guild’s strongest magicians to help me.”

Sonea looked away, and felt her face warming. Takan was shaking his head.

“This sounds wrong to me. She is too different. A woman. No Ichani would free a woman slave. And she is strong. Cunning. Not like a slave at all.”

Akkarin regarded his servant closely. “You think she is an Ichani?”

“Possibly. You should prepare as if she was. You should...” He glanced at Sonea. “You should take an ally.”

Sonea blinked at the servant in surprise. Did he mean she should go with Akkarin when he faced this woman again?

“We have already discussed this,” Akkarin began.

“And you said you would reconsider it if they attack Kyralia,” Takan replied. “If this woman is Ichani, they are already here. What if she is too strong for you? You can’t risk losing your life, and leaving the Guild with no defense.”

Sonea felt her pulse quickening. “And two pairs of eyes are better than one,” she said quickly. “If I had come with you tonight—”

“You might have got in the way.”

That stung. Sonea felt a flare of anger. “You think so, do you? I’m just a soft novice like the rest. Don’t know my way around the slums, or how to hide from magicians.”

He stared at her, then his shoulders slumped and he began to laugh softly.

“What am I to do?” he asked. “You are both determined to wear me down on this.”

He rubbed his arm absently. Sonea looked down and blinked in surprise. The red wounds were now only pink. He had been Healing himself even as they spoke.

“I will teach Sonea only if this woman is Ichani. Then we will know they have become a real threat.”

“If she is Ichani, you may end up dead,” Takan said bluntly. “Be prepared, master.”

Akkarin looked up at Sonea. His eyes were shadowed, his expression distant and thoughtful.

“What do you think, Sonea? This is not something you should agree to without much careful consideration.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I have considered it. If there’s no other way, then I’ll take the risk and learn black magic. After all, what is the point of being a good, law-abiding novice if there is no Guild? If you die, the rest of us probably will, too.”

Slowly, Akkarin nodded.

“Very well. I do not like it. If there was another way, I would take it.” He sighed. “But there isn’t. We will begin tomorrow night.”

11 Forbidden Knowledge

Three yerim thumped spike first into the door of Cery’s office. Rising from his desk, he pulled out the scribe tools and returned to his seat. He stared at the door, then tossed the yerim again, one after another.

They landed just where he intended, at the points of an imagined triangle. Standing up again, he strolled across the room to retrieve them. Thinking of the merchant who was waiting behind that door, Cery smiled. What did the man make of this regular thudding on the Thief’s door?

Then he sighed. He really ought to see the merchant and get it over with, but he wasn’t in a generous mood, and this man usually visited to beg for more time to pay back his debts. Cery wasn’t yet sure whether or not the man was testing the newest, youngest Thief to see how far he could be pushed. A slowly repaid debt was better than one not paid at all, but a Thief with a reputation for endless patience was a Thief without respect.

Sometimes he needed to show he was willing to use a firm hand.

Cery looked at the yerim, their points embedded deep in the grain of the door. He had to admit it. The merchant wasn’t the real reason for his brooding.

“She got away,” Morren had reported. “He let her.”

Pressed for details, Morren had described a fierce battle. Clearly, this woman had been stronger than Akkarin expected. He had been unable to contain her magic. It had wrecked the room in the bolhouse she had been staying in.

Several other patrons had witnessed more than they should have—though Cery had ensured that most were well and truly inebriated beforehand by sending a few men into the bol servery with considerable “winnings” from the races to share. Those who had not been drunk, or had been outside the bolhouse, had been paid to stay quiet—though that rarely stopped gossip for long. Not when it involved a woman floating to the ground from a third-story window.

It’s not a disaster, Cery told himself for the hundredth time. We’ll find her again. Akkarin will make sure he is better prepared. He walked back to his desk and sat down, then opened the drawer and dropped the yerim into it.

As he expected, a tentative knock on the door followed after a few minutes of silence.

“Come in, Gol,” Cery called. He looked down and straightened his clothes as the door opened and the big man stepped inside. “Better send Hem in.” He looked up. “Get it done... what’s got you?”

Gol was wearing a wide grin. “Savara’s here.”

Cery felt his pulse quicken. How much did she know? How much should he tell her? He straightened his shoulders.

“Send her in.”

Gol retreated. When the door opened next, Savara stepped into the room. She strode over to the desk, looking smug.

“I hear your High Lord met his match last night.”

“How’d you get that?” Cery asked.

She shrugged. “People tend to tell me things, if I ask nicely.” Though her tone was flippant, there was a crease between her eyebrows.

“I don’t doubt it,” Cery replied. “What else did you get?”

“She escaped. Which would not have happened if you had let me take care of her.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Like you’d have done better.”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I would have.”

“How?”

“I have my ways.” She crossed her arms. “I would like to kill this woman, but now Akkarin knows about her, I cannot. I wish you had not told him.” She gave him a very direct look. “When are you going to trust me?”

“Trust you?” He chuckled. “Not ever. Let you kill one of these murderers?” He pursed his lips, as if considering. “Next time.”

She stared at him intently. “Do I have your word on that?”

He held her gaze and nodded. “Yes, you have my word. Find this woman, and give me no reason to change my mind, and you kill the next slave.”

Savara frowned, but did not protest. “You have a deal. When he does kill this woman, I will be there whether you approve or not. I wish to see her death, at least.”

“What’d she do to you?”

“I helped that woman a long time ago, and she made me regret it.” She regarded him soberly. “You think you are tough and ruthless, Thief. If you are cruel, it is to maintain order and respect. Murder and cruelty are a game for Ichani.”

Cery frowned. “What did she do?”

Savara hesitated, then shook her head. “I can tell you no more.”

“But there is more, isn’t there?” Cery sighed. “And you ask me to trust you?”

She smiled. “As much as you want me to trust you. You don’t tell me the details of your deal with the High Lord yet you expect me to trust that you are keeping my existence a secret.”

“So you must trust me if I say whether you do or don’t kill one of the murderers—or murderesses.” Cery allowed himself a smile. “But, if you’re set on watching this fight, then I’ll also be there. I hate that I always miss the show.”

She smiled and nodded. “That is fair.” She paused, then took a step backward. “I should start looking for the woman.”

“I guess you should.”

Turning away, she walked across the room to the door. After she had gone he felt a vague disappointment, and he began considering ways he could have kept her around a little longer. The door opened again, but it was Gol.

“Ready to see Hem now?”

Cery grimaced. “Send him in.”

He pulled the drawer open, picked up one of the yerim and a sharpening stone. As the merchant minced into the room, Cery began honing the point of the scribing tool.

“So, Hem, tell me why I shouldn’t see how many holes I need to make before you start leaking money?”

From the University roof it was just possible to see the stump of the old, half-dismantled Lookout. Somewhere behind the trees, new stone was being taken by gorin-drawn carts up the long winding road to the summit.

“Construction may have to wait until after the summer break,” Lord Sarrin said.

“Delay construction?” Lorlen turned to the magician at his side. “I was hoping this project wouldn’t drag out any longer than three months. I’m already tired of the complaints about delayed projects and lack of free time.”

“I’m sure many would agree with you,” Lord Sarrin replied. “Nevertheless, we can’t tell everyone involved that they won’t be visiting their families this year. The trouble with magically strengthened buildings is that they’re not structurally sound until the stone has been fused, and we don’t do that until everything is in place. In the meantime, we hold everything together consciously. Delays are not appreciated.”

Unlike Lord Peakin, Lord Sarrin had offered little input during the debate over the new Lookout. Lorlen wasn’t sure if this was because the old Head of Alchemists didn’t have a strong opinion on the matter, or if he had seen which side would win and kept prudently silent. Perhaps this was a good time to ask.

“What do you really think about this project, Sarrin?”

The old magician shrugged. “I agree that the Guild should do something grand and challenging now and then, but I wonder if, perhaps, we should be doing something other than constructing yet another building.”

“I hear Peakin wanted to use one of Lord Coren’s unused designs.”

“Lord Coren!” Sarrin rolled his eyes. “How tired I am of hearing that name! I like some of what the architect designed in his day, but we have magicians alive today who are just as capable of designing attractive and functional buildings as he was.”

“Yes,” Lorlen agreed. “I hear Balkan nearly had a fit when he saw Coren’s plans.”

“He called them ‘a nightmare of frivolity.’ ”

Lorlen sighed. “I don’t think it will just be the summer break that will delay this project.”

Sarrin pursed his lips. “A little external pressure might speed it along. Is the King in a hurry?”

“Is the King ever not in a hurry?”

Sarrin chuckled.

“I’ll ask Akkarin to inquire for us,” Lorlen said. “I’m sure—”

“Administrator?” a voice called.

Lorlen turned. Osen was hurrying across the roof toward him.

“Yes?”

“Captain Barran of the Guard is here to see you.”

Lorlen turned to Sarrin. “I had best see to this.”

“Of course.” Sarrin nodded in farewell. As Lorlen started toward Osen, the young magician stopped and waited for him.

“Did the Captain say why he has come?” Lorlen asked.

“No,” Osen replied, falling into step beside Lorlen, “but he seemed agitated.”

They stepped through the door to the roof and made their way through the University. As Lorlen stepped out of the Entrance Hall he saw Barran standing by his office door. The guard looked relieved when he saw Lorlen approaching.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” Lorlen said.

Barran bowed. “Administrator.”

“Come into my office.” Lorlen held the door open for Barran and Osen, then ushered his guest to a seat. Settling down behind his desk, he regarded the Captain soberly.

“So what brings you to the Guild? Not another murder, I hope.”

“I’m afraid so. And not just one murder.” Barran’s voice was strained. “There has been what I can only call a massacre.”

Lorlen felt his blood turn cold. “Go on.”

“Fourteen victims, all killed in the same manner, found in Northside last night. Most were found on the street, a few in houses.” Barran shook his head. “It’s as if some madman roamed the slums, killing anyone he saw.”

“Surely there’d be witnesses, in that case.”

Barran shook his head. “Nothing useful. A few people said they thought they saw a woman, others said it was a man. None saw the killer’s face. Too dark.”

“And the manner of death?” Lorlen forced himself to ask.

“Shallow cuts. None that ought to have been fatal. No sign of poison. Fingerprints on the wounds. That is why I came to you. It is the only similarity to the previous cases we’ve discussed.” He paused. “There is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“One of my investigators was told by the husband of a victim that stories were going around about a fight in a bolhouse last night. A fight between magicians.”

Lorlen managed to look skeptical. “Magicians?”

“Yes. One apparently floated to the ground from a third-story window. I thought it was probably a fancy invented in the dark, except that the murders all occurred in a line pointing directly to this bolhouse. Or away from it.”

“And did you investigate the bolhouse?”

“Yes. One of the rooms was smashed up quite badly, so something did happen there last night. Whether it was magic...” He shrugged. “Who can tell?”

“We can tell,” Osen said.

Lorlen looked up at his assistant. Osen was right; someone from the Guild should examine the bolhouse. Akkarin will want me to do it, Lorlen thought.

“I would like to see this room.”

Barran nodded. “I can take you there now. I have a Guard carriage waiting outside.”

“I could go instead,” Osen offered.

“No,” Lorlen replied. “I will do it. I know more about these cases than you. Stay here and keep an eye on things.”

“Other magicians may hear about this,” Osen said. “They’ll be concerned. What should I tell them?”

“Just that there has been another disturbing set of murders and that the bolhouse story is probably an exaggeration. We don’t want people jumping to conclusions or causing a panic.” He stood, and Barran followed suit.

“And if you do find evidence of magic?” Osen added.

“We’ll deal with that if it happens.”

Osen remained standing by the desk as Lorlen and Barran moved to the door. Looking back, Lorlen saw that his assistant was frowning with concern.

“Don’t worry,” Lorlen assured him. He managed a wry smile. “This is probably only as sinister as all the other murder cases.”

Osen smiled thinly and nodded.

Closing the door to his office, Lorlen strode into the Entrance Hall, then out of the University doors.

— You should interview Captain Barran alone, my friend.

Lorlen glanced toward the High Lord’s Residence.

— Osen is a sensible man.

— Sensible men can become quite irrational when their suspicions get the better of them.

— Should he be suspicious? What happened last night?

— A lot of drunk dwells witnessed the Thieves’ failed attempt to catch a killer.

— Is that really what happened?

“Administrator?”

Lorlen blinked, then realized he was standing by the open door of the carriage. Barran was regarding him questioningly.

“Excuse me.” Lorlen smiled. “Just consulting with a colleague.”

Barran’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what Lorlen meant. “Must be a handy skill, that.”

“It is,” Lorlen agreed. He stepped up into the carriage. “But it does have its limitations.”

Or it ought to, he added silently.

Sonea’s stomach fluttered as she entered the underground room; it had been doing this whenever she thought of the coming lesson in black magic—which had been every few minutes. Doubts had worked their way into her thoughts, and a few times she had almost decided to tell Akkarin she had changed her mind. But if she sat calmly and thought it through, her resolve remained strong. Learning it was a risk to herself, but the alternative was to put the Guild and Kyralia at greater risk.

As Akkarin turned to regard her, she bowed.

“Take a seat, Sonea.”

“Yes, High Lord.”

She sat down, then glanced at the table. It was covered in a strange collection of items: a bowl of water, a common plant in a small pot, a cage with a harrel nosing about within, small towels, books, and a polished and unadorned wooden box. Akkarin was reading one of the books.

“What is all this for?” she asked.

“Your training,” he said, closing the book. “I have not taught another what I will teach you tonight. My own learning did not come with an explanation. I discovered more only when I found the old books that Lord Coren had reburied under the Guild.”

She nodded. “How did you find them?”

“Coren knew that the magicians who originally buried the trunk had been right to preserve the knowledge of black magic in case the Guild faced a stronger enemy one day. But it was of no use to anyone if it could not be found again. He wrote a letter to the High Lord, to be delivered only after his death, explaining that he had buried a secret store of knowledge under the University that might save the Guild if it faced a terrible enemy.” Akkarin glanced up at the ceiling. “I found the letter wedged in a record book when the library here was moved after the renovations I had done. Coren’s instructions for finding this secret were so obscure none of my predecessors had had the patience to decipher them. Eventually the letter’s existence was forgotten. I guessed what Coren’s secret was, however.”

“And you worked out the instructions?”

“No.” Akkarin chuckled. “I spent every night for five months exploring the underground passages until I found the chest.”

Sonea smiled. “Too bad if the Guild had faced a terrible enemy.” She sobered. “Well, now it does.”

Akkarin’s expression became serious. He glanced down at the items on the table.

“Much of what I will tell you, you already know. You have been taught that all living things contain energy, and that each of us has a barrier at the skin protecting us from external magical influences. If we did not, a magician could kill you from a distance by, say, reaching into your body with his mind and crushing your heart. This barrier will allow certain kinds of magic to penetrate, such as Healing magic, but only via skin-to-skin contact.”

He pushed himself away from the table and took a step closer. “If you break the skin, you break the barrier. Drawing energy through this gap can be slow. In Alchemy classes you will have learned that magic travels faster through water than air or stone. In Healing classes you have learned that the blood system reaches every part of the body. When you cut deep enough to draw blood, you can draw energy from all parts of the body quite rapidly.

“The skill of drawing is not a difficult one to learn,” Akkarin continued. “I could explain it to you as it is described in these books, then leave you to experiment on animals, but it would take many days, even weeks, before you learned to draw with any control.” He smiled. “And smuggling in all the animals could be more trouble than it’s worth.”

He sobered again. “But there is another reason. The night you observed me drawing power from Takan, you sensed something. I had read that, as with ordinary magic, the use of black magic can be sensed by other magicians, particularly those close by. As with ordinary magic, this effect can be hidden. I did not know I was detectable until I read your mind. Afterward I experimented until I was sure I was undetectable. I will need to teach you this quickly, to reduce the risk of discovery.”

He looked up toward the ceiling. “I will guide you mentally, and we will use Takan as our first source. When he arrives, take care what you speak of. He does not want to learn these things, for reasons too complicated and personal to explain.”

Muffled footsteps came from the stairwell, then the door opened and Takan stepped into the room. He bowed.

“You called, master?”

“It is time to teach Sonea black magic,” Akkarin said.

Takan nodded. He moved to the table and opened the box. Inside, nestled in a bed of fine black cloth, lay the knife Akkarin had used to kill the Sachakan spy. Takan took it carefully, handling it with reverence.

Then, in a smooth, practiced movement, Takan placed the knife across his wrists and approached Sonea, his head bowed. Akkarin’s eyes narrowed.

“Enough of that, Takan—and no kneeling.” Akkarin shook his head. “We are a civilized people. We don’t enslave others.”

A faint smile played at Takan’s mouth. He looked at Akkarin, his eyes bright. Akkarin snorted softly, then nodded at Sonea.

“This is a Sachakan blade, worn only by magicians,” he said. “Their knives are forged and sharpened with magic. It is many centuries old and was passed down from father to son. Its last owner was Dakova. I would have left it behind, but Takan salvaged it and brought it with him. Take the knife, Sonea.”

Sonea accepted the blade gingerly. How many people had been killed with this knife? Hundreds? Thousands? She shivered.

“Takan will be needing that chair, too.”

She rose. Takan took her place, then began rolling up his sleeve.

“Make a shallow cut. Press lightly. It is very sharp.”

She looked down at the servant and felt her mouth go dry. The servant smiled at her and lifted his arm. His skin was crisscrossed with scars. Like Akkarin’s.

“See,” Takan said. “Done this before.”

The blade shook a little as she pressed it against Takan’s skin. Lifting it away, she saw beads of red form along the cut. She swallowed hard. I’m really doing this. She looked up and found Akkarin watching her closely.

“You don’t have to learn this, Sonea,” he said, taking the blade from her.

She took a deep breath. “Yes I do,” she replied. “What next?”

“Place your hand over the wound.”

Takan was still smiling. She gently pressed her palm over the cut. Akkarin reached out and placed his hands on her temples.

— Focus as you once did when you learned Control. Visualization will help, to begin with. Show me the room of your mind.

She closed her eyes and drew up an image of the room and placed herself in it. The walls were covered in paintings of familiar faces and scenes, but she ignored them.

— Open the door to your power.

At once a painting stretched into a door shape and grew a handle. She reached for the handle and twisted. It swung outward and disappeared. An abyss of darkness spread before her, and within it hung the sphere of light that was her power.

— Now, step inside, into your power.

Sonea stilled. Step into the abyss?

— No, step into your power. Step into its center.

— But it’s so far away! I can’t reach that far.

— Of course you can. It’s your power. It is as far away as you wish it to be, and you can step as far as you want to step.

— But what if it burns me?

— It won’t. It’s your power.

Sonea hovered at the edge of the doorway, then steeled herself and stepped through.

There was a feeling of stretching out, then the white sphere swelled and she felt a thrill rush through her as she entered it. Suddenly she was weightless, floating in a white mist of light. Energy rushed through her.

— See?

— I see. It’s wonderful. Why didn’t Rothen show me this?

— You will know why soon. I want you to expand yourself. Reach out and feel all of the power that is yours. Visualization is a useful tool, but you need to go beyond it now. You need to know your power with all your senses.

Sonea felt herself obeying before he had finished speaking. It was easy, when surrounded by nothing but whiteness, to stretch her senses out.

As she grew more aware of her power, a sense of her body came with it. At first she worried that becoming conscious of the physical meant she was losing her concentration.

Then the realization came that her power was her body. It didn’t exist in some abyss within her mind. It flowed through every limb and bone and vein within her.

— Yes. Now focus on your right hand, and what lies beyond.

She did not see it at first, then something caught her attention. It was a gap, a glimpse of something beyond herself. Focusing on it, she sensed that an otherness lay beyond.

— Concentrate on that otherness, then do this.

He sent her a thought too strange for words. It was as if she stepped into Takan’s body, except she was still within her own. She was conscious of both.

— Be aware of the energy within his body. Take some of it into your own.

Abruptly she realized that Takan held a great store of power. He was strong, she realized, almost as strong as she. Yet his mind did not seem to be connected to it, as if he was not conscious of the power within him.

But she was. And through the gap in his skin, she had a connection to it. It was easy to direct it out of his body and into hers. She felt herself grow a little stronger.

Understanding sprang into her mind. She was drawing power.

— Now stop.

She relaxed her will and felt the trickle of energy cease.

— Begin again.

She drew power through the gap, again. Just a slow leaking of magic. She wondered what it would be like to add all of his power to her own, and double her strength. Exhilarating, perhaps.

But what would she do with it? She certainly didn’t need to be twice as strong. She didn’t even use up her own strength during lessons at the University.

— Stop.

She obeyed. As Akkarin’s hands slipped from her temples, she opened her eyes again.

“Good,” he said. “You can heal Takan now.”

Sonea looked down at Takan’s arm, then concentrated. The cut healed quickly, and her awareness of his body and power faded away. The servant grimaced and her heart skipped.

“Are you all right?”

He smiled broadly. “Yes, Lady Sonea. You are very gentle. It’s just that the Healing itches.” He looked up at Akkarin and sobered. “She will be a worthy ally, master.”

Akkarin didn’t reply. Turning, Sonea saw that he had moved away to the cabinet of books and was standing with his arms crossed and a frown creasing his brow. Sensing her gaze, he turned to meet it. His expression was unreadable.

“Congratulations, Sonea,” he said softly. “You are now a black magician.”

She blinked in surprise. “That is all? It’s that easy?”

He nodded. “Yes. The knowledge of how to kill in a moment, taught in a moment. From this day, you must never allow another into your mind. It would only take one stray thought for you to reveal this secret to another magician.”

She looked down at the tiny bloodstain on her hand and felt a chill rush over her.

I have just used black magic, she thought. There is no turning back. Not now. Not ever.

Takan was regarding her closely. “Any regrets, Lady Sonea?”

She drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Not as many as I would have if the Guild was destroyed and I could have prevented it. But I... I hope I will never have to use this.” She smiled crookedly and looked at Akkarin. “That would mean the High Lord had died, and I only recently stopped wishing that that would happen.”

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. Then Takan let out a bark of laughter.

“I like this one, master,” he said. “You chose well when you took on her guardianship.”

Akkarin snorted quietly and uncrossed his arms. “You know very well I didn’t choose anything, Takan.” He approached the table and regarded the items on it.

“Now, Sonea, I want you to examine each of these living things on the table and consider how the skill I have taught you may be applied to them. Then I have some more books for you to read.”

12 The Price of Keeping Deadly Secrets

Rising from his bed, Rothen slid aside one of his window screens and sighed. A faint light brightened one side of the sky. Dawn was close, and he was wide awake already.

He looked at the High Lord’s Residence lurking at the edge of the forest. Soon Sonea would rise and make her way to the Baths.

He had watched her closely over the last week. Though he hadn’t seen her with Akkarin again, something in her manner had definitely changed.

There was a new confidence in the way she walked. At midbreak, she would sit in the garden and study, giving him an opportunity to watch her from the University windows. During the last week she had been easily distracted. She would often stop and look around at the Guild with a frown of concern or worry. Occasionally she would stare at nothing, her expression grim. At these times she looked so grown up he barely recognized her.

But it was when she gazed at the High Lord’s Residence that she gave him the most reason to fear. There was such a thoughtful look on her face at these times, but it was what was lacking in her expression that scared him most. There was no dislike or fear in it.

He shivered. How could she regard Akkarin’s house without showing at least some discomfort? She had before. Why not now?

Rothen drummed his fingers on the windowsill. For a year and a half he had obeyed Akkarin’s order to stay away from Sonea. The only times he had spoken to her had been in situations where, because others were watching, it would have seemed strange if he didn’t.

I’ve been cooperative for so long. Surely he won’t harm her if I try to speak to her alone just once.

The sky was a little lighter now. The gardens were growing clearer. All he had to do was go down there and catch her on the way to the Baths.

He turned from the window and began to dress. Only when he reached his door did he pause and reconsider. A few questions, he thought. That’s all. He probably won’t even notice us.

The Magicians’ Quarters corridor was empty and silent. Rothen’s boots rapped out a quick rhythm as he hurried down the stairs to the exit. He entered the courtyard and turned toward the gardens.

He chose to wait in one of the little garden rooms next to the main path. It was well hidden from the High Lord’s Residence. Most of the garden was visible from the top floor of the University, but it was too early for any magicians to be roaming about up there.

Half an hour later he heard light footsteps approaching. He glimpsed her through the trees and sighed in relief. She was late, but was still following her routine. Then his heart began to race. What if she refused to talk to him? He rose and reached the entrance of the garden room just as she passed the entrance.

“Sonea.”

She jumped, then turned to stare at him.

“Rothen!” she whispered. “What are you doing out here this early in the morning?”

“Trying to catch you, of course.”

She almost smiled, then a familiar wariness returned to her expression and she glanced up at the University.

“Why?”

“I want to know how you’re getting along.”

Her shoulders lifted. “Well enough. It’s been a long time. I’ve got used to it—and good at avoiding him.”

“You spend every evening there now.”

Her gaze wavered. “Yes.” She hesitated, then smiled faintly. “It’s good to know you’re keeping an eye on me, Rothen.”

“Not as closely as I’d like.” Rothen took a deep breath. “I have to ask you something. Is he... has he made you do anything you don’t want to, Sonea?”

She blinked, then frowned and looked down. “No. Other than becoming his favorite and studying so hard.”

He waited until she looked up to meet his gaze again. There was something about the way her mouth was set that was familiar. It had been so long, but it reminded him how she...

... how she almost smiles when she’s telling the truth, but knows it’s not the full truth!

He quickly reconsidered his question. “Has he asked you to do anything I would not want you to?”

Her mouth quirked up at one corner again. “No, Rothen. He hasn’t.”

Rothen nodded, though her answer hadn’t reassured him. He could not keep reshaping his question over and over. Perhaps Ezrille is right, he thought. Perhaps I am worrying too much.

Sonea smiled sadly. “I keep waiting for something bad to happen, too,” she said, “but every day I’m learning more. If it ever comes to a fight, I won’t be that easy to defeat.” She glanced in the direction of the High Lord’s Residence, then took a step away from him. “But let’s not give anyone reason to start one yet.”

“No,” he agreed. “Be careful, Sonea.”

“I will.” She turned to walk away, then hesitated and looked over her shoulder. “You take care of yourself too, Rothen. Don’t worry about me. Well, don’t worry too much anyway.”

He managed a smile. Watching her walk away, he shook his head and sighed. She asked the impossible.

Reaching the center of the Arena, Sonea noted the low position of the sun. It had been a long day, but soon classes would be over. Just this last bout to go.

She waited as the novices Balkan had chosen took their places. A ring of twelve formed around her, like the points of a compass. She turned a full circle, meeting the eyes of each in turn. They returned her stare confidently, no doubt reassured by their numbers. She wished she was feeling as sure of herself. Her adversaries were all from Fourth and Fifth Year classes, and most of them favored the Warrior Skills discipline.

“Begin,” Balkan called.

All twelve novices attacked at once. Sonea threw up a strong shield and sent out a spray of forcestrikes in return. The novices combined their shields into one.

This would not happen if they were Ichani. She frowned as she remembered Akkarin’s lessons.

Hopefully, she would never have to fight any Ichani. She would only need to face their spies, and then only if Akkarin died. Unless this latest one—the woman—was an Ichani. But Akkarin would deal with her.

The novices increased their attack, forcing Sonea to concentrate on the fight again. She fought back. Individually, they were no match for her. Together they could eventually defeat her. But she had only to strike the inner shield of one novice to win the bout.

There was far more at stake than her pride. She had to win, and quickly, in order to save her strength.

Every night for the last week she had been giving Akkarin most of her strength. Talk of the murders in the city increased as new victims were found every day. It was difficult to say how much strength the Sachakan woman had recovered in that time. Akkarin, however, had only Sonea and Takan to take energy from each night.

She must not exhaust herself in this fight.

That was not going to be easy, however. Her adversaries were obviously well practiced at combining shields. She remembered the first attempts her own class had made at this sort of fighting. Until they all learned the proper responses to different kinds of attacks, and learned to act as one, it was easy to become confused.

So I should do something unexpected to confuse them. Something they’ve never encountered before.

Like what she had done the night Regin and his friends had attacked her in the forest, so long ago. She couldn’t effectively dazzle these novices with a bright light during the day, however. But if she did something similar so they didn’t know where she was, she could sneak behind someone and...

She smothered a smile. Her shield didn’t have to be transparent.

It took only a shift in her will for her shield to become a globe of white light. The disadvantage of this, she realized belatedly, was that she couldn’t see them either.

Now for the deception. Creating several more shields like her first, she sent them out in different directions. At the same time she began walking, taking one shield with her.

She felt the novices’ attack falter, and had to cover her mouth to stop herself laughing as she imagined how the Arena must look, with several big white bubbles floating around it. She couldn’t strike back, however, or they would know which shield she stood within.

As the shields drew close to her adversaries, she felt them encounter the novices’ barrier. She stopped and let all but one of the shields fall back a little. The novices began to attack the one still advancing. She let one of the stationary shields waver and disappear: another distraction.

Reverting the shield around her to a transparent one, she found herself standing near three novices. Gathering her power, she blasted one with a fierce attack of forcestrikes. He jumped, and his neighbors whirled around to face her, but the rest of the novices were still too distracted by her other shields to realize their allies needed help.

The combined shield wavered and broke before her.

“Halt!”

Sonea turned to face Balkan. She blinked in surprise when she saw that he was smiling.

“An interesting strategy, Sonea,” he said. “Not one we’d probably use in real combat, but certainly effective in the Arena. You win the bout.”

Sonea bowed. She knew that next time she attended his lessons she would find her multiple shield idea completely ineffective. The University gong rang, signalling the end of the class, and Sonea heard a few sighs among the novices. She smiled, but more at having ended the bout without using too much strength than at their obvious relief.

“Lesson over,” Balkan announced. “You may go.”

The novices bowed and filed out of the Arena. Sonea saw that two magicians were standing just outside the entrance. Her heart skipped when she recognized them: Akkarin and Lorlen.

She followed the other novices out of the Arena. They bowed to the Higher Magicians as they passed. Akkarin ignored them and beckoned to Sonea.

“High Lord.” She bowed. “Administrator.”

“You did well, Sonea,” Akkarin said. “You assessed their strengths, recognized their weaknesses, and came up with an original response.”

She blinked in surprise, then felt her face warm.

“Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t take Balkan’s comment too seriously, however,” he added. “In real combat, a magician uses any strategy that works.”

Lorlen gave Akkarin a penetrating look. He looked as if he desperately wanted to ask a question, but didn’t dare. Or perhaps a dozen questions, Sonea mused. She felt a pang of sympathy for the Administrator, and then she remembered the ring he wore.

It enabled Akkarin to sense everything Lorlen saw, felt and thought. Was Lorlen aware of its power? If he was, he must feel utterly betrayed by his friend. She shivered. If only Akkarin could tell Lorlen the truth.

But then, if he did, would he also tell Lorlen she had willingly learned black magic? Thinking of that made her feel very uncomfortable.

Akkarin started walking toward the University. Sonea and Lorlen followed.

“The Guild will lose interest in the murderer once Ambassador Dannyl arrives with the rogue, Lorlen,” Akkarin said.

Sonea had heard about the rebels that Dannyl had caught. News about the rogue magician he was bringing to the Guild had spread among the novices faster than the winter cough.

“Perhaps,” Lorlen replied, “but they won’t forget. Nobody forgets a killing spree like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone demands the Guild do something about it.”

Akkarin sighed. “As if having magic makes it any easier for us to find one person in a city of many thousands.”

Lorlen opened his mouth to say something, then glanced at Sonea and seemed to think better of it. He remained silent until they reached the University steps, then he bid them good night and hurried away. Akkarin started toward the residence.

“So the Thieves haven’t found the spy yet?” Sonea asked quietly.

Akkarin shook his head.

“Does it usually take this long?”

He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “You’re eager to see us fight, then?”

“Eager?” She shook her head. “No, I’m not eager. I can’t help thinking that the longer she’s out there, the more people she will kill.” She paused. “My family lives in Northside.”

His expression softened a little. “Yes. There are many thousands in the slums, however. The odds of her taking one of your relatives is small, particularly if they stay indoors at night.”

“They do.” She sighed. “I worry about Cery and my old friends, though.”

“I’m sure your thief friend can take care of himself.”

She nodded. “You’re probably right.” As they passed the gardens, she thought about her early morning encounter with Rothen. She felt another stab of guilt. She hadn’t lied to him, as such. Akkarin had never asked her to learn black magic.

But she felt terrible when she considered how Rothen would feel if he learned the truth. He had done so much for her, and sometimes it seemed like all she’d ever brought him was trouble. Perhaps it was good that they had been separated.

And she had to admit, begrudgingly, Akkarin had done more than Rothen could have to ensure she had the best training. She would never have been much good at Warrior Skills if he hadn’t pushed her. Now it looked like she would need to use those skills to fight the spies.

As they reached the residence and the door swung open, Akkarin paused and glanced upward. “I believe Takan is waiting for us.” He moved inside and approached the wine cabinet. “Go on up.”

As she climbed the stairs she thought back to his comment at the Arena. Had there been a hint of pride in his voice? Was he actually pleased with her as a novice? The idea was strangely appealing. Perhaps she really had earned the title: the High Lord’s favorite.

Her. The slum girl.

She slowed her step. Thinking back, she could not remember him ever expressing disdain or distaste about her origins. He had been threatening, manipulative and cruel, but he had never once reminded her that she had come from the poorest part of the city.

But then, how could he look down on another person? she suddenly thought. He was a slave once.

The ship was from the Elyne King’s fleet and was larger than the Vindo vessels Dannyl had travelled in before. Made solely to transport important personages rather than cargo, there was space inside for several small but luxurious rooms. Though Dannyl had managed to sleep for most of the day, he found it difficult to stop yawning as he rose, washed and dressed. A servant brought him a plate of roast harrel and some elaborately prepared vegetables. He felt better after eating, and a cup of sumi helped wake him up completely.

Through the ship’s small windows he could see the sails of the other vessels glowing orange in the light of the setting sun. He left his room, then made his way down a long corridor to Farand’s cell.

It wasn’t a cell, really. Though it was the smallest and plainest room in the ship, it was comfortably furnished. Dannyl knocked on the door. A short magician with a round face greeted him.

“Your turn then, Ambassador,” Lord Barene said, obviously relieved that his shift was over. He stared at Dannyl, then shook his head, muttered something under his breath and left.

Farand was lying on the bed. He looked at Dannyl and smiled faintly. Two plates lay on a small table. From the harrel bones left on them, Dannyl guessed they’d had the same meal as he.

“How are you feeling, Farand?”

The young man yawned. “Tired.”

Dannyl sat down in one of the cushioned chairs. He knew Farand wasn’t sleeping too well. Neither would I, he thought, if I thought I might face death in a week.

He did not believe the Guild would execute Farand. A rogue magician hadn’t been discovered for over a century, however, and he had to admit he had no idea what would happen. The hardest part was, he wanted to reassure Farand, but he couldn’t. It would be cruel if he turned out to be wrong.

“What have you been doing?”

“Talking to Barene. Or he’s been talking to me. About you.”

“Really?”

Farand sighed. “Royend is telling everyone about you and your lover.”

Dannyl felt a chill. So it had started.

“I’m sorry,” Farand added.

Dannyl blinked in surprise. “Don’t be, Farand. It was part of the deception. A way to convince him to trust us.”

Farand frowned. “I don’t believe it.”

“No?” Dannyl forced himself to smile. “When we get to Kyralia, the High Lord will confirm it. It was his idea to have us pretend to be lovers, so the rebels felt they had something to blackmail us with.”

“But what he’s telling them is true,” Farand said softly. “When I saw you two together, it was obvious. Don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone my views on the matter.” He yawned again. “I won’t. But I can’t help thinking you must be wrong about the Guild.”

“How so?”

“You keep telling me the Guild is always fair and reasonable. But from the way the other magicians are reacting to this news about you, I’m beginning to think it’s not. And it wasn’t fair of your High Lord to make you reveal something like that if he knew this was how the other magicians would react.” His eyelids closed, then fluttered open again. “I’m so tired. And I don’t feel so good.”

“Get some rest then.”

The young man closed his eyes. His breathing immediately slowed and Dannyl guessed he had fallen asleep. No conversation tonight, he mused. It’s going to be a long one.

He looked out of the window at the other ships. So Royend was taking his revenge. It doesn’t matter if Farand believes it’s true, he told himself. When Akkarin confirms that it was all a deception, nobody will believe the Dem.

Was Farand right, though? Was it unfair of Akkarin to have used him and Tayend in this way? Dannyl could no longer pretend that he didn’t know Tayend was a lad. Would people expect him to avoid Tayend from now on? What would they say when he didn’t?

He sighed. He hated living with this fear. He hated pretending that Tayend meant nothing more to him than a useful assistant should. He had no delusions that he could boldly admit to the truth, however, and somehow change Kyralian attitudes. And he missed Tayend already, like a part of himself had been left behind in Elyne.

Think of something else, he told himself.

His thoughts strayed to the book that Tayend had “borrowed” from the Dem, now stowed with Dannyl’s belongings. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not even Errend. Though finding the book had helped him decide it was time to arrest the rebels, it hadn’t been necessary to reveal its existence. And he didn’t want to. By reading those passages, Dannyl had broken the law against learning about black magic. The words were still in his memory...

Minor skills include the ability to create “blood stones” or “bloodgems” which enhance the maker’s ability to mind-speak with another person at a distance...

He thought about the eccentric Dem he and Tayend had visited in the mountains over a year ago, during their second journey to search for information about ancient magic. In the Dem Ladeiri’s impressive collection of books and artifacts had been a ring, the symbol for high magic carved into the red glass “gem” in the setting. A ring that according to the Dem enabled the wearer to communicate with another magician without the conversation being overheard. Was the gem in the ring one of these blood gems?

Dannyl shivered. Had he handled an object of black magic? The thought made him feel cold. He had actually put the ring on.

... and “store stones” or “store gems” which can hold and release magic in specific ways.

He and Tayend had trekked up the mountains above Ladeiri’s home to an ancient ruined city. They had found a hidden tunnel which led, according to Tayend’s translation of the writing carved into it, to a “Chamber of Ultimate Justice.” Dannyl had followed the tunnel to a large room with a domed ceiling covered in glittering stones. Those stones had attacked him with magical strikes, and he had barely escaped alive.

His skin prickled. Was the ceiling of the Chamber of Ultimate Justice made from these store stones? Was this what Akkarin had meant when he’d said there were political reasons for keeping the chamber’s existence a secret? It was a room full of black magic gems.

Akkarin had said something about the chamber losing strength, too. Clearly, he understood what it was. Knowing how to recognize and deal with such magic would be the High Lord’s responsibility. Which was all the more reason why the book must remain concealed for now. He would give it to Akkarin when he arrived.

Farand made a small noise of distress in his sleep. Looking up, Dannyl frowned. The young man was pale and sickly. The distress of capture had taken quite a toll. Then Dannyl looked closer. Farand’s lips were darker. They were almost blue...

Dannyl moved to the bed. He grabbed Farand’s shoulder and shook him. The man’s eyes opened, but didn’t focus.

Putting a hand to the man’s forehead, Dannyl closed his eyes and sent his mind forth. He sucked in a breath as he sensed the chaos within the man’s body.

Someone had poisoned him.

Drawing on his power, Dannyl sent Healing energy out, but it was hard to know where to start. He applied it to the most affected organs first. But the deterioration continued as the poison gradually spread through the body.

This is beyond me, Dannyl thought desperately. I need a Healer.

He thought about the other two magicians in the ship. Neither were Healers. Both were Elynes. He thought of Dem Marane’s warning.

“You do realize the King might kill him rather than let the Guild discover whatever it is that he knows.”

Barene had been here when the meal had been served. Had he given Farand the poison? Best not to call him, just in case. The other magician, Lord Hemend, was close to the Elyne King. Dannyl didn’t trust him either.

There was only one other choice. Dannyl closed his eyes.

— Vinara!

— Dannyl?

— I need your help. Someone has poisoned the rogue.

The other two magicians would hear this call, but Dannyl couldn’t help that. He put a magical binding on the door. Though it would not keep out a magician for long, it would prevent surprise intrusions or interruptions from non-magicians.

The sense of Lady Vinara’s personality grew stronger, full of concern and urgency.

— Describe the symptoms.

Dannyl showed her an image of Farand, his skin now very white and his breathing labored. Then he sent his mind back into the man’s body and conveyed his impressions to her.

— You must purge the poison, then attend to the damage.

Following her instructions, Dannyl began a painfully complicated process. First he made Farand throw up. Then he took one of the knives used for the meal, cleaned and sharpened it with magic, and cut open a vein in the man’s arm. Vinara explained how to keep the man’s failing organs working, fight the effects of the poison, and encourage the body to make more blood as the contaminated fluid slowly drained away.

It took a great toll on Farand’s body. Healing magic could not replace the nutrients needed to make blood and tissue. Reserves of fat and some muscle tissue were depleted. When he woke—if he woke—Farand would be barely strong enough to breathe.

When Dannyl had done all he could, he opened his eyes and, as he became aware of the room again, realized that someone was hammering on the door.

— Do you know who did this? Vinara asked.

— No. But I have an idea why. I could investigate...

— Let the others investigate. You must stay and guard the patient.

— I don’t trust them. There. It had been said.

— Nevertheless, Farand is your responsibility. You can’t protect him and look for the poisoner at the same time. Be vigilant, Dannyl.

She was right, of course. Rising from the bed, Dannyl straightened his shoulders and readied himself to face whoever was knocking at the door.

13 The Murderess

As Sonea entered the underground room, she noted the objects on the table. A dish contained some pieces of broken glass. Beside it was a broken silver fork, a bowl and a cloth. Next to these lay the wooden box that contained Akkarin’s knife.

For two weeks she had been practicing black magic. She had gained in skill and could now take a lot of power quickly, or a little power through the tiniest pinprick. She had drawn energy from small animals, plants and even water. The objects on the table were different tonight, and she paused to wonder what Akkarin intended to teach her next.

“Good evening, Sonea.”

She looked up. Akkarin was leaning over the chest. It was open, revealing several old books. He was examining one of them. She bowed.

“Good evening, High Lord.”

He closed the book, then walked across the room and set it beside the other objects on the table.

“Did you finish the records of the Sachakan war?”

“Nearly. It’s hard to believe the Guild managed to lose so much of its history.”

“They didn’t lose it,” he corrected. “They purged it. Those history books not destroyed were rewritten so there was no mention of higher magic.”

Sonea shook her head. When she considered how much effort the Guild had once spent getting rid of all mention of black magic, she understood why Akkarin did not want to risk telling the present Guild the truth about his past. Yet still she could not imagine Lorlen and the Higher Magicians reacting so blindly to black magic if they knew the reason Akkarin had learned it, or if they understood the threat of the Ichani.

It’s me they would condemn, she thought suddenly, because I chose to learn it.

“Tonight I am going to show you how to make blood gems,” Akkarin told her.

Blood gems? Her heart skipped as she realized what he was referring to. She would be making a gem like the one in the tooth of the spy, and in Lorlen’s ring.

“A blood gem allows a magician to see and hear whatever the wearer sees and hears—and thinks,” Akkarin told her. “If the wearer cannot see, neither can the maker. The gem also focuses mind communication on its maker, so that no other can hear conversations between maker and wearer.

“It has limitations, however,” he warned. “The maker is constantly connected to the gem. A part of the maker’s mind is always receiving images and thoughts from the wearer, and this can be quite a distraction. After a while you learn to block it out.

“Once made, the connection to the maker cannot be broken unless the gem is destroyed. So if a gem is lost by its wearer, and another finds and wears it, the maker will have to put up with the distraction of an unwanted mind connected to his own.” He smiled faintly. “Takan told me a story once of an Ichani who had staked a slave out to be eaten alive by wild limek, and put a gem on the man so he could watch. One of the animals ate the gem, and the Ichani spent several days driven to distraction by its thoughts.”

His smile faded then, and his gaze became distant. “But the Ichani are skilled at turning magic to cruel uses. Dakova once made a gem out of a man’s blood, then made the man watch as his brother was tortured.” He grimaced. “Fortunately, glass blood gems are easy to destroy. The brother managed to smash the gem.”

He rubbed his forehead and frowned. “Because this connection to another mind can be distracting, it is not a good idea to make too many blood gems. I have three, at the moment. Do you know who carries them?”

Sonea nodded. “Lorlen.”

“Yes.”

“And... Takan?” She frowned. “He doesn’t wear a ring, though.”

“No, he doesn’t. Takan’s gem is hidden.”

“Who has the third?”

“A friend in a useful place.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think I could ever guess. Why Lorlen?”

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose at the question. “I needed to keep an eye on him. Rothen would never have done anything to cause you harm. Lorlen, however, would sacrifice you if it meant saving the Guild.”

Sacrifice me? But of course he would. She shivered. I probably would too, if I were in his position. Knowing this, she wished even more that Akkarin could tell Lorlen the truth.

“He has proven very useful, however,” Akkarin added. “He is in contact with the Captain in the Guard who is investigating the murders. I have been able to estimate how strong each of the spies is based on the number of bodies that are found.”

“Does he know what the gem is?”

“He knows what it does.”

Poor Lorlen, she thought. He believes his friend has turned to evil magic, and knows that Akkarin can read his every thought. She frowned. But how hard is it for Akkarin to be always conscious of how his friend fears and disapproves of him?

Akkarin turned to face the table. “Come here.”

As she moved to the other side of the table, Akkarin flipped open the lid of the box. He lifted out the knife and handed it to her.

“When I first saw Dakova make a blood gem, I thought there must be something magical in blood. It wasn’t until years later that I discovered this wasn’t true. The blood merely imprints the maker’s identity on the glass.”

“You learned to make them from the books?”

“No. A great part of the magic I learned by studying an ancient example I had come across during the first year of my research. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but later I borrowed it for a while to study. Though its maker was long dead, and it no longer worked, enough magic was still imprinted in the glass for me to gain a sense of how it functioned.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No, I returned it to its owner. Unfortunately, he died soon after, and I don’t know what happened to his collection of ancient jewelry.”

She nodded and looked down at the items on the table.

“Any living part of yourself can be used,” Akkarin told her. “Hair works, but not well because most of it is dead. There is a Sachakan folk tale in which tears were used, but I suspect that is just a romantic fancy. You could cut out a piece of your flesh, but that wouldn’t be pleasant or convenient. Blood is the easiest.” He tapped the bowl. “You’ll only need a few drops.”

Sonea looked at the bowl and then the blade. Akkarin watched her silently. She considered her left arm. Where should she cut? Turning over her hand she noticed an old, faint scar on her palm from when she had cut herself on a drainpipe as a child. She brought the tip of the knife over to touch her palm. To her surprise, she felt no pain as the blade sliced open her skin.

Then blood welled from the cut and a sharp ache began to nag at her senses. She let the blood drip into the bowl.

“Heal yourself,” Akkarin instructed. “Always heal yourself without delay. Even half-healed cuts are a break in your barrier.”

She concentrated on the wound. The blood stopped flowing, then the edges of the cut slowly sealed together. Akkarin handed her the cloth, and she wiped the blood off her hand.

Akkarin handed her a piece of glass. “Hold this in the air and melt it. It will keep its shape easier if you set it spinning.”

Sonea focused her will on the fragment of glass and lifted it up. She sent heat around it and willed it to spin. It began to glow around the edges, then slowly shrank into a globule.

“At last!” Akkarin hissed.

Startled, she lost her hold on the globule. It dropped to the table, where it made a small scorch mark.

“Oops.”

Akkarin hadn’t noticed, however. His eyes were focused far beyond the room. As she watched, his gaze sharpened. He smiled grimly, then picked up the knife.

“Takan has just received a message. The Thieves have found the spy.”

Sonea’s heart skipped.

“Your lesson will have to wait until we return.” Moving to a cupboard, Akkarin took out the leather belt with the knife sheath she had seen him wearing the night she had spied upon him, so long ago. He wiped the blade of his knife on the cloth, and slipped it into the sheath. Sonea blinked in surprise as he then untied the sash of his robes and removed the outer garment. Beneath it he wore a black vest.

He strapped the belt about his waist, then moved to another cupboard and took out a long, worn-looking coat for himself, a cloak for Sonea, and a lantern.

“Keep your robes well covered,” he said as she donned the cloak. It had many small buttons down the front, and two side openings for her hands.

He paused to regard her, and frowned.

“I would not take you with me if I could avoid it, but if I am to prepare you to face these spies, I must show you how it may be done. You must do exactly as I instruct.”

She nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”

Akkarin moved to the wall and the hidden door to the passages opened. Sonea followed him through. The lantern spluttered alight.

“We must not let this woman see you,” he told her as he started down the passage. “Tavaka’s master probably saw you through his gem before I destroyed it. If any of the Ichani see you with me again, they will guess I am training you. They will try to kill you while you are too weak and unskilled to defend yourself.”

He fell silent as they reached the first barrier, and did not speak again until they had navigated the maze of passages and reached the blocked tunnel. Akkarin gestured at the rubble.

“Have a good look with your mind, then shift the stairs into place.”

Extending her senses, Sonea examined the arrangement of rocks. At first it appeared to be a random jumble, then she began to see a pattern in them. It was like a large version of the wooden puzzles sold in the markets. Push on one particular spot, and the puzzle pieces slid against each other to form a new shape—or fell apart. She drew a little magic and began shifting the rocks. The passage filled with the sound of stone sliding against stone as the stairs moved into place.

“Well done,” Akkarin murmured. He strode forward, taking the stairs two at a time. Sonea followed him up. At the top, she turned and willed the rock slabs back into their former positions.

The light of the lantern illuminated the familiar brick walls of the Thieves’ Road. Akkarin started forward. After several hundred paces they reached the place where the guide had met them before. A smaller shadow stepped out to greet them.

The boy was about twelve, Sonea guessed. His eyes were hard and wary, however—the eye’s of a much older person. He stared at them both, then looked down at Akkarin’s boots and nodded. Without a word, he indicated that they should follow him and started down the passages.

Though their path wound about from time to time, it took them in one general direction. Their guide finally stopped beside a ladder and pointed up to a trapdoor. Akkarin shuttered the lamp and the passage filled with darkness. Sonea heard him set a boot on the rungs of the ladder and begin to climb. Faint light filled the passage as he lifted the trapdoor cautiously and peered out. He beckoned to her and, as she started up the ladder, opened the trapdoor fully and climbed out.

Following, Sonea found herself in an alley. The houses around her were roughly made from all kinds of scavenged materials. Some looked as if they might fall down at any moment. The smell of garbage and sewage was powerful. She felt a long-forgotten sympathy and wariness. This was the outer edge of the slums, where the poorest dwells scratched an existence. It was a sad and dangerous place.

A heavily built man stepped out of a nearby doorway and strolled toward them. Sonea let out a small sigh of relief as she recognized him as the man who had been guarding the previous spy. He stared at her, then turned to Akkarin.

“She just left,” the man said. “We’ve been tagging her for two hours. The locals say she’s been minding herself away down in there for two nights.” He pointed toward a nearby door.

“How do you know she’ll come back tonight?” Akkarin asked.

“Had a look at the place after she left. She got some stuff down there. She’ll be back.”

“The rest of the place is empty?”

“A few beggars and whores use it, but we told them to get busy for the night.”

Akkarin nodded. “We’ll have a look inside and see if it is a suitable place for an ambush. Make sure no one comes in.”

The man nodded. “Hers is the last room on the right.”

Sonea followed Akkarin to the door. It squeaked in protest as he pulled it open. They descended crumbling steps of compacted dirt supported by rotting beams of wood, and started along a corridor.

It was dark inside, and the earth floor was uneven. Akkarin opened the shutter of his lamp just enough to light the way. The openings into the rooms had no doors. Some were covered with rough sacking material. The walls were lined with wood, but planks had fallen away here and there and the dirt behind them had formed mounds on the floor.

Most of the rooms were empty. The last entrance on the right was covered with sacking. Akkarin stared at the covering intently, then pushed it aside and opened the shutter of the lamp.

The room inside was surprisingly large. A few wooden crates and a warped plank formed a table. A shelf had been carved along one side of the room, and in one corner was a thin mattress and some blankets.

Akkarin began to walk around the room, examining everything closely. He looked through the bedding, then shook his head.

“Morren spoke of valuables. Surely he didn’t mean this.”

Sonea smothered a smile. She walked over to the nearest wall and began to poke her finger between each of the boards. Akkarin watched as she made her way around the room. Near the bedding she felt a telltale sponginess.

The planks came away easily. The sacking that lay behind them was caked with dried mud, but here and there a thread showed. She carefully lifted a corner. Inside was an alcove large enough for a child to sit in, its roof supported by more rotting wooden planks. A small bundle of cloth lay at the center.

Akkarin moved to her side and chuckled. “Well, well. You have proven to be useful.”

Sonea shrugged. “I lived in a place like this, once. Dwells call them Holes.”

He paused. “For long?”

She looked up to find him regarding her appraisingly.

“For a winter. It was a long time ago, when I was very small.” She turned back to the alcove. “I remember it was crowded, and cold.”

“But there are few people living here now. Why is that?”

“The Purge. It doesn’t happen until the first snows of the year. This is where all those people the Guild drives out of the city go to. The ones the Houses say are dangerous thieves, when the truth is they just don’t like ugly beggars and cripples making the city look shabby, and the real Thieves aren’t inconvenienced by the Purge—”

From behind them came the faint, distant squeak of a door. Akkarin spun about.

“It’s her.”

“How do you—”

“Morren would have stopped anyone else.” He snapped the shutter of the lamp mostly shut and looked quickly around the room. “No other way out,” he muttered. He lifted the corner of the sacking covering the alcove. “Can you fit in there?”

She didn’t bother replying. Turning, she sat on the edge of the alcove and pushed herself backward. As she folded her legs into the small space, Akkarin let the sacking fall and pressed the boards back into place.

Complete darkness followed. The pounding of her heart was loud in the silence. Then Sonea suddenly found herself staring at lines of bright stars.

“You again,” a woman said in a strangely accented voice. “I wondered when you would give me another chance to kill you.”

The stars brightened and Sonea felt the vibration of magic. Realizing that the points of light were holes in the mud-soaked sacking, Sonea leaned forward, hoping to see into the room beyond.

“You came prepared,” the woman observed.

“Of course,” Akkarin said.

“I have, too,” she said. “Your dirty city is a bit smaller now. And your Guild will soon be another man less.”

In one place, where the dried mud coating the sacking was thin and crumbling, Sonea could see moving shapes illuminated by flashes of light. She scratched at the sacking to unclog more of the cloth’s rough weave.

“What will your Guild think when its ruler is found dead? Will they work out what killed him? I think not.”

Sonea could make out a figure now. A woman in a dull-colored shirt and trousers stood on one side of the room. Sonea couldn’t see Akkarin, however. She continued scratching at the mud coating of the sacking, trying to get a better view. How was she going to learn anything about fighting these spies, if she couldn’t see the battle?

“They won’t know what’s hunting them,” the Sachakan continued. “I was thinking of walking in and taking them all at once, but now I think it’ll be more fun to lure them out and kill them one by one.”

“I recommend the latter,” Akkarin replied. “You’ll not get far, otherwise.”

The woman laughed. “Won’t I?” she sneered. “But I know Kariko is right. Your Guild doesn’t know higher magic. They are weak and stupid—so stupid that you must hide from them what you know or they would kill you.”

The room flared with light as strikes pounded at the woman’s shield. The woman responded in kind. A creaking sound came from above. Sonea saw the woman glance up, then step sideways, toward the alcove.

“Just because we do not abuse our knowledge of magic, does not mean we are ignorant,” Akkarin said calmly. He moved into sight, maintaining a position opposite the woman.

“But I have seen the truth in the minds of your people,” the woman replied. “I know this is why you chase me alone—why you cannot let anyone see us fighting. Let them see this, then.”

Suddenly the room filled with the deafening crack of splintering wood. A shower of wooden beams and roofing tiles fell down from the roof, filling the air with dust. The woman laughed and moved closer to the alcove and Sonea.

Then she stopped as another fall sent rubble down blocking her path. The Sachakan was suddenly thrown back against the side wall. Sonea felt the impact of Akkarin’s forcestrike through the floor of the alcove, and a shower of dirt pattered onto her back.

The woman pushed herself away from the wall, snarled something, then strode toward the rubble... and through it. Sonea blinked in surprise as she realized it had been an illusion, then her heart skipped as she saw that the woman was walking straight toward her.

Akkarin attacked, forcing the woman to slow. As the woman stopped in front of her hidden store, Sonea found herself facing Akkarin’s attack. Disturbed, she hastily put up a strong shield around herself.

The room vibrated as the two magicians struck at each other. More dirt trickled down Sonea’s back. Reaching up, she felt the beams holding up the roof of the alcove beginning to split and sag. Alarmed, she expanded her shield to give them support.

A laugh brought her attention back to the room. Peering through the sacking, she saw that Akkarin was backing away. His strikes didn’t seem to be as strong. He took a sideways step toward the door.

He’s losing strength, she realized suddenly. Her stomach sank as he edged closer to the door.

“You’re not getting away from me this time,” the woman said.

A barrier filled the doorway. Akkarin’s expression darkened. The woman seemed to grow straighter and taller. Instead of advancing, she took a few steps backward and turned toward Sonea.

Watching Akkarin, Sonea saw his expression change to dismay and alarm. The woman reached out toward the alcove, then stopped as he threw a powerful strike at her.

He was faking, Sonea thought suddenly. He was trying to draw her away from me. But instead of following him, the woman had approached the alcove. Why? Does she know I’m here? Or is it something else?

Feeling around, Sonea found the bundle of cloth. Even in the dark she could tell that the material was of good quality.

She created a tiny, faint globe light. Unravelling the bundle, Sonea saw that it was a woman’s shawl. As she lifted it, a small object fell out of the folds. A silver ring.

She picked it up. It was a man’s ring, the kind that the elders of a House wore to indicate their status. A flat square on one side of it bore the incal of House Saril.

Then the alcove exploded into a storm of dirt and noise.

Sonea felt herself thrown backward. Curling into a ball, she concentrated on holding her shield around her. The weight pushing down on it increased, then became constant.

Then all was still. Opening her eyes, she created another tiny globe light. All about her was earth. Her shield was holding it back, forming a spherical hollow around her. She uncurled, rolled into a crouch and considered her situation.

She was buried. Though she could hold the shield for some time, the air within it would not last long. It would not be hard to push her way out. Once she did, however, she would no longer be hidden.

So I should stay here as long as possible, she decided. I won’t get to see any more of the fight, but that can’t be helped.

Thinking back on what she’d witnessed, she shook her head. The battle had been nothing like Akkarin had predicted. The woman was stronger than the usual spy. Her attitude was not like that of a slave, and she had referred to the Ichani as “us” not “my masters,” as the previous spy had. She was skilled in fighting. The former slaves sent into Kyralia had no time to gain any fighting skills.

If this woman was no slave, then, there was only one other thing she could be.

Ichani.

Sonea’s stomach clenched at the realization. Akkarin was fighting an Ichani. She concentrated and found she could feel the vibration of their magic somewhere near. The battle was still raging.

The pressure on her shield began to ease. Looking up, she saw a small hole appear where the soil was falling away from her shield. As she watched, it enlarged as more dirt slipped away.

A view of the room began to emerge. She straightened, and caught her breath in horror. The Sachakan woman was standing only a few steps away.

Alarmed, Sonea reduced the size of her shield, but this only sent the dirt cascading down faster. As it did, Akkarin came into view. His eyes flickered to hers once, but his expression did not change. He started to move forward.

Sonea crouched within her shield, helplessly watching the Sachakan woman’s back as the dirt continued to fall away. She dared not move in case the woman heard something and turned around. The Sachakan took a step backward as Akkarin drew closer. Her body was stiff with concentration.

Sonea felt Akkarin’s magic brush her shield as he encircled the woman with a barrier and tried to drag her forward. But the woman broke his hold and took another step back. As her shield drew closer, Sonea pulled her own inward to avoid contact. The woman’s shield now buzzed within a hand’s span of Sonea. Another step, and the woman would discover her.

If she detects me, Sonea thought. If I stop shielding, her shield might slide over me without her noticing.

The woman’s shield was a globe, which was the easiest shape to hold. A globe-shaped shield protected a magician’s feet by dipping under the ground a little, but for a shield to be strong enough to hold back a subterranean attack, it couldn’t move through the ground. All novices learned to weaken the part of their shield that overlapped an obstacle or the ground as they moved, then strengthen it as soon as they were still again.

If this woman had the same habit, she might allow her shield to slide over Sonea—thinking Sonea was merely an obstacle—when she moved back again.

But she will notice. She will sense my presence.

Sonea caught her breath. But I’ll be inside her shield! For a moment, before she realizes what has happened, she’ll be defenseless. I just need something to...

Sonea’s eyes slid to the ground. A sliver of wood from the alcove lay half buried nearby. As she contemplated what she intended to do, her heart raced even faster. She drew in a deep, quiet breath and waited for the woman to step backward again. She did not have to wait long.

As the shield passed over her, Sonea grabbed the piece of wood, stood up and slashed it across the back of the woman’s neck. The woman began to turn, but Sonea had anticipated that. She pressed her other hand against the wound and focused all her will into drawing energy into herself as fast as she could.

The woman’s eyes widened in horrified realization. Her shield disappeared and her knees buckled. Sonea nearly lost her grip, and quickly wound her free arm around the woman’s waist. The Sachakan was too heavy, however, and Sonea let the woman sink to the ground.

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 why 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 braises. 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. Part way 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 workplace 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.

To protect the Guild, I should do anything I can to prevent a confrontation between it and Akkarin. But if Akkarin did this... No, he may not have. I know other black magicians have been killing Kyralians.

“What do we do?” Telano asked in a small voice.

All turned to regard Balkan. Lorlen felt the tiniest stirring of indignation at that. Wasn’t he the Guild’s leader, in lieu of Akkarin? Then Balkan looked at him expectantly, and he felt a wry regret as the familiar weight of his position settled over him.

“What do you suggest, Administrator? You know him best.”

Lorlen forced himself to sit a little straighter. He had rehearsed what he would tell them in this situation so many times.

“We must be cautious,” he warned. “If Akkarin is the murderer, he will be even stronger now. I suggest we consider this very carefully before confronting him.”

“How strong is he?” Telano asked.

“He easily overcame twenty of our strongest magicians when we tested him for the position of High Lord,” Balkan replied. “With black magic, there is no way to tell how strong a magician is.”

“How long has he been practicing it, I wonder?” Vinara said darkly. She looked at Lorlen. “Have you ever noticed anything odd about Akkarin, Administrator?”

Lorlen did not have to pretend to be amused by the question. “Odd? Akkarin? He’s always been mysterious and secretive, even to me.”

“He could have been practicing for years,” Sarrin muttered. “How strong does that make him?”

“What bothers me is how he came by the knowledge,” Kito added quietly. “Did he learn it during his travels?”

Lorlen sighed as they began discussing all the possibilities he had considered since discovering the truth for himself. He gave them some time, then, just as he was considering interrupting, Balkan spoke up.

“For now, it does not matter how or where he learned black magic. What matters is whether we can defeat him in a confrontation.”

Lorlen nodded. “I have doubts about our chances. I think, perhaps, we should keep this to ourselves—”

“Are you suggesting we ignore this?” Peakin exclaimed. “Leave a black magician at the head of our Guild?”

“No.” Lorlen shook his head. “But we need time to consider how we may remove him safely if, indeed, he is the murderer.”

“We’re not getting any stronger,” Vinara pointed out. “He is.”

“Lorlen is right. Careful planning is essential,” Balkan replied. “I was taught by my predecessor the means by which a black magician may be fought. It is not easy, but neither is it impossible.”

Lorlen felt a stirring of interest and hope. If only he had been able to consult with the Warrior before Akkarin had discovered Lorlen knew his secret. Perhaps they had a chance of removing Akkarin after all.

He caught himself, then. Did he really want Akkarin dead? But what if he did kill Jolen and his household? Doesn’t he deserve to be punished for that?

Yes, but we had better be sure it was him.

“We should also consider that he may not be the killer,” Lorlen said. He looked at Balkan. “We have the account of a witness and a scrap of cloth. Could another magician have dressed as Akkarin? Could he have put that scrap of material in Jolen’s hand?” Something occurred to Lorlen, then. “Let me see it again.”

Vinara handed him the scrap. Lorlen nodded as he examined it. “Look, it has been cut off, not torn. If Jolen had been able to do this, he must have had a blade of some sort. Why didn’t he simply stab his attacker instead? And it is strange, don’t you think, that the killer didn’t notice his sleeve had been cut? A clever murderer would not leave behind such evidence—or wander out into the street carrying the weapon he used.”

“So you think it might have been another Guild magician, trying to convince us that Akkarin is guilty of his crimes?” Vinara asked, frowning. “I suppose it is possible.”

“Or a magician not of the Guild,” Lorlen added. “If Dannyl can find a rogue in Elyne, it is possible that others exist.”

“We’ve seen no other evidence of a rogue magician in Kyralia,” Sarrin protested. “And rogues tend to be untrained and ignorant. How would a rogue learn black magic?”

Lorlen shrugged. “How would any magician learn black magic? In secret, obviously. We might not like the idea, but whether the killer is Akkarin or someone else, he learned black magic somehow.”

The others paused to consider this.

“So perhaps Akkarin isn’t the killer,” Sarrin said. “If he isn’t, he knows we must investigate in the usual fashion, and will cooperate with us.”

“But if he is, he may turn on us,” Peakin added.

“So what should we do?”

Balkan rose and began pacing. “Sarrin is right. If he is innocent, he will cooperate. If he is guilty, however, then I believe we should act now. The number of deaths that have occurred tonight, with no effort to hide the evidence, has the appearance of the preparations of a black magician who is planning for a fight. We must confront him now, or we may leave it too late.”

Lorlen’s heart skipped. “But you said you needed time to plan.”

Balkan smiled grimly. “I said that careful planning makes all the difference. It is part of my duties as Head of Warriors to ensure we are always ready to face such a danger. The key to success, according to my predecessor, is to catch the enemy by surprise, when he is isolated from his allies. My servant has informed me that only three people remain within the High Lord’s Residence at night. Akkarin, his servant, and Sonea.”

“Sonea!” Vinara exclaimed. “What is her role in this?”

“She dislikes him,” Osen said. “I would even say she hates him.”

Lorlen looked at his assistant in surprise.

“How so?” Vinara asked.

Osen shrugged. “An observation I made when she became his favorite. Even now, she doesn’t like to be in his company.”

Vinara looked thoughtful. “I wonder if she knows anything. She could be a valuable witness.”

“And ally,” Balkan added. “So long as he doesn’t kill her for her strength.”

Vinara shuddered. “So how are we going to separate them?”

Balkan smiled. “I have a plan.”

Their guide for the return journey through the underground passages was the same hard-eyed boy. As they followed him, Sonea felt the turmoil of her thoughts settle into a reasonable calm. By the time the guide left them, she was full of new questions.

“She was Ichani, wasn’t she?”

Akkarin glanced at her. “Yes, a weaker one. I can’t imagine how Kariko persuaded her to come here. A bribe, perhaps, or blackmail.”

“Will they send more like her?”

He considered. “Perhaps. I wish I’d had the opportunity to read her mind.”

“Sorry about that.”

His mouth curled up at one side. “Don’t apologize. I prefer that you are alive.”

She smiled. During the journey back he had been distant and thoughtful. Now he seemed anxious to return. She followed him down the passage. They reached the alcove filled with rocks. As Akkarin regarded them, the rocks began to form stairs. Sonea waited until the scrape of stone against stone had ended before posing her next question.

“Why did she have a ring of House Saril and an expensive shawl in the alcove?”

Halfway down the stairs he stopped and turned back to stare at her.

“She did? I...”

His gaze shifted somewhere beyond her. The same thoughtful frown he had worn for the last hour returned. Then his expression darkened.

“What is it?” she asked.

He held up a hand to silence her. As Sonea watched, he drew in a sharp breath and his eyes widened. Then he uttered a curse she had assumed only slum dwellers knew.

“What is it?” she repeated.

“The Higher Magicians are in my residence. In the underground room.”

Her breath caught in her throat. A coldness rushed through her body.

“Why?”

Akkarin’s gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the walls of the passage.

“Lorlen...”

Sonea felt her stomach knot. Surely Lorlen hadn’t decided to rally the Guild against Akkarin.

Something in Akkarin’s expression kept all questions locked in her throat. He was thinking hard, she guessed. Making difficult choices. Finally, after a long silence, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Everything changes from here,” he said, looking up at her. “You must do what I say, no matter how difficult you find it.”

His voice was quiet and strained. She nodded and tried to hold back a growing fear.

Akkarin climbed back up the stairs until they stood face to face. “Lord Jolen was murdered tonight, with his family and household, probably by the woman you just killed. That is why she had a shawl and a ring of House Saril—trophies, I suspect. Vinara found a scrap of my robes in Jolen’s hand—no doubt cut from my sleeve by the Ichani during our first confrontation—and she has recognized that the deaths were caused by black magic. A witness saw someone dressed as me leave the house carrying a knife.” He looked away. “I wonder where the Ichani got the robes from, and where she put them...”

Sonea stared at him. “So the Guild thinks you’re the killer.”

“They are considering the possibility, yes. Balkan had rightly decided that, if I am innocent I will cooperate, and if I am guilty I must be confronted without delay. I was considering how I would deal with this, and what you should do and say, when the situation changed just now.”

He paused and sighed heavily. “Balkan wisely planned to isolate me from you and Takan. He sent a messenger with news of Jolen’s death and a summons to meet with the Higher Magicians. When he heard I wasn’t at the residence, he sent for you. He hadn’t discussed with the others what he would do if you weren’t there either, so I assumed he would do so next, and I’d hear of his intentions through Lorlen. But he must have already formed a plan.” Akkarin frowned. “Of course he had.”

Sonea shook her head. “This has been going on while we were on our way back, hasn’t it?”

Akkarin nodded. “I could not say anything, with our guide present.”

“So what did Balkan do?”

“He returned to the residence and searched it.”

Sonea went cold as she thought of the books and objects Balkan would find in the underground room. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh. They didn’t break into the underground room at first. But once they found books on black magic in your room, they became more determined to search every corner.”

Sonea’s blood turned to ice. Books on black magic. In her room.

They know.

The future she had envisioned flashed before her eyes. Two more years of training, graduation, choosing a discipline, perhaps persuading the Healers to help the poor, perhaps even convincing the King to stop the Purge.

None of it would happen. Ever.

The Guild knew she had sought knowledge of black magic. The punishment for that crime was expulsion. If they knew she had learned black magic, and used it to kill...

But she had done it, and risked her future, for a good reason. If the Ichani invaded, graduation or stopping the Purge would never happen anyway.

Rothen is going to be very, very upset.

She put that thought out of her mind with an effort. She needed to think. Now that the Guild knew, what should they do? How would she and Akkarin continue to fight the Ichani?

It was clear they couldn’t return to the Guild. They would have to hide in the city. Avoiding discovery by the Guild would make everything harder, but not impossible. Akkarin knew the Thieves. She had a few useful connections, too. She looked at Akkarin.

“What do we do now?”

He looked down the staircase. “We go back.”

She stared at him. “To the Guild?”

“Yes. We tell them about the Ichani.”

Her heart skipped.

“You said you didn’t think they’d believe you.”

“I don’t. But I have to give them the opportunity.”

“But what if they don’t believe you?”

Akkarin’s gaze wavered. He looked down. “I am sorry I brought you into this, Sonea. I will protect you from the worst of it, if I can.”

She caught her breath, then silently cursed herself. “Don’t apologize,” she told him firmly. “It was my decision. I knew the risks. Tell me what I must do, and I will do it.”

His eyes widened slightly. He opened his mouth, then his gaze grew distant again.

“They’re taking Takan away. We must hurry.”

He disappeared down the stairs. Sonea hurried after. As he strode into the maze of passages she glanced back.

“The stairs?”

“Leave them.”

She broke into a run and caught up with him. Keeping pace with his long strides was difficult, and she bit back a comment about him having some consideration for people with shorter legs.

“Two people must be protected through all this,” he said. “Takan and Lorlen. Mention nothing of Lorlen’s ring, or of his prior knowledge of any of this. We may need him in the future.”

All too soon he slowed and stopped before the door to the underground room. He took off his coat, folded it and placed it beside the door. Then he unbuckled the belt of the knife sheath and set it on top. A globe light sparked into life above their heads. Akkarin shuttered the lamp and placed it beside the coat.

For a long time he stood regarding the door to the underground room, his bare arms crossed over his black vest. Sonea waited silently beside him.

It was difficult to believe that this had happened. Tomorrow she was supposed to be studying how to heal broken ribs. In a few weeks the mid-year tests would start. She felt a pull toward the door, a strange feeling that she had only to find her way to her bed, and she would wake up to find everything continuing as it always had.

But the room beyond was probably filled with magicians waiting for Akkarin’s return. They knew that she had learned about black magic. They suspected Akkarin had killed Jolen. They would be ready for a fight.

Still Akkarin remained motionless. She was just beginning to wonder if he was going to change his mind when he turned to look at her.

“Stay here until I call you in.”

Then he narrowed his eyes at the door and it silently slid open.

The backs of two magicians blocked the way into the room. Beyond them, Sonea could see Lord Balkan pacing the room slowly. Lord Sarrin was sitting at the table, regarding the items on it with a puzzled frown.

They didn’t notice the door open. Then one of the magicians standing in front of the doorway shivered and glanced over his shoulder. Seeing Akkarin, he sucked in a breath and backed away, dragging his companion with him.

All heads turned to watch as Akkarin stepped into the room. Even without the outer part of his robes, he still looked imposing.

“My, what a lot of visitors,” he said. “What brings you all to my residence so late at night?”

Balkan’s eyebrows rose. He looked toward the stairway. Hurried footsteps could be heard, then Lorlen stepped into view. The Administrator turned to regard Akkarin, his expression unexpectedly composed.

“Lord Jolen and his household were murdered tonight.” Lorlen’s voice was calm and controlled. “Evidence has been found that has given us cause to suspect you are the murderer.”

“I see,” Akkarin said quietly. “This is a serious matter. I did not kill Lord Jolen, but you will have to work that out for yourselves.” He paused. “Will you explain to me how Jolen died?”

“With black magic,” Lorlen said. “And since we have just found books on black magic in your house, including in Sonea’s room, we have even more reason to suspect you.”

Akkarin nodded slowly. “Indeed you have.” The corner of his mouth curled upward. “And you must all be frightened out of your wits by the discovery. Well, now. No need to be. I will explain myself.”

“You will cooperate?” Lorlen asked.

“Of course.”

The relief on every face was clear to see.

“But I have one condition,” Akkarin added.

“What is that?” Lorlen replied warily. Balkan glanced at him.

“My servant,” Akkarin replied. “I made him a promise once that he would never have his freedom taken from him again. Bring him here.”

“And if we don’t?” Lorlen asked.

Akkarin took a step to one side. “Sonea will go in his place.”

Sonea felt her skin prickle as the magicians noticed her standing in the passage. She shivered as she considered what they must be thinking. Had she learned black magic? Was she dangerous? Only Lorlen might hope she would rebel against Akkarin; the rest did not know the real reason she had become the High Lord’s novice.

“Bring them both here, and he will have two allies at hand,” Sarrin warned.

“Takan is not a magician,” Balkan said quietly. “So long as he remains out of Akkarin’s reach, he is no threat to us.” He looked at the other Higher Magicians. “The question is: would you prefer to have Sonea in custody, or the servant?”

“Sonea,” Vinara replied without hesitation. The others nodded.

“Very well,” Lorlen said. His gaze flickered to the distance, then back again. “I have ordered him to be brought.”

A long, tense silence followed. Finally, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. Takan appeared, his arms firmly held by a Warrior. He was pale and anxious.

“Forgive me, master,” he said. “I couldn’t stop them.”

“I know,” Akkarin told him. “You should know better than to try, my friend.” He took several steps away from the passage entrance, stopping beside the table at one side of the room. “The barriers are down and I have left the stairs open. You will find what you need just outside the door.”

Takan nodded. They stared at each other, then the servant nodded again. Akkarin turned toward the passage.

“Come in, Sonea. When Takan is released, go to Lorlen.”

Taking a deep breath, Sonea stepped into the room. She looked at the Warrior holding Takan, then at Lorlen. The Administrator nodded.

“Let him go.”

As Takan stepped away from his captor, Sonea started toward Lorlen. The servant stopped as he reached her, and bowed.

“Take care of my master, Lady Sonea.”

“I’ll do what I can,” she promised.

Her throat was suddenly tight. As she reached Lorlen she turned to watch the servant leave. He bowed to Akkarin, then stepped into the passage. When he had disappeared into the darkness, the panel slid back into place.

Akkarin turned to face Lorlen, then looked down at the table and chairs beside him. The top part of his robes were still draped over the back of a chair. He picked up the black garment and shrugged into it.

“So, Administrator, how can Sonea and I help you in your investigations?”

15 Bad News

Rothen had just donned a fresh set of robes when he heard the door to his rooms open.

“Lord Rothen?” Tania called.

Hearing the urgency in his servant’s voice, he hurried to the bedroom door. Tania was standing in the middle of the room, wringing her hands.

“What is it?” he asked.

She turned to regard him, her expression pained. “The High Lord and Sonea were arrested last night.”

He drew in a breath, and felt hope and relief surge through him. Akkarin arrested at last! The Guild must have discovered his crime—and confronted him—and won!

But why would the Guild arrest Sonea, too?

Why indeed? Excitement withered away and was replaced by a familiar, nagging fear.

“What were they arrested for?” he forced himself to ask.

Tania hesitated. “I only heard it fourth or fifth hand, Rothen. It could be wrong.”

“What for?” he repeated.

She grimaced. “The High Lord was arrested for murdering Lord Jolen and his household, and for learning some kind of magic. Black magic, I think? What is that?”

“The evilest of all magics,” Rothen replied heavily. “But what of Sonea? What was she arrested for?”

Tania spread her hands. “I’m not sure. As his accomplice, perhaps.”

Rothen sat down in one of the guestroom chairs. He took a long, deep breath. The Guild would have to consider the possibility that Sonea was involved. That didn’t mean she was guilty of the charges.

“I didn’t bring any food,” Tania said apologetically. “I knew you’d want to know as soon as possible.”

“Never mind,” he said. “It doesn’t look like I’ll have time to eat this morning, anyway.” He rose and took a step toward the door. “I think I had better have a little chat with Sonea.”

Tania’s smile was strained. “I thought you might. Let me know what she says.”

The young man sitting opposite Dannyl in the carriage was painfully thin. Though Farand had recovered well enough to walk in the week since his poisoning, it would still be some time before he regained his full strength. But he was alive, and very grateful for it.

Dannyl had watched over the young man night and day throughout the voyage. It had been easy enough to hold back sleep and weariness with his Healing powers, but doing so always took a toll. After a week, he felt almost as bad as Farand looked.

The carriage turned into the Guild gates. Farand drew in a quick breath as the University came into view.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

“Yes.” Dannyl smiled and looked out of the window. Three magicians stood at the bottom of the stairs: Administrator Lorlen, Expatriate Administrator Kito and Lady Vinara.

Dannyl felt a little twinge of anxiety and disappointment. He had hoped the High Lord would meet him. But he’ll probably want to discuss everything in private.

The carriage pulled up in front of the stairs, and Dannyl climbed out. As Farand followed, the three Higher Magicians regarded him with wary curiosity.

“Ambassador Dannyl,” Lorlen said. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Administrator Lorlen. Administrator Kito, Lady Vinara,” Dannyl replied, inclining his head. “This is Farand of Darellas.”

“Welcome, young Darellas,” Lorlen said. “I’m afraid you will find us somewhat preoccupied with another matter in the next few days. We will make you as comfortable as possible, and deal with your unique situation as soon as this other matter is resolved.”

“Thank you, Administrator,” Farand replied uncertainly.

Lorlen nodded, then turned away and started up the University stairs. Dannyl frowned. There was something odd in Lorlen’s manner. He seemed even more harassed than usual.

“Come with me, Farand,” Vinara said to the young man. She looked at Dannyl and her expression became grim. “Get some sleep, Ambassador. You need to make up for what you’ve lost.”

“Yes, Lady Vinara,” Dannyl agreed. As she led Farand away, he looked at Kito questioningly.

“What is this other matter that Administrator Lorlen spoke of?”

Kito sighed heavily. “Lord Jolen was murdered last night.”

“Murdered?” Dannyl stared at him. “How?”

The magician grimaced. “With black magic.”

Dannyl felt his face grow cold. He glanced at the carriage where the book lay deep within his travel trunk.

“Black magic? Who...?”

“The High Lord has been arrested,” Kito added.

“Akkarin!” Dannyl felt the chill spread through his body. “Not him!”

“I’m afraid so. The evidence is damning. He has agreed to assist with our investigations. There will be a Hearing tomorrow.”

Dannyl barely heard him. Strange coincidences and occurrences were shifting into new places in his mind. He thought of the research Lorlen had asked him to begin, then cease. He thought of Rothen’s sudden interest in the same information—just after Sonea had become Akkarin’s favorite. He thought of what the Dem’s book had revealed. Ancient magic—higher magic—was black magic.

He’d assumed Akkarin’s search had ended without this discovery.

It seemed he was wrong.

Had Lorlen suspected this? Had Rothen? Was this the reason for the research?

And I was going to give that book to Akkarin!

“We will discuss the rogue after the Hearing,” Kito said.

Dannyl blinked, then nodded. “Of course. Well, I had best obey Lady Vinara’s orders.”

The Vindo magician smiled. “Sleep well, then.”

Dannyl nodded, then started toward the Magicians’ Quarters. Sleep? How could he sleep after learning this?

I continued this research with Akkarin’s blessing, and I’ve got a book on black magic in my trunk. Will that be enough for me to appear guilty of the same crimes? I could hide the book. I’m certainly not going to be giving it to Akkarin... or discussing anything with him.

He drew in a quick breath as he realized what this meant for him personally. Who was going to believe Akkarin now, when he explained that Dannyl and Tayend’s relationship was just a ruse to entrap the rebels?

The last time Sonea had been inside the Dome had been during her training for the Challenge. It was a huge, hollow stone sphere, once the practice room of Warriors. The Guild had abandoned it after the Arena had been built, but she had used it while preparing for the fight with Regin so that her lessons would not be observed by him or his supporters. Akkarin had strengthened the walls to ensure she did not damage them. Ironically, his magic was now helping to keep her imprisoned.

Not that she intended to make any escape attempts. She had told Akkarin she would do whatever he instructed. He had said only that they must protect Takan and Lorlen. Then he had exchanged her for Takan. So he had meant for her to be here.

Either that, or he was willing to sacrifice her for the sake of keeping the promise he had made to his servant.

No, she thought, he needs me to back up his story. Takan was too close to Akkarin. Nobody would believe him.

She paced the Dome interior. The plug-like door remained open to allow air into the room. A pair of magicians stood beyond it, watching her whenever she was alone.

But she hadn’t been alone much. Vinara, Balkan and Sarrin had each questioned her about Akkarin’s activities. She did not want to risk revealing anything before Akkarin was ready, so she had refused to answer. They had eventually given up.

Now that she was alone at last, she found she didn’t like it. She kept wondering where Akkarin was, and if she was doing what he wanted by keeping silent. It was impossible to tell the time, but she guessed it was well past dawn now. She hadn’t slept all night, but she doubted she would have even if there had been a soft bed instead of the sandy floor.

A movement beyond the door caught her eye. Looking up, she felt her heart twist painfully.

Rothen.

He stepped into the Dome, his face lined with worry. As she met his eyes, he tried to smile, and she felt her stomach sink with guilt.

“Sonea,” he said, “how are you?”

She shook her head. “That’s a silly question, Rothen.”

He looked around the Dome and nodded. “Yes. I suppose it is.” He sighed and looked at her again. “They haven’t decided what to do with you yet. Lorlen told me they found books on black magic in your room. Were they planted there by Akkarin or his servant?”

She sighed. “No. I was reading them.”

“Why?”

“To understand my enemy.”

He frowned. “You know that just reading about black magic is a crime.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Yet you read them?”

She met his eyes. “Some risks are worth taking.”

“In the hope that we could use this information to defeat him?”

She looked down. “Not exactly.”

He paused. “Then why, Sonea?”

“I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

Rothen took a step closer. “Why not? What has he told you to make you an accomplice? We’ve found your aunt Jonna and uncle Ranel. They’re safe and well as are their children. Dorrien is alive and well. Is there anyone else you’re protecting?”

She sighed. The whole of Kyralia.

“I can’t tell you, Rothen. Not yet. I don’t know what Akkarin has told anyone, or what he wants me to reveal. It’ll just have to wait until the Hearing.”

Rothen’s eyes flashed with anger. “Since when have you cared about what he wants?”

She held his gaze. “Since I learned the reasons for what he does. But that is his story, not mine. You will understand why, when he tells it.”

He regarded her doubtfully. “I find that hard to believe. But I will try. Is there anything I can do for you?”

She shook her head, then hesitated. Rothen knew that Lorlen had been aware of Akkarin’s crime for more than two years. What would happen if he told the Guild this? She looked up at him.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Protect Lorlen.”

Savara ran a hand over the sheets and smiled.

“Nice.”

Cery chuckled. “A Thief has to make his guests feel welcome.”

“You are not like other Thieves,” she remarked. “He had a hand in all this, didn’t he?”

“Who?”

“The High Lord.”

Cery humphed in indignation. “Wasn’t all him.”

“No?”

“Part of it was ’cause of Sonea. Faren agreed to hide her from the Guild, but the other Thieves made him turn her in. So some say Faren didn’t honor his side of the deal.”

“So?”

“If I was willing to deal with Faren, other people would too. He helped me out with a few things.”

“So Akkarin had nothing to do with it?”

“Well, a little,” Cery admitted. “Maybe I wouldn’t have had the guts if he hadn’t pushed me. Maybe if he hadn’t given me all the right news about each of the Thieves, so they wouldn’t try to stop me. It’s hard to say no to someone who knows too many of your secrets.”

She looked thoughtful. “Sounds like he had planned this for a long time.”

“That’s what I thought.” Cery shrugged. “When the murderer started to get the other Thieves riled, I offered to find him. They liked that. They didn’t know I’d been onto it for months. They act like it’s funny I haven’t found him, though—but none of them have had any luck either.”

“But you do find them.”

“They think there’s only one.”

“Ah.”

“At least I think they did,” he added.

“And now they know, because the last one was a woman.”

“Probably.”

He looked around the room at the furniture. Quality pieces, but not extravagant. He did not like to think it was all due to Akkarin’s help.

“I’ve tried to make my place in other ways,” he said. “If the market for finding murderers for magicians dries up, I want to stay alive and in business.”

She smiled slyly and ran a finger slowly down the middle of his chest.

“I definitely prefer you alive and in business.”

He caught her hand and pulled her closer. “Do you? What sort of business are you into?”

“Making contact with potential allies,” she said, snaking her arm around him. “Preferably very close contact with one in particular.”

Her kisses were firm and enticing. He felt his heart beginning to race again.

Then someone knocked on the door. He pulled away and grimaced apologetically. “Got to get this.”

She pouted. “Must you?”

He nodded. “Gol wouldn’t knock unless it was important.”

“Better be.”

He rose, pulled on his trousers and a shirt, and slipped out of the room. Gol was pacing Cery’s guestroom, his expression very different from the foolish grin Cery was expecting.

“The High Lord’s been arrested by the Guild,” Gol said. “So’s Sonea.”

Cery stared at his second. “Why?”

“A Guild magician was killed last night. And a whole lot of people in his house. They think the High Lord did it.” He paused. “The whole city knows about it.”

Moving to the nearest chair, Cery sat down. Akkarin arrested? For murder? And Sonea, too? He heard the door of his bedroom open. Savara peered out, now fully dressed. As she met his eyes, she frowned.

“Can you tell me?”

He smiled briefly, amused by her question. “The High Lord’s been arrested. The Guild thinks he murdered a Guild magician last night.”

Her eyes widened. She moved into the room. “When?”

Gol shrugged. “Don’t know. Everyone in this magician’s house was killed too. With some kind of bad magic. Black magic. Yes, that was it.”

She drew in a quick breath. “So it is true, then.”

“What is true?” Cery asked.

“Some of the Ichani claim the Guild do not know high magic and say it is evil. Akkarin uses it, so we thought this could not be true.” She paused. “So that is why he works in secret. I had thought he did not want others to know that his past actions contributed to this situation.”

Cery blinked. “What past actions?”

She looked at him and smiled. “Oh, there is more to your High Lord than you know.”

“How so?”

“That is not for me to say,” she said. “But I can tell you that—”

She stopped at a knock on the wall. Cery nodded to Gol. The big man approached the wall, checked its spy hole, then pulled aside a painting. One of the boys Cery employed for odd jobs peered in.

“There’s a man wants to see you, Ceryni. He gave a big code word, and says he’s got bad news about a friend of yours. Says it’s urgent.”

Cery nodded, then turned to look at Savara. “I better see what this is.”

She shrugged and returned to the bedroom. “I will have a bath, then.”

Turning away, Cery found Gol grinning.

“Get that look off your face,” Cery warned.

“Yes, Ceryni,” the man replied humbly, but the grin remained as he preceded Cery into the passage.

Cery’s office was a short distance away. There were several ways of getting in and out of it. Gol chose the standard route, giving Cery a moment to observe the visitor in the waiting room through a spy hole.

The man was Sachakan, Cery saw with dismay. Then he recognized the coat and his heart skipped.

Why was this man wearing the coat Akkarin had worn the night before?

As the man turned, the coat parted to reveal a Guild servants’ uniform.

“I think I know who this is,” Cery breathed. He moved to the door of his office. “Send him in as soon as I sit down.”

A few minutes later, Cery was seated at his desk. The door to his office opened and the man entered.

“So,” Cery said, “you say you got bad news about a friend of mine.”

“Yes,” the man replied. “I am Takan, servant to the High Lord. He has been arrested for the murder of a Guild magician. He has sent me to assist you.”

“Assist me? How?”

“I can communicate with him by mind,” Takan explained, touching his forehead.

“You’re a magician?”

Takan shook his head. “We have a link, made by him long ago.”

Cery nodded. “Then tell me something only he and I know.”

Takan’s gaze shifted to the distance. “The last time you met, he said he would not bring Sonea with him again.”

“That’s right.”

“He regrets that he could not hold to that.”

“So does Sonea, I’d guess. What’s she been arrested for?”

Takan sighed. “Learning about black magic. They found books in her room.”

“This black magic is...?”

“Forbidden,” Takan said. “She faces expulsion from the Guild.”

“And the High Lord?”

Takan looked genuinely distressed. “He has been charged with murder and using black magic. If they find him guilty of either, the punishment is execution.”

Cery nodded slowly. “When will the Guild decide?”

“They will hold a Hearing tomorrow to examine the evidence and judge whether he is guilty or not.”

“Is he?”

Takan looked up, and his eyes flashed with anger. “He did not murder Lord Jolen.”

“What of this charge of black magic?”

The servant nodded. “Yes, he is guilty of that. If he had not used it, he would not have been able to defeat the murderers.”

“And Sonea. Is she guilty?”

Takan nodded again. “The Guild has only charged her with learning about black magic. That is why she faces a lesser punishment. If they knew the truth, she would face the same charges as Akkarin.”

“She used black magic to kill the woman, didn’t she?”

Takan looked surprised. “Yes. How did you know that?”

“A lucky guess. Should I go to this Hearing as a witness?”

The man paused, and his gaze shifted to the distance. “No. He says thank you for the offer. You should not reveal your involvement. If all goes well, he may need your help in the future. For now, he has only one favor to ask.”

“Yes?”

“That you ensure the Guard find the body of the murderess. And make sure she is wearing her knife.”

Cery smiled. “I can do that.”

Looking out of his office window, Lorlen saw that Akkarin was still in the same position as before. He shook his head.

Somehow Akkarin still managed to look dignified and self-assured, even when he was sitting on the Arena floor, with his back against one of the supports, and with twenty magicians standing around the Arena, watching him.

Turning away, Lorlen surveyed his office. Balkan paced in the middle. Lorlen had never seen the Warrior this agitated. He had heard Balkan mutter something about betrayal earlier. That was understandable. Lorlen knew the Warrior had held Akkarin in high esteem.

Sarrin sat on one of the chairs, leafing through one of the books from Akkarin’s chest. They had decided one of them must be allowed to read them, even though doing so was a crime. Sarrin’s expression was a mixture of horror and fascination. Occasionally he would mutter quietly to himself.

Vinara stood quietly by the shelves. Earlier, she had called Akkarin a monster. Balkan had reminded her that they could not be sure Akkarin had done anything more than read about black magic. She hadn’t been convinced.

When it came to the subject of Sonea, however, she looked distressed and uncertain.

Lorlen looked down at the objects on his desk: shards of broken glass, a partly melted silver fork, and a dish coated with dried blood. The others were still puzzled about the items. The little globe of glass they had found on the table had confirmed Lorlen’s guess. Had Akkarin been creating another ring like Lorlen’s, or had he been teaching Sonea how to make them?

Like Sonea, Akkarin had refused to answer any questions. He was determined to wait until the entire Guild had assembled for the Hearing before he explained himself. So much for cooperation.

That’s unfair, Lorlen thought. He considered the ring in his pocket. Akkarin had told Lorlen to take it off and keep it at hand. If Sarrin continued reading the books, he would learn about such rings and recognize what Lorlen was wearing. Lorlen had considered discarding the ring altogether, but he could see advantages in keeping this link with Akkarin. His former friend still seemed inclined to confide in him. The only disadvantage was that Akkarin could eavesdrop on conversations when Lorlen was wearing it, but that was less of a problem now. Lorlen could stop Akkarin listening by simply taking off the ring.

Akkarin wanted to keep Lorlen’s prior knowledge of his interest in black magic a secret.

— The Guild needs a leader they trust, Akkarin had sent. Too much change and uncertainty will weaken it.

Rothen and Sonea were the only other people who knew. Sonea had remained silent, and Rothen had agreed to keep Lorlen’s involvement to himself so long as it brought no further harm. In return, Lorlen had allowed the magician to visit Sonea.

At a polite knock on the door, all looked up. Lorlen willed the door open and Captain Barran stepped inside, Lord Osen following. The guard bowed and addressed them formally, then turned to face Lorlen.

“I have visited the shop the witness works at,” he said. “Her employers say she did not appear this morning. We checked her home address, and her family told us she did not return home last night.”

The Heads of Disciplines exchanged glances.

“Thank you, Captain,” Lorlen said. “Is there anything else?”

The young man shook his head. “No. I will return tomorrow morning, as you requested, unless further information comes my way.”

“Thank you. You may go.”

As the door closed, Vinara sighed. “No doubt the guard will find her body in the next few days. He was certainly busy last night.”

Balkan shook his head. “But it doesn’t make sense. How did he know about her? If he’d detected her watching, he would have ensured she didn’t reach the Guard House.”

Sarrin shrugged. “Unless he was unable to catch up with her. Then, when she left the Guard House, he made sure she’d be unable to give any more evidence against him.”

Balkan sighed. “It’s not behavior I would expect of a black magician. If he cared about hiding evidence, why be so careless earlier in the night? Why not disguise himself? Why—”

He stopped at another knock on the door. Lorlen sighed and willed it open. To his surprise, Dannyl stepped inside the office. Dark shadows lay under the Ambassador’s eyes.

“Administrator,” Dannyl said. “Might I have a word with you? In private?”

Lorlen frowned in annoyance. “Is this about the rogue, Ambassador?”

“Partly.” Dannyl glanced at the others and appeared to choose his words carefully. “But not solely. I would not come to you if I did not feel I had urgent matters to discuss.”

Vinara rose. “I am heartily sick of speculation, anyway,” she declared. She gave Sarrin and Balkan direct and meaningful looks. “If you need us, Administrator, just call.”

Dannyl stepped aside and inclined his head politely as the three magicians left the room. When the door closed, Lorlen moved to his desk and sat down.

“What urgent matter do you speak of?”

Dannyl approached the desk. “I’m not sure where to start, Administrator. I am in an awkward situation. Two awkward situations, if that is possible.” He paused. “Though you said my help was no longer needed, I continued researching ancient magic out of my own interest. The High Lord, when he learned of this, encouraged me to continue, but by then there was little left to discover in Elyne. Or so I thought.”

Lorlen frowned. Akkarin had encouraged Dannyl to continue?

“Then, when my assistant and I were gaining the rebels’ trust, we discovered a book in Dem Marane’s possession.” Dannyl reached into his robes and drew out an old book. He placed it on Lorlen’s desk. “It answered many questions we had about ancient magic. It seems the form of ancient magic known as higher magic is actually black magic. This book contains instructions on its use.”

Lorlen stared at the book. Was this a coincidence, or had Akkarin known the rebels had the book? Or had he been working with the rebels? He drew in a quick breath. Was this how he learned black magic?

If so, then why turn them in?

“So you see,” Dannyl said. “I am in an awkward position. Some might consider that I have researched black magic with the High Lord’s permission, and that Akkarin’s orders to capture the rebels were an attempt to gather more knowledge.” He grimaced. “In truth, I have read part of that book, which means I have broken the law against learning about black magic. But I didn’t know what it contained until I began reading.”

Lorlen shook his head. No wonder Dannyl was worried. “I understand your concern. You could not have known what the research would lead to. I didn’t know what the research would lead to. If anyone thought to suspect you, they would have to suspect me as well.”

“Should I explain all this at the Hearing?”

“I’ll discuss it with the Higher Magicians, but I don’t think it will be necessary,” Lorlen replied.

Dannyl looked relieved. “There is one other matter,” he added quietly.

More? Lorlen stifled a groan. “Yes?”

Dannyl looked at the floor. “When the High Lord requested that I find the rebels, he suggested that my assistant and I cause them to know something that could be used to blackmail us into cooperating. Akkarin said he would ensure the Guild knew that this information was merely a deception created to gain the rebels’ trust.” Dannyl looked up. “But obviously Akkarin is no longer in a position to do that.”

Abruptly, Lorlen remembered a conversation with Akkarin beside the Arena, while they were watching Sonea fighting.

“The Guild will lose interest in the murderer once Ambassador Dannyl arrives with the rogue, Lorlen.”

Had he been referring to more than the existence of the rebels? What was this information that Dannyl had created to gain the rebels’ trust?

He looked at Dannyl; the man glanced away, clearly embarrassed. Slowly Lorlen began to piece together scraps of gossip he’d heard, until he had guessed what Dannyl had let the rebels believe.

Interesting, he thought. And a bold move, considering the troubles Dannyl faced as a novice.

What should he do? Lorlen rubbed his temples. Akkarin had been so much better at this sort of thing.

“So you fear that nobody will believe what Akkarin says about you, because his integrity is in question.”

“Yes.”

“Is the integrity of these rebels any stronger?” Lorlen shook his head. “I doubt it. If you are worried that nobody will believe Akkarin, then let people believe it was your own idea.”

Dannyl’s eyes widened. He straightened and nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Administrator.”

Lorlen shrugged, then looked at Dannyl a little closer. “You look as if you haven’t slept for a week.”

“I haven’t. I didn’t want someone to undo all the hard work I’d done in saving Farand’s life.”

Lorlen frowned. “Then you had best go back to your rooms and rest. We may need you tomorrow.”

The young magician managed a tired smile. He nodded at the book on Lorlen’s desk. “Now that I’ve got that off my hands, sleep shouldn’t be a problem anymore. Thank you again, Administrator.”

As he left, Lorlen sighed. At least someone is going to get some sleep.

16 The Hearing

Sonea’s first thought as she began to wake was that Viola hadn’t come to wake her, and she was going to be late for classes. She blinked away the fuzziness of sleep. Then she felt sand between her fingers and saw the faintly illuminated stone wall of the Dome around her, and she remembered.

That she had slept at all amazed her. The last she could recall of the previous night was lying in darkness, thoughts of the day to come running in circles through her mind. It had taken all her will to resist calling out to Akkarin mentally, to ask him if she should tell the Guild anything yet, or simply to know where he was, if he was being treated well... or if he was still alive.

In her worst moments of doubt, she could not shake the thought that the Guild might have passed judgment on him already, without telling her. The Guild of the past had been frighteningly thorough in its efforts to rid the Allied Lands of black magic. Those long-dead magicians would have executed Akkarin without delay.

And me, she thought, with a shiver.

She wished again that she could talk to him. He had said he would tell the Guild about the Ichani. Did he intend to admit to learning black magic, too? Did he mean for them to know she had as well?

Or was he going to deny using black magic? Or admit to it himself, but claim she had done nothing wrong?

But she had. An unwanted image of the dead Ichani woman flitted through her mind. With it came intense, but contradictory feelings.

You’re a killer, a voice in her mind accused.

I had to, she thought in reply. There was no choice. She would have killed me.

But you would have done it anyway, her conscience replied, even if there had been a choice.

Yes. To protect the Guild. To protect Kyralia. Then she frowned. Since when have I been so concerned about killing, anyway? I would have killed without hesitation, if I’d been attacked in the slums. In fact, I may have killed already. I don’t know if that thug who dragged me off the street survived after I stabbed him.

That’s different. You didn’t have magic then, her conscience pointed out.

She sighed. She could not help thinking that, with all the advantages that having magic abilities gave her, she ought to be able to avoid killing anyone. But the Ichani had wielded magic, too.

She had to be stopped. I happened to be in a position to stop her. I don’t regret killing her, only that I had to in the first place.

Her conscience fell silent.

Keep bothering me, she told it. I’d rather that, than kill and not feel bad about it.

Still nothing.

Great. She shook her head. Maybe that old superstition about the Eye is true. Not only am I having conversations with myself, but now I’m refusing to talk to me. This has got to be the first sign of madness.

A sound outside drew her attention back to the room. Sitting up, she saw the Warrior guards step aside as Lord Osen stopped in the doorway. A globe light flared above his head, filling the spherical room with light.

“The Hearing is about to begin, Sonea. I’m here to escort you to the Guildhall.”

Suddenly her heart was racing. She stood up, brushed the sand off her robes, and walked to the door. Osen stepped back and allowed her to pass.

A short set of stairs led to another open door. She paused as she saw the circle of magicians waiting beyond. Her escort was a collection of Healers and Alchemists. The Warriors and the stronger magicians of the Guild would be guarding Akkarin, she guessed.

They watched her intently as she stepped out into the middle of the circle. Seeing the suspicion and disapproval in their expressions, she felt her face grow warm. She turned around to see that her two Warrior guards had completed the circle. Osen stepped through a momentary break in the barrier they held around her.

“Sonea,” he said. “Your guardian is accused of murder and of practicing black magic. As his novice, you will be questioned about your knowledge of these matters. Do you understand?”

She swallowed to wet her throat. “Yes, my lord.”

He paused. “Due to the discovery of books on black magic in your room, you will also be accused of learning about black magic.”

So she, too, was to be judged.

“I understand,” she replied.

Osen nodded. He turned to face the gardens beside the University. “To the Guildhall, then.”

The escort kept pace as Osen led her to the path alongside the University. The grounds were empty and eerily quiet. Only their footsteps and the occasional chirrup of a bird broke the silence. She thought of the families of magicians, and the servants that populated the grounds. Had they been sent away, in case Akkarin sought to overtake the Guild?

When the escort had nearly reached the front of the University, Osen suddenly stopped. The magicians surrounding them exchanged worried looks. Realizing they were listening to a mental communication, she focused her senses.

— ... says he will not enter until Sonea is here, Lorlen sent.

— What shall we do? Osen asked.

— Wait. We will decide.

Sonea felt her heart lighten a little. Akkarin was refusing to enter the Guildhall without her. He wanted her there.

Osen and the escort were tense with anxiety, however, obviously fearing what Akkarin might do if Lorlen refused. They had no idea how strong Akkarin was.

She sobered. Neither do I.

As they waited, she tried to estimate his strength. He had taken energy from her and Takan for two weeks before the fight with the Ichani. Sonea had no idea how strong he had been before then, but the fight would have diminished his store of magic considerably. He might still be several times the strength of a Guild magician, but she doubted he was powerful enough to fight the entire Guild.

And me?

She was aware of a great increase in her strength since she had taken the Ichani woman’s energy, but she could not guess how much more powerful it made her. Not as powerful as Akkarin, she guessed. He had been winning the fight with the Ichani before Sonea had stepped in so the Ichani would have been weaker. The power Sonea had taken from her couldn’t have been as much as he had.

Unless the Ichani had been pretending to be weaker for some reason...

— Bring her.

Lorlen did not sound happy. Osen made a small noise of disgust, then began walking again. The escort followed. As they neared the front of the University, Sonea’s heart began to race again, but this time in anticipation.

A crowd of magicians milled around the front of the building. They turned to watch as Sonea’s escort appeared, then parted as it started up the stairs.

Akkarin stood in the center of the Entrance Hall. She felt a thrill as she saw him. The corner of his mouth curled up in a familiar half-smile as he saw her. She almost smiled in reply, but schooled her expression as she saw the tense faces of the magicians surrounding him.

The Entrance Hall was crowded. Akkarin’s escort was made up of over fifty magicians, most of them Warriors. Nearly all of the Higher Magicians were present, looking nervous and angry. Lord Balkan’s expression was dark.

Lorlen stepped forward to regard Akkarin.

“You may enter together,” he said, his voice full of warning, “but you must remain out of each other’s reach.”

Akkarin nodded, then turned and beckoned to her. She blinked in surprise as her escort stepped back to allow her through.

Murmuring filled the Entrance Hall as she moved into the circle of magicians surrounding Akkarin. She stopped beside him, but far enough away that they could not have reached out to grasp hands. Akkarin looked at Lorlen and smiled.

“Now, Administrator, let’s see if we can sort out this misunderstanding.”

He turned and started down the passage to the Guildhall.

Rothen had never felt so ill. The last day had been one of the longest in his life. He had been dreading the Hearing, yet was also impatient for it to begin. He needed to hear Akkarin’s excuses, and to know what had drawn Sonea into breaking a law. He wanted to see Akkarin punished for what he had done to Sonea. Yet he also dreaded the moment Sonea’s punishment would be announced.

Two long lines of magicians stood along the length of the Guildhall. Behind them were two lines of novices, ready to give their strength if it was needed. A low buzz of voices had filled the room as all waited for the Hearing to begin.

“Here they come,” Dannyl murmured.

Two figures entered the hall. One wore black robes, the other the brown of a novice. Akkarin walked as confidently as he always had. Sonea... Rothen felt a pang of sympathy as he saw how she was keeping her gaze on the floor, her expression fearful and self-conscious.

The Higher Magicians followed, their expressions wary and grim. When Akkarin and Sonea reached the end of the hall, they stopped. Rothen was pleased to see that Sonea was keeping her distance from the High Lord. The Higher Magicians stepped around the pair and formed a row before the tiered seats at the front of the hall. The remaining magicians escorting the pair formed a large circle around the two accused.

Rothen and Dannyl followed as all the other magicians and novices moved to the seats on either side. When everyone was settled, Lorlen struck a small gong.

“All kneel to King Merin, ruler of Kyralia,” he intoned.

Sonea looked up in surprise. She stared at the top row of tiered seats as the King appeared with two magicians. A dark, vibrant orange cloak of shimmering cloth surrounded his shoulders, with the royal mullook sewn in gold all over it. An enormous gold halfmoon hung across his chest: the royal pendant.

As the entire Guild dropped to one knee, Rothen watched Sonea carefully. She glanced at Akkarin and, as she saw he was going to kneel too, followed suit. Then she looked up at the King again.

He could guess what she was thinking. Here was the man who ordered the Purge each year, the man who, two and a half years before, had ordered her family and neighbors to be evicted from their homes.

The King surveyed the room, then stared down at Akkarin, his expression unreadable. His eyes slid to Sonea, and she looked down at the floor. Satisfied, he stepped back and sat down in his chair.

After a pause, the magicians began to rise again. The Higher Magicians climbed to their places among the tiered seats at the front. Akkarin continued to kneel until all grew quiet again, then stood.

Lorlen looked around the hall, then nodded. “We have called this Hearing today to judge Akkarin of family Delvon, of House Velan, High Lord of the Magicians’ Guild, and Sonea, his novice. Akkarin has been accused of murdering Lord Jolen of House Saril, and his family and servants, and of seeking knowledge of, learning, and practicing black magic. Sonea has been accused of seeking knowledge of black magic.

“These crimes are of the most serious kind. The evidence to support them will be presented for us to judge. I call forth the first speaker, Lord Balkan, Head of Warrior Skills.”

Balkan rose from his seat and descended to the floor. He turned to face the King, and dropped to one knee.

“I swear that all I speak in this Hearing will be the truth.”

The King remained expressionless and made no gesture to acknowledge Balkan’s words.

The Warrior straightened and faced the assembled magicians.

“Two nights ago, I heard a faint call from Lord Jolen. It was clear that he was in some trouble. When I could not contact him again, I visited his family home.

“I found Lord Jolen, and his entire household, dead. Every man, woman and child, be they family or servant had perished. On closer investigation, I found evidence that the murderer had entered through the window in Lord Jolen’s room, indicating, perhaps, that Lord Jolen had been the first victim.

“I did not search the bodies for the cause of death, leaving that task to Lady Vinara. When she arrived, I continued on to the Guard House. When I arrived I found that Captain Barran, the guard investigating the recent spate of murders in the city, had just interviewed a witness to the crime.”

Balkan paused and looked up at Lorlen. “But before I summon Captain Barran, I recommend we hear what Lady Vinara found in her investigations.”

Lorlen nodded. “I call forth Lady Vinara, Head of Healers.”

Lady Vinara rose and descended gracefully to the floor. She turned, knelt to the King and swore the oath of truth. Then she rose and regarded the audience gravely.

“When I arrived at Lord Jolen’s family home I examined the bodies of twenty-nine victims. All bore a few scratches and bruises around their necks, and no other injury. They had not been strangled, suffocated or poisoned. Lord Jolen’s body was still intact, which was the first sign that alerted me to the cause of death. On examination, I found that his body had been completely drained of energy, leaving me to conclude that Lord Jolen had either expelled all his strength as he died, or it had been taken from him. Examination of the other bodies confirmed the latter cause. All members of the household were drained of energy, and since none but Lord Jolen could have exhausted themselves deliberately, I was left with one remaining explanation.” She paused, her expression grim. “Lord Jolen, his family and the servants were killed with black magic.”

The hall filled with low voices at this revelation. Rothen shuddered. It was too easy to picture Akkarin slipping into the house, stalking his victims and killing them. He looked down at the High Lord. Akkarin watched Vinara soberly.

“A closer examination of Lord Jolen’s body revealed faint finger marks in blood on the neck,” the Healer continued. She glanced at Akkarin. “It also revealed this, still clutched in one hand.”

Vinara looked to one side and beckoned. A magician approached, carrying a box. She opened it and lifted up a piece of black cloth.

Gold embroidery glittered in the light. Enough of the incal remained for it to be recognizable as the High Lord’s. The creaking of wood and rustling of robes filled the hall as magicians shifted in their seats, and the buzz of voices grew louder.

Vinara draped the cloth over the top of the box, then gave both back to her assistant. He moved away to stand at the side of the hall. Vinara looked at Akkarin, who was now frowning, then glanced over her shoulder to nod to Lorlen.

“I call forth Captain Barran, investigator of the Guard,” Lorlen said.

The room quietened again as, from one side, a man in guard uniform entered, knelt to the King and spoke the vow. Rothen estimated the man was in his mid-twenties. The rank of captain was high for a man of his youth, but such positions were occasionally given to younger men of the Houses, if they proved to be talented or hardworking.

The Captain cleared his throat. “Half an hour before Lord Balkan came to see me, a young woman entered the Guard House claiming to have seen the murderer that has been preying on this city these last weeks.

“She told me she was returning home from delivering fruit and vegetables to one of the houses in the Inner Circle. She was still carrying the empty basket and a token of admission to the area. While passing the family home of Lord Jolen, she heard screams from inside. The screams stopped and she hurried on, but as she reached the next house she heard a door open behind her. She hid in a doorway, from which she saw a man emerge from the servants’ entrance of Lord Jolen’s family home. This man wore black magicians’ robes, with an incal on the sleeve. His hands were bloodied, and he carried a curved blade, with gemstones set into the handle.”

Exclamations echoed through the hall as the Guild expressed its horror. Rothen nodded to himself as he remembered the knife Sonea had described Akkarin using when she had spied on him so long ago. Lorlen raised a hand and the noise gradually subsided.

“What did you do then?”

“I took her name and noted the workplace on her token. At your request, I sought her out the next day. Her employer told me that she had not returned to work that morning, and gave me her family’s address. Her family were concerned, as she had not returned to her home that night either.

“I feared that she had been murdered,” Barran continued. “Later that day we found her body. Like Lord Jolen, his household, and many of the other murders I have investigated these last few weeks, she bore no wounds except for a shallow cut.”

He paused, and his eyes strayed to Akkarin, who remained calm and outwardly unmoved.

“Though I was able to identify her as the witness, we called the family to the Guard House to verify. They told us this woman was not their daughter, but confirmed that she was wearing their daughter’s clothing. They were distraught to find that another dead girl we had discovered, naked and apparently strangled, was their daughter. Another puzzling discovery was that the witness was found carrying a knife just like the one she had described the murderer carrying. Needless to say, all this casts some doubts on the integrity of the witness.”

The hall echoed with subdued voices. The Captain looked back at Lorlen. “That is all I can tell you for now.”

The Administrator rose. “We will take a break to discuss and examine the evidence. Lady Vinara, Lord Balkan and Lord Sarrin will convey your views to me.”

At once the hall began to echo with raised voices as magicians gathered into groups to discuss and speculate. Yaldin turned to face Dannyl and Rothen.

“The knife could have been planted on the witness when she was killed.”

Dannyl shook his head. “Perhaps, but why would she lie about who she was? Why was she wearing the other woman’s clothes? Was she paid or bribed to take the other woman’s place, without realizing she would be killed? But that would mean it was all prearranged.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would Akkarin arrange for a witness to identify him?” Yaldin asked.

Dannyl drew in a quick breath. “In case there were other witnesses. If this one’s story was disproved, any others would be cast into doubt.”

Yaldin chuckled. “Either that or there’s a black magician out there trying to have Akkarin blamed for his crimes. Akkarin could be innocent.”

Rothen shook his head.

“You don’t agree?” Dannyl asked.

“Akkarin uses black magic,” Rothen told him.

“You don’t know that. They found books on black magic in his rooms,” Dannyl pointed out. “That doesn’t prove that he actually uses it.”

Rothen frowned. But I know he does. I have proof, I... I just can’t tell anyone. Lorlen asked me to keep our involvement secret, and Sonea wants me to help Lorlen.

At first Rothen had assumed the Administrator was trying to protect them both. He had realized later that Lorlen’s position in the Guild would be weakened if he revealed that he had known about Akkarin’s crime for years. If the Guild suspected Lorlen of conspiring with Akkarin, it would lose confidence in someone it needed to trust.

Unless... was Lorlen still hoping to avoid a confrontation with Akkarin by allowing him to be proven innocent? Rothen frowned and shook his head. One crime had been proven without a doubt: Akkarin and Sonea had both been in possession of forbidden books. That alone would have them expelled from the Guild. Lorlen could not prevent that.

Rothen’s stomach sank. Every time he thought about Sonea being expelled, it hurt. After all she had gone through—believing the Guild wanted to kill her, nearly losing control of her powers, capture, being blackmailed by Fergun, enduring the harassment of the other novices, bearing the scorn of magicians, becoming Akkarin’s hostage, giving up Dorrien’s affection—she would lose everything she had worked so hard for.

He drew in a deep breath and brought his mind back to the question of Lorlen’s intentions. Perhaps Lorlen hoped that Akkarin would accept expulsion and go. If Akkarin was faced with execution, however, he might not be so cooperative. And if the threat of execution pushed Akkarin into fighting the Guild, Sonea would probably help him. She might die in the battle. Perhaps it would be better if the Guild expelled them.

But if the Guild expelled Akkarin, it was required to block his powers first. Rothen doubted Akkarin would accept that either. Was there any way they could resolve this without it coming to a fight?

Rothen was vaguely aware that Dannyl had left to speak to Lord Sarrin. Yaldin seemed to have realized that Rothen was deep in thought, and had left him alone. After several minutes, Lorlen’s voice echoed through the hall.

“Please return to your seats.”

Dannyl reappeared, looking smug. “Have I told you how much I love being an Ambassador?”

Rothen nodded. “Many times.”

“People listen to me now.”

As magicians took their seats, quiet returned to the hall. Lorlen looked down at the Head of Warriors.

“I call on Lord Balkan to continue.”

The Warrior straightened. “Two nights ago, after learning of the murders, Vinara’s conclusions, and examining the evidence and the witness’ story, it was decided that the High Lord must be questioned. I soon learned that the residence was empty, but for the High Lord’s servant, so I ordered it searched.”

He looked at Sonea. “The first disturbing discovery we made was of three books on black magic in Sonea’s room. One had small pieces of paper inserted between the pages, with notes written in her own hand.”

He paused, and a disapproving murmur followed. Rothen forced himself to look at Sonea. She was staring at the floor, her jaw set with determination. He thought of her excuse: “To understand my enemy.”

“Continuing our search, we found all doors unlocked but one. It was bound by powerful magic and appeared to lead to an underground room. The High Lord’s servant claimed it was a storeroom and that he had no access to it. Lord Garrel ordered that the servant turn the handle, having guessed that the man was lying. When the servant refused, Lord Garrel took hold of the man’s hand and placed it on the handle.

“The door opened and we entered a large room. In it we found a chest containing more books on black magic, many of them quite old. Some of these books had been copied by the High Lord. One contained his own records of his experiments and use of black magic. On the table...” Balkan stopped as the cries of outrage in the hall drowned his words.

Dannyl turned to Rothen, his eyes wide.

“Use of black magic,” he repeated. “You know what that means.”

Rothen nodded. He could barely breathe. The Guild, by law, must execute Akkarin. Lorlen was not going to be able to prevent a confrontation now.

And I have nothing to lose by trying to prevent Sonea from being expelled.

From where he stood, Lorlen could see heads shaking and arms moving in rapid, expressive gestures. Some magicians were still and silent, obviously stunned by this revelation.

Akkarin stood calmly, watching it all.

Lorlen considered how the Hearing had gone so far. As he’d expected, Captain Barran’s news had caused the magicians to question the evidence, and the possibility that Akkarin was the murderer. Some had asked why the High Lord would walk boldly out into the street after committing a crime. Others had proposed that Akkarin had deliberately arranged for a witness to come forward and then be discredited so that any other witnesses might be dismissed, too.

This could not be proven, however. More than one magician had noted the cleanly cut edges of the scrap of cloth. Surely Akkarin would have noticed if Jolen had cut away part of his robes. He would not leave such a damning piece of evidence behind.

Lorlen was sure Akkarin would not have been found guilty of murder if the books on black magic had not been discovered. But now that the Guild knew of Akkarin’s secret, it would believe him capable of anything. The murder charge was irrelevant. If the Guild followed its law, it would vote for his execution.

Lorlen drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. There were tantalizing references to a group of magicians who used black magic in Akkarin’s notebooks. Lord Sarrin was worried about the possibility that such a group still existed. Akkarin had said there were good reasons for what he did.

Now, at last, Lorlen could finally ask what it was.

Standing up, he raised his hands for silence. The clamor died away surprisingly quickly. The magicians were eager to hear Akkarin questioned, Lorlen guessed.

“Does anyone have further evidence to offer this Hearing?”

A moment of silence followed, then somewhere to the right came a voice.

“I have, Administrator.”

Rothen’s voice was calm and clear. All faces in the hall turned toward the Alchemist. Lorlen stared at him in dismay.

“Lord Rothen,” he forced himself to say. “Please come down to the floor.”

Rothen descended to stand next to Balkan. He glanced at Akkarin, and the anger was clear in his face. Following his gaze, Lorlen saw that Akkarin was looking up at him. He slipped his hand in his pocket and felt the smoothness of the ring.

— I asked him to stay silent, Lorlen said.

— Perhaps you didn’t ask nicely enough.

Rothen dropped to one knee and swore the oath of truth. Standing up again, he looked at the Higher Magicians.

“Sonea told me that the High Lord practiced black magic over two years ago.”

The hall filled with whispers and murmuring. “She had witnessed him taking power from his servant. Though she did not understand what she had seen, I did. I...” He looked down. “I had heard much about the High Lord’s strength and feared what he might do if challenged by the Guild. I hesitated to speak out. Before I could decide what to do, the High Lord learned that we had discovered his secret. He claimed Sonea’s guardianship, and since then she has been his hostage, ensuring that I would not reveal his crime.”

As exclamations of anger and outrage filled the hall, Lorlen sighed with relief. Rothen had concealed Lorlen’s part in it, and had risked nothing by mentioning his own. Then he saw why Rothen had spoken out. By revealing that Sonea had been Akkarin’s victim, he might have given her a hope of reprieve.

Looking around the hall, Lorlen read shock and concern in the magicians’ faces. He noted that Dannyl was staring at Rothen in open-mouthed amazement. He also noted that the novices now gazed at her in sympathy and even admiration. For a long time they had thought her unjustly favored by the High Lord. Instead she had been his prisoner.

Is she now? Lorlen wondered.

— No.

Lorlen looked from Akkarin to Sonea. He recalled the way she had obeyed Akkarin’s every word when they were arrested in the underground room! He remembered her expression as she had joined Akkarin in the Entrance Hall. Something had changed her opinion of Akkarin. He felt a stab of impatience.

Lorlen raised his hand again. The magicians quietened reluctantly. He looked at Rothen.

“Do you have anything more to tell us, Lord Rothen?”

“No, Administrator.”

Lorlen looked up at the hall. “Has anyone any further evidence to offer this Hearing?” When no answer came he looked down at Akkarin.

“Akkarin of House Velan, will you answer our questions truthfully?”

The corner of Akkarin’s mouth twitched. “I will.”

“Then swear it.”

Akkarin looked up above Lorlen’s head, then dropped to one knee.

“I swear that all I speak in this Hearing will be the truth.”

The Guildhall was utterly silent. As Akkarin rose to his feet, Lorlen turned his attention to Sonea.

“Sonea, will you answer our questions truthfully?”

Her eyes widened. “I will.”

She dropped to one knee and spoke the oath. When she had risen to her feet again, Lorlen considered all the questions he wanted to ask. Begin with the accusations, he decided.

“Akkarin,” he turned to face his former friend. “Did you kill Lord Jolen?”

“No.”

“Have you studied and practiced black magic?”

“Yes.”

A murmur rose in the hall and quickly subsided.

“How long have you been studying and practicing black magic?”

The slightest frown passed over Akkarin’s face.

“The first time... was eight years ago, before I returned to the Guild.”

A momentary silence followed that revelation, and then the hall filled with the buzz of speculation.

“Did you teach yourself, or did another teach you?”

“I learned from another magician.”

“Who was this magician?”

“I did not learn his name. I know only that he was Sachakan.”

“So he was not of the Guild.”

“No.”

Sachakan? Lorlen swallowed as foreboding began to grow in the pit of his stomach.

“Explain to us how you came to learn black magic from a Sachakan magician.”

Akkarin smiled. “I was wondering if you would ever get around to asking.”

17 The Terrible Truth

Sonea closed her eyes as Akkarin began his story. He spoke briefly of his quest to find ancient magical knowledge, and how what he had unearthed led him to enter Sachaka. There was a self-mocking tone to his voice, as if he thought that young man he had been was a fool.

Then he described his encounter with the Ichani, Dakova. Though she had heard him recount this before, she had been too caught up in what he was telling her to notice the slight hint of remembered dismay and horror in his voice. Then bitterness crept in as he related the years he had been a slave, and the cruel ways of the Ichani.

She realized he had probably never told anyone about that time in his life until the day he had related the story to her beside the spring. He had hidden that part of his life for years, and not just because it revealed that he had learned and used black magic. It pained and humiliated him to recount what he had seen and endured.

Opening her eyes, she almost expected to see some of that pain in his face, but though his expression was serious, no emotion showed.

To the magicians in the hall, he appeared to be calm and in control. They probably didn’t notice the tension in his voice. Neither would she have a few months ago. Somehow she had grown so familiar with his manner that she could see a little of what lay underneath.

She heard regret in his voice as he told of the Ichani who had offered to teach him black magic so he might murder his master. He explained that he did not expect to survive; that, even if he managed to kill Dakova, the Ichani’s brother, Kariko, would hunt him down in revenge. He spoke of killing the other slaves, and then Dakova, with cold simplicity. Then he described his long journey home in a few short sentences.

His voice softened a little as he spoke of his relief at reaching the Guild, and how he had only wanted to forget Sachaka and black magic. He told how he had accepted the role of High Lord to keep himself busy, and so he could more easily keep an eye on the Ichani. He paused then, and the hall was utterly silent.

“Two years after my election I heard rumors of strange, ritual murders in the city,” he said. “The Guard said the victims were marked in a certain way to indicate that they had been punished by the Thieves. I knew better.

“I followed the cases closely, and disguised myself so I could enter the slums, where the murders had taken place, to question and listen. When I found the murderer, he was exactly what I had suspected: a Sachakan black magician.

“Fortunately, he was weak and easily subdued. From his mind I read that he was a slave, freed and taught black magic in exchange for undertaking a dangerous mission. Kariko had sent him to gauge the strength of the Guild and, if the opportunity arose, assassinate me.

“Dakova had told Kariko much of what he had learned from me, including that the Guild had banned black magic and was much weaker than it had once been. But Kariko dared not attack the Guild alone. He needed to convince others to join him. If he could prove that the Guild was as weak as his brother had claimed, he would easily find allies among the Ichani.”

Akkarin looked up. Following his gaze, Sonea saw he was looking at the King. The monarch watched Akkarin intently. Sonea felt a spark of hope. Even if the King did not completely believe Akkarin’s story, surely he would feel it prudent to check. He might allow Akkarin to live and stay at the Guild until...

The King’s gaze suddenly shifted to hers. She found her self staring into a pair of unwavering green eyes. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to hold that gaze. It is true, she thought at him. Believe him.

“What did you do with this slave you found in the city?” Lorlen asked.

Sonea looked back down at the Administrator, then at Akkarin.

“I could not set him free to continue preying upon the people of Imardin,” Akkarin said. “Nor could I bring him to the Guild. He would relay everything he saw, including our weaknesses, to Kariko. I had no choice but to kill him.”

Lorlen’s eyebrows rose. Before he could ask further questions, Akkarin continued, his tone dark with warning.

“In the last five years I have tracked down and killed nine of these spies. Through them I have seen Kariko’s attempts at uniting the Ichani fail twice. This time, I fear, he will succeed.” Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “The last spy he sent was no slave. She was Ichani, and had no doubt read Lord Jolen’s mind and learned all that I hoped to prevent the Sachakans from discovering. If she had made Jolen’s death look natural, and left his family and servants alive, none of us would have thought to question it, I might not have realized the Ichani knew the truth about the Guild. Instead, by trying to make it look as though I killed him she has forced me to reveal the existence of the Ichani to you.” He shook his head. “I only wish that was to your advantage.”

“So you believe this Ichani woman murdered Lord Jolen?”

“Yes.”

“And these spies are the reason why you started practicing black magic again?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us of this five years ago?”

“The threat was not great then. I hoped that, by killing off the spies, I might eventually convince the other Ichani that the Guild was not as weak as Kariko claimed. Or Kariko might eventually give up trying to gain their support. Or one of the Ichani might kill him; he did not have his brother’s protection any more.”

“Yet you should have let us decide that.”

“It was too great a risk,” Akkarin replied. “If I was publicly accused of using black magic, the Ichani would learn of it and know Kariko was right. If I managed to convince you of the truth, you might decide that learning black magic yourselves was the only way to protect Kyralia. I would not have that on my conscience.”

The Higher Magicians exchanged glances. Lorlen looked thoughtful.

“You have used black magic to strengthen yourself, so that you could fight these spies, and this Ichani woman,” he said slowly.

“Yes.” Akkarin nodded. “But it was strength given willingly, by my servant and lately by Sonea.”

Sonea heard indrawn breaths. “You used black magic on Sonea?” Lady Vinara gasped.

“No.” Akkarin smiled. “There was no need. She is a magician, and can give her strength to another in more conventional ways.”

Lorlen frowned and glanced at Sonea. “How much did Sonea know of all this before today?”

“All,” Akkarin replied. “She had, as Lord Rothen pointed out, accidentally discovered more than she should have, and I had to take steps to ensure she and her former guardian remained silent. I recently decided to allow her to know the truth.”

“Why?”

“I realized that someone should know of the Ichani threat other than myself.”

Lorlen’s eyes narrowed. “So you chose a novice? Not a magician, or one of the Higher Magicians?”

“Yes. She is strong, and her knowledge of the slums has proved useful.”

“How did you convince her?”

“I took her to see one of the spies, then taught her to read his mind. She saw more than enough there to know that what I told her of my own experiences in Sachaka was true.”

Murmuring filled the hall as the implications of that sank in. The eyes of the Higher Magicians turned to Sonea. She felt her face warming and looked away.

“You told me that you couldn’t teach another that skill,” Lorlen said quietly. “You lied.”

“No, I didn’t lie.” Akkarin smiled. “I couldn’t teach another, at the time, or you would have realized it had been taught to me, and asked where I had learned it.”

Lorlen frowned. “What else have you taught Sonea?”

At the question, Sonea felt her blood turn to ice.

Akkarin hesitated. “I have given her certain books to read, so that she might better understand our enemy.”

“The books from the chest? Where did you get them?”

“I found them in the passages under the University. They were placed there by the Guild after black magic was banned, in case such knowledge was needed again. I’m sure you have read enough of them to know this is true.”

Lorlen glanced back at Lord Sarrin.

The old Alchemist nodded. “It is true, according to the records I found in the chest. I have studied them carefully and they do appear to be genuine. They relate how, before the Guild banned black magic five centuries ago, its use was common. Magicians kept apprentices, who gave them power in exchange for knowledge. One of these apprentices killed his master and massacred thousands in an attempt to rule the land for himself. After he died, the Guild banned black magic.”

The hall filled with murmuring voices that quickly rose into a clamor. Listening carefully, Sonea heard snatches of conversation.

“How are we to know if any of his story is true?”

“Why haven’t we heard of these Ichani?”

Lorlen lifted both arms and called for quiet. The noise subsided.

“Do the Higher Magicians have any questions for Akkarin?”

“Yes,” Balkan rumbled. “How many of these outcast magicians are there?”

“Somewhere between ten and twenty,” Akkarin replied. A scattering of laughter followed. “Every day they take power from their slaves, who have strong magical potential equal to any of us. Imagine a black magician with ten slaves. If he took power from half of them every few days, he would be hundreds of times stronger than a Guild magician within weeks.”

Silence followed his words.

“Yet, that power diminishes as it is used,” Balkan said. “After battle, a black magician is weaker.”

“Yes,” Akkarin answered.

Balkan looked thoughtful. “A smart attacker would kill the slaves first.”

“Why haven’t we heard of these Ichani before?” Administrator Kito’s voice echoed through the hall. “Merchants travel into Sachaka every year. They have occasionally reported meeting magicians in Arvice, but not black magicians.”

“The Ichani are outcasts. They live in the wastes and are not spoken of publicly in Arvice,” Akkarin replied. “The court of Arvice is a dangerous political battlefield. Sachakan magicians do not allow others to know the limits of their skills and power. They are not going to allow Kyralian merchants and ambassadors to discover what they keep from their own countrymen.”

“Why do these Ichani want to invade Kyralia?” Balkan asked.

Akkarin shrugged. “Many reasons. The main one, I suspect, is to escape the wastes and regain status and power in Arvice, but I know some desire to take revenge for the Sachakan War.”

Balkan frowned. “An expedition to Arvice would confirm the truth of this.”

“Anyone recognizable as a Guild magician will be killed if they approached the Ichani,” Akkarin warned. “And I suspect few in Arvice would be aware of Kariko’s ambitions.”

“How else will we confirm the truth?” Vinara said. “Will you submit to a truth-read?”

“No.”

“That hardly inspires us to—trust you.”

“The reader may learn the secret of black magic from my mind,” Akkarin added. “I will not risk that.”

Vinara’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Sonea. “Perhaps Sonea then?”

“No.”

“She has learned black magic, too?”

“No,” he replied, “but I have trusted her with information that should not be shared, unless in the greatest need.”

Sonea’s heart was pounding. She looked at the floor. He had lied about her.

“Is Rothen’s story true?” Vinara asked.

“It is.”

“You admit to claiming her guardianship merely to force Rothen and Sonea to remain silent?”

“No, I also claimed Sonea’s guardianship because she has great potential. A potential that was being shamefully neglected. I’ve found her to be nothing less than honest, hardworking and exceptionally gifted.”

Sonea looked up at him in surprise. She felt a sudden mad urge to grin, but managed to control it.

Then she went cold as she suddenly understood what he was doing.

He was convincing them to keep her within the Guild by telling them she had skills and information that they might need. Even if they didn’t believe him, they might take pity on her. She had been his hostage. She had been deceived into helping him. The Guild might even pardon her. She had, after all, only read a few books, and then only at the instigation of Akkarin.

She frowned. This made Akkarin look worse, however. And he was encouraging them to see things that way. Since she had first learned of the Ichani, she had nursed the hope that the Guild, if it learned the truth, would pardon him. But now she wondered if Akkarin had ever considered that a possibility.

If he wasn’t hoping to be pardoned, what was he planning? Surely he didn’t mean to let them execute him?

No, if it came to that, he would fight his way out and escape. Would he make it?

She considered, again, how much of his power the fight with the Ichani woman must have used. Her heart began to race as she realized he could easily be too weak to escape the Guild.

Unless she gave him all her strength, including that which she had taken from the Ichani woman.

All she had to do was touch him and send him the power. The warriors surrounding them would try to stop her. She would have to fight them.

When they did, however, they would realize that she was using more power than she ought to possess.

And then they would not be at all inclined to pardon her.

So the only way she could save Akkarin was to reveal her own use of black magic.

“Sonea.”

She looked up to find Lorlen regarding her intently.

“Yes, Administrator.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Did Akkarin teach you how to read an unwilling mind?”

“Yes.”

“And you are sure what you saw in the spy’s mind was true?”

“I am sure.”

“Where were you on the night Lord Jolen died?”

“I was with the High Lord.”

Lorlen frowned. “What were you doing?”

Sonea hesitated. Now was the time to reveal herself. But Akkarin might have a reason for wanting her not to.

He wants someone who knows the truth to remain in the Guild.

What use will I be, though, with him dead? Better that we escape together. If the Guild needs our help, they can contact us through Lorlen’s blood ring.

“Sonea?”

One thing I am sure of. I can’t let them kill Akkarin.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her eyes to meet Lorlen’s.

“He was teaching me black magic.”

Gasps and exclamations filled the hall. In the edge of her vision she saw Akkarin turn to stare at her, but she kept her eyes on Lorlen. Her heart was pounding, and she felt sick, but she forced herself to continue. “I asked him to teach me. He refused at first. It was only after he had been injured by the Ichani spy that I—”

“You learned black magic willingly?” Vinara exclaimed.

Sonea nodded. “Yes, my lady. When the High Lord was injured, I realized there would be nobody with the ability to continue fighting if he died.”

Lorlen glanced at Akkarin. “Now there won’t be.”

His words sent a chill down her spine. Clearly Lorlen had understood what Akkarin had been trying to do. Knowing that she had been right in her suspicions gave her only a bitter satisfaction.

Looking at Akkarin, she was shocked to see the anger in his face. She quickly looked away. I said I would do as he instructed. She felt doubts beginning to gather. Was I wrong? Did I just ruin some plan I wasn’t clever enough to see?

But surely Akkarin had realized she would understand that he was sacrificing himself so that she could remain in the Guild. He must have considered that she might refuse to abandon him.

“Sonea.”

Heart still pounding, she forced herself to look at Lorlen.

“Did Akkarin kill Lord Jolen?”

“No.”

“Did he kill the witness?”

Her stomach fluttered at the question. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen this witness, so I couldn’t tell you. I can say that I have never seen him kill a woman.”

Lorlen nodded and looked up at the Higher Magicians. “Any further questions?”

“Yes,” Balkan said. “When we arrived at Akkarin’s residence, neither you nor Akkarin were there. You arrived together later. Where did you go?”

“We went into the city.”

“Why?”

“To deal with another spy.”

“Did Akkarin kill this spy?”

“No.”

Balkan frowned at her but remained silent. Lorlen looked at the Higher Magicians, then turned to regard the rest of the hall.

“Does anyone have any more questions?”

Silence answered him. Sonea breathed a sigh of relief. Lorlen nodded.

“We will now discuss what we have—”

“Wait!”

Lorlen turned to the front. “Yes, Lord Balkan.”

“One more question. For Sonea.”

She forced herself to meet Balkan’s gaze.

“Did you kill this Ichani woman?”

Cold swept over her. She looked at Akkarin. He was staring at the floor, his expression hard and resigned.

What difference would it make to tell them? she thought. Only to show that I believe what he says is the truth. She lifted her chin and stared back at Balkan.

“Yes.”

The hall filled with exclamations. Balkan sighed and rubbed his temples.

“I told you not to let them stand together,” he muttered.

18 The Guild’s Judgment

As soon as Lorlen called for another break for discussion, Dannyl hurried to Rothen’s side. He had seen his friend react to Sonea’s admission as if he had been struck a physical blow. Now Rothen stood staring at the floor.

Dannyl reached his friend and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You two never stop surprising me,” Dannyl said gently. “Why didn’t you tell me the real reason you lost Sonea’s guardianship?”

Rothen shook his head. “I couldn’t. He might have... well, I guess he has now.” He looked at Sonea, then sighed. “This is my fault. I convinced her to join the Guild in the first place.”

“No, it isn’t. You couldn’t possibly know this would happen.”

“No, but I made her question her beliefs when she first came here. I taught her to look beyond them, so she would accept her place among us. She probably did the same for... for...”

“What if all this is true? Then she had good reasons for what she did.”

Rothen looked up, his expression bleak. “Does it matter? She just ensured her own execution.”

Surveying the room, Dannyl noted the expressions of the Higher Magicians, then the King. They looked wary and anxious. Then he looked at Sonea and Akkarin. Sonea stood straight and determined, though how much of that was forced he couldn’t guess. The High Lord’s expression was... controlled. Looking closer, Dannyl read anger in the set of Akkarin’s jaw.

He hadn’t intended for Sonea to reveal so much, Dannyl mused.

But, despite this, he and Sonea now stood closer together. A few steps, and they would be side by side. Dannyl nodded to himself.

“I don’t know if she has, Rothen.”

Once the Higher Magicians had returned to their seats, they began to relate what the members of their disciplines had expressed. Lorlen listened closely.

“Many find his story hard to believe,” Vinara said, “but some have pointed out that, if he was seeking to justify his actions with a fabricated story, surely he would come up with something more convincing than this.”

“My Warriors also find it disturbing,” Balkan added. “They say we cannot ignore the possibility that he speaks the truth, and we face a threat of attack from Sachaka. We must investigate further.”

Sarrin nodded. “Yes, my people agree. Many have asked if there is information in the books we might use to defend ourselves, should an attack come. I fear there is not. If Akkarin is telling the truth, we may need him.”

“I, too, would like to question Akkarin further,” Balkan said. “I would normally ask that he be detained until his claim is proven.”

“We cannot imprison him effectively,” Vinara reminded him.

“No.” Balkan pursed his lips, then looked up at Lorlen. “Do you think he would cooperate?”

Lorlen shrugged. “He has up till now.”

“That doesn’t mean he will continue to,” Vinara said. “For all we know, we could be doing everything he intended us to do. He might become very unhelpful if we took a different path.”

Sarrin frowned. “If he wanted to take control of us by force, he would have attempted it already.”

“That clearly isn’t what he wants,” Balkan agreed. “Though this whole story of Sachakan magicians might be meant to confuse and delay us.”

“Delay us for what?” Sarrin asked. Balkan’s shoulders lifted. “I have no idea.”

“But we cannot let him go,” Vinara, said firmly. “Akkarin has freely admitted to practicing black magic. Whether he committed the murders or not, we cannot show any tolerance for someone of his standing breaking one of our most serious laws. Akkarin must be seen to be punished.”

“The appropriate punishment is execution,” Sarrin reminded her. “Would you continue cooperating if you knew that was to be your punishment?”

“No doubt he would object to us trying to bind his powers, too.” Vinara sighed. “How strong is he, Balkan?”

The Warrior considered. “That depends. Is he telling the truth? He said a black magician with ten slaves could grow to the strength of hundreds of Guild magicians in a matter of weeks. He has been back eight years, though he claims he did not begin using it again until five years ago. Five years is a long time to be strengthening oneself, even if it was only from one servant—until recently.”

“He has fought nine slaves during that time,” Sarrin added. “That would weaken him, too.”

Balkan nodded. “He might not be as strong as we fear. If he isn’t telling the truth, however, the situation may be far worse. He may have been strengthening himself for longer. He may have been killing people in the city. And then there’s Lord Jolen and his household.” Balkan sighed. “Even if I could be sure of his honesty and strength, there is another factor that makes it impossible to predict what will happen if we tried to use force.”

“What is that?” Vinara asked.

Balkan turned to the left. “Look at Sonea closely. Do you sense it?”

They turned to stare at the novice.

“Power,” Sarrin said.

“Yes,” Balkan said. “A great deal of it. She hasn’t yet learned to hide it as he does.” He paused. “She said he was teaching her black magic two nights ago. I don’t know how long this training ought to take, but he claims he learned the gist of it in one lesson. Sonea didn’t have this aura of strength when she was practicing in the Arena a week ago. I’m sure I would have sensed it if she had. I think this woman she admits to killing was the source of her sudden increase in strength. Sonea could not have become so powerful in one night by killing any ordinary woman.”

They turned to regard the novice in thoughtful silence.

“Why did Akkarin attempt to hide Sonea’s involvement?” Sarrin wondered aloud.

“And why did she decide to reveal it?” Vinara added.

“Perhaps he wanted to ensure someone with the ability to fight the Sachakans remained alive,” Sarrin said. He frowned. “That does suggest that the books, alone, are not enough.”

“Perhaps he just wanted to protect her,” Vinara said.

“Lord Balkan,” a new voice spoke.

The Warrior looked up in surprise. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

All heads turned to face the King. He was leaning over the back of the empty High Lord’s chair, his green eyes bright and piercing.

“Do you believe the Guild is capable of driving Akkarin out of the Allied Lands?”

Balkan hesitated. “I honestly don’t know, Your Majesty. Even if we managed it, it would exhaust most of our magicians. Should these Sachakan magicians exist, they may see it as the perfect opportunity to invade.”

The young King absorbed this.

“Administrator Lorlen, do you believe he will comply if he is commanded to leave the Allied Lands?”

Lorlen blinked in surprise. “Do you mean... exile?”

“Yes.”

The Higher Magicians looked at each other thoughtfully.

“The nearest non-allied land is Sachaka,” Balkan pointed out. “If his story is true...”

Lorlen frowned, then slipped his hands in his pockets. His fingers touched the ring.

— Akkarin?

— Yes?

— Will you accept exile?

— Instead of fighting my way out of here? Lorlen caught a faint amusement. I was hoping for better.

Silence followed.

— Akkarin? You know where they’ll send you.

— Yes.

— Should I try to convince them to take you somewhere else?

— No. They would have to take me far from Kyralia. The Guild needs the magicians it would send as my escort to remain here and defend Kyralia if the Ichani invade.

He fell silent again. Lorlen glanced at the other magicians. They were watching him expectantly.

— Akkarin? The King is waiting for an answer.

— Very well. See if you can talk them into keeping Sonea here.

— I’ll see what I can do.

“I guess we can only try to convince him to leave peacefully,” Lorlen said. “The alternative, if you wish to avoid a confrontation, is to allow him to stay here as a prisoner.”

The King nodded. “To imprison a man you cannot control is foolish, and he must be seen to be punished, as Lady Vinara said. This threat from Sachaka must be investigated and confirmed, however. If he is proven right, and trustworthy, we may find and consult with him.”

Balkan frowned. “I would like to question Akkarin further.”

“You can do so on the way to the border.” The King’s eyes were hard.

The others exchanged worried glances, but none protested.

“May I speak, Your Majesty?”

All turned to see Rothen standing at the base of the stairs.

“You may,” the King replied.

“Thank you.” Rothen bowed his head for a moment, then looked at each of the Higher Magicians.

“I ask that you consider Sonea’s youth and impressionability when you judge her. She had been his prisoner for some time. I do not know how he persuaded her to join him. She is stubborn and good-hearted, but when I persuaded her to join the Guild, I encouraged her to question her distrust of magicians. Now, perhaps, that has led her to discard her distrust of Akkarin.” He smiled faintly. “I think once she has realized she has been deceived she will punish herself better than any of us could.”

Lorlen looked up at the King. He was nodding.

“I will consider your words, Lord...?”

“Rothen.”

“Thank you, Lord Rothen.”

Rothen dropped to one knee, then rose and moved away. The ruler watched him go, then drummed his fingers on the back of the High Lord’s chair.

“How do you think the High Lord’s novice will react when her guardian is exiled?”

Sonea stood in utter silence.

The Warriors surrounding her and Akkarin had enclosed them in a barrier that blocked all noise in the hall. She had watched as magicians had gathered to debate. After a long break, the Higher Magicians had returned to their seats and began an intense discussion.

Akkarin shifted a step closer, but didn’t look at her.

“You chose an inopportune time for disobedience, Sonea.”

She winced at the anger in his voice. “Did you really think I’d let them execute you?”

There was a long pause before he replied.

“I need you to remain here and continue the fight.”

“How can I do that with the Guild watching my every move?”

“Little opportunity is better than none. If nothing else, they would have you to call on as a last resort.”

“If they had me, they would never have considered allowing you to live,” she retorted. “I won’t let them use me as an excuse to kill you.”

He began to turn toward her, then stopped as sound abruptly returned. Lorlen stood up and struck a gong.

“It is time to judge whether Akkarin of family Delvon, of House Velan, High Lord of the Magicians’ Guild, and Sonea, his novice, are guilty of the crimes of which they have been accused.”

He held out a hand. A globe light appeared above it, then floated up to the ceiling. The other Higher Magicians followed suit, then hundreds more globe lights floated up from the rest of the magicians, and the Guildhall was filled with brightness.

“Do you judge that Akkarin of family Delvon, of House Velan, is undoubtedly guilty of the murder of Lord Jolen, his family and servants?”

Several of the globes slowly turned red, but most remained white. The Higher Magicians stared up for a long time, and Sonea realized they were counting the globes. When they looked down again at Lorlen each shook their head once.

“The majority choose the negative,” Lorlen declared. “Do you judge that Akkarin of family Delvon, of House Velan, is guilty of seeking knowledge of, learning, practicing and, in addition to earlier accusations, killing with black magic?”

At once all of the globes turned red. Lorlen did not wait for the Higher Magicians to count the globes.

“The majority choose the affirmative,” Lorlen called. “Do you judge that Sonea, the High Lord’s novice, is guilty of seeking knowledge of and, in addition to this earlier accusation, learning, practicing and killing with black magic?”

The globe lights remained red. Lorlen nodded slowly.

“The majority choose the affirmative. The punishment for this crime as set down by law is execution. We, the Higher Magicians, have debated the appropriateness of this penalty in light of the reasons given for the crime, if they be true. We would prefer to delay judgment until the validity of these reasons is established, but due to the nature of the crime, feel immediate action must be taken.” He paused. “We have chosen exile as Akkarin’s punishment.”

The hall filled with muttering as this was considered. Sonea heard a few weak protests, but no magician raised his or her voice to argue.

“Akkarin of family Delvon, of House Velan, you are no longer welcome in the Allied Lands. You will be escorted to the nearest non-allied country. Do you accept this judgment?”

Akkarin looked up at the King, then dropped to one knee.

“If the King wills it.”

The ruler’s eyebrows rose.

“I do,” he said.

“Then I will go.”

The hall was silent as Akkarin rose to his feet again.

Lorlen’s sigh of relief was audible. He turned to regard Sonea.

“Sonea. We, the Higher Magicians, have decided to offer you a second chance. You will remain here with us under these conditions: you must vow to never use black magic again, you will not be allowed to leave the Guild grounds from this day, and you will never be allowed to teach others. Do you accept this judgment?”

Sonea stared at Lorlen in disbelief. The Guild had exiled Akkarin yet forgiven her, even though they had both committed the same crime.

But it wasn’t the same. Akkarin was their leader and his crime seemed worse because he was supposed to represent the Guild’s values. She was just an impressionable young woman. The slum girl. Easily corrupted. They believed she had been led astray, and that Akkarin had embraced black magic willingly. In truth she had chosen to learn it, and he had been forced to.

So they would allow her to stay in the temporary safety and the comfort of the Guild, while Akkarin was sent out of the Allied Lands to the nearest non-allied country, which was... She caught her breath.

Sachaka.

Suddenly she could not breathe. They were going to send him into the hands of his enemies. They must know that if his story was true he would die.

But this way, they won’t have to risk a battle they might lose.

“Sonea,” Lorlen repeated. “Do you accept this judgment?”

“No.”

She was surprised by the anger in her voice. Lorlen stared at her in dismay, then looked at Akkarin.

“Stay.” Akkarin told her. “There is no sense in us both going.”

Not if we’re going to Sachaka, she thought. But perhaps, together, we might survive. She could help him strengthen himself. Alone, he would only grow weaker. She clung to this small hope and turned to face him.

“I made Takan a promise to take care of you. I intend to keep it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sonea—”

“Don’t tell me I’ll get in the way,” she said under her breath, conscious of the many witnesses. “That didn’t stop me before, and it won’t now. I know where they’re sending you. I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not.” Turning to the front, she raised her voice so all could hear.

“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 hall was silent. Lorlen stared at her, then looked up at the Higher Magicians. Sonea could see defeat and frustration in their faces.

“No, Sonea! Stay here.”

Sonea felt her stomach turn over at the voice. She forced herself to look across the room at Rothen.

“I’m sorry, Rothen,” she said, “but I will not stay.”

Lorlen took a deep breath. “Sonea, I can give you only one more chance. Do you accept this judgment?”

“No.”

“Then let it be known throughout the Allied Lands that Akkarin of family Delvon, House Velan, formerly High Lord of the Magicians’ Guild, and Sonea, formerly the High Lord’s novice, have been exiled for the crimes of learning, practicing and killing with black magic.”

He turned to Lord Balkan and said something in a voice too quiet to hear. Then he descended from his seat, strode into the circle of Warriors and stopped a step away from Akkarin. Reaching out, he grasped the black robe in both hands. Sonea heard the material rip.

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

Akkarin stared at Lorlen, but did not speak. The Administrator turned away and approached Sonea. He met her eyes for a moment, then looked down, took hold of her sleeve and ripped it.

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

Turning on his heel, he strode away. Sonea looked down at the rip in her sleeve. It was small, only a finger-length long. A small gesture, but so final.

The Higher Magicians rose to their feet and began to descend from the tiers of seats. Sonea’s heart sank as Lord Balkan stepped into the circle and approached Akkarin. As he tore the black robes and spoke the ritual words, the rest of the Higher Magicians formed a line behind him, and she realized they were waiting their turn.

As Balkan approached she forced herself to watch as the Warrior tore her robe and spoke the ritual words. It took all her determination, but she managed to meet his gaze, and then those of each of the magicians who followed.

When the Higher Magicians had all performed the ritual, Sonea sighed with relief. The rest of the Guild rose from their seats. Instead of walking out of the Guildhall doors, they began to approach Akkarin one by one.

It looked as if she would have to endure this ceremony of rejection many, many more times.

The realization unsettled her. It took all her will to face them. She kept still as magicians who had taught her stopped to tear her robes, their expressions disapproving or disappointed. Lady Tya’s ritual words were barely audible, and she quickly hurried away. Lord Yikmo gazed at her searchingly, then shook his head sadly. At last there were only a few magicians left. She looked up as they entered the circle, and felt her stomach twist.

Rothen and Dannyl.

Her former guardian approached Akkarin slowly. He stared at Akkarin, his eyes burning with anger, then Akkarin’s lips moved. She could not quite hear what he said, but the fire in Rothen’s eyes died. Rothen murmured a reply and Akkarin nodded once. Frowning, Rothen reached forward to tear Akkarin’s robe. He spoke the ritual words, then kept his eyes on the floor as he took the few short steps to her.

She felt her throat constrict. Rothen’s face looked haggard and deeply lined. He looked up at her and his pale blue eyes shimmered as tears gathered in them.

“Why, Sonea?” he whispered hoarsely.

She felt moisture spring into her eyes. She closed them tightly and swallowed hard.

“They send him to his death.”

“And you?”

“Two may survive where one would fail. The Guild has to find out the truth for itself. When it does, we’ll return.”

He drew in a deep breath, then stepped forward and embraced her.

“Take care, Sonea.”

“I will, Rothen.”

She choked on his name. He stepped away. As he retreated, she realized he hadn’t torn her robes. She felt a trickle of moisture run down her cheek and quickly wiped it away as Dannyl stepped in front of her.

“Sonea.”

She forced herself to look up at him. Dannyl met her gaze levelly.

“Sachakans, eh?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He pursed his lips. “We’ll have to look into it.” He patted her shoulder, then turned away. She watched him walk to Rothen’s side.

Her attention was drawn away then as, one by one, the Warriors surrounding her and Akkarin stepped in to perform the ritual. When they were done, she looked around and discovered that the magicians had formed two lines leading to the Guildhall doors. Behind them stood the novices. She sighed with relief that they hadn’t been included in the ritual. Facing Regin in that situation would have been... interesting.

The Higher Magicians formed a second circle around the Warrior guard, with Lorlen at the front. As the Administrator started walking toward the Guildhall doors, this double escort followed, and proceeded past the two lines of magicians out of the Guildhall to the University doors.

Outside the building was a circle of horses, held in position by grooms. Two horses waited in the center. Akkarin approached the central pair, Sonea following. As he swung up into the saddle of one, she hesitated and looked at the remaining horse dubiously. “Are you doubting your decision?” Sonea turned to find Lord Osen standing beside her, holding the reins of his mount.

Sonea shook her head. “No, it’s just... I’ve never ridden before.” He glanced back at the crowd of magicians pouring out of the doors behind her, then turned his horse so it blocked them from view.

“Put your hand on the front of the saddle, and then put the toe of your left boot in here.” He took hold of her horse’s stirrup and held it still. Sonea did as he said and, following his further instructions, she managed somehow to get into the saddle.

“Don’t worry too much about directing him,” he told her. “He’ll follow the others.”

“Thank you, Lord Osen.”

He looked up at her and nodded once, then turned away and swung up onto his own mount.

From her new vantage point, she could see the crowd of magicians gathered outside the Guild. The Higher Magicians stood in a line along the bottom step of the University, except for Lord Balkan who had joined the guard of Warriors on the horses. Sonea looked for the King, but he was nowhere in sight.

Lorlen stepped forward and slowly approached Akkarin. He looked up and then shook his head.

“You have a second chance of sorts, Akkarin. Use it well.”

Akkarin regarded him for a moment. “And you, my friend, though I fear you will face worse troubles than I do. We will speak again.”

Lorlen smiled crookedly. “I’m sure we will.”

He moved away and returned to his place among the Higher Magicians, then nodded at Balkan. The Warrior nudged his horse into motion and the rest of the escort followed suit.

As her horse began to move, Sonea gripped the pommel of her saddle. She looked at Akkarin, but his eyes were fixed on the Guild Gates. When she had passed through the entrance, she cautiously turned to take one last look at the University, standing tall and graceful among the other Guild buildings.

A pang of sadness and regret caught her by surprise.

I hadn’t realized how much I considered this place home, she thought. Will I survive and return to see it again?

Or, a darker voice added, will I come back only to find it a pile of rubble?