The High Lord

19 A Request

Sonea shifted in her saddle and flexed her aching thigh muscles. Though she Healed away the soreness each night, it did not take much riding before her body was hurting again. Lord Osen had told her that she would grow used to the saddle if she didn’t Heal herself, but she couldn’t see the point in toughening up for riding when the horse would soon be taken from her.

She sighed and looked up at the mountains ahead. They had first appeared on the horizon the day before. The shadowy line had slowly grown larger and this morning the sun had revealed slopes of jagged rock and forest ascending to high peaks. The mountains looked savage and impassable, but now that the escort had reached the low hills at the base, Sonea could see a ribbon of white winding between the trees toward a dip between two of the peaks. Somewhere at the end of that road stood the Fort and the entrance to Sachaka.

The slowly changing landscape fascinated her. She had never roamed beyond the edge of the city of Imardin. Travelling was a new experience, and she might have enjoyed it, if not for the circumstances.

At first the road had run alongside fields striped with rows of different plants. The workers digging the soil, planting or harvesting the crops, were men and women, young and old. Both adults and children were seen herding domestic animals of all sizes along the road. Little houses stood alone in great stretches of land. Sonea wondered if their occupants were happy living such an isolated life.

From time to time the road had taken them through clusters of houses. At a few of these villages, Lord Balkan had sent one of his Warriors away to buy food. At midday on each of the previous two days, they had encountered a magician and several local men waiting with fresh horses. They changed mounts to allow the group to continue travelling through each night. The escort did not pause or stop to sleep, and she assumed they were Healing away their weariness. When she had asked Lord Osen why they didn’t refresh the horses with Healing power, he told her that animals didn’t endure the mental fatigue that came with a lack of rest as humans did.

So far, she felt she was coping with the lack of sleep fairly well. The first night had been clear, and their way had been lit by moonlight and starlight. Sonea had dozed as well as could be managed on horseback. Clouds had covered the sky the next night, and they had travelled under a cluster of globe lights.

Looking at the mountains looming so close, Sonea wondered if they would have a third night in Kyralia.

“Halt!”

The beating of hooves on the road changed to a shuffling as the escort slowed to a stop. Her horse moved forward to stand next to Akkarin’s. Sonea felt a spark of hope as Akkarin turned to regard her. He hadn’t spoken to her, or anyone, since leaving Imardin.

But he said nothing and turned away to watch Lord Balkan.

The Head of Warriors handed something to one of his magicians. Money to buy food at the next village, Sonea guessed. She looked around and realized that they were standing at a meeting of roads. One continued toward the mountains; the other, smaller track descended into a small, sparsely forested valley, where a group of houses huddled close together beside a narrow river.

“Lord Balkan,” Akkarin said.

All heads immediately turned to face him. Sonea resisted an urge to smile at the escorts’ expressions of alarm and surprise. So he’s finally decided to speak.

Balkan regarded Akkarin warily. “Yes?”

“If we enter Sachaka in these robes we will be recognized. Will you allow us to change into ordinary clothing?”

Balkan’s gaze shifted to Sonea, then back to Akkarin. He nodded and turned back to the waiting Warrior.

“Clothes as well, then. Nothing fancy or bright.”

The magician nodded, then gave Akkarin and Sonea a measuring look before riding away.

Sonea felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Did this mean they were close to the pass? Would they reach the border today? She looked up at the mountains and shivered.

She had hoped many times to hear a mental call from Lorlen, ordering them back, yet she did not believe it would come. The manner of their departure from Imardin had made it clear to all that she and Akkarin were not welcome in Kyralia any more.

She grimaced as she remembered. Balkan had chosen a winding route through the city that took them through every Quarter. At each major intersection of streets they had stopped, halting all activity as Balkan announced her and Akkarin’s crimes, and the Guild’s punishment. Akkarin’s expression had darkened with anger. He had called the magicians fools, and had refused to speak since.

The procession had attracted large crowds, and by the time the escort had reached the North Gates an expectant throng of slum dwellers had gathered. As stones flew toward Sonea, she had hastily created a shield.

An awful feeling of betrayal had come over her as the dwells shouted and threw missiles at her and Akkarin, but it had quickly faded. The dwells probably saw two bad magicians from a Guild they despised anyway, and had taken advantage of the opportunity to throw stones and insults without reprisal.

Turning in her saddle, Sonea looked back down the road. The city was far beyond the horizon now. The Warriors behind her watched her closely.

Lord Osen was among them. His frown deepened as their eyes met. He had spoken to her several times during the journey, mostly to help her with the horses she had ridden.

A few times he had hinted that the Guild might allow her to return to Imardin if she changed her mind. She had decided not to respond whenever he made any such suggestion.

But fear, discomfort and Akkarin’s silence had worked against her resolve. Turning away from Osen, she considered Akkarin again. Her attempts to talk to him had been met with stony silence. He seemed determined to ignore her.

Yet, now and then, she had seen him watching her. If she gave no indication that she had noticed him, his gaze lingered for a long time, but if she looked in his direction his attention turned to something else.

This was both infuriating and intriguing. It was not his looking that bothered her; it was that he did not want her to see him looking. Sonea smiled wryly. Was she actually beginning to miss the penetrating, hard-to-meet stares that she had avoided for so long?

She sobered. No doubt he wanted her to feel unwelcome, so that she would turn tail and scamper back to the Guild. Or was it something simpler? Did he truly not want her around? She had wondered many times if he blamed her for the discovery of their secret. Would Balkan have forced his way into Akkarin’s underground room if he hadn’t found books on black magic in her bedroom? Akkarin had told her to keep them hidden. She had, but obviously not well enough.

Perhaps he simply thought he would be better off without her.

Then he is wrong, she told herself. Without a companion from whom he could draw strength, he would only grow weaker each time he used his powers. With her there, he might be able to defend himself against an Ichani attack. It doesn’t matter whether he likes having me around.

Ah, but it would be so much better if he did.

Would he be friendlier once they had reached Sachaka, and there was no longer any point in trying to persuade her to leave him? Would he accept her choice, or would he continue to be angry with her for disobeying him? She frowned. Didn’t he understand that she had given up everything to save him?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She didn’t want his gratitude. He could be as silent and sulky as he liked. She only wanted to be sure he survived, and not just because this meant he would be able to return and help save the Guild from the Ichani. If she truly hadn’t cared about him, she would have stayed in Imardin, even if it meant becoming a prisoner of the Guild. No, she had come with him because she could not bear the thought of abandoning him after all he’d been through.

I’ve replaced Takan, she thought suddenly. The former slave had followed Akkarin out of Sachaka and become his faithful servant. Now she was following Akkarin into Sachaka. What was it about him that inspired such devotion?

Me, devoted to Akkarin? She almost laughed aloud. So much has changed. I think I might even like him, now.

Then her heart skipped a beat.

Or is it more than that?

She considered the question carefully. Surely, if there was more to it, she would have noticed before now. Abruptly, she remembered the night she had killed the Ichani. Afterward, Akkarin had brushed something out of her hair. The touch had left her feeling so strange. Light. Elated.

But that was just an effect of the battle. Surviving such a close scrape with death was sure to generate feelings of elation. It didn’t mean she was... she felt...

All I have to do is look at him, and I’ll know.

Suddenly she was afraid to. What if it was true? What if he met her gaze and read something foolish in her expression? He’d be even more determined to make her stay in Kyralia.

A murmuring between the escorts saved her. She looked up and saw that the Warrior who had ridden into the village was returning. Across the man’s knees lay a sack and a bundle. He handed the bundle to Balkan as he reached the group.

Balkan untied it, then lifted up a coarsely woven shirt and a pair of narrow-legged trousers and a long woollen shirt like those Sonea had seen village women wearing. He looked at Akkarin.

“Suitable?”

Akkarin nodded. “They will do.”

Balkan rolled up the clothes again and tossed them to Akkarin. Sonea hesitated as Akkarin began to dismount, then forced her aching legs to move. As her feet touched the ground, Akkarin pressed the long shirt and a second pair of trousers into her hands.

“Look away,” Balkan ordered.

Sonea glanced around and saw that the rest of the magicians were turning their backs. She heard a silken rip as Akkarin pulled off the top part of his robe and let it drop to the ground. The material shimmered in the sunlight, the ribbons of torn cloth fluttering as the wind caught them. Akkarin paused to look at it, his expression unreadable, then straightened and reached for the waist of his trousers.

Sonea quickly turned away, her face suddenly hot. She looked down at her robes and swallowed hard.

Best get this over with.

Taking a deep breath, she undid her sash and quickly pulled off the top half of her robes. Her horse edged away nervously as Sonea dropped the garment onto the ground and hurriedly pulled the shirt over her head.

She was grateful for the generous length of the shirt, covering her almost to the knees, as she changed into the trousers. Turning around, she found Akkarin regarding the reins of his horse closely. He glanced at her once, then swung up onto his horse.

Balkan, she saw, had remained facing them. Well, someone had to keep an eye on us, she thought wryly. She stepped over to her horse, put her boot into the stirrup, and managed to haul herself up into the saddle.

Akkarin looked strange in the heavy clothing. His shirt hung awkwardly on his thin frame. His chin was shadowed where a dark stubble was beginning to grow. He looked nothing like the imposing High Lord who had intimidated most of the Guild for so long.

She looked down at herself and snorted softly. She was hardly the picture of elegance herself. The shirt was probably the cast-off of a farmer’s wife. The rough weave felt harsh against her skin, but it was no worse than what she had worn before she had joined the Guild.

“Hungry?”

Sonea started as she realized Lord Osen had brought his horse alongside hers. He held out a chunk of grainy bread and a mug. She took them gratefully and began to eat, washing down the bread with gulps of watered wine. The wine was cheap and sour, but it numbed the ache in her muscles a little. She gave the mug back.

When the escort finished eating, they resumed their journey, and her horse returned to its jolting gait. She smothered a groan and resigned herself to many more hours of riding and sore muscles.

As Gol entered Cery’s guestroom, his eyes strayed to Savara. He nodded politely, then turned to Cery.

“Takan says they’re close to the border,” he reported. “They’ll reach the Fort tomorrow night.”

Cery nodded. He had given Takan a comfortable suite of underground rooms to stay in, but had been careful to hire servants who hadn’t heard of the mysterious foreign woman Ceryni had taken a liking to. Savara had asked him to ensure Takan never learned anything of her. She had rightly guessed that Akkarin was able to communicate with his servant, and if Akkarin was captured by the Ichani, she explained, they might learn from him of her presence in Kyralia. “There is much hatred between my people and the Ichani,” she had said. She did not say why, and Cery knew better than to press for more information.

Gol sat down and sighed. “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing,” Cery replied.

Gol frowned. “What if another murderer gets into the city?”

Cery looked at Savara and smiled. “I think we can handle it. I did promise Savara the next one.”

To his surprise, she shook her head.

“I cannot help you now. Not with Akkarin gone. The Ichani will suspect others are involved if their slaves continue dying.”

Cery regarded her soberly. “That would put them off sending them, wouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps. But my orders are to draw no attention to my people.”

“So. It’s up to us, now. How do you suggest we kill them?”

“I do not think you will have to. They have what they sent the slaves for.”

“So it was Akkarin they were after?” Gol asked.

“Yes and no,” she replied. “They will kill him, if they can. But now that they know the Guild’s weakness, it will be their target.”

Gol stared at her. “They’ll attack the Guild?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon. The Guild might have had some time to prepare if they had sent Akkarin away quietly. But they have told all the lands about him.”

Cery sighed and rubbed his temples. “The procession.”

“No,” she replied. “Though it was foolish of them to announce Akkarin’s crime and punishment publicly, it would have taken days or even a week or two for the Ichani to hear about it.” She shook her head. “The Guild magicians have been discussing Akkarin mind to mind for days. The Ichani will have heard everything.”

“Has the Guild got a chance?” Gol asked.

She looked sad, “No.”

Gol’s eyes widened. “The Guild can’t stop them?”

“Not without higher magic.”

Cery rose and began to pace the room. “How many Ichani are there?”

“Twenty-eight, but the ones you need to be concerned with form a band of up to ten.”

“Hai! Only ten?”

“Each of them is many, many times stronger than a Guild magician. Together, they can defeat the Guild easily.”

“Oh.” Cery crossed the room a few more times. “You said you’d have killed that Ichani woman on your own. So you’ve got to be stronger than a Guild magician.”

She smiled. “Much stronger.”

Cery noticed that Gol had turned a little pale. “What about the rest of your people?”

“Many are equal to, or stronger, than me.”

He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “What would your people want in return for helping Kyralia?”

She smiled. “Your people would be no happier to accept my people’s help than Ichani rule. We, too, use what the Guild calls black magic.”

Cery made a dismissive gesture. “If the Ichani come, they might change their minds about that.”

“They might. But my people will not reveal themselves.”

“You said they didn’t want the Ichani in Kyralia.”

“Yes, that is true. But they will not intervene if it puts themselves at risk. We are just another faction in Sachaka, and one many powerful people fear and would destroy. We can only do so much.”

“Will you help us?” Gol asked.

She sighed heavily. “I wish I could. But my orders are to keep out of this conflict. My orders...” she looked at Cery, “are to go home.”

Cery nodded slowly. So she was leaving. He had guessed she would that night on the rooftop. It was not going to be easy saying goodbye, but he, too, could not afford to let his heart rule his head.

“When?”

She looked down. “Straightaway. It is a long journey. The Ichani will be watching the Kyralian border. I must go through Elyne. But...” She smiled slyly. “I do not see why leaving tonight or tomorrow morning will make much difference.”

Gol covered his mouth with a hand and coughed.

“I don’t know,” Cery replied. “It might make plenty of difference. For the sake of Kyralia, I ought to give turning your mind around a good go. With a little roasted rasook and a bottle of Anuren dark...”

Her eyebrows rose. “Anuren dark? You Thieves do better than I thought.”

“Actually, I’ve got a deal going with a few wine smugglers.”

She grinned. “Of course you have.”

At a knock on the main door to his rooms, Rothen sighed and extended his will. He didn’t bother turning to see who it was.

“Back again, Dannyl? You’ve spent more time in my rooms than your own since you arrived. Haven’t you got any rebels or secret missions to keep you busy?”

Dannyl chuckled. “Not for another week. In the meantime, I thought I’d catch up with my old friend before they send me away again.” He stepped into the half-circle of chairs in the guestroom and sat down opposite Rothen. “I guessed you wouldn’t be visiting the Night Room tonight.”

Rothen looked up to see understanding in Dannyl’s eyes. “No.”

Dannyl sighed. “I really ought to go. Face the gossips, and all that. But...”

It isn’t easy, Rothen finished. Dannyl had told him what Akkarin’s plan to catch the rebels had involved. Dem Marane’s claims about his captor had reached every corner of the Guild now. Though most magicians appeared willing to dismiss them, Rothen knew there were always some who believed any scandal that came their way.

Rothen had endured the same speculative and disapproving looks two years before when the Guild had questioned the appropriateness of Sonea staying in his rooms. Facing the gossips had been hard, but important—and having Yaldin and Ezrille to support him had also helped.

As I ought to support Dannyl now.

Rothen drew in a deep breath, then stood up. “Well, we had better move along, then, if we’re not going to miss the fun.”

Dannyl blinked in surprise. “I thought you weren’t...?”

“Like it or not, I’ve got two former novices to look after.” Rothen shrugged. “I’m not going to do either of you any favors moping away in my rooms.”

Dannyl rose. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Rothen smiled at the gratitude in Dannyl’s voice. He had been relieved to find his friend was, in private, still the same man he had always been. Dannyl didn’t appear to be conscious of it, but he adopted a different manner in public now. There was a new confidence and authority in his bearing that, when added to his height, gave him a formidable presence.

Amazing what a little responsibility can do, Rothen mused.

Dannyl followed Rothen out into the corridor, then down the stairs to the entrance of the Magicians’ Quarters. The sun was setting and the courtyard outside was bathed in red-orange light. They crossed to the Night Room door.

Inside, it was warm and noisy. Rothen noted how many magicians turned to note their arrival and continued to watch them. It did not take long before the first few stepped forward and the questions began.

For over an hour, he and Dannyl were approached by magicians who wanted to know more about the rebels. Rothen read both respect and curiosity in their faces and very little suspicion. Dannyl was hesitant at first, then grew more confident. After one group of Healers left, having finished discussing Vinara’s instructions on saving the rogue from poisoning, Dannyl turned to Rothen and smiled ruefully.

“I’m afraid I’m stealing all the attention from you, my friend.”

Rothen shrugged. “What attention? I’m hardly fending off questions about Sonea.”

“No. Perhaps they’ve decided to leave you in peace, for once.”

“That’s not likely. It’s just that—”

“Ambassador Dannyl.”

They turned to find Lord Garrel approaching. Rothen frowned as the Warrior inclined his head politely. He had never liked Garrel, and still felt the magician could have tried harder to discourage his favorite, Regin, from taunting Sonea.

“Lord Garrel,” Dannyl replied.

“Welcome back,” the Warrior said. “Is it good to be home?”

Dannyl shrugged. “Yes, it is nice to see my friends again.”

Garrel glanced at Rothen. “You’ve done us yet another great service. At great personal sacrifice, too, I hear.” He leaned a little closer. “I admire your courage. I wouldn’t have taken such a risk, myself. But then, I prefer direct action to subterfuge.”

“And you’re so much better at it, from what I hear,” Dannyl replied.

Rothen blinked in surprise, then turned away to hide his smile. As the conversation continued, he found himself growing increasingly glad that he had come to the Night Room. Clearly, Elyne court had taught Dannyl more than how to look and sound authoritative.

“Lord Garrel,” a new voice said. A young Alchemist stepped around the Warrior’s shoulder. Lord Larkin, the Building and Construction teacher.

“Yes?” Garrel replied.

“I thought you might like to know: Lord Harsin expressed a desire to talk to you about your novice’s progress in Ailments.”

The Warrior frowned. “I had better seek him out, then. Good night, Lord Rothen, Ambassador Dannyl.”

As Garrel walked away, Larkin grimaced. “I thought you might want rescuing,” the young magician said. “Not that you’d need it, Ambassador. It’s just that several of us have noticed that those who Garrel engages in conversation tend to crave an interruption sooner or later. Generally sooner.”

“Thank you, Lord Larkin,” Dannyl said. He glanced at Rothen and smiled crookedly. “I thought we were the only ones who’d noticed.”

“Oh, being that skilled at making people uncomfortable takes practice. I expected Garrel figured you’d be a good target, after this latest bit of fuss about nothing.”

Dannyl’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Do you think so?”

“Well, it’s hardly as bad as... as using black magic,” the young magician said. He looked at Rothen, then flushed. “Not that I believe what the rebel says, of course, but...” He glanced around the room, then took a step back. “Excuse me, Ambassador, Lord Rothen. Lord Sarrin just indicated that he wishes to speak to me.”

Larkin nodded to them both, then hurried away. Dannyl glanced around the room.

“How interesting. Sarrin’s not even here.”

“Yes,” Rothen replied. “It is interesting. Particularly the bit about you needing rescuing. You clearly don’t, Dannyl. In fact, I don’t believe you even needed me to come along at all.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “It really is quite deflating.”

Dannyl grinned and patted Rothen on the shoulder. “It must be such a disappointment, always seeing your novices going places.”

Rothen shrugged, then his smile turned into a grimace. “Ah, if only that place wasn’t Sachaka.”

As Dannyl reached the door to Administrator Lorlen’s office, he paused to take a deep breath and straighten his shoulders. The request to meet with the Higher Magicians had come sooner than he expected, and he had a nagging feeling he ought to be more prepared. He looked down at the folder containing his report, then shrugged. Even if he did think of something, it was too late to make changes now.

He knocked on the door. It swung open and Dannyl stepped inside. He nodded to the magicians seated in the chairs. Lady Vinara and Lord Sarrin were present, as was Expatriate Administrator Kito. As usual, Lorlen was sitting behind his desk. The Administrator gestured to an empty chair.

“Please be seated, Ambassador Dannyl,” Lorlen said. He paused as Dannyl took the offered seat. “I would have liked to have waited until Lord Balkan’s return before asking you to relate the full details of your encounter with the rebels, but the need to investigate Akkarin’s claims as soon as possible has convinced us it would be best not to delay, and your story may shed a little light on his activities. So, tell us what Akkarin’s orders were.”

“I received a letter from him a little over six weeks ago.” Dannyl opened the folder and took out the letter. He sent it floating to Lorlen’s desk.

The Administrator picked it up and read it 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. 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.’ ”

As Dannyl expected, the other magicians exchanged little puzzled looks.

“I assume he meant your working relationship with this scholar?” Sarrin asked.

Dannyl spread his hands. “Yes and no. I guessed he was also referring to rumors about our personal one. Tayend is, as the Elynes say, a lad.” Sarrin’s eyebrows rose, but neither he nor the Higher Magicians looked mystified by the term, so Dannyl continued. “The Elynes have been speculating whether there is more to our association than scholarly interest since he began assisting me with my research.”

“And you allowed the rebels to believe this was true, so they felt they could blackmail you should you prove troublesome?” Sarrin asked.

“Yes.”

“Akkarin was not very specific. He could have meant for you to encourage them to think you and your assistant would face expulsion and execution if you were discovered to be teaching magic.”

Dannyl nodded. “I considered that, of course, and realized that it would not have been enough to persuade the rebels to trust me.” To Dannyl’s relief, Kito nodded.

“So Akkarin was going to tell the Guild that he had asked you to pretend to be involved with your assistant,” Vinara said, “but when you arrived he had been arrested. Administrator Lorlen suggested you claim the deception was your idea.”

“That is right.”

The Healer’s eyebrows rose. “Has this worked?”

20 The Guild’s Punishment

Dannyl shrugged. “In general, I believe. What are your impressions?”

She nodded. “Most have accepted your story.”

“And the rest?”

“Are known to be rumor-mongers.”

Dannyl nodded. Thinking back to Lord Garrel’s questions in the Night Room, he wondered if Vinara would include the Warrior among her “rumor-mongers.”

Lorlen leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “So, tell us how you came to meet the rebels.”

Dannyl continued his story, relating how he had arranged a meeting with the Dem Marane, and a visit to the Dem’s home. He described teaching Farand, and how the book Tayend had borrowed had convinced him to arrest the rebels.

“I was considering whether to wait and see if they continued to consult me after Farand had learned Control,” Dannyl told them. “I thought I might learn the names of other rebels. When I saw what was in the book, though, I knew it was too great a risk. Even if the Dem allowed me to keep it, the rebels might have others. If they did disappear after Farand had learned Control, they might have taught themselves black magic and we would have worse than rogue magicians on our hands.” Dannyl paused and grimaced. “I never would have guessed we already had.”

Sarrin shifted in his seat and frowned. “Do you think Akkarin knew of this book?”

“I don’t know,” Dannyl replied. “I don’t know how he knew of the rebels in the first place.”

“Perhaps he had detected Farand’s powers in the same way that he detected Sonea’s before she learned Control,” Vinara suggested.

“From as far away as Elyne?” Sarrin asked.

Vinara’s shoulders lifted. “He has many unique abilities, no doubt gained through the use of black magic. Why not one more?”

Sarrin frowned. “You speak of undertaking research with this scholar, Ambassador. What research is that?”

“Research into ancient magic,” Dannyl replied. He looked around the room. As his eyes met Lorlen’s, the magician smiled faintly.

“I have told them you began it under my instruction,” Lorlen said.

Dannyl nodded. “Yes, though I do not know why.”

“I wanted to retrieve some of the knowledge that Akkarin lost,” Lorlen said. “But Akkarin learned of the research, and made it clear he didn’t approve. I told Lord Dannyl that his help was no longer needed.”

“And you didn’t obey that order?” Sarrin asked Dannyl.

“It wasn’t an order,” Lorlen said. “I said only that the research was no longer needed. I believe Dannyl continued out of his own interest.”

“I did,” Dannyl confirmed. “Later, Akkarin heard that I had continued and called me back to the Guild. He seemed pleased by my progress and encouraged me to continue. Unfortunately, I made little further progress. The only sources I hadn’t explored were in Sachaka, and he had made it clear I must not go there.”

Sarrin leaned back in his chair. “Interesting. He discouraged the research, then encouraged it. Perhaps you had already found something he didn’t want you to find, but you hadn’t understood its significance. Then he would have felt safe allowing you to continue.”

“I have considered that, too,” Dannyl agreed. “It wasn’t until I saw the rebel’s book that I realized the ancient magic I’d been researching was actually Black magic. I don’t think he intended me to know that.”

Sarrin shook his head. “No. If that is so, he would not have wanted you to read that book. So he probably didn’t know that Dem Marane possessed it, and the arrest of the rebels was not an exercise designed to bring it into his possession.” He frowned. “And it may contain information that he does not know. How very interesting.”

Dannyl looked from face to face while the magicians considered this.

“May I ask a question?”

Lorlen smiled. “Of course, Ambassador.”

“Have you discovered anything that proves Akkarin’s story is true?”

The Administrator sobered. “Not yet.” He hesitated. “Despite Akkarin’s warning, we can see no other way to learn the truth but to send spies into Sachaka.”

Dannyl nodded. “I suppose their identity will be a secret, even to members of the Guild.”

“Yes,” Lorlen replied. “But some, like yourself, will be permitted to know, because they will probably guess the real reason for the absence of certain magicians.”

Dannyl straightened. “Really?”

“One of the spies will be your mentor, Lord Rothen.”

The climb into the mountains seemed endless.

The morning sun had revealed steep, heavily forested slopes on either side. Though the road was well maintained, and showed signs of recent repair, all else appeared to be wilderness. If the escort had passed any houses during the night, they had been well hidden in the darkness.

The road followed the curve of the mountainous slopes and climbed through steep ravines. Sonea occasionally caught a glimpse of rocky outcrops above. The air grew steadily colder, until she was forced to keep a barrier of warmth about herself all the time to stop from shivering.

She longed for the end of the journey, yet dreaded it. The constant uphill climb altered her position in the saddle subtly, and a whole new range of muscles had begun to protest. In addition, the coarse material of her trousers had chafed her skin raw and she had to Heal herself every few hours to ease the pain.

“Halt!”

At Balkan’s order, Sonea sighed with relief. They hadn’t stopped since the morning, and then only briefly. She felt her horse draw in a deep breath as it came to a halt, then gust it out again.

Several of the escort dismounted to tend to the horses. Akkarin stared into the distance. Following his gaze, she saw that the land below the mountain was visible through a gap in the trees. Hills rolled outward, gradually smoothing out into a flat plain in the far distance. Narrow rivers and streams glittered in the creases between them. Everything glowed with the warm light of the late afternoon sun. The horizon was a misty edge. Somewhere over it lay Imardin. Her home.

At every step in the journey, she moved farther away from everything she had ever known: her family, her old friends, Cery, Rothen, Dorrien. The names of people she had grown to like in the last few years ran through her mind: Tania, Dannyl, Tya, and Yikmo—and even some of the novices. She might never see any of them again. She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to most of them. Her throat tightened, and she felt her eyes begin to sting.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe slowly and normally. This is not the time or place to start crying. Not now, with Balkan and the other magicians watching—and especially not Akkarin. She swallowed hard and forced herself to turn away from the view.

As she opened her eyes again, she saw Akkarin’s expression shift. For a moment, before the familiar mask settled over his face, she glimpsed a look of intense frustration and bitterness. She looked down, disturbed by what she had seen.

Osen began handing out bread, cold cooked vegetables and chunks of salted meat. Akkarin accepted his share silently, and returned to his brooding. Sonea chewed slowly, determined to force thoughts of the Guild out of her head, and concentrate instead on the days ahead. Where would they find food in Sachaka? The area beyond the pass was wasteland. Perhaps they could buy food. Would Balkan give them money?

Osen returned to her side and offered a mug full of watered wine. She drank it quickly and handed back the cup. He paused, as if he wanted to say something, and she quickly straightened and looked away. She heard a sigh, then footsteps retreating as he walked back to his horse.

“Onward,” Balkan called.

Breaks in the trees became more common as they continued on. In the spaces, great sheets of bare rock were exposed. A chill wind whipped the horses’ tails. The sun steadily descended toward the horizon, then the road straightened and passed between two tall, smooth walls of rock. Ahead, stained orange by the setting sun, was an enormous, squat column of stone punctured by rows of tiny square holes.

The Fort.

Sonea stared up at the building as they drew closer. In history lessons, she had learned that the Fort had been built soon after the Sachakan War. It was taller than she had imagined, probably two or three times taller than the main University building. The huge cylinder of rock filled the narrow gap between the two high rock walls. Nothing could pass this way without going through the building.

There was no sign of cracks or mortar, yet the Fort had been made long before Lord Coren had discovered how to meld rock. She shook her head in wonder. Those long-dead builders must have carved the Fort out of the mountain itself.

A pair of large metal doors at the base of the building began to swing open as they approached. Two figures stepped out. One wore the uniform of a captain of the guard, the other wore red Warrior robes. Sonea blinked in surprise, then stared at the magician in disbelief.

“Lord Balkan,” Fergun said as the captain bowed respectfully, “this is Captain Larwen.”

Of course, she thought. Fergun was sent away to a distant Fort as punishment for blackmailing me. I hadn’t realized it would be this Fort.

As the Captain addressed Lord Balkan, Sonea looked down at her hands and cursed her luck. No doubt Fergun had been looking forward to this moment. He had risked much in his efforts to convince the Guild that they should not admit anyone from outside the Houses. Now his claims that slum dwellers are not to be trusted have been proven true, she thought.

But that was wrong. She had only learned and used black magic to save the Guild and Kyralia.

He, too, had believed he was saving the Guild. She felt an uncomfortable sympathy for him. Was there really any difference between her and her former enemy?

Yes, she thought. I’m trying to save all of Kyralia. He only wanted to prevent lower-class Kyralians learning magic.

In the corner of her eye, she saw that he was staring at her.

Ignore him, she told herself. He’s not worth it.

But why should she? He was no better than her. Steeling herself, she lifted her head and returned his stare. His lips curled with contempt and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

You think you’re so superior, she thought at him, but consider this. I am stronger than you. Even without the forbidden magic I have learned, I could beat you in the Arena any day, Warrior.

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw stiffened with hatred. She returned his stare coldly. I have killed a magician who, like you, preyed on the helpless. I would kill again, if it were the only way to protect Kyralia. You do not frighten me, magician. You are nothing, a petty fool, a...

Fergun suddenly turned to regard the Captain, as if the man had said something significant. She waited for him to meet her gaze again, but he didn’t. The formalities ended, and the Captain stepped aside and blew on a whistle. The escort began to move into the Fort.

As they did, the wide corridor beyond filled with the echoing clatter of hooves. The escort continued for several paces, then slowed as it approached a wall of stone blocking half the passage. Passing this in single file, they then stopped before a pair of closed metal doors a hundred paces farther along the corridor. These swung open slowly. They passed through and crossed a wooden section of floor that echoed hollowly under the horses’ hooves, then filed past another stone wall.

Sonea felt cool air on her face. She looked up and saw a pair of open metal doors leading to another walled ravine. Night had already descended on the other side of the Fort. Steep walls were illuminated by two rows of lamps. Beyond them, the road continued into darkness.

As the escort moved into the open, Sonea found that her heart was beating fast. If they had passed through the Fort, then her horse was now walking on Sachakan soil. She looked down.

Rock is a better description, she amended.

She turned in her saddle and looked back up at the Fort. Lights beyond some of the windows made silhouettes of the watching occupants.

The sound of hoofbeats faded. Her horse stopped.

“Dismount.”

As Akkarin swung out of the saddle, Sonea realized that Balkan’s order had been solely for her and Akkarin. She slid to the ground, wincing at the stiffness in her legs. Lord Osen leaned down to take the reins and led the horses away.

With the horses and Osen gone, only she and Akkarin remained standing within the ring of Warriors. A globe of light flared above Balkan’s head, flooding the area with brightness.

“Remember the faces of these two magicians,” Balkan called. “They are Akkarin, former High Lord of the Magicians’ Guild, and Sonea, former novice of the High Lord. They have been cast out of the Guild and exiled from the Allied Lands for the crime of practicing black magic.”

A chill entered Sonea’s blood. At least this was the last time she would hear those ritual words. She glanced at the darkened road beyond the lamplight.

“Wait!”

Her heart skipped. Osen stepped forward.

“Yes, Lord Osen?”

“I would speak to Sonea once more before she leaves.”

Balkan nodded slowly. “Very well.”

Sonea sighed as Osen climbed down from his horse. He approached her slowly, his expression tense.

“Sonea, this is your last chance.” He spoke quietly, perhaps so the escort would not hear. “Come back with me.”

She shook her head. “No.”

He turned to regard Akkarin. “Would you have her turn down this opportunity?”

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. “No, but she seems determined to discard it. I doubt I could change her mind.”

Osen frowned and turned to regard Sonea again. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and merely shook his head. He looked at Akkarin again.

“You had better look after her,” he muttered.

Akkarin stared impassively at the magician. Osen scowled and turned on his heel. He strode back to his horse and stepped up into the saddle.

At a signal from Balkan, the escorts blocking the road into Sachaka fell back.

“Be gone from the Allied Lands,” Balkan said. His voice was neither angry nor regretful.

“Come, Sonea,” Akkarin said quietly “We have a way to go yet.”

She looked at him. His expression was distant and hard to read. As he turned away and started walking, she followed a few steps behind.

A voice murmured behind them. She listened carefully. It was Lord Osen.

“... lands again. I cast you out, Sonea. Do not enter my lands again.”

She shivered, then set her gaze upon the darkening road before her.

As the last of the sun’s rays left the garden, Lorlen turned from the window of his office and began to pace. The route took him around the room, from chair to chair, then back to his desk. He stopped, looked down at the mass of paper, and sighed.

Why, of all places, did they have to send Akkarin to Sachaka?

He knew why. He knew, with a cold certainty, that the King hoped Akkarin would perish in Sachaka. Akkarin had broken one of the most serious Guild laws. No matter how much the King had liked the High Lord, he knew there was nothing more dangerous than a magician who would not obey laws, and was too powerful to control. If the Guild could not execute Akkarin, then they must send him to the only magicians who could: the Ichani.

Of course, the Ichani might not exist. If they didn’t, the Guild was about to free a magician who had learned black magic willingly. He might come back, stronger than ever. That couldn’t be helped, however.

If the Ichani did exist, it seemed foolish to send to his death the only magician who could tell them about their enemy. Akkarin wasn’t the only one, though. There was Sonea.

That was where the King had misjudged the situation badly. He had assumed the ex-slum girl, who’d been guided and manipulated by more than one magician, would be easily swayed. Lorlen smiled wryly as he remembered her angry refusal.

“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 King had been angry at her defiance. What do you expect? Lorlen had wanted to say. Loyalty? From one who once lived among those you drive out of the city during the Purge each year? Eventually the King had concluded that, if she would not accept the judgment of the Guild and her ruler, then perhaps exile was for the best.

Lorlen sighed and began pacing again. In truth, the Guild didn’t need Sonea to tell them about the Ichani so long as he had Akkarin’s ring... and Akkarin remained alive. But if Lorlen began relaying information from Akkarin to the rest of the Guild, he would eventually have to admit how he was receiving it. The ring was a tool of black magic. How would the Guild react to the news that their Administrator owned and continued to use such a thing?

I should throw it away, he thought. But he knew he wouldn’t. He took out the ring and considered it, then slipped it on a finger.

— Akkarin? Are you there?

Nothing.

Lorlen had tried to contact Akkarin through the ring several times. Occasionally he thought he had detected a faint feeling of anger or fear, but had decided this was only his imagination. The silence tortured him. If it wasn’t for Osen’s mental reports on the journey, Lorlen might have worried that Akkarin was dead.

Lorlen finished his circuit of the room, then stepped behind his desk and collapsed into his chair. He removed the ring and put it back in his pocket. A moment later, there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Come in.”

“A message from the King, my lord.”

A servant entered, bowed, and placed a wooden cylinder on Lorlen’s desk. The King’s incal was imprinted on the stopper and the wax was dusted with gold powder.

“Thank you. You may go.”

The servant bowed again, then retreated from the room. Lorlen broke the seal and pulled out a rolled sheet of paper.

So the King wants to talk about Sachaka, Lorlen mused as he read the formal script. He let the letter curl back into a roll, returned it to the cylinder and stowed it inside a box he kept for royal messages.

A meeting with the King was unexpectedly appealing. What he had longed for most was just to be able to do something. For too long he had been restrained and helpless to act. He stood up, then froze as he heard his name echo at the edge of his senses.

— Lorlen!

Osen. Lorlen sensed the minds of other magicians, attracted by the call, fade as they turned their attention away.

— Yes, Osen?

— It is done. Sonea and Akkarin are in Sachaka.

Lorlen felt his heart sink.

— Could you ask Fergun and the Captain if anyone in the Fort or surrounding locality has noticed anything unusual going on in Sachaka?

— I will ask and tell you his reply tomorrow. He has requested that some magicians remain here in case Akkarin and Sonea try to return.

— Did you explain that it would make no difference?

— No, I didn’t want to make them more nervous than they already are.

Lorlen considered the Captain’s request.

— I’ll leave that decision to Balkan.

— I’ll tell him. There was a pause. I must go. The image of a hall with a large open fire and magicians taking seats at a long dining table reached Lorlen’s mind. He smiled.

— Enjoy your meal, Osen. Thank you for informing me.

— Thank you for informing me, another voice replied. Lorlen blinked in surprise.

— Who was that? Osen asked.

— I don’t know, Lorlen replied. He thought back over their conversation and shivered. If someone was waiting over the border, ready to ambush visitors, then they now knew Akkarin and Sonea were on their way.

Then he considered what might have been discussed by magicians in the last few days and his heart sank even further. We’ve been fools, Lorlen thought. Not one of us has really considered what it might mean if Akkarin’s story is true.

— Balkan, he called.

— Yes?

— Please tell your men that all mental communication must cease from this moment. I will inform the rest of the Guild.

As Osen and Balkan’s presence withdrew, Lorlen drew Akkarin’s ring out of his pocket. His hands shook as he slipped it over his finger.

— Akkarin?

But silence was his only reply.

21 A Dangerous Road

A knock at the door interrupted Rothen. He sighed, lowered the book and willed the door open. Dannyl stepped into the room, his brow creased with a frown.

“Dannyl,” Rothen said, “would you like some sumi?”

Dannyl closed the door, walked to Rothen’s chair, and stared down at him. “You volunteered to go to Sachaka?”

“Ah.” Rothen closed the book and set it down on the table. “So they told you.”

“Yes.” Dannyl seemed to struggle for words. “I want to ask why, but I don’t have to. You’re going to look for Sonea, aren’t you?”

Rothen shrugged. “In a way.” He gestured to a seat. “Sit down. Even I feel uncomfortable when you’re towering over me like that.”

Dannyl sat down and stared across the table at Rothen.

“I’m surprised the Higher Magicians agreed. They must have realized finding Sonea might become more important to you than discovering if the Ichani exist.”

Rothen smiled. “Yes, they did consider that. I told them that if there was a choice between saving Sonea and completing the mission, I would choose to save Sonea. They accepted that condition because I have a better chance of persuading her to return—and because I am not the only spy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I only volunteered this morning.”

“But you must have been thinking about it before then.”

“Only since last night. After I watched you dealing with Garrel, I came to the conclusion that you don’t really need my help.” Rothen smiled. “My support, perhaps, but not my help. Sonea, however, does need my help. I’ve been unable to do anything for her for so long. Now I finally can.”

Dannyl nodded, but he did not look happy. “What if Akkarin’s story is true? What if you walk into a land ruled by black magicians? He said any Guild magician entering Sachaka would be killed.”

Rothen sobered. It was going to be a dangerous mission. He was not a little frightened by the possibility he would encounter the magicians Akkarin had described.

If the Ichani were not real, however, then Akkarin must have had a reason to invent them. Perhaps he’d done so simply to ensure the Guild allowed him to live. Perhaps it had been part of some greater deception. If that were so, he would be anxious to hide the truth. He might be the black magician who killed any Guild magician who entered Sachaka.

But surely he expected the Guild to investigate his claims. By telling them this story, he had ensured they would send spies into Sachaka. Rothen frowned. What if Akkarin had spun the tale so he could hunt down the magicians who entered Sachaka, kill them one by one for their strength?

“Rothen?”

Looking up, Rothen managed a wry smile. “I know it’s going to be dangerous, Dannyl. We’re not going to blunder into Sachaka wearing robes and flaunting our magical abilities. We’ll do everything we can to remain unnoticed.” He pointed to the book. “Every record of journeys into Sachaka has been copied for us to study. We’ll be questioning merchants and their servants. We’re going to be trained by a professional spy, sent by the King, who will teach us to speak and behave like commoners.”

A reluctant smile pulled at Dannyl’s mouth. “Sonea would find that amusing.”

Rothen felt a familiar pang of grief. “Yes. She would have, once.” He sighed. “Well then, tell me about your meeting with the Higher Magicians. Did they ask any awkward questions?”

Dannyl blinked at the change of subject. “A few. I don’t think they approve of Tayend, but that was no surprise.”

“No,” Rothen agreed. He considered Dannyl closely. “But you approve of him.”

“He is a good friend.” Dannyl met Rothen’s gaze. There was a hint of defiance in his expression. “Will I be expected to avoid him now?”

Rothen shrugged. “You know what the gossips will say if you don’t. But you can’t let gossips run your life, and Elyne is Elyne. Everyone knows the social rules are different there.”

Dannyl’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Yes. What may be considered prudent here would be considered rude there.”

“Now, did you want a cup of sumi?”

Dannyl smiled and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Standing up, Rothen took a step toward the cabinet where the sumi cups and leaves were kept, then froze.

— All magicians, listen to me!

Rothen blinked in surprise at Lorlen’s mental voice.

— All mental communication must cease from now on, unless in an emergency. If you are unable to avoid conversing in this way, be mindful of what you reveal. If you hear another magician communicating mentally, please inform him or her of this restriction.

“Well,” Dannyl said after a moment. “I hate to say it, considering what you’ve set out to do, but every day I grow more worried.”

“Of what?”

“That what Akkarin told us is the truth.”

As Cery refilled Savara’s glass, she stiffened and stared into the distance.

“What is it?” he asked.

She blinked. “Your Guild has made its first good decision.”

“Oh?”

She smiled. “Orders to stop speaking mind to mind.”

Cery topped up his glass. “Will that do them much good?”

“It might have, had they done it a week ago.” She shrugged and picked up her glass. “But it is good the Ichani won’t learn about the Guild’s plans now.”

“You won’t either.”

She shrugged. “No. But that does not matter any more.”

Cery considered her. She had found a gloriously well-fitted dress somewhere, made of fine, soft material dyed a rich purple. The color complemented her skin. Her eyes, when she looked at him, seemed to glow with a rich golden warmth.

But those eyes were downcast now, and her expressive mouth set in a thin line.

“Savara—”

“Do not ask me to stay.” She looked up and fixed him with a direct stare. “I must go. I must obey my people.”

“I just—”

“I cannot stay.” She rose and began pacing the room. “I wish I could. Would you leave and go to my land with me, knowing what your country will face? No. You have your own people to protect. I have—”

“Hai! Let me get a word in!”

She stopped and gave him a rueful smile. “I am sorry. Go on, then.”

“I was just going to tell you that I get what you’re saying. I’d rather you stayed, but I won’t stop you going.” He smiled wryly. “I’d wager I’d never have a chance of stopping you anyway.”

Her eyebrows rose. She gestured to the table. “But you invited me to dinner so you could try to talk me into it.”

He shook his head. “I just wanted to thank you for your help—and I had to make up for not giving you the chance to do one of these slaves.”

She gave a little pout. “That would take more than a meal.”

He chuckled. “Really? Hmmm, we Thieves don’t like to break a deal, you know. Would you forgive me if I made up for it another way?”

Her eyes flashed and her smile became sly. “Oh, I will think of something.” She walked to him, bent forward and kissed him. “Hmmm, that gives me an idea or two.”

He smiled, caught her waist and pulled her down so she was sitting across his knees. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying?” he asked quietly.

She tilted her head to the side and considered. “Perhaps just one more night.”

The road into Sachaka was dark and silent. Akkarin had spoken only once, to caution Sonea against making a light or speaking any louder than a murmur. Since then the only sound had been the echo of their footsteps, and the distant howl of the wind somewhere far above.

She looked down at her boots, the only items left of her novice uniform. Would the Ichani recognize them? She considered asking Akkarin if she should discard them, but the idea of walking without any shoes in this cold and rocky terrain was unappealing.

As her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she had begun to make out more of the road ahead. Two vertical walls of rock hung on either side, curving and folding like heavy drapes. Looking up, she saw that they stretched several hundred paces toward the sky, but were growing steadily shorter.

After several turns, the wall on the left ended abruptly. A great dark expanse came into view. They stopped and stared at the land below.

A black, endless darkness spread from the foot of the mountains to a glow at the horizon. As Sonea watched, the glow began to brighten. A sliver of white appeared and began to swell upward. Light flooded across the land as the moon—no longer quite full—slowly escaped the horizon. Sonea sucked in a breath. The mountains now shone like jagged lumps of silver. Ridges clawed down into the plain below like thick tree roots. Where rock ended, a treeless, desolate land began. In places, water from the mountain had eroded the soil, creating branched and twisted fissures that stretched toward the horizon. Farther away, she could see strange crescent-shaped hills, like the ripples in a pond frozen in time.

This was the wasteland of Sachaka.

She felt a hand grasp her arm. Surprised, she let Akkarin pull her back into the shadow of the wall.

“We might be seen,” he murmured. “We must leave the road.”

Looking ahead, she could not see how that was possible. The road curved to the right, cut into the face of the mountain. Steep, almost vertical walls of rock rose on either side.

Akkarin’s hand was still around her arm. She realized her heart was beating quickly, and not entirely from fear. His attention was on the cliff above, however.

“We can only hope there aren’t watchers up there,” he said.

He let her go, and strode back up the road. Sonea followed. When they had reached a point where the left-hand wall shadowed most of the right, he spun about and took hold of her shoulders.

Guessing what he was going to do, Sonea braced her legs. Sure enough, they began to rise upward, supported by a disk of magic below their feet. She made herself look away, suddenly too conscious of how close Akkarin was.

He stopped their ascent near the top so he could peer over the lip of the wall. Satisfied that the area was safe, he levitated them over the edge and set them down on the stony surface.

Sonea looked around in dismay. The slope was not as precipitous as the rock wall below, but it was still frighteningly steep. Cracks and jagged outcrops broke the surface, and in other places the ground was so smooth she could not see how they could walk across it without sliding off the mountain. How could they navigate this, when all they had to light the way was the moon?

Akkarin started forward and began picking his way across the slope. Sonea drew in a deep breath, then followed. From then on, climbing over or around outcrops, leaping over crevasses and keeping her balance on the treacherous slope occupied her mind. She lost all sense of the time passing. It was easier to just follow Akkarin, and think only of making it past the next obstruction.

The moon had risen much higher in the sky, and she had Healed the weary muscles in her legs several times, when Akkarin finally stopped at the crest of a ridge. She assumed at first that he had encountered a particularly large crevasse or some other difficulty on the other side, but when she looked up at him, he was staring back over her shoulder.

Abruptly, he grabbed her arms and pulled her into a crouch. Her heart skipped.

“Keep low,” he said urgently. He glanced behind. “We might be visible against the sky.”

She squatted beside him, her pulse racing. He stared back the way they had come, then pointed back across the rugged slope they had crossed. She searched for something new. Finding nothing, she shook her head.

“Where?”

“He’s behind that rock shaped like a mullook,” he murmured. “Wait a moment... there.”

She saw a movement perhaps five or six hundred paces away—a shifting shadow. It leapt and strode along the mountain slope with practiced surety.

“Who is he?”

“One of Kariko’s allies, no doubt,” Akkarin muttered.

An Ichani, Sonea thought. So soon. We can’t face one yet. Akkarin’s not strong enough. Her heart was beating too quickly and she felt ill with fear.

“We must move fast now,” Akkarin said. “He is an hour behind us. We need to increase that distance.”

Remaining in the crouch, he moved along the ridge to where a slab of rock overlapped another, leaving a narrow gap. Slipping through, he straightened and all but ran down the other side of the ridge. Sonea hurried after, somehow keeping her balance despite the stones that shifted and rolled under her boots.

It took all her concentration to keep up with him now. He hurried around boulders, jogged across slopes slippery with rubble, and barely paused before leaping over gaps in their path. Every step tested Sonea’s reflexes and balance.

When Akkarin stopped again, in the shadow of an enormous round boulder, she almost stumbled into him. Seeing that he was staring behind again, she turned to search for their pursuer. After a moment, she found him. The man was no farther away, she saw with dismay.

At least he is no closer, she told herself.

“Time to put him off our track,” Akkarin murmured. He walked around the boulder. Sonea caught her breath as she saw the deep crevasse at their feet. It was about twenty strides across where they stood, but widened to form a huge ravine with sheer walls that descended into darkness.

“I will go to the left for about a quarter hour and then to the edge. He’ll assume we descended into the ravine. You levitate to the other side, then make your way parallel to the mountains. Keep in the shadows as much as possible, even if it means slowing down.”

She nodded. He turned away and stalked into the night. For a moment she felt a terrible fear of being left alone, but she took a deep breath and pushed it aside.

Standing up, she created a disk of magic and lifted herself into the air. As she moved over the crevasse, she looked down. It was very deep. She fixed her gaze on the other side and moved across. When her feet met solid ground again, she sighed with relief. She had never been afraid of heights, but the drop into the ravine made the tallest buildings in the city look like the steps of the University.

From there, she concentrated on navigating the craggy mountainside. Keeping to the shadows was remarkably easy. The moon was now directly above, but the slope of the mountain had cracked or eroded to form several giant steps. The nearest seemed to be the obvious one to follow, so she descended to the one below.

Keeping to the shadows meant it was harder to see, however. She nearly stumbled into a hole or crevasse more than once. After an endless stretch of leaping and jogging, she glanced up to see that the moon had nearly reached the peaks above.

She felt a stirring of fear again as she realized how much time had passed since Akkarin had left her. She considered what he had said he would do. A quarter hour down the left side of the ravine plus another quarter back to the boulder meant he was half an hour behind her. What if Akkarin had miscalculated? What if the pursuer had been only half an hour behind them, not an hour? Akkarin might have returned to the crevasse at the same time as the Ichani.

She found she had slowed down, and pushed herself onward again. Akkarin wasn’t dead. If he’d been captured, he would have called to her, to warn her to keep running. But what if he’d tricked her into leaving him? Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. He wouldn’t abandon you to the Ichani.

Unless... unless he had led the pursuer away, knowing that he would be caught and killed, to save her.

She stopped and looked behind. The terrain curved around the mountain, and she could not see far behind her. Sighing, she forced herself to continue on. Don’t speculate, she thought. Concentrate.

The words repeated themselves in her mind and became a chant. After a while she found herself silently mouthing them. The rhythm carried her on, from one step to the next. Then she charged around an outcrop and found herself stepping out into an abyss.

Throwing her arms out, she managed to grab the outcrop, swing herself against it, and stop herself falling.

Her heart pounded as she pulled herself back from the brink. An enormous ravine blocked her path. Panting with fright and exertion, she stared at the opposite wall and tried to decide what she should do now. She could levitate across, but while she did she would be in plain sight.

The sound of hurried footsteps close behind her was all the warning she had. She started to turn, but something slammed into her back and a hand clamped over her mouth to smother her scream. She fell forward, over the edge of the precipice.

Then magic surrounded her, and she felt her descent slow. At the same time she recognized a familiar scent.

Akkarin.

His arms held her tightly. They turned in the air and began to rise. The creased and cracked wall of the ravine rushed past, then a larger slash of blackness appeared. They moved into it.

Her feet met an uneven floor and, as Akkarin released her, she staggered and threw out her arms. A hand met a wall, and she managed to regain her balance. She felt lightheaded and giddy, and fought a strange urge to laugh.

“Give me your power.”

Akkarin was a shadow in the darkness, and his voice held both urgency and command. She struggled to regain some control of her breathing.

“Now!” he said urgently. “The Ichani can sense it. Quickly.”

She held her hands out. His fingers brushed against hers then wrapped around her hands. Closing her eyes, she sent out a steady stream of energy. As the significance of what Akkarin had said sank in, she quickened the flow until power was rushing from her.

“Stop, Sonea.”

She opened her eyes and a wave of exhaustion swept over her.

“You gave too much,” he said. “You’ve tired yourself.”

She yawned. “It’s no use to me.”

“No? How are you going to continue on now?” He sighed. “I could Heal you, I suppose, but... maybe we should stay here. If he had seen where we went, he would have followed us by now. And we haven’t slept for days.”

She shivered and looked up. “He was that close to me.”

“Yes. I took a different path to yours and his, so I could watch him. I noticed how he followed you unerringly, but did not pick up my trail even when I crossed yours several times. Then I got close enough to watch him and I realized from his behavior that he could sense you. So I looked closer, and found I could, too. You are unused to holding extra power, and were allowing a sense of it to slip past your control.”

“Oh.”

“Fortunately, I was able to catch up with you just as you reached this ravine. A moment more, and he would have found you.”

“Oh.”

“You shall sleep here, while I keep watch.”

She sighed with relief. She had been bone-weary before she had given him all her strength. A tiny globe light appeared, revealing that the crack extended a little way into the rock wall. The base was filled with a jumble of large stones. Though Sonea wanted desperately to lie down and sleep, she regarded the floor with dismay.

Finding a relatively even area, she shifted a few of the rocks, filled in a few holes between them with smaller stones, then lay down. It was not very comfortable. She smiled wryly, remembering how she had once slept on the floor of Rothen’s spare room so long ago, because she had been unused to soft beds.

Akkarin sat down near the entrance. As his globe light blinked out again, she wondered how she would ever sleep when she knew an Ichani was searching for her above.

But exhaustion blunted the rock’s sharp edges and her fear, and her thoughts soon drifted away from all the concerns of the moment.

22 An Exchange of Views

From the outside, only the towers of the Palace were visible over the high round wall that surrounded it. As the Guild carriage turned onto the circular road ringing the wall, Lorlen looked up and felt a twinge of anxiety. It had been many years since he had entered the Palace. Matters between the King and the Guild were always dealt with by the High Lord. Though two magicians—the King’s Advisors—attended the monarch on a daily basis, their role was to protect and counsel, not to receive or attend to orders regarding the Guild. Now, with Akkarin gone, the responsibilities of the High Lord fell to the Administrator.

As if I don’t already have enough to do, Lorlen thought. The King had asked for all Higher Magicians to attend him today, however. Lorlen looked at the other occupants of the carriage.

While Lady Vinara looked calm, Lord Sarrin wore a frown of worry. Expatriate Administrator Kito was tapping the fingers of one hand against the other. Lorlen was unsure if this indicated nervousness or impatience. Not for the first time, he wished that Kito’s duties didn’t require him to be absent from the Guild so often. If he had known Kito better, he might have been able to read the man’s mood from this little mannerism.

The carriage slowed, then turned toward the Palace entrance. The two enormous blackened iron gates swung inward, each guided by a pair of guards. Several more guards, standing on either side of the entrance, bowed as Lorlen’s carriage entered a large enclosed courtyard.

Statues of previous kings stood proudly around the courtyard. The carriages drew to a halt in front of the grand Palace doors. A guard stepped forward and bowed as Lorlen climbed out of the carriage.

Lorlen glanced at the second Guild carriage pulling up behind the first, then stepped forward to meet the greeter at the Palace doors. The task of the greeters was to welcome every visitor to the Palace with appropriate formality and later compose a report. Lorlen had been fascinated to learn, as a child, that the greeters had developed their own shortened form of writing to speed the process.

The man bowed gracefully.

“Administrator Lorlen. An honor to meet you.” His alert eyes moved from magician to magician as he greeted each. “Welcome to the Palace.”

“Thank you,” Lorlen replied. “We have been summoned by the King.”

“So I have been informed.” The man was holding a small board in one hand. He drew a square of paper out of a slot in the side and made several quick marks on it with an ink stick. A boy standing nearby dashed forward, bowed, and took the slip of paper.

“Your guide,” the greeter said. “He will take you to King Merin now.”

The boy dashed to one of the huge Palace doors and hauled it open, then stepped aside. Lorlen led the other magicians into the Palace entrance hall.

The hall was based on the one in the University and was filled with fragile-looking spiral staircases. There were many more of them, however, and they were decorated with gold and illuminated by several hanging lamps. An elaborate clockwork timepiece clicked and whirred in the center of the room. They followed their young guide up a staircase to the second level.

A complicated journey followed. Their guide led them through large doorways and along wide corridors and halls. After a long climb up a narrow staircase, they arrived at an ordinary-sized door, blocked by two guards. The boy asked them to wait, then slipped past the guards. After a short pause, he reappeared and announced that the King would see them.

As Lorlen stepped into the room beyond, his attention was immediately drawn to the tall, narrow windows. They gave a view of the entire city and beyond. He realized they were in one of the Palace towers. As he looked to the north, he almost expected to be able to see a dark line of mountains, but of course, the border was far beyond the horizon.

The King was sitting in a large, comfortable chair on the far side of the room. The King’s Advisors stood on either side, their expressions watchful and serious. Lord Mirken was the older of the pair. Lord Rolden was closer to the King’s age, and, Lorlen knew, was considered as much a friend as protector.

“Your Majesty,” Lorlen said. He dropped to one knee, and heard the rustle of robes behind him as the other Higher Magicians followed suit.

“Administrator Lorlen,” the King replied, “and Higher Magicians of the Guild. Be at ease.”

Lorlen and the others rose.

“I wish to discuss the claims of the former High Lord with you and your colleagues,” the King continued. His gaze shifted from one magician to another, then he frowned. “Where is Lord Balkan?”

“The Head of Warriors is at the Northern Fort, Your Majesty,” Lorlen explained, “with the magicians who escorted Akkarin to the border.”

“When will he return?”

“He intends to remain in case Akkarin attempts to return that way, or his story proves to be true and these Ichani he spoke of try to enter Kyralia.”

The King’s frown deepened. “I need him here, where I can consult with him.” He hesitated. “My Advisors tell me you have given orders that all mental communication cease. Why is that?”

“Last night I heard the mental voice of a magician unknown to me.” Lorlen felt a chill as he remembered. “He appeared to have been listening in to a conversation I was having with my assistant.”

The King’s eyes narrowed. “What did this stranger say?”

“I thanked Lord Osen for informing me that Akkarin and Sonea had entered Sachaka. The stranger repeated the thanks.”

“That is all this stranger said?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know if this stranger is Ichani, however.” The King tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “But if the Ichani do exist, and have been listening to your conversations, they may have learned a great deal in the last few days.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And if I order Lord Balkan home, they will hear of it. Will his Warriors be capable of defending the Fort against attack if he leaves them and returns?”

“I do not know. I could ask him, but if his answer is no and he leaves, anyone listening will know the Fort is vulnerable.”

The King nodded. “I understand. Speak to him. If he feels he cannot leave, then he must stay.”

Lorlen sent out a mental call to Balkan. The response was immediate.

— Lorlen?

— If you return to Imardin, will your men be able to defend the Fort?

— Yes. I have taught Lord Makin how to coordinate them against a black magician.

— Good. Come back immediately. The King wants your advice.

— I’ll leave in an hour.

Lorlen nodded and looked at the King. “He is confident they can defend the Fort. He should arrive in two or three days.”

The King nodded, satisfied. “Now, tell me about your investigations.”

Lorlen clasped his hands behind his back. “In the last few days we have located a few merchants who visited Sachaka in the past, and one does remember the term ‘Ichani.’ He said it meant ‘bandit’ or ‘robber.’ Merchants and their possessions have been known to disappear in the wastes. It was assumed they had lost their way. That is all we know. We are sending three magicians into Sachaka to seek more information. They will leave in a few days.”

“And what defensive preparations have you made in case Akkarin’s story is true?”

Lorlen turned to regard his fellow magicians. “If what he says is true, and these Ichani are hundreds of times stronger than a single Guild magician, I don’t know if there is anything we can do. There are over three hundred of us, if we include magicians living in other lands. Akkarin estimated there were ten to twenty Ichani. Even if there were only ten, we would have to increase our numbers more than threefold to meet a force that strong. Though there is magical potential in the underclasses, I doubt we would find seven hundred new magicians—and we certainly couldn’t train them quickly enough.”

The King had grown a little pale. “Is there no other way?”

Lorlen hesitated. “There is one way, but it has its own dangers.”

The King gestured for Lorlen to continue.

Lorlen turned to look at Lord Sarrin. “The Head of Alchemists has been studying Akkarin’s books. What he has learned has been both disturbing and enlightening.”

“How so, Lord Sarrin?”

The old magician stepped forward. “They reveal that black magic was not forbidden by the Guild until five centuries ago. Before then, it was in common use and was known as ‘higher magic’ After it was banned, records were rewritten or destroyed to eliminate reference to it. The books Akkarin possessed were buried under the University as a precaution against Kyralia facing a powerful enemy again.”

“So your predecessors intended for the Guild to relearn black magic if it was under threat?”

“It appears so.”

The King considered that. Lorlen was pleased to see wariness and fear in the monarch’s expression. No ruler would like the idea of giving magicians potentially limitless power.

“How long would it take?”

Sarrin spread his hands. “I don’t know. More than a day. I believe Sonea learned it in a week, but with guidance from Akkarin. Learning from books may prove more difficult.” He paused. “I would not recommend attempting such an extreme measure unless there was no other way.”

“Why not?” the King asked, though he seemed unsurprised.

“We could save ourselves only to end up fighting the corrupting effects of black magic on our own people.”

The King nodded. “Yet black magic does not appear to have corrupted Akkarin. If he had intended to overpower the Guild, and myself, he could have done it at any time in the last eight years.”

“That is true,” Lorlen agreed. “Akkarin was my closest friend, from the day we met as novices, and I never found him to be dishonorable. Ambitious, yes, but not immoral or lacking in compassion.” He shook his head. “The Guild is large, however, and I cannot guarantee that all magicians would be as restrained if they had access to limitless power.”

The King nodded. “Then perhaps only a few might learn it, those who were judged trustworthy... but only if the situation proves desperate, as you say. Proof is the key, here. You must discover whether Akkarin’s story is true or untrue.” He looked at Lorlen. “Is there anything else that I should know?”

Lorlen glanced at the others, then shook his head. “I wish we had more significant or reassuring news, Your Majesty, but we do not.”

“Then the rest of you may go. Stay with me a while, Administrator. I would question you further about Akkarin and his novice.”

Lorlen stepped aside and nodded to the others. They knelt briefly, then left the room. At a gesture from the King, the Advisors quietly moved away to chairs beside the door. He rose and crossed to the northern window.

Lorlen followed at a respectful distance. The monarch leaned on the sill and sighed.

“I have never found Akkarin to be anything but honorable,” he murmured. “For the first time I find myself hoping that I was wrong about him, and have been proven a fool.”

“As do I, Your Majesty,” Lorlen replied. “If he was telling the truth, we have just sent our best ally into the hands of our enemy.”

The King nodded. “Yet it had to be done. I do hope that he survives, Administrator, and not just because we may need him. I, too, valued him as a good friend.”

Pain was the first sensation Sonea became aware of when she woke. It was at its worst in her legs and back, but her shoulders and arms also felt bruised and sore. Concentrating on it, she realized it was the ache of muscles unused to exercise, and the cramping of others that had tried to brace themselves against the hard surface she was lying on.

Drawing on her power, she Healed away the discomfort. As the ache receded, she grew aware of a nagging hunger. She wondered when she had last eaten, and memories of the previous night flooded in.

Last thing I remember, I was in a cave with Akkarin.

She opened her eyes slightly. Two walls of stone stretched up above her, drawing closer until they met. The cave. Keeping her eyes mostly closed, she looked toward the entrance. Akkarin was sitting a few steps away. As she watched, he looked at her and his mouth curled into that wry, half-smile she knew so well.

He’s smiling at me.

She didn’t know if he could see she was awake, and she didn’t want him to stop smiling, so she stayed still. He continued to regard her, then looked away, sighed and the smile was replaced with a frown of worry.

She closed her eyes again. She ought to get up, but she did not want to move. Once she did, the day would begin and there would be more walking and climbing and running away from Ichani. And Akkarin would turn cold again.

She opened her eyes fully and regarded him again. The skin of his face seemed tight, and looked bruised under his eyes. The shadow of stubble accentuated the angles of his jaw and cheekbones. He looked thin and tired. Had he slept at all? Or had he sat up all night watching her?

His eyes snapped to hers and his expression became disapproving.

“So. You’re awake at last.” He climbed to his feet. “Get up. We must get as much distance as possible between us and the Pass.”

Good morning to you, too, Sonea thought. She rolled and pushed herself unsteadily to her feet.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly dusk.”

She had slept all day. She considered the shadows under his eyes again.

“Did you sleep?”

“I kept watch.”

“We should watch in turns.”

He didn’t reply. She moved to the entrance of the cave. The drop into the ravine made her head spin. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she felt the vibration of magic under her feet.

“Let me do that,” she offered.

He ignored her. Magic lifted them both from the cave floor. She watched his face as they moved upward, noting the tension in his face. Tomorrow night she would insist on taking the first watch, she decided. Clearly she would not be able to rely on him to wake her up so he could sleep.

As he set them down at the top of the cliff, his hand left her shoulder. She followed as he began searching the ground. Guessing he was looking for signs of the Ichani’s passing, she hung back a little. After moving uphill for a few hundred paces, he stopped, walked back past her, and started in the opposite direction.

Turning to follow, she looked up and drew in a short breath in amazement. The wasteland spread before her. Despite the muting of the dusk light, the colors of the land were still vivid.

Dark, rust-colored soil lapped at the base of the mountains, but where rivers had eroded the land away, bands of black and pale yellow could be seen. If she looked closely, she could see a speckling of tussocky grass on the surface and, here and there, scraggly groves of trees grown twisted by the wind.

It was a bleak landscape, yet there was a wild beauty to it. The colors were so intense and strange. Even the sky was a different blue.

“It is as I feared. He continued southward instead of descending toward the wastes.”

She blinked in surprise as she saw that Akkarin was walking toward her again. He passed her and continued up the slope again. She sighed and hurried after.

A demanding climb followed. Akkarin seemed reluctant to levitate, preferring to climb up the stepped shelves of rock. He did not stop to rest, and by the time the last rays of the sun had left the mountains above, she was sore and weary again.

She soon craved the relief of standing still. Or just to be able to keep up with his long strides. Perhaps, if she got him talking, he would slow down for a little while.

“Where are we going?”

Akkarin hesitated, but didn’t stop or turn.

“Away from the Pass.”

“And then?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Do you have a place in mind?”

“Somewhere far from Sachaka and the Allied countries.”

Sonea halted and stared at his back. Away from Sachaka and Kyralia? He did not intend to stay close so he could help the Guild when the Ichani invaded? Surely he wasn’t going to abandon Kyralia.

It made sense, though. What else could they do? They weren’t strong enough to fight the Ichani. Neither was the Guild. And the Guild wasn’t going to accept their help anyway. What was the point of staying?

Yet she could not believe he would give up so easily. She could not give up so easily. She would fight, even if it meant she would probably lose.

But what if that meant leaving Akkarin...?

Akkarin glanced back at her. “Actually, I intend to find Kariko’s group and do a little spying myself,” he said.

“When I find them I will send images of what I see to the Guild.”

Sonea blinked, then shook her head. He had been testing her, then. The realization brought both relief and anger. Then she considered what he was saying, and felt her blood turn cold.

“The Ichani will hear you. They’ll know you’re watching,” she said. “They’ll—”

He stopped and turned to regard her.

“Why did you come, Sonea?”

Sonea stared at him. His eyes glittered dangerously. She felt a stab of hurt, then a growing anger.

“You need me more than the Guild does,” she told him.

His eyes narrowed. “Need you? I don’t need a half-trained, disobedient novice to protect.”

Disobedient. So that is what he is so angry about. She straightened. “If that ill-considered plan you just told me is what you’re truly intending to follow, then obviously you do need me,” she retorted.

His gaze flickered, but his expression did not soften.

“Ill-considered or not, why should I include you in my plans when you’re so disinclined to follow them?”

She held his gaze. “I’m only disinclined to follow plans that will get you killed.”

He blinked, then stared at her intently. She made herself hold his gaze. He abruptly turned away and resumed climbing.

“Your presence has complicated things. I cannot do what I intended. I will have to reconsider what I... we will do now.”

Sonea hurried after. “You didn’t really intend to spy on the Ichani and communicate what you saw to the Guild, did you?”

“Yes and no.”

“If they hear you, they will be able to work out where you are hiding.”

“Of course,” he replied.

And if they caught him, they would not enslave him. They would kill him. Suddenly Sonea understood what he had intended to show the Guild. A chill rushed through her.

“Well, I guess showing them that will definitely convince the Guild the Ichani exist.”

He paused and straightened. “I did not mean to imply that I intended to sacrifice myself,” he said stiffly. “The Ichani will not hear if I communicate through Lorlen.”

Lorlen’s ring. She felt her face warm. “I see,” she replied.

I’m a fool, she thought. Well, I just managed to sound like one anyway. Perhaps it would be better if I kept my mouth shut.

But as they continued to climb, she considered his plan. There was no reason why they couldn’t still try it. She looked at his back and considered whether she should broach the subject again, but decided to wait. When they stopped next, she would ask if it could still work.

Just as the growing darkness was beginning to make it difficult to see their way, they reached the base of a sheer cliff. Akkarin stopped and turned to regard the land below. He lowered himself to the ground and rested his back against the cliff. Sitting beside him, she caught the faint smell of his sweat. Suddenly she was very aware of his presence, and of the silence between them. Now was the time to ask about spying on the Ichani, yet she could not make herself speak.

What is wrong with me? she asked herself.

Love, a voice in her head whispered.

No. Don’t be ridiculous, she answered. I’m not in love. And he clearly isn’t. I’m a half-trained, disobedient novice. The sooner I put these silly notions out of my mind, the better.

“We have company.”

Akkarin lifted a hand and pointed. Following the direction of his finger, Sonea found herself searching the land she had travelled the night before.

A dark shape detached itself from the shadow of a boulder far below. It was hard to estimate how far away it was. She had never needed to guess such distances in the city.

The distant movements were strange, and definitely not human.

“It’s an animal,” she said.

“Yes,” Akkarin replied. “A yeel. They are a smaller, domestic breed of limek. The Ichani train them to track and hunt. See, its owner follows.”

A figure stepped into the moonlight, pursuing the limek.

“Another Ichani?”

“Probably.”

She realized her heart was pounding, but not from any foolish notions of love. One Ichani in front, one behind.

“Will he be able to track us?”

“If her yeel finds our scent.”

Her? Sonea watched the figure. There was something about the walk that did seem feminine, she decided. She looked at Akkarin. He was frowning.

“What now?”

He looked up at the cliff. “I don’t like wasting power levitating, but we will be safer higher up. We must find a crack or fold in the cliff to hide within as we go up.”

“And then?”

“We find water and food.”

“Up there?” she asked skeptically.

“It may seem desolate, but a little life can be found if you know where to look. It will grow easier the farther south we go”

“So we’re going south?”

“Yes. South.”

He rose and extended a hand. She took it and let him pull her to her feet. As he turned away, his fingers slid from hers, leaving her skin tingling where he had touched her. Sonea looked down at her hand and sighed.

Getting these silly notions out of her head was not going to be easy.

Dannyl sighed with relief as the door to his room closed. He sat down in one of his guestroom chairs and reduced his globe light to a faint glow.

At last he was alone. Now that he was, however, he found he didn’t feel any better. He moved around the room restlessly, examining the furniture and the framed maps and plans he’d collected and hung on his walls years ago.

I miss Tayend, he thought. I miss sharing a bottle of wine, and talking for hours. I miss sitting in our room working on our research. I miss... everything.

He longed to tell Tayend about Akkarin’s story. The scholar would work his way through every detail of it, teasing out hidden inconsistencies or meanings. He would see possibilities that others had never considered.

But Dannyl was glad that the scholar wasn’t here. If Akkarin’s story proved to be true, Dannyl would rather Tayend was as far away from the Guild as possible.

He considered everything he had been told about black magic in preparation for his position as Ambassador, and what he had learned from the Dem’s book. By using it, a magician could draw magical strength from others. A person gifted with magical talent had more power to take than one without it—but that did not mean that a magician was the better target. A magician, once defeated, would have little magic left to take. It was the person gifted with magical talent who hadn’t been trained to use it who would be the most attractive victim.

Which was exactly what Tayend was.

Dannyl sighed. He felt as if he were being pulled in two directions. Though he longed to return to Elyne to make sure Tayend was safe, he did not want to abandon Kyralia and the Guild either.

He thought of Rothen and smiled grimly. I might have joined this group of spies once. Now I hesitate, because I know how I would feel if Tayend left on such a dangerous mission. I wouldn’t do that to him unless there was no other choice.

Sitting down at his desk, Dannyl drew out a sheet of paper, ink and a pen. He paused to consider what he could risk putting onto paper.

To Tayend of Tremmelin:

As you have no doubt heard, the Guild is in a state of upheaval. I arrived to learn that the High Lord had been arrested for using black magic. You will appreciate how unfortunate the timing was in relation to our work, but while it created some problems, none have proven too troublesome so far.

He went on to relate Akkarin’s story, then explained that he could not return to Elyne until he knew the Guild was safe.

I will be surprised, and not a little annoyed, if I am not free to return within the next few months. While it is good to speak to Rothen again, I don’t feel like I belong here now. Instead, I feel like a visitor waiting for the chance to return home. When this matter is settled, I will ask Lorlen if I may continue in the role of Guild Ambassador to Elyne permanently.

Yours in friendship, Ambassador Dannyl.

Sitting back in his chair, Dannyl considered the letter carefully. It was more formal than he would have liked, but he was not about to put on paper anything more personal. If there were people like Farand in the Allied Lands, employed to listen to magicians’ mental conversations, there must also be people employed to intercept and read mail.

He rose and stretched. It might be months before he could leave Kyralia. If Akkarin’s claims proved to be true, the Guild would want to keep as many magicians in Kyralia as possible. He could be stuck here for a long time.

If Akkarin was telling the truth, he thought with a shiver, I might never return to Elyne again.

23 Spies

While outside the summer heat was slowly rising to its peak, the rooms inside the University were still pleasantly cool. Rothen relaxed in one of the large comfortable chairs in the Administrator’s office and regarded his companions. Lord Solend, the historian, seemed a strange choice for a spy, but who would suspect the sleepy-looking old man of gathering intelligence for the Guild? The other spy, Lord Yikmo, was the Warrior Skills teacher who had trained Sonea.

Solend was an Elyne, and Yikmo a Vin, making Rothen the only Kyralian magician chosen for the task. Rothen expected this would make it harder for him to get information out of the Sachakans—if they did dislike Kyralians as much as Akkarin claimed.

Lorlen drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. They were waiting to meet a professional spy, sent by the King, who would instruct them in the art of disguise and intelligence-gathering before they left for Sachaka in a few days. At a knock on the door, all turned to see who entered. A messenger strode into the room, bowed, and informed Lorlen that Raven of House Tellen would be late and offered his apologies.

Lorlen nodded. “Thank you. You may go.”

The messenger bowed again, then hesitated and glanced around the room.

“Does this room often suffer from unexplained drafts, my lord?”

Lorlen looked at the man sharply. He opened his mouth to reply, paused, then smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“Raven.”

The man bowed again.

“Where did you get the uniform?”

“I collect them.”

So this is what a professional spy looks like, Rothen mused. He had expected someone sly and clever-looking. Instead, Raven’s appearance was surprisingly ordinary.

“A useful habit, in your profession,” Lorlen commented.

“Very.” The man shivered. “Would you like me to find the source of this draft?”

Lorlen nodded. The spy crossed the room and began examining the walls. He stopped, pulled out a nose cloth, and wiped the frame of a painting, then smiled and slipped his hand behind it.

A section of the wall slid open.

“The source of your draft,” Raven announced. He turned to regard Lorlen, and a look of disappointment crossed his face. “But I see you already knew about it.” His hand moved again and the panel slid back into place.

“Everyone here knows of the passageways in the walls of the University,” Lorlen said. “Not everybody knows where the entrances are, however. Using them is forbidden, though I suspect the former High Lord often ignored that rule.”

Rothen resisted a smile. Despite Lorlen’s unconcerned manner, there was a crease between his eyebrows and he kept glancing at the painting. Rothen supposed the Administrator was wondering if Akkarin had ever spied on him.

Raven approached the Administrator’s desk. “Why is using them forbidden?”

“They are unsafe, in places. If novices observed magicians using them, they would be tempted to do the same—before they are capable of protecting themselves against cave-ins.”

Raven smiled. “That is your official reason, of course. In reality, you don’t want magicians or novices spying on each other.”

Lorlen shrugged. “I’m sure that possibility was considered by my predecessor when he invoked that rule.”

“You might want to revoke it if your former High Lord’s predictions come true.” Raven looked at Solend, then Yikmo. As Rothen was given the same calculating look, he wondered what the spy made of him. The man’s expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts. “They may prove to be valuable escape routes,” Raven added. He turned to face Lorlen. “I have examined all the books, reports and maps you sent to me. Confirming whether these Ichani exist should not be difficult, particularly if they do live as the former High Lord described. You don’t need to send three magicians into Sachaka.”

“How many do you suggest we send?” Lorlen asked.

“None,” Raven replied. “You should send non-magicians. If the Ichani do exist and capture one of your magicians, they will learn too much about you.”

“No more than what they will learn if they capture Akkarin,” Lorlen pointed out.

“It sounds as if he knows enough about Sachaka to look after himself,” Raven replied. “Whereas these magicians do not.”

“That is why we have employed you to educate them,” Lorlen answered calmly. “And there is one advantage to sending magicians. They can communicate what they discover in an instant.”

“And if they do, they will reveal themselves.”

“They have been instructed to communicate only as a last resort.”

Raven nodded slowly. “Then I would make one strong recommendation.”

“Yes?”

He glanced at Rothen. “Send only one of these, and choose two others. Your spies should not know who else you’ve sent. If one is captured, he will reveal the identity of the others.”

Lorlen nodded slowly. “Which would you choose, then?”

Raven turned to Yikmo. “You are a Warrior, my lord. If they capture you and read your mind they will learn too much of the Guild’s fighting skills.” He turned to Solend. “Forgive me for pointing this out, my lord, but you are old. No merchant would take a man of your age with him on an arduous journey through the wastes.” He looked at Rothen and frowned. “You are Lord Rothen, am I right?”

Rothen nodded.

“If your former novice is captured and her mind read, the Ichani might recognize you. She doesn’t know you are intending to enter Sachaka, however, and it probably makes little difference that she knows you so long as you don’t encounter the Ichani who captured her.” He paused, then nodded. “You have a face that inspires trust. You would be my choice.”

As Raven turned to regard Lorlen, Rothen did too. The Administrator considered the three magicians and the spy, then nodded.

“I will take your advice.” He looked at Solend and Yikmo. “Thank you for volunteering. I will speak to you both later. For now, we had best ensure only Rothen hears what Raven has to say.”

The two magicians rose. Rothen searched their faces for signs of annoyance, but read nothing more than disappointment. He watched them walk to the door and leave, then turned back to find Raven watching him closely.

“So,” Raven began, “what would you prefer? Lose the gray in your hair, or go completely white?”

As Sonea paused to catch her breath, she looked around. The sky was streaked with wispy ribbons of orange clouds, and the air was growing steadily colder. She guessed Akkarin would decide to rest soon.

For three nights since escaping the Ichani, she had followed Akkarin along the mountain range. They began at dusk every day, walked until it grew too dark to see, then rested until the moon rose. Travelling as quickly as they dared, they stopped only when the moon had disappeared behind the peaks.

When they had stopped at the darkest hours of the second morning, she had told Akkarin to take the magical strength she had regained. He had hesitated before accepting the power. Afterward, she had told him she would watch for the first half of the day. When he had begun to argue, she had told him bluntly that she didn’t trust him to wake her up when her turn came. The Healers had lectured novices often on the dangers of using magic to stay awake for too long, and Akkarin was looking more worn and haggard each day.

At first, when he didn’t lie down to sleep, she had assumed this was his way of refusing. She had waited until midday before giving in to weariness. The next morning, when she took the first watch again, he had fallen asleep leaning against a boulder, but woke again with a start long before midday and remained awake.

The third morning, she discovered the real reason he was resisting sleep.

They had both put their backs to a sloped wall warmed by the sun. She noted a little later that he had fallen into a doze, and felt some satisfaction and relief that he was finally sleeping. Soon after, however, he had begun to move his head slowly from side to side, his eyes roving under his eyelids. His face had tightened into an expression of pain and fear that sent a shiver down her spine. Then he woke with a start, stared at the stony landscape before him, and shuddered.

A nightmare, she guessed. She had wished she could comfort him somehow, but read from his expression that the last thing he wanted was sympathy.

Besides, she told herself, he doesn’t smell so good now. The scent of sweat, which had once been pleasant, was now the stale stink of an unwashed body. And she was sure she smelled no better. They had found the occasional small puddle of water to drink from, but nothing large enough to wash in. She thought wistfully of hot baths and clean robes, and of fruit and vegetables—and raka.

A squawk brought her attention back to the present, and she felt her heart skip. Akkarin had stopped walking and was looking up at several birds circling above. As she watched, a small shape dropped from the sky.

He caught the bird easily, then another. By the time she caught up with him, he had removed their feathers and had begun the less pleasant task of gutting them. He worked quickly and efficiently, obviously having once been well practiced at the task. It seemed strange to see him using magic for such a menial task, but then she had never seen a magician hesitate to use it to open and close doors and move objects they were too lazy to collect.

Every time he caught and roasted an animal, or she purified stagnant water, she wondered how they could have survived in this place without magic. They could not have travelled as quickly for a start. An ordinary man or woman would have needed to detour around the deep crevasses they had encountered, and scale the sheer cliffs in their path. Though Akkarin avoided using his magic as much as possible, without levitation they couldn’t have kept ahead of the Ichani woman tracking them.

As Akkarin began roasting the birds in a globe of heat, Sonea realized she could hear a faint pattering nearby. Moving away, she walked along the rock wall toward the sound. Seeing a glistening patch of stone, she drew in a sharp breath. A small trickle of water was running down a crack in the rock, surrounded by several birds.

She hurried to the wall, sending the birds fluttering away, and cupped her hands under the dribbling water. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned and smiled at Akkarin.

“It’s clean.”

He held up the two birds he’d caught, now reduced to a small, steaming handful of brown meat.

“They’re ready.”

She nodded. “Just give me a moment.”

Sonea hunted around until she had found a suitable rock, then began to work. Remembering her lessons on molding stone, she shaped the rock into a large bowl, then set it below the trickle of water to fill. Akkarin made no comment on her use of magic.

They sat down to eat. The small mountain birds did not yield much meat, but they were tasty. She sucked on the thin rib bones and tried to ignore the nagging hunger that remained. Akkarin rose and moved away. The sky had rapidly darkened to a deep blue-black and she could barely see him. She heard a faint splash and a swallow, and guessed he was drinking from the bowl of water.

“Tonight I will attempt to spy on our pursuers,” he said.

Sonea looked toward his shadowy figure, her pulse quickening.

“Do you think they’re still following us?”

“I don’t know. Come here.”

She rose and approached him.

“Look down and to the right a little. Can you see it?”

The slope of the mountain dropped steeply down from their position. Where it began to split into ridges and ravines, Sonea could see a small point of light. Something was moving about in the light. Something on four legs...

A small limek, she realized. Another movement brought her attention to a figure.

“They’re much farther away now,” she observed.

“Yes,” Akkarin agreed. “I believe they’ve lost our trail. We’re safe, for the time being.”

Sonea stiffened as another shadow moved near the distant light.

“There are two of them now.”

“It appears the one who nearly caught you has met with the woman.”

“Why have they made the light?” she wondered aloud. “They can be seen from all around. Do you think they’re trying to trick us into coming closer?”

He paused. “I doubt it. Most likely they do not know we are so high above them. They have stopped within a cluster of boulders. If we were lower on the slopes, we would not have seen the light.”

“It is going to be a big risk, approaching them just for the sake of showing Lorlen the truth.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But that is not the only reason to do it. I may also learn how the Ichani plan to enter Kyralia. The North Pass is blocked by the Fort, but the South Pass is open. If they enter from the south, the Guild won’t have any warning of their approach.”

“The South Pass?” Sonea frowned. “Rothen’s son lives near there.” That put Dorrien in considerable danger, she realized.

“Near, but not on the road or in the Pass. The Ichani would appear to be a small band of foreign travellers. Even if they were noticed, Dorrien may not hear about it from the local people for a day or so.”

“Unless Lorlen instructs him to keep an eye on the road, and question travellers.”

Akkarin did not reply. He remained silent, watching the distant Ichani. The sky brightened beyond the horizon, heralding the rise of the moon. When the first sliver of light appeared, he spoke again.

“We will have to approach from downwind, or the limek will smell us.”

Sonea glanced back at the bowl of water. It was full to the brim and overflowing.

“Then, if we have the time, there is something we ought to do first,” she said.

He watched as she walked over to the bowl. She warmed the water with a little magic, then glanced up at him. “Turn around—and no peeking.”

A faint smile curled his lips. He turned his back and crossed his arms. Keeping him in sight, Sonea pulled off her clothes a piece at a time, washing them and herself, then drying off with magic. She had to wait for the bowl to refill a few times as her clothes soaked up the water. Finally, she emptied the bowl over her head. She scrubbed at her scalp and sighed with relief.

Straightening, she shook her hair out of her eyes.

“Your turn.”

Akkarin turned, then approached the bowl. Moving away, Sonea sat down with her back to him. A nagging curiosity stole over her as she waited. She pushed it aside and concentrated on drying her hair with magic while combing out the knots with her fingers.

“That’s better,” he said eventually.

Glancing back, she froze as she saw that his shirt was lying on the ground beside him. Seeing his bare chest, she felt her face flush and turned away.

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. You’ve seen plenty of bare chests before. The workmen in the markets wore little more than short trousers in the summer heat. That had never embarrassed her before.

No, a voice in the back of her mind answered, but you’d have felt differently about those workmen if you’d fancied any of them.

She sighed. She did not want to feel like this. It made the situation more difficult than it needed to be. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. For once, she wanted to be moving, so that all her attention was focused on traversing the rough terrain of the mountains.

She heard footsteps behind her. Looking up, she saw with relief that he was fully dressed again.

“Come along then,” Akkarin said.

She rose and followed as he started down the mountain slope. The journey did seem to clear her mind. They descended quickly, taking a direct route to the Ichani and their light. After more than an hour had passed, Akkarin slowed and stopped. His eyes were fixed on a distant point.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Lorlen has put on the ring,” he said after a long pause.

“He isn’t wearing it all the time, then?”

“No. Until now, it has remained a secret. Sarrin was reading the books and would have recognized it for what it was. Lorlen usually slips it on a few times each evening.” He started moving again. “I wish I had some glass,” he murmured. “I would make you a ring.”

Sonea nodded, though she was heartily glad he hadn’t. A blood ring would have revealed too much of her thoughts. Until she managed to rid herself of this foolish attraction to him, she did not want Akkarin knowing what was going on in her mind.

They continued slowly. After several hundred paces, he pressed a finger to his lips. They crept forward slowly, pausing many times as Akkarin noted the direction of the wind. Sonea saw a glimmer of light between two boulders ahead of them, and knew they had arrived.

Faint voices grew more audible as she and Akkarin approached the boulders. They stopped and crouched behind the rocks. The first voice Sonea heard was male and thickly accented.

“... better chance than I had, with a yeel.”

“She’s a smart girl,” the woman replied. “Why don’t you have one, Parika?”

“I did once. Last year I picked up a new slave. You know how the new ones can be. She took off on me and when the yeel found her she killed him. He’d torn her legs up, though, so she didn’t get far after that.”

“You killed her?”

“No.” Parika sounded resigned. “As tempting as it was. Too hard to find good slaves. She can’t run now, so she isn’t as much trouble.”

The woman made a low noise. “They’re all trouble—even when they’re loyal. Either that or they’re stupid.”

“But necessary.”

“Hmmm. I hate travelling on my own, with nobody to serve me,” the woman said.

“It’s faster, though.”

“These Kyralians would have slowed me down. I’m almost glad I didn’t find them. I don’t like the idea of keeping magicians prisoner.”

“They’re weak, Avala. They wouldn’t have been much trouble.”

“They’d be less trouble dead.”

A chill ran down Sonea’s spine, then prickled over her skin. Suddenly she wanted to get as far from this place as she could, as quickly as possible. It was not a comfortable feeling, knowing that two powerful magicians who wanted her dead sat just a dozen or so strides away.

“He wants them alive.”

“Why doesn’t he hunt them himself?”

The male Ichani chuckled. “He’s probably itching to, but he doesn’t trust the others.”

“I don’t trust him, Parika. He might have sent us to find the Kyralians to get us out of the way.”

The man didn’t answer. Sonea heard a soft rustle of clothing, then the sound of footsteps.

“I did what I could to find them,” Avala declared. “I won’t be excluded. I’m going back to join the others. If he wants these two, he’ll have to hunt them himself.” She paused. “What will you do?”

“Return to the South Pass,” Parika replied. “I will see you again soon, I’m sure.”

Avala gave a soft grunt. “Good hunting, then.”

“Good hunting.”

Sonea heard footsteps, growing faintly softer. Akkarin looked at her, jerked his head in the direction they had come. She followed him slowly and silently away from the boulders. When they had walked several hundred paces, he quickened his stride. Instead of heading to the higher slopes of the mountain, he set off in a southerly direction.

“Where are we going?” Sonea murmured.

“South,” Akkarin replied. “Avala was anxious to get back to the others, as if she feared she might miss something. If she is travelling back to meet Kariko without Parika, who is heading to the Southern Pass, that suggests Kariko intends to enter via the North Pass.”

“Yet they said they’d meet soon.”

“In Kyralia, most likely. It has taken us four days to reach here, and it will take Avala the same time to return. If we hurry, we’ll reach the South Pass before Parika. We must hope it is not guarded by other Ichani.”

“So we’re going back into Kyralia?”

“Yes.”

“Without the Guild’s permission?”

“Yes. We will enter Imardin in secret. If they ask for my help, I want to be close enough to act quickly. But we have a long way to go yet. Save your questions. We must try to put some distance between ourselves and Parika tonight.”

“I think that is all we’re going to get,” Lorlen said. He unclasped his hands from Balkan and Vinara’s, and leaned back in his chair. As the pair released Sarrin’s hands, the three magicians turned to stare at Lorlen.

“Why haven’t you told us about this ring before?” Sarrin asked.

Lorlen took off the ring and set it on the desk before him. He regarded it a moment, then sighed.

“I could not decide what to do about it,” he told them. “It is a thing of black magic, yet it does no harm and it is our only safe means of contacting Akkarin.”

Sarrin picked up the ring and examined it, taking care to touch only the band. “A blood gem. Strange magic. It allows the maker access to the wearer’s mind. He sees what the wearer sees, hears what the wearer hears, and absorbs what the wearer thinks.”

Balkan frowned. “That does not sound like a harmless magical object to me. Whatever you know, he learns.”

“He can’t search my mind,” Lorlen said. “Only read my surface thoughts.”

“That can be damaging enough, if you happen to think about something he shouldn’t know.” The Warrior frowned. “I don’t think you should wear this ring again, Lorlen.”

The others shook their heads. Lorlen nodded reluctantly.

“Very well, if you all agree.”

“I do,” Vinara replied.

“Yes, so do I,” Sarrin added. He put the ring down. “What shall we do with it?”

“Put it somewhere only we four know of,” Balkan said.

“Where?”

Lorlen felt a stab of alarm. If they locked it away, it had better be in a place they could get to quickly if they needed to call on Akkarin.

“The library?”

Balkan nodded slowly. “Yes. The cupboard of old books and plans. I’ll put it away on the way back to my rooms. For now,” he looked up at each of them in turn, “let’s consider this conversation Akkarin relayed to us. What have we learned?”

“That Sonea is alive,” Vinara replied. “That she and Akkarin have overheard a woman named Avala and a man named Parika discussing a third man.”

“Kariko?” Lorlen suggested.

“Possibly,” Balkan replied. “The pair did not mention his name.”

“Inconsiderate of them,” Sarrin muttered.

“This unseen pair discussed slaves, so that much about them is true,” Vinara said.

“They also discussed hunting for Kyralians.”

“Sonea and Akkarin?”

“Probably. Unless this is a ruse Akkarin has arranged,” Balkan said. “He could have employed two people to have that discussion, so he could relay it to us.”

“Why such an ambiguous message, then?” Sarrin asked. “Why not have them mention Kariko, or his intention to invade Kyralia?”

“I’m sure he has his reasons.” Balkan yawned, then apologized. Vinara gave him a penetrating look.

“Have you slept since you returned?”

The Warrior shrugged. “A little.” He glanced at Lorlen. “Our meeting with the King continued late into last night.”

“Is he still considering asking one of us to learn black magic?” Sarrin asked.

Balkan sighed. “Yes. He would rather that, than call Akkarin back. Akkarin has proven himself untrustworthy by breaking the Guild’s law and his vow.”

“But if one of us learned it, he or she would also be breaking that law and the Magicians’ Vow.”

“Not if we make an exception.”

Sarrin scowled. “There should be no exceptions where black magic is concerned.”

“Yet we may have no choice. It may be the only way we can defend ourselves against these Ichani. If one of us was voluntarily strengthened by a hundred magicians each day, that magician would be strong enough to fight ten Ichani in just two weeks.”

Sarrin shuddered. “No one should be trusted with that much power.”

“The King knows you feel this way,” Balkan said. “Which is why he believes you would be the best candidate.”

Sarrin stared at the Warrior in horror. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“I couldn’t. I... I’d have to refuse.”

“Refuse your King?” Lorlen asked. “And watch the Guild and all of Imardin fall before a handful of barbarian magicians?”

Sarrin stared at the ring, his face white.

“It would not be an easy burden to shoulder,” Lorlen said gently, “and not one to take on unless we were sure there was no other choice. The spies will leave in a few days. Hopefully they will discover, once and for all, whether Akkarin spoke the truth.”

Balkan nodded. “We should consider sending reinforcements to the Fort, too. If this overheard conversation is real, it suggests that this woman is meeting a group of Ichani in the north.”

“What about the South Pass?” Vinara asked. “Parika was returning there.”

Balkan frowned. “I will have to consider that. It is not as defendable as the Fort, but their conversation suggests a larger gathering in the north. We should have the road to the South Pass watched, at the least.”

The Warrior yawned again. Clearly he was struggling against weariness. Lorlen caught a meaningful look from Vinara.

“It is late,” he said. “Shall we meet here, early, to discuss it?” The others nodded. “Thank you for coming here so promptly. I will see you in the morning.”

As the trio rose and bid him good night, Lorlen could not shake a feeling of disappointment. He had hoped Akkarin would show them something that would prove his story was true. The conversation between the Sachakans hadn’t revealed much, but it had pointed out some flaws in Kyralia’s defense.

But now the ring was gone, and with it went his only link to Akkarin.

24 Secrets Revealed

The whisper of robes and the shuffle of booted feet was a constant background noise in the Guildhall, even during Lorlen’s short speech. We’re all restless, Dannyl mused. Too few questions were answered this Meet.

There was a collective sigh as Lorlen announced the Meet concluded.

“There will be a short break before the Hearing to judge the Elyne rebels begins,” the Administrator told them.

At the announcement, Dannyl’s stomach flipped over. He looked at Rothen.

“Time for me to face the rumor-mongers.”

Rothen smiled. “You’ll be fine, Dannyl. You’ve gained quite an air of competence since you left for Elyne.”

Dannyl looked at his mentor in surprise. Competence? “You mean I didn’t have one before I left?”

Rothen chuckled. “Of course you did, or you would not have been chosen for the position. It’s just stronger now. Or did you bring back some of that awful Elyne scent with you?”

Dannyl laughed. “If you thought scent might give me an air of competence, you should have suggested it earlier. Not that I would have taken your advice. There are some habits best left to the Elynes.”

The older magician nodded in agreement. “Well go on, then. Get yourself down there before they start without you.”

Dannyl rose and made his way to the end of the seats. As he moved to the front of the hall, he noted that Expatriate Administrator Kito was descending to the floor in preparation to lead the proceedings. The magician glanced to one side, where a row of men and women were entering with an escort of guards. Dannyl recognized Dem Marane’s group of friends and co-conspirators. Royend walked beside his wife. He looked up at Dannyl and narrowed his eyes.

Dannyl returned the man’s gaze steadily. The hatred in Royend’s eyes was new. The Dem had been angry on the night of the arrest, but during the journey to Kyralia and the wait for the Hearing that anger must have matured into something stronger.

I can understand his hatred, Dannyl thought. I tricked him. He doesn’t care that I was acting under Akkarin’s orders or that he was breaking the law. He just sees me as the man who ruined his dreams.

Farand stood on the other side of the room, beside two Alchemists. The young man looked nervous, but not frightened. A heavy clunk drew eyes to the rear of the hall, where one of the great doors was swinging open. Six Elynes strode down the aisle. Two were the magicians from the ships that had brought the rebels to Kyralia, Lords Barene and Hemend. The others were representatives of the Elyne King.

As Kito directed the newcomers to the seats at the front of the room, Dannyl considered where he should position himself. He decided to stand near Farand, knowing that this would be taken as a gesture of support for the young man. When all were settled, Lorlen rang a small gong, and the hall quickly fell silent. Kito glanced around and nodded.

“We have called this Hearing today to judge Farand of Darellas, Royend and Kaslie of Marane, and their co-conspirators...”

Catching a noise from an unexpected direction, Dannyl looked up to the topmost tier of the seats for the Higher Magicians. He blinked in surprise when he saw that one of the King’s Advisors was present.

But of course, he thought, our King would want to be sure that anyone from another land caught trying to start their own magicians’ guild was appropriately punished.

“... Farand of Darellas has been accused of learning magic outside of the Guild,” Kito continued. “These men and women have been accused of seeking to learn magic. The Dem Marane has also been accused of possessing knowledge of black magic.”

Kito paused to look around the room. “The evidence to support these accusations will be presented for us to judge. I call forth the first speaker, Second Guild Ambassador to Elyne, Dannyl.”

Dannyl drew in a deep breath and stepped forward to stand beside Kito.

“I swear that all I speak in this Hearing will be the truth.” He paused. “Seven weeks ago I received orders from the former High Lord to find and arrest a group of rebels who were seeking to learn magic outside the influence and guidance of the Guild.”

The audience was silent as Dannyl told his tale. He had considered for weeks how much he ought to reveal when it came to explaining how he had convinced the rebels to trust him. The entire Guild had probably heard of the Dem’s claims by now, so Dannyl didn’t need to go into great detail. But he couldn’t avoid that part of the story completely.

So he told them he had arranged for the Dem to learn of a “false secret” so the man thought he could blackmail Dannyl. He then went on to describe his meeting with Farand. The Elyne courtiers’ faces grew tense as he explained that Farand had been denied entrance into the Guild after he had learned something the Elyne King wanted concealed. Dannyl explained, for their benefit, that Farand had been in danger of losing control of his powers, and what the consequences would have been if that happened.

Dannyl then described the book that Tayend had borrowed from the Dem. He told how the contents had convinced him to arrest the rebels immediately, rather than continuing to visit the Dem in the hope of identifying more of them. Finally, he finished with a warning that he may not have found all of the members of the group.

Kito turned to Lord Sarrin for a confirmation of the book’s contents, then asked for Farand to be brought forward. The young man was ushered to the front.

“Farand of Darellas, do you swear that you will speak the truth during this Hearing?” Kito asked.

“I swear.”

“Is Ambassador Dannyl’s story true in regard to your part in it?”

The young man nodded. “Yes.”

“How did you come to be a part of Dem Marane’s rebel group?”

“My sister is his wife. He thought it was a waste that I wasn’t able to become a magician. He encouraged me to listen into mind conversations again.”

“And this, I understand, is how you learned to release your magic.”

“Yes. I overheard a discussion about it.”

“Did you hesitate before trying what they said?”

“Yes. My sister didn’t want me to learn magic. Well, she did at first, but then she started to worry that we didn’t know enough and it might be dangerous.”

“So what overcame your hesitation?”

“Royend said, once I started, it would get easier.”

“How long have the Dem and his accomplices been meeting with the intention of learning magic?”

“I don’t know. Longer than I’ve known him.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Five years. Since my sister was engaged to him.”

“Are there any other members of the group who are missing today?”

“There are more, but I don’t know who they are.”

“Do you believe Dem Marane sought to learn magic himself?”

Farand hesitated, then his shoulders drooped. “Yes.”

Dannyl felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. He had chosen to help, knowing that the Dem and his friends would be punished regardless, but it must not be easy.

“And the others in the group?”

“I’m not sure. Some probably did. Some came along just for the excitement, I think. My sister was there because of Royend, and me.”

“Is there anything else you wish to add?”

Farand shook his head.

Kito nodded, then turned to face the hall. “I wish to add that I have truth-read Farand, and can confirm that all he has revealed is true.”

A low murmur followed. Dannyl looked at Farand in surprise. Allowing a truth-read was an indication of how willing Farand was to cooperate.

Kito turned to regard the Higher Magicians. “Any comments or questions?” Heads were shaken. “Return to your place, Farand of Darellas. I now call on Royend of Marane to be questioned.”

The Dem walked forward.

“Royend of Marane, do you swear to speak the truth during this Hearing?”

“I do.”

“Is Ambassador Dannyl’s story true in regard to your part in it?”

“No.”

Dannyl suppressed a sigh and braced himself for the inevitable.

“In which way is it incorrect?”

“He says he made up this story about his secret affair with his assistant. I believe it to be true. Anyone who has seen the two together would know there was more to it than just... just a trick. No one pretends that well.”

“Is this the only part of his story that is incorrect?”

The Dem stared at Dannyl. “Even Dem Tremmelin, Tayend of Tremmelin’s father, believes it to be true.”

“Dem Marane, please answer the question.”

The Dem ignored him. “Why don’t you ask him if he’s a lad. He swore that he’d tell the truth. I want to hear him deny it.”

Kito’s eyes narrowed. “This Hearing has been called to judge whether the law against the learning of magic outside the restrictions of the Guild has been broken, not whether Ambassador Dannyl has been involved in dishonorable and perverse practices. Please answer the question, Dem Marane.”

Dannyl just managed to stop himself wincing. Dishonorable and perverse. No doubt the Guild’s opinion of him—and his story—would change completely if they knew the truth. And the Dem knew it.

“If he’s lied about that, then he could have lied about everything,” the Dem spat. “Remember that, after you’ve put me in my grave. I will not answer your questions.”

“Very well,” Kito said. “Return to your place. I call Kaslie of Marane to be questioned.”

The Dem’s wife was nervous but cooperative. She revealed that the rebels had been meeting for ten years, but assured the Guild that their interest had been purely academic. As the other rebels were questioned, only small details about the group were revealed. They all claimed they had not intended to learn magic, only learn about it.

A short discussion followed in which Farand’s poisoning was considered. Dannyl was not surprised to learn that the Elyne magicians’ investigations had not revealed the poisoner. From the look on Lady Vinara’s face, Dannyl guessed the matter would not end there.

Kito asked for the accused to be enclosed in a barrier of silence as the Guild discussed their punishment. The hall filled with voices. After a long break, Kito called for all magicians to return to their places and for the barrier of silence to be removed.

“It is time to make our judgment,” he declared. He held out a hand and a globe light appeared above it, then floated upward. Dannyl created his own, and sent it up to join those from the rest of the Guild.

“Do you judge that Farand of Darellas is undoubtedly guilty of learning magic outside of the Guild?”

All of the globe lights turned red. Kito nodded.

“Traditionally, punishment for this crime is execution,” he said, “but the Higher Magicians feel that, under the circumstances, an alternative ought to be offered. Farand of Darellas is a victim of circumstances and the manipulations of others. He has been helpful at all times and has submitted to a truth-read. I recommend he be offered a place in the Guild with the condition that he remains within the grounds for the rest of his life. Please change your lights to white if you agree with my recommendation.”

Slowly the lights shifted to white. Only a few remained red. Dannyl breathed a sigh of relief.

“Farand of Darellas will be offered a place in the Guild,” Kito announced.

Looking at Farand, he saw that the young man was grinning with relief and excitement. But as Kito continued, the smile vanished.

“Next: do you judge that Royend of Marane is undoubtedly guilty of seeking to learn magic, and of possessing knowledge of black magic, outside of the Guild?”

The Guildhall filled with an eerie glow as the globe lights all turned red.

“Again, the Higher Magicians feel they must offer an alternative to execution,” Kito said. “The crime is a serious one, however, and we believe nothing less than imprisonment for life would be appropriate. Please change your lights to white, if you wish to reduce the punishment to imprisonment.”

Dannyl changed his globe light to white, but felt a chill as he realized that fewer than half the magicians had done the same. It must be years since the Guild has elected to execute someone, he thought.

“Royend of Marane will be executed,” Kito announced heavily.

A gasp came from the rebels. Dannyl felt a stab of guilt and forced himself to look at the group. The Dem’s face was white. His wife gripped his arm tightly. The rest of the rebels looked pale and uneasy.

Kito glanced at the Higher Magicians, then turned back to face the hall and spoke another rebel’s name. The rest were granted the lesser punishment of imprisonment. Clearly, the Guild saw Dem Marane as the leader of the group and wanted to make an example of him. His refusal to cooperate had done him no favors either, thought Dannyl.

When it was Kaslie’s turn, Kito surprised Dannyl by speaking out in her defense. He urged the Guild to consider her two children. His words must have sufficiently moved the magicians, because they granted the Dem’s wife a pardon, allowing her to return to her home.

The Elyne magicians then asked if they could mentally communicate the judgments to the Elyne King. Lorlen agreed, on the condition that no other information was communicated. He then announced the Hearing concluded.

Released from his role at last, Dannyl felt an overwhelming relief. He looked for Rothen in the crowd of magicians descending from the seats, but before he had located his friend, a voice spoke his name. He turned to find Administrator Kito approaching.

“Administrator,” Dannyl replied.

“Are you satisfied with the result?” Kito asked.

Dannyl shrugged. “Mostly. I have to admit, I did not think the Dem deserved his punishment. He is an ambitious man, but I doubt he would ever succeed in learning magic in a prison.”

“No,” Kito replied, “but I think the Guild resented his attack on your honor.”

Dannyl stared at the magician. Surely that was not the sole reason for the Guild choosing execution?

“You find this disturbing?” Kito asked.

“Of course.”

Kito’s gaze was unwavering. “It would be particularly disturbing, if his claims were true.”

“Yes, it would be,” Dannyl replied. He narrowed his eyes at the man. Was Kito baiting him?

Kito grimaced apologetically. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to insinuate that they were. Will you be returning to Elyne soon?”

“Unless Lorlen decides otherwise, I will stay here until we are sure there is no threat from Sachaka.”

Kito nodded, then glanced away as his name was called. “I will speak to you again soon, Ambassador.”

“Administrator.”

Dannyl watched the man move away. Was what Kito had suggested true? Had the Guild voted for execution out of anger at Dem Marane’s accusation?

No, he thought. The Dem’s defiance had swayed the vote. He had dared to seek what the Guild felt it has the sole right to, and he obviously felt no respect for laws or authority.

All the same, Dannyl could not find it in himself to agree with the Guild’s vote. The Dem did not deserve to die. But there was nothing Dannyl could do about that now.

Walking back through the underground passages of the Thieves’ Road, Cery considered his latest conversation with Takan. Akkarin’s former servant was difficult to read, but his mannerisms had betrayed both boredom and anxiety. Unfortunately, Cery could do little about the former, and nothing about the latter.

Cery knew that being cooped up in a hidden underground house, no matter how luxurious, was bound to become tedious and frustrating. Sonea had lived in a similar place when Faren had first agreed to hide her from the Guild. She had grown restless after a week. For Takan it was even more frustrating because he knew his master was facing dangers elsewhere and there was nothing he could do about it.

Cery also remembered how solitude and being unable to help someone he cared for had once made his every moment a torture. He still dreamed, though now only occasionally, about the weeks he had spent imprisoned under the University by Fergun. When he remembered that Akkarin had found and freed him, he was even more determined to help Takan in any way he could.

He had offered to provide any sort of entertainment Takan might crave—from whores to books—but the man had politely declined. Cery asked the guards to chat with his guest now and then, and he tried to visit every day, as Faren had once done for Sonea. Takan was not a talkative man, however. He avoided discussing his life before becoming Akkarin’s servant, and spoke little of the years after. Cery eventually drew out some humorous stories that servants liked to tell about the magicians. It seemed even Takan didn’t mind indulging in a little gossip.

Akkarin had only communicated with Takan a few times in the last eight days. When he did, Takan always reassured Cery that Sonea was alive and unharmed. Cery was both amused by and grateful for these updates on Sonea’s welfare. Obviously the servant had learned from Akkarin about Cery’s former interest in Sonea.

That’s in the past, Cery thought wryly. Now I have Savara to mope about. Had Savara to mope about, he corrected. He was determined there would be no pining, this time. We are both sensible adults, he told himself, with responsibilities that can’t be neglected.

They reached the beginning of the maze of passages around his own rooms. Bricks whispered against bricks as Gol opened the first hidden door. Cery nodded at the guards as he strolled through.

She said she might come back, Cery reminded himself. To “visit.” He smiled. That sort of arrangement has its advantages. No expectations. No compromises...

And he had bigger concerns. Imardin faced a probable invasion by foreign magicians. Cery had to consider what he would do about them—if he could do anything about them. After all, if the Guild was too weak to face these Ichani, what hope did non-magicians have?

Not a lot, he thought. But that’s better than nothing. There must be ways ordinary people can kill a magician.

He thought back to a conversation he’d had with Sonea over a year and a half ago. They had jokingly discussed how to get rid of a novice who was bothering her. He was still thinking about it when one of his messenger boys informed him that a visitor was waiting to meet him.

Entering his office, Cery sat down, checked his yerim were still in his drawer, then sent Gol out to meet the visitor. When the door opened again, Cery looked up and felt his heart skip. He rose from the chair.

“Savara!”

She smiled and sauntered to his desk. “I have surprised you this time, Ceryni.”

He dropped down into his seat again. “I thought you left.”

She shrugged. “I did. But halfway to the border my people spoke to me. They decided, at my urging, that someone should stay and witness the invasion.”

“You don’t need my help for that.”

“No.” She sat on the edge of the desk and tilted her head to one side. “But I did say I would visit if I came back. It could be some time before the Ichani come, and I might get bored while I am waiting.”

He smiled. “We can’t have that.”

“I did hope you would think so.”

“What are you offering me in return, then?”

Her eyebrows rose. “There is a price for visiting you, now?”

“Maybe. I just want a little advice.”

“Oh? What advice?”

“How can ordinary people kill magicians?”

She gave a short laugh. “They can’t. At least, not if a magician is competent and vigilant.”

“How can we tell if he isn’t?”

Her eyebrows rose. “You are not joking—but of course you are not.”

He shook his head.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “So long as I don’t reveal my people’s hand in this, I see no reason why I shouldn’t help you.” She smiled crookedly. “And I am sure you will find a way, even if I don’t. You might get killed trying, though.”

“I’d rather avoid that,” Cery told her.

She grinned. “I’d rather you did, too. Well, then, if you keep me informed of what’s going on in the city, I’ll give you advice on killing magicians. Does that sound reasonable?”

“It does.”

She crossed her arms and looked thoughtful. “I cannot tell you a sure way to kill an Ichani, however. Only that they are no different from ordinary people in that they make mistakes. You can trick them, if you know how. All it takes is courage, bluff, and some considerable risks.”

Cery smiled. “Sounds like the sort of work I’m used to.”

“I hear water.”

Akkarin turned to regard Sonea, but his face was in shadow and she couldn’t see his expression.

“Go on, then,” he replied.

She listened carefully, then moved toward the sound. After so many days in the mountains, she could now recognize the faintest noise of water trickling over rock. Drawn to the shadows of a recess in the rock wall they had been following, she stared intently into the darkness and felt her way forward.

She saw the tiny stream of water at the same time as she saw the break in the wall. A narrow gap led to an open space. Rock scraped across her back as she squeezed through. When she’d made her way out to the other side of the gap, she gave a low exclamation of surprise.

“Akkarin,” she called.

She stood at the edge of a tiny valley. The sides sloped gently up to steeper rocky walls. Stunted trees, bushes and grass grew along a narrow stream that gurgled cheerfully down to disappear into a crack several strides away.

Hearing a grunt, she turned to see that Akkarin was having some difficulty forcing himself through the gap in the rock wall. He freed himself, then straightened and gazed at the valley appreciatively.

“Looks like a good place to spend the night—or the day,” she said.

Akkarin frowned. They had continued walking toward the South Pass long into the morning for the last three days, conscious of the Ichani travelling behind them. Sonea worried constantly that Parika would catch up, but she doubted that he would travel at such a punishing pace unless he had good reason to.

“It may be a dead end,” Akkarin observed. He did not move back to the gap, however. Instead he started toward the trees.

A loud squawk rang out, echoing in the valley. Sonea jumped as a large white bird arced out of a nearby tree. The bird suddenly twisted in the air. Sonea heard a faint snap, then watched it plummet to the ground.

Akkarin chuckled. “I guess we will be staying.”

He strode forward and picked up the creature. As Sonea saw the huge eyes of the bird, she gasped in surprise.

“A mullook!”

“Yes.” Akkarin smiled crookedly. “Ironic. What would the King say if he knew we were eating his House incal?”

He continued up the stream. After several hundred paces, they reached the end of the valley. Water trickled over a looming cliff overhang to form the stream.

“We’ll sleep under that,” Akkarin said, pointing to the overhang. He sat down by the stream and began pulling the feathers from the bird.

Sonea looked down at the springy grass under her feet, then up at the hard stone under the overhang. Dropping into a crouch, she began tearing up handfuls of grass. As she carried armloads to their sleeping place, the smell of roasting meat drifted to her nose and set her stomach rumbling.

Leaving the mullook cooking in a floating globe of heat, Akkarin moved to one of the trees. He stared up at the branches, and they began to shake. Sonea heard a dull patter, then saw Akkarin crouch and examine the ground. She moved to his side.

“These nuts are hard to open, but quite tasty,” he told her, holding one out. “Keep gathering them. I think I saw some stingberries farther down.”

The moon hung low in the sky. In the growing darkness, it was hard to find the nuts. She resorted to groping around until she felt their smooth roundness under her fingers. Gathering them in the front of her shirt, she carried them to the cooking mullook, and soon worked out how to crack the shells without crushing the soft nuts inside.

Akkarin returned soon after, carrying a rough stone bowl filled with berries and a few stalks. The berries were covered in nasty looking spines.

Between shelling nuts, Sonea watched as Akkarin lifted the berries with magic and carefully peeled off the skin and spines. Soon the bowl was half filled with the dark flesh of the fruit. Next he set to work on the stalks, peeling away the fibrous outer layer.

“I think we’re ready for our feast,” he said. He handed her two of the stalks. “This is shem—Not particularly tasty, but edible. It’s not good to live on just meat.”

Sonea found the inside of the stalks pleasantly juicy, if not flavorsome. Akkarin divided up the mullook, which contained more meat than any of the other birds they had eaten. The nuts proved to be as delicious as he had promised. Akkarin crushed the berries, then added water to the pulp to make a tart drink. When they had finished, Sonea felt full for the first time since they had entered Sachaka.

“It’s amazing how something as simple as a meal can be so good.” She sighed contentedly. The valley was almost completely hidden in darkness now. “I wonder what this place looks like in the daylight.”

“You’ll find out in an hour or so,” Akkarin replied.

He sounded tired. She looked at him, but his face was in shadow.

“Time to sleep, then,” she said. She drew on enough Healing power to chase away her own weariness, then held out her hands. He didn’t take them at first, and she wondered if he could see her in the darkness. Then she felt his warm fingers wrap around hers.

She drew in a deep breath, then sent power to him, taking care not to exhaust herself. Not for the first time, she wondered if he had accepted her decision to take the first watch to ensure she didn’t give him too much power. If she exhausted herself, she wouldn’t be able to stay awake.

As she felt her power ebb, she stopped and pulled her hands away. Akkarin remained still and silent, making no move toward the grass bed she had prepared.

“Sonea,” he said suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for coming with me.”

She caught her breath, then felt her heart swell with pleasure. He remained silent for several minutes, then drew in a short breath.

“I regret separating you from Rothen. I know he was more like a father than a teacher.”

Sonea stared at his shadowed face, searching for his eyes.

“It was necessary,” he added softly.

“I know,” she whispered. “I understand.”

“But you didn’t understand then,” he said wryly. “You hated me.”

She chuckled. “That’s true. I don’t any more.”

He said no more, but after a short pause he rose and moved to the overhang and lay down on the grass bed. For a long time she sat in darkness. Eventually the sky began to lighten and the stars fade and disappear. She wasn’t bothered by sleepiness, and she knew her Healing power wasn’t solely responsible for that. Akkarin’s sudden thanks and apology had stirred up the hopes and wishes she had been trying to smother for days.

Little fool, she scolded herself. He’s just being kind. Just because he has finally acknowledged your help, and regrets what he did to you, doesn’t mean he considers you as anything more than a useful but unwanted companion. He’s not interested in you otherwise, so stop torturing yourself.

But no matter how hard she had tried to stop herself, she couldn’t help feeling a thrill every time he touched her, or even looked at her. And it didn’t help that she kept catching him watching her.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and drummed her fingers on her calves. When she had lived in the slums, she had assumed she knew everything she needed to know about men and women. Later, Healing lessons had shown her how little she had really understood. Now she found that even the Healers hadn’t taught her anything useful.

But then, perhaps they hadn’t told her how to stop feeling this way because it wasn’t possible. Perhaps...

A low noise, like a growl, echoed through the valley. Sonea froze, her mind now suddenly still, and stared out into the gloom. The sound came again, from behind, and she rose and spun about in one movement. As she realized the sound had come from somewhere near Akkarin, she felt a flash of fear. Was some night creature stalking him? She hurried forward.

Reaching the overhang, she peered into the gloom and saw no creature poised to attack. Akkarin’s head was rolling from side to side. As she drew closer, he moaned.

She stopped and regarded him with dismay. He was having another nightmare. Relief and concern filled her. She wondered if she should wake him, but it had always been so clear from his expression after waking that he didn’t like her witnessing these moments of weakness.

For that matter, she thought, I don’t either.

Another moan escaped him. Sonea winced as it echoed loudly in the valley. Sound carried far in the mountains, and she did not like to imagine who might be listening. As he uttered another low cry, she came to a decision. It didn’t matter if he liked it or not, she had to wake him up before he attracted unwanted attention.

“Akkarin,” she whispered hoarsely. He stilled and she thought she had woken him, but then he tensed all over.

“No!”

Alarmed, Sonea drew closer. His eyes roved under his eyelids. His face contorted in pain. She reached toward him, intending to shake him awake.

The sting of a shield met her fingers. She saw his eyes fly open, then felt a force slam into her, throwing her up into the air. Something hard slammed into her back, then she dropped to the ground. Pain lanced down her arms and legs.

“Ow!”

“Sonea!”

She felt hands pushing her over onto her back. Akkarin stared at her.

“Are you hurt?”

She examined herself. “No, just bruised, I think.”

“Why did you wake me?”

She looked down at his hands. Even in the gloom she could see they were shaking. “You were dreaming. A nightmare...”

“I am used to them, Sonea.” he said quietly, his voice controlled and calm. “They are no reason to wake me.”

“You were making a lot of noise.”

He paused, then straightened.

“Go to sleep, Sonea,” he said in a low voice. “I will watch.”

“No,” she said irritably. “You’ve barely slept—and I know you won’t wake me up when it’s your turn to sleep.”

“I will. I give you my word.”

He leaned forward and offered her a hand. Taking it, she let him haul her to her feet. A bright light dazzled her, and she realized that the rising sun was just beginning to crest the rock wall at the base of the valley.

Akkarin stilled. Sensing that something had caught his attention, she squinted at him, but he was a dark shape against the brightness. Instinctively, she sought him with her mind instead. At once she saw an image.

A face, framed by hair shining in the morning sunlight.

Eyes... so dark... and pale, perfect skin...

It was her own face, but it was unlike any reflection she had seen in a mirror. Her eyes held a mysterious shine, her hair seemed to ripple as if moving in a breeze, and her lips surely did not curve so invitingly...

He snatched his hand away and took a step back.

This is how he sees me, she thought suddenly. There was no mistaking the desire she had sensed. She felt her own heart racing. All this time, I resisted because I thought it was just me, she thought. And so has he.

She took a step toward him, then another. He watched her intently, frowning. She willed him to see beyond her eyes, to sense her own thoughts, and that she knew his. His eyes widened with surprise as she stepped very close. She felt his hands encircle her arms, then tighten as she rose up on the balls of her feet, and kissed him.

He went very still. Leaning against him, she felt his heart beating quickly. His eyes closed, then he pulled away.

“Stop. Stop this,” he breathed. He opened his eyes and stared at her intently.

Despite the words, his hands still held her arms tightly as if reluctant to let go of her. Sonea searched his face. Had she read him wrong? No, she was sure of what she had sensed.

“Why?”

He frowned. “This is wrong.”

“Wrong?” she heard herself ask. “How? We both feel... feel...”

“Yes,” he said softly. He looked away. “But there is more to consider.”

“Like?”

Akkarin released her arms and took a step back. “It would not be fair—to you.”

Sonea considered him carefully. “Me? But—”

“You’re young. I am twelve—no, thirteen—years older than you.”

Suddenly his hesitation made sense. “That is true,” she answered carefully. “But women in the Houses are matched with older men all the time. Much older men. Some when they’re as young as sixteen. I’m nearly twenty.”

Akkarin seemed to struggle with himself. “I am your guardian,” he reminded her sternly.

She could not help smiling. “Not any more.”

“But if we return to the Guild—”

“Will we cause a scandal?” She chuckled. “I think they’re getting used to that.” She hoped he would smile at that, but he only frowned. She sobered. “You speak as if we’ll go back and everything will be the same again. Even if we return, nothing will ever be as it was for us. I am a black magician. So are you.”

He winced. “I am sorry. I should never have—”

“Don’t apologize for that,” she exclaimed. “I chose to learn black magic. And I didn’t do it for you.”

Akkarin regarded her silently.

She sighed and turned away. “Well, this is going to make things awkward.”

“Sonea.”

She looked back and stilled as he stepped closer. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She felt her pulse quicken at the touch.

“Either of us could die in the next few weeks,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “I know.”

“I’d be happier knowing you were safe.”

Sonea narrowed her eyes at him. He smiled.

“No, I will not start that argument again, but... you test my loyalties, Sonea.”

She frowned, not understanding. “How?”

He reached out and ran a finger across her brow. “It doesn’t matter.” The corner of his mouth curled upward. “It’s too late, anyway. I started to fail that test the night you killed the Ichani.”

She blinked in surprise. Did that mean...? for that long...?

He smiled. She felt his hands slip around her waist. As he pulled her closer, she decided her questions could wait. She reached up and traced the curl in his lips with the tip of her finger. Then he leaned forward and his mouth met hers, and all questions were forgotten.

25 A Chance Encounter

Gorin, Rothen had discovered, were fnistratingly slow walkers. The enormous beasts were the favorite of merchants, however. They were strong, docile and easy to handle and direct and much more resilient than horses.

But they were impossible to hurry. Rothen sighed and glanced back at Raven, but the spy was dozing among the sacks of cloth in the cart, a wide-brimmed hat covering his face. Rothen allowed himself a smile and turned his attention back to the road. The previous night, they had hired rooms above a bolhouse in a town called Coldbridge. The spy, posing as Rothen’s cousin, had drunk more bol than anyone ought to be able to, then spent the night swaying from his bed to the piss drain and back again.

Which probably meant Raven was doing a much better job at playing the part of intrepid merchant than Rothen was. Or am I supposed to be the sensible older cousin?

Rothen adjusted his shirt. The closely fitting garment was much less comfortable than robes. He was grateful for his traveller’s hat, however. Though it was early morning, the day was promising to be a hot one.

A haze of dust hung in the air over the road and blurred the horizon. No mountains had appeared in the distance, though he had been travelling for two days. Rothen knew that the road ran near-straight to Calia, where it split into two. Turn left and it took you north to the Fort; turn right and you headed northeast to the South Pass. That was where he and Raven were headed.

It seemed strange to be travelling northeast to a southern pass, Rothen mused. The route was probably named for its location in the mountains, not for its general position in Kyralia. He had come close to it once, while visiting his son during the summer break five years ago.

He frowned as he thought of Dorrien. His son was watching the road to the Pass, and a meeting was inevitable. Rothen would have to explain where he was going, and why, and Dorrien wasn’t going to like it.

He will probably try to join us. Rothen snorted quietly. That’s an argument I’m not looking forward to.

It would be several days before he faced his son, however. Raven had said it took six or seven days to reach the South Pass by cart. By then Sonea will have been in Sachaka for fifteen days, Rothen thought. If she stays alive that long.

He had been relieved to hear from Lorlen that Akkarin had contacted the Higher Magicians, now five days ago. Sonea had been alive. Lorlen had also described an overheard discussion between two Sachakans that disturbed Rothen greatly. Whether the strangers were Ichani or not, they clearly wanted Akkarin and Sonea dead.

“They called them ‘the Kyralians,’ ” Lorlen had said. “I hope this doesn’t mean they’ll treat all Kyralians entering Sachaka the same way. Kyralian merchants have been making the journey to and from Arvice safely for years, though, and say they see no reason why that might have changed recently. Just be careful.”

“Someone’s approaching,” Raven said. “From behind us.”

Rothen glanced at the spy. The man shifted slightly, and one eye appeared beneath the brim of his hat. Looking down the road, Rothen realized that he could see movement beyond the dust stirred up by their passing. Horses and riders emerged from the cloud, and Rothen felt his pulse quicken.

“Magicians,” he said. “Balkan’s reinforcements for the Fort.”

“Better move to one side of the road,” Raven advised. “And keep your head down. You don’t want them recognizing you.”

Rothen pulled gently on the reins. The gorin tossed their heads halfheartedly, and slowly moved to the left side of the road. The sound of drumming hoof beats drew nearer.

“Feel free to gawk, though,” Raven added. “They’ll expect that.”

The spy was sitting up now. Rothen turned and peered under the rim of his hat at the approaching magicians. The first to pass the cart was Lord Yikmo, the Warrior who had been Sonea’s special tutor last year. The magician did not even glance at Rothen and Raven as he passed.

The other magicians thundered by, kicking up a dense cloud of dust in their wake. Raven coughed and waved a hand.

“Twenty-two,” he said, climbing onto the seat beside Rothen. “That’ll double what’s at the Fort. Is the Guild sending magicians to the South Pass?”

“I don’t know.”

“Good.”

Rothen looked at Raven, amused.

“The less you know, the less an Ichani can learn from you,” the spy said.

Rothen nodded. “I do know that the South Pass is being watched. If the Ichani enter there, the Guild will be alerted. Those at the Fort should have time enough to ride back to Imardin and join the Guild. The distance is about the same, from either pass.”

“Hmmm.” Raven clucked his tongue, as he had a habit of doing when he was thinking hard. “If I were these Ichani, I would use the South Pass. There are no magicians there, and no Fort, so they can enter without using any power in fighting. That doesn’t bode well for us, I’m afraid. Though...” He frowned. “These Ichani do not know how to fight as one. If the entire Guild faces them, it may be able to kill one or two. If the Guild is split, however, there is no danger of that. The Fort may be the better option.”

Rothen shrugged and turned his attention to guiding the gorin back from the side of the road. Raven spent a little time in thoughtful silence.

“Of course, the Ichani may be an invention of the former High Lord,” he said eventually, “created simply to convince the Guild to let him live. And your former novice believed him.”

Seeing his companion’s sidelong look, Rothen scowled. “So you keep reminding me.”

“If we are to work effectively together, I need to know what is between you and Sonea, and her companion,” Raven said. His tone was respectful but also determined. “I know it is not simple loyalty to the Guild that motivated you to volunteer for this mission.”

“No.” Rothen sighed. Raven would keep prying until he was satisfied he had all the information he could get. “She means more to me than just another novice. I took her from the slums and tried to teach her how to fit in.”

“But she didn’t.”

“No.”

“Then Akkarin took her hostage, and you couldn’t do anything about it. Now you can.”

“Maybe. It would be nice if I could just slip into Sachaka and take her back.” Rothen glanced at the spy. “Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as that.”

Raven chuckled. “It never is. Do you think Sonea might be in love with Akkarin?”

Rothen felt a flash of anger. “No. She hated him.”

“Enough to learn forbidden magic and follow him into exile, to ensure he survived long enough for, as she put it, the Guild to come to its senses?”

Taking a deep breath, Rothen pushed away a nagging fear. “If she believes these Ichani exist, it would have been easy for him to convince her to do all those things for the sake of the Guild.”

“Why would he, if the Ichani weren’t real?”

“So she would follow him. He needs her.”

“What for?”

“Her strength.”

“Why teach her black magic, then? That gained him nothing.”

“I don’t know. She said she asked him to. Perhaps he could not refuse without losing her support.”

“So now she’s potentially as powerful as he. If she discovered he was lying, why wouldn’t she return to Imardin, or at least tell the Guild?”

Rothen closed his eyes. “Because... just because...”

“I know this is distressing,” Raven said in a low voice, “but we must examine all the possible motivations and consequences before we meet them.”

“I know.” Rothen considered the question, then grimaced. “Just because she has learned black magic, doesn’t mean she is powerful. Black magicians grow stronger by taking energy from others. If she hasn’t had the opportunity to do that, Akkarin may be much more powerful than her. He may also be keeping her weaker by taking all her strength from her each day—and he may have threatened to kill her if she communicates with the Guild.”

“I see.” Raven frowned. “That doesn’t bode well for us either.”

“No.”

“I hate to say it, but I am hoping we find your novice in such a situation. The alternative is much worse, for Kyralia.” He clucked his tongue. “Now, tell me about your son.”

As Akkarin stopped, Sonea breathed a sigh of relief. Though she had grown used to the long days of walking, every rest was welcome. The morning sun was warm and made her feel sleepy.

Akkarin stood at the top of a short slope, waiting as she trudged up to meet him. Reaching the top, Sonea saw that their way was blocked by another crevasse. This one was broad and shallow. Looking down, she caught her breath.

A ribbon of blue ran down the middle. Water rushed around boulders and cascaded down short drops in the ravine floor before running away toward the wasteland. Trees and other vegetation crowded the banks of this little river, and in places extended out to the rock walls on either side.

“The Krikara River,” Akkarin murmured. “If we follow it, we will reach the road to the South Pass.”

He looked at the mountains. Sonea followed his gaze and noted how the gap between the peaks on either side of the ravine was much wider than the rest. She felt a twinge of excitement and longing. Kyralia lay beyond that gap.

“How far to the Pass?”

“It is a long day’s walk.” He frowned. “We should get as close as possible to the road, then wait until darkness.” He looked down at the ravine. “Though Parika must be at least a day’s travel behind us now, his slaves will be there, watching it for him.”

He rose, then turned to face her. Guessing what he intended to do, she grasped his hands.

“Let me do it,” she said, smiling.

Drawing magic to her will, she created a disk beneath their feet, then lifted them up and over the lip of the ravine. She lowered them down between the trees and they landed on a patch of grass.

Looking up, she found Akkarin regarding her closely.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

He smiled. “No reason.” He turned away and started walking along the river. Sonea shook her head and followed.

After so long walking in the dry slopes of the mountains, the sight of so much clean running water and vegetation lifted her spirits. She imagined rain falling high up, gathering into streamlets and then streams, all joining to form the river that flowed through this ravine. Glancing behind, she wondered where it ended. Did it continue though the dry wasteland below?

The trees and undergrowth made travelling a little harder, however. Akkarin moved to the shadows by one wall, so they could avoid the vegetation as much as possible. After an hour, they encountered a thick forest that seemed to stretch from one side of the ravine to the other, blocking the river from view. In single file, they pushed their way through undergrowth, and as they walked on, the sound of water splashing over stone grew ever louder. When they emerged into the sunlight again, they found their way blocked by a wide pool.

Sonea drew in a breath. Above them stood a rock wall over which the river fell in wide sheets of water to fill the pool below. The sound of it was deafening after the silence of the mountain slopes. She turned to Akkarin.

“Can we stop?” she asked eagerly. “We can stop, can’t we? I haven’t had a real bath for weeks.”

Akkarin smiled. “I guess a short stop won’t hurt.”

She grinned at him, then sat on a nearby rock and pulled off her boots. As she stepped into the shallows of the pool, she let out a gasp.

“It’s freezing!”

She focused her mind and sent heat out into the water. Her ankles began to warm. Moving slowly, she waded deeper. She found that she could keep the water around her comfortably heated if she did not move too abruptly and stir up eddies of cold.

As her trousers soaked up the water, they grew heavier. She could see that the pool was much deeper at the middle. When the water was just past knee-deep, she stopped and sat down, immersing herself to the neck.

The rock floor was a little slimy, but she didn’t care. Leaning back, she slowly let her head fall beneath the surface. As she came up for air, she heard a sloshing nearby. She turned to see Akkarin wading into the water. He stared intently at the pool, then suddenly dived under the surface. A splash of icy cold water engulfed her, and she cursed.

She watched him glide under the water. When he surfaced, his long hair was plastered to his face. He flicked it back and turned to regard her.

“Come here.”

She could see his feet kicking beneath the water. The pool was deep. She shook her head.

“I can’t swim.”

He glided a little closer, then rolled onto his back. “My family used to spend every summer by the sea,” he told her. “We swam nearly every day.”

Sonea tried to picture him as a boy, swimming in the ocean, and failed. “I lived near the river a few times, but nobody swims in that.”

Akkarin chuckled. “Not willingly, anyway.”

He turned over again and swam toward the waterfall. As he reached it, his shoulders rose out of the water and he stood regarding the fall. He ran a hand through the curtain of water, then stepped through it.

A faint shadow of him was visible for a moment, then nothing. She waited for him to return. After several minutes she grew curious. What had he found behind there?

She stood up and made her way around the pool. It was little more than ankle deep at first, then grew steadily deeper as she neared the waterfall. By the time she had reached the beginning of the curtain, the pool was past waist deep, but she could feel that the rock slope angled upward under the fall.

She ran a hand through the falling water. It was heavy and cold. Bracing herself, she moved through the curtain and felt her knees meet rock.

A ledge had formed behind the fall, at about shoulder height. Akkarin was sitting in it, his back against the wall and his legs crossed. He smiled at Sonea.

“It’s quite private in here, if a bit cramped.”

“And noisy,” she added.

Hoisting herself up onto the ledge, she turned and put her back to the wall. The greens and blues of the outside world colored the curtain of water.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Yes.”

She felt fingers curl around her hand and looked down.

“You’re cold,” he said.

He lifted her hand and covered it with both of his. His touch sent a warm shiver down her spine. She looked at him, noting that the stubble on his chin and jaw had grown into thick hair. He might not look too bad with a beard, she mused. And his clothes certainly leave less to the imagination when they’re wet.

He lifted one eyebrow.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

She shrugged. “No reason.”

He laughed, then his gaze dropped from her own. She looked down, then felt her face warm as she realized that her own clothes were plastered against her body. She moved to cover herself, but felt his hands tighten about hers. Looking up, she saw the mischievous glint that had entered his gaze, and smiled.

He chuckled and drew her close.

All thoughts of time, the Ichani, and decently dry attire slipped out of her mind. More important matters demanded her attention: the heat of bare skin against skin, the sound of his breathing, pleasure flaring up like fire through her body, and then how comfortable it was, curled up together on the ledge.

Magic has its uses, she thought. A cold, cramped space can be made warm and cozy. Muscles tired from walking can be revived. To think I once would have given this away, out of hatred for magicians.

If I had I wouldn’t be with Akkarin now.

No, she thought as reality struck hard, I’d be a blissfully ignorant slum dweller, completely unaware that immensely powerful magicians were about to invade my home. Magicians who will make the Guild look humble and generous.

She reached out to the falling water. As her fingers met the curtain it parted. In the gap she saw the trees and pool outside... and a figure.

She stiffened and snatched her hand away.

Akkarin stirred.

“What is it?”

Her heart was racing. “Someone is standing beside the pool.”

He drew himself up onto his elbows, then frowned.

“Be quiet a moment,” he murmured.

The muffled sound of voices reached them. Sonea felt her blood turn to ice. Akkarin scanned the wall of water, his eyes halting at a natural gap in the curtain farther along the ledge. He slowly pushed himself onto his hands and knees and crept toward the gap.

As he reached it he paused, then his face hardened into a scowl. He turned to her and mouthed a word: Parika.

Reaching for her shirt and trousers, Sonea struggled into them. Akkarin appeared to be listening. She crept to his side.

“... no harm. I only sought to be ready for your return,” a woman said meekly. “See, I have gathered stingberries and tiro nuts.”

“You should not have left the Pass.”

“Riko is there.”

“Riko is asleep.”

“Then punish Riko.”

There was a wordless protest, then a thump. “Forgive me, master,” the woman whimpered.

“Get up. I don’t have time for this. I haven’t slept for two days.”

“Are we going straight into Kyralia, then?”

“No. Not until Kariko is ready. I want to be well rested before then.”

Silence followed. Through the curtain of water, Sonea saw movement. Akkarin crept away from the gap to her. She felt his arm circle her waist, and she leaned against the warmth of his chest.

“You’re shaking,” he observed.

Sonea drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “That was too close.”

“Yes,” he said. “Lucky I hid our boots. Sometimes it pays to be overly cautious.”

Sonea shivered. An Ichani had stood less than twenty strides away. If she hadn’t decided to bathe, and Akkarin hadn’t discovered the alcove behind the falls...

“He’s in front of us now,” she said.

Akkarin’s grip tightened a little. “Yes, but it sounds as if Parika is the only Ichani at the Pass. It also sounds as if Kariko plans to invade in the next few days.” He sighed. “I tried to reach Lorlen, but he isn’t wearing the ring. He hasn’t put it on in days.”

“So we wait until Parika enters Kyralia, then follow?”

“Or we try to sneak past him tonight, while he sleeps.” He paused, then pushed her away a little so he could regard her. “It isn’t far to the coast from here. From there it would only be a few days’ ride to Imardin. If you were to go that way while I—”

“No.” Sonea was surprised by the force of her own voice. “I’m not leaving you.”

His expression grew stern. “The Guild needs you, Sonea. They don’t have time to learn black magic from my books. They need someone who can train them, and fight for them. If we both go through the Pass, we might both be caught and killed. At least, if you went south, one of us might reach Kyralia.”

Sonea pulled away. It made sense, but she didn’t like it. He moved past her and began to dress.

“You need my strength,” she said.

“One more day’s strength from you will make no difference. I could never have gained enough power in these last weeks to face an Ichani. I’d need ten or twenty of you.”

“It would not be one more day. It will take another four or five days to get from the Pass to Imardin.”

“Four or five days will make little difference. If the Guild accept my help, I will have hundreds of magicians to draw from. If they don’t, they are doomed anyway.”

She shook her head slowly. “You’re the valuable one. You have the knowledge and the skill, and the power we’ve collected. You should go south.” She looked up at him and frowned. “If it’s safer, why don’t we both go south?”

Akkarin picked up his shirt and sighed. “Because I would not get there in time.”

She stared at him. “So I wouldn’t, either.”

“No, but if I failed, you could help what was left of the Guild regain Kyralia. The rest of the Allied lands will not like having Sachakan black magicians as neighbors. They would—”

“No!” she exclaimed. “I’m not going to stay away until the battle is over.”

Akkarin pulled his shirt over his head, shrugged into the sleeves, then moved to her side. He took her hand and regarded her intently.

“It would be easier for me to face the Ichani if I did not have to worry about what they might do to you if I fail.”

She stared back at him. “Do you think it’s any easier for me,” she asked softly, “when I know what they will do to you?”

“At least one of us would be safe if you went south.”

“Why don’t you go, then?” she retorted. “I’ll stay and fix the Guild’s little Ichani problem.”

His jaw tightened, then his mouth widened into a smile and he chuckled.

“No good. I’d have to come with you to see that for myself.”

She grinned, then grew serious again. “I’m not going to let you do all the fighting and take all the risks. We face them together.” She paused. “Well, we should probably avoid facing this one in the Pass. I’m sure, between the two of us, we’ll come up with an alternative.”

The stack of letters on Lorlen’s desk slowly toppled over. Osen caught them in time, then divided them into two piles.

“This ban on mental communication will generate some extra employment for couriers,” the young magician observed.

“Yes,” Lorlen agreed. “And pen makers. I’ll probably wear them out twice as fast now. How many more letters do we have to answer?”

“This is the last,” Osen replied.

Lorlen signed it with a flourish, then busied himself cleaning the pen.

“It’s good to have you back, Osen,” he said. “I don’t know how I would manage without you.”

Osen smiled. “You wouldn’t. Not with the responsibilities of both Administrator and High Lord to look after.” He paused. “When will we elect a new High Lord?”

Lorlen sighed. It was a subject he had been avoiding. He just couldn’t imagine someone other than Akkarin in the role. Yet it would have to be filled eventually—and the sooner the better, if Akkarin’s predictions came true.

“Now that the Elyne rebels have been taken care of, candidates will probably be nominated at the next Meet.”

“A month from now?” Osen grimaced and looked at the pile of letters. “Can’t you begin earlier than that?”

“Perhaps. None of the Higher Magicians have suggested we tackle the matter sooner, however.”

Osen nodded. He had been unusually distracted this morning, Lorlen noted.

“What’s bothering you?”

The young magician glanced at Lorlen, then frowned.

“Will the Guild reinstate Akkarin if his story does prove to be true?”

Lorlen grimaced. “I doubt it. Nobody will want a black magician as High Lord. I’m not sure Akkarin would even be accepted back into the Guild.”

“What about Sonea?”

“She defied the King. If the King allows a black magician in the Guild, he will want someone he knows he, or the Guild, can control.”

Osen scowled and looked away. “So Sonea will never finish her training.”

“No.” As Lorlen said it, he realized it was true and felt a pang of grief.

“The bastard,” Osen hissed, rising from his chair. He paused. “I’m sorry. I know he was a friend, and you still feel some regard for him. But she could have been... something amazing. I knew she was unhappy. It was so obvious he was part of the reason, but I didn’t do anything.”

“You couldn’t have,” Lorlen said.

Osen shook his head. “If I’d known, I would have taken her away. Without her as hostage, what could he have done?”

Lorlen looked down at his hand, at the finger the ring had encircled. “Taken over the Guild? Killed you and Rothen? Don’t torture yourself, Osen. You didn’t know, and couldn’t have helped her if you had.”

The young magician didn’t reply. “You’re not wearing that ring any more,” he said suddenly.

Lorlen looked up. “No. I grew tired of it.” He felt a twinge of anxiety. Had Osen heard enough about blood gems to suspect what it was? If he did, and he remembered that Lorlen had been wearing the ring for a year and a half, he might realize that Lorlen had been aware of Akkarin’s secret for much longer than he had admitted.

Osen picked up the two piles of letters and smiled crookedly. “You don’t need me to start lamenting the past. I guess I should make myself useful and arrange couriers for these.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

Lorlen watched his assistant stride across the room. When the door had closed, he regarded his ringless hand again. For so long he had wished he could get rid of it. Now he desperately wanted it back. It was securely locked within the Magicians’ Library, however. He could retrieve it at any time...

Or could he? He knew what Balkan would say. It was too dangerous. The other Higher Magicians would agree.

Did Balkan, or the others, have to know?

Of course they do. And they’re right: it is too dangerous. I just wish I knew what was going on.

Sighing, Lorlen turned his attention back to the requests and letters on his desk.

26 The South Pass

As they approached one of the exits from Cery’s rooms, Gol paused and looked back.

“Do you think you ought to tell the other Thieves about these magicians?”

Cery sighed. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if they’d believe me.”

“Perhaps later, when you got proof.”

“Perhaps.”

The big man climbed a ladder to a hatch in the roof. He unbolted it, then cautiously pushed it up. The sound of voices reached Cery’s ears. Gol climbed through, then signalled that it was safe for Cery to follow.

He entered a small bol storeroom. Two men sat at a table, playing tiles. They nodded at Cery and Gol politely. Though they knew they were employed to guard one of the entrances to the Thieves’ Road, they did not know it led to the lair of a Thief.

The following journey was short, but Cery stopped at a baker and a few other crafters’ shops on the way. The owners were as oblivious to their customer’s identity as the guards. Cery made a few subtle inquiries about whether they were happy with their arrangements with “the Thief,” and all but one behaved favorably.

“Get someone to check what’s up with the matmaker when we’re done,” Cery said to Gol when they had descended into the underground passages again. “He’s not happy about something.”

Gol nodded. When they arrived at their destination, he stepped forward to haul open a heavy metal door. A thin man sat in the short corridor beyond.

“Ren. How’s our guest?” Cery asked.

The man stood up. “He’s been pacing. Worried, I think.”

Cery frowned. “Open the door, then.”

Ren stooped and grabbed a chain on the floor. He pulled and a vibration ran through the floor. The far wall slid sideways, revealing a luxurious room.

Takan stood a few paces away, the sound having warned him of their arrival. He looked tense and eager. Cery waited until the door had closed behind Gol before he spoke.

“What is it?”

The Sachakan let out a short breath. “Akkarin has spoken to me. He has asked me to explain some things to you.”

Cery blinked in surprise, then gestured to the chairs.

“Let’s sit, then. I’ve brought some food and wine.”

Takan moved to a guestroom chair and perched himself on the edge of the seat. Cery sat down opposite him, while Gol disappeared into the kitchen to find plates and glasses.

“You know that these murderers Akkarin employed you to find were Sachakan magicians,” Takan began. “And you know that Akkarin and Sonea were exiled for using black magic.”

Cery nodded.

“The murderers were former slaves,” Takan explained, “sent by their masters to spy on Kyralia and the Guild—and kill Akkarin if they had the chance. Their masters are powerful magicians known as the Ichani. They use black magic to draw magical strength from their slaves—or their victims. The people in my country call this higher magic, and have no law against its use.”

“This magic makes them stronger?” Cery asked. Though he knew all this from Savara, he must pretend it was all new.

“Yes. Akkarin learned black magic in my country. I returned to Kyralia with him, and he has been taking strength from me so he could fight the spies.”

“You were a slave?”

Takan nodded.

“You say these murderers—spies—were once slaves. Yet they used black magic, too.”

“They were taught the secret of higher magic so that they might survive long enough to gather information about Kyralia’s defenses.”

Cery frowned. “If they were free, why did they continue to do what their masters wanted?”

Takan looked down at the floor. “Servitude is a hard habit to break, especially when you are born to it,” he said quietly. “And the spies feared the Guild as much as they feared the Ichani. They saw only two choices: to hide in the enemy’s land, or return to Sachaka. Until Akkarin and Sonea were so publicly exiled, most Sachakans believed the Guild still used higher magic. All previous spies had been killed. Sachaka seemed a safer place. The dangers there are familiar. But they knew the Ichani would kill them if they returned without completing their mission.”

Gol returned carrying wine, glasses, and a plate laden with meat-filled savory buns. The big man offered Takan a glass of wine, but the servant shook his head.

“The Ichani know the Guild do not use higher magic now,” Takan continued. “They know they are stronger. Their leader, a man named Kariko, has been trying to unite them for years. Now he has succeeded. Akkarin contacted me this morning, and told me to tell you this: they plan to enter Kyralia in the next few days. You must warn the Guild.”

“And they’ll believe me?” Cery asked dubiously.

“The message must be anonymous, but its recipient will know from the content who it is from. Akkarin has told me what it should contain.”

Cery nodded, then sat back in his chair and took a sip of the wine.

“How much does the Guild know?”

“All but this latest news. They do not believe any of it, but Akkarin hopes they will prepare in case it proves true.” Takan hesitated. “You do not seem alarmed to learn that your country is about to face a war.”

Cery shrugged. “Oh, I am. But I am not surprised. I had a feeling something big was about to happen.”

“You are not concerned?”

“Why? It is magicians’ business.”

Takan’s eyes widened. “I wish, for your sake, that it was so. But when these Ichani have removed the Guild and the King, they will not leave ordinary people to continue their lives as if nothing happened. Those they do not enslave, they will kill.”

“They have to find us first.”

“They will collapse all your tunnels and tear down your houses. Your secret world will not survive.”

Cery smiled as he thought of Savara’s suggestions for killing magicians.

“They won’t find it as easy as they think,” he said darkly. “Not if I have any say in it.”

Dannyl stepped out of the University and considered the busy courtyard. Midbreak had just begun, and the grounds were full of novices enjoying the summer warmth. He decided to follow their example and take a stroll through the gardens.

As he entered the shady walkways, he considered his interview with Lord Sarrin. Now that the fate of the rebels had been decided, and Rothen had left for Sachaka, Dannyl had very little to do, so he had volunteered to help in the construction of the new Lookout. The Head of Alchemists had been surprised by Dannyl’s proposal, as if he had forgotten all about the project.

“The Lookout. Yes. Of course,” Sarrin had said distractedly. “It’ll keep us occupied, unless... but then it won’t matter. Yes,” he repeated, in a firmer tone. “You may ask Lord Davin how you may assist.”

On the way out of the University, Dannyl had glimpsed Lord Balkan leaving the Administrator’s office. The Warrior had looked worried. That was to be expected, but his manner suggested he had something new on his mind.

I wish I knew what was going on, Dannyl thought. He looked around, noting the tense expressions of a group of novices gathered together nearby. It looks like I’m not the only one.

He turned a corner and noted a lone novice sitting on a garden seat. The boy was older, probably a fifth year, and very thin and sickly. He looked strangely familiar.

Dannyl stopped as he realized this was no boy. It was Farand. He stepped off the path and approached the garden seat.

“Farand.”

The young man looked up, then smiled self-consciously.

“Ambassador.”

Dannyl sat down. “I see they’ve got you a set of robes. Have you started training yet?”

Farand nodded. “Private lessons for now. I’m hoping they’re going to spare me the humiliation of joining the younger novices.”

Dannyl chuckled. “And miss all the fooling around?”

“From what I’ve heard, you didn’t have an easy time as a novice.”

“No.” Dannyl sobered. “Not in the first few years. But don’t let my experiences put you off. I’ve heard some magicians say their years in the University were their most enjoyable.”

The young man frowned. “I was hoping it would all be easier from here, but I’m beginning to wonder. I’ve heard it said that the Guild is facing a war. We’re going to either fight Akkarin or Sachakan magicians. Either way, nobody is sure if we’ll win.”

Dannyl nodded. “You may have joined the Guild at the worst possible time, Farand. But if you hadn’t, you would not have escaped the strife for long. If Kyralia falls to either enemy, Elyne would fall soon after.”

“Better that I’m here, then. I’d rather be a help, than gain a few safe months at home.” Farand paused, then sighed. “I have only one regret, however.”

“Dem Marane.”

“Yes.”

“It is my one regret, too,” Dannyl admitted. “I had hoped the Guild would be more forgiving.”

“I think, perhaps, this strife with your High Lord influenced the decision. The Guild ought to have noticed that its leader had learned black magic. It hadn’t, so it didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. And it should have executed Akkarin, but it couldn’t. So it dealt out the full punishment to the next man to break that law, to show itself and the world that it would not condone such crimes.” Farand paused. “I’m not saying that each magician was aware of this, just that the situation may have influenced their thinking.”

Dannyl glanced at Farand, surprised at the young man’s perceptiveness. “So we have Akkarin to blame.”

Farand shook his head. “I’m done with blaming people. I am here, where I was supposed to be all along. I’m expected to put all political matters behind me, and that is what I will do.” He hesitated. “Though I am not sure I could have if my sister hadn’t been pardoned.”

Dannyl nodded. “Did you see her before she left?”

“Yes.”

“How is she?”

“She grieves, but the children will give her something to hold to. I will miss them all.” He looked up as the gong signalling the end of midbreak rang out. “Time to go. Thank you for stopping to talk to me, Ambassador. Will you be returning to Elyne soon?”

“Not for a while. Administrator Lorlen wants as many magicians to remain here as possible, until he knows more about Sachaka.”

“Then I hope I have an opportunity to talk to you again, Ambassador.” Farand bowed, then strode away.

Dannyl watched the young man leave. Farand had been through so much, and faced the prospect of death three times—through loss of control, poisoning, and possible execution. Somehow he managed to view it all without resentment.

It was humbling. And his thoughts on the reason for Dem Marane’s execution were interesting.

He might make a good Ambassador one day, Dannyl mused. If he gets the chance.

But for now, the Guild could only go on as it always had. Dannyl sighed, stood up and went in search of Lord Davin.

Something brushed against Sonea’s lips. She blinked her eyes open and stared at the face hovering above hers. Akkarin.

He smiled and kissed her again. “Wake up,” he murmured, then he straightened, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. She looked around. An eerie half-light had turned everything to gray. The sky was covered in cloud, but she guessed it was too early for the sun to have dropped below the horizon yet.

“We should find the road now, before the sun sets,” Akkarin said. “It will be very dark until the moon rises, and we can’t afford to stop.”

Sonea yawned and looked up at the gap between the two peaks. They had left the waterfall after the Ichani’s visit that morning, and continued up the ravine as far as they dared. A small space between some boulders and the rock wall had provided enough shelter to hide them as they slept. While it was not as concealed as the ledge behind the waterfall, there was no reason for the Ichani or his slaves to visit it.

Now, as the ravine narrowed and the light faded, the way became steadily more difficult. The small river filled most of the ravine, and the banks were strewn with huge rocks. After an hour or so, Akkarin stopped and pointed up at the ravine wall. In the fading light, Sonea could only see that a steep rock slope continued up from just beyond the top. Then Sonea blinked in surprise as she made out the stone steps hewn into the wall.

“The road runs alongside the ravine from here,” Akkarin murmured.

He started toward the stairs. They reached the base, then began to climb. When they finally reached the top, the darkness was like a thick smoke all around, and Akkarin a warm shadow within it.

“Be as silent as you can,” he murmured into her ear. “Put one hand to the rock wall. If you want to speak, take hold of my hand so we can communicate mind to mind without the Ichani hearing us.”

A persistent wind tugged at them now that they were out of the shelter of the ravine. Akkarin walked in front, setting a steady pace. She let her right hand brush the rockwall, and tried to keep her footsteps light. The occasional stone clattered across the ground as she or Akkarin disturbed it, but the sound was blown away by the wind.

After a long stretch of walking, Sonea found she could make out another wall several hundred paces to their left. She wondered how she could see it, then looked up. The peaks above were glowing faintly, bathed in moonlight filtering through the clouds.

The ravine was gone and the road continued along the floor of a narrow valley. Sonea moved to Akkarin’s side, and they strode on. As the hours passed, the left-hand wall drew closer, then fell back out of sight again. It returned, and the right-hand wall withdrew. The moon rose higher, then dipped down toward the peaks.

Much later the road started to twist and turn. It began to follow the curve of a rocky slope. The higher they climbed, the steeper the slope became, and soon they were walking with a cliff wall on one side and a precipice on the other. Still they strode onward.

Then she heard a faint noise ahead and Akkarin stopped. The sound came again.

A sneeze.

They crept forward to the next turn in the road. Akkarin reached out and squeezed her hand.

— That must be Riko, Akkarin sent.

In the faint moonlight, Sonea made out the dark shape of a man sitting on a rock beside the road. She could hear him shivering. As he rubbed his arms, something glinted on his finger. A blood ring, she guessed.

— Parika probably took his outer clothing from him to ensure he stayed awake, Akkarin added.

— This makes things difficult, Sonea replied. How are we going to get past the slave as well as his master? Do we trick both of them?

— Yes and no. The slave can be our bait. Are you ready?

— Yes.

It was not easy forcing herself to step past the turn in the road, knowing that the man would see them. Riko was too wrapped up in his misery to see them at first. Then he looked up, leapt to his feet and fled.

Akkarin stopped, cursed loudly, then propelled Sonea backward.

“A slave!” he said, loud enough for Riko to hear. “There must be someone in the Pass. Come on.”

They ran back down the road. Akkarin slowed and stared up at the rock walls on either side. He pulled Sonea to a halt. She felt the ground shift, then they were rising up in the air.

The cliff face sped past, then slowed and they moved into a shadow. Sonea felt her feet touch solid rock. The ledge Akkarin had set them upon was barely wide enough for her boots. She leaned back against the wall, her heart hammering.

A long silence followed in which the only sound was their breathing. Then a figure appeared below, walking cautiously around the turn in the road. It stopped. Akkarin’s hand tightened around hers.

— He needs a little encouragement, Akkarin observed.

From the distance came the sound of a rock skittering against the road. The figure took a step forward, then a light blazed into existence, flooding the area. Sonea caught her breath. The man was dressed in a fine coat and his hands glittered with jewels and precious metals.

— Great, she replied. Now he has only to look up and he’ll see us.

— He won’t.

A thin, hunched man shuffled up behind the Ichani.

“I saw—”

“I know what you saw. Go back and stay with—”

The Ichani suddenly broke into a half run. Looking down the road, Sonea saw that a light was visible behind the next turn, several hundred paces down the road. It was fading, as if moving away. She looked at Akkarin, guessing that he was the source of the light. His forehead was creased with a frown of concentration.

The Ichani hurried on, passed the turn and disappeared. When Sonea looked down again, the slave was gone. Akkarin drew in a deep breath.

— We haven’t got much time. Let’s hope Riko obeys his master promptly.

They descended to the road, then hurried on toward the Pass. At every step, Sonea was sure they would catch up with the slave, but it wasn’t until several hundred paces later that they saw the man ahead of them.

Soon after, they saw a flickering light in the distance. A fire, Sonea saw with relief. She had dreaded that they would discover another Ichani. Riko reached the fire and sat down beside a younger woman.

Akkarin and Sonea drew closer, keeping to the shadows. The fire lit steep rock walls on either side of the road.

— We can’t slip past without them noticing, Akkarin sent. Are you ready to run?

Sonea nodded.

— As ready as I’m going to get.

Akkarin did not move, however. She glanced at him, and saw that he was frowning.

— What is it?

— I should take the opportunity to divest Parika of his slaves. They will only be used against us later.

Sonea felt her blood go cold as she realized what he intended to do.

— But there is no time...

— Best make it quick, then.

He let go of her hand and started forward.

She bit back a protest. Killing the slaves made sense. Their strength would be used to kill Kyralians. Yet it seemed so cruel to kill people who had been victims all their lives. They hadn’t chosen to be Ichani tools.

The woman was the first to notice Akkarin. She jumped up, then flew backward as a force slammed into her. She landed on the ground and lay still.

Riko had bolted down the road. As Akkarin broke into a run, Sonea dashed after him. Somewhere behind them, Parika would have seen the attack through the slave’s blood ring. She paused only to look at the woman. Her eyes stared sightlessly at the sky.

At least it was quick, Sonea thought.

A light flared above Akkarin’s head and he lengthened his stride. The road twisted about, but sloped downward now. Sonea caught no glimpses of the slave running ahead of them. She could not help hoping he would remain out of sight. Akkarin could not kill someone he could not see.

Then they heard a scream from the road ahead. Akkarin checked, then ran faster. He drew ahead of Sonea easily, rounding the next corner several strides before she did. As he reached the turn, she saw that the road ahead twisted sharply. It left the confining walls of the Pass, and hugged the steep side of a mountain. Akkarin was standing at the turn, looking over the precipice. She stopped beside him and peered over the edge, but saw only darkness below.

“He fell?”

“I think so,” he panted. He looked at the road ahead. It curved along the side of the mountain for several hundred paces before it turned out of sight. “Nowhere... to hide. He was... not that far ahead.” He glanced behind, and his face hardened. “We must... keep going. If Parika follows... we’ll be as exposed.”

He started forward. They pounded along the road. When they passed the next turn, Sonea’s relief turned to dismay when she saw another long stretch of exposed road. They kept running. Her back prickled, and she resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder.

Time stretched out as they sprinted on. The road descended steadily. The sense of urgency and fear faded. Weariness grew until it dominated all her thoughts. She healed it away.

Surely we can stop now, she thought, over and over. Parika wouldn’t follow us into Kyralia, would he?

But Akkarin continued on.

How many times can I Heal myself like this? Can I damage my body doing it too often?

When Akkarin finally slowed to a walk, she let out a great sigh of relief. He chuckled, then put an arm around her shoulder. She looked around and realized they were walking between trees. The moon was gone. Akkarin reduced his globe light to a faint glow. They walked for another long hour or more, then Akkarin steered her off the road.

“I think we’ve come far enough,” he murmured.

“What if he follows us?”

“He won’t. He won’t enter Kyralia until Kariko does.”

She felt soft, uneven ground beneath her feet. They walked for several minutes, then Akkarin stopped and sat down, his back to a tree. Sonea collapsed beside him.

“What now?” she asked, staring at the trees around them.

Akkarin pulled her close to his chest, and wrapped his arms around her.

“Sleep, Sonea,” he whispered. “I will watch. We’ll decide what to do next tomorrow.”

27 A Surprise Meeting

No. It’s too soon to wake up, Sonea thought. I’m still too tired.

But a growing feeling of unease would not let her slip back into sleep. Her back leaned against something warm; she was sitting mostly upright. She drew in a deep breath and felt the weight of arms around her. Akkarin’s arms. She smiled, then opened her eyes.

Four slim, hair-covered legs stood before her. Horse’s legs. Her heart skipped a beat and she looked up.

Familiar blue eyes stared back at her. Green robes, half-covered by a heavy black cloak, shone in the late morning sunlight. She felt her heart fill with joy and relief.

“Dorrien!” she gasped. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

His expression was cold, however. The horse shifted its feet and shook its head. Sonea heard the snort of another nearby. She looked to one side and saw that four more riders waited several strides away, dressed in plain clothes.

Akkarin stirred, then drew in a deep breath.

“What are you doing here?” Dorrien demanded.

“I... we...” Sonea shook her head. “I don’t know where to start, Dorrien.”

“We are here to warn you,” Akkarin replied. She felt the vibration of his voice against her back. “The Ichani plan to enter Kyralia in the next few days.”

His hands caught her shoulders and pushed her gently forward. She rose and stepped aside as he climbed to his feet.

“You are exiles,” Dorrien’s voice was low. “You cannot return to this land.”

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. “Cannot?” he asked, straightening and crossing his arms.

“Do you intend to fight me?” Dorrien asked, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“No,” Akkarin replied. “I intend to help you.”

Dorrien’s eyes narrowed. “We do not require your help,” he snapped. “We require your absence.”

Sonea stared at Dorrien. She had never seen him like this, so cold and full of hatred. He sounded like a stranger. A foolish, angry stranger.

Then she remembered how passionate he was about caring for the people in his village. He would risk everything to protect them. And if he still regarded her as he once had, finding her sleeping in Akkarin’s arms would not put him in the best of moods...

“Dorrien,” she said. “We would not have come back if we hadn’t felt we must.”

Dorrien glanced at her and scowled. “Whether you must return or not is for the Guild to judge. I have been ordered to watch the road and turn you back if you try to return,” he said. “If you intend to remain, you will have to kill me first.”

Sonea’s heart skipped a beat. A memory of the dead slave flashed though her mind. Surely Akkarin wouldn’t...

“I don’t have to kill you,” Akkarin replied.

Dorrien’s eyes were like two chips of ice. He opened his mouth to speak.

“We’ll go back,” Sonea said quickly. “But at least let us deliver our news first.” She laid a hand on Akkarin’s arm.

— He’s thinking with his heart. If we give him time to think this over, he may be more reasonable.

Akkarin frowned at her, but did not argue. She turned back to find Dorrien regarding her closely.

“Very well,” he said with obvious reluctance. “Tell me your news.”

“You’re watching the pass, so no doubt Lorlen has informed you of the threat from Sachaka. Yesterday morning, Sonea and I narrowly avoided capture by an Ichani named Parika,” Akkarin said. “From his conversation with his slave, we learned that Kariko and his allies plan to enter Kyralia in the next few days. Sonea and I intended to stay in Sachaka until the Guild satisfied itself that the Ichani were real and a threat, but time is running out. If the Guild want us to return and assist in the coming battle, we must be close enough to Imardin to reach it before the Ichani do.”

Dorrien regarded Akkarin impassively. “Is that all?”

Sonea opened her mouth to tell him about the Ichani in the South Pass, but then she pictured Dorrien riding up into the mountains to investigate for himself. The Ichani would kill him. She choked back the words.

“At least let us rest here for today,” she pleaded. “We are exhausted.”

Dorrien’s eyes slid to Akkarin and narrowed, then he glanced over his shoulder at the other riders.

“Gaden. Forren. Might the Guild loan your horses for a day?”

Sonea peered over the flank of Dorrien’s horse at the men. They exchanged glances, then two began to dismount.

“I have no authority to grant you a day or even an hour in Kyralia,” Dorrien said stiffly, as the men led their horses forward. “I will escort you to the Pass.”

Akkarin eyes burned dangerously. Sonea felt him tense. She tightened her grip on his arm.

— No! Let me talk to him on the way. He will listen to me.

He turned to regard her, his expression skeptical. Sonea felt her face warm.

— We were almost intimate once. I think he is angry because you took me away.

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. He regarded Dorrien appraisingly.

— Really? Then see what you can do. Just don’t take too long.

As one of the men drew near, Akkarin stepped forward and took the offered reins. The man shrank away, glancing nervously up at Dorrien. The young magician said nothing as Akkarin swung up into the saddle. Sonea approached the other horse and managed to haul herself up onto its back. Akkarin turned back to regard Dorrien.

“After you,” the Healer said.

Sonea’s horse followed as Akkarin turned his mount and urged it toward the road. They travelled single file, making private conversation impossible. All the way through the forest she could feel Dorrien’s eyes on her back.

When they reached the road, Sonea pulled back on the reins so that her horse slowed. When it was walking beside Dorrien’s, she glanced at the Healer, but suddenly could not think of what she should say. It would be so easy to anger him further.

She thought back to the days she had spent with him in the Guild. It seemed a long time ago. Had he hoped he would regain her interest one day? Though she had made no promises, she felt a pang of guilt. Her heart was Akkarin’s. She had never felt this strongly about Dorrien.

“I did not believe Rothen when he first told me,” Dorrien murmured.

Sonea turned to look at him, surprised that he had broken the silence.

He was watching Akkarin. “I still can’t.” His eyebrows knit together. “Once he told me Akkarin’s reasons for taking your guardianship from him, I understood why you put a distance between us. You thought I might see how unhappy you were and start to ask questions.” He looked at her. “That was it, wasn’t it?”

She nodded.

“What happened? When did he turn you away from us?”

She felt another pang of guilt. “About... two months ago he asked me to come with him into the city. I didn’t want to go, but I thought I might learn something that the Guild could use against him. He took me to see a man—a Sachakan man—and taught me how to read the man’s mind. What I saw in it could only be the truth.”

“Are you sure? If the man believed things that were wrong, you—”

“I am no fool, Dorrien.” She held his gaze. “That man’s memories could not have been false.”

He frowned. “Go on.”

“Once I knew about these Ichani, and that their leader only needed to prove that the Guild was weak to gather enough allies to invade, I couldn’t stand by and let Akkarin do all the work. I asked—no, I insisted—that he let me join him.”

“But... black magic, Sonea. How could you learn such things?”

“It was not an easy choice. I knew it was a terrible responsibility, and a great risk. But if the Ichani attacked, the Guild would be destroyed. I’d probably die anyway.”

Dorrien’s nose wrinkled as if he had smelled something foul. “But it is evil.”

She shook her head. “The early Guild didn’t think so. I’m not sure I do either. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want the Guild to begin using it again. If I imagine Fergun or Regin wielding that kind of power...” she shuddered. “Not a good idea.”

“But you consider yourself worthy?”

She frowned. The question still bothered her. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

“You admitted to using it to kill.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Do you believe I’d do something like that just for the sake of making myself stronger? Or do you think I had a good reason?”

He looked away, at Akkarin. “I don’t know.”

She followed his gaze. Akkarin’s horse walked about twenty paces ahead.

“But you think Akkarin would kill for power, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Dorrien admitted. “He admitted that he has killed many times before.”

“If he hadn’t, he’d still be a slave in Sachaka—or dead—and the Guild would have been attacked and destroyed years ago.”

“If he speaks the truth.”

“He does.”

Dorrien shook his head and looked away into the forest.

“Dorrien, you must tell the Guild that the Ichani are coming,” she urged. “And... let us remain this side of the mountains. The Ichani know we came through last night. If we go back, we will be killed.”

He turned to stare at her, his expression wavering between alarm and disbelief.

Then a figure stepped out onto the road in front of them.

Sonea reacted instinctively, but the shield she threw around herself and Dorrien crumpled before a powerful forcestrike. She felt herself thrown backward, then the ground knocked the air from her lungs. She heard Dorrien curse nearby, then hooves thundered around her head and she threw up another shield. A shrill whinny was followed by the rapid beat of receding hoof beats as the horses fled.

Get up, she told herself. Get up and find Akkarin!

She rolled and scrambled to her feet. In the corner of her eye she saw Dorrien crouching nearby. Akkarin stood several strides away.

Between her and Akkarin stood Parika.

Sonea felt her stomach sink and twist with fear. Akkarin was not strong enough to fight an Ichani. Not even with her help, and Dorrien would make little difference.

The air flashed as Akkarin attacked the Ichani. Parika retaliated with powerful strikes.

“Sonea.”

She glanced at Dorrien as he moved to her side.

“This is an Ichani?”

“Yes. His name is Parika. Do you believe me now?”

He did not reply. She grabbed his wrist.

— Akkarin is not strong enough to fight him. We have to help.

— Very well. But I will not kill unless I am sure he is what you say he is.

They struck together, battering the Ichani’s shield. The Ichani paused, then looked over his shoulder. His lips curled into a disdainful sneer as his gaze settled on Dorrien. Then his eyes shifted to Sonea. His sneer changed to a malicious smile. He turned his back on Akkarin, and started toward her.

Sonea backed away. She attacked with strike after strike, but they did not stop him advancing. Flashes came from Dorrien but his efforts appeared to have no effect either. Akkarin continued pounding Parika’s shield, but the Ichani ignored him.

Dorrien began to move away from her, and Sonea realized he was hoping to draw Parika’s attention aside. The Ichani paid him no attention. As his strikes grew more powerful, she allowed him to drive her down the road.

Think, she told herself. There must be a way out of this. Remember Lord Yikmo’s lessons.

She attacked Parika’s shield from all directions, and found it whole and impenetrable. She considered all kinds of false strikes and tricks she’d used in classes, but most relied on the adversary trying to save power by weakening his shield. All she could do was try to trick him into using up his strength.

Then Dorrien stepped between her and the Ichani. Parika’s expression darkened. He stopped and sent several blasts of power at the Healer. Dorrien staggered backward, his shield wavering. Sonea hurried forward and extended her shield over his. As she did, she felt her own powers beginning to dwindle. Dorrien caught her arm.

— He is so strong!

— Yes, and I can’t do this much longer.

— We have to get away. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the road.

— But Akkarin—

— Is doing well enough. We can’t do anything more.

— He isn’t strong enough.

— Then we’re all doomed.

Another blast shook her. She let Dorrien pull her into a run. The next strike propelled them on. She reached for more power and knew it was the last of her strength.

As the next strike shattered her shield, she gasped. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Parika striding toward her. Akkarin was hurrying after them. She began to run.

Then a force hit her side. She felt the air rush from her lungs and felt the ground smash into her shoulder. For a moment, she could only lie still on her back, stunned by the twin blows. Then she forced herself up onto her elbows.

Dorrien lay several paces away, still and pale. Alarmed, she tried to stand up, but another blow sent her sprawling again. She felt the sting of a shield slide over her and her heart froze with terror. A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to her knees. Parika stared down at her, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. She stared back in horror and disbelief.

It can’t end this way!

The Ichani’s shield vibrated as it was struck over and over. She glimpsed Akkarin standing only strides away, his expression terrible. The Ichani shifted his grasp from her arm to her wrist, then reached into his coat.

As she saw the curved knife he drew out, her mind went blank with fear. She struggled uselessly. Then the pain of the blade slicing open her skin brought a memory of another cut that she had made.

“Heal yourself,” Akkarin instructed. “Always heal yourself without delay. Even half-healed cuts are a break in your barrier.”

She had no power left, but while she was alive, there was always a little energy left. And Healing such a small cut only took... there!

Parika went still. He stared at her arm. The blade slowly descended and touched her skin again. She focused her will and felt the pain fade. The Ichani’s eyes widened. He cut her again, deeper, and made a disbelieving noise as the wound sealed before his eyes.

They do not know how to Heal. She felt a moment’s triumph, but it faded quickly. She couldn’t keep Healing herself forever. She would eventually grow too exhausted even for that.

But perhaps there was another way to turn this skill to her advantage?

Of course there is.

He was holding on to her wrist. Skin against skin. That made him almost as vulnerable to her Healing powers as she was to black magic. Closing her eyes, she sent her mind outward, into his arm. She almost lost her concentration as she felt the sting of another cut. Pausing only to Heal herself, she dove deeper into his body. To his shoulder. Into his chest. She felt the pain of another cut...

There, she thought in triumph. His heart. With the last of her strength, she took hold and twisted.

The Ichani gave a half scream, half gasp, and let her go. She fell backward and scrambled away as he fell to his knees, clutching at his chest.

He remained frozen. Poised on the brink of death. She watched, fascinated, as his face slowly turned blue.

“Get away from him!”

Sonea jumped at Akkarin’s shout. He dove forward and scooped up the Ichani’s knife from where the man had dropped it. With a sweep of his arm, he slashed at the back of the man’s neck, then pressed his hand to the wound.

Realizing what he was doing, Sonea relaxed. Akkarin might as well take Parika’s remaining power. The Ichani was going to die anyway, and he might even have quite a bit of strength left...

Then the significance of Akkarin’s words came to her. If Parika died with magic still stored within his body, that power would consume his body and probably blast everything around it. She scrambled to her feet and backed away.

Akkarin straightened then. He dropped the knife and let Parika slump to the ground. A few steps later he was gathering her close, his arms squeezing the air out of her lungs.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered hoarsely. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “You should have run as soon as he appeared.”

She felt bruised and exhausted, but as Healing magic flowed from Akkarin she felt strength return. “I told you. I won’t leave you. If we die, we die together.”

He drew back a little and looked down at her, amused. “That’s very flattering, but what about Dorrien?”

“Dorrien!”

He muttered a curse and turned to regard Dorrien, lying several paces away. They hurried to the Healer’s side. Dorrien’s eyes were open and glazed with pain.

Akkarin placed a hand on the Healer’s head.

“You’re badly wounded,” he said. “Stay still.”

Dorrien’s eyes shifted to Akkarin. “Save your strength,” he whispered.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Akkarin replied.

“But—”

“Close your eyes and help me,” Akkarin said sternly. “You know this discipline better than I.”

“But—”

“You are more useful to me alive than dead, Dorrien,” Akkarin said dryly, with a hint of command. “You can replace the strength I use to heal you later, if you wish to.”

Dorrien’s eyes widened with understanding.

“Oh.” He paused, then looked at Sonea. “What happened to the Sachakan?”

Sonea felt her face warm. Using Healing power to kill seemed like the worst abuse of the discipline.

“He’s dead. I’ll tell you later.”

Dorrien closed his eyes. Watching closely, Sonea saw color slowly come back to his face.

“Let me guess,” Akkarin said quietly. “You stopped his heart.”

She looked up to find him watching her. He nodded at Dorrien. “He is doing all the Healing now. I’m just supplying the strength.” He looked toward the Sachakan. “Am I right?”

Sonea glanced at Dorrien, then nodded.

“You said Parika would not enter Kyralia.”

Akkarin frowned. “Perhaps he wanted revenge for the deaths of his slaves. Strong slaves are rare, and Ichani do get angry if one is killed or taken from them. It’s like losing a prize horse. I don’t know why he’d bother, though. It’s been hours since we arrived, and he must have known it would be difficult to find us once we left the road.”

Dorrien stirred and opened his eyes. “That will do,” he said. “I feel like I’ve been smashed into small pieces, then put together again, but I’ll live.”

He gingerly pushed himself up onto his elbows. His gaze slid to the dead Ichani. A shudder ran through him, then he looked at Akkarin.

“I believe you. What do you want me to do now?”

“Get away from the Pass.” Akkarin helped Dorrien to his feet. “And send a warning to the Guild. Do you have any—”

— Lorlen!

— Makin?

— Strangers are attacking the fort!

Sonea stared at Akkarin. He gazed back at her. An image of a road flashed through Sonea’s mind, seen from above. She recognized it as the road on the Sachakan side of the Fort. Several men and women, dressed in similar clothes to Parika’s, stood in a line. The air blazed with their strikes.

“Too late for warnings,” Dorrien muttered. “They’re here already.”

28 The Invasion Begins

As Cery looked around at the crowds, he felt a small pang of jealousy. The two Thieves whose territory included the Market, Sevli and Limek, were very rich men, and today it was not hard to see why. Bright sunlight glinted off an endless stream of coins passed from customers to stallholders, and a small part of that income taken in exchange for services would quickly add up to a fortune.

A server approached the table and set down two mugs. Savara sipped at hers, closed her eyes and sighed.

“You do have good raka here,” she said. “Almost as good as ours.”

Cery smiled. “I ought to get some in from Sachaka, then.”

An eyebrow lifted in warning. “That would be expensive. Not many merchants risk travelling across the wastes.”

“No? Why is that?”

She gestured around them. “We have nothing like this. No markets. Each Ashaki owns many hundred slaves—”

“Ashaki?”

“Powerful free men. Slaves provide almost everything they need. They tend the fields, make cloth, cook, clean, entertain, almost anything the Ashaki needs. If a slave has a special talent, like making beautiful pottery, or the Ashaki owns a mine or produces more of a crop than he can use, he will trade with other Ashaki.”

“So why do merchants bother going there?”

“If they do manage to attract a buyer, they can make a considerable profit. Selling luxuries, mostly.”

Cery considered the cloth in the next stall. It had appeared in markets the year before, after one of the crafters had invented a way to make the surface glossy. “Sounds like there’d be no profit in Sachakans coming up with a better way to make something.”

“No, but a slave might, if he has ambition or if he wants to be rewarded. He might try to attract attention by creating something beautiful and unusual.”

“So only pretty things get better.”

She shook her head. “Ways of processing or making ordinary products do improve, if the change is simple. A slave might work out a quicker way of harvesting raka if his master wanted it done faster and would beat him if he failed.”

Cery frowned. “I like our way better. Why beat someone, when greed or having to feed a family will get a man to work smarter and faster?”

Savara laughed quietly. “That’s an interesting view, coming from a man in your position.” Then she sobered. “I like your way better, too. Aren’t you going to drink your raka?”

Cery shook his head.

“Are you afraid someone will recognize you and slip in some poison?”

He shrugged.

“It’s gone cold now, anyway.” She stood up. “Let’s move on.”

They walked down to the end of the row of stalls, where she stopped at a table covered in jars and bottles.

“What is this for?”

The vessel she had picked up held two preserved sevli, floating in a green liquid.

“A key to the doors of delight,” the stall owner replied. “One sip and you will have the strength of a fighter.” His voice lowered. “Two, and you will experience pleasure that lasts a day and a night. Three, and the dreams you will have shall—”

“Turn into nightmares, which don’t stop for days,” Cery finished. He took the jar from her hands and put it back on the counter. “You couldn’t pay me to... Savara?”

She was staring into the distance, her face pale.

“It’s started,” she said, so quietly he barely heard her. “The Ichani are attacking the Fort.”

He felt a chill run down his spine. Taking her arm, he pulled her away from the stall and anyone who might overhear them.

“You can see this?”

“Yes,” she said. “The Guild magicians there are sending out mental images.” She paused, and her eyes focused beyond the market. “The first gate just fell. Can we go somewhere quiet so I can watch uninterrupted? Somewhere close by?”

Cery looked for Gol and found his second standing nearby, eating a pachi. He signalled rapidly in the Thieves’ sign language. Gol nodded and started in the direction of the Marina.

“I have the perfect place,” Cery told Savara. “I think you’ll like it. Ever been on a boat?”

“You have a boat?” She smiled. “But of course you do.”

An image of eight richly dressed men and women, seen from above, flashed into Dannyl’s mind. Each was striking at a point somewhere below Lord Makin, the magician sending the image.

The scene shifted beyond the attackers to a crowd of men and women standing several paces behind them. They were dressed in plain, worn clothes, and some held ropes tied to the collars of small limek-like animals.

Are these people the slaves Akkarin spoke of? Dannyl wondered.

The scene blurred, then the attackers were in view again. They had stopped striking the Fort, and were approaching it cautiously.

— The Captain says the first gate has been destroyed. The Sachakans are moving into the Fort. We’re heading down to meet them.

In the pause that followed Makin’s call, the images stopped and Dannyl became aware of his surroundings again. He glanced around the room. For the last hour he had been entertained by an argument between Lord Peakin, Head of Alchemic Studies, and Lord Davin, the magician who had proposed rebuilding the Lookout. The pair were now staring at each other in dismay, their argument forgotten.

— We are in position, Makin reported. They are attacking the inner door now.

The image that followed was of a darkened corridor blocked by a wall of stone. The corridor vibrated with the sound of two impacts. Makin and the warriors beside him held a shield ready.

Then the wall exploded inward. The shield was pelted with rubble, then covered by a cloud of dust. Through the haze came strikes, then another explosion battered the corridor.

— We have attacked the Sachakans from below a false floor, Makin explained.

Confusing images followed. Flashes of light brightened the dust beyond the shield, but revealed nothing. Then a shadow appeared in the cloud and the attack on the Warriors’ shield resumed. Two magicians staggered backward, clearly exhausted.

— Back away. To the door.

The Warriors retreated hastily through a set of metal doors. Makin propelled the doors shut and used magic to draw huge bolts out of the walls to lock them in position.

— Report, Makin ordered.

A jumbled mix of images and messages followed.

— Most of us are dead... I can see five... no six bodies and...

— They’re inside the Fort! An image of a door hanging from one hinge flashed into Dannyl’s mind, then he saw a Sachakan striding down a corridor toward him.

— Run!

— Come back! I’m trapped!

Hands reached through the dust. In one was a curved blade. A sense of overwhelming panic followed... then nothing.

Names of the Warriors were called, as friends and family in the Guild ignored the ban on mental communication. A confusion of mental voices followed.

— Please be silent! Balkan called above the panic. I cannot help them if I cannot hear them. Makin?

An image of the metal doors cut through the other magicians’ communications. They were glowing red, filling the corridor with heat. Slowly the center melted away.

— Back, Makin ordered. Behind the wall. Let them waste their strength.

The Warriors hurried past a wall half blocking the corridor. They gathered beyond it. The stone slab slowly began to move. It slid across to slot into a gap in the wall. There was a heavy thump as a mechanism within the side walls fell into place.

The magicians waited.

— If they get through this, Makin sent, we hit them with everything we have left.

Mental calls from other magicians punctuated the tense silence of the corridor. Dannyl winced as, one by one, the three remaining magicians in the Fort were killed.

Then, without warning, the stone wall erupted. The Warriors had let their shield drop to save their strength. Makin’s communication wavered as something struck his temple, but strengthened again when he spared himself a little Healing power. He joined with those who had thrown up a shield, then glanced around to see that two of the Warriors lay on the floor.

The attack on their shield was no weaker than before. The Warriors staggered backward as each succumbed to exhaustion. Makin felt an awful disbelief as his own strength failed. The shield shattered, and two more magicians fell to strikes.

— Get away, Balkan called. You’ve done all you can.

Figures strode out of the dust cloud. Makin stepped aside as the first reached him. The man gave Makin a dismissive glance and walked past.

— If the guard have followed orders, the last door should have been secured when the first one fell, Makin sent.

The lead Sachakan stopped before the door. Six more Sachakans strode past Makin to join the first. It took one blast to fling the doors off their hinges. The Sachakans stepped out into the sunlight.

“Welcome to Kyralia,” the leader said, glancing at his companions. Then he turned and regarded the corridor. His eyes snapped to Makin. “You. You’re the one sending this.”

An invisible force pushed Makin forward. Dannyl felt Makin’s fear, then the magician’s communication abruptly stopped.

Dannyl blinked and found himself staring at his surroundings again. Peakin staggered to a chair and collapsed into it.

“It’s true,” he gasped. “Akkarin was right.” There was a crackle of paper. Dannyl looked at Davin. The magician was regarding a rolled plan. It was crushed in the middle where he had gripped it tightly. He unrolled it and smoothed the plan out, then let it spring into a half-crumpled roll again.

Seeing the glitter of tears in the Alchemist’s eyes, Dannyl turned away. The man had worked for years to have his weather-predicting methods accepted. What point was there in building the Lookout now?

Dannyl stared out of the window. Novices and magicians stood alone or in groups in the gardens below, frozen like statues. Only a few servants were still moving about, looking both puzzled and unnerved by the strange behavior of the magicians.

Then a new image of the Fort reached those gifted with the ability to see it.

When Makin’s communication ended, Lorlen found himself gripping the rail of the balcony tightly. His heart was pounding in reaction to the Warrior’s last moment of terror.

“Administrator?”

Lorlen turned to regard the King. The man was pale, but his face was stiff with anger and determination.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Summon Lord Balkan.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Balkan responded to Lorlen’s mental call immediately.

— The King wants you to come to the Palace.

— I thought he might. I’m already on my way.

“He’s coming,” Lorlen said.

The King nodded. He turned and walked back into the Palace tower. Lorlen followed, then froze as a new image of the Fort flashed into his mind. He felt something sharp against his throat. Forcing his attention back to his real surroundings, he saw that the King’s Advisors had both put their hands to their throats.

The King glanced at the three of them.

“What is it?”

“Lord Makin is still alive,” Lord Rolden replied.

The King grabbed the magician’s hand and pressed it to his forehead.

“Show me,” he ordered.

The image Makin was sending was of the Fort again, but viewed from the outside. A small crowd of plainly dressed Sachakans were hurrying out of the building, some leading the small limek-like animals.

A voice spoke in Makin’s ear.

“That’s right. Tell them this. I will—”

“Kariko! Look what I’ve found,” a woman called.

This voice came from within the Fort. A Guild magician staggered from the corridor and fell to his knees. Lorlen recognized Lord Fergun with a jolt. Of course, he thought. Fergun was sent away...

Makin felt surprise, then anger. The attack had happened so fast, he hadn’t noticed the disgraced Warrior’s absence.

A Sachakan woman in a glittering coat strode out of the building. She stopped beside Fergun and looked toward Makin.

“Pretty, isn’t he?”

“You can’t keep him, Avala,” said the voice at Makin’s ear.

“But he’s weak. I can’t believe they bothered to teach him. He probably can’t even boil water.”

“No, Avala. He might be weak, but he can send them information.”

The woman reached down and ran her fingers through Fergun’s hair, then yanked his head backward.

“I could break his ears. He wouldn’t be able to hear us.”

“And burn out his pretty eyes, too?”

She pulled a face. “No. That would spoil him.”

“Kill him, Avala. You’ll find other pretty men in Imardin.”

Avala pouted, then shrugged. She pulled out a knife and slashed it across Fergun’s throat. His eyes widened and he tried to pull away, but he was clearly too weak to break her hold. She slapped a hand over the cut and he went limp. After a moment the woman let go and he slumped to the ground.

She stepped over his body and approached Makin, though her eyes were fixed on the Sachakan behind him.

“So where next?”

“Imardin,” Kariko replied. The knife pressed harder against Makin’s throat. “Now listen, magician. Tell your Guild I will see them soon. If they open the gates for me I might let them live. Well, some of them, anyway. I expect a big welcome. Gifts. Slaves. Gold...”

The knife moved. There was a flash of pain...

Lorlen gasped as his awareness returned abruptly to his surroundings. We just lost twenty magicians in less than an hour! Twenty of our finest Warriors...

“Sit down, Administrator.”

Lorlen looked up at the King. His voice had been unexpectedly kind. He allowed himself to be ushered to a chair. The King and his Advisors took the seats on either side.

The ruler rubbed his forehead and sighed. “That was not the way I would have chosen to learn that Akkarin’s claims were true.”

“No,” Lorlen agreed. Memories of the battle still flashed through his thoughts.

“I must make a choice,” the King continued. “Either I allow one or more magicians to learn black magic, or I ask Akkarin to return and help us. Which would you choose, Administrator?”

“I would call Akkarin back,” Lorlen replied.

“Why?”

“We know he spoke the truth.”

“Do we?” the King asked quietly. “He may have given us only part of the truth. He could have formed an alliance with these magicians.”

“Why would he send a message warning of their attack?”

“To fool us. He said they would attack in a few days, not today.”

Lorlen nodded. “He might simply have been mistaken.” He leaned forward and met the monarch’s gaze. “I believe Akkarin is honorable. I believe he would leave again after helping us, if we asked him to. Why have one of our own learn black magic, who we could not then justify sending away, when we can call on someone who already has that skill?”

“Because I don’t trust him.”

Lorlen felt his shoulders slump. There was no arguing with that.

“I have put this question to your Heads of Disciplines,” the King said. “They agree with me. Lord Sarrin is my preference, but I will not make that decision for the Guild. Put it to a vote.”

He rose and walked to the open door of the balcony.

“There is another, more practical reason for my choice,” he continued. “Akkarin is in Sachaka. He may not be able to reach us in time. Lord Sarrin believes Sonea learned black magic in a week, despite lessons and other activities taking up her time. If a magician dedicates all his or her time to the task, he should learn it faster. I—” A knock at the door interrupted him. “Enter.”

A boy hurried inside and dropped to one knee.

“Lord Balkan to see you, Your Majesty.”

The King nodded and the boy hurried out. Balkan strode in and knelt before the King.

“At ease.” The King smiled grimly. “A well-timed visit, Lord Balkan.”

“I thought you might want to speak to me, Your Majesty,” Balkan replied as he stood up. He glanced at Lorlen and nodded politely. “You have heard that the Fort has fallen?”

“Yes,” the King replied. “I have decided that one magician must be allowed to learn black magic. The Guild will nominate candidates and choose one by vote. If the Sachakans draw close to Imardin before the magician you select has learned black magic, the reinforcements you sent to the Fort will engage them.”

Lorlen stared at the monarch. He was sending those magicians to their deaths. “We need them here, Your Majesty, so that the magician who is chosen can increase his or her strength as quickly as possible.”

“You will not order them to attack the Sachakans until it is clear we require the delay.” The King turned to Balkan. “Can you suggest any strategy that might otherwise slow or weaken the enemy?”

The Warrior nodded. “We can take advantage of the city’s defenses. Every obstacle the Sachakans overcome will use up some of their strength.”

“What of the Guard? Can they be used?”

Balkan shook his head. “I fear they would be easily turned against us.”

The King frowned. “How so?”

“Any non-magician with latent magical ability is a potential source of strength. I recommend keeping all non-magicians well out of the way.”

“Perhaps I should send them out of Imardin.”

Balkan paused, then nodded. “If that is possible.”

The King gave a short laugh. “Once the news spreads that several Sachakan black magicians are about to attack Imardin, the city will empty itself without any urging from me. I will employ the Guard to keep order, and to ensure that any ship leaving the Marina carries a reasonable number of evacuees, then I will send them away. Do you have any other recommendations?”

Balkan shook his head.

“Stay with me. I want you to discuss fortification with the Guard.” The King turned to regard Lorlen. “Administrator. Return to the Guild and arrange the selection of a black magician. The sooner he or she begins, the better prepared we will be.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Lorlen rose, knelt, then strode out of the room.

“What will you do now?”

Rothen turned to regard Raven. The spy’s expression was grim.

“I don’t know,” Rothen confessed. “Obviously, I don’t need to enter Sachaka now.”

“But finding out if the Ichani exist was not your only reason for going. You might still search for Sonea.”

“Yes.” Rothen looked away to the northeast. “But the Guild... Kyralia... will need every magician it has to fight these Sachakans. Sonea... Sonea might need my help but helping her won’t save Kyralia.”

Raven watched Rothen silently and expectantly. Rothen felt a pain in his chest, as if his heart were being pulled in two directions.

The Ichani exist, he thought. Akkarin wasn’t lying. Sonea hasn’t been deceived. He felt a flood of relief, then, knowing that the decisions she had made were for good reasons, even if they weren’t the right ones.

Sonea is in Sachaka. The Ichani are here. She is safe, perhaps, for now. If I help the Guild, maybe she will have a home to return to.

“I will stay,” he said aloud. “I will return to Imardin.”

Raven nodded. “We can trade the cart and the goods in Calia for two fresh horses—if the reinforcements didn’t take them all.”

The reinforcements. Lord Yikmo and the others would not have reached the Fort yet. They would probably return to Imardin to join the rest of the Guild.

“I may as well wait in Calia and join the reinforcements on their return,” Rothen said.

The spy nodded. “Then we will part there. It has been an honor working with you, Lord Rothen.”

Rothen managed a wan smile. “I have enjoyed your company, and your lessons, Raven.”

The spy snorted at Rothen’s comment. “You lie well, Lord Rothen.” Then he shrugged. “But then, I trained you. Pity those lessons won’t be put into practice. But now you must do what you have been trained to do as a magician.” He glanced at Rothen. “Defend Kyralia.”

When the tiny house appeared between the trees, Sonea assumed it was another farmer’s cottage, but as they left the track Dorrien gestured proudly at the building. “My home.”

He reined his horse in before the house. The other riders watched nervously as Akkarin and Sonea dismounted. Sonea led her mount to one of the men.

“Thanks for the loan,” she offered.

He gave her a distrustful look before taking the reins. She returned to Akkarin’s side and watched as Dorrien thanked the men and sent them away.

“They’re worried,” Dorrien said as he returned. “One moment I’m escorting you out, the next there’s a dead Sachakan on the road and I’ve changed my mind about you two.”

“What did you tell them?” Akkarin asked.

“That we were attacked and you saved us. That I’ve decided you deserve a night’s rest and a meal in return, and I’d appreciate it if they kept that to themselves.”

“Will they?”

“They’re no fools. They know something important is happening, even if they don’t know the details. But they’ll do as I ask.”

Akkarin nodded. “We are in their debt. If they hadn’t caught the horses and come back for us, we’d still be walking. That took courage.”

Dorrien nodded. “Go on inside. The door is unlocked. If you’re hungry, there’s some fresh bread and a pot of leftover soup. I’ll be with you once I’ve tended to my horse.”

Sonea followed Akkarin through the cottage door. They entered a room as wide as the building. A bench and shelves ran along one side. From the baskets of vegetables and fruit, and the pots and utensils scattered about, Sonea guessed this was where he prepared his meals. Several wooden chairs and a large, low table filled the rest of the room. Shelving covered the walls, and every space was filled with jars, bottles, boxes and books.

Two doors led to other rooms. One was open, allowing a glimpse of an unmade bed.

As Akkarin moved to the cooking area, Sonea sat down in one of the chairs and gazed about at everything. It’s so messy, she mused. Not like Rothen’s rooms at all.

She felt strangely calm. The images Makin had sent from the Fort had filled her with horror, but now, hours later, she felt only numb and bone weary. She also felt a peculiar relief.

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

Not that it will do any good, now.

“Hungry?”

She looked at Akkarin. “Silly question.”

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

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

“Yes, and I don’t have Takan’s gifts.”

“Even Takan couldn’t have done better.”

“You’d be surprised. Why do you think Dakova kept him so long?”

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

“Good?”

She nodded.

He collapsed into a chair.

“You should get some sleep,” Akkarin said.

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

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

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

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

Dorrien looked surprised. “He didn’t resist?”

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

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

“Yes. That does not mean others won’t come later, however.”

“Then I should warn the locals.”

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

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

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

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

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

Dorrien stared at him in horror. “Abandon Kyralia?”

“Yes.”

“There must be another way.”

Akkarin shook his head.

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

Akkarin smiled wanly. “I don’t expect to win.”

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

“What will you do?” he asked quietly.

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

“We can still do that,” Sonea interjected.

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

Dorrien smiled thinly. “I can help you with that.”

“You would disobey the Guild’s orders?”

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

“Wait for the Guild to call me back.”

“And if they don’t?”

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

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

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

“Then we’ll have to be quick.”

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

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

“They may stay together.”

“Then we’ll have to trick them into separating.”

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

“We could enlist the Thieves.”

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

She winced at Rothen’s name. “How is he?”

“I haven’t heard from him since before Lorlen’s order to cease mental communication,” Dorrien replied. He looked at Akkarin. “He would be relieved to know Sonea is still alive. If I tell the Guild that I have seen you, I can tell them that you are willing to help.”

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

Dorrien straightened. “The Guild would keep your presence a—”

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

Dorrien paled. “Oh.”

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

“So we have a plan now?” Sonea asked.

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

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

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

“I don’t imagine anything you say will persuade them to hide,” Akkarin replied.

“But they might, once they’ve fought and exhausted themselves,” Sonea pointed out.

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

Dorrien nodded. “Anything else?”

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

The Healer rose. “I’ll saddle up again and find horses for you both.”

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

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

Dorrien’s eyebrows rose. “You’re going to pose as my servants?”

Sonea shook a finger at him in warning. “Yes. Just don’t get used to it.”

29 Legacy of the Past

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ask you now to suggest candidates for this role,” he called out over the noise. “Consider carefully. Strict rules will curtail the activities of this magician. They must remain within the Guild grounds for the rest of their life. They may not hold a position of authority within the Guild. They will not be allowed to teach. These rules may become more restrictive, as we consider the consequences of creating this position.” Lorlen was pleased to see no sign of eagerness on any magicians’ face, “Any questions?”

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

Lorlen shook his head. “The King has ordered it.”

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

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

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

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

No more questions came. Lorlen nodded.

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

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

“Please be seated.”

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

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

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

“Me?” Lorlen exclaimed, before he could stop himself.

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

“Interesting idea.” Balkan chuckled, then quite deliberately looked up at the topmost row of chairs. Lord Mirkan blinked down at him, his face changing from watchfulness to sudden anxiety. “Let the King face whatever consequences this may lead to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarrin,” Balkan said.

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

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

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

“Wake up, little Sonea.”

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

“He’s gone to get us some food,” Dorrien explained.

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

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

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

She felt a familiar pang of guilt. “The Guild wouldn’t have let you. I wouldn’t have let you.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “No?”

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

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

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

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

“And you’re sure now?”

She turned back to Dorrien. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She turned to regard him. “Discussing?”

“Outside the farmhouse when I was buying the food.”

“Oh. Then. Nothing.”

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

She regarded him coolly. “Perhaps it’s a polite way of saying it’s none of your business.”

“If you say so.”

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

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

“You haven’t had any more nightmares,” she said suddenly.

Akkarin frowned. “No.”

“What did you dream about?”

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

“Sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

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

“The one who helped you, in the beginning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She explained to me that the slaves considered it an honor to serve a magician. She said the slaves’ sense of honor made their life easier to bear. I could understand that they might allow themselves to think that way when they had no choice, but not when they did have a choice—or when they knew their master intended to kill them.”

Sonea thought of Takan, of how he had called Akkarin “master,” and of the peculiar way he had handed the Ichani knife to Akkarin across his upturned wrists, as if he was offering something more than the blade. Perhaps he was.

“Takan has never stopped thinking that way, has he?” she asked quietly.

Akkarin glanced at her. “No,” he said. “He could not let go of a lifetime of habits.” He paused to chuckle. “I think in the last few years he persisted with the rituals just to infuriate me. I know he would never go back to that life willingly.”

“Yet he stayed with you, and would not let you teach him magic.”

“No, but there were practical reasons for that. Takan could not join the Guild. Too many questions would have been asked. Even if we invented a past for him, it would have been difficult for him to avoid those lessons that involve mind sharing. It would have been too risky to teach him magic secretly. If he had returned to Sachaka, he would not have survived unless he knew black magic. I don’t think he trusted himself with that knowledge, in that place. In Sachaka, there are only masters and slaves. To survive as a master, he would need his own slaves.”

Sonea shuddered. “It sounds like an evil place.”

Akkarin shrugged. “Not every master is cruel. The Ichani are outcasts. They are the magicians the King has banished from the city—and not just for being overly ambitious.”

“How did the King make them leave?”

“His own powers are considerable, and he has supporters.”

“The Sachakan King is a magician!”

“Yes.” Akkarin smiled. “Only the Allied Lands have laws preventing magicians from ruling, or having too much influence in politics.”

“Does our King know this?”

“Yes, though he does not understand how powerful the Sachakan magicians are. Well, he does now.”

“What does the Sachakan King think of the Ichani invading Kyralia?”

Akkarin frowned. “I don’t know. If he knew of Kariko’s plan, he would not have liked it, but he probably believed it would never work. The Ichani were always too busy fighting each other to think of forming an alliance. It will be interesting to see what the Sachakan King will do when he has a neighboring land ruled by Ichani.”

“He’ll help us?”

“Oh, no.” Akkarin laughed grimly. “You forget how much Sachakans hate the Guild.”

“Because of the war? But that was so long ago.”

“To the Guild it is. The Sachakans cannot forget, not with half their country a wasteland.” Akkarin shook his head. “The Guild should never have ignored Sachaka after it had won the war.”

“What should it have done?”

Akkarin turned his head and gazed at the mountains. Sonea followed his eyes. Only a few days before, they had been on the other side of that jagged line.

“It was a war between magicians,” Akkarin murmured. “There is never any point in sending armies of non-magicians against magicians, especially magicians who use black magic. Sachaka was conquered by Kyralian magicians, who promptly returned to their rich homes. They knew the Sachakan empire would eventually recover and become a danger again; so they created the wasteland to keep the country poor. If some of the Guild magicians had taken up residence in Sachaka instead, freed the slaves and shown that magicians can use their powers to help the people, the Sachakans might have been guided toward becoming a more peaceful, free society, and we might not be facing this situation today.”

“I see,” Sonea said slowly, “but I can also see why it never happened. Why would the Guild help ordinary Sachakans when they don’t help ordinary Kyralians?”

Akkarin regarded her speculatively. “Some do. Dorrien, for instance.”

Sonea held his gaze. “Dorrien is an exception. The Guild could do a lot more.”

“We can’t do anything if nobody volunteers to do it.”

“Of course you can.”

“Would you force magicians to work against their will?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows rose. “I doubt they would cooperate.”

“Perhaps their income should be reduced if they don’t.”

Akkarin smiled. “They would feel they were being treated like servants. No one will want their children to join the Guild if it means they must work like commoners.”

“No one from the Houses,” Sonea corrected him.

Akkarin blinked, then chuckled. “I knew you’d be a disruptive influence the moment the Guild proposed teaching you. They ought to be grateful I took you away.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped as she realized Dorrien was approaching. He was riding a new horse and was leading two others.

“They’re not the best,” he said, handing them the reins, “but they’ll have to do. Magicians all over the country are hurrying to Imardin, so the supply of fresh horses at rest-houses is dwindling fast.”

Akkarin nodded grimly. “Then we must hurry or the supply will run out.” He moved around to the side of a horse and swung up into the saddle. Sonea hauled herself up onto the other horse. As she slipped her other boot into the stirrup, she watched Akkarin closely. He had called her a disruptive influence, but that didn’t mean he disapproved. He might even agree with her.

Did it matter? In a few days there might not be a Guild, and the poor would discover there were worse things to endure than the Purge.

Sonea shivered and pushed that thought from her mind.

The corridor of the Magicians’ Quarters was almost as busy as the University at midbreak, Dannyl mused. He walked with Yaldin past knots of magicians, their wives, husbands and children. All were discussing the Meet.

As Yaldin reached the door to his rooms, the old magician looked up at him and sighed.

“Come in for a cup of sumi?” he asked.

Dannyl nodded. “If Ezrille doesn’t mind.”

Yaldin chuckled. “She likes to tell people I’m in charge, but you and I—and Rothen—know better.”

He opened the door and ushered Dannyl into his guestroom. Ezrille was sitting in one of the chairs, dressed in a gown of shimmering blue material.

“That was a quick Meet,” she said, frowning.

“Yes,” Dannyl replied. “You are looking beautiful today, Ezrille.”

She smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “You should come home more often, Dannyl.” Then she shook her head. “With manners like yours, I’m amazed you still haven’t found yourself a wife. Sumi?”

“Yes, please.”

She rose and busied herself with cups and water. Dannyl and Yaldin sat down. The old magician’s brow furrowed.

“I can’t believe they’ve decided to allow black magic.”

Dannyl nodded. “Lorlen said that some of Akkarin’s claims have proven to be true.”

“The worst ones.”

“Yes, but I wonder if that means some of his claims were proven to be untrue.”

“Which ones?”

“Obviously not the ones about Sachakan black magicians invading Kyralia,” Ezrille said as she laid a tray on the table before the chairs. “What will Rothen do? He doesn’t need to go to Sachaka now.”

“He’ll probably come back.” Dannyl took the cup she offered and sipped at the steaming brew.

“Unless he decides to go on in the hope of finding Sonea.”

Dannyl frowned. Rothen might just do that...

They looked up at a knock on the door. Yaldin waved a hand and the door opened. A messenger bowed, glanced around the room, then stepped inside when he saw Dannyl.

“Ambassador. A man is here to see you. All the places for receiving visitors are in use, so I brought him to your rooms. Your servant was present and admitted him.”

A visitor? Dannyl put down his cup and rose. “Thank you,” he said to the messenger. The man bowed and retreated from the room.

Dannyl smiled apologetically at Yaldin and Ezrille. “Thanks for the sumi. I had better find out who my visitor is.”

“Of course,” Ezrille replied. “You must come back later and tell us about him.”

The corridor was a little quieter now that most magicians had returned to their rooms or duties after the Meet. Dannyl strode to his door and opened it. A young man with blond hair rose from one of his guestroom chairs and bowed. For a moment Dannyl didn’t recognize him, as he was dressed in the sober fashion preferred by Kyralians.

Then he hastily stepped inside and let the door close.

“Greetings, Ambassador Dannyl.” Tayend grinned. “Did you miss me?”

30 Delaying the Enemy

At first Imardin appeared as a shadow against the yellow-green of the fields. Then, as they drew nearer, the city sprawled out on either side of the road like outstretched arms welcoming them back. Now, hours later, a thousand lamps burned before them, lighting their way through the rain and the darkness to the Northern Gates.

When they were close enough to hear the rain beating on the glass of the first lamp, Dorrien drew his horse to a halt and looked back at Akkarin and Sonea. His eyes strayed to the other people using the road. They must make their farewells quick, and be careful what they said. People would think it strange, if he spoke to his “commoner” companions with too much familiarity.

“Good luck,” he said. “Be careful.”

“You be in more rub than us, my Lord,” Sonea replied, speaking with the typical slum dweller drawl. “Thanks for your help. Don’t let those foreign magicians get you.”

“You either,” he replied, smiling at her accent. He nodded at Akkarin, then turned away and urged his horse forward.

Sonea’s stomach clenched with anxiety as she watched him ride away toward the gates. When he had disappeared, she glanced at Akkarin. He was a tall shadow, his face hidden in the hood of his cloak.

“Lead on,” he said.

She directed her horse off the main road and into a narrow street. Dwells eyed them and their bedraggled horses. Don’t try anything, she thought at them. We might look like simple country people oblivious to the dangers of the city, but we aren’t. And we can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves.

After winding their way through the slums for half an hour, they reached the horse sellers at the edge of the Market. They stopped in front of a sign with a painting of a horseshoe on it. A wiry-looking man limped through the rain toward them.

“Greetings,” he said in a gruff voice. “You looking to sell your horses?”

“Maybe,” Sonea replied. “Depends on the price.”

“Let me have an eye, then.” He beckoned. “Come on in out of the rain.”

They followed the man into a large stable. Stalls had been built on either side, some occupied. They dismounted and watched as the man examined their horses.

“What’s this one’s name, then?”

She paused. They had changed horses three times, and she had given up remembering their names.

“Ceryni,” she said. “After a friend of mine.”

The man straightened and turned to stare at her.

“Ceryni?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

Then from one of the stalls came the sound of laughter.

“You named your horse after me?”

A stable door opened and a short man in a gray coat strode out, followed by Takan and a large, muscular man. Sonea looked closer at the speaker, then gasped as she recognized him.

“Cery!”

He grinned. “Hai! Welcome back.” Then he turned to the horse seller and the grin disappeared. “You didn’t see this.”

“N-no,” the man agreed. His face was white.

“Take the horses and leave,” Cery ordered.

The man grabbed the reins of the horses, and Sonea watched, bemused, as he hurried away. Akkarin had told her that Takan was hiding with a Thief. If Cery was also working for this Thief, then was the Thief Faren, or had Cery started working for another? In any case, it seemed he had gained some influence in the last few years, if the horse seller’s reaction was any indication. Sonea turned to see Takan drop to his knees before Akkarin.

“Master.”

Takan’s voice was laden with emotion. Akkarin pushed back his hood and sighed.

“Get up, Takan,” he said quietly. Though his voice was all command and tolerance, Sonea recognized signs of embarrassment in his face. She smothered a smile.

The servant climbed to his feet. “It is good to see you again, master, though I fear you have returned to a dangerous and impossible situation.”

“Nevertheless, we must do what we can,” Akkarin replied. He turned to Cery. “Has Takan explained what we intend to do?”

Cery nodded. “There’ll be a meeting of the Thieves tomorrow. Seems most of them have heard something’s up, even if it’s just that the Houses are all packing up and leaving the city. You need to tell me how much you want them to know.”

“Everything,” Akkarin replied, “if that will not damage your standing among them.”

Cery shrugged. “It won’t, in the long term—and I get the feeling we’ll have no city left to deal in if these Sachakan magicians win. Now, before we get to the grit of it, I’ll take you somewhere better than a stable. I’m sure you’d like a bit of food, too.”

As he strode back to the stall he had emerged from, Sonea watched him closely. There was a sureness about the way he carried himself that she hadn’t seen before. He had expressed none of the fear or awe of Akkarin that she had expected. They spoke as if they had dealt with each other before.

No doubt he was one of the men helping Akkarin find the spies. But why didn’t Akkarin tell me Cery was involved?

Cery unlocked a hatch at the back of the stall and held it open.

“Lead the way, Gol.”

The large, silent man bent double and stepped through, then began to descend a ladder. Takan followed, then Akkarin. Sonea paused to look at Cery. He grinned.

“Go on. We’ll catch up when we get to my place.”

She climbed down the ladder into a large passage. Gol held a lamp. Familiar smells brought back old memories of the Thieves’ Road. As Cery joined them, he nodded to Gol, and they set off through the passage.

They travelled for several minutes, then passed through a large metal door into a luxuriously furnished guestroom. A low table at the center was covered with several plates of food, glasses, and bottles of wine.

Sonea collapsed into a chair and helped herself to a few morsels of food. Akkarin sat down beside her and picked up one of the bottles. His eyebrows rose. “You live better than magicians do, Ceryni.”

“Oh, I don’t live here,” Cery said, taking another of the seats. “This is one of my guest places. Takan’s been staying here.”

“The Thief has been generous,” Takan said quietly, nodding at Cery.

The Thief? Sonea choked, swallowed, then stared at Cery. Catching her look, he grinned. “Only just clicked, did it?”

“But...” She shook her head. “How is that possible?”

He spread his hands. “Hard work, clever moves, good connections... and a little help from your High Lord.”

“So you’re the Thief who helped Akkarin find the spies?”

“That’s right. I started after he helped you and me with Fergun,” Cery explained. “He wanted someone to find the murderers for him. Someone with the right connections and influence.”

“I see.” So Akkarin has known about this since my guardianship Hearing. She turned to glare at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Akkarin’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Initially, I couldn’t. You would have believed I had forced or tricked Cery into helping me.”

“You could have told me after I had learned the truth about the Ichani.”

He shook his head. “I am always wary of revealing more than I need to. If you were captured by the Ichani, they might discover Cery’s connection to me from your mind. As it turns out, I do need the association to remain a secret.” He turned to Cery. “It is important that our presence in Imardin does not become common knowledge. If the Ichani read it from someone’s mind, our only chance of winning the battle will be lost. The fewer who know we are here, the better.”

Cery nodded. “Only Gol and I know you are here. The other Thieves think we’re just going to talk about what’s stirring up the city.” He smiled. “They’ll be surprised to see you.”

“Do you think they will agree to keep our presence a secret?”

Cery shrugged. “Once they know what’s going on and see that they’ll lose everything they’ve got if the Sachakans win, they’ll mind you like their own children.”

“You told Takan you had been considering ways of killing magicians,” Akkarin said. “What were you—”

— Balkan?

Sonea straightened in her seat. The mental voice belonged to—

— Yikmo? Balkan replied.

— The Sachakans are nearing Calia.

— I will advise you shortly.

“What is it, master?” Takan asked.

“A communication,” Akkarin replied. “Lord Yikmo reported that the Ichani are approaching Calia. He must be there.”

Sonea felt a shiver run down her spine. “Surely the Guild hasn’t gone out to meet them?” She looked at Cery. “You’d have heard if they had left the city.”

Cery shook his head. “Nothing like that has been reported.”

Akkarin frowned. “I wish Lorlen would use the ring.”

“About twenty magicians left the city four days ago,” Gol interjected. “In the morning.”

— Yikmo?

— Balkan.

— Take your time.

— We will.

Sonea frowned at Akkarin. “What does that mean?”

His expression darkened. “No doubt it’s a prearranged code for an instruction. They can’t tell Yikmo and his men what to do without giving away their intentions to the Ichani.”

“But what does it mean?”

He drummed the tips of his fingers together. “Twenty magicians. Four days ago. They left before the Ichani attacked the Fort. What purpose could they have had?”

“A guard for the South Pass?” Sonea suggested. “Balkan left our escort at the Fort. Perhaps he thought the South Pass needed guarding, too.”

Akkarin shook his head. “We would have passed them on the road. They must have been north of Calia, where the road forks. Whatever the reason, they could not have travelled so far before the attack that they could have returned to Imardin again. They have remained in Calia for a reason.”

“To report the Ichani’s position?” Cery suggested.

“All twenty of them?” Akkarin’s frown deepened. “I hope the Guild hasn’t planned something foolish.”

“That would be a surprise,” Takan remarked dryly.

Cery looked down. “We better eat this, before it goes cold. Wine anyone?”

Sonea opened her mouth to reply, but froze as an image flashed into her mind. Three carts trundled down a village main road. Several men and women rode in each cart, some of them splendidly dressed.

The horses pulling the first cart halted, and their driver slowly turned to face the viewer. Sonea recognized Kariko with a shiver. He handed the reins to a man sitting beside him, then jumped to the ground.

“Come out, come out, Guild magician,” he called.

A strike flashed from the window of a house on the other side of the street, followed by several more from both sides. They struck an invisible shield around each cart.

“An ambush,” Sonea heard Akkarin mutter.

Kariko turned full circle, surveying the houses and street, then looked at his allies.

“Who wants to hunt?”

Four of the Ichani stepped down from the carts. They separated and started toward the houses on either side. Two brought yeel with them, the animals barking with excitement.

Then the view shifted. She caught a glimpse of a window frame, a room, and a Guild magician.

“Rothen!” she gasped. The images stopped, and she stared at Akkarin in horror. “Rothen is with them!”

It has been far too many years since I had a Warrior lesson or a bout in the Arena, Rothen thought as he hurried across the yard to the back door of the house.

Yikmo’s strategy was simple. If the Sachakans could not see their attackers, they could not fight back. The Guild magicians would strike from concealed places, then change position and strike again. When they had no more power, they were to hide and rest.

Rothen hurried as fast as he could through the house to the front room. The villagers had been sent away hours before, and the doors and windows had all been unlocked in preparation for the ambush. Peering out, he saw a Sachakan man reach out to the door of the next house. He threw a powerful strike, and was gratified to see the man stop.

Then his heart sank as the man turned and started toward him. He stumbled over a chair and hurried out of the room.

The town was large, and most of the houses were built close to each other. Rothen crept about, watching the Sachakans and striking when they were far enough away that he had time to escape from them. Twice he held his breath as one of them passed only a few strides away from his hiding place. Other Guild magicians were less fortunate. One of the animals led a Sachakan to a young Warrior hiding in a stable. Though Rothen and another Alchemist emerged to strike at the Sachakan, the man ignored them. The Warrior fought until he was too weak to stand. Then, as the Sachakan drew out his knife, Rothen heard the sound of approaching footsteps from another direction nearby and was forced to flee.

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

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

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

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

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

A slave was inspecting one of the wheels.

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

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

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

“Rothen,” a voice whispered.

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

The Warrior moved to the window.

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

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

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

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

“How many, Kariko?”

“Seven,” the man replied.

“I got five,” his companion added.

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

Rothen shivered. “Unless they are exaggerating.”

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

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

“I could send my tracker after them.”

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

— Come back now.

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

“Yes.”

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

Rothen nodded and drew on the last of his power.

“Go.”

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

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

“Run!” Yikmo gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— What is your greatest fear?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He let me live.

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

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

Looking at Sonea, Cery felt unexpectedly calm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sonea,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Where can we sleep?”

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

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

“I can’t sleep,” she said.

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

Well, that leaves no doubt, Cery thought.

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

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

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

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

“I hope this does not upset you.”

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

“Those two?” Cery shrugged. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Takan nodded. “Good night, Thief.”

31 Preparations for War

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

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

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

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

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

The King looked up. “Yes, Florin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Most have left,” the man replied.

“And the rest of the people?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does he feel he is even close?”

Lorlen sighed and shook his head. “No.”

The King looked down at the map and scowled.

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

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

“Do you intend to call Akkarin back?”

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

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

— Akkarin!

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

“He isn’t responding.”

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

“I’ll try again.”

— Akkarin!

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

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

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

Balkan and Lorlen exchanged worried glances.

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

“I know. Call him.”

Balkan nodded, then closed his eyes.

— Akkarin!

Silence followed. Lorlen sent out his own call.

— Akkarin! The King bids you return.

— Ak—

— AKKARIN! AKKARIN! AKKARIN! AKKARIN!

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

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

“What happened?” the King asked.

“The Sachakans answered.”

“With mindstrike,” Lorlen added.

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

“Try again in an hour.”

Lorlen nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The house Tayend’s directions led Dannyl to was a typical magician-designed mansion. Impossibly fragile balconies fronted the street. Even the door was magician-made—a sheet of delicately sculpted glass.

A long moment passed before there was any response to Dannyl’s knock. Footsteps could be heard approaching, then a shadowy figure appeared beyond the glass. The door opened. Instead of a doorman, Tayend greeted Dannyl with a grin and a bow.

“Sorry for the slow service,” he said. “Zerrend’s entire household has left for Elyne, so there’s no one here but...” He frowned. “You look terrible.”

Dannyl nodded. “I was up all night. I—” He choked as emotion welled up and cut off the words.

The scholar ushered Dannyl inside and closed the door. “What happened?”

Dannyl swallowed hard and blinked as his eyes began to sting. All night he had remained in control, comforting Yaldin and Ezrille, then Dorrien. But now...

“Rothen is dead,” he managed. He felt tears spill out of his eyes. Tayend’s eyes widened, then he stepped close and embraced Dannyl.

Dannyl froze, then hated himself for doing so.

“Don’t worry,” Tayend said. “As I said, no one is here except me. Not even servants.”

“I’m sorry,” Dannyl said. “I just—”

“Worry that we’ll be seen. I know. I’m being careful.”

Dannyl swallowed hard. “I hate that we have to be.”

“So do I,” Tayend said. He leaned back and looked up at Dannyl. “But that is how it must be. We’d be fools to think otherwise.”

Dannyl sighed and wiped his eyes. “Look at me. I am such a fool.”

Tayend took his hand and pulled him through the guestroom. “No, you’re not. You just lost an old and close friend. Zerrend has some medicine for that, though my dear second—or is it third—cousin might have taken the best vintages with him.”

“Tayend,” Dannyl said, “Zerrend left for a good reason. The Sachakans are only a day or two away. You can’t stay here.”

“I’m not going home. I came here to see you through all this, and I will.”

Dannyl pulled Tayend to a halt.

“I’m serious, Tayend. These magicians kill to strengthen themselves. They’ll fight the Guild first, because it is their strongest opponent. Then they’ll look for victims to replace the power they’ve lost. Magicians will be useless to them, as we’ll have exhausted our strength fighting them. It’s ordinary people they’ll target, particularly those with undeveloped magical ability. Like you.”

The scholar’s eyes widened. “But they won’t get that far. You said they’d fight the Guild first. The Guild will win, won’t it?”

Dannyl stared at Tayend and shook his head. “From the instructions we’ve been given, I don’t think anyone believes we can. We might kill one or two of them, but not all. Our orders are to abandon Imardin once we’ve exhausted ourselves.”

“Oh. You’ll need help getting out, if you’re exhausted. I’ll—”

“No.” Dannyl took Tayend’s shoulders. “You must leave now.”

The scholar shook his head. “I’m not leaving here without you.”

“Tayend—”

“Besides,” the scholar added. “The Sachakans will probably invade Elyne next. I’d rather spend a few days here with you and risk an early death, than return home and hate myself for abandoning you for a few extra months of safety. I’m staying, and you will just have to make the best of it.”

After the darkness of the sewers, the sunlight was dazzling. As Sonea climbed out of the hatch, she felt something under her boot and stumbled, then heard a muffled curse.

“That was my foot,” Cery muttered.

She couldn’t help smiling. “Sorry, Cery, or should I call you Ceryni now?”

Cery made a noise of disgust. “I’ve been trying to shake that name all my life, and now I have to use it. I’m sure a few of us would like to say some rough words to the Thief who decided we should all go by animal names.”

“Your ma must have been able to tell the future when she named you,” Sonea said. She stepped aside as Akkarin emerged from the tunnel.

“She could tell from one look which cappers would run off without paying,” Cery said. “And she always said my da would get into some rub.”

“My aunt must have the gift, too. She always said you were trouble.” She paused. “Have you seen Jonna and Ranel, lately?”

“No,” he said, bending to lift the sewer hatch back into place, “not for months.”

She sighed and felt the knowledge of Rothen’s death like a weight lodged somewhere inside her body. “I’d like to see them. Before all this—”

Cery held up a hand—a signal for silence—then pulled her and Akkarin back into a recessed doorway. Gol hurried back from the alley entrance to join them. Two men entered the alley and moved quietly toward them. As they drew near,

Sonea recognized the darker of the faces. She felt a hand push her gently in the small of her back.

“Go on,” Cery whispered in her ear. “Give him the fright of his life.”

Sonea glanced back to see his eyes glittering with mischief. She waited until the two men drew level with her, then stepped into their path and pulled back her hood.

“Faren.”

The two men dropped into a crouch and stared at her, then one drew in a quick breath.

“Sonea?”

“You still recognize me, after all this time.”

He frowned. “But, I thought you...”

“Left Kyralia?” She crossed her arms. “I decided to come back and settle a few debts.”

“Debts?” He glanced at his companion nervously. “Then you have no business with me.”

“No?” She moved closer to him, and was gratified to see him take a step back. “I seem to remember a little arrangement we had once. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, Faren.”

“How could I forget?” he muttered. “I remember that you never upheld your end of the deal. In fact, you burned down more than one of my houses while I was protecting you.”

Sonea shrugged. “I suppose I didn’t prove to be all that useful. But I don’t think a few burned houses justified selling me to the Guild.”

Faren took another step backward. “That was not my idea. I had no choice.”

“No choice?” she exclaimed. “From what I’ve heard, you made quite a profit. Tell me, did the other Thieves take a commission out of the reward? I heard you got all of it.”

Faren swallowed audibly, backed away even farther.

“As compensation,” he said in a strangled voice.

Sonea took another step toward him, but then a spluttering came from the doorway. It quickly turned into a laugh.

“Sonea,” Cery said. “I should hire you as a messenger. You’re quite scary when you want to be.”

She managed a grim smile. “You’re not the only one who’s said that to me lately.” But thinking of Dorrien only brought Rothen to mind again. She felt the weight of grief again, and struggled to ignore it. I can’t think about that now, she told herself. There’s too much to do.

Faren’s yellow eyes were narrowed at Cery. “I should have known you were behind this little ambush.”

Cery smiled. “Oh, I only suggested she have a bit of fun with you. She deserves it. You did hand her over to the Guild, after all.”

“You’re taking her to the meeting, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. She and Akkarin have lots to tell them.”

“Akkarin...?” Faren repeated in a small voice.

Sonea heard footsteps behind her and turned to see that Akkarin and Gol had emerged from the doorway. Akkarin had shaved off the short beard and tied his hair back, and looked like his former, imposing self again.

Faren took another step backward.

“It is Faren, isn’t it,” Akkarin said smoothly. “Black, eight-legged and poisonous?”

Faren nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “Well, except for the legs.”

“Honored to meet you.”

The Thief nodded again. “And you.” He looked at Cery. “Well. This meeting should be entertaining. Follow me.”

Faren started toward the end of the alley, his companion giving Sonea and Akkarin a curious glance before hurrying after. Cery glanced at Sonea, Akkarin and Gol, then beckoned. They followed him into a narrow gap between two buildings at the end of the alley. Halfway down, a large man stepped out to block Faren’s way.

“Who are these?” the man demanded, pointing at Sonea and Akkarin.

“Guests,” Cery replied.

The man hesitated, then reluctantly stepped into a doorway. Faren followed him inside the building. A short corridor followed, then a staircase. At the top Faren stopped outside a door and turned to regard Cery.

“You should ask first, before bringing them in.”

“And let them argue about it for hours?” Cery shook his head. “We don’t have the time.”

“Well, I warned you.”

Faren opened the door. As Sonea followed the pair, she took in luxurious surrounds. Cushioned chairs had been arranged in a rough circle. She counted seven occupied chairs. The seven men standing behind them were the Thieves’ protectors, she guessed.

It was not hard to guess which Thief was which. The thin, bald man was obviously Sevli. The woman with a pointy nose and red hair was probably Zill and the man with the beard and bushy eyebrows had to be Limek. Looking around, Sonea wondered if the physical similarities to the animals had produced the Thieves’ names, or if they had groomed themselves to look like a creature they favored. Perhaps a little of both, she decided.

The occupants of the chairs were staring at her and Akkarin, some with expressions of anger and outrage, others with puzzlement. One face was familiar. Sonea smiled as she met Ravi’s eyes.

“Who are these people?” Sevli demanded.

“Cery’s friends,” Faren said. He moved to one of the empty chairs and sat down. “He insisted on bringing them.”

“This is Sonea,” Ravi answered for the other Thieves’ benefit. His eyes shifted to Akkarin. “Which means you must be the former High Lord.”

Outrage and puzzlement changed to shocked surprise.

“It is an honor to meet you all at last,” Akkarin replied. “Especially you, Lord Senfel.”

Sonea looked up at the man standing behind Ravi’s chair. The old magician had shaved off his beard, which was probably why she hadn’t recognized him at first glance. The last time she had seen him, when Faren had tried to blackmail him into teaching her magic, he had worn a long white beard. She had been drugged, in a vain atempt to control her magic, and had thought she’d dreamed the encounter until Cery had spoken at the meeting later. He stared at Akkarin, his face pale.

“So,” he said, “you’ve finally found me.”

“Finally?” Akkarin’s shoulders lifted. “I’ve known about you for a very long time, Senfel.”

The old man blinked in surprise. “You knew?”

“Of course,” Akkarin replied. “Your faked death was not very convincing. I’m still not sure why you left us.”

“I found your rules... stifling. Why didn’t you do anything?”

Akkarin smiled. “Now, how would that have made my predecessor look? He didn’t even notice you were missing. You were not doing any harm here, so I decided to let you stay.”

The old magician laughed, a short, unpleasant bark. “You do make a habit of breaking the rules, Akkarin of Delvon.”

“And I was waiting until I had need of you,” Akkarin added.

Senfel sobered. “The Guild have been calling you,” he said. “It would seem they have need of you. Why don’t you answer?”

Akkarin looked around the circle of Thieves. “Because the Guild must not know we are here.”

The Thieves’ eyes sharpened with interest.

“Why is that?” Sevli asked.

Cery stepped forward. “Akkarin’s story isn’t quick. Can we get some more chairs?”

The man who had met them at the door left the room, then returned with two simple wooden chairs. When all were seated, Akkarin glanced around the circle of faces, and drew in a deep breath.

“First let me tell you how I encountered the Sachakans,” he began.

As he briefly described his encounter with Dakova, Sonea watched the Thieves’ faces. At first they listened calmly, but when he described the Ichani their expressions changed to alarm and concern. He told them of the spies, and how he had recruited Cery to hunt for them; at that they looked at Sonea’s old friend with surprise and interest. Then, as he told of their exile in Sachaka, Sevli exclaimed in disgust.

“The Guild are fools,” he said. “They should have kept you here until they knew if the Ichani were real.”

“It may be fortunate that they did not,” Akkarin said. “The Ichani do not know I am here, and that gives us an advantage. While I am stronger than any Guild magician, I am not strong enough to defeat eight Ichani. Sonea and I might be able to defeat one, if he is separated from the others. If the Ichani know we are here, however, they will band together and hunt us down.”

He looked around the circle. “That is why I have not answered the Guild’s calls. If the Guild knows I am here, the Ichani will read it from the mind of the first magician they capture.”

“But you have allowed us to know this,” Sevli observed.

“Yes. It is a risk, but not a great one. I expect the people in this room will keep themselves well out of the Sachakans’ way. Any other rumors of our presence that reach the general population may be dismissed as wishful thinking.”

“So what do you want from us?” Ravi asked.

“They want us to help them separate a Sachakan from the others,” Zill answered.

“Yes,” Akkarin confirmed. “And to give us access and guides to the Thieves’ Road throughout the entire city.”

“It doesn’t cover all parts of the Inner Circle,” Sevli warned.

“But the buildings are mostly empty,” Zill said. “They’re locked, but we can fix that.”

Sonea frowned. “Why are the buildings empty?”

The woman looked at Sonea. “The King told the Houses to leave Imardin. We were wondering why, until Senfel told us of the defeat at the Fort and Calia just now.”

Akkarin nodded. “The Guild will have realized that everybody in Imardin is a potential source of magic for the Ichani. They will have advised the King to empty the city.”

“But he has only told the Houses to leave, hasn’t he?” Sonea said. As the Thieves nodded, she felt a flare of anger. “What about the rest of the people?”

“With the Houses leaving, everyone else has figured out that something’s up,” Cery told her. “From what I hear, thousands of people have been packing up and heading out into the country.”

“What about the dwells?” she asked.

“They’ll dig in,” Cery assured her.

“In the slums, outside the city walls, where the Ichani will arrive first.” She shook her head. “If the Ichani decide to stop and strengthen themselves, the dwells won’t have a chance.” She felt her anger rising. “I can believe the King would be this stupid, but not the Guild. There has to be hundreds of potential magicians in the slums. They are the ones who should be evacuated first.”

“Potential magicians?” Sevli frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Guild only look for magical potential among the children of the Houses,” Akkarin said, “but that does not mean that people among the other classes don’t have magical potential. Sonea is the proof of that. She was only allowed to join the Guild because her powers were so strong that they developed without assistance. There are probably hundreds of potential magicians in the lower classes.”

“And they’re more attractive victims to the Ichani than magicians,” Sonea added. “Magicians use up their powers fighting back, so by the time they’re defeated there’s not much power to take.”

The Thieves exchanged glances. “We thought we’d be ignored by the invaders,” Ravi muttered. “Now it seems we are going to be harvested like some kind of magic crop.”

“Unless...” Sonea caught her breath and looked at Akkarin. “Unless someone takes their power before the Ichani do.”

His eyes widened as he realized what she was suggesting, but then he frowned. “Would they agree to it? I will not take the strength of any Kyralian by force.”

“I think most would, if they understood why we wanted it.”

Akkarin shook his head. “But it would be impossible to organize. We’d have to test thousands of people, and explain what we’re doing to all of them. We may have only a day to prepare.”

“Are you considering what I think you’re considering?” Senfel asked.

“Which is what?” Sevli looked confused. “If you understand this, Senfel, explain it to me.”

“If we can find the slum dwellers who have magical potential, Akkarin and Sonea can take their power,” Senfel said.

“We not only rob the Ichani of their harvest, but our magicians grow stronger,” Zill said, sitting straight in her seat.

Our magicians? Sonea suppressed a smile. Looks like the Thieves have accepted us.

“But will the dwells agree to it?” Akkarin asked. “They have no great liking for magicians.”

“They will if we ask them to,” Ravi said. “No matter what the dwells think of us, they do acknowledge that we fought for them during and after the first Purge. If we call for helpers in the fight against the invaders, we’ll have thousands of volunteers by the end of the day. We can tell them we have a few magicians of our own. If they think you’re not from the Guild, they’ll be even more likely to agree to help you.”

“I see one problem,” Sevli said. “If we do this, thousands of dwells are going to see you. Even if they don’t know who you are, they’ll have seen your face. If the Ichani read their minds...”

“I can help there,” Senfel said. “I will test all of the volunteers. Only those that have potential will see Sonea and Akkarin. That will mean only a hundred or so will know they’re here.”

Cery smiled. “See, Senfel. You did come in useful.”

The old magician gave Cery a withering look, then regarded Akkarin again. “If we encourage these volunteers to stay in one place—a safehouse with comfortable beds and a generous supply of food—they will recover their strength and you will be able to increase your power again tomorrow.”

Akkarin stared at the magician, then nodded. “Thank you, Senfel.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Senfel replied. “They may take one look at me and run.”

Sevli chuckled. “You might have to try being charming for once, Senfel.” He ignored the old man’s glare, and looked around the circle. “Now that we know the nature of these Ichani, I can see the suggestions I was going to make for fighting them will not work. We should keep out of the way as much as possible.”

“Yes,” Faren agreed. “And warn the dwells to keep out of sight, too.”

“Better still,” Ravi said, “bring the dwells into the passages. It will be a tight squeeze, and the air might get a bit thin, but,” he glanced up at Senfel, “magicians’ battles don’t take long, from what I’m told.”

“So how are we going to lure an Ichani away from the main group?” Zill asked.

“I hear Limek has a good tailor,” Cery said, giving the bushy-haired Thief a meaningful look.

“Fancy yourself in robes?” the man said in a deep voice.

“Oh, they’d never believe a magician could be so short,” Faren scoffed.

“Hai!” Cery protested. He pointed at Sonea. “There are short magicians.”

Faren nodded. “I suppose you might be convincing in novices’ robes.”

Sonea felt something brush against her arm, and looked down to find Akkarin’s fingers lightly touching her skin.

— These people are braver than I thought, he sent. They appear to understand how dangerous and powerful the Ichani are, yet they are still willing to fight them.

Sonea smiled and sent him a fleeting image of dwells throwing stones at magicians during the Purge, then of the sewer system that had enabled Cery to bring them into the city.

— Why wouldn’t they? They’ve been fighting and outwitting magicians for years.

32 A Gift

Something was tickling Rothen’s nostril. He snorted, then opened his eyes.

He was lying face down on dried grass. As he rolled over, he felt a twinge of pain in his shoulder. Memories of the previous night rushed back: the carts arriving, the young Warrior cornered by an Ichani, Lord Yikmo at the window of the house, blasting the carts, Kariko, the blood gem, hurrying away...

Looking around, he saw that he was in a barn. From the angle of the beams of light streaming between the slats of wood, it was close to midday.

As he pushed himself into a sitting position, he felt a stronger twinge of pain. He slipped a hand under his robes and touched his shoulder. It sat a little higher than it should. Closing his eyes, he sent his mind inward and regarded his shoulder with dismay. As he had slept, his body had used his returning powers to begin Healing the broken bones in his arm and shoulder. But something wasn’t quite right.

He sighed. Unconscious self-healing was a benefit of being a magician, but it wasn’t a reliable reflex. The bones had set themselves at twisted, crooked angles. An experienced Healer could break and set them again, but for now he would have to put up with discomfort and restricted movement.

Standing up brought a short spell of dizziness, and hunger. He walked to the door of the barn and peered out. Houses surrounded the barn, but all was silent. The building closest to him looked familiar. He felt a chill as he realized it was the house where he had faced Kariko.

He felt a strong reluctance to leave the protection of the barn. The Sachakans might still be in the village, looking for replacement vehicles. He should wait until nightfall, then slip away under the cover of darkness.

Then he saw the magician lying by the back door of the house. There had been no body there the night before. It could only be one magician: Lord Yikmo.

Rothen stepped into the sunlight and hurried to the red-robed figure. He grasped Yikmo’s shoulders and rolled him over. The magician’s eyes stared sightlessly at the sky.

Streaks of blood had dried on the Warrior’s chin. His robes were torn and covered in dust. Thinking back, Rothen recalled the moment when the front of the house had exploded inward. He had assumed that Yikmo had escaped. Instead, it seemed he had been fatally injured by the blast.

Rothen shook his head. Yikmo had been respected and admired in the Guild. Though he hadn’t been strong magically, his sharp mind and ability to teach novices with learning difficulties had gained him the high regard of both Balkan and Akkarin.

Which was why Akkarin chose him as Sonea’s teacher, Rothen thought. She liked Yikmo, I think. She’ll be upset when she hears of his death.

As would the rest of the Guild. He considered communicating the news, but something made him hesitate. The Guild must know, from the silence following the battle, that all had perished. The Sachakans could not be sure. Best not tell them anything they don’t already know, he thought.

Getting to his feet, Rothen turned to the house. He entered cautiously and approached the front room. A gaping hole opened onto the road. The shattered remains of two carts formed two piles in the center of the thoroughfare. They’ve gone.

Three bodies lay among the mess. Rothen looked closely at the houses on either side, then cautiously stepped out. “Magician!” Rothen spun around, then relaxed as a teenage boy ran toward him. He remembered the boy from the evacuation of the village. It had taken some firm words from Yikmo to dissuade the youngster from hanging about to watch the fight.

“What are you doing here?” Rothen asked.

The boy stopped, and the unpracticed bow he gave was almost comically awkward. “Came back to see what happened, my lord,” he replied. His eyes strayed to the carts. “That the enemy?”

Rothen moved to the bodies and examined them. All were Sachakan. He noted the numerous scars on their arms. “Slaves,” he said. He looked closer. “Looks like they were injured when we struck the carts. They’re bad wounds, but nothing that couldn’t have been Healed, and nothing that would have killed them quickly.”

“You think the Sachakans killed their own people?”

“Maybe.” Rothen straightened and looked from one dead Sachakan to another. “Yes. Those cuts on their wrists aren’t from splinters of wood.”

“I guess they didn’t want their slaves slowing them down,” the boy said.

“Have you looked around the village?” Rothen asked.

The boy nodded.

“Seen any other Guild magicians?”

The boy nodded again, then lowered his eyes. “All dead, though.”

Rothen sighed. “Are there any horses left?”

The boy grinned. “Not here, but I can get you one. My da trains racehorses for House Arran. The estate isn’t far away. I can run there and back in half an hour.”

“Then go fetch a horse.” Rothen looked around at the houses. “And some men to take care of the bodies, too.”

“Where you want them put? In the Calia cemetery?”

A cemetery. Rothen thought of the mysterious cemetery in the forest behind the Guild, then of Akkarin’s claims that black magic had been in common use before it was banned. Suddenly the reason for the existence of the graves was all too clear.

“For now,” Rothen replied. “I will stay to identify them, then ride to the city.”

Like so many of the people before her, the woman who entered the room hesitated when she saw Sonea.

“I know, the veil’s a bit much,” Sonea said, speaking with the slum accent. “They say I got to wear this so nobody know who the Thieves’ magicians are.” The veil had been Takan’s idea. Wearing it meant that even the hundred or so potential magicians she took power from would not see her. Akkarin, who was meeting people in another room, was wearing a mask.

“Sonea?” the woman whispered.

Sonea felt a stab of alarm. She looked closer, then pulled the veil off as she recognized the woman.

“Jonna!”

Sonea hurried around the table and hugged her aunt tightly.

“It’s really you,” Jonna said, leaning back to stare at Sonea. “I thought the Guild sent you away.”

“They did.” Sonea grinned. “I came back. We can’t let these Sachakans make a mess of our city, can we?”

Different emotions crossed the woman’s face. Concern and fear were followed by a crooked smile. “You sure know how to get yourself into a lot of rub.” She looked around the room. “They made me wait for hours. I thought I’d be cooking or something, but they told me I had some sort of magical ability, and I should help their magician.”

“Really?” Sonea ushered her aunt to the chair, then moved back to her own seat on the other side of the table. “I must get my abilities from my mother’s side, then. Give me your hand.”

Jonna offered her hand. Sonea took it and sent out her senses. She detected a small source of power. “Not much. That’s why they made you wait. How’s Ranel and my little cousins?”

“Kerrel’s growing fast. Hania’s a crier, but I keep telling myself she’ll grow out of it soon. If Ranel knew you were here, he would have come, but he thought he’d be no use because of his limp.”

“I’d love to see him. Perhaps after all this... I’m going to make a little cut on the back of your hand, if that’s okay with you.”

Jonna’s shoulders lifted. Sonea opened a box on the table and brought out the tiny knife that Cery had given her. He had reasoned that a small blade wouldn’t frighten the dwells as much as a larger one. This one was so tiny, it had earned a few laughs.

Sonea nicked the back of Jonna’s hand with the knife, then laid a finger over the cut. Like all the previous dwells, Jonna relaxed as Sonea drew energy from her. When Sonea stopped and healed the cut, the woman straightened.

“That felt... very strange,” Jonna said. “I couldn’t move, but I felt so sleepy that I didn’t want to.”

Sonea nodded. “That’s what most people say it’s like. I’m not sure I could do it if I knew it was unpleasant. Now, tell me what you and Ranel have been doing lately.”

The problems Jonna related seemed wonderfully simple and ordinary. Sonea listened, then told her aunt of everything that had happened since their last meeting, including some of her doubts and fears. At the end of the story, Jonna regarded her speculatively.

“It’s hard to believe that the quiet little child I had to raise has grown into such an important person,” she said. “And you with this Akkarin, the High Lord of the Guild and all.”

“He isn’t any more,” Sonea reminded her.

Jonna waved a hand. “Even so. How sure of him are you? Do you think you’ll marry?”

Sonea felt her face heat. “I... I don’t know. I...”

“Would you agree?”

Marriage? Sonea hesitated, then slowly nodded.

“But you haven’t talked about it, have you?” Jonna frowned leaned forward. “You are being careful?” she murmured.

“There are...” Sonea swallowed. “I know there are ways, with magic, of being sure a woman doesn’t... It’s one of the advantages of being a magician. Akkarin wouldn’t want that.” She felt her face grow hotter. “Not now, anyway. It wouldn’t be wise, with all the fighting.”

Jonna nodded and patted Sonea’s hand. “Of course. Perhaps later, then. When all this is over.”

Sonea smiled. “Yes. And when I’m ready. Which wouldn’t be straightaway.”

The woman sighed. “It’s good to see you, Sonea. It’s such a relief knowing you’re back.” She sobered. “But it isn’t, too. I wish you were somewhere far away and safe. I wish you didn’t have to fight these Sachakans. You... you will be careful?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t try anything foolish.”

“I won’t. I don’t much like the idea of dying, Jonna. That’s a strong deterrent against foolishness.”

A knock at the door interrupted them.

“Yes?” Sonea called.

The door opened, and Cery slipped inside carrying a large sack. He was grinning widely.

“Catching up?” he said.

“Did you arrange this?” Sonea asked.

“I might have,” Cery replied slyly.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged. Jonna rose. “It’s late. I must get back to my family,” she said. “I’ve been gone too long already.”

Sonea stood and stepped around the table to hug her aunt again. “Take care of yourself,” she said, “Give Ranel a kiss for me. And tell him not to say anything about us being here. Not to anyone.”

Jonna nodded, then turned away and left the room.

“That was the last of them,” Cery said. “I’ll take you back to your rooms.”

“What about Akkarin?”

“He’s waiting for you there. Come on.”

Moving to a door at the back of the room, he led her out into a corridor. At the end of it they entered a small cupboard. Cery untied a rope hanging from a hole in the roof and as he let it slip through his hands, the floor of the cupboard slowly descended.

“You make a good pair,” Cery said.

Sonea turned to frown at him. “Me and Jonna?”

He grinned and shook his head. “You and Akkarin.”

“You think so?”

“I hope so. I’m not sure I like him getting you into all this rub, but he seems just as worried about you surviving it as I am.”

The floor stopped before another door. Cery pushed it open and they stepped into a familiar passage. A few steps later, they were passing the large metal door to his guest rooms. Akkarin sat before a table laden with plates of fresh food, a glass of wine in his hand. Beside him sat Takan.

Akkarin looked up at Sonea and smiled. She noticed that Takan was regarding her closely, and began to wonder what they had been talking about before she arrived.

“Ceryni,” Akkarin said. “Once again, you’ve provided for us generously.” He lifted his glass. “Anuren dark, no less.”

Cery shrugged. “No expense spared for the city’s defenders.”

Sonea sat down and began eating. Though she was hungry, the food sat like stones in her belly and she soon lost her appetite when they began discussing their plans for tomorrow. They had not been talking long before Akkarin stopped and looked at her closely.

“Your power is detectable,” he said quietly. “I need to teach you to hide it.”

Akkarin held out his hand. As she took it, she felt his presence grow strong at the edge of her mind. She closed her eyes.

— This is what I can sense.

At once she felt the power within him radiating out, like a glowing mist.

— I see it.

— You ’re letting power leak through the barrier that surrounds your natural area of magical influence. You need to strengthen the barrier. Like this.

The glow faded to nothing. Concentrating on her own body, she sensed the store of power within her. She hadn’t had the opportunity to consider how much strength she had gained from the dwells. She had tried to keep track of the volunteers, but lost count after thirty.

Now she marvelled at the immense power she held, contained by the barrier at her skin. But that barrier was only strong enough to contain her natural level of power. She must use some of the extra magic to strengthen it. Concentrating, she began sending a steady trickle of power to the barrier.

— That’s it.

Instead of retreating, Akkarin’s mind lingered.

— Look at me.

She opened her eyes. A shiver ran down her spine as she realized she could see and sense him at the same time. His expression was the thoughtful one he always wore when she caught him watching her... and now she knew with certainty what he was thinking of at those times. She felt her face flush, and the corner of his mouth curled upward.

Then his mind faded and he let her hand go. When he looked away, she felt a vague disappointment.

“We should make blood gems for each other. There will be times we’ll need to be able to communicate privately in the next few days.”

Blood gems. Her disappointment faded and was replaced by interest.

“We need some glass.” He looked at Takan. The servant rose and entered the kitchen, then returned and shook his head.

“Nothing there...”

Akkarin picked up a wineglass, then glanced at Cery. “Do you mind if I break this?”

Cery shrugged. “No. Smash away.”

The glass shattered as Akkarin struck it against the table. He picked up a sliver and handed it to Sonea, then took one for himself. Cery watched, clearly bursting with curiosity.

Together, Sonea and Akkarin melted the glass fragments into tiny spheres. Akkarin took another sliver of glass and cut his palm. Sonea did the same. Once more he held her hand and she sensed his mind touch hers. She followed his instructions on how to apply the blood and magic to the hot glass.

When the gems had cooled, Takan set a small square of gold on the table. It rose and hovered before Akkarin’s face, then curled and twisted into two rings. As Akkarin dropped his blood gem into the setting of one ring, Sonea placed hers in the other. She noted how the gem protruded from the inner side of the band, allowing it to touch the skin of the wearer.

The gold claws of the settings closed over the gems. Akkarin plucked the two rings out of the air, holding them by their bands, then turned to regard Sonea solemnly.

“With these rings, we will be able to see into each others’ minds. This has some... disadvantages. Sometimes, hearing and knowing exactly how another person regards you can be an unpleasant experience. It can end friendships, turn love to resentment, and destroy self-regard.” He paused. “But it can also deepen understanding. We should not wear these any more than we must.”

Sonea took his ring and considered his words. Turn love to resentment? But he had never said he loved her. She thought of Jonna’s words. “But you haven’t talked about it, have you?”

We haven’t needed to, she told herself. Just the occasional fleeting glimpse of his thoughts has been enough.

Or was it?

She looked at the ring and found herself caught between two possibilities: either he loved her and was afraid the rings would spoil everything, or he didn’t, and was afraid the rings would reveal the truth.

But when his mind had lingered just now, she was sure she had sensed more than just desire.

She put the ring on the table. Tomorrow they would need them. Tomorrow they would discover how much it cost them. For now, she did not need to see any more than what she had glimpsed in his mind.

Cery abruptly rose. “I’d like to stay, but I’ve got other things to get around to.” He paused, then waved at the sack, which he had left on a chair. “Some more clothes. I thought they might suit better than what you’ve got.”

Akkarin nodded. “Thank you.”

“Good night.”

After Cery had gone, Takan also stood. “It is late,” he said. “If you do not need me...?”

Akkarin shook his head. “No. Get some sleep, Takan.” He looked at Sonea. “We should get some rest, too.”

He rose and moved into the bedroom. Sonea started to follow, then she paused as she saw the sack on the chair. Grabbing it, she carried it into the bedroom.

Akkarin glanced at the sack as she dropped it on the bed. “What disguise has Cery come up with, then?”

Sonea opened the sack and turned it upside down. A cascade of black cloth spilled out. She glanced at Akkarin, then spread the garments over the bed.

They were robes. Magicians’ robes.

Akkarin stared at them, his expression grim.

“We can’t wear these,” he said quietly. “We are not Guild magicians. It is a crime.”

“Then the Guild is going to be too busy arresting people to fight the Ichani tomorrow,” she said. “There will be hundreds of non-magicians on the streets wearing robes, trying to lure the Sachakans into separating.”

“This is... different. We were cast out. And these are black. There will be no mistaking us for ordinary magicians.”

Sonea looked at the sack. It was still half full. Reaching inside, she pulled out two pairs of trousers and two shirts. Both were a generous fit.

“Strange. Why would he give us two sets of clothes?”

“An alternative.”

“Or we’re supposed to wear the robes underneath these.”

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “And remove the outer clothing at a specific time?”

“Perhaps. You have to admit, it would be intimidating. Two black magicians...”

She drew in a breath and looked down at the bed, then felt a strange chill as she realized she was looking at two sets of full-length robes—the robes of a graduated magician.

“I can’t wear these!” she protested.

Akkarin chuckled. “Now that you agree with me, I find my mind is changing. I think, perhaps, your friend is being as subtle and clever as I’ve come to expect.” He bent to run a hand over the cloth. “We would not show these unless our identities had been discovered. But once they have, it may appear to the Sachakans that the Guild has accepted us. The implications of that will give Kariko reason to pause.”

“And the Guild?”

He frowned. “If they truly want us to return, they will have to accept everything we are,” he murmured. “After all, we cannot unlearn what we have learned.”

She looked down. “So they are black robes for black magicians.”

“Yes.”

She frowned. The thought of parading about in black robes in front of Rothen... she felt a sharp pang of grief. But Rothen is dead.

She sighed. “I’d like it better if they called black magic higher magic, but if the Guild were ever to accept us I guess they couldn’t call us Higher Magicians. That term is already in use.”

Akkarin shook his head. “No, and black magicians should be discouraged from thinking that they are higher than others.”

Sonea looked at him closely. “Do you think they’ll accept us?”

Akkarin’s eyebrows knitted together. “Even if it survives, the Guild will never be the same.” He gathered up the robes and draped them over the back of a chair. “For now, we should sleep. We might not get another chance for some time.”

As he began to strip off his clothes, Sonea sat on the edge of the bed and considered his words. The Guild had already changed. With so many dead... she felt her throat tighten again as she thought of Rothen.

“I’ve never seen anyone sleep well sitting up,” Akkarin said.

Sonea turned to find him sliding under the covers. She felt a strange mix of excitement and shyness. Waking to find herself in a bed with him that morning had changed something. It was certainly more comfortable than rock, she mused, but being here, together, felt so much more... deliberate.

She put the sack and remaining clothes aside, then undressed and slipped into the bed. Akkarin’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was the deep steady rhythm of sleep. She smiled and reached over to the lamp to extinguish it.

Despite the darkness and the long day, she remained wakeful. She created a tiny, weak globe light and rolled over to watch Akkarin, content to just examine all the details and contours of his face.

Then his eyes fluttered open and looked into hers. A tiny frown creased his forehead.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he murmured.

“I can’t sleep,” she told him.

His lips curled up into a smile.

“When have I heard that before?”

As Cery entered his rooms he drew in a deep breath. A warm, spicy scent hung in the air. He smiled and followed it to the bathing room, where he found Savara relaxing in a tub of water.

“In the bath again?” he asked.

She smiled slyly. “Care to join me?”

“I think I’ll stay a safe distance away, for now.”

Her smile widened. “Then tell me what I’ve missed.”

“I’ll just get a chair.”

He returned to the guestroom, stopped in the center and took several deep breaths.

Once again, he had felt a strong desire to tell her everything. He had made a deal with her: keep her informed in exchange for suggestions on killing Ichani. Part of him was sure he could trust her, but another whispered a warning.

How much did he know about her, really? She was Sachakan. She had sought out and identified her countrymen—and women—for him, knowing that they would be killed. That did not mean she had Kyralia’s best interests in mind, however. She had told him she worked for another “faction” of Sachakan society, and it was clear that her loyalties lay with her people.

He had made a deal, and so far she had kept her side of it...

But he couldn’t tell her that Akkarin and Sonea had returned. Should news of their arrival and preparations get out, the Ichani would win. If he trusted Savara, and she betrayed them, Kyralia’s fall would rest on his shoulders.

And Sonea might be killed. He felt vaguely guilty about withholding information from the new woman in his life for the sake of the old. But if I endangered the life of the old by mistakenly trusting the new, he reasoned, I’d feel far worse than I do now.

But Savara would find out eventually. Cery’s heart raced with a strange, unfamiliar fear when he considered how she might react.

She will understand, he told himself. What sort of Thief would I be if I so easily gave away the secrets entrusted to me? And it’s not like she’s going to stay here long. Once it’s over, she’ll leave me anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up a chair and carried it into the bathing room. She folded her arms over the edge of the tub, and rested her chin on them.

“So what have the Thieves decided?”

“They liked our ideas,” he told her. “Limek set his people working on making robes.”

She grinned. “I hope these people can run fast.”

“They’ll use the Thieves’ Road to get away again. We’ve also got people out looking for good places to lay traps.”

She nodded. “The Guild sent out a mental call for Akkarin today.”

He feigned surprise. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t reply.”

Cery frowned. “You don’t think he’s...?”

“Dead?” Her shoulders lifted slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe it’s too dangerous to answer. He might attract the wrong kind of attention.”

He nodded and found it all too easy to look worried. Unfolding her arms, she beckoned to him.

“Come here, Cery,” she murmured. “You leave me here all alone, all day long. A girl could get bored.”

He stood and crossed his arms. “All day? I heard you slipped out to the Market.”

She chuckled. “I thought you might. I wanted to pick up something I had a jeweler make for me. Look.”

A small box sat on the lip of the tub. She picked it up and handed it to him.

“A gift for you,” she said. “Made with a few gems from my knives.”

Lifting off the lid, Cery caught his breath at the strange silver pendant inside. Intricate, veined wings sprouted from an elongated body. Twin glints of yellow formed the eyes of the insect, and green stones dotted its curved tail. The abdomen was a large, smooth ruby.

“In my country it’s considered good luck for an inava to land on you just before a battle,” she told him. “It is also the messenger of separated lovers. I’ve noticed Kyralian men don’t wear jewelry, but you could keep it underneath your clothes.” She smiled. “Close to your skin.”

He felt a pang of guilt. Lifting the pendant out of the box, he slipped the chain over his head.

“It’s beautiful,” he told her. “Thank you.”

She looked away for a moment, as if suddenly embarrassed by the sentimentality of her gift. Then she smiled slyly.

“How about coming in here and thanking me properly?”

Cery laughed. “All right. How can I say no to that?”

33 The Ichani Arrive

The morning sun crept slowly over the horizon as if reluctant to face the coming day. The first rays touched the towers of the Palace, painting them a vivid orange-yellow. Slowly the golden light spread across the rooftops, starting at the edge of the city and drawing ever closer to the Outer Wall, until it bathed the faces of the magicians standing along the top.

They had left the Guild as soon as scouts had reported that the Sachakans were on the move. Climbing to the top of the Outer Wall, they had spread themselves out in a long line. It was a formidable sight, so many hundreds of magicians gathered together—unlike the two overloaded carts trundling slowly toward the city. Lorlen had to remind himself that the occupants of those carts had already killed more than forty of the Guild’s best Warriors and were several times stronger than the magicians on the wall.

The Ichani had found a replacement for the carts Yikmo’s men had destroyed, but it had delayed them by half a day. The Guild hadn’t benefited from the Warriors’ sacrifice, however. All Sarrin’s attempts to learn black magic had failed. The old magician had said that he could not quite make sense of the descriptions and instructions on black magic in the books. He had grown increasingly distressed as each day passed. Lorlen knew that the likelihood that Yikmo and his men had died for nothing weighed on Sarrin’s conscience as much as his failure to become Kyralia’s savior.

Lorlen glanced at the Alchemist, who was standing several strides away. Sarrin looked haggard and tired, but regarded the advancing enemy with grim determination. Lorlen then looked at Balkan, who stood with his arms crossed, somehow managing to appear confident and at ease. Lady Vinara seemed as calm and resolute.

Lorlen regarded the approaching carts again. Scouts had reported the location of the enemy the night before. The Sachakans had broken into an abandoned farmhouse beside the road, only an hour’s travel from the city. When it appeared that they intended to delay their attack until the next day, the King had been pleased. He still hoped that Sarrin would succeed.

One of the King’s counselors had pointed out that the Ichani would not rest unless they needed it. Lorlen had recognized this man as Raven, the professional spy who had accompanied Rothen on the first days of his abandoned mission.

“If they want to sleep, we should prevent it,” Raven had said. “You don’t need to send magicians. Ordinary men may be of no use in a magical confrontation, but don’t underestimate our ability to be annoying.”

So a handful of guards had slipped out into the night to release swarms of sapflys into the farmhouse, rouse the Sachakans with loud noises, and finally set the building on fire. The last was done with more than the usual relish, after the Ichani had caught one of the guards. What they did to the man did not bode well for those citizens who hadn’t left Imardin yet.

Looking over his shoulder, Lorlen considered the city. The streets were empty and silent. Most members of the Houses had sailed for Elyne, taking their families and servants with them. A line of carts had flowed through the Southern Gate for the last two days as the rest of the population fled toward the outlying villages. Guards had kept order as best they could, but there weren’t enough of them to curtail some of the looting that had occurred. As soon as the sun had set the previous evening, the Gates had been closed and fortifications fixed in place.

Of course, the Ichani might ignore the gates. They might head straight for the gap in the Outer wall where it had once surrounded the Guild grounds.

There was nothing the Guild could do to prevent that. They already knew they would lose this battle. They only hoped to kill one or two Ichani.

Still, he hated to think of the destruction they could wreak on the grand old buildings. Lord Jullen had packed up and sent away the most precious books and records, and sealed the rest in a room underneath the University. Patients within the Healers’ Quarters, servants and family had been sent out of the city.

Similar precautions had been taken at the Palace. Lorlen turned to regard the towers, just visible over the Inner Wall. The city’s walls had been built to protect this central building. Over the centuries the Palace had been modified to indulge the tastes and whims of Kyralia’s royalty, but the wall around it had remained intact. The best of the Guard waited within, ready to fight if the Guild was defeated.

“They’ve reached the slums,” Osen murmured.

Facing north again, Lorlen looked down at the slums. The labyrinth of unplanned streets spread before him. All were deserted. He wondered where the dwells had gone. Far away, he hoped.

The carts had reached the first buildings and the occupants were tiny figures now. As Lorlen watched, they drew to a halt. Six men and one woman stepped down from the vehicles and started walking toward the Northern Gates. The slaves drew the carts away into the slums.

One Ichani has gone with them, Lorlen noted. One less to fight us. Not that it will make much difference.

“The King has arrived,” Osen murmured.

Lorlen turned to see the monarch approaching. Magicians knelt and quickly rose again as the King passed. Lorlen followed suit.

“Administrator.”

“Your Majesty,” Lorlen replied.

The King looked down at the advancing Sachakans.

“Have you tried to contact Akkarin again?”

Lorlen nodded. “Every hour, since you first requested it.”

“No answer?”

“None.”

The King nodded. “Then we face them alone. Let’s hope he was wrong about their strength.”

Sonea had never seen the Northern Gates closed. The enormous sheets of metal had always been streaked with rust and the decorations obscured by centuries of dirt and grime. Now they were a clean, glossy black—restored, no doubt, out of pride and defiance.

A line of magicians stood on top of the wall. Brown robes were scattered among the red, green and purple ones. She felt a pang of sympathy for her fellow classmates. They must be terrified.

The Ichani walked into view on the road below. Sonea’s heart lurched and she heard Akkarin catch his breath. They were only a hundred or so paces away, and this time she was not seeing them through the eyes of another magician.

She, Akkarin, Cery and Takan were watching from a house beside the North Road. Cery had brought them there because the building had a little tower room above the second floor, which had the best view of the area before the gates.

“The one in front is Kariko,” Akkarin murmured.

Sonea nodded. “And the woman must be Avala. What about the rest?”

“Remember the spy whose mind you read? The tall one there is Harikava, his master. The two at the far end are Inijaka and Sarika. I’ve seen them in the minds of the spies I’ve read. The other two, Rikacha and Rashi, are old allies of Kariko.”

“There are seven,” she said. “One’s missing.”

Akkarin frowned. “Yes.”

The Ichani continued for several paces past the house, then stopped. They looked up at the row of robed figures standing along the top of the Outer Wall.

The voice that drifted down was unfamiliar.

“Go no farther, Sachakans. You are not welcome in my land.”

Looking at the figures of the magicians on the wall above the gates, Sonea saw a finely dressed man standing beside Administrator Lorlen.

“Is that... the King?”

“Yes.”

She felt a reluctant admiration for the monarch. He had stayed in the city, when he could have fled with the Houses.

Kariko spread his hands. “Is this how Kyralians treat a guest? Or a weary traveller?”

“A guest does not kill his host’s family or servants.”

Kariko laughed. “No. Welcome or not, I am in your land. And I want your city. Open your gates, and I will allow you to live and serve me.”

“We would die rather than serve your kind.”

Sonea’s heart leapt as she recognized Lorlen’s voice.

“Was that one of those who calls himself a ‘magician’?” Kariko laughed. “I’m sorry. The invitation wasn’t for you, or your Guild. I don’t keep magicians. Dying is the only way your pathetic Guild can serve me.” He crossed his arms. “Open your gates, King Merin.”

“Open them yourself,” the King replied. “And we’ll see if my Guild is as pathetic as you say.”

Kariko turned to regard his allies. “Well, that’s all the welcome we’re going to get. Let’s break the shell and feast on the egg.”

Their movements were casual as they spread out into a line. White streaks of light sprang toward the gates, striking at the sides and center. Sonea heard Cery suck in a breath as the metal began to glow. Hundreds of strikes rained down on the figures below. All scattered against the Ichani’s shields.

“See their weakness, Lorlen!” Akkarin hissed. “Focus on one!”

Sonea jumped as the sound of something tearing filled the room. Akkarin’s hand had been resting on the paper screen beside the window. He extracted his fingers from the torn paper and gripped the sill instead.

“That’s it!” he said.

Looking outside again, Sonea saw that the Guild’s strikes had shifted to a single Ichani. She held her breath, expecting the other Sachakans to blend their shields, but they did not.

“That man,” Akkarin jabbed a finger toward the Ichani under attack. “He will be our first.”

“If he’ll leave the group,” Cery added.

Kariko glanced toward his failing ally, then looked up at the wall. A streak of light shot from him to the figures above the gate, but was blocked by the Guild’s combined shield.

Then a cloud of white belched out of the gates. A glowing hole had formed in the metal, and more clouds were billowing up from behind.

“Houses must have caught fire on the other side,” Cery said darkly.

Akkarin shook his head. “Not yet. That’s steam, not smoke. The Guard are throwing water on the wooden fortifications to keep them from burning.”

It seemed a ridiculously feeble attempt to stop the Ichani, yet every obstacle the Sachakans overcame used some of their power. Sonea glanced up at the wall again. The King and the magicians over the gate were hurrying to either side, away from the billowing clouds of steam.

Then one of the gates moved. Cery muttered a curse as it sagged forward. There were several loud cracks before it broke loose from its hinges and slammed to the ground. Beyond, a scaffolding of wood and iron filled the gap. As guards hurried to climb off the structure, the second gate fell.

Kariko glanced at his companions.

“They think they can stop us with this?” He laughed and turned back to stare at the fortifications.

The air rippled, then the scaffolding buckled inward as if punched by enormous, invisible fists. The crack of breaking timber and tortured metal echoed out of the gap in the wall, then the fortifications collapsed to the ground.

Looking up, Sonea saw that the magicians on the wall had all but disappeared. She watched as the Ichani strode into the city. Strikes came from the houses on either side, but the Sachakans ignored them. They strode on toward the Inner Wall.

Akkarin stepped back from the window, then turned to Cery.

“We must get into the city quickly,” he said, Cery smiled. “No problem. Just follow me.”

It was not long before Farand was gasping for air. Dannyl caught the young man’s arm and slowed to a fast walk. The young man glanced behind, his expression fearful.

“They won’t follow us,” Dannyl assured him. “They looked like they had their mind set on the Inner Circle.”

Farand nodded. The young magician had appeared beside Dannyl on the wall, perhaps seeking the reassurance of a familiar face. The magicians ahead drew farther away and eventually turned out of sight.

“Will we... get there... in time?” Farand panted as they reached the West Quarter.

“I hope so,” Dannyl replied. Looking up at the Inner Wall, he could see that some magicians were already hurrying along the top. He glanced at Farand, who was still pale but struggling along valiantly. “Maybe not.”

He turned down the next street. The wall was directly ahead of them. When they reached it, Dannyl took hold of Farand’s shoulders. He created a disc of power beneath their feet, and sent them upward as quickly as he dared. The sudden ascent made his stomach sink disconcertingly.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to use any magic except in the fight,” Farand gasped.

They reached the top of the wall and Dannyl set them down. “It’s obvious you’re still too weak for running,” he said. “Better we got here soon enough for me to channel your power, than not get here in time at all.”

A magician hurried toward them, his face flushed from exertion, and they followed him along the wall. Looking down at the Inner Circle, Dannyl felt a flash of anxiety. Tayend was down there. Though the mansion the Scholar was hiding in was located on the other side of the Palace, it would not be any protection once the Ichani began to explore.

As they reached the line of magicians forming along the wall, Dannyl sent his power out to join the Guild’s shield. He looked down at the Ichani. They were standing together before the gates, talking.

“Why haven’t they attacked?” Farand asked.

Dannyl looked closer. “I don’t know. There’s only six. One’s missing.”

The Sachakan woman stepped out of a side street. She sauntered toward the Ichani. The leader crossed his arms and stepped forward to meet her. Dannyl watched their lips moving. The woman smiled, but when the leader turned away her expression changed to a sneer.

“She’s rebellious,” Farand said. “That might be useful, later.”

Dannyl nodded, then his attention was drawn back to the Ichani as they attacked. Strikes flashed through the air and he felt a vibration under his feet.

“They’re attacking the wall,” a Healer nearby exclaimed.

The vibration increased rapidly to a shaking. Dannyl looked ahead. The magicians closest to the gates were struggling to keep their balance. Some had dropped to a crouch. As the Guild’s shield fragmented, a few magicians were blasted off the wall completely.

— Attack!

Responding to Balkan’s mental voice, Dannyl straightened. His own strike joined the hundreds that rained on the Sachakans. A hand touched his shoulder, and he felt Farand’s power added to his own.

The shaking and noise ceased abruptly. The Ichani backed away from the gates. Dannyl felt a little surge of hope, though he had no idea what they were retreating from.

Then the gates fell outward and slammed into the ground at the Ichani’s feet. Rubble from the ruined wall rained down on top of it. Kariko looked up at the magicians on either side and smiled with obvious satisfaction.

— Leave the wall, Balkan commanded.

At once the magicians hurried to wooden staircases that had been built on the inside of the wall. Dannyl and Farand hastened down to the streets below.

“What next?” Farand panted as they reached the ground.

“We meet Lord Vorel.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know. Vorel will have directions, I imagine.”

A few streets later, Dannyl found the Warrior waiting in the prearranged meeting place with several other magicians. All were quiet and subdued.

— Regroup.

Vorel nodded at Balkan’s command. He looked at each of them, his expression sober and grim. “That means we are to get close to them, without being seen. When the next command comes, we are to attack at once, focusing our strikes on one Sachakan. Follow me.”

As Vorel hurried away, Dannyl, Farand and the other magicians in their group followed. Not a word was spoken. They all know this will be the last confrontation, Dannyl thought. After this, if we’re still alive, we abandon the city.

Cery watched as Sonea and Akkarin disappeared into the darkened passage, following their guide. Drawing in a deep breath, he began walking in the other direction. Takan followed close behind.

He had much to do. The other Thieves needed to know that Akkarin and Sonea had made it into the Inner Circle. The fake magicians could be let loose on the streets. The slaves needed to be found and dealt with. And he... he needed a strong drink.

The journey through to the Inner Circle had been terrifying, even for one used to the passages of the Thieves’ Road. The roof had collapsed under the wall, leaving only enough room to squirm through in places. Sonea had assured him that she and Akkarin would be able to hold the roof up with magic if it started to fall again, but with every breath of dust Cery had found it far too easy to imagine himself being crushed and buried.

He reached a stretch of passage that ran parallel to an alley. Grates high in the wall gave glimpses of the street beyond. Hearing the sound of running feet, Cery paused and watched as a magician ran past. The man skidded to a halt.

“Oh, no,” he whimpered.

Bending close to a grate, Cery saw that the alley was a dead end. The magician was a novice—a mere youth. His robes were covered in dust.

Then, from somewhere just past the street entrance, came a woman’s voice.

“Where are you? Where are you, little magician?”

The woman’s accent was so like Savara’s, that for a moment Cery thought it was her. But the voice was higher, and the laugh that followed was cruel.

The youth cast about, but this was the Inner Circle, and there were no crates or rubbish lying about to hide behind. Cery hurried down the passage to the grate closest to the boy, then pushed it open.

“Hai, magician!” he whispered.

The boy jumped, then turned to stare at Cery.

“Come in here,” Cery beckoned. “Come on.”

The youth glanced toward the alley entrance once, then dived for the opening. He fell into the passage head first, landed awkwardly, then rolled over and scrambled to his feet. As the woman’s voice came again, he backed against the far wall, panting with terror.

“Where did you go?” the woman called as she strode down the alley. “This goes nowhere. You must be inside one of these houses. Let’s have a look.”

She tested a few doors, then blasted one open. As she disappeared inside, Cery turned to grin at the novice.

“You’re safe now,” he said. “It’ll take her hours to search all the houses. Likely she’ll get bored, and go looking for easier prey.”

The youth’s panting had slowed to long, deliberate breaths. He straightened and pushed away from the wall.

“Thank you,” he said. “You saved my life.”

Cery shrugged. “No rub.”

“Who are you—and why are you here? I thought everyone had been evacuated.”

“Ceryni is my name,” Cery told him. “Ceryni of the Thieves.”

The youth blinked in surprise. Then he grinned.

“I am honored to meet you, Thief. I am Regin of Winar.”

The rhythm of the horse’s gait drove everything. Its breath gusted out in time with the pounding of its hooves. The pain in Rothen’s shoulder flared at every jolt. He could soothe it away with a little Healing power, but he did not want to use any more of his strength than he must. The Guild needed every scrap of magic to fight the Ichani. He hadn’t even drawn power to chase away the weariness he felt from riding all night.

Ahead, the city shone like a glittering treasure spread over a table. Each building shone like gold in the morning light. He might reach it in an hour, maybe less.

A burned-out house smoked in a charred field. Small groups of people, mostly families, hurried along the road carrying bags, boxes and baskets. They watched him pass with both hope and fear in their faces. The closer he came to the city, the more numerous they were, until they became an unbroken line of humanity fleeing Imardin.

None of this boded well for the fate of the Guild. Rothen cursed under his breath. The only mental calls he had heard had been Balkan’s orders. He dared not call out to Dorrien or Dannyl.

An image flashed before his eyes. A glimpse of a city street, then a Sachakan face. Kariko. He blinked several times but the image did not fade.

I’ve been wishing to know what’s happening so much, I’m starting to hallucinate, Rothen thought. Or is it from lack of sleep?

He gave in and sent a little Healing power into his body, but the vision remained. A feeling of terror swept over Rothen, but not his own. He caught a glimpse of green robes and a sense of identity. Lord Sarle.

Was the Healer sending this? It didn’t feel deliberate.

Kariko was holding a knife. He smiled and leaned closer.

“Watch this, slave killer.”

Rothen felt a flash of pain, then a distant but terrible feeling of paralysis and fear. Slowly the sense of Lord Sarle’s mind faded to nothing, and Rothen felt himself abruptly released.

He gasped and stared at his surroundings. The horse was stationary. Men and women beside the road hurried past, eyeing him nervously.

The blood gem! Rothen thought. Kariko must have put it on Lord Sarle. He shuddered as he realized he’d felt Sarle’s death. He’s going to show me the death of every magician he kills.

And next time it might be Dorrien or Dannyl.

Slapping his heels against the horse’s flanks, Rothen sent it galloping toward the city.

34 The Hunt Begins

The city streets were still hazy with dust from the destruction of the wall. All was desolate and empty, but now and then Lorlen caught a glimpse of movement at the corner of a building or within a window. He and Osen had broken into one of the houses facing the Palace only a few minutes before. Now they were waiting for the Ichani to arrive, and Balkan’s order to attack.

He didn’t know how many magicians had survived or how much power they had left, but he would find out soon enough.

“Here. Sit down,” Osen murmured.

Lorlen glanced away from the window to find his assistant holding an antique chair. As Osen set the chair down, Lorlen managed a wry smile.

“Thank you. I doubt I’ll be using it for long.”

The young magician’s gaze shifted back to the street outside.

“No. They’re here.”

Looking through the window again, Lorlen saw six figures emerge from the dust. The Sachakans walked slowly past, toward the Palace. Kariko gazed up at the wall.

No, we ’re not going to give you another chance to blast the stone out from under our feet, Lorlen thought as he moved to the door.

— Attack!

At Balkan’s order, Lorlen flung open the door and stepped outside, Osen following. Other magicians were emerging to form a half-circle around the Sachakans. Lorlen added his strength to their shield, then struck at the Ichani.

The Sachakans spun around to face them. An image of one of the Ichani flashed into Lorlen’s mind. At once, the Guild attacked the man. The force of their strikes sent the Ichani staggering backward toward the Palace wall, until the Sachakan’s answering strikes forced the Guild to concentrate on shielding again.

The blasts that hit the Guild’s shield were terrible. Lorlen felt a rush of fear and anxiety as the half-circle of magicians flinched away. The Guild would weaken quickly if it endured this battering for long.

— Retreat.

At Balkan’s command, the Guild magicians backed away to the houses and alleys they had emerged from. The Ichani began to advance.

“We have to get at least one of them,” Osen gasped.

“You shield, I’ll strike,” Lorlen replied. “Let’s just get closer to the house.”

They edged toward the door. As they reached it, Lorlen stopped.

“Now!”

Abandoning his shield, Lorlen threw all his remaining power into a strike at the weakened Ichani. The Sachakan staggered, and other strikes came as Guild magicians saw the man’s weakness. The man gave a shout—a wordless cry of anger and fear—as his shield failed. The next strike threw him back against the Palace wall, which buckled around him. He sagged and crumpled to the ground.

Cheers came from all around, but they ended abruptly as the Ichani retaliated with powerful blasts. Osen made a strangled noise.

“Get... back... inside...” Osen said between gritted teeth.

Lorlen followed Osen’s gaze and felt his stomach turn with dread as he saw that the Ichani leader, Kariko, was walking toward them, sending strike after strike at Osen’s shield. Taking Osen’s arm, Lorlen guided him back into the house. Wood and brickworks shattered as Kariko’s strikes passed through the doorway. Then Osen’s shield wavered.

“No,” Osen gasped. “Not yet.”

Grabbing Osen’s shoulders, Lorlen pushed him aside. There was a boom, and the front wall of the house collapsed inward. Cracks ran across the ceiling. Lorlen felt something slam across his shoulders and he staggered to his knees.

Then he was being battered to the floor. The ceiling had fallen in, he guessed. A weight pushed down on him from above. It crushed the air from his lungs. Then, as stillness finally came, he grew aware of pain. He sent his mind inward, and went cold as he saw the broken bones and ruptured organs, and realized what it would mean.

There was only one thing to do.

Dust and dirt cascaded down around him as he edged his hand toward the ring in his pocket.

The passages under the Inner Circle were quiet. Here and there volunteers waited by exits. Akkarin and Sonea’s guide stopped as a messenger appeared and hurried toward them.

“Sachakan magician... stayed with... the slaves,” the man panted. “They’re in... slums. Northside.”

“So one of them has separated from the others already,” Sonea observed. “Should we find him first?”

“It will take time to get there,” Akkarin said. He looked up in the direction of the Palace. “I would like to see how the Guild fares, but... this lone Ichani may try to rejoin Kariko when he hears that the Guild has been defeated.” He nodded slowly and turned to the guide. “Yes. Take us to the slums.”

“I’ll let them know you’re coming,” the messenger said. He sprinted away.

The guide led them back down the passage. Several minutes later they were stopped by a middle-aged woman.

“Tunnel’s collapsed,” she reported. “Can’t go that way.”

“What is the fastest alternative route?”

“There’s another tunnel close to the Guild wall,” the Guide told them.

Akkarin looked up. “The gap in the wall is almost above us.”

“That would be faster,” the guide said, shrugging. “But you may be seen.”

“The Guild and Ichani are outside the Palace. To anyone else, we will look like two more ordinary Imardians escaping the city. Take us to an exit as close to the wall as possible.”

The guide nodded and led them away. After a few turns, he stopped at a ladder bolted to a wall and pointed up at a hatch.

“That’ll put you in a storeroom. There’s a door to an alley.” He gave them instructions on finding an entrance to the passages on the other side of the wall. “You’ll find guides there. They know the North Quarter better than me.”

Akkarin began to climb. Following him, Sonea found herself in a large room filled with foodstuffs. They pushed through a door into a narrow, dead-end alley. Akkarin glided forward and stopped at the entrance. Drawing alongside, Sonea saw that they were on the other side of the road that followed the Inner Wall. Her heart sank as she took in the ruins.

A gust of wind chased away the dust and she saw familiar colors among the rubble. As she looked closer, she realized they were the robes of magicians.

“The way is clear,” Akkarin murmured. As they moved out of the ally, she took a step toward the magicians, and felt Akkarin’s hand on her arm.

“They’re dead, Sonea,” he murmured gently. “The Guild would not have left them, otherwise.”

“I know,” she said. “I just want to know who they are.”

“Not yet. There will be time for that later.”

Akkarin drew her toward the gap in the wall. Rubble covered the ground, forcing them to slow as they neared the gap. They had just reached the base of the fallen gates when he stopped. Sonea looked at him, and felt a stab of alarm. His face had turned white, and he was staring at a point somewhere far below the ground.

“What is it?”

“Lorlen.” He turned abruptly to face the Inner Circle. “I have to find him. Go on ahead. Find this Ichani, but do nothing until I arrive.”

“But—”

“Go,” he said, turning to fix her with a cold stare. “I must do this alone.”

“Do what?”

“Just do as I say, Sonea.”

She could not help feeling a pang of hurt and anger at the impatience in his tone. This was not a good time for him to be mysterious and secretive with her. If they parted, how would they find each other again? Then she remembered the ring.

“Should I put on your blood ring now? You said we should wear them if we’re separated.”

A look of alarm crossed his face, then his expression softened. “Yes,” he said, “but I will not put yours on yet. I would not show you what I fear I may see in the next hour.”

She stared back at him. What would happen that he didn’t want her to see? Did it have something to do with Lorlen?

“I must go,” he said. She nodded, then watched him stride away.

After he had disappeared, she hurried into the North Quarter. Reaching the shadows of an alley, she took his ring out of her pocket and considered it. His warning from the previous night repeated in her mind.

“Sometimes, hearing and knowing exactly how another person regards you can be an unpleasant experience. It can end friendships, turn love to resentment...”

But they had to be able to contact each other when apart. She pushed aside her doubts and slipped the ring onto her finger. No feeling of his presence appeared at the edge of her thoughts. She searched, but sensed nothing. Perhaps it wasn’t working.

No, she thought, the maker controls how much the wearer senses. But the maker couldn’t stop sensing the wearer’s thoughts and experiences. That meant Akkarin was attuned to her every thought now.

Hello? she thought.

No answer came. She smiled and shrugged. Whatever he was doing, he wouldn’t want her distracting him—and the last thing she wanted to do was divert his attention when he most needed to concentrate.

She followed the guide’s directions and found the passage entrance easily. To her surprise, Faren was waiting inside. His second, the silent man who had watched her approach the Thief only a day before, stood beside him.

“The Guild have killed an Ichani,” Faren told her excitedly. “I thought I’d tell you myself.”

She smiled and felt her mood lighten a little. “Now that’s good news. What about the rest of the Ichani?”

“The woman is roaming about on her own. The one with the slaves was still in Northside at the last report. I expect the rest are heading for the Palace. Where’s your constant companion?”

She frowned. “Had to sort something out on his own. I’m to find the Ichani with the slaves, then sit.”

Faren grinned. “Then let’s go find him.”

After a short trip, they emerged in an alleyway. He led her to a high stack of boxes and stepped through a narrow gap. At the center was a cramped space. He crouched and rapped on something metallic.

Sonea smothered a groan as a hatch opened and an unpleasant smell wafted out.

“The sewers again.”

“I’m afraid so,” Faren replied. “They’re the most direct route out of the city.”

They descended into the murky darkness. A man with a wide face stood by the ladder, a lamp in one hand and another casting a pool of light around his feet. The Thief took the lamp and started along the ledge that ran down one side of the tunnel. They passed several hatch guards. At one point, Faren told her that they had just passed under the Outer Wall. When they climbed out of the sewer, she found herself in a familiar part of the slums. Faren quickly led her back through a grate in a wall to the Thieves’ Road.

A boy waiting inside informed them that the lone Ichani and the slaves were now only a few streets away.

“They’re headed for the main road,” the boy said.

“Tell everyone to be ready, then report back.”

The boy nodded, then hurried away.

After a short journey, they ascended into a house and climbed up a rickety staircase to the second floor. Faren led her to a window. Looking out, Sonea saw that the Sachakan slaves were standing in the street below. The Ichani was watching as two emerged from a bakery carrying trays of rolls. Several of the limek-like animals were fighting over a reber carcass. The carts were nowhere to be seen.

The boy from the Road entered the room. His eyes were bright with excitement.

“Everything’s ready,” he announced.

Sonea looked at Faren questioningly. “For what?”

“We set up a few traps for the Sachakans,” Faren explained. “It was Cery’s idea.”

She smiled. “Of course. What’s the plan?”

He moved to a side window. Below, a small walled courtyard backed onto a narrow alleyway. Two heavily built men held a long metal pole with a sharpened point to the wall. They glanced up at the window anxiously. Faren gave them the signal for “wait.”

“Another two are on the other side of the alley,” Faren told her. “There’s a hole in each wall, filled with false mortar. One of our fake magicians will lure the Ichani into the alley. When he reaches the right place, the men will skewer him.”

Sonea stared at him in disbelief. “That’s your plan? It will never work. The Ichani’s shield will protect him.”

“Maybe he’ll get lazy, and think the walls are enough protection.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but there’s only a slim chance he will. You’re taking a terrible risk.”

“Do you think our helpers don’t know that?” Faren said quietly. “They know there’s a good chance it won’t work. They’re just as determined to fight these Sachakans as you are.”

She sighed. Of course the dwells wanted to fight, even if it meant taking enormous risks. “Well, if it doesn’t work, I should be down there to—”

“Too late,” Faren’s second said. “Look.”

Moving to the street-side window, Sonea saw that the Ichani and his slaves were approaching. A group of youths ran out in front of them from the other side of the street and began throwing stones. As the Ichani stepped toward them, Sonea heard a muffled shout and saw a, robed man walk out into the street from somewhere directly below her. He strode toward the Ichani, then stopped at the alley entrance. As the Ichani saw the fake magician, he smiled.

A strike flashed through the air. The fake magician dodged, narrowly avoiding it. He dashed into the alley.

Sonea hurried to the side window. The two men with the spear were poised and ready. Surely it wouldn’t work... but if it did... She felt a stab of alarm as she realized what would happen.

“Faren, I have to get down there.”

“There’s not enough time,” he told her. “Watch.”

The Ichani strode into the alley. The robed man had stopped. Sonea could see the faint flare of a barrier blocking his path. When the Ichani was a step away from the hidden men, the fake magician yelled something. The spears burst through the wall...

... and sank deep into the Ichani’s body. The Sachakan yelled in surprise and pain.

“It worked!” Faren crowed. Sonea heard similar triumphant cries from outside, muffled through the window. She shuddered in sympathy as she saw the agony in the Ichani’s face. As he began to sag against the spears, she knew she would never have time to get to him before he died.

Nevertheless, she smashed the window and yelled at the men below.

“Get away from him!”

They stared up at her in surprise.

Then everything went white.

She threw a shield around herself, Faren and his second. A moment later, the wall of the room exploded inward. Searing heat radiated through her shield, forcing her to strengthen it further. She felt the floor tilt and drop away, and the sensation of falling. As she landed, she tumbled to her knees.

Then the released magic of the dead Ichani abruptly ended. She found she was crouched on top of a pile of bricks and smoking wood. Standing up, she saw she was surrounded by a circle of ruins.

Everything for a hundred paces in any direction was now charred, smoking rubble. Sonea looked toward the alley, but there was no sign of the men who had wielded the spears. She felt a terrible sadness. I could have saved them, had I known what they’d planned.

Faren and his second climbed to their feet. They stared at the destruction around them in dismay.

“Cery said something like this might happen,” Faren said. “He said everyone should get away as quick as they could. He didn’t say it would reach this far.”

“What happened?” his second asked in a small voice.

Sonea tried to speak, but her throat was too tight. She swallowed and tried again. “What always happens when a magician dies,” she managed. “Any magic he or she has left is released.”

He looked at her with wide eyes. “Will... will that happen to you, too?”

“I’m afraid so. Unless I’m exhausted, or the Ichani take all my power.”

“Oh.” The man shivered and looked away.

“We were lucky you were here,” Faren said quietly. “If you hadn’t been, we’d be like those slaves down there.”

Sonea followed his gaze to the street. Several dark shapes lay on the ground. She shuddered. At least their deaths had been quick.

Faren chuckled. “Well, we don’t have to figure out what to do with them now, do we?”

“Help me!”

Dannyl looked up, startled out of his daze by the plea. Lord Osen was standing within a gaping hole in the side of a house. He was covered in dust, and his face was streaked with tears.

“Lorlen is buried,” Osen gasped. “Do either of you have any strength left?”

Dannyl glanced at Farand, then shook his head.

“Then... then at least help me dig him out.”

They followed Osen into the house. A huge mound of rubble filled the inside. Light streamed down through dust. Looking up, Dannyl saw that the floor above, and the roof, were missing.

“He’s here, I think,” Osen said, stopping near the half buried front door. He dropped to his knees and began digging with his bare hands.

Dannyl and Farand joined him. There was nothing else they could do. They tossed rubble aside, but their progress was slow. Dannyl cut himself as he encountered shards of broken glass in the dust. He was just beginning to wonder how anyone could have survived being this thoroughly buried, when the whole mound suddenly shifted. Bricks, wooden beams and shattered glass began to roll back toward the far wall of the house.

Osen shook his head as if to clear it, then looked around the room. His eyes snapped to a point somewhere behind Dannyl, then widened.

Twisting around, Dannyl saw that a figure stood within the hole in the side wall of the house, silhouetted against the bright light outside. He could see that the man wore plain clothes, but the stranger’s face was hidden in shadow.

The sound of shifting rubble dwindled to silence.

“You came back.”

This voice was familiar but weak. Dannyl turned back and felt his heart fill with hope as he saw that Lorlen had been uncovered. The Administrator’s robes were covered in dust. His face was bruised, but his eyes were bright.

“Yes. I came back.”

Dannyl sucked in a breath as he recognized the voice. He turned to stare at Akkarin. The exiled magician moved into the room.

“No!” Lorlen said. “Don’t come... any closer.”

Akkarin stopped. “You are dying, Lorlen.”

“I know.” Lorlen’s breathing was labored. “I won’t... I won’t have you waste your power on me.”

Akkarin took another step. “But it—”

“Stop.Or I’ll be dead before you can reach me,” Lorlen gasped. “Just a little power left, keeping me conscious. All I have to do is use it up faster.”

“Lorlen,” Akkarin said. “It would only take a little magic. Just enough to keep you alive until—”

“Until the Ichani come to finish me off.” Lorlen’s eyes closed. “I was a Healer, remember. I know what it would take to fix me. Too much magic. You will need everything to stop them.” He opened his eyes and stared at Akkarin. “I understand why you did it. Why you lied to me. Kyralia’s safety was more important than our friendship. It still is. I only want to know one thing. Why didn’t you answer when I called you?”

“I couldn’t,” Akkarin said. “If the Guild knew I was here, the Ichani would read it from the mind of their first victim. They would stay together. Alone, they are vulnerable.”

“Ah,” Lorlen smiled faintly. “I see.”

His eyes closed again. Akkarin took another step toward his friend. Lorlen’s eyes fluttered open.

“No, you don’t,” he whispered. “Stay there. Tell me... tell me about Sonea.”

“She is alive,” Akkarin said. “She is...”

Though Akkarin did not finish the sentence, Lorlen’s mouth twitched into a crooked smile.

“Good,” he said.

Then his face relaxed and he let out a long sigh. Akkarin hurried forward and dropped into a crouch. He touched Lorlen’s forehead and an expression of pain crossed his face. Taking Lorlen’s hand, he bowed his head, then removed a ring.

“Lord Osen,” he said.

“Yes?”

“You, Ambassador Dannyl and...” he glanced at Farand, “his companion must not tell anyone I am here. If the Ichani discover that Sonea and I are here, any chance we have of defeating them will be lost. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Osen said quietly.

“All but one Ichani are in the Palace. Get out of the city while you still can.”

Akkarin rose and turned away in one abrupt movement.

He moved to the hole in the wall. For a moment, before he strode outside, Dannyl caught a glimpse of his face. Though his expression was hard and set, his eyes glittered brightly in the sunlight.

Several hundred paces from the outskirts of the slums, Rothen left the road. He could see the gaping hole where the Northern Gates had been. Through it, he had seen the wider gap in the Inner Wall.

He didn’t need to enter the city that way, however. There was always the gap in the Outer Wall around the Guild grounds.

He wondered, then, why the Ichani had chosen to waste their power on destroying the city gates. They must have learned about the breach in the Outer Wall from the minds of the magicians they had caught and killed at the Fort and in Calia. Perhaps they had wanted to demonstrate their superior strength to the Guild. And maybe they intended to replace the magic they had lost by preying on ordinary Imardians.

Either way, they must feel sure that their strength, or their ability to replace it, would win them Kyralia. As Rothen urged his horse toward the forested hill behind the grounds, he felt a growing dread. Would he arrive too late? Would he find the Guild destroyed and Ichani waiting? He must approach the grounds carefully.

He let the horse slow as she reached the first trees. The forest grew rapidly denser, until he was forced to dismount and lead her. An image flashed before his eyes. Not again...

He kept walking as the experience of death overlaid his surroundings. This time it was a Palace guard. When the vision faded to nothing, Rothen sighed with relief.

How many has it been? he thought. Twenty? Thirty?

The slope grew steeper. He stumbled through low vegetation, over logs, rocks and holes. Reaching a bare stretch of ground, he looked up and saw glimpses of white through the trees ahead.

At the sight of the buildings, relief and happiness rushed over him. He hurried forward until he stood at the edge of the forest. Dozens of small houses filled a clearing below. It was like a tiny village.

A deserted village, he amended. Though Rothen had lived only a few hundred paces from this place, he had only seen it once before, as a novice. The collection of houses was known as the Servants’ Quarters.

He started walking down to the buildings. As he did, a door opened. A man in a servant uniform hurried forward to meet him.

“My lord,” the man said, sketching a quick bow. “How goes the battle?”

“I don’t know,” Rothen replied. “I just arrived. Why are you still here?”

The man’s shoulders lifted. “I volunteered to keep an eye on the houses until everyone comes back.”

Rothen glanced up at his horse. “Anyone from the stables still here?”

“No, but I can take care of your horse for you.”

“Thank you.” Rothen handed the reins to the servant. “If nobody comes back by the end of the day, leave. Take the horse, if you wish.”

The man looked surprised. He bowed, then patted the horse’s nose and led her away. Rothen turned and started along the path to the Guild.

Three hours had passed since Cery had parted with Sonea and Akkarin. He’d received reports that she had gone to the slums to deal with the lone Ichani. Akkarin had disappeared in the Inner Circle, and Takan could not say what his master was doing.

A smuggler’s den under the Inner Circle had been selected as a meeting place. It was a large room, filled to the roof with goods. As three figures began to walk down the aisle between the shelving, Cery smiled and walked forward to meet them.

“Your Guild killed one of the Ichani,” he said. “One dead, seven to go.”

“No.” Sonea smiled. “Two dead, six to go.”

He glanced at Faren. “The one in the slums?”

“Yes, though none of my doing.”

He grinned and felt a glow of pleasure. “One of my traps worked, then?”

“I think you should have a look at what’s left of the slums before you go boasting about it,” Faren replied dryly. His second nodded in agreement.

“What happened?” Cery asked, looking at Sonea.

“Faren can explain later.” She looked over his shoulder, and he turned to find Takan approaching. “Do either of you know where Akkarin is?” she asked.

The servant shook his head. “I have received no word from him for two hours.”

Sonea frowned. Finding the same expression on Takan’s face, Cery guessed that, whatever Akkarin was doing, he wanted it to remain private. What was so important that Akkarin would hide it from his two closest companions?

“Where are the other Ichani?” Faren asked.

“Five in the Palace, one roaming around,” Cery told them.

“Let me guess,” Sonea said, “the wanderer is the woman.”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “I suppose I should wait here until Akkarin comes back.”

Cery smiled. “I’ve got someone hidden down here I want you to meet.”

“Oh, and who might that be?”

“A magician. I saved him from the Ichani woman. He’s very grateful. In fact, he’s so grateful he’s volunteered to be the bait for the next little trap we’ve set up.”

Cery led her around a stack of boxes to a small space filled with chairs. The novice was sitting in one of them. He looked up as they appeared, then rose and smiled.

“Greetings, Sonea.”

Sonea stared at him in dismay. As he’d expected, she replied with gritted teeth.

“Regin.”

35 Trapped

“Sit down, Sonea,” Cery urged. “You two stay here, while I fetch something to eat.”

Sonea stared at Cery. No doubt he had no inkling of the history between her and Regin. Then he winked at her and she realized he had remembered who Regin was.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m sure you have plenty of catching up to do.”

Sonea sat down reluctantly. She looked at Faren, but the Thief had moved across the room and was having a murmured conversation with his second. Takan was pacing in another corner. Regin glanced at her, looked away, rubbed his palms together, then cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, “you kill any of these Sachakans yet?”

Sonea resisted the urge to laugh. It was a strange, yet somehow appropriate, way to begin a conversation with her old enemy.

“A couple,” she said.

He nodded. “The one in the slums?”

“No. One in the South Pass, and one before then, in the city.”

His gaze slipped to the floor. “Was it hard?”

“Killing someone?” She grimaced. “Yes and no. I guess you don’t think about it, when you’re trying to stop the other person killing you. You only think about it later.”

He smiled faintly. “I meant, are they hard to kill?”

“Oh.” She looked away. “Probably. I only succeeded with those two because I tricked them.”

“Probably? Don’t you know how strong they are?”

“No. I’m not even sure how strong I am. I guess I’ll find out when I have to fight one.”

“Then how do you know if you can win a battle?”

“I don’t.”

Regin looked up at her, his expression incredulous. Then he flushed and looked away. “Everyone’s given you a hard time,” he said in a low voice. “Lord Fergun, me and the novices, and the whole Guild when they found out you’d learned black magic—but you still came back. You’re still willing to risk your life to save us.” He shook his head. “If I’d known what was going on, I wouldn’t have been so rough on you that first year.”

Sonea stared at him, caught between disbelief and surprise. Was this an apology?

He met her eyes. “I just... if I live through all this, I’ll try and make it up to you.” He shrugged. “If I live through this, it’s the least I can do.”

She nodded. Now it was even harder to think of something to say to him. She was saved from having to when a tall figure strode into view from between the stacks of boxes.

“Akkarin!” She leapt out of her seat and hurried to meet him. He smiled grimly as he saw her.

“Sonea.”

“Did you see what the dwells did?”

“Yes, I watched through the ring, and saw the consequences.”

She frowned. His expression was tight, as if he was hiding the pain of an injury.

“What’s wrong,” she whispered. “What happened?”

His eyes flickered over her shoulder toward Regin. Taking her arm, he drew her down the aisle for several paces, then looked down and sighed heavily.

“Lorlen is dead.”

Lorlen? Dead? She stared at him in horror, then as she read pain in his face she felt a wave of sympathy for him. Lorlen had been Akkarin’s closest friend, yet Akkarin had been forced to lie to him, to blackmail him, and control him through the ring. The last few years had been terrible for them both. The weight that had dragged at her since hearing that Rothen had died felt suddenly unbearably heavy.

She wound her arms around Akkarin’s waist and rested her forehead on his chest. He drew her closer and held her tightly. After a moment he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I saw Dannyl and Osen,” he told her quietly. “They were with Lorlen, so they know of our presence now. I warned them that they must not tell the others and I... I took Lorlen’s ring.”

“What about the rest of the Guild?”

“I doubt any are left who are not exhausted or near it,” he said. “The Thieves have taken some into the passages. Others have retreated to the Guild grounds.”

“How many are dead?”

“I don’t know. Twenty. Fifty. Maybe more.”

So many. “What do we do now?”

Akkarin held her for a little longer, then pushed her to arm’s length.

“Kariko is in the Palace with four of the others. Avala still wanders the streets alone. We must find her before she joins them again.”

Sonea nodded. “I wish I had known what the Thieves had planned to do to the Ichani in the slums. If either of us had been close by, we could have had all his power.”

“Yes, but there is one less Ichani for us to deal with now.” He let her go, then moved back into the aisle. “Your friend Cery does have some interesting ideas. I think, if Kyralia survives, the Guild will find the Purge has become a dangerous exercise.”

Sonea smiled. “I thought I had convinced them of that.”

“Not quite in the way Cery’s friends might.”

As they reached the end of the room, Sonea saw that Cery had returned with the promised food. Takan was eating hungrily, no longer looking as worried as he had been. Regin was looking from her to Akkarin, his eyes glittering with interest.

“Regin of Winar,” Akkarin said. Sonea recognized the hint of dislike in his voice. “I hear you were rescued by the Thieves.”

Regin rose and bowed. “They saved my life, my lord. I hope to repay that favor.”

Akkarin nodded and glanced at Takan. “I think you may have your chance very soon.”

“Where are we going?”

Dannyl glanced at Farand. The young magician hadn’t spoken for the last half hour. He had trustingly followed Dannyl without question, until now.

“I have to meet a friend,” Dannyl replied.

“But your former High Lord said we should leave the city.”

“Yes.” Dannyl nodded. “He said that the Ichani are in the Palace. I have to meet Tayend now, while I still can. He should be able to give us some ordinary clothes, too.”

“Tayend? He’s in Imardin?”

“Yes.” Dannyl checked the next street and found it empty. Farand followed him around the corner. The mansion Tayend was staying in was only a dozen houses ahead. Dannyl felt his pulse quicken in anticipation.

“But he didn’t come to the Hearing,” Farand said.

“No, he only arrived a few days ago.”

“That was badly timed.”

Dannyl chuckled. “It certainly was.”

“Why didn’t he leave again?”

They were halfway to the house now. Dannyl searched for an answer. Because Tayend has some crazy idea he can help me survive the battle. Because he doesn’t want me to face the destruction of the Guild alone. Because he cares about me more than his own safety.

Dannyl sighed. “Because he didn’t understand how dangerous these Ichani are,” he told Farand. “And I couldn’t convince him that non-magicians would be in as much danger as magicians. Are all Elynes so obstinate?”

Farand gave a low laugh. “From what I’m told, it’s a national trait.”

They reached the door of the house. Dannyl drew out a key and reached out for the lock... and froze.

The door was open.

He stood staring at the gap between the door and the frame, his heart suddenly pounding, Farand touched his shoulder.

“Ambassador?”

“It’s open. Tayend wouldn’t leave it open. Somebody’s been here.”

“We should go, then.”

“No!” Dannyl took a few deep, slow breaths and turned to look at Farand. “I have to know if he’s all right. You can come with me, or you can wait somewhere close until I come out, or you can leave me and make your way out of the city.”

Farand looked up at the mansion. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I’ll come with you.”

Dannyl pushed open the door. The guestroom inside was empty. He slowly and cautiously crept through the house, a room at a time, but found no sign of the scholar other than a travel chest in one bedroom, and several used wine glasses.

“Perhaps he went out to get some food,” Farand suggested. “If we wait, he might come back.”

Dannyl shook his head. “He wouldn’t go out unless he was forced to. Not today.” He entered the kitchen, where a half-empty wine glass and a bottle sat on a large table. “Is there anywhere I haven’t checked?”

Farand pointed to a door. “The cellar?”

The door opened onto a staircase, which descended to a large storeroom full of bottles and some food. The room was empty. Dannyl returned to the kitchen. Farand gestured to the half-empty glass of wine.

“He left in a hurry,” he murmured. “From this room. So, if I was standing here and something caused me to flee the house, where would I go?” He looked at Dannyl. “The servant’s entrance is the closest.”

Dannyl nodded. “Then we go that way, too.”

The Guild grounds were so empty and quiet, it might have been mid-year break. The silence was too complete, however. Even during those few weeks of the year when classes were closed and most magicians took the opportunity to visit family, it was never this quiet in the grounds.

As Rothen entered the University, he began to wonder if the Guild was the best place for him to be. All the way to Imardin, he had thought no further ahead than getting to familiar surroundings. But now that he had arrived, he found the Guild lacked the anticipated feeling of safety that had drawn him here.

He knew from the minds of Kariko’s victims that the Guild had confronted the Ichani one last time outside the Palace. They had killed a Sachakan, but had exhausted themselves in the process. After that, Kariko’s victims had been Palace guards, so Rothen could assume the Ichani were still in the center of the city. Where would the Ichani go once they had gained control of the Palace? Rothen stopped at the entrance to the Great Hall as his blood turned cold.

The Guild grounds.

Balkan knows this, he thought. He will have told everyone to flee the city. He will want us to gather together elsewhere, recover our strength, then start planning to regain Imardin. I should leave here and try to join them.

Rothen looked up at the grand ceiling of the Hall and sighed heavily. No doubt this would all be destroyed in the next day or two. He shook his head sadly and turned to go.

Then froze as he heard voices behind him.

His first thought was that the Ichani had arrived, then he felt a shock as he recognized the voices. Turning back, he hurried down the hall.

Balkan and Dorrien stood in front of the Guildhall. They were arguing, but Rothen didn’t pause to listen. Both looked up as he appeared.

“Father!” Dorrien gasped.

A wave of relief and affection swept over Rothen. He’s alive. Dorrien ran forward and embraced him. Rothen stiffened as pain shot through his shoulder.

“Dorrien,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Lorlen called everyone to Imardin,” Dorrien said. His eyes focused on the scar where Kariko had cut Rothen’s cheek. “Father, we thought you were dead. Why didn’t you contact us?” He frowned at Rothen’s shoulder. “You’re injured. What happened?”

“I wasn’t sure if I could risk mental communication. There was the ban and...” Rothen hesitated, reluctant to tell Dorrien about the ring. “My shoulder and arm broke in the fight, and healed badly in my sleep. But you didn’t answer me—or perhaps I’m not asking the right question. Why are you here in the grounds? Surely this is where the Ichani will come next.”

Dorrien looked at Balkan. “I... I didn’t fight with the rest of the magicians. I slipped away at the first opportunity.”

Rothen stared at his son in surprise. He could not imagine Dorrien avoiding a fight. His son was no coward.

A look of intense frustration crossed Dorrien’s face. “I have reasons,” he said. “I can’t tell you what they are. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. You just have to trust me when I say I must not risk being caught by the Ichani. If they read my mind our last chance of killing the Ichani will be lost.”

“Our last chance has come and gone,” Balkan said. Then his eyes narrowed. “Unless...”

Dorrien shook his head. “Don’t speculate. I’ve said too much already.”

“If you are so concerned that the Ichani will read your mind, why are you here, in the grounds, where they will probably come next?” Rothen asked.

“I have a clear view of the gates from the Entrance Hall,” Dorrien replied. “I’ll see them coming, and leave through the forest. If I enter the city, the chances of being caught increase.”

“Why not leave now?” Balkan asked.

Dorrien turned to regard him. “I’m not leaving until I have to. If the secret I hold is discovered by another means, I’ll be free to help.”

Balkan frowned. “Surely, if we leave with you, you can afford to risk telling us what this secret is.”

The stubborn expression on Dorrien’s face was all too familiar. Rothen shook his head.

“I don’t like your chances of talking him around, Balkan. I do think we should leave at the first sign the Ichani are coming here, however. Which brings me to wonder, why are you here?”

The Warrior’s frown changed to a scowl. “Someone should witness the fate of our home.”

Rothen nodded. “Then the three of us will stay until the end.”

“Sweet bloodweed,” Faren whispered, holding up a tiny bottle. “Almost undetectable in wine or sweet dishes. It works quickly, so be ready.”

Sonea glanced at the Thief and rolled her eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you know so much about poisons, Faren.”

He smiled. “I must admit, I started learning about them out of a fancy to mimic my namesake. The knowledge has been useful, at times, but not nearly as often as you’d think. Your novice friend seems particularly interested in the subject.”

“He’s not my friend.”

Sonea pressed her eye to the peephole again. Most of the room beyond was taken up by a large dining table. Silver cutlery glinted softly in the filtered light from two small windows. A half-eaten meal lay cold and congealed on the fine plates.

They were inside one of the large Inner Circle mansions. The dining room was a small, private one with two servant doors as well as the main entrance. Sonea and Faren stood behind one door; Akkarin was standing behind the other.

“Cery seemed to think you two had a special acquaintance,” Faren continued to prod.

She snorted softly. “He offered to kill Regin once. It was tempting.”

“Ah,” he replied.

Sonea looked at the glasses on the table. They were filled with varying levels of wine. Bottles, opened and unopened, were arranged at the center. All had been laced with poison.

“So what did our volunteer do that inspired such a generous offer from Cery?”

“None of your business.”

“Isn’t it? How interesting.”

Sonea jumped as the main door of the dining room burst open. Regin leapt inside, then pushed the door shut again. He dashed around the table and ran to the servants’ door that Akkarin was waiting behind. Grasping the handle, he paused.

The main door opened again. Regin pretended to struggle with the doorhandle. Sonea felt her heart begin to race as one of the Ichani men stepped into the room. He looked at Regin, then down at the table.

“So I guess you won’t be too eager to save him if the Ichani doesn’t fall for the bait,” Faren whispered.

“Of course I’ll save him,” Sonea muttered in reply. “Regin might be a... a... whatever, but he doesn’t deserve to die.”

As the Ichani looked at Regin again, the boy pressed his back to the door, his face deathly white. The Ichani moved around the table. Regin slid around the wall, keeping the table between him and the Sachakan.

The Ichani chuckled. Reaching out, he took one of the glasses and lifted it to his lips. He sipped and grimaced. Shrugging, he tossed the cup away. It shattered against the wall, leaving a splash of red.

“Is that enough?” Sonea murmured.

“I doubt it,” Faren replied. “But he’s got the idea, and might go for something fresher.”

The Ichani began to walk around the table. Regin edged away. Suddenly he leaped forward and grabbed a bottle of wine by its neck. The Ichani laughed as Regin brandished it threateningly. He made a quick gesture. Regin staggered forward as if struck a heavy blow from behind and sprawled face first on the table.

The Ichani grabbed Regin by the back of his neck and held him down. Sonea grasped the handle of the door, but Faren caught her wrist.

“Wait,” he whispered.

The Sachakan took the bottle from Regin’s hand and regarded it. The cork slowly wriggled out and fell to the floor. He lifted the bottle to his lips and gulped several mouthfuls. Beside her, Faren let out a sigh of relief.

“Is that enough?” Sonea breathed.

“Oh, yes.”

Regin writhed on the table, knocking plates and cutlery flying as he straggled against the Ichani’s grip. The Sachakan took another swig from the bottle, then smashed it against the table. He reached toward Regin with the broken end.

“That’s not good,” Faren said. “If he cuts Regin the poison will—”

The door behind the Ichani opened. Sonea’s heart skipped a beat, but Akkarin didn’t leap out. The corridor beyond was empty. Hearing the noise, the Ichani twisted around. He stared at the open door.

“Good. That’ll delay him a little longer,” Faren muttered.

Sonea held her breath. The door handle was slippery with sweat in her grasp. If she and Akkarin revealed themselves to the Ichani, he would call out to Kariko. It would be much better if the man succumbed to the drug instead.

“Here we go,” Faren said quietly.

The Ichani suddenly released Regin and staggered away from the table. As he clutched at his stomach, Regin hauled himself up and ran through the main doors.

— Kariko!

— Rikacha?

— I have... I have been poisoned!

Kariko did not reply. The Ichani dropped to his knees and doubled over. A long, low moan escaped his mouth, then he vomited up red liquid. Sonea shivered as she realized it was blood.

“How long until he’s dead?” she asked.

“Five, ten minutes.”

“You call that quick?”

“I could have used roin. It’s faster, but bitter.”

Akkarin appeared in the open doorway. He stared at the man, then pulled off his shirt.

“What is he doing?” Faren asked.

“I think...” Sonea nodded as Akkarin stepped forward and wrapped the shirt around the man’s head. The Ichani shouted in surprise and tried to pull it off.

— Sonea.

Akkarin’s mental voice sounded different—clearer—through the ring. She opened the door and hurried to his side.

— Hold this for me.

She took hold of the shirt and held it tightly. The man continued to struggle, but there was no strength in his movements. Akkarin drew out his knife, cut the man’s arm and pressed his hand to the wound.

Sonea felt the Ichani go limp. It did not take long before Akkarin released him. As she let go of the shirt, the dead man slumped to the floor. She felt a wave of nausea.

— That was horrible.

Akkarin looked at Sonea.

— Yes. But at least it was quick.

“It worked. Good.”

They both looked up as Regin entered the room. He regarded the dead Ichani with satisfaction.

“Yes,” Sonea agreed. “But we won’t be able to do it again. The other Ichani heard him say he was poisoned. They won’t fall for the same trick.”

“But your assistance is appreciated,” Akkarin added.

Regin shrugged. “It was worth it to see one of those bastards get it.” He put a hand to his throat and grimaced. “But I’m not sad to hear I won’t have to do that again. He nearly broke my neck.”

Every man ought to have an ambition, Cery told himself as he stepped between the broken gates. Mine is quite simple: I just want to get inside all the important places in Imardin. He was proud of the fact that, though he hadn’t quite turned twenty yet, he had managed to enter almost every major building in the city. The exclusive areas of the Racecourse had been easy enough to sneak into disguised as a servant, and his lock-picking skills had gained him entrance to some of the mansions within the Inner City. Thanks to Sonea, he had been inside the Guild, though he would have preferred to have succeeded because of his own skills rather than because he had been taken prisoner by a meddling, bigoted magician.

As he crossed the courtyard, he couldn’t help smiling. The Palace was the one important place left in Imardin he had never been able to sneak into. Now, with the Guard defeated and the heavy Palace gates hanging from their supports, nobody was going to prevent him exploring.

Not even the Ichani. According to the watchers posted by the Thieves, the Sachakans had left the Palace an hour ago. They had been inside the building for only an hour or two, and could not have destroyed everything in that time.

He stepped over the charred bodies of guards and peered through the broken doors of the building. A large entrance hall lay beyond. Delicate staircases wound up toward the higher levels. Cery sighed with appreciation. Moving inside, he wondered why the Ichani hadn’t destroyed them. Perhaps they didn’t want to waste their powers. Or perhaps they had quite sensibly left the stairs standing so they could reach the upper floors.

Cery looked down at the mullook symbol on the floor. He doubted the King was still in the Palace. The ruler had probably left Imardin once the Inner Wall fell.

“Avala is going to be a problem.”

“Probably. She likes to wander. I expect she’ll wander away from Kyralia soon enough.”

“Got her eye on Elyne, I suspect.”

Cery spun around. The voices were distinctly Sachakan, and were coming from beyond the Palace entrance. He cast about, then ran toward an archway at the back of the hall. Just after he had skidded through it, he heard their footsteps echo on the hall floor.

“We all heard Rikacha’s call, Kariko,” a third voice said. “We know how he died. He was a fool for eating their food. I don’t see why we need to come back here to discuss his mistake, and Avala and Inijaka probably agree.”

Cery smiled. So Faren’s nasty little trick had worked.

“Because we have lost three already,” Kariko replied. “Any more, and it might be more than bad luck.”

“Bad luck?” the first Ichani scoffed. “The Guild got Rashi because he was weak. And Vikara might still be alive. We can only be sure that our slaves are dead.”

“Perhaps,” Kariko agreed. He sounded distracted. “But there is something else I want to show you. See these stairs? They look fragile, don’t they? As if they shouldn’t be able to hold their own weight. Do you know how they stop them falling down?”

There was no reply.

“They put magic in them. Watch this.”

Silence followed, then a tinkling sound. The sound grew louder, until the hall suddenly filled with a crashing and shattering. Cery gasped and peered through the archway.

The staircases were collapsing. As Kariko touched one railing after another, the beautiful structures buckled and dropped to the floor, fragments scattering everywhere. One slid in Cery’s direction. An Ichani glanced toward the archway, and Cery quickly ducked out of sight.

Leaning against the wall, Cery closed his eyes. His heart ached that something so beautiful could be so carelessly destroyed. From the hall he could hear Kariko laughing.

“Magician-made, they call it,” the Ichani said. “They put magic in their buildings to strengthen them. Half the houses in the middle of the city are made this way. What does it matter that the city is deserted? We can gather all the magic we need from the buildings.” His voice lowered. “Let the others wander for a while. If they had returned here, as I instructed, they would know this, too. Come with me and we’ll see how much power the Guild has left us.” Footsteps followed, then stopped. “Harikava?”

“I’m going to have a look around here. This place is probably full of magically strengthened structures.”

“Just don’t eat anything,” the third Ichani said.

Harikava chuckled. “Of course not.”

Cery listened as the footsteps retreated and faded away. One set remained, however, and his heart sank as he realized they were growing louder.

He’s coming this way.

Looking around, he saw that he was in a large room. Several archways broke the walls on his left and right. He hurried through the closest one. A corridor ran parallel to the room and a passage intersected with it opposite each archway. Cery cautiously peered out.

The Ichani stood within the room. He glanced around, then looked in Cery’s direction. As he started toward the archway, Cery felt his mouth go dry.

How does he know I’m here?

He didn’t fancy waiting to find out. Turning from the archway, he dashed away into the Palace.

36 An Unlikely Rescuer

A distant boom echoed through the passage. Akkarin exchanged a glance with Sonea, then moved to a ventilation grille set into the wall. She looked out into the alley beyond and listened carefully. Normally there would have been a constant hum of activity, but instead there was only an eerie silence.

Akkarin frowned, then signalled for their guide to continue. For several minutes the only noises were the soft sound of breathing and the tap of booted feet on the floor. Then Akkarin stopped abruptly and his gaze shifted to the distance.

“Takan says messengers are reporting that Kariko has come back out of the Palace again. The Ichani are destroying buildings.”

Sonea thought of the faint boom she had heard, and nodded. “They’re wasting their strength.”

“Yes.” He smiled and his eyes gleamed with an old, familiar predatory light.

Approaching footsteps drew their attention to a shadowy figure farther down the passages.

“Looking for the foreigner?” The voice was aged and female. “He just broke into a house near here.”

Akkarin started toward the old woman. “What can you tell me of the place?”

“Belongs to House Arran,” she said. “Has a big stable, and a yard in front, and a house the other side. Walls around it. No passages under it. Have to get in from the street.”

“How many entrances?”

“Two. The main one at the front, and a gate to the yard. The foreigner got in through the front.”

“Which is closest?”

“The gate.”

Akkarin looked at Sonea. “Then we’ll go in that way.”

The old woman nodded. “Follow me, then.”

As they started through the passages again, Sonea touched the ring on her finger.

— What are you planning?

— I’m not sure, yet. But I think it might be time to use your method.

— My method? You mean Healing?

— Yes.

— Then I should do it. He’ll probably recognize you, but he might not recognize me.

Akkarin frowned, but didn’t answer. The woman led them to a small door, which they squeezed through one by one. On the other side was a room full of barrels.

“We’re inside a house on the other side of the street,” the woman explained. “Just go up those stairs, and out the door at the end of the hall.” She smiled grimly. “Good luck.”

Following the woman’s instructions, Sonea and Akkarin reached a sturdy servants’ door. The lock was broken. Akkarin peered out, then pushed through. They stepped out into a typical Inner Circle street. Across the road was a plain wall, broken by a pair of large wooden gates. Akkarin strode swiftly to them, and looked through the narrow gap between.

“There are two entrances to the house from the courtyard,” he said. “We’ll enter through the closest.”

He glanced at the lock, and it clicked open. Sonea followed him through and shut the gate behind her. A large rectangular yard spread before them. To the left was a long building with several wide doors—the stable. To the right was a two-story house. Akkarin hurried to the house, manipulated the lock of a door, and they slipped inside.

A narrow corridor lay beyond. Akkarin gestured for silence. A distant creaking and footsteps from the floor above reached their ears.

Seeing a movement in the corner of her eye, Sonea glanced out a small window beside the door. She caught her breath as she glimpsed two magicians and a richly dressed man hurrying toward the stables.

Akkarin moved to her side. The three men reached one of the large stable doors. The magician’s companion threw the door wide, obviously expecting it to be heavier than it was. Sonea caught her breath as it smacked against the wall.

Hurried footsteps sounded above her. The three men disappeared inside the stable, leaving the door open. Silence followed. Sonea felt her mouth go dry as more footsteps sounded above. There was a pause, then a door closed and an Ichani strolled out into the yard. He stopped at the center of the courtyard and looked around carefully. Seeing the open stable door, he started toward it.

“I don’t like it, but you’re right. Inijaka will recognize me,” Akkarin murmured. He looked at Sonea. “We don’t have time to come up with a better plan.”

She felt a chill run down her spine. It was up to her, then. All the possible ways the Healing trick could fail ran through her mind. If the Ichani shielded, and she couldn’t touch him, and then she wouldn’t be able to use her Healing powers, and...

“Will you be all right?”

“Yes,” she replied. She glanced outside and saw the Ichani disappear inside the stable.

Akkarin drew in a deep breath, then opened the door for her. “I will be watching. If it doesn’t work, shield. We’ll fight him openly instead.”

Sonea nodded, then stepped out into the yard and hurried across to the stable entrance. Peering inside, she tried to make out details in the dim interior. A figure was walking down a wide aisle between stalls. The Ichani, she guessed. He moved through a door in the far wall and out of sight.

She stepped inside. As she started down the aisle, three figures hurried out of a stall. They saw her and froze. At the same time, Sonea saw the face of the richly dressed man and felt a shock of recognition and dismay.

— You didn’t tell me it was the King!

Kyralia’s ruler looked her up and down, his eyes widening in recognition. Watching him, she felt dislike and anger stirring. A memory rose of the Guildhall. Of the King endorsing the Guild’s punishment of exile. Then she thought of the Purge and of her aunt and uncle being driven out into the slums. She thought of the dwells hiding in the passages, never warned of the coming invasion.

Why should I risk my life for this man?

The moment the question ran through her mind she hated herself for asking it. She could not abandon anyone to the Ichani, no matter how much she disliked them. Straightening, she stepped aside.

“Go,” she told them.

The three men hurried past. As they moved out of sight, Sonea heard a noise in the room beyond the far wall. Turning around, she saw the Ichani returning. His eyes met hers, and he smiled.

It was not hard to feign terror as he started toward her. She backed toward the doorway and felt the sting of a barrier. The Ichani waved a hand and she felt a force push her forward. Resisting the urge to throw it off, she allowed herself to stumble toward him. When he was a mere step away, he looked her up and down.

“So there are a few Kyralian women here,” he said.

Sonea struggled as the force enveloped her, holding her arms against her body. Her heart began to race as the Ichani moved closer until she could feel his breath on her face. He slid his hands under her shirt. She stiffened with alarm and horror as she saw his expression change to a lecherous sneer.

A wave of panic rushed over her. She couldn’t move, so she couldn’t touch him. If she couldn’t touch him, she couldn’t use her Healing powers on him. And if he proceeded much further, he would discover the black robes beneath her ordinary clothes.

— Fight him, Akkarin urged.

She sent out a wave of force. The Ichani’s eyes widened in surprise as he was pushed away. Striding after him, she attacked quickly and rapidly. He planted his feet, raised his hands and sent a strike in return. She staggered backward as it pounded her shield.

He laughed. “So they were robes I felt under that shirt. I wondered where all the magicians went.”

Sonea felt a surge of hope. He thought she was an ordinary Guild magician. She could still attempt to trick him if she pretended to grow weak with exhaustion.

— I’m outside the door, Akkarin sent. What do you want me to do?

— Wait, she told him.

When the Ichani struck again, she let herself stagger away until her back met the wall. He advanced, and she cringed as he struck again. At the fourth strike, she let her shield waver. He smiled maliciously as it fell, took out his knife and held it between his teeth.

She moved as if to dodge as he reached for her. Catching her arm, he hauled her back and pressed her against the wall with one hand. She grabbed his wrist, closed her eyes and sent her mind into his body.

She found his heart at the same time as pain flashed across her arm. Deciding she could not Heal herself and harm him simultaneously, she concentrated on his heart. Once it stopped, what could he do?

His grip tightened as she exerted her will. She heard him gasp in pain and opened her eyes to see his face turning white. He glared at her accusingly. A hand shifted to her arm.

A terrible lethargy spread from her arm through her body. Though she tried to move, no muscle would obey her. At the same time, she felt magical strength draining from her at a frightening speed. A movement in the corner of her eye beckoned, but she could not even summon the strength to shift her gaze. Then the draining eased. The Ichani’s expression had changed from anger to confusion and horror. She saw the knife slip from his hand. He let her go and clutched at his chest.

Control came back to Sonea in an instant. She picked up the knife and slashed it across his neck. As blood sprayed down, she grabbed his throat and drew in his strength.

Power flooded into her, but not as much as she had gained from Parika. The fight with the Guild had weakened this Ichani. As his strength ebbed, he fell backward onto the floor and lay still.

Behind him stood Akkarin. He gazed at her with an odd expression. She looked down at her blood-splattered clothes and shuddered in disgust.

After it’s all over, Sonea thought, I will never use this power again. Never.

“I felt the same when I returned from Sachaka.”

She looked up at him. He extended a hand.

“There’s bound to be something in the house for you to change into,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Getting up was difficult even with his help. Though she wasn’t tired, her legs were shaky. She stood still for a moment, swaying. Looking at the dead Ichani, she felt shock change to relief. It worked. And he didn’t get a chance to call to Kariko. She had survived, and had even saved...

“The King?” she asked.

“I sent him to the house across the road, and Takan warned Ravi to be prepared to receive him.”

As she imagined what that encounter would be like, Sonea felt her mood lighten a little. “The King rescued by the Thieves. Now that’s something I’d like to see.”

The corner of Akkarin’s mouth curled upward. “I’m sure there will be some interesting consequences.”

Cery ran down yet another corridor and skidded to a halt beside a door. He tested the handle. Locked. He moved to the next. The same. The sound of distant footsteps grew louder. He bolted for the door at the end of the corridor, and gasped with relief as the handle turned.

Beyond was a long room with windows facing the gardens at the center of the Palace. Cery hurried past chairs decorated with gold and sumptuous fabrics to another door at the end of the room. Savara’s pendant hammered against his chest under his clothes.

Please don’t be locked, he thought. Please don’t be a dead end.

He grabbed the handle and twisted, but it would not turn. A curse escaped him and he fumbled through his coat for picks. He drew them out, glad that he had never lost the habit of carrying them. Selecting two, he inserted them into the lock and began to feel for the mechanism.

Behind him, the faint sound of footsteps grew louder.

His breath rushed in and out of his throat. His mouth was dry and his hands sweaty. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, then gave the picks a quick turn and push.

The lock clicked open. Cery grabbed the picks, pulled open the door and dashed through. He yanked the door behind him, stopping it just as it was about to slam, and drew it closed as quietly as he could.

A quick glance told him that he had entered a small room filled with mirrors and small tables and chairs. A dressing room for entertainers, Cery guessed. There was no other door or entrance to the room. He turned his attention back to the lock and set to work on closing it again.

The mechanism was easier to trigger now he knew the type. It closed with a satisfying click. Sighing with relief, Cery moved to a chair and sat down.

As he heard footsteps outside the room, his relief evaporated. If Harikava had been following him, he would guess that there was nowhere else that Cery could have gone but through the door—locked or not. Rising, Cery took a step toward the small windows on one side of the room. He had to get out somehow.

Then the lock clicked and his blood turned to ice.

The door swung open with a faint squeak. The Ichani peered inside. As he saw Cery, he smiled.

“There you are.”

Cery backed away from the door. Reaching inside his coat pockets, he felt the handles of his knives against his palms. He grasped them tightly.

This isn’t good, he thought. He glanced toward the windows. I won’t get to them. He’ll stop me.

The Ichani took a step closer.

If he catches me, he’ll read my mind. He’ll find out about Sonea and Akkarin.

Cery swallowed hard and loosened the knives from their sheaths. But he can’t read my mind if I’m already dead.

As the Ichani took another step, Cery felt his determination weaken. I can’t do it. I can’t kill myself. He stared at the Ichani. The man’s eyes were cold and predatory.

What’s the difference? I’m going to die anyway.

He took two quick breaths, then whisked out the knives.

— No, Cery! Don’t!

Cery froze at the voice in his mind. Was this his fear speaking? If it was, it had a woman’s voice. A voice much like...

Harikava turned to look out of the room and his eyes widened. Cery heard swift footsteps. As a woman stepped into the doorway, he caught his breath in surprise.

“Leave him, Harikava,” Savara said. Her voice was commanding. “This one is mine.”

The Ichani backed way from her. “What are your kind doing here?” he snarled.

She smiled. “Not making our own claim on Kyralia, as you probably fear. No, we are merely watching.”

“So you say.”

“You are in no position to say otherwise,” she replied, stepping into the room. “If I were you, I’d leave now.”

As she moved toward Cery, Harikava watched her carefully. When she was several steps away from the door, he strode to it and out of the room. Cery heard the man’s footsteps stop outside.

“Kariko won’t have your kind here. He will hunt you down.”

“I will be long gone before he has the time to spare.”

The footsteps moved away, then there was the sound of the door in the next room closing. Savara looked at Cery.

“He’s gone. That was close.”

He stared back at her. She had saved him. Somehow she had known he was in trouble, and appeared just in time. But how was that possible? Had she followed him? Or had she been following the Ichani? Relief changed to doubt as he considered her words. The Ichani had been afraid of her. Suddenly he was sure he ought to be, too.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

Her shoulders lifted. “A servant of my people.”

“He... he ran away. From you. Why?”

“Uncertainty. He has used a great deal of power today, and can’t be sure he would defeat me.” She smiled and moved toward him. “Bluff is always the most satisfying way to win a fight.”

Cery backed away. She had just saved his life. He ought to thank her. But there was something too strange about all this. “He recognized you. You know his name.”

“He recognized what I am, not who I am,” she corrected.

“What are you, then?”

“Your ally.”

“No, you’re not. You say you want to help us, but you won’t do anything to stop the Ichani, even though you’re strong enough to do it.”

Her smile vanished. She regarded him solemnly, then her expression hardened. “I’m doing everything I can, Cery. What will it take to convince you of that? Would you trust me if I said I have known for some time that Akkarin and Sonea had returned? Obviously I haven’t told the Ichani this.”

Cery’s heart skipped a beat, then began to pound. “How did you find out about that?”

She smiled and her eyes flickered to his chest. “I have my ways.”

Why the glance at his chest? He frowned as he remembered the pendant. Reaching under his shirt, he pulled it out. Her eyes flickered and her smile faded.

What sort of magical properties did it have? Looking at the smooth ruby at the center, he felt a chill go down his back as he remembered Sonea and Akkarin making their rings for each other. Rings with red glass baubles...

“With these rings, we will be able to see into each others’ minds...”

He looked at the ruby. If this was a blood gem, then Savara had been reading his mind... and he had been wearing it since just after Akkarin and Sonea arrived.

How else could she know they were in the city?

Drawing the chain over his head, he tossed the pendant aside.

“I have been a fool to trust you,” he said bitterly.

She regarded him sadly. “I have known about Sonea and Akkarin since I gave you that pendant. Have I revealed them to the Ichani? No. Have I used this information to bribe you? No. I have not taken advantage of your trust, Ceryni, you have taken advantage of mine.”

She crossed her arms. “You told me you would keep me informed if I gave you advice on killing magicians, but you have kept much from me that I needed to know. My people have been looking for Akkarin and Sonea in Sachaka. They intended to help the former High Lord take back Kyralia from the Ichani. We do not want Kyralia ruled by Kariko and his allies any more than you do.”

Cery stared at her. “How can I believe this?”

Savara sighed and shook her head. “I can only ask you to trust me. It is too difficult to prove... but I think you have reached the limit of your trust.” She smiled ruefully. “What are we to do with each other?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. Looking at the pendant, he felt angry, foolish and betrayed. Yet when he looked at her, he saw a sadness and regret in her eyes that he did believe was real. He did not want them to part with ill feelings for each other.

But perhaps that was not possible.

“You and I have deals and secrets we can’t give away, and people we must protect,” he said slowly. “I respect that about you, but you didn’t respect that about me.” He looked at the pendant again. “You shouldn’t have done that to me. I know why you did it, but that doesn’t make it right. When you gave me that, you made it impossible for me to keep my promises.”

“I wanted to protect your people.”

“I know.” He managed a wry smile. “And I can respect that, too. While our lands are fighting, we can’t put each other’s feelings before our people’s safety. So let’s see how this turns out. When it’s all over, I might forgive you for doing that to me. Until then, I’m sticking to my own side. Don’t expect anything more.”

She looked down, then nodded. “I understand.”

The servants door to Zerrend’s mansion opened onto an alley just wide enough for a delivery cart to pass through. The lock was undone, but the door was closed. Both ends of the alley met empty, silent streets.

There was no sign of Tayend—no sign of anyone at all.

“What shall we do now?” Farand asked.

“I don’t know,” Dannyl admitted. “I don’t want to leave, in case he comes back. But he may have been forced to flee the city.”

Or he might be lying dead somewhere. Every time Dannyl thought about the possibility, his blood turned cold and he felt ill with dread. First Rothen, then Tayend...

No, he told himself. Don’t even consider it. Not until you see it for yourself.

The thought that he might see Tayend’s body only made it harder to think clearly. He had to concentrate, to decide where they should go. They had three choices: stay at the mansion and hope Tayend would eventually return, search the city for him, or give up and leave the city.

I’m not leaving the city until I know.

So that left the mansion or the search. Neither were very fair to Farand.

“I’m going to look for Tayend,” Dannyl said. “I’ll try the surrounding streets, and come back to check the house from time to time. You should leave the city. There’s no point in us both risking our lives.”

“No,” Farand replied. “I’ll stay here in case he comes back.”

Dannyl regarded Farand in surprise. “Are you sure?”

The young magician nodded. “I don’t know Imardin, Dannyl. I don’t know if I’d find my way out. And you need someone to stay here in case Tayend comes back.” He shrugged, then took a few steps backward. “I’ll see you when you return.”

Dannyl watched Farand until he had entered the house, then moved back to the end of the alley and scanned the street beyond. All was still. He stepped out and hurried to the next alley.

At first Dannyl found only a few wooden crates in the alleys and streets. Then he began to encounter the bodies of magicians. Fear for Tayend’s safety grew stronger.

He took a circular route, and had almost made his way back to the mansion again when a man stepped out in front of him. His heart jumped and began to pound, but it was only a rough-looking servant or crafter.

“In here,” the man said, pointing to an open garbage hatch in the wall. “Safer for you magicians down there.”

Dannyl shook his head. “No, thank you.” As he walked past, the man caught his arm.

“Sachakan was close, not long ago. You be safer out of sight.”

Dannyl pulled away. “I’m looking for someone.”

The man shrugged and stepped back.

Continuing on, Dannyl reached the end of the alley. The street beyond was empty. He stepped out and hurried across the road toward the alley on the other side.

When he had nearly reached it, he heard a door close behind him. He turned, and felt his blood turn to ice.

“Ah, now that’s better.” The woman striding toward him smiled slyly. “I was beginning to think there were no other pretty magicians in Kyralia.”

He bolted for the alley, but slammed into an invisible barrier. Stunned, he staggered backward, heart pounding.

“Not that way,” the woman said. “Come here. I won’t kill you.”

Dannyl took several deep breaths and turned to face her. As she drew closer he backed down the street. There was a malicious gleam in her eyes. He realized he had seen it before. She was the Ichani who had wanted to “keep” Lord Fergun for herself.

“Kariko won’t let you keep me alive,” he said.

She tossed her head. “He might, now that we’re here and most of your Guild is dead.”

“Why would you want to keep me, anyway?” he said, still backing away.

She shrugged. “My slaves are dead. I need new ones.”

He must be getting close to the next alley. Perhaps, if he kept talking, she would not remember to block it.

“It could be very pleasant for you.” She smiled slyly, her eyes roaming from his neck to his feet. “I like to reward my favorite slaves.”

He felt a mad urge to laugh. What does she think she is? he thought. Some sort of irresistible seductress? She sounds ridiculous.

“You’re not my type,” he told her.

Her eyebrows rose. “No? Well, it doesn’t matter. You will do as I say, or—” She stopped and glanced around the street in surprise.

From doors and alleys on all sides, Guild magicians had emerged. Dannyl stared at them. He did not recognize any of the faces. Then a hand grabbed his arm and hauled him sideways.

He stumbled through a door. It closed behind him. Dannyl turned to stare at his rescuer, and felt his heart leap.

“Tayend!”

The scholar grinned up at him. Dannyl gasped with relief, pulled Tayend close and held him tightly.

“You left the house. Why did you leave the house?”

“That woman came in. I thought I’d wait in the alley until she left, but she came out that way. The Thieves saved me. I told them you would come looking for me, but they didn’t reach the house in time.”

Dannyl heard a muffled cough, and froze as he realized they weren’t alone. He turned to find a tall Lonmar regarding him curiously. His face went cold, then hot.

“I see you’re good friends,” the man said. “Now that you’ve caught up, we should—”

The door shuddered from a heavy blow. The man beckoned frantically.

“Quickly! Follow me.”

Tayend grabbed Dannyl’s wrist and dragged him after the stranger. From behind them came a crash. The Lonmar began to run. Taking them down a staircase, he led them into a cellar and bolted the door behind them.

“That won’t stop her,” Dannyl said.

“No,” the stranger replied. “But it’ll slow her down.”

He hurried between racks of wine bottles to a cupboard at the far wall. Opening the door, he tugged at shelves containing jars of preserves. The shelves swivelled forward, revealing another door. The stranger opened the door and stepped aside. Tayend and Dannyl squeezed through into a passage. A boy stood nearby, holding a small lamp.

The Lonmar followed and began pulling the shelves back in place. There was a faint sound beyond the cellar door, then an explosion.

“No time,” the Lonmar muttered. He left the cupboard half assembled and closed the inner door. Taking the lamp from the boy, he started to jog down the passage. Dannyl and Tayend hurried after.

“Not good,” the stranger said to himself. “Let’s hope she—”

From behind came another explosion. Dannyl glanced behind to see a globe light flare into existence where the secret door had been. The Lonmar drew in a sharp breath.

“Run!”

37 A Glimpse of the Enemy

The servant’s dress Sonea had found to replace her bloodied shirt and trousers must have belonged to a taller woman. It covered her robes well, but the sleeves were so long she’d had to roll them up, and the hem kept getting under her feet. She was just catching her balance after stepping on it again when a messenger appeared in the passage before them. He saw them, and quickened his pace.

“I have... bad news,” he panted. “One of... Sachakans... found passages.”

“Where?” Akkarin asked.

“Not far.”

“Take us there.”

The messenger hesitated, then nodded. He started back down the passage, his lamp throwing distorted shadows onto the walls.

— We’ll try the same deception, Akkarin told Sonea. This time, Heal yourself when the Ichani cuts you. Once he begins drawing strength, you will not be able to use your powers.

— Oh, I won’t be making that mistake again, she replied. Not now that I know what it feels like.

The guide continued through passages, stopping briefly now and then to question helpers posted by the exits. They encountered people fleeing, then a dark-skinned figure appeared. Faren.

“You’re here,” he panted. “Good. She’s coming this way.”

So it’s the woman, Sonea thought. Avala.

“How far?”

Faren nodded back the way he had come. “Fifty paces, perhaps. Turn left at the intersection.”

He stepped out of the way as Akkarin started down the passage. Sonea took the lamp from the guide and followed, her heart beating faster at every step. They reached the intersection, stopped, and Akkarin peered into the left-hand passage. He stepped out, and Sonea hurried after him. At the next turn, they stopped again.

— She’s coming. Wait here. Let her think she found you. I won’t be far away.

Sonea nodded. She watched him stride away to the intersection and disappear into a side passage. From behind her came the faint sound of footsteps.

Slowly the footsteps grew louder. A faint light began to reflect around the turn. It brightened rapidly, and Sonea backed away. A globe light appeared. She blocked the brightness with a hand, then gasped in feigned horror.

The Ichani woman stared at her, then smiled.

“So it’s you. Kariko will be pleased.”

Sonea turned to run, but as she did her foot caught the hem of her dress and she fell to her hands and knees. Avala laughed.

That would have been an impressive bit of acting, if I’d meant it, Sonea thought wryly as she struggled to stand up. She heard footsteps come closer, then a hand caught her arm. It took all her self-control not to blast the woman away.

The Ichani pulled Sonea around to face her. A hand reached toward Sonea’s head. Grabbing the Ichani’s wrists, Sonea tried to send her mind out into the woman’s body, but encountered a resistance.

Avala was shielding.

The barrier lay at the surface of the woman’s skin. Sonea felt a moment’s admiration for Avala’s skill, but it was soon replaced by panic.

She would not be able to use her Healing powers on the woman.

— Fight her, Akkarin instructed. Bring her down past the intersection. We must get her between us so she cannot escape.

Sonea sent out a wave of force. Avala’s eyes widened as she staggered backward. Sonea lifted her skirt, spun around, and ran down the passage.

A barrier flashed into existence before her. She smashed it down with forcestrike. A few steps later she passed the intersection. Another barrier appeared. She stopped and turned to face the Ichani.

The woman smiled triumphantly.

— Kariko. Look what I’ve found.

Sonea saw an image of herself looking thin and small in the long dress.

— What a pathetic-looking creature she is!

— Ah! Akkarin’s apprentice, Kariko replied. Search her mind. If one is here, the other might be close by—but don’t kill her. Bring her to me.

Sonea shook her head.

— I’ll decide when and where we meet, Kariko, she sent.

— I look forward to it, Kariko replied, as does your former mentor. Rothen, isn’t it? I have a blood stone of his. He will watch you die.

Sonea gasped. Rothen? But Rothen was dead. Why would Kariko bother making a gem of Rothen’s blood?

— Does this mean Rothen is alive?

— Probably, if he does have a blood gem, Akkarin’s mental voice whispered through her ring. But he may be lying in order to upset and distract you.

Avala was drawing closer. As she passed the intersection of passages, Sonea felt a mingled relief and anxiety. The woman was between her and Akkarin now. Once Akkarin stepped out, however, Avala would recognize him.

— Kariko can’t be completely sure you’re here until he or another Ichani sees you, she told Akkarin. We could trick him into thinking I’m here alone. So if I fight Avala alone...

— Yes, Akkarin agreed. If you grow weak, I will take over. Just keep out of her reach.

As the Ichani attacked, Sonea threw up a strong shield then retaliated with powerful strikes of her own. There was no strategy or trickery in Avala’s attack and, as with the fight with Parika, Sonea realized she could use little of her own training to gain an advantage. It was, she decided, a brutal race to see who ran out of strength first.

The air grew hot in the passage, then the walls began to glow faintly. The woman took one step away, then suddenly everything turned a bright white. Sonea blinked, but she was too dazzled to see anything.

She’s blinded me!

Sonea almost laughed aloud as she realized that Avala had used the same trick she had used to escape Regin’s gang years before. Except the novices hadn’t learned enough about Healing to...

Her sight returned slowly but steadily. She made out two figures in the passage before her. Avala was closest. Behind her was Akkarin. He was attacking the Ichani with relentless savagery. Avala glanced back at Sonea, her expression fearful. Her shield abruptly disappeared, her strength gone, then Akkarin’s last strike threw her against Sonea’s shield. There was a sickening crack, then the woman slumped to the ground.

Sonea watched, heart still racing, as Akkarin slowly approached the woman. Avala’s eyes opened. Her expression changed from pain and anger to a satisfied smile, then her gaze slid to somewhere beyond the walls and she let out a long, final breath.

“Is it just me,” Sonea said, “or did she look a little too happy to be dying?”

Akkarin dropped into a crouch. He ran a finger under the collar of the woman’s jacket. As he continued examining her clothes, Sonea saw that one of Avala’s hands was slowly relaxing. As the fingers uncurled, a small red globe fell onto the floor.

“A blood gem,” Sonea hissed.

Akkarin sighed and looked up at Sonea. “Yes. Whose it is, we can only guess, but I think we should assume the worst: Kariko knows I’m here.”

Rothen blinked in surprise as an image of a woman flashed into his mind. As he recognized her, he felt a fierce joy. She’s alive!

“Sonea!” Balkan exclaimed. “She’s here!”

— Ah! Akkarin’s apprentice. Search her mind. If one is here, the other might be close by—but don’t kill her. Bring her to me.

— I’ll decide when and where we meet, Kariko.

Sonea’s reply was defiant and fearless. Rothen felt a surge of both fear and pride.

— I look forward to it, Kariko replied, as does your former mentor. Rothen, isn’t it? I have a blood stone of his. He will watch you die.

Suddenly Rothen couldn’t breathe. The image had been sent by the Ichani woman. Who must be trying to capture Sonea right now. And if she did...

“Rothen?”

He looked at Balkan and Dorrien, and found them staring at him.

“You made a blood stone?” Balkan asked in a low voice.

“Kariko did. At Calia...” Rothen forced himself to take a breath. “He read my mind and saw Sonea there, then made the gem.” He shuddered. “Since then, I’ve been seeing and... feeling the deaths of everyone he’s killed.”

Balkan’s eyes widened slightly, then he grimaced in sympathy.

“What is a blood stone?” Dorrien asked.

“It enables the maker to see into another’s mind,” Balkan explained. “Though Kariko actually made it, it is attuned to Rothen because he used Rothen’s blood.”

Dorrien stared at Rothen. “He captured you. Why didn’t you say?”

“I...” Rothen sighed. “I don’t know.”

“But what he did to you... can you stop yourself seeing these deaths?”

“No, I have no control over it.”

Dorrien’s face was pale. “And if they catch Sonea...”

“Yes.” Rothen looked at his son. “And this is the secret you couldn’t tell us, isn’t it? She’s here and so is Akkarin.”

Dorrien opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked from Rothen to Balkan uncertainly.

“It will make no difference if you tell us now,” Balkan said: “They know about Sonea. They have probably guessed that Akkarin is with her, just as we have.”

Dorrien’s shoulders slumped.

“Yes, they’re here. Five days ago Sonea and Akkarin came through the South Pass. I brought them to the city.”

Balkan frowned. “Why didn’t you send them back to Sachaka?”

“I tried. In fact, they were cooperating when an Ichani attacked us. We barely survived. Then the Fort was attacked. After that, I knew everything Akkarin had said was true.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?” Rothen asked.

“Because if the Guild knew Akkarin was here, the Ichani would read it from the minds of their victims. Akkarin knew he and Sonea had a better chance of killing them one by one, but if the Ichani knew he was here they would stay together.”

Balkan nodded. “He knew we would be defeated. So what did he—”

A rumble came from the city. Rothen turned and walked toward the Entrance Hall, then glanced back at Balkan.

“Another one. Closer, too. What do you think is happening?”

The Warrior shrugged. “I don’t know.”

A cloud of dust billowed up from somewhere in the Inner Circle.

“We might see better if we go up onto the roof,” Dorrien suggested.

Balkan glanced at Dorrien, then started toward the stairs. “Come on, then.”

The Warrior led them to the third level, then through the passages to a staircase. A short climb later, they reached the door to the roof. Balkan led them out and to the front of the University. A narrow raised walkway enabled them to see over the facade to the houses of the Inner Circle.

They watched in silence. After a long pause, another boom echoed from the city center and dust billowed up.

“The whole front of that house has fallen,” Dorrien said, pointing.

“So they’re destroying houses now,” Rothen said. “Why waste their power?”

“To draw Akkarin out,” Balkan replied.

“And if destroying the Inner Circle doesn’t work, they’ll come here,” Dorrien added.

Balkan nodded. “Then we’d better be ready to leave as soon as they arrive.”

The journey through the tunnels seemed endless. The farther they travelled, the greater Dannyl’s amazement. He had passed through passages under the slums, years before, when he had been negotiating with the Thieves for Sonea’s release, and had assumed that they extended no farther than the Outer Wall. Now he could see the Thieves had not only dug under the Quarters, but had even tunnelled under the Inner Circle.

He glanced back at his companions. Tayend looked as cheerful as ever. Farand wore an expression of astonishment. The young magician hadn’t believed it at first, when Dannyl had returned to the house to tell him that Imardin’s underworld had arranged to get them out of the city.

Their guide stopped before a large door guarded by two enormous men. At a word from the guide, one of the guards rapped on the doors. The sound of heavy bolts sliding out of their housings followed, then the doors silently swung open.

A short corridor followed, occupied by more guards. It ended at a second pair of doors. These were unbolted and pushed open to reveal a large, crowded room.

Dannyl gazed around the room, then chuckled. He’d had too many surprises in the last few hours to feel more than a mild amusement now.

The room was full of magicians. A few were lying on makeshift beds, Healers hovering beside them. Some were helping themselves to platters of food on large tables at the center of the room. Others relaxed in comfortable-looking chairs.

So who has survived? Dannyl thought. He looked around and noted that, of the Higher Magicians, only Director Jerrik, Lord Peakin, Lady Vinara and Lord Telano were present. He continued searching, but could not see Rothen anywhere.

Perhaps he didn’t make it back to the city, he thought. The brief mental communication between the Ichani and Sonea had filled Dannyl’s heart with hope. He had found Tayend, and might still find his mentor alive, too.

Unless Kariko was lying.

Then as a few of the magicians moved away from the food tables, Dannyl saw the richly dressed man sitting at the end of the room, and found he was still capable of being surprised.

So this is where the King got to, he thought. Before he could decide what protocol required in this situation, the monarch looked at Dannyl, nodded once, then turned back to his companion. His expression clearly indicated he didn’t want to be interrupted.

The enormous man he was speaking to looked familiar. Dannyl smiled as he realized where he had seen the large man before. This was Gorin, the Thief Dannyl had negotiated with over Sonea’s release.

The King talking to Thieves. Dannyl chuckled to himself. Now I’ve seen everything.

“So,” Tayend said. “Are you going to introduce me?”

Dannyl glanced at the scholar. “I guess so. I should start with the Higher Magicians.”

He started toward Lord Peakin. The Alchemist was talking to Davin and Larkin.

“Ambassador,” Peakin said as he saw Dannyl approaching, “do you have any news?”

“According to my guide, all but three Ichani are dead,” Dannyl replied. He turned to Tayend. “This is Tayend of Tremmelin, who has been visiting Imar—”

“Have you seen Sonea? Is Akkarin with her?” Davin asked with barely restrained excitement.

“No, I haven’t seen her,” Dannyl replied carefully. “So I wouldn’t know if Akkarin is with her.” He glanced at Farand, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Akkarin had instructed them to keep his presence a secret, and Dannyl wasn’t going to reveal anything until he had to.

Davin looked disappointed. “Then how is it possible that so many Ichani are dead?”

“Perhaps it’s just Sonea’s work,” Larkin suggested.

The other magicians looked skeptical.

“I know the Thieves killed one on their own,” Tayend said. “The one called Faren told me about it.”

Peakin shook his head. “Thieves defeating Ichani. Doesn’t that make us look incompetent.”

“Any other news?” Larkin asked.

Dannyl glanced around the room. “Is Lord Osen here?”

The Alchemists shook their heads.

“Oh.” Dannyl glanced from one magician to another, then sighed. Then they didn’t know about Lorlen. “Then I do have news, but it is not good.”

The storeroom hummed with voices. A small crowd had formed in the last hour. The two Thieves, Ravi and Sevli, had arrived after the news came that the Ichani woman had entered the passages. Soon after, Senfel had recited a short mental communication between the woman, Kariko and Sonea. They had been waiting in tense silence for more news, when Takan announced that Akkarin and Sonea had killed the woman.

Everyone had forgotten the servant’s presence, but now that he had reminded them of his link to Akkarin, he was being subjected to a stream of questions he clearly couldn’t answer.

Gol caught Cery’s eye. He looked sullen and unhappy. Cery knew it was because he had slipped away to visit the Palace alone. He felt a little guilty about that. Gol was supposed to be his protector.

Thinking back to his encounter with the Ichani, Cery considered what might have happened if Gol had been with him. He could have ordered his second to lure the Ichani away. Would he have been able to do so, knowing it would lead to Gol’s death? Would Gol have obeyed, or even suggested it? Cery had found Gol to be nothing but loyal, but was he that loyal?

Interesting questions, Cery thought, but I’m glad I didn’t have to find out the answers.

Cery frowned. What would Gol think of Savara if he knew what she’d done? They had parted outside the Palace gates, and he hadn’t seen her since.

The voices in the room suddenly fell silent. Looking up, Cery saw that Sonea and Akkarin were striding down the room toward them. He stepped forward and grinned.

“Takan just told us you got the woman.”

“Yes,” Akkarin replied. “She carried a blood gem, so Kariko probably knows we are here.”

“And about the passages under the city, too,” Faren added. “We’re not safe down here any longer.”

“Will the other Ichani enter the passages?” Ravi asked.

“Probably,” Akkarin replied. “They will try to find and kill us as quickly as possible.”

Sevli crossed his arms. “They won’t find you. They don’t know the ways, and no one will show them.”

“All they need to do is capture a guide and read his mind to find their way around,” Akkarin reminded him.

The Thieves exchanged glances. “Then we got to send the helpers away,” Cery said. He looked at Akkarin. “I’ll guide you from now on.”

Akkarin nodded in gratitude. “Thank you.”

Sonea looked at Akkarin. “If they come down here, they might split up to corner us. We could use that to our advantage by circling back and attacking them separately.”

“No.” Akkarin shook his head. “Kariko will not risk parting from his allies.” He looked at Faren. “What are the Ichani doing now?”

“Talking,” Faren replied.

“I bet they are,” Senfel rumbled.

“Not any more,” a new voice said.

All turned to regard a messenger hurrying toward them. “They’ve gone back to wrecking buildings.”

Akkarin frowned. “Are you sure?”

The man nodded.

“Do you think they’re trying to get us to come out and stop them?” Sonea asked.

“Maybe,” Akkarin replied.

Akkarin doesn’t know what the Ichani are doing, Cery thought. But I do. He resisted a smile.

“They’re taking the magic from the buildings that have been strengthened with it.”

Akkarin regarded him in surprise. “How did you work that out?”

“I overheard Kariko and two others talking, when I was in the Palace.”

Faren choked. “The Palace? What were you doing there?”

“Just looking around.”

“Just looking around!” Faren repeated, shaking his head.

Akkarin sighed. “This isn’t good,” he muttered.

“How much power will they get?” Sonea asked.

“I’m... not sure. Some houses have more magic in them than others.”

“You could take this magic, too,” Senfel suggested.

Akkarin winced.

“I’m sure the owners won’t mind if their homes are used to defend the city,” Cery added.

“They’ve wrecked a lot of them,” Ravi said. “Not every building in the Inner City is magically enhanced. There can’t be many left.”

“But they haven’t been to the Guild yet,” Senfel pointed out.

Akkarin looked pained. “The University. It’s not the only magically enhanced structure in the Guild, but it contains more power than any other in the city.”

Sonea sucked in a breath. “No, it doesn’t. The Arena has got to be stronger.”

Senfel and Akkarin exchanged grave looks. The old magician cursed vehemently.

“Exactly,” Akkarin agreed.

Cery looked at the three magicians. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Sonea replied. “The barrier around the Arena is strengthened by several magicians every month. It has to be strong enough to withstand stray magic from Warrior training sessions—some of them quite vigorous.”

“We have to stop the Ichani taking that power,” Akkarin said. “If they do, we may as well hand the city over to them.”

“We take that power ourselves?” Sonea asked.

“If we must.”

Sonea hesitated. “And then... confront them?”

His eyes rose to meet hers. “Yes.”

“Are we strong enough?”

“We have taken power from four Ichani, if we include Parika. We have used little of our own, and we have taken strength from the volunteers.”

“And you could again,” Senfel reminded them. “It is nearly a day since you tapped their reserves. They will have recovered most of their strength.”

“And there are only three Ichani left,” Faren pointed out.

Akkarin straightened. “Yes, I think it is time to face them.”

Sonea went a little pale, but nodded in agreement. “Looks like it.”

The group fell silent, then Ravi cleared his throat.

“Well, then,” he said. “I had best get you to our volunteers as quickly as possible.”

Akkarin nodded. As the Thief turned toward the door, Cery looked at Sonea closely. He caught her arm.

“This is it, then. Are you scared?”

She shrugged. “A little. Mostly relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“Yes. Finally we’ll fight them properly, with no poison, traps, or even black magic.”

“It’s fine wanting a fair fight, so long as they fight the same,” Cery said. “Just be careful. I won’t relax until this is all over, and I know you’re all right.”

She smiled, squeezed his hand, then turned to follow Akkarin out of the room.

38 The Black Magicians

For the last hour, messengers had reported that the Ichani were slowly making their way toward the Guild, destroying houses as they went. Sonea and Akkarin had hurried to the volunteers, who had dealt with their swift visit with admirable tolerance and courage, then raced back to the Inner Circle. During the journey Sonea had burned with impatience, but as she stepped through the secret door into Lorlen’s office she began to wish the journey hadn’t passed so quickly. Suddenly her knees were weak, her hands were shaking, and she could not help feeling there must be something they had forgotten to do.

Akkarin paused for a moment to look around the office. He sighed, then shrugged out of his shirt. Sonea pulled the dress over her head and dropped it to the floor. She looked down at herself and shivered. Full magician’s robes... black magician’s robes...

Then she looked at Akkarin. He stood straighter, taller. A little thrill ran down her back, similar to the fear he had once inspired.

Akkarin glanced at her and smiled. “Stop leering at me.”

Sonea blinked innocently. “Me? Leering?”

His smile widened, then it faded away. He walked up to her and pressed his hands gently against the sides of her face.

“Sonea,” he began, “if I don’t—”

She put a finger to his lips, then pulled his head down so she could kiss him. He pressed his lips hard to hers, then drew her close against him.

“If I could send you far away, I would,” he said. “But I know you’d refuse to go. Just... don’t do anything impulsive. I watched the first woman I loved die, I don’t think I could survive losing the second.”

Sonea drew in a breath in surprise, then smiled.

“I love you, too.”

He chuckled, then kissed her again, but they both froze as a mental voice blared out.

— Akkarin! Akkarin! What a pretty place you have here.

An image of the Guild Gates, and the University beyond, flashed into Sonea’s mind.

“They’re here,” Akkarin muttered. His arms slid from her shoulders.

“The Arena?”

He shook his head. “Only as a last resort.” His expression was hard as he strode across the room to the door.

Sonea straightened her shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and followed.

“So they’ve finally arrived,” Balkan murmured.

Rothen looked out at the city. The late afternoon sun sent long shadows across the streets. As he watched, three men stepped out and started toward the Guild Gates.

“What did Akkarin and Sonea plan to do once the Ichani knew they were here, Dorrien?” Balkan asked.

“I don’t know. They never discussed it.”

Balkan nodded. “Time for us to leave, then.”

Yet he did not move, and neither did Rothen and Dorrien. They stood and watched as the three Ichani passed between the gates and strode toward the University.

Then, from below, came a hollow boom.

“What was that?” Dorrien exclaimed.

They leaned over the facade and looked down. Rothen caught his breath as he saw the pair on the steps below.

“Sonea! And Akkarin.”

“They’ve closed the University doors,” Balkan said.

Rothen shivered. The University doors hadn’t been closed for centuries.

“Should we call out and let them know we’re here?” Dorrien asked quietly.

“Knowing you two are watching could be a distraction to Sonea,” Balkan warned.

“But I can use my powers now. I can help them.”

“So can I,” Rothen added. Dorrien glanced at him in surprise, then grinned.

Balkan frowned. “I would like to communicate the fight to the rest of the Guild.”

“Dorrien and I will keep out of sight until we have an opportunity to help,” Rothen suggested.

Balkan nodded. “Very well. Just be mindful of the moment you choose.”

The forest surrounding the Guild was striped with golden light. Twigs cracked under Gol’s feet so frequently, Cery began to wonder if his second was deliberately trying to make a lot of noise. He glanced back and couldn’t help smiling at the big man’s strained expression.

“Don’t worry,” Cery said. “I’ve been here before. We should be able to watch without being seen.”

Gol nodded. They continued on. As Cery saw glimpses of buildings through the trees ahead, he quickened his stride. Gol fell a little behind.

Then Cery saw a figure crouching beside a tree trunk at the edge of the forest. He stopped and signalled to Gol to stay where he was and remain silent.

By the way Savara was cautiously peering around the tree, Cery knew she was anxious to avoid being discovered. Too late, he thought. He crept forward. When he was a few steps away from her, he straightened and crossed his arms.

“We can’t seem to stop running into each other, can we?” he said.

It was gratifying to see her jump. She let out a sigh of relief as she saw him.

“Cery.” She shook her head at him disapprovingly. “It’s not wise to sneak up on magicians.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“You’ve come to see the show, then?”

She smiled crookedly. “That’s right. Join me?”

He nodded. Beckoning to Gol, Cery crouched by the trunk of another tree. As he saw what lay beyond, he felt his heart sink.

The University doors were closed and Sonea and Akkarin stood on the steps. The three Ichani were less than a hundred paces from them, advancing confidently.

“You and your friends have done well,” Savara murmured, “if this is all that remains of Kariko’s allies. Perhaps you have a chance, after all.”

Cery smiled grimly. “Perhaps we do. We’ll just have to see.”

Sonea blinked as an image of herself and Akkarin, seen from above, entered her mind. From the angle of the view, the watcher must be behind them, on top of the University. She caught a sense of Balkan’s personality, but no thoughts or emotions.

— If we can sense this, so can the Ichani.

— Yes, Akkarin replied. Block out the images. They’ll distract you.

— But it will alert us to any trick the Ichani try.

— And warn the Ichani of ours.

— Oh. Should you tell Balkan to stop?

— No. The Guild should see this. They might learn—

“Akkarin.”

Kariko’s voice echoed across the grounds.

“Kariko,” Akkarin replied.

“I see you’ve brought your apprentice. Do you intend to trade her for your life?”

A chill ran over Sonea’s skin as the Ichani looked at her. She stared back, and he smiled maliciously.

“I might consider taking her,” Kariko continued. “I never liked my brother’s taste in slaves, but he did show me that Guild magicians can be surprisingly entertaining.”

Akkarin slowly started down the steps. As Sonea followed, she took care to stay within the blended magic of their shield.

“Dakova was a fool for keeping me,” Akkarin said, “but he was always making stupid mistakes. It is hard to understand how a man with such power could have so little grasp of politics or strategy, but I guess that is why he was Ichani—and why he kept me.”

Kariko’s eyes narrowed. “You? I don’t think so. If you are such a master of strategy, why are you here? You must know you can’t win.”

“Can’t we? Look around you, Kariko. Where are all your allies?”

As Akkarin and Sonea reached the bottom of the steps, Kariko stopped. He was about twenty strides away.

“Dead, I suppose. And you killed them.”

“Some.”

“You must be worn out, then.” Kariko glanced at the other Ichani, then back at Akkarin. “What a perfect end to our conquest. I will avenge my brother’s death, and at the same time Sachaka will finally have revenge for what your Guild did to our land.”

He lifted a hand, and the other Ichani followed suit. Strikes flashed toward Sonea and Akkarin. She felt magic batter their shield, more powerful than any strike she had encountered before. Akkarin sent a trio of strikes in reply, but all curved inward to attack Kariko.

More exchanges followed, and the air hummed with power. As Akkarin continued striking at Kariko and ignoring the other Ichani, the leader frowned. He said something to his companions. They moved closer, leaving only a narrow gap between their shields.

— Strike Kariko from beneath, Akkarin instructed.

As Sonea sent heatstrike through the earth, Akkarin sent more curving down on Kariko from above. The other Ichani shifted their shields to meet Akkarin’s strikes just as the ground began to steam beneath Kariko’s feet.

Kariko glanced down, then said something quietly. His companions increased their attack.

— Keep striking at Kariko from all directions.

Kariko appeared to have resigned himself to being the main target. He concentrated on shielding, while the others attacked. Sonea resisted a smile. This was all to her and Akkarin’s advantage. Shielding took more power, so Kariko would be tiring faster.

It seemed they would stand and blast each other until one side finally weakened. Then the ground shifted violently beneath her. She staggered and felt a hand grab her arm. Looking down, she saw a dark hole forming below her feet and sensed a disc of power.

— Hold the shield.

She forced her attention back to their barrier, taking the full brunt of the Ichani’s attack so that Akkarin could concentrate on levitating. The air was full of grass and dirt and strikes. Akkarin moved them backward, but the shifting area of earth followed them. Through the dirt-filled air, Sonea saw the Ichani marching across the disturbed ground toward them.

Akkarin sent a dozen strikes at the Ichani. At the same time, a dozen weaker ones streaked from the direction of the gates. The Sachakans glanced to the side.

Sonea gasped as she saw the figure standing just inside the gates. Blue robes swirled around the man as he walked forward.

“Lorlen!” Sonea gasped. But how could that be? Lorlen was dead. Or was he...?

Kariko sent a blast of energy toward the Administrator. It flashed through the magician and struck the gates. The bars of metal shattered, filling the street beyond with glowing spears and fragments.

Lorlen had vanished. Sonea blinked. It had been an illusion. Hearing a chuckle, she looked up to see Akkarin smiling grimly. Kariko and his companions looked unimpressed. They resumed their assault with greater ferocity.

Akkarin threw a rain of strikes at Kariko, testing the Ichani’s shield. Kariko sent powerful blasts back. Akkarin sent a great net of heatstrike out, curving around to hit Kariko from all sides, just as Sonea had done in her last bout against Regin in the Challenge. Sonea frowned as she remembered that battle. In the second fight Regin had saved his strength by shielding only when a strike hit. Could she do the same. It required concentration...

She focused her will and refined her shield, leaving it weaker behind and above, but not so weak that she could not strengthen it quickly if she needed to.

— Be careful, Sonea.

She watched the Ichani closely, ready to react if any strikes should change course.

“LOOK TO THE GATES!”

The voice came from the top of the University. Looking up, she saw Balkan on the roof of the building, pointing toward the gates. Spinning around, she took an involuntary step backward as she saw broken and bent black spears flying toward her—the remnants of the gates. They clattered into her shield and fell to the ground.

When I say so, go to the Arena. I will hold them while you take its power... wait... She glanced at him to see his eyes narrowed with concentration.

— The Ichani are weakening, Akkarin sent.

Sonea looked at the Ichani. Kariko stood straight and smiling. The rest of the Ichani looked no less confident, but the strikes against her shield had weakened.

Akkarin took a step forward, then another. Kariko’s face darkened. Sonea followed as Akkarin began to walk toward them. She sent her own strikes at the Ichani and felt a surge of satisfaction as they backed away.

Then, as she felt soft dirt under her feet, something slammed against her mind. She pushed it away, but it returned to hound her again.

— Mindstrike. Shut it out.

— How?

— Like—

Something sliced up the side of her calf. Sonea stumbled and heard Akkarin gasp. Looking down, she saw the leg of her robe flutter open to reveal a long cut. Akkarin grasped her arm.

But instead of supporting her, he let his full weight drag her to the ground. She landed on her knees, turned to looked at him and her heart froze.

He crouched beside her, his face was white and twisted with pain. Bright red drew her eyes to his hand, which was wrapped around the glittering handle of a Sachakan knife.

The knife was buried deep in his chest.

“Akkarin!”

He dropped to his side, then rolled onto his back. She leaned over him, her hands fluttering over the knife as she tried to decide what to do. I must Heal him, she thought. But where do I start?

She tried to prise his fingers from around the knife’s handle. He let go and grabbed her wrists.

“Not yet,” he gasped.

His eyes were full of pain. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but his grip was strong.

Then laughter, cruel and humorless, cut through the silence.

“So that’s where I left my knife,” Kariko crowed. “How good of you to find it for me.”

Sonea suddenly understood how it had happened. Kariko had dropped the blade into the disturbed earth. As their shield passed over it, he had sent the knife upward. A trap. A trick. Not unlike what she had done to get into the shield of the murderess.

It had worked.

“Sonea,” Akkarin gasped. His eyes shifted beyond her, and she saw the University reflected in them.

From somewhere above, she heard shouts. Flashes of magic lit Akkarin’s face, but she could not bring herself to look away.

“I’ll Heal you,” she told him, struggling to twist out of his hands.

“No.” Akkarin’s grip tightened. “If you do, we may lose. Fight them first. Then Heal me. I can hold on like this for now.”

She went cold. “But what if—”

“We will die anyway.” Akkarin’s voice was firm. “I will send you my power. You must fight. Look up, Sonea.”

She glanced up and felt her heart stop. Kariko stood less than ten paces away. He was staring up at the University, from which strikes were raining down. Looking up, she saw two familiar faces next to Balkan’s.

“You’re not even shielding, Sonea,” Akkarin whispered.

She felt a chill run down her spine. If Rothen and Dorrien hadn’t attacked, she and Akkarin would both be—

— Take my power. Strike while he’s distracted. Don’t let everything we have done and suffered for come to nothing.

She nodded. As the strikes from the University lessened, she drew in a deep breath. There was no time for fancy tactics. Something direct, then. She closed her eyes and drew on all her power and all her anger at Kariko for what he had done to Akkarin and Imardin. She felt Akkarin send his strength to join hers.

Then, opening her eyes, she focused everything at Kariko and his allies.

The Ichani leader staggered backward. For a moment his shield held, then his mouth opened in a silent scream as heatstrike burned through his body. The next man backed away, but managed only a few steps before her magic shattered his shield and burned through him. She felt a surge of triumph. The last Ichani stood his ground. She felt her strength slipping away. He began to advance and she felt a rush of fear. A last trickle of power came to her, and she sent it forth. The Ichani’s eyes widened as his shield wavered. Then, as the last of her magic flowed out, it fell. Heatstrike tore through him, and he crumpled to the ground.

All was silent. Sonea stared at the three bodies lying before the University. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. She felt no triumph. No pleasure. Just emptiness. She turned to Akkarin.

A smile curled the edge of his lips. His eyes were open, but fixed somewhere beyond her. As she moved, the hands about her wrists loosened and fell away.

“No,” she whispered. “Akkarin.” Grabbing his hands, she sent her mind inward. Nothing. Not even the slightest spark of life.

He had given her too much power.

He had given her everything.

With shaking hands, Sonea ran her fingers over his face, then bent forward and kissed his lifeless mouth.

Then she curled herself around him and began to cry.

39 A New Position

Rothen reached the end of the corridor and looked up. After the devastation of the city, the undamaged majesty of the Great Hall was both heartening and somehow shameful. The Ichani Invasion, as the five days of death and destruction were now referred to, had been a battle between magicians. It seemed wrong that nothing within the Guild grounds had been damaged when much of the Inner Circle was in ruins.

It could have been far worse for ordinary Imardians, Rothen reminded himself. There had been few non-magician deaths. The Guild, however, was nearly half its former size. There had been rumors that the Higher Magicians were considering recruiting from wealthy merchant families outside the Houses.

He crossed to the Guildhall, and slipped between the doors. During the week since the Invasion, the meetings of the Higher Magicians had taken place in one of the small preparation rooms at the front of the hall. Until a new Administrator was elected, it was considered inappropriate to use Lorlen’s office.

Reaching the preparation room door, Rothen knocked. It swung open. As he stepped inside, he noted the magicians present, knowing that he was glimpsing the faces of the Guild’s future hierarchy of power.

Lord Balkan paced the room. It was obvious from the way the others had automatically turned to him for leadership that he was a strong candidate for High Lord. Lord Osen watched Balkan calmly. Though clearly still deeply upset by Lorlen’s death, he had gained a quiet purposefulness since being given the task of organizing the city’s recovery. Lorlen had been grooming Osen as his replacement for the last few years, so it would surprise no one if the young man was elected Administrator.

So many Warriors had died that only a few candidates remained for Head of Warriors. Lord Garrel had been present in the last few meetings, which Rothen felt didn’t bode well for the future. Balkan had also been managing the lesser Head of Warrior Studies role, but Rothen had heard the man suggest that the position would be filled by another at a future date, so perhaps Garrel’s sly, narrow-minded ways would be counter-balanced by a Warrior of more sensible character.

Lady Vinara would remain Head of Healers. Director Jerrik had made no indication he wanted to change his position, and no one had suggested it. Lord Telano would probably remain Head of Healing Studies. No mention had been made of choosing someone for the role of Expatriate Administrator so far.

Lord Peakin would probably replace Lord Sarrin. One of the older teachers would be given the Head of Alchemic Studies position, Rothen guessed. He could not help wondering, now and then, who his direct superior would be, but most of the time he was concerned with more important matters. Like Sonea.

And she was clearly the reason the Higher Magicians had summoned him today. As Balkan noticed Rothen’s entrance, he stopped pacing.

“How is she?”

Rothen sighed and shook his head. “No better. It will take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Balkan muttered.

“I know.” Rothen looked away. “But I fear what will happen if we push her.”

Vinara frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure she wants to recover.”

The room’s occupants exchanged worried glances. Vinara did not look surprised.

“Then you must convince her otherwise,” Balkan said. “We need her. If eight outcasts can do this much damage, what might an army do? Even if the Sachakan King doesn’t take advantage of our weakness, it would only take one more of these Ichani to ruin us. We need a black magician. We need her—or for her to teach one of us.”

It was true, but unfair on Sonea. It had only been a week since Akkarin’s death. Her grief was natural. Understandable. She had been through too much. Why couldn’t they leave her alone for a while?

“What about Akkarin’s books?” he asked.

Balkan shook his head. “Sarrin was unable to learn from them. I have fared no better—”

“Then you must talk to her,” Vinara said to the Warrior, “and when you do, you must be able to tell her exactly where she stands with us. We can’t ask her to live for our sakes when her future is uncertain.”

Balkan nodded and let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right, of course.” He looked around at the other magicians. “Very well, we must hold a Meet to discuss the position and its restrictions.”

“We already have discussed it, when Sarrin was chosen,” Peakin pointed out.

“The restrictions ought to be refined,” Garrel said. “At the moment the only requirements are that she remain within the Guild grounds, cannot hold a position of authority, and cannot teach. It should be spelled out that she must not use her powers unless requested by us all.”

Rothen resisted a smile. Us all? Garrel was certainly confident of gaining Balkan’s position.

“Well, we’d have to change that rule against teaching, for a start,” Jerrik added.

Vinara looked at Rothen. “What do you suggest, Rothen?”

He paused, knowing they would not like what he had to say.

“I don’t think she’ll agree to any restriction that keeps her within the Guild grounds.”

Balkan frowned. “Why not?”

“She has always wanted to use her powers to help the poor. It was part of the reason she decided to join us and it has given her something to hold onto,” he glanced sideways at Garrel, “in difficult times. If you want her to live, don’t take that from her.”

Vinara smiled thinly. “And I suppose if we proposed she undertake some kind of charitable work in the city, it would give her reason to stay with us.”

Rothen nodded.

Balkan crossed his arms. His fingers drummed against his sleeve. “That would also help us regain the favor of the people. We didn’t prove to be particularly effective defenders. I’ve heard that some even blame us for the invasion.”

“Surely not!” Garrel exclaimed.

“It’s true,” Osen said quietly.

Garrel scowled. “Ungrateful dwells.”

“Actually, it was certain members of the Houses who expressed that opinion on their return to the city.” Osen added. “Including members of House Paren, if I recall correctly.”

Garrel blinked in surprise, then flushed.

“Should we extend the area of confinement to the city, then?” Telano suggested.

“The idea of confinement was to ensure our black magician didn’t have access to large numbers of victims, should he or she grow hungry for power,” Peakin said. “What is the point of having an area of confinement, when it includes the highest density of population in the country?”

Rothen chuckled. “And you’d have to persuade the King to redefine what is considered part of the city. I don’t think Sonea intended to restrict her help to those within the Outer Wall.”

“Confinement is clearly unworkable,” Vinara said. “I suggest an escort.”

All eyes turned to her. Balkan nodded approvingly.

“And if the help she wants to give is Healing, she still has many years of training to complete.” Vinara looked at Rothen.

He nodded. “I’m sure she’s aware of that. My son has expressed a wish to teach her. He thought it might revive her, but perhaps, if he is to assist her in this work, it could be a more official arrangement.”

She pursed her lips. “It would not be appropriate for her to return to classes. It is not wise for a Healer to have only one teacher, however. I will assist as well.”

Rothen nodded, suddenly too overwhelmed by gratitude to speak. He listened as the others continued the debate.

“So will we still call her the ‘Black Magician’?” Peakin asked.

“Yes,” Balkan replied.

“And what color robes will she wear?”

There was a short silence.

“Black,” Osen said quietly.

“But the High Lord’s are black,” Telano pointed out.

Osen nodded. “Perhaps it is time to change the High Lord’s robes. Black will always remind people of black magic, which, despite everything, we do not want to encourage people to think of as wholly good and desirable. We need something fresh and clean.”

“White,” Vinara said.

Osen nodded. “Yes.”

As the others voiced their agreement, Balkan made a strangled noise.

“White!” he exclaimed. “You can’t be serious. It’s impractical, and impossible to keep clean.”

Vinara smiled. “Now what would a High Lord be involved in that might stain his white robes?”

“A little excess wine consumption, maybe?” Jerrik murmured.

The others chuckled.

“White it is, then,” Osen said.

“Wait,” Balkan looked from face to face, then shook his head. “Why do I find myself thinking you’ve made your minds up, and I won’t win any argument about it?”

“It’s a good sign,” Vinara said. “One that suggests we have chosen a strong set of people to be our Higher Magicians.” She looked around the group, then smiled as her eyes met Rothen’s. “You still haven’t guessed, have you Lord Rothen?”

He stared at her, puzzled by her sudden question. “Guessed what?”

“Of course, it still has to be put to the vote, but I don’t expect anyone will protest.”

“About what?”

Her smile widened. “Congratulations, Rothen. You’re to be our new Head of Alchemic Studies.”

From the top of the two-story house, it was possible to see that the rubble formed a perfect circle. It was a sobering sight.

Yet another to add to my list, Cery thought. Along with the ruins of the city walls, the long lines of bodies that the Guild had laid out across the lawn in front of the University, and the look Sonea had in her eyes as Rothen finally persuaded her to leave Akkarin’s body.

He shivered and made himself look down again. Hundreds of workers were sorting through the rubble. A few people had been found alive, buried near the edges of the destruction. It was impossible to know how many had been hiding in the houses when they were blasted to ruins. Most were probably dead.

All because of him. He should have paid more attention to Savara’s warnings about what would happen when an Ichani died. But he had been too concerned with finding a way to kill a magician to think about how his people might survive the consequences.

“Back here again?”

Arms wound about his waist. A familiar spicy aroma filled his senses. His heart lightened for a moment, then began to hurt again.

“Must you go?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Savara replied. “We could use your help.”

“No. You don’t need me. Certainly not as a Sachakan magician. And you have plenty of volunteers to do non-magical work.”

“I need you.”

She sighed. “No, Cery. You need someone you can trust, completely and unconditionally. I will never be that person.”

He nodded. She was right.

But it didn’t make parting easier.

Her arms tightened. “I’ll miss you,” she added quietly. “If... if I’m welcome, I’ll drop in whenever my duties take me this way.”

He turned to face her, and lifted one eyebrow as if considering.

“I might have a few bottles of Anuren dark left.”

She smiled broadly and he could not help feeling better, even if it was just for a moment. Ever since the final battle, he had felt a terrible fear of loss, and he had tried to keep her from leaving. But Savara didn’t belong in Kyralia. Not now. And he was letting his heart’s demands overtake common-sense. That was something a Thief should never do.

Hooking a finger under her chin, he lifted her head and kissed her, slowly and firmly. Then he stepped back.

“Go on, then. Go home. I don’t like long goodbyes.”

She smiled, then turned away. He watched her saunter to the hatch in the roof, then descend through the ceiling below. When she was gone, he turned to regard the workers again.

Much had changed. He must be ready for the consequences. Snippets of information had come his way, and he was probably not the only one to realize what they might lead to. If the King did truly intend to end the yearly Purge, there would be one less reason for the Thieves to work together. And then there were the rumors of certain deals already being made between the other underworld leaders.

He smiled and straightened his shoulders. He had prepared for the day when Akkarin’s support ended. Deals had been made with useful and powerful people. Wealth had been stowed, and information gathered. His position was strong.

Soon he would find out if it was strong enough.

The carriage rocked gently on its springs. Outside, endless fields and the occasional farmhouse slowly passed by. Inside, Dannyl and Tayend raised wineglasses to each other. “A drink to Lord Osen, who decided that you would best serve the Guild as Ambassador in Elyne,” Tayend said. “And for letting us travel overland.”

“To Osen,” Dannyl replied. He took a sip of the wine. “You know I would have stayed, if he’d asked me to.”

Tayend smiled. “Yes, and I would have stayed with you though I’m glad I didn’t need to. Kyralians are so suffocatingly conservative.” He brought his glass to his lips, then looked away and his expression grew sober. “He’s smart to send you back, though. A lot of people will question the Guild’s authority now. It proved to be a bit ill-prepared for war.”

Dannyl chuckled. “Just a bit.”

“More people will be inclined to think like Dem Marane,” Tayend continued. “You’ll need to convince those people that the Guild is still in charge, when it comes to magic.”

“I know.”

“Then there’s this issue of black magic. You’ll have to assure people that the Guild really has no choice but to learn it again. Ah, it could get a bit intense in the next few months.”

“I know.”

“It might take years, even.” Tayend smiled. “But, of course, there’s no reason you couldn’t stay in Elyne, once your time as Ambassador is over, is there?”

“No.” Dannyl smiled. “Osen granted the position to me indefinitely.”

Tayend’s eyes widened, then he grinned. “He did? That’s wonderful!”

“He said something about Elyne suiting me better than Kyralia. And that I should not let concerns about rumors stop me cherishing and enjoying our friendship.”

The scholar’s eyebrows rose. “Did he really? Do you think he knows about us?”

“I wonder. He didn’t seem at all disapproving. But I could be reading more into his comments than he meant to say. He has just lost a good friend and mentor.” Dannyl hesitated. “Though it does make me wonder how much it would really change things, if people knew.”

Tayend frowned. “Now don’t you get any stupid ideas about that. If you told the Guild, and they got all scandalized and sent you away, I’d still follow you. And when I found you, I’d give you a good kick for being such an idiot.” He paused, then grinned. “I love you, but I also love that you’re an important Guild magician.”

Dannyl chuckled. “That’s just as well. I could change the important part, and even the Guild part, but the magician part doesn’t come as an option.”

Tayend smiled. “Oh, I doubt I’ll ever change my mind about you. I think you’ll have to put up with me for a very long time.”

Epilogue

The black-robed magician stepped out of the newly repaired Northern Gates. As always, people stopped to stare and children yelled her name and began to follow.

Rothen watched Sonea closely. Though he was acting as Escort today, that duty was not the reason for his concern. She hadn’t looked this pale since she had first locked herself away in his rooms. Sensing his gaze, she glanced at him and smiled. He relaxed a little. As he had predicted, she had gained much from the work she had begun in the slums. A little life had returned to her eyes and some purpose to her step.

The hospital by the gates had been built in a few short months. He had expected it to take some time for the dwells to overcome their hatred and distrust of magicians, but a crowd of them had appeared the day it had opened, and every day since.

Sonea was the reason. They loved her. She had come from among them, had saved the city, and had returned to the slums to help them.

Dorrien had been by her side from the start. His greater knowledge of Healing was essential, and his experience at earning the trust of farmers and foresters also helped him gain the dwells’ confidence. Other Healers had joined them. It seemed Sonea was not the only magician who believed Healing should not be a service offered only to the rich Houses.

As she reached the hospital and moved inside, Lord Darlen stepped forward to greet her.

“How was the night shift?” she asked.

“Busy.” He smiled ruefully. “When isn’t it? Oh, I found another potential recruit. A girl of about fifteen, named Kalia. She’ll return later with her father, if he agrees to let her join us.”

Sonea nodded. “How are our supplies?”

“Low, as always,” Darlen replied. “I’ll talk to Lady Vinara when I get back.”

“Thank you, Lord Darlen,” Sonea said.

Darlen nodded, then headed to the door. Sonea paused to look around the room. Following her gaze, Rothen took in the crowd of waiting patients, the handful of guards who had been employed to manage them, and the curies who had been hired for their knowledge of medicine to help with minor cases. Sonea suddenly drew in a sharp breath, then turned to a guard standing nearby.

“That woman over there with the child wrapped in a green blanket. Bring her to me in my room.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Rothen started to look for the woman, but Sonea was already walking away. He followed her into a small room furnished with a table, a bed and several chairs. She sat down and drummed her fingers on the table. Rothen pulled up a chair beside her.

“You know this woman?”

She glanced at him. “Yes. It’s—” She paused at a knock on the door. “Come in.”

He recognized the woman instantly. Sonea’s aunt smiled and took the seat on the other side of the table. “Sonea. I was hoping it would be you.”

“Jonna,” Sonea replied, smiling fondly—but tiredly, Rothen noted. “I wanted to come see you, but I’ve been so busy. How is Ranel? How are my cousins?”

Jonna looked down at the baby. “Hania has a terrible fever. I’ve tried everything...”

Sonea placed a hand gently on the baby’s head. She frowned. “Yes. She’s got the beginning of bluespot disease. I can give her a little boost.” She was quiet for a moment. “There. You will have to wait it out, I’m afraid. Give her liquids. A little marin juice mixed in will help, too.” Sonea looked up at her aunt. “Jonna, would you... would you come live with me?”

The woman’s eyes went round. “I’m sorry, Sonea. I just couldn’t.”

Sonea looked down. “I know you don’t feel comfortable being around magicians, but... please consider it. I’d...” She glanced at Rothen. “I guess it’s time you knew too, Rothen.” She looked at Jonna again. “I’d like to have someone familiar and ordinary around.” She nodded at the child. “I’d exchange all the Healers in the Guild just for your practical advice.”

Jonna stared at Sonea, her expression reflecting Rothen’s confusion. Sonea grimaced, then placed a hand on her stomach. Jonna’s eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Sonea nodded. “I’m scared, Jonna. I didn’t plan for this. The Healers will look after me, but they can’t cure my fear. I think maybe you could.”

Jonna frowned. “You told me magicians had their own ways of taking care of things.”

To Rothen’s amazement Sonea blushed a furious scarlet.

“It seems that it’s better if women do... that sort of care-taking. Apparently men aren’t taught the skill unless they request it,” she said. “Girl novices are taken aside as soon as the Healers feel they’re likely to be showing an interest in boys, but I was so unpopular that nobody thought of teaching me. Akkarin,” Sonea paused and swallowed, “must have assumed they had. And I assumed he was taking care of things.”

As understanding dawned, Rothen stared at Sonea. He found himself counting the months since her exile. Three-and-a-half, maybe four. The robes would hide it well...

She looked at him and then grimaced apologetically. “I’m sorry, Rothen. I was going to tell you, at a better moment, but when I saw Jonna I just had to take advantage of—”

They both jumped as Jonna burst into laughter. She was pointing at Rothen. “I haven’t seen that look since I told Ranel I was expecting our first! I think, perhaps, these magicians aren’t as smart as they make themselves out to be.” She grinned at Sonea. “So. You’re to have a baby, then. I can’t imagine the child growing up with his or her head on right surrounded by magicians.”

Sonea smiled crookedly. “Nor I. So, will you reconsider?” Jonna hesitated, then nodded once. “Yes. We’ll stay a while.”