The High Lord (15 page)

Royend smiled. “You can take it home with you tonight, if you wish. The Ambassador will be returning tomorrow. You are welcome to come as well.”

“Thank you.” Tayend turned to the Dem’s wife, who was sitting beside him. “Have you ever heard of the Chakan King?”

Dannyl did not hear her murmured reply. He looked around the room at the excited faces of the Dem and his friends. They would not trust him yet. Not until Farand was able to demonstrate an improvement in his control of magic. Once Farand had, however, he would be a dangerous man. He would be able to release magical ability in others, and teach them to control it. The group would not need Dannyl anymore. They might decide it was safer to disappear than continue associating with a Guild magician.

He could stretch out the lessons over a few weeks, but no more. The moment Farand achieved Control, Dannyl ought to arrest him and the others. But he might not catch all of the group. The longer he remained with them, the more identities he might discover. He would have liked to consult with the High Lord. But Farand’s ability to overhear mind communication prevented that and Dannyl did not have time to contact Akkarin by letter.

Dannyl accepted a fresh glass of wine. As the Dem began grilling him on what he was willing to teach them, Dannyl pushed all thought of arresting these people to the back of his mind and concentrated on his role as the rebellious Guild magician.

Sonea stood at her bedroom window and watched as gray wisps of cloud drifted across the night sky. The stars blinked in and out of sight and the moon was surrounded by a pale mist. The grounds were empty and silent.

She was bone tired. Despite a sleepless night, and carting books around for Lord Jullen for several hours after classes, she couldn’t sleep. She still had many questions, but by listing them in her mind ready for her next encounter with Akkarin, she found she could push them out of her thoughts. One, however, refused to go away.

Why did he tell me?

He had said that someone else needed to know. A reasonable answer, but something still nagged at her. He could have written down his story and left it for Lorlen to find if he should ever be killed. So why tell her, a mere novice in no position to make decisions or act in his place?

There had to be another reason. The only reason she could think of was one that sent chills down her spine.

He wanted her to take over the fight if he died. He wanted her to learn black magic.

Leaving the window, she began pacing her room. He had said several times that he would not teach it to her. Had he said that just to reassure her? Was he waiting for her to grow older, perhaps until after she had graduated, when it would be clear to anyone else that she had made such a decision for herself?

She bit her lip gently. It would be a terrible thing to ask of someone. To learn something that most magicians believed was evil. To break a Guild law.

And to break this law was no small matter that would earn her some menial task or the withdrawal of luxuries or favor. No, the punishment for this was likely to be much, much worse. Expulsion perhaps, with her powers bound, or possibly imprisonment.

Only if the crime was discovered.

Akkarin had managed to hide his secret for years. But he was the High Lord. That gave him a lot of room to be mysterious and secretive. Which meant it would not be difficult for her to join him.

But what would happen if he died? She frowned. Lorlen and Rothen would reveal Akkarin’s crime, and that her guardianship had been only a way to gain their silence. If she did not consent to a truth-read, there was no reason why anyone would discover that she had learned black magic. She could play the unhappy victim and attract no suspicion.

After that she would be dismissed and ignored. No longer the High Lord’s favorite, she could hide in her ordinariness. She would slip away into the hidden passages at night. Akkarin had already arranged for the Thieves’ help. They would find the spies for her…

She stopped and sat down on the end of her bed.

I can’t believe I’m considering this. There’s a reason black magic is banned. It’s evil.

Or was it? Years before, Rothen had pointed out to her that magic was neither good nor evil; it was what the wielder did with it that mattered.

Black magic involved taking power from another. It didn’t have to involve killing. Even the Ichani did not kill their slaves unless they had to. When she had first seen Akkarin using it, he had been taking power from Takan. Power that was obviously willingly given.

She thought back to the records that Akkarin had shown her. Black magic had once been commonly used by the Guild. Apprentices would willingly give strength to their masters in exchange for knowledge. Once deemed ready, the apprentices were taught the secret of “higher magic” and became masters themselves. It was an arrangement that had encouraged cooperation and peace. No one was killed. No one was enslaved.

It had only taken one man with an insane desire for power to change that. And the Ichani used black magic to maintain a culture of slavery. When she considered these things, she understood why the Guild had banned black magic. It could be abused so easily.

But Akkarin hadn’t abused it. Or had he?

Akkarin has used it to kill. Isn’t that the worst abuse of power?

Akkarin had used it to free himself, and only killed the spies to keep Kyralia safe. That was not an abuse of power. It was reasonable to kill to protect oneself, and others… wasn’t it?

As a child surviving in the slums, she had decided that she would not hesitate to kill to defend herself. If she could avoid harming another, she would, but she was not going to let herself become a victim either. That determination had paid off a few years later when she had fended off an attacker with her knife. She didn’t know if he had lived, and she had not spared much time wondering.

The Warriors learned how to fight with magic. The Guild continued passing on that knowledge in case the Allied Lands should ever be attacked. She never heard Lord Balkan agonizing over whether magic should be used to kill in defense.

She lay back on the bed. Perhaps Akkarin was wrong about the Guild. Perhaps, when faced with no choice, they would accept the use of black magic only in defense.

Would magicians respect that restriction? She shivered as she imagined what Lord Fergun might have done with the knowledge. Fergun
had
been punished, though. As a whole, the Guild could probably keep control of its magicians.

Then she remembered the Purge. If the King did not balk at using the Guild to drive the poor from the city to keep the Houses happy, what might he do with black magicians at his bidding?

The Guild would always be cautious about how black magic was used. If laws were put in place, if only those deemed worthy were taught—determined by a truth-read to test a candidate’s character and moral integrity…

Who am I to think I have the wisdom to reshape the Guild? I probably wouldn’t even be considered as a candidate if this system was in place.

She was the slum girl. Naturally, she had no moral integrity. No one would even consider her.

I am considering me.

Rising, she moved to the window.

The people I care about are in danger. I have to do something. Surely the Guild will not execute me if I break a law trying to protect it. They may expel me, but if I must lose this luxury called magic in exchange for the lives of those I love, so be it.

She shivered, chilled by and yet sure of the rightness of this revelation.

There, it is decided. I will learn black magic.

She turned to regard the door of her room. Akkarin was probably in bed. She could not wake him up just to tell him this. It could wait until tomorrow.

Sighing, she slipped under the covers of her bed. She closed her eyes, hoping she would finally be able to sleep now that she had made her decision.

Am I being deceived? Once I learn this, I can’t unlearn it.

She considered the books Akkarin had given her to read. They looked genuine, but they could have been clever fakes. She did not know enough about forgery to be able to tell.

The spy could have been manipulated to believe certain things in order for her to be deceived, but she was sure Akkarin could not have invented it all. Tavaka’s mind had held a lifetime’s worth of memories of the Ichani and slavery that could not have been arranged by the High Lord.

And Akkarin’s story?

If he wanted to trick her into learning black magic so he could blackmail and control her, then he had only needed to convince her that the Guild was in great danger. Why admit to having been a slave?

She yawned. She must get some sleep. She needed a clear head.

Tomorrow she was going to break one of the Guild’s strictest laws.

The room was too small for pacing. A single lamp hung from the roof, casting yellow light on the rough brick walls. Cery crossed his arms and silently cursed himself. Akkarin had told him they must avoid meeting unless they had to discuss something of great concern that could only be settled face to face.

Sonea ‘s welfare
is
of great concern,
Cery reasoned.
And this can only be settled face to face.

But it was unlikely the High Lord would agree. Cery felt another twinge of anxiety. So far, he hadn’t regretted any of the work he had done in return for being rescued from Lord Fergun, and for the assistance he’d received from Akkarin in establishing his place among the Thieves. Tracking the murderers was easy enough. Once you knew what to look for, they stood out like a guard in a smuggler’s den. Getting rid of the bodies afterward was standard work, though dumping them in the river was out of the question now the Guard were keeping an eye on it.

But bringing Sonea into it? No, that was too much. Not that Cery could make the decision for her. But, at the very least, he wanted to make sure Akkarin knew he disapproved.

The High Lord needed him. He was sure of that. Perhaps today he would discover how much.

Cery drummed his fingers against his sleeve.
If the High Lord ever arrives.
There were few men in the city who would dare to be late to a meeting with a Thief. None but… the King, most in the Houses, the entire Guild…

He sighed, then considered once again the only other piece of information he had for the Guild leader: that another Sachakan had been seen entering the city. Perhaps this little tidbit would mollify Akkarin when he discovered Cery’s real reason for requesting a meeting. Not for the first time, Cery wondered what Akkarin’s reaction would be if he knew the source of the information. He chuckled as he pictured Savara. That smile. The way she walked. She was definitely not a safe person to be around.

But, then, neither was he these days.

A tap brought him back to the present. He peered through a spy hole in the door. A tall figure stood beside Gol’s heavier frame, his face concealed in the hood of his cloak. Gol made the signal to confirm the visitor was the High Lord.

Cery drew in a deep breath, then opened the door. Akkarin stalked inside. The cloak parted slightly to reveal black robes beneath. A shiver ran down Cery’s spine. Akkarin usually wore plain clothing when he was on the Thieves’ Road. Was this a deliberate move to remind Cery just who he was dealing with?

“Ceryni,” Akkarin said, smoothly tugging the hood from his head.

“High Lord.”

“I do not have much time to spare. What is it you need to speak to me about?”

Cery hesitated. “I think we’ve got another… murderer, in the city.” He had been about to say “slave,” but caught himself in time. Using that term would no doubt reveal that he’d been in contact with someone from Sachaka.

Akkarin frowned, his eyes almost disappearing in the shadows of his brows. “You
think?”

“Yes.” Cery smiled. ‘There’s been no murder yet, but the last killer arrived so soon after the one before, I have been paying some ear to talk I don’t usually. Word is, she stands out. Should be easy to catch.”

“She?” Akkarin repeated. “A woman. So… if the Thieves hear this they’ll know there is more than one murderer. Will this be a problem for you?”

Cery shrugged. “It won’t change anything. They might even give a little more respect. Better we catch her quick, though, so they don’t find out at all.”

Akkarin nodded. “Is that all?”

Cery hesitated. He drew in a deep breath and pushed aside his doubts.

“You brought Sonea.”

Akkarin straightened. The lamplight reached his eyes. He looked amused.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I had my reasons.”

“Good ones, I hope,” Cery said, forcing himself to meet and hold Akkarin’s gaze.

The High Lord’s stare didn’t waver. “Yes. She was in no great danger.”

“Are you going to get her into any of this?”

“A little. Not in the way you fear, however. I need someone in the Guild to be aware of what I am doing.”

Cery forced out the next question. Just thinking about asking it brought difficult, contrary feelings. “Will you bring her again?”

“No, I do not intend to.”

He breathed a short sigh of relief. “Does she… does she know about me?”

“No.”

Cery felt a wistful disappointment. He wouldn’t have minded showing off his success a little. He’d come a long way in the last few years. Though he knew she did not think too highly of Thieves…

“Is that all?” Akkarin asked. There was a hint of respect in his voice—or was it simply tolerance?

Cery nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

He watched the High Lord turn to the door and open it.
Take care of her,
he thought. Akkarin glanced back, nodded once, then strode away down the passage, his cloak flaring around his ankles.

Well, that went better than I expected,
Cery mused.

Dannyl’s rooms in the Guild House of Capia were large and luxurious. He had a bedroom, office and guestroom to himself, and he had only to ring one of many little bells around the place to attract a servant.