The High Lord (21 page)

She smothered a smile. Her shield didn’t
have
to be transparent.

It took only a shift in her will for her shield to become a globe of white light. The disadvantage of this, she realized belatedly, was that she couldn’t see
them
either.

Now for the deception.
Creating several more shields like her first, she sent them out in different directions. At the same time she began walking, taking one shield with her.

She felt the novices’ attack falter, and had to cover her mouth to stop herself laughing as she imagined how the Arena must look, with several big white bubbles floating around it. She couldn’t strike back, however, or they would know which shield she stood within.

As the shields drew close to her adversaries, she felt them encounter the novices’ barrier. She stopped and let all but one of the shields fall back a little. The novices began to attack the one still advancing. She let one of the stationary shields waver and disappear: another distraction.

Reverting the shield around her to a transparent one, she found herself standing near three novices. Gathering her power, she blasted one with a fierce attack of forcestrikes. He jumped, and his neighbors whirled around to face her, but the rest of the novices were still too distracted by her other shields to realize their allies needed help.

The combined shield wavered and broke before her.

“Halt!”

Sonea turned to face Balkan. She blinked in surprise when she saw that he was smiling.

“An interesting strategy, Sonea,” he said. “Not one we’d probably use in real combat, but certainly effective in the Arena. You win the bout.”

Sonea bowed. She knew that next time she attended his lessons she would find her multiple shield idea completely ineffective. The University gong rang, signalling the end of the class, and Sonea heard a few sighs among the novices. She smiled, but more at having ended the bout without using too much strength than at their obvious relief.

“Lesson over,” Balkan announced. “You may go.”

The novices bowed and filed out of the Arena. Sonea saw that two magicians were standing just outside the entrance. Her heart skipped when she recognized them: Akkarin and Lorlen.

She followed the other novices out of the Arena. They bowed to the Higher Magicians as they passed. Akkarin ignored them and beckoned to Sonea.

“High Lord.” She bowed. “Administrator.”

“You did well, Sonea,” Akkarin said. “You assessed their strengths, recognized their weaknesses, and came up with an original response.”

She blinked in surprise, then felt her face warm.

“Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t take Balkan’s comment too seriously, however,” he added. “In real combat, a magician uses any strategy that works.”

Lorlen gave Akkarin a penetrating look. He looked as if he desperately wanted to ask a question, but didn’t dare.
Or perhaps a dozen questions,
Sonea mused. She felt a pang of sympathy for the Administrator, and then she remembered the ring he wore.

It enabled Akkarin to sense everything Lorlen saw, felt and thought. Was Lorlen aware of its power? If he was, he must feel utterly betrayed by his friend. She shivered. If only Akkarin could tell Lorlen the truth.

But then, if he did, would he also tell Lorlen she had willingly learned black magic? Thinking of that made her feel very uncomfortable.

Akkarin started walking toward the University. Sonea and Lorlen followed.

“The Guild will lose interest in the murderer once Ambassador Dannyl arrives with the rogue, Lorlen,” Akkarin said.

Sonea had heard about the rebels that Dannyl had caught. News about the rogue magician he was bringing to the Guild had spread among the novices faster than the winter cough.

“Perhaps,” Lorlen replied, “but they won’t forget. Nobody forgets a killing spree like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone demands the Guild do something about it.”

Akkarin sighed. “As if having magic makes it any easier for us to find one person in a city of many thousands.”

Lorlen opened his mouth to say something, then glanced at Sonea and seemed to think better of it. He remained silent until they reached the University steps, then he bid them good night and hurried away. Akkarin started toward the residence.

“So the Thieves haven’t found the spy yet?” Sonea asked quietly.

Akkarin shook his head.

“Does it usually take this long?”

He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “You’re eager to see us fight, then?”

“Eager?” She shook her head. “No, I’m not eager. I can’t help thinking that the longer she’s out there, the more people she will kill.” She paused. “My family lives in Northside.”

His expression softened a little. “Yes. There are many thousands in the slums, however. The odds of her taking one of your relatives is small, particularly if they stay indoors at night.”

“They do.” She sighed. “I worry about Cery and my old friends, though.”

“I’m sure your thief friend can take care of himself.”

She nodded. “You’re probably right.” As they passed the gardens, she thought about her early morning encounter with Rothen. She felt another stab of guilt. She hadn’t
lied
to him, as such. Akkarin had never
asked
her to learn black magic.

But she felt terrible when she considered how Rothen would feel if he learned the truth. He had done so much for her, and sometimes it seemed like all she’d ever brought him was trouble. Perhaps it was good that they had been separated.

And she had to admit, begrudgingly, Akkarin had done more than Rothen could have to ensure she had the best training. She would never have been much good at Warrior Skills if he hadn’t pushed her. Now it looked like she would need to use those skills to fight the spies.

As they reached the residence and the door swung open, Akkarin paused and glanced upward. “I believe Takan is waiting for us.” He moved inside and approached the wine cabinet. “Go on up.”

As she climbed the stairs she thought back to his comment at the Arena. Had there been a hint of pride in his voice? Was he actually pleased with her as a novice? The idea was strangely appealing. Perhaps she really had earned the title: the High Lord’s favorite.

Her. The slum girl.

She slowed her step. Thinking back, she could not remember him ever expressing disdain or distaste about her origins. He
had
been threatening, manipulative and cruel, but he had never once reminded her that she had come from the poorest part of the city.

But then, how could he look down on another person?
she suddenly thought.
He was a
slave
once.

The ship was from the Elyne King’s fleet and was larger than the Vindo vessels Dannyl had travelled in before. Made solely to transport important personages rather than cargo, there was space inside for several small but luxurious rooms. Though Dannyl had managed to sleep for most of the day, he found it difficult to stop yawning as he rose, washed and dressed. A servant brought him a plate of roast harrel and some elaborately prepared vegetables. He felt better after eating, and a cup of sumi helped wake him up completely.

Through the ship’s small windows he could see the sails of the other vessels glowing orange in the light of the setting sun. He left his room, then made his way down a long corridor to Farand’s cell.

It wasn’t a cell, really. Though it was the smallest and plainest room in the ship, it was comfortably furnished. Dannyl knocked on the door. A short magician with a round face greeted him.

“Your turn then, Ambassador,” Lord Barene said, obviously relieved that his shift was over. He stared at Dannyl, then shook his head, muttered something under his breath and left.

Farand was lying on the bed. He looked at Dannyl and smiled faintly. Two plates lay on a small table. From the harrel bones left on them, Dannyl guessed they’d had the same meal as he.

“How are you feeling, Farand?”

The young man yawned. ‘Tired.”

Dannyl sat down in one of the cushioned chairs. He knew Farand wasn’t sleeping too well.
Neither would I,
he thought,
if I thought I might face death in a week.

He did not believe the Guild would execute Farand. A rogue magician hadn’t been discovered for over a century, however, and he had to admit he had no idea what would happen. The hardest part was, he wanted to reassure Farand, but he couldn’t. It would be cruel if he turned out to be wrong.

“What have you been doing?”

“Talking to Barene. Or he’s been talking to me. About you.”

“Really?”

Farand sighed. “Royend is telling everyone about you and your lover.”

Dannyl felt a chill. So it had started.

“I’m sorry,” Farand added.

Dannyl blinked in surprise. “Don’t be, Farand. It was part of the deception. A way to convince him to trust us.”

Farand frowned. “I don’t believe it.”

“No?” Dannyl forced himself to smile. “When we get to Kyralia, the High Lord will confirm it. It was his idea to have us pretend to be lovers, so the rebels felt they had something to blackmail us with.”

“But what he’s telling them is true,” Farand said softly. “When I saw you two together, it was obvious. Don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone my views on the matter.” He yawned again. “I won’t. But I can’t help thinking you must be wrong about the Guild.”

“How so?”

“You keep telling me the Guild is always fair and reasonable. But from the way the other magicians are reacting to this news about you, I’m beginning to think it’s not. And it wasn’t fair of your High Lord to make you reveal something like that if he knew this was how the other magicians would react.” His eyelids closed, then fluttered open again. “I’m so tired. And I don’t feel so good.”

“Get some rest then.”

The young man closed his eyes. His breathing immediately slowed and Dannyl guessed he had fallen asleep.
No conversation tonight,
he mused.
It’s going to be a long one.

He looked out of the window at the other ships. So Royend was taking his revenge.
It doesn’t matter if Farand believes it’s true,
he told himself.
When Akkarin confirms that it was all a deception, nobody will believe the Dem.

Was Farand right, though? Was it unfair of Akkarin to have used him and Tayend in this way? Dannyl could no longer pretend that he didn’t know Tayend was a lad. Would people expect him to avoid Tayend from now on? What would they say when he didn’t?

He sighed. He hated living with this fear. He hated pretending that Tayend meant nothing more to him than a useful assistant should. He had no delusions that he could boldly admit to the truth, however, and somehow change Kyralian attitudes. And he missed Tayend already, like a part of himself had been left behind in Elyne.

Think of something else,
he told himself.

His thoughts strayed to the book that Tayend had “borrowed” from the Dem, now stowed with Dannyl’s belongings. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not even Errend. Though finding the book had helped him decide it was time to arrest the rebels, it hadn’t been necessary to reveal its existence. And he didn’t want to. By reading those passages, Dannyl had broken the law against learning about black magic. The words were still in his memory…

Minor skills include the ability to create “blood stones” or “bloodgems” which enhance the maker’s ability to mind-speak with another person at a distance…

He thought about the eccentric Dem he and Tayend had visited in the mountains over a year ago, during their second journey to search for information about ancient magic. In the Dem Ladeiri’s impressive collection of books and artifacts had been a ring, the symbol for high magic carved into the red glass “gem” in the setting. A ring that according to the Dem enabled the wearer to communicate with another magician without the conversation being overheard. Was the gem in the ring one of these blood gems?

Dannyl shivered. Had he handled an object of black magic? The thought made him feel cold. He had actually put the ring on.

...
and “store stones” or “store gems” which can hold and release magic in specific ways.

He and Tayend had trekked up the mountains above Ladeiri’s home to an ancient ruined city. They had found a hidden tunnel which led, according to Tayend’s translation of the writing carved into it, to a “Chamber of Ultimate Justice.” Dannyl had followed the tunnel to a large room with a domed ceiling covered in glittering stones. Those stones had attacked him with magical strikes, and he had barely escaped alive.

His skin prickled. Was the ceiling of the Chamber of Ultimate Justice made from these store stones? Was this what Akkarin had meant when he’d said there were political reasons for keeping the chamber’s existence a secret? It was a room full of black magic gems.

Akkarin had said something about the chamber losing strength, too. Clearly, he understood what it was. Knowing how to recognize and deal with such magic would be the High Lord’s responsibility. Which was all the more reason why the book must remain concealed for now. He would give it to Akkarin when he arrived.

Farand made a small noise of distress in his sleep. Looking up, Dannyl frowned. The young man was pale and sickly. The distress of capture had taken quite a toll. Then Dannyl looked closer. Farand’s lips were darker. They were almost blue…

Dannyl moved to the bed. He grabbed Farand’s shoulder and shook him. The man’s eyes opened, but didn’t focus.

Putting a hand to the man’s forehead, Dannyl closed his eyes and sent his mind forth. He sucked in a breath as he sensed the chaos within the man’s body.

Someone had poisoned him.

Drawing on his power, Dannyl sent Healing energy out, but it was hard to know where to start. He applied it to the most affected organs first. But the deterioration continued as the poison gradually spread through the body.

This is beyond me,
Dannyl thought desperately. I
need a Healer.

He thought about the other two magicians in the ship. Neither were Healers. Both were Elynes. He thought of Dem Marane’s warning.