The High Lord (33 page)

“They send him to his death.”

“And you?”

“Two may survive where one would fail. The Guild has to find out the truth for itself. When it does, we’ll return.”

He drew in a deep breath, then stepped forward and embraced her.

“Take care, Sonea.”

“I will, Rothen.”

She choked on his name. He stepped away. As he retreated, she realized he hadn’t torn her robes. She felt a trickle of moisture run down her cheek and quickly wiped it away as Dannyl stepped in front of her.

“Sonea.”

She forced herself to look up at him. Dannyl met her gaze levelly.

“Sachakans, eh?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He pursed his lips. “We’ll have to look into it.” He patted her shoulder, then turned away. She watched him walk to Rothen’s side.

Her attention was drawn away then as, one by one, the Warriors surrounding her and Akkarin stepped in to perform the ritual. When they were done, she looked around and discovered that the magicians had formed two lines leading to the Guildhall doors. Behind them stood the novices. She sighed with relief that they hadn’t been included in the ritual. Facing Regin in that situation would have been… interesting.

The Higher Magicians formed a second circle around the Warrior guard, with Lorlen at the front. As the Administrator started walking toward the Guildhall doors, this double escort followed, and proceeded past the two lines of magicians out of the Guildhall to the University doors.

Outside the building was a circle of horses, held in position by grooms. Two horses waited in the center. Akkarin approached the central pair, Sonea following. As he swung up into the saddle of one, she hesitated and looked at the remaining horse dubiously. “Are you doubting your decision?” Sonea turned to find Lord Osen standing beside her, holding the reins of his mount.

Sonea shook her head. “No, it’s just… I’ve never ridden before.” He glanced back at the crowd of magicians pouring out of the doors behind her, then turned his horse so it blocked them from view.

“Put your hand on the front of the saddle, and then put the toe of your left boot in here.” He took hold of her horse’s stirrup and held it still. Sonea did as he said and, following his further instructions, she managed somehow to get into the saddle.

“Don’t worry too much about directing him,” he told her. “He’ll follow the others.”

‘Thank you, Lord Osen.”

He looked up at her and nodded once, then turned away and swung up onto his own mount.

From her new vantage point, she could see the crowd of magicians gathered outside the Guild. The Higher Magicians stood in a line along the bottom step of the University, except for Lord Balkan who had joined the guard of Warriors on the horses. Sonea looked for the King, but he was nowhere in sight.

Lorlen stepped forward and slowly approached Akkarin. He looked up and then shook his head.

“You have a second chance of sorts, Akkarin. Use it well.”

Akkarin regarded him for a moment. “And you, my friend, though I fear you will face worse troubles than I do. We will speak again.”

Lorlen smiled crookedly. “I’m sure we will.”

He moved away and returned to his place among the Higher Magicians, then nodded at Balkan. The Warrior nudged his horse into motion and the rest of the escort followed suit.

As her horse began to move, Sonea gripped the pommel of her saddle. She looked at Akkarin, but his eyes were fixed on the Guild Gates. When she had passed through the entrance, she cautiously turned to take one last look at the University, standing tall and graceful among the other Guild buildings.

A pang of sadness and regret caught her by surprise.

I hadn ‘t realized how much I considered this place home,
she thought.
Will I survive and return to see it again?

Or,
a darker voice added,
will I come back only to find it a pile of rubble?

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.