The High Lord (45 page)

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.

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.