The High Lord (49 page)

“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.”