The High Lord (53 page)

Yikmo’s strategy was simple. If the Sachakans could not see their attackers, they could not fight back. The Guild magicians would strike from concealed places, then change position and strike again. When they had no more power, they were to hide and rest.

Rothen hurried as fast as he could through the house to the front room. The villagers had been sent away hours before, and the doors and windows had all been unlocked in preparation for the ambush. Peering out, he saw a Sachakan man reach out to the door of the next house. He threw a powerful strike, and was gratified to see the man stop.

Then his heart sank as the man turned and started toward him. He stumbled over a chair and hurried out of the room.

The town was large, and most of the houses were built close to each other. Rothen crept about, watching the Sachakans and striking when they were far enough away that he had time to escape from them. Twice he held his breath as one of them passed only a few strides away from his hiding place. Other Guild magicians were less fortunate. One of the animals led a Sachakan to a young Warrior hiding in a stable. Though Rothen and another Alchemist emerged to strike at the Sachakan, the man ignored them. The Warrior fought until he was too weak to stand. Then, as the Sachakan drew out his knife, Rothen heard the sound of approaching footsteps from another direction nearby and was forced to flee.

From then on, Rothen was frighteningly aware that his attempts to save the young Warrior had depleted most of his strength. Not all of it, though. After coming across two bodies half an hour later, he decided he would strike at a Sachakan one more time before he slipped away to hide.

More than an hour had passed since the carts had arrived, and he was far from the main street. Balkan’s orders had been to delay the Sachakans as long as possible. He was not sure how long or how far the enemy would continue to hunt for Guild magicians.

Not all night,
he thought.
They’ll eventually head back. And they won’t expect anyone to be there to attack them.

Rothen smiled. Slowly and cautiously, he made his way back toward the main road. Entering one of the houses, he listened carefully for other movements inside. All was silent.

Moving to a window at the front of the house, he saw that the carts were still where they had been before. Several of the Sachakans were walking near them, stretching their legs.

A slave was inspecting one of the wheels.

A broken wheel would slow them down,
Rothen mused. Then he grinned to himself.
Better still would be a few broken carts.

He drew in a deep breath and reached for his remaining power.

Then he heard a floorboard squeak behind him and felt his blood go cold.

“Rothen,” a voice whispered.

He turned and let the breath out in a rush. “Yikmo.”

The Warrior moved to the window.

“I heard one boasting that he had killed five of us,” Yikmo said grimly. “The other claims he took three.”

“I was about to strike the carts,” Rothen murmured. “They would have to replace them, and I think most vehicles here went with the villagers.”

Yikmo nodded. “They were protecting them before, but they might not be n—”

He fell abruptly silent as two Sachakans sauntered into view from the houses on the other side of the street. A woman called out to them.

“How many, Kariko?”

“Seven,” the man replied.

“I got five,” his companion added.

Yikmo drew in a sharp breath. “It can’t be. If the two I heard on this side are telling the truth, we are the only two left.”

Rothen shivered. “Unless they are exaggerating.”

“Did you get all of them?” the woman asked.

“Most,” Kariko replied. “There were twenty-two.”

“I could send my tracker after them.”

“No, we have wasted enough time already.” He straightened and Rothen stiffened as he heard the man’s mental voice.

—
Come back now.

Yikmo turned to regard Rothen. “This is our last chance to hit those carts.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll strike the first. You take the second. Ready?”

Rothen nodded and drew on the last of his power.

“Go.”

Their strikes flashed to the carts. Wood shattered, then humans and horses screamed. Several of the plain-clothed Sachakans fell to the ground, cut and bleeding from flying splinters of wood. One horse kicked its way free and galloped away.

The Sachakan magicians whirled around to stare in Rothen’s direction.

“Run!” Yikmo gasped.

Rothen made it halfway across the room before the wall behind him exploded. The force slammed into his back and threw him forward. As he slammed against a wall, pain shot through his chest and arm.

He fell to the floor and lay still, too stunned to move.

Get up!
he told himself.
You ‘ve got to get away!

But when he moved, pain stabbed through his shoulder and arm.
Something’s broken,
he thought.
And I have no strength left for Healing.
He gasped and, with a great effort, forced himself up onto one elbow, then his knees. Dust filled his eyes and he tried to blink it away. He felt a hand grasp his other arm.
Yikmo,
he thought. He felt a flood of gratitude.
He stayed to help.

The hand hauled him to his feet, sending rips of agony through his upper body. He looked up at his helper and gratitude turned to horror.

Kariko stared at him, his face contorted with anger. “I’m going to make you very sorry you did that, magician.”

A force pushed Rothen against the wall and held him there. The pressure sent pain shooting through his shoulder. Kariko grasped Rothen’s head with both hands.

He’s going to read my mind!
Rothen thought, feeling panic rising. He instinctively struggled to block an intrusion, but felt nothing. For a moment, he wondered if mind reading was Kariko’s intention, then a voice boomed within his head.

—
What is your greatest fear?

Sonea’s face flashed into Rothen’s mind. He pushed it away, but Kariko caught and sent the image back again.

—
Who is this, then ? Ah, someone you taught magic to. Someone you care for. But she is gone. Sent away by the Guild. Where? Sachaka! Ah! So
that’s
who she is. Akkarin’s companion. Such a naughty girl, breaking Guild rules.

Rothen tried to still his mind, to think of nothing, but Kariko began sending tantalizing images of Akkarin into Rothen’s mind. He saw a younger Akkarin, in clothes like those of the slaves in the carts, cowering before another Sachakan.

—
He was a slave,
Kariko told him.
Your noble High Lord was once a pathetic, grovelling slave who served my brother.

Rothen felt a pang of sympathy and regret as he realized that Akkarin had told the truth. The last of the anger he had felt toward Sonea’s “corruptor” melted away. He felt a wistful pride. She had made the right decision. A hard decision, but the right one. He wished he could tell her so, but knew he would never get the chance.
At least I did everything I could,
he thought.
And she is far from all this trouble, now that the Ichani have left Sachaka.

—
Far from trouble? I have allies there still,
Kariko sent.
They will find her and bring her to me. When I have her, I will make her suffer. And you
...
you will be alive to see it, slave-killer. Yes, I see no harm in that. You are weak and your body is broken, so you will not reach your city in time to help your Guild.

Rothen felt the hands against his head slide away. Kariko was looking at the floor. He stepped away and bent down to pick up a broken piece of glass.

Drawing close again, he ran the edge of the shard over Rothen’s cheek. The touch of the glass was followed by a sharp pain, then the sensation of a warm trickle running down his face. Kariko cupped his hand under Rothen’s chin, then pulled it away. His palm held a small pool of blood.

Kariko held the shard of glass in the air. The tip slowly began to glow and melt, until a small globule had formed. This fell from the tip of the shard into Kariko’s palm.

Kariko closed his fingers around it and shut his eyes. Something stirred at the edge of Rothen’s thoughts. He sensed another mind and caught a glimpse of what this strange ritual meant. His mind was linked to the glass now, and to anyone who touched it. Kariko intended to make it into a ring and—

Suddenly the link broke. Kariko smiled and turned away. Rothen felt the force holding him to the wall dissipate. He gasped as his shoulder flared with pain. Looking up, he watched in disbelief as the Sachakan walked away through the ruined front of the house toward the broken carts.

He let me live.

Rothen thought of the little sphere of glass. He thought back to Lord Sarrin’s briefing about the uses of black magic, and realized that Kariko had just made a blood gem.

The sound of voices outside sent a chill through his veins. I
must get away now,
he thought,
while I still can.
Turning away, he hurried through the house to the back door, and stumbled out into the night.

Looking at Sonea, Cery felt unexpectedly calm.

He had expected to be tormented by conflicting emotions at the first sight of her. There had been no thrill of excitement and admiration, as in the early days, nor any of the painful longing that had lingered after she had joined the Guild. Mostly he felt fondness—and concern.

I
suspect I’ll always be worrying about her for one reason or another.
Watching her now, he noted how her attention constantly returned to Akkarin. He smiled. At first he had assumed this was because Akkarin was her former guardian and she was used to obeying his every command, but he wasn’t so sure now. She hadn’t hesitated to confront him about concealing Cery’s status. And Akkarin hadn’t been too bothered by her defiance either.

They aren’t Guild magicians any more,
Cery reminded himself.
They probably had to abandon all that guardian-novice stuff.

But he was beginning to suspect there was more to it than that.

“Do you have my knife?” Akkarin asked his servant.

Takan nodded, rose and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. He returned with a sheathed knife hanging on a belt, and offered it to Akkarin with his head bowed.

Akkarin took it solemnly. He draped the belt across his knees, then suddenly looked up at the far wall. At the same time Sonea drew in a sharp breath.

The room fell silent. Cery watched the pair gaze into the distance. Akkarin’s brows came together and he shook his head, then Sonea’s eyes widened.

“No!” she gasped. “Rothen!” Her face drained of all color, then she buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

Cery felt his heart twist with concern, and saw the same emotion on Akkarin’s face. The magician pushed the belt to one side and slipped out of his chair to kneel beside her. He drew her against him and held her tightly.

“Sonea,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Clearly something terrible had happened. “What is it?” Cery asked.

“Lord Yikmo just reported that all of his men have been killed,” Akkarin said. “Rothen, Sonea’s guardian before me, was among them.” He paused. “Yikmo is badly injured. He said something about successfully delaying the Ichani. I think that may be why they ambushed them, but I don’t know why the Guild needs the delay.”

The sound of Sonea’s sobs changed. She was clearly trying to stop. Akkarin looked down at her, then glanced at Cery.

“Where can we sleep?”

Takan gestured to a room. “Through there, master.” Cery noted that the servant had indicated the room with the larger bed.

Akkarin rose, drawing Sonea to her feet. “Come on, Sonea. We’ve not slept a full night for weeks.”

“I can’t sleep,” she said.

“Then lie there and warm the bed up for me.”

Well, that leaves no doubt,
Cery thought.

They moved into the room. After a moment, Akkarin returned. Cery stood up.

“It’s late,” Cery said. “I’ll return early tomorrow, so we can talk about the meeting.”

Akkarin nodded. “Thank you, Ceryni.” He returned to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Cery regarded the closed door.
Akkarin, eh? An interesting choice.

“I hope this does not upset you.”

Cery turned to regard Takan. The servant nodded toward the bedroom.

“Those two?” Cery shrugged. “No.”

Takan nodded. “I thought not, since you are now occupied with another woman.”

Cery felt his blood turn cold. He glanced at Gol, who was frowning. “How did you know about that?”

“I heard it from one of my guards.” Takan glanced from Cery to Gol. “This was meant to be a secret, then?”

“Yes. It is not always safe being friends with a Thief.”

The servant looked genuinely concerned. “They did not know her name. A young man like yourself would be expected to have a woman, or many women.”

Cery managed a grim smile. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll have to look into these rumors. Good night, then.”

Takan nodded. “Good night, Thief.”

The guide led Lorlen into a spacious room. Early morning sunlight streamed through enormous windows on one side. A small crowd of men surrounded a large table in the center. The King stood at the middle of this, Lord Balkan on his left and Captain Arin, his military advisor, on the right. The rest of the group was made up of captains and courtiers, some familiar, some not.

The King acknowledged Lorlen with a glance and a nod, then turned his attention back to a hand-drawn map of the city spread before him.

“And how soon until the Outer Wall gate supports are finished, Captain Vettan?” he asked of a gray-haired man.

“The Northern and Western Gates are ready. The Southern will be finished by this evening,” the Captain replied.

“A question, Your Majesty?” This came from a finely dressed young man standing on the other side of the table.

The King looked up. “Yes, Florin?”