The High Lord (58 page)

Sonea nodded. “And the woman must be Avala. What about the rest?”

“Remember the spy whose mind you read? The tall one there is Harikava, his master. The two at the far end are Inijaka and Sarika. I’ve seen them in the minds of the spies I’ve read. The other two, Rikacha and Rashi, are old allies of Kariko.”

“There are seven,” she said. “One’s missing.”

Akkarin frowned. “Yes.”

The Ichani continued for several paces past the house, then stopped. They looked up at the row of robed figures standing along the top of the Outer Wall.

The voice that drifted down was unfamiliar.

“Go no farther, Sachakans. You are not welcome in my land.”

Looking at the figures of the magicians on the wall above the gates, Sonea saw a finely dressed man standing beside Administrator Lorlen.

“Is that… the King?”

“Yes.”

She felt a reluctant admiration for the monarch. He had stayed in the city, when he could have fled with the Houses.

Kariko spread his hands. “Is this how Kyralians treat a guest? Or a weary traveller?”

“A guest does not kill his host’s family or servants.”

Kariko laughed. “No. Welcome or not, I am in your land. And I want your city. Open your gates, and I will allow you to live and serve me.”

“We would die rather than serve your kind.”

Sonea’s heart leapt as she recognized Lorlen’s voice.

“Was that one of those who calls himself a ‘magician’?” Kariko laughed. “I’m sorry. The invitation wasn’t for you, or your Guild. I don’t keep magicians. Dying is the only way your pathetic Guild can serve me.” He crossed his arms. “Open your gates, King Merin.”

“Open them yourself,” the King replied. “And we’ll see if my Guild is as pathetic as you say.”

Kariko turned to regard his allies. “Well, that’s all the welcome we’re going to get. Let’s break the shell and feast on the egg.”

Their movements were casual as they spread out into a line. White streaks of light sprang toward the gates, striking at the sides and center. Sonea heard Cery suck in a breath as the metal began to glow. Hundreds of strikes rained down on the figures below. All scattered against the Ichani’s shields.

“See their weakness, Lorlen!” Akkarin hissed. “Focus on one!”

Sonea jumped as the sound of something tearing filled the room. Akkarin’s hand had been resting on the paper screen beside the window. He extracted his fingers from the torn paper and gripped the sill instead.

“That’s it!” he said.

Looking outside again, Sonea saw that the Guild’s strikes had shifted to a single Ichani. She held her breath, expecting the other Sachakans to blend their shields, but they did not.

“That man,” Akkarin jabbed a finger toward the Ichani under attack. “He will be our first.”

“If he’ll leave the group,” Cery added.

Kariko glanced toward his failing ally, then looked up at the wall. A streak of light shot from him to the figures above the gate, but was blocked by the Guild’s combined shield.

Then a cloud of white belched out of the gates. A glowing hole had formed in the metal, and more clouds were billowing up from behind.

“Houses must have caught fire on the other side,” Cery said darkly.

Akkarin shook his head. “Not yet. That’s steam, not smoke. The Guard are throwing water on the wooden fortifications to keep them from burning.”

It seemed a ridiculously feeble attempt to stop the Ichani, yet every obstacle the Sachakans overcame used some of their power. Sonea glanced up at the wall again. The King and the magicians over the gate were hurrying to either side, away from the billowing clouds of steam.

Then one of the gates moved. Cery muttered a curse as it sagged forward. There were several loud cracks before it broke loose from its hinges and slammed to the ground. Beyond, a scaffolding of wood and iron filled the gap. As guards hurried to climb off the structure, the second gate fell.

Kariko glanced at his companions.

“They think they can stop us with this?” He laughed and turned back to stare at the fortifications.

The air rippled, then the scaffolding buckled inward as if punched by enormous, invisible fists. The crack of breaking timber and tortured metal echoed out of the gap in the wall, then the fortifications collapsed to the ground.

Looking up, Sonea saw that the magicians on the wall had all but disappeared. She watched as the Ichani strode into the city. Strikes came from the houses on either side, but the Sachakans ignored them. They strode on toward the Inner Wall.

Akkarin stepped back from the window, then turned to Cery.

“We must get into the city quickly,” he said, Cery smiled. “No problem. Just follow me.”

It was not long before Farand was gasping for air. Dannyl caught the young man’s arm and slowed to a fast walk. The young man glanced behind, his expression fearful.

“They won’t follow us,” Dannyl assured him. “They looked like they had their mind set on the Inner Circle.”

Farand nodded. The young magician had appeared beside Dannyl on the wall, perhaps seeking the reassurance of a familiar face. The magicians ahead drew farther away and eventually turned out of sight.

“Will we… get there… in time?” Farand panted as they reached the West Quarter.

“I hope so,” Dannyl replied. Looking up at the Inner Wall, he could see that some magicians were already hurrying along the top. He glanced at Farand, who was still pale but struggling along valiantly. “Maybe not.”

He turned down the next street. The wall was directly ahead of them. When they reached it, Dannyl took hold of Farand’s shoulders. He created a disc of power beneath their feet, and sent them upward as quickly as he dared. The sudden ascent made his stomach sink disconcertingly.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to use any magic except in the fight,” Farand gasped.

They reached the top of the wall and Dannyl set them down. “It’s obvious you’re still too weak for running,” he said. “Better we got here soon enough for me to channel your power, than not get here in time at all.”

A magician hurried toward them, his face flushed from exertion, and they followed him along the wall. Looking down at the Inner Circle, Dannyl felt a flash of anxiety. Tayend was down there. Though the mansion the Scholar was hiding in was located on the other side of the Palace, it would not be any protection once the Ichani began to explore.

As they reached the line of magicians forming along the wall, Dannyl sent his power out to join the Guild’s shield. He looked down at the Ichani. They were standing together before the gates, talking.

“Why haven’t they attacked?” Farand asked.

Dannyl looked closer. “I don’t know. There’s only six. One’s missing.”

The Sachakan woman stepped out of a side street. She sauntered toward the Ichani. The leader crossed his arms and stepped forward to meet her. Dannyl watched their lips moving. The woman smiled, but when the leader turned away her expression changed to a sneer.

“She’s rebellious,” Farand said. “That might be useful, later.”

Dannyl nodded, then his attention was drawn back to the Ichani as they attacked. Strikes flashed through the air and he felt a vibration under his feet.

“They’re attacking the wall,” a Healer nearby exclaimed.

The vibration increased rapidly to a shaking. Dannyl looked ahead. The magicians closest to the gates were struggling to keep their balance. Some had dropped to a crouch. As the Guild’s shield fragmented, a few magicians were blasted off the wall completely.

—
Attack
!

Responding to Balkan’s mental voice, Dannyl straightened. His own strike joined the hundreds that rained on the Sachakans. A hand touched his shoulder, and he felt Farand’s power added to his own.

The shaking and noise ceased abruptly. The Ichani backed away from the gates. Dannyl felt a little surge of hope, though he had no idea what they were retreating from.

Then the gates fell outward and slammed into the ground at the Ichani’s feet. Rubble from the ruined wall rained down on top of it. Kariko looked up at the magicians on either side and smiled with obvious satisfaction.

—
Leave the wall,
Balkan commanded.

At once the magicians hurried to wooden staircases that had been built on the inside of the wall. Dannyl and Farand hastened down to the streets below.

“What next?” Farand panted as they reached the ground.

“We meet Lord Vorel.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know. Vorel will have directions, I imagine.”

A few streets later, Dannyl found the Warrior waiting in the prearranged meeting place with several other magicians. All were quiet and subdued.

—
Regroup
.

Vorel nodded at Balkan’s command. He looked at each of them, his expression sober and grim. “That means we are to get close to them, without being seen. When the next command comes, we are to attack at once, focusing our strikes on one Sachakan. Follow me.”

As Vorel hurried away, Dannyl, Farand and the other magicians in their group followed. Not a word was spoken.
They all know this will be the last confrontation,
Dannyl thought.
After this, if we’re still alive, we abandon the city.

Cery watched as Sonea and Akkarin disappeared into the darkened passage, following their guide. Drawing in a deep breath, he began walking in the other direction. Takan followed close behind.

He had much to do. The other Thieves needed to know that Akkarin and Sonea had made it into the Inner Circle. The fake magicians could be let loose on the streets. The slaves needed to be found and dealt with. And he… he needed a strong drink.

The journey through to the Inner Circle had been terrifying, even for one used to the passages of the Thieves’ Road. The roof had collapsed under the wall, leaving only enough room to squirm through in places. Sonea had assured him that she and Akkarin would be able to hold the roof up with magic if it started to fall again, but with every breath of dust Cery had found it far too easy to imagine himself being crushed and buried.

He reached a stretch of passage that ran parallel to an alley. Grates high in the wall gave glimpses of the street beyond. Hearing the sound of running feet, Cery paused and watched as a magician ran past. The man skidded to a halt.

“Oh, no,” he whimpered.

Bending close to a grate, Cery saw that the alley was a dead end. The magician was a novice—a mere youth. His robes were covered in dust.

Then, from somewhere just past the street entrance, came a woman’s voice.

“Where are you? Where are you, little magician?”

The woman’s accent was so like Savara’s, that for a moment Cery thought it was her. But the voice was higher, and the laugh that followed was cruel.

The youth cast about, but this was the Inner Circle, and there were no crates or rubbish lying about to hide behind. Cery hurried down the passage to the grate closest to the boy, then pushed it open.

“Hai, magician!” he whispered.

The boy jumped, then turned to stare at Cery.

“Come in here,” Cery beckoned. “Come on.”

The youth glanced toward the alley entrance once, then dived for the opening. He fell into the passage head first, landed awkwardly, then rolled over and scrambled to his feet. As the woman’s voice came again, he backed against the far wall, panting with terror.

“Where did you go?” the woman called as she strode down the alley. “This goes nowhere. You must be inside one of these houses. Let’s have a look.”

She tested a few doors, then blasted one open. As she disappeared inside, Cery turned to grin at the novice.

“You’re safe now,” he said. “It’ll take her hours to search all the houses. Likely she’ll get bored, and go looking for easier prey.”

The youth’s panting had slowed to long, deliberate breaths. He straightened and pushed away from the wall.

“Thank you,” he said. “You saved my life.”

Cery shrugged. “No rub.”

“Who are you—and why are you here? I thought everyone had been evacuated.”

“Ceryni is my name,” Cery told him. “Ceryni of the Thieves.”

The youth blinked in surprise. Then he grinned.

“I am honored to meet you, Thief. I am Regin of Winar.”

The rhythm of the horse’s gait drove everything. Its breath gusted out in time with the pounding of its hooves. The pain in Rothen’s shoulder flared at every jolt. He could soothe it away with a little Healing power, but he did not want to use any more of his strength than he must. The Guild needed every scrap of magic to fight the Ichani. He hadn’t even drawn power to chase away the weariness he felt from riding all night.

Ahead, the city shone like a glittering treasure spread over a table. Each building shone like gold in the morning light. He might reach it in an hour, maybe less.

A burned-out house smoked in a charred field. Small groups of people, mostly families, hurried along the road carrying bags, boxes and baskets. They watched him pass with both hope and fear in their faces. The closer he came to the city, the more numerous they were, until they became an unbroken line of humanity fleeing Imardin.

None of this boded well for the fate of the Guild. Rothen cursed under his breath. The only mental calls he had heard had been Balkan’s orders. He dared not call out to Dorrien or Dannyl.

An image flashed before his eyes. A glimpse of a city street, then a Sachakan face. Kariko. He blinked several times but the image did not fade.

I’ve been wishing to know what’s happening so much, I’m starting to hallucinate,
Rothen thought.
Or is it from lack of sleep?

He gave in and sent a little Healing power into his body, but the vision remained. A feeling of terror swept over Rothen, but not his own. He caught a glimpse of green robes and a sense of identity. Lord Sarle.

Was the Healer sending this? It didn’t feel deliberate.

Kariko was holding a knife. He smiled and leaned closer.

“Watch this, slave killer.”

Rothen felt a flash of pain, then a distant but terrible feeling of paralysis and fear. Slowly the sense of Lord Sarle’s mind faded to nothing, and Rothen felt himself abruptly released.