The High Lord (60 page)

The Ichani strode into the alley. The robed man had stopped. Sonea could see the faint flare of a barrier blocking his path. When the Ichani was a step away from the hidden men, the fake magician yelled something. The spears burst through the wall…

... and sank deep into the Ichani’s body. The Sachakan yelled in surprise and pain.

“It worked!” Faren crowed. Sonea heard similar triumphant cries from outside, muffled through the window. She shuddered in sympathy as she saw the agony in the Ichani’s face. As he began to sag against the spears, she knew she would never have time to get to him before he died.

Nevertheless, she smashed the window and yelled at the men below.

“Get away from him!”

They stared up at her in surprise.

Then everything went white.

She threw a shield around herself, Faren and his second. A moment later, the wall of the room exploded inward. Searing heat radiated through her shield, forcing her to strengthen it further. She felt the floor tilt and drop away, and the sensation of falling. As she landed, she tumbled to her knees.

Then the released magic of the dead Ichani abruptly ended. She found she was crouched on top of a pile of bricks and smoking wood. Standing up, she saw she was surrounded by a circle of ruins.

Everything for a hundred paces in any direction was now charred, smoking rubble. Sonea looked toward the alley, but there was no sign of the men who had wielded the spears. She felt a terrible sadness. I
could have saved them, had I known what they’d planned.

Faren and his second climbed to their feet. They stared at the destruction around them in dismay.

“Cery said something like this might happen,” Faren said. “He said everyone should get away as quick as they could. He didn’t say it would reach this far.”

“What happened?” his second asked in a small voice.

Sonea tried to speak, but her throat was too tight. She swallowed and tried again. “What always happens when a magician dies,” she managed. “Any magic he or she has left is released.”

He looked at her with wide eyes. “Will… will that happen to you, too?”

“I’m afraid so. Unless I’m exhausted, or the Ichani take all my power.”

“Oh.” The man shivered and looked away.

“We were lucky you were here,” Faren said quietly. “If you hadn’t been, we’d be like those slaves down there.”

Sonea followed his gaze to the street. Several dark shapes lay on the ground. She shuddered. At least their deaths had been quick.

Faren chuckled. “Well, we don’t have to figure out what to do with them now, do we?”

“Help me!”

Dannyl looked up, startled out of his daze by the plea. Lord Osen was standing within a gaping hole in the side of a house. He was covered in dust, and his face was streaked with tears.

“Lorlen is buried,” Osen gasped. “Do either of you have any strength left?”

Dannyl glanced at Farand, then shook his head.

“Then… then at least help me dig him out.”

They followed Osen into the house. A huge mound of rubble filled the inside. Light streamed down through dust. Looking up, Dannyl saw that the floor above, and the roof, were missing.

“He’s here, I think,” Osen said, stopping near the half buried front door. He dropped to his knees and began digging with his bare hands.

Dannyl and Farand joined him. There was nothing else they could do. They tossed rubble aside, but their progress was slow. Dannyl cut himself as he encountered shards of broken glass in the dust. He was just beginning to wonder how anyone could have survived being this thoroughly buried, when the whole mound suddenly shifted. Bricks, wooden beams and shattered glass began to roll back toward the far wall of the house.

Osen shook his head as if to clear it, then looked around the room. His eyes snapped to a point somewhere behind Dannyl, then widened.

Twisting around, Dannyl saw that a figure stood within the hole in the side wall of the house, silhouetted against the bright light outside. He could see that the man wore plain clothes, but the stranger’s face was hidden in shadow.

The sound of shifting rubble dwindled to silence.

“You came back.”

This voice was familiar but weak. Dannyl turned back and felt his heart fill with hope as he saw that Lorlen had been uncovered. The Administrator’s robes were covered in dust. His face was bruised, but his eyes were bright.

“Yes. I came back.”

Dannyl sucked in a breath as he recognized the voice. He turned to stare at Akkarin. The exiled magician moved into the room.

“No!” Lorlen said. “Don’t come… any closer.”

Akkarin stopped. “You are dying, Lorlen.”

“I know.” Lorlen’s breathing was labored. “I won’t… I won’t have you waste your power on me.”

Akkarin took another step. “But it—”

“Stop.Or I’ll be dead before you can reach me,” Lorlen gasped. “Just a little power left, keeping me conscious. All I have to do is use it up faster.”

“Lorlen,” Akkarin said. “It would only take a little magic. Just enough to keep you alive until—”

“Until the Ichani come to finish me off.” Lorlen’s eyes closed. “I was a Healer, remember. I know what it would take to fix me. Too much magic. You will need everything to stop them.” He opened his eyes and stared at Akkarin. “I understand why you did it. Why you lied to me. Kyralia’s safety was more important than our friendship. It still is. I only want to know one thing. Why didn’t you answer when I called you?”

“I couldn’t,” Akkarin said. “If the Guild knew I was here, the Ichani would read it from the mind of their first victim. They would stay together. Alone, they are vulnerable.”

“Ah,” Lorlen smiled faintly. “I see.”

His eyes closed again. Akkarin took another step toward his friend. Lorlen’s eyes fluttered open.

“No, you don’t,” he whispered. “Stay there. Tell me… tell me about Sonea.”

“She is alive,” Akkarin said. “She is…”

Though Akkarin did not finish the sentence, Lorlen’s mouth twitched into a crooked smile.

“Good,” he said.

Then his face relaxed and he let out a long sigh. Akkarin hurried forward and dropped into a crouch. He touched Lorlen’s forehead and an expression of pain crossed his face. Taking Lorlen’s hand, he bowed his head, then removed a ring.

“Lord Osen,” he said.

“Yes?”

“You, Ambassador Dannyl and…” he glanced at Farand, “his companion must not tell anyone I am here. If the Ichani discover that Sonea and I are here, any chance we have of defeating them will be lost. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Osen said quietly.

“All but one Ichani are in the Palace. Get out of the city while you still can.”

Akkarin rose and turned away in one abrupt movement.

He moved to the hole in the wall. For a moment, before he strode outside, Dannyl caught a glimpse of his face. Though his expression was hard and set, his eyes glittered brightly in the sunlight.

Several hundred paces from the outskirts of the slums, Rothen left the road. He could see the gaping hole where the Northern Gates had been. Through it, he had seen the wider gap in the Inner Wall.

He didn’t need to enter the city that way, however. There was always the gap in the Outer Wall around the Guild grounds.

He wondered, then, why the Ichani had chosen to waste their power on destroying the city gates. They must have learned about the breach in the Outer Wall from the minds of the magicians they had caught and killed at the Fort and in Calia. Perhaps they had wanted to demonstrate their superior strength to the Guild. And maybe they intended to replace the magic they had lost by preying on ordinary Imardians.

Either way, they must feel sure that their strength, or their ability to replace it, would win them Kyralia. As Rothen urged his horse toward the forested hill behind the grounds, he felt a growing dread. Would he arrive too late? Would he find the Guild destroyed and Ichani waiting? He must approach the grounds carefully.

He let the horse slow as she reached the first trees. The forest grew rapidly denser, until he was forced to dismount and- lead her. An image flashed before his eyes.
Not again…

He kept walking as the experience of death overlaid his surroundings. This time it was a Palace guard. When the vision faded to nothing, Rothen sighed with relief.

How many has it been?
he thought.
Twenty? Thirty?

The slope grew steeper. He stumbled through low vegetation, over logs, rocks and holes. Reaching a bare stretch of ground, he looked up and saw glimpses of white through the trees ahead.

At the sight of the buildings, relief and happiness rushed over him. He hurried forward until he stood at the edge of the forest. Dozens of small houses filled a clearing below. It was like a tiny village.

A deserted village, he amended. Though Rothen had lived only a few hundred paces from this place, he had only seen it once before, as a novice. The collection of houses was known as the Servants’ Quarters.

He started walking down to the buildings. As he did, a door opened. A man in a servant uniform hurried forward to meet him.

“My lord,” the man said, sketching a quick bow. “How goes the battle?”

“I don’t know,” Rothen replied. “I just arrived. Why are you still here?”

The man’s shoulders lifted. “I volunteered to keep an eye on the houses until everyone comes back.”

Rothen glanced up at his horse. “Anyone from the stables still here?”

“No, but I can take care of your horse for you.”

“Thank you.” Rothen handed the reins to the servant. “If nobody comes back by the end of the day, leave. Take the horse, if you wish.”

The man looked surprised. He bowed, then patted the horse’s nose and led her away. Rothen turned and started along the path to the Guild.

Three hours had passed since Cery had parted with Sonea and Akkarin. He’d received reports that she had gone to the slums to deal with the lone Ichani. Akkarin had disappeared in the Inner Circle, and Takan could not say what his master was doing.

A smuggler’s den under the Inner Circle had been selected as a meeting place. It was a large room, filled to the roof with goods. As three figures began to walk down the aisle between the shelving, Cery smiled and walked forward to meet them.

“Your Guild killed one of the Ichani,” he said. “One dead, seven to go.”

“No.” Sonea smiled. “Two dead, six to go.”

He glanced at Faren. “The one in the slums?”

“Yes, though none of my doing.”

He grinned and felt a glow of pleasure. “One of my traps worked, then?”

“I think you should have a look at what’s left of the slums before you go boasting about it,” Faren replied dryly. His second nodded in agreement.

“What happened?” Cery asked, looking at Sonea.

“Faren can explain later.” She looked over his shoulder, and he turned to find Takan approaching. “Do either of you know where Akkarin is?” she asked.

The servant shook his head. “I have received no word from him for two hours.”

Sonea frowned. Finding the same expression on Takan’s face, Cery guessed that, whatever Akkarin was doing, he wanted it to remain private. What was so important that Akkarin would hide it from his two closest companions?

“Where are the other Ichani?” Faren asked.

“Five in the Palace, one roaming around,” Cery told them.

“Let me guess,” Sonea said, “the wanderer is the woman.”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “I suppose I should wait here until Akkarin comes back.”

Cery smiled. “I’ve got someone hidden down here I want you to meet.”

“Oh, and who might that be?”

“A magician. I saved him from the Ichani woman. He’s very grateful. In fact, he’s so grateful he’s volunteered to be the bait for the next little trap we’ve set up.”

Cery led her around a stack of boxes to a small space filled with chairs. The novice was sitting in one of them. He looked up as they appeared, then rose and smiled.

“Greetings, Sonea.”

Sonea stared at him in dismay. As he’d expected, she replied with gritted teeth.

“Regin.”

“Sit down, Sonea,” Cery urged. “You two stay here, while I fetch something to eat.”

Sonea stared at Cery. No doubt he had no inkling of the history between her and Regin. Then he winked at her and she realized he
had
remembered who Regin was.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m sure you have plenty of catching up to do.”

Sonea sat down reluctantly. She looked at Faren, but the Thief had moved across the room and was having a murmured conversation with his second. Takan was pacing in another corner. Regin glanced at her, looked away, rubbed his palms together, then cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, “you kill any of these Sachakans yet?”

Sonea resisted the urge to laugh. It was a strange, yet somehow appropriate, way to begin a conversation with her old enemy.

“A couple,” she said.

He nodded. “The one in the slums?”

“No. One in the South Pass, and one before then, in the city.”

His gaze slipped to the floor. “Was it hard?”

“Killing someone?” She grimaced. “Yes and no. I guess you don’t think about it, when you’re trying to stop the other person killing you. You only think about it later.”

He smiled faintly. “I meant, are they hard to kill?”

“Oh.” She looked away. “Probably. I only succeeded with those two because I tricked them.”

“Probably? Don’t you know how strong they are?”

“No. I’m not even sure how strong I am. I guess I’ll find out when I have to fight one.”

“Then how do you know if you can win a battle?”

“I don’t.”

Regin looked up at her, his expression incredulous. Then he flushed and looked away. “Everyone’s given you a hard time,” he said in a low voice. “Lord Fergun, me and the novices, and the whole Guild when they found out you’d learned black magic—but you still came back. You’re still willing to risk your life to save us.” He shook his head. “If I’d known what was going on, I wouldn’t have been so rough on you that first year.”

Sonea stared at him, caught between disbelief and surprise. Was this an apology?