The High Lord (57 page)

“Strange. Why would he give us two sets of clothes?”

“An alternative.”

“Or we’re supposed to wear the robes underneath these.”

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “And remove the outer clothing at a specific time?”

“Perhaps. You have to admit, it would be intimidating. Two black magicians…”

She drew in a breath and looked down at the bed, then felt a strange chill as she realized she was looking at two sets of full-length robes—the robes of a graduated magician.

“I can’t wear these!” she protested.

Akkarin chuckled. “Now that you agree with me, I find my mind is changing. I think, perhaps, your friend is being as subtle and clever as I’ve come to expect.” He bent to run a hand over the cloth. “We would not show these unless our identities had been discovered. But once they have, it may appear to the Sachakans that the Guild has accepted us. The implications of that will give Kariko reason to pause.”

“And the Guild?”

He frowned. “If they truly want us to return, they will have to accept everything we are,” he murmured. “After all, we cannot unlearn what we have learned.”

She looked down. “So they are black robes for black magicians.”

“Yes.”

She frowned. The thought of parading about in black robes in front of Rothen… she felt a sharp pang of grief.
But Rothen is dead.

She sighed. “I’d like it better if they called black magic higher magic, but if the Guild were ever to accept us I guess they couldn’t call us Higher Magicians. That term is already in use.”

Akkarin shook his head. “No, and black magicians should be discouraged from thinking that they are higher than others.”

Sonea looked at him closely. “Do you think they’ll accept us?”

Akkarin’s eyebrows knitted together. “Even if it survives, the Guild will never be the same.” He gathered up the robes and draped them over the back of a chair. “For now, we should sleep. We might not get another chance for some time.”

As he began to strip off his clothes, Sonea sat on the edge of the bed and considered his words. The Guild had already changed. With so many dead… she felt her throat tighten again as she thought of Rothen.

“I’ve never seen anyone sleep well sitting up,” Akkarin said.

Sonea turned to find him sliding under the covers. She felt a strange mix of excitement and shyness. Waking to find herself in a bed with him that morning had changed something.
It was certainly more comfortable than rock,
she mused,
but being here, together, felt so much more… deliberate.

She put the sack and remaining clothes aside, then undressed and slipped into the bed. Akkarin’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was the deep steady rhythm of sleep. She smiled and reached over to the lamp to extinguish it.

Despite the darkness and the long day, she remained wakeful. She created a tiny, weak globe light and rolled over to watch Akkarin, content to just examine all the details and contours of his face.

Then his eyes fluttered open and looked into hers. A tiny frown creased his forehead.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he murmured.

“I can’t sleep,” she told him.

His lips curled up into a smile.

“When have I heard that before?”

As Cery entered his rooms he drew in a deep breath. A warm, spicy scent hung in the air. He smiled and followed it to the bathing room, where he found Savara relaxing in a tub of water.

“In the bath again?” he asked.

She smiled slyly. “Care to join me?”

“I think I’ll stay a safe distance away, for now.”

Her smile widened. “Then tell me what I’ve missed.”

“I’ll just get a chair.”

He returned to the guestroom, stopped in the center and took several deep breaths.

Once again, he had felt a strong desire to tell her everything. He had made a deal with her: keep her informed in exchange for suggestions on killing Ichani. Part of him was sure he could trust her, but another whispered a warning.

How much did he know about her, really? She was Sachakan. She had sought out and identified her countrymen—and women—for him, knowing that they would be killed. That did not mean she had Kyralia’s best interests in mind, however. She had told him she worked for another “faction” of Sachakan society, and it was clear that her loyalties lay with her people.

He had made a deal, and so far she had kept her side of it…

But he couldn’t tell her that Akkarin and Sonea had returned. Should news of their arrival and preparations get out, the Ichani would win. If he trusted Savara, and she betrayed them, Kyralia’s fall would rest on his shoulders.

And Sonea might be killed. He felt vaguely guilty about withholding information from the new woman in his life for the sake of the old.
But if I endangered the life of the old by mistakenly trusting the new,
he reasoned,
I’d feel far worse than I do now.

But Savara would find out eventually. Cery’s heart raced with a strange, unfamiliar fear when he considered how she might react.

She will understand,
he told himself.
What sort of Thief would I be if I so easily gave away the secrets entrusted to me? And it’s not like she’s going to stay here long. Once it’s over, she’ll leave me anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up a chair and carried it into the bathing room. She folded her arms over the edge of the tub, and rested her chin on them.

“So what have the Thieves decided?”

“They liked our ideas,” he told her. “Limek set his people working on making robes.”

She grinned. “I hope these people can run fast.”

“They’ll use the Thieves’ Road to get away again. We’ve also got people out looking for good places to lay traps.”

She nodded. “The Guild sent out a mental call for Akkarin today.”

He feigned surprise. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t reply.”

Cery frowned. “You don’t think he’s… ?”

“Dead?” Her shoulders lifted slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe it’s too dangerous to answer. He might attract the wrong kind of attention.”

He nodded and found it all too easy to look worried. Unfolding her arms, she beckoned to him.

“Come here, Cery,” she murmured. “You leave me here all alone, all day long. A girl could get bored.”

He stood and crossed his arms. “All day? I heard you slipped out to the Market.”

She chuckled. “I thought you might. I wanted to pick up something I had a jeweler make for me. Look.”

A small box sat on the lip of the tub. She picked it up and handed it to him.

“A gift for you,” she said. “Made with a few gems from my knives.”

Lifting off the lid, Cery caught his breath at the strange silver pendant inside. Intricate, veined wings sprouted from an elongated body. Twin glints of yellow formed the eyes of the insect, and green stones dotted its curved tail. The abdomen was a large, smooth ruby.

“In my country it’s considered good luck for an inava to land on you just before a battle,” she told him. “It is also the messenger of separated lovers. I’ve noticed Kyralian men don’t wear jewelry, but you could keep it underneath your clothes.” She smiled. “Close to your skin.”

He felt a pang of guilt. Lifting the pendant out of the box, he slipped the chain over his head.

“It’s beautiful,” he told her. “Thank you.”

She looked away for a moment, as if suddenly embarrassed by the sentimentality of her gift. Then she smiled slyly.

“How about coming in here and thanking me properly?”

Cery laughed. “All right. How can I say no to that?”

The morning sun crept slowly over the horizon as if reluctant to face the coming day. The first rays touched the towers of the Palace, painting them a vivid orange-yellow. Slowly the golden light spread across the rooftops, starting at the edge of the city and drawing ever closer to the Outer Wall, until it bathed the faces of the magicians standing along the top.

They had left the Guild as soon as scouts had reported that the Sachakans were on the move. Climbing to the top of the Outer Wall, they had spread themselves out in a long line. It was a formidable sight, so many hundreds of magicians gathered together—unlike the two overloaded carts trundling slowly toward the city. Lorlen had to remind himself that the occupants of those carts had already killed more than forty of the Guild’s best Warriors and were several times stronger than the magicians on the wall.

The Ichani had found a replacement for the carts Yikmo’s men had destroyed, but it had delayed them by half a day. The Guild hadn’t benefited from the Warriors’ sacrifice, however. All Sarrin’s attempts to learn black magic had failed. The old magician had said that he could not quite make sense of the descriptions and instructions on black magic in the books. He had grown increasingly distressed as each day passed. Lorlen knew that the likelihood that Yikmo and his men had died for nothing weighed on Sarrin’s conscience as much as his failure to become Kyralia’s savior.

Lorlen glanced at the Alchemist, who was standing several strides away. Sarrin looked haggard and tired, but regarded the advancing enemy with grim determination. Lorlen then looked at Balkan, who stood with his arms crossed, somehow managing to appear confident and at ease. Lady Vinara seemed as calm and resolute.

Lorlen regarded the approaching carts again. Scouts had reported the location of the enemy the night before. The Sachakans had broken into an abandoned farmhouse beside the road, only an hour’s travel from the city. When it appeared that they intended to delay their attack until the next day, the King had been pleased. He still hoped that Sarrin would succeed.

One of the King’s counselors had pointed out that the Ichani would not rest unless they needed it. Lorlen had recognized this man as Raven, the professional spy who had accompanied Rothen on the first days of his abandoned mission.

“If they want to sleep, we should prevent it,” Raven had said. “You don’t need to send magicians. Ordinary men may be of no use in a magical confrontation, but don’t underestimate our ability to be annoying.”

So a handful of guards had slipped out into the night to release swarms of sapflys into the farmhouse, rouse the Sachakans with loud noises, and finally set the building on fire. The last was done with more than the usual relish, after the Ichani had caught one of the guards. What they did to the man did not bode well for those citizens who hadn’t left Imardin yet.

Looking over his shoulder, Lorlen considered the city. The streets were empty and silent. Most members of the Houses had sailed for Elyne, taking their families and servants with them. A line of carts had flowed through the Southern Gate for the last two days as the rest of the population fled toward the outlying villages. Guards had kept order as best they could, but there weren’t enough of them to curtail some of the looting that had occurred. As soon as the sun had set the previous evening, the Gates had been closed and fortifications fixed in place.

Of course, the Ichani might ignore the gates. They might head straight for the gap in the Outer wall where it had once surrounded the Guild grounds.

There was nothing the Guild could do to prevent that. They already knew they would lose this battle. They only hoped to kill one or two Ichani.

Still, he hated to think of the destruction they could wreak on the grand old buildings. Lord Jullen had packed up and sent away the most precious books and records, and sealed the rest in a room underneath the University. Patients within the Healers’ Quarters, servants and family had been sent out of the city.

Similar precautions had been taken at the Palace. Lorlen turned to regard the towers, just visible over the Inner Wall. The city’s walls had been built to protect this central building. Over the centuries the Palace had been modified to indulge the tastes and whims of Kyralia’s royalty, but the wall around it had remained intact. The best of the Guard waited within, ready to fight if the Guild was defeated.

“They’ve reached the slums,” Osen murmured.

Facing north again, Lorlen looked down at the slums. The labyrinth of unplanned streets spread before him. All were deserted. He wondered where the dwells had gone. Far away, he hoped.

The carts had reached the first buildings and the occupants were tiny figures now. As Lorlen watched, they drew to a halt. Six men and one woman stepped down from the vehicles and started walking toward the Northern Gates. The slaves drew the carts away into the slums.

One Ichani has gone with them,
Lorlen noted.
One less to fight us. Not that it will make much difference.

“The King has arrived,” Osen murmured.

Lorlen turned to see the monarch approaching. Magicians knelt and quickly rose again as the King passed. Lorlen followed suit.

“Administrator.”

“Your Majesty,” Lorlen replied.

The King looked down at the advancing Sachakans.

“Have you tried to contact Akkarin again?”

Lorlen nodded. “Every hour, since you first requested it.”

“No answer?”

“None.”

The King nodded. “Then we face them alone. Let’s hope he was wrong about their strength.”

Sonea had never seen the Northern Gates closed. The enormous sheets of metal had always been streaked with rust and the decorations obscured by centuries of dirt and grime. Now they were a clean, glossy black—restored, no doubt, out of pride and defiance.

A line of magicians stood on top of the wall. Brown robes were scattered among the red, green and purple ones. She felt a pang of sympathy for her fellow classmates. They must be terrified.

The Ichani walked into view on the road below. Sonea’s heart lurched and she heard Akkarin catch his breath. They were only a hundred or so paces away, and this time she was not seeing them through the eyes of another magician.

She, Akkarin, Cery and Takan were watching from a house beside the North Road. Cery had brought them there because the building had a little tower room above the second floor, which had the best view of the area before the gates.

“The one in front is Kariko,” Akkarin murmured.