The High Lord (8 page)

These early magicians strengthened themselves by drawing magic from their apprentices. They used black magic.

She read and reread the passage over and over, but its meaning was clear. They called it “higher magic.”

She looked at the spine and saw that she was a quarter of the way through the book. Continuing, she found the records gradually focused on the activities of a wayward apprentice, Tagin. It was discovered that the young man had taught himself higher magic against the wishes of his master. Abuses were uncovered. Tagin had taken strength from ordinary folk, which was never done except in times of great need. The record-keeper expressed disapproval and anger, then his tone abruptly changed to fear. Tagin had used higher magic to kill his master.

The situation grew steadily worse. As the magicians of the Guild sought to punish him, Tagin killed indiscriminately to gain the strength to resist them. Magicians reported the slaughter of men, women and children. Whole villages were all but destroyed, with only a few survivors to report the malicious nature of their attacker.

At a knock at her door, she jumped. She quickly closed the books, pushed them spine-first against the wall, and stacked several ordinary study books on top. Drawing her notes back in front of her, she arranged the desk as if she had been studying.

As she willed the door open Takan glided in with her raka. She thanked him, but felt too distracted to ask where Viola was. Once he had left, she gulped a few mouthfuls, then retrieved the records and began reading again:

It is difficult to believe that any man could be capable of such acts of needless violence. Yesterday’s attempt to subdue him appears to have sent him into a passion. The last reports say he has slaughtered all in the villages of Tenker and Forei. He is beyond all controlling and I fear for the future of us all. I am amazed that he has not turned on us yet
—
but perhaps this is his preparation for that final strike.

Sonea sat back in her chair and shook her head in disbelief. She flicked back to the previous page and reread the last entry. Fifty-two magicians, strengthened by their apprentices and the livestock donated by frightened commoners, hadn’t been able to defeat Tagin. The next few entries recorded Tagin’s seemingly random path through Kyralia. Then came the words Sonea had been dreading:

My worst fears have come to life. Today Tagin killed Lord Gerin, Lord Dirron, Lord Winnel and Lady Ella. Will it end only when all magicians are dead, or will he not be satisfied until all life has been drained from the world? The view from my window is ghastly. Thousands of gorin, enka and reber rot in the fields, their strength given to the defense of Kyralia. Too many to eat…

From there the situation grew worse until over half the magicians in the Guild were dead. Another quarter had already taken their belongings and fled. The remainder were making a valiant effort to save stores of books and medicines.

What if this happened now?
The Guild was larger but each magician wielded only a tiny portion of the strength of their long-dead predecessors. If Akkarin did as Tagin had… she shivered and continued reading. The next entry caught her by surprise.

It is over. When Alyk told me the news I dared not believe it, but an hour ago I climbed the stairs of the Lookout and saw the truth with my own eyes. It is true. Tagin is dead. Only he could have created such destruction in his final moments.

Lord Eland called us together and read a letter sent from Indria, Tagin’s sister. She told of her intention to poison him. We can only assume that she succeeded.

The record-keeper recounted a slow restoration. The magicians who had left returned. The stores and libraries were set in order again. Sonea mused over the long entries covering the common people’s losses and recovery. It appeared the Guild had once been concerned for the wellbeing of ordinary people.

Truly the old Guild was destroyed with Tagin. I have heard some say that a new Guild was born today. The first of the changes occurred this morning when five young men joined us. They are our first “novices,” apprenticed to all and not one. They will not be taught the higher magics until they have proven themselves trustworthy. If Lord Karron has his way they will never learn them at all.

Support for the ban of what Lord Karron had begun to call “black” magic increased. Sonea turned a page and found one last entry, followed by blank pages.

I have not the gift of foresight, nor do I pretend to know enough of men and magic to guess the future, but after we made our decision I was gripped by a fear that the Sachakans might rise against us again in the future, and the Guild would be found unprepared. I proposed a secret store of knowledge, to be opened only if the Guild faced certain destruction. The others of my company agreed, for many of my fellows held the same secret fear.

It was decided that the existence of a secret weapon would be known of by the Head of Warriors only. He would not know its nature, but would pass the location down to his successor. I now finish this record here. Tomorrow I will

begin a new one. I sincerely hope that nobody will ever open this book and read these words.

Below this last entry was a note:

Seventy years later Lord Koril, Head of Warriors, died in a practice bout at the age of twenty-eight. It is likely that he did not have an opportunity to pass on the knowledge of the secret “weapon.”

Sonea stared at Akkarin’s postscript. Lord Coren had discovered a chest full of books. Was this the secret store of knowledge?

She sighed and closed the book. The more she learned, the more questions arose. She got to her feet and swayed, realizing belatedly that she had been reading for hours. Yawning, she covered Akkarin’s books with her notes, then changed into her bedclothes, slipped into bed and fell into a sleep filled with nightmarish scenes of power-crazed magicians stalking livestock and villagers.

Though he received news of a murder bearing all the indicators he’d been taught to look for, Cery had waited until a week passed since his meeting with Savara before he let her know she had been right. He wanted to see how long she would endure her self-imposed imprisonment in her hired room. When he heard that she had suggested some fighting practice with one of her “guards,” he knew her patience was running out. And curiosity got the better of him when the man admitted to losing every bout.

He paced his room as he waited for her to arrive. His investigations had revealed little. The owner of the room could only say Savara had started renting it a few days before her visit to Cery. Only two of the city’s weapons sellers recognized her knife as Sachakan. The city’s gutters all claimed, after bribes and other means of ensuring they told the truth, that they had never fenced a weapon like it before. He doubted he would find anyone in the city who could tell him more.

At a knock on the door he stopped pacing. He returned to his chair and cleared his throat.

“Come in.”

She smiled warmly as she entered the room.
Oh, she knows she’s beautiful, and how to use it to get what she wants,
he thought. He kept his expression neutral.

“Ceryni,” she said.

“Savara. I hear my tag gave you some sport.”

A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Yes, he was energetic, but needed the practice more than I.” She paused. “The others might have proved more challenging.”

Cery resisted a smile. She had noticed more than one other watcher. Very observant.

“Too late to find out,” he said, shrugging. “I have given them something else to do.”

The crease between her brows deepened. “What of the slave? Did he not kill?”

” ‘Slave’?” Cery repeated.

“The man who replaced the last murderer.”

Interesting.
Slaves owned by whom?

“He killed, like you said,” Cery confirmed.

Her eyes flashed with triumph at the news. “Then will you accept my help?”

“Can you lead us to him?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

“What do you want in return?”

She moved closer to his desk. “That you say nothing of me to your master.”

A chill ran over his skin. “My
master?”

“The one who has ordered you to kill these men,” she said softly.

She should not know about
him.
She shouldn’t even know that Cery was acting on the orders of another.

This changed everything. Cery crossed his arms and considered her carefully. Investigating her usefulness without consulting the one who arranged the hunt had seemed like a small risk. Now it appeared to have been greater than he had thought.

She knew too much. He ought to send his best knife to despatch her. Or kill her himself. Now.

Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t.
And it’s not just because I find her interesting,
he told himself.
I need to know how she learned so much about the arrangement. I’ll wait, have her watched, and see where this leads.

“Have you told him about me?” she asked.

“Why don’t you want him to know about you?”

Her expression darkened. “Two reasons. These slaves know only one enemy hunts them. It will be easier for me to help you if they do not know I am here. And there are people in my country who would suffer if the slaves’ masters learned I was here.”

“And you think that these slaves would find out about you if my ‘master,’ as you call him, knew?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’d rather not take the risk.”

“You are only asking this now. I might have told my customer about you already.”

“Did you?”

He shook his head. She smiled, clearly relieved. “I didn’t think you would. Not until you knew I could do what I said I could. So, do we have a deal, as you Thieves say?”

Cery opened the drawer of his desk and drew out her knife. He heard her indrawn breath. The jewels in the handle glittered in the lamplight. He slid it across the table.

“Tonight you’ll tag this man for us. That’s all. No killing. I want to be sure he is who you say he is before he’s done in. In return, I keep my mug shut about you. For now.”

She smiled, her eyes bright with eagerness. “I will go back to my room until then.”

Watching her saunter to the door, Cery felt his heartbeat quicken.
How many men have lost their wits over that walk
—
or that smile?
he wondered.
Ah, but I’d wager some of them lost more than their wits.

Not me,
he thought.
I’ll be watching her
very
closely.

Sonea closed the book she had been trying to read and looked around the library. It was too difficult to concentrate. Her mind kept returning to Akkarin and the records.

It had been a week since he’d given them to her, and he hadn’t yet returned to collect them. The thought of what was lying on her desk in her room, hidden under a pile of notes, was like an itch no amount of scratching could ease. She wouldn’t be able to relax until he took them back.

But she dreaded facing Akkarin again. She dreaded the conversation that would follow. Would he bring more books? What would they contain? So far, he had only shown her pieces of forgotten history. There had been no instructions on how to use black magic, yet the secret trunk that the record-keeper had buried—probably the same trunk that the architect Lord Coren had discovered and reburied—must contain enough information about the “secret weapon” of black magic for a magician to learn it. What would she do if Akkarin gave her one of
those
books to read?

To learn about black magic was to break a Guild law. If she found herself reading instructions on its use, she would stop and refuse to read any more.

“Look, there’s Lord Larkin!”

The voice was female and close by. Looking around, Sonea saw a movement at the end of a bookshelf. A girl was just visible, standing by one of the Novices’ Library windows.

“The Building and Construction teacher?” another girlish voice replied. “I never considered him before, but he is fairly good-looking, I suppose.”

“And still unmarried.”

“Not showing much interest in getting married, from what I hear.”

There was a giggle. Leaning out from her chair, Sonea recognized the first girl as one of the fifth-year novices.

“Oh, look! There’s Lord Darlen. He’s nice.”

The other girl made an appreciative noise. “Pity he’s married.”

“Mmm,” the first agreed. “What do you think of Lord Vorel?”

“Vorel! You’re kidding!”

“Not one for strong Warrior types, are you?”

Sonea guessed the girls were watching magicians heading toward the Night Room. She listened, amused, as they assessed the merits of many of the younger magicians.

“No… look there… now
that
I wouldn’t turn down.”

“Oh, yes,” the other agreed in a hushed voice. “Look, he’s stopped to talk to Director Jerrik.”

“He’s a bit… cold, though.”

“Oh, I’m sure he could be warmed up.”

The girls laughed slyly. When they had quietened again, one gave a sigh of longing. “He’s so handsome. Pity he’s too old for us.”

“I don’t know,” the other replied. “He’s not
that
old. My cousin was married off to a man much older. He might not look it, but the High Lord is no more than thirty-three or four.”

Sonea stiffened with surprise and disbelief. They were talking about
Akkarin!

But, of course, they didn’t know what he was like. They saw only an unmarried man who was mysterious, powerful and—

“The library is closing.”

Sonea jumped and turned to find Tya, the librarian, striding along the aisle between the bookshelves. Tya smiled at Sonea as she passed. The girls at the window gave one last sigh and left.

Rising, Sonea stacked up her books and notes. She lifted them in her arms, then paused and looked back at the window. Was he still there?

She moved over to the glass and peered out. Sure enough, Akkarin was standing with Jerrik. Lines creased his forehead. Though his expression was attentive, it gave nothing of his thoughts away.