Kyralia 01 - [Black Magician 03] - The High Lord Page 2

  She shivered. And each night I sleep in the same house as the man they’re trying to kill.

  Perhaps this was why Lorlen hadn’t come up with a way to get rid of Akkarin yet. Perhaps he knew Akkarin had a good reason for using black magic. Perhaps he didn’t intend to oust Akkarin at all.

  No, she thought. If Akkarin’s reasons were honorable, I would not be his hostage. If he’d been able to prove his motives were good, he would have tried to, rather than have two magicians and a novice constantly searching for a way to defeat him.

  And if he was at all concerned for my wellbeing, why keep me in the residence, where the assassins are likely to strike?

  She was sure Lorlen was concerned for her wellbeing. He would tell her, if he knew Akkarin’s motives were honorable. He wouldn’t want her to believe she was in a worse situation than she really was.

  Abruptly, she remembered the ring on Lorlen’s finger. For more than a year, rumors had been circulating in the city about a killer who wore a silver ring with a red gemstone. Just like the one Lorlen wore.

  But this had to be a coincidence. She knew a little of Lorlen’s mind and she could not imagine Lorlen murdering anyone.

  Reaching the door of the residence, Sonea stopped and took a deep breath. What if the man Akkarin had killed hadn’t been an assassin? What if he had been a Sachakan diplomat who’d discovered Akkarin’s crime, and Akkarin had lured him to the residence to kill him…and then discovered the man was a magician?

  Stop! Enough!

  She shook her head as if that would clear it of this fruitless speculation. For months she had considered these possibilities, going over and over what she had seen and been told. Every week she looked at Akkarin over the dinner table and wished she had the courage to ask him why he had learned black magic, but stayed silent. If she could not be sure that the answers were truthful, why bother asking the questions?

  Reaching out, she brushed the handle of the door with her fingers. As always, it swung inward at the lightest touch. She stepped inside.

  His tall, dark figure rose from one of the guestroom chairs. She felt a familiar twinge of fear and pushed it aside. A single globe light hovered above his head, casting his eyes into shadow. His lips curled upward at one side as if he was mildly amused.

  “Good evening, Sonea.”

  She bowed. “High Lord.”

  His pale hand gestured to the stairway entrance. Putting her case of books and notes down, Sonea entered the stairway and started climbing. Akkarin’s globe light floated up the center of the stairwell as he followed. Reaching the second level, she walked down the corridor and entered a room furnished with a large table and several chairs. A delicious smell filled the air and set her stomach rumbling quietly.

  Akkarin’s servant, Takan, bowed to her as she sat down, then left.

  “What did you study today, Sonea?” Akkarin asked.

  “Architecture,” she replied. “Construction methods.”

  One eyebrow rose slightly. “Shaping stone with magic?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked thoughtful. Takan returned to the room carrying a large platter, from which he transferred several small bowls to the table, then strode away. Sonea waited until Akkarin began to select from the bowls, before loading her own plate with food.

  “Did you find it difficult, or easy?”

  Sonea hesitated. “Difficult at first, then easier. It’s…not unlike Healing.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Indeed. And how is it different?”

  She considered. “Stone does not have the natural barrier of resistance that the body has. It has no skin.”

  “That’s true, but something like a barrier can be created if…”

  His voice trailed off. She looked up to find him frowning, his gaze fixed on the wall behind her. His eyes shifted to hers, then he relaxed and looked down at the table.

  “I have a meeting to attend tonight,” he said, pushing back his chair. “Enjoy the rest of the meal, Sonea.”

  Surprised, she watched him stride to the door, then looked at his half-eaten meal. Occasionally she arrived for the weekly dinner to find Takan waiting in the guestroom with the good news that the High Lord would not be attending. But only twice before had Akkarin left the meal early. She shrugged and continued eating.

  As she finished the course, Takan reappeared. He stacked the bowls and plates onto the platter. Watching him, she noticed a tiny crease between his eyebrows.

  He looks worried, she thought.

  Remembering her earlier speculations, she felt a chill run up her spine. Was Takan afraid that another assassin might enter the residence looking for Akkarin?

  Suddenly she wanted only to get back to the University. She stood up and looked at the servant. “Don’t worry about dessert, Takan.”

  The man’s face changed subtly. Reading disappointment, she could not help feeling a pang of guilt. He might be Akkarin’s loyal servant, but he was also a gifted cook. Had he made a dish he was particularly proud of, and was dismayed that they were both leaving it uneaten?

  “Was it something that will…keep a few hours?” she asked hesitantly.

  He met her gaze briefly and, not for the first time, she caught a glimpse of a sharp intelligence there, not completely hidden behind his deferential manner.

  “It will, my lady. Shall I bring it to your room when you return?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

  Takan bowed.

  Leaving the room, Sonea strode down the corridor and started down the stairs. She wondered again what part Takan played in Akkarin’s secrets. She had witnessed Akkarin taking strength from Takan, yet Takan obviously hadn’t been killed or harmed by it. And on the night of the assassination attempt, Akkarin had told her that Takan was from Sachaka. That brought up another question: if the Sachakans hated the Guild, why was one of them a servant of the High Lord?

  And why did Takan sometimes call Akkarin “master” instead of “my lord?”

  Lorlen was dictating an order for building materials when a messenger arrived. Taking the slip of paper from the man, Lorlen read it, then nodded.

  “Tell the Stablemaster to prepare a carriage for me.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The messenger bowed, then strode from the room.

  “Visiting Captain Barran again?” Osen asked.

  Lorlen smiled grimly at his assistant. “I’m afraid so.” He looked at the pen Osen was holding, poised above a sheet of paper, and shook his head. “I’ve lost the direction of my thoughts,” he added. “We’ll finish that tomorrow.”

  Osen wiped the pen dry. “I hope Barran has found the killer this time.” He followed Lorlen out of the office. “Good night, Administrator.”

  “Good night, Osen.”

  As his assistant started down the University corridor toward the Magicians’ Quarters, Lorlen considered the young magician. Osen had noted Lorlen’s regular visits to the Guard House soon after they had begun. The young man was observant, and Lorlen knew better than to start making up complicated excuses. Sometimes giving the right amount of the truth was better than outright deceit.

  He had explained to Osen that Akkarin had asked him to monitor the Guards’ efforts to find the murderer.

  “Why you?” Osen had asked.

  Lorlen had been expecting that. “Oh, I needed something to do in my spare time,” he had joked. “Barran is a family friend. I was hearing about these murders from him anyway, so the communication between us has just become an official one. I could send someone else, but I don’t want to be receiving the latest news thirdhand.”

  “Can I ask if there’s a particular reason for the Guild to take an interest?” Osen had probed.

  “You can ask,” Lorlen had replied with a smile. “I may not answer. Do you think there’s a reason?”

  “I had heard that some people in the city believe magic is involved.”

  “Which is why the Guild must be seen to be keeping an eye on the situation. The people shoul
d feel we’re not ignoring their troubles. We must take care not to show too much interest, however, or they’ll think there is truth to the rumor.”

  Osen had agreed to keep his knowledge of Lorlen’s visits to the Guard to himself. If the rest of the Guild heard that Lorlen was following Captain Barran’s progress they, too, would wonder if magic was involved.

  Lorlen was still uncertain whether magic was involved. There had been one incident, over a year before, in which a dying witness had claimed the murderer had attacked him with magic. The burns on the witness had looked like those from a heatstrike, but since then Barran had found no other evidence to confirm that the murderer—or murderers—used magic.

  Barran had agreed to keep the possibility that the murderer might be a rogue magician to himself for now. If the news got out, Lorlen had explained, the King and the Houses would expect another hunt like the one that had been conducted for Sonea. They had learned from that experience that having magicians roaming all over the city would only send a rogue into hiding.

  Lorlen strolled into the Entrance Hall. He watched as a carriage emerged from the stables and rolled down the road toward the University steps. As it pulled up, he descended to the vehicle, told the driver his destination and climbed aboard.

  So what do we know? he asked himself.

  For weeks, sometimes months, victims had been killed with the same, ritualized method—a method that occasionally resembled a black magic ritual. Then, for a few months, there were no deaths at all, until a new series of murders gained the Guard’s attention. These, too, would be ritualized murders, but using a slightly different method than previously.

  Barran had sorted the possible reasons for the change of method into two main categories. Either the murderer was acting alone and kept changing his habits, or each series of murders was carried out by a different man. A single man might change his habits to avoid detection, or to perfect the ritual; a succession of murderers might indicate some kind of gang or cult which required killing as an initiation or test.

  Lorlen looked down at the ring on his hand. A few witnesses lucky enough to see the murderer and survive had reported seeing a ring with a red gem on his hand. A ring like this? he wondered. Akkarin had created the gem out of glass and his own blood on the night he had discovered Lorlen, Sonea and Rothen knew he had learned and used black magic. It enabled him to see and hear everything Lorlen did, and to communicate by mind without other magicians hearing.

  Whenever the murders resembled a black magic ritual, Lorlen was unable to avoid considering the possibility that Akkarin might be responsible. Akkarin did not wear a ring in public, yet he could be slipping one on when he left the Guild. Why would he, though? He didn’t need to keep track of himself.

  What if the ring allows someone else to see what the murderer is doing?

  Lorlen frowned. Why would Akkarin want another person to see what he was doing? Unless he was acting on the orders of another. Now that was a frightening possibility…

  Lorlen sighed. Sometimes he found himself hoping he would never learn the truth. He knew that, if Akkarin was the murderer, he would feel partly responsible for the deaths of his victims. He ought to have dealt with Akkarin long ago, when he had first discovered from Sonea that the High Lord used black magic. But he had feared that the Guild could not defeat Akkarin in a fight.

  So Lorlen had kept the High Lord’s crime a secret, persuading Sonea and Rothen to do the same. Then Akkarin had discovered that his crime was known, and had taken Sonea hostage to ensure Lorlen and Rothen remained silent. Now Lorlen could not move against Akkarin without risking her life.

  But if I discovered that Akkarin was the murderer, and knew the Guild could defeat him, I would not hesitate. Not for our old friendship, or even Sonea’s wellbeing, would I allow him to continue.

  And Akkarin, through the ring, must know that.

  Of course, Akkarin might not be the murderer. He had told Lorlen to investigate the murders, but that proved nothing. He might simply want to know how close the Guard was to discovering his crimes…

  The carriage stopped. Lorlen glanced out of the window and blinked in surprise when he saw the front of the Guard House outside. He had been so lost in thought, he had barely noticed the journey. The carriage rocked a little as the driver climbed down to open the door. Lorlen stepped out and strode across the pavement to the Guard House entrance. Captain Barran greeted him in the narrow hall inside.

  “Good evening, Administrator. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  Though Barran was still young, frown lines already marked his forehead. Those lines seemed deeper tonight.

  “Good evening, Captain.”

  “I have some interesting news, and something to show you. Come to my office.”

  Lorlen followed the man down a corridor to a small room. The rest of the building was quiet, though a few guards were always present in the evenings. Barran ushered Lorlen to a seat, then closed the door.

  “Do you remember me saying that the Thieves might be looking for the killer?”

  “Yes.”

  Barran smiled crookedly. “I have had confirmation of sorts. It was inevitable that, if the Guard and the Thieves were both investigating the murders, we’d cross paths. It turns out they have had spies here for months.”

  “Spies? In the Guard?”

  “Yes. Even an honorable man would be tempted to accept coin in exchange for information, when that information might lead to this murderer being found—particularly when the Guard aren’t getting anywhere.” Barran shrugged. “I don’t know who all the spies are yet, but for now I’m happy to let them remain in place.”

  Lorlen chuckled. “If you want advice on negotiating with the Thieves I would send Lord Dannyl to you, but he is now a Guild Ambassador in Elyne.”

  The Captain’s eyebrows rose. “That would have been interesting advice, even if I never had the opportunity to use it. I do not intend to negotiate for a cooperative effort with the Thieves, however. The Houses would never approve of it. I have made an arrangement with one of the spies that he pass on whatever he can safely divulge to me. None of his information has been useful yet, but it might lead to something that is.” The creases between his brows deepened again. “Now, I have something to show you. You said you wanted to examine the next victim. One was discovered tonight, so I had the body brought here.”

  A chill ran down Lorlen’s spine, as if a cold draft had found its way under the collar of his robes. Barran gestured to the door.

  “It’s in the basement. Would you like to see it now.”

  “Yes.”

  He rose and followed Barran out into the corridor. The man remained silent as they descended a flight of stairs and continued down another corridor. The air grew distinctly colder. Stopping before a heavy wooden door, Barran unlocked and opened it.

  A strong medicinal smell gusted into the corridor, not quite hiding a less pleasant odor. The room beyond was sparsely furnished. Bare stone walls surrounded three plain benches. On one was the naked corpse of a man. On another was a set of clothing, neatly folded.

  Drawing closer, Lorlen studied the body reluctantly. As with all the recent killings, the victim had been stabbed through the heart, and a shallow cut ran down one side of the man’s neck. Despite this the man’s expression was unexpectedly peaceful.

  As Barran began to describe the place where the victim was found, Lorlen considered a conversation he’d overheard during one of the regular Guild social gatherings in the Night Room. Lord Darlen, a young Healer, had been describing a patient to three of his friends.

  “He was dead when he arrived,” Darlen had said, shaking his head, “but the wife wanted a performance so she would know we’d done all we could. So I checked.”

  “And found nothing?”

  Darlen had grimaced. “There’s always plenty of life energy to detect afterward, plenty of organisms that are active throughout decomposition, but his heart was still and his mind was silent. However,
I detected another heartbeat. Small and slow, but definitely a heartbeat.”

  “How can that be? He had two hearts?”

  “No.” Darlen’s voice was tortured. “He’d…he’d choked on a sevli.”

  At once the two Healers had burst into laughter. The third friend, an Alchemist, looked puzzled. “What was he doing with a sevli in his throat? They’re poisonous. Did someone murder him?”

  “No.” Darlen had sighed. “Their bite is poisonous, but their skin contains a substance that causes euphoria and visions. Some people like the effect. They suck on the reptiles.”

  “Suck on reptiles?” The young Alchemist had been incredulous. “So what did you do?”

  Darlen’s face had reddened. “The sevli was suffocating, so I fished it out. Seems the wife didn’t know about her husband’s habit. She became hysterical. Wouldn’t go home for fear her house was infested with them, and one crawled down her throat during the night.”

  This had sent the two older Healers into new bouts of laughter. Lorlen almost smiled at the memory. Healers needed a sense of humor, though it was often a strange one. The conversation had given him an idea, however. A dead body was still full of life energy, but a body of someone who had been killed by black magic ought to have been drained of all energy. To confirm whether the murderer was using black magic, Lorlen only needed to examine a victim with his Healing senses.

  As Barran finished his description of the scene, Lorlen stepped forward. Steeling himself, he placed a hand on the dead man’s arm, closed his eyes and sent his senses out into the body.

  He was startled at how easy it was, until he remembered that the natural barrier in living things that resisted magical interference dissipated at the moment of death. Sending his mind outward, he searched the body and found only the faintest traces of life energy. The process of decomposition had been interrupted—delayed—because of the lack of anything alive within the body to start it.

  Opening his eyes, Lorlen lifted his hand from the man’s arm. He stared at the shallow cut along the victim’s neck, sure now that this was the wound that had killed the man. The stab wound to the heart had probably been made later, to provide a more plausible cause of death. Looking down, he regarded the ring on his finger.