Kyralia 01 - [Black Magician 03] - The High Lord Read online

  “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.

  How could those girls find him attractive? she wondered. He was harsh and aloof. Not bright-eyed and warm like Dorrien, or even slickly handsome like Lord Fergun.

  If the girls she had overheard hadn’t joined the Guild, they would have been married off for the sake of family alliances. Perhaps they still looked for power and influence in men out of habit or long tradition. She smiled grimly.

  If they knew the truth, she thought, they would not find him very attractive at all.

  At midnight, three hours’ carriage ride from the lights of Capia, the darkness was heavy and impenetrable. Only the small pools of light cast by the carriage lamps lit their passage down the road. Staring out into the blackness, Dannyl wondered what the carriage looked like to the occupants of unseen country houses; probably a moving cluster of lights, visible for miles around.

  The vehicle crested a rise and a point of brightness appeared beside the road ahead. As they drew rapidly closer, Dannyl saw that it was a lamp, the weak light illuminating the front of a building. The carriage began to slow.

  “We’re here,” Dannyl murmured.

  He heard Tayend shift in his seat to look out the window. The scholar yawned as the carriage drew closer to the building and swayed to a stop. The sign on the resthouse read: “River Rest: Beds, Meals & Drinks.”

  The driver muttered to himself as he clambered down to open the door. Dannyl passed the man a coin.

  “Wait for us inside,” he instructed. “We’ll be travelling on in an hour.”

  The man bowed, then rapped on the door for them. There was a short pause and a hatch in the middle of the door opened. Dannyl could hear wheezing beyond.

  “What can I do for you, my lord?” a muffled voice asked.

  “A drink,” Dannyl replied. “An hour’s rest.”

  There was no reply, but a metallic clang followed and the door swung inward. A small, wrinkled man bowed, then ushered them into a large room filled with tables and chairs. The heavy, sweet smell of bol hung in the air. Dannyl smiled wistfully as memories of his search for Sonea, so long ago now, returned. It had been a long time since he’d tasted bol.

  “Urrend’s my name. What you like to drink, then?” the man asked.

  Dannyl sighed. “Do you have any Porreni rumia?”

  The man chuckled. “You got good taste in wine. But of course you have, two high-born men like yourselves. Got a nice guestroom for rich people upstairs. Follow me.”

  The carriage driver had swaggered over to the bench where the bol was served. Dannyl wondered belatedly if he should have given the man the coin—he didn’t want to find himself in an upturned carriage halfway to Tayend’s sister’s home.

  They followed the resthouse owner up a narrow flight of stairs into a corridor. He stopped outside a door.

  “This is my best room. I hope you find it comfortabl
e.”

  He gave a push, and the door opened. Dannyl stepped inside slowly, taking note of the well-worn furniture, the second door, and the man sitting near it.

  “Good evening, Ambassador.” The man rose and bowed gracefully. “I am Royend of Marane.”

  “Honored to meet you,” Dannyl replied. “I believe you are already acquainted with Tayend of Tremmelin?”

  The man nodded. “Indeed I am. I have ordered some wine. Would you like some?”

  “A little, thank you,” Dannyl replied. “We will be travelling on in an hour.”

  Dannyl and Tayend settled into two of the chairs. The Dem strolled around the room, inspecting the furniture and grimacing with distaste, then paused to look out of the windows. He was taller than the average Elyne, and his hair was black. Dannyl had learned from Errend that Dem Marane’s grandmother had been Kyralian. He was middle-aged, married, father to two sons and very, very rich.

  “So what do you think of Elyne, Ambassador?”

  “I have grown to like it here,” Dannyl replied.

  “You did not, at first?”

  “It was not that I liked or disliked the country. It merely took some time to become used to the differences. Some of them were appealing, some were strange.”

  The Dem’s brows rose. “What did you find strange about us?”

  Dannyl chuckled. “Elynes speak their mind, though not often plainly.”

  A smile creased the man’s face, but it disappeared again at a knock on the door. As he started toward it Dannyl waved a hand and exerted his will. The door swung open. The Dem halted and, as he realized that Dannyl had used magic, a look of hunger and frustrated desire crossed his face. It vanished a moment later as the resthouse owner stepped into the room with a bottle and three wine glasses.

  No word was spoken as the bottle was unstoppered and the wine poured. When the resthouse owner left, the Dem picked up a glass and settled into a chair.

  “So what do you find appealing about Elyne, then?”

  “You have excellent wine.” Dannyl lifted his glass and smiled. “And your minds are open and accepting. Much is tolerated here that would shock and scandalize Kyralians.”

  Royend glanced at Tayend. “You must be aware of those shocking and scandalous goings on, or you would not list them among the differences you find appealing in us.”

  “Would I be a suitable Guild Ambassador if I was oblivious to such matters…as the Elyne court believe me to be?”

  The Dem smiled, but his eyes remained hard. “You have already proven yourself to be more well-informed than I believed you to be. It makes me wonder. Are you as open-minded and tolerant as we are? Or do you hold the same rigid opinions as other Kyralian magicians?”

  Dannyl looked at Tayend. “I am no typical Kyralian magician.” The scholar smiled crookedly and shook his head. “Though I have grown adept at pretending I am,” Dannyl continued. “I think, if my peers knew me better, they would not find me a suitable representative of the Guild at all.”

  “Ah,” Tayend interjected quietly, “but is it that you are unsuited to the Guild, or the Guild is unsuited to you?”

  Royend chuckled at the comment. “Yet they offered you a role as Ambassador.”

  Dannyl shrugged. “And it brought me here. I have often wished that the Guild had been formed in a less rigid culture. Differences in viewpoint stimulate debate, which improves understanding. Recently I have had more reason to wish this were so. Tayend has great potential. It is a great pity he cannot develop it simply because Kyralians do not tolerate men of his nature. There are some things I can teach him, without breaking Guild law, but not nearly enough to do his talents justice.”

  The Dem’s gaze sharpened. “Have you?”

  “No,” Dannyl shook his head, “but I’m not averse to bending the Guild rules a little for his benefit. I killed a man once to save Tayend’s life. Next time I might not be around to help him. I would like to teach him to Heal, but then a line would have been crossed, and I might place him in even greater danger.”

  “From the Guild?”

  “Yes.”

  The Dem smiled. “Only if they found out. It is a risk, but is it worth taking?”

  Dannyl frowned. “I would not take a risk like that without first planning for the worst. If it should ever be discovered that Tayend has learned magic, he must be able to evade the Guild. He has nobody to turn to but his family and his friends in the library—and I fear they could do little.”

  “What about you?”

  “There is nothing that frightens the Guild more than a fully trained magician turned rogue. If I disappeared, they would be much more determined to find us both. I would stay in Capia, and do what I could to help Tayend avoid capture.”

  “It sounds as if you need others to protect him. People who know how to hide a fugitive.” Dannyl nodded.

  “And what would you be prepared to give in return?”

  Narrowing his eyes, Dannyl regarded the man. “Nothing that could be used to harm others. Not even the Guild. I know Tayend. I would be sure of the intentions of others before I trusted them as I trust him.”

  The Dem nodded slowly. “Of course.”

  “So,” Dannyl continued, “what do you think Tayend’s protection would cost?”

  Dem Marane picked up the bottle and refilled his glass. “I can’t say for sure. It is an interesting question. I would have to ask some colleagues of mine.”

  “Of course,” Dannyl said smoothly. He stood and looked down at the man. “I look forward to hearing their opinions. I’m afraid we must depart now. Tayend’s family is expecting us.”

  The Dem stood up and bowed. “I have enjoyed our conversation, Ambassador Dannyl, Tayend of Tremmelin. I hope we have many more opportunities to further our acquaintance in the future.”

  Dannyl inclined his head politely. He paused and passed a hand over the Dem’s glass, warming the wine with a little magical heat. Smiling at the Dem’s quick intake of breath, he turned away and walked to the door, Tayend following.

  As they stepped into the corridor Dannyl looked back. The Dem was holding his glass cupped in both hands, his expression thoughtful.

  6

  The Spy

  As always the door to the High Lord’s Residence opened at the slightest touch. Stepping inside, Sonea was relieved and surprised to find only Takan waiting for her. He bowed.

  “The High Lord wishes to speak to you, my lady.”

  Anxiety replaced relief. Was he going to give her another book to read? Would this be the book she dreaded: the one containing information about black magic?

  Sonea took a deep breath. “Then you’d better take me to him.”

  “This way,” he said. He turned and started toward the right-hand stairway.

  Sonea felt her heart skip a beat. That stairway led down to the underground room where Akkarin performed his secret, forbidden magic. It also, like the left-hand stairway, led up to the top floor, where the library and banquet room lay.

  She followed Takan to the door. The stairwell was dark, and she could not see which way he had chosen until she created a globe light.

  He was descending to the underground room.

  She stopped, her heart racing, and watched him continue down. At the door to the room below, he halted and looked up at her.

  “He will not harm you, my lady,” he assured her. Opening the door, he gestured for her to enter.

  She stared at him. Of all places in the Guild—in the whole city—this was the one she most feared. She glanced back at the guestroom. I could run. It’s not far to the guestroom door…

  “Come here, Sonea.”

  The voice was Akkarin’s. It was full of command, and a warning. She thought of Rothen, her aunt Jonna and uncle Ranel and her cousins; their safety depended on her cooperation. She forced herself to move.

  Takan stepped aside as she reached the doorway. The underground room looked much as it had the previous times she had seen inside it. Two old, heavy t
ables had been placed against the left-hand wall. A lantern and a dark bundle of cloth lay on the closest table. Bookcases and cupboards stood against the other walls. Some showed signs of repair, reminding her of the damage the “assassin” had done. In one corner was an old battered chest. Was this the chest that had contained the books on black magic?

  “Good evening, Sonea.”

  Akkarin was leaning back against a table, his arms crossed. She bowed. “High L—”

  She blinked in surprise as she realized he was wearing simple, roughly woven clothing. His trousers and coat were shabby, even threadbare in places.

  “I have something to show you,” he told her. “In the city.”

  She took a step back, instantly wary. “What?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. The only way for you to know the truth is for you to see it for yourself.”

  She read a challenge in his eyes. Looking at his plain clothes, she recalled him wearing similar ones, covered in blood.

  “I’m not sure I want to see your truth.”

  His mouth curled up at one corner. “You’ve wondered why I do what I do since you first learned of it. Though I will not show you the how, I can show you the why. Someone should know, other than Takan and myself.”

  “Why me?”

  “That will become clear, in time.” He reached behind and picked up the dark bundle from the table. “Put this on.”

  I should refuse to go, she thought. But will he let me? She stared at the bundle in his hands. And if I go, I might learn something that can be used against him later.

  And what if he shows me something forbidden? Something that will get me thrown out of the Guild?

  If it comes to that, I’ll tell them the truth. I took the risk in the hope of saving myself, and the Guild.

  She forced herself to approach him and take the bundle. As he let go, it unrolled and she found herself holding a long, black cloak. Taking hold of the clasp, she swung the garment around her shoulders and fastened it.