The High Lord (22 page)

“You do realize the King might kill him rather than let the Guild discover whatever it is that he knows.”

Barene had been here when the meal had been served. Had he given Farand the poison? Best not to call him, just in case. The other magician, Lord Hemend, was close to the Elyne King. Dannyl didn’t trust him either.

There was only one other choice. Dannyl closed his eyes.

—
Vinara
!

—
Dannyl
?

—I
need your help. Someone has poisoned the rogue.

The other two magicians would hear this call, but Dannyl couldn’t help that. He put a magical binding on the door. Though it would not keep out a magician for long, it would prevent surprise intrusions or interruptions from non-magicians.

The sense of Lady Vinara’s personality grew stronger, full of concern and urgency.

—
Describe the symptoms.

Dannyl showed her an image of Farand, his skin now very white and his breathing labored. Then he sent his mind back into the man’s body and conveyed his impressions to her.

—
You must purge the poison, then attend to the damage.

Following her instructions, Dannyl began a painfully complicated process. First he made Farand throw up. Then he took one of the knives used for the meal, cleaned and sharpened it with magic, and cut open a vein in the man’s arm. Vinara explained how to keep the man’s failing organs working, fight the effects of the poison, and encourage the body to make more blood as the contaminated fluid slowly drained away.

It took a great toll on Farand’s body. Healing magic could not replace the nutrients needed to make blood and tissue. Reserves of fat and some muscle tissue were depleted. When he woke—if he woke—Farand would be barely strong enough to breathe.

When Dannyl had done all he could, he opened his eyes and, as he became aware of the room again, realized that someone was hammering on the door.

—
Do you know who did this?
Vinara asked.

—
No. But I have an idea why. I could investigate…

—
Let the others investigate. You must stay and guard the patient.

—I
don’t trust them.
There. It had been said.

—
Nevertheless, Farand is your responsibility. You can’t protect him and look for the poisoner at the same time. Be vigilant, Dannyl.

She was right, of course. Rising from the bed, Dannyl straightened his shoulders and readied himself to face whoever was knocking at the door.

As Sonea entered the underground room, she noted the objects on the table. A dish contained some pieces of broken glass. Beside it was a broken silver fork, a bowl and a cloth. Next to these lay the wooden box that contained Akkarin’s knife.

For two weeks she had been practicing black magic. She had gained in skill and could now take a lot of power quickly, or a little power through the tiniest pinprick. She had drawn energy from small animals, plants and even water. The objects on the table were different tonight, and she paused to wonder what Akkarin intended to teach her next.

“Good evening, Sonea.”

She looked up. Akkarin was leaning over the chest. It was open, revealing several old books. He was examining one of them. She bowed.

“Good evening, High Lord.”

He closed the book, then walked across the room and set it beside the other objects on the table.

“Did you finish the records of the Sachakan war?”

“Nearly. It’s hard to believe the Guild managed to lose so much of its history.”

“They didn’t lose it,” he corrected. “They purged it. Those history books not destroyed were rewritten so there was no mention of higher magic.”

Sonea shook her head. When she considered how much effort the Guild had once spent getting rid of all mention of black magic, she understood why Akkarin did not want to risk telling the present Guild the truth about his past. Yet still she could not imagine Lorlen and the Higher Magicians reacting so blindly to black magic if they knew the reason Akkarin had learned it, or if they understood the threat of the Ichani.

It’s me they would condemn,
she thought suddenly,
because I
chose
to learn it.

‘Tonight I am going to show you how to make blood gems,” Akkarin told her.

Blood gems? Her heart skipped as she realized what he was referring to. She would be making a gem like the one in the tooth of the spy, and in Lorlen’s ring.

“A blood gem allows a magician to see and hear whatever the wearer sees and hears—and thinks,” Akkarin told her. “If the wearer cannot see, neither can the maker. The gem also focuses mind communication on its maker, so that no other can hear conversations between maker and wearer.

“It has limitations, however,” he warned. “The maker is constantly connected to the gem. A part of the maker’s mind is always receiving images and thoughts from the wearer, and this can be quite a distraction. After a while you learn to block it out.

“Once made, the connection to the maker cannot be broken unless the gem is destroyed. So if a gem is lost by its wearer, and another finds and wears it, the maker will have to put up with the distraction of an unwanted mind connected to his own.” He smiled faintly. “Takan told me a story once of an Ichani who had staked a slave out to be eaten alive by wild limek, and put a gem on the man so he could watch. One of the animals ate the gem, and the Ichani spent several days driven to distraction by its thoughts.”

His smile faded then, and his gaze became distant. “But the Ichani are skilled at turning magic to cruel uses. Dakova once made a gem out of a man’s blood, then made the man watch as his brother was tortured.” He grimaced. “Fortunately, glass blood gems are easy to destroy. The brother managed to smash the gem.”

He rubbed his forehead and frowned. “Because this connection to another mind can be distracting, it is not a good idea to make too many blood gems. I have three, at the moment. Do you know who carries them?”

Sonea nodded. “Lorlen.”

“Yes.”

“And… Takan?” She frowned. “He doesn’t wear a ring, though.”

“No, he doesn’t. Takan’s gem is hidden.”

“Who has the third?”

“A friend in a useful place.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think I could ever guess. Why Lorlen?”

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose at the question. “I needed to keep an eye on him. Rothen would never have done anything to cause you harm. Lorlen, however, would sacrifice you if it meant saving the Guild.”

Sacrifice me? But of course he would.
She shivered.
I probably would too, if I were in his position.
Knowing this, she wished even more that Akkarin could tell Lorlen the truth.

“He has proven very useful, however,” Akkarin added. “He is in contact with the Captain in the Guard who is investigating the murders. I have been able to estimate how strong each of the spies is based on the number of bodies that are found.”

“Does he know what the gem is?”

“He knows what it does.”

Poor Lorlen,
she thought.
He believes his friend has turned to evil magic, and knows that Akkarin can read his every thought.
She frowned.
But how hard is it for Akkarin to be always conscious of how his friend fears and disapproves of him?

Akkarin turned to face the table. “Come here.”

As she moved to the other side of the table, Akkarin flipped open the lid of the box. He lifted out the knife and handed it to her.

“When I first saw Dakova make a blood gem, I thought there must be something magical in blood. It wasn’t until years later that I discovered this wasn’t true. The blood merely imprints the maker’s identity on the glass.”

“You learned to make them from the books?”

“No. A great part of the magic I learned by studying an ancient example I had come across during the first year of my research. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but later I borrowed it for a while to study. Though its maker was long dead, and it no longer worked, enough magic was still imprinted in the glass for me to gain a sense of how it functioned.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No, I returned it to its owner. Unfortunately, he died soon after, and I don’t know what happened to his collection of ancient jewelry.”

She nodded and looked down at the items on the table.

“Any living part of yourself can be used,” Akkarin told her. “Hair works, but not well because most of it is dead. There is a Sachakan folk tale in which tears were used, but I suspect that is just a romantic fancy. You could cut out a piece of your flesh, but that wouldn’t be pleasant or convenient. Blood is the easiest.” He tapped the bowl. “You’ll only need a few drops.”

Sonea looked at the bowl and then the blade. Akkarin watched her silently. She considered her left arm. Where should she cut? Turning over her hand she noticed an old, faint scar on her palm from when she had cut herself on a drainpipe as a child. She brought the tip of the knife over to touch her palm. To her surprise, she felt no pain as the blade sliced open her skin.

Then blood welled from the cut and a sharp ache began to nag at her senses. She let the blood drip into the bowl.

“Heal yourself,” Akkarin instructed. “Always heal yourself without delay. Even half-healed cuts are a break in your barrier.”

She concentrated on the wound. The blood stopped flowing, then the edges of the cut slowly sealed together. Akkarin handed her the cloth, and she wiped the blood off her hand.

Akkarin handed her a piece of glass. “Hold this in the air and melt it. It will keep its shape easier if you set it spinning.”

Sonea focused her will on the fragment of glass and lifted it up. She sent heat around it and willed it to spin. It began to glow around the edges, then slowly shrank into a globule.

“At last!” Akkarin hissed.

Startled, she lost her hold on the globule. It dropped to the table, where it made a small scorch mark.

“Oops.”

Akkarin hadn’t noticed, however. His eyes were focused far beyond the room. As she watched, his gaze sharpened. He smiled grimly, then picked up the knife.

“Takan has just received a message. The Thieves have found the spy.”

Sonea’s heart skipped.

“Your lesson will have to wait until we return.” Moving to a cupboard, Akkarin took out the leather belt with the knife sheath she had seen him wearing the night she had spied upon him, so long ago. He wiped the blade of his knife on the cloth, and slipped it into the sheath. Sonea blinked in surprise as he then untied the sash of his robes and removed the outer garment. Beneath it he wore a black vest.

He strapped the belt about his waist, then moved to another cupboard and took out a long, worn-looking coat for himself, a cloak for Sonea, and a lantern.

“Keep your robes well covered,” he said as she donned the cloak. It had many small buttons down the front, and two side openings for her hands.

He paused to regard her, and frowned.

“I would not take you with me if I could avoid it, but if I am to prepare you to face these spies, I must show you how it may be done. You must do
exactly
as I instruct.”

She nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”

Akkarin moved to the wall and the hidden door to the passages opened. Sonea followed him through. The lantern spluttered alight.

“We must not let this woman see you,” he told her as he started down the passage. ‘Tavaka’s master probably saw you through his gem before I destroyed it. If any of the Ichani see you with me again, they will guess I am training you. They will try to kill you while you are too weak and unskilled to defend yourself.”

He fell silent as they reached the first barrier, and did not speak again until they had navigated the maze of passages and reached the blocked tunnel. Akkarin gestured at the rubble.

“Have a good look with your mind, then shift the stairs into place.”

Extending her senses, Sonea examined the arrangement of rocks. At first it appeared to be a random jumble, then she began to see a pattern in them. It was like a large version of the wooden puzzles sold in the markets. Push on one particular spot, and the puzzle pieces slid against each other to form a new shape—or fell apart. She drew a little magic and began shifting the rocks. The passage filled with the sound of stone sliding against stone as the stairs moved into place.

“Well done,” Akkarin murmured. He strode forward, taking the stairs two at a time. Sonea followed him up. At the top, she turned and willed the rock slabs back into their former positions.

The light of the lantern illuminated the familiar brick walls of the Thieves’ Road. Akkarin started forward. After several hundred paces they reached the place where the guide had met them before. A smaller shadow stepped out to greet them.

The boy was about twelve, Sonea guessed. His eyes were hard and wary, however—the eye’s of a much older person. He stared at them both, then looked down at Akkarin’s boots and nodded. Without a word, he indicated that they should follow him and started down the passages.

Though their path wound about from time to time, it took them in one general direction. Their guide finally stopped beside a ladder and pointed up to a trapdoor. Akkarin shuttered the lamp and the passage filled with darkness. Sonea heard him set a boot on the rungs of the ladder and begin to climb. Faint light filled the passage as he lifted the trapdoor cautiously and peered out. He beckoned to her and, as she started up the ladder, opened the trapdoor fully and climbed out.

Following, Sonea found herself in an alley. The houses around her were roughly made from all kinds of scavenged materials. Some looked as if they might fall down at any moment. The smell of garbage and sewage was powerful. She felt a long-forgotten sympathy and wariness. This was the outer edge of the slums, where the poorest dwells scratched an existence. It was a sad and dangerous place.

A heavily built man stepped out of a nearby doorway and strolled toward them. Sonea let out a small sigh of relief as she recognized him as the man who had been guarding the previous spy. He stared at her, then turned to Akkarin.