The High Lord (55 page)

The occupants of the chairs were staring at her and Akkarin, some with expressions of anger and outrage, others with puzzlement. One face was familiar. Sonea smiled as she met Ravi’s eyes.

“Who are these people?” Sevli demanded.

“Cery’s friends,” Faren said. He moved to one of the empty chairs and sat down. “He insisted on bringing them.”

“This is Sonea,” Ravi answered for the other Thieves’ benefit. His eyes shifted to Akkarin. “Which means you must be the former High Lord.”

Outrage and puzzlement changed to shocked surprise.

“It is an honor to meet you all at last,” Akkarin replied. “Especially you, Lord Senfel.”

Sonea looked up at the man standing behind Ravi’s chair. The old magician had shaved off his beard, which was probably why she hadn’t recognized him at first glance. The last time she had seen him, when Faren had tried to blackmail him into teaching her magic, he had worn a long white beard. She had been drugged, in a vain atempt to control her magic, and had thought she’d dreamed the encounter until Cery had spoken at the meeting later. He stared at Akkarin, his face pale.

“So,” he said, “you’ve finally found me.”

“Finally?” Akkarin’s shoulders lifted. “I’ve known about you for a
very
long time, Senfel.”

The old man blinked in surprise. “You
knew?”

“Of course,” Akkarin replied. “Your faked death was not very convincing. I’m still not sure why you left us.”

“I found your rules… stifling. Why didn’t you do anything?”

Akkarin smiled. “Now, how would that have made my predecessor look? He didn’t even notice you were missing. You were not doing any harm here, so I decided to let you stay.”

The old magician laughed, a short, unpleasant bark. “You do make a habit of breaking the rules, Akkarin of Delvon.”

“And I was waiting until I had need of you,” Akkarin added.

Senfel sobered. “The Guild have been calling you,” he said. “It would seem
they
have need of
you.
Why don’t you answer?”

Akkarin looked around the circle of Thieves. “Because the Guild must not know we are here.”

The Thieves’ eyes sharpened with interest.

“Why is that?” Sevli asked.

Cery stepped forward. “Akkarin’s story isn’t quick. Can we get some more chairs?”

The man who had met them at the door left the room, then returned with two simple wooden chairs. When all were seated, Akkarin glanced around the circle of faces, and drew in a deep breath.

“First let me tell you how I encountered the Sachakans,” he began.

As he briefly described his encounter with Dakova, Sonea watched the Thieves’ faces. At first they listened calmly, but when he described the Ichani their expressions changed to alarm and concern. He told them of the spies, and how he had recruited Cery to hunt for them; at that they looked at Sonea’s old friend with surprise and interest. Then, as he told of their exile in Sachaka, Sevli exclaimed in disgust.

“The Guild are fools,” he said. “They should have kept you here until they knew if the Ichani were real.”

“It may be fortunate that they did not,” Akkarin said. “The Ichani do not know I am here, and that gives us an advantage. While I am stronger than any Guild magician, I am not strong enough to defeat eight Ichani. Sonea and I might be able to defeat one, if he is separated from the others. If the Ichani know we are here, however, they will band together and hunt us down.”

He looked around the circle. “That is why I have not answered the Guild’s calls. If the Guild knows I am here, the Ichani will read it from the mind of the first magician they capture.”

“But you have allowed
us
to know this,” Sevli observed.

“Yes. It is a risk, but not a great one. I expect the people in this room will keep themselves well out of the Sachakans’ way. Any other rumors of our presence that reach the general population may be dismissed as wishful thinking.”

“So what do you want from us?” Ravi asked.

“They want us to help them separate a Sachakan from the others,” Zill answered.

“Yes,” Akkarin confirmed. “And to give us access and guides to the Thieves’ Road throughout the entire city.”

“It doesn’t cover all parts of the Inner Circle,” Sevli warned.

“But the buildings are mostly empty,” Zill said. “They’re locked, but we can fix that.”

Sonea frowned. “Why are the buildings empty?”

The woman looked at Sonea. “The King told the Houses to leave Imardin. We were wondering why, until Senfel told us of the defeat at the Fort and Calia just now.”

Akkarin nodded. “The Guild will have realized that everybody in Imardin is a potential source of magic for the Ichani. They will have advised the King to empty the city.”

“But he has only told the Houses to leave, hasn’t he?” Sonea said. As the Thieves nodded, she felt a flare of anger. “What about the rest of the people?”

“With the Houses leaving, everyone else has figured out that something’s up,” Cery told her. “From what I hear, thousands of people have been packing up and heading out into the country.”

“What about the dwells?” she asked.

‘They’ll dig in,” Cery assured her.

“In the slums, outside the city walls, where the Ichani will arrive first.” She shook her head. “If the Ichani decide to stop and strengthen themselves, the dwells won’t have a chance.” She felt her anger rising. “I can believe the King would be this stupid, but not the Guild. There has to be hundreds of potential magicians in the slums.
They
are the ones who should be evacuated first.”

“Potential magicians?” Sevli frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Guild only look for magical potential among the children of the Houses,” Akkarin said, “but that does not mean that people among the other classes don’t have magical potential. Sonea is the proof of that. She was only allowed to join the Guild because her powers were so strong that they developed without assistance. There are probably hundreds of potential magicians in the lower classes.”

“And they’re more attractive victims to the Ichani than magicians,” Sonea added. “Magicians use up their powers fighting back, so by the time they’re defeated there’s not much power to take.”

The Thieves exchanged glances. “We thought we’d be ignored by the invaders,” Ravi muttered. “Now it seems we are going to be harvested like some kind of magic crop.”

“Unless…” Sonea caught her breath and looked at Akkarin. “Unless someone takes their power before the Ichani do.”

His eyes widened as he realized what she was suggesting, but then he frowned. “Would they agree to it? I will not take the strength of any Kyralian by force.”

“I think most would, if they understood why we wanted it.”

Akkarin shook his head. “But it would be impossible to organize. We’d have to test thousands of people, and explain what we’re doing to all of them. We may have only a day to prepare.”

“Are you considering what I think you’re considering?” Senfel asked.

“Which is what?” Sevli looked confused. “If you understand this, Senfel, explain it to me.”

“If we can find the slum dwellers who have magical potential, Akkarin and Sonea can take their power,” Senfel said.

“We not only rob the Ichani of their harvest, but
our
magicians grow stronger,” Zill said, sitting straight in her seat.

Our magicians?
Sonea suppressed a smile.
Looks like the Thieves have accepted us.

“But will the dwells agree to it?” Akkarin asked. “They have no great liking for magicians.”

“They will if
we
ask them to,” Ravi said. “No matter what the dwells think of us, they do acknowledge that we fought for them during and after the first Purge. If we call for helpers in the fight against the invaders, we’ll have thousands of volunteers by the end of the day. We can tell them we have a few magicians of our own. If they think you’re not from the Guild, they’ll be even more likely to agree to help you.”

“I see one problem,” Sevli said. “If we do this, thousands of dwells are going to see you. Even if they don’t know who you are, they’ll have seen your face. If the Ichani read their minds…”

“I can help there,” Senfel said. “I will test all of the volunteers. Only those that have potential will see Sonea and Akkarin. That will mean only a hundred or so will know they’re here.”

Cery smiled. “See, Senfel. You did come in useful.”

The old magician gave Cery a withering look, then regarded Akkarin again. “If we encourage these volunteers to stay in one place—a safehouse with comfortable beds and a generous supply of food—they will recover their strength and you will be able to increase your power again tomorrow.”

Akkarin stared at the magician, then nodded. “Thank you, Senfel.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Senfel replied. “They may take one look at me and run.”

Sevli chuckled. “You might have to try being charming for once, Senfel.” He ignored the old man’s glare, and looked around the circle. “Now that we know the nature of these Ichani, I can see the suggestions I was going to make for fighting them will not work. We should keep out of the way as much as possible.”

“Yes,” Faren agreed. “And warn the dwells to keep out of sight, too.”

“Better still,” Ravi said, “bring the dwells into the passages. It will be a tight squeeze, and the air might get a bit thin, but,” he glanced up at Senfel, “magicians’ battles don’t take long, from what I’m told.”

“So how are we going to lure an Ichani away from the main group?” Zill asked.

“I hear Limek has a good tailor,” Cery said, giving the bushy-haired Thief a meaningful look.

“Fancy yourself in robes?” the man said in a deep voice.

“Oh, they’d never believe a magician could be so short,” Faren scoffed.

“Hai!” Cery protested. He pointed at Sonea. “There are short magicians.”

Faren nodded. “I suppose you might be convincing in novices’ robes.”

Sonea felt something brush against her arm, and looked down to find Akkarin’s fingers lightly touching her skin.

—
These people are braver than I thought,
he sent.
They appear to understand how dangerous and powerful the Ichani are, yet they are still willing to fight them.

Sonea smiled and sent him a fleeting image of dwells throwing stones at magicians during the Purge, then of the sewer system that had enabled Cery to bring them into the city.

—
Why wouldn’t they? They’ve been fighting and outwitting magicians for years.

Something was tickling Rothen’s nostril. He snorted, then opened his eyes.

He was lying face down on dried grass. As he rolled over, he felt a twinge of pain in his shoulder. Memories of the previous night rushed back: the carts arriving, the young Warrior cornered by an Ichani, Lord Yikmo at the window of the house, blasting the carts, Kariko, the blood gem, hurrying away…

Looking around, he saw that he was in a barn. From the angle of the beams of light streaming between the slats of wood, it was close to midday.

As he pushed himself into a sitting position, he felt a stronger twinge of pain. He slipped a hand under his robes and touched his shoulder. It sat a little higher than it should. Closing his eyes, he sent his mind inward and regarded his shoulder with dismay. As he had slept, his body had used his returning powers to begin Healing the broken bones in his arm and shoulder. But something wasn’t quite right.

He sighed. Unconscious self-Healing was a benefit of being a magician, but it wasn’t a reliable reflex. The bones had set themselves at twisted, crooked angles. An experienced Healer could break and set them again, but for now he would have to put up with discomfort and restricted movement.

Standing up brought a short spell of dizziness, and hunger. He walked to the door of the barn and peered out. Houses surrounded the barn, but all was silent. The building closest to him looked familiar. He felt a chill as he realized it was the house where he had faced Kariko.

He felt a strong reluctance to leave the protection of the barn. The Sachakans might still be in the village, looking for replacement vehicles. He should wait until nightfall, then slip away under the cover of darkness.

Then he saw the magician lying by the back door of the house. There had been no body there the night before. It could only be one magician: Lord Yikmo.

Rothen stepped into the sunlight and hurried to the red-robed figure. He grasped Yikmo’s shoulders and rolled him over. The magician’s eyes stared sightlessly at the sky.

Streaks of blood had dried on the Warrior’s chin. His robes were torn and covered in dust. Thinking back, Rothen recalled the moment when the front of the house had exploded inward. He had assumed that Yikmo had escaped. Instead, it seemed he had been fatally injured by the blast.

Rothen shook his head. Yikmo had been respected and admired in the Guild. Though he hadn’t been strong magically, his sharp mind and ability to teach novices with learning difficulties had gained him the high regard of both Balkan and Akkarin.

Which was why Akkarin chose him as Sonea’s teacher,
Rothen thought.
She liked Yikmo, I think. She’ll be upset when she hears of his death.

As would the rest of the Guild. He considered communicating the news, but something made him hesitate. The Guild must know, from the silence following the battle, that all had perished. The Sachakans could not be sure.
Best not tell them anything they don’t already know,
he thought.

Getting to his feet, Rothen turned to the house. He entered cautiously and approached the front room. A gaping hole opened onto the road. The shattered remains of two carts formed two piles in the center of the thoroughfare.
They’ve gone.

Three bodies lay among the mess. Rothen looked closely at the houses on either side, then cautiously stepped out. “Magician!” Rothen spun around, then relaxed as a teenage boy ran toward him. He remembered the boy from the evacuation of the village. It had taken some firm words from Yikmo to dissuade the youngster from hanging about to watch the fight.

“What are you doing here?” Rothen asked.