The High Lord (59 page)

He gasped and stared at his surroundings. The horse was stationary. Men and women beside the road hurried past, eyeing him nervously.

The blood gem!
Rothen thought.
Kariko must have put it on Lord Sarle.
He shuddered as he realized he’d felt Sarle’s death.
He’s going to show me the death of every magician he kills.

And next time it might be Dorrien or Dannyl.

Slapping his heels against the horse’s flanks, Rothen sent it galloping toward the city.

The city streets were still hazy with dust from the destruction of the wall. All was desolate and empty, but now and then Lorlen caught a glimpse of movement at the corner of a building or within a window. He and Osen had broken into one of the houses facing the Palace only a few minutes before. Now they were waiting for the Ichani to arrive, and Balkan’s order to attack.

He didn’t know how many magicians had survived or how much power they had left, but he would find out soon enough.

“Here. Sit down,” Osen murmured.

Lorlen glanced away from the window to find his assistant holding an antique chair. As Osen set the chair down, Lorlen managed a wry smile.

“Thank you. I doubt I’ll be using it for long.”

The young magician’s gaze shifted back to the street outside.

“No. They’re here.”

Looking through the window again, Lorlen saw six figures emerge from the dust. The Sachakans walked slowly past, toward the Palace. Kariko gazed up at the wall.

No, we ‘re not going to give you another chance to blast the stone out from under our feet,
Lorlen thought as he moved to the door.

—
Attack
!

At Balkan’s order, Lorlen flung open the door and stepped outside, Osen following. Other magicians were emerging to form a half-circle around the Sachakans. Lorlen added his strength to their shield, then struck at the Ichani.

The Sachakans spun around to face them. An image of one of the Ichani flashed into Lorlen’s mind. At once, the Guild attacked the man. The force of their strikes sent the Ichani staggering backward toward the Palace wall, until the Sachakan’s answering strikes forced the Guild to concentrate on shielding again.

The blasts that hit the Guild’s shield were terrible. Lorlen felt a rush of fear and anxiety as the half-circle of magicians flinched away. The Guild would weaken quickly if it endured this battering for long.

—
Retreat
.

At Balkan’s command, the Guild magicians backed away to the houses and alleys they had emerged from. The Ichani began to advance.

“We have to get at least
one
of them,” Osen gasped.

“You shield, I’ll strike,” Lorlen replied. “Let’s just get closer to the house.”

They edged toward the door. As they reached it, Lorlen stopped.

“Now!”

Abandoning his shield, Lorlen threw all his remaining power into a strike at the weakened Ichani. The Sachakan staggered, and other strikes came as Guild magicians saw the man’s weakness. The man gave a shout—a wordless cry of anger and fear—as his shield failed. The next strike threw him back against the Palace wall, which buckled around him. He sagged and crumpled to the ground.

Cheers came from all around, but they ended abruptly as the Ichani retaliated with powerful blasts. Osen made a strangled noise.

“Get… back… inside…” Osen said between gritted teeth.

Lorlen followed Osen’s gaze and felt his stomach turn with dread as he saw that the Ichani leader, Kariko, was walking toward them, sending strike after strike at Osen’s shield. Taking Osen’s arm, Lorlen guided him back into the house. Wood and brickworks shattered as Kariko’s strikes passed through the doorway. Then Osen’s shield wavered.

“No,” Osen gasped. “Not yet.”

Grabbing Osen’s shoulders, Lorlen pushed him aside. There was a boom, and the front wall of the house collapsed inward. Cracks ran across the ceiling. Lorlen felt something slam across his shoulders and he staggered to his knees.

Then he was being battered to the floor. The ceiling had fallen in, he guessed. A weight pushed down on him from above. It crushed the air from his lungs. Then, as stillness finally came, he grew aware of pain. He sent his mind inward, and went cold as he saw the broken bones and ruptured organs, and realized what it would mean.

There was only one thing to do.

Dust and dirt cascaded down around him as he edged his hand toward the ring in his pocket.

The passages under the Inner Circle were quiet. Here and there volunteers waited by exits. Akkarin and Sonea’s guide stopped as a messenger appeared and hurried toward them.

“Sachakan magician… stayed with… the slaves,” the man panted. ‘They’re in… slums. Northside.”

“So one of them has separated from the others already,” Sonea observed. “Should we find him first?”

“It will take time to get there,” Akkarin said. He looked up in the direction of the Palace. “I would like to see how the Guild fares, but… this lone Ichani may try to rejoin Kariko when he hears that the Guild has been defeated.” He nodded slowly and turned to the guide. “Yes. Take us to the slums.”

“I’ll let them know you’re coming,” the messenger said. He sprinted away.

The guide led them back down the passage. Several minutes later they were stopped by a middle-aged woman.

“Tunnel’s collapsed,” she reported. “Can’t go that way.”

“What is the fastest alternative route?”

“There’s another tunnel close to the Guild wall,” the Guide told them.

Akkarin looked up. “The gap in the wall is almost above us.”

“That would be faster,” the guide said, shrugging. “But you may be seen.”

“The Guild and Ichani are outside the Palace. To anyone else, we will look like two more ordinary Imardians escaping the city. Take us to an exit as close to the wall as possible.”

The guide nodded and led them away. After a few turns, he stopped at a ladder bolted to a wall and pointed up at a hatch.

“That’ll put you in a storeroom. There’s a door to an alley.” He gave them instructions on finding an entrance to the passages on the other side of the wall. “You’ll find guides there. They know the North Quarter better than me.”

Akkarin began to climb. Following him, Sonea found herself in a large room filled with foodstuffs. They pushed through a door into a narrow, dead-end alley. Akkarin glided forward and stopped at the entrance. Drawing alongside, Sonea saw that they were on the other side of the road that followed the Inner Wall. Her heart sank as she took in the ruins.

A gust of wind chased away the dust and she saw familiar colors among the rubble. As she looked closer, she realized they were the robes of magicians.

“The way is clear,” Akkarin murmured. As they moved out of the ally, she took a step toward the magicians, and felt Akkarin’s hand on her arm.

“They’re dead, Sonea,” he murmured gently. “The Guild would not have left them, otherwise.”

“I know,” she said. “I just want to know who they are.”

“Not yet. There will be time for that later.”

Akkarin drew her toward the gap in the wall. Rubble covered the ground, forcing them to slow as they neared the gap. They had just reached the base of the fallen gates when he stopped. Sonea looked at him, and felt a stab of alarm. His face had turned white, and he was staring at a point somewhere far below the ground.

“What is it?”

“Lorlen.” He turned abruptly to face the Inner Circle. “I have to find him. Go on ahead. Find this Ichani, but do nothing until I arrive.”

“But—”

“Go,” he said, turning to fix her with a cold stare. “I must do this alone.”

“Do what?”

“Just do as I say, Sonea.”

She could not help feeling a pang of hurt and anger at the impatience in his tone. This was not a good time for him to be mysterious and secretive with her. If they parted, how would they find each other again? Then she remembered the ring.

“Should I put on your blood ring now? You said we should wear them if we’re separated.”

A look of alarm crossed his face, then his expression softened. “Yes,” he said, “but I will not put yours on yet. I would not show you what I fear I may see in the next hour.”

She stared back at him. What would happen that he didn’t want her to see? Did it have something to do with Lorlen?

“I must go,” he said. She nodded, then watched him stride away.

After he had disappeared, she hurried into the North Quarter. Reaching the shadows of an alley, she took his ring out of her pocket and considered it. His warning from the previous night repeated in her mind.

“Sometimes, hearing and knowing exactly how another person regards you can be an unpleasant experience. It can end friendships, turn love to resentment
...”

But they had to be able to contact each other when apart. She pushed aside her doubts and slipped the ring onto her finger. No feeling of his presence appeared at the edge of her thoughts. She searched, but sensed nothing. Perhaps it wasn’t working.

No,
she thought,
the maker controls how much the wearer senses.
But the maker couldn’t stop sensing the wearer’s thoughts and experiences. That meant Akkarin was attuned to her every thought now.

Hello ?
she thought.

No answer came. She smiled and shrugged. Whatever he was doing, he wouldn’t want her distracting him—and the last thing she wanted to do was divert his attention when he most needed to concentrate.

She followed the guide’s directions and found the passage entrance easily. To her surprise, Faren was waiting inside. His second, the silent man who had watched her approach the Thief only a day before, stood beside him.

“The Guild have killed an Ichani,” Faren told her excitedly. “I thought I’d tell you myself.”

She smiled and felt her mood lighten a little. “Now
that’s
good news. What about the rest of the Ichani?”

“The woman is roaming about on her own. The one with the slaves was still in Northside at the last report. I expect the rest are heading for the Palace. Where’s your constant companion?”

She frowned. “Had to sort something out on his own. I’m to find the Ichani with the slaves, then sit.”

Faren grinned. “Then let’s go find him.”

After a short trip, they emerged in an alleyway. He led her to a high stack of boxes and stepped through a narrow gap. At the center was a cramped space. He crouched and rapped on something metallic.

Sonea smothered a groan as a hatch opened and an unpleasant smell wafted out.

“The sewers again.”

“I’m afraid so,” Faren replied. “They’re the most direct route out of the city.”

They descended into the murky darkness. A man with a wide face stood by the ladder, a lamp in one hand and another casting a pool of light around his feet. The Thief took the lamp and started along the ledge that ran down one side of the tunnel. They passed several hatch guards. At one point, Faren told her that they had just passed under the Outer Wall. When they climbed out of the sewer, she found herself in a familiar part of the slums. Faren quickly led her back through a grate in a wall to the Thieves’ Road.

A boy waiting inside informed them that the lone Ichani and the slaves were now only a few streets away.

“They’re headed for the main road,” the boy said.

“Tell everyone to be ready, then report back.”

The boy nodded, then hurried away.

After a short journey, they ascended into a house and climbed up a rickety staircase to the second floor. Faren led her to a window. Looking out, Sonea saw that the Sachakan slaves were standing in the street below. The Ichani was watching as two emerged from a bakery carrying trays of rolls. Several of the limek-like animals were fighting over a reber carcass. The carts were nowhere to be seen.

The boy from the Road entered the room. His eyes were bright with excitement.

“Everything’s ready,” he announced.

Sonea looked at Faren questioningly. “For what?”

“We set up a few traps for the Sachakans,” Faren explained. “It was Cery’s idea.”

She smiled. “Of course. What’s the plan?”

He moved to a side window. Below, a small walled courtyard backed onto a narrow alleyway. Two heavily built men held a long metal pole with a sharpened point to the wall. They glanced up at the window anxiously. Faren gave them the signal for “wait.”

“Another two are on the other side of the alley,” Faren told her. “There’s a hole in each wall, filled with false mortar. One of our fake magicians will lure the Ichani into the alley. When he reaches the right place, the men will skewer him.”

Sonea stared at him in disbelief.
“That’s
your plan? It will never work. The Ichani’s shield will protect him.”

“Maybe he’ll get lazy, and think the walls are enough protection.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but there’s only a slim chance he will. You’re taking a terrible risk.”

“Do you think our helpers don’t know that?” Faren said quietly. “They know there’s a good chance it won’t work. They’re just as determined to fight these Sachakans as you are.”

She sighed. Of course the dwells wanted to fight, even if it meant taking enormous risks. “Well, if it doesn’t work, I should be down there to—”

‘Too late,” Faren’s second said. “Look.”

Moving to the street-side window, Sonea saw that the Ichani and his slaves were approaching. A group of youths ran out in front of them from the other side of the street and began throwing stones. As the Ichani stepped toward them, Sonea heard a muffled shout and saw a, robed man walk out into the street from somewhere directly below her. He strode toward the Ichani, then stopped at the alley entrance. As the Ichani saw the fake magician, he smiled.

A strike flashed through the air. The fake magician dodged, narrowly avoiding it. He dashed into the alley.

Sonea hurried to the side window. The two men with the spear were poised and ready. Surely it wouldn’t work… but if it did… She felt a stab of alarm as she realized what would happen.

“Faren, I have to get down there.”

“There’s not enough time,” he told her. “Watch.”