The High Lord (61 page)

He met her eyes. “I just… if I live through all this, I’ll try and make it up to you.” He shrugged. “If I live through this, it’s the least I can do.”

She nodded. Now it was even harder to think of something to say to him. She was saved from having to when a tall figure strode into view from between the stacks of boxes.

“Akkarin!” She leapt out of her seat and hurried to meet him. He smiled grimly as he saw her.

“Sonea.”

“Did you see what the dwells did?”

“Yes, I watched through the ring, and saw the consequences.”

She frowned. His expression was tight, as if he was hiding the pain of an injury.

“What’s wrong,” she whispered. “What happened?”

His eyes flickered over her shoulder toward Regin. Taking her arm, he drew her down the aisle for several paces, then looked down and sighed heavily.

“Lorlen is dead.”

Lorlen? Dead?
She stared at him in horror, then as she read pain in his face she felt a wave of sympathy for him. Lorlen had been Akkarin’s closest friend, yet Akkarin had been forced to lie to him, to blackmail him, and control him through the ring. The last few years had been terrible tor them both. The weight that had dragged at her since hearing that Rothen had died felt suddenly unbearably heavy.

She wound her arms around Akkarin’s waist and rested her forehead on his chest. He drew her closer and held her tightly. After a moment he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I saw Dannyl and Osen,” he told her quietly. “They were with Lorlen, so they know of our presence now. I warned them that they must not tell the others and I… I took Lorlen’s ring.”

“What about the rest of the Guild?”

“I doubt any are left who are not exhausted or near it,” he said. “The Thieves have taken some into the passages. Others have retreated to the Guild grounds.”

“How many are dead?”

“I don’t know. Twenty. Fifty. Maybe more.”

So many. “What do we do now?”

Akkarin held her for a little longer, then pushed her to arm’s length.

“Kariko is in the Palace with four of the others. Avala still wanders the streets alone. We must find her before she joins them again.”

Sonea nodded. “I wish I had known what the Thieves had planned to do to the Ichani in the slums. If either of us had been close by, we could have had all his power.”

“Yes, but there is one less Ichani for us to deal with now.” He let her go, then moved back into the aisle. “Your friend Cery does have some interesting ideas. I think, if Kyralia survives, the Guild will find the Purge has become a dangerous exercise.”

Sonea smiled. “I thought I had convinced them of that.”

“Not quite in the way Cery’s friends might.”

As they reached the end of the room, Sonea saw that Cery had returned with the promised food. Takan was eating hungrily, no longer looking as worried as he had been. Regin was looking from her to Akkarin, his eyes glittering with interest.

“Regin of Winar,” Akkarin said. Sonea recognized the hint of dislike in his voice. “I hear you were rescued by the Thieves.”

Regin rose and bowed. “They saved my life, my lord. I hope to repay that favor.”

Akkarin nodded and glanced at Takan. “I think you may have your chance very soon.”

“Where are we going?”

Dannyl glanced at Farand. The young magician hadn’t spoken for the last half hour. He had trustingly followed Dannyl without question, until now.

“I have to meet a friend,” Dannyl replied.

“But your former High Lord said we should leave the city.”

“Yes.” Dannyl nodded. “He said that the Ichani are in the Palace. I have to meet Tayend now, while I still can. He should be able to give us some ordinary clothes, too.”

“Tayend? He’s in Imardin?”

“Yes.” Dannyl checked the next street and found it empty. Farand followed him around the corner. The mansion Tayend was staying in was only a dozen houses ahead. Dannyl felt his pulse quicken in anticipation.

“But he didn’t come to the Hearing,” Farand said.

“No, he only arrived a few days ago.”

“That was badly timed.”

Dannyl chuckled. “It certainly was.”

“Why didn’t he leave again?”

They were halfway to the house now. Dannyl searched for an answer.
Because Tayend has some crazy idea he can help me survive the battle. Because he doesn’t want me to face the destruction of the Guild alone. Because he cares about me more than his own safety.

Dannyl sighed. “Because he didn’t understand how dangerous these Ichani are,” he told Farand. “And I couldn’t convince him that non-magicians would be in as much danger as magicians. Are all Elynes so obstinate?”

Farand gave a low laugh. “From what I’m told, it’s a national trait.”

They reached the door of the house. Dannyl drew out a key and reached out for the lock… and froze.

The door was open.

He stood staring at the gap between the door and the frame, his heart suddenly pounding, Farand touched his shoulder.

“Ambassador?”

“It’s open. Tayend wouldn’t leave it open. Somebody’s been here.”

“We should go, then.”

“No!” Dannyl took a few deep, slow breaths and turned to look at Farand. “I have to know if he’s all right. You can come with me, or you can wait somewhere close until I come out, or you can leave me and make your way out of the city.”

Farand looked up at the mansion. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I’ll come with you.”

Dannyl pushed open the door. The guestroom inside was empty. He slowly and cautiously crept through the house, a room at a time, but found no sign of the scholar other than a travel chest in one bedroom, and several used wine glasses.

“Perhaps he went out to get some food,” Farand suggested. “If we wait, he might come back.”

Dannyl shook his head. “He wouldn’t go out unless he was forced to. Not today.” He entered the kitchen, where a half-empty wine glass and a bottle sat on a large table. “Is there anywhere I haven’t checked?”

Farand pointed to a door. “The cellar?”

The door opened onto a staircase, which descended to a large storeroom full of bottles and some food. The room was empty. Dannyl returned to the kitchen. Farand gestured to the half-empty glass of wine.

“He left in a hurry,” he murmured. “From this room. So, if I was standing here and something caused me to flee the house, where would I go?” He looked at Dannyl. ‘The servant’s entrance is the closest.”

Dannyl nodded. “Then we go that way, too.”

The Guild grounds were so empty and quiet, it might have been mid-year break. The silence was too complete, however. Even during those few weeks of the year when classes were closed and most magicians took the opportunity to visit family, it was never this quiet in the grounds.

As Rothen entered the University, he began to wonder if the Guild was the best place for him to be. All the way to Imardin, he had thought no further ahead than getting to familiar surroundings. But now that he had arrived, he found the Guild lacked the anticipated feeling of safety that had drawn him here.

He knew from the minds of Kariko’s victims that the Guild had confronted the Ichani one last time outside the Palace. They had killed a Sachakan, but had exhausted themselves in the process. After that, Kariko’s victims had been Palace guards, so Rothen could assume the Ichani were still in the center of the city. Where would the Ichani go once they had gained control of the Palace? Rothen stopped at the entrance to the Great Hall as his blood turned cold.

The Guild grounds.

Balkan knows this,
he thought.
He will have told everyone to flee the city. He will want us to gather together elsewhere, recover our strength, then start planning to regain Imardin. I should leave here and try to join them.

Rothen looked up at the grand ceiling of the Hall and sighed heavily. No doubt this would all be destroyed in the next day or two. He shook his head sadly and turned to go.

Then froze as he heard voices behind him.

His first thought was that the Ichani had arrived, then he felt a shock as he recognized the voices. Turning back, he hurried down the hall.

Balkan and Dorrien stood in front of the Guildhall. They were arguing, but Rothen didn’t pause to listen. Both looked up as he appeared.

“Father!” Dorrien gasped.

A wave of relief and affection swept over Rothen.
He’s alive.
Dorrien ran forward and embraced him. Rothen stiffened as pain shot through his shoulder.

“Dorrien,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Lorlen called everyone to Imardin,” Dorrien said. His eyes focused on the scar where Kariko had cut Rothen’s cheek. “Father, we thought you were dead. Why didn’t you contact us?” He frowned at Rothen’s shoulder. “You’re injured. What happened?”

“I wasn’t sure if I could risk mental communication. There was the ban and…” Rothen hesitated, reluctant to tell Dorrien about the ring. “My shoulder and arm broke in the fight, and healed badly in my sleep. But you didn’t answer me—or perhaps I’m not asking the right question. Why are you here in the grounds? Surely this is where the Ichani will come next.”

Dorrien looked at Balkan. “I… I didn’t fight with the rest of the magicians. I slipped away at the first opportunity.”

Rothen stared at his son in surprise. He could not imagine Dorrien avoiding a fight. His son was no coward.

A look of intense frustration crossed Dorrien’s face. “I have reasons,” he said. “I can’t tell you what they are. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. You just have to trust me when I say I must not risk being caught by the Ichani. If they read my mind our last chance of killing the Ichani will be lost.”

“Our last chance has come and gone,” Balkan said. Then his eyes narrowed. “Unless…”

Dorrien shook his head. “Don’t speculate. I’ve said too much already.”

“If you are so concerned that the Ichani will read your mind, why are you here, in the grounds, where they will probably come next?” Rothen asked.

“I have a clear view of the gates from the Entrance Hall,” Dorrien replied. “I’ll see them coming, and leave through the forest. If I enter the city, the chances of being caught increase.”

“Why not leave now?” Balkan asked.

Dorrien turned to regard him. “I’m not leaving until I have to. If the secret I hold is discovered by another means, I’ll be free to help.”

Balkan frowned. “Surely, if we leave with you, you can afford to risk telling us what this secret is.”

The stubborn expression on Dorrien’s face was all too familiar. Rothen shook his head.

“I don’t like your chances of talking him around, Balkan. I do think we should leave at the first sign the Ichani are coming here, however. Which brings me to wonder, why are
you
here?”

The Warrior’s frown changed to a scowl. “Someone should witness the fate of our home.”

Rothen nodded. “Then the three of us will stay until the end.”

“Sweet bloodweed,” Faren whispered, holding up a tiny bottle. “Almost undetectable in wine or sweet dishes. It works quickly, so be ready.”

Sonea glanced at the Thief and rolled her eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you know so much about poisons, Faren.”

He smiled. “I must admit, I started learning about them out of a fancy to mimic my namesake. The knowledge has been useful, at times, but not nearly as often as you’d think. Your novice friend seems particularly interested in the subject.”

“He’s not my friend.”

Sonea pressed her eye to the peephole again. Most of the room beyond was taken up by a large dining table. Silver cutlery glinted softly in the filtered light from two small windows. A half-eaten meal lay cold and congealed on the fine plates.

They were inside one of the large Inner Circle mansions. The dining room was a small, private one with two servant doors as well as the main entrance. Sonea and Faren stood behind one door; Akkarin was standing behind the other.

“Cery seemed to think you two had a special acquaintance,” Faren continued to prod.

She snorted softly. “He offered to kill Regin once. It was tempting.”

“Ah,” he replied.

Sonea looked at the glasses on the table. They were filled with varying levels of wine. Bottles, opened and unopened, were arranged at the center. All had been laced with poison.

“So what did our volunteer do that inspired such a generous offer from Cery?”

“None of your business.”

“Isn’t it? How interesting.”

Sonea jumped as the main door of the dining room burst open. Regin leapt inside, then pushed the door shut again. He dashed around the table and ran to the servants’ door that Akkarin was waiting behind. Grasping the handle, he paused.

The main door opened again. Regin pretended to struggle with the doorhandle. Sonea felt her heart begin to race as one of the Ichani men stepped into the room. He looked at Regin, then down at the table.

“So I guess you won’t be too eager to save him if the Ichani doesn’t fall for the bait,” Faren whispered.

“Of course I’ll save him,” Sonea muttered in reply. “Regin might be a… a… whatever, but he doesn’t deserve to die.”

As the Ichani looked at Regin again, the boy pressed his back to the door, his face deathly white. The Ichani moved around the table. Regin slid around the wall, keeping the table between him and the Sachakan.

The Ichani chuckled. Reaching out, he took one of the glasses and lifted it to his lips. He sipped and grimaced. Shrugging, he tossed the cup away. It shattered against the wall, leaving a splash of red.

“Is that enough?” Sonea murmured.

“I doubt it,” Faren replied. “But he’s got the idea, and might go for something fresher.”

The Ichani began to walk around the table. Regin edged away. Suddenly he leaped forward and grabbed a bottle of wine by its neck. The Ichani laughed as Regin brandished it threateningly. He made a quick gesture. Regin staggered forward as if struck a heavy blow from behind and sprawled face first on the table.

The Ichani grabbed Regin by the back of his neck and held him down. Sonea grasped the handle of the door, but Faren caught her wrist.