Returning to the bed, she saw a smaller object lying on the cover. Picking it up, she recognized the rough carving of a reber that Dorrien had given to Rothen soon after he arrived. It had fascinated her how something could be so crudely hewn, yet have all the essence of the animal it represented.
Dorrien. She hadn’t thought of him since he’d left. It seemed like weeks ago, but it was only two days since they had walked up to the spring, and he had kissed her.
What was he going to think when he heard about her sudden change of guardian? She sighed. Like the rest of the magicians, he would marvel at her “good fortune”—but she was sure that, had he been here, he would have detected that something wasn’t right. He would have noticed her fear and Rothen’s distress and anger.
But he wasn’t here. He was far away in his little village in the mountains.
Eventually Dorrien would visit the Guild again. When he did, he would want to see her. Would Akkarin let him? Sonea smiled. Even if Akkarin forbade it, Dorrien would find a way. Besides, if Akkarin stopped Dorrien from seeing her it would raise suspicions.
Or would it? Akkarin could simply claim that Dorrien was distracting her from her studies. Though Dorrien might find that a bit over-protective, no one else would question it. She frowned. What if Dorrien did notice that something was wrong? What would he do? What would Akkarin do? She shivered. Unlike Rothen and herself, Dorrien lived far from the Guild’s sight. Who would question if a Healer working in a distant village died in an “accident?”
She clutched the carving tightly. She must not give Akkarin reason to notice Dorrien. When Dorrien returned to the Guild, she would have to tell him she had no feelings for him. He had said himself that she might find someone else in the years until graduation. Let him think that she had.
But there could never be anyone else. Not while she was Akkarin’s hostage. To make a friend was to bring someone else into danger. And what about her aunt and uncle and her little cousin? For now, Akkarin would not harm Rothen without freeing her to reveal his secret. If he knew where her family was, they could be used against her, too.
Sighing, she lay back on the bed. When had it all started to go wrong? Her thoughts went back to the North Square. Since that day her fate had been in the hands of others: first Cery and Harrin, then the Thieves, then Rothen, and now Akkarin. Before then, she had been a child, protected by her aunt and uncle. Would she ever be in control of her life?
But I’m alive, she reminded herself. All I can do now is be patient and hope something will happen to fix all this—and make sure I’m ready to help when it does.
Rising, she went to her study table. If something did happen, it would probably involve magic, so the more prepared she was, the better. Healing tests would be held tomorrow, and she ought to go over her notes one more time.
Moving to the window again, Rothen stared at the High Lord’s Residence. Small squares of brightness had appeared by its northern tower during the last two nights. The more he stared at it, the more sure he was that Sonea was behind those windows.
How frightened she must be. How trapped. She must wish she never agreed to join the Guild.
He realized that his fists were clenched. Forcing himself to return to his chair in the guestroom, he sat down and regarded the remains of his half-eaten meal.
What can I do? There must be something I can do.
He had asked himself that question over and over. Each time the answer was the same.
As much as you dare.
Everything depended on Sonea’s safety. He wanted to step out into the corridor and scream out the truth to all the magicians who had so blindly accepted Akkarin’s decision, but he knew if he did, Sonea would be the first of Akkarin’s victims. Her power would be used to fight the Guild; her death would help Akkarin defeat them.
He desperately wanted to talk to Lorlen. While he craved an assurance that Lorlen wasn’t about to sacrifice Sonea’s life in an attempt to defeat Akkarin, he also wanted to know that the Administrator hadn’t abandoned all plans to fight the High Lord.
Akkarin had forbidden any contact between them, but even if Rothen had dared to risk talking to Lorlen, he couldn’t. The Administrator had retired to his rooms and was resting. Since hearing this, Rothen had been worried that Lorlen had been injured in his confrontation with Akkarin. The possibility was frightening. If Akkarin could harm his closest friend, what was he capable of doing to those he cared less about?
But the High Lord might be well used to killing and taking power from others. He might have been doing so for years. Rothen frowned. How long had Akkarin been practicing black magic? As long as he had been High Lord? Longer?
Since Sonea had told him of Akkarin’s secret, Rothen had considered many times how Akkarin might have discovered black magic. It was commonly understood that the Guild had destroyed all knowledge of it centuries ago. The Higher Magicians were told how to recognize it, but that was all. Nevertheless, it was possible that Akkarin had access to information and instructions from forgotten records somewhere in the Guild.
Or he might have learned black magic years ago, before he set out on his journey. The quest to discover knowledge of ancient power may have been an excuse to find out more, or simply to gain time and freedom to practice. Or perhaps it was during Akkarin’s travels that he had discovered black magic. Had Akkarin stumbled upon the knowledge and used it to strengthen himself?
Where knowledge of power could be found, a means to defeat that power often lay beside it. If Akkarin had discovered black magic during his travels, then another might find it again. Rothen sighed. If only he could leave the Guild, he would spend every moment of each day searching for that knowledge. But he couldn’t leave. Akkarin was probably watching him closely. He wouldn’t want Rothen roaming the Allied Lands, out of his sight.
Someone else must do it, then. Rothen nodded to himself. Someone free to travel. Someone who will do it without asking too many questions. Someone I can trust…
Slowly, Rothen began to smile. He knew exactly the right person.
Dannyl.
Hundreds of torches flickered in the chill night breeze. Ahead, hundreds more formed a long zigzag that wove back and forth and up toward the sky. The rocky surface of a cliff was illuminated by them and, at intervals, the mouths of caves were circled by flames.
The rowers pulled on their oars in time to the slow beat of the drummer at the prow. Song echoed back from the cliffs as the singers shifted through slow harmonies that sent a shiver down Dannyl’s spine. He glanced at Tayend, who was gazing around at the other boats in wonder. After a few weeks of rest, the courtier was looking healthier.
“Are you feeling well?” Dannyl murmured.
Tayend nodded and gestured to the hull of the boat. “Hardly rocks at all.”
A soft scraping came from the bottom of the boat. The rowers leapt out nimbly and pulled the craft up onto the beach. Tayend stood up and, carefully gauging the rhythm of the waves swirling around the boat, leapt out when the water had withdrawn. He cursed as his fine shoes sank into the wet sand.
Chuckling, Dannyl stepped out and started across the beach toward the torch-lined path. He paused as a large group of mourners started their procession up the stairs carved into the cliff face. Leaving a respectful gap behind the group, Dannyl and Tayend followed.
At the full moon every month, the people of Vin visited these caves. Within them were tombs of the dead. Gifts were laid by the remains of ancestors, and requests were asked of their spirits. Some tombs were so ancient, no descendants remained to visit them, and it was one of the oldest tombs that Dannyl and Tayend had come to see.
Remembering the customs they had been told about, they remained silent as they climbed. They passed several caves, climbing steadily. Tayend was breathing hard when the group of mourners in front of them turned into a cave entrance. After a short rest, he and Dannyl continued up the narrow stairs.
“Wait. Look at this.”
Hearing the wh
isper, Dannyl turned to find Tayend pointing back at a cave entrance he had walked past without noticing. A slight fold in the cliff had hidden a narrow crack barely wide enough for a man to slide through sideways. Above it was carved a symbol.
Recognizing the symbol, Dannyl moved to the crack and peered through. He could see only blackness. Stepping back, he created a globe light and sent it inside.
Tayend gave a half-smothered yelp as the light revealed a staring face. The man squinted at Dannyl and said something in Vindo. Realizing that this was a tomb guard, Dannyl spoke the ritual greeting that he had been taught.
The man gave the appropriate reply, then stepped back and beckoned. As Dannyl slipped through, his globe light set the man’s polished ceremonial armor and short sword glittering. The guard bowed stiffly.
They stood in a small room. A low corridor led deeper into the cliff side. The walls were covered in paintings. Tayend examined them closely, humming with appreciation.
“You must have watcher,” the guard said. “So you not get lost. You must not take anything away, not even rock.” He drew out a small flute and blew a single note. After a moment a boy in a simple belted shift appeared in the doorway. He beckoned and, as Dannyl and Tayend stepped through the door, indicated that they should go first. As they started down a narrow tunnel, he followed silently.
Tayend set the pace, walking slowly as he examined the wall paintings.
“Anything interesting?” Dannyl asked when the scholar stopped for the third time.
“Oh, yes,” Tayend breathed. He looked up at Dannyl, then smiled apologetically. “Just not related to what you’re looking for.”
Straightening, he continued at a faster pace, his attention still on the walls, but his expression less distracted. As time passed, Dannyl grew conscious of the weight of earth above him, and the closeness of the walls. If the tunnel was to collapse, he was sure he could prevent them being crushed by throwing up a barrier. He had done much the same thing a year ago when, to prevent him catching Sonea, the Thieves had collapsed one of their tunnels.
But here it was different. There was a lot more rubble and dirt above him. He could probably stop them from being crushed, but he wasn’t sure what he would do then. Could he shift the earth around and behind his barrier, and so tunnel a way out? Would he have time before the air inside ran out? Did he have the magical strength to do it? If he didn’t, he would slowly weaken until the weight of the earth won out.
Disturbed by the thought, he tried to think of something else. The footsteps of the boy following behind were faintly discernible. He wondered whether the boy worried about being buried alive. He found himself thinking of another day, when he had entered the tunnels under the University to see why Fergun had been snooping around down there. He had fought off the suspicion that someone was following him, only to find that that someone was the High Lord.
“Are you all right?”
Dannyl jumped at the question. Tayend was regarding him closely.
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re breathing a bit fast.”
“Oh. Was I?”
“Yes.”
After a few more steps, Dannyl quietly took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then started practicing a calming exercise.
Tayend glanced at him and smiled. “Does being underground bother you?”
“No.”
“Lots of people feel uncomfortable in places like this. I’ve had plenty go all panicky in the library, so I’ve learned to recognize the signs. You will tell me if you’re going to get panicky, won’t you? I don’t much like the idea of being near a panicky magician.”
Dannyl smiled. “I’m fine. I’m just…remembering a few unpleasant experiences I’ve had in similar places.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Somehow, relating the two experiences made Dannyl feel better. Describing how the Thieves came to bury him led to stories about the search for Sonea. As he reached the part where he had entered the tunnels under the University and encountered the High Lord, Tayend’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”
“No. Not scared so much as…well, it depends on the situation.”
Tayend chuckled. “Well, if someone as scary as you is afraid of the High Lord, then I’m definitely keeping out of his way.”
Dannyl checked his stride. “I’m scary?”
“Oh, yes.” Tayend nodded. “Very scary.”
“But…” Dannyl shook his head. “I haven’t done anything to—” He stopped as he remembered the mugger. “Well, I guess I have now—but surely you weren’t scared of me before then?”
“Of course I was.”
“Why?”
“All magicians are scary. Everyone has heard what they can do—but it’s what you don’t know they can do that is scarier.”
Dannyl grimaced. “Well, I guess you’ve seen what I can do, now. And I didn’t mean to kill him.”
Tayend regarded him silently for a few steps. “How are you feeling about that?”
“Not great,” Dannyl admitted. “You?”
“I’m not sure. It’s like I’ve got two different and opposing views at the same time. I’m not sorry you killed him, but I do think killing is wrong. I suppose it’s the uncertainty that bothers me most. Who really knows whether it was right or wrong? I’ve read more books than most people I know, and none of them agree on anything. But there’s one thing I do want to say to you.”
Dannyl forced himself to meet Tayend’s eyes. “Yes?”
“Thank you.” Tayend’s expression was sober. “Thank you for saving my life.”
Something inside Dannyl loosened, like a knot unravelling. He realized he had needed Tayend’s gratitude. It did not make his conscience any easier to live with, but it helped him to keep the whole event in perspective.
Looking ahead, he noticed that his globe light was failing to illuminate the walls in the distance. He frowned, then realized they were approaching a larger cavern. As they neared this, a mineral smell caught Dannyl’s attention. The tang in the air grew more distinct as they arrived at the opening. Dannyl sent his globe light out and Tayend gasped.
The chamber was as wide as the Guildhall, and filled with glistening curtains and spires of white. The sound of dripping water echoed through the space. Looking closely, Dannyl could see moisture falling from the ends of the stalactites. Between the fang-like stalagmites a shallow stream trickled.
“The Tombs of White Tears,” Tayend murmured.
“Formed by water seeping through the roof, depositing minerals wherever it flows,” Dannyl explained.
Tayend rolled his eyes. “I knew that.”
A slippery path led down into the chamber. Descending carefully, they made their way along the uneven floor. As they passed the fantastic white structures, more came into sight. Suddenly Tayend stopped.
“The Mouth of Death,” he said in a hushed voice.
Ahead, a row of stalagmites and stalactites crossed the chamber. Some had grown into each other and were slowly thickening to form columns. The gaps between others were so small, it seemed as if they would meet in mere moments. Each was colossal at the floor or ceiling, tapering to fine white points, so that the whole arrangement looked like the teeth of a huge animal.
“Shall we see if there’s a stomach?” Tayend asked. Not waiting for an answer, he ducked through two of the teeth and disappeared.
Following, Dannyl found Tayend standing on one side of a tunnel, beckoning furiously. The walls on either side were curtains of glistening white, broken here and there by shallow horizontal alcoves. Moving to Tayend’s side, he saw that a skeleton lay within a small alcove. A new curtain of white had formed, half covering the alcove.
“They must have cut the tombs knowing that the walls would grow down to cover them,” Tayend said quietly.
Moving on, they found another tomb, then another. The farther they travelled, the older and more numerous the tombs. Eventually there were no skeleto
ns to be seen, just walls that had covered the alcoves completely.
Dannyl knew that hours had passed. The Vindo forbade visitors to the caves during daylight, and he began to worry that they would not return to the beach in time to meet their boat. When they reached the end of the tunnel he breathed a sigh of relief.
“There’s nothing here,” Tayend said, casting about.
Around them the walls were unbroken. Dannyl moved closer to the right, examining them carefully. They almost seemed to be translucent in places. Following suit, Tayend peered at the surface of the left-hand wall intently. After several minutes, he called Dannyl’s name excitedly.
Moving to his friend’s side, Dannyl saw that Tayend was pointing at a small hole.
“Can you get some light in there?”
“I’ll try.”
As Tayend moved aside, Dannyl created a tiny spark and sent it into the hole. He watched as it moved through a finger-width of white mineral deposit, then out into darkness.
Brightening the spark to light the space beyond, he felt a smile spread across his face.
“What is it?” Tayend asked excitedly. “Let me see!”
Stepping aside, Dannyl watched as Tayend bent to peer in the hole. The scholar’s eyes widened. Beyond the curtain of white was a small cave. A carved coffin lay in the center of the room. The walls inside were partly coated in mineral sediment, but much of the original carved decoration was still visible.
Tayend whipped out sheets of paper and a drawing stick from his coat, his eyes glowing with excitement. “How long have I got?”
Dannyl shrugged. “An hour, probably less.”
“That’ll be enough for now. Can we come back again?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Tayend grinned. “We’ve found it, Dannyl! We’ve found what your High Lord was searching for. Evidence of ancient magic!”