Looking around the hall, she searched for Lord Regin and found him sitting, as she’d expected, near the front. He looked serious and aloof. This might have been a deliberate mask of his true feelings, but it was hard to tell. He always looked serious and aloof.
I hope Rothen is right about him. Well, of course he is. Regin takes his responsibility to the Guild, Kyralia and the Allied Lands much too seriously to jeopardise our task.
Which meant, no matter how unpleasant things got between them, he would obey her orders.
Most of the magicians had settled in their seats now. Administrator Osen strode out in front of the Higher Magicians and a gong rang to mark the beginning of the Meet.
The room immediately quietened.
“At this Meet here today we have an exceptional situation to discuss and deal with,” Osen began, “and, as such, the course of action given to us will be unique in the history of the Guild.” He paused and looked around the room. “As you may already know, Ambassador Dannyl travelled to Sachaka some months ago to serve in the Guild House of Arvice. He took with him the young magician Lord Lorkin, who had volunteered to be his assistant.
“Not long after settling in Arvice, Lord Lorkin was saved from assassination by a slave. The slave was a spy for the people known as the Traitors, Sachakans who have lived separately to the rest of the country for hundreds of years. To evade future attacks on his life, this slave helped Lorkin flee to the Traitors’ secret home.
“There Lorkin learned more about these people. They reject slavery and though they use black magic they appear to live peacefully. They have a network of spies throughout Sachaka – though from all I have heard the main aim of their spying is their own protection.
“Recently Lorkin sought to return home. On arriving in Arvice he was summoned by King Amakira and ordered to reveal all he had learned of the Traitors. Knowing that he must give any such information to King Merin first, Lorkin refused. Though this was made clear to King Amakira, and he agreed when we sent the first ambassadors to Sachaka that they will answer to their own king, he sent Lorkin to the palace prison.”
Sonea felt her stomach sink. No matter how many times she heard it spoken, the thought of Lorkin in a dank cell made her heart shrivel.
The hall had grown quiet. Funny, I expected there to be protests and anger. I think they’re mostly too shocked to speak, though I’m not sure whether they’re more appalled at the audacity of Amakira daring to imprison a Guild magician, or at the possibility this might lead to another conflict with Sachaka.
“The king has approved our request to send a negotiator to seek Lorkin’s release,” Osen continued. “We chose our negotiator carefully, considering who might have the greatest influence on the Sachakan king. The Sachakan prejudice against magicians who do not know black magic narrowed our choices.” Osen turned to look up at the Higher Magicians and held out his arm toward Sonea as if offering her a hand out of a carriage. “We chose Black Magician Sonea.”
She felt her skin prickle and her face heat as hundreds of gazes shifted to her. A murmur of voices filled the hall. Resisting an urge to look down and away, she stared back at the assembled magicians, heart beating a little too fast. What will they do?
Osen’s outstretched hand beckoned. Swallowing a sigh, she rose and started to descend the steep stairs to the Front.
“But the advantage in sending a black magician will not count unless that black magician is as powerful as we can make her,” Osen continued. As Sonea reached his side, he glanced at her once then turned to face the assembly. “The permission of the king has been granted for Black Magician Sonea to gather strength for this mission. We call for volunteers to give their power to this cause.”
The hum of voices that had been gathering now grew louder, swelled, then diminished again. Osen, judging their mood, raised his arms and the room fell into a restless quiet.
“This is the first time such permission has been granted, and thankfully not for the reason we have long feared. We have learned, in the last twenty years, that black magic need not involve barbaric rituals and unpleasant bloodletting. Though this fact is taught to our novices and such reassurances given to all else, there may be some for whom this is not clear. I call upon Black Magician Sonea to explain.”
Sonea drew in a deep breath and worked magic into the air before her to amplify her voice.
“Sachakan magicians cut the skins of their slaves because their slaves are not magicians and can’t offer up their power. They do the same to their victims in war because their victims are hardly going to offer up their power willingly. The ritual of higher magic in our past was a symbolic gesture of an apprentice’s submission to his master, and no longer relevant.”
She managed a smile, though she suspected it would look more grim than reassuring. “I only require a magician to draw and send power to me so I can take it and store it. That is all. The giver need do nothing more than a trick taught to every novice in their first year of University.” She looked around the hall. That’s really all the explanation it needs, she thought, but as Osen began to turn away from her she thought of something else.
“It seems only a small thing to ask of each of you,” she said. “A day’s strength. But if it leads to the freeing of my son you … at the least you’ll have my own and my son’s heartfelt gratitude.”
Osen nodded. “And you’ll have ensured the safety of a member of the Guild, a citizen of Kyralia and the Allied Lands, while securing ongoing peace with Sachaka. Which is no small thing at all.” He turned to face the tiered seats. “We will begin with the Higher Magicians.”
Sonea felt her heart skip as High Lord Balkan rose and descended from the tiered seats, followed by several other Higher Magicians. As Balkan approached, a voice called his name from the side of the hall. All turned to see that King’s Advisers had come down from the highest row.
“Would you permit me to be the first,” the adviser asked Balkan. The High Lord smiled and stepped aside, gesturing to Sonea.
“The king sends his best wishes,” Glarrin told her. He held out his hands to her.
Taking them, she nodded. “Please convey my thanks in return, Adviser.” She felt her skin tingle as he sent power to her. Drawing it inward, she felt a slight sensation that told her she now held more magic than her natural limit, but when he was done she could not judge how much power he had given her.
Glarrin stepped away, bowing slightly toward Balkan. Sonea looked up at the tall Guild leader. He regarded her with a familiar slightly surprised expression. As if he has as much trouble thinking of me as a Higher Magician as I do of him being High Lord. Though Balkan is a competent leader, only Akkarin will ever fit the title in my mind.
She took his hands and power, and slowly the rest of the Higher Magicians took their turn. All but Kallen. Osen had decided that a few magicians should still retain their full strength at the end of the meeting. When the last of the Higher Magicians stepped away, Sonea turned to face the hall.
And felt her heart stop.
All of the seats were empty. Every magician was standing in the centre of the hall, waiting. Well, it’s possible that those who don’t intend to volunteer have slipped out already, she told herself. But the crowd that waited was too large for many to have decided not to participate.
She realised she had stopped breathing, and heard a gasp escape her mouth as the first magician stepped forward.
Regin. His eyes brightened with unexpected humour as he reached out to take her hands.
“You really don’t know how much people respect you, do you?” he murmured as he sent her magic.
“Respect me?” She shook her head. “They’re not doing this for me. They’re doing it for a fellow magician and Kyralia.”
“That as well,” he admitted. “But it’s not the only reason.”
He gave her a lot of power. At least it seemed that way. She watched him walk away, looking for indications of physical weariness and worried that he would be tired at
the start of their journey that night, but the next magician stepped forward and she had to turn away.
And then the next, and the next. Healers, Warriors, Alchemists. Men and women. Old and young. Magicians from the Houses and all other classes. They all spoke a few words, wishing her luck, expressing their hopes that Lorkin had been treated well and would be released, even warning her to watch out for Ichani when crossing the wasteland, and urging her to come home safely. Overwhelmed and surprised, she struggled at times to appear calm and dignified. At one point she felt a wave of sadness as she suddenly remembered another time, standing in this hall while magicians filed past. Then, they had been tearing her robes and those of Akkarin as they spoke ritual words of banishment.
Because we learned black magic in order to defend Kyralia. How much things have changed.
When finally a magician moved away and she found there were no more waiting, she felt a great relief and weariness. She nearly laughed aloud at that. This taking of power was supposed to make her stronger, not tired. She focused on the power within her, detecting that a glow of magic was escaping from her control. Remembering Akkarin’s instruction, she strengthened the barrier of influence lying at her skin, and felt the leakage stop. Then she considered the power within.
Aside from knowing her strength had been boosted, the only way she could guess at how strong she’d become was to add up the number of magicians who had given her magic. She wasn’t even sure how powerful the average Guild magician was. I haven’t held this much power since the Ichani Invasion, when the poor people offered their strength in preparation for the battle ahead.
Osen was still standing beside her. The hall was empty but for him, Regin and Rothen. A gong rang out, indicating the end of the Meet despite most of the magicians not being present to hear it.
“What time is it?” she found herself asking.
Osen considered. “I believe the University gong rang a short while ago.”
She looked at him in surprise. “That late?” She looked at Regin. “It’s nearly time to load up the carriage.”
“You have a few hours still.” Osen smiled. “You should both eat a good meal before you go.”
Sonea felt her stomach knot. “I’m not sure I can.”
“That’ll disappoint everyone.”
She frowned at him. “Why?”
His smile widened. “The Higher Magicians have a farewell dinner waiting for you in the banquet room. You didn’t think we’d let you go without saying goodbye, did you?”
She looked at him in amazement. Osen chuckled. “Come on, they’re all in the Night Room having a drink while they wait for you to join them.”
CHAPTER 7
A DIFFERENT APPROACH
“The roof is unstable here,” Anyi said. Looking up, Cery noted the cracks in the walls and the slight sag in the roof. Fine roots matted the passage ceiling – perhaps from a tree above.
“If we have to use this escape route, and Lilia is with us,” Anyi continued, “we could get her to collapse it when we’re all far enough past, to stop anyone following us. Or we could rig it up to collapse. Lilia could help us by supporting it with magic while we install weights and ropes that we can operate from further down the tunnel.”
Cery nodded. I like the way she thinks. “We’ll ask her.”
“Now, where does this go?” Anyi grinned and hurried past the unstable area, leading Cery down an increasingly deteriorated passage. It ended not at a tunnel entrance, but where a tree had fallen through the roof and blocked the way. A weak, grey light filtered through a hole between two of the great roots. Bricks and rubble, smoothed by accumulated dirt and moss, provided a rough ramp up which Anyi scrambled.
She peered out, then looked back at him and beckoned. Picking his way up to her, he took her place and peered up through the hole.
A forest surrounded him, lit by pre-dawn light. He sighed as he remembered taking Sonea through the Guild forest many years ago – before she had been captured by the magicians – so she could watch magic being performed and perhaps learn to control her powers. It hadn’t worked, of course. Only another magician can teach a novice how to handle magic safely. But they hadn’t known that then.
So much has changed, Cery thought, but thankfully the forest is still here. He extinguished his lamp and set it down, then climbed out of the hole. Anyi followed.
“Where in the Guild do you think we are?” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Probably north of the buildings, since the southern part of the grounds are hillier than this.”
“The servant quarters are to the north.”
“Yes.”
“We might find discarded things there. Furniture. Blankets.”
“We might.”
Cery moved away from the tree, then looked back and slowly circled it, trying to fix the image of it in his mind. Neither he nor Anyi were used to navigating their way through a forest, and he could see it would be easy to get lost and not find the tunnel opening again. Fortunately the tree did look a little different from the others, thanks to it being half dead, partly sunk into the ground and leaning at an angle.
Turning away, Cery led the way through the trees, counting his steps and noting they were moving downhill. He knew the ground rose up from the Inner Wall to behind and above the Guild buildings, so he guessed he was heading west. After several hundred strides he discovered he was wrong. The slope met another and, in the crease between, a little stream flowed off to the right. Oh well, at least the stream is something we can follow. It should take us downhill, at least. He marked the place by moving some stones into a circle and a line pointing back the way they’d come, then headed downstream.
It was not long before they saw signs of habitation ahead. Creeping forward, they made out simple shacks and fences. “Servants quarters?” Anyi murmured.
Cery shook his head. “Too shabby.” The ramshackle appearance of the buildings was puzzling. A few large structures appeared to be made from glass, but from the overgrown look of the vegetation inside he guessed they were abandoned. It wasn’t until they finally drew close enough to see what the fences surrounded that he worked out where they were.
“The farm.”
“Ah. Of course.” Anyi pointed. “Is that an orchard over there?”
He looked in the direction she indicated and nodded as he made out rows of carefully pruned trees and arches of berry vines. Next to them were small fenced areas of ground, the earth grooved as if someone had run a very large rake along them.
“The question is: does anybody live here?” he murmured.
Anyi glanced at him. “Let’s take a closer look.”
They moved closer, hiding behind trees and then the long arched rows of berries. The shacks were spaced along the other side of the crops. Cery’s heart sank as he noticed smoke wafting out of a chimney. Further away, a woman in servant’s clothing had emerged from one of the shacks. He watched as she disappeared into what looked like a rassook pen.
“Looks occupied to me,” Anyi said. “Want to move further along?”
Cery nodded. Retreating to the edge of the forest to take advantage of the undergrowth, they made their way along the length of the farm. He was right about the rassook pen. At the end of the crops and buildings there were larger open fields where enka, reber and even a few big, lumbering gorin grazed.
Not enough to feed the Guild, he noted, but they’re making use of what space they have.
“Over there,” Anyi said, pointing to the last of the buildings.
He looked, and realised it wasn’t the building she was indicating, but a collection of old wooden furniture. Mismatched chairs circled a plank set upon tree stumps. Benches had been constructed out of scrap timber and placed on old barrels.
“We could use some of that straw to make mattresses,” Anyi said, pointing toward a shelter under which several bundles had been piled. “I saw it done at the market. You need some old sacks and a needle and thread.”
“You
can sew?”
“Not very well, but we need mattresses, not ball gowns.”
Cery chuckled. “Just as well, eh? I remember your mother couldn’t get you to wear a dress. I don’t think even the king could get you to wear a ball gown.”
“Not a chance,” Anyi replied. “Not even if he was the handsomest man in the world.”
“Pity,” Cery said. “It would be nice to see you all dressed up. Just once.”
“I’d settle for a change of clothes.” Anyi narrowed her eyes at the huts. “I wonder how many people live here, and what they wear. Probably servant uniforms. I suppose it would be handy to look like servants whenever we sneak out of the tunnels.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll come back here later and spy on them for a bit, if that’s fine with you.”
“Good idea. But stay in the forest and don’t try to steal anything yet.” Cery nodded. “For that we’ll come back at night.”
Dannyl stared out of the carriage window, not registering the view outside as he braced himself for the morning’s dismissal.
Lorkin had been in the palace prison for only three days, but it felt much longer. Of course, it probably feels even longer to Lorkin. Ashaki Achati hadn’t visited again. Dannyl couldn’t decide if he was relieved or regretful about that. Any meeting with Achati was likely to be tense and full of resentment and awkwardness over the situation with Lorkin, but Dannyl missed Achati’s company and longed for his advice.
It’s a pity he’s so close to the king. If only I’d made friends with a Sachakan in a more neutral position. He’d have been able to tell me how best to deal with the situation.
Were any of the Ashaki in a neutral position, politically? From what Dannyl had learned, most were either loyal to the king or were allied with Ashaki who would happily seize the reins of power if they had the chance – which they were not likely to get. King Amakira’s position was secure, supported by most of the powerful Ashaki.