The High Lord (54 page)

Lorlen regarded the young man with surprise. This was the King’s cousin, a youth no older than a new novice, and a possible heir to the throne.

“Why are we fortifying the gates, when the Outer Wall has fallen into disrepair around the Guild?” the young man asked. “The Sachakans only need to send scouts out to circle the city, to discover this.”

The King smiled grimly. “We’re hoping the Sachakans don’t try that.”

“We are expecting the Sachakans to attack us boldly.”

Balkan told Ilorin, “and since these slaves are a source of power to them, I doubt they will risk sending them out as scouts.” Lorlen noted that Balkan did not mention the possiblity that the Sachakans had read this weakness from the minds of the Warriors at the Fort, or Calia. Perhaps the King had asked him to keep the true hopelessness of their position from his cousin.

“Do you believe these fortifications will stop the Sachakans?” Ilorin asked.

“No,” Balkan replied. “Slow them, perhaps, but not stop them. Their purpose is to force the Sachakans to use up some of their power.”

“What will happen once they have entered the city?”

Balkan glanced at the King. “We will continue to fight them for as long as we can.”

The King turned to one of the other captains. “Have the Houses evacuated?”

“Most have left,” the man replied.

“And the rest of the people?”

“The gate guards report that the number of people leaving the city has increased fourfold.”

The King looked at the map again and sighed. “I wish this map included the slums.” He looked at Lord Balkan. “Will they be a problem during the battle?”

The Warrior frowned. “Only if the Sachakan decide to conceal themselves there.”

“If they do, we could set the buildings alight,” Ilorin suggested.

“Or burn them now, to ensure they don’t use them to their advantage,” another courtier added.

“They will burn for days,” Captain Arin warned. “The smoke will help conceal the enemy, and falling embers might set the rest of the city alight. I recommend leaving the slums standing unless we have no other choice.”

The King nodded. He straightened, then looked at Lorlen.

“Leave me,” he ordered. “Administrator Lorlen and Lord Balkan may stay.”

The guard promptly left the room. Lorlen noted that the two King’s Advisors remained.

“Do you have good news for me?” the King asked.

“No, Your Majesty,” Lorlen replied. “Lord Sarrin has not been able to discover how to use black magic. He sends his apologies and says he will continue trying.”

“Does he feel he is even close?”

Lorlen sighed and shook his head. “No.”

The King looked down at the map and scowled.

“The Sachakans will be here in a day, two if we are lucky.” He looked at Balkan. “Did you bring it?”

The Warrior nodded. He drew a small pouch from his robes, opened it and tipped its contents on the table. Lorlen drew in a quick breath as he recognized Akkarin’s ring.

“Do you intend to call Akkarin back?”

The King nodded. “Yes. It is a risk, but what difference will it make if he betrays us? We will lose this battle without him anyway.” He picked the ring up by its band, and held it out to Lorlen. “Call him back.”

The ring was cool. Lorlen slipped it on his finger and closed his eyes.

—
Akkarin
!

He waited, but no answer came. After counting to a hundred, he called again. Still no reply. He shook his head.

“He isn’t responding.”

“Perhaps there is something wrong with it,” the King said.

“I’ll try again.”

—
Akkarin
!

No answer came. Lorlen tried a few more times, then sighed and took off the ring.

“Perhaps he’s asleep,” he said. “I could try again in an hour.”

The King frowned. He looked up at the windows. “Call him without the ring. Perhaps he will answer that.”

Balkan and Lorlen exchanged worried glances.

“The enemy will hear us,” the Warrior pointed out.

“I know. Call him.”

Balkan nodded, then closed his eyes.

—
Akkarin
!

Silence followed. Lorlen sent out his own call.

—
Akkarin! The King bids you return.

—
Ak—

—AKKARIN! AKKARIN! AKKARIN! AKKARIN!

Lorlen gasped as another mind thundered against his own like a striking hammer. He heard other mental voices shouting Akkarin’s name mockingly before he drew away with a shudder.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Balkan muttered, rubbing his temples.

“What happened?” the King asked.

“The Sachakans answered.”

“With mindstrike,” Lorlen added.

The King scowled, then turned away from the table and clenched his fists. He paced for a few minutes, then turned to regard Lorlen.

“Try again in an hour.”

Lorlen nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The house Tayend’s directions led Dannyl to was a typical magician-designed mansion. Impossibly fragile balconies fronted the street. Even the door was magician-made—a sheet of delicately sculpted glass.

A long moment passed before there was any response to Dannyl’s knock. Footsteps could be heard approaching, then a shadowy figure appeared beyond the glass. The door opened. Instead of a doorman, Tayend greeted Dannyl with a grin and a bow.

“Sorry for the slow service,” he said. “Zerrend’s entire household has left for Elyne, so there’s no one here but…” He frowned. “You look terrible.”

Dannyl nodded. “I was up all night. I—” He choked as emotion welled up and cut off the words.

The scholar ushered Dannyl inside and closed the door. “What happened?”

Dannyl swallowed hard and blinked as his eyes began to sting. All night he had remained in control, comforting Yaldin and Ezrille, then Dorrien. But now…

“Rothen is dead,” he managed. He felt tears spill out of his eyes. Tayend’s eyes widened, then he stepped close and embraced Dannyl.

Dannyl froze, then hated himself for doing so.

“Don’t worry,” Tayend said. “As I said, no one is here except me. Not even servants.”

“I’m sorry,” Dannyl said. “I just—”

“Worry that we’ll be seen. I know. I’m being careful.”

Dannyl swallowed hard. “I
hate
that we have to be.”

“So do I,” Tayend said. He leaned back and looked up at Dannyl. “But that is how it must be. We’d be fools to think otherwise.”

Dannyl sighed and wiped his eyes. “Look at me. I am such a fool.”

Tayend took his hand and pulled him through the guestroom. “No, you’re not. You just lost an old and close friend. Zerrend has some medicine for that, though my dear second—or is it third—cousin might have taken the best vintages with him.”

‘Tayend,” Dannyl said, “Zerrend left for a good reason. The Sachakans are only a day or two away. You can’t stay here.”

“I’m not going home. I came here to see you through all this, and I will.”

Dannyl pulled Tayend to a halt.

“I’m serious, Tayend. These magicians kill to strengthen themselves. They’ll fight the Guild first, because it is their strongest opponent. Then they’ll look for victims to replace the power they’ve lost. Magicians will be useless to them, as we’ll have exhausted our strength fighting them. It’s ordinary people they’ll target, particularly those with undeveloped magical ability. Like you.”

The scholar’s eyes widened. “But they won’t get that far. You said they’d fight the Guild first. The Guild will win, won’t it?”

Dannyl stared at Tayend and shook his head. “From the instructions we’ve been given, I don’t think anyone believes we can. We might kill one or two of them, but not all. Our orders are to abandon Imardin once we’ve exhausted ourselves.”

“Oh. You’ll need help getting out, if you’re exhausted. I’ll—”

“No.” Dannyl took Tayend’s shoulders. “You must leave
now.”

The scholar shook his head. “I’m not leaving here without you.”

“Tayend—”

“Besides,” the scholar added. “The Sachakans will probably invade Elyne next. I’d rather spend a few days here with you and risk an early death, than return home and hate myself for abandoning you for a few extra months of safety. I’m staying, and you will just have to make the best of it.”

After the darkness of the sewers, the sunlight was dazzling. As Sonea climbed out of the hatch, she felt something under her boot and stumbled, then heard a muffled curse.

“That was my foot,” Cery muttered.

She couldn’t help smiling. “Sorry, Cery, or should I call you Ceryni now?”

Cery made a noise of disgust. “I’ve been trying to shake that name all my life, and now I
have
to use it. I’m sure a few of us would like to say some rough words to the Thief who decided we should all go by animal names.”

“Your ma must have been able to tell the future when she named you,” Sonea said. She stepped aside as Akkarin emerged from the tunnel.

“She could tell from one look which cappers would run off without paying,” Cery said. “And she always said my da would get into some rub.”

“My aunt must have the gift, too. She always said
you
were trouble.” She paused. “Have you seen Jonna and Ranel, lately?”

“No,” he said, bending to lift the sewer hatch back into place, “not for months.”

She sighed and felt the knowledge of Rothen’s death like a weight lodged somewhere inside her body. “I’d like to see them. Before all this—”

Cery held up a hand—a signal for silence—then pulled her and Akkarin back into a recessed doorway. Gol hurried back from the alley entrance to join them. Two men entered the alley and moved quietly toward them. As they drew near,

Sonea recognized the darker of the faces. She felt a hand push her gently in the small of her back.

“Go on,” Cery whispered in her ear. “Give him the fright of his life.”

Sonea glanced back to see his eyes glittering with mischief. She waited until the two men drew level with her, then stepped into their path and pulled back her hood.

“Faren.”

The two men dropped into a crouch and stared at her, then one drew in a quick breath.

“Sonea?”

“You still recognize me, after all this time.”

He frowned. “But, I thought you…”

“Left Kyralia?” She crossed her arms. “I decided to come back and settle a few debts.”

“Debts?” He glanced at his companion nervously. “Then you have no business with me.”

“No?” She moved closer to him, and was gratified to see him take a step back. “I seem to remember a little arrangement we had once. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, Faren.”

“How could I forget?” he muttered. “I remember that you never upheld your end of the deal. In fact, you burned down more than one of my houses while I was protecting you.”

Sonea shrugged. “I suppose I didn’t prove to be all that useful. But I don’t think a few burned houses justified selling me to the Guild.”

Faren took another step backward. ‘That was not my idea. I had no choice.”

“No choice?” she exclaimed. “From what I’ve heard, you made quite a profit. Tell me, did the other Thieves take a commission out of the reward? I heard you got all of it.”

Faren swallowed audibly, backed away even farther.

“As compensation,” he said in a strangled voice.

Sonea took another step toward him, but then a spluttering came from the doorway. It quickly turned into a laugh.

“Sonea,” Cery said. “I should hire you as a messenger. You’re quite scary when you want to be.”

She managed a grim smile. “You’re not the only one who’s said that to me lately.” But thinking of Dorrien only brought Rothen to mind again. She felt the weight of grief again, and struggled to ignore it. I
can’t think about that now,
she told herself.
There’s too much to do.

Faren’s yellow eyes were narrowed at Cery. “I should have known you were behind this little ambush.”

Cery smiled. “Oh, I only suggested she have a bit of fun with you. She deserves it. You did hand her over to the Guild, after all.”

“You’re taking her to the meeting, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. She and Akkarin have lots to tell them.”

“Akkarin… ?” Faren repeated in a small voice.

Sonea heard footsteps behind her and turned to see that Akkarin and Gol had emerged from the doorway. Akkarin had shaved off the short beard and tied his hair back, and looked like his former, imposing self again.

Faren took another step backward.

“It is
Faren,
isn’t it,” Akkarin said smoothly. “Black, eight-legged and poisonous?”

Faren nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “Well, except for the legs.”

“Honored to meet you.”

The Thief nodded again. “And you.” He looked at Cery. “Well. This meeting should be entertaining. Follow me.”

Faren started toward the end of the alley, his companion giving Sonea and Akkarin a curious glance before hurrying after. Cery glanced at Sonea, Akkarin and Gol, then beckoned. They followed him into a narrow gap between two buildings at the end of the alley. Halfway down, a large man stepped out to block Faren’s way.

“Who are these?” the man demanded, pointing at Sonea and Akkarin.

“Guests,” Cery replied.

The man hesitated, then reluctantly stepped into a doorway. Faren followed him inside the building. A short corridor followed, then a staircase. At the top Faren stopped outside a door and turned to regard Cery.

“You should ask first, before bringing them in.”

“And let them argue about it for hours?” Cery shook his head. “We don’t have the time.”

“Well, I warned you.”

Faren opened the door. As Sonea followed the pair, she took in luxurious surrounds. Cushioned chairs had been arranged in a rough circle. She counted seven occupied chairs. The seven men standing behind them were the Thieves’ protectors, she guessed.

It was not hard to guess which Thief was which. The thin, bald man was obviously Sevli. The woman with a pointy nose and red hair was probably Zill and the man with the beard and bushy eyebrows had to be Limek. Looking around, Sonea wondered if the physical similarities to the animals had produced the Thieves’ names, or if they had groomed themselves to look like a creature they favored. Perhaps a little of both, she decided.