The Traitor Queen

Chapter 1
Assassins and Allies

There is a mistaken belief, in Imardin, that printing presses had been invented by magicians. Anyone unaware of the workings of presses and magic could easily gain the impression, from the spectacular noise and the convulsing actions of the machine, that some sort of Alchemy was taking place, but no magic was required so long as someone was willing to turn the wheels and operate the levers.

Cery had learned the truth of the matter from Sonea years ago. Prototypes of the machine had been presented to the Guild by the inventor and the Guild had embraced it as a fast and cheap way of making duplicates of books. A printing service was then offered to the Houses for free, and to anyone from other classes for a charge. The impression that printing was magical was encouraged to deter others from starting their own trade. It was not until people of lower-class origins entered the Guild that the myth was dispelled and printing presses began to appear in the city in significant numbers.

The downside to this, Cery reflected, was the boom in popularity of the romantic adventure novel. A recently published one featured a rich heiress rescued from her luxurious but boring life by a young, handsome Thief. The fights were laughably implausible, nearly always involved swords rather than knives, and the underworld was populated by far too many good-looking men with impractical ideas about honour and loyalty. The novel had given a portion of the female population of Imardin an impression of the underworld that was a long way from the truth.

Of course, he had said none of this to the woman lying in bed beside him, who had been reading to him her favourite parts of these books every night since she had agreed to let him stay in her cellar. Cadia was no rich heiress. And I am no dashingly handsome Thief. She had been lonely and sad since her husband’s death, and the idea of hiding a Thief in her basement was a pleasant distraction.

And he... he had all but run out of places to hide.

He turned to look at her. She was asleep, breathing softly. He wondered if she really believed he was a Thief, or if he simply fitted well enough into her fantasy that she didn’t care if it was true or not. He was not the dashing young Thief of the novel – he certainly didn’t have the stamina for the adventures described, either in bed or out of it.

I’m getting soft. I can’t even walk up stairs without my heart thumping, and getting out of breath. We’ve spent too much time locked away in cramped hiding places and not enough time in fighting practice.

A muffled thump came from the next room. Cery lifted his head to regard the door. Were Anyi and Gol awake? Now that he was, he doubted he’d sleep again for some time. Being cooped up always led to him sleeping badly.

He slipped off the bed, automatically pulling on his trousers and reaching for his coat. Slipping one arm into a sleeve, he reached for the door handle and turned it quietly. As he pushed it open Anyi came into view. She was leaning over Gol, a blade catching the light of the night lamps, poised ready to strike. He felt his heart lurch in alarm and disbelief.

“What...?” he began. At the sound, Anyi turned to look at him with the enviable speed of youth.

It was not Anyi.

Just as quickly, not-Anyi’s attention moved back to Gol and the knife stabbed downwards, but hands rose to grab the assassin’s wrist and stop it. Gol surged up off the bed. Cery was through the door by then, but checked his stride as a new thought overrode his intention to stop the woman.

Where’s Anyi?

He turned to see that another struggle was underway over at the second makeshift bed, only this time it was the intruder who was pressed to the mattress, holding back the hands that held a knife hovering just above his chest. Cery felt a surge of pride for his daughter. She must have woken in time to catch the assassin, and turned his attack against him.

But her face was stretched in a grimace of effort as she tried to force the knife down. Despite the assassin’s small size, the muscles of his wrists and neck were well developed. Anyi would not win this trial of brute force. Her advantage was her speed. He took a step toward her.

“Get out of here, Cery,” Gol barked.

Anyi’s arms were forced back as her concentration was broken. She sprang out of reach of the assassin. He leapt off the bed and dropped into a fighting stance, whipping out a long, thin knife from within a sleeve. But he did not advance on her. His gaze moved to Cery.

Cery had no intention of leaving the fight to Anyi and Gol. He might one day have to abandon Gol, but this was not that day. He would never abandon his daughter.

He had slipped his other arm into the coat sleeve automatically. Now he stepped backwards and feigned fear, while reaching into the pockets, and wriggled his hands into the wrist straps of his favourite weapons: two knives, the sheaths fastened inside the pockets so that the blades would be bare and ready when Cery drew them out.

The assassin leapt toward Cery. Anyi sprang at him. Cery did too. It was not what the man expected. Nor did he expect the twin knives that trapped his own. Or the blade that, well aimed, slid through the soft flesh of his neck. He froze in surprise and horror.

Cery ducked away from the spray of blood as Anyi withdrew her knife, knocked the assassin’s knife from his hand, then finished him with a stab to the heart.

Very efficient. I’ve trained her well.

With Gol’s help, of course. Cery turned to see how his friend was faring and was relieved to see the female assassin lying in a growing pool of blood on the floor.

Gol looked at Cery and grinned. He was breathing hard. So am I, Cery realised. Anyi bent and ran her hands over the male attacker’s clothing and hair, then rubbed her fingers together.

“Soot. He came down the chimney into the house above.” She looked at the old stone stairs leading up to the basement door speculatively.

Cery’s mood soured. However the pair had got in, or found them in the first place, this was no longer a safe hiding place. He scowled down at the dead assassins, considering the last few people he might call on for help, and how they might reach them.

A small gasp came from the doorway. He turned to see Cadia, wrapped only in a sheet, staring wide-eyed at the dead assassins. She shuddered, but as she looked at him her dismay turned to disappointment.

“I guess you won’t be staying another night, then?”

Cery shook his head. “Sorry about the mess.”

She regarded the blood and bodies with a grimace, then frowned and peered up at the ceiling. Cery hadn’t heard anything, but Anyi had lifted her head at the same time. They all exchanged worried looks, not wanting to speak unless their suspicions were true.

He heard a faint creak, muffled by the floorboards above them.

As soundlessly as possible, Anyi and Gol grabbed their shoes, packs and the lamps and followed Cery into the other room, shutting the door behind them and lifting an old chest into place before it. Cadia stopped in the middle of the room, sighed and dropped the sheet so that she could get dressed. Both Anyi and Gol turned their backs quickly.

“What should I do?” Cadia whispered to Cery.

He picked up the rest of his clothes and Cadia’s bedroom lamp, and considered. “Follow us.”

She looked more ill than excited as they slipped through the trapdoor that led to the old Thieves’ Road. The passages here were filled with rubble and not entirely safe. This section of the underground network had been cut off from the rest when the king had rebuilt a nearby road and put new houses where the old slum homes had been. Though it was not quite within the borders of his territory, Cery had paid an old tunneller to dig a new access passage, but had left the old ways looking abandoned so that nobody would be tempted to use them if they did find them. It had been a handy place to hide things, like stolen goods and the occasional corpse.

He’d never planned to hide himself here, however. Cadia regarded the rubble-strewn passage with a mix of dismay and curiosity. Cery handed her the lamp and pointed in one direction.

“In a hundred paces or so you’ll see a grate high on the left wall. Beyond it is an alley between two houses. There’ll be grooves in the wall to help you climb up, and the grate should hinge inward. Go to one of your neighbours and tell them there are robbers in your house. If they find the bodies, say they’re the robbers and suggest one turned on the other.”

“What if they don’t find them?”

“Drag them into the passages and don’t let anyone into the cellar until the smell goes away.”

She looked even more ill, but nodded and straightened her back. He felt a pang of affection at her bravery, and hoped she wouldn’t run into more assassins, or be punished some other way for helping him. He stepped close and kissed her firmly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s been a pleasure.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling for a moment.

“You be careful,” she told him.

“Always am. Now go.”

She hurried away. He couldn’t risk staying to watch her leave. Gol moved forward to lead the way and Anyi remained at the rear as they made their way through the crumbling passages. After several steps something slammed behind them. Cery stopped and looked back.

“Cadia?” Gol muttered. “The grille closing as she climbed up to the street?”

“It’s a long way for the sound to travel,” Cery said.

“That wasn’t the sound of a grate on bricks or stone,” Anyi whispered. “It was... something wooden.”

A rattle followed. The sound of disturbed bricks and stones. Cery felt a chill run down his back. “Go. Hurry. But quietly.”

Gol held his lamp high, but they could only manage breaking into a jog now and then with so much rubble on the passage floor. Cery bit back a curse more than once, regretting not tidying things up a little bit more. Then, after they’d continued along a straight section of tunnel, Gol cursed and skidded to a halt. Looking over the big man’s shoulder, Cery saw that the roof ahead had collapsed recently, leaving them in a dead end. He spun about and they hurried back toward the last junction they had passed.

Anyi sighed as they reached the turn. “We’re making tracks.”

Looking down, Cery saw footprints in the dust. The hope that the pursuit might follow the tracks down to the dead end was dashed as he realised that Gol’s now led down the side passage, leaving plenty of evidence they’d backtracked.

But if there’s another opportunity to set down false tracks...

None came, however. Relief surged through him as they finally reached the connecting passage to the main part of the Thieves’ Road. Once again he regretted not anticipating the situation he was in: while he’d disguised the entry to the isolated tunnels, he’d made no effort to conceal the exit from anyone exploring within.

Once the door was closed behind them, they looked around at the cleaner, better-maintained passage they were standing in. There was nothing they could use to block the door and prevent their pursuers from leaving the old passages.

“Where to?” Gol asked.

“South-east.”

They moved faster now, shuttering the lamps so that only the thinnest beam of light illuminated the way. Once Cery would have travelled in the dark, but he’d heard stories of traps being set up to defend other Thieves’ territories, by enterprising robbers or by the mysterious Sligs. Even so, the pace Gol set was precariously fast and Cery worried that his friend would not be able to dodge any dangers he hurried into.

Soon Cery was breathing hard, his chest aching and his legs growing unsteady. Gol drew ahead a little, but slowed after a while and looked back. He paused and waited for Cery, but his frown didn’t fade and he didn’t move on as Cery caught up.

“Where’s Anyi?”

The lurch Cery’s heart made was like a stab of pain. He whirled around to see only darkness behind them.

“I’m here,” a voice said quietly, then soft footsteps preceded her out of the gloom. “I stopped to see if I could hear them following.” Her expression was grim. “They are. There’s more than one.” She waved a hand as she hurried closer. “Get going. They’re not far behind us.”

Cery followed as Gol raced onward. The big man set an even faster pace. He chose a twisting route, but they did not lose their pursuers – which suggested they knew the passages as well as he and Cery. Gol drew closer to the Guild passages, but whoever followed was clearly not sufficiently intimidated by magicians to let their prey go.

They were nearing Cery’s secret entrance into the tunnels under the Guild. They won’t dare follow me there. Unless they didn’t know where the passages led. If they follow, they’ll discover that the Guild leave their underground ways unguarded. Which meant that Skellin would find out as well. Not only will I never be able to escape that way again, but I will have to warn the Guild. They will fill the passages in and then our safest way to Sonea and Lilia will be gone.

He regarded the Guild passages as an escape route of last resort. If there was any alternative...

Twenty strides or so from the entrance to the Guild passages a sound came from behind, confirming that the assassins were close. Too close – there would not be time to open the secret door before they caught up. When Gol slowed to look back at Cery – his eyebrows raised in a silent question – Cery slipped past him and headed in a new direction.

He had one other alternative. It was a riskier one. It might even lead them into greater danger than that which they fled. But at least their pursuers would be in as much danger, if they dared to follow.

Gol, realising what Cery intended, cursed under his breath. But he didn’t argue. He grabbed Cery’s arm to slow him, and took the lead again.

“Madness,” he muttered, then raced toward Slig City.

It had been over a decade – nearly two – since dozens of street urchins had made a new home in the tunnels after the destruction of their neighbourhood. They soon became the subject of scary stories told in bolhouses and to terrify children into obedience. It was said that the Sligs never ventured into the sunlight and only emerged at night via sewers and cellars to steal food and play tricks on people. Some believed that they had bred into spindly, pale things with huge eyes that allowed them to see in the dark. Others said they looked like any other street urchin, until they opened their mouths to reveal long fangs. What all agreed on was that to venture into Slig territory was to invite death. From time to time someone would test that belief. Most never returned, but a few had crawled out again, bleeding from stab wounds delivered by silent, unseen attackers in the dark.

Locals left out offerings, hoping to avoid subterranean invasions of their homes. Cery, whose territory overlapped the Sligs’ in one corner, had arranged for someone to put food in one of the tunnels every few days, the sack marked with a picture of his namesake, the little rodent ceryni.

It had been a while since he’d checked to make sure they were still doing so. If they haven’t, then I’m probably not going to get a chance to punish them for it.

Soon he spotted the markers that warned they were crossing into Slig territory. Then he stopped seeing them. He could hear Anyi’s quick breathing behind him. Had the assassins dared to follow?

“Don’t,” Anyi gasped as he slowed to look over his shoulder. “They’re... right... behind... us.”

He had no breath to utter a curse. Air rasped in and out of his lungs. His whole body ached, and his legs wobbled as he forced them to keep jogging onward. He made himself think of the danger Anyi was in. She would be the first one the assassins killed if they caught up. He couldn’t let that happen.

Something grabbed at his ankles and he toppled forward.

The ground wasn’t as flat or hard as he expected, but heaved and rolled, and muffled curses were coming from it. Gol – now invisible in utter darkness. The lamps had gone out. Cery rolled aside.

“Shut up,” a voice whispered.

“Do it, Gol,” Cery ordered. Gol fell silent.

Back down the passage, footsteps grew louder. Moving lights appeared, filtering through a curtain of roughly woven fabric that Cery did not recall encountering. It must have been dropped down after we passed it. The footsteps slowed and stopped. A sound came from another direction – more hurried footsteps. The lights moved away as their bearers continued in pursuit.

After a long pause, several sighs broke the silence. A shiver ran down Cery’s spine as he realised he was surrounded by several people. A thin beam of light appeared. One of the lamps. It was being held by a stranger.

Cery looked up at a young man, who was staring back at him.

“Who?” the man asked.

“Ceryni of Northside.”

“These?”

“My bodyguards.”

The man’s eyebrows rose, then he nodded. He turned to the others. Cery looked around to see six other young men, two sitting on top of Gol. Anyi was in a fighting crouch, a knife in both hands. The two young men standing on either side of her were keeping a safe distance, though they looked willing to risk a cut if their leader ordered them to take her down.

“Put them away, Anyi,” Cery said.

Without taking her eyes from them, she obeyed. At a nod from the leader, the two men climbed off Gol, who groaned with relief. Cery rose to his feet, turned back to the leader and straightened his shoulders.

“We seek safe passage.”

The young man’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “No such thing nowaday.” He jabbed a thumb toward his chest. “Wen.” He turned to speak to the others. “This name I know. One who leaves food. What we do?”

They exchanged glances, then muttered words to which he shook his head: “Kill?” “Free?” “Worm?” one said, and Wen looked thoughtful. He nodded. “Worm,” he said decisively. Somehow this resulted in nods, though whether of acceptance or agreement Cery couldn’t tell.

Wen turned to Cery. “You all come with us. We take you to Worm.” He gave Gol back his lamp, then looked at one of those who had been sitting on the big man. “Go tell Worm.”

The young man scampered off into the darkness behind Wen. As Wen turned to follow, Anyi reached out and took her lamp back from the youth holding it. Two of the youngsters hurried forward to join their leader Wen and the rest took positions at the rear.

No one spoke as they walked. At first Cery only felt an overwhelming relief at simply not running any more, though his legs were still shaky and his heart was beating too fast. Gol looked as winded as he did, he noted. As he recovered he began to worry again. He’d never heard of anyone meeting with a Slig called Worm. Unless... unless Worm isn’t really a man, but something they feed trespassers to.

Stop it, he told himself. If they wanted us dead, they wouldn’t have hidden us from our pursuers. They’d have stabbed us in the dark or led us into a dead end.

After walking for some time, a voice spoke in the darkness ahead, and Wen grunted a reply. Soon a man stepped into the light and the group stopped. He stared at Cery intently, then nodded.

“You are Ceryni,” he said. He extended a hand. “I am Worm.”

Cery held out his hand, unsure what the gesture meant. Worm grasped it for a moment, then let it go and beckoned. “Come with me.”

Another journey followed. Cery noticed that the air was growing humid, and from time to time the sound of running water came from a side passage or behind the walls. Then they stepped out into a cavernous room filled with the rush of water, and it all made sense.

A forest of columns surrounded them, each splaying out to form a brick archway that joined with its neighbour. The whole network formed a low ceiling that suggested draped fabric or a faren’s web. Below this was no floor, but the reflective surface of water. Their guide was now walking along what appeared to be the top of a thick wall. The water flowed past on either side. It was too dark to tell how deep it was.

Fortunately the path was dry and not at all slippery. Glancing back, Cery saw that the water flowed into tunnels which, by the slant of their roof, descended even further under the city. On either side he saw other wall tops, too far away to reach by leaping. The only illumination came from the lamps they carried.

The water itself was surprisingly free of floating matter. Only the occasional oily slick passed them, mostly smelling of soap and fragrance. The walls bore patches of mould, however, and there was an unhealthy dampness to the air.

A cluster of lights appeared ahead and Cery soon began to make out some sort of large platform bridging two of the walls. Several people were sitting on it, and a low murmur of voices echoed in the vast room. Beyond the platform Cery made out dark circles within a lighter area, and eventually picked out enough detail to see that they were more tunnels, this time set higher up and with water spilling out into the vast underground pool.

Their footsteps set the platform creaking as they followed Worm onto it. Looking at the people, Cery saw that none were older than their mid-twenties. Two of the young women nursed babies, and a toddler was tethered by a rope to the closest column, probably so that he did not scamper off the platform into the water. All stared at Cery, Gol and Anyi with wide, curious eyes, but none spoke.

Worm glanced at Cery, then gestured at the water outlets.

“This lot come from the Guild Baths,” he said. “Further south there are sewer pipes and those up north are both sewers and drains from the kitchens. But here the water is cleaner.”

Cery nodded. It wasn’t a bad place to settle, if you didn’t mind being underground and constantly surrounded by dampness. Looking to either side he made out other platforms, populated by more Sligs, and narrow bridges linking them.

“I never knew this was here,” he admitted.

“Right under your nose.” Worm smiled, and Cery realised how right the man was. This part of Slig territory ran under Cery’s own area. Cery turned to face him.

“Your people hid us from people who wanted to kill us,” he said. “Thanks. I would never have trespassed if I’d had another choice.”

Worm tilted his head to one side. “Not the Guild tunnels?”

So he knows I have access to them. Cery shook his head. “It would have shown them to my enemy. I’d have had to warn the Guild about that, and I don’t expect to like what they’d do about it. I’m guessing you would not like them snooping around down here either.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “No.” He shrugged, then sighed. “If we’d let the one who sent the hunters after you find you, he would find us too. Once he takes your things there is nothing stopping him from taking ours.”

Cery regarded Worm thoughtfully. The Sligs were far more aware of the goings-on in the world above than he’d have expected. They were right about Skellin. Once he held Cery’s territory he’d want control of the Sligs too.

“Skellin or me. Not much of a choice,” Cery said.

Worm shook his head and scowled. “He won’t let us ’lone, like you do.” He nodded toward the tunnels. “He will want those because he wants what they lead to.”

The Guild. Cery shivered. Was this a smart guess by the Slig leader, or did he know of Skellin’s specific plans? He opened his mouth to ask, but Worm turned to stare at Cery.

“I show you this so you know. But you can’t stay,” he said. “We will take you out in a safe place, but that is all.”

Cery nodded. “It’s more than I’d hoped for,” he replied, putting all his gratitude into his tone.

“If you must come back, speak my name and you will live, but we will take you out again.”

“I understand.”

Worm held Cery’s gaze for a little longer, then nodded. “Where do you want to go?”

Cery looked at Anyi and Gol. His daughter looked anxious, and Gol looked pale and exhausted. Where could they go? They had few favours left to them, and no safe place within easy reach. No allies they could trust or risk endangering. Except one. Cery turned back to Worm.

“Take us back the way we came.”

The man spoke a word to the youths who had rescued Cery and his companions. Worm gestured to indicate Cery should follow them; then, without voicing a farewell, he walked away. Taking that as a Slig custom, Cery turned also.

The journey out of Slig territory was slower, which Cery was grateful for. Now that fear and relief had both passed, he was tired. A gloom settled over him. Gol was dragging his feet, too. At least Anyi had youthful stamina on her side. Cery began to recognise the walls around them, then the Slig guides melted away into the darkness. The lamp Cery was carrying spluttered and died as it ran out of oil. Gol did not protest as Cery took his lamp and led them to the entrance to the Guild passages.

When they had slipped through and the door was closed again, Cery felt much of the tension and fear leave him. They were safe at last. He turned to Anyi.

“So where is this room you and Lilia meet in?”

She took the lamp, leading him and Gol down the long, straight passage. After a side turn, they reached a complex of rooms connected by twisting corridors. An unwelcome memory rose of being locked in the dark, imprisoned by Lord Fergun, and Cery shivered. But these rooms were different: older and with a feel of deliberate confusion to the arrangement. Anyi took them into a room cleaned of dust, with a few small wooden boxes for furniture and a pile of worn pillows for seating. At one end was a bricked-up chimney. She set the lamp down, then lit a few candles in alcoves carved into the walls.

“This is it,” she said. “I’d have brought in more furniture but I couldn’t carry anything big and I didn’t want to draw attention.”

“No beds.” Gol settled down onto one of the boxes with a groan. Cery smiled at his old friend.

“Don’t worry. We’ll sort something out.”

But Gol’s grimace didn’t soften. Cery frowned as he noticed that Gol’s hands were pressed to his side under his shirt. Then he saw the dark stain, glistening in the candle light.

“Gol...?”

The big man closed his eyes and swayed.

“Gol!” Anyi exclaimed, reaching his side at the same time as Cery. They caught Gol before he could fall off the box. Anyi dragged pillows over.

“Lie down,” she ordered. “Let me look at that.”

Cery could not speak. Fear had frozen his mind and throat. The assassin must have stabbed Gol during the fight. Or perhaps before he woke up, and Cery had only seen Gol stop the second stab.

Anyi bullied Gol off the box and onto the pillows, pulling his hand away and peeling back the shirt to reveal a small wound in his belly, slowly seeping blood.

“All this time.” Cery shook his head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Gol shrugged, then winced. “Didn’t start hurting until we were talking to Worm.”

“I bet it does now,” Anyi said. “How deep do you think it went?”

“Not far. I don’t know.” Gol coughed in pain.

“This could be worse than it looks.” Anyi sat back on her heels and looked up at Cery. “I’ll get Lilia.”

“No...” Gol protested.

“It was only a few hours until dawn when we left Cadia’s house,” Cery told her. “Lilia might be at the University already.”

Anyi nodded. “She might. Only one way to find out.” She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“Go,” he told her.

She took his hand and pressed it over the wound. Gol groaned.

“Keep pressure on it and—”

“I know what to do,” Cery told her. “If she’s not there at least get something clean to use as a dressing.”

“I will,” she said, picking up the lamp.

Then she was gone, her footsteps fading as she hurried into the darkness.

Chapter 2
Summoned

“Should I take Mother’s blood ring?” Lorkin asked as Dannyl walked through the open doorway of his rooms in the Guild House.

Dannyl looked down at the ring of gold Lorkin held, a globe of red glass set into the band. If something should go wrong during this meeting with the Sachakan king it would be good if we both have a way to communicate with the Guild, he thought. But if things go that badly both of our blood rings could be found and taken, and could be used as a tool of torture and distraction against Osen and Sonea.

That was the limitation of blood gems. They conveyed the thoughts of the wearer to the magician whose blood went into their making. The disadvantage was that the creator couldn’t stop sensing the thoughts of the wearer, which was particularly unpleasant if the wearer was being tortured.

This had been done to his old friend and mentor, Rothen, by one of the Sachakan outcasts – known as Ichani – who had invaded Kyralia twenty years before. The man had caught Rothen but, instead of killing him, he’d made a gem from Rothen’s blood. He had put it on every one of his victims so that Rothen received a flood of impressions from terrified, dying Kyralians.

Of Black Magician Sonea and Administrator Osen, who would be most affected if their ring was taken? Dannyl shivered at the obvious answer.

“Leave it,” he advised. “I’ll have Osen’s ring. Give Sonea’s to me and I’ll hide it, in case they read your mind and learn of it.”

Lorkin looked at Dannyl, an odd, half-amused expression on his face. “Don’t worry, they won’t read anything from me,” he said.

Dannyl stared at the young magician in surprise. “You can...?”

“In a limited way. I didn’t have the time to gain the skills the Traitors have at tricking a mind-reader. If someone tries it on me they won’t succeed, but they’ll know they aren’t succeeding.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Dannyl said. He took a step back toward the door. “I’ll go hide this and meet you in the Master’s Room.”

Lorkin nodded.

Dannyl hurried back to his rooms, ordered the slave to leave and stop anyone entering, then looked for a place to hide the gem. Lorkin can block a mind-read! Ashaki Achati, the Sachakan king’s adviser who had been Dannyl’s friend since he had arrived in Arvice, had said the Traitors had a way of doing it. How else did their spies, posing as slaves, avoid detection? I wonder what else Lorkin hasn’t told me. He felt a stab of frustration. Since returning to Arvice, Lorkin had been reluctant to say anything about the rebel society he’d lived with for the last few months. Dannyl understood that his former assistant had been entrusted with secrets he couldn’t reveal without risking many lives. But it gives the impression that his loyalties now lie with them more than with the Guild and Kyralia.

The young magician had begun wearing robes again, so he clearly still considered himself a Guild magician – despite telling Dannyl, back when they had met in the mountains, that the Guild should act as if he’d left it.

The legs of Dannyl’s travel chest were carved to look like tree stumps, with rough, twisted bark. Dannyl had cut out one of the twists with magic, making a small hollow behind it, in case he ever needed to hide Osen’s ring. Easing out the twist, he set Sonea’s ring inside, then plugged the hollow closed again. Then he set off for the Master’s Room, the part of a traditional Sachakan house where the head of a family greeted and entertained guests.

The Guild had never officially declared that Lorkin was no long a member, despite the awkward situation this had created between Sachaka and Kyralia. Aside from avoiding the pain this would have caused Sonea, the Higher Magicians did not want to appear to give up on finding wayward magicians too quickly. However, there had been a danger that doing nothing would make it seem as if they condoned Lorkin’s association with the rebels, which would strain relations between the Allied Lands and the Sachakan king.

Coming back to Arvice might have eased that strain, except for the fact that the Sachakan king badly wanted to know what Lorkin had learned about his enemy. He was about to be disappointed.

As soon as he knew the young magician had returned, King Amakira had sent orders forbidding Lorkin to leave the city. Dannyl had expected a summons to the palace to come soon after, but several days had passed with no further messages. No doubt the king had been consulting with his advisers.

Including Ashaki Achati, if his absence is any indication.

The adviser had not visited or sent any messages since the day he, Dannyl and Tayend had arrived home from their research trip to Duna. At the thought of the journey, Dannyl felt anger simmering. Tayend had manipulated Achati into taking him with them, then deliberately and successfully prevented Dannyl and Achati from becoming lovers.

Funny how that has made me want us to be together more, when before we left I was hesitant, and doubtful about the political consequences of such a relationship.

The fact that Tayend’s reasons for interfering were the same as those that had caused Dannyl to hesitate in the first place, and that the current situation was exactly the sort that would make such an affair awkward, did not make it any easier for Dannyl to forgive him for interfering.

Dannyl could not help hoping it was only the situation with Lorkin that kept Achati away, rather than that the man had given up on him.

He also could not help feeling a pang of guilt. Whether he and Achati were lovers or not, there would always be secrets they must keep from each other. Secrets like the Duna people’s proposal for an alliance or trade agreement with the Guild. That matter had been all but forgotten since Lorkin had returned. Once, the Guild would have been excited by any chance to acquire a new kind of magic, but the prospect of the same trade with the Traitors, who would be a more formidable ally, had eclipsed that.

Dannyl did not know exactly what the Traitors had told Lorkin to communicate to the Guild. Osen had decided that it was best that Dannyl did not know, in the unlikely event that his mind was read. Dannyl frowned. Osen must know that Lorkin can block a mind-read. Lorkin isn’t going to tell me anything he hasn’t already told Osen.

Arriving at the Master’s Room, he saw that Lorkin was already there. He, Tayend and Lady Merria, Dannyl’s assistant, were sitting on stools, talking quietly. They got to their feet as Dannyl entered.

“Ready?” Dannyl asked Lorkin.

Lorkin nodded.

Tayend gave the young magician a serious look. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Ambassador,” Lorkin replied.

“We’ve both been asking our Sachakan friends what they think the king will do,” Tayend added, glancing at Merria. “Nobody wants to predict anything, but they all hope the king won’t do anything to upset the Allied Lands.”

“And do they think I should break my promise and tell all about the Traitors?” Lorkin asked.

Tayend grimaced in reply. “Yes.” Merria nodded in agreement.

Lorkin’s lips twitched into a brief smile. “Hardly surprising.” But despite his apparent humour, his eyes were hard. Dannyl was suddenly reminded of Black Magician Sonea. Thinking of how stubborn Lorkin’s mother had been at his age, Dannyl felt a little better about Lorkin facing the questions and bullying of the Sachakan king. Let’s hope bullying is all he tries.

“You be careful, too,” Merria said.

Dannyl realised she was looking at him, and blinked in surprise. She had been giving him dark looks since he’d returned, letting him know that she hadn’t forgiven him for not taking her to Duna. He wasn’t sure how to respond to her concern, especially since he didn’t want to think about what would happen to himself should matters take a turn for the worse.

“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “We’ll be fine,” he added. Tayend was looking at Dannyl in a concerned way that Dannyl did not want to think about either, so he turned towards the corridor leading out of the Guild House. “Well, let’s not keep the king waiting.”

“No,” Lorkin said softly.

Dannyl looked over to Kai, the man who was now his personal slave. Merria had learned from her friends that it was a typical ploy of slaves to switch tasks a lot, since it was harder for a master to find the right slave to punish for a particular error if many different slaves could be responsible. The more slaves you saw the harder it was to remember their names, and if you couldn’t remember a slave’s name it was harder to order them punished.

Merria had demanded that each occupant of the Guild House have one or two slaves dedicated to meeting their needs. But though the arrangement was closer to having a servant there were still disadvantages. A servant asked questions. A servant would tell you if something was impossible or difficult to do. A servant didn’t throw himself onto the floor every time he came into your presence. Despite having had some irritatingly argumentative servants over the years, Dannyl would rather that than the inconvenience of unquestioning obedience.

“Let the carriage slaves know we’re ready, Kai,” Dannyl instructed.

Kai hurried ahead. Dannyl led Lorkin down the corridor to the front door. As they stepped out, bright sunlight dazzled Dannyl’s eyes and he lifted a hand to shade them. The sky was blue and cloudless, and there was a warmth and dryness to the air that, in Kyralia, he’d have associated with the onset of summer. Here it was only early spring. As always, the slaves threw themselves onto the ground. Dannyl ordered them to rise, then he and Lorkin climbed on board the waiting carriage.

They rode in silence. Dannyl considered all that Osen had told him to say, and to avoid saying. He wished he knew more of what Lorkin and the Guild planned. Not knowing the full truth made him uneasy. All too soon the carriage turned into the wide tree-lined avenue leading to the palace, then pulled up outside the building. The slaves clambered to the ground and opened the door.

Dannyl climbed out and waited for Lorkin to join him.

“Pretty,” Lorkin said, gazing up at the building in admiration. Of course, he hasn’t seen the palace before, Dannyl thought. Looking up at the curved white walls, and the top of the glittering gold dome just visible above, he remembered how impressed he’d been the first time he’d visited. He was too worried about the coming interview to feel admiration now.

Turning his attention to the entrance, he led Lorkin inside. They strode down the wide corridor, past the guards, out into the huge, column-filled hall that served as the king’s grand Master’s Room. Dannyl’s heart began to beat faster as he saw many more people were present than at any time when he’d met the king before. Instead of a cluster of two or three people here and there, there was a small crowd. Judging by their highly decorated short jackets and confident poses, most of them were Ashaki. He counted quickly. About fifty.

Knowing that there were so many black magicians surrounding him sent an unpleasant chill down his spine. He concentrated on keeping his face impassive and his walk dignified, hoping he was hiding his fear successfully.

King Amakira was sitting on his throne. Though old, he looked as tense and alert as the youngest of the Sachakans in the room. His eyes never left Lorkin until Dannyl stopped and dropped to one knee. Lorkin, as instructed, followed suit.

“Rise, Ambassador Dannyl,” the king said.

Dannyl stood up and resisted looking at Lorkin, who was obliged to remain kneeling until told otherwise. The king’s gaze had shifted back to the young magician. His gaze was intense.

“Rise, Lord Lorkin.”

Lorkin got to his feet, looked at the king, then lowered his gaze politely.

“Welcome back,” the king said.

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“Have you recovered from your journey back to Arvice?”

“I have, your majesty.”

“That is good to hear.” The king looked at Dannyl and a kind of cold amusement crept into his eyes. “Ambassador, I wish to hear Lorkin tell how he came to leave Arvice, live with the Traitors and then return.”

Dannyl nodded. “I expected you would, your majesty,” he replied, managing a smile. He turned to Lorkin. “Tell him what you told me, Lord Lorkin.”

The young magician gave Dannyl an amused, almost reproachful look before he turned back to the king. Dannyl suppressed a smile. If he tells them what he told me, he’ll hardly be telling them much at all.

“On the night that I left the Guild House,” Lorkin began, “a slave crept into my bed and tried to kill me. I was saved by another slave, who convinced me that assassins would return to finish me off if I didn’t leave with her. My rescuer, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, was not really a slave at all, but one of the Traitors.

“She explained that the society she belonged to was formed before the Sachakan War, when a group of women were driven to unite by their ill treatment in Sachakan society. The war forced them into the mountains, where they became a new people, rejecting slavery and inequality between men and women.”

“They are ruled by women,” the king interrupted. “How is that equal?”

Lorkin shrugged. “It’s not a perfect arrangement, but still fairer than any I’ve encountered or heard of.”

“So you went to their base?”

“Yes. It was the safest place to go, what with the assassins still hunting for me.”

“Could you find it again?”

Lorkin shook his head. “No. I was blindfolded.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “How big is their base? How many Traitors are there?”

“I... I can’t really say.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“It wasn’t the sort of place where you can easily guess how many people are around.”

“Take a guess anyway.”

Lorkin spread his hands. “More than a hundred.”

“Did you gain any impressions of their fighting strength?”

Once again, Lorkin shook his head. “I never saw them fight. Some are magicians. You know that already. I can’t tell you numbers, their strength or how well trained they are.”

A movement among the Ashaki near the throne attracted Dannyl’s attention, and his heart skipped at he recognised Achati. The man met Dannyl’s eyes briefly, but his only expression was one of thoughtfulness. He leaned closer to the king and murmured something. The king’s stare didn’t waver from Lorkin, but his eyebrows lowered slightly.

“What did you do while with the Traitors?” he asked.

“I helped treat the sick.”

“They trusted you, a foreigner, to heal them?”

“Yes.”

“Did you teach them anything?”

“A few things. I learned a few things, too.”

“What did you teach them?”

“Some new cures – and I learned several from them, though some require plants we don’t have in Kyralia.”

“Why did you leave them?”

Lorkin paused, obviously not expecting the question so soon. “Because I wanted to return home.”

“Why didn’t you leave sooner?”

“They do not usually let foreigners leave. But they changed their minds in my case.”

“Why?”

“There was no reason not to. I hadn’t learned anything important, so I couldn’t reveal anything important. When I left, they made sure I’d never be able to find my way back.”

The king regarded him thoughtfully. “Even so, you’ve seen more of the Traitors’ base than any non-Traitor has before. There may be details you do not understand the significance of. These rebels are a danger to this country, and may one day be a danger to other lands in this region, including yours. Will you consent to a mind-read?”

Lorkin went very still. The hall was quiet as he opened his mouth to answer.

“No, your majesty.”

“I will enlist only my most skilled mind-reader. He will not search your thoughts, but will allow you to present your memories to him.”

“I appreciate that, but I am obliged to protect the knowledge taught to me by the Guild. I must refuse.”

The king’s gaze moved to Dannyl. His expression was unreadable. “Ambassador, will you order Lord Lorkin to cooperate with a mind-reader?”

Dannyl took a deep breath.

“With respect, your majesty, I cannot. I do not have the authority to do so.”

The king’s eyebrows lowered. “But you have a blood ring that allows you to communicate with the Guild. Contact them. Get the order from whoever has the authority to give it.”

Dannyl opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. He must look as if he was trying to be cooperative. Reaching into his robes he took Osen’s ring from his pocket and slipped it on a finger.

—Osen?

—Dannyl, came the immediate reply. The Administrator had said he would arrange to be unoccupied while the meeting with the Sachakan king took place, and Dannyl detected no surprise at his communication.

—They want the Guild to order Lorkin to submit to a mind-read.

—Ah. Of course. They won’t believe a word he says.

—What should I tell them?

—That only Merin has the authority to order it, and he will only consider it once he has had a chance to interview Lorkin personally and privately.

Dannyl felt a chill. The only way the Kyralian king could make his wishes clearer would be to abandon formality and demand Amakira send Lorkin home. —Nothing else?

—Not for now. See what Amakira says to that.

Dannyl slipped off the ring and, keeping it in one hand, looked up at the king of Sachaka and conveyed Osen’s message.

Amakira stared at Dannyl for what felt like a long, long time. When he finally moved, it was preceded by a shifting of his jaw muscles that hinted at the anger the message had roused.

“That is inconvenient,” he said quietly. “And forces me to question whether I must cast aside efforts at cooperation between our nations for the sake of protecting my own – or at least reduce my efforts to match that of Kyralia’s.” He pursed his lips, and turned to look at two of the Ashaki. “Please escort Lord Lorkin to the prison.”

Lorkin took a half-step backwards, then stopped. As the two Ashaki approached, Dannyl moved forward.

“I must protest, your majesty!” Dannyl exclaimed. “I ask on behalf of the Allied Lands that you honour the agreement—”

“Either Lord Lorkin goes to prison, or Lord Lorkin goes to prison and Ambassador Dannyl leaves Sachaka,” the king said, loud enough to drown Dannyl’s words.

—Let them take him.

Dannyl almost gasped aloud in surprise at the voice in his head. He realised he was gripping the ring tightly, allowing the gem to touch his skin and therefore conveying his thoughts to Osen.

—Are you sure?

—Yes, the Administrator replied. We hoped this wouldn’t happen, of course, but we’d rather not lose Lorkin and have you expelled from Sachaka. Go back to the Guild House and start nagging Amakira to let Lorkin go. We’ll be doing everything we can from this end.

Dannyl felt his heart sink as the two Ashaki stepped past him and stopped on either side of Lorkin. The young magician looked resigned and worried, but when he met Dannyl’s eyes he managed a wan smile.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. Then he let the two men lead him away.

Dannyl turned back to the king.

“Take him if you must, your majesty, but do not harm him,” he warned, “or any chance of a peaceful alliance between the Allied Lands and Sachaka will be much harder to achieve in the future. That would be a great shame.”

Amakira’s stare did not waver, but his voice was quieter as he spoke.

“Go back to the Guild House, Ambassador. This meeting is over.”

Even before Sonea opened her eyes, she knew it was too soon for her to be waking up. Turning toward the screen over her bedroom window, she frowned as she saw early morning light reflected on the wall behind it. The light at this time of day always had a quality that distinguished it from the late evening glow, and told her that she had only been asleep for an hour or two.

A knocking from the main room told her why she was awake.

Groaning, she threw her arms over her eyes and waited. Every morning, except on Freedays, Black Magician Kallen stopped by to escort Lilia to lessons. Most of the time the novice prepared for her day at the University quietly enough not to wake Sonea. But it had taken Kallen some time to work out, after Sonea pointedly mentioned several times that she usually took the night shift at the hospice, that he should knock softly.

He appeared to have forgotten this morning.

The knocking came again, even louder. Sonea groaned again. Why wasn’t Lilia answering the door? Sighing, she threw off the bedclothes and forced herself into a standing position. She ran her hands through her hair to straighten it, grabbed an overrobe and threw it on over her bedclothes. Entering the main room, she headed for the door, tossing a little magic out to turn the handle.

As the door swung inward, a frowning Kallen looked up and saw her, and his eyebrows lowered further. His gaze flickered to her overrobe and back up to meet her gaze, his expression not changing.

“Good morning, Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “Sorry to disturb you. Is Lilia here?”

Sonea looked toward Lilia’s closed bedroom door on the other side of the room, then walked over to it. She knocked quietly, then louder, then opened the door. The room was empty. The bed was made, however, so clearly Sonea’s aunt and servant, Jonna, had been and gone.

“No,” she said, returning to the main door. “And no, I don’t know where she is. When I do, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.” Kallen looked decidedly unhappy, but he nodded and stepped away from the door.

Closing the door, Sonea headed back towards the bedroom, then stopped. It was unusual for Lilia to be absent of a morning. It was not in her nature to misbehave or cause trouble, but she still needed watching over because she had proven to be easily led astray by others.

Perhaps not as easily as in the past, though. After all, being tricked into learning black magic by your closest friend so she could frame you for the murder she committed has got to make you consider carefully who you trust. Not to mention discovering that Lorandra, the rogue magician who had helped Lilia escape from prison, intended to return that favour by turning Lilia over to her son, the infamous Thief, Skellin, so that Lilia could teach him black magic.

While Sonea trusted Lilia not to willingly get into serious trouble again, she might unwillingly do so. Sonea was also obliged to look as though she was keeping an eye on all other black magicians. Though she wasn’t officially Lilia’s guardian – that was Kallen’s role – letting the girl stay in her rooms had given everyone the impression she had taken responsibility for her.

Looking around the room, Sonea saw the corner of a slip of paper under the water jug on the side table. She walked across the room and picked it up.

Sonea sighed and rolled her eyes, but her annoyance soon passed. The message was probably not for her, but Jonna. The servant hadn’t seen it – or wasn’t able to wait around to meet Kallen – or else had tried and failed to find him.

The friend was probably Anyi, who had saved Lilia from being handed over to Skellin. Since Anyi was Cery’s daughter, Sonea wasn’t entirely convinced the girl wouldn’t lead Lilia astray in some way.

Cery wouldn’t let the girls get into trouble. Even so... I wonder why Lilia is meeting Anyi at this time of day – and where. Sonea put the note down. She knew that Anyi was entering her rooms the same way that Cery occasionally did: through a hidden doorway in the guest room. But for Lilia to leave to meet Anyi meant they were getting together elsewhere, and that was something to worry about. As a new black magician, Lilia was forbidden to leave the Guild grounds.

Perhaps she went back through the hatch with Anyi. The passages beneath the Guild were forbidden to all but the Higher Magicians, officially because they were unstable and dangerous but mainly because there was never any good reason for anybody to be down there. That wasn’t what worried Sonea the most about Lilia leaving to meet Anyi, however.

Skellin wanted Cery dead. That meant that anybody who helped him was a target. So far Cery had been able to conceal the fact that Anyi was his daughter. Officially she was still a bodyguard, but that still meant she was a target. Lilia might be able to protect herself with magic, but if the attacker was Skellin or his mother, Lorandra, she would be in trouble since both were magicians.

Has she left because Cery needs her help? But surely he’d contact me first. She frowned. Lately Cery had been hard to find, and when they did manage to meet he looked gaunt and anxious. She suspected he was polishing the truth about his efforts to find Skellin, and was only succeeding in keeping himself out of the rogue Thief’s reach.

Sighing for a third time, Sonea went back into the bedroom, but not to sleep. It was unlikely she would do more than lie awake, now that she had both Cery and Lilia to worry over. She washed and dressed, drew a little magic to soothe away weariness, and was making a cup of raka when someone knocked on the main door again.

Catching herself about to sigh again – she had sighed far too much already today – she looked over her shoulder and opened the door with magic.

Administrator Osen stepped into the doorway. She blinked in surprise.

“Administrator.”

“Black Magician Sonea,” he said, inclining his head politely. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” she replied, turning to face him. He closed the door. “Would you like some raka or sumi?”

He shook his head. “I have some bad but not entirely unexpected news.”

She felt a sensation uncomfortably like all her inner organs turning to water. Lorkin.

“How bad?”

Osen’s lips thinned in sympathy. “Not the worst news. I’d be more direct, if that was the case. Lorkin refused a mind-read. King Amakira demanded he be ordered to submit to one. King Merin refused. Amakira sent Lorkin to prison.”

A chill ran down her spine and her stomach flipped over. An image of Lorkin chained up in a dank, dark cell sprang into her mind and she felt nauseous. In her mind’s eye he was a frightened boy. But he isn’t. He’s a grown man. He knew this might happen, and still refused to betray the Traitors. I have to trust his judgement that they are worth saving. She forced her attention back to Osen.

“What now?” she asked, though the Higher Magicians had discussed this eventuality many times before.

“We work towards freeing him. We being the Guild, the king, and the Elyne king. If Lorkin is right, and he can prevent them reading his mind, then we must convince Amakira that letting him go is the easiest path towards learning more about the Traitors. That’s where your role begins.”

Sonea nodded and felt a belated relief. Her task to meet the Traitors on behalf of the Guild had become more complicated when it became clear King Amakira wouldn’t let Lorkin leave Sachaka until he had learned all he could from him. The Guild had decided to send her to Arvice as well to negotiate her son’s release. This worsening of Lorkin’s circumstances could have made them change their minds.

Because the Higher Magicians had decided that only a black magician would receive the respect needed to negotiate with the Sachakan king, that meant choosing between her and Kallen – Lilia being too young and still a novice. They had good reasons not to choose either of them. While the Sachakans regarded women as having less status than men, and being Lorkin’s mother might leave her open to blackmail, Kallen’s addiction to roet made him potentially unreliable and just as vulnerable to coercion.

And perhaps knowing that I have killed Sachakans before, and would be prepared to do so to save my son, may also nudge Amakira towards releasing him.

Of course, the Sachakan king might threaten to harm Lorkin in order to gain something from her, but there wasn’t much he could gain from that. She did not know what they wanted to find out, and could not order him to speak. All she could do was promise to try to persuade him to, if they let him go.

Unless, of course, he gives in to torture first. But she didn’t want to think about that. She turned to Osen.

“So when do I leave?”

Faint light spilling out of a doorway ahead told Lilia that she and Anyi were nearly at their destination. Dodging rubble in the corridor, she followed her friend to the opening and into the room beyond.

Cery was sitting on one of the old wooden boxes Anyi had found to use as seats. Under his hands, lying on some of the threadbare pillows from the pile Lilia and Anyi had so often lounged upon, was Gol. Even in the dim candlelight she could see he was pale. She brought her globe light closer and brightened it. His brow was slick with sweat and his stare was feverish with pain.

Lilia stared down at him, paralysed with doubt. Do I know enough of Healing yet to save him?

“Just... try,” Anyi urged.

Glancing at her friend, Lilia nodded. She made herself kneel down beside Gol. Cery’s hands were pressed against Gol’s abdomen, stained with blood.

“Should I take the pressure off?” Cery asked.

“I... I’m not sure yet,” Lilia admitted. “I’ll just... look.”

She pulled away more of Gol’s shirt, placed a palm on his bare skin, then closed her eyes and sent her senses outward and into his body.

At first all was chaos, but she drew upon what she had been told or read, and on exercises designed to make sense of all the signals. The first thing that was obvious was the pain. She nearly gasped aloud as she picked that up, and was proud that she did not lose focus. Pain was easy to stop. It was one of the early lessons taught to Healers. Once she’d tackled that, she looked for other information. Her mind was drawn toward the damaged part, where essential liquids were being lost, and others that were dangerously poisonous were trickling into healthy systems.

His guts have been nicked by the blade that stabbed him. He’d have died already if the leak had been much larger. Clearly that’s what I have to fix first...

Drawing magic, she fed it into the rupture so that the edges of the wound knit together, healing faster than they could ever have done without intervention.

Now I have to stop the blood leaking out. But before I do, there’s this poison from the guts and the blood pooling inside him to deal with. Use one to help wash out the other. She hoped Cery and Anyi weren’t panicking as she used magic to force the liquids out of the wound. There was a little more resistance to this than she’d expected. Then she remembered that Cery was still pressing on the wound. She concentrated on her own body enough to gain control of her vocal chords.

“You can stop now,” she made herself say.

She saw the blood begin to flow again, and was forced to concentrate hard to align and Heal the separated flesh and skin. Remembering warnings from her teachers, she checked within to make sure there were no internal rents causing bleeding to continue within. A few tubes needed fixing. Easily done.

After a final check, she drew her senses back to herself, took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Gol’s face was no longer rigid with pain. He looked up at her and smiled.

“Better?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. But... tired. Very tired.” He frowned. “Thirsty.”

“You will be. You’ve lost blood and there might be some inflammation from the poison.”

“The blade was poisoned?” Cery asked, alarmed.

“No, but his gut was sliced into. What’s inside acts like a poison if it gets into the rest of the body.”

Cery regarded the big man thoughtfully. “You’re not going to be any good for fighting practice for a while.” He looked at Lilia. “How long until he fully recovers?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure, but faster if he can get good food and clean water.” She looked at Anyi. “If you come with me I’ll see if Jonna left anything back in the room. There’ll be water, at least.”

“You’re already late for classes,” Anyi pointed out. “You should go straight to the University.”

“In these?” Lilia looked down at her novice robes. They were scuffed and dirty from climbing down the narrow gap within the Magicians’ Quarters walls that allowed her to slip out of Sonea’s rooms and into the underground passages. Normally Anyi brought some old clothes for her to change into, but this time she’d arrived empty-handed. They couldn’t keep them in Sonea’s rooms in case Jonna, Sonea’s servant, found them. Lilia hadn’t wanted to risk that Gol might die while she tried to find something else to change into.

Anyi looked at Lilia’s robes. “Can’t you use magic to fix them?”

Lilia sighed. “I can try. Depends how bad they are. It might take longer than going back.”

Anyi inspected her. “Doesn’t look too bad. Nothing you can’t explain away as having tripped and fallen into a hedge.”

“What about getting food and water?”

Anyi shrugged. “I’ll do it.”

“Sonea will be in her rooms all day.”

“She works the night shift at the hospice, right? So she’ll be asleep.”

“And if she isn’t? Or she wakes up?”

“Then I’ll tell her I dropped in to visit you and I was hungry.”

“If it’s just water we need, I know of a few leaky pipes,” Cery said. He looked at Lilia sternly. “But we’ll be in a worse situation if you miss classes or someone realises you’ve been roaming around under the Guild. We’re going to be stuck here for a while, and need you free to visit us, Lilia.”

She looked from him to Anyi. He was right, of course. While classes seemed unimportant compared to keeping her friends safe and well, skipping them would only rouse suspicion. Once more she cursed herself for giving in to curiosity, and trying the instructions on using black magic in Naki’s book. Nobody had paid her any attention when she had been an ordinary novice. She sighed and nodded. “All right. But I’m coming back tonight with dinner for you all.”

“How are you going to manage that?” Cery asked, one eyebrow rising.

“Oh, Jonna is always telling me to eat more, and leaving me little snacks to have while studying. Tonight I’m going to be unusually peckish.”

Chapter 3
Questions

Lorkin suspected the relief he felt was premature, as the Ashaki interrogator ushered him out of the room. Their path looked as if it would be a reversal of the one they’d taken that morning, from the cell Lorkin had been sent to upon leaving the palace hall, to the room he’d been questioned in. Perhaps they were finished for the day. Perhaps it was night outside. Lorkin’s stomach had been his only indicator of the passing of time, and it wasn’t a particularly good one. During moments when not knotted with anxiety it growled quietly with hunger.

The interrogator, who hadn’t introduced himself, led the way, his assistant following behind Lorkin. Lorkin only knew that he was an Ashaki because a guard had addressed him as such.

They reached a corridor that Lorkin remembered well, because it sloped downward into the prison area. Once again he wondered why there were no stairs, but now the answer became clear: a prison guard was pushing a trolley towards them. On the trolley lay a very thin, very old man wearing nothing but a white cloth from his waist to his knees. As the interrogator moved past, Lorkin stole a look at the old man’s face, then looked closer.

Is he dead? The chest didn’t rise or fall. The old man’s lips were bluish. Looks like it. He scanned hurriedly for wounds but spotted none. Not even marks where manacles might have encircled wrists. Perhaps he died of old age. Or illness. Or starvation. Or black magic... He resisted he urge to reach out and touch the corpse, and to use his Healing senses to search for the cause of death.

At the end of the sloped corridor they entered a wide room. Manacles hung from walls, red with rust. A pile of similarly tarnished metal objects lay in one corner – shapes that might suggest torture devices to frightened imaginations. In contrast, the bars that criss-crossed the alcoves along two sides of the room were a dull black, without a hint of age or weakness.

Three larger cells took up the longer wall of the room, and five small ones along the shorter. Only two were occupied: one containing two middle-aged men and the other a young couple. Two guards sat near the main room’s entrance with another man dressed in a more sombre version of the usual Ashaki male garb. The latter nodded at the interrogator, who returned the gesture.

Prisoners rarely stayed more than a few weeks, Lorkin had been told. Even if judged guilty. Magicians were too much trouble to keep locked away, and non-magicians were simply sold into slavery. The interrogator hadn’t said whether the magicians were freed or executed.

That’s part of the game, Lorkin thought. Constant hints at dire consequences if I don’t cooperate, but no direct threats. Yet.

The man had gone on to wonder aloud whether Lorkin qualified as a magician, in the Sachakan sense, since his magical knowledge was incomplete. Did not knowing higher magic make Lorkin a half-magician? Keeping a half-magician prisoner might still be more troublesome than it was worth. Still, it had been done before, though not here. With Lorkin’s very own father.

If he was trying to insult me it was a weak attempt. Surely he knows that Guild magicians don’t see our lack of higher magic as any kind of deficiency – rather it is a more honourable state. I suppose pointing out that my father was once a slave was his true aim.

Even so, that fact wasn’t the source of humiliation to Lorkin that it would have been to a Sachakan noble. Akkarin had been enslaved by an Ichani, outcasts who were an embarrassment and annoyance to the rest of Sachaka – and an indication of weakness in their society. Lorkin did not point this out, though.

Aside from a few other attempted jibes, the interrogator had spent the day asking questions and pointing out how bad it would be for Lorkin, the Guild and peace between Sachaka and the Allied Lands if Lorkin didn’t tell him everything about the Traitors. There were only so many questions that could be asked, and versions of the same warning, so the man had repeated himself a lot.

Lorkin had also repeated, apologetically but firmly, his refusal to answer. He did not want to get chatty, and risk inadvertently giving them any information they could use against the Traitors. Eventually he decided his refusals were only going to be ignored, so he stuck to saying nothing. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be, but he only had to think about how much harder it would be to resist torture and his resolve hardened. Still, they hadn’t tried to read his mind yet, so they didn’t know it wouldn’t work – so long, that is, as the Traitors’ mind-read-blocking gem lying under the skin of his palm did its job. Perhaps King Amakira remained reluctant to harm relations with the Allied Lands by doing so. Perhaps he hoped Lorkin would give in to questioning and threats.

Reaching the gate to the cell Lorkin had been locked in previously, the interrogator waved him inside. The gate closed. Lorkin turned back to see that the Ashaki in the sombre garb had approached them.

“Done?” he asked.

“For now,” the interrogator replied.

“He wants you to report.”

The interrogator nodded, then led his companion away.

The newcomer looked through the gate at Lorkin, his eyes narrowing, then moved away. Lorkin watched him glance around the room, his gaze resting on a simple wooden chair. The chair rose in the air and floated to a position in front of Lorkin’s cell, then settled upon its legs.

The well-dressed man sat down and proceeded to watch Lorkin.

Being stared at was not something Lorkin particularly relished, but he figured he would have to get used to it. He looked around the cell. It was empty but for a bucket for excrement in one corner. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all day, so he felt no need to relieve himself strong enough to draw him into using the bucket while being watched.

Eventually I’ll have to. Better get used to that idea, as well.

With no other choice, Lorkin sat down on the dusty floor and rested his back against the rough wall. He’d probably have to sleep on the floor, too. The stone was hard and cold. At least it was sufficiently cool here for his robes no longer to feel uncomfortably hot. It was easy to warm the air with magic, but cooling it involved stirring the air, preferably past water.

He thought back to the moment he had donned robes again after months living as a Traitor. It had been a relief at first. He’d appreciated the generous style of garment and the soft, richly dyed fabric. As the Sachakan spring brought hotter days, he’d begun to find the robes heavy and impractical. When he was alone, in his room at the Guild House, he’d taken off the outer robe and worn only the trousers. He’d begun to long for simple, economical Traitor clothes.

That longing was probably as much to do with wishing he was back in Sanctuary. Immediately memories of Tyvara rose and he felt his heart lighten. The most recent recollection, of the last night they were together, with her naked and smiling as she taught him how lovers used black magic, set his pulse racing. Then older memories rose. Like the way she moved when in Sanctuary, secure and confident – taking for granted the power her society granted her. Like the direct stare that was both playful and intelligent.

He also remembered her before then, as she’d led him across the Sachakan plains toward the mountains, protecting him from Traitor assassins and them both from capture by the Ashaki. She’d been tired and difficult to talk to, yet had impressed him with her determination and resourcefulness.

He sent his mind further back to a memory of her in her guise as a slave of the Guild House. Shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, confused by his attempts to befriend her. He’d been attracted to her even then, though he’d told himself he was only fascinated by her exotic looks. But no other Sachakan woman had drawn his eyes in the same way, and he’d seen plenty of beautiful ones in both Arvice and Sanctuary.

Sanctuary. I actually miss the place, he realised. Now that I’ve left, I can see that I liked it there, despite Kalia. Memories of being abducted, locked away, bound and gagged while Kalia searched his mind for the secret of magical Healing darkened his thoughts, but he pushed them aside. Kalia is no longer a Speaker. No longer in charge of the Care Room, he reminded himself. The Traitors have their flaws, some more than others, but all in all they’re good people. Being stuck working with Kalia in the Care Room, worrying about her manipulations and how he was going to convince the Traitors to trade with the Guild, had distracted him too much to truly appreciate their way of life.

His abduction had been the action of a small number of less scrupulous Traitors. He suspected not all of Kalia’s faction would have condoned her actions. Most of them wouldn’t have been willing to break Traitor laws as Kalia had, even if they agreed with her. They only thought the way they did out of a desire to protect their people. Their fear of the outside world was well ingrained after centuries of hiding in the mountains.

While he wasn’t quite ready to forgive Kalia for stealing Healing knowledge from him, he could hardly begrudge her the desire to be able to use it to save the lives of Traitors. Still, she was planning to kill me and claim I’d attempted to flee Sanctuary and froze in the winter snows. That’s not something I intend to forgive.

As compensation for what was taken from him, Queen Zarala had decreed that he be taught how to make magical gemstones. He’d learned a kind of magic the Guild had never heard of. It was the dream of finding new, powerful magic that had led him to volunteer as Ambassador Dannyl’s assistant in the first place. Looking back, he smiled at his own naivety. The chances of finding something had been ridiculously remote. And yet he had.

His hopes of finding magic that might render black magic obsolete, or at least provide protection against it, hadn’t been fulfilled, however. The potential in magical gemstones to negate the need for black magicians was in turn negated by the fact that a stone-maker needed to learn black magic in order to create them.

He felt his smile fade and a knot of worry form inside his stomach. What will the Guild do when they find out that I know black magic? Will they forgive it, once they understand I could not have learned stone-making otherwise?

He had considered all possible consequences, and had hardened himself to the worst of them: the possibility they would exile him from the Allied Lands, as they had done his father. It would hurt, but would also free him to return to Sanctuary and Tyvara, which wasn’t too bad an outcome. Apart from one thing.

Mother is going to be disappointed in me. No – more than that. She’ll be devastated.

Which was why he hadn’t said anything about it to Ambassador Dannyl or Administrator Osen yet. It was one piece of news he would be putting off for as long as possible. Osen had decided that nobody should be told anything more than necessary, in case the Sachakans did start reading minds. Even so, Lorkin knew he couldn’t avoid Sonea finding out forever.

But when she does, I’d rather she didn’t hear it from anyone else. It’s not going to be easy to tell her, but maybe if I do it myself it’ll be easier for her to hear.

Cery had lost count of the times he’d woken up, but this time he knew there was something different about the waking even before he gathered enough awareness to name what it was.

Light. After Anyi had returned with a little food and water taken from Sonea’s rooms, which they had given to Gol, they’d decided to sleep. To avoid using up all the candles, they’d blown them out – but not before Cery had tricked Anyi into giving him her matches. He hoped that robbing her of a source of portable light would keep her from exploring the passages while he was asleep. Though she assured him she knew most of them now, she had to agree that the lack of maintenance and repair had left many unsafe.

The pile of old pillows had been divided between the three of them. Though he had enough to protect him from the cold, hard floor, keeping them together was a challenge. If he changed position, one would inevitably skitter off into the darkness, and he’d have to grope around to find it and stuff it back underneath him.

I wonder if anyone is living in my old hiding places, enjoying the fancy furniture and drinking my wine, he thought as he sat up. Though broken sleep had left him aching with weariness, he was relieved to be giving up on trying. The light outlined the doorway and was brightening. He heard a familiar voice call out, “It’s just me!”

They could have the wine and the luxuries. All he wanted now was a warm fire and a comfortable bed. And for those he loved to be safe.

The loved ones of a Thief are never safe.

A stab of pain went through him, savage despite its familiarity. For a moment all he could see was a memory of his wife’s and sons’ bodies, but he closed his eyes and willed the vision away. Will I ever stop remembering? Or will it stop hurting to remember? Guilt rose at the thought. I shouldn’t want to, but I can’t do anything to change their deaths and I won’t be able to protect Anyi if I let grief and anger distract and control me. He sighed. And I’d rather remember them whole and happy than... than that.

The source of the light entered the room. Dazzled, Cery looked away from the globe of magical light to the young woman standing below it. Lilia smiled at him and held out a basket.

“I told Jonna that Anyi might be visiting. She brought some extra food. I took a bottle of Sonea’s wine – not from the expensive ones. Well, not the really expensive ones.”

Anyi leapt to her feet, kissed Lilia on the cheek and grabbed the basket.

“You’re a treasure, Lilia,” she said, sitting down on one of the wooden boxes and rifling through. “Buns! Meat-filled and sweet ones.” Then her nose wrinkled. “Urgh. Fruit.”

“It’s good for you and easy to carry,” Lilia told her, but she was looking at Gol. “You look better.”

Cery turned to see his friend sitting up, nodding and stretching. A thoughtful look crossed Gol’s face. “Still tired, though.”

She nodded. “My books says your body will take a couple of days to replenish the blood you lost. Depends how much you bled. If you do start feeling sick again let me know. It might be some poison was left. I should be able to Heal you if there is.”

“A few days.” Anyi looked at Cery. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Cery held out a hand for a meat-filled bun, took a bite and chewed as he considered. He still had loyal people out there. They would start to worry if he didn’t contact them. They might even assume he, Gol and Anyi were dead. What would happen if they did? Cery had no illusions that they’d stand up to Skellin. Most likely the rogue Thief would take control of Cery’s territory. Not personally. He’d arrange for an ally to take over.

“Let them think we’re dead,” Gol said.

Cery looked at his friend in surprise. He hadn’t expected this. What had I expected? That Gol would try to get up and pretend to be healthier than he is, rather than be the reason I lost my territory? Or that he’d tell me to abandon him here? All very noble. Am I so vain that I expect my friends to sacrifice themselves for me? Cery frowned. No, it isn’t that. It’s that I didn’t expect Gol to give up before I did.

“Next time you won’t get away,” Gol said. “We were lucky this time. I’ve been lying here trying to decide who told Skellin’s people you were at Cadia’s house. Who betrayed us? Did they have any choice? You can’t stop Skellin blackmailing and bribing your own people. He’s got too many allies, too much money. You’ve already...”

“... already lost your own territory,” Cery finished. He felt bitterness rising. But it was an emotion too familiar and worn out to do more than make him feel tired. It had crept in after Selia and the boys had been murdered, and he had grown used to it.

“Let them think you’re dead. Maybe Skellin will get smug, let his guard down. Maybe with nobody else fighting him, other people will try. Maybe they’ll set him up. Betray him to the Guild.”

It was tempting. Very tempting.

“You want to stay here?” Cery asked, pretending disbelief.

“Yes.” Gol looked at Anyi and Lilia. “What do you think?”

Anyi shrugged. “We can block off the entrance to the Guild passages – collapse them if you think it’s safer. There are passages that come out in the forest, so we have escape routes. Well, ones that don’t lead into the Guild buildings, that is.” Anyi glanced at Lilia. “We’ll work out ways to get food and water down here.”

Lilia nodded. “I’m sure Sonea would help.”

“No, we can’t tell her.” Cery paused, surprised at the conviction in his own voice. Why don’t I want Sonea’s help? “She won’t like it. She’ll want to smuggle us out of the city. She’ll tell Kallen.” He didn’t entirely trust Kallen, and it wasn’t only because the man was a roet addict.

“She wouldn’t,” Lilia said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Cery’s right,” Gol said. “Sonea’s leaving for Sachaka. She’ll either want someone else high up in the Guild to know we’re here, or she’ll move us out.”

“So... if you don’t want Kallen to know either,” Anyi said, “then you won’t be able to work with him any more.”

“No.” Cery turned to Lilia. “But he doesn’t need us to tell him that. We can say it’s safer if we communicate through messages, which Lilia will send.”

“We won’t have anything useful to tell him if we stay here and have no contact with your people,” Anyi pointed out.

“No, but he’ll keep us informed as to what’s going on out there,” Cery replied, “before he gives up on us as a source of information. And hopefully we will find a way to be useful again – which we won’t if Sonea sends us away.”

The four of them exchanged looks, then nodded.

“Well, first Lilia and I need to find solutions for the most basic needs, like food and water,” Anyi said decisively, straightening. “And then to make things safer and more comfortable down here.”

Cery smiled at the determined look on her face. If he let her, she would take charge of them all. “No,” he disagreed. “That’s not what we’ll do first.”

She looked at him, frowning in puzzlement. “No?”

He nodded at the basket. “First we eat.”

If there was a code of etiquette that allowed Sachakans to refuse entry to an unwanted guest, Dannyl wished he knew what it was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see the Ashaki who was coming down the entrance passage of the Guild House. He yearned to see the man. But he suspected that the visitor was here in his official capacity, and that was something Dannyl was not looking forward to.

Being friends with the enemy certainly complicates matters.

As Achati entered the room, Dannyl searched the man’s face for some hint of good news, despite knowing the chances were slim. He was surprised when he saw regret and apology there. He’d expected a carefully maintained neutral expression.

“Welcome back to the Guild House, Ashaki Achati,” Dannyl said, falling back on Kyralian manners.

“I wish it were under more amicable circumstances,” Achati replied. “This is an official visit, but I also wish it to be an informal one between friends, if that is still possible.”

Dannyl invited Achati to sit, taking the main chair for himself. “That depends on how the official part goes,” he replied wryly.

“Then let’s get the official part over with first.” Achati paused to regard Dannyl. “King Amakira wants you to persuade Lorkin to answer all questions regarding the Traitors.”

“I doubt I would succeed.”

“Would he refuse if you ordered him to?”

“Yes.”

“And this is acceptable?”

“It isn’t his choice, or mine.”

“But he is your subordinate. He should follow your orders.”

“That depends on the orders.” Dannyl shrugged. “We do not have a... a custom of unquestioning obedience in the Guild, or even outside it. Except in the case of royalty, but even then advisers have the right to advise – to give their opinion and recommendation without reprisal – though they still must obey orders even if they disagree with them.”

“You are also an Ambassador – and not just a Guild Ambassador. Until Ambassador Tayend arrived, you spoke for all the Allied Lands, too. Though you no longer speak for Elyne, you still represent the rest.”

“Yes, I speak for them.” Dannyl spread his hands. “But I cannot make decisions for them.”

“So you are saying that only one of the monarchs of the Allied Lands could order Lorkin to answer questions?”

“Only the Kyralian king. Monarchs of other lands and non-ruling royals cannot give orders to Kyralian magicians.”

Achati’s eyebrows were high. “How do you maintain order?”

Dannyl smiled. “Most of us are smart enough to know that disorder would lead to a loss of freedom and prosperity. Those who don’t... well, the rest of us keep them in line. Like the general rule against magicians involving themselves in politics. Though it’s not strictly enforced, maintaining the appearance that it is being followed restricts the more ambitious of us.”

As Achati paused to ponder this, Dannyl took the opportunity to ask a question.

“Has King Amakira considered that Lorkin may not have any information to give? After all, why would the Traitors have let him return to Arvice if he knew anything that might harm them?”

Achati looked up. “Why doesn’t he answer our questions, then?”

“Perhaps it is a test.”

“Of what? Lorkin’s loyalty to the Traitors?”

Dannyl frowned at the suggestion that Lorkin had changed his loyalties. “Or to Kyralia. Or perhaps it is not a test of Lorkin at all.”

Achati’s eyes narrowed. “It is a test of King Amakira?”

Dannyl spread his hands. “And the Guild, King Merin and the Allied Lands.”

“Put us in a position of conflict and see what happens?” Achati nodded. “We have considered that.”

“Though perhaps Lorkin believed that he could return to Kyralia via Arvice, because he didn’t think King Amakira would break his agreement that all Guild magicians would remain free and unharmed in Sachaka.”

Achati’s expression hardened. “So long as they did not seek to harm Sachaka.” He looked at Dannyl directly. “Do you honestly believe Lorkin’s withholding of knowledge about the Traitors will not harm my country?”

Dannyl held his friend’s gaze but, not prepared for such a direct question, he felt the mix of guilt and suspicion that the question roused shift something in his own expression. Achati would have seen it. He would know if Dannyl lied. So best to answer with a different truth.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Lorkin has only discussed what he knows with Administrator Osen.”

Achati frowned. “Did he tell you why he returned?”

Dannyl nodded and felt himself relax a little. “To go home. He particularly wants to see his mother. Of course, we did not know if he would ever return, so after months of worry she is anxious to be reunited with him as well.”

“I imagine she is,” Achati replied, standing up. He sounded sympathetic, but his expression was a mix of amusement and defiance. “The sooner Lorkin answers our questions, the sooner that will be.”

Dannyl rose. “What will King Amakira do if he doesn’t?”

Achati paused to consider his answer. “I don’t know,” he replied, his apparent honesty and helplessness a mirror of Dannyl’s.

“The Allied Lands will view the reading of Lorkin’s mind as an act of aggression,” Dannyl warned.

“But hardly something to go to war over,” Achati replied. “Sachaka has prospered for centuries without trade with the lands to the west, thanks to our links with lands over the eastern sea. Without training for all in higher magic, your magicians are hardly a threat. We don’t need you. We don’t fear you. You were only ever an opportunity we wanted to explore.”

Dannyl nodded. “Thank you for your honesty, Ashaki Achati.”

Achati waved a hand dismissively. “I said nothing that wasn’t already obvious.” He sighed. “Personally, I hope we can resolve this in a way that does not ruin our friendship. Now I must go.”

“I, too,” Dannyl replied. The friendship between us, or our countries? Or both? “Goodbye for now.”

The Ashaki nodded, then disappeared down the corridor leading to the Guild House entrance. Dannyl sat down again and considered the conversation. ‘We don’t need you. We don’t fear you.’ Why had anybody ever thought Sachaka would want to join the Allied Lands?

“How’d it go?”

Looking up, Dannyl saw that Tayend was hovering in the doorway. He sighed and beckoned. His former lover hurried across the room and sat down, leaning forward with almost childlike eagerness. But Tayend’s gaze was sharp and his curiosity was as much from his need as an ambassador to stay up to date on political matters as from a love of gossip.

He is genuinely concerned about Lorkin, too, Dannyl reminded himself. A memory rose unexpectedly of Tayend playing with Sonea’s son as a small child, back when he and Dannyl used to make social visits to the Guild more often. Tayend had had a knack of keeping children occupied and entertained. He found himself wondering if Tayend had ever wished he had children of his own. Dannyl had never wanted them, though he...

“So?” Tayend urged.

Dannyl brought his attention back to the present and, taking care not to give away anything the Guild wanted concealed, began to tell his fellow Ambassador what Achati had asked, and revealed.

Chapter 4
Preparations

A full day had passed since the news of Lorkin’s imprisonment. That alone had made sleeping difficult, but the sudden shift to a daytime routine also did not help. After a restless night, Sonea felt muzzy-headed and had to draw a little magic to soothe away a nagging weariness. But one benefit of her new routine, Sonea discovered, was that when she emerged from her bedroom Lilia was still in the main room, eating a morning meal.

“Black Magician Sonea,” the girl said, clearly surprised to see Sonea.

“Good morning, Lilia,” Sonea replied. “How are you? Did Black Magician Kallen track you down yesterday?”

The girl nodded. “Well. And yes.”

Sonea moved to the side table and began making herself a cup of raka. “How are your lessons going?”

Lilia winced, but then put on a cheerful expression. “Good. I think Black Magician Kallen wishes I was doing better, though. I told him I wasn’t good at Warrior skills, but I don’t think he guessed how ‘not good’ a novice can be.”

Sonea chuckled sympathetically. “I wasn’t very good at them, either.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You... but you...”

“Won a formal challenge and defeated invading Sachakans. It’s amazing what you can learn when you have to. Still, I did have a wonderful teacher.”

“You won...?” Lilia blinked and straightened. “Which teacher was that?”

Taking her raka to the main table, Sonea sat down and helped herself to a sweet bun from a platter. “Lord Yikmo. He died in the invasion.”

“Oh.” Lilia’s shoulders dropped. Then she looked up again. “A formal challenge?”

Sonea smiled. “A fellow novice who was making life difficult for me.”

“He accepted a challenge from a black magician?”

“It happened before then. I don’t recommend it as a way of dealing with annoying novices. Only as a last resort, and if you’re confident of winning.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “Are any novices giving you a hard time?”

Lilia shook her head. “No, they ignore me most of the time. That’s fine. I understand why they avoid me. And I have Anyi.”

Sonea felt a pang of sympathy, and gratitude toward Cery for allowing Anyi to visit. “Well, if any of the novices are friendly toward you – properly friendly, not a trick – then don’t turn them away too quickly. You’ll be working with them soon enough.”

“I know.”

Lilia looked resigned, but not unhappy. Finishing the bun and raka, Sonea rose and sighed. “Will you be all right staying here on your own while I’m gone, Lilia?”

The girl looked up. “Of course. With Jonna and Black Magician Kallen looking after me, how could I not be?” She frowned. “You’re the one who is going to be in danger, Black Magician Sonea. You... you will be careful?”

Sonea smiled. “Of course. I have every intention of coming back. After all, I want to see your graduation.” She moved to the door, then paused and looked back. “I won’t be working at the hospices now, so I’ll probably be coming and going a lot. I’ll make sure I knock before entering, in case Anyi has snuck in to see you.”

Lilia nodded. “Thanks.”

Leaving her rooms, Sonea found the Magicians’ Quarters corridor busy with magicians. She returned respectful nods and greetings on her way out. The courtyard outside was crowded with novices and magicians, some making their way to and from the Baths, others heading toward the University, and more than a few simply enjoying the early spring sunshine.

Heads turned toward her as always. There was something about black robes that drew the eye. Not even the white robes of the High Lord or the blue of the Administrator attracted as much attention. Novices might notice and watch them pass, bowing respectfully as they were meant to do to all graduated magicians, but they did not stare and take a step back as they did for Sonea and Kallen.

And every time they do, I remember Akkarin, and how everyone did the same to him, though they didn’t know, as I did, that he practised black magic. He wore black only because it was the colour of the High Lord then, but since it also marked him as the most powerful magician in the Guild I guess that made him as intimidating as a Black Magician is now.

She suppressed a sigh, ignored the stares, and headed toward the University.

Once inside she chose the passage through the centre of the building rather than the main corridors on either side. Stepping out of this into the Great Hall, she looked up at the glass-panelled ceiling three levels up, then at the rough stone of the original Guildhall building standing proudly within the vast room. There won’t be another Meet before I leave, she realised, slowing her steps. This might be the last time I see this place.

She stared at the building, then shook her head and quickened her stride again. Only if everything goes terribly wrong, she amended.

Reaching the end of the Great Hall, she passed through the other end of the central passage then turned into the right-hand side corridor and stopped at the first door. At a tap from her knuckles the door swung inward, and she stepped into Osen’s office.

The Administrator was sitting at his desk, facing two magicians who had turned to regard her. High Lord Balkan inclined his head respectfully and murmured her name, as did Osen. The third magician was becoming more familiar to her.

“King’s Adviser Glarrin,” she said, nodding to him first before turning to the others. “High Lord. Administrator.”

“Black Magician Sonea,” Glarrin replied.

He was in his sixties, she knew, but looked younger. Though he was officially the king’s military adviser in matters relating to magic and the Guild, he also handled peacetime international relations. A second King’s Adviser handled domestic matters – mostly political wrangling between the Houses. A task I don’t envy him.

“Please sit,” Osen said. He gestured to three chairs, which slid closer and into a half-circle before his desk. They all sat down. Osen leaned forward onto his elbows. “We’re here to discuss how Black Magician Sonea should go about negotiating the release of her son. First I have some news from Ambassador Dannyl.”

Sonea felt her heart skip a beat.

“Ashaki Achati, the king’s representative that Ambassador Dannyl has established a friendly relationship with, visited the Guild House last night,” Osen continued. “He relayed the king’s desire for Dannyl to persuade Lorkin to answer questions about the Traitors. Dannyl, of course, repeated that he was in no position to order Lorkin to. Ashaki Achati would not say what would happen if Lorkin did not talk, but he did make it clear that Sachaka feels no great reluctance to sever friendly ties with the Allied Lands. It was not a threat, Dannyl assures me, but a statement of fact. They do not need to trade with us or feel we would be a threat as an enemy.”

“Is it a bluff?” Balkan asked.

“Perhaps,” Glarrin replied. “It is too close to the truth, however. I would not want to test it. Sachaka doesn’t need us just as we do not need it, but we would both lose some lucrative opportunities if stricter restrictions on trade were imposed.”

“So reminding them of the wealth they may miss out on is all I can do?” Sonea asked.

Glarrin pursed his lips in thought. “It would not hurt to point out that the Allied Lands seek trade with Sachaka rather than rebels. That might at least reassure them that we don’t plan to side with their enemy.”

“Of course, the fact that we are seeking trade with the Traitors should not be mentioned,” Balkan added, with a chuckle.

“Of course not.” Sonea smiled. “Though should I hint that we might consider such a possibility, should Sachaka prove uncooperative... and perhaps unreliable when it comes to upholding agreements relating to the safety of Guild magicians?”

“No,” Glarrin said. “They will not take kindly to that sort of threat. I...” He paused, his eyes focusing on a distant point. “The king asks if the Traitors can be contacted – if they can do anything to help us. After all, they can’t have planned for Lorkin to be imprisoned.”

The Kyralian king and Glarrin must be communicating via a blood ring, Sonea realised. That one little magical trick of Akkarin’s has become very popular since the Guild decided using one wasn’t technically using black magic.

“We can try,” Balkan replied. “Dannyl’s assistant, Lady Merria, has established a way to send messages to the Traitors.”

“We won’t get an answer before Sonea leaves,” Osen pointed out. He looked at Balkan. “Sonea should leave a blood ring of hers here. Should she carry a blood ring from one of us as well?”

“Whoever gives her a ring risks seeing the secret of black magic in her mind.”

“Not if she’s wearing Naki’s ring.” Osen pointed out.

Sonea nodded. The ring Lilia’s former friend had used to stop her mind being read also protected the wearer from access via a blood ring.

Balkan nodded. “It will be useful if Sonea can contact us when she chooses – but Dannyl already has a ring of yours. Would it be better to give her one from me?”

“If the Sachakans seize them, then they can annoy the both of us.” Osen shook his head. “She should take one from me.”

Sonea hid her amusement at his choice of words. If someone got hold of Osen’s blood ring, the malicious things they could do with it wouldn’t be designed to annoy him. Then she sobered. As they could to me, if they got hold of the blood ring I gave Lorkin. Thankfully Osen had told Lorkin not to take it to the meeting with the Sachakan king. If they had it, all they’d have to do is torture Lorkin while...

“When will I be leaving?” she asked, to turn her thoughts somewhere less frightening.

“Tomorrow night,” Osen said. “We’ll call a Meet tomorrow and ask for volunteers to give you magical strength. We’ve decided to let it be known that Lorkin has been imprisoned by the Sachakan king and we are sending you to negotiate for his release.”

“Amakira has given us the perfect excuse to send you to Sachaka,” Glarrin said. “You are to try meeting with the Traitors as well, though it would be best if you did it after Lorkin was free – even better if he was home – in case the meeting is discovered.” He frowned and looked away, then smiled. “The king asks how Lilia’s Warrior training is going.”

Balkan grimaced. “Lilia is no natural Warrior. Her reflexes and comprehension are good, and her defence strong, but she shows no initiative in battle.”

“Ah,” Sonea said, smiling. “A familiar problem.”

Glarrin looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“I was much the same,” she explained. “If only Lord Yikmo hadn’t been killed in the Ichani Invasion. He was good at teaching reluctant novices.”

“Lady Rol Ley had studied Yikmo’s methods,” Balkan said, his expression thoughtful. “She teaches many of the standard classes all novices attend, so she will know Lilia’s strengths and weaknesses.”

“She sounds like she could help,” Sonea said. “I’d offer to if I wasn’t about to leave.”

“Maybe you can when you get back,” Osen said. “Is there anything else we need to discuss.”

“Nothing that can’t be relayed through blood rings,” Glarrin said. “We should not delay Sonea’s leaving more than necessary.”

Osen looked at her. “Is there anything you must do before you go?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Then you had better let your assistant know he’ll be leaving tomorrow night.”

She stood up. “If we’re done here, I’ll do that next.”

Final-year Warrior classes had never been a part of Lilia’s plans for the future. According to the University standards, she had achieved the minimum level of understanding and skill required for a novice to graduate. She ought to be off in the Healer’s Quarters learning advanced techniques, but instead she was being roundly trounced by novices destined to be the next generation of red-robed magicians.

They were finding her presence in the class fascinating. It wasn’t every day that a novice or magician got to practise fighting with and against a black magician. They didn’t even seem to mind that she wasn’t good at it, because the lessons were mostly demonstrations with little actual magic used. She wasn’t allowed to take and store power – not even if that power was given willingly. But she had to admit that, when the lessons didn’t involve her making decisions or taking the initiative, she found them as interesting as the other novices did.

Black magic certainly changed the dynamics of fighting. She’d have thought being able to steal magic from a person would be the most useful black magic ability in battle, but it wasn’t. It still required her to get close enough to that person to cut their skin and break their natural barrier against magical outside interference. By the time she had worn an enemy down enough to do this, there was little magic left to take.

Being able to store magic was a much bigger advantage. It was disturbing how it made non-black magicians redundant, once they’d given their power to a black magician. It was also frightening to realise how important it made her, over the others. And more of a target.

When it came to actually engaging in a fight, she nearly always made the wrong decisions, acted too soon or hesitated too long. As her latest attack on the “enemy” scattered ineffectually off his shield, Black Magician Kallen called a halt.

“Better,” he told her. He looked around the Arena. The tall spires supporting the invisible barrier of magic that protected everything outside from the practice bouts within were now casting shorter shadows on the ground. “That’s enough,” he said, looking at the trainee Warriors. “You may go.”

They all looked surprised, but did not argue. Kallen waited as they left through the short tunnel entrance, then walked beside Lilia as she followed them.

“Wait, Lilia,” he said as they emerged.

He said nothing as the other novices strode away, but then sighed. Looking up at him, Lilia saw that he was scowling, but his expression smoothed as he noticed her looking at him. She looked down and waited for his assessment.

“You’re improving,” he said. “It may not feel like it, but you are learning how to respond to different challenges.”

“I am?” She blinked at him in surprise. “You looked so... disappointed.”

His mouth thinned into a grim line and he looked over at the University. “I am merely annoyed at my own deficiencies.”

Looking closer, she saw a tension in his face. Something about his eyes brought a sudden jolt of pain as a memory of Naki rose. Naki with that same distressed look about her, which usually led straight to the lighting of her roet brazier.

A shiver of realisation ran down Lilia’s spine. She had smelled roet smoke on Kallen, wafting from his robes, once or twice before. Never before a Warrior lesson, thankfully. She did not like the idea of fighting against or relying on the shield of someone taking a drug that reduced their ability to care about their actions.

If he hadn’t smoked any roet before this lesson, was he now craving it as a result? Was that why he’d ended the class early?

Taking a step away, he opened his mouth to speak. “Well that’s all—”

“I have a message from Cery,” she said.

He stopped, his gaze sharpening. “Yes?”

“He was attacked. Someone betrayed him. He has had to go into hiding and let people think he’s dead. You won’t be able to meet him for a while. It’s too risky.”

Kallen’s brows lowered. “Was he injured?”

She shook her head and felt a small pang of gratitude at his concern. Not what I would have expected. Maybe he isn’t as cold and rigid as I thought. “One of his bodyguards was, but he’s fine now. He asks that you not tell anybody that he is alive, and that you send messages through me and Anyi.”

“You see Anyi often?”

She nodded.

His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t leaving the Guild grounds to see her, are you?”

“No.”

He regarded her thoughtfully, as if pondering whether she was lying or not.

“Cery would like to know if you have made any progress in finding Skellin,” she told him.

“None. We’re following a few leads, but nothing promising has come from them so far.”

“Anything I can ask Cery about?”

The look he gave her did not conceal his scepticism. “No. If I find out anything that he needs to know, I will pass it on.” He looked toward the University again. “You may go now.”

Lilia suppressed a sigh at his dismissal, bowed, and walked away. After several paces she looked back, and caught a glimpse of Kallen before he disappeared behind the University building. From the angle of his path, she guessed he was heading for the Magicians’ Quarters.

Off to have a dose of roet? she wondered. Did he avoid telling me anything about his hunt for Skellin because he doesn’t think Cery or I need to know, or was it going to take too long, keeping him from the drug?

And why don’t I have this craving for it? She hadn’t smoked roet for months. The smell of it sometimes made her want it, but not in a way that overcame her determination never to use it again. Donia, the bolhouse owner who had helped Lilia hide from Lorandra and the Guild, had said it affected people differently.

I’m just lucky, I guess. She felt a pang of unexpected sympathy for Kallen. And he obviously isn’t.

“Tell us what you know and you can go free.”

Lorkin could not hold back a chuckle. The interrogator straightened a little at his reaction, his eyes brightening.

“Why do you laugh?”

“I could tell you anything. How would you know it was the truth?”

The man smiled, but there was no humour in his eyes. He knows I am right. Meeting the man’s eyes, Lorkin felt a chill run down his spine. There was a sharpness to them. A patience that suggested he would enjoy the hours of interrogation to come. That he was just beginning. This was only the second day of many to come.

They hadn’t tried to read his mind yet. Something was holding them back. A reluctance to damage relations with the Allied Lands? But then why lock him up in the first place?

They can’t have dismissed the idea entirely. Eventually they would try it. Once they attempted and failed to read his mind, they would realise they had sacrificed good relations with the Allied Lands for no benefit. With restraint for the sake of diplomacy abandoned, nothing would stop them torturing him – but they would face the same problem: not knowing if what he said was true.

Perhaps they would verify his words in other ways. Perhaps they hoped imprisonment, discomfort and fear would drive him to give them permission to read his mind.

He almost wished they’d get it over and done with. He was tempted to offer a willing mind-read, to speed things up. Instead he thought of a range of ridiculous lies he could tell the interrogator. It would be fun, at least temporarily, to lead the man on for a while. But not yet, he told himself. It’s only the second day. You can hold out for much longer than this.

The interrogator’s companion appeared in the doorway carrying a bowl. Glancing at him, the Ashaki questioner smiled, then looked back at Lorkin.

“Tell us something about the Traitors – just one small thing – and we’ll give you something to eat.”

A delicious smell reached Lorkin’s nose. His stomach clenched then growled with hunger. He’d been given water that morning, which he’d sipped cautiously, but still no food since being brought down here. He had resisted using Healing magic to dull the growing hunger, not wanting to use the magic that Tyvara had given him. It couldn’t be replaced, and he might need it.

The smell of the food was strong and set his head spinning. He thought of the lies he’d considered telling them, and felt a strong impulse to speak rising within him. Osen had said he should avoid revealing that his mind could not be read for as long as possible. Leading the interrogator along a false path might delay that.

Don’t be ridiculous, he thought. It might distract him for a short while, but the more I test that man’s patience the sooner he’ll give up on persuading me to speak. Tyvara would expect me to have more willpower than this.

She also intended him to use the magic she’d given him to protect himself. It would never get him out of the prison, or stop an Ashaki torturing or killing him, but it could help him resist these less direct attacks on his determination to keep silent.

Closing his eyes, he drew a little magic and sent it out into his body to dull the gnawing in his stomach and stop his head from spinning.

When he opened his eyes, the interrogator was watching him closely. The man stared at Lorkin thoughtfully, then beckoned to his assistant. The pair of them, with a great display of relish, began to eat.

Chapter 5
Speculation and Secrets

The servant who had answered Sonea’s knock had told her Lord Regin was at a meeting with Black Magician Kallen. She had asked him to inform her when Regin returned, then retreated to her rooms for a much-needed cup of raka.

The wait was excruciating.

This is ridiculous. I chose him to be my assistant. I’ve worked with him before. But since he had agreed to travel with her to Sachaka she had begun to worry that she had chosen too quickly. He had all the right qualifications for the role: he was intelligent, a strong magician, a well-trained Warrior, adept at political manoeuvring, and fiercely loyal to the Guild and Kyralia.

But will we get along?

Everything had been fine between them when he had helped her in the hunt for Lorandra. He’d been remarkably easy to work with. But this time they would be together day and night, week after week, with no respite from each other.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Once we get to the Guild House in Arvice we’ll have two other magicians to talk to as well as the Elyne Ambassador.

In the meantime, they would be stuck with each other’s company. Though she did not distrust Regin as she had at the beginning of the hunt for Lorandra, it was impossible for her to forget the pain and humiliation he had subjected her to as a novice.

That is in the past. He has been nothing but respectful and supportive these last twenty years. He even apologised, during the Ichani Invasion. Am I unable to accept apologies? It is silly of me to carry around this resentment.

A knock at the main door made her jump, even though she was expecting it. She put down her cup and rose, walking to the door as she willed it open with magic. Regin’s servant bowed.

“Lord Regin is home, and awaits your visit.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Stepping past him, she closed the door and headed down the corridor to Regin’s rooms. As she reached his door she paused to take a deep breath before knocking. The door opened. Regin inclined his head.

“Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you, Lord Regin,” she replied.

She moved inside. The room was sparsely furnished, and most of the contents looked new. She saw nothing that appeared long-treasured or personal. Regin gestured to a chair.

“Would you like to sit down?”

Sonea regarded the chair and shook her head. “I better not take up too much of your time, considering what I have to tell you.” She met his gaze. He was watching her with an intense stillness. An expectation. Suddenly the lack of personal belongings made sense: he’d known he might be leaving soon so why bring them here? “We’ll be leaving tomorrow night,” she told him.

He let out a small breath, looked away and nodded. She caught a fleeting expression and felt a pang of guilt. I haven’t seen him show apprehension since the Invasion.

“If that is too soon, or you feel that your obligations are here, it is not too late to change your mind,” she told him, keeping her tone formal to avoid sounding like she was questioning his determination or any suggestion she might consider changing his mind cowardly.

He shook his head. “It is not too soon. In fact, the timing is perfect. I have no other obligations than to do my job, which is to be useful to the Guild and Kyralia. It’s rather nice to actually be useful for once. This is the sort of task we Warriors are trained for, and yet most of the time we strive not to be needed.”

Sonea looked away and felt a pang of sympathy at the slight hint of bitterness in his voice. No other obligations. He really has cast off all familial ties. The ruthlessness of his revenge on his wife for her numerous adulterous affairs had entertained the Guild gossips for weeks. He’d given his two properties to his daughters, both married to respectable and wealthy men, and requested rooms in the Guild. This had left his wife homeless and with no money, forcing her to live with her family.

Rumour was that she had attempted to kill herself after Regin had sent her last lover away. Her lover, on the other hand, had simply found another wealthy woman to seduce. Despite this and the shame of being returned to her family like faulty goods, Wynina had made no further suicide attempts. Sonea didn’t know whether to feel sorry for her or not. Sometimes she wondered if being married to Regin had driven the woman to such extremes.

Perhaps he is well-behaved in public, but goes back to being the nasty brat he was as a novice in private.

Perhaps she would find out, on this journey. Not that their time together would qualify as “private”. The purpose was too important, and would still be so even if Lorkin wasn’t a prisoner.

“I can now tell you the reason for the journey,” she said. Regin’s head lifted and his gaze snapped to hers. “Tomorrow everyone will be told. Lorkin returned to Arvice. Before he could leave for Kyralia, King Amakira summoned him and, when Lorkin would not answer questions about the Traitors, he imprisoned him.”

Regin’s eyes widened. “Oh, I am sorry to hear that, Sonea.” He grimaced in sympathy. “They’re sending you to negotiate his release, then? You must be impatient to leave.” He took a small step toward her. “I will do everything I can to help.”

His expression was so earnest that the familiar anxiety that came every time she thought of Lorkin began to return. She looked down and pushed the feeling away.

“Thank you. I know you will.”

“If we are leaving tomorrow... we have barely begun the process of adding to your strength. Do you want me to give you power now?”

Something within her clenched, and she felt her face warming. She glanced at him and away.

“No,” she replied quickly. “Tomorrow there’ll be a Meet, and Osen is going to ask for volunteers. Wait until then.”

“What is Osen going to tell everyone?”

“Only what I’ve told you.”

“Only?” Regin let out a soft sigh. “Be careful, Sonea.”

She looked up at him, then realised her mistake. She had given away to him that there was more to the journey than Lorkin’s imprisonment. That tiny piece of information might endanger both of their lives, should a Sachakan magician read it from his mind.

Too late now. I must be more careful in future.

But the frightening truth was, if Regin wound up in the hands of a Sachakan magician who wasn’t prevented by politics and diplomacy from reading his mind, there was a good chance Sonea would be too. Though Naki’s ring would prevent her own mind from being read, she did not know how long she would hold out against someone determined to torture information out of her.

Especially if they used Lorkin to persuade her.

Though nothing had happened he hadn’t expected, Dannyl still felt anger and humiliation simmering inside. He hoped that it hadn’t shown. He’d endeavoured to remain calm and polite throughout his short visit to the palace, but he could never tell if he was successful or if his true feelings were somehow obvious – or that his feigned calm was taken as an indicator he’d been successfully ticked off.

Ironically, the decision he’d made to call off the search for Lorkin, which had cost him respect among the Sachakan elite, was making it harder to protect the young magician now. There had been more than a few smirks on the faces of those who’d witnessed the denial of his request to see Lorkin.

If I’d let the search continue, the chances are I and the Ashaki who’d helped me would have been killed by the Traitors. Lorkin would have had no help at all when he returned to the Guild House.

But that wasn’t entirely true. The Guild would have sent a replacement Ambassador. One whose reputation hadn’t been besmirched by cowardice. Which might have been better for Lorkin’s predicament.

No. If the Traitors had been forced to kill a Guild magician, Lorkin may not have returned to the Guild House at all. He may not have even been allowed into Sanctuary for fear that he’d seek revenge for my death.

Though... the idea of anybody seeking revenge for his death felt unlikely and ridiculous to Dannyl.

A faint rhythm of bare heels on the floor came from the direction of the Guild House entrance. Dannyl stopped pacing the Master’s Room and turned to face the sound. The door slave, Tav, emerged from the passage and threw himself on the floor with his usual overly dramatic flair – a habit that Tayend had noted about the man a few weeks before.

“The Elyne Ambassador has returned,” Tav gasped.

Dannyl nodded and waved to indicate the slave could get up and go and do whatever door slaves did when not announcing arrivals.

The sound of a door closing reached him, then footsteps. Tayend smiled briefly as he emerged from the passage, then shook his head.

“No luck,” he said.

Dannyl let out the breath he’d been holding. “Well, thanks for trying.”

Tayend sighed. “It’s early days,” he said. “If we are persistent, perhaps he’ll relent. I pointed out that you can hardly persuade Lorkin to speak if you never get to talk to him.”

Dannyl frowned. “Is that wise? Hinting that we might consider it could be dangerous.”

“Not if I say it. And I was only pointing out the fault in his logic.”

“I’m sure he’ll be so pleased you pointed out his weak logic in front of everyone.”

“Oh, there was nobody else there to hear – and he seemed to enjoy it.”

Dannyl felt his heart sink even further. “You gained a private audience with him?”

“Now, now. Don’t be jealous.” The Elyne smirked, then waved a hand. “Let’s have some wine and something to eat, eh?” He turned, beckoned to a slave, and began to give the man specific instructions.

Moving over to the stools, Dannyl sat down. Tayend might not have been able to see Lorkin, but the king had made the effort to see him personally. Maybe it’s because Tayend is an Ambassador who speaks for his king and country, while I am mainly a mouthpiece for the Guild.

He doubted that made a lot of difference. When it came down to it, King Amakira was annoyed with Kyralia and the Guild, not Elyne. It made sense he’d treat Tayend with the same respect as he always had.

“Ah. Wine,” Tayend said as a slave hurried in with a bottle and goblets. He sat down next to Dannyl and waited until the slave had served them and left before leaning closer to him.

“Merria told me this morning, after you left, that she has discussed the situation with her female friends. They are going to stir up objections to this dangerous treatment of a foreign magician,” he murmured.

Dannyl felt his mood lighten a little. “And... the other contacts?”

“Will pass on our message. They aren’t unaware of Lorkin’s predicament, apparently, but they didn’t say whether they could do anything about it.”

“I hate to think what they would do, if they could.” Dannyl shuddered and sipped at the wine. “They might kill Lorkin to ensure he won’t talk.”

“They won’t,” Tayend assured him. “They must have known there was a chance this would happen. They would not have sent him here if it would be disastrous for them.”

“Perhaps because they had people in place to kill him if it did happen. He might be dead already.”

Tayend shook his head. “The king assured me Lorkin is being well cared for.”

“He could be lying.”

“Yes, he could.” Tayend sighed. “We can only hope he isn’t.” The Elyne’s brows creased. “I keep thinking about one possibility, though I can’t see any advantage in it for the Traitors, so I suspect I’m seeing conspiracies where there are none.”

“What is that?”

“That the Traitors knew Lorkin would be imprisoned by the king. That they meant for it to happen.”

“Why would they do that?”

Tayend looked at Dannyl and shook his head. “That’s what I can’t work out. Except... maybe they want the peace between Kyralia and Sachaka strained. Maybe they want to ensure our countries don’t make any promises to help Sachaka defend itself against them.”

Dannyl felt a shiver run down his spine. “You think they might be planning something bigger and more direct than spying and assassination?”

“It must always be considered.” Tayend smiled grimly. “What doesn’t make sense is: if they are, it could have the opposite effect. They’re gambling that we don’t agree to something like that in order to free Lorkin.” He took a sip of the wine, his expression serious. “If it came to civil war, who do you think would win?”

“I have no idea.” Dannyl shook his head. “We don’t know enough about the Traitors.”

“Then I hope Lorkin does know more than he claims, because if the Allied Lands do get dragged into a war we could easily end up picking the losing side – or find we can only win by doing the majority of the fighting, and suffering the greater casualties.”

A knot of cold had formed in Dannyl’s stomach. Lorkin will have told Osen all he knows about the Traitors, so if Lorkin knows they’re planning a civil war then Osen does too. As Dannyl considered all Osen’s instructions so far the knot tightened. When slaves began to file into the room carrying platters of food he felt too sick to eat, but he made himself select from the plates, put food in his mouth and chew. Why? Because slaves made it. People who have no choice about their life put effort into this, and it seems thoughtless and wasteful to let that go to waste. Then he felt the knot loosen a little. The Traitors don’t approve of slavery. Civil war might bring freedom.

But it would come at a cost. It always did.

As Gol walked back into the room, Cery breathed a silent sigh of relief. His friend’s movements were careful and he grimaced with pain as he sat down, but otherwise he was looking much better than he had two days ago.

“It’s going to get nasty in there soon,” Gol muttered.

“I know,” Cery agreed. “But it’ll have to do for now.”

They’d chosen another room to relieve themselves in. The roof and walls looked stable enough, and Cery had brought in a pile of dirt with which to cover their leavings, but it was only going to be a temporary solution.

Asking Anyi to stay and watch over Gol for a while, Cery had explored the small network of rooms and passages nearby. It had been a long time since they’d been occupied. He knew that the late High Lord Akkarin had used them to store things, but the only items there now that were old enough to be from that time weren’t valuable: mostly empty boxes like the ones they were using as furniture. He’d found lamps of a style that would have suited the oldest houses in Imardin, if they hadn’t been distorted with rust, and broken shards of pottery from vessels that would have been worth a fortune for their age and rarity if they’d been whole.

The walls of these rooms were a combination of brick and stone. There were patches of brick filling in gaps between the stone, and brick walls dividing up larger stone-walled rooms, suggesting that perhaps the rooms had been originally all stone, and the brickwork had been added to repair and adapt the spaces.

In one room someone had scratched words on the wall. “Tagin must die”, he’d made out easily, as the letters were large and deep. “Indria must be won”, was smaller. A broken patch began with: “Higher magic is the ca... and must b...” In another, larger room with a collapsed ceiling at one end, a list of names had been carefully carved into a stone slab leaning out from a wall. He didn’t recognise any of the names, but they were preceded by the titles “Lord” and “Magician”. Odd that they used both. He thought he could make out a date at the base, but he could not get the candlelight to reach that far and there was no way he was going to stretch under a large and heavy slab that looked as if it might fall at any moment.

Returning to their refuge, Cery had let a restless, pacing Anyi continue her explorations of the passages. He remained with Gol, and they talked about what Cery had found and of the past until Gol grew sleepy. Sitting in silence didn’t bother Cery as much as he’d thought it would, so long as he didn’t let his mind fix on unpleasant memories. It was restful and quiet, and for once he wasn’t worried about assassins creeping up on them.

Well, not completely unworried, he amended.

As if challenging his shaky belief in their safety, soft footsteps came from the passage outside. He rose to his feet, and felt a rush of relief when Anyi appeared in the doorway.

She was grinning widely, and stooped to pick up their nearly-empty water bucket.

“I’ve found a leaky freshwater pipe under the University,” she told him. “It’s closer than the one you knew about, but just as slow. It’ll take a while to fill this. Be better if we had two buckets – one to leave there while it fills. Or I could try to make the leak worse.”

Cery shook his head. “They might notice and investigate. Let’s see if Lilia can get us another bucket. Or something less leaky.”

She nodded, then tucked the bucket under her arm and walked away.

He sat down again and felt his mood lighten a little. At times he doubted that they could live here at all, let alone comfortably. There was so much they had no access to. They relied entirely on Lilia for food – but thankfully not for water. They had nothing but a pile of old pillows, a few boxes and the cold floor to sleep and sit on. It wasn’t too cold, and the air didn’t appear to be getting stale.

The tap of footsteps reached him again, but whoever was approaching made no effort to be quiet. They were wearing boots or some other kind of sturdy shoe, but walked lightly.

Lilia. He smiled to himself. Helping her had proven to be very beneficial. He would never have left her floundering out in the city’s underworld on her own anyway, but not handing her over to the Guild straightaway had gained him a very useful ally. And Anyi likes her a lot.

A bright floating globe of light preceded Lilia into the room. She was carrying a bundle and a large glass flask, and smiled as she saw Cery. But as she looked around the room her cheerful expression faltered.

“Anyi?”

“Collecting some water,” he told her. “She found a leaky pipe.”

“Not a drainpipe, I hope.” She carefully set the bundle on an upended box and began to unwrap it.

“She says it’s clean,” he replied. He blinked in surprise at the amount of food she’d brought. Bread, a lacquered box of two layers, the lower portion filled with slow-cooked meat and the top one with seasoned vegetables. Since servants had to transport food to the magicians in their Quarters, they always used practical, tightly lidded heat-retaining containers. Though this would feed no more than three people, it was more than one person ought to have needed. “That’s... that’s your dinner?”

“And Sonea’s,” she told him. “Lord Rothen asked her over for a last meal together, and it was too late to tell Jonna.”

“What smells delicious?” another voice asked.

Lilia grinned as Anyi entered the room. “Dinner. I brought some lamp oil and candles, too.”

“Ooh!” Anyi drew a box closer and grabbed a chunk of bread. Somehow Gol had woken up and got to his feet without groaning, and was leaning over the food.

“Won’t the servants notice if you eat enough for two people?” Cery asked, helping himself.

Lilia shrugged. “Jonna is always trying to get me to eat more, and she’s used to Anyi dropping by and eating everything in sight.”

“Hai!” Anyi protested.

Lilia chuckled. “She doesn’t mind.”

“What about you?” Gol asked, looking up at Lilia and gesturing at the food.

“I ate extra at the midday meal,” the girl replied. “And snuck some bread and fruit into my bag to eat later.”

“This last meal Sonea and Rothen are having. Just how ‘last’ is it?”

Lilia’s expression became serious. “She’s leaving tomorrow night. It’s official, too. She’s going because Lord Lorkin returned to Arvice, and the Sachakan king put him in prison when he refused to betray the Traitors.”

Cery felt his stomach sink. To learn your child was in prison... Still, at least he’s alive and no longer trapped in a secret city of rebels. That’s one step closer to home. After all these years of maintaining peace and benefiting from new avenues of trade, surely the Sachakans won’t endanger it all by killing a Guild magician.

He had to admit, he didn’t know enough about Sachaka to be sure.

“I’m glad we didn’t tell her we were here,” he said. “She doesn’t need to be worrying about us as well.”

Anyi nodded. “It’ll be easier for Lilia to help us now she doesn’t have to worry about Sonea finding out.”

“But Sonea’s the only one who would defend us if the Guild found out we were down here,” Gol said, shaking his head.

“What about Kallen?” Anyi asked, looking at Lilia.

Lilia shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to rely on him.”

“Then we’d better make sure we aren’t discovered,” Cery said. “Have you spoken to Kallen? Did he have any news for us?”

“I have, and no,” Lilia replied. She sighed. “He doesn’t seem inclined to confide in me.”

“You’ll just have to win him over,” Anyi told her.

As Gol slurped up the last of the sauce in the meat section of the pot, Cery wiped his hands on the edge of the cloth the food had been bundled in.

“In the meantime,” he said to Lilia, “you need to check Gol. If he’s healing up well then you need to come with me to the entrance to the Guild tunnels. None of us is going to be truly safe until we find a way to block it so that no Thief’s man could get through. If that means collapsing the roof, then that’s what we’ll have to do.” He turned to Anyi. “Then I want you to show me these escape routes. Maybe they’ll take us close to where servants toss out things magicians don’t use any more.”

The girls both grinned. “A bit of exploring sounds like fun,” Lilia said.

“Don’t you have some studying to do?” Cery asked.

Her face fell. “Do I ever not have studying to do?” She sighed, then looked at Anyi reproachfully. “You get to have all the fun.”

Anyi shook her head. “You don’t get to say that until I have a nice soft bed down here and regular steamy hot baths.”

Lilia’s eyes widened in mock apology. “Actually, now that you mention baths and body odour—”

Though she was clearly expecting it, she still only just managed to dodge Anyi’s punch to her arm. Chuckling, she slipped out of reach and headed toward Gol.

Chapter 6
Permission Granted

The two middle-aged men were still in their cell when Lorkin returned from his second day with the interrogator, but the couple who had been imprisoned there had gone. Once again water had been left for him, but no food. Hunger had made it difficult to sleep until he gave in again and soothed it away with magic.

It was impossible to tell what time it was. No windows allowed in light to indicate day or night. Lorkin had to rely on the routine of the interrogator and watcher to measure the passing of the days. When he woke he noted that the watcher was still in place, gazing at him with alert eyes but no expression. Sitting with his back to the wall, Lorkin entertained himself with mental games and memories.

A sound eventually drew his attention. Footsteps warned of someone approaching. The watcher turned away, then stood up. Lorkin sighed quietly and got to his feet, bracing himself for another day of questions and hunger.

Instead of the interrogator, a male slave appeared holding a tray on which lay a bowl, a lump of bread and a goblet. Lorkin could not help feeling his heart skip with hope as the watcher examined the items then stepped forward to open the gate to his cell.

The slave’s eyes remained downcast as he stepped inside, lowered the tray to the floor and backed out again.

The watcher paused to regard Lorkin thoughtfully after he’d relocked the gate. Lorkin waited until the man returned to his seat before approaching the tray. He picked it up and carried it to the far side of the cell.

The bowl was full of a cold, opaque soup. The goblet contained wine. There were no utensils.

If any of this is poisoned, I won’t know until I try eating it. I’ve never had to Heal away poison before. It’ll use up more of Tyvara’s power than simply quashing hunger. Should I risk it? Do I need to eat badly enough?

The particles in the soup were settling to the bottom, leaving most of the liquid clear. But the growing sediment was not forming a flat layer. It clung to something lying at the bottom. Something square and thin. He felt a tingle run down his spine.

Aware that the watcher was observing his every move, he drew a tiny amount of magic and used it to gently nudge the particles away from the object. At first the soup clouded at the slightest stirring, but soon it settled allowing him to confirm what he’d suspected.

The object was a piece of paper.

Beneath was a squiggle. It would have been taken as a flourish or hastily drawn initials by someone else, but Lorkin recognised it as one of the code signs the Traitors had told him to look for.

They know I’m here, he thought, his heart lifting in relief and hope. They’re going to get me out of here. But even as the thought crossed his mind he knew he could not expect that much. The prison was under the very palace itself and guarded by Ashaki and the independent, fiercely loyal guard class that was unique to this place.

It was nice to know the Traitors were trying to help him, though. Drawing more magic, he set the soup boiling. That at least explained to the watcher why he’d been staring at it so intently. He still drank it slowly and paid attention to his body in case the note was a clever lie. The bread was stale, so he dipped it in the soup to soften it.

He didn’t touch the wine. Would the interrogator, or whoever had poisoned it, wonder how Lorkin had known to avoid it, or would he assume Lorkin simply didn’t want his senses fogged by wine during the next session?

Not long after he’d finished eating, the slave returned for the tray. Lorkin held it up for the man to take. The slave’s gaze rose to meet his.

“Lord Dannyl says King Merin wants you to tell them everything,” the man said, his words barely a whisper.

Lorkin nodded to show he understood, and turned away so that the watcher would not see his smile.

As if I’d believe that! They must think I’m stupid, if they think I’d accept such an order from anyone but Dannyl himself. Even then... I’d have to consider that Dannyl was being blackmailed or threatened.

Administrator Osen had given Lorkin a code word as well, in case the Sachakans tried something like this. Forcing the smile from his face, Lorkin leaned back against the wall and waited for the interrogator to arrive and the day’s questioning to begin.

The Foodhall was almost vibrating with noise, despite the midday meal finishing some time ago. Lilia resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at the other novices. The sudden announcement that lessons had been cancelled for the afternoon while the entire Guild attended a Meet had sent them into a mix of giddy exhilaration at their unexpected freedom and excited speculation as to the cause of the meeting.

Lilia already knew the reason for it, but nobody was asking her and she had much more important things to worry about. Like keeping Cery, Gol and Anyi fed and supplied with lamp oil and candles. Lilia had decided Jonna, Sonea’s servant, was the key to both. She had to find a way to persuade the woman to bring more supplies these things to Sonea’s rooms, without it sounding suspicious.

It was easy enough to smuggle small items into the tunnels. The lacquered boxes that servants used to carry food could be lowered down the gap in the wall of Sonea’s room using magic. Larger items like whole pieces of furniture weren’t going to fit in the narrow space, however. Perhaps they could use other entrances to the tunnels. She had heard that there were some in the University.

Even if she did find another way in, most of the furniture in the Guild was old and valuable so likely to be missed. The servants’ furniture might be less precious, but they lived and worked away from the areas magicians and novices frequented. If Lilia wandered over to the servants’ quarters, or even slipped into the kitchens beside the Foodhall, she’d stand out like, as her mother would say, “a prince at a beggar’s ball”.

I need to find cast-offs that nobody is using. They’ll probably be broken, but I suppose we can try to fix them. We might have to pull them apart and reassemble them anyway, to get them into the tunnels. I’d have to get hold of some wood and nails – and tools. Hmm, if I’m going to do that, maybe we could smuggle wood in and make furniture from scratch.

“Look, it’s the black novice.”

The words were spoken loudly and from close by. Lilia looked up and met the eyes of the speaker. He was Bokkin, a tall novice – a lowie who liked to bully those weaker than him. None of the lowies protested too loudly because he was bold enough to pick on the snooties as much as the lowies.

He’d stopped to lean on a nearby table, the usual group of followers hovering around him. She doubted they actually liked him. More likely they allied themselves with him to avoid being his target.

“Got anybody killed lately?” he asked, his lips twisted in a sneer.

She tilted her head to the side and pretended to consider. “Well, no actually.”

“What are you going to do with yourself now that Black Magician Sonea is leaving?” He pushed away from the table. “You’ll be all alone in her rooms. Got a new girlfriend? Or do you want to see what a man’s like for once?” He strutted up to her table and thrust his groin close to her face. “How about I show you what you’ve been missing?”

So they know Sonea’s leaving. Lilia leaned back and looked up at him. She’d considered that someone might try to take advantage of the situation, but hadn’t expected anyone to test her so soon.

“You never showed any interest before.” She stood up slowly, staying close so that her face ended up near to his, and stared straight into his eyes. “Must be the black magic that changed your mind. You’re attracted to it, aren’t you? The thrill of danger. I’ve been told to watch for people like you.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she grabbed his face, fingers digging into the flesh of his jaw. At the same time she pushed at him with a sharp jab of magic, forcing him to stagger backwards before he could summon up the magic to resist it. She followed and pressed him back against the edge of the next table.

“You know what’s going on in that Meet? Black Magician Sonea is taking power from every magician in the Guild. Using black magic. One day – maybe one day soon – I might do that to you. You’ll have no choice. King’s orders. Do you really want to give me reason to make it as unpleasant as possible?”

He stared back at her, his face pale. She let go and wiped her hand on the front of his robe. The novices around her were silent, and the silence was spreading. She did not take her eyes from Bokkin, but she could see in the edges of her vision that faces were turning toward her.

“You had better hope she returns,” she told him. She turned her back, picked up her bag and the pieces of fruit and spiced bread rolls she’d collected for her evening meal, and left the hall.

As she stepped into the corridor she felt a rush of triumph.

That’ll get them talking. And worrying about the reason for Sonea’s trip to Sachaka, but they’ll wonder about that anyway. I’m not going to let anyone think that her leaving makes me vulnerable.

If the only future she had was to be restricted to the Guild grounds, groomed to be a protector of the Allied Lands and the main target of any enemy who might attack, then she wanted to be treated with respect in return.

Failing that, with people like Bokkin who are too stupid to remember who’ll be risking their life for him, I’ll settle for being feared.

From her seat at the front of the Guildhall, Sonea watched the gathering magicians and struggled to keep her breathing slow and even.

What will they do? Is twenty years of getting used to the idea of black magic long enough for them to agree to take part in it? Will they consider my mission to free my son justification enough?

It would have been easier to dismiss these questions if the other Higher Magicians hadn’t also expressed the same concerns earlier. None could predict the outcome of the Meet. All had thought some magicians would refuse to give their magic and some would not, but their opinions differed greatly on the likely numbers of either.

On both sides of the long hall, magicians were taking their seats. As always, patches of green, red and purple formed where friends of the same discipline gathered together. The dominant colour was the Alchemist’s purple, but the numbers of Healers had grown in the last few decades and there was plenty of green around the hall. Though more Warriors existed than ever before, red robes were still in the minority. This didn’t worry her, though. While most magicians dedicated their energies to something more useful, she knew that the majority of them still maintained their fighting skills in their spare time.

At the front of the hall the Higher Magicians waited. Only Administrator Osen was missing from the tiered seats. As always he would address the room from the Front, the area before the Higher Magicians. Sonea looked at the row of seats above hers. The king’s chair was empty, but both King’s Advisers had joined the Meet – which was unusual. Adviser Glarrin met her eyes and nodded; Adviser Rolden, who had been present twenty years before when she and Akkarin had been judged and exiled, glanced at her and frowned.

Looking down, Sonea noted how the Higher Magicians in the lower tiers of seats kept casting glances upward. From his place among the Heads of Studies in the bottom row, Rothen met Sonea’s eyes. He looked grim, but managed a reassuring smile.

Their dinner the night before had been shadowed by frightening possibilities. She knew he was wondering if this was the last time he’d see her. It was another fear to add to the worry that he’d never see Lorkin again. He’d offered to go with her. She’d reminded him that he knew too much about her other reason for the journey. He’d nodded, then said that he would take comfort from the fact she had chosen a reliable assistant.

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.

As the carriage pulled up outside the palace, Dannyl sighed. He waited until the Guild House slave opened the door, then rose and climbed out. Smoothing his robes, he straightened his back and strode toward the entrance.

Nobody stopped him. He had wondered why they’d let him in the previous day, when all they intended to tell him was to go home. Once again he stepped out of the broad passage into the hall, and was told by a slave to wait to one side.

Several people were standing around the hall. The king was present this time. At least Dannyl would be able to give his request directly to Amakira. Not that it would gain him a favourable response. The king finished talking to a pair of men and invited another three to approach.

Time passed. More people arrived. The king saw some of them not long after they arrived – sooner than Dannyl and some of the others waiting for an audience. They must have been more important, or at least the matter to be discussed was. Or he’s deliberately ignoring me to put me in my place.

Dannyl guessed that a few hours had passed by the time the king looked his way, then beckoned.

“Guild Ambassador Dannyl,” he said.

Dannyl approached and knelt. “Your majesty.”

“Rise and come closer.”

He obeyed. The air vibrated faintly, and Dannyl realised that the king, or someone else, had placed a shield about them to prevent sound escaping.

“You’re here, no doubt, to ask me to give Lorkin back,” the old man said.

“I am,” Dannyl replied.

“The answer is no.”

“May I at least see him, your majesty?”

“Of course.” The king’s stare was cold. “If you promise to order him to tell me everything he knows about the Traitors.”

“I cannot give that order,” Dannyl replied.

Amakira’s stare did not waver. “So you said. I’m sure you could convince him that the order came from those with the authority to give it.”

Dannyl opened his mouth to refuse, then paused. I could agree to try, in order to see Lorkin and confirm he is alive and well. But what if the king decided that Dannyl had broken his promise? Was that crime enough to be imprisoned for? Osen made it clear that I should avoid that. And if they take me prisoner, they’ll take Osen’s ring from me.

“I cannot do that either, your majesty,” Dannyl replied.

The king leaned back in his chair. “Then come back when you can.” He made a dismissive gesture. Taking the hint, Dannyl bowed and backed away for an appropriate distance, then turned and left.

Well, at least I got to see the king this time, he thought as he waited for the carriage. A rejection from the ruler is a slightly better-quality failure than a rejection from one of his lackeys. He wondered which he’d receive tomorrow, or if they would start refusing him admission to the palace.

When the carriage arrived at the Guild House he opened the door for himself, before any slave could do it. The air outside the house was hot and dry, and it was a relief to escape it into the cooler interior. He headed for his rooms, but before he got there Merria appeared in the corridor ahead.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Dannyl shrugged. “No better, though this time I was given a royal refusal.”

She shook her head. “Poor Lorkin. I hope he’s all right.”

“Any news from your friends?”

“No. They said they’re doing what they can to manipulate the Ashaki into objecting to the taking of a Kyralian magician prisoner, but it requires careful timing and can’t be hurried.”

He nodded. “Well... I appreciate their efforts. We all do.”

They had reached the entrance to his rooms. She looked up at him, her expression concerned, then patted him on the arm. “You’re doing everything you can,” she told him. “Everything they’ll let you do, anyway.”

He frowned. “So you think there’s nothing else I could do? Nothing that the Guild is preventing me from doing that I should do? Nothing we haven’t thought of yet?”

She looked away. “No... nothing that doesn’t include a risk of making the situation worse if it fails to work, anyway. Are you hungry? I was going to ask Vai to make me something to eat.”

What is this risky idea? he wondered. Should I ask about it? “Yes,” he said. “But not straightaway. I want to contact the Administrator first.”

“I’ll arrange something.” She headed back down the corridor and disappeared.

The interrogator didn’t turn up until some hours after the morning meal. Food had arrived – a slurry of ground grain. A faint symbol drawn with water on the porous wooden tray reassured him it was safe.

Lorkin’s stomach stirred unpleasantly as the Ashaki interrogator and his assistant led him in a new direction. The man chose another corridor and stopped at a different doorway, but the room inside was little different from the previous one. Plain, white walls surrounded three worn old stools.

The interrogator sat down and gestured for Lorkin to take one of the other stools, then looked at his assistant and nodded. The man slipped out of the room. Lorkin braced himself for more questions.

None came. The interrogator looked around, then shrugged and began staring at Lorkin with a distant expression. When the assistant returned, he shoved a female slave into the room before him. She threw herself onto the floor before the Ashaki. Lorkin tried to keep his expression neutral, to hide the wave of hatred for slavery he felt at her grovelling and the Ashaki’s expectation of it.

“Stand,” the interrogator ordered.

She got to her feet, facing the Ashaki with hunched shoulders and keeping her eyes downcast.

“Look at him.” The interrogator pointed at Lorkin.

The woman turned to face him, her gaze fixed on the floor. She was beautiful, he realised – or would have been if she hadn’t been terrified. Long, glossy hair framed a sculpted jaw and cheek bones that, for a moment, stirred memories of Tyvara that made his heart skip and fill with longing. But this woman’s limbs, while as graceful, were trembling, and her dark eyes were wide. At her obvious fear he felt his stomach sink. She expected something bad to happen.

“Look at him. Don’t look away.”

Her gaze flitted up to meet his. Lorkin forced himself not to look away. If he did, he knew the Ashaki would make him regret it somehow. He could not help searching for some hint of resolve in her face, or an effort at communication that might indicate that she was a Traitor. All he saw was fear and resignation.

She expects pain, or worse. The only slaves I’ve seen down here were carrying things. Why else would she – a beautiful young woman – be down here with no obvious menial purpose?

A slave this beautiful would never be given purely menial tasks.

He felt sick. He could not help thinking of Tyvara again, and what she must have been forced to do as part of her spying. She, too, was too beautiful not to have attracted that kind of attention from her masters.

After all, the first time she met me she expected me to take her to bed.

The interrogator stood up. He took hold of the woman’s arm and pulled her closer to him. One of his hands went to the jewelled sheath that all Ashaki wore at their hip and he slowly drew his knife. Lorkin held his breath as the knife rose toward the slave’s throat. The woman shut her eyes tightly, but did not struggle.

Words flooded into Lorkin’s throat, but stuck there. He knew exactly what the interrogator intended to do, and why. If I speak to save her, many, many more will die. If she is a Traitor, she won’t want me to betray her people. He swallowed hard.

The knife did not slice across her throat. Instead the interrogator slid it under one shoulder of her shift and cut through the cloth. He took hold of the other shoulder and pulled, and the slave garment slid away, leaving her naked but for a loin cloth. Her expression didn’t change.

The Ashaki sheathed his knife, looked over her shoulder at Lorkin, and smiled.

“Any time you want to talk, go right ahead,” he said, flexing his fingers and curling them into a fist. The assistant chuckled.

And then the Ashaki set to work.

Chapter 8
Coming to an Understanding

Putting down the book she had been failing to concentrate on, Lilia looked around Sonea’s guest room and sighed. Though Sonea had been absent or asleep most of the time, her rooms felt strangely empty now that she had left for Sachaka. Lilia was suddenly more conscious of being alone, and that nobody – no magician, at least – was likely to visit.

Well, none except Kallen if I don’t turn up to classes on time, but it’s not like he makes social visits.

Anyi might still slip in at night via the secret opening in the room’s wall panelling but now that she, Cery and Gol were living under the Guild it was safer for Lilia to visit them. There had always been a risk that someone would discover Anyi in Sonea’s rooms and realise they hadn’t seen her enter or leave by the door.

The only other person who visited Lilia on a regular basis was Jonna, Sonea’s servant and aunt. Jonna visited twice a day to deliver meals. But she must also come here after I’ve left for classes to clean, too, Lilia thought, remembering how she usually returned to find everything tidy. While Jonna usually slipped into Sonea’s bedroom after the evening meal to change the bed linen and gather robes to wash, that was only because Sonea had worked night shift at the hospices.

Looking over at the open door of her room, Lilia regarded the bag she used to carry textbooks and notes around. It held the food she’d taken from the Foodhall that day, some soap, and clean wash cloths from the Baths, ready to take to her friends. She also had news from Kallen to deliver, but until Jonna arrived with the evening meal, Lilia wouldn’t be able to slip away.

In the meantime she tried to study. She looked down at the book in her hands. She’d never really caught up with the lessons she’d missed while a prisoner in the Lookout. Teachers would notice if she slipped even further behind.

Once Cery, Anyi and Gol have settled in, I’ll be able to get back to my studies, she told herself. Maybe I’ll study all next Freeday. If my plan works tonight at least there’ll be one less thing to worry about.

Her thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. She stood up in case it was a magician, and opened the door with magic. To her relief, Jonna bustled in. Though burdened with a lacquered box and a large jug, the woman managed to bow before placing it on the table.

“Good evening, Lady Lilia.”

“Good... evening.” Lilia hesitated as she opened the box and saw, to her disappointment, that it held one bowl of a thick soup and a single bread roll, as well as a creamy dessert. Of course. She won’t be bringing more than one person can eat now. Which made it even more important that Lilia’s plan worked.

“What’s wrong?” Jonna asked.

“I... I was hoping Anyi would visit tonight.”

Lilia had been surprised to discover Jonna already knew Anyi was Cery’s daughter, and of the secret entrance to Sonea’s rooms, until she learned that Jonna was Sonea’s aunt. It certainly explained the way Jonna bossed Sonea around in private, with no fear and little regard for status.

Jonna smiled as she moved the food from the tray to the table. “She drops by a lot these days.”

Lilia nodded. “At least she’s safe when she’s here.”

“And she can get a decent meal,” Jonna added. She straightened. “I’ll go find something for her. Something that will still be nice even if it has gone cold, so she can take it away with her if she has already eaten.”

“Could you...?” Lilia grimaced. “Could you bring something every night? Even if she doesn’t eat it, there are others she’d like to help. I’d like to help. And... can you bring lamp oil so she doesn’t have to find her way here in the dark?”

Jonna looked sympathetic as she nodded. “Of course.”

“And... I don’t suppose... if it’s not asking too much... What does the Guild do with old bedding and broken furniture?”

The servant’s eyebrows rose. “Most furniture here doesn’t break often. It’s so well made it lasts for hundreds of years. If anything does break, we fix it, and if it’s no longer good enough for magicians it goes to the servants.” She shrugged. “Same with old bedding. When it’s too worn for servants it becomes rags.” She looked at Lilia. “But there’s more old bedding about than furniture. Let me see if I can get my hands on some.”

Lilia nodded. “Thank you. I’d buy some things for her, but I’m not allowed to leave the grounds to go shopping.”

“I could get them for you,” Jonna offered, “if you write down what you want.”

“Do you have time? You must be busy.”

“Not as busy as you’d think, especially now Sonea’s not here. Fetching things for you is part of my job.”

“Well... thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

Jonna gestured at the bowl. “Now, you start on that before it goes cold and I’ll go fetch something for Anyi.”

As the door closed behind the servant, Lilia sighed in relief and triumph. Her plan had worked, though she felt a little guilty at suggesting that what she had asked for was going to needy people when it was only going to Cery, Gol and Anyi. But they do need it.

Looking down at the meal Jonna had brought, she decided to eat it and give the food she’d taken from the Foodhall to Cery and Gol. Soup was much too hard to transport, and the dessert was as likely to spill. At least if Jonna saw evidence that Lilia was eating some of the food she’d brought, she wouldn’t worry over Lilia eating enough – or giving it all away.

As she ate, she thought about how such small, everyday things could become so important. Cery and his friend and daughter were safer in the Guild passages, especially with the passage connecting them to the Thieves’ Road destroyed, yet something as trivial as getting food to them was a daily difficulty and risk. If Lilia didn’t have to constantly find them something to eat, it would be much easier to hide their presence from the Guild.

I want to do better than bring them food, too, she thought. I want them to be comfortable. I can’t ask Jonna to buy anything luxurious, or she’ll grow suspicious. Unless... I could say it’s for me...

Finishing the soup, she got up and gathered paper, pen and ink and began writing a list.

As Sonea blinked awake she marvelled that she had slept at all in the rocking carriage. Looking across at Regin, she saw that he was conscious and watching her. He smiled faintly and politely looked away.

How long was I asleep? She pulled aside the screen covering the window over the carriage door. Green hills surrounded them, tainted with the gold of a late-afternoon sun. Quite a while. Poor Regin. He’s probably been awake and bored for most of the day.

For the first few hours of their journey the previous night, their conversation had revolved around the arrangements they’d made to take care of things in their absence, Lilia’s progress and future, the places they would probably stop along the journey and some of the information they had been given about Sachakan society. When Regin began yawning she insisted he try to sleep. He’d eventually done so, a travel pillow braced between his head and the side of the carriage. The roads nearer the city were smoother than those further into the countryside, so he was not often jostled awake.

She’d spent the night staring out of the window, thinking about the tasks she had been given and worrying about Lorkin. Remembering the last time she had travelled this road, following Akkarin into exile, she felt echoes of emotions from twenty years before. Fear, rejection, hope and love, all softened with time. She let them come, held onto them for a little while, and then released them to fade into the past.

This journey brought some interesting new emotions. Aside from fear and worry over Lorkin, and anxiety at the potential for everything to go badly for herself and Regin, there was a strange elation. After twenty years of being restricted to the Guild grounds, she had suddenly been set free.

Well, not exactly free. I can’t just roam about wherever my fancy takes me. I am on a mission.

“What are you thinking?”

Regin’s question brought her back to her surroundings. She shrugged.

“About being outside the city. I’d assumed I’d never leave it again.”

He made a low noise of disgust. “They should trust you more.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think trust was the problem. They had no choice but to trust me. I think they feared what would happen if we were invaded again and I wasn’t around. Or if Kallen turned on them.”

“Do you think Kallen will take advantage of your absence?”

Sonea shook her head, then she remembered the one trait she did not like in Kallen and frowned.

“What is it?”

She sighed. If Regin can read me this easily, how am I going to fare when I meet with King Amakira and the Traitors? I suppose I’m not fully awake and on my guard yet. Though I wouldn’t forgive myself if I failed to free Lorkin or make an alliance just because I was sleepy.

What to say? Regin had clearly picked up that she had concerns about Kallen, and he would imagine all sorts of reasons if she didn’t give him one. She had to tell him something.

The truth. It isn’t exactly a big secret, anyway.

“Rot,” she said. “Roet. It is his weakness. If I was going to corrupt Kallen, I’d do it by controlling his access to the drug.”

Regin’s brows knit together. “Do many people know of his weakness?”

“Vinara does. Rothen, too. I suspect many of the Higher Magicians do, though we’ve not discussed it. Or, at least, they’ve not discussed it while I was present.”

“Whoever sells it to him knows as well,” Regin added.

“Yes.”

“Lilia used roet too, didn’t she?”

“When she was with Naki. Lilia doesn’t appear to have become addicted to it. In fact, she has a distaste for roet and roet users now. I think she blames it for some of the foolish things she and Naki did.”

Regin looked thoughtful. “So the Guild has one black magician addicted to roet, and one resistant to it.”

“And one who wouldn’t go near the stuff if you paid her to,” Sonea added, shuddering.

He looked at her and smiled. “You’re too smart for that. You don’t let anything back you into a corner.”

Sonea felt her cheeks warm. “Except the Guild.”

“A worthy exception.” He looked away. “I wish I’d had your determination and willingness to defy convention when I was younger.”

She shook her head. “You? Not determined? I always got the impression you were completely sure of yourself and what you wanted from life.”

“Yes... but I never had to make any hard decisions. I was told everything had to be a certain way because it kept everyone safe, powerful and wealthy, and I didn’t question that. But as I grew older I did begin to question. I saw that my lack of resistance came out of a fear of not being accepted by my peers. I saw that the only people we were keeping safe, powerful and wealthy were my family and House. That the Houses resist change because they fear it will diminish their power and wealth. And still do.”

“Kyralia has changed a lot in the last twenty years. The Houses haven’t lost power or wealth as a result.”

Regin shook his head. “They will. It may take a long time, but it is going to happen. The warning signs are there, if you know what to look for. And you know what I’ve discovered?” He looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t care. Let them fall. They’re built on lies and greed.”

Sonea felt a pang of sympathy. Since his rather public separation from his wife, Regin had been prone to the occasional sullen and defiant comment about the habits and expectations of the highest class. Part of her approved, another sympathised, yet she wondered how much of his disenchantment would remain once the personal pain faded.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t think so if you wound up a beggar on the street,” she reminded him gently.

He looked at her and his shoulders sagged a little. “Probably not. But maybe I’d be a better man. Maybe I’d even be a happier man. By taking in lower-class entrants, the Guild has made it possible for people to cross the barriers between classes. I see the newcomers boasting about it, and I want to warn them that there is a cost. Then... then I see that the cost doesn’t apply to them and I feel, well, jealous. Somehow they get to have the wealth and power and magic, but they have no obligations to honour ancient agreements or traditions, or to only associate with the people their House approves of, or marry the woman their family selects.”

“They may have to eventually.”

Regin shook his head. “No. Look at you.” His eyes rose to meet hers. “You were never forced to marry.”

“I’m sure if I’d decided to, plenty would have been said about my choice.”

“Yet nobody would have dared tell you not to.”

“That’s only because I am the first black magician. I’m an exception. You can’t make predictions based on me.”

Regin gave her an odd look, opened his mouth to speak, then frowned and closed it again. His gaze slid away from hers. Sonea felt curiosity rising.

“What were you going to say?” she asked.

He glanced at her, his expression uncertain.

“I... I was going to ask you why you didn’t marry, but I guess it’s obvious – and rather rude of me to ask.”

She shrugged. “Not rude. Nor is it why you think. It’s true I couldn’t have entertained the idea for a long time after Akkarin died, but not for all of the last twenty years. I might have married Dorrien, if the timing had been better, but he met someone else long before I was ready.” And a good thing that is, too. “I don’t think we would have been well suited. For a start, he loves the countryside and would have had to live in the Guild grounds to be with me, since I could not leave.”

Regin watched her now with an almost guilty interest. It’s likely a lot of people have wanted to ask that question, she thought.

“By the time I was ready, nobody seemed interested,” she continued. “Men my own age hadn’t quite got over their prejudice toward magicians from the lower classes, and the only magicians from the lower classes were much too young. All were intimidated by black magic. Some of the Higher Magicians hinted to me that they thought a husband would be a weakness that someone might exploit through blackmail – as if Lorkin wasn’t that already. Then there was Lorkin. He was always very jealous of other men in my life.”

Regin frowned. “What...?” He paused and shook his head.

“Yes?”

He grimaced. “What will you do if King Amakira threatens Lorkin?”

Not expecting the change of subject, Sonea felt her heart freeze. She paused to draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, before answering. “I will point out that it is Lorkin who knows about the Traitors, not me. It would be far more sensible to torture me to get Lorkin to speak.”

Regin’s mouth dropped open, then he swallowed. “Is it wise for you to put the idea of torturing you into the king’s mind?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure it will occur to him the moment he learns I’m on my way to meet him. If he’s willing to torture me, then we must conclude that he has put aside any reluctance to rouse the anger of the Guild and the Allied Lands. There will be no chance of getting Lorkin back, anyway.”

She was desperately proud of herself for not letting her voice catch on that last sentence, though it was a close thing. If I can keep this up, maybe I will be able to hide my feelings in front of the Sachakans and Traitors.

“I hope for all our sakes that it doesn’t come to that,” Regin said, with feeling.

She nodded in agreement. If King Amakira was willing to torture her, then Regin would not be safe either.

He shifted across the seat so that he was sitting opposite from her, then held out his hands. “It’s been a full day since the Meet and my strength has recovered. You should take my power now, before we arrive at the Stayhouse.”

She stared at him as reluctance froze her again. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t hesitate to take power that’s willingly offered, when I’m allowed to and may need it. She hadn’t felt this embarrassment during the Meet, she realised. What was it about using black magic on another person in private that felt uncomfortably... intimate. And illicit. Perhaps because the only other time I’ve done it privately was with Akkarin.

Regin was watching her, his brow creased with growing puzzlement. Drawing in a deep breath, Sonea took his hands. She felt magic flow from him and began to store it within herself.

“I’m sorry. I can’t get used to this,” she told him, shaking her head.

He nodded. “That’s understandable. You were forbidden to for so long. In fact, I did wonder if you had forgotten how to do it, after all this time.” His mouth briefly widened into a teasing grin.

Sonea managed a smile. “If only that was possible.”

“It’s all clear,” Gol said.

Cery nodded. He’d sent Gol ahead to check that their room remained undiscovered. It was hard to give up old habits of caution. They picked up their burdens and carried them through the passages to the room. Cery set down two battered old chairs, Anyi dropped two bales of hay from her shoulders to the floor, and Gol tossed a bundle of sacks next to the box he’d been using as a seat.

Next, they emptied their pockets of the fruit, vegetables and other items they’d picked up around the farm sheds. Cery looked up at Gol as the man set down a reel of coarse thread.

“Where’d you find that?”

Gol shrugged. “In one of the sheds. There was a basket full of them, so I figured nobody would notice if I took one. And this...” He turned one side of his coat out to reveal a long, curved needle piercing the lining. “If I’m going to make mattresses, we’ll need it.”

Cery regarded his friend dubiously. “You’re going to make mattresses?”

“Anyi said she doesn’t know how to sew.”

“Oh, did she?” Cery smiled at his daughter’s lie. “And you do?”

“Well enough for this. I used to help my da mend his sails.” Gol slipped the end of the thread through the eye of the needle with telling dexterity.

“You’re a man with hidden depths, Gol,” Cery said. Sitting down on one of the chairs, he smiled as he thought back to their raid on the farm. His assumption that servants were living in the sheds had been proven wrong. All were empty of occupants. Though free to move about, he, Gol and Anyi had taken care not to leave signs of their passing and hadn’t taken anything that wasn’t already there in abundance. Anyi had suggested relocating some of the other chairs around the place as if someone had simply moved them for some purpose and forgotten to return them, to hide the fact that a few were missing.

Anyi was poking at the fruit. “They’re not ripe,” she said. “A bit too early in the season. It was hard to tell in the dark. How are we going to cook these vegetables?”

“I only picked ones that didn’t have to be cooked,” Gol said.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Eat them raw? I’m not that hungry.”

His eyebrows rose. “Some are better raw, especially when they’re fresh. Give them a try.”

Anyi didn’t look convinced. “I’ll wait for Lilia. She can cook them with magic.”

“She might not always be able to bring us food,” Cery reminded his daughter. “The fewer times she has to come see us the less risk of the Guild discovering us here.”

“Then I need to find us a secret entrance to the Guild kitchens.” Anyi stood up. “I’m going to see if she needs any help carrying something.”

Gol shook his head as she grabbed a lamp and left. “Doesn’t know what she’s missing,” he muttered.

Cery looked at his friend. “I hoped you two would take a lot more than three days before you started getting under each other’s skin.”

“We might not have any choice about the...” Gol stopped as he looked up and saw Cery’s expression. His lips twisted into a smile. “Yeah. I’ll try not to. She doesn’t like being stuck underground, either.”

“No,” Cery agreed. Hearing a sound, he rose and moved to the room’s doorway. High voices reached him, though he could not hear what they said. “Looks like Lilia was already on her way.”

Sitting down again, he waited for the girls to arrive. Lilia carried the usual lacquered box, this time full of bread buns stuffed with spiced meat and sticky seed cakes.

“Now that’s real food,” Anyi said as she seized a bun.

Lilia grinned. “I’ve made an arrangement with Jonna. She’s going to bring something each night for Anyi to eat and give to poor people, and is going to get me lamp oil and blankets. She thinks I’m being charitable.”

Cery felt a flash of alarm. “You didn’t tell her about us?”

“No.” Lilia looked at the chairs, straw and Gol sewing sacks. “All this came from the farm?”

Anyi must have told her about their raid. “Yes.”

“They won’t miss it?”

“We were careful,” Anyi assured her.

Lilia sat down on one of the boxes. “Well, don’t go back for a few days. I’ll see if I hear anything about trespassers or thieves. Now... I have news from Kallen.”

Cery’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

“He says people in the city are starting to gossip about your absence. Some believe you must be dead. Others think Skellin has you locked up or cornered somewhere.”

“That’s not far from the truth,” Gol muttered.

Lilia glanced at him, then looked again as she noticed what he was doing. Her eyebrows rose but she made no comment on Gol’s sewing skills. “Skellin’s men have been taking over your...” She waved a hand. “Whatever it is that you do.”

“Loan money, protect people, run businesses, introduce people, sell—” Cery began.

“Don’t tell me,” Lilia interrupted. “As Sonea says, it’s better I don’t know so I can’t be accused of being involved in anything.”

“I thought I was doing a good job of making it all sound legitimate.” Cery looked at Anyi, who rolled her eyes.

“Do any of Skellin’s people think Cery’s dead?” Gol asked.

Lilia shrugged. “Kallen wasn’t that specific. He did want to know if Cery was planning to take back these... businesses.”

“Tell him I will be in no position to until he gets rid of Skellin. Has he made any progress?”

The young woman shook her head. “He didn’t say so. I think he was hoping you’d be as useful to him as you were to Sonea.”

Cery sighed and looked away. “You’d better make it clear to him that I’m no use to anybody now.”

Anyi made a wordless sound of protest. “You’re useful to us.”

Cery gave her a disbelieving look. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be stuck here. Down here I’m nothing but a problem for Lilia.”

Lilia frowned. “You’re not a problem. Not a big one, anyway.” Anyi put a hand on her shoulder.

He scowled. “The only mark I can make now is to be a nagging worry at the back of Skellin’s mind. People might say I’m dead, but he won’t completely believe it because he hasn’t seen a corpse. He has to consider I may be alive, and up to something.”

He’ll be moving in on my territory cautiously, and questioning everyone who might know where I am. Cery felt his heart spasm painfully with guilt. My people will want to believe I’m dead, because if I’m alive and not fighting Skellin it’ll seem as though I’ve abandoned them. If they find out I was hiding beneath the Guild, they’ll think I’ve been living in luxury with my magician friends, not this.

If only there was some gain to be had, other than mere survival, from being here under the Guild.

We’re isolated from the rest of the city. Magicians are not far away, and one in particular – Lilia – is able to help us. Few people would dare come here, knowing that. Cery frowned. Would Skellin dare?

Perhaps if he had a good reason to.

If he did come here, he’d be very wary. He’d send scouts to make sure it was safe first. Then there would have to be a good reason for him to enter the passages personally rather than send others. No matter where or how he learned about the existence of these tunnels, and how to get to them, he’d have to suspect the information was meant to fall into his hands, and was part of a trap.

After all, I would.

But if there was something here that Skellin wanted badly enough, perhaps he would take that risk. Cery just had to think of bait powerful enough to lure him into a trap. This time it would have to be something much more tempting than the books on magic.

Chapter 9
Friends and Enemies

Lorkin woke in a rush. He blinked up at the ceiling and puzzled at the unfamiliar bare stone, then a heartbeat later he remembered where he was and why.

And that he wasn’t alone in the cell.

He turned to see the young woman lying on the floor near the cell’s gate. Her skin and the rags that were all that was left of her slave garb were stained with blood. She was staring up at the Ashaki interrogator, who stood in the gate’s opening.

As Lorkin got slowly to his feet the Ashaki bent to grab her arm and yanked her upright. She gave a hoarse cry and sagged as if her limbs wouldn’t support her, but the man laughed.

“That wouldn’t fool a halfwit,” he said. He ran his free hand down her arm to her shoulders, then through her hair, then looked at Lorkin and grinned.

“Nice bit of Healing. Considering how much was broken, it must have worn you out.”

Lorkin met the man’s eyes and shrugged. “Hardly.”

The interrogator chuckled. “We’ll see.” He looked at the slave girl. “Walk or be dragged.”

She gave up on pretending to be wounded. Bracing her feet, she stood properly, then looked down at herself in amazement before her wonder at being whole evaporated as the Ashaki pulled her toward the gate.

“Come with me, Kyralian,” the Ashaki said. “We have more to discuss.”

Lorkin considered refusing to leave the cell, but he couldn’t see how it would gain him anything. It would force the Ashaki to use magic to drag him out, but very little magic and nothing that couldn’t be replaced by taking strength from a slave. He doubted the Ashaki would hesitate to torture the girl here instead. Saying nothing, he followed the interrogator out of the cell. The man’s assistant, as always, fell into step behind him.

The slave girl walked with slumped shoulders. Lorkin could not stop images and sounds from the day before running through his memory. The Ashaki’s torturing had been slow and brutal, calculated to cause as much pain and damage as possible without killing her.

It had taken all Lorkin’s determination to stay silent. He could not help trying to think of other ways to stop what was happening, even if temporarily, but none would work for long. These ideas kept taunting him, though. Lying to the Ashaki. Telling him things about the Traitors that were true but irrelevant. Even offering his own life in exchange for the woman’s.

Eventually he managed an unpleasant detachment from it all. He gave up on any notion that he could do anything to help the woman or himself. Later he shuddered at what he had done, and worried that accepting that he couldn’t help the slave might eventually shift into giving up on protecting the Traitors.

He tried to keep Tyvara in his thoughts to bolster his determination, but that only led to him thinking about what she must have suffered at the hands of Ashaki while pretending to be a slave. Beatings. Being used as a pleasure slave. Lorkin’s dislike of slavery had deepened into hatred.

The previous day he had been sure the Ashaki would eventually kill the slave woman. He certainly hadn’t expected the man to toss her into the cell with him. As time passed his detachment had faded. He’d found it harder and harder to bear listening to the woman whimpering and gasping in pain.

Did they simply hope to wear me down with guilt? Or were they only hoping I’d weaken myself by Healing her? Or see if I’d kill her myself to end her pain.

Using the extra power Tyvara had given him to Heal the slave would not cost him a lot, he’d decided. It would never be enough to protect him for long, if the interrogator decided to torture or kill him. Only afterwards did it occur to him that Healing her meant the Ashaki would be able to torture her all over again.

She had thanked him, which only made him feel worse. He lay awake for a long time, trying to convince himself that the interrogator had achieved his aim. The purpose in using her had been to force him to use up his power. Lorkin had shown that he would not be persuaded by her torture to speak. She was no longer needed.

Now it seemed like a foolish delusion.

The Ashaki led them to the same room. It had been cleaned. The slave girl was shoved into a corner where she threw herself into a submissive, defensive crouch.

As before, Lorkin was directed to a stool. The interrogator leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. The assistant perched on another stool.

“So, have you anything to tell me?” the Ashaki asked. “Anything relating to the Traitors, that is.”

“Nothing you don’t already know.”

“Are you sure about that? Why don’t you tell me what you think I know about the Traitors?”

“And see if our knowledge matches?” Lorkin sighed. “As if I’d fall for that trick. When are you going to accept that I’m not going to tell you anything?”

The interrogator shrugged. “It’s not up to me. It’s up to the king. I’m merely his...” he pursed his lips in thought, “his researcher. Only I extract information from people, not dusty old books and scrolls, or by exploring distant places, or spying on foreign lands.”

“Torture must be the least reliable kind of research.”

“It takes a certain skill.” The Ashaki uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the wall. “One that I don’t get to practise often, so I’m happy to have the opportunity now. Unless, of course, you distract me with something more interesting.”

Lorkin made himself meet and hold the man’s gaze and keep his voice level, though his stomach churned as he spoke.

“Has it occurred to you that the means you’re using to convince me to talk might make me even more determined to stay silent?”

The Ashaki’s smile was unconcerned. “Does it really? Well, then. Let’s put that theory to the test.”

As he turned to look at the slave she whimpered. Lorkin felt his resolve weaken. But if I tell them about the Traitors, thousands could end up like this woman. And if she is a Traitor, she knows this and would not want me to betray them.

He clung to that thought, and tried to put out of his mind that she might not even be a Traitor, as the interrogator set about undoing everything Lorkin had mended the night before.

Like most novices, Lilia had learned early on that a complex of inner passages and rooms lay within the University building, reached through short passages made to look like small storage rooms. They weren’t forbidden to novices, however. Hundreds of years ago the Guild had grown so large that the need for teaching space outweighed whatever purpose the inner rooms had been designed for. Now, specialised or private classes were held in them.

The passages under the Guild were no great secret either. Everybody knew they’d been used during the Ichani Invasion. Though they were forbidden to both novices and magicians because they were deemed unsafe, the threat of cave-ins was never going to deter the more adventurous of them, so all of the passage entrances in the University had been sealed not long after the war.

Lilia wasn’t the only novice who suspected the Guild might have kept a few open, just in case. Anyi’s explorations had revealed that the Guild had been telling the truth, however. All of the passage entrances had been bricked up. Lilia had been hoping that her friend would find at least one access point into the University. It would be a lot easier than climbing down the narrow gap inside the Magicians’ Quarters wall.

Not to be deterred, Anyi had been working on making a new entrance. The night before, she had announced that she had broken through the brickwork at one entrance. Lilia had gone to inspect it. The hidden door in the panelling beyond had needed a little oiling before it would open smoothly. Beyond it was one of the inner passages of the University. When it was time to leave her friends, she’d used the door and then made her way back to Sonea’s rooms.

Now she was heading back to the hidden door, hoping it was too early for other novices to be in the inner passages. Jonna had brought a large bottle of lamp oil with the morning meal. Lilia was all too conscious that her friends were fast running out of sources of light – especially since Anyi had used lamp oil to loosen the secret door’s hinges. The new route into the passages would be much faster, since she didn’t have an awkward climb up to Sonea’s rooms, and when she returned she would be closer to her first class of the day.

Entering the University, she turned into one of the narrow corridors between the classrooms, and headed for the small room at its end that led to the inner passages. Somewhere behind her Lilia heard the sound of echoing footsteps following her. Probably a novice heading for a private class. The inner passages were usually quieter than the main part of the University, but she’d have to be careful nobody saw her slip through the secret door.

The odd little room that divided the main and inner parts of the University contained a wall of locked cabinets. Apparently these rooms had been bare until the former University Director had died, and his replacement had decided that no storage space should be wasted. Lilia pushed through the door opposite and entered the inner passages.

She had taken ten or so steps when she heard the door to the other side of the little room open and close, muffled by the door behind her. Whoever followed was gaining on her. She lengthened her stride in the hope that she would turn a corner before this other person would emerge and see her, but the distance was too great. She heard the door open behind her, then a laugh.

“Hey, Lilia,” a voice called. “Where you going?”

Her heart sank. Bokkin. From the menace in his tone she knew he had been tailing her. She stopped and turned to regard him. How stupid can this boy get? He doesn’t know how strong or weak I am. He doesn’t even have any friends with him to gang up on me. If he’s hoping I’m up to something that he could turn me in for, he shouldn’t have called out to me before he found out what it was.

Even so, he had messed up her plans. Perhaps that was all he was aiming for.

“Come to offer me your powers, Bokkin?” she asked.

He sauntered toward her. “You’ve got big ideas about yourself now, haven’t you? Think you’re better than anyone because you know black magic. It’s the other way around, you know. You’re the lowest scum of the Guild and everyone hates you. That’s why you’ve got no friends. Everyone knows Naki’s death was your fault.”

She felt something shrivel inside her, but instead of it making her cringe away from him it left a void that quickly filled with anger.

Be careful, she warned herself. Show anger and he’ll know he’s got to you, and accidentally injuring another novice will only add to the reasons people don’t like you.

She smiled. “Glad you got that off your chest, Bokkin?”

He moved closer, trying again to intimidate her with his bulk and height. “Yes. But I’m not done with you. I want you to apologise – no, I want you to beg me...”

The door behind them opened and he quickly stepped back.

“Lady Lilia.”

Confusion and relief rose as Lilia recognised Jonna’s voice. She peered past Bokkin to see the servant approaching. The woman bowed briskly at them both.

“A message came for you,” Jonna said. She pushed past Bokkin. “Excuse me, my Lord.”

Jonna placed a hand on Lilia’s arm and guided her along the passage, away from Bokkin. The novice remained silent, and Lilia didn’t dignify him with a backwards glance. She and Jonna turned a corner. When they had continued far enough Jonna glanced back.

“He’s not following us. Was he bothering you?”

Lilia shrugged. “He’s a troublemaker, but a pretty thickheaded one.”

“Don’t dismiss him too quickly. He may come back with others. Sonea had enemies among the novices when she was learning here, and they made her life here a torment.”

“Really? Who was the leader?” How humiliating to live your life known as the novice stupid enough to have picked on the famous Black Magician Sonea.

Jonna looked amused. “Lord Regin.”

Lilia stared at her in astonishment. “Really? He’s not dumb.”

“No.”

“I guess novice bullies were smarter in those days.”

Jonna patted her arm firmly. “What I want to know is, where are you going with a bottle of lamp oil in your bag?”

Lilia looked down at her bag then back up at Jonna. “What bottle? I left it in the room.”

“You most certainly did not, and it’s obvious from the way that bag is bulging and swinging that you have it in there.” Jonna frowned in a motherly, disapproving way. “I told Sonea I’d keep an eye on you. I helped raise Sonea’s son, Lorkin, so I know how to spot when a novice is up to something.”

Lilia gazed at the servant in dismay. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell Jonna about Cery, Gol and Anyi living under the Guild, but she had agreed not to. But if I don’t, Jonna won’t get me the things they need.

Jonna had lived in the slums before she became Sonea’s servant. She would surely empathise with Cery’s situation. Even if she didn’t, perhaps she would help out of sympathy for Anyi.

But am I being too trusting?

“Tell me, Lilia,” Jonna said. “I may not like it, but I promise I won’t report it to the Guild.” She frowned. “Well, unless you’re teaching someone black magic. Though I suppose I wouldn’t have turned Sonea and Akkarin in, if I’d known what was really going on.”

“I’m not teaching anyone black magic,” Lilia told her, and winced at the sound of protest in her voice. She drew in a deep breath, lowered her tone to a whisper. “Anyi is living under the Guild.”

Jonna looked thoughtful. “I see. I guessed that she’d been travelling that way to visit you for a while already. Is it safe?”

“We’ve been making it safer,” Lilia assured her.

“So... why is she there?”

Lilia shook her head. “It wasn’t safe in the city. Skellin’s people nearly killed Cery—”

“You mean Cery is down there as well?”

Jonna’s eyes narrowed. Lilia sighed and nodded.

“How many people are down there?”

“Just them.”

The servant looked relieved. I expect she was imagining what the Guild would think of a Thief setting up his business down there, Lilia thought, with numerous criminals coming and going all the time.

Jonna gestured to the corridor. “So why come here?”

“We opened one of the old entrances.”

Jonna frowned and shook her head. “Now, that’s too dangerous,” she decided. “And I don’t mean being below, I mean up here. Someone will see you. You must only use the passage in Sonea’s rooms.”

Lilia smiled, relieved that she had been right to trust Jonna. “Haven’t you noticed how scuffed and dirty my robes have been lately.”

“I haven’t failed to note their condition.” Jonna lifted her chin and gave Lilia a haughty look. “We shall have to do something about that. Like get you alternative clothing, for instance. In the meantime,” she reached down and opened Lilia’s bag. “I’m taking the bottle and you are going straight to class. Tonight we will discuss more effective strategies for dealing with our guests.”

Hefting the bottle of lamp oil, she gave Lilia a stern look, then turned and strode back down the corridor. A faint whiff of her perfume lingered, something Lilia hadn’t noticed about her before.

Closing her bag, Lilia shook her head. I had no choice but to tell her, she reasoned. And she’s not going to tell anyone. In fact, having her know everything could be useful. Then she sighed. In the meantime, I hope Cery, Gol and Anyi don’t end up sitting in the dark.

Dannyl dipped his pen into the ink pot then continued writing, but the nib soon began to scratch the paper ineffectually. He dipped the pen once more, then sighed as he saw that the reservoir was nearly empty. Run out again, he thought. Straightening, he groaned as his back protested. How long have I been working at this?

A day after Lorkin had been imprisoned, Dannyl had brought all of his research notes together and begun transcribing everything into a large notebook. His discussion with Tayend on the possible intentions of the Traitors had led to him worrying that, if the more dramatic situations they’d considered should eventuate, he might not get the chance to write down everything in a form others could comprehend. He had plenty of time to fill, and he was not making any progress in his research anyway, so he was writing sections of text and noting where they were to be slotted into his history of magic.

The work had proven to be a calming, welcome distraction. It reassured him that he had made some important discoveries about the history of magic, and hadn’t wasted his time in Sachaka. He would make substantial additions to his history of magic once he returned to Kyralia. If I live to finish it. He shook his head. No, don’t be silly. Tayend agreed that the worse scenarios we imagined are the least likely to come about.

Even so, he’d decided to make an extra copy to be stored in a safe place somewhere outside the Guild House, so that if this building was attacked his work wouldn’t be lost. Ideally, it should go to the Guild, but he couldn’t be sure it would arrive there. No doubt King Amakira had people in place to intercept and examine anything leaving and arriving at the Guild House.

In case his work was read by Sachakans, Dannyl had been careful to leave out any mention of gemstones with magical properties, apart from the famous Storestone that had created the wastelands. He’d had to come up with a way to hide references to them when writing out his notes on the Duna tribes’ legends, so that he wouldn’t be betraying the Duna’s trust if someone happened upon the copy. The stones were now people – powerful magicians referred to by their title. Dannyl would have to change all mentions of these fictional characters back to gemstones when he came to write his book.

After making his first coded version of his notes, he’d destroyed his original notebook. If I die and somebody finds the new version, I’m going to be the perpetrator of some very big lies in our history. After all the effort he’d put into digging up the truth about some of Kyralia’s hidden past, it would be a sad irony.

Now he was near to finishing the copy – well, he had been until he’d run out of ink. A movement in the doorway drew his attention away, and he looked up to see Kai throw himself on the floor.

“Ashaki Achati has arrived, master.”

Dannyl cursed silently at the conflicting eagerness and dread the news stirred. He pushed himself to his feet. Is Achati angry at me for breaking my promise to tell him of anything that might threaten Sachaka? Will I be able to forgive him for condoning the king’s imprisonment of Lorkin? Is any chance of us becoming lovers gone?

The slave scampered out of the room as Dannyl took the first step toward the door. Taking a deep breath, Dannyl walked down the corridor and found Achati waiting in the Master’s Room, looking dignified in a black version of the typical Ashaki trousers and short jacket.

“Ambassador Dannyl,” he said.

“Ashaki Achati,” Dannyl replied. He decided not to sit down, or invite Achati to. He suspected he would slip into being inappropriately friendly if he didn’t remain standing.

Achati hesitated, looked away, then raised his gaze to meet Dannyl’s again.

“You turned down my invitation to dinner,” he observed.

Dannyl nodded. “It would not have been appropriate to accept.”

“In your eyes or in the eyes of the Guild and Allied Lands?”

“Both.”

Achati looked away again, frowning and shifting his weight slowly from one leg to the other. He looked as if he was considering his words carefully.

“I’ve persuaded the king that I should maintain our friendship,” he began.

“So you can keep trying to persuade me to order Lorkin to speak?” Dannyl finished.

“No.” Achati winced. “Well, yes, as far as he is concerned that is the reason, but I have no intention of doing that.”

“What do you intend to do?”

The man’s mouth twitched and his eyes crinkled with amusement. Which made Dannyl miss their former banter.

“Try to rescue what remains of our friendship,” he said. “Even if it means pretending none of this unfortunate business is happening.”

“But it is happening,” Dannyl said. “You would be as incapable of pretending otherwise if... if your cousin or...” A memory of the slave that Achati had cared for slipped into his mind. “Varn... maybe not Varn, since he’s a slave.”

“It would be upsetting if Varn was unjustly treated,” Achati admitted.

“So you admit that Lorkin’s imprisonment is unjust?”

Achati smiled. “No. How would you feel if... if the Elyne Ambassador in Kyralia was protecting a rogue magician?”

“To be a fair comparison, we’d not know if the man was a rogue or not. You don’t know if Lorkin has useful information and we’re not refusing to pass that information on to you, just asking that we have the opportunity to question our own man first. And if there was a rogue, well, the alliance states that all rogues are the Guild’s concern.”

Achati sighed. “Yes, that last is the key difference. Kyralia and Elyne are allies. You trust them. Kyralia and Sachaka are not allies. You ask for more trust than we can give.”

Dannyl nodded. “You’ll have to learn to trust us, if we are to become allies in the future.”

“Then don’t you have to trust us, in return?”

“You’ve got more convincing to do,” Dannyl pointed out. “We have more recent aggressive acts to forgive, before we trust Sachakans.”

Achati sighed. He looked at Dannyl, saying nothing, before finally ending the pause in their conversation with a shake of his head.

“I hoped we could talk as friends, but instead we speak as if we are our nations. I should go.” But he didn’t move away. He chewed his lip. “I can at least assure you that Lorkin is fine. The king won’t dare to harm him. Don’t stop trying to see him, though. Goodbye, for now.”

“Good night.” Dannyl watched the Ashaki walk to the entrance corridor and disappear. He waited until he heard the front door open and close, then moved to the chairs, sat down and let out a long breath.

“I know you won’t like me saying so, but I don’t buy any of that.”

Looking up at the voice, Dannyl frowned as Tayend moved into the room.

“How long were you spying for?”

“Long enough.” Tayend moved to a chair and sat down. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

Dannyl considered. “Which part?”

“That he wants to be your friend only for the sake of being friends.”

“I don’t know.”

“Surely you don’t trust him?”

Dannyl spread his hands. “Trust was never part of it.”

The Elyne’s eyebrows rose. “Well, then. Perhaps I should have asked if you still like him?”

Looking away, Dannyl shrugged. “I haven’t made up my mind. However I decide, it won’t stop me obeying orders or helping Lorkin.”

Tayend nodded. “I know it won’t. I admit I was worried about you, but you are still your old self, underneath.”

Dannyl straightened in protest. “Underneath what?”

The Elyne stood up, waving one hand in Dannyl’s direction. “All... that.”

“I’m reeling at your descriptive clarity,” Dannyl told him.

Tayend opened his mouth to say more, then closed it again and shook his head. “Never mind. I’m going back to my room. I have a trade agreement to negotiate. Are you still copying your notes?”

“Yes. No. I’ve run out of ink again. The slaves mustn’t have refilled the bottle this morning.”

“Actually, they put the last of the House’s supply in my pot last night. I sent one off to buy more this morning but he came back empty-handed.” Tayend’s expression became serious. “It was hard to get any sense out of him. Seems someone took it off him, but he claimed he didn’t know who in that way people do when they’re lying and they want you to know it.”

Dannyl frowned. “Someone took it from him? A thief?”

“Or someone working for the king. Maybe they don’t want us writing-up documents.”

A chill ran down Dannyl’s spine. “Or making copies of research notes.”

“Surely not. How would they know you were doing that?”

“The slaves,” Dannyl replied.

Tayend’s eyes narrowed. “Who won’t know you’re only writing about your research, not about Lorkin’s discoveries.”

Dannyl sighed. “I’m not going to be able to get that second copy to the Guild safely, am I?”

“I could be wrong about the king’s men taking the ink,” Tayend said. He looked at Dannyl thoughtfully. “Or not. Maybe you had better lock those notes up with magic in case the slaves are ordered to steal them from you.” He took a step toward the corridor, then stopped and looked back. “I’ll bring my ink pot over for you. Maybe Merria or I can get more ink from our Sachakan friends.”

Chapter 10
No Good Choices

Lorkin lay on the hard, cold floor of the cell and tried not to listen to the slave woman struggling to breathe. I don’t even know her name, he thought. Surely he should at least know the name of the woman who was suffering so much pain because of him. Because of the Traitors as much as me, he reminded himself. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask her. Not when he was deliberately avoiding Healing her.

If he did, the interrogator would hurt her all over again.

If he didn’t, she might die. Then the interrogator would find another slave to hurt. At first Lorkin had reasoned that it was better for fewer people to be hurt and killed than more, but she had hissed at him to stay away when he’d approached her, and again when he’d tried to explain that he could at least stop the pain. Though she could not have stopped him Healing her, if she wanted to escape her predicament by dying he felt he ought to respect her wishes. Or perhaps, eventually, the pain would be too much and she would ask him to help her.

It had been a very long day. One horrible moment was followed by another, and another. Time stretched out beyond his ability to judge its passing. At times he felt as if he was trapped in a nightmare that would never end. The interrogator didn’t appear to tire of his work, or run out of ways to cause a human as much pain as possible while causing minimal damage. Lorkin had seen things he would never forget. He had heard sounds that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He had smelled aromas no civilized person should ever smell.

He knew sleep was beyond possible, but he tried. When he gave up on trying, he pretended he was asleep.

A contorted hiss came from the slave and he was instantly alert, heart beating fast. He told himself she was just voicing the pain, not calling for attention, but the same pattern of sounds came again. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to look at her.

She was lying on her side, curled up and cradling her broken arm. Her eyes were wide open and staring at him. As he met her gaze her lips moved and though no sound came the words were clear, as if she’d spoken in his mind. He went cold all over at their meaning.

Kill me.

He stared back at her in disbelief. No, not disbelief. Death is the only escape she is going to get. I can stop the pain, if she’ll let me, but that is only the physical part of torture. I can’t stop the horror, humiliation and fear.

But...

His insides twisted. I can’t kill her. He felt guilt deepen and turned away. It’s all my fault. He shook his head. No. It isn’t. But I can’t pretend I’m not partly responsible for what’s happening to her. If there’s anything I can do...

Anything? But I’ve never killed anybody. It’s not that I wouldn’t if I had to defend myself or someone else, but to kill someone who isn’t trying to hurt anyone is wrong.

Her lips shaped the plea again.

He remembered his mother’s words, from long ago: “As Healers we can do much to prevent death, but the limits of what we can do sometimes clash with what we should do. When a person is beyond saving and only wishes to die, keeping them alive is a kind of cruelty.”

Listening to the slave’s shuddering breaths, he knew it was cruel to let her suffer with no hope of escape.

How would I even do it? The Ashaki guard was sitting outside the cell, watching them. Whatever Lorkin did, it would have to be gentle and subtle enough that it didn’t attract attention.

I can’t believe I am actually contemplating it.

Eventually the slave’s death would be noticed. What would they do once they knew Lorkin had killed her? He felt a traitorous relief as the answer came to him. She is the king’s property – or somebody’s. I don’t know how bad a crime it is to destroy someone’s property, but it would definitely be something they’d hold against me.

Perhaps they were hoping he’d kill her. Perhaps it would give them the excuse they needed to read his mind, or worse. Once he was officially a criminal they could do anything to him.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that this was their plan. Why else were they locking her in the cell with him every night? If he went on Healing her he would soon use up all the power Tyvara had given him. But that couldn’t be their only aim. There were plenty of other ways they could sap his strength, if that was what they wanted. If they only intended to break his resolve by torturing others, why leave the slave woman in his cell? They could always lock her up close by, just out of reach, so he witnessed her suffering but couldn’t help her.

Suddenly he wanted to kill her, just to spite them.

No, I don’t, he told himself quickly, shuddering at the thought he might be turned into a murderer so easily.

“Kill me,” came the whisper again. It sent a shiver down his spine.

Was there a way he could kill her that would leave no evidence he had done it? If the injuries the interrogator gave her are bad enough... No, he would have made sure they weren’t. Yet from the sound of her breathing something inside her chest was damaged. Perhaps a rib was cracked or broken. If he could manipulate it...

But that would be using Healing power to kill. Healers were supposed to heal, not harm.

Well, that’s always been a complicated philosophy. Cutting open a body to remove a tumour involves harming in order to heal. And then there’s the argument for helping people die. And my mother used Healing in defence, to kill some of the Ichani invaders.

“Www...”

A soft scraping noise came from the girl, and he reluctantly turned his head to look at her again. She was reaching toward him. No, he corrected himself, she’s reaching toward my legs.

“Wwwater,” she gasped.

Relief came as he realised that now she was only asking for something to drink. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. The food-bearing slave had brought a meal. Lorkin had tried to share it with the slave woman but she’d refused to eat. He reached for the jar of water and froze, remembering the warning glyphs that had indicated it was unsafe.

I wonder how unsafe...

He shrank from the thought, but it sprang straight back into his mind. If the water was poisoned and she drank it, she might gain the death she wanted without anyone but him knowing it was his fault. Well, except for the Traitors who left the warning. He felt a shiver go up his spine.

If the slave woman was a Traitor, she might know about the warnings. She might know the water would kill her. He turned to look at her. She gazed back at him, her eyes seeming to say, Yes. Free me.

If she was a Traitor, they must know she was here. Had they provided her with a means to kill herself?

But would the water kill her? He dropped his arm. The Ashaki must be the one adulterating Lorkin’s food. Surely they weren’t trying to kill him? He was of no use to them dead. Most likely the poison in the water was meant to make him sick, or force him to use up more strength by Healing himself. Still, they might reason that the stronger the toxin, the more magic he would be forced to use. It could be a lethal dose.

The woman made a low noise and stretched her unbroken arm toward the bottle. Outside the cell, the watcher eyed them both.

Kill me. Free me.

Lorkin looked from her to the water. He had to make a choice. And there was no right one. No matter what he decided, the consequences would be shocking. No matter what he decided, afterwards he would never be the same person again.

By the way Lilia had admitted to telling Sonea’s aunt that Cery, Gol and Anyi were living under the Guild, it was clear she thought they would be angry. Which is amusing and endearing, considering that she is a magician and we are mere commoners, Cery thought. She had paced a little as she explained how the servant had followed her and the discussion it had led to. Now she looked surprised that nobody was concerned by the news.

“Better that Jonna knows, than anybody else up there,” Anyi said. “In fact, she could be useful.”

“Jonna never liked me,” Cery told them. “But that was back when I was a youngster and she thought I was leading Sonea astray. She knew I was slipping into Sonea’s room now and then these last twenty years, but she never told anybody about it. Good odds she can be trusted.”

“If Sonea trusts her, I reckon she’s all right,” Gol agreed.

Lilia’s eyes had lit up with a peculiar light. “You’ve been seeing Sonea for the last twenty years?” she asked Cery.

He shrugged. “Of course. You didn’t think some rule about associating with criminals would stop her talking to her old friends, did you?”

“No, I can’t see that stopping either of you. I wonder what people would say if they knew. It would be a scandal, I’m sure.” Lilia smiled and sat down next to Anyi. “They’d also finally know why Sonea never got married.”

Cery frowned as he realised she had assumed his visits had been romantic. “Wait. I didn’t... that’s not what I was visiting her for.”

Gol began to laugh. “You certainly made it sound like it was. For a moment there I thought you’d managed to hide something from me all this time.”

Anyi shook her finger at Lilia. “My father was happily married for most of the last twenty years,” she said indignantly. Then she grimaced. “Well, during the second marriage, anyway – but he was married to my mother before that, even if it wasn’t exactly what you’d call ‘happily’ married.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest he was unfaithful,” Lilia apologised.

Gol chuckled in a knowing way.

It was time to change the subject, Cery decided. “I’ve been thinking about what we should do next,” he said. Immediately all eyes turned to him. Anyi looked eager, Lilia relieved and Gol narrowed his eyes, no doubt ready to find the holes in whatever schemes Cery thought up. “What we should do is obvious, once I started thinking less about how we are stuck here and more about how we can turn being here to our advantage.”

Now Lilia was looking a little worried.

“We’re safe here – not because Skellin won’t have guessed we sought the Guild’s protection but because he won’t risk coming here,” he continued. “He’ll assume if we’re here we’re in one of the Guild buildings, under magical protection. If he learned that we were under the Guild, and that the magicians don’t know we’re here, he’d would slip in and kill us all – and feel smug that he did it without the Guild noticing.”

“But the Guild would notice,” Anyi pointed out. “Lilia knows we’re here and will stop him, or if she can’t then she’d get help.”

“Yes, but Skellin doesn’t know that,” Cery pointed out.

Gol gave a low growl. “No,” he said.

Cery turned to his friend, amused by the one-word disapproval. “Why not?”

“This is our last and only safe place,” Gol said. “We can’t risk losing it.”

“We do have one more safe place.” Cery pointed upwards. “The protection Skellin thinks we’re enjoying.” He gestured around them. “This, here, is our last and only chance to lure him into a trap.”

“A trap that, if it goes wrong, will see you dead,” Gol said.

“Lilia will protect him,” Anyi said, her eyes bright with the prospect of finally doing something.

Lilia nodded. “And Kallen. You are planning to tell Kallen, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cery replied. “It’s a bit much to ask Lilia to shoulder all the burden of magical protection or to confront two rogue magicians, if Skellin brings his mother along.”

Anyi rubbed her hands together eagerly. “So what will we use as bait?”

Gol snorted. “It’s obvious. Your father intends to lure Skellin here with something he wants more than anything else.”

Lilia’s face went a little pale. “Black magic?”

“No,” Gol said. “Skellin wants to know he has full control of the entire underworld. If he finds out Cery is alive, he’ll know there’s always the danger Cery will try to get it back – with Guild help. He’ll risk a lot to kill him.”

Anyi’s eager grin vanished. She stared at Cery, searching his face as if hoping for a sign he was joking. When he nodded she scowled and crossed her arms. “Gol’s right. That is too much of a risk.”

“What else do you suggest? What else would tempt him to risk coming this close to the Guild?”

Anyi looked at Lilia. “Black magic—”

“He won’t risk trying to capture her. She could be many times stronger than him. In fact, for this to work it has to be obvious that Lilia isn’t here. He might believe the Guild doesn’t know I’m here, but he won’t as easily believe she doesn’t. Lilia will have to be seen somewhere else before he’ll come looking for me.”

“But you’ll need a magician here,” Lilia pointed out. “Or you won’t be able to stop him killing you all.”

He nodded. “Yes. Kallen. Tell him that we have a plan to trap Skellin and ask how we should contact him when we’re ready. Don’t tell him where the trap will be sprung of course. I have a feeling he’d decide keeping people out of these passages is more important than catching Skellin.”

Lilia nodded. Anyi was shaking her head. “I don’t like it,” she said.

Cery crossed his arms. “Why?”

“I...” She looked away and scowled. Abruptly she got up, grabbed a lamp and stalked out of the room.

The room was silent for several heartbeats. Lilia glanced at Cery and Gol, then hurried after her.

Cery stared at the empty doorway. His heart twisted in a way that was both painful and pleasant. He did not want to risk anybody’s life. Certainly not his own. But they could not stay here forever.

Thinking back, he remembered the angry, defiant young woman he had tried to keep in contact with after parting from her mother. Anyi had hated him – or at least she had behaved as if she did. Knowing that he had somehow won her over was a bittersweet pleasure. It had come at the price of her safety.

But then, being related to him was all it took to make life dangerous, especially while a rogue magician Thief ruled the underworld, and that rogue hated Cery.

“For once your daughter and I agree,” Gol said in a low voice. “It is too dangerous.”

“Let’s see what Kallen says to that,” Cery replied.

Within a few paces, Anyi slowed down to let Lilia catch up, but did not stop walking.

“Are you all right?” Lilia asked.

Anyi shook her head. “No. Yes. I... I need to think.”

Her tone suggested that she wasn’t in the mood for talking, so Lilia stayed silent. She drew magic to create a globe light, and Anyi wordlessly turned her lamp’s flame down low to conserve oil. They didn’t travel far. After a few hundred paces Anyi’s stride became purposeful and soon it became clear she was leading Lilia to some rooms nearer to the University that she’d recently discovered.

Anyi chose one room at random, then, since there were no chairs, sat down on the floor with her back to a wall. Lilia sat down beside her, disturbing a dust-covered broken plate. She wiped the surface clean, uncovering a Guild symbol imprinted into the underside. This isn’t very old. I wonder how it got here.

“I shouldn’t care,” Anyi said.

Lilia turned to look at her. “Of course you should. He’s your father.”

Anyi’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Not much of one. For most of my life he ignored me. It was only when his other family was murdered that he paid any attention to me.”

Not sure what to say, Lilia said nothing.

“That’s not really fair, though,” Anyi added, her voice quieter and softer. “Mother left him. She said it wasn’t safe being the wife of a Thief, and that she couldn’t stand being hidden away all the time. I don’t think two people should be forced to be together if they don’t want to be.”

“How did Cery come to marry again?” Lilia asked. Divorce was something only the king could grant. She couldn’t imagine a Thief asking the king to end his marriage.

Anyi shrugged. “He just did.”

“But that’s...”

“Bigamy?” Anyi looked at Lilia and shrugged. “Not really. Nobody in the underworld can afford a legal marriage. I suppose Cery could, but why pay attention to one of the king’s laws when you don’t pay much to the rest of them? We have our own ways of declaring ourselves married – or unmarried.”

Lilia shook her head in wonder. “It’s a whole other world.” She shrugged. “Though I could say that about the family my parents were servants for. We might have been a part of their world, but we weren’t in their world. It would have been nice to be that rich, and to be able to order people around, but sometimes they had even less choice about their lives than we did. They don’t get to decide who they marry, and they do have to ask the king for a divorce – and hope he grants it.”

“Perhaps that’s why Sonea never got married. She’s not from the Houses so she doesn’t have a family deciding who she marries, but she’d have to have a legal marriage if she did and then if she wanted to end it she’d have to hope the king let her.”

Lilia chuckled. “I can’t imagine some man ordering her about.”

Anyi grinned. “No. More likely it’d be the other way around.” But as she met Lilia’s gaze she grew serious again. She looked away and sighed.

“He’s going to get himself killed. He finally lets me into his world and now I’m going to lose him.”

“Only if things go wrong – and we’ll make sure that won’t happen.”

Anyi gave her an accusing look. “You think he’s right.”

“No.” Lilia shook her head. “But I suspect we won’t have much say in it.”

The other girl scowled, then her expression became thoughtful. “You could tell him Kallen doesn’t want to do it. Put Cery off for a while.”

Lilia nodded. “I could. But then he might try to do it without Kallen.” She thought back to what Cery had said. “I can’t help thinking he is right about one thing: Skellin will guess you all came here. Where else would you go? He probably knows there are tunnels. It’s not a secret in the Guild, so I doubt it is outside of it. He’ll come to have a look eventually. When he does, he’ll find you here. And if I’m away in lessons, I won’t be able to stop him killing you all.”

Anyi turned to look at Lilia, her brow creased with worry.

“Perhaps the only way you can be safe is under the Guild’s protection,” Lilia continued. “I know none of you like that idea, but if Cery’s trap fails, that’s where you’ll end up anyway. I suspect the Guild won’t like it either, but they’ll be more willing to protect you if there’s evidence Skellin actually entered the Guild’s underground passages.”

Anyi groaned and rubbed her face with her hands. “You’re making sense, and I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either,” Lilia admitted. “But I know I can’t be the protector you need. Mostly because I’m not here that much, but also because I don’t know how powerful Skellin is. If he comes here with Lorandra I doubt I’ll be able to protect myself, let alone the rest of you. Even if he doesn’t, how are you going to let me know you need my help? What if I don’t get here in time?”

“We’ll use an escape route.”

“What if you don’t make it? Even if you do, you’ll come up in the Guild’s grounds and if he’s still following you then you’ll have to seek the help of the Guild anyway.” Lilia sighed and felt the frustration and worry of the last few weeks gather up behind her words. “It’s not safe down here, and you could be living more comfortably, and it’s so hard getting food to you, and... I miss you.”

At that last admission, the flood of words that had been pouring out of her ran out. She felt her face heat and looked at Anyi sheepishly. The other girl had an odd, surprised expression.

“I mean I miss being alone with you. Maybe that’s a little selfish,” she began. “I—”

But she got no apology out, because Anyi leaned forward, caught hold of her jaw and kissed her.

“I miss you, too,” she said quietly and fiercely.

Then she drew Lilia into her arms. For a time they simply held each other, taking comfort in physical warmth and closeness. Too soon Anyi sighed and pulled away.

“Cery will be wondering where we’ve got to,” she murmured.

Standing up, she held out a hand to Lilia. As Lilia took it Anyi hauled her to her feet, but in the same movement she pulled Lilia close and kissed her again. This time it was a lingering kiss, as if she had forgotten her last words.

A footfall, followed by a sharply indrawn breath, jolted Lilia back to her surroundings. She and Anyi sprang apart and whirled towards the door, Anyi bracing in a fighting stance. Lilia had drawn magic and formed a shield before she saw that it was only Cery standing in the doorway.

His face was frozen in surprise. As Anyi uttered a curse, Cery’s expression changed to a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, taking a step backwards. “Come back when you’re ready.”

Then with a barely suppressed smile, he turned and hurried away.

Covering her face with her hands, Anyi groaned. Lilia placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder in sympathy. I wouldn’t want my father walking in on me kissing another woman. As Anyi’s shoulders started to shake and she began to make choking noises, she felt her heart twist, until she saw her friend’s hands shift to her mouth and she realised Anyi was laughing.

“Well,” Lilia said as she waited for Anyi to stop. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”

Anyi shook her head. “No. Guess it wouldn’t be.” She took a couple of deep breaths, only breaking into spluttering once. “I’ve been worrying about how to tell him for months. Now I don’t have to.”

“You were going to tell him about us?”

“Of course.”

“But... won’t he be angry?”

“No. A bit dismayed, maybe. Did I ever tell you where he was born and grew up?”

Lilia shook her head.

“Well, it’s really his story to tell – many stories, actually. It was a place you meet people with all kinds of tastes and ideas.” Anyi took Lilia’s hand. “Come on. We really should go back. He’ll be worrying that we’re too annoyed or embarrassed to return. And I want to make sure this fool’s plan is as foolproof as possible.”

Chapter 11
A Change of Plan

The words on the page before Dannyl were as grey as an overcast sky. Tayend had given Dannyl his meagre supply of remaining ink and, since neither the slaves nor Merria had managed to bring any more into the Guild House, Dannyl had to thin out what was left with water. Following Tayend’s advice, he now locked his research notes away with magic whenever he was done working on them.

A movement drew his attention to the doorway in time to see Kai throw himself on the floor.

“A carriage from the palace has arrived, master,” the slave said.

Achati again. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. This doesn’t get easier. Opening his eyes, he dried the ink on the page, cleaned his pen, stowed everything away in a drawer and protected it all with magic. Dismissing Kai, he straightened his back and made his way to the Master’s Room.

The door slave was literally hopping from one foot to another, until he saw Dannyl and dove face-first onto the floor.

“Lord Lorkin has returned, master!” he declared.

Dannyl’s heart skipped a beat. “Lorkin?”

He hurried forward, but Sonea’s son was already emerging from the entrance corridor. As the young man entered the room Dannyl felt a chill run down his spine. Something has happened to him, he thought, though he wasn’t sure how he knew. Dannyl looked Lorkin over. There was no sign of injury, though it was hard to tell when Guild robes concealed so much. Other than dark shadows under his eyes suggesting a lack of sleep, Lorkin looked well.

“Ambassador Dannyl,” he said.

“You’re free!” Dannyl had to resist an urge to hug the young man, instead grasping Lorkin’s arm in the usual gesture of Kyralian greeting. “What happened? King Amakira let you go?”

“Yes,” Lorkin replied.

“Do you know why?”

Lorkin looked away. “He didn’t say.”

Dannyl stepped back. Lorkin’s voice was flat and expressionless. He should be relieved. Puzzled by his unexpected release. Angry that he’d been imprisoned in the first place.

“Come sit down.” Dannyl ushered Lorkin to the seats, but the young magician didn’t sit down. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Did they read your mind? Or attempt to?”

“No.”

“Lord Lorkin! I thought I heard your name.”

They both looked up to see Tayend standing in the doorway. The Elyne hurried forward, reaching out toward the young magician as if to hug him but, Dannyl was amused to see, letting his arms drop to his sides at the last moment. He gave Lorkin a critical look.

“You don’t look too bad, for someone who has been locked up in a prison,” he observed. “But they wouldn’t have dared harm you physically. How are you feeling?”

Lorkin shrugged, but his eyes betrayed the same wary evasiveness Dannyl had noted earlier. “Tired. Hungry. I could do with a bath.”

Tayend sniffed and smiled. “You’re right about that. I don’t imagine the palace prison contains hot tubs. Let’s get you to our perfectly civilized Guild House ones. I’ll have the slaves prepare you something nourishing and fetch you some clean robes.”

Lorkin nodded, but before he succumbed to the Elyne’s attempts to usher him out of the room he reached into his robes and turned to Dannyl. Wordlessly, he drew out a scroll. Dannyl noted King Amakira’s seal before looking up at the young man again. Lorkin’s eyes were hard and knowing.

Then he turned away and left.

Dannyl sat down and broke the seal. It was an official order from the king and simply declared that Lorkin was forbidden to leave the Guild House. No reason was given for his release from the palace prison. No mention was made at all of his incarceration. What did I expect? An apology?

Tayend returned to the room and sat down next to Dannyl.

“He’s not all right,” the Elyne murmured.

“No,” Dannyl agreed.

“Whatever they did to him – or forced him to do – he is not ready to talk about it. I will keep an eye on him and let you know if he tells me about it – if he doesn’t make me promise to keep it a secret, of course.”

“Of course.”

“So what does it say?” Tayend nodded at the scroll.

“Lorkin is forbidden to leave the Guild House.”

Tayend nodded. “He’s not completely free, then.” He reached out and patted Dannyl’s arm. “He’s out of that place. That, at least, is a good thing.” He stood up. “I have to report this. You had better tell Administrator Osen.”

Dannyl watched Tayend hurry away, and managed a sad smile. If Lorkin did prove reluctant to talk about what had been done to him in the prison, or had some guilty secret to admit to, Tayend was the one most likely to coax it out of him. He could be uncannily perceptive when it came to other people’s troubles. Except when it came to our troubles, Dannyl reminded himself.

I hate to think it, but I hope Lorkin isn’t here because they forced him to betray the Traitors. It could be very bad for them – and might be for us, if whatever Lorkin and Osen were communicating about involved us working with the them.

Osen. As Tayend had pointed out, the Administrator would want to know Lorkin had returned. Reaching into his robes, he drew out Osen’s blood ring, took a deep breath, then slipped it on his finger.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sonea exclaimed under her breath as she looked up at the Stayhouse sign.

“What is it?” Regin asked.

She said nothing, because a stocky man had appeared in the doorway.

He bowed. “My Lord and Lady! Come in! Come in!” the man said. “I am Fondin. Welcome to Fergun’s Rest, the finest Stayhouse in Kyralia.”

She heard Regin chuckle, but he said nothing as she moved through the doorway. As always, the ground floor was a dining and drinking area. It was busy despite the late hour, the room echoing with many voices. The clothing of the customers suggested they were locals and had dressed up for an occasion. A few looked up at her and Regin, and their eyes went wide with surprise.

“Please sit a moment and rest,” Fondin invited them, gesturing toward a quieter corner. “Do you need one room or two?”

“You’re busy tonight,” Sonea observed.

“Yes. We’re hosting a celebration and there are many who have come from afar,” Fondin said. “But don’t worry about the noise. We’ll finish up at a decent hour and then it’ll be nice and quiet here.”

As if on cue, the room began to quieten. Sonea heard hissed whispers. Fondin turned back to them, then his eyes dropped to Sonea’s robes and widened. He’d obviously not noticed the colour in the dim light outside. Even in the subdued lamplight, she could see his face grow pale.

“What is the reason for the celebration?” she asked.

“W-w-w-wedding,” Fondin stuttered.

“Then pass on my congratulations to the bride and groom.” Sonea smiled. “Are they staying here tonight?”

“N-n-n...” Fondin took a deep breath and straightened. “No, they’ll be off to their new house tonight.”

But many of the wedding guests would be staying here, she guessed.

“A new home as well. Well, we won’t take up much more of your time. I’m sure we can manage in one room,” Sonea told him. “With separate beds and a privacy screen, of course. We’ll eat there so you can keep your full attention on your guests. Could you show us straight to the room?”

Fondin nodded, then, for good measure, bowed deeply before whirling around and leading them upstairs. He paused at several doors, wringing his hands, then with obvious reluctance led them to a room at the end of the corridor. As he opened the door Sonea was pleased to see it was a rather plain room, with a single one-person bed, but no signs of current occupants. She had been worried he’d throw guests out of one of their rooms, or that none of the rooms were empty. Stayhouses along major routes were paid by the Guild to keep one room free at all times, and everyone expected it would be their best room, but it must be tempting to put guests in there on busy nights, especially on lesser-used routes like this one.

“This will do,” she told him.

“I’ll have another bed and a screen brought in, my Lady,” he said, then hurried away.

She entered the room, and Regin followed.

“Should I offer to sleep on the floor?” Regin asked.

Sonea turned to see him smiling. “I won’t spoil anybody’s night by insisting on having the best room, or two rooms, but sleeping on the floor is going a bit too far.”

Before long the arrangements had been made. A generous meal and a bottle of wine were laid out on a small table. The wine was very good. Too expensive even for a local wedding, Sonea suspected. More likely the Guild had ensured a supply of decent wine was kept here for its members.

“Do you have more of this wine?” she asked the young woman when she returned to collect the dishes.

“Yes, Lady.”

“Are the newly-weds still here?”

“About to leave, Lady.”

“Give them a bottle as a wedding gift.”

The young woman’s eyes widened. “Yes, Lady.”

Regin’s pursed his lips, then to Sonea’s surprise he slipped out of his chair and quietly followed the woman downstairs. When he returned, Sonea raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just making sure the gift reached the recipients,” he said. He sat down. “So. Fergun’s Rest.” Regin frowned. “Didn’t he run away when the Fort was attacked by the Ichani?”

“He hid. Which was the only sensible thing to do.”

“And cowardly.” Regin shrugged. “Still, nobody knows how they’ll react when confronted by a real battle. Naming a Stayhouse after him?” He shook his head. “Tell me there are Stayhouses all over Kyralia named after magicians who died in the war, not just Fergun.”

“I don’t know. I hope so.” She grimaced. “It irks me more that a man who locked up my friend so that he could blackmail me has anything named after him, but that’s too personal a grudge to justify not honouring him among the rest of the dead.”

Regin looked at her. “Ah, that’s right. He wanted you dishonoured and thrown out of the Guild to ensure no lower-class people would join the Guild again.”

“Yes. He’d be horrified, if he were alive today, at the changes in the Guild.”

“You never know. He may have changed his mind, after the invasion. Lots of people did, you know.”

She looked up at him. He held her gaze for a moment. In his eyes was a hint of expectation. For what? For me to acknowledge he is a much better person now? Reassurance that I don’t hold a grudge still? Or to admit I have come to trust even him? Perhaps even like him? Well, maybe I shouldn’t go that far. She drew in a breath to speak.

—Sonea?

Administrator Osen’s voice in her mind made her jump. She let out the breath in a startled gasp. It was always surprising to be contacted through one of her blood rings, since she never knew when the other person was about to put it on.

—Osen!

—I have good news, Osen sent. King Amakira has released Lorkin.

Relief rushed through her, followed by a new anxiety.

—Is he all right?

—Yes. We don’t think he was tortured or harmed, though Dannyl suspects the experience was harrowing.

—Will he be leaving for home soon? Should I meet and escort him?

—Amakira has forbidden him from leaving the Guild House.

—Oh.

Anger flared inside her, then a quieter puzzlement. Why release Lorkin then force him to stay in the country?

—At least he is one step closer to coming home. We will continue to insist Lorkin be allowed to return, through Dannyl.

—And myself?

—Yes. There is no need to change plans and you still have the other matter to attend to.

—Of course.

—Good luck. I will contact you if I learn more.

—Thank you.

A feeling of silence where his voice had been told her he had taken off the ring. She blinked as her eyes registered her surroundings again. Regin was watching her closely.

“Was it Lorkin or Osen?”

She stared at him. “How did you know Lorkin had one of my blood rings?”

His smile was lopsided. “As if you’d let him out of your sight without one.”

She nodded. “Yes, it wouldn’t be hard to guess that one correctly. It was Osen. Lorkin has been released, but the Sachakan king has forbidden him to leave the Guild House.”

Regin straightened. “That’s good news. Are we still travelling to Arvice, then?”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not simply because you want to make sure he gets home?”

Sonea crossed her arms. “You think I’d disobey the Guild?”

“Yes.” He held her gaze, but was smiling. “But only for Lorkin’s sake.”

“I didn’t run off to save him when he first disappeared,” she reminded him. “Anyway, Osen’s orders were to continue with our plans.”

Regin nodded. “All of them?”

“Yes. What plans did you think we might abandon, at this point?”

He shrugged and looked away. “I don’t know. You said ‘plans’ not ‘plan’. We have only one official reason to be going to Sachaka.”

“With multiple possible outcomes to deal with.” Sonea rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Are you going to spend the entire journey looking for hidden objectives and secret motives in everything I say?”

“Probably.” Regin grinned. “I can’t help it. It’s a habit. It could be considered a talent. An annoying one, perhaps, but I do try to use it for good.”

Sonea sighed. “Well, don’t annoy me without good reason. That would not be good.”

“No.” He shook his head in emphatic, exaggerated agreement, his eyes bright with humour. She felt a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, until she recalled that he was right: there was another reason for their journey. She felt a brief but powerful urge to tell him about the meeting with the Traitors.

Not yet.

She sighed and finished her glass of wine. “Then I hope you don’t snore, because I’m used to working night shifts and wake up easily. If I don’t get a full night’s sleep I’m going to be cranky.”

He rose and started toward the bed on the other side of the screen. “Ah, Sonea. You ask for the one thing I can’t promise.”

Later that night she did find herself awake and listening to the sound of his breathing. It was not loud, but it was strange to be hearing someone else sleeping nearby.

And unexpectedly soothing, she realised.

Ever since the first time she had climbed down the hidden chimney between the panelling of Sonea’s main room and the outer wall of the Magicians’ Quarters, Lilia had wondered what its original purpose had been. All of the rooms had them, though she suspected none of the occupants knew of their existence. Bricks protruded at regular intervals up the narrow space, too convenient not to be intended as a kind of ladder.

Cery’s guesses included garbage chutes and latrine outlets. Fortunately, there was no sign that the gap had been used for either purpose for a long time, if ever. Lilia thought of them as chimneys, despite there being no sign of soot on the bricks or mortar.

Reaching the top, she peered through the spy hole Cery had drilled long ago. Sonea’s main room was unoccupied.

Where is Jonna?

Perhaps the servant had gone into one of the other rooms. Perhaps she had been called away. Lilia reached out to the latch, then hesitated. It was still possible that Jonna was in one of the bedrooms with a visitor, though Lilia could not think of any good reason a stranger would be in there with her... except a few scandalous ones that Lilia could not imagine Jonna indulging in.

She tapped on the panelling lightly, in a random pattern that anyone who didn’t know there was gap behind the wood might think was a bug scuttling across the surface. A moment later, Jonna hurried into the room, her eyes focusing on the hatch. Though she couldn’t see Lilia, she nodded and beckoned with one hand.

The latch slid open without a sound, then the door swung inward silently. Jonna stepped forward to help Lilia out. The hatch was slightly higher in the wall than was comfortable to step down from, not helped by the fact that she had to fold double to get through it.

“How are they all?” Jonna asked.

“Fine,” Lilia told her. “Grateful for your help. Is Black Magician Kallen back yet?”

“Yes, about ten minutes ago.”

Lilia headed for her bedroom to change back into her robes. “I’d better hurry up, then, or I’ll catch him in his bedclothes.”

Jonna made a small noise of amusement. “That would be an odd sight.”

Lilia grinned. “It sure would be.”

The simple trousers and shirt Jonna had found for her to wear when visiting Cery and Anyi were much easier to climb in, and she felt a wave of gratitude as she saw the scuffs and stains she’d gained that night. Better she spoil these than her robes.

Changing quickly, she returned to the main room.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” she said to Jonna. “You don’t have to hang around now. I’ll come straight back after talking to Kallen.”

Jonna shrugged. “I don’t mind staying.” She straightened and placed her hands on her hips. “I promised Sonea I’d keep an eye on you, and I won’t sleep right unless I know you’re back here in your bed at a decent hour.”

Lilia rolled her eyes and sighed. “Nobody ever worried about that when I was staying in the Novices’ Quarters.” But she didn’t mind. It was nice that someone cared enough to look out for her. I don’t want to take any longer with Kallen than I need to, anyway.

Slipping out of the main door into the corridor, she walked to Kallen’s rooms and knocked. A short pause later the door swung inward. At once she smelled the faint scent of roet smoke, but it was stale and faded as if emanating from the furnishings. Kallen was sitting in a large chair, a book in his hand and a look of mild surprise on his face.

“Lady Lilia,” he said. “Come in.”

She stepped inside, pushed the door closed and bowed. “Black Magician Kallen.”

“How can I help you?” he asked.

He had the patient expression of a teacher interrupted at a bad time by a novice. She resisted a smile. She was acting as messenger, not a novice, and the content was far more important than mere lessons.

“You know I occasionally meet Anyi, my friend and bodyguard of the Thief Cery,” she began, sitting down on another chair. “Without leaving Guild grounds,” she added quickly.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ve already told you that Cery is in hiding, and can’t maintain his...” She waved a hand, searching for the right term. “Business arrangements and... contacts.”

“Everyone in the city thinks he is dead.”

“It’s likely Skellin won’t believe Cery is dead unless he sees a body.”

Kallen nodded. “Or sufficient time passes.”

“This makes Cery the ideal bait to lure Skellin with. Which is his own idea,” she reassured him. “He said to tell you he is prepared to do it and proposes you meet with him to work out a place and time.”

“Hmm.” Kallen frowned and looked away. “That is a very generous and brave offer. One that I admire and appreciate and I’m sure the rest of the Guild would too, if they knew of it. One that we might take up.” He shook his head. “But not right now. We’re exploring another avenue. I can’t tell you the details yet, but if it succeeds we will not need to risk Cery’s life at all.”

Lilia felt a brief disappointment, then relief, followed by anxiety. “How long until you know? Cery’s hiding place is... well, it’s his last safe place. If Skellin discovers it, Cery won’t have anywhere else to go.”

“What we’re doing can’t be hurried. It may take weeks, or months. How long does Cery believe he can remain hidden?” Kallen asked.

Weeks! Months! Anger flared inside her, but when she looked at Kallen she saw genuine concern in his eyes. The anger ebbed away.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t know. Skellin could find him tonight, he could find him in a few weeks. Getting food without being seen is difficult. Each time they go out it’s a risk.”

Kallen reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder briefly.

“I understand. We are doing everything we can, Lilia. Tell Cery we appreciate his offer, and may take it up if our other plans fail. In the meantime, he should do all he can to stay hidden.”

Lilia nodded, and sighed. “I’ll tell him. He won’t like it, though.”

“I don’t expect he will.” He gave her a sympathetic look, but it suddenly changed to a frown. “He won’t do anything foolish out of impatience, will he?”

She swallowed a bitter laugh. “I don’t think so, but he’s a Thief. He’s used to being in charge of his life.” Seeing Kallen’s eyebrows lower further, she shook her head. “Anyi and I will do all we can to talk him out of it, if he tries. And Gol is used to talking sense to Cery, I suspect.”

Kallen nodded. “Good.”

Getting to her feet, Lilia smoothed her robes. “I had better be going. Goodnight, Black Magician Kallen. I hope your plans are successful.”

He nodded. “Thank you. Goodnight Lady Lilia.”

As she turned toward the door it swung open. Stepping out into the corridor, she breathed the cleaner air outside with relief. Then her mood darkened again.

Cery isn’t going to like this. But I think he trusts... no, it’s more that he respects Kallen than trusts him... enough to wait and see if these other plans work. That wasn’t the main problem, though. How am I going to keep them fed and undiscovered for weeks – perhaps even months? Someone’s bound to notice something eventually.

She could only hope that, with Jonna’s help, they could prevent that, or for Kallen’s “other avenue” to succeed.

Chapter 12
Spies

“Do you think we should wait until Lilia is with us?” Anyi said as she eyed the roof of the tunnel. Cery lifted his lamp. “It doesn’t look like it’s about to cave in this very moment.” The tunnel was long and Anyi had set a brisk pace. Too brisk. He’d taken advantage of the sagging roof to pause and catch his breath, hoping the others would think he was being cautious. “But then, how do you tell?”

“I don’t know,” Anyi admitted. “I figure it won’t collapse so long as we don’t touch anything. But we shouldn’t hang about.”

Gol made a low noise that suggested they were both crazy. He was regarding the tree roots hanging from the ceiling and matted over the sides of the tunnel with a frown. As he took a step toward it, Cery realised it wasn’t a frown of disapproval but of interest.

Then he saw what Gol had noticed. Light didn’t penetrate beyond some of the roots as it should have. Behind lurked a stubborn darkness. He moved closer then hooked his fingers in the cascade of white roots and pulled gently. They swung forward with no resistance.

They’re not attached to anything. There’s a hole behind here.

“Remember what I said about not touching any...” Anyi began as he pulled the roots aside. “Oh.”

The entrance to another tunnel opened before them. The same deteriorated brickwork held back the earth and supported the roof. He glanced at her and smiled as she came closer and peered inside, eyes bright.

“Now that’s a bit of luck,” she remarked. “If we have to make a run for it, we can slip through here. So long as whoever was chasing us didn’t see us do it they’d never know where we’d gone.”

“Want to explore?” Cery asked.

“Of course.”

Cery looked back at Gol. “Stay here. You hear anything like a cave-in, go get Lilia.”

Gol looked like he was about to argue, but then heaved a heavy sigh and nodded. Cery held back the roots so that Anyi could slip through. She moved slowly, lifting her lamp to examine the walls, roof and floor. The passage was in no worse condition than the one they had been following. Parts had deteriorated, but most still looked solid.

As they made their way along it, Cery wondered how Lilia’s conversation with Kallen had gone. They wouldn’t hear from her until the morning. Cery had decided that they should spend the night exploring the passages and considering where they might set their trap for Skellin. Anyi believed they should lure Skellin to the underground rooms near the University, so they could escape to the building. The rooms were the ones Cery had found Anyi and Lilia in. He felt his face warm as he remembered. In the whorehouse he’d grown up in, he’d known women who sought other women’s affections, some forming bonds that lasted many years. It had been one more of many ways that he’d seen people seek pleasure, companionship and love. Yet he also came to realise that he was living in a particularly tolerant world. Outside it were people who did not approve of anything different from their own experience and tastes. And not just people from the higher classes. The underworld was no better or worse.

I wonder if her mother knows. Vesta always enjoyed feeling that she was better than others. She was always looking for something to disapprove of in other people. Sometimes I think the only reason she wanted me was because I was a Thief. It made her feel more important than most other people. Well, it did for a while.

The last thing he wanted Anyi to feel was disapproved of. He certainly didn’t mind her being with Lilia but... He felt a small pang of envy. I once loved a Guild magician, but the only kind of love I got in return was friendship. He shook his head. That sounds peevish. Sonea’s friendship is no small thing, and I did find love elsewhere.

He wondered if Anyi had had many previous lovers, then remembered her story of the one who had betrayed her. Aha. That must be why I never found him. It wasn’t a “him”, it was a “her”.

Anyi gave a little gasp. “Look!” she whispered.

The tunnel ended at a brick wall, but it was no ordinary wall. A familiar mechanism had been attached to the brickwork – the workings of a hidden door. Cery located a brass spy hole cover. It was stiff and green with age, but he was able to force it open. Looking through, he saw only darkness.

“Can’t see anything,” he said.

“Do you want to try opening it?” Anyi asked.

Cery considered. If he let his imagination go where it pleased, it conjured up dangerous prisoners or incarcerated monsters waiting for the chance to be free – killing anything that stood in their path.

More likely it’s another old storeroom. Besides, there’s no lock preventing anyone opening the door from the other side, as far as I can see.

He nodded.

Anyi took the lever and hauled on it, but the door did not budge. Looking closely at the mechanism, Cery saw that it wasn’t rusted. There were black lumps around the joins. He poked at them. They were soft. Probably old oil or grease grown thick with time and dust. Cery took a turn pulling the lever, then they both put their strength into it, but with no effect.

“Go fetch Gol,” Cery said.

He peered through the spy hole again – even tried holding up the lamp and looking through at the same time, but saw nothing but darkness beyond the door. It occurred to him then that maybe the hole was blocked. Digging a pick out of his coat, he poked it through and confirmed there was a void on the other side.

Maybe it’s a trap, set up by Akkarin or someone else long ago. Perhaps for the same reason we want to set traps: to fool and stop pursuers. Who knows what reasons the Guild had, in the past, to dig these tunnels.

The sound of two sets of footsteps approached behind him and he turned. Gol rolled his eyes as he saw the door.

“Can’t leave a mystery unsolved, can you?” he rumbled.

Cery shrugged. With a roll of his eyes, Gol moved to the door and grasped the handle. He pulled once, paused to examine the mechanism, then took the handle again.

“Be careful: you don’t want to pull that wound open,” Anyi said.

Gol stepped back from the lever, then cast about. He moved back down the passage for a short distance and picked something up. As he returned, Cery saw that it was a brick.

“That’ll make a lot of—”

The clang that filled the passage as Gol struck the mechanism was painfully loud.

“—noise,” Anyi finished.

But the shock appeared to have done what Gol intended: break the seal of the old oil. The lever now flexed under his hand. Cery felt his heart beat a little faster as the door swung open. It was heavy: the other side was covered with thin bricks and mortar. The door formed the back of an alcove.

As the light of the lamps penetrated the darkness it illuminated old wooden cupboards and tables. Cery felt his heart sink with disappointment. He wasn’t sure what he had been hoping to see. Hidden treasure, maybe? A better place to hide?

They moved inside the room. As the light of all three lamps filled the space, Cery felt apprehension replace his earlier anticipation. The room was clean. There was no dust or rubble. He moved to one of the tables. It was covered in small pots. Each contained earth and a tiny plant.

“Are we at the fa—” Gol began.

“Quiet!” Anyi gasped.

Cery and Gol turned to see that she was peering up a narrow staircase, holding her lamp away from the well so that its light wouldn’t penetrate. They moved closer and, as they joined her, heard voices above. There was the creak of a handle being turned.

Without another word, they fled into the tunnel, Gol pulling the door closed behind him. Cery’s heart was beating so quickly his chest hurt. Anyi put her eye to the spy hole and Gol set his ear to the door. Amused, Cery gently pulled a silently protesting Anyi aside and took her place at the spy hole.

The room beyond was no longer dark. Something bright was moving down the stairwell. He felt a wry relief as he saw a magical globe of light appear, then two magicians descend into view. One was an old woman, the other a young man.

“What’s happening,” Anyi murmured.

“Magicians. They’re looking around the room. Can you hear them, Gol?”

“Faintly.” The big man replied. “One said he thought he heard something. The other agreed.”

The two magicians shook their heads and walked toward the tables. The male one picked up a plant, then put it down with obvious careless anger.

“The old woman asked something. The young one says he’s sure,” Gol reported. He paused, and Cery could hear the faint sound of voices. He signalled for silence, then pressed his ear to the door.

“So we’ve been tricked,” the woman said. She didn’t sound surprised.

“Yes, as you suspected we would be,” the younger magician replied. “If you smoked this... this common garden weed, you’d get nothing but a headache.”

“Well, we knew getting hold of roet would not be easy.”

Roet? Cery felt something hot race through his veins. The Guild wants to grow roet?

“We’ll just have to keep trying,” the woman continued. “Skellin must be growing it somewhere – and growing a lot. Eventually someone will betray him, if we offer enough money.”

“All we need are a few seeds.”

“I wish that we didn’t need any.”

The voices were growing quieter. Cery put his eye to the spy hole again and watched them ascend the stairs, the magic light rising ahead of them. When all light disappeared abruptly, he guessed that the door above the stairs had been closed. He pulled away from the spy hole, closing its cover, and described what he’d heard to Anyi and Gol.

“What does the Guild want roet for?” Anyi asked, scowling at the door.

“Maybe it has potential as a cure,” Gol suggested.

“Maybe,” Cery echoed. “Maybe more than a few Guild magicians are addicted to it now, and they want to take control of their supply out of Skellin’s hands.”

“Perhaps they want to put Skellin out of business,” Gol said. “Then when they control all trade, stop growing it.”

Anyi turned to stare at him, horrified. “What about all the common people who are addicted to it? It would be... people would go mad!”

“The Guild has never stopped the underworld acquiring anything it wanted,” Cery reminded her.

His daughter did not look reassured. “It’s never going away, is it?” she said, her eyes wide with realisation. “We’re stuck with roet forever.”

“Probably,” Cery agreed.

Gol nodded. “But maybe if the Guild gets hold of some, and studies it, they’ll find a way to stop it being so addictive.”

Anyi still looked glum. “I guess, as an escape route, this is no better than fleeing into the University”

Cery looked at the door. “We don’t know if whatever is above that cellar is occupied by magicians all the time. It will probably be guarded by someone, if they get more seeds and try again, but that could be just a servant or two.”

“Skellin is more likely to follow us through there than into the University,” Gol added. “So it might be a good play to lay our trap.”

“Might be. But let’s not tell the Guild we know they’re trying to grow rot until we have to.”

“Bad memories?”

Sonea looked at Regin in surprise. Was it that obvious? Since the carriage had begun its slow ascent into the mountains she had been pushing aside dark and gloomy feelings. At first she’d dismissed it as weariness and worry, but then she would see some feature – a tree or rock – and feel sure she’d noticed it the last time she had travelled this road. But surely her mind was playing tricks on her. My memory can’t be that good.

Not sure how to answer Regin’s question, she shrugged. He nodded and looked away. She’d thought at first that their conversations had dwindled to silence because he was distracted by the view outside. Unlike her, he had never travelled this road before. Now she wondered if the silence was her fault. She hadn’t felt like talking for some time now.

Is that the place we stopped? A gap had opened in the trees, revealing fields and roads stretching into the distance, divided by rivers, roads and other human-made boundaries. The trees seemed small, however. Surely they would have grown taller in the last twenty years. But objects tend to be larger in our memories. Though... I thought that only applied to objects remembered from childhood, because we were smaller then.

“What is it?” Regin asked.

She realised she had been leaning forward, craning her neck to better see the outside. Leaning back in her seat, she shrugged.

“I thought I recognised something.” She shook her head. “A place we stopped, last time.”

“Did... something happen there?”

“Not really. Nobody said much during that journey.” She couldn’t help a smile. “Akkarin wouldn’t talk to me.” But I kept finding him looking at me. “He was angry with me.”

Regin’s eyebrows rose. “For what?”

“For making sure they sent me into exile with him.”

“Why would he be angry at that?”

“His plan – or so I thought at the time – was to get himself captured by Ichani and communicate the result to all magicians.”

Regin’s eyes widened slightly. “A brave decision.”

“Oh, very honourable,” she said drily. “Shock the Guild into realising the danger it faced while sacrificing the only person who could do anything about it.”

His eyebrows rose. “But he wasn’t. There was you.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know enough. I didn’t even know how to make blood rings. We wouldn’t have beaten the Ichani if he hadn’t survived.” But that wasn’t why you followed him, she reminded herself. You did so because you couldn’t let Akkarin die. Love is selfish. “By forcing him to keep me alive, I forced him to keep himself alive.”

“Those weeks must have been terrifying.”

She nodded, but her thoughts suddenly shifted to the Traitors. She’d always suspected there was more to Akkarin’s time in Sachaka than he’d told her. Once, when checking facts for his book, Lord Dannyl had asked her if there was any truth to the rumour that Akkarin had been able to read a person’s surface thoughts, without touching them. She could not remember Akkarin speaking of it. People had believed Akkarin had all kinds of extraordinary abilities, even before it had been revealed that he’d learned black magic.

Perhaps he had been able to, but kept it a secret. Like his deal with the Traitors. Made with the Traitor Queen, no less, though maybe she hadn’t yet become queen. I’m sure he told me the person who taught him black magic was a man. Was it a deliberate lie, to help conceal the Traitors’ existence? I can’t help feeling a little hurt that he didn’t trust me with the truth, but then I wouldn’t have wanted him to break a promise made to somebody who saved his life.

Sighing, she looked out of the window at the sun, which hung low in the sky. Her memory of the end of the climb to the Fort was of exposed rock and little vegetation. While stretches of rock were visible here and there, the trees had not yet thinned to the degree she recalled. We’re going to arrive later than I planned – maybe even after dark.

A sharp turn to the side forced her to brace herself. Surprised, she leaned close to the window, wondering why the carriage had changed direction, and blinked at the unexpected brightness of a tall, curved wall blazing yellow in the late sun ahead of them.

Not late after all, she thought. Trees must have grown over all that bare land I remembered.

“We’re here,” she told Regin. He moved to sit beside her so that he could look out of the window on the other side.

She watched his face, glimpsing echoes of the awe she’d felt as a young woman on seeing the Fort for the first time. The building was a huge cylinder carved out of solid rock, encompassing the gap between two high, near-vertical rock walls. Turning back to the window, she saw that the facing wall was not the flawless smooth surface that she remembered. A different-colour stone had been used to fill large cracks and holes. They must be repairs of damage done during the Ichani Invasion. She shivered, remembering the battle here, seen by all magicians as the Warrior leading the Fort’s reinforcements, Lord Makin, had broadcast it mentally, until he died at the hands of the invaders.

The carriage rolled to a halt before the tower. A red-robed magician and the captain of the Fort’s unit of Guard walked forward to meet them. Sonea unlatched and opened the door with magic, then paused to look at Regin. The excitement in his face made him look younger – almost boyish. It brought a flash of memory of him as a smiling young man, but she didn’t entirely believe that memory was real. In her recollections of him at that age, his smile had been always full of malicious triumph or glee.

Not for a long time, though, she thought as she climbed out of the carriage. Actually, I don’t remember him smiling much this last year. Unless with forced politeness, or maybe in sympathy. To her surprise, she felt sad. He’s a very unhappy man, she realised.

“Greetings, Black Magician Sonea,” the red-robed magician said. “I am Watcher Orton. This is Captain Pettur.”

The captain bowed. “Welcome to the Fort.”

“Watcher Orton.” Sonea inclined her head. “Captain Pettur. Thank you for the warm welcome.”

“Are you still planning to stay for the night?” Orton asked.

“Yes.” The title of Watcher had been created for the leader of the magicians who now guarded the Fort along with their non-magician counterparts. The Guild had been worried that no magician would volunteer for the role, so they had given it extra benefits of both influence and wealth. They hadn’t needed to. Watcher Orton and his predecessor were both men who had fought the Sachakan invaders and were determined to ensure none would enter Kyralia again without a decent effort at resistance.

“Come this way,” Orton invited, waving toward the open gates at the base of the tower.

Sonea felt a shiver of recognition as she saw the tunnel beyond. They walked into the shadows of the interior. Lamps kept the way illuminated, revealing more repair work, and the traps and barriers that had been added.

“We have a memorial to those who died here at the beginning of the invasion,” Orton told her. He pointed to a section of wall ahead, and as they drew closer Sonea saw that it was a list of names.

Reaching them, she stopped to read. She saw Lord Makin’s name but the rest were unfamiliar. Many of the victims had been common Guard. At the top of the list were longer names that included House and family – men from the highest class who had sought a career in the Guard and were guaranteed a position of power and respect. The men working at the Fort in those days, however, had often been failures or troublemakers, sent to where it was believed they could do no harm – or, if they did, it was well out of the sight of anyone who cared.

Above those were the magicians. The family and House names were familiar, but she had been too young and new to the Guild to have known any of the magicians personally. Except one.

Fergun’s name drew her eyes. She felt an uncomfortable mix of dislike, pity and guilt. He had been a victim of the war. For all that he had done, he hadn’t deserved to die by having all the energy within him ripped out by a Sachakan magician.

But that still doesn’t change the fact that he wasn’t a good person.

At that thought, the conflicting emotions faded away. She understood it was possible to feel sadness at the injustice of a person’s death without having to convince herself that they were a better person than she’d known them to be.

And he got a Stayhouse named after him. She turned away. Which I’m sure would have appalled him for entirely different reasons than it appalled me.

Watcher Orton led them to a dark, narrow door. A complicated procedure followed, in which he identified himself, the captain and their visitors, and then all kinds of sounds followed as a locking mechanism was worked. When the door opened, she was amused to see it was a hand-span thick and made of iron. They entered a room, then went through the same procedure to pass through another, equally robust door. The occupants of the Fort were not taking any chances.

A narrow, curved passage with a sloped floor led steeply upwards. The ends of pipes protruding on either side suggested that something could be poured into the space. Water, or something less pleasant? Physical defences wouldn’t necessarily stop a magician, but they could use up power, trick a magician into lowering his guard, or surprise one before he or she could find an appropriate way to counter it. The passages were designed as a labyrinth to confuse and disorientate, and allow fleeing occupants time to escape.

When they had reached the end of the passage, Orton paused to look at her.

“I hope you weren’t relying on the Sachakans being unaware of your arrival here.”

She looked at him and felt a shiver run down her spine.

“Why?”

“We’re sure the road is being watched. Patrols have found tracks and other evidence on the Kyralian side of the mountains. Of course, we can only observe the Sachakan side from afar, but our watchers have seen small groups of men moving about.”

“Ichani?”

Orton frowned. “I suspect not. Ichani don’t carry good-quality rations. Whoever it is, they aren’t concerned about hiding their tracks when they do venture over our side. I suspect because they don’t realise they have. It’s not as though we have painted a line where the border lies.”

The thought that the Ichani made a habit of wandering into Kyralia was not a comforting one. But the outcasts who inhabited the mountains had always been a disorganised rabble, preying on each other more often than the occasional unfortunate traveller. The humbling fact was, the invaders who had nearly overtaken Kyralia had only done so because one of them had the strength of will to unite a handful of them – and it had taken him years to do so.

An organised Sachakan army would have been unstoppable. Might still be. And here she was, one of Kyralia’s few weapons of defence, heading into Sachaka itself to rescue her son. I have to hope that Kallen and Lilia are defence enough, if the Sachakans take advantage of my absence. One a roet addict. One a naïve young woman. Suddenly she felt light-headed and nauseous.

Time to stop thinking about that, she told herself.

“Who do you think these people are, then?” she asked.

“Spies.”

“Of the Sachakan king?”

Orton nodded. “Who else could they be?”

Who else, indeed.

Several twisting passages later, they arrived at a dining room large enough to seat ten people. It was laid out with impressively fine tableware. Three women and two men stood waiting to be introduced. Two minor captains and their wives, and the wife of an absent captain. Orton invited them all to sit, took his place and asked a servant to bring the meal.

The food was surprisingly good. Orton explained that he believed good food did wonders for the morale of the people here, who must always live far from Imardin and with the threat of possible invasion. Local farmers and hunters benefited from the trade, too. Yet the meal was not an entirely relaxed one. They were interrupted several times by guards bringing messages or making reports. At first Sonea listened attentively, assuming that something important must have happened, but it became clear that this was simply a routine that was never abandoned – not even during dinner with a high-ranking magician.

The other guests were used to this, and barely paused in their conversation. Sonea only realised that she had stopped paying attention to the reports when Orton interrupted a conversation she was having with Captain Pettur.

“Black Magician Sonea,” he said, his tone grave and formal.

She turned to see that, despite his calm expression, his eyes betrayed anxiety.

“Yes, Watcher Orton?”

“A strange message just arrived.” He handed her a piece of paper, folded in odd, converging lines. “The guards on duty who received it said it glided through the air like a bird, and landed at their feet.”

She looked at the neat writing and her heart skipped a beat, though whether in excitement or trepidation she couldn’t decide.

A symbol had been drawn underneath the writing: a circle with a spiral scrawled within. Lorkin had described it to Administrator Osen, saying that it was one the Traitors had told him they would use to identify themselves. She felt a thrill of excitement. Soon she would be judging for herself the people who had impressed Lorkin so much, and who had helped Akkarin escape slavery all those years ago.

Sonea suspended the paper in the air with magic and set it alight. The other guests murmured in surprise as it quickly turned to ash. She turned to Orton and smiled. “I don’t think those spies are going to be a problem for much longer, Watcher Orton.”

After several nights lying on a cold stone floor I ought to have no trouble sleeping now that I’m in a proper bed. What is wrong with me?

Lorkin could feel that his body was tense. No matter how much he stretched, practised breathing exercises and tried to relax into the soft bedding, he could not settle. It did not help that every time his mind entered that period of wandering just before sleep, memories of the slave girl returned.

He did not want to think about her.

But he did.

She had taken the water so eagerly, as if she knew what it contained. Perhaps she had been a Traitor after all. She’d struggled to conceal the poison’s effects in the beginning. Surely that meant she’d known what she was taking. Eventually she hadn’t been able to stay quiet. If it had not been for the watcher intervening and dragging her out of the cell, Lorkin would have given in and Healed her. In an outburst of frustration and self-loathing, Lorkin had thrown the water jar at the man, but it had struck the bars and shattered.

Afterwards, the Ashaki interrogator had arrived. Lorkin had expected him to gloat and reveal that her death was his intention all long, but he examined the dead girl silently, said nothing to Lorkin and left wearing a frown of worry.

The next morning, men Lorkin had never seen before had taken him from the cell and to a small courtyard. When the carriage they put him in arrived at the Guild House, Lorkin had wondered if he was having a particularly vivid dream.

It wasn’t a dream. The king had released him. No explanation had been given. No apology for his imprisonment. Just the order for him to stay there.

Why?

Lorkin rolled onto his side. His globe light burned softly above, and he’d placed a barrier across the doorway, both slowly using up what was left of the magic that Tyvara had given him. Though he was now sleeping in a different room to the one in which Riva had died, the memory of someone crawling onto his bed in the darkness was surprisingly vivid and unpleasant, despite the fact that the original experience had been rather pleasant to begin with. He could not help imagining someone was lurking in the darkness, or that he was lying next to a corpse.

Eyes staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Like the slave in the prison.

He stared up at the glowing sphere and gave up on any hope of sleeping.

Then he opened his eyes and, though nothing had changed, knew that time had passed. He had fallen asleep after giving up on falling asleep. But why had he woken up? He could remember no dream or nightmare.

A thump from the central room sent a chill through his blood and he froze. Forcing his head to turn, he looked beyond the bedroom door and saw light in the room beyond.

Someone is in there...

He dropped the barrier over the doorway and created one around himself, then rose and approached the other room cautiously. Two slaves were in the centre of the room. A young man lay on the floor, a middle-aged woman crouched over him, one hand pressed to his head, the other holding a knife.

Oh, no. Not again.

But then the man blinked. He was alive. She’s reading his mind, Lorkin realised. She looked up at him and he recognised her as one of the kitchen slaves. “Lorkin,” she said. Removing her hands from the man’s brow, she rose to her feet. “I am Savi. The queen sends her regards.”

Lorkin nodded. “How is she?” he asked automatically, then realised he ought to thank her first, since the man she had tackled had probably meant to kill him.

“Dead.” She grimaced. “Two days ago.”

“Oh.” He thought of Zarala’s mischievous eyes and sense of humour and felt a wave of sadness. “I am sorry to hear that. She was nice.” Then something occurred to him. “She wasn’t...? How did she...?”

“She came to the natural end of a long life.” Savi straightened. “Savara was elected in her place.”

Lorkin nodded again, not sure if it was polite to express pleasure at the news of a new queen when the old one had so recently died. The spy had told him in a matter-of-fact way that suggested she didn’t expect him to comment. He was glad to hear Savara had been chosen as the new queen. Not just because she had helped him many times and was Tyvara’s superior, but because she was smart, open-minded and fair.

The spy turned to face the main door to the room. The reason for her distractedness came a moment later when Dannyl and another slave stepped into the room.

Dannyl looked at the man on the floor who, despite being awake and staring at them all, wasn’t moving, then at Savi and Lorkin.

“What happened?” he asked.

Lorkin shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure.” He turned to Savi.

“There have been some additions and removals of slaves here lately that were suspicious,” she told them. “This one,” she pointed to the man on the floor, “is no slave. He is a magician of low status. He was offered land and Ashaki status if he posed as a slave and helped abduct Lorkin.”

“Abduct him?” Dannyl repeated. “Again?”

Her eyes warmed with amusement. “Not by us. He received the offer through a friend. He believes it came from the king, though he has no proof of that.”

“Of course not.” Dannyl looked around the room, his gaze settling on the slave who had brought him to the room. “Is she...?”

“Trustworthy? Yes,” the Traitor replied.

“Good.” Dannyl looked at the younger woman. “Could you wake Ambassador Tayend and bring him here?”

The slave nodded and hurried away. She had not thrown herself to the floor, or even bowed, Lorkin realised. Dannyl was too lost in thought to notice. He walked over to the man and stared down at him. “Not restrained,” he murmured.

“I have taken his strength,” Savi replied. “Would you like me to kill him?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. We should not discuss anything within his hearing or sight, though.”

The woman shrugged. A dome of white light covered the man’s face. “He won’t hear or see you. I am Savi, by the way.”

“Thank you for intervening, Savi,” Dannyl said. “So he thinks the king is behind this?”

She nodded. “Amakira probably intended to blame Lorkin’s abduction on Traitors.”

“After which he’d read Lorkin’s mind—”

“Attempt to,” the spy corrected.

“—torture the information out of him, and then kill him and make it look like the Traitors did it.”

Lorkin felt a chill run down his spine. Images of the tortured slave flashed through his memory. I’m not sure I could endure as long as she did.

A movement in the doorway caught everyone’s attention. Tayend entered, the young slave woman following. He took in the prone man, Savi, Lorkin and Dannyl, then listened silently as all that had been discussed was repeated to him.

“What matters now is what the king will do when he realises his plan has failed,” he said. “We have no proof he arranged this. To suggest it would be an insult. He may also decide he must remove Lorkin from the Guild House for his own protection.” He looked at Lorkin. “Somewhere nobody will find him.”

Lorkin winced. “Can we pretend nothing happened?”

Dannyl and Tayend exchanged looks.

“We could,” Tayend said, “if it weren’t for this man. We can’t kill him. He’s meant to be the king’s property.”

Dannyl narrowed his eyes at the prone man. “Well, if we’re all pretending that he’s just a slave... we could say that we caught him using magic, and demand he be removed. We’d have to wait until he regained his strength, or they’ll have to wonder how any of us managed to strip him of power.”

“We can’t send him away. He knows Savi is a Traitor,” Lorkin protested. “If he tells the king that, she’ll be in danger.”

Dannyl looked at Savi. “Can you leave?”

She shook her head. “This House is being watched closely, day and night. Food and supplies are brought here. The slaves who attempted to go out for other items have been stopped.” She looked down at the spy. “The king may still use his presence here as reason to remove Lorkin to somewhere safer. I suspect there are other slaves here who may be Amakira’s spies, too.”

They exchanged silent, worried looks. Dannyl sighed and looked at Lorkin.

“We have got to get you out of Sachaka.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Tayend murmured. He looked at Savi. “I suppose this restriction of slave movement means your people can’t arrange that?”

“If we could have, we’d have done it already.”

Dannyl shook his head. “I wish I’d known about this. I don’t expect to know everything, but the more I do the easier it is to make decisions.”

“To tell you would reveal who I was,” Savi pointed out.

Dannyl turned to the Traitor woman. “Well, you have now and that could be to our advantage. Could you read the minds of all the slaves here? Find out which are Amakira’s spies – and if any are magicians?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said, but with reluctance.

Lorkin frowned. But that would reveal who she was to all the slaves. Yet how else do we find out which slaves are spies or potential abductors? A chill ran down his spine as another option came to him.

She was not the only person in the Guild House who could read minds.

But if he revealed that he could, he would reveal much, much more. I’m going to have to eventually, and I’m not letting another woman be tortured and killed because of me.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

Dannyl and Tayend turned to stare at him.

“You know how to...?” Tayend’s eyebrows shot upward. “Oh!”

Lorkin saw Dannyl frown and braced himself for the man’s disapproval, but the man only shook his head.

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Tayend,” he said. “Sonea learned to read minds before she learned black magic.”

Tayend looked relieved. “Really? I thought reading the mind of an unwilling person was something only the black magicians could do.”

Dannyl’s lips pressed into a grim smile. “We let people believe that. Like black magic, it’s a skill that would be too easily abused.”

Tayend turned to regard Lorkin, his gaze sharp and thoughtful. He’s wondering what else I’ve learned. Should I tell them the truth now? It might be seen as suspicious if I conceal it too long.

“Another piece of information you didn’t tell me so I can’t reveal it if I’m interrogated?” Dannyl asked.

Lorkin nodded. He’s right. I can’t tell him yet.

“Well...” Dannyl turned to Savi. “I’ll block all of the House’s exits to make sure nobody attempts to leave. In the meantime, rouse the head slave and send him to the Master’s Room, where Lorkin will order him to bring all of the slaves to them to have their minds read.” He looked at the failed abductor. “We should lock him up somewhere out of sight, too.” He sighed. “This barely qualifies for the term ‘plan’, but it’ll gain us some time to think of a better one.”

Chapter 13
Unexpected Help

“I’m a bit... new at this,” Lorkin said, his expression apologetic as Dannyl sat beside him. “It may take a while.” Dannyl shrugged. “Don’t hurry it. I have plenty to think about. Like a way to get you out of this mess.”

“Let’s hope we have time enough for both tasks.” Lorkin called one of the slaves over. The man threw himself to the floor. Lorkin instructed the slave to kneel before him, then placed his hands on either side of the man’s head and closed his eyes.

Dannyl examined the rest of the waiting slaves. Aside from a few eyebrows rising in surprise, they showed no expression that might indicate which were the king’s spies. He looked across at Tayend, sitting on the other side of Lorkin. The Elyne met Dannyl’s eyes and nodded, perhaps indicating that he was keeping an eye on the slaves, too.

The Traitor woman, Savi, had assured him other Traitor spies would be among the slaves and would help should a fake slave react to imminent discovery by attacking them. It would be better if they were not forced to reveal their identities, however. As for the failed abductor, he had been locked in a stone-walled storeroom under the kitchen, watched over by Savi and Merria.

So. Time to get thinking, Dannyl told himself. If the king did arrange this, then he will know his plan has failed when his abductor doesn’t turn up with Lorkin. He may already know it’s failed, if the man was supposed to deliver Lorkin by now. So what will he do?

He can’t do anything unless we reveal something happened, unless he had another spy in place ready to slip away and call for “help”. So what if he did? If we claim Lorkin read the abductor’s mind and found out the truth, the king will insist on taking the man away to check. The man will suffer some kind of accident so when Amakira claims the man was tricked into thinking he worked for the king, nobody will be able to prove otherwise. He’ll then use the attempted abduction as an excuse to take Lorkin away.

If we pretend nothing happened, the king will know we’re lying. The abductor can prove otherwise. Dannyl did not want to kill the man. Not just because he’d rather not have to murder anybody, but if evidence was found that a Kyralian had killed a Sachakan – especially a free Sachakan – it would weaken the already shaky peace between their countries. And I’d end up in the palace prison for having destroyed the king’s property.

What else could he do with the man? Smuggle him away? With the House being watched so closely that even a Traitor didn’t think she could sneak out, he doubted they’d succeed. If we kill him we’ll have to destroy the body completely or make sure someone else is blamed. I’m not sure how to do the former, but it has to be less risky than the latter. He shook his head. I can’t believe I’m contemplating this.

A faint hammering noise brought his attention back to his surroundings. Lorkin had sent the first slave away to the other side of the room. He looked at Dannyl.

“I think someone’s knocking on the front door.”

With all slaves in the Master’s Room, there was nobody outside to greet anyone. “Well, that didn’t take long.” Dannyl muttered.

“It’s not too late for social visits,” Tayend pointed out. “According to Sachakan customs.”

Dannyl sighed and stood up. “I’ll go see who it is.”

Lorkin didn’t look reassured. “Should I... clear the room?”

“Yes, but...” Where to put the slaves?

“Take them to my rooms,” Tayend offered. “You can continue the mind-reading there.”

Dannyl looked at the lone slave who had been read. “Is he trustworthy?”

Lorkin shrugged. “He’s not a spy, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good enough,” Dannyl beckoned to the man, who hurried forward and threw himself on the floor. “Wait until everyone but me has left the room, then go bring our visitor here,” Dannyl ordered.

Within a surprisingly short time, Dannyl found himself alone in the Master’s Room. He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly and braced himself for a troupe of Sachakan magicians to emerge from the corridor. Only one set of footsteps reached his ears, though, then a lone man appeared and hesitated at the threshold of the room.

“Achati!” The name leapt out of Dannyl’s mouth. “Ashaki Achati,” he quickly added, as proper formality dictated.

Achati’s forehead was deeply wrinkled. He searched Dannyl’s face as he hurried forward. He looks anxious, Dannyl thought. He’s actually wringing his hands.

“Ambassador. Dannyl.” Achati paused two steps away, once again gazing at Dannyl searchingly. “I must warn you of a plot. I expect that you won’t believe me, but I had to at least try to warn you. The king has a spy among your slaves. Probably a man, since we have few woman magicians and they aren’t trusted. He will try, some time in the next few days, to abduct Lorkin. You need to keep a watch and limit the slaves’ access to Lorkin. And perhaps, to weed out the spy, you could use those interrogation skills you put to use when we were looking for Lorkin.”

Dannyl stared at Achati in amusement and suspicion. What is he up to? Why warn us when it’s already happened? Does he mean to trick us into trusting him? Has the king sent him to check if his abductor has acted yet? Hmm. I guess I’ll have to play along and see where this leads.

“When we thwart this abduction, what should we do then?” he asked. “Kill the spy?”

Achati shook his head. “No, you would be destroying the king’s property.”

“Only if the spy is a slave, and the king admits he owns the man.”

“Oh, he won’t admit to anything. He’ll claim to have no knowledge of the plot, and say the man was bribed by the Traitors. When the man is revealed to be a magician, not a slave, you’ll be charged with murder.”

“Despite the fact that I didn’t know this?” Dannyl shook his head. “So he’s setting me up, then?”

Achati shook his head. “Not specifically, but if you were foolish enough to kill the man, it would give him the perfect excuse to send you back to Kyralia.”

“Then what is the king’s aim? Ah. It’s to manufacture a good reason to claim Lorkin isn’t safe here and take him away.”

Achati’s mouth twisted into a grim but approving smile. “I knew you’d see the danger.”

“So what do we do? We won’t be able to pretend nothing happened. The spy will inform the king of his failure. He’ll try again, or the king will send another spy to abduct Lorkin. There may already be others here already, in case the first attempt fails.”

Achati grimaced. “If Lorkin can be smuggled back to Kyralia, you should arrange it.”

Disobey the king? That’s not what I expected. “How?”

Pinching his lower lip between two fingers, Achati frowned. “If there are any Traitors among the slaves, they might be able to arrange it.”

“With the House being watched so closely? I doubt it. Is this all a ploy to capture some Traitors?”

Achati opened his mouth to reply, but another voice cut him off.

“Well, well. Ashaki Achati. What brings you to the Guild House at this late hour?”

Dannyl and Achati turned to see Tayend stroll into the room. The Elyne’s lips thinned in apology as he approached Achati. He glanced at Dannyl. “Merria is helping out,” he added quietly, reassuring Dannyl that Lorkin wasn’t dealing with the slaves alone.

Achati nodded. “I was sent to make another attempt to persuade Lorkin to talk tomorrow, but...” He repeated his warning about the abductor. “That is my true reason for visiting.”

“You think Dannyl should interrogate the slaves?”

“Yes, to find out which is the spy.”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous? You said this spy is a magician? How strong is he? Is he a higher magician?”

“I don’t know,” Achati admitted. “Probably. He has been ordered not to kill anybody. He...” His gaze shifted to the doorway Tayend had entered through. Dannyl followed his gaze and felt a shock of surprise as Lorkin walked into the room.

The young man’s gaze met Dannyl’s, then slid away. His eyes were very dark and his face pale. Straightening his back, he gave Achati a forced smile.

“Ashaki Achati. What brings you here so late at night?” Lorkin asked, his tone jovial but strained. “Come to take me back to the palace prison?”

A strange, pained look crossed Achati’s face, then the man’s expression smoothed. “No, no. I am trying to prevent that.”

What was that expression? Dannyl asked himself. Then he felt a jolt as he recognised what he had glimpsed: sympathy and sorrow. He felt his recent doubts about Achati weaken a little.

“Achati has warned us that a spy among the slaves is going to attempt to abduct you soon,” Tayend said.

Lorkin’s eyes widened and he looked from Tayend to Dannyl. “Really?”

“Yes,” Dannyl replied. “Tomorrow night, or a following night.”

Dannyl was relieved to see Lorkin’s eyes narrow as he considered the implications. He looked at Achati again.

“Why are you helping us?” he asked bluntly.

“I...” Achati sighed and looked down, then lifted his head to regard Tayend, Lorkin and Dannyl in turn. “I don’t like how the king is treating you. Sachaka may not need Kyralia as an ally, but it also doesn’t need another enemy. We received news a few months ago that has divided our opinion. The...” Achati paused and frowned, then shook his head. “I see no way to explain this without telling you: our spy among the Duna revealed that the Traitors proposed they join forces and attempt to take over Sachaka.”

Dannyl felt a chill run down his spine. I wonder...

“Unh?” he asked.

Achati smiled. “I’m hardly going to tell you who our spies are, Dannyl.”

“No,” Dannyl agreed. “But Unh’s name did spark some interesting reactions from his people when I mentioned it. If it is him, then I suspect they know he is a spy.”

“The Duna turned down the Traitors. Many of the Ashaki have concluded that the Traitors would not approach the Duna unless they needed them, and they feel confident the Traitors would not win a confrontation with us.”

Was this why the Traitors had destroyed the Duna’s stone caves? Was it punishment for refusing to help? Dannyl wondered.

“The king agrees,” Achati continued. “He does not believe the Guild is to be feared. He says you are a Guild of only two magicians. It is more important to rid Sachaka of the Traitor threat before they become strong enough to beat us than to avoid offending Kyralia and the Allied Lands. Only the voices of Ashaki who do not want to lose trade and peace with the Allied Lands, like myself, prevent him taking the information from Lorkin by force.”

A tense silence followed Achati’s words. Lorkin was staring at the floor. The young magician sighed and narrowed his eyes at Achati.

“You wouldn’t have come here if you weren’t willing to work against your king’s orders and wishes,” he said. “How far are you willing to go?”

The Sachakan stared back at Lorkin. He looked uncertain. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “There’s a big difference between preventing my king doing something foolish, and outright betrayal. What do you have in mind?”

Lorkin opened his mouth to reply, but did not get to speak.

“Take the spy away,” Tayend injected. “Make him disappear.”

Dannyl frowned. Though it was a test of Achati’s trustworthiness, it was not a good one. If Achati took the spy to the king instead, the king would still claim that Lorkin wasn’t safe in the Guild House – and he would find out Savi was a Traitor, too.

“No,” Lorkin said. “Take me.”

Dannyl blinked in surprise. Maybe he hasn’t realised this could all be a trick to get us to trust Achati. Tayend shook his head and laid a hand on Lorkin’s arm, but before anyone could speak, Lorkin raised his hands to stall their protests.

“I’m not stupid. I know it’s a risk.” He looked at Achati levelly. “He could hand me over to the king, but judging by the number of slaves here that aren’t slaves – and I don’t mean they’re Traitors – I’m going to end up back at the palace soon anyway.”

This time the shiver that travelled down Dannyl’s back sent cold through his whole body. Just how many spies are there? How many of them are magicians?

“All you need to do is smuggle me out of the Guild House and take me to your mansion,” Lorkin told Achati. “The Traitors will arrange the rest. They will ensure the king does not know your part in my escape. In return, and not until I am sure of my safety and freedom...” Lorkin sighed, then his expression hardened “... I will answer the question your king most wants to ask me. I will tell you where the Traitors’ home is.”

Achati stared back at Lorkin, his surprise changing to thoughtfulness, then approval. He nodded. “I can do that. It won’t be easy getting you into the carriage unseen but—”

“Lorkin,” Dannyl interrupted. “You don’t have to betray the trust of—”

“Let him go,” Tayend said. He met Dannyl’s eyes, his gaze sharp and unwavering, and nodded. Dannyl felt a stab of anger, but it quickly faded.

Tayend wouldn’t do anything to risk Lorkin’s life unnecessarily. He must think this will work. Or that it is the only chance Lorkin has. Which meant that Tayend thought Achati was telling the truth. How strange that it is Tayend who trusts Achati now, when I’m no longer sure of him.

Dannyl could believe that Achati didn’t approve of the king’s actions, but it would take a lot to convince him that the man was willing to go against his ruler’s orders, and risk that his actions would be discovered and considered treachery. He would lose not just the king’s trust, but his position, reputation and wealth. And possibly his life.

But Dannyl couldn’t think of an alternative, so he watched in silence as Achati and Lorkin sealed their agreement with vows. When they were done, Tayend beamed at them all.

“Perfect! Now all we have to do is figure out how to get Lorkin into Achati’s carriage without any of those pesky watchers noticing.”

Finishing her cup of raka, Lilia sighed with relief. In the last day or so she had begun to feel a bit worn around the edges – like the old clothes Jonna had given her to wear when she visited Anyi, Cery and Gol. Late nights spent underground and early morning lessons with Kallen were starting to take a toll.

She suppressed a groan at the thought of facing Kallen this morning. Anyi had told her about the cellar she, Cery and Gol had found under the Guild, and the conversation they’d overheard. From the descriptions, she suspected the two magicians were Lady Vinara and the Healer in charge of growing cure ingredients.

The news that they wanted to grow roet had shocked her at first, but it made sense. She didn’t agree with Cery’s theory that the Guild wanted to grow roet in order to put Skellin out of business – or at least prevent him being the sole supplier of the drug to magicians. It was far more likely that the Guild wanted it to help them find a cure for roet addiction, as well as to explore the plant’s potential as a cure for other maladies. After all, cures for the ill effects of plants were often found in the very plant that caused them.

But the news that the Guild was seeking roet seeds roused other suspicions, and for that reason she was not looking forward to meeting Kallen. Part of her wanted to confront him with what she’d learned. Is this why he won’t help Cery set a trap for Skellin? Are he, and the other magicians addicted to roet, afraid of removing Skellin in case it cuts off the roet supply?

Cery had told her to keep what she knew to herself, unless she had good reason to reveal it. She would have to pretend not to know anything while around Kallen, and somehow act as if she didn’t suspect him of having selfish motives for failing to help her friends.

“You’re lost in thought today,” Jonna noted. She moved to the table and leaned down to pick up the empty dishes from the morning meal. As she did, Lilia caught a strange but pleasant fragrance.

“Are you wearing perfume, Jonna?” she asked.

Jonna hesitated and looked a little guilty. “Yes.”

“What’s wrong?” Lilia frowned. “You don’t usually wear perfume. Are servants not supposed to?”

“Oh, nobody would be that fussy,” Jonna waved a hand, “but... Sonea doesn’t like this one. It was hers, but after she found out what it was made from she told me to throw it out. I like it and... well you can’t blame the plant for what it is. I don’t wear it when I’ll be around her, of course.”

“Which is why I haven’t noticed it before.” Lilia nodded. “It is lovely. What’s it made from?”

Once again, Jonna looked sheepish. “Roet flowers.”

Surprised, Lilia sniffed the air and tried to find some link between the odour and the smell of roet smoke. “It’s hard to believe the scent comes from the same plant.” Then something else occurred to her. “Where do the perfume makers get roet flowers from?”

Jonna shrugged. “I suppose from the people who grow it for the drug.”

Thinking back to Healing lessons on the sources of the Guild’s cures, Lilia considered what she knew about plants. Flowers usually contained a plant’s seeds. The Guild wanted roet seeds. From what Anyi had said, the plants the Guild had grown were not roet. They’d been tricked. Cery didn’t think any roet grower would dare sell seeds to the Guild – though they weren’t averse to cheating the Guild for what would have been a huge profit by substituting some other plant seed. If Skellin found out they had sold anyone roet seed, they wouldn’t live long.

Cery didn’t think roet was grown in Kyralia at all. He suspected it was cultivated elsewhere, harvested and dried before it was shipped to Imardin. Was the same true of the perfume? Most perfume makers were based in Elyne. Did they need fresh plants, or would dried ones do for making perfume?

Lilia stood up. “I had better go. Don’t want to be late and make Kallen nervous.”

Jonna smiled. “See you tonight.”

As she walked to the Arena, Lilia considered everything she knew and how little she could reveal in order to get answers to her questions. In brief moments of rest during Kallen’s lesson she weighed the risks and benefits. The sooner the Guild gets roet seeds, the sooner Kallen will help Cery. I just need to work out how to tell Kallen that I know the Guild is trying to grow it without revealing how I know...

She did not head to the University as soon as Kallen said they were done. He already had that distant, distracted manner where he didn’t meet her eyes but gazed into the distance when she approached him. As he saw she wasn’t leaving, he frowned and then his lips thinned.

“You can go now,” he told her again.

“I know, but I thought you’d like to know something: word on the street is that the Guild tried to buy roet seeds. Is it true?”

His gaze snapped to hers. His pupils widened. That got your attention, she thought.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear from your friends,” he told her.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is this why you won’t help Cery? Afraid the supply will run out if the supplier is captured?”

Kallen’s eyes flashed with anger and his jaw tightened. “You have no idea how lucky you are,” he told her.

She blinked in surprise then felt a flash of anger. “Lucky? Me? My closest friend tricked me into learning black magic to set me up for murdering her father, then tried to kill me. The only people who care about me are far away, or likely to die any day now.”

His eyes widened, then his expression softened. “I apologise. I only meant...” He looked away, grimacing as if in pain. “You are fortunate to avoid being trapped by roet. There are many, many magicians who wish they had your resistance.”

Like yourself, she thought. But she found she couldn’t sustain her disgust at him. His reputation as a man whose integrity was infallible was essential to his role as a black magician. To lose his will to a mere pleasure drug must be humiliating, and would have shaken his confidence. The fact that he was a black magician must be making the other magicians who knew of his affliction nervous. Though, it was as frightening to contemplate what could happen if high numbers of ordinary magicians were held hostage by Skellin.

“How many?” she asked, unable to keep the concern from her voice.

He frowned. “I can’t tell you that. But... we are doing something about helping them.”

“By trying to grow it?”

“To take control of the supply at least. To find a cure or breed a less damaging drug if we can.” Kallen sighed. “You are partly right. We may reduce our chances to acquire seeds if Skellin is killed. We can’t risk attempting to catch him. Yet.” He met her gaze levelly and a fierce determination entered his gaze. “I promise once we have what we need we will find and remove Skellin. That may include accepting your friend’s offer, if he is still willing to take the risk.”

Lilia nodded. She considered what he had told her. It made sense, and she could see no hint that he was lying. There was no advantage in holding back from telling him her idea.

“Did you know there’s a new perfume being sold in the city that is made from roet flowers?”

His eyebrows rose and the spark of interest she had expected flared in his eyes. “No.”

“They have to get the flowers from somewhere.” She smiled. “Maybe the Guild should investigate. Anyway, I should be getting to the next class.”

“Yes. Don’t be late...” he said distractedly.

She left him standing there. When she looked back she saw that, as always, his gaze had fixed on the distance again, but this time he wore an expression of startled realisation.

It was almost unbearably stuffy and hot in the cart, and Lorkin had lost count of the times he’d had to grab his nose to stop sneezing. Like the other slaves in the vehicle, he was covered in a grey powder meant to kill off body lice. For the same reason, his hair had been shaved off. His ankles were chained together and to a metal loop in the centre of the cart’s floor.

His back itched and burned where he’d been whipped, and he had to resist the constant urge to Heal the welts. There had been no reason for the punishment other than the driver establishing his superiority, after Ashaki Achati’s slave master had warned that “this one is trouble”. He resisted gazing in horror at his fellow passengers and tried to hide the anger he felt at their fate. They were the rejects of the city’s slaves, too old, damaged, ugly or disobedient to be of use to their former owners. As far as they knew, they were being shipped off to work in a mine in the south of the Steelbelt mountains.

Bartering had been quick and few questions had been asked, to hasten the sale. Apparently some Sachakans believed that a slave who had been born into a household ought to be cared for by that household if he or she had worked hard for their master, or was crippled in their service. Sometimes they followed the mine cart around, calling shame upon owners who sold slaves to it. None of these protestors had pursued the cart today. It had trundled to the edge of the city without attracting any attention.

Now it was rolling slowly out into the countryside. Lorkin closed his eyes and thought back to his escape from the Guild House.

Tayend had come up with the solution to getting Lorkin out without the watchers noticing. They knew it was likely that the watchers had counted how many slaves Achati had brought with him, so he had gone out to the carriage and told one that he was being loaned to the Guild House to help keep an eye on Lorkin, but in truth to spy on the magicians.

Once the slave had been accepted with thanks and sent off to join the rest, Lorkin had donned Achati’s clothing, padding his torso by stuffing his clothes with clean rags. Achati had put on a slave’s wrap. It would have been amusing to watch Tayend instructing the dignified Ashaki how to walk with a slave’s hunch, if they hadn’t all been so worried that their plan would fail.

As always, the courtyard of the Guild House had been lit by one lamp and they had both kept their faces turned from it. At Tayend’s suggestion they had kept their actions simple: Lorkin strode out of the House and into the carriage, Achati had hurried after and climbed onto the back of the carriage. They’d left the Guild House without any interference. All the way to Achati’s home, Lorkin had sat rigid in the carriage, waiting for a call for them to halt, but none came. Once the carriage passed through the gate of Achati’s mansion, the Ashaki climbed inside the carriage and they’d quickly exchanged clothing.

Lorkin’s rescuer had told him to stay put, then left to have a quiet conversation with a man Lorkin learned later was the household’s slave master. Achati had returned to explain his plan. Once again Lorkin would be disguised as a slave, only this time he must be prepared to endure much harsher treatment – and hope that there were Traitors among Achati’s all-male slaves.

I also have to hope that they saw and recognised me, found out I’d been put on the cart, were able to pass on messages to other Traitors, and that the Traitors are actually able to catch up with the cart, stop it and free me without revealing their, and my, identities.

Thinking about it like that, it sounded a crazy scheme with far too many ways it could all go wrong.

What’s the worst that could happen? I might have to go all the way to the mine. The Steelbelt Ranges run along the border between Sachaka and Kyralia. How hard would it be to free myself with magic, and travel the rest of the way to Kyralia?

How hard depended on whether Sachakan magicians ran the mine. Or if Ichani lurked in the mountains.

I should leave the cart before I get there, when there are no Sachakan magicians around, but we are close to the mountains. If only I knew what Sachaka was like down in the southern corner. Does the wasteland extend as far as the sea? Do the Ichani roam that far?

The cart began to slow. Opening his eyes, Lorkin glanced around to see both fear and hope in the faces of the other slaves. He heard the sound of a stomach growling. Perhaps they were going to be given food and water.

The cart stopped and he heard voices outside.

“The well’s likely to collapse. I don’t want to risk one of mine. They’re healthy and useful,” a haughty voice said.

The driver replied in a low, wheedling voice. Lorkin could not make out the words.

“Name the price,” the haughty one commanded.

A pause, then the cart shifted and two sets of footsteps moved around to the rear. The lock rattled, then the doors opened. Bright light flooded in, blinding Lorkin.

“That one will do.”

“He’s trouble.”

“Then you’ll be glad to be rid of him. If he survives and is troublesome, I’ll sell him back to you. Here.”

The clink of coins followed. Lorkin’s eyes had begun to adjust to the light. He could see an Ashaki standing next to the driver, who was leaning in to unlock the chains of one of the slaves.

Lorkin’s heart stopped as he realised those chains were his own.

For a wild moment he considered blasting his way out of the cart with magic, but stopped himself with an effort. Wherever you end up, there will be Traitors, he told himself. They will find you. They will free you.

Whatever work this Ashaki planned for him sounded dangerous, but at least Lorkin could use magic to protect himself. At least none of these other poor slaves will have to risk their lives doing it.

“Come on,” the driver said, grabbing Lorkin’s leg and pulling. Lorkin hauled himself to his feet, stepping over the legs of other slaves between him and the open doors. He had to jump to the ground, and the restraining chains prevented him keeping his balance. He fell face first on the ground.

Well, at least that saves me the humiliation of throwing myself on the ground before my new owner.

“Stay there,” the haughty voice said.

The man waited until the cart had driven away before he spoke again. By then Lorkin had stolen enough glances to either side to see there were two burly male slaves standing alongside him and the Ashaki.

“Get up. Follow me.”

Lorkin obeyed. The chains rattled and shortened his stride as he followed the Ashaki and his two slaves through a small gate and into a courtyard. Another slave waited with a large hammer.

“Get rid of those,” the Ashaki ordered.

The slave pointed to a bench. Lorkin sat down and obediently positioned the leg chains where the man directed. After a few nerve-wracking but accurate blows, the chains fell from Lorkin’s ankles.

The Ashaki watched it all, looking bored. He then gestured for Lorkin to follow and led the way into the building. Damp, freshly scented air surrounded them as they entered a bathhouse. The Ashaki gestured to a pile of cloth on a wooden seat.

“Clean yourself and put those on. Don’t take too long. We don’t have much time.”

Lorkin glanced behind to find that the two burly slaves hadn’t followed them into the building. The Ashaki smiled, all haughtiness gone, then left the room. Alone, Lorkin stared after the man.

Something isn’t right about this.

Moving over to the seat, Lorkin lifted the topmost piece from the pile of cloth. His heart skipped, then soared, and he found himself grinning.

They were the simple, comfortable clothes of a Traitor.

Chapter 14
Another Change of Plan

“Safe journey,” Watcher Orton said, as the carriage pulled away from the Fort. Above him, an array of small windows looked out from the Sachakan side of the building, some bright squares of light, some dark and near-invisible. Sonea gazed back at the building until it was swallowed by darkness.

Then she extinguished the small globe light she’d set hovering inside the carriage. The darkness in the cabin felt appropriate for discussing secrets, yet she hesitated. “It’s a relief to hear Lorkin has escaped the city,” Regin said.

“Yes,” Sonea replied, seizing the opportunity to delay. “Dannyl will be pleased, too. I don’t know how he arranged it, exactly, but it involved taking a big risk. Though... we have to trust that the message did come from the Traitors, and is true.”

“Do you think it might be a lie?”

Sonea shook her head. “Not if it came from the Traitors. I can’t help worrying that this whole thing is some elaborate ruse set up by King Amakira. Lorkin would have to have been deceived as well, as I detected no feeling of deceit from him when we spoke via the blood ring.” She frowned. In fact, I didn’t detect anything of his thoughts and feelings. That’s odd. The ring should have allowed me to do so. It’s as if... aah, of course. Lorkin’s thoughts were being protected somehow. Possibly the same way hers were protected by Naki’s ring. Was he carrying a similar gemstone? Did Naki’s ring originally come from the Traitors? If it had, how did it get to Kyralia? She said it had been passed down through the women in her family. Was one of them a Traitor?

“He has the ring now?”

She turned her thoughts back to the conversation. “Yes.”

“So that’s how you knew the messages were from the Traitors,” Regin said, more to himself than her.

She looked at him, or rather, what she could see of him in the dark. They had a couple of hours before they had to leave the carriage. She considered her hesitation to tell Regin what their other purpose was in Sachaka. The Traitors had assured her the pass was safe, though they’d recommended she travel at night and as quietly as possible. Once she told Regin, he would have questions. If she didn’t tell him until it was time to leave the carriage, she might not have time enough to answer them before they would be forced to stay silent. Yes, I think it has to be now.

“Lord Regin,” she began, and in the near-darkness she saw his head turn quickly toward her. “Freeing Lorkin isn’t the only task we are undertaking. There is another.”

He hesitated before answering. “I thought there must be. So. What is this other task?”

“We’re to meet with the Traitors. They want to discuss the possibility of an alliance and trade.”

Over the rattle of the carriage, she heard him exhale.

“Ah.”

“The driver will stop in an hour or two. We’ll get out and walk from there, north of the road. The Traitors left me instructions on where to go. In a few days they’ll meet us, and Lorkin will be with them.”

“You left this to the last moment to tell me.”

“Yes, and I would have waited longer if I could have. You couldn’t be told before now in case we were waylaid by King Amakira’s men and your mind was read.”

“And your mind?”

“Is protected.”

She waited for him to ask how, but the question never came. He did not speak at all. The silence in the cabin felt a little reproachful.

“It isn’t that we – the Guild – didn’t trust you with the information,” she began. “We—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “It doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “Well, one thing does. Do you trust me?”

She paused, not sure how to read the tone of his voice. It wasn’t accusing, but it did hold a hint of demand. To avoid answering could make matters unnecessarily strained between them.

“I do,” she told him, and felt the truth of it. At the same time she realised he had cornered her somewhat, and it was only fair to do the same in return. “Do you trust me?”

Again she heard him exhale, but slowly this time.

“Not completely,” he admitted. “Not because I regard you as untrustworthy, but... I know you do not like me.”

She felt her heart skip. “That’s not true,” she told him quickly, before old memories rose to argue their case and make saying it awkward. “I haven’t always. You know why. We don’t need to go over that again. It’s in the past.”

He was quiet for a short space of time. “I apologise. I should not have brought it up again. Sometimes I find it hard to believe you have forgiven me, or could even like me.”

“Well... I have. And I do. You are... a good person.”

“You made me that person.” His tone was warmer, now. “That day, during the invasion.”

Sonea caught her breath as a wave of sadness washed over her. And another good person died that day. Suddenly she could not speak, and dread rose – not for the first time – at the memories she knew would return when she walked in the darkness over the bare rock of the mountains. But with a different companion. A different man.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked in surprise. How had he even known she was upset? Then she realised that the rock wall on one side of the carriage was gone and the faint light of a crescent moon filtered into the cabin. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, gathering all her self-control.

“We both changed that day. You for the better, me for the worse.”

“Only a fool would think that of you,” he told her, misunderstanding her meaning. “You saved us and the Guild. I have admired you ever since.”

She looked at him, but his face was mostly in shadow. How could he understand the bitterness and self-loathing that had come after Akkarin’s death? No matter how much my mind knows it wasn’t my fault, my heart never quite believes it.

The moonlight reached his face and revealed an expression she had rarely seen before. There had been a hint of a smile in his voice, she realised. What had he said? ‘I have admired you ever since.’

She looked away. All his rivalry and hatred of her and what she represented had changed to something almost completely opposite. And just as undeserved. But it would be unkind and ungrateful to say so. I’ll take admiration over distrust and contempt any day.

Admiration and friendship were very different. As different as friendship and love. I’ve seen novices who hated each other become friends after graduation. That didn’t happen with us. I’ve also seen people who hate each other skip the friendship bit in the middle and fall in love. Her heart skipped a beat. Wait... Surely not. No, he doesn’t mean that sort of admiration.

Glancing at him again, she did not have a chance to search his expression. Regin’s attention had fixed somewhere outside the carriage. He shifted across his seat and leaned forward.

“So that’s the wasteland,” he said in a hushed voice.

She peered out the window. The faint moonlight touched the edges of the landscape below, the ridges of many, many dunes creating eerie patterns.

“Yes,” she explained. “It goes all the way to the horizon.”

“So far. How did we do it?” Regin wondered. “Where has that knowledge gone?”

“Ambassador Dannyl has unearthed some interesting records, from what Osen had told me.”

“Any ideas on how to restore the land?”

She shook her head. “If a magician ever manages to return this to fertile land, it will be the greatest act of healing anyone has ever achieved.”

Regin gazed a little longer at the view, then leaned back in his seat again. “A few hours, you say?”

“Yes. The driver knows the landmark to look for. He’ll drop us there, then continue on to Arvice and the Guild House with the mail and supplies. I told him we didn’t need to go to Sachaka now that Lorkin was free, but we wanted to see the sun rise over the wasteland and would walk back to the Fort.”

“Brave man, travelling without magicians on board,” Regin said. “I suppose none of us would be safe if the Sachakan king decided to attack us. Or the Ichani. Or the Traitors.”

“No, but we have to hope that the Traitors are on our side. They’ve assured us they’ll keep the Ichani and the king’s spies out of our way.”

“Really? I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

She nodded. I am, too. Not only because I’ll finally get to see Lorkin, and ensure he gets home safely, but I want to meet these people who impressed him so much that he agreed to go to their secret city, despite knowing he might never leave it again.

With Anyi and Lilia gone, the underground room was silent but for the sound of breathing. Gol was sitting on one of the mattresses he’d made, his back to the wall. Cery remained on one of the stolen chairs. He considered what Lilia had told him about Kallen and the Guild’s reason for seeking roet seeds.

“He said he would get rid of Skellin after they had seeds, and that they might accept your help then, if you’re still prepared to give it,” she’d told him.

“Can we trust them?” Cery asked aloud.

Gol grunted. “I should ask you that. You’re the expert on the Guild. What do you think?”

Cery drew in a deep breath and sighed. “They’ll look after themselves and the Houses first, and their notion of ‘the Kyralian people’ second.”

“Which doesn’t include Thieves and criminal types.”

“Not unless those Thieves have helped them, and then only in ways the public doesn’t get to hear about.”

“They’ll feel obliged to help us.” The bodyguard looked at Cery. “Even though we aren’t helping them now, and Sonea’s gone. Because we helped them in the past.”

“I hope so.” Cery sighed. “The sooner Sonea gets back, the better,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I don’t like having to trust Kallen if he’s as addicted to roet as Lilia says.”

“Hmm,” Gol nodded. “If he wanted to sell us out to Skellin he’d have agreed to your plan and said nothing about waiting. He’d have arranged a meeting and Skellin would have arrived instead.”

“That’s true. Even so, I’d rather be here, where we can leave if we have to, than stuck in a room in the Guild.”

God nodded. “At least we can keep an eye on that cellar so we know when they’ve got roet seeds. We should wait until the plants get to the same size as the ones we saw, which was big enough for the magicians to tell they weren’t roet.”

“Do you know what roet plants look like?”

Gol frowned and shook his head. “Anyi might. Didn’t her boyfriend smoke it?”

“Or girlfriend. She never did say.”

The bodyguard’s face darkened in the dim light and he looked away. Is he blushing? Cery couldn’t help smiling.

“They might try other ways to find Skellin before they consider our plan.” Gol drummed his fingers on the sides of the chair. “If they’re reluctant to work with a Thief.”

“If they don’t like working with a Thief, I doubt they’ll be reluctant to use a Thief as bait,” Cery pointed out.

Gol chuckled. “True.”

“If they do want to try our plan...” Cery considered. “I guess we ought to make sure we’re ready for them. We should have a trap all set up, ready to go.”

“It’ll be a waste of effort if they decide not to work with us?”

“What else are we going to do?” Cery sighed. “We’re right underneath the Guild. Surely that’s to our advantage. I wish... I wish there was a way to trick Skellin into walking right into their hands, whether the Guild wants it or not.”

“A trap that’s as much for them as for Skellin.”

“A trap that will get their attention when – and only when – Skellin comes snooping.”

The bodyguard’s eyes brightened. “I know just the thing. It’ll get the magicians’ attention for sure.” He looked thoughtful. “I’ll have to go into the city to get supplies. And we’ll have to set it up somewhere strong, so we don’t accidentally bury ourselves. What’s the sturdiest area down here?”

“I think I know just the place.” Cery picked up a lamp. “Come with me.”

Getting to his feet without even a grunt of effort, Gol followed Cery out of the room. Good to see he’s healed up so well, Cery thought. Between him and Anyi, I feel twice as old as I am. If I ever get my former life back I’m going to keep some grizzled old men around to make me feel younger.

He led Gol out of the room. Soon they arrived at the cluster of rooms where Cery had run into Lilia and Anyi. Gol took the lamp from him and entered the first one, lifting it to illuminate the sturdy brick walls and vaulted ceiling.

“This is in much better shape than the room we’re living in,” the bodyguard said. “Why haven’t we been staying here?”

“Anyi only found the rooms recently.” And there was something about this one that bothered Cery. It set his heart beating a little too fast. As Gol lowered the lamp, a dusty, broken plate caught the light. Cery picked up one of the pieces. A Guild symbol marked the glaze. He shivered as memories wafted up like smoke. Is this the room Fergun locked me in all those years ago? I didn’t get to see it much. I was stuck in the dark for days.

“This is closer to the Guild buildings. A shorter run to escape, if we need to, and not so far for Lilia to travel to see us. Let’s move our stuff in here,” Gol said.

Sighing, Cery pushed away the memories and his discomfort and nodded. “Yes, but let’s choose another room. This is the first one anyone comes to. We’ll want a little bit more warning when someone is approaching.”

As the last of the food-bearing slaves left the Master’s Room, Tayend looked at Dannyl.

“Now that Lorkin is safely away, what are you going to do with our unwanted guest?”

Dannyl looked at his meal and sighed as his appetite faltered. He drew magic and surrounded himself, Merria and Tayend with a shield to prevent anyone overhearing their conversation.

“What do you suggest?” he asked in reply.

A whole day had passed since the failed abduction. Savi was keeping the spy regularly drained of strength. Since she was the head kitchen slave, none of the other slaves thought it odd that she was the only one allowed to see something in one of the kitchen storerooms.

“I can see only two choices: either he dies or Savi leaves.”

The last of Dannyl’s appetite vanished. “Since the latter isn’t possible, that leaves us only one choice.”

Merria frowned. “But whether the king pretends his spy is a slave or admits he’s not, you’ll be breaking a law.”

Tayend nodded. “Better to be charged for destruction of the king’s property than murder. Perhaps you could make it look like an accident.”

Why must I be the one to do it? Dannyl thought. Because I’m the highest-ranking person in the house. Then he felt a traitorous hope. Does Tayend outrank me, as an Ambassador to a country rather than just the Guild?

“If Savi kills the man using black magic it’ll be clear none of us did it,” Merria suggested.

“But it’ll also be clear there’s a Traitor here somewhere,” Tayend pointed out.

“She can block a mind-read, can’t she?”

“If the king knows no slave has entered or left the House, and is determined to find which is the Traitor, he could have them tortured.”

“Or kill them all,” Tayend added.

A slave appeared. Dannyl realised it was Tav, the door slave. The man dropped to the floor.

“Mind what you say,” Dannyl warned, then let the shield fall.

“What is it, Tav?”

“Someone at the door,” the man gasped.

“Go find out who it is.”

The slave hurried away. The Master’s Room was quiet as they waited for him to return. The rapid, soft thud of footsteps growing louder preceded the slave’s return.

“A message,” he said.

“Bring it here,” Dannyl ordered before the man could abase himself again. The slave quickly padded forward, a scroll held out in both hands. Dannyl took it and waved a hand. “Leave us.”

He unrolled the message. Tayend and Merria leaned in on either side to read it.

“A summons to the palace,” Merria murmured.

“‘Immediately’,” Tayend read.

Dannyl let the scroll snap back into a roll. “Whatever we do, we have to do it now. Kai!”

His personal slave appeared in the corridor.

“Fetch Savi.” As the man disappeared, Dannyl spoke quietly, “Only reasonable to ask her what she’d prefer us to do.”

They did not wait long. The woman entered and threw herself onto the floor as quickly and unselfconsciously as any ordinary slave.

“Is the meal not to your liking, master?” she asked.

Dannyl glanced at the plate in his hands, the food barely touched. He sighed and raised the barrier of silence again.

“I’ve been summoned to the palace,” he told her. “We have to come to a decision about the fate of the king’s spy. What would you have us do?”

She grimaced. “Well... swapping clothes is definitely not going to work this time.”

Tayend straightened abruptly. “Ah!”

All eyes turned to him. “What?” Dannyl asked.

The Elyne raised a hand, palm-outward. “Wait. Give me a moment. I have an idea...” He closed his eyes and his lips moved, then he nodded. He looked around at them, then at Savi. “Tell me if this will work: could you get away with being one of the carriage slaves, despite it not being your usual work, and that you’re a woman?”

She frowned. “If it worked for Ashaki Achati, it might for me.”

“Is there a safe place on the way to the palace that Dannyl could drop you off?”

Her eyes brightened. “Yes.”

Tayend looked at Dannyl. “I think this is our best option. If we can get Savi out of harm’s way, there’s no need to kill the abductor.”

Dannyl nodded, his heart lightening with relief until he remembered that a live abductor was also going to reveal more than that Savi was a Traitor. The king isn’t going to admit publicly the man was his spy, though. Which will be very, very annoying after all we’ve been through. Unless...

“We’ll take him with us,” he decided.

Merria’s eyes widened, but Tayend only chuckled. “You’re going to tell the king everything.”

“Except how Lorkin got away.”

“Then I’m coming too. I have to see this.”

“Tayend—”

“No, Dannyl. I have to see this. My king would be most disappointed if I didn’t.”

Dannyl could not argue against that. It will be better if there are witnesses other than myself, Osen and the Sachakan court, too. He dropped the barrier of silence.

“Merria, go with Savi and fetch the spy. Kai!” The man dashed into the room. “Have the carriage brought to the front.”

As Savi and Merria hurried away and Kai disappeared, Dannyl restored the shield again. Tayend rubbed his hands together. Then he stopped and his grin faded. “I hope Achati’s involvement won’t be discovered.”

Something inside Dannyl swooped downwards. He sighed and set his plate on the floor. The previous night he’d lain awake, either worrying that Achati would turn Lorkin over or anxious at the risk Achati was taking by helping Lorkin escape.

Tayend’s spoke in low tones, despite the barrier of silence. “It occurred to me last night... What if the king orders Achati to wear one of his blood rings? They allow the creator to read the thoughts of the wearer, right? I’m sure Achati was communicating with the king during their journey to Duna. I doubt the king would wear anyone else’s blood ring and risk them reading his mind, so Achati must have been wearing one of his. Will Achati now refuse to wear a ring?”

“I don’t know.” Dannyl shook his head. “Achati knew what he was doing.”

“Well... I hope it wasn’t sacrificing himself for us. He turned out better than I expected. I like him.”

Dannyl looked at Tayend in surprise and gratitude. Tayend liking Achati makes me like Tayend better, he realised. Tayend’s good opinion also makes me like Achati better, too. All because Achati had helped Lorkin. But at what cost?

Footsteps heralded the return of Savi. She was pushing the spy, bound and gagged, before her. The man was staggering as if exhausted, Dannyl noted. No doubt she’d drained his power again.

A grim silence fell between them all as they filed down the corridor to the front entrance. The carriage was not waiting, but before long the doors to the stable swung open and the horses and vehicle emerged. Dannyl ordered Savi to climb up onto the back to cling on beside the usual carriage slave, then hauled the spy up into the cabin. He climbed in after, and Tayend followed.

“Good luck,” Merria said quietly, then pushed the door closed.

At Dannyl’s order, the carriage left the Guild House. He did not speak and Tayend stayed silent. They couldn’t discuss what they were planning to do in front of the spy, and it was hardly a situation for small talk. The spy huddled opposite Tayend and Dannyl, his frightened gaze flickering from one to the other, which was disconcerting enough. When the driver suddenly shouted they all jumped.

The carriage began to slow. Dannyl opened the window and leaned out.

“What is it?”

“The slave, master. She jumped off and ran.”

Dannyl paused and looked behind, but Savi had already disappeared.

“We can’t stop,” he told the man. “Continue to the palace.”

Perhaps it was the mention of the palace, but the abductor had stopped staring at them. Relieved, Dannyl spent the rest of the journey considering and refining his plan, and gathering his courage. When they arrived, he dragged the man out after him. Leaving Tayend to hurry after, he forced the spy before him and marched into the palace.

The guards watched intently, but didn’t stop him. Once in the hall, Dannyl was pleased to see the king had arranged for a large audience of Ashaki to watch the meeting, including a few who, Merria had learned, disagreed with Lorkin’s treatment. Perfect. Achati stood near the throne, to Dannyl’s relief looking unconcerned.

The monarch’s eyebrows rose as Dannyl pushed the spy to the floor. Following protocol, Dannyl knelt and Tayend, hurrying up beside him, bowed.

“Rise Ambassador Dannyl.” The king looked at the spy. “What is this?”

“Just returning what I am told is your spy, your majesty,” Dannyl replied as he straightened.

The king’s gaze snapped to his. “My spy.”

“Yes, your majesty. Last night this man tried to abduct my former assistant, Lord Lorkin. A Traitor prevented it. She also read his mind and learned that the man was hired by you.” Dannyl looked around at the Ashaki, who looked amused but not shocked. “I request that someone here read his mind to confirm it.”

Heads turned back and forth. Glances were exchanged. A few words were muttered. The king ignored everyone and continued to regard Dannyl.

“Very well. Ashaki Rokaro, would you grant Ambassador Dannyl’s request and tell us if this accusation is true.”

No protest came from the gathering as a man with grey in his hair stepped forward. All watched as the spy’s mind was read. The Ashaki appeared to be doing a thorough and careful mind-read, as it was taking longer than Dannyl had seen one take before. When he let the spy go, the man sagged to the floor again, reaching out to the king like a slave pleading for forgiveness.

“Well, Ashaki Rokaro?” the king prompted.

The Ashaki looked from the spy, to Dannyl, then to the assembled Ashaki.

“It is true,” he said.

Dannyl felt a mild surprise. He’d expected the Ashaki to deny it, or say that the man believed it but had no proof his orders had come from the king. Looking up at the king, Dannyl saw no concern or guilt and felt his stomach sink.

“You say a Traitor helped you,” the king asked.

Dannyl hesitated, a warning chill going through him. “We could hardly refuse.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. Not in the Guild House.”

“And Lorkin?”

“Gone.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. With the Traitors, I imagine.”

“They seem to be his preferred companions these days.” He turned and smiled at Achati with obvious approval. “But at least we have gained what we all desired: freedom for Lorkin in exchange for information.”

Information? Abruptly Dannyl remembered Lorkin’s promise to Achati. “I will answer the question your king most wants to ask me. I will tell you where the Traitors’ home is.”

Dannyl had not believed Lorkin would carry out his promise. He’d assumed Lorkin had some deception in mind. But what if he had given Achati the location of Sanctuary? What if Achati had turned Lorkin over to the king, not helped him escape? Were the Traitors lying about rescuing him in order to take revenge for Lorkin revealing their home? Or did they not know what Lorkin had done yet?

The king glanced at the spy. “I guess I should thank you for returning my spy to me, though he has hardly earned the title.” The king looked up at Dannyl and Tayend. “You may return to the Guild House, Ambassadors.”

Chapter 15
Into the Wasteland

The night air was surprisingly cold, considering how hot it was in the wasteland during the day. Lorkin pulled on the reins, yet again discouraging the hardy little mount he was riding from trying to catch up with the horse in front. She tossed her head in protest, and he heard the water sloshing about in the barrels lashed to her side.

They’d been riding since dusk the day before. The Traitors’ fake Ashaki had taken Lorkin to the edge of the wasteland in his carriage and left him with two male slaves from a nearby estate. The slaves had told Lorkin that they could only take him as far as the hills, where a group of Traitors would meet them. Though they had a spare horse to help carry water and food, they couldn’t carry enough to last them to the mountains and back without raising suspicion.

Looking over his shoulder to the east, Lorkin saw that the sky was beginning to brighten. He hadn’t slept in more than a day, and during the previous two nights he’d had to curl up on a cramped carriage seat. Though he could ease the weariness with Healing magic, the constant travel and fear of discovery was exhausting. Just to sit still for a while would have been welcome, but he doubted he’d be enjoying that for some time.

The hope that Tyvara would be among the Traitors waiting for him gave him a boost of energy every time he thought of her, which he did whenever weariness had him sagging in the saddle. Thought of her warm smile, the sound of her voice, the touch of her bare skin. Soon, he told himself.

He was going to be very disappointed if she wasn’t among them, but not surprised. Tyvara had been forbidden to leave the city for three years, as punishment for killing Riva. But at least she’s safe there, and if she isn’t with them the thought of her will sustain me until I do see her again, he reasoned.

The sound of teeth snapping brought his attention back to his mount again. He saw that she had crept close enough to the horse in front to attempt another bite, and quickly hauled on the reins. Mad, spiteful little beast, he thought, muttering a curse. I’m glad she doesn’t try this on humans.

Though she obediently slowed, the horse in front followed suit. Lorkin opened his mouth to warn the slave, then closed it again as the man gestured for silence. They came to a halt. Even Lorkin’s mount stilled and pricked up her ears.

Lorkin could hear nothing, but one of the slaves slid off his horse and ran up the side of a nearby dune. After crouching for a short time, a dark shape against the paler sand, he hurried back to them.

“A group of eight,” he murmured.

The other slave nodded, then turned to Lorkin. “Probably Traitors. Ichani travel alone, with only a few slaves.”

Lorkin nodded. His heart was racing. He began to dismount, but the slave frowned and shook his head. “Stay put. Just in case we’re wrong.”

The other slave mounted his horse again. They moved into the long, low shadow of a dune, which only half concealed them, but with the brightening sky behind them they would be a little harder to make out.

What if it is an Ichani? Lorkin felt the night’s chill seep into his clothing. What if it is more than one? We can run, but would we get far? Could I stop their attempts to hold us with magic for long enough to escape? I doubt much of Tyvara’s magic is left, and even if I had it all I couldn’t beat several Ichani.

Figures appeared in the valley between the dunes ahead. The glow of the sky had grown warmer, and now bathed the newcomers with gold. Though all wore trousers and tunics, it was easy to distinguish woman from man. Each wore a belt over their tunic, and on each belt was a sheath. Unlike the Ashaki’s blades, the knife handles were undecorated and the sheaths were straight, not curved. As Lorkin recognised the lead figure, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Savara.

She strode toward them, unhurried but purposeful. Looking past her, Lorkin searched for the face he most wanted to see, his pulse speeding even as he braced himself for disappointment. When his eyes found hers, he thought he must be mistaken. Then she smiled, and he felt his heart leap, and an intense longing to draw her into his arms and feel her body against his. He dismounted, as did the slaves, but forced himself to stay still and face the Traitors’ new queen.

“Gal. Tika. Right where you were supposed to be,” Savara said, smiling as she reached the slaves. She turned to Lorkin. “It is good to see you again, Lord Lorkin. We were worried we might have to break into the palace to get you. We haven’t had to do that in centuries.”

Placing a hand on his heart, he waited. She smiled sadly, then nodded.

“It is good to see you, too, your majesty” he told her. Still unsure of Traitor protocol when a monarch had died, he decided to err on the side of speaking plainly. “I was saddened to hear of Queen Zarala’s passing, but glad to hear of your election.”

She looked down. “She will be remembered.” Her lips pressed together, then she turned to the slaves. As she thanked them, Lorkin looked at Tyvara again and drank in the sight of her, resisting a wave of impatience. It feels like months since I last saw her.

The slaves mounted their horses again, one taking the reins of Lorkin’s horse, and set off toward the east. They disappeared around a dune, toward an orange sun that hinted at the coming daytime onslaught of heat.

“Now, we must travel as quickly as we can manage,” Savara said, turning back to the group and ushering him toward them with an outstretched arm. “Your mother awaits us in the mountains.”

He felt a twinge of apprehension and eagerness, but forgot both as Tyvara stepped forward to meet him. She was smiling broadly.

“I’m so relieved the king let you go. Savara said the king wouldn’t dare harm you, but that didn’t stop me worrying.” She took his hands. Stepping close, she kissed him quickly, but pulled away when he tried to draw her closer, her eyes flickering to the others and giving him a warning look that plainly said “not now”. He felt a petulant disappointment, but put it aside. She was here. That was enough for now.

“I’m not the only one who’s been let out,” he said.

She shrugged. “I have more important things to do than running the sewer. And I’m sure the punishment will resume once we’re done.”

As one the group turned and started in the direction they had come. Someone passed Lorkin a pack, murmuring that he’d find a water bottle inside. He shouldered it and looked across at Tyvara. She was frowning at him.

“What is it?”

She lowered her voice. “Was it bad, in the king’s prison?”

His stomach lurched at the question. Suddenly the lightness in his heart was gone, and weariness returned. He looked away.

“It wasn’t fun,” he replied, shrugging. Should I tell her about the slave girl? What will she think of me, for helping the girl die? Maybe if the girl hadn’t been a Traitor... no, I don’t think that would make much difference. Still, Tyvara must have had to make some difficult choices as a spy. He drew in a deep breath. “You must have been through worse, as a slave.”

She said nothing. He made himself look up at her. She met his gaze reluctantly, then her eyes dropped to the ground.

“Would that be a problem for you, if I had?” she asked.

It was an odd way to phrase her answer, but as her meaning came to him he felt both dismay and affection.

“No,” he said. “I’m... I know what... what pretending to be a slave would have involved. It’s not like you had a choice.”

“But I did have a choice – whether to be a spy or not.”

“For the good of your people. And to help others.” Whereas there was nothing noble about me helping the slave girl die. And yet he hadn’t chosen to be put in that situation.

“Enough talking,” Savara said, glancing back at Lorkin and Tyvara. “The Ichani were far away last time we checked, but they can be unpredictable. We should travel in silence.”

Tyvara frowned and bit her lip. As they strode onward, she glanced at him from time to time. On each occasion, he only caught sight of her expression briefly, since her back was to the rising sun. Clearly she wanted to say something to him. Frustrated by the necessity for silence, he concentrated until he could detect her presence. He imagined he could hear her thoughts like a buzz at the edge of his senses, not quite loud or clear enough to be audible.

Finally he could not stand it any more. He moved closer and grabbed her hand.

—What is it? What is bothering you?

She looked surprised, then smiled and squeezed his hand.

—You know where we’re going?

—To the mountains. To meet my mother. I’m assuming to discuss trade or an alliance.

—Yes.

She looked at him questioningly, and he heard, somehow, faint words that she perhaps hadn’t intended to send to him.

What will he do then?

He frowned. He’d been putting off asking himself the same question. What would he do once negotiations were over? Go back to Kyralia with his mother? Stay in Sachaka with Tyvara? The answer was even more important if the negotiations failed to bring about any kind of agreement between the Allied Lands and the Traitors.

The Guild would want him to come home. His mother would want him to come home. But that might mean he’d never see Tyvara again.

What does he want? came Tyvara’s badly hidden thought.

—I want to be with you, he told her.

She blinked in surprise and turned to stare at him. He sensed puzzlement, and a little embarrassment. Her grip loosened as if she was about to pull away. Then it tightened again,

—Will the Guild let you stay with us?

—They won’t like it, but they’ll have to accept it.

She nodded and looked way, pulling her hand free. He focused closely on her, trying to judge her expression, and heard words at the very edge of his senses again.

He’ll change his mind once he knows we’re about to go to war.

Lorkin felt his muscles go rigid with shock and nearly stumbled. He shook his head. He must have imagined it. It was not possible to hear someone else’s thoughts without touching them. Unless that person had deliberately sent them. Looking around, he saw that none of the other Traitors looked alarmed or were watching him, as they would have been if they’d known Tyvara had revealed their plans to him.

No. I must have imagined it. After all, he’d seen hints in Sanctuary that the Traitors might be planning to attack the Ashaki. His mind was merely pointing out, in an unexpected way, that war would make his choice much more difficult. Tyvara had to be wondering if he wanted to avoid being caught up in a war. Of course I would. People die in wars. Tyvara might die. Unless... could I find a reason to take her to Kyralia with me? Perhaps I could persuade Savara that the Allied Lands need a Traitor Ambassador. But would Tyvara go? I doubt it.

So now he had to decide whether he’d stay with Tyvara or go to Kyralia and pass on stone-making knowledge, how to tell his mother that he’d learned black magic, whether to tell Tyvara about the poisoned slave girl, and what he’d do if the Traitors went to war. Fortunately he had hours of trudging through the wasteland to the mountains ahead of him. Plenty of time to think.

Though it was still early spring, buds on the trees within the Guild gardens were already bursting open and the scent hinted at warmer days to come. Lilia breathed it in, enjoying a brief moment of peace and promise. She was alive, not in prison, accepted by the Guild, and Cery, Gol and Anyi were still safe and undiscovered.

Of course, the moment could not last long. Her friends were not all that safe, the Guild’s acceptance of her involved conditions that would restrict her for the rest of her life, and she was heading for another lesson with Black Magician Kallen. But her mood soured sooner than usual as she saw a trio of novices standing outside the Novice’s Quarters, watching her. One was Bokkin.

She spared them the briefest of glances, but though she kept her gaze on the path ahead she paid attention to their shadows in the corner of her eye. For good measure, she threw up a weak shield against any pranks.

Nothing happened, though she was so alert for trouble that she didn’t notice, at first, that no other novices were waiting with Kallen by the Arena. He always wore the same slightly distracted frown, yet it was a little deeper than usual. And his gaze was a little more alert.

“Black Magician Kallen,” she said, bowing as she reached him.

“Lady Lilia,” Kallen said. “Today’s lesson will be held within the University.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she had to smother the urge to cheer.

“So... no fighting practice today?”

“No.”

He indicated that she should walk beside him and started toward the University. Bokkin, she saw with relief, was gone. She considered whether to ask Kallen what she’d be learning, but experience had taught her that if he didn’t offer information she was not likely to get useful answers. Once they were inside, she heard him draw in a deep breath, then sigh. Sneaking a quick glance, she noted that his mouth was pressed into a thin line.

He’s not happy about something, she thought. Well, more unhappy than he usually is, anyway.

He led her through to the inner passages of the building and into one of the small rooms reserved for private lessons. Indicating she should take one of the two chairs, he sat on the other and regarded her across the sole table.

“The Guild has decided it is time you learned to use black magic.”

She felt a jolt of fear and guilt, but they quickly faded into amusement. “But I already know how to use black magic.”

“You know how it is used,” he corrected. “Aside from your single experiment, you have not consciously and deliberately used it, and you’ve never needed to store power. There are also other tasks that black magicians are required to perform that do not involve the acquisition of magic.”

“Like?”

“Reading minds. Making blood rings.”

Lilia’s heartbeat quickened. She had assumed she wouldn’t be taught either skill until she had graduated and taken up the official role of black magician.

“Why now?”

Kallen’s brows lowered still further. “While Sonea is absent, many would rather that you were taught to use black magic than we have only one fully trained black magician in Imardin.”

No wonder he’s grumpy. The implication of that is that he needs watching. That he can’t be trusted. She felt a small surge of triumph that he experienced the same suspicion and distrust that she did. Though people distrust me because I broke a rule when I learned black magic, even though I thought I couldn’t succeed. But I suppose they distrust Kallen because he’s a roet addict. She felt triumph fade. It was replaced with sympathy. And he probably didn’t think that could happen, either.

She nodded. “So... what first?”

He straightened and took something from within his robe. Light reflected from the polished surface of a small, slim knife. Kallen lifted his other hand so that the sleeve fell back, then placed his arm on the table. He looked at her.

“I will cut myself. Place your hand over the wound and try to recall what you did to... Take enough that you can sense your own strength has increased.”

To Naki, Lilia finished. She pushed away a memory of a library, and the words that had seduced her into learning what was forbidden. “I’d do anything for you.” Kallen ran the blade across the back of his arm. She obediently placed her palm over the shallow cut, and closed her eyes.

The trick was to see that my own magic is contained within my skin, she remembered. The awareness came back to her slowly, but once her mind recalled it the sense of magic within her body was suddenly clear. She paused to marvel a little at it, but the call of an otherness nearby drew her attention. Shifting her focus to her hand, she detected Kallen’s presence and saw the gap in his defences.

She hesitated. To draw magic from Kallen, whom she had half feared most of her life and who was one of the Higher Magicians, seemed presumptuous. But he’d told her to, so she gathered her will and drew.

Magic flooded into her body. Immediately she slowed the pull. He would be able to sense it, she guessed, and know if she was overdoing it. He’d said to take magic until she could feel it had added to her own strength. Concentrating, she realised that she was already aware of being stronger. Halting the draw of power, she opened her eyes and withdrew her hand.

Kallen stared at her intently. “Take more.”

This time she was immediately aware of the break in his barrier, and she found that she didn’t need to sense the containment of her own power to do so. She forgot to close her eyes and realised she didn’t need to. Kallen’s face had gone strangely slack, she noted. He looked sad and tired.

When she stopped, expression returned to his face. He looked at her again, and this time he nodded.

“Good. I can sense that you are storing power now.” His lips thinned in grim approval. “Whenever we hold more power than we naturally possess, a little of it escapes our barrier. Focus on the natural containment at your skin until you sense this leakage, then send a little magic to reinforce your barrier.”

This time she did close her eyes. Drawing her attention within, she noted that she could feel that her power was enhanced. She concentrated on the barrier at her skin, which was the border of her control. Sure enough, magic was seeping through it, more in some places than others.

Exerting her will, she tapped a little of her magic and sent a steady trickle of it to thicken and harden the barrier. At once the leakage stopped.

Kallen nodded when she opened her eyes.

“I can’t sense it any more.” He almost smiled. “Now, it is also possible for another magician to sense the taking of magic. This is a similar problem of leakage, but it happens at the site of the wound. You need to extend your barrier a little to overlap that of the, ah, donor of magic.”

Following his instructions, Lilia managed to succeed in this lesson after a few attempts. After that, Kallen had her attempt to take magic so slowly that he barely noticed, then as quickly as she could. He was able, haltingly, to speak to her during the first, but obviously had trouble staying upright during the second.

“You should experience the weakening effect of being drained,” he told her. “Black Magician Sonea was not careful enough to avoid being cut during one fight with the Ichani because she hadn’t appreciated how disabling it was to be subjected to black magic. It is something you certainly don’t want to experience again, once you’ve felt it.” He waved a hand. “But it can wait until another lesson.”

“I remember something like that, from when Naki tried it on me,” Lilia told him. “She said it didn’t work, but I think she was lying.”

Kallen’s expression darkened, but then his lips thinned in sympathy. “In descriptions of the higher-magic rite between magicians and apprentices of old, the apprentices would kneel before their masters. They must have been able to remain upright. Perhaps the apprentices grew immune to the weakening effect.”

“Or the masters knew how to draw power without it affecting them.”

He nodded. “We could experiment, if you are willing. There is much about black magic we don’t understand, and I fear that our counterparts in Sachaka could use that against us.”

Lilia smothered a shudder of reluctance. Though experimenting with black magic with Kallen didn’t sound like much fun, she had to agree that the Guild couldn’t allow any holes in its knowledge of magic to remain unexplored.

Kallen ran a hand over the cut, which had now closed to a pink line. “Of course, you’ll only have to acquire magic this way from non-magicians or an enemy magician. Normal transferral of power can be done without cutting the skin. The weakening effect is also an advantage in battle. I can’t see many situations where taking power forcibly while avoiding the weakening effect will be of much use.”

“Perhaps... if you have to take power from an old magician who is dying but for some reason – perhaps they’re unconscious or senile – they can’t will their power to you.”

Kallen grimaced. “Yes. It would be kinder if they didn’t have to experience the weakening.”

She looked at the knife. “What do you do if you don’t have a knife? Could you use magic to make the cut?”

He shook his head. “Even if a magician is too weak to shield, so long as they are alive they still contain some energy and a barrier at their skin. At its most basic, that barrier is a shield against another’s will and must be broken.”

“But if you shaped magic into a sliver of force and send it out from yourself like a strike, overcoming the barrier, would it work?”

His eyebrows rose. “Perhaps. I guess if a strike is strong enough...” He frowned. “It would be difficult to test. The subject would have to be willing to be harmed, perhaps quite badly... though if you first gained some skill in forming a small, stabbing strike that only penetrated a tiny distance it would be no worse than a small cut.” His eyes narrowed in thought, then he looked at her appraisingly. “It is an interesting idea. We should explore it.”

She nodded, before the idea of letting him stab her could overcome her satisfaction at thinking of something that hadn’t occurred to him before.

“Well... that will do for today,” he said. “Tomorrow I will begin your training in mind-reading. We will need a volunteer for you to practise on. Once you have satisfactorily achieved that skill, I’ll teach you how to make a blood gem.”

A blood gem! Lilia resisted a smile, not wanting to seem too eager to learn more about what had once been forbidden magic. She rose as Kallen stood up and followed him to the door.

“Should I meet you here?” she asked.

He nodded, then gestured to the corridor. “Yes. Until tomorrow, then.”

She bowed and set off toward the outer rooms of the University, and her next class, unable to help feeling a thrill of excitement.

For the first time, knowing black magic doesn’t feel like a... a punishment – or a disease. The Guild wants me to learn it. And it’s actually interesting.

As the morning sun rose higher and brighter, the colours of the wasteland began to bleach away. Sonea clasped her hands together around her knees, wistfully remembering how she had once been able to hug her knees to her chest. It had been a long time since she’d been that flexible. Life as a magician – and wearing full robes – tended to demand more dignified sitting. It was little losses like these that told her she was getting older.

Regin rose and moved to their packs, which were looking somewhat emptier than they’d been two evening ago when they’d arrived at the Traitors’ meeting place.

I followed the instructions strictly, she told herself. They’d made perfect sense. Regin agrees with me. We must be where we’re supposed to be.

And yet, no Traitors had appeared.

She looked to the right, where the mountains curved away to the south-east. When she and Akkarin had entered Sachaka twenty years before, they’d travelled that way. Across the slopes of the mountains with no supplies, no home and with Ichani hunting them. This time she and Regin had travelled northwest, still across the harsh mountainside, but with plenty of food, no Ichani to worry about and a Guild waiting to welcome them home.

Amazing the difference some basic necessities and not fearing for your life can make.

Still, the wasteland was a harsh place. Below, the rocky slopes plunged into dunes stretching off toward the horizon. The first day they’d waited here, they’d watched a sandstorm move across the land to the north, obscuring all in its path. They’d been worried that they would have to endure the storm, but it died out when it hit the northern mountains. Turning to the left, Sonea considered the peaks extending into the distance, each crouching behind the other, growing paler the further away they were.

Somewhere beyond them lies Sanctuary, the Traitors’ home. From what Lorkin says, they were much kinder captors than King Amakira.

Not that anybody had described what Lorkin’s imprisonment in the palace had been like. She was almost glad that she had not been able to read his mind through her blood gem. She swung from wanting to know to thinking perhaps it would be better if she never did. If he’d suffered, she was not sure what she would feel or want to do, but she was sure neither would be good.

He’s free now. Free and alive. I must take care that nothing I do changes that.

“Sonea.”

She dragged her eyes away from the view and turned to regard Regin. “Yes?”

He gestured to the bags. “Should we keep rationing?”

She nodded. He was asking more than that, she knew. He was asking if they would stay here or give up and return to the Fort soon. We could hunt for food, like Akkarin and I did. Memories rose of a meal gathered, cooked and eaten in a little hidden valley. She smiled as she remembered what else had happened in that place.

“At least we have plenty of water,” Regin said, turning to look at the spring. “And it’s clean now.”

She followed his gaze. The trickle of water seeped through a crack in the rocky ground and gathered in a small, smooth pool before brimming over into a tiny stream. The water had obviously been attracting animals. When they’d arrived they’d had to wash away accumulated bird droppings. The stream did not continue for long, swallowed up by a crevasse in the rocky ground.

If we hide, maybe birds will come to drink. We can catch and eat them.

Standing up, she walked to the pool and regarded it. Clearly the wasteland had some water, but even here, right by the spring, there was no life. She crouched beside it and dipped her hand in the pool. Concentrating, she sought the scattered sense of energy within water that came from ever-present tiny life forms in it.

Nothing.

She frowned. When they’d arrived she’d checked if the water was safe to drink. Despite the bird droppings, the water had been pure. Which was... odd.

Perhaps a Traitor came by just before we arrived and drew all the energy out. The smaller and less sophisticated a living thing was, the weaker the natural barrier against magical interference. Even trees could be drained of magic without their bark being cut, though the magic came slowly and there was never as much as in an animal or person.

Killing the little life forms makes the existing water safe to drink, but the fresh water should quickly add more tiny life forms. She reached up to the trickle that fed the pool. Cupping her hand to collect some water, she concentrated again.

There. Like tiny pinpoints of light.

She let the gathered water drop into the pool. There could be only one explanation. Something was killing off all life once it entered the pool.

Her stomach clenched in sudden apprehension. Was the pool poisoned? They had been drinking from it for a few days. What could kill off small life forms instantly but not affect people?

The bowl was smooth. It could have been shaped by time or man or magic. Reaching into the water again, she ran her hand slowly over the surface of the stone. She did not expect to sense anything. Detecting a poison within a body was more a matter of detecting its effect. Her fingers encountered a bump in the surface. She explored it with her fingertips, then sent her mind out.

Something tugged at her senses. She drew a little magic and let it seep from her fingers. It was drawn away immediately.

Her blood went cold.

Sitting up, she stared at the little bump in the bowl’s otherwise smooth surface. It is not a part of the rock. If it does what I think it does, it has been placed there to clean the water. But if it does what I think it does...

“Regin.”

She felt the coolness of his shadow on her back.

“Yes?”

“Could you get me a knife or something good for gouging?”

“Why not use magic? Oh... of course. You won’t want to use it up.”

He moved to the packs. While he was busy, she drew magic and used it to channel the trickle of water away from the pool. Then she emptied the pool with a sweep of force. The surface began to dry immediately and by the time Regin returned the bump was visible as a darker patch in the stone.

He held out a silver pen.

“Is that all we have?”

“I’m afraid so. Nobody expects magicians to need knives.”

Sonea sighed as she took the pen. “I suppose we asked for supplies to last a few days, not a picnic. Let’s hope this works.”

She began to dig around the bump with the tapered end of the pen. To her relief, whatever was keeping it in place was softer than stone – more like wax. Soon she had gouged out a channel around it. She wedged her fingertips around the bump and pulled. It would not budge, so she got to work again.

“Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“Yes.”

The lump shifted and Sonea tried to pull it free in vain. Gritting her teeth, she returned to digging waxy lumps from the pool.

“So. What are you doing?”

“Digging out this thing.”

“I can see that.” He sounded more amused than annoyed. “Why?”

The pen wasn’t narrow enough to fit between the hard bump and the edges of the hole it was crammed into. She seized it with her fingertips again. “It’s... strange... ah!” The bump – now a stone – came free. She held it up into the light, working the remains of wax off the surface.

Regin bent over to look at it. “Is it a crystal?”

She nodded. Smooth, flat areas reflected the sunlight. “A natural one. Though by that I only mean uncut.”

“And otherwise unnatural?” Regin looked down at the hole it had come out of. “What sort of gemstone is it?”

“Gemstone!” Sonea exclaimed. She sucked in a breath and looked up at Regin, then climbed to her feet. “One of the Traitors’ magical gemstones, most likely. I doubt the Duna come this far south, and if the Ichani know about them they’d have used them on us twenty years ago.” She considered the way it had drawn in her magic, and her blood went cold again. She looked at Regin and held back the words. Could she tell him her suspicions? What if his mind was read? What if he told somebody? What if...?

When – if – the Traitors arrived, she would need to have already considered all the implications of her discovery. She might not need to tell Regin, to seek his opinion, but she wanted to.

Regin was staring back at her, bemused and worried. She drew in a deep breath.

“It is, I suspect, a black magic gemstone,” she said, keeping her voice low in case someone, somehow, was watching and listening to them.

He drew in a sharp breath and stared at her in horror. Then he looked down at the stone and his eyes narrowed.

“So that’s why the wasteland never recovered.”

She shivered despite the growing heat and looked around them. It makes sense. If they can make one stone like this they can make hundreds. Thousands. Strewn across the land, they must slowly but relentlessly suck away life. The soil becomes too infertile for plants. Larger, more sophisticated living things like animals starve or move away.

Which meant the Traitors had been deliberately keeping the wasteland a wasteland.

For centuries.

“All this time it was thought the Guild created this to keep Sachaka weak. Instead it was the Traitors.”

Regin frowned. “Well... we can’t be sure of that. They may have just put the stone here to keep the water clean.”

She looked up at him. “I reckon I could find more stones, if any are about.”

His gaze sharpened. “Give it a try.”

Handing him the stone, which he took gingerly, she walked a few steps away and looked at the ground sloping downward toward the dunes. She closed her eyes and expanded the natural barrier around her skin until it was a globe. Where it overlapped with the rock beneath her feet, she weakened it so that magic began to seep out. Then she began to walk forward slowly.

She had only taken fifty or so paces when she felt the faintest pull. It was an illusion – the sense of no resistance where everywhere else there was one. Stopping, she turned and, after losing the sense a few times, managed to narrow down the area the pull was coming from to a few paces in diameter: a stone-filled crack between two sheets of stone.

Regin joined her as she poked around inside the crack. She began sweeping her barrier down the length of the gap, but before she had gone far Regin gave a little crow of triumph and held something up.

Another dark, glossy crystal. Taking it from him she tested it. The magic she sent toward it was drawn into the stone.

“Twice is coincidence,” Regin said. “Thrice is...”

Nodding, she set off in another direction. This time she found a stone easily, buried in a sand-filled depression. All in sheltered positions where water might collect or flow through. Nooks and cracks where life might take root. They returned to the meeting place. She had undone her diversion of the spring, and the pool was full again. Dipping her hand in the water, she confirmed that it was now full of tiny specks of energy.

She looked up at Regin.

“Osen needs to know about this.”

He smiled crookedly. “Oh, he most certainly does.”

And Lorkin, she thought. Though he may know already. Ah. If he’s not supposed to know, I may endanger his life by telling him. It may not be wise to let the Traitors know we’ve discovered their dirty little secret, either.

Still, once the Guild knew, the Traitors would gain nothing from killing her and Regin. Taking Osen’s ring from her pocket, she sat down, leaned against a boulder and slipped it on her finger.

—Osen.

—Sonea!

—Do you have a moment? You won’t want to believe what I’ve just discovered.