eat it.

“Come and eat,” Rothen said.

Accepting the invitation, she moved to a chair and sat down.

The Guild carriage pulled up beside a plain two-story building. Stepping out, Lorlen ignored the curious and startled looks from the people walking along the street. He strode to the entrance of the First City Guard House and, as a servant opened the door for him, walked through into a narrow hall.

The room was tastefully but not expensively decorated. Comfortable chairs were arranged in groups around the room. It reminded Lorlen of the Night Room in the Guild. A corridor off the hall gave access to the rest of the building.

“Administrator.”

Lorlen turned to see Derril’s son rising from one of the chairs.

“Captain Barran. Congratulations on your new position.”

The young man smiled. “Thank you, Administrator.” He gestured toward the corridor. “Come to my office, and I’ll tell you the latest news.”

Barran guided Lorlen to a door near the end of the corridor. A small, yet comfortable room lay beyond. One wall was lined with drawers, and a desk divided the space evenly in two. Barran gestured to one of two chairs, then, as Lorlen sat down, he took the other.

“Your father said that you’ve changed your mind about the woman we talked about,” Lorlen prompted. “That you now think it was a murder.”

“Yes,” Barran replied. “There have been several more apparent suicides too similar to that one. In each case, the weapon has been missing and there were signs of an intruder. Each victim had hand or fingerprints on the wounds. It is too strange a coincidence.” He paused. “These suicides began a month or so after the ritual murders stopped, almost as if the murderer realized he was attracting attention and decided to change his methods in the hope people would assume suicide.”

Lorlen nodded. “Or perhaps it is a new murderer.”

“Perhaps.” Barran hesitated. “There is something else, though it may not be related. I asked my predecessor if he’d ever seen something as strange as this. He told me that a series of murders has been happening, on and off, for the last four or five years.” He chuckled. “He said this was just the price we pay for living in cities.”

A chill ran down Lorlen’s spine. Akkarin had returned from his journey just over five years ago. “Nothing like this happened before then?”

“I don’t think so. He would have said so, if something had.”

“So the murders were the same?”

“Only in that they followed a pattern for a while, then changed to another. My predecessor suspected that one of the Thieves was targeting a rival group at first. They might be marking their victims in a certain way so their rivals knew who had done the killing. But the victims didn’t appear to have any connections to each other, or the Thieves.

“Then he considered the possibility of an assassin who was building his reputation with recognizable kills. Few of the victims had bad debts or any other obvious reason for their assassination, however. My predecessor could find no common reason for the deaths, just as I cannot find one now.”

“Not even simple robbery?”

Barran shook his head. “A few victims were robbed, but not all.”

“Witnesses?”

“From time to time. Their descriptions vary. One detail was common, however.” Barran’s eyes brightened. “The murderer wears a ring with a large red gem.”

“Really?” Lorlen frowned. Had he ever seen Akkarin wearing a ring? No. Akkarin never wore jewelry. That did not mean he couldn’t be slipping a ring on his finger when out of sight. But why would he do that?

Lorlen sighed and shook his head. “Was there any sign these victims were killed with magic?”

Barran smiled. “Father would find that very exciting, but no. There are some strange aspects to some of the murders, but no sign of strike burns, or anything that we haven’t found an ordinary explanation for.”

Of course, a death through black magic wouldn’t leave any signs that Barran would recognize. Lorlen wasn’t even sure there were signs any magician could recognize. He should, however, get as many details as possible.

“What else can you tell me?”

“Do you want the details of each murder?”

“Yes.”

Barran gestured to the wall of drawers. “I’ve had all the records of strange serial murders moved into here. There are a lot to cover.”

Lorlen regarded the drawers with dismay. So many...

“The most recent ones, then?”

Barran nodded. He moved to the wall and drew out a large folder from one of the drawers.

“It is good to know the Guild is willing to take an interest in matters like these,” he said.

Lorlen smiled. “My interest is mainly personal, but if there is anything the Guild can do, let me know. Otherwise, I’m sure the investigation is in the hands of those most qualified to tackle it.”

Barran smiled wryly. “I hope so, Administrator. I certainly hope so.”

Above the curving barrier of the Arena dark gray clouds slowly rolled toward the North Quarter. The trees in the gardens lashed back and forth as the wind caught their branches. The limbs had darkened as the cold season approached, but the last few leaves that clung to them were bright red and yellow.

Inside the Arena, the air was still. The barrier protected it from the wind, but not the cold. Sonea resisted the desire to wrap her arms around herself and press the layers of woollen underclothes closer to her body. Lord Vorel had ordered them to drop any existing shields, including any shield for warmth.

“Remember these laws of magic,” he called. “One: a shield under attack takes more effort to hold against a strike, than the strike used against it. Two: a curved or altered strike path takes more effort than a straight one. Three: light and heat travel faster and easier than force, so a forcestrike takes more effort than a firestrike.”

Lord Vorel stood in front of the class with his legs braced and his arms akimbo. He looked at Sonea.

“Strikes are easy. That’s why it’s so common for magicians to overdo them. That’s also why shields are the most important skill of a Warrior, and why novices spend most of their time practicing them. Remember the rules of the Arena. Once your outer shield has fallen you have lost the battle. We don’t need any more proof than that.”

Sonea shivered, and knew it was not entirely from the cold. This would be the first lesson in which the novices would fight each other. All the warnings Vorel had issued ran through her mind. She looked at the faces of the other novices.

Most looked flushed and excited, but Poril was as white as snow. Since she and Poril always paired off for class exercises, Lord Vorel would probably put them against each other. She resolved to be careful and to take it easy on her former friend.

“You will be paired off initially according to strength,” Vorel told them. “Regin, you will be fighting Sonea. Benon, you will be fighting Yalend. Narron will fight Trassia. Hal, Seno and Poril will take turns.”

Sonea felt her blood turn to ice. He paired me with Regin!

But it made sense. They were the two strongest novices in the class. Suddenly she wished she had seen this coming and had pretended to be weaker than she really was.

No, I must not think this way. Vorel had told them many times that a battle was already lost if a magician began it convinced of defeat. I will defeat Regin, she told herself. I am stronger. It will be my revenge for Poril’s injuries.

It wasn’t easy to hold onto that determination as Lord Vorel called her forward to stand next to Regin. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she felt his magic surround her as he created an inner shield. A second Warrior, Lord Makin, shielded Regin.

“The rest of you move outside,” he ordered. As the novices obediently filed through the passage, Sonea forced herself to meet Regin’s gaze. His eyes were bright and the edge of his lips curled up into a sly smile.

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