The Novice

If only it was a break. Lorlen rubbed his eyes and wandered into his bedroom. Perhaps he was tired enough to sleep now. He hadn’t been able to for two nights, not since...

As he lay down the memories returned. He groaned and tried to push them away, but he was too tired to fight them, and he knew they would return again as soon as he relaxed anyway.

How did it start? I said something about the Vindo Ambassador expecting to stay in the residence...

“He was surprised to hear that the High Lord does not entertain guests anymore, since his father stayed here with your predecessor,” Lorlen remembered explaining.

Akkarin had smiled at that. He had been standing by the little table he served drinks at, gazing out the window at the night-shrouded grounds.

“The best change I ever made.”

“You do value your privacy,” Lorlen had said absently.

Akkarin then placed a finger on a wine bottle, as if considering whether he would have another glass. His face had been turned away, something Lorlen had been thankful for when Akkarin spoke next.

“I doubt that the ambassador would be comfortable with my... habits.”

There! Another one of those strange comments. Like he was testing me. I thought I was safe, since his back was turned and he couldn’t see my reaction...

“Habits?” Lorlen had affected disbelief. “I doubt he’d care if you had a few late nights, or drank too much. You’re just afraid he’ll drink all your favorite wine.”

“That, too.” Akkarin had then opened the bottle. “But we couldn’t have anyone discovering all my little secrets, could we?”

An image of Akkarin covered in bloodied beggar’s rags had flickered through Lorlen’s mind at that point in the conversation. He had shuddered and pushed it aside, thankful again that Akkarin’s back was turned.

Was this what Akkarin had sensed? Was he listening to my thoughts at that moment?

“No,” Lorlen had replied and, wanting to change the subject, asked about the news of the court.

At that point, Akkarin lifted an object from the table. Catching a glitter of gems, Lorlen looked closer. It was a knife. The knife Sonea had seen Akkarin using for the black magic ritual. Surprised and horrified, Lorlen drew in a breath and choked on the wine.

“You’re supposed to drink wine, my friend,” Akkarin said, smiling. “Not breathe it.”

Lorlen looked away, hiding behind his hands as he coughed. He tried to regain his composure, yet seeing Akkarin holding the knife had been like reliving Sonea’s memory. He wondered why Akkarin had brought it into the guestroom.

Then his blood turned to ice, as the thought came that Akkarin might be intending to use it.

“What news do I have?” Akkarin mused. “Let me think.”

Lorlen forced himself to regard his friend calmly. As Akkarin turned back to the bottle, Lorlen caught a corresponding movement on the table. A polished silver tray leaning against another bottle had reflected Akkarin’s eyes. Eyes that were watching him.

So he had been watching me all along. Perhaps he hadn’t tried to read my surface thoughts at that point of the conversation. Only my reaction to his comments, and the knife, would have convinced him that I knew something...

“I’ve heard reports of Dannyl from friends in Elyne and Lonmar,” Akkarin had said next, abruptly moving away from the table. “They speak well of him.”

“That is good to hear.”

Akkarin had then paused in the center of the room. “I’ve been following his progress with interest. He is an efficient researcher.”

So he knew Dannyl was researching something. Did he know what Dannyl was researching? Lorlen had forced himself to smile. “I wonder what has caught his attention.”

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “Hasn’t he been keeping you informed?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You did, after all, ask him to investigate my past.”

Lorlen considered his next words carefully. Akkarin might know that Dannyl was retracing his travels, but how could he know why when Dannyl didn’t? “Is that what your friends say?”

“Spies would be a more accurate term.”

Akkarin’s hand had moved, and with a flash of fear Lorlen saw that it still held the knife. Realizing that Akkarin could not have missed his reaction, Lorlen stared at it openly.

“What is that?”

“Something I picked up during my travels,” Akkarin replied, holding it up. “Something you recognize, I think.”

Lorlen then felt a flash of triumph. Akkarin had all but admitted he had learned black magic during his travels. Dannyl’s research might prove useful yet...

“It is strangely familiar,” Lorlen said. “Perhaps I have seen something like it before in a book, or a collection of antiques - and it is such a vicious-looking thing it would be sure to stick in my memory.”

“Do you know what it is used for?”

A memory of Akkarin cutting his servant’s arm flashed into Lorlen’s mind. “It’s a knife, so something unpleasant, most likely.”

Akkarin, to Lorlen’s relief, set the knife down on a side table, but the relief had been short lived.

“You have been strangely cautious of me these last few months,” Akkarin said. “You avoid mental communication, as if you are afraid I will detect something behind your thoughts. When my contacts told me of Dannyl’s research, I was intrigued. Why did you ask him to investigate my past? Don’t deny it, Lorlen. I have proof.”

Lorlen was dismayed that Akkarin had discovered Dannyl’s orders. But he had prepared for this question. He pretended to be embarrassed.

“I was curious, and after our conversation about your diary I thought I might restore some of what you lost. You’re not free to gather the information again, so... It wouldn’t be as satisfying as going yourself, of course, but I hoped it would be a pleasant surprise.”

“I see.” Akkarin’s voice had hardened. “I wish I could believe you, but I don’t. You see, tonight I have done something to you that I have never done before, and never wanted to. While we spoke I read your surface thoughts. They have revealed much, much more. I know you are lying. I know you have seen things you should never have seen, and I must know how this came about.

“Tell me, how long have you known I practice black magic?”

Just a few words, and everything changed. Was there any remorse or guilt in his voice? No. Just anger...

Appalled, and not a little frightened, Lorlen had grasped at a last, desperate evasion. He had stared at his friend in horror.

“You practice what?”

Akkarin’s expression darkened. “Don’t be a fool, Lorlen,” he had snapped. “I have seen it in your thoughts. You know you cannot lie to me.”

Realizing that he could not deny it, Lorlen glanced at the knife on the table. He wondered what would happen now. If he was about to die. How Akkarin would explain it. If Rothen and Sonea would suspect the truth and reveal Akkarin’s crime...

Too late, he realized that Akkarin might have heard his thoughts. He looked up, but Akkarin’s expression had showed no alarm or suspicion, only expectation, and that gave him a little hope.

“How long?” Akkarin had pressed.

“Over a year,” he confessed.

“How?”

“I came here one night. The door was open and I saw a light through the stairs, so I started to come down.