The High Lord

'Thank you,' he said. 'You saved my life.'

Cery shrugged. 'No rub.'

'Who are you - and why are you here? I thought everyone had been evacuated.'

'Ceryni is my name,' Cery told him. 'Ceryni of the Thieves.'

The youth blinked in surprise. Then he grinned.

'I am honored to meet you, Thief. I am Regin of Winar.'

The rhythm of the horse's gait drove everything. Its breath gusted out in time with the pounding of its hooves. The pain in Rothen's shoulder flared at every jolt. He could soothe it away with a little Healing power, but he did not want to use any more of his strength than he must. The Guild needed every scrap of magic to fight the Ichani. He hadn't even drawn power to chase away the weariness he felt from riding all night.

Ahead, the city shone like a glittering treasure spread over a table. Each building shone like gold in the morning light. He might reach it in an hour, maybe less.

A burned-out house smoked in a charred field. Small groups of people, mostly families, hurried along the road carrying bags, boxes and baskets. They watched him pass with both hope and fear in their faces. The closer he came to the city, the more numerous they were, until they became an unbroken line of humanity fleeing Imardin.

None of this boded well for the fate of the Guild. Rothen cursed under his breath. The only mental calls he had heard had been Balkan's orders. He dared not call out to Dorrien or Dannyl.

An image flashed before his eyes. A glimpse of a city street, then a Sachakan face. Kariko. He blinked several times but the image did not fade.

I've been wishing to know what's happening so much, I'm starting to hallucinate, Rothen thought. Or is it from lack of sleep?

He gave in and sent a little Healing power into his body, but the vision remained. A feeling of terror swept over Rothen, but not his own. He caught a glimpse of green robes and a sense of identity. Lord Sarle.

Was the Healer sending this? It didn't feel deliberate.

Kariko was holding a knife. He smiled and leaned closer.

'Watch this, slave killer.'

Rothen felt a flash of pain, then a distant but terrible feeling of paralysis and fear. Slowly the sense of Lord Sarle's mind faded to nothing, and Rothen felt himself abruptly released.

He gasped and stared at his surroundings. The horse was stationary. Men and women beside the road hurried past, eyeing him nervously.

The blood gem! Rothen thought. Kariko must have put it on Lord Sarle. He shuddered as he realized he'd felt Sarle's death. He's going to show me the death of every magician he kills.

And next time it might be Dorrien or Dannyl.

Slapping his heels against the horse's flanks, Rothen sent it galloping toward the city.

34 The Hunt Begins

The city streets were still hazy with dust from the destruction of the wall. All was desolate and empty, but now and then Lorlen caught a glimpse of movement at the corner of a building or within a window. He and Osen had broken into one of the houses facing the Palace only a few minutes before. Now they were waiting for the Ichani to arrive, and Balkan's order to attack.

He didn't know how many magicians had survived or how much power they had left, but he would find out soon enough.

'Here. Sit down,' Osen murmured.

Lorlen glanced away from the window to find his assistant holding an antique chair. As Osen set the chair down, Lorlen managed a wry smile.

'Thank you. I doubt I'll be using it for long.'

The young magician's gaze shifted back to the street outside.

'No. They're here.'

Looking through the window again, Lorlen saw six figures emerge from the dust. The Sachakans walked slowly past, toward the Palace. Kariko gazed up at the wall.

No, we 're not going to give you another chance to blast the stone out from under our feet, Lorlen thought as he moved to the door.

- Attack!

At Balkan's order, Lorlen flung open the door and stepped outside, Osen following. Other magicians were emerging to form a half-circle around the Sachakans. Lorlen added his strength to their shield, then struck at the Ichani.

The Sachakans spun around to face them. An image of one of the Ichani flashed into Lorlen's mind. At once, the Guild attacked the man. The force of their strikes sent the Ichani staggering backward toward the Palace wall, until the Sachakan's answering strikes forced the Guild to concentrate on shielding again.

The blasts that hit the Guild's shield were terrible. Lorlen felt a rush of fear and anxiety as the half-circle of magicians flinched away. The Guild would weaken quickly if it endured this battering for long.

- Retreat.

At Balkan's command, the Guild magicians backed away to the houses and alleys they had emerged from. The Ichani began to advance.

'We have to get at least one of them,' Osen gasped.

'You shield, I'll strike,' Lorlen replied. 'Let's just get closer to the house.'

They edged toward the door. As they reached it, Lorlen stopped.

'Now!'

Abandoning his shield, Lorlen threw all his remaining power into a strike at the weakened Ichani. The Sachakan staggered, and other strikes came as Guild magicians saw the man's weakness. The man gave a shout - a wordless cry of anger and fear - as his shield failed. The next strike threw him back against the Palace wall, which buckled around him. He sagged and crumpled to the ground.

Cheers came from all around, but they ended abruptly as the Ichani retaliated with powerful blasts. Osen made a strangled noise.

'Get... back... inside...' Osen said between gritted teeth.

Lorlen followed Osen's gaze and felt his stomach turn with dread as he saw that the Ichani leader, Kariko, was walking toward them, sending strike after strike at Osen's shield. Taking Osen's arm, Lorlen guided him back into the house. Wood and brickworks shattered as Kariko's strikes passed through the doorway. Then Osen's shield wavered.

'No,' Osen gasped. 'Not yet.'

Grabbing Osen's shoulders, Lorlen pushed him aside. There was a boom, and the front wall of the house collapsed inward. Cracks ran across the ceiling. Lorlen felt something slam across his shoulders and he staggered to his knees.

Then he was being battered to the floor. The ceiling had fallen in, he guessed. A weight pushed down on him from above. It crushed the air from his lungs. Then, as stillness finally came, he grew aware of pain. He sent his mind inward, and went cold as he saw the broken bones and ruptured organs, and realized what it would mean.

There was only one thing to do.

Dust and dirt cascaded down around him as he edged his hand toward the ring in his pocket.

The passages under the Inner Circle were quiet. Here and there volunteers waited by exits. Akkarin and Sonea's guide stopped as a messenger appeared and hurried toward them.

'Sachakan magician... stayed with... the slaves,' the man panted. 'They're in... slums. Northside.'