The High Lord

The woman's shield was a globe, which was the easiest shape to hold. A globe-shaped shield protected a magician's feet by dipping under the ground a little, but for a shield to be strong enough to hold back a subterranean attack, it couldn't move through the ground. All novices learned to weaken the part of their shield that overlapped an obstacle or the ground as they moved, then strengthen it as soon as they were still again.

If this woman had the same habit, she might allow her shield to slide over Sonea - thinking Sonea was merely an obstacle - when she moved back again.

But she will notice. She will sense my presence.

Sonea caught her breath. But I'll be inside her shield! For a moment, before she realizes what has happened, she'll be defenseless. I just need something to...

Sonea's eyes slid to the ground. A sliver of wood from the alcove lay half buried nearby. As she contemplated what she intended to do, her heart raced even faster. She drew in a deep, quiet breath and waited for the woman to step backward again. She did not have to wait long.

As the shield passed over her, Sonea grabbed the piece of wood, stood up and slashed it across the back of the woman's neck. The woman began to turn, but Sonea had anticipated that. She pressed her other hand against the wound and focused all her will into drawing energy into herself as fast as she could.

The woman's eyes widened in horrified realization. Her shield disappeared and her knees buckled. Sonea nearly lost her grip, and quickly wound her free arm around the woman's waist. The Sachakan was too heavy, however, and Sonea let the woman sink to the ground.

Power rushed into Sonea, then abruptly stopped. She drew her hand away and the woman fell onto her back. The Sachakan's eyes stared blankly at nothing.

Dead. A wave of relief washed over Sonea. It worked, she thought. It actually worked.

Then she looked at her hand. In the moonlight spilling through the ruined roof the blood covering her palm looked black. A cold horror rushed over her. She staggered to her feet.

I have just killed someone with black magic.

Suddenly dizzy, she stumbled backward. She knew she was breathing too fast, but couldn't seem to stop herself. Hands gripped her shoulders and stopped her falling.

'Sonea,' a voice said, 'take a deep breath. Hold it. Let it out.'

Akkarin. She tried to do as he said. It took a few attempts. From somewhere he produced a cloth and wiped her hand.

'It's not pleasant, is it?'

She shook her head.

'It shouldn't be.'

She shook her head again. Her mind spun with contradictory thoughts.

She would have killed me. If I hadn't. She would have killed others. So why does it feel so horrible to know I've done this?

Perhaps because it makes me just that little bit more like them.

What if there are no spies to kill, and Takan isn't enough, and I have to look for other ways to strengthen myself to fight the Ichani? Will I start haunting the streets, killing the odd thug or mugger? Will I use the defense of Kyralia to justify preying on the innocent?

Sonea shook her head at the bewildering mixture of emotions she felt. She had never felt such doubt before.

'Look at me, Sonea.'

He turned her around. She reluctantly met his gaze. He reached out and she felt him gently tug something from her hair. A piece of the sacking fell from his hand to the ground.

'It is not an easy choice, the one you've made,' he said, 'but you will learn to trust yourself.' He looked up. Following his gaze, she saw that the full moon hung in the middle of the gap in the roof.

The Eye, Sonea thought. It's open. Either it allowed me to do this because it was not evil, or I'm going to sink into madness.

But I don't believe in silly superstitions, she reminded herself.

'We must get away from here quickly,' he said. 'The Thieves will take care of the body.'

Sonea nodded. As Akkarin moved away she reached up to smooth her hair. Her scalp tingled where he had touched her. Keeping her eyes averted from the body of the dead woman, she followed him out of the room.

14 The Witness

Something was pressing gently against Cery's back. Something warm. A hand.

Savara's hand, he realized.

Her touch brought him back to the present. He realized he had been in a daze. At the moment Sonea had killed the Sachakan woman, the world had tilted and spun around him. Since then he had been aware of nothing but the thought of what she had done.

Well, almost nothing. Savara had said something. He frowned. Something about Akkarin having an apprentice. He turned to look at the woman at his side.

She smiled crookedly. 'Aren't you going to thank me?'

He looked down. They were sitting on a section of the roof that was still intact. The top of the Hole had seemed a good place to watch the battle from. The roof was made of scraps of wood and the occasional patch of cracked tiles, leaving plenty of gaps. As long as they kept their weight on the beams, they were fairly safe.

Unfortunately, neither Cery nor Savara had considered the possibility that the combatants might knock their perch out from under them.

As the roof had collapsed, however, something had prevented Cery from falling. Before he could grasp how it was possible that he and Savara could be floating in the air, they had moved to the remaining area of roof, out of sight of the fighters below.

Everything about Savara now suddenly made sense: how she knew when a new murderer arrived, how she knew so much about the people the High Lord was fighting, and why she was so confident she could kill these murderers herself.

'So, when were you going to tell me?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'When you trusted me enough. I might have ended up like her if I had told you at the start.' She looked down at the corpse Gol and his assistants were dragging away.

'You still might,' he said. 'It is getting hard to tell the difference between you Sachakans.'

Her eyes flashed with anger, but her voice was calm as she replied.

'Not all magicians in my country are like the Ichani, Thief. Our society has many groups... factions...' She shook her head in frustration. 'You do not have a word that quite suits. The Ichani are outcasts, sent into the wasteland as punishment. They are the worst of my country. Do not judge us all by them.

'My own people have always feared the Ichani would band together one day, but we have no influence over the King, and cannot persuade him to stop this tradition of banishment to the wastes as punishment. We have watched them for many hundreds of years, and killed those most likely to control others. We have tried to prevent what is happening here, but we must be careful not to show our hand, as many in Sachaka need only a small excuse to attack us.'

'What is happening here?'

She hesitated. 'I'm not sure how much I may tell you.' To Cery's amusement, she began chewing her lip like a child questioned by its parent. At his chuckle, she looked at him and frowned. 'What?'

'You don't seem the sort to ask for anyone's say so.'

She returned his gaze steadily, then looked down. Following her gaze, Cery saw that Gol and the body were gone.