The High Lord

open slowly. They passed through and crossed a wooden section of floor that echoed hollowly under the horses' hooves, then filed past another stone wall.

Sonea felt cool air on her face. She looked up and saw a pair of open metal doors leading to another walled ravine. Night had already descended on the other side of the Fort. Steep walls were illuminated by two rows of lamps. Beyond them, the road continued into darkness.

As the escort moved into the open, Sonea found that her heart was beating fast. If they had passed through the Fort, then her horse was now walking on Sachakan soil. She looked down.

Rock is a better description, she amended.

She turned in her saddle and looked back up at the Fort. Lights beyond some of the windows made silhouettes of the watching occupants.

The sound of hoofbeats faded. Her horse stopped.

'Dismount.'

As Akkarin swung out of the saddle, Sonea realized that Balkan's order had been solely for her and Akkarin. She slid to the ground, wincing at the stiffness in her legs. Lord Osen leaned down to take the reins and led the horses away.

With the horses and Osen gone, only she and Akkarin remained standing within the ring of Warriors. A globe of light flared above Balkan's head, flooding the area with brightness.

'Remember the faces of these two magicians,' Balkan called. 'They are Akkarin, former High Lord of the Magicians' Guild, and Sonea, former novice of the High Lord. They have been cast out of the Guild and exiled from the Allied Lands for the crime of practicing black magic.'

A chill entered Sonea's blood. At least this was the last time she would hear those ritual words. She glanced at the darkened road beyond the lamplight.

'Wait!'

Her heart skipped. Osen stepped forward.

'Yes, Lord Osen?'

'I would speak to Sonea once more before she leaves.'

Balkan nodded slowly. 'Very well.'

Sonea sighed as Osen climbed down from his horse. He approached her slowly, his expression tense.

'Sonea, this is your last chance.' He spoke quietly, perhaps so the escort would not hear. 'Come back with me.'

She shook her head. 'No.'

He turned to regard Akkarin. 'Would you have her turn down this opportunity?'

Akkarin's eyebrows rose. 'No, but she seems determined to discard it. I doubt I could change her mind.'

Osen frowned and turned to regard Sonea again. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and merely shook his head. He looked at Akkarin again.

'You had better look after her,' he muttered.

Akkarin stared impassively at the magician. Osen scowled and turned on his heel. He strode back to his horse and stepped up into the saddle.

At a signal from Balkan, the escorts blocking the road into Sachaka fell back.

'Be gone from the Allied Lands,' Balkan said. His voice was neither angry nor regretful.

'Come, Sonea,' Akkarin said quietly 'We have a way to go yet.'

She looked at him. His expression was distant and hard to read. As he turned away and started walking, she followed a few steps behind.

A voice murmured behind them. She listened carefully. It was Lord Osen.

'... lands again. I cast you out, Sonea. Do not enter my lands again.'

She shivered, then set her gaze upon the darkening road before her.

As the last of the sun's rays left the garden, Lorlen turned from the window of his office and began to pace. The route took him around the room, from chair to chair, then back to his desk. He stopped, looked down at the mass of paper, and sighed.

Why, of all places, did they have to send Akkarin to Sachaka?

He knew why. He knew, with a cold certainty, that the King hoped Akkarin would perish in Sachaka. Akkarin had broken one of the most serious Guild laws. No matter how much the King had liked the High Lord, he knew there was nothing more dangerous than a magician who would not obey laws, and was too powerful to control. If the Guild could not execute Akkarin, then they must send him to the only magicians who could: the Ichani.

Of course, the Ichani might not exist. If they didn't, the Guild was about to free a magician who had learned black magic willingly. He might come back, stronger than ever. That couldn't be helped, however.

If the Ichani did exist, it seemed foolish to send to his death the only magician who could tell them about their enemy. Akkarin wasn't the only one, though. There was Sonea.

That was where the King had misjudged the situation badly. He had assumed the ex-slum girl, who'd been guided and manipulated by more than one magician, would be easily swayed. Lorlen smiled wryly as he remembered her angry refusal.

'If you send High Lord Akkarin into exile, you must send me too. Then, when you come to your senses, he might still be alive and able to help you.'

The King had been angry at her defiance. What do you expect? Lorlen had wanted to say. Loyalty? From one who once lived among those you drive out of the city during the Purge each year? Eventually the King had concluded that, if she would not accept the judgment of the Guild and her ruler, then perhaps exile was for the best.

Lorlen sighed and began pacing again. In truth, the Guild didn't need Sonea to tell them about the Ichani so long as he had Akkarin's ring... and Akkarin remained alive. But if Lorlen began relaying information from Akkarin to the rest of the Guild, he would eventually have to admit how he was receiving it. The ring was a tool of black magic. How would the Guild react to the news that their Administrator owned and continued to use such a thing?

I should throw it away, he thought. But he knew he wouldn't. He took out the ring and considered it, then slipped it on a finger.

- Akkarin? Are you there?

Nothing.

Lorlen had tried to contact Akkarin through the ring several times. Occasionally he thought he had detected a faint feeling of anger or fear, but had decided this was only his imagination. The silence tortured him. If it wasn't for Osen's mental reports on the journey, Lorlen might have worried that Akkarin was dead.

Lorlen finished his circuit of the room, then stepped behind his desk and collapsed into his chair. He removed the ring and put it back in his pocket. A moment later, there was a sharp knock on the door.

'Come in.'

'A message from the King, my lord.'

A servant entered, bowed, and placed a wooden cylinder on Lorlen's desk. The King's incal was imprinted on the stopper and the wax was dusted with gold powder.

'Thank you. You may go.'

The servant bowed again, then retreated from the room. Lorlen broke the seal and pulled out a rolled sheet of paper.

So the King wants to talk about Sachaka, Lorlen mused as he read the formal script. He let the letter curl back into a roll, returned it to the cylinder and stowed it inside a box he kept for royal messages.

A meeting with the King was unexpectedly appealing. What he had longed for most was just to be able to do something. For too long he had been restrained and helpless to act. He stood up, then froze as he heard his name echo at the edge of his senses.

- Lorlen!

Osen. Lorlen sensed the minds of other magicians, attracted by the call, fade as they turned their attention away.

- Yes, Osen?

- It is done. Sonea and Akkarin are in Sachaka.