The High Lord

long entry describing an experiment, the conclusion of which read:

At last I have succeeded! It has taken so long. I feel both triumph and the fear I should have felt before. I'm not sure why this is. While I was failing to discover the ways to use this power I was still somehow uncorrupted. Now, I cannot truly deny that I have ever used black magic. I have broken my vow. I hadn't realized how ill that would feel.

Yet it did not deter him. Sonea found herself struggling to understand why this young man continued to do something that he clearly saw was wrong. He seemed unable to stop, driven forward to whatever end this discovery was leading him to, even if it be the discovery of his crime.

But it led to something else...

All who know me know my love of stone. It is the beautiful flesh of the earth. It has cracks and creases like skin, it has veins and pores. It can be hard, soft, brittle or flexible. When the earth spills forth its molten core, it is as red as blood.

After learning of the black magics, I expected to be able to place my hands on stone and feel a tremendous store of life energy within, but I was disappointed. I felt nothing; less than the tingling of water. I wanted it to be full of life. That's when it happened. Like a healer trying to will a dying man back to health, I started to infuse energy into the stone. I willed it to live. Then a remarkable thing began to happen.

Sonea gripped the little book tightly, unable to take her eyes from the lines of text. This was the discovery that made Coren famous, and influenced Guild architecture for centuries to come. It was said to be the greatest development in magical knowledge for centuries. Though what he had done was not actually black magic, the forbidden arts had led to the discovery.

Sonea closed her eyes and shook her head. Lord Larkin, the architecture teacher, would give all his wealth for this diary, but he would be devastated if he learned the truth about his idol. She sighed, looked down at the pages and continued to read.

3 Old Friends, New Allies

Cery signed the letter with a flourish, then regarded his work with satisfaction. His writing was neat and elegant. The paper was quality, and the ink dark and black. Despite the slang terms throughout - he had requested that Serin teach him to read and write, not make him sound like a member of one of the Houses - and the fact that it was a request for the execution of a man who had cheated him and fled to the Southside, it was a fine, well- written letter.

He smiled as he remembered asking Faren, the Thief who had hidden Sonea from the Guild, if he could 'borrow' Faren's scribe for a while. From Faren's mixed expression of reluctance and gratitude, Cery knew that the Thief would have refused if he hadn't desperately needed the boost to his position that the arrangement would bring.

Faren's hold on his status as Thief had been precarious for the first year after he had turned Sonea over to the Guild. A Thief's ability to do business relied on a network of people willing to work for him. While some worked for money, most preferred to 'help out' and be paid back in kind later. Favors were the second currency of the underworld.

Faren had used a lot of the favors owed to him while keeping Sonea out of the Guild's hands, but that should not have held him back for long. People knew he had made a deal with Sonea to hide her from the Guild in exchange for her using her magic for him - a deal he had broken. The other Thieves, worried by the Guild's warnings that her powers would grow dangerous if she wasn't trained to control them, had 'asked' him to turn her in. While he could hardly have refused the request of the other underworld leaders, a deal had been broken. Thieves needed people to believe they had at least some integrity, or only the desperate or the foolish would do business with them. Only the fact that Sonea had never used magic in any useful way, failing to uphold her side of the deal, had saved Faren from complete ruin.

Serin had remained loyal, however. He had given Cery little information about Faren's affairs during the reading and writing lessons - nothing Cery didn't already know, anyway. Cery had learned fast, though he attributed that partly to having watched some of Sonea's lessons with the scribe.

And by showing that he - Sonea's friend - was willing to deal with Faren - Sonea's 'betrayer' - Cery had assured people that the Thief was still trustworthy.

Taking a slim tube of dried reed out of his desk drawer, Cery rolled the letter and slipped it inside. He stoppered the tube and sealed it with wax. Picking up a yerim - a slim metal tool with a needle-like point - he scratched a name on the side.

Putting the tube aside, Cery balanced the yerim in his hand, then, with a flick of his wrist, threw it across the room. It landed point first in the wooden panelling of the opposite wall. He gave a small sigh of satisfaction. He'd had his own yerim made to be well balanced for throwing. Looking down at the three remaining in the drawer, he reached out to take another, then stopped at a knock on the door.

Rising, Cery crossed the room to retrieve the yerim from the panelling before returning to his desk.

'Come in,' he called.

The door opened and Gol stepped inside. The man's expression was respectful. Cery looked closer. In Gol's eyes was a hint of... expectation, perhaps?

'A woman to see you, Ceryni.'

Cery smiled at Gol's use of his full name. This was an unusual woman, if Gol's manner was any indication. What would she be: spirited, beautiful, or important?

'Name?'

'Savara.'

No one Cery knew of, unless the name was false. It was not a typical Kyralian name, however. It sounded more like a Lonmar name.

'Occupation?'

'She wouldn't say.'

Then perhaps her name is Savara, Cery mused. If she had lied about her name, why not make up an occupation as well?

'Why's she come?'

'Says she can help you with a problem, but wouldn't say what the problem was.'

Cery was thoughtful. So she thinks I have a problem. Interesting.

'Show her in, then.'

Gol nodded, then backed out of the room. Cery closed his desk drawer, then leaned back in his chair to wait. After a few minutes, the door opened again.

He and the newcomer regarded each other in surprise.

She had the strangest face he had ever seen. A broad forehead and high cheekbones angled down to a fine chin. Thick, black hair hung heavy and straight past her shoulders, but her most startling feature was her eyes. They were large and tilted upward at the outer corners, and the same light gold-brown as her skin. Strange, exotic eyes... and they were examining him with barely concealed amusement.

He was used to this reaction. Most customers hesitated when they first saw him, as they noted his stature, and his name, which was also the name of a little rodent common in the slums. Then they reminded themselves of his position and the likely consequences if they laughed out loud.

'Ceryni,' the woman said. 'You are Ceryni?' Her voice was rich and deep, and she had spoken with an accent he could not place. Definitely not Lonmar.

'Yes. And you're Savara.' He did not phrase it as a question. If she had lied about her name, he doubted she would offer the real one now just because he asked for it.

'I am.'

She took a step closer to the desk, her eyes shifting away to note features of the room, then back to him again.