Lord Eland called us together and read a letter sent from Indria, Tagin’s sister. She told of her intention to poison him. We can only assume that she succeeded.
The record-keeper recounted a slow restoration. The magicians who had left returned. The stores and libraries were set in order again. Sonea mused over the long entries covering the common people’s losses and recovery. It appeared the Guild had once been concerned for the wellbeing of ordinary people.
Truly the old Guild was destroyed with Tagin. I have heard some say that a new Guild was born today. The first of the changes occurred this morning when five young men joined us. They are our first “novices,” apprenticed to all and not one. They will not be taught the higher magics until they have proven themselves trustworthy. If Lord Karron has his way they will never learn them at all.
Support for the ban of what Lord Karron had begun to call “black” magic increased. Sonea turned a page and found one last entry, followed by blank pages.
I have not the gift of foresight, nor do I pretend to know enough of men and magic to guess the future, but after we made our decision I was gripped by a fear that the Sachakans might rise against us again in the future, and the Guild would be found unprepared. I proposed a secret store of knowledge, to be opened only if the Guild faced certain destruction. The others of my company agreed, for many of my fellows held the same secret fear.
It was decided that the existence of a secret weapon would be known of by the Head of Warriors only. He would not know its nature, but would pass the location down to his successor. I now finish this record here. Tomorrow I will begin a new one. I sincerely hope that nobody will ever open this book and read these words.
Below this last entry was a note:
Seventy years later Lord Koril, Head of Warriors, died in a practice bout at the age of twenty-eight. It is likely that he did not have an opportunity to pass on the knowledge of the secret “weapon.”
Sonea stared at Akkarin’s postscript. Lord Coren had discovered a chest full of books. Was this the secret store of knowledge?
She sighed and closed the book. The more she learned, the more questions arose. She got to her feet and swayed, realizing belatedly that she had been reading for hours. Yawning, she covered Akkarin’s books with her notes, then changed into her bedclothes, slipped into bed and fell into a sleep filled with nightmarish scenes of power-crazed magicians stalking livestock and villagers.
5
Speculation
Though he received news of a murder bearing all the indicators he’d been taught to look for, Cery had waited until a week passed since his meeting with Savara before he let her know she had been right. He wanted to see how long she would endure her self-imposed imprisonment in her hired room. When he heard that she had suggested some fighting practice with one of her “guards,” he knew her patience was running out. And curiosity got the better of him when the man admitted to losing every bout.
He paced his room as he waited for her to arrive. His investigations had revealed little. The owner of the room could only say Savara had started renting it a few days before her visit to Cery. Only two of the city’s weapons sellers recognized her knife as Sachakan. The city’s gutters all claimed, after bribes and other means of ensuring they told the truth, that they had never fenced a weapon like it before. He doubted he would find anyone in the city who could tell him more.
At a knock on the door he stopped pacing. He returned to his chair and cleared his throat.
“Come in.”
She smiled warmly as she entered the room. Oh, she knows she’s beautiful, and how to use it to get what she wants, he thought. He kept his expression neutral.
“Ceryni,” she said.
“Savara. I hear my tag gave you some sport.”
A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Yes, he was energetic, but needed the practice more than I.” She paused. “The others might have proved more challenging.”
Cery resisted a smile. She had noticed more than one other watcher. Very observant.
“Too late to find out,” he said, shrugging. “I have given them something else to do.”
The crease between her brows deepened. “What of the slave? Did he not kill?”
“ ‘Slave’?” Cery repeated.
“The man who replaced the last murderer.”
Interesting. Slaves owned by whom?
“He killed, like you said,” Cery confirmed.
Her eyes flashed with triumph at the news. “Then will you accept my help?”
“Can you lead us to him?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.
“What do you want in return?”
She moved closer to his desk. “That you say nothing of me to your master.”
A chill ran over his skin. “My master?”
“The one who has ordered you to kill these men,” she said softly.
She should not know about him. She shouldn’t even know that Cery was acting on the orders of another.
This changed everything. Cery crossed his arms and considered her carefully. Investigating her usefulness without consulting the one who arranged the hunt had seemed like a small risk. Now it appeared to have been greater than he had thought.
She knew too much. He ought to send his best knife to despatch her. Or kill her himself. Now.
Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t. And it’s not just because I find her interesting, he told himself. I need to know how she learned so much about the arrangement. I’ll wait, have her watched, and see where this leads.
“Have you told him about me?” she asked.
“Why don’t you want him to know about you?”
Her expression darkened. “Two reasons. These slaves know only one enemy hunts them. It will be easier for me to help you if they do not know I am here. And there are people in my country who would suffer if the slaves’ masters learned I was here.”
“And you think that these slaves would find out about you if my ‘master,’ as you call him, knew?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’d rather not take the risk.”
“You are only asking this now. I might have told my customer about you already.”
“Did you?”
He shook his head. She smiled, clearly relieved. “I didn’t think you would. Not until you knew I could do what I said I could. So, do we have a deal, as you Thieves say?”
Cery opened the drawer of his desk and drew out her knife. He heard her indrawn breath. The jewels in the handle glittered in the lamplight. He slid it across the table.
“Tonight you’ll tag this man for us. That’s all. No killing. I want to be sure he is who you say he is before he’s done in. In return, I keep my mug shut about you. For now.”
She smiled, her eyes bright with eagerness. “I will go back to my room until then.”
Watching her saunter to the door, Cery felt his heartbeat quicken. How many men have lost their wits over that walk—or that smile? he wondered. Ah, but I’d wager some of them lost more than their wits.
Not me, he thought. I’ll be watching her very closely.
Sonea closed the book she had been trying to read and looked around the library. It was too difficult to concentrate. Her mind kept returning to Akkarin and the records.
It had been a week since he’d given them to her, and he hadn’t yet returned to collect them. The thought of what was lying on her desk in her room, hidden under a pile of notes, was like an itch no amount of scratching could ease. She wouldn’t be able to relax until he took them back.
But she dreaded facing Akkarin again. She dreaded the conversation that would follow. Would he bring more books? What would they contain? So far, he had only shown her pieces of forgotten history. There had been no instructions on how to use black magic, yet the secret trunk that the record-keeper had buried—probably the same trunk that the architect Lord Coren had discovered and reburied—must contain enough information about the “secret weapon” of black magic for a magician to learn it. What would she do if Akkarin gave her one of those books to read?