“You learned to make them from the books?”
“No. A great part of the magic I learned by studying an ancient example I had come across during the first year of my research. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but later I borrowed it for a while to study. Though its maker was long dead, and it no longer worked, enough magic was still imprinted in the glass for me to gain a sense of how it functioned.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No, I returned it to its owner. Unfortunately, he died soon after, and I don’t know what happened to his collection of ancient jewelry.”
She nodded and looked down at the items on the table.
“Any living part of yourself can be used,” Akkarin told her. “Hair works, but not well because most of it is dead. There is a Sachakan folk tale in which tears were used, but I suspect that is just a romantic fancy. You could cut out a piece of your flesh, but that wouldn’t be pleasant or convenient. Blood is the easiest.” He tapped the bowl. “You’ll only need a few drops.”
Sonea looked at the bowl and then the blade. Akkarin watched her silently. She considered her left arm. Where should she cut? Turning over her hand she noticed an old, faint scar on her palm from when she had cut herself on a drainpipe as a child. She brought the tip of the knife over to touch her palm. To her surprise, she felt no pain as the blade sliced open her skin.
Then blood welled from the cut and a sharp ache began to nag at her senses. She let the blood drip into the bowl.
“Heal yourself,” Akkarin instructed. “Always heal yourself without delay. Even half-healed cuts are a break in your barrier.”
She concentrated on the wound. The blood stopped flowing, then the edges of the cut slowly sealed together. Akkarin handed her the cloth, and she wiped the blood off her hand.
Akkarin handed her a piece of glass. “Hold this in the air and melt it. It will keep its shape easier if you set it spinning.”
Sonea focused her will on the fragment of glass and lifted it up. She sent heat around it and willed it to spin. It began to glow around the edges, then slowly shrank into a globule.
“At last!” Akkarin hissed.
Startled, she lost her hold on the globule. It dropped to the table, where it made a small scorch mark.
“Oops.”
Akkarin hadn’t noticed, however. His eyes were focused far beyond the room. As she watched, his gaze sharpened. He smiled grimly, then picked up the knife.
“Takan has just received a message. The Thieves have found the spy.”
Sonea’s heart skipped.
“Your lesson will have to wait until we return.” Moving to a cupboard, Akkarin took out the leather belt with the knife sheath she had seen him wearing the night she had spied upon him, so long ago. He wiped the blade of his knife on the cloth, and slipped it into the sheath. Sonea blinked in surprise as he then untied the sash of his robes and removed the outer garment. Beneath it he wore a black vest.
He strapped the belt about his waist, then moved to another cupboard and took out a long, worn-looking coat for himself, a cloak for Sonea, and a lantern.
“Keep your robes well covered,” he said as she donned the cloak. It had many small buttons down the front, and two side openings for her hands.
He paused to regard her, and frowned.
“I would not take you with me if I could avoid it, but if I am to prepare you to face these spies, I must show you how it may be done. You must do exactly as I instruct.”
She nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”
Akkarin moved to the wall and the hidden door to the passages opened. Sonea followed him through. The lantern spluttered alight.
“We must not let this woman see you,” he told her as he started down the passage. “Tavaka’s master probably saw you through his gem before I destroyed it. If any of the Ichani see you with me again, they will guess I am training you. They will try to kill you while you are too weak and unskilled to defend yourself.”
He fell silent as they reached the first barrier, and did not speak again until they had navigated the maze of passages and reached the blocked tunnel. Akkarin gestured at the rubble.
“Have a good look with your mind, then shift the stairs into place.”
Extending her senses, Sonea examined the arrangement of rocks. At first it appeared to be a random jumble, then she began to see a pattern in them. It was like a large version of the wooden puzzles sold in the markets. Push on one particular spot, and the puzzle pieces slid against each other to form a new shape—or fell apart. She drew a little magic and began shifting the rocks. The passage filled with the sound of stone sliding against stone as the stairs moved into place.
“Well done,” Akkarin murmured. He strode forward, taking the stairs two at a time. Sonea followed him up. At the top, she turned and willed the rock slabs back into their former positions.
The light of the lantern illuminated the familiar brick walls of the Thieves’ Road. Akkarin started forward. After several hundred paces they reached the place where the guide had met them before. A smaller shadow stepped out to greet them.
The boy was about twelve, Sonea guessed. His eyes were hard and wary, however—the eye’s of a much older person. He stared at them both, then looked down at Akkarin’s boots and nodded. Without a word, he indicated that they should follow him and started down the passages.
Though their path wound about from time to time, it took them in one general direction. Their guide finally stopped beside a ladder and pointed up to a trapdoor. Akkarin shuttered the lamp and the passage filled with darkness. Sonea heard him set a boot on the rungs of the ladder and begin to climb. Faint light filled the passage as he lifted the trapdoor cautiously and peered out. He beckoned to her and, as she started up the ladder, opened the trapdoor fully and climbed out.
Following, Sonea found herself in an alley. The houses around her were roughly made from all kinds of scavenged materials. Some looked as if they might fall down at any moment. The smell of garbage and sewage was powerful. She felt a long-forgotten sympathy and wariness. This was the outer edge of the slums, where the poorest dwells scratched an existence. It was a sad and dangerous place.
A heavily built man stepped out of a nearby doorway and strolled toward them. Sonea let out a small sigh of relief as she recognized him as the man who had been guarding the previous spy. He stared at her, then turned to Akkarin.
“She just left,” the man said. “We’ve been tagging her for two hours. The locals say she’s been minding herself away down in there for two nights.” He pointed toward a nearby door.
“How do you know she’ll come back tonight?” Akkarin asked.
“Had a look at the place after she left. She got some stuff down there. She’ll be back.”
“The rest of the place is empty?”
“A few beggars and whores use it, but we told them to get busy for the night.”
Akkarin nodded. “We’ll have a look inside and see if it is a suitable place for an ambush. Make sure no one comes in.”
The man nodded. “Hers is the last room on the right.”
Sonea followed Akkarin to the door. It squeaked in protest as he pulled it open. They descended crumbling steps of compacted dirt supported by rotting beams of wood, and started along a corridor.
It was dark inside, and the earth floor was uneven. Akkarin opened the shutter of his lamp just enough to light the way. The openings into the rooms had no doors. Some were covered with rough sacking material. The walls were lined with wood, but planks had fallen away here and there and the dirt behind them had formed mounds on the floor.
Most of the rooms were empty. The last entrance on the right was covered with sacking. Akkarin stared at the covering intently, then pushed it aside and opened the shutter of the lamp.
The room inside was surprisingly large. A few wooden crates and a warped plank formed a table. A shelf had been carved along one side of the room, and in one corner was a thin mattress and some blankets.