“The majority choose the affirmative,” Lorlen called. “Do you judge that Sonea, the High Lord’s novice, is guilty of seeking knowledge of and, in addition to this earlier accusation, learning, practicing and killing with black magic?”
The globe lights remained red. Lorlen nodded slowly.
“The majority choose the affirmative. The punishment for this crime as set down by law is execution. We, the Higher Magicians, have debated the appropriateness of this penalty in light of the reasons given for the crime, if they be true. We would prefer to delay judgment until the validity of these reasons is established, but due to the nature of the crime, feel immediate action must be taken.” He paused. “We have chosen exile as Akkarin’s punishment.”
The hall filled with muttering as this was considered. Sonea heard a few weak protests, but no magician raised his or her voice to argue.
“Akkarin of family Delvon, of House Velan, you are no longer welcome in the Allied Lands. You will be escorted to the nearest non-allied country. Do you accept this judgment?”
Akkarin looked up at the King, then dropped to one knee.
“If the King wills it.”
The ruler’s eyebrows rose.
“I do,” he said.
“Then I will go.”
The hall was silent as Akkarin rose to his feet again.
Lorlen’s sigh of relief was audible. He turned to regard Sonea.
“Sonea. We, the Higher Magicians, have decided to offer you a second chance. You will remain here with us under these conditions: you must vow to never use black magic again, you will not be allowed to leave the Guild grounds from this day, and you will never be allowed to teach others. Do you accept this judgment?”
Sonea stared at Lorlen in disbelief. The Guild had exiled Akkarin yet forgiven her, even though they had both committed the same crime.
But it wasn’t the same. Akkarin was their leader and his crime seemed worse because he was supposed to represent the Guild’s values. She was just an impressionable young woman. The slum girl. Easily corrupted. They believed she had been led astray, and that Akkarin had embraced black magic willingly. In truth she had chosen to learn it, and he had been forced to.
So they would allow her to stay in the temporary safety and the comfort of the Guild, while Akkarin was sent out of the Allied Lands to the nearest non-allied country, which was... She caught her breath.
Sachaka.
Suddenly she could not breathe. They were going to send him into the hands of his enemies. They must know that if his story was true he would die.
But this way, they won’t have to risk a battle they might lose.
“Sonea,” Lorlen repeated. “Do you accept this judgment?”
“No.”
She was surprised by the anger in her voice. Lorlen stared at her in dismay, then looked at Akkarin.
“Stay.” Akkarin told her. “There is no sense in us both going.”
Not if we’re going to Sachaka, she thought. But perhaps, together, we might survive. She could help him strengthen himself. Alone, he would only grow weaker. She clung to this small hope and turned to face him.
“I made Takan a promise to take care of you. I intend to keep it.”
His eyes narrowed. “Sonea—”
“Don’t tell me I’ll get in the way,” she said under her breath, conscious of the many witnesses. “That didn’t stop me before, and it won’t now. I know where they’re sending you. I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not.” Turning to the front, she raised her voice so all could hear.
“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 hall was silent. Lorlen stared at her, then looked up at the Higher Magicians. Sonea could see defeat and frustration in their faces.
“No, Sonea! Stay here.”
Sonea felt her stomach turn over at the voice. She forced herself to look across the room at Rothen.
“I’m sorry, Rothen,” she said, “but I will not stay.”
Lorlen took a deep breath. “Sonea, I can give you only one more chance. Do you accept this judgment?”
“No.”
“Then let it be known throughout the Allied Lands that Akkarin of family Delvon, House Velan, formerly High Lord of the Magicians’ Guild, and Sonea, formerly the High Lord’s novice, have been exiled for the crimes of learning, practicing and killing with black magic.”
He turned to Lord Balkan and said something in a voice too quiet to hear. Then he descended from his seat, strode into the circle of Warriors and stopped a step away from Akkarin. Reaching out, he grasped the black robe in both hands. Sonea heard the material rip.
“I cast you out, Akkarin. Do not enter my lands again.”
Akkarin stared at Lorlen, but did not speak. The Administrator turned away and approached Sonea. He met her eyes for a moment, then looked down, took hold of her sleeve and ripped it.
“I cast you out, Sonea. Do not enter my lands again.”
Turning on his heel, he strode away. Sonea looked down at the rip in her sleeve. It was small, only a finger-length long. A small gesture, but so final.
The Higher Magicians rose to their feet and began to descend from the tiers of seats. Sonea’s heart sank as Lord Balkan stepped into the circle and approached Akkarin. As he tore the black robes and spoke the ritual words, the rest of the Higher Magicians formed a line behind him, and she realized they were waiting their turn.
As Balkan approached she forced herself to watch as the Warrior tore her robe and spoke the ritual words. It took all her determination, but she managed to meet his gaze, and then those of each of the magicians who followed.
When the Higher Magicians had all performed the ritual, Sonea sighed with relief. The rest of the Guild rose from their seats. Instead of walking out of the Guildhall doors, they began to approach Akkarin one by one.
It looked as if she would have to endure this ceremony of rejection many, many more times.
The realization unsettled her. It took all her will to face them. She kept still as magicians who had taught her stopped to tear her robes, their expressions disapproving or disappointed. Lady Tya’s ritual words were barely audible, and she quickly hurried away. Lord Yikmo gazed at her searchingly, then shook his head sadly. At last there were only a few magicians left. She looked up as they entered the circle, and felt her stomach twist.
Rothen and Dannyl.
Her former guardian approached Akkarin slowly. He stared at Akkarin, his eyes burning with anger, then Akkarin’s lips moved. She could not quite hear what he said, but the fire in Rothen’s eyes died. Rothen murmured a reply and Akkarin nodded once. Frowning, Rothen reached forward to tear Akkarin’s robe. He spoke the ritual words, then kept his eyes on the floor as he took the few short steps to her.
She felt her throat constrict. Rothen’s face looked haggard and deeply lined. He looked up at her and his pale blue eyes shimmered as tears gathered in them.
“Why, Sonea?” he whispered hoarsely.
She felt moisture spring into her eyes. She closed them tightly and swallowed hard.
“They send him to his death.”
“And you?”
“Two may survive where one would fail. The Guild has to find out the truth for itself. When it does, we’ll return.”
He drew in a deep breath, then stepped forward and embraced her.
“Take care, Sonea.”
“I will, Rothen.”
She choked on his name. He stepped away. As he retreated, she realized he hadn’t torn her robes. She felt a trickle of moisture run down her cheek and quickly wiped it away as Dannyl stepped in front of her.
“Sonea.”
She forced herself to look up at him. Dannyl met her gaze levelly.
“Sachakans, eh?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He pursed his lips. “We’ll have to look into it.” He patted her shoulder, then turned away. She watched him walk to Rothen’s side.