“From as far away as Elyne?” Sarrin asked.
Vinara’s shoulders lifted. “He has many unique abilities, no doubt gained through the use of black magic. Why not one more?”
Sarrin frowned. “You speak of undertaking research with this scholar, Ambassador. What research is that?”
“Research into ancient magic,” Dannyl replied. He looked around the room. As his eyes met Lorlen’s, the magician smiled faintly.
“I have told them you began it under my instruction,” Lorlen said.
Dannyl nodded. “Yes, though I do not know why.”
“I wanted to retrieve some of the knowledge that Akkarin lost,” Lorlen said. “But Akkarin learned of the research, and made it clear he didn’t approve. I told Lord Dannyl that his help was no longer needed.”
“And you didn’t obey that order?” Sarrin asked Dannyl.
“It wasn’t an order,” Lorlen said. “I said only that the research was no longer needed. I believe Dannyl continued out of his own interest.”
“I did,” Dannyl confirmed. “Later, Akkarin heard that I had continued and called me back to the Guild. He seemed pleased by my progress and encouraged me to continue. Unfortunately, I made little further progress. The only sources I hadn’t explored were in Sachaka, and he had made it clear I must not go there.”
Sarrin leaned back in his chair. “Interesting. He discouraged the research, then encouraged it. Perhaps you had already found something he didn’t want you to find, but you hadn’t understood its significance. Then he would have felt safe allowing you to continue.”
“I have considered that, too,” Dannyl agreed. “It wasn’t until I saw the rebel’s book that I realized the ancient magic I’d been researching was actually Black magic. I don’t think he intended me to know that.”
Sarrin shook his head. “No. If that is so, he would not have wanted you to read that book. So he probably didn’t know that Dem Marane possessed it, and the arrest of the rebels was not an exercise designed to bring it into his possession.” He frowned. “And it may contain information that he does not know. How very interesting.”
Dannyl looked from face to face while the magicians considered this.
“May I ask a question?”
Lorlen smiled. “Of course, Ambassador.”
“Have you discovered anything that proves Akkarin’s story is true?”
The Administrator sobered. “Not yet.” He hesitated. “Despite Akkarin’s warning, we can see no other way to learn the truth but to send spies into Sachaka.”
Dannyl nodded. “I suppose their identity will be a secret, even to members of the Guild.”
“Yes,” Lorlen replied. “But some, like yourself, will be permitted to know, because they will probably guess the real reason for the absence of certain magicians.”
Dannyl straightened. “Really?”
“One of the spies will be your mentor, Lord Rothen.”
The climb into the mountains seemed endless.
The morning sun had revealed steep, heavily forested slopes on either side. Though the road was well maintained, and showed signs of recent repair, all else appeared to be wilderness. If the escort had passed any houses during the night, they had been well hidden in the darkness.
The road followed the curve of the mountainous slopes and climbed through steep ravines. Sonea occasionally caught a glimpse of rocky outcrops above. The air grew steadily colder, until she was forced to keep a barrier of warmth about herself all the time to stop from shivering.
She longed for the end of the journey, yet dreaded it. The constant uphill climb altered her position in the saddle subtly, and a whole new range of muscles had begun to protest. In addition, the coarse material of her trousers had chafed her skin raw and she had to Heal herself every few hours to ease the pain.
“Halt!”
At Balkan’s order, Sonea sighed with relief. They hadn’t stopped since the morning, and then only briefly. She felt her horse draw in a deep breath as it came to a halt, then gust it out again.
Several of the escort dismounted to tend to the horses. Akkarin stared into the distance. Following his gaze, she saw that the land below the mountain was visible through a gap in the trees. Hills rolled outward, gradually smoothing out into a flat plain in the far distance. Narrow rivers and streams glittered in the creases between them. Everything glowed with the warm light of the late afternoon sun. The horizon was a misty edge. Somewhere over it lay Imardin. Her home.
At every step in the journey, she moved farther away from everything she had ever known: her family, her old friends, Cery, Rothen, Dorrien. The names of people she had grown to like in the last few years ran through her mind: Tania, Dannyl, Tya, and Yikmo—and even some of the novices. She might never see any of them again. She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to most of them. Her throat tightened, and she felt her eyes begin to sting.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe slowly and normally. This is not the time or place to start crying. Not now, with Balkan and the other magicians watching—and especially not Akkarin. She swallowed hard and forced herself to turn away from the view.
As she opened her eyes again, she saw Akkarin’s expression shift. For a moment, before the familiar mask settled over his face, she glimpsed a look of intense frustration and bitterness. She looked down, disturbed by what she had seen.
Osen began handing out bread, cold cooked vegetables and chunks of salted meat. Akkarin accepted his share silently, and returned to his brooding. Sonea chewed slowly, determined to force thoughts of the Guild out of her head, and concentrate instead on the days ahead. Where would they find food in Sachaka? The area beyond the pass was wasteland. Perhaps they could buy food. Would Balkan give them money?
Osen returned to her side and offered a mug full of watered wine. She drank it quickly and handed back the cup. He paused, as if he wanted to say something, and she quickly straightened and looked away. She heard a sigh, then footsteps retreating as he walked back to his horse.
“Onward,” Balkan called.
Breaks in the trees became more common as they continued on. In the spaces, great sheets of bare rock were exposed. A chill wind whipped the horses’ tails. The sun steadily descended toward the horizon, then the road straightened and passed between two tall, smooth walls of rock. Ahead, stained orange by the setting sun, was an enormous, squat column of stone punctured by rows of tiny square holes.
The Fort.
Sonea stared up at the building as they drew closer. In history lessons, she had learned that the Fort had been built soon after the Sachakan War. It was taller than she had imagined, probably two or three times taller than the main University building. The huge cylinder of rock filled the narrow gap between the two high rock walls. Nothing could pass this way without going through the building.
There was no sign of cracks or mortar, yet the Fort had been made long before Lord Coren had discovered how to meld rock. She shook her head in wonder. Those long-dead builders must have carved the Fort out of the mountain itself.
A pair of large metal doors at the base of the building began to swing open as they approached. Two figures stepped out. One wore the uniform of a captain of the guard, the other wore red Warrior robes. Sonea blinked in surprise, then stared at the magician in disbelief.
“Lord Balkan,” Fergun said as the captain bowed respectfully, “this is Captain Larwen.”
Of course, she thought. Fergun was sent away to a distant Fort as punishment for blackmailing me. I hadn’t realized it would be this Fort.
As the Captain addressed Lord Balkan, Sonea looked down at her hands and cursed her luck. No doubt Fergun had been looking forward to this moment. He had risked much in his efforts to convince the Guild that they should not admit anyone from outside the Houses. Now his claims that slum dwellers are not to be trusted have been proven true, she thought.