She reached out to the falling water. As her fingers met the curtain it parted. In the gap she saw the trees and pool outside... and a figure.
She stiffened and snatched her hand away.
Akkarin stirred.
“What is it?”
Her heart was racing. “Someone is standing beside the pool.”
He drew himself up onto his elbows, then frowned.
“Be quiet a moment,” he murmured.
The muffled sound of voices reached them. Sonea felt her blood turn to ice. Akkarin scanned the wall of water, his eyes halting at a natural gap in the curtain farther along the ledge. He slowly pushed himself onto his hands and knees and crept toward the gap.
As he reached it he paused, then his face hardened into a scowl. He turned to her and mouthed a word: Parika.
Reaching for her shirt and trousers, Sonea struggled into them. Akkarin appeared to be listening. She crept to his side.
“... no harm. I only sought to be ready for your return,” a woman said meekly. “See, I have gathered stingberries and tiro nuts.”
“You should not have left the Pass.”
“Riko is there.”
“Riko is asleep.”
“Then punish Riko.”
There was a wordless protest, then a thump. “Forgive me, master,” the woman whimpered.
“Get up. I don’t have time for this. I haven’t slept for two days.”
“Are we going straight into Kyralia, then?”
“No. Not until Kariko is ready. I want to be well rested before then.”
Silence followed. Through the curtain of water, Sonea saw movement. Akkarin crept away from the gap to her. She felt his arm circle her waist, and she leaned against the warmth of his chest.
“You’re shaking,” he observed.
Sonea drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “That was too close.”
“Yes,” he said. “Lucky I hid our boots. Sometimes it pays to be overly cautious.”
Sonea shivered. An Ichani had stood less than twenty strides away. If she hadn’t decided to bathe, and Akkarin hadn’t discovered the alcove behind the falls...
“He’s in front of us now,” she said.
Akkarin’s grip tightened a little. “Yes, but it sounds as if Parika is the only Ichani at the Pass. It also sounds as if Kariko plans to invade in the next few days.” He sighed. “I tried to reach Lorlen, but he isn’t wearing the ring. He hasn’t put it on in days.”
“So we wait until Parika enters Kyralia, then follow?”
“Or we try to sneak past him tonight, while he sleeps.” He paused, then pushed her away a little so he could regard her. “It isn’t far to the coast from here. From there it would only be a few days’ ride to Imardin. If you were to go that way while I—”
“No.” Sonea was surprised by the force of her own voice. “I’m not leaving you.”
His expression grew stern. “The Guild needs you, Sonea. They don’t have time to learn black magic from my books. They need someone who can train them, and fight for them. If we both go through the Pass, we might both be caught and killed. At least, if you went south, one of us might reach Kyralia.”
Sonea pulled away. It made sense, but she didn’t like it. He moved past her and began to dress.
“You need my strength,” she said.
“One more day’s strength from you will make no difference. I could never have gained enough power in these last weeks to face an Ichani. I’d need ten or twenty of you.”
“It would not be one more day. It will take another four or five days to get from the Pass to Imardin.”
“Four or five days will make little difference. If the Guild accept my help, I will have hundreds of magicians to draw from. If they don’t, they are doomed anyway.”
She shook her head slowly. “You’re the valuable one. You have the knowledge and the skill, and the power we’ve collected. You should go south.” She looked up at him and frowned. “If it’s safer, why don’t we both go south?”
Akkarin picked up his shirt and sighed. “Because I would not get there in time.”
She stared at him. “So I wouldn’t, either.”
“No, but if I failed, you could help what was left of the Guild regain Kyralia. The rest of the Allied lands will not like having Sachakan black magicians as neighbors. They would—”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I’m not going to stay away until the battle is over.”
Akkarin pulled his shirt over his head, shrugged into the sleeves, then moved to her side. He took her hand and regarded her intently.
“It would be easier for me to face the Ichani if I did not have to worry about what they might do to you if I fail.”
She stared back at him. “Do you think it’s any easier for me,” she asked softly, “when I know what they will do to you?”
“At least one of us would be safe if you went south.”
“Why don’t you go, then?” she retorted. “I’ll stay and fix the Guild’s little Ichani problem.”
His jaw tightened, then his mouth widened into a smile and he chuckled.
“No good. I’d have to come with you to see that for myself.”
She grinned, then grew serious again. “I’m not going to let you do all the fighting and take all the risks. We face them together.” She paused. “Well, we should probably avoid facing this one in the Pass. I’m sure, between the two of us, we’ll come up with an alternative.”
The stack of letters on Lorlen’s desk slowly toppled over. Osen caught them in time, then divided them into two piles.
“This ban on mental communication will generate some extra employment for couriers,” the young magician observed.
“Yes,” Lorlen agreed. “And pen makers. I’ll probably wear them out twice as fast now. How many more letters do we have to answer?”
“This is the last,” Osen replied.
Lorlen signed it with a flourish, then busied himself cleaning the pen.
“It’s good to have you back, Osen,” he said. “I don’t know how I would manage without you.”
Osen smiled. “You wouldn’t. Not with the responsibilities of both Administrator and High Lord to look after.” He paused. “When will we elect a new High Lord?”
Lorlen sighed. It was a subject he had been avoiding. He just couldn’t imagine someone other than Akkarin in the role. Yet it would have to be filled eventually—and the sooner the better, if Akkarin’s predictions came true.
“Now that the Elyne rebels have been taken care of, candidates will probably be nominated at the next Meet.”
“A month from now?” Osen grimaced and looked at the pile of letters. “Can’t you begin earlier than that?”
“Perhaps. None of the Higher Magicians have suggested we tackle the matter sooner, however.”
Osen nodded. He had been unusually distracted this morning, Lorlen noted.
“What’s bothering you?”
The young magician glanced at Lorlen, then frowned.
“Will the Guild reinstate Akkarin if his story does prove to be true?”
Lorlen grimaced. “I doubt it. Nobody will want a black magician as High Lord. I’m not sure Akkarin would even be accepted back into the Guild.”
“What about Sonea?”
“She defied the King. If the King allows a black magician in the Guild, he will want someone he knows he, or the Guild, can control.”
Osen scowled and looked away. “So Sonea will never finish her training.”
“No.” As Lorlen said it, he realized it was true and felt a pang of grief.
“The bastard,” Osen hissed, rising from his chair. He paused. “I’m sorry. I know he was a friend, and you still feel some regard for him. But she could have been... something amazing. I knew she was unhappy. It was so obvious he was part of the reason, but I didn’t do anything.”
“You couldn’t have,” Lorlen said.
Osen shook his head. “If I’d known, I would have taken her away. Without her as hostage, what could he have done?”
Lorlen looked down at his hand, at the finger the ring had encircled. “Taken over the Guild? Killed you and Rothen? Don’t torture yourself, Osen. You didn’t know, and couldn’t have helped her if you had.”