Dorrien paled. “Oh.”
“The Guild must not know we are in the city,” Akkarin said, a note of determination entering his voice. “So you must not tell them you have met us, or of your encounter with Parika today. The fewer who know of our return, the less chance of the Ichani discovering what we plan.”
“So we have a plan now?” Sonea asked.
Akkarin smiled at her. “The beginning of one, perhaps. Your suggestion may work, though perhaps not on Kariko. Dakova learned to Heal from me, but he kept that secret to himself. I’m not sure if he ever taught the skill to his brother, but even if he didn’t, Kariko is more likely to know Healing is possible and have considered how it might be used to harm another.”
“So we avoid Kariko,” she said. “That leaves us seven Ichani to kill. I think that will keep us occupied for a while.”
Dorrien chuckled. “Sounds like you do have a plan. I might be able to drop a hint or two here and there when the Guild are debating strategy. If there’s anything you’d have me say...?”
“I don’t imagine anything you say will persuade them to hide,” Akkarin replied.
“But they might, once they’ve fought and exhausted themselves,” Sonea pointed out.
Akkarin nodded. “Suggest they focus their power on one Ichani. The Sachakans are not used to helping and supporting each other. They don’t know how to shield together.”
Dorrien nodded. “Anything else?”
“I will consider on the way. The sooner we leave, the better.”
The Healer rose. “I’ll saddle up again and find horses for you both.”
“Could you get us some clean clothes, too?” Sonea asked.
“We should travel in disguise,” Akkarin added. “A servant uniform would be ideal, but anything plain should do well enough.”
Dorrien’s eyebrows rose. “You’re going to pose as my servants?”
Sonea shook a finger at him in warning. “Yes. Just don’t get used to it.”
29
Legacy of the Past
The Guildhall fell utterly silent as Lorlen rose from his seat.
“I have called this Meet at the request of the King. As you must all know, the Fort was attacked and breached by eight Sachakan magicians yesterday. All but two of the twenty-one Warriors at the Fort were killed.”
A whispering rose from the audience. The discovery that two of the Warriors had escaped the Fort had been the only good news Lorlen had received in the last day.
“It appears that some of the former High Lord’s claims and predictions are right. We have been invaded by Sachakan magicians of immense strength. Magicians who use black magic.”
Lorlen paused and looked around the hall. “We are unable to avoid the possibility that we are too few and too weak to defend the Allied Lands. In these circumstances, the King has asked that we set aside our laws. He has asked us to choose one among us, one we consider unfailingly trustworthy, to learn black magic.”
The hall filled with voices. Lorlen read a mixed reaction from the crowd. Some magicians voiced protests, while others looked resigned.
“I ask you now to suggest candidates for this role,” he called out over the noise. “Consider carefully. Strict rules will curtail the activities of this magician. They must remain within the Guild grounds for the rest of their life. They may not hold a position of authority within the Guild. They will not be allowed to teach. These rules may become more restrictive, as we consider the consequences of creating this position.” Lorlen was pleased to see no sign of eagerness on any magicians’ face, “Any questions?”
“Can the Guild refuse to do this?” a voice called.
Lorlen shook his head. “The King has ordered it.”
“The Council of Elders would never agree to this!” a Lonmar magician declared.
“According to the Allied agreement, the Kyralian King is obliged to undertake whatever measures necessary to protect the Allied Lands from a magical threat,” Lorlen replied. “The Higher Magicians and I have discussed this with the King many times. Believe me, he would not have made this decision if he did not feel there was no better option.”
“What about Akkarin?” another magician called. “Why not call him back?”
“The King considers this the wiser path,” Lorlen replied stiffly.
No more questions came. Lorlen nodded.
“You have half an hour to consider. If you wish to nominate someone, please speak to Lord Osen.”
He watched as magicians left their seats and gathered in small groups to discuss the King’s order. Some approached Lord Osen directly. The Higher Magicians were uncharacteristically silent. Time seemed to slow. When the half-hour had ended, Lorlen rose and struck the gong beside his seat.
“Please be seated.”
As the magicians returned to their places, Osen climbed the stairs to Lorlen.
“This will be interesting,” Director Jerrik murmured. “Who do they consider worthy of this dubious honor?”
Osen’s shoulders lifted. “No surprises. They suggest Lord Sarrin, Lord Balkan, Lady Vinara or,” he looked at Lorlen, “Administrator Lorlen.”
“Me?” Lorlen exclaimed, before he could stop himself.
“Yes.” Osen looked amused. “You’re very popular, you know. One magician suggested that a King’s Advisor should take on the burden.”
“Interesting idea.” Balkan chuckled, then quite deliberately looked up at the topmost row of chairs. Lord Mirkan blinked down at him, his face changing from watchfulness to sudden anxiety. “Let the King face whatever consequences this may lead to.”
“He would find himself a new Advisor within a day,” Vinara said flatly. She looked at Lorlen. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
Lorlen nodded and turned to the Hall. “Nominations for the role of... black magician are as follows: Lord Sarrin, Lord Balkan, Lady Vinara, and myself.” Surely they won’t choose me, he thought. What if they do? “Nominees will abstain from the vote. Please create your lights.”
Hundreds of globe lights floated up to the ceiling. Lorlen’s heart was beating too fast. He kept hearing Osen’s comment, repeating in his mind. “You’re very popular, you know.” The possibility that he might lose his position as Ambassador and force himself to learn what Akkarin had admitted was evil magic turned his blood to ice.
“Those in favor of Lord Sarrin, change your lights to purple,” he ordered. “Those in favor of Lord Balkan, choose red. For Lady Vinara, choose green.” He paused and swallowed. “For myself, blue.”
Some of the globe lights had begun to take on color before he had finished, as magicians anticipated that Lorlen would suggest the color of each candidate’s robes. Slowly, the remaining white globe lights changed.
It’s close, Lorlen thought. He started counting...
“Sarrin,” Balkan said.
“Yes, I get that result, too,” Vinara confirmed. “Though you were their second choice.”
Lorlen breathed a sigh of relief as he realized they were right. He looked down at Sarrin, then felt a pang of sympathy. The old magician looked pale and ill.
“Lord Sarrin will be our defender,” Lorlen announced. Looking closely at the audience, he saw reluctant acceptance on most faces. “He will relinquish his role as Head of Alchemy and begin learning black magic immediately. I now declare this Meet ended.”
“Wake up, little Sonea.”
Sonea grew aware of her surroundings with a start. She saw with surprise that her horse had stopped. Looking around, she found Dorrien watching her with an odd look on his face. They had pulled up by a road leading to a house, and Akkarin was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s gone to get us some food,” Dorrien explained.
She nodded, then yawned and rubbed her face. When she looked at Dorrien again, he was still watching her thoughtfully.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
He looked away and smiled crookedly. “I was thinking that I should have kidnapped you from the Guild while I had the chance.”