“I see,” Sonea said slowly, “but I can also see why it never happened. Why would the Guild help ordinary Sachakans when they don’t help ordinary Kyralians?”
Akkarin regarded her speculatively. “Some do. Dorrien, for instance.”
Sonea held his gaze. “Dorrien is an exception. The Guild could do a lot more.”
“We can’t do anything if nobody volunteers to do it.”
“Of course you can.”
“Would you force magicians to work against their will?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrows rose. “I doubt they would cooperate.”
“Perhaps their income should be reduced if they don’t.”
Akkarin smiled. “They would feel they were being treated like servants. No one will want their children to join the Guild if it means they must work like commoners.”
“No one from the Houses,” Sonea corrected him.
Akkarin blinked, then chuckled. “I knew you’d be a disruptive influence the moment the Guild proposed teaching you. They ought to be grateful I took you away.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped as she realized Dorrien was approaching. He was riding a new horse and was leading two others.
“They’re not the best,” he said, handing them the reins, “but they’ll have to do. Magicians all over the country are hurrying to Imardin, so the supply of fresh horses at rest-houses is dwindling fast.”
Akkarin nodded grimly. “Then we must hurry or the supply will run out.” He moved around to the side of a horse and swung up into the saddle. Sonea hauled herself up onto the other horse. As she slipped her other boot into the stirrup, she watched Akkarin closely. He had called her a disruptive influence, but that didn’t mean he disapproved. He might even agree with her.
Did it matter? In a few days there might not be a Guild, and the poor would discover there were worse things to endure than the Purge.
Sonea shivered and pushed that thought from her mind.
The corridor of the Magicians’ Quarters was almost as busy as the University at midbreak, Dannyl mused. He walked with Yaldin past knots of magicians, their wives, husbands and children. All were discussing the Meet.
As Yaldin reached the door to his rooms, the old magician looked up at him and sighed.
“Come in for a cup of sumi?” he asked.
Dannyl nodded. “If Ezrille doesn’t mind.”
Yaldin chuckled. “She likes to tell people I’m in charge, but you and I—and Rothen—know better.”
He opened the door and ushered Dannyl into his guestroom. Ezrille was sitting in one of the chairs, dressed in a gown of shimmering blue material.
“That was a quick Meet,” she said, frowning.
“Yes,” Dannyl replied. “You are looking beautiful today, Ezrille.”
She smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “You should come home more often, Dannyl.” Then she shook her head. “With manners like yours, I’m amazed you still haven’t found yourself a wife. Sumi?”
“Yes, please.”
She rose and busied herself with cups and water. Dannyl and Yaldin sat down. The old magician’s brow furrowed.
“I can’t believe they’ve decided to allow black magic.”
Dannyl nodded. “Lorlen said that some of Akkarin’s claims have proven to be true.”
“The worst ones.”
“Yes, but I wonder if that means some of his claims were proven to be untrue.”
“Which ones?”
“Obviously not the ones about Sachakan black magicians invading Kyralia,” Ezrille said as she laid a tray on the table before the chairs. “What will Rothen do? He doesn’t need to go to Sachaka now.”
“He’ll probably come back.” Dannyl took the cup she offered and sipped at the steaming brew.
“Unless he decides to go on in the hope of finding Sonea.”
Dannyl frowned. Rothen might just do that...
They looked up at a knock on the door. Yaldin waved a hand and the door opened. A messenger bowed, glanced around the room, then stepped inside when he saw Dannyl.
“Ambassador. A man is here to see you. All the places for receiving visitors are in use, so I brought him to your rooms. Your servant was present and admitted him.”
A visitor? Dannyl put down his cup and rose. “Thank you,” he said to the messenger. The man bowed and retreated from the room.
Dannyl smiled apologetically at Yaldin and Ezrille. “Thanks for the sumi. I had better find out who my visitor is.”
“Of course,” Ezrille replied. “You must come back later and tell us about him.”
The corridor was a little quieter now that most magicians had returned to their rooms or duties after the Meet. Dannyl strode to his door and opened it. A young man with blond hair rose from one of his guestroom chairs and bowed. For a moment Dannyl didn’t recognize him, as he was dressed in the sober fashion preferred by Kyralians.
Then he hastily stepped inside and let the door close.
“Greetings, Ambassador Dannyl.” Tayend grinned. “Did you miss me?”
30
Delaying the Enemy
At first Imardin appeared as a shadow against the yellow-green of the fields. Then, as they drew nearer, the city sprawled out on either side of the road like outstretched arms welcoming them back. Now, hours later, a thousand lamps burned before them, lighting their way through the rain and the darkness to the Northern Gates.
When they were close enough to hear the rain beating on the glass of the first lamp, Dorrien drew his horse to a halt and looked back at Akkarin and Sonea. His eyes strayed to the other people using the road. They must make their farewells quick, and be careful what they said. People would think it strange, if he spoke to his “commoner” companions with too much familiarity.
“Good luck,” he said. “Be careful.”
“You be in more rub than us, my Lord,” Sonea replied, speaking with the typical slum dweller drawl. “Thanks for your help. Don’t let those foreign magicians get you.”
“You either,” he replied, smiling at her accent. He nodded at Akkarin, then turned away and urged his horse forward.
Sonea’s stomach clenched with anxiety as she watched him ride away toward the gates. When he had disappeared, she glanced at Akkarin. He was a tall shadow, his face hidden in the hood of his cloak.
“Lead on,” he said.
She directed her horse off the main road and into a narrow street. Dwells eyed them and their bedraggled horses. Don’t try anything, she thought at them. We might look like simple country people oblivious to the dangers of the city, but we aren’t. And we can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves.
After winding their way through the slums for half an hour, they reached the horse sellers at the edge of the Market. They stopped in front of a sign with a painting of a horseshoe on it. A wiry-looking man limped through the rain toward them.
“Greetings,” he said in a gruff voice. “You looking to sell your horses?”
“Maybe,” Sonea replied. “Depends on the price.”
“Let me have an eye, then.” He beckoned. “Come on in out of the rain.”
They followed the man into a large stable. Stalls had been built on either side, some occupied. They dismounted and watched as the man examined their horses.
“What’s this one’s name, then?”
She paused. They had changed horses three times, and she had given up remembering their names.
“Ceryni,” she said. “After a friend of mine.”
The man straightened and turned to stare at her.