The corner of Akkarin’s mouth curled upward. “As am I.”
“Was this challenge your idea or hers?” Balkan rumbled.
“It was not mine.”
Balkan’s brows rose. “And did she seek your approval?”
“No, but I believe there is no rule that requires it, though perhaps there should be.”
“Then you would have refused, had she asked?”
Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “Not necessarily. If she had sought my view on the matter, I might have advised her to wait.”
“Perhaps this was a spontaneous decision,” suggested Lord Peakin, who was standing behind Vinara’s chair.
“No,” Lord Sarrin replied. “She chose a moment when she was assured of numerous witnesses. Regin had no option but to accept.”
Seeing the Head of Alchemists glance pointedly to one side, Lorlen followed his gaze. Lord Garrel was standing among the gathered magicians, wearing a slight frown.
“So if she planned this, she must be confident of winning,” Peakin concluded. “Do you agree with her, Lord Balkan?”
The Warrior shrugged. “She is strong, but a skilled opponent might overcome her.”
“And Regin?”
“He is more skilled than the average Second Year.”
“Skilled enough to win?”
Balkan glanced at Akkarin. “Skilled enough that the outcome will not be easily predicted.”
“Do you believe she will win?” Vinara asked of Akkarin.
The High Lord paused before answering. “Yes.”
She smiled. “But of course you do. She is your novice, and you must be seen to support her.”
Akkarin nodded. “That is true, as well.”
“She is, no doubt, doing this to please you.” Hearing Garrel’s voice, Lorlen looked up in surprise.
“I doubt it,” Akkarin replied.
Surprised at this admission, Lorlen glanced at Akkarin, then carefully noted the other magicians’ expressions. None looked surprised. Only Rothen’s son, Dorrien, looked thoughtful. Perhaps it had been noted that Sonea was not at all fond of her guardian.
“Then what is her motivation?” Peakin asked.
“If she wins, Regin will not bully her again for fear of another challenge, and another defeat,” Vinara answered.
There was a pause, in which glances were exchanged. By speaking of the bullying openly in front of both Akkarin and Garrel, Vinara had drawn attention to the potential for conflict between the two guardians. While none usually balked at raising the subject of feuding novices around their guardians, few would dare to do so when one of the guardians was the High Lord. It put Garrel in an interesting position.
Neither guardian spoke.
“That depends on how the battles progress,” Balkan said, breaking the silence. “If she wins with mere brute strength, none will respect her.”
“That makes no difference,” Sarrin argued. “No matter how she wins, Regin won’t bother her again. I doubt she cares whether anyone else respects her fighting skills.”
“There are methods of defeating a stronger magician,” Balkan reminded him. “Regin knows this. He has already sought my instruction on such tactics.”
“And Sonea? Will she receive extra instruction from you as well?” Vinara asked Balkan.
“Lord Yikmo is her teacher,” Akkarin replied.
Balkan nodded. “His teaching style is better suited to her temperament.”
“Who will oversee the fight?” another magician asked.
“I will,” Balkan said. “Unless anyone protests. Lord Garrel will protect Regin. Will you be protecting Sonea?” he asked Akkarin.
“Yes.”
“Here’s Sonea’s tutor,” Lord Sarrin observed, pointing. Lorlen turned to see that Lord Yikmo had just strolled into the room. The Warrior stopped and looked around, clearly surprised by the crowd. As his eyes rested on the magicians gathered around Akkarin, his eyebrows rose. Sarrin beckoned.
“Good evening, High Lord, Administrator,” Yikmo said as he reached the chairs.
“Lord Yikmo,” Peakin said. “You must be planning for a few late nights.”
Yikmo frowned. “Late nights?”
Peakin chuckled. “So she’s that good, is she? Doesn’t need the extra practice?”
The young magician’s frown deepened. “Practice?”
Vinara took pity on the man. “Sonea has challenged Regin to a formal battle.”
Yikmo stared at her, then at the faces watching him, his own slowly turning white.
“She did what?”
Sonea paced her room, wringing her hands. What have I done? Let my anger get the better of me, that’s what. I don’t know anything about fighting. All I’m going to do is make a fool of myself in front of—
“Sonea.”
Turning, Sonea blinked in surprise at the man standing in the doorway of her room. No one had ever visited her in the High Lord’s Residence before.
“Lord Yikmo,” she said, bowing.
“You’re not ready yet, Sonea.”
She flinched, suddenly fearful. If Yikmo didn’t think she could win...
“I was hoping you’d help me with that, my lord.”
Several expressions ran across Yikmo’s face. Consternation. Thoughtfulness. Interest. He frowned and ran his hands through his hair.
“I understand why you’re doing this, Sonea. But I don’t have to remind you that Garrel is an accomplished Warrior and that Regin’s skills are better than yours—despite all I have taught you. He has a week to prepare, and Balkan has agreed to tutor him.”
Balkan! This is only getting worse! Sonea looked down at her hands. They weren’t shaking, she was relieved to see, but her stomach was fluttering so much she felt sick.
“But I am stronger, and the rules of a challenge don’t require any limits on strength,” she pointed out.
“You can’t rely on your strength to win the match for you, Sonea,” Yikmo warned. “There are ways around it. I’m sure Balkan will ensure Regin knows them all.”
“Then you had better ensure I do, too,” she retorted. Surprised at the determination in her own voice, she grimaced apologetically. “Will you help me?”
He smiled. “Of course. I could hardly abandon the High Lord’s favorite now.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“But don’t think I’m doing this only out of respect for your guardian.”
Surprised, she looked at him closely and was amazed to see approval in his gaze. Of all the teachers, she would never have expected to gain the respect of a Warrior.
“You do realize that people will watch me teaching you,” he said. “They will report everything to Regin and Lord Garrel.”
“I have thought about that.”
“And?”
“What... what about the Dome?”
Yikmo’s eyebrows rose, then he grinned broadly. “I’m sure it can be arranged.”
36
The Battle Begins
As the carriage passed through the Guild Gates, Dannyl looked up at the University. The Guild buildings were so familiar, but now they seemed foreign and forbidding. He looked toward the High Lord’s Residence.
Especially that one.
He glanced at the satchel lying on the seat beside him, then picked it up. In it was a copy of the notes that he and Tayend had gathered, rewritten so that nothing in them read like a retracing of Akkarin’s journey. He chewed on his lip. If Akkarin believes any of this was an investigation of his past, this could infuriate him further. But I’ll be in trouble anyway, so it’s worth the risk.
The carriage stopped and rocked a little as the driver clambered down to the ground. The door opened. Dannyl stepped out and turned to the driver.
“Send my travel chest to my rooms,” Dannyl ordered. The man bowed, and moved to the back of the carriage, where the chest was roped to a narrow tray.
Tucking the satchel under his arm, Dannyl started down the path to the High Lord’s Residence. As he walked, he noticed that the gardens were empty, which was unusual for a sunny Freeday afternoon. Where is everyone?