The High Lord (3 page)

What if the ring allows someone else to see what the murderer is doing ?

Lorlen frowned. Why would Akkarin want another person to see what he was doing? Unless he was acting on the orders of another. Now
that
was a frightening possibility…

Lorlen sighed. Sometimes he found himself hoping he would never learn the truth. He knew that, if Akkarin was the murderer, he would feel partly responsible for the deaths of his victims. He ought to have dealt with Akkarin long ago, when he had first discovered from Sonea that the High Lord used black magic. But he had feared that the Guild could not defeat Akkarin in a fight.

So Lorlen had kept the High Lord’s crime a secret, persuading Sonea and Rothen to do the same. Then Akkarin had discovered that his crime was known, and had taken Sonea hostage to ensure Lorlen and Rothen remained silent. Now Lorlen could not move against Akkarin without risking
her
life.

But if I discovered that Akkarin was the murderer, and knew the Guild could defeat him, I would not hesitate. Not for our old friendship, or even Sonea’s wellbeing, would I allow him to continue.

And Akkarin, through the ring, must know that.

Of course, Akkarin might
not
be the murderer. He had told Lorlen to investigate the murders, but that proved nothing. He might simply want to know how close the Guard was to discovering his crimes…

The carriage stopped. Lorlen glanced out of the window and blinked in surprise when he saw the front of the Guard House outside. He had been so lost in thought, he had barely noticed the journey. The carriage rocked a little as the driver climbed down to open the door. Lorlen stepped out and strode across the pavement to the Guard House entrance. Captain Barran greeted him in the narrow hall inside.

“Good evening, Administrator. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Though Barran was still young, frown lines already marked his forehead. Those lines seemed deeper tonight.

“Good evening, Captain.”

“I have some interesting news, and something to show you. Come to my office.”

Lorlen followed the man down a corridor to a small room. The rest of the building was quiet, though a few guards were always present in the evenings. Barran ushered Lorlen to a seat, then closed the door.

“Do you remember me saying that the Thieves might be looking for the killer?”

“Yes.”

Barran smiled crookedly. “I have had confirmation of sorts. It was inevitable that, if the Guard and the Thieves were both investigating the murders, we’d cross paths. It turns out they have had spies here for months.”

“Spies? In the Guard?”

“Yes. Even an honorable man would be tempted to accept coin in exchange for information, when that information might lead to this murderer being found—particularly when the Guard aren’t getting anywhere.” Barran shrugged. “I don’t know who all the spies are yet, but for now I’m happy to let them remain in place.”

Lorlen chuckled. “If you want advice on negotiating with the Thieves I would send Lord Dannyl to you, but he is now a Guild Ambassador in Elyne.”

The Captain’s eyebrows rose. “That would have been interesting advice, even if I never had the opportunity to use it. I do not intend to negotiate for a cooperative effort with the Thieves, however. The Houses would never approve of it. I have made an arrangement with one of the spies that he pass on whatever he can safely divulge to me. None of his information has been useful yet, but it might lead to something that is.” The creases between his brows deepened again. “Now, I have something to show you. You said you wanted to examine the next victim. One was discovered tonight, so I had the body brought here.”

A chill ran down Lorlen’s spine, as if a cold draft had found its way under the collar of his robes. Barran gestured to the door.

“It’s in the basement. Would you like to see it now.”

“Yes.”

He rose and followed Barran out into the corridor. The man remained silent as they descended a flight of stairs and continued down another corridor. The air grew distinctly colder. Stopping before a heavy wooden door, Barran unlocked and opened it.

A strong medicinal smell gusted into the corridor, not quite hiding a less pleasant odor. The room beyond was sparsely furnished. Bare stone walls surrounded three plain benches. On one was the naked corpse of a man. On another was a set of clothing, neatly folded.

Drawing closer, Lorlen studied the body reluctantly. As with all the recent killings, the victim had been stabbed through the heart, and a shallow cut ran down one side of the man’s neck. Despite this the man’s expression was unexpectedly peaceful.

As Barran began to describe the place where the victim was found, Lorlen considered a conversation he’d overheard during one of the regular Guild social gatherings in the Night Room. Lord Darlen, a young Healer, had been describing a patient to three of his friends.

“He was dead when he arrived,” Darlen had said, shaking his head, “but the wife wanted a performance so she would know we’d done all we could. So I checked.”

“And found nothing?”

Darlen had grimaced. “There’s always plenty of life energy to detect afterward, plenty of organisms that are active throughout decomposition, but his heart was still and his mind was silent. However, I detected another heartbeat. Small and slow, but definitely a heartbeat.”

“How can that be? He had two hearts?”

“No.” Darlen’s voice was tortured. “He’d… he’d choked on a sevli.”

At once the two Healers had burst into laughter. The third friend, an Alchemist, looked puzzled. “What was he doing with a sevli in his throat? They’re poisonous. Did someone murder him?”

“No.” Darlen had sighed. “Their bite is poisonous, but their skin contains a substance that causes euphoria and visions. Some people like the effect. They suck on the reptiles.”

“Suck
on reptiles?” The young Alchemist had been incredulous. “So what did you do?”

Darlen’s face had reddened. “The sevli was suffocating, so I fished it out. Seems the wife didn’t know about her husband’s habit. She became hysterical. Wouldn’t go home for fear her house was infested with them, and one crawled down her throat during the night.”

This had sent the two older Healers into new bouts of laughter. Lorlen almost smiled at the memory. Healers needed a sense of humor, though it was often a strange one. The conversation had given him an idea, however. A dead body was still full of life energy, but a body of someone who had been killed by black magic ought to have been drained of
all
energy. To confirm whether the murderer was using black magic, Lorlen only needed to examine a victim with his Healing senses. As Barran finished his description of the scene, Lorlen stepped forward. Steeling himself, he placed a hand on the dead man’s arm, closed his eyes and sent his senses out into the body.

He was startled at how easy it was, until he remembered that the natural barrier in living things that resisted magical interference dissipated at the moment of death. Sending his mind outward, he searched the body and found only the faintest traces of life energy. The process of decomposition had been interrupted—delayed—because of the lack of anything alive within the body to start it.

Opening his eyes, Lorlen lifted his hand from the man’s arm. He stared at the shallow cut along the victim’s neck, sure now that this was the wound that had killed the man. The stab wound to the heart had probably been made later, to provide a more plausible cause of death. Looking down, he regarded the ring on his finger.

So it’s true,
he thought.
The killer uses black magic. But is this Akkarin’s victim, or do we have another black magician loose in the city?

Picking up the steaming cup of sumi from the low dining table, Rothen walked over to one of the paper screens covering his guestroom windows. He slid it aside and looked out over the gardens.

Spring had come early this year. The hedges and trees bore small blossoms, and an enthusiastic new gardener had planted rows of brightly colored flowers along the pathways. Though it was early morning, magicians and novices were walking through the garden.

Rothen lifted his cup and sipped. The sumi was fresh and bitter. He thought back to the previous evening and grimaced. Once a week he joined his elderly friend Lord Yaldin, and his wife Ezrille, for dinner. Yaldin had been a friend of Rothen’s late mentor, Lord Margen, and still considered it his duty to keep an eye on Rothen—which was why, during the meal last night, Yaldin had felt he must tell Rothen to stop worrying about Sonea.

“I know you’re still watching her,” the old magician had said.

Rothen shrugged. “I’m interested in her wellbeing.”

Yaldin snorted softly. “She’s the High Lord’s novice. She doesn’t need you to monitor her wellbeing.”

“She does,” Rothen replied. “Do you think the High Lord cares if she’s happy or not? He’s only concerned about her academic progress. Life isn’t only about magic.”

Ezrille smiled sadly. “Of course it isn’t, but…” She hesitated, then sighed. “Sonea has barely spoken a word to you since the High Lord claimed her guardianship. Don’t you think she would have visited you by now? It’s been over a year. No matter how busy she is with her studies, surely she would have found some time to see you.”

Rothen winced. He could not help himself. From their sympathetic expressions, he knew they had seen his reaction and thought he was merely hurt by Sonea’s apparent abandonment of him.

“She
is
doing well,” Yaldin said gently. “And that nonsense with the other novices ended long ago. Leave it be, Rothen.”

Rothen had pretended to agree. He couldn’t tell them his true reasons for watching Sonea. To do so would place more than Sonea’s life at risk. Even if Yaldin and Ezrille agreed to keep silent to protect Sonea, Akkarin had said no others were to know. Breaking that “order” might be all the excuse Akkarin needed to… to what? Use black magic to take over the Guild? He was already the High Lord. What else could he possibly want?

More power, perhaps. To rule in place of the King. To rule all of the Allied Lands. To be free to strengthen himself with black magic until he was more powerful than any magician who had ever existed.

But if Akkarin had wanted to do any of that, surely he would have done it long ago. Rothen had to acknowledge, grudgingly, that Akkarin had done nothing to harm Sonea, as far as he could tell. The only time he had seen her in the company of her guardian had been the day of the Challenge.

Yaldin and Ezrille had let the subject drop eventually. “Well, at least you’ve stopped taking nemmin,” Ezrille had murmured before asking after Dorrien, Rothen’s son.

Rothen felt a small flash of annoyance at the memory. He looked at Tania, his servant. She was carefully wiping the dust off his bookshelf with a cloth.

He knew Tania had told Ezrille and Yaldin out of concern for his health, and would never reveal his use of a sleeping drug to anyone else, but he still could not help feeling a little resentful. But how could he complain when she willingly played the spy for him? Tania, through her friendship with Sonea’s servant, Viola, kept him informed of Sonea’s health, moods and occasional visits to her aunt and uncle in the slums. Clearly Tania hadn’t told Yaldin and Ezrille of her own part in this, or they would have mentioned it as proof of his “worrying.”

Dannyl would have been amused by all this “spying.” Taking another sip of sumi, Rothen considered what he knew of his friend’s activities in the last year. From letters, Rothen guessed that Dannyl had become close friends with his assistant, Tayend. The speculation regarding Tayend’s sexual orientation had disappeared within weeks of it beginning. Everyone knew what self-indulgent gossips the Elynes were, and the only reason the assistant’s rumored tastes in lovers had drawn the attention of Guild magicians was because Dannyl had been accused of interest in other men in his youth. That accusation had never been proven to be true. When no further gossip about Dannyl or his assistant arose, most magicians had forgotten about the pair.

Rothen was more concerned about the research he had asked Dannyl to carry out. Wondering when Akkarin had found the opportunity to learn black magic had led Rothen to speculate on the journey Akkarin had made, years before, to study ancient magic. It seemed likely that Akkarin had discovered the forbidden arts during that time. The same sources of information might also reveal any weakness black magicians might have that could be exploited, so Rothen had asked Dannyl to do a little research on ancient magic for a “book” he was writing.

Unfortunately, Dannyl had produced little that was useful. When he had returned to the Guild unannounced over a year before, to report to Akkarin, Rothen had been worried that he’d been found out. Dannyl had assurred Rothen afterward that he’d told Akkarin the research had been for his own interest—and to Rothen’s surprise Akkarin had encouraged Dannyl to continue. Dannyl still sent research notes every few months, but each bundle was smaller. Dannyl had expressed frustration at having exhausted all sources of knowledge in Elyne, yet, remembering how distant and evasive Dannyl had been during his visit to the Guild, Rothen could not help wondering occasionally if his friend was holding something back. Furthermore, Dannyl had mentioned discussing something confidential with the High Lord.

Rothen brought his empty cup back to the dining table. Dannyl was a Guild Ambassador and as such he would be trusted with all kinds of information he could not share with ordinary magicians. The confidential matter could have just been something political.

But he couldn’t help worrying that Dannyl was unknowingly helping Akkarin in some dreadful, sinister plot.

He could do nothing about that, however. He could only trust in Dannyl’s good sense. His friend would not follow orders blindly, especially not if he was asked to do something questionable or wrong.

No matter how many times Dannyl visited the Great Library, the sight of it still filled him with wonder. Cut into a high cliff, the building’s enormous door and windows were so large it was easy to imagine that a race of giant men had carved it out of the rock for their use. The corridors and rooms inside, however, were made to suit an ordinary man’s proportions, so no race of giants had made
them.
As his carriage pulled up outside the massive door, a smaller door at the base of it opened and a striking young man stepped out.