The Rogue (20 page)

Lilia smiled and shrugged. The wine was going to her head and she had no energy to form a reply.
There must be another way to solve Naki’s problems. Murder is a bit extreme.
But what if there wasn’t?
Could I use black magic and hide it? Make it look like an accident?
Naki was murmuring something, but the words were distant and took too much concentration to understand.

Mind full of dark thoughts, Lilia slipped into strange and vivid dreams where she ridded Naki of all her problems, and they lived a life of love and secrets in a house full of staircases and hidden doors and cabinets filled with frustratingly cryptic books.

As the carriage pulled up in front of the tower, Sonea smiled wryly.

Finding a suitable prison for Lorandra had proven difficult. The city Guard had objected to keeping a magician – even one whose powers were blocked – in their prison. No prison existed in the Guild grounds and there was no room in the Magicians’ Quarters for her – even if there had been Sonea doubted the magicians living there would have been happy about having Lorandra as a neighbour. The Servants’ Quarters were considered briefly, but they were even more crowded – something that ought to be dealt with soon, Osen had commented. Keeping Lorandra in the Dome permanently was only suggested in jest.

The temporary solution was to use the Lookout as a prison. The rebuilding of the tower had begun before the Ichani Invasion, at Akkarin’s suggestion. Afterwards, it was completed and for a few short years used by Alchemists to study the weather. Eventually it was loaned out to the Guard for training purposes, with the condition that it was maintained and always occupied.

Though the Guard had made it clear they didn’t want Lorandra in their prison, they readily agreed to guarding her at the Lookout, so clearly the knowledge that Lorandra was a magician didn’t bother them. In retrospect, Sonea could see that guarding the tower against a rescue mission from Skellin would be easier here than in the city prison. Corruption among the prison guards had led to escapes before. There was less chance of one of them releasing Lorandra if her guards were a smaller group, carefully chosen for their loyalty and trustworthiness.

Or perhaps they know it’s more likely the Guild will continue to post a magician to help guard Lorandra here. How long would magicians agree to watch over her, if they had to do it at the dirty, unpleasant city prison?

Stepping down from the carriage, Sonea looked up at the building and felt a small pang of sadness.
Would you have been pleased that we finished it, Akkarin?
she thought.
Or did you mean for it to be a distraction to keep the Guild’s attention away from you, as some believe?

It was a plain building, just a round tower twice as tall as the trees surrounding it. The surface was smooth and the windows small, reminding her of the Fort with its magically bonded stone face and tiny windows. Guards were posted around the exterior. One of them, standing beside the heavy wooden door, bowed as she approached, then opened the door for her.

She stepped into a large room lit by several small lamps. Two more guards and their captain rose and bowed. They had been sitting at a table with a young Warrior, who nodded respectfully to Sonea.

The captain stepped forward and bowed again.

“Black Magician Sonea. I am Captain Sotin,” he said.

“I’m here to see the prisoner,” she told him.

“Follow me.”

He led her up a winding staircase and stopped at a wooden door into which a small hatch had been recently cut. Opening the hatch, he gestured for her to look inside. She saw a bed and a desk, and a familiar reddish-skinned old woman sitting in a chair. Lorandra’s attention was on something in her hands.

“Black Magician Sonea is here to see you,” the captain announced, his voice loud in Sonea’s ear.

The woman looked up and stared at the hatch without expression. Her gaze dropped back to her still-moving hands.

“She doesn’t say much,” the captain said apologetically.

“She never has,” Sonea replied. “Unlock the door.”

He obeyed, taking a ring of keys from his belt and releasing the locks.
Two locks
, Sonea noted.
She must really make them nervous.
Sonea stepped into the room and heard the door close behind her. Lorandra looked up again, giving Sonea a hard stare before turning her attention back to the object in her hands. Looking closer, Sonea saw that it was some sort of fabric, which the woman was creating with thick thread and a short, bent piece of thick wire. The speed with which the makeshift hook moved through the edge of the fabric and formed looping knots suggested many years of practice.

“What are you doing?” Sonea asked.

Lorandra regarded Sonea with narrowed eyes. “It is called ‘binda’ and most of the women of my homeland know it.”

The fabric shifted in her hands, revealing that it was forming a tube. Surprised and encouraged by Lorandra’s willingness to speak, she considered how she could encourage the woman to continue.

“And what are you making?”

Lorandra looked down. “Something to keep me warm.”

Sonea nodded.
Of course. We are not far off mid-winter so it’s only going to get colder. She can’t use magic to warm the air any more. There is no fireplace and the guards won’t trust her with a brazier.
Yet the room wasn’t particularly cold. The warmth from the rooms below must go some way toward easing the chill.

“We usually use a stick with a hook carved into the end, but they think I’ll use it to kill myself,” Lorandra added.

Sonea couldn’t help smiling a little. “Would you?”

The woman shrugged and did not answer.
She would not expect me to believe it, so why bother.

“Are they treating you well?” Sonea asked.

Lorandra shrugged again.

“Anything I can bring you?”

A disbelieving twitch of the mouth. And no answer again.

“Your son, perhaps?” Sonea asked, allowing a little scepticism into her voice. She was not surprised when Lorandra didn’t answer. Suppressing a sigh, she moved to the low bed, sat down and returned to the subject the woman seemed willing to talk about. If she could foster a habit of conversation, who knew where it would lead? “So what do the women of your homeland make with binda?”

Lorandra worked on in silence but something about the set of her mouth told Sonea she was considering answering.

“Hats. Gloves. Garments. Blankets. Baskets. Depends on the thread. Softer and finer for gloves. Strong and resilient for baskets.”

“Does it take long?”

“Depends what you’re making and how thick the thread is. Binda stretches, which is good for some things and not for others. If we want a firm cloth we weave.”

“What do you make the thread out of?”

Lorandra’s gaze became distant. “Reber wool mostly. There is a type of grass that can be softened and spun for baskets, but I haven’t seen it south of the desert, and a fine, soft thread spun from the nests of bird moths that only the rich can afford.”

“Moths? Here moths eat clothing, not make thread to weave clothing from.” Sonea smiled. “What is the cloth like?”

“Soft but strong. It’s usually polished to a shine, and more thread is used to stitch patterns and pictures onto it.” Lorandra frowned. “I’ve heard of women wearing skirts that took years to stitch.”

“You’ve not seen them yourself?”

Lorandra scowled. “Only bird cloth I’ve seen was worn by the
kagar
.”

Catching a hint of contempt and fear in the woman’s eyes and voice, Sonea considered who these “kagar” might be.

“Are they the people who kill anyone possessing magic? Who are magicians themselves?”

Lorandra shot her an unfriendly look. “Yes.”

“Why do they kill magicians?”

“Magic is evil.”

“But they use it themselves?”

“Their great sacrifice, in order to cleanse our society.” There was bitterness in her voice.

“Do you think magic is evil?”

Lorandra shrugged.

“Do you think, with your powers blocked, they’d let you live if you went back?”

The woman turned to regard Sonea.

“Planning to send me back?”

Sonea decided not to answer.

Lorandra sighed. “No. They aim to purge magic from our bloodlines. It wouldn’t matter that I’m too old to bear children. I might teach the evil to others.”

“It is incredible. They must have no enemies to defend themselves against. What of neighbouring lands? Do they forbid magic, too?”

The woman shook her head. “We have no neighbouring lands. The kagar defeated them all a hundred years ago.”

“
All
of them? How many were there?”

“Hundreds. Most of them small, but together they make your Allied Lands look tiny.” Lorandra smiled grimly. “You had best hope they never look across the desert, or Sachaka will be the least of your worries.”

Sonea felt her stomach clench, but then she remembered how Lorandra had not known that Kallen would be able to read her mind.
Lorandra’s people don’t have black magic, and they are actively trying to purge the magic from their bloodlines.
And yet they had conquered all their neighbours.

“If they did, and truly are a threat, you and Skellin would be in as much trouble as us,” Sonea pointed out. “It is a pity you didn’t join us when you arrived. We would have learned about a new land, and you would have had our protection. If Skellin—”

“Black Magician Sonea,” came a voice from the door.

Sonea turned to see the captain peering in.

“Yes?”

“Someone here to see you. It’s … important.”

Rising, Sonea walked to the door. As the captain unlocked it she looked back at Lorandra. The woman stared at her for a moment, then looked back down at her work. The tube had grown considerably during their conversation, Sonea noted.

She found one of Black Magician Kallen’s associates waiting. One of the magicians who had once tracked her movements, she noted. She tried not to radiate instant dislike, not the least because he looked alarmed and upset.

“Forgive the intrusion, Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “But there has been a murder. A magician. In the city. Black Magician Kallen is already there. You are to meet him.”

She drew in a sharp breath. The murder of a magician was alarming enough, but Kallen’s involvement and her summoning meant only one thing.

The victim must have been killed with black magic.

Dannyl sighed, leaned back in his chair and looked around his office. Being able to rest against the supportive back of a chair was a simple comfort that reminded him of home. The desk before him was also an object of Kyralian practicality and functionality that he hadn’t seen in Sachakan homes. If it weren’t for the curved walls, he could have imagined himself back in Imardin.

Perhaps chairs and desks existed in Sachakan homes, in the personal rooms he hadn’t seen. Maybe Sachakans had even better furniture for work and study.
If they have, they haven’t bothered to supply the Guild House with them. This will do me just fine.

Before him were his notes and the books he’d bought at the market. He’d just written a list of what he’d learned since arriving in Sachaka, and he was feeling quite pleased with himself.

The first item was “
Proof that Imardin wasn’t destroyed in the Sachakan War
“, which he’d found in records in an Ashaki’s library not long after arriving in Arvice. Below that he’d written “
The existence of the storestone
“, which Lorkin had found in the same collection of records.

Between this and the next set of items he’d squeezed in “
That the Duna tribesmen knew (and perhaps still do) how to make magical gemstones. That these gemstones are made (not natural). That the Traitors stole the knowledge from them
“. All this he’d learned from Unh, the tribesman who had tracked Lorkin and his Traitor abductors.

Next was a longer set of observations from the records he’d bought.

bq.

That Narvelan, the leader of the Kyralians ruling Sachaka, had owned a slave, was considered crazy, stole the storestone, and used it to create the wasteland either deliberately or in a confrontation between himself and his Kyralian pursuers.

That the threat of using the storestone most likely kept the stronger force of surviving Sachakan magicians under control, and once it was removed Kyralia was forced to return the country to Sachakan rule.

That the wasteland appeared, at first, to begin recovering, then failed as the area began to grow instead.

It was a good list, Dannyl decided. It was only frustration at making no progress recently that made it seem like he hadn’t achieved anything here. However, there were still questions to be answered.

Leaning forward, Dannyl began to write a list of what he still wanted to find.

“
Proof I can take home with me that Imardin wasn’t destroyed in the Sachakan War
.” Achati seemed to prefer that Dannyl didn’t buy Sachakan records, but maybe he wouldn’t mind the occasional purchase. If Dannyl was to convince anyone of his theory that Imardin had been destroyed later, he would need to have a document to show them.

“
Proof that the mad apprentice destroyed Imardin.
” Dannyl didn’t think he’d find this in Sachaka, however.

“
Where did the storestone come from? How was it made? Was it made, or natural? Do any still exist? Does anybody know how to make them?
”

Dannyl could not help wondering if Lorkin knew the answers to these questions. The Traitors had stolen the secret of making magical gemstones from the Duna. If anyone other than the Duna knew the answers, the Traitors did.

Dannyl winced as he remembered the Sachakan king’s request that he establish communications with Lorkin. He’d asked Merria, his assistant, to investigate if she stumbled upon any information.
But who are we supposed to enquire of? The Ashaki no longer invite me to dinner and I never took her with me anyway. I doubt the slaves have any way of reaching Lorkin other than through the Traitors.