Trudi Canavan - The High Lord

If I had the courage, I would destroy the chest and its contents, but I fear to judge differently from those who placed it in the ground in the first place. They were most definitely wiser men than I.

The chest must have been rediscovered, however, or she would not have had Coren’s diary in her hands. What had happened to the rest of the books? Did Akkarin have them?

Or was the diary a fake, created by Akkarin to persuade the Guild that black magic was not as bad as it was thought to be? He might be testing it on her, to see if it would convince her.

If that were so, then he had made a mistake. Coren had believed that black magic was wrong. Reading the account, whether fictional or not, was not going to persuade anyone otherwise.

If it was real, why had Akkarin given it to her? Sonea frowned down at her notebook. He would not have allowed her to know of its existence on a whim. He must have a reason.

What had he revealed to her? That Coren had used black magic and that it had led him to discover how to manipulate stone. That another magician—a famous magician—had committed the same crime as he. Perhaps Akkarin wanted her to consider that he, too, might have learned it against his better judgment. Perhaps he wanted her sympathy and understanding.

Coren hadn’t held a novice hostage to keep his crimes secret, however.

Would he have, if he had been faced with losing his powers, position, or even his life, as punishment? Sonea shook her head. Perhaps Akkarin simply wanted to destroy whatever illusions she might have of the famous figure that Coren was.

The sudden appearance of Lord Makin interrupted her thoughts. The teacher placed a large box on the front desk, then faced the class.

“Today I will be teaching you about illusion,” the Warrior told them. “And how it is used in battle. The most important thing to remember with illusion is this: it is all about deception. An illusion cannot harm you, but it can lead you into danger. I’ll demonstrate this with a story.”

Makin moved to his chair and sat down, folding his hands on the table. All sounds of boots scuffing the floor or novices shifting in their seats ceased. Lord Makin’s stories were always interesting.

“Our histories tell us that, five centuries ago, two brothers lived in the Elyne mountains. Grind and Lond were both magicians skilled in battle. One day a caravan of travellers passed, led by a merchant named Kamaka. His daughter, a beautiful young woman, travelled with him. The two brothers saw the caravan and descended from their mountain home to buy goods. When they laid eyes on Kamaka’s daughter they both fell instantly in love.”

Makin sighed and shook his head sadly, gaining smiles from the novices. “An argument ensued between them over who would have the girl. The two brothers could not resolve their dispute with words, so they began to fight each other. It is said the battle continued for days (which is unlikely) and the brothers found themselves evenly matched in strength and skill. It was Grind who broke the stalemate. Seeing that his brother stood by a cliff on which was poised a large boulder, he contrived that this boulder should fall, but preceded it with another, illusory boulder.

“Lond saw his brother staring at something above his head. He looked up to see a boulder falling toward him, and instantly dismissed it as the illusion it was. Of course he did not see the second boulder, which was concealed behind the illusory one.

“Grind had expected his brother to detect the deception. When he realized he had killed his own brother, he became distracted with grief. The caravan was able to continue on its way, taking Kamaka’s daughter with it. So you see,” Makin finished, “while illusions cannot hurt you, allowing yourself to be deceived by them might.”

The Warrior rose. “How do you make illusions? That is what I will be teaching you today. We will start by copying the objects I have brought with me. Seno, come to the front of the class.”

Sonea listened as the magician explained different ways of creating an image of something with magic, and watched as Seno followed the teacher’s instructions. When the demonstration was finished, Seno passed Sonea’s desk on the way to his own. He looked at Sonea and smiled. She let the corner of her mouth curl upward in response. He had been particularly friendly toward her since a Warrior practice session some weeks before, in which she had taught him a trick that weaker magicians could use against stronger ones.

As the lesson continued, she turned her mind to learning the illusion techniques. Just when she had managed to form an illusion of a pachi fruit something appeared in the air in front of her.

It was a flower, the petals made of bright orange autumn leaves. She reached out and her fingers passed through the strange blossom. It shattered into a thousand sparks of light that spun in a quick dance before vanishing.

“Well done!” Trassia exclaimed.

“It wasn’t me.” Sonea turned to see Seno grinning at her, an orange leaf lying on the table in front of him.

At the front of the class, Lord Makin cleared his throat loudly. Sonea turned back to see the teacher regarding her sternly. She shrugged to protest her innocence. He looked pointedly at the fruit in front of her.

She concentrated until an illusory copy appeared beside it. It was a redder shade than it ought to be, and the texture of its skin was suspiciously like the veins of a leaf. She sighed. It would be easier if she didn’t have a memory of autumn leaves so fresh in her mind. She pushed away her annoyance. Seno hadn’t intended to distract her. He’d just been showing off.

But why flaunt his success to her and no one else? Surely he wasn’t trying to impress her.

Or was he?

She resisted the temptation to turn and see what he was doing. Seno was a cheerful boy, talkative and easy to like, and she was probably the only Kyralian girl who didn’t tower over him...

What am I thinking? She scowled as she realized her illusion had changed into a shapeless glowing ball. Even if I didn’t have Akkarin to worry about, what of Dorrien?

A memory flitted into her mind of Rothen’s son standing by the spring in the forest behind the Guild. Of him leaning closer to kiss her. She pushed it away.

She hadn’t seen Dorrien for over a year. Whenever she found herself thinking of him, she forced herself to concentrate on something else. There was nothing to be gained from regret—not when it would have been an impossible relationship anyway, with her stuck in the Guild until graduation, and him living—all but a few weeks each year—far away, in a village at the base of the mountains.

Sighing, she concentrated on the fruit, and began restoring her illusion.

As Lorlen reached the door of his office he heard a familiar voice call his name. Glancing behind, he smiled as he saw his assistant striding forward to meet him.

“Good evening, Lord Osen.”

The magical lock unwound under his will, and the door clicked open. Lorlen stepped aside and gestured for Osen to enter, but his assistant hesitated as he looked inside the room, his expression changing from surprise to a scowl. Following Osen’s gaze, Lorlen saw the black-robed man who was relaxing in one of the room’s comfortable chairs.

Akkarin had a way of turning up in locked rooms, or unexpected places, but this did not explain Osen’s scowl. Lorlen looked at his assistant again. The young magician’s expression was respectful now; no sign remained of the fleeting disapproval Lorlen had glimpsed.

I hadn’t noticed his dislike of Akkarin before, Lorlen mused as he walked to his desk. I wonder how long he has nursed it.

“Good evening, High Lord,” Lorlen said.