Trudi Canavan - The High Lord

“Administrator,” Akkarin replied. “Lord Osen.”

“High Lord,” Osen replied, nodding.

Lorlen sat down at his desk and looked up at Osen. “Was there something...?”

“Yes,” Osen replied. “I found a messenger waiting at the door about half an hour ago. Captain Barran says he has something interesting to show you if you are free.”

Another victim? Lorlen suppressed a shudder. “Then I had better see what it is, unless the High Lord has reason to detain me.” He looked at Akkarin.

Deep creases had formed between Akkarin’s eyebrows. He looks genuinely concerned, Lorlen thought. Very concerned.

“No,” Akkarin said. “Captain Barran’s request is more important than the issues I came to discuss.”

A short and awkward silence followed as Osen stayed by the desk and Akkarin remained in his chair. Lorlen glanced from one to the other, then rose.

“Thank you, Osen. Could you see to the ordering of a carriage for me?”

“Yes, Administrator.” The young magician nodded politely to Akkarin, then strode out of the room. Lorlen looked at Akkarin closely, wondering if Osen’s dislike had communicated itself.

What am I thinking? Of course Akkarin knows.

Akkarin had paid little attention to Osen’s departure, however. He was still frowning as he rose and followed Lorlen to the door.

“You weren’t expecting this?” Lorlen ventured as he stepped into the Entrance Hall. It was raining outside, so he stopped within the doors to wait for the carriage.

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“You could come with me.”

“Better that you take care of it.”

He’ll be watching, I’d wager. Lorlen looked down at the ring on his finger.

“Good night, then,” Lorlen ventured.

Akkarin’s expression softened slightly. “Good night. I’m looking forward to your views on this.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward, then he turned away and started down the stairs, the rain hissing as it met the invisible shield around him.

Lorlen shook his head at Akkarin’s little joke. A carriage emerged from the stables and started along the road to the University. It pulled up at the bottom of the stairs and the driver jumped down to open the door. Lorlen hurried down and climbed aboard.

The journey through the city to the Guard House seemed longer than usual. The rain clouds blocked the starlight, but the wet road reflected lamplight up onto the buildings. Those few people roaming about hurried by in their cloaks, the hoods covering their heads. Only one delivery boy stopped to stare at the carriage as it passed.

The carriage finally pulled up outside the Guard House. Lorlen climbed out and strode to the door. He was greeted by Captain Barran.

“Sorry to call you out on such a miserable night, Administrator,” Barran said as he led Lorlen down the corridor to his office. “I considered delaying my message until tomorrow, but that would have made what I have to show you even less pleasant.”

Barran did not stop at his office, but descended to the same basement room he had taken Lorlen to before. As they stepped through the door, a powerful smell of rot enveloped them. Lorlen saw with dismay that something human-shaped lay under a heavy cloth on one of the tables.

“Here.” The Captain moved quickly to a cupboard and took out a jar and two squares of cloth. He unstoppered the jar and tipped a few drops of yellow oil onto the cloths, then handed one to Lorlen. “Hold this over your nose.”

As Lorlen did, a sharp and familiar medicinal smell overwhelmed the room’s odor. Holding the other cloth to his own face, Barran moved over to the table.

“This man was found floating in the river today,” he said, his voice muffled. “He’s been dead a couple of days.” He lifted the cloth covering the body to reveal a pale face. The corpse’s eyes were covered by small squares of material. As more of the body was revealed, Lorlen forced himself to ignore the signs of decay and what he guessed were the nibblings of fish. Instead, he noted the wound over the heart and the long slash down the man’s neck.

“Another victim.”

“No.” Barran looked at Lorlen. “He’s been identified by two witnesses. This appears to be the murderer.”

Lorlen stared at Barran, then the corpse. “But he’s been killed in the same way.”

“Yes. In revenge, perhaps. See here.” The guard pointed to the left hand of the corpse. A finger was missing. “He was wearing a ring. We had to cut it off.” Barran replaced the cloth, then moved to a covered dish on a nearby bench. The guard drew off the cover to reveal a dirty silver band.

“It had a stone, but it wasn’t removed. Our investigator found shards of glass embedded in the skin, and the grips of the setting were bent in a way that suggests the ring was smashed. He believes the stone was glass.”

Lorlen resisted looking down at his own ring. Akkarin’s ring. So my suspicion about the murderer’s ring must be true. I wonder...

He turned to regard the covered corpse.

“Are you sure this is the murderer?”

“The witnesses were very convincing.”

Lorlen moved to the corpse and uncovered an arm. Steeling himself, he placed two fingers on the skin and sent his senses out. At once he detected energy within it, and felt relief. Something was odd, however. He searched, then drew back as he realized what the strangeness was. The life within the body was concentrated around the stomach, lungs, skin and wounds. The rest was all but empty.

Of course, he thought. This man has probably been floating in the river for a few days. Time enough for small organisms to invade. Another day or two and the true cause of death would have been undetectable.

Lorlen drew away from the table.

“Seen enough?” Barran asked.

“Yes.” Lorlen paused to wipe his fingers on the cloth before giving it to Barran. He held his breath until they were back in the corridor and the door was shut firmly behind them.

“What now?” Lorlen wondered aloud.

Barran sighed. “We wait. If the murders begin again, we’ll know for sure that we have a gang of killers to look for.”

“I’d prefer it if the murders simply stopped now,” Lorlen replied.

“As would most Imardians,” Barran agreed, “but I still have the murderer’s killer to look for.”

The murderer’s killer. Another black magician. Akkarin, perhaps? He glanced at the door they had just passed through. That corpse was proof that there were—or had been—black magicians in the city other than Akkarin. Was the city filled with them? Now that was not a comforting thought. Suddenly, all Lorlen wanted was to go back to the Guild, to the safety of his rooms, and try to sort out the implications.

But Barran obviously needed to discuss the discovery further. Smothering a sigh, Lorlen followed the guard back to his office.

Rothen sat in his favorite chair to one side of the Night Room and watched his fellow magicians. Every week, Guild members came to this room to talk and exchange gossip. Some remained in pairs or small circles, bound together by friendship or familiarity with others of the same discipline. Others were drawn together by family and House ties; though magicians were supposed to put aside such loyalties when they joined the Guild, the inclination to trust and distrust according to tradition and politics remained strong.

At the other side of the room sat three magicians who appeared to be engaged in anything but idle chatter. Lord Balkan, wearing the red robes and black sash of the Head of Warriors, was the youngest of them. Lady Vinara, the green-robed Head of Healers, was a stern, middle-aged woman. White-haired Lord Sarrin, the Head of Alchemists, wore his purple robes.