Trudi Canavan - The High Lord

Rothen wished he could hear their conversation. The three had been talking energetically for an hour. Whenever anything was debated among the Higher Magicians, these three were the most vocal and most influential speakers. Between Balkan’s direct reasoning, Vinara’s compassion and insight, and Sarrin’s conservative opinions, they usually managed to cover most sides of an issue.

But Rothen knew he would never get near enough to the trio to listen without being observed. Instead, he turned his attention to closer magicians. At once his heart skipped as he recognized a familiar voice. Administrator Lorlen... somewhere behind his chair. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the voice.

“... I understand that many of the Alchemists have been involved in long-term projects they are reluctant to put aside,” Lorlen said. “All will have an opportunity to object to their involvement in the construction of the new Lookout, but they must prove that their work will be irretrievably harmed by the delay.”

“But...”

“Yes?”

There was a sigh. “I just cannot see why we are wasting Alchemists’ time on such... such foolery. Weather monitoring, of all things! Can’t Davin build himself a little hut on that hill? Why a tower?” The magician objecting to the project was Lord Peakin, the Head of Alchemic Studies. “And I do not see the need for the Warriors’ involvement. Is this structure going to be for alchemic or military use?”

“Both,” Lorlen told him. “The High Lord decided it would be short-sighted to construct a building of this kind without considering its defensive potential. He also saw that it was unlikely that the building would be approved by the King if its use was solely for monitoring the weather.”

“Then who will design this structure?”

“That is yet to be decided.”

Rothen smiled. Lord Davin had been considered an eccentric for years, but recently his study of weather patterns and prediction had gained a little respect and interest. Lord Peakin, however, had always found Davin’s gushing enthusiasm and peculiar obsession irritating.

The discussion about the tower ended as a new voice joined the others.

“Good evening, Administrator, Lord Peakin.”

“Director Jerrik,” Peakin said. “I have heard that Sonea will not be attending evening classes now. Is this true?”

At Sonea’s name, Rothen was instantly tense and alert. And Jerrik, as University Director, oversaw all matters involving the training of novices. From this conversation, Rothen might learn about her progress.

“It is,” Jerrik replied. “The High Lord spoke to me yesterday. A few of her teachers had commented to me that she appeared to be tired and was easily distracted. Akkarin had made the same observation, and agreed to let her have the evenings free for the rest of the year.”

“What of those subjects she has already begun studying?”

“She’ll have to begin them again next year, though she won’t have to repeat any projects if she doesn’t need to. Her teachers will take into account what she has covered already.”

The voices were growing fainter. Rothen resisted the urge to look around.

“Will she be favoring a discipline?” Peakin asked. “This will make it even more necessary that she focus her efforts on one soon, or she will not be proficient in any by graduation.”

“Akkarin hasn’t decided yet,” Lorlen replied.

“Akkarin hasn’t decided?” Jerrik repeated. “The choice is Sonea’s.”

There was a pause. “Of course,” Lorlen agreed. “What I meant by that is Akkarin hasn’t indicated to me which he’d prefer her to choose, so I’m assuming he hasn’t decided what to recommend.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to influence her in any way,” Peakin said. “Which is why he... a good grounding... before...”

The voices faded into the distance. Guessing that the magicians were moving away, Rothen sighed and drained his glass.

So Sonea had her evenings to herself. His mood darkened at the thought of her stuck in her room in the High Lord’s Residence, close to Akkarin and his evil habits. Then he remembered that she had always spent her spare time in the Novices’ Library. No doubt she would simply go there every evening now she was free of classes.

Feeling a little better, Rothen rose, gave his empty glass to a servant, then went in search of Yaldin.

Since Irand had allocated them a study room, Dannyl and Tayend had gradually added furnishings until it was as comfortable as any nobleman’s guestroom. In addition to the large table that had once dominated the room, there were comfortable chairs and a couch, a well-stocked wine cabinet and oil lamps for reading. The lamps were also the only source of heat when Dannyl was not there. Today, however, he had set a globe of magic in an alcove in one wall, and the heat had quickly chased away the chill of the stone walls.

Tayend had been absent when Dannyl arrived at the library. After talking to Irand for an hour, Dannyl had continued on to their study room to wait for his friend. He was struggling through the records of a seaside estate in the vague hope of finding a reference to ancient magic when Tayend finally arrived.

The scholar stopped in the middle of the room and swayed, clearly a little drunk.

“Looks like you’ve been having a good time,” Dannyl observed.

Tayend sighed dramatically. “Ah, yes. There was good wine. There was fine music. There were even a few rather good-looking acrobats to admire... But I dragged myself away, knowing that I could only escape for a few sweet hours from slaving in the library for my relentlessly demanding Guild Ambassador.”

Dannyl crossed his arms and smiled. “Slaving, indeed. You’ve never done an honorable day’s work in your life.”

“Plenty of dishonorable ones, though.” Tayend grinned. “And besides, I did a little work for us at this party. Dem Marane was there—the man who might be a rebel.”

“Really?” Dannyl uncrossed his arms. “That’s a coincidence.”

“Not really.” Tayend shrugged. “I see him occasionally at parties, but I haven’t had much conversation with him since he first introduced himself. Anyway, I decided to have a chat and give him a hint that we were interested in attending his parties.”

Dannyl felt a stab of alarm. “What did you say?”

Tayend waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing specific. I just commented that his invitations had stopped once I’d started, assisting you, then I looked cautious, but interested.”

“You shouldn’t have...” Dannyl frowned. “How many times have you had these invitations?”

The scholar chuckled. “You sound jealous, Dannyl. Only once or twice a year. Not invitations, really. He just hints that I’m still welcome to attend his parties.”

“And these hints stopped when you started assisting me?”

“Obviously he’s terribly intimidated by you.”

Dannyl paced the room. “You’ve just hinted that we’ve guessed what he and his friends are up to. If they are as involved as Akkarin says, they’ll take even the slightest hint of danger seriously. Very seriously.”

Tayend’s eyes widened. “I just... sounded interested.”

“That is probably enough to send Marane into a panic. He’s probably considering what to do about us right now.”

“What will he do?”

Dannyl sighed. “I doubt he’ll wait around to see if the Guild comes to arrest him. He’s probably considering ways to silence us. Blackmail. Murder.”

“Murder! But... surely he’d know I wouldn’t have approached him if I was going to turn him in? If I was going to turn him in I’d just... turn him in.”

“Because you only suspect he’s a rebel,” Dannyl replied. “He’ll be expecting us to do exactly what we’re planning to do—pretend to want to join them in order to confirm our suspicions. That’s why Akkarin suggested we give him something to blackmail us with.”