Trudi Canavan - The High Lord

“Then you must talk to her,” Vinara said to the Warrior, “and when you do, you must be able to tell her exactly where she stands with us. We can’t ask her to live for our sakes when her future is uncertain.”

Balkan nodded and let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right, of course.” He looked around at the other magicians. “Very well, we must hold a Meet to discuss the position and its restrictions.”

“We already have discussed it, when Sarrin was chosen,” Peakin pointed out.

“The restrictions ought to be refined,” Garrel said. “At the moment the only requirements are that she remain within the Guild grounds, cannot hold a position of authority, and cannot teach. It should be spelled out that she must not use her powers unless requested by us all.”

Rothen resisted a smile. Us all? Garrel was certainly confident of gaining Balkan’s position.

“Well, we’d have to change that rule against teaching, for a start,” Jerrik added.

Vinara looked at Rothen. “What do you suggest, Rothen?”

He paused, knowing they would not like what he had to say.

“I don’t think she’ll agree to any restriction that keeps her within the Guild grounds.”

Balkan frowned. “Why not?”

“She has always wanted to use her powers to help the poor. It was part of the reason she decided to join us and it has given her something to hold onto,” he glanced sideways at Garrel, “in difficult times. If you want her to live, don’t take that from her.”

Vinara smiled thinly. “And I suppose if we proposed she undertake some kind of charitable work in the city, it would give her reason to stay with us.”

Rothen nodded.

Balkan crossed his arms. His fingers drummed against his sleeve. “That would also help us regain the favor of the people. We didn’t prove to be particularly effective defenders. I’ve heard that some even blame us for the invasion.”

“Surely not!” Garrel exclaimed.

“It’s true,” Osen said quietly.

Garrel scowled. “Ungrateful dwells.”

“Actually, it was certain members of the Houses who expressed that opinion on their return to the city.” Osen added. “Including members of House Paren, if I recall correctly.”

Garrel blinked in surprise, then flushed.

“Should we extend the area of confinement to the city, then?” Telano suggested.

“The idea of confinement was to ensure our black magician didn’t have access to large numbers of victims, should he or she grow hungry for power,” Peakin said. “What is the point of having an area of confinement, when it includes the highest density of population in the country?”

Rothen chuckled. “And you’d have to persuade the King to redefine what is considered part of the city. I don’t think Sonea intended to restrict her help to those within the Outer Wall.”

“Confinement is clearly unworkable,” Vinara said. “I suggest an escort.”

All eyes turned to her. Balkan nodded approvingly.

“And if the help she wants to give is Healing, she still has many years of training to complete.” Vinara looked at Rothen.

He nodded. “I’m sure she’s aware of that. My son has expressed a wish to teach her. He thought it might revive her, but perhaps, if he is to assist her in this work, it could be a more official arrangement.”

She pursed her lips. “It would not be appropriate for her to return to classes. It is not wise for a Healer to have only one teacher, however. I will assist as well.”

Rothen nodded, suddenly too overwhelmed by gratitude to speak. He listened as the others continued the debate.

“So will we still call her the ‘Black Magician’?” Peakin asked.

“Yes,” Balkan replied.

“And what color robes will she wear?”

There was a short silence.

“Black,” Osen said quietly.

“But the High Lord’s are black,” Telano pointed out.

Osen nodded. “Perhaps it is time to change the High Lord’s robes. Black will always remind people of black magic, which, despite everything, we do not want to encourage people to think of as wholly good and desirable. We need something fresh and clean.”

“White,” Vinara said.

Osen nodded. “Yes.”

As the others voiced their agreement, Balkan made a strangled noise.

“White!” he exclaimed. “You can’t be serious. It’s impractical, and impossible to keep clean.”

Vinara smiled. “Now what would a High Lord be involved in that might stain his white robes?”

“A little excess wine consumption, maybe?” Jerrik murmured.

The others chuckled.

“White it is, then,” Osen said.

“Wait,” Balkan looked from face to face, then shook his head. “Why do I find myself thinking you’ve made your minds up, and I won’t win any argument about it?”

“It’s a good sign,” Vinara said. “One that suggests we have chosen a strong set of people to be our Higher Magicians.” She looked around the group, then smiled as her eyes met Rothen’s. “You still haven’t guessed, have you Lord Rothen?”

He stared at her, puzzled by her sudden question. “Guessed what?”

“Of course, it still has to be put to the vote, but I don’t expect anyone will protest.”

“About what?”

Her smile widened. “Congratulations, Rothen. You’re to be our new Head of Alchemic Studies.”

From the top of the two-story house, it was possible to see that the rubble formed a perfect circle. It was a sobering sight.

Yet another to add to my list, Cery thought. Along with the ruins of the city walls, the long lines of bodies that the Guild had laid out across the lawn in front of the University, and the look Sonea had in her eyes as Rothen finally persuaded her to leave Akkarin’s body.

He shivered and made himself look down again. Hundreds of workers were sorting through the rubble. A few people had been found alive, buried near the edges of the destruction. It was impossible to know how many had been hiding in the houses when they were blasted to ruins. Most were probably dead.

All because of him. He should have paid more attention to Savara’s warnings about what would happen when an Ichani died. But he had been too concerned with finding a way to kill a magician to think about how his people might survive the consequences.

“Back here again?”

Arms wound about his waist. A familiar spicy aroma filled his senses. His heart lightened for a moment, then began to hurt again.

“Must you go?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Savara replied. “We could use your help.”

“No. You don’t need me. Certainly not as a Sachakan magician. And you have plenty of volunteers to do non-magical work.”

“I need you.”

She sighed. “No, Cery. You need someone you can trust, completely and unconditionally. I will never be that person.”

He nodded. She was right.

But it didn’t make parting easier.

Her arms tightened. “I’ll miss you,” she added quietly. “If... if I’m welcome, I’ll drop in whenever my duties take me this way.”

He turned to face her, and lifted one eyebrow as if considering.

“I might have a few bottles of Anuren dark left.”

She smiled broadly and he could not help feeling better, even if it was just for a moment. Ever since the final battle, he had felt a terrible fear of loss, and he had tried to keep her from leaving. But Savara didn’t belong in Kyralia. Not now. And he was letting his heart’s demands overtake common-sense. That was something a Thief should never do.

Hooking a finger under her chin, he lifted her head and kissed her, slowly and firmly. Then he stepped back.

“Go on, then. Go home. I don’t like long goodbyes.”

She smiled, then turned away. He watched her saunter to the hatch in the roof, then descend through the ceiling below. When she was gone, he turned to regard the workers again.