Trudi Canavan - The High Lord

Tayend sat down and rubbed his forehead. “Do you really think he might try to kill me?” He cursed, “I just saw an opportunity and, and...”

“No. If he has any sense, he won’t risk trying to kill you.” Dannyl leaned against the table. “He’ll be finding out as much about us as possible, considering what is precious to us. What he could threaten to harm. Family. Wealth. Honor.”

“Us?”

Dannyl shook his head. “Even if he has heard rumors, he would not rely on them. He wants something he’s sure of. If we’d arranged for our little secret to come into his hands before this, we could rely on him aiming for that.”

“Do we still have time?”

Dannyl considered the scholar. “I suppose if we act quickly...”

The bright excitement in the scholar’s eyes was gone. Dannyl wasn’t sure what he wanted to do more: give Tayend a reassuring hug or shake some sense into him. By seeking to learn magic on their own, the Elyne courtiers had broken one of the Allied Land’s most important laws. Punishment for breaking it, depending on the circumstances, was imprisonment for life or even execution. The rebels would take any threat of discovery very seriously.

By the miserable look on Tayend’s face, Dannyl knew that if the danger hadn’t sunk in before, it had now. Sighing, he crossed the room and rested his hands on Tayend’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Tayend. You set things in motion a little early, that’s all. Let’s find Irand and tell him we need to act straightaway.”

Tayend nodded, then rose and followed him to the door.

It was late when Sonea heard the tapping at her bedroom door. She sighed with relief. Her servant, Viola, was late and Sonea was craving her nightly cup of raka.

“Come in.” Without looking up, she sent a thought at the door and willed it open. When the servant didn’t move into the room, Sonea looked up and felt her blood freeze.

Akkarin stood in the doorway, all but his pale face hidden in the shadowy passage. He moved and she saw that he was carrying two large, heavy books. The cover of one was stained and tattered.

With her heart beating quickly, she stood and reluctantly approached the door, stopping a few strides away to bow.

“Have you finished the diary?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”

“And what did you make of it?”

What should she say? “It... it answers a lot of questions,” she said evasively.

“Such as?”

“How Lord Coren discovered how to manipulate stone.”

“Anything else?”

That he learned black magic. She didn’t want to say it, but Akkarin obviously wanted some sort of acknowledgment of the fact. What would he do if she refused to talk about it? He would probably keep pressing her. She was too tired to think her way around a conversation like that.

“He used black magic. He saw it was wrong,” she said shortly. “He stopped.”

The corner of his mouth curled up into a half-smile. “Indeed. I do not think the Guild would like to discover that. The real Coren is not a figure they would want young novices to idolize, even if he redeemed himself in the end.” He held out the books. “This is a far older record. I have brought an original as well as a copy. The original is deteriorating, so handle it only as much as you need to confirm the copy is true.”

“Why are you showing me these books?”

The question came out before she could stop it. She winced at the insolence and suspicion in her voice. Akkarin’s eyes bored into her own and she looked away.

“You want to know the truth,” he said. It was not a question.

He was right. She did want to know. A part of her wanted to ignore the books—to refuse to read them just because he wanted her to. Instead, she stepped forward and took them from him. She did not meet his eyes, though she knew he was watching her closely.

“As with the diary, you should not allow anyone to learn of these records,” he said quietly. “Do not even allow your servant to see them.”

She backed away and looked down at the cover of the older book. Record of the 235th Year, the cover stated. The book was over five hundred years old! Impressed, she glanced up at Akkarin. He nodded once, knowingly, then turned away. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, then she heard the faint sound of his bedroom door closing.

The books were heavy. She pushed the door closed with a small pulse of magic, and moved to her desk. Pushing aside her notes, she laid the two books side by side.

Opening the original, she gently turned the first pages.

The writing was faint and unreadable in places. Opening the copy, she felt a strange frisson as lines of elegant handwriting appeared. Akkarin’s handwriting.

After reading a few lines of the original, she checked them against the copy and confirmed that the two were identical. Akkarin had left notes where the text had faded, outlining what he thought the missing words might be. She turned more pages, checked again, then chose another page from the center of the book and one from near the end. All seemed to match the copy perfectly. Later, she decided, she would check every page and every word.

Putting the original aside, she turned back to the first page of the copy and began to read.

It was a day-by-day record of a Guild much younger and smaller than the current one. After several pages, she had grown fond of the record-keeper, who clearly admired the people he was writing about. The Guild he knew was very different from the one she understood. Magicians took on apprentices in exchange for money or assistance. Then a comment by the author made it clear what that assistance entailed, and she stopped, aghast.

These early magicians strengthened themselves by drawing magic from their apprentices. They used black magic.

She read and reread the passage over and over, but its meaning was clear. They called it “higher magic.”

She looked at the spine and saw that she was a quarter of the way through the book. Continuing, she found the records gradually focused on the activities of a wayward apprentice, Tagin. It was discovered that the young man had taught himself higher magic against the wishes of his master. Abuses were uncovered. Tagin had taken strength from ordinary folk, which was never done except in times of great need. The record-keeper expressed disapproval and anger, then his tone abruptly changed to fear. Tagin had used higher magic to kill his master.

The situation grew steadily worse. As the magicians of the Guild sought to punish him, Tagin killed indiscriminately to gain the strength to resist them. Magicians reported the slaughter of men, women and children. Whole villages were all but destroyed, with only a few survivors to report the malicious nature of their attacker.

At a knock at her door, she jumped. She quickly closed the books, pushed them spine-first against the wall, and stacked several ordinary study books on top. Drawing her notes back in front of her, she arranged the desk as if she had been studying.

As she willed the door open Takan glided in with her raka. She thanked him, but felt too distracted to ask where Viola was. Once he had left, she gulped a few mouthfuls, then retrieved the records and began reading again:

It is difficult to believe that any man could be capable of such acts of needless violence. Yesterday’s attempt to subdue him appears to have sent him into a passion. The last reports say he has slaughtered all in the villages of Tenker and Forei. He is beyond all controlling and I fear for the future of us all. I am amazed that he has not turned on us yet—but perhaps this is his preparation for that final strike.

Sonea sat back in her chair and shook her head in disbelief. She flicked back to the previous page and reread the last entry. Fifty-two magicians, strengthened by their apprentices and the livestock donated by frightened commoners, hadn’t been able to defeat Tagin. The next few entries recorded Tagin’s seemingly random path through Kyralia. Then came the words Sonea had been dreading: