Trudi Canavan - The High Lord

Sitting down, she opened the cover and began to read:

I am Coren of Emarin, House Velan, and this is to be a record of my work and discoveries.

I am not one of those who writes an account of himself out of pride or habit or any need for others to know his life. There has been little in my past that I could not discuss with my friends or my sister. Today, however, I discovered a need to transcribe my thoughts to paper. I have encountered something that I must keep a solemn secret, yet at the same time I feel an urge to tell of it that cannot be denied.

Sonea looked to the top of the page and noted the date. She realized from her recent studies that at the time of writing this diary Lord Coren had been young, restless and in disfavor with his elders for drinking excessively and designing strange, impractical buildings.

I had the chest brought to my rooms today. It took some time to open it. I disengaged the magical locks easily enough, but the lid had rusted shut. I didn’t want to risk damaging anything inside, so I took great care. When I finally had it open I was both disappointed and pleased. It was filled with boxes, so my first sight of the contents was very exciting. But as I opened each box I found only books inside. When I opened the last box I was greatly disappointed. I had found no buried treasure. Just books.

From what I have seen they are all records of some sort. I have been reading late into the night and much puzzles me. Tomorrow I will read some more.

Sonea smiled as she pictured the young magician locked away in his room reading. His following entries were haphazard, often skipping several days. Then came a short entry, underlined several times.

I know what I have found! These are the missing records!

He named some of the books, but Sonea did not recognize any of them. These missing volumes were “full of forbidden knowledge” and Coren was reluctant to describe their contents. After a gap of several weeks there was a long entry describing an experiment, the conclusion of which read:

At last I have succeeded! It has taken so long. I feel both triumph and the fear I should have felt before. I’m not sure why this is. While I was failing to discover the ways to use this power I was still somehow uncorrupted. Now, I cannot truly deny that I have ever used black magic. I have broken my vow. I hadn’t realized how ill that would feel.

Yet it did not deter him. Sonea found herself struggling to understand why this young man continued to do something that he clearly saw was wrong. He seemed unable to stop, driven forward to whatever end this discovery was leading him to, even if it be the discovery of his crime.

But it led to something else...

All who know me know my love of stone. It is the beautiful flesh of the earth. It has cracks and creases like skin, it has veins and pores. It can be hard, soft, brittle or flexible. When the earth spills forth its molten core, it is as red as blood.

After learning of the black magics, I expected to be able to place my hands on stone and feel a tremendous store of life energy within, but I was disappointed. I felt nothing; less than the tingling of water. I wanted it to be full of life. That’s when it happened. Like a healer trying to will a dying man back to health, I started to infuse energy into the stone. I willed it to live. Then a remarkable thing began to happen.

Sonea gripped the little book tightly, unable to take her eyes from the lines of text. This was the discovery that made Coren famous, and influenced Guild architecture for centuries to come. It was said to be the greatest development in magical knowledge for centuries. Though what he had done was not actually black magic, the forbidden arts had led to the discovery.

Sonea closed her eyes and shook her head. Lord Larkin, the architecture teacher, would give all his wealth for this diary, but he would be devastated if he learned the truth about his idol. She sighed, looked down at the pages and continued to read.

Cery signed the letter with a flourish, then regarded his work with satisfaction. His writing was neat and elegant. The paper was quality, and the ink dark and black. Despite the slang terms throughout—he had requested that Serin teach him to read and write, not make him sound like a member of one of the Houses—and the fact that it was a request for the execution of a man who had cheated him and fled to the Southside, it was a fine, well-written letter.

He smiled as he remembered asking Faren, the Thief who had hidden Sonea from the Guild, if he could “borrow” Faren’s scribe for a while. From Faren’s mixed expression of reluctance and gratitude, Cery knew that the Thief would have refused if he hadn’t desperately needed the boost to his position that the arrangement would bring.

Faren’s hold on his status as Thief had been precarious for the first year after he had turned Sonea over to the Guild. A Thief’s ability to do business relied on a network of people willing to work for him. While some worked for money, most preferred to “help out” and be paid back in kind later. Favors were the second currency of the underworld.

Faren had used a lot of the favors owed to him while keeping Sonea out of the Guild’s hands, but that should not have held him back for long. People knew he had made a deal with Sonea to hide her from the Guild in exchange for her using her magic for him—a deal he had broken. The other Thieves, worried by the Guild’s warnings that her powers would grow dangerous if she wasn’t trained to control them, had “asked” him to turn her in. While he could hardly have refused the request of the other underworld leaders, a deal had been broken. Thieves needed people to believe they had at least some integrity, or only the desperate or the foolish would do business with them. Only the fact that Sonea had never used magic in any useful way, failing to uphold her side of the deal, had saved Faren from complete ruin.

Serin had remained loyal, however. He had given Cery little information about Faren’s affairs during the reading and writing lessons—nothing Cery didn’t already know, anyway. Cery had learned fast, though he attributed that partly to having watched some of Sonea’s lessons with the scribe.

And by showing that he—Sonea’s friend—was willing to deal with Faren—Sonea’s “betrayer”—Cery had assured people that the Thief was still trustworthy.

Taking a slim tube of dried reed out of his desk drawer, Cery rolled the letter and slipped it inside. He stoppered the tube and sealed it with wax. Picking up a yerim—a slim metal tool with a needle-like point—he scratched a name on the side.

Putting the tube aside, Cery balanced the yerim in his hand, then, with a flick of his wrist, threw it across the room. It landed point first in the wooden panelling of the opposite wall. He gave a small sigh of satisfaction. He’d had his own yerim made to be well balanced for throwing. Looking down at the three remaining in the drawer, he reached out to take another, then stopped at a knock on the door.

Rising, Cery crossed the room to retrieve the yerim from the panelling before returning to his desk.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and Gol stepped inside. The man’s expression was respectful. Cery looked closer. In Gol’s eyes was a hint of... expectation, perhaps?

“A woman to see you, Ceryni.”

Cery smiled at Gol’s use of his full name. This was an unusual woman, if Gol’s manner was any indication. What would she be: spirited, beautiful, or important?

“Name?”

“Savara.”

No one Cery knew of, unless the name was false. It was not a typical Kyralian name, however. It sounded more like a Lonmar name.