Trudi Canavan - Black Magician 3 - The High Lord

"You chose an inopportune time for disobedience, Sonea."

"I won't let them use me as an excuse to kill you," she retorted.

Akkarin began to turn toward her, then stopped as Lorlen stood up and struck a gong.

"It is time to judge whether Akkarin of family Delvon of House Velan, High Lord of the Magicians' Guild,

and Sonea, his novice, are guilty of the crimes of which they have been accused."

Lorlen held out a hand. A globe light appeared above it, then floated up to the ceiling. The other Higher

Magicians followed suit, then hundreds more globe lights floated up from the rest of the magicians, and

the Guildhall was filled with brightness.

"Do you judge that Sonea, the High Lord's novice, is guilty of seeking knowledge of and learning,

practicing and killing with black magic?"

"The majority choose the affirmative," Lorlen called. "The punishment for this crime as set down by law is

execution."

Books by Trudi Canavan

The Black Magician Trilogy

The Magicians' Guild

The Novice The High Lord

THE

High Lord

The Black Magician Trilogy Book Three

TRUDI CANAVAN

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously

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First published by Voyager, an imprint of HarperCollins Australia First Eos paperback printing: September 2004

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10 98765432

This book is dedicated to my friends, Yvonne and Paul. Thank you for your help, honesty and

patience, and for reading this story over, and over, and over. . .

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as

"unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this

"stripped book."

Acknowledgments

Many, many people have encouraged and assisted me in writing this trilogy. In addition to those people I

acknowledged in The Magicians' Guild and The Novice, I'd like to give an additional nod to the people

who helped me out during the writing of this book:

Once again, my proofreaders who give me such valuable advice: Mum and Dad, Paul Marshall, Paul

Ewins, Jenny Powell, Sara Creasy and Anthony Mauricks.

Fran Bryson, my agent. Thank you for providing the perfect setting for my "working holiday."

Stephanie Smith and the hard-working HarperCollins team for turning my stories into such polished,

attractive books. Justin of Slow Glass Books, Sandy of Wormhole Books, and the booksellers who've

taken on this trilogy with such enthusiasm.

And thank you to all the people who have emailed me with praise for The Magicians' Guild and The

Novice. Knowing you've enjoyed my stories helps keep the fires of inspiration burning high.

1

The Message

In ancient Kyralian poetry the moon is known as the Eye. When the Eye is wide open, its watchful

presence deters evil—or encourages madness in those who do wrong under its gaze. Closed, with only a

sliver of white to mark its sleeping presence, the Eye allows hidden deeds of both good or ill to remain

unnoticed.

Looking up at the moon, Cery smiled wryly. This phase of the Eye, a narrow slit, was the one preferred

by secret lovers, but he was not hurrying through the shadows of the city to such a rendezvous. His

purpose was of a darker kind.

Whether his deeds were good or ill, however, was difficult for him to know. The men he hunted deserved

their fate, but Cery suspected there was a deeper purpose to the work he'd been commissioned to do

than just reducing the murders that had plagued the city for the last few years. He did not know

everything about the whole nasty business—of that he was sure—but he probably knew more than

anyone else in the city.

As he walked, he considered what he did know. He had learned that these murders were not carried out

by one man, but by a succession of them. He had also noted that these men were of the same race:

Sachakan. Most importantly, however, he knew they were magicians.

As far as Cery knew, there were no Sachakans in the Guild.

If the Thieves were aware of any of this, they were keeping their knowledge well hidden. He thought

back to a meet-

ing of Thieves he had attended two years ago. The leaders of the loosely allied underworld groups had

been amused by Cery's offer to find and stop the killer. Those who asked slyly why Cery hadn't

succeeded after so long might be assuming there was only one murderer, or they might want him to think

that was all they knew.

Each time Cery dealt with one of the murderers, another began his grisly work. Unfortunately, this made

it appear to the Thieves that Cery was failing at his task. All he could do was shrug off their questions,

and hope his success in other underworld activities made up for it.

From the dark square of a doorway the shape of a large man emerged. Distant lamplight revealed a grim,

familiar face. Gol nodded once, then fell into step beside Cery.

Reaching an intersection of five roads, they approached a wedge-shaped building. As they stepped

through the open doors, Cery savored the heavy odor of sweat, bol and cooking. It was early evening

and the bolhouse was full. He moved to a seat at the counter, where Gol ordered two mugs of bol and a

dish of salted crots.

Gol munched his way through half of the beans before he spoke.

"At the back. Hash ring. What you say, son?"

Cery and Gol often pretended to be father and son when they did not want their true identities

known—which was most of the time they spent in public these days. Cery was only a few years younger

than Gol but, with his small stature and boyish face, he was often mistaken for a youth. He waited a few

minutes, then let his gaze shift to the back of the bolhouse.

Though the room was crowded, it was easy to locate the man Gol had pointed out. His distinctive wide,

brown Sachakan face stood out among the pale Kyralian ones and he was watching the crowd carefully.

Glancing at the man's fingers, Cery noted a glint of red in the dull silver of a ring. He looked away.

"What you think?" Gol murmured.

Cery picked up his mug and pretended to gulp a mouthful of bol. "Too much rub for us, da. Leave him

for another."

Grunting in answer, Gol drained his mug and set it down. Cery followed him outside. A few streets from

the bolhouse, he reached into his coat, pulled out three copper coins and pressed them into Gol's large

hand. The big man sighed and walked away.

Cery smiled wryly, then stooped and opened a grille set into a nearby wall. To any stranger, Gol

appeared to be completely unperturbed by any situation. Yet Cery knew that sigh. Gol was scared—and

he had good reason to be. Every man, woman and child in the slums was in danger while these murderers

were about.

Cery slipped behind the grille into the passage below. The three coins he'd given Gol would pay three

street urchins to deliver a message—three urchins in case the message was lost or delayed. The

recipients were crafters of one kind or another, who would pass on the message via city guard or

delivery boy or trained animal. Each man or woman along the path of the message knew nothing of the

meaning behind the objects or passwords they were given. Only the man at the final destination would

understand their significance.

When he did, the hunt would begin again.

Leaving the classroom, Sonea slowly made her way down the crowded, noisy main corridor of the

University. She usually paid little attention to the antics of the other novices, but today was different.

A year today since the Challenge, she thought. A whole year since I fought Regin in the Arena, and

so much has changed.

Most novices had gathered into groups of two or more and were walking toward the rear staircase and

the Foodhall. A few girls lingered by a classroom door, talking in conspiratorial murmurs. At the far end

of the corridor a teacher emerged from a classroom, followed by two novices carrying large boxes.

Sonea watched the faces of the few novices who noticed her. None glared or looked down their noses.

Some of the first years stared at the incal on her sleeve—the symbol that

declared her the favorite novice of the High Lord—then quickly looked away.

Reaching the end of the corridor, she started down the delicate, magically-fashioned staircase of the

Entrance Hall. Her boots made a soft, bell-like sound on the treads. The hall echoed as more ringing

steps joined hers. Looking up, she saw that three novices were ascending toward her, and she felt a chill

run down her back.

The novice at the center of the trio was Regin. His two closest friends, Kano and Alend, were by his

side. Keeping her expression neutral, she continued her descent. As Regin noticed her, his smile

vanished. His gaze met hers, then moved away again as they passed each other.

She glanced back and let out a small sigh of relief. Every encounter since the Challenge had been like

this. Regin had adopted the demeanor of a gracious and dignified loser, and she let him. Rubbing in his

defeat would have been satisfying, but she was sure he would come up with anonymous and subtle ways

of getting his revenge if she did. Better they ignored each other.

Beating Regin in a public fight had done more than stop his harassment of her, though. It appeared to

have won her the respect of other novices and most of the teachers. She wasn't just the slum girl now,

whose powers had first manifested in an attack on the Guild during the yearly Purge of vagrants and

miscreants from the city. Remembering that day, she smiled ruefully. I was just as surprised that I had

used magic as they were.

Nor was she remembered for being the "rogue" who had evaded capture by making a deal with the

Thieves. It seemed like a good idea at the time, she thought. I believed the Guild wanted to kill me.

After all, they have never trained anyone outside the Houses before. It didn't do the Thieves any

good, though. I was never able to control my powers well enough to be of use.

Though some still resented it, she was no longer thought of as the outsider who brought about Lord

Fergun's downfall, either. Well, he shouldn't have locked Cery up and threatened to kill him to force

me into cooperating with his

schemes. He wanted to convince the Guild that lower class people couldn't be trusted with magic,

but instead he proved that some magicians can't be.

Thinking back to the novices in the corridor, Sonea smiled. From their wary curiosity she guessed the

first thing they remembered about her was how easily she had won the Challenge. They wondered just

how powerful she was going to become. She suspected that even some of the teachers were a little

frightened of her.

At the bottom of the stairs Sonea crossed the Entrance Hall to the open University doors. Standing on

the threshold, she looked at the gray, two-story building at the edge of the garden and felt her smile fade.

A year since the Challenge, but some things haven't changed.

Despite winning the novices' respect, she still had no close friends. It wasn't that they were all intimidated

by her—or her guardian. Several novices had made an effort to include her in their conversations since

the Challenge. But while she was happy to talk to them during lessons or midbreak, she always refused

invitations to join them outside class.

She sighed and started down the University steps. Every friend she made was another tool the High Lord

could use against her. If she ever found the opportunity to reveal his crimes to the Guild, everyone she

cared about would be in danger. There was no sense in giving Akkarin a larger selection of victims to

choose from.

Sonea thought back to the night, now over two and a half years ago, when she had slipped into the Guild

with her friend Cery. Though she had believed the Guild wanted her dead, the risk seemed worth taking.

She had not been able to control her powers, making her useless to the Thieves, and Cery had hoped

that she might learn how to do so by watching magicians.

Late that night, after seeing much that fascinated her, she had approached a gray building set apart from

the rest. Peering through a ventilation grille into an underground room, she had witnessed a black-robed

magician performing strange magic . ..

The magician took the glittering dagger and looked up at the servant.

"The fight has weakened me. I need your strength."

The servant dropped to one knee and offered his arm. The magician ran the blade over the man's

skin, then placed a hand over the wound...

... then she felt a strange sensation, like a fluttering of insects in her ears.

Sonea shivered as she remembered. She hadn't understood what she'd seen that night, and so much

happened afterward, she had tried to forget. Her powers had grown so dangerous that the Thieves had

turned her over to the Guild and she discovered that the magicians did not want to kill her; they decided

she could join them. Then Lord Fergun had captured Cery and blackmailed her into cooperating with

him. The Warrior's plans had failed, however, when Cery was found imprisoned under the University,

and Sonea consented to a truth-read by Administrator Lorlen to prove that Fergun had manipulated her.

It was only during this mind-reading that her memory of the black-robed magician in that underground

room had returned in full.

Lorlen had recognized the magician as his friend Akkarin, the High Lord of the Guild. He had also

recognized the forbidden ritual of black magic.

From Lorlen's mind, Sonea had gleaned an understanding of what a black magician was capable of. By

using the forbidden art, Akkarin would have gained strength beyond his natural limit. The High Lord was

known to be unusually powerful as it was, but as a black magician he would be so powerful that Lorlen

did not think even the combined strength of the Guild could defeat him.

Lorlen had therefore decided that a confrontation with the High Lord was out of the question. The crime

must remain a secret until a way to deal with Akkarin safely was found. Only Rothen, the magician who

was to be Sonea's guardian, was allowed to know the truth—in the course of teaching her he was likely

to see her memory of Akkarin and learn the truth for himself anyway.

At the thought of Rothen she felt a pang of sadness, followed by a dull anger. Rothen had been more than

a guardian and teacher; he had been like a father. She was not sure she could have endured Regin's

harassment without Rothen's support and help. For his trouble, he had endured the effects of the

malicious rumors that Regin had started suggesting that Rothen's guardianship was gained in exchange for

bedroom favors.

And then, just as it seemed the gossip and suspicion had passed, everything had changed. Akkarin had

come to Rothen's room to tell them that he had discovered that they knew of his secret. He had read

Lorlen's mind, and wanted to read theirs. Knowing that Akkarin was too powerful to fight, they dared

not refuse. Afterward, she remembered, Akkarin had paced the room.

"You would both expose me if you could," he said. "I will claim Sonea's guardianship. She will

ensure your silence. You will never cause anyone to know that I practice black magic while she is

mine." His eyes shifted to Sonea's. "And Rothen's wellbeing will be my guarantee that you will

cooperate."

Sonea set her feet on the path to the High Lord's Residence. That confrontation had taken place so long

ago, it felt as if it had happened to someone else, or to a character in a story she had heard. She had

been Akkarin's favorite for a year and a half now and it was not as bad as she'd feared. He hadn't used

her as a source of extra power, or tried to involve her in his evil practices. Aside from the sumptuous

dinners she attended with him every Firstday evening, she rarely saw him at all. When they did speak, it

was only of her training in the University.

Except for that one night, she thought.

She slowed as she remembered. Many months ago, returning after classes, she had heard loud noises

and shouting from below the residence. Descending the stairs to the underground room, she had

witnessed Akkarin kill a man with black magic. He had claimed the man was a Sachakan assassin, sent

to murder him.

"Why did you kill him?" she asked. "Why not hand him over to the Guild?"

"Because, as you've no doubt guessed, he and his kind know things about me that I'd rather the

Guild did not. You must be wondering who these people are, and why they want me dead. I can

tell you only this: the Sachakans still hate the , Guild, but they also fear us. From time to time

they send one of these, to test me."

Sonea knew as much about Kyralia's neighbor as any other third-year novice. All novices studied the

war between the Sachakan Empire and the Kyralian magicians. They were taught that the Kyralians had

won the war by forming the Guild and sharing magical knowledge. Seven centuries later, the Sachakan

Empire was all but gone and much of Sachaka remained a wasteland.

When she thought about it, it was not hard to believe that the Sachakans still hated the Guild. This was

probably the reason, too, why Sachaka was not a member of the Allied Lands. Unlike Kyralia, Elyne,

Vin, Lonmar and Lan, Sachaka was not bound to the agreement that all magicians must be taught and

watched over by the Guild. It was possible magicians existed in Sachaka, though she doubted they were

well trained.

If they were a threat, surely the Guild knew about it. Sonea frowned. Perhaps some magicians did know.

Perhaps it was a secret only the Higher Magicians and the King were allowed to know. The King would

not want ordinary people worrying about the existence of Sachakan magicians— unless the Sachakans

became a serious threat, of course.

Were these assassins threat enough? She shook her head. The occasional assassin sent to kill the High

Lord wasn't a serious matter if he could fend them off easily enough.

She checked her stride. Perhaps the only reason Akkarin could fend them off was because he

strengthened himself with black magic. Her heart skipped a beat. That would mean the assassins were

frighteningly strong. Akkarin had suggested that they knew he used black magic. They would not attack

him without making sure they had a chance of killing him. Did this mean they, too, used black magic?

She shivered. And each night I sleep in the same house as the man they're trying to kill.

Perhaps this was why Lorlen hadn't come up with a way to get rid of Akkarin yet. Perhaps he knew

Akkarin had a good reason for using black magic. Perhaps he didn't intend to oust Akkarin at all.

No, she thought. If Akkarin's reasons were honorable, I would not be his hostage. If he'd been able

to prove his motives were good, he would have tried to, rather than have two magicians and a

novice constantly searching for a way to defeat him.

And if he was at all concerned for my wellbeing, why keep me in the residence, where the

assassins are likely to strike?

She was sure Lorlen was concerned for her wellbeing. He would tell her, if he knew Akkarin's motives

were honorable. He wouldn't want her to believe she was in a worse situation than she really was.

Abruptly, she remembered the ring on Lorlen's finger. For more than a year, rumors had been circulating

in the city about a killer who wore a silver ring with a red gemstone. Just like the one Lorlen wore.

But this had to be a coincidence. She knew a little of Lorlen's mind and she could not imagine Lorlen

murdering anyone.

Reaching the door of the residence, Sonea stopped and took a deep breath. What if the man Akkarin

had killed hadn't been an assassin? What if he had been a Sachakan diplomat who'd discovered

Akkarin's crime, and Akkarin had lured him to the residence to kill him . . . and then discovered the man

was a magician?

Stop! Enough!

She shook her head as if that would clear it of this fruitless speculation. For months she had considered

these possibilities, going over and over what she had seen and been told. Every week she looked at

Akkarin over the dinner table and wished she had the courage to ask him why he had learned black

magic, but stayed silent. If she could not be sure that the answers were truthful, why bother asking the

questions?

Reaching out, she brushed the handle of the door with her fingers. As always, it swung inward at the

lightest touch. She stepped inside.

His tall, dark figure rose from one of the guestroom chairs. She felt a familiar twinge of fear and pushed it

aside. A single globe light hovered above his head, casting his eyes into shadow. His lips curled upward

at one side as if he was mildly amused.

"Good evening, Sonea."

She bowed. "High Lord."

His pale hand gestured to the stairway entrance. Putting her case of books and notes down, Sonea

entered the stairway and started climbing. Akkarin's globe light floated up the center of the stairwell as he

followed. Reaching the second level, she walked down the corridor and entered a room furnished with a

large table and several chairs. A delicious smell filled the air and set her stomach rumbling quietly.

Akkarin's servant, Takan, bowed to her as she sat down, then left.

"What did you study today, Sonea?" Akkarin asked.

"Architecture," she replied. "Construction methods."

One eyebrow rose slightly. "Shaping stone with magic?"

"Yes."

He looked thoughtful. Takan returned to the room carrying a large platter, from which he transferred

several small bowls to the table, then strode away. Sonea waited until Akkarin began to select from the

bowls, before loading her own plate with food.

"Did you find it difficult, or easy?"

Sonea hesitated. "Difficult at first, then easier. It's ... not unlike Healing."

His gaze sharpened. "Indeed. And how is it different?"

She considered. "Stone does not have the natural barrier of resistance that the body has. It has no skin."

"That's true, but something like a barrier can be created if..."

His voice trailed off. She looked up to find him frowning, his gaze fixed on the wall behind her. His eyes

shifted to hers, then he relaxed and looked down at the table.

"I have a meeting to attend tonight," he said, pushing back his chair. "Enjoy the rest of the meal, Sonea."

Surprised, she watched him stride to the door, then looked at his half-eaten meal. Occasionally she

arrived for the weekly dinner to find Takan waiting in the guestroom with the good news that the High

Lord would not be attending. But only twice before had Akkarin left the meal early. She shrugged and

continued eating.

As she finished the course, Takan reappeared. He stacked the bowls and plates onto the platter.

Watching him, she noticed a tiny crease between his eyebrows.

He looks worried, she thought.

Remembering her earlier speculations, she felt a chill run up her spine. Was Takan afraid that another

Trudi Canavan - Black Magician 3 - The High Lord

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