A MISUNDERSTANDING

As the carriage pulled up in front of the tower, Sonea smiled wryly.

Finding a suitable prison for Lorandra had proven difficult. The city Guard had objected to keeping a magician – even one whose powers were blocked – in their prison. No prison existed in the Guild grounds and there was no room in the Magicians’ Quarters for her – even if there had been Sonea doubted the magicians living there would have been happy about having Lorandra as a neighbour. The Servants’ Quarters were considered briefly, but they were even more crowded – something that ought to be dealt with soon, Osen had commented. Keeping Lorandra in the Dome permanently was only suggested in jest.

The temporary solution was to use the Lookout as a prison. The rebuilding of the tower had begun before the Ichani Invasion, at Akkarin’s suggestion. Afterwards, it was completed and for a few short years used by Alchemists to study the weather. Eventually it was loaned out to the Guard for training purposes, with the condition that it was maintained and always occupied.

Though the Guard had made it clear they didn’t want Lorandra in their prison, they readily agreed to guarding her at the Lookout, so clearly the knowledge that Lorandra was a magician didn’t bother them. In retrospect, Sonea could see that guarding the tower against a rescue mission from Skellin would be easier here than in the city prison. Corruption among the prison guards had led to escapes before. There was less chance of one of them releasing Lorandra if her guards were a smaller group, carefully chosen for their loyalty and trustworthiness.

Or perhaps they know it’s more likely the Guild will continue to post a magician to help guard Lorandra here. How long would magicians agree to watch over her, if they had to do it at the dirty, unpleasant city prison?

Stepping down from the carriage, Sonea looked up at the building and felt a small pang of sadness. Would you have been pleased that we finished it, Akkarin? she thought. Or did you mean for it to be a distraction to keep the Guild’s attention away from you, as some believe?

It was a plain building, just a round tower twice as tall as the trees surrounding it. The surface was smooth and the windows small, reminding her of the Fort with its magically bonded stone face and tiny windows. Guards were posted around the exterior. One of them, standing beside the heavy wooden door, bowed as she approached, then opened the door for her.

She stepped into a large room lit by several small lamps. Two more guards and their captain rose and bowed. They had been sitting at a table with a young Warrior, who nodded respectfully to Sonea.

The captain stepped forward and bowed again.

“Black Magician Sonea. I am Captain Sotin,” he said.

“I’m here to see the prisoner,” she told him.

“Follow me.”

He led her up a winding staircase and stopped at a wooden door into which a small hatch had been recently cut. Opening the hatch, he gestured for her to look inside. She saw a bed and a desk, and a familiar reddish-skinned old woman sitting in a chair. Lorandra’s attention was on something in her hands.

“Black Magician Sonea is here to see you,” the captain announced, his voice loud in Sonea’s ear.

The woman looked up and stared at the hatch without expression. Her gaze dropped back to her still-moving hands.

“She doesn’t say much,” the captain said apologetically.

“She never has,” Sonea replied. “Unlock the door.”

He obeyed, taking a ring of keys from his belt and releasing the locks. Two locks, Sonea noted. She must really make them nervous. Sonea stepped into the room and heard the door close behind her. Lorandra looked up again, giving Sonea a hard stare before turning her attention back to the object in her hands. Looking closer, Sonea saw that it was some sort of fabric, which the woman was creating with thick thread and a short, bent piece of thick wire. The speed with which the makeshift hook moved through the edge of the fabric and formed looping knots suggested many years of practice.

“What are you doing?” Sonea asked.

Lorandra regarded Sonea with narrowed eyes. “It is called ‘binda’ and most of the women of my homeland know it.”

The fabric shifted in her hands, revealing that it was forming a tube. Surprised and encouraged by Lorandra’s willingness to speak, she considered how she could encourage the woman to continue.

“And what are you making?”

Lorandra looked down. “Something to keep me warm.”

Sonea nodded. Of course. We are not far off mid-winter so it’s only going to get colder. She can’t use magic to warm the air any more. There is no fireplace and the guards won’t trust her with a brazier. Yet the room wasn’t particularly cold. The warmth from the rooms below must go some way toward easing the chill.

“We usually use a stick with a hook carved into the end, but they think I’ll use it to kill myself,” Lorandra added.

Sonea couldn’t help smiling a little. “Would you?”

The woman shrugged and did not answer. She would not expect me to believe it, so why bother.

“Are they treating you well?” Sonea asked.

Lorandra shrugged again.

“Anything I can bring you?”

A disbelieving twitch of the mouth. And no answer again.

“Your son, perhaps?” Sonea asked, allowing a little scepticism into her voice. She was not surprised when Lorandra didn’t answer. Suppressing a sigh, she moved to the low bed, sat down and returned to the subject the woman seemed willing to talk about. If she could foster a habit of conversation, who knew where it would lead? “So what do the women of your homeland make with binda?”

Lorandra worked on in silence but something about the set of her mouth told Sonea she was considering answering.

“Hats. Gloves. Garments. Blankets. Baskets. Depends on the thread. Softer and finer for gloves. Strong and resilient for baskets.”

“Does it take long?”

“Depends what you’re making and how thick the thread is. Binda stretches, which is good for some things and not for others. If we want a firm cloth we weave.”

“What do you make the thread out of?”

Lorandra’s gaze became distant. “Reber wool mostly. There is a type of grass that can be softened and spun for baskets, but I haven’t seen it south of the desert, and a fine, soft thread spun from the nests of bird moths that only the rich can afford.”

“Moths? Here moths eat clothing, not make thread to weave clothing from.” Sonea smiled. “What is the cloth like?”

“Soft but strong. It’s usually polished to a shine, and more thread is used to stitch patterns and pictures onto it.” Lorandra frowned. “I’ve heard of women wearing skirts that took years to stitch.”

“You’ve not seen them yourself?”

Lorandra scowled. “Only bird cloth I’ve seen was worn by the kagar.”

Catching a hint of contempt and fear in the woman’s eyes and voice, Sonea considered who these “kagar” might be.

“Are they the people who kill anyone possessing magic? Who are magicians themselves?”

Lorandra shot her an unfriendly look. “Yes.”

“Why do they kill magicians?”

“Magic is evil.”

“But they use it themselves?”

“Their great sacrifice, in order to cleanse our society.” There was bitterness in her voice.

“Do you think magic is evil?”

Lorandra shrugged.

“Do you think, with your powers blocked, they’d let you live if you went back?”

The woman turned to regard Sonea.

“Planning to send me back?”

Sonea decided not to answer.

Lorandra sighed. “No. They aim to purge magic from our bloodlines. It wouldn’t matter that I’m too old to bear children. I might teach the evil to others.”

“It is incredible. They must have no enemies to defend themselves against. What of neighbouring lands? Do they forbid magic, too?”

The woman shook her head. “We have no neighbouring lands. The kagar defeated them all a hundred years ago.”

“All of them? How many were there?”

“Hundreds. Most of them small, but together they make your Allied Lands look tiny.” Lorandra smiled grimly. “You had best hope they never look across the desert, or Sachaka will be the least of your worries.”

Sonea felt her stomach clench, but then she remembered how Lorandra had not known that Kallen would be able to read her mind. Lorandra’s people don’t have black magic, and they are actively trying to purge the magic from their bloodlines. And yet they had conquered all their neighbours.

“If they did, and truly are a threat, you and Skellin would be in as much trouble as us,” Sonea pointed out. “It is a pity you didn’t join us when you arrived. We would have learned about a new land, and you would have had our protection. If Skellin—”

“Black Magician Sonea,” came a voice from the door.

Sonea turned to see the captain peering in.

“Yes?”

“Someone here to see you. It’s … important.”

Rising, Sonea walked to the door. As the captain unlocked it she looked back at Lorandra. The woman stared at her for a moment, then looked back down at her work. The tube had grown considerably during their conversation, Sonea noted.

She found one of Black Magician Kallen’s associates waiting. One of the magicians who had once tracked her movements, she noted. She tried not to radiate instant dislike, not the least because he looked alarmed and upset.

“Forgive the intrusion, Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “But there has been a murder. A magician. In the city. Black Magician Kallen is already there. You are to meet him.”

She drew in a sharp breath. The murder of a magician was alarming enough, but Kallen’s involvement and her summoning meant only one thing.

The victim must have been killed with black magic.

Dannyl sighed, leaned back in his chair and looked around his office. Being able to rest against the supportive back of a chair was a simple comfort that reminded him of home. The desk before him was also an object of Kyralian practicality and functionality that he hadn’t seen in Sachakan homes. If it weren’t for the curved walls, he could have imagined himself back in Imardin.

Perhaps chairs and desks existed in Sachakan homes, in the personal rooms he hadn’t seen. Maybe Sachakans had even better furniture for work and study. If they have, they haven’t bothered to supply the Guild House with them. This will do me just fine.

Before him were his notes and the books he’d bought at the market. He’d just written a list of what he’d learned since arriving in Sachaka, and he was feeling quite pleased with himself.

The first item was “Proof that Imardin wasn’t destroyed in the Sachakan War”, which he’d found in records in an Ashaki’s library not long after arriving in Arvice. Below that he’d written “The existence of the storestone”, which Lorkin had found in the same collection of records.

Between this and the next set of items he’d squeezed in “That the Duna tribesmen knew (and perhaps still do) how to make magical gemstones. That these gemstones are made (not natural). That the Traitors stole the knowledge from them”. All this he’d learned from Unh, the tribesman who had tracked Lorkin and his Traitor abductors.

Next was a longer set of observations from the records he’d bought.

That Narvelan, the leader of the Kyralians ruling Sachaka, had owned a slave, was considered crazy, stole the storestone, and used it to create the wasteland either deliberately or in a confrontation between himself and his Kyralian pursuers.

That the threat of using the storestone most likely kept the stronger force of surviving Sachakan magicians under control, and once it was removed Kyralia was forced to return the country to Sachakan rule.

That the wasteland appeared, at first, to begin recovering, then failed as the area began to grow instead.

It was a good list, Dannyl decided. It was only frustration at making no progress recently that made it seem like he hadn’t achieved anything here. However, there were still questions to be answered.

Leaning forward, Dannyl began to write a list of what he still wanted to find.

“Proof I can take home with me that Imardin wasn’t destroyed in the Sachakan War.” Achati seemed to prefer that Dannyl didn’t buy Sachakan records, but maybe he wouldn’t mind the occasional purchase. If Dannyl was to convince anyone of his theory that Imardin had been destroyed later, he would need to have a document to show them.

“Proof that the mad apprentice destroyed Imardin.” Dannyl didn’t think he’d find this in Sachaka, however.

“Where did the storestone come from? How was it made? Was it made, or natural? Do any still exist? Does anybody know how to make them?”

Dannyl could not help wondering if Lorkin knew the answers to these questions. The Traitors had stolen the secret of making magical gemstones from the Duna. If anyone other than the Duna knew the answers, the Traitors did.

Dannyl winced as he remembered the Sachakan king’s request that he establish communications with Lorkin. He’d asked Merria, his assistant, to investigate if she stumbled upon any information. But who are we supposed to enquire of? The Ashaki no longer invite me to dinner and I never took her with me anyway. I doubt the slaves have any way of reaching Lorkin other than through the Traitors.

He considered his lists again. The idea behind writing them was to give him a clear idea of what he was looking for while visiting the Duna tribes or Sachakan country estates. While he had answered some questions he’d had about history, it was always better to have several sources to quote from when claiming that an event happened or went a certain way, so he would still have to look for references to Imardin surviving the Sachakan War and Narvelan stealing the storestone. As for information about storestones, he had only one source to draw upon: the Duna. He couldn’t ask the Traitors, so he had to rely on Lorkin recording what they knew and eventually getting the information to him.

The only worry he had about the coming journey was how the Duna would react to him and his questions. Unh had been friendly, but the tribesmen in the market had reacted badly to his mention of Unh. But they were friendly before then. Maybe if I don’t mention him …

“Ambassador Dannyl?”

He looked up. The voice was Merria’s and came from the main room.

“Come in, Lady Merria,” he called. Footsteps drew closer and she stepped into the doorway of his office. He beckoned, gesturing for her to sit on the chair for visitors. “How are you doing?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Fine. I imagined there’d be a lot more paperwork and not very much interaction with the people, due to their customs in regard to women. It’s been very much the opposite.”

“You’ve been seeing a lot of the women Ashaki Achati introduced you to?”

“Yes, and their friends. They have quite a network. They never meet all at once, of course. The men would think they were forming a secret rebel society.” Her smile told him how much this amused her. “You’d think having all these women passing on messages to each other would make them suspicious, but …” She shrugged. “Maybe they don’t notice.”

Dannyl nodded. “I haven’t heard anything about it. Do you think they’re organising anything?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, except that a few days after I commented that Lorkin’s mother would like to hear from him I got a message saying he is in the Traitor city and is fine. I was also invited to send him a message in return.”

Dannyl’s heart skipped. “Where is this message they gave you?”

Merria shook her head. “It was verbal. The women never write anything down.”

He considered what she had told him. “Do you think this came through the Traitors?”

She nodded. “I can’t see how else such messages would get to him, if he’s in the Traitor city and only Traitors ever go there. Unless there are spies among the spies.”

“It’s possible.”

She shook her head. “I think it’s more likely the women only say they hate the Traitors so that the men let them see each other.”

Dannyl nodded in agreement. “Don’t say that to anyone else,” he advised.

Any sort of communication with Lorkin was better than none. Though King Amakira had told him to contact Lorkin some other way than through the Traitors, Dannyl did not want to lose this opportunity. He had plenty of questions for Lorkin, though what he could ask was limited by the fact that others would hear or see the message.

He should also contact Administrator Osen through his blood ring and find out if Sonea wanted to send Lorkin a message, too. That would make Sonea very happy. And the more Higher Magicians who considered what message to send, the less chance they’d send one that would have political ramifications.

“Stay there,” he said to Merria. “I’ll see what the Guild has to say.”

Lilia woke to the sensation of pounding in her head. She groaned. Roet had left her feeling dull, low and tired before, but not this sick. Maybe the wine had been stronger than usual. She hadn’t drunk that much of it.

Then a different pounding started outside her head. Someone was knocking on the door. She forced open an eye, but naturally she couldn’t see through doors. It was probably the servants.

“Go away,” she said weakly, closing her eye again.

The knocking stopped. She frowned. Maybe the servants could give her something for the headache. She opened her mouth to call out.

The door opened. Both of her eyes sprang open as if by their own volition. She saw magicians entering the room instead of servants, and it took a moment for her mind to catch up and comprehend this.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows. At once she was aware that she was no longer dressed in her robes. When had she changed into bedclothes? She grabbed the sheets to pull them up and cover herself, and felt something dry and powdery on the skin of her palms. She turned over her hands. Something dark had dried onto them.

Wine? I don’t remember getting it on my hands. And it would be sticky …

The magicians surrounded the bed. She looked up at them, recognising one of Lord Leiden’s Healer friends and … her heart stopped … Black Magician Kallen.

“Lady Lilia?” Kallen asked.

“Y-yes?” Lilia’s heart began beating again, much too fast. “What’s going on?”

“Lord Leiden is dead,” the Healer said.

She stared at him in horror. “How?” Even as she asked, a shiver of guilt ran down her spine. We tried to teach ourselves black magic last night? What were we thinking? “Where’s Naki?”

“HOW COULD YOU DO IT?” The voice was a shriek, but it was still recognisably Naki’s. Lilia winced. Her friend might have wished her father dead but she hadn’t … Someone pushed past the magicians and was grabbed by the Healer. Naki struggled to throw them off, while glaring at Lilia.

“You!” Naki growled.

“Me?” Lilia stared at her friend.

“You killed him!” Naki shouted. “My father!”

“I didn’t.” Lilia shook her head. “I fell asleep. Didn’t wake up.”

Naki shook her head in disbelief. “Who else could have? I shouldn’t have let you read that book. I just wanted to impress you.”

A chill ran down Lilia’s spine. Suddenly she was too conscious of Kallen’s gaze boring into her. “How did he die?” she asked weakly.

“Black magic,” Naki spat. Her gaze dropped. “What’s that? What’s on your hands?”

Lilia looked down at the dark stains. “I don’t know.”

“It’s blood, isn’t it?” Naki’s eyes widened in horror. “My father’s …” Then her eyes filled with tears, she spun about and ran from the room.

Lilia stared after her. She thinks I killed her father. She hates me. I’ve lost her. But … I didn’t kill her father. Or did I? Her memories of the night before were vague in places. That always happened when she drank too much wine or had too much roet. Her dreams – had they been dreams? – had included a fantasy where she’d got rid of Naki’s father, though they hadn’t dwelled on how.

“Did you kill Lord Leiden?” Black Magician Kallen asked.

She forced herself to look up at him. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Have you learned or attempted to learn black magic?”

How to answer that? She found she could not find the words. Her head was pounding so hard she thought it would split open at any moment.

“Lady Naki has confessed to an attempt to learn black magic from a book,” the Healer said. “She says that Lilia did as well.”

Lilia felt a traitorous relief. She nodded. “She has a book. Well, it is – was – her father’s. He keeps it in the library in a glass-topped table. She took it out and we read it – but it’s not supposed to be possible to learn black magic from a book.”

Kallen’s gaze was unwavering. “Yet it is still forbidden to try.”

She looked down. “I didn’t kill her father.” Again, doubt stirred and wound itself into her thoughts.

“Is this the accused?” a new voice said.

The magicians turned to look toward the door, allowing Lilia to see past them. She felt her stomach sink as she saw Black Magician Sonea approaching. Not that another black magician arriving made her situation any worse. She had always admired Sonea, though the thought of what she had done in her life made her very intimidating in person.

“Yes,” Kallen said, moving away from the bed. “I am going to the library to look for a book containing instructions on using black magic. They have both confessed to reading it. Could you read their minds?”

Sonea’s eyebrows rose, but she nodded. As Kallen left the room she turned to the other magicians.

“We should at least allow her to get dressed,” she said. “I’ll stay.”

“Find out what’s on her hands before she washes it off,” the Healer advised.

Lilia watched them go, then when the door was closed she slipped out of the bed.

“Let me see your hands,” Sonea said. She took them in her own hands, which seemed strangely small for a magician so powerful. Not that magic makes your hands get bigger, Lilia thought. Now that would be unpleasant. Lifting one of Lilia’s hands, Sonea sniffed, then drew Lilia over to the wash basin and poured some water in.

“Wash,” she ordered.

Lilia obeyed with some relief. The stain took some rubbing to come off, and coloured the water in swirls.

“We need more light,” Sonea muttered. She looked over to the screens covering the windows, which began to slide open. The room filled with morning light. Looking down, Lilia caught her breath.

The swirls of colour were red.

“But how …? I don’t remember …” she gasped.

Sonea was watching her thoughtfully. She stepped back. “Get changed,” she said, her tone somewhere between an order and a suggestion. “Then we’ll see what you remember.”

Lilia obeyed, changing into her novice’s robes as quickly as she could manage. When she’d finished tying the sash, she walked over to Sonea. The black magician reached out to touch the sides of Lilia’s head.

Lilia had never had her mind read by a black magician before. She’d never had it read by an ordinary magician either. Her lessons in the University had occasionally required a teacher to enter her mind, but novices were always taught to hide their thoughts behind imagined doors. In a cooperative mind-read, the subject was supposed to bring out the memories hidden behind the doors for the reader to see.

This was very different. At once Lilia was aware of the older woman’s presence in her mind. It was a distant thing, like hearing voices through a wall. Then she felt something influencing her thoughts. She could not sense the will behind it, so her instinctive effort to resist had no impact. Forcing herself to yield, she watched as memories of the night began to return.

Embarrassment and fear rose as she recalled Naki’s kiss, but she could detect no disapproval from Sonea. Her memories were a little less vague now that someone else was examining them, but with stretches of time that were indistinct.

One of those stretches was the time after Lilia had lain down next to Naki, after drinking the wine. Her thoughts had been murderous, she recalled with shame. But she did not remember actually murdering anybody. Except in her dreams. But were they dreams?

What if she had murdered Naki’s father while caught up in a wine- and roet-induced walking dream?

What if their experiment had worked, and she had learned black magic from a book?

—Oh, you most certainly did, Sonea’s voice spoke into her mind. It’s not supposed to be possible. Not even Akkarin believed it was. But there has been at least one other novice in history who learned it without the help of another magician, and the magicians of that time must have had reason to be so determined to destroy anything written about it. Unfortunately, being the one to prove we were wrong is not an achievement anybody is going to look favourably on. Why did you attempt it when you knew it was forbidden?

—I don’t know. I just went along with Naki. She told me … She’d told Lilia she trusted her. Would she ever again? I love her and she hates me!

Suddenly the loss and shock welled up and she burst into tears. Sonea’s touch disappeared from her head and moved to her shoulders, rubbing them gently but firmly as Lilia struggled to regain control of herself.

“I won’t tell you everything will be fine,” Sonea said, sighing. “But I think I can persuade them that it wasn’t exactly deliberate, and to choose a more lenient punishment. That will depend on what Naki remembers, though.”

A more lenient punishment? Lilia shivered as she remembered what she had been taught in history classes. Akkarin was exiled only because the Guild didn’t know if it could defeat him. They would have executed him otherwise. But then, he had killed people with black magic. I haven’t … I hope.

If she hadn’t, Sonea would find no evidence in Naki’s mind. Suddenly Lilia badly wanted Sonea to go and find that out. The last urge to cry vanished.

“Are you all right now?” Sonea asked.

Lilia nodded.

“Stay here.”

The wait was torture. When Sonea finally returned, with Black Magician Kallen and the two other magicians following, her expression was grim.

“She did not witness the death of her father,” Sonea told her. “Nor is there any proof in her mind that you killed him, other than the manner of death and the blood on your hands. Either could be coincidence.”

Lilia sighed with relief. I didn’t do it, she told herself.

“Her memories of last night are very different to yours,” Sonea continued. “But not in ways that a misunderstanding would not explain.” She shook her head. “Despite what you recall sensing, she has not learned black magic.”

A bittersweet relief rose at that. At least Naki had not committed as great a crime as Lilia had, though she had tried to learn black magic, so Lilia doubted she would escape punishment completely.

Perhaps, now she knows I didn’t kill her father, we can face this together.

But when the magicians escorted Lilia out of the room, Naki was there, glaring at Lilia with an intensity that set her hopes withering.