A/N – Hey Guys! Fic finally posted! Thanks for the encouragement Jaycest, HermitKnut, Ralobat and others I hope it does not disappoint *gulp!* This is my first Fic, written between essay number's two and three. (I need the sanity from all the madness of women in attics and Japanese Revolts!) Please be nice … I have no idea how this will be received my stories having gathered dust in a lovely bright pink Japanese- esque box with the intention they would never see the light of day for many years!

I think, (fingers crossed) this is going to be a long fic. In fact I know it will because I think I am incapable of writing one shots. There is also the lovely HUGE plot bunny which has been bouncing in my head incessantly refusing to let me concentrate on the aforementioned women in attics! This is the first time I have posted on Fan (have I mentioned this already … dear lord ramblings!) and if I make some silly mistakes please tell me otherwise I will never learn!

Anyway, the inspiration for this came when I read through the archive for this series of books and realised nobody has really looked at a life of an Ichani. I know they are portrayed as the bad guys, and this is understandable considering all the evil acts they have done. But, they are men as well and living in the wastes is not an easy life! It says in The High Lord when Akkarin is describing his years as an Ichani's slave that some were outcast because of an, "inability to pay bribes" which started me thinking 'they cannot all be bad right?'

I will leave that for you to decide!

By the way, please do give the poor punching bag of this first chapter a hug when you finish. Sonea ain't around yet and he needs it! (But bear in mind he is mine!)

Enjoy and please Read and Review if you have the time

Depressingly .. despite my earlier assertion Akkarin and all named characters (accept my OC'S are property of Trudi Canavan .. mores the pity! No law suit please!)

*Deep breath* … now go read!

Prologue

The Sachakan Wasteland

To Be An Outcast

Dakova was hungry sore and pissed off with life.

"All I did was try and overthrow a snake of a King. Why has that got me here?"

In a fit of irritation he slapped the hard sandy coloured ground beneath him wishing with all his heart that the harshness would transmute into something more akin to the surroundings cruelly snatched by the sad bastards who called themselves Sachakan Nobility. What a laugh! Noble they were not, thick, scared and under the thumb, corrupt to the core. Around them their country was being eaten by a monster greater than any Ichani, one which could not be stopped by evicting it to a deserted corner of the world and left to fend for itself in the hopes it would die and never bother them again. No, while this happened all they cared about was whether or not such and such a person had paid the latest bribe instalment so they could pay their own debtors and keep themselves safely up to their neck in plots on top of plots.

Mother Nature, a much greater more ruthless force; unstoppable, not open to any negotiation be it underhand or blunt, and everybody knew Sachakans did underhand very well. Ha! Let them try and force her to conform with their plans for their country. What an irony. Sachakans were at war with each other split into factions all fighting for a throne and the ability to influence events. But, soon there would be no throne, just a pile of sand and ruins. Influence? Pah! If they could influence the sand to stop spreading then good luck to 'em! At the end of it all the Guild of Kyralia would get their way some Lord Nervalen, getting his wish and the Wastes actually obliterating the place helped along in no small part by the bitterly feuding factions who remained ignorant. Let them curse casting out the one man who knew of this and who could have saved their arses. Well he would not help now. What was the saying? Ah of cause … If you cannot beat 'em join 'em.

Lord Narvelen would be dancing in hell!

A deeply tanned hand was immersed in the water directly in front of him. The stark contrast of the coldness on his skin when the rest of it was burning up due to the oppressive heat was a sensation he revelled in. Granules of sand unstuck themselves and floated out to the deeper areas of the pool, carried by some eddy he had stirred up. Strange that now he was in the Wastes his life had been stripped away and carried off, leaving what he was now. Political games and intrigue took a back seat out here, nobody cared if you were once a cousin to a powerful Ashaki, or indeed were one yourself. No. Life was simple. If you had something the other Ichani had you took it in any way you saw fit. The fighting, like the life style was straighter, more obvious and no less vicious for it. Part of him enjoyed this aspect, it didn't involve a hidden agenda something he had wrestled for years as an Ashaki. Even relatives tried to kill you at court. Thankfully he and Kariko were close brothers, the youngest not concerned that due to the way Sachakan society was set up he got no inheritance it all passing to the elder. There had been an uncomfortable few years between them, but that was due to a woman, a bloody Traitor woman. Quickly she had been dealt with and harmony restored to the pair. Sneaky bitch wanted them to hate one another in order to precipitate a feud in which one, or both died, getting rid of two of the most powerful men at court. Now, the association with his brother was one he relied on in the Wastes: possibly a reason he had entered his sixth year as an Ichani while around others fell, unable to defend themselves in the cutthroat world that made up Sachakan life. Kariko had remained at Court after his brother's eviction, but some slimy git had ousted him as continuing the plot Dakova had been involved with. Most of the Ichani specialised in working in the shadows, out and out war was something they had to get used to quickly, Black Magicians or not, hence the reason most of them lasted all of ten minutes in the Wastes with its directness. They still had no solid idea who had foiled the plan, but they had an inkling, and if intelligence was correct he was just beyond the rock walls that isolated the lake, weak and hiding in the mines. Revenge would be sweet.

Behind, evidence of his invincibility laboured with four other slaves to set up camp before the sun set casting the dead land in darkness. It was hot now but in less than an hour it would be bitterly cold, icy, and easily capable of causing a man to lose a limb if it was exposed to the temperature long enough. Winter in the Wastes: as vicious as the fighting. "Master?"

The voice knocked him out of his musings. Without taking his eyes off the water he asked "Yes" in his best I-am- busy- this- had- better- be- good tone. As it was he recognised the harsh inflection on the honorific without the use of his eyes, only one man was able to make it sound like an insult when it was supposed to be the anthesis. Filing it away for later punishment he waited.

"The camp is set up. Takan is asking if you have any particular requests for food."

This question made him smile inwardly. The food games were amusing in the extreme. Takan was a talented chef and that was saying something when it was taken into account the limited fare they had in the environment. However, if he knew it, there may be liberties abused which were better left as they were. He had also noticed how the older slave had attached himself to the most troublesome addition, and as said addition harboured some very un-slave-like thoughts regarding his master it could be dangerous. Poisoned food was the easiest way to kill someone without magic even in the wastes. "Tell him to exercise whatever he sees fit. But I want fed within twenty minutes."

The invincibility evidence grimaced at this, knowing that without magic to aid, it would take a long time just to boil water. Open displays of emotion from the man were becoming more common, especially since the death of the bed slave. The determination to survive had dimmed in his gaze and he walked with a hunch to his shoulders. In fact, the torture had lost some of its appeal because the slave just took it, staring with dead eyes and waiting until he could crawl out of the vicinity of his master.

Thinking about this made him angry. Part of the slave's job was to amuse him, prove that he could still control something. This meek acceptance grated purely because there was no fight. Previously there had been spitting, name calling, escape attempts and death glares. There was a kick to be gotten out of knowing a member of your supposedly, "all powerful" enemy was reduced to the antics of a child, with no more strain then it would take to heat the pot of water which was about to give them such a headache. There was still a kick in his utter meekness because at the end of it all he was one of the most powerful magicians Kyralia had and he was utterly defenceless, but the fun had gone. Perhaps killing the bed slave was a bad idea, and not because of the loss of her bedroom skills. "Akkarin, do you think your lover is watching you?"

Tenseness entered the skinny man's frame, as it did at any mention of his dead love interest. Serves him right. "I am sure you do not really care that much Dakova"

Finally Dakova turned to face the slave seeing the emotion he heard in the utterance portrayed on his face. Gaunt and dim with a growth of hair down to his waist he was a totally different man to the one who had stumbled into camp four and a half years ago in rich robes, well groomed and confident in his own ability to get out of any situation. "What makes you so sure Guild Rat?"

Silence from him. There was another irritating trait; the utter silence he was met with whenever the magician did not want to answer a question. While this could be seen as the missing sign of defiance which gave so much pleasure, Akkarin knew if Dakova wanted to know that much it was easy enough to break through the barriers of his mind and search it out. Whichever way it was studied Akkarin was a man who had given up. Suddenly the anger which had been building within the Ichani burst its banks and Akkarin was thrown by a blast of magic into the lake landing with a deep splash. FIGHT ME YOU BASTARD!

Standing he began to follow Akkarin into the water. The physical representation of what he was feeling was too much for him. Akkarin was the person he did not want to be, resigned and beaten. Yet with every passing minute in this deserted land he could feel the despair stalking stealthily, long fingers feeding his mind and making him more and more depressed. What would killing the bastard who had put him and his brother in this situation do in the long run accept assuage their hurt pride for a few days? At the end of it they were still outcasts, Ichani; hated with no possibility of escape due to a combination of the monarchy and their distrustful natures.

Further out in the water Akkarin had managed to right himself large eyes watching the approach with obvious fear. Yes! So he still had not accepted death. This made him feel instantly better. Akkarin regained his usefulness. Scared Magician?

Black hair sent a cascade of water shooting through the air as he took stock of his surroundings, looking for any way to make this as painless as possible. In situations like this one Guild Training came to the fore and it was amusing to watch, even after all the years they had had together. Like this he could imagine he was up against the Guild as a whole, Lord Narvalen, whom the Guild had no recollection of. The fact Akkarin still fell back on his old training when it had proven so ineffective for so long just proved his stubbornness and stupidity. It was like he clung to it, the one thing familiar in a land of unfamiliar. He would pay for it, as the Guild would eventually. Kyralia would be his new start; his escape.

The future was going to be a brighter one, even if he had to suffer for it a bit longer.

Akkarin screamed.