Chapter Thirty-Six: "She Is Ready"

In ancient Kyralian poetry, one of the most famous verses tells the story of a place called 'Camelot'. I say famous, but no one can actually remember who wrote the lines in the first place. Some people thought, because of this, that Camelot had once been a real place. That the words were less of a story and more biography. I will leave that for you to decide.

In the poems, Camelot was a great city, but instead of being built on hierarchy like all modern cities are, it was built on equality. Everyone, rich and poor, important and insignificant, was treated with the same values, respect and dignity. Everyone's story was listened to, every decision fairly evaluated, by a just and worthy ruler. Things weren't wrong just because they were "wrong"- in Camelot, things are wrong based on sound reasoning, not blind fear.

At the end of the epic, Camelot fails, as of course it was bound to. Remember, ideals are just that, ideals. Reality is far more challenging than the beautiful picture of how things should be that we draw in our heads. But the poet clearly found it hard to say goodbye to the city, and mourns its passing, whether fictitious or real.

Don't let it be forgot,

That once there was a spot,

For one brief shining moment

That was known as Camelot.

You might be wondering why I am telling you all this. I suppose it won't make sense right now, but it will. Remember all this, will you, as we start on the final leg of our story?

Let me take you, once again, to Kyralia. Specifically, Imardin. More specifically, the Magicians' Guild. Even more specifically, the grand three-storey pale building that stood proud and alone on the edge of the Guild gardens, on a warm evening in late summer. We've been away a year.

A year had passed in the briefest blink of an eye, the simplest turn of a page. A year that was, for the High Lord, not very unlike any other year. The Guild was its usual childlike self- eager, excitable, but also needing a lot of guidance. Three more slaves had entered the city since the night that Sonea had witnessed Akkarin killing one. Two and had been far more easily dealt with, and Akkarin was currently waiting for a good moment to deal with the third. Nothing more sinister had happened than that, but Akkarin felt the crescendo of events swiftly catching up with him like watching ominous black clouds moving across the sky in his direction. Soon, he knew a storm would be break, and it would be so large he wouldn't be able to get out of its way.

Oh, and of course there were the rebels in Elyne. For several years, they had simply been amusing, and he had watched them in the same way that a child might watch a puppet show. But now things had got more serious, now their attempts to learn magic outside the influence of the Guild had become successful. Luckily, Akkarin had just the right man in just the right place for the job. Dannyl. What do you do when you want someone to divest their deepest secret to you? Tell them your own, of course. He knew both Dannyl and Tayend were probably livid, but, he had to be honest with himself, he didn't care. He saw it as a debt paid- he had kept silent on his knowledge of their secret relationship, which according to Guild tradition he shouldn't do, not they could use it to help him. After all, there's no such thing as a free dinner.

And Sonea, you ask? Sonea had had a quiet year. Now that the harassment from Regin and his sycophants had ended, and now that some of her fellow novices were even going so far as to extend friendship to her, Akkarin noticed a level of peace about her eased his guilt a little. She still clearly disliked being his hostage, and had for several months been even more edgy around him after the unexpected assassin had entered the residence, but she had…adjusted. They were never destined to be friends, but perhaps they weren't destined to be the ruin of the other.

Or at least I hope so, he thought, as he patiently waited for her in the Guestroom, with only a rather dull book to distract him. She wasn't late, not yet, but it had been a long day and he was heartedly looking forward to his dinner. He wasn't regretting his decision to have Sonea dine with him once a week, it gave him the opportunity to ensure her wellbeing for himself, but sometimes it did involve a wait. Eventually, the familiar creak of the front door opening reached his ears, and he let out a soft sigh of relief. He rose quickly, dropping the book onto the table next to him, and turned to greet his novice.

"High Lord," she bowed, as polite and to-the-point as ever. She continued to impress him with her neutrality in the face of what must intimidate her- in years to come, she could easily be a diplomat or ambassador of some kind- not that he would be able to give the opportunity, unfortunately.

They made their way to the dining room, where as Takan was waiting. Akkarin gave Sonea a moment to settle herself, before starting his usual selection of neutral questions- questions that she would have no trouble answering, but questions that also held enough detail so that they could hold a conversation between them. The last thing either of them needed was a cold, dead silence, lying between them like the dead slave had.

"What did you study today?" he began.

"Architecture- construction methods," she replied almost immediately, clearly having expected the question.

Tap.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Shaping stone with magic?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

She nodded once in reply. "Yes."

Tap.

He considered the best way to ask her about it as chose food from the platters that Takan had brought in. So, they had finally arrived at this point.

"Did you find it difficult or easy?"

Sonea pursed her lips as she thought. "Difficult at first then easier- it's not unlike healing," she said slowly.

Tap, tap, tap!

Akkarin studied her- what she had just said was a leap in thinking he had not been expecting. Did she understand what she had just said? "Indeed," he continued, unable to keep surprise out of his voice this time. "And how is it different?"

She finished the mouthful of food she was eating before answering him. "Stone does not have the natural barrier of resistance that the body has. It has no skin."

Well if that didn't get your attention, I give up, the voice in the back of his mind seemed to say. That voice was right. What she had worked out, and all on her own, was…extraordinary. The links between shaping stone and healing were only made clear to him when he had been exposed to the kind of magic that linked the two, the same way that Coren had made the link all those centuries ago. Sonea had just overtaken them. It would be embarrassing, if it hadn't been fascinating.

"That's true," he agreed, reaching for his wine glass, "but something like a barrier can be created if…"

-Master?

-Takan?

-We've just had a messenger come the back way. He said he'd like you come meet an old friend from home.

Akkarin wanted to groan, to run his hands over his face, even slam his cutlery down in frustration, but no, that wouldn't do. He wouldn't let them make him lose his composure. Plus there was Sonea to think about. It just seemed so unnecessarily cruel of the world to give him a long day and a Sachakan slave to complete it. He felt Takan's mind patiently waiting for a response.

-Ah. I had better do that then. Sorry about dinner, I know you spent a lot of time on it.

-Nothing to forgive master- besides, now you have a novice to feed, your missed meals aren't completely wasted. I'll be downstairs.

When he gaze came back to the room, he noticed Sonea watching him with thinly veiled curiosity.

"I have a meeting to attend," he explained briefly as he rose from his chair. "Enjoy the rest of the meal, Sonea." Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she didn't say anything as he left the room. An old friend from home, how very inappropriate that phrase was. But encrypted messages were what was making Ceryni's dealings with the slaves so clever. No one knew exactly what was going on, accept Akkarin himself.

He descended to the very bottom of the house, where he found Takan waiting with his cloak, dagger and lantern.

"Did I hear you talking about stone-shaping up there, Master?" he asked, holding out the cloak, which Akkarin took from him.

"You may well have," Akkarin said, swinging it around himself and fastening the clasp.

Takan was silent for a moment, then he took in a deep breath, and Akkarin instinctively knew what was coming. "I remember us having a conversation just over a year ago." He held out the dagger in its scabbard, and Akkarin belted it on.

"Takan, now is really not the time."

"Why not? You have a new slave in the city. She is starting to learn the basics of what is required in order to help you. Look me in the eye and tell me you weren't surprised by how much she has already put together."

Akkarin looked at his servant, and sighed. "No, I can't." He took the lantern from his servant and, with the briefest touch of magic, set the wick alight. But Takan wasn't going to be as easily dealt with.

"Start subtly, then. If you get a bad reaction from her, or she doesn't seem to understand you can always stop, with no harm done. She is ready, master."

Akkarin looked into Takan's amber eyes, and wondered if, even after all these years, he reall knew the man standing in front of him. "You really are a schemer, aren't you?"

Takan smiled sardonically. "I'm trying to keep us all alive."

Akkarin sighed, and realised he had run out of options. He had run down a cul-de-sac and there enemy was fast approaching. He knew that, with every passing year, Kariko will be gathering more and more followers. His idea that the Guild didn't know Black Magic would be growing in validity the more that Akkarin dealt with the slaves that he sent alone- and those slaves were getting stronger and cleverer. The odds were stacked against him, but he wasn't in a position to call in a loss and walk away from the table. The only way he was going to survive, the only way that the Guild was going to survive, was by getting additional support. "Well, I can't disagree with anything you've said. I will not be taking her with me, or anywhere near this one if I can possibly help it, but perhaps she is ready to know more. Perhaps I can suggest to her that black magic wasn't always the hidden subject that it is today. Will that satisfy you?"

Takan nodded. "For now."

And so the fate of the Guild rests in the unknowing hands of a nineteen year old novice from the slums. Not exactly a promising start.

Akkarin lifted the lantern and headed for the door at the back of the room, the one that led into the underground passages. "And now, I need to be gone. Keep an eye on her for me, will you? She might be frightened- you know, after…the incident."

Takan nodded. "Of course. Good hunting master."

Akkarin smiled wryly at him, opened the door, and felt the cold child of the tunnels against his skin. He stifled a weary sigh, stepped down into the darkness, and headed into the city. Will it ever end?

Welcome to Book Three, everyone! Firstly, acknowledgements- The verses are from the Final Ultimo of the musical called, you guessed it, 'Camelot'. It has a fascinating political history, but I will leave you to research that on your own. Secondly, I should you let you know that a) I have a LOT of deadlines coming up (ergh), so these chapters may not be as regular as I would like, and b) I am planning on some of these chapters being longer than any I have written before, simply because I have a lot I want to cover! That means that, whilst you'll get more content, it may take me longer to write. Swings and roundabouts, I suppose! Love to you all, Cece xox