When Sonea entered the classroom on the first day of the new term, half a dozen other Novices already sat at their desks. A couple looked up at her, slightly puzzled looks crossing their faces, but they said nothing before returning their attention to their work. It was not exactly the warm reception that Sonea would have liked, but it was at least better than her reception with her previous class. She took an empty seat, focusing her attention on arranging her notebook and pen on her desk. The teacher entered soon after she did, and once the class started, Sonea had to focus so much attention on the information she was receiving that she had none to spare for wondering what her new classmates thought of her.
During her second class of the day, the teacher asked them to pair up to practice more advanced shielding techniques. Sonea hung back, letting those who had already formed friendships pair off before searching for anyone who still had no partner. She saw a tall, lanky boy hovering near the back of the room, obviously unpartnered, and she approached and gave him a small smile. Somewhat surprisingly, he returned it with a shaky one of his own, but they had no time for any other words before the instructor told them to begin.
Sonea quickly discovered why the boy—whose name she learned was Tomas—had no partner for the exercise. His magical power was quite weak, and he seemed unable to use what little he did possess effectively. Sonea found herself coaching him on shielding techniques that seemed quite basic to her, and the strikes he sent her way did not cause even a flicker of her shield. Still, by the end of the lesson, she felt that she had helped him at least a little and, even better, she had found someone who was willing to talk to her.
Things improved slightly for Sonea after that. Though the rest of her class mostly ignored her, they were not openly hostile, and she had found at least one friend in Tomas which was enough for her. She also discovered that despite skipping ahead, she was not behind her classmates in most subjects though she remained weak in Warrior Skills. She had the power, but strategy had never been a particular strength of hers, and awakening her magic had not changed that.
She still thought about the High Lord from time to time, but she did not return to her spying at first, for she was too busy with her classes and—if she was being honest with herself—a bit scared of what might happen if she did. However, a month or so after their confrontation, she started to feel guilt for not doing more. She had seen him kill multiple times—granted, she still did not know who he had killed or when, but she could not conceive of any good reason why he would kill. She needed to find out more, to figure out exactly what he was doing and, hopefully, find a way to stop him. She would just need to be more careful about it so that he did not catch her in the act again.
It took her another two days before inspiration struck. She remembered that she had seen his dreams the night she fell asleep in the garden. Perhaps if she did so again, she could catch more of the dreams and learn more about the elusive High Lord. After all, the only information she had so far was the dreams—staking out his house had taught her nothing important.
Knowing she needed to focus on classes as well, she committed to herself that she would only go to the gardens twice a week—once before Freeday and once before Secondday when her first class was not until later in the morning. On the first Freeday after her new resolution, she finished up her work early and went to bed just after dinner, pleading tiredness. If Rothen found such a thing suspicious, he gave no indication. She did sleep for a couple hours, setting a magical alarm to wake her just before midnight. After waking up, she peeked out carefully and, upon discovering Rothen was not in the main living area, having presumably retired himself, slipped out and made her way quickly and quietly to the gardens.
She saw nothing that night nor during her following vigil, but on her third night in the gardens, her efforts were finally rewarded. As had happened during the stakeout, when the vision started, it blurred briefly with the wall of the garden in front of her until she managed to direct her attention to the vision alone, blocking out what her eyes actually saw. As the vision came into sharper focus, she found herself looking at a man sitting on a throne, just as she had seen previously. This time, the vision did not disappear, and she had a chance to study the man more closely. As she had noticed before, he certainly did not look like the statue of King Merin she had seen, nor, she noted, like the one of his father. In fact, he did not look Kyralian at all. His features were strange and foreign though not completely unfamiliar. Briefly, Sonea went through the common characteristics of various races, dismissing most of them until she remembered the servant emerging from the High Lord's Residence. He shared many features with the man in front of her now. But to what race did they belong?
Sonea set aside those thoughts to puzzle through later, focusing instead on what was happening in the vision. The man on the throne—the king?-laughed loudly, saying something in a foreign tongue. The laugh was cold and cruel, and Sonea felt a shiver travel down her spine when she heard it. The king turned his attention away from the High Lord to someone on his right, and the High Lord looked that way as well. A man knelt there, his arms and legs shackled and his head bent low. Two guards stood over him with vicious looking whips. One of them brought his back before cracking it against the man's back with a wicked snap. The man's scream was unearthly, and Sonea found herself wishing once again that she did not have to share all of the High Lord's senses. Before the scream had died completely, the second guard snapped his whip against the man's back, restarting the screaming. This time, Sonea heard the High Lord say something in the same strange language, but no one paid him any attention. His voice, which had started calm, grew more desperate as the whipping continued, and Sonea found herself begging someone to pay attention to him, but no one did. The High Lord turned back to the man being whipped who was now laying on the floor, blood starting to run down his sides, and she felt her stomach turn. Before she lost her dinner, however, the vision changed.
This time, the High Lord was in a darkened room, kneeling. Sonea could feel dampness through the cotton of his trousers. He was looking up at two men wearing the same uniforms as the ones who had beat the man in the previous vision. The High Lord said something, and though Sonea could not understand the words, she could hear the venom in his tone. One of the men said something in return, a cruel smile playing at his lips. He brought his hand up, and Sonea noted he carried a whip similar to the one in the previous vision. As it came down on the High Lord's back, pain shot across his body, and he cried out. Sonea, feeling the same pain, wanted to give her own exclamation and wondered if anyone could hear it in the garden. She wished she could pull out of the vision, for she did not need to see what happened next to know where the vision was going, but she seemed to be stuck. The whip continued to lash at the High Lord's back until the pain was so intense that Sonea was surprised he still remained conscious.
Suddenly, the whipping stopped, and Sonea wondered if they were done. She could hear the High Lord's heavy breathing. The whipping had forced him forward, and his head nearly touched the cold stone floor. Through his nose, Sonea could smell the musky dampness of wherever he was as well as another tangy, almost metallic scent—blood, she realized, the sickening feeling in her stomach increasing. Despite the pain consuming him, however, the High Lord managed to raise his head, again saying something to the guards. The first spat on his face as the second one reached into his belt and pulled out a knife. The blade glinted as the man reached out, yanking on the High Lord's arm to expose the pale skin of his forearm. Bile rose in Sonea's throat. She was no stranger to violence, but this was worse than anything she had ever experienced, even in the slums. She wondered why she had been so keen to see more visions from the High Lord—at the moment, she hoped to never see one again.
As the knife pierced the flesh of the High Lord's arm, deep enough to cause him to cry out in pain and bring blood oozing to the surface, Sonea expected him to try and pull his arm away. Surprisingly, however, he kept his arm still, and she felt part of his consciousness starting to move away from his body. At first, Sonea thought he was finally losing the battle with unconsciousness, but after a moment, she realized that he was still perfectly aware of what was happening. However, he had touched the mind of another, for she sensed thoughts that clearly did not belong to the High Lord. Unlike when she had let Rothen into her mind room, however, she saw no visualizations, just an empty void. However, this did not seem to bother the High Lord who pushed a bit further, prompting the guard with a picture of the same knife that had just pierced his flesh. A flurry of pictures followed, moving so quickly that Sonea did not have time to fully see any of them until the High Lord caught one, pausing for a moment. Sonea saw a knife on an arm, sensed power flowing, but she was not able to catch anything else before the picture fled and the High Lord returned to his own mind with an ear-splitting scream.
The room disappeared after that, and Sonea found herself floating once more in an empty void though this time, she did not sense any other presence. However, just in front of her, she spied a door. She approached it, noting that it was locked tight. She remembered Rothen's teachings about how she could lock memories she did not want anyone to see behind such doors. She wondered if this door contained such a memory from the High Lord—though if it did, why were there not other doors? Briefly, she considered opening it, but she quickly dismissed that thought. Something told her that whatever was behind that door was best left undisturbed.
As soon as Sonea made that resolution, she felt her consciousness pulling away, and she was suddenly staring at the garden again, her breathing heavy as if she had just run several blocks. She blinked, letting her heart rate settle. She was not quite sure what to make of the things she had seen that night, but one thing was certain—her initial impression of the High Lord as an aloof, powerful man incapable of human emotion needed some amending.
Sonea did not sleep much that night, her thoughts plagued by images of cruel whips and sharp knives. As the sun began to filter in through the small opening in her curtains, she finally decided that before she did anything further, she needed to try and confirm the accuracy of the visions. After all, if they were just nightmares with no basis in reality, then they told her nothing. Sonea doubted, however, that anyone would have nightmares so vivid without some experience on which to base them.
As she ate breakfast with Rothen, she pondered how to best ascertain the veracity of the visions. Eventually, she remarked, "Lord Pikely has been talking about the history of all the Allied Lands, and I'm realizing I'm hopelessly behind when it comes to geography."
Rothen looked up from his food and gave her a gentle smile. "That is only to be expected, particularly since we have never spoken much about geography. I am sure I can find some books on the subject for you to bring your knowledge up to the level of the rest of your class."
"That would be nice, but I was hoping to perhaps get a bit more. . . firsthand knowledge. Is there anyone who has traveled abroad who might be able to talk to me?" Rothen frowned slightly. Sonea knew it was an unusual request, but she had not been able to think of another way to determine if the High Lord had traveled.
"Truthfully, there are not too many of us—most of us prefer the comfort of home. We have a few Warriors stationed at strategic points on the border, of course, and I imagine some of them venture from time to time into the other Allied Lands, but I can't think of any of them who are in Imardin at the moment. My own son lives near the border as well, but he's never crossed it. And there are, of course, ambassadors for each of the Allied Lands, but they only come back to Imardin if there is a specific need. Truthfully, the most traveling I've heard of any magician doing lately is the High Lord—he went on a tour of the Allied Lands around half a dozen years ago, but he never spoke much about it to anyone, as far as I know. Though he is so aloof that it is unsurprising."
"Oh, I did not know that," Sonea said, her heart beating faster as she realized that Rothen's words confirmed the dreams could be reality. "He just traveled in the Allied Lands?"
Rothen thought for a moment. "He never mentioned going elsewhere, but I would not be a person in whom he would confide. Truthfully, he's always terrified me a bit—though he is not much older than my son. I believe that is probably his intention. Why the interest?"
"No particular reason," Sonea said quickly. "There just seemed to be very little information in my books on any lands other than the Allied Lands, so I was curious."
"Well, I do not know that I can arrange an interview with the High Lord, but I can certainly find some books, perhaps even some that talk about other lands. And I will consider other options as well."
"Thank you," Sonea said sincerely though inside, she was more unsure than ever about what to do next.
After her recent experience with the High Lord's dreams, Sonea decided not to pursue her investigation for awhile. Though she was still a bit worried about his secrets, she worried more about what horrors she might see if she entered his dreams again. She also could not help but feel that there was more to the story than she had seen and witnessing additional dreams would not help her determine what it was.
Thoughts of the dreams still occurred to her from time to time, but as the term progressed, she found herself so immersed in her classes that she could not focus on much of anything else. On one particular day, she was sitting in the library, puzzling through a book on the uses of magic in fabricating small objects when a sudden feeling of excitement suffused her body. Her brow furrowed, for the feeling made no sense given what she was doing. The book she was reading was dull, and she was not particularly interested in the subject matter. Her vision swam unexpectedly, and she blinked. It took a moment to realize she was getting another vision.
Setting aside her book, she focused on the vision, noting immediately that it looked different than any of the previous ones. The High Lord was still in a dark room, but he was not bound or restrained in any way, and he seemed to have full strength. In addition, the vision was less muddled, and it did not seem to skip around as previous ones had. The High Lord was focused on a book, and Sonea realized with a start that the excitement was coming from him, presumably because of what he had read in the book. Wondering what could be so exciting, she, too, focused on the book. It took a moment for the words to focus, but even when they did, they did not make too much sense. She seemed to have started reading in the middle of some sort of diary. It spoke of a magician names Tagin and—Sonea gasped as she read it—the people he murdered. However, it also mentioned he had gained power from them which was something of which she had not heard before. Of course, given that it involved murdering people, she could see why the teachers would not teach it to First-Year Novices. The High Lord flipped the page, his excitement growing. Sonea tried to read the next page, too, but the High Lord was obviously quicker at reading than she was, and he turned the page again before she could get more than some brief information about battle preparations. Sonea tried to skim the next page, hoping to glean more information, but she was left with even less when the High Lord turned the page again. Abruptly, the account ended on the next page with a single paragraph. The High Lord lingered on the page, giving Sonea enough time to read the words written there:
It was decided that the location of the secret weapon would be known by the Head of Warriors and its nature only by the High Lord. That way, we ensure there are at least two people involved, reducing the chances of another Tagin. The Head of Warriors and High Lord would both pass their knowledge on to their successors. I now finish this record here. Tomorrow I will begin a new one. I sincerely hope that no one will ever open this book and read these words.
Secret weapon? What possible secret weapon could a magician need? Sonea went back to the first paragraph, intending to re-read it, but before she could, she felt her consciousness coming back to her own body. She sat for a few minutes, puzzling over what she had seen, but by the time Lady Tya told her it was time to leave the library, she had more questions than answers.
That night at dinner, Sonea picked at her food, lost in thought. Rothen noticed. "Something bothering you?" he questioned.
Sonea startled. "Uh, no, I just. . . had some interesting history reading earlier that I am still trying to make sense of."
"Oh? What about?"
"There was a man—Lord Tagin, I think?" Sonea searched Rothen's face, but she saw no flicker of recognition. Instead, he shook his head.
"I do not think I remember him from my history books. What did he do?"
"Oh, uh, it sounds like he was not very well-liked. . . I don't really remember the details. And maybe I got the name wrong." From what little Sonea had read, Tagin's actions seemed like those that someone should remember. Unless they were covered up for some reason. And if that was the case, Sonea did not want to press too hard and have anyone wonder where she had read such information. Rothen was still looking at her, puzzled, and she gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile before taking a large bite of dinner. "It's not very important. I can take a look at the book again later." With that, she turned her attention to her food, trying desperately not to think of murder or secret weapons.
Akkarin had not expected to spend so much time pouring over old Guild records, but after reading the account of Tagin, he knew he had to find out all he could about when the knowledge was lost and how. He was peering carefully at the tiny, cramped handwriting of some old election records when a feeling of fear so strong it nearly knocked him out of his chair came over him. He blinked, trying to force the fear to the back of his mind so he could refocus on the task at hand. However, he could not seem to ignore it. He noted it was greater than any fear he had ever felt from Sonea, including her fear of him.
Closing his eyes, he let what she was seeing overtake her vision. He noted that she was standing in one of the university corridors, a crowd of other Novices surrounding her. Akkarin counted, eyes widening when he saw fifteen of them, far more than he had ever seen before. She was shielding but still, surprisingly, not striking back. He wondered about that for a moment, but he supposed in the end, it would not matter even if she did strike back. A single Novice, even one as powerful as Sonea, would not be able to overcome fifteen others. He supposed he could send her power as he did before, but if she did not use it for fighting, it would ultimately not matter. Even his power would run out eventually—and he would rather have some of it around to fight the next spy sent into the city.
He watched as the Stunstrikes continued, and her shield began to falter. He felt another rush of fear, even stronger than before. Surely her tormentors would stop soon. No matter their feelings about Sonea, they could not possibly be stupid enough to attack an unprotected magician. The consequences would be dire.
However, when her shield went out, the strikes continued, each one hitting her body and causing it to jerk spasmodically. Akkarin felt the pain and gritted his teeth against it, focusing on sending her power. Her body accepted it, automatically forming the shield again though weaker than before. The attack continued, and Akkarin realized the tormentors would not stop, no matter what—and he knew enough about Stunstrike to realize they would eventually kill her.
That realization made his decision for him. As much as he did not want to interfere in Sonea's affairs, he could not sit idly by while a group of magicians killed another. He was not them. No matter what he had done—and he had committed his share of sins—he liked to believe he still had some morals. Without another thought, he stood, nearly sprinting down the stairs to the hidden underground room. He had to focus on his steps while he ran through the tunnels, but once he neared Sonea's location, he slowed and focused back in on what she was seeing. The vision was hazy now which confused him for a moment before he realized with heart-stopping certainty that she was completely drained of power and about to lose consciousness. Still, the Stunstrikes continued to hit her unprotected body, the pain so intense it was nearly constant. Only Akkarin's own extensive experience with such pain allowed him to continue moving.
Anger surged through him suddenly. He might have done some morally reprehensible things, but at the end of the day, he had acted in a way he felt necessary to protect the Guild and Kyralia. The Novices attacking Sonea, however, were acting out of pure malice, seeming to derive pleasure from Sonea's pain. His rage propelled him forward, and he practically flew out of the tunnels just a few meters from their position. As he did so, he pushed a strong shield out from his body, causing the Novices to stumble and turn to face him. With a note of satisfaction, he watched as their faces turned white before all turned and fled. He dismissed them, resolving to deal with them at a later time. At the moment, he needed to figure out what to do with the small young woman slumped in the now-empty corridor.
Akkarin rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside her, fervently hoping she was not already dead. He grabbed her hand to check her vitals, breathing a small sigh of relief when he found a heartbeat. He sent his consciousness questing into her body, seeking out the damage the Stunstrikes had caused and healing it as best as he was able. He was no Healer and was sure he was not doing things as efficiently as possible, but he had enough raw power that it did not matter. After a couple minutes, her eyes fluttered open, focusing almost immediately on his face. He felt a pang of regret when he saw the fear flicker across them as she tried to scramble away from him, but he noted with some interest that it was not as intense as her earlier fear.
"Don't," he told her shortly. "I am not finished healing you yet."
"What happened to them?"
"They ran when they saw me. Cowards." He sneered at the last word. He felt the Healing energy close up some of the last blood vessels that the Stunstrikes had blasted apart, finally relaxing as he noted that color was returning to her face. "Can you stand?" he asked, leaning away from her.
She considered for a moment. "Maybe?" she finally said. She started to push herself up, but she wavered, and he caught her immediately. With his help, she made it shakily to her feet. They stared at one another for a moment. "Thank you," she finally said. Akkarin was a bit taken-aback, having not expected the young woman he had threatened to thank him for anything. He also noted that the fear seemed to have disappeared from her eyes. "For saving my life. Again, I suppose."
Akkarin's mind raced. He needed to extract himself from the situation, to prevent her from asking any questions about why he had saved her. Her fear of him was useful in ensuring her silence. "I would recommend avoiding empty corridors in the future," he finally remarked. He started to turn, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Why are you more afraid of them than me?" he questioned, turning to see her reaction to the question even he had not realized he was going to ask.
She stared at him a moment, but her puzzlement soon changed to understanding. "They would have killed me for fun and thought nothing of it," she finally said. "They have no honor."
"And you believe I do?"
A single eyebrow rose. "Would you have actually hurt my family?" Now, she was staring at him, so intensely he looked away. A small smile played on her lips. "I thought as much."
Akkarin realized suddenly that he had overplayed his hand. She no longer seemed to fear him, and without fear, he had no way of controlling her. Looking at her now, however, he realized that perhaps he had been wrong to control her with fear from the beginning. Though such methods had always worked for him in the past, Sonea was different. Her background in the slums meant that she had likely lived with fear for much of her life and needed to find ways to cope with it. Akkarin needed to find another method, and he could think of only one—though it was not one he had used before. He would have to try telling the truth, or at least part of it, and hope that she did not question him too much. He let his face relax into what he hoped was a stern yet earnest expression. "I cannot give you the whole story, but know that I am acting in the best interests of the Guild and Kyralia. However, to continue to act in their best interests, I need my actions to remain secret."
She stared at him another moment before nodding slowly. "I guess I haven't seen anything counter to that statement. And as long as I do not, I see no reason why I would talk."
A slight smile tugged at his lips, but he kept it fleeting. "You were remarkably accepting of that."
She shrugged. "Where I'm from, a lot of good people have to do bad things to survive or keep their families safe. I've never condemned them for that, and I don't intend to start now." Akkarin simply stared at her after her statement, realizing he had found a truly remarkable woman and possibly one of the only women in Kyralia who might understand him. Not that she would ever have a reason to do so. If she would remain silent about what she had seen, that would be enough. He refused to allow others to share his burden.