A/N: I was recently introduced to the Black Magician Trilogy even though I'm in the demographic that probably should have read them when they first came out. I loved the books. . . until the end (I was told not to read the end and didn't listen). I think Akkarin is probably one of the more interesting and certainly more morally complex characters that I've read recently, and I'm sad that we don't get to learn more about him in the books (I understand why we don't but it still bothers me). I also think the relationship between him and Sonea has a lot of potential but felt really rushed. So I turned to fanfiction. I actually started a bunch of different stories about them, but I eventually settled on three that I liked the most, so you should see the other two posted here soon.

This one is the furthest from canon in that it ignores all of the books. It's also, at least from what I've seen, the most different from anything else on here. Basically, it explores what happens if Sonea never threw the stone (that much magical potential in the slums-you know that something is going to happen). I also change Akkarin's back story somewhat-partly because the Ichani have always seemed a little forced to me and I've never really liked the explanation for why he went into Sachaka and partly because I don't want to just reuse the story he gives in the books since that would be boring. This focuses mainly on Akkarin and Sonea; I only bring in other perspectives when it relates to their relationship or the storyline. Don't get me wrong; I like Dannyl and Cery and Rothen, but I've always struggled to jump between different storylines, and it tends to make my stories disjointed and/or very long. There will be a lot more romance/relationship building than the books had but there will also be plenty of mystery/fighting action.

And this will be by far the longest author's note on any chapter, don't worry.

I do not own the characters or setting.

Sonea heard the footsteps following her as soon as she turned onto a relatively quiet side street. She forced her heartbeat to remain steady and her pace to remain the same as she continued down the street. She was only four blocks from home–or, at least, the small room that she, her aunt, and her uncle had crammed into after the Purge. Sonea was not sure she could truly call it home. In fact, she was not sure that there was ever a place that she could call home. The small apartment where they had lived before the Purge had come close, for she had lived there longer than anywhere else she could remember and had even started to add some personal touches to the small closet where she slept, but the Purge had taken that from her.

Sonea forced thoughts of the Purge to the back of her mind. She had more pressing problems–namely, the person following her. There were still a few people out on the street she travelled though, like most inhabitants of the slums, they kept their heads down and their eyes out of other people's business. Still, the presence of others was typically enough to deter a mugger. Mentally, Sonea began to review the streets between her current one and the one on which she was staying, trying to figure out which were most likely to be populated.

Suddenly, she felt an energy in the air as if lightning had struck nearby though there was no storm. Something seemed wrong, and Sonea acted instinctively, jumping behind some nearby boxes just as something blasted the street where she had been standing, sending pavement flying into the air. The few other people who had been nearby suddenly disappeared, but Sonea was too far from an intersection to follow their example. A second blast shattered some crates on the other side of the street, and Sonea realized with a start that the assailant had not seen where she had hidden. That gave her the element of surprise though she was not sure what she would do with it against someone who could blast apart a street.

Staying low and close to the building behind her, Sonea began to creep up the street. She could see the figure now, standing boldly at one end of the street. A dim light from the street behind him showed a short person with broad shoulders and a stocky build, but Sonea could see little other than that. He raised a hand, and the boxes behind Sonea shattered. With a small gasp, Sonea realized that the man was using magic. But what would a magician be doing in the Slums and why was he trying to kill her? Though she distrusted the Guild, mainly because of their participation in the Purge, she knew there were strict laws regarding their actions. Blasting apart streets was certainly against those laws, and she had never seen a magician so blatantly disregard them before.

Sonea did not have time to wonder about those questions, however, for the next blast was nearer. Something cut into her shoulder, and she bit her lip to suppress a cry of pain. She sped up, moving as fast as she dared, still keeping an eye on the magician. She knew there was a street that intersected her current one somewhere nearby; she simply had to find it.

Suddenly, the crates she was behind exploded, sending shards of wood flying in all directions, including many into her body. The sound left her ears ringing, and she could not stop the cry that fell from her lips as pain lanced over her entire body. The magician said something though she could not make out the words. Idly, she wondered if this was what it felt like to die. Some of the wounds she sustained were quite deep, so she doubted that she would be able to walk even if she felt like trying. Blood loss was beginning to make her woozy, and she felt that perhaps the best option for her was to sleep. It would make things so much easier.

As the figure approached, Sonea saw the unmistakable glint of a knife. She thought it a bit odd that he would kill her with so ordinary a weapon after the display of magic she had recently seen, but perhaps he wanted to hide the involvement of magic. Though he likely should not have blasted apart the street earlier in that case. So many unanswered questions that would likely never be answered, for death was approaching quickly.

Sonea frowned at that thought. It was not like her to remain passive, no matter the circumstances. Things had not been easy for her growing up, but she had learned to cope with adversity. Of course, none of that adversity had been a knife-wielding magician who seemed bent on hurting her, but that did not mean she could not fight. Gathering the last of her strength, she forced herself to look into the dark face of the magician, her gaze defiant. She felt herself growing angry, angry at the fact that magicians seemed to always assume that because they had magical powers, they were somehow better than everyone else. As far as Sonea was concerned, they were the worst of the worst. They could have used their powers for good, for helping people, but they simply used them to force all the poor out of the city every year.

Sonea's anger continued to build, and something inside her gathered it up until she could contain it no longer. It burst out of her suddenly in an explosion of light and power. Sonea watched with wide eyes as the explosion sent the magician as well as the remaining debris around her scattering backwards. But she did not see any more than that, for pain and exhaustion finally caught up with her, and she lost consciousness.

Akkarin knew who the court magician was tracking almost immediately. Whoever it was had one of the strongest magical auras he had ever seen and was doing nothing to shield it. Interesting. He had seen magical potential in others in the slums before but never anything quite as strong. One thing was certain–he needed to do everything he could to stop the man in front of him from taking power from the person he was tracking. Akkarin was not sure he could face him if he had so much power.

Akkarin was debating how to lure the man somewhere he could kill him discreetly when his target turned onto a side street. Cursing, Akkarin quickened his steps, but he soon found himself fighting a crowd going in the opposite direction. Akkarin's curses grew louder. It seemed discretion was out of the question now. Clean up was going to be much harder this time, but he supposed that was a problem for later.

Now running, Akkarin arrived just in time to see the man's victim send out a Forcestrike which knocked the attacker off his feet. Part of Akkarin's brain catalogued that interesting fact, wondering briefly if there might be a rogue magician in the slums. But no, Akkarin knew of only one, and he was not nearly as powerful as the person in front of Akkarin. That meant that someone was using his or her powers without having a magician unlock them which must mean that person was very powerful indeed.

Knowing he would need to deal with those concerns later, Akkarin threw up a shield and advanced on the man he had been tracking for three days. He was still slumped against one wall of the alley, not yet dead but considerably less confident than he had been a few seconds before. A couple Forcestrikes from Akkarin shattered the flimsy shield still surrounding him, and Akkarin quickly pulled out his own knife and dispatched his opponent. A quick search of the man's clothes led to the discovery of the ruby-colored gem, and Akkarin crushed it under his foot before turning to the man's near victim.

At first, Akkarin thought he was looking at a boy, for the person wore his or her hair in short ringlets, but it did not take him long to recognize the feminine curves even under the baggy clothes the person wore. She looked to be in her teens, her face indicating a maturity belied by her size as was true of many of the people Akkarin met in the Slums. The rise and fall of her chest indicated that she was still alive though not moving otherwise. Akkarin was not overly surprised. The amount of power she had pushed out would have taxed even an experienced magician, and she had already been seriously injured before doing so given the amount of blood pooling around her.

For a very brief moment, Akkarin considered taking her power and leaving her there, knowing that if he did not, she would continue to be an attractive victim. As soon as he had the thought, however, his conscious recoiled from it, horrified. Had he really just been considering shedding innocent Kyralian blood? I'm tired, he told himself. I've been fighting too long and too hard. Still, that was no excuse–he would need to guard carefully against any such thoughts in the future. Perhaps the Guild was right to fear a corrupting influence from Black Magic.

Akkarin reached forward and touched what looked to be one of the worst wounds on the girl's leg. He sent out some Healing magic, watching the wound carefully knit itself together. As he healed her other wounds as well, her eyelids began fluttering. She woke with a start when he was working on a particularly nasty gash on her shoulder. Her eyes widened with fright, and he quickly calmed her. The last thing he needed was to attract attention. They were lucky they had not attracted any so far, but then he supposed that they were in an area where people tended to mind their own business. "I'm just healing you," he told her. "You were badly injured."

"There was a magician. He. . ." She trailed off, her eyes focusing on him. "You're a magician, too," she remarked, seeming to finally process his last statement.

"I am."

"What happened to the other one?"

"He's dead."

"You killed him." It wasn't a question, and he didn't answer it. Surprisingly, she did not seem particularly bothered by the fact that he had killed another man. But then, if she lived in the area, she was probably accustomed to killing. In many parts of the Slums, it was kill or be killed.

"I have the worst of your injuries healed now. Can you stand?" She nodded and slowly pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall next to her. Gradually, she straightened until she was standing without support.

"Why did you help me?" He saw the flash of suspicion in her eyes.

Why indeed? His inner voice chided, but he quickly silenced it. "It did not seem right to leave you to die."

She stared at him for a few more seconds before reaching out to clasp his hand with hers. "Thank you," she told him, and he could hear the sincerity in her tone. He simply nodded and was about to drop her hand when an image moved unbidden to the forefront of his brain. And not just any image either. This one showed a man, smiling cruelly down at him, a long rope in his hand. A man Akkarin had killed years before. He saw the man bring the whip down, heard his own voice screaming, but before he could see more, the image changed. Now, he saw himself curled, defenceless, in a dark room. With more difficulty than he had expected, Akkarin pushed the memories to the back of his mind and pushed the girl away, both mentally and physically.

His eyes flashed as he glared at her, and he saw the fear return to her face. Good. She should be afraid. She had no right to pry into his memories. "What was that?" he questioned, each word laced with anger.

"I. . . don't know." She sounded genuinely confused, but the cold fury suffusing his body had control now, and it was not giving up that control lightly.

"You will not speak of what happened here tonight. To anyone."

He saw a spark of defiance. "Are you threatening me?"

"Not just you. I'm sure you have family nearby, too. There are ways of finding them if needed." The fear was back now, stronger than before. Part of him was glad of it, for it meant she would keep his secret, a secret he needed to protect at all costs. But another part of him hated himself for what he was doing to the girl.

"You wouldn't," she said, but her voice wavered.

"You don't know me." No one does anymore. Not even myself. With that, he turned away, striding quickly back into the main street.