The eye was half open tonight. Akkarin allowed himself to enjoy the sight of the night sky, pierced by the stars of early summer. The Arena's wall of energy rippled around him, misleadingly beautiful and opalescent. What looked merely like a thin and pearly membrane wrapped around the tall, inwardly curved columns held immense power, strengthened over the years.

Part of the reason Akkarin had gone willingly when Balkan has suggested his imprisonment overnight in the Arena was that he wanted to investigate whether he could strengthen himself from its wall. Not too much, and certainly nowhere near enough to compromise the barrier's integrity – he had in mind the power equivalent to drawing from Sonea's reserves for a week. That would bring him up to the level of power he more or less had when he had been tested six years ago at the elections for the position of High Lord.

Of course, back then, the reason I was that strong was that I had recently killed and drawn the power of Kariko's slaves.

Akkarin doubted it would come to a fight tomorrow, but whatever the verdict, he couldn't risk being overpowered by the combined force of all the magicians who may be present. I have two key advantages – according to Lorlen's thoughts, while the Guild has suspicions around my contact with Cery and even the nature of my relationship with Sonea, black magic has not yet crossed their minds.

The latter had also meant that the higher magicians had placed Akkarin, overnight, inside the one place in the entire Guild that would make him more powerful than all of them combined. Even in the midst of his worried thoughts of Sonea and Takan, Akkarin couldn't help but half-smile to himself in the darkness.

His legs hadn't been bound, so he sauntered over to the edge of the Arena. He raised a pale hand inches away from the pearlescent, pulsating membrane of power right in front of him. Touching it would, he knew, result in a shower of forcestrikes that would surge up the columns all around him, then shower down like fatal rain. No, he needed to be far more subtle than that.

The only other thing in the entire Arena was its sandy floor, a cushion for practice bouts. Unbidden, a face and a memory rose in Akkarin's mind: golden-red skin, almond eyes, black hair and wisdom beyond her years. Zarala. She had been the only daughter of the aging Queen of the Traitors back then, a beautiful woman in her early forties. She must be a Queen now and truly intimidating to behold, Akkarin thought.

He would never forget the day that he had encountered her, out picking berries for Kariko's dinner. He had been whipped earlier for failing to remember to throw himself on the floor when Kariko's guest had entered his tent. Akkarin's face darkened at the memory. By that year, his fifth year enslaved, Kariko had long ceased to find it amusing when his 'pet Guild magician' behaved in Guild-like ways. By then, his usual reaction when Akkarin forgot to behave like a slave had become pure fury.

Zarala had stepped out from the shadows of a rock face and approached him. Akkarin had known instantly that this was a powerful magician – it was emanating from her – but he had been too weak from his whip wounds to run, or hide. He had stood frozen to the spot as the woman, too dignified and healthy to have ever been enslaved, approached him silently and pressed a hand on his shoulder.

My name is Zarala. Do not be afraid. I have been sent here by my people, who are neither Ichani nor Ashaki, she had communicated mind-to-mind.

Who are they? Why have you come? Akkarin had asked.

My people's survival depends on secrecy. But I can tell you that we keep no slaves, and we hate the Ichani.

– Then please help us, Akkarin had pleaded. There are fifteen of us under Kariko's torment.

– I do not have permission from my ruler to intervene in what's happening here, Zarala had replied, almost with a touch of anger and disappointment. Akkarin had sensed through their mind-link that she did not agree with her mother's orders, but would never disobey them. But I know Kariko will attack another Ichani tomorrow at sundown. It will be a chance to kill him, she had added.

– How? He drains my power every morning, and a battle will only strengthen him.

Zarala's eyebrows had knotted in incomprehension. No battle is necessary, Guild magician. Higher magic will be your weapon.

When she had realised Akkarin had no experience of what she meant, she had shown him how to sense the power latent in all living things, and draw it into him – from the berry shrub to the rock itself. Then, even a little from her, which had sealed his fate.

How simple it was, yet how life changing, Akkarin thought, pulling his thoughts back into the here and now. And that's how he had learned black magic. Musing on how his life would have been had he never learned it, or had never gone to Sachaka, was an old and worn pursuit. He evaded taking his thoughts in that familiar direction of 'what-ifs' before it could distract him from the task at hand.

Tearing his eyes away from the hypotising pulsations of the Arena wall, Akkarin took to one knee and placed his palm on the sandy floor instead. The rock behind Zarala had power. Sand is a mixture of small grains of rock and other particles, is it not? He thought, remembering his boyhood lessons in Alchemy.

While Akkarin had hoped he would sense a little something, he was unprepared for what actually happened. He could extend his senses through the very dim and faint life-force inside the sand, like water, until he touched the power membrane of the Arena, which extended into the sandy floor in all directions to seal the interior. His mind gave the membrane the gentlest of touches, reaching out through the sand. His touch was the sand.

Akkarin held his breath. Nothing happened. The stars twinkled above him in the night sky, and the irridescent membrane continued pulsing gently.

How extraordinary. For all of its darker potential, I understand every day why the Sachakans and the older Guild used to call this higher magic, Akkarin marvelled. There was something about its methods that seemed to naturally suit the fluid nature of magic itself – a nature that the Guild's approach had turned quite rigid and academic. Magic wants to be felt via the body, not thought into images, Akkarin mused.

As he began to draw from the immense power of the Arena wall, using the sand as a conduit worked perfectly. Magic moved through liquid fastest, then air, and solid matter the slowest, so the flow wasn't as rapid as drawing Takan's power through a cut. But it was happening.

If anyone checked on the High Lord, it looked like he was kneeling on the floor of the Arena in exhaustion or despair. But in reality, Akkarin was steadily drawing the Arena's power, taking care to leave enough to keep the membrane intact.

Power rushed through every fibre of his body. His body first directed the extra reserves to self-heal his tiredness and nourish his mind into sharp focus. The rest, he stored, then finally used some to create a strong skin-level shield that completely hid his extra reserves.

Akkarin then lay down on the floor. He was tingling all over with what felt like the power of thirty magicians. But he knew no magical healing could substitute for natural sleep, so he closed his eyes in the hopes of waking to the sight of Sonea. Akkarin's mind replayed the words he had heard through Takan's blood gem that night:

"I'd do it all again – joining the Guild, learning black magic, killing in defence, and… loving him."

He recalled Sonea's words over and over again until it began to feel like a protective charm, shielding him as Akkarin surrendered to sleep.

—-

Somehow Akkarin still managed to look dignified and self-assured, even when he was sitting on the Arena floor, with his back against one of the supports. As Lorlen entered the Arena with ten Warriors in tow as a guard, Akkarin's lips curled up at the corner and he raised an eyebrow.

"My, what an escort, Administrator. This, for such a minor charge?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Just protocol, High Lord," Lorlen replied, feeling uncomfortable.

Have I earned back none of your confidence over the past year, Lorlen? Akkarin's voice filled Lorlen's head through the blood ring on his hand. If it was a takeover of the Guild I sought, would I not have done it already?

Everyone in the Guild knows your power outranks mine and Balkan's, and we're the second most powerful. You can't begrudge them precautions. They don't know what your real intentions are. And nor do I, Lorlen replied reproachfully.

Akkarin looked at Lorlen with a flicker of sadness for a second, but in the next moment, his calm, authoritative mask returned. "Well, lead the way, Administrator," he said, standing up and brushing the sand off his black robes.

The escort kept pace as Lorlen led him to the path alongside the University. The grounds were empty and eerily quiet. Only their footsteps and the occasional chirrup of a bird broke the silence.

As they approached the entrance of the Guildhall, the ancient stone building that now sat within the University building, Akkarin paused. The escort of ten magicians also stopped and worriedly looked to Lorlen, awaiting orders.

"Where is Sonea and my servant, Administrator? If they are to testify, they should be here for the entirety of the proceedings, to hear all evidence," Akkarin said. His assertive tone did not match that of a mere inquiry. Was Lorlen imagining things out of anxiety, or was there the gentlest hint of threat in his voice? Akkarin looked at him steadily, as if saying without words: if any harm has come to them, I cannot guarantee that anyone in this room will be safe.

"They have taken their seats in the rows already, High Lord," said a measured voice from the entrance of the Guildhall. Lord Balkan strode towards them with purposeful steps. Balkan and the High Lord inclined their heads towards one another.

"Good," Akkarin said, his tone lightening. As they all entered the Guildhall, a hush fell over the room. It was packed full of magicians, but there were no brown robes in sight; Lorlen and the higher magicians had decided that novices would not been permitted to attend, given the delicate matter of bringing the highest ranking magician of the Guild to trial. There was no need for this to reach the Houses just yet, and he knew novices would write back to their families about it immediately.

Well, they probably still will – the news has already spread fast, even though the breakfast gong rang just an hour ago, Lorlen thought. He wouldn't want to be Akkarin's nephew, the head of House Delvon, at court tomorrow.

Lorlen moved to the front of the room, and Akkarin remained standing nearby too, flanked by his escort of Warriors. His usual High Lord's seat near the top of the dias suddenly looked very meaningfully empty.

The King was not to be in attendance today. Lorlen was grateful about that, as it meant less scrutiny. He had informed him, of course, but had been told His Majesty was currently visiting Elyne and would be sending his Advisor instead. Lorlen glanced up to check the man had arrived – Lord Solten was a thin, beady-eyed man who was perched onto one of the two chairs that flanked the throne at the very top of the dias.

When everyone was settled, Lorlen struck a small gong.

"We have called this Hearing today to judge Akkarin of family Delvon, of House Velan, High Lord of the Magicians' Guild, who has been accused of fraternising with criminals from the underworld network of Imardin who call themselves the Thieves," Lorlen announced in a clear and neutral voice.

Murmurs began to fill the hall as the magicians on the rows began discussing this charge amongst themselves.

"Silence, please," Lorlen amplified his voice with magic. "Under Guild law, no magician is allowed to have private dealings with persons of ill-repute. The evidence to support this charge will be presented for us to judge. I call forth the first speaker, Captain Barran of the city guard."

The Captain was in full uniform, and looked uncomfortable being in a room with so many magicians. But he stood up and steadily stood in front of the room, facing the hall.

"Captain Barran, recount the events that occurred when you were on duty the night before last," Lorlen asked.

The Captain nodded, looking unsure whether to address Lorlen, the room, or the higher magicians who sat behind him, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

"I received a tip-off about a commotion on the top floor of the bolhouse on Market Road in Northside, an hour after we came on to the night shift. My men and I went over to investigate; I sent one unit into the bolhouse to demand entry, and positioned myself and my unit in a deserted building opposite. A half hour later, I witnessed the High Lord, a man I know to be a Thief who controls Northside, and the Thief's bodyguard, erm… float from the bolhouse roof to the roof of the building I was in."

"The Guild is aware of the possibility there is a rogue magician in the city. Are you sure the magician you saw with the Thief and his bodyguard was the High Lord, and not this rogue?" Lady Vinara spoke from her seat on the dias.

"I am acquainted with the High Lord, given the nature of my work. From my hiding spot in the building, I got a closer look when they went down the staircase in front of me and into the basement. It was him, wearing a grey cloak that covered most of his robes," Captain Barran replied.

Lorlen's heart sank. "Was there anyone else who accompanied, or later joined, the High Lord and the two criminals?"

Barran looked straight ahead as he answered, "No."

"Thank you, Captain Barran," Lorlen said, gesturing for the man to sit back down.

"I call forth the second speaker, Sonea, the High Lord's novice."

Sonea stood up, her face a combination of nerves and determination. There were bags under her eyes, as if she had not slept very well. Lorlen noticed that Akkarin's gaze followed her closely, his expression serious.

"Was the High Lord at his residence, Sonea, when you returned from your final evening class the night before last?"

"Yes."

"And what was he doing?"

"We had dinner," Sonea began, her face stony. Akkarin was watching her closely, as if expectantly waiting to hear her say something in particular. Lorlen narrowed his eyes. Had he instructed her to lie to give him an alibi?

"When you retired to your room for the evening, was the High Lord still in the residence?"

"I did not retire to my room after dinner," Sonea replied. She was answering every question, Lorlen noted, but with very little detail, as if delaying the moment she would have to lie. When Lorlen gestured for her to continue, she added, "The High Lord and I moved on to the library for a conversation."

Lorlen noted a raised eyebrow from Lady Vinara, but not much reaction from the crowd of magicians listening closely.

"And when you did eventually retire, did you hear or see anything that may suggest The High Lord left the residence?

Sonea paused. She gave Akkarin a quick glance – for a fleeting moment, Lorlen was close enough to discern what almost looked like touch of apology in her eyes. Akkarin's face remained a calm mask, but Lorlen knew enough of his old friend to read a tension in the set of his jaw.

"Please answer the question, Sonea. You are under oath," Lorlen said after allowing the pause to go on for a few moments.

"After our conversation in the library, the High Lord and I retired to his bedroom together," Sonea said.

Gasps could be heard across the hall. Lorlen could see heads shaking and arms moving in rapid, expressive gestures. Some magicians were still and silent, obviously stunned by this revelation.

"Silence," Lorlen had to amplify his voice with magic again to quieten the hall. He threw Akkarin another quick glance. He was looking unblinkingly at a point straight ahead, his jaw clenched. Sonea kept throwing him looks, her brows knitted.

"Did the High Lord leave his bedroom at any point in the evening?" Lorlen asked. He had to keep to questions relevant to the goal here: to find out whether the magician Barran saw could have been who he thought.

Sonea tore her eyes away from Akkarin, who had not looked at her once. She turned to face Lorlen, her expression determined.

"No, Administrator. Neither the High Lord nor I left his bedroom until dawn, when I rose to prepare for my morning classes," she said, her voice steady and matter-of-fact.

"Please be seated, Sonea."

The hall erupted into frantic whispers again. Lorlen spotted Rothen's face in the crowd, looking shocked. Balkan threw Lorlen a wide-eyed glance as if to say, it seems your instincts were correct, Administrator. Lady Vinara's lips were pursed, but she looked unsurprised.

"I call on the third speaker, the High Lord's personal servant, Takan," Lorlen proceeded when there was an expectant lull in the chatter.

The red-gold skin of the man looked sallow with worry or lack of sleep. Lorlen had always assumed Akkarin's servant was part Lonmar, but now in the brightly lit hall, he realised Takan looked quite strikingly different to any of the races he encountered every day in the Guild. He came up to the front, hands clasped, posture slightly bowed in respect.

"Takan, is what Sonea said true?"

The man looked worriedly at Akkarin, but the High Lord was keeping his gaze steadily to the front of the room. Lorlen felt a pang of sympathy for Takan, who had never felt comfortable meeting Guild magicians. The poor man now had to be questioned in front of tens of them.

"It is, my Lord," he said in a quiet voice.

"But what of after your duties for the night were ended? Can you vouch for the entire duration of the bolhouse raid?" Sarrin asked.

Lorlen gritted his teeth at the interruption, but the higher magicians had the right to put questions to witnesses on the spot.

"I live in the residence, my Lord, and do not retire in the evenings to the servant's quarters," Takan replied, his head bowed towards Sarrin. "The High Lord and my Lady remained in the High Lord's room all evening." It sounded simply like a respectful form of address, but Vinara's eyebrows raised at hearing the words my Lady, and she looked meaningfully at Lorlen.

Lorlen waited for a few moments. "If the higher magicians have no further questions for the time being, this Hearing will break for a quarter of an hour."