Rothen watched, rapt with attention like everyone else in the Guildhall, as a series of images flashed in everyone's minds. The mental communication had begun in the early hours of the morning once Lord Harkin and his Warriors had begun the ambush.
The sudden onslaught of sensations, sounds and images was intense after the strangeness of three days without any mental communication among magicians whatsoever – but Lord Balkan had decided that, once the ambush began and the Warrior's positions were revealed to the Ichani, there was little need for secrecy and greater need for the Guild to know the outcome of this crucial attack.
He watched the flashes of information from different angles as the magician communicating the ambush swiftly changed location in between each mental message to avoid an Ichani working out where he was projecting from.
Lord Harkin's Warriors had managed to destroy one of three cartfuls of slaves already – Rothen had tried not to look too closely at the bloodied bodies lying on the main road in the centre of the town of Coldbridge. The Warriors were hiding in houses and re-emerging in groups of three to focus their attacks on one Ichani at a time, then retreating swiftly behind wreckage when they were close to exhausting themselves.
It was a good strategy, designed to spare lives. But even Rothen, with his little knowledge of war tactics, could see that the Ichani were barely tired as they blasted each Warrior group that confronted them. He may have missed it in the chaos of the images being projected, but Rothen also noted that there only seemed to be five, not seven, Ichani in the group ambushed.
When there was a brief lull in the images as the source of their communication probably switched locations, Rothen looked up around the room. Some magicians were staring grimly into the distance, entirely focused on the mental messages. Many were pale and shocked at finally seeing proof of how powerful these Sachakan outcasts were. The High Lord loomed in black robes at the head of the hall, his face dark as he leaned in to listen to Lord Balkan murmuring something in his ear.
Sonea stood close to him a step or two back, her face serious and determined. Rothen couldn't believe how… different she seemed to look from the girl of the slums who had lived in his quarters three years ago. It wasn't just the black dress she now favoured, a visual reminder of her new position as High Lord's Consort, but also the maturity and confidence that seemed to tinge her features. She looked as pale as many of the magicians in the room, but unsurprised.
Not for the first time, Rothen wondered what exactly the bond between the High Lord and his former novice was. Her close presence throughout the battle preparations had confirmed his suspicions that they were somehow more than lovers. The way they threw quick glances at each other sometimes, as if they were communicating silently, was the look of accomplices.
Another thing that Rothen couldn't quite place also tugged at him. Sonea had always had large reserves of natural power – it had been her downfall two years ago, when her power surges enabled Dannyl to find her hiding spots in the city. But this morning Rothen could have sworn she emanated an aura of vast power. When he focused his senses, he couldn't detect it. But when she entered a room, for just a split second, it was palpable. It pulsed then receded away, as if the holder hadn't quite yet gotten used to hiding it smoothly and consistently.
Rothen frowned. It reminded him of the inexplicable unease that the High Lord's presence also evoked whenever he entered a room. Just the subtlest hint that there was an aura of dangerous strength about a person. He placed his hands on his temples and rubbed them for some relief. Perhaps he was just imagining things, or it was Akkarin's usual aura that he was sensing. He and Sonea had been inseparable for the past three days, after all.
The next round of mental images jerked him out of his own thoughts. Exclamations of triumph echoed throughout the Guild hall as they all watched the second cartful of supplies and cowering slaves targeted and destroyed by the combined strike of five Guild Warriors. The Ichani nearest to the cart was also thrown onto the floor from the force of the explosion. He smashed his head onto the cobblestones of the street, and a moment later, his body exploded in blinding light. The force of the reserves of power that the Ichani had been holding when his head wound killed him threw the slaves in the third and final cart in the air. Four or five of them limped away from the wreck, but the majority lay still, dead. Yes! Rothen thought. Almost all the slaves were killed, and all three cartfuls of supplies were now in flames.
Three of the remaining Ichani ran for cover to the houses on the street. But one Ichani with golden earrings and a clean-shaven head howled in rage at the sight of his dead slaves and threw an earth-shattering volley of strikes in the direction of a house that some Warriors had retreated into.
The two-storey building burst into flames. After a few seconds, the five Warriors emerged from the building, running from the fire. In the moments they were completely exposed as they ran across the street, the raging Ichani threw a frightening amount of power in their direction with a scream of anger. All five Warriors were thrown onto the floor as their shields shattered.
Rothen looked up to see Akkarin's eyes flashing with cold anger. All the magicians in the Guildhall watched, horrified, as the Ichani approached the five exhausted Warriors, drawing a blade that glinted in the dawn sun.
"You'll pay for this, slave-killers," he panted, his eyes burning with fury. "We will burn your Guild to the ground." Cries of distress sounded from some of the magicians in the hall as all watched the Ichani slash the five young Warriors' throats as they lay too exhausted to shield. The Ichani clamped a hand on their wounds and Rothen heard a strange fluttering in his ears. The next moment, all light had drained from the Warriors' eyes.
A muffled shout brought Rothen back into the room in time to see a middle-aged Healer flee the hall, her face in her hands. Two more Healers swiftly strode after the distressed woman.
"One of the victims was Lady Jocelyn's son," muttered Lord Peakin in Rothen's ear. Rothen's heart ached as he recalled her guttural cry. His head reeled at the shock of witnessing death by black magic for the first time.
He saw his shock mirrored in almost all of the faces around him. Except, again, in the two black-clothed figures at the head of the hall. Akkarin and Sonea were murmuring quietly to each other, their faces solemn and calculating.
A logical voice in Rothen's mind reminded him that they, of all people, would obviously not be shocked by the use of black magic. Akkarin used it – something Rothen was still disgusted by, but had been willing to consider that the High Lord has his reasons for, as Sonea had urged him to. And Sonea had witnessed him use it. Now, having seen its brutal efficiency in killing, all of his old fears and hatred of Akkarin simmered to the surface again. What reassurance did Sonea or any of them have, really, that Akkarin wasn't capable of what that Ichani had just done?
– Retreat!
Lord Balkan's command rang in everyone's mind. The magician communicating the ambush projected the final images onto their minds, confirming the destruction of all three carts and the majority of the slaves. The blood-splattered, raging Ichani with the bald head looked up and locked eyes with the magician who was sending the mental communications. Rothen shuddered; it was like the Ichani was looking right at him. He grinned manically and raised his hand. In a flash of light and pain, the magicians in the Guildhall witnessed the death of the messenger.
Utter silence filled the hall.
"Magicians."
The High Lord's deep voice had a quality to it that, despite Rothen's unease with the man, had exactly the calm reassurance that every single person in that hall desperately needed.
"The ambush has achieved its objective. Our fallen did not sacrifice themselves in vain."
Pale faces looked up at the Higher Magicians, some anguished, some determined.
Akkarin's dark eyes held everyone's gaze, sweeping across the hall. "The Ichani now continue to Imardin without slaves to replenish their power."
Lord Balkan stepped forward and added: "Captain Barran has assured me that much of the city has evacuated or sheltered near the Marina. We are much better advantaged now – but it is not the time to be complacent."
Akkarin nodded. "No, it is not. Of the six remaining Ichani, the four who survived the ambush still have powers equal to several of us. The two who were not at the ambush are also still at large, presumably at full power."
Even Rothen had to admit there was something heartening about the two men working efficiently today, seemingly in control even as they delivered grim news. But good leadership may still fail us in a test of brute magical strength with these invaders, he thought.
"Lord Balkan will now brief you all on preparations for the city's defence," Akkarin continued, stepping back. The hall buzzed with multiple conversations all at once as Lord Balkan called his group of Warriors to order.
"Lord Sarrin, if I may have a word about the work of your Alchemists on the firepowder for tomorrow," Rothen heard Akkarin murmur quietly to the elderly Head of Alchemists standing on his right, and they both moved away towards the back of the hall to continue their conversation privately.
Sonea was not far behind him. She subtly seemed to almost stand sentry a few steps away from Akkarin at all times. Something softened in Rothen's heart as he watched her. Like she is personally responsible for the High Lord's safety. He never thought he'd see the day where he admitted it to himself – perhaps it was the harrowing experience they had all just witnessed – but there was something strangely well-matched about this unlikeliest of couples.
He looked up in surprise to see Lord Sarrin beckoning him over to where he and the High Lord stood. Rothen hesitantly walked towards the two figures, wondering what he could possibly be needed for.
"Lord Rothen," Akkarin said, his tone neutral – as if they had absolutely no history, as if he had not forcibly read his mind two years ago on that terrifying day. Rothen struggled to keep his face one of polite interest as that memory flashed across his mind. "Lord Sarrin tells me you have a particular grasp of alchemic reactions?"
Rothen was thrown by the unexpected question. Akkarin, asking him about his research, of all things? "Well… y-yes, High Lord. I've had some successful experiments with volatile compounds over the past year."
"And can these compounds be stored like firepowder?"
"No," Rothen answered, his reply firmer now that there really seemed to be no ulterior motive to Akkarin's questions, at least not in the presence of Lord Sarrin. "They are air, and some are in the form of liquid under immense pressure. They can still be stored, however, but require special containers fortified with magic. And they must be handled with extreme care."
A thoughtful look entered the High Lord's dark eyes. "Good, very good," he muttered, almost to himself. "How powerful are they when… unleashed?"
"Oh, some significantly more so than a keg of firepower. There is one compound that I haven't dared make in quantity, in fact, because it could likely take out an area the size of the Palace."
Akkarin raised an eyebrow and a half-smile seemed poised on his lips. "Indeed. But surely larger quantities can be prepared from inside the safety of a strong shield?"
"Yes, certainly. A shield with the combined strength of two magicians would be best."
Akkarin threw the briefest of glances to his right, where Sonea stood quietly. Not for the first time, Rothen wondered if the two of them had a way of communicating silently. Or perhaps Akkarin was reading her surface thoughts, as rumours about the High Lord suggested.
"Thank you, Lord Rothen. With Lord Sarrin's supervision, I propose you make as much of this substance as can be safely stored and transported overnight. Would six hours suffice? Take all of the assistants you need; the young Alchemists are itching to feel useful, I think," Akkarin said.
Rothen's eyes widened at the unexpected task, but even he had to admit it was a good idea. Even with his lack of knowledge in war strategy, Akkarin was clearly trying to use every means available before putting magicians in the line of battle. He knew some traditional Warriors may grumble about it, though.
As if he had read his mind, Akkarin gave him a piercing glance. "And might I suggest we keep this between ourselves," he added, his light tone undercut by a subtle hint of command. He really does read minds from a distance, Rothen thought with a mental shiver.
"Yes, High Lord. Six hours should make four containers. Will that be enough for… whatever it is to be used towards?" Rothen asked delicately.
Akkarin nodded. "We can work with four. Now, if you will both excuse me…" He inclined his head to Rothen and Lord Sarrin, then gave a silent glance to Sonea, who fell into step alongside him. They both strode out of the Guildhall. I wonder where those two plan to be when the Ichani arrive, Rothen thought, watching the strange synchronicity of their movements out the door.
"Like his second-in-command, is she not, Lord Sarrin?" Rothen murmured thoughtfully at their backs.
Lord Sarrin ignored his comment and pulled out an old set of keys, handing them over to Rothen. "For the restricted store cupboard," he wheezed sternly, as if to say, there are more important things you should be attending to. "And take Ambassador Dannyl with you; he's been looking far too useless since returning from Elyne. I assume he still remembers his Alchemy."
