This story follows the events of the BMT but mostly from Akkarin's pov. It assumes a good working knowledge of the plot, which it follows up until the Ichani invasion where it then deviates to my own alternative ending.

My style is very different to the source material. It's darker; more angst-ridden; more violent; Akkarin is more explained than in the books, but is in keeping with how I personally perceived him in the canon - as a tortured soul, driven to cold, calculated aloofness by past and present circumstance. I have made my Sonea more mature. It's very AkkarinxSonea and explores in detail how Akkarin came to love Sonea, unlikely as that was, and also touches on how Sonea came to love him. If that all sounds to your liking, then enjoy!

BMT belongs to Trudi Canavan

Prologue – Returns

Here follows an account of events leading up to the Ichani invasion of Kyralia as witnessed by Akkarin, Family Delvon, House Velan and former High Lord of the Magicians Guild of Kyralia.

There is precious little time left to me to write this account. Even as the ink dries on the parchment I feel the fate that hangs over us drawing ever nearer. Eight of the outcast Sachakan magicians, known as Ichani, entered Imardin two days ago and, by my own and my former novice's hand, the sacrifice of the Guild, and by the bravery and resourcefulness of the poorest people of this city, four are now dead. Though my claims about the Ichani were previously not believed by my friends or peers, I know now that they no longer doubt our enemies cause or intent: the complete destruction of the Guild and the capitulation of Kyralia.

I fear that another sunrise will see our enemy at the doors of the Guild, baying for their triumph, and a sure instinct tells me that before the sun sets on this next day, I will look upon the face of their leader at last. In truth, I cannot see beyond my own death and so it is now my duty to commit to posterity all I am able of the events that have occurred during the brief period of my exile from my homeland and during my return. I fervently hope that I do not record the events that will end with our final demise.

I will not shirk in this duty, if the fates grant me sufficient respite. If we are overthrown, the Sachakans will seek to destroy or abuse the skill and wisdoms that we have gleaned over many centuries. They will dwell within the Guild, built for the purpose of learning by our ancestors, and they will consider themselves our equals – and maybe it has come to be, for, whilst we owe our origins to something above and beyond their morality, we have since lost our way. We have used our powers and the privilege they grant us to gain wealth and comfort. We have neglected those we considered beneath our merits, offering scorn when we should have offered succour.

I write these words as a warning to those who may come after; we sought to hide our history, burying it deep, along with our fear and shame. Forgetting our past weaknesses and failings, we grew bloated with the arrogance and certainty of our superiority and security.

Know that the Ichani are outcasts in their land, but do not judge all Sachakans as harshly, for like us all, they are not a wholly good or bad people. When their day of retribution comes, as it surely will, I beg that you offer salvation from the slavery that has repressed their nation, and that you find it in your hearts to pity the ignorance and hate which will bring about their ruin as surely as, I fear, it will bring about ours.

As I write these words, all that I love most in the world lies sleeping beside me and, as I watch her at peace, my heart aches that my fears will become realised and that I may not look upon her face much longer. Her name is Sonea, and she bears no grand title or family name, but I have learnt that, like many of her people, she has much to offer and give to this city and has a greater spirit than many who sit indolently in the vaulted halls of their mansion houses. Whatever the dawn may bring, I hope beyond hope, that she may escape hurt and death, for even my wandering soul, un-housed by my long dead body, could not bear the pain and guilt of her suffering.

And so, I come now to bear witness to those events that she and I have endured these last weeks. I will place this document into the hands of my faithful servant, who I have instructed to leave Kyralia if we are defeated, and deliver it into the hand of any friend of this country who, on reading my account, will gain wisdom and will graciously come to the aid of a people who shamefully neglected their duties as victor in the Sachakan War, and are now paying the ultimate price...


Eight years earlier.

With the arrival of the first birds of the warmer southern climes, the wet weather which had plagued the south-easterly provinces of Coldbridge since midwinter abated. Many looked to the open Eye of the moon that prevailed over the skies at this time and pronounced it a good omen. They may well not have done so if they had known the nature of the tall, black-haired man who reigned in his horse as it reached the thickly wooded summit of the hill on the far reaches of their farming land.

Night covered the slopes below like a thick blanket and the gelding was uneasy - tired and rebellious beneath his solemn rider. The horse snorted and shook its head, smelling rain on the wind and eager to move on. Behind the first rider a darker skinned man with curious amber eyes brought his mount to stand next to the other. The horses whinnied and stamped at each other, as if giving voice to their impatience to reach their destination and days rest. The shorter, second rider turned to the other and studied him thoughtfully from underneath the hood of a cloak, a slight furrow creasing his brow.

The first man was oblivious to the scrutiny as he stared fixedly ahead and murmured a single word.

"Imardin."

The second rider struggled to make out the softly spoken word but, as he followed the gaze of the speaker, understanding dawned. Below, and in the distance still many leagues off, a great convergence of twinkling lights could be seen amidst the surrounding darkness. Beyond the lights, the deeper darkness of the sea stretched in a forbidding line across the horizon.

"Your home," the darker skinned man whispered softly as he returned to look at his companion.

Any one time brief acquaintance of Akkarin's could have been forgiven for not recognising him at first glance. The five years that he had been away from the Guild had changed him beyond the measure of those years. Gone were the last vestiges of boyishness; the soft, if coveted, features of a privileged young man, supine from a life of comfort. Long dead was the carefree spirit of youthfulness in the near black eyes that gazed as hard and shining as jet towards the city that he never thought to see again. Taller than most Kyralian men, his was a powerful, long boned, if almost thinly gaunt frame; the one time softness of his face replaced by a sculpture of high cheekbones and strong jaw-line and a narrow aquiline nose setting of the fathomless dark brown eyes. His once carefully clipped hair was now a shoulder length tangle. And the changes went far deeper than mere outward appearance.

The self-assured, ambitious, even arrogant young man who had set out from the Guild all those years ago was nothing more than a pale ghost, almost transparent in his na?vety. Now there was experience and understanding of the world, far beyond his twenty-five years, in his eyes. A knowledge, dearly bought, of things that most Kyralians could barely contemplate; of a slavery and barbarism that had no place inside the civilised walls of the Guild. There was also something else in the set of Akkarin's jaw and the hard-line of his mouth; something that his proud shoulders and straight back could not disguise to those who knew what to look for - loss and guilt. They weighed heavy on his graceful posture, as real as any physical burden.

His companion sighed and looked away from the man he had followed into this foreign land. As a former slave, there was nothing left for Takan in Sachaka. His family was long dead, all killed by Dakova, his former master. Akkarin had become the closest thing the Sachakan now had to a brother. He had been drawn to the strange Guild magician ever since Dakova took him as a slave. Dakova had been particularly and cruelly attentive to the Kyralian; it had pleased his twisted ego to torment a magician of the infamous Guild.

Takan had quickly befriended Akkarin, offering him what limited help, and unlimited sympathy, that he could. But Takan was not the only slave to offer such aid. Takan had watched, unable to offer any comfort, as Akkarin's hopeless love for Dakova's bed slave burgeoned and grew, and he had vicariously, but keenly felt the magician's despair and torment at her treatment and ultimate death at the hands of Dakova.

When, beyond hope, Akkarin had killed Dakova and had fled blindly into the Sachakan Wastes Takan had almost unthinkingly followed him, stopping only to gather food and necessities to keep them alive in their journey through the barren land. And so, against all odds, they now found themselves just one days ride from Imardin. Once they had reached Kyralia, Akkarin, whilst no longer resembling a powerful and dignified Guild member, had been able to prove his magical abilities and use his family name to gain food and rest, and even horses, along the way. Takan had fallen into the role of Akkarin's servant naturally, and no-one had dared to question the formidable and hard-faced magician as to how he had acquired a Sachakan servant.

"Master" – Akkarin had given up trying to dissuade Takan from using the overly deferential mode of address long ago – "Master, there is rain in the air; we should reach the stay-house and rest. We still have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow if we are to reach the city before nightfall. Master?"

Akkarin turned to Takan and smiled thinly, blinking away the moisture that had briefly welled in his eyes. "Yes, we should go," he said softly.

"Will we go straight to the Guild master? What do you plan?" the servant enquired. They had been so intent on reaching Imardin that they had spoken little of what they would do if, or when, they arrived there.

"I will go to my family home first. I need to...gather myself before I face the inevitable questions of the Guild. I have sent word ahead of our imminent arrival," Akkarin smiled wryly ," – I think my mother thought me long dead and will not believe it is me until she lays eyes on me." The magician then looked sharply at his servant. "Remember – they are to know nothing of my time in Sachaka, the Ichani or the existence of Higher Magic. I must think about what I must do with this knowledge, but for now it is to remain secret; do you understand?" His tone was sharper than intended and the horse whinnied and shifted nervously beneath him. Akkarin lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I am sorry Takan. I owe you much and yet I repay you with harsh words. It's just...I cannot believe that I am nearly home. I never thought to see this day – never thought I wanted to see this day," he added in a whisper.

"I understand master. Your secret will be safe with me – you know that, " Takan responded emphatically.

The magician raised his head and held the Sachakan's eyes steadily, thinking of the first days and nights of their escape and how Takan had dragged the bewildered Kyralian across the desert, forcing him to take food and shelter when Akkarin would have happily laid down and succumbed to his grief. "I would not have made it this far without you Takan. How can I ever repay you?"

"I am here. I am no longer a slave," the dark-skinned man replied simply. " The debt is already repaid. " The servant nudged his horse. "Though, feeding my growling stomach, albeit with unpalatable food, no doubt, could be deemed extra recompense." Takan's teeth flashed white in the gloom and his horse walked on past Akkarin and down the hill towards a track at the bottom which gleamed like a ribbon in the light of the full moon. A pale, low building lay some way along the road, and its lights sent out a welcoming glow . Akkarin looked once more on the distant city and murmured softly to himself.

"Until tomorrow then..." and he clicked his tongue, touching his heels to the gelding's flanks, sending it lurching impatiently forwards down the treacherous, but negotiable, bank. Akkarin stared straight ahead into the distance until the cluster of lights became consumed by the brooding mass of forest that lay beyond the road below and were lost to utter blackness.