The Magicians' Guild

  Harrin’s face twisted with anger and contempt. A knife flashed into his hand and he lunged forward. Burril dodged and slashed out with his blade. Sonea caught her breath as the knife sliced open Harrin’s sleeve and left a line of red. As Evin lashed out with the iron bar, Harrin dodged out of reach.

  Donia grabbed her arm. “Stop them, Sonea,” she whispered urgently. “Use your magic!”

  Sonea stared at the girl. “But…I don’t know how!”

  “Just try something. Anything!”

  As the other two youths approached him, Cery drew out two daggers from his pockets. The boys hesitated when they saw them. Sonea noted the straps holding the daggers firmly against his palms so he could still use his hands to grab and push without losing the blades. She could not help smiling. He really hadn’t changed a bit.

  As the heavier one lunged, Cery caught the boy’s wrist and pulled him forward, using the boy’s momentum to unbalance him. The boy staggered forward, his wooden cudgel clattering to the floor as Cery twisted his wrist. Swinging his arm around and up, Cery dealt the boy a stunning blow to the head with the pommel of a dagger.

  The youth staggered to his knees. Cery ducked away as his second attacker swung a cudgel at him. Behind him, Harrin dodged another thrust from Burril. As the two pairs of fighters separated for a moment, Evin slipped past them and started toward Sonea.

  His hands were empty, Sonea noted with relief. She had no idea where the iron bar had gone. Perhaps it was tucked into his coat…

  “Do something!” Donia yelped, her grip on Sonea’s arm tightening.

  Looking down at the slat in her hands, Sonea realized that attempting to repeat what she had done in the North Square would be pointless now. There was no magicians’ shield to get past, and she doubted that throwing the slat at Evin was going to stop him.

  She had to try something else. Perhaps she could will the slat to hit harder? Could I? She looked up at Evin. Should I? What if I do something really awful to him?

  “Do it!” Donia hissed, backing away as Evin drew closer.

  Taking a deep breath, Sonea threw the slat at Evin, willing it to knock him back. He batted it aside without checking his stride. As he reached toward Sonea, Donia stepped in front of her.

  “How can you do this, Evin?” she demanded. “You used to be our friend. I remember you and Sonea playing tiles together. Is this—”

  Evin grabbed Donia’s shoulders and shoved her to one side. Sonea lunged forward and punched him in the stomach with all her strength. He spluttered and staggered back a step, warding off her blows as she struck again, this time aiming for his face.

  A strangled cry filled the room. She looked up to see Cery’s opponent backing away, one hand clutching his arm. Then something slammed into her chest and she fell backward. As she landed on the floor she twisted, trying to roll out of Evin’s reach, but he threw his weight across her and held her down.

  “Get off her!” Donia screamed. The girl stood over Evin, a wooden slat in her hands. It smashed down on Evin’s head and he yelled. He rolled aside, and Donia’s second swing caught his temple. He went limp and sagged back onto the floor.

  Donia brandished her weapon at the unconscious youth, then relaxed and grinned at Sonea. Extending a hand, she helped Sonea back to her feet. They turned to find Burril and Harrin still fighting. Cery was looking down at the other two youths, one clutching his side, the other sagging against a wall with a hand pressed to his head.

  “Hai!” Donia exclaimed. “I think we’re winning!”

  Burril stepped back from Harrin and glanced at her. He reached into a pocket, then made an abrupt gesture. Red mist filled the air about Harrin’s head.

  Harrin swore loudly as the papea dust began to sting his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he backed away from Burril.

  As Donia started toward Harrin, Sonea grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her back.

  Harrin dodged as Burril lunged forward again but not quickly enough. An exclamation of pain followed and Harrin’s knife clattered to the floor. Cery leapt toward Burril, who turned just in time to meet the attack. Still wiping at his eyes, Harrin dropped into a crouch and groped for his knife.

  Pushing Cery away, Burril reached into his coat, made another abrupt gesture and again, a stream of red dust flew from his hands. Cery ducked too late. His face contorted with pain, he staggered backward as Burril advanced on him.

  “He’ll kill them!” Donia cried.

  Reaching down, Sonea grabbed another wooden slat. She closed her eyes a moment, trying to remember what she had done in the North Square. Gripping it tightly, she gathered all her anger and fear. Concentrating on the slat, she hurled it at Burril with all her strength.

  He grunted as it struck his back and turned to glare at her. Then he threw up his arms as Donia began to throw anything she could get hold of.

  “Use your magic,” Donia urged as Sonea joined her.

  “I tried. It’s not working.”

  “Try again,” Donia panted.

  Burril reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny packet. Recognizing it, Sonea felt a surge of anger. She braced herself to throw the slat in her hands, then hesitated.

  Perhaps she was concentrating too much on throwing hard. Magic was not a physical thing. She watched as Donia hurled a box at Burril. No need to throw anything herself…

  Focusing on the box, she gave it a mental push, willing it to shoot forward and strike Burril hard enough to knock him out.

  She felt something loosen inside her mind.

  A flash of light lit the room and the box burst into flame. Burril yelled as it roared toward him, then ducked out of the way. It clattered across the floor and came to rest in a puddle, the water sizzling as it evaporated.

  The packet of papea dust fell to the floor. Burril stared at her. Smiling, Sonea stooped to pick up another slat, straightened, then narrowed her eyes at him.

  All color drained from his face. Sparing no glance at his allies, he leapt for the door and staggered away.

  Sonea heard a thin noise beside her, and turned to find Evin standing, conscious, only a few paces away. He took two steps backward, then darted for the door. Seeing their companions leaving, the other two youths scrambled to their feet and followed.

  As their footsteps faded, Harrin’s laughter filled the room. He rose, swayed, then walked carefully to the doorway. “What’s the problem?” he shouted. “Did you think she’d just let you take her?”

  Grinning, he turned to blink at Sonea. “Hai! Well done!”

  “Nice finish,” Cery agreed. He rubbed at his eyes and grimaced. Slipping a hand into his coat, he pulled out a small flask and began washing his eyes with the contents. Donia hurried to Harrin’s side and examined his wounds.

  “You need these dressed. You hurt, Cery?”

  “No.” Cery handed her the flask.

  Donia began washing Harrin’s face. His skin was red and blotchy. “You’ll be sore for days. Do you think you could heal him, Sonea?”

  Sonea frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know. That wood wasn’t supposed to start burning. What if I try to heal Harrin and burn him instead?”

  Donia looked at Sonea with wide eyes. “That’s an awful thought.”

  “You need to practice,” Cery said.

  Sonea turned to regard him. “I need time to practice, and a place where I won’t get anyone’s attention when I do.”

  He pulled a cloth out of his coat and wiped his daggers clean. “Once this gets around, people will be too scared to try and catch you. That’ll give us some rope.”

  “It won’t,” Harrin said. “You can bet Burril and the others won’t tell anyone about this. Even if they do, some will think they can do better.”

  Cery frowned, then cursed.

  “Then we better get away from here real quick,” Donia said. “Where next, Cery?”

  He scratched his head, then smiled. “Who’s got money?”

  Harrin and Donia looked at Sonea.

&n
bsp; “It’s not mine,” she protested. “It’s Jonna and Ranel’s.”

  “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you spending it to save your life,” Donia told her.

  “And they’d think you stupid if you didn’t,” Cery added.

  Sighing, Sonea reached inside her shirt for the buckle of her money pouch. “I suppose, if I ever get out of this mess, I can pay them back.” She looked at Cery. “You better find them soon.”

  “I will,” he assured her. “Just as soon as you’re safe. For now, I think we should split up. We’ll meet again in an hour. I have a place in mind where no one will think to look for you. We can only stay for a few hours, but it will give us a chance to figure out where to go next.”

  7

  Dangerous Alliances

  Returning from the stables alone, Rothen slowed as he reached the gardens. The air was cold, but not uncomfortably so, and the stillness was welcome after the bustle of the city. He drew in a deep breath and sighed.

  Though he had interviewed countless informers, few had given useful information. Most informers had come in the hope that some piece of information, no matter how irrelevant, would lead to her capture and their reward. A few had come simply to air whatever grievance they had with the Guild.

  Others, however, had reported seeing lone girls hiding from sight. After a few journeys into the slums, it became clear that there were plenty of street urchins hiding away in dark corners. Conversations with the other magicians who were interviewing the informers revealed many similar disappointments.

  It would be so much easier if the reward notices had included a likeness of the girl. He thought wistfully of his late mentor, Lord Margen, who had tried without success to invent a way to transfer mental images to paper. Dannyl had taken up the challenge, but had made little progress.

  He wondered how Dannyl was faring. A brief mental conversation with his friend had revealed that the younger magician was alive and unharmed, and would return at sunset. They could not refer to the true purpose behind Dannyl’s visit to the slums, as it was always possible that other magicians would overhear their conversation. Nevertheless, Rothen had sensed a promising smugness in his friend’s communication.

  “…know…Rothen…”

  Hearing his own name spoken, Rothen looked up. The thick foliage of the garden hedges hid the speaker, but Rothen was sure he had recognized the voice.

  “…these things cannot be hurried.”

  This voice belonged to Administrator Lorlen. The pair was drawing closer to Rothen’s position. Guessing that they would pass close by, Rothen moved into one of the small courtyards in the gardens. He sat down on a bench seat and listened carefully as the conversation became clearer.

  “I have noted your claim, Fergun,” Lorlen said patiently. “I can do no more. When she is found the matter will be dealt with in the usual manner. For now, I am only concerned with her capture.”

  “But must we go through all this…this bother? Rothen was not the first to know of her powers. I was! How can he have any case against me?”

  The Administrator’s voice was smooth as he replied, but his stride was hurried. Rothen smiled to himself as the pair passed.

  “It is not bother, Fergun.” Lorlen replied sternly. “It is the law of the Guild. The law says—”

  “‘The first magician to recognize magical potential in another has the right to claim their guardianship,’” Fergun recited rapidly, “I was the first to feel the effects of her power, not Rothen.”

  “Nevertheless, the matter cannot be dealt with until the girl is found…”

  The pair was well past Rothen now, and their voices faded beyond comprehension. He rose from the bench and began to stroll slowly toward the Magicians’ Quarters.

  So Fergun intended to claim guardianship of the girl. When Rothen had offered to take responsibility for her training, he had thought no other magician would want the task. Certainly not Fergun, who had always appeared to regard the lower classes with disdain.

  He smiled to himself. Dannyl was not going to be pleased. His friend had harbored a dislike for Fergun since they were both novices. When he heard the news, Dannyl would be even more determined to find the girl himself.

  It had been years since Cery had visited a bathhouse, and he had never seen the inside of the expensive private rooms. Scrubbed, warm for the first time in days and clothed in a thick wrap, he was in a good mood as he followed the towel girl into an airy drying room. Sonea sat on a length of simba matting, her thin body swamped by a heavy wrap and her face glowing from the attentions of the bathhouse girls. Seeing her looking so relaxed improved Cery’s mood even more.

  He grinned at her. “Hai! What a treat! I’m sure Jonna would approve!”

  Sonea winced, and Cery immediately regretted his words.

  “Sorry, Sonea.” He grimaced apologetically. “I shouldn’t have reminded you.” He folded himself down onto the mat beside her, then leaned back against the wall. “If we talk quietly, we should be safe,” he added in a low voice.

  She nodded. “What now? We can’t stay here.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about that.” He sighed. “Things are bad, Sonea. Keeping you hidden from the magicians would have been easy, but the reward changed that. I can’t trust anyone now. I can’t call in favors and…and I’ve run out of places to hide you.”

  Her face paled. “What will we do, then?”

  He hesitated. After the fight he had realized that she had only one option left. She would not like it. Neither did he, for that matter. If only there was someone he could trust. He shook his head and turned to meet her gaze.

  “I think we should get help from the Thieves.”

  Sonea’s eyes widened. “Are you mad?!”

  “Only if I keep trying to hide you myself. Sooner or later someone’s going to turn you in.”

  “What about the Thieves? Why wouldn’t they?”

  “You’ve got something they want.”

  She frowned, then her expression darkened. “Magic?”

  “That’s right. I bet they’d love to have their own magician.” He ran his fingertips over the matting. “Once you have their protection nobody will touch you. No one crosses the Thieves. Not even for a hundred gold.”

  She closed her eyes. “Jonna and Ranel always told me that you can never get free of the Thieves. They keep their hooks in you. Even after a deal’s over, you’re never really out of their debt.”

  Cery shook his head. “I know you’ve heard bad stories. Everyone has. You just have to stick to their rules and they’ll treat you fair. That’s what my da used to say.”

  “They killed your da.”

  “He was stupid. He squimped.”

  “What if…?” She sighed and shook her head. “What choice do I have? If I don’t, the Guild will find me. I guess being a slave to a Thief is better than death.”

  Cery grimaced. “It won’t be like that. Once you’ve learned to use your powers, you’ll be important and powerful. They’ll give you a lot of rope. They’ll have to. After all, if you decide you don’t want to do something, how will they make you?”

  She looked at him, searching his face for an unbearably long time. “You’re not sure about it, are you?”

  He forced himself to meet her eyes. “I’m sure that it’s your only choice. I’m sure they’ll treat you fairly.”

  “Then?”

  He sighed. “I’m not sure what they’ll get you to do for them in return.”

  She nodded, then leaned back and stared at the far wall for several minutes.

  “If you think it’s what I should do, then I’ll do it, Cery. I’d rather be stuck with the Thieves than give in to the Guild.”

  Looking at her white face, he felt the now-familiar uneasiness return, only this time it felt more like guilt. She was frightened, but she would face the Thieves with her usual unflinching determination. That only made him feel worse. Though he could not delude himself about his ability to protect her, taking her
to the Thieves felt like a betrayal. He did not want to lose her again.

  But he had no other choice.

  Rising, he walked to the door.

  “I’m going to find Harrin and Donia,” he told her. “You be fine?”

  She did not look up at him, just nodded.

  The towel girl stood in the passage outside the room. He asked for Harrin and Donia, and the girl nodded toward the door of the next room. Biting his lip, he knocked.

  “Come in,” Harrin called.

  Both Harrin and Donia were sitting on simba mats. Donia was rubbing her hair with a towel.

  “I’ve told her, and she’s agreed.”

  Harrin frowned. “I’m still not sure. What if we take her out of the city?”

  Cery shook his head. “I don’t think we’d get far. You can be sure the Thieves know all about her by now. They’ll have found out where she’s been and lived. They’ll know what she looks like, who her parents were, where her aunt and uncle are. It won’t be hard to find out from Burril and his lot that she’s—”

  “If they know so much,” Donia interrupted, “why haven’t they just come and taken her?”

  “That’s not how they do things,” Cery told her. “They like making bargains, then most of the people working for them are happy, and won’t cause trouble later. They could come to us and offer protection, but they haven’t. That makes me think they’re not sure she’s got magic. If we don’t go to them, they’ll let one of their own turn her in. That’s why we’d never get her out of the city.”

  Donia and Harrin exchanged a glance.

  “What does she think?” Donia asked.

  Cery grimaced. “She’s heard the stories. She’s scared, but she knows she’s got no other choice.”

  Harrin stood. “You sure about this, Cery?” he asked. “I thought you had a shine on her. You might not see her again.”

  Cery blinked in surprise, and felt his face warming. “You think I’d see her again if the magicians got her?”

  Harrin’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

  Cery began pacing. “I’ll go with her. She’ll need someone familiar around. I can make myself useful.”