The Magicians' Guild

  Harrin reached out and grabbed Cery’s arm. He stared at Cery, searching his eyes, and let him go.

  “So we won’t be seeing much of you anymore, then?”

  Cery shook his head. He felt a pang of guilt. Harrin had been deserted by four members of his gang, and was unsure of the rest of them. Now his closest friend was leaving. “I’ll come by when I can. Gellin already thinks I work for the Thieves, anyway.”

  Harrin smiled. “All right, then. When will you take her?”

  “Tonight.”

  Donia placed a hand on Cery’s arm. “But what if they don’t want her?”

  Cery smiled grimly. “They’ll want her.”

  The corridor of the Magicians’ Quarters was silent and empty. Dannyl’s footsteps echoed as he made his way to Yaldin’s door. He knocked and waited, hearing faint voices from the room beyond. A woman’s voice rose above the others.

  “He did what?”

  A moment later the door opened. Ezrille, Yaldin’s wife, smiled distractedly and stepped back so Dannyl could enter the room. Several cushioned chairs were arranged around a low table, and Yaldin and Rothen sat in two of them.

  “He ordered the Guard to evict the man from his home,” Yaldin said.

  “Just for letting children sleep in his attic? That’s awful!” Ezrille exclaimed, waving Dannyl toward a chair.

  Yaldin nodded. “Good evening, Dannyl. Would you like a cup of sumi?”

  “Good evening,” Dannyl replied as he dropped into a chair. “Sumi would be very welcome, thank you. It’s been a long day.”

  Rothen looked up and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Smiling, Dannyl shrugged in reply. He knew that Rothen would be impatient to know how matters had gone with the Thieves, but first Dannyl wanted to know what had stirred Ezrille, who was normally so placid and forgiving, to anger.

  “What have I missed?”

  “Yesterday one of our searchers followed an informer to a house in the better part of the slums,” Rothen explained. “The owner was letting homeless children sleep in his attic, and the informer claimed that an older girl was hiding there. Our colleague claims that the girl and her companion escaped just before he arrived, with the help of the owner. So he ordered the Guard to evict the man and his family.”

  Dannyl frowned. “Our colleague? Who…?” He narrowed his eyes at Rothen. “Would this happen to be a certain Warrior by the name of Fergun?”

  “It would.”

  Dannyl made a rude noise, then smiled as Ezrille handed him a steaming cup of sumi. “Thank you.”

  “So what happened?” Ezrille asked. “Was the man evicted?”

  “Lorlen countermanded his order, of course,” Yaldin replied, “but Fergun had already disrupted much of the house—looking for hiding places, he said.”

  Ezrille shook her head. “I can’t believe Fergun would be so…so…”

  “Vindictive?” Dannyl snorted. “I’m surprised he didn’t decide to interrogate the poor man.”

  “He wouldn’t dare,” Yaldin said scornfully.

  “Not now,” Dannyl agreed.

  Rothen sighed and leaned back in his chair. “There’s more. I overheard something interesting tonight. Fergun wants her guardianship.”

  Dannyl felt his blood turn cold.

  “Fergun?” Ezrille frowned. “He’s not a strong magician. I thought the Guild discouraged weaker magicians from taking on the guardianship of novices.”

  “We do,” Yaldin replied. “But there is no rule against it.”

  “What chance does he have of winning his claim?”

  “He says he was the first to know of her powers because he felt the effects of them first,” Rothen told her.

  “Is that a good argument?”

  “I hope not,” Dannyl muttered. This news disturbed him. He knew Fergun well. Too well. What did Fergun, with his contempt for the lower classes, want with a slum girl anyway?

  “Perhaps he’s planning to take revenge for his humiliation in the North Square?”

  Rothen frowned. “Now Dannyl—”

  “You have to consider the possibility,” Dannyl injected.

  “Fergun isn’t going to all this trouble over a small bruise, even if it did hurt his ego,” Rothen said firmly. “He just wants to be the one to capture her—and he doesn’t want people to forget it afterward.”

  Dannyl looked away. The older magician had never understood that his dislike for Fergun was more than just a grudge left over from their days as novices. Dannyl had experienced too well how single-minded Fergun could be when it came to revenge.

  “I can see quite a fight coming out of this.” Yaldin chuckled. “The poor girl has no idea how much she has stirred up the Guild. It’s not often we have two magicians competing for a novice’s guardianship.”

  Rothen snorted softly. “I’m sure that’s the least of her concerns. After what happened in the North Square, she’s probably convinced that we intend to kill her.”

  Yaldin’s smile faded. “Unfortunately we can’t convince her otherwise until we’ve found her.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Dannyl said quietly.

  Rothen looked up. “Do you have a suggestion, Dannyl?”

  “I expect my new Thief friend has his own way of sending information around the slums.”

  “Friend?” Yaldin gave an incredulous laugh. “Now you’re calling them friends.”

  “Associates.” Dannyl smiled mischievously.

  “I gather you had some success?” Rothen raised an eyebrow.

  “A little. Just a beginning.” Dannyl shrugged. “I spoke to one of their leaders, I believe.”

  Ezrille’s eyes were wide. “What was he like?”

  “His name was Gorin.”

  “Gorin?” Yaldin frowned. “That’s a strange name.”

  “It seems the leaders name themselves after animals. I guess they choose a title according to their stature, because he certainly looks like his namesake. He’s enormous and woolly. I almost expected to see horns.”

  “What did he say?” Rothen asked eagerly.

  “Made no promises. I told him how dangerous it was to be around a magician who hadn’t been taught to control her powers. He seemed more concerned with what the Guild would give him in exchange for finding her.”

  Yaldin frowned. “The Higher Magicians won’t agree to exchanging favors with the Thieves.”

  Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. “Of course not. I told him that and he understood. I think he’d accept money.”

  “Money?” Yaldin shook his head. “I don’t know…”

  “Since we’re already offering a reward, it will hardly matter if it goes to one of the Thieves.” Dannyl spread his hands. “Everybody knows that the money will go to someone from the slums anyway, so they must expect that person to be someone of questionable nature.”

  Ezrille rolled her eyes. “Only you could make something like that sound perfectly reasonable, Dannyl.”

  Dannyl grinned. “Oh, it gets better. If we present this carefully, everyone will be patting themselves on the back for persuading the Thieves to do a good service for the city.”

  Ezrille laughed. “I hope the Thieves don’t realize this, or they’ll refuse to help you.”

  “Well, it must remain a secret for now,” Dannyl told them. “I don’t want to stir things up here until I know whether Gorin is willing to help us or not. Can I rely on your silence?”

  He looked at the others. Ezrille nodded enthusiastically. Rothen bowed his head once. Yaldin frowned, then shrugged.

  “Very well. But be careful, Dannyl. It’s not just your skin you’re risking here.”

  “I know.” Dannyl smiled. “I know.”

  Travelling along the Thieves’ Road by lamplight was faster and more interesting than groping along in the dark. The walls of the passages were made of a seemingly endless variety of bricks. Symbols were carved into the walls and signs marked some of the intersections.

  The guide stopped at a juncture
of passages and set the lamp on the floor. He pulled a handful of black cloth from his coat.

  “You must go blind from here.”

  Cery nodded, and stood silently as the man bound a strip of cloth around his eyes. The man moved behind Sonea and she closed her eyes as the rough material was wrapped tightly around her face. She felt a hand rest on her shoulder, then another grasped her wrist and began pulling her along the passage.

  Though she tried to memorize the turns, she soon lost count of them. They shuffled through darkness. Faint sounds reached them: voices, footsteps, dripping water, and a few noises she could not identify. The blindfold made her skin itch, but she dared not scratch herself in case the guide thought she was peeking.

  When the guide stopped again she gave a sigh of relief. Fingers pulled the blindfold away. She glanced at Cery. He smiled back at her reassuringly.

  Taking a polished stick from his coat, the guide pushed it into a hole in the wall. After a pause, a section of the wall swung inward and a large, muscular man stepped out.

  “Yes?”

  “Ceryni and Sonea to see Faren,” the guide stated.

  The man nodded, opened the door wider and jerked his head at Sonea and Cery.

  “Go on in.”

  Cery hesitated, then turned to the guide. “I asked to see Ravi.”

  The man smiled crookedly. “Then Ravi must want you to see Faren.”

  Cery shrugged, then moved through the doorway. Following him, Sonea wondered if a Thief named after a poisonous eight-legged insect was more dangerous than a Thief named after a rodent.

  They entered a small room. Two more heavily built men eyed them from chairs on either side. The first closed the passage door, then opened a door on the opposite side of the room and gestured for them to continue through.

  Lamps hung from the walls of the next room, throwing warm yellow circles up onto the ceiling. The floor was covered with a large carpet which was fringed with gold-tipped tassels. At the far side of the room, sitting behind a table, was a dark-skinned man in black, slim-fitting clothes. Startling pale yellow eyes examined them closely.

  Sonea stared back. The Thief was a Lonmar, a member of the proud desert race whose lands lay a long way to the north of Kyralia. Lonmar were uncommon in Imardin; few liked to live outside their rigid culture. Theft was considered a great evil to the Lonmar, as they believed that when one stole something, no matter how small, one lost a portion of their soul. Yet here was a Lonmar Thief.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. Realizing that she was staring, Sonea quickly looked down. He leaned back in his chair, smiled and pointed a long brown finger at her.

  “Come closer, girl.”

  Sonea moved forward until she stood in front of the table.

  “So you are the one the Guild is looking for, eh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sonea, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Faren pursed his lips. “I was expecting something more impressive.” He shrugged, then leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “How am I to know you are what you say you are?”

  Sonea glanced over her shoulder. “Cery said you’d know I was the one, that you would have been watching me.”

  “Oh he did, did he?” Faren chuckled and his gaze slid to her friend. “A smart one, this little Ceryni, like his father. Yes, we’ve been watching you—both of you—but Cery longer. Come here, Cery.”

  Cery moved to Sonea’s side.

  “Ravi sends his regards.”

  “From one rodent to the other?” Cery’s voice betrayed a slight quaver.

  White teeth flashed, but Faren’s grin quickly faded and his yellow eyes slid back to Sonea.

  “So you can do magic, can you?”

  Sonea swallowed to wet her throat. “Yes.”

  “Have you used it since your little surprise in the North Square?”

  “Yes.”

  Faren’s brows rose. He ran his hands through his hair. A few gray strands were visible at his temple, but his skin was smooth and unlined. Several rings, many set with large stones, burdened his fingers. Sonea had never seen stones that large on the hands of a slum dweller before—but this man was no ordinary dwell.

  “You chose a bad moment to discover your powers, Sonea,” Faren told her. “The magicians are anxious to find you now. Their search has caused us a great deal of inconvenience—and the reward is, no doubt, causing you a great deal of inconvenience. Now you want us to hide you from them. Wouldn’t it be far better for us to turn you in and collect the reward? The searches end. I get a little richer. The annoying magicians go away…”

  She glanced at Cery again. “Or we could make a deal.”

  Faren shrugged. “We could. What do you offer in exchange, then?”

  “My father said you owed him—” Cery began.

  The yellow eyes snapped to Cery. “Your father lost all that was due him when he deceived us,” Faren snapped.

  Cery bowed his head, then lifted his chin and met the Thief’s eyes. “My father taught me a lot,” he began. “Perhaps I can—”

  Faren snorted and waved a hand. “You might be useful to us one day, little Ceryni, but, as yet, you don’t have the friends your father had—and this is a great favor you ask. Did you know that the penalty for hiding a rogue magician from the Guild is death? There is nothing the King likes less than the idea of a magician sneaking about doing things that he didn’t order.” His eyes slid to Sonea and he smiled slyly. “But it is an interesting idea. One I like a great deal.” He folded his hands together. “What have you used your powers for since the Purge?”

  “I made something catch fire.”

  Faren’s eyes gleamed. “Really? Have you done anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you demonstrate something now.”

  She stared at him. “Now?”

  He gestured to one of the books on the table. “Try to move this.”

  Sonea looked at Cery. Her friend nodded slightly. Biting her lip, she reminded herself that, the moment she had agreed to seek the Thieves’ help, she had resigned herself to using magic. She had to accept it, no matter how uneasy it made her feel.

  Faren leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”

  Taking a deep breath, Sonea stared at the book and willed it to move.

  Nothing happened.

  Frowning, she thought back to the North Square and the fight with Burril. She had been angry both times, she recalled. Closing her eyes, she thought of the magicians. They had wrecked her life. It was their fault she was selling herself to the Thieves for protection. Feeling anger rising, she opened her eyes and projected her resentment at the book.

  The air crackled and a flash of light lit the room. Faren jumped back with a curse as the book burst into flame. Grabbing the glass, he hastily poured the contents over the book to extinguish the fire.

  “I’m sorry,” Sonea said hastily. “It didn’t do what I wanted last time, either. I’ll—”

  Faren lifted a hand to silence her, and grinned.

  “I think you might have something worth protecting, young Sonea.”

  8

  Messages in the Dark

  Looking around at the crowded Night Room, Rothen realized he had made a mistake arriving early. Instead of talking to a crowd, he had been questioned by small groups or individuals, forced to answer the same questions over and over.

  “I’m beginning to sound like a novice repeating formulas,” he muttered to Dannyl irritably.

  “Perhaps you should write a report on your progress every evening and nail it to your door.”

  “I don’t think that would help. I’m sure they’d feel they’d miss out on some snippet of information if they didn’t question me personally.” Rothen shook his head and looked around at the knots of conversing magicians. “And they all want to hear it from me for some reason. Why don’t they ever bother you?”

  “Respect for your obvious seniority,” Dannyl replied.

&nbs
p; Rothen narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Obvious?”

  “Ah, here’s some wine to wet your poor, tired vocal cords.” Dannyl beckoned to a servant carrying a tray.

  Accepting a glass, Rothen sipped appreciatively. Somehow, he had become the unofficial organizer of the search for the girl. All except Fergun and his friends looked to Rothen for instruction. This had forced him to spend less time actively searching, and he was being interrupted many times a day by mind communication from those who wanted him to identify the girls they had found.

  Rothen winced as a hand touched his shoulder. Turning, he found Administrator Lorlen standing at his side.

  “Good evening, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl,” Lorlen said. “The High Lord wishes to speak to you.”

  Rothen looked across the room to see the High Lord taking his preferred seat. The murmur of voices had changed to a buzz of interest as Akkarin’s presence was noted. Seems I’m going to be repeating myself again, Rothen mused as he and Dannyl started toward the Guild leader.

  The High Lord looked up as they approached, and acknowledged them with an almost imperceptible nod. His long fingers were curled around a wineglass.

  “Please sit down.” Lorlen waved to two empty chairs. “Tell us how your search is progressing.”

  Rothen settled into a seat. “We have interviewed over two hundred informers. Most haven’t given us any useful information. A few had locked up ordinary beggar girls, despite our warning not to approach her. Some were convincingly disappointed when the place where they believed she was hiding turned out to be empty. That, unfortunately, is all I can report so far.”

  Lorlen nodded. “Lord Fergun believes she is being protected by someone.”

  Dannyl’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.

  “The Thieves?” Rothen suggested.

  Lorlen shrugged. “Or a rogue magician. She did learn to hide her presence quickly.”

  “A rogue?” Rothen glanced at Akkarin, remembering the High Lord’s assertion that no rogue magicians existed in the slums. “Do you think there’s reason to suspect we have one now?”

  “I have sensed someone using magic,” Akkarin said quietly. “Not much, and not for long. I believe she is experimenting alone, since a teacher would have instructed her to hide her activities by now.”