Rothen nodded in acknowledgment. “I’m sure Sonea would like to have evidence to the contrary, but if she isn’t accusing anyone, then she probably hasn’t. In this situation, is there any point in protesting her innocence?”
“That doesn’t prove she didn’t do it,” Vorel said.
“No, but I was asked to explain her behavior, not prove that she is innocent. I can only vouch for her character. I don’t believe she did this.”
Vorel made a small noise, but remained silent. Jerrik regarded them both, then waved dismissively. “I will consider your words. Thank you. You may go.”
Sonea was leaning against the wall outside, staring at her boots sullenly. Vorel narrowed his eyes at her, but strode past without speaking. Moving to her side, Rothen leaned on the wall and sighed.
“It doesn’t look good.”
“I know.” Her tone was resigned.
“You said nothing of Regin?”
“How can I?” She looked up and met his gaze. “I can’t accuse him, even if I did have proof.”
“Why n—” The answer came to him in a flash. Guild rules. An accuser must submit to a truth-read. She couldn’t risk one. Secrets entrusted to them might be revealed before their time. Disturbed, frustrated, he frowned at the floor in silence.
“Do you believe them?”
He looked up. “Of course not.”
“Not even the slightest doubt?”
“Not the slightest.”
“Perhaps you should,” she said bitterly. “Everyone else was waiting for it to happen. It doesn’t matter what I say or do. It doesn’t make a difference. They know I’ve done it before, so they think I’ll do it again whether I have a reason to or not.”
“Sonea,” he said softly. “What you say and do does make a difference. You know that. Just because you stole out of need a long time ago, it doesn’t mean you’ll do so now. If you had some kind of irresistible stealing habit, we’d have seen evidence of it before now. You should deny it, clearly and forcefully, even if you think no one will believe you.”
She nodded, though he wasn’t sure she was convinced. They both looked up as the midbreak gong rang out. Rothen pushed himself away from the wall.
“Come and eat with me. We haven’t had midbreak meal together in weeks.”
She smiled grimly. “I don’t think I’ll be welcome in the Foodhall for a while.”
14
Bad News
One by one the novices filed past Lord Elben’s table, each picking up a glass jar. Knowing that she would receive hostile stares if she joined them, Sonea waited. To her dismay, Regin was the last to approach the table. Looking at her, he hesitated, then stepped forward and picked up the last two jars. Lord Elben frowned as Regin examined both, but as the teacher’s mouth opened, Regin thrust one of the jars at Sonea.
“Here.”
She reached out to take it, but just before her fingers touched the jar it dropped from his hand, struck the floor and shattered.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Regin exclaimed. He backed away from the glass fragments. “So clumsy of me.”
Lord Elben looked down his long nose at Regin, then Sonea. “Regin, find a servant to clean this up. Sonea, you’ll have to observe this lesson.”
Sonea returned to her seat, unsurprised. The “theft” of Narron’s pen had changed more than just the novices’ opinion of her. Before the “theft,” Elben would have told Regin to give her the last jar, or sent him off to get a new one.
The “theft” had only confirmed what the novices and teachers already suspected. Her official punishment had been to spend an hour shelving books in the Novices’ Library every evening, which had proven to be quite enjoyable—when Regin wasn’t hanging about making the task difficult. The punishment had ended last Fourday, but both novices and teachers still treated her with suspicion and contempt.
Most of the time, she was ignored in class. But when she came too close to another novice, or dared to speak to one, she received cold stares. She hadn’t tried to rejoin them in the Foodhall. Instead she returned to her old habit of skipping the midbreak meal or eating with Rothen.
Not everything had changed for the worse, however. Now that she knew her powers were so much stronger than the other novices’, she had discovered a new confidence. She didn’t need to conserve her strength for the class activities, as the novices had been advised to do, so she kept a strong shield up to protect herself from missiles, shoves or other pranks. This meant she could easily push past Regin and his followers if they surrounded her in the corridors.
Her room door was protected by a shield of its own, as was her window and her box. She was using magic all day and night, yet she never felt tired or drained. Not even after a particularly strenuous Warrior Skills class.
But she was alone. Looking at the empty seat in front of her, she sighed. Poril had injured himself a week before, having burned his hands while studying. She missed him, particularly since he hadn’t seemed to care that she had apparently been proven to be a thief.
“Lord Elben?”
Sonea looked up. In the doorway stood a woman in green robes. She stepped aside and propelled a short novice into the room with a gentle push. Sonea felt her heart lighten.
“I have decided that Poril is well enough now to attend classes. He still won’t be able to do anything with his hands, but he can watch.”
Poril’s gaze went straight to Regin. Looking away quickly, he bowed to Lord Elben, then hurried to his seat. The Healer nodded to the teacher, then retreated from the room.
As Elben began to instruct the class, Sonea’s attention slipped to her friend’s back from time to time. Poril didn’t seem to be paying attention to the lesson. He sat stiffly, occasionally looking down at his hands, which were reddened with fresh scars. When the midbreak gong rang out hours later, he waited until the rest of the novices had left, then rose quickly and hurried toward the door.
“Poril,” she called after him. Bowing hastily toward Elben, she caught up with the boy in a few paces.
“Welcome back, Poril.” As he looked at her she smiled. “Need some help catching up?”
“No.” He frowned and lengthened his stride
“Poril?” Sonea reached out to grab his arm. “What’s wrong?”
Poril looked at her, then glanced at the rest of the class walking farther down the corridor. Regin was hovering at the back of the group, glancing at them over his shoulder and smiling in a way that sent a chill over Sonea’s skin.
Poril shivered. “I can’t talk to you. I can’t.” He shook her hand off.
“But—”
“No, leave me alone.” He turned away, but she caught his arm again and held it firmly.
“I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me what’s going on,” she said between gritted teeth.
He hesitated before answering. “It’s Regin.”
Looking at Poril’s pale face, she felt her stomach turn over. He kept looking at the other novices, and she knew he didn’t want to tell her any more. He just wanted to get away from her. “What did he say?” she pressed.
Poril swallowed. “He says I can’t talk to you anymore. I’m sorry…”
“And you’re just going to do what he says?” It was unfair, she knew, but she was burning with anger now. “Why didn’t you tell him to go and drown himself in the Tarali River?”
He lifted his scarred hands. “I did.”
Sonea’s anger turned to ice. She stared at Poril. “He did that?”
Poril’s nod was so slight she almost missed it. She looked down the corridor, but the class had reached the stairs and descended out of view.
“That’s…Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I can’t prove it.”
A truth-read would prove it. Did Poril have a secret to hide, like she did? Or was he simply so frightened by the thought of a magician reading his mind he would do anything to avoid it?
“He can’t get away with burning your hands j
ust because you’re my friend,” she growled. “If he threatens you again, tell me. I’ll…I’ll…”
“What? You can’t do anything, Sonea.” His face was flushed now. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t.” He turned away and ran down the corridor.
Shaking her head, Sonea followed at a distance. Reaching the stairs, she descended slowly. As she reached the ground floor she heard a low rumbling sound. Looking down the corridor toward the Great Hall, she blinked in surprise.
The hall was full of magicians. They stood in pairs or larger groups, talking. Sonea paused, wondering what had brought so many together. It was not a Meet day, so there must be another reason.
“I wouldn’t draw attention to myself, if I were you,” a voice said at her ear.
Recoiling, she turned to stare at Regin.
“They might decide they missed one,” he said, his eyes bright with glee.
She stepped away from him, puzzled but sure she didn’t want to know what he was talking about. His eyes flashed with delight as he saw her incomprehension, and he drew closer.
“Oh, you don’t get it, do you?” His grin was ugly. “Had you forgotten? Today is that most festive day of the year for slum trash like you. The day of the Purge.”
Realization struck her like a blow. The Purge. Every year, since the first Purge over thirty years before, the King sent the Guard and the Guild out to clear the city streets of “vagrants and miscreants.” The purpose, or so the King claimed, was to make the streets safer by removing petty thieves. In truth, the Thieves were barely inconvenienced by the event; they had their own ways in and out of the city. Only the poor, homeless people were herded into the slums. And, in the case of her own family a year ago, those people who rented rooms in “overcrowded and unsafe” stayhouses. She had been so angry that day, she had joined a gang of youths throwing stones at the magicians, and had loosed her power for the first time.
Regin laughed with delight. Feeling anger rising, she forced herself to turn and walk away. Regin stepped forward to block her path. His face was twisted with triumph and cruel satisfaction, and she felt grateful that novices did not join in the Purge. Then she thought to the future and shuddered. Clearly Regin was looking forward to the day he could use his powers to chase helpless beggars and poor families out of the city.
“Don’t go now,” Regin said, nodding toward the hall. “Don’t you want to ask your guardian how much fun he had?”
Rothen? He wouldn’t… Sure that he was simply baiting her, she turned around. Scanning the faces, she found a familiar one in a nearby group. Rothen.
She went cold. How could he have gone when he knew how she felt about the Purge? But he couldn’t refuse the King’s orders…
Yes, he could! Not all magicians go. He could have refused and let another go in his place!
As if sensing her gaze, Rothen looked up and met her eyes. His attention slid to Regin, and he frowned.
Regin chuckled. Suddenly all she wanted to do was get away. Turning, she strode past Regin out of the University. Regin followed, taunting her all the way to the Magicians’ Quarters, where he finally stopped and let her enter alone. Entering Rothen’s rooms, she was relieved to find them empty. She did not want Tania about right now in case she snapped at the servant out of frustration.
She was pacing when the door opened a short time later.
“Sonea.”
Rothen’s expression was apologetic. She didn’t answer him, but stopped at the window and stared outside.
“I’m sorry, I know this feels like a betrayal,” he said. “I wanted to tell you I was going. I kept putting it off, and I didn’t hear we were to be called out today until early this morning.”
“You didn’t have to go,” she said. Her voice sounded like that of a stranger’s, dark with anger.
“I did,” he said.
“No, you didn’t. Someone else could have gone instead.”
“True,” he agreed. “But that’s not why I had to go.” He drew closer, his voice low and gentle. “Sonea, I had to be there, to do whatever I could to ensure no mistakes were made. If I hadn’t gone, and something did happen…” He sighed. “Everyone was uneasy this time. It may be hard to perceive, but the Guild’s confidence in itself was shaken by what happened last year. Whether that came from a fear of making mistakes, or,” he chuckled, “another magic-wielding dwell, it doesn’t matter. The Guild needed someone to keep an eye on it.”
Sonea looked down. It made sense. She felt her anger fading. Sighing, she looked at him and managed a nod. He smiled hopefully.
“Forgive me?”
“I suppose,” she said grudgingly. Looking down at the table, she saw that Tania had left a meal of savory breads and other cold dishes. Clearly a meal prepared by someone who wasn’t sure when anyone would return to eat it.
“Come and eat,” Rothen said.
Accepting the invitation, she moved to a chair and sat down.
The Guild carriage pulled up beside a plain two-story building. Stepping out, Lorlen ignored the curious and startled looks from the people walking along the street. He strode to the entrance of the First City Guard House and, as a servant opened the door for him, walked through into a narrow hall.
The room was tastefully but not expensively decorated. Comfortable chairs were arranged in groups around the room. It reminded Lorlen of the Night Room in the Guild. A corridor off the hall gave access to the rest of the building.
“Administrator.”
Lorlen turned to see Derril’s son rising from one of the chairs.
“Captain Barran. Congratulations on your new position.”
The young man smiled. “Thank you, Administrator.” He gestured toward the corridor. “Come to my office, and I’ll tell you the latest news.”
Barran guided Lorlen to a door near the end of the corridor. A small, yet comfortable room lay beyond. One wall was lined with drawers, and a desk divided the space evenly in two. Barran gestured to one of two chairs, then, as Lorlen sat down, he took the other.
“Your father said that you’ve changed your mind about the woman we talked about,” Lorlen prompted. “That you now think it was a murder.”
“Yes,” Barran replied. “There have been several more apparent suicides too similar to that one. In each case, the weapon has been missing and there were signs of an intruder. Each victim had hand or fingerprints on the wounds. It is too strange a coincidence.” He paused. “These suicides began a month or so after the ritual murders stopped, almost as if the murderer realized he was attracting attention and decided to change his methods in the hope people would assume suicide.”
Lorlen nodded. “Or perhaps it is a new murderer.”
“Perhaps.” Barran hesitated. “There is something else, though it may not be related. I asked my predecessor if he’d ever seen something as strange as this. He told me that a series of murders has been happening, on and off, for the last four or five years.” He chuckled. “He said this was just the price we pay for living in cities.”
A chill ran down Lorlen’s spine. Akkarin had returned from his journey just over five years ago. “Nothing like this happened before then?”
“I don’t think so. He would have said so, if something had.”
“So the murders were the same?”
“Only in that they followed a pattern for a while, then changed to another. My predecessor suspected that one of the Thieves was targeting a rival group at first. They might be marking their victims in a certain way so their rivals knew who had done the killing. But the victims didn’t appear to have any connections to each other, or the Thieves.
“Then he considered the possibility of an assassin who was building his reputation with recognizable kills. Few of the victims had bad debts or any other obvious reason for their assassination, however. My predecessor could find no common reason for the deaths, just as I cannot find one now.”
“Not even simple robbery?”
Barran shook his head. “A few
victims were robbed, but not all.”
“Witnesses?”
“From time to time. Their descriptions vary. One detail was common, however.” Barran’s eyes brightened. “The murderer wears a ring with a large red gem.”
“Really?” Lorlen frowned. Had he ever seen Akkarin wearing a ring? No. Akkarin never wore jewelry. That did not mean he couldn’t be slipping a ring on his finger when out of sight. But why would he do that?
Lorlen sighed and shook his head. “Was there any sign these victims were killed with magic?”
Barran smiled. “Father would find that very exciting, but no. There are some strange aspects to some of the murders, but no sign of strike burns, or anything that we haven’t found an ordinary explanation for.”
Of course, a death through black magic wouldn’t leave any signs that Barran would recognize. Lorlen wasn’t even sure there were signs any magician could recognize. He should, however, get as many details as possible.
“What else can you tell me?”
“Do you want the details of each murder?”
“Yes.”
Barran gestured to the wall of drawers. “I’ve had all the records of strange serial murders moved into here. There are a lot to cover.”
Lorlen regarded the drawers with dismay. So many…
“The most recent ones, then?”
Barran nodded. He moved to the wall and drew out a large folder from one of the drawers.
“It is good to know the Guild is willing to take an interest in matters like these,” he said.
Lorlen smiled. “My interest is mainly personal, but if there is anything the Guild can do, let me know. Otherwise, I’m sure the investigation is in the hands of those most qualified to tackle it.”
Barran smiled wryly. “I hope so, Administrator. I certainly hope so.”
Above the curving barrier of the Arena dark gray clouds slowly rolled toward the North Quarter. The trees in the gardens lashed back and forth as the wind caught their branches. The limbs had darkened as the cold season approached, but the last few leaves that clung to them were bright red and yellow.