The harvest festival had been in full swing when Dannyl and Tayend arrived, and was still going three days later. The tasks Lorlen had asked Errend to take care of were minor, but numerous. Dannyl could not start to work on them until the festival was over, so he and Tayend had been relaxing in the Guild House since they had arrived, only slipping out to watch the street performances or buy wine and local delicacies.
Celebrants, singers, dancers and musicians filled the main road for most of each day, making it difficult to get anywhere quickly. The procession could be avoided, however, by using the steep stairways bridging each loop of the spiraling main road. It was not an easy journey when travelling upward, and Tayend was breathing hard when they finally reached their destination, a wine merchant’s shop on the main road, several staircases uphill from the Guild House.
Stopping to lean against a building, Tayend waved Dannyl toward the shop. “I’ll rest,” he gasped. “You go.”
At once a girl carrying bracelets of flowers stepped out of the procession, approached the scholar and tried to persuade him to buy some. Tayend had been more than a little overwhelmed by the boldness of Vindo women, but they had been told by their guide that the Vindo friendliness was simply local good manners.
Leaving Tayend occupied, Dannyl entered the shop and began selecting wine. Knowing that Tayend would appreciate something familiar, he chose several bottles of Elyne wine. Like most Vindo, the merchant spoke Dannyl’s language well enough to make his price known, but not well enough to barter.
As the man began to pack the bottles into a box, Dannyl moved to the shop’s bay window. The flower girl had moved on. Tayend leaned against the corner of the building, his arms crossed and his attention taken by a group of male acrobats.
Then a hand shot out, grasped Tayend’s arm, and pulled the scholar into the shadows.
Dannyl stepped closer to the bay window, then froze. He could see Tayend now, pressed up against the wall of an alley beside the shop. A dirty-looking Vindo with straggly hair had one hand around the scholar’s neck. The other held a blade to Tayend’s side.
White with terror, Tayend stared at the mugger. The man’s lips moved. A demand for money, Dannyl guessed. He took a step toward the door, then forced himself to stop. What would happen if the mugger was confronted by a magician?
Dannyl’s imagination raced forward. He saw the mugger using Tayend as a hostage…taking the scholar with him as he escaped…stabbing Tayend when Dannyl was out of sight.
Whereas if Tayend gave up his money, the man would simply take it and go.
Tayend’s eyes moved to the window and locked with Dannyl’s. Nodding toward the mugger, Dannyl mouthed the words: “Give it to him.” Tayend frowned.
Seeing the change in the scholar’s expression, the mugger glanced toward the window. Ducking out of view, Dannyl cursed. Had the man seen him? He peered around the edge of the window.
Tayend was pulling his bag of coins out of his coat. The mugger grabbed it, then tested its weight. With a grin of triumph, he stowed it in his pocket.
Then, with a swift jab, he sank the knife into Tayend’s side.
Horrified, Dannyl leapt out of the shop. Tayend was doubled over, blood gushing from the wound. Seeing that the mugger was bracing himself to stab again, Dannyl reached out with magic. The mugger’s expression changed to surprise and horror as he saw Dannyl. Then he was flying through the air. Thrown over the road, he slammed into the opposite building with a sickening crack and fell to the ground, the celebrants scattering as he landed among them.
For a moment Dannyl stared at the man in surprise and horror. He hadn’t meant to react so strongly. Then Tayend gave a low moan and he put the mugger out of his mind. Dashing forward, he caught Tayend as the scholar crumpled, and lowered him to the ground. Tearing away the bloodied shirt, Dannyl pressed his hand to the wound.
Closing his eyes, he sent his mind inward. The knife had cut deep, severing veins, arteries and organs. Dannyl called on Healing power and focused it on the damaged area. He diverted blood, persuaded tissue to knit together, and encouraged Tayend’s body to draw away grime from the dirty knife. Healers usually worked only until a wound was sealed and safe, saving their power for other patients, but Dannyl poured his energy forth until only scar tissue remained. Then he listened to the body under his hand as he had been taught, checking that everything was working properly.
Other messages reached him. Tayend’s heart raced. His muscles were stiff with tension. A feeling of relief and dread touched Dannyl’s mind. He frowned. A lingering fear was to be expected, but there was something different about this feeling of dread. His senses shifted to the mental level and suddenly Tayend’s thoughts spilled into his mind.
Perhaps he won’t see…No, it’s too late! He’s probably seen already. Now he’ll reject me. Kyralian magicians are like that. They think we’re perverted. Unnatural. But no! He’ll understand. He says he knows what it’s like. But he’s not a lad himself…or is he? He could be hiding it. No, he couldn’t be. He’s a Kyralian magician. Their Healers would have detected it, and thrown him out…
Surprised, Dannyl drew away from Tayend’s mind, but kept his eyes closed and his hand on the scholar’s side. So this was why Tayend refused Healing. He was afraid that Dannyl would sense that…that he was like Dem Agerralin. Tayend desired men.
Memories of the last few months flashed through Dannyl’s mind. He recalled the day after the sea leech attack. Tayend had found a pair of leeches entwined around each other and a rope. A sailor had noticed Tayend’s interest.
“They breed,” the man said.
“Which is the boy, and which is the girl?” Tayend asked.
“Not boy or girl. Same.”
Tayend’s brows rose and he glanced at the sailor. “Really?”
The man moved away to collect a pan of siyo. Tayend looked up at the leeches.
“Good for you,” he’d said.
Remembering his time in Elyne, Dannyl recalled his conversation with Errend. “He’s the youngest son of Tremmelin…scholar, I believe…Don’t see him in court much—though I have seen him with Dem Agerralin…a man of dubious associations.”
Then the Dem Agerralin: “We are all very curious about you…”
We?
Tayend himself, in the Palace: “The Elyne court is both awful in its decadence, and wonderful for its freedom. We expect everyone to have a few interesting or eccentric habits.”
Tayend had been uneasy for their whole stay in Lonmar. Dannyl knew what they had witnessed in Judgment Square had shocked Tayend, but he had expected the scholar would eventually forget the incident and enjoy the rest of the “adventure.” But Tayend had remained fearful and quiet.
And now, of course, he’s worried how I will react. We Kyralians aren’t exactly known for our tolerance of men like Tayend. I know that only too well. No wonder he was afraid of being Healed. He believes that Healers can sense if a man desires other men, as if it’s an illness.
Dannyl frowned. So what should he do now? Should he let Tayend know that he had discovered his secret, or would it be better to pretend that he hadn’t noticed anything?
I don’t know. I need more time to consider. For now…yes, I will pretend I don’t know.
Opening his eyes, he found Tayend staring at him. Smiling, Dannyl drew away his hand. “Are you—?”
“My lord?”
Looking up, Dannyl saw that a crowd had gathered around him. The man who had addressed him was a Vindo guard. Other guards were questioning people. One inspected the prone mugger, then extracted Tayend’s money bag from the man’s hand.
The guard standing over Dannyl nudged a bloodied knife on the ground by Tayend’s foot with the toe of his sandal. “No trial,” he said, meeting Dannyl’s eyes nervously. “People say you kill bad man. You in right.”
Looking through the crowd, Dannyl saw the staring eyes of the mugger. Dead. A shiver ran down his spine. He had never killed before. That was something else he
would have to think about later. As the guard moved away, Dannyl turned to Tayend and gave the scholar a questioning look.
“Are you recovered?”
Tayend nodded quickly. “If you don’t count the fact that I’m still shaking.”
The wine merchant stood in the doorway of his shop, looking uncertain and frightened. A younger man stood beside him with the box of wine in his arms. “Come on, then. Let’s get our wine. I don’t know about you, but I just got a lot thirstier.”
Tayend took a few unsteady steps, then seemed to regain his confidence. A guard pressed the money bag into his hands. Dannyl smiled at the scholar’s expression, then, indicating that the merchant’s companion should follow, started toward the Guild House.
The words on the page before Sonea suddenly disappeared under fat black droplets. She looked over her shoulder, but no one stood nearby. Hearing more drops hit the page, she looked up and saw an ornate ink bottle hovering high above her.
From behind the shelves of books to her left she heard giggles. The bottle moved, threatening to splash ink on Sonea’s robes. Narrowing her eyes at it, she sent out a flash of power. At once the ink sizzled and dried, and the ink bottle began to glow red. It shot away toward the shelves, and she heard a yelp.
Smiling grimly, she looked down again, but her smile vanished as she saw the ink drying on the page. She drew out a nosecloth and dabbed at the spots. Then she muttered a curse as the ink spread.
“Bad idea. You’re only making it worse,” said a voice at her shoulder.
She jumped and turned to find Dorrien standing behind her. Before she could stop herself, she snapped the book shut.
He shook his head. “That certainly won’t help.”
Sonea frowned with annoyance and searched for a retort, but he reached out to take the book from her.
“Here, let me have a look.” He laughed. “First Year Alchemy. This isn’t even worth saving!”
“But it’s from the library.”
Dorrien leafed through to the stained pages and grimaced. “There’s nothing you can do to fix this,” he said, shaking his head. “But don’t worry. Rothen can have another copy made.”
“But…”
Dorrien’s brows rose. “But?”
“It will cost—”
“Money?” Dorrien finished. “That’s hardly a problem, Sonea.”
Sonea opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again.
“You don’t think it’s fair for him to pay for it, do you?” Dorrien dropped into one of the chairs beside her. “After all, you didn’t damage the book.”
Sonea chewed on her lip. “You saw them?”
“I passed a novice nursing burned fingertips and another holding what looked like a melted ink bottle. When I saw you trying to rescue this book, I guessed the rest.” His lips twitched. “Rothen has told me of your admirers.”
She regarded him silently. He laughed at her expression, but it was a laugh edged with bitterness.
“I wasn’t very popular in my First Year of University, either. I understand a little of what you’re going through. It’s torture, but you can get yourself out of it.”
“How?”
He put the book down on the table and leaned back in the chair. “Before I say anything, you had better tell me what they’ve done to you so far. I need to get an idea what these novices are like, particularly Regin, before I can help you.”
“Help me?” She regarded him dubiously. “What can you do that Rothen can’t?”
He smiled. “Maybe nothing, but we won’t know that if we don’t try.”
Somewhat reluctantly, she told him about the first day, about Issle and how all the class turned from her. She related how she had worked until she could join the next class only to have Regin follow her, and how soon after he had put Narron’s pen in her box so that everyone would think she was a thief. And then she described the ambush in the forest.
“I don’t know why, but I left that meeting with the Higher Magicians with a feeling that something else was going on that I didn’t know about,” she finished. “They didn’t ask the sort of questions I expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
Sonea shrugged. “Questions about who started the whole thing. They only asked if I was tired.”
“You had just demonstrated how strong you were, Sonea,” Dorrien pointed out. “They would have been more interested in that than some squabble between you and the novices.”
“But they banned Regin from Balkan’s class until the middle of next year.”
“Oh, they had to punish him,” Dorrien waved a hand dismissively, “but that’s not why they questioned you. They wanted you to confirm his story, but mostly they wanted to gauge your limits.”
Sonea thought back to that interview and nodded slowly.
“From what I’ve heard, you’re stronger than many of the lower-level teachers now,” he continued. “Some believe your powers have developed young and won’t grow much further, others think you’ll continue at this rate and become as powerful as Lorlen. Who knows? It doesn’t mean anything until you know how to use that power.”
Dorrien leaned forward and rubbed his palms together. “But the magicians have to acknowledge that Regin and his friends are ganging up on you now. Unfortunately, they can only do something about it when there’s proof. We have to give them that proof. I think we should convince them that he was the one who planted Narron’s pen in your box.”
“How?”
“Hmmm.” Dorrien leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the cover of the book. “Ideally, it should involve him trying to set you up as a thief again. Then when he’s caught, everyone will have to consider that you were set up before. Yet we’ll have to make sure there’s no possibility that they’ll think we set him up…”
As they tossed ideas back and forth, Sonea felt her spirits lighten. Perhaps Dorrien could help her. He was certainly nothing like she had expected him to be. In fact, she decided, he was nothing like any magician she had met before.
I think I actually like him, she mused.
18
Friendship
Opening the door to her room, Sonea blinked in surprise.
“Enough studying,” Dorrien announced. “You’ve been stuck in there every night this week. It’s Freeday, and we’re going out.”
“Out?” Sonea repeated.
“Out,” he affirmed.
“Where to?”
“That,” Dorrien’s eyes twinkled, “is a secret.”
Sonea opened her mouth to protest, but he put a finger to her lips. “Shh,” he said. “No more questions.”
Curious despite her annoyance, she pulled the door closed and followed him down the corridor of the Novices’ Quarters. She caught a soft sound behind her and looked back over her shoulder. Regin was peering out from the open doorway of a room, his lips curled into a sly smile.
Turning away, she followed Dorrien outside. The sun was shining, though the grounds were still buried deep under snow. Dorrien walked fast, and she had to hurry to keep up with him.
“How far away is this secret place?”
“Not far.” Dorrien smiled.
Not far. Like most of Dorrien’s answers, it told her nothing. She pressed her lips together, determined to ask no more questions.
“Have you been out of the grounds many times since you came here?” he asked, slowing his stride as they entered the University.
“A few times. Not since I started at the University, though.”
“But that’s nearly six months ago.” Dorrien shook his head. “Rothen really should take you out more. It’s not healthy spending all your time indoors.”
Amused by his disapproval, she smiled. She couldn’t imagine him being comfortable indoors for long periods of time. A light tan colored his face and hands, hinting at long hours spent under the sun. His strides were long and easy, and she had to walk fast to keep up.
She had expected a younger Rothen. Whi
le Dorrien’s eyes were the same brilliant blue as his father’s, his jaw was narrower and his frame was thinner. However, the main difference was in their personalities. Or was it? While Rothen was dedicated to teaching novices, Dorrien was commited to looking after the villages in his care. They just practiced different disciplines and lived in vastly different surrounds.
“Where did you go?” Dorrien asked.
“I visited my aunt and uncle in the slums a few times,” she told him. “Every time I did, I think a few magicians were worried I might try to run away.”
“Have you ever thought of running away, Sonea?”
Surprised by the question, she looked at him closely. His gaze was level, and his expression serious.
“Sometimes,” she admitted, lifting her chin.
Dorrien smiled. “Don’t think you’re the only novice who ever did,” he said quietly. “Nearly all of us think about it at some time—usually just before testing time.”
“But you did get away in the end, didn’t you?” Sonea pointed out.
He laughed. “You could look at it that way.”
“How long have you been working in the country?”
“Five years.” Reaching the end of the corridor, they stepped into the Entrance Hall, and started up the stairs.
“Do you miss the Guild?”
He pursed his lips. “Sometimes. I miss Father most, but I also miss having access to all the medicines and knowledge here. If I need to find out how to treat an illness I can communicate with Healers here, but it’s a slower process and I often don’t have the medicines in my store that I need.”
“Is there another Healers’ Quarters where you live?”
“Oh, no,” Dorrien smiled. “I live in a little house on a hillside, on my own. People come to me to have their illnesses treated, or I visit them. Sometimes I have to travel for several hours, and I have to take everything I might need with me.”
Sonea absorbed this as she followed him up the second flight of stairs. When they reached the top she noted that, while she was a little out of breath, Dorrien wasn’t at all affected by the exertion.