The Novice

  Your friend, Dannyl.

  Leafing through the sheets of paper, Rothen muttered in amazement.

  “All this? The Splendid Temple? The Tombs of White Tears!” He chuckled. “Just a few other sources, eh Dannyl?”

  Turning back to the first page, he began to read. When he had just reached the third page, a knock on the door interrupted him. He stared at the door, then jumped to his feet, heart pounding. He cast about for a place to hide the bulky letter, then rushed to the bookcase and slipped it between the pages of a large volume. The extra thickness caused the book to bulge, but it wouldn’t be noticed unless someone looked closely.

  As the knock came again, Rothen hurried to the door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst. Opening the door, he sighed with relief as he saw the old couple standing in the corridor beyond.

  “Yaldin and Ezrille. Come in.”

  They moved into the guestroom. “How are you, Rothen?” Ezrille asked. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Rothen shrugged. “Well. You?”

  “Fine,” Ezrille said. She hesitated, then glanced at Yaldin.

  “Would you like a cup of sumi?” Rothen offered.

  “Yes, thank you,” Yaldin replied.

  The couple sat down, and Rothen set about gathering a tray, cups and jars from a side table. As he started making the hot drink, Yaldin talked about a minor Guild matter. It had been too long since he’d talked to his old friends, Rothen decided. Ezrille remained silent until Rothen had poured a second cup of sumi.

  “I want you to have dinner with us every Firstday, Rothen,” she said.

  “Really?” Rothen smiled. “That would be nice. But every Firstday?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “We know it was a shock to you to have Sonea chosen by the High Lord. She never comes to visit, which must be so disappointing after all you did for her. Though she has extra classes, she—”

  “Can hardly help it,” Yaldin injected. He smiled at Rothen. “I’m sure she’ll visit when she has more time. In the meantime, we can’t have you moping about.”

  “He means you shouldn’t spend every evening alone.”

  “Especially with Dannyl abroad,” Yaldin added. “You need someone to talk to other than novices and teachers.”

  “And Tania says you’ve started taking nemmin again,” Ezrille added in a low voice. “Don’t be angry at her for telling us. She’s concerned about you—and so are we.”

  “So will you come?” Yaldin asked.

  Rothen looked from one anxious face to another, then chuckled.

  “Of course. I’d love to.”

  Sonea walked slowly along the University passage, conscious of the tap of her boots on the floor. As she reached a turn, she peered into the next passage cautiously, and sighed with relief as she found it empty.

  It was late. Later than usual. She had avoided Regin successfully for two weeks by either accompanying Tya out of the University, or taking long, convoluted routes through the passages. Each time, she had emerged in the main corridor to find a novice waiting there. They didn’t try to attack her in the main corridor, however. The risk of being discovered by a magician was too high. The same fear kept them from waiting too close to the library, in case Tya heard them.

  Sonea hoped Regin’s allies would eventually lose interest. Just to be safe, she had started leaving her box in the library instead of carrying it back to her room. They had made a mess of her notes and books after they had grown bored with tormenting her with stunstrikes. And she had been forced to leave it behind, being too exhausted to carry it.

  Keeping her footsteps quiet meant walking slowly, when she desperately wanted to hurry. Not for the first time, she wondered if magician boots were made to be noisy. No matter how gently she stepped, their hard soles made a tapping that echoed in the silent passages. She sighed. Only a few weeks ago she had enjoyed wandering around in the passages of the University. Now, she actually felt relief when she entered the door of the High Lord’s Residence.

  A faint sound reached her ears. A snigger, half smothered. She stopped, realizing they had blocked her way to the main corridor. They didn’t know that she’d heard them, however. If she ran back and slipped through a portal room into the inner passages, she could make her way to the corridor from another direction.

  Turning on her heel, she dashed away.

  “Run, Sonea run!” came Regin’s voice. The sound of footsteps and laughter filled the passage.

  She leapt around a corner, then another. A familiar door appeared. She grabbed the handle and slipped through. Not waiting to see if they followed, she hurried across the portal room to the opposite door and ran along the passage beyond. Behind her she heard the muffled sound of a door closing. She dashed into the first side passage.

  It twisted to the right, met another and ended at another door. A novice stood outside this, his mouth stretched into a grin.

  Sonea skidded to a halt and regarded the novice with dismay. So they knew about the inner passages now. The novice’s grin widened and she narrowed her eyes. Obviously he’d been posted to watch for her. He was alone, however, and easily overcome.

  His grin vanished as he read her expression, and he hastily stepped aside. Slipping through the door, she crossed the room and entered the ordinary passages again. As she heard a door opening somewhere behind her, she broke into a run. The main passage was only a few turns away. She threw herself around one corner, then another, then into a rain of red fire.

  She hadn’t been shielding, hoping to conserve her strength as long as possible. As pain ripped through her body, everything went black. When her sight cleared again, she was lying on the floor and her shoulder felt bruised. Another flash of fire seared her, making it impossible to do anything but grit her teeth. When it stopped, however, she managed to shield.

  Rolling over, she tucked her feet under her and stood up. Regin and four other novices stood behind her. Three others blocked her way to the main corridor. Two more novices arrived, then three more. Thirteen novices. More than before. She swallowed hard.

  “Hello again, Sonea.” Regin smiled. “How is it that we keep running into each other like this?”

  The novices sniggered. There was no sign of doubt in their expressions now. They hadn’t been called to account for ambushing and torturing her, proving that, as Regin had predicted, she wouldn’t tell Akkarin about it.

  Regin placed a hand on his heart. “What a strange thing is love,” he said wistfully. “I thought you hated me, but here you are, following me around!”

  One of the novices passed him a paper box. Sonea frowned. Boxes like these usually contained sugared nuts, or other sweets.

  “Ah! A gift!” Regin said, flipping the lid open. “Something to show my regard for you.”

  Inside were twists of colored paper. An odor wafted to Sonea’s nose and she felt her stomach turn. Harrel pellets, she guessed, or reber dung—or both. Regin took one out.

  “Shall I feed it to you, like young lovers do?” He glanced at his followers. “But you look as if you might need some warming up first.”

  As he blasted her shield, the others joined in. Her stomach sank with dread. With so many novices attacking her, there was no chance of outlasting them. Turning to the ones blocking her path to the main corridor, she started pushing against their attack. Slowly they fell back, but after several paces she felt herself weakening. The novices, however, showed no signs of tiring.

  She stopped. It had taken her a long time to crawl down to the University doors last time. She had wished she’d had just a little energy left, enough to be able to stand and walk. To conserve power she could let her shield fall a little early, and pretend to be completely exhausted. Yes, that might work.

  But looking at the sweet box, she changed her mind. She would hold out as long as possible. As she felt her strength failing, she resolved to spit them back at him.

  She felt the last of her power slowly drain away. As her shield failed, st
unstrikes hit her body and she gasped with the pain. She felt her knees buckle and hit the floor. When the fire finally stopped she opened her eyes to see Regin crouching in front of her, crinkling the sweet wrapper between his fingers.

  “What is going on here?”

  Regin’s eyes widened and his face turned a deathly white. He quickly closed his fingers around the “sweet” and straightened. As he moved away, Sonea saw the owner of the voice and felt heat rush to her face. Lord Yikmo stood in the passage, his arms crossed.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  Regin bowed and the other novices hastily followed suit.

  “Just a little game, my lord,” he said.

  “A game, is it?” Yikmo glowered. “Do the rules of this game take precedence over those of the Guild? Fighting outside lessons or the Arena is forbidden.”

  “We weren’t fighting,” one of the novices said. “Just playing.”

  Yikmo’s eyes narrowed. “Really? So you were using stunstrikes outside of battle—on a defenseless young woman.”

  Regin swallowed. “Her shield failed before we realized it, my lord.”

  Lord Yikmo’s eyebrows rose. “It appears you are neither as disciplined nor as skilled as Lord Garrel claims. I’m sure Lord Balkan will agree.” Yikmo’s eyes scanned the group, noting identities. “Get back to your rooms, all of you.”

  The novices hurried away. As Lord Yikmo turned to regard her, Sonea wished she’d had the strength to slip away while his attention had been on the novices. He looked very disappointed. She forced her legs under herself and rose unsteadily.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  She hesitated, not wanting to admit it had happened before. “An hour.”

  He shook his head. “The stupidity of these novices. Attack the High Lord’s favorite? In numbers, too.” He looked at her, then sighed. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

  He considered her, frowning. She took a step forward, then swayed as the corridor began to spin. A hand grasped her arm to steady her. She felt a little Healing energy tingle through her arm. As soon as she had regained her sense of balance she brushed his hand from her arm.

  “Tell me, did you strike back?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “What use would that be?”

  “None, but most people, when outnumbered, will fight back out of pride. But perhaps you refrained for the same reason.”

  He regarded her expectantly, but she looked away and remained silent.

  “Of course, if you had targeted one or two of the weaker novices, you might have left them as exhausted as you. It would be a discouragement to the others, at the least.”

  Sonea frowned. “But they had no inner shields. What if I hurt one of them?”

  He smiled, pleased. “That is the answer I want to hear. Yet I think there is more to your reluctance to strike than caution.”

  Sonea felt a flare of anger. Once again he was pushing and poking her, prying out her weaknesses. But this was not a lesson. Wasn’t the humiliation of being found by him enough? She wanted him to leave her alone, and thought of the one subject that made most magicians flinch.

  “Would you be so eager to strike, if you’d seen a boy die at the hands of magicians?”

  His gaze did not waver, but sharpened instead.

  “Ah,” he said. “So that’s it.”

  She stared at him, appalled. Would he turn even the tragedy of the Purge into another lecture? She felt anger growing, and knew she would not be able to hold her temper much longer.

  “Good night, Lord Yikmo,” she said between gritted teeth. Then, turning away, she strode down the passage toward the main corridor.

  “Sonea! Come back.”

  She ignored him. He called after her again, anger and command in his tone. Fighting the weariness in her legs, she quickened her stride.

  As she reached the corridor she felt her fury ebb. He would make her regret her rude departure, but for now she didn’t care. All she wanted was a warm bed and to sleep for days.

  28

  A Secret Plan

  As the door opened, bright sunlight streamed in to dazzle Lorlen’s eyes. He shaded his face with a hand and followed Akkarin onto the University roof.

  “We have company,” Akkarin observed.

  Following his companion’s gaze, Lorlen saw a lone figure in red robes standing by the railing.

  “Lord Yikmo.” Lorlen frowned. “Balkan must have given him access.”

  Akkarin made a low, disapproving noise. “There are so many identities imprinted into the door, I wonder why we bother to lock it.”

  He strode toward the Warrior. Lorlen hurried after, worried that Akkarin intended to remove Yikmo’s access to the roof.

  “Balkan would not have granted him access if he did not regard him highly.”

  “Of course. Our Head of Warriors knows that his methods of teaching are not suited to every novice. I’m sure he’s aware that Yikmo draws attention away from his own weaknesses.”

  Yikmo hadn’t noticed them approaching. The Warrior leaned on the railing, his attention captured by something below. He looked up when Akkarin was a few steps away, and straightened hastily.

  “High Lord. Administrator.”

  “Greetings, Lord Yikmo,” Akkarin returned smoothly. “I have not seen you up here before.”

  Yikmo shook his head. “I rarely come up—only when I need to think. I’d forgotten how good the view is.”

  Lorlen looked around at the grounds, and at the city to one side. Letting his gaze drop to the gardens, he saw that a few novices had ventured outside for the midbreak. Though snow still covered the ground, the sun held a hint of the coming spring warmth.

  Closest to them was a familiar figure. Sonea was sitting on one of the garden seats, her head bent over a book.

  “The source of my contemplation,” Yikmo admitted.

  “Is she improving?” Akkarin asked.

  “Not as rapidly as I had hoped,” Yikmo sighed. “She still hesitates to strike. I’m starting to understand why.”

  “Oh?”

  Yikmo smiled crookedly. “She’s far too nice.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s worried that she might hurt somebody—even her enemies.” Yikmo frowned and faced the High Lord. “Last night, I discovered Regin and several other novices tormenting Sonea. They had worn her down to near exhaustion, and were using stunstrikes.”

  Lorlen felt his heart skip. “Stunstrikes,” he hissed.

  “I reminded them of the Guild rules, and sent them to their rooms.”

  Yikmo looked at the High Lord expectantly, but Akkarin did not reply. He stared down at Sonea with a gaze so intense that Lorlen wondered how she could not sense it.

  “How many novices were there?” he asked.

  Yikmo looked aside as he considered. “Twelve or thirteen. I can identify most of them.”

  Akkarin nodded. “That won’t be necessary. There is no need to bring further attention to the incident.” His dark gaze turned to the Warrior. “Thank you for informing me of this, Yikmo.”

  Yikmo paused as if he might say something more, then nodded and moved away toward the door. When the Warrior had disappeared, Akkarin’s gaze fell to Sonea again. The corners of his lips curled upward slightly.

  “Twelve or thirteen. Her strength is growing quickly. I remember a novice in my class whose power grew as fast.”

  Lorlen regarded Akkarin closely. In the bright sunlight the High Lord’s pale skin looked sickly. Shadows lay under his eyes, but his gaze was sharp.

  “As I recall, you progressed just as quickly.”

  “I’ve often wondered if we would have, had we not been constantly trying to outdo each other.”

  Lorlen shrugged. “Probably.”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps the rivalry was good for us.”

  “Good for us?” Lorlen gave a short laugh. “Good
for you. Believe me, there was nothing good about second place. Next to you, I may as well have been invisible—at least when it came to the ladies. If I’d known we’d both end up bachelors, I wouldn’t have been so jealous of you.”

  “Jealous?” Akkarin’s smile faded. He turned away to stare at the horizon. “No. Don’t be jealous.”

  The reply was so faint the Administrator wondered if he had really heard it. Lorlen opened his mouth to ask why he shouldn’t be, but Akkarin’s gaze had slid to the ruined Lookout.

  “How are Davin’s plans for the Lookout going?”

  Sighing, Lorlen put aside the question and turned his mind back to Guild matters.

  By early afternoon, Dannyl and Tayend had left the last of Capia’s shabby outer homes behind. Farms and orchards covered the hills with squares of different greens. Occasionally a patch of newly turned soil added a splash of red-brown to the pattern.

  Their horses plodded along at a comfortable pace. Servants had gone ahead to announce their arrival at the first stop, the home of Tayend’s sister. Dannyl drew in a deep breath and sighed contentedly.

  “It is good to be travelling again, isn’t it?” Tayend said.

  Dannyl looked at his companion in surprise. “You’re actually looking forward to it?”

  “Yes. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “I’d thought our last journey had put you off travelling.”

  Tayend shrugged. “We had some unpleasant experiences, but it wasn’t all bad. This time we’re staying inside the borders of Elyne, and on solid ground.”

  “I’m sure we could find a lake or a river with boats to hire if you start to feel our trip lacks that feeling of adventure you craved.”

  “Snooping around in other people’s libraries will be adventure enough,” Tayend said firmly. He looked into the distance and narrowed his eyes. “I wonder which Dem has the books we’re after.”

  “If any of them do.” Dannyl shrugged. “For all we know, Akkarin could have visited a Dem somewhere else, and travelled to the mountains for a completely different reason.”

  “But where did he go afterward?” Tayend glanced at Dannyl. “That’s what intrigues me the most. We know Akkarin went to the mountains. After that there is no mention of him. Not in the city records, nor in people’s recollections. I doubt that he could have slipped back into Capia in secret, and it was several years before he returned to the Guild. Did he stay in the mountains all that time? Did he travel along them, north or south? Or did he go through them?”