The Novice

  Tayend shivered. “I kept going. When I got to the cavern, you were pressed up against something invisible. Then you fell forward and you didn’t move. I could see more of those lightning things on the walls. I ran forward and grabbed your arms, and pulled you off the platform. The lightning touched it, then everything went dark. I couldn’t see, but I kept pulling you along, into the passage and back outside. Then I carried you here.” He paused, and his mouth curled into a half-smile. “You’re really heavy, by the way.”

  “Am I?”

  “It’s your height, I’m sure.”

  Dannyl smiled, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with affection and gratitude. “You saved my life, Tayend. Thank you.”

  The scholar blinked, then smiled self-consciously. “I suppose I did. Looks like I’ve returned the favor. So, do you think the Guild knows about this Cavern of Ultimate Punishment?”

  “Yes. No. Maybe.” Dannyl shook his head. He didn’t want to discuss the Guild, or the cavern. I’m alive, he thought. He looked around, at the trees, the sky, then Tayend. He really is a beautiful man, he thought suddenly, remembering how he had been struck by the scholar’s fine looks that first day, at Capia’s docks. He felt something at the edge of his thoughts, like a memory just out of reach. It grew stronger as he concentrated on it, and he felt a familiar uneasy feeling steal over him. He tried to push it away.

  Suddenly he was acutely aware of his lack of magical strength. He frowned, wondering why he had reached for his powers unconsciously. Then realization came. He had been about to use his Healing powers to take away the uneasiness, or at least the physical reaction that had caused it. As I always do, without realizing it.

  “What’s wrong?” Tayend asked.

  Dannyl shook his head. “Nothing.” But that was a lie. All these years he had been doing this: turning his mind from the thoughts that had caused him so much trouble and anguish, and using his Healing power to stop his body from reacting in the first place.

  Memories came rushing back. Memories of being the object of scandal and rumor. He had decided that, if how he felt was so unacceptable, then it was better not to feel at all. And perhaps, with time, he would begin to desire what was right and proper.

  But nothing had changed. The moment he lost the ability to Heal, there it was again. He had failed.

  “Dannyl?”

  Looking at Tayend, Dannyl felt his heart skip. How could he look at his friend, and consider that being like him was a failure?

  He couldn’t. He remembered something that Tayend had said. “There is a…a certainty in me about what is natural and right for me that is as strong as his own certainty about what is natural and right.”

  What was natural and right? Who really knew? The world was never so simple that one person could have all the answers. He had fought this for so long. What would it be like to stop fighting? To accept what he was.

  “You’ve got the strangest look on your face. What are you thinking?”

  Dannyl regarded Tayend speculatively. The scholar was his closest friend. Even closer than Rothen, he realized suddenly. He had never been able to tell Rothen the truth. He knew he could trust Tayend. Hadn’t the scholar protected him from the Elyne gossips?

  It would be such a relief just to tell someone, Dannyl thought. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you, Tayend.”

  The scholar’s eyes widened slightly. He sat back on his haunches and smiled. “Really? How so?”

  “That novice I befriended years ago. He was exactly what they said he was.”

  Tayend’s lips curled into a half-smile. “You never said he wasn’t.”

  Dannyl hesitated, then continued. “So was I.”

  Watching Tayend’s face, Dannyl was surprised to see the smile change to a grin.

  “I know.”

  Dannyl frowned. “How could you know? I didn’t even…remember until now.”

  “Remember?” Tayend sobered and tilted his head to one side. “How would you forget something like that?”

  “I…” Dannyl sighed, then explained about the Healing. “After a couple of years, it became a habit, I suppose. The mind can be a powerful thing, particularly for magicians. We’re trained to focus our minds and achieve deep levels of concentration. I pushed away every dangerous thought. It mightn’t have worked, if I hadn’t been able to smother my physical feelings with magic as well.” He grimaced. “But it didn’t change anything. It made me empty of any feelings of attraction. I desired neither men nor women.”

  “That must have been terrible.”

  “Yes, and no. I have few friends. I suppose I was lonely. But it was a dull kind of loneliness. There isn’t as much pain in life if you don’t let yourself become entangled with others.” He paused. “But is that really living?”

  Tayend didn’t answer. Looking at the scholar, Dannyl read a wariness there.

  “You knew,” Dannyl said slowly. “But you couldn’t say anything.” Otherwise I would have reacted with fear and denial.

  Tayend shrugged. “It was more like a guess. If I was right, though, I knew there was a chance you’d never confront it. Now that I know the effort you went to, it is amazing that you have at all.” He paused. “Habits are hard to break.”

  “But I will.” Dannyl stilled as he realized what he had said. Can I really commit to that? Can I accept what I am, and face this fear of discovery and rejection?

  Looking at Tayend, he heard a voice deep within answer: Yes!

  The path to the High Lord’s Residence was dusted with tiny fragments of color. As the wind rustled the trees, more blossoms flitted down to join them. Sonea admired the colors. A lighter mood had stayed with her since visiting her aunt and uncle the previous day. Even Regin’s stares in class hadn’t diminished it.

  When she reached the door, however, a familiar gloom settled over her. It swung inward at her touch. She bowed to the magician standing in the guestroom.

  “Good evening, Sonea,” Akkarin said. Was she imagining it, or was there a difference in his tone?

  “Good evening, High Lord.”

  The Firstday evening meals had become a predictable routine. He always asked her about her lessons; she replied as succinctly as possible. They didn’t talk about much else. The night after he had discovered her in the passages she had expected him to raise the subject but, to her relief, he hadn’t mentioned it once. Obviously, he felt that she needed no further rebuke.

  She trudged up the stairs. Takan, as always, was waiting for them in the dining room. A delicious, spicy odor lingered about him, and she felt her stomach growl with impatience. But as Akkarin sat down opposite her she remembered Ranel’s story about the murderer and her appetite fled.

  She looked down at the table, then stole a glance at him. Was she sitting opposite a murderer? His eyes slid to hers, and she quickly averted her gaze.

  Ranel had said that the murderer wore a ring with a red gemstone. Looking at Akkarin’s hands, she was almost disappointed to see they were bare. Not even a mark to hint that a ring might have been worn regularly. His fingers were long and elegant, yet masculine…

  Takan entered with a platter of food, drawing her attention away. As Sonea began to eat, Akkarin straightened and she knew his usual questions were about to start.

  “So how are your aunt and uncle, and their son? Did you have a pleasant afternoon with them yesterday?”

  He knows! She sucked in a breath, and felt something catch in her throat. Grabbing a napkin, she covered her face and coughed. How does he know where I went! Did he follow me? Or was he in the slums, hunting for victims, and happened to see me there?

  “You’re not going to die on me, are you?” he asked dryly. “That would be inconvenient.”

  Pulling the napkin away, she found Takan standing beside her, offering a glass of water. Taking it, she gulped a mouthful.

  What should I say? He knows where Jonna and Ranel live. She felt a sta
b of fear, but pushed it aside. If he had wanted to, he could have found that out easily enough without following her. He might even have read their location from her—or Rothen’s—mind.

  He didn’t seem to expect an answer, or gave up waiting for one. “I don’t disapprove of you visiting them,” he told her. “I do, however, expect you to ask me for permission if you intend to leave the Guild grounds at any time. Next time, Sonea,” he stared at her directly, his eyes hard, “I’m sure you’ll remember to ask me first.”

  Looking down, she nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”

  The door opened just as Lorlen reached the High Lord’s Residence. He stopped as Sonea stepped out, box in hand. She blinked at him in surprise, then bowed.

  “Administrator.”

  “Sonea,” he replied.

  She glanced down at his hand, then her eyes widened. Her gaze flickered to his, her expression questioning, then she quickly looked away and hurried past, toward the University.

  Looking down at the ring on his hand, Lorlen felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Clearly, she had heard about the murderer and his red ring. What did she think of him now? Turning to watch her, he felt his chest tighten. Each day she moved from one inescapable nightmare to another. From the shadow of Akkarin to the torments dealt out by the novices. It was a cruel situation.

  And an unnecessary one. Clenching his fists, he advanced on the door and stepped through. Akkarin sat in one of the luxurious armchairs, already sipping from a wineglass.

  “Why are you letting the novices gang up on her?” he demanded before his anger and courage failed.

  Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. “I gather you mean Sonea? It does her good.”

  “Good?” Lorlen exclaimed.

  “Yes. She has to learn to defend herself.”

  “Against other novices?”

  “She ought to be able to defeat them. They’re not well coordinated.”

  Lorlen shook his head and started to pace the room. “But she isn’t defeating them, and some magicians are wondering why you do not step in and put a stop to it.”

  Akkarin shrugged. “It is up to me how my novice is trained.”

  “Trained! This isn’t training!”

  “You heard Lord Yikmo’s analysis. She’s too nice. Real conflict will teach her to fight back.”

  “But this is fifteen novices against one. How can you expect her to stand up to that many?”

  “Fifteen?” Akkarin smiled. “The last I saw it was near twenty.”

  Lorlen stopped pacing and stared at the High Lord.

  “You’ve been watching her?”

  “Whenever I can.” Akkarin’s smile widened. “Though it’s not always easy to keep up with them. I would like to know how that last one ended. Eighteen, perhaps nineteen, and she still managed to free herself.”

  “She got away?” Lorlen suddenly felt lightheaded. He moved to a chair and sank into it. “But that means…”

  Akkarin chuckled. “I’d advise you to think twice if you were planning to take her on in the Arena, Lorlen, though her lack of skill and confidence would ensure you won the fight.”

  Lorlen didn’t answer, his mind still struggling to accept that a novice as young as Sonea could already be so powerful. Akkarin leaned toward him, his dark eyes glittering.

  “Every time they attack her she stretches herself,” he said quietly. “She’s learning to defend herself in ways neither Balkan nor Yikmo can teach her. I’m not going to stop Regin and his accomplices. They’re the best teachers she has.”

  “But…why do you want her stronger?” Lorlen breathed. “Aren’t you afraid she will turn against you? What will you do when she graduates?”

  Akkarin’s smile vanished. “She is the High Lord’s chosen novice. The Guild expects her to excel. But she will never grow strong enough to be a threat to me.” He looked away and his expression hardened. “As for graduation, I’ll decide how to deal with that when the time comes.”

  Seeing the calculating look in Akkarin’s eyes, Lorlen shivered. A memory of his visit to the Guard House returned. The images of the bodies of the murdered young man and his father were hard to forget. Though more gruesome, the young man’s death had not chilled Lorlen as much as the other. The father’s wrists had shallow cuts, and he had lost little blood. Yet he was dead.

  At Akkarin’s instruction, Lorlen had explained to Barran he would not be sending magicians out in a hunt for the rogue, as he had done with Sonea. The previous search had driven Sonea to seek the help of the Thieves, and they had kept the Guild from finding her for months. Though the Thieves were rumored to be hunting for the murderer as well, it was not impossible that they would strike a deal if he came to them for help. So it was better that the Guild gave the murderer no reason to hide himself too carefully. The Guard must locate him, then Lorlen would arrange for magical assistance to capture him. Barran had agreed that this was the wisest action.

  But this would never happen if the murderer was Akkarin. Lorlen considered the black-robed man. He wanted to ask Akkarin directly if he had anything to do with the murders, but he was afraid of the answer. And even if the answer was no, could he believe such a denial, anyway?

  “Ah, Lorlen,” Akkarin sounded amused. “Anyone would think Sonea was your adopted novice.”

  Lorlen forced his mind back to the subject. “If a guardian is neglecting his obligations, it is my duty to correct the situation.”

  “And if I tell you to leave this alone, will you?”

  Lorlen frowned. “Of course,” he said reluctantly.

  “Can I trust you to?” Akkarin sighed. “When you have not done as I have asked concerning Dannyl?”

  Surprised, Lorlen frowned at Akkarin. “Dannyl?”

  “He has continued his investigations.”

  Lorlen could not help feeling a trickle of hope at this news, but it quickly evaporated. If Akkarin knew this, whatever good might have come from it was already lost. “I sent him orders to abandon the work.”

  “Then he hasn’t followed them.”

  Lorlen hesitated. “What will you do?”

  Akkarin drained his glass, then rose and walked toward the drinks table. “I haven’t decided. If he goes where I fear he may go, he will die—and not by my hand.”

  Lorlen’s heart skipped a beat. “Can you warn him?”

  Placing his glass on the table, Akkarin sighed. “It may be too late already. I shall have to weigh the risks.”

  “Risks?” Lorlen frowned. “What risks?”

  Akkarin turned and smiled. “You are full of questions tonight. I wonder if there is something in the spring water lately. Everyone seems to have grown so bold.” He turned away and refilled his glass, and another. “That is all I can tell you, for now. If I was free to tell you what I know, I would.”

  He crossed the room and handed Lorlen a glass.

  “For now, you’ll just have to trust me.”

  34

  If Only It Was That Simple

  As they reached the curve of the road from where they had first seen Dem Ladeiri’s home, Dannyl and Tayend halted their mounts and turned to regard the building one last time. Their servants continued ahead, their horses walking slowly down the winding road.

  “Who would have thought we’d find the answers to so many questions in that old place?” Tayend said, shaking his head.

  Dannyl nodded. “It has been an interesting few days.”

  “Now that’s an understatement.” Tayend’s lips curled up at one side, and he gave Dannyl a sidelong glance.

  Smiling at the scholar’s expression, Dannyl looked up at the mountains above the Ladeiri house. The ruins of Armje lay beyond one of the ridges, hidden from sight.

  Tayend shivered. “It makes me nervous, knowing that cavern is up there.”

  “I doubt any magicians have visited Armje since Akkarin,” Dannyl said. “And that door can’t be opened without magic—or without breaking down the whole wall. I would have warned the Dem, but I didn’t want to te
ll him before consulting the Guild.”

  Tayend nodded. He nudged his horse forward, and Dannyl’s followed. “We have some more information on this Charkan King, anyway. If we had a few weeks to spare, we could travel into Sachaka.”

  “I’m still not sure that’s wise.”

  “Akkarin probably went there. Why shouldn’t we?”

  “We don’t know for sure if that’s where he went.”

  “If we went there we might find evidence that he did. The Sachakans are sure to remember if a Guild magician passed their way. Have any other magicians visited Sachaka in the last ten or so years?”

  Dannyl shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “If one had, surely he would have heard that another Guild magician had been in the country before him.”

  “Perhaps.” Dannyl felt a nagging uneasiness. The thought of being around other magicians reminded him that, one day, he would have to return to the Guild. As if his colleagues might be able to see…

  But, of course, they wouldn’t—couldn’t—know that from just looking at him. So, as long as he and Tayend were careful about discussing the matter, and he never allowed anyone to truth-read him, and he was cautious during mental communication, who could ever prove anything?

  He looked at Tayend. Rothen would say I was cunning enough to discover—or hide—any secret, he mused.

  —Dannyl.

  Startled, Dannyl sat up straight in the saddle. Then he recognized the personality behind the mental call and was paralyzed by disbelief.

  —Dannyl.

  He felt panic rush over him. Why was Akkarin calling him? What did the High Lord want? Dannyl glanced at Tayend. Or had he heard that…but, no, surely that was not important enough to—

  —Dannyl.

  He had to answer. He could not ignore a call from the High Lord. Dannyl swallowed hard, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he closed his eyes and sent out a name.

  —Akkarin?

  —Where are you?

  —In the mountains of Elyne. He sent an image of the road. I offered to take over Ambassador Errend’s biannual rounds of the Dems so that I might familiarize myself with the country.