The Novice

  As the door closed behind Sonea, Rothen gathered his books and papers. From what he had heard, Garrel’s novice was a natural leader. It was unfortunate, but not unexpected, that the boy chose to strengthen his hold on the class by turning them against another novice. Sonea had been the obvious victim. Unfortunately, it had dashed all hopes of her being accepted by the rest.

  He sighed and shook his head. Had he worked at stamping out her slum vocabulary and schooling her habits and mannerisms for nothing? He had assured Sonea so many times that she had only to make a friend or two and her past would be forgotten. But he had been wrong. Her classmates had not only rejected her, but had turned on her.

  The teachers had not taken a liking to her, either, despite her exceptional abilities. Tales of knifings and childhood thieving were circulating, according to Rothen’s elderly friend, Yaldin. The teachers could not neglect her education, however. He could make sure of that.

  —Rothen!

  Stopping, Rothen concentrated on the voice in his mind.

  —Dannyl?

  —Hello, old friend.

  As Rothen focused his mind on the voice it became clearer and a sense of its personality grew. He also perceived the presence of other magicians, their attention drawn by the call, fading away as they turned their minds from the conversation.

  —I was expecting a communication sooner than this. Was your ship delayed?

  —No, I arrived two weeks ago. I haven’t had a moment to spare since. The First Ambassador had arranged so many introductions and briefings I can hardly keep up. I think he’s disappointed that I actually need to sleep.

  Rothen restrained himself from asking if the First Guild Ambassador to Elyne had become as portly as was rumored. Mental communication was not completely private, and it was always possible that another magician might hear.

  —Have you seen much of Capia?

  —A little. It is as beautiful as they say. An image of a grand city of yellow stone, blue water and boats, came to Rothen.

  —Have you been to court yet?

  —No, the King’s aunt died a few weeks ago and he has been in mourning. I’m visiting today. Should be interesting.

  A sense of smugness followed the words, and Rothen knew his friend was thinking of all the scandal, rumor and gossip he had dug up about the people of the Elyne court before leaving Kyralia.

  —How is Sonea going?

  —Her teachers praise her abilities, but there is a troublemaker in her class. He has gathered the rest of the novices to his side.

  —Can you do anything? There was sympathy and understanding behind Dannyl’s words.

  —She just proposed moving to the next class.

  —Poor Rothen! That will be hard work—for both of you.

  —I can manage. I only hope she doesn’t find the winter novices as unfriendly.

  —Give her my sympathies. Dannyl’s attention wavered. I must go now. Farewell.

  —Farewell.

  Rothen gathered his books and started for the guestroom door. Remembering the unpopular, sullen novice that Dannyl had been, he felt a little better. The situation might be tough for Sonea now, but it would work itself out in the end.

  “Tayend of Tremmelin, eh?” Errend, the First Guild Ambassador to Elyne, shifted in his seat, his impressive stomach cinched by the sash over his robes. “He’s the youngest son of Dem Tremmelin. A scholar of the Great Library, I believe. Don’t see him in court much—though I have seen him with Dem Agerralin. Now there’s a man of dubious associations.”

  Dubious associations? Dannyl opened his mouth to ask the Ambassador to elaborate, but the big man was distracted as the carriage swung about.

  “The Palace!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the window. “I will introduce you to the King, then it is up to you to socialize as you please. I have an appointment that will fill most of the afternoon, so feel free to take the carriage back when you’ve had enough. Just remind the driver to return at dusk for me.”

  The carriage door opened and Dannyl followed Errend out. They stood at one side of a large courtyard. Before them was the Palace, a sprawling structure of domes and balconies standing at the top of a long, wide staircase. Grandly dressed people were making their way up the stairs, or resting on stone seats placed at intervals for this purpose.

  Turning back to his companion, Dannyl found Errend floating just above the ground beside him. The First Ambassador smiled at Dannyl’s expression of astonishment.

  “No sense in walking if you don’t have to!”

  As the man floated up the stairs, Dannyl examined the faces of the courtiers and servants about him. They did not appear surprised by this use of magic, though some glanced at the Ambassador and smiled. While a man of bulk and cheerful character, Errend was obviously also a strong and skilled magician. Impressed, yet reluctant to draw attention to himself in such a flamboyant manner, Dannyl decided to use his legs instead.

  He found Errend waiting at the top. The man gestured expansively away from the Palace.

  “Look at that view! Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Still breathing deeply from the climb, Dannyl turned around. The entire bay spread before him. The pale yellow buildings shone in the sunlight, and the water was a lustrous blue.

  “‘A necklace for a King,’ the poet Lorend once said.”

  “It is a beautiful city,” Dannyl agreed.

  “Full of beautiful people,” Errend added. “Come inside. I will introduce them to you.”

  Another arched facade stood before them, the grandest Dannyl had yet seen. The arches were several times the height of a man, low at each side, and soaring high at the center. Behind the tallest arch a doorless entrance offered access to the Palace.

  Six stiff-backed guards eyed Dannyl as he followed Errend into a cavernous room. The interior was vast and airy. Fountains and stone sculptures had been placed at intervals along either side, and arched doorways between them led to further rooms and corridors. Plants draped from alcoves in the walls or sprouted from huge pots standing on the stone floor.

  Errend started down the center of the room. Groups of men and women stood or strolled about, some with children. All were dressed in sumptuous clothing. As Dannyl passed they examined him with curiosity, the closest bowing gracefully.

  He glimpsed Guild robes here and there: women in green, men in red or purple. To the magicians who looked his way and nodded, he inclined his head politely in return. Guards dressed in uniform stood at every doorway, watching all attentively. Individual musicians wandered about, playing stringed instruments and singing quietly. A messenger raced by, his face shining with sweat.

  At the end of the hall, Errend passed through another arch into a smaller room. Opposite the arch stood a pair of doors decorated with the Elyne King’s mark: a fish leaping over a bunch of grapes. A guard bearing the same mark on his breastplate stepped forward to ask for Dannyl’s name.

  “Lord Dannyl, Second Guild Ambassador for Elyne,” Errend replied.

  It does sound grand, Dannyl thought. He felt a stirring of excitement as he followed Errend across the room. Two courtiers were shooed off a large cushioned bench, and the guard indicated the magicians should sit. Errend settled down with a sigh.

  “This is where we wait,” he said.

  “How long?”

  “As long as it takes. Our names will be whispered to the King as soon as he finishes with his current audience. If he wishes to see us straightaway, we will be called. If he doesn’t,” Errend shrugged and waved at the people in the room, “we wait our turn, or we go home.”

  Feminine voices and laughter filled the room. A group of women sitting on a bench opposite Dannyl’s was listening to the murmuring of a brightly dressed musician sitting cross-legged on the floor at their feet. An instrument lay across the man’s knees, and he was running his fingers across the strings to produce an idle trickle of notes. As Dannyl watched, the man turned to croon something to one of the women, and she put a hand to her mouth to cove
r her smile.

  As if sensing that he was being watched, the man looked up and met Dannyl’s gaze. He rose in one graceful movement and began plucking at the strings, coaxing out a melody. To Dannyl’s amusement, what he’d assumed was a shirt was actually a strange belted costume with a short skirt, and the musician’s legs were covered in brightly painted yellow and green stockings.

  “A man in a robe. A man in a robe.

  The man in the robe, is in our abode.”

  The musician danced across the room, stopping in front of the bench. Bending slightly, the musician crossed his eyes at Dannyl.

  “A man in a dress. A man in a dress.

  The man in the dress, will cause him distress.”

  Unsure how to react to this, Dannyl looked questioningly at Errend. The Ambassador was watching with bored tolerance. The musician spun about and struck a dramatic pose.

  “A man with a belly. A man with a belly…”

  The musician paused and sniffed the air.

  “…the man with the belly, has a nice smelly.”

  Errend’s mouth twitched into a half-smile as a scattering of laughter came from around them. The musician bowed, then spun on his heel and raced back across the room to the women.

  “In Capia my lover has red, red hair, and eyes like the deepest sea,” he sang in a sweet, rich voice. “In Tol-Gan my lover has strong, strong arms and she winds them both around me.”

  Dannyl chuckled. “I’ve heard another version of this song sung by Vindo sailors, but it would not be at all acceptable to the ears of those young ladies.”

  “No doubt the song you heard was the original, sweetened here for the court,” Errend replied.

  The musician presented his instrument to one of the ladies with great ceremony, then began performing backflips. “What a strange man,” Dannyl said.

  “He practices the art of flattery with the aim to insult.” Errend waved a hand dismissively. “Just ignore him. Unless, of course, you do find him entertaining.”

  “I do, though I’m not sure why.”

  “You’ll get over it. He once—”

  “The Guild Ambassadors for Elyne,” boomed the voice of the King’s guard.

  Errend rose and strode across the room, Dannyl following a step behind. The guard gestured for them to wait, then disappeared behind the door.

  Dannyl heard Errend’s title called, then his own. There was a pause, then the guard returned and ushered them through.

  The audience chamber was smaller than the previous room. Two tables stood on either side, and at them sat several men of middle to late years—the King’s advisers. In the center was another table, with documents, books, and a plate of sweets arranged on it. Behind this central table, in a large cushioned chair, sat the King. Two magicians stood behind him, their watchful eyes noting every movement in the room.

  Following Errend’s example, Dannyl stopped and dropped to one knee. It had been many years since he had knelt before a King—and he had been only a child, brought to the Kyralian court with his father as a rare treat. As a magician, he took it for granted that all but other magicians would bow to him. Though he did not feel a great desire to have people make such an obeisance to him, if they didn’t he felt oddly slighted, as if common courtesy had been breached. Gestures of respect were important even if just for the sake of good manners.

  But to kneel before another was humbling, and that was an emotion he was unused to experiencing. He could not help thinking how satisfying it must be for a King at these moments, to be one of only a few people in the Allied Lands who magicians would genuflect to.

  “Rise.”

  Standing again, Dannyl looked up to find the King examining him with interest. At over fifty years of age, Marend’s reddish-brown hair was streaked with white. His gaze, however, was alert and intelligent.

  “Welcome to Elyne, Ambassador Dannyl.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “How was your journey?”

  Dannyl considered. “Good winds. No storms. Pleasantly uneventful.”

  The man chuckled. “You sound like a sailor, Ambassador Dannyl.”

  “It was an educational voyage.”

  “And how do you plan to spend your time in Elyne?”

  “When I am not dealing with the issues and requests that come my way, I shall explore the city and surrounds. I am particularly looking forward to seeing the Great Library.”

  “Of course,” the King smiled. “Magicians seem to have a limitless hunger for knowledge. Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador Dannyl. I’m sure we will encounter each other again. You may go.”

  Dannyl inclined his head respectfully, then followed Errend to a door on one side. They entered a smaller room, where several guards stood, talking quietly. Another man in uniform ushered them through a second door into a corridor, which led to one of the side doors of the large room they had first entered.

  “Well,” Errend said. “That was quick and not very exciting, but he’s had a good look at you now, and that was the point of this little trip. Now, I’m going to leave you here. Don’t worry. I’ve arranged for somebody to—ah, here they come.”

  Two women approached. They bowed with dignity as Errend introduced them. Dannyl nodded in reply, smiling as he remembered some particularly interesting gossip he had unearthed about these sisters.

  As the elder sister hooked her hand under Dannyl’s arm, Errend smiled and excused himself. The sisters then led Dannyl about the room, introducing him to several famous Elyne courtiers. Soon Dannyl had put faces to many of the names he’d memorized.

  All of these courtiers seemed genuinely eager to meet him, and he found himself feeling almost uneasy about their interest. Finally, as the sun began to send long beams of light into the room and he saw others leaving, Dannyl decided he could excuse himself without appearing rude. Once he had extracted himself from the sisters, he started toward the Palace entrance but before he reached it a man stepped out and addressed him.

  “Ambassador Dannyl?” The man was thin, his hair cut very short, and his clothes were a dark green that was somber compared to the colors of the rest of the Elyne court.

  Dannyl nodded. “Yes?”

  “I am Dem Agerralin.” The man bowed. “How was your first day at court?”

  The man’s name was familiar, but Dannyl could not remember why. “Pleasant and entertaining, Dem. I have made many new acquaintances.”

  “But I see you are on your way home.” Dem Agerralin took a step back. “I will make you late.”

  Suddenly Dannyl recalled where he’d heard the name before. Dem Agerralin was the man of “dubious associations” that Errend had spoken of. Dannyl looked closer. The Dem was a man in his middle years, he guessed. There was nothing obviously remarkable about him.

  “I am in no hurry,” Dannyl said.

  Dem Agerralin smiled. “Ah, that is good. There is a question I wish to ask you, if you will allow me.”

  “Of course.”

  “It is a private matter.”

  Intrigued, Dannyl indicated that the man should continue. The Dem seemed to consider his words, then made an apologetic gesture.

  “There is little that escapes the notice of the Elyne court and, as you might have guessed already, we have a fascination for the Guild and magicians. We are all very curious about you.”

  “I have noticed.”

  “So it should not surprise you that certain rumors have reached us about you.”

  A chill prickled Dannyl’s skin. He carefully schooled his expression to one of surprise and puzzlement.

  “Rumors?”

  “Yes. Old ones, but ones that I and a few others have had cause to recall and reconsider since we learned you were coming to live in Capia. Do not be alarmed, my friend. Such matters are not considered as, ah, taboo here as they are in Kyralia, though it is not always wise to be too public about it. We are all very curious about you, so may I be so bold as to ask if those rumors had any truth to them
?”

  The man’s tone was hopeful. Dannyl realized that he was staring at the man in disbelief, and forced himself to look away. If a courtier asked such a question in Kyralia, it might start a scandal that could ruin a man’s honor and lower the standing of his House. In response, Dannyl ought to be outraged, and let the Dem know that such questions were inappropriate.

  But the anger and bitterness he’d once felt toward Fergun for circulating such rumors had faded since the Warrior had been punished for blackmailing Sonea. And besides, though he had not found himself a wife to forever dispel those lingering suspicions, the Higher Magicians had still chosen him to be a Guild Ambassador.

  Dannyl considered how he should reply. He was wary of offending the man. The Elynes must be less reserved than Kyralians, but how much? Ambassador Errend had called Dem Agerralin a man of “dubious associations.” In any case, it would be foolish to make an enemy on his first day at court.

  “I see,” Dannyl said slowly. “I think I know the rumor you refer to. It seems I will never shake that one, though it’s been ten—no, fifteen—years since it started. The Guild, as you must know, is a very conservative place, which is why the novice who circulated that rumor knew it would cause me great difficulties with my peers. He was prone to making up all manner of stories about me.”

  The man nodded, his shoulders dropping. “I see. Well, please forgive me for bringing up a painful subject. I had noted that the former novice you speak of is now living in the mountains—a fort, I believe. We had wondered about that one as well, since the one who denounces loudest is often most likely…”

  Dem Agerralin let his sentence hang as a man drew near. Looking up, Dannyl was surprised to see Tayend approaching. Once again, he was impressed by the scholar’s striking appearance. Dressed in dark blue, his red-blond hair tied back, Tayend looked very much at place in the court. The scholar bowed gracefully, then smiled at them both.

  “Ambassador Dannyl, Dem Agerralin.” Tayend inclined his head to both of them. “How are you, Dem?”

  “Well,” the man replied. “And you? We haven’t seen you at court for a while, young Tremmelin.”