The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

  But I can’t leave. Frustrated, she wondered if it would be worth stealing something just to annoy him.

  She jumped then, as she realized that Akkarin’s servant was standing beside her. Disturbed that she had not heard him approaching, she watched as he poured wine into her glass, then moved around the table to perform the same service for Akkarin.

  Since she left her room early, and returned late, she had only glimpsed the servant a few times. Now, looking closer, she shivered as she realized she had seen him before, in the underground room, helping Akkarin perform the black magic ritual.

  “How were your lessons today, Sonea?”

  Startled, she looked at Akkarin, then quickly evaded his eyes.

  “Interesting, High Lord.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “About magician-designed architecture. Lord Loren’s designs.”

  “Ah, Lord Loren. Your investigation of the University passages must have familiarized you with some of his peculiarities.”

  She kept her eyes lowered. So he knew about her exploration of the University. Had he watched her? Followed her? Despite Lord Larkin’s assurances that she had not ventured anywhere forbidden to novices, she felt her face warming. Taking her glass, she sipped at the wine. It was sweet and strong.

  “How are your classes with Lord Yikmo going?”

  She winced. What should she say? Disappointing? Awful? Humiliating?

  “You don’t like the Warrior Skills.”

  It was a statement. She decided she didn’t need to reply. Instead, she took another mouthful of wine.

  “Warrior Skills are important. They draw on everything that you learn in the other disciplines, then challenge your understanding of them. Only in battle do you find the limits of your strength, knowledge and Control. It is a pity Rothen neglected to arrange extra training when you first showed a weakness in this part of your education.”

  Sonea felt a stab of hurt and anger at his criticism of Rothen. “I guess he saw no need for it,” she replied. “We’re not at war, or under any threat of it.”

  One of Akkarin’s long fingers tapped the base of his glass.

  “Do you think it is wise to throw away all our knowledge of war during times of peace?”

  Sonea shook her head, suddenly wishing she hadn’t volunteered an opinion. “No.”

  “Then shouldn’t we preserve our knowledge and keep ourselves well practiced in its use?”

  “Yes, but…” She paused. Why am I arguing with him?

  “But?” he prompted.

  “You don’t need every magician to do it.”

  “Don’t we?”

  She cursed silently. Why was he even bothering to discuss this with her? He didn’t care if she was good at Warrior Skills. He just wanted her occupied and out of his way.

  “Perhaps Rothen neglected that part of your training because you are a woman.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps he was right. In the last five years the few young women who considered becoming Warriors were persuaded otherwise. Do you think that is fair?”

  She frowned at this question. He knew that she did not want to join the Warriors, so he could only be asking in an effort to draw her into conversation. If she cooperated, would this lead into dangerous territory? Should she refuse to talk to him?

  Before she could decide whether to answer or not, the door behind Akkarin opened and Takan entered carrying a large tray. A delicious smell followed him to the table. The servant placed bowls and plates in a line between her and Akkarin, then put the tray under his arm and began to describe each dish.

  Sonea’s stomach stirred with hunger. At each savory breath the knots within it untied.

  “Thank you, Takan,” Akkarin murmured as the servant finished. Takan bowed. As he left, Akkarin picked up a serving ladle and began to select from the dishes.

  From a few formal meals with Rothen, Sonea knew that this was the traditional way the Kyralian Houses entertained guests. In the slums, food was eaten with little preparation, and the only utensils used were the knives each person carried. The uniquely Kyralian tradition of serving food in small, bite-sized pieces required more preparation, and the more formal the meal, the more elaborate the food and utensils for eating it.

  Fortunately, Rothen had made her memorize the purposes of all the different forks, ladles, tweezers and skewers. If Akkarin had thought he would humble her by drawing attention to her lack of “proper” upbringing, then he would be disappointed.

  She helped herself to the dishes, first ladling onto her plate some of the rassook pieces wrapped in brasi leaves. As she skewered a piece with her fork and placed it between her teeth, she realized Akkarin had paused to watch her.

  A delicious flavor filled her mouth. Surprised, she ate another. Soon her plate was empty, and she was eyeing the next dish.

  As she sampled each of the dishes, she forgot all else. Slivers of fish were served in a tangy, red marin sauce. Mysterious parcels were stuffed with herbs and harrel mince. Large purple crots, beans she had always hated, were coated with a salty crumb that made them irresistible.

  She had never tasted food so delicious. The meals in the University had always been good, and she had listened to the other novices’ complaints in disbelief. This meal, however, explained how they could find the Foodhall wanting.

  At Takan’s return, she looked up and discovered Akkarin watching her, his chin resting on one hand. Averting her eyes, she watched Takan gather the empty plates and bowls, then carry them away.

  “What did you think of the food?”

  Sonea nodded. “Good.”

  “Takan is an excellent cook.”

  “He made all this himself?” She could not hide the surprise in her voice.

  “Yes, though he has an assistant to stir the pots for him.”

  Takan returned with two bowls, which he set in front of them. Looking down, Sonea felt her mouth water. Pale crescents of pachi fruit glistened in a thick syrup. The first mouthful revealed a sweetness sharpened with an alcoholic tang. She ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Meals like this might be worth suffering his company for, she thought.

  “I want you to dine here with me every Firstday night.”

  Sonea froze. Had he read her mind? Or was this what he had intended all along?

  “But I have evening classes,” she protested.

  “Takan is aware of the time allowed for the evening meal. You will not miss your lessons.”

  She looked down at the empty bowl.

  “But you will miss your class tonight, if I keep you any longer,” he added. “You are dismissed, Sonea.”

  Relieved, she all but leapt out of the chair, then put a hand on the table to steady herself as her head began to spin. Still a little dizzy, she bowed, then headed for the door.

  Pausing in the corridor to catch her balance, she heard a murmur from the room behind her.

  “Less wine next time, Takan.”

  “It was the dessert, master.”

  25

  Turning Up in Odd Places

  Catching sight of Narron and Trassia heading toward the next class, Sonea sighed. For once she wished she was joining them, but only half of her schedule matched theirs now. Her destination for the morning was a small room deep within the University passages where Lord Yikmo was waiting to give her another Warrior Skills lesson.

  Turning from the main corridor into a side passage, she walked slowly, feeling a gloom descend over her. The Arena was occupied for all daytime classes, so Yikmo held his lessons in a magically protected room within the University. Only small surges of magic were used, in complicated games that were supposed to sharpen her wits and reflexes.

  Turning another corner, she all but collided with a magician. Keeping her eyes down, she started to mutter an apology.

  “Sonea!”

  Recognizing the voice, she looked up at Rothen and felt her heart skip. At once, they both glanced over their shoulders. The passage
was empty.

  “It’s good to see you.” He gazed at her searchingly, his face creasing with lines she could not remember having noticed before. “How are you?”

  She shrugged. “Still around.”

  He nodded, his expression grim. “How is he treating you?”

  “I hardly see him.” She grimaced. “Too many classes. I think that’s what he intended.”

  She looked over her shoulder again as she heard distant footsteps drawing near.

  “I have to go. Lord Yikmo is expecting me.”

  “Of course.” He hesitated. “According to my schedule, I’m teaching your class tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” She smiled slyly. “I guess it would seem strange if the High Lord’s novice wasn’t taught by the Guild’s best chemistry teacher.”

  His face smoothed a little, but he didn’t smile. Forcing herself to turn away, she continued down the corridor. She heard no footsteps behind her, and knew he was watching her go.

  He looks different, she thought as she turned into another passage. So much older. Or has he always looked old, but I didn’t notice? Without warning, tears sprang into her eyes. Stopping, she leaned against a wall, blinking furiously. Not here! Not now! I must get control of myself! She drew a long, ragged breath and slowly let it out, then another.

  A gong rang out, the sound vibrating through the wall behind her. Hoping her eyes weren’t red, she hurried down the passage. As she came in sight of the door of Yikmo’s room, it opened and, catching a glimpse of a black sleeve, Sonea skidded to a halt.

  No. I can’t face him. Not now. Dashing back around the last turn, she hurried down the passage to where it intersected with another, then ducked out of sight. Turning, she peered back around the corner. She could hear the murmur of familiar voices, but she could not hear what they were saying.

  “Well, well. This is interesting.”

  Spinning around, Sonea found Regin standing in the opposite passage, his arms crossed. “I thought you’d be following your guardian around, not hiding from him.”

  She felt her face warming. “What are you doing here, Regin?”

  He smiled. “Oh, I just happened along.”

  “Why aren’t you in class?”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  She shook her head. This was pointless. “Why am I wasting my time talking to you?”

  “Because he’s still there,” Regin said, smiling slyly. “And you’re too scared to face him.”

  She regarded him carefully, weighing up possible responses. He would not believe a denial, and saying nothing would only confirm his suspicions.

  “Scared?” She snorted. “No more than you.”

  “Really?” He took a step closer. “What are you waiting for then? The gong has rung. You’re late, and your guardian is around to notice. So why are you still delaying? Or perhaps I should call out and let him know you’re hiding down here.”

  She glared at him. Would he? Probably, if he thought it would get her in trouble. Yet if she left now, she would be giving in to his goading.

  Better to give in than to have him call out to Akkarin. Rolling her eyes, she turned on her heel and stalked down the passage. As she neared the end, a black figure strode past the passage entrance and she froze.

  To her relief, Akkarin didn’t notice her. He walked past and she heard his footsteps fading as he continued along the corridor. She heard a chuckle of satisfaction from behind. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Regin watching her, smiling.

  She turned away and stepped into the corridor. Why was he so interested in whether she was scared of Akkarin or not? She shook her head. Of course, any sign that she was unhappy would give him pleasure.

  But why hadn’t he been in class? What reason could he possibly have for being in this part of the University?

  Surely he hadn’t been following her…

  A gust of cold air greeted Lorlen as he opened the door to his office. The draft picked up a number of messages that had been slipped under the door for him and blew them out into the corridor. Seeing the number of them, he sighed and swept them inside again with a little magic.

  Closing the door, he stomped across the room to his desk.

  “You’re not in the best mood today.”

  Jumping at the voice, Lorlen cast around for the owner. Akkarin was sitting in one of the chairs, his dark eyes reflecting the light diffused by the window screens.

  How did he get in here? Lorlen stared at Akkarin, tempted to demand an explanation. But the temptation faded as the High Lord returned his stare. Looking away, Lorlen concentrated on the messages scattered around the floor. He sent them fluttering across the room and into his hand, then sorted through them.

  “What’s bothering you, my friend?”

  Lorlen shrugged. “Peakin and Davin are still at each other’s throats, Garrel wants me to allow Regin to resume lessons with Balkan, and Jerrik just passed on another request from Tya for an assistant.”

  “All within your ability to solve, Administrator.”

  Lorlen snorted at the use of his title. “What would you have me do, High Lord?” he asked mockingly.

  Akkarin chuckled. “You know our little family better than I, Lorlen.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Say ‘yes’ to Garrel, ‘no’ to Lady Tya, and as for Davin…his idea that we rebuild the Lookout so he can observe the weather is interesting. The Guild hasn’t built anything for a long time, and a lookout tower has military value—which would please Captain Arin. He’s been trying to persuade me to rebuild the Outer Wall since he became Military Adviser to the King.”

  Lorlen frowned. “Surely you’re not serious. A project like that would be expensive and time-consuming. Our time would be better spent…” Lorlen paused. “Did you say ‘yes’ to Garrel? Would you have Regin’s punishment for attacking Sonea ended six months early?”

  Akkarin shrugged. “Do you really think he’ll cause Sonea trouble now? The boy has talent. It is a shame to waste it.”

  Lorlen nodded slowly. “It would…reduce the sting of having his adversary favored by the High Lord.”

  “Balkan would agree.”

  Placing the messages on his desk, Lorlen moved to his seat. “But this isn’t what you came to see me about, is it?”

  Akkarin’s long fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. “No.” His eyes were thoughtful. “Is there any way we can take Rothen from Sonea’s Second Year schedule without the change looking suspicious?”

  Lorlen sighed. “Must we?”

  Akkarin’s expression darkened. “Yes. We must.”

  The scrape of her dragging footsteps echoed in the passage. The morning lesson with Lord Yikmo had been a disaster. Her encounters with Rothen and Regin had also left her feeling too edgy and distracted for memorizing plant names in medicines, and too tired to grasp the evening mathematics lesson.

  All things considered, it had been a day she would be happy to see end.

  Remembering Regin’s smug expression, she wondered again what he had concluded. Perhaps he simply enjoyed the thought that she was unhappy about her change of guardian.

  So what? she thought. So long as he leaves me alone, I don’t care what he thinks.

  But would he leave her alone? If he decided she was too scared of Akkarin to report his harassment, he might start bothering her again. He would have to be careful to do it when other magicians wouldn’t see, however…

  Only a blurred movement in the corner of her eye warned her. She had no time to dodge away. An arm wrapped around her neck, the other around her waist. The attacker’s momentum spun them both around, but the arm about her neck did not loosen.

  She struggled, but quickly realized that her attacker was too strong for her. Then a trick Cery had taught her flashed into her mind. The memory was so vivid, she could almost hear Cery’s voice…

  If someone does this, brace your legs—that’s right—then reach back and…

  She felt the man toppling and gave a short laugh of satisfaction as he f
ell to the floor. He did not sprawl on his face, however, but nimbly rolled aside and sprang to his feet. Alarmed, she backed away, groping for a knife that wasn’t…then she stopped and stared at her attacker in surprise.

  Lord Yikmo looked strangely unfamiliar in ordinary clothing. A plain sleeveless shirt revealed surprisingly muscular shoulders. He crossed his arms and nodded.

  “I thought so.”

  Sonea stared at him, her surprise slowly turning to annoyance.

  The Warrior smiled. “I may have found the source of your problem, Sonea.”

  She swallowed an angry retort. “What is it, then?”

  “From your reaction just now it’s clear that your first response to an attack is physical. You learned that defensive maneuver in the slums, didn’t you?”

  She nodded reluctantly.

  “Did you have a particular trainer?”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “How did you know what to do?”

  “My friends taught me.”

  “Friends? These would be young people, yes? No older trainers?”

  “An old whore once showed me how to use my knife if I was…in a certain situation.”

  His brows rose. “I see. Street fighting. Defensive maneuvers. Little wonder you use it first. It’s what you know best, and you know it works. We have to change that.” He waved a hand, gesturing for her to walk beside him, and started down the passage toward the main corridor.

  “You have to learn to react magically rather than physically,” he told her. “I can devise exercises that will help you do that. I have to warn you, though, this kind of relearning can be quite slow and difficult. Persevere, however, and you’ll be using magic without thinking by the end of the year.”

  She shook her head. “Without thinking? That’s the opposite from what the other teachers say.”

  “Yes. That is because most novices are too eager to use magic. They must be taught restraint. But you are no ordinary novice, and so ordinary teaching methods may be discarded.”