—And so that you could continue your research despite Lorlen’s orders.
It was not a question. Dannyl was surprised at the relief he felt. If Akkarin had heard rumors about Tayend and…but he quickly turned his thoughts from that.
—Yes, he confirmed, deliberately thinking of the Tomb of White Tears and the mystery of the Charkan King. I continued out of my own interest. Lorlen did not indicate that I shouldn’t.
—Clearly your duties as Ambassador are not overly time consuming.
Dannyl winced. There was a definite feeling of disapproval behind Akkarin’s communication. Was he simply concerned that Dannyl was spending too much time on research or did he resent that another magician was continuing work he had abandoned? Or was he annoyed that someone was tracing a part of his own past? Does he have something to hide?
—I want to discuss what you have found in person. Return to the Guild at once, and bring your notes with you.
Surprised, Dannyl hesitated before asking:
—What of the rest of my journey to visit the Dems?
—You will return to complete your duties afterward.
—Very well…I will have to—
—Report to me when you arrive.
A tone of dismissal told Dannyl that the conversation was over. He opened his eyes and cursed.
“What happened?” Tayend asked.
“That was Ak—the High Lord.”
Tayend’s eyes widened. “What did he say?”
“He has learned about our research.” Dannyl sighed. “I don’t think he’s happy about it. He ordered me to return.”
“Return…to the Guild?”
“Yes. With our notes.”
Tayend stared at him in dismay, then his expression hardened.
“How did he find out?”
“I don’t know.” How had he? Remembering the tale of Akkarin’s ability to read unwilling minds, Dannyl shivered again. There was a moment there, when I thought of Tayend…did he detect anything?
“I’ll go with you,” Tayend said.
“No,” Dannyl said quickly, alarmed. “Believe me, you don’t want to be dragged into this.”
“But—”
“No, Tayend. Better he doesn’t learn how much you know.” Dannyl tapped the flanks of his horse with his heels, urging it into a trot. He thought of the long weeks of riding and sailing that lay between this day and facing Akkarin. He ought to wish he could delay that moment, but instead he wanted to hurry toward it because one thought bothered him more than any other.
What would happen to Tayend if Akkarin took exception to Dannyl continuing his research? Would the High Lord’s disapproval extend to the scholar? Could Tayend lose access to the Great Library?
Dannyl did not care what consequences he might suffer, so long as Tayend was not affected. Whatever happened, Dannyl would make sure the blame rested entirely with himself.
The garden seat was warm. Putting down her box, Sonea closed her eyes and enjoyed the heat of the sun on her face. She could hear the chatter of other novices, and the deeper voices of older magicians, coming nearer.
Opening her eyes, she watched as several Healers strolled down the path toward her. She recognized a few as younger graduates. They burst into laughter, then as the two at the front of the group stepped apart Sonea glimpsed a familiar face.
Dorrien!
Her heart skipped. Standing up, she hurried along one of the side paths, hoping he hadn’t seen her. She moved into a small area surrounded by hedges, and sat down on another garden seat.
She had forced Dorrien out of her thoughts, knowing that it would be months, possibly more than a year, before he visited the Guild again. But here he was only a few months after he had left. Why had he come back so soon? Had Rothen told him about Akkarin? Surely not. But perhaps he had unintentionally given Dorrien the feeling that something wasn’t right during one of their mental conversations.
She frowned. Whatever the reason, Dorrien would probably seek her out. She would have to tell him she was no longer interested in him as anything more than a friend. Now that was a conversation she would have to prepare herself for.
“Sonea.”
She jumped and looked up to find Dorrien standing in the entrance of the little garden.
“Dorrien!” She fought down panic. He must have seen her, and followed. At least she hadn’t needed to feign surprise. “You’re back already!”
He smiled and moved into the garden. “Just for a week. Didn’t Father tell you?”
“No…but we don’t see much of each other now.”
“So he said.” His smile disappeared. Sitting down, he regarded her questioningly. “He tells me you’re attending lessons at night, and spend most of your time studying.”
“Only because I’m a hopeless Warrior.”
“Not from what I’ve heard.”
She frowned. “What have you heard?”
“That you’ve been fighting several novices at once, and winning.”
Sonea winced.
“Or have I got the winning part wrong?”
“How many people know about this?”
“Most.”
Sonea cradled her head in her hands, and groaned. Dorrien chuckled and patted her lightly on the shoulder.
“Regin is at the head of this, isn’t he?”
“Of course.”
“Why hasn’t your new guardian done anything about it?”
Sonea shrugged. “I don’t think he knows. I don’t want him to know.”
“I see.” Dorrien nodded. “I suppose if Akkarin came to your rescue all the time, people would say you weren’t a good choice. The novices are all jealous of you, not realizing that they would be in the same situation if they were the High Lord’s favorite, even if they are from the Houses. Any novice he chose would be a target. Always expected to prove themselves.”
He fell silent, and she could see from his expression that he was thinking hard. “So it’s up to you to stop these novices.”
She laughed bitterly. “I don’t think baiting Regin will make any difference this time.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that.”
“So what were you thinking?”
Dorrien smiled. “You have to prove you are the best. That you can beat him at his own game. What have you done so far to get him back?”
“Nothing. I can’t do anything. There are too many of them.”
“There must be novices who don’t like him,” he pointed out. “Persuade them to help you.”
“Nobody talks to me at all now.”
“Even now? I’m surprised. Surely some have seen an advantage in being a friend of the High Lord’s favorite.”
“I wouldn’t want their company if that’s all they wanted from me.”
“But so long as you know that is the reason they’re around, why not take advantage of the situation?”
“Perhaps because Regin arranged an accident for the last novice who did.”
Dorrien frowned. “Hmmm, I remember that now. Something else, then.” He fell silent again. Sonea struggled with a vague feeling of disappointment. She had hoped Dorrien would find some inventive way to end Regin’s ambushes, but perhaps the problem was beyond him this time.
“I think what Regin needs,” he said suddenly, “is a thorough, public beating.”
Sonea’s heart stopped. “You’re not going to—”
“Not from me. From you.”
“Me?”
“You are stronger than him, aren’t you? Quite a bit stronger, if the rumors are true.”
“Well, yes,” Sonea admitted. “That’s why he gets so many others to help him.”
“Then challenge him. A formal challenge. In the Arena.”
“A formal challenge?” She stared at him. “You mean…fight him in front of everybody?”
“Yes.”
“But…” She remembered something Lord Skoran had said. “There hasn’t been one for over fifty years—and it was between two a
dult magicians, not novices.”
“There’s no rule against novices making formal challenges.” Dorrien shrugged. “Of course, it is a risk. If you lose, the harassment will probably get worse. But if you’re so much stronger than him, how can you lose?”
“‘Skill can overcome strength,’” Sonea quoted.
“True, but you’re not unskilled.”
“I’ve never beaten him before.”
Dorrien’s eyebrow rose. “But if you are as strong as they say, your powers will have been limited in class, am I right?”
She nodded.
“They won’t be in a formal battle.”
Sonea felt a tiny spark of hope and excitement. “Is that so?”
“Yes. The idea is for the combatants to face each other as they are, no restraints or enhancements. It’s a ridiculous way to solve a dispute, really. No battle ever proved a man—or a woman—right or wrong.”
“But that’s not what this is about,” Sonea said slowly. “This is about persuading Regin that it’s not worth bothering me. Once he’s suffered a humiliating defeat, he won’t want to risk another.”
“You’ve got the idea.” Dorrien smiled. “Make your challenge as public as possible. He will be forced to accept it or dishonor his family name. Give him the most public thrashing you can bring yourself to deal out to the stupid boy. If he harasses you afterward, challenge him again. He’ll give you no reason to keep putting him in such a position.”
“Nobody else gets dragged into it,” Sonea breathed. “No one will get hurt and I won’t have to wheedle myself into any false friendships.”
“Oh, yes, you will,” he said soberly. “You’ll still need those supporters. He might decide that people will admire his determination if he fights you over and over, in search of a way to beat you. Gather other novices around yourself, Sonea.”
“But…”
“But?”
She sighed. “I’m not like that, Dorrien. I don’t want to be the leader of some petty gang.”
“That’s fine.” He smiled. “You don’t have to be like Regin. Just be enjoyable company, which you shouldn’t have any difficulty with. I think your company is very enjoyable.”
She looked away. I should say something to put him off now, she thought. But she could not think of anything. Looking at him again, she saw a wary, disappointed expression on his face, and realized she had told him enough by not saying anything.
He smiled, but this time there was no twinkle in his eyes. “What else have you been up to?”
“Not much. How is Rothen?”
“He misses you terribly. You know he considers you like a daughter, don’t you? It was hard enough on him when I left, but he knew I was going and had got used to the idea by the time it happened. With you, it was a bigger shock.”
Sonea nodded. “For both of us.”
Entering the classroom, Rothen directed the two volunteers toward the demonstration table. As the novices set down their burdens, he unlocked the supply cupboard and checked that there were enough utensils for the next class.
“Lord Rothen,” one of the boys said.
Looking up, Rothen followed the boy’s gaze toward the door. His heart skipped as he saw who was standing there.
“Lord Rothen,” Lorlen said. “I wish to speak to you in private.”
Rothen nodded. “Of course, Administrator.” He looked at the two novices and nodded toward the door. They hurried out of the room, pausing to bow to Lorlen.
As the door closed behind them, Lorlen strolled forward to the window, his expression taut and worried. Rothen watched him, knowing that only something very important would have brought the Administrator to him in defiance of Akkarin’s order that they not talk to each other.
Or had something happened to Sonea? Rothen felt dread rising. Had Lorlen come to bring the awful news, knowing that it would free him to confront Akkarin?
“A short time ago I saw your son in the garden,” Lorlen began. “Is he visiting for long?”
Rothen closed his eyes, relieved. This was about Dorrien, not Sonea.
“A week,” he replied.
“He was with Sonea.” Lorlen frowned. “Did they become…familiar when Dorrien visited last?”
Rothen drew in a sharp breath. He had guessed—and hoped—that Dorrien’s interest in Sonea had been more than just curiosity. From Lorlen’s question, enough was apparent between the pair for the Administrator to suspect something more. Rothen might have been pleased, but instead he felt only alarm. What would Akkarin do if he discovered this?
Rothen chose his words carefully. “Dorrien knows that it will be many years before Sonea is free to leave the Guild—and that she may not want to join him when that time comes.”
Lorlen nodded. “He may need a little more discouragement than that.”
“With Dorrien, discouragement is often taken as encouragement,” Rothen said wryly.
The look that Lorlen gave him was humorless. “You’re his father,” he snapped. “You of all people should know how to convince him.”
Rothen looked away. “I don’t want him involved in this any more than you do.”
Lorlen sighed and looked down at his hands. He wore a ring, and the ruby in the setting glittered in the light. “I’m sorry, Rothen. We have enough to worry about. I trust you will do everything you can. Do you think Sonea will see the danger and turn him away?”
“Yes.” Of course she would. Rothen felt a pang of sympathy for his son. Poor Dorrien! He would have half-expected Sonea to lose interest anyway, considering the years of study ahead of her and his long absences. But if Dorrien knew the real reason, it would probably drive him to do something foolish. Better that he didn’t know.
How did Sonea feel about this? Was it difficult to turn Dorrien away? Rothen sighed. How he wished he could ask her.
Lorlen moved to the door. “Thank you, Rothen. I will leave you to your preparations.”
Rothen nodded and watched the Administrator leave. Though he understood Lorlen’s resigned manner, he resented it. You’re supposed to find a way out of this, he thought at the man’s back. Then resentment changed to a feeling of hopelessness.
If Lorlen couldn’t find a way, then who could?
It’s still late, Sonea thought fuzzily. Not long past midnight. Why am I awake? Did something wake me…?
A faint chill touched her cheek. A breeze. Opening her eyes, she took a moment to register the square of darkness where there should have been a door. Something pale moved within that darkness. A hand.
By the next heartbeat she was completely awake. A pale oval floated above the hand. Otherwise, he was invisible in his black robes.
What is he doing? Why is he here?
Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She forced her breathing to slow and stay even, afraid of what he might do if he realized she was awake and aware of him. For an excruciatingly long time he stood there. Then, between one blink and the next, he was gone and the door was closed.
She stared at the door. Had it been a dream?
Better to believe it was. The alternative was too frightening. Yes, it must have been a nightmare…
When she woke next it was morning. The memory of dreams filled with dark figures and foreboding had joined the one of the night watcher, and she dismissed them all as she rose and dressed in her robes.
35
The Challenge
At first glance there was nothing wrong, but when Sonea looked closely she saw that the chemical in one vial was cloudy and the other’s contents had dried into a brown lump. The intricate arrangement of rods and weights in the timer was a shambles.
From the doorway behind her Sonea heard a low and familiar chuckle, followed by half-smothered sniggers. She straightened, but did not turn around.
After her conversation with Dorrien she had been full of confidence and ready to challenge Regin at the first opportunity, but as the day had continued, doubts had begun to grow. Every time she had thoug
ht about actually fighting Regin, the idea had seemed less brilliant and more foolish. Warrior Skills was Regin’s best subject, and her worst. She would never see the end of his harassment if she lost. It was not worth the risk.
By the end of the week, she had decided it was the worst move she could make. If she put up with him long enough, he might grow bored with her. She could endure being called names or being waylaid and tormented outside classes.
But not this. As she considered the ruin that was left of her work she felt a dark fury begin to simmer. When Regin did something like this, even if the teachers didn’t penalize her for failing an exercise, he stopped her from learning. And when he stopped her from learning, he lessened the chances that she might, one day, be skilled enough to help the Guild defeat Akkarin.
She felt something shift inside as her fury grew stronger. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to blast Regin into ashes.
“Give him the most public thrashing you can bring yourself to deal out to the stupid boy. If he harasses you afterward, challenge him again. He’ll give you no reason to keep putting him in such a position.”
A formal battle. It was a risk. But waiting was a gamble, too. He might never grow bored and leave her alone. And she didn’t like waiting…
“Make your challenge as public as possible.”
Slowly, she turned to see that Regin and the novices from the earlier class were standing in the doorway, watching her. Walking toward them, she pushed her way through and out of the classroom. Novices and teachers filled the corridor outside. The buzz of voices was loud, but not too loud for a single voice to be heard above it. A magician in purple robes appeared, heading toward the classroom. Lord Sarrin, Head of Alchemy. Perfect.
“What’s wrong, Sonea?” Regin sneered. “Didn’t your experiment work?”
Sonea spun about to face Regin.
“Regin, of the family Winar, House Paren, I challenge you to a formal battle in the Arena.”
Regin’s face froze into open-mouthed surprise.
Silence seemed to spread outward like smoke. In the edges of her vision, Sonea saw faces turning in her direction. Even Lord Sarrin had stopped. She forced aside a nagging feeling that she had just done something she would always regret. Too late now.
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