The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

  “So what was so pressing that the High Lord ordered you back to Imardin?” Rothen asked.

  Dannyl regarded Rothen closely. No “how are you?” or “how was your journey?” He might have been annoyed, if it hadn’t been for the disturbing changes in his friend’s appearance.

  Dark shadows hung under Rothen’s eyes. He seemed older, though Dannyl might simply be seeing his friend through eyes less familiar with the deep creases across Rothen’s brow, or the gray in his hair. The slightly hunched, tense way his mentor walked was definitely new, however.

  “I can tell you some of it,” Dannyl said, “but not all. It seems Akkarin learned of my research into ancient magic. He…are you all right, Rothen?”

  Rothen had grown very pale. He looked away. “Was he…offended by my interest?”

  “He wasn’t,” Dannyl assured him, “because he doesn’t know you have any interest in ancient magic. He had learned of my research, and it appears he approves of it. In fact, I have his permission to continue.”

  Rothen stared at Dannyl in surprise. “Then that must mean…”

  “You can write your book without worrying about stepping on his toes,” Dannyl finished.

  From Rothen’s dismissive frown, Dannyl guessed this wasn’t what had surprised his friend.

  “Did he ask you to do anything else?” Rothen asked.

  Dannyl smiled. “That is the part I can’t tell you about. Ambassadorial matters. Nothing too dangerous, however.”

  Rothen regarded Dannyl speculatively, then nodded. “You must be tired,” he said. “I should leave you to unpack and rest.” He moved to the door, then hesitated and turned around again. “Did you get my letter?”

  Here we go, Dannyl thought.

  “Yes.”

  Rothen made an apologetic gesture. “I thought I should warn you in case it stirs up the gossips again.”

  “Of course,” Dannyl said dryly. He paused, surprised at the lack of concern in his own voice.

  “I don’t think it will be a problem,” Rothen added. “If this assistant of yours is what they say he is, that is. People aren’t speculating about you, they just think it’s amusing in light of what you were accused of as a novice.”

  “I see.” Dannyl nodded slowly, then steeled himself for an unpleasant response. “Tayend is a lad, Rothen.”

  “A lad?” Rothen frowned, then his eyes widened with understanding. “So the rumor is true.”

  “Yes. The Elynes are a more tolerant people than Kyralians—most of the time.” Dannyl smiled. “I’m endeavouring to adapt to their ways.”

  Rothen nodded. “Part of the role of Ambassador, I expect. Along with secret meetings with the High Lord.” He smiled for the first time since they had met that day. “But I am keeping you from your unpacking. Why don’t you have dinner with Dorrien and me tonight? He’s returning to his village tomorrow.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Rothen moved to the door again. At a flexing of Dannyl’s will, the door swung open. Rothen stopped, pushed it closed again, and sighed. He turned to stare into Dannyl’s eyes.

  “Be careful, Dannyl,” he said. “Be very careful.”

  Dannyl stared back. “I will,” he assured his friend.

  Rothen nodded. Opening the door again, he stepped out into the corridor. Dannyl watched his friend and mentor walk away.

  And shook his head as he realized he had no idea whether his friend was warning him about his affairs with Tayend, or with Akkarin.

  Epilogue

  The full moon bathed the path to the High Lord’s Residence in blue light. Walking toward the building, Sonea smiled.

  Four weeks had passed since the challenge, and not once had she encountered Regin and his allies in the University passages after class. No sniggers had reached her ears in the corridors and not one of her projects had been ruined.

  Today she had been paired with Hal in Medicines and, after an awkward start, they had started arguing about the right treatment for nailworm. He had told her about a rare plant his father, a village Healer in Lan, used to treat the disease. When she told him that the dwells used tugor mash, left over from distillation of bol, he had laughed. They started exchanging superstitions and unlikely cures from their homes, and when the lesson ended she realized they had been talking for an hour.

  Reaching the door to the Residence, Sonea touched the handle. Expecting the door to swing open immediately, she stepped forward and banged her knee.

  Surprised and annoyed, she touched the handle again, but the door remained closed. Was she to be locked out tonight? Grasping the handle, she turned it and was relieved when the door swung inward.

  Closing the door behind her, she turned toward the stairs, then froze as she heard a crash from somewhere beyond the other staircase. A muffled shout reached her ears, then the floor vibrated beneath her feet.

  Something was going on below her, in the underground room. Something magical.

  Her whole body went cold. Frozen, she considered what to do. Her first thought was to escape to her room, but she realized that if there was a magical battle happening beneath her she would be no safer in her bedroom.

  She should leave. Get as far away as possible.

  But curiosity kept her still. I want to know what is going on, she thought. And if someone has come to confront Akkarin, they might need my help.

  Taking a deep breath, she moved to the door of the stairs and opened it a crack. The staircase beyond was dark, so the door to the room below must be closed. Slowly, every muscle tensed ready for a fast retreat, she crept down the stairs. Reaching the door, she searched for a keyhole or some way to see into the underground room, but found nothing. A man’s voice yelled something. A stranger’s voice. It took her a moment to realize she hadn’t understood him because he was speaking in another language.

  The reply was spoken harshly, also in another language. Sonea went cold as she recognized Akkarin’s voice. Then a high wail of desperation sent her heart racing and she backed up the stairs, suddenly convinced she ought to be anywhere but there.

  The door flew open.

  Takan looked up at her and stopped. She didn’t see his expression, however. Her attention had been caught by the scene beyond.

  Akkarin stood over a man dressed in simple clothing. His hand was wrapped about the man’s throat, and blood trickled through his fingers. In his other hand was a jewelled knife—a knife that was horribly familiar. As she watched, the stranger’s eyes glazed over and he slumped to the floor.

  Then Takan cleared his throat, and Akkarin’s head snapped up.

  Their gaze locked—like in her nightmares in which she relived the night when she had witnessed him in this room, only he saw her watching and she couldn’t move…then woke up with her heart racing.

  But this time she wouldn’t wake up. This was real.

  “Sonea.” He spoke her name with unconcealed annoyance. “Come here.”

  She shook her head, backed away, and felt the sting of magic as her shoulder encountered a barrier. Takan sighed and retreated into the room. Feeling the barrier press against her back, Sonea realized it was going to push her down the stairs. She pushed aside panic with an effort, straightened her shoulders and forced her legs to carry her into his domain.

  As she stepped through the doorway the door closed behind her with a solid finality. She looked down at the dead man and shuddered at his empty, staring eyes. Akkarin followed her gaze.

  “This man is—was—an assassin. He was sent to kill me.”

  So he says. She looked at Takan.

  “It is true,” the servant said. He gestured. “Do you think the m—High Lord would mess up his own rooms?”

  Looking around, she realized that the walls were scorched and one of the bookcases was a shambles of broken wood and scattered books. She had sensed and heard enough from the guestroom to suspect there had been some kind of magical battle going on below her.

  So the dead man must have been a magician. She look
ed at him again. He was not Kyralian, or of any of the races belonging to the Allied Lands. He looked like…she turned to stare at Takan. The same broad face and gold-brown skin…

  “Yes,” Akkarin said. “He and Takan are of the same people. Sachakan.”

  That explained how the man could have magic, but not be of the Guild. So there were still magicians in Sachaka…but if this man was an assassin, why did he—or his employer—want Akkarin dead?

  Why indeed? she mused.

  “Why did you kill him?” she asked. “Why not hand him over to the Guild?”

  Akkarin’s smile was humorless. “Because, as you’ve no doubt guessed, he and his kind know much about me that I’d rather the Guild did not.”

  “So you killed him. With…with…”

  “With what the Guild calls black magic. Yes.” He took a step toward her, then another, his eyes level and unwavering. “I have never killed anyone who did not mean me harm, Sonea.”

  She looked away. Was that supposed to reassure her, when he knew she would expose his secret if she could? That would certainly do him harm.

  “He would be satisfied, indeed, if he knew the harm he has done by coming here and causing you to see what you have seen,” Akkarin said softly. “You must be wondering who these people are, who want me dead, and what their reasons are. I can tell you only this: the Sachakans still hate the Guild, but they also fear us. From time to time they send one of these, to test me. Do you really think it unreasonable of me to defend myself?”

  She looked up at him, wondering why he was telling her this. Did he really expect her to believe anything he said? Surely, if the Sachakans were a danger, the rest of the Guild would know. Not just the High Lord. No, he practiced evil magic to strengthen himself and this was only a lie to ensure her silence.

  His gaze moved over her face, then he nodded to himself.

  “It does not matter if you believe me or not, Sonea.” He narrowed his eyes at the door, which swung open with a faint creak. “Only remember that, if you speak a word of this, you will bring about the destruction of everything you hold dear.”

  She sidestepped to the door. “I know,” she said bitterly. “You don’t have to remind me.”

  Reaching the doorway, she hurried up the stairs. As she reached the door to the guestroom, a voice drifted up from the room below.

  “At least the murders will stop.”

  “For now,” Akkarin replied. “Until the next one comes.”

  Twisting the handle, Sonea stumbled into the guestroom. She stopped, breathing heavily as relief swept over her. She had faced the nightmare and survived. But she knew she would not sleep easily now. She had seen him kill, and that was not something she would ever forget.

  Lord Dannyl’s Guide to Slum Slang

  blood money—payment for assassination

  boot—refuse/refusal (don’t boot us)

  capper—man who frequents brothels

  clicked—occurred

  client—person who has an obligation or agreement with a Thief

  counter—whore

  done—murdered

  dull—persuade to keep silent

  dunghead—fool

  dwells—term used to describe slum dwellers

  eye—keep watch

  fired—angry (got fired about it)

  fish—propose/ask/look for (also someone fleeing the Guard)

  gauntlet—guard who is bribeable or in the control of a Thief

  goldmine—man who prefers boys

  good go—a reasonable try

  got—caught

  grandmother—pimp

  gutter—dealer in stolen goods

  hai—a call for attention or expression of surprise or inquiry

  heavies—important people

  kin—a Thief’s closest and most trusted

  knife—assassin/hired killer

  messenger—thug who delivers or carries out a threat

  mind—hide (minds his business/I’ll mind that for you)

  mug—mouth (as in vessel for bol)

  out for—looking for

  pick—recognize/understand

  punt—smuggler

  right-sided—trustworthy/heart in the right place

  rope—freedom

  rub—trouble (got into some rub over it)

  shine—attraction (got a shine for him)

  show—introduce

  space—allowances/permission

  squimp—someone who double-crosses the Thieves

  style—manner of performing business

  tag—recognize (also means a spy, usually undercover)

  thief—leader of a criminal group

  watcher—posted to observe something or someone

  wild—difficult

  visitor—burglar

  Glossary

  Animals

  aga moths—pests that eat clothing

  anyi—sea mammals with short spines

  ceryni—small rodent

  enka—horned domestic animal, bred for meat

  eyoma—sea leeches

  faren—general term for arachnids

  gorin—large domestic animal used for food and to haul boats and wagons

  harrel—small domestic animal bred for meat

  limek—wild predatory dog

  mullook—wild nocturnal bird

  rassook—domestic bird used for meat and feathers

  ravi—rodent, larger than ceryni

  reber—domestic animal, bred for wool and meat

  sapfly—woodland insect

  sevli—poisonous lizard

  squimp—squirrel-like creature that steals food

  zill—small, intelligent mammal sometimes kept as a pet

  Plants/Food

  anivope vines—plant sensitive to mental projection

  bol—(also means “river scum”) strong liquor made from tugors

  brasi—green leafy vegetable with small buds

  chebol sauce—rich meat sauce made from bol

  crots—large, purple beans

  curem—smooth, nutty spice

  curren—coarse grain with robust flavor

  dall—long fruit with tart orange, seedy flesh

  gan-gan—flowering bush from Lan

  iker—stimulating drug, reputed to have aphrodisiac properties

  jerras—long yellow beans

  kreppa—foul-smelling medicinal herb

  marin—red citrus fruit

  monyo—bulb

  myk—mind-affecting drug

  nalar—pungent root

  nemmin—sleep-inducing drug

  pachi—crisp, sweet fruit

  papea—pepper-like spice

  piorres—small, bell-shaped fruit

  raka/suka—stimulating drink made from roasted beans, originally from Sachaka

  sumi—bitter drink

  telk—seed from which an oil is extracted

  tenn—grain that can be cooked as is, broken into small pieces, or ground to make a flour

  tugor—parsnip-like root

  vare—berries from which most wine is produced

  Clothing and Weaponry

  incal—square symbol, not unlike a family shield, sewn onto sleeve or cuff

  kebin—iron bar with hook for catching attacker’s knife, carried by guards

  longcoat—ankle-length coat

  Public Houses

  bathhouse—establishment selling bathing facilities and other grooming services

  bolhouse—establishment selling bol and short-term accommodation

  brewhouse—bol manufacturer

  stayhouse—rented building, a family to a room

  Peoples of the Allied Lands

  Elyne—closest to Kyralia in position and culture, enjoys a milder climate

  Kyralia—home of the Guild

  Lan—a mountainous land peopled by warrior tribes

  Lonmar—a desert land home to the strict Mahga religion

  Vin—an island nation known for its seamanship

 
Other Terms

  cap—coins threaded on a stick to the value of the next highest denomination

  dawnfeast—breakfast

  midbreak—lunch

  simba mats—mats woven from reeds

  Acknowledgments

  In addition to those people I acknowledged in The Magicians’ Guild, I would like to extend an extra thank you to:

  The friends and family who generously gave their time to read and critique this book at short notice: Mum and Dad, Yvonne Hardingham, Paul Marshall, Anthony Mauriks, Donna Johansen, Jenny Powell, Sara Creasy, Paul Potiki.

  Jack Dann, for launching The Magicians’ Guild with such flair and enthusiasm. Justin Ackroyd for letting me take over his bookshop, and Julian Warner and the staff at Slow Glass Books for their assistance.

  Fran Bryson, my agent and hero. And the publishing team at HarperCollins for turning my stories into such lovely, attractive books.

  The first half of The Novice was written during a residency at Varuna Writers’ Centre, granted by the Eleanor Dark Foundation. Thank you to Peter Bishop and the Varuna team for an inspiring and productive three weeks.

  And finally, thank you to everyone who has emailed me with praise for The Magicians’ Guild! Knowing I gave you all a few hours enjoyment and escape makes it all worthwhile.

  About the Author

  TRUDI CANAVAN lives in a little house on a hillside, near a forest, in the Melbourne suburb of Ferntree Gully in Australia. She has been making up stories about things that don’t exist for as long as she can remember and was amazed when her first published story received an Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Short Story in 1999. A freelance illustrator and designer, she also works as the designer and Art Director of Aurealis, a magazine of Australian fantasy and science fiction. You can e-mail her at trudi@spin.net.au or find out more about Kyralia and the Magicians’ Guild at www.spin.net.au/~trudi.

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  Trudi Canavan