The Magicians' Guild

by Trudi Canavan

  The magician stopped and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

  “We did not mean to kill that boy. It was a mistake.” The magician looked at Sonea and she felt a chill run down her spine. “There is much we must explain to you. You must be taught how to control your powers—”

  “Don’t you understand?” Faren hissed. “She doesn’t want to become a magician. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. Just leave her alone.”

  “I can’t do that,” the magician shook his head. “She must come with us—”

  “No!” Faren shouted.

  The magician’s eyes turned cold, sending a chill through Sonea.

  “Don’t, Faren!” she called. “He’ll kill you.”

  Ignoring her, Faren braced his legs and placed his hands on the walls on either side of the passage.

  “If you want her,” he growled, “you’ll have to come through me.”

  The magician hesitated, then took a step forward, his palms turning toward Faren. A metallic clang filled the passage.

  The magician threw out his arms and vanished.

  Baffled, Sonea stared at the floor where the magician had been standing. A dark square had appeared.

  Dropping his arms, Faren threw back his head and began to laugh. Heart still pounding, Sonea crept forward until she stood beside him. Looking down, she saw that the square of darkness was a large hole in the floor.

  “Wh-what happened?”

  Faren’s laughter subsided to a chuckle. He reached up and swivelled out a brick in the wall. Reaching into the gap beyond, he grasped something and, with a grunt of effort, pulled it forward. A trapdoor slowly swivelled up and clicked into place, covering the hole. Faren kicked some of the dust on the floor over it.

  “That was far too easy,” he said, wiping his hands on a nosecloth. He grinned at Sonea, and sketched a quick bow. “Did you like my performance?”

  Sonea felt a smile starting to pull at her lips. “I’m still awake, I guess.”

  “Ha!” Faren’s brows rose. “You seemed to think it was convincing. ‘Don’t, Faren! He’ll kill you!’” he said in a high-pitched voice. He placed a hand over his heart and smiled. “I’m so touched at your concern for my safety.”

  “Enjoy it,” she told him. “It might not last.” She touched the trapdoor with her toe. “Where does it go?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, straight down into a pit filled with iron spikes.”

  Sonea stared at him. “You mean…he’s dead?”

  “Very.” Faren’s eyes flashed.

  Sonea looked down at the trapdoor. Surely not…but if Faren said…though the magician might have managed to…

  Suddenly she felt sick and cold. She had never considered that any of the magicians might be killed. Injured, perhaps, but not killed. What would the Guild do when they learned that one of their magicians was dead?

  “Sonea.” Faren placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s not dead. The trap leads to a sewage pool. It’s meant as an escape route. He’ll wade out of there smelling worse than the Tarali River, but he’ll be alive.”

  Sonea nodded, relieved.

  “But consider what he would have done to you, Sonea. One day you may have to kill for your freedom.” Faren lifted an eyebrow. “Have you thought about that?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and regarded the barrier of light and heat that still blocked the passage. He shook his head and began to walk back down the passage toward the hideout. Sonea stepped nervously across the trapdoor and followed him.

  “We can’t go back,” he mused aloud as he walked, “in case the other magicians have found another way in. We’ll have to…” He moved closer to the wall to inspect it. “Ah, here it is.” He touched something on the wall.

  She gasped as the floor fell away from under her feet. Something hard slapped her backside, then she was sliding down a steep, smooth surface. The air began to warm rapidly and gain a distinctly unpleasant odor.

  She was airborne suddenly, then plunging into wet darkness. Water filled her ears and nose, but she kept her mouth tightly closed. Kicking out, she discovered the floor and pushed herself up to the surface of the water. She opened her eyes in time to see Faren fly from a tunnel and splash into the pool. He thrashed around, pushing himself up to the water’s surface with a curse.

  “Argh!” he roared. He wiped his eyes and swore again. “Wrong trapdoor!”

  Sonea crossed her arms. “So where did the magician end up?”

  Faren looked up and an evil light filled his yellow eyes.

  “The garbage chute of the bol brewhouse a few houses away,” he breathed. “After he wades out of there he’ll stink of fermented tugor mash for a week.”

  Sonea snorted and began to wade to the edge of the pool. “That’s worse than this?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps for a magician. From what I hear, they hate the stuff.” He followed her out of the pool, then gave her a speculative look. “I think I owe you a bath and a change of clothing, eh?”

  “For nearly failing to protect me?” Sonea shrugged. “It’ll do, but you’ll have to think of something better for dropping me in a sewer.”

  He grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  10

  Taking Sides

  Though the air was crisp with the gathering winter cold, and the sky was heavy with gray cloud, Rothen’s mood lifted when he stepped outside. It was a Freeday. For most magicians, the fifth and last day of the week was a day of leisure. For novices, it was, in part, dedicated to study, and for teachers it allowed time to review and prepare lessons.

  Rothen usually spent an hour walking in the gardens, then returned to his rooms to work on lessons. He had nothing to prepare this week, however. Officially designated as the organizer of the search, his duties as a teacher had been delegated to another magician.

  He spent most of his time coordinating the volunteers. It was an exhausting task—for himself and the volunteers. They had spent the last three weeks, including Freedays, searching. Rothen knew that some would withdraw their help if the demands on their time continued, so he had decided to call the search off for a day.

  As he turned a corner, the Guild’s Arena came into sight. Eight spires curved up from the circular base, providing a framework for a powerful shield which protected everything outside from the forces thrown about during Warrior classes. Four novices stood within, but today no spectacular show of power was in progress.

  Instead, the novices stood in pairs, swinging swords in controlled, synchronized movements. A few paces away stood Fergun, sword in hand, observing the novices closely.

  Watching them, Rothen struggled not to disapprove. Surely the novices’ time would be better spent on study than pursuing this redundant martial art?

  Sword fighting was not part of the University’s studies. Those novices who were determined to learn the art gave up their spare time to do so. It was a hobby, and Rothen knew it was healthy for the youngsters to have an interest that didn’t involve magic and got them out of their stuffy rooms.

  However, he had always believed that robes and swords did not go together well. There were already too many ways a magician could harm another person. Why add a non-magical one to the list?

  Two magicians stood on the steps surrounding the Arena, watching intently. Rothen recognized Fergun’s friend, Lord Kerrin, and Lord Elben, a teacher of Alchemy. Both were from the powerful House Maron, as was Fergun. He smiled to himself. Novices and magicians were expected to leave House alliances and enmities behind them when they joined the Guild, but few ever did.

  As he watched, Fergun called one of the novices over to him. Teacher and novice saluted each other and dropped into a crouch. Rothen caught his breath as the novice advanced, sword flashing in a confident attack. Fergun stepped forward, his weapon all but vanishing in a blur of movement. The novice froze and looked down to find Fergun’s weapon pressing against his chest.

  “Tempted to join Lord Fergun’s classes?” aske
d a familiar voice behind him.

  Rothen turned. “At my age, Administrator?” He shook his head. “Even if I were thirty years younger, I wouldn’t see the value in it.”

  “It sharpens the reflexes, I’m told, and is useful in teaching discipline and concentration,” Lorlen said. “Lord Fergun has some support for it now, and has asked us to consider including sword fighting in the University studies.”

  “That would be for Lord Balkan to decide, wouldn’t it?”

  “Partly. The Head of Warriors must present the addition to the Higher Magicians for vote. When and if he does that is up to him.” Lorlen spread his hands. “I heard you had decided to give the searchers a rest for the day.”

  Rothen nodded. “They’ve been working long hours, sometimes late into the night.”

  “It has been a busy four weeks for you all,” Lorlen agreed. “Are you making any progress?”

  “Not much,” Rothen admitted. “Not since last week. Every time we sense her, we find she has moved to another location.”

  “As Dannyl predicted.”

  “Yes, but we’ve been looking for repetitions in her movements. If she is returning to some of these hiding places, we might be able to locate them in the same way we did the first time, but over a longer period.”

  “And what of this man who helped her escape? Do you think he was one of the Thieves?”

  Rothen shrugged. “Perhaps. He accused Lord Jolen of invading his territory, which suggests he was, but I find it hard to believe that one of the Thieves is a Lonmar. The man may simply be a protector and his accusation designed to lure Jolen over the trapdoor.”

  “So there’s a possibility she is not involved with the Thieves?”

  “A possibility, yes, but it is unlikely. I doubt she has the money to pay for protectors. The men Jolen encountered in the tunnel, and the comfortable rooms she was staying in, suggest that someone well organized and funded is looking after her.”

  “Either way, not good news.” Lorlen sighed and looked at the novices in the Arena. “The King is not happy about this, and he won’t be until we have her under our control.”

  “Neither will I.”

  Lorlen nodded. He pursed his lips, then regarded Rothen again. “There is another matter I should discuss with you.”

  “Yes?”

  Lorlen hesitated, as if considering his words carefully. “Lord Fergun wishes to claim guardianship of her.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Lorlen’s eyebrows rose. “You are unexpectedly well informed, Lord Rothen.”

  Rothen smiled. “Unexpectedly, yes. I learned of this by accident.”

  “Do you still intend to claim her guardianship yourself?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Should I?”

  Lorlen shook his head. “I do not see the need to tackle that issue until she is found. But you understand that I must call a Hearing when she has been, if you both still intend to claim her?”

  “I understand.” Rothen hesitated. “May I ask a question of you?”

  “Of course,” Lorlen replied.

  “Does Fergun have a strong argument to support his claim?”

  “Perhaps. He says that, since he experienced the consequences of the girl’s magic, he was the first to know of her powers. You reported that you saw her after she used her powers, and that you guessed it was her from her expression, which means you never saw or sensed her use her powers. It is unclear how the law should be applied in this case, and when it comes down to bending a law to suit a situation, the simplest interpretation often wins the vote.”

  Rothen frowned. “I see.”

  Gesturing for Rothen to follow, Lorlen began walking toward the Arena, his strides slow and measured. “Fergun is determined,” he said quietly, “and has much support, but many would support you, too.”

  Rothen nodded, then sighed. “It is not an easy decision. Would you prefer if I did not stir up the Guild by contesting his claim? It would cause you less trouble.”

  “What would I prefer?” Lorlen chuckled and gave Rothen a direct look. “It would cause me no less trouble either way.” He smiled crookedly, then inclined his head. “Good day, Lord Rothen.”

  “Good day,” Rothen replied. They had reached the edge of the stairs surrounding the Arena. The novices were paired now, practicing moves on each other. Rothen stopped and watched, bemused, as Lorlen descended toward the pair of magicians watching the lesson. Something in the way Lorlen had looked at him hinted that the Administrator had been suggesting something more.

  The two watchers started as Lorlen appeared beside them.

  “Greetings, Lord Kerrin, Lord Elben.”

  “Administrator.” The pair inclined their heads, then quickly looked at the Arena again as one of the novices gave a yell of surprise.

  “A fine teacher,” Lord Elben said enthusiastically, gesturing to the Arena. “We were just saying that Lord Fergun would make a worthy guardian for this slum girl. After a few months of his strict guidance, she’d be as refined and disciplined as the best of us.”

  “Lord Fergun is a responsible man,” Lorlen replied. “I can offer no good reason why he should not guide the training of a novice.”

  Yet he hasn’t shown any interest until now, Rothen thought. Turning away, he continued his stroll through the gardens.

  Guardianship was not common. A few novices were favored each year, but only those who had demonstrated exceptional talent or power. No matter what strength or aptitude the slum girl proved to have, she would need help and support as she adjusted to living in the Guild. By becoming her guardian he could ensure that she would receive that help.

  He doubted Fergun’s reasons for wanting her guardianship were the same. If Lord Elben’s words were an indication, Fergun intended to discipline the unruly vagrant girl into a meek and obedient novice. He would receive a certain amount of praise and admiration if he succeeded.

  How Fergun was going to achieve that would be interesting, since her powers were probably particularly strong and his were weak. He would not be able to stop her if she took it into her mind to disobey him.

  For that reason, and others, magicians were discouraged from taking on the guardianship of novices with stronger powers. Weak magicians rarely became guardians at all since, if they claimed a novice with powers less than their own, it only drew attention to their own shortcomings—and the novice’s lack of strength.

  But the vagrant girl was different. Nobody would care if Fergun’s limitations handicapped her learning. As far as most were concerned, she was lucky to have any training at all.

  And if he failed, who would blame Fergun? He could always use her origins as an excuse…and if he neglected her training, nobody would question it…

  Rothen shook his head. Now he was starting to think like Dannyl. Fergun was willing to help the girl, which was noble enough in itself. Unlike Rothen, who had been a guardian of two novices already, Fergun had a measure of glory to gain—and there was nothing wrong with that. Lorlen obviously didn’t think there was.

  Or did he? What had Lorlen said? “It would cause me no less trouble either way.”

  Rothen chuckled as Lorlen’s meaning finally came to him. If he was right, then Lorlen believed that letting Fergun win his claim would cause as much trouble as the fight over her guardianship—and that fight was sure to cause him no small amount of trouble.

  Which meant that Lorlen had given Rothen a rare indication of his support.

  As always, Sonea’s guards were silent as they guided her through the passages. Apart from the weeks she had spent in the first hideout, she had been almost constantly on the move since the Purge. The welcome difference now was that she felt no lurking fear of discovery as she travelled.

  The lead guard stopped at a door and knocked. A familiar, dark face appeared in the doorway.

  “Stay and guard the door,” Faren ordered. “Come in, Sonea.”

  Stepping into the room, her heart leapt as she saw the smaller figure s
tanding behind him.

  “Cery!”

  He grinned and gave her a quick hug. “How are you?”

  “Well,” she told him. “You?”

  “Happy to see you again.” He searched her face. “You look better.”

  “Haven’t come face to face with a magician for, hmm, at least a few days,” she said, looking sidelong at Faren.

  The Thief chuckled. “We do seem to have outwitted them.”

  The room was small, but cozy. A generous fire burned within one wall. Faren directed them to chairs. “Any progress, Sonea?”

  She winced. “No, nothing yet. I try over and over, but it never does what I want it to.” She frowned. “Though it nearly always does something now. Before it would take a few tries before anything happened.”

  Faren leaned back and smiled. “There, that is progress. Have the books helped?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand them.”

  “Is the scribe not clear?”

  “No, it’s not that. His reading is fine. It’s just, well, there are too many strange words, and some things make no sense.”

  Faren nodded. “If you had more time to study them, perhaps you would find their meaning. I am still looking for more books.” Pursing his lips, he regarded them both speculatively. “I’m looking into some rumors. It’s been said for years that a certain Thief has cultivated a friendship with a man who knows something about magic. I’ve always thought it was an invention to ensure the rest of us stayed polite but I’m looking into it, regardless.”

  “A magician?” Cery asked.

  Faren shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt it. Most likely he is nothing more than a man who performs tricks that appear to be magic. If he has any knowledge of real magic, however, he may be useful. I will tell you when I know more.” He smiled. “That is all the news I have, but I believe Cery has more.”

  Cery nodded. “Harrin and Donia found your aunt and uncle.”

  “They did!” Sonea moved to the edge of her seat. “Where are they? Are they well? Did they find a good place to stay? Did Harrin—?”