The Magicians' Guild

by Trudi Canavan

  Ahead, the alley crossed with another. Beyond the intersection another figure strode toward her. With a gasp she threw herself forward with all the strength of panic. She felt a thrill of triumph as she reached the intersection several paces before the second magician.

  Skidding to a halt, she leapt down the right hand passage…

  …and caught the corners of the walls to stop herself. Another man stood there, his arms crossed. With a gasp she hauled herself away from him.

  Twisting around, she sprang into the only alley remaining, and slid to a stop. A fourth man stood several paces away, guarding her last retreat.

  Cursing, she spun around to stare behind her. The third man regarded her intently, but he had not moved. She looked back at the fourth. He had started to walk toward her.

  Her heart was beating crazily. Looking up, she considered the walls. They were the usual rough brick, but she knew that, even if she had time to climb them, the magicians could easily bring her down. A dreadful, sinking cold crept over her.

  I’m trapped. There is no way out.

  Looking back, she felt a stab of fear as she saw that the first two men had joined the third at the crossroads, and a familiar slipping sensation fluttered through her mind. Dust and fragments of brick rained down as part of the wall above the men shattered. Rubble bounced harmlessly off the air above their heads.

  The magicians glanced at the wall, then turned calculating eyes on her. Afraid that they would think she was attacking them, and retaliate, she backed away. She felt the slipping again. A searing heat enveloped her leg. Looking down, she saw snow sizzling into a pool of water at her feet. Steam billowed up, filling the alley with warm, impenetrable mist.

  They can’t see me! She felt a rush of hope. I can slip past them.

  Turning, she leapt back down the alley. The dark shadow of the man moved to block her path. She hesitated, then reached into her coat. The cold handle of her knife met her searching fingers. As the magician reached out to grab her she ducked under his outstretched hands and threw herself against him with all her weight. He staggered backward, but did not fall. Before he could recover his balance, she stabbed the thin blade hard into his thigh.

  The blade sank sickeningly deep into his leg. As he yelled in surprise and pain, she felt a cruel thrill of satisfaction. Pulling the knife free, she thrust him out of her way with all her strength. As he fell against the wall, groaning, she turned to run.

  Fingers caught her wrist. With a growl she turned and tried to twist herself free. His grip tightened and began to hurt, and she felt the knife slip from her grasp.

  A gust of wind chased the mist from the alley and revealed the other three magicians hurrying toward her. She felt panic rising and began to struggle uselessly, her feet skittering over the wet ground. With a grunt of effort, her captor yanked on her arm, pulling her past him toward the trio.

  Terror rushed over her as she felt hands grasp her arms. Twisting about, she tried to shake herself free, but their grip was strong. Hands pushed her against the wall, holding her still. Panting, she found herself surrounded by magicians, all staring at her with bright eyes.

  “She’s a wild one,” one of the men said. The injured one gave a short, rueful laugh.

  As she looked at the closest magician she felt a shock of recognition. This was the magician who had seen her during the Purge. He stared into her eyes intently.

  “Do not fear us, Sonea,” he said. “We will not harm you.”

  One of the magicians muttered something. The older magician nodded, then the others slowly withdrew their hands.

  An invisible force held her against the wall. Unable to move, she felt a wave of despair followed by the familiar sensation of magic slipping beyond her grasp. The other three magicians ducked as the wall behind them burst, showering the alley with bricks.

  A man in a baker’s apron stepped up to the opening, his face dark with anger. Seeing the four magicians, he hesitated, eyes widening. One of the magicians turned and made an abrupt gesture.

  “Get yourself away from here,” he barked. “And everyone else in this block.”

  The man backed away, then disappeared into the darkness of the house.

  “Sonea.”

  The older magician was looking at her intently. “Listen to me. We are not going to hurt you. We…”

  A searing heat pressed against her face. Turning, she saw that the bricks nearby were glowing red. A trickle of something ran down the wall. She heard one of the magicians utter an oath.

  “Sonea,” the older magician said, a sternness entering his voice. “Stop fighting us. You will harm yourself.”

  The wall behind her began to shake. The magicians threw their arms out as the tremor spread. Sonea gasped as cracks began to shoot out from the ground beneath her feet.

  “Slow your breathing,” the magician urged. “Try to calm yourself.”

  She closed her eyes, then shook her head. It was no use. The magic was flowing from her like water from a broken pipe. She felt a hand touch her forehead and opened her eyes.

  The magician withdrew his hand. His face was tense. He said something to the others, then looked into her eyes.

  “I can help you, Sonea,” the magician said. “I can show you how to stop this but not if you won’t let me. I know you have every reason to fear and distrust us but if you don’t do this now, you are going to harm both yourself and many, many people in this area. Do you understand?”

  She stared at him. Help her? Why would he want to help her?

  But if he had intended to kill me, she realized suddenly, he would have done it already.

  His face began to shimmer then, and she realized that the air about her had begun to ripple with heat. It seared her face and she bit back a cry of pain. The magician and his companions appeared unaffected, but their expressions were grim.

  Though a part of her rebelled at the idea, she knew something bad was about to happen if she didn’t do what these magicians wanted her to do.

  The older magician frowned. “Sonea,” he said sternly. “We don’t have enough time to explain. I will attempt to show you, but you must not resist.”

  The magician lifted a hand and touched her forehead. His eyes closed.

  At once she became aware of a person at the edge of her mind. She knew instantly that his name was Rothen. Unlike the minds that she had sensed searching for her, this one could see her.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on his presence.

  —Listen to me. You have almost completely lost control of your powers.

  Though she heard no words, the meaning was clear—and frightening. She understood at once that the power she had would kill her if she did not learn to control it.

  —Look for this in your mind.

  Something—a wordless thought—an instruction to search. She became aware of a place within herself that was both familiar and strange. As she focused upon it, it became clearer. A great blinding sphere of light, floating in darkness…

  —This is your power. It has grown into a great store of energy, even with you drawing upon it. You must release it—but in a controlled way.

  This was her magic? She reached toward it. Immediately, white light flashed from the sphere. Pain raced through her, and somewhere in the distance she heard a voice cry out.

  —Don’t try to reach for it—not until I show you how. Now, watch me…

  He called her attention away. She followed him somewhere else, and she became aware of another sphere of light.

  —Observe.

  She watched as, with a flexing of his will, he drew power from the sphere, shaped it and let it go.

  —Now you try.

  Focusing on her own light, she willed a little of its energy to come forth. Magic suffused her mind. She had only to think of what she wanted it to do and it was gone.

  —That’s right. Now do it again, but keep drawing until you have used all the power you have.

  —All?

  —Do no
t be afraid. You are meant to be able to wield that much, and the exercise that I have shown you will use it in a way that will not cause harm.

  Her chest swelled as she took a deep breath and let it out. Drawing on her power again, she began to shape and release it over and over. Once she had begun, it seemed eager to answer her will. The sphere began to shrink, slowly diminishing until it was no more than a spark floating in darkness.

  —There, it is done.

  She opened her eyes and blinked at the destruction surrounding her. The walls were gone, replaced with smoldering rubble for twenty paces in all directions. The magicians regarded her cautiously.

  Though the wall behind her was gone, the invisible force still held her upright. As it released her she swayed on her feet, her legs shaking with weariness, then crumpled to her knees. Barely able to hold her back straight, she frowned up at the older magician.

  He smiled and bent to place his hand on her shoulder.

  —You are safe for now, Sonea. You have used all your energy. Rest. We will talk soon.

  As he lifted her into his arms a wave of dizziness rushed over her, bringing a blackness that smothered all thought.

  Panting from effort and pain, Cery slumped against the broken wall. Sonea’s cry still echoed in his ears. He pressed his hands to his head and closed his eyes.

  “Sonea…” he whispered.

  Sighing, he removed his hands and belatedly heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He looked up to see that the man who had blocked his retreat from the alley had returned and was now staring at him intently.

  Cery ignored him. His eyes had found a bright color in all the dust and rubble. He crouched and touched a ribbon of red dripping along the edge of a broken brick. Blood.

  Footsteps drew near. A boot appeared beside the blood—boots with buttons in the shape of the Guild symbol. Anger blazed through Cery, and he rose and struck out in one motion, aiming for the man’s face.

  The man caught Cery’s fist neatly and twisted. Unbalanced, Cery stumbled and fell, his head striking the broken wall. Colors flashed before his eyes. Gasping, he staggered to his feet, his hands pressed to his head in an attempt to stop the world spinning. The man chuckled.

  “Stupid dwell,” he said.

  Running his fingers through his fine blonde hair, the magician turned on his heel and stalked away.

  PART TWO

  16

  Introductions

  As the morning grew old, Rothen felt weariness drag at his eyes. He closed them and called upon a little Healing magic to refresh himself, then lifted his book and forced himself to read.

  Before he had finished the page, he found himself looking at the sleeping girl again. She lay in a small bedroom that was part of his suite, in the bed that had once belonged to his son. Others had argued with him over his decision to keep her in the Magicians’ Quarters. Though he had not shared their concerns, he had kept an eye on her—just in case.

  In the darkest part of the night he had allowed Yaldin to take over the watch so that he could get some rest. But instead of sleeping, he had lain awake thinking about her. There was so much to explain. He wanted to be prepared for all the questions and accusations she was sure to have. Possible conversations had repeated themselves over and over in his mind and he had eventually abandoned his attempt to sleep and returned to her side.

  She had slept most of a day. Magical exhaustion often affected the young this way. In the two months since the Purge, her dark hair had grown a little longer, but her skin was pale and clung to the bones of her face. Remembering how light she had been to carry, Rothen shook his head. Her time with the Thieves had not improved her health. Sighing, he turned his attention to the book again.

  After managing to read another page, he looked up. Dark eyes stared back at him.

  The eyes dropped to his robes. In a flurry of movement, the girl struggled from the clinging sheets of the bed. Once free, she looked down in dismay at the heavy cotton nightrobe she wore.

  Putting the book on the table beside the bed, Rothen stood up, taking care to keep his movements slow. She pressed her back against the far wall, eyes wide. Moving away, he opened the doors of a cupboard at the back of the room and took out a thick leisure coat.

  “Here,” he said, taking it down and holding it out to her. “This is for you.”

  She stared at the coat as if it were a wild animal.

  “Take it,” he urged, taking a few steps toward her. “You must be cold.”

  Frowning, she edged forward and snatched the coat from his hands. Without taking her eyes from him, she shrugged her arms into the garment and pulled it close around her thin body, backing away to the wall again.

  “My name is Rothen,” he told her.

  She continued to stare at him, saying nothing.

  “We do not intend to harm you, Sonea,” he told her. “You have nothing to fear.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened into a thin line.

  “You don’t believe me.” He shrugged. “Nor would I in your position. Did you get our letter, Sonea?”

  She frowned, then a look of contempt crossed her face. He smothered the urge to smile.

  “Of course, you wouldn’t believe that, either, would you? Tell me, what do you find hardest to believe?”

  Crossing her arms, she looked out the window and did not answer. He pushed aside a mild annoyance. Resistance, even this ridiculous refusal to answer, was to be expected.

  “Sonea, we must talk to each other,” he said gently. “There is a power in you that, whether you want it or not, you must learn to control. If you do not, it will kill you. I know you understand this.”

  Her brows knitted together, but she continued staring silently out of the window. Rothen allowed himself to sigh.

  “Whatever reasons you have to dislike us, you must realize that to refuse our help is foolish. Yesterday we did no more than use up the store of power inside you. It will not be long before your powers grow strong and dangerous again. Think on that,” he paused, “but not for too long.”

  Turning toward the door, he reached for the handle.

  “What do I have to do?”

  Her voice was high and faint. He felt a thrill of triumph, but quickly schooled his expression. Turning back, he felt his heart twist as he saw the fear in her eyes.

  “You have to learn to trust me,” he told her.

  The magician—Rothen—had returned to his chair. Sonea’s heart was still pounding, but not as quickly now. The coat made her feel less vulnerable. She knew it was no protection against magic, it covered the ridiculous thing they had dressed her in.

  The room she was in was not large. A tall cupboard stood at one end, the bed filled the other, and a small table fit in the middle. The furniture was made of expensive polished wood. On the table lay small combs and writing implements made of silver. A mirror hung on the wall above it and a painting graced the wall behind the magician.

  “Control is a subtle skill,” Rothen told her. “To show you I must enter your mind, but I can’t if you resist me.”

  The memory of Guild novices standing in a room, one of each pair pressing hands against his fellow’s temples, rose in Sonea’s mind. The teacher instructing them had said much the same. Sonea felt an uneasy satisfaction that she knew this magician was telling the truth. No magician could enter her mind uninvited.

  Then she frowned, remembering the presence that had shown her the source of her magic, and how to use it.

  “You did yesterday.”

  He shook his head. “No, I pointed you toward your own power, then demonstrated how to use it with my own. This is quite different. To teach you how to control your power, I must go to the place within you where your power resides, and to get there, I must enter your mind.”

  Sonea looked away. Let a magician into her mind? What would he see? Everything or only what she let him?

  Did she have any choice?

  “Talk to me,” the magician urged. “Ask m
e any questions you wish. If you learn more about me, you will find that I am a trustworthy person. You don’t have to like the entire Guild, you don’t even have to like me. You just have to know me well enough to trust that I will teach you what must be taught and do nothing to harm you.”

  Sonea looked at him closely. He was middle aged or older. Though his dark hair was streaked with gray, his eyes were blue and lively. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth gave him a good-humored expression. He looked like a gentle, fatherly man—but she was no fool. Tricksters always looked honest and appealing. If they didn’t, they failed to make a living. The Guild would have arranged for her to meet their most appealing magician first.

  She had to look deeper. As she stared into his eyes, he returned her gaze steadily. His confidence disturbed her. Either he was certain that there was nothing she would find objectionable about him, or he believed he could trick her into thinking so.

  Either way, he had a difficult task ahead of him, she decided.

  “Why should I believe anything you say?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “Why would I lie to you?”

  “To get what you want. Why else?”

  “And what do I want?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

  “I only want to help you, Sonea.” He sounded genuinely concerned.

  “I don’t believe you,” she told him.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re a magician. They say you vow to protect people, but I’ve seen you kill.”

  The wrinkles between his brows deepened, and he nodded slowly. “Indeed you have. As we said in our letter to you, we did not intend to harm anybody that day—you or the boy.” He sighed. “It was a terrible mistake. If I’d known what was going to happen I would never have pointed you out.

  “There are many different ways to project magic, and the most common is the strike. The weakest of those is the stunstrike, which is designed to paralyze—to freeze up a person’s muscles so they cannot move. The magicians who struck the youth all used stunstrike. Do you remember the color of the strikes?”