Black Magician-02 The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

  Sonea did not answer. What use did she have for free time now? Akkarin had forbidden her to speak to Rothen and she had no friends among the novices. She was dreading the coming few weeks. With no classes to attend until the next year, what was she to do with herself? Stay in her new room in Akkarin's residence? She shuddered. No, she would stay away from there as much as possible.

  If he let her. What if he wanted to keep her close by? What if he wants to use me in his evil work? She began to push the thought away, then stopped herself. No matter how appalling, she had to consider the possibility. He could make her do anything by threatening to harm Rothen. Her stomach knotted with dread. Anything ...

  Her hands were hurting. Looking down, she unclenched her fists. Four sets of crescent-shaped indents marked each palm. Rubbing her hands on her robe, she made a mental note to trim her nails when she returned to her room.

  Jerrik remained totally absorbed in his papers. She watched as his pen worked down the page. Reaching the end, he gave a grunt of satisfaction and handed the page to her.

  "As the High Lord's favorite you will be given preferential treatment, but you'll also be expected to prove that his choice was well made. Don't hesitate to take advantage of your new position—you'll need to if you are to meet his expectations."

  She nodded. "Thank you, Director."

  "You may go."

  Swallowing hard, she rose, bowed and moved to the door.

  "Sonea."

  Looking over her shoulder, she found a rare smile lifting the corners of Jerrik's mouth. "I know you will miss having Rothen as your guardian," he said. "Akkarin may not be as companionable, but in choosing you he has done much to improve your situation." The smile vanished. "You may go."

  She forced herself to nod in reply. As she pulled the door closed, she saw that Jerrik was watching her, his expression thoughtful. Turning away, she slipped the schedule into her box and started along the wide, familiar corridor.

  A few novices lingered in doorways. They watched her as she passed. Disturbed by their stares, she quickened her pace. How many people know? she wondered. Probably everyone. They've had an entire day to find out. The news that the High Lord had finally chosen a favorite would have spread through the Guild faster than the winter cough. A teacher stepped out of a corridor. He looked at her doubtfully, then his eyes dropped to her sleeve. His eyebrows rose and he shook his head slightly as if in disbelief.

  She glanced down at the small square of gold on the sleeve of her robe. Incals were family symbols worn by members of the Houses. Magicians did not wear them because once they joined the Guild they were supposed to leave family and political ties behind them. The servant who had brought the robes had explained that the High Lord wore the Guild symbol as an incal because his position was a lifetime commitment. The Guild became his family and House.

  And she was his novice. Folding her sleeve against her body to hide the incal, she approached the door of her classroom. She paused just outside to gather her courage.

  "Good morning, Sonea."

  Turning, she saw Lord Elben striding down the corridor toward her. He smiled, his mouth widening but his eyes remaining cold.

  "Congratulations on your new guardian," he offered as he reached her side.

  Sonea bowed. "Thank you, Lord Elben."

  He strode into the classroom. Steeling herself, Sonea followed.

  "Take your seats, please," Elben boomed. "We have much to do today."

  "Ah!" A familiar voice rose above the clatter and drag of chairs. "The High Lord's favorite has deigned to honor our humble class with her presence."

  The room fell silent. All faces turned toward Sonea. Seeing the disbelief on their faces, she felt a wry amusement. How ironic that her own classmates should be the last to find out. All but one, she amended. Regin was lounging on a table, grinning with satisfaction at the effect his news had on the class.

  "Take your seat, please, Regin," Elben growled.

  Regin slid off the table and settled into his chair. Moving to her place, Sonea lifted her box onto her desk. As she did her sleeve fell free, and she heard a small gasp nearby. Glancing up, she saw that Narron was staring at the incal.

  "Sonea," Elben said. "I have saved a place for you at the front."

  She looked up and realized that there was, indeed, a seat free in the front row of the class. Poril's seat. She turned and saw that her old friend was sitting at the back of the room. He flushed and evaded her eyes.

  "Thank you, my lord," she replied, turning back. "That was generous of you, but I would prefer to stay here."

  The magician's eyes narrowed. He looked as if he might argue, but he glanced at the class and he seemed to think better of it.

  "Very well." He lowered himself into his seat and placed a hand on a stack of paper on the desk. "Today you will be tested on your knowledge of Alchemy," he told the class. "I will give you a list of questions to answer now, and later I will be giving you exercises to complete. After the midbreak you will be given practical tests."

  As he passed sheets of paper out to the class, Sonea felt an old almost forgotten anxiety return. The tests. She let her eyes skim across the questions, and sighed with relief. Despite the disdain of the teachers, despite the long hours of study, despite all Regin's attempts to hamper her, she had managed to absorb the lessons. Feeling better, she took a pen out of her box and began to write.

  Hours later, when the gong tolled to mark the end of the test, the class let out a unified sigh of relief.

  "That will be all," Elben finished. "You may go."

  As one the novices rose and bowed to the teacher. Sonea caught several glances in her direction as they filed out of the room. Remembering why, she felt her stomach turn over with dread.

  "Wait, Sonea," Elben said as she passed his desk. "I would like to speak with you."

  He waited until the room was empty before speaking. "After midbreak," he told her, "I would like you to take the place I have arranged for you."

  Sonea swallowed. Was this what Jerrik had meant when he said the teachers would give her preferential treatment? Should she take advantage of it, as he had suggested?

  But what was to be gained by moving to the front of the classroom? Only the knowledge that Poril had lost even more status in the class because of her. She shook her head.

  "I prefer the seat by the window."

  Elben frowned. "It would be more appropriate if you sat at the front of the class now."

  Appropriate? She felt a flare of anger. This was not about helping her learn, this was about being seen to favor the High Lord's novice. He probably expected her to report every little favor to Akkarin. She smothered a bitter laugh. She would be saying as little to her new guardian as possible.

  If she had learned anything from the last six months, it was to avoid upsetting the petty social order of the classroom. Taking Poril's place would mean more than just a change of seats. The novices already disliked her; she didn't need to give them more reason to. She looked at Elben, standing with his arms crossed, and felt her anger harden into defiance.

  "I'll stay in my usual place," she told him.

  Elben's eyes narrowed, but he seemed to see something in her gaze that made him pause. He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  "It is easier to see and hear at the front," he pointed out.

  "I'm not deaf, Lord Elben, or short-sighted."

  His jaw clenched. "Sonea," he moved closer and spoke quietly, "if you will not take the front seat it might be seen as ... neglectful of me as your teacher . .."

  "Perhaps I should tell Akkarin that you would not let me sit where I wished."

  His eyes widened. "You wouldn't bother him over something so small..."

  She smiled. "I doubt he would be interested in my seating arrangements at all."

  He regarded her silently, then nodded. "Very well. You may sit where you wish. Go."

  As she stepped out into the corridor she realized that her heart was racing. What had she
done? Novices never argued with their teachers.

  Then she realized that the corridor was unusually quiet. Looking up, she saw that novices of all years were silently watching her. All satisfaction over her conversation with Elben evaporated. Swallowing hard, she started toward the stairs.

  "That's her," whispered a voice to her right.

  "Yesterday," someone muttered. ". . . no warning at all."

  "... High Lord .. ."

  "Why her?" someone sneered, a comment clearly meant for her to hear. "She's just a slum girl."

  ".. . not right."

  "... should have been . . ."

  ". .. insult to the Houses."

  She snorted softly. If they knew the real reason he chose me, she thought, they would not be so—

  "Make way for the High Lord's favorite!"

  Her stomach turned as she recognized the voice. Regin stepped out to block her path.

  "Great One!'" he cried loudly. "Might I ask a tiny, infinitesimally small favor of one so admired and influential?"

  Sonea regarded him warily. "What do you want, Regin?"

  "Would you...if it would not be a great offense to your high position, that is," he smiled cloyingly, "would you mend my shoes tonight? You see, I know you are skilled in such great and worthy tasks and, well, if I am to have my shoes mended it should be done by the best shoe-mender in the sl-uh-Guild, wouldn't you say?"

  Sonea shook her head. "Is that all you could come up with, Regin?" She stepped around him and continued down the corridor. Footsteps pursued her.

  "Oh, but Sonea—I mean—Oh, Great One. I would be so hon—"

  His voice stopped abruptly. Frowning, she resisted the temptation to glance behind.

  "She is the High Lord's novice," someone muttered. "Are you stupid? Leave her alone."

  Recognizing Kano's voice, Sonea caught her breath in surprise. Was this what Jerrik had meant when he had said Akkarin had improved her situation? Reaching the stairs, she descended into the Entrance Hall, stepped out of the doors and started toward the Magicians' Quarters.

  Then she stopped.

  Where was she going? Rothen's rooms? Standing still, she tried to gather her thoughts.

  Hunger decided her. She would go to the Foodhall. And after the afternoon's tests? The library. If she stayed there until it closed, she could avoid returning to the High Lord's Residence until late. With luck Akkarin would have retired for the night, and she could reach her room without encountering him. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the inevitable stares and whispers, and walked back into the University.

  Lorlen's rooms were on the ground floor of the Magicians' Quarters. He spent little time in them, rising early and returning long after the rest of the Guild had retired. From day to day he noticed little more in the rooms than the bed and his clothing cupboard.

  But in the last day he had rediscovered much about his private space. There were ornaments and objects on the bookshelves that he had forgotten he owned. These mementos of the past, of family and achievements, brought only guilt and pain. They reminded him of people he loved and respected. People he had failed.

  Closing his eyes, Lorlen sighed. Osen would not be concerned yet. Only a day and a half had passed. Not long enough for his assistant to panic at the growing list of unattended work. And Osen had been trying for years to persuade Lorlen to take a break from his duties.

  If only it was a break. Lorlen rubbed his eyes and wandered into his bedroom. Perhaps he was tired enough to sleep now. He hadn't been able to for two nights, not since . . .

  As he lay down the memories returned. He groaned and tried to push them away, but he was too tired to fight them, and he knew they would return again as soon as he relaxed anyway.

  How did it start? I said something about the Vindo Ambassador expecting to stay in the residence ...

  "He was surprised to hear that the High Lord does not entertain guests anymore, since his father stayed here with your predecessor," Lorlen remembered explaining.

  Akkarin had smiled at that. He had been standing by the little table he served drinks at, gazing out the window at the night-shrouded grounds.

  "The best change I ever made."

  "You do value your privacy," Lorlen had said absently.

  Akkarin then placed a finger on a wine bottle, as if considering whether he would have another glass. His face had been turned away, something Lorlen had been thankful for when Akkarin spoke next.

  "I doubt that the ambassador would be comfortable with my ... habits."

  There! Another one of those strange comments. Like he was testing me. I thought I was safe, since his back was turned and he couldn't see my reaction . . .

  "Habits?" Lorlen had affected disbelief. "I doubt he'd care if you had a few late nights, or drank too much. You're just afraid he'll drink all your favorite wine."

  "That, too." Akkarin had then opened the bottle. "But we couldn't have anyone discovering all my little secrets, could we?"

  An image or Akkarin covered in bloodied beggar's rags had flickered through Lorlen's mind at that point in the conversation. He had shuddered and pushed it aside, thankful again that Akkarin's back was turned.

  Was this what Akkarin had sensed? Was he listening to my thoughts at that moment?

  "No," Lorlen had replied and, wanting to change the subject, asked about the news of the court.

  At that point, Akkarin lifted an object from the table. Catching a glitter of gems, Lorlen looked closer. It was a knife. The knife Sonea had seen Akkarin using for the black magic ritual. Surprised and horrified, Lorlen drew in a breath and choked on the wine.

  "You're supposed to drink wine, my friend," Akkarin said, smiling. "Not breathe it."

  Lorlen looked away, hiding behind his hands as he coughed. He tried to regain his composure, yet seeing Akkarin holding the knife had been like reliving Sonea's memory. He wondered why Akkarin had brought it into the guestroom.

  Then his blood turned to ice, as the thought came that Akkarin might be intending to use it.

  "What news do I have?" Akkarin mused. "Let me think."

  Lorlen forced himself to regard his friend calmly. As Akkarin turned back to the bottle, Lorlen caught a corresponding movement on the table. A polished silver tray leaning against another bottle had reflected Akkarin's eyes. Eyes that were watching him.

  So he had been watching me all along. Perhaps he hadn't tried to read my surface thoughts at that point of the conversation. Only my reaction to his comments, and the knife, would have convinced him that I knew something . . .

  "I've heard reports of Dannyl from friends in Elyne and Lonmar," Akkarin had said next, abruptly moving away from the table. "They speak well of him."

  "That is good to hear."

  Akkarin had then paused in the center of the room. "I've been following his progress with interest. He is an efficient researcher."

  So he knew Dannyl was researching something. Did he know what Dannyl was researching? Lorlen had forced himself to smile. "I wonder what has caught his attention."

  Akkarin's eyes narrowed. "Hasn't he been keeping you informed?"

  "Me?"

  "Yes. You did, after all, ask him to investigate my past."

  Lorlen considered his next words carefully. Akkarin might know that Dannyl was retracing his travels, but how could he know why when Dannyl didn't? "Is that what your friends say?"

  "Spies would be a more accurate term."

  Akkarin's hand had moved, and with a flash of fear Lorlen saw that it still held the knife. Realizing that Akkarin could not have missed his reaction, Lorlen stared at it openly.

  "What is that?"

  "Something I picked up during my travels," Akkarin replied, holding it up. "Something you recognize, I think."

  Lorlen then felt a flash of triumph. Akkarin had all but admitted he had learned black magic during his travels. Dannyl's research might prove useful yet...

  "It is strangely familiar," Lorlen said. "Perhaps I have seen somethin
g like it before in a book, or a collection of antiques—and it is such a vicious-looking thing it would be sure to stick in my memory."

  "Do you know what it is used for?"

  A memory of Akkarin cutting his servant's arm flashed into Lorlen's mind. "It's a knife, so something unpleasant, most likely."

  Akkarin, to Lorlen's relief, set the knife down on a side table, but the relief had been short lived.

  "You have been strangely cautious of me these last few months," Akkarin said. "You avoid mental communication, as if you are afraid I will detect something behind your thoughts. When my contacts told me of Dannyl's research, I was intrigued. Why did you ask him to investigate my past? Don't deny it, Lorlen. I have proof."

  Lorlen was dismayed that Akkarin had discovered Dannyl's orders. But he had prepared for this question. He pretended to be embarrassed.

  "I was curious, and after our conversation about your diary I thought I might restore some of what you lost. You're not free to gather the information again, so ... It wouldn't be as satisfying as going yourself, of course, but I hoped it would be a pleasant surprise."

  "I see." Akkarin's voice had hardened. "I wish I could believe you, but I don't. You see, tonight I have done something to you that I have never done before, and never wanted to. While we spoke I read your surface thoughts. They have revealed much, much more. I know you are lying. I know you have seen things you should never have seen, and I must know how this came about.

  "Tell me, how long have you known I practice black magic?"

  Just a few words, and everything changed. Was there any remorse or guilt in his voice ? No. Just anger...

  Appalled, and not a little frightened, Lorlen had grasped at a last, desperate evasion. He had stared at his friend in horror.

  "You practice what?"

  Akkarin's expression darkened. "Don't be a fool, Lorlen," he had snapped. "I have seen it in your thoughts. You know you cannot lie to me."

  Realizing that he could not deny it, Lorlen glanced at the knife on the table. He wondered what would happen now. If he was about to die. How Akkarin would explain it. If Rothen and Sonea would suspect the truth and reveal Akkarin's crime . . .