Black Magician-02 The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

  "Yes." Dannyl grimaced. "Though he didn't travel well, I must say. I've never seen anyone so seasick."

  She hesitated. "They say he has some unconventional interests. Some, particularly the ladies, find him a little... disinterested."

  Dannyl nodded slowly. "Spending days deep underground, surrounded by books and speaking dead languages, would not make a man attractive to ladies." He gave her a calculating look. "Are you playing matchmaker, Bel Arralade?"

  She smiled coyly. "And what if I am?"

  "Then I should warn you that I don't know Tayend well enough to be of use. If he has a lady in mind, he has kept the matter to himself."

  Again, she hesitated. "Then we'll leave him his privacy," she said, nodding. "Matchmaking is a habit as evil as gossip when unwanted. Ah, here's Dem Dorlini. I hoped he would come, as I have a few questions for him." She rose. "It was a pleasure talking to you, Ambassador Dannyl. I hope we may converse again soon."

  "I would be honored, Bel Arralade."

  After a few minutes Dannyl discovered the peril of remaining still and alone. A trio of young girls, their child-sized court clothes stained with food, surrounded him. He kept them entertained with illusions until their parents rescued him. Rising, he started toward Errend, then stopped as he heard his name spoken.

  Turning, he saw Tayend approaching, the muscular man at his side.

  "Tayend of Tremmelin."

  "Ambassador Dannyl. This is Velend of Genard. A friend," Tayend said.

  The young man's mouth curved, but the smile did not reach his eyes. He bowed stiffly and reluctantly.

  "Tayend has told me of your travels," Velend said. "Though from his descriptions I don't think I'd find Lonmar to my taste."

  "It is a hot and imposing country," Dannyl replied. "I'm sure it would be possible to acclimatize, if one stayed long enough. Are you a scholar, too?"

  "No," the man replied. "My interests are in swordplay and weaponry. Do you practice, Ambassador?"

  "No," Dannyl replied. "There is little time for such pursuits for young men who join the Guild." Swordplay, then. He wondered if that was why he felt this instant dislike of the man. Did Velend remind him too much of Fergun, who also favored hard weapons?

  "I've found a few books that might be of interest, Ambassador," Tayend said, his tone businesslike. As Tayend began to describe the books, their age and general contents, Dannyl observed Velend shifting his weight from one foot to the other and glancing around at the crowd. Finally, the man interrupted Tayend.

  "Excuse me, Tayend, Ambassador Dannyl. There is someone I must speak to."

  As he walked away, Tayend smiled slyly. "I knew it wouldn't take long to get rid of him." He paused as a passing couple drew closer to them, and returned to the businesslike tone. "We've been looking at old books, but I decided to try some more recent ones. Sometimes, when a Dem dies, his family sends whatever diaries or visitor books he owned to the library. In one Dem's diary I found some interesting references to... well, I won't go into detail now, but they indicate that we may find more information in some of the other Dems' private libraries. I'm not sure who or where, however."

  "Do any of them live in the mountains?" Dannyl asked.

  Tayend's eyes widened. "A few. Why do you ask?"

  Dannyl lowered his voice. "Our hostess was just reminiscing about a particular young magician who attended her birthday party ten years ago."

  "Ah."

  "Yes. Ah." Seeing Velend approaching, Dannyl frowned. "That friend of yours is coming back."

  "He's not a friend, really," Tayend corrected. "More a friend of a friend. He brought me to the party."

  Velend's walk was fluid, like the gait of a limek—the predatory dog that bothered farmers and sometimes killed travellers in the mountains. To Dannyl's relief, the man stopped to talk to another courtier.

  "I should warn you," Dannyl added. "Bel Arralade might be trying to find you a young lady."

  "I doubt it. She knows me too well."

  Dannyl frowned. "Then why did she comment on your attractiveness to women, I wonder?"

  "She was probably testing you, to see what you knew about me. What did you say?"

  "That I didn't know you well enough to guess if you had anyone in mind."

  Tayend's eyebrows rose. "No, you don't, do you?" he said in a quiet voice. "I wonder. Would it disturb you to know if there was?"

  "Disturb me?" Dannyl shook his head. "No ... but perhaps that would depend on who it was. Should I take it, then, that there is someone?"

  "Perhaps." Tayend smiled crookedly. "But I'm not going to tell you . .. yet."

  Amused, Dannyl looked over Tayend's shoulder at Velend. Surely not... A face turned toward him, and a hand waved. Recognizing Ambassador Errend, Dannyl nodded in reply. "Ambassador Errend wants me to join him."

  Tayend nodded. "And I will be accused of being a bore if I spend the night discussing work. Will I see you at the library soon?"

  "In a few days. I think we may have another journey to plan."

  * * *

  Sonea ran a finger along the spines of the books. She found a gap and slipped the missing volume into it. The other book she was holding was thick and heavy. Realizing it belonged on a shelf on the other side of the library, she tucked it under her arm and started across the room.

  "Sonea!"

  Turning into another aisle, Sonea strode toward the front of the library, where Lady Tya was sitting behind a small desk.

  "What is it, my lady?"

  "A message arrived for you," the librarian told her. "The High Lord wants to see you in Lord Yikmo's training room."

  Sonea nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. What did Akkarin want? A demonstration?

  "I had better go, then. Would you like me to come back tomorrow night?"

  Lady Tya smiled. "You're a dream come true, Sonea. Nobody believes how much work it takes to maintain this place. But you must have a lot of studying to do."

  "I can spare an hour or two—and it helps to know what's here, and where to find it."

  The librarian nodded. "If you have some spare time, then I welcome the help." She shook a finger at Sonea. "But I don't want to hear anyone saying I'm distracting the High Lord's favorite from her studies."

  "You won't." Putting down the book, Sonea picked up her box and opened the door. "Good night, Lady Tya."

  The University passages were quiet and still. Sonea started toward Lord Yikmo's room.

  With each step she felt dread growing. Lord Yikmo did not like to teach in the evenings. The Vindo magician's reasons had something to do with the religion of his homeland. A request from the High Lord could not be refused, however.

  Even so, it was a late hour to start any kind of lesson or demonstration. Perhaps Akkarin had another reason for calling her to Yikmo's room. Perhaps Yikmo wasn't even going to be there ...

  She jumped as a novice stepped out in front of her from a side passage. As she tried to walk around him, he moved to block her path, and three more novices stepped out to stand beside him.

  "Hello, Sonea. Did you get my message?"

  Turning around, she felt her heart sink. Regin stood at the front of a small crowd of novices, blocking the passage behind. She recognized a few members of her old class, but the rest were only vaguely familiar. These others, she realized, were older novices. They stared at her coldly, and she remembered the comments she had overheard the day classes had resumed. If so many thought she didn't deserve to have been chosen by the High Lord, it wouldn't have taken much for Regin to persuade some of them to join him.

  "Poor Sonea," Regin drawled. "It must be so lonely being the High Lord's favorite. No friends. No one to play with. We thought you might like some company. Perhaps a little game." He glanced at one of the older boys. "What shall we play?"

  The boy grinned. "I liked your first idea, Regin."

  "A game of 'Purge,' then?" Regin shrugged. "I guess it will be good practice for the work we might have to do later in life. But I think it'll
take more than flashy lights and barriers to get this sort of vermin out of the University." He narrowed his eyes at Sonea. "We'll just have to use more persuasive means."

  Anger stirred within Sonea at his words, but as his hands rose, it turned to disbelief. Surely he wouldn't strike her. Not here. Not in the University.

  "You wouldn't dare . . ."

  He grinned. "Wouldn't I?" As light flashed from his hand she threw up a shield. "What are you going to do about it? Tell your guardian? Somehow, I don't think you will. I think you're too scared of him."

  Regin drew closer, and white magic blasted from both palms.

  "How can you be sure?" she retorted. "And what if someone finds us fighting in the corridors? You know the rules."

  "I don't think there's much chance of that." Regin smirked. "We've checked. There's nobody around. Even Lady Tya has left the library."

  His strikes were easy to shield. A few blasts of power and she could stop him. But she resisted the temptation, remembering Yikmo's lecture on the responsibility of magicians to avoid harming others.

  "So call on your guardian, Sonea," he urged. "Ask him to rescue you."

  She felt a shiver of cold run down her spine, but ignored it. "From you, Regin? That's hardly worth bothering the High Lord for."

  He glanced at the novices around him. "Did you hear that? She thinks we're not worthy of the High Lord's attention. The best of the Houses, and she a mere slum girl? So let's show her who's worthy. Come on."

  He attacked her again. Feeling her shield assailed also from behind, she glanced back to see that Kano and Issle had stepped to the front of the novices there. But the older novices were frowning. Looking around at their faces, Sonea saw doubt.

  "I told you," Regin said between strikes. "She won't tell him."

  Still, the older novices hesitated.

  "If she does," Regin added, "I'll take responsibility. I'm willing to do that, just to prove it to you. What have you got to lose?"

  Feeling more strikes, Sonea glanced over her shoulder again to see that more novices had joined in. It took much more power to hold her shield now. Growing worried, she glanced to either side, considering what to do. If she could get to the main corridor . . . She started forward, forcing Regin and his companions back.

  "If you don't join us now," Regin all but shouted to the few still-hesitant novices, "she'll get away. Just like she's getting away with taking what's rightfully ours. Are you going to put her in her place, or spend the rest of your lives bowing down to a slum girl!"

  The novices beside him stepped forward, though with some reluctance, and attacked with forcestrike. Trying to move into forcestrike took more of her strength than simply shielding, and though she managed to advance, progress was slow and costly.

  She stopped and reconsidered. Did she have enough strength to reach the corridor? She couldn't say. Better to conserve her strength. Hopefully they would exhaust themselves, and she would be able to push past easily.

  So long as she didn't tire first.

  To reduce the size of her shield, she pressed her back to the wall. As the attack continued, she considered what their purpose was. She had assumed Regin had gathered such a large group so he would have a bigger audience—and protection if she fought back. Was he hoping to exhaust her, too? If so, what did he intend to do once they had worn her down? Kill her? Surely a slum girl was not worth going to prison for. No, he probably intended for her to be too tired for her lessons the next day.

  The strikes were weakening but, to her alarm, she felt her own strength starting to falter. It was going to be close. Too close. As her shield began to waver, Regin raised his arms.

  "Stop!"

  The strikes ceased. In the silence, Regin looked at the others one by one and grinned.

  "See? Now let's put her in her proper place."

  As he turned back to regard her, she saw the malicious glint in his eyes and realized that exhausting her had just been the first part of his plan. She wished she had continued pushing toward the main corridor. But as she did, she knew she would not have made it that far.

  Regin sent another, cautious strike at her shield. One by one, the others continued this careful onslaught. Most of the strikes were weak, but as she drew more and more on the source of her power to maintain the shield, she realized she was doomed anyway. Even if they all ended up too exhausted to use their powers, ten novices could still happily torment her without using magic at all.

  With growing dread, she felt her power fading. Her shield shimmered away, leaving nothing but air between herself and Regin. He smiled at the others—a tired but triumphant grin.

  Then a streak of red light pulsed from Regin's palm. Pain blossomed in her chest and flashed outward, shivering down her arms and legs and stabbing up into her head.

  She felt her muscles spasm, and her back sliding against the wall.

  As the sensation faded she opened her eyes, and found herself curled up on the floor. Heat rushed to her face. Humiliated, she tried to stand up, but another burst of pain took over her senses. She gritted her teeth, determined that she would not cry out.

  "Well, I've always wondered what stunstrike did," she heard Regin say. "Like to try it?"

  Hearing a sound of disgust, Sonea felt a momentary hope as two of the novices exchanged a look of dismay, then turned and walked away. But the others all wore eager expressions and her hope faded as stunstrike after stunstrike sent pain coursing through her again.

  Regin's taunt ran through her mind. "So call on your guardian, Sonea. Ask him to rescue you." It would take a brief mental call; an image of Regin and his accomplices ...

  No. Nothing Regin did to her could be as awful as having to ask Akkarin for help.

  Rothen then!

  Not allowed to talk to him.

  There's got to be someone!

  But a call for help would be heard by Akkarin—and other magicians. The whole Guild would soon know that his novice had been found exhausted and defeated in the passages of the University.

  There was nothing she could do.

  Curling into a ball, she waited for the novices to use up the last of their power, or grow bored with their game, and leave her alone.

  It was well past midnight when Lorlen finally finished the last letter. He rose, stretched and walked to the door, barely seeing his surroundings as he automatically set the magical lock. As he turned to walk down the corridor he heard a noise in the University Entrance Hall.

  He paused, considering whether to investigate. It had been a soft sound, perhaps a dead leaf blown in through the doorway. He had just made up his mind to ignore it when the sound came again.

  Frowning, he moved to the Entrance Hall doorway. A movement drew his eye to one of the enormous doors. Something slid along the ancient timber. He took a step forward, then drew in a sharp breath.

  Sonea was leaning against the enormous door as if she might fall over without its support. She took a step, then stopped and swayed at the top of the stairs. Hurrying forward, Lorlen grabbed her arm to steady her. She stared at him in surprise and obvious dismay.

  "What has happened to you?" he asked.

  "Nothing, my lord," she said.

  "Nothing? You're exhausted."

  She shrugged, and it was obvious even that took effort. All her strength was gone. As if ... as if she had been drained of it...

  "What has he done to you?" Lorlen gasped.

  She frowned, then shook her head. Suddenly her knees buckled and she sank to the stairs. He sat down beside her, releasing her arm.

  "It's not what you think," she told him, then folded forward and rested her head on her knees. "Not who you think. Not him." She sighed and rubbed her face. "I've never felt this tired before."

  "Then what has made you like this?"

  Sonea's shoulders drooped, but she didn't answer.

  "Was it something a teacher set you to do?"

  She shook her head.

  "Did you try something that took more powe
r than you expected?"

  She shook her head again.

  Lorlen tried to think of some other way her powers might have been exhausted. He thought of the few times he used all his strength. He had to think back many years, to his time in the University. To fighting Akkarin in Warrior Skills. But she had said it wasn't Akkarin.

  Then he remembered. Once, the teacher had set several against each class member. It had been one of the few times he had been bested.

  But it was too late for classes. Why would she be fighting other novices? Lorlen scowled as a name sprang to mind.

  Regin. The boy had probably gathered his supporters together and waylaid her somewhere. It was bold and risky. If Sonea told Akkarin of the harassment...

  But she wouldn't. Lorlen looked at Sonea and felt his heart twist. At the same time he felt an unexpected pride.

  "It was Regin, wasn't it?"

  Her eyelids flickered open. Seeing the wariness there, he nodded.

  "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone unless you want me to. I will let Akkarin know what is going on, if you like." If he's listening now he'll already know. He glanced down at the ring, then quickly away.

  She shook her head. "No. Don't. Please."

  Of course. She wouldn't want Akkarin to know.

  "I wasn't expecting it," she added. "I'll keep away from them now."

  Lorlen nodded slowly. "Well, if you can't, then know that you can call on me for help."

  The edge of her mouth lifted in a wry smile, then she drew in a deep breath and started to rise.

  "Wait." She paused as he took her hand. "Here," he said. "This will help."

  He sent a gentle stream of Healing energy out through his palm into her body. Her eyes widened as she sensed it. It would not restore her power, but it did ease the physical weariness. Her shoulders straightened and the pallor left her face.

  "Thank you," she said. Standing up, she looked toward the High Lord's Residence and her shoulders drooped again.

  "It won't be like this forever, Sonea," he said softly.

  She nodded. "Good night, Administrator."

  "Good night, Sonea."

  He watched her as she walked away, hoping that his words would prove true, but wondering how they possibly could.