The Magicians' Guild: The Black Magician Trilogy

by Trudi Canavan

  Did I do that? she thought. But I wasn’t angry.

  The fire began to crackle as the flames multiplied. Sonea edged closer, unsure what to do. What would Faren say when he discovered his hideout had been burned? Sonea snorted. He’d be irritated, and a little disappointed that his pet magician had died.

  Smoke was pouring upward and curling along the roof. Creeping forward on hands and knees, Sonea grabbed a leg of the table and dragged it forward. The fire flared with the movement. Flinching at the heat, Sonea lifted the table and threw it into the fireplace. It settled against the grate and continued to burn.

  Sonea sighed and watched the fire consume the table. She had discovered something new, at least. Tables don’t burst into flames on their own. It seemed desperation was an emotion that would rouse magic as well.

  Anger, hate and desperation, she mused. What fun it is to be a magician.

  “Did you sense that?” Rothen asked, his voice tense with excitement.

  Dannyl nodded. “Yes. It’s not what I was expecting. I always thought that sensing magic was like feeling someone singing. This felt more like a cough.”

  “A cough of magic.” Rothen chuckled. “That’s an interesting way of describing it.”

  “If you don’t know how to sing or speak, would you make rough noises instead? Perhaps this is what magic sounds like when it is uncontrolled.” Dannyl blinked, then stepped away from the window and rubbed his eyes. “It’s late, and I’m getting far too abstract for comfort. We should get some sleep.”

  Rothen nodded, but didn’t move from the window. He gazed out at the last few lights glinting in the city.

  “We’ve been listening for hours. There’s nothing to be gained by doing so any longer,” Dannyl told Rothen. “We know we can sense her now. Get some sleep, Rothen. We’ll need to be alert tomorrow.”

  “It seems incredible to think she’s so close to us, but we haven’t been able to find her,” Rothen said softly. “I wonder what she tried to do.”

  “Rothen,” Dannyl said sternly.

  The older magician sighed and turned from the window. He smiled wanly.

  “Very well. I will try to sleep.”

  “Good.” Satisfied, Dannyl walked to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Dannyl.”

  Looking back as he closed the door, Dannyl was pleased to see his friend walking toward the bedroom. He knew Rothen’s interest in finding the girl had gone past duty. As he started down the corridor, he smiled to himself.

  Years before, when Dannyl was a novice, Fergun had circulated rumors about him in revenge for a prank. Dannyl hadn’t expected anyone to take Fergun seriously, but when the teachers and novices began treating him differently and he realized he could do nothing to regain their regard, he had lost all respect for his peers. The enthusiasm he’d had for his lessons fled, and he fell further and further behind.

  Then Rothen had taken him aside and, with seemingly endless determination and optimism, had turned Dannyl’s mind back to magic and learning. It seemed he could not help wanting to help rescue youngsters in strife. Though Dannyl was sure his friend was as determined as ever, he could not help wondering if Rothen was truly prepared to take on the education of this girl. There had to be a big difference between a sullen novice and a slum girl who probably hated magicians.

  One thing was sure: life was going to get very interesting when she was found.

  9

  An Unwelcome Visitor

  A chill wind whipped the rain into flurries and clawed at winter coats. Cery pulled his longcoat tighter and hunched deeper into the folds of his scarf. He grimaced as the rain beat at his face, then resolutely leaned into the wind.

  It had been seductively warm in the bolhouse with Harrin. Donia’s father had been in a generous mood, but even free bol could not tempt Cery to stay—not when Faren had finally allowed him to visit Sonea.

  Cery grunted as a tall man pushed past him. He glowered at the back of the stranger as the man strode on down the road. A merchant, Cery guessed, from the way the rain glistened on new cloak and boots. He muttered an insult and trudged on.

  When Cery had returned from the thugs’ shop, Faren had questioned him about the night’s work. The Thief had listened to Cery report, expressing neither praise nor disapproval, then simply nodded.

  He’s testing my usefulness, Cery mused. Wants to know what my limits are. I wonder what he’ll ask me to do next.

  Looking up, he scanned the street. A few dwells hurried through the rain. Nothing unusual in that. Ahead, the merchant had stopped and was standing beside a building for no reason Cery could see.

  Continuing down the road, Cery glanced up at the merchant as he passed him. The stranger’s eyes were closed and he was frowning as if in concentration. Stepping into the next alley, Cery looked back just in time to see the man’s head snap up and his eyes focus on the road.

  No, Cery thought, his skin crawling, beneath the road.

  He looked closer, examining the merchant’s clothes. The man’s shoes were both familiar and unusual. A small symbol gleamed in the dull light…

  Cery’s heart skipped. Turning, he broke into a run.

  Through the rain, Rothen could see the shape of a tall cloaked man standing on the street corner opposite him.

  —We’re close, Dannyl sent. She’s somewhere below these houses.

  —All we have to do is find a way in, Rothen replied.

  It had been a slow and frustrating day. Sometimes the girl had used magic several times in a row, and they made good progress. Other times they waited hours only to find she made a single attempt, then stopped.

  He had noted quickly that his cloak, while hiding his robes, still marked him as someone too well dressed for the slums. He had also realized that several cloaked men loitering in one area were going to attract attention so, as the magicians drew closer to the girl, he had ordered most of them to move away.

  A buzz at the edge of his mind snatched his attention back to the girl. Dannyl moved from his position and entered an alleyway. Checking with the other searchers, Rothen decided that the girl must be somewhere below the house to his left.

  —I think there’s an entrance to the passages here, Dannyl sent. A ventilation grille in the wall, like we’ve seen before.

  —This is as close as we’re going to get without revealing ourselves, Rothen sent to the searchers. It’s time. Makin and I will watch the front entrance. Kiano and Yaldih keep an eye on the back door. Dannyl and Jolen will enter the passage first, since that’s the way she’ll probably try to escape.

  When all had reported that they were in position, he instructed Dannyl and Jolen to go. As Dannyl opened the grille, he started sending images to them all.

  Climbing through the opening, Dannyl dropped to the floor of the passage. He created a globe of light, and watched as Lord Jolen followed. They separated, each disappearing into the dark passage on either side.

  After a hundred paces or so, Dannyl stopped and sent his light forward. It continued for several paces before reaching a turn.

  —This goes under the street, I think. I’m going back.

  A moment later, Lord Jolen sent an image of a narrow descending staircase. He started down, then stopped as a man stepped out in front of him. The newcomer stared at Jolen’s globe light, then turned and fled into a side passage.

  —We’ve been spotted, Jolen sent.

  —Keep going, Rothen replied.

  Dannyl had stopped sending images so that Rothen could follow Jolen’s progress. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Jolen started striding down a narrow passage. As he reached a turn, dust, noise and a sense of alarm battered Rothen’s senses. Confusion followed, as all of the magicians started sending questions.

  —They’ve caved in the passage. Jolen replied, sending an image of a wall of rubble. Dannyl was behind me.

  Rothen felt a stab of apprehension. -Dannyl?

  Silence followed, then a faint mental voice.
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  —Buried. Wait…I’m free. No harm done. Go on ahead, Jolen. They obviously meant to stop us getting past here. Go on and find her.

  —Go, Rothen repeated. Jolen turned from the wall of rubble and hurried down the passage.

  A bell chimed. Sonea looked up from the fireplace and climbed to her feet. A panel in the wall slid open and Faren stepped through. Dressed in black, with his striking eyes gleaming, he looked suitably insect-like and dangerous. He smiled and handed her something wrapped in material and fastened with cord.

  “This is for you.”

  She turned it over in her hands. “What is it?”

  “Open it,” Faren urged, folding his long limbs into one of the chairs.

  Sitting opposite him, Sonea untied the string. The material fell open to reveal an old book with a leather cover. A large section of pages had come free from the binding. She looked up at Faren and frowned.

  “An old book?”

  He nodded. “Look at the title.”

  Sonea glanced down, then looked up at him again.

  “I can’t read.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Of course.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I should have realized. It’s a book on magic. I had someone look in all the pawn shops and scavengers’ dens. Apparently, the magicians burn their old books but, according to the shop’s owner, this one was sold by an enterprising and disobedient servant. Look inside.”

  Opening the cover, she found a folded piece of paper. Picking it up, she immediately noticed the thickness of the parchment. A sheet of paper this well made usually cost more than a meal for a large family or a new cloak. Unfolding it, she looked at the black characters curling in perfect lines across the page, then she drew in a breath as she saw the symbol stamped onto a corner. A diamond with a “Y” dividing it—the symbol of the Guild.

  “What is it?” she breathed.

  “A message,” Faren replied. “For you.”

  “Me?” She looked up at him.

  He nodded.

  “How did they know how to get it to me?”

  “They didn’t, but they gave it to someone they knew had connections with the Thieves, and he passed it on.”

  She held it out to him.

  “What does it say?”

  He took the paper from her. “It reads: ‘To the young lady with magical powers. As we cannot speak to you in person, we are sending this message through the Thieves in the hope that they will be able to reach you. We wish to assure you that we do not intend to harm you in any way. Be assured, as well, that we did not intend to hurt you or the young man on the day of the Purge. His death was a tragic accident. We only wish to teach you how to control your power, and to offer you the opportunity to join the Guild. You are welcome among us.” It is signed: ‘Lord Rothen of the Magicians’ Guild.’”

  Sonea stared at the message with disbelief. The Guild wanted her, a slum girl, to join them?

  It must be a trick, she decided, an attempt to draw her out of hiding. Remembering the magician who had invaded the attic refuge, she recalled how he had called her an enemy of the Guild. He hadn’t known that she was listening. That, more likely, was the truth.

  Folding the parchment, Faren slipped it into a pocket. Seeing his sly smile, Sonea felt a twinge of suspicion. How did she know whether what he had read out was truly what the message said?

  But why would he make it up? He wanted her to work for him, not go running off to join the magicians. Unless he was testing her…

  The Thief lifted an eyebrow. “What do you think, young Sonea?”

  “I don’t believe them.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’d never take a dwell.”

  He rubbed the arm of his chair. “What if you were to discover that they did want you to join them? Many ordinary people dream of becoming a magician. Perhaps the Guild is anxious to redeem itself in the eyes of the public.”

  Sonea shook her head. “It’s a trick. It was a mistake that they got the wrong dwell, not that they killed one.”

  Faren nodded slowly. “That is what most witnesses say. Well, we shall decline the Guild’s invitation and get onto more important business.” He pointed at the book in her lap. “I don’t know if that will be useful. I will have to get someone to read it to you. It might be better if you learned to read yourself.”

  “My aunt taught me a little,” Sonea told him, flicking through the pages. “But it was a long time ago.” She looked up. “Will I be able to see Jonna and Ranel soon? I’m sure Jonna could teach me to read.”

  He shook his head. “Not until the magicians stop—” He frowned and tilted his head slightly. A faint ringing reached her ears.

  “What’s that?”

  Faren rose. “Wait here,” he said and disappeared into the darkness behind the panel.

  Sonea put the book aside and moved to the fireplace. The panel slid open again and Faren stepped back into the room.

  “Quickly,” he snapped, “follow me—and keep silent.”

  He strode past her. Sonea stared at him for a heartbeat before following him across the room.

  Drawing a small object from a pocket, Faren ran it back and forth over the panelling. Sonea drew closer and saw a knot in the wood slide forward until it protruded half a finger length into the room. Faren grasped this and pulled.

  A section of the wall swivelled inward. Taking her arm, Faren pulled her into the shadows. After pushing the knot flush with the panel again, he closed the door.

  They stood in darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that five tiny holes were spaced across the door at shoulder height. Faren’s eye hovered close to one.

  “There are faster ways out of the room,” he told her, “but since we had the time, I thought it better to choose the door that is near impossible to open. Look.”

  He moved away from the peephole. She blinked as a flame suddenly lit the darkness. Faren lifted a tiny lamp and slid the shutter across until only a thin ray of light spilled into the passage. Holding it up, he pointed out several metal bolts and complicated-looking gears on the back of the door.

  “So what’s going on?” she asked.

  Faren’s yellow eyes glinted in the dim light as he slid the bolts into place. “Only a handful of magicians are still searching for you. My spies now know what they look like, their names, their movements.” Faren chuckled. “We’ve been sending false informers to them, keeping them busy.

  “Today they’ve been acting strangely. More came into the slums than usually do, and they wore cloaks over their robes. They took positions all around the slums and seemed to be waiting for something. I don’t know what, but they kept moving to new positions. Each time they did, they came closer to this place. Then, just now, Ceryni told me that he thought the magicians were tracking you. He said they must be able to sense you using magic. I didn’t believe it until…”

  Faren paused, then the sliver of light from the lamp suddenly vanished and darkness filled the passage. Sonea heard him move to the wall. She crept forward and put her eye to one of the little holes.

  The entrance to the room stood open, a rectangle of darkness. At first Sonea thought the hideout was empty, then a figure suddenly strode into sight from one of the side rooms, his green robes swaying as he stopped.

  “My people managed to stop them by caving in the passage,” Faren whispered, “but one got through. Don’t be alarmed. No one can get through this door. It’s…” He sucked in a quiet breath. “Interesting.”

  Sonea put her eye back to the hole and felt her heart skip. The magician appeared to be staring right at her.

  “Can he hear us?” Faren murmured. “I tested the walls many times.”

  “Perhaps he can see the door,” Sonea suggested.

  “No, he’d have to look very closely. Even if he did start looking for doors, there are five exits leading from this room. Why would he choose this one?”

  The magician walked toward them and stopped. He stared at the wood, then closed his eye
s. Sonea felt an all-too-familiar sensation pass over her. When the magician opened his eyes again, his frown was gone and he was staring directly at Faren.

  “How does he know?” Faren hissed. “Are you doing magic right now?”

  “No,” Sonea replied, surprised at the confidence in her own voice. “I can hide myself from him. It’s you. He’s sensing you.”

  “Me?” Faren turned his head from the hole and stared at her.

  Sonea shrugged. “Don’t ask me why.”

  “Can you hide me?” Faren’s voice was strained. “Can you hide us both?”

  Sonea drew away from the hole. Could she? She couldn’t hide what the magician was sensing without detecting it herself. She looked at Faren, then she looked at Faren. It was as if she had extended her senses—no, another sense that wasn’t sight or hearing—and could feel a person there.

  Faren uttered an oath.

  “Stop whatever you’re doing!” he gasped. Something brushed against the wall. Faren backed away.

  “He’s trying to open it,” he told her. “I was afraid he’d try to blast it down. That gives us some time.” He opened the lamp’s shutter and gestured for her to follow him.

  They had only taken a few steps when the sound of a bolt sliding across wood halted them. Faren turned and swore. He raised the lamp until its light illuminated the wall.

  One by one the bolts were sliding back, apparently on their own. Sonea saw the cogs of the door mechanism begin to turn, then the passage plunged into darkness as the lamp clattered to the floor.

  “Run!” Faren hissed. “Follow me!”

  Throwing out a hand to the passage wall, Sonea chased the rapping of Faren’s shoes on the ground. She had run no more than twenty paces when a wedge of light leapt past her, throwing her shadow across the floor. The sound of booted footsteps echoed down the passage behind her.

  Bright light suddenly filled the passage and her shadow began to shrink rapidly. Heat flashed against her ear and she shied as a bright ball of light overtook her. It shot past Faren and flashed outward to form a glowing barrier.