She looked down at the page again and sighed. A word lay before her—an alien, strange, annoying word which refused to make any sense. She stared at it, knowing the meaning of the whole sentence revolved around this infuriating word. She rubbed her eyes again, then jumped at a rapping on the door.
Rising, she peered through the spy hole, smiled, and unlocked the door.
“Good evening,” Faren said as he slipped into the room. He handed her a bottle. “I brought you a little token of encouragement.”
Sonea uncorked the bottle and sniffed. “Pachi wine!” she exclaimed.
“That’s right.”
Moving to a cupboard, Sonea took out two mugs. “I don’t think these are right for Pachi wine,” she said. “But that’s all I have—unless you want to ask Serin for something better.”
“They’ll do.” Faren drew a chair up to the table and sat down. Accepting a mug of the clear green liquor, he took a sip, sighed contentedly, and leaned back in his chair. “Of course, it’s better spiced and warmed.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Sonea said. “I’ve never tasted it before.” Taking a sip, she smiled as a sweet, fresh flavor filled her mouth. Faren chuckled at her expression.
“I thought you’d like it.” He stretched and leaned back in the chair. “I’ve also got news for you. Your aunt and uncle are expecting a child.”
Sonea stared at him. “They are?”
“You’ll have a little cousin soon,” he told her. Taking another sip, he gave her a speculative look. “Cery told me that your mother died when you were a child, and your father left Kyralia soon after.” He paused. “Did either of your parents show signs of having magic in their blood?”
She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
He pursed his lips. “I had Cery ask your aunt. She says she has never seen any magical talent in either your parents or grandparents.”
“Does it matter?”
“Magicians like to trace their bloodlines,” he told her. “My mother had magic in hers. I know because her brother—my uncle—is a magician, and my grandfather’s brother is, too—if he is still alive.”
“You have magicians in your family?”
“Yes, though I’ve never met either of them, and probably never will.”
“But…” Sonea shook her head. “How can that be?”
“My mother was the daughter of a wealthy Lonmar merchant,” he replied. “My father was a Kyralian sailor, working for a ship captain who regularly transported wares for my mother’s father.”
“How did they meet?”
“By chance first, then in secret. The Lonmar, as you know, keep their women from sight. They don’t test them for magic, as the only place they can learn to use it is the Guild, and the Lonmar believe it is unseemly for women to be far from home—or even speak to men other than those in their family.” Faren paused to take another mouthful of wine. Sonea watched expectantly as he swallowed. He smiled briefly.
“When her father discovered that my mother had been seeing a sailor, she was punished,” he continued. “They whipped her and then imprisoned her in one of their towers. My father left his ship and stayed in Lonmar, seeking a way to free her. He did not have to wait long, for when her family discovered she was with child, they cast her out in disgrace.”
“Cast her out? Surely they would just find a home for the child?”
“No.” Faren’s expression darkened. “They considered her spoiled, and a disgrace to her family. Their traditions required her to be marked so that other men would know her crime, then she was sold in a slave market. She had two long scars on each cheek, and one down the center of her forehead.”
“That’s awful,” Sonea exclaimed.
Faren shrugged. “Yes, to us it seems awful. The Lonmar, however, believe they are the most civilized of the world’s peoples.” He took another sip of wine. “My father bought her and passage for both of them back to Imardin. Their troubles did not end there. He had caused the ship captain to lose an important customer, as my mother’s family would not trade through him anymore. And no other ship owner would hire my father, so my parents grew poorer. They built a house in the slums and my father took a job in a gorin slaughterhouse. I was born soon after.”
He drained his mug. Looking at her, he smiled. “See? Even a lowly thief can have magic in his blood.”
“A lowly thief?” Sonea snorted.
She had never seen Faren so talkative. What else might he tell her? Pouring more wine, she gestured impatiently. “So, how did a slaughterman’s son become a leader of the Thieves?”
Faren lifted the mug to his lips. “My father died in the battles after the first Purge. To have enough money to feed us, my mother became a dancer in a whorehouse.” He grimaced. “Life was hard. One of her customers was an influential man among the Thieves. He liked me, and took me in as his son. When he retired, I replaced him, then worked my way up from there.”
Sonea pursed her lips. “So anyone can become a Thief? You just have to make friends with the right person.”
“It takes more than just being good company.” He smiled. “Do you have plans for your friend then?”
She frowned in mock puzzlement. “Friend? No, I was thinking of myself.”
He threw back his head and laughed, then raised his mug to her.
“Here’s to Sonea—a woman of small ambitions. First magician, then Thief.”
They drained their mugs together, then Faren looked down at the table. Reaching out, he turned the book around to face him.
“Is this making any more sense yet?”
She sighed. “Even Serin can’t work out some of it. It’s written for someone who knows more than I do. I need a book for a beginner.” She looked up at Faren. “Cery had any luck?”
He shook his head. “It might have been better if you’d kept practicing. It would have kept the Guild busy. In the last week, they’ve checked every pawn shop inside and outside of the walls. If there were any books on magic in the city, they aren’t there anymore.”
Sonea sighed and pressed her hands to her temples. “What are they doing now?”
“They’re still snooping around the slums,” he told her. “Waiting for you to use your magic.”
Sonea thought of her aunt and uncle, and the child they were expecting. Until the magicians stopped searching, she would not be able to see them. How she longed to talk to them. She looked down at the book and felt a surge of frustration and anger. “Don’t they ever give up?”
She jumped as a loud bang echoed through the room, followed by a light patter of something scattering over the floor. Looking down, Sonea saw fragments of a white ceramic vase.
“Now Sonea,” Faren said, shaking his finger at her. “I don’t think this is a nice way to repay Serin for—” He stopped abruptly, then slapped his forehead and groaned. “They’ll know you’re in the city.” He swore, then frowned at her disapprovingly. “There’s more than one reason why I told you to avoid using magic while you’re here, Sonea.”
Sonea flushed. “I’m sorry Faren, but I didn’t mean it.” She reached down and picked up one of the fragments. “First I can’t make it happen when I want to, and now it happens when I’m not even thinking about it.”
Faren’s expression softened. “Well, if you can’t help it, you can’t help it.” He waved a hand, stiffened and turned to stare at her.
“What?“ she asked.
He swallowed and looked away. “Nothing. Just…a thought. The magicians won’t have been close enough to us to work out your location, though they’ll probably be all over the North Quarter tomorrow. I don’t think I need to move you yet—just try not to use your magic again.”
Sonea nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Larkin the merchant?”
Dannyl turned to see a bolhouse worker standing beside him. He nodded. The man jerked his head to indicate that Dannyl should follow him.
For a moment, Dannyl stared at the man, unable to believe that he was fina
lly getting somewhere, then hastily rose from the stool. Following the man through the crowd, he considered the contents of his letter to Gorin. What had made the Thief agree to see him this time?
Snow was falling outside. The guide hunched his shoulders and drew his coat tighter, then started down the street at a rapid pace. As they reached the entrance of a nearby alley, a cloaked figure stepped out in front of Dannyl, blocking his path.
“Lord Dannyl. What a surprise! Or should I say, what a disguise?”
Fergun was smiling broadly. Dannyl stared at the magician, his disbelief rapidly turning to annoyance. Remembering other times, many years before, when he had been pursued and taunted by a younger Fergun, an uneasiness began to nag at him—then he became annoyed with himself. Straightening his shoulders, he drew a little petty satisfaction out of being a head taller than the other magician.
“What do you want, Fergun?”
Fergun’s fine brows rose. “To know why you’re wandering about the slums in such a state, Lord Dannyl.”
“And you expect me to tell you?”
The warrior’s shoulders rose. “Well, if you don’t, I’ll be forced to speculate, won’t I? I’m sure my friends will be happy to help me guess your reasons.” He put a finger to his lips. “Hmm, obviously you don’t wish it to be known why you are here. Is there a scandal you are hiding? Are you involved in something so embarrassing that you must dress like a beggar to avoid discovery? Ah!” Fergun’s eyes widened. “Are you visiting the brothels?”
Dannyl looked over Fergun’s shoulder. As he had expected, the guide had disappeared.
“Oh, was he the one then?” Fergun asked, glancing behind. “A bit rough looking. Not that I have any idea what your specific tastes are.”
Anger rushed over Dannyl like icy water. It had been years since Fergun had confronted him like this, but the hatred the jibe provoked was as strong as it had ever been. “Get out of my way, Fergun”
Fergun’s eyes flashed with pleasure. “Oh, no,” he said, his voice no longer mocking. “Not until you tell me what you’re up to.”
It would not be hard to knock Fergun off his feet, Dannyl mused.
Dannyl controlled his anger with an effort. “Fergun, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut or out of the gutter if you wanted to—and everybody knows it. Nobody will believe a word you say. Now get out of my way before I’m forced to report you.”
The Warrior’s eyes became steely. “I’m sure the Higher Magicians will be more interested in your actions. From what I remember, there’s a rather strict law concerning magicians and where they must wear robes. Do they know you’re breaking it?”
Dannyl smiled. “It’s not entirely unknown.”
A flicker of doubt broke Fergun’s gaze. “They’re letting you?”
“They—or I should say he—instructed me to,” Dannyl replied. He let his gaze become distant, then shook his head. “I’ve never been able to tell if he’s watching or not. He’ll need to know about this. I will have to tell him when I get back.”
Fergun’s face had turned a shade whiter. “No need! I will talk to him myself.” He stepped aside. “Go. Finish your work.” Taking another step back, he turned and hurried away.
Smiling, Dannyl watched the Warrior disappear into the thickening snow. He doubted that Fergun would speak a word to the High Lord.
His satisfaction died as he found himself alone in an empty street. He searched the shadows where the guide had disappeared. Fergun would have to show up when the Thieves had finally agreed to a meeting. Sighing, Dannyl started back along the street toward the North Road and the Guild.
Hurried footsteps crunched the fresh snow behind him. He glanced back and blinked in surprise as he saw the guide approaching. Stopping, he let the man catch up.
“Hai! What was that about?” the man asked.
“One of our searchers got a little over-curious.” He smiled. “I guess you’d call him a nosy tag.”
The man grinned, revealing stained teeth. “I get you.” He gave a little shrug, then a tilt of his head to indicate that Dannyl should follow. Checking to make sure Fergun hadn’t hung about to watch, Dannyl started through the falling snow again.
“‘Gradually increase the amount of power until the heat melts the glass,’” Serin read.
“But that’s nothing like how it works!” Sonea exclaimed. She rose and paced the room. “It’s more like a…a water skin with a tiny hole in it. If you squeeze the bag, the water squirts out, but you can’t aim it, or make it—”
She stopped as a knock sounded on the door. Serin rose and checked the spy hole before opening the door.
“Sonea,” Faren said, waving the scribe out of the room. “I have some visitors for you.”
He stepped inside, grinning. Behind him was a stocky man with sleepy eyes and a short woman with a heavy scarf draped over her head.
“Ranel!” Sonea cried. “Jonna!” She dashed around the table and hugged her aunt.
“Sonea.” Jonna gave a little gasp. “We were so worried about you.” Holding Sonea at arm’s length, she nodded approvingly. “You look well enough.”
To Sonea’s amusement, Jonna narrowed her eyes at Faren. The Thief leaned against the back wall, smiling. Sonea moved to Ranel and hugged him.
He gave her a searching look. “Harrin told us you’ve been doing magic.”
Sonea grimaced. “That’s right.”
“And the magicians are looking for you.”
“Yes. Faren’s hiding me from them.”
“For what price? Your magic?”
Sonea nodded. “That’s right. Not that it’s doing him much good at the moment. I’m not very good at it.”
Jonna snorted softly. “You can’t be that bad at it, or he wouldn’t be hiding you.” She looked around the room and nodded. “Not as bad as I thought.” Moving to a chair, she sat down, pulled off her scarf and exhaled a long breath.
Sonea dropped to her haunches beside the chair. “I heard you were starting a new trade.”
Her aunt frowned. “New trade?”
“Making cousins for me, I think.”
Her aunt’s frown softened and she patted her belly. “Ah, so the news reached you. Yes, there’ll be another member in our little family next summer.” Jonna looked up at Ranel, who smiled broadly.
Looking at them, Sonea felt a surge of affection and longing. A familiar sensation slipped through her mind, and she drew in a sharp breath. Rising, she cast about, but saw nothing out of place.
“What?” Faren asked.
“I did something.” She flushed as she realized that her aunt and uncle were staring at her. “Well, it felt like I did.”
The Thief looked around the room, then shrugged. “Perhaps you moved a bit of dirt behind the walls.”
Jonna looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I used magic,” Sonea explained. “I didn’t intend to. It happens sometimes.”
“And you don’t know what you did?” Jonna’s hand tightened on her belly.
“No.” Sonea swallowed and looked away. The alarm in her aunt’s gaze saddened her, but she understood why Jonna feared. The thought that she might accidentally harm…
No, she thought. Don’t think about it. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Faren, I think you should take them away. Just in case.”
He nodded. Jonna rose, her face lined with anxiety. She turned to Sonea and opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head and held out her arms. Sonea gave her aunt a tight hug before drawing away.
“I’ll see you again,” she told them. “When all this has sorted itself out.”
Ranel nodded. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will,” she promised.
Faren ushered the couple out of the room. Turning away, Sonea listened to their footsteps ascending the stairs. An unfamiliar patch of color on the floor caught her attention. Her aunt’s scarf.
Picking it up, she hurried to the door and up the stairs.
As she climbed, she saw that her aunt and uncle were standing with Faren in Serin’s kitchen, staring at something in the room. Reaching them, she saw what had captured their attention.
The floor had once been covered by large stone slabs. Now it was a jagged jumble of stone and dirt. A heavy wooden table had dominated the room, but all that remained was twisted, splintered wood.
Sonea felt her mouth go dry, then her mind shifted again and the table suddenly burst into flame. Faren turned to her and seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before speaking.
“As I said,” he said. “She’s probably just going through a difficult phase. Sonea, go back downstairs and pack your bag. I’ll take your visitors home and get someone to put out the fire. Everything will be fine.”
Nodding, Sonea handed her aunt the scarf and fled back down the stairs to the basement.
14
An Unwilling Ally
Pausing to rest in an alley, Rothen closed his eyes and drew up a little power to chase away his weariness.
He opened his eyes and considered the snow piled against the side of the buildings. The milder weather of the previous weeks was a distant memory now that the winter blizzards had reached Imardin. Checking that his robes were well covered by his cloak, he prepared to step out into the street.
He paused as a familiar buzzing began at the back of his head. Closing his eyes, he cursed under his breath as he realized how far away he was from the source. Shaking his head, he stepped out into the street.
—Dannyl?
—I heard her. She’s a few streets away from me now.
—Has she moved?
—Yes.
Rothen frowned. If she had fled, why was she still using her powers?
—Who else is near?
—We’re closer, Lord Kerrin called. She must be no more than a hundred paces from us.
—Sarle and I are about the same distance away, Lord Kiano sent.
The Magicians' Guild: The Black Magician Trilogy Page 19
