The Magicians' Guild: The Black Magician Trilogy

by Trudi Canavan

  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?”

  Sonea shook her head. “I wasn’t watching.” Too busy running away, she thought, but she wasn’t going to say it aloud.

  He frowned. “Then you’ll have to believe me when I say that they were red. A stunstrike is red. But with so many magicians responding, some of the strikes met and combined to form a stronger firestrike. Those magicians never intended to harm anyone, only to stop the boy running away. I assure you, our mistake has caused us much anguish, and a great deal of disapproval from the King and the Houses.”

  Sonea sniffed. “Like they care.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Ah, but they do. I’ll admit their reasons have more to do with keeping the Guild in line than sympathy for the boy or his family, but we were chastised for our mistake.”

  “How?”

  He smiled crookedly. “Letters of protest. Public speeches. A warning from the King. It doesn’t sound like much, but in the world of politics, words are much more dangerous than whipping sticks or magic.”

  Sonea shook her head. “Using magic is what you do. It’s what you’re supposed to be best at. One magician might make a mistake, but not as many as were there.”

  His shoulders lifted. “Do you think we spend our days preparing for a poor girl to attack us with magically directed stones? Our Warriors are trained in the most subtle maneuvers and strategies of war but no situation in the Arena could have prepared them for an attack from their own people—people who they believed were harmless.”

  Sonea snorted loudly. Harmless. She saw Rothen’s lips tighten at the noise. I probably disgust him, she mused. To the magicians, the slum dwellers were dirty, ugly and a nuisance. Did they have any idea how much the dwells hated them?

  “But you’ve done almost as bad before,” she told him. “I’ve seen people with burns they got from magicians. Then there’re those who get crushed when you frighten the crowd into running. But mostly they die from cold afterward, in the slums.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But you wouldn’t see that as being the Guild’s fault, would you?”

  “Accidents have happened in the past,” he admitted. “Magicians who were careless. Where possible, those who were harmed were Healed and compensated. As for the Purge itself…” He shook his head. “Many of us think it is no longer needed. Do you know why it began?”

  Sonea opened her mouth to give a tart reply, then hesitated. It wouldn’t hurt to know how he believed the Purge started. “Tell me, then.”

  Rothen’s gaze became distant. “Over thirty years ago a mountain in the far north exploded. Soot filled the sky and blocked some of the warmth of the sun. The winter that followed was so long and cold that we had no true summer before the next winter began. All over Kyralia and in Elyne, crops failed and stock died. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of farmers and their families came to the city, but there wasn’t enough work or housing for them all.

  “The city filled with starving people. The King handed out food and arranged for places like the Racing Arena to be used as shelters. He sent some farmers back to their homes with enough food to last them until the next summer. There wasn’t enough to feed everyone, however.

  “We told people that the next winter wouldn’t be so bad, but many didn’t believe us. Some even thought that the world was going to freeze completely, and we would all die. They cast aside all decency and preyed on others in the belief that nobody would be alive to punish them. It became dangerous to walk the streets, even in daylight. Gangs broke into houses, and people were murdered in their beds. It was a terrible time.” He shook his head. “One I will never forget.

  “The King sent the Guard to drive these gangs from the city. When it was clear that it couldn’t be done without bloodshed, he asked the Guild to help. The next winter was also harsh and when the King saw signs of similar trouble rising, he decided to clear the streets again before the situation became dangerous. So it has been ever since.”

  Rothen sighed. “Many say that the Purge should have stopped years ago, but memories are long and the slums have grown many times larger than they were during that terrible winter. Many fear what will happen if the city isn’t cleared every winter, particularly now that the Thieves exist. They fear that the Thieves would use such a situation to take control of the city.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Sonea exclaimed. Rothen’s version of the story was predictably one-sided, but some of the reasons he gave for the first Purge were new and strange. Mountains exploding? There was no point arguing. He would just point out her ignorance of such things. But she knew something he didn’t.

  “It was the Purge that started the Thieves,” she told him. “Do you think all the people you drove out were muggers and gangs? You drove out those starving farmers and their families, and people like beggars and scavengers who needed to be in the city to survive. Those people got together so they could help each other. They survived by joining the lawless ones, because they saw no reason to live by the King’s laws anymore. He’d driven them out when he should have helped them.”

  “He helped as many as he could.”

  “Not all, and not now. Do you think he’s clearing the streets of muggers and gangs? No, they’re good people who make a living from what rich people waste, or have a trade in the city but live in the slums. The lawless ones are the Thieves—and the Thieves aren’t bothered by the Purge at all because they can get in and out of the city whenever they want.”

  Rothen nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I suspected as much.” He leaned forward. “Sonea, I don’t like the Purge any more than you do—and I’m not the only magician who feels that way.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Because when the King asks us to do something we are bound by our oath to obey.”

  Sonea snorted again. “So you can blame the King for anything you do.”

  “We are all subjects of the King,” he reminded her. “The Guild must be seen to obey him because the people need to be reassured that we will not seek to rule Kyralia ourselves.” He leaned back in his chair. “If we are the remorseless murderers you believe us to be, why haven’t we done that, Sonea? Why haven’t magicians taken over all the lands?”

  Sonea shrugged. “I don’t know, but it would make no difference to the dwells. When have you ever done anything good for us?”

  Rothen’s eyes narrowed. “There is much that you would not see.”

  “Like what?”

  “We keep the Marina clear of silt, for example. Without us, Imardin could not receive ships, and trade would move elsewhere.”

  “How is that good for the dwells?”
<
br />   “It creates work for Imardians of all classes. Ships bring sailors who buy board, food and goods. Workers pack and carry goods. Crafters make the goods.” He considered her, then shook his head. “Perhaps our work is too far removed from your own life for you to see its value. If you would see us helping people directly, consider the work of our Healers. They work hard to—”

  “Healers!” Sonea rolled her eyes. “Who’s got coin to spare for a Healer? The fee is ten times as much as a good Thief earns in his life!”

  Rothen paused. “Of course, you are right,” he said quietly. “There are only so many Healers—barely enough to keep up with the number of sick who come to us for help. The high fees discourage those with minor ailments from overusing the Healers’ time, and go toward teaching non-magicians about medicines that can treat those minor ailments. These medics treat the rest of Imardin’s citizens.”

  “Not the dwells,” Sonea retorted. “We have curies, but they’re just as likely to kill you as cure you. I only heard of a few medics when I was living in the North Quarter and they cost a cap of gold.”

  Rothen looked out of the window and sighed. “Sonea, if I could solve the problem of class and poverty in the city, I would do so without a moment’s hesitation. But there is little that we—even as magicians—can do.”

  “No? If you really don’t like the Purge, then refuse to go. Tell the King you’ll do anything else he says but that. It’s happened before.”

  He frowned, obviously puzzled.

  “Back when King Palen refused to sign the Alliance.” She suppressed a smile at his expression of surprise. “Then get the King to build proper sewers and the like in the slums. His great-grandfather did it for the rest of the city, why shouldn’t he do it for us too?”

  His brows rose. “You wouldn’t want to move the slum people into the city?”

  Sonea shook her head. “Parts of the Outer Circle are good. The city won’t stop growing. Perhaps the King should build another wall, too.”

  “Walls are obsolete. We have no enemies. But the rest is…interesting.” He regarded her appraisingly. “And what else would you have us do?”

  “Go into the slums and heal people.”

  He grimaced. “There aren’t enough of us.”

  “Some’s better than none. Why is the broken arm of the son of a House more important than a dwell’s broken arm?”

  He smiled then, and Sonea suddenly felt a disturbing suspicion that her answers were no more than an amusement to him. What did he care, anyway? He was just trying to get her to believe he sympathized with her. It would take more than that to make her trust him.

  “You’ll never do it,” she growled. “You keep saying that some of you’d help if you could, but the truth is, if any magicians really cared, they’d be out there. There’s no law stopping them, so why don’t any go? I’ll tell you why. The slums are smelly and rough, and you’d rather pretend they weren’t there. Here you’re real comfortable.” She gestured at the room and its fine furniture. “Everyone knows the King pays you a lot. Well, if you’re all feeling so sorry for us, then you should put some of that money into helping people but you won’t. You’d rather keep it all for yourself.”

  He pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful. She found herself strangely aware of the silence in the room. Realizing she had allowed him to provoke her, she gritted her teeth.

  “If a large amount of money was given to any of the people you know in the slums,” he said slowly, “do you think they’d give it all up to help others?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “So none of them would be tempted to keep it to themselves?”

  Sonea paused. She knew some people who would. Well, more than some.

  “A few, I suppose,” she admitted.

  “Ah,” he said. “But you would not have me believe all dwells were selfish people, would you? Neither should you believe that all magicians are self-centered. You would also, no doubt, assure me that, for all their law breaking or rough behavior, the people you know are mostly decent folk. It does not make sense, then, for you to judge all magicians by the mistakes of a few, or for their high birth. Most, I assure you, strive to be decent people.”

  Frowning, Sonea looked away. What he said made sense, but it did not comfort her at all. “Perhaps,” she replied, “but I still don’t see any magicians helping people in the slums.”

  Rothen nodded. “Because we know that the slum people would refuse our help.”

  Sonea hesitated. He was right, but if the dwells refused the Guild’s help, it was because the Guild had given the dwells reason to hate them.

  “They wouldn’t refuse money,” she pointed out.

  “Assuming you are not one of those who would hoard it, what would you do if I gave you a hundred gold slips to do with as you pleased?”

  “I’d feed people,” she told him.

  “A hundred gold would feed some for many weeks, or many for a few days. Afterward, those people would still be as poverty-stricken as before. You will have made little difference.”

  Sonea opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was nothing she could say to that. He was right, and yet he wasn’t. There had to be something wrong with not even trying to help.

  Sighing, she looked down at herself and frowned at the foolish garments she was wearing. Despite knowing that changing the subject might give him the notion that he had won the argument, she plucked at the coat.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  He looked down at his hands. “Gone. I will give you new ones.”

  “I want my own,” she told him.

  “I had them burned.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. Her cloak, though dirty and charred in places, had been of good quality—and Cery had given it to her.

  There was a knock on the door. Rothen rose to his feet.

  “I must leave now, Sonea,” he told her. “I will return in an hour.”

  She watched him move away and open the door. Beyond, she glimpsed another luxurious room. As he closed the door she listened for the sound of a key turning, and felt a twinge of hope when it did not come.

  Frowning, she stared at the door. Was it locked by magic? She took a step closer, then heard the muffled sound of voices coming from beyond the door.

  No sense trying the door now but perhaps later…

  Pain squeezed his head tightly, but he could feel something cool was dribbling down behind his ear. Opening his eyes, Cery saw a blurred face within darkness. A woman’s face.

  “Sonea?”

  “Hello.” The voice was unfamiliar. “About time you returned to us.”

  Cery closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. The face became clearer. Long dark hair framed exotically beautiful features. The woman’s skin was dark, but not as inky as Faren’s. The familiar, straight Kyralian nose added elegance to the long face. It was as if Sonea and Faren had become one person.

  I’m dreaming, he thought.

  “No, you’re not,” the woman replied. She looked up, at something above his head. “He must have been hit pretty hard. Do you want to talk to him now?”

  “May as well try.” This voice was familiar. As Faren moved into sight, memory returned and Cery tried to sit up. The darkness swayed, and his head thundered with pain. He felt hands on his shoulders and reluctantly allowed them to push him back down onto his back.

  “Hello, Cery. This is Kaira.”

  “She looks like you but pretty,” Cery murmured.

  Faren laughed. “Thanks. Kaira is my sister.”

  The woman smiled and moved out of sight. Cery heard a door close somewhere to his right. He stared at Faren.

  “Where’s Sonea?”

  The Thief sobered. “The magicians have her. They took her to the Guild.”

  The words echoed over and over in Cery’s mind. He felt something awful tearing at his insides. She is gone! How could he have believed that he could protect her? But, no. Faren was supp
osed to have kept her safe. A spark of anger flared. He drew a breath to speak…

  No. I must find her. I must get her back. I might need Faren’s help.

  All anger drained out of him. Cery frowned at the Thief.

  “What happened?”

  Faren sighed. “The inevitable. They caught up.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I could have done to stop them. I had already tried everything.”

  Cery nodded. “And now?”

  The Thief’s lips twitched into a humorless, half smile. “I was unable to honor my side of our bargain. Sonea, however, never had a chance to use her magic for me. We both tried hard but failed. As for you…” Faren’s smile disappeared. “I would like you to remain with me.”

  Cery stared at the Thief. How could he abandon Sonea so easily?

  “You are free to go if you wish,” Faren added.

  “What about Sonea?”

  The Thief frowned. “She is in the Guild.”

  “Not a hard place to break into. I’ve done it before.”

  Faren’s frown deepened. “That would be foolish. They will guard her closely.”

  “We’ll distract them.”

  “We’ll do no such thing.” Faren’s eyes flashed. He took a few steps away, then paced back to Cery’s side. “The Thieves have never pitted themselves against the Guild, and never will. We’re not so stupid as to think we would win.”

  “They aren’t that smart. Believe me, I’ve—”

  “NO!” Faren interrupted. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It is not as easy as you think, Cery. Get some rest. Heal. Think about what you’re suggesting. We will talk again soon.”

  He moved out of sight. Cery heard the door click open, then close firmly. He tried to rise but his head felt as if it would burst from the pain. Sighing, he closed his eyes and lay flat, breathing hard.

  He could try to convince Faren to rescue Sonea, but he knew he would not succeed. No. If she was to be saved, he would have to do it himself.

  17