The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

  “Regrettably, my duties at the Great Library keep me away.” Tayend did not sound at all regretful. “I’m afraid I must steal Ambassador Dannyl from you, Dem. There is a matter I need to discuss with him.”

  Dem Agerralin glanced at Dannyl, his expression unreadable. “I see. Then I must bid you goodbye, Ambassador.” He bowed, then strolled away.

  Tayend waited until the man was out of hearing, then narrowed his eyes at Dannyl. “There’s something you should know about Dem Agerralin.”

  Dannyl smiled wryly. “Yes, I think he made it clear what that is.”

  “Ah.” Tayend nodded. “And did he bring up the matter of rumors concerning yourself?” As Dannyl frowned in dismay, the scholar nodded. “I thought he would.”

  “Is everybody discussing this?”

  “No, only a few people in certain circles.”

  Dannyl wasn’t sure if he should be relieved at that news. “It’s been years since those accusations were made. I’m surprised they reached the Elyne court at all.”

  “You shouldn’t be. The idea that a Kyralian magician might be a lad—which is the polite term here for men like Agerralin—is amusing. But don’t worry. It does sound like the usual name-calling between boys. If I may say so, you’re surprisingly calm, for a Kyralian. I was half afraid you’d blast poor old Agerralin to ashes.”

  “I wouldn’t remain Guild Ambassador for long if I did.”

  “No, but you don’t even seem angry.”

  Again, Dannyl considered how to answer. “When you’ve spent half of your life denying such rumors, you come to sympathize with the kind of person you’re claimed to be. To have inclinations that are unacceptable, and to have to either deny them or undertake elaborate measures to hide them, would be a terrible way to live.”

  “That is how it is in Kyralia, but not here,” Tayend said, smiling. “The Elyne court is both awful in its decadence, and wonderful for its freedom. We expect everyone to have a few interesting or eccentric habits. We love gossip, yet we don’t place too much faith in rumors. In fact, we have a saying here: ‘There’s always a bit of truth in each rumor; the trouble is finding out which bit.’ So, when are you coming to the library?”

  “Soon,” Dannyl replied.

  “I look forward to seeing you there.” Tayend took a step away. “But for now, I have another matter to attend to. Until then, Ambassador Dannyl.” He bowed.

  “Until then,” Dannyl replied.

  Watching the scholar stride away, Dannyl shook his head. He had gathered rumors and speculation about the Elyne courtiers like little prizes, never thinking that they would be doing the same regarding him. Did the entire court know of the rumor that Fergun had started so many years ago? Knowing that it was still discussed made Dannyl uneasy, but he could only trust that Tayend was right, and the court would not take such stories seriously.

  With a sigh, he stepped through the Palace entrance and started down the long staircase to the Guild carriage.

  7

  The Great Library

  Sonea hugged her books closer to her chest. It had been yet another day of constant pranks and insults. The week loomed before her like an endless trial. Only the fifth week, she reminded herself. Five long years stood between now and graduation.

  Each day was exhausting. When she wasn’t enduring Regin and the other novices, she was going out of her way to avoid them. If the teacher left the classroom, even for a minute, Regin used the time to harass her. She had learned to keep her notes out of reach and to take extreme care whenever she walked across the room or sat in her chair.

  For a little while she had managed to escape him for an hour each day by returning to Rothen’s rooms at midbreak to eat with Tania, but Regin began ambushing her on the way to and from the University. She had tried staying in the classroom for the hour a few times, but once Regin realized what she was doing, he waited until the teacher had left and returned to harass her.

  Eventually she had arranged with Rothen that she would meet him in his classroom during the midbreak. She helped him set up or dismantle the contraptions of glass vials and pipes for his lessons. Tania brought little lacquered boxes filled with savories for them to eat.

  Her stomach always sank when the gong called novices to afternoon classes. Rothen and Tania had both offered to escort her to and from classrooms, but she knew that this would only confirm to Regin and his friends that they were getting to her. At all times, she endeavored to ignore the pranks and snide comments, knowing that reacting to them would only encourage more.

  The final gong always brought relief. Whatever social games the novices indulged in after lessons must have been more interesting than taunting her, because the entire class always hurried away as soon as the teacher dismissed them. Sonea would wait until they were gone and then make her way in peace to the Magicians’ Quarters. But just in case they changed their minds, she always took the long route through the gardens, choosing a different path every time and keeping close to other magicians and novices.

  Today, like every day, as she neared the end of the corridor she felt her shoulders relax and the knot in her stomach begin to unwind. Silently she thanked Rothen for letting her stay in his rooms. It made her shudder to think of the torments Regin would have devised for her if she had to return to the Novices’ Quarters each day.

  “There she is!”

  Recognizing the voice, she felt cold rush over her. The corridor was full of novices from higher classes, but that had never been a deterrent. She lengthened her stride, hoping to reach the busy Entrance Hall of the University where there was sure to be a magician or two, before Regin and his friends could catch up.

  The sound of running feet filled the corridor behind her.

  “Sonea! Sooooneeeeaaaa!”

  The older novices about her turned at the noise. Sonea knew by their stares that Regin and his gang were right behind her now. She drew in a deep breath, resolving to face Regin without flinching.

  A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her around roughly. She shook it off and glared at Kano.

  “Were you ignoring us, slum girl?” Regin asked. “That’s very rude, but I guess we can’t expect you to have any manners, can we?”

  They encircled her. She glanced around at the grinning faces. Hugging her books closer to her body, she stepped forward and pushed her shoulder between Issle and Alend to break free from the ring of bodies. Hands reached out, grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back into the middle. Surprised, she felt a growing dread. They hadn’t tried to physically abuse her before, other than giving her arm a yank to make her trip over, or fall into something unpleasant.

  “Where are you going, Sonea?” Kano asked. Someone gave her another shove in the back. “We want to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” she growled. Turning, she tried to push her way through again, but was shoved and pulled back into the circle. She felt a flash of fear. “Let me through.”

  “Why don’t you beg us to, slum girl?” Regin jeered.

  “Yeah, go on and beg. You must be good at it.”

  “You had plenty of practice in the slums.” Alend laughed. “Surely you haven’t forgotten so quickly. I bet you were one of those snivelling brats that hang around the back of our fathers’ houses begging for food.”

  “Please give me some food. Pleeese!” Vallon whined. “I’m staaaarving!” The others laughed and joined in.

  “Or perhaps she had something to sell,” Issle suggested. “Good evening, my lord.” Her voice became a suggestive wheedle. “Need some company?”

  Vallon choked back a laugh. “Just think how many men she’s had.”

  Sniggers filled the corridor, and then Alend recoiled from her. “She’s probably diseased.”

  “Not anymore.” Regin sent Alend a knowing look. “They told us the Healers checked her when she was found, remember? They’d have fixed her up.” He turned to Sonea and looked her up and down, his lips pursed.

  “So…Sonea.
” His voice became silky. “How much did you charge?” He moved closer, and as Sonea shrank away hands pressed into her back to push her toward him again. “You know,” he drawled. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I could get to like you. You’re a bit skinny, but I can overlook that. Tell me, did you specialize in any certain, ah, favors?”

  Sonea tried to shrug away the hands on her shoulders, but the novices tightened their gip. Regin shook his head in mock sympathy. “I suppose the magicians said you had to give it up. How frustrating for you. But they don’t have to know. We won’t tell them.” He tilted his head to one side. “You could make a lot of money around here. Lots of rich customers.”

  Sonea stared at him. She couldn’t believe he would even pretend to be interested in bedding her. For a moment she was tempted to call his bluff, but knew if she did, he’d claim she’d taken him seriously. Over his shoulders she could see that the other novices in the corridor had stopped to watch the scene with interest.

  Regin leaned closer. She could feel his breath on her face. “We’ll just call it a business arrangement,” he crooned. He was just trying to intimidate her, and to see how much she would endure. Well, she had dealt with this kind of bullying before.

  “You’re right, Regin,” she said. His eyes widened in surprise. “I have met many men like you before. And I do know exactly what to do with them.” She snaked a hand up and wrapped it tightly around his throat. His hands flew to his neck, but before he could grab her wrist she slipped a leg around his and shoved with all her strength. She felt his knee buckle and enjoyed a surge of triumph as he fell backward, arms flailing the air, and crashed onto the floor.

  Silence filled the corridor as all novices, young and old, stared at him. Sonea sniffed with disdain.

  “What a fine example you are, Regin. If this is how the men of House Paren behave, then they have no better manners than the average bolhouse lout.”

  Regin stiffened and his eyes narrowed to slits. She turned her back at him and glared at the other novices, daring any to touch her again. They backed away and, as the circle broke, she strode through.

  She had taken only a few steps when Regin’s voice echoed loudly in the corridor.

  “You’re obviously well qualified to make such comparisons,” he called. “How does Rothen compare? He must be a very happy man, having you living in his rooms. Ah, it all makes sense now. I always wondered how you managed to convince him to be your guardian.”

  Sonea felt herself go cold, then hot anger flooded her body. She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to turn back. What could she do? Hit him? Even if she dared strike the son of a House, he would see it coming, and shield. And then he would know how much he had got to her.

  The quiet muttering of the older novices followed her down the corridor. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the stairs ahead, not wanting to see the speculation in their faces. They wouldn’t believe what Regin had suggested. They couldn’t. Even if they believed the worst of her because of her origins, nobody would think something like that of Rothen.

  Would they?

  “Administrator!”

  Lorlen stopped at the University entrance and turned to face Director Jerrik. “Yes?”

  The Director approached Lorlen and handed him a piece of paper. “I received this request from Lord Rothen yesterday. He wants to move Sonea to the winter intake of First Year novices.”

  “Really?” Lorlen scanned the page, skimming through Rothen’s explanations and assurances. “Do you think she’s capable?”

  Jerrik pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Possibly. I’ve asked the First Year teachers, and they all believe she could do it if she studied hard.”

  “And Sonea?”

  “She certainly seems willing to do the work.”

  “Then you will allow it?”

  Jerrik frowned and lowered his voice. “Probably. What I don’t like about this is the true motivation behind the change.”

  “Oh? What is that?” Lorlen resisted smiling. Jerrik had always maintained that novices never worked harder purely for the sake of learning. They were motivated by the need to impress, be the best, please their parents, or to be in the company of friends or someone they admired.

  “As we expected, she hasn’t mixed with the other novices well. In such circumstances, the rejected novice often becomes an object of derision for others. I believe she wants only to get away from them.” Jerrik sighed. “While I admire her determination, my concern is that the winter class will be no more accepting. She will have worked hard for nothing.”

  “I see.” Lorlen nodded as he considered Jerrik’s words. “Sonea is a few years older than the others in her class, and she is mature for her age—by our standards at least. Most novices are little more than children when they come here, but they lose most of their childish habits during the first year. The winter novices may be less troublesome.”

  “True, they are a sensible group,” Jerrik agreed. “Training in magic can’t be hurried along, however. She can fill her mind with knowledge, but if she hasn’t gained the skill to use her powers well, she may make dangerous mistakes later.”

  “She has been using her powers for over six months,” Lorlen reminded him. “Though Rothen spent that time teaching her the basic education she needed to enter the university, her powers would have become familiar to her—and it must be frustrating to watch the other novices fumbling with theirs.”

  “So I take it you are in favor of allowing this?” He gestured to Rothen’s request.

  “I am.” Lorlen handed back the request. “Give her the opportunity. I think you’ll find her more resourceful than you expect.”

  Jerrik shrugged. “Then I will allow it. She will be tested in five weeks. Thank you, Administrator.”

  Lorlen smiled. “I will be interested to hear how well she does. Will you keep me informed?”

  The old man nodded. “If you wish.”

  “Thank you, Director.” Lorlen turned away and started down the University stairs to the waiting carriage. He entered, tapped on the roof to signal the driver, and leaned back as the vehicle jerked into motion. It passed through the Guild Gates and rolled on into the city, but Lorlen was already too deep in thought to notice.

  The invitation to dinner at Derril’s house had come the day before. While Lorlen often had to decline such invitations, he had reorganized his work to allow this visit. If Derril had more news of the murders, Lorlen wanted to hear it.

  Derril’s story of the murderer had chilled Lorlen. The cuts on the victim, the strange ritual, the witness’ belief that the victim was dead before his throat was slashed…perhaps it was only because the idea of black magic was in his mind already that these murders sounded so suspicious.

  But if they were the work of a black magician, that would mean one of two things: either a rogue magician capable of black magic was preying on people in the city, or this murderer was Akkarin. Lorlen shivered as he considered the implications of these two possibilities.

  When the carriage stopped he looked up in surprise to find they had arrived. The driver climbed down and opened the door, revealing an elegant mansion fronted with balconies.

  Lorlen stepped out and was greeted at the door by one of Derril’s servants. The man took Lorlen through the house to an internal balcony overlooking the garden. Lorlen placed his hands on the balcony rail and gazed down at the drooping little oasis of vegetation; the plants looked sad and scorched around the edges now.

  “I’m afraid this summer has been a little too much for most of my plants,” Derril said mournfully as he walked out of the house to join the Administrator. “My gan-gan bushes won’t survive. I’ll have to arrange for new ones to be sent from the mountains of Lan.”

  “You should have them pulled out now before the roots spoil,” Lorlen suggested. “Ground gan-gan root has remarkable antiseptic properties and, if added to sumi, is a good treatment for digestive disorders.”

  Derril chuckled. “You still haven’t forgott
en all the Healer training, have you?”

  “No.” Lorlen smiled. “I may grow into a grumpy old Administrator, but I’ll be a healthy one. I’ve got to put all that knowledge of medicine to use somehow.”

  “Hmmm.” Derril’s eyes narrowed. “I wish the Guard had someone with your knowledge in their ranks. Barran has another mystery on his hands.”

  “Another murder?”

  “Yes and no,” Derril sighed. “They think this one is a suicide. At least that’s what it looks like.”

  “Does he believe it was made to look like one?”

  “Perhaps.” Derril lifted an eyebrow. “Barran has come for dinner. Why don’t we go in and ask him to tell you more about it?”

  Lorlen nodded and followed the old man into the house. They entered a large guestroom, its windows covered by paper screens decorated with paintings of flowers and plants. A young man in his mid-twenties sat in one of the luxurious chairs. His wide shoulders and slightly hooked nose reminded Lorlen instantly of the man’s brother, Walin.

  Barran looked up at the Administrator, then rose hastily and bowed.

  “Greetings, Administrator Lorlen,” he offered. “How are you?”

  “Good, thank you,” Lorlen replied.

  “Barran,” Derril said, waving Lorlen into a seat, “Lorlen is interested in this suicide you’ve been investigating. Can you tell him the details?”

  Barran shrugged. “It’s no secret—just a mystery.” He turned to look at Lorlen, his blue eyes troubled. “A woman approached a guard in her street and told him that she’d discovered her neighbor dead. He investigated and found a woman with her wrists cut.” Barran paused and his eyes narrowed. “The mystery is that she hadn’t lost a great deal of blood yet and she was still warm. In fact the wounds were quite shallow. She should have been alive.”

  Lorlen absorbed this. “The blade might have been poisoned.”

  “We’ve been considering the possibility, but if that’s the case, then it must be a subtle poison we’ve never heard of. All poisons leave signs, even if the damage is only visible in the internal organs. We found no weapon, which might have retained some residue, and that is strange in itself. If someone slashes their wrists, the implement they used is usually close by. We searched the house and found nothing but a few kitchen knives, which were clean and still in their box. She wasn’t strangled, either, from what we can tell. But there are other details which make me suspicious.