The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

“An incident that happened between you and six novices earlier this evening has been brought to our attention. We want you to tell us what happened.”

  She looked around the room, then swallowed hard.

  “Lord Kiano took me to the fields for a test. I came back the long way, around the Healers’ Quarters. Regin and his friends stopped me in the forest.” She hesitated, wondering how she was to avoid saying anything that could be taken as an accusation.

  “Go on,” Lorlen said. “Tell us what happened.”

  Taking a deep breath, Sonea continued. “Regin said he wanted to show me something he’d learned from Lord Balkan,” she glanced toward the red-robed magician, “and then the others put their hands on his shoulders. His strike was stronger than usual and I realized the others were giving him extra power somehow.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Shielded.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I didn’t want to strike back. They might not protect themselves well enough.”

  “Wise. What happened then?”

  “I still had my globe light so I knew I had power left.”

  A sharp intake of breath to her left made her jump. She turned to see Lady Vinara looking at her appraisingly.

  “Go on,” Lorlen said.

  “I knew that they wouldn’t give up, and I had to get away before they decided to do something else. So to stop them following me I dazzled them with light.”

  She could hear many low voices murmuring behind her. Lorlen made a small gesture and they fell silent.

  “A few questions come to mind,” he said. “Why did you take the long way back from the fields?”

  “I knew they would be waiting for me,” Sonea replied.

  “Who?”

  “Regin and the others.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “They always…” She shook her head. “I wish I knew, Administrator.”

  Lorlen nodded. He looked to Vinara.

  “Her story matches Regin’s.”

  Sonea stared at the Healer. “Regin told you that?”

  “Regin accused you of trying to kill them,” Rothen explained quietly. “When he realized this meant he must submit to a truth-read, he withdrew his accusation. So I said you would submit to one to prove your innocence. After that, the truth came out.”

  She looked at him in surprise. He had suggested someone truth-read her? What if Regin hadn’t confessed? Rothen must have been sure Regin would tell the truth once he knew it would be revealed anyway. “So what’s this meeting about, then? Why are all the Higher Magicians here?”

  Rothen did not have a chance to reply.

  “Does anybody have questions for Sonea?” Lorlen asked.

  “Yes.”

  Lord Sarrin straightened and stepped forward.

  “After this confrontation did you feel tired? Exhausted?”

  Sonea shook her head. “No, my lord.”

  “Did you perform any other magic tonight?”

  “No—actually, yes. I put a binding on my door.”

  Lord Sarrin pursed his lips and looked at Lord Balkan. The Warrior regarded her speculatively.

  “Have you been practicing Warrior Skills on your own time?” he asked.

  “No, my lord.”

  “Have you had any other encounters with novices using this method of combining power before?”

  “No, I’d never heard of it.”

  Lord Balkan leaned back into his chair and nodded to the Administrator. Lorlen looked around the room.

  “Any more questions?”

  The magicians looked at each other, then shook their heads.

  “Then you may go, Sonea.”

  She rose and bowed to the magicians. They watched silently as she passed. Only after the door had swung closed did she hear voices in the room, too muffled to be understood.

  She stared at the door, then slowly began to smile. In trying to cause her trouble, Regin had brought worse on himself. Turning, she made her way back to the Novices’ Quarters sure that, for once, no one would bother her on the way.

  “So much power in one so young.” Lord Sarrin shook his head. “Only a few have progressed so quickly.”

  Lorlen nodded. His own powers had developed rapidly. As had Akkarin’s. And they had both been elected to two of the highest positions in the Guild. He could see the dismay in the Higher Magicians’ faces as this occurred to them.

  Normally they would be pleased to find such promise in a novice. But Sonea was the slum girl, and she had recently demonstrated her questionable character by stealing a pen. Though Lorlen was prepared to believe this was an isolated incident, perhaps in reaction to the other novices’ harassment, other magicians had not been so forgiving.

  “We should not foster any high expectations yet,” he said, to reassure them. “She might simply be an early developer, and this is as strong as she will get.”

  “She is already stronger than most of her teachers and,” Sarrin gestured toward Rothen, “perhaps her own guardian.”

  “Is that a problem?” Rothen asked coolly.

  “No.” Lorlen smiled. “It has never been in the past. You just need to be cautious.”

  “Do we need to raise her a class again?” Jerrik crossed his arms and frowned.

  “It is only her strength that is advanced,” Vinara replied. “Not her skills. She still has a great deal to learn.”

  “All we need do is warn her teachers,” Lorlen said. “They should not test her strength without taking the usual precautions.”

  To Lorlen’s satisfaction, all the magicians nodded. Regin’s actions had revealed more than his own cruel nature. He had shown everyone just what Sonea was capable of. Lorlen suspected that Rothen, too, was surprised by just how strong she had proven to be.

  Rothen’s attention was on Lord Garrel, however. Regin’s guardian had been silent for most of the discussion. Lorlen frowned. They must not forget the seriousness of the incident that had brought them together.

  “What is to be done about Regin?” he asked in a tone that cut through the murmuring.

  Balkan smiled. “I think the young man has learned his lesson. He’d be a fool to provoke her now.”

  The other magicians nodded and voiced their agreement.

  “Some discipline is needed,” Lorlen insisted.

  “He broke no rule,” Garrel protested. “Balkan gave him permission to practice this strategy with his classmates.”

  “Waylaying another novice is not what we call ‘practicing,’” Lorlen replied. “It is dangerous and irresponsible.”

  “I agree,” Vinara said firmly. “And his punishment should reflect this.”

  The magicians exchanged glances.

  “Regin has been taking extra lessons in Warrior Skills,” Balkan said. “Since they were the source of the trouble, I will stop them for a term of…three months.”

  Lorlen pursed his lips. “Extend that until the middle of the Second Year. I believe his class will have covered all the lessons on honor and fairness by then.”

  Watching Rothen, Lorlen saw the magician raise a hand to scratch his nose and cover a smile. Garrel’s expression darkened, but he remained silent. The corner of Balkan’s mouth curled upward.

  “Very well,” the Warrior agreed. “Until the half-year tests of the Second Year have passed, then.”

  Lorlen looked up at the other magicians. They nodded their approval.

  “That’s settled, then.”

  Jerrik sighed, looked around at the others and stepped forward. “If that is all, I will return to my work.”

  Lorlen watched as Lord Sarrin and Lady Vinara also rose and followed the University Director out of the room. Lord Garrel followed. Balkan was regarding Rothen closely.

  “It’s a pity Sonea has no enthusiasm for the Warrior Skills discipline. We rarely find women warriors of her strength…or resourcefulness.”

  Rothen turned to regard the Warrior. “I can’t pretend to be disappointed at her
lack of enthusiasm,” he replied.

  “Have you been discouraging her?” There was a note of warning in Balkan’s voice.

  “Not at all,” Rothen replied smoothly. “It was a certain incident in the North Square that discouraged her, and I doubt I could rectify that if I tried. It took me long enough to persuade her that we weren’t all battle-crazed villains.”

  Balkan smiled crookedly. “You have satisfied her that we are not, I hope.”

  Rothen sighed and looked away. “Sometimes, I think I’m the only one who is trying.”

  “The enmity from other novices was inevitable and it will not stop after graduation. She must learn to deal with it. At least, this time, she used magic rather than less honorable skills.”

  Rothen narrowed his eyes at the other magician. Balkan returned his stare levelly. Sensing the tension rising between the two magicians, Lorlen slapped the top of his desk lightly.

  “Just make sure they keep their battles to the Arena,” he said. “Had it been summer they might have set the entire forest alight. I have enough to do without such disasters adding to my work. Now, if you please…” he waved to the door with both hands. “I want my office back!”

  The two magicians bowed their heads. Apologizing, they walked to the door and stepped outside. As the door closed Lorlen breathed a sigh of relief and exasperation.

  Magicians!

  17

  A Capable Companion

  The paths through the gardens had been cleared of snow, but the trees still carried a coating of white along their bare branches. Rothen looked up at the University. Icicles hung from the windows, adding more decoration to the stone frames. As they reached the front of the building snow began to fall, so Rothen led Sonea up the stairs to the shelter of the Entrance Hall.

  —Rothen?

  —Dorrien.

  —I hope you have a dozen heat globes set in your room. I can’t believe this cold snap. It’s worse than any I remember. I’m just coming in sight of the gates now.

  Rothen glanced down at Sonea. Her eyes were narrowed at the street beyond the gates.

  “Here he comes,” she murmured.

  Looking up, Rothen saw a lone rider approaching. The rider waved a hand and one of the gates began to swing inward. Before it had fully opened, he urged his horse through and into a gallop.

  The horse pounded around the circular road, its rider’s green robes snapping in the wind. Dorrien was grinning, his face flushed.

  “Father!” As the horse slid to a stop, Dorrien threw his leg over the saddle and leapt lightly to the ground.

  “Very showy, Dorrien,” Rothen said dryly, starting back down the University stairs. “One day you’re going to fall flat on your face.”

  “No doubt right in front of you,” Dorrien replied, drowning Rothen in green cloth as he embraced him, “so you can say ‘I told you so.’”

  “Would I say that?” Rothen asked innocently.

  “Yes, you would…” Dorrien’s blue eyes flicked over Rothen’s shoulder.

  “So this is your new novice.”

  “Sonea.” As Rothen beckoned, Sonea started down the stairs.

  Dorrien pressed the horse’s reins into Rothen’s hand and stepped forward. As always, seeing his son’s smile after a long absence brought an ache of sadness. It was when Dorrien was at his most charming that he reminded Rothen of his deceased wife. The boy had also inherited Yilara’s almost obsessive dedication to Healing.

  He’s not a boy any longer, Rothen reminded himself. Dorrien had turned twenty-four a few months past. He was a grown man. At that age, Rothen mused, I had a wife and son.

  “Greetings, Lady Sonea.”

  “Greetings, Lord Dorrien,” Sonea replied, bowing gracefully.

  A servant from the stables appeared while they were talking, and Rothen passed the horse’s reins to the man.

  “Where shall I take the bags, my lord?” the servant asked.

  “My rooms,” Rothen told him. The man nodded and led the horse away.

  “Let’s get out of the cold,” Dorrien suggested.

  Nodding, Rothen started up the University stairs. As they entered the warmth of the interior, Dorrien sighed.

  “It is good to be back,” he said. “How are things here, Father?”

  Rothen shrugged. “As quiet as usual—at least, the only dramas in the last year seemed to have involved us.” He smiled at Sonea. “And you know all about them.”

  Dorrien chuckled. “Yes. And how is Ambassador Dannyl?”

  “He hasn’t communicated with me directly for some months, but I have received a few letters, and a box of Elyne wine.”

  “Any left?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now that’s good news.” Dorrien rubbed his hands together.

  “How are matters in the northeast?”

  Dorrien shrugged. “Nothing unusual. A bout of winter-fever was the most exciting event of the last year. As usual, a few of the farmers tried to continue with their work and got themselves a case of lungrot on top. A few accidents to deal with, a few old ones passing on, a few new babes taking their place. Oh, and one of the reber-herder boys came to me with burns. He claimed he was attacked by what the locals call the Sakan King.”

  Rothen frowned. “The Sakan King? Isn’t that an old superstition about a ghost that lives on Mount Kanlor?”

  “Yes, but I’d say from the injury that the boy had dropped some burning wood on himself.”

  Rothen chuckled. “Young boys can be amazingly creative when they don’t want to admit they’ve done something wrong, or foolish.”

  “This was a rather entertaining story,” Dorrien agreed. “The boy invented quite a vivid picture of this Sakan King.”

  Rothen smiled. Mind communication was too direct for this kind of chatter. It was so much better to be talking face to face. In the corner of his eye he could see Sonea watching Dorrien. As his son turned away to peer into the Foodhall she gave him a more appraising look.

  Dorrien noted the direction of Rothen’s gaze and glanced back at her. She took this as an invitation to join the conversation.

  “Did you have a difficult journey?”

  Dorrien groaned. “Awful. Blizzards in the mountains and endless snow for the rest. But when the Guild calls, one must come, even if it means spending every shred of your power carving a path through the snow and keeping yourself and your horse from freezing.”

  “Could you have waited until spring?”

  “Spring is the busiest time for the reber-herders. The reber start to drop their young, the farmers work too hard, have accidents.” He shook his head. “Not a good time.”

  “Summer, then?”

  Dorrien shook his head again. “Someone always comes down with heat exhaustion or sunburn. And summer-cough.”

  “Autumn?”

  “Harvest time.”

  “So winter is the best time.”

  “There’s always someone who comes to me with frostrot, and living indoors for months can be a health problem, and—”

  “There’s no good time, is there?”

  He grinned. “No.”

  Emerging from the back entrance of the University, they walked through falling snow to the Magicians’ Quarters. Rothen saw Sonea’s eyebrows rise as Dorrien stepped onto the tiled area in the stairwell and began to float upward.

  “Are you still using the stairs, Father?” Dorrien crossed his arms and shook his head. “I suppose you’re still preaching about exercise and laziness. What about keeping your skills in shape as well as your body?”

  “I’m surprised you have any energy left to levitate after all the trials you went through on the way here,” Rothen replied.

  Dorrien shrugged. Looking closely, Rothen noted signs of strain in the young man’s expression. So he’s showing off, Rothen mused. Yaldin had once commented that Dorrien could charm the wool off a reber if he set his mind to it. Rothen looked at Sonea. She was staring at Dorrien’s feet, probably sensing the disc of energ
y beneath them.

  They reached the top of the stairs, Dorrien stepping onto the landing with a quiet sigh of relief. He gave Sonea an appraising look.

  “Has my father shown you how to levitate yet?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, we’ll have to do something about that.” Dorrien sent Rothen a reproachful look. “It’s a skill that can come in very handy at times.”

  —For impressing young ladies?

  Dorrien ignored that. Rothen smiled and led them to his door. They entered the warmth of the guestroom and were greeted by Tania.

  “Warmed wine, my lords?”

  “Please!” Dorrien exclaimed.

  “None for me,” Sonea said, remaining in the doorway. “I still have three chapters of medicine to study.”

  Dorrien looked as if he might protest, then changed his mind. “It’s close to the end of First Year for you, isn’t it, Sonea?”

  “Yes, two weeks until the First Year tests.”

  “A lot of studying.”

  Sonea nodded. “Yes, so I must leave you two to catch up. I am honored to meet you, Lord Dorrien.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Sonea.” Dorrien lifted his glass. “I’ll see you later, or at dinner.”

  The door closed quietly behind her. Dorrien’s eyes lingered.

  “You didn’t tell me she had short hair.”

  “It was much shorter a year ago.”

  “She’s so fragile-looking.” Dorrien frowned. “I expected something…rougher, I suppose.”

  “You should have seen how thin she was when she first came here.”

  “Ah,” Dorrien sobered. “Raised in the slums. No wonder she’s so small.”

  “Small, perhaps,” Rothen agreed, “but not weak. Not in the magical sense, anyway.” Rothen considered his son. “I was hoping you might distract her a little. All she’s thought about since summer is study and her problems with the other novices.”

  The glint of humor flared into life again in Dorrien’s eyes. “Distract her? I think I can do that—if you think she won’t find a country Healer horribly boring.”

  The main street of Kiko Town wound around the island in an unbroken spiral, ending at the Vindo Emperor’s home at the peak. The city had been built that way, according to Dannyl’s guide, to confound and slow invaders. The road was also used as a route for parades during festivals, ensuring that all city dwellers had a view of the procession.