Black Magician-02 The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

  As you know, High Lord Akkarin left Kyralia over ten years ago to gather knowledge of ancient magic, a quest that was not completed. Your task is to retrace his steps, to revisit all the places he visited and find out who helped him in his search as well as to collect information on the subject.

  Please forward all information to me by courier. Do not communicate with me directly. I look forward to hearing from you.

  With thanks,

  Administrator Lorlen.

  Dannyl read the letter several times, then folded it again. What was Lorlen up to? Retracing Akkarin's journey? Communication only by courier?

  He opened the letter once more and scanned it quickly. Lorlen might be asking for secrecy simply because he didn't want it known that he was taking advantage of Dannyl's ambassadorial position to deal with a private matter.

  That private matter, however, was Akkarin's quest. Did the High Lord know that Lorlen was reviving the search for ancient knowledge?

  He considered the possible answers to that question. If Akkarin knew, then presumably he approved. If he didn't know? Dannyl smiled wryly. Perhaps there was something akin to a sea leech in Akkarin's stories, and Lorlen wanted to know if it was true.

  Or perhaps Lorlen wanted to succeed where his friend had failed. The pair had competed with each other as novices. Lorlen obviously could not resume the search himself, so he had recruited another magician to act on his behalf. Dannyl smiled. And he has chosen me.

  Folding the letter again, he rose and braced himself against the rocking of the ship. No doubt Lorlen would reveal his reasons for secrecy eventually. In the meantime, Dannyl knew he would enjoy having permission to snoop into someone's past, particularly someone as mysterious as the High Lord.

  Nodding to Numo, he left the room, stowed the letter among his belongings, and returned to Jano and the singing crew.

  Chapter 4

  Attending to Duty

  As Sonea wandered slowly down the corridor of the University, she felt a wry relief. Tomorrow was Freeday, which meant she had no lessons to attend, and for a whole day she would be free of Regin and the other novices.

  She was surprised at how tired she felt, considering how little she'd done in the past week. For most of the lessons she read books or watched the novices coming and going from their Control lessons. Not much had happened, yet she felt as though weeks—no, months—had passed.

  Issle no longer acknowledged Sonea's presence at all, and, while this was better than open hostility, it seemed all of the novices had decided this was the best way to treat her, too. None of them would speak to her, even if she asked a sensible question about their lessons.

  She considered each of the novices. Elayk was everything she had been told to expect of a typical Lonmar male. Brought up in a world where women were hidden away, living a life of luxury but little freedom, he was unused to talking to them, and treated Bina and Issle with the same cold indifference. Faren, the Thief who had hidden her from the Guild last year, had been nothing like this, but then Faren was definitely not a typical Lonmar!

  While Gennyl's father was Lonmar, his mother was Kyralian and he appeared to be comfortable around Bina and Issle. He ignored Sonea, but a few times she had noticed him watching her with narrowed eyes.

  Shern rarely spoke to any of the other novices, spending most of his time staring into the distance. Sonea was still conscious of his strange magical presence, but it no longer pulsed erratically.

  Bina was quiet, and Sonea suspected the girl was simply too shy and awkward to join in any conversations. When Sonea had tried to approach her, the girl had recoiled, saying: "I'm not allowed to talk to you." Remembering the comments the girl's mother had made before the Acceptance Ceremony, Sonea was not surprised.

  Kano, Alend and Vallon behaved like boys half their age, finding the most childish things amusing and boasting about their possessions and luck with girls. Having heard this sort of banter among the boys of Harrin's gang, Sonea knew the stories about the latter had to be invented. What kept her amused was that the boys she had known would have had enough experience by this age to have stopped bragging about it years ago.

  Regin dominated all social activity. Sonea noted how he controlled the others with compliments, jokes, and an authoritative-sounding comment here and there; how they would all nod whenever he expressed an opinion. This had been amusing until he had started making snide comments about Sonea's past at every opportunity. Even Alend, who had shown some sympathy for Sonea at first, laughed at these jibes. And after she had made her failed attempt to engage Bina in conversation, Regin had been at the girl's side a moment later, all charm and friendliness.

  "Sonea!"

  The breathless voice came from behind her. She turned to find Alend hurrying toward her.

  "Yes?"

  "It's your turn tonight," he panted.

  "My turn?" She frowned. "For what?"

  "Kitchen duty." He stared at her. "Didn't they tell you?"

  "No..."

  He grimaced. "Of course. Regin has the roster. We all have to do kitchen duty one night a week. It's your turn."

  "Oh."

  "You'd better hurry," he warned. "You don't want to be late."

  "Thanks," Sonea offered. He shrugged and strode away.

  Kitchen duty. Sonea sighed. It had been stiflingly hot all day, and she had been looking forward to a cool bath before the evening meal. Chores given to novices weren't likely to be distasteful or time-consuming, however, so she might still have time.

  Hurrying down the spiral stairs to the ground floor, she let the smell of cooking guide her to the Foodhall. Inside, the room was busy and seats were filling quickly as more novices arrived. She followed one of the tray-carrying servants into the kitchen and found herself in a large room lined with long benches. Steam curled up from boiling tubs, meat sizzled on grills, and the air was filled with the clatter of metal on metal. Servants hurried about, calling to each other over the noise.

  Sonea stopped inside the door, overwhelmed by the chaos and the aromas. A young woman looked up from stirring a pot. She stared at Sonea, then turned and called out to another, older woman wearing a large white shirt. As the older woman saw Sonea, she left her pot, approached Sonea and bowed.

  "How may I help you, my lady?"

  "Kitchen duty," Sonea shrugged. "They tell me I have to help out."

  The woman stared at her. "Kitchen duty?"

  "Yes." Sonea smiled. "Well, here I am. Where do I start?"

  "Novices never come in here," the woman told her. "There's no kitchen duty."

  "But—" The words died in Sonea's throat. She scowled as she realized she'd been tricked. As if the sons and daughters of the Houses would ever be expected to work in a kitchen! The woman eyed Sonea warily.

  "I'm sorry to have bothered you," Sonea sighed. "I think I've just fallen for a joke."

  An explosive giggle broke through the noise. The woman looked around Sonea's shoulder and her eyebrows rose. Sonea turned, a sick feeling growing inside. Filling the doorway were five familiar faces, their mouths stretched into ugly grins. As Sonea looked at them, the novices burst into uncontrolled laughter.

  The noise in the kitchen subsided, and she realized that several of the servants had paused to see what was happening. Heat rushed to her face. She gritted her teeth and stepped toward the door.

  "Oh, no. You're not leaving," Regin declared. "You can stay in here with the servants, where you belong. But, now I consider it, that's not right. Even servants are better than slum dwellers." He turned to the kitchen woman. "I'd watch out if I were you. She's a thief—and she'll admit it if you ask. I'd watch she doesn't sneak off with one of your knives, then stab you in the back when you're not looking."

  With that he reached for the door handle and pulled it closed. Sonea strode over and twisted the handle, but while it turned easily, the door would not open. A faint vibration stirred the air about her hand.

  Magic? How could they be using magic? None of
them had passed the Second Level yet.

  Behind the door she could hear giggles and muffled comments. She recognized Alend's voice, and Issle's laugh was unmistakable. As she noted Vallon and Kano's laughter, she realized that the only voice she wasn't hearing was Regin's.

  Which was probably because he was concentrating hard on holding the door closed with magic. Her heart sank as she realized what this meant. Regin had already mastered the Second Level and more. He could not only access and draw on his power, but had learned how to use it. Rothen had warned her that some novices might achieve this quickly, but why did it have to be Regin?

  Remembering the months she had spent playing and practicing magic, she smiled grimly. He still had a long way to go. She stepped back and regarded the door. Could she combat his magic? Probably, but she might destroy the door. She turned to the kitchen woman.

  "There must be another way out of here. Would you show me out?"

  The woman hesitated. Her expression held no sympathy anymore, just suspicion. The sick feeling inside Sonea turned into anger.

  "Well?" she snapped.

  The woman's eyes widened, then her gaze dropped to the floor.

  "Yes, my lady. Follow me."

  Gesturing for Sonea to follow, the woman wove her way through the benches. The kitchen servants stared at Sonea as she passed, but she kept her eyes on the woman's back. They entered a storeroom even larger than the kitchen, filled with shelves stacked high with food and utensils. At the far end of the storeroom, the woman stopped at another door, opened it and gestured wordlessly at the corridor beyond.

  "Thank you," Sonea said, then stepped out of the room. The door closed firmly behind her. She looked up and down the corridor. It was unfamiliar, but it had to lead somewhere. She sighed, shook her head and started walking.

  Evenings in the Night Room were not as interesting as they used to be, Rothen mused. Where once he had half dreaded attending the weekly social gathering for the rush of questions he was subjected to about the mysterious slum girl, now he found himself ignored.

  "That Elyne girl will need watching," a female voice said from across the room. "From what Lady Kinla said, it won't be long before she needs a private talk with a Healer."

  The reply was inaudible.

  "Bina? Perhaps. Or do you mean . . . ? No. Who would want to? Leave it to Rothen."

  Hearing his name, Rothen searched for the speakers. He found two young Healer women standing by a window nearby. One glanced up and, seeing him watching, blushed and looked away.

  "There's something strange about her. It's something ..." Recognizing this new voice, Rothen felt a thrill of triumph. The speaker was Lord Elben, one of Sonea's teachers. Louder, closer conversations in the room threatened to overwhelm the voice, but Rothen closed his eyes and concentrated as Dannyl had taught him to.

  "She doesn't fit in," a wavering voice replied. "But who really expected her to?"

  Rothen frowned. The second speaker was the history teacher for the First Year novices.

  "It's more than that, Skoran," Elben insisted. "She's too quiet. She doesn't even talk to the other novices."

  "They don't like her much, either, do they?"

  A wry laugh. "No, who can blame them?"

  "Think of Lord Rothen," Skoran said. "The poor man. Do you think he knew what he was getting into? I wouldn't want her coming back to my rooms every night. Garrel was telling me that she spun some tale about knifing a man when she lived in the slums. I wouldn't want a little murderess lurking around my rooms while I was asleep."

  "Charming! I hope Rothen keeps his door locked during the night, in that case."

  The voices faded as the pair moved away. Rothen opened his eyes again and looked down at his glass of wine. Dannyl had been right. This chair was in a good position for listening to other magicians' conversations. Dannyl had always said that the regular Night Room attendees were too eager to express their opinions to check who might be listening, and much could be learned from them.

  Unlike Dannyl, however, Rothen felt uncomfortable spying on his fellow magicians. He rose and located Skoran and Elben. Forcing a polite smile, he approached the pair.

  "Good evening, Lord Elben," he said, inclining his head in greeting. "Lord Skoran."

  "Lord Rothen," they replied, nodding politely in return.

  "I just came to ask how my little thief is going?"

  The two teachers paused, their faces blank with surprise, then Elben laughed nervously.

  "She's doing well, " he said. "In fact she's doing rather better than I expected. She learns fast and her control over her powers is quite . . . advanced."

  "She had many months in which to practice, and we haven't really tested her strength yet," Skoran added.

  Rothen smiled. Few had believed him when he had described how strong Sonea was, despite knowing that a magician had to be strong for their powers to surface of their own accord.

  "I look forward to hearing your opinion when you do test her," he said, stepping away.

  "Before you go," Skoran lifted a wrinkled hand, "I'd like to know how well my grandson, Urlan, is progressing in chemistry."

  "Well enough." Rothen turned back to face the magician. As he was drawn into a discussion about the boy, he made a mental note to ask Sonea how well the teachers had been treating her. Not liking a novice was never a good excuse for neglecting their training.

  Pausing at the bottom of the University stairs, Administrator Lorlen regarded the night-shrouded Guild. To his right lay the Healers' Quarters, a round two-story building standing behind tall trees within the gardens. Before it ran the road to the Servants' Quarters, winding into a dark arm of the forest that surrounded the grounds. Directly before him lay a wide, circular road that curved between the University and the gates. Stables lay to the left of this, and then another arm of the forest.

  Lurking between the edge of this forest and the other side of the gardens was the High Lord's Residence. The gray stone building did not glow in the moonlight like the other, white Guild structures, but was a ghostly presence at the forest edge. It was the only building other than the Guildhall that had survived from the beginnings of the Guild's formation. For over seven centuries it had accommodated the most powerful magician of each generation. Lorlen had no doubt that the man riving there now was one of the strongest magicians it had ever housed.

  Taking a deep breath, he started down the path to its door.

  For now, forget all that, he told himself. He is your old friend, the Akkarin you know well. We will talk about politics, our families, and Guild matters. You'll try to persuade him to visit the Night Room, and he'll decline.

  Lorlen straightened his shoulders as he reached the residence. As always, the door opened at his knock. Stepping inside, Lorlen felt a twinge of relief as neither Akkarin nor his servant stepped forward to greet him.

  He sat down and considered the guestroom. Originally, it had been an entry hall with a well-worn staircase on either side. Guestrooms had become a common feature of homes centuries after the time of the residence's construction, so previous High Lords had entertained in one of the inner rooms instead. Akkarin had modernized the building by arranging for walls to be constructed to conceal the two staircases. By filling the space between them with comfortable furniture and warm carpets, he'd created a pleasant, if narrow, guestroom.

  "What's this?" a familiar voice said. "An unexpected visitor."

  Turning, Lorlen managed to smile at the black-robed man standing in the doorway to the stairs.

  "Good evening, Akkarin."

  The High Lord smiled and, after closing the door behind him, moved to a narrow cabinet holding a store of wine and a selection of glasses and silverware. He opened a bottle and filled two glasses, choosing the very wine that Lorlen had decided not to buy the previous day.

  "I almost didn't recognize you, Lorlen. It has been a while."

  Lorlen lifted his shoulders. "Our little family has been a handful of late."

&nb
sp; Akkarin chuckled at Lorlen's use of their pet name for the Guild. He handed Lorlen a wineglass, then sat down. "Ah, but they keep you occupied, and you get to reward them for good behavior now and then. Lord Dannyl was an interesting choice for the Second Guild Ambassador for Elyne."

  Lorlen felt his heart skip a beat. He masked his alarm with a frown of concern. "Not one you would have made?"

  "He is an excellent man for the role. He showed initiative and boldness by seeking and negotiating with the Thieves."

  Lorlen lifted an eyebrow. "He should have consulted us first, however."

  Akkarin waved a hand dismissively. "The Higher Magicians would have argued about it for weeks, then made the safest decision—and they would have made the wrong one. That Dannyl could see that, and risked the disapproval of his peers for the sake of finding her, shows that he is not easily cowed by authority when its methods are contrary to the good of others. He will need that confidence when dealing with the Elyne court. I was surprised you didn't ask my opinion, but I'm sure you knew that I'd approve of your decision."

  "What news do you have for me?" Lorlen asked.

  "Nothing exciting. The King asked me if the 'little rogue,' as he calls Sonea, had been included in the summer intake. I told him she had, and he was pleased. That reminds me of another amusing incident: Nefin of House Maron asked if Fergun could come back to Imardin now."

  "Again?"

  "This is the first time Nefin has asked. The last one to ask was Ganen, about three weeks ago. It seems every man and woman in House Maron intends to approach me about this. I've even had children ask me when they'll see uncle Fergun again."

  "So what did you tell him?"

  "That uncle Fergun had done a bad, bad thing, but not to worry, as the nice men at the Fort would make sure he was well looked after for all the years he stayed there."