Black Magician-02 The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

  "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!

  Chapter 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 Food-hall 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 energy 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.

  The harvest festival had been in full swing when Dannyl and Tayend arrived, and was still going three days later.

  The tasks Lorlen had asked Errend to take care of were minor, but numerous. Dannyl could not start to work on them until the festival was over, so he and Tayend had been relaxing in the Guild House since they had arrived, only slipping out to watch the street performances or buy wine and local delicacies.

  Celebrants, singers, dancers and musicians filled the main road for most of each day, making it difficult to get anywhere quickly. The procession could be avoided, however, by using the steep stairways bridging each loop of the spiraling main road. It was not an easy journey when travelling upward, and Tayend was breathing hard when they finally reached their destination, a wine merchant's shop on the main road, several staircases uphill from the Guild House.

  Stopping to lean against a building, Tayend waved Dannyl toward the shop. "I'll rest," he gasped. "You go."

  At once a girl carrying bracelets of flowers stepped out of the procession, approached the scholar and tried to persuade him to buy some. Tayend had been more than a little overwhelmed by the boldness of Vindo women, but they had been told by their guide that the Vindo friendliness was simply local good manners.

  Leaving Tayend occupied, Dannyl entered the shop and began selecting wine. Knowing that Tayend would appreciate something familiar, he chose several bottles of Elyne wine. Like most Vindo, the merchant spoke Dannyl's language well enough to make his price known, but not well enough to barter.

  As the man began to pack the bottles into a box, Dannyl moved to the shop's bay window. The flower girl had moved on. Tayend leaned against the corner of the building, his arms crossed and his attention taken by a group of male acrobats.

  Then a hand shot out, grasped Tayend's arm, and pulled the scholar into the shadows.

  Dannyl stepped closer to the bay window, then froze. He could see Tayend now, pressed up against the wall of an alley beside the shop. A dirty-looking Vindo with straggly hair had one hand around the scholar's neck. The other held a blade to Tayend's side.

  White with terror, Tayend stared at tne mugger, ine man's lips moved. A demand for money, Dannyl guessed. He took a step toward the door, then forced himself to stop. What would happen if the mugger was confronted by a magician?

  Dannyl's imagination raced forward. He saw the mugger using Tayend as a hostage ... taking the scholar with him as he escaped . . . stabbing Tayend when Dannyl was out of sight.

  Whereas if Tayend gave up his money, the man would simply take it and go.

  Tayend's eyes moved to the window and locked with Dannyl's. Nodding toward the mugger, Dannyl mouthed the words: "Give it to him." Tayend frowned.

  Seeing the change in the scholar's expression, the mugger glanced toward the window. Ducking out of view, Dannyl cursed. Had the man seen him? He peered around the edge of the window.

  Tayend was pulling his bag of coins out of his coat. The mugger grabbed it, then tested its weight. With a grin of triumph, he stowed it in his pocket.

  Then, with a swift jab, he sank the knife into Tayend's side.

  Horrified, Dannyl leapt out of the shop. Tayend was doubled over, blood gushing from the wound. Seeing that the mugger was bracing himself to stab again, Dannyl reached out with magic. The mugger's expression changed to surprise and horror as he saw Dannyl. Then he was flying through the air. Thrown over the road, he slammed into the opposite building with a sickening crack and fell to the ground, the celebrants scattering as he landed among them.

  For a moment Dannyl stared at the man in surprise and horror. He hadn't meant to react so strongly. Then Tayend gave a low moan and he put the mugger out of his mind. Dashing forward, he caught Tayend as the scholar crumpled, and lowered him to the ground. Tearing away the bloodied shirt, Dannyl pressed his hand to the wound.

  Closing his eyes, he sent his mind inward. The knife had cut deep, severing veins, arteries and organs. Dannyl called on Healing power and focused
it on the damaged area. He diverted blood, persuaded tissue to knit together, and encouraged Tayend's body to draw away grime from the dirty knife. Healers usually worked only until a wound was sealed and safe, saving their power for other patients, but Dannyl poured his energy forth until only scar tissue remained. Then he listened to the body under his hand as he had been taught, checking that everything was working properly.

  Other messages reached him. Tayend's heart raced. His muscles were stiff with tension. A feeling of relief and dread touched Dannyl's mind. He frowned. A lingering fear was to be expected, but there was something different about this feeling of dread. His senses shifted to the mental level and suddenly Tayend's thoughts spilled into his mind.

  Perhaps he won't see.. . No, it's too late! He's probably seen already. Now he'll reject me. Kyralian magicians are like that. They think we're perverted. Unnatural. But no! He'll understand. He says he knows what it's like. But he's not a lad himself... or is he? He could be hiding it. No, he couldn't be. He's a Kyralian magician. Their Healers would have detected it, and thrown him out. ..

  Surprised, Dannyl drew away from Tayend's mind, but kept his eyes closed and his hand on the scholar's side. So this was why Tayend refused Healing. He was afraid that Dannyl would sense that... that he was like Dem Agerralin. Tayend desired men.

  Memories of the last few months flashed through Dannyl's mind. He recalled the day after the sea leech attack. Tayend had found a pair of leeches entwined around each other and a rope. A sailor had noticed Tayend's interest.

  "They breed," the man said.

  "Which is the boy, and which is the girl?" Tayend asked.

  "Not boy or girl. Same."

  Tayend's brows rose and he glanced at the sailor. "Really?"

  The man moved away to collect a pan of siyo. Tayend looked up at the leeches.

  "Good for you," he'd said.

  Remembering his time in Elyne, Dannyl recalled his conversation with Errend. "He's the youngest son of Tremmelin . . . scholar, I believe . . . Don't see him in court much— though I have seen him with Dem Agerralin... a man of dubious associations."