Black Magician-02 The Novice

by Trudi Canavan

  Dorrien's strides were long, and she had to walk quickly to keep up. Thinking back to the conversation of the previous evening, she remembered how eager he was to return to his home, but she couldn't help wishing he could stay a little longer. She couldn't remember enjoying herself as much as she had in the last few weeks. Though Rothen was good company, Dorrien was energetic and was always looking for opportunities for fun. He had taught her to levitate, and to play several games. All these games involved magic, and he was obviously relishing having a partner to play them with.

  "What's it like being the only magician among ordinary people?" she asked.

  Dorrien considered the question. "It's satisfying and challenging. People don't ever forget that you're different, no matter how close you get to them. They feel uncomfortable because you can do something they don't understand. Some of the farmers won't let me touch them, even though they're happy to let me Heal their animals."

  She nodded. "People in the slums are like that. They're terrified of magicians."

  "Most of the farmers were afraid of me at first. It took quite a while before they trusted me."

  "Do you get lonely?"

  "Sometimes. It's worth it, though." They had reached the road now, and Dorrien turned to the left. "There's something right about what I do. There are people in those mountains who would have died if I hadn't been around to help."

  "That must be wonderful, knowing you saved someone's life."

  Dorrien smiled. "It's the best use magic can be put to. In comparison, the rest is just frivolous games. Father wouldn't agree, but I've always thought Alchemy a waste of power, and Warrior Skills . . . well, what can I say?"

  "The Alchemists say that they have created and invented ways to make people's lives safer and more comfortable," Sonea pointed out. "The Warriors say they are essential to the defense of Kyralia."

  He nodded. "The Alchemists have done some good work, and it isn't wise to let magicians forget how to defend themselves. I guess I have a grudge against those who spend their time indulging themselves when they could be helping others. The ones who waste all their time on glorified hobbies."

  Sonea smiled as she thought of Dannyl's experiments with transferring mind images to paper—abandoned now that he was a Guild Ambassador in Elyne. Dorrien probably wouldn't approve of Dannyl's "hobby."

  "There are too many Alchemists and not enough Healers," Dorrien continued. "The Healers restrict their time to those with money and status because they don't have time to treat everyone. We all learn basic Healing. There's no reason why Alchemists and Warriors couldn't spend some of their time assisting Healers. Then we could help more people.

  "I treat anyone who needs my help: herders, crafters, farmers, passing travellers. There's no good reason why Healers here shouldn't do the same. The crafters here pay taxes, and part of that tax goes toward maintaining the Guild. They should have access to the service that then-money sustains."

  His voice had grown stronger. Obviously this was something he believed in passionately.

  "And the people in the slums?" she prompted.

  He checked his stride and turned to look at her. "Yes," he said, walking at a slower pace. "Though I think we would have to be careful how we went about it."

  She frowned. "Oh?"

  "The slums are part of a much bigger problem, and we could easily waste a lot of time and effort. They're like, if you'll forgive me saying so, boils on the skin of the city, pointing to deeper troubles in the body. The boils won't go away until the deeper problems are addressed."

  "Deeper problems?"

  "Well," Dorrien glanced at her again, "if I stick to my analogy I'd say that the city has grown into a fat, sweet-sucking old Warrior. He's either unaware or uncaring that his greedy habits are destroying the systems of his body or that his paunch is making him ugly. He is already far from fit, but as he doesn't have any more enemies to worry about, he's happy to sit back and indulge himself."

  Sonea stared at him, impressed. What he was saying, she realized, was that the King and the Houses were greedy and lazy, and the cost of this was felt by the rest of the city's citizens—like the dwells. He looked at her again, uncertainty in his eyes.

  "That is," he added quickly, "I'm not saying we shouldn't do anything because it's too big a problem. We should be doing something."

  "Like what?"

  He smiled. "Ah, but I don't want to spoil our walk by ranting and raving. Here, we've reached the road."

  Stepping onto the road, Dorrien led her past the houses of the older, retired Guild residents. As they reached the end of the road he continued into the forest, his boots crunching through the snow. Sonea followed behind, walking in his footsteps.

  Soon the ground became uneven. Her heavy box made negotiating the forest difficult, so she left it sitting on a log, protected by a barrier of magic. The steep slope soon had her breathing hard. Eventually Dorrien stopped and placed his hand on the trunk of an enormous tree.

  "The first marker. Remember this tree, Sonea. Walk in the same direction that the road leads until you reach it, then turn east and climb until you find the wall."

  "The Outer Wall?"

  He nodded. Sonea suppressed a groan. The Outer Wall had to be a long way into the forest. They tramped uphill through the snow for several minutes, until Sonea was gasping for breath.

  "Stop!" she cried when it seemed her legs couldn't carry her any farther.

  Dorrien turned and grinned, and she was gratified to see he was breathing hard. He gestured at a pile of snow-covered rocks ahead.

  "The wall."

  Sonea stared at the snow, then realized that the rocks underneath were actually huge slabs of stone, scattered through the forest. This rubble was all that was left of the Outer Wall.

  "Now," Dorrien said between breaths. "We head north again."

  Before she could protest he was striding away. No longer climbing uphill, it was easier walking and she gradually caught her breath. Dorrien reached an outcrop of rocks, clambered over them and disappeared. Sonea followed his scrapings in the snow and found herself standing inside a small circle of boulders. From the profusion of trees she could see that this place would be well hidden when their leaves grew back. To one side water rippled down the rocks and gathered in an ice-edged pool before spilling away over more rocks.

  Dorrien stood several paces away, smiling.

  "This is it. The spring. The source of the Guild's water."

  Walking to his side, she saw water pouring out of a crack in the rocks.

  "It's wonderful," she said, looking up at Dorrien. "It must be lovely in summer."

  "Don't wait for summer." Dorrien's eyes shone. "It's just as wonderful in spring. I used to start visiting as soon as the snow began to thaw."

  Sonea tried to picture Dorrien as a boy, scrambling up the slope and sitting here on his own. The boy who became a novice of the Guild, then a Healer. She would come back, she decided. It would be a place to go when she needed some time alone, away from Regin and the other novices. Perhaps that was what Dorrien had intended all along.

  "What are you thinking, little Sonea?"

  "I want to thank you."

  His eyebrows rose. "Thank me?"

  "For baiting Regin. For taking me up on the roof of the University." She chuckled. "For teaching me to levitate."

  "Ah," he waved a hand dismissively. "That was easy."

  "And for making me enjoy myself again. I think I almost believed that fun wasn't part of being a magician." She smiled crookedly. "I know you have to go back, but I wish you could stay longer."

  His expression grew serious. "I'll miss you, too, little Sonea." He took a step closer, then opened his mouth as if to say something else, but no words came. Putting a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up, bent closer and pressed his lips to her mouth.

  Surprised, Sonea pulled away a little. He was very close, his eyes bright and questioning. Suddenly her face was too warm, and her heart was pounding very fast.
She was smiling foolishly and, though she tried, she couldn't stop. Dorrien laughed quietly, then bent to kiss her again.

  This time his lips lingered and she was conscious of their softness and warmth. She felt a shiver run down her spine, but she wasn't cold. When he moved away she swayed forward a little, prolonging the touch.

  He stepped backward, his smile fading. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me."

  She swallowed. Found her voice. "Not fair?"

  He looked down at his feet, his expression serious. "Because I'm going away. Because you might want or need someone else between now and who-knows-when and turn them away because of me."

  Sonea laughed, a little bitterly. "I doubt it."

  Dorrien's gaze became wary. Sonea frowned. Did he now think that she welcomed his attention only because she thought nobody else would ever be romantically interested in her?

  Was she? Until a moment ago she hadn't even considered the possibility that he could be more than just a friend. She shook her head and smiled.

  "You've given me quite a surprise this time, Dorrien."

  The corners of his lips curled upward.

  — Dorrien?

  She recognized Rothen's mind-voice.

  — Father, Dorrien replied.

  — Where are you?

  —I went for a morning walk.

  — The stablemaster is here.

  — I'll be there soon.

  Dorrien grimaced apologetically. "I'm afraid we took longer getting here than I thought we would."

  She felt a stab of apprehension. Was she late for the First Year tests?

  "Come on."

  They scrambled over the rocks and started back. After several minutes hurrying through the forest, they reached the log she had left her box on. Not long after, they arrived at the road and were able to break into a jog.

  From time to time she glanced at Dorrien, wondering what he was thinking. Other times she noticed him watching her, and he smiled as she looked up to meet his eyes. He reached out and took her hand. His fingers were warm, and she was disappointed when they came in sight of the Guild and he let his hand fall to his side.

  As they approached the Magicians' Quarters, Rothen strode out of the doors to meet them.

  "Your horse is waiting out front, Dorrien." Rothen looked them both up and down, noting the snow on their shoes and robes with raised eyebrows. "You had better dry yourselves."

  Steam wafted up from Dorrien's clothes as they started down the path alongside the University. Concentrating, Sonea heated the air around her robes to dry them. A servant met them before the University staircase, holding the reins of Dorrien's horse.

  Dorrien enveloped first Rothen, then Sonea, in a firm hug.

  "Take care of each other," he said.

  "Take care of yourself," Rothen replied. "Don't push yourself through blizzards just to get home sooner."

  Dorrien swung up onto the saddle. "There's never been a blizzard that could keep me from home!"

  "Then what have you been complaining about for these past four weeks?"

  "Me? Complain?"

  Laughing, Rothen crossed his arms. "Get out of here, Dorrien."

  Dorrien grinned. "Farewell, Father."

  "Farewell, Dorrien."

  Dorrien's eyes flickered to Sonea's. She felt a tentative touch at the edges of her mind.

  — Farewell, Sonea. Learn fast.

  Then Dorrien's horse galloped away, racing through the gates and out into the snow-covered streets of the city.

  For a few minutes they remained staring at the gates. Rothen sighed and turned to look at Sonea. His eyes narrowed.

  "Hmmm," he said. "Something's going on here."

  She kept her expression neutral. "Like what?"

  "Don't worry." He smiled knowingly, and started up the University stairs. "I approve. I don't think the age difference will matter. It's only a few years. You do realize you have to stay here until graduation, don't you?"

  Sonea opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again as she saw a movement in the Entrance Hall. She caught Rothen's arm.

  "I don't mind you speculating, Rothen," she told him quietly. "But I'd appreciate it if you did so privately."

  He frowned and looked at her in surprise. She kept her attention on the hall. As they stepped inside, the room echoed with the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairway treads. Looking up, Sonea glimpsed a familiar novice hurrying upward.

  Her stomach turned. She'd had a clear look at the expression on Regin's face before he slipped out of sight. She might have gained a begrudging sympathy from the teachers now that Regin had been caught setting her up as a thief, but she doubted she was free of his taunting. Preparations for the First Year tests had kept the boy occupied, but she suspected he was planning a particularly nasty revenge.

  "I'll see you tonight," she told Rothen.

  He nodded solemnly. "Good luck, Sonea. I know you'll do well."

  She smiled, then started up the staircase. Reaching the top, she cautiously entered the corridor. The University was full of novices, their low voices and tense expressions creating an atmosphere of expectation and dread. Reaching her classroom, she stepped inside.

  Regin sat in his usual place, watching her closely. Turning away, she bowed to the two teachers standing at the front of the room, and moved to her seat. She opened her box and took out the history project Lord Skoran had set. Flicking through the pages she was relieved to find them still in order, with no damage done. Though they had been intact when she had sealed the box before leaving her room, she had almost expected to find Regin had got at them somehow.

  Skoran nodded approvingly as she handed the pages to him. To her satisfaction, he locked them in a box.

  All the time, she was conscious of Regin watching her. Returning to her seat, she ignored the face she could see in the corner of her eye. She watched as the last novices entered the class and gave their work to the teacher. When all were present, Lord Vorel stepped forward and stood before them with his arms crossed.

  "Today you will complete your First Year tests in Warrior Skills," he informed them. "You will be required to fight all other members of the class, and will be marked according to skill, Control and, of course, number of victories. Please follow me."

  Sonea rose with the rest of the class. As the first novices filed out of the room, Regin turned and met her eyes. He smiled sweetly.

  She had grown practiced at returning his looks with cold indifference. A chill dread now descended upon her. Though she was still far stronger than the other novices, the restrictions Vorel put on her kept her from using her powers to her advantage. Somehow the inner shield he held around novices to protect them as they fought told him if her strikes were more powerful than he thought appropriate. Regin was still better at Warrior Skills than she, and though the boy no longer had lessons with Lord Balkan, nothing had prevented him from having extra lessons with Lord Garrel.

  As she stepped from the classroom, a servant in a messenger's uniform skidded to a halt beside her.

  "Lady Sonea," the man said. "I have been sent to deliver an urgent request for you to return to Rothen's rooms immediately."

  Surprised, she looked up at Lord Vorel. The magician frowned.

  "We cannot wait for you, Sonea. If you do not return within the hour we will have to arrange a testing early next year."

  Sonea nodded. Thanking the messenger, she started along the corridor.

  Why had Rothen sent for her? He would have barely had enough time to reach his rooms since they parted. Perhaps he'd discovered that Regin did have something planned, and had called her away to prevent it.

  She shook her head. Rothen wouldn't do that. He would attempt to alert Vorel to Regin's plans rather than call her away from an important test.

  Unless he wanted to simply tell her what to expect Regin to do. Perhaps he wanted to suggest a way she could turn whatever it was to her advantage. She could always still slip back to the Arena in time for the bouts. />
  But if that was so, why hadn't he simply met her outside the classroom?

  And why wasn't he in his classroom, preparing to test his own class?

  She frowned as she descended to the ground floor of the University. What if there was some other reason for the summons? The messenger hadn't said that the message had come from Rothen. In that case Rothen might be the reason she was summoned. He might be ill. He wasn't old, but he wasn't young, either. He might be—

  Stop worrying! she told herself. It's probably nothing serious. Nevertheless she half ran across the courtyard to the Magicians' Quarters. Her heart raced as she hurried up the stairs, and down the corridor to Rothen's door.

  The door swung open at her touch. Rothen stood by the window. He turned as she entered the room. She opened her mouth to ask the question hovering on her lips, but caught herself as she saw his warning expression.

  She felt the presence first. It was tangible, unhidden. It filled the room like a thick, suffocating smoke. Terror sent her heart racing, but she managed to compose her expression to what she hoped was only surprise and respect. You don't know why he's here, she told herself as she turned. Don't let him see that you're frightened of him. Keeping her eyes on the floor, she turned to face the visitor and bowed.

  "Excuse me, High Lord."

  He didn't reply.

  "Sonea." Rothen's voice was low and tense. "Come here."

  She looked at Rothen and felt her stomach twist. His face was pale, almost sickly. He beckoned, and his hand shook slightly. Disturbed by these signs of fear, she hurried to his side.

  Rothen's voice was surprisingly calm as he addressed the High Lord. "Sonea is here, as you requested, High Lord. How may we assist you?"

  Akkarin fixed Rothen with a stare that would have turned her to ice.

  "I am here to find the source of a certain . . . rumor. A rumor I drew from the Administrator concerning you and your novice."

  Rothen nodded. He seemed to choose his next words with great care.