The carriage turned again and passed more grand homes, then slowed and rolled through the Inner Gates into the West Quarter. The guards barely glanced up as it passed, only pausing to note the Guild symbol painted on the side of the vehicle. The road continued through the West Quarter, between large and regal houses of a plainer style than those of the Inner Circle. Most belonged to merchants or crafters, who preferred this part of the city for its proximity to the Marina and Market.
As the carriage passed through the Western Gate, it entered a maze of stalls and booths. People of all races and classes filled the roads on either side. Stall holders called out their wares and prices over the endless buzz of voices, whistles, bells and animal calls. Though the road remained wide, sellers, customers, street performers and beggars crowded both sides so that carriages had barely enough room to pass each other.
The air was heavy with a confusion of smells. A breeze sweetened by the smell of bruised fruit was followed by another reeking of rotten vegetables. The fibrous smell of rush matting was swamped by the acrid, suffocating odor of something unwholesome as two men carried a vat of oily blue liquid past the carriage. Finally, the briny tang of the sea, and the subtle, pungent scent of river mud reached Dannyl and he felt his heartbeat quicken. The carriage turned a corner and the Marina came into view.
A forest of masts and ropes lay before him, dividing the sky into ribbons of blue. On either side of the road an endless river of people hurried past. Muscular carriers and crewmen hauled boxes, baskets and sacks on their backs. Carts of all sizes, drawn by all manner of animals, trundled by. The cries of sellers were replaced by shouted orders and the bellowing and bleating of livestock.
Still the carriage continued, taking him past larger and larger boats until he reached a row of sturdy merchant ships resting by a long pier. There it slowed and stopped, rocking back on its springs.
The door opened and the driver bowed respectfully.
“We have arrived, my lord.”
Dannyl slid across the seat and climbed out. A swarthy, white-haired man stood nearby, his face and bare arms well tanned. Behind him stood several younger men, all heavily built.
“You are Lord Dannyl?” the man asked, bowing stiffly.
“Yes. You are...?”
“Piermaster,” he said, then nodded at the carriage. “Yours?”
Dannyl guessed that he was referring to the chests. “Yes.”
“We’ll take ’em down.”
“No, I can save you the trouble.” Dannyl turned and focused his will. As each chest drifted down toward the ground, a pair of the young men came forward and caught it, apparently accustomed to the use of magic for such purposes. They started down the pier, the rest of the men following.
“Sixth ship along, my lord,” the Piermaster said as the carriage pulled away.
Dannyl nodded. “Thank you.”
As he reached the pier his footsteps began echoing hollowly on the wooden planking. Looking down, he saw glimpses of water through the cracks between the wide timbers. He followed the carriers around a great stack of boxes that were being loaded onto one ship, then a pile of what looked like well-wrapped carpets waiting beside another. Men were everywhere: hurrying up and down planks with loads on their shoulders, lounging on deck playing tiles, or striding about shouting orders.
Over the noise, Dannyl noted the subtler sounds of the Marina: the constant creak of boards and ropes, and the splash of water against hull and pier. He noticed small details: the decoration on masts and sails, the names painted carefully on hull and cabin, the water pouring from a hole in a ship’s side. He frowned at that last detail. Water was supposed to remain on the outside of a boat, wasn’t it?
Upon reaching the sixth ship, the carriers clomped up a narrow gangplank. Looking up, Dannyl saw a pair of men watching him from the ship. He started up the plank cautiously, then with more confidence when he found it sturdy enough despite the flexing of the wood. As he stepped onto the deck the two men greeted him with bows.
They looked remarkably alike. Their brown skin and small stature were typical Vindo characteristics. They both wore tough, colorless clothing. One, however, stood a little straighter than the other, and it was he who spoke.
“Welcome to the Fin-da, my lord. I am Captain Numo.”
“Thank you, captain. I am Lord Dannyl.”
The captain gestured to the chests, which were resting on the deck a few strides away, the carriers standing nearby. “No room for boxes in your room, my lord. We stow them below. You want anything, you ask my brother, Jano.”
Dannyl nodded. “Very well. There is one item I will collect before they take them away.”
The captain nodded once. “Jano show your room. We leaving soon.”
As the captain walked away, Dannyl touched the lid of the smaller chest. The lock snapped open. He removed a leather bag filled with necessities for the journey. Closing the lid again, he looked up at the carriers.
“This is all I’ll need - I hope.”
They bent and carried the trunks away. Turning, Dannyl looked at Jano expectantly. The man nodded and gestured for Dannyl to follow.
Passing through a narrow door, they descended a short stairway into a wide room. The ceiling was so low even Jano needed to stoop to duck under the beams. Roughly woven sheets were slung between hooks on the ceiling. These, he guessed, were the hanging beds he had heard about in stories and travellers’ accounts.
Jano led him into a narrow corridor and, after a few steps, opened a door. Dannyl stared at the tiny room in dismay. A low bed as wide as his shoulders filled the entire interior. A small cupboard had been built into one end, and good quality reber-wool blankets lay neatly folded at the other.
“Small, yai?”
Dannyl looked across at Jano to find the man grinning. He smiled wryly, knowing his dismay must have been obvious.
“Yes,” Dannyl agreed. “Small.”
“Captain has room twice as big. When we own big boat, we get big room, too, yai?”
Dannyl nodded. “Sounds fair.” He dropped his bag on the bed, then turned around so that he could sit down, his legs extending into the corridor. “It’s all I need.”
Jano tapped the opposite door. “My room. We keep each other company, yai? You sing?”
Before Dannyl could think of an answer a bell rang out somewhere above, and Jano looked up. “Must go. We leaving now.” He turned, then paused. “You stay here. Not get in way.” Without waiting for a reply, he hurried off.
Dannyl looked around the tiny room that would be his space for the next two weeks, and chuckled. Now he understood why so many magicians hated travelling by sea.
Stopping in the doorway of the classroom, Sonea felt her heart sink.
She had left Rothen’s rooms early, hoping to get to the classroom ahead of the other novices so that she’d have time to gain some control over her fluttering stomach before meeting them. But several seats were already occupied. As she hesitated, faces turned toward her, and her stomach shrank into a tight knot. She quickly looked away to the magician who sat at the front of the classroom.
He was younger than she had expected, probably only in his twenties. An angular nose gave his face a disdainful expression. As she bowed, he looked up, his eyes fixing on her face, travelling to her new boots, then rising back up to her face again. Satisfied, he looked down at a sheet of paper and made a small tick against the list written there.
“Choose a seat, Sonea,” he said dismissively.
The room contained twelve perfectly aligned tables and chairs. Six novices, all perched on the edge of their seats, watched her consider the arrangement.
Don’t sit too far from the other novices, she told herself. You don’t want them thinking you’re unfriendly - or scared of them. A few empty seats remained in the center of the room, but she didn’t like the idea of sitting in the middle, either. A chair against the far wall was vacant, flanked by three novices in the next row. That would do.
She was conscious of eyes following her as she moved to the chair. As she sat down she forced herself to look up at them.
At once the novices found something else to interest them. Sonea sighed with relief. She had been expecting more sneers. Perhaps only the boy she had encountered yesterday - Regin - was going to be openly unfriendly.
One by one the rest of the novices arrived at the door of the classroom, bowed to the teacher and took a seat. The shy Kyralian girl hastily took the first chair she came to. Another almost forgot to bow to the magician, then stumbled over to the seat in front of Sonea. He didn’t see her until he had reached the chair, and he stared at her in dismay before reluctantly sitting down.
The last novice to arrive was the unfriendly boy, Regin. He scanned the room with narrowed eyes before deliberately placing himself in the center of the group.
A distant gong sounded, and the magician rose from his chair. Several novices, including herself, jumped visibly at the movement. Before their teacher could speak, however, a familiar face appeared in the doorway.
“Are they all here, Lord Elben?”
“Yes, Director Jerrik,” the teacher replied.
The University Director hooked his thumbs in the brown sash about his waist and regarded the class.
“Welcome,” he said, his voice more stern than welcoming, “and congratulations. I offer this congratulation not because each of you has had the good fortune of being born with the rare and much envied ability to use magic. I offer it because each of you has been accepted into the university of the Magicians’ Guild. Some of you have come from countries far from here, and will not return to your homes for many years. Some of you may decide to stay here for most of your life. You are all, however, stuck here for the next five years.
“Why? To become a magician. What is a magician, then?” He smiled grimly. “There are many attributes that make up a magician. Some you already have, some you will develop, some you will learn. Some are more important than others.”
He stopped and swept his eyes over the class.
“What is the most important attribute of a magician?”
In the corner of her eye Sonea saw several of the novices straighten in their seats. Jerrik moved around the desk and strolled to her side of the room. He stared down at the boy in front of her.
“Vallon?”
Sonea saw the boy’s back hunch as if he wanted to slide under his table.
“H-how well he does something, my lord.” The boy’s weak voice was only just audible. “How much he has practiced.”
“No.” Jerrik turned on his heel and stalked to the other side of the class. He fixed one of the eager boys with his cold stare.
“Gennyl?”
“Strength, my lord,” the boy answered.
“Definitely not!” the University Director barked. He stepped forward, down between the rows of novices, and stopped by the timid Kyralian girl.
“Bina?”
The girl blinked prettily, then raised her head to gaze at the magician. His eyes bore into hers and she dropped her head quickly.
“Uh...” She paused, then brightened suddenly. “Goodness, my lord. How he or she uses magic.”
“No.” His tone was gentler. “Though a very important attribute and one we expect from all our magicians.”
Jerrik continued down the aisle. Sonea turned her head to watch him, but noticed that the other novices were staring rigidly at the front of the room. Feeling uneasy, she copied them, listening for the magician’s footsteps as he moved closer.
“Elayk?”
“Talent, my lord?” The boy’s Lonmar accent was strong.
“No.”
The footsteps grew closer. Sonea felt a tingling at the top of her spine. What would she say if he asked her? Surely all the possible answers had been offered already. She drew in a quiet breath and let it out slowly. He wouldn’t ask her anyway. She was the unimportant girl from the...
“Sonea?”
Her stomach lurched. Looking up, she saw Jerrik standing over her, his eyes growing chillier as she hesitated.
Then she knew the answer. It was easy. After all, she should know this better than any of the novices since she had nearly died when her own powers had grown uncontrollable. Jerrik knew this, which was probably why he had asked her.
“Control, my lord.”
“No.”
The magician sighed and moved to the front of the room. She stared at the grain of the wooden table before her, her face hot.
The University Director stopped in front of the desk and crossed his arms. He looked around the room again. The class waited, expectant and ashamed.
“The most important attribute of a magician is knowledge.” He paused, then looked at each of the novices who had spoken in turn. “Without it his strength is useless, he has nothing to be skilled or talented in, despite his best intentions.” The magician’s eyes flickered to Sonea. “Even if his powers surface of their own accord, he will soon be dead if he does not gain the knowledge of how to control them.”
As one, the class let out a breath. A few faces turned toward Sonea briefly. Frozen by self-consciousness, she kept her eyes on her desk.
“The Guild is the largest and most comprehensive store of knowledge in the world,” Jerrik continued, a note of pride rising in his voice. “During the years that you spend here that knowledge, or at least some part of it, will be given to you. If you pay attention, listen to what your teachers tell you, and make use of the sources here such as the extensive library, you will excel. However,” his tone darkened, “if you do not pay attention, pay your elders respect or take advantage of the centuries of knowledge gathered by your predecessors, you will shame only yourselves. The years ahead of you will not be easy,” he warned. “You must be dedicated, disciplined and dutiful,” he paused and scanned the faces before him, “if you are to reach your full potential as magicians of the Guild.”
The atmosphere in the room had changed from relief to a new kind of tension. The novices were so quiet that Sonea could hear them breathing. Jerrik straightened and put his hands behind his back.
“You are probably aware,” he said in a milder tone, “of the Three Levels of Control that are the foundation of your university education. The First, unlocking your power, you will achieve today. The Second, the ability to access, draw, and contain your power, will be your aim for the rest of this morning, and every morning, until you can achieve all three without thinking. The Third, grasping the many ways that power can be used, will be taught to you in the years between now and your graduation - though, regardless of which discipline you choose to specialize in after graduation, there will be no point at which you will have completed the Third Level. Once you have graduated, it will be up to you to expand upon the knowledge we have given you, but you will, of course, never know all there is to know.” He smiled thinly.
“The Guild holds more knowledge than you could absorb in a lifetime, probably more than you could learn in five lifetimes. We have the three disciplines of Healing, Alchemy and Warrior Skills. So that you may learn enough of one to become a useful and accomplished magician, your teachers, and those before them, have gleaned what information is most relevant and important to give to you.” He lifted his chin slightly. “Use this knowledge well, novices of the Magicians’ Guild of Kyralia.”
He cast his eyes over the classroom once more, then turned and, with a nod to Lord Elben, left the room.
The class was still and quiet. The teacher remained motionless, noting the expressions on the faces of his charges with a smile of satisfaction. Then he stepped around to the front of the large table and addressed them.
“Your first lesson in Control begins now. Each of you has been designated a teacher for this lesson. You will find them waiting for you next door. Rise and make your way to this room now.”
Chairs scraped on the wooden floor as the novices got eagerly to their feet. Sonea rose slowly. The teacher’s head turned and he regarded her coldly.
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“Except you, Sonea,” he added, belatedly. “You will remain here.”
This time all of the novices turned to stare at her. She blinked from one face to another, feeling strangely guilty as understanding dawned in their eyes.
“Go on,” urged the teacher. The novices turned away. Sonea lowered herself back into her chair and watched the class file out. Only one turned to glance at her again before he stepped through the door. His lips curled up in a sneer. Regin.
“Sonea.”
She jumped and turned to stare at the teacher, surprised that he was still there.
“Yes, my lord.”
His eyes lost a little of their chilliness and he moved across the room to stand beside her seat. “As you have already achieved the First and Second Levels of Control, I have brought you the first book the class will study.” Sonea lowered her eyes to a small paper-covered book he held in his hand. “There will be practical exercises to go with the book, but they will involve all of the class. You will still gain much from studying the information in this.”
He placed the book on the table and turned away.
“Thank you, Lord Elben,” she said to his back.
He paused and turned to regard her with mild surprise, then continued to the door.
The room was empty and silent after he had gone. Sonea looked around at the other desks and chairs. She counted nine crooked seats.
She looked at the book on her desk and read: Six Lessons for New Novices, by Lord Liden, and a date. The book was over a century old. How many novices had worked their way through these exercises? She flicked through the pages. The script, she saw with relief, was clear and easy to read.
Magic is a useful art, but not without limitations. A magician’s natural area of influence lies within his or her body, the skin being the boundary of this area. Minimal effort is required to influence magic within this space. No other magician may influence this space, unless he or she is Healing, which requires skin to skin contact.
The Novice bmt-2 Page 3