She nodded and closed her eyes, and her breathing returned to the slow rhythm of sleep. Faren looked at Jarin, then nodded at the unconscious girl.
The big man reluctantly gathered her into his arms. Sonea's eyes fluttered once, but she remained asleep. Picking up a lamp, Faren strode to the trapdoor, kicked it open and started down the stairs.
They wove through the passages in silence. Looking up at Sonea's face, Cery felt his heart twist. The old, familiar uneasiness had become something more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. It kept him awake at night and tormented him through the day, and he found it hard to remember a time when he didn't feel sick with it.
Mostly he feared for her, but lately he had begun to fear being around her. The magic within her had slipped beyond her grasp. Every day, sometimes every hour, something near her exploded into flames or shattered. She had laughed about it that morning, joking that she was getting plenty of practice extinguishing fires and dodging flying objects.
Each time her magic slipped out, magicians came running from all over the city. Constantly on the move, spending more times in the passages than in Faren's hideouts, she was exhausted and miserable.
Lost in his thoughts, Cery paid little attention to the journey. At one point they descended down a steep staircase, then passed under an enormous slab of stone. Recognizing the base of the Outer Wall, he knew they were entering the North Quarter, and he wondered who Faren's mysterious friend was.
Not long after, Faren stopped and ordered the guard to set Sonea down. She woke, and this time, she seemed more aware of her surroundings. Faren took off his coat and, with Jarin's help, slipped Sonea's arms into the sleeves and pulled up the hood.
"Do you think you can walk?" he asked her.
She shrugged. "I'll try."
"If we meet anyone, try to keep out of sight," he told her.
At first she needed assistance, but within a few minutes she had regained her balance. They walked for another half an hour, gradually encountering more people in the passages. Faren stopped before a door and knocked. A guard opened it and let them into a small room, before knocking on a second door.
A small, swarthy man with a pointy nose opened the door and regarded the Thief.
"Faren," he said. "What brings you?"
"Business," Faren answered.
Cery frowned. There was something familiar about the voice. The man's beady eyes narrowed.
"Come in then."
Faren stepped into the doorway, then paused and pointed at his guards.
"You stay," he said. He pointed at Cery, then Sonea. "You both come with me."
The man frowned. "I don't. .." He hesitated, narrowed his eyes at Cery, then smiled. "Ah, it's little Ceryni. So you've kept Torrin's urchin, Faren. I wondered if you would."
Cery smiled as he realized who the man was. "Hello, Ravi."
"Come in."
As Cery moved into the room, Sonea followed. Glancing around, Cery's gaze was met by an old man sitting in a chair to one side, stroking his long white beard. Cery nodded, but the man did not return the polite greeting.
"And who's this?" Ravi asked, nodding at Sonea.
Faren pulled her hood down. Sonea gazed at Ravi, her pupils large and black from the effects of the drug.
"This is Sonea," Faren said, his mouth stretching in a humorless smile. "Sonea, meet Ravi."
"Hello," Sonea said softly. Ravi took a step backward. His face had turned white.
"This is ... her? But I—"
"How dare you bring her here!"
All turned toward the voice. The old man had pushed himself to his feet and stood glaring at Faren. Sonea gave a little gasp and staggered away.
Faren placed his hands on her shoulders and steadied her. "Don't worry Sonea," he soothed. "He wouldn't dare hurt you. If he did, we'd have to tell the Guild all about him, and he wouldn't like them to discover that he's not dead, as they believe."
Cery turned to stare at the old man, suddenly understanding why the stranger hadn't bothered to acknowledge his nod.
"You see," Faren continued, his tone smug, "you and he have a lot in common, Sonea. You're both protected by Thieves, you both have magic, and you both don't want the Guild to find you. And now that you've seen Senfel here, he won't have any choice but to show you how to control your magic—because if he doesn't, the magicians might find you, and you might tell them about him."
"He's a magician?" she breathed, staring at the old man with wide eyes.
"An ex-magician," Faren corrected.
To Cery's relief, her eyes filled with hope, not fear.
"You can help me?" she said.
Senfel crossed his arms. "No."
"No?" she echoed softly.
The old man frowned, then his lip curled with contempt. "Drugging her will only make it worse, Thief."
Sonea drew in a sharp breath. Seeing the fear return to her eyes, Cery moved to her side and grasped her hands.
"It's all right," he whispered to her. "It's only a sleeping drug."
"No, it's not all right," Senfel said. He narrowed his eyes at Faren. "I cannot help her."
"You have no choice," Faren replied.
Senfel smiled. "Don't I? Go to the Guild then. Tell them I'm here. Better that they find me than I die when she loses control of her powers."
Feeling Sonea tense, Cery turned to face the old man. "Stop frightening her," he hissed.
Senfel stared at him, then his eyes flickered to Sonea. She glared back at him defiantly. The old man's expression softened a little.
"Go to them," he urged. "They will not kill you. The worst they will do is bind your powers so you cannot use them. Better that than death, eh?"
She continued to glare at him. Senfel shrugged, then straightened and fixed Faren with steely eyes.
"There are at least three magicians nearby. It would take little effort to call them, and I'm sure I could prevent you from leaving while they found their way to this room. Do you still wish to reveal my presence to the Guild?"
Faren's jaw shifted as he stared back at the magician.
He shook his head.
"No."
"Go—and when she's sober repeat what I said to her. If she does not seek the Guild's help, she will die."
"Then help her," Cery said.
The old man shook his head. "I cannot. My powers are too weak and she is too far gone. Only the Guild can help her now."
Dragging a barrel out from under the table, the bolhouse owner dropped it on the bench with a grunt. He gave Dannyl a meaningful look as he began filling mugs and handing them around the table. Leaning forward, he smacked a mug down in front of Dannyl, then crossed his arms and waited.
Giving the man a distracted frown, Dannyl handed over a coin. The man's gaze did not waver. Looking down at the drink, Dannyl knew he could avoid it no longer. He was going to have to drink the stuff.
Lifting the mug, he took a tentative mouthful, then blinked in surprise. A sweet, rich flavor filled his mouth. The taste was familiar, and after a moment he recognized it. Chebol sauce, but without the spices.
A few mouthfuls later he felt a warmth filling his belly. He raised the mug to the shop owner and received an approving nod in reply. The man did not stop watching him, however, and Dannyl was relieved when a young man stomped into the shop and started a conversation.
"How's business, Kol?"
The man shrugged. "The usual."
"How many barrels you want this time?"
Dannyl listened to the pair barter. When they had arranged a price, the newcomer settled onto a chair and sighed.
"Where's that strange one with the flashy ring gone?"
"The Sachakan guy?" The barman shrugged. "He got done weeks ago. Found him in the alley."
"Really?"
"It's true."
Dannyl snorted softly. A fitting end, he mused.
"Heard about that fire last night?" the barman asked.
"I live near there. It took out a wh
ole street. Good thing it weren't summer. Could've burned the whole slums."
"Not that the city folk would care," the barman added. "Fire'd never get past the Wall."
A hand touched Dannyl's shoulder. He looked up and recognized the thin man that the Thieves had chosen to be his guide. The man jerked his head toward the door.
Dannyl finished his bol and put down his mug. As he stood, he received a friendly nod from the owner. Smiling, Dannyl returned it, then followed the guide to the door.
Chapter 15
One Way, or the Other...
Sonea watched as water, seeping through a crack high on one wall, gathered into a droplet, ran down the empty lamp hook, then dove off to splatter on the hard floor. Looking up again, she watched as another droplet formed.
Faren had chosen her latest hide wisely. An empty underground storeroom, with brick walls and a stone bench for a bed, it held nothing flammable or valuable.
Except herself.
The thought sent a ripple of fear through her mind. Closing her eyes, she quickly pushed it aside.
She had no idea how long she had been in the room. It could have been days, or merely hours. There was nothing to measure time by.
She had not felt the familiar shift within her mind since arriving. The list of emotions which could set off her powers had grown so long that she no longer kept a mental count of them. Lying in the storeroom, she had concentrated on staying calm. Each time a thought disturbed that calm, she took a deep breath and pushed it away. A comforting detachment had settled upon her.
Perhaps the drink Faren had given to her had caused that.
Drugging her will only make it worse. She shivered as she remembered the strange dream she'd had after the fire. In it, she had visited a magician in the slums. Though her imagination had invented a helper, his words had been no comfort. Taking a deep breath, she sent the memory away.
Obviously, she had been wrong to think she had to keep a store of anger inside to call upon when she wanted to use magic. She now admired the magicians for their control, but knowing that they were emotionless beings did not give her any more reason to like them.
There was a light tapping on the door, then it began to open. Smothering a twinge of apprehension, she rose and peered through the widening crack. Cery stood there, grimacing with the effort of moving the stiff metal door. When he had pushed it open enough to slip through, he stopped and beckoned to her.
"You have to move again."
"But I haven't done anything."
"Perhaps you didn't realize."
Slipping through the door, she considered what this might mean. Had the drug prevented her from feeling the magic slipping from her mind? She hadn't seen anything explode or burst into flames. Were her powers still escaping, but in a less destructive form?
The questions brought her dangerously close to feeling strong emotions, so she pushed them from her mind. Following Cery, she focused on maintaining her sense of calm. He stopped and climbed a rusty ladder set into the wall. Pushing open a hatch, he scrambled through, sending fresh snow into the passage.
Following close behind, Sonea felt chill air on her face as she emerged into the daylight. They stood in an empty alley. Cery grinned at her as she brushed snow from her clothes.
"You've got snow in your hair," he said. He reached out to brush it off, gasped and snatched his hand back.
"Ouch! What . . . ?" He reached out again and flinched. "You've made one of those barriers, Sonea."
"No, I haven't," she replied, still certain that she had not used any magic. Reaching out, she felt a shock of pain as her hand met an invisible wall of resistance. Catching a movement over Cery's shoulder, she looked past him. A man had just entered the alley and was walking toward her.
"Behind you," she warned, but Cery was looking at something above her head.
"Magician!" he hissed, pointing.
She looked up and sucked in a breath. A man was standing on the roof above them, staring down at her intently. She caught her breath in disbelief as he stepped over the edge of the building, but instead of falling, he floated toward the ground.
A vibration rang through the air as Cery pounded against the barrier.
"Run!" he shouted. "Get away!"
She backed away from the descending magician. Abandoning all efforts to stay calm, she dashed down the alley. The sound of booted feet tramping in the snow behind her told her that the floating magician was on the ground.
Ahead, the alley crossed with another. Beyond the intersection another figure strode toward her. With a gasp she threw herself forward with all the strength of panic. She felt a thrill of triumph as she reached the intersection several paces before the second magician.
Skidding to a halt, she leapt down the right hand passage . ..
... and caught the corners of the walls to stop herself. Another man stood there, his arms crossed. With a gasp she hauled herself away from him.
Twisting around, she sprang into the only alley remaining, and slid to a stop. A fourth man stood several paces away, guarding her last retreat.
Cursing, she spun around to stare behind her. The third man regarded her intently, but he had not moved. She looked back at the fourth. He had started to walk toward her.
Her heart was beating crazily. Looking up, she considered the walls. They were the usual rough brick, but she knew that, even if she had time to climb them, the magicians could easily bring her down. A dreadful, sinking cold crept over her.
I'm trapped. There is no way out.
Looking back, she felt a stab of fear as she saw that the first two men had joined the third at the crossroads, and a familiar slipping sensation fluttered through her mind. Dust and fragments of brick rained down as part of the wall above the men shattered. Rubble bounced harmlessly off the air above their heads.
The magicians glanced at the wall, then turned calculating eyes on her. Afraid that they would think she was attacking them, and retaliate, she backed away. She felt the slipping again. A searing heat enveloped her leg. Looking down, she saw snow sizzling into a pool of water at her feet. Steam billowed up, filling the alley with warm, impenetrable mist.
They can't see me! She felt a rash of hope. I can slip past them.
Turning, she leapt back down the alley. The dark shadow of the man moved to block her path. She hesitated, then reached into her coat. The cold handle of her knife met her searching fingers. As the magician reached out to grab her she ducked under his outstretched hands and threw herself against him with all her weight. He staggered backward, but did not fall. Before he could recover his balance, she stabbed the thin blade hard into his thigh.
The blade sank sickeningly deep into his leg. As he yelled in surprise and pain, she felt a cruel thrill of satisfaction. Pulling the knife free, she thrust him out of her way with all her strength. As he fell against the wall, groaning, she turned to ran.
Fingers caught her wrist. With a growl she turned and tried to twist herself free. His grip tightened and began to hurt, and she felt the knife slip from her grasp.
A gust of wind chased the mist from the alley and revealed the other three magicians hurrying toward her. She felt panic rising and began to straggle uselessly, her feet skittering over the wet ground. With a grant of effort, her captor yanked on her arm, pulling her past him toward the trio.
Terror rushed over her as she felt hands grasp her arms. Twisting about, she tried to shake herself free, but their grip was strong. Hands pushed her against the wall, holding her still. Panting, she found herself surrounded by magicians, all staring at her with bright eyes.
"She's a wild one," one of the men said. The injured one gave a short, rueful laugh.
As she looked at the closest magician she felt a shock of recognition. This was the magician who had seen her during the Purge. He stared into her eyes intently.
"Do not fear us, Sonea," he said. "We will not harm you."
One of the magicians muttered something. The older magician nod
ded, then the others slowly withdrew their hands.
An invisible force held her against the wall. Unable to move, she felt a wave of despair followed by the familiar sensation of magic slipping beyond her grasp. The other three magicians ducked as the wall behind them burst, showering the alley with bricks.
A man in a baker's apron stepped up to the opening, his face dark with anger. Seeing the four magicians, he hesitated, eyes widening. One of the magicians turned and made an abrupt gesture.
"Get yourself away from here," he barked. "And everyone else in this block."
The man backed away, then disappeared into the darkness of the house.
"Sonea."
The older magician was looking at her intently. "Listen to me. We are not going to hurt you. We .. ."
A searing heat pressed against her face. Turning, she saw that the bricks nearby were glowing red. A trickle of something ran down the wall. She heard one of the magicians utter an oath.
"Sonea," the older magician said, a sternness entering his voice. "Stop fighting us. You will harm yourself."
The wall behind her began to shake. The magicians threw their arms out as the tremor spread. Sonea gasped as cracks began to shoot out from the ground beneath her feet.
"Slow your breathing," the magician urged. "Try to calm yourself."
She closed her eyes, then shook her head. It was no use. The magic was flowing from her like water from a broken pipe. She felt a hand touch her forehead and opened her eyes.
The magician withdrew his hand. His face was tense. He said something to the others, then looked into her eyes.
"I can help you, Sonea," the magician said. "I can show you how to stop this but not if you won't let me. I know you have every reason to fear and distrust us but if you don't do this now, you are going to harm both yourself and many, many people in this area. Do you understand?"
She stared at him. Help her? Why would he want to help her?
But if he had intended to kill me, she realized suddenly, he would have done it already.
His face began to shimmer then, and she realized that the air about her had begun to ripple with heat. It seared her face and she bit back a cry of pain. The magician and his companions appeared unaffected, but their expressions were grim.
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