Black Magician-01-The_Magicians' Guild

by Trudi Canavan

  A few more minutes passed, then a softer knock came from the door. Remembering that the magician was going to send in a servant, Sonea waited for the stranger to enter. The knock came again.

  "Lady?" a woman called, her voice muffled by the door. "May I enter?"

  Amused, Sonea sat down on the bed. Nobody had ever called her "Lady" before.

  "If you want," she answered.

  A woman of about thirty years entered the room. She was dressed in a plain gray smock and matching trousers, and was carrying a covered tray.

  "Hello," the woman said, smiling nervously. Her eyes flickered to Sonea's, then quickly away again.

  Sonea watched the servant carry the tray to the table and set it down. As the women reached for the cover her hand shook slightly. Sonea frowned. What was the servant afraid of? Surely not a mere slum girl?

  The woman adjusted a few items on the tray, then turned and bowed deeply to Sonea before retreating quickly from the room.

  For several minutes, Sonea stared at the door. The woman had bowed to her. This was ... strange. Disturbing. She could not work out what it meant.

  Then the smell of hot bread and something tantalizingly spicy drew her attention to the tray. A generous bowl of soup and a plate of small, sweet cakes beckoned to her, and she felt her stomach rumble.

  She smiled. The magicians were going to find that she could not be bribed into betraying Faren, but they didn't need to know that straightaway. If she played with them a little, they might treat her like this for a very long time.

  And she had no qualms about taking advantage of them.

  Sonea crept into the guest room with all the watchful nervousness of a wild animal emerging from a cage. Her eyes flicked about, lingering longest on the doors, before settling on Rothen.

  "That leads to a small washroom," Rothen told her, pointing. "My bedroom is through there, and that door opens to the main corridor of the Magicians' Quarters."

  She stared at the main door, then glanced at him before moving closer to the bookshelves. Rothen smiled, pleased to see her attracted to the books.

  "Take down anything that interests you," he urged. "I will help you read them, and explain what you do not understand."

  She glanced at him again, her brows rising, and bent closer to the books. She lifted a finger to touch the spine of a volume, but froze as the University gong began to ring.

  "That indicates to novices that it is time to return to classes," he explained. Crossing to one of the windows, he gestured for her to look outside.

  Moving to the next window along, she looked out. At once, her face stiffened with tension. Eyes darting about, she watched the magicians and novices making their way back to the University.

  "What do the colors mean?"

  Rothen frowned. "Colors?"

  "The robes, they are different colors."

  "Ah." He leaned on the sill of the window and smiled. "First I should explain about the disciplines. There are three major uses to which magic can be applied: Healing, Alchemy and Warrior Skills." He pointed to a pair of Healers walking slowly through the gardens. "The Healers wear green. Healing involves learning more than just the magical methods of curing wounds and disease. It also includes all knowledge of medicine, which makes it a discipline that one must dedicate one's entire life to."

  Glancing at Sonea, he noted the interest in her eyes.

  "Warriors wear red," he told her, "and study strategy and the ways that magic can be used in battle. Some also practice traditional forms of fighting and swordplay."

  He gestured to his own robes. "Purple represents Alchemy, which is everything else that can be done with magic. It includes chemistry, mathematics, architecture and many other uses for magic."

  Sonea nodded slowly. "What about the brown robes?"

  "They are novices." He pointed to a pair of youths. "Do you see how the robes fall only to the thigh?" Sonea nodded. "They do not receive full robes until they graduate, by which time they have chosen a discipline to follow."

  "What if they want to learn more than one?"

  Rothen chuckled. "There just isn't enough time for that."

  "How long do they study for?"

  "That depends how long they take to learn the required skills. Usually five years."

  "That one." Sonea pointed. "He wears a different-colored belt."

  Rothen looked down to see Lord Balkan striding by, his harsh face set in a frown as if he was worrying at a difficult problem.

  "Ah, very observant of you." Rothen smiled approvingly. "The sash is black. It indicates that the man you are looking at is the Head of his chosen discipline."

  "The Head of the Warriors." Sonea glanced at Rothen's robes and her eyes narrowed.

  "What sort of Alchemy do you study?"

  "Chemistry. I also teach it."

  "What is that?"

  He paused, considering how best to explain it in terms she would understand. "We work with substances: liquids, solids and gases. We mix them together, or heat them, or subject them to other influences and see what happens."

  Sonea frowned. "Why?"

  Rothen smiled crookedly. "To see if we can discover anything useful."

  Sonea's eyebrows rose. "What useful things have you discovered?"

  "Me, or the Chemists of the Guild?"

  "You."

  He laughed. "Not much! I guess you could call me a failed Alchemist, but along the way I did discover one important thing."

  Sonea's brows rose.

  "What was that?"

  "I'm a very good teacher." Moving away from the window, he considered the bookshelf. "If you would allow me, I could help you improve your reading skills. Would you be interested in working on them this afternoon?"

  She regarded him for a long time, her expression guarded but thoughtful. Finally, she gave a stiff nod. "What do you think I should try?"

  Approaching the bookcase, Rothen ran his eyes over the volumes. He needed something easy to read, but which would hold her interest. Taking down a book, he flicked through the pages.

  She was more cooperative than he had anticipated. Her curiosity was strong, and her ability to read and her interest in his books were unexpected advantages. Both indicated that she might adapt well to a life of study.

  He nodded to himself. All he had to do was persuade her that the Guild was not as bad as she thought it was.

  Dannyl smiled at his friend. Since joining Yaldin and his wife for the evening, Rothen had been talking without pause. Dannyl hadn't seen Rothen so animated about a potential novice before—though Dannyl rather hoped his friend had been this enthusiastic when taking on his training.

  "You're such an optimist, Rothen. You've barely met her and already you're talking as if she'll be the prize of the University."

  He smiled as his friend's expression became defensive.

  "Am I?" Rothen replied. "If I wasn't, would I have had so many successes with novices over the years? If you give up on them, they have no reason to try."

  Dannyl nodded. He hadn't been the most cooperative novice, and had resisted Rothen's early attempts to direct his mind away from bickering with Fergun and his fellow novices. Despite all Dannyl's attempts to prove Rothen wrong, his teacher had never given up on him.

  "Did you tell her that we don't intend to harm her?" Ezrille asked.

  "I've explained about the death of the youth and that we want to teach her how to control her powers. Whether she believes it or not. . ." He shrugged.

  "Did you tell her that she can join the Guild?"

  Rothen grimaced. "I didn't press the issue. She doesn't like us much. It's not that she holds us responsible for the state of the poor, but she feels we should be doing something about it." He frowned. "She says she has never seen us do anything good, which is probably true. Most of the work we do for the city does not affect her or the rest of the dwells. And then there's the Purge."

  "Then it's hardly surprising that she doesn't like the Guild," Ezrille said. She leaned
forward. "But what is she like?"

  Rothen considered. "Quiet, but defiant. She's obviously frightened, but I don't think we'll be seeing any tears. I'm sure she understands that she must learn Control, so I don't think we'll see any escape attempts just yet."

  "And after she has learned Control?" Yaldin asked.

  "Hopefully by then we will have convinced her to join us."

  "What if she refuses?"

  Rothen drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I'm not sure what will happen. We can't force anyone to join us, but, by law, we can't allow magicians to exist outside the Guild, either. If she refuses," he grimaced, "we will have no choice but to block her powers."

  Ezrille's eyes widened. "Block them? Is that bad?"

  "No. It's . . . Well, it would be distressing for most magicians because they are used to having power to call upon. In Sonea's case, we have someone who isn't used to wielding magic—not in any useful form, anyway." He shrugged. "She won't miss it as much."

  "How long do you think it will take to teach her Control?" Yaldin asked. "I feel uneasy knowing there's an uncontrolled magician living only a few doors away."

  "It will take some time for me to gain her trust," Rothen replied. "She might take several weeks."

  "Surely not!" Yaldin exclaimed. "It never takes more than two weeks, even for the most difficult novices."

  "She is no spoilt or nervous child from the Houses."

  "I suppose you're right." Yaldin shook his head and sighed. "I'll be shaking with nerves by the end of a week."

  Rothen smiled and lifted his cup to his lips. "Ah, but the longer she takes, the more time I have to convince her to stay."

  Sitting on the bed, Sonea peered at the gardens through a narrow gap in the window screen and toyed with a slender hair pin. It was night outside and the moon had risen. The snow edging the paths glowed softly in the subtle light.

  An hour earlier, the gong had rung again. As magicians and novices hurried back to their Quarters, she had watched and waited. All was quiet now apart from the occasional servant hurrying by, breath streaming behind in the chilly night air.

  Rising, she crept to the door and put her ear to it. Though she listened until her neck ached, she heard no sounds coming from the room beyond.

  She looked down at the handle. It was smooth, polished wood. Set into it were pieces of darker timber, forming the lines of the Guild symbol. Sonea traced the pattern, marvelling at the skill and effort spent on a mere door handle.

  Slowly, quietly, she began to turn the handle. It rotated only slightly before something blocked its movement. She carefully pulled the door inward, but the latch was still caught.

  Unperturbed, she started to rotate the handle in the other direction. Once more it only moved a little before stopping. She tugged the door but it remained in place.

  Bending down, she raised her hand to insert the hair pin in the lock, then paused. There was no keyhole.

  Sonea sighed and sat back on her heels. She hadn't heard the sound of a key turning any of the times Rothen had left the room, and she had noticed earlier that there were no bolts on the other side of the door. The door was locked by magic.

  Not that she could go anywhere. She had to stay until she had learned to Control her magic.

  But she needed to test her boundaries. If she didn't look for ways to escape, she might never find any.

  She rose and moved to the table beside the bed. The book of songs still lay there. Picking it up, she opened it to the first page. Something was written there. Moving to the table, she lit the candle Rothen had left.

  "For my darling Rothen, to mark the birth of our son. Yilara."

  Sonea pursed her lips. So he was married and had at least one child. She wondered where his family was. Considering Rothen's age, his son was probably a grown man.

  He seemed a decent sort of person. She had always thought herself a good judge of character—something she had learned from her aunt. Her instincts told her that Rothen was kind and well-meaning. But that didn't mean she could trust him, she reminded herself. He was still a magician, bound to do whatever the Guild wanted.

  A faint high-pitched laugh came from outside, drawing her attention to the window again. Pushing aside the screen, Sonea watched as a couple strode through the garden, the green robes under their cloaks shining in the glow of a floating light. Two children ran before them, tossing snow at each other.

  Sonea watched them pass, her eyes following the woman. She had never seen female magicians in the Purge. Did they choose not to go, she wondered, or was there a rule that prevented them?

  She pursed her lips. Jonna had told her that the daughters of rich families were carefully watched until they married the husband their fathers chose for them. Women made no important decisions within the Houses.

  In the slums no one arranged marriages. Though women tried to find a man who could support a family, they usually married for love. While Jonna believed this was better, Sonea was cynical. She had noticed that women often put up with a lot when in love, but, at some stage, love tended to wear off. Better to marry a man you liked and trusted.

  Were female magicians cosseted away? Were they encouraged to leave the running of the Guild to the men? It would be frustrating to be magically powerful, but still completely under the control of others.

  As the family moved out of sight, Sonea began to draw away from the window, but, as her eyes flickered across the grounds, she caught a movement in one of the windows of the University. Looking up, she saw a pale oval face.

  From the neckline of the stranger's clothes, she guessed this figure was a magician. Though she could not be sure in the dark and at the distance, she had a strong suspicion that he was watching her. A chill crept up her spine and she quickly pushed the screen closed.

  Unnerved, she crossed the room and blew out the candle, then lay down on the bed and curled up in the blankets. She felt drained, tired of thinking, tired of being afraid. Tired of being tired ...

  But as she stared at the ceiling, she knew that sleep was not going to come easily.

  Chapter 18

  Away from Prying Eyes

  A delicate, faint light had settled on the trees and buildings of the Guild. Cery frowned. Last time he had looked, everything had been shrouded in darkness. He must have dozed off, but he couldn't even remember closing his eyes. Rubbing his face, Cery looked around and considered the long night he had just passed.

  It had begun with Faren. Recovered and fed, Cery had asked again if the Thief would help him retrieve Sonea. Faren's refusal had been firm.

  "If she had been captured by the Guard, or even imprisoned in the Palace, I would have snatched her back already—and enjoyed proving that I could do it." Faren had smiled briefly, but then his expression had hardened. "But this is the Guild, Cery. What you suggest is out of my reach."

  "It's not," Cery had insisted. "They don't set guards, or magical barriers. They—"

  "No, Cery." Faren's eyes flashed. "It is not a matter of guards or barriers. The Guild has never had a good enough reason to get off their backsides and do something about us. If we stole her back from their own grounds, it might give them reason to try. Believe me, Cery, nobody wants to find out whether we could evade them or not."

  "The Thieves are afraid of them?"

  "Yes." Faren's expression had been unusually sober. "We are. And with good reason."

  "If we made it look as if someone else rescued her . .."

  "The Guild may still believe it was us. Listen to me, Cery. I know you well enough to guess that you will try to rescue her on your own. Consider this instead: the others will kill you if they believe you are a threat. They're watching us closely."

  Cery had said nothing to that.

  "Do you want to continue working for me?"

  Cery had nodded.

  "Good. I have another job for you, if you want it."

  Faren's job had taken Cery to the Marina, as far from the Guild as he could get. Afterwards, Cery h
ad made his way across the city, climbed the Guild wall, and settled himself down in the forest to watch.

  As activity had dwindled and the night deepened, Cery had seen a movement in one of the windows of the University. A face appeared. A man's face, staring at the magicians' building intently.

  The watcher remained at his post for half an hour. Finally, a pale face had appeared in a window of the magicians' building and Cery's heart had leapt. Even from a distance, he recognized her.

  Sonea had looked down at the gardens for several minutes, then she had looked up toward the watcher. Seeing him, she had quickly retreated from view.

  The watcher had disappeared soon after. Though Cery had stayed all night, he had seen no other movement, either from magicians or Sonea. Now that dawn was close, he knew he should return to Faren. The Thief would not approve of Cery's spying, but Cery had planned for that. An admission that Sonea was too well guarded would be enough to mollify the Thief. Faren had forbidden a rescue attempt, not information gathering, and he must have expected Cery to look for evidence that she was still alive.

  Cery rose and stretched. He wouldn't be telling Faren what he had learned from the night's watching, however. Aside from the mysterious watcher, the magicians had set no external guard on the buildings. If Sonea was alone in that room, there was hope for her yet.

  Smiling for the first time in days, Cery started through the forest toward the slums.

  * * *

  Sonea woke with a start to find Rothen's servant staring down at her.

  "Excuse me, Lady," the woman said hastily. "But when I saw the bed was empty I thought... Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

  Rising, Sonea disentangled herself from the blankets.

  "The bed," she said. "It sinks so much. I feel like I'm going to fall right through it."

  "Sinks?" The woman blinked in surprise. "You mean it's too soft?" She smiled brightly. "But you've probably not slept on a reber-wool mattress before. Here."

  She pulled the sheets from the bed to reveal several layers of thick, spongy mattress. Grasping half, she pulled them from the bed.