Sonea frowned. "Have I offended Tania?"
"No." Rothen smiled at her expression of relief. "However, I should also warn you that mind communication isn't as private as you may think. Mental conversations can be picked up by other magicians, particularly if they are listening for them."
"So someone might have been listening to us just now?"
He shook his head. "It's possible, but I doubt it. Listening in is considered to be rude and disrespectful—and it takes concentration and effort. If it didn't, the distraction of other people's conversations would probably drive us mad."
Sonea looked thoughtful. "If you don't hear until you are listening, how do you know when someone wants to talk to you?"
"The closer you are to a magician, the easier it is to hear them," he told her. "When you are in the same room you can usually detect the thoughts they project at you. When you are far away, however, they need to get your attention first."
He placed a hand on his chest. "If you wanted to talk to me while I was in the University, for instance, you would have to project my name loudly. While other magicians will hear, they won't reply or open their minds to listen to the conversation that follows. When I shout your name in reply you'll know I've heard you, and we can start talking. If we are skilled and familiar with each other's mind voice, we can make it harder for others to hear us by focusing our projected thoughts, but that is all but impossible over long distances."
"Has anyone ever ignored this rule?"
"Probably." Rothen shrugged. "That's why you must remember that mind communication is not private. We have a saying here: secrets are better voiced than spoken."
Sonea snorted softly. "That doesn't make sense."
"Not when taken literally." He chuckled. "But the words 'speak' and 'hear' have other meanings here in the Guild. Despite the general rule of courtesy, it is amazing how often people discover that the secret they have tried so hard to hide has become the latest subject of gossip. We often forget that magicians aren't the only people who can hear us."
Her eyes brightened with interest. "They aren't?"
"Not all children found to have magical potential enter the Guild," he told her. "If the child is the eldest brother, for example, he may be of more value to his family as their heir. There are laws in most lands that discourage magicians from involving themselves in politics. A magician cannot become King, for example. For this reason, it is not wise to have a magician as the head of a family.
"Mental communication is an ability that comes with magical potential. Sometimes, though it is very rare, an individual who did not become a magician will find their ability to communicate mentally has developed naturally. These people can be taught how to truth read, which can be a very useful skill."
"Truth read?"
Rothen nodded. "It can't be done with an unwilling recipient, of course, so it's only useful when somebody wants to show another person what they have seen or heard. We have a law in the Guild concerning accusations. If somebody accuses a magician of falsehood or of committing a crime, they must allow themself to be truth read or withdraw their accusation."
"That doesn't seem fair," Sonea said. "It was the magician who did something wrong."
"Yes, but it does prevent false accusations. The accused, whether magician or not, can easily prevent a truth read." He hesitated. "There is one exception, however."
Sonea frowned. "Oh?"
Rothen leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers together. "A few years ago, a man suspected of committing particularly malicious murders was brought to the Guild. The High Lord—our leader—read his mind and confirmed his guilt. It takes great skill to get past the blocks in an unwilling mind. Akkarin is the only one of us who has managed it, though I have heard that magicians in the past could do it. He is an extraordinary man."
Sonea absorbed this. "But wouldn't the murderer have simply put his secrets behind doors, like you have shown me?"
Rothen shrugged. "Nobody really knows how Akkarin did it, but once inside the man's mind it would not have been long before his thoughts betrayed him." He paused, then looked at her closely. "You know yourself that it takes some practice to keep secrets behind doors. The more concerned you are that they will be revealed, the harder it is to hide them away."
Sonea's eyes widened, then she looked away, her expression suddenly guarded.
Watching her, Rothen could guess what she was thinking. Each time he had stepped into her mind the objects and people she wanted to keep him from identifying slid into sight. She always panicked and pushed him out of her mind.
All novices reacted as she did to some extent. He did not discuss the secrets he glimpsed. The hidden concerns of the young men he had taught revolved around personal vices or physical habits—and the occasional political scandal—and were easy to ignore. By not speaking of them, he reassured the novice that their privacy was respected.
But silence was not reassuring Sonea, and time was running short. Lorlen would make his first visit at the end of the week, and would expect her to have started Control lessons. If she was ever going to learn Control, she needed to get past these fears.
"Sonea."
Her eyes met his reluctantly. "Yes?"
"I think we should talk about your lessons."
She nodded.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Usually I don't talk about what a novice has shown me in his or her mind. It makes it easier for them to trust me, but that's not working for us. You know I've seen things you wanted to keep concealed, and pretending I haven't isn't helping at all."
She stared at the table, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her grip on the chair.
"For a start," he continued, "I expected you to search my rooms. I would have if I was in your position. It doesn't bother me. Forget about it."
Her cheeks reddened slightly, but she remained silent.
"Secondly, your friends and family are in no danger from us." She looked up and met his eyes. "You worry that we'll threaten to harm them if you do not agree to cooperate." He held her gaze. "We won't, Sonea. To do so would break the King's law."
She looked away again, her expression hardening.
"Ah, but you worry anyway. You have little reason to believe we respect the King's law," Rothen acknowledged. "Little reason to trust us. Which brings me to your third fear, that I'll discover your plans to escape."
Her face slowly drained of color.
"You don't need to make such plans," he told her. "We won't force you to stay if you don't want to. Once you have learned Control you can leave or stay as you choose. Becoming a magician involves a vow that we all must make—a vow which holds us for our entire life. It is not a vow to be made unwillingly."
She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. "You'll let me go?"
He nodded, then chose his next words carefully. It was too soon to tell her that the Guild would not let her leave unless her powers were blocked first, yet she needed to know that she would lose all her magical abilities.
"Yes, but I must warn you: without training you will not be able to use your powers. What you were able to do before will no longer be possible. You will not be able to use magic at all." He paused. "You will be of no use to the Thieves."
To his surprise, she looked relieved. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "That won't be a problem."
Rothen looked at her closely. "Are you sure you want to return to the slums? You'll have no means to defend yourself."
Sonea lifted her shoulders. "It'll be no different from before. I got along well enough."
Rothen frowned, impressed by her confidence and yet alarmed by the idea of sending her back into poverty. "I know you want to be reunited with your family. Joining the Guild won't mean you have to abandon them, Sonea. They can come and visit you, or you can visit them."
She shook her head. "No."
He pursed his lips. "Do you fear that they will be afraid of you, that you will be betraying all dwe
lls by becoming what they hate?"
The quick, penetrating look she gave him revealed that he had come closer to understanding her than she had expected.
"What would it take for you to remain acceptable in their eyes?"
She snorted. "As if the Guild—or the King—would let me do whatever I wanted to please the dwells!"
"I'm not going to deceive you into thinking it would be easy," Rothen replied. "But it is a possibility you should consider. Magic is not a common gift. Many people would give all their wealth to have it. Think of what you could learn here. Think of how you could use it to help others."
Her gaze wavered for a moment, then her expression hardened.
"Control is all I'm here for."
He nodded slowly. "If that is all you want, then that is all we can give. It will be a great surprise to all here when they hear you've chosen to return to the slums. Many won't understand why someone who has lived in poverty all her life would refuse such an offer. I know you well enough to see you don't place great value in wealth and luxuries." He shrugged, then smiled. "And will not be the only one to admire you for doing so. However, you should know that I'm going to try very hard to convince you to join us."
For the first time he could remember, she smiled. "Thanks for the warning."
Feeling pleased with himself, Rothen rubbed his palms together. "Well, that's that. Shall we start your lessons?"
She hesitated, then pushed her chair around to face his. Bemused by her eagerness, he took her offered hands.
Closing his eyes, he slowed his breathing and sought the presence that would lead him to her mind. She was well practiced at visualizing now, and he instantly found himself standing before an open doorway. Moving through, he entered a familiar room. Sonea stood at the center.
A feeling of determination imbued the air. He waited for the usual disturbance in the scene, but nothing unwanted appeared in the room. Surprised and pleased, he nodded at the image of Sonea.
— Show me the door to your power.
She looked away. Following her gaze, he found himself standing in front of a white door.
— Now open it and listen carefully. I am going to show you how to control this power of yours.
Sinking to his knees, Cery let out a hiss of frustration.
He had examined his prison thoroughly, his breath catching in his throat whenever he felt the scuttle of eight-legged faren under his hands. His search had revealed that the walls were made of large stone bricks and the floor of hard dirt. The door was a thick slab of wood with large iron hinges.
As soon as the magician's footsteps had faded beyond his hearing, he had taken a pick from his longcoat and groped for the door. Finding the keyhole, he had manipulated the lock until he heard the mechanism turn, but when he had pulled on the door it would not open.
He remembered laughing, then, as he realized that the magician hadn't locked the door. He had just picked the lock closed.
Manipulating the lock again, he found that the door was still held fast. Recalling that he had heard the sound of a key turning, he had decided that there must be another lock. He searched for another keyhole.
Finding none, he decided that the lock holding the door must only have a keyhole on the outside. Taking his pick, he inserted it in the crack between the door and its frame. It had seemed to catch on something.
Feeling pleased that he had found the lock at the first try, he had tugged at the pick to remove it, only to discover that it was stuck.
It had flexed as he tried to twist or wiggle it free. Afraid he would damage it, he left the tool lodged in the crack and reached for another. This he inserted slightly higher than the first.
Before he'd had a chance to prod around to find what was holding his first tool, the second had locked into place. Cursing, Cery had pulled at it with all his strength, but he only succeeded in bending it.
Reaching into his coat for a third pick, he had slipped it in the gap between the floor and door. At once it became stuck. No matter how hard he pulled, the pick remained in place. He tried removing the others, with no success.
As dark hours passed, he had tried several times to retrieve his tools. He could think of no device that would grab and hold a pick so fast. Nothing except, of course, magic.
His legs began to cramp with the cold, so he rose to his feet. He put a hand out to the wall to steady himself as his head began to spin. His stomach growled, telling him it had been far too long since he had eaten, but his thirst was worse. He longed for a mug of bol or a glass of pachi juice, or even a little water.
He wondered, again, if he would be left to die in the cell. If the Guild had wanted him dead, however, he was sure they would have arranged it before hiding his body somewhere. That gave him some hope. It meant that their plans probably relied on him being alive—for now. If those plans failed, however, he might find himself getting very hungry.
Thinking of the other magician—the blue-robed one—he could not remember any signs of deceit in the man's demeanor. The magician was either skilled at projecting trustworthiness, or he had known nothing about Cery's impending captivity. If the latter was true, then this was Fergun's game.
Whether the blonde magician was the sole plotter or not, Cery could see only two reasons for his imprisonment: the Thieves or Sonea.
If the magicians intended to use Cery to manipulate the Thieves, they would be disappointed. Faren didn't need or care about Cery that much.
They might try torture to get information out of him. While he preferred to think that he could resist such persuasion, he was not going to fool himself. He would not know if he was capable of remaining silent until he faced such a trial.
It was possible that the magicians could read his mind anyway. If they did, they would discover he knew little that could be used against the Thieves. Once they realized that, they would probably leave him in the dark permanently.
But he doubted that the Thieves were their target. They would have questioned him by now.
No, the only questions he had been asked concerned Sonea. During his journey to the University, Fergun had asked what kind of relationship Cery had with her. If the magicians wanted to know if Cery was important to her, they probably meant to use him to blackmail her into doing something she didn't want to do.
The thought that he might have made her situation worse tormented him as much as, sometimes more than, the fear of being left to die. If only he hadn't been tempted to see the University. The more Cery thought about it, the more he cursed himself for his curiosity.
Between one breath and the next he heard the sound of footsteps in the distance. As they grew louder his anger subsided and his heart began to race.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. There was a dull metallic click, followed by the lighter patter of his tools falling to the floor. A long slice of yellow light appeared as the door opened.
Fergun slipped through, his light following. Blinking at the brightness, Cery saw the magician regard him with narrowed eyes, then look down at the floor.
"Well, look at this," Fergun murmured. Turning to one side, he let go of the plate and bottle he was carrying. Instead of falling, they descended slowly to the floor. He spread his fingers out and the picks rose obediently to his hand.
As he examined them, the magician's eyebrows rose. He looked up at Cery and smiled.
"You didn't really think these would work, did you? I expected you to have a little experience with such things, so I took precautions." His eyes dropped to Cery's clothes. "Do you have any more of these hidden away somewhere?"
Cery swallowed the denial that came to his lips. Fergun would never believe it. The magician smiled and held his hand out.
"Give them to me."
Cery hesitated. If he gave up several of the objects hidden within his clothes, he might be able to retain a few of his more valuable possessions.
Fergun stepped closer.
"Come now, what use are they to you here?" He wiggled his
fingers. "Give them to me."
Slowly, Cery reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of his less-useful tools. Glaring at the magician, he dropped them into the outstretched hand.
Fergun looked thoughtfully at the picks, then his eyes rose to meet Cery's. A malicious smile thinned his mouth.
"Do you really expect me to believe this is all you have?"
His fingers flexed. Cery felt something invisible push against his chest and he staggered backward until he hit the wall. A force wrapped itself over him, pressing him against the bricks.
Fergun drew closer and examined Cery's coat. With a jerk, he ripped open the lining to reveal hidden pockets. He plucked out the contents, then turned his attention to the rest of Cery's clothes.
As he drew the knives out of Cery's boots, Fergun made a small grunt of satisfaction, then a more appreciative "ah" as he found Cery's daggers. Straightening, he pulled one of the weapons out of its sheath. He examined the widest part of the blade, where a rough picture of the small rodent that was Cery's namesake had been etched.
"Ceryni," the magician said. He looked up at Cery.
Cery stared back defiantly. Fergun chuckled and stepped away. Taking a large square of cloth from his robes, he wrapped up the tools and weapons, then turned to the door.
Realizing that the magician was going to leave without giving any explanation, Cery's heart skipped.
"Wait! What do you want from me? Why am I here?"
Fergun ignored him. As the door closed, the magical restraints vanished and Cery stumbled forward onto his knees. Panting with fury, he felt his coat, cursing as he confirmed that most of his tools had been taken. He regretted the daggers most, but it was hard to hide weapons of that size.
Sitting back on his heels, he let a long sigh escape him. He still had a few items. They might come in handy. He would just have to come up with a plan.
Chapter 22
Black Magician-01-The_Magicians' Guild Page 27