The Magicians' Guild

16 Introductions

As the morning grew old, Rothen felt weariness drag at his eyes. He closed them and called upon a little Healing magic to refresh himself, then lifted his book and forced himself to read.

Before he had finished the page, he found himself looking at the sleeping girl again. She lay in a small bedroom that was part of his suite, in the bed that had once belonged to his son. Others had argued with him over his decision to keep her in the Magicians’ Quarters. Though he had not shared their concerns, he had kept an eye on her—just in case.

In the darkest part of the night he had allowed Yaldin to take over the watch so that he could get some rest. But instead of sleeping, he had lain awake thinking about her. There was so much to explain. He wanted to be prepared for all the questions and accusations she was sure to have. Possible conversations had repeated themselves over and over in his mind and he had eventually abandoned his attempt to sleep and returned to her side.

She had slept most of a day. Magical exhaustion often affected the young this way. In the two months since the Purge, her dark hair had grown a little longer, but her skin was pale and clung to the bones of her face. Remembering how light she had been to carry, Rothen shook his head. Her time with the Thieves had not improved her health. Sighing, he turned his attention to the book again.

After managing to read another page, he looked up. Dark eyes stared back at him.

The eyes dropped to his robes. In a flurry of movement, the girl struggled from the clinging sheets of the bed. Once free, she looked down in dismay at the heavy cotton nightrobe she wore.

Putting the book on the table beside the bed, Rothen stood up, taking care to keep his movements slow. She pressed her back against the far wall, eyes wide. Moving away, he opened the doors of a cupboard at the back of the room and took out a thick leisure coat.

“Here,” he said, taking it down and holding it out to her. “This is for you.”

She stared at the coat as if it were a wild animal.

“Take it,” he urged, taking a few steps toward her. “You must be cold.”

Frowning, she edged forward and snatched the coat from his hands. Without taking her eyes from him, she shrugged her arms into the garment and pulled it close around her thin body, backing away to the wall again.

“My name is Rothen,” he told her.

She continued to stare at him, saying nothing.

“We do not intend to harm you, Sonea,” he told her. “You have nothing to fear.”

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened into a thin line.

“You don’t believe me.” He shrugged. “Nor would I in your position. Did you get our letter, Sonea?”

She frowned, then a look of contempt crossed her face. He smothered the urge to smile.

“Of course, you wouldn’t believe that, either, would you? Tell me, what do you find hardest to believe?”

Crossing her arms, she looked out the window and did not answer. He pushed aside a mild annoyance. Resistance, even this ridiculous refusal to answer, was to be expected.

“Sonea, we must talk to each other,” he said gently. “There is a power in you that, whether you want it or not, you must learn to control. If you do not, it will kill you. I know you understand this.”

Her brows knitted together, but she continued staring silently out of the window. Rothen allowed himself to sigh.

“Whatever reasons you have to dislike us, you must realize that to refuse our help is foolish. Yesterday we did no more than use up the store of power inside you. It will not be long before your powers grow strong and dangerous again. Think on that,” he paused, “but not for too long.”

Turning toward the door, he reached for the handle.

“What do I have to do?”

Her voice was high and faint. He felt a thrill of triumph, but quickly schooled his expression. Turning back, he felt his heart twist as he saw the fear in her eyes.

“You have to learn to trust me,” he told her.

The magician—Rothen—had returned to his chair. Sonea’s heart was still pounding, but not as quickly now. The coat made her feel less vulnerable. She knew it was no protection against magic, it covered the ridiculous thing they had dressed her in.

The room she was in was not large. A tall cupboard stood at one end, the bed filled the other, and a small table fit in the middle. The furniture was made of expensive polished wood. On the table lay small combs and writing implements made of silver. A mirror hung on the wall above it and a painting graced the wall behind the magician.

“Control is a subtle skill,” Rothen told her. “To show you I must enter your mind, but I can’t if you resist me.”

The memory of Guild novices standing in a room, one of each pair pressing hands against his fellow’s temples, rose in Sonea’s mind. The teacher instructing them had said much the same. Sonea felt an uneasy satisfaction that she knew this magician was telling the truth. No magician could enter her mind uninvited.

Then she frowned, remembering the presence that had shown her the source of her magic, and how to use it.

“You did yesterday.”

He shook his head. “No, I pointed you toward your own power, then demonstrated how to use it with my own. This is quite different. To teach you how to control your power, I must go to the place within you where your power resides, and to get there, I must enter your mind.”

Sonea looked away. Let a magician into her mind? What would he see? Everything or only what she let him?

Did she have any choice?

“Talk to me,” the magician urged. “Ask me any questions you wish. If you learn more about me, you will find that I am a trustworthy person. You don’t have to like the entire Guild, you don’t even have to like me. You just have to know me well enough to trust that I will teach you what must be taught and do nothing to harm you.”

Sonea looked at him closely. He was middle aged or older. Though his dark hair was streaked with gray, his eyes were blue and lively. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth gave him a good-humored expression. He looked like a gentle, fatherly man—but she was no fool. Tricksters always looked honest and appealing. If they didn’t, they failed to make a living. The Guild would have arranged for her to meet their most appealing magician first.

She had to look deeper. As she stared into his eyes, he returned her gaze steadily. His confidence disturbed her. Either he was certain that there was nothing she would find objectionable about him, or he believed he could trick her into thinking so.

Either way, he had a difficult task ahead of him, she decided.

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Why would I lie to you?”

“To get what you want. Why else?”

“And what do I want?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

“I only want to help you, Sonea.” He sounded genuinely concerned.

“I don’t believe you,” she told him.

“Why not?”

“You’re a magician. They say you vow to protect people, but I’ve seen you kill.”

The wrinkles between his brows deepened, and he nodded slowly. “Indeed you have. As we said in our letter to you, we did not intend to harm anybody that day—you or the boy.” He sighed. “It was a terrible mistake. If I’d known what was going to happen I would never have pointed you out.

“There are many different ways to project magic, and the most common is the strike. The weakest of those is the stun-strike, which is designed to paralyze—to freeze up a person’s muscles so they cannot move. The magicians who struck the youth all used stunstrike. Do you remember the color of the strikes?”

Sonea shook her head. “I wasn’t watching.” Too busy running away, she thought, but she wasn’t going to say it aloud.

He frowned. “Then you’ll have to believe me when I say that they were red. A stunstrike is red. But with so many magicians responding, some of the strikes met and combined to form a stronger firestrike. Those magicians never intended to harm anyone, only to stop the boy running away. I assure you, our mistake has caused us much anguish, and a great deal of disapproval from the King and the Houses.”

Sonea sniffed. “Like they care.”

His eyebrows rose. “Ah, but they do. I’ll admit their reasons have more to do with keeping the Guild in line than sympathy for the boy or his family, but we were chastised for our mistake.”

“How?”

He smiled crookedly. “Letters of protest. Public speeches. A warning from the King. It doesn’t sound like much, but in the world of politics, words are much more dangerous than whipping sticks or magic.”

Sonea shook her head. “Using magic is what you do. It’s what you’re supposed to be best at. One magician might make a mistake, but not as many as were there.”

His shoulders lifted. “Do you think we spend our days preparing for a poor girl to attack us with magically directed stones? Our Warriors are trained in the most subtle maneuvers and strategies of war but no situation in the Arena could have prepared them for an attack from their own people—people who they believed were harmless.”

Sonea snorted loudly. Harmless. She saw Rothen’s lips tighten at the noise. I probably disgust him, she mused. To the magicians, the slum dwellers were dirty, ugly and a nuisance. Did they have any idea how much the dwells hated them?

“But you’ve done almost as bad before,” she told him. “I’ve seen people with burns they got from magicians. Then there’re those who get crushed when you frighten the crowd into running. But mostly they die from cold afterward, in the slums.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But you wouldn’t see that as being the Guild’s fault, would you?”

“Accidents have happened in the past,” he admitted. “Magicians who were careless. Where possible, those who were harmed were Healed and compensated. As for the Purge itself ...” He shook his head. “Many of us think it is no longer needed. Do you know why it began?”

Sonea opened her mouth to give a tart reply, then hesitated. It wouldn’t hurt to know how he believed the Purge started. “Tell me, then.”

Rothen’s gaze became distant. “Over thirty years ago a mountain in the far north exploded. Soot filled the sky and blocked some of the warmth of the sun. The winter that followed was so long and cold that we had no true summer before the next winter began. All over Kyralia and in Elyne, crops failed and stock died. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of farmers and their families came to the city, but there wasn’t enough work or housing for them all.

“The city filled with starving people. The King handed out food and arranged for places like the Racing Arena to be used as shelters. He sent some farmers back to their homes with enough food to last them until the next summer. There wasn’t enough to feed everyone, however.

“We told people that the next winter wouldn’t be so bad, but many didn’t believe us. Some even thought that the world was going to freeze completely, and we would all die. They cast aside all decency and preyed on others in the belief that nobody would be alive to punish them. It became dangerous to walk the streets, even in daylight. Gangs broke into houses, and people were murdered in their beds. It was a terrible time.” He shook his head. “One I will never forget.

“The King sent the Guard to drive these gangs from the city. When it was clear that it couldn’t be done without bloodshed, he asked the Guild to help. The next winter was also harsh and when the King saw signs of similar trouble rising, he decided to clear the streets again before the situation became dangerous. So it has been ever since.”

Rothen sighed. “Many say that the Purge should have stopped years ago, but memories are long and the slums have grown many times larger than they were during that terrible winter. Many fear what will happen if the city isn’t cleared every winter, particularly now that the Thieves exist. They fear that the Thieves would use such a situation to take control of the city.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Sonea exclaimed. Rothen’s version of the story was predictably one-sided, but some of the reasons he gave for the first Purge were new and strange. Mountains exploding? There was no point arguing. He would just point out her ignorance of such things. But she knew something he didn’t.

“It was the Purge that started the Thieves,” she told him. “Do you think all the people you drove out were muggers and gangs? You drove out those starving farmers and their families, and people like beggars and scavengers who needed to be in the city to survive. Those people got together so they could help each other. They survived by joining the lawless ones, because they saw no reason to live by the King’s laws anymore. He’d driven them out when he should have helped them.”

“He helped as many as he could.”

“Not all, and not now. Do you think he’s clearing the streets of muggers and gangs? No, they’re good people who make a living from what rich people waste, or have a trade in the city but live in the slums. The lawless ones are the Thieves—and the Thieves aren’t bothered by the Purge at all because they can get in and out of the city whenever they want.”

Rothen nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I suspected as much.” He leaned forward. “Sonea, I don’t like the Purge any more than you do—and I’m not the only magician who feels that way.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Because when the King asks us to do something we are bound by our oath to obey.”

Sonea snorted again. “So you can blame the King for anything you do.”

“We are all subjects of the King,” he reminded her. “The Guild must be seen to obey him because the people need to be reassured that we will not seek to rule Kyralia ourselves.” He leaned back in his chair. “If we are the remorseless murderers you believe us to be, why haven’t we done that, Sonea? Why haven’t magicians taken over all the lands?”

Sonea shrugged. “I don’t know, but it would make no difference to the dwells. When have you ever done anything good for us?”

Rothen’s eyes narrowed. “There is much that you would not see.”

“Like what?”

“We keep the Marina clear of silt, for example. Without us, Imardin could not receive ships, and trade would move elsewhere.”

“How is that good for the dwells?”

“It creates work for Imardians of all classes. Ships bring sailors who buy board, food and goods. Workers pack and carry goods. Crafters make the goods.” He considered her, then shook his head. “Perhaps our work is too far removed from your own life for you to see its value. If you would see us helping people directly, consider the work of our Healers. They work hard to—”

“Healers!” Sonea rolled her eyes. “Who’s got coin to spare for a Healer? The fee is ten times as much as a good Thief earns in his life!”

Rothen paused. “Of course, you are right,” he said quietly. “There are only so many Healers—barely enough to keep up with the number of sick who come to us for help. The high fees discourage those with minor ailments from overusing the Healers’ time, and go toward teaching non-magicians about medicines that can treat those minor ailments. These medics treat the rest of Imardin’s citizens.”

“Not the dwells,” Sonea retorted. “We have curies, but they’re just as likely to kill you as cure you. I only heard of a few medics when I was living in the North Quarter and they cost a cap of gold.”

Rothen looked out of the window and sighed. “Sonea, if I could solve the problem of class and poverty in the city, I would do so without a moment’s hesitation. But there is little that we—even as magicians—can do.”

“No? If you really don’t like the Purge, then refuse to go. Tell the King you’ll do anything else he says but that. It’s happened before.”

He frowned, obviously puzzled.

“Back when King Palen refused to sign the Alliance.” She suppressed a smile at his expression of surprise. “Then get the King to build proper sewers and the like in the slums. His great-grandfather did it for the rest of the city, why shouldn’t he do it for us too?”

His brows rose. “You wouldn’t want to move the slum people into the city?”

Sonea shook her head. “Parts of the Outer Circle are good. The city won’t stop growing. Perhaps the King should build another wall, too.”

“Walls are obsolete. We have no enemies. But the rest is ... interesting.” He regarded her appraisingly. “And what else would you have us do?”

“Go into the slums and heal people.”

He grimaced. “There aren’t enough of us.”

“Some’s better than none. Why is the broken arm of the son of a House more important than a dwell’s broken arm?”

He smiled then, and Sonea suddenly felt a disturbing suspicion that her answers were no more than an amusement to him. What did he care, anyway? He was just trying to get her to believe he sympathized with her. It would take more than that to make her trust him.

“You’ll never do it,” she growled. “You keep saying that some of you’d help if you could, but the truth is, if any magicians really cared, they’d be out there. There’s no law stopping them, so why don’t any go? I’ll tell you why. The slums are smelly and rough, and you’d rather pretend they weren’t there. Here you’re real comfortable.” She gestured at the room and its fine furniture. “Everyone knows the King pays you a lot. Well, if you’re all feeling so sorry for us, then you should put some of that money into helping people but you won’t. You’d rather keep it all for yourself.”

He pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful. She found herself strangely aware of the silence in the room. Realizing she had allowed him to provoke her, she gritted her teeth.

“If a large amount of money was given to any of the people you know in the slums,” he said slowly, “do you think they’d give it all up to help others?”

“Yes,” she replied.

He lifted an eyebrow. “So none of them would be tempted to keep it to themselves?”

Sonea paused. She knew some people who would. Well, more than some.

“A few, I suppose,” she admitted.

“Ah,” he said. “But you would not have me believe all dwells were selfish people, would you? Neither should you believe that all magicians are self-centered. You would also, no doubt, assure me that, for all their law breaking or rough behavior, the people you know are mostly decent folk. It does not make sense, then, for you to judge all magicians by the mistakes of a few, or for their high birth. Most, I assure you, strive to be decent people.”

Frowning, Sonea looked away. What he said made sense, but it did not comfort her at all. “Perhaps,” she replied, “but I still don’t see any magicians helping people in the slums.”

Rothen nodded. “Because we know that the slum people would refuse our help.”

Sonea hesitated. He was right, but if the dwells refused the Guild’s help, it was because the Guild had given the dwells reason to hate them.

“They wouldn’t refuse money,” she pointed out.

“Assuming you are not one of those who would hoard it, what would you do if I gave you a hundred gold slips to do with as you pleased?”

“I’d feed people,” she told him.

“A hundred gold would feed some for many weeks, or many for a few days. Afterward, those people would still be as poverty-stricken as before. You will have made little difference.”

Sonea opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was nothing she could say to that. He was right, and yet he wasn’t. There had to be something wrong with not even trying to help.

Sighing, she looked down at herself and frowned at the foolish garments she was wearing. Despite knowing that changing the subject might give him the notion that he had won the argument, she plucked at the coat.

“Where are my clothes?”

He looked down at his hands. “Gone. I will give you new ones.”

“I want my own,” she told him.

“I had them burned.”

She stared at him in disbelief. Her cloak, though dirty and charred in places, had been of good quality—and Cery had given it to her.

There was a knock on the door. Rothen rose to his feet.

“I must leave now, Sonea,” he told her. “I will return in an hour.”

She watched him move away and open the door. Beyond, she glimpsed another luxurious room. As he closed the door she listened for the sound of a key turning, and felt a twinge of hope when it did not come.

Frowning, she stared at the door. Was it locked by magic? She took a step closer, then heard the muffled sound of voices coming from beyond the door.

No sense trying the door now but perhaps later ...

Pain squeezed his head tightly, but he could feel something cool was dribbling down behind his ear. Opening his eyes, Cery saw a blurred face within darkness. A woman’s face.

“Sonea?”

“Hello.” The voice was unfamiliar. “About time you returned to us.”

Cery closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. The face became clearer. Long dark hair framed exotically beautiful features. The woman’s skin was dark, but not as inky as Faren’s. The familiar, straight Kyralian nose added elegance to the long face. It was as if Sonea and Faren had become one person.

I’m dreaming, he thought.

“No, you’re not,” the woman replied. She looked up, at something above his head. “He must have been hit pretty hard. Do you want to talk to him now?”

“May as well try.” This voice was familiar. As Faren moved into sight, memory returned and Cery tried to sit up. The darkness swayed, and his head thundered with pain. He felt hands on his shoulders and reluctantly allowed them to push him back down onto his back.

“Hello, Cery. This is Kaira.”

“She looks like you but pretty,” Cery murmured.

Faren laughed. “Thanks. Kaira is my sister.”

The woman smiled and moved out of sight. Cery heard a door close somewhere to his right. He stared at Faren.

“Where’s Sonea?”

The Thief sobered. “The magicians have her. They took her to the Guild.”

The words echoed over and over in Cery’s mind. He felt something awful tearing at his insides. She is gone! How could he have believed that he could protect her? But, no. Faren was supposed to have kept her safe. A spark of anger flared. He drew a breath to speak ...

No. I must find her. I must get her back. I might need Faren’s help.

All anger drained out of him. Cery frowned at the Thief.

“What happened?”

Faren signed. “The inevitable. They caught up.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I could have done to stop them. I had already tried everything.”

Cery nodded. “And now?”

The Thief’s lips twitched into a humorless, half smile. “I was unable to honor my side of our bargain. Sonea, however, never had a chance to use her magic for me. We both tried hard but failed. As for you ...” Faren’s smile disappeared. “I would like you to remain with me.”

Cery stared at the Thief. How could he abandon Sonea so easily?

“You are free to go if you wish,” Faren added.

“What about Sonea?”

The Thief frowned. “She is in the Guild.”

“Not a hard place to break into. I’ve done it before.”

Faren’s frown deepened. “That would be foolish. They will guard her closely.”

“We’ll distract them.”

“We’ll do no such thing.” Faren’s eyes flashed. He took a few steps away, then paced back to Cery’s side. “The Thieves have never pitted themselves against the Guild, and never will. We’re not so stupid as to think we would win.”

“They aren’t that smart. Believe me, I’ve—”

“NO!” Faren interrupted. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It is not as easy as you think, Cery. Get some rest. Heal. Think about what you’re suggesting. We will talk again soon.”

He moved out of sight. Cery heard the door click open, then close firmly. He tried to rise but his head felt as if it would burst from the pain. Sighing, he closed his eyes and lay flat, breathing hard.

He could try to convince Faren to rescue Sonea, but he knew he would not succeed. No. If she was to be saved, he would have to do it himself.

17 Sonea’s Resolve

Sonea looked around the room again. Though not large, it was luxurious. She could be in any one of the homes of the Inner City, but she doubted it.

Moving to the window, she pushed aside the finely decorated screen that covered it, caught her breath and took a step backward.

The Guild gardens stretched out before her. The University building loomed to the right, and the High Lord’s house lay, half hidden behind the trees, to the left. She was on the second story of the building Cery had called the “magicians’ building.”

The Guild was swarming with magicians. Everywhere she looked, she saw robed figures: in the garden, in windows, and strolling along the snow-edged path just below her window. Shivering, she pushed the screen back and turned away.

A bleak desperation swept over her. I’m trapped. I’ll never leave this place. I won’t see Jonna and Ranel, or Cery, ever again.

She blinked as tears blurred her sight. Catching a movement in the corner of her eye, she turned to find herself reflected in a shining oval mirror. She regarded the red-eyed face. The girl’s mouth twisted in contempt.

Am I going to give up so easily? she asked the reflection. Am I going to blubber like a child?

No! The Guild might be filled with magicians during the day, but she had seen it at night and knew how easy it was to move around undetected. If she waited until night, and managed to slip outside, nothing would stop her returning to the slums.

Getting outside would be the hard part, of course. The magicians would probably keep her locked up. However, Rothen himself had said that magicians were not incapable of making mistakes. She would wait and watch. When the opportunity came, she would be ready to take it.

The face in the mirror was now dry-eyed and stiff with determination. Feeling better, she moved to the small table. Picking up a hair brush, she caressed the silver handle appreciatively. Something like this, traded at a pawn shop, could buy her new clothes and feed her for several weeks.

Had Rothen even considered that she might steal them? Of course, he wouldn’t be worried about theft if he was confident that she couldn’t escape. Snatching valuables wasn’t going to do her any good while she was stuck in the Guild.

Looking around again, it struck her that this was a very strange prison. She had expected a cold cell, not comfort and luxury.

Perhaps they did truly intend to invite her to join the Guild.

She looked up at the mirror and tried to imagine herself wearing robes. Her skin crawled.

No, she thought, I could never be one of them. It would be like betraying everyone—my friends, all the people of the slums, myself. . .

But she had to learn to control her powers. The danger was real, and Rothen probably did intend to teach her some things—even if it was just to prevent her from making a mess of the city. She doubted he would teach her anything more, however. Remembering the frustration and horrors of the last six weeks, she shivered. Her powers had caused her enough trouble already. She would not be disappointed if she never used them again.

What would happen to her then? Would the Guild let her return to the slums? Not likely. Rothen claimed that the Guild wanted her to join them. Her? A slum girl? Not likely, either.

But why would they offer? Was there some other reason? Bribery? They might promise to teach her magic if she ... did what? What could the Guild possibly want from her?

She frowned as the answer leapt into her mind.

The Thieves.

If she escaped would Faren still be interested in hiding her? Yes—particularly if her powers were no longer dangerous. Once she was in his confidence, it would not be hard to work against the Thief. She could use her mental powers to send the Guild information about the criminal groups of the city.

She snorted. Even if she had wanted to cooperate with the Guild, the Thieves would work it out soon enough. No dwell was stupid enough to squimp on the Thieves. Even if she managed to protect herself with magic, she would not be able to stop them harming her friends and family. The Thieves were ruthless when crossed.

But would she have a choice? What if the Guild threatened to kill her if she did not help them? What if they threatened to harm her friends and family? With rising alarm, she wondered if the Guild knew about Jonna and Ranel.

She pushed the thought away, still wary of any strong emotions that might loosen her hold on her magic. Shaking her head, she turned away from the mirror. A book lay on a small table beside the bed. She crossed the room and picked it up.

Flicking through the pages, she discovered that they were covered in neat lines of text. Looking closer, she was surprised to find she could understand most of the words. Serin’s lessons had done more good than she had thought.

The text appeared to be about boats. After reading several lines, Sonea realized that the last word in each pair of lines ended in the same sound, like the lyrics of songs the street performers in markets and bolhouses sang.

She froze as a soft knocking came from the door. As it opened Sonea quickly placed the book back on the table. She looked up to see Rothen standing in the doorway, a cloth-covered bundle under one arm.

“Can you read?”

She considered how she should answer. Was there any reason to hide her ability? She couldn’t think of one, and it would be satisfying to let him know that not all dwells were illiterate.

“A little,” she admitted.

He closed the door and gestured to the book.

“Show me,” he said. “Read some aloud.”

She felt a little doubt creep in, but pushed it aside. Picking up the book again, she opened it and began to read.

At once, she regretted getting herself into the situation. Conscious of the magician’s gaze, she found it hard to concentrate. The page she had selected was more difficult than the first, and she felt her cheeks warm as she stumbled on unfamiliar words.

“Mareena, not mariner.”

Annoyed at the interruption, she closed the book and tossed it onto the bed. Smiling apologetically, Rothen dropped the bundle of cloth down next to it.

“How did you learn to read?” he asked.

“My aunt taught me.”

“And you’ve been practicing recently.”

She looked away. “There’s always stuff to read. Signs, labels, reward notices ...”

He smiled. “We found a book on magic in one of the rooms you occupied. Did you understand any of it?”

A warning chill ran down her spine. He would not believe her if she denied reading the book but if she admitted it, he would ask more questions and she might accidentally reveal which other books she had read. Should he know the books Cery had stolen were missing, he would have to consider it possible that she had slipped into the Guild at night, and he would be more cautious about keeping her locked inside.

Instead of answering, she nodded at the cloth bundle on the bed.

“What’s that?”

He considered her for a moment, then shrugged. “Clothes.”

Sonea eyed the bundle dubiously.

“I’ll give you time to get changed, then send my servant in with some food.” He turned to the door.

After he had left, Sonea unwrapped the bundle. To her relief, he had not brought magicians’ robes. Instead she found a pair of simple trousers, undershirt and a high-collared shirt—much the same as the clothes she had been wearing in the slums but made of soft, expensive materials.

Shrugging out of the leisure coat and night robe, she pulled on the new clothes. Though she now felt decently covered, her skin still felt strangely bare. Looking at her hands, she saw that her fingernails had been clipped and cleaned. She sniffed them and smelt a soapy fragrance.

A shiver of alarm and indignation ran through her. Somebody had washed her while she had slept. She stared at the door. Rothen?

No, she decided, tasks like that would be left to the servants. Running her hands through her hair she discovered that it, too, had been washed.

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.

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 had 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.

“Do you think that would be comfortable for you?” she asked, pressing down on the remaining layers.

Sonea hesitated, then pressed on the mattress. The bed was still soft, but she could feel the wooden base underneath. She nodded.

“Wonderful,” the servant cooed. “Now, I’ve brought water for you to wash in, and—Oh! You’ve slept in your clothes. No matter. I’ve brought fresh ones. Once you’ve done, come out into the guest room. We’ll have some cakes and sumi to start the day.”

Amused, Sonea watched the woman gather up the mattresses and bustle out of the room. When the door had closed, she sat down on the end of the bed and sighed.

I’m still here.

She ran through the previous day in her mind: the conversations with Rothen, her determination to escape, the people she had seen through the window last night. Sighing, she rose and examined the basin of water, soap and towel that the servant had brought. . .

With a shrug, she stripped off, washed and changed, then moved to the door. As she reached for the handle she hesitated. No doubt Rothen was waiting beyond the door. She felt a small twinge of anxiety, but no fear.

He was a magician. That ought to scare her more, but he had said he would not harm her, and she had chosen to believe him—for now.

To let him into her mind, however, was not going to be so easy. She had no idea if he could harm her that way. What if he could change the way she thought, and make her love the Guild?

What choice do I have? She was going to have to trust that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, mess around with her mind. It was a risk she had to take and worrying about it would not make it any easier.

Straightening her back, she opened the door. The room beyond appeared to be the one Rothen spent most of his time in. A set of chairs was arranged around a low table in the center of the room. Bookshelves and higher tables stood against the walls. Rothen sat in one of the cushioned chairs, his blue eyes darting back and forth over the pages of a book.

He looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Sonea.”

The servant woman stood beside one of the side tables. Sonea settled into the chair opposite Rothen. Bringing a tray to the table, the servant placed a cup before Rothen and another in front of Sonea.

Rothen lay the book on the table. “This is Tania,” he said, looking up at the woman. “My servant.”

Sonea nodded. “Hello, Tania.”

“Honored to meet you, Lady,” the woman replied, bowing.

Feeling her face warming with embarrassment, Sonea looked away. To her relief, Tania returned to the food table.

Watching the woman arranging cakes on a tray, Sonea wondered if she was supposed to be flattered by the obeisance. Perhaps they hoped she would gain a liking for it, as well as the luxuries, and be more willing to cooperate.

Sensing Sonea’s gaze, the woman looked up and smiled nervously.

“Did you sleep well, Sonea?” Rothen asked.

Looking at him, she shrugged. “A little.”

“Would you like to continue with your reading lessons today?”

She looked at the book that he had been reading and frowned as she realized that it was familiar.

He followed her gaze. “Ah, Fien’s Notes on Magic Usage. I thought I should know what you’ve been reading. This is an old history book, not a textbook, and the information in it may be outdated. You may—”

A knock on the door interrupted him. Rising, he approached the main door and opened it slightly. Knowing that he could easily stop her from escaping, she realized he was deliberately stopping her from seeing the visitor—or was he preventing the visitor from seeing her?

“Yes? Lord Fergun. What can I do for you?”

“I wish to see the girl.”

The voice was smooth and cultured. Sonea started as Tania draped a dining napkin over her lap. The servant frowned at Rothen’s back before moving away.

“It is too early for that,” Rothen replied. “She is ...” He hesitated, then stepped through the door and closed it behind him. From behind the door, Sonea could hear the faint murmur of voices as the discussion continued.

She looked up as Tania approached again, this time holding a platter of sweet cakes. Sonea chose one, and took an experimental sip from the cup in front of her.

A bitter taste filled her mouth and she grimaced. Tania’s eyebrows rose, and she nodded toward the drink in Sonea’s hand.

“I’d wager that means you don’t like sumi,” she said. “What would you like to drink?”

“Raka,” Sonea replied.

The servant looked genuinely apologetic. “We don’t stock raka here, I’m sorry. Can I get you some pachi juice instead?”

“No, thanks.”

“Water then?”

Sonea gave her an incredulous look.

Tania smiled. “The water here is clean. Here, I’ll get you some.” She returned to the table at the back of the room, filled a glass from a jug and brought it to Sonea.

“Thank you,” Sonea said. Lifting the glass, she was amazed to find the liquid was clear. Not even the tiniest particle floated in it. Taking a sip, she tasted nothing but a faint sweetness.

“See?” Tania said. “I’ll tidy your room now. I’ll be gone for a few minutes but if you need anything don’t hesitate to call.”

Sonea nodded and listened to the servant’s footsteps as she walked away. She smiled as the bedroom door closed. Taking the glass, Sonea gulped the water down and dried the inside quickly with the dining napkin. Stepping quietly to the door, she placed it against the wood and rested her ear on the base.

“... to keep her in there. It is dangerous.”

This voice belonged to the stranger.

“Not until she regains her strength,” Rothen replied. “Once that happens I can show her how to spend her power safely, as we did yesterday. There is no danger to the building.”

There was a pause. “Nevertheless, there is no reason to keep her isolated.”

“As I told you, she is easily frightened, and not a little confused. She doesn’t need a crowd of magicians telling her the same thing in a dozen different ways.”

“Not a crowd, just myself—and I only wish to make her acquaintance. I’ll leave all the teaching to you. Surely there is no harm in that?”

“I understand, but there will be time for that later, when she has gained some confidence.”

“There is no Guild law saying that you can keep her from me, Rothen,” the stranger replied, a warning tone entering his voice.

“No, but I believe most would understand my reasoning for it.”

The stranger sighed. “I have as much concern for her well-being as you, Rothen, and I have searched for her as long and hard as well. I think many would agree that I have earned a voice in the matter.”

“You will have your opportunity to meet her, Fergun,” Rothen replied.

“When?”

“When she is ready.”

“And only you shall decide that.”

“For now.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Silence followed, then the door handle began to turn. Sonea darted back to her seat and spread the napkin over her lap again. As Rothen stepped back into the room, his expression changed from annoyance to good humor.

“Who was that?” Sonea asked.

He shrugged. “Just someone who wanted to know how you were doing.”

Sonea nodded, then leaned forward to take another sweet cake.

“Why does Tania bow and call me Lady?”

“Oh,” Rothen dropped into his chair and reached for the cup of bitter liquid Tania had left for him. “All magicians are addressed as Lord or Lady.” He shrugged. “It’s always been that way.”

“But I’m not a magician,” Sonea pointed out.

“Well, she is a bit premature.” Rothen chuckled.

“I think ...” Sonea frowned. “I think she’s afraid of me.”

He frowned at her over the lip of his cup. “She’s just a little nervous of you. Being near a magician who has not learned Control can be dangerous.” He smiled crookedly. “It seems she’s not the only one who’s worried. Knowing the dangers better than most, you can imagine how some magicians feel about having you living in their own Quarters. You’re not the only one who slept lightly last night.”

Thinking back to her capture, to the broken walls and rubble she had glimpsed before falling unconscious, Sonea shivered. “How long till you can teach me Control?”

His expression became sober. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But don’t be concerned. If your powers begin to manifest again, we can use them up as we did before.”

She nodded, but as she looked at the cake she was holding, she felt her stomach clench. Her mouth suddenly seemed too dry for such a sweet thing. Swallowing, she set it aside.

The morning had been murky and dim and by mid-afternoon, heavy clouds hung low and threatening over the city. Everything was shrouded in shadows, as if night had become too impatient to wait for the end of the day. On days like this, the faint glow from the interior walls of the University was more noticeable.

Rothen sighed as, once they were in the University corridor, Dannyl’s stride lengthened. He struggled to keep pace, then gave up.

“How strange,” he said to Dannyl’s back. “Your limp appears to have disappeared.”

Dannyl turned, then blinked in surprise as he saw how far Rothen had fallen behind. As he slowed his pace, the slight hesitation in his stride returned.

“Ah, there it is.” Rothen nodded. “Why the hurry, Dannyl?”

“I just want to get it over with.”

“We’re only handing in our reports,” Rothen told him. “I’ll probably end up doing most of the talking.”

“I was the one the High Lord sent off in search of the Thieves,” Dannyl muttered. “I’ll have to answer all his questions.”

“He’s only a few years older than you, Dannyl. So is Lorlen, and he doesn’t frighten all sense out of you.”

Dannyl opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again and shook his head. They had reached the end of the corridor.

Stepping up to the door of the Administrator’s room, Rothen smiled when he heard Dannyl take a deep breath. At Rothen’s knock, the door swung inward, revealing a large, sparsely furnished room. A globe light hovered above a desk at the far end, illuminating the dark blue robes of the Administrator.

Lorlen looked up and beckoned to them with his pen.

“Come in, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl. Take a seat.”

Rothen looked around the room. No black-robed figure reclined in any of the chairs or lurked in the dim corners. Dannyl let out a long sigh of relief.

Lorlen smiled as they settled into the chairs in front of his desk. Leaning forward, he took the leaves of paper that Rothen offered. “I’ve been looking forward to reading your reports. I’m sure Lord Dannyl’s will be fascinating.”

Dannyl winced but said nothing.

“The High Lord sends his congratulations.” Lorlen’s eyes flickered from Rothen’s to Dannyl’s. “And I offer mine as well.”

“Then we offer our thanks in return,” Rothen replied.

Lorlen nodded, then smiled crookedly. “Akkarin is particularly pleased that he can sleep uninterrupted now there are no crude attempts at magic waking him through the night.”

Seeing Dannyl’s eyes widen, Rothen smiled. “I guess there are drawbacks to having such fine senses.”

He tried to imagine the High Lord pacing his rooms at night, cursing the elusive slum girl. The image didn’t quite suit the solemn Guild leader. He frowned. How much interest was Akkarin going to take in Sonea now that she had been found?

“Administrator, do you think the High Lord will be wanting to meet Sonea?”

Lorlen shook his head. “No. His main concern was that we might not find her before her powers became destructive—and the King had started to question our ability to take care of our own.” He smiled at Rothen. “I think I understand why you are asking. Akkarin can be quite intimidating, especially to the younger novices, and Sonea will be easily frightened.”

“That brings me to another point,” Rothen said, leaning forward. “She is easily frightened, and also very suspicious of us. It will take time for me to overcome her fear. I’d like to keep her isolated until she has gained some confidence, then begin introducing her to people one at a time.”

“That sounds sensible.”

“Fergun asked to see her this morning.”

“Ah.” Lorlen nodded and drummed his fingers on the table. “Hmmm. I can see all the arguments he’ll use to get his way. I could rule that nobody shall see her until she is ready, but I don’t think he’ll be satisfied until I specify what ‘ready’ is, and I’ve set a date.”

He rose and began to pace back and forth behind his desk. “The two guardianship claims have complicated matters, too. People accept that, since you have plenty of experience in teaching Control, you should be the one to teach that to her. But if Fergun is excluded from Sonea’s early training, people will support Fergun’s claim for guardianship out of sympathy.” He paused. “Can Fergun be one of these people you introduce to her?”

Rothen shook his head. “She is observant and quick to pick up people’s feelings. Fergun has little fondness for me. If I am to convince her that we’re all friendly, well-meaning people, then it won’t help if she notices conflict between any of us. Also, she may mistake his determination to see her as an intention to do harm.”

Lorlen regarded him for a moment, then crossed his arms.

“Everyone wants Sonea to learn Control as quickly as possible,” he said. “I don’t think anyone will disagree if I decide that nothing shall distract her from that. How long do you think it will take?”

“I don’t know,” Rothen confessed. “I’ve taught uninterested, easily distracted novices, but I’ve never tried to teach Control to somebody who distrusts magicians as much as she does. It may take several weeks.”

Lorlen returned to his chair. “I can’t give you that much time. I’ll give you two weeks, during which time you can decide who will see her. After that, I will begin visiting every few days to check how close she is to gaining an acceptable level of Control.” He paused and tapped the table-top with a fingernail. “If you can, introduce her to at least one other magician by then. I will tell Fergun that he may see her after she has learned Control, but remember, the longer it takes, the more sympathy he will gain.”

Rothen nodded. “I understand.”

“People will expect the Hearing to occur during the first Meet after she has learned Control.”

“If I can convince her to stay,” Rothen added.

Lorlen frowned. “Do you think she will refuse to join the Guild?”

“It is too early to say,” Rothen replied. “We can’t force her to say the vow.”

Leaning back in his chair, Lorlen regarded Rothen thoughtfully, his brow creased with concern.

“Is she aware of the alternative?”

“Not yet. Since I’m trying to gain her trust, I felt it better to leave that news until later.”

“I understand. Perhaps, if you choose the right moment, it will convince her to stay.” He smiled wryly. “If she leaves, Fergun will be convinced you talked her out of staying just to spite him. Either way, you are facing some tough battles, Rothen.”

Dannyl frowned. “He has a strong claim, then?”

“It is hard to say. Much may depend on the strength of support each of you gain. But I should not speak about it before the Hearing.” Lorlen straightened and looked from Rothen to Dannyl. “I have no more questions. Do either of you have anything else you wish to discuss?”

“No.” Rothen rose and inclined his head. “Thank you, Administrator.”

Once in the corridor, Rothen considered his companion.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dannyl shrugged. “He wasn’t there.”

“No.” As another magician stepped out into the corridor Dannyl checked his stride, his steps becoming halting. Rothen shook his head. “You are playing up that limp!”

Dannyl looked hurt. “It was a deep cut, Rothen.”

“Not that deep.”

“Lady Vinara said that it would be some days before the stiffness disappeared.”

“She did, did she?”

Dannyl’s brows rose. “And it doesn’t do you any harm if I remind people what we went through to catch that girl.”

Rothen chuckled. “I am most grateful for the sacrifice you are making to your dignity.”

Dannyl made a small noise of disgust. “Well, if Fergun can walk around for a week with a bandage over that tiny cut on his temple, then I can have my limp.”

“I see.” Rothen nodded slowly. “Then it’s all right then.”

They reached the back doors of the University and stopped. The air outside was thick with falling snow. Exchanging mutual looks of dismay, they stepped out into the swirling whiteness and hurried away.

19 Lessons Begin

A week of worsening weather had buried the Guild grounds in a thick layer of snow. Lawns, gardens, and roofs had vanished under a sparkling white blanket. Cozy within the protection of his own magical shield, Dannyl could appreciate the spectacle without enduring the discomfort.

Novices hovered around the University entrance. As he entered the building a trio hurried past him, their cloaks wrapped tightly around their shoulders. Part of the midwinter intake, he surmised. It took several weeks of training before the new novices learned how to ward off the cold.

Climbing the stairs, he found a small group of novices waiting outside the Alchemy room where Rothen taught his classes. Waving them through the door, he started to follow.

“Lord Dannyl.”

Recognizing the voice, Dannyl suppressed a groan. He turned to find Fergun strolling along the corridor toward him, Lord Kerrin at his side.

Stopping a few paces from Dannyl, Fergun eyed the classroom door. “Is that Rothen’s class you’re entering?”

“Yes,” Dannyl replied.

“You’re teaching them?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Fergun turned away, Kerrin following. In a quiet voice, pitched loud enough for Dannyl to hear, he added, “I’m surprised they allow it.”

“What do you mean?” Kerrin asked, his voice growing fainter as the pair walked away.

“Don’t you remember all the trouble he got into as a novice?”

“Oh, that!” Kerrin laughed, the sound echoing in the corridor. “I suppose he might be a bad influence.”

Gritting his teeth, Dannyl turned away and found Rothen standing in the doorway.

“Rothen!” Dannyl exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just visiting the library.” Rothen’s gaze remained on Fergun’s back. “It amazes me how long you two have kept this grudge going. Are you ever going to leave the past behind you?”

“It’s not a grudge to him,” Dannyl growled. “It’s sport and he enjoys it too much to stop.”

Rothen raised his brows. “Well, if he behaves like a spiteful novice, people will treat his words accordingly.” He smiled as three novices hurried along the corridor and darted through the classroom door. “How are my novices doing?”

Dannyl grimaced. “I don’t know how you cope, Rothen. You’re not going to abandon me to them for long, are you?”

“I don’t know. Weeks. Months, maybe.”

Dannyl groaned. “Do you think Sonea is ready to begin Control lessons yet?”

Rothen shook his head. “No.”

“But it’s been a week already.”

“Only a week.” Rothen sighed. “I doubt she’d trust us if we gave her six months to settle in.” He frowned. “It’s not that she dislikes us as individuals, but that she doesn’t believe the Guild means well—and she won’t until she sees proof. We don’t have time for that. When Lorlen visits, he’ll expect us to have begun lessons already.”

Dannyl grasped his friend’s arm. “For now all you have to do is teach her Control, and for that she only has to trust you, Rothen. You’re a likeable sort. You’ve got her best interests at heart.” He hesitated. “If you can’t tell her, then show her.”

Rothen frowned, then his eyes widened in understanding. “Let her see into my mind?”

“Yes. She will know you’ve been telling her the truth.”

“It’s ... it’s not necessary when teaching Control, but the circumstances are hardly usual.” Rothen frowned.

“There are some things I’ll have to keep her from learning, though...”

“Hide them.” Dannyl smiled. “Now, I have a classroom of your novices waiting, all eager to try out their latest pranks and teacher-torturing antics on me. Lorlen is nothing, I expect to hear you’ve made considerable progress when we meet tonight.”

Rothen chuckled. “Be reasonable to them, and they’ll be reasonable to you, Dannyl.”

As his friend turned away, Dannyl uttered a short, humorless laugh. Somewhere above them, a striker rang the University gong. Sighing, Dannyl straightened his shoulders and entered the classroom.

Leaning on the window sill, Sonea watched the last of the magicians and novices hurry out of sight. Not all had responded to the University gong, however. Two distant figures remained standing at the other side of the gardens.

One was a woman in green robes with a black sash—the Head of Healers. So women did have some influence in the Guild, she mused.

The other was a male dressed in blue robes. Thinking back to Rothen’s explanation of the robe colors, she could not recall him mentioning blue. The color was uncommon, so perhaps he, too, was a magician of influence.

Rothen had explained how the magicians in high positions were selected by a vote among Guild members. This method of choosing leaders by the agreement of the majority was intriguing. She had expected that the strongest magicians would rule the others.

According to Rothen, the rest of the magicians spent their time teaching, experimenting, or working on public projects. This included work that ranged from the impressive to the ridiculous. She had been surprised to learn that the magicians had built the Marina, and amused to hear how one magician had spent much of his life trying to make stronger and stronger glues.

Drumming her fingers, she looked around the room again. In the last week she had found opportunities to examine everything, even the room Rothen slept in. A careful search of all cupboards, chests, and drawers had revealed clothes and everyday items. The few locks she had encountered succumbed easily to her picking skills, but old documents had been her only reward.

Catching a movement at the edge of her vision, she turned back to the window. The two magicians had parted, and the blue-robed man was now walking along the edge of the garden toward the two-story residence of the High Lord.

Remembering the night she had peeked into that building, she shivered. Rothen had mentioned nothing of assassin magicians, but that was hardly surprising. He was trying to convince her that the Guild was friendly and useful. If the black-robed magician wasn’t an assassin, then what else could he be?

A memory of a man in bloodstained clothes flashed into her mind.

“It is done,” the man had said. “Did you bring my robes?”

She jumped as the main door clicked open behind her. Turning, she let out a breath as Rothen strode into the room in a swirl of purple robes.

“Sorry I took so long.”

He was a magician, and yet he was apologizing to her. Amused, she shrugged in reply.

“I’ve brought some books from the library.” He straightened and regarded her earnestly. “But I thought we might start working on some mind exercises. What do you think?”

“Mind exercises?” She frowned, then felt herself go cold as she realized what he was suggesting. Did he think she trusted him after only a week?

Do I?

He was watching her closely. “We probably won’t start Control lessons,” he told her. “But you should gain a familiarity with mental communication in preparation for the lessons.”

Thinking about the past week, she considered what she had learned of him.

He had spent most of the time teaching her to read. At first she had been suspicious, and had expected to find something in the content of the books that he might use as a lure or bribe. She had been almost disappointed to find herself reading simple adventure stories, with little reference to magic at all.

Unlike Serin, who had been anxious to avoid angering her, Rothen did not hesitate to correct her when she made a mistake. He could be quite stern, but she had found, to her surprise, that he was not at all frightening. She had even caught herself wanting to tease him a little when he was being so serious.

When he was not teaching her, he tried to chat. She knew she wasn’t making this easy for him when there were so many subjects she refused to discuss. Though he was always willing to answer her questions, he hadn’t tried to trick or force her into revealing anything about herself in return.

Would mental communication be like this? Would she still be able to hide parts of herself?

The only way to find out is to try it, she told herself. Swallowing, she nodded quickly. “How do we start?”

He gave her a searching look. “If you don’t want to, we can wait a few more days.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Now is fine.”

He nodded, then gestured to the chairs. “Sit down. Make sure you’re comfortable.”

She lowered herself into a chair, then watched as he pushed the low table aside and moved a chair forward to face hers. He would be sitting close, she noted with dismay.

“I’m going to tell you to close your eyes,” he said. “Then I’m going to take your hands. While it’s not necessary for us to touch when we speak to each other, it helps to focus the mind. Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, “and relax. Breathe deeply and slowly. Listen to the sound of your breathing.”

She did as he said. For a long time he was silent. After a while, she realized that the rhythm of their breathing was the same, and she wondered if he had changed his breath to follow hers.

“Imagine that, with every breath, a part of you relaxes. Your toes first, then feet, then ankles. Calves, knees, upper legs. Rest your fingers, hands, wrists, arms, your back. Let your shoulders drop. Let your head hang forward a little.”

Though she felt his instructions were a little peculiar, she did as he said. As she felt the tension leave her limbs, she grew aware of a fluttering in her stomach.

“Now I’m going to take your hands,” he told her.

The hands that enclosed hers seemed much larger. She resisted the urge to open her eyes to check.

“Listen. Think about what you can hear.”

Sonea was suddenly aware that she was surrounded by constant small noises. Each noise leapt out at her and demanded to be identified: the sound of footsteps outside, the distant voices of magicians and servants coming from both inside and outside the building ...

“Now let the sounds outside the room fade away. Instead, concentrate on the sounds within this room.”

It was quieter inside. The only sound was their breathing, now at different rhythms.

“Let those sounds fade away, too. Now listen to the sounds within your own body. The slow pounding of your heart...”

She frowned. Aside from her breathing, she could hear no sounds in her body.

“... The rush of blood circulating through your body.”

Though she was concentrating hard, she could not hear ...

“... The sound of your stomach ...”

... or could she? There was something ...

“... The vibration within your ears ...”

Then she realized that the noises he described were not heard so much as felt.

“... and now listen to the sound of your thoughts.”

For a moment Sonea was puzzled by his instruction, then she sensed a presence at the edge of her mind.

— Hello, Sonea.

— Rothen?

— That’s right.

The presence grew more tangible. The personality she could sense was surprisingly familiar. It was like recognizing a voice, a voice so individual that it could never be confused with another.

— So this is mind communication, she mused.

— Yes. Using it, we can speak to each other from great distances.

She realized that she was not hearing words, but sensing the meaning of thoughts that he had projected toward her. They flashed into her mind, and were understood so quickly and completely that she knew with certainty exactly what he wanted her to know.

— It’s so much faster than talking!

— Yes, and there’s less chance of a misunderstanding.

— Could I talk like this to my aunt? I could let her know I’m still alive.

— Yes and no. Only magicians can communicate mind to mind without physical contact. You could speak to your aunt, but you’d need to be touching her. There is no reason why you can’t send your aunt an ordinary message, however...

Which would reveal their location, she realized. Sonea felt her enthusiasm for mind communication waver. She must be careful.

— So... do magicians talk like this all the time?

— Not often.

— Why not?

— There are limitations to this form of communication. You sense the emotions behind the thoughts others send you. It’s easy to detect when someone is lying, for example.

— That is a bad thing?

— Not in itself, but imagine if you had noticed that your friend was going bald. He would sense your amusement behind your thoughts and, while not knowing what you found so funny, he would know it was at his expense. Now imagine it was not your forgiving friend, but somebody you respected and wanted to impress.

— I see what you mean.

— Good. Now for the next part of your lesson, I want you to imagine your mind is a room—a space with walls, a floor and a ceiling.

At once she found herself standing in the center of a room. There was something familiar about it, though she could not remember seeing one like it before. It was empty, and had no doors or windows and the walls were bare wood.

— What do you see?

— The walls are wooden, and it’s empty, she replied.

— Ah, I see it. This room is the conscious part of your mind.

— So ... you can see into my mind?

— No, you just projected an image at me. Look, I’ll send it back.

An image of the room flashed through her mind. It was indistinct and hazy, the details no longer visible.

— It’s... different, and kind of fuzzy, she told him.

— That is because a little time had passed, and my memory of it had faded. The difference you sense is from my mind filling in details that were missing from my memory, such as color and texture. Now, your room needs a door.

At once a door blinked into existence before her.

— Go to the door. Do you remember what your power looked like?

— Yes, a glowing ball of light.

— That is a common way to visualize it. I want you to think of how it looked both when it was strong and dangerous, and after it had faded. Can you remember?

— Yes...

— Now open the door.

As the door swung open she found herself standing on the threshold of darkness. A white sphere hung before her, glowing brightly. It was impossible to judge how far away it was. One moment it seemed to hover just beyond arm’s reach, the next she was sure it was a colossal size, and hung an inconceivable distance away.

— How big is it compared to what you remember?

— Not as big as it was when it was dangerous. She sent him an image of it.

— Good. It is growing faster than I expected, but we have some time before your magic begins to surface unasked for. Close the door and return to the room.

The door closed and vanished, and she found that she was standing in the center of the room again.

— I want you to imagine another door. This time it’s the door to the outside, so make it larger.

Double doors appeared in her room, and she recognized them as the main doors of the stayhouse she had been living in before the Purge.

— When you open the doors, you’ll see a house. It should look something like this.

An image of a white house, not unlike the large merchant homes in the West Quarter, flashed through her mind. As she pushed open the double doors in her mind, she found herself facing the building. Between her room and this house was a narrow street.

— Cross to the building.

The house had a single red door. The scene shifted and she found herself standing in front of it. As she touched the handle, it swung inward and she stepped into a large white room.

Paintings hung from the walls and cushioned chairs were arranged neatly in the room’s corners. It reminded her a little of Rothen’s guestroom, but grander. The sense of his personality was strong, like a powerful perfume or the warmth of sunlight.

— Welcome, Sonea. You are in what you might call the first room of my mind. I can show you images here. Look at the paintings.

She approached the closest picture. In it she saw herself in magicians’ robes, talking earnestly with other magicians. Disturbed, she backed away.

— Wait, Sonea. Consider the next painting.

Reluctantly, she moved along the wall. The next picture showed her in green robes, healing a man with an injured leg. She turned away quickly.

— Why does this future repel you?

— It is not who I am.

— But it could be, Sonea. Do you see now that I have told you the truth?

Looking back at the paintings, she suddenly understood that he was speaking the truth. He could not lie to her here. He was showing her real possibilities. The Guild truly wanted her to join them ...

Then she found a black door that she had not seen before. As she looked at it, she knew that it was locked and she felt her suspicions return. He might not be able to lie, but perhaps he could conceal some truths.

— You are hiding things from me! she accused.

— Yes, he told her. We all have the ability to hide those parts, of ourselves we wish to keep private. Otherwise, none of us would ever permit another into our minds. I will teach you to do this, for your need for privacy is stronger than most. Watch, and I will give you a glimpse of what is behind that door.

The door swung inward. Through it Sonea saw a woman lying on a bed, her face deathly pale. A feeling of intense grief spilled out. Without warning, the door slammed shut again.

— My wife.

— She died...?

— Yes. Do you understand, now, why I hide that part of me?

— Yes. I am... sorry.

— It was a long time ago, and I understand that you must see that I speak the truth.

Sonea turned from the black door. A gust of perfumed air had entered the room, a mix of flowers and something crisp and unpleasant. The paintings of her in robes had swelled to fill the walls, but the colors were muted.

— We have achieved much. Shall we return to your mind?

At once the room began to slide under her feet, propelling her to the red door. Stepping outside, she looked up. The face of her house rose before her. It was a plain wooden building, a bit worn, but still sturdy—typical of the better areas of the slums. Crossing the road, she re-entered the first room of her mind. The doors swung shut behind her.

— Now turn back and look outside.

As she pushed the doors open again she was surprised to find Rothen standing in front of her. He looked a little younger, and perhaps shorter, too.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, smiling.

Stepping back, she gestured for him to enter. As he stepped over the threshold, the sense of his presence filled the room. He looked around, and she suddenly realized that it was no longer empty.

She felt a flush of guilt as she saw that, on a table nearby, was a box. It was one that she had broken into. The lid hung open and the documents inside were clearly visible.

Then she saw that Cery was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding three familiar books.

And in another corner stood Jonna and Ranel...

“Sonea.”

She turned to find that Rothen had placed his hands over his eyes.

“Put anything you don’t want me to see behind doors.”

Glancing around the room, she concentrated on pushing everything away. They slid backward through the walls and disappeared.

— Sonea?

Turning around, she realized that Rothen had disappeared.

— Did I push you out too?

— Yes. Let’s try that again.

Once more she opened the door and backed away to allow Rothen into the room. Catching a movement in the corner of her eye, she looked away, but whatever she had seen sank back into the walls. Turning back, she discovered that a new room had appeared beyond the door. A door stood open on the far side of this room and Rothen now stood in the doorway.

He stepped through the door and everything shifted. There were two rooms between them, then three.

— Enough!

She felt his hands release hers. Abruptly aware of the physical world, she opened her eyes. Rothen was leaning back in his chair, grimacing and rubbing his temples.

“Are you all right?” she asked, concerned. “What happened?”

“I’m well.” He let his hands drop and smiled wryly. “You pushed me right out of your mind. It’s a natural reaction, and one you can learn to control. Don’t worry, I’m used to it. I’ve taught many novices before.”

She nodded and rubbed her hands. “Do you want to try again?”

He shook his head. “Not now. We’ll rest and work on your reading. Perhaps we’ll try again this afternoon.”

20 The Guild’s Prisoner

Cery yawned. Since Sonea had been taken, sleep had become a coy thing. It evaded him when he needed it, and stalked him when he didn’t. Right now, he needed to be more awake than he had ever been before.

A freezing wind whipped the trees and hedges, filling the air with noise and the occasional twig or leaf. The cold crept into his muscles, making them cramp. Shifting his weight carefully, he stretched and rubbed first one leg, then the other.

Looking up at the window again, he decided that if he thought “look outside” any harder his head was going to explode. Obviously Sonea’s talent for sensing minds didn’t extend to detecting unexpected visitors outside her window.

He regarded the snowballs he had made, and doubt returned. If he threw one at her window it would have to hit it loud enough to wake her, but not loud enough to attract anyone else’s attention. He had no idea if she was still in the room, or if she was alone.

A light had been on when he had first arrived, but it was extinguished soon after. The windows on the left of hers were dark, but those on the right still glowed. He looked nervously at the University building towering to his left. The windows were dark. Since the first night when he had glimpsed Sonea, Cery had seen no sign of the mysterious watcher.

Somewhere in the corner of his eye, a light blinked out. He looked up at the magicians’ building. The light in the rooms beside Sonea’s had vanished. Cery smiled grimly and massaged his numb legs. Just a little longer ...

When a pale face appeared at the window he thought, for a moment, that he had fallen asleep and was dreaming. He watched, heart pounding, as Sonea peered down at the gardens, then looked up at the University.

Then she moved out of sight.

All weariness was gone. Cery’s fingers closed around a snowball. His legs protested as he wriggled out of the hedge. He took aim and, as the snowball left his fingers, ducked back into the hedge.

The faintest thud reached his ears as the snowball struck the window. His heart sang with triumph as Sonea’s face appeared again. She stared at the splash of frost on the glass, and she looked out at the garden again.

Checking the other windows, Cery saw no other watchers. He wriggled out of the hedge a little, and saw Sonea’s eyes widen as she spotted him. Surprise was followed by a wide grin.

He waved, then signalled a question to her. She returned with a “yes.” No harm had been done to her. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The Thieves’ code of signals was limited to simple meanings like “ready?,” “now,” “wait,” “get out of here,” and the usual “yes” and “no.” There was no sign for “I’m about to rescue you. Is the window locked?” He pointed to himself, then made climbing movements, mimed opening the window, pointed at her, then himself, and finished with the sign for “get out of here.”

She returned with “wait,” then pointed at herself, signed “get out of here,” and shook her head.

He frowned. Though she knew more than most dwells about the Thieves’ signals, she had never been as well versed as he was. She could be telling him that she wasn’t allowed to leave, or that she didn’t want to leave now, or that he should return later in the night. He scratched his head, then signalled “get out of here” then “now.”

She shook her head, then something to his left caught her attention and her eyes widened. Moving away from the window a little, she began signalling “get out of here” over and over. Cery crouched and retreated into the hedge, hoping the wind would hide the rustle of leaves.

No footsteps reached his ears, and he began to wonder what had spooked her, then warm air slid over his skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

“Come out,” a cultured voice said, uncomfortably close. “I know you’re in there.”

Looking through the hedge, Cery could see the soft folds of robes only an arm’s reach away. A hand snaked through the leaves. Cery twisted away, pushing out of the hedge and pressing himself against the building, his heart racing. The magician straightened quickly. Knowing that he was in full sight, Cery bolted along the side of the building toward the forest.

Something slammed into his back and he pitched forward into the snow. A weight held him there, pressing so firmly he could hardly breathe and the chill of the snow burned his face. He heard footsteps approaching and felt panic rising.

Calm. Stay calm, he told himself. You’ve never heard of them killing intruders ... You’ve never heard of them finding intruders either...

The crushing pressure eased. As he pushed himself to his hands and knees, Cery felt a hand grip his arm. It pulled him to his feet and dragged him through the hedge to the path.

Looking up, he turned cold as he recognized the magician.

The magician’s eyes narrowed. “You look familiar ... Ah, now I remember. The filthy dwell that tried to strike me.” He glanced back at Sonea’s window and smirked. “So Sonea has an admirer. How sweet.”

He regarded Cery thoughtfully and a gleam crept into his eyes. “What am I going to do with you, then? I believe intruders are usually questioned and then escorted out of the Guild. We best get started then.”

Cery struggled as the magician began to pull him along the path toward the University. The magician’s thin hand was surprisingly strong.

“Let me go!” Cery demanded.

The magician sighed. “If you insist on jerking my arm like that, I will be forced to use less physical means to hold you. Please cooperate. I am as anxious to see this business finished as I am sure you are.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Out of this noisy wind for a start.” They reached the end of the magicians’ building, and started toward the University.

“Lord Fergun.”

The magician stopped and looked over his shoulder. Two robed shadows were approaching. Feeling a sudden tension in his captor’s grip, Cery was not sure whether to be relieved or worried about the newcomers. Obviously, Fergun didn’t welcome their intrusion.

“Administrator,” Fergun said. “How fortunate. I was just coming to rouse you. I have discovered an intruder. He appears to have been attempting to reach the slum girl.”

“So I have been told,” the taller newcomer glanced at his companion.

“Will you question him?” Fergun sounded hopeful, yet his grip on Cery’s arm tightened.

“Yes,” the tall magician replied. He made a lazy gesture, and a ball of light flared into existence above them.

Cery felt warmth slide over him and the wind disappeared. Looking around, he could still see trees twisting about, but the three magicians stood undisturbed.

In the strong light, the magicians’ robes were brightly colored. The tall magician wore blue, his companion, an older man, wore purple, and Cery’s captor wore red. The tall magician looked down at Cery and smiled faintly.

“Do you want to talk to Sonea, Cery?”

Cery blinked in surprise, then frowned. How did this magician know his name?

Sonea must have told him. If she had wanted to warn Cery, she would have given them another name ... unless they had tricked it out of her, or read it from her mind, or ...

What did it matter? They had caught him. If they intended to do him harm, he was doomed anyway. He may as well see Sonea.

He nodded. The tall magician looked at Fergun. “Let him go.”

Fergun’s grip tightened before his fingers uncurled from Cery’s arm. The blue-robed magician gestured for Cery to follow, then started toward the magicians’ building.

The doors opened before them. Aware of the two magicians pacing behind like guards, Cery followed the tall magician up a short flight of stairs to the upper floor. They strode down a wide corridor to one of many plain doors. The older magician stepped forward to touch the handle, and the door swung inward.

Inside was a luxurious room with cushioned chairs and fine furniture. In one of the chairs sat Sonea. When she saw Cery, she smiled.

“Go on,” the blue-robed magician said. Heart still racing, Cery stepped into the room. As the door closed, he looked back and wondered if he had just walked into a trap.

“Cery,” Sonea breathed. “It’s so good to see you.” He turned to study her. She smiled again, but it quickly disappeared.

“Sit down, Cery. I asked Rothen to let me talk to you. I told him you would keep trying to rescue me unless I explained why I can’t leave.” She pointed to a seat.

He sat down reluctantly. “Why can’t you leave?” She sighed. “I don’t know if I can tell you in a way that makes sense.” She leaned back in the chair. “Magicians have to be taught how to control magic, and only another magician can teach it, because it has to be taught mind to mind. If they don’t learn to control it, the magic works whenever the magician feels something. The magic takes simple, dangerous forms, always stronger as it grows. Eventually ...” She grimaced. “I... I nearly died the day they found me, Cery. They saved me.”

Cery shivered. “I saw it, Sonea. The buildings—they’re gone.”

“It would have been worse if they hadn’t found me. People would have been killed. Lots of people.”

He looked down at his hands. “So you can’t come home.” She chuckled, a sound so unexpectedly cheerful that he stared at her in astonishment.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him. “Once I’ve learned Control I won’t be in danger anymore. I’m getting to know how things work here.” She gave him a wink. “So where are you hanging out now?”

He grinned. “Same old place. Best bolhouse in the slums.”

She nodded. “And your... friend? Is he still giving you work?”

“Yes.” Cery shook his head. “But maybe not once he finds out what I did tonight.”

As she considered that, the familiar lines of worry appeared between her brows. He felt something squeeze his heart so tightly it hurt. Clenching his fists, he looked away. He wanted to pour out all the guilt and fear he’d felt since her capture, but the thought that others might be listening kept the words choked within his throat.

Looking at the luxuries of the room, he consoled himself that she was being treated well, at least. She yawned. It was late, he remembered.

“I guess I had better go.” He rose, then stopped, not wanting to leave her.

She smiled, this time sadly. “Tell everyone I’m well.”

“I will.”

He couldn’t move. Her smile faded a little as he stared at her, then she waved toward the door. “I’ll be fine, Cery. Trust me. Go on.”

Somehow he made himself walk to the door and knock. It swung inward. The three magicians regarded him closely as he stepped into the corridor.

“Shall I escort our visitor to the gate?” Fergun offered.

“Yes, thank you,” the blue-robed magician replied.

A globe of light appeared above Fergun’s head. He looked at Cery expectantly. Glancing back at the blue-robed magician, Cery hesitated.

“Thanks.”

The magician nodded once in reply. Turning away, Cery started toward the stairs, the blonde magician following.

He considered Sonea’s words as he descended. Her signals made sense now. She had to wait until she had learned to control her magic, but once she had she would try to escape. He could do little to help her, except make sure she had a secure place to return to.

“Are you Sonea’s husband?”

Cery glanced up at the magician in surprise.

“No.”

“Her, ah ... lover, then?”

Cery felt his cheeks warming. He looked away. “No, just a friend.”

“I see. It was very heroic of you to come here.”

Deciding that he didn’t need to reply to that, Cery stepped out of the magicians’ building into the cold wind, and turned toward the garden. Fergun stopped.

“Wait. Let me take you through the University. It is a warmer journey.”

His heart skipped. The University.

He had always wanted to see inside the great building. Such an opportunity would never come again once Sonea escaped. Shrugging as if it made no difference to him, he started toward the back entrance of the enormous building.

His heart began to race as they climbed the stairs. They entered a room full of elaborately decorated staircases. The magician’s light vanished as he directed Cery through a side door and into a wide corridor which seemed to extend for an eternity.

Doors and passages lined the walls on either side. Looking around, Cery could not find the source of light. It was as if the walls themselves glowed.

“Sonea was quite a surprise to us,” Fergun said suddenly, his voice echoing. “We have never found any talent in the lower classes before. It’s normally restricted to the Houses.”

Fergun looked at Cery expectantly, obviously expecting conversation.

“It gave her a surprise, too,” Cery replied.

“This way.” The magician guided Cery into one of the side passages. “Have you ever heard of other dwells with magic?”

“No.”

They turned a corner, pushed through a door into a small room, then stepped through another door into a slightly wider corridor. Unlike the earlier passages, the walls were panelled with wood, and paintings hung at regular intervals.

“It’s quite a maze in here,” Fergun said, sighing a little. “Come, I’ll take you through a shortcut.”

He stopped beside a painting and reached behind it. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a rectangle of darkness the size of a narrow doorway. Cery looked at the magician questioningly.

“I’ve always loved secrets,” Fergun said, his eyes bright. “Does it surprise you that we, too, have underground passages? This one comes out in the Inner Circle—a dry, windless journey. Shall we?”

Cery looked at the doorway, then at the magician. Passages under the Guild? This was too strange. He stepped back and shook his head.

“I’ve seen plenty of passages before,” he said, “and I don’t mind the cold. The pretty things in this building are more interesting.”

The magician closed his eyes and nodded. “I see.” He straightened and smiled. “Well, it’s good to know you don’t mind the cold.”

Something pressed on Cery’s back, forcing him toward the rectangle. He yelled and grabbed the edges of the hole, but the push was too strong and his fingers slipped on the polished wood. Falling forward, he brought his hands up in time to protect his face as he slammed into a wall.

The force held him firmly against the bricks. He could not even move a finger. Heart racing madly, he cursed himself for trusting the magicians. He heard a click behind him. The secret doorway had closed.

“Yell now if you want.” Fergun chuckled, a low, nasty sound. “Nobody comes down here, so you won’t bother anyone.”

A piece of cloth dropped over Cery’s eyes and was bound tightly. His hands were pulled together behind his back, and bound with more cloth. As the pressure against his back eased, a hand gripped his collar and shoved him forward.

Cery staggered down the passage. After a few steps he reached a steep stairway. He felt his way down, then the guiding hands pushed him along a route that twisted lazily.

The temperature of the air dropped rapidly. After a few hundred steps, Fergun halted. Cery’s stomach sank as he heard the sound of a key turning in a lock.

The blindfold was pulled away. Cery found himself standing at the door of a large, empty room. The cloth about his wrists was untied.

“In you go.”

Cery looked at Fergun. His hands itched for his knives, but he knew he would only lose them if he tried to fight the magician. If he didn’t walk into the room himself, Fergun would push him.

Slowly, numbly, he entered the cell. The door swung shut, leaving him standing in darkness. He heard the lock turn, then the muffled sound of footsteps moving away.

Sighing, he dropped to his haunches. Faren was going to be furious.

21 A Promise of Freedom

As he hurried along the corridor of the Magicians’ Quarters, Rothen received more than a few inquiring looks from the magicians he passed. He nodded to some, and smiled at those he was most familiar with, but did not slow his stride. Reaching the door to his rooms, he grasped the handle and willed the lock to release.

As the door opened, he heard two voices from the guestroom within.

“—my father was a servant of Lord Margen, Lord Rothen’s mentor. My grandfather worked here too.”

“You must have many relations here.”

“A few,” Tania agreed. “But many of them have left to take up positions in the Houses.”

The two women were sitting beside each other on the chairs. Seeing him, Tania leapt to her feet, her face flushed.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Rothen said, waving a hand.

Tania bowed her head. “I have not yet finished my work, my Lord,” she told him. Her face still glowing, she hastened away into his bedroom. Sonea watched, clearly amused.

— She’s not afraid of me anymore, I think.

Rothen considered his servant as she reappeared with a bundle of clothes and bedding under her arm.

— No. You two are getting along well.

Pausing, Tania gave Rothen a hard look, then glanced at Sonea speculatively.

— Can she tell that we’re talking like this? Sonea asked.

— She sees our expressions changing. You don’t have to be around magicians for long to know this is a sure sign that a silent discussion is taking place.

“Excuse us, Tania,” Rothen said aloud. Tania’s brows rose, but she gave a little shrug and dropped the bundle of clothes into a basket.

“Is that all, Lord Rothen?”

“Yes, thank you, Tania.”

Rothen waited until the door had closed behind the servant, then sat down beside Sonea. “It’s probably about time I told you that it’s not considered polite to communicate mind to mind while others are present, especially if they haven’t the ability to join in. It’s like whispering behind someone’s back.”

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 dwells 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.

22 An Unexpected Offer

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.” Dannyl grasped Rothen’s shoulders, turned him about and pushed him out of his rooms. “If you hide yourself away you’ll only add strength to what Fergun’s supporters are saying.”

Rothen sighed and followed Dannyl down the corridor. “You’re right, of course. I’ve barely spoken to anyone for the last two weeks—and I should ask Lorlen to delay visiting for a few days. Wait ...” Rothen looked up, his brow creasing. “What have Fergun’s supporters been saying?”

Dannyl smiled grimly. “That she learned control in a few days, and you’ve been keeping her locked away so Fergun can’t see her.”

Rothen made a rude noise. “What nonsense. I’d like to see them suffering some of the headaches I’ve had in the last week.” He grimaced. “I guess this means I can’t delay Lorlen for long.”

“No,” Dannyl agreed.

They reached the entrance to the Magicians’ Quarters and stepped outside. Though the snow was melted from the paths and pavement by novices each morning and evening, the courtyard was already covered in a thin white powder. It crunched under their boots as they crossed to the Seven Arches.

As they stepped into the warmth of the Night Room, several heads turned in their direction. Dannyl heard his companion give a low groan as several magicians began to move toward them. Sarrin, the Head of Alchemists, was the first to arrive.

“Good evening, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl. How are you both?”

“Well, Lord Sarrin,” Rothen replied.

“Any progress with the slum girl yet?”

Rothen paused as several magicians moved in to hear his answer. “Sonea is doing well,” he told them. “It took some time before she was able to stop pushing me from her mind. She was, as you’d expect, quite suspicious of us.”

“Doing well?” a magician in the crowd muttered. “Few novices take as long as two weeks.”

Dannyl smiled as Rothen’s expression darkened.

His friend turned toward the speaker. “You must remember that she is not a reluctant novice sent to us by coddling parents. Until two weeks ago, she believed we intended to kill her. It has taken some time to gain her trust.”

“When did you begin Control exercises?” another magician asked.

Rothen hesitated. “Two days ago.”

A muttering began among the magicians. Several frowned and shook their heads.

“In that case, I’d say you’ve made impressive progress, Lord Rothen,” said a new voice.

Dannyl turned to see Lady Vinara moving through the crowd. Magicians stepped aside respectfully as the Head of Healers approached.

“What did you see of her power?”

Rothen smiled. “When I first saw what was contained within her I did not believe it. The strength she has is remarkable!”

The muttering among the audience grew louder. Dannyl nodded to himself. Good, he thought. If she’s strong people will favor Rothen as her guardian.

An older magician near the front of the gathering gave a shrug. “But we knew she had to be strong or her powers would not have developed on their own.”

Vinara smiled. “Of course, strength is not the ultimate test of a novice. What talents has she displayed?”

Rothen pursed his lips. “Her visualization ability is good. That will help her in most disciplines. Her memory is good, too. I’ve found her to be an intelligent and attentive student.”

“Has she tried to use her powers at all?” asked a red-robed magician.

“Not since she arrived. She understands the danger very well.”

The questions continued. Glancing around the crowd, Dannyl caught a glimpse of a smooth blonde head in a group of approaching magicians. He shifted closer to Rothen, waiting for an appropriate moment to whisper a warning.

— Lord Dannyl.

A few magicians in the crowd blinked and looked at Dannyl. Recognizing the mind voice, Dannyl searched the room and found Administrator Lorlen sitting in his usual chair. The blue-robed magician pointed to Rothen, then beckoned.

Smiling, Dannyl nodded and leaned close to Rothen’s ear.

“I believe the Administrator wishes to rescue you.”

As Rothen turned to look at the Administrator, Dannyl saw that Fergun had reached the crowd. A familiar voice joined the chatter, and a few faces turned in the warrior’s direction.

“Excuse me, all.” Rothen said. “I must speak to Administrator Lorlen.” He inclined his head politely, then nudged Dannyl in Lorlen’s direction.

Looking back, Dannyl’s gaze locked with Fergun’s for a moment. The Warrior’s lips were stretched in a satisfied smile.

As they reached Lorlen’s chair, the Administrator waved to neighboring seats. “Good evening, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl. Sit down and tell me how Sonea is progressing.”

Rothen remained standing. “I was hoping to have a private word with you about that, Administrator.”

Lorlen’s brows rose. “Very well. Shall we talk in the Banquet Room?”

“Please.”

The Administrator rose and led them to a nearby door. As they stepped through, a globe light flared above his head, illuminating a huge table that filled most of the room.

Lorlen pulled out one of the chairs arranged around the table and sat down. “How is your leg, Lord Dannyl?”

Dannyl looked up, surprised. “Better.”

“Your limp seems to have returned this evening,” Lorlen observed.

“It is the cold,” Dannyl replied.

“Ah, I see.” Lorlen nodded, then turned to Rothen. “What is it that you would like to discuss?”

“I began Control exercises two days ago,” Rothen told him. Lorlen frowned, but remained silent as Rothen continued. “You wanted to check on her progress after two weeks, and asked that I introduce her to another magician before then. Because of her lack of progress, I haven’t wanted to distract her with visitors, but I feel she may be ready soon. Can you put off your visit for a few days?”

Lorlen regarded Rothen steadily, then nodded. “Only a few days, though.”

“Thank you. There is another matter, however. A possibility we will have to start considering sooner rather than later.”

Lorlen’s brows rose. “Yes?”

“Sonea does not want to join the Guild. I have ...” He sighed. “To gain her trust, I have told her that, if she wishes to return to the slums, she may go. We can’t, after all, force her to take the vow.”

“Did you tell her that we would block her powers?”

“Not yet.” Rothen frowned. “Though I don’t think she will care. I warned her that she would not be able to use her powers at all and she seemed pleased by the prospect. I believe she would rather be rid of them.”

Lorlen nodded. “I am not surprised. She has only experienced magic as an uncontrollable, destructive force.” He pursed his lips. “Perhaps if you taught her a few useful tricks she would start to like it better.”

Rothen frowned. “She should not use her power until she has full control of it, and once she has Control she will expect us to let her go.”

“She does not know the difference between a Control lesson and a magic lesson,” Dannyl pointed out. “Just let the instruction evolve from control into magic usage. That will also give you more time to convince her to stay.”

“Not much,” Lorlen added. “Fergun doesn’t need to know exactly when she achieved Control, but you won’t fool him for long. You might gain an extra week.”

Rothen looked at Lorlen expectantly. The Administrator sighed and ran a hand over his brow. “Very well. Just make sure he doesn’t find out, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“If he does, we’ll say we were testing her Control,” Dannyl said. “She is, after all, unusually strong. We would not want her to make any mistakes.”

Lorlen gave Dannyl an appraising look. He seemed about to say something, but instead he shook his head and turned to Rothen. “Is that all you wish to discuss?”

“Yes, thank you, Administrator,” Rothen replied.

“Then I will arrange to visit in a few days. Have you considered who you will introduce her to first?”

Dannyl blinked as Rothen looked pointedly at him.

“Me?”

Rothen smiled. “Yes. Tomorrow afternoon, I think.”

Dannyl opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again as he realized Lorlen was watching him closely.

“All right,” he said grudgingly. “Just make sure you hide the cutlery.”

Sonea was bored.

It was too early to sleep. Tania had left with the dirty plates not long after dinner and Rothen had disappeared soon after. Having finished the book Rothen had brought for her to read that morning, Sonea paced the room, examining ornaments and the bookcase.

Finding nothing interesting or within her ability to understand, she moved to the window and looked out. There was no moon, and the gardens were shrouded in darkness. Nothing stirred.

Sighing, she decided to go to bed early. Sliding the window screen back, she started toward the bedroom—and froze as a knock came from the main door.

She turned to stare at the door. Rothen never knocked before entering, and Tania’s knock was soft and polite, not this insistent rapping. A few visitors had knocked before, but Rothen had never invited them in.

A fleeting chill prickled her skin as the visitor knocked again. Sonea crept across the room to the door.

“Who is it?”

“A friend,” came the muffled reply.

“Rothen’s not here.”

“I don’t want to talk to Rothen. I want to talk to you, Sonea.”

She stared at the door, her heart starting to race.

“Why?”

The reply was fainter. “I have to tell you something important, something he won’t tell you.”

Rothen was keeping something from her? Alarm and excitement set her heart beating even faster. Whoever this stranger was, he was willing to defy the magicians for her sake. She wished she could see through the door to see who the visitor was.

But was it a good idea to learn something disturbing about Rothen right now, when she needed to trust him?

“Sonea. Let me in. The corridor is empty, but it won’t be for long. This is my only chance to talk to you.”

“I can’t. The door’s locked.”

“Try it again.”

She regarded the door handle. Though she had tried it several times during her first days in the rooms, it had always been locked. Reaching out, she twisted the handle, then drew in a surprised breath as the door swung open.

A red sleeve appeared, then the full red robes of a magician. Backing away, she stared at the magician in dismay. She had expected a servant, or a rescuer disguised as a servant—unless this man had dared to don robes so he could reach her...

The man closed the door gently behind him, then straightened and looked at her.

“Hello, Sonea. We meet at last. I am Lord Fergun.”

“You’re a magician?”

“Yes, not a magician such as Lord Rothen is.” He placed a hand on his chest.

Sonea frowned. “You’re a Warrior?”

Fergun smiled. He was much younger than Rothen, she noted, and quite attractive. His hair was pale and neatly combed, and his facial features were both fine and strong. She knew she had seen him before, but couldn’t remember where.

“I am,” he said. “But that is not the difference I speak of.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I am on your side.”

“And Rothen isn’t?”

“No, though he means well,” he added. “Rothen is the sort of man who believes he knows what’s best for others, particularly a young woman like yourself. I, however, see you as an adult who ought to be allowed to make her own choices.” He raised an eyebrow. “Will you listen to me, or shall I leave you in peace?”

Though her heart was still racing, she nodded and gestured to the chairs. “Stay,” she said. “I will listen.”

Inclining his head politely, he glided to a chair. Taking the seat opposite, she looked at him expectantly.

“Firstly, has Rothen told you that you may join the Guild?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And has he told you what you must do to become a magician?”

She shrugged. “A little. There is a vow, and years of training.”

“And do you know what you must vow?”

She shook her head. “No, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to join the Guild.”

He blinked. “You don’t want to join the Guild?” he repeated.

“No.”

He nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair. For a while he was silent and thoughtful, then his gaze shifted to hers again.

“May I ask why?”

Sonea considered him carefully. Rothen had told her that many of the magicians would be surprised when she refused the Guild’s offer.

“I want to go home,” she told him.

He nodded again. “Do you know that the Guild does not allow magicians to exist outside its influence?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Everybody knows that.”

“So you know they will not just let you walk out of here.”

“I won’t be able to use my powers, so I won’t be a threat.”

He raised his eyebrows again. “So Rothen has told you that the Guild will block your powers?”

Sonea frowned. Block her powers?

He nodded slowly. “No, I thought not. He is only telling you part of the truth.” He leaned forward. “The Higher Magicians will cage your powers within you so that you cannot reach for them. It’s ... not a pleasant procedure, not at all, and the cage will be there for the rest of your life. You see, even though you will not know how to use your powers, there is always a chance you will discover how to use them yourself, or encounter a rogue magician willing to teach you—though that is highly unlikely. By law, the Guild must make sure you cannot use magic, even if you had all the help you needed.”

A chill had grown within Sonea as he spoke. Looking down at the table, she considered what Rothen had told her. Had he deliberately phrased the truth so that it sounded less frightening? Probably. Her suspicions grew stronger as she realized that Rothen had only voiced the revelation that she would be freed. She had not seen it in his mind and known it to be true ...

She looked up at the red-robed magician. How could she trust anything he said? She could not think what he had to gain from lying, however, since she would discover the truth once she had learned Control.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Like I said, I’m on your side. You need to know the truth and ... I can offer you an alternative.”

She straightened. “What alternative?”

He pursed his lips. “It will not be easy. Has Rothen explained about guardianship yet?”

She shook her head.

He rolled his eyes. “He hasn’t told you anything! Listen.” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Guardianship allows magicians to control the training of novices. Rothen has claimed guardianship of you since the Purge. When I heard this, I decided to place a counter-claim. This forces the Guild to hold a Hearing—a meeting—where it will be decided which of us will be your guardian. You will help me win my claim, then—”

“Why would they hold a Hearing when I’m not going to join the Guild?” Sonea injected.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Hear me out, Sonea.” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “If you refuse to join the Guild, your powers will be blocked and you’ll be sent back to the slums. If you agree to stay, however, and I win your guardianship, I can help you.”

Sonea frowned. “How?”

He smiled. “You’ll simply vanish one day. You can go back to the slums if you want. I’ll teach you how to make your magic undetectable—and your powers will not be blocked. They will hunt for you at first, but if you are smart, they won’t find you this time.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “But you’d be breaking the Guild’s laws.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.” Different emotions shifted over his face. He rose and walked to the window. “I don’t like to see people forced to be what they don’t want to be,” he told her. “Look.” Turning, he crossed the room and held out his hand to her. The skin of his palm was callused and scarred.

“Swordplay. I am a Warrior, as you so astutely noted. It’s the closest I can get to what I once wanted to be. When I was a boy, I dreamed of being a swordsman. I practiced for hours each day. I dreamed of learning under the greatest teachers.”

He sighed and shook his head. Then my magical potential was discovered. It wasn’t much, but my parents wanted to have a magician in the family. I would bring their House great prestige, they said.

“So I was made to join the Guild. I was too young to refuse, too full of doubts to know that magic wasn’t my real calling. My powers aren’t strong and, though I have learned to use them well, I don’t enjoy them. I have kept up my fighting skills, though most other magicians regard honest, face-to-face battle with disdain. That is as close as I can get to the life I dreamed of.”

He looked up at her, his eyes bright. “I won’t let Rothen do the same to you. If you do not want to join the Guild, then I will help you escape. But you must trust me. Guild politics and laws are convoluted and confusing.” He moved back to his chair, but did not sit down. “Do you want me to help you?”

Sonea looked down at the table. His story, and its passionate delivery, had impressed her, but parts of it made her uneasy. Was keeping her magic worth becoming a fugitive again?

Then she considered what Cery would say. Why should the higher classes have a monopoly on magic? If the Guild would not accept anyone from the lower classes, then why shouldn’t those classes have their own magicians?

“Yes.” She looked up and met his eyes. “But I need to think about it. I don’t know you. I want to check this guardianship thing before I agree to anything.”

He nodded. “I understand. Think on it, but do not take too long. Rothen has managed to convince Administrator Lorlen that he must keep everyone away from you—to keep the truth from you, no doubt—until you have learned Control. I risk much by defying that decision. I will try to visit again soon, but you must have an answer for me. I may not have a third opportunity.”

“I will.”

Looking at the door, he sighed. “I had better go. It would do you no good if he found me here with you.”

Moving to the door, he opened it a crack and peered out. Pausing only to give her one last, grim smile, he slipped out. The door clicked shut behind him.

Alone again, Sonea sat and stared at the table, the magician’s words running circles in her mind. She could not see any reason for Fergun to lie to her, but she would check every claim he had made: the blocking of powers, guardianship, and his story of broken dreams. By questioning Rothen carefully, she might trick him into confirming much of what Fergun had said.

But not tonight. She was too unnerved by the visit to be able to put on a calm face if Rothen returned. Rising, she entered her bedroom and closed the door.

23 Rothen’s Friend

“There were no classes today.”

Rothen looked up from the book he was reading. Sonea was leaning on the window sill, a small circle of mist forming on the glass from her breath.

“No,” he replied. “It’s a Freeday. We don’t have classes on the last day of the week.”

“What do you do, then?”

He shrugged. “That depends on the magician. Some visit the races, or pursue other sports and interests. Some visit their families.”

“What about novices?”

“The same, although the older novices usually spend the day studying.”

“And they still have to clear the paths.”

Her eyes were following the progress of something beneath the window. Guessing what it was, Rothen chuckled. “Clearing the paths is one of many duties they’re given during their first year of study. After that, they do chores only as punishment.”

She looked at him, her eyebrows rising. “Punishment?”

“For childish pranks or being disrespectful to their elders,” he explained. “They’re a bit old for smacking.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and she looked back out of the window. “So that’s why he looks so grumpy.”

Noting that her fingers were drumming softly on the frame of the window screen, Rothen sighed. For two days she had been learning rapidly, grasping the Control exercises faster than any novice he had taught before. Today, however, her concentration had failed several times. Though she kept it well hidden, showing that her mental discipline had improved, it had been clear that something was on her mind.

At first he had blamed it on himself. He had not told her of Dannyl’s visit, believing that the prospect of meeting a stranger would distract her from her lessons. She had sensed that he was keeping something from her, and had become suspicious.

Realizing his error, he told her of the visit.

“I was wondering when I’d meet more of you,” she had said.

“If you don’t want visitors tonight, I can tell him to come another time,” he had offered.

She had shaken her head. “No, I’d like to meet your friend.”

Surprised and pleased by her reaction, he had tried to resume the lessons. She still had trouble keeping her attention on the exercises and he had sensed her frustration and impatience growing. Each time they had taken a break, she had returned to the window to stare outside.

He looked at her again and thought about how long she had been locked in his rooms. It was easy to forget that his living quarters were a prison to her. She must be tired of her surroundings, and was probably bored.

Which made it a good time to introduce her to Dannyl, he decided. The tall magician intimidated those who didn’t know him, but his friendly manner usually put them quickly at ease. He hoped she would grow accustomed to Dannyl’s company before Lorlen visited.

After that? Watching her drumming fingers, he smiled. He would take her out and show her the Guild.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. Rising, he opened the main door. Dannyl stood outside, looking a little tense.

“You’re early,” Rothen noted.

Dannyl’s eyes brightened. “Should I come back later?”

Rothen shook his head. “No, come in.”

Looking back, Rothen watched Sonea’s face as Dannyl stepped into the room. She gave the tall magician an assessing look.

“Dannyl, this is Sonea,” he said.

“Honored to meet you,” Dannyl said, inclining his head.

Sonea nodded. “And I you.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, and a smile crept over her face. “I think we’ve met before.” She looked down. “How is your leg?”

Dannyl blinked, then his mouth twitched into a half smile. “Better, thank you.”

Covering his mouth, Rothen tried unsuccessfully to choke back a laugh. Pretending to cough, he waved toward the chairs. “Sit down. I’ll prepare some sumi.”

Sonea left the window and took a seat opposite Dannyl. The pair regarded each other warily. Moving to a side table, Rothen placed the utensils for making sumi onto a tray.

“How are your lessons going?” Dannyl asked.

“Good, I think. What about you?”

“Me?”

“You’re teaching Rothen’s class, aren’t you?”

“Oh. Yes. It’s ... challenging. I haven’t taught anyone before, so I almost feel as if I’ve got more to learn than the novices.”

“What do you normally do?”

“Experiments. Small projects, mostly. Sometimes I assist with larger work.”

Rothen carried the tray to the table and sat down. “Tell her about the thought imprinter,” he suggested.

“Oh, that’s just a hobby.” Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. “Nobody’s interested in it.”

“What is it?” Sonea asked.

“A way to transfer images from the mind onto paper.”

Sonea’s eyes brightened with interest. “Can you do that?”

Dannyl accepted a cup of sumi from Rothen. “No, not yet. Lots of magicians have tried over the centuries, but nobody’s been able to find a substance that can hold a picture for long.” He paused to sip the hot drink. “I’ve made up a special paper out of the leaves of anivope vines which can hold the image for a few days, but the edges blur and the colors start to lose their intensity after about two hours. Ideally, the picture would be permanent.”

“What would you use them for?”

Dannyl shrugged. “Identification, for a start. It would have been handy to be able to do this when we were looking for you, for example. Rothen was the only one of us who had seen you. If he’d been able to make pictures of you, we could have carried them with us to show people.”

Sonea nodded slowly. “What do the pictures look like when they’ve lost colors?”

“Faded. Blurry. But you can still see what they were, in some cases.”

“Can ... can I see one?”

Dannyl smiled. “Of course. I’ll bring some around.”

Sonea’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. If Dannyl set up his experiment here, Rothen mused, she could see it for herself. Looking around, he pictured transferring the clutter of vials and presses from Dannyl’s guestroom to his—

“I’m sure Dannyl won’t mind if we visit his rooms for a demonstration,” he said.

Dannyl’s eyes went round. “Now?”

Rothen opened his mouth to reassure his friend, then hesitated. Sonea was watching eagerly. He considered them both.

Dannyl obviously did not intimidate her at all. Of the two of them, she seemed the least bothered by the other’s presence. Dannyl’s rooms were on the lower floor of the Magician’s Quarters, so they would not be going far.

“I don’t see why not,” he replied.

— Are you sure that’s wise? Dannyl sent.

Sonea’s eyes flickered toward him. Ignoring the question, Rothen regarded Sonea carefully. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she replied, turning to look at Dannyl. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Dannyl glanced at Rothen. “It’s just ... my rooms are a bit untidy.”

“A bit?” Rothen lifted his cup to finish the last of his sumi.

“Don’t you have a servant?” Sonea asked.

“Yes,” Dannyl replied. “But I have warned him not to touch any of my experiments.”

Rothen smiled. “Why don’t you go on ahead and make sure we have somewhere to sit.”

Sighing, Dannyl rose. “Very well.”

Following his friend to the door, Rothen slipped outside. At once, Dannyl spun about to stare at him.

“Are you mad? What if someone sees you both?” Dannyl whispered. “If you’re seen taking her outside your room, Fergun will say you have no reason to keep him from her.”

“Then I’ll let him visit.” Rothen shrugged. “The only reason I wanted her isolated was to stop him visiting at a time when any unfamiliar magician would have frightened her. But if she is this calm and confident around you, I don’t think she’ll be worried by Fergun.”

“Thanks,” Dannyl replied dryly.

“Because you look more intimidating than him,” Rothen explained.

“Do I?”

“And he is much more charming,” Rothen added, smiling. He waved toward the stairs. “Go on. Get downstairs. When you’re ready—and the corridor is clear—let me know. Just don’t take too long cleaning up, or we’ll both think you had to hide something.”

As his friend hurried away, Rothen returned to his room. Sonea was standing before her chair, looking a little flushed. She sat down again as he cleared the table.

“He doesn’t sound like he wants visitors,” she said doubtfully.

“He does,” Rothen assured her. “He just doesn’t like surprises.”

Picking up the tray, he carried it to the side table, then took a sheaf of paper out of a drawer and wrote a quick note to Tania, letting the servant know where they were. As he finished, he heard Dannyl call his name.

— There’s a bit of space here now. Come down.

Sonea rose and looked at Rothen expectantly. Smiling, he moved to the door and opened it. Her eyes flickered about as she stepped outside, taking in the wide corridor and its numerous doors.

“How many magicians live here?” she asked as they started toward the stairs.

“Over eighty,” he told her, “and their families.”

“So there are people other than magicians here?”

“Yes, but only the spouses and children of magicians. No other relatives are allowed.”

“Why not?”

He chuckled. “If we had every relative of every magician living here, we would have to move the entire Inner Circle into the Grounds.”

“Of course,” she said dryly. “What happens when the children grow up?”

“If they have magical potential, they usually join the Guild. If they don’t, they must leave.”

“Where do they go?”

“To live with relations in the city.”

“In the Inner Circle.”

“Yes.”

She considered this, then looked up at him. “Do any magicians live in the city?”

“A few. It’s discouraged.”

“Why?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “We’re supposed to keep an eye on each other, remember, to make sure none of us get too deeply involved in politics, or plot against the King. It’s harder to do that if too many of us live outside the Guild.”

“So why are some allowed to?”

They had reached the end of the corridor. Rothen started down the spiral staircase, Sonea following.

“Many reasons, all unique to the individual. Old age, illness.”

“Are there any magicians who decided not to join the Guild—who learned Control but not how to use magic?”

He shook his head. “No. The young men and women who join us haven’t had their powers released yet. After that they learn Control. Remember, you are unique in that your power developed on its own.”

She frowned. “Has anyone left the Guild before?”

“No.”

She considered this, her expression intent. From below came Dannyl’s voice, and another. Rothen slowed, giving Sonea plenty of time to become aware of the other magician.

Then she shied to one side as a magician floated up the stairwell, his feet resting on nothing but air. Recognizing the magician, Rothen smiled.

“Good evening, Lord Garrel.”

“Good evening,” the magician replied, raising his eyebrows as he noticed Sonea.

Sonea stared at the magician, her eyes wide. As Garrel’s feet reached the level of the higher floor, the magician stepped onto the solid surface of the corridor. He glanced down at Sonea once, his gaze bright with interest, then strode away.

“Levitation,” Rothen told Sonea. “Impressive, isn’t it? It takes more than a little skill. About half of us can do it.”

“Can you?” she asked.

“I used to all the time,” Rothen told her. “But I’m out of practice now. Dannyl can.”

“Ah, but I’m not the show-off that Garrel is.”

Looking down, Rothen saw Dannyl waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“I prefer to use my legs,” Rothen told Sonea. “My former guardian always said that physical exercise is as necessary as mental exercise. Neglect the body and—”

“—and you neglect the mind,” Dannyl finished with a groan. “His guardian was a wise and upright man,” he told Sonea as she reached his side. “Lord Margen even disapproved of wine.”

“Which must be why you never liked him much,” Rothen observed, smiling.

“Guardian?” Sonea echoed.

“A tradition here,” he explained. “Lord Margen chose to guide my training when I was a novice, as I chose to guide Dannyl’s.”

She fell into step beside him as he started toward Dannyl’s rooms. “How did you guide him?”

Rothen shrugged. “Many ways. Mostly, I filled in the gaps in his knowledge. Some were there because of the neglect of a few teachers, others were due to his own laziness or lack of enthusiasm.” Sonea glanced at Dannyl, who was smiling and nodding in agreement.

“By helping me with my work, Dannyl also learned more through experience than he would in classes. The idea of guardianship is to help a novice excel.”

“Do all novices have guardians?”

Rothen shook his head. “No. It is not common. Not all magicians want or have time to take responsibility for a novice’s training. Only those novices who show considerable promise have guardians.”

Her eyebrows rose. “So why ...” She frowned, then shook her head.

Reaching his door, Dannyl touched it lightly. It swung inward and a faint smell of chemicals wafted into the corridor.

“Welcome,” he said, ushering them inside.

Though the guestroom was the same size as Rothen’s, half of it was taken up with benches. Contraptions covered the surfaces, and boxes were stacked beneath. Dannyl’s work was neatly laid out and organized, however.

Sonea looked around the room, obviously amused. Though Rothen had seen Dannyl’s rooms many times, he always found it strange encountering an Alchemy experiment set up in living quarters. Space in the University was limited, so those few magicians who wanted to pursue interests like Dannyl’s often used their own rooms.

Rothen sighed. “It’s easy to see why Ezrille despairs of finding you a wife, Dannyl.”

As always, his friend grimaced. “I’m too young to have a wife.”

“Nonsense,” Rothen replied. “You just don’t have the space for one.”

Dannyl smiled and beckoned to Sonea. She drew closer to the benches and listened as he explained his experiments. He brought out a few faded pictures and she examined them closely.

“It can be done,” he finished. “The only challenge is to stop the image fading away.”

“Couldn’t you get a painter to copy it before it does?” she suggested.

“I could.” Dannyl frowned. “That would circumvent the problem, I suppose. He would have to be a good painter. Fast, too.”

Handing the samples back, she moved to a framed map on the wall nearby.

“You don’t have paintings,” she said, glancing around the room. “They’re all maps.”

“Yes,” Dannyl replied. “I collect old maps and plans.”

She approached another. “This is the Guild.”

Rothen moved to her side. The plan was clearly labelled, in the neat writing of the Guild’s most famous architect, Lord Coren.

“We are here.” Dannyl pointed. “In the Magicians’ Quarters.” His finger slid across to a similar rectangle. “That is the Novices’ Quarters. All novices who come to learn in the Guild are housed there, even if they have homes in the city.”

“Why?”

“So we can make their lives a misery,” Dannyl replied. Sonea gave him a very direct look, then snorted softly.

“The novices are removed from their family’s influence when they come here.” Rothen told her. “We have to wean them off the little intrigues the Houses are always indulging in.”

“We get plenty of new novices who have never needed to get out of bed before midday,” Dannyl added. “It comes as quite a shock to them when they learn how early they have to rise for class. We’d have no hope of getting them to lessons on time if they lived at home.”

He pointed at the circular building on the plan. “This is the Healers’ Quarters. Some of the Healers live there, but most rooms are reserved for treatment and classes.” His finger moved to a smaller circle within the garden. “This structure is the Arena. It is used as a practice area for the Warriors. There is a shield around it, supported by the masts, which absorbs and contains the magic of those within and protects everything outside. We all add our power to the shield from time to time to keep it strong.”

Sonea stared at the plan, watching as Dannyl’s finger moved to the curved building next to the Magicians’ Quarters.

“This is the Baths. It is built where a stream once ran down the hill from a spring up in the forest. We have piped the water into the building where it can be drawn into tubs and heated. Next to it is the Seven Arches, which contains rooms for entertaining.”

“What are the Residences?” Sonea asked, drawing his attention to a label and an arrow that pointed off the page.

“Several little houses where our oldest magicians live,” Dannyl explained. “Here, you can see them on this older map.”

They crossed the room to a yellowing map of the city. Dannyl pointed to a row of tiny squares. “There, beside the old cemetery.”

“There are only a few buildings in the Guild on this map,” Sonea noted.

Dannyl smiled. “This map is over three hundred years old. I don’t know how much of Kyralian history you know. Have you heard of the Sachakan War?”

Sonea nodded.

“After the Sachakan War, there wasn’t much left of Imardin. When the city was rebuilt, the greater Houses took the opportunity to set out a new city plan.

“You can see how it was built in concentric circles.” He pointed to the center. “First, a wall was erected around the remains of the old King’s Palace, then another around the city. The Outer Wall was constructed a few decades later. The old city was named the Inner Circle, and the new area was divided into the four Quarters.

His finger circled the Guild. “The entire Eastern Quarter was given to the magicians in gratitude for driving out the Sachakan invaders. The decision wasn’t made carelessly,” he added. “The Palace and Inner Circle drew water from the spring in those days and building the Guild around the supply reduced the chance of anyone poisoning it—as had been done during the war.”

He pointed to the small rectangle in the Grounds. “The first structure made was the Guildhall,” Dannyl continued. “It was built with the local hard gray stone. It housed both magicians and their apprentices and provided space for teaching and debate. According to the history books, a spirit of unity had taken hold of our predecessors. Through the sharing of knowledge, new ways to use and shape magic were discovered. It did not take long before the Guild had become the largest and most powerful school of magicians in the known world.”

He smiled. “And it kept growing. When Lonmar, Elyne, Vin, Lan and Kyralia formed the Alliance, part of the agreement was that magicians from all lands would be taught here. Suddenly, the Guildhall wasn’t big enough, so they had to construct several new buildings.”

Sonea frowned. “What happens to magicians from other lands when they finish learning?”

“Usually they return to their homeland,” Rothen told her. “Sometimes they stay here.”

“Then how do you keep an eye on them?”

“We have ambassadors in each land who keep track of the activities of foreign magicians,” Dannyl told her. “Just as we vow to serve the King and protect Kyralia, they swear service to their own ruler.”

Her eyes moved to a map of the region hanging nearby. “It doesn’t seem smart to teach magicians of other lands. What if they invade Kyralia?”

Rothen smiled. “If we didn’t allow them to join the Guild, they would start their own, as they did in the past. Whether we teach them or not won’t prevent an invasion, but by doing so, we control what they are taught. We do not teach our own people differently, so they know they are not being treated unfairly.”

“They wouldn’t dare attack us, anyway,” Dannyl added. “Kyralians have strong magical bloodlines. We produce more magicians than any of the other races, and stronger ones.”

“Vindo and Lans are the weakest,” Rothen told her. “Which is why they are not common here. We get more Lonmar and Elyne novices, but their powers are rarely impressive.”

“The Sachakans used to be powerful magicians.” Dannyl looked up at the map. “But the war ended that.”

“Leaving us the most powerful nation in the region,” Rothen finished.

Her eyes narrowed. “So why doesn’t the King invade the other lands?”

“The Alliance was made to prevent it,” Rothen told her. “As you so astutely reminded me the first time we spoke, King Palen refused to sign it at first. The Guild suggested that it might not remain uninvolved in politics if he did not.”

Her mouth curled into a faint smile. “What stops the other lands fighting each other?”

Rothen sighed. “A great deal of diplomacy—which does not always work. There have been several minor confrontations since the Alliance. It is always an awkward situation for the Guild. Disputes usually revolve around borders and—”

Hearing a timid knock, he stopped. He looked at Dannyl and knew from his friend’s expression that they were thinking the same thing. Had Fergun heard that Sonea was out of his rooms already?

“Are you expecting anyone?”

Dannyl shook his head and moved to the door. As it opened Rothen heard Tania’s voice and sighed with relief.

“I brought your meal down,” the servant said as she entered the room. Two other servants followed, carrying trays. Setting their burdens down on the only empty table, they bowed and left.

As the aroma of food filled the room, Dannyl made an appreciative noise. “I didn’t realize so much time had passed,” he said.

Rothen regarded Sonea. “Hungry?”

She nodded, her eyes sliding to the food.

He smiled. “Then I think that’s enough history for now. Let’s eat.”

24 Unanswered Questions

Reaching the end of the University corridor, Dannyl halted as the door to the Administrator’s office opened. A blue-clad figure stepped out and started toward the Entrance Hall.

“Administrator,” Dannyl called.

Lorlen stopped and turned around. Seeing Dannyl approaching, he smiled. “Good morning, Lord Dannyl.”

“I was just coming to see you. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, but only a moment.”

“Thank you.” Dannyl rubbed his hands together slowly. “I received a message from the Thief last night. He asked if we knew of the whereabouts of a man who was Sonea’s companion while she was hiding from us. I thought it might be that young man who tried to rescue her.”

Lorlen nodded. “The High Lord received a similar inquiry.”

Dannyl blinked in surprise. “The Thief contacted him directly?”

“Yes. Akkarin has assured Gorin that he will let him know if he finds the man.”

“I will send the same reply, then.”

Lorlen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is this the first time the Thieves have contacted you since you captured Sonea?”

“Yes.” Dannyl smiled ruefully. “I had assumed I would never hear from them again. Their message came as quite a surprise.”

Lorlen’s brows rose. “It came as quite a surprise to all of us that you had been talking to them at all.”

Dannyl felt his face grow warmer. “Not all. The High Lord knew, though I have no idea how.”

Lorlen smiled. “Now that does not surprise me. Akkarin might not appear to show any interest, but don’t think he isn’t paying attention. He knows more about people, both here and in the City, than anyone else.”

“But you must know more than he when it comes to the Guild.”

Lorlen shook his head. “Oh, he knows more than I ever do.” He paused. “I am meeting him now. Do you have anything you wish me to ask him?”

“No,” Dannyl replied hastily. “I should be going, myself. Thank you for your time, Administrator.”

Lorlen inclined his head, turned and strode away. Starting back down the corridor, Dannyl soon found himself passing through a crowd of novices and magicians. With the first classes of the day about to start, the building was filled with activity.

He considered the Thief’s message again. There had been an undertone of accusation in the letter, as if Gorin suspected that the Guild was responsible for the man’s disappearance. Dannyl did not believe that the Thief would blame the Guild for his problems as easily as the average dwell did—or that he would contact the High Lord if he didn’t have good reason to.

So Gorin must believe that the Guild was capable of finding the man for them. Dannyl chuckled as the irony of the situation occurred to him. The Thieves had helped the Guild find Sonea, now they wanted the same kind of favor in return. He wondered if they would offer as large a reward.

But why did Gorin think the Guild knew where the man was? Dannyl blinked as the answer came to him.

Sonea.

If Gorin thought that Sonea knew where her friend was, why hadn’t he contacted her directly? Did he believe she would not tell them? The Thieves had sold her to the Guild, after all.

And her companion might have good reasons for disappearing, too.

Dannyl rubbed his brow. He could ask Sonea if she knew what was going on, but if she didn’t know that her friend was missing the news might upset her. She might suspect the Guild of causing her friend’s disappearance. It could ruin all that Rothen had achieved.

A familiar face appeared among the novices before him. Dannyl felt a small twinge of dread, but Fergun did not look up. Instead, the Warrior hurried past and turned into a side passage.

Surprised, Dannyl stopped. What could have absorbed Fergun so completely that he had not even noticed his old foe? Moving back down the corridor, Dannyl peered down the side passage and caught a glimpse of red robes before the Warrior turned another corner.

Fergun had been carrying something. Dannyl hovered at the passage entrance, tempted to follow. As a novice, he would have seized any opportunity to discover any of Fergun’s little secrets.

But he wasn’t a novice anymore, and Fergun had won that war long ago. Shrugging, he started back down the corridor toward Rothen’s classroom. Lessons were due to start in less than five minutes, and he had no time for spying.

After a week of darkness, Cery’s senses had sharpened. His ears could pick up the shuffle of insectile feet, and his fingers could feel the slight roughness where rust nibbled at the metal skewer he had pulled from the hem of his coat.

As he pressed his thumb against the sharp point, he felt his anger simmering. His captor had returned twice more with food and water. Each time, Cery had attempted to find out why he had been imprisoned.

All his efforts to draw Fergun into conversation had failed. He had cajoled, demanded, even begged for an explanation, but the magician had ignored every word. It wasn’t right, Cery fumed. Villains were supposed to reveal their plans, either by mistake or during a bout of gloating.

The faintest rapping reached Cery’s ears. He lifted his head, then leapt to his feet as the sound grew into footsteps. Gripping the skewer, he crouched behind the door and waited.

The steps stopped outside the door. He heard the latch click, and tensed as the door began to slide inward. Light spilled into the room, illuminating the empty plate he had left just before the door. The magician took a step toward it, then paused and turned toward the coat and trousers lying half hidden under a blanket in the corner.

Leaping forward, Cery stabbed the skewer at Fergun’s back, aiming for the man’s heart.

The skewer struck something hard and slipped through his fingers. As the magician spun around, something slammed into Cery’s chest, throwing him backward. He heard a crack as he hit the wall, then pain ripped through his arm. Crumpling to the floor, he cradled his arm, gasping.

From behind came a long, exaggerated sigh.

“That was stupid. Look what you made me do.”

Fergun stood over him, arms crossed. Gritting his teeth, Cery glared up at the magician.

“This is no way to thank me after I went to all the trouble of bringing you blankets.” Fergun shook his head, then dropped into a crouch.

Trying to shrink away only brought another wave of pain. Cery smothered a cry as Fergun grasped the wrist of his injured arm. He tried to pull away, but the movement brought another stab of pain.

“Broken,” the magician muttered. His eyes seemed to have fixed on something far beyond the dusty floor. The pain suddenly dulled, then a warmth spread slowly through Cery’s arm.

Realizing he was being Healed, Cery forced himself to remain still. He stared up at Fergun, noting the sharp jaw and thin lips. The man’s blonde hair, usually combed back, now fell over his brow.

Cery knew he would remember this face for the rest of his life. One day I’ll have my revenge, he thought. And if you have done anything to Sonea, expect your death to be slow and painful.

The magician blinked and released Cery’s arm. He stood up, then grimaced and passed a hand over his brow.

“It is not wholly healed. I can’t waste all my powers on you. Treat it gently, or the bone will come apart again.” His eyes narrowed. “If you try something like that again, I will have to bind you—to stop you harming yourself you understand.”

He looked down. The plate he had been carrying lay broken, food scattered across the floor. The bottle lay nearby, water slowly leaking from a crack near the cork.

“I wouldn’t waste that if I were you,” Fergun said. Bending, he picked up Cery’s skewer, turned and strode out of the room.

As the door closed, Cery lay on his back and groaned. Had he really expected to be able to murder a magician with a skewer? He carefully prodded his arm with his fingertips. A mild tenderness was all that remained.

In the darkness the smell of fresh bread was strong and brought a growl from his stomach. Thinking of the spilled food, he sighed. His only indication of the time passing was hunger, and he had estimated that the magician’s visits came every two days or more. If he didn’t eat, he would grow weak. Even worse was the thought of the crawling things the food would attract from the corner he used for other bodily functions.

Pushing himself onto his knees, he crawled forward, hands searching the dusty floor.

Sonea caught her breath as the blue-robed magician stepped into the room. Tall, slim, with his dark hair tied at the nape of his neck, he could have been the assassin she had seen under the High Lord’s house. Then the man turned to face her and she saw that his features were not as harsh as those of the man she remembered.

“This is Administrator Lorlen,” Rothen told her.

She nodded at the magician. “Honored to meet you.”

“I am honored to meet you, Sonea,” the man replied.

“Please, sit down,” Rothen said, waving toward the chairs.

As they settled into chairs, Tania served the bitter drink the magicians seemed to prefer. Accepting a glass of water, Sonea watched the Administrator sip from his cup. He smiled appreciatively, but as he looked at her his expression became sober.

“Rothen was concerned that you would be frightened if I was to approach you when you first came here,” he told her. “So you must forgive me for not coming sooner. As Administrator of the Guild, I wish to offer a formal apology for the trouble and distress we have caused you. Do you now understand why we had to find you?”

Sonea felt her cheeks warm. “Yes.”

“That is a great relief to me,” he told her, smiling. “I have some questions, and if you have any, please don’t hesitate to ask. Are your Control lessons going well?”

Sonea glanced at Rothen and received a nod of encouragement.

“I think I’m improving,” she replied. “The tests are getting easier.”

The Administrator considered this, nodding slowly. “It’s a bit like learning to walk,” he said. “You have to think about it at first, but once you have done it for a while, you don’t need to think about it at all.”

“Except that you don’t walk in your sleep,” she added.

“Not usually.” The Administrator laughed, then his gaze became keen. “Rothen has told me you don’t wish to stay with us. Is that true?”

Sonea nodded.

“May I ask why not?”

“I want to go home,” she told him.

He leaned forward. “We will not stop you seeing your family and friends. You could visit them on Freedays.”

She shook her head. “I know, but I don’t want to stay here.”

Nodding, he relaxed against the back of his chair. “We will regret losing someone of such potential,” he told her. “Are you sure you want to give up your powers?”

Remembering Fergun’s words, her heart skipped. “Give up my powers?” she repeated slowly, glancing at Rothen. “That is not how Rothen described it.”

The Administrator’s eyebrows rose. “What has he told you?”

“That I won’t be able to use them because I won’t know how.”

“Do you believe you could teach yourself?”

She paused. “Could I?”

“No.” The Administrator smiled. “What Rothen has told you is true,” he said. “But knowing how the success of your lessons depended on maintaining trust between you, he has left it to me to explain the laws regarding the release of magicians from the Guild.”

As she realized he was about to confirm whether Fergun had spoken the truth, Sonea’s heartbeat quickened.

“The law states that every man and woman whose powers are active must either join the Guild or have his or her powers blocked,” he told her. “Blocking can’t be done until full Control is established but once in place, it effectively prevents a magician from using magic in any way.”

In the silence that followed the two magicians watched her closely. She looked away, avoiding their eyes.

So Rothen had been keeping something from her.

Yet she understood why he had. The knowledge that magicians were going to meddle with her mind would not have made it easy for her to trust him.

Fergun had been right, though ...

“Do you have any questions, Sonea?” Lorlen asked.

She hesitated, remembering something else that Fergun had said. “This blocking isn’t... uncomfortable?”

He shook his head. “You won’t feel anything. There is a sensation of resistance if you try to perform magic, but it is not painful. Since you are not used to using magic, I doubt you’ll ever notice the block at all.”

Sonea nodded slowly. The Administrator regarded her silently, then smiled. “I’m not going to try and talk you into staying,” he said. “I only wish you to know there is a place here for you if you want it. Do you have any other questions?”

Sonea shook her head. “No. Thank you, Administrator.”

He stood, his robes rustling. “I must return to my duties now. I will visit you again, Sonea. Perhaps we can have a longer talk.”

She nodded and watched Rothen usher the Administrator from the room. As the door closed, Rothen turned to regard her.

“What do you think of Lorlen, then?”

She considered. “He seems nice, but he’s very formal.”

Rothen chuckled. “Yes, he can be.”

He moved into his bedroom, then returned wearing a cloak. Surprised, Sonea watched him stride toward her. Another cloak was draped over his arm.

“Stand up,” he said. “I want to see if this will fit you.”

Rising, she stood still as he draped the cloak over her shoulders. It fell almost to the floor.

“A bit long. I’ll have it shortened. For now, you’ll have to take care not to trip.”

“This is for me?”

“Yes. To replace your old one.” He smiled. “You’ll need it. It’s quite cold outside.”

She looked at him sharply. “Outside?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I thought we’d take a walk. Would you like that?”

Nodding, she looked away, not wanting him to see her face. The thought of getting out had filled her with an intense longing. She had been inside his rooms for less than three weeks but she felt as if months had passed.

“We’re meeting Dannyl downstairs,” he told her, moving toward the door.

“Now?”

He nodded and beckoned. Taking a deep breath, she approached the door.

Unlike the previous time, the corridor was not empty. A pair of magicians stood several paces to the right, and a woman in ordinary dress walked to the left, flanked by two small children. All stared at Sonea in surprise and curiosity.

Rothen nodded to the watchers and started toward the stairs. Following, Sonea resisted the temptation to glance behind. No floating magicians appeared in the center of the staircase as they descended. Instead, a familiar tall magician waited at the bottom.

“Good evening, Sonea,” Dannyl said, smiling.

“Good evening,” she replied.

Turning, Dannyl gestured grandly at a pair of large doors at the end of the lower-floor corridor. They slowly swung open, letting in a gust of cold air.

Beyond them was the courtyard she remembered seeing when she had explored the Guild with Cery. It had been night then. Now a murky twilight was growing, making everything seem muted and unreal.

Following Rothen through the doors, Sonea felt the bite of cold air. Though it set her shivering, she welcomed it. Outside ...

Warmth slid over her skin, and she sensed a vibration in the air around her. Surprised, she cast about, but could see nothing to mark the change. Rothen was watching her.

“A simple trick,” he told her. “It’s a magical shield that holds in warmth. You can walk in and out of it. Give it a try.”

She took a few steps back toward the doors and felt the cold on her face. Her breath began to mist in the air. Reaching out, she felt her hand pass into warmth again.

Rothen smiled encouragingly and beckoned. Shrugging, she moved back to his side.

The back of the University towered to her left. Looking around, she identified most of the buildings she had seen on Dannyl’s plan. Her eye was drawn to an odd structure on the other side of the courtyard.

“What is that?”

Rothen followed her gaze. “That is the Dome,” he told her. “Centuries ago, before we made the Arena, most training for Warriors was held in there. Unfortunately, the only people who could see what was going on were those inside, so teachers had to be strong enough to protect themselves from any stray magic that might be loosed by their pupils. We don’t use it anymore.”

Sonea stared at the structure. “It looks like a big ball has been sunk into the ground.”

“It has.”

“How do you get in?”

“Through an underground passage. There’s a door like a giant round plug which can only be opened inward. The walls are three paces thick.”

The doors to the Novices’ Quarters opened. Three boys hurried outside, wrapped in cloaks. They moved around the courtyard, tapping the lampposts standing around the edge of the paving. At their touch, the lamps began glowing.

Once all the lamps in the courtyard were alight, the three boys separated and ran in different directions. One headed down the front of the Novices’ Quarters, another disappeared into the gardens on the other side of the University, while the third dashed between the Baths and the Magicians’ Quarters, where a long path curved up into the forest.

Dannyl looked at Rothen questioningly. While the two magicians teased each other like old friends, Sonea had noticed that Dannyl always deferred to his former guardian.

“Where to?”

Rothen nodded toward the forest. “This way.”

Sonea stayed beside Rothen as the magician crossed the pavement and started along the path. The novice, having finished lighting the lamps, hurried back toward the Novices’ Quarters.

As she passed the back of the Magicians’ Quarters, a movement in one of the windows caught her eye. Looking up, she saw a fair-haired magician watching and felt a shock as she recognized him. He quickly withdrew into the darkness. Frowning, she turned her attention back to the path. She had no idea when Fergun would visit again, but when he did, he would want to know if she was going to accept his offer. She needed to come to a decision soon.

Until her talk with Lorlen, she hadn’t discovered whether all of the claims Fergun had made were true. She had been waiting for opportunities to steer her conversations with Rothen to vows and guardians, or Fergun himself, but few had come. Could she ask him directly without raising his suspicions?

While Rothen had told her what a guardian did, he hadn’t mentioned that he intended to be hers. She would not be surprised if he had decided that she did not need to know unless she chose to stay.

Once she had learned Control, she had two choices: return to the slums with her powers blocked, or help Fergun win her guardianship so that she could return with her powers intact.

As they reached the forest, Sonea looked into the maze of trunks. Fergun’s plan made her uneasy. It involved a great deal of deception and risk. She would have to pretend that she wanted to stay, possibly lie to ensure Fergun won her guardianship, make a vow she intended to break, then break that vow—and the Ring’s law—by leaving the Guild.

Had she become so fond of Rothen that the idea of lying to him bothered her? He is a magician, she reminded herself. His loyalties are with the Guild and the King. While she believed that he did not want to lock her away, for instance, he would if ordered to.

Or was it the idea of breaking a vow that worried her? Harrin and his friends cheated and stole all the time, but they regarded the breaking of a vow as an unforgivable offense. To keep their standing with others, they did all they could to avoid making one.

Of course, if a vow could not be avoided, awkward situations could be evaded if it was phrased sloppily ...

“You’re very quiet tonight,” Rothen said suddenly. “No questions?”

Sonea looked up at Rothen and found him regarding her fondly. Seeing his smile, she decided it was time to risk asking a few unprompted questions.

“I was wondering about the vow magicians make.”

To her relief, his brows didn’t lower with suspicion, but rose with surprise. “There are two, actually. The Novices’ Vow and the Magicians’ Vow. One is made when novices enter the Guild, the other made at graduation.”

“What do they swear?”

“Four things.” Rothen held up the fingers of his left hand. “The novices vow to never deliberately harm another man or woman unless in defense of the Allied Lands.” He tapped the first finger, then the others as he continued. “To obey the rules of the Guild, to obey the laws of the King and orders of any magician unless those orders involve breaking a law, and to never use magic unless instructed by a magician.”

Sonea frowned. “Why can’t novices use magic unless a magician tells them to?”

Rothen chuckled. “Plenty of novices have harmed themselves while experimenting without guidance. Magicians still need to take care, however. All teachers know that if they tell a novice to ‘go practice,’ without specifying exactly what they should practice, the novice will interpret the order as ‘go practice anything you wish.’ I can remember using that reasoning to justify spending a day fishing.”

Dannyl snorted. “That’s nothing.”

As the younger magician began telling her of his own exploits as a novice, Sonea considered the Novices’ Vow. It contained nothing she would not have expected. She did not know what all the rules of the Guild were. Perhaps it was time to ask Rothen about them. The last two parts appeared to have been added purely to keep novices in line.

By leaving the Guild with her powers unblocked, she would be breaking the second part of the vow. Strangely, she had felt no reluctance to break a law unless it meant breaking a vow.

When Dannyl finished his anecdote, Rothen continued his explanation. “The first two parts of the Magicians’ Vow are the same,” he told her. “But the third part changes to be a pledge to serve the ruler of one’s own land, and the fourth becomes a promise to never use evil forms of magic.”

Sonea nodded. By letting her escape, Fergun would be breaking a law and the Magicians’ Vow.

“What is the punishment if a magician breaks the Vow?”

Rothen shrugged. “That depends how it was broken, which land the magician lives in, and the judgment of their ruler.”

“What happens if they are Kyralian?”

“The worst penalty is death, which is reserved for murderers. Otherwise, the strongest punishment is exile.”

“You ... block the magician’s powers and send them away.”

“Yes. None of the Allied Lands will accept them. It was part of the agreement.”

She nodded. She couldn’t ask him what Fergun would face if the Guild discovered he had arranged for her to leave with her powers intact. A question like that was sure to make Rothen suspicious.

If she agreed to Fergun’s plan, she would have to hide well, or face similar punishment. The Guild would not offer her another chance to join them. She would have no choice but to rely on a Thief to hide her again—though she was sure Faren would do so eagerly if her powers were unblocked and controllable.

What would they ask her to do in return? She grimaced as she considered the prospect of spending the rest of her life hiding and doing the bidding of a Thief. All she really wanted was to be with her family.

Looking up at the snow covering the ground on either side of the path, she felt a pang of worry as she thought of her aunt and uncle shivering in some tiny room somewhere. This would be a hard time for them. They would have few customers. With Jonna’s baby growing and Ranel’s bad leg stiffening in the cold, how were they getting deliveries done? She should return to help them, not perform magic for a Thief.

But if she returned with magic, she was sure Faren would make sure her aunt and uncle lived well, and she would be able to Heal...

Yet if she cooperated with Rothen, she could be back with her aunt and uncle in a few weeks. Fergun’s plans might take months ...

It was so hard to decide.

Frustrated, she wished, as she had so many times before, that she had never discovered her powers. They had ruined her life. They had nearly killed her. They had forced her to feel grateful to the hated magicians for saving her life. She just wanted to be rid of them.

Rothen slowed. Looking up, Sonea realized that the path came to an end at a wide, paved road ahead. As they reached it, several small, neat houses came in sight.

“These are the Residences,” Rothen told her.

The blackened skeletons of a few houses lay between some of the buildings. Rothen offered no explanation. He continued on to where the road ended in a large circle for turning a carriage. Walking over to a fallen tree trunk beside the road, he sat down.

As Dannyl folded his long legs and joined the older magician, Sonea looked around at the forest. Through the trees she saw a row of dark shapes in the snow, too regular to be natural.

“What are they?”

Rothen followed her gaze.

“That’s the old cemetery. Shall we have a look?”

Dannyl turned abruptly to stare at the older magician. “Now?”

“We’ve already come this far,” Rothen said, rising. “It won’t hurt to go a little farther.”

“Couldn’t it wait until morning?” Dannyl cast an anxious look at the distant shapes.

Rothen raised his hand and a tiny speck of light suddenly sprang into existence just above his palm. It expanded rapidly into a round globe of light, then floated up to hover above their heads.

“I guess not.” Dannyl sighed.

Snow crunched under their boots as they started toward the cemetery. Sonea’s shadow stretched to one side, then was joined by another as a second sphere of light flared into existence over Dannyl’s head.

“Afraid of the dark, Dannyl?” Rothen said over his shoulder.

The tall magician did not reply. Chuckling, Rothen stepped over a fallen log and entered the clearing. Several rows of stones stretched into the gloom.

Drawing closer, Rothen sent his light forward to hover just above one of the stones. The snow melted quickly, revealing markings on the surface. As the light rose higher again, he indicated Sonea should move closer.

A decorative design had been carved around the edge of the slab, and she could see marks at the center which might once have been words.

“Can you read it?” Rothen asked.

Sonea ran her hand over the engravings.

“Lord Gamor,” she read, “and a year ...” She frowned. “No, I must be wrong.”

“I believe it says twenty-five of Urdon.”

“This is seven centuries old?”

“It certainly is. All of these graves are at least five centuries old. They’re quite a mystery.”

Sonea looked up at the rows of stones. “Why are they a mystery?”

“No magicians have been buried here since then, and none are buried outside of the Guild either.”

“Where are they buried?”

“They aren’t.”

Sonea turned to regard him. A faint noise whispered among the trees nearby and Dannyl turned abruptly, his eyes wide. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise.

“Why not?” she asked.

Rothen moved forward and looked down at the grave. “A magician four centuries ago described his magic as a constant companion. It can be a helpful friend, he said, or a deadly adversary.” He looked back at Sonea, his eyes hidden under the shadows of his brows.

“Think of everything you have learned about magic and control. Your powers developed naturally, but for most of us, we need to have our abilities triggered by another magician. Once that is done, we are bound by the demands of our powers for the rest of our lives. We have to learn to control them, and we have to maintain that control. If we don’t, our magic will eventually destroy us.” He paused. “For all of us, at the moment of our death, our grasp over our power ends and the remaining magic within us is released. We are, literally, consumed by it.”

Sonea looked down at the grave. Despite Rothen’s shield of warmth, she felt cold to the bone.

She had thought that she would be rid of magic once she had learned Control, but now she knew that she would never be free of it. No matter what she did, it would always be there. One day, in some house in the slums, she would just flare out of existence ...

“If we die a natural death, this is rarely a problem,” Rothen added. “The strength of our power usually fades in our last years. If our death is unnatural ... There is an old saying: it takes a fool, a martyr, or a genius to murder a magician.”

Looking at Dannyl, she suddenly understood his discomfort. It was not the presence of the dead that disturbed him, but the reminder of what was going to happen to him when he died. But he had chosen this life, she reminded herself. She hadn’t.

Neither had Fergun. Forced to become a magician by his parents, he faced this end too. She wondered how many magicians entered the Guild reluctantly. Surprised by her newfound sympathy, she looked down at the headstone.

“So why are these graves here?”

Rothen shrugged. “We have no idea. They shouldn’t be. Many of our historians believe that these magicians drained all their power once they knew they were dying, then made sure they died at the point of exhaustion by stabbing themselves or taking poison. We know they chose other magicians to be attendants at their death. Perhaps making sure they died at the right moment was the attendant’s task. Even a little remaining power can be enough to destroy a body, so the timing would have been important, especially as the magicians of that time were extraordinarily powerful.”

“We don’t know if that’s true,” Dannyl added. “The stories of their powers may have been exaggerated. Heroes tend to gain improbable strength when their tale is told over and over again.”

“We have books written during their lifetimes,” Rothen reminded him. “Even diaries of the magicians themselves. Why would they exaggerate their own abilities?”

“Why indeed?” Dannyl replied dryly.

Turning away, Rothen led them back, over the snow they had trampled on their approach.

“I believe that those first magicians were more powerful,” Rothen said. “And we have been growing weaker ever since.”

Dannyl shook his head, then looked down at Sonea. “What do you think?”

She blinked at him with surprise. “I don’t know. Perhaps they had some way of making themselves stronger.”

Dannyl shook his head. “There are no ways of increasing a magician’s strength. What he is born with, he’s stuck with.”

They reached the road and continued on. Night had descended completely and lights glowed in the windows of the houses along the road. As they passed a burned ruin, Sonea shivered. Had it been destroyed when the occupant passed away?

The magicians remained silent as they continued down the road. Reaching the beginning of the path, Rothen sent his floating light ahead to illuminate the way. In the lull in conversation, the chirping of insects in the forest seemed louder.

As the Magicians’ Quarters came into sight, Sonea thought of all the magicians who lived there, each keeping their power under control even as they slept. Perhaps those early city planners had another reason for giving the magicians an entire quarter of the city to themselves.

“That’s all the exercise I need for tonight, I think,” Rothen said suddenly. “And it’s just about time for the evening meal. Will you join us, Dannyl?”

“Of course,” the tall magician replied. “I would love to.”

25 A Change Of Plans

The sun hovered above the distant towers of the Palace like an enormous magician’s globe light, sending long stripes of orange light into the gardens.

As they walked along the path, Sonea was quiet. Brooding. Rothen knew she had guessed the intention behind the excursions he had been taking her on, and was mentally hardening herself until no sight could tempt her to stay in the Guild.

He smiled. Though she might be determined to dismiss everything she saw, Rothen intended to show her as much as he could of the Guild. She needed to see what she was rejecting.

Surprised by her continuing determination to leave, Rothen had found himself pondering his own life. Like all children of the Houses, he had been tested for magical ability at about the age of ten. He remembered how excited his parents had been when potential had been found. They told him he was lucky and special. From that day, he had looked forward to joining the Guild.

Becoming a magician had never been a possibility for Sonea. She had been taught to see them as an enemy to be blamed and hated. In the face of her upbringing, it was easy to see why she considered joining the Guild a betrayal of the people she had grown up with.

But it didn’t have to be. If he could convince her that she could eventually use her powers to help her people, she might decide to stay.

Reaching the end of the University, Rothen turned right. As they passed the gardens on the other side of the building, the gong rang, marking the end of classes. Knowing this was usually followed by novices rushing from the University to their quarters, Rothen had chosen a longer, but quieter, route to the Healers’ Quarters.

He was looking forward to this excursion. Healing was the noblest of the magicians’ skills, and the only magic which Sonea appeared to value. Knowing that the Warrior arts were unlikely to impress her, he had taken her to see them first. However, she had been more unsettled by the demonstration than he had expected. Despite the teacher’s explanation of the rules and protections used, she had flinched away from the combatants as soon as they began their mock battle.

Though Dannyl’s mind-printing experiment had demonstrated one use of Alchemy, it was, in reality, only a hobby. If he was going to impress her, he needed to show her something that was more useful to the city. He hadn’t yet decided what it should be.

As they neared the circular Healer’s Quarters, Rothen glanced at Sonea again. Though her expression was guarded, her eyes were bright with interest. He stopped before the entrance.

“This is the second Healers’ Quarters to be built,” he told Sonea. “The first was quite luxurious. Unfortunately, our predecessors experienced problems with a few wealthy patients who assumed they could buy permanent residency. When the University and the other Guild buildings were constructed, the old Healers’ Quarters was demolished and this replaced it.”

Though the exterior was attractive, the Healers’ building was not as impressive as the University. Moving through the open doors, Rothen led Sonea into a small, undecorated entrance hall. A fresh, medicinal smell permeated the air.

Two Healers, a middle-aged man and a younger woman, looked up as Rothen and Sonea entered. The man regarded Sonea dubiously and turned away, but the young woman smiled and came forward to greet them.

“Greetings, Lord Rothen,” she said.

“Greetings, Lady Indria,” he replied. “This is Sonea.”

Sonea nodded. “Honored to meet you.”

Indria inclined her head. “A pleasure to meet you, too, Sonea.”

“Indria will be giving us a tour of the Healers’ Quarters,” Rothen explained.

The Healer smiled at Sonea. “I hope you find my tour interesting.” She looked at Rothen. “Shall we begin?”

Rothen nodded.

“This way, then.”

Leading them to a pair of doors, Indria willed them open and ushered Rothen and Sonea into a wide, curved corridor. They passed several open doors, and Sonea took the opportunity to glance into the rooms beyond.

“The lower floor of the building is dedicated to treating and housing patients,” Indria told them. “We can’t expect sick people to climb up and down stairs, can we?” She smiled at Sonea, who managed a bemused shrug in reply.

“The upper floor has rooms for lessons and for the Healers who live here. Most of us live in this building rather than in the Magicians’ Quarters. It allows us to respond quickly to an emergency.” She gestured to her left. “The patients’ rooms are those which have nice views of the gardens or the forest.” She waved to the right. “The interior rooms are our Treatment Rooms. Come, I’ll show you one.”

Following the Healer through one of the open doors, Rothen watched as Sonea examined the room. It was small, containing only a bed, a cupboard and several wooden chairs.

“We do minor healing and simple treatments here,” Indria told Sonea. She opened the cupboard to reveal several rows of bottles and boxes. “Any medicines we can prepare quickly or mix beforehand are kept in easy reach. We have other rooms upstairs where more complicated preparations are made.”

Leaving the room again, Indria led them to a passage entrance next to the Treatment Room. She pointed to a door at its end. “At the center of the building are Healing Rooms,” she said. “I’ll just check this one’s empty.”

Hurrying down the passage, she peered through a glass panel on the door. Turning to look back at them, she nodded.

“It’s free,” she told them. “Come in.”

Moving down the passage, Rothen smiled as Indria held the door open for him. The room they stepped into was larger than the first they had seen. A narrow bed stood in the center and the walls were lined with cupboards.

“This is where we perform major Healing and surgery,” Indria told them. “No one is allowed in here during treatment except Healers—and the patient, of course.”

Sonea’s eyes roved around the room. She moved to a gap in the far wall. Indria followed.

“The medicine preparation rooms are right above us,” the Healer explained, pointing up into the alcove. Sonea leaned forward and peered up to the room above. “We have Healers who specialize in making medicines. They lower freshly made mixtures down these chutes as we need them.”

Her curiosity satisfied, Sonea moved back to Rothen’s side. Indria moved to a cupboard. She opened it and took out one of the bottles.

“We have the greatest store of knowledge on medicine in the world here in the Guild,” she said with unconcealed pride. “We don’t just cure people with our Healing power. If we did, we wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demand for our services.” She shrugged. “Not that we do anyway. There just aren’t enough Healers.”

Opening a drawer, she pulled out a small piece of white material. Turning to Sonea, she paused, then looked up at Rothen questioningly. Realizing what she was going to do, he shook his head. Indria bit her lip, looked at Sonea, then down at the objects in her hands.

“Ah, perhaps we’ll skip this part of the tour.”

Sonea eyed the bottle, her eyes afire with curiosity. “What part?”

Indria turned the bottle so Sonea could see the label. “It’s an anesthetic cream,” she explained. “I usually spread a little over a visitor’s palms to demonstrate the potency of our medicine.”

Sonea frowned. “Anesthetic?”

“It makes your skin go numb so you can’t feel anything. The effect wears off after an hour.”

Sonea’s eyebrows rose, then she shrugged and held out her hand. “I’ll try it.”

Catching his breath, Rothen stared at Sonea in surprise. This was remarkable. Where had her distrust of magicians gone? Pleased, he watched as Indria unscrewed the bottle and poured a little of the paste onto the square of material.

Indria frowned at Sonea anxiously. “You won’t feel anything straightaway. After a minute you’ll feel as if your skin is really thick. Do you still want to try it?”

Sonea nodded. Smiling, Indria gently wiped the paste over Sonea’s palm.

“Now be very careful not to get any on your eyes. It won’t make you blind but, believe me, having numb eyelids is a very peculiar sensation.”

Sonea smiled and examined her hand. Returning the bottle to its shelf, Indria dropped the cloth into a bucket inside one of the cupboards, then rubbed her hands together.

“Now let’s go upstairs and have a look at the classrooms.”

She led them out of the room and back to the main corridor. They passed several Healers and a few novices as they walked around the building. Some regarded Sonea with curiosity. Others, to Rothen’s dismay, frowned with disapproval.

“Indria!”

The Healer turned, her green robes flaring out at the abrupt movement. “Darlen?”

“In here.”

The voice came from one of the nearby Treatment Rooms. Indria strode to the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Give me a hand, will you?”

Indria turned and grinned at Rothen. “I’ll ask if the patient minds having an audience,” she said quietly.

She stepped into the room and Rothen heard several voices talking quietly. Sonea glanced at Rothen, her expression unreadable, then looked away.

Indria appeared in the doorway and beckoned. “Come in.”

Rothen nodded. “Give me a moment.”

As the Healer retreated, Rothen looked at Sonea closely. “I don’t know what you’ll see in there, but I don’t think Indria would invite us in if it was anything ghastly. If the sight of blood bothers you, however, we probably shouldn’t enter.”

Sonea looked amused. “I’ll be fine.”

Shrugging, Rothen gestured to the door. Going through, she saw that the room was set up the same as the one they had previously entered. On the bed lay a boy of about eight years. His face was white and his eyes were red from crying. The voice that called for assistance belonged to a young man in green robes, Lord Darlen, who was gently unwrapping a blood-soaked bandage from around the boy’s hand. A young couple sat on wooden chairs, watching anxiously.

“Stand over here, please,” Indria instructed, her voice suddenly stern. Rothen backed into a corner, and Sonea followed him. Darlen glanced at them, before turning his attention back to the boy.

“Does it hurt anymore?”

The boy shook his head.

Rothen looked at the couple. Despite signs they had dressed hastily, their clothes were opulent. The man wore a fashionable long coat with gemstone buttons and the woman wore a simple black cloak with a fur-trimmed hood.

Beside him, Sonea made a small sound. Rothen looked back to the bed and saw that the last of the bandages had been removed from the boy’s hand. Two deep cuts crossed his palm and blood was dripping from the wounds.

Darlen pulled the boy’s sleeve up and grasped his arm tightly. The flow of blood stopped. He looked up at the parents.

“How did this happen?”

The man flushed and his eyes slid to the floor. “He was playing with my sword. I forbade it, but he ...” The man shook his head, his expression grim.

“Hmm,” Darlen turned the hand over a little. “He should heal well, though he’ll have scars to treasure for the rest of his life.”

The woman made a small choking noise, then burst into tears. Her husband put an arm about her shoulders and looked at the Healer expectantly.

Darlen turned to Indria. She nodded and went to the shelves. From a drawer she produced more pieces of white material, a bowl and a large bottle of water. Moving to the bed, she gently bathed the hand. When it was clean, the Healer carefully placed his palm over the boy’s and closed his eyes.

A stillness followed. Though the mother made the occasional sniff, all sound seemed to be muted. The boy began to fidget, but Indria leaned forward and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay still. Don’t break his concentration.”

“But it itches,” he protested.

“It won’t for long.”

Catching a movement beside him, Rothen looked down to see that Sonea was rubbing her palm. Darlen drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at the hand and ran his fingers across it. Instead of deep wounds, fine red lines now crossed the boy’s palm. Darlen smiled at the boy.

“Your hand is healed now. I want you to bandage it every day. Don’t use it for at least two weeks. You don’t want to spoil all the work I just did, do you?”

The boy shook his head. He lifted his hand and traced the scars with a finger. Darlen patted his shoulder.

“After two weeks, exercise it gently.” He looked up at the parents. “There should be no permanent damage. Eventually he’ll be able to do everything he could before, including wielding his father’s sword.” He leaned down and poked the boy’s chest gently. “But not until he’s grown up.”

The boy grinned. Darlen helped him off the bed, smiling as the boy ran to his parents and was enveloped in their arms.

The father looked up at Darlen, his eyes glistening, and opened his mouth to speak. The Healer lifted a hand to stop him, then turned to look at Indria.

She gestured for Rothen and Sonea to follow her. They quickly slipped out of the room. As they began to stroll down the corridor, Rothen could hear the father expressing his thanks.

“Looks easy, doesn’t it?” Indria grimaced. “It’s actually very hard.”

“Healing is the most difficult of all the disciplines,” Rothen explained. “It requires a finer control and many years of practice.”

“Which is why it doesn’t appeal to some of the youngsters,” Indria sniffed. “They’re too lazy.”

“I have many novices who are far from lazy,” Rothen told her archly.

Indria grinned. “But you are such a wonderful teacher, Rothen. How could they not be the most dedicated pupils in the University?”

Rothen laughed. “I should come to the Healers more often. You’re so gratifying.”

“Hmm,” she said. “We don’t usually see you unless it’s to grumble about indigestion or the burns you get from your silly experiments.”

“Don’t say that,” Rothen put a finger to his lips. “I’m taking Sonea on a tour of the Alchemy rooms next.”

Indria gave Sonea a sympathetic look. “Good luck. Try not to fall asleep.”

Rothen straightened and pointed to the stairs. “Get on with the tour, you insolent girl,” he commanded. “Only a year since graduation, and already you think you can give cheek to your elders.”

“Yes, my lord.” Grinning, she gave a mocking bow, then started down the corridor.

Sliding aside one of Rothen’s windows screens, Sonea looked through the glass at the swirling snow. She rubbed her palm absently. Though feeling had returned hours ago, the memory of numbness was still strong.

She had expected Rothen to show her the Healers at work, and that she would have to resist the desire to be able to do it herself. Despite her determination to remain unaffected, seeing a child healed before her eyes had stirred up unwanted feelings. Though she had known she had the ability to do such things, only at that moment had she understood what she could be capable of.

Which had been Rothen’s intention, of course. Sighing, she tapped on the edge of the window screen. As she had expected, he was trying to tempt her into staying by showing her all the wonderful things she could do with her magic.

But surely he hadn’t expected her to be impressed by the previous day’s Warrior demonstration. Watching novices throw magic at each other was not going to tempt her to stay.

Perhaps he had only intended to show her that the fights were harmless. Guided by strict rules, they were more like games than real battles.

When she considered that, it was no longer difficult to see why they had reacted as they had when she had “attacked” them in the North Square. They were too used to “inner shields” and tallying “hits.” It must have come as quite a shock to see what magic did to an undefended person.

She sighed again. A tour of the Alchemy rooms would probably come next. Against her will, she felt a twinge of curiosity. Of all the disciplines, Alchemy was the one she understood least.

She frowned at a knock on the main door. Tania had bid them goodnight hours ago and Rothen had not been gone long. Her heart skipped as a name raced through her mind.

Fergun.

He would want an answer, and she hadn’t decided yet. She reluctantly crossed the room, hoping the visitor was someone else.

“Who is it?”

“Fergun. Let me in, Sonea.”

Taking a deep breath, she grasped the handle. At once, the door swung inward. The red-robed magician slipped gracefully into the room and closed the door behind him.

“How can you open it?” she asked, frowning at the handle. “I thought it was locked.”

Fergun smiled. “It was, but it will open when the door handle is turned by someone inside at the same time as someone outside.”

“Is it meant to?”

Fergun nodded. “It’s a precaution. Rothen might not be around to open the door in an emergency. Someone else can if, for instance, you started a fire.”

She grimaced. “Hopefully that will never be a problem again.” She gestured to the chairs. “Have a seat, Fergun.”

He glided to the chairs and sat down. As she took the seat opposite, he leaned forward eagerly.

“So, are your Control lessons going well?”

“Yes ... I think.”

“Hmm, tell me what you did today.”

She smiled ruefully. “I had to lift a box off the floor. That wasn’t easy.”

Fergun drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening, and Sonea felt her heart skip in response. “What he is teaching you is not a Control exercise. He is showing you how to use your magic. If he is doing that, you must already have Control.”

Sonea felt a thrill of excitement and hope. “He said he was testing my Control.”

Fergun shook his head gravely. “All magic is a test of Control. He wouldn’t be teaching you to lift objects unless your control was sufficiently established. You’re ready, Sonea.”

Leaning back in her chair, Sonea felt a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. At last! she thought. I can go home!

An unexpected twinge of regret followed the thought. Once gone, she might never see Rothen again ...

“So, are you satisfied that what I told you is true—that Rothen has kept information from you?”

She looked at Fergun and nodded. “Most of it. Administrator Lorlen explained the blocking of power to me.”

Fergun looked surprised. “Lorlen himself. Good.”

“He told me it would not be unpleasant, and that I’d never notice it after.”

“If it works properly. The Guild hasn’t needed to do it for many, many years.” He grimaced. “The last time they did, they messed it up a little—but you should not worry about that. Accept my help and you won’t have to take the risk.” He smiled. “Are we going to work together?”

She hesitated. Doubts ran through her mind.

Seeing her expression, he asked: “Have you decided to stay, then?”

“No.”

“Then are you still undecided?”

“I’m not sure about your plan,” she admitted. “Parts of it, anyway.”

“Which parts?”

She drew in a deep breath. “If I become a novice, I’ll have to make a vow that I know I’m going to break.”

He frowned. “And?”

“I’m not... happy about doing that.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re worried about breaking a vow?” He shook his head. “I am willing to break the King’s law for you, Sonea. Though I’m sure we can make it look as if you escaped on your own, there’s a chance my part in it will be discovered. I am willing to take that risk for your sake.” He leaned forward. “You must decide whether the King has the right to take your power from you. If he doesn’t, then what value is there in the vow?”

Sonea nodded slowly. He was right. Faren would agree, and so would Cery. The Houses had kept magic to themselves for too long—and then used it against the poor during the Purge. The dwells would not look down on her for breaking the Novices’ Vow. It was their opinion that mattered, not the King’s or the magicians’.

If she returned to the slums with her powers unfettered and taught herself magic, she could teach others too. She could start her own secret Guild.

It would mean relying on Faren to hide her from the Guild again. It would mean she could not return to her family. It would mean she might eventually use her powers to help and heal people—which might make the risks worth taking.

She looked at the magician sitting opposite her. Would Fergun be so keen to let her go if he knew what she was thinking? She frowned. If she became his novice, he might need to enter her mind to teach her. He might discover her plans and, not liking the consequences of helping her, change his mind.

Much of his proposal forced her to rely on him. She did not know him, had not seen into his mind.

If only she could leave—escape—without his help.

She felt a sudden thrill. Perhaps she could. She had achieved Control. Rothen didn’t know that she knew. He would have to admit it eventually, and once he did, he would be wary of her attempting to escape. But not now. Now was the perfect time to try.

What if she did not get the opportunity, or failed?

Then she would accept Fergun’s offer. For now, however, she had to delay him.

Looking at Fergun, she sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. Even if your plan does work, I’ll still have the Guild hunting for me.”

“They won’t be able to find you,” he assured her. “I will teach you how to hide your powers. They’ll find no clue to your location, and eventually give up. You’re not the only one who got tired of the hunt last time, Sonea. They won’t search forever.”

“There are some things you don’t know,” she told him. “If I return to the slums with magic, the Thieves will want me to work for them. I don’t want to be their tool.”

He smiled. “You’ll have magic, Sonea. They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

She looked away and shook her head. “I have family, Fergun. The Thieves might not be able to hurt me, but they can hurt others. I ...” She rubbed her face, then looked at him apologetically. “I need more time to think.”

His smile vanished. “How long?”

She shrugged. “A few weeks, maybe?”

“I don’t have that long,” he told her, his expression darkening. “You don’t have that long.”

Sonea frowned. “Why not?”

Rising abruptly, he took something from within his robe and dropped it onto the table before her.

She sucked in a breath as she recognized the dagger. So many times, she had watched the blade being carefully and lovingly sharpened. She could remember the day, many years before, when the rough picture of a familiar rodent had been etched into the blade.

“You recognize it, I see.”

Fergun stood over her now, his eyes glittering.

“I have the owner of this knife locked in a dark little room that nobody here knows of.” His lips stretched into a nasty smile. “Just as well they don’t, since they might get a bit worried if they saw how big some of these rodents can grow.” Dropping into a crouch, he placed his hands on the arms of her chair. Sonea shrank back, appalled by his malicious stare.

“Do what I tell you, and I will release your friend. Give me any trouble, and I will leave him there forever.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you understand me?”

Stunned, unable to speak, Sonea could only nod.

“Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m going to tell you what you need to do. First, you’re going to tell Rothen that you’ve decided to stay. When you do he’ll announce that you’ve achieved Control, so he can get you into the Guild before you change your mind again. There’ll be a Meet in a week, and a Hearing to decide who will be your guardian will be held afterward.

“At this Hearing you’re going to tell everyone that, during the Purge, I saw you before Rothen did. You’ll tell them I looked at you after the stone flashed through the barrier and before it struck.

“When you tell them this, the Higher Magicians will have no choice but to grant me your guardianship. You’ll enter the Guild, but I assure you, it won’t be for long. Once you have performed a little task for me, you’ll be sent back where you belong. You’ll get what you want, and so will I. You have nothing to lose from helping me, but ...” he picked up the dagger and ran a finger along the blade, “you’ll lose that little friend of yours if you don’t.”

He held her gaze as he slipped the dagger back into his robes. “Don’t allow Rothen to find out about this. Nobody knows where the little ceryni is but me, and if I can’t bring him food he’s going to get very, very hungry.”

Rising, he glided to the door and opened it a crack. Looking back at her, he sneered. Sonea’s heart lurched as she suddenly remembered where she had seen him before. He was the magician she had knocked out during the Purge.

“I expect to hear Rothen proclaiming his success tomorrow. I’ll see you after.” He slipped through the door and pulled it closed behind him.

Sonea listened to his faint footsteps hurrying away, then pressed her hands over her eyes. Magicians. She hissed a curse. I will never, ever trust them again.

Then she thought of Rothen, and her anger faded. Even though he had deceived her into believing she hadn’t achieved Control yet, she was sure Rothen’s intentions were good. He had probably been delaying things to give her time to decide if she really wanted to leave. If that were true, he had done nothing that she would not have done herself, had she been in his place—and she was certain that he would help her if she asked.

But she couldn’t ask him. A smothering helplessness rushed over her. If she didn’t do what Fergun told her, Cery would die.

Curling up in the chair, she wrapped her arms about herself. Oh Cery, she thought. Where are you? Didn’t I tell you to make sure you didn’t get caught?

She sighed. Why was Fergun doing this? She thought of the first time she had seen his sneer, and shivered.

Revenge. Simple, petty revenge for the humiliation of being knocked unconscious by a rebellious dwell. It must infuriate him that, instead of punishment, she was being invited into the Guild. But why bother when she didn’t want to stay?

She considered his words. “Once you have performed a little task for me, you’ll be sent back where you belong.” To have joined the Guild, then be sent away ... He was going to make sure she was punished for striking him.

He was going to make sure she would never be able to change her mind and return to the Guild.

26 The Deception Begins

In the air between the two palms—one large and aged, the other slim and callused—two specks of colored light danced like tiny insects. The lights spun around each other, dipped and circled in a complex game. The blue light suddenly darted toward the yellow. The yellow turned into a ring of light and, as the blue spark shot through it, Rothen laughed.

“Enough!” he exclaimed.

The shadows around them ceased dancing as the two specks blinked out. Looking around at the dim room, Rothen was surprised to see how late it was. Flexing his will, he created a globe of light and sent the screens sliding over the windows.

“You’re learning fast,” he told her. “Your Control over your power is growing.”

“I mastered Control days ago,” she replied. “You didn’t tell me.”

Surprised, Rothen turned to regard her. She met his gaze steadily. There had been no hint of doubt in her voice. Somehow she had worked it out for herself.

Leaning back in his chair, he considered the situation. If he denied it, she would only grow more resentful when she learned the truth. It would be better to explain his reasons for delaying.

Which meant he had run out of time. He had no reason to keep her here any longer. In a day or two she would be gone. He could ask Lorlen to delay the blocking but he knew, as he considered her now, that he would not be able to change her mind in a few short days.

He nodded. “A few sessions ago I thought you’d reached a point where I’d normally consider a novice’s Control was adequate. I felt, for you, that it was particularly important to test your Control over your power, since we won’t be around to help you if something goes amiss.”

Instead of relief, he saw only apprehension in her gaze. “Not that I think anything will go amiss,” he assured her. “Your control is—”

“I’m going to stay,” she told him.

He stared at her, momentarily too surprised to speak.

“You’re staying?” he exclaimed. “You changed your mind?”

She nodded.

He leapt to his feet. “That’s wonderful!”

Sonea stared up at him with wide eyes. He wanted to pull her to her feet and give her a hug, but he knew he would only frighten her. Instead, he strode to the cabinet at the back of the room.

“We must celebrate!” he told her. Taking out a bottle of pachi wine and some glasses, he brought them back to the chairs. She watched, still and silent, as he pulled the stopper out of the bottle and poured some of the yellow liqueur into the glasses.

Sonea’s hand shook as she accepted a glass. Rothen sobered, realizing that she must be feeling overwhelmed—and a little scared, too.

“What changed your mind?” he asked as he sat down.

She bit her lip gently, then looked away. “I want to save someone’s life.”

“Ah!” He smiled. “So it was the Healers that impressed you most.”

“Yes,” she admitted. Taking a sip, her face lit with delight. “Pachi wine!”

“You’ve had it before?”

She smiled. “A Thief gave me a bottle once.”

“You’ve never told me much about the Thieves. I didn’t want to ask in case you thought I was trying to get information from you.”

“I never found out much about them,” she replied, shrugging. “I spent most of my time alone.”

“I assumed they wanted you to perform magic in exchange for their help?”

She nodded. “But I never really gave the Thief what he wanted.” A crease appeared between her brows. “I wonder ... will he think I’ve broken our agreement by staying here?”

“He didn’t succeed in helping you,” Rothen pointed out. “How can he expect you to fulfil your side of the exchange?”

“He spent a lot of effort and used a lot of favors to hide me.”

Rothen shook his head. “Don’t worry. The Thieves won’t bother you. They told us where to find you.”

Sonea’s eyes widened. “They betrayed me?” she whispered.

He frowned, disturbed by the anger in her eyes. “I’m afraid so. I don’t think they wanted to, but it was clear that your powers were growing dangerous.”

She looked down at her glass and brooded in silence for some time.

“What happens now?” she asked suddenly.

Rothen hesitated as he realized he would have to explain the guardianship claims to her. The thought of being placed in the care of a magician who she did not know or trust might be enough to change her mind again, but he had to warn her of the possibility.

“There are several matters that must be resolved before you are sworn in as a novice,” he told her. “You need to have good reading and writing skills, and be taught basic calculations. You’ll also need to understand the rules and customs of the Guild. Before then, your guardianship must be decided.”

“Guardianship?” She leaned back in her chair. “You said only very gifted novices have guardians.”

Rothen nodded. “From the beginning, I knew that you would need the support of a guardian. As the only novice not from the Houses, you may find things a little difficult at times. Having a magician prepared to be your guardian might help to counter that, so I placed a claim on you.

“But I am not the only magician who wants the honor. There is another, a younger magician named Fergun. When two magicians claim a novice’s guardianship, the Guild must hold a Hearing to decide which claim will be granted. The Guild rules say that, if more than one magician wishes to claim a novice’s guardianship, the one who first recognized the novice’s magical potential is granted the honor, so it is usually a simple decision.” He grimaced. “But not this time.

“We didn’t discover your magic by the usual tests. Some magicians believe that I, being the first to see you, recognized your powers first. Others say that Fergun, being the one your rock struck, was the first since he experienced the effects of your powers.” Rothen chuckled. “Apparently, the Guild has been arguing about it for months.”

He paused to take another sip of wine. “The Hearing will be held after the next Meet, which will occur in a week’s time. Afterward, you will continue your lessons with either me, or Fergun.”

Sonea frowned. “So the novice doesn’t get to choose their guardian?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then I better meet this Fergun,” she said slowly. “Find out what he’s like.”

Rothen regarded her closely, surprised at her calm acceptance of the situation. He should be pleased, he told himself, but he could not help feeling a little disappointed. It would have been more gratifying if she had protested at the idea of being removed from his guidance and company.

“I can arrange for you to meet him, if you wish,” he replied. “He will want to meet you. So may others. Before then, I should teach you some of the rules and customs of the Guild.”

She looked up, her eyes brightening with interest. Relieved to see her curiosity return, Rothen smiled.

“For a start, there is the custom of bowing.”

Her expression changed to dismay. Rothen chuckled sympathetically.

“Yes. Bowing. All non-magicians—apart from royalty, of course—are expected to bow to magicians.”

Sonea grimaced. “Why?”

“A gesture of respect.” Rothen shrugged. “Silly as it may seem, some of us get quite offended if we are not bowed to.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you?”

“Not usually,” he told her. “But there are times when neglecting to bow is obviously intended to be rude.”

She considered him warily. “Do you expect me to bow to you from now on?”

“Yes and no. I don’t expect it in private, but you should bow when we are outside these rooms, even if just to accustom yourself to the habit. You should also use the honorific. Magicians are referred to as Lord or Lady, except in the cases of the Directors, Administrators and the High Lord, for whom you must use their title.”

Rothen smiled at Sonea’s expression. “I didn’t think you’d like it. You may have grown up in the lowest class in society, but you have the pride of a king.” He leaned forward. “One day everyone will be bowing to you, Sonea. That will be even harder for you to accept.”

She frowned, then picked up her glass and drained it.

“Now,” Rothen continued, “there are the rules of the Guild to cover as well. Here.” He reached forward and poured her another glass of wine. “Let’s see if these are any easier to stomach.”

Rothen left just after dinner, no doubt to spread the news. As Tania began to clear the table, Sonea moved to a window. She paused to look at the screen covering it, and realized for the first time that the complex pattern printed on it was actually made up of tiny Guild symbols.

Her aunt had owned an old, mold-spotted pair of screens. They had been the wrong shape for the window of their room in the stayhouse, but her aunt had leaned them up against the glass anyway. When the sun shone through the paper, it had been easy to ignore their flaws.

Instead of the usual pang of homesickness at the memory, she felt a vague longing. Looking around at the luxurious furnishings, the books and the polished furniture, she sighed.

She would miss the comforts and the food, but she was resigned to that. Leaving Rothen would not be so easy, however. She liked his company—his conversations, their lessons, and talking mind to mind.

I was going to leave anyway, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. I just hadn’t thought about how much I’d gained here.

Knowing that she would be forced from the Guild had made her realize what she was losing. Pretending that she wanted to stay was going to be far too easy.

Just as well Fergun doesn’t know, she mused. It would make his revenge so much sweeter.

Fergun was risking much to pay her back for humiliating him. He must be very angry—or very sure he could get away with it. Either way, he was prepared to put a lot of effort into having her barred from the Guild.

“Lady?”

Turning, Sonea found Tania standing behind her. The servant smiled.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’ve decided to stay,” she said. “It would be a poor shame if you didn’t.”

Sonea felt her cheeks grow hot. “Thank you, Tania.”

The woman folded her hands together. “You look like you’re all full of doubts. You’re doing the right thing. The Guild never take in poorer folk. It’ll do them good to see you doing everything they can, and just as well as they.”

A sliver of cold ran down Sonea’s back. This wasn’t just about revenge!

The Guild didn’t have to invite her to join them. They could have blocked her power and sent her back to the slums. Yet they hadn’t. For the first time in centuries, the magicians had considered teaching someone from outside the Houses.

Fergun’s words echoed in her mind. “Once you have performed a little task for me, you’ll be sent back where you belong.” Back where she belonged?

She had heard the contempt in his voice, but hadn’t understood the significance. Fergun didn’t just want to make sure she didn’t enter the Guild. He wanted to make sure no dwell was ever given the chance again. Whatever “task” Fergun had planned for her would prove that dwells were untrustworthy. The Guild would never consider inviting another dwell into their ranks.

She gripped the window sill, her heart beating fast with anger. They are opening their doors to me, a dwell, but I’m going to walk out as if that means nothing!

A familiar feeling of helplessness crawled over her. She couldn’t stay. Cery’s life depended on her leaving.

“Lady?”

Sonea blinked at Tania. The servant laid a hand lightly on her arm.

“You will do well,” Tania assured her. “Rothen says you’re very strong, and you learn quickly.”

“He does?”

“Oh, yes.” Tania turned and picked up her basket, laden with dishes. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t go worrying. Everything will be fine.”

Sonea smiled. “Thanks, Tania.”

The servant grinned. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

The servant slipped out of the door, leaving Sonea alone. Sighing, she stared out of the window. Outside it was snowing again, white flakes dancing in the night.

Where are you, Cery?

Thinking of the dagger Fergun had shown her, she frowned. It was possible that he had found it; that he did not have Cery locked away ...

Leaving the window, she dropped into a chair. There was so much to think about: Cery, Fergun, the Hearing, guardianship. Despite Tania’s assurances, she was not going to get much sleep during the next few weeks.

Every Threeday, Dannyl joined Yaldin and his wife for the evening meal. Ezrille had started the routine years before when, concerned that Dannyl had not found himself a wife, she began to worry that he would grow lonely if he had to end every day by himself.

As he relinquished his empty plate to Yaldin’s servant, Dannyl gave a little sigh of contentment. Though he doubted he would ever sink into the melancholy Ezrille feared, it was certainly better eating in company than by himself.

“I have heard rumors about you, Dannyl,” Yaldin said.

Dannyl frowned, his contentment evaporating. Surely Fergun wasn’t at it again. “Oh, what rumors?”

“That the Administrator is so impressed with your negotiations with the Thieves that he is considering you for an ambassadorial role.”

Dannyl straightened and stared at the old magician. “He is?”

Yaldin nodded. “What do you think? Does travelling appeal?”

“I...” Dannyl shook his head. “I’ve never considered it. Me? An ambassador?”

“Yes.” Yaldin chuckled. “You’re not as young and foolish as you once were.”

“Thanks,” Dannyl replied dryly.

“This could be good for you,” Ezrille said. She smiled and pointed a finger at him. “You might even bring back a wife.”

Dannyl gave her a withering look. “Don’t start that again, Ezrille.”

She shrugged. “Well, since there’s obviously no woman in Kyralia who is good enough for—”

“Ezrille,” Dannyl said sternly. “The last young lady I met stabbed me. You know I’m cursed when it comes to women.”

“That’s ridiculous. You were trying to catch her, not romance her. How is Sonea doing, anyway?”

“Rothen says she’s progressing well with her lessons, though she’s still determined to leave. She’s become quite chatty with Tania.”

“I suppose she’ll feel more comfortable with servants than with us,” Yaldin mused. “They’re not as high above her status as we are.”

Dannyl winced. Once he wouldn’t have questioned the remark—he would have agreed with it—but now that he had conversed with Sonea, it seemed unfair, even insulting. “Rothen would not like to hear you say that.”

“No,” Yaldin agreed. “But he is unique in his opinions. The rest of the Guild feel that class and status are very important.”

“What are they saying now?”

Yaldin shrugged. “It’s got beyond friendly wagers over the guardianship claim now. A lot of people are questioning the wisdom of having someone with her dubious background in the Guild at all.”

“Again? What are their reasons this time?”

“Will she honor the vow?” Yaldin said. “Will she be a bad influence on other novices?” He leaned forward. “You’ve met her. What do you think?”

Shrugging, Dannyl wiped the sugar from his fingers onto a napkin. “I’m the last person you should ask. She stabbed me, remember?”

“You’re not ever going to let us forget it,” Ezrille remarked. “Come now, you must have noticed more than that.”

“Her speech is rough, though not as bad as I expected. She has none of the manners we’re used to. No bowing or ‘my Lord.’ ”

“Rothen will teach her that when she’s ready,” Ezrille said.

Yaldin snorted softly. “He better make sure she knows before the Hearing.”

“You’re both still forgetting that she doesn’t want to stay. Why would he bother to teach her etiquette?”

“Perhaps it would be easier all round if she did leave.”

Ezrille gave her husband a reproachful look. “Yaldin,” she scolded. “Would you send the girl back to poverty after showing her all the wealth here? That would be cruel.”

The old man shrugged. “Of course not, but she wants to go and it’ll be easier if she does. No Hearing for a start, and the whole issue about taking in people from outside the Houses will be forgotten.”

“They’re wasting their breath arguing about it,” Dannyl said. “We all know that the King wants her here, under our control.”

“Then he won’t be too happy if she sticks to her intention to leave.”

“No,” Dannyl agreed. “But he can’t make her take the vow if she doesn’t want to.”

Yaldin frowned, then glanced at the door as someone knocked on it. He waved a hand lazily, and the door swung open.

Rothen stepped inside, beaming. “She’s staying!”

“Well, that settles that,” Ezrille said.

Yaldin nodded. “Not everything, Ezrille. We still have the Hearing to worry about.”

“The Hearing?” Rothen waved a hand dismissively. “Leave that to another time. For now, I only want to celebrate.”

27 Somewhere Under the University

Curling up in a chair, Sonea yawned and considered the day so far.

In the morning, Administrator Lorlen had visited to ask her about her decision, and to explain, over again, about guardianship and the Hearing. She had felt a pang of guilt as he expressed genuine pleasure that she was staying—a feeling she grew familiar with as the day continued.

Other visitors had come: Dannyl, then the stern and intimidating Head of Healers, and an old couple who were friends of Rothen’s. Each time someone had knocked at the door she had tensed, expecting Fergun, but the Warrior had not appeared.

Guessing that he would not visit until she was alone, she was almost relieved when Rothen left after dinner, saying he would be absent until late and that she should not wait up for him.

“I’ll stay and chat with you, if you like,” Tania offered.

Sonea smiled in gratitude. “Thank you, Tania, but I think I’d like to be alone tonight.”

The servant nodded. “I understand.” She turned back to the table, then paused as a knock came from the door. “Shall I answer that, Lady?”

Sonea nodded. Taking a deep breath, she watched as the servant opened the door a crack.

“Is the Lady Sonea present?”

Hearing the voice, Sonea felt her stomach sink with dread.

“Yes, Lord Fergun,” Tania replied. She glanced anxiously at Sonea. “I will ask if she wishes to see you.”

“Let him in, Tania.” Though her heart had begun to race, Sonea managed to speak calmly.

As the servant stepped away from the door, the red-robed magician moved into the room. Inclining his head to Sonea, he placed a hand on his chest.

“I am Fergun. I believe Lord Rothen has told you about me?”

His eyes shifted to Tania, then back again. Sonea nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “He has. Will you sit down?”

“Thank you,” he said, bending gracefully into a chair.

— Send the woman away.

Swallowing, Sonea looked up at Tania. “Is there anything more you need to do, Tania?”

The servant glanced at the table, then shook her head. “No, Lady. I will return later for the dishes.” She bowed, then slipped out of the room.

As the door closed behind her, Fergun’s friendly expression vanished. “I was only told this morning that Rothen has announced you ready. It took you some time to tell him.”

“I had to wait for the right moment,” she replied. “Or it would have seemed strange.”

Fergun stared at her, then waved a hand dismissively. “It is done. Now, just to make sure you understand my instructions, I want you to repeat them to me.”

He nodded as she recited what he had told her to do.

“Good. Do you have any questions?”

“Yes,” she told him. “How do I know if you really have Cery? All I’ve seen is a dagger.”

He smiled. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” She snorted loudly and forced herself to stare into his eyes. “I want to see him. If I don’t, I might have to ask Administrator Lorlen if blackmail is a crime in the Guild.”

His lip curled into a sneer. “You’re in no position to make such threats.”

“Aren’t I?” Rising, she strolled to the high table and poured herself a glass of water. Her hands shook and she was glad she had her back to him. “I know all about this kind of blackmail. I’ve lived with the Thieves, remember? You need to make it clear that you can carry out your threat. All I’ve seen is a dagger. Why should I believe you have its owner?”

She turned to meet his gaze and was gratified to see his stare falter. He clenched his fists, then slowly nodded.

“Very well,” he said, rising. “I will take you to him.”

She felt a thrill of triumph, but it quickly faded. He wouldn’t have agreed if he didn’t have Cery locked away. She also knew that, when someone’s life was being traded for something, the hardest part was stopping the kidnapper from killing their captive as soon they had what they wanted.

Moving to the door, Fergun opened it and waited for her to step through. As she entered the corridor, two magicians stopped and stared at her in alarm, then relaxed as Fergun joined her.

“Has Rothen told you about the buildings of the Guild?” Fergun asked brightly as they started toward the stairs.

“Yes,” she replied.

“They were constructed about four hundred years ago,” he said, ignoring her. “The Guild had grown too large ...”

The end of the week at last! Dannyl thought jubilantly as he stepped out of the classroom. The possibility that Sonea would be joining the Guild hadn’t occurred to several of the novices. They had been discussing it all day, and he had been forced to keep two back as punishment when they had become too much of a distraction for the others.

Sighing, he placed books, paper and writing box under his arm, and started down the University corridor. As he reached the staircase he froze, unable to believe what he saw in the hall below him.

Fergun and Sonea had just stepped into the University. The Warrior looked around the hall, then checked the stairs opposite Dannyl. Taking a step backward out of sight, Dannyl listened as the pairs’ footsteps moved under him, fading as they started down the ground-floor corridor.

Keeping his steps as quiet as possible, Dannyl descended the stairs. He moved across the hall to the lower corridor entrance and peered around the corner. Fergun and Sonea were several paces away, walking quickly. As he watched, they turned into a side passage.

Heart beating faster now, Dannyl made his way down the corridor. He slowed as he reached the side passage, realizing it was the same one that he had observed Fergun hurrying down a few days ago. He risked a quick glance.

The passage was empty. Starting down it, he listened carefully. The faintest sound of Fergun’s voice drew him to a door that led to the inner passages of the University. Slipping through, Dannyl followed the voice along a few more passages until, abruptly, it ceased.

The silence sent his skin prickling. Had Fergun realized he was being followed? Was he waiting for his pursuer to catch up?

Reaching a bend in the corridor, Dannyl mouthed a curse. Without Fergun’s voice, he had no idea if he was about to stumble upon the magician. Taking a cautious look around the corner, he sighed in relief. It was empty.

He started forward, then slowed as he found himself facing a dead end. It wasn’t technically a dead end, as none existed in the University. One of the doors would lead to a side passage that would meet the main corridor. Yet if Fergun had gone that way, Dannyl would have heard a door close. Fergun hadn’t been trying to be quiet.

But he might have if he had detected someone following him.

Taking the handle of the door leading to the side passage, Dannyl turned it. The hinge creaked dramatically as the door opened, as if it wanted to reassure Dannyl that he would have heard Fergun opening it. Moving through, Dannyl found the side passage empty.

Exploring further, he saw that the main corridor was also empty. Puzzled, Dannyl retraced his steps and tried other doors, but found no sign of Sonea or Fergun.

Shaking his head, he made his way back out of the University, his head buzzing with questions. Why had Fergun taken Sonea out of Rothen’s rooms? Why had he led her into the deserted inner passages of the University? How could they have disappeared?

— Rothen?

— Dannyl.

— Where are you?

— In the Night Room.

Dannyl scowled. So Fergun had waited until Rothen was absent before approaching Sonea. Typical.—Stay there. I’m coming to meet you.

Pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders, Cery listened to the chattering of his teeth. The temperature of the room had dropped slowly over several days and was now cold enough to freeze the moisture on the walls. Somewhere above, winter was tightening its grip on the city.

The magician now brought a candle with each meal, but it only lasted a few hours. When darkness came again, Cery slept or paced the room to keep his blood warm, counting the steps so that he did not bump into the walls. He hugged the water bottle to his chest to prevent it freezing.

A soft sound caught his attention and he stopped, sure that he had heard footsteps behind his own. Only silence followed. Sighing, he returned to his pacing.

In his mind, he had rehearsed countless conversations with his captor. After his unsuccessful attempt at killing the magician, Cery had spent many hours considering his situation. Breaking out of the cell was impossible, and he was no threat at all to his captor. His fate was entirely in the magician’s hands.

Though it brought a sour taste to his mouth, he knew his only chance of escape lay in gaining the magician’s good will. It seemed an impossible task—the magician was not inclined to talk and obviously regarded Cery with disdain. For Sonea’s sake, Cery thought, I have to try.

Sonea. Cery shook his head and sighed. It was possible she had been forced to tell him that she needed the Guild to teach her to control her powers, but he doubted it. She hadn’t been tense or frightened, only resigned. He had seen how her powers had reacted to her emotions, how dangerous they had become. It was not hard to believe that her magic would have eventually killed her.

Which meant that taking Sonea to the Thieves had been the worst decision he could have made. By putting her in a situation where she was forced to use magic every day, her powers had been encouraged to grow, perhaps speeding her toward losing control of them much sooner.

She would have reached that point eventually, no matter what he had done. Sooner or later, the Guild would have found her—or she would have died.

Grimacing in the dark, Cery thought of the letter the magicians had sent, claiming they did not intend to harm Sonea and offering her a place among them. Sonea hadn’t believed them. Neither had Faren.

But Cery had an old acquaintance among the Guild servants. The man might have been able to confirm the truth, but Cery hadn’t asked.

I didn’t want to know. I wanted us to be together. Sonea and I, working for the Thieves ... or just together...

She was not one for the Thieves—or for him. She had magic. Whether she liked it or not, she belonged with magicians.

He felt a twinge of jealousy then, but he pushed it away. In the dark he had begun to question his hate for the Guild. He could not help thinking that, if the magicians had gone to so much trouble to save her—and many of the slum dwellers—from her powers, they could not be as indifferent as the dwells thought.

And what better future could he imagine for Sonea? She could have wealth, knowledge and power. How could he deny her that?

He couldn’t. He had no claim on her. The knowledge brought an ache like bruising after a blow to the chest. Though his heart had leapt the moment she had appeared in his life again, she had never expressed anything more than the fondness of friendship.

Hearing a faint noise, he stilled. In the distance, he could hear the faint but growing slap of shoes against stone. As the footsteps drew closer, he moved back to allow room for the magician to enter. From the quick pace, it sounded as if Fergun was in a hurry.

The footsteps did not slow as they reached the door, but continued past.

Cery took a step forward. Was it his captor, merely walking past on the way to another destination? Or was it someone else?

He rushed to the door and raised a fist to hammer on it, then froze, seized by doubts. If he was right, and Fergun was using him to blackmail Sonea, would he endanger Sonea by escaping and ruining Fergun’s plans?

If Fergun had told Sonea too much, he might kill her to hide his crime. Cery had heard many stories of kidnapping and blackmail gone wrong, and he shivered as he remembered the unpleasant endings of some of those tales.

The footsteps had faded beyond hearing now. Cery rested his head against the door and cursed. It was too late. The stranger was gone.

Sighing, he resolved to keep trying to befriend Fergun, even if only to learn the magician’s plans. Once more, conversations ran through Cery’s mind. When footsteps reached his ears again, he almost believed he had imagined them.

But as they grew louder he knew they were real. His heart began to race as he realized he was hearing two sets of footsteps. The owners stopped outside the door, and Cery heard Fergun’s voice, muffled by the door.

“Stop. We’re here.”

The lock clicked, and the door swung open. A globe of light hung over Fergun’s head, dazzling Cery’s eyes. Despite the brightness, Cery recognized the silhouette of the other visitor. His heart leapt.

“Sonea!”

“Cery?”

Sonea reached up to her face and pulled a blindfold away. She blinked at him, then smiled and stepped into the cell.

“Are you all right? You’re not sick or hurt?” Her eyes roved over him, looking for signs of injury.

He shook his head. “No. You?”

“I’m well.” She glanced at Fergun, who was watching them with interest. “Fergun hasn’t hurt you?”

Cery managed a wry smile. “Only when I asked for it.”

Her brows rose. Turning, she regarded Fergun with narrowed eyes.

“Give me some time to talk to him alone.”

Fergun hesitated, then shrugged. “Very well. A few minutes, no more.”

He gestured and the door swung shut, leaving them in complete darkness.

Cery sighed. “Well, we’re trapped together.”

“He won’t leave me here. He needs me.”

“What for?”

“It’s complicated. He wants me to agree to join the Guild so he can have me break a law and get kicked out. I think it’s his way of getting revenge for me knocking him out in the Purge—but I’m guessing it’s also about convincing the Guild that they shouldn’t take in dwells. It doesn’t matter. If I do what he says, he’ll let you go. Do you think he will?”

Cery shook his head, though he knew she couldn’t see him. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been nasty. Thieves would’ve been worse.” He hesitated. “I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. Tell someone.”

“No,” she replied. “If I tell someone, Fergun will refuse to reveal where you are. You’ll starve.”

“Someone else must know about these passages.”

“They might take days to find you, Cery. We walked a long way to get here. You could even be outside the Guild.”

“It didn’t seem far to m—”

“It doesn’t matter, Cery. I wasn’t going to stay, so there’s no sense in risking your life.”

“You weren’t going to join the Guild?”

“No.”

His heartbeat quickened. “Why not?”

“Lots of reasons. Everyone hates magicians, for a start. I’d feel like I was betraying the people I know if I joined them.”

He smiled. It was so like her to see it like that. He took a deep breath. “Sonea, you should stay. You need to learn how to use your magic.”

“But everyone will hate me.”

“No they won’t. Truth is, they’d love to be a magician if they had half a chance. If you turn the magicians down, everyone will think you’re mad, or stupid. They’d understand if you stayed. They wouldn’t want you to give it all up.” He swallowed hard, and forced himself to lie. “I don’t want you to give it all up.”

She hesitated. “You wouldn’t hate me?”

“No.”

“I would.”

“The people who know you wouldn’t think it was wrong,” Cery told her.

“But... I’d still feel like I’d changed sides.”

Cery sighed. “Don’t be stupid, Sonea. If you were a magician, you could help people. You might be able to do something about stopping the Purge. People would listen to you.”

“But... I belong with Jonna and Ranel. They need me.”

“No they don’t. They’re doing fine. Think how proud they’d be. Their own niece in the Guild.”

Sonea stamped her foot. “It doesn’t matter, Cery. I can’t stay. Fergun said he’ll kill you. I’m not going to abandon a friend just so I can do a few magic tricks.”

A friend. Cery’s shoulders drooped. Closing his eyes, he let out a long sigh. “Sonea. Do you remember the night we spied on the Guild?”

“Of course.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“I told you that I knew someone, a servant in the Guild. I could have gone back to that man, and asked him to find out what the Guild planned for you, but I didn’t. Do you know why?”

“No.” She sounded puzzled now.

“I didn’t want to find out that the Guild really wanted to help you. You’d just come back and I didn’t want you going away. I didn’t want to lose you again.”

She said nothing. Her silence told him nothing. He swallowed, his mouth dry.

“I’ve had lots of time to think here,” he told her. “I’ve ... well, I’ve told myself to face up to it. There’s nothing between us ’cept friendship, so it’s unfair ...”

A soft gasp escaped her. “Oh, Cery,” she breathed. “You never said anything!”

He felt his face burning, and was grateful for the dark. Holding his breath, he waited for her to speak, hoping she would say something to show she felt the same, or, perhaps, that she would touch him ...

The silence stretched on until he could stand it no longer.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he told her. “What matters is that you don’t belong in the slums. Not since you found your magic. Now you might not fit in real well here, either, but you have got to give it a go.”

“No,” she told him firmly. “I’ve got to get you out of here. I don’t know how long Fergun intends to use you to blackmail me, but he can’t keep you down here forever. I’m going to make him bring me messages from you so I know you’re alive. If he doesn’t, I’ll stop cooperating. Remember the story about Hurin the carpenter?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll do what he did. I don’t know how long it will take before he frees you but I—”

She stopped as the door clicked open. The magician’s light fell upon her face and Cery felt his heart twist.

“You’ve been in here long enough,” Fergun snapped.

Sonea turned back to Cery, gave him a quick hug, and stepped away. He swallowed. Somehow the brief encounter hurt more than her earlier silence.

“Stay warm,” she told him. Backing away, she stepped past Fergun into the passage. As the door closed, Cery hurried forward and pressed his ear to the wood.

“Do what I tell you and you’ll see him again,” Fergun said. “Otherwise ...”

“I know, I know,” Sonea replied. “But just you remember what Thieves do to those who break their promises.”

You tell him, Cery thought, smiling grimly.

It was clear from the moment Dannyl entered the Night Room that he was worried about something. Extracting himself from a circle of questioning magicians, Rothen walked across the room to greet his friend.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you here,” Dannyl said, his eyes flickering about.

“Outside then?” Rothen suggested.

They walked out into falling snow. White flakes fluttered all around them, hissing as they met Rothen’s shield. Dannyl moved to the fountain and stopped.

“Guess who I saw in the University just now.”

“Who?”

“Fergun and Sonea.”

“Sonea?” Rothen felt a twinge of anxiety, but pushed it away. “He has the right to talk to her now, Dannyl.”

“Talk to her, yes, but take her from your rooms?”

Rothen shrugged. “There is no rule against it.”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“Yes, but it will do no good to protest, Dannyl. It’s better that Fergun is seen to overstep his welcome, than I protest at his every move. I doubt she would have gone with him if she didn’t want to.”

Dannyl frowned. “Don’t you want to know where he took her?”

“Where?”

A look of vexation crossed Dannyl’s face. “I’m not sure, exactly. I followed them into the University. Fergun took her into the inner passages. After that I lost them. They just disappeared.”

“They vanished before your eyes?”

“No. I could hear Fergun talking, then everything was silent. Too silent. I should have heard footsteps, or a door closing. Something.”

Once again, Rothen pushed away a feeling of unease. “Hmm, I would like to know where he took her. What could he possibly have to show her in the University? I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

“And if she doesn’t tell you?”

Rothen stared at the snow-covered ground, considering. The inner passages of the University led to small, private rooms. Most would be empty, or locked. There was nothing else there ... except...

“I don’t suppose he’s shown her the underground passages,” he murmured.

“Of course!” Dannyl’s eyes brightened, and Rothen instantly regretted his words. “That’s it!”

“It’s highly unlikely, Dannyl. Nobody knows where the entrances are except—”

Dannyl wasn’t listening. “It makes sense now! Why didn’t I think of them?!” He pressed his hands to the side of his head.

“Well, I would suggest strongly that you keep out of them. There are good reasons for the ban against using them. They’re old and unsafe.”

Dannyl’s eyebrows rose. “So what about the rumors that a certain member of the Guild uses them on a regular basis?”

Rothen crossed his arms. “He can do as he pleases, and I’m sure he’s capable of surviving if a passage collapsed. I’m also sure he wouldn’t approve of you snooping around. What will you say if he discovers you in there?”

The light in Dannyl’s eyes faltered as he considered that. “I’d have to time it carefully. Make sure I knew he was elsewhere.”

“Don’t even consider it,” Rothen warned. “You’ll get lost.”

Dannyl snorted. “It can’t be any worse than the slums, can it?”

“You’re not going, Dannyl!”

But Rothen knew that, once Dannyl’s curiosity was roused, nothing would deter his friend but the threat of expulsion. The Guild wasn’t going to cast him out for breaking a minor rule. “Think carefully, Dannyl. You don’t want to ruin your chance to become an ambassador, do you?”

Dannyl shrugged. “If I can get away with negotiating with the Thieves, I doubt a little snooping around under the University will earn me much disapproval.”

Defeated, Rothen turned and started back toward the Night Room. “That may be so, but sometimes it matters whose disapproval you earn.”

28 The Hearing Begins

“Don’t worry, Sonea,” Tania whispered as they reached the front of the University. “You’ll be fine. The magicians are just a gaggle of old men who’d rather be sipping wine in their rooms than sitting in a drafty old hall. It will all be over before you know it’s started.”

Sonea couldn’t help smiling at Tania’s description of the Guild. Taking a deep breath, she followed Tania up the stairs of the grand building. As they passed through the huge open doors, she caught her breath.

They had entered a room full of staircases. Each was made of melted and fused stone and glass, and looked too frail to support a man’s weight. The stairs spiraled up and down and around each other like an elaborate piece of jewelry.

“The other side of the University isn’t like this!” she exclaimed.

Tania shook her head. “The back entrance is for novices and magicians. This is the way that visitors come, so it has to be impressive.”

The servant continued through the room and started down a short corridor. Sonea could see the bottom half of another pair of enormous doors ahead. As they reached the end of the corridor, Sonea stopped and stared around in awe.

They stood at the threshold of an enormous room. White walls stretched up to a ceiling of glass panels that shone brightly in the gold light of the afternoon sun. At the level of the third floor, a web of balconies crisscrossed the room—so delicate that they seemed to float in the air.

Before her stood a building. A building within a building. The rough gray walls made a dramatic contrast to the airy white of the Hall. A row of slim windows was spaced, like soldiers, along its length.

“This is the Great Hall,” Tania said, indicating the room. “That,” she pointed to the building, “is the Guildhall. It’s over seven centuries old.”

“That’s the Guildhall?” Sonea shook her head in disbelief. “I thought they replaced it.”

“No.” Tania smiled. “It was well made and has historical value, so it would have been a shame to tear it down. They took the inside walls out and made it into a hall.”

Impressed, Sonea followed the servant around the building. Several more openings led out of the Great Hall. Tania pointed to a pair of doors in the side of the Guildhall. “That’s where you’ll go in. They’re having their Meet now. The Hearing will start when it’s finished.”

Sonea’s stomach began to flutter again. A hundred magicians sat inside, waiting to decide her fate. And she was about to stand before them all... and deceive them.

She felt a sickening wave of apprehension. What if, despite her cooperation, Fergun did not win the claim? Would he still let Cery go?

Cery ...

She shook her head as she remembered his halting admission in the dark cell. “I didn’t want to find out that the Guild really wanted to help you. You’d just come back and I didn’t want you going away. I didn’t want to lose you again.”

He loved her. Surprise had left her speechless at first, but when she thought back to the times she had noticed him watching her, how he would sometimes grow hesitant when talking to her, and how Faren had occasionally behaved as if Cery was more than just a faithful friend, it all made sense.

Did she feel the same way? She had asked herself the question countless times since their meeting, but she could not answer with certainty. She didn’t feel like she was in love, but perhaps the fear that gripped her when she considered the danger he was in meant she was. Or would she feel that concern for anyone she loved, whether as a friend or more than a friend?

If she loved him, wouldn’t her heart have leapt with joy at his admission? Wouldn’t she feel gratified that he had tried to rescue her, rather than guilty that his regard for her had led to his capture?

Surely, if she did love him, she wouldn’t have to ask herself these questions.

Pushing the thought aside, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Tania patted her shoulder. “Hopefully it won’t be long, but you never know ...”

A firm click echoed through the Hall, then the doors Tania had pointed to swung open. A magician stepped out of the building, then another. As more appeared, Sonea began to wonder why so many were leaving. Had the Hearing been cancelled?

“Where are they going?”

“Only the ones who are interested in watching the Hearing will stay,” Tania told her.

While some of the magicians left the Great Hall, others gathered into small groups. A few looked at her, their eyes bright with curiosity. Unsettled, Sonea avoided their gaze.

— Sonea?

She started, then looked toward the Guildhall.

— Rothen?

— It was a short Meet—over quickly. You’ll be called in soon.

Looking toward the Guildhall doors, Sonea saw a dark figure emerge. Her heart skipped as she recognized him.

The assassin!

She stared at him, sure that this was the man she had seen the night she had spied on the Guild. He wore the same grim, brooding expression she remembered. His black robes snapped around him as he strode across the room.

A few magicians turned and nodded to him, offering the same wary respect she had seen Faren give an assassin of the Thieves. He inclined his head in reply but did not stop. Though she knew she would draw his attention if she kept staring, she could not take her eyes from him. His gaze flickered to hers, lingered a moment, then shifted away.

She jumped as a hand touched her shoulder.

“There’s Lord Osen.” Tania was pointing toward the Guildhall doors. “The Administrator’s assistant.”

A young magician stood there, watching her. As she met his eyes, he beckoned.

“Go on,” Tania whispered, patting Sonea on the shoulder again. “You’ll be fine.”

Sonea took a deep breath and forced herself to walk across the Hall to the door. When she reached the young magician, he inclined his head politely.

“Greetings, Sonea,” he said. “Welcome to the Guildhall.”

“Thank you, Lord Osen.” She quickly sketched an awkward bow. Smiling, he gestured for her to follow him into the Guildhall.

The scent of wood and polish filled her senses as she stepped inside. The hall seemed larger than it had appeared on the outside, the walls rising up to a dark ceiling high above. Several magic globe lights hovered under the rafters, filling the room with a golden glow.

Rows of tiered wooden seats extended down the length of the building on each side. Sonea felt her mouth go dry as she saw the robed men and women watching her. Swallowing, she looked away.

Osen stopped and indicated that she should stay where she was, then climbed a steep arrangement of tiered seats to her right. These, she knew, were for the Higher Magicians. Rothen had drawn a diagram of the seating arrangement so she could memorize the magicians’ names and titles.

Looking up she saw that the topmost row was empty. Rothen had assured her that the King rarely attended Guild ceremonies. His chair at the center was larger than all others, and the royal incal had been stitched onto the cushioned back.

A single chair stood below it. Sonea felt a vague disappointment as she saw that it was empty. She had hoped to catch a glimpse of the High Lord.

Administrator Lorlen sat at the center of the middle row. The seats on either side of him were empty. He was talking to Osen and a long-faced man in the seat below him who wore a black sash over his red robes. This, Sonea recalled, was Lord Balkan, the Head of Warriors.

To Balkan’s left sat the stern Lady Vinara, the Head of Healers, who had visited Rothen after he had announced that Sonea would be staying. To his right was an old man with an angular face and a large nose—Lord Sarrin, the Head of Alchemists. Both were watching Lorlen intently.

In the lowest row of seats were the Principles—the magicians who controlled and organized lessons in the University. Only two seats were occupied. Sonea frowned as she struggled to remember why, then looked up at Lord Balkan. The Warrior held both positions, she recalled.

Osen straightened and descended to the floor again. The Higher Magicians turned to regard the hall. Rising, Administrator Lorlen lifted his chin and surveyed the magicians in the hall.

“The Hearing to decide the guardian of Sonea will now begin,” he intoned. “Would Lord Rothen and Lord Fergun, as claimants to that role, please approach the front.”

Hearing the scrape of booted feet, Sonea looked up at the rows of magicians. A familiar figure was making his way down to the floor. As Rothen stopped a few steps from Osen, he looked at her and smiled.

She felt an unexpected pang of fondness and started to smile in return, but then she remembered what she was about to do and she looked down at the floor. He was going to be so disappointed in her ...

Another set of footsteps filled the hall. Looking up, she saw that Fergun had stopped a few paces from Rothen. He, too, smiled at her. She quelled a shudder and looked at the Administrator instead.

“Both Lord Rothen and Lord Fergun have claimed guardianship of Sonea,” Lorlen told the audience. “Both believe they were the first magician to recognize her potential. We must now decide which claim shall be honored. I leave the proceedings of this Hearing to my assistant, Lord Osen.”

The young man who had led her into the room stepped forward. Taking a deep breath, Sonea stared at the floor and tried to steel herself for what she must do.

“Lord Rothen.”

Rothen turned to face Lord Osen.

“Will you please tell us of the events that led you to recognize Sonea as a potential magician.”

Nodding, Rothen cleared his throat. “On the day I recognized Sonea’s powers—the day of the Purge—I was paired with Lord Fergun. We had arrived at the North Square and were assisting in the barrier shield. As always, a group of youths started throwing stones.

“I was facing Lord Fergun at the time. The shield was about three paces from us, on my left. At the edge of my vision I saw a flash of light in the vicinity of the shield, and simultaneously felt the shield waver. I glimpsed a stone flying through the air just before it struck Lord Fergun on the temple, knocking him unconscious.”

Rothen paused, glancing at Fergun. “I caught Lord Fergun as he fell. When he was safely lying on the ground I searched for the one who had thrown the stone. That is when I saw Sonea.”

Osen took a step toward Rothen. “So this was the first time that you saw Sonea?”

“Yes.”

Osen crossed his arms. “At any point in time did you see Sonea performing magic?”

Rothen hesitated. “No, I did not,” he admitted reluctantly. A low murmur began among the magicians seated to his right, but it quickly died away as Lord Osen glanced in that direction.

“How did you know it was she who threw the stone that broke through the shield?”

“I judged the direction from which the stone had come, and guessed that it had to be one of two youths,” Rothen explained. “The closest—a boy—was not even paying attention. Sonea, however, was staring at her hands in surprise. As I watched she looked up at me, and I knew from her expression that she had thrown the stone.”

“And you believe that Lord Fergun could not have seen Sonea before then?”

“No, Lord Fergun could not have seen Sonea at all that day,” Rothen said dryly, “due to the unfortunate nature of his injury.”

A few chuckles and coughs echoed in the hall. Lord Osen nodded, then moved away. He stopped in front of Fergun.

“Lord Fergun,” he said, “will you please tell us of the events of that day as you saw them.”

Fergun inclined his head graciously. “I was assisting with the barrier in the North Square as Rothen has described. A group of youths came forward and began throwing stones at us. I noted that there were about ten of them. One was a young girl.” Fergun glanced at Sonea. “I thought she was behaving strangely, so when I turned away I continued to observe her in the corner of my eye. When she threw her stone I thought nothing of it, naturally, until I beheld a flash of light. I realized she must have done something to break the barrier.” Fergun smiled. “This surprised me so much that, instead of deflecting the stone, my first reaction was to glance at her to confirm that it was, indeed, her.”

“So you realized that Sonea had used magic after the stone broke through the shield, and before it struck you.”

“Yes,” Fergun answered.

The hall echoed with voices as this was discussed. Gritting his teeth, Rothen resisted the urge to stare at Fergun. The Warrior’s story was a lie. Fergun had never glanced toward Sonea. Rothen stole a quick look at her. She stood quietly in the shadows, her shoulders slumped. He hoped she understood how important her account would be in confirming his story.

“Lord Fergun.”

The room fell silent at this new voice. Rothen looked up at Lady Vinara. The Healer was regarding Fergun with her famous, unblinking stare.

“If you were looking at Sonea, how is it that the stone struck your right temple? That would indicate to me that you were looking at Rothen at the time.”

Fergun nodded. “It all happened very quickly, Lady,” he said. “I saw the flash and glanced at Sonea. It was only a fleeting look—and I recall wanting to ask if my companion had seen what this girl had done.”

“You did not even attempt to dodge?” Lord Balkan asked, his tone disbelieving.

Fergun smiled ruefully. “I am not accustomed to having stones thrown at me. I believe surprise overrode the instinct to duck.”

Lord Balkan looked at the magicians beside him and received slight shrugs. Watching them closely, Osen nodded as no more questions came. He turned to regard Rothen.

“Lord Rothen, did you see Fergun glance at Sonea between the time the stone broke through the barrier and when it struck him?”

“No,” Rothen replied, struggling to keep anger from his voice. “He was talking to me. The stone cut him off in the middle of a sentence.”

Osen’s brows rose. He glanced at the Higher Magicians, then looked up at the audience.

“Does anyone have an account that contradicts or adds to what we have heard?”

Silence answered him. Nodding slowly, Osen turned to regard Sonea.

“I call on Sonea as witness to this event.”

Moving from the shadows at the side of the hall, Sonea walked forward to stand a few paces from Fergun. She glanced up at the Higher Magicians, then bowed quickly.

Rothen felt a pang of sympathy for her. A few weeks before, she had been terrified of him and now she faced a hall of magicians, all watching her intently.

Osen gave her a quick smile of encouragement. “Sonea,” he said. “Please tell us your version of the events we are discussing.”

She swallowed and set her gaze on the floor. “I was with the other youths. They were throwing stones. I didn’t usually do that—I usually stayed with my aunt.” She glanced up and blushed, then continued on in a rush.

“I guess I got dragged into things. I didn’t start throwing stones straightaway. I watched the others and the magicians. I remember I was... I was angry, so when I did go to throw a stone I pushed all that anger at the stone. Later I realized I had done something, but at the time everything was so ... confusing.” She stopped and seemed to collect herself.

“When I threw the stone it went through the barrier. Lord Fergun looked at me, then the stone hit him and Ro— Lord Rothen caught him. The rest of the magicians were looking everywhere, then I saw Lord Rothen looking at me. After that, I ran.”

A cold rush of disbelief struck Rothen. He stared at Sonea, but her eyes remained fixed on the floor. Glancing at Fergun, he saw that a sly smile curled the man’s lips. As the Warrior realized he was being watched, the smile vanished.

Helpless, Rothen could only clench his fists as the rest of the Guild voiced their approval.

The half-seen vision of the Guildhall wavered as anger, disbelief and hurt flowed over Dannyl’s mind. He stopped, alarmed.

— What’s wrong, Rothen?

— She lied! She supported Fergun’s lie!

— Careful, Dannyl cautioned. You’ll be heard.

— I don’t care. I know he’s lying!

— Perhaps that’s how she saw it.

— No. Fergun never looked at her. I was talking to him, remember?

Dannyl sighed and shook his head. Rothen had finally seen Fergun’s true character. He should have been happy, but how could he be? Fergun had won again.

Or had he?

— Have you found anything yet?

— No, but I’m still looking.

— We need more time. With Sonea supporting Fergun, they’ll probably make a decision in the next few minutes.

— Delay them.

— How?

Dannyl drummed his fingers on a wall.

— Ask to talk to her.

Rothen’s presence vanished as his attention returned to the Hearing. Grimacing, Dannyl regarded the walls around him. Every magician knew that there were entrances to the underground passages inside the University. He had guessed that those entrances must be well hidden or novices would be flouting the rule all the time.

As he had expected, a simple search of the passages had revealed nothing. Though he was sure that he would eventually find something if he kept examining the walls closely, there wasn’t time for that.

He needed another clue. Footprints, perhaps. The underground passages were probably dusty. Fergun must have left some evidence. Eyes on the floor, Dannyl started along the corridor again.

Turning a corner, he collided with a short, plump figure. The woman gave a little yelp of surprise, then stepped back, a hand pressed to her heart.

“Forgive me, my Lord!” She bowed, the water in the bucket she carried sloshing. “You were walking so quietly, I didn’t hear you coming!”

He looked at the bucket, then smothered a groan. Evidence of Fergun’s passing would be regularly cleaned away by the servants. The woman moved past him and continued down the corridor. Watching her, it occurred to him that she probably knew more about the inner passages of the University than any magician.

“Wait!” Dannyl called.

She stopped. “Yes, my Lord?”

Dannyl walked toward her. “Do you always clean this part of the University?”

She nodded.

“Have you needed to clean up any unusual messes? Muddy footprints, for example?”

The servant’s lips thinned. “Someone dropped food on the floor. The novices aren’t supposed to bring food in here.”

“Food, eh? Where was it dropped?”

The servant gave him an odd look, then led him to a painting farther down the corridor.

“It was on the painting, too,” she said, pointing. “Like they’d been handling it.”

“I see.” Dannyl narrowed his eyes at the painting. It was of a view of a beach, with tiny spiral shells carved into the frame. “Thank you,” he said. “You may go.”

Shrugging, she bowed quickly and hurried away. Dannyl examined the painting carefully, then lifted it off the wall. Behind it was the usual wooden panelling of the inner passages. Running his hand over it, he extended his senses beyond and drew in a breath as he detected metal shapes. Following their contours, he found a section of the panel that gave beneath his probing fingers.

A soft sliding noise followed, and a section of the wall moved aside. Darkness and cold air confronted him: Hushed with triumph and excitement, he replaced the painting, created a globe light, and stepped through.

A steep stairway descended to his left. Finding a lever on the inside of the door, Dannyl pressed it and the door closed. He smiled to himself and started down the stairs.

The passage was narrow and he had to stoop to avoid brushing his head on the ceiling. A few faren webs clung to the corners. As he reached the first side passage, he reached into a pocket and drew out a jar of colored paste. Unstoppering it, he wiped a little of the contents onto the wall beside him.

The paste would slowly change from white to a clear, hard coating over the next few hours, giving him a marker that would soon be unnoticeable. Even if he was exploring in a few hours, he could still find his way out by looking for the clear coating.

He looked down and laughed aloud.

Footprints stood out clearly in a thick layer of dust. Dropping into a crouch, Dannyl identified the familiar imprint of a magician’s boots. From the number of tracks, it was clear that someone had scuffed this passage many times.

Rising, he followed the footprints for several hundred paces. Reaching another side passage, he was dismayed to find the prints led down both the main passage, and the new one. He dropped to his haunches again and examined them closely. There were only four sets of prints in the side passage, two of magician’s boots, two of smaller shoes. The prints in the main passage were fresher, and numerous.

A faint sound touched his ears then—a very human-sounding sigh. Dannyl froze, a chill slowly running up his spine. The dark beyond the reach of his globe light seemed thick and full of unpleasant possibilities, and he suddenly felt sure that something was watching him.

Ridiculous, he told himself. There’s nothing there.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and forced himself to look only at the tracks. Moving forward, he followed them for another hundred paces, finding more side passages with older tracks.

Again, he felt a nagging certainty that he was being followed. Behind his footsteps there was the echo of softer treads. The faintest breeze brought a smell of rot and something alive, but filthy ...

He turned a corner and his imaginings fled. Ahead, about twenty paces away, the footprints ended at a door. He took a step forward, then went rigid with terror as a figure moved out of the side passage beside him.

“Lord Dannyl. Might I inquire as to your reasons for being here?”

Staring at the man, Dannyl’s mind seemed to divide into two. While one part babbled excuses, the other watched helplessly as the first made an utter fool of itself.

And at the edge of his mind a familiar presence was projecting both sympathy and smug satisfaction.

— I told you not to go down there, Rothen sent.

In the lightless silence, the sound of his stomach grumbling was loud. Cery rubbed his belly and continued to pace.

He was certain now that more than a day had passed since his last meal, which meant that a week had gone by since he had seen Sonea. Leaning against the door, he cursed Fergun with every unsavory ailment he could think of. Between the words he heard the sound of footsteps and froze.

His stomach growled fiercely in anticipation. The footsteps were slower, taunting him. They drew closer, then stopped. The faint sound of voices reached him. Two voices. Both male.

He drew in a quick breath and pressed his ear to the door.

“... tunnels are extensive. It is easy to become disorientated. Magicians have been lost for days and returned starved. I suggest you retrace your steps.” The voice was stern and unfamiliar.

Another voice replied. Cery caught only a few words, but he understood enough to know that the other magician was apologizing. The voice was also unfamiliar, but he could easily imagine Fergun’s voice becoming faint and high if he was babbling so.

The stern magician clearly did not approve of Fergun’s presence in the passages. He was unlikely to approve of Fergun keeping prisoners down here either. All Cery had to do was call out, or hammer on the door, and Fergun’s trap would be unsprung.

He raised his fist, then paused as the voices stopped. Hasty footsteps led away, then another set approached. Biting his lip, Cery backed away from the door. Which magician was it? Fergun or the stern stranger?

The lock clicked. Cery shied back against the far wall. As the door opened light filled the room and he closed his eyes against the glare.

“Who are you?” boomed an unfamiliar voice. “What are you doing down here?”

Opening his eyes, Cery’s relief changed to astonishment as he recognized the man standing in the doorway.

29 To Dwell Among Magicians

“She said he was doing it so that no one will ever think dwells could be magicians,” Cery finished.

The magician narrowed his eyes. “That does sound like Fergun.” As the dark gaze shifted to Cery again, a small frown creased the magician’s brow. “The Hearing is taking place now. I can reveal Fergun’s crimes, but only if I have proof that he is the man you speak of.”

Cery sighed and looked around the room. “I’ve got nothing ’cept the things he gave me, but he has my knife and tools. If you found them, would that be enough?”

The man shook his head slowly. “No. What I need is in your memories. Will you allow me to read your mind?”

Cery stared at the magician. Read his mind?

He had secrets. Things his father had told him. Things Faren had told him. Things even Faren would have been surprised to know. What if the magician saw them?

But if I don’t let him read my mind, I can’t save Sonea.

He couldn’t let a few musty secrets keep him from saving her—and the magician might not see them, anyway. Swallowing his fear, Cery looked up at the magician.

“Sure. Do it.”

The magician regarded Cery soberly. “It will not harm or hurt. Close your eyes.”

Taking a deep breath, Cery obeyed. He felt fingers touch his temples. At once, he became aware of another mind. It seemed to drift in behind his own, then a voice spoke from ... somewhere.

— Think of the day your friend was captured.

A memory flashed before his eyes. The other mind seemed to catch and steady it. Cery found himself in a snow-filled alley. It was like a vision, clear and yet lacking fine detail. He saw Sonea running away from him, and felt an echo of the fear and despair he had felt as he had hammered against the invisible barrier that had separated them. Turning, he saw a man wearing a cloak, standing behind him.

— This is the man who captured you?

— Yes.

— Show me how.

Once again a memory flashed through his mind, was caught and replayed. He stood outside the Magicians’ building, looking up at Sonea. Fergun appeared. Chased him. Caught him. The blue-robed magician and his companion appeared, took Cery to Sonea. His memory sped on. He was leaving Sonea and walking through the Magicians’ building. Fergun was suggesting they go through the University. They entered the building and travelled down passages.

Then Fergun opened the secret door and forced him through. The blindfold touched his face again, and he heard his own steps as he walked down the underground passage. He faced the cell again, walked inside, heard the door close ...

— When did you see him next?

Memories of the magician’s visits followed. Cery saw himself searched and robbed of his possessions, then relived his failed attack and was healed. He saw Sonea enter the room and heard their conversation over again.

After that, the other mind brushed over his, then seemed to fade away. Cery felt the magician’s fingers lift from his temples. He opened his eyes.

The magician was nodding. “That is more than enough,” he said. “Come with me. We must hurry if we wish to attend the Hearing.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Following, Cery felt relief rush over him as he stepped out of the cell. He looked back once, then hurried after his rescuer.

The man strode quickly down the passage, forcing Cery into a jog to keep up. The passage met another, then several more. None looked familiar.

They reached a short flight of stairs. The magician climbed these, then bent to stare at the wall. Seeing a small dot of light around the magician’s eye, Cery guessed that there was a spy hole.

“Thanks for helping me,” he offered. “There’s probably nothing a petty thief could offer in return, but if you need anything just ask.”

The magician straightened and turned to regard him soberly.

“Do you know who I am?”

Cery felt his face warm. “Of course. There’s nothing the likes of you would ever need from me. Seemed right to offer, though.”

The ghost of a smile touched the magician’s lips. “Do you truly mean what you said?”

Suddenly uneasy, Cery shifted from foot to foot. “Of course,” he said reluctantly.

The man’s smile became a little more pronounced. “I’m not going to force you to make a bargain with me. No matter what you say, Fergun’s actions must be revealed and punished. Your friend will be free to go, if that is what she wants.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But I might contact you some time in the future. I will not ask for anything beyond your abilities, or that will compromise your place with the Thieves. It will be up to you to decide if what I ask is acceptable.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that reasonable?”

Cery looked down. What the man was proposing was more than reasonable. He found himself nodding. “It is.”

The magician extended his hand. Taking it, Cery felt a strong grip. He looked into the man’s eyes, and was pleased to see that the dark stare was steady.

“Agreed,” Cery said.

“Agreed,” the magician repeated. He then turned back to the wall. After checking the spy hole again, he grasped a lever and pulled. A panel slid sideways. The magician stepped through, his light following.

Cery hurried after and found himself in a large room. A desk stood at one end, with chairs arranged before it.

“Where am I?”

“In the University,” the man replied, sliding the panel back into place. “Follow me.”

The magician strode across the room and opened a door. Following the man through, Cery found himself in a wide corridor. Two green-robed magicians stopped to stare at him, then looked up at his guide. They blinked in surprise, then inclined their heads respectfully.

Ignoring them, the magician strode to the end of the corridor, Cery following close behind. As they passed through a doorway, Cery looked up and gasped. They had entered a room filled with fantastic spiraling staircases. To one side the doors of the University stood wide open, revealing snow-covered ground and a view of the Inner City. Cery turned full circle, then realized that the magician was already several paces down the corridor.

“Harrin’s never going to believe me,” he muttered as he hurried after him.

“That’s not what happened,” Rothen told her.

Sonea looked away. “I know what I saw,” she answered. “Do you want me to lie?” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. She swallowed and tried to look puzzled by his statement.

Rothen stared at her, then shook his head. “No, I do not. If it was discovered that you had lied today, many would question if you should be allowed to join the Guild.”

“That’s why I had to do it.”

Rothen signed. “Then that is truly how you remember it?”

“I said that, didn’t I?” Sonea sent him a pleading look. “Don’t make it any harder than it already is, Rothen?”

His expression softened. “All right. Perhaps I missed something that day. It is a shame, but it can’t be helped.” He shook his head. “I will miss our lessons, Sonea. If there’s ...”

“Lord Rothen.”

They turned to see Osen walking toward them. Rothen sighed, then walked back to his place. As Fergun started toward her, she smothered a groan.

When Rothen had asked for time to speak with her, Fergun had promptly asked for the same. What did he plan to say? All she wanted now was for the Hearing to be finished and over with.

Fergun gave her a sickly smile as he reached her side.

“Everything going as planned?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Good,” he crooned. “Very good. Your story was convincing, if a little badly spoken. Still, it had a charming honesty.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she said dryly.

He looked up at the Higher Magicians. “I doubt if they will want to discuss this any longer. They will make their decision soon. After that, I will arrange a room for you in the Novices’ Quarter. You should smile, Sonea. We want people to believe you are filled with delight at the prospect of being my novice.”

Sighing, she forced the corners of her mouth upward into what she hoped the distant magicians would take as a smile.

“I’ve had enough of this,” she said between her teeth. “Let’s go back and get it over with.”

His brows rose. “Oh, no. I want my full ten minutes.”

Pressing her lips together, Sonea resolved to avoid saying another word. When he spoke to her again she ignored him. Seeing the flicker of annoyance in his eyes, she found it much easier to smile.

“Lord Fergun?”

She turned to see Lord Osen beckoning. Letting out a sigh of relief, she followed Fergun back to the front of the hall. The room still hummed with voices. Osen lifted his hands.

“Quiet, please.”

Faces turned back to the front and the hall settled into an expectant silence.

In the corner of her eye, Sonea could see Rothen staring at her. She felt another pang of guilt.

“From the accounts given today, we can clearly see that Lord Fergun was the first to recognize Sonea’s abilities,” said Lord Osen. “Does anybody contest this conclusion?”

“I do.”

The voice was deep and strangely familiar, and it echoed from somewhere behind her. Scraping and the rustle of robes filled the hall as all shifted in their seats. Sonea turned around and saw that one of the huge doors was standing slightly open. Two figures were striding down the aisle toward her.

As she recognized the shorter one she gave a cry of joy.

“Cery!”

She took a step forward, then froze as she saw Cery’s companion. Whispered questions drifted to her ears from either side. As the black-robed magician neared, he gave her an appraising look. Disturbed by his gaze, Sonea turned her attention to Cery.

Though pale and dirty, Cery was grinning happily. “He found me and let me out,” he told her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Sonea looked questioningly at the black-robed magician. His lips curled into a half smile, but he said nothing. Moving past her, he gave Osen a nod, then started up the stairs between the Higher Magicians. No one protested as he settled into the seat above the Administrator.

“For what reason do you contest this conclusion, High Lord?” Osen asked.

The room seemed to tilt beneath her. She stared at the black-robed magician. This man was no assassin. He was the Guild’s leader.

“Evidence of deception,” the High Lord replied. “The girl has been forced to lie.”

Sonea heard a strangled sound to her right. Turning, she saw that Fergun’s face was white. She felt a flare of triumph and anger and, forgetting the black-robed magician, jabbed her finger at Fergun.

“He made me lie!” she accused. “He said he would kill Cery if I didn’t do what he said.”

From all around came gasps and hisses of surprise. Sonea felt Cery grip her arm tightly. She turned to look at Rothen, and as he met her eyes she knew he understood everything.

“An accusation has been made,” Lady Vinara observed.

The hall quietened. Rothen opened his mouth to speak, then frowned and shook his head.

“Sonea. Do you know the law regarding accusations?” Lord Osen asked.

Sonea drew in a sharp breath as she remembered. “Yes,” she replied, her voice shaking. “A truth read?”

Osen nodded, then turned to face the Higher Magicians. “Who will perform the truth read?”

Silence followed. The Higher Magicians exchanged glances, then looked up at Lorlen. The Administrator nodded and rose from his chair.

“I will perform the truth read.”

As he descended to the floor, Cery pulled on her arm. “What’s he going to do?” he whispered.

“He’s going to read my mind,” she told him.

“Oh,” he said, relaxing. “That’s all.”

Amused, she turned to regard him. “It’s not as easy as you’d think, Cery.”

He shrugged. “It seemed easy enough.”

“Sonea.”

She looked up to see that Lorlen had reached her side.

“See Rothen over there, Cery?” She pointed to Rothen. “He’s a good man. Go stand beside him.”

Cery nodded, then squeezed her arm and moved away. As he reached Rothen’s side, she turned to face Lorlen. The Administrator’s expression was sober.

“You have experienced a sharing of minds while learning Control,” he said. “This will be a little different. I will be wanting to see your memories. It will take a great deal of your concentration to separate what you want to show me from anything else that you think of. To help you, I will prompt you with questions. Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“Close your eyes.”

Obeying, she felt his hands touch the sides of her head.

— Show me the room that is your mind.

Drawing up the wooden walls and doors, she sent Lorlen an image of the room. She sensed a fleeting amusement.

— Such a humble abode. Now, open the doors.

Turning to face the double doors, she willed them open. Instead of houses and a street, darkness stretched beyond. A blue-robed figure stood within it.

— Hello, Sonea.

The image of Lorlen smiled. He strode across the darkness and stopped at the doors. Extending a hand, he nodded to her.

— Bring me in.

She reached out and took his hand. At her touch, the room seemed to slide under his feet.

— Don’t be afraid or concerned, he told her. I will look at your memories, then I will be gone. He moved over to a wall. Show me Fergun.

Focusing on the wall, she created a painting. Within it she placed an image of Fergun’s face.

— Good. Now show me what he did to make you lie for him.

It took no force of her will to animate the image of Fergun. The painting swelled to fill the wall and changed to show Rothen’s guest room. Fergun strode toward them and placed Cery’s knife on the table in front of her.

I have the owner of this knife locked in a dark little room that nobody here knows of...

The scene blurred and then Fergun was crouching in front of them, larger than reality.

Do what I tell you, and I will release your friend. Give me any trouble, and I will leave him there forever... When you tell them this, the Higher Magicians will have no choice but to grant me your guardianship. You’ll enter the Guild, but I assure you, it won’t be for long. Once you have performed a little task for me, you’ll be sent back where you belong.

You’ll get what you want and so will I. You have nothing to lose from helping me, but... he picked up the dagger and ran a finger along the blade, you’ll lose that little friend of yours if you don’t.

She felt a wave of anger from the presence at her side. Distracted, she glanced at Lorlen, and the painting faded into the wall. Turning back, she willed it to appear again.

Drawing on her memory, she filled the painting with an image of Cery, dirty and thin, and the room he had been imprisoned in. Fergun stood to one side, looking smug. The smell of stale food and human waste flowed from the painting into the room.

At this scene the Lorlen image shook his head. He turned to face her.

— This is outrageous! It is fortunate, indeed, that the High Lord found your friend today.

At the mention of the black-robed magician, Sonea sensed the painting change. As she turned toward it, Lorlen followed her gaze and drew in a sharp breath.

— What is this?

Within the frame stood the High Lord, dressed in blood-soaked beggar’s clothes. Lorlen turned to stare at her.

— When did you see this?

— Many weeks ago.

— How? Where?

Sonea hesitated. If she let him see the memory, he would know that she had trespassed and spied upon the Guild. He had not entered her mind to see that, and she was sure he could not complain if she pushed him out.

But a part of her wanted him to see. There could be no harm now in letting the magicians discover her intrusion, and she craved an answer to the mystery of the black-robed magician.

— Very well. It began like this...

The painting changed to show Cery leading her through the Guild. She felt Lorlen’s surprise, then a growing amusement as the image jumped from scene to scene. She was spying through windows one moment, running through the forest the next, and looking at the books Cery had stolen. She sensed amusement from Lorlen.

— Who would have guessed that was where Jerrik’s stolen books went? But what of Akkarin?

Sonea hesitated, reluctant to uncover that memory.

— Please, Sonea. He is our leader and my friend. I must know. Was he hurt?

Drawing up the memory of a forest, Sonea projected it into the painting. Once again she moved through the trees to the gray house. The servant appeared, and she dropped down between the bushes and the wall. The tinkle that had attracted her to the grille rang in her imaginary room.

The High Lord stood in the painting again, this time wearing a black cloak. The servant arrived and she sensed recognition from Lorlen.

— Takan.

It is done, the High Lord said, then removed his cloak to reveal the bloodstained clothes. He looked down at himself in disgust. Did you bring my robes?

At the servant’s mumbled answer, the High Lord pulled off the beggar’s shirt. Beneath it was the leather belt strapped to his waist and the dagger pouch. He scrubbed himself down, then moved out of sight and returned wearing black robes.

Reaching for the pouch, he removed the glittering dagger and began to wipe it on a towel. At this she sensed surprise and puzzlement from Lorlen. The High Lord looked up at the servant.

The fight has weakened me, he said. I need your strength.

Dropping to one knee, the servant offered his arm. The High Lord ran the blade over the man’s skin, then placed a hand over the wound. Sonea felt an echo of the strange fluttering within her head.

— No!

A wave of horror swept over her. Startled by the force of Lorlen’s emotions, Sonea’s concentration snapped. The painting went black, then disappeared completely.

— It can’t be! Not Akkarin!

— What is it? I don’t understand. What did he do?

Lorlen seemed to gather his emotions to himself. His image slowly faded to nothing and she realized he had left her mind.

— Do not move or open your eyes. I must think this over before I face him again.

He was silent for several heartbeats, then his presence returned.

— What you have seen is forbidden, he told her. It is what we call black magic. By using it, a magician can take strength from any living creature, human or animal. For Akkarin to be using it is ... is terrible beyond belief. He is powerful—more powerful than any of us... Ah! This must be the reason for his extraordinary strength! If that is so, then he must have been practicing these vile arts before he returned from abroad...

Lorlen paused as he considered this.

— He has broken his vow. He should be stripped of his rank and expelled. If he has used these powers to kill, the penalty is death... but...

Sonea sensed anguish from the magician. Another long silence followed.

— Lorlen?

He seemed to collect himself again.

— Ah, I am sorry, Sonea. He has been my friend since we were both novices. So many years ... and I had to find this!

When he spoke again there was a cold determination behind his sending.

— We must remove him, but not now. He is too powerful. If we confront him and he fights us, he could easily win—and each killing he made would make him stronger. With his secret revealed and no reason to hide his crime, he could kill indiscriminately. The entire city would be in danger.

Shocked by what he was describing, Sonea shivered.

— Do not fear, Sonea, Lorlen soothed. I will not allow that to happen. We can’t confront him until we know we can defeat him. Until then, we must not let anybody know about this. We must prepare in secret. That means you must never speak of this to anybody. Do you understand?

— Yes. But... must you let him remain the Guild’s leader?

— Unfortunately, yes. When I know we are strong enough, I will gather all the magicians together. I will have to move quickly, without warning. Until then, only you and I can know of this.

— I understand.

— I know you want to return to the slums, Sonea, and I would not be surprised if this discovery has increased your determination to leave, but I must ask you to stay. We will need all the help we can get when the time comes. Also, I fear that, though I do not like to think it, you may be an attractive victim for him. He knows you have strong powers. You would be a potent source of magic. With your powers blocked, and living out of the sight of those who would recognize the death brought by black magic, you would be the perfect victim. Please, for your sake and ours, stay here with us.

— You want me to live here, right under his nose?

— Yes. You will be safer here.

— If you couldn’t find me without the Thieves’ help, how would he?

— Akkarin has finer senses than the rest of us. He was first to know when you started using your powers. I fear he would find you easily.

She sensed that he truly feared for her safety. How could she argue with the Administrator of the Guild? If he believed she would be in danger, then she probably was.

She had no choice. She had to stay. To her surprise, she felt no anger or disappointment, only relief. Cery had told her that she should not consider herself a traitor by becoming a magician. She would learn to use her magic, master the skills of Healing, and, perhaps, one day, she would take what she knew and help the people she had left.

And it would be satisfying to thwart those magicians who, like Fergun, believed that dwells should not join the Guild.

— Yes, she sent. I will stay.

— Thank you, Sonea. Then there is one other we must trust with our secret. As your guardian, Rothen may have reason to go into your mind again, particularly when the time comes to teach you Healing. He may see what you have shown me today. You must tell Rothen about Akkarin, and of all that I have said to you today. I know he can be trusted to remain silent.

— I will.

— Good. Now I am going to release you and confirm Fergun’s crime. Try not to show any fear of Akkarin. If it helps, don’t look at him at all—and keep your thoughts buried deep.

Feeling his hands lift from her temples, she opened her eyes. Lorlen regarded her solemnly, his eyes bright, then his expression smoothed and he turned to face the Higher Magicians.

“She speaks the truth,” he said.

A shocked silence followed Lorlen’s words, then the room began to buzz with exclamations and questions. Lorlen lifted a hand and the room fell silent again.

“Lord Fergun imprisoned this young man,” Lorlen gestured toward Cery, “after he had told me he was going to escort him to the gates. He locked him in a room underneath the Guild, then told Sonea that he would kill her friend if she did not lie at this Hearing to confirm his story. Having won his claim, he intended to force her to break one of our rules, so that she would be publicly expelled.”

“Why?” Lady Vinara hissed.

“From what Sonea understands,” Lorlen answered, “to dissuade us from offering a place in the Guild to other commoners.”

“She wanted to leave anyway.”

All eyes turned toward Fergun. He stared defiantly at the Higher Magicians.

“I’ll admit I got a little carried away,” he said, “but I only wanted to save the Guild from itself. You would have us welcome thieves and beggars into the Guild, without asking whether we, or the Houses, or even the King we serve, wishes it. It may seem a small thing to let a beggar girl into the Guild, but what will it lead to?” His voice rose. “Will we let more of them in? Will we become a Guild of Thieves?”

A murmur followed and, looking at the magicians on either side, Sonea saw several heads shaking.

Fergun looked at her and smiled. “She wanted to have her powers blocked so that she could return home. Ask Lord Rothen. He will not deny it. Ask Administrator Lorlen. I asked her to do nothing that she did not already want.”

Sonea clenched her fists. “Nothing I did not already want?” she spat. “I did not want to make the Novice’s Vow and then break it. I did not want to lie. You imprisoned my friend. You threatened to kill him. You are ...” she stopped, suddenly aware that all eyes were watching her. Taking a deep breath, she faced the Higher Magicians. “When I first came here it took a long time before I saw that you were not ...” she paused, not liking the image she saw of herself, standing in the Guildhall calling the magicians names. Instead she turned to point at Fergun. “But he is everything I had been taught to believe all magicians are.”

Silence followed her words. Lorlen regarded her solemnly, then slowly nodded. He turned to face Fergun.

“You have committed numerous crimes, Lord Fergun,” he said. “Some of them of the most serious nature. I need not ask you to explain yourself; you have done so quite well enough already. A Hearing to discuss your actions and decide your punishment will be held in three days. In the meantime, I suggest that you cooperate with our investigations.”

He strode past Osen and climbed the stairs between the Higher Magicians. The High Lord watched him, a half smile curling his lips. Sonea shivered as she imagined the conflicting emotions that Lorlen must feel under that gaze.

“The issue we have gathered to discuss is now irrelevant,” Lorlen announced. “I hereby grant guardianship of Sonea to Lord Rothen, and declare this Hearing ended.”

The hall filled with voices and the thunder of booted feet as the magicians rose from their seats. Sonea closed her eyes and sighed. It’s over!

Then she remembered Akkarin. No, it isn’t, she reminded herself. But, for now, that is not for me to worry about.

“You should have told me, Sonea.”

Opening her eyes, she found Rothen standing in front of her, Cery at his side. She looked down.

“I’m sorry.”

To her surprise Rothen gave her a quick hug. “Don’t apologize,” he told her. “You had a friend to protect.” He turned to regard Cery. “I apologize on behalf of the Guild for your treatment.”

Cery smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Get me my stuff back, and I’ll forget about it.”

Rothen frowned. “What are you missing?”

“Two daggers, a few knives, and my tools.”

“Tools?” Rothen echoed.

“Picks.”

Rothen lifted an eyebrow at Sonea. “He’s not joking, is he?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Rothen sighed, then looked over Sonea’s shoulder. “Ah! Here’s a man more familiar with the ways of Thieves—Lord Dannyl.”

Feeling a pat on her shoulder, Sonea turned to find the tall magician grinning down at her.

“Well done!” he told her. “You have done me, and the rest of the Guild, a great service.”

Rothen smiled crookedly. “Feeling particularly cheerful, Dannyl?”

Dannyl gave his friend a haughty look. “Who was right about Fergun, then?”

Sighing, Rothen nodded. “You were.”

“Now do you understand why I dislike him so much?” Seeing Cery, Dannyl’s expression became thoughtful. “I think the Thieves are looking for you. They sent me a message asking if I knew where a companion of Sonea’s had disappeared to. They sounded quite concerned.”

Cery looked up at the tall magician appraisingly. “Who sent the message?”

“A man named Gorin.”

Sonea frowned. “So Gorin was the one who told the Guild where to find me, not Faren.”

Cery turned to stare at her. “They betrayed you?”

She shrugged. “They had no choice. It was a good thing they did, actually.”

“That’s not the point.” A gleam had entered Cery’s eyes. Guessing what he was thinking, Sonea smiled.

I do love him, she thought suddenly. But right now it’s a friend’s love. Perhaps, if they had time together, without all the distractions they’d had for the last months, it would grow into something more. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not now that she was joining the Guild and he was returning, most likely, to the Thieves. Knowing this, she felt a small pang of regret, but pushed it away.

Glancing around the hall, she was surprised to see that it was nearly empty. Fergun still stood nearby, among a group of magicians. As she looked toward him he caught her eye and sneered.

“Look at them,” he said. “One consorts with beggars, the other with Thieves.” His companions laughed.

“Shouldn’t he be locked up or something?” she mused aloud.

Rothen, Dannyl and Cery turned to regard the magician.

“No,” Rothen replied. “He’ll be watched, but he knows that there’s a chance he won’t be expelled if he appears repentant. Most likely he’ll be given a duty to perform that nobody wants, probably one that will involve working in some remote place for several years.”

Fergun scowled, then turned on his heel and strode toward the door, his companions following. Dannyl’s smile widened, but Rothen shook his head sadly. Cery shrugged and turned to regard her.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Sonea is free to go,” Rothen replied. “She’ll have to stay another day or two, however. By law she must have her powers blocked before she returns to the slums.”

Cery looked at her, his brows knitting. “Blocked? They’re going to block your magic?”

Sonea shook her head. “No.”

Rothen frowned, then looked at her closely. “No?”

“Of course not. It would make it a bit difficult to teach me, wouldn’t it?”

He blinked. “You’re really staying?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I’m staying.”