The Novice

20 Sonea’s Good Fortune

As the door opened, the University Director looked up from his desk to see who had entered his office. For the first time Sonea could remember, Jerrik’s sour expression vanished. He leapt to his feet.

“What can I do for you, High Lord?”

“I wish to discuss Sonea’s training. I have read your report, and her lack of skills in certain subjects concerns me.”

Jerrik looked surprised. “Sonea’s progress has been more than satisfactory.”

“Her marks in Warrior Skills are average at best.”

“Ah.” Jerrik glanced at Sonea. “It is not unusual for a novice to show less aptitude for one of the disciplines at this stage. While she is not excelling in Warrior Skills, her results have been acceptable.”

“Nevertheless, I want this weakness addressed. I believe Lord Yikmo would be a suitable tutor.”

“Lord Yikmo?” Jerrik’s generous eyebrows rose, then drew together in a frown. “He does not teach in the evenings, but if Sonea attends evening classes in other subjects that would allow time during the day.”

“I believe she missed her Warrior Skills yesterday.”

“Yes,” Jerrik replied. “Usually we would arrange for a testing after the break, but I think an assessment by Lord Yikmo would do instead.” He glanced at his desk. “I can put together Sonea’s schedule for next year now, if you wish. It will not take long.”

“Yes. I’ll leave Sonea with you to collect it. Thank you, Director.”

The presence at her side moved away. As the door closed, Sonea drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He was gone. At last.

With a soft thump, Jerrik dropped back into his seat. He waved at a wooden chair near the end of his desk.

“Sit down, Sonea.”

She obeyed. Taking another deep breath, she felt tension ease out of her muscles.

Everything that had happened after leaving Rothen seemed like a bad dream. She had followed Akkarin to his residence, where a servant had shown her to a room on the second floor. Not long after, a chest had arrived with her belongings from the Novices’ Quarters. Another servant had brought a plate of food, but Sonea had been too anxious to feel hungry. Instead, she sat by one of the small windows, barely noticing the magicians and novices walking about the grounds, and searched for a way out of her situation.

First, she had considered escaping to the slums. The Thieves would be eager to protect her now that she had Control of her magic. They had managed to hide Senfel, the rogue magician Faren had failed to persuade to teach her. They could hide her, too.

If she disappeared, however, Akkarin would do something to Rothen. But if Rothen had sufficient warning, he could tell the rest of the Guild that Akkarin was practicing black magic, before the High Lord realized she’d gone. She would have to warn Lorlen, too, since he would also be in danger if she left. Yes, if she warned both of them she was leaving, and timed it right, Akkarin might not have a chance to prevent Lorlen and Rothen speaking out.

And what then? The Guild would confront Akkarin. Lorlen had believed they couldn’t win such a battle, and Lorlen knew Akkarin better than any other magician. So, if she escaped, she could bring about a confrontation that would devastate the Guild, and possibly the whole of Kyralia.

It had occurred to her, then, that the fate of the Guild rested in her hands. Her, a mere slum girl. This sudden power over the Guild’s fate gave her no pleasure, however. Instead, she felt ill with frustration and fear.

Long after the gardens had disappeared into the night’s shadows, the servant had returned with a drink. Recognizing the aroma of a mild, sleep-inducing medicine, Sonea had drunk it all, curled up on the strange, too-soft bed and welcomed the numbness that slowly crept over her.

In the morning, fussing servants had brought new robes and more food. She managed a few bites, but when Akkarin arrived she regretted it. Feeling ill with fear, she had followed him to the University. To Jerrik’s office. Had she passed novices on the way? Had they fallen silent when he appeared, as they always did? She couldn’t remember.

Jerrik’s movements were hurried, his brows lowered in concentration. The few times she had seen the High Lord among other magicians, she had noted that he was treated with respect and even awe. Was this reverence for the position of High Lord? Or was it something else? Did they fear him instinctively, without knowing the reason?

Watching Jerrik, she shook her head. Schedules and tests seemed so trivial now. If Jerrik knew what had really happened, he wouldn’t be at all interested in all this shuffling of paper and classes. He wouldn’t respect Akkarin at all.

But he didn’t know, and she couldn’t tell him.

Jerrik rose abruptly. Turning to a cupboard, he took out three boxes: one green, one red and the other purple. He moved to the tall, narrow doors that covered one wall of the room and waved a palm over the handle of the first. There was a click, and the door opened to reveal a stack of shelves.

Running his finger down the first of these, he stopped and pulled out a neat folder. He placed it on the table and Sonea saw her name written neatly on the cover. Curiosity stirred in her as he opened the folder and read through several sheets of paper. What is in there? she wondered. Comments from the teachers, probably. And a report about the pen I was supposed to have stolen.

Jerrik opened the three boxes. Inside were more sheets of paper with teachers’ names and tables drawn on them. He selected some of these, then drew a clean sheet from his desk and began drawing up another table. For several minutes all that could be heard in the room were Jerrik’s breathing and the scrape of his pen.

“This is quite a turn of good fortune for you, Sonea,” he said without looking up.

Sonea smothered a sudden, bitter urge to laugh.

“Yes, Director,” she managed.

He looked up at her and frowned, then turned his attention back to his writing. Finishing the table, he drew out another sheet of paper and started making a copy.

“You’re not going to have much time to yourself next year,” he told her. “Lord Yikmo prefers to teach during the day, so you will have to take some private classes in Alchemy instead. You’ll have Freedays for study. If you work efficiently, you may be able to keep Freeday mornings free for personal pursuits.” He paused and considered his work with a sad shake of his head. “If you satisfy Lord Yikmo with your progress you may also regain a few afternoons to yourself.”

Sonea did not answer. What use did she have for free time now? Akkarin had forbidden her to speak to Rothen and she had no friends among the novices. She was dreading the coming few weeks. With no classes to attend until the next year, what was she to do with herself? Stay in her new room in Akkarin’s residence? She shuddered. No, she would stay away from there as much as possible.

If he let her. What if he wanted to keep her close by? What if he wants to use me in his evil work? She began to push the thought away, then stopped herself. No matter how appalling, she had to consider the possibility. He could make her do anything by threatening to harm Rothen. Her stomach knotted with dread. Anything...

Her hands were hurting. Looking down, she unclenched her fists. Four sets of crescent-shaped indents marked each palm. Rubbing her hands on her robe, she made a mental note to trim her nails when she returned to her room.

Jerrik remained totally absorbed in his papers. She watched as his pen worked down the page. Reaching the end, he gave a grunt of satisfaction and handed the page to her.

“As the High Lord’s favorite you will be given preferential treatment, but you’ll also be expected to prove that his choice was well made. Don’t hesitate to take advantage of your new position—you’ll need to if you are to meet his expectations.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Director.”

“You may go.”

Swallowing hard, she rose, bowed and moved to the door.

“Sonea.”

Looking over her shoulder, she found a rare smile lifting the corners of Jerrik’s mouth. “I know you will miss having Rothen as your guardian,” he said. “Akkarin may not be as companionable, but in choosing you he has done much to improve your situation.” The smile vanished. “You may go.”

She forced herself to nod in reply. As she pulled the door closed, she saw that Jerrik was watching her, his expression thoughtful. Turning away, she slipped the schedule into her box and started along the wide, familiar corridor.

A few novices lingered in doorways. They watched her as she passed. Disturbed by their stares, she quickened her pace. How many people know? she wondered. Probably everyone. They’ve had an entire day to find out. The news that the High Lord had finally chosen a favorite would have spread through the Guild faster than the winter cough. A teacher stepped out of a corridor. He looked at her doubtfully, then his eyes dropped to her sleeve. His eyebrows rose and he shook his head slightly as if in disbelief.

She glanced down at the small square of gold on the sleeve of her robe. Incals were family symbols worn by members of the Houses. Magicians did not wear them because once they joined the Guild they were supposed to leave family and political ties behind them. The servant who had brought the robes had explained that the High Lord wore the Guild symbol as an incal because his position was a lifetime commitment. The Guild became his family and House.

And she was his novice. Folding her sleeve against her body to hide the incal, she approached the door of her classroom. She paused just outside to gather her courage.

“Good morning, Sonea.”

Turning, she saw Lord Elben striding down the corridor toward her. He smiled, his mouth widening but his eyes remaining cold.

“Congratulations on your new guardian,” he offered as he reached her side.

Sonea bowed. “Thank you, Lord Elben.”

He strode into the classroom. Steeling herself, Sonea followed.

“Take your seats, please,” Elben boomed. “We have much to do today.”

“Ah!” A familiar voice rose above the clatter and drag of chairs. “The High Lord’s favorite has deigned to honor our humble class with her presence.”

The room fell silent. All faces turned toward Sonea. Seeing the disbelief on their faces, she felt a wry amusement. How ironic that her own classmates should be the last to find out. All but one, she amended. Regin was lounging on a table, grinning with satisfaction at the effect his news had on the class.

“Take your seat, please, Regin,” Elben growled.

Regin slid off the table and settled into his chair. Moving to her place, Sonea lifted her box onto her desk. As she did her sleeve fell free, and she heard a small gasp nearby. Glancing up, she saw that Narron was staring at the incal.

“Sonea,” Elben said. “I have saved a place for you at the front.”

She looked up and realized that there was, indeed, a seat free in the front row of the class. Poril’s seat. She turned and saw that her old friend was sitting at the back of the room. He flushed and evaded her eyes.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, turning back. “That was generous of you, but I would prefer to stay here.”

The magician’s eyes narrowed. He looked as if he might argue, but he glanced at the class and he seemed to think better of it.

“Very well.” He lowered himself into his seat and placed a hand on a stack of paper on the desk. “Today you will be tested on your knowledge of Alchemy,” he told the class. “I will give you a list of questions to answer now, and later I will be giving you exercises to complete. After the midbreak you will be given practical tests.”

As he passed sheets of paper out to the class, Sonea felt an old, almost forgotten anxiety return. The tests. She let her eyes skim across the questions, and sighed with relief. Despite the disdain of the teachers, despite the long hours of study, despite all Regin’s attempts to hamper her, she had managed to absorb the lessons. Feeling better, she took a pen out of her box and began to write.

Hours later, when the gong tolled to mark the end of the test, the class let out a unified sigh of relief.

“That will be all,” Elben finished. “You may go.”

As one the novices rose and bowed to the teacher. Sonea caught several glances in her direction as they filed out of the room. Remembering why, she felt her stomach turn over with dread.

“Wait, Sonea,” Elben said as she passed his desk. “I would like to speak with you.”

He waited until the room was empty before speaking. “After midbreak,” he told her, “I would like you to take the place I have arranged for you.”

Sonea swallowed. Was this what Jerrik had meant when he said the teachers would give her preferential treatment? Should she take advantage of it, as he had suggested?

But what was to be gained by moving to the front of the classroom? Only the knowledge that Poril had lost even more status in the class because of her. She shook her head.

“I prefer the seat by the window.”

Elben frowned. “It would be more appropriate if you sat at the front of the class now.”

Appropriate? She felt a flare of anger. This was not about helping her learn, this was about being seen to favor the High Lord’s novice. He probably expected her to report every little favor to Akkarin. She smothered a bitter laugh. She would be saying as little to her new guardian as possible.

If she had learned anything from the last six months, it was to avoid upsetting the petty social order of the classroom. Taking Poril’s place would mean more than just a change of seats. The novices already disliked her; she didn’t need to give them more reason to. She looked at Elben, standing with his arms crossed, and felt her anger harden into defiance.

“I’ll stay in my usual place,” she told him.

Elben’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to see something in her gaze that made him pause. He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“It is easier to see and hear at the front,” he pointed out.

“I’m not deaf, Lord Elben, or short-sighted.”

His jaw clenched. “Sonea,” he moved closer and spoke quietly, “if you will not take the front seat it might be seen as... neglectful of me as your teacher...”

“Perhaps I should tell Akkarin that you would not let me sit where I wished.”

His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t bother him over something so small...”

She smiled. “I doubt he would be interested in my seating arrangements at all.”

He regarded her silently, then nodded. “Very well. You may sit where you wish. Go.”

As she stepped out into the corridor she realized that her heart was racing. What had she done? Novices never argued with their teachers.

Then she realized that the corridor was unusually quiet. Looking up, she saw that novices of all years were silently watching her. All satisfaction over her conversation with Elben evaporated. Swallowing hard, she started toward the stairs.

“That’s her,” whispered a voice to her right.

“Yesterday,” someone muttered. “...no warning at all.”

“...High Lord...”

“Why her?” someone sneered, a comment clearly meant for her to hear. “She’s just a slum girl.”

“...not right.”

“...should have been...”

“...insult to the Houses.”

She snorted softly. If they knew the real reason he chose me, she thought, they would not be so—

“Make way for the High Lord’s favorite!”

Her stomach turned as she recognized the voice. Regin stepped out to block her path.

“Great one!” he cried loudly. “Might I ask a tiny, infinitesimally small favor of one so admired and influential?”

Sonea regarded him warily. “What do you want, Regin?”

“Would you... if it would not be a great offense to your high position, that is,” he smiled cloyingly, “would you mend my shoes tonight? You see, I know you are skilled in such great and worthy tasks and, well, if I am to have my shoes mended it should be done by the best shoe-mender in the sl-uh-Guild, wouldn’t you say?”

Sonea shook her head. “Is that all you could come up with, Regin?” She stepped around him and continued down the corridor. Footsteps pursued her.

“Oh, but Sonea—I mean—Oh, Great One. I would be so hon—”

His voice stopped abruptly. Frowning, she resisted the temptation to glance behind.

“She is the High Lord’s novice,” someone muttered. “Are you stupid? Leave her alone.”

Recognizing Kano’s voice, Sonea caught her breath in surprise. Was this what Jerrik had meant when he had said Akkarin had improved her situation? Reaching the stairs, she descended into the Entrance Hall, stepped out of the doors and started toward the Magicians’ Quarters.

Then she stopped.

Where was she going? Rothen’s rooms? Standing still, she tried to gather her thoughts.

Hunger decided her. She would go to the Foodhall. And after the afternoon’s tests? The library. If she stayed there until it closed, she could avoid returning to the High Lord’s Residence until late. With luck Akkarin would have retired for the night, and she could reach her room without encountering him. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the inevitable stares and whispers, and walked back into the University.

Lorlen’s rooms were on the ground floor of the Magicians’ Quarters. He spent little time in them, rising early and returning long after the rest of the Guild had retired. From day to day he noticed little more in the rooms than the bed and his clothing cupboard.

But in the last day he had rediscovered much about his private space. There were ornaments and objects on the bookshelves that he had forgotten he owned. These mementos of the past, of family and achievements, brought only guilt and pain. They reminded him of people he loved and respected. People he had failed.

Closing his eyes, Lorlen sighed. Osen would not be concerned yet. Only a day and a half had passed. Not long enough for his assistant to panic at the growing list of unattended work. And Osen had been trying for years to persuade Lorlen to take a break from his duties.

If only it was a break. Lorlen rubbed his eyes and wandered into his bedroom. Perhaps he was tired enough to sleep now. He hadn’t been able to for two nights, not since...

As he lay down the memories returned. He groaned and tried to push them away, but he was too tired to fight them, and he knew they would return again as soon as he relaxed anyway.

How did it start? I said something about the Vindo Ambassador expecting to stay in the residence...

“He was surprised to hear that the High Lord does not entertain guests anymore, since his father stayed here with your predecessor,” Lorlen remembered explaining.

Akkarin had smiled at that. He had been standing by the little table he served drinks at, gazing out the window at the night-shrouded grounds.

“The best change I ever made.”

“You do value your privacy,” Lorlen had said absently.

Akkarin then placed a finger on a wine bottle, as if considering whether he would have another glass. His face had been turned away, something Lorlen had been thankful for when Akkarin spoke next.

“I doubt that the ambassador would be comfortable with my... habits.”

There! Another one of those strange comments. Like he was testing me. I thought I was safe, since his back was turned and he couldn’t see my reaction...

“Habits?” Lorlen had affected disbelief. “I doubt he’d care if you had a few late nights, or drank too much. You’re just afraid he’ll drink all your favorite wine.”

“That, too.” Akkarin had then opened the bottle. “But we couldn’t have anyone discovering all my little secrets, could we?”

An image of Akkarin covered in bloodied beggar’s rags had flickered through Lorlen’s mind at that point in the conversation. He had shuddered and pushed it aside, thankful again that Akkarin’s back was turned.

Was this what Akkarin had sensed? Was he listening to my thoughts at that moment?

“No,” Lorlen had replied and, wanting to change the subject, asked about the news of the court.

At that point, Akkarin lifted an object from the table. Catching a glitter of gems, Lorlen looked closer. It was a knife. The knife Sonea had seen Akkarin using for the black magic ritual. Surprised and horrified, Lorlen drew in a breath and choked on the wine.

“You’re supposed to drink wine, my friend,” Akkarin said, smiling. “Not breathe it.”

Lorlen looked away, hiding behind his hands as he coughed. He tried to regain his composure, yet seeing Akkarin holding the knife had been like reliving Sonea’s memory. He wondered why Akkarin had brought it into the guestroom.

Then his blood turned to ice, as the thought came that Akkarin might be intending to use it.

“What news do I have?” Akkarin mused. “Let me think.”

Lorlen forced himself to regard his friend calmly. As Akkarin turned back to the bottle, Lorlen caught a corresponding movement on the table. A polished silver tray leaning against another bottle had reflected Akkarin’s eyes. Eyes that were watching him.

So he had been watching me all along. Perhaps he hadn’t tried to read my surface thoughts at that point of the conversation. Only my reaction to his comments, and the knife, would have convinced him that I knew something...

“I’ve heard reports of Dannyl from friends in Elyne and Lonmar,” Akkarin had said next, abruptly moving away from the table. “They speak well of him.”

“That is good to hear.”

Akkarin had then paused in the center of the room. “I’ve been following his progress with interest. He is an efficient researcher.”

So he knew Dannyl was researching something. Did he know what Dannyl was researching? Lorlen had forced himself to smile. “I wonder what has caught his attention.”

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “Hasn’t he been keeping you informed?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You did, after all, ask him to investigate my past.”

Lorlen considered his next words carefully. Akkarin might know that Dannyl was retracing his travels, but how could he know why when Dannyl didn’t? “Is that what your friends say?”

“Spies would be a more accurate term.”

Akkarin’s hand had moved, and with a flash of fear Lorlen saw that it still held the knife. Realizing that Akkarin could not have missed his reaction, Lorlen stared at it openly.

“What is that?”

“Something I picked up during my travels,” Akkarin replied, holding it up. “Something you recognize, I think.”

Lorlen then felt a flash of triumph. Akkarin had all but admitted he had learned black magic during his travels. Dannyl’s research might prove useful yet...

“It is strangely familiar,” Lorlen said. “Perhaps I have seen something like it before in a book, or a collection of antiques—and it is such a vicious-looking thing it would be sure to stick in my memory.”

“Do you know what it is used for?”

A memory of Akkarin cutting his servant’s arm flashed into Lorlen’s mind. “It’s a knife, so something unpleasant, most likely.”

Akkarin, to Lorlen’s relief, set the knife down on a side table, but the relief had been short lived.

“You have been strangely cautious of me these last few months,” Akkarin said. “You avoid mental communication, as if you are afraid I will detect something behind your thoughts. When my contacts told me of Dannyl’s research, I was intrigued. Why did you ask him to investigate my past? Don’t deny it, Lorlen. I have proof.”

Lorlen was dismayed that Akkarin had discovered Dannyl’s orders. But he had prepared for this question. He pretended to be embarrassed.

“I was curious, and after our conversation about your diary I thought I might restore some of what you lost. You’re not free to gather the information again, so... It wouldn’t be as satisfying as going yourself, of course, but I hoped it would be a pleasant surprise.”

“I see.” Akkarin’s voice had hardened. “I wish I could believe you, but I don’t. You see, tonight I have done something to you that I have never done before, and never wanted to. While we spoke I read your surface thoughts. They have revealed much, much more. I know you are lying. I know you have seen things you should never have seen, and I must know how this came about.

“Tell me, how long have you known I practice black magic?”

Just a few words, and everything changed. Was there any remorse or guilt in his voice? No. Just anger...

Appalled, and not a little frightened, Lorlen had grasped at a last, desperate evasion. He had stared at his friend in horror.

“You practice what?”

Akkarin’s expression darkened. “Don’t be a fool, Lorlen,” he had snapped. “I have seen it in your thoughts. You know you cannot lie to me.”

Realizing that he could not deny it, Lorlen glanced at the knife on the table. He wondered what would happen now. If he was about to die. How Akkarin would explain it. If Rothen and Sonea would suspect the truth and reveal Akkarin’s crime...

Too late, he realized that Akkarin might have heard his thoughts. He looked up, but Akkarin’s expression had showed no alarm or suspicion, only expectation, and that gave him a little hope.

“How long?” Akkarin had pressed.

“Over a year,” he confessed.

“How?”

“I came here one night. The door was open and I saw a light through the stairs, so I started to come down. When I saw what you were doing... it was a shock. I didn’t know what to think.”

“What exactly did you see?”

With difficulty that he did not need to fake, Lorlen had described what Sonea had seen. As he spoke, he had looked for a hint of shame in the High Lord’s expression, but had seen only a flicker of annoyance.

“Does anyone else know about this?”

“No,” Lorlen answered quickly, hoping to avoid betraying Sonea and Rothen, but Akkarin’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re lying to me, my friend.”

“I’m not.”

Akkarin had then sighed. Lorlen remembered that sigh vividly.

“That is unfortunate.”

Lorlen had then risen to face his old friend, determined to convince Akkarin that his secret was safe. “Akkarin, you must believe me. I have told no one about this. It would cause too much strife in the Guild. I... I don’t know why you are playing with this... this forbidden magic. I can only trust that you have good reason. Do you think you would be standing here if I didn’t?”

“So you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then show me the truth. I must know who you are protecting, Lorlen, and just how much you have learned.”

Akkarin had then reached toward Lorlen’s head. With a shock, Lorlen realized Akkarin intended to read his mind. He grabbed Akkarin’s hands and tossed them away, appalled that his friend might demand such a thing. “You have no right to—”

And then the last of Lorlen’s trust in his friend had died as Akkarin’s fingers flexed in a familiar gesture. A force pushed Lorlen backward. He fell into the chair and felt magic pressing him down.

“Don’t do this, Akkarin!”

But Akkarin’s mouth was set in a thin line. “Sorry, my old friend, but I must know.”

Then Akkarin’s fingers had touched Lorlen’s temples.

It should not have been possible! It was as if he wasn’t there, but he was. How does he do this mind-reading?

Shivering at the memory, Lorlen opened his eyes and stared at the walls of his bedroom. As he clenched his fists he felt a warm band of metal press into the skin around one finger. Lifting his hand, he felt his stomach twist as a red gem glinted in the dim light.

Everything had been revealed: what Sonea had witnessed, the truth-read, Rothen’s involvement, and all that Dannyl had learned or discovered. No hint of Akkarin’s thoughts or emotions had filtered through to him. Only afterward had Lorlen seen hints of the High Lord’s state of mind as Akkarin paced his guestroom, brooding in silence for an hour, perhaps longer. What he had discovered obviously concerned him greatly, but his demeanor had not lost any of its confidence.

Finally, the restraining magic holding Lorlen in the chair had withdrawn. Akkarin picked up the knife from the table. Given more time to think, Lorlen would have feared for his life, but instead he stared in disbelief as Akkarin ran the blade over his own palm.

With blood pooling in one hand, Akkarin took Lorlen’s empty glass and smashed it against the table. He picked up one of the fragments and tossed it in the air.

It had halted in front of Akkarin’s eyes, and begun spinning, the sharp edges glowing red as it melted. When it had cooled again, it formed a faceted sphere. Akkarin lifted his bleeding hand and curled his fingers around the sphere. When he opened his hand again, the cut had disappeared and a bright red gem lay on his palm.

Next, Akkarin had willed a silver spoon to his hand from the drinks cabinet. It had twisted about, melting and folding until it had formed a thick circle. Akkarin took the gem between two fingers and placed it in the thickest part of the band, which closed about it like a flower.

Then he had held the ring out to Lorlen.

“Put it on.”

Lorlen had considered refusing, but he knew that Akkarin was willing to use force to get his way, and he could imagine a few unpleasant ways that a ring might be permanently attached. He wanted the option of removing it one day, so he took the ring and reluctantly slipped it onto his middle finger.

“I will be able to see and hear everything around you,” Akkarin had told him. “And we will be able to communicate without anyone hearing.”

Was Akkarin watching now? Does he observe me pacing in my rooms? Does he feel any guilt for what he’s done?

While Lorlen felt hurt and betrayed by Akkarin’s actions, it was Sonea’s fate that tormented him most. Had Akkarin been watching when, looking out of his window a few minutes ago, Lorlen had seen Sonea leave the University? She had stopped abruptly, the pain in her eyes so clear as she remembered that she could no longer return to Rothen’s rooms.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted Akkarin to have seen her. He wasn’t sure if his “friend” could feel remorse or guilt. For all Lorlen knew, Akkarin might have enjoyed seeing her misery.

But, despite everything, he still wanted to believe it wasn’t so.

21 The Tombs of White Tears

As Sonea walked away from the University she imagined she could feel the enormous building shrinking behind her. Her back prickled with lingering warmth and her face stung with cold. Ahead a dark shape loomed larger as she approached.

The High Lord’s Residence. Akkarin’s house.

She had stretched her evening meal out as long as possible then, unable to bring herself to leave the University, she had gone to the Novices’ Library. Now, with the library closed and the rest of the University empty and silent, she had no alternative but to return to her new room.

Her heart was beating too fast by the time she reached the door. She stopped, swallowed hard and reached out to the door handle. As she touched it, the door swung inward.

The room inside was lit by a single globe light. A figure sat in one of the luxurious chairs, holding a book in long, pale fingers. He looked up and Sonea felt her stomach clench.

“Come in, Sonea.”

She forced her legs to move. Once inside, the door swung shut behind her, closing with a soft, but decisive click.

“Did you do well in the tests today?”

She opened her mouth to answer but, not trusting her voice, decided to nod instead.

“That is good. Have you eaten?”

She nodded again.

“Then you should get some rest in preparation for tomorrow. Go.”

Relieved, she bowed and hurried through the door to her left. She created a globe of light and sent it before her as she climbed the curving stairs.

In the light of magic, the staircase reminded her of the one that led down to the underground room where she had seen him practicing his black magic. Those stairs lay behind the door on the other side of the guestroom, she guessed. On this side, the stairs led only upward.

At the top she reached a long corridor. Behind the first door was her bedroom. She had seen nothing else of the High Lord’s Residence.

As she turned the door handle, she heard footsteps coming from the other end of the corridor. Looking up, she saw a wall illuminated by a slowly brightening light, and the top of the other staircase.

Willing her own light to vanish, she quickly opened the door of her room and slipped inside. She left the door open a crack, but as she peered through she cursed under her breath. Only the corridor wall opposite was visible. To watch him, she would have to open the door farther, and he was sure to notice.

Light streaked down the corridor wall. The footsteps stopped and a faint click reached her ears. The light moved again, then all disappeared in darkness as the sound of a door closing echoed down the corridor.

So that’s his bedroom, Sonea mused. Just twenty or so strides down the corridor. Knowing he was so close was not comforting, but it wouldn’t have been much better had he been on the other side of the residence. Just knowing she was in the same building was disturbing enough.

Closing her own door quietly, Sonea turned around and surveyed her room. Moonlight spilled through the two small windows, throwing pale rectangles on the floor. The room seemed almost welcoming in the gentle light.

It was very different from her plain room in the Novices’ Quarters. The furniture here was made of a dark red wood, polished to a shine. A large cabinet stood against one wall. A table and chair for study stood beside it. Between the two windows was a bed. Something lay on it.

Sonea walked over to the bed and willed a globe light into existence. A bundle of simple cloth, tied with string, lay on the covers. As she untied the knot, it fell open and green material spilled out.

Her Acceptance Ceremony dress.

As she lifted it, heavier objects fell out of the folds: her silver comb and mirror, and two books of poetry that Rothen had given her. She felt tears spring to her eyes.

No. I am not going to start blubbering like some lost child, she told herself. Blinking the moisture away she put the objects on the study table, then carried the dress to the clothes cupboard.

A faint woody odor wafted out as she slipped the dress onto a hanger. The smell reminded her of the Guildhall. A memory of Rothen speaking the ceremonial words of a guardian flashed into her mind. She remembered her elation as she stood beside him, her new robes in her hands. But he’s not my guardian anymore. Sighing, she closed the cupboard door.

Returning to the bed, she saw a smaller object lying on the cover. Picking it up, she recognized the rough carving of a reber that Dorrien had given to Rothen soon after he arrived. It had fascinated her how something could be so crudely hewn, yet have all the essence of the animal it represented.

Dorrien. She hadn’t thought of him since he’d left. It seemed like weeks ago, but it was only two days since they had walked up to the spring, and he had kissed her.

What was he going to think when he heard about her sudden change of guardian? She sighed. Like the rest of the magicians, he would marvel at her “good fortune”—but she was sure that, had he been here, he would have detected that something wasn’t right. He would have noticed her fear and Rothen’s distress and anger.

But he wasn’t here. He was far away in his little village in the mountains.

Eventually Dorrien would visit the Guild again. When he did, he would want to see her. Would Akkarin let him? Sonea smiled. Even if Akkarin forbade it, Dorrien would find a way. Besides, if Akkarin stopped Dorrien from seeing her it would raise suspicions.

Or would it? Akkarin could simply claim that Dorrien was distracting her from her studies. Though Dorrien might find that a bit over-protective, no one else would question it. She frowned. What if Dorrien did notice that something was wrong? What would he do? What would Akkarin do? She shivered. Unlike Rothen and herself, Dorrien lived far from the Guild’s sight. Who would question if a Healer working in a distant village died in an “accident?”

She clutched the carving tightly. She must not give Akkarin reason to notice Dorrien. When Dorrien returned to the Guild, she would have to tell him she had no feelings for him. He had said himself that she might find someone else in the years until graduation. Let him think that she had.

But there could never be anyone else. Not while she was Akkarin’s hostage. To make a friend was to bring someone else into danger. And what about her aunt and uncle and her little cousin? For now, Akkarin would not harm Rothen without freeing her to reveal his secret. If he knew where her family was, they could be used against her, too.

Sighing, she lay back on the bed. When had it all started to go wrong? Her thoughts went back to the North Square. Since that day her fate had been in the hands of others: first Cery and Harrin, then the Thieves, then Rothen, and now Akkarin. Before then, she had been a child, protected by her aunt and uncle. Would she ever be in control of her life?

But I’m alive, she reminded herself. All I can do now is be patient and hope something will happen to fix all this—and make sure I’m ready to help when it does.

Rising, she went to her study table. If something did happen, it would probably involve magic, so the more prepared she was, the better. Healing tests would be held tomorrow, and she ought to go over her notes one more time.

Moving to the window again, Rothen stared at the High Lord’s Residence. Small squares of brightness had appeared by its northern tower during the last two nights. The more he stared at it, the more sure he was that Sonea was behind those windows.

How frightened she must be. How trapped. She must wish she never agreed to join the Guild.

He realized that his fists were clenched. Forcing himself to return to his chair in the guestroom, he sat down and regarded the remains of his half-eaten meal.

What can I do? There must be something I can do.

He had asked himself that question over and over. Each time the answer was the same.

As much as you dare.

Everything depended on Sonea’s safety. He wanted to step out into the corridor and scream out the truth to all the magicians who had so blindly accepted Akkarin’s decision, but he knew if he did, Sonea would be the first of Akkarin’s victims. Her power would be used to fight the Guild; her death would help Akkarin defeat them.

He desperately wanted to talk to Lorlen. While he craved an assurance that Lorlen wasn’t about to sacrifice Sonea’s life in an attempt to defeat Akkarin, he also wanted to know that the Administrator hadn’t abandoned all plans to fight the High Lord.

Akkarin had forbidden any contact between them, but even if Rothen had dared to risk talking to Lorlen, he couldn’t. The Administrator had retired to his rooms and was resting. Since hearing this, Rothen had been worried that Lorlen had been injured in his confrontation with Akkarin. The possibility was frightening. If Akkarin could harm his closest friend, what was he capable of doing to those he cared less about?

But the High Lord might be well used to killing and taking power from others. He might have been doing so for years. Rothen frowned. How long had Akkarin been practicing black magic? As long as he had been High Lord? Longer?

Since Sonea had told him of Akkarin’s secret, Rothen had considered many times how Akkarin might have discovered black magic. It was commonly understood that the Guild had destroyed all knowledge of it centuries ago. The Higher Magicians were told how to recognize it, but that was all. Nevertheless, it was possible that Akkarin had access to information and instructions from forgotten records somewhere in the Guild.

Or he might have learned black magic years ago, before he set out on his journey. The quest to discover knowledge of ancient power may have been an excuse to find out more, or simply to gain time and freedom to practice. Or perhaps it was during Akkarin’s travels that he had discovered black magic. Had Akkarin stumbled upon the knowledge and used it to strengthen himself?

Where knowledge of power could be found, a means to defeat that power often lay beside it. If Akkarin had discovered black magic during his travels, then another might find it again. Rothen sighed. If only he could leave the Guild, he would spend every moment of each day searching for that knowledge. But he couldn’t leave. Akkarin was probably watching him closely. He wouldn’t want Rothen roaming the Allied Lands, out of his sight.

Someone else must do it, then. Rothen nodded to himself. Someone free to travel. Someone who will do it without asking too many questions. Someone I can trust...

Slowly, Rothen began to smile. He knew exactly the right person.

Dannyl.

Hundreds of torches flickered in the chill night breeze. Ahead, hundreds more formed a long zigzag that wove back and forth and up toward the sky. The rocky surface of a cliff was illuminated by them and, at intervals, the mouths of caves were circled by flames.

The rowers pulled on their oars in time to the slow beat of the drummer at the prow. Song echoed back from the cliffs as the singers shifted through slow harmonies that sent a shiver down Dannyl’s spine. He glanced at Tayend, who was gazing around at the other boats in wonder. After a few weeks of rest, the courtier was looking healthier.

“Are you feeling well?” Dannyl murmured.

Tayend nodded and gestured to the hull of the boat. “Hardly rocks at all.”

A soft scraping came from the bottom of the boat. The rowers leapt out nimbly and pulled the craft up onto the beach. Tayend stood up and, carefully gauging the rhythm of the waves swirling around the boat, leapt out when the water had withdrawn. He cursed as his fine shoes sank into the wet sand.

Chuckling, Dannyl stepped out and started across the beach toward the torch-lined path. He paused as a large group of mourners started their procession up the stairs carved into the cliff face. Leaving a respectful gap behind the group, Dannyl and Tayend followed.

At the full moon every month, the people of Vin visited these caves. Within them were tombs of the dead. Gifts were laid by the remains of ancestors, and requests were asked of their spirits. Some tombs were so ancient, no descendants remained to visit them, and it was one of the oldest tombs that Dannyl and Tayend had come to see.

Remembering the customs they had been told about, they remained silent as they climbed. They passed several caves, climbing steadily. Tayend was breathing hard when the group of mourners in front of them turned into a cave entrance. After a short rest, he and Dannyl continued up the narrow stairs.

“Wait. Look at this.”

Hearing the whisper, Dannyl turned to find Tayend pointing back at a cave entrance he had walked past without noticing. A slight fold in the cliff had hidden a narrow crack barely wide enough for a man to slide through sideways. Above it was carved a symbol.

Recognizing the symbol, Dannyl moved to the crack and peered through. He could see only blackness. Stepping back, he created a globe light and sent it inside.

Tayend gave a half-smothered yelp as the light revealed a staring face. The man squinted at Dannyl and said something in Vindo. Realizing that this was a tomb guard, Dannyl spoke the ritual greeting that he had been taught.

The man gave the appropriate reply, then stepped back and beckoned. As Dannyl slipped through, his globe light set the man’s polished ceremonial armor and short sword glittering. The guard bowed stiffly.

They stood in a small room. A low corridor led deeper into the cliff side. The walls were covered in paintings. Tayend examined them closely, humming with appreciation.

“You must have watcher,” the guard said. “So you not get lost. You must not take anything away, not even rock.” He drew out a small flute and blew a single note. After a moment a boy in a simple belted shift appeared in the doorway. He beckoned and, as Dannyl and Tayend stepped through the door, indicated that they should go first. As they started down a narrow tunnel, he followed silently.

Tayend set the pace, walking slowly as he examined the wall paintings.

“Anything interesting?” Dannyl asked when the scholar stopped for the third time.

“Oh, yes,” Tayend breathed. He looked up at Dannyl, then smiled apologetically. “Just not related to what you’re looking for.”

Straightening, he continued at a faster pace, his attention still on the walls, but his expression less distracted. As time passed, Dannyl grew conscious of the weight of earth above him, and the closeness of the walls. If the tunnel was to collapse, he was sure he could prevent them being crushed by throwing up a barrier. He had done much the same thing a year ago when, to prevent him catching Sonea, the Thieves had collapsed one of their tunnels.

But here it was different. There was a lot more rubble and dirt above him. He could probably stop them from being crushed, but he wasn’t sure what he would do then. Could he shift the earth around and behind his barrier, and so tunnel a way out? Would he have time before the air inside ran out? Did he have the magical strength to do it? If he didn’t, he would slowly weaken until the weight of the earth won out.

Disturbed by the thought, he tried to think of something else. The footsteps of the boy following behind were faintly discernible. He wondered whether the boy worried about being buried alive. He found himself thinking of another day, when he had entered the tunnels under the University to see why Fergun had been snooping around down there. He had fought off the suspicion that someone was following him, only to find that that someone was the High Lord.

“Are you all right?”

Dannyl jumped at the question. Tayend was regarding him closely.

“Yes. Why?”

“You’re breathing a bit fast.”

“Oh. Was I?”

“Yes.”

After a few more steps, Dannyl quietly took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then started practicing a calming exercise.

Tayend glanced at him and smiled. “Does being underground bother you?”

“No.”

“Lots of people feel uncomfortable in places like this. I’ve had plenty go all panicky in the library, so I’ve learned to recognize the signs. You will tell me if you’re going to get panicky, won’t you? I don’t much like the idea of being near a panicky magician.”

Dannyl smiled. “I’m fine. I’m just... remembering a few unpleasant experiences I’ve had in similar places.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Somehow, relating the two experiences made Dannyl feel better. Describing how the Thieves came to bury him led to stories about the search for Sonea. As he reached the part where he had entered the tunnels under the University and encountered the High Lord, Tayend’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”

“No. Not scared so much as... well, it depends on the situation.”

Tayend chuckled. “Well, if someone as scary as you is afraid of the High Lord, then I’m definitely keeping out of his way.”

Dannyl checked his stride. “I’m scary?”

“Oh, yes.” Tayend nodded. “Very scary.”

“But...” Dannyl shook his head. “I haven’t done anything to—” He stopped as he remembered the mugger. “Well, I guess I have now—but surely you weren’t scared of me before then?”

“Of course I was.”

“Why?”

“All magicians are scary. Everyone has heard what they can do—but it’s what you don’t know they can do that is scarier.”

Dannyl grimaced. “Well, I guess you’ve seen what I can do, now. And I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Tayend regarded him silently for a few steps. “How are you feeling about that?”

“Not great,” Dannyl admitted. “You?”

“I’m not sure. It’s like I’ve got two different and opposing views at the same time. I’m not sorry you killed him, but I do think killing is wrong. I suppose it’s the uncertainty that bothers me most. Who really knows whether it was right or wrong? I’ve read more books than most people I know, and none of them agree on anything. But there’s one thing I do want to say to you.”

Dannyl forced himself to meet Tayend’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” Tayend’s expression was sober. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Something inside Dannyl loosened, like a knot unravelling. He realized he had needed Tayend’s gratitude. It did not make his conscience any easier to live with, but it helped him to keep the whole event in perspective.

Looking ahead, he noticed that his globe light was failing to illuminate the walls in the distance. He frowned, then realized they were approaching a larger cavern. As they neared this, a mineral smell caught Dannyl’s attention. The tang in the air grew more distinct as they arrived at the opening. Dannyl sent his globe light out and Tayend gasped.

The chamber was as wide as the Guildhall, and filled with glistening curtains and spires of white. The sound of dripping water echoed through the space. Looking closely, Dannyl could see moisture falling from the ends of the stalactites. Between the fang-like stalagmites a shallow stream trickled.

“The Tombs of White Tears,” Tayend murmured.

“Formed by water seeping through the roof, depositing minerals wherever it flows,” Dannyl explained.

Tayend rolled his eyes. “I knew that.”

A slippery path led down into the chamber. Descending carefully, they made their way along the uneven floor. As they passed the fantastic white structures, more came into sight. Suddenly Tayend stopped.

“The Mouth of Death,” he said in a hushed voice.

Ahead, a row of stalagmites and stalactites crossed the chamber. Some had grown into each other and were slowly thickening to form columns. The gaps between others were so small, it seemed as if they would meet in mere moments. Each was colossal at the floor or ceiling, tapering to fine white points, so that the whole arrangement looked like the teeth of a huge animal.

“Shall we see if there’s a stomach?” Tayend asked. Not waiting for an answer, he ducked through two of the teeth and disappeared.

Following, Dannyl found Tayend standing on one side of a tunnel, beckoning furiously. The walls on either side were curtains of glistening white, broken here and there by shallow horizontal alcoves. Moving to Tayend’s side, he saw that a skeleton lay within a small alcove. A new curtain of white had formed, half covering the alcove.

“They must have cut the tombs knowing that the walls would grow down to cover them,” Tayend said quietly.

Moving on, they found another tomb, then another. The farther they travelled, the older and more numerous the tombs. Eventually there were no skeletons to be seen, just walls that had covered the alcoves completely.

Dannyl knew that hours had passed. The Vindo forbade visitors to the caves during daylight, and he began to worry that they would not return to the beach in time to meet their boat. When they reached the end of the tunnel he breathed a sigh of relief.

“There’s nothing here,” Tayend said, casting about.

Around them the walls were unbroken. Dannyl moved closer to the right, examining them carefully. They almost seemed to be translucent in places. Following suit, Tayend peered at the surface of the left-hand wall intently. After several minutes, he called Dannyl’s name excitedly.

Moving to his friend’s side, Dannyl saw that Tayend was pointing at a small hole.

“Can you get some light in there?”

“I’ll try.”

As Tayend moved aside, Dannyl created a tiny spark and sent it into the hole. He watched as it moved through a finger-width of white mineral deposit, then out into darkness.

Brightening the spark to light the space beyond, he felt a smile spread across his face.

“What is it?” Tayend asked excitedly. “Let me see!”

Stepping aside, Dannyl watched as Tayend bent to peer in the hole. The scholar’s eyes widened. Beyond the curtain of white was a small cave. A carved coffin lay in the center of the room. The walls inside were partly coated in mineral sediment, but much of the original carved decoration was still visible.

Tayend whipped out sheets of paper and a drawing stick from his coat, his eyes glowing with excitement. “How long have I got?”

Dannyl shrugged. “An hour, probably less.”

“That’ll be enough for now. Can we come back again?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Tayend grinned. “We’ve found it, Dannyl! We’ve found what your High Lord was searching for. Evidence of ancient magic!”

22 Avoiding the High Lord

As Sonea left the Healers’ Quarters, novices hurried past her, some running or leaping about and whooping. Sonea listened to the laughter and excitement around her. With the final gong still ringing in their ears, novices of all ages and levels were talking of riding horses, attending court dances and playing games she had never heard of.

For the next two weeks brown robes would be a rare sight on the grounds, as the novices—and not a few magicians—returned to their families for the winter break. If only I could leave, too. She thought wistfully of spending the days with her aunt and uncle, and their baby, in the slums. But he would never let me.

Reaching the University, she paused as several older novices rushed out. A few stragglers hurried past her as she climbed the stairs. Once she had reached the second floor, however, she found herself abruptly alone.

The silence in the corridor had an emptiness to it that she hadn’t experienced before, even late at night. Clasping her box to her chest, Sonea hurried to a side passage.

While the Magicians’ Library was on the ground floor of the University, close to the rear of the building, the Novices’ Library was reached via a confusing and twisted series of passages on the second level. Sonea hadn’t been able to find it the first time she had looked, and had eventually resorted to following other novices.

Reaching the library, she saw that it, too, was empty of novices. Opening the door, she heard footsteps and bowed as the librarian, Lady Tya, appeared.

“I’m sorry, Sonea,” Tya said, “the library is closing now. I’ve just finished packing up for the year.”

“Will it be open over the break, my lady?”

The librarian shook her head. Nodding, Sonea backed out of the door and turned away.

At the next crossing of passages she stopped. Cursing, she leaned back against the wall. Where could she go now? Anywhere but the High Lord’s Residence. Shivering, she considered the passages to her left and right. The one on the right led back to the main corridor. To the left the passage led to... where?

Starting down it, she reached another intersection. She stopped, remembering the confusing journey Dorrien had taken her on to get to the roof of the University. He had said he knew every passage and room in the building. Growing up in the Guild had its advantages, he’d told her.

Sonea pursed her lips. She needed every advantage she could get. It was time she knew her way around this place.

But what if she got lost?

Sonea chuckled. She had hours to fill. For the first time in six months, she didn’t need to be anywhere. If she lost her way, she’d find it again.

Smiling grimly, she started walking.

Four firm knocks rapped on the door. Lorlen’s blood turned to ice.

This was not Osen’s polite rapping, or the timid tap of Lorlen’s servant. Nor was it the unfamiliar tap of another magician. It was a knock he had been dreading; a knock he had known would come.

Now that it had he couldn’t move. He stared at the door hoping in vain that the visitor would think him absent, and go away.

—Open the door, Lorlen.

The communication jolted him. It sounded different, as if an actual voice had spoken within his mind.

Lorlen drew in a deep breath. He would have to face Akkarin eventually. Why prolong the moment? Sighing heavily, Lorlen willed the door to open.

“Good evening, Lorlen.”

Akkarin stepped inside, wearing the same half-smile that he usually greeted Lorlen with. As if they were still good friends.

“High Lord.” Lorlen swallowed. His heart was beating too fast and he wanted to shrink into his chair. He felt a flash of irritation at himself. You’re Administrator of the Guild, he told himself, at least be dignified. He forced himself to rise and face Akkarin.

“Not visiting the Night Room tonight?” Akkarin asked.

“I wasn’t in the mood.”

There was silence, then Akkarin crossed his arms.

“I did not harm them, Lorlen.” Akkarin’s voice was quiet. “Nor you. Sonea will actually benefit from my guardianship. Her teachers were neglecting her, despite Rothen’s influence. Now they will go out of their way to help her—and she will need their help if she is to fulfil the potential I saw in her.”

Lorlen stared at Akkarin, shocked. “You read her mind?”

An eyebrow rose. “Of course. She may be small, but she is no child. You know this, Lorlen. You have read her mind, too.”

“That was different.” Lorlen looked away. “I was invited.” No doubt Akkarin had read Rothen’s mind as well. He felt another wave of guilt.

“But that is not why I’m here,” Akkarin said. “Nothing has ever kept you from the Night Room when so much gossip and speculation was sure to be had. They will expect you to attend. It is time you stopped moping, my friend.”

Friend? Lorlen scowled and looked down at the ring. What kind of friend did this? What kind of Administrator allows a black magician to take a novice hostage? He sighed. One who has no choice.

To protect Sonea, he must pretend that nothing had happened. Nothing more extraordinary than the High Lord finally claiming a novice’s guardianship and surprising all by choosing the slum girl. He nodded.

“I will go. Are you coming?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

“No, I will return to my residence.”

Lorlen nodded again. If Akkarin appeared in the Night Room, his presence would discourage gossip. In his absence, however, the questions that none dared ask the High Lord would be asked of the Administrator. As usual, Akkarin would expect a report.

Then Lorlen remembered the ring and Akkarin’s words: “I will be able to see and hear everything around you.” Akkarin did not need to wait for a report. He would be listening to all that was said.

Rising, Lorlen moved into his bedroom, splashed water on his face from a bowl, and checked his reflection in the mirror. Two dark smudges under his eyes told of the sleepless nights he’d endured. Smoothing his hair, he combed it to the nape of his neck and tied it neatly. His robes were creased, but a small magical exertion fixed that.

Returning to the guestroom, he met Akkarin’s gaze levelly. A faint smile touched the High Lord’s mouth. Turning away, Lorlen schooled his expression and willed the door open.

Following Akkarin out, Lorlen saw the magicians in the corridor pause and look at him closely. He nodded politely. They would see the dark circles under his eyes and assume he had been ill. Outside the Magicians’ Quarters, Akkarin bade him good night and disappeared into the University.

Continuing to the Night Room, Lorlen greeted two magicians as they, too, reached the entrance. As he expected, they asked if he was well. He assured them that he was, and led them inside.

As the inner doors opened, heads turned to see who had entered. The buzz of voices changed, first diminishing, then growing more intense. Lorlen made his way across the crowded room toward his favorite chair and saw that several magicians, including many of the Higher Magicians, had already gathered around it.

To his amusement, he found Lord Yikmo in his seat. The young Warrior leapt to his feet.

“Administrator Lorlen!” he exclaimed. “Please sit down. Are you well? You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” Lorlen replied.

“That is good to hear,” Yikmo said. “We were hoping you would come tonight, but I’d sympathize if you decided to avoid all the questions about Sonea and the High Lord.”

Lorlen managed to smile. “But I couldn’t leave you all wondering, could I?” Lorlen leaned back in the chair, and waited for the first question. Three magicians, including Lord Peakin, spoke at once. They stopped, glanced at each other, then two nodded politely to the Head of Alchemic Studies.

“Did you know Akkarin was thinking of taking on her guardianship?” Lord Peakin asked.

“No,” Lorlen admitted. “He has shown no more interest in her than in any other novice. We’ve talked about her from time to time, but otherwise he kept his thoughts to himself. He may have been considering her for weeks, even months.”

“Why Sonea, then?” Lord Garrel asked.

“Again, I’m not sure. Something must have attracted his attention.”

“Perhaps it was her strength,” Lord Yikmo mused. “Those summer intake novices alerted us all to her potential when they combined their powers against her.”

“Has he tested her, then?”

Lorlen hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

The magicians around him exchanged looks of sympathy.

“What did he find?” Peakin asked.

“He told me he saw great potential,” Lorlen replied. “He’s eager to oversee her training.”

One of the magicians standing nearby straightened and moved away to join a newcomer and no doubt spread this information. Beyond the pair, a familiar face caught Lorlen’s eye. As Rothen’s eyes met his, Lorlen felt a pang of guilt.

That Rothen was present surprised him. Had Akkarin ordered Rothen to keep up appearances, too?

“Director Jerrik has told me she will be attending evening classes,” Lady Vinara said. “Do you think this is too much to expect from her?”

Dragging his attention back to the questioners, Lorlen shrugged. “That is news to me. I didn’t know he had already approached Jerrik.”

“Most of her night classes are to cover those displaced by private Warrior Skills,” Lord Yikmo told them.

“Why couldn’t she attend those at night?” another asked.

“Because I don’t teach during the evening,” Yikmo replied, smiling broadly.

“Forgive me for saying so, but I’d have expected Lord Balkan to teach the High Lord’s favorite,” Lord Garrel said. “But perhaps your unusual teaching style would suit a girl like Sonea.”

“I have found novices with quick minds and less aggressive temperaments respond well to my methods,” Yikmo replied smoothly.

Sensing that Rothen was still watching him, Lorlen turned to look into the crowd. Rothen looked away. Returning to the conversation, Lorlen steered it away from Sonea’s classes with Yikmo. Warriors! he thought. Always so competitive.

Two hours later Lorlen found himself suppressing a yawn. He glanced around at the magicians, then rose.

“Excuse me,” he said. “It is growing late and I want to have an early night. Good evening.”

Crossing the room was not easy. Every few steps he was approached and questioned. After politely extracting himself several times, he turned around and found himself facing Rothen.

They stared at each other in silence. Heart racing, all Lorlen could think was that Akkarin had forbidden them to talk to each other. But faces had turned to watch them, and if they didn’t speak all kinds of speculation would be generated.

“Good evening, Administrator,” Rothen said.

“Good evening, Lord Rothen,” Lorlen replied.

So we’ve disobeyed Akkarin already, Lorlen mused. Rothen’s face was more lined than he recalled. Suddenly remembering the ring, Lorlen clasped his hands behind his back. “I wanted to... to express my sympathy. It must be distressing to lose the guardianship of a novice who you were clearly very fond of.”

A crease deepened between Rothen’s brows. “It is,” he agreed.

How he wished he could reassure Rothen. Perhaps he could...

“I’ve just heard she has been enrolled in evening classes for her Second Year. She’ll be spending most of her time in lessons, so I doubt she’ll see much of her new guardian at all—which is probably Akkarin’s way of keeping her out from under his feet.”

Rothen nodded slowly. “That will agree with her, I’m sure.” He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Are you well, Administrator?”

“Yes.” Lorlen smiled wanly. “I just need some sleep. I—” He stopped and smiled as a group of magicians passed. “Thank you for your concern. Good night, Lord Rothen.”

“Good night, Administrator.”

Turning away, Lorlen continued to the doors of the Night Room and stepped out into the chill night air. He allowed himself a shallow sigh. Do I really believe Akkarin won’t harm them?

—They’re safe enough. Reassuring Rothen was a wise move.

Lorlen stiffened in surprise and looked down at the ring. Glancing around, he was relieved to see that the courtyard was empty and no one had seen his reaction.

—You’ve told me about Garrel’s conversational skills, but I’ve never seen him in action. Does he do that to everyone?

Lorlen looked down at the ring. It caught the light of the lamps around the courtyard, looking no different from any ordinary ruby.

—I told you, Lorlen. Everything you see and hear.

—And think?

—When I’m listening—but you won’t know when I’m listening.

Appalled, Lorlen grasped the ring and began twisting it off.

—Stop, Lorlen. You’re tormented with enough guilt already. Don’t force me to make it worse.

Letting the ring go, Lorlen clenched his fingers in frustration.

—That’s better. Now get some rest. You have work to catch up on.

Breathing heavily with anger and defeat, Lorlen started toward his rooms.

Familiarizing herself with the inner passages of the University had turned out to be more difficult than Sonea had expected. The deeper she explored, the easier it was to become lost. So convoluted and unpredictable were the passages, she began to wonder if they had been designed specifically to confuse strangers.

The layout did not follow a predictable or repetitive pattern. Each passage twisted and turned in different ways. Sometimes they met the main corridor again; sometimes she found a dead end.

Taking a piece of paper out of her box, she began counting her steps and drawing the turns as she walked. After an hour, she had mapped out a small section of passages. Parts were missing, however. Though she retraced her steps, she found no passages leading into the blank sections on her maps.

She stopped and sat on her box to rest and think. She had assumed that the convoluted route Dorrien had taken when he took her up to the roof had been a deliberate ploy to confuse her. Perhaps it hadn’t. Thinking back, she remembered an odd little room they had passed through. It had contained a few cabinets with ornaments, but otherwise appeared to have no practical purpose. Perhaps, she thought, its true purpose might be that of a portal or gateway to internal parts of the University.

Rising, she hurried to one of the dead ends she had encountered. The corridor ended at a plain, unmarked wall, but to her left was a door. She gripped the handle... and paused.

What if she was wrong and this was an ordinary room? She might walk in on a magician, or interrupt a gathering.

Perhaps that was exactly what she was supposed to think. Most people would feel reluctant to open the closed door of an unknown room uninvited. She took her hand from the door and stepped back to regard it. Was there any sign or indication that this door led to a portal room rather than an ordinary one?

It was made of a dark wood. The surface was plain and undecorated. The hinges were blackened iron. She walked back along the passage to examine other doors. They were the same.

Returning to the first door, Sonea struggled with her reluctance to open it. She imagined herself striding into a room only to find a startled and angry magician staring at her.

But if she did, she could always apologize and say she had made a mistake. Better still, she could knock first and if anyone answered she could say that she had knocked on the wrong door. Obviously, novices were always getting confused and lost.

She rapped lightly, then a little louder. After she had counted to fifty, she turned the handle. The door opened with a click and swung outward.

Stepping through, she entered a room just like the one she remembered Dorrien taking her through. Feeling pleased with herself, she strode across to the other door. It swung inward to reveal another passage.

This one was different from those she had already explored. The walls were panelled with wood, and paintings and relief carvings hung along its length. Even the air smelled different—a mix of wood polish and herbs. Sonea wandered slowly from picture to picture, enjoying the satisfaction of having proved her instincts right.

The portal rooms acted as a barrier, she decided. They kept those who didn’t know their purpose out of these inner passages. Most people would not open a door unless they knew what lay beyond, and even if they opened the door by mistake, they would find an uninteresting room beyond. She wondered how many portal rooms there were. Finding out would give her something to do over the next two weeks.

She frowned then. If parts of the University had been designed to deter exploration, was she now in a part that was forbidden to novices?

Hearing a soft creak nearby, she spun about. A door opened a few strides down the passage. Too late to hide, she felt her heart skip as a magician stepped out. He looked up at her and frowned.

Look like you belong here! Straightening her back, she walked toward him as if she had just paused to view a painting. His eyes dropped to the incal on her sleeve. As she neared, she paused and bowed, then moved past.

Hearing his footsteps fade behind her, she sighed with relief. From his reaction to her presence, novices were not allowed into this part of the University. Yet he had accepted her presence after noting the incal on her sleeve. Perhaps he assumed she was on some errand for the High Lord. She smiled at that. So long as she looked as if she had a reason to be there, the magicians would leave her alone.

So where to from here? she asked herself. Unfolding the scrap of paper in her hand, she considered her map again.

23 Akkarin’s Promise

Returning from the deck, Dannyl found Tayend sitting cross-legged on the narrow bed in his cabin. The scholar’s drawings and notes were spread over every flat surface.

“I’ve translated what I can. There’s a phrase on the coffin that I suspect is repeated in several ancient languages. I’ll be able to check that when I get back to the library. The third line is in the early Elyne tongue that merged with the Kyralian one a thousand years ago.”

“What does it say?”

“That this woman was fair and honorable. That she protected the islands with high magic. The words for ‘high magic’ were carved deeply. There’s a glyph emphasized in the same way in what I think is an old Vindo tongue—which is what was carved on the walls. The same glyph appears on the walls in several places.”

Handing Dannyl a drawing, Tayend pointed out the glyph. Each time the words for “high magic” occurred, the picture above it represented a figure kneeling before a woman. The woman’s hand was extended to touch the supplicant’s upraised palm, as if to placate or reward.

“That could imply that she’s performing this high magic. What do you think she’s doing?”

Dannyl shrugged. “Healing, perhaps. That would make sense, since Healing would have been very rare a thousand years ago. It was only through cooperation and experimentation that the Guild managed to develop the skill—and it’s still the most difficult discipline to learn.”

“So the term ‘high magic’ is not familiar?”

Dannyl shook his head. “No.”

“The hole we looked through did not look natural to me. It had to have been made by someone. Do you think it might have been made by magic?”

“Possibly.” Dannyl smiled. “I think the last visitor did us a favor.”

“Indeed he did.” The ship dropped sharply. Tayend winced and turned a sickly color.

“You’re not going to spend this journey in misery,” Dannyl said firmly. “Give me your wrist.”

Tayend’s eyes widened. “But... I...”

“You haven’t got any excuses now.”

To Dannyl’s amusement, Tayend blushed and looked away. “I’m still, um, uncomfortable with... well...”

Dannyl waved a hand. “This sort of Healing is quick. And I won’t be reading your mind. Besides, you have to face the truth. You’re not very good company when you’re sick. When you’re not throwing up everywhere, you’re complaining about throwing up.”

“Complaining about it!” Tayend protested. “I did not complain!” He thrust his wrist out. “Go on then.”

Tayend closed his eyes tightly. Taking the scholar’s wrist, Dannyl sent his mind out and immediately felt nausea and giddiness. A small effort of will soothed it away. Letting go of Tayend’s wrist, Dannyl watched as the scholar opened his eyes and considered the effect.

“That’s much better.” Tayend gave Dannyl a quick, searching glance, then shrugged and looked down at his notes. “How long will it last?”

“A few hours. Longer as you get used to the rocking.”

Tayend smiled. “I knew I’d brought you along for something. What are we going to do when we get back?”

Dannyl grimaced. “I’ll have to spend a lot of time catching up on my ambassadorial duties.”

“Well, while you do that, I’ll continue our research. We knew where Akkarin travelled to because of the ships’ records. A question here and there will tell us what he did afterward. The Bel Arralade has a party to celebrate her birthday every year and that will be the perfect place to start. An invitation will be waiting at the Guild House for you.”

“How can you be sure? I’ve barely spent more than a few months in Capia, and I haven’t met the Bel Arralade yet.”

“Which is why I’m certain you’ll be invited.” Tayend smiled. “A young, unmarried magician like yourself. Besides, Ambassador Errend always attends. If you didn’t get an invite, he’d insist you accompanied him.”

“And you?”

“I have friends who’ll take me if I ask nicely.”

“Why not come with me?”

Tayend glanced up and down the corridor between their cabins. He leaned forward.

“If we arrive together, there will be assumptions made you might rather weren’t.”

“We’ve been travelling together for months,” Dannyl pointed out. “Assumptions may have already been made.”

“Not necessarily.” Tayend waved a hand. “Not if people observe you treating me as a mere underling. They may assume you don’t know about me. After all, you’re Kyralian. If you knew, you would have found another assistant.”

“We really have a bad reputation, don’t we?”

Tayend nodded. “But we can use that to our advantage. If anyone says anything about me, you should be outraged that they would slander my name. I’ll plead with my friends that they keep you in the dark, because it’s important to my work. If we’re convincing enough, we’ll be able to continue working together without anyone questioning.”

Dannyl frowned. He hated to admit it, but Tayend was right. Though he wanted to shrug and let the gossips talk, any steps they could take to protect his reputation would make both of their lives easier.

“Very well. I’ll act like the arrogant Kyralian magician people expect.” He looked at Tayend. “But I want you to remember, if I say anything harsh or judgmental, I don’t really mean it.”

Tayend nodded. “I know.”

“I’m just warning you. My acting skills are fairly good.”

“Oh, really?”

Dannyl chuckled. “Yes, really. I have my mentor’s words to prove it. He said if I could convince the Thieves I was a poor merchant, I could deceive anyone.”

“We’ll see,” Tayend replied. “We’ll see.”

Lord Osen waited patiently as Lorlen finished the letter. With a wave of his hand, Lorlen dried the ink, then folded the sheet of paper and sealed it.

“What is next?” he asked as he handed the letter to Osen.

“That is all.”

Lorlen looked up, surprised. “We’ve caught up?”

“Yes.” Osen smiled.

Leaning back in his chair, Lorlen regarded his assistant approvingly. “I haven’t thanked you for looking after everything for me last week.”

Osen shrugged. “You needed a rest. In my opinion, you should have taken a longer break. Perhaps visited family for a few weeks like everyone else. You still look worn out.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Lorlen replied. “But leave them all to their own devices for a few weeks?” He shook his head. “Not a good idea.”

The young magician chuckled. “Now you’re starting to sound like your old self. Shall we start preparations for the next Meet?”

“No.” Lorlen frowned as he remembered. “I’m visiting the High Lord tonight.”

“Forgive me for saying, but you don’t sound particularly enthusiastic.” Osen hesitated, then continued in a quieter tone. “Have you two had a disagreement?”

Lorlen considered his assistant. Osen rarely missed anything, but he was discreet. Would he believe a denial? Probably not completely.

—Tell him we have. Something minor.

Lorlen stiffened at the voice in his mind. Akkarin hadn’t spoken to him through the ring since the conversation outside the Night Room over a week ago.

“I guess you could say we have,” Lorlen replied slowly. “In a manner of speaking.”

Osen nodded. “I thought so. Was it over Sonea’s guardianship? That’s what some of the magicians believe.”

“Do they?” Lorlen could not help smiling. He had become an object of gossip.

—Well? he projected at the ring.

—The answer you are considering will do.

Snorting softly, Lorlen looked up and gave Osen a warning look. “I know I can trust you to keep this to yourself, Osen. Speculation is fine, but I do not want the others to know the High Lord and I disagreed. For Sonea’s sake.”

Osen nodded. “I understand. I will keep it to myself—and I hope you two resolve your differences.”

Lorlen stood up. “That depends on how well Sonea adapts to the change. It is a bit much to expect of her after all she’s been through already.”

“I wouldn’t want to be in her position,” Osen admitted as he followed Lorlen to the door. “But I’m sure she’ll cope.”

Lorlen nodded. I hope so. “Good night, Osen.”

“Good night, Administrator.”

The University corridor echoed with the young magician’s steps as he strode away. Walking into the Entrance Hall, Lorlen felt a cloud of dread gather around him. He stepped between the enormous doors and stopped at the top of the stairs.

Looking across the front of the gardens, he considered the High Lord’s Residence. He hadn’t been back since the night Akkarin had read his mind. Remembering sent a chill down his spine.

Taking a deep breath, he made himself think of Sonea. For her safety, he must make himself cross the garden and face Akkarin again. The High Lord’s invitation was not to be refused.

Lorlen forced himself to move. After a few steps, he quickened his pace. Better to get it over and done with. At the door to the residence he paused, heart beating quickly, then made himself knock. As always, the door swung inward at the first touch. Seeing that the room was empty, Lorlen sighed with relief. He stepped inside.

In the corner of his eye he saw a movement. A shadow detached itself from the dark rectangle of the right-hand stairway entrance. Akkarin’s black robes rustled quietly as he approached.

Black robes. Black magic. Ironically, black had always been the color of the High Lord. You didn’t have to take it so literally, Lorlen thought.

Akkarin chuckled. “Wine?”

Lorlen shook his head.

“Then sit. Relax.”

Relax? How could he relax? And he resented this friendly familiarity. Lorlen remained standing, and watched Akkarin move to the wine cabinet and pick up a bottle.

“How is Sonea?”

Akkarin’s shoulders lifted. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure where she is exactly. Somewhere in the University, I believe.”

“She’s not here?”

“No.” Akkarin turned and gestured to the chairs. “Sit.”

“Then how do you... you didn’t give her one of these rings?”

“No.” Akkarin took a sip of wine. “I’ve checked on her from time to time. She spent a few days exploring the University, and now that she’s found a few corners to hide in, she fills her time reading books. Adventure stories, from what I can tell.”

Lorlen frowned. He was glad that Akkarin hadn’t forced Sonea to stay in her room for the break, but hearing of her hiding in corners of the University confirmed how frightened and unhappy she must be.

“Are you sure you don’t want any wine? This year’s Anuren dark is very good.”

Lorlen glanced at the bottle, then shook his head. Sighing, he moved to a chair and sat down.

“Taking on her guardianship has not been as troublesome as I had feared,” Akkarin said quietly as he moved to his chair. “It complicates everything, but it is better than the alternative.”

Lorlen closed his eyes and tried not to think what the alternative might be. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then forced himself to meet Akkarin’s eyes.

“Why have you done this, Akkarin? Why black magic?”

Akkarin met his gaze levelly. “Of all people, Lorlen, you are one I wish I could tell. I saw it change how you regard me. If you had thought defeating me was possible, you would have sent the Guild against me. Why didn’t you ask what I was doing when you first learned of it?”

“Because I didn’t know what you would do.”

“After all the years we were friends, you didn’t trust me?”

“After what I saw in Sonea’s mind, I realized I didn’t know you at all.”

Akkarin’s brows rose. “That’s understandable. It is a powerful thing, this belief that black magic is evil.”

“Is it?”

Akkarin frowned, his eyes focusing far beyond the floor. “Yes.”

“Then why practice it?” Lorlen demanded. He held up the hand bearing the ring. “Why this?”

“I cannot tell you. Be assured, I’m not intending to take over the Guild.”

“You don’t have to. You’re already High Lord.”

The corner of Akkarin’s mouth curled up. “I am, aren’t I? Then be assured that I’m not about to destroy the Guild, or anything else you hold dear.” Putting down his glass, he rose and moved to the serving table. Filling another glass, he handed it to Lorlen.

“I will tell you one day, Lorlen. I promise you that.”

Lorlen stared at Akkarin. The dark eyes were steady. Lorlen accepted the glass and reassurance reluctantly.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Akkarin opened his mouth to reply, but stopped at a faint knock from the door. He straightened and narrowed his eyes.

The door swung open. The glow from Akkarin’s globe light barely reached Sonea’s eyes as she stepped inside, head bowed.

“Good evening, Sonea,” Akkarin said smoothly.

She bowed. “Good evening, High Lord, Administrator,” she replied in a quiet voice.

“What did you do today?”

She looked down at the books she was holding to her chest. “Some reading.”

“With the libraries closed, you must have little to choose from. Are there any books you would like to buy?”

“No, High Lord.”

“Other entertainments can be arranged if you wish.”

“No, thank you, High Lord.”

One of Akkarin’s eyebrows rose, and then he waved a hand. “You may go.”

Looking relieved, she hurried to the left-hand staircase. Lorlen felt a pang of guilt and sympathy as he watched her go.

“She must be miserable,” he murmured.

“Hmmm. Her reticence is irritating,” Akkarin said quietly, as if to himself. Moving back to his chair, he retrieved his glass of wine.

“So tell me, have Peakin and Davin resolved their little dispute yet?”

Leaning against the window, Rothen stared at the little square of light on the other side of the gardens. He had seen the slight figure approach the residence a few minutes before. A moment later the light had appeared. Now he was certain that the room behind that window was Sonea’s.

A light tap at the door drew his attention away. Tania walked inside, carrying a jug of water and a small jar. She set them down on the table.

“Lady Indria said you should avoid taking it on an empty stomach,” Tania told him.

“I know,” Rothen replied. “I’ve used it before.” He moved from the window and picked up the jar. The soporific was an innocuous gray, but he had never forgotten how vile it tasted.

“Thank you, Tania. You may go.”

“Sleep well,” she said. Bowing, she moved to the door.

“Wait.” Rothen straightened and regarded his servant carefully. “Would you... can you...?”

She smiled. “I’ll let you know if I overhear anything.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

After she had left, he sat down and mixed some of the powder in water. Forcing himself to swallow it in one draft, he leaned back and waited for the drug to take effect. The taste brought back a memory of a face he sometimes thought he’d forgotten, and he felt a stab of pain.

Yilara, my wife. Even after all this time I still mourn you. But I suppose I would never forgive myself if I stopped.

He had resolved to always remember his wife as she had been when healthy, not as she had been at the end, wasted with her illness. He smiled as happier memories returned.

Still smiling, still in his chair, he slipped into a peaceful sleep.

24 A Request

As she left the Baths, Sonea thought of the past two weeks and was surprised to feel some regret that the break was over. She had spent most of the time exploring the University, reading or, on warmer days, walking up through the forest to the spring.

In some ways, little had changed. She still planned her movements about the Guild to avoid someone. Akkarin was far easier to avoid than Regin, however. The only time she saw him was in the evenings, when she returned to the High Lord’s Residence.

A servant had been assigned to her. Unlike Tania, Viola was distant and businesslike. Having noted Sonea’s habit of rising early, she always appeared just after dawn. It had taken several requests before the woman finally brought a jar of raka powder, and her expression when the aroma filled Sonea’s room spoke clearly of her distaste for the stimulant so loved by the slum dwellers.

Each morning, Sonea left the High Lord’s Residence and headed to the Baths, where she soaked in luxuriously warm water and decided how she would fill the day. Relaxation allowed hunger to catch up with her, and she visited the Foodhall next. A small number of cooks and servers catered to the handful of novices who had remained in the Guild. Bored, and eager to cultivate opportunities for future positions serving the Houses, they encouraged these novices to request favorite meals. Though Sonea had no high connections, the younger cooks indulged her as well, no doubt because of the incal on her sleeve.

After eating, Sonea would pace through the passages of the University to reinforce her memory of the plan. From time to time she would stop in a quiet room and open a book, sometimes reading for hours before she decided to move on again. As evening settled in, however, her dread would slowly return until she could no longer concentrate on reading. She had been given no hour to return by. Though she had tried arriving at the residence later and later, Akkarin was always there, waiting for her. After a week she had resigned herself to this daily encounter, and started to return at a time that allowed her to get a good night’s sleep.

Just as she had been getting used to her new routine, the break ended. She had spent most of the previous afternoon at a University window, watching carriages coming and going. On most days, when the Guild was filled with magicians, it was easy to forget that wives, husbands and children also lived on the grounds. Sonea had realized how few she could name. Deciding she ought to know more about her future colleagues, she had begun to note family groups, and the House incals on the carriages they arrived in.

There had been a lack of formality to this homecoming. While servants had been kept busy hauling baggage and tending horses, magicians and their spouses had paused to chat with others. Children had run into the gardens to play in the snow. Novices had gathered in knots of brown robes, their shouts and laughter audible through the University windows.

But today, magicians were striding about the grounds, clearly the masters of their domain. Servants hurried about, but the families she had watched were nowhere to be seen. Novices were everywhere.

Walking toward the University, Sonea felt a familiar uneasiness. Though she was sure Regin wouldn’t dare harass the High Lord’s favorite, she created a barrier about herself just in case. Reaching the stairs, she noted that the novice in front of her was shivering and rubbing his arms. A newcomer, she mused. Lord Vorel had claimed that the winter intake novices always learned to shield faster than those who started training in summer. Now she understood why.

“That’s her.”

“Who?”

The whispers came from behind her. She resisted the urge to glance behind as she continued up the stairs.

“The slum girl.”

“So it’s true?”

“Yes. Mother says it isn’t right. She says there are plenty of novices as strong as her. Ones that don’t have a bad history.”

“My father says it’s an insult to the Houses—and even the Administrator didn’t...”

The rest was lost as Sonea turned into the corridor on the second floor. Pausing, she examined the novices in the corridor ahead, then began to walk. Unlike the first time she had appeared as Akkarin’s novice, they did not stare at her. Instead, they looked once, scowled, then turned away. Eyebrows rose and meaningful looks were exchanged.

This is not good, she thought.

As she approached her classroom, she felt a rising dread. She paused at the doorway to take a deep breath, then stepped inside. The teacher who looked up at her was surprisingly young. It could not have been many years since he’d graduated. She glanced at her schedule for his name.

“Lord Larkin,” she said, bowing.

To her relief, he smiled. “Take a seat, Sonea.”

Only half of the other novices had arrived. A few watched her as she moved to her usual position by the window. Their expressions weren’t friendly, but they weren’t disapproving, either. The feeling of dread eased.

Larkin rose. Seeing that he was approaching her desk, she sighed. No doubt he would want her to move closer to the front.

“The High Lord asked me to tell you he wishes to see you after the next class,” he told her quietly. “You are to return to his residence.”

Sonea felt all warmth leave her face. Guessing that she had turned pale, she looked down at her desk, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “Thank you, my lord.”

Larkin turned away and moved back to his desk. Sonea swallowed hard. What did Akkarin want? Frightening scenarios came to mind, and she jumped when Larkin rose and began to address the class. Looking around, she realized that the rest of the novices had arrived.

“The history of magician-designed architecture is a long one,” Larkin told the class. “Parts are unbearably dry, but I will skip as many of those as possible. Instead, I will begin with the story of Lord Loren, the architect who designed the University.”

Thinking of the map she had drawn up of the University passages, Sonea straightened in her seat. This would be interesting. Taking sheets of paper from his desk, Larkin walked up and down the rows of desks, handing one to each novice.

“This is a rough plan of the top level of the University—a copy of a sketch drawn by the man himself,” Larkin said. “Lord Loren’s early work was often unstable and ridiculous in appearance. He was considered to be an artist obsessed with making large, impractical sculptures rather than habitable buildings, but his discovery of the methods of shaping and strengthening stone with magic changed more than architecture. He began to make buildings that people wanted to live in.”

Larkin waved a hand at the ceiling. “The University is one of his finest works. By the time Lord Loren was requested to design and construct the new Guild buildings, he was famous throughout the world for his work.” Larkin paused to chuckle. “The Guild still felt it necessary to stipulate in their guidelines that he wasn’t to use spirals in the design—something he was known to do in excess.

“However, the use of spirals can be found in the glass ceiling above the Guildhall and the staircases of the Entrance Hall,” Larkin continued. “From the diaries and records kept by other magicians of that era, we know Lord Loren was a devious character at the best of times. Over a hundred years later a magician named Lord Rendo wrote a book detailing the architect’s career. I have included with the plan a few extracts of this biography and a chronology of his life and works. Read them now. After class you may want to look around the grounds at the buildings he designed. You will, as I did, see much that you had not noticed before. I will expect an essay on his work three weeks from today.”

As the other novices began to read, Sonea looked down at the plan of the University. The four towers at the corners and the huge room at the center were clearly drawn, as was the design of the glass ceiling, but the rooms and passages on either side of the main corridor were unmarked.

She took her map out of her box and lay it next to the plan. After staring at both, she started copying the ceiling design onto her own sketch. As she suspected, the lines that marked the spirals in the glass met those showing the passages. Though the passage turns were at right angles, they combined with the ceiling design to form even larger spirals.

“What are you doing, Sonea?”

Realizing that the teacher was standing over her desk, she felt her face heat.

“I... I thought of what you said about spirals, my lord,” she explained, “and started looking for them.”

Larkin tilted his head and examined her sketch, then pointed to the inner passages she had marked. “I’ve looked at the University plans many times but I’ve never seen this many. Where did you get this plan?”

“I, ah, made it. I didn’t have much else to do over the break. I hope I wasn’t going anywhere I wasn’t supposed to.”

He shook his head. “The only place in the University that is forbidden to novices is the Guildhall and the Administrator’s office.”

“But... those rooms between the normal passages and the decorated ones. They seemed to be a kind of barrier.”

Larkin nodded. “In the past they were locked, but as more space was needed it was decided that the inner areas should be accessible to all.”

Sonea thought of the disapproving look she had received from the magician she encountered the first night of exploration. Perhaps he had merely been suspicious of a novice wandering about alone. Perhaps he simply distrusted the slum girl.

“Would you mind if I took a copy of your plan?” Larkin asked.

“I’ll draw one for you if you like,” she offered.

He smiled. “Thank you, Sonea.”

As he moved away, Sonea watched him speculatively. There didn’t seem to be any of the disapproval or disdain in his manner that she was used to from the other teachers. Would only the novices resent her now? She glanced around the room and saw several heads turn away, but one caught her gaze.

Regin’s eyes bored into her own. Looking away, Sonea shivered. How had she ever earned such unveiled hatred?

Every time she had done well in class, he had managed to equal or surpass her. He was better at Warrior Skills, so if this was about being better than her, he was winning.

But now she had succeeded in a way that he could never match. She had become the High Lord’s favorite. To make it worse, he dared not make her suffer for it.

She sighed. He wouldn’t be so jealous if he knew what was really going on. I’d swap places any day. He’d be scared out of his wits...

Or would he? Would Regin, who relished having power and influence and was willing to harm others to get it, be able to resist the lure of black magic? No, he’d probably want to join Akkarin. She shuddered. Regin as a black magician. The idea was truly frightening.

As Dannyl stepped into the Guild House, Ambassador Errend strolled out of the audience room.

“Welcome back, Ambassador Dannyl.”

“Thank you, Ambassador Errend,” Dannyl replied, inclining his head politely. “It is good to be back. If I ever get it into my head to go sailing around the world again, please remind me of the last two weeks.”

The Ambassador smiled. “Ah, sea travel does lose its romance after the first few journeys.”

Dannyl grimaced. “Especially if you encounter a storm.”

Though Errend’s face did not change much, Dannyl was sure he saw a hint of smugness in the man’s expression. “Well, you’re on solid ground now,” the man said. “No doubt you’ll want to rest for the remainder of the day. You can tell me of your adventures tonight.”

“Have I missed much?”

“Of course.” Errend smiled. “This is Capia.” He took a step back toward the audience room, then paused. “Some urgent letters arrived for you two days ago. Do you want to read them now, or wait until tomorrow?”

Dannyl nodded, curious despite his weariness. “Have them sent to my room. Thank you, Ambassador.”

The big man inclined his head gracefully, then turned away. Walking down the main corridor of the house, Dannyl considered the work ahead of him. He expected that there was much work to catch up on, and he had a report to compile for Lorlen. It wouldn’t be easy to find time to visit the Great Library.

But his research would continue through other means as well. The invitation to Bel Arralade’s party would probably be among the letters waiting for him. He had to admit, he was looking forward to it. It had been some time since he’d exercised his gossip-gathering skills.

When he had returned from the small Baths within the Guild House, he found a pile of letters on his desk. Sitting down, he spread them out and immediately recognized the elegant handwriting of Administrator Lorlen.

Breaking the seal, he unfolded the thick paper and began to read.

Letting the letter fall to the desk, Dannyl stared at it in astonishment. All the travelling and studying of books, and now it was all to be abandoned because of a few gossips? Obviously the research hadn’t been that important, after all.

Then he smiled. He had only assumed there was a good reason for reviving Akkarin’s quest for ancient magical knowledge. When his own curiosity had lagged in the face of reading some particularly boring old books and the discomfort of sea travel, his enthusiasm had been sustained by the thought that there might be a more significant reason for gathering the information than simply continuing Akkarin’s research. Perhaps Akkarin had been on the brink of rediscovering a valuable method of using magic, and Lorlen wanted another to take up the search. Perhaps a lost piece of history was to be found.

But Lorlen had, in just a few scribbled lines, put an end to the research as if it meant nothing after all.

Shaking his head, Dannyl folded the letter and put it aside. Tayend would be disappointed, he mused. They had no reason to attend Bel Arralade’s party now. Not that it would keep either of them from going—and he would still visit his friend at the library. Without Lorlen’s request as excuse, he would have to find another “public” reason to talk to the scholar... perhaps something else to research...

Dannyl stilled. Was Tayend the reason Lorlen had stopped the research? Had Lorlen heard the gossip about Tayend, and grown concerned that questions about Dannyl’s reputation would reemerge?

Dannyl frowned down at the letters. How could he know if this was the true reason? It was not as if he could ask Lorlen.

Another Guild symbol among the letters caught his eye. Picking up the letter, he smiled as he recognized Rothen’s sturdy handwriting. Straightening, he broke the seal and began to read.

Dannyl read the letter twice, then chuckled. He had never seen Rothen fail to achieve something he had set out to do. Mostly these “interests” were the novices he took guardianship of. To lose Sonea to the High Lord must sting.

Yet having the High Lord choose her was no failure. Without Rothen’s hard work contributing to her success, Sonea may not have caught Akkarin’s eye. Dannyl nodded. He must remember to say that in his reply.

He scanned the letter again, slowing as he reread Rothen’s request for assistance. He did appreciate the irony, but even more amusing was that Rothen should ask for the same information that Lorlen had just decided he was no longer interested in. Quite a coincidence.

Dannyl picked up Lorlen’s letter and unfolded it. Looking from one letter to the other, he felt the skin tingle at the back of his neck. Was this a coincidence? He stared at the two letters for some time, noting the hurried marks of Lorlen’s and the carefully shaped letters of Rothen’s. What was going on here?

If he set aside all speculation, only three certainties remained. Firstly, Lorlen had wanted to know what Akkarin had learned on his journey, and now didn’t. Secondly, Rothen now wanted the same information that Akkarin had sought. Thirdly, both Lorlen and Rothen wanted the search to remain a secret, and Akkarin had never made his own discoveries public.

There was a mystery here. Even if Rothen hadn’t requested his help, Dannyl might have been curious enough to continue the research for his own interest. Now he was determined to. After all, he hadn’t spent several weeks at sea to just abandon everything.

Smiling to himself, he folded the letters and placed them with his notes on Akkarin’s journey.

At every step from the University to the High Lord’s Residence, the knot in Sonea’s stomach tightened. By the time she had reached the door her heart was racing. She paused, took a deep breath, and tapped the handle.

As always, it swung open at the first touch. She felt her mouth go dry as she looked inside the guestroom. Akkarin was sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for her.

“Come in, Sonea.”

Swallowing, she forced herself to step inside and bow, keeping her eyes to the floor. Robes rustled softly as he rose from the chair. Her heart skipped as he walked toward her. She stepped back and felt her heel meet the door behind her.

“I have had a meal prepared for us.”

She barely heard him, conscious only of the hand that reached toward her. His fingers curled around the handle of her box. At his touch she jerked her hand back, surrendering the box. He set it on a low table.

“Follow me.”

As he turned away she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She started after him, then stopped as she realized he was heading for the stairs that led to the underground room. As if sensing her hesitation, he turned to look at her.

“Come along. Takan will not be pleased if the food goes cold.”

Food. A meal. Surely he didn’t eat down there. She sighed with relief as he began to ascend the stairs. Forcing herself to move, she entered the stairwell and followed him up.

Reaching the corridor, Akkarin passed two doors before stopping at a third. The door swung open, and he stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.

Looking into the room beyond, Sonea saw a large polished table surrounded by lavishly decorated chairs. Plates, forks and glasses had been laid out on the table.

A formal meal. Why?

“Go on,” he murmured.

She glanced at him, catching a glitter of amusement in his eyes before stepping through the door. He followed and pointed to a chair.

“Please, sit.” Moving around the table, he settled into the opposite chair.

Obeying, she wondered how she was going to eat. Her appetite had fled with Lord Larkin’s message. Perhaps she could say she wasn’t hungry. Perhaps he would let her go.

She looked down at the table, then caught her breath. Everything before her was made of gold: cutlery, plates and even the rims of the glasses were coated with it. A half-forgotten thrill of temptation ran through her. It would be so easy to slip one of these forks into her clothing when he wasn’t looking. Though she was not as quick-fingered as she had once been, she had tested herself now and then by playing tricks on Rothen. Just one of these beautiful forks could fetch a fortune—or, at least, enough to live on until she found some remote place to disappear in.

But I can’t leave. Frustrated, she wondered if it would be worth stealing something just to annoy him.

She jumped then, as she realized that Akkarin’s servant was standing beside her. Disturbed that she had not heard him approaching, she watched as he poured wine into her glass, then moved around the table to perform the same service for Akkarin.

Since she left her room early, and returned late, she had only glimpsed the servant a few times. Now, looking closer, she shivered as she realized she had seen him before, in the underground room, helping Akkarin perform the black magic ritual.

“How were your lessons today, Sonea?”

Startled, she looked at Akkarin, then quickly evaded his eyes.

“Interesting, High Lord.”

“What did you learn?”

“About magician-designed architecture. Lord Loren’s designs.”

“Ah, Lord Loren. Your investigation of the University passages must have familiarized you with some of his peculiarities.”

She kept her eyes lowered. So he knew about her exploration of the University. Had he watched her? Followed her? Despite Lord Larkin’s assurances that she had not ventured anywhere forbidden to novices, she felt her face warming. Taking her glass, she sipped at the wine. It was sweet and strong.

“How are your classes with Lord Yikmo going?”

She winced. What should she say? Disappointing? Awful? Humiliating?

“You don’t like the Warrior Skills.”

It was a statement. She decided she didn’t need to reply. Instead, she took another mouthful of wine.

“Warrior Skills are important. They draw on everything that you learn in the other disciplines, then challenge your understanding of them. Only in battle do you find the limits of your strength, knowledge and Control. It is a pity Rothen neglected to arrange extra training when you first showed a weakness in this part of your education.”

Sonea felt a stab of hurt and anger at his criticism of Rothen. “I guess he saw no need for it,” she replied. “We’re not at war, or under any threat of it.”

One of Akkarin’s long fingers tapped the base of his glass.

“Do you think it is wise to throw away all our knowledge of war during times of peace?”

Sonea shook her head, suddenly wishing she hadn’t volunteered an opinion. “No.”

“Then shouldn’t we preserve our knowledge and keep ourselves well practiced in its use?”

“Yes, but...” She paused. Why am I arguing with him?

“But?” he prompted.

“You don’t need every magician to do it.”

“Don’t we?”

She cursed silently. Why was he even bothering to discuss this with her? He didn’t care if she was good at Warrior Skills. He just wanted her occupied and out of his way.

“Perhaps Rothen neglected that part of your training because you are a woman.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps he was right. In the last five years the few young women who considered becoming Warriors were persuaded otherwise. Do you think that is fair?”

She frowned at this question. He knew that she did not want to join the Warriors, so he could only be asking in an effort to draw her into conversation. If she cooperated, would this lead into dangerous territory? Should she refuse to talk to him?

Before she could decide whether to answer or not, the door behind Akkarin opened and Takan entered carrying a large tray. A delicious smell followed him to the table. The servant placed bowls and plates in a line between her and Akkarin, then put the tray under his arm and began to describe each dish.

Sonea’s stomach stirred with hunger. At each savory breath the knots within it untied.

“Thank you, Takan,” Akkarin murmured as the servant finished. Takan bowed. As he left, Akkarin picked up a serving ladle and began to select from the dishes.

From a few formal meals with Rothen, Sonea knew that this was the traditional way the Kyralian Houses entertained guests. In the slums, food was eaten with little preparation, and the only utensils used were the knives each person carried. The uniquely Kyralian tradition of serving food in small, bite-sized pieces required more preparation, and the more formal the meal, the more elaborate the food and utensils for eating it.

Fortunately, Rothen had made her memorize the purposes of all the different forks, ladles, tweezers and skewers. If Akkarin had thought he would humble her by drawing attention to her lack of “proper” upbringing, then he would be disappointed.

She helped herself to the dishes, first ladling onto her plate some of the rassook pieces wrapped in brasi leaves. As she skewered a piece with her fork and placed it between her teeth, she realized Akkarin had paused to watch her.

A delicious flavor filled her mouth. Surprised, she ate another. Soon her plate was empty, and she was eyeing the next dish.

As she sampled each of the dishes, she forgot all else. Slivers of fish were served in a tangy, red marin sauce. Mysterious parcels were stuffed with herbs and harrel mince. Large purple crots, beans she had always hated, were coated with a salty crumb that made them irresistible.

She had never tasted food so delicious. The meals in the University had always been good, and she had listened to the other novices’ complaints in disbelief. This meal, however, explained how they could find the Foodhall wanting.

At Takan’s return, she looked up and discovered Akkarin watching her, his chin resting on one hand. Averting her eyes, she watched Takan gather the empty plates and bowls, then carry them away.

“What did you think of the food?”

Sonea nodded. “Good.”

“Takan is an excellent cook.”

“He made all this himself?” She could not hide the surprise in her voice.

“Yes, though he has an assistant to stir the pots for him.”

Takan returned with two bowls, which he set in front of them. Looking down, Sonea felt her mouth water. Pale crescents of pachi fruit glistened in a thick syrup. The first mouthful revealed a sweetness sharpened with an alcoholic tang. She ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Meals like this might be worth suffering his company for, she thought.

“I want you to dine here with me every Firstday night.”

Sonea froze. Had he read her mind? Or was this what he had intended all along?

“But I have evening classes,” she protested.

“Takan is aware of the time allowed for the evening meal. You will not miss your lessons.”

She looked down at the empty bowl.

“But you will miss your class tonight, if I keep you any longer,” he added. “You are dismissed, Sonea.”

Relieved, she all but leapt out of the chair, then put a hand on the table to steady herself as her head began to spin. Still a little dizzy, she bowed, then headed for the door.

Pausing in the corridor to catch her balance, she heard a murmur from the room behind her.

“Less wine next time, Takan.”

“It was the dessert, master.”

25 Turning Up in Odd Places

Catching sight of Narron and Trassia heading toward the next class, Sonea sighed. For once she wished she was joining them, but only half of her schedule matched theirs now. Her destination for the morning was a small room deep within the University passages where Lord Yikmo was waiting to give her another Warrior Skills lesson.

Turning from the main corridor into a side passage, she walked slowly, feeling a gloom descend over her. The Arena was occupied for all daytime classes, so Yikmo held his lessons in a magically protected room within the University. Only small surges of magic were used, in complicated games that were supposed to sharpen her wits and reflexes.

Turning another corner, she all but collided with a magician. Keeping her eyes down, she started to mutter an apology.

“Sonea!”

Recognizing the voice, she looked up at Rothen and felt her heart skip. At once, they both glanced over their shoulders. The passage was empty.

“It’s good to see you.” He gazed at her searchingly, his face creasing with lines she could not remember having noticed before. “How are you?”

She shrugged. “Still around.”

He nodded, his expression grim. “How is he treating you?”

“I hardly see him.” She grimaced. “Too many classes. I think that’s what he intended.”

She looked over her shoulder again as she heard distant footsteps drawing near.

“I have to go. Lord Yikmo is expecting me.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “According to my schedule, I’m teaching your class tomorrow.”

“Yes.” She smiled slyly. “I guess it would seem strange if the High Lord’s novice wasn’t taught by the Guild’s best chemistry teacher.”

His face smoothed a little, but he didn’t smile. Forcing herself to turn away, she continued down the corridor. She heard no footsteps behind her, and knew he was watching her go.

He looks different, she thought as she turned into another passage. So much older. Or has he always looked old, but I didn’t notice? Without warning, tears sprang into her eyes. Stopping, she leaned against a wall, blinking furiously. Not here! Not now! I must get control of myself! She drew a long, ragged breath and slowly let it out, then another.

A gong rang out, the sound vibrating through the wall behind her. Hoping her eyes weren’t red, she hurried down the passage. As she came in sight of the door of Yikmo’s room, it opened and, catching a glimpse of a black sleeve, Sonea skidded to a halt.

No. I can’t face him. Not now. Dashing back around the last turn, she hurried down the passage to where it intersected with another, then ducked out of sight. Turning, she peered back around the corner. She could hear the murmur of familiar voices, but she could not hear what they were saying.

“Well, well. This is interesting.”

Spinning around, Sonea found Regin standing in the opposite passage, his arms crossed. “I thought you’d be following your guardian around, not hiding from him.”

She felt her face warming. “What are you doing here, Regin?”

He smiled. “Oh, I just happened along.”

“Why aren’t you in class?”

“Why aren’t you?”

She shook her head. This was pointless. “Why am I wasting my time talking to you?”

“Because he’s still there,” Regin said, smiling slyly. “And you’re too scared to face him.”

She regarded him carefully, weighing up possible responses. He would not believe a denial, and saying nothing would only confirm his suspicions.

“Scared?” She snorted. “No more than you.”

“Really?” He took a step closer. “What are you waiting for then? The gong has rung. You’re late, and your guardian is around to notice. So why are you still delaying? Or perhaps I should call out and let him know you’re hiding down here.”

She glared at him. Would he? Probably, if he thought it would get her in trouble. Yet if she left now, she would be giving in to his goading.

Better to give in than to have him call out to Akkarin. Rolling her eyes, she turned on her heel and stalked down the passage. As she neared the end, a black figure strode past the passage entrance and she froze.

To her relief, Akkarin didn’t notice her. He walked past and she heard his footsteps fading as he continued along the corridor. She heard a chuckle of satisfaction from behind. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Regin watching her, smiling.

She turned away and stepped into the corridor. Why was he so interested in whether she was scared of Akkarin or not? She shook her head. Of course, any sign that she was unhappy would give him pleasure.

But why hadn’t he been in class? What reason could he possibly have for being in this part of the University?

Surely he hadn’t been following her...

A gust of cold air greeted Lorlen as he opened the door to his office. The draft picked up a number of messages that had been slipped under the door for him and blew them out into the corridor. Seeing the number of them, he sighed and swept them inside again with a little magic.

Closing the door, he stomped across the room to his desk.

“You’re not in the best mood today.”

Jumping at the voice, Lorlen cast around for the owner. Akkarin was sitting in one of the chairs, his dark eyes reflecting the light diffused by the window screens.

How did he get in here? Lorlen stared at Akkarin, tempted to demand an explanation. But the temptation faded as the High Lord returned his stare. Looking away, Lorlen concentrated on the messages scattered around the floor. He sent them fluttering across the room and into his hand, then sorted through them.

“What’s bothering you, my friend?”

Lorlen shrugged. “Peakin and Davin are still at each other’s throats, Garrel wants me to allow Regin to resume lessons with Balkan, and Jerrik just passed on another request from Tya for an assistant.”

“All within your ability to solve, Administrator.”

Lorlen snorted at the use of his title. “What would you have me do, High Lord?” he asked mockingly.

Akkarin chuckled. “You know our little family better than I, Lorlen.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Say ‘yes’ to Garrel, ‘no’ to Lady Tya, and as for Davin... his idea that we rebuild the Lookout so he can observe the weather is interesting. The Guild hasn’t built anything for a long time, and a lookout tower has military value—which would please Captain Arin. He’s been trying to persuade me to rebuild the Outer Wall since he became Military Adviser to the King.”

Lorlen frowned. “Surely you’re not serious. A project like that would be expensive and time-consuming. Our time would be better spent...” Lorlen paused. “Did you say ‘yes’ to Garrel? Would you have Regin’s punishment for attacking Sonea ended six months early?”

Akkarin shrugged. “Do you really think he’ll cause Sonea trouble now? The boy has talent. It is a shame to waste it.”

Lorlen nodded slowly. “It would... reduce the sting of having his adversary favored by the High Lord.”

“Balkan would agree.”

Placing the messages on his desk, Lorlen moved to his seat. “But this isn’t what you came to see me about, is it?”

Akkarin’s long fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. “No.” His eyes were thoughtful. “Is there any way we can take Rothen from Sonea’s Second Year schedule without the change looking suspicious?”

Lorlen sighed. “Must we?”

Akkarin’s expression darkened. “Yes. We must.”

The scrape of her dragging footsteps echoed in the passage. The morning lesson with Lord Yikmo had been a disaster. Her encounters with Rothen and Regin had also left her feeling too edgy and distracted for memorizing plant names in medicines, and too tired to grasp the evening mathematics lesson.

All things considered, it had been a day she would be happy to see end.

Remembering Regin’s smug expression, she wondered again what he had concluded. Perhaps he simply enjoyed the thought that she was unhappy about her change of guardian.

So what? she thought. So long as he leaves me alone, I don’t care what he thinks.

But would he leave her alone? If he decided she was too scared of Akkarin to report his harassment, he might start bothering her again. He would have to be careful to do it when other magicians wouldn’t see, however...

Only a blurred movement in the corner of her eye warned her. She had no time to dodge away. An arm wrapped around her neck, the other around her waist. The attacker’s momentum spun them both around, but the arm about her neck did not loosen.

She struggled, but quickly realized that her attacker was too strong for her. Then a trick Cery had taught her flashed into her mind. The memory was so vivid, she could almost hear Cery’s voice...

If someone does this, brace your legs—that’s right—then reach back and...

She felt the man toppling and gave a short laugh of satisfaction as he fell to the floor. He did not sprawl on his face, however, but nimbly rolled aside and sprang to his feet. Alarmed, she backed away, groping for a knife that wasn’t... then she stopped and stared at her attacker in surprise.

Lord Yikmo looked strangely unfamiliar in ordinary clothing. A plain sleeveless shirt revealed surprisingly muscular shoulders. He crossed his arms and nodded.

“I thought so.”

Sonea stared at him, her surprise slowly turning to annoyance.

The Warrior smiled. “I may have found the source of your problem, Sonea.”

She swallowed an angry retort. “What is it, then?”

“From your reaction just now it’s clear that your first response to an attack is physical. You learned that defensive maneuver in the slums, didn’t you?”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Did you have a particular trainer?”

“No.”

He frowned. “How did you know what to do?”

“My friends taught me.”

“Friends? These would be young people, yes? No older trainers?”

“An old whore once showed me how to use my knife if I was... in a certain situation.”

His brows rose. “I see. Street fighting. Defensive maneuvers. Little wonder you use it first. It’s what you know best, and you know it works. We have to change that.” He waved a hand, gesturing for her to walk beside him, and started down the passage toward the main corridor.

“You have to learn to react magically rather than physically,” he told her. “I can devise exercises that will help you do that. I have to warn you, though, this kind of relearning can be quite slow and difficult. Persevere, however, and you’ll be using magic without thinking by the end of the year.”

She shook her head. “Without thinking? That’s the opposite from what the other teachers say.”

“Yes. That is because most novices are too eager to use magic. They must be taught restraint. But you are no ordinary novice, and so ordinary teaching methods may be discarded.”

Sonea considered that. It made sense. Then something else occurred to her. “How do you know that I didn’t think of using magic first, but decided not to?”

“I know you were acting on your instincts. You went looking for a knife. You didn’t stop to think about that, did you?”

“No, but that’s different. If someone attacks me like that, I have to assume he really wants to hurt me.”

“So you were quite prepared to hurt me in return?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

His brows rose. “Few would condemn an ordinary man or woman if he or she killed another in self-defense, but if a magician kills a non-magician it is an outrage. You have the power to defend yourself, so there is no excuse for killing, no matter what your attacker’s intent—not even if the attacker is a magician. When confronted with such an attack your first reaction should be to shield yourself. That is another good reason to change your first reaction to a magical rather than physical one.”

As they reached the main corridor, Yikmo smiled and patted her shoulder.

“You’re not doing as badly as you think, Sonea. If you’d struck out at me with magic, or simply froze or screamed, I would have been disappointed. Instead, you kept calm, thought quickly, and succeeded in throwing me off. I think that’s an impressive start. Good night.”

She bowed and watched him stride down the corridor toward the Magicians’ Quarters. Turning away, she walked in the other direction.

“You have the power to defend yourself, so there is no excuse for killing, no matter what your attacker’s intent—not even if the attacker is a magician.” Yet when she had reached for a knife, she had been prepared to kill. It would have seemed reasonable once, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Whatever the reason, the punishment for a magician who deliberately harmed someone, even if by nonmagical means, was harsh, and that was enough reason to change her thinking. She did not want to spend the rest of her days in prison, with her powers blocked. If her instinctive reaction was to kill, then she had best unlearn it as soon as possible.

Anyway, what use to her were the tricks that she had learned in the slum now? When she considered what she was capable of, she doubted that she would ever need to wield a knife again. If she needed to defend herself in the future, she thought with a shiver, it would be against magic.

26 A Jealous Rival

As the carriage moved away from the Guild House, Dannyl considered everything he knew about the Bel Arralade. A widow of middle years, she was the head of one of the richest families in Elyne. Her four children—two daughters and two sons—had married into powerful families. Though the Bel herself had never remarried, rumors told of many amorous encounters between Arralade and other members of the Elyne court.

The carriage turned a corner, then another, and stopped. Looking through the window, Dannyl saw that it had joined a long line of fashionably decorated vehicles.

“How many people attend these parties?” he asked.

Ambassador Errend shrugged. “Three or four hundred.”

Impressed, Dannyl counted the carriages. The line extended out of view, so he could not guess how long it was. Enterprising street hawkers strode up and down the street, offering their wares to the occupants of the carriages. Wine, sweets, cakes, and all manner of diversions were available. Musicians played and acrobats performed. The best of them were persuaded with a steady stream of glittering coins to linger beside bored courtiers.

“We could walk faster than this,” Dannyl said.

Errend chuckled. “Yes, we could try, but we would not get far. Someone would call us over and insist we travel with them, and it would be impolite to refuse.”

He bought a small box of sweets and, as they shared them, told stories about previous parties held by the Bel Arralade. It was during times like these that Dannyl was grateful that the First Guild Ambassador was a native to this land, and could explain the Elyne customs. Dannyl was surprised to hear that small children were allowed to attend.

“Children are indulged here,” Errend warned. “We Elynes like to spoil them when they’re young. Unfortunately, they can be little tyrants to magicians, expecting us to perform for them like entertainers.”

Dannyl smiled. “All children believe a magician’s primary role is to amuse them.”

Much later, the carriage door opened and Dannyl followed Errend out to stand before a typical Capian mansion. Well-dressed servants greeted then directed them through a grand archway. A large room followed, open to the elements as the Palace forecourt had been. The air was chilly, and the guests who had arrived before them were hurrying toward doors at the far end.

Beyond was a larger, circular room filled with people. The light of several chandeliers fell on myriad brightly colored costumes. A constant buzz of voices echoed back from the domed ceiling and the mingled scents of flowers, fruit and spices were almost overpowering.

Heads turned, most only long enough to note who had arrived. Dems and Bels of all ages were present. A few magicians stood among them. Children, dressed in miniature versions of adult clothing, ran about or crowded together on bench seats. Servants were everywhere, each dressed in yellow and carrying platters of food or bottles of wine.

“What a remarkable woman this Bel Arralade must be,” Dannyl murmured. “If you put this many members of the Kyralian Houses together—outside of the court—swords would be drawn within half an hour.”

“Yes,” Errend agreed. “But weapons will be drawn tonight, Dannyl. We Elynes find words sharper than swords. They don’t make such a mess of the furnishings.”

A grand stairway led up to a balcony that ran around the entire room. Looking up, Dannyl saw Tayend watching him from behind the railing. The scholar gave a slight bow. Resisting the temptation to smile at this stiff formality, Dannyl inclined his head in reply.

Beside Tayend stood a muscular young man. Seeing his companion’s half-bow, the man frowned and looked down. As he saw Dannyl, the man’s eyes widened in surprise and he quickly looked away.

Dannyl turned back to Errend. The Ambassador was helping himself to the contents of a platter offered by one of the brightly clad servants.

“Try these,” Errend urged. “They’re delicious!”

“What happens now?” Dannyl asked, taking one of the little pastry scrolls.

“We mingle. Stay with me, and I will introduce you to people.”

So for the next few hours Dannyl followed his fellow Ambassador about the room and concentrated on memorizing names and titles. Errend warned him that no meal would be served, that the latest fashion in entertaining was for guests to graze from the platters of delicacies carried around. Dannyl was given a wineglass and it was so regularly topped up that eventually, to keep his mind clear, he slipped it onto one of the platters when a servant wasn’t watching.

When a woman wearing an elaborate yellow dress approached them, Dannyl knew instantly that this was the hostess. Her skin had not been as lined in the portrait he had studied while preparing for his new position, but her bright, alert gaze warned him that she was still the formidable Bel he had heard so much about.

“Ambassador Errend,” she said, bowing slightly. “And this must be Ambassador Dannyl. Thank you for coming to my party.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Errend replied, inclining his head.

“I could not hold a party without including the Guild Ambassadors on my guest list,” she said, smiling. “Magicians have always been the most well-mannered and entertaining guests.” She turned to Dannyl. “So, Ambassador Dannyl, have you enjoyed your stay in Capia so far?”

“I have indeed,” Dannyl replied. “It is a beautiful city.”

The conversation continued in this way for several minutes. A woman joined them and drew Errend into conversation. Bel Arralade exclaimed that her feet were already tired, and drew Dannyl aside to a bench seat set within an alcove of the wall.

“I’ve heard you’ve taken to researching ancient magic,” she said.

Dannyl regarded her with surprise. Though he and Tayend had avoided discussing the subject of their research with anyone but Librarian Irand, it was possible that their interest had been noted by someone they had met on their journey. Or had Tayend decided that it no longer needed to be a secret now that they were not gathering information for Lorlen, but “helping” Rothen with his book?

If that were so, a denial would only make her suspicious. “Yes,” he replied. “It is an interest of mine.”

“Have you discovered anything new and fascinating?”

He shrugged. “Nothing very exciting. Just a lot of books and scrolls filled with old languages.”

“But haven’t you recently travelled to Lonmar and Vin? Surely you have gathered some interesting stories there.”

He decided to be vague. “I saw scrolls in Lonmar and tombs in Vindo, but they weren’t much more exciting than the musty old books I’ve been reading. I fear I will bore you if I start describing them in detail—and what will people say if the new Ambassador sends the hostess to sleep at her own party?”

“That must be avoided, at all cost.” She laughed, then her eyes grew misty. “Ah, but the subject brings back pleasant memories. Your High Lord came here on a similar quest, many years ago. He was such a handsome man. Not a High Lord then, of course. He could have talked for hours about ancient magic, and I would have listened just to have the opportunity to admire him.”

Was that, then, the reason for her interest? Dannyl chuckled. “Fortunately for you, I know I am not handsome enough to compensate for rambling on about my research.”

She smiled, her eyes flashing. “Not handsome? I would not say so. Others would say quite the opposite.” She paused, her expression becoming thoughtful. “But do not think the High Lord rude. While I said that I would have listened to him talk for hours, he never did so. He attended my birthday party, but he had barely returned from Vin when he left for the mountains, and I have never seen him since.”

The mountains? This was new. “Shall I forward a greeting to him from you, Bel?” he offered.

“Oh, I doubt he remembers me,” she said, waving a hand.

“Nonsense! No man can forget beauty, even if it is merely glimpsed in passing.”

She smiled broadly and gave him a light pat on the arm. “Oh, I like you, Ambassador Dannyl. Now, tell me: what do you think of Tayend of Tremmelin? He was your companion on these journeys, was he not?”

Conscious of the way she watched him from between her long eyelashes, Dannyl considered the answers he had discussed with Tayend.

“My assistant? I found him to be most useful. He has an amazing memory, and his grasp of languages is impressive.”

She nodded. “But what about personally? Did you find him an agreeable companion?”

“Yes.” Dannyl grimaced. “Though he didn’t travel well, I must say. I’ve never seen anyone so seasick.”

She hesitated. “They say he has some unconventional interests. Some, particularly the ladies, find him a little... disinterested.”

Dannyl nodded slowly. “Spending days deep underground, surrounded by books and speaking dead languages, would not make a man attractive to ladies.” He gave her a calculating look. “Are you playing matchmaker, Bel Arralade?”

She smiled coyly. “And what if I am?”

“Then I should warn you that I don’t know Tayend well enough to be of use. If he has a lady in mind, he has kept the matter to himself.”

Again, she hesitated. “Then we’ll leave him his privacy,” she said, nodding. “Matchmaking is a habit as evil as gossip when unwanted. Ah, here’s Dem Dorlini. I hoped he would come, as I have a few questions for him.” She rose. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Ambassador Dannyl. I hope we may converse again soon.”

“I would be honored, Bel Arralade.”

After a few minutes Dannyl discovered the peril of remaining still and alone. A trio of young girls, their child-sized court clothes stained with food, surrounded him. He kept them entertained with illusions until their parents rescued him. Rising, he started toward Errend, then stopped as he heard his name spoken.

Turning, he saw Tayend approaching, the muscular man at his side.

“Tayend of Tremmelin.”

“Ambassador Dannyl. This is Velend of Genard. A friend,” Tayend said.

The young man’s mouth curved, but the smile did not reach his eyes. He bowed stiffly and reluctantly.

“Tayend has told me of your travels,” Velend said. “Though from his descriptions I don’t think I’d find Lonmar to my taste.”

“It is a hot and imposing country,” Dannyl replied. “I’m sure it would be possible to acclimatize, if one stayed long enough. Are you a scholar, too?”

“No,” the man replied. “My interests are in swordplay and weaponry. Do you practice, Ambassador?”

“No,” Dannyl replied. “There is little time for such pursuits for young men who join the Guild.” Swordplay, then. He wondered if that was why he felt this instant dislike of the man. Did Velend remind him too much of Fergun, who also favored hard weapons?

“I’ve found a few books that might be of interest, Ambassador,” Tayend said, his tone businesslike. As Tayend began to describe the books, their age and general contents, Dannyl observed Velend shifting his weight from one foot to the other and glancing around at the crowd. Finally, the man interrupted Tayend.

“Excuse me, Tayend, Ambassador Dannyl. There is someone I must speak to.”

As he walked away, Tayend smiled slyly. “I knew it wouldn’t take long to get rid of him.” He paused as a passing couple drew closer to them, and returned to the businesslike tone. “We’ve been looking at old books, but I decided to try some more recent ones. Sometimes, when a Dem dies, his family sends whatever diaries or visitor books he owned to the library. In one Dem’s diary I found some interesting references to... well, I won’t go into detail now, but they indicate that we may find more information in some of the other Dems’ private libraries. I’m not sure who or where, however.”

“Do any of them live in the mountains?” Dannyl asked.

Tayend’s eyes widened. “A few. Why do you ask?”

Dannyl lowered his voice. “Our hostess was just reminiscing about a particular young magician who attended her birthday party ten years ago.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.” Seeing Velend approaching, Dannyl frowned. “That friend of yours is coming back.”

“He’s not a friend, really,” Tayend corrected. “More a friend of a friend. He brought me to the party.”

Velend’s walk was fluid, like the gait of a limek—the predatory dog that bothered farmers and sometimes killed travellers in the mountains. To Dannyl’s relief, the man stopped to talk to another courtier.

“I should warn you,” Dannyl added. “Bel Arralade might be trying to find you a young lady.”

“I doubt it. She knows me too well.”

Dannyl frowned. “Then why did she comment on your attractiveness to women, I wonder?”

“She was probably testing you, to see what you knew about me. What did you say?”

“That I didn’t know you well enough to guess if you had anyone in mind.”

Tayend’s eyebrows rose. “No, you don’t, do you?” he said in a quiet voice. “I wonder. Would it disturb you to know if there was?”

“Disturb me?” Dannyl shook his head. “No... but perhaps that would depend on who it was. Should I take it, then, that there is someone?”

“Perhaps.” Tayend smiled crookedly. “But I’m not going to tell you... yet.”

Amused, Dannyl looked over Tayend’s shoulder at Velend. Surely not... A face turned toward him, and a hand waved. Recognizing Ambassador Errend, Dannyl nodded in reply. “Ambassador Errend wants me to join him.”

Tayend nodded. “And I will be accused of being a bore if I spend the night discussing work. Will I see you at the library soon?”

“In a few days. I think we may have another journey to plan.”

Sonea ran a finger along the spines of the books. She found a gap and slipped the missing volume into it. The other book she was holding was thick and heavy. Realizing it belonged on a shelf on the other side of the library, she tucked it under her arm and started across the room.

“Sonea!”

Turning into another aisle, Sonea strode toward the front of the library, where Lady Tya was sitting behind a small desk.

“What is it, my lady?”

“A message arrived for you,” the librarian told her. “The High Lord wants to see you in Lord Yikmo’s training room.”

Sonea nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. What did Akkarin want? A demonstration?

“I had better go, then. Would you like me to come back tomorrow night?”

Lady Tya smiled. “You’re a dream come true, Sonea. Nobody believes how much work it takes to maintain this place. But you must have a lot of studying to do.”

“I can spare an hour or two—and it helps to know what’s here, and where to find it.”

The librarian nodded. “If you have some spare time, then I welcome the help.” She shook a finger at Sonea. “But I don’t want to hear anyone saying I’m distracting the High Lord’s favorite from her studies.”

“You won’t.” Putting down the book, Sonea picked up her box and opened the door. “Good night, Lady Tya.”

The University passages were quiet and still. Sonea started toward Lord Yikmo’s room.

With each step she felt dread growing. Lord Yikmo did not like to teach in the evenings. The Vindo magician’s reasons had something to do with the religion of his homeland. A request from the High Lord could not be refused, however.

Even so, it was a late hour to start any kind of lesson or demonstration. Perhaps Akkarin had another reason for calling her to Yikmo’s room. Perhaps Yikmo wasn’t even going to be there...

She jumped as a novice stepped out in front of her from a side passage. As she tried to walk around him, he moved to block her path, and three more novices stepped out to stand beside him.

“Hello, Sonea. Did you get my message?”

Turning around, she felt her heart sink. Regin stood at the front of a small crowd of novices, blocking the passage behind. She recognized a few members of her old class, but the rest were only vaguely familiar. These others, she realized, were older novices. They stared at her coldly, and she remembered the comments she had overheard the day classes had resumed. If so many thought she didn’t deserve to have been chosen by the High Lord, it wouldn’t have taken much for Regin to persuade some of them to join him.

“Poor Sonea,” Regin drawled. “It must be so lonely being the High Lord’s favorite. No friends. No one to play with. We thought you might like some company. Perhaps a little game.” He glanced at one of the older boys. “What shall we play?”

The boy grinned. “I liked your first idea, Regin.”

“A game of ‘Purge,’ then?” Regin shrugged. “I guess it will be good practice for the work we might have to do later in life. But I think it’ll take more than flashy lights and barriers to get this sort of vermin out of the University.” He narrowed his eyes at Sonea. “We’ll just have to use more persuasive means.”

Anger stirred within Sonea at his words, but as his hands rose, it turned to disbelief. Surely he wouldn’t strike her. Not here. Not in the University.

“You wouldn’t dare...”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t I?” As light flashed from his hand she threw up a shield. “What are you going to do about it? Tell your guardian? Somehow, I don’t think you will. I think you’re too scared of him.”

Regin drew closer, and white magic blasted from both palms.

“How can you be sure?” she retorted. “And what if someone finds us fighting in the corridors? You know the rules.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” Regin smirked. “We’ve checked. There’s nobody around. Even Lady Tya has left the library.”

His strikes were easy to shield. A few blasts of power and she could stop him. But she resisted the temptation, remembering Yikmo’s lecture on the responsibility of magicians to avoid harming others.

“So call on your guardian, Sonea,” he urged. “Ask him to rescue you.”

She felt a shiver of cold run down her spine, but ignored it. “From you, Regin? That’s hardly worth bothering the High Lord for.”

He glanced at the novices around him. “Did you hear that? She thinks we’re not worthy of the High Lord’s attention. The best of the Houses, and she a mere slum girl? So let’s show her who’s worthy. Come on.”

He attacked her again. Feeling her shield assailed also from behind, she glanced back to see that Kano and Issle had stepped to the front of the novices there. But the older novices were frowning. Looking around at their faces, Sonea saw doubt.

“I told you,” Regin said between strikes. “She won’t tell him.”

Still, the older novices hesitated.

“If she does,” Regin added, “I’ll take responsibility. I’m willing to do that, just to prove it to you. What have you got to lose?”

Feeling more strikes, Sonea glanced over her shoulder again to see that more novices had joined in. It took much more power to hold her shield now. Growing worried, she glanced to either side, considering what to do. If she could get to the main corridor... She started forward, forcing Regin and his companions back.

“If you don’t join us now,” Regin all but shouted to the few still-hesitant novices, “she’ll get away. Just like she’s getting away with taking what’s rightfully ours. Are you going to put her in her place, or spend the rest of your lives bowing down to a slum girl!”

The novices beside him stepped forward, though with some reluctance, and attacked with forcestrike. Trying to move into forcestrike took more of her strength than simply shielding, and though she managed to advance, progress was slow and costly.

She stopped and reconsidered. Did she have enough strength to reach the corridor? She couldn’t say. Better to conserve her strength. Hopefully they would exhaust themselves, and she would be able to push past easily.

So long as she didn’t tire first.

To reduce the size of her shield, she pressed her back to the wall. As the attack continued, she considered what their purpose was. She had assumed Regin had gathered such a large group so he would have a bigger audience—and protection if she fought back. Was he hoping to exhaust her, too? If so, what did he intend to do once they had worn her down? Kill her? Surely a slum girl was not worth going to prison for. No, he probably intended for her to be too tired for her lessons the next day.

The strikes were weakening but, to her alarm, she felt her own strength starting to falter. It was going to be close. Too close. As her shield began to waver, Regin raised his arms.

“Stop!”

The strikes ceased. In the silence, Regin looked at the others one by one and grinned.

“See? Now let’s put her in her proper place.”

As he turned back to regard her, she saw the malicious glint in his eyes and realized that exhausting her had just been the first part of his plan. She wished she had continued pushing toward the main corridor. But as she did, she knew she would not have made it that far.

Regin sent another, cautious strike at her shield. One by one, the others continued this careful onslaught. Most of the strikes were weak, but as she drew more and more on the source of her power to maintain the shield, she realized she was doomed anyway. Even if they all ended up too exhausted to use their powers, ten novices could still happily torment her without using magic at all.

With growing dread, she felt her power fading. Her shield shimmered away, leaving nothing but air between herself and Regin. He smiled at the others—a tired but triumphant grin.

Then a streak of red light pulsed from Regin’s palm. Pain blossomed in her chest and flashed outward, shivering down her arms and legs and stabbing up into her head. She felt her muscles spasm, and her back sliding against the wall.

As the sensation faded she opened her eyes, and found herself curled up on the floor. Heat rushed to her face. Humiliated, she tried to stand up, but another burst of pain took over her senses. She gritted her teeth, determined that she would not cry out.

“Well, I’ve always wondered what stunstrike did,” she heard Regin say. “Like to try it?”

Hearing a sound of disgust, Sonea felt a momentary hope as two of the novices exchanged a look of dismay, then turned and walked away. But the others all wore eager expressions and her hope faded as stunstrike after stunstrike sent pain coursing through her again.

Regin’s taunt ran through her mind. “So call on your guardian, Sonea. Ask him to rescue you.” It would take a brief mental call; an image of Regin and his accomplices...

No. Nothing Regin did to her could be as awful as having to ask Akkarin for help.

Rothen then!

Not allowed to talk to him.

There’s got to be someone!

But a call for help would be heard by Akkarin—and other magicians. The whole Guild would soon know that his novice had been found exhausted and defeated in the passages of the University.

There was nothing she could do.

Curling into a ball, she waited for the novices to use up the last of their power, or grow bored with their game, and leave her alone.

It was well past midnight when Lorlen finally finished the last letter. He rose, stretched and walked to the door, barely seeing his surroundings as he automatically set the magical lock. As he turned to walk down the corridor he heard a noise in the University Entrance Hall.

He paused, considering whether to investigate. It had been a soft sound, perhaps a dead leaf blown in through the doorway. He had just made up his mind to ignore it when the sound came again.

Frowning, he moved to the Entrance Hall doorway. A movement drew his eye to one of the enormous doors. Something slid along the ancient timber. He took a step forward, then drew in a sharp breath.

Sonea was leaning against the enormous door as if she might fall over without its support. She took a step, then stopped and swayed at the top of the stairs. Hurrying forward, Lorlen grabbed her arm to steady her. She stared at him in surprise and obvious dismay.

“What has happened to you?” he asked.

“Nothing, my lord,” she said.

“Nothing? You’re exhausted.”

She shrugged, and it was obvious even that took effort. All her strength was gone. As if... as if she had been drained of it...

“What has he done to you?” Lorlen gasped.

She frowned, then shook her head. Suddenly her knees buckled and she sank to the stairs. He sat down beside her, releasing her arm.

“It’s not what you think,” she told him, then folded forward and rested her head on her knees. “Not who you think. Not him.” She sighed and rubbed her face. “I’ve never felt this tired before.”

“Then what has made you like this?”

Sonea’s shoulders drooped, but she didn’t answer.

“Was it something a teacher set you to do?”

She shook her head.

“Did you try something that took more power than you expected?”

She shook her head again.

Lorlen tried to think of some other way her powers might have been exhausted. He thought of the few times he used all his strength. He had to think back many years, to his time in the University. To fighting Akkarin in Warrior Skills. But she had said it wasn’t Akkarin.

Then he remembered. Once, the teacher had set several against each class member. It had been one of the few times he had been bested.

But it was too late for classes. Why would she be fighting other novices? Lorlen scowled as a name sprang to mind. Regin. The boy had probably gathered his supporters together and waylaid her somewhere. It was bold and risky. If Sonea told Akkarin of the harassment...

But she wouldn’t. Lorlen looked at Sonea and felt his heart twist. At the same time he felt an unexpected pride.

“It was Regin, wasn’t it?”

Her eyelids flickered open. Seeing the wariness there, he nodded.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone unless you want me to. I will let Akkarin know what is going on, if you like.” If he’s listening now he’ll already know. He glanced down at the ring, then quickly away.

She shook her head. “No. Don’t. Please.”

Of course. She wouldn’t want Akkarin to know.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” she added. “I’ll keep away from them now.”

Lorlen nodded slowly. “Well, if you can’t, then know that you can call on me for help.”

The edge of her mouth lifted in a wry smile, then she drew in a deep breath and started to rise.

“Wait.” She paused as he took her hand. “Here,” he said. “This will help.”

He sent a gentle stream of Healing energy out through his palm into her body. Her eyes widened as she sensed it. It would not restore her power, but it did ease the physical weariness. Her shoulders straightened and the pallor left her face.

“Thank you,” she said. Standing up, she looked toward the High Lord’s Residence and her shoulders drooped again.

“It won’t be like this forever, Sonea,” he said softly.

She nodded. “Good night, Administrator.”

“Good night, Sonea.”

He watched her as she walked away, hoping that his words would prove true, but wondering how they possibly could.

27 Useful Information

Sonea shifted the box of books onto her hip as Lady Tya opened the door of the Magicians’ Library and walked inside. Setting her burden next to Tya’s on Lord Jullen’s desk, Sonea looked around the darkened room.

“I haven’t been in here for weeks.”

Tya began removing books from the boxes. “Why not?”

“‘No novices allowed unless accompanied by a magician.’ ”

The librarian chuckled. “I can’t imagine your guardian wanting to wait around while you studied. You don’t have to ask him, though. You can go almost anywhere you want now.”

Sonea blinked in surprise. “Even here?”

“Yes, but you still have to carry these for me.” The librarian’s eyes twinkled as she held out a stack of books. Taking them, Sonea followed her between bookshelves to the far wall, then through a small door into a room she hadn’t seen before. More shelves filled the center of the room, but the walls were lined with cupboards and chests.

“Is this a storeroom?”

“Yes.” Tya began stacking books on shelves. “These are duplicates of popular volumes from the Novices’ Library or classes, ready for when the old ones wear out. The originals are stored in those chests.”

Taking the books from Sonea, Tya continued along the wall toward the back of the room. They passed a large, heavy cabinet filled with books of many sizes and a small mountain of scrolls. The glass doors were backed by a mesh of wire.

“What’s in there?”

The librarian looked back, and a gleam came to her eyes. “Originals of the oldest and most valuable books and maps in the Guild. They’re too fragile to use. I’ve seen copies of some of them.”

Sonea peered through the glass. “Have you ever looked at the originals?”

Moving to Sonea’s side, Tya regarded the books inside. “No, the doors are locked by magic. When Jullen was a young man, his predecessor opened the doors for him, but Jullen has never opened them for me. He told me once that he’d seen a map of the passages under the University in there.”

“Passages?” A memory rose of being blindfolded and taken to see her friend Cery, imprisoned beneath the University by Fergun.

“Yes. The Guild is supposed to be riddled with them. No one uses them these days—though I’d say your guardian does since he’s well known for his habit of appearing and disappearing in unexpected places.”

“And there’s a map in here?”

“So Jullen said, but I suspect he was just teasing me.”

Sonea looked sideways at Tya. “Teasing you?”

The librarian’s face reddened, and she straightened and turned away. “It was many years ago, when we were much younger.”

“It’s hard to imagine Lord Jullen was ever young,” Sonea said, following Tya to the end of the room. “He’s so stern and disapproving.”

Stopping at a chest, Tya took the books Sonea was carrying and stacked them inside. “People change,” she said. “He’s grown much too full of his own importance, as if being a librarian was as important as, say, being the Head of Warriors.”

Sonea chuckled. “Director Jerrik would say that knowledge is more important than anything else, so as caretakers of the Guild’s knowledge, you are more important than the Higher Magicians.”

A smile curled the librarian’s mouth. “I think I know why the High Lord chose you, Sonea. Now go fetch me the rest of those books on Jullen’s desk.”

Sonea returned to the other room. Over the last two weeks she had spent most nights helping Tya. Though her real motivation had been to avoid Regin, she found she was growing to like the eccentric librarian. Once the library closed and they began cleaning up, Tya could be as talkative as the washing women who worked down by the Tarali River.

The librarian was an eager listener when Sonea needed to discuss the projects she had been given. If she didn’t feel like talking, Lady Tya seemed happy to do it all herself. She was also an endless source of information and recent Guild history, full of tales of infighting and political meddling, scandals and secrets. Sonea had been surprised to learn of the rumors that had circulated about Dannyl when he was a novice, which Tya dismissed, and saddened to hear of the slow death of Rothen’s wife from a disease no Healer could cure.

Returning with the books, she passed the cabinet again, and looked at it thoughtfully. No one used the passages under the University. Certainly not Regin. And, as Tya had said, she could go anywhere she wanted to now.

As soon as the door to his rooms had closed, Rothen hurried to a chair and pulled the letter out of his robes. It had been hidden there since a messenger had delivered it to him between classes. Though curiosity had tormented him for most of the day, he dared not open it in the University.

It had been seven weeks since he had written to Dannyl. Seven weeks since Akkarin had taken Sonea away. He’d spoken to her only once in that time. When a novice of an influential family had requested Rothen’s private tutorship, he had been flattered; but when it turned out that the novice was only available during the time Rothen taught Sonea’s class, he began to suspect other reasons behind the arrangement. It would have been rude to refuse, however. And he could not think of a valid reason to explain why, other than the truth.

Rothen looked down at the letter and prepared himself for disappointment. Even if Dannyl had agreed to help him, there was only a slim hope that he would find anything that might lead to Akkarin’s downfall. But the letter was large and surprisingly thick. With trembling hands, Rothen broke the seal. As several sheets of paper slid out and Dannyl’s handwriting appeared, he grabbed the first sheet and began to read.

Leafing through the sheets of paper, Rothen muttered in amazement.

“All this? The Splendid Temple? The Tombs of White Tears!” He chuckled. “Just a few other sources, eh Dannyl?”

Turning back to the first page, he began to read. When he had just reached the third page, a knock on the door interrupted him. He stared at the door, then jumped to his feet, heart pounding. He cast about for a place to hide the bulky letter, then rushed to the bookcase and slipped it between the pages of a large volume. The extra thickness caused the book to bulge, but it wouldn’t be noticed unless someone looked closely.

As the knock came again, Rothen hurried to the door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst. Opening the door, he sighed with relief as he saw the old couple standing in the corridor beyond.

“Yaldin and Ezrille. Come in.”

They moved into the guestroom. “How are you, Rothen?” Ezrille asked. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

Rothen shrugged. “Well. You?”

“Fine,” Ezrille said. She hesitated, then glanced at Yaldin.

“Would you like a cup of sumi?” Rothen offered.

“Yes, thank you,” Yaldin replied.

The couple sat down, and Rothen set about gathering a tray, cups and jars from a side table. As he started making the hot drink, Yaldin talked about a minor Guild matter. It had been too long since he’d talked to his old friends, Rothen decided. Ezrille remained silent until Rothen had poured a second cup of sumi.

“I want you to have dinner with us every Firstday, Rothen,” she said.

“Really?” Rothen smiled. “That would be nice. But every Firstday?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We know it was a shock to you to have Sonea chosen by the High Lord. She never comes to visit, which must be so disappointing after all you did for her. Though she has extra classes, she—”

“Can hardly help it,” Yaldin injected. He smiled at Rothen. “I’m sure she’ll visit when she has more time. In the meantime, we can’t have you moping about.”

“He means you shouldn’t spend every evening alone.”

“Especially with Dannyl abroad,” Yaldin added. “You need someone to talk to other than novices and teachers.”

“And Tania says you’ve started taking nemmin again,” Ezrille added in a low voice. “Don’t be angry at her for telling us. She’s concerned about you—and so are we.”

“So will you come?” Yaldin asked.

Rothen looked from one anxious face to another, then chuckled.

“Of course. I’d love to.”

Sonea walked slowly along the University passage, conscious of the tap of her boots on the floor. As she reached a turn, she peered into the next passage cautiously, and sighed with relief as she found it empty.

It was late. Later than usual. She had avoided Regin successfully for two weeks by either accompanying Tya out of the University, or taking long, convoluted routes through the passages. Each time, she had emerged in the main corridor to find a novice waiting there. They didn’t try to attack her in the main corridor, however. The risk of being discovered by a magician was too high. The same fear kept them from waiting too close to the library, in case Tya heard them.

Sonea hoped Regin’s allies would eventually lose interest. Just to be safe, she had started leaving her box in the library instead of carrying it back to her room. They had made a mess of her notes and books after they had grown bored with tormenting her with stunstrikes. And she had been forced to leave it behind, being too exhausted to carry it.

Keeping her footsteps quiet meant walking slowly, when she desperately wanted to hurry. Not for the first time, she wondered if magician boots were made to be noisy. No matter how gently she stepped, their hard soles made a tapping that echoed in the silent passages. She sighed. Only a few weeks ago she had enjoyed wandering around in the passages of the University. Now, she actually felt relief when she entered the door of the High Lord’s Residence.

A faint sound reached her ears. A snigger, half smothered. She stopped, realizing they had blocked her way to the main corridor. They didn’t know that she’d heard them, however. If she ran back and slipped through a portal room into the inner passages, she could make her way to the corridor from another direction.

Turning on her heel, she dashed away.

“Run, Sonea run!” came Regin’s voice. The sound of footsteps and laughter filled the passage.

She leapt around a corner, then another. A familiar door appeared. She grabbed the handle and slipped through. Not waiting to see if they followed, she hurried across the portal room to the opposite door and ran along the passage beyond. Behind her she heard the muffled sound of a door closing. She dashed into the first side passage.

It twisted to the right, met another and ended at another door. A novice stood outside this, his mouth stretched into a grin.

Sonea skidded to a halt and regarded the novice with dismay. So they knew about the inner passages now. The novice’s grin widened and she narrowed her eyes. Obviously he’d been posted to watch for her. He was alone, however, and easily overcome.

His grin vanished as he read her expression, and he hastily stepped aside. Slipping through the door, she crossed the room and entered the ordinary passages again. As she heard a door opening somewhere behind her, she broke into a run. The main passage was only a few turns away. She threw herself around one corner, then another, then into a rain of red fire.

She hadn’t been shielding, hoping to conserve her strength as long as possible. As pain ripped through her body, everything went black. When her sight cleared again, she was lying on the floor and her shoulder felt bruised. Another flash of fire seared her, making it impossible to do anything but grit her teeth. When it stopped, however, she managed to shield.

Rolling over, she tucked her feet under her and stood up. Regin and four other novices stood behind her. Three others blocked her way to the main corridor. Two more novices arrived, then three more. Thirteen novices. More than before. She swallowed hard.

“Hello again, Sonea.” Regin smiled. “How is it that we keep running into each other like this?”

The novices sniggered. There was no sign of doubt in their expressions now. They hadn’t been called to account for ambushing and torturing her, proving that, as Regin had predicted, she wouldn’t tell Akkarin about it.

Regin placed a hand on his heart. “What a strange thing is love,” he said wistfully. “I thought you hated me, but here you are, following me around!”

One of the novices passed him a paper box. Sonea frowned. Boxes like these usually contained sugared nuts, or other sweets.

“Ah! A gift!” Regin said, flipping the lid open. “Something to show my regard for you.”

Inside were twists of colored paper. An odor wafted to Sonea’s nose and she felt her stomach turn. Harrel pellets, she guessed, or reber dung—or both. Regin took one out.

“Shall I feed it to you, like young lovers do?” He glanced at his followers. “But you look as if you might need some warming up first.”

As he blasted her shield, the others joined in. Her stomach sank with dread. With so many novices attacking her, there was no chance of outlasting them. Turning to the ones blocking her path to the main corridor, she started pushing against their attack. Slowly they fell back, but after several paces she felt herself weakening. The novices, however, showed no signs of tiring.

She stopped. It had taken her a long time to crawl down to the University doors last time. She had wished she’d had just a little energy left, enough to be able to stand and walk. To conserve power she could let her shield fall a little early, and pretend to be completely exhausted. Yes, that might work.

But looking at the sweet box, she changed her mind. She would hold out as long as possible. As she felt her strength failing, she resolved to spit them back at him.

She felt the last of her power slowly drain away. As her shield failed, stunstrikes hit her body and she gasped with the pain. She felt her knees buckle and hit the floor. When the fire finally stopped she opened her eyes to see Regin crouching in front of her, crinkling the sweet wrapper between his fingers.

“What is going on here?”

Regin’s eyes widened and his face turned a deathly white. He quickly closed his fingers around the “sweet” and straightened. As he moved away, Sonea saw the owner of the voice and felt heat rush to her face. Lord Yikmo stood in the passage, his arms crossed.

“Well?” he demanded.

Regin bowed and the other novices hastily followed suit.

“Just a little game, my lord,” he said.

“A game, is it?” Yikmo glowered. “Do the rules of this game take precedence over those of the Guild? Fighting outside lessons or the Arena is forbidden.”

“We weren’t fighting,” one of the novices said. “Just playing.”

Yikmo’s eyes narrowed. “Really? So you were using stunstrikes outside of battle—on a defenseless young woman.”

Regin swallowed. “Her shield failed before we realized it, my lord.”

Lord Yikmo’s eyebrows rose. “It appears you are neither as disciplined nor as skilled as Lord Garrel claims. I’m sure Lord Balkan will agree.” Yikmo’s eyes scanned the group, noting identities. “Get back to your rooms, all of you.”

The novices hurried away. As Lord Yikmo turned to regard her, Sonea wished she’d had the strength to slip away while his attention had been on the novices. He looked very disappointed. She forced her legs under herself and rose unsteadily.

“How long has this been going on?”

She hesitated, not wanting to admit it had happened before. “An hour.”

He shook his head. “The stupidity of these novices. Attack the High Lord’s favorite? In numbers, too.” He looked at her, then sighed. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

“Please, don’t tell anyone.”

He considered her, frowning. She took a step forward, then swayed as the corridor began to spin. A hand grasped her arm to steady her. She felt a little Healing energy tingle through her arm. As soon as she had regained her sense of balance she brushed his hand from her arm.

“Tell me, did you strike back?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“What use would that be?”

“None, but most people, when outnumbered, will fight back out of pride. But perhaps you refrained for the same reason.”

He regarded her expectantly, but she looked away and remained silent.

“Of course, if you had targeted one or two of the weaker novices, you might have left them as exhausted as you. It would be a discouragement to the others, at the least.”

Sonea frowned. “But they had no inner shields. What if I hurt one of them?”

He smiled, pleased. “That is the answer I want to hear. Yet I think there is more to your reluctance to strike than caution.”

Sonea felt a flare of anger. Once again he was pushing and poking her, prying out her weaknesses. But this was not a lesson. Wasn’t the humiliation of being found by him enough? She wanted him to leave her alone, and thought of the one subject that made most magicians flinch.

“Would you be so eager to strike, if you’d seen a boy die at the hands of magicians?”

His gaze did not waver, but sharpened instead.

“Ah,” he said. “So that’s it.”

She stared at him, appalled. Would he turn even the tragedy of the Purge into another lecture? She felt anger growing, and knew she would not be able to hold her temper much longer.

“Good night, Lord Yikmo,” she said between gritted teeth. Then, turning away, she strode down the passage toward the main corridor.

“Sonea! Come back.”

She ignored him. He called after her again, anger and command in his tone. Fighting the weariness in her legs, she quickened her stride.

As she reached the corridor she felt her fury ebb. He would make her regret her rude departure, but for now she didn’t care. All she wanted was a warm bed and to sleep for days.

28 A Secret Plan

As the door opened, bright sunlight streamed in to dazzle Lorlen’s eyes. He shaded his face with a hand and followed Akkarin onto the University roof.

“We have company,” Akkarin observed.

Following his companion’s gaze, Lorlen saw a lone figure in red robes standing by the railing.

“Lord Yikmo.” Lorlen frowned. “Balkan must have given him access.”

Akkarin made a low, disapproving noise. “There are so many identities imprinted into the door, I wonder why we bother to lock it.”

He strode toward the Warrior. Lorlen hurried after, worried that Akkarin intended to remove Yikmo’s access to the roof.

“Balkan would not have granted him access if he did not regard him highly.”

“Of course. Our Head of Warriors knows that his methods of teaching are not suited to every novice. I’m sure he’s aware that Yikmo draws attention away from his own weaknesses.”

Yikmo hadn’t noticed them approaching. The Warrior leaned on the railing, his attention captured by something below. He looked up when Akkarin was a few steps away, and straightened hastily.

“High Lord. Administrator.”

“Greetings, Lord Yikmo,” Akkarin returned smoothly. “I have not seen you up here before.”

Yikmo shook his head. “I rarely come up—only when I need to think. I’d forgotten how good the view is.”

Lorlen looked around at the grounds, and at the city to one side. Letting his gaze drop to the gardens, he saw that a few novices had ventured outside for the midbreak. Though snow still covered the ground, the sun held a hint of the coming spring warmth.

Closest to them was a familiar figure. Sonea was sitting on one of the garden seats, her head bent over a book.

“The source of my contemplation,” Yikmo admitted.

“Is she improving?” Akkarin asked.

“Not as rapidly as I had hoped,” Yikmo sighed. “She still hesitates to strike. I’m starting to understand why.”

“Oh?”

Yikmo smiled crookedly. “She’s far too nice.”

“How so?”

“She’s worried that she might hurt somebody—even her enemies.” Yikmo frowned and faced the High Lord. “Last night, I discovered Regin and several other novices tormenting Sonea. They had worn her down to near exhaustion, and were using stunstrikes.”

Lorlen felt his heart skip. “Stunstrikes,” he hissed.

“I reminded them of the Guild rules, and sent them to their rooms.”

Yikmo looked at the High Lord expectantly, but Akkarin did not reply. He stared down at Sonea with a gaze so intense that Lorlen wondered how she could not sense it.

“How many novices were there?” he asked.

Yikmo looked aside as he considered. “Twelve or thirteen. I can identify most of them.”

Akkarin nodded. “That won’t be necessary. There is no need to bring further attention to the incident.” His dark gaze turned to the Warrior. “Thank you for informing me of this, Yikmo.”

Yikmo paused as if he might say something more, then nodded and moved away toward the door. When the Warrior had disappeared, Akkarin’s gaze fell to Sonea again. The corners of his lips curled upward slightly.

“Twelve or thirteen. Her strength is growing quickly. I remember a novice in my class whose power grew as fast.”

Lorlen regarded Akkarin closely. In the bright sunlight the High Lord’s pale skin looked sickly. Shadows lay under his eyes, but his gaze was sharp.

“As I recall, you progressed just as quickly.”

“I’ve often wondered if we would have, had we not been constantly trying to outdo each other.”

Lorlen shrugged. “Probably.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps the rivalry was good for us.”

“Good for us?” Lorlen gave a short laugh. “Good for you. Believe me, there was nothing good about second place. Next to you, I may as well have been invisible—at least when it came to the ladies. If I’d known we’d both end up bachelors, I wouldn’t have been so jealous of you.”

“Jealous?” Akkarin’s smile faded. He turned away to stare at the horizon. “No. Don’t be jealous.”

The reply was so faint the Administrator wondered if he had really heard it. Lorlen opened his mouth to ask why he shouldn’t be, but Akkarin’s gaze had slid to the ruined Lookout.

“How are Davin’s plans for the Lookout going?”

Sighing, Lorlen put aside the question and turned his mind back to Guild matters.

By early afternoon, Dannyl and Tayend had left the last of Capia’s shabby outer homes behind. Farms and orchards covered the hills with squares of different greens. Occasionally a patch of newly turned soil added a splash of red-brown to the pattern.

Their horses plodded along at a comfortable pace. Servants had gone ahead to announce their arrival at the first stop, the home of Tayend’s sister. Dannyl drew in a deep breath and sighed contentedly.

“It is good to be travelling again, isn’t it?” Tayend said.

Dannyl looked at his companion in surprise. “You’re actually looking forward to it?”

“Yes. Why shouldn’t I?”

“I’d thought our last journey had put you off travelling.”

Tayend shrugged. “We had some unpleasant experiences, but it wasn’t all bad. This time we’re staying inside the borders of Elyne, and on solid ground.”

“I’m sure we could find a lake or a river with boats to hire if you start to feel our trip lacks that feeling of adventure you craved.”

“Snooping around in other people’s libraries will be adventure enough,” Tayend said firmly. He looked into the distance and narrowed his eyes. “I wonder which Dem has the books we’re after.”

“If any of them do.” Dannyl shrugged. “For all we know, Akkarin could have visited a Dem somewhere else, and travelled to the mountains for a completely different reason.”

“But where did he go afterward?” Tayend glanced at Dannyl. “That’s what intrigues me the most. We know Akkarin went to the mountains. After that there is no mention of him. Not in the city records, nor in people’s recollections. I doubt that he could have slipped back into Capia in secret, and it was several years before he returned to the Guild. Did he stay in the mountains all that time? Did he travel along them, north or south? Or did he go through them?”

“Into Sachaka?”

“It would make sense. The Sachakan Empire wasn’t old enough to call ancient, but it was a highly magical society—and he may have discovered references to even older cultures.”

“We have plenty of material in our libraries about the empire,” Dannyl said. “But I doubt there is much left to find in Sachaka. What the Guild didn’t take after the war, it destroyed.”

Tayend’s brows rose. “That was nice of them.”

Dannyl shrugged. “It was a different time. The Guild was newly formed, and after the horrors of the war the magicians were determined to prevent another. They knew that if they allowed the Sachakan magicians to keep their knowledge of magic, there would be never-ending wars of vengeance between the two countries.”

“So they left it a wasteland.”

“Partly. Beyond the wasteland there is fertile soil, farms and towns. And Arvice, the capital.”

Tayend frowned. “Do you think Akkarin went there?”

“I’ve never heard anyone say that he did.”

“So if he visited Sachaka, why did he keep the fact to himself?” Tayend paused, thinking. “Perhaps he spent all those years researching the Sachakan Empire and found nothing, and was too embarrassed to admit it. Or,” Tayend smiled, “perhaps he spent the time in idleness and didn’t want to admit that—or he did something the Guild would not approve of—or he fell in love with a young Sachakan girl, married her, and vowed never to return, except that she died, or left him and he—”

“Let’s not get too carried away, Tayend.”

Tayend grinned. “Or perhaps he fell in love with a young Sachakan boy, and was eventually found out and expelled from the country.”

“This is the High Lord you’re speaking of, Tayend of Tremmelin,” Dannyl said sternly.

“Does it offend you that I suggest such a thing?” There was a hint of defiance in the scholar’s tone. Dannyl met Tayend’s gaze levelly.

“I may be digging up a little of his past to aid my research, Tayend, but that does not mean I have no respect for the man, or his position. If he would be offended, or his position was threatened by speculation, then I would discourage it.”

“I see.” Sobering, Tayend looked down at his reins.

“But even so,” Dannyl added, “what you suggest is impossible.”

Tayend smiled slyly. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because Akkarin is a powerful magician. The Sachakans expelled him? Ha! Unlikely!”

The scholar chuckled and shook his head. He was silent for a while, then he frowned. “What will we do if we learn that Akkarin did travel into Sachaka? Will we go there, too?”

“Hmmm.” Dannyl turned to look back down the road. Capia had disappeared behind the undulating hills. “That depends on how much time it takes me to perform my duties as Guild Ambassador.”

When he had heard Errend groaning about his coming biyearly tour of the country, Dannyl had offered to take his place, thinking it would be an ideal opportunity to leave Capia and continue his research without raising questions about shirking duties. Errend had been delighted.

To Dannyl’s dismay, he had learned that the journey would wind about the entire country, that he would be required to spend weeks in places where there were no private libraries, and that he wouldn’t be leaving until summer. Impatient to start, Dannyl had persuaded Errend to arrange the trip earlier, but there was no way he could omit any of the destinations from the schedule.

“So what exactly will you be doing?” Tayend asked.

“Introducing myself to country Dems, checking on magicians, and confirming magical potential in the children the King will be sending to the Guild. I hope you won’t find it all very boring.”

Tayend shrugged. “I get to snoop around private libraries. That’s worth ten journeys. And I get to visit my sister.”

“What is she like?”

Tayend’s face lit up with a bright smile. “She’s wonderful. I think she worked out I was a lad long before I did. You’ll like her, I think, though she has a way of getting to the point that is quite disconcerting.” He pointed down the road. “See that row of trees on the hill ahead. That’s where the road to her property begins. Let’s move on. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry!”

As Tayend urged his horse into a trot, Dannyl felt his own stomach rumble. He looked ahead at the trees Tayend had indicated and nudged his mount’s flanks with his boots. Soon they were turning off the road, riding beneath a stone arch and starting toward a distant country mansion.

Returning to the library after her evening lesson, Sonea noted the shadows under Tya’s eyes.

“Did you stay much later last night, my lady?”

The librarian nodded. “When these deliveries come in, I have to. There’s no other time to sort them.” She yawned, then smiled. “Thank you for staying back to help me.”

Sonea shrugged. “Are these boxes for the Magicians’ Library, too?”

“Yes. Nothing too exciting. Just more textbooks.”

They picked up a stack of boxes each and made their way through the passages. Lord Jullen’s eyebrows rose as Sonea followed Tya into the Magicians’ Library.

“So you’ve found yourself an assistant,” he remarked. “I thought Lorlen refused your request.”

“Sonea has offered her time of her own choosing.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying, Sonea? I should think the High Lord’s novice would have better things to be doing than carrying boxes.”

Keeping her expression neutral, Sonea looked around. “Can you suggest a better place to spend my spare time, my lord?”

His mouth twitched, then he sniffed. “So long as the time is spare.” He looked at Tya. “I am retiring now. Good night.”

“Good night, Lord Jullen,” Tya replied.

When the stern magician had left, Tya started toward the storeroom. Sonea chuckled.

“I think he’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” Tya turned and frowned. “Of what?”

“You’ve got an assistant. The High Lord’s novice, no less.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve put a high value on yourself.”

Sonea grimaced. “That wasn’t of my choosing. But I’d lay a bet that Jullen’s a bit peeved that you’ve got a willing helper.”

Tya’s mouth tightened, as if she was resisting the urge to smile. “Hurry up, then. If you’re going to be of any help, don’t stand around speculating.”

Following Tya to the back room, Sonea set the boxes down on top of a chest and began unpacking them. She resisted the temptation to look at the cabinet of old books and maps, instead concentrating on stacking and sorting. Tya paused to yawn several times.

“How late did you stay back last night?” Sonea asked.

“Too late,” Tya admitted.

“Why don’t you leave me to do this?”

Tya sent her a disbelieving look. “You really have too much energy, Sonea,” she sighed. “I shouldn’t leave you here alone—and you’ll be locked in. I’ll have to come back and let you out.”

Sonea shrugged. “I’m sure you won’t forget me.” She looked down at the books. “I can help with this, but not the cataloguing work. You may as well go back and finish it.”

Tya nodded slowly. “Very well. I’ll come back for you in an hour.” She smiled. “Thank you, Sonea.”

Following the librarian to the door, Sonea watched her walk away. She felt a growing excitement as Tya’s footsteps faded into the distance. Turning, she regarded the library. Dust hung in the air, tinged yellow by the glow of her globe light. The shelves of books extended into darkness, as if they stretched on forever.

Smiling to herself, she returned to the storeroom and stacked up the textbooks as quickly as possible. She counted the minutes, conscious that she only had an hour. Once the boxes were unpacked, she abandoned them and moved to the cabinet.

She inspected the lock carefully, both with her eyes and her mind. Tya had spoken of a lock, and it made sense that an important store of knowledge would be protected by magic. Her search proved her suspicions right.

Though the physical lock was no more complicated than any she had picked before, she had no idea if it was possible to foil a magical one. Even if she managed to, the meddling might be detectable, and the meddler identifiable.

When Cery had taught her how to pick locks, he had told her to look for another way first. Sometimes there were quicker ways to get into something than picking. She looked for hinges on the doors, and cursed softly as she saw they were on the inside of the cabinet.

She began to examine the entire unit, inspecting the joints and edges carefully. The cabinet was old, but sturdy and well made. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then fetched a chair and stood upon it so she could check the top of the cabinet. No weaknesses there, either. Sighing, she stepped down to the floor again.

That left the back and the base. To look underneath, she would have to lift it with magic, then crawl under to examine the bottom. Though she had recovered enough from the previous night’s exhaustion to tackle her lessons, she wasn’t sure if she could lift and hold the cabinet steadily. Did she really want to find the map that badly?

She peered through the glass at the books and rolled papers. A thin sheet of glass and wire mesh was all that lay between herself and a possible escape from Regin. She chewed her lip in frustration.

Then she noticed something odd about the wooden back. She could see two lines running down the length, too straight to be natural cracks in the wood. The back of the cabinet obviously wasn’t made from one large sheet of wood. Crouching a little, she checked to see if the lines extended all the way to the base. They didn’t.

Moving to one side of the cabinet, she peered along the gap between it and the wall. Using a tiny globe light, she illuminated the narrow space and discovered something strange.

Something about the size of a textbook, but made of wood, was attached to the wall behind the cabinet.

Stepping back, she took a deep breath and slowly extended her power out and around the cabinet, taking care that her magic did not touch that of the lock. With the gentlest flexing of will, she lifted the cabinet upward. It swayed slightly as it rose. Frowning with concentration, she turned it away from the wall like a door and carefully set it down again, a few faren scampering away from their webs in alarm.

Sonea let out the breath, and realized that her heart was beating fast. If anyone discovered what she was doing now, there would be no end of trouble for her. Looking through the glass, she was relieved to find none of the cabinet’s contents was out of place. Walking around the back she found that the object behind the cabinet was only a small painting. She looked at the back of the cabinet and drew in a breath in amazement.

A small square had been cut into the back. She slipped her fingernails into the crack, and the square of wood slipped out easily, revealing the ends of rolled up papers and a few books.

Her heart was racing now. She hesitated, wary of reaching inside. This square hole had been created by someone. Had it been there all along? Or had someone cut it later, so that they could take something unnoticed? Her senses did not detect a barrier over the hole, or any other magic. She slipped a hand in and gently pulled out one of the scrolls.

It was a plan of the Magicians’ Quarters. She inspected it carefully but could find no hidden passages marked. Replacing it, she drew forth another. This time it was a plan detailing the Novices’ Quarters. No secret passages there, either.

The third scroll she pulled out showed a map of the University and her pulse quickened. But nothing mysterious or unusual was marked on it. Disappointed, Sonea replaced it and was about to pick up another when something caught her eye.

Jutting up from between the pages of one of the books was a slip of paper. Curious, she eased the book out from between its neighbors.

“The Magiks of the Werld,” she read aloud. It was one of the early texts used in history class. Under the title was written, in faded ink: “High Lord’s copy.”

A chill went through her. Suddenly she wanted to replace the book, put the cabinet back in place, and get out of the library as quickly as possible. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her fears aside. The library was locked. Even if Jullen or Tya returned, she would hear them coming. Though she would have to move fast, she could probably put the cabinet back before they entered the storeroom.

Opening the book where the slip of paper lay, she examined the pages and recognized some of the text. Nothing strange or unusual explained the marker. Shrugging, she lay the paper bookmark back over the page.

Then her heart skipped. Three tiny, hand-drawn maps of the University had been sketched on the slip of paper—one for each level. Looking closer, she felt a thrill of excitement. On other maps the walls were thick lines; on this they were hollow, and doors were indicated in them where she knew there were none. Mysterious little crosses had been marked inside the walls. The third map, of the ground floor, showed a spider’s web of passages outside the University walls.

She had found it! A map of the passages under the University. Or, more accurately, a map of passages throughout the University.

Clutching the map, she stepped back from the cabinet. Should she take it, or would someone notice it missing? Perhaps she could copy it. How much time did she have left? Could she memorize it?

Looking down at the map, she traced the passages with her eyes. She noted a little symbol drawn on one of the inner walls next to the Magicians’ Library. Looking closer, she realized it was the wall she was standing next to, marking a place just about...

Turning, she stared at the painting hanging behind the cabinet. Why hang a painting behind a cabinet? Sonea took the frame, lifted it and caught her breath.

A neat square hole had been cut into the wall. Peering inside, she could see a corresponding square of light illuminating a stone wall beyond, an arm’s length away.

Hastily, she let the painting fall again. Her heart was pounding now. This was no coincidence. Whoever had made that hole had created it to reach the cabinet.

It might have been done centuries ago. Or it might have been made recently. Looking down at the map again, she knew she could not memorize it, and now that she knew that someone might return to the cabinet and notice it missing, she dared not take it with her. But she couldn’t leave empty-handed. An opportunity to get into the cabinet might not come again.

Running to Lord Jullen’s desk she found a thin sheet of paper, a pen and his inkwell. Laying the paper over the map, she began tracing as quickly as she could. Her mouth was dry as she worked, her breathing unsteady. It seemed to take much too long, but finally she was done. Folding the tracing up, she put it in a pocket in her robe.

Only then did she hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the library. Cursing softly, she hastily cleaned Jullen’s pen and put it away. Running to the storeroom, she replaced the map in the book and slid it back on the shelf. As she pressed the square of wood back into place she heard the footsteps pause at the library door. Dancing away from the wall, she focused her mind on the cabinet.

Steady. Taking a deep breath, she lifted it and turned it back against the wall.

The library door clicked shut.

“Sonea?”

Realizing she was shaking, Sonea decided she didn’t trust her voice.

“Mmm?” she replied.

Tya appeared in the storeroom doorway. “Are you done?”

Nodding, Sonea picked up the empty boxes.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” Tya frowned. “You look a bit... unsettled.”

“It’s a bit spooky in here,” Sonea admitted. “But I’m fine.”

Tya smiled. “Yes, it can be. But, thanks to you, it’s all done and we can finally get some sleep.”

As Sonea followed Tya out of the library, she placed a hand over the pocket where the map was hidden, and smiled.

29 A Revelation

Sonea took a deep breath as she entered Yikmo’s practice room. Keeping her eyes lowered, she stopped just inside the door.

“My lord,” she began. “I apologize for disobeying you the other night. You helped me and I was rude.”

Yikmo was silent for a moment, then he chuckled. “You don’t have to apologize for that, Sonea.”

Looking up, she was relieved to see that he was smiling. He pointed to a seat and she obediently sat down.

“You have to understand that this is what I do,” he told her. “I take novices who are having difficulties with Warrior Skills training and find out why. In all cases but yours, however, the novices I have taught have sought my help willingly. When they realize that I am going to raise personal matters that may be the cause of their problems, they have three choices: accept my method of teaching, find another teacher, or choose another discipline.

“But you? You’re here only because your guardian wishes it.” He looked at her directly. “Am I right?”

Sonea nodded.

“It’s hard to like what one is not good at.” The magician regarded her levelly. “Do you want to be better at this discipline, Sonea?”

She shrugged. “Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “I suspect you are saying only what you believe you ought to say, Sonea. I will not repeat your answer to your guardian, if that is what you fear. I will not regard you badly if you say you do not. Consider the question carefully. Do you really wish to master this art?”

Looking away, Sonea thought of Regin and his followers. Perhaps if what Yikmo taught her helped her to defend herself... but with so many novices allied against her what use was there in skill and strategy?

Was there any other reason to improve? She certainly didn’t care about gaining the High Lord’s approval—and even if she became as proficient as Yikmo or Balkan, she would never have the strength to fight Akkarin.

But one day the Guild might discover the truth about the High Lord. She wanted to be there to lend her strength in the fight. It would only increase the chances of beating him if she was good at Warrior Skills, too.

She straightened. Yes, that was a good reason to improve her skills. She might not enjoy Warrior Skills classes, but if they helped the Guild oust Akkarin one day she should learn all she could.

She looked up at Yikmo. “If it’s hard to like what one isn’t good at, will I like it more when I am better at it?”

The Warrior smiled broadly. “Yes. I promise that you will. Not all the time, though. We all have to suffer defeat from time to time, and I don’t know anyone who enjoys that.” He paused, his expression sobering. “But first we have some tougher matters to attend to. You have many weaknesses to overcome, and what you witnessed during the Purge has brought about most of them. Fear of killing has made you reluctant to strike and knowing that you are stronger than others makes you even more cautious. You have to learn to trust yourself. You have to learn the limits of your strength and Control—and I have devised some exercises that will help you do that. This afternoon we have the use of the Arena.”

Sonea stared at him in surprise. “The Arena?”

“Yes.”

“Just me?”

“All to yourself—and your teacher, of course.” He took a step toward the door. “Come along, then.”

Rising, she followed him out of the room and into the passage.

“Isn’t the Arena used by other classes every day?”

“Yes,” Yikmo replied. “But I convinced Balkan to find something else for his class to do this afternoon.” He glanced at her, smiling. “Something fun that took them outside the Guild, so they would not resent your intrusion.”

“What are they doing?”

He chuckled. “Blasting rock out of an old quarry.”

“What will they learn from that?”

“To respect the destructive potential of their powers.” He shrugged. “It also helps to remind them of the damage they could do to their surroundings should they ever fight outside the Arena.”

They reached the main corridor and continued to the rear stairway. As they left the building and started on the path to the Arena, Sonea looked up at the University windows. Though she could see no faces, she was suddenly conscious that her “private” lesson was not going to be at all private.

Descending into the Arena’s portal, they moved through darkness and into the sunlight again. Yikmo pointed toward the Healers’ Quarters.

“Strike at the barrier.”

She frowned. “Just... strike?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Any. It doesn’t matter. Just strike.”

Taking a deep breath, she focused her will and sent a firestrike toward the invisible shield. As it hit, hundreds of fine threads of energy rippled out between the curved spires of the Arena. The air vibrated with a muted tinkling.

“Strike again, but stronger.”

This time lightning covered the entire domed barrier. Yikmo smiled and nodded.

“Not bad. Now put all your strength into it.”

Power flashed through and out of her. It was an exhilarating sensation. The shield crackled with light and Yikmo chuckled.

“Now give it all your strength, Sonea.”

“I thought I had.”

“I don’t think you did. Imagine everything that matters to you depends on one immense effort. Don’t hold back.”

Nodding, she imagined that Akkarin stood in front of the barrier. She pictured Rothen standing beside her, the target of Akkarin’s immense power.

Don’t hold back, she told herself as she let loose her magic.

The Arena barrier glowed so brightly she had to shield her eyes. Though the tinkling was no louder, her ears vibrated with the sound. Yikmo crowed quietly.

“That’s more like it! Now do it again.”

She looked at him. “Again?”

“Stronger, if you can.”

“What about the Arena barrier?”

He laughed. “It would take much more than that to break the Arena barrier. Magicians have been strengthening it for centuries. I expect to see the supports glowing red by the end of this lesson, Sonea. Go on. Give it another blast.”

After another few strikes, Sonea realized she was beginning to enjoy herself. Though battering the Arena barrier posed no challenge, it was a relief to be able to strike without worrying about precautions or restrictions. Each strike was a little weaker, however, and soon all she could do was send a few ripples of light across the barrier.

“That will do, Sonea. I don’t want you falling asleep in your next class.” He looked at her questioningly. “How do you feel about this lesson?”

She smiled. “It wasn’t as hard as your usual ones.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I guess.”

“In what way?”

She frowned, then suppressed a smile. “It’s like... seeing how fast I can run.”

“Anything else?”

She couldn’t tell him that she had imagined she was blasting Akkarin to ashes. But he had noticed her hesitation. Something similar, then? Looking up at him, she smiled mischievously. “It’s like throwing stones at magicians.”

His eyebrows rose. “Is it really?” Turning, he gestured for her to follow him to the Arena portal. “We’ve tested your limits today, but not in any way that will measure your strength against others. That will be the next step. Once you know how much power you can safely use against another, then you should stop hesitating before you strike.” He paused. “It is two days since Regin exhausted you. Were you tired yesterday?”

“A little, in the morning.”

He nodded slowly. “Go to bed early tonight, if you can. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

“So what do you think of my sister?”

Seeing that Tayend was grinning broadly, Dannyl chuckled. “Rothen would say she speaks plainly.”

“Ha!” Tayend replied. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Mayrie of Porreni was as plain as her brother was handsome, though both were slim and small-boned. She had a forthright manner and a bold sense of humor that made her easy to like.

The estate her husband managed produced horses, some food crops, and wines that were sought after in all of the Allied Lands. The house was a sprawling single-story mansion with a verandah all around. After dinner, Tayend had taken a bottle of wine and some glasses and led Dannyl out under the verandah, where chairs were arranged to take in the view of the vines.

“So where is her husband, Orrend?” Dannyl asked.

“In Capia,” Tayend said. “Mayrie manages everything here. He only comes out to visit once every few months.” He looked at Dannyl and lowered his voice. “They don’t get along very well. Father married her off to someone he decided she’d be suited to. But, as always, the Mayrie he has in his mind is vastly different from the Mayrie she actually is.”

Dannyl nodded. He’d noticed how Mayrie had tensed when her husband’s name had been mentioned by one of the dinner guests.

“Mind you, the man she would have chosen had her marriage not been arranged would have been an even bigger mistake,” Tayend added. “She’ll admit that these days.” He sighed. “I’m still waiting for father to select some appropriately disastrous wife for me.”

Dannyl frowned. “He’d still do that?”

“Probably.” The scholar toyed with his glass, then looked up abruptly. “I’ve never asked before, but do you have someone waiting for you in Kyralia?”

“Me?” Dannyl shook his head. “No.”

“No lady? No sweetheart?” Tayend seemed surprised. “Why not?”

Dannyl shrugged. “I’ve never had time. Too much to do.”

“Like what?”

“My experiments.”

“And?”

Dannyl laughed. “I don’t know. When I think back, I wonder how I managed to fill my time. Certainly not by attending those court gatherings that seem designed for finding a wife or husband. They don’t attract the sort of woman I’d be interested in.”

“So what sort of woman are you interested in?”

“I don’t know,” Dannyl confessed. “Never met one who interested me enough.”

“But what about your family? Haven’t they tried to find you a suitable wife?”

“They did once, years ago.” Dannyl sighed. “She was a nice enough girl, and I planned to go ahead with the marriage just to keep my family happy. But one day I decided I couldn’t do it, that I’d rather remain alone and childless than marry someone I didn’t care for. It seemed crueller to do that to her than refuse the marriage.”

Tayend’s eyebrows rose. “But how did you get out of it? I thought Kyralian fathers arranged matches for their children.”

“Yes, they do.” Dannyl chuckled, “but one privilege that magicians have is the right to refuse an arranged marriage. I didn’t refuse outright, but I found a way to persuade my father to change his mind. I knew the girl admired another young man, so I made sure that certain events occurred that convinced all that he was a better match. I played the part of the disappointed suitor, and everyone felt sorry for me. She is quite happy, I am told, and has had five children since.”

“And your father didn’t arrange another match?”

“No. He decided that—how did he put it?—if I chose to be contrary, then so long as I didn’t scandalize the family by choosing some low-born servant, he’d leave me alone.”

Tayend sighed. “Sounds like you got more out of the affair than being able to choose your wife. My father has never accepted my choices. Partly because I am his only son, so he’s worried there will be no one to inherit after me. But mostly he disapproves of my... well... inclinations. He thinks I am being willful, that I am enchanted with perverse things, as if it’s only about physical gratification.” He frowned, then drained his glass. “It’s not, in case you’re wondering. At least, not for me. There is a... a certainty in me about what is natural and right for me that is as strong as his own certainty about what is natural and right. I’ve read books about eras and places where being a lad was as ordinary as being... I don’t know, a musician or a swordsman. I... I’m ranting, aren’t I?”

Dannyl smiled. “A little.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dannyl said. “We all need to rant a little now and then.”

Tayend chuckled and nodded. “Indeed, we do.” He sighed. “Well, that’s enough for now.”

They gazed out over the moonlit fields, the silence stretching comfortably between them. Suddenly Tayend drew in a sharp breath. Leaping out of his chair, he hurried inside the house, swaying a little from the effect of the wine. Wondering what had caused his friend’s sudden departure, Dannyl considered going after him, but decided instead to wait and see if he returned.

As he was pouring himself another glass of wine, Tayend appeared again.

“Look at this.”

The scholar spread one of the drawings of the tomb over Dannyl’s lap, then held out a large book. On the pages of the book was a map of the Allied Lands and neighboring countries.

“What am I looking at?” Dannyl asked.

Tayend pointed to a row of glyphs at the top of the tomb drawing. “These say something about a place—the place the woman came from.”

His finger tapped at a particular glyph: a crescent and a hand surrounded by a square with curved corners. “I didn’t know what this meant, but it was familiar, and it took a while before I remembered what it reminded me of. There’s an old book in the Great Library that’s so old the pages crumble into dust if you touch them too roughly. It belonged to a magician many centuries ago, Ralend of Kemori, who ruled part of Elyne before Elyne was one country. Visitors would write their names and titles, and purpose for visiting, in this book—though most of it was in the same handwriting so I suspect a scribe was hired to take the names of those who couldn’t write themselves.

“There was a symbol similar to this on one page. I remember it, because it was a mark made by a stamp, not a pen. And it was red—faded but still visible. The scribe had written ‘King of Charkan’ next to it.

“Now, it’s not unreasonable to think that the woman in the tomb came from the same place—the glyph is so similar to the stamp. But where is this place called Charkan?” Tayend smiled broadly and tapped the map. “This is an old atlas Orrend’s great-grandfather owned. Look closely.”

Dannyl lifted the book out of Tayend’s hands and brought his globe light closer. Near the end of Tayend’s finger was a tiny word and a drawing.

“Shakan Dra,” Dannyl read aloud.

“I might have missed it if it weren’t for that little crescent moon and hand.”

Looking at the rest of the map, Dannyl blinked in surprise. “This is a map of Sachaka.”

“Yes. The mountains. It’s hard to tell from this, but I’d bet twenty gold that Shakan Dra is close to the border. Are you thinking what I’m thinking about a certain unmentioned person making a trip to the mountains some years ago?”

Dannyl nodded. “Yes.”

“I think we have a new destination to explore.”

“We still need to follow our planned route,” Dannyl reminded him. He did not much like the idea of entering Sachaka. Considering its history, he had no idea whether the locals would welcome him. “And Sachaka is not one of the Allied Lands.”

“This place is not far from the border. No more than a day’s travel.”

“I don’t know if we have time.”

“We can be a little late returning to Capia. I doubt anyone would question if we were delayed.” Tayend returned to his chair, and collapsed into it.

“A few days, perhaps.” Dannyl regarded his friend carefully. “But I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to be delayed.”

Tayend shrugged. “No. Why not?”

“Isn’t there someone waiting for your return?”

“No. Unless you mean Librarian Irand? He won’t be concerned if I’m a few days late.”

“Nobody else?”

Tayend shook his head.

“Hmmm.” Dannyl nodded to himself. “So you don’t have your eye on somebody, as you hinted at Bel Arralade’s party.”

The scholar blinked in surprise, then looked at Dannyl sideways. “I’ve got you curious, haven’t I? What if I said that there’s no one waiting for my return because this person doesn’t know of my interest?”

Dannyl chuckled. “You’re a secret admirer, then.”

“Perhaps.”

“You can trust me to keep your secret, Tayend.”

“I know.”

“Is it Velend?”

“No!” Tayend looked at him reproachfully.

Relieved, Dannyl shrugged apologetically. “I’ve seen him at the library a few times.”

“I’m trying to discourage him,” Tayend said, grimacing, “but he thinks I’m only doing it because I’m keeping up appearances for you.”

Dannyl hesitated. “Am I keeping you from pursuing the one you’re interested in?”

To his surprise, Tayend winced. “No. This person is, ah...”

Hearing footsteps, they looked up and saw Mayrie walking toward them carrying a lantern. From the sound of her steps, she was wearing heavy boots underneath her dress.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said. “Would either of you like to accompany me on a walk through the vines?”

Dannyl rose. “I would be honored.” He looked at Tayend expectantly, but was disappointed to see that the scholar was shaking his head.

“I’ve drunk too much, sister dear. I’m afraid I’ll step on your toes or tumble into the vines.”

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Then stay where you are, drunkard. Ambassador Dannyl will be more suitable company.” She hooked her arm into Dannyl’s and steered him gently toward the vineyard.

They walked in silence for a hundred paces or so, then turned into the gap between the vines. Mayrie questioned Dannyl about the people he had met at court, and what his opinion of them was. Then, as they reached the end of the row of vines, she gave him a measuring look.

“Tayend has told me much about you,” she said, “though not of your work. I get the impression that is a secret matter.”

“He probably doesn’t want to bore you,” Dannyl replied.

She glanced at him sideways. “If you say so. Tayend has told me everything else, however. I would not have expected a Kyralian magician to be quite so... well, I would not have expected you to remain friends, at least not such comfortable friends.”

“We have quite a reputation for intolerance, it seems.”

She shrugged. “But you are an exception. Tayend told me of the rumors that caused you so much trouble as a novice, and that the incident has given you a greater understanding than most magicians have. I think that has also given him cause to count himself lucky for being born Elyne, too.” She paused. “I hope you do not mind me talking about this?”

Dannyl shook his head and hoped he was managing to look unconcerned. It did make him uneasy, however, listening to someone he had just met talk about his private past in such a matter-of-fact way. But this was Tayend’s sister, he reminded himself. Tayend would not have mentioned anything to her if he didn’t think she could be trusted.

They reached the end of the vineyard. Turning to the left, she started back toward the house along the last row of vines. Looking back at the house, Dannyl noted that the chair Tayend had been sitting in was empty. Mayrie stopped.

“Being Tayend’s sister, I am very protective of him.” She turned to face him, her expression serious and intent. “If you do think of him as a friend, have a care. I suspect he is besotted with you, Dannyl.”

Dannyl blinked in surprise. Me? I’m Tayend’s secret love interest? He looked at the empty chair. No wonder Tayend had been so evasive. He felt... strangely pleased. It’s flattering to be admired by someone, he told himself.

“This is a surprise to you,” Mayrie said.

Dannyl nodded. “I had no idea. Are you sure?”

“More sure than not. I would not have told you, except that I worry for him. Don’t lead him to believe anything of you that isn’t true.”

Dannyl frowned. “Have I?”

“Not that I can tell.” She paused and smiled, but her eyes remained hard. “As I said before, I am very protective of my younger brother. I only wish to warn you—and to let you know that, if I hear that he has been hurt in any way, you may find your stay in Elyne less comfortable than you would like it to be.”

Dannyl regarded her closely. There was a steeliness to her gaze, and he didn’t doubt that what she said was true.

“What would you have me do, Mayrie of Porreni?”

Her face relaxed, and she patted his hand. “Nothing. Just take care. I do like what I’ve seen of you, Ambassador Dannyl.” Taking a step forward, she kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you at the morning meal tomorrow. Good night.”

With that, she turned and walked away toward the house. Dannyl watched her go, then shook his head. Clearly, her purpose for leading him out here had been to give him this warning.

Had Tayend suggested the visit so his sister could access Dannyl? Had he planned for his sister to perceive so much, and reveal it?

“He is completely besotted with you, Dannyl.”

Moving to the seat Tayend had vacated, he sat down. How was this going to change their friendship? He frowned. If Tayend didn’t know his sister had revealed his interest, and Dannyl continued to behave as if he didn’t know, then everything should remain the same.

But I know, he thought. That does change things.

Their friendship depended on how well Dannyl took this news. He considered his feelings. He was surprised, but not dismayed. It even pleased him a little to know someone liked him that much.

Or do I like the idea for other reasons?

Closing his eyes, he pushed that thought away. He had faced those questions before, and their consequences. Tayend was and could only ever be a friend.

The entrances to the secret passages were surprisingly easy to find. Most were located in the inner part of the University, which made sense since the original designers would not have wanted mere novices stumbling upon them. The mechanisms for opening the doors in the wood panelling lay behind paintings and other wall ornaments.

Sonea had started looking for them as soon as her evening class had finished, instead of going to the library. The corridors were quiet, but not completely deserted, which was why she never encountered Regin and his friends at this time. They preferred to wait until after she left the library, when they were sure the University was empty.

Even so, she felt as tense as a bowstring as she moved through the passages. She inspected several of the hidden doors before she drew up the courage to try one. Though it was late, she could not help worrying about being observed. Finally, in a little-used part of the inner passages, she dared to flick the lever behind a painting of a magician holding drawing instruments and a scroll.

The panelling swivelled inward silently, and cold air rushed out to chill her. Thinking back to the night Fergun had blindfolded and led her into the tunnels to meet Cery, she recalled how she had felt this change of temperature.

Looking inside, she saw a dry, narrow passage. She had expected it to be dripping with moisture like the tunnels under the city. The Thieves’ Road was under the level of the river, however; the University was on higher ground—and, of course, there wouldn’t be any moisture up on the third floor.

Worried that someone would see her standing next to the open door, Sonea stepped inside. As she let go of the door it swung shut, plunging the tunnel into darkness. Her heart skipped, then she winced as the globe light she willed into existence flared brighter than she had intended.

Inspecting the passage, she noted that the floor was thick with dust. In the center the dust was thinner where the traffic of feet had scuffed it aside, but her boots had left faint footprints, indicating that no one had come this way for some time. All her doubts evaporated. She would not encounter anyone else in the passages; they were hers to explore. Her very own Thieves’ Road.

She pulled out her plan of the passages and started forward. As she moved along, she found and noted other entrances. The secret ways were restricted to the larger walls of the University, so they were set out in a simple pattern that was easy to remember. Soon she had circled the entire top floor of the building.

She hadn’t seen any stairs, however. Examining her map again, she noted the little crosses here and there. She moved to the location of one of them and examined the floor. Brushing dust aside with her toe, she uncovered a crack.

Dropping into a crouch, she pushed the dust away with light sweeps of magic. As she suspected, the crack turned at right angles, once, twice... forming a hatch in the floor. Standing back, she concentrated on the slab of wood, willing it to rise.

It hinged upward, revealing another passage below, and a ladder attached to the side wall. Smiling to herself, Sonea climbed down to the second floor.

The layout of the passages of the second level was almost identical to those on the third. When she had checked all of the side passages, she located another hatch and descended to the ground floor. Again, the ways were similar, though there were fewer side passages, but here she found staircases leading even farther down, under the ground.

Excitement grew as she discovered that the foundations of the University were riddled with tunnels and empty rooms, indicated by dashed lines on the map of the ground floor. Not only did the tunnels roam under the building, but they extended out beyond the walls and under the gardens. Heading away from the University, Sonea noted how the passage sloped down, deeper under the ground. The walls changed to brick, and roots hung from the ceiling. Remembering the size of some of the trees above, she realized she must be deeper underground than she had thought.

A little farther on the passage ended where its roof had caved in. As she turned back, she considered how much time she had spent exploring. It was late. Very late. She did not want to give Akkarin reason to come looking for her—or worse, to order her to return to the residence after classes each night.

So, satisfied with her success, she started back up into the University walls and emerged at a place where she knew the chance of being seen leaving the secret ways was remote.

30 A Disturbing Discovery

As Tania cleared empty sumi cups from the table, Rothen yawned. He was taking smaller quantities of nemmin now, but that meant he often woke early and spent the last hours of the night worrying.

“I spoke to Viola again this afternoon,” Tania said suddenly. “She’s still aloof—the other servants say she’s put a high value on herself since becoming Sonea’s servant. But she’s warming to me because I can tell her how best to please the High Lord’s favorite.”

Rothen regarded her expectantly. “And?”

“She told me that Sonea is well, though some mornings she looks tired.”

He nodded. “That’s no surprise with all the extra lessons. I’ve heard that she’s been helping Lady Tya, too.”

“Viola also said that Sonea has dinner with the High Lord on Firstdays, so perhaps he’s not neglecting her as much as you fear.”

“Dinner, eh?” Rothen’s mood darkened as he thought of Sonea eating meals with the High Lord. It could be worse, he reminded himself. Akkarin could have kept her close by, could have... but no, he knew how stubborn she could be. She would not allow herself to be corrupted. Still, he could not help wondering what they talked about.

—Rothen!

Surprised, Rothen straightened in his seat.

—Dorrien?

—Father. How are you?

—Well. And you?

—I am well, but some here in my village are not. Rothen could sense his son’s concern. We have had an outbreak of black-tongue disease here—an unusual strain of it. When it has passed, I will be coming back for a short visit, to bring a sample for Vinara.

—Will I see you?

—Of course. I could not come all the way without speaking to you! Can I stay in my old room?

—You’re always welcome to.

—Thank you. How is Sonea?

—Well, from what Tania tells me.

—You haven’t spoken to her yet?

—Not often.

—I thought she would be visiting you all the time.

—She is busy with her studies. How soon will you be visiting?

—I can’t tell you exactly. It could take weeks or months for this disease to run its course. I’ll let you know when I have a better idea.

—Very well. Two visits in a year!

—I wish I could stay longer. Until then, Father.

—Take care of yourself.

—I will.

As Dorrien’s mind-voice faded, Tania chuckled. “How is Dorrien?”

He looked up, surprised. “Well. How did you know it was him?”

She shrugged. “You get a certain look on your face.”

“Do I?” Rothen shook his head. “You know me far too well, Tania. Far too well.”

“Yes,” she agreed, smiling. “I do.”

She turned at a knock on the door. Rothen waved a hand and willed the door open, and was surprised when Yaldin stepped inside.

“Good evening,” the old magician said. He glanced at Tania, who bowed and slipped out of the door, pulling it closed behind her. Rothen gestured to a chair and Yaldin sat down with a relieved sigh.

“I’ve been doing some of this ‘listening’ you taught me,” Yaldin said.

Abruptly, Rothen remembered that it was a Fourday. He had completely forgotten about the Night Room gathering. It was definitely time to stop taking nemmin. Perhaps he would try to sleep without it tonight.

“Hear anything interesting?”

Yaldin nodded, his expression growing serious. “It’s probably just speculation. You know what gossips magicians are—and you have a gift for choosing novices who get themselves into trouble. But I wonder if he can afford such rumors surfacing again. Especially n—”

“Again?” Rothen interrupted. His heart had begun to pound at Yaldin’s words. Now he could hardly breathe. Had something happened in the past to cause people to question Akkarin’s integrity?

“Yes,” Yaldin said. “The Elyne court is all abuzz with speculations—you know what they’re like. What do you know about this assistant of Dannyl’s?”

Taking in a deep breath, Rothen let it out slowly. “So this is about Dannyl, then?”

“Yes.” Yaldin’s frown deepened. “You do remember the rumors that circulated about the nature of his friendship with a certain novice?”

Rothen nodded. “Of course—but nothing was ever proven.”

“No, and most of us dismissed the rumors and forgot about the whole thing. But, as you may know, the Elynes are more tolerant of such behavior. From what I’ve heard, Dannyl’s assistant is known for it. Fortunately, most of the Elyne court believe that Dannyl is unaware of his assistant’s habits. They seem to find this quite funny.”

“I see.” Rothen shook his head slowly. Ah, Dannyl, he thought. Isn’t Sonea enough for me to worry about? Must you cause me sleepless nights, too?

But perhaps this wasn’t as bad as it first sounded. As Yaldin had said, the Elynes tolerated much, and loved to gossip. If the Elynes thought that Dannyl was unaware of his assistant’s preferences, and thought his ignorance merely amusing, there mustn’t be any proof that there was more to the relationship.

And Dannyl was an adult now. He could handle himself in the face of public scrutiny. If anything, his past experience would have prepared him for it.

“Do you think we should warn Dannyl?” Yaldin asked. “If he doesn’t know about this assistant...”

Rothen considered this suggestion. “Yes. I’ll write him a letter. But I don’t think we should be too concerned. I’m sure he’ll know how to deal with the Elynes.”

“But what about the Guild?”

“Nothing will stop the gossip here but time, and neither you nor I—nor Dannyl—can do anything about that.” Rothen sighed. “I think this sort of speculation is going to follow Dannyl around all his life. Unless anything is proven, it’ll sound more tired and ridiculous every time it does.”

The older magician nodded, then yawned. “You’re probably right.” He stood up and stretched. “I’ll be off to bed, then.”

“Dannyl would be proud of your spying success,” Rothen added, smiling.

Yaldin shrugged. “It’s easy once you get the trick of it.” He walked to the door. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Rising, Rothen moved into his bedroom and changed into his night clothes. As he lay down, the inevitable questions started running through his mind. Was he right? Would this gossip about Dannyl blow over?

Probably. But only if nothing was proven.

Trouble was, while he knew Dannyl better than anyone else, there was a side to the man that was still unknown to him. The novice he had adopted had been full of self-doubt and fear. Rothen had respectfully kept his distance, avoiding certain subjects and making it clear he did not intend to question Dannyl about the incident with the other novice. He knew that anyone who’d had their personal life publicly discussed—especially at such a young age—needed their privacy respected.

All novices thought about their desires, about things Dannyl had been accused of. That was how the mind worked. It did not mean they were guilty of acting upon those thoughts.

But what if those early rumors were true?

Rothen sighed, rose, and returned to the guestroom. When he had taken on Dannyl’s guardianship, he had approached the Head of Healers, Vinara’s predecessor, for advice. Lord Garen had told Rothen that the occurrence of men taking male lovers was more common than generally thought. The old Healer had been surprisingly accepting of the practice, saying in his typical clinical fashion that there was no physical harm in an adult male relationship if both were free of disease.

The social consequences, however, were far worse. Honor and reputation mattered more than anything else to the Houses, and the Kyralian court was painfully conservative. While Dannyl couldn’t be thrown out of the Guild for such a “crime,” he would become a social outcast. He would probably lose his ambassadorial position, and would never be offered a role of importance again. He would not be included in Guild projects, and none of his own experiments would receive funding or attention. He would be the butt of jokes and the victim of...

Stop it. Nothing has been proven. It’s just a rumor.

Rothen sighed and reached for the jar of nemmin. As he mixed the powder with water, he thought wistfully of the past year. How could so much have changed in a few short months? How he wished everything was still as it was a year ago, before Dannyl left for Elyne, and Sonea started at the University.

Bracing himself for the bitter taste, he put the glass to his lips and gulped down the drug.

At the knock on his office door, Lorlen looked up in surprise. He was rarely disturbed this late. Rising, he walked to the door and opened it.

“Captain Barran,” he exclaimed in surprise. “What brings you to the Guild this late?”

The young man bowed, then smiled thinly. “Forgive me for the late visit, Administrator. I’m relieved to find you awake. You said I should contact you if evidence of magic was found in connection with the murders.”

Lorlen felt a stab of alarm. He opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come in and tell me what you have found.”

Barran followed Lorlen into the room. Indicating with a wave that the young guard should sit down, Lorlen stepped around his desk and returned to his seat.

“So tell me why you believe this murderer is using magic,” he prompted.

Barran grimaced. “The burns on one of the bodies—but let me first describe the scene.” He paused, obviously sorting through details in his mind. “We were alerted to the murders about two hours ago. The house is in the Western Quarter, in one of the wealthier areas—which was a surprise. We found no sign that anyone had forced their way into the house. One window was wide open, however.

“Inside a bedroom we found two men, a young man and his father. The father was dead, and had all the marks we’ve come to associate with this murderer: wrists cut and marked with bloody fingerprints. The younger man was alive, though barely. He had typical strike burns across his chest and arms, and his ribcage was crushed. Despite this, we were able to question him before he died.”

Barran’s expression was strained. “He said the murderer was tall and dark-haired. He was dressed in dark, strange clothing.” Barran glanced up at Lorlen’s globe light. “And one of those was floating in the room. He had arrived home and heard his father shouting. The murderer had been surprised at his discovery, and had struck out without hesitation, then had fled through the window.” Barran paused and looked at Lorlen’s desk. “Oh, and he was wearing a...”

Seeing the guard’s surprised expression, Lorlen looked down. He caught his breath as he realized that Akkarin’s ring, glinting red in the light, was in plain sight. Thinking quickly, he lifted his hand to give Barran a better view.

“A ring like this?”

Barran’s shoulders lifted. “I can’t say exactly. The young man didn’t have time to describe it in detail.” He frowned and grew hesitant. “I don’t remember you wearing this before, Administrator. May I ask where you acquired it?”

“It was a gift,” Lorlen answered. He smiled wryly. “From a friend who wasn’t aware of that detail about the murders. I felt I had to wear it, even if just for a little while.”

Barran nodded. “Yes, ruby is not a popular stone at the moment. So, what will you do now?”

Lorlen sighed and considered the situation. With such obvious evidence of magic, he ought to alert the Higher Magicians. But if Akkarin was the murderer, and an investigation led to this discovery, it would bring about the confrontation with Akkarin that Lorlen feared.

Yet if Lorlen tried to hide the evidence of magic, and it turned out that Akkarin wasn’t the killer, people would continue to die at the hands of a rogue magician. Eventually the murderer would be found, the truth would come out, and people would question why Lorlen hadn’t done anything—

—You must investigate it yourself.

Lorlen blinked in surprise. Akkarin’s mind-voice was as quiet as a whisper. He managed to stop himself from staring at the ring.

—Tell Barran that the evidence of magic must remain secret. If the public knows that a magician has turned into a killer it will generate panic and distrust.

Nodding, Lorlen looked up at Barran. “I will need to discuss this with my colleagues. For now, don’t let any word that this murderer uses magic spread further than necessary. Better that we can deal with this man without the public knowing he is a rogue. I will contact you tomorrow.”

Barran nodded. As Lorlen rose the young guard quickly got to his feet.

“There is one other piece of information that might interest you,” Barran said as he followed Lorlen to the door.

“Yes?”

“Word is going around that the Thieves are looking for this man, too. Seems they don’t much like having a killer about who isn’t in their control.”

“No, I imagine they wouldn’t.”

Barran stepped out of the door. “Thank you for seeing me at such a late hour, Administrator.”

Lorlen shrugged. “I am often up late. Though I doubt I’ll be getting much sleep during the rest of the night after this piece of news. Still, I thank you for bringing it to me so soon after receiving word yourself.”

The young guard smiled, then bowed. “Good night, Administrator.”

Watching Barran walk away, Lorlen sighed. He looked down at the ring on his hand. Are you the murderer? he projected at it.

There was no answer.

The passage turned again and Sonea paused to get her bearings. At first she tried to picture the plan in her memory, but after several tries she gave up and reached into her robe pockets.

It was a week since she had first entered the passages. She had visited them every night, each time leaving the map in her robes until she was forced to use it. She wanted to memorize it all in case Regin and his allies ambushed her and looked through her box or pockets once they had exhausted her.

Sonea’s searching fingers found nothing. The map wasn’t there. Her heart skipped and started racing. Had she lost it? Had she dropped it somewhere in the passages? She didn’t think there’d be much hope of retracing her steps. All those turns and intersections behind her...

Then she remembered that she had hidden the map inside the fraying cover of one of her medicine books, which was in her box—and she had left her box at a passage entrance, not wanting to lug it around while exploring.

She cursed herself for forgetting and started back the way she had come. After several hundred paces she stopped, shaking her head. She should have reached familiar ground by now, but the turns and intersections were all wrong.

She was lost.

She didn’t feel frightened, only annoyed at herself. The Guild grounds were big, but she doubted the tunnels would go far beyond the area covered by the buildings. If she kept going, she was bound to find herself under the University eventually. So long as she didn’t wander aimlessly, and paid attention to the general direction they took her, she would find her way out.

So she started walking. After several twists and turns, and the discovery of a small complex of rooms including one with a blocked fireplace and a tiled room that must have once been a bath, she came to a dead end where the roof had collapsed. It was not one of the dead ends she had encountered before. Doubling back, she chose another path.

Eventually she found herself in a straight passage with no side entrances. Her curiosity grew stronger as she continued down this passage. A straight tunnel like this must lead to something. Perhaps another Guild building. Or perhaps it led out of the Guild altogether.

After a few hundred paces she encountered an alcove. Stepping into it, she discovered the mechanism for a hidden door. She found the spy hole that all of the doors contained and put her eye to it.

A room lay beyond, but she could not see much of it. Not only was the room dark, but a piece of dirty glass had been placed over the hole, blurring the view.

But she could see enough to know that the room was empty. Reaching for the mechanism, she pulled a lever and the door swung open. She looked around the room and felt her blood turn to ice.

It was the room underneath the High Lord’s Residence.

For what seemed an age all she could do was stare around, her heart hammering in her chest. Then slowly her legs obeyed her need to get away. Her hands groped for the lever that would close the door and found it.

As it slid shut her muscles unfroze and went limp. She sagged against the wall, heedless of faren or other insects, and slid to her knees.

If he’d been there...

It was too terrifying to think about. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to stop shaking. She looked up at the door and down at herself. She was kneeling next to a secret entrance to Akkarin’s room. Not a good place to be, particularly if he was in the habit of using these passages.

Strengthened again by fear, she stumbled to her feet and hurried away. Though the passage continued past the alcove, she no longer felt any need to know where it led. Breathing quickly, she broke into a run and fled in what she hoped was the direction of the University.

31 An Unplanned Encounter

The road twisted about, following the curve of the land as it wound through the foothills of the Grey Mountains. As Dannyl, Tayend and their servants rode around a corner, a striking building came into sight. It rose straight up from the edge of a precipice. Tiny windows dotted the walls, and a narrow stone bridge led to an unadorned opening.

Dannyl and Tayend exchanged glances. By Tayend’s expression, Dannyl knew the scholar found the building as unwelcoming as he did. He turned to the servants.

“Hend, Krimen. Go ahead and see if Dem Ladeiri will grant us a visit.”

“Yes, my lord,” Hend replied. The two servants nudged their horses into a trot and disappeared beyond the next turn of the road.

“Not a friendly-looking place,” Tayend muttered.

“No,” Dannyl agreed. “More like a fort than a house.”

“It was a fort once,” Tayend said. “Centuries ago.”

Dannyl slowed his horse to a walk. “What can you tell me of Dem Ladeiri?”

“He’s old. About ninety. He has a few servants, but lives alone otherwise.”

“And he has a library.”

“Quite a famous one. His family has collected all sorts of oddities over the last few hundred years, including some books.”

“Perhaps we’ll find something useful here.”

Tayend shrugged. “I’m expecting to find much that is strange, and little that is useful. Librarian Irand said he knew the Dem when they were both young men, and called him an ‘amusing eccentric.’ ”

Dannyl watched for glimpses of the building through the trees as they continued along the road. They had been travelling for three weeks, staying no more than a night in any place. Introducing himself to country Dems and testing their children was becoming a chore, and none of the libraries they visited contained anything they had not already learned.

Of course, this may have been the case for Akkarin as well. His quest for knowledge of ancient magic had ended without him producing any great discoveries.

At last the bridge appeared before them. It spanned a dizzying drop to a ravine far below. Deep within an opening in the front wall of the building were two large wooden doors, hanging from hinges so rusted that Dannyl wondered why they hadn’t yet given way. A thin, white-haired man wearing clothes that looked a size too large stood between the doors.

“Greetings, Ambassador Dannyl.” The old man’s voice was thin and wavering. He bowed stiffly. “Welcome to my home.”

Dannyl and Tayend dismounted and handed the reins to their servants. “Thank you, Dem Ladeiri,” Dannyl replied. “This is Tayend of Tremmelin, scholar of the Great Library.”

The Dem turned and peered short-sightedly at Tayend. “Welcome, young man. I have a library too, you know.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. A library famous throughout Elyne,” Tayend replied with convincingly affected eagerness. “Full of curiosities. I would love to see it, if you do not mind.”

“Of course you can!” the Dem exclaimed. “Come inside.”

They followed the old man into a small courtyard, then through a rusty iron door into a hall. Though the furnishings were luxurious, a smell of dust hung in the air.

“Iri!” the old man called shrilly. Footsteps hurried to a doorway and a middle-aged woman wearing an apron appeared. “Bring my guests some refreshments. We’ll be in the library.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she saw Dannyl’s robes. She bowed hastily and backed out of sight.

“There’s no need to take us to the library straightaway,” Dannyl said. “We do not wish to inconvenience you.”

The Dem waved a hand. “It’s no inconvenience. I was in the library when your servants arrived.”

They followed the old man into a corridor, then down a long, spiral staircase that looked as if it had been carved out of the rock wall. The last section of the staircase was made of sturdy wood, and opened out into the middle of a vast room.

Dannyl smiled as he heard Tayend’s gasp. Clearly, the scholar had not expected to be impressed.

The room was carefully divided by rows of shelving. Spread before them were stuffed animals, bottles of preserving liquid containing organs and creatures, carvings made from all manner of materials, strange contraptions, lumps of rock and crystal, countless scrolls, tablets, and shelf after shelf of books. Huge sculptures stood here and there, making Dannyl wonder how they could have been brought down the stairs into the library—or even transported through the mountains. Charts of stars and other mysterious diagrams hung from the walls.

They followed the Dem through these marvels, too amazed to speak. As he led them down an aisle between the books, Tayend peered at the small plaques engraved with subjects and numbers attached to each shelf.

“What are these numbers for?” the scholar asked.

The Dem turned and smiled. “Cataloguing system. Each book has a number and I keep a record of them all on paper.”

“We don’t have anything this detailed at the Great Library. We keep books on the same subject together... as best we can. How long have you had this system in place?”

The old man glanced at Tayend sideways. “My grandfather invented it.”

“Did you ever suggest the Great Library adopt it?”

“Several times. Irand did not see any value in it.”

“Really.” Tayend looked amused. “I would love to see how it works.”

“You will,” the old man replied, “since that is what I am about to show you.”

They left the shelves and arrived at a large desk surrounded by wooden chests of drawers.

“Now, is there any particular subject you would like to explore?”

“Have you got any books on ancient magical practices?” Tayend asked.

The old man’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. But can you be more specific?”

Dannyl and Tayend exchanged a glance.

“Anything to do with the King of Charkan or Shakan Dra.”

The Dem’s eyebrows rose higher. “I will check.”

He turned and pulled open a drawer to reveal rows of cards. Flicking through, he called out a number. Then, closing the drawer, he moved down to the end of the shelves and turned into an aisle. Stopping at one of the bookcases, the Dem ran a finger along the spines, then tapped one.

“This is it.” He drew out the book and handed it to Tayend.

“It’s a history of Ralend of Kemori.”

“There must be a reference to the King of Charkan in there, or my cards would not have led me to this book,” the Dem assured him. “Now, follow me. I believe we have some artifacts, too.”

They followed the Dem out of the bookshelves to several rows of drawers. These, too, were numbered. The old man pulled out a drawer and set it on a nearby table. As he peered inside he gave a low exclamation.

“Ah! That’s right. This was sent to me five years ago. I remember thinking that your High Lord would have wanted to see it.”

Once more Tayend and Dannyl exchanged a glance.

“Akkarin?” Dannyl asked, looking into the box. It contained a silver ring. “Why would he be interested?”

“Because he came to me many years ago looking for information about the King of Charkan. He showed me this symbol.” The Dem held up the ring. Set into it was a dark red gem, and carved into the surface of the gem was a crescent moon next to a crude hand. “But when I sent him a letter telling him what I had received, he replied that he was unable to visit because of his new position.”

Taking the ring, Dannyl examined it closely.

“The person who sent it said that, according to legend, magicians can use it to communicate with each other without fear of being overheard,” the Dem added.

“Really? Who was this generous donor?”

“I don’t know. He—or she—didn’t give their name.” The Dem shrugged. “Sometimes people don’t want their family to know they’ve given something valuable away. In any case, it’s not a true gem. It’s only glass.”

“Try it,” urged a voice at Dannyl’s shoulder.

Dannyl looked at Tayend, surprised. The scholar grinned. “Go on!”

“I’d need to be communicating with another magician,” Dannyl pointed out, as he slipped the ring on his finger. “And have a third to test if he could detect our conversation.”

Dannyl looked down at the ring. He felt nothing to indicate anything magical was happening.

“I can’t sense anything from it.” He pulled it off and gave it back to the Dem. “Perhaps it once held some magical properties, but has lost them over time.”

The old man nodded and put the box away. “The book may be more enlightening. There are chairs over here for reading,” he said, waving them across the room. As they reached the chairs, the woman they had seen earlier arrived with a tray laden with food. Another followed carrying glasses and a bottle of wine. Tayend sat down and began leafing through the history of Ralend of Kemori.

“‘The King of Charkan spoke of his path,’ ” he read. “‘He came by the mountains, stopping to offer gifts at Armje, the city of the moon.’ ” Tayend looked up. “Armje. I’ve heard that name.”

“It is a ruin now,” the Dem said, his mouth still full of savory bun. “Not far from here. I used to climb up there all the time, in my younger days.”

As the Dem began to describe the ruins enthusiastically, Dannyl saw that Tayend wasn’t listening. The scholar’s gaze sharpened as he continued to read the book. Knowing that look, Dannyl smiled. The Dem’s library hadn’t turned out to be the collection of useless oddities that Tayend had been expecting.

In the two weeks since she had first entered the secret passages, Sonea hadn’t once encountered Regin. While she hoped discovery by Lord Yikmo had put off Regin’s allies, she suspected it hadn’t.

She had heard nothing to indicate they had been punished. Yikmo had not mentioned the incident again, and no one else seemed to know of it, so she guessed he had respected her request to keep silent. Unfortunately, this would only give Regin’s allies more confidence that they could harass her and get away with it.

Since Regin had always waylaid her somewhere on the second level, where the library was, she had been careful to exit the secret passages on the lower floor. The previous evening, she saw the first sign that he had worked this out. Entering the main corridor on the lower floor, she had seen a novice standing at the far end and, a few steps later, in the Entrance Hall, came face to face with one of the older boys. Though he hadn’t dared to attack her, he had smiled smugly as she passed.

So this evening she had exited the secret passages on the third level instead. Keeping her footsteps as quiet as possible, she cautiously made her way toward the main corridor.

If she encountered Regin and his friends, she could still run away and escape into the secret passages. If she wasn’t cornered before she could get to an entrance, that is, and if she could get into the passages without them seeing.

Rounding a corner, she glimpsed a flash of brown material around the next turn and felt her heart sink. As she backed away, she heard a faint whisper. Footsteps echoed from the direction she had come. She cursed under her breath and began to run. Darting into a side passage, she collided with a lone novice. A blast of magic hit her shield, but he was alone and she easily pushed him away.

Three turns later she encountered two more novices. They tried to block her path, but gave up after a moment. At the door to a portal room, she was delayed when four novices stepped out to fight her. Pushing past them, she placed a magical lock on the door.

Keep them separated, she thought, Yikmo would approve.

Moving into the inner passages, she hurried toward the nearest portal room. When she was in sight of it, she willed the door to open and close, then quickly retraced her steps.

Still alone, she thought. Slowing to quieten her footsteps, she took a winding path, finally coming to a door to the secret passages. Checking to make sure no one could see, she slipped a hand under a painting and felt the lever.

“She went this way,” a voice called.

Her heart skipped a beat. She yanked the lever down and stumbled through the opening, then pushed the door closed.

Surrounded by darkness, she peered through the peephole, breathing heavily. Through the little hole, she saw several novices pass. Counting them, she felt ill. Twenty novices.

But she had evaded them. Her heartbeat slowed and her breathing quietened. A little warm air touched her neck.

Sonea frowned. Warm air?

Then, beneath the sound of her own breathing, she heard another, softer, breath. She spun around and willed a light into existence... then choked down a cry of terror.

Dark eyes bore into hers. His arms were folded across his chest, the incal glinting gold against the black of his robes. His face was set in a disapproving scowl.

Swallowing hard, she edged sideways, but an arm rose to block her path.

“Get out,” he snarled.

She hesitated. Couldn’t he hear the novices? Didn’t he understand that she would be walking into a trap?

“Now!” he snapped. “And don’t enter these passages again.”

Turning, she fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking. Checking the peephole, she was relieved to see the passage outside was clear of witnesses. She stumbled through and felt a whisper of cold air on the back of her neck as the door closed behind her.

For several heartbeats she stood there, shivering. Then she thought of him watching her through the peephole and forced herself to move. As she rounded a corner twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at her in surprise.

“Found her!” someone cried joyfully.

Sonea threw up a shield against the first strikes. She backed away and then, as Regin barked orders for half to circle around and block her escape, turned and ran.

As she fled past the hidden door, she felt shock fall away and anger rising.

Why doesn’t he stop them? Is this my punishment for going where I wasn’t supposed to go? She skidded to a halt as novices leapt out of a side passage and then, throwing up a barrier to hold them there, she dashed down the only other exit.

Won’t people question why he didn’t... but of course, nobody knows he was there but me. Feeling her barrier fail under the onslaught of the novices, she cursed. As she turned a corner she slammed into an invisible wall. She broke the barrier easily and hurried past only to meet another. This, too, fell quickly, but she found herself blocked by another, and another. Her heart sank as footsteps signalled the approach of novices in front and behind. In the next moment she was shielding a relentless shower of strikes.

What was he doing in the hidden passages, anyway? I never saw any sign of footprints... unless he has been smoothing the dust as he passed... but why would he do that when nobody else uses the passages?

Novices blocked her escape. Trapped, she could only wait as they wore her down. With so many attackers, her strength failed rapidly. As her shield began to waver, Regin stepped to the front and smiled broadly. He held a small bottle in his hand, filled with a dark liquid. At a signal from him the attack stopped.

“Sweet Sonea,” he said, sending a bolt of power at her shield. “How my heart lifts to see you.” Another strike. “It has been so long since we met.” Her shield began to crumble, but she drew up more power from somewhere. “Absence does nurture regard, as they say.” The next strike broke it easily. She braced, waiting for the stunstrikes to come.

“I have brought you a gift,” Regin continued. “A perfume of the most exotic variety.” He plucked the cork from the bottle. “Urgh! Such sweet fragrance. Would you like to try it?”

Even from a few steps away, she recognized the smell. Her class had extracted oil from the leaves of the kreppa bush for a medicine project. The remaining juice smelled like rotting vegetation and could cause stinging blisters.

Regin waved the unstoppered bottle carelessly. “But one tiny bottle is too small a token of my regard. Look, I have brought more!”

Bottles appeared in the other novices’ hands. They opened them gingerly and the corridor filled with the sickening odor.

“Tomorrow, we will know where you are by your sweet perfume.” Regin nodded to the others. “Now!” he barked.

Hands thrust forward, sending several streams of the vile juice toward her. She threw up her hands, closed her eyes and from somewhere managed to draw together a last surge of power.

No liquid touched her skin. Nothing. She heard someone cough, then another, then suddenly the passage was filled with curses and exclamations. Opening her eyes, she blinked in amazement. The walls, the ceiling, and the novices were splattered with fine brown droplets. The novices were wiping at their hands and faces frantically. Some were spitting on the floor. Others were rubbing their eyes and one had begun to wail with pain.

Looking at Regin she saw that, being the closest, he had suffered the worst. His eyes were streaming, and his face was raw with red spots.

A strange feeling was bubbling up inside her. Realizing she was going to laugh, she covered her mouth. Hauling herself away from the wall, she swayed, then made herself straighten.

Don’t let them see how tired I am, she thought. Don’t give them time to get ideas of revenge into their heads.

She started walking through the group of novices. Regin’s head snapped up. “Don’t let her get away,” he growled.

A few novices looked up, but the rest ignored him.

“Forget it. I’m getting these robes off now,” one novice said. Others nodded, and began to move away. Regin blinked at them, his face darkening with fury, but he did not argue.

Sonea turned her back and forced her tired legs to carry her past the novices and away.

32 A Little Side Trip

Rothen yawned as he climbed the stairs of the Magicians’ Quarters. Even a cold bath hadn’t done much to wake him up. He found Tania waiting for him in his guestroom, laying out plates of cakes and buns.

“Good morning, Tania,” he said.

“You’re a little late this morning, my lord,” she replied.

“Yes.” He rubbed his face, then started making sumi. Realizing she was still watching him, he sighed. “I’ve cut down to a tenth of the dosage.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded approvingly. “I have some news.” She paused, and when he gestured for her to continue, she grimaced apologetically. “You won’t like it.”

“Go on.”

The University cleaners were complaining this morning that some foul-smelling liquid was splattered all over one of the passages. I asked them what they thought had happened, and they started grumbling about novices fighting each other. They were a bit reluctant to say which novices—reluctant to say in front of me, that is. So I bribed it out of one of the serving girls who had already heard the story.

“Regin has been gathering together other novices and waylaying Sonea at night. I asked Viola about it, and she said she hadn’t seen anything to suggest that Sonea had been harmed at all.”

Rothen frowned. “It would take a lot to wear Sonea out.” He felt a spark of anger as he realized what this meant. “Once she had, though, Regin could do anything to her. She’d be too tired to even fight him off physically.”

Tania drew in a sharp breath. “He wouldn’t dare hurt her, would he?”

“Not in any way that would do lasting damage, or have him expelled.” Rothen scowled at the table.

“Why doesn’t the High Lord put a stop to it—or hasn’t he heard about it? Perhaps you should tell him.”

Rothen shook his head. “He knows. It’s his place to know.”

“But—” Tania stopped at a knock on the door. Relieved at the interruption, Rothen willed it open. A messenger stepped inside, bowed, and handed Rothen a letter, before retreating from the room again.

“It’s for Sonea.” Rothen turned the letter over and felt his heart skip. “It’s from her aunt and uncle.”

Tania moved closer. “Don’t they know she isn’t living in your rooms anymore?”

“No. Sonea thought Regin might get hold of her mail if it came to her in the Novices’ Quarters, and she probably hasn’t contacted them since she moved to the residence.”

“Would you like me to take it to her?” Tania offered.

Rothen looked up, surprised. It was easy to forget that others had no reason to fear Akkarin. “Would you?”

“Of course. I haven’t spoken to her in such a long time.”

Akkarin might grow suspicious if he saw Rothen’s servant delivering a message to Sonea, however. “She’ll want to read this as soon as possible. If you deliver it to her room, she won’t get it until tonight. I think she spends Freedays in the Novices’ Library. Could you give it to Lady Tya?”

“Yes.” Tania took the letter and slipped it into the front of her uniform. “I’ll drop by the library after dropping these dishes off at the kitchen.”

“Agh! My legs hurt!” Tayend complained.

Dannyl laughed quietly as the scholar collapsed onto a boulder to rest. “You wanted to visit the ruins. It wasn’t my idea.”

“But Dem Ladeiri made them sound so interesting.” Tayend pulled out his flask and drank a few mouthfuls of water. “And closer.”

“He just neglected to say we’d have to scale a few cliffs to get here. Or that the rope bridge wasn’t safe.”

“Well, I suppose he did tell us it had been a long time since he had come up here. Levitation must really come in handy at times.”

“At times.”

“Why aren’t you breathing hard?”

Dannyl smiled. “Levitation isn’t the only useful trick the Guild teaches us.”

“You’re healing yourself?” Tayend threw a small stone at him. “That’s cheating!”

“Then I assume you would refuse my assistance if I offered it.”

“No, I feel it would be only fair that I have the same advantage as you.”

Dannyl sighed in mock resignation. “Give me your wrist, then.” To his surprise, Tayend offered his arm without hesitation, but as Dannyl placed his palm against the scholar’s skin, Tayend looked away and closed his eyes tightly.

Sending a little Healing magic into Tayend’s body, Dannyl soothed the stressed muscles. Most Healers would frown at this waste of magic. There was nothing wrong with Tayend, he was simply unused to the strain of trekking across mountainous territory.

As Dannyl released Tayend’s arm, the scholar stood and looked down at himself.

“That is amazing!” he exclaimed. “I feel like I did this morning, before we left.” He grinned at Dannyl, then began striding up the path. “Come on, then. We haven’t got all day.”

Bemused, Dannyl followed. Only a few hundred paces on, Tayend reached a rise and slowed to a stop. As Dannyl caught up with the scholar, the ruins came into view. Spread over a gentle slope were low walls, marking the outlines of buildings. Here and there an ancient column had survived, and at the center of the small deserted city a larger, roofless structure still stood intact, its walls constructed of huge slabs of stone. Grass and other vegetation grew over and around everything.

“So this is Armje,” Tayend muttered. “Not much left.”

“It is over a thousand years old.”

“Let’s take a closer look.”

The path, as it curved around to meet the city, widened into a grassy road. As it reached the first of the buildings it straightened, leading to the large building. Dannyl and Tayend paused to examine some of the exposed rooms of the smaller buildings.

“Do you think this was some kind of public washroom?” Tayend asked at one point, standing by a stone bench that had holes cut into it at regular intervals.

“Perhaps some kind of kitchen,” Dannyl replied. “The holes might have held pots over a fire or brazier.”

When they reached the large structure at the center, Dannyl noticed a stillness in the air. They passed beneath a heavy lintel into a wide room. The floor was hidden beneath dirt and waist-high grass and herbs.

“I wonder what this place was,” Tayend mused aloud. “Something important. A palace, perhaps. Or a temple.”

Moving into a smaller room, Tayend suddenly darted to one side. He peered at the wall, which was carved with a complex pattern.

“There are words in this,” he said. “Something about laws.”

Dannyl looked closer, then felt his heart skip a beat as he saw a carved hand. “Look.”

“That’s the glyph for magic,” Tayend said dismissively.

“A hand is the sign for magic in ancient Elyne?”

“Yes—and it is in many ancient writings. Some scholars believe that the modern letter ‘m’ is derived from the symbol of a hand.”

“So half of the Charkan King’s title indicates magic. What does the crescent moon mean, then?”

Tayend shrugged and moved farther into the ruin. “Moon magic. Night magic. Does magic ever follow the cycles of the moon?”

“No.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with women. Women’s magic. Wait—look at this!”

Tayend had stopped before another carved wall. He was pointing at a section high up where some of the stone had fallen away, leaving only part of the carving behind. Then Dannyl drew in a sharp breath. The scholar wasn’t pointing at one of the carved glyphs. He was pointing at a familiar name written in modern lettering.

“Dem Ladeiri didn’t mention anything about Akkarin coming up here,” Tayend said.

“Perhaps he forgot. Perhaps Akkarin didn’t tell him.”

“But he really wanted us to come here.”

Dannyl stared at the name, then looked at the rest of the wall. “What does the ancient writing say?”

Tayend looked closer. “Give me a minute...”

As the scholar examined the glyphs, Dannyl stepped back and looked around the room. Below Akkarin’s name was a relief carving of an archway. Or was it? He scuffed the dirt and grass away from the base and smiled as he uncovered a crack.

Tayend drew in a sharp breath. “According to this, this is a—”

“Door,” Dannyl finished.

“Yes!” Tayend tapped the wall. “And it leads to a place of judgment. I wonder if it can still be opened.”

Looking at the door, Dannyl extended his senses. He detected a simple mechanism, designed to be opened from the inside only—or by magic.

“Stand back.”

As Tayend moved out of the way, Dannyl exerted his will. The mechanism turned reluctantly, straining against the dirt, dust and grass clogging the doorway. A loud rumble and scraping noise filled the room as the stone door swivelled inward, revealing a dark passage.

When the door had opened wide enough for a man to slip through sideways, Dannyl released the mechanism, afraid he would do lasting damage if he forced it farther. He exchanged a look with Tayend.

“Shall we go in?” the scholar whispered.

Dannyl frowned. “I will go first. It might be unstable.”

Tayend looked as if he would protest, but seemed to change his mind. “I’ll continue translating this.”

“I’ll come back as soon as I know it’s safe.”

“You’d better.”

As Dannyl slipped through the door, he willed a globe light into existence and sent it ahead. The walls were unadorned. At first he had to brush aside fine cascades of roots and faren webs, but after twenty steps the way was clear. The floor sloped downward slightly, and the air grew rapidly colder.

There were no side passages. The roof was low and soon Dannyl felt a familiar uneasiness stealing over him. Counting his steps, he had passed two hundred when the walls ended. The floor continued, however, as a narrow ledge leading into utter darkness. Cautiously, he stepped out on this ledge, ready to levitate if it should collapse under his feet. From the way his footsteps echoed, the drop on either side was considerable.

The ledge widened to form a circular platform after about ten paces. Willing his globe light to brighten, Dannyl gasped as the light reflected off a glittering dome. The surface sparkled and shimmered as if covered by innumerable gemstones.

“Tayend!” he called. “Come look at this!” Glancing back at the black opening of the passage, Dannyl flexed his will, creating small globe lights along the length of it.

Something shifted in the corner of his eye. He turned to see that a section of the dome was glittering brighter than the rest. Rivulets of light appeared, shivering toward each other. Staring in fascination, he watched as they raced to meet. It looked like the Arena barrier when it had been struck, except in reverse...

Some instinct warned him and he threw up a shield just in time to meet the streak of power from the dome. He exclaimed in surprise at the strength of it—then again in shock as he felt another attack from behind. Turning, he saw a second starburst of power in the stones... and two more rapidly forming.

He took a step toward the passage entrance, then another, and felt the sting of a barrier blocking his way. What is going on! Who is doing this?

But there was nobody else here. Only Tayend. Dannyl looked at the passage, but it was empty. As more attacks came, Dannyl spread his hands before the barrier and sent out a bolt of magic. The barrier held. Perhaps, if he put all his strength into it... but he needed power to shield.

He felt panic rising. Every strike tired him further. He had no idea how long this attack would continue. If he waited, this place—this trap—might kill him.

Think! he told himself. The strikes from the walls were directed at a point above the center of the platform. If he squeezed himself up against the barrier, the strikes might miss him when his shield failed. And if he let his shield drop and put all his power into breaking the barrier it might fall before the next strike hit.

It was all he could think of. He had no time to come up with a better idea. Closing his eyes, he ignored the sting of magic as he pushed up against the barrier. He drew in a breath, then simultaneously dropped his shield and blasted out all his power.

He felt the barrier waver. At the same time, he was conscious of the last of his strength leaving him. He braced himself for pain, but instead felt himself falling. He opened his eyes, but all he could see was darkness... a darkness he continued to fall into long after he ought to have hit the ground...

“Lady Sonea.”

Looking up, Sonea felt her heart skip. “Tania!”

As the servant smiled, fond memories of early morning chats brought an ache of longing. Sonea patted the seat next to her, and Tania sat down.

“How are you?” Tania asked. Something about the way the servant looked at Sonea suggested she didn’t expect a favorable answer.

“Well.” Sonea forced a smile.

“You look tired.”

Sonea shrugged. “Too many late nights. There’s so much to learn now. How are you? Is Rothen keeping you run off your feet?”

Tania chuckled. “He’s no trouble, though he misses you terribly.”

“I miss him, too—and you.”

“I have a letter for you, my lady,” Tania said. She drew it out of her clothes and put it on the table. “Rothen said it was from your aunt and uncle and said you might want to read it straightaway, so I offered to deliver it to you here.”

Sonea picked up the letter eagerly. “Thank you.” She tore it open and began to read. The script was formal and stilted. Since her aunt and uncle could not write, they would hire a scribe whenever they wanted to send her a letter.

“My aunt is going to have another child!” Sonea exclaimed. “Oh, I wish I could see them.”

“Of course you can,” Tania said. “The Guild isn’t a prison, you know.”

Sonea considered the woman. Of course, Tania didn’t know about Akkarin. But Akkarin had never said that he forbade family visits. Nor had he told her she must never leave the Guild. The guards at the gate wouldn’t stop her. She could just walk out into the city and go where she pleased. Akkarin wouldn’t like it, but since he had forced her out of the secret passages and left her at the mercy of Regin’s gang, she hadn’t cared too much about being cooperative.

“You’re right,” Sonea said slowly. “I’ll visit them. I’ll visit them today.”

Tania smiled. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you again.”

“Thank you, Tania,” Sonea said, rising. The servant bowed and, still smiling, walked away toward the library door.

Packing her books back into her box, Sonea felt a growing excitement, but as she considered where she was going, she sobered again. She could move through the city easily. Nobody would think twice about the presence of a magician on the streets, not even a novice. But once in the slums her robes would draw attention, possibly hostile attention. It was a problem she hadn’t needed to consider on her previous visits because she hadn’t been a novice then. While she could protect herself from any missiles or harassment with magic, she did not want to be followed around, or draw that sort of attention to her aunt and uncle.

The law said she must wear the uniform at all times, however. She was not too worried about breaking the law, but where was she going to change into the sort of shabby clothing that would disguise her in the slums, even if she managed to find some?

She could buy a coat or cloak from the Market when she got to the North Quarter. For that, however, she needed money, and she kept her money in her room in the High Lord’s Residence. Looking down at her box, she reconsidered her plan. Was she going to let her fear of Akkarin stop her from visiting her family? No. He was rarely in the residence during the day. She probably wouldn’t encounter him.

Picking up her box, she bowed to Lady Tya and left the library. As she walked through the passages of the University, she smiled. She would buy a present for her aunt and uncle, too—and she might drop by Gollin’s inn to see Harrin and Donia afterward, and ask after Cery.

As she entered the High Lord’s Residence, she felt her heartbeat quicken. To her relief, Akkarin was not inside, and Takan, his servant, appeared only long enough to give her a respectful bow and disappear again. Leaving her box, she tucked a money bag into her robes and left her room. When the door of the residence shut behind her, she straightened her back and headed for the gates.

The gate guards glanced at her with curiosity as she passed between them. They had probably never seen her before, since she had only left the Guild a few times in a carriage with Rothen. Perhaps it was simply odd to see a novice leaving on foot.

Once in the Inner Circle, she felt strangely out of place. Looking up at the grand homes that lined the streets, strong memories returned of her few visits to this part of the city years before, to deliver repaired shoes and clothing to servants of the Houses. During those visits the well-dressed men and women of the Inner Circle had regarded her with suspicion and disdain, and she had been forced to show her token of admission several times.

Now those people smiled and bowed politely as she passed them. It felt strange and unreal. The feeling increased as she passed through the gates into the North Quarter. The gate guards stopped and saluted, and even stopped a carriage of House Korin so she could pass without delay.

Once in the North Quarter, polite bows and smiles changed to stares. After several hundred paces, Sonea changed her mind about visiting the Market. Instead, she stepped up to a house advertising “Quality Clothing and Alterations.”

“Yes?” A gray-haired woman answered the door and, upon seeing a young magician on her doorstep, she gasped with astonishment. “My lady! What can I do for you?” she asked, bowing hastily.

Sonea smiled. “I would like to buy a cloak, please.”

“Come in! Come in!” The woman opened the door wide and bowed again as Sonea stepped inside. She ushered Sonea into a room, where racks of clothing hung all around the room.

“I’m not sure if I have anything good enough,” the woman said apologetically, as she lifted several cloaks from the racks. “This one has limek fur around the hood, and that one has a beaded hem.”

Unable to resist, Sonea inspected the cloaks. “This is good work,” she said of the beaded cloak. “I doubt this fur is limek, however. Limek have a double coat.”

“Oh dear!” the woman exclaimed, snatching the cloak back.

“But they’re not what I’m looking for, anyway,” Sonea added. “I need something old and a bit worn—not that I expected to find anything of low quality here. Do any of your servants have a cloak that looks as if it ought to be thrown out any day?”

The woman stared at Sonea in surprise. “I don’t know...” she said doubtfully.

“Why don’t you ask them now,” Sonea suggested, “while I admire some of your work.”

“If that’s what you want...” Curiosity had crept into the woman’s gaze now. She bowed, then disappeared into the house calling a servant’s name.

Moving to the hangers, Sonea looked at some of the clothing. She sighed wistfully. With the law restricting her to robes, she was never likely to wear anything like this, even though she could now afford to.

Hearing hurried footsteps approaching, she turned to see the seamstress enter the room, her arms laden with clothing. A servant followed her in, looking pale and harassed. Seeing Sonea, the girl’s eyes widened.

Looking over the cloaks, Sonea chose one with a long, neatly repaired rip down one side. The hem had come unstitched from the lining, too. She looked at the serving girl.

“Is there a garden here? Perhaps a poultry yard?”

The girl nodded.

“Take this cloak and rub the hem in some dirt for me—and throw a little dust over it.”

Looking bemused, the girl disappeared with the cloak. Sonea pressed a gold coin into the seamstress’ hand, then as the servant returned with the soiled cloak, slipped a silver into the girl’s pocket.

Who would have thought I’d end up using my pickpocketing skills to give money away rather than steal it? she mused as she left the house. With the cloak covering her robes, she received no more stares as she continued toward the Northern Gates.

The guards gave her only a cursory glance as she entered the slums. They were more concerned about dwells leaving the slums than who was going in. A smell, both unpleasant and comfortingly familiar, enveloped her as she moved into the winding streets. Looking around, she felt herself relax a little. Here, Regin and Akkarin seemed like distant, petty worries.

Then she noted a man eyeing her from the door of a bolhouse and tensed again. This was still the slums, and though she could protect herself with magic, it would be better to avoid having to. Keeping alert and within the shadows, she made her way quickly along the streets and alleys.

Jonna and Ranel now lived in a more prosperous part of the slums, where the residents lived in sturdy wooden houses. She slipped into a Market to buy some blankets and a basket filled with vegetables and fresh bread. She wished she could buy something more luxurious, but Jonna had always refused such gifts, saying: “I don’t want anything with the look of the Houses in my home. People will get strange ideas about us.”

As she arrived at the street her family lived in, she tossed a few savory buns to a small gang of boys sitting on some empty crates at the corner. They called out their thanks. She realized she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for months.

Not since Dorrien visited, she thought suddenly. But best not to think of Dorrien.

Reaching the house of her aunt and uncle, she sobered. Since she joined the Guild, they had been uneasy and awkward. They had witnessed her lose Control of her powers over a year before, and Sonea would not have been surprised if they were still afraid of her. But she knew that she would never overcome their fear or awkwardness if she didn’t keep visiting them. They were still her only family and she was not going to let them disappear from her life.

She knocked. A moment later, the door opened and Jonna stared at her in surprise.

“Sonea!”

Sonea grinned. “Hello, Jonna.”

Jonna pushed open the door. “You look different... but I see what you’ve done with the cloak. Is that legal?”

Sonea snorted. “Who cares? I got your letter today, and had to see you. Here, I brought you a present to celebrate.”

Handing over the basket and blankets, Sonea moved into the small, simply furnished guestroom. Ranel stepped into the room and laughed with delight.

“Sonea! How’s my little niece?”

“Well. Happy,” Sonea lied. Don’t think about Akkarin. Don’t spoil the afternoon.

Ranel hugged her. “Thank you for the money,” he murmured.

Sonea smiled and started to take off the cloak, then thought better of it. Seeing a cot at one side of the room, she moved over to it and looked down at her sleeping cousin.

“He’s growing well,” she said. “No problems?”

“No, just a bit of a cough,” Jonna said, smiling. She patted her belly. “We’re hoping for a girl this time.”

As they talked, Sonea was relieved to find them more relaxed in her presence. They ate some of the bread, played with the baby when he woke, and discussed names for the next one. Ranel told Sonea news about old friends and acquaintances, and other events that had concerned the slum dwellers.

“We weren’t in the city, but we heard when the Purge happened,” Ranel said, sighing. He glanced at her. “Did you...?” he asked reluctantly.

“No.” Sonea scowled. “Novices don’t go. I... I guess it was stupid, but I thought they wouldn’t have one, after what happened last year. Perhaps, when I’ve graduated...” She shook her head. What will I do? Talk them out of it? As if they’d listen to a slum girl.

She sighed. She was still a long way from ever being able to help the people she had once felt she belonged among. The idea of persuading the Guild to stop the Purge seemed naive and ridiculous now, as did the hope that they’d ever offer Healing to the dwells.

“What else have we got in here?” Jonna said, poking among the vegetables in the basket. “Are you staying for dinner, Sonea?”

Sonea straightened in alarm. “What time is it?” Looking through one of the high, narrow windows, she saw that the light outside was subdued and golden. “I’ll have to go back soon.”

“You be careful going home,” Ranel said. “You don’t want to run into this murderer everyone’s talking about.”

“He won’t be any rub for Sonea,” Jonna said, chuckling.

Sonea smiled at her aunt’s confidence. “What murderer?”

Ranel’s eyebrows rose. “I’d have thought you’d have known about it already. Been all over the city.” He grimaced. “They say the murderer isn’t one of the Thieves—I’ve heard the Thieves are out for him. Had no luck, though.”

“I can’t see him evading the Thieves for long,” Sonea mused.

“But it’s been going on for months,” Ranel said. “And some dwells say they remember similar killings happening a year ago, and before that.”

“Does anyone know what he looks like?”

“Stories are all different. But most say he wears a ring with a big red gem.” Ranel leaned forward. “The strangest story I heard was from one of our customers. He said that his sister’s husband owns an inn down Southside. This man heard someone yelling in one of the rooms one night, so he checked on them. When he opened the door, the murderer jumped out the window. But instead of falling to the ground, three stories down, he fell upward like he was flying!”

Sonea shrugged. Many people of dubious employment used the paths across the rooftops of the slums, known as the High Road. It was possible the man had swung out on a handhold and climbed up to the roof.

“That wasn’t what was strange,” Ranel continued. “What spooked the innkeeper was that the man staying in the room was dead, but all he had on his body were shallow cuts.”

Sonea frowned. Dead, but without any wounds except a few shallow cuts? Then her blood turned to ice. A memory flashed into her mind of Akkarin in the underground room.

Takan dropped to one knee and offered his arm. In Akkarin’s hand was a glittering dagger. He ran the blade over the servant’s skin, then placed a hand over the wound...

“Sonea. Are you listening?”

She blinked, then looked at her uncle. “Yes. Just remembering something. From a long time ago. All this talk of murderers.” She shivered. “I must go.”

As she stood, Jonna enveloped her in a hug. “It is good knowing you can protect yourself, Sonea. I don’t have to worry about you.”

“Hmph. You could at least worry about me a bit.”

Jonna laughed. “All right. If it makes you feel better.”

Sonea said goodbye to Ranel, then stepped out into the street. As she continued through the slums, she could not help remembering Lorlen’s words during the truth-read.

“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.”

But Akkarin could not kill her. If she disappeared, Rothen and Lorlen would tell the Guild of his crime. Akkarin would not risk that.

Yet, as she walked through the city gates into the North Quarter, Sonea could not help worrying. Had he made the slums his hunting ground? Were her aunt and uncle in danger?

He will not kill them, either, she told herself. Then I would tell the Guild the truth.

But then it suddenly occurred to her that visiting her aunt and uncle was the worst kind of foolishness. She had all but disappeared; only Tania knew where she had gone. If Lorlen and Rothen had heard she was missing, they might decide it was Akkarin’s doing. Or Akkarin might have concluded that she had left the Guild, and be preparing to silence the others right now.

Shivering, she realized she would not feel safe until she was back in the Guild, even though it meant living under the same roof as the man who might be the very murderer the slum dwellers feared.

33 The High Lord’s Warning

The sound of birdsong and wind greeted Dannyl as he woke. He opened his eyes and blinked at his surroundings, momentarily confused. Stone walls stood on all sides, but there was no roof above. He lay on a thick bed of pulled grass. The air had the feel of morning.

Armje. He was in the ruins of Armje.

Then he remembered the chamber, and the domed ceiling that had attacked him.

So I survived.

He looked down at himself. His robes were charred around the hem. The skin around his calves above where his boots had been was red and stinging. Looking up, he saw his boots standing neatly together a few steps away. They were blistered and charred.

He had come very close to dying, he realized.

Tayend must have taken him out of the cavern to this place. Dannyl looked around, but saw no sign of the scholar. Catching a splash of color on the ground nearby, he recognized Tayend’s blue jacket lying folded beside another bed of grass.

He considered getting up and looking for his friend, but remained on his grass bed. Tayend would not be far away, and he felt an overwhelming reluctance to move. He needed rest—not because his body needed it, but because he needed to recover magically.

Focusing on the source of his power, he found he had almost no magic to draw upon. Normally, he would have slept until at least partially recovered. Perhaps the lingering memory of danger had woken him as soon as he had regained enough strength to pull out of his exhausted slumber. Knowing that he lacked magic should have made him feel vulnerable and uneasy, but instead he felt freer, as if released from something.

Hearing footsteps, he drew himself up onto one elbow. Tayend stepped into the room and smiled when he saw that Dannyl was awake. The scholar’s hair was a little ruffled, but otherwise he still managed to appear well groomed despite having slept on a bed of grass.

“You’re awake at last. I just refilled our flasks. Thirsty?”

Realizing he was, Dannyl nodded. He accepted his flask and drained it.

Tayend crouched beside him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. A bit cooked around the ankles, but nothing worse.”

“What happened?”

Dannyl shook his head. “I was about to ask you that same question.”

“Your part comes first.”

“Very well.” Dannyl described the chamber, and how it had attacked him. Tayend’s eyes widened as he listened.

“After you went in, I kept reading the glyphs,” the scholar said. “The writing said that the door led to a place called the Cavern of Ultimate Punishment, and a little farther I worked out that it was made to execute magicians. I tried to call to you—to warn you—then I heard you call me and you made the lights. Before I could reach the end of the passage, they went out.”

Tayend shivered. “I kept going. When I got to the cavern, you were pressed up against something invisible. Then you fell forward and you didn’t move. I could see more of those lightning things on the walls. I ran forward and grabbed your arms, and pulled you off the platform. The lightning touched it, then everything went dark. I couldn’t see, but I kept pulling you along, into the passage and back outside. Then I carried you here.” He paused, and his mouth curled into a half-smile. “You’re really heavy, by the way.”

“Am I?”

“It’s your height, I’m sure.”

Dannyl smiled, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with affection and gratitude. “You saved my life, Tayend. Thank you.”

The scholar blinked, then smiled self-consciously. “I suppose I did. Looks like I’ve returned the favor. So, do you think the Guild knows about this Cavern of Ultimate Punishment?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” Dannyl shook his head. He didn’t want to discuss the Guild, or the cavern. I’m alive, he thought. He looked around, at the trees, the sky, then Tayend. He really is a beautiful man, he thought suddenly, remembering how he had been struck by the scholar’s fine looks that first day, at Capia’s docks. He felt something at the edge of his thoughts, like a memory just out of reach. It grew stronger as he concentrated on it, and he felt a familiar uneasy feeling steal over him. He tried to push it away.

Suddenly he was acutely aware of his lack of magical strength. He frowned, wondering why he had reached for his powers unconsciously. Then realization came. He had been about to use his Healing powers to take away the uneasiness, or at least the physical reaction that had caused it. As I always do, without realizing it.

“What’s wrong?” Tayend asked.

Dannyl shook his head. “Nothing.” But that was a lie. All these years he had been doing this: turning his mind from the thoughts that had caused him so much trouble and anguish, and using his Healing power to stop his body from reacting in the first place.

Memories came rushing back. Memories of being the object of scandal and rumor. He had decided that, if how he felt was so unacceptable, then it was better not to feel at all. And perhaps, with time, he would begin to desire what was right and proper.

But nothing had changed. The moment he lost the ability to Heal, there it was again. He had failed.

“Dannyl?”

Looking at Tayend, Dannyl felt his heart skip. How could he look at his friend, and consider that being like him was a failure?

He couldn’t. He remembered something that Tayend had said. “There is a... a certainty in me about what is natural and right for me that is as strong as his own certainty about what is natural and right.”

What was natural and right? Who really knew? The world was never so simple that one person could have all the answers. He had fought this for so long. What would it be like to stop fighting? To accept what he was.

“You’ve got the strangest look on your face. What are you thinking?”

Dannyl regarded Tayend speculatively. The scholar was his closest friend. Even closer than Rothen, he realized suddenly. He had never been able to tell Rothen the truth. He knew he could trust Tayend. Hadn’t the scholar protected him from the Elyne gossips?

It would be such a relief just to tell someone, Dannyl thought. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you, Tayend.”

The scholar’s eyes widened slightly. He sat back on his haunches and smiled. “Really? How so?”

“That novice I befriended years ago. He was exactly what they said he was.”

Tayend’s lips curled into a half-smile. “You never said he wasn’t.”

Dannyl hesitated, then continued. “So was I.”

Watching Tayend’s face, Dannyl was surprised to see the smile change to a grin.

“I know.”

Dannyl frowned. “How could you know? I didn’t even... remember until now.”

“Remember?” Tayend sobered and tilted his head to one side. “How would you forget something like that?”

“I...” Dannyl sighed, then explained about the Healing. “After a couple of years, it became a habit, I suppose. The mind can be a powerful thing, particularly for magicians. We’re trained to focus our minds and achieve deep levels of concentration. I pushed away every dangerous thought. It mightn’t have worked, if I hadn’t been able to smother my physical feelings with magic as well.” He grimaced. “But it didn’t change anything. It made me empty of any feelings of attraction. I desired neither men nor women.”

“That must have been terrible.”

“Yes, and no. I have few friends. I suppose I was lonely. But it was a dull kind of loneliness. There isn’t as much pain in life if you don’t let yourself become entangled with others.” He paused. “But is that really living?”

Tayend didn’t answer. Looking at the scholar, Dannyl read a wariness there.

“You knew,” Dannyl said slowly. “But you couldn’t say anything.” Otherwise I would have reacted with fear and denial.

Tayend shrugged. “It was more like a guess. If I was right, though, I knew there was a chance you’d never confront it. Now that I know the effort you went to, it is amazing that you have at all.” He paused. “Habits are hard to break.”

“But I will.” Dannyl stilled as he realized what he had said. Can I really commit to that? Can I accept what I am, and face this fear of discovery and rejection?

Looking at Tayend, he heard a voice deep within answer: Yes!

The path to the High Lord’s Residence was dusted with tiny fragments of color. As the wind rustled the trees, more blossoms flitted down to join them. Sonea admired the colors. A lighter mood had stayed with her since visiting her aunt and uncle the previous day. Even Regin’s stares in class hadn’t diminished it.

When she reached the door, however, a familiar gloom settled over her. It swung inward at her touch. She bowed to the magician standing in the guestroom.

“Good evening, Sonea,” Akkarin said. Was she imagining it, or was there a difference in his tone?

“Good evening, High Lord.”

The Firstday evening meals had become a predictable routine. He always asked her about her lessons; she replied as succinctly as possible. They didn’t talk about much else. The night after he had discovered her in the passages she had expected him to raise the subject but, to her relief, he hadn’t mentioned it once. Obviously, he felt that she needed no further rebuke.

She trudged up the stairs. Takan, as always, was waiting for them in the dining room. A delicious, spicy odor lingered about him, and she felt her stomach growl with impatience. But as Akkarin sat down opposite her she remembered Ranel’s story about the murderer and her appetite fled.

She looked down at the table, then stole a glance at him. Was she sitting opposite a murderer? His eyes slid to hers, and she quickly averted her gaze.

Ranel had said that the murderer wore a ring with a red gemstone. Looking at Akkarin’s hands, she was almost disappointed to see they were bare. Not even a mark to hint that a ring might have been worn regularly. His fingers were long and elegant, yet masculine...

Takan entered with a platter of food, drawing her attention away. As Sonea began to eat, Akkarin straightened and she knew his usual questions were about to start.

“So how are your aunt and uncle, and their son? Did you have a pleasant afternoon with them yesterday?”

He knows! She sucked in a breath, and felt something catch in her throat. Grabbing a napkin, she covered her face and coughed. How does he know where I went! Did he follow me? Or was he in the slums, hunting for victims, and happened to see me there?

“You’re not going to die on me, are you?” he asked dryly. “That would be inconvenient.”

Pulling the napkin away, she found Takan standing beside her, offering a glass of water. Taking it, she gulped a mouthful.

What should I say? He knows where Jonna and Ranel live. She felt a stab of fear, but pushed it aside. If he had wanted to, he could have found that out easily enough without following her. He might even have read their location from her—or Rothen’s—mind.

He didn’t seem to expect an answer, or gave up waiting for one. “I don’t disapprove of you visiting them,” he told her. “I do, however, expect you to ask me for permission if you intend to leave the Guild grounds at any time. Next time, Sonea,” he stared at her directly, his eyes hard, “I’m sure you’ll remember to ask me first.”

Looking down, she nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”

The door opened just as Lorlen reached the High Lord’s Residence. He stopped as Sonea stepped out, box in hand. She blinked at him in surprise, then bowed.

“Administrator.”

“Sonea,” he replied.

She glanced down at his hand, then her eyes widened. Her gaze flickered to his, her expression questioning, then she quickly looked away and hurried past, toward the University.

Looking down at the ring on his hand, Lorlen felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Clearly, she had heard about the murderer and his red ring. What did she think of him now? Turning to watch her, he felt his chest tighten. Each day she moved from one inescapable nightmare to another. From the shadow of Akkarin to the torments dealt out by the novices. It was a cruel situation.

And an unnecessary one. Clenching his fists, he advanced on the door and stepped through. Akkarin sat in one of the luxurious armchairs, already sipping from a wineglass.

“Why are you letting the novices gang up on her?” he demanded before his anger and courage failed.

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. “I gather you mean Sonea? It does her good.”

“Good?” Lorlen exclaimed.

“Yes. She has to learn to defend herself.”

“Against other novices?”

“She ought to be able to defeat them. They’re not well coordinated.”

Lorlen shook his head and started to pace the room. “But she isn’t defeating them, and some magicians are wondering why you do not step in and put a stop to it.”

Akkarin shrugged. “It is up to me how my novice is trained.”

“Trained! This isn’t training!”

“You heard Lord Yikmo’s analysis. She’s too nice. Real conflict will teach her to fight back.”

“But this is fifteen novices against one. How can you expect her to stand up to that many?”

“Fifteen?” Akkarin smiled. “The last I saw it was near twenty.”

Lorlen stopped pacing and stared at the High Lord.

“You’ve been watching her?”

“Whenever I can.” Akkarin’s smile widened. “Though it’s not always easy to keep up with them. I would like to know how that last one ended. Eighteen, perhaps nineteen, and she still managed to free herself.”

“She got away?” Lorlen suddenly felt lightheaded. He moved to a chair and sank into it. “But that means...”

Akkarin chuckled. “I’d advise you to think twice if you were planning to take her on in the Arena, Lorlen, though her lack of skill and confidence would ensure you won the fight.”

Lorlen didn’t answer, his mind still struggling to accept that a novice as young as Sonea could already be so powerful. Akkarin leaned toward him, his dark eyes glittering.

“Every time they attack her she stretches herself,” he said quietly. “She’s learning to defend herself in ways neither Balkan nor Yikmo can teach her. I’m not going to stop Regin and his accomplices. They’re the best teachers she has.”

“But... why do you want her stronger?” Lorlen breathed. “Aren’t you afraid she will turn against you? What will you do when she graduates?”

Akkarin’s smile vanished. “She is the High Lord’s chosen novice. The Guild expects her to excel. But she will never grow strong enough to be a threat to me.” He looked away and his expression hardened. “As for graduation, I’ll decide how to deal with that when the time comes.”

Seeing the calculating look in Akkarin’s eyes, Lorlen shivered. A memory of his visit to the Guard House returned. The images of the bodies of the murdered young man and his father were hard to forget. Though more gruesome, the young man’s death had not chilled Lorlen as much as the other. The father’s wrists had shallow cuts, and he had lost little blood. Yet he was dead.

At Akkarin’s instruction, Lorlen had explained to Barran he would not be sending magicians out in a hunt for the rogue, as he had done with Sonea. The previous search had driven Sonea to seek the help of the Thieves, and they had kept the Guild from finding her for months. Though the Thieves were rumored to be hunting for the murderer as well, it was not impossible that they would strike a deal if he came to them for help. So it was better that the Guild gave the murderer no reason to hide himself too carefully. The Guard must locate him, then Lorlen would arrange for magical assistance to capture him. Barran had agreed that this was the wisest action.

But this would never happen if the murderer was Akkarin. Lorlen considered the black-robed man. He wanted to ask Akkarin directly if he had anything to do with the murders, but he was afraid of the answer. And even if the answer was no, could he believe such a denial, anyway?

“Ah, Lorlen,” Akkarin sounded amused. “Anyone would think Sonea was your adopted novice.”

Lorlen forced his mind back to the subject. “If a guardian is neglecting his obligations, it is my duty to correct the situation.”

“And if I tell you to leave this alone, will you?”

Lorlen frowned. “Of course,” he said reluctantly.

“Can I trust you to?” Akkarin sighed. “When you have not done as I have asked concerning Dannyl?”

Surprised, Lorlen frowned at Akkarin. “Dannyl?”

“He has continued his investigations.”

Lorlen could not help feeling a trickle of hope at this news, but it quickly evaporated. If Akkarin knew this, whatever good might have come from it was already lost. “I sent him orders to abandon the work.”

“Then he hasn’t followed them.”

Lorlen hesitated. “What will you do?”

Akkarin drained his glass, then rose and walked toward the drinks table. “I haven’t decided. If he goes where I fear he may go, he will die—and not by my hand.”

Lorlen’s heart skipped a beat. “Can you warn him?”

Placing his glass on the table, Akkarin sighed. “It may be too late already. I shall have to weigh the risks.”

“Risks?” Lorlen frowned. “What risks?”

Akkarin turned and smiled. “You are full of questions tonight. I wonder if there is something in the spring water lately. Everyone seems to have grown so bold.” He turned away and refilled his glass, and another. “That is all I can tell you, for now. If I was free to tell you what I know, I would.”

He crossed the room and handed Lorlen a glass.

“For now, you’ll just have to trust me.”

34 If Only It Was That Simple

As they reached the curve of the road from where they had first seen Dem Ladeiri’s home, Dannyl and Tayend halted their mounts and turned to regard the building one last time. Their servants continued ahead, their horses walking slowly down the winding road.

“Who would have thought we’d find the answers to so many questions in that old place?” Tayend said, shaking his head.

Dannyl nodded. “It has been an interesting few days.”

“Now that’s an understatement.” Tayend’s lips curled up at one side, and he gave Dannyl a sidelong glance.

Smiling at the scholar’s expression, Dannyl looked up at the mountains above the Ladeiri house. The ruins of Armje lay beyond one of the ridges, hidden from sight.

Tayend shivered. “It makes me nervous, knowing that cavern is up there.”

“I doubt any magicians have visited Armje since Akkarin,” Dannyl said. “And that door can’t be opened without magic—or without breaking down the whole wall. I would have warned the Dem, but I didn’t want to tell him before consulting the Guild.”

Tayend nodded. He nudged his horse forward, and Dannyl’s followed. “We have some more information on this Charkan King, anyway. If we had a few weeks to spare, we could travel into Sachaka.”

“I’m still not sure that’s wise.”

“Akkarin probably went there. Why shouldn’t we?”

“We don’t know for sure if that’s where he went.”

“If we went there we might find evidence that he did. The Sachakans are sure to remember if a Guild magician passed their way. Have any other magicians visited Sachaka in the last ten or so years?”

Dannyl shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“If one had, surely he would have heard that another Guild magician had been in the country before him.”

“Perhaps.” Dannyl felt a nagging uneasiness. The thought of being around other magicians reminded him that, one day, he would have to return to the Guild. As if his colleagues might be able to see...

But, of course, they wouldn’t—couldn’t—know that from just looking at him. So, as long as he and Tayend were careful about discussing the matter, and he never allowed anyone to truth-read him, and he was cautious during mental communication, who could ever prove anything?

He looked at Tayend. Rothen would say I was cunning enough to discover—or hide—any secret, he mused.

—Dannyl.

Startled, Dannyl sat up straight in the saddle. Then he recognized the personality behind the mental call and was paralyzed by disbelief.

—Dannyl.

He felt panic rush over him. Why was Akkarin calling him? What did the High Lord want? Dannyl glanced at Tayend. Or had he heard that... but, no, surely that was not important enough to—

—Dannyl.

He had to answer. He could not ignore a call from the High Lord. Dannyl swallowed hard, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he closed his eyes and sent out a name.

—Akkarin?

—Where are you?

—In the mountains of Elyne. He sent an image of the road. I offered to take over Ambassador Errend’s biannual rounds of the Dems so that I might familiarize myself with the country.

—And so that you could continue your research despite Lorlen’s orders.

It was not a question. Dannyl was surprised at the relief he felt. If Akkarin had heard rumors about Tayend and... but he quickly turned his thoughts from that.

—Yes, he confirmed, deliberately thinking of the Tomb of White Tears and the mystery of the Charkan King. I continued out of my own interest. Lorlen did not indicate that I shouldn’t.

—Clearly your duties as Ambassador are not overly time consuming.

Dannyl winced. There was a definite feeling of disapproval behind Akkarin’s communication. Was he simply concerned that Dannyl was spending too much time on research or did he resent that another magician was continuing work he had abandoned? Or was he annoyed that someone was tracing a part of his own past? Does he have something to hide?

—I want to discuss what you have found in person. Return to the Guild at once, and bring your notes with you.

Surprised, Dannyl hesitated before asking:

—What of the rest of my journey to visit the Dems?

—You will return to complete your duties afterward.

—Very well... I will have to—

—Report to me when you arrive.

A tone of dismissal told Dannyl that the conversation was over. He opened his eyes and cursed.

“What happened?” Tayend asked.

“That was Ak— the High Lord.”

Tayend’s eyes widened. “What did he say?”

“He has learned about our research.” Dannyl sighed. “I don’t think he’s happy about it. He ordered me to return.”

“Return... to the Guild?”

“Yes. With our notes.”

Tayend stared at him in dismay, then his expression hardened.

“How did he find out?”

“I don’t know.” How had he? Remembering the tale of Akkarin’s ability to read unwilling minds, Dannyl shivered again. There was a moment there, when I thought of Tayend... did he detect anything?

“I’ll go with you,” Tayend said.

“No,” Dannyl said quickly, alarmed. “Believe me, you don’t want to be dragged into this.”

“But—”

“No, Tayend. Better he doesn’t learn how much you know.” Dannyl tapped the flanks of his horse with his heels, urging it into a trot. He thought of the long weeks of riding and sailing that lay between this day and facing Akkarin. He ought to wish he could delay that moment, but instead he wanted to hurry toward it because one thought bothered him more than any other.

What would happen to Tayend if Akkarin took exception to Dannyl continuing his research? Would the High Lord’s disapproval extend to the scholar? Could Tayend lose access to the Great Library?

Dannyl did not care what consequences he might suffer, so long as Tayend was not affected. Whatever happened, Dannyl would make sure the blame rested entirely with himself.

The garden seat was warm. Putting down her box, Sonea closed her eyes and enjoyed the heat of the sun on her face. She could hear the chatter of other novices, and the deeper voices of older magicians, coming nearer.

Opening her eyes, she watched as several Healers strolled down the path toward her. She recognized a few as younger graduates. They burst into laughter, then as the two at the front of the group stepped apart Sonea glimpsed a familiar face.

Dorrien!

Her heart skipped. Standing up, she hurried along one of the side paths, hoping he hadn’t seen her. She moved into a small area surrounded by hedges, and sat down on another garden seat.

She had forced Dorrien out of her thoughts, knowing that it would be months, possibly more than a year, before he visited the Guild again. But here he was only a few months after he had left. Why had he come back so soon? Had Rothen told him about Akkarin? Surely not. But perhaps he had unintentionally given Dorrien the feeling that something wasn’t right during one of their mental conversations.

She frowned. Whatever the reason, Dorrien would probably seek her out. She would have to tell him she was no longer interested in him as anything more than a friend. Now that was a conversation she would have to prepare herself for.

“Sonea.”

She jumped and looked up to find Dorrien standing in the entrance of the little garden.

“Dorrien!” She fought down panic. He must have seen her, and followed. At least she hadn’t needed to feign surprise. “You’re back already!”

He smiled and moved into the garden. “Just for a week. Didn’t Father tell you?”

“No... but we don’t see much of each other now.”

“So he said.” His smile disappeared. Sitting down, he regarded her questioningly. “He tells me you’re attending lessons at night, and spend most of your time studying.”

“Only because I’m a hopeless Warrior.”

“Not from what I’ve heard.”

She frowned. “What have you heard?”

“That you’ve been fighting several novices at once, and winning.”

Sonea winced.

“Or have I got the winning part wrong?”

“How many people know about this?”

“Most.”

Sonea cradled her head in her hands, and groaned. Dorrien chuckled and patted her lightly on the shoulder.

“Regin is at the head of this, isn’t he?”

“Of course.”

“Why hasn’t your new guardian done anything about it?”

Sonea shrugged. “I don’t think he knows. I don’t want him to know.”

“I see.” Dorrien nodded. “I suppose if Akkarin came to your rescue all the time, people would say you weren’t a good choice. The novices are all jealous of you, not realizing that they would be in the same situation if they were the High Lord’s favorite, even if they are from the Houses. Any novice he chose would be a target. Always expected to prove themselves.”

He fell silent, and she could see from his expression that he was thinking hard. “So it’s up to you to stop these novices.”

She laughed bitterly. “I don’t think baiting Regin will make any difference this time.”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that.”

“So what were you thinking?”

Dorrien smiled. “You have to prove you are the best. That you can beat him at his own game. What have you done so far to get him back?”

“Nothing. I can’t do anything. There are too many of them.”

“There must be novices who don’t like him,” he pointed out. “Persuade them to help you.”

“Nobody talks to me at all now.”

“Even now? I’m surprised. Surely some have seen an advantage in being a friend of the High Lord’s favorite.”

“I wouldn’t want their company if that’s all they wanted from me.”

“But so long as you know that is the reason they’re around, why not take advantage of the situation?”

“Perhaps because Regin arranged an accident for the last novice who did.”

Dorrien frowned. “Hmmm, I remember that now. Something else, then.” He fell silent again. Sonea struggled with a vague feeling of disappointment. She had hoped Dorrien would find some inventive way to end Regin’s ambushes, but perhaps the problem was beyond him this time.

“I think what Regin needs,” he said suddenly, “is a thorough, public beating.”

Sonea’s heart stopped. “You’re not going to—”

“Not from me. From you.”

“Me?”

“You are stronger than him, aren’t you? Quite a bit stronger, if the rumors are true.”

“Well, yes,” Sonea admitted. “That’s why he gets so many others to help him.”

“Then challenge him. A formal challenge. In the Arena.”

“A formal challenge?” She stared at him. “You mean... fight him in front of everybody?”

“Yes.”

“But...” She remembered something Lord Skoran had said. “There hasn’t been one for over fifty years—and it was between two adult magicians, not novices.”

“There’s no rule against novices making formal challenges.” Dorrien shrugged. “Of course, it is a risk. If you lose, the harassment will probably get worse. But if you’re so much stronger than him, how can you lose?”

“‘Skill can overcome strength,’ ” Sonea quoted.

“True, but you’re not unskilled.”

“I’ve never beaten him before.”

Dorrien’s eyebrow rose. “But if you are as strong as they say, your powers will have been limited in class, am I right?”

She nodded.

“They won’t be in a formal battle.”

Sonea felt a tiny spark of hope and excitement. “Is that so?”

“Yes. The idea is for the combatants to face each other as they are, no restraints or enhancements. It’s a ridiculous way to solve a dispute, really. No battle ever proved a man—or a woman—right or wrong.”

“But that’s not what this is about,” Sonea said slowly. “This is about persuading Regin that it’s not worth bothering me. Once he’s suffered a humiliating defeat, he won’t want to risk another.”

“You’ve got the idea.” Dorrien smiled. “Make your challenge as public as possible. He will be forced to accept it or dishonor his family name. Give him the most public thrashing you can bring yourself to deal out to the stupid boy. If he harasses you afterward, challenge him again. He’ll give you no reason to keep putting him in such a position.”

“Nobody else gets dragged into it,” Sonea breathed. “No one will get hurt and I won’t have to wheedle myself into any false friendships.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” he said soberly. “You’ll still need those supporters. He might decide that people will admire his determination if he fights you over and over, in search of a way to beat you. Gather other novices around yourself, Sonea.”

“But...”

“But?”

She sighed. “I’m not like that, Dorrien. I don’t want to be the leader of some petty gang.”

“That’s fine.” He smiled. “You don’t have to be like Regin. Just be enjoyable company, which you shouldn’t have any difficulty with. I think your company is very enjoyable.”

She looked away. I should say something to put him off now, she thought. But she could not think of anything. Looking at him again, she saw a wary, disappointed expression on his face, and realized she had told him enough by not saying anything.

He smiled, but this time there was no twinkle in his eyes. “What else have you been up to?”

“Not much. How is Rothen?”

“He misses you terribly. You know he considers you like a daughter, don’t you? It was hard enough on him when I left, but he knew I was going and had got used to the idea by the time it happened. With you, it was a bigger shock.”

Sonea nodded. “For both of us.”

Entering the classroom, Rothen directed the two volunteers toward the demonstration table. As the novices set down their burdens, he unlocked the supply cupboard and checked that there were enough utensils for the next class.

“Lord Rothen,” one of the boys said.

Looking up, Rothen followed the boy’s gaze toward the door. His heart skipped as he saw who was standing there.

“Lord Rothen,” Lorlen said. “I wish to speak to you in private.”

Rothen nodded. “Of course, Administrator.” He looked at the two novices and nodded toward the door. They hurried out of the room, pausing to bow to Lorlen.

As the door closed behind them, Lorlen strolled forward to the window, his expression taut and worried. Rothen watched him, knowing that only something very important would have brought the Administrator to him in defiance of Akkarin’s order that they not talk to each other.

Or had something happened to Sonea? Rothen felt dread rising. Had Lorlen come to bring the awful news, knowing that it would free him to confront Akkarin?

“A short time ago I saw your son in the garden,” Lorlen began. “Is he visiting for long?”

Rothen closed his eyes, relieved. This was about Dorrien, not Sonea.

“A week,” he replied.

“He was with Sonea.” Lorlen frowned. “Did they become... familiar when Dorrien visited last?”

Rothen drew in a sharp breath. He had guessed—and hoped—that Dorrien’s interest in Sonea had been more than just curiosity. From Lorlen’s question, enough was apparent between the pair for the Administrator to suspect something more. Rothen might have been pleased, but instead he felt only alarm. What would Akkarin do if he discovered this?

Rothen chose his words carefully. “Dorrien knows that it will be many years before Sonea is free to leave the Guild—and that she may not want to join him when that time comes.”

Lorlen nodded. “He may need a little more discouragement than that.”

“With Dorrien, discouragement is often taken as encouragement,” Rothen said wryly.

The look that Lorlen gave him was humorless. “You’re his father,” he snapped. “You of all people should know how to convince him.”

Rothen looked away. “I don’t want him involved in this any more than you do.”

Lorlen sighed and looked down at his hands. He wore a ring, and the ruby in the setting glittered in the light. “I’m sorry, Rothen. We have enough to worry about. I trust you will do everything you can. Do you think Sonea will see the danger and turn him away?”

“Yes.” Of course she would. Rothen felt a pang of sympathy for his son. Poor Dorrien! He would have half-expected Sonea to lose interest anyway, considering the years of study ahead of her and his long absences. But if Dorrien knew the real reason, it would probably drive him to do something foolish. Better that he didn’t know.

How did Sonea feel about this? Was it difficult to turn Dorrien away? Rothen sighed. How he wished he could ask her.

Lorlen moved to the door. “Thank you, Rothen. I will leave you to your preparations.”

Rothen nodded and watched the Administrator leave. Though he understood Lorlen’s resigned manner, he resented it. You’re supposed to find a way out of this, he thought at the man’s back. Then resentment changed to a feeling of hopelessness.

If Lorlen couldn’t find a way, then who could?

It’s still late, Sonea thought fuzzily. Not long past midnight. Why am I awake? Did something wake me...?

A faint chill touched her cheek. A breeze. Opening her eyes, she took a moment to register the square of darkness where there should have been a door. Something pale moved within that darkness. A hand.

By the next heartbeat she was completely awake. A pale oval floated above the hand. Otherwise, he was invisible in his black robes.

What is he doing? Why is he here?

Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She forced her breathing to slow and stay even, afraid of what he might do if he realized she was awake and aware of him. For an excruciatingly long time he stood there. Then, between one blink and the next, he was gone and the door was closed.

She stared at the door. Had it been a dream?

Better to believe it was. The alternative was too frightening. Yes, it must have been a nightmare...

When she woke next it was morning. The memory of dreams filled with dark figures and foreboding had joined the one of the night watcher, and she dismissed them all as she rose and dressed in her robes.

35 The Challenge

At first glance there was nothing wrong, but when Sonea looked closely she saw that the chemical in one vial was cloudy and the other’s contents had dried into a brown lump. The intricate arrangement of rods and weights in the timer was a shambles.

From the doorway behind her Sonea heard a low and familiar chuckle, followed by half-smothered sniggers. She straightened, but did not turn around.

After her conversation with Dorrien she had been full of confidence and ready to challenge Regin at the first opportunity, but as the day had continued, doubts had begun to grow. Every time she had thought about actually fighting Regin, the idea had seemed less brilliant and more foolish. Warrior Skills was Regin’s best subject, and her worst. She would never see the end of his harassment if she lost. It was not worth the risk.

By the end of the week, she had decided it was the worst move she could make. If she put up with him long enough, he might grow bored with her. She could endure being called names or being waylaid and tormented outside classes.

But not this. As she considered the ruin that was left of her work she felt a dark fury begin to simmer. When Regin did something like this, even if the teachers didn’t penalize her for failing an exercise, he stopped her from learning. And when he stopped her from learning, he lessened the chances that she might, one day, be skilled enough to help the Guild defeat Akkarin.

She felt something shift inside as her fury grew stronger. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to blast Regin into ashes.

“Give him the most public thrashing you can bring yourself to deal out to the stupid boy. If he harasses you afterward, challenge him again. He’ll give you no reason to keep putting him in such a position.”

A formal battle. It was a risk. But waiting was a gamble, too. He might never grow bored and leave her alone. And she didn’t like waiting...

“Make your challenge as public as possible.”

Slowly, she turned to see that Regin and the novices from the earlier class were standing in the doorway, watching her. Walking toward them, she pushed her way through and out of the classroom. Novices and teachers filled the corridor outside. The buzz of voices was loud, but not too loud for a single voice to be heard above it. A magician in purple robes appeared, heading toward the classroom. Lord Sarrin, Head of Alchemy. Perfect.

“What’s wrong, Sonea?” Regin sneered. “Didn’t your experiment work?”

Sonea spun about to face Regin.

“Regin, of the family Winar, House Paren, I challenge you to a formal battle in the Arena.”

Regin’s face froze into open-mouthed surprise.

Silence seemed to spread outward like smoke. In the edges of her vision, Sonea saw faces turning in her direction. Even Lord Sarrin had stopped. She forced aside a nagging feeling that she had just done something she would always regret. Too late now.

Regin managed to close his mouth. His expression became thoughtful. She wondered if he was going to refuse, to say she was not worth fighting. Give him no time to think of it.

“Do you accept?” she demanded.

He hesitated, then smiled broadly. “I accept, Sonea of no family of consequence.”

At once a whispering and murmuring began in the corridor. Afraid that her courage would fail if she looked around, Sonea kept her eyes on Regin. He glanced back at his companions, then laughed. “Oh, this is going to be—”

“The time is yours to choose,” she snapped.

His smile vanished for a second, then returned.

“I guess I had better give you some time to catch up,” he said lightly. “Freeday, a week from tomorrow, an hour before sunset. That sounds generous enough.”

“Sonea,” an older voice said.

She turned to see Lord Elben striding toward her. He glanced at the audience that had gathered, and frowned. “Your experiment has failed. I checked it last night, and this morning, and I can see no cause. I will give you another day to attempt it again.”

She bowed. “Thank you, Lord Elben.”

He considered the novices lingering in the doorway. “Enough chatter, then. Classes are held inside the rooms as far as I’m aware.”

“You drink more siyo than last time, eh?”

Dannyl handed the flask to Jano and nodded. “I think I’m getting a taste for it.”

The sailor looked a little worried. “You not going to do magic wrongly from drink, are you?”

Dannyl sighed and shook his head. “I’m not that drunk yet, but I wouldn’t want us to encounter any sea leeches.”

Jano patted his shoulder. “No eyoma this far south, remember.”

“I’m not likely to forget,” Dannyl muttered. His comment was smothered as the sailors cheered. A member of the crew had just entered the room. The man grinned and moved to his hanging bed. Pulling a small pottery wind instrument from a bag, he strolled over to take his place at the head of the table.

As the man began to play, Dannyl thought of the last week. He and Tayend had made it back to Capia within three days, travelling directly and changing horses several times. Tayend had remained at his sister’s home, while Dannyl continued to the city. Stopping at the Guild House only long enough to pack a small chest of clothing, Dannyl had found and boarded a ship leaving for Imardin that night.

He’d been pleased to find himself back on the Fin-da. Jano had greeted him like an old friend, and assured him that the journey home would be swifter, as they would catch the spring winds.

Jano hadn’t mentioned that the spring winds made for a rougher ride. Dannyl would not have cared, except that the unpleasant conditions kept him inside for most of the day, where he spent hours worrying about the reception that awaited him at the Guild.

His fears that Akkarin had sensed something of his feelings toward Tayend had grown since boarding the ship. During his stop at the Guild House, Errend had handed Dannyl some letters to read. Finding one from Rothen, Dannyl had opened it eagerly, only to find it contained a warning.

...I would not be overly concerned about these rumors. In any case, they concern your assistant, not yourself. But I thought you should be told so that you may judge for yourself whether this might cause you trouble in the future...

Rothen clearly thought that Dannyl didn’t know about Tayend. This was exactly what they had wanted the Elyne court to believe, but now that he had been “informed,” the Elynes—and Kyralians—would expect him to avoid Tayend’s company.

Unless no one knew that Rothen had told him. He could pretend he hadn’t received the letter... but no, as soon as he arrived in the Guild, Rothen would want to know if he had received it, and would repeat the warning if he hadn’t.

But what of Akkarin? Dannyl wasn’t sure how the High Lord had learned of his research. What if those sources had also spoken of Dannyl’s “friendship” with Tayend? What if Akkarin’s suspicions had been confirmed during their brief mental communication?

Dannyl sighed. For a few days, everything had been wonderful. He had been happier than he had ever been in his life. Then... this.

As the flask was passed to him again, he took another sip of the potent liquor. So long as Tayend doesn’t suffer for knowing me, he thought, I will be content.

The Night Room was crowded. Not since the hunt for Sonea had Lorlen seen it so full. Magicians who rarely joined in the weekly social gathering were present now.

The most notable of these was the man at his side. The sea of red, green and purple robes parted before Akkarin as he made his way to the chair that was, unofficially, his.

Akkarin was enjoying himself. To others, his neutral expression suggested indifference, but Lorlen knew better. If Akkarin didn’t want to participate in a discussion about his favorite novice challenging another, he wouldn’t be here. The three Heads of Disciplines were already seated around Akkarin’s chair, and a small crowd began to gather as the High Lord settled into his seat. Among them, Lorlen noted, was Rothen’s son, Dorrien.

“It appears your favorite novice has found a way to entertain us yet again, Akkarin,” Lady Vinara said. “I’m beginning to wonder what we can expect from her after she has graduated.”

The corner of Akkarin’s mouth curled upward. “As am I.”

“Was this challenge your idea or hers?” Balkan rumbled.

“It was not mine.”

Balkan’s brows rose. “And did she seek your approval?”

“No, but I believe there is no rule that requires it, though perhaps there should be.”

“Then you would have refused, had she asked?”

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “Not necessarily. If she had sought my view on the matter, I might have advised her to wait.”

“Perhaps this was a spontaneous decision,” suggested Lord Peakin, who was standing behind Vinara’s chair.

“No,” Lord Sarrin replied. “She chose a moment when she was assured of numerous witnesses. Regin had no option but to accept.”

Seeing the Head of Alchemists glance pointedly to one side, Lorlen followed his gaze. Lord Garrel was standing among the gathered magicians, wearing a slight frown.

“So if she planned this, she must be confident of winning,” Peakin concluded. “Do you agree with her, Lord Balkan?”

The Warrior shrugged. “She is strong, but a skilled opponent might overcome her.”

“And Regin?”

“He is more skilled than the average Second Year.”

“Skilled enough to win?”

Balkan glanced at Akkarin. “Skilled enough that the outcome will not be easily predicted.”

“Do you believe she will win?” Vinara asked of Akkarin.

The High Lord paused before answering. “Yes.”

She smiled. “But of course you do. She is your novice, and you must be seen to support her.”

Akkarin nodded. “That is true, as well.”

“She is, no doubt, doing this to please you.” Hearing Garrel’s voice, Lorlen looked up in surprise.

“I doubt it,” Akkarin replied.

Surprised at this admission, Lorlen glanced at Akkarin, then carefully noted the other magicians’ expressions. None looked surprised. Only Rothen’s son, Dorrien, looked thoughtful. Perhaps it had been noted that Sonea was not at all fond of her guardian.

“Then what is her motivation?” Peakin asked.

“If she wins, Regin will not bully her again for fear of another challenge, and another defeat,” Vinara answered.

There was a pause, in which glances were exchanged. By speaking of the bullying openly in front of both Akkarin and Garrel, Vinara had drawn attention to the potential for conflict between the two guardians. While none usually balked at raising the subject of feuding novices around their guardians, few would dare to do so when one of the guardians was the High Lord. It put Garrel in an interesting position.

Neither guardian spoke.

“That depends on how the battles progress,” Balkan said, breaking the silence. “If she wins with mere brute strength, none will respect her.”

“That makes no difference,” Sarrin argued. “No matter how she wins, Regin won’t bother her again. I doubt she cares whether anyone else respects her fighting skills.”

“There are methods of defeating a stronger magician,” Balkan reminded him. “Regin knows this. He has already sought my instruction on such tactics.”

“And Sonea? Will she receive extra instruction from you as well?” Vinara asked Balkan.

“Lord Yikmo is her teacher,” Akkarin replied.

Balkan nodded. “His teaching style is better suited to her temperament.”

“Who will oversee the fight?” another magician asked.

“I will,” Balkan said. “Unless anyone protests. Lord Garrel will protect Regin. Will you be protecting Sonea?” he asked Akkarin.

“Yes.”

“Here’s Sonea’s tutor,” Lord Sarrin observed, pointing. Lorlen turned to see that Lord Yikmo had just strolled into the room. The Warrior stopped and looked around, clearly surprised by the crowd. As his eyes rested on the magicians gathered around Akkarin, his eyebrows rose. Sarrin beckoned.

“Good evening, High Lord, Administrator,” Yikmo said as he reached the chairs.

“Lord Yikmo,” Peakin said. “You must be planning for a few late nights.”

Yikmo frowned. “Late nights?”

Peakin chuckled. “So she’s that good, is she? Doesn’t need the extra practice?”

The young magician’s frown deepened. “Practice?”

Vinara took pity on the man. “Sonea has challenged Regin to a formal battle.”

Yikmo stared at her, then at the faces watching him, his own slowly turning white.

“She did what?”

Sonea paced her room, wringing her hands. What have I done? Let my anger get the better of me, that’s what. I don’t know anything about fighting. All I’m going to do is make a fool of myself in front of—

“Sonea.”

Turning, Sonea blinked in surprise at the man standing in the doorway of her room. No one had ever visited her in the High Lord’s Residence before.

“Lord Yikmo,” she said, bowing.

“You’re not ready yet, Sonea.”

She flinched, suddenly fearful. If Yikmo didn’t think she could win...

“I was hoping you’d help me with that, my lord.”

Several expressions ran across Yikmo’s face. Consternation. Thoughtfulness. Interest. He frowned and ran his hands through his hair.

“I understand why you’re doing this, Sonea. But I don’t have to remind you that Garrel is an accomplished Warrior and that Regin’s skills are better than yours—despite all I have taught you. He has a week to prepare, and Balkan has agreed to tutor him.”

Balkan! This is only getting worse! Sonea looked down at her hands. They weren’t shaking, she was relieved to see, but her stomach was fluttering so much she felt sick.

“But I am stronger, and the rules of a challenge don’t require any limits on strength,” she pointed out.

“You can’t rely on your strength to win the match for you, Sonea,” Yikmo warned. “There are ways around it. I’m sure Balkan will ensure Regin knows them all.”

“Then you had better ensure I do, too,” she retorted. Surprised at the determination in her own voice, she grimaced apologetically. “Will you help me?”

He smiled. “Of course. I could hardly abandon the High Lord’s favorite now.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“But don’t think I’m doing this only out of respect for your guardian.”

Surprised, she looked at him closely and was amazed to see approval in his gaze. Of all the teachers, she would never have expected to gain the respect of a Warrior.

“You do realize that people will watch me teaching you,” he said. “They will report everything to Regin and Lord Garrel.”

“I have thought about that.”

“And?”

“What... what about the Dome?”

Yikmo’s eyebrows rose, then he grinned broadly. “I’m sure it can be arranged.”

36 The Battle Begins

As the carriage passed through the Guild Gates, Dannyl looked up at the University. The Guild buildings were so familiar, but now they seemed foreign and forbidding. He looked toward the High Lord’s Residence.

Especially that one.

He glanced at the satchel lying on the seat beside him, then picked it up. In it was a copy of the notes that he and Tayend had gathered, rewritten so that nothing in them read like a retracing of Akkarin’s journey. He chewed on his lip. If Akkarin believes any of this was an investigation of his past, this could infuriate him further. But I’ll be in trouble anyway, so it’s worth the risk.

The carriage stopped and rocked a little as the driver clambered down to the ground. The door opened. Dannyl stepped out and turned to the driver.

“Send my travel chest to my rooms,” Dannyl ordered. The man bowed, and moved to the back of the carriage, where the chest was roped to a narrow tray.

Tucking the satchel under his arm, Dannyl started down the path to the High Lord’s Residence. As he walked, he noticed that the gardens were empty, which was unusual for a sunny Freeday afternoon. Where is everyone?

By the time he reached the door of the Residence, his mouth was dry and his heart was beating too fast. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to the door handle. Before he could close his fingers around it, the door swung inward.

A servant stepped forward and bowed. “The High Lord is waiting for you in the library, Ambassador Dannyl. Please follow me.”

Stepping inside, Dannyl glanced appreciatively around the luxuriously decorated guestroom. He had never entered the High Lord’s Residence before. The servant opened a door, ushering Dannyl up a spiral staircase. At the top, he walked down a short corridor to a pair of open doors on the right.

The walls of the room inside were lined with books. What secrets might I find in them? Dannyl wondered. Any information about—?

Then he saw the desk at one side of the room, and the black-robed magician sitting behind it, watching him. He felt his heart skip a beat, then start racing.

“Welcome home, Ambassador Dannyl.”

Get a hold of yourself! Dannyl thought sternly. He inclined his head politely to Akkarin. “Thank you, High Lord.”

Hearing the doors close, Dannyl glanced back to see that the servant had left. Now I’m trapped... He pushed the thought away, stepped forward and placed the satchel on Akkarin’s desk.

“My notes,” he said. “As you requested.”

“Thank you,” Akkarin replied. One pale hand picked up the satchel, the other waved toward a chair. “Sit down. You must be tired from the journey.”

Dannyl sank into the chair gratefully and watched as Akkarin leafed through his notes. Dannyl soothed away a nagging headache. The previous evening he had drunk a little too much siyo in an attempt to stop imagining what he might face the next day.

“You visited the Splendid Temple, I see.”

Dannyl swallowed. “Yes.”

“Did the High Priest allow you to read the scrolls?”

“He read them to me—after I vowed to keep their contents a secret.”

Akkarin smiled faintly. “And the Tomb of White Tears?”

“Yes. A fascinating place.”

“Which led you to Armje?”

“Not directly. If I had continued the course of my research, I might have entered Sachaka, but my duties as Ambassador did not allow for such a journey.”

Akkarin stilled. “Crossing the border would be... inadvisable.” He looked up and met Dannyl’s eyes, his expression disapproving. “Sachaka is not part of the Allied Lands and, as a member of the Guild, you should not enter unless under orders of the King.”

Dannyl shook his head. “I hadn’t considered that, but I was not about to go blundering into an unknown land without making some inquiries here first.”

Akkarin regarded Dannyl thoughtfully, then glanced down at the notes. “So why did you visit Armje?”

“Dem Ladeiri suggested I see the ruins while I was visiting him.”

Akkarin frowned. “He did, did he?” He fell silent then, reading the notes. After several minutes he made a small noise of surprise, then looked up and stared at Dannyl.

“You survived?”

Guessing what Akkarin was referring to, Dannyl nodded. “Yes, though it exhausted me.”

As Akkarin continued reading, Dannyl wondered if he had ever seen the man express astonishment before. He decided he hadn’t, and felt a strange pride that he, of all people, had managed to surprise the High Lord.

“So you overcame the barrier,” Akkarin mused. “Interesting. Perhaps the chamber is losing strength. The power must dwindle eventually.”

“May I ask a question?” Dannyl ventured.

Akkarin looked up, one eyebrow raised. “You may ask.”

“If you had encountered this Chamber of Ultimate Punishment before, why didn’t you tell anyone here about it?”

“I did.” The corner of Akkarin’s mouth twitched upward. “But since it was impossible for anyone to investigate without triggering an attack—and for additional reasons of a political nature—it was decided that its existence should be known by only the highest magicians. Which means that I must order you to keep your knowledge of it to yourself.”

Dannyl nodded. “I understand.”

“It is unfortunate, indeed, that my warning had crumbled away.” Akkarin paused, his eyes narrowing. “Was there any sign that it might have been removed deliberately?”

Surprised, Dannyl thought of the wall, and what had been left of Akkarin’s name. “I couldn’t say.”

“Someone must investigate. That place could too easily become a death trap for magicians.”

“I will return there myself, if you wish.”

Akkarin regarded him thoughtfully, then nodded. “Yes. It would probably be best that no others learn of the place. Your assistant knows, does he not?”

Dannyl hesitated, and again he wondered how much Akkarin had sensed during their brief mental communication. “Yes—but I believe Tayend can be trusted.”

Akkarin’s gaze flickered slightly, and he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as a knock sounded on the library door. His eyes shifted to the door, alert. The doors swung inward.

The servant stepped inside and bowed. “Lord Yikmo has arrived, High Lord.”

Akkarin nodded. As the doors closed again, he regarded Dannyl speculatively. “You may return to Elyne in a week.” He closed the satchel. “I will read these, and may wish to discuss them with you again. But for now,” he stood up, “I have a formal battle to attend.”

Dannyl blinked in surprise. “A formal battle?”

The High Lord almost seemed to smile. “My novice has, perhaps foolishly, challenged another to a fight.”

Sonea challenged Regin to a fight! As the possibilities and consequences of this dawned on Dannyl, he chuckled. “This I have to see.”

Akkarin strode out of the library. Dannyl followed, feeling surprised and relieved. There had been no hard questions about the reasons for the research. It almost seemed as if Akkarin was pleased with Dannyl’s progress. Dannyl and Tayend—and Lorlen—hadn’t earned themselves the High Lord’s disapproval. Neither had Rothen, though hopefully Akkarin didn’t know about Rothen’s new “interest” in ancient magic.

And nothing had been said about Tayend.

All that remained was to face Rothen. Dannyl’s mentor would be surprised to see him. Dannyl hadn’t warned Rothen of his visit, since no letter could have travelled faster than he had, and he would not risk communicating by mind. Rothen had always been able to read more of Dannyl’s thoughts than was intended. Dannyl did not know how well Rothen might take the news that his former novice was guilty of being what Fergun had claimed he was. He did not want to lose his only close friend in the Guild.

Yet he had decided he would not deny the rumors concerning Tayend. It would be too easy for Rothen to discover the lie. He would just have to reassure Rothen that he was not risking his honor by association. The Elynes were a tolerant people, and he was expected to be the same.

In a few weeks he would be back in Elyne with the High Lord’s permission to investigate Armje between fulfilling his ambassadorial duties. And he would be with Tayend.

If anything, his situation was better than before.

Sonea reknotted the sash of her robe and smoothed the material. It seemed too thin and flimsy today. I feel like I ought to be donning armor, not robes.

Closing her eyes, she wished she had someone fussing about her while she prepared. Naturally, Yikmo could not be in her room while she changed into fresh robes. Neither could Akkarin, for which she was profoundly grateful. No, it was Tania she missed now. Rothen’s servant would have made Sonea promise to come out of this day the victor, and at the same time reassured her that losing wouldn’t matter to the people who loved her.

She drew in a deep breath and, finding the sash too constricting, loosened it a little. Today she might need more freedom of movement. She glanced at the tray of sweets and savory buns Viola had brought earlier. Feeling her stomach clench, she turned away and started pacing again.

She had an advantage—or two. While Yikmo’s “spies” had reported everything that Regin had been doing in the Arena for the past week, her own training had been hidden within the claustrophobic confines of the Dome. Yikmo had shown her every strategy that a weaker magician could use against a stronger one. He had drilled her in all the methods that he knew Garrel and Balkan had taught Regin, plus a few more.

Of her own guardian, she had seen little. But his influence was everywhere. The protests against novices involving themselves in formal battles had ended within a day. Balkan obviously disapproved of Sonea using the Dome, but had not forbidden it. And when Sonea first entered the Dome, Yikmo had told her that the High Lord had strengthened the spherical structure to ensure that she would not accidentally damage it.

It hadn’t occurred to her until the following evening that the magic he had used might have been gained through black magic. She had lain awake, her conscience uneasy at the possibility that the magic that aided her petty squabble with another novice might have come from some stranger’s death.

But she could not refuse Akkarin’s help, not without raising suspicion. Even if she pretended she did not want it out of pride, he had nominated himself as her protector during the battle. His magic would form the inner shield that would save her if her own failed. The thought made her more than a little uneasy. If it weren’t for Rothen and Lorlen, she would have been worried that he might use the battle as an opportunity to be rid of her.

At a knock on her door, she spun around, heart suddenly racing again. It must be time at last, she thought. Relief was quickly replaced with a rush of terror. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she approached the door. Opening it, she felt her heartbeat quicken once more as she faced Akkarin, but, seeing another man behind him, her fear was replaced with surprise as she recognized Dannyl.

“High Lord,” she said, bowing. “Ambassador Dannyl.”

“Lord Yikmo has arrived,” Akkarin told her.

Taking another deep breath, Sonea hurried down the stairs. She found Lord Yikmo pacing back and forth in Akkarin’s guestroom. His head snapped up as she entered the room.

“Sonea! You’re ready. Good. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” She smiled, conscious of the magicians still descending the stairs. “How can I not be after all you have taught me?”

He smiled crookedly. “Your confidence in me is...” He paused, sobering as Akkarin and Dannyl stepped into the room. “Good morning, High Lord, Ambassador Dannyl.”

“I gathered you were here for my novice,” the High Lord said. “So I sent her down.”

“Indeed I am,” Yikmo replied. He looked at Sonea. “We’d best not keep Regin waiting.”

The main door swung open, and Akkarin gestured toward it. Feeling the magicians’ eyes on her, Sonea crossed the room and stepped out into the sunlight.

As she started down the path to the University, Yikmo fell into step on her right, and Akkarin on her left. Footsteps from behind told her that Dannyl was following. She resisted an urge to look back, wondering what business he had with Akkarin. Something important, or he would not have returned from Elyne.

Her companions were silent as they walked toward the University. Sonea glanced at Yikmo once, but he only smiled in reply. She didn’t look at Akkarin, but was acutely aware of his presence. Never before had she felt like the High Lord’s favorite. It made her too conscious of the Guild’s expectations. If she lost...

Think of something else, she told herself. As they neared the University, she turned her mind to remembering Yikmo’s lessons.

“Regin will try to make you waste your power. The best way to do that is through deception and trickery.”

Trickery was certainly part of Regin’s fighting style. He had surprised her many times during the First Year Warrior Skills classes with false strikes.

“Much of what you have learned will be irrelevant. You will not need to use projection in the Arena: there is nothing in there to move. Stunstrike is allowed, but considered ill-mannered. Mindstrike is forbidden, naturally, though it would only be useful as a distraction.”

Regin had never used mindstrike against her, since they hadn’t yet learned how to do it.

“Don’t gesture! You give away your intentions. A good Warrior does not move during a battle, not even the muscles in his face.”

Yikmo always referred to “the Warrior” as “he,” which she found amusing at first, then irritating. When she had complained he had laughed. “Lady Vinara would approve,” he had said. “But Balkan would tell you, ‘When more Warriors are women than men, I will mend my ways.’ ”

Sonea smiled at the memory, and so was smiling when she walked past the University into the view of the crowd of magicians waiting outside the Arena.

“Is everyone here?” she gasped.

“Probably,” Yikmo said lightly. “Regin chose a Freeday to face you, so that there would be a large crowd to witness his defeat.”

Sonea felt the blood drain from her face. Novices and magicians stood watching her. Even non-magicians—wives, husbands, children and servants—had come along for the spectacle. There were hundreds of people watching her. Heads turned to watch as she, flanked by her teacher and guardian, entered the crowd. The Higher Magicians stood in a line. Yikmo guided her toward them, and as he stopped she bowed. Formal greetings were exchanged, but she was too distracted to pay much attention until her name was spoken.

“Well, Sonea. Your adversary awaits your pleasure,” Lord Balkan said, gesturing.

Following his motion, she saw Regin and Lord Garrel standing by a hedge clipped into an archway. The path that ran through it led directly to the Arena.

“Good luck, Sonea,” Lorlen said, smiling.

“Thank you, Administrator.” Her voice sounded small, and she felt a flash of annoyance at herself. She was the challenger. She ought to be striding into this battle with eager confidence.

As she started toward the Arena, Yikmo placed a hand on her arm. “Keep your wits about you, and you’ll do fine,” he murmured. He stepped away, and waved her on.

With only Akkarin beside her now, she approached the archway. As she met Regin’s eyes his face twisted into a sneer, bringing back a memory of the first time she had seen him, before the Acceptance Ceremony. She stared back defiantly.

Sensing the gaze of Lord Garrel, she turned her attention to him. The magician was staring at her with unconcealed dislike and anger. Surprised, she wondered why he was so angry. Did he resent the extra time he’d had to spend preparing his novice for this fight? Had it offended him that she’d had the audacity to challenge his nephew? Or did he resent her for putting him in a position of opposition with the High Lord?

Do I care? No. If he’d had any foresight, he would have stopped Regin from harassing her after she had become the High Lord’s favorite. The thought that this challenge might have caused him inconvenience brought a smile to her face once more. Turning away, she stepped through the arch and strode toward the Arena.

With Akkarin at her side, she descended into the Arena portal. Emerging, she walked to the center of the sandy floor and stopped. Garrel, Regin and Balkan had followed her in. Outside the circle of spires, the crowd of magicians and novices was spreading around the structure, some sitting down on the tiered stairs.

She glanced at Regin. He was looking out at the crowd, his expression unusually sober. She let her eyes skim the watchers, then stopped as she saw Rothen standing among them, Dorrien at his side. Dorrien grinned and waved. Rothen managed a thin smile.

Balkan stepped between her and Regin, raised his arms and waited as the buzz of voices from the audience faded.

“It has been many years since two magicians have seen fit to resolve a dispute or prove their skill by formal battle in the Arena,” Balkan began. “Today we will witness the first such event in fifty-two years. To my right stands the challenger, Sonea, favored novice of the High Lord. To my left stands the adversary, Regin, of the family Winar, House Paren, favored novice of Lord Garrel.

“The combatants’ guardians have nominated themselves as protectors. They may now form an inner shield around their novices.”

Sonea felt a hand touch her shoulder lightly. She shivered at the sensation, then looked down at herself. Akkarin’s shield was almost undetectable. She resisted an urge to test it.

“The protectors may now leave the Arena.”

She watched as Akkarin and Garrel strode into the portal. As the pair emerged outside the Arena, she saw that Garrel’s face was dark with anger and Akkarin looked bemused. Clearly, something had been said to upset Regin’s guardian. Had Akkarin made some jibe? Despite herself, she felt an unexpected satisfaction at the thought. But the feeling evaporated as Balkan spoke again.

“The combatants may take their positions.”

At once, Regin spun on his heel and began to walk to the other side of the Arena. Turning away, Sonea started in the other direction. She took a few slow, deep breaths. Soon she would need to focus all her attention on Regin. She would have to ignore all the people who were watching and think only of the fight.

A few steps from the edge of the Arena, she turned around. Balkan was walking toward the portal. Then he was inside it. Then he appeared at the top of the stairs outside the Arena and stepped on top of the portal.

“The victor must win the majority of five bouts,” he told the watchers. “A bout is over when an inner shield is struck with a force counted as a fatal hit. Mindstrike is forbidden. If a combatant uses magic before a battle has officially commenced, he or she cedes that bout. A battle commences when I say ‘begin’ and ends when I say ‘halt.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” Sonea replied. Regin echoed her words.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, my lord.” Again, Regin’s answer followed hers.

Balkan lifted a hand and placed it close to the Arena’s barrier. He sent out a pulse of power, which flashed over the dome. Sonea looked at Regin.

“Begin!”

Regin stood with his arms crossed, but the mocking smile she had expected wasn’t there. She saw the air ripple with power as he let loose the first strike. It struck her shield a heartbeat after she sent her reply.

His shield remained strong, but he did not strike again. She could see his brow creased in a frown. No doubt he was considering how best to trick her into wasting her powers.

The air between them wavered again as he sent magic toward her, this time in a multiple attack. The strikes flashed faintly white, sensed more than seen. They looked like forcestrikes... but either they were strong enough to gain the tint of white, or they...

Sonea felt the first strikes hit her shield with a soft patter and chuckled. He was trying to trick her into strengthening her shield too much. She almost reduced it, but a difference in the way the air shimmered between them alerted her to something new. As a full forcestrike battered her shield she thanked her instincts, for it was strong enough to push her back a step.

The rain of weak strikes continued, so she sent one powerful beam of energy in return. Regin abandoned his attack and threw up a strong barrier, but an instant before her strike hit she exerted her will and the heatstrike suddenly split into a shower of red stunstrikes that vanished against Regin’s shield.

Regin’s face twisted with anger. Sonea smiled as she heard murmuring around the Arena. The joke was not lost on the magicians. They must have heard how Regin had used stunstrikes on her.

The next attack from Regin was quick but easily evaded. Sonea played on his anger, returning only with stunstrikes. She didn’t bother to disguise it; he was alert to that trick now. Though this meant the battle was going nowhere, she could not resist taunting him. She had plenty of energy to spare, and anger might spur him into making a foolish move. Using stunstrike in battle was considered bad mannered, however, and was not going to endear her to anyone in the Guild.

Regin suddenly threw a steady rain of strikes at her. Forcestrikes, heatstrikes, all of varying intensity. Sonea’s shield glowed faintly with their power. She returned with her own barrage, recognizing the simple ploy. When so many varying strikes were dealt out, the defender had two choices: hold a shield that could block the most potent of the strikes while keeping watch for anything stronger, or try to conserve strength by modifying the shield for each strike.

She matched his attack with her own, and saw that he was modifying his shield. It took a great deal of concentration to do this while attacking at the same time. His face was rigid and his eyes darted from strike to strike, showing the effort it was taking.

He might wear her down eventually this way. She knew that one potent strike would force him to break off the attack, but that would use even more of her power, which was what he wanted.

But his ploy was also his weakness. His defense would only work if he noticed every strike she sent. So I need to do something unexpected.

Changing the direction of a strike once it had been let loose took extra effort, but not as much as a strong blast of power. Concentrating, she turned the path of one of her forcestrikes so that, at the last moment, it shot around and struck him from behind.

Regin staggered forward. His eyes widened, then narrowed and burned with anger.

“Halt!”

Sonea abandoned her attack and let her shield fall. She looked up at Balkan expectantly.

“The first victory goes to Sonea.”

The air rilled with voices as magicians turned to each other to debate what they had just seen. Sonea tried to smother a smile, then gave in to it. I won the first bout! She looked at Regin. His face was dark with fury.

Balkan lifted his arms. The chatter ceased.

“Are you ready to begin the second battle?” he asked Sonea and Regin.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered. Regin’s reply was curt.

Balkan placed a hand against the Arena’s barrier.

“Begin!”

37 The High Lord’s Favorite

Lorlen smiled as the two novices turned to face each other again. Sonea’s first victory had been everything it needed to be. She hadn’t won by strength, but by finding a hole in Regin’s defense. Glancing at Lord Yikmo, he was surprised to find the Warrior frowning.

“You don’t look pleased, Lord Yikmo,” Lorlen murmured.

The Warrior smiled. “I am. This is the first time she’s beaten Regin. But it is easy to lose focus in the elation of winning a battle.”

As Sonea attacked Regin with obvious eagerness, Lorlen felt a little of Yikmo’s concern. Don’t be overconfident, Sonea, he thought. Regin will be wary now.

Regin defended himself easily, then attacked. Soon the air within the Arena was sizzling with magic. Suddenly Sonea threw her arms wide and looked down, her attack faltering. Lorlen heard the sharp intake of breaths around him, but Sonea’s shield held under Regin’s increased attack.

Looking at the ground under Sonea’s feet, he saw that the sand was shifting about. A disc of power was discernible beneath the soles of her boots. She was levitating just above the ground.

Lorlen knew the tactic. A magician might expect a strike from any direction but not from below. It was tempting to end one’s shield where it met the ground to save power. Sonea’s shield had obviously extended below her feet, and her knowledge of levitation had saved her from the indignity of being sent sprawling across the Arena by the shifting and bucking sand. Levitation, he recalled, wasn’t taught until the Third Year.

“Wise move, teaching her that,” Lorlen said.

Yikmo shook his head. “I didn’t.”

Sonea’s face was tense. The concentration required to levitate, shield to and attack was demanding, and her attack had changed to a simple pattern of strikes that was easy to block. Lorlen knew she ought to force Regin to use just as much power and concentration. The sand under Regin’s feet began to boil, but he simply stepped sideways. At the same time, Sonea threw her arms out again from another subterranean onslaught, and her attack faltered.

“Halt!”

“The second victory goes to Regin.”

A faint cheer went up from the novices. While Regin grinned and waved at his friends, Sonea frowned, obviously annoyed with herself.

“Good,” said Yikmo.

Bemused, Lorlen looked at the Warrior questioningly.

“She needed that,” Yikmo explained.

In the short pause between bouts, Rothen looked for Dannyl among the magicians on the other side of the Arena. He had disappeared from his previous place among the Higher Magicians. Rothen frowned, torn between watching the battle and seeking out his friend.

He had been astonished to see Dannyl arrive with Sonea, Yikmo and Akkarin. Dannyl had sent no word that he would be visiting the Guild, not even a brief mental communication. Did that mean his return had been a secret?

Obviously it was a secret no longer. By appearing with Sonea and the High Lord, Dannyl had revealed his presence to everyone watching. But it was his appearance in company with the High Lord that bothered Rothen most. And Dannyl had sent no notes or letters for several weeks now.

Questions followed questions. Had Rothen’s request been discovered by Akkarin? Or was Dannyl merely assisting the High Lord in an ambassadorial matter? Or was it a darker matter, and Dannyl was unaware that he was helping a black magician? Or had he discovered the truth about Akkarin?

“Hello, old friend.”

Jumping at the voice at his shoulder, Rothen turned around. Dannyl smiled, obviously pleased with himself for startling his mentor. He nodded to Dorrien, who greeted him warmly.

“Dannyl! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” Rothen demanded.

Dannyl smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should have let you know. I was ordered back unexpectedly.”

“For what?”

The young magician looked away. “Just to report to the High Lord.”

Called back unexpectedly just to report to the High Lord? Hearing Balkan call the start of the next bout, Rothen was torn between questioning Dannyl and watching Sonea. He turned back to watch the battle. If Dannyl was willing to discuss his meeting with Akkarin, he probably wouldn’t want to while standing in a crowd of magicians. No, Rothen decided. I will question him later.

Regin had adopted a bold and risky defense. Instead of shielding, he directed his strikes at Sonea. As his magic hammered into hers the Arena filled with shattered streaks of energy, each too weak to bother the two novices. A few reached the Arena’s barrier and sent shivers of lightning across it. Through all this, Regin was also sending extra strikes directly at Sonea. Though she defended herself easily, it was clear that she was using more power than Regin simply by keeping her shield up.

She countered this by increasing her attack. Regin’s ploy would only work if he caught all the strikes aimed at him. If he missed any he would have to create a shield very quickly.

As Rothen watched, this happened: one of Sonea’s strikes slipped through. Before Rothen could suck in a breath of anticipation the strike encountered a hastily raised shield.

Sonea began to advance on Regin, shortening the distance between them so he was forced to react faster. When the pair was only ten strides apart, Regin’s strikes suddenly appeared to reverse. He staggered backward and gave a shout of surprise. The Arena was abruptly empty of magic.

“Halt!”

Silence followed Balkan’s call, then a low murmuring began among the watchers.

“The third victory goes to Sonea.”

Magicians voiced their confusion. Rothen frowned and shook his head. “What happened?”

“I believe Sonea’s strikes were doubled,” Dorrien said. “So that each had another strike following a moment behind it. They would have looked like a single strike from Regin’s vantage point. Regin’s defensive strikes stopped the first ones, but he didn’t have time to see the doubles.”

Several magicians had overheard Dorrien, and were nodding to each other, impressed. Dorrien glanced at Rothen, looking smug. “She really is wonderful to watch.”

“Yes.” Rothen nodded, then sighed as Dorrien turned away. Clearly his son was growing more enthralled with her. He had never expected to be so eager for Dorrien to return to his village.

Balkan’s voice boomed over the buzz of voices.

“Please return to your positions.”

Sonea backed away from Regin.

“Are you ready to begin the fourth bout?”

“Yes, my lord,” the pair replied.

A flash of light shivered over the Arena’s barrier.

“Begin!”

Sonea began this battle far from triumphant. The method she had used to defeat Regin had used a lot of magic. If Regin’s victory depended on him making her waste her energy, then he was winning.

She would have to be more cautious this time. She must refuse to let herself be drawn into his tricks. She had to save her energy, for if she lost this battle she would need to survive another.

For a while she and Regin watched each other, both of them shieldless and motionless. Then Regin’s eyes narrowed and the air filled with a thousand near-invisible heatstrikes, each only just strong enough to be counted a fatal hit if they met her inner shield. Within the rain of weaker strikes she saw some more potent ones, and created a shield strong enough to deter them all.

But just before the strikes reached her they faded into nothing. Annoyed at Regin’s trick, she sent an identical barrage of strikes, only she let some stronger strikes batter his shield, hoping he would think she was using the same trick in return.

He didn’t fall for it, of course, but he staggered backward, his expression strained. She felt a surge of triumph. He was tiring!

A careful attack followed, complex yet economical. He filled the air with light, as if hoping to disguise a few stronger strikes in the dazzle of brightness. At each returning strike, she saw small signs of effort in Regin’s face and manner. He was trying to hide it, but it was clear he would be no great threat to her now.

Watching him through the glare, she saw him wince as one of her stronger strikes reached him. Then, from above, she felt an unexpected force slam into her shield. It wavered, and then another strike, timed to come only a moment after the first, broke her shield before she could strengthen it.

“Halt!”

Disbelief and dismay washed over her as she realized that he had only been faking his weariness. Looking at his smug expression, she felt anger at herself for being such a fool.

“The fourth victory goes to Regin.”

But she knew his limits. He had to be tiring after all this time.

She closed her eyes, seeking the source of her power. It was a little diminished, but in no danger of depletion.

Yikmo had counselled against defeating Regin with sheer strength. “If you want respect, you must show both skill and honor.”

I’ve shown them enough skill and honor, she thought. Whatever happened in this last bout, she was not going to risk losing again by trying to conserve her strength. If she won this bout, it would only be by lasting longer than Regin.

Which meant she would win it by strength anyway, so why not end it quickly with one ferocious attack?

“Are you ready to begin the fifth bout?” Balkan called.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered, Regin echoing her reply.

“Begin.”

She began by attacking with powerful strikes, hoping to gauge Regin’s stamina. Regin neatly sidestepped all, her strikes flashing harmlessly into the Arena’s barrier.

Sonea stared at Regin, who returned her look with feigned innocence. Dodging and ducking were considered bad form in battle, but no rules existed against them. She was surprised that he would resort to either, but that was what he’d anticipated. He had done it simply so that she used up her power in a useless attack. Regin smiled. The sand around his feet stirred.

A murmuring began in the crowd as sand began to rise from the floor of the Arena. Sonea watched, wondering what Regin was doing—and why. Yikmo hadn’t mentioned any tactic that involved this. In fact, he’d said that projection was irrelevant in a formal battle.

Sand was whipping around the Arena now. It thickened rapidly, filling the air with a thin wailing. Sonea frowned as Regin disappeared from sight. Soon she could see nothing but white.

Then something more potent buffeted her shield. Judging the direction, she threw out a strike, but another attack hit her from behind, then a third from above.

He’s blinded me, she realized. Somewhere beyond the sand, he was moving around the Arena, or directing his strikes to curve and hit from different directions. She couldn’t fight back when she didn’t know where he was.

But that wouldn’t matter, if she aimed in all directions at once.

Drawing on her power, she sent out a spray of potent strikes. The sand abruptly dropped around her, forming a ring on the ground. Regin had centered the sandstorm on her. So that was how he knew where I was.

He stood on the other side of the Arena, watching her carefully. Seeing him, she knew he was trying to judge how tired she was.

I’m not.

As she attacked, he dodged again. She felt a smile pull at her lips. If Regin wanted to waste her power, she would have him running all over the Arena like a frightened rassook. Eventually she would catch him.

Or she could curve her strikes around the Arena so he had nowhere to run.

Yes. Let’s finish this.

She half-closed her eyes and focused on the source of her power. Drawing on all but a little of the magic she had left, she formed in her mind a pattern both beautiful and deadly. Then she lifted her arms. It didn’t matter if she let her intentions show now. As she released the magic, she knew it was the most potent force she had ever let loose. She sent it outward in three waves of forcestrikes, each more powerful than the previous.

She heard a low sound from the audience as the strikes rayed out like a bright, dangerous flower, then curved down toward Regin.

Regin’s eyes widened. He backed away, but there was nowhere to go. As the first strikes hit, his shield shattered.

A heartbeat later the second wave hit the inner shield. Regin’s expression changed from surprise to terror. He glanced at Lord Garrel, then threw up his arms as the third wave of strikes hit.

As they did, Sonea heard an exclamation. She recognized the voice as Garrel’s. The inner shield around Regin wavered...

...but remained in place.

Turning to stare at Regin’s guardian, Sonea saw him press his hands to his temples and sway. Akkarin’s hand rested on the magician’s shoulder.

Then a soft thump drew her attention back to the Arena. Sonea felt her heart skip as she saw Regin lying on the sand. All was silent. She waited for him to move, but he remained still. Surely he was just exhausted. He couldn’t be... dead.

She took a step toward him.

“Halt!”

Frozen by the command, she looked up at Balkan questioningly. The Warrior frowned as if in warning.

Then Regin groaned and the watching magicians let out a collective sigh. Closing her eyes, Sonea felt relief rush over her.

“Sonea has won the challenge,” Balkan announced.

Slowly, then with more enthusiasm, the watching magicians and novices began to cheer. Surprised, Sonea looked around.

I’ve won, she thought. I actually won!

She surveyed the cheering magicians, novices, and non-magicians: perhaps more than just the fight. But she wouldn’t be certain of that until later, when she walked down the University corridor and heard what the novices were muttering, or when she encountered Regin and his friends in one of the passages late at night.

“I declare this formal contest concluded,” Balkan announced. Stepping down from the portal, he joined Garrel and Akkarin. Garrel nodded at something the Warrior said, then began to walk around the Arena toward the entrance, his eyes on the still-prone figure of Regin.

Sonea regarded Regin thoughtfully. Moving closer, she saw that his face was white and he appeared to be asleep. Clearly he was exhausted, and she knew how awful that felt. But never in all the times she had been exhausted had she fallen unconscious.

Hesitantly, in case he was faking, she crouched beside him and gingerly touched his forehead. His exhaustion was so extreme, his body was in shock from it. She let a little Healing energy flow from her hand into his body to strengthen it.

“Sonea!”

She looked up to find Garrel staring down at her disapprovingly.

“What are—?”

“Ngh...” the boy groaned.

Ignoring Garrel, she looked down to see Regin’s eyes fluttering open. He stared at her, then his brow creased into a frown.

“You?”

Sonea smiled wryly and rose. She bowed to Garrel, then walked past him and into the cool of the Arena’s portal.

Though most of the audience was leaving, the Higher Magicians lingered beside the Arena. They had gathered into a rough circle to discuss the fight.

“Her powers have grown faster than I would have thought possible,” Lady Vinara said.

“Her strength is astounding for one her age,” Sarrin agreed.

“If she is so strong, why didn’t she simply wear Regin down at the beginning?” Peakin asked. “Why did she try to conserve her strength? It lost her two bouts.”

“Because the object of this was not for Sonea to win,” Yikmo said quietly. “But for Regin to lose.”

Peakin regarded the Warrior dubiously. “And the difference is?”

Lorlen smiled at the Alchemist’s confusion. “If she had simply beaten him down, she would not have gained anyone’s respect. By winning and losing bouts based on skill, she showed that she was willing to fight fairly despite her advantage.”

Vinara nodded. “She didn’t know how strong she really was, did she?”

Yikmo smiled. “No. She didn’t. Only that she was stronger. If she’d known just how strong she was, it would have been difficult for her to allow herself to lose.”

“So how strong is she?”

Yikmo looked pointedly at Lorlen, then over Lorlen’s shoulder. Turning, Lorlen saw that Balkan and Akkarin were approaching. He knew it was not Balkan that Yikmo had been looking at.

“Perhaps you have taken on more than even you can handle, High Lord,” Sarrin said.

Akkarin smiled. “Not likely.”

Lorlen watched the others exchange glances. Not one face expressed disbelief. A lack of comprehension, perhaps.

“You’ll have to start teaching her yourself soon,” Vinara added.

Akkarin shook his head. “All she needs, she can learn in the University. There is nothing else that I can teach her that she would care to learn—for now.”

Lorlen felt a sudden chill creep up his body. He looked closely at Akkarin, but nothing in the High Lord’s expression hinted at what he feared.

“I can’t see her understanding or liking the battles and intrigues of the Houses,” Vinara agreed, “though the idea of the Guild electing its first High Lady is quite interesting.”

Sarrin frowned. “Let’s not forget her origins.”

As Vinara’s gaze sharpened, Lorlen cleared his throat. “Hopefully that will not be an issue for many years.” He glanced at Akkarin, but the High Lord’s attention was elsewhere. Lorlen followed his gaze and saw Sonea approaching.

As the circle of magicians parted to receive her, Sonea bowed.

“Congratulations, Sonea,” Balkan rumbled. “It was a well-fought battle.”

“Thank you, Lord Balkan,” she replied, her eyes brightening.

“How are you feeling?” Lady Vinara asked.

Sonea tilted her head, considering, then shrugged. “Hungry, my lady.”

Vinara laughed. “Then I hope your guardian has a celebration banquet waiting for you.”

If Sonea’s smile became a little forced, the others did not appear to notice. They were looking at Akkarin, who had turned to face her.

“Well done, Sonea,” he said.

“Thank you, High Lord.”

The pair regarded each other in silence, then Sonea lowered her eyes. Watching the others carefully, Lorlen noted Vinara’s knowing smile. Balkan looked amused and Sarrin was nodding approvingly.

Lorlen sighed. They saw only a young novice awed and intimidated by her powerful guardian. Would they ever see anything more? He looked down at the red gem on his finger. If they do, I won’t be the one to show them. I am as much a hostage as she is.

He looked at Akkarin and narrowed his eyes. When he gets around to explaining himself, he’d better have a very good reason for all this.

Opening the door to his room, Dannyl gestured for Rothen to enter, then followed and closed the door. Inside, it was dark, and though it all looked clean and free of dust there was a smell of neglect in the air. His trunk had been deposited just inside the bedroom.

“So what was so pressing that the High Lord ordered you back to Imardin?” Rothen asked.

Dannyl regarded Rothen closely. No “how are you?” or “how was your journey?” He might have been annoyed, if it hadn’t been for the disturbing changes in his friend’s appearance.

Dark shadows hung under Rothen’s eyes. He seemed older, though Dannyl might simply be seeing his friend through eyes less familiar with the deep creases across Rothen’s brow, or the gray in his hair. The slightly hunched, tense way his mentor walked was definitely new, however.

“I can tell you some of it,” Dannyl said, “but not all. It seems Akkarin learned of my research into ancient magic. He... are you all right, Rothen?”

Rothen had grown very pale. He looked away. “Was he... offended by my interest?”

“He wasn’t,” Dannyl assured him, “because he doesn’t know you have any interest in ancient magic. He had learned of my research, and it appears he approves of it. In fact, I have his permission to continue.”

Rothen stared at Dannyl in surprise. “Then that must mean...”

“You can write your book without worrying about stepping on his toes,” Dannyl finished.

From Rothen’s dismissive frown, Dannyl guessed this wasn’t what had surprised his friend.

“Did he ask you to do anything else?” Rothen asked.

Dannyl smiled. “That is the part I can’t tell you about. Ambassadorial matters. Nothing too dangerous, however.”

Rothen regarded Dannyl speculatively, then nodded. “You must be tired,” he said. “I should leave you to unpack and rest.” He moved to the door, then hesitated and turned around again. “Did you get my letter?”

Here we go, Dannyl thought.

“Yes.”

Rothen made an apologetic gesture. “I thought I should warn you in case it stirs up the gossips again.”

“Of course,” Dannyl said dryly. He paused, surprised at the lack of concern in his own voice.

“I don’t think it will be a problem,” Rothen added. “If this assistant of yours is what they say he is, that is. People aren’t speculating about you, they just think it’s amusing in light of what you were accused of as a novice.”

“I see.” Dannyl nodded slowly, then steeled himself for an unpleasant response. “Tayend is a lad, Rothen.”

“A lad?” Rothen frowned, then his eyes widened with understanding. “So the rumor is true.”

“Yes. The Elynes are a more tolerant people than Kyralians—most of the time.” Dannyl smiled. “I’m endeavouring to adapt to their ways.”

Rothen nodded. “Part of the role of Ambassador, I expect. Along with secret meetings with the High Lord.” He smiled for the first time since they had met that day. “But I am keeping you from your unpacking. Why don’t you have dinner with Dorrien and me tonight? He’s returning to his village tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

Rothen moved to the door again. At a flexing of Dannyl’s will, the door swung open. Rothen stopped, pushed it closed again, and sighed. He turned to stare into Dannyl’s eyes.

“Be careful, Dannyl,” he said. “Be very careful.”

Dannyl stared back. “I will,” he assured his friend.

Rothen nodded. Opening the door again, he stepped out into the corridor. Dannyl watched his friend and mentor walk away.

And shook his head as he realized he had no idea whether his friend was warning him about his affairs with Tayend, or with Akkarin.

Epilogue

The full moon bathed the path to the High Lord’s Residence in blue light. Walking toward the building, Sonea smiled.

Four weeks had passed since the challenge, and not once had she encountered Regin and his allies in the University passages after class. No sniggers had reached her ears in the corridors and not one of her projects had been ruined.

Today she had been paired with Hal in Medicines and, after an awkward start, they had started arguing about the right treatment for nailworm. He had told her about a rare plant his father, a village Healer in Lan, used to treat the disease. When she told him that the dwells used tugor mash, left over from distillation of bol, he had laughed. They started exchanging superstitions and unlikely cures from their homes, and when the lesson ended she realized they had been talking for an hour.

Reaching the door to the Residence, Sonea touched the handle. Expecting the door to swing open immediately, she stepped forward and banged her knee.

Surprised and annoyed, she touched the handle again, but the door remained closed. Was she to be locked out tonight? Grasping the handle, she turned it and was relieved when the door swung inward.

Closing the door behind her, she turned toward the stairs, then froze as she heard a crash from somewhere beyond the other staircase. A muffled shout reached her ears, then the floor vibrated beneath her feet.

Something was going on below her, in the underground room. Something magical.

Her whole body went cold. Frozen, she considered what to do. Her first thought was to escape to her room, but she realized that if there was a magical battle happening beneath her she would be no safer in her bedroom.

She should leave. Get as far away as possible.

But curiosity kept her still. I want to know what is going on, she thought. And if someone has come to confront Akkarin, they might need my help.

Taking a deep breath, she moved to the door of the stairs and opened it a crack. The staircase beyond was dark, so the door to the room below must be closed. Slowly, every muscle tensed ready for a fast retreat, she crept down the stairs. Reaching the door, she searched for a keyhole or some way to see into the underground room, but found nothing. A man’s voice yelled something. A stranger’s voice. It took her a moment to realize she hadn’t understood him because he was speaking in another language.

The reply was spoken harshly, also in another language. Sonea went cold as she recognized Akkarin’s voice. Then a high wail of desperation sent her heart racing and she backed up the stairs, suddenly convinced she ought to be anywhere but there.

The door flew open.

Takan looked up at her and stopped. She didn’t see his expression, however. Her attention had been caught by the scene beyond.

Akkarin stood over a man dressed in simple clothing. His hand was wrapped about the man’s throat, and blood trickled through his fingers. In his other hand was a jewelled knife—a knife that was horribly familiar. As she watched, the stranger’s eyes glazed over and he slumped to the floor.

Then Takan cleared his throat, and Akkarin’s head snapped up.

Their gaze locked—like in her nightmares in which she relived the night when she had witnessed him in this room, only he saw her watching and she couldn’t move... then woke up with her heart racing.

But this time she wouldn’t wake up. This was real.

“Sonea.” He spoke her name with unconcealed annoyance. “Come here.”

She shook her head, backed away, and felt the sting of magic as her shoulder encountered a barrier. Takan sighed and retreated into the room. Feeling the barrier press against her back, Sonea realized it was going to push her down the stairs. She pushed aside panic with an effort, straightened her shoulders and forced her legs to carry her into his domain.

As she stepped through the doorway the door closed behind her with a solid finality. She looked down at the dead man and shuddered at his empty, staring eyes. Akkarin followed her gaze.

“This man is—was—an assassin. He was sent to kill me.”

So he says. She looked at Takan.

“It is true,” the servant said. He gestured. “Do you think the m— High Lord would mess up his own rooms?”

Looking around, she realized that the walls were scorched and one of the bookcases was a shambles of broken wood and scattered books. She had sensed and heard enough from the guestroom to suspect there had been some kind of magical battle going on below her.

So the dead man must have been a magician. She looked at him again. He was not Kyralian, or of any of the races belonging to the Allied Lands. He looked like... she turned to stare at Takan. The same broad face and gold-brown skin...

“Yes,” Akkarin said. “He and Takan are of the same people. Sachakan.”

That explained how the man could have magic, but not be of the Guild. So there were still magicians in Sachaka... but if this man was an assassin, why did he—or his employer—want Akkarin dead?

Why indeed? she mused.

“Why did you kill him?” she asked. “Why not hand him over to the Guild?”

Akkarin’s smile was humorless. “Because, as you’ve no doubt guessed, he and his kind know much about me that I’d rather the Guild did not.”

“So you killed him. With... with...”

“With what the Guild calls black magic. Yes.” He took a step toward her, then another, his eyes level and unwavering. “I have never killed anyone who did not mean me harm, Sonea.”

She looked away. Was that supposed to reassure her, when he knew she would expose his secret if she could? That would certainly do him harm.

“He would be satisfied, indeed, if he knew the harm he has done by coming here and causing you to see what you have seen,” Akkarin said softly. “You must be wondering who these people are, who want me dead, and what their reasons are. I can tell you only this: the Sachakans still hate the Guild, but they also fear us. From time to time they send one of these, to test me. Do you really think it unreasonable of me to defend myself?”

She looked up at him, wondering why he was telling her this. Did he really expect her to believe anything he said? Surely, if the Sachakans were a danger, the rest of the Guild would know. Not just the High Lord. No, he practiced evil magic to strengthen himself and this was only a lie to ensure her silence.

His gaze moved over her face, then he nodded to himself.

“It does not matter if you believe me or not, Sonea.” He narrowed his eyes at the door, which swung open with a faint creak. “Only remember that, if you speak a word of this, you will bring about the destruction of everything you hold dear.”

She sidestepped to the door. “I know,” she said bitterly. “You don’t have to remind me.”

Reaching the doorway, she hurried up the stairs. As she reached the door to the guestroom, a voice drifted up from the room below.

“At least the murders will stop.”

“For now,” Akkarin replied. “Until the next one comes.”

Twisting the handle, Sonea stumbled into the guestroom. She stopped, breathing heavily as relief swept over her. She had faced the nightmare and survived. But she knew she would not sleep easily now. She had seen him kill, and that was not something she would ever forget.