The Novice (11 page)

His shoulders lifted. “I am your guardian, after all. Giving you special treatment is my role.”

Holding up the wet sheets of paper, she started drying them. The sheets curled as they dried, the ink setting the letters into grotesque smudges. She sighed again at the thought of rewriting them.

“Although Warrior Skills is not my area of expertise,” Rothen said, “I think you’ll find it useful to know how to raise and hold a basic shield. That ought to protect you from pranks like this.”

“Whatever you say,” Sonea replied.

“And since you’ve already missed the start of class, you may as well stay here and learn it now. I’ll tell your teacher…well, I’ll think of a good excuse.”

Surprised and pleased, Sonea set the dried notes aside. Rothen rose and pushed the table out of the way.

“Stand up.”

Sonea obeyed.

“Now, you know that everyone, magicians and non-magicians, has a natural boundary protecting the area contained by our body. No other magician can influence anything within that area without first exhausting us. Otherwise a magician could kill another simply by reaching inside and crushing the heart.”

Sonea nodded. “The skin is the boundary. The barrier. Healing gets past it, but only by skin to skin contact.”

“Yes. Now, so far you’ve extended your influence like an arm, reaching out to, say, light a candle or lift a ball. A shield is like extending all of your skin outward, like inflating a bubble around yourself. Watch, and I’ll make a shield that is visible.”

Rothen’s gaze became distracted. His skin began to glow, then it was as if a layer of it pushed outward, smoothing and losing the contours of the body. It expanded and formed a translucent globe of light around him, then fell back inward and disappeared.

“That was a shield of light only,” he said. “It would not have repelled anything. But it’s useful to start with because it’s visible. Now, I want you to make the same sort of shield, but just around your hand.”

Sonea lifted a hand and concentrated on it. Making it glow was easy—Rothen had already taught her how to create a light cool enough that it wouldn’t burn anything. Focusing on her skin, she sought a sense of it as a border to the influence of her magic, then pushed outward.

At first the glow expanded in erratic bursts, but after several minutes she managed to control its growth so it spread in all directions at once. Eventually a glowing sphere surrounded her hand.

“Good,” Rothen said. “Now try it for your whole arm.”

Slowly, with a few hesitations, the globe elongated to her shoulder, then bloated to a larger sphere.

“Now your upper body.”

It was the strangest feeling. She felt as if she had spread herself out to fill a bigger space. As she enlarged the sphere to include her head her scalp tingled.

“Very good. Now all of you.”

Bits of the sphere collapsed inward as she concentrated on her legs, but after attending to them she found herself surrounded entirely within a glowing ball. Looking down, she realized that it extended below her feet, into the floor.

“Excellent!” Rothen said. “Now draw it back inward from all directions at once.

Slowly, and not without a few parts collapsing sooner than others, she pulled the sphere back inward until it sat against her skin. Rothen nodded thoughtfully.

“You’ve got the idea,” he said. “You just need some practice. Once you have it right, we’ll work on changing the shield to basic repelling and containing ones. Now, let’s see that again.”

As the door closed behind Sonea, Rothen gathered his books and papers. From what he had heard, Garrel’s novice was a natural leader. It was unfortunate, but not unexpected, that the boy chose to strengthen his hold on the class by turning them against another novice. Sonea had been the obvious victim. Unfortunately, it had dashed all hopes of her being accepted by the rest.

He sighed and shook his head. Had he worked at stamping out her slum vocabulary and schooling her habits and mannerisms for nothing? He had assured Sonea so many times that she had only to make a friend or two and her past would be forgotten. But he had been wrong. Her classmates had not only rejected her, but had turned on her.

The teachers had not taken a liking to her, either, despite her exceptional abilities. Tales of knifings and childhood thieving were circulating, according to Rothen’s elderly friend, Yaldin. The teachers could not neglect her education, however. He could make sure of that.

—
Rothen!

Stopping, Rothen concentrated on the voice in his mind.

—
Dannyl?

—
Hello, old friend.

As Rothen focused his mind on the voice it became clearer and a sense of its personality grew. He also perceived the presence of other magicians, their attention drawn by the call, fading away as they turned their minds from the conversation.

—
I was expecting a communication sooner than this. Was your ship delayed?

—
No, I arrived two weeks ago. I haven’t had a moment to spare since. The First Ambassador had arranged so many introductions and briefings I can hardly keep up. I think he’s disappointed that I actually need to sleep.

Rothen restrained himself from asking if the First Guild Ambassador to Elyne had become as portly as was rumored. Mental communication was not completely private, and it was always possible that another magician might hear.

—
Have you seen much of Capia?

—
A little. It is as beautiful as they say.
An image of a grand city of yellow stone, blue water and boats, came to Rothen.

—
Have you been to court yet?

—
No, the King’s aunt died a few weeks ago and he has been in mourning. I’m visiting today. Should be interesting.

A sense of smugness followed the words, and Rothen knew his friend was thinking of all the scandal, rumor and gossip he had dug up about the people of the Elyne court before leaving Kyralia.

—
How is Sonea going?

—
Her teachers praise her abilities, but there is a troublemaker in her class. He has gathered the rest of the novices to his side.

—
Can you do anything?
There was sympathy and understanding behind Dannyl’s words.

—
She just proposed moving to the next class.

—
Poor Rothen! That will be hard work—for both of you.

—
I can manage. I only hope she doesn’t find the winter novices as unfriendly.

—
Give her my sympathies.
Dannyl’s attention wavered.
I must go now. Farewell.

—
Farewell.

Rothen gathered his books and started for the guestroom door. Remembering the unpopular, sullen novice that Dannyl had been, he felt a little better. The situation might be tough for Sonea now, but it would work itself out in the end.

“Tayend of Tremmelin, eh?” Errend, the First Guild Ambassador to Elyne, shifted in his seat, his impressive stomach cinched by the sash over his robes. “He’s the youngest son of Dem Tremmelin. A scholar of the Great Library, I believe. Don’t see him in court much—though I have seen him with Dem Agerralin. Now
there’s
a man of dubious associations.”

Dubious associations? Dannyl opened his mouth to ask the Ambassador to elaborate, but the big man was distracted as the carriage swung about.

“The Palace!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the window. “I will introduce you to the King, then it is up to you to socialize as you please. I have an appointment that will fill most of the afternoon, so feel free to take the carriage back when you’ve had enough. Just remind the driver to return at dusk for me.”

The carriage door opened and Dannyl followed Errend out. They stood at one side of a large courtyard. Before them was the Palace, a sprawling structure of domes and balconies standing at the top of a long, wide staircase. Grandly dressed people were making their way up the stairs, or resting on stone seats placed at intervals for this purpose.

Turning back to his companion, Dannyl found Errend floating just above the ground beside him. The First Ambassador smiled at Dannyl’s expression of astonishment.

“No sense in walking if you don’t have to!”

As the man floated up the stairs, Dannyl examined the faces of the courtiers and servants about him. They did not appear surprised by this use of magic, though some glanced at the Ambassador and smiled. While a man of bulk and cheerful character, Errend was obviously also a strong and skilled magician. Impressed, yet reluctant to draw attention to himself in such a flamboyant manner, Dannyl decided to use his legs instead.

He found Errend waiting at the top. The man gestured expansively away from the Palace.

“Look at that view! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Still breathing deeply from the climb, Dannyl turned around. The entire bay spread before him. The pale yellow buildings shone in the sunlight, and the water was a lustrous blue.

“‘A necklace for a King,’ the poet Lorend once said.”

“It is a beautiful city,” Dannyl agreed.

“Full of beautiful people,” Errend added. “Come inside. I will introduce them to you.”

Another arched facade stood before them, the grandest Dannyl had yet seen. The arches were several times the height of a man, low at each side, and soaring high at the center. Behind the tallest arch a doorless entrance offered access to the Palace.

Six stiff-backed guards eyed Dannyl as he followed Errend into a cavernous room. The interior was vast and airy. Fountains and stone sculptures had been placed at intervals along either side, and arched doorways between them led to further rooms and corridors. Plants draped from alcoves in the walls or sprouted from huge pots standing on the stone floor.

Errend started down the center of the room. Groups of men and women stood or strolled about, some with children. All were dressed in sumptuous clothing. As Dannyl passed they examined him with curiosity, the closest bowing gracefully.

He glimpsed Guild robes here and there: women in green, men in red or purple. To the magicians who looked his way and nodded, he inclined his head politely in return. Guards dressed in uniform stood at every doorway, watching all attentively. Individual musicians wandered about, playing stringed instruments and singing quietly. A messenger raced by, his face shining with sweat.

At the end of the hall, Errend passed through another arch into a smaller room. Opposite the arch stood a pair of doors decorated with the Elyne King’s mark: a fish leaping over a bunch of grapes. A guard bearing the same mark on his breastplate stepped forward to ask for Dannyl’s name.

“Lord Dannyl, Second Guild Ambassador for Elyne,” Errend replied.

It does sound grand,
Dannyl thought. He felt a stirring of excitement as he followed Errend across the room. Two courtiers were shooed off a large cushioned bench, and the guard indicated the magicians should sit. Errend settled down with a sigh.

“This is where we wait,” he said.

“How long?”

“As long as it takes. Our names will be whispered to the King as soon as he finishes with his current audience. If he wishes to see us straightaway, we will be called. If he doesn’t,” Errend shrugged and waved at the people in the room, “we wait our turn, or we go home.”

Feminine voices and laughter filled the room. A group of women sitting on a bench opposite Dannyl’s was listening to the murmuring of a brightly dressed musician sitting cross-legged on the floor at their feet. An instrument lay across the man’s knees, and he was running his fingers across the strings to produce an idle trickle of notes. As Dannyl watched, the man turned to croon something to one of the women, and she put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile.

As if sensing that he was being watched, the man looked up and met Dannyl’s gaze. He rose in one graceful movement and began plucking at the strings, coaxing out a melody. To Dannyl’s amusement, what he’d assumed was a shirt was actually a strange belted costume with a short skirt, and the musician’s legs were covered in brightly painted yellow and green stockings.

“A man in a robe. A man in a robe.

The man in the robe, is in our abode.”

The musician danced across the room, stopping in front of the bench. Bending slightly, the musician crossed his eyes at Dannyl.

“A man in a dress. A man in a dress.

The man in the dress, will cause him distress.”

Unsure how to react to this, Dannyl looked questioningly at Errend. The Ambassador was watching with bored tolerance. The musician spun about and struck a dramatic pose.

“A man with a belly. A man with a belly…”

The musician paused and sniffed the air.

“...the man with the belly, has a nice smelly.”

Errend’s mouth twitched into a half-smile as a scattering of laughter came from around them. The musician bowed, then spun on his heel and raced back across the room to the women.

“In Capia my lover has red, red hair, and eyes like the deepest sea,”
he sang in a sweet, rich voice.
“In Tol-Gan my lover has strong, strong arms and she winds them both around me.”

Dannyl chuckled. “I’ve heard another version of this song sung by Vindo sailors, but it would not be at all acceptable to the ears of those young ladies.”

“No doubt the song you heard was the original, sweetened here for the court,” Errend replied.

The musician presented his instrument to one of the ladies with great ceremony, then began performing backflips. “What a strange man,” Dannyl said.

“He practices the art of flattery with the aim to insult.” Errend waved a hand dismissively. “Just ignore him. Unless, of course, you do find him entertaining.”

“I do, though I’m not sure why.”

“You’ll get over it. He once—”

“The Guild Ambassadors for Elyne,” boomed the voice of the King’s guard.

Errend rose and strode across the room, Dannyl following a step behind. The guard gestured for them to wait, then disappeared behind the door.

Dannyl heard Errend’s title called, then his own. There was a pause, then the guard returned and ushered them through.