The Novice (22 page)

Cery considered this for a while, then shrugged. “Then we’ll just have to kill him.”

Surprised at the absurdity of the suggestion, she laughed.

“How?”

His eyes flashed. “We could…lure him into a passage, then cave it in.”

“That’s all? He’d only have to shield himself, then push the rubble away.”

“Not without using up his magic. How about we cover him with a lot of rubble? A whole house.”

“It would take a lot more than that.”

He pursed his lips, thinking. “We could trip him into a vat of sewage and seal him in.”

“He’d blast his way out.”

“Then we’ll trick him into boarding a ship, then sink it far out in the sea.”

“He’d make a bubble of air around himself and float.”

“Ah, but he couldn’t hold it forever. He’ll get tired, then drown.”

“We can hold a basic shield for a long time,” she told him. “All he has to do is communicate with Lord Garrel by mind and the Guild would send out another boat to rescue him.”

“If we sank the ship a long way from any magicians, he might die of thirst.”

“He might,” she conceded, “but I doubt it. Magic makes us robust. We survive longer than ordinary people—and besides, we’ve learned how to extract salt from water. He wouldn’t go thirsty, and he could catch and cook fish to eat.”

Cery uttered a small gasp of impatience. “Stop it! You’re making me jealous. Can’t you wear him out for me first? Then I’ll give him a good softening.”

Sonea laughed. “No, Cery.”

“Why not? Is he stronger than you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What then?”

She looked away. “It’s not worth it. Whatever you do, he’d get me back.”

Cery sobered. “Seems he gets enough fun out of you already. It’s not like you to just put up with something like this. Fight him, Sonea. Sounds like you’ve got nothing to lose.” His eyes narrowed. “I could do it the Thieves’ way.”

She looked at him sharply. “No.”

He rubbed his hands together. “He hurts my kin, I hurt his.”

“No, Cery.”

His expression had grown distant, and he didn’t appear to be listening. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t kill them or harm the weaker ones, just scare some of the men in the family. Regin will work it out eventually, ’cause he’ll twig that one of his kin always gets visited by a messenger just after he does something to you.”

Sonea shuddered. “Don’t joke about it, Cery. It’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. He wouldn’t dare touch you.”

She grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. “This isn’t the slums, Cery. If you think Regin will keep silent because he’d have to admit what he’s doing, you’re wrong. You’d be playing right into his hands. Harming his family is a far greater offense than giving another novice a hard time. I’d have used connections with the Thieves to harm another novice’s family. They might throw me out of the Guild for that.”

“Connections with the Thieves.” Cery’s nose twitched. “I see.”

“Oh, Cery.” Sonea grimaced. “I appreciate that you want to help. I really do.”

He scowled into the trees. “I can’t do anything to stop him, can I?”

“No.” She smiled. “But it is fun thinking about dunking Regin in the sea or dropping a house on him.”

His lips curled into a smile. “Sure is.”

“And I’m glad you dropped by. I haven’t seen you since before I started at the University.”

“Work’s kept me busy,” he said. “You heard about the murders?”

Sonea frowned. “No.”

“Been lots of them lately. Strange ones. The Guard are out for the killer, causing everybody a lot of rub, so the Thieves want him got.” He shrugged.

“Have you seen Jonna and Ranel?”

“They’re well. Your little cousin is strong and healthy. You going to drop in soon? They say it’s been a while.”

“I’ll try. I’m so busy. There’s so much studying to do.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the packet. “I want you to give this to them.” She pressed it into his hand.

He tested its weight, then looked at her in surprise.

“Coins?”

“Part of my allowance. Tell them it’s a little of their taxes going to a better cause—and if Jonna still won’t take it, give it to Ranel. He’s not so stubborn.”

“But why give it to me to deliver?”

“Because I don’t want anyone here to know. Not even Rothen. He’d approve but…” She shrugged. “I like to keep some things to myself.”

“And me?”

She smiled and shook a finger at him. “I know exactly how much is in there.”

He pushed out his bottom lip. “As if I’d steal from a friend.”

She laughed. “No, you wouldn’t. Just everybody else.”

“Sonea!” a voice called.

They looked up. Lord Ahrind stood outside the Novices’ Quarters, his head turning to and fro as he searched for her. Sonea stood up and the magician located her. He gestured imperiously for her to come inside.

“I’d better go,” she said.

Cery shook his head. “It’s strange hearing you call them ‘my lord’ and jumping at their orders.”

She pulled a face at him. “Like you didn’t for Faren. At least I know that, in five years, I’ll be ordering everyone else around.”

An odd look crossed Cery’s face. He smiled and shooed her away. “Go on. Get back to your studies. I’ll try to drop by soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She started toward the Novices’ Quarters reluctantly. Lord Ahrind watched her, his arms crossed.

“And tell that boy I’ll break his arms if he doesn’t leave you alone,” Cery called, just loud enough for her to hear.

She turned to grin at him. “I’ll do it myself if he pushes me far enough. By mistake, of course.”

He nodded approvingly, then waved her on. When she reached the Novices’ Quarters she looked back. He was still standing by the bench. As she waved he gave a quick signal in the street sign language. She smiled, then let Lord Ahrind usher her inside.

As she left the Novices’ Quarters, Sonea caught her breath with surprise and pleasure. The sky was a luminous pale blue, streaked with glowing orange clouds. Somewhere behind Sarika’s Hill, the sun was rising.

She had discovered that she enjoyed these early hours, when everything was still and peaceful. As winter approached, dawn had come later each day, and today she was finally seeing it for herself.

Yawning servants blinked at her as she entered the Foodhall, and one wordlessly wrapped up a savory bread bun for her to take away. They were used to her unpredictable appearances now. From there she headed to the Baths. Of all places in the Guild, they had turned out to be one of the safest. Women and men were strictly separated and, to ensure this, a section had been built for each, divided by a thick wall. Neither Issle nor Bina had ever attempted to bother her there. There was nearly always another female magician using the Baths, so the chances for harassment were less.

Regin had discovered quickly that any insult or insinuation he directed at her did not impress his new classmates. As she had hoped, he hadn’t managed to charm them into following him about, either, and his attempt to befriend Poril had been almost comically unsuccessful, as the boy recoiled in fear and disbelief.

At midbreak, when the novices visited the Foodhall, Regin always rejoined his former class. She guessed he was not about to abandon his old gang when his new classmates were not interested in starting a new one. And now that their harassment had begun again, they needed time to plan their moves.

They had only the hours before the first class and after the last to find and torment her. She made sure she was hard to find until the last moments before the first gong. After class, however, the gang usually lay in wait for her and she could do little to avoid them.

Though her classmates did not join in, they never stepped forward to help her, either. And Poril was no deterrent. He stood back, pale and trembling, as she endured Regin’s taunting.

Sometimes she managed to avoid the gang by offering to carry something for the teacher, or asking a question that took most of the walk out of the University to answer. The presence of almost any magician in the corridor gave her an opportunity to escape them. Rothen met her after class sometimes, but she always endured sneering remarks about it the next day.

In the Novices’ Quarters, the gang left her alone. They had pushed through the door of her room one day and started messing up her belongings. A quick mental query to Lord Ahrind asking how to deal with uninvited guests had brought him storming in to demand what was going on. They hadn’t attempted to enter her room again—as far as she could tell.

She had bought a sturdy box with a carry handle to tote her belongings in, tired of having her books knocked out of her hands, her notes set on fire, and her pens and inkwell shattered. And protecting this box with magic kept her shield-holding skills well honed.

As she left the Baths, Sonea noted the identities of the novices around the courtyard. She tightened her grip around the handle of her box as she entered the University and started up the stairs. Stepping into the second-floor corridor, she quickly scanned the faces. A huddle of brown robes had gathered outside her classroom, heads close together. Her stomach sank.

Glancing about, she saw a magician talking to a novice a hundred paces away. Was he close enough to deter any mischief? Possibly.

Walking as quietly as she could, Sonea approached the novices. When she was only a few paces away from the room, the magician suddenly turned and strode away down the stairs. At the same time, Issle looked up and saw Sonea.

“Ugh!” Issle’s clear voice filled the corridor. “What’s that
smell?
”

Regin looked up and smiled.

“It’s the smell of the slums. Look, it gets stronger the closer you get.”

He stepped in front of Sonea and his attention dropped to her side.

“Perhaps there’s something smelly in her new box, eh?”

Sonea backed away as Regin reached out toward her box. Then a tall, black-robed figure stepped out of the passage beside them and Regin froze in place, his arms still extended.

As Sonea’s momentum brought her out of Regin’s reach and into the path of the magician, she realized she was the only one still moving. All of the other novices in the corridor had stopped, their attention fixed on the magician.

The black-robed magician. The High Lord.

In the back of her mind a voice shrieked:
It’s him! Run! Get away!
She took a few hurried steps backward out of his path.
No,
she thought,
don’t draw attention to yourself. Behave as he’d expect you to.
Regaining her balance, she bowed respectfully.

He continued past without looking at her. Taking her lead, the other novices bowed hastily. She decided to take advantage of the distraction and slipped past Regin into the classroom.

At once she felt the effect of the High Lord’s presence vanish. The novices in the room lounged about in their seats. Lord Vorel was so engrossed in whatever he was writing he did not notice her bow. Taking her place beside Poril, she closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

In those few moments, with everyone else near-frozen with surprise, it had felt as if only she and the dark figure of her nightmares existed. And she had
bowed
to him. She looked down at her hands, still gripping the handle of her box. She bowed so much now that she thought nothing of it. But this was different. It angered her. Knowing what he was, and was capable of doing…

Suddenly the room filled with the scraping of chairs as all the novices around her rose to their feet. Sonea followed suit, realizing that the last of the novices had arrived and she hadn’t heard Lord Vorel addressing the class. The Warrior gestured at the door, and the novices began to file out. Puzzled, Sonea followed Poril.

“Leave your books here, Sonea,” Vorel said.

Sonea looked down at her box, then glanced at the rest of the tables to see that the other novices had also left their belongings behind. Reluctantly she returned to her desk and set the box on top of it, then hurried away to catch up with the class.

The novices were talking excitedly among themselves. Poril, however, looked ill.

“Where are we going?” she whispered to him.

“Th-the Arena,” he replied, his voice shaking.

Sonea felt her heart skip a beat. The Arena. So far the Warrior Skills lessons had consisted of history classes, and endless instruction on creating barriers. All were performed in the University classrooms. They had been told they would eventually be taken to the Arena to learn the offensive side of the discipline.

A strange feeling—not quite dread—settled upon her as the class descended the stairs and walked out of the University. She hadn’t been close to the Arena since the day, almost a year ago, when Rothen had taken her to see a demonstration of Warrior Skills as part of his attempt to persuade her to stay and join the Guild. Watching the novices throwing magic at each other had been disturbing. It had brought back unpleasant memories of the day she had thrown the stone at the magicians and first used magic, and how they had unintentionally killed the boy they thought had attacked them.

It had been a simple error, but it had turned an innocent boy into a charred corpse. The lectures on safety, which the other novices seemed to dismiss so easily, always chilled her. She could not help wondering how often mistakes did happen.

Ahead, Regin, Hal and Benon were striding along the garden path eagerly. Even Narron and Trassia’s faces were flushed with excitement. Perhaps the thought of accidentally killing someone from the Houses, or the nobility of another land, might sober them. But would the prospect of killing a former slum girl cause them to pause?

As they reached the wide flat space outside the Arena, Sonea looked up at the eight curved spires spaced around it. She could feel a faint vibration in the air from the magical barrier the spires supported. Making herself walk to the edge, she looked down at the structure. The base was a sunken stone circle covered with white sand. The spires were spaced evenly around it. From their bases, stone steps rose to the level of the garden. To one side was a square portal that allowed access to the inside of the Arena via a short underground staircase.