The Novice (41 page)

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

To Second Guild Ambassador to Elyne, Dannyl, of family Vorin, House Tellen.

It has been brought to my attention recently that some people believe you have spent less time attending to your ambassadorial duties than you have to “personal” research. You have my gratitude for the time and effort you have given to my request. The work you have done has been invaluable. However, to prevent further questions arising, I must ask you to cease your research. Further reports will not be needed.

Administrator Lorlen.

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.

To Ambassador Dannyl.

I am not sure when you will read this, as I have heard that you have been visiting other lands. No doubt you are familiarizing yourself with the peoples you may need to work with in the future. If I had realized the duties of ambassador included travelling the world, I may have put aside my teaching years ago. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of stories to tell me when you visit us again.

I have news, but you may have heard it already. I am no longer Sonea’s guardian. She has been chosen by the High Lord. While others believe this to be an extraordinary turn of good fortune for Sonea, I am not pleased. I am sure you’ll understand why. Along with the loss of her company, I am left with a feeling of having left a work unfinished.

So, at Yaldin’s suggestion, I have adopted a new interest to replace the old. You will, no doubt, be amused to hear of it. I have decided to compile a book about ancient magical practices. It is a task Akkarin began ten years ago, and I am determined to complete it.

From what I recall, Akkarin began his search at the Great Library. Since you are living close to the library, I thought I might ask if you would visit it for me. If you do not have time, is there anyone you have met who might be trusted with such a task? They would need to be discreet, since I do not want to give the High Lord the impression I am investigating his past! It would, however, be satisfying to succeed where he failed. I know you will appreciate the irony.

Yours in friendship, Lord Rothen.

P.S. Dorrien visited for a few weeks. He asked me to forward his congratulations and good wishes to you.

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.