The Novice (50 page)

“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.

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.