The Novice (51 page)

“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.