The Novice (58 page)

“Someone must investigate. That place could too easily become a death trap for magicians.”

“I will return there myself, if you wish.”

Akkarin regarded him thoughtfully, then nodded. “Yes. It would probably be best that no others learn of the place. Your assistant knows, does he not?”

Dannyl hesitated, and again he wondered how much Akkarin had sensed during their brief mental communication. “Yes—but I believe Tayend can be trusted.”

Akkarin’s gaze flickered slightly, and he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as a knock sounded on the library door. His eyes shifted to the door, alert. The doors swung inward.

The servant stepped inside and bowed. “Lord Yikmo has arrived, High Lord.”

Akkarin nodded. As the doors closed again, he regarded Dannyl speculatively. “You may return to Elyne in a week.” He closed the satchel. “I will read these, and may wish to discuss them with you again. But for now,” he stood up, “I have a formal battle to attend.”

Dannyl blinked in surprise. “A
formal
battle?”

The High Lord almost seemed to smile. “My novice has, perhaps foolishly, challenged another to a fight.”

Sonea challenged Regin to a fight!
As the possibilities and consequences of this dawned on Dannyl, he chuckled. “This I have to see.”

Akkarin strode out of the library. Dannyl followed, feeling surprised and relieved. There had been no hard questions about the reasons for the research. It almost seemed as if Akkarin was pleased with Dannyl’s progress. Dannyl and Tayend—and Lorlen—hadn’t earned themselves the High Lord’s disapproval. Neither had Rothen, though hopefully Akkarin didn’t know about Rothen’s new “interest” in ancient magic.

And nothing had been said about Tayend.

All that remained was to face Rothen. Dannyl’s mentor would be surprised to see him. Dannyl hadn’t warned Rothen of his visit, since no letter could have travelled faster than he had, and he would not risk communicating by mind. Rothen had always been able to read more of Dannyl’s thoughts than was intended. Dannyl did not know how well Rothen might take the news that his former novice was guilty of being what Fergun had claimed he was. He did not want to lose his only close friend in the Guild.

Yet he had decided he would not deny the rumors concerning Tayend. It would be too easy for Rothen to discover the lie. He would just have to reassure Rothen that he was not risking his honor by association. The Elynes were a tolerant people, and he was expected to be the same.

In a few weeks he would be back in Elyne with the High Lord’s permission to investigate Armje between fulfilling his ambassadorial duties. And he would be with Tayend.

If anything, his situation was better than before.

Sonea reknotted the sash of her robe and smoothed the material. It seemed too thin and flimsy today.
I feel like I ought to be donning armor, not robes.

Closing her eyes, she wished she had someone fussing about her while she prepared. Naturally, Yikmo could not be in her room while she changed into fresh robes. Neither could Akkarin, for which she was profoundly grateful. No, it was Tania she missed now. Rothen’s servant would have made Sonea promise to come out of this day the victor, and at the same time reassured her that losing wouldn’t matter to the people who loved her.

She drew in a deep breath and, finding the sash too constricting, loosened it a little. Today she might need more freedom of movement. She glanced at the tray of sweets and savory buns Viola had brought earlier. Feeling her stomach clench, she turned away and started pacing again.

She had an advantage—or two. While Yikmo’s “spies” had reported everything that Regin had been doing in the Arena for the past week, her own training had been hidden within the claustrophobic confines of the Dome. Yikmo had shown her every strategy that a weaker magician could use against a stronger one. He had drilled her in all the methods that he knew Garrel and Balkan had taught Regin, plus a few more.

Of her own guardian, she had seen little. But his influence was everywhere. The protests against novices involving themselves in formal battles had ended within a day. Balkan obviously disapproved of Sonea using the Dome, but had not forbidden it. And when Sonea first entered the Dome, Yikmo had told her that the High Lord had strengthened the spherical structure to ensure that she would not accidentally damage it.

It hadn’t occurred to her until the following evening that the magic he had used might have been gained through black magic. She had lain awake, her conscience uneasy at the possibility that the magic that aided her petty squabble with another novice might have come from some stranger’s death.

But she could not refuse Akkarin’s help, not without raising suspicion. Even if she pretended she did not want it out of pride, he had nominated himself as her protector during the battle. His magic would form the inner shield that would save her if her own failed. The thought made her more than a little uneasy. If it weren’t for Rothen and Lorlen, she would have been worried that he might use the battle as an opportunity to be rid of her.

At a knock on her door, she spun around, heart suddenly racing again.
It must be time at last,
she thought. Relief was quickly replaced with a rush of terror. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she approached the door. Opening it, she felt her heartbeat quicken once more as she faced Akkarin, but, seeing another man behind him, her fear was replaced with surprise as she recognized Dannyl.

“High Lord,” she said, bowing. “Ambassador Dannyl.”

“Lord Yikmo has arrived,” Akkarin told her.

Taking another deep breath, Sonea hurried down the stairs. She found Lord Yikmo pacing back and forth in Akkarin’s guestroom. His head snapped up as she entered the room.

“Sonea! You’re ready. Good. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” She smiled, conscious of the magicians still descending the stairs. “How can I not be after all you have taught me?”

He smiled crookedly. “Your confidence in me is…” He paused, sobering as Akkarin and Dannyl stepped into the room. “Good morning, High Lord, Ambassador Dannyl.”

“I gathered you were here for my novice,” the High Lord said. “So I sent her down.”

“Indeed I am,” Yikmo replied. He looked at Sonea. “We’d best not keep Regin waiting.”

The main door swung open, and Akkarin gestured toward it. Feeling the magicians’ eyes on her, Sonea crossed the room and stepped out into the sunlight.

As she started down the path to the University, Yikmo fell into step on her right, and Akkarin on her left. Footsteps from behind told her that Dannyl was following. She resisted an urge to look back, wondering what business he had with Akkarin. Something important, or he would not have returned from Elyne.

Her companions were silent as they walked toward the University. Sonea glanced at Yikmo once, but he only smiled in reply. She didn’t look at Akkarin, but was acutely aware of his presence. Never before had she
felt
like the High Lord’s favorite. It made her too conscious of the Guild’s expectations. If she lost…

Think of something else,
she told herself. As they neared the University, she turned her mind to remembering Yikmo’s lessons.

“Regin will try to make you waste your power. The best way to do that is through deception and trickery.”

Trickery was certainly part of Regin’s fighting style. He had surprised her many times during the First Year Warrior Skills classes with false strikes.

“Much of what you have learned will be irrelevant. You will not need to use projection in the Arena: there is nothing in there to move. Stunstrike is allowed, but considered ill-mannered. Mindstrike is forbidden, naturally, though it would only be useful as a distraction.”

Regin had never used mindstrike against her, since they hadn’t yet learned how to do it.

“Don’t gesture! You give away your intentions. A good Warrior does not move during a battle, not even the muscles in his face.”

Yikmo always referred to “the Warrior” as “he,” which she found amusing at first, then irritating. When she had complained he had laughed. “Lady Vinara would approve,” he had said. “But Balkan would tell you, ‘When more Warriors are women than men, I will mend my ways.’”

Sonea smiled at the memory, and so was smiling when she walked past the University into the view of the crowd of magicians waiting outside the Arena.

“Is
everyone
here?” she gasped.

“Probably,” Yikmo said lightly. “Regin chose a Freeday to face you, so that there would be a large crowd to witness his defeat.”

Sonea felt the blood drain from her face. Novices and magicians stood watching her. Even non-magicians—wives, husbands, children and servants—had come along for the spectacle. There were hundreds of people watching her. Heads turned to watch as she, flanked by her teacher and guardian, entered the crowd. The Higher Magicians stood in a line. Yikmo guided her toward them, and as he stopped she bowed. Formal greetings were exchanged, but she was too distracted to pay much attention until her name was spoken.

“Well, Sonea. Your adversary awaits your pleasure,” Lord Balkan said, gesturing.

Following his motion, she saw Regin and Lord Garrel standing by a hedge clipped into an archway. The path that ran through it led directly to the Arena.

“Good luck, Sonea,” Lorlen said, smiling.

“Thank you, Administrator.” Her voice sounded small, and she felt a flash of annoyance at herself. She was the challenger. She ought to be striding into this battle with eager confidence.

As she started toward the Arena, Yikmo placed a hand on her arm. “Keep your wits about you, and you’ll do fine,” he murmured. He stepped away, and waved her on.

With only Akkarin beside her now, she approached the archway. As she met Regin’s eyes his face twisted into a sneer, bringing back a memory of the first time she had seen him, before the Acceptance Ceremony. She stared back defiantly.

Sensing the gaze of Lord Garrel, she turned her attention to him. The magician was staring at her with unconcealed dislike and anger. Surprised, she wondered why he was so angry. Did he resent the extra time he’d had to spend preparing his novice for this fight? Had it offended him that she’d had the audacity to challenge his nephew? Or did he resent her for putting him in a position of opposition with the High Lord?

Do I care? No.
If he’d had any foresight, he would have stopped Regin from harassing her after she had become the High Lord’s favorite. The thought that this challenge might have caused him inconvenience brought a smile to her face once more. Turning away, she stepped through the arch and strode toward the Arena.

With Akkarin at her side, she descended into the Arena portal. Emerging, she walked to the center of the sandy floor and stopped. Garrel, Regin and Balkan had followed her in. Outside the circle of spires, the crowd of magicians and novices was spreading around the structure, some sitting down on the tiered stairs.

She glanced at Regin. He was looking out at the crowd, his expression unusually sober. She let her eyes skim the watchers, then stopped as she saw Rothen standing among them, Dorrien at his side. Dorrien grinned and waved. Rothen managed a thin smile.

Balkan stepped between her and Regin, raised his arms and waited as the buzz of voices from the audience faded.

“It has been many years since two magicians have seen fit to resolve a dispute or prove their skill by formal battle in the Arena,” Balkan began. “Today we will witness the first such event in fifty-two years. To my right stands the challenger, Sonea, favored novice of the High Lord. To my left stands the adversary, Regin, of the family Winar, House Paren, favored novice of Lord Garrel.

“The combatants’ guardians have nominated themselves as protectors. They may now form an inner shield around their novices.”

Sonea felt a hand touch her shoulder lightly. She shivered at the sensation, then looked down at herself. Akkarin’s shield was almost undetectable. She resisted an urge to test it.

“The protectors may now leave the Arena.”

She watched as Akkarin and Garrel strode into the portal. As the pair emerged outside the Arena, she saw that Garrel’s face was dark with anger and Akkarin looked bemused. Clearly, something had been said to upset Regin’s guardian. Had Akkarin made some jibe? Despite herself, she felt an unexpected satisfaction at the thought. But the feeling evaporated as Balkan spoke again.

“The combatants may take their positions.”

At once, Regin spun on his heel and began to walk to the other side of the Arena. Turning away, Sonea started in the other direction. She took a few slow, deep breaths. Soon she would need to focus all her attention on Regin. She would have to ignore all the people who were watching and think only of the fight.

A few steps from the edge of the Arena, she turned around. Balkan was walking toward the portal. Then he was inside it. Then he appeared at the top of the stairs outside the Arena and stepped on top of the portal.

“The victor must win the majority of five bouts,” he told the watchers. “A bout is over when an inner shield is struck with a force counted as a fatal hit. Mindstrike is forbidden. If a combatant uses magic before a battle has officially commenced, he or she cedes that bout. A battle commences when I say ‘begin’ and ends when I say ‘halt.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” Sonea replied. Regin echoed her words.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, my lord.” Again, Regin’s answer followed hers.

Balkan lifted a hand and placed it close to the Arena’s barrier. He sent out a pulse of power, which flashed over the dome. Sonea looked at Regin.

“Begin!”

Regin stood with his arms crossed, but the mocking smile she had expected wasn’t there. She saw the air ripple with power as he let loose the first strike. It struck her shield a heartbeat after she sent her reply.

His shield remained strong, but he did not strike again. She could see his brow creased in a frown. No doubt he was considering how best to trick her into wasting her powers.