The Novice (6 page)

Then, with a sigh, he dropped it into the waste box under his desk.

Suppliers of the Guild had been taking advantage of the King’s money for centuries. Any item was two or three times the usual price when the buyer was the Guild. It was one of the reasons the Guild grew its own medicinal plants.

Placing his elbows on the table, Lorlen rested his chin on his palm and reconsidered the price list in the letter from the wine maker. He could simply neglect to order any of the wine. It would have political consequences of course, but none that couldn’t be avoided if he purchased other goods from the same House.

But the wine was Akkarin’s favorite. Made from the tiniest variety of vare berries, it was sweet and rich in flavor. The High Lord always kept a flask in his guestroom, and he would not be pleased if supplies of it ran out.

Lorlen grimaced and reached for a new sheet of paper. Then he paused. He should not be pandering to Akkarin’s whims like this. It had never been his habit in the past. Akkarin might notice the change. He might wonder why Lorlen was acting so out of character.

But Akkarin must surely have noticed that Lorlen rarely dropped by for an evening chat these days. Lorlen frowned as he considered how long it had been since he had gathered the courage to visit the High Lord. Too long.

Sighing, he rested his forehead in his hands and closed his eyes.
Ah, Sonea. Why did you have to reveal his secret to me?
The memory ran through his mind. Sonea’s memory, not his own, but the details were still vivid…

“It is done,” Akkarin said, then removed his cloak to reveal bloodstained clothes. He looked down at himself. “Did you bring my robes?”

At the servant’s mumbled answer, Akkarin pulled off his beggar’s shirt. Beneath it was a leather belt strapped to his waist from which a dagger sheath hung. He scrubbed himself down, then moved out of sight and returned wearing his black robes. Reaching for the sheath, he removed a glittering dagger and began to wipe it on a towel. As he finished, he looked up at the servant.

“The fight has weakened me. I need your strength.”

The servant dropped to one knee and offered his arm. Akkarin ran the blade over the man’s skin, then placed a hand over the wound…

Lorlen shuddered. Opening his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and shook his head.

He wished he could dismiss Sonea’s memory as a misinterpretation of something innocent by someone who had believed magicians were bad and cruel, but memories that clear could not be false—and how could she have made it all up when she had not understood what she had seen? He almost smiled at her assumption that the black-robed magician was a secret Guild assassin. The truth was far worse and, no matter how much Lorlen wanted to, he could not ignore it.

Akkarin, his closest friend and High Lord of the Guild, was practicing black magic.

Lorlen had always felt a quiet pride that he belonged to, and now managed, the largest united alliance of magicians that had ever existed. Part of him was outraged that the High Lord, who should represent all that was respectable and good in the Guild, was dabbling in forbidden, evil magic. That part of him wanted to reveal the crime, to remove this potentially dangerous man from such a position of influence and authority.

But another part also recognized the danger of attempting to face the High Lord. It urged caution. Lorlen shuddered again as he recalled a day, many years before, when the trials had been held to select a new High Lord. In a test of strength, Akkarin had not only bested the most powerful magicians in the Guild but, in an exercise designed to find his limits, had easily withstood the combined strength of over twenty of the most powerful magicians.

Akkarin had not always been so strong. Lorlen, of all magicians, knew this well. They had been friends since their first day at the University. Over the years of their training they had fought many times in the Arena, and found their limits were similar. Akkarin’s powers had continued to grow, however, so that by the time he returned from his travels he had far surpassed any other magician.

Now Lorlen wondered if this growth had been natural. Akkarin’s journey had been a search for knowledge about magic from ancient times. He had spent five years travelling the Allied Lands, but when he returned, thin and despondent, he claimed the knowledge he had gathered had been lost during the final stage of the journey.

What if he
had
discovered something? What if he’d discovered black magic?

And then there was Takan, the man Sonea had seen assisting Akkarin in his underground room. Akkarin had adopted Takan as his servant during his travels, and had kept the man’s services after his homecoming. What was Takan’s role in this? Was he Akkarin’s victim or accomplice?

The thought that the servant might be an unwilling victim was distressing, but Lorlen could not question the man without revealing his own knowledge of Akkarin’s crime. It was too great a risk.

Lorlen massaged his temples. For months he had been thinking around in circles, trying to decide what to do. It was possible that Akkarin had simply dabbled in black magic out of curiosity. Little was known about it, and there were obviously ways of using it that did not involve killing. Takan was still alive and going about his duties. It would be a terrible betrayal of their friendship if Lorlen revealed Akkarin’s crime and caused him to be removed, or even executed, for what might be merely an experiment.

Then why had Akkarin been wearing bloodstained clothes when Sonea had seen him?

Lorlen grimaced. Something ugly had happened that night.
“It is done,”
Akkarin had said. A task fulfilled. But what—and why?

Perhaps there was a reasonable explanation. Lorlen sighed.
Perhaps I just wish there was.
Was his hesitation to act simply a reluctance to discover that his friend was guilty of terrible crimes, or a reluctance to see the man he had admired and trusted for so many years transform into a bloodthirsty monster?

In any case, he could not ask Akkarin. He had to find another way.

In the last few months he had compiled a mental list of information he needed. Why was Akkarin practicing black magic? How long had this been going on? What could Akkarin do with this black magic? How strong was he and how could he be defeated? Though Lorlen would be breaking a law by seeking information about black magic, the Guild needed to know the answers to these questions if it was to confront Akkarin.

He’d had little success finding information in the Magicians’ Library, but that came as no surprise. The Higher Magicians were taught enough about black magic to be able to recognize it; the rest of the Guild knew only that it was forbidden. Further information should not be easily found.

He needed to look further afield. Lorlen had immediately thought of the Great Library in Elyne, a store of knowledge even larger than that of the Guild’s. Then he remembered that the Great Library had been Akkarin’s first stop on his journey, and he began to wonder if he might find some answers by retracing his friend’s steps.

But he could not leave the Guild. His position as Administrator demanded constant attention, and any such journey would surely attract Akkarin’s curiosity. Which meant that another must go in his place.

Lorlen had carefully considered who might be trusted with such a task. It had to be someone sensible enough to hide the truth if necessary. It also needed to be someone adept at digging out secrets.

His choice had been surprisingly easy to make.

Lord Dannyl.

As the novices entered the Foodhall, Sonea trailed behind. Regin, Gennyl and Shern hadn’t returned to class at the end of the morning lesson, so Sonea had followed the rest. The hall was a large room containing several sets of tables and chairs. Servants constantly entered from a kitchen next to it, bringing trays laden with food for the novices to select from.

None of the other novices protested as Sonea dared to join them again. A few eyed her dubiously as she picked up her cutlery, but the rest ignored her.

As on the previous day, the conversation between the novices was awkward at first. Most were shy and unsure of each other. Then Alend told Kano that he had lived in Vin for a year and the others began asking questions about the country. The questions soon included other novices’ homes and families, then Alend looked at Sonea.

“So you grew up in the slums?”

All of the faces turned toward Sonea. She finished chewing and swallowed, conscious of their sudden attention.

“For about ten years,” she told them. “I lived with my aunt and uncle. We had a room in the North Quarter after that.”

“What about your parents?”

“Mother died when I was a child. Father…” she shrugged. “He went away.”

“And left you all alone in the slums? That’s awful!” Bina exclaimed.

“My aunt and uncle looked after me.” Sonea managed a smile. “And I had a lot of friends.”

“Do you see your friends now?” Issle asked.

Sonea shook her head. “Not much.”

“What about your thief-friend, the one Lord Fergun locked up under the University? Hasn’t he been back a few times?”

Sonea nodded. “Yes.”

“He’s one of the Thieves, isn’t he?” Issle asked.

Sonea hesitated. She could deny it, but would they believe her?

“I can’t say for sure. A lot can change in six months.”

“Were you a thief, too?”

“Me?” Sonea gave a soft laugh. “Not everyone who lives in the slums works for the Thieves.”

The others seemed to have relaxed a little. A few even nodded. Issle glanced around at them, then scowled.

“But you stole things, didn’t you?” she said. “You were one of those pickpockets at the Market.”

Sonea felt her face warm and knew her reaction had betrayed her. They would assume she was lying if she denied it. Perhaps the truth would gain their sympathy…

“Yes, I stole food and money when I was a child,” she admitted, forcing herself to lift her head and stare defiantly at Issle. “But only when I was starving, or when winter was coming and I needed shoes and warm clothes.”

Issle’s eyes brightened in triumph. “So you
are
a thief.”

“But she was a child, Issle,” Alend protested weakly. “You would steal, too, if you had nothing to eat.”

The others turned to frown at Issle, but she tossed her head dismissively, then leaned toward Sonea and fixed her with a cold stare.

“Tell me truthfully,” she challenged. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Sonea returned Issle’s stare and felt anger growing. Perhaps if Issle knew the truth, the girl would hesitate before hassling her again.

“I don’t know.”

The others turned to stare at Sonea.

“What do you mean?” Issle sneered. “You either have or you haven’t.”

Sonea looked down at the table, then narrowed her eyes at the girl. “All right, since you just
have
to know. One night, about two years ago, I was grabbed by a man and pulled into an alley. He was…well, you can be sure he wasn’t about to ask for directions. When I got a hand free I stuck my knife into him and ran. I didn’t hang around, so I don’t know if he lived or not.”

They were silent for several minutes.

“You could have screamed,” Issle suggested.

“Do you really think anyone is going to risk their life to save some poor girl?” Sonea asked coldly. “The man might have cut my throat to shut me up, or I might have attracted more thugs.”

Bina shivered. “That’s awful.”

Sonea felt a spark of hope at the girl’s sympathy, but it fled at the next question.

“You carry a
knife?
”

Hearing the Lonmar accent, Sonea turned to meet Elayk’s green eyes. “Everyone does. For opening parcels, slicing fruit—”

“Cutting purse strings,” Issle injected.

Sonea gave the girl a level look. Issle stared back coldly.
Obviously I wasted my time helping this one,
Sonea thought.

“Sonea,” a voice suddenly called. “Look what I saved for you.”

The novices turned as a familiar figure strolled up to the table holding a plate. Regin grinned, then thrust the plate in front of Sonea. She flushed as she saw it was covered with bread crusts and food scraps.

“You’re such a generous, well-mannered boy, Regin.” She pushed the plate away. “Thank you, but I’ve eaten already.”

“But you must be hungry still,” he said in mock sympathy. “Look at you. You’re so small and skinny. You really look like you could do with a good meal or three. Didn’t your parents feed you properly?” He pushed the plate in front of her again.

Sonea pushed it back. “No, actually, they didn’t.”

“They’re dead,” someone offered.

“Well, why don’t you take it with you in case you get hungry later?” With a quick shove he pushed the plate over the edge of the table into her lap. Several titters escaped the novices as soggy food splashed over her robes and onto the floor, covering both with thick, brown sauce. Sonea cursed, forgetting Rothen’s careful instructions, and Issle made a small sound of disgust.

Looking up, she opened her mouth to speak, but at that instant the University gong began to ring.

“Oh, dear!” Regin exclaimed. “Time for class. Sorry we can’t stay to watch you eat, Sonea.” He turned to the others. “Come on, everybody. We don’t want to be late, do we?”

Regin swaggered away, the others following. Soon Sonea was the only novice left in the Foodhall. Sighing, she stood up, cradling the mess, and carefully pushed the food back onto the table. Looking down at the sticky brown sauce covering her robe, she cursed again, softly.

What was she going to do now? She couldn’t go to her next lesson with food stains all over her. The teacher would only send her back to her room to change, which would give Regin even more to gloat over. No, she would have to dash back to Rothen’s apartments first, and think of a more mundane excuse for her late arrival.

Hoping that she wouldn’t encounter too many people on the way, she set off in the direction of the Magicians’ Quarters.

As Dannyl heard sailors gathering in the common room at the end of the corridor, he smothered a groan. It was going to be another long night. Once again, Jano fetched Dannyl and the crew cheered as he joined them. A bottle appeared from somewhere, and they began taking mouthfuls of the potent-smelling Vindo liquor, siyo. As it reached him, Dannyl passed it straight to Jano, earning mocking disappointment from the sailors.