The Novice (60 page)

He’s blinded me,
she realized. Somewhere beyond the sand, he was moving around the Arena, or directing his strikes to curve and hit from different directions. She couldn’t fight back when she didn’t know where he was.

But that wouldn’t matter, if she aimed in all directions at once.

Drawing on her power, she sent out a spray of potent strikes. The sand abruptly dropped around her, forming a ring on the ground. Regin had centered the sandstorm on her.
So that was how he knew where I was.

He stood on the other side of the Arena, watching her carefully. Seeing him, she knew he was trying to judge how tired she was.

I’m not.

As she attacked, he dodged again. She felt a smile pull at her lips. If Regin wanted to waste her power, she would have him running all over the Arena like a frightened rassook. Eventually she would catch him.

Or she could
curve
her strikes around the Arena so he had nowhere to run.

Yes. Let’s finish this.

She half-closed her eyes and focused on the source of her power. Drawing on all but a little of the magic she had left, she formed in her mind a pattern both beautiful and deadly. Then she lifted her arms. It didn’t matter if she let her intentions show now. As she released the magic, she knew it was the most potent force she had ever let loose. She sent it outward in three waves of forcestrikes, each more powerful than the previous.

She heard a low sound from the audience as the strikes rayed out like a bright, dangerous flower, then curved down toward Regin.

Regin’s eyes widened. He backed away, but there was nowhere to go. As the first strikes hit, his shield shattered.

A heartbeat later the second wave hit the inner shield. Regin’s expression changed from surprise to terror. He glanced at Lord Garrel, then threw up his arms as the third wave of strikes hit.

As they did, Sonea heard an exclamation. She recognized the voice as Garrel’s. The inner shield around Regin wavered…

...but remained in place.

Turning to stare at Regin’s guardian, Sonea saw him press his hands to his temples and sway. Akkarin’s hand rested on the magician’s shoulder.

Then a soft thump drew her attention back to the Arena. Sonea felt her heart skip as she saw Regin lying on the sand. All was silent. She waited for him to move, but he remained still. Surely he was just exhausted. He couldn’t be…
dead.

She took a step toward him.

“Halt!”

Frozen by the command, she looked up at Balkan questioningly. The Warrior frowned as if in warning.

Then Regin groaned and the watching magicians let out a collective sigh. Closing her eyes, Sonea felt relief rush over her.

“Sonea has won the challenge,” Balkan announced.

Slowly, then with more enthusiasm, the watching magicians and novices began to cheer. Surprised, Sonea looked around.

I’ve won,
she thought.
I actually won!

She surveyed the cheering magicians, novices, and non-magicians:
perhaps more than just the fight.
But she wouldn’t be certain of that until later, when she walked down the University corridor and heard what the novices were muttering, or when she encountered Regin and his friends in one of the passages late at night.

“I declare this formal contest concluded,” Balkan announced. Stepping down from the portal, he joined Garrel and Akkarin. Garrel nodded at something the Warrior said, then began to walk around the Arena toward the entrance, his eyes on the still-prone figure of Regin.

Sonea regarded Regin thoughtfully. Moving closer, she saw that his face was white and he appeared to be asleep. Clearly he was exhausted, and she knew how awful that felt. But never in all the times she had been exhausted had she fallen unconscious.

Hesitantly, in case he was faking, she crouched beside him and gingerly touched his forehead. His exhaustion was so extreme, his body was in shock from it. She let a little Healing energy flow from her hand into his body to strengthen it.

“Sonea!”

She looked up to find Garrel staring down at her disapprovingly.

“What are—?”

“Ngh…” the boy groaned.

Ignoring Garrel, she looked down to see Regin’s eyes fluttering open. He stared at her, then his brow creased into a frown.

“You?”

Sonea smiled wryly and rose. She bowed to Garrel, then walked past him and into the cool of the Arena’s portal.

Though most of the audience was leaving, the Higher Magicians lingered beside the Arena. They had gathered into a rough circle to discuss the fight.

“Her powers have grown faster than I would have thought possible,” Lady Vinara said.

“Her strength is astounding for one her age,” Sarrin agreed.

“If she is so strong, why didn’t she simply wear Regin down at the beginning?” Peakin asked. “Why did she try to conserve her strength? It lost her two bouts.”

“Because the object of this was not for Sonea to win,” Yikmo said quietly. “But for Regin to lose.”

Peakin regarded the Warrior dubiously. “And the difference is?”

Lorlen smiled at the Alchemist’s confusion. “If she had simply beaten him down, she would not have gained anyone’s respect. By winning and losing bouts based on skill, she showed that she was willing to fight fairly despite her advantage.”

Vinara nodded. “She didn’t know how strong she really was, did she?”

Yikmo smiled. “No. She didn’t. Only that she was stronger. If she’d known just how strong she was, it would have been difficult for her to allow herself to lose.”

“So how strong is she?”

Yikmo looked pointedly at Lorlen, then over Lorlen’s shoulder. Turning, Lorlen saw that Balkan and Akkarin were approaching. He knew it was not Balkan that Yikmo had been looking at.

“Perhaps you have taken on more than even you can handle, High Lord,” Sarrin said.

Akkarin smiled. “Not likely.”

Lorlen watched the others exchange glances. Not one face expressed disbelief. A lack of comprehension, perhaps.

“You’ll have to start teaching her yourself soon,” Vinara added.

Akkarin shook his head. “All she needs, she can learn in the University. There is nothing else that I can teach her that she would care to learn—for now.”

Lorlen felt a sudden chill creep up his body. He looked closely at Akkarin, but nothing in the High Lord’s expression hinted at what he feared.

“I can’t see her understanding or liking the battles and intrigues of the Houses,” Vinara agreed, “though the idea of the Guild electing its first High Lady is quite interesting.”

Sarrin frowned. “Let’s not forget her origins.”

As Vinara’s gaze sharpened, Lorlen cleared his throat. “Hopefully that will not be an issue for many years.” He glanced at Akkarin, but the High Lord’s attention was elsewhere. Lorlen followed his gaze and saw Sonea approaching.

As the circle of magicians parted to receive her, Sonea bowed.

“Congratulations, Sonea,” Balkan rumbled. “It was a well-fought battle.”

“Thank you, Lord Balkan,” she replied, her eyes brightening.

“How are you feeling?” Lady Vinara asked.

Sonea tilted her head, considering, then shrugged. “Hungry, my lady.”

Vinara laughed. “Then I hope your guardian has a celebration banquet waiting for you.”

If Sonea’s smile became a little forced, the others did not appear to notice. They were looking at Akkarin, who had turned to face her.

“Well done, Sonea,” he said.

“Thank you, High Lord.”

The pair regarded each other in silence, then Sonea lowered her eyes. Watching the others carefully, Lorlen noted Vinara’s knowing smile. Balkan looked amused and Sarrin was nodding approvingly.

Lorlen sighed. They saw only a young novice awed and intimidated by her powerful guardian. Would they ever see anything more? He looked down at the red gem on his finger.
If they do, I won’t be the one to show them. I am as much a hostage as she is.

He looked at Akkarin and narrowed his eyes.
When he gets around to explaining himself, he’d better have a very good reason for all this.

Opening the door to his room, Dannyl gestured for Rothen to enter, then followed and closed the door. Inside, it was dark, and though it all looked clean and free of dust there was a smell of neglect in the air. His trunk had been deposited just inside the bedroom.

“So what was so pressing that the High Lord ordered you back to Imardin?” Rothen asked.

Dannyl regarded Rothen closely. No “how are you?” or “how was your journey?” He might have been annoyed, if it hadn’t been for the disturbing changes in his friend’s appearance.

Dark shadows hung under Rothen’s eyes. He seemed older, though Dannyl might simply be seeing his friend through eyes less familiar with the deep creases across Rothen’s brow, or the gray in his hair. The slightly hunched, tense way his mentor walked was definitely new, however.

“I can tell you some of it,” Dannyl said, “but not all. It seems Akkarin learned of my research into ancient magic. He…are you all right, Rothen?”

Rothen had grown very pale. He looked away. “Was he…offended by my interest?”

“He wasn’t,” Dannyl assured him, “because he doesn’t know you have any interest in ancient magic. He had learned of
my
research, and it appears he approves of it. In fact, I have his permission to continue.”

Rothen stared at Dannyl in surprise. “Then that must mean…”

“You can write your book without worrying about stepping on his toes,” Dannyl finished.

From Rothen’s dismissive frown, Dannyl guessed this wasn’t what had surprised his friend.

“Did he ask you to do anything else?” Rothen asked.

Dannyl smiled. “That is the part I can’t tell you about. Ambassadorial matters. Nothing too dangerous, however.”

Rothen regarded Dannyl speculatively, then nodded. “You must be tired,” he said. “I should leave you to unpack and rest.” He moved to the door, then hesitated and turned around again. “Did you get my letter?”

Here we go,
Dannyl thought.

“Yes.”

Rothen made an apologetic gesture. “I thought I should warn you in case it stirs up the gossips again.”

“Of course,” Dannyl said dryly. He paused, surprised at the lack of concern in his own voice.

“I don’t think it will be a problem,” Rothen added. “If this assistant of yours is what they say he is, that is. People aren’t speculating about you, they just think it’s amusing in light of what you were accused of as a novice.”

“I see.” Dannyl nodded slowly, then steeled himself for an unpleasant response. “Tayend
is
a lad, Rothen.”

“A lad?” Rothen frowned, then his eyes widened with understanding. “So the rumor is true.”

“Yes. The Elynes are a more tolerant people than Kyralians—most of the time.” Dannyl smiled. “I’m endeavouring to adapt to their ways.”

Rothen nodded. “Part of the role of Ambassador, I expect. Along with secret meetings with the High Lord.” He smiled for the first time since they had met that day. “But I am keeping you from your unpacking. Why don’t you have dinner with Dorrien and me tonight? He’s returning to his village tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

Rothen moved to the door again. At a flexing of Dannyl’s will, the door swung open. Rothen stopped, pushed it closed again, and sighed. He turned to stare into Dannyl’s eyes.

“Be careful, Dannyl,” he said. “Be very careful.”

Dannyl stared back. “I will,” he assured his friend.

Rothen nodded. Opening the door again, he stepped out into the corridor. Dannyl watched his friend and mentor walk away.

And shook his head as he realized he had no idea whether his friend was warning him about his affairs with Tayend, or with Akkarin.

The full moon bathed the path to the High Lord’s Residence in blue light. Walking toward the building, Sonea smiled.

Four weeks had passed since the challenge, and not once had she encountered Regin and his allies in the University passages after class. No sniggers had reached her ears in the corridors and not one of her projects had been ruined.

Today she had been paired with Hal in Medicines and, after an awkward start, they had started arguing about the right treatment for nailworm. He had told her about a rare plant his father, a village Healer in Lan, used to treat the disease. When she told him that the dwells used tugor mash, left over from distillation of bol, he had laughed. They started exchanging superstitions and unlikely cures from their homes, and when the lesson ended she realized they had been talking for an hour.

Reaching the door to the Residence, Sonea touched the handle. Expecting the door to swing open immediately, she stepped forward and banged her knee.

Surprised and annoyed, she touched the handle again, but the door remained closed. Was she to be locked out tonight? Grasping the handle, she turned it and was relieved when the door swung inward.

Closing the door behind her, she turned toward the stairs, then froze as she heard a crash from somewhere beyond the other staircase. A muffled shout reached her ears, then the floor vibrated beneath her feet.

Something was going on below her, in the underground room. Something magical.

Her whole body went cold. Frozen, she considered what to do. Her first thought was to escape to her room, but she realized that if there was a magical battle happening beneath her she would be no safer in her bedroom.

She should leave. Get as far away as possible.

But curiosity kept her still.
I want to know what is going on,
she thought.
And if someone has come to confront Akkarin, they might need my help.

Taking a deep breath, she moved to the door of the stairs and opened it a crack. The staircase beyond was dark, so the door to the room below must be closed. Slowly, every muscle tensed ready for a fast retreat, she crept down the stairs. Reaching the door, she searched for a keyhole or some way to see into the underground room, but found nothing. A man’s voice yelled something. A stranger’s voice. It took her a moment to realize she hadn’t understood him because he was speaking in another language.