The Novice (7 page)

Once all had taken a drink, the sailors began to argue good-naturedly in their clipped native tongue. When they finally came to an agreement, they began to sing, urging Dannyl to join in. He had given in previously, but this time he fixed Jano with a stern stare.

“You promised to translate for me.”

The man grinned. “You not like song.”

“Let me decide that.”

Jano hesitated as he listened to the singing. “In Capia my lover has red, red hair…and breasts like sacks of tenn. In Tol-Gan my lover has strong, strong legs…and she wraps them both around me. In Kiko my lover has…ah,” Jano shrugged. “I do not know your word for that.”

“I can guess,” Dannyl replied, shaking his head sadly. “Enough translation. I don’t think I want to know what I’m singing.”

Jano laughed. “Now you tell me why you not drink siyo, yai?”

“Siyo smells strong. Potent.”

“Siyo
is
potent!” Jano said proudly.

“It’s not a good idea to get a magician very drunk,” Dannyl told him.

“Why not?”

Dannyl pursed his lips, trying to think how to explain it in terms the Vindo would understand.

“When you are drunk—very drunk—you say and do things badly, or without meaning to, yai?”

Jano shrugged and patted Dannyl’s shoulder. “No worry. We not tell anybody.”

Dannyl smiled and shook his head. “It’s not a good thing to do magic badly, or without meaning to. It can be dangerous.”

Jano frowned, then his eyes widened slightly. “We give you little bit of siyo, then.”

Dannyl laughed. “Very well.”

Waving his hands, Jano signalled for the sailors to pass the bottle to him. He wiped the mouth of it with his sleeve, then offered it to Dannyl.

Finding himself being watched intently by the others, Dannyl brought the bottle to his lips and sipped. A pleasantly nutty flavor filled his mouth, then a warmth seared his throat as he swallowed. He sucked in a breath, then exhaled slowly, appreciating the spread of warmth through his body. The sailors cheered as he smiled and nodded approvingly.

Jano handed the bottle back to the others, then patted Dannyl on the shoulder. “Me glad I not magician. To like drink but not be able to.” He shook his head. “Very sad.”

Dannyl shrugged. “I like magic, too.”

The sailors broke into a new song and, without Dannyl asking, Jano translated. Dannyl found himself laughing at the absurd crudity of the lyrics.

“What does
eyoma
mean?”

“Sea leech,” Jano replied. “Bad, bad thing. I tell you story.”

At once the others quietened, all watching Jano and Dannyl with bright eyes.

“Sea leech is about size of arm from hand to bend.” Jano lifted his arm to demonstrate, pointing at his elbow. “It swims in small groups most of time, but when breeding many sea leech come together, and very, very dangerous. Climb side of ship thinking it is rock, and sailors must kill, kill, kill or eyoma stick on them and suck out blood.”

Dannyl looked at the other sailors, and they nodded eagerly. At once he began to suspect that this tale might be false or an exaggeration—a scary story that seamen told travellers. He narrowed his eyes at Jano, but the man was too engrossed in his tale to notice.

“Sea leech suck blood from all big fish in water. If ship sinks, men try to swim to shore, but if sea leech find them, they quick be tired and die. If men fall in water while breeding season, they drown from heaviness of many sea leeches.” He looked at Dannyl, his eyes wide. “Nasty way to die.”

Despite his skepticism, Dannyl felt a chill at the man’s description. Jano patted his arm again.

“You no worry. Sea leech live in warm water. Up north. Have little more siyo. Forget story.”

Dannyl accepted the bottle and sipped modestly. One of the sailors began to hum, and soon all were singing heartily. Dannyl let them bully him into singing along, but stopped as the door to the deck opened and the captain stepped inside.

As the captain descended, the crew sang a little more quietly, but did not stop. Numo nodded to Dannyl. “I have something to give you, my lord.”

He gestured for Dannyl to follow him, then started down the corridor toward his room. Rising, Dannyl braced himself against the swaying of the boat with a hand on either wall. As he reached Numo’s door he found himself entering a room that was, contrary to Jano’s claim, at least four times the size of Dannyl’s.

Charts were spread across a table in the center of the room. Numo had opened a small cupboard and was holding a box. Drawing a key out from under his shirt, he opened the lid and took out a folded piece of paper.

“Asked to give this to you before we arrive in Capia.”

Numo handed Dannyl the paper, then gestured to a chair. Sitting down, Dannyl examined the seal. It was stamped with the Guild symbol, and the paper was of the finest quality.

Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper and instantly recognized Administrator Lorlen’s handwriting.

To Second Guild Ambassador to Elyne, Dannyl, of family Vorin, House Tellen.

You must forgive me for arranging for the delivery of this letter to take place after your journey had begun. I have a task I wish you to complete for me, in addition to your duties as Ambassador. This task must remain confidential, at least for now, and this method of delivery is a small precaution to that effect.

As you know, High Lord Akkarin left Kyralia over ten years ago to gather knowledge of ancient magic, a quest that was not completed. Your task is to retrace his steps, to revisit all the places he visited and find out who helped him in his search as well as to collect information on the subject.

Please forward all information to me by courier. Do not communicate with me directly. I look forward to hearing from you.

With thanks, Administrator Lorlen.

Dannyl read the letter several times, then folded it again. What was Lorlen up to? Retracing Akkarin’s journey? Communication only by courier?

He opened the letter once more and scanned it quickly. Lorlen might be asking for secrecy simply because he didn’t want it known that he was taking advantage of Dannyl’s ambassadorial position to deal with a private matter.

That private matter, however, was Akkarin’s quest. Did the High Lord know that Lorlen was reviving the search for ancient knowledge?

He considered the possible answers to that question. If Akkarin knew, then presumably he approved. If he didn’t know? Dannyl smiled wryly. Perhaps there was something akin to a sea leech in Akkarin’s stories, and Lorlen wanted to know if it was true.

Or perhaps Lorlen wanted to succeed where his friend had failed. The pair had competed with each other as novices. Lorlen obviously could not resume the search himself, so he had recruited another magician to act on his behalf. Dannyl smiled.
And he has chosen me.

Folding the letter again, he rose and braced himself against the rocking of the ship. No doubt Lorlen would reveal his reasons for secrecy eventually. In the meantime, Dannyl knew he would enjoy having permission to snoop into someone’s past, particularly someone as mysterious as the High Lord.

Nodding to Numo, he left the room, stowed the letter among his belongings, and returned to Jano and the singing crew.

As Sonea wandered slowly down the corridor of the University, she felt a wry relief. Tomorrow was Freeday, which meant she had no lessons to attend, and for a whole day she would be free of Regin and the other novices.

She was surprised at how tired she felt, considering how little she’d done in the past week. For most of the lessons she read books or watched the novices coming and going from their Control lessons. Not much had happened, yet she felt as though weeks—no,
months
—had passed.

Issle no longer acknowledged Sonea’s presence at all, and, while this was better than open hostility, it seemed all of the novices had decided this was the best way to treat her, too. None of them would speak to her, even if she asked a sensible question about their lessons.

She considered each of the novices. Elayk was everything she had been told to expect of a typical Lonmar male. Brought up in a world where women were hidden away, living a life of luxury but little freedom, he was unused to talking to them, and treated Bina and Issle with the same cold indifference. Faren, the Thief who had hidden her from the Guild last year, had been nothing like this, but then Faren was definitely not a typical Lonmar!

While Gennyl’s father was Lonmar, his mother was Kyralian and he appeared to be comfortable around Bina and Issle. He ignored Sonea, but a few times she had noticed him watching her with narrowed eyes.

Shern rarely spoke to any of the other novices, spending most of his time staring into the distance. Sonea was still conscious of his strange magical presence, but it no longer pulsed erratically.

Bina was quiet, and Sonea suspected the girl was simply too shy and awkward to join in any conversations. When Sonea had tried to approach her, the girl had recoiled, saying: “I’m not allowed to talk to you.” Remembering the comments the girl’s mother had made before the Acceptance Ceremony, Sonea was not surprised.

Kano, Alend and Vallon behaved like boys half their age, finding the most childish things amusing and boasting about their possessions and luck with girls. Having heard this sort of banter among the boys of Harrin’s gang, Sonea knew the stories about the latter had to be invented. What kept her amused was that the boys she had known would have had enough experience by this age to have stopped bragging about it years ago.

Regin dominated all social activity. Sonea noted how he controlled the others with compliments, jokes, and an authoritative-sounding comment here and there; how they would all nod whenever he expressed an opinion. This had been amusing until he had started making snide comments about Sonea’s past at every opportunity. Even Alend, who had shown some sympathy for Sonea at first, laughed at these jibes. And after she had made her failed attempt to engage Bina in conversation, Regin had been at the girl’s side a moment later, all charm and friendliness.

“Sonea!”

The breathless voice came from behind her. She turned to find Alend hurrying toward her.

“Yes?”

“It’s your turn tonight,” he panted.

“My turn?” She frowned. “For what?”

“Kitchen duty.” He stared at her. “Didn’t they tell you?”

“No…”

He grimaced. “Of course. Regin has the roster. We all have to do kitchen duty one night a week. It’s your turn.”

“Oh.”

“You’d better hurry,” he warned. “You don’t want to be late.”

“Thanks,” Sonea offered. He shrugged and strode away.

Kitchen duty. Sonea sighed. It had been stiflingly hot all day, and she had been looking forward to a cool bath before the evening meal. Chores given to novices weren’t likely to be distasteful or time-consuming, however, so she might still have time.

Hurrying down the spiral stairs to the ground floor, she let the smell of cooking guide her to the Foodhall. Inside, the room was busy and seats were filling quickly as more novices arrived. She followed one of the tray-carrying servants into the kitchen and found herself in a large room lined with long benches. Steam curled up from boiling tubs, meat sizzled on grills, and the air was filled with the clatter of metal on metal. Servants hurried about, calling to each other over the noise.

Sonea stopped inside the door, overwhelmed by the chaos and the aromas. A young woman looked up from stirring a pot. She stared at Sonea, then turned and called out to another, older woman wearing a large white shirt. As the older woman saw Sonea, she left her pot, approached Sonea and bowed.

“How may I help you, my lady?”

“Kitchen duty,” Sonea shrugged. “They tell me I have to help out.”

The woman stared at her.
“Kitchen
duty?”

“Yes.” Sonea smiled. “Well, here I am. Where do I start?”

“Novices never come in here,” the woman told her. “There’s no kitchen duty.”

“But—” The words died in Sonea’s throat. She scowled as she realized she’d been tricked. As if the sons and daughters of the Houses would ever be expected to work in a kitchen! The woman eyed Sonea warily.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Sonea sighed. “I think I’ve just fallen for a joke.”

An explosive giggle broke through the noise. The woman looked around Sonea’s shoulder and her eyebrows rose. Sonea turned, a sick feeling growing inside. Filling the doorway were five familiar faces, their mouths stretched into ugly grins. As Sonea looked at them, the novices burst into uncontrolled laughter.

The noise in the kitchen subsided, and she realized that several of the servants had paused to see what was happening. Heat rushed to her face. She gritted her teeth and stepped toward the door.

“Oh, no. You’re not leaving,” Regin declared. “You can stay in here with the servants, where you belong. But, now I consider it, that’s not right. Even servants are better than slum dwellers.” He turned to the kitchen woman. “I’d watch out if I were you. She’s a thief—and she’ll admit it if you ask. I’d watch she doesn’t sneak off with one of your knives, then stab you in the back when you’re not looking.”

With that he reached for the door handle and pulled it closed. Sonea strode over and twisted the handle, but while it turned easily, the door would not open. A faint vibration stirred the air about her hand.

Magic? How could they be using magic? None of them had passed the Second Level yet.

Behind the door she could hear giggles and muffled comments. She recognized Alend’s voice, and Issle’s laugh was unmistakable. As she noted Vallon and Kano’s laughter, she realized that the only voice she wasn’t hearing was Regin’s.

Which was probably because he was concentrating hard on holding the door closed with magic. Her heart sank as she realized what this meant. Regin had already mastered the Second Level and more. He could not only access and draw on his power, but had learned how to use it. Rothen had warned her that some novices might achieve this quickly, but why did it have to be Regin?