The Magicians' Guild (12 page)

Footsteps?

Opening her eyes, she looked back and saw a distant light swaying in the darkness.

“Hai! Someone’s coming.”

“What?” Harrin strode across the room and stared into the passage. He listened for a moment, then pulled Sonea to her feet and pointed at the far side of the room. “Get over there. Keep out of sight.”

As Sonea moved away from the door, Cery rose to join Harrin. “Nobody comes here,” he said. “The dust on the stairs wasn’t marked.”

“Then they must have been following us.”

Cery stared up the passage, cursing. He turned to Sonea. “Cover your face. They might be after something else.”

“We’re not leaving?” Donia asked.

Cery shook his head. “No way out. There used to be a passage, but the Thieves closed it years ago. That’s why I didn’t bring us here before.”

The footsteps were more audible within the room now. Harrin and Cery backed away from the door and waited. Pulling up the hood of her cloak, Sonea joined Donia at the far side of the room.

Boots appeared within the passage, then trousers, chests, and faces as the newcomers descended the stairs. Four boys stepped through the doorway. They looked at Harrin and Cery, then, as they located Sonea, they exchanged eager looks.

“Burril,” Harrin said. “What you doin’ here?”

A stocky youth with muscular arms swaggered forward to face Harrin. Sonea felt a chill. This was the boy who had accused her of being a spy.

Looking at the other youths, she felt a shock as she recognized one. She remembered Evin as one of the quieter boys of Harrin’s gang. He had taught her how to cheat at tiles. There was no friendship in his gaze now as he twirled a heavy iron bar in one hand. Sonea shivered and looked away.

The other two boys carried lengths of rough wood. They had probably picked up the makeshift cudgels along the way. Sonea considered the odds. Four against four. She doubted that Donia had ever learned to fight, or that either of them would be equal to one of Burril’s allies. They might be able to tackle one together, however. She reached down and picked up a wooden slat from one of the broken shipping boxes.

“We’re here for the girl,” Burril said.

“Turned squimp, have we Burril?” Harrin’s voice was dark with contempt.

“I was thinking of asking
you
that,” Burril replied. “We haven’t seen you in days. Then we hear about the reward and it all makes sense. You wanta keep the money for yourself.”

“No, Burril,” Harrin said firmly. He looked at the other youths. “Sonea’s a friend. I don’t sell my friends.”

“She’s no friend of ours,” Burril replied, glancing at his companions.

Harrin crossed his arms. “So, that’s how it is. It didn’t take long before you got a fancy for taking charge. You know the rules, Burril. You’re either with me or out.” He looked at Burril’s allies again. “Same for you lot. You wanta follow this squimp?”

Though they remained in place, the youths glanced at Burril, then at Harrin, then at each other. Their expressions were guarded.

“A hundred gold,” Burril said quietly. “You wanta give up that much money just so you can follow this fool around? We could live like kings.”

The youths’ expressions hardened.

Harrin’s eyes narrowed. “Get out, Burril.”

A knife flashed into Burril’s hand, and he pointed it at Sonea. “Not without the girl. Give her over.”

“No.”

“Then we’ll have to take her.”

Burril took a step toward Harrin. As Burril’s companions fanned out to surround him, Cery moved to his friend’s side, eyes steely, hands in his pockets.

“Come on Harrin,” Burril crooned. “We don’t have to do this. Give her up. We’ll share the money, just like old times.”

Harrin’s face twisted with anger and contempt. A knife flashed into his hand and he lunged forward. Burril dodged and slashed out with his blade. Sonea caught her breath as the knife sliced open Harrin’s sleeve and left a line of red. As Evin lashed out with the iron bar, Harrin dodged out of reach.

Donia grabbed her arm. “Stop them, Sonea,” she whispered urgently. “Use your magic!”

Sonea stared at the girl. “But… I don’t know how!”

“Just try something. Anything!”

As the other two youths approached him, Cery drew out two daggers from his pockets. The boys hesitated when they saw them. Sonea noted the straps holding the daggers firmly against his palms so he could still use his hands to grab and push without losing the blades. She could not help smiling. He really hadn’t changed a bit.

As the heavier one lunged, Cery caught the boy’s wrist and pulled him forward, using the boy’s momentum to unbalance him. The boy staggered forward, his wooden cudgel clattering to the floor as Cery twisted his wrist. Swinging his arm around and up, Cery dealt the boy a stunning blow to the head with the pommel of a dagger.

The youth staggered to his knees. Cery ducked away as his second attacker swung a cudgel at him. Behind him, Harrin dodged another thrust from Burril. As the two pairs of fighters separated for a moment, Evin slipped past them and started toward Sonea.

His hands were empty, Sonea noted with relief. She had no idea where the iron bar had gone. Perhaps it was tucked into his coat…

“Do something!” Donia yelped, her grip on Sonea’s arm tightening.

Looking down at the slat in her hands, Sonea realized that attempting to repeat what she had done in the North Square would be pointless now. There was no magicians’ shield to get past, and she doubted that throwing the slat at Evin was going to stop him.

She had to try something else. Perhaps she could will the slat to hit harder?
Could I?
She looked up at Evin.
Should I? What if I do something really awful to him?

“Do it!” Donia hissed, backing away as Evin drew closer.

Taking a deep breath, Sonea threw the slat at Evin, willing it to knock him back. He batted it aside without checking his stride. As he reached toward Sonea, Donia stepped in front of her.

“How can you do this, Evin?” she demanded. “You used to be our friend. I remember you and Sonea playing tiles together. Is this—”

Evin grabbed Donia’s shoulders and shoved her to one side. Sonea lunged forward and punched him in the stomach with all her strength. He spluttered and staggered back a step, warding off her blows as she struck again, this time aiming for his face.

A strangled cry filled the room. She looked up to see Cery’s opponent backing away, one hand clutching his arm. Then something slammed into her chest and she fell backward. As she landed on the floor she twisted, trying to roll out of Evin’s reach, but he threw his weight across her and held her down.

“Get off her!” Donia screamed. The girl stood over Evin, a wooden slat in her hands. It smashed down on Evin’s head and he yelled. He rolled aside, and Donia’s second swing caught his temple. He went limp and sagged back onto the floor.

Donia brandished her weapon at the unconscious youth, then relaxed and grinned at Sonea. Extending a hand, she helped Sonea back to her feet. They turned to find Burril and Harrin still fighting. Cery was looking down at the other two youths, one clutching his side, the other sagging against a wall with a hand pressed to his head.

“Hai!” Donia exclaimed. “I think we’re winning!”

Burril stepped back from Harrin and glanced at her. He reached into a pocket, then made an abrupt gesture. Red mist filled the air about Harrin’s head.

Harrin swore loudly as the papea dust began to sting his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he backed away from Burril.

As Donia started toward Harrin, Sonea grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her back.

Harrin dodged as Burril lunged forward again but not quickly enough. An exclamation of pain followed and Harrin’s knife clattered to the floor. Cery leapt toward Burril, who turned just in time to meet the attack. Still wiping at his eyes, Harrin dropped into a crouch and groped for his knife.

Pushing Cery away, Burril reached into his coat, made another abrupt gesture and again, a stream of red dust flew from his hands. Cery ducked too late. His face contorted with pain, he staggered backward as Burril advanced on him.

“He’ll kill them!” Donia cried.

Reaching down, Sonea grabbed another wooden slat. She closed her eyes a moment, trying to remember what she had done in the North Square. Gripping it tightly, she gathered all her anger and fear. Concentrating on the slat, she hurled it at Burril with all her strength.

He grunted as it struck his back and turned to glare at her. Then he threw up his arms as Donia began to throw anything she could get hold of.

“Use your magic,” Donia urged as Sonea joined her.

“I tried. It’s not working.”

“Try again,” Donia panted.

Burril reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny packet. Recognizing it, Sonea felt a surge of anger. She braced herself to throw the slat in her hands, then hesitated.

Perhaps she was concentrating too much on throwing hard. Magic was not a physical thing. She watched as Donia hurled a box at Burril. No need to throw anything herself…

Focusing on the box, she gave it a mental push, willing it to shoot forward and strike Burril hard enough to knock him out.

She felt something loosen inside her mind.

A flash of light lit the room and the box burst into flame. Burril yelled as it roared toward him, then ducked out of the way. It clattered across the floor and came to rest in a puddle, the water sizzling as it evaporated.

The packet of papea dust fell to the floor. Burril stared at her. Smiling, Sonea stooped to pick up another slat, straightened, then narrowed her eyes at him.

All color drained from his face. Sparing no glance at his allies, he leapt for the door and staggered away.

Sonea heard a thin noise beside her, and turned to find Evin standing, conscious, only a few paces away. He took two steps backward, then darted for the door. Seeing their companions leaving, the other two youths scrambled to their feet and followed.

As their footsteps faded, Harrin’s laughter filled the room. He rose, swayed, then walked carefully to the doorway. “What’s the problem?” he shouted. “Did you think she’d just
let
you take her?”

Grinning, he turned to blink at Sonea. “Hai! Well done!”

“Nice finish,” Cery agreed. He rubbed at his eyes and grimaced. Slipping a hand into his coat, he pulled out a small flask and began washing his eyes with the contents. Donia hurried to Harrin’s side and examined his wounds.

“You need these dressed. You hurt, Cery?”

“No.” Cery handed her the flask.

Donia began washing Harrin’s face. His skin was red and blotchy. “You’ll be sore for days. Do you think you could heal him, Sonea?”

Sonea frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know. That wood wasn’t supposed to start burning. What if I try to heal Harrin and burn him instead?”

Donia looked at Sonea with wide eyes. “That’s an awful thought.”

“You need to practice,” Cery said.

Sonea turned to regard him. “I need time to practice, and a place where I won’t get anyone’s attention when I do.”

He pulled a cloth out of his coat and wiped his daggers clean. “Once this gets around, people will be too scared to try and catch you. That’ll give us some rope.”

“It won’t,” Harrin said. “You can bet Burril and the others won’t tell anyone about this. Even if they do, some will think they can do better.”

Cery frowned, then cursed.

“Then we better get away from here real quick,” Donia said. “Where next, Cery?”

He scratched his head, then smiled. “Who’s got money?”

Harrin and Donia looked at Sonea.

“It’s not mine,” she protested. “It’s Jonna and Rand’s.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you spending it to save your life,” Donia told her.

“And they’d think you stupid if you didn’t,” Cery added.

Sighing, Sonea reached inside her shirt for the buckle of her money pouch. “I suppose, if I ever get out of this mess, I can pay them back.” She looked at Cery. “You better find them soon.”

“I will,” he assured her. “Just as soon as you’re safe. For now, I think we should split up. We’ll meet again in an hour. I have a place in mind where no one will think to look for you. We can only stay for a few hours, but it will give us a chance to figure out where to go next.”

Returning from the stables alone, Rothen slowed as he reached the gardens. The air was cold, but not uncomfortably so, and the stillness was welcome after the bustle of the city. He drew in a deep breath and sighed.

Though he had interviewed countless informers, few had given useful information. Most informers had come in the hope that some piece of information, no matter how irrelevant, would lead to her capture and their reward. A few had come simply to air whatever grievance they had with the Guild.

Others, however, had reported seeing lone girls hiding from sight. After a few journeys into the slums, it became clear that there were plenty of street urchins hiding away in dark corners. Conversations with the other magicians who were interviewing the informers revealed many similar disappointments.

It would be so much easier if the reward notices had included a likeness of the girl. He thought wistfully of his late mentor, Lord Margen, who had tried without success to invent a way to transfer mental images to paper. Dannyl had taken up the challenge, but had made little progress.

He wondered how Dannyl was faring. A brief mental conversation with his friend had revealed that the younger magician was alive and unharmed, and would return at sunset. They could not refer to the true purpose behind Dannyl’s visit to the slums, as it was always possible that other magicians would overhear their conversation. Nevertheless, Rothen had sensed a promising smugness in his friend’s communication.

“... know … Rothen …”

Hearing his own name spoken, Rothen looked up. The thick foliage of the garden hedges hid the speaker, but Rothen was sure he had recognized the voice.

“... these things cannot be hurried.”

This voice belonged to Administrator Lorlen. The pair was drawing closer to Rothen’s position. Guessing that they would pass close by, Rothen moved into one of the small courtyards in the gardens. He sat down on a bench seat and listened carefully as the conversation became clearer.