The Magicians' Guild (18 page)

“Yes?”

Lorlen hesitated, as if considering his words carefully. “Lord Fergun wishes to claim guardianship of her.”

“Yes, I know.”

Lorlen’s eyebrows rose. “You are unexpectedly well informed, Lord Rothen.”

Rothen smiled. “Unexpectedly, yes. I learned of this by accident.”

“Do you still intend to claim her guardianship yourself?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Should I?”

Lorlen shook his head. “I do not see the need to tackle that issue until she is found. But you understand that I must call a Hearing when she has been, if you both still intend to claim her?”

“I understand.” Rothen hesitated. “May I ask a question of you?”

“Of course,” Lorlen replied.

“Does Fergun have a strong argument to support his claim?”

“Perhaps. He says that, since he experienced the consequences of the girl’s magic, he was the first to know of her powers. You reported that you saw her _ after_ she used her powers, and that you guessed it was her from her expression, which means you never saw or sensed her use her powers. It is unclear how the law should be applied in this case, and when it comes down to bending a law to suit a situation, the simplest interpretation often wins the vote.”

Rothen frowned. “I see.”

Gesturing for Rothen to follow, Lorlen began walking toward the Arena, his strides slow and measured. “Fergun is determined,” he said quietly, “and has much support, but many would support you, too.”

Rothen nodded, then sighed. “It is not an easy decision. Would you prefer if I did not stir up the Guild by contesting his claim? It would cause you less trouble.”

“What would
I
prefer?” Lorlen chuckled and gave Rothen a direct look. “It would cause me no less trouble either way.” He smiled crookedly, then inclined his head. “Good day, Lord Rothen.”

“Good day,” Rothen replied. They had reached the edge of the stairs surrounding the Arena. The novices were paired now, practicing moves on each other. Rothen stopped and watched, bemused, as Lorlen descended toward the pair of magicians watching the lesson. Something in the way Lorlen had looked at him hinted that the Administrator had been suggesting something more.

The two watchers started as Lorlen appeared beside them.

“Greetings, Lord Kerrin, Lord Elben.”

“Administrator.” The pair inclined their heads, then quickly looked at the Arena again as one of the novices gave a yell of surprise.

“A fine teacher,” Lord Elben said enthusiastically, gesturing to the Arena. “We were just saying that Lord Fergun would make a worthy guardian for this slum girl. After a few months of his strict guidance, she’d be as refined and disciplined as the best of us.”

“Lord Fergun is a responsible man,” Lorlen replied. “I can offer no good reason why he should not guide the training of a novice.”

Yet he hasn’t shown any interest until now,
Rothen thought. Turning away, he continued his stroll through the gardens.

Guardianship was not common. A few novices were favored each year, but only those who had demonstrated exceptional talent or power. No matter what strength or aptitude the slum girl proved to have, she would need help and support as she adjusted to living in the Guild. By becoming her guardian he could ensure that she would receive that help.

He doubted Fergun’s reasons for wanting her guardianship were the same. If Lord Elben’s words were an indication, Fergun intended to discipline the unruly vagrant girl into a meek and obedient novice. He would receive a certain amount of praise and admiration if he succeeded.

How Fergun was going to achieve that would be interesting, since her powers were probably particularly strong and his were weak. He would not be able to stop her if she took it into her mind to disobey him.

For that reason, and others, magicians were discouraged from taking on the guardianship of novices with stronger powers. Weak magicians rarely became guardians at all since, if they claimed a novice with powers less than their own, it only drew attention to their own shortcomings—and the novice’s lack of strength.

But the vagrant girl was different. Nobody would care if Fergun’s limitations handicapped her learning. As far as most were concerned, she was lucky to have any training at all.

And if he failed, who would blame Fergun? He could always use her origins as an excuse … and if he neglected her training, nobody would question it…

Rothen shook his head. Now he was starting to think like Dannyl. Fergun was willing to help the girl, which was noble enough in itself. Unlike Rothen, who had been a guardian of two novices already, Fergun had a measure of glory to gain— and there was nothing wrong with that. Lorlen obviously didn’t think there was.

Or did he? What
had
Lorlen said?
“It would cause me no less trouble either way.”

Rothen chuckled as Lorlen’s meaning finally came to him. If he was right, then Lorlen believed that letting Fergun win his claim would cause as much trouble as the fight over her guardianship—and that fight was sure to cause him no small amount of trouble.

Which meant that Lorlen had given Rothen a rare indication of his support.

As always, Sonea’s guards were silent as they guided her through the passages. Apart from the weeks she had spent in the first hideout, she had been almost constantly on the move since the Purge. The welcome difference now was that she felt no lurking fear of discovery as she travelled.

The lead guard stopped at a door and knocked. A familiar, dark face appeared in the doorway.

“Stay and guard the door,” Faren ordered. “Come in, Sonea.”

Stepping into the room, her heart leapt as she saw the smaller figure standing behind him.

“Cery!”

He grinned and gave her a quick hug. “How are you?”

“Well,” she told him. “You?”

“Happy to see you again.” He searched her face. “You look better.”

“Haven’t come face to face with a magician for, hmm, at least a
few
days,” she said, looking sidelong at Faren.

The Thief chuckled. “We do seem to have outwitted them.”

The room was small, but cozy. A generous fire burned within one wall. Faren directed them to chairs. “Any progress, Sonea?”

She winced. “No, nothing yet. I try over and over, but it never does what I want it to.” She frowned. “Though it nearly always does
something
now. Before it would take a few tries before anything happened.”

Faren leaned back and smiled. “There, that is progress. Have the books helped?”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand them.”

“Is the scribe not clear?”

“No, it’s not that. His reading is fine. It’s just, well, there are too many strange words, and some things make no sense.”

Faren nodded. “If you had more time to study them, perhaps you would find their meaning. I am still looking for more books.” Pursing his lips, he regarded them both speculatively. “I’m looking into some rumors. It’s been said for years that a certain Thief has cultivated a friendship with a man who knows something about magic. I’ve always thought it was an invention to ensure the rest of us stayed polite but I’m looking into it, regardless.”

“A magician?” Cery asked.

Faren shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt it. Most likely he is nothing more than a man who performs tricks that appear to be magic. If he has any knowledge of real magic, however, he may be useful. I will tell you when I know more.” He smiled. “That is all the news I have, but I believe Cery has more.”

Cery nodded. “Harrin and Donia found your aunt and uncle.”

“They did!” Sonea moved to the edge of her seat. “Where are they? Are they well? Did they find a good place to stay? Did Harrin—?”

Cery waved his hands. “Hai! One question at a time!”

Grinning, Sonea leaned toward him eagerly. “Sorry. Tell me what you know.”

“Well,” he began, “it seems they didn’t get a room where they used to live, but found a better one a few streets away. Ranel’s been searching for you every day. They’d heard that the magicians were looking for a girl, but didn’t think it could be you.”

He chuckled. “Jonna said a few things when Harrin told her you’d joined them in the Purge, but then he said what you did. They didn’t believe it at first. He told them how we tried to hide you, and about the reward, and that you were being protected by the Thieves. Harrin says they weren’t as wild about it as he thought they’d be—not when he explained everything.”

“Did they give him any message for me?”

“They said to tell you to look after yourself, and be careful who you trust.”

“That last bit would be Jonna.” Sonea smiled wistfully. “It’s so good to hear they found a place—and they know I didn’t just run off on them.”

“I think Harrin was scared that Jonna might flay him for inviting you to join us in the Purge. He says they’re going to keep coming past the inn for news. Got any messages for them?”

“Just that I’m well and safe.” She looked at Faren. “Will you bring them to see me?”

He frowned. “Yes, but not until I’m sure it is safe. It’s possible—though doubtful—that the magicians know who they are, and will find you through them.”

Sonea drew in a sharp breath. “What if they do know who they are, and threaten to hurt them if I don’t give myself up?”

The Thief smiled. “I don’t think they would. Certainly not publicly. If they tried to do so secretly … ?” He nodded at Cery. “We would find a way around it, Sonea. Don’t worry about things like that.”

Cery smiled faintly. Surprised by the implied partnership, Sonea looked at her friend closely. His shoulders were tense, and a crease appeared between his brows whenever he looked at Faren. She would not have expected him to be relaxed in the presence of a Thief, but he looked a little too anxious.

She turned to regard the Thief.

“Can Cery and I have some time to talk?” she asked. “Just us?”

“Of course.” He rose and moved to the door, then looked back. “Cery, I have something for you when you are done. Nothing urgent. Take your time. See you tomorrow, Sonea.”

“Tomorrow,” she replied, nodding.

When the door had closed behind the Thief, Sonea turned to Cery.

“Am I safe here?” she asked, her voice low.

“For now,” he said.

“And later?”

He shrugged. “That depends on your magic.”

She felt a stab of alarm. “What if I never work it out?”

He leaned forward and took her hand. “You will. You just need to practice. If it was easy, there wouldn’t be a Guild, would there? From what I’ve heard, it takes novices five years before they’re good enough to be called ‘Lord’ so-and-so.”

“Does Faren know this?”

He nodded. “He’ll give you time.”

“Then I’m safe.”

He smiled. “Yes.”

Sonea sighed. “What about you?”

“I’m making myself useful.”

She gave him a direct look. “Making yourself Faren’s slave?”

He looked away.

“You don’t have to be here,” she told him. “I’m safe. You said so. Go. Get away before they get their hooks in you.”

Shaking his head, he stood, letting go of her hand.

“No, Sonea. You need someone familiar around. Someone you can trust. I won’t leave you alone with them.”

“But you can’t become Faren’s slave just so I have a friend to talk to. Go back to Harrin and Donia. I’m sure Faren will let you visit now and then.”

He paced to the door, then turned to face her.

“I want to do this, Sonea.” His eyes were bright. “Everyone’s been talking as if I worked for the Thieves as long as I can remember. Now I have a chance to make it real.”

Sonea stared at him. Was this really what he wanted? Would someone as nice as Cery choose to become … what? A ruthless, money-hoarding murderer? She looked away. That was Jonna’s opinion of the Thieves. Cery had always said that the Thieves were about helping and protecting as much as they were involved in smuggling and thievery.

She couldn’t—shouldn’t—stop him from doing what he had always wanted to do. If the work turned out to be less than he’d hoped, he was smart enough to get out. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

“If it’s what you want,” she said. “Just be careful.”

He shrugged. “I always am.”

She smiled. “It will be wonderful to have you dropping by all the time.”

He grinned. “Nothing would keep me away.”

The brothel was in the darkest, dirtiest part of the slums. Like most, the lower floor was a bolhouse, and the upstairs rooms were for the prettier girls. All other commerce took place in stalls situated in the back of the building.

As Cery entered he thought of Faren’s words.
“He knows most of the faces. He won’t know you, though. Pretend you’re new at it. Give him a good price for what he’s got. Bring the goods back to me.”

Several girls sidled up to him as he crossed the room. They looked pale and tired. A sickly fire which gave off little heat burned in a hearth to one side of the room. A server slouched behind the bar, talking to a pair of male customers. Cery smiled at the girls, looking each one over as if considering, then, as he had been instructed, he approached a plump Elyne girl with a tattoo of a feather on her shoulder.

“Want some fun?” she asked.

“Perhaps later,” he told her. “I heard you got a room for meeting people.”

Her eyes widened, and she nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s right. Upstairs. Last on the right. I’ll take you.”

She took his hand and led him to the stairs. There was a slight tremble in her light grasp. As he climbed the stairs he glanced down and found that many of the girls were watching him, their eyes fearful.

Disturbed, he looked around cautiously as he reached the top of the stairs and started down the corridor. The tattooed girl let go of his hand and waved toward the rooms at the end.

“It’s the last door.”

He pressed a coin into her hand, and continued on. Opening the door cautiously, Cery peered inside. The room was tiny, containing only a small table and two chairs. Stepping inside, Cery inspected everything quickly. A few spy holes had been drilled into the walls. He suspected there was a hatch under the worn simba matting on the floor. A small window offered a view of a wall, and little else.