The Magicians' Guild (40 page)

When Dannyl finished his anecdote, Rothen continued his explanation. “The first two parts of the Magicians’ Vow are the same,” he told her. “But the third part changes to be a pledge to serve the ruler of one’s own land, and the fourth becomes a promise to never use evil forms of magic.”

Sonea nodded. By letting her escape, Fergun would be breaking a law
and
the Magicians’ Vow.

“What is the punishment if a magician breaks the Vow?”

Rothen shrugged. “That depends how it was broken, which land the magician lives in, and the judgment of their ruler.”

“What happens if they are Kyralian?”

“The worst penalty is death, which is reserved for murderers. Otherwise, the strongest punishment is exile.”

“You … block the magician’s powers and send them away.”

“Yes. None of the Allied Lands will accept them. It was part of the agreement.”

She nodded. She couldn’t ask him what Fergun would face if the Guild discovered he had arranged for her to leave with her powers intact. A question like that was sure to make Rothen suspicious.

If she agreed to Fergun’s plan, she would have to hide well, or face similar punishment. The Guild would not offer her another chance to join them. She would have no choice but to rely on a Thief to hide her again—though she was sure Faren would do so eagerly if her powers were unblocked and controllable.

What would they ask her to do in return? She grimaced as she considered the prospect of spending the rest of her life hiding and doing the bidding of a Thief. All she really wanted was to be with her family.

Looking up at the snow covering the ground on either side of the path, she felt a pang of worry as she thought of her aunt and uncle shivering in some tiny room somewhere. This would be a hard time for them. They would have few customers. With Jonna’s baby growing and Ranel’s bad leg stiffening in the cold, how were they getting deliveries done? She should return to help them, not perform magic for a Thief.

But if she returned with magic, she was sure Faren would make sure her aunt and uncle lived well, and she would be able to Heal…

Yet if she cooperated with Rothen, she could be back with her aunt and uncle in a few weeks. Fergun’s plans might take months …

It was so hard to decide.

Frustrated, she wished, as she had so many times before, that she had never discovered her powers. They had ruined her life. They had nearly killed her. They had forced her to feel grateful to the hated magicians for saving her life. She just wanted to be rid of them.

Rothen slowed. Looking up, Sonea realized that the path came to an end at a wide, paved road ahead. As they reached it, several small, neat houses came in sight.

“These are the Residences,” Rothen told her.

The blackened skeletons of a few houses lay between some of the buildings. Rothen offered no explanation. He continued on to where the road ended in a large circle for turning a carriage. Walking over to a fallen tree trunk beside the road, he sat down.

As Dannyl folded his long legs and joined the older magician, Sonea looked around at the forest. Through the trees she saw a row of dark shapes in the snow, too regular to be natural.

“What are they?”

Rothen followed her gaze.

“That’s the old cemetery. Shall we have a look?”

Dannyl turned abruptly to stare at the older magician. “Now?”

“We’ve already come this far,” Rothen said, rising. “It won’t hurt to go a little farther.”

“Couldn’t it wait until morning?” Dannyl cast an anxious look at the distant shapes.

Rothen raised his hand and a tiny speck of light suddenly sprang into existence just above his palm. It expanded rapidly into a round globe of light, then floated up to hover above their heads.

“I guess not.” Dannyl sighed.

Snow crunched under their boots as they started toward the cemetery. Sonea’s shadow stretched to one side, then was joined by another as a second sphere of light flared into existence over Dannyl’s head.

“Afraid of the dark, Dannyl?” Rothen said over his shoulder.

The tall magician did not reply. Chuckling, Rothen stepped over a fallen log and entered the clearing. Several rows of stones stretched into the gloom.

Drawing closer, Rothen sent his light forward to hover just above one of the stones. The snow melted quickly, revealing markings on the surface. As the light rose higher again, he indicated Sonea should move closer.

A decorative design had been carved around the edge of the slab, and she could see marks at the center which might once have been words.

“Can you read it?” Rothen asked.

Sonea ran her hand over the engravings.

“Lord Gamor,” she read, “and a year …” She frowned. “No, I must be wrong.”

“I believe it says twenty-five of Urdon.”

“This is seven centuries old?”

“It certainly is. All of these graves are at least five centuries old. They’re quite a mystery.”

Sonea looked up at the rows of stones. “Why are they a mystery?”

“No magicians have been buried here since then, and none are buried outside of the Guild either.”

“Where are they buried?”

“They aren’t.”

Sonea turned to regard him. A faint noise whispered among the trees nearby and Dannyl turned abruptly, his eyes wide. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise.

“Why not?” she asked.

Rothen moved forward and looked down at the grave. “A magician four centuries ago described his magic as a constant companion. It can be a helpful friend, he said, or a deadly adversary.” He looked back at Sonea, his eyes hidden under the shadows of his brows.

“Think of everything you have learned about magic and control. Your powers developed naturally, but for most of us, we need to have our abilities triggered by another magician. Once that is done, we are bound by the demands of our powers for the rest of our lives. We have to learn to control them, and we have to maintain that control. If we don’t, our magic will eventually destroy us.” He paused. “For all of us, at the moment of our death, our grasp over our power ends and the remaining magic within us is released. We are, literally, consumed by it.”

Sonea looked down at the grave. Despite Rothen’s shield of warmth, she felt cold to the bone.

She had thought that she would be rid of magic once she had learned Control, but now she knew that she would never be free of it. No matter what she did, it would always be there. One day, in some house in the slums, she would just flare out of existence …

“If we die a natural death, this is rarely a problem,” Rothen added. “The strength of our power usually fades in our last years. If our death is unnatural … There is an old saying: it takes a fool, a martyr, or a genius to murder a magician.”

Looking at Dannyl, she suddenly understood his discomfort. It was not the presence of the dead that disturbed him, but the reminder of what was going to happen to him when he died. But he had chosen this life, she reminded herself. She hadn’t.

Neither had Fergun. Forced to become a magician by his parents, he faced this end too. She wondered how many magicians entered the Guild reluctantly. Surprised by her newfound sympathy, she looked down at the headstone.

“So why are these graves here?”

Rothen shrugged. “We have no idea. They shouldn’t be. Many of our historians believe that these magicians drained all their power once they knew they were dying, then made sure they died at the point of exhaustion by stabbing themselves or taking poison. We know they chose other magicians to be attendants at their death. Perhaps making sure they died at the right moment was the attendant’s task. Even a little remaining power can be enough to destroy a body, so the timing would have been important, especially as the magicians of that time were extraordinarily powerful.”

“We don’t know if that’s true,” Dannyl added. “The stories of their powers may have been exaggerated. Heroes tend to gain improbable strength when their tale is told over and over again.”

“We have books written during their lifetimes,” Rothen reminded him. “Even diaries of the magicians themselves. Why would they exaggerate their own abilities?”

“Why indeed?” Dannyl replied dryly.

Turning away, Rothen led them back, over the snow they had trampled on their approach.

“I believe that those first magicians
were
more powerful,” Rothen said. “And we have been growing weaker ever since.”

Dannyl shook his head, then looked down at Sonea. “What do you think?”

She blinked at him with surprise. “I don’t know. Perhaps they had some way of making themselves stronger.”

Dannyl shook his head. “There are no ways of increasing a magician’s strength. What he is born with, he’s stuck with.”

They reached the road and continued on. Night had descended completely and lights glowed in the windows of the houses along the road. As they passed a burned ruin, Sonea shivered. Had it been destroyed when the occupant passed away?

The magicians remained silent as they continued down the road. Reaching the beginning of the path, Rothen sent his floating light ahead to illuminate the way. In the lull in conversation, the chirping of insects in the forest seemed louder.

As the Magicians’ Quarters came into sight, Sonea thought of all the magicians who lived there, each keeping their power under control even as they slept. Perhaps those early city planners had another reason for giving the magicians an entire quarter of the city to themselves.

“That’s all the exercise I need for tonight, I think,” Rothen said suddenly. “And it’s just about time for the evening meal. Will you join us, Dannyl?”

“Of course,” the tall magician replied. “I would love to.”

The sun hovered above the distant towers of the Palace like an enormous magician’s globe light, sending long stripes of orange light into the gardens.

As they walked along the path, Sonea was quiet. Brooding. Rothen knew she had guessed the intention behind the excursions he had been taking her on, and was mentally hardening herself until no sight could tempt her to stay in the Guild.

He smiled. Though she might be determined to dismiss everything she saw, Rothen intended to show her as much as he could of the Guild. She needed to see what she was rejecting.

Surprised by her continuing determination to leave, Rothen had found himself pondering his own life. Like all children of the Houses, he had been tested for magical ability at about the age of ten. He remembered how excited his parents had been when potential had been found. They told him he was lucky and special. From that day, he had looked forward to joining the Guild.

Becoming a magician had never been a possibility for Sonea. She had been taught to see them as an enemy to be blamed and hated. In the face of her upbringing, it was easy to see why she considered joining the Guild a betrayal of the people she had grown up with.

But it didn’t have to be. If he could convince her that she could eventually use her powers to help her people, she might decide to stay.

Reaching the end of the University, Rothen turned right. As they passed the gardens on the other side of the building, the gong rang, marking the end of classes. Knowing this was usually followed by novices rushing from the University to their quarters, Rothen had chosen a longer, but quieter, route to the Healers’ Quarters.

He was looking forward to this excursion. Healing was the noblest of the magicians’ skills, and the only magic which Sonea appeared to value. Knowing that the Warrior arts were unlikely to impress her, he had taken her to see them first. However, she had been more unsettled by the demonstration than he had expected. Despite the teacher’s explanation of the rules and protections used, she had flinched away from the combatants as soon as they began their mock battle.

Though Dannyl’s mind-printing experiment had demonstrated one use of Alchemy, it was, in reality, only a hobby. If he was going to impress her, he needed to show her something that was more useful to the city. He hadn’t yet decided what it should be.

As they neared the circular Healer’s Quarters, Rothen glanced at Sonea again. Though her expression was guarded, her eyes were bright with interest. He stopped before the entrance.

“This is the second Healers’ Quarters to be built,” he told Sonea. “The first was quite luxurious. Unfortunately, our predecessors experienced problems with a few wealthy patients who assumed they could buy permanent residency. When the University and the other Guild buildings were constructed, the old Healers’ Quarters was demolished and this replaced it.”

Though the exterior was attractive, the Healers’ building was not as impressive as the University. Moving through the open doors, Rothen led Sonea into a small, undecorated entrance hall. A fresh, medicinal smell permeated the air.

Two Healers, a middle-aged man and a younger woman, looked up as Rothen and Sonea entered. The man regarded Sonea dubiously and turned away, but the young woman smiled and came forward to greet them.

“Greetings, Lord Rothen,” she said.

“Greetings, Lady Indria,” he replied. “This is Sonea.”

Sonea nodded. “Honored to meet you.”

Indria inclined her head. “A pleasure to meet you, too, Sonea.”

“Indria will be giving us a tour of the Healers’ Quarters,” Rothen explained.

The Healer smiled at Sonea. “I hope you find my tour interesting.” She looked at Rothen. “Shall we begin?”

Rothen nodded.

“This way, then.”

Leading them to a pair of doors, Indria willed them open and ushered Rothen and Sonea into a wide, curved corridor. They passed several open doors, and Sonea took the opportunity to glance into the rooms beyond.

“The lower floor of the building is dedicated to treating and housing patients,” Indria told them. “We can’t expect sick people to climb up and down stairs, can we?” She smiled at Sonea, who managed a bemused shrug in reply.

“The upper floor has rooms for lessons and for the Healers who live here. Most of us live in this building rather than in the Magicians’ Quarters. It allows us to respond quickly to an emergency.” She gestured to her left. “The patients’ rooms are those which have nice views of the gardens or the forest.” She waved to the right. “The interior rooms are our Treatment Rooms. Come, I’ll show you one.”