The Novice (3 page)

“Do any magicians wish to claim guardianship of any of these entrants?”

Rothen jumped as he realized that his turn to speak had come. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything another voice spoke the ritual words.

“I have made a selection, Director.”

The voice came from the other side of the hall. All the entrants turned to see who had risen from their seat.

“Lord Yarrin,” Jerrik acknowledged. “Which entrant do you wish to claim guardianship of?”

“Gennyl, of the family Randa and the House of Saril, and the Greater Clan of Alaraya.”

A faint murmur of voices rose in the ranks of the magicians. Looking down, Rothen saw that the boy’s father, Lord Tayk, was sitting forward in his chair.

Jerrik waited until the voices subsided, then tilted his head expectantly toward Rothen.

“Do any other magicians wish to claim guardianship of one of these entrants?”

Rothen rose. “I have made a selection, Director.”

Sonea looked up, her mouth tight as she tried not to smile.

“Lord Rothen,” Jerrik replied, “which entrant do you wish to claim guardianship of?”

“I wish to claim guardianship of Sonea.”

No murmuring followed his choice, and Jerrik merely nodded in acknowledgment. Rothen returned to his seat.

“That’s it,” Dannyl whispered. “Your last chance has gone. There’ll be no getting out of it now. She’s got you well and truly wrapped around her finger for the next five years.”

“Shush,” Rothen replied.

“Do any other magicians wish to claim guardianship of one of these entrants?” Jerrik repeated.

“I have made a selection, Director.”

The voice came from Rothen’s left, and was followed by the sound of chairs creaking as people turned or shifted in their seats. The hall echoed with excited chatter as Lord Garrel rose.

“Lord Garrel,” there was surprise in Jerrik’s voice, “which entrant do you wish to claim guardianship of?”

“Regin, of the family Winar and the House of Paren.”

The chatter changed to a collective sigh of understanding. Looking down, Rothen saw that the boy at the end of the line wore a grin. The voices and creaking of chairs continued for several minutes until Jerrik raised his arms for silence.

“I’d keep an eye on those two novices and their guardians,” Dannyl murmured. “Nobody usually selects a novice in their First Year. They’re probably doing it simply to prevent Sonea having a higher status than the rest of her classmates.”

“Or, I’ve started a trend,” Rothen mused. “And Garrel may have already seen potential in his nephew. That
would
explain why Regin’s family wanted him to start classes early.”

“Are there any other guardianship claims?” Jerrik called. Silence followed, and he dropped his arms. “Would all magicians intending to claim guardianship come to the front.”

Rothen rose and made his way to the end of the seats, then down the stairs. Joining Lord Garrel and Lord Yarrin, he waited beside Director Jerrik as a young novice, flushed with excitement at having a role in the ceremony, came forward carrying a stack of brown-red cloth. The magicians each selected a bundle.

“Would Gennyl please come forward,” Jerrik ordered.

One of the Lonmar boys hurried forward and bowed. His eyes were wide as he faced Lord Jerrik, and as he spoke the Novices’ Vow his voice trembled. Lord Yarrin handed the boy his robes, and guardian and novice stepped aside. Lord Jerrik turned toward the entrants again.

“Would Sonea please come forward.”

She walked stiffly toward Jerrik. Though her face was pale, she bowed gracefully and spoke the vow in a clear, unwavering voice. Rothen stepped forward and handed her the bundle of robes.

“I hereby take guardianship of you, Sonea. Your learning is my concern and task until you graduate from the university.”

“I will obey you, Lord Rothen.”

“May you both benefit from this arrangement,” Jerrik finished.

As they moved aside to stand next to Lord Yarrin and Gennyl, Jerrik called the still smiling youth from the end of the line.

“Would Regin please come forward.”

The boy strode confidently to Jerrik, but his bow was shallow and hurried. As the ritual phrases were repeated, Rothen looked down at Sonea, wondering what she was thinking. She was a member of the Guild now, and that was no small thing.

She looked at the boy to her right, and Rothen followed her gaze. Gennyl stood with his back straight and his face flushed.
He’s just about bursting with pride,
Rothen mused. To have a guardian, especially at this point, was proof that an entrant was exceptionally gifted.

Few would believe this about Sonea, however. He suspected that most magicians assumed he had chosen to be her guardian simply to remind all that he had been instrumental in finding her. They would not have believed him if he told them of her strength and talent. But they would find out, and knowing it gave him some satisfaction.

After Regin and Lord Garrel had spoken the ritual words, they moved to Rothen’s left. The boy kept glancing at Sonea, his expression calculating. She either did not notice, or was ignoring him. Instead, she watched intently as Jerrik called the rest of the entrants forward to speak the vow. As each accepted their robes, they formed a line next to the guardians and their novices.

When the last of the entrants had joined the line, Lord Jerrik turned to regard them.

“You are now novices of the Magicians’ Guild,” he announced. “May the coming years be prosperous for all of you.”

As one, the novices bowed. Lord Jerrik nodded and moved to one side.

“I extend a welcome to our new novices and wish them many years of success.” Sonea jumped as Lorlen’s voice rang out from behind her. “I now declare this Acceptance Ceremony concluded.”

The Guildhall began to echo with the sound of voices. The rows of robed men and women stirred as if caught by a strong wind. They rose and began to descend to the floor, filling the hall with the clatter of footsteps. As the new novices realized the formalities were over, they moved in all directions. Some rushed to their parents, others examined the bundle in their hands or gazed around at the sudden activity. At the end of the Guildhall the great doors began to open slowly.

Sonea turned to look up at Rothen. “That’s it, then. I’m a novice.”

He smiled. “Glad it’s all over?”

She shrugged. “I get the feeling it’s only just begun.” Her eyes flickered over his shoulder. “Here’s your shadow.”

Rothen turned to find Dannyl striding toward him.

“Welcome to the Guild, Sonea.”

“Thank you,
Ambassador
Dannyl,” Sonea replied, bowing.

Dannyl laughed. “Not yet, Sonea. Not yet.”

Sensing someone new at his side, Rothen turned to find the University Director standing next to him.

“Lord Rothen,” Jerrik said, giving Sonea a tired smile as she bowed.

“Yes?” Rothen replied.

“Will Sonea be moving into the Novices’ Quarters? It never crossed my mind to ask until now.”

Rothen shook his head. “She’ll be staying with me. I have plenty of room for her in my apartments.”

Jerrik’s brows rose. “I see. I will tell Lord Ahrind. Excuse me.”

Rothen watched the old man walk over to a thin, hollow-cheeked magician. Lord Ahrind frowned and glanced over at Sonea as Jerrik spoke to him.

“What happens now?” Sonea asked.

Rothen nodded to the bundle in her hands. “We see if these robes fit properly.” He looked at Dannyl. “And I think a little celebration is in order. Coming?”

Dannyl smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

The sun was warm on his back as Dannyl stepped up to the carriage. He drew on a little magic to lift the first of his chests onto the roof. As the second settled next to it he sighed and shook his head.

“I suspect I’m going to regret taking so much,” he muttered. “Yet I keep thinking of things I wish I’d packed.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to buy anything you need in Capia,” Rothen told him. “Lorlen has certainly given you a generous allowance.”

“Yes, that was a pleasant surprise.” Dannyl grinned. “Perhaps you’re right about his reasons for sending me away.”

Rothen’s eyebrow rose. “He must know it would take more than sending you to another country to keep you out of trouble.”

“Ah, but I’m going to miss fixing all your problems, my friend.” As the driver opened the carriage door, Dannyl turned to look at the older magician. “Are you coming to the Marina?”

Rothen shook his head. “Classes start in less than an hour.”

“For both you and Sonea.” Dannyl nodded. “Then this is it—time to say goodbye.”

They regarded each other solemnly for a moment, then Rothen gripped Dannyl’s shoulder and smiled. “Take care of yourself. Try not to fall overboard.”

Dannyl chuckled and returned the clasp. “Take care, old friend. Don’t let that new novice of yours wear you out. I’ll be back in a year or so to check on your progress.”

“Old friend, indeed!” Rothen pushed Dannyl toward the carriage. After climbing inside, Dannyl turned to see a thoughtful expression on his friend’s face.

“I never thought I’d see you running off on such glorious escapades, Dannyl. You seemed so content here, and you’ve rarely set foot outside the gates since you graduated.”

Dannyl shrugged. “I guess I was waiting for the right reason.”

Rothen made a rude noise. “Liar. You’re just lazy. I hope the First Ambassador knows this, or he’s in for a nasty surprise.”

“He’ll find out soon enough.” Dannyl grinned.

“I’m sure he will.” Rothen smiled and stepped away from the carriage. “Off with you, then.”

Dannyl nodded. “Goodbye.” He tapped on the roof of the carriage. It jerked into motion, drawing him away. Sliding to the other side of the seat, Dannyl pulled back the screen covering the window and glimpsed Rothen still watching before the carriage turned again to pass through the Guild Gates.

He leaned back in the cushioned seat and sighed. Though he was pleased to be finally leaving, he knew he would miss his friends and familiar surroundings. Rothen had Sonea and the elderly couple Yaldin and Ezrille for company, but Dannyl would have only strangers.

Though he was looking forward to his new position, he was a bit intimidated by the duties and responsibilities he was taking on. Since the hunt for Sonea, however, during which he had located and negotiated with one of the Thieves, he had grown increasingly bored with his easy, mostly solitary life of study in the Guild.

He hadn’t realized just how bored he was until Rothen had told him he was being considered for the role of Second Ambassador. By the time Dannyl was summoned to the Administrator’s office, he could recite the name and position of every man and woman in the Elyne court and, to Lorlen’s amusement, numerous scandalous tales as well.

Deep into the Inner Circle the carriage turned onto the road that circled the Palace wall. Little could be seen of the grand Palace towers from this angle, so Dannyl slid to the other end of the seat to admire the elaborately decorated homes of the rich and powerful. At one street corner a new mansion was being constructed. He remembered the old crumbling structure that had once stood there, a relic from before the invention of magician-made architecture. The application of magic to stone and metal had enabled magicians to build fantastic buildings that defied normal structural limitations. Before the carriage moved past, Dannyl glimpsed two magicians standing beside the partly built new home, one holding up a large plan.

The carriage turned again and passed more grand homes, then slowed and rolled through the Inner Gates into the West Quarter. The guards barely glanced up as it passed, only pausing to note the Guild symbol painted on the side of the vehicle. The road continued through the West Quarter, between large and regal houses of a plainer style than those of the Inner Circle. Most belonged to merchants or crafters, who preferred this part of the city for its proximity to the Marina and Market.

As the carriage passed through the Western Gate, it entered a maze of stalls and booths. People of all races and classes filled the roads on either side. Stall holders called out their wares and prices over the endless buzz of voices, whistles, bells and animal calls. Though the road remained wide, sellers, customers, street performers and beggars crowded both sides so that carriages had barely enough room to pass each other.

The air was heavy with a confusion of smells. A breeze sweetened by the smell of bruised fruit was followed by another reeking of rotten vegetables. The fibrous smell of rush matting was swamped by the acrid, suffocating odor of something unwholesome as two men carried a vat of oily blue liquid past the carriage. Finally, the briny tang of the sea, and the subtle, pungent scent of river mud reached Dannyl and he felt his heartbeat quicken. The carriage turned a corner and the Marina came into view.

A forest of masts and ropes lay before him, dividing the sky into ribbons of blue. On either side of the road an endless river of people hurried past. Muscular carriers and crewmen hauled boxes, baskets and sacks on their backs. Carts of all sizes, drawn by all manner of animals, trundled by. The cries of sellers were replaced by shouted orders and the bellowing and bleating of livestock.

Still the carriage continued, taking him past larger and larger boats until he reached a row of sturdy merchant ships resting by a long pier. There it slowed and stopped, rocking back on its springs.

The door opened and the driver bowed respectfully.

“We have arrived, my lord.”

Dannyl slid across the seat and climbed out. A swarthy, white-haired man stood nearby, his face and bare arms well tanned. Behind him stood several younger men, all heavily built.

“You are Lord Dannyl?” the man asked, bowing stiffly.

“Yes. You are…?”

“Piermaster,” he said, then nodded at the carriage. “Yours?”

Dannyl guessed that he was referring to the chests. “Yes.”

“We’ll take ’em down.”

“No, I can save you the trouble.” Dannyl turned and focused his will. As each chest drifted down toward the ground, a pair of the young men came forward and caught it, apparently accustomed to the use of magic for such purposes. They started down the pier, the rest of the men following.