The Novice (36 page)

Shivering at the memory, Lorlen opened his eyes and stared at the walls of his bedroom. As he clenched his fists he felt a warm band of metal press into the skin around one finger. Lifting his hand, he felt his stomach twist as a red gem glinted in the dim light.

Everything had been revealed: what Sonea had witnessed, the truth-read, Rothen’s involvement, and all that Dannyl had learned or discovered. No hint of Akkarin’s thoughts or emotions had filtered through to him. Only afterward had Lorlen seen hints of the High Lord’s state of mind as Akkarin paced his guestroom, brooding in silence for an hour, perhaps longer. What he had discovered obviously concerned him greatly, but his demeanor had not lost any of its confidence.

Finally, the restraining magic holding Lorlen in the chair had withdrawn. Akkarin picked up the knife from the table. Given more time to think, Lorlen would have feared for his life, but instead he stared in disbelief as Akkarin ran the blade over his own palm.

With blood pooling in one hand, Akkarin took Lorlen’s empty glass and smashed it against the table. He picked up one of the fragments and tossed it in the air.

It had halted in front of Akkarin’s eyes, and begun spinning, the sharp edges glowing red as it melted. When it had cooled again, it formed a faceted sphere. Akkarin lifted his bleeding hand and curled his fingers around the sphere. When he opened his hand again, the cut had disappeared and a bright red gem lay on his palm.

Next, Akkarin had willed a silver spoon to his hand from the drinks cabinet. It had twisted about, melting and folding until it had formed a thick circle. Akkarin took the gem between two fingers and placed it in the thickest part of the band, which closed about it like a flower.

Then he had held the ring out to Lorlen.

“Put it on.”

Lorlen had considered refusing, but he knew that Akkarin was willing to use force to get his way, and he could imagine a few unpleasant ways that a ring might be permanently attached. He wanted the option of removing it one day, so he took the ring and reluctantly slipped it onto his middle finger.

“I will be able to see and hear everything around you,” Akkarin had told him. “And we will be able to communicate without anyone hearing.”

Was Akkarin watching now? Does he observe me pacing in my rooms? Does he feel any guilt for what he’s done?

While Lorlen felt hurt and betrayed by Akkarin’s actions, it was Sonea’s fate that tormented him most. Had Akkarin been watching when, looking out of his window a few minutes ago, Lorlen had seen Sonea leave the University? She had stopped abruptly, the pain in her eyes so clear as she remembered that she could no longer return to Rothen’s rooms.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted Akkarin to have seen her. He wasn’t sure if his “friend” could feel remorse or guilt. For all Lorlen knew, Akkarin might have enjoyed seeing her misery.

But, despite everything, he still wanted to believe it wasn’t so.

As Sonea walked away from the University she imagined she could feel the enormous building shrinking behind her. Her back prickled with lingering warmth and her face stung with cold. Ahead a dark shape loomed larger as she approached.

The High Lord’s Residence. Akkarin’s house.

She had stretched her evening meal out as long as possible then, unable to bring herself to leave the University, she had gone to the Novices’ Library. Now, with the library closed and the rest of the University empty and silent, she had no alternative but to return to her new room.

Her heart was beating too fast by the time she reached the door. She stopped, swallowed hard and reached out to the door handle. As she touched it, the door swung inward.

The room inside was lit by a single globe light. A figure sat in one of the luxurious chairs, holding a book in long, pale fingers. He looked up and Sonea felt her stomach clench.

“Come in, Sonea.”

She forced her legs to move. Once inside, the door swung shut behind her, closing with a soft, but decisive click.

“Did you do well in the tests today?”

She opened her mouth to answer but, not trusting her voice, decided to nod instead.

“That is good. Have you eaten?”

She nodded again.

“Then you should get some rest in preparation for tomorrow. Go.”

Relieved, she bowed and hurried through the door to her left. She created a globe of light and sent it before her as she climbed the curving stairs.

In the light of magic, the staircase reminded her of the one that led down to the underground room where she had seen him practicing his black magic. Those stairs lay behind the door on the other side of the guestroom, she guessed. On this side, the stairs led only upward.

At the top she reached a long corridor. Behind the first door was her bedroom. She had seen nothing else of the High Lord’s Residence.

As she turned the door handle, she heard footsteps coming from the other end of the corridor. Looking up, she saw a wall illuminated by a slowly brightening light, and the top of the other staircase.

Willing her own light to vanish, she quickly opened the door of her room and slipped inside. She left the door open a crack, but as she peered through she cursed under her breath. Only the corridor wall opposite was visible. To watch him, she would have to open the door farther, and he was sure to notice.

Light streaked down the corridor wall. The footsteps stopped and a faint click reached her ears. The light moved again, then all disappeared in darkness as the sound of a door closing echoed down the corridor.

So that’s his bedroom,
Sonea mused.
Just twenty or so strides down the corridor.
Knowing he was so close was not comforting, but it wouldn’t have been much better had he been on the other side of the residence. Just knowing she was in the same building was disturbing enough.

Closing her own door quietly, Sonea turned around and surveyed her room. Moonlight spilled through the two small windows, throwing pale rectangles on the floor. The room seemed almost welcoming in the gentle light.

It was very different from her plain room in the Novices’ Quarters. The furniture here was made of a dark red wood, polished to a shine. A large cabinet stood against one wall. A table and chair for study stood beside it. Between the two windows was a bed. Something lay on it.

Sonea walked over to the bed and willed a globe light into existence. A bundle of simple cloth, tied with string, lay on the covers. As she untied the knot, it fell open and green material spilled out.

Her Acceptance Ceremony dress.

As she lifted it, heavier objects fell out of the folds: her silver comb and mirror, and two books of poetry that Rothen had given her. She felt tears spring to her eyes.

No. I am not going to start blubbering like some lost child,
she told herself. Blinking the moisture away she put the objects on the study table, then carried the dress to the clothes cupboard.

A faint woody odor wafted out as she slipped the dress onto a hanger. The smell reminded her of the Guildhall. A memory of Rothen speaking the ceremonial words of a guardian flashed into her mind. She remembered her elation as she stood beside him, her new robes in her hands.
But he’s not my guardian anymore.
Sighing, she closed the cupboard door.

Returning to the bed, she saw a smaller object lying on the cover. Picking it up, she recognized the rough carving of a reber that Dorrien had given to Rothen soon after he arrived. It had fascinated her how something could be so crudely hewn, yet have all the essence of the animal it represented.

Dorrien. She hadn’t thought of him since he’d left. It seemed like weeks ago, but it was only two days since they had walked up to the spring, and he had kissed her.

What was he going to think when he heard about her sudden change of guardian? She sighed. Like the rest of the magicians, he would marvel at her “good fortune”—but she was sure that, had he been here, he would have detected that something wasn’t right. He would have noticed her fear and Rothen’s distress and anger.

But he wasn’t here. He was far away in his little village in the mountains.

Eventually Dorrien would visit the Guild again. When he did, he would want to see her. Would Akkarin let him? Sonea smiled. Even if Akkarin forbade it, Dorrien would find a way. Besides, if Akkarin stopped Dorrien from seeing her it would raise suspicions.

Or would it? Akkarin could simply claim that Dorrien was distracting her from her studies. Though Dorrien might find that a bit over-protective, no one else would question it. She frowned. What if Dorrien
did
notice that something was wrong? What would he do? What would Akkarin do? She shivered. Unlike Rothen and herself, Dorrien lived far from the Guild’s sight. Who would question if a Healer working in a distant village died in an “accident?”

She clutched the carving tightly. She must not give Akkarin reason to notice Dorrien. When Dorrien returned to the Guild, she would have to tell him she had no feelings for him. He had said himself that she might find someone else in the years until graduation. Let him think that she had.

But there could never be anyone else. Not while she was Akkarin’s hostage. To make a friend was to bring someone else into danger. And what about her aunt and uncle and her little cousin? For now, Akkarin would not harm Rothen without freeing her to reveal his secret. If he knew where her family was, they could be used against her, too.

Sighing, she lay back on the bed. When had it all started to go wrong? Her thoughts went back to the North Square. Since that day her fate had been in the hands of others: first Cery and Harrin, then the Thieves, then Rothen, and now Akkarin. Before then, she had been a child, protected by her aunt and uncle. Would she ever be in control of her life?

But I’m alive,
she reminded herself.
All I can do now is be patient and hope something will happen to fix all this—and make sure I’m ready to help when it does.

Rising, she went to her study table. If something did happen, it would probably involve magic, so the more prepared she was, the better. Healing tests would be held tomorrow, and she ought to go over her notes one more time.

Moving to the window again, Rothen stared at the High Lord’s Residence. Small squares of brightness had appeared by its northern tower during the last two nights. The more he stared at it, the more sure he was that Sonea was behind those windows.

How frightened she must be. How trapped. She must wish she never agreed to join the Guild.

He realized that his fists were clenched. Forcing himself to return to his chair in the guestroom, he sat down and regarded the remains of his half-eaten meal.

What can I do? There must be
something
I can do.

He had asked himself that question over and over. Each time the answer was the same.

As much as you dare.

Everything depended on Sonea’s safety. He wanted to step out into the corridor and scream out the truth to all the magicians who had so blindly accepted Akkarin’s decision, but he knew if he did, Sonea would be the first of Akkarin’s victims. Her power would be used to fight the Guild; her death would help Akkarin defeat them.

He desperately wanted to talk to Lorlen. While he craved an assurance that Lorlen wasn’t about to sacrifice Sonea’s life in an attempt to defeat Akkarin, he also wanted to know that the Administrator hadn’t abandoned all plans to fight the High Lord.

Akkarin had forbidden any contact between them, but even if Rothen had dared to risk talking to Lorlen, he couldn’t. The Administrator had retired to his rooms and was resting. Since hearing this, Rothen had been worried that Lorlen had been injured in his confrontation with Akkarin. The possibility was frightening. If Akkarin could harm his closest friend, what was he capable of doing to those he cared less about?

But the High Lord might be well used to killing and taking power from others. He might have been doing so for years. Rothen frowned. How long had Akkarin been practicing black magic? As long as he had been High Lord? Longer?

Since Sonea had told him of Akkarin’s secret, Rothen had considered many times how Akkarin might have discovered black magic. It was commonly understood that the Guild had destroyed all knowledge of it centuries ago. The Higher Magicians were told how to recognize it, but that was all. Nevertheless, it was possible that Akkarin had access to information and instructions from forgotten records somewhere in the Guild.

Or he might have learned black magic years ago, before he set out on his journey. The quest to discover knowledge of ancient power may have been an excuse to find out more, or simply to gain time and freedom to practice. Or perhaps it was during Akkarin’s travels that he had discovered black magic. Had Akkarin stumbled upon the knowledge and used it to strengthen himself?

Where knowledge of power could be found, a means to defeat that power often lay beside it. If Akkarin had discovered black magic during his travels, then another might find it again. Rothen sighed. If only he could leave the Guild, he would spend every moment of each day searching for that knowledge. But he couldn’t leave. Akkarin was probably watching him closely. He wouldn’t want Rothen roaming the Allied Lands, out of his sight.

Someone else must do it, then.
Rothen nodded to himself.
Someone free to travel. Someone who will do it without asking too many questions. Someone I can trust…

Slowly, Rothen began to smile. He knew exactly the right person.

Dannyl.

Hundreds of torches flickered in the chill night breeze. Ahead, hundreds more formed a long zigzag that wove back and forth and up toward the sky. The rocky surface of a cliff was illuminated by them and, at intervals, the mouths of caves were circled by flames.

The rowers pulled on their oars in time to the slow beat of the drummer at the prow. Song echoed back from the cliffs as the singers shifted through slow harmonies that sent a shiver down Dannyl’s spine. He glanced at Tayend, who was gazing around at the other boats in wonder. After a few weeks of rest, the courtier was looking healthier.