The Novice (54 page)

Shivering, she realized she would not feel safe until she was back in the Guild, even though it meant living under the same roof as the man who might be the very murderer the slum dwellers feared.

The sound of birdsong and wind greeted Dannyl as he woke. He opened his eyes and blinked at his surroundings, momentarily confused. Stone walls stood on all sides, but there was no roof above. He lay on a thick bed of pulled grass. The air had the feel of morning.

Armje. He was in the ruins of Armje.

Then he remembered the chamber, and the domed ceiling that had attacked him.

So I survived.

He looked down at himself. His robes were charred around the hem. The skin around his calves above where his boots had been was red and stinging. Looking up, he saw his boots standing neatly together a few steps away. They were blistered and charred.

He had come very close to dying, he realized.

Tayend must have taken him out of the cavern to this place. Dannyl looked around, but saw no sign of the scholar. Catching a splash of color on the ground nearby, he recognized Tayend’s blue jacket lying folded beside another bed of grass.

He considered getting up and looking for his friend, but remained on his grass bed. Tayend would not be far away, and he felt an overwhelming reluctance to move. He needed rest—not because his body needed it, but because he needed to recover magically.

Focusing on the source of his power, he found he had almost no magic to draw upon. Normally, he would have slept until at least partially recovered. Perhaps the lingering memory of danger had woken him as soon as he had regained enough strength to pull out of his exhausted slumber. Knowing that he lacked magic should have made him feel vulnerable and uneasy, but instead he felt freer, as if released from something.

Hearing footsteps, he drew himself up onto one elbow. Tayend stepped into the room and smiled when he saw that Dannyl was awake. The scholar’s hair was a little ruffled, but otherwise he still managed to appear well groomed despite having slept on a bed of grass.

“You’re awake at last. I just refilled our flasks. Thirsty?”

Realizing he was, Dannyl nodded. He accepted his flask and drained it.

Tayend crouched beside him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. A bit cooked around the ankles, but nothing worse.”

“What happened?”

Dannyl shook his head. “I was about to ask you that same question.”

“Your part comes first.”

“Very well.” Dannyl described the chamber, and how it had attacked him. Tayend’s eyes widened as he listened.

“After you went in, I kept reading the glyphs,” the scholar said. “The writing said that the door led to a place called the Cavern of Ultimate Punishment, and a little farther I worked out that it was made to execute magicians. I tried to call to you—to warn you—then I heard you call me and you made the lights. Before I could reach the end of the passage, they went out.”

Tayend shivered. “I kept going. When I got to the cavern, you were pressed up against something invisible. Then you fell forward and you didn’t move. I could see more of those lightning things on the walls. I ran forward and grabbed your arms, and pulled you off the platform. The lightning touched it, then everything went dark. I couldn’t see, but I kept pulling you along, into the passage and back outside. Then I carried you here.” He paused, and his mouth curled into a half-smile. “You’re really heavy, by the way.”

“Am I?”

“It’s your height, I’m sure.”

Dannyl smiled, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with affection and gratitude. “You saved my life, Tayend. Thank you.”

The scholar blinked, then smiled self-consciously. “I suppose I did. Looks like I’ve returned the favor. So, do you think the Guild knows about this Cavern of Ultimate Punishment?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” Dannyl shook his head. He didn’t want to discuss the Guild, or the cavern.
I’m alive,
he thought. He looked around, at the trees, the sky, then Tayend.
He really is a beautiful man,
he thought suddenly, remembering how he had been struck by the scholar’s fine looks that first day, at Capia’s docks. He felt something at the edge of his thoughts, like a memory just out of reach. It grew stronger as he concentrated on it, and he felt a familiar uneasy feeling steal over him. He tried to push it away.

Suddenly he was acutely aware of his lack of magical strength. He frowned, wondering why he had reached for his powers unconsciously. Then realization came. He had been about to use his Healing powers to take away the uneasiness, or at least the physical reaction that had caused it.
As I always do, without realizing it.

“What’s wrong?” Tayend asked.

Dannyl shook his head. “Nothing.” But that was a lie. All these years he had been doing this: turning his mind from the thoughts that had caused him so much trouble and anguish, and using his Healing power to stop his body from reacting in the first place.

Memories came rushing back. Memories of being the object of scandal and rumor. He had decided that, if how he felt was so unacceptable, then it was better not to feel at all. And perhaps, with time, he would begin to desire what was right and proper.

But nothing had changed. The moment he lost the ability to Heal, there it was again. He had failed.

“Dannyl?”

Looking at Tayend, Dannyl felt his heart skip. How could he look at his friend, and consider that being like him was a failure?

He couldn’t. He remembered something that Tayend had said.
“There is a…a certainty in me about what is natural
and right for me that is as strong as his own certainty about what is natural and right.”

What
was
natural and right? Who really knew? The world was never so simple that one person could have all the answers. He had fought this for so long. What would it be like to stop fighting? To accept what he was.

“You’ve got the strangest look on your face. What are you thinking?”

Dannyl regarded Tayend speculatively. The scholar was his closest friend. Even closer than Rothen, he realized suddenly. He had never been able to tell Rothen the truth. He knew he could trust Tayend. Hadn’t the scholar protected him from the Elyne gossips?

It would be such a relief just to
tell
someone,
Dannyl thought. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you, Tayend.”

The scholar’s eyes widened slightly. He sat back on his haunches and smiled. “Really? How so?”

“That novice I befriended years ago. He was exactly what they said he was.”

Tayend’s lips curled into a half-smile. “You never said he wasn’t.”

Dannyl hesitated, then continued. “So was I.”

Watching Tayend’s face, Dannyl was surprised to see the smile change to a grin.

“I know.”

Dannyl frowned. “How could you know?
I
didn’t even…remember until now.”

“Remember?” Tayend sobered and tilted his head to one side. “How would you forget something like that?”

“I…” Dannyl sighed, then explained about the Healing. “After a couple of years, it became a habit, I suppose. The mind can be a powerful thing, particularly for magicians. We’re trained to focus our minds and achieve deep levels of concentration. I pushed away every dangerous thought. It mightn’t have worked, if I hadn’t been able to smother my physical feelings with magic as well.” He grimaced. “But it didn’t change anything. It made me empty of any feelings of attraction. I desired neither men nor women.”

“That must have been terrible.”

“Yes, and no. I have few friends. I suppose I was lonely. But it was a dull kind of loneliness. There isn’t as much pain in life if you don’t let yourself become entangled with others.” He paused. “But is that really living?”

Tayend didn’t answer. Looking at the scholar, Dannyl read a wariness there.

“You knew,” Dannyl said slowly. “But you couldn’t say anything.”
Otherwise I would have reacted with fear and denial.

Tayend shrugged. “It was more like a guess. If I was right, though, I knew there was a chance you’d never confront it. Now that I know the effort you went to, it is amazing that you have at all.” He paused. “Habits are hard to break.”

“But I will.” Dannyl stilled as he realized what he had said.
Can I really commit to that? Can I accept what I am, and face this fear of discovery and rejection?

Looking at Tayend, he heard a voice deep within answer:
Yes!

The path to the High Lord’s Residence was dusted with tiny fragments of color. As the wind rustled the trees, more blossoms flitted down to join them. Sonea admired the colors. A lighter mood had stayed with her since visiting her aunt and uncle the previous day. Even Regin’s stares in class hadn’t diminished it.

When she reached the door, however, a familiar gloom settled over her. It swung inward at her touch. She bowed to the magician standing in the guestroom.

“Good evening, Sonea,” Akkarin said. Was she imagining it, or was there a difference in his tone?

“Good evening, High Lord.”

The Firstday evening meals had become a predictable routine. He always asked her about her lessons; she replied as succinctly as possible. They didn’t talk about much else. The night after he had discovered her in the passages she had expected him to raise the subject but, to her relief, he hadn’t mentioned it once. Obviously, he felt that she needed no further rebuke.

She trudged up the stairs. Takan, as always, was waiting for them in the dining room. A delicious, spicy odor lingered about him, and she felt her stomach growl with impatience. But as Akkarin sat down opposite her she remembered Ranel’s story about the murderer and her appetite fled.

She looked down at the table, then stole a glance at him. Was she sitting opposite a murderer? His eyes slid to hers, and she quickly averted her gaze.

Ranel had said that the murderer wore a ring with a red gemstone. Looking at Akkarin’s hands, she was almost disappointed to see they were bare. Not even a mark to hint that a ring might have been worn regularly. His fingers were long and elegant, yet masculine…

Takan entered with a platter of food, drawing her attention away. As Sonea began to eat, Akkarin straightened and she knew his usual questions were about to start.

“So how are your aunt and uncle, and their son? Did you have a pleasant afternoon with them yesterday?”

He knows!
She sucked in a breath, and felt something catch in her throat. Grabbing a napkin, she covered her face and coughed.
How does he know where I went! Did he follow me? Or was he in the slums, hunting for victims, and happened to see me there?

“You’re not going to die on me, are you?” he asked dryly. “That would be inconvenient.”

Pulling the napkin away, she found Takan standing beside her, offering a glass of water. Taking it, she gulped a mouthful.

What should I say? He knows where Jonna and Ranel live.
She felt a stab of fear, but pushed it aside. If he had wanted to, he could have found that out easily enough without following her. He might even have read their location from her—or Rothen’s—mind.

He didn’t seem to expect an answer, or gave up waiting for one. “I don’t disapprove of you visiting them,” he told her. “I do, however, expect you to ask me for permission if you intend to leave the Guild grounds at any time. Next time, Sonea,” he stared at her directly, his eyes hard, “I’m sure you’ll remember to ask me first.”

Looking down, she nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”

The door opened just as Lorlen reached the High Lord’s Residence. He stopped as Sonea stepped out, box in hand. She blinked at him in surprise, then bowed.

“Administrator.”

“Sonea,” he replied.

She glanced down at his hand, then her eyes widened. Her gaze flickered to his, her expression questioning, then she quickly looked away and hurried past, toward the University.

Looking down at the ring on his hand, Lorlen felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Clearly, she had heard about the murderer and his red ring. What did she think of him now? Turning to watch her, he felt his chest tighten. Each day she moved from one inescapable nightmare to another. From the shadow of Akkarin to the torments dealt out by the novices. It was a cruel situation.

And an unnecessary one. Clenching his fists, he advanced on the door and stepped through. Akkarin sat in one of the luxurious armchairs, already sipping from a wineglass.

“Why are you letting the novices gang up on her?” he demanded before his anger and courage failed.

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. “I gather you mean Sonea? It does her good.”

“Good?”
Lorlen exclaimed.

“Yes. She has to learn to defend herself.”

“Against other novices?”

“She ought to be able to defeat them. They’re not well coordinated.”

Lorlen shook his head and started to pace the room. “But she
isn’t
defeating them, and some magicians are wondering why you do not step in and put a stop to it.”

Akkarin shrugged. “It is up to me how my novice is trained.”

“Trained! This isn’t
training!
”

“You heard Lord Yikmo’s analysis. She’s too nice. Real conflict will teach her to fight back.”

“But this is fifteen novices against one. How can you expect her to stand up to that many?”

“Fifteen?” Akkarin smiled. “The last I saw it was near twenty.”

Lorlen stopped pacing and stared at the High Lord.

“You’ve been
watching
her?”

“Whenever I can.” Akkarin’s smile widened. “Though it’s not always easy to keep up with them. I would like to know how that last one ended. Eighteen, perhaps nineteen, and she still managed to free herself.”

“She got away?” Lorlen suddenly felt lightheaded. He moved to a chair and sank into it. “But that means…”

Akkarin chuckled. “I’d advise you to think twice if you were planning to take her on in the Arena, Lorlen, though her lack of skill and confidence would ensure you won the fight.”