The Novice (56 page)

“I think what Regin needs,” he said suddenly, “is a thorough, public beating.”

Sonea’s heart stopped. “You’re not going to—”

“Not from me. From you.”

“Me?”

“You are stronger than him, aren’t you? Quite a bit stronger, if the rumors are true.”

“Well, yes,” Sonea admitted. “That’s why he gets so many others to help him.”

“Then challenge him. A formal challenge. In the Arena.”

“A
formal
challenge?” She stared at him. “You mean…fight him in front of everybody?”

“Yes.”

“But…” She remembered something Lord Skoran had said. “There hasn’t been one for over fifty years—and it was between two adult magicians, not novices.”

“There’s no rule against novices making formal challenges.” Dorrien shrugged. “Of course, it
is
a risk. If you lose, the harassment will probably get worse. But if you’re so much stronger than him, how can you lose?”

“‘Skill can overcome strength,’” Sonea quoted.

“True, but you’re not unskilled.”

“I’ve never beaten him before.”

Dorrien’s eyebrow rose. “But if you are as strong as they say, your powers will have been limited in class, am I right?”

She nodded.

“They won’t be in a formal battle.”

Sonea felt a tiny spark of hope and excitement. “Is that so?”

“Yes. The idea is for the combatants to face each other as they are, no restraints or enhancements. It’s a ridiculous way to solve a dispute, really. No battle ever proved a man—or a woman—right or wrong.”

“But that’s not what this is about,” Sonea said slowly. “This is about persuading Regin that it’s not worth bothering me. Once he’s suffered a humiliating defeat, he won’t want to risk another.”

“You’ve got the idea.” Dorrien smiled. “Make your challenge as public as possible. He will be forced to accept it or dishonor his family name. Give him the most public thrashing you can bring yourself to deal out to the stupid boy. If he harasses you afterward, challenge him again. He’ll give you no reason to keep putting him in such a position.”

“Nobody else gets dragged into it,” Sonea breathed. “No one will get hurt and I won’t have to wheedle myself into any false friendships.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” he said soberly. “You’ll still need those supporters. He might decide that people will admire his determination if he fights you over and over, in search of a way to beat you. Gather other novices around yourself, Sonea.”

“But…”

“But?”

She sighed. “I’m not like that, Dorrien. I don’t want to be the leader of some petty gang.”

“That’s fine.” He smiled. “You don’t have to be like Regin. Just be enjoyable company, which you shouldn’t have any difficulty with. I think your company is very enjoyable.”

She looked away.
I should say something to put him off now,
she thought. But she could not think of anything. Looking at him again, she saw a wary, disappointed expression on his face, and realized she had told him enough by not saying anything.

He smiled, but this time there was no twinkle in his eyes. “What else have you been up to?”

“Not much. How is Rothen?”

“He misses you terribly. You know he considers you like a daughter, don’t you? It was hard enough on him when I left, but he knew I was going and had got used to the idea by the time it happened. With you, it was a bigger shock.”

Sonea nodded. “For both of us.”

Entering the classroom, Rothen directed the two volunteers toward the demonstration table. As the novices set down their burdens, he unlocked the supply cupboard and checked that there were enough utensils for the next class.

“Lord Rothen,” one of the boys said.

Looking up, Rothen followed the boy’s gaze toward the door. His heart skipped as he saw who was standing there.

“Lord Rothen,” Lorlen said. “I wish to speak to you in private.”

Rothen nodded. “Of course, Administrator.” He looked at the two novices and nodded toward the door. They hurried out of the room, pausing to bow to Lorlen.

As the door closed behind them, Lorlen strolled forward to the window, his expression taut and worried. Rothen watched him, knowing that only something very important would have brought the Administrator to him in defiance of Akkarin’s order that they not talk to each other.

Or had something happened to Sonea? Rothen felt dread rising. Had Lorlen come to bring the awful news, knowing that it would free him to confront Akkarin?

“A short time ago I saw your son in the garden,” Lorlen began. “Is he visiting for long?”

Rothen closed his eyes, relieved. This was about Dorrien, not Sonea.

“A week,” he replied.

“He was with Sonea.” Lorlen frowned. “Did they become…familiar when Dorrien visited last?”

Rothen drew in a sharp breath. He had guessed—and hoped—that Dorrien’s interest in Sonea had been more than just curiosity. From Lorlen’s question, enough was apparent between the pair for the Administrator to suspect something more. Rothen might have been pleased, but instead he felt only alarm. What would Akkarin do if he discovered this?

Rothen chose his words carefully. “Dorrien knows that it will be many years before Sonea is free to leave the Guild—and that she may not want to join him when that time comes.”

Lorlen nodded. “He may need a little more discouragement than that.”

“With Dorrien, discouragement is often taken as encouragement,” Rothen said wryly.

The look that Lorlen gave him was humorless. “You’re his father,” he snapped. “You of all people should know how to convince him.”

Rothen looked away. “I don’t want him involved in this any more than you do.”

Lorlen sighed and looked down at his hands. He wore a ring, and the ruby in the setting glittered in the light. “I’m sorry, Rothen. We have enough to worry about. I trust you will do everything you can. Do you think Sonea will see the danger and turn him away?”

“Yes.” Of course she would. Rothen felt a pang of sympathy for his son. Poor Dorrien! He would have half-expected Sonea to lose interest anyway, considering the years of study ahead of her and his long absences. But if Dorrien knew the real reason, it would probably drive him to do something foolish. Better that he didn’t know.

How did Sonea feel about this? Was it difficult to turn Dorrien away? Rothen sighed. How he wished he could ask her.

Lorlen moved to the door. “Thank you, Rothen. I will leave you to your preparations.”

Rothen nodded and watched the Administrator leave. Though he understood Lorlen’s resigned manner, he resented it.
You’re supposed to find a way out of this,
he thought at the man’s back. Then resentment changed to a feeling of hopelessness.

If Lorlen couldn’t find a way, then who could?

It’s still late,
Sonea thought fuzzily.
Not long past midnight. Why am I awake? Did something wake me…?

A faint chill touched her cheek. A breeze. Opening her eyes, she took a moment to register the square of darkness where there should have been a door. Something pale moved within that darkness. A hand.

By the next heartbeat she was completely awake. A pale oval floated above the hand. Otherwise, he was invisible in his black robes.

What is he doing? Why is he here?

Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She forced her breathing to slow and stay even, afraid of what he might do if he realized she was awake and aware of him. For an excruciatingly long time he stood there. Then, between one blink and the next, he was gone and the door was closed.

She stared at the door. Had it been a dream?

Better to believe it was. The alternative was too frightening. Yes, it must have been a nightmare…

When she woke next it was morning. The memory of dreams filled with dark figures and foreboding had joined the one of the night watcher, and she dismissed them all as she rose and dressed in her robes.

At first glance there was nothing wrong, but when Sonea looked closely she saw that the chemical in one vial was cloudy and the other’s contents had dried into a brown lump. The intricate arrangement of rods and weights in the timer was a shambles.

From the doorway behind her Sonea heard a low and familiar chuckle, followed by half-smothered sniggers. She straightened, but did not turn around.

After her conversation with Dorrien she had been full of confidence and ready to challenge Regin at the first opportunity, but as the day had continued, doubts had begun to grow. Every time she had thought about actually fighting Regin, the idea had seemed less brilliant and more foolish. Warrior Skills was Regin’s best subject, and her worst. She would never see the end of his harassment if she lost. It was not worth the risk.

By the end of the week, she had decided it was the worst move she could make. If she put up with him long enough, he might grow bored with her. She could endure being called names or being waylaid and tormented outside classes.

But not this. As she considered the ruin that was left of her work she felt a dark fury begin to simmer. When Regin did something like this, even if the teachers didn’t penalize her for failing an exercise, he stopped her from learning. And when he stopped her from learning, he lessened the chances that she might, one day, be skilled enough to help the Guild defeat Akkarin.

She felt something shift inside as her fury grew stronger. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to blast Regin into ashes.

“Give him the most public thrashing you can bring yourself to deal out to the stupid boy. If he harasses you afterward, challenge him again. He’ll give you no reason to keep putting him in such a position.”

A formal battle. It was a risk. But waiting was a gamble, too. He might never grow bored and leave her alone. And she didn’t like waiting…

“Make your challenge as public as possible.”

Slowly, she turned to see that Regin and the novices from the earlier class were standing in the doorway, watching her. Walking toward them, she pushed her way through and out of the classroom. Novices and teachers filled the corridor outside. The buzz of voices was loud, but not too loud for a single voice to be heard above it. A magician in purple robes appeared, heading toward the classroom. Lord Sarrin, Head of Alchemy. Perfect.

“What’s wrong, Sonea?” Regin sneered. “Didn’t your experiment work?”

Sonea spun about to face Regin.

“Regin, of the family Winar, House Paren, I challenge you to a formal battle in the Arena.”

Regin’s face froze into open-mouthed surprise.

Silence seemed to spread outward like smoke. In the edges of her vision, Sonea saw faces turning in her direction. Even Lord Sarrin had stopped. She forced aside a nagging feeling that she had just done something she would always regret.
Too late now.

Regin managed to close his mouth. His expression became thoughtful. She wondered if he was going to refuse, to say she was not worth fighting.
Give him no time to think of it.

“Do you accept?” she demanded.

He hesitated, then smiled broadly. “I accept, Sonea of no family of consequence.”

At once a whispering and murmuring began in the corridor. Afraid that her courage would fail if she looked around, Sonea kept her eyes on Regin. He glanced back at his companions, then laughed. “Oh, this is going to be—”

“The time is yours to choose,” she snapped.

His smile vanished for a second, then returned.

“I guess I had better give you some time to catch up,” he said lightly. “Freeday, a week from tomorrow, an hour before sunset. That sounds generous enough.”

“Sonea,” an older voice said.

She turned to see Lord Elben striding toward her. He glanced at the audience that had gathered, and frowned. “Your experiment has failed. I checked it last night, and this morning, and I can see no cause. I will give you another day to attempt it again.”

She bowed. “Thank you, Lord Elben.”

He considered the novices lingering in the doorway. “Enough chatter, then. Classes are held
inside
the rooms as far as I’m aware.”

“You drink more siyo than last time, eh?”

Dannyl handed the flask to Jano and nodded. “I think I’m getting a taste for it.”

The sailor looked a little worried. “You not going to do magic wrongly from drink, are you?”

Dannyl sighed and shook his head. “I’m not that drunk yet, but I wouldn’t want us to encounter any sea leeches.”

Jano patted his shoulder. “No eyoma this far south, remember.”

“I’m not likely to forget,” Dannyl muttered. His comment was smothered as the sailors cheered. A member of the crew had just entered the room. The man grinned and moved to his hanging bed. Pulling a small pottery wind instrument from a bag, he strolled over to take his place at the head of the table.

As the man began to play, Dannyl thought of the last week. He and Tayend had made it back to Capia within three days, travelling directly and changing horses several times. Tayend had remained at his sister’s home, while Dannyl continued to the city. Stopping at the Guild House only long enough to pack a small chest of clothing, Dannyl had found and boarded a ship leaving for Imardin that night.

He’d been pleased to find himself back on the
Fin-da.
Jano had greeted him like an old friend, and assured him that the journey home would be swifter, as they would catch the spring winds.

Jano hadn’t mentioned that the spring winds made for a rougher ride. Dannyl would not have cared, except that the unpleasant conditions kept him inside for most of the day, where he spent hours worrying about the reception that awaited him at the Guild.

His fears that Akkarin had sensed something of his feelings toward Tayend had grown since boarding the ship. During his stop at the Guild House, Errend had handed Dannyl some letters to read. Finding one from Rothen, Dannyl had opened it eagerly, only to find it contained a warning.

...
I would not be overly concerned about these rumors. In any case, they concern your assistant, not yourself. But I thought you should be told so that you may judge for yourself whether this might cause you trouble in the future…