Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) (19 page)

The other close relationship in the class was that of the twins, Ursella and Orlene. They were big girls, sturdy and statuesque, their colouring vivid and dramatic with masses of bright red
curls and sparkling emerald eyes. They were absolutely identical and in the short time the group had been together, no one had found a way to tell them apart. They were bold, outspoken and brimming
with confidence, and even though they were pleasant, merry and rarely unkind, Chiannala found their brashness intimidating.

Valmai was completely the opposite, being pale and dark-haired, petite and shy, with a rare smile that lit up her face like sunshine. Like Chiannala, she had started out by being quiet and
self-effacing, but that lovely smile had soon won her friends, who wanted to bring her out of her shell and see her blossom. Even Chiannala, very much against her will, found herself harbouring a
sneaking liking for the girl.

The same could not be said for Mylosa. In her case, it was instant dislike on both sides. The girl was tall and imposing, with spun-silk pale blonde hair, silvery eyes, and hawkish, patrician
features. She came from one of the oldest, most powerful Wizard families, one that had spawned a long line of Archwizards. Her mother, Galiena, Head of the Luen of Spellweavers now that Avithan had
gone, had been Cyran’s greatest rival for the Archwizard’s post. Rich and haughty, Mylosa had little time for a homely looking farm girl like Brynne. Though Chiannala, realising how
much trouble it would save in the long run, had tried to remain beneath her notice, unfortunately she had not succeeded. She was far too clever a student, and had no intention of pretending
otherwise. Even in the short time the class had been together she had made the cardinal mistake of making Mylosa look stupid, but it couldn’t be helped. Chiannala was not going to sell
herself and her powers short just to placate an arrogant snob from a powerful family, even if it did result in an enmity that could make her life at the Academy very unpleasant.

Oddly, however, Mylosa wasn’t her chief worry. The greatest danger, as far as Chiannala was concerned, came from Rhoslyn, a good-natured, friendly girl who had a smile and a pleasant word
for everyone. If a delightful nature weren’t enough, she was vivacious and pretty, with rippled waves of tawny hair and big brown eyes with sweeping dark lashes. Through the goodness of her
heart she was always trying to befriend Brynne, having decided that the farm girl must be shy and lonely. Rhoslyn was always trying to draw her into groups and activities, until Chiannala wanted to
throttle her.

The more she resisted, the more determined the other girl seemed to become, yet her chief threat lay not in her pushy friendliness, but in the fact that, like Chiannala, she came from Nexis.
Things had been different then. Even the sunny Rhoslyn had not been friendly towards a half-blood. Worse than the hypocrisy, however, was the very real risk of exposure. Since the original Brynne
had come from a farm on the coast, she would hardly be expected to know anything about Nexis, and Chiannala was constantly afraid that Rhoslyn would get something out of her that would expose her
as an impostor. And the stupid bitch refused to be discouraged. No amount of cold, brusque, dismissive or downright rude behaviour would put her off. Here she was again this morning, smiling that
sickly sweet smile, offering the ostensible Brynne more taillin, a sweet roll, butter . . .

‘I’m quite capable of getting my own breakfast,’ Chiannala snubbed her.

Rhoslyn simply shrugged. ‘I know that, Brynne, but kindness and good manners don’t cost anything,’ she said pointedly.

It was still a long way from losing her temper, but it was the closest Chiannala had ever seen her come.
Good,
she thought.
I’m finally getting to her.
Lurking in the
back of her mind, however, was the uncomfortable thought that she always shied away from – that if circumstances had been otherwise, if she’d been a true, full-blooded Wizard, able to
come here under her own identity, she would have appreciated and enjoyed Rhoslyn’s friendship, and been on much easier, friendlier terms with the rest of the group. As it was, she felt as if
an invisible wall closed her off from them, built of heritage, background, lies – and murder.

Chiannala shuddered. Sometimes, without any warning, the guilt would rise up and strike at her. She clenched her fingers tightly on the cup she was holding in a rigid, white-knuckled grip
– and with a sudden crack the handle shattered in her hand, slicing into her fingers, and the cup fell, shattering on the floor and drenching her legs in hot taillin.

An abrupt silence fell in the refectory as all heads turned in her direction. ‘Somebody shoot the juggler,’ came a droll voice from somewhere across the room, and there was a ripple
of laughter. Chiannala, her face burning with embarrassment, suddenly found herself the centre of attention.

Rhoslyn came to her rescue. ‘Oh, you poor dear. How stupid of the kitchen staff to give someone a cracked cup like that. Why, you’re bleeding! Let me see.’

‘No, it’s all right,’ Chiannala snatched her hand away. ‘I can do it.’ She knew that
she
was good at healing, but she didn’t have so much faith in
Rhoslyn. Quickly she cast a spell to stem the blood that dripped from her lacerated fingers and, once that was done, cast another that began to seal the gashes with new tissue. Then she turned her
attention to the burning areas on her legs where the taillin had hit her, and used a different spell to cool and heal the scalds. This therapeutic magic came to her effortlessly, and she knew that
her hurts would need no further attention.
Not bad for a first-year student
, she thought with a little inward smirk.

Rhoslyn raised her eyebrows. ‘Goodness, you did that really well.’ There was frank and generous admiration in her voice. ‘No wonder you didn’t want me messing with
it.’ For once, Chiannala forgot to be irritated with the other girl, and was grateful for her kindness. Though the annoyance sparked again, when Rhoslyn said, ‘I wouldn’t be at
all surprised, Brynne, if you were chosen to specialise with the Luen of Healers.’

‘Just because I’m good at it, doesn’t mean I’m particularly interested,’ she replied. To join the Luen of Healers was the last thing she wanted. In her opinion you
didn’t get to be the most powerful Wizard in Tyrineld by messing about, healing stupid, whiny idiots who had got themselves hurt.

Rhoslyn passed her a clean handkerchief moistened with water from the jug on the table. ‘Here, wipe all that blood off your fingers and I’ll take care of your poor robe. You
don’t want to be trailing all the way back upstairs to change, and one thing I am good at is cleaning spells.’ She turned her attention to the stained robe, and Chiannala felt the cold,
clinging clamminess of the wet fabric fade away quickly, as did the brown marks of the taillin.

Apart from those on her own table, the other students in the refectory had lost interest in the clumsy first-year, and had turned back to their own conversations and concerns. Chiannala’s
classmates, luckily, had put the accident down to nerves about the forthcoming announcements. She was quite happy to let them think what they liked, just so long as no one ever suspected the
truth.

That day seemed endless, with nothing to do but wait. Since today was a holiday for the first-year pupils, most of them sought to distract themselves by going into the town for the day. So far,
their work had allowed them few opportunities for recreation, and those of them who had always lived in Tyrineld were glad to show off their city to those who had grown up in the farms or villages
of the surrounding lands. Chiannala had rebuffed all their offers. As soon as breakfast was over she headed to the Academy’s great library, to spend the day, as usual, in study. Let the
others have their markets and shops, the busy harbour, swimming in the warm ocean and strolling in the flowering parks in the sunshine. She was going to be a better Wizard than all of them –
that was all that counted.

Despite her fascination for her studies, however, the day seemed to crawl by so slowly that Chiannala actually began to wonder whether someone had been working with a time spell that had gone
badly wrong. The library was hot and stifling, and more than once she found herself looking wistfully out of the window at the bright sun, and wondering if the others found the hours and minutes
dragging in the same way. More than once she was tempted to go out and see if she could find them, but that thirst for knowledge, that compulsion to work the hardest and be the best, drove her on
until finally the red sun dropped down towards the ocean until it was almost touching the horizon. Chiannala put away her books and papers and, slinging her heavy bag over her shoulder, hastened
out of the library.

On her way across the courtyard, Chiannala noticed that a band of dark purple cloud was massing on the horizon, rapidly overtaking the setting sun, which shone on bravely, untroubled by the
approaching storm. A cold breeze came snaking across the flagstones, making her shiver. Though she chided herself for being superstitions, she could not help but view it as a bad omen.

Having been closest to the Hall of Light, Chiannala was the first of the students to arrive. She halted in the doorway, overawed by the magnificence around her. She had only seen this chamber
once before, on her first day as a student here, when all the newcomers had been given a tour of the Academy. Then it had been one of Tyrineld’s rare cloudy days, and she had not seen the
hall to its full advantage. Now, in the golden light of sunset, the vast chamber had exploded into jewelled splendour. The long hall was comprised almost entirely of stained-glass windows, or so it
seemed to the wide-eyed Chiannala. Each glowing panel was held in place by what appeared to be the most delicate lacework of dark, carved stone. They were formed in a multitude of cunning geometric
shapes, interspersed with tall, rectangular panels that reached from the smooth tiled floor right up to the soaring, vaulted ceiling. Some held beautiful, intricate patterns while others depicted
glowing scenes from ancient legend, and from the noble history of Tyrineld.

Chiannala would have liked to have the time and solitude in which to wander through the hall, looking at all the images in turn, but that pleasure would have to wait for, though she was the
first student to arrive, the Heads of the Luens were there before her. At the far end of the hall was a raised dais and there they sat in a semicircle, wearing their power and authority like royal
mantles.

The venerable Aldyth, Head of the Academy and the Luen of Academics, sat in the centre next to blunt Omaira of the Warriors, Esmon’s successor, a big, broad, imposing woman with short,
sandy hair, a homely face and shrewd eyes that glinted with suppressed anger. According to gossip, she had found it difficult to restrain herself from riding out at once with her entire Luen to
avenge Esmon’s death. Surprisingly, Galiena, the new Head of the Spellweavers, was absent, as was thin, clever Callia, Head of the Merchants, and they had been replaced by strangers.

On the other side of Aldyth was Tinagen, Head of the Healers, tall and gangling with a profile like an eagle and a great shock of curling red hair, and Lanrion, Head of the Nurturers, who was
not, by all accounts, as gloomy as his bony face and dark, saturnine looks implied, though today he looked grave indeed as he whispered to his neighbour Daina, Head of the Artisans, with her short,
spiky grey hair and a stunningly beautiful young-old face which was marred by the ravages of sleeplessness and sorrow. Esmon, Iriana and Avithan had been loved and respected by more than the
members of their own Luens. Vaidel of the Bards, young and dangerously handsome with his dark curls and his close-clipped beard, was fidgeting. It was all too plain that he found this ceremony a
waste of time, and from the cold glint of anger in his eyes, it appeared that he would rather be out seeking his own vengeance on the killers.

Suddenly the hall grew dark as the threatening clouds finally covered the sun, and lost its vivid bejewelled beauty, its corners and recesses stalked by sinister shadows that crept out across
the floor.

‘Come on, Brynne, you’re blocking the doorway.’ While Chiannala had been observing the august Heads of the Luens and wondering which, after today, would become her own mentor,
her fellow students had caught up with her and were jostling to enter. She let the flow of them carry her into the room and headed for the block of chairs, set out in three rows of five, in front
of the dais. Her heart was beating quickly as she sat down in the front row. Which of the Luens had chosen her?

After a moment to let the students settle themselves, Aldyth stood and made a long speech about the origins of the Luens, their long and noble history, why the students were being selected, what
an honour it was to be chosen and how he hoped that they would work hard and do their utmost to bring honour to their Luen . . . Chiannala soon stopped listening to his droning voice. Which would
it be? Which would it be? The question kept circling in her head. Though she had professed indifference earlier that day, even to herself, in her heart she wanted the Spellweavers, where she felt
that there would be more opportunities to make a name for herself. And she most emphatically did
not
want to be attached to the Nurturers, Iriana’s Luen. Her hand hidden in a fold of
her robes, she crossed her fingers tightly as Aldyth’s speech wound down and announced that the new students would now be told what they had waited so long to hear.

The students were placed in alphabetical order, and Chiannala fidgeted impatiently while Ayron was assigned to the Nurturers and Briall to the Spellweavers. Then, at long last, it was her
turn.

Aldyth’s voice rang out. ‘Student Brynne will be attached to the Healers.’

Chiannala stiffened in disbelief. There was a buzzing in her ears that drowned out Aldyth’s subsequent announcements.
Healers?
No, this couldn’t be! What did she care about
a bunch of people she didn’t know, who didn’t have the sense to keep themselves healthy? Aldyth had made a mistake. Someone had, that was for sure. She sprang to her feet, her mouth
opening to scream, shout, tell them they had it all wrong, but Rhoslyn, who was sitting beside her, grabbed her arm and jerked her back down. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed. ‘Do
you want to be thrown out of the Academy?’