The Magicians' Guild (23 page)

The sensation stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Bending to the grille, Sonea saw that the magician had released the servant. He was turning slowly about, his eyes roaming around the walls as if searching for something.

“Strange,” he said. “It’s almost as if…”

He’s not searching for something on the walls,
Sonea thought suddenly.
He’s searching for something
beyond
them.

Fear rushed over her. Rising to her feet, she slipped out of the hedge and backed away from the house.

Don’t run,
she told herself.
Don’t make any noise.
Resisting the urge to bolt for the trees, she forced herself to creep away carefully. She increased her pace as she reached the path, wincing every time a twig snapped under her feet. The forest seemed darker than before, and she felt a rising panic as she realized she was not sure where she had been sitting when Cery had left her.

“Sonea?”

She jumped as a figure stepped out of the shadows. Recognizing Cery’s face, she gasped with relief. In his arms was something large and heavy.

“Look,” he said, lifting his burden.

“What’s is it?”

He grinned. “Books!”

“Books?”

“Books on magic.” His grin faded. “Where have you
been?
I just got back and—”

“I was there.” She pointed at the house and shivered. It seemed darker now, like a creature lurking at the edge of the gardens. “We have to go! Now!”

“That
place!” Cery exclaimed. “That’s where their leader lives—the High Lord.”

She grabbed his arm. “I think one of his magicians heard me!”

Cery’s eyes widened. He glanced over her shoulder, then turned and started through the forest, away from the shadowy building.

Only twenty or so magicians had gathered in the Night Room when Rothen entered. Finding that Dannyl had not yet arrived, he started toward a set of chairs.

“The window was open. Whoever it was came through the window.”

Hearing the distress in the voice, Rothen paused and looked for the speaker. He found Jerrik standing nearby, talking to Yaldin. Curious to know what could have upset the University Director, he walked over to the two men.

“Greetings.” Rothen nodded politely. “You look displeased about something, Director.”

“There’s a resourceful thief among our novices,” Yaldin explained. “Jerrik has lost a few valuable books.”

“A thief?” Rothen repeated, surprised. “Which books?”

“The Lore of the Southern Magicians, Arts of the Minken Archipelago
and the
Handbook of Firemaking”
Jerrik said.

Rothen frowned. “A strange combination of books.”

“Expensive books,” Jerrik grieved. “Twenty gold pieces it cost me to have those copies made.”

Rothen whistled softly. “Then your thief has an eye for value.” He frowned. “Books of that rarity would be hard to hide. They are large volumes, I seem to remember. You could authorize a search of the Novices’ Quarters.”

Jerrik grimaced. “I was hoping to avoid that.”

“Perhaps somebody borrowed them,” Yaldin suggested.

“I’ve asked everyone.” Jerrik sighed and shook his head. “Nobody has seen them.”

“You didn’t ask me,” Rothen pointed out.

Jerrik looked up sharply.

“No, I didn’t take them.” Rothen laughed. “But you may have missed others as well. Perhaps you could ask everyone at the next Meet. It’s only two days away, and the books might surface before then.”

Jerrik winced. “I suppose I better do that first.”

Catching sight of a familiar, tall figure entering the Night Room, Rothen excused himself. He strode to Dannyl’s side and drew the magician into a quiet corner of the room.

“Any luck?” he asked quietly.

Dannyl shrugged. “No, no luck, but at least I wasn’t followed by knife-wielding foreigners this time. You?”

Rothen opened his mouth to reply but closed it again as a servant stopped to offer a tray of wine-filled glasses. He reached out to take one, then froze as a black-sleeved arm extended toward the tray from behind Dannyl. Akkarin selected a glass and stepped around Dannyl to face Rothen.

“How does the search progress, Lord Rothen?”

Dannyl’s eyes widened as he turned to face the High Lord.

“We came closest to catching her two weeks ago, High Lord,” Rothen replied. “Her protectors used a decoy. By the time we realized we had the wrong girl, she had escaped. We found a book on magic, as well.”

The High Lord’s expression darkened. “That is not good news.”

“It was old and outdated,” Dannyl added.

“Nevertheless, we cannot allow such books outside the Guild,” Akkarin replied. “A search of pawn shops should reveal if many have made their way into the city. I will speak to Lorlen about it, but in the meantime …” he looked at Dannyl. “Have you had any success re-establishing contact with the Thieves?”

Dannyl’s face turned white, then flushed red.

“No,” he replied in a constricted voice. “They have declined my requests for audience for many weeks.”

A half-smile curled Aldcarin’s mouth. “I assume you attempted to impress on them the dangers of having an untrained magician in their midst?”

Dannyl nodded. “Yes, but they did not seem concerned.”

“They will be soon. Continue your attempts to meet with them. If they refuse to see you personally, send messages. Detail the problems she will encounter as her magic becomes uncontrollable. It will not be long before they realize that you speak the truth. Keep me informed on your progress.”

Dannyl swallowed. “Yes, High Lord.”

Akkarin nodded to them both. “Have a good evening.” He turned and walked away, leaving the two magicians staring at his retreating back. Dannyl let out an explosive breath.

“How did he know?” he whispered.

Rothen shrugged. “It is said that he knows more about the affairs of the city than the King himself, but then, perhaps Yaldin told someone.”

Dannyl frowned and looked across the room at the aging magician. “That’s not like Yaldin.”

“No,” Rothen agreed. He smiled and patted Dannyl on the shoulder. “It doesn’t look like you got yourself into any trouble, however. In fact, it looks like you just received a personal request from the High Lord.”

Sonea curled the edge of the page and sighed. Why couldn’t these Guild writers use normal,
sensible
words! This one seemed to have enjoyed arranging his sentences in ways that bore no resemblance to normal speech. Even Serin, the middle-aged scribe who was teaching her to read, could offer little explanation for many of the terms and phrases.

Rubbing her eyes, she leaned back in her chair. She had been staying in Serin’s basement for several days. It was a surprisingly comfortable room, with an ample fireplace and sturdy furniture, and she knew she would be disappointed when she had to leave it.

After her near capture, the night Cery had taken her to the Guild, Faren had taken her to Serin’s home in the North Quarter. He had decided she should stop practicing magic until he could arrange for new, better-situated hiding places. In the meantime, he said, she would spend her time studying the books Cery had  found.’

She looked down at the page again and sighed. A word lay before her—an alien, strange, annoying word which refused to make any sense. She stared at it, knowing the meaning of the whole sentence revolved around this infuriating word. She rubbed her eyes again, then jumped at a rapping on the door.

Rising, she peered through the spy hole, smiled, and unlocked the door.

“Good evening,” Faren said as he slipped into the room. He handed her a bottle. “I brought you a little token of encouragement.”

Sonea uncorked the bottle and sniffed. “Pachi wine!” she exclaimed.

“That’s right.”

Moving to a cupboard, Sonea took out two mugs. “I don’t think these are right for Pachi wine,” she said. “But that’s all I have—unless you want to ask Serin for something better.”

“They’ll do.” Faren drew a chair up to the table and sat down. Accepting a mug of the clear green liquor, he took a sip, sighed contentedly, and leaned back in his chair. “Of course, it’s better spiced and warmed.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sonea said. “I’ve never tasted it before.” Taking a sip, she smiled as a sweet, fresh flavor filled her mouth. Faren chuckled at her expression.

“I thought you’d like it.” He stretched and leaned back in the chair. “I’ve also got news for you. Your aunt and uncle are expecting a child.”

Sonea stared at him. “They are?”

“You’ll have a little cousin soon,” he told her. Taking another sip, he gave her a speculative look. “Cery told me that your mother died when you were a child, and your father left Kyralia soon after.” He paused. “Did either of your parents show signs of having magic in their blood?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

He pursed his lips. “I had Cery ask your aunt. She says she has never seen any magical talent in either your parents or grandparents.”

“Does it matter?”

“Magicians like to trace their bloodlines,” he told her. “My mother had magic in hers. I know because her brother—my uncle—is a magician, and my grandfather’s brother is, too— if he is still alive.”

“You have
magicians
in your family?”

“Yes, though I’ve never met either of them, and probably never will.”

“But…” Sonea shook her head. “How can that be?”

“My mother was the daughter of a wealthy Lonmar merchant,” he replied. “My father was a Kyralian sailor, working for a ship captain who regularly transported wares for my mother’s father.”

“How did they meet?”

“By chance first, then in secret. The Lonmar, as you know, keep their women from sight. They don’t test them for magic, as the only place they can learn to use it is the Guild, and the Lonmar believe it is unseemly for women to be far from home—or even speak to men other than those in their family.” Faren paused to take another mouthful of wine. Sonea watched expectantly as he swallowed. He smiled briefly.

“When her father discovered that my mother had been seeing a sailor, she was punished,” he continued. “They whipped her and then imprisoned her in one of their towers. My father left his ship and stayed in Lonmar, seeking a way to free her. He did not have to wait long, for when her family discovered she was with child, they cast her out in disgrace.”

“Cast her out? Surely they would just find a home for the child?”

“No.” Faren’s expression darkened. “They considered her spoiled, and a disgrace to her family. Their traditions required her to be marked so that other men would know her crime, then she was sold in a slave market. She had two long scars on each cheek, and one down the center of her forehead.”

“That’s awful,” Sonea exclaimed.

Faren shrugged. “Yes, to us it seems awful. The Lonmar, however, believe they are the most civilized of the world’s peoples.” He took another sip of wine. “My father bought her and passage for both of them back to Imardin. Their troubles did not end there. He had caused the ship captain to lose an important customer, as my mother’s family would not trade through him anymore. And no other ship owner would hire my father, so my parents grew poorer. They built a house in the slums and my father took a job in a gorin slaughterhouse. I was born soon after.”

He drained his mug. Looking at her, he smiled. “See? Even a lowly thief can have magic in his blood.”

“A
lowly
thief?” Sonea snorted.

She had never seen Faren so talkative. What else might he tell her? Pouring more wine, she gestured impatiently. “So, how did a slaughterman’s son become a leader of the Thieves?”

Faren lifted the mug to his lips. “My father died in the battles after the first Purge. To have enough money to feed us, my mother became a dancer in a whorehouse.” He grimaced. “Life was hard. One of her customers was an influential man among the Thieves. He liked me, and took me in as his son. When he retired, I replaced him, then worked my way up from there.”

Sonea pursed her lips. “So anyone can become a Thief? You just have to make friends with the right person.”

“It takes more than just being good company.” He smiled. “Do you have plans for your friend then?”

She frowned in mock puzzlement. “Friend? No, I was thinking of myself.”

He threw back his head and laughed, then raised his mug to her.

“Here’s to Sonea—a woman of small ambitions. First magician, then Thief.”

They drained their mugs together, then Faren looked down at the table. Reaching out, he turned the book around to face him.

“Is this making any more sense yet?”

She sighed. “Even Serin can’t work out some of it. It’s written for someone who knows more than I do. I need a book for a beginner.” She looked up at Faren. “Cery had any luck?”

He shook his head. “It might have been better if you’d kept practicing. It would have kept the Guild busy. In the last week, they’ve checked every pawn shop inside and outside of the walls. If there were any books on magic in the city, they aren’t there anymore.”

Sonea sighed and pressed her hands to her temples. “What are they doing now?”

“They’re still snooping around the slums,” he told her. “Waiting for you to use your magic.”

Sonea thought of her aunt and uncle, and the child they were expecting. Until the magicians stopped searching, she would not be able to see them. How she longed to talk to them. She looked down at the book and felt a surge of frustration and anger. “Don’t they
ever
give up?”

She jumped as a loud bang echoed through the room, followed by a light patter of something scattering over the floor. Looking down, Sonea saw fragments of a white ceramic vase.

“Now Sonea,” Faren said, shaking his finger at her. “I don’t think this is a nice way to repay Serin for—” He stopped abruptly, then slapped his forehead and groaned. “They’ll know you’re in the city.” He swore, then frowned at her disapprovingly. “There’s more than one reason why I told you to avoid using magic while you’re here, Sonea.”

Sonea flushed. “I’m sorry Faren, but I didn’t mean it.” She reached down and picked up one of the fragments. “First I can’t make it happen when I want to, and now it happens when I’m not even thinking about it.”