The Magicians' Guild (25 page)

Dannyl muttered something under his breath and stalked back down the alley. As the other magicians arrived, Rothen walked forward to meet them. He explained what had happened, then sent them and Fergun back to the Guild.

He found Dannyl sitting on a doorstep, shaping a handful of snow into a ball.

“She’s losing control.”

“Yes,” Rothen agreed. “I’ll have to call off the search. A chase or a confrontation will probably undo the little control she has.”

“What can we do, now?”

Rothen looked at his friend pointedly. “Negotiate.”

The smell of smoke was heavy and rough in Cery’s lungs. He hurried along the passage, dodging half-seen shapes of other men travelling the Road. Coming to a stop outside a door, he paused to catch his breath.

The guard who opened the door nodded as he recognized Cery. Hurrying up the narrow wooden stairs beyond, Cery pushed open the trapdoor at the top and climbed into a dimly lit room.

He quickly took in the three bulky guards lurking in the shadows, the dark-skinned man standing at the window, and the figure lying asleep in a chair.

“What happened?”

Faren turned to regard him.

“We gave her a drug to put her to sleep. She was worried she would do more damage.”

Moving to the chair, Cery bent to examine Sonea’s face. A dark, swollen bruise marked her temple. Her skin was pale and her hair slick with sweat. Looking down, he saw that the hem of her sleeve was charred, and her hand was bandaged.

“The fire is spreading,” Faren observed.

Rising, Cery joined the Thief at the window. Three of the houses across the street were afire, flames making glowing eyes out of the windows and rising like wild orange hair where the roofs had once been. Smoke had begun to billow out of the windows of another house.

“She said she was dreaming—a nightmare,” Faren told him. “When she woke up there were fires in her room. Too many to put out. The more frightened she became, the more fires started.” Faren sighed. For a long time they remained silent, then Cery took a deep breath and turned to regard the Thief.

“What will you do now?”

To his surprise, Faren smiled. “Introduce her to the friend of an old acquaintance of ours.” He turned and pointed to one of the men lurking in the shadows. “Jarin, carry her.”

A large, muscular man moved out of the shadows and into the orange light cast by the fires. He bent to pick up Sonea, but as he grasped her shoulders her eyes fluttered open. Snatching his hands back, Jarin quickly backed away.

“Cery?” she murmured.

Cery hurried to her side. She blinked slowly, her eyes struggling to focus on him.

“Hello,” he said, smiling.

Her eyes closed again. “They didn’t follow, Cery. They let us go. Isn’t that strange?”

She opened her eyes again and her gaze shifted over her shoulder. “Faren?”

“You’re awake.” Faren observed. “You should have slept for at least another two hours.”

She yawned. “I don’t feel awake.”

Cery chuckled. “You don’t look real awake either. Go back to sleep. You need the rest. We’re going to take you somewhere safe.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, and her breathing returned to the slow rhythm of sleep. Faren looked at Jarin, then nodded at the unconscious girl.

The big man reluctantly gathered her into his arms. Sonea’s eyes fluttered once, but she remained asleep. Picking up a lamp, Faren strode to the trapdoor, kicked it open and started down the stairs.

They wove through the passages in silence. Looking up at Sonea’s face, Cery felt his heart twist. The old, familiar uneasiness had become something more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. It kept him awake at night and tormented him through the day, and he found it hard to remember a time when he didn’t feel sick with it.

Mostly he feared for her, but lately he had begun to fear being around her. The magic within her had slipped beyond her grasp. Every day, sometimes every hour, something near her exploded into flames or shattered. She had laughed about it that morning, joking that she was getting plenty of practice extinguishing fires and dodging flying objects.

Each time her magic slipped out, magicians came running from all over the city. Constantly on the move, spending more times in the passages than in Faren’s hideouts, she was exhausted and miserable.

Lost in his thoughts, Cery paid little attention to the journey. At one point they descended down a steep staircase, then passed under an enormous slab of stone. Recognizing the base of the Outer Wall, he knew they were entering the North Quarter, and he wondered who Faren’s mysterious friend was.

Not long after, Faren stopped and ordered the guard to set Sonea down. She woke, and this time, she seemed more aware of her surroundings. Faren took off his coat and, with Jarin’s help, slipped Sonea’s arms into the sleeves and pulled up the hood.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “I’ll try.”

“If we meet anyone, try to keep out of sight,” he told her.

At first she needed assistance, but within a few minutes she had regained her balance. They walked for another half an hour, gradually encountering more people in the passages. Faren stopped before a door and knocked. A guard opened it and let them into a small room, before knocking on a second door.

A small, swarthy man with a pointy nose opened the door and regarded the Thief.

“Faren,” he said. “What brings you?”

“Business,” Faren answered.

Cery frowned. There was something familiar about the voice. The man’s beady eyes narrowed.

“Come in then.”

Faren stepped into the doorway, then paused and pointed at his guards.

“You stay,” he said. He pointed at Cery, then Sonea. “You both come with me.”

The man frowned. “I don’t…” He hesitated, narrowed his eyes at Cery, then smiled. “Ah, it’s little Ceryni. So you’ve kept Torrin’s urchin, Faren. I wondered if you would.”

Cery smiled as he realized who the man was. “Hello, Ravi.”

“Come in.”

As Cery moved into the room, Sonea followed. Glancing around, Cery’s gaze was met by an old man sitting in a chair to one side, stroking his long white beard. Cery nodded, but the man did not return the polite greeting.

“And who’s this?” Ravi asked, nodding at Sonea.

Faren pulled her hood down. Sonea gazed at Ravi, her pupils large and black from the effects of the drug.

“This is Sonea,” Faren said, his mouth stretching in a humorless smile. “Sonea, meet Ravi.”

“Hello,” Sonea said softly. Ravi took a step backward. His face had turned white.

“This is …
her?
But I—”

“How dare you bring her here!”

All turned toward the voice. The old man had pushed himself to his feet and stood glaring at Faren. Sonea gave a little gasp and staggered away.

Faren placed his hands on her shoulders and steadied her. “Don’t worry Sonea,” he soothed. “He wouldn’t dare hurt you. If he did, we’d have to tell the Guild all about him, and he wouldn’t like them to discover that he’s not dead, as they believe.”

Cery turned to stare at the old man, suddenly understanding why the stranger hadn’t bothered to acknowledge his nod.

“You see,” Faren continued, his tone smug, “you and he have a lot in common, Sonea. You’re both protected by Thieves, you both have magic, and you both don’t want the Guild to find you. And now that you’ve seen Senfel here, he won’t have any choice but to show you how to control your magic—because if he doesn’t, the magicians might find you, and you might tell them about him.”

“He’s a magician?” she breathed, staring at the old man with wide eyes.

“An ex-magician,” Faren corrected.

To Cery’s relief, her eyes filled with hope, not fear.

“You can help me?” she said.

Senfel crossed his arms. “No.”

“No?” she echoed softly.

The old man frowned, then his lip curled with contempt. “Drugging her will only make it worse, Thief.”

Sonea drew in a sharp breath. Seeing the fear return to her eyes, Cery moved to her side and grasped her hands.

“It’s all right,” he whispered to her. “It’s only a sleeping drug.”

“No, it’s not all right,” Senfel said. He narrowed his eyes at Faren. “I cannot help her.”

“You have no choice,” Faren replied.

Senfel smiled. “Don’t I? Go to the Guild then. Tell them I’m here. Better that they find me than I die when she loses control of her powers.”

Feeling Sonea tense, Cery turned to face the old man. “Stop frightening her,” he hissed.

Senfel stared at him, then his eyes flickered to Sonea. She glared back at him defiantly. The old man’s expression softened a little.

“Go to them,” he urged. “They will not kill you. The worst they will do is bind your powers so you cannot use them. Better that than death, eh?”

She continued to glare at him. Senfel shrugged, then straightened and fixed Faren with steely eyes.

“There are at least three magicians nearby. It would take little effort to call them, and I’m sure I could prevent you from leaving while they found their way to this room. Do you still wish to reveal my presence to the Guild?”

Faren’s jaw shifted as he stared back at the magician.

He shook his head.

“No.”

“Go—and when she’s sober repeat what I said to her. If she does not seek the Guild’s help, she will die.”

“Then help her,” Cery said.

The old man shook his head. “I cannot. My powers are too weak and she is too far gone. Only the Guild can help her now.”

Dragging a barrel out from under the table, the bolhouse owner dropped it on the bench with a grunt. He gave Dannyl a meaningful look as he began filling mugs and handing them around the table. Leaning forward, he smacked a mug down in front of Dannyl, then crossed his arms and waited.

Giving the man a distracted frown, Dannyl handed over a coin. The man’s gaze did not waver. Looking down at the drink, Dannyl knew he could avoid it no longer. He was going to have to drink the stuff.

Lifting the mug, he took a tentative mouthful, then blinked in surprise. A sweet, rich flavor filled his mouth. The taste was familiar, and after a moment he recognized it. Chebol sauce, but without the spices.

A few mouthfuls later he felt a warmth filling his belly. He raised the mug to the shop owner and received an approving nod in reply. The man did not stop watching him, however, and Dannyl was relieved when a young man stomped into the shop and started a conversation.

“How’s business, Kol?”

The man shrugged. “The usual.”

“How many barrels you want this time?”

Dannyl listened to the pair barter. When they had arranged a price, the newcomer settled onto a chair and sighed.

“Where’s that strange one with the flashy ring gone?”

“The Sachakan guy?” The barman shrugged. “He got done weeks ago. Found him in the alley.”

“Really?”

“It’s true.”

Dannyl snorted softly.
A fitting end,
he mused.

“Heard about that fire last night?” the barman asked.

“I live near there. It took out a whole street. Good thing it weren’t summer. Could’ve burned the whole slums.”

“Not that the city folk would care,” the barman added. “Fire’d never get past the Wall.”

A hand touched Dannyl’s shoulder. He looked up and recognized the thin man that the Thieves had chosen to be his guide. The man jerked his head toward the door.

Dannyl finished his bol and put down his mug. As he stood, he received a friendly nod from the owner. Smiling, Dannyl returned it, then followed the guide to the door.

Sonea watched as water, seeping through a crack high on one wall, gathered into a droplet, ran down the empty lamp hook, then dove off to splatter on the hard floor. Looking up again, she watched as another droplet formed.

Faren had chosen her latest hide wisely. An empty underground storeroom, with brick walls and a stone bench for a bed, it held nothing flammable or valuable.

Except herself.

The thought sent a ripple of fear through her mind. Closing her eyes, she quickly pushed it aside.

She had no idea how long she had been in the room. It could have been days, or merely hours. There was nothing to measure time by.

She had not felt the familiar shift within her mind since arriving. The list of emotions which could set off her powers had grown so long that she no longer kept a mental count of them. Lying in the storeroom, she had concentrated on staying calm. Each time a thought disturbed that calm, she took a deep breath and pushed it away. A comforting detachment had settled upon her.

Perhaps the drink Faren had given to her had caused that.

Drugging her will only make it worse.
She shivered as she remembered the strange dream she’d had after the fire. In it, she had visited a magician in the slums. Though her imagination had invented a helper, his words had been no comfort. Taking a deep breath, she sent the memory away.

Obviously, she had been wrong to think she had to keep a store of anger inside to call upon when she wanted to use magic. She now admired the magicians for their control, but knowing that they were emotionless beings did not give her any more reason to like them.

There was a light tapping on the door, then it began to open. Smothering a twinge of apprehension, she rose and peered through the widening crack. Cery stood there, grimacing with the effort of moving the stiff metal door. When he had pushed it open enough to slip through, he stopped and beckoned to her.

“You have to move again.”

“But I haven’t done anything.”

“Perhaps you didn’t realize.”

Slipping through the door, she considered what this might mean. Had the drug prevented her from feeling the magic slipping from her mind? She hadn’t seen anything explode or burst into flames. Were her powers still escaping, but in a less destructive form?

The questions brought her dangerously close to feeling strong emotions, so she pushed them from her mind. Following Cery, she focused on maintaining her sense of calm. He stopped and climbed a rusty ladder set into the wall. Pushing open a hatch, he scrambled through, sending fresh snow into the passage.