The Magicians' Guild (4 page)

“Sometimes, however, a young man or woman would appear whose powers were already ‘loosed,’ as they termed it in those times. Those people, known as ‘naturals,’ were never turned away. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, their powers were always very strong. Secondly, they had to be taught Control.” The old man paused, and his voice rose in pitch. “We already know what happens when novices are unable to master Control. If this young woman is a natural, we should expect her to be more powerful than our average novice, possibly even more powerful than the average magician. If she is not found and taught Control, she will be a considerable danger to the city.”

A short silence followed, then a buzz of alarm spread through the hall.

“
If her
powers have, indeed, surfaced on their own,” Balkan added.

The old man nodded. “There is a possibility, of course, that she has been trained by someone.”

“Then we must find her—
and
those who have taught her,” a voice declared.

The Hall filled with discussion again, but Lorlen’s voice rose above it. “If she is a rogue, we are bound by law to bring her and her teachers to the King. If she is a natural we must teach her Control. Either way, we must find her.”

“How?” a voice called.

Lorlen looked down. “Lord Balkan?”

“A systematic search of the slums,” the Warrior replied. He turned to look up at the King’s Advisers. “We’ll need help.”

Lorlen’s brows rose and he followed the Warrior’s gaze. “The Guild formally requests the assistance of the City Guard.”

The Advisers exchanged glances and nodded.

“Granted,” one replied.

“We should begin as soon as possible,” Balkan said. “Tonight, preferably.”

“If we want the Guard’s assistance, it will take time to organize. I suggest we start tomorrow morning,” Lorlen replied.

“What of classes?” a voice called.

Lorlen looked at the magician seated beside him. “I think an extra day of private study will not affect the novices’ progress.”

“A day won’t make much difference.” The sour University Director, Jerrik, shrugged. “But will we find her in a day?”

Lorlen pursed his lips. “We will meet here again tomorrow night if we have not found her, to discuss who shall continue the search.”

“If I might make a suggestion, Administrator Lorlen?”

Rothen started in surprise at the voice. He turned to see Danny standing amongst the watching magicians.

“Yes, Lord Dannyl?” Lorlen replied.

“The slum dwellers are sure to hamper our search, and the girl will probably hide from us. We may have a better chance of success if we enter the slums in disguise.”

Lorlen frowned. “What disguise would you suggest?”

Dannyl shrugged. “The less conspicuous we are, the better our chances of success. I’d suggest that at least some of us dress as they do. They may be able to tell who we are when we speak, but—”

“Definitely not,” Balkan growled. “How would it be if one of us was discovered dressed as a grovelling beggar? We would be ridiculed throughout the Allied Lands.”

Several voices rose in agreement.

Lorlen nodded slowly. “I agree. We, as magicians, have the authority to enter any house in this city. Our search will be hampered if we do
not
wear the robes.”

“How will we know what we’re looking for?” Vinara asked.

Lorlen looked at Rothen. “Can you remember what she looked like?”

Rothen nodded. Taking a few steps back, he closed his eyes and called up a memory of a small, skinny girl with a thin, childlike face. Drawing on his power, he opened his eyes and exerted his will. A glow appeared in the air before him, and quickly sharpened to form a slightly transparent face. As his memory filled in the rest, her rough clothing appeared: a colorless scarf around her head, a thick hooded shirt, trousers. The illusion complete, he looked up at the Higher Magicians.

“
That’s
who attacked us?” Balkan muttered. “She’s barely more than a child.”

“A small package with a big surprise inside,” Sarrin said dryly.

“What if this is not the attacker?” Jerrik asked. “What if Lord Rothen is mistaken?”

Lorlen looked at Rothen and smiled faintly. “For now we can only assume he is correct. We shall know soon enough if the city gossips agree, and witnesses may be found among the public.” He nodded at the illusion. “That will be enough, Lord Rothen.”

Rothen waved a hand and the illusion vanished. When he looked up again he found Lord Sarrin looking at him appraisingly.

“What are we going to do with her once we’ve found her?” Vinara asked.

“If she is a rogue we will apply the law,” Lorlen replied. “If she is not, we will teach her to control her powers.”

“Of course, but afterward? What then?”

“I think the question Lady Vinara is asking is: should we make her one of us?” Balkan said.

At once the hall filled with voices.

“No! She’s probably a thief!”

“She attacked one of us! She should be punished, not rewarded!”

Rothen shook his head and sighed as the protests continued. While there was no law forbidding the testing of children from the lower classes, the Guild sought magic in the children of the Houses only.

“The Guild hasn’t taken a novice from outside the Houses for centuries,” Balkan said quietly.

“But if Solend is correct, she may be a powerful magician,” Vinara reminded him.

Rothen suppressed a smile. Most women magicians became Healers, and he knew Lady Vinara would happily overlook the girl’s origins if it gained her another powerful helper.

” ‘Strength is no blessing if a magician proves corrupt,’ ” Sarrin quoted. “She could be a thief, or even a whore. What influence would someone with that background have on the other novices? How can we know if she would value our pledge?”

Vinara’s brows rose. “So you would show her what she is capable of, then bind her powers and send her back into poverty?”

Sarrin nodded. Vinara looked at Balkan, who shrugged. Biting back a protest, Rothen forced himself to remain silent. From the row above, Lorlen regarded the three magicians silently, his expression betraying no opinion.

“We should give her a chance at the very least,” Vinara said. “If there is any possibility that she will conform to our rules and become a responsible young woman, then we should offer her the opportunity.”

“The further her powers develop, the harder it will be to bind them,” Sarrin reminded her.

“I know,” Vinara leaned forward, “but it is not impossible. Consider how we will be regarded if we take her in. A little generosity and kindness will go a lot further toward redressing the damage we did to our reputation this morning than blocking her powers and returning her to the slums.”

Balkan’s brows rose. “True, and it may save us the trouble of a search if we make it known that she will be welcomed among us. Once she learns that she could become a magician, with all the position and wealth that entails, she will come to us.”

“And the loss of that wealth may be all the deterrent she will need should she consider returning to any distasteful ways she once had,” Sarrin added.

Lady Vinara nodded. She looked around the hall, then her gaze slid to Rothen and her eyes narrowed. “What do you think, Lord Rothen?”

Rothen grimaced. “I’m wondering if she would believe anything we told her after this morning.”

Balkan’s expression darkened. “Hmm, I doubt it. We will probably need to capture her first and explain our good intentions afterward.”

“Then there is little point in waiting to see if she will come to us,” Lorlen concluded. “We will begin our search tomorrow as planned.” He pursed his lips, then turned to face the seat above him.

Rothen looked up. Between the Administrator’s and King’s seats was a single chair reserved for the Guild’s leader: the High Lord Akkarin. The black-robed magician had not spoken throughout the Meet, but that was not unusual. Though Akkarin had been known to alter the course of a debate with a few mild words, he generally remained silent.

“High Lord, have you any reason to suspect there are rogue magicians in the slums?” Lorlen asked.

“No. There are no rogues in the slums,” Akkarin replied.

Rothen was close enough to see the quick glance that passed between Balkan and Vinara. He smothered a smile. The High Lord was rumored to have particularly fine senses, and nearly all the magicians were at least a little in awe of him. Nodding, Lorlen turned back to face the hall. He struck the gong, and as its peal echoed through the hall, the buzz of voices dropped to a faint murmur.

“The decision whether to teach the girl or not shall be deferred until she is found and her temperament assessed. For now, we will focus on the task of finding her. The search will begin here at the fourth hour tomorrow. Those of you who feel you have valid reason to remain in the Guild, please prepare a request and present it to my assistant tonight. I now declare this Meet ended.”

The Hall filled with the rustling of robes and the clatter of booted feet. Rothen stepped back as the first of the Higher Magicians stepped down from his seat and strode toward the side doors of the hall. Turning, he waited as Dannyl wove through the rest of the magicians and hurried to meet him.

“Did you hear Lord Kerrin?” Dannyl asked. “He wants the girl punished for attacking his dear friend, Fergun. Personally, I don’t think the girl could have found a nicer magician to knock out.”

“Now Dannyl—” Rothen began.

“—and now they’ve got us sorting through rubbish down in the slums,” a voice said behind him.

“I don’t know what’s the greater tragedy: that they killed the boy or that they missed the girl,” another replied.

Appalled, Rothen turned to stare at the speaker, an old Alchemist who was too busy looking glumly at the floor to notice. As the magician shuffled away, Rothen shook his head.

“I was about to lecture you about being uncharitable, Dannyl, but there’s little point, is there?”

“No,” Dannyl agreed, stepping aside as Administrator Lorlen and the High Lord passed.

“What if we don’t find her?” the Administrator asked his companion.

The High Lord gave a low laugh. “Oh, you’ll find her, one way or the other—though I’d say by tomorrow most will be in favor of the more spectacular, less fragrant alternative.”

Rothen shook his head again as the two Higher Magicians moved away.

“Am I the only one who cares what happens to this poor girl?”

He felt Dannyl’s hand pat his shoulder.

“Of course not, but I hope you’re not thinking of lecturing
him
, old friend.”

“She’s a tag.”

The voice was male, young and unfamiliar.
Where am I?
Sonea thought. Lying on something soft, for a start. A bed?
I
don’t remember getting into a bed
—

“Not a chance.”

This voice was Harrin’s. She realized he was defending her, and then the significance of what the stranger had said sank in and she felt a belated relief. A tag was a spy in the slang of the slums. If Harrin had agreed, she would be in trouble … But a spy for whom?

“What else could she be?” the first voice retorted. “She’s got magic. Magicians have to be trained for years and years. Who does that stuff ‘round here?”

Magic
? Memories came back in a rush: the square, the magicians …

“Magic or no magic, I’ve known her as long as I’ve known Cery,” Harrin told the boy. “She’s always been right-sided.”

Sonea barely heard him. In her mind she saw herself throwing the stone, saw it flash though the barrier and strike the magician.
I did that,
she thought.
But that’s not possible …

“But you said yourself, she’s been gone for a few years. Who knows who she’s been hanging about with.”

Then she remembered how she had drawn upon something inside her—something that she should not possess …

“She’s been with her family, Burril,” Harrin replied. “I believe her, Cery believes her, and that’s enough.”

...
and the Guild knows I did it!
The old magician had seen her, had pointed her out to the others. She shuddered as the memory of a smoking corpse flashed through her mind.

“I warned you.” Burril was unconvinced, but sounded defeated. “If she squimps on you, don’t forget who warn—”

“I think she’s waking up,” murmured another familiar voice. Cery. He was somewhere close.

Harrin sighed. “Out, Burril.”

Sonea heard footsteps moving away, then a door closing.

“You can stop pretending to be asleep now, Sonea,” Cery murmured.

A hand touched her face and she blinked her eyes open. Cery was leaning over her, grinning.

Sonea pushed herself up onto her elbows. She was lying on an old bed in an unfamiliar room. As she slid her legs down to the floor, Cery gave her an assessing look.

“You look better,” he said.

“I feel fine,” she agreed. “What happened?” She looked up as Harrin moved to stand before her. “Where am I? What time is it?”

Cery laughed. “She’s fine.”

“You don’t remember?” Harrin crouched so that he could stare into her eyes.

Sonea shook her head. “I remember walking through the slums but…” She spread her hands. “Not how I got here.”

“Harrin carried you here,” said a female voice. “He said you just fell asleep while you were walking.”

Sonea turned to see a young woman sitting in a chair behind her. The girl’s face was familiar.

“Donia?”

The girl smiled. “That’s right.” She tapped a foot on the floor. “You’re in my father’s bolhouse. He let us put you here. You slept right through the night.”

Sonea looked around the room again, then smiled as she remembered how Harrin and his friends used to bribe Donia into stealing mugs of bol for them. The brew was strong and had made them giddy.

Gellin’s bolhouse was close to the Outer Wall, among the better built houses in the part of the slums called Northside. The inhabitants of this area called the slums the Outer Circle in defiance of the inner-district attitude that the slums were not part of the city.