The Magicians' Guild (46 page)

“I was facing Lord Fergun at the time. The shield was about three paces from us, on my left. At the edge of my vision I saw a flash of light in the vicinity of the shield, and simultaneously felt the shield waver. I glimpsed a stone flying through the air just before it struck Lord Fergun on the temple, knocking him unconscious.”

Rothen paused, glancing at Fergun. “I caught Lord Fergun as he fell. When he was safely lying on the ground I searched for the one who had thrown the stone. That is when I saw Sonea.”

Osen took a step toward Rothen. “So this was the first time that you saw Sonea?”

“Yes.”

Osen crossed his arms. “At any point in time did you see Sonea performing magic?”

Rothen hesitated. “No, I did not,” he admitted reluctantly. A low murmur began among the magicians seated to his right, but it quickly died away as Lord Osen glanced in that direction.

“How did you know it was she who threw the stone that broke through the shield?”

“I judged the direction from which the stone had come, and guessed that it had to be one of two youths,” Rothen explained. “The closest—a boy—was not even paying attention. Sonea, however, was staring at her hands in surprise. As I watched she looked up at me, and I knew from her expression that she had thrown the stone.”

“And you believe that Lord Fergun could not have seen Sonea before then?”

“No, Lord Fergun could not have seen Sonea at all that day,” Rothen said dryly, “due to the unfortunate nature of his injury.”

A few chuckles and coughs echoed in the hall. Lord Osen nodded, then moved away. He stopped in front of Fergun.

“Lord Fergun,” he said, “will you please tell us of the events of that day as you saw them.”

Fergun inclined his head graciously. “I was assisting with the barrier in the North Square as Rothen has described. A group of youths came forward and began throwing stones at us. I noted that there were about ten of them. One was a young girl.” Fergun glanced at Sonea. “I thought she was behaving strangely, so when I turned away I continued to observe her in the corner of my eye. When she threw her stone I thought nothing of it, naturally, until I beheld a flash of light. I realized she must have done something to break the barrier.” Fergun smiled. “This surprised me so much that, instead of deflecting the stone, my first reaction was to glance at her to confirm that it was, indeed, her.”

“So you realized that Sonea had used magic
after
the stone broke through the shield, and
before
it struck you.”

“Yes,” Fergun answered.

The hall echoed with voices as this was discussed. Gritting his teeth, Rothen resisted the urge to stare at Fergun. The Warrior’s story was a lie. Fergun had never glanced toward Sonea. Rothen stole a quick look at her. She stood quietly in the shadows, her shoulders slumped. He hoped she understood how important her account would be in confirming his story.

“Lord Fergun.”

The room fell silent at this new voice. Rothen looked up at Lady Vinara. The Healer was regarding Fergun with her famous, unblinking stare.

“If you were looking at Sonea, how is it that the stone struck your
right
temple? That would indicate to me that you were looking at Rothen at the time.”

Fergun nodded. “It all happened very quickly, Lady,” he said. “I saw the flash and
glanced
at Sonea. It was only a fleeting look—and I recall wanting to ask if my companion had seen what this girl had done.”

“You did not even attempt to dodge?” Lord Balkan asked, his tone disbelieving.

Fergun smiled ruefully. “I am not accustomed to having stones thrown at me. I believe surprise overrode the instinct to duck.”

Lord Balkan looked at the magicians beside him and received slight shrugs. Watching them closely, Osen nodded as no more questions came. He turned to regard Rothen.

“Lord Rothen, did you see Fergun glance at Sonea between the time the stone broke through the barrier and when it struck him?”

“No,” Rothen replied, struggling to keep anger from his voice. “He was talking to me. The stone cut him off in the middle of a sentence.”

Osen’s brows rose. He glanced at the Higher Magicians, then looked up at the audience.

“Does anyone have an account that contradicts or adds to what we have heard?”

Silence answered him. Nodding slowly, Osen turned to regard Sonea.

“I call on Sonea as witness to this event.”

Moving from the shadows at the side of the hall, Sonea walked forward to stand a few paces from Fergun. She glanced up at the Higher Magicians, then bowed quickly.

Rothen felt a pang of sympathy for her. A few weeks before, she had been terrified of him and now she faced a hall of magicians, all watching her intently.

Osen gave her a quick smile of encouragement. “Sonea,” he said. “Please tell us your version of the events we are discussing.”

She swallowed and set her gaze on the floor. “I was with the other youths. They were throwing stones. I didn’t usually do that—I usually stayed with my aunt.” She glanced up and blushed, then continued on in a rush.

“I guess I got dragged into things. I didn’t start throwing stones straightaway. I watched the others and the magicians. I remember I was… I was angry, so when I did go to throw a stone I pushed all that anger at the stone. Later I realized I had done something, but at the time everything was so … confusing.” She stopped and seemed to collect herself.

“When I threw the stone it went through the barrier. Lord Fergun looked at me, then the stone hit him and Ro—Lord Rothen caught him. The rest of the magicians were looking everywhere, then I saw Lord Rothen looking at me. After that, I ran.”

A cold rush of disbelief struck Rothen. He stared at Sonea, but her eyes remained fixed on the floor. Glancing at Fergun, he saw that a sly smile curled the man’s lips. As the Warrior realized he was being watched, the smile vanished.

Helpless, Rothen could only clench his fists as the rest of the Guild voiced their approval.

The half-seen vision of the Guildhall wavered as anger, disbelief and hurt flowed over Dannyl’s mind. He stopped, alarmed.

—
What’s wrong, Rothen?

—
She lied! She supported Fergun’s lie!

—
Careful,
Dannyl cautioned.
You’ll be heard.

—
I don’t care. I
know
he’s lying!

—
Perhaps that’s how she saw it.

—
No. Fergun never looked at her. I was talking to him, remember?

Dannyl sighed and shook his head. Rothen had finally seen Fergun’s true character. He should have been happy, but how could he be? Fergun had won again.

Or had he?

—
Have you found anything yet?

—
No, but I’m still looking.

—
We need more time. With Sonea supporting Fergun, they’ll probably make a decision in the next few minutes.

—
Delay them.

—How?

Dannyl drummed his fingers on a wall.

—
Ask to talk to her.

Rothen’s presence vanished as his attention returned to the Hearing. Grimacing, Dannyl regarded the walls around him. Every magician knew that there were entrances to the underground passages inside the University. He had guessed that those entrances must be well hidden or novices would be flouting the rule all the time.

As he had expected, a simple search of the passages had revealed nothing. Though he was sure that he would eventually find something if he kept examining the walls closely, there wasn’t time for that.

He needed another clue. Footprints, perhaps. The underground passages were probably dusty. Fergun must have left some evidence. Eyes on the floor, Dannyl started along the corridor again.

Turning a corner, he collided with a short, plump figure. The woman gave a little yelp of surprise, then stepped back, a hand pressed to her heart.

“Forgive me, my Lord!” She bowed, the water in the bucket she carried sloshing. “You were walking so quietly, I didn’t hear you coming!”

He looked at the bucket, then smothered a groan. Evidence of Fergun’s passing would be regularly cleaned away by the servants. The woman moved past him and continued down the corridor. Watching her, it occurred to him that she probably knew more about the inner passages of the University than any magician.

“Wait!” Dannyl called.

She stopped. “Yes, my Lord?”

Dannyl walked toward her. “Do you always clean this part of the University?”

She nodded.

“Have you needed to clean up any unusual messes? Muddy footprints, for example?”

The servant’s lips thinned. “Someone dropped food on the floor. The novices aren’t supposed to bring food in here.”

“Food, eh? Where was it dropped?”

The servant gave him an odd look, then led him to a painting farther down the corridor.

“It was on the painting, too,” she said, pointing. “Like they’d been handling it.”

“I see.” Dannyl narrowed his eyes at the painting. It was of a view of a beach, with tiny spiral shells carved into the frame. “Thank you,” he said. “You may go.”

Shrugging, she bowed quickly and hurried away. Dannyl examined the painting carefully, then lifted it off the wall. Behind it was the usual wooden panelling of the inner passages. Running his hand over it, he extended his senses beyond and drew in a breath as he detected metal shapes. Following their contours, he found a section of the panel that gave beneath his probing fingers.

A soft sliding noise followed, and a section of the wall moved aside. Darkness and cold air confronted him: Hushed with triumph and excitement, he replaced the painting, created a globe light, and stepped through.

A steep stairway descended to his left. Finding a lever on the inside of the door, Dannyl pressed it and the door closed. He smiled to himself and started down the stairs.

The passage was narrow and he had to stoop to avoid brushing his head on the ceiling. A few faren webs clung to the corners. As he reached the first side passage, he reached into a pocket and drew out a jar of colored paste. Unstoppering it, he wiped a little of the contents onto the wall beside him.

The paste would slowly change from white to a clear, hard coating over the next few hours, giving him a marker that would soon be unnoticeable. Even if he was exploring in a few hours, he could still find his way out by looking for the clear coating.

He looked down and laughed aloud.

Footprints stood out clearly in a thick layer of dust. Dropping into a crouch, Dannyl identified the familiar imprint of a magician’s boots. From the number of tracks, it was clear that someone had scuffed this passage many times.

Rising, he followed the footprints for several hundred paces. Reaching another side passage, he was dismayed to find the prints led down both the main passage, and the new one. He dropped to his haunches again and examined them closely. There were only four sets of prints in the side passage, two of magician’s boots, two of smaller shoes. The prints in the main passage were fresher, and numerous.

A faint sound touched his ears then—a very human-sounding sigh. Dannyl froze, a chill slowly running up his spine. The dark beyond the reach of his globe light seemed thick and full of unpleasant possibilities, and he suddenly felt sure that something was watching him.

Ridiculous,
he told himself.
There’s nothing there.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and forced himself to look only at the tracks. Moving forward, he followed them for another hundred paces, finding more side passages with older tracks.

Again, he felt a nagging certainty that he was being followed. Behind his footsteps there was the echo of softer treads. The faintest breeze brought a smell of rot and something alive, but filthy …

He turned a corner and his imaginings fled. Ahead, about twenty paces away, the footprints ended at a door. He took a step forward, then went rigid with terror as a figure moved out of the side passage beside him.

“Lord Dannyl. Might I inquire as to your reasons for being here?”

Staring at the man, Dannyl’s mind seemed to divide into two. While one part babbled excuses, the other watched helplessly as the first made an utter fool of itself.

And at the edge of his mind a familiar presence was projecting both sympathy and smug satisfaction.

—
I told you not to go down there,
Rothen sent.

In the lightless silence, the sound of his stomach grumbling was loud. Cery rubbed his belly and continued to pace.

He was certain now that more than a day had passed since his last meal, which meant that a week had gone by since he had seen Sonea. Leaning against the door, he cursed Fergun with every unsavory ailment he could think of. Between the words he heard the sound of footsteps and froze.

His stomach growled fiercely in anticipation. The footsteps were slower, taunting him. They drew closer, then stopped. The faint sound of voices reached him. Two voices. Both male.

He drew in a quick breath and pressed his ear to the door.

“... tunnels are extensive. It is easy to become disorientated. Magicians have been lost for days and returned starved. I suggest you retrace your steps.” The voice was stern and unfamiliar.

Another voice replied. Cery caught only a few words, but he understood enough to know that the other magician was apologizing. The voice was also unfamiliar, but he could easily imagine Fergun’s voice becoming faint and high if he was babbling so.

The stern magician clearly did not approve of Fergun’s presence in the passages. He was unlikely to approve of Fergun keeping prisoners down here either. All Cery had to do was call out, or hammer on the door, and Fergun’s trap would be unsprung.

He raised his fist, then paused as the voices stopped. Hasty footsteps led away, then another set approached. Biting his lip, Cery backed away from the door. Which magician was it? Fergun or the stern stranger?

The lock clicked. Cery shied back against the far wall. As the door opened light filled the room and he closed his eyes against the glare.

“Who are you?” boomed an unfamiliar voice. “What are you doing down here?”