The Magicians' Guild (8 page)

Dannyl’s duties and interests rarely brought him in contact with the Guild’s leader. As always, he felt a mild surprise at Akkarin’s youthfulness. He thought of the arguments that had risen, five years before, at the election of a young magician to the position of High Lord. Guild leaders were selected from the strongest of the magicians, yet older magicians were usually chosen over younger ones due to their greater experience and maturity.

While Akkarin had demonstrated powers far stronger than any other magician’s, it was the knowledge and diplomatic skills that he had gained while travelling abroad that had convinced the Guild to elect him. A Guild leader was expected to have qualities of strength, skill, dignity and authority, and Akkarin had all of these in abundance. As many had pointed out at the time of Akkarin’s choosing, age mattered little to the role. Important decisions were always made by vote, and the everyday running of the Guild was left to the Guild Administrator.

While this sounded reasonable, Dannyl suspected that questions about the High Lord’s age still lingered. He had noted that Akkarin now wore his hair in the old fashioned and distinguished style favored by older men—long and tidily knotted at the back of his neck. Lorlen, too, had adopted the style.

Dannyl turned to regard the Administrator, who was listening to Rothen intently. The High Lord’s closest friend, Lorlen had become the former Guild Administrator’s assistant at Akkarin’s suggestion. When the Administrator retired, two years past, Lorlen had taken his place.

Lorlen had proven to be well-suited to the position. He was efficient, authoritative, and, most importantly, approachable. It was not an easy role, and Dannyl did not envy Lorlen the long hours involved. Of the two positions, it was the most demanding.

Lorlen shook his head as Rothen finished his account of their day. “From the descriptions I’ve heard of the slums, I can’t see how we’ll ever find her.” He sighed. “The King has ordered that the Port be opened tomorrow.”

Fergun frowned. “Already? What if she escapes on a ship?”

“I doubt if the embargo would have stopped her from leaving Imardin if she really wanted to.” Lorlen looked up at Rothen and smiled wryly. “As Lord Rothen’s former guardian used to say: ‘Kyralia would run itself very well if ruling was declared a crime.’ ”

Rothen chuckled. “Yes, Lord Margen was a source of many such remarks. I don’t believe we have explored all our options, however. Dannyl pointed out to me this morning that the people who have the best chance of finding this girl are the slum dwellers themselves. I think he’s right.”

Dannyl stared at his friend. Surely Rothen was not going to reveal their intention to contact the Thieves!

“Why would they help us?” Lorlen asked.

Rothen glanced at Dannyl and smiled. “We could offer a reward.”

Dannyl slowly let out the breath he had been holding.
You should have warned me, old friend!

“A reward!” Lorlen exclaimed. “Yes, that might work.”

“An excellent idea,” Fergun agreed. “And we should fine those who hinder us, too.”

Lorlen gave Fergun a reproachful look. “A reward will be sufficient. Mind you, nothing shall be given until she is found, or the entire population of the slums will claim to have seen her.” He frowned. “Hmm, we’ll also want to discourage people from trying to catch her themselves …”

“We could post a description of her and terms of the reward at street corners, with a warning that she should not be approached,” Dannyl suggested. “We should encourage people to report sightings of her, too, as they could give us some indication of the areas she frequents.”

“We could have a map of the slums drawn up so we can keep track of sightings,” Fergun suggested.

“Hmm, that
would
be useful,” Dannyl said, pretending to be begrudgingly surprised at the suggestion. Remembering the maze of passages and streets, he knew a task like that would keep Fergun out of their way for months. Rothen narrowed his eyes at Dannyl, but said nothing.

“The posting of a reward,” Lorlen glanced up at Dannyl, “you’ll arrange it?”

“Tomorrow.” Dannyl inclined his head.

“I will inform the rest of the searchers of this tomorrow morning,” Lorlen said. He looked up at Rothen and Dannyl and smiled. “Any more ideas?”

“This girl must have a presence,” the High Lord said quietly. “She is untrained, and would not know how to hide it— or even that she has one. Has anyone looked for it yet?”

For a moment, all were silent, then Lorlen chuckled ruefully. “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that. No one has mentioned looking for her presence.” He shook his head. “It seems we’ve all forgotten what we are—and what she is.”

“A presence,” Rothen said quietly. “I think I…”

Lorlen frowned as Rothen did not finish his sentence. “Yes?”

“I’ll organize a mental search for tomorrow,” Rothen offered.

Lorlen smiled. “Then you two have a busy day ahead.”

Rothen inclined his head. “We best have an early night, then. Good night, Administrator, High Lord, Lord Fergun.”

The three magicians nodded in reply. Dannyl followed as Rothen hurried toward the Night Room doors. As they stepped out into the chilly air, Rothen let out an explosive breath.

“Wow I realize!” He slapped a hand to his forehead.

“Realize what?” Dannyl asked, bemused.

“Today, while I was following one of the passages, I
felt
something. As if somebody was watching me.”

“A presence?”

“Perhaps.”

“Did you investigate?”

Rothen nodded. “It didn’t make sense. What I was detecting would have to have been right next to me, yet there was nothing but a brick wall.”

“Did you look for a hidden door?”

“No, but …” Rothen hesitated, and frowned, “... it stopped.”

“It stopped?” Dannyl looked perplexed. “How could it just stop? A presence doesn’t just stop—not unless it has been hidden. She hasn’t been trained to do that.”

“Or has she?” Rothen smiled grimly. “If it was her, then either she has been taught by someone, or she has worked it out for herself.”

“It’s not difficult to learn,” Dannyl pointed out, “and we teach it by playing games of hideaway.”

Rothen nodded slowly as he considered the possibility, then shrugged. “I guess we’ll know tomorrow. I had better go back in and see if I can round up some help. I expect many of those who don’t want to enter the slums again will be happy to help with a mental search. I want you to join us, Dannyl. You’ve got particularly fine senses.”

Dannyl shrugged. “If you put it that way, how can I refuse?”

“We’ll begin early, I think. You’ll want to have those reward notices printed and sent out as soon as possible.”

“Agh.” Dannyl grimaced. “Not another early morning.”

“Cery?”

Lifting his head from the table, Cery blinked his eyes. It was morning, he guessed, though it was always hard to tell when you were underground. Straightening, he looked over to the bed. The candle had burned low and its light didn’t reach far, but he could just make out the glimmer of Sonea’s eyes.

“I’m awake,” he said, stretching to loosen his stiff shoulders. Lifting the candle from the table, Cery carried it over to the bed. Sonea lay with her arms pillowing her head, staring up at the low ceiling. Seeing her, he felt a strange, compelling uneasiness. He could remember feeling that way two years ago, just before she had stopped meeting the gang. After she had disappeared, he had realized too late that he had known all along that she was going to leave them one day.

“Good morning,” he said.

She managed a smile, but it didn’t chase away the haunted look in her eyes. “Who was that boy in the square—the one who died?”

He sat down on the end of the bed and sighed.

“His name was Arrel, I think. Didn’t really know him. The son of a woman who used to work at the Dancing Slippers, I think.”

She nodded slowly. For a long time she was silent, then her brows knitted together.

“Have you seen Jonna and Ranel since yesterday?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I miss them.” She laughed suddenly. “Never thought I would so much, really. You know,” she turned on her side and looked at him directly, “I miss them more than my mother. Isn’t that strange?”

“They’ve looked after you most of your life,” Cery reminded her. “And your mother has been dead a long time.”

She nodded. “I sometimes see her in dreams, but when I wake up I can’t remember what she looked like. I can remember the house where we lived, though. It was amazing.”

“Your house?” He hadn’t heard this before.

She shook her head. “Mother and father were servants for one of the Families, but they were thrown out when father was accused of stealing something.”

Cery smiled. “Did he?”

“Probably.” She yawned. “Jonna blames him for everything I do that she thinks is wrong or bad. She doesn’t approve of theft, even if it’s from someone rich and mean.”

“Where is your da now?”

She shrugged. “He left when mother died. Came back once when I was six. Gave Jonna a bit of money, then left again.”

Cery picked some of the run wax off the candle. “The Thieves killed my da when they found out he was cheating them.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s awful! I knew he was dead, but you never told me
that.”

He shrugged. “It’s not smart to let people know your da was a squimp. He took stupid risks and got caught. That’s what Ma says, anyway. He taught me lots of stuff, though.”

“The Thieves’ Road.”

He nodded.

“We’ve been using it, haven’t we?”

He nodded again.

She grinned. “So it’s true then? You
are
a Thieves’ man.”

“Nah,” he replied, looking away. “My da showed me the Road.”

“So, you’ve got permission?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no.”

Sonea frowned but said no more.

Looking down at the candle, Cery thought back to a day, three years before, when he had slipped into the passages to escape a guard who had taken offense at having his pockets explored. A shadow had appeared in the darkness, taken Cery by the collar and dragged him to a room off the tunnel and locked him in. Despite all Cery’s lock-picking skills, he hadn’t been able to free himself. Several hours later, the door had opened and he had been dazzled by a lamp burning so bright he could only make out the silhouette of the man holding it.

“Who’re you?” the stranger had demanded. “What’s your name?”

“Ceryni,” he had squeaked.

There had been a pause, and then the light came closer.

“So you are,” the stranger had remarked, amusement in his tone. “A familiar little rodent, too. Ah, I’ve got you tagged, now. Torrin’s son. Hmm, you know the price for using the Road without the Thieves say-so?”

Terrified, Cery had nodded his head.

“Well then, little Ceryni. You be in a lot of rub, you know, but I think I can give you a bit of space. Don’t use the Road regular-like—but if you have to, use it. If anyone asks, tell ‘em Ravi said you could. But remember, you owe me. If I ask you for something, you’ll give it to me. If you give me boot, you don’t get to use
any
road again. We right?”

Cery had nodded again, too frightened to speak.

The stranger had chuckled. “Good. Now get yourself gone.” The light had disappeared and Cery had been hauled by unseen hands to the nearest exit from the Road and tossed outside.

Since then, he had rarely set foot on the Thieves’ Road. The few times he had returned to the maze, he had been surprised to find his memory of its ways hadn’t faded. He had occasionally passed other travellers, but they had never stopped or questioned him.

In the last few days, however, he had flouted the Thieves’ rule far more than he was comfortable with. If someone confronted him, he would have to trust that Ravi’s name still held some influence. However, he was not about to tell Sonea that. It would frighten her too much.

Looking down at her, he felt that strange uneasiness again.

He had always hoped she would come back one day, but had never believed it. She was different. Special. He’d always known she would get out of the slums one day.

She
was
special, but in a way he could not have guessed. She had magic! But she also had very bad timing. Why couldn’t she have discovered it while making a cup of raka, or polishing shoes? Why do it in front of the Magicians’ Guild?

She had, however, and now he must do all he could to keep her from them. At least that left them plenty of time together. Even if that did mean risking his understanding with Ravi, it was worth it. But he hated seeing her looking so worried …

“Don’t worry. So long as the magicians are snooping in the tunnels the Thieves won’t pay any mind to—”

“Shhh!” she interrupted, lifting a hand to silence him.

He stared at her as she climbed off the bed and walked into the center of the room. Turning full circle, she stared at the walls intently, her eyes roving about. He strained his ears, but could hear nothing unusual.

“What is it?”

She shook her head, then suddenly flinched. A look of surprise and terror crossed her face. He leapt to his feet, alarmed.

“What is it?” he repeated.

“They’re searching,” she hissed.

“I can’t hear anything.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can
see
them, but it’s not like seeing. It’s more like hearing, but it isn’t because I can’t tell what they’re saying. It’s more like …” She sucked in a breath and whirled about, her eyes roving after something beyond his senses. “They’re searching with their minds.”

Cery stared at her helplessly. If he still had doubts that she had magical powers, this cast them aside forever.

“Can they see you?”

She gave him a frightened look. “I don’t know.”

He clenched and unclenched his fists. He had been so sure he could keep her from them, but there was no place he could take her—no walls that would hide her—from
this.

Sucking in a breath, he stepped forward and grabbed her hands.

“Can you stop them seeing you?”