Thief’s Magic
Authors: Trudi Canavan
Trudi Canavan
lives in Melbourne, Australia. She has been making up stories about people and places that don’t exist for as long as she can remember. While working as a freelance illustrator and designer, she wrote the bestselling Black Magician trilogy which was published in 2001–3 and was named an “Evergreen” by the
Bookseller
in 2010.
The Magician’s Apprentice
, a prequel to the trilogy, won the Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Novel in 2009 and the final of the sequel trilogy,
The Traitor Queen
, reached number on
The Times
hardback bestseller list in 2011. For more information, visit
www.trudicanavan.com
.
Find out more about Trudi Canavan and other Orbit authors by registering for the free monthly newsletter at
www.orbitbooks.net
.
Y
T
RUDI
C
ANAVAN
The Magician’s Apprentice
The Black Magician trilogy
The Magicians’ Guild
The Novice
The High Lord
Age of the Five
Priestess of the White
Last of the Wilds
Voice of the Gods
The Traitor Spy trilogy
The Ambassador’s Mission
The Rogue
The Traitor Queen
Millennium’s Rule
Thief’s Magic
COPYRIGHT
Published by Orbit
ISBN: 9780748132379
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Trudi Canavan
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Orbit
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
Table of Contents
TYEN
CHAPTER 1
T
he corpse’s shrivelled, unbending fingers surrendered the bundle reluctantly. Wrestling the object out of the dead man’s grip seemed disrespectful so Tyen worked slowly, gently lifting a hand when a blackened fingernail snagged on the covering. He’d touched the ancient dead so often they didn’t sicken or frighten him now. Their desiccated flesh had long ago stopped being a source of transferable sickness, and he did not believe in ghosts.
When the mysterious bundle came free Tyen straightened and smiled in triumph. He wasn’t as ruthless at collecting ancient artefacts as his fellow students and his teacher, but bringing home nothing from these research trips would see him fail to graduate as a sorcerer-archaeologist. He willed his tiny magic-fuelled flame closer.
The object’s covering, like the tomb’s occupant, was dry and stiff having, by his estimate, lain undisturbed for six hundred years. Thick leather darkened with age, it had no markings – no adornment, no precious stones or metals. As he tried to open it the wrapping snapped apart and something inside began to slide out. His pulse quickened as he caught the object …
… and his heart sank a little. No treasure lay in his hands. Just a book. Not even a jewel-encrusted, gold-embellished book.
Not that a book didn’t have potential historical value, but compared to the glittering treasures Professor Kilraker’s other two students had unearthed for the Academy it was a disappointing find. After all the months of travel, research, digging and watching he had little to show for his own work. He had finally unearthed a tomb that hadn’t already been ransacked by grave robbers and what did it contain? A plain stone coffin, an unadorned corpse and an old book.
Still, the old fossils at the Academy wouldn’t regret sponsoring his journey if the book turned out to be significant. He examined it closely. Unlike the wrapping, the leather cover felt supple. The binding was in good condition. If he hadn’t just broken apart the covering to get it out, he’d have guessed the book’s age at no more than a hundred or so years. It had no title or text on the spine. Perhaps it had worn off. He opened it. No word marked the first page, so he turned it. The next was also blank and as he fanned through the rest of the pages he saw that they were as well.
He stared at it in disbelief. Why would anyone bury a blank book in a tomb, carefully wrapped and placed in the hands of the occupant? He looked at the corpse, but it offered no answer. Then something drew his eye back to the book, still open to one of the last pages. He looked closer.
A mark had appeared.
Next to it a dark patch formed, then dozens more. They spread and joined up.
Hello
, they said.
My name is Vella.
Tyen uttered a word his mother would have been shocked to hear if she had still been alive. Relief and wonder replaced disappointment. The book was magical. Though most sorcerous books used magic in minor and frivolous ways, they were so rare that the Academy would always take them for its collection. His trip hadn’t been a waste.
So what did this book do? Why did text only appear when it was opened? Why did it have a name? More words formed on the page.
I’ve always had a name. I used to be a person. A living, breathing woman.
Tyen stared at the words. A chill ran down his spine, yet at the same time he felt a familiar thrill. Magic could sometimes be disturbing. It was often inexplicable. He liked that not everything about it was understood. It left room for new discoveries. Which was why he had chosen to study sorcery alongside history. In both fields there was an opportunity to make a name for himself.
He’d never heard of a person turning into a book before.
How is that possible?
he wondered.
I was made by a powerful sorcerer
, replied the text.
He took my knowledge and flesh and transformed me.
His skin tingled. The book had responded to the question he’d shaped in his mind.
Do you mean these pages are made of your flesh?
he asked.
Yes. My cover and pages are my skin. My binding is my hair, twisted together and sewn with needles fashioned from my bones and glue from tendons.
He shuddered.
And you’re conscious?
Yes.
You can hear my thoughts?
Yes, but only when you touch me. When not in contact with a living human, I am blind and deaf, trapped in the darkness with no sense of time passing. Not even sleeping. Not quite dead. The years of my life slipping past – wasted.
Tyen stared down at the book. The words remained, nearly filling a page now, dark against the creamy vellum. Which was her skin …
It was grotesque and yet … all vellum was made of skin. While these pages were human skin, they felt no different to that made of animals. They were soft and pleasant to touch. The book was not repulsive in the way an ancient, desiccated corpse was.
And it was so much more interesting. Conversing with it was akin to talking with the dead. If the book was as old as the tomb it knew about the time before it was laid there. Tyen smiled. He may not have found gold and jewels to help pay his way on this expedition, but the book could make up for that with historical information.
More text formed.
Contrary to appearances, I am not an “it”.
Perhaps it was the effect of the light on the page, but the new words seemed a little larger and darker than the previous text. Tyen felt his face warm a little.
I’m sorry, Vella. It was bad mannered of me. I assure you, I meant no offence. It is not every day that a man addresses a talking book, and I am not entirely sure of the protocol.
She was a woman, he reminded himself. He ought to follow the etiquette he’d been raised to follow. Though talking to women could be fiendishly tricky, even when following all the rules about manners. It would be rude to begin their association by interrogating her about the past. Rules of conversation decreed he should ask after her wellbeing.
So … is it nice being a book?
When I am being held and read by someone nice, it is
, she replied.
And when you are not, it is not? I can see that might be a disadvantage in your state, though one you must have anticipated before you became a book.
I would have, if I’d had foreknowledge of my fate.
So you did not choose to become a book. Why did your maker do that to you? Was it a punishment?
No, though perhaps it was natural justice for being too ambitious and vain. I sought his attention, and received more of it than I intended.
Why did you seek his attention?
He was famous. I wanted to impress him. I thought my friends would be envious.
And for that he turned you into a book. What manner of man could be so cruel?
He was the most powerful sorcerer of his time, Roporien the Clever.
Tyen caught his breath and a chill ran down his back.
Roporien! But he died over a thousand years ago!
Indeed.
Then you are …
At least as old as that. Though in my time it wasn’t polite to comment on a woman’s age.
He smiled.
It still isn’t – and I don’t think it ever will be. I apologise again.
You are a polite young man. I will enjoy being owned by you.
You want me to
own
you?
Tyen suddenly felt uncomfortable. He realised he now thought of the book as a person, and owning a person was slavery – an immoral and uncivilised practice that had been illegal for over a hundred years.
Better that than spend my existence in oblivion. Books don’t last for ever, not even magical ones. Keep me. Make use of me. I can give you a wealth of knowledge. All I ask is that you hold me as often as possible so that I can spend my lifespan awake and aware.
I don’t know … The man who created you did many terrible things – as you experienced yourself. I don’t want to follow in his shadow.
Then something occurred to him that made his skin creep.
Forgive me for being blunt about it, but his book, or any of his tools, could be designed for evil purposes. Are you one such tool?
I was not designed so, but that does not mean I could not be used so. A tool is only as evil as the hand that uses it.
The familiarity of the saying was startling and unexpectedly reassuring. It was one that Professor Weldan liked. The old historian had always been suspicious of magical things.
How do I know you’re not lying about not being evil?
I cannot lie.
Really? But what if you’re lying about not being able to lie?
You’ll have to work that one out for yourself.
Tyen frowned as he considered how he might devise a test for her, then realised something was buzzing right beside his ear. He shied away from the sensation, then breathed a sigh of relief as he saw it was Beetle, his little mechanical creation. More than a toy, yet not quite what he’d describe as a pet, it had proven to be a useful companion on the expedition.
