The Magicians' Guild (14 page)

He looked at the others. Ezrille nodded enthusiastically. Rothen bowed his head once. Yaldin frowned, then shrugged.

“Very well. But be careful, Dannyl. It’s not just your skin you’re risking here.”

“I know.” Dannyl smiled. “I know.”

Travelling along the Thieves’ Road by lamplight was faster and more interesting than groping along in the dark. The walls of the passages were made of a seemingly endless variety of bricks. Symbols were carved into the walls and signs marked some of the intersections.

The guide stopped at a juncture of passages and set the lamp on the floor. He pulled a handful of black cloth from his coat.

“You must go blind from here.”

Cery nodded, and stood silently as the man bound a strip of cloth around his eyes. The man moved behind Sonea and she closed her eyes as the rough material was wrapped tightly around her face. She felt a hand rest on her shoulder, then another grasped her wrist and began pulling her along the passage.

Though she tried to memorize the turns, she soon lost count of them. They shuffled through darkness. Faint sounds reached them: voices, footsteps, dripping water, and a few noises she could not identify. The blindfold made her skin itch, but she dared not scratch herself in case the guide thought she was peeking.

When the guide stopped again she gave a sigh of relief. Fingers pulled the blindfold away. She glanced at Cery. He smiled back at her reassuringly.

Taking a polished stick from his coat, the guide pushed it into a hole in the wall. After a pause, a section of the wall swung inward and a large, muscular man stepped out.

“Yes?”

“Ceryni and Sonea to see Faren,” the guide stated.

The man nodded, opened the door wider and jerked his head at Sonea and Cery.

“Go on in.”

Cery hesitated, then turned to the guide. “I asked to see Ravi.”

The man smiled crookedly. “Then Ravi must want you to see Faren.”

Cery shrugged, then moved through the doorway. Following him, Sonea wondered if a Thief named after a poisonous eight-legged insect was more dangerous than a Thief named after a rodent.

They entered a small room. Two more heavily built men eyed them from chairs on either side. The first closed the passage door, then opened a door on the opposite side of the room and gestured for them to continue through.

Lamps hung from the walls of the next room, throwing warm yellow circles up onto the ceiling. The floor was covered with a large carpet which was fringed with gold-tipped tassels. At the far side of the room, sitting behind a table, was a dark-skinned man in black, slim-fitting clothes. Startling pale yellow eyes examined them closely.

Sonea stared back. The Thief was a Lonmar, a member of the proud desert race whose lands lay a long way to the north of Kyralia. Lonmar were uncommon in Imardin; few liked to live outside their rigid culture. Theft was considered a great evil to the Lonmar, as they believed that when one stole something, no matter how small, one lost a portion of their soul. Yet here was a Lonmar Thief.

The man’s eyes narrowed. Realizing that she was staring, Sonea quickly looked down. He leaned back in his chair, smiled and pointed a long brown finger at her.

“Come closer, girl.”

Sonea moved forward until she stood in front of the table.

“So you are the one the Guild is looking for, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Sonea, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Faren pursed his lips. “I was expecting something more impressive.” He shrugged, then leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “How am I to know you are what you say you are?”

Sonea glanced over her shoulder. “Cery said you’d know I was the one, that you would have been watching me.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Faren chuckled and his gaze slid to her friend. “A smart one, this little Ceryni, like his father. Yes, we’ve been watching you—both of you—but Cery longer. Come here, Cery.”

Cery moved to Sonea’s side.

“Ravi sends his regards.”

“From one rodent to the other?” Cery’s voice betrayed a slight quaver.

White teeth flashed, but Faren’s grin quickly faded and his yellow eyes slid back to Sonea.

“So you can do magic, can you?”

Sonea swallowed to wet her throat. “Yes.”

“Have you used it since your little surprise in the North Square?”

“Yes.”

Faren’s brows rose. He ran his hands through his hair. A few gray strands were visible at his temple, but his skin was smooth and unlined. Several rings, many set with large stones, burdened his fingers. Sonea had never seen stones that large on the hands of a slum dweller before—but this man was no ordinary dwell.

“You chose a bad moment to discover your powers, Sonea,” Faren told her. “The magicians are anxious to find you now. Their search has caused us a great deal of inconvenience— and the reward is, no doubt, causing
you
a great deal of inconvenience. Now you want
us
to hide you from
them.
Wouldn’t it be far better for us to turn you in and collect the reward? The searches end. I get a little richer. The annoying magicians go away …”

She glanced at Cery again. “Or we could make a deal.”

Faren shrugged. “We could. What do you offer in exchange, then?”

“My father said you owed him—” Cery began.

The yellow eyes snapped to Cery. “Your father lost all that was due him when he deceived us,” Faren snapped.

Cery bowed his head, then lifted his chin and met the Thief’s eyes. “My father taught me a lot,” he began. “Perhaps I can—”

Faren snorted and waved a hand. “You might be useful to us one day, little Ceryni, but, as yet, you don’t have the friends your father had—and this is a great favor you ask. Did you know that the penalty for hiding a rogue magician from the Guild is death? There is nothing the King likes less than the idea of a magician sneaking about doing things that he didn’t order.” His eyes slid to Sonea and he smiled slyly. “But it is an interesting idea. One I like a great deal.” He folded his hands together. “What have you used your powers for since the Purge?”

“I made something catch fire.”

Faren’s eyes gleamed. “Really? Have you done anything else?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you demonstrate something now.”

She stared at him. “Now?”

He gestured to one of the books on the table, “Try to move this.”

Sonea looked at Cery. Her friend nodded slightly. Biting her lip, she reminded herself that, the moment she had agreed to seek the Thieves’ help, she had resigned herself to using magic. She had to accept it, no matter how uneasy it made her feel.

Faren leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”

Taking a deep breath, Sonea stared at the book and willed it to move.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, she thought back to the North Square and the fight with Burril. She had been angry both times, she recalled. Closing her eyes, she thought of the magicians. They had wrecked her life. It was their fault she was selling herself to the Thieves for protection. Feeling anger rising, she opened her eyes and projected her resentment at the book.

The air crackled and a flash of light lit the room. Faren jumped back with a curse as the book burst into flame. Grabbing the glass, he hastily poured the contents over the book to extinguish the fire.

“I’m sorry,” Sonea said hastily. “It didn’t do what I wanted last time, either. I’ll—”

Faren lifted a hand to silence her, and grinned.

“I think you might have something worth protecting, young Sonea.”

Looking around at the crowded Night Room, Rothen realized he had made a mistake arriving early. Instead of talking to a crowd, he had been questioned by small groups or individuals, forced to answer the same questions over and over.

“I’m beginning to sound like a novice repeating formulas,” he muttered to Dannyl irritably.

“Perhaps you should write a report on your progress every evening and nail it to your door.”

“I don’t think that would help. I’m sure they’d feel they’d miss out on some snippet of information if they didn’t question me personally.” Rothen shook his head and looked around at the knots of conversing magicians. “And they all want to hear it from
me
for some reason. Why don’t they ever bother you?”

“Respect for your obvious seniority,” Dannyl replied.

Rothen narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Obvious?”

“Ah, here’s some wine to wet your poor, tired vocal cords.” Dannyl beckoned to a servant carrying a tray.

Accepting a glass, Rothen sipped appreciatively. Somehow, he had become the unofficial organizer of the search for the girl. All except Fergun and his friends looked to Rothen for instruction. This had forced him to spend less time actively searching, and he was being interrupted many times a day by mind communication from those who wanted him to identify the girls they had found.

Rothen winced as a hand touched his shoulder. Turning, he found Administrator Lorlen standing at his side.

“Good evening, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl,” Lorlen said. “The High Lord wishes to speak to you.”

Rothen looked across the room to see the High Lord taking his preferred seat. The murmur of voices had changed to a buzz of interest as Akkarin’s presence was noted.
Seems I’m going to be repeating myself again,
Rothen mused as he and Dannyl started toward the Guild leader.

The High Lord looked up as they approached, and acknowledged them with an almost imperceptible nod. His long fingers were curled around a wineglass.

“Please sit down.” Lorlen waved to two empty chairs. “Tell us how your search is progressing.”

Rothen settled into a seat. “We have interviewed over two hundred informers. Most haven’t given us any useful information. A few had locked up ordinary beggar girls, despite our warning not to approach her. Some were convincingly disappointed when the place where they believed she was hiding turned out to be empty. That, unfortunately, is all I can report so far.”

Lorlen nodded. “Lord Fergun believes she is being protected by someone.”

Dannyl’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.

“The Thieves?” Rothen suggested.

Lorlen shrugged. “Or a rogue magician. She did learn to hide her presence quickly.”

“A rogue?” Rothen glanced at Akkarin, remembering the High Lord’s assertion that no rogue magicians existed in the slums. “Do you think there’s reason to suspect we have one now?”

“I have sensed someone using magic,” Akkarin said quietly. “Not much, and not for long. I believe she is experimenting alone, since a teacher would have instructed her to hide her activities by now.”

Rothen stared at the High Lord. That Akkarin could sense such weak magical events in the city was astounding, even disturbing. As the man’s dark eyes rose to meet his, Rothen quickly looked down at his hands.

“That is … interesting news,” he replied.

“Could you … Could you trace her?” Dannyl asked.

Akkarin pursed his lips. “She is using magic in short bursts, sometimes a single occurrence, sometimes several over an hour. You would sense them if you were waiting and alert to them, but you would not have time to find and capture her unless she used her power for a longer period.”

“We can get a little closer every time she uses it, though,” Dannyl said slowly. “We could spread ourselves throughout the city and wait. Each time she experiments we can move a little closer until we know her location.”

The High Lord nodded. “She is in the northern section of the Outer Circle.”

“Then we’ll begin there tomorrow.” Dannyl drummed his fingers together. “But we’ll have to be careful that our movements don’t warn her of our strategy. If someone is protecting her, they may have helpers on the lookout for magicians.” He lifted an eyebrow at the High Lord. “Our chances of success will be greater if we disguise ourselves.”

The corner of Akkarin’s mouth curled upward. “Cloaks should hide your robes sufficiently.”

Dannyl nodded quickly. “Of course.”

“You’ll only have one chance,” Lorlen warned. “If she learns that you can sense her using magic, she will evade you by moving to a new location after each experiment.”

“Then we must work quickly—and the more magicians we have, the faster we can locate her.”

“I will call for more volunteers.”

“Thank you, Administrator.” Dannyl inclined his head.

Lorlen smiled and leaned back in his chair. “I must say, I never thought I’d be happy to learn that our little runaway has started to use her powers.”

Rothen frowned.
Yes,
he thought,
but each time she does she comes closer to losing control of them completely.

The parcel was heavy, despite its small size. It made a satisfying thud when Cery dropped it on the table. Faren picked it up and tore off the paper wrapping, revealing a small wooden box. As he opened it, tiny discs of reflected light scattered over the Thief and the wall behind him. Looking down, Cery’s chest tightened when he saw the polished coins. Faren drew out a wooden block with four pegs set into it. Cery watched as the Thief began stacking coins onto the pegs. The holes in the coins fit corresponding pegs: gold onto the round peg, silver on the square, and large coppers onto the triangular. The last peg, for the large coppers, which Cery was most familiar with, remained empty. As the stack of gold reached ten coins high, Faren transferred it to a “cap,” a single wooden stick with stoppers at both ends, and set it aside.

“I have another job for you, Ceryni.”

Dragging his eyes reluctantly from the wealth stacking up in front of him, Cery straightened, then frowned as Faren’s words sank in. How many more “jobs” must he do before he would be allowed to see Sonea? It had been over a week since Faren had taken her in. Swallowing his annoyance, he nodded at the Thief.

“What is it?”

Faren leaned back in his chair, his yellow eyes bright with amusement. “This may be more suited to your talents. A couple of thugs have taken to robbing shops around the inner Northside—shops belonging to men I have arrangements with. I want you to find out where this pair live and deliver a message in such a way they will be certain I am watching them closely. Can you do this?”