The Magicians' Guild (29 page)

He smiled. “We found a book on magic in one of the rooms you occupied. Did you understand any of it?”

A warning chill ran down her spine. He would not believe her if she denied reading the book but if she admitted it, he would ask more questions and she might accidentally reveal which other books she had read. Should he know the books Cery had stolen were missing, he would have to consider it possible that she had slipped into the Guild at night, and he would be more cautious about keeping her locked inside.

Instead of answering, she nodded at the cloth bundle on the bed.

“What’s that?”

He considered her for a moment, then shrugged. “Clothes.”

Sonea eyed the bundle dubiously.

“I’ll give you time to get changed, then send my servant in with some food.” He turned to the door.

After he had left, Sonea unwrapped the bundle. To her relief, he had not brought magicians’ robes. Instead she found a pair of simple trousers, undershirt and a high-collared shirt— much the same as the clothes she had been wearing in the slums but made of soft, expensive materials.

Shrugging out of the leisure coat and night robe, she pulled on the new clothes. Though she now felt decently covered, her skin still felt strangely bare. Looking at her hands, she saw that her fingernails had been clipped and cleaned. She sniffed them and smelt a soapy fragrance.

A shiver of alarm and indignation ran through her. Somebody had washed her while she had slept. She stared at the door. Rothen?

No, she decided, tasks like that would be left to the servants. Running her hands through her hair she discovered that it, too, had been washed.

A few more minutes passed, then a softer knock came from the door. Remembering that the magician was going to send in a servant, Sonea waited for the stranger to enter. The knock came again.

“Lady?” a woman called, her voice muffled by the door. “May I enter?”

Amused, Sonea sat down on the bed. Nobody had ever called her “Lady” before.

“If you want,” she answered.

A woman of about thirty years entered the room. She was dressed in a plain gray smock and matching trousers, and was carrying a covered tray.

“Hello,” the woman said, smiling nervously. Her eyes flickered to Sonea’s, then quickly away again.

Sonea watched the servant carry the tray to the table and set it down. As the women reached for the cover her hand shook slightly. Sonea frowned. What was the servant afraid of? Surely not a mere slum girl?

The woman adjusted a few items on the tray, then turned and bowed deeply to Sonea before retreating quickly from the room.

For several minutes, Sonea stared at the door. The woman had bowed to her. This was … strange. Disturbing. She could not work out what it meant.

Then the smell of hot bread and something tantalizingly spicy drew her attention to the tray. A generous bowl of soup and a plate of small, sweet cakes beckoned to her, and she felt her stomach rumble.

She smiled. The magicians were going to find that she could not be bribed into betraying Faren, but they didn’t need to know that straightaway. If she played with them a little, they might treat her like this for a very long time.

And she had no qualms about taking advantage of them.

Sonea crept into the guest room with all the watchful nervousness of a wild animal emerging from a cage. Her eyes flicked about, lingering longest on the doors, before settling on Rothen.

“That leads to a small washroom,” Rothen told her, pointing. “My bedroom is through there, and that door opens to the main corridor of the Magicians’ Quarters.”

She stared at the main door, then glanced at him before moving closer to the bookshelves. Rothen smiled, pleased to see her attracted to the books.

“Take down anything that interests you,” he urged. “I will help you read them, and explain what you do not understand.”

She glanced at him again, her brows rising, and bent closer to the books. She lifted a finger to touch the spine of a volume, but froze as the University gong began to ring.

“That indicates to novices that it is time to return to classes,” he explained. Crossing to one of the windows, he gestured for her to look outside.

Moving to the next window along, she looked out. At once, her face stiffened with tension. Eyes darting about, she watched the magicians and novices making their way back to the University.

“What do the colors mean?”

Rothen frowned. “Colors?”

“The robes, they are different colors.”

“Ah.” He leaned on the sill of the window and smiled. “First I should explain about the disciplines. There are three major uses to which magic can be applied: Healing, Alchemy and Warrior Skills.” He pointed to a pair of Healers walking slowly through the gardens. “The Healers wear green. Healing involves learning more than just the magical methods of curing wounds and disease. It also includes all knowledge of medicine, which makes it a discipline that one must dedicate one’s entire life to.”

Glancing at Sonea, he noted the interest in her eyes.

“Warriors wear red,” he told her, “and study strategy and the ways that magic can be used in battle. Some also practice traditional forms of fighting and swordplay.”

He gestured to his own robes. “Purple represents Alchemy, which is everything else that can be done with magic. It includes chemistry, mathematics, architecture and many other uses for magic.”

Sonea nodded slowly. “What about the brown robes?”

“They are novices.” He pointed to a pair of youths. “Do you see how the robes fall only to the thigh?” Sonea nodded. “They do not receive full robes until they graduate, by which time they have chosen a discipline to follow.”

“What if they want to learn more than one?”

Rothen chuckled. “There just isn’t enough time for that.”

“How long do they study for?”

“That depends how long they take to learn the required skills. Usually five years.”

“That one.” Sonea pointed. “He wears a different-colored belt.”

Rothen looked down to see Lord Balkan striding by, his harsh face set in a frown as if he was worrying at a difficult problem.

“Ah, very observant of you.” Rothen smiled approvingly. “The sash is black. It indicates that the man you are looking at is the Head of his chosen discipline.”

“The Head of the Warriors.” Sonea glanced at Rothen’s robes and her eyes narrowed.

“What sort of Alchemy do you study?”

“Chemistry. I also teach it.”

“What is that?”

He paused, considering how best to explain it in terms she would understand. “We work with substances: liquids, solids and gases. We mix them together, or heat them, or subject them to other influences and see what happens.”

Sonea frowned. “Why?”

Rothen smiled crookedly. “To see if we can discover anything useful.”

Sonea’s eyebrows rose. “What useful things have you discovered?”

“Me, or the Chemists of the Guild?”

“You.”

He laughed. “Not much! I guess you could call me a failed Alchemist, but along the way I did discover one important thing.”

Sonea’s brows rose.

“What was that?”

“I’m a very good teacher.” Moving away from the window, he considered the bookshelf. “If you would allow me, I could help you improve your reading skills. Would you be interested in working on them this afternoon?”

She regarded him for a long time, her expression guarded but thoughtful. Finally, she gave a stiff nod. “What do you think I should try?”

Approaching the bookcase, Rothen ran his eyes over the volumes. He needed something easy to read, but which would hold her interest. Taking down a book, he flicked through the pages.

She was more cooperative than he had anticipated. Her curiosity was strong, and her ability to read and her interest in his books were unexpected advantages. Both indicated that she might adapt well to a life of study.

He nodded to himself. All he had to do was persuade her that the Guild was not as bad as she thought it was.

Dannyl smiled at his friend. Since joining Yaldin and his wife for the evening, Rothen had been talking without pause. Dannyl hadn’t seen Rothen so animated about a potential novice before—though Dannyl rather hoped his friend had been this enthusiastic when taking on
his
training.

“You’re such an optimist, Rothen. You’ve barely met her and already you’re talking as if she’ll be the prize of the University.”

He smiled as his friend’s expression became defensive.

“Am I?” Rothen replied. “If I wasn’t, would I have had so many successes with novices over the years? If you give up on them, they have no reason to try.”

Dannyl nodded. He hadn’t been the most cooperative novice, and had resisted Rothen’s early attempts to direct his mind away from bickering with Fergun and his fellow novices. Despite all Dannyl’s attempts to prove Rothen wrong, his teacher had never given up on him.

“Did you tell her that we don’t intend to harm her?” Ezrille asked.

“I’ve explained about the death of the youth and that we want to teach her how to control her powers. Whether she believes it or not…” He shrugged.

“Did you tell her that she can join the Guild?”

Rothen grimaced. “I didn’t press the issue. She doesn’t like us much. It’s not that she holds us responsible for the state of the poor, but she feels we should be doing something about it.” He frowned. “She says she has never seen us do anything good, which is probably true. Most of the work we do for the city does not affect her or the rest of the dwells. And then there’s the Purge.”

“Then it’s hardly surprising that she doesn’t like the Guild,” Ezrille said. She leaned forward. “But what is she
like?”

Rothen considered. “Quiet, but defiant. She’s obviously frightened, but I don’t think we’ll be seeing any tears. I’m sure she understands that she must learn Control, so I don’t think we’ll see any escape attempts just yet.”

“And after she has learned Control?” Yaldin asked.

“Hopefully by then we will have convinced her to join us.”

“What if she refuses?”

Rothen drew in a deep breath and sighed. “I’m not sure what will happen. We can’t force anyone to join us, but, by law, we can’t allow magicians to exist outside the Guild, either. If she refuses,” he grimaced, “we will have no choice but to block her powers.”

Ezrille’s eyes widened. “Block them? Is that bad?”

“No. It’s … Well, it would be distressing for most magicians because they are used to having power to call upon. In Sonea’s case, we have someone who isn’t used to wielding magic—not in any useful form, anyway.” He shrugged. “She won’t miss it as much.”

“How long do you think it will take to teach her Control?” Yaldin asked. “I feel uneasy knowing there’s an uncontrolled magician living only a few doors away.”

“It will take some time for me to gain her trust,” Rothen replied. “She might take several weeks.”

“Surely not!” Yaldin exclaimed. “It never takes more than two weeks, even for the most difficult novices.”

“She is no spoilt or nervous child from the Houses.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Yaldin shook his head and sighed. “I’ll be shaking with nerves by the end of a week.”

Rothen smiled and lifted his cup to his lips. “Ah, but the longer she takes, the more time I have to convince her to stay.”

Sitting on the bed, Sonea peered at the gardens through a narrow gap in the window screen and toyed with a slender hair pin. It was night outside and the moon had risen. The snow edging the paths glowed softly in the subtle light.

An hour earlier, the gong had rung again. As magicians and novices hurried back to their Quarters, she had watched and waited. All was quiet now apart from the occasional servant hurrying by, breath streaming behind in the chilly night air.

Rising, she crept to the door and put her ear to it. Though she listened until her neck ached, she heard no sounds coming from the room beyond.

She looked down at the handle. It was smooth, polished wood. Set into it were pieces of darker timber, forming the lines of the Guild symbol. Sonea traced the pattern, marvelling at the skill and effort spent on a mere door handle.

Slowly, quietly, she began to turn the handle. It rotated only slightly before something blocked its movement. She carefully pulled the door inward, but the latch was still caught.

Unperturbed, she started to rotate the handle in the other direction. Once more it only moved a little before stopping. She tugged the door but it remained in place.

Bending down, she raised her hand to insert the hair pin in the lock, then paused. There was no keyhole.

Sonea sighed and sat back on her heels. She hadn’t heard the sound of a key turning any of the times Rothen had left the room, and she had noticed earlier that there were no bolts on the other side of the door. The door was locked by magic.

Not that she
could
go anywhere. She had to stay until she had learned to Control her magic.

But she needed to test her boundaries. If she didn’t look for ways to escape, she might never find any.

She rose and moved to the table beside the bed. The book of songs still lay there. Picking it up, she opened it to the first page. Something was written there. Moving to the table, she lit the candle Rothen had left.

“For my darling Rothen, to mark the birth of our son. Yilara.”

Sonea pursed her lips. So he was married and had at least one child. She wondered where his family was. Considering Rothen’s age, his son was probably a grown man.

He seemed a decent sort of person. She had always thought herself a good judge of character—something she had learned from her aunt. Her instincts told her that Rothen was kind and well-meaning. But that didn’t mean she could trust him, she reminded herself. He was still a magician, bound to do whatever the Guild wanted.

A faint high-pitched laugh came from outside, drawing her attention to the window again. Pushing aside the screen, Sonea watched as a couple strode through the garden, the green robes under their cloaks shining in the glow of a floating light. Two children ran before them, tossing snow at each other.