Trudi Canavan - The Novice

And an unnecessary one. Clenching his fists, he advanced on the door and stepped through. Akkarin sat in one of the luxurious armchairs, already sipping from a wineglass.

“Why are you letting the novices gang up on her?” he demanded before his anger and courage failed.

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. “I gather you mean Sonea? It does her good.”

“ Good? ” Lorlen exclaimed.

“Yes. She has to learn to defend herself.”

“Against other novices?”

“She ought to be able to defeat them. They’re not well coordinated.”

Lorlen shook his head and started to pace the room. “But she isn’t defeating them, and some magicians are wondering why you do not step in and put a stop to it.”

Akkarin shrugged. “It is up to me how my novice is trained.”

“Trained! This isn’t training! ”

“You heard Lord Yikmo’s analysis. She’s too nice. Real conflict will teach her to fight back.”

“But this is fifteen novices against one. How can you expect her to stand up to that many?”

“Fifteen?” Akkarin smiled. “The last I saw it was near twenty.”

Lorlen stopped pacing and stared at the High Lord.

“You’ve been watching her?”

“Whenever I can.” Akkarin’s smile widened. “Though it’s not always easy to keep up with them. I would like to know how that last one ended. Eighteen, perhaps nineteen, and she still managed to free herself.”

“She got away?” Lorlen suddenly felt lightheaded. He moved to a chair and sank into it. “But that means...”

Akkarin chuckled. “I’d advise you to think twice if you were planning to take her on in the Arena, Lorlen, though her lack of skill and confidence would ensure you won the fight.”

Lorlen didn’t answer, his mind still struggling to accept that a novice as young as Sonea could already be so powerful. Akkarin leaned toward him, his dark eyes glittering.

“Every time they attack her she stretches herself,” he said quietly. “She’s learning to defend herself in ways neither Balkan nor Yikmo can teach her. I’m not going to stop Regin and his accomplices. They’re the best teachers she has.”

“But... why do you want her stronger?” Lorlen breathed. “Aren’t you afraid she will turn against you? What will you do when she graduates?”

Akkarin’s smile vanished. “She is the High Lord’s chosen novice. The Guild expects her to excel. But she will never grow strong enough to be a threat to me.” He looked away and his expression hardened. “As for graduation, I’ll decide how to deal with that when the time comes.”

Seeing the calculating look in Akkarin’s eyes, Lorlen shivered. A memory of his visit to the Guard House returned. The images of the bodies of the murdered young man and his father were hard to forget. Though more gruesome, the young man’s death had not chilled Lorlen as much as the other. The father’s wrists had shallow cuts, and he had lost little blood. Yet he was dead.

At Akkarin’s instruction, Lorlen had explained to Barran he would not be sending magicians out in a hunt for the rogue, as he had done with Sonea. The previous search had driven Sonea to seek the help of the Thieves, and they had kept the Guild from finding her for months. Though the Thieves were rumored to be hunting for the murderer as well, it was not impossible that they would strike a deal if he came to them for help. So it was better that the Guild gave the murderer no reason to hide himself too carefully. The Guard must locate him, then Lorlen would arrange for magical assistance to capture him. Barran had agreed that this was the wisest action.

But this would never happen if the murderer was Akkarin. Lorlen considered the black-robed man. He wanted to ask Akkarin directly if he had anything to do with the murders, but he was afraid of the answer. And even if the answer was no, could he believe such a denial, anyway?

“Ah, Lorlen,” Akkarin sounded amused. “Anyone would think Sonea was your adopted novice.”

Lorlen forced his mind back to the subject. “If a guardian is neglecting his obligations, it is my duty to correct the situation.”

“And if I tell you to leave this alone, will you?”

Lorlen frowned. “Of course,” he said reluctantly.

“Can I trust you to?” Akkarin sighed. “When you have not done as I have asked concerning Dannyl?”

Surprised, Lorlen frowned at Akkarin. “Dannyl?”

“He has continued his investigations.”

Lorlen could not help feeling a trickle of hope at this news, but it quickly evaporated. If Akkarin knew this, whatever good might have come from it was already lost. “I sent him orders to abandon the work.”

“Then he hasn’t followed them.”

Lorlen hesitated. “What will you do?”

Akkarin drained his glass, then rose and walked toward the drinks table. “I haven’t decided. If he goes where I fear he may go, he will die—and not by my hand.”

Lorlen’s heart skipped a beat. “Can you warn him?”

Placing his glass on the table, Akkarin sighed. “It may be too late already. I shall have to weigh the risks.”

“Risks?” Lorlen frowned. “What risks?”

Akkarin turned and smiled. “You are full of questions tonight. I wonder if there is something in the spring water lately. Everyone seems to have grown so bold.” He turned away and refilled his glass, and another. “That is all I can tell you, for now. If I was free to tell you what I know, I would.”

He crossed the room and handed Lorlen a glass.

“For now, you’ll just have to trust me.”

As they reached the curve of the road from where they had first seen Dem Ladeiri’s home, Dannyl and Tayend halted their mounts and turned to regard the building one last time. Their servants continued ahead, their horses walking slowly down the winding road.

“Who would have thought we’d find the answers to so many questions in that old place?” Tayend said, shaking his head.

Dannyl nodded. “It has been an interesting few days.”

“Now that’s an understatement.” Tayend’s lips curled up at one side, and he gave Dannyl a sidelong glance.

Smiling at the scholar’s expression, Dannyl looked up at the mountains above the Ladeiri house. The ruins of Armje lay beyond one of the ridges, hidden from sight.

Tayend shivered. “It makes me nervous, knowing that cavern is up there.”

“I doubt any magicians have visited Armje since Akkarin,” Dannyl said. “And that door can’t be opened without magic—or without breaking down the whole wall. I would have warned the Dem, but I didn’t want to tell him before consulting the Guild.”

Tayend nodded. He nudged his horse forward, and Dannyl’s followed. “We have some more information on this Charkan King, anyway. If we had a few weeks to spare, we could travel into Sachaka.”

“I’m still not sure that’s wise.”

“Akkarin probably went there. Why shouldn’t we?”

“We don’t know for sure if that’s where he went.”

“If we went there we might find evidence that he did. The Sachakans are sure to remember if a Guild magician passed their way. Have any other magicians visited Sachaka in the last ten or so years?”

Dannyl shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“If one had, surely he would have heard that another Guild magician had been in the country before him.”

“Perhaps.” Dannyl felt a nagging uneasiness. The thought of being around other magicians reminded him that, one day, he would have to return to the Guild. As if his colleagues might be able to see...

But, of course, they wouldn’t—couldn’t—know that from just looking at him. So, as long as he and Tayend were careful about discussing the matter, and he never allowed anyone to truth-read him, and he was cautious during mental communication, who could ever prove anything?