Trudi Canavan - The Novice

The carriage door opened and Dannyl followed Errend out. They stood at one side of a large courtyard. Before them was the Palace, a sprawling structure of domes and balconies standing at the top of a long, wide staircase. Grandly dressed people were making their way up the stairs, or resting on stone seats placed at intervals for this purpose.

Turning back to his companion, Dannyl found Errend floating just above the ground beside him. The First Ambassador smiled at Dannyl’s expression of astonishment.

“No sense in walking if you don’t have to!”

As the man floated up the stairs, Dannyl examined the faces of the courtiers and servants about him. They did not appear surprised by this use of magic, though some glanced at the Ambassador and smiled. While a man of bulk and cheerful character, Errend was obviously also a strong and skilled magician. Impressed, yet reluctant to draw attention to himself in such a flamboyant manner, Dannyl decided to use his legs instead.

He found Errend waiting at the top. The man gestured expansively away from the Palace.

“Look at that view! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Still breathing deeply from the climb, Dannyl turned around. The entire bay spread before him. The pale yellow buildings shone in the sunlight, and the water was a lustrous blue.

“ ‘A necklace for a King,’ the poet Lorend once said.”

“It is a beautiful city,” Dannyl agreed.

“Full of beautiful people,” Errend added. “Come inside. I will introduce them to you.”

Another arched facade stood before them, the grandest Dannyl had yet seen. The arches were several times the height of a man, low at each side, and soaring high at the center. Behind the tallest arch a doorless entrance offered access to the Palace.

Six stiff-backed guards eyed Dannyl as he followed Errend into a cavernous room. The interior was vast and airy. Fountains and stone sculptures had been placed at intervals along either side, and arched doorways between them led to further rooms and corridors. Plants draped from alcoves in the walls or sprouted from huge pots standing on the stone floor.

Errend started down the center of the room. Groups of men and women stood or strolled about, some with children. All were dressed in sumptuous clothing. As Dannyl passed they examined him with curiosity, the closest bowing gracefully.

He glimpsed Guild robes here and there: women in green, men in red or purple. To the magicians who looked his way and nodded, he inclined his head politely in return. Guards dressed in uniform stood at every doorway, watching all attentively. Individual musicians wandered about, playing stringed instruments and singing quietly. A messenger raced by, his face shining with sweat.

At the end of the hall, Errend passed through another arch into a smaller room. Opposite the arch stood a pair of doors decorated with the Elyne King’s mark: a fish leaping over a bunch of grapes. A guard bearing the same mark on his breastplate stepped forward to ask for Dannyl’s name.

“Lord Dannyl, Second Guild Ambassador for Elyne,” Errend replied.

It does sound grand, Dannyl thought. He felt a stirring of excitement as he followed Errend across the room. Two courtiers were shooed off a large cushioned bench, and the guard indicated the magicians should sit. Errend settled down with a sigh.

“This is where we wait,” he said.

“How long?”

“As long as it takes. Our names will be whispered to the King as soon as he finishes with his current audience. If he wishes to see us straightaway, we will be called. If he doesn’t,” Errend shrugged and waved at the people in the room, “we wait our turn, or we go home.”

Feminine voices and laughter filled the room. A group of women sitting on a bench opposite Dannyl’s was listening to the murmuring of a brightly dressed musician sitting cross-legged on the floor at their feet. An instrument lay across the man’s knees, and he was running his fingers across the strings to produce an idle trickle of notes. As Dannyl watched, the man turned to croon something to one of the women, and she put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile.

As if sensing that he was being watched, the man looked up and met Dannyl’s gaze. He rose in one graceful movement and began plucking at the strings, coaxing out a melody. To Dannyl’s amusement, what he’d assumed was a shirt was actually a strange belted costume with a short skirt, and the musician’s legs were covered in brightly painted yellow and green stockings.

“A man in a robe. A man in a robe.

The man in the robe, is in our abode.”

The musician danced across the room, stopping in front of the bench. Bending slightly, the musician crossed his eyes at Dannyl.

“A man in a dress. A man in a dress.

The man in the dress, will cause him distress.”

Unsure how to react to this, Dannyl looked questioningly at Errend. The Ambassador was watching with bored tolerance. The musician spun about and struck a dramatic pose.

“A man with a belly. A man with a belly...”

The musician paused and sniffed the air.

“...the man with the belly, has a nice smelly.”

Errend’s mouth twitched into a half-smile as a scattering of laughter came from around them. The musician bowed, then spun on his heel and raced back across the room to the women.

“In Capia my lover has red, red hair, and eyes like the deepest sea,” he sang in a sweet, rich voice. “In Tol-Gan my lover has strong, strong arms and she winds them both around me.”

Dannyl chuckled. “I’ve heard another version of this song sung by Vindo sailors, but it would not be at all acceptable to the ears of those young ladies.”

“No doubt the song you heard was the original, sweetened here for the court,” Errend replied.

The musician presented his instrument to one of the ladies with great ceremony, then began performing backflips. “What a strange man,” Dannyl said.

“He practices the art of flattery with the aim to insult.” Errend waved a hand dismissively. “Just ignore him. Unless, of course, you do find him entertaining.”

“I do, though I’m not sure why.”

“You’ll get over it. He once—”

“The Guild Ambassadors for Elyne,” boomed the voice of the King’s guard.

Errend rose and strode across the room, Dannyl following a step behind. The guard gestured for them to wait, then disappeared behind the door.

Dannyl heard Errend’s title called, then his own. There was a pause, then the guard returned and ushered them through.

The audience chamber was smaller than the previous room. Two tables stood on either side, and at them sat several men of middle to late years—the King’s advisers. In the center was another table, with documents, books, and a plate of sweets arranged on it. Behind this central table, in a large cushioned chair, sat the King. Two magicians stood behind him, their watchful eyes noting every movement in the room.

Following Errend’s example, Dannyl stopped and dropped to one knee. It had been many years since he had knelt before a King—and he had been only a child, brought to the Kyralian court with his father as a rare treat. As a magician, he took it for granted that all but other magicians would bow to him. Though he did not feel a great desire to have people make such an obeisance to him, if they didn’t he felt oddly slighted, as if common courtesy had been breached. Gestures of respect were important even if just for the sake of good manners.

But to kneel before another was humbling, and that was an emotion he was unused to experiencing. He could not help thinking how satisfying it must be for a King at these moments, to be one of only a few people in the Allied Lands who magicians would genuflect to.

“Rise.”