Trudi Canavan - The Novice

Regin leaned closer. She could feel his breath on her face. “We’ll just call it a business arrangement,” he crooned. He was just trying to intimidate her, and to see how much she would endure. Well, she had dealt with this kind of bullying before.

“You’re right, Regin,” she said. His eyes widened in surprise. “I have met many men like you before. And I do know exactly what to do with them.” She snaked a hand up and wrapped it tightly around his throat. His hands flew to his neck, but before he could grab her wrist she slipped a leg around his and shoved with all her strength. She felt his knee buckle and enjoyed a surge of triumph as he fell backward, arms flailing the air, and crashed onto the floor.

Silence filled the corridor as all novices, young and old, stared at him. Sonea sniffed with disdain.

“What a fine example you are, Regin. If this is how the men of House Paren behave, then they have no better manners than the average bolhouse lout.”

Regin stiffened and his eyes narrowed to slits. She turned her back at him and glared at the other novices, daring any to touch her again. They backed away and, as the circle broke, she strode through.

She had taken only a few steps when Regin’s voice echoed loudly in the corridor.

“You’re obviously well qualified to make such comparisons,” he called. “How does Rothen compare? He must be a very happy man, having you living in his rooms. Ah, it all makes sense now. I always wondered how you managed to convince him to be your guardian.”

Sonea felt herself go cold, then hot anger flooded her body. She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to turn back. What could she do? Hit him? Even if she dared strike the son of a House, he would see it coming, and shield. And then he would know how much he had got to her.

The quiet muttering of the older novices followed her down the corridor. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the stairs ahead, not wanting to see the speculation in their faces. They wouldn’t believe what Regin had suggested. They couldn’t . Even if they believed the worst of her because of her origins, nobody would think something like that of Rothen.

Would they?

“Administrator!”

Lorlen stopped at the University entrance and turned to face Director Jerrik. “Yes?”

The Director approached Lorlen and handed him a piece of paper. “I received this request from Lord Rothen yesterday. He wants to move Sonea to the winter intake of First Year novices.”

“Really?” Lorlen scanned the page, skimming through Rothen’s explanations and assurances. “Do you think she’s capable?”

Jerrik pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Possibly. I’ve asked the First Year teachers, and they all believe she could do it if she studied hard.”

“And Sonea?”

“She certainly seems willing to do the work.”

“Then you will allow it?”

Jerrik frowned and lowered his voice. “Probably. What I don’t like about this is the true motivation behind the change.”

“Oh? What is that?” Lorlen resisted smiling. Jerrik had always maintained that novices never worked harder purely for the sake of learning. They were motivated by the need to impress, be the best, please their parents, or to be in the company of friends or someone they admired.

“As we expected, she hasn’t mixed with the other novices well. In such circumstances, the rejected novice often becomes an object of derision for others. I believe she wants only to get away from them.” Jerrik sighed. “While I admire her determination, my concern is that the winter class will be no more accepting. She will have worked hard for nothing.”

“I see.” Lorlen nodded as he considered Jerrik’s words. “Sonea is a few years older than the others in her class, and she is mature for her age—by our standards at least. Most novices are little more than children when they come here, but they lose most of their childish habits during the first year. The winter novices may be less troublesome.”

“True, they are a sensible group,” Jerrik agreed. “Training in magic can’t be hurried along, however. She can fill her mind with knowledge, but if she hasn’t gained the skill to use her powers well, she may make dangerous mistakes later.”

“She has been using her powers for over six months,” Lorlen reminded him. “Though Rothen spent that time teaching her the basic education she needed to enter the university, her powers would have become familiar to her—and it must be frustrating to watch the other novices fumbling with theirs.”

“So I take it you are in favor of allowing this?” He gestured to Rothen’s request.

“I am.” Lorlen handed back the request. “Give her the opportunity. I think you’ll find her more resourceful than you expect.”

Jerrik shrugged. “Then I will allow it. She will be tested in five weeks. Thank you, Administrator.”

Lorlen smiled. “I will be interested to hear how well she does. Will you keep me informed?”

The old man nodded. “If you wish.”

“Thank you, Director.” Lorlen turned away and started down the University stairs to the waiting carriage. He entered, tapped on the roof to signal the driver, and leaned back as the vehicle jerked into motion. It passed through the Guild Gates and rolled on into the city, but Lorlen was already too deep in thought to notice.

The invitation to dinner at Derril’s house had come the day before. While Lorlen often had to decline such invitations, he had reorganized his work to allow this visit. If Derril had more news of the murders, Lorlen wanted to hear it.

Derril’s story of the murderer had chilled Lorlen. The cuts on the victim, the strange ritual, the witness’ belief that the victim was dead before his throat was slashed... perhaps it was only because the idea of black magic was in his mind already that these murders sounded so suspicious.

But if they were the work of a black magician, that would mean one of two things: either a rogue magician capable of black magic was preying on people in the city, or this murderer was Akkarin. Lorlen shivered as he considered the implications of these two possibilities.

When the carriage stopped he looked up in surprise to find they had arrived. The driver climbed down and opened the door, revealing an elegant mansion fronted with balconies.

Lorlen stepped out and was greeted at the door by one of Derril’s servants. The man took Lorlen through the house to an internal balcony overlooking the garden. Lorlen placed his hands on the balcony rail and gazed down at the drooping little oasis of vegetation; the plants looked sad and scorched around the edges now.

“I’m afraid this summer has been a little too much for most of my plants,” Derril said mournfully as he walked out of the house to join the Administrator. “My gan-gan bushes won’t survive. I’ll have to arrange for new ones to be sent from the mountains of Lan.”

“You should have them pulled out now before the roots spoil,” Lorlen suggested. “Ground gan-gan root has remarkable antiseptic properties and, if added to sumi, is a good treatment for digestive disorders.”

Derril chuckled. “You still haven’t forgotten all the Healer training, have you?”

“No.” Lorlen smiled. “I may grow into a grumpy old Administrator, but I’ll be a healthy one. I’ve got to put all that knowledge of medicine to use somehow.”

“Hmmm.” Derril’s eyes narrowed. “I wish the Guard had someone with your knowledge in their ranks. Barran has another mystery on his hands.”

“Another murder?”

“Yes and no,” Derril sighed. “They think this one is a suicide. At least that’s what it looks like.”

“Does he believe it was made to look like one?”