Trudi Canavan - The Novice

The ship rocked as it passed through the arms of the bay. Looking back, Dannyl sighed with appreciation at the shining city. He was lucky, indeed, to have been assigned the role of Guild Ambassador in such a place. Tayend stowed the slip of paper away.

“Goodbye, Capia,” he said wistfully. “It’s like leaving the arms of a beautiful lover you’ve shamelessly taken for granted. Only in the leaving do you realize what you have.”

“The Splendid Temple is said to be a magnificent place.”

Tayend looked around the ship’s deck. “Yes, and we will be seeing it for ourselves. What an adventure awaits us! What fine sights and memorable experiences—and what a fantastic way to travel.”

“You might want to wait until you see your room before you come up with any more grand descriptions of our journey—though I must say you will find sleeping in it a memorable experience.”

Tayend swayed as the ship rolled through the waves. “It will stop this soon, won’t it? When it gets farther out?”

“Stop what?” Dannyl asked slyly.

The scholar looked at him in horror, then flung himself at the railing and vomited. Dannyl immediately felt ashamed of his teasing remark.

“Here.” He took Tayend’s hand and placed his palm on the man’s wrist. Closing his eyes, he sent his awareness into the scholar’s body, but the sense of it vanished as the scholar snatched his hand away.

“No. Don’t.” Tayend had flushed a bright red. “I’ll be fine. It’s seasickness, right? I’ll get used to it.”

“You don’t have to be ill,” Dannyl said, puzzled by the scholar’s reaction.

“Yes, I do.” Tayend leaned over the railing again. After a moment, he slumped against the rail and wiped his mouth on a nosecloth. “It’s all part of the experience, you see,” he told the waves. “If you stop me feeling it, I won’t have any good stories to tell.”

Dannyl shrugged. “Well, if you change your mind...”

Tayend coughed. “I’ll let you know.”

As the last rays of light left all but the highest leaves within the forest, Lorlen stepped out of the University and made his way toward the High Lord’s Residence.

Once again, he must endeavor to store all he knew in some dark part of his mind. Once more he would make friendly conversation, tell a few jokes, and drink the best wine in the Allied Lands.

He would have trusted his life to Akkarin, once. They had been close as novices, confiding in each other, defending each other. Akkarin had been the one most likely to break Guild rules and propose mischief. Lorlen frowned. Had that led to this interest in black magic? Was Akkarin just bending the rules for the sake of his own entertainment?

He sighed. He didn’t like fearing Akkarin. It was easier, on nights like this, to invent a good reason for Akkarin to be using black magic. But doubts always remained.

“The fight has weakened me. I need your strength.”

What fight? Who had Akkarin battled? Remembering the blood that had covered Akkarin in Sonea’s memory, Lorlen could only conclude that the adversary had been badly hurt. Or murdered.

Lorlen shook his head. The stories Derril and his son had told were strange and disturbing. Both involved victims who appeared to be dead despite wounds that weren’t severe. This wasn’t enough to prove a black magician had been at work, however. He could not help thinking that, if he wasn’t worried about Akkarin, he might have been more inclined to bring the deaths to Vinara’s attention. The Healer might know a way to detect if a person had been killed with black magic.

But if the Guild started looking for a black magician, would it all lead to a premature confrontation with Akkarin?

Stopping at the door of the High Lord’s Residence, Lorlen sighed. He must push these things from his mind. Some of the magicians actually suspected that the High Lord could read thoughts from a distance. While he didn’t believe this, Akkarin did have an uncanny ability to discover secrets before anyone else.

As always, the door swung inward as soon as he knocked. Stepping inside, he found Akkarin standing a few steps away, holding out a glass of wine.

Lorlen smiled and accepted the glass. “Thank you.”

Taking another glass from a nearby table, Akkarin lifted it to his lips. He regarded Lorlen over the brim. “You look tired.”

Lorlen nodded. “I’m not surprised.” He shook his head and turned away, starting toward a chair.

“Takan says dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” Akkarin said. “Come upstairs.”

Moving to the left side of the room, Akkarin opened the door to the stairs and waved Lorlen through. As he climbed, Lorlen felt an uneasiness steal over him, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the black-robed magician following behind him. He pushed the feeling away and stepped into the long corridor at the top of the stairs.

Halfway along, a pair of doors stood open, inviting Lorlen into the dining room. Takan stood within. As the servant bowed, Lorlen resisted looking too closely at the man, though he’d had few opportunities to examine Takan since learning of Akkarin’s activities.

Takan moved to a chair and drew it out. Settling into it, Lorlen watched the man perform the same service for the High Lord, then hasten away.

“So what is bothering you, Lorlen?”

Lorlen looked at Akkarin in surprise. “Bothering me?”

Akkarin smiled. “You seem distracted. What is on your mind?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Lorlen sighed. “I had to make an unpleasant decision this week.”

“Oh? Is Lord Davin trying to purchase more materials for his weather experiments?”

“No—well, that too. I had to move Sonea to the Novices’ Quarters. It seemed cruel when she’s obviously not getting along well with her classmates.”

Akkarin shrugged. “She was fortunate to spend as long with Rothen as she did. Someone was bound to protest eventually. I’m surprised the issue wasn’t raised earlier.”

Nodding, Lorlen waved a hand. “It is done. I can only try to keep an eye on the situation between her and her classmates, and urge Lord Garrel to curb Regin’s antics.”

“You can try, but even if you asked Garrel to follow his novice about it wouldn’t stop the boy doing whatever he’s doing. She will have to learn to fend for herself if she’s to gain the other novices’ respect.”

Takan arrived with a tray, and set down small bowls of soup. Cupping the bowl in one long-fingered hand, Akkarin sipped experimentally, then smiled.

“You always mention Sonea when you come here,” he remarked. “It’s not like you to show an interest in a particular novice.”

His mouth full of the salty soup, Lorlen swallowed carefully. “I’m curious to see how well she fits in—to see how much her background hampers her progress. It is in all our interests to see she adapts to our ways, and fulfils her potential, so I take note of her progress from time to time.”

“Thinking of recruiting more from the lower classes, perhaps?”

Lorlen grimaced. “No. Are you?”

Looking away, Akkarin lifted his shoulders slightly. “Sometimes. There must be a lot of potential we miss by ignoring so much of the population. Sonea is proof of that.”

Lorlen chuckled. “Not even you could persuade the Guild to try it.”

Returning with a large platter, Takan set it down between Lorlen and Akkarin. He removed the empty bowls and replaced them with plates. As the servant disappeared again, Akkarin began selecting from the many dishes arranged on the platter.

As he followed suit, Lorlen allowed himself a little sigh of contentment. It was good to be eating a proper formal dinner again. The rushed meals he ate in his office were never as good as freshly prepared food.