Trudi Canavan - The Novice

Sonea’s stomach turned over. The magicians were still talking, but she could not bring herself to focus on the words. She felt her chest tighten, as if an invisible hand had wrapped itself around her and was squeezing. Her heartbeat grew louder until it roared in her ears.

Then she remembered to breathe.

Suddenly dizzy, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Regin was wearing his most charming smile. His gaze moved from the other novices to her. Though his mouth remained fixed in the same wide smile, and not a muscle of his face appeared to move, somehow his expression changed completely.

She tore her eyes away. This is impossible. How could be have caught up? He must have cheated.

Yet she couldn’t see how he could deceive the teachers and still pass their tests. That left only one possibility. He must have started extra studies not long after she had—probably as soon as he had learned what she intended to do. And he had done it in secret, most likely with the help of his guardian.

But why? All his friends were in the other class. Perhaps he thought he would gather another gang of admirers here. She felt a trickle of hope. It was unlikely that even he could break up the pairing that this class was firmly set into. Unless...

Knowing Regin, once he had decided to go to the effort of rising to the next class he would have made friendly overtures to all the novices in it. He would have made sure he was welcome.

Looking around the class, Sonea was surprised to see Narron regarding Regin with a frown. The boy looked displeased. Then she remembered how she had been told firmly that this class had no time for “playing around.”

So perhaps Regin hadn’t befriended her new classmates. Yet he had gone to a lot of effort to rise a level.

Maybe he just couldn’t stand seeing a slum girl do better than him. Fergun had been willing to take great risks to have her expelled from the Guild because he didn’t want lower-class entrants joining. Her success or failure to learn and be accepted would be taken into account if the Guild ever considered taking in members from outside the Houses again. What if Regin was trying to hamper her learning, to ensure she failed and lower-class entrants were never welcomed again?

Then I had better make sure he doesn’t succeed!

She had escaped him once, she could do it again by studying harder and reaching the next class.

Even as the idea occurred to her, she knew it wasn’t possible. It had taken her every night and Freeday to finish a half year’s learning three months early, and she still had to catch up on what this class had covered already in the months before she had joined it. She didn’t have any time left to learn what the Second Years had studied as well.

Perhaps it would be better to let him think he’d won. He’d leave her alone if he thought she wasn’t doing as well as him. She didn’t have to be the best novice in her class to prove that entrants from outside the Houses could succeed as magicians.

If she fell back to the first class she was sure Regin’s pride wouldn’t allow him to follow her. She dismissed that idea faster than the first. The summer class was still under Regin’s sway, even if he had left it. At least her current class wasn’t united against her...

She blinked, suddenly realizing that Lord Skoran’s thin, wavering voice had been the only sound in the room for some time.

“...and in continuing our assessment of the Sachakan War, I want you to find out all you can about the five Higher Magicians who joined the battle at the second stage. They were from countries outside Kyralia, and their aid was gathered by a certain young magician named Genfel. Choose one of these magicians and write a four-thousand-word description of his life before he became involved in the war.”

Picking up her pen, Sonea began writing. Regin may have reached the higher class, but he still had much work to do before he caught up with them. For a few weeks he would be too busy to harass her, and by then she would know if he was going to have any influence over the rest of the class. Without them to support him, it would not be so easy for him to make her the target of his pranks.

“Jebem, halai!”

At the cry, Dannyl looked up eagerly.

“What is it?” Tayend asked.

Dannyl set aside his plate with a grimace. Though dried marin paste was a delicacy, nothing could make stale ship bread appetizing.

“Jebem has been sighted,” he said, rising. Hunching over so he did not knock his head on the roof, Dannyl moved toward the door. As he stepped outside, light dazzled him. The sun hung low over the sea, setting the waves glittering brightly. The heat of the day lingered in the air and radiated from the deck.

Looking to the north, Dannyl caught his breath, then ducked inside the doorway and beckoned to Tayend. Straightening, he moved down the deck to the bow, and gazed at the distant city.

Low houses built of flat, gray stones spread endlessly along the coast. From among them rose thousands of obelisks.

Tayend had appeared at his side. “Big, isn’t it?” the scholar breathed.

Dannyl nodded. The small coastal villages they had passed in the last few days had been made up of houses in the same simple style, with a handful of obelisks rising above them. The houses of Jebem were no grander, but the sheer size of the city was astounding. The obelisks among them were like a forest of needles, and the low sun painted all with a vivid red-orange light.

They watched silently as the ship continued along the coast. A row of rocky outcrops appeared, running parallel to the city like guards. The ship sailed into the gap between. When they drew level to the part of the city where the obelisks were thickest, the ship slowed and turned into a narrow channel. On either side, dark-skinned men hurried to the stone banks. They tossed ropes to the sailors, which were then looped around stout posts on the ship. The other ends were already fastened to teams of gorin. The large beasts began hauling the ship down the channel.

For the next hour the Lonmar wharf-laborers guided the ship along the channel until it reached an artificial marina. Several other ships, some twice the size of their own, rocked gently in the water. As the ship was lashed to posts along the wharf, Dannyl and Tayend returned to their rooms to gather their belongings.

After a brief and formal exchange with the captain, they walked down the gangplank to dry land. Their trunks were handed to four men. A fifth stepped forward and bowed.

“Greetings, Ambassador Dannyl, young Tremmelin. I am Loryk, your translator. I will take you to the Guild House. Please follow me.”

He made a quick, imperious gesture at the carriers and started into the city. Following, Dannyl and Tayend walked along several wharves and onto a wide street.

Dust filled the air, muting the colors around them. The sea breeze was replaced by a stifling heat and a mixture of perfume, spice and dust. Men filled the streets, all well covered in simple Lonmar clothing. Voices surrounded them, but the liquid-sounding words were incomprehensible. Those men they passed stared at Dannyl openly, then at Tayend, their gaze neither welcoming nor disapproving. Occasionally one narrowed his eyes at Tayend, who had put on his fanciest court costume and looked very out of place.

The scholar was unusually quiet. Looking at his companion, Dannyl recognized the now-familiar signs of unease: a small crease had appeared between Tayend’s brows and he walked a half-step behind. As the scholar met his gaze, Dannyl gave him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry. It’s unsettling at first, being in a strange city.”

Tayend’s frown disappeared, and he drew level with Dannyl as they followed the translator through a narrow alley. Emerging in a large square, Dannyl checked his stride and looked around in dismay.