Trudi Canavan - The Novice

“Which texts would you like to see?” Kassyk asked.

“I would like to see the Dorgon scrolls.”

The priest regarded Dannyl quietly before he replied.

“We do not allow non-believers to read those texts.”

“Oh.” Dannyl frowned, disappointed. “This is not good news. I have been led to believe these scrolls were available for viewing, and have travelled far to see them.”

“That is unfortunate indeed.” The High Priest looked genuinely sympathetic.

“Forgive me if I am wrong, but you have allowed them to be read before, haven’t you?”

Kassyk blinked in surprise. He nodded slowly. “Your High Lord, when he visited ten years ago, did persuade me to read them to him. He assured me that no one would seek this information again.”

Dannyl exchanged a glance with Tayend. “Akkarin was not High Lord then, but even if he had been, how could he have guaranteed this?”

“He made a vow never to repeat what he had heard.” The priest’s frown deepened. “Or refer to the scrolls to any other. He also said that the information was of no interest to the Guild. Nor was it of interest to him, as he was seeking ancient magic, not religious lore. Are you looking for the same truths?”

“I can’t say, as I don’t know exactly what Akkarin was looking for. These scrolls may be relevant to my research despite being of no use to the High Lord.” Dannyl held the priest’s gaze. “If I make the same vow, will you read them to me?”

The priest considered Dannyl. After a long pause, he nodded. “Very well, but your friend must stay here.”

Tayend’s shoulders slumped, but as he dropped into a nearby chair he let out a sigh of relief. Leaving the scholar fanning himself, Dannyl followed the High Priest through the rooms of scrolls. After a labyrinthine journey, they stepped into a small, square room.

All around were shelves covered in squares of flawless, clear glass. Drawing closer, Dannyl saw that fragmented pieces of paper were pressed under the glass.

“The Dorgon scrolls.” The High Priest moved to the first. “I will translate for you if you will vow on the honor of your family and the Guild to never divulge their contents to anyone.”

Dannyl straightened and turned to face Kassyk. “I swear on the honor of my family and House, and the Magicians’ Guild of Kyralia, that I will never communicate what I learn from these scrolls to any man or woman, old or young, unless my silence will bring harm of the greatest kind upon the Allied Lands.” He paused. “Is that acceptable? I cannot swear otherwise.”

The wrinkles around the old man’s mouth had deepened with amusement, but he answered solemnly. “It is acceptable.”

Relieved, Dannyl followed the High Priest to the first of the scrolls, and listened as the man began to read. They slowly made their way around the room, Kassyk pointing to and explaining diagrams and pictures in the text. When the last scroll had been read, Dannyl sat down on a bench in the center of the room.

“Who would have guessed?” he said aloud.

“No one at the time,” Kassyk replied.

“I can see why you don’t want them read.”

Kassyk chuckled and sat beside Dannyl. “It is no secret to those who enter the Priesthood that Dorgon was a trickster who used his meager powers to convince thousands of his holiness. It was what happened later that has deep significance. He began to see there were miracles within his tricks, and that miracles were in fact tricks of the Great Power. But anyone who read these scrolls would not know that.”

“Why do you keep these scrolls, then?”

“They are all we have of Dorgon. His later works were copied, but this is the only original text that has survived. They were kept and preserved by a family who resisted the Mahga religion for centuries.”

Dannyl looked around the room and nodded. “There is certainly nothing harmful here, or useful, either. I have come to Lonmar for nothing.”

“So said your High Lord, before he was High Lord.” Kassyk smiled. “I remember his visit well. You were polite, Ambassador Dannyl. The young Akkarin laughed out loud when he heard what you learned today. Perhaps the truths you are seeking are more alike than you first thought.”

Dannyl nodded. “Perhaps.” He looked at the High Priest. “Thank you for allowing me to know this, High Priest. I apologize for not believing you when you said they contained nothing of ancient power.”

The man rose. “I knew that you would always remain curious if I denied you. Now you know, and I trust you to keep your word. I will return you to your friend.”

Rising, they started back through the labyrinth of passages.

“ All of the books on the Sachakan War are taken?” Sonea asked.

Lord Jullen looked up. “That is what I said.”

Sonea turned away and mouthed a curse that would have earned a stern lecture from Rothen.

When the class was set an exercise that involved taking books from the library, an elaborate dance ensued in which they competed politely for the best books. Not wanting to join them, Sonea had tried Rothen’s library, but found he had nothing on the subject. By the time she had returned to the Novices’ Library, there was nothing useful left. That had left the Magicians’ Library, which had apparently been raided, too.

“They’re all gone,” she told Rothen as she reached his side.

His eyebrows rose. “ All of them? How can that be? There’s a restriction on the number of books each novice or magician can borrow.”

“I don’t know. He probably persuaded Gennyl to borrow some, too.”

“You don’t know it was Regin’s doing, Sonea.”

She snorted softly.

“Why don’t you have a copy made?”

“That would be expensive, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s what your allowance is for, remember.”

She winced and looked away. “How long would it take?”

“That depends on the book. A few days for printed ones, a few weeks for handwritten. Your teacher will know which volumes are best.” He chuckled and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell him your reasons, and he’ll be impressed by your apparent interest in the subject.”

She picked up her folder of notes. “I may as well go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Lord Ahrind keeps a close eye on everyone.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Lord Jullen eyed her suspiciously as she left the Magicians’ Library. It was chilly outside, and she hurried across to the Novices’ Quarters. Stepping through the door, she saw the small crowd of novices in the corridor and stopped. As they saw her their faces split with wide grins. Looking beyond them, she saw the words someone had written on her door with smeared ink. Gritting her teeth, she took a step forward.

As she did, Regin emerged from the crowd. She braced herself for his mocking words, but he suddenly retreated again as quickly as he had appeared.

“Hai! Sonea!”

Recognizing the voice, she spun about. Two figures had entered the corridor, one tall, one short. Lord Ahrind’s eyes narrowed as he saw the writing on the door. He stepped past her, and she heard the denials of the novices behind her.

“I don’t care who did it. You will clean it off. Now!”

But Sonea ignored it all. Her attention had been captured by a familiar, friendly face.

“Cery!” she breathed.

Cery’s grin faded as he took in everything behind her. “They’re giving you a hard time, aren’t they.” It was not a question.

She shrugged. “They’re just children. I—”

“Sonea.” Lord Ahrind returned to their side. “You have a visitor, as you can no doubt see for yourself. You may speak to him in the corridor, or outside. Not in your room.”