Trudi Canavan - The Magicians' Guild

Dannyl watched the pair stride back down the street, then turned away and continued walking, his mind absorbed with possibilities. A familiar figure stepped out of a house a little farther down the street. Dannyl smiled and lengthened his stride.

— Rothen!

The man stopped, the wind catching his robe so it swirled out around him.

— Dannyl? Rothen’s sending was faint and uncertain.

— I’m here. Dannyl sent a quick image of the street to the other magician, and a sense of nearness. Rothen turned toward him, then straightened as he saw Dannyl. Drawing closer, Dannyl saw that Rothen’s blue eyes were wide and haunted.

“Any luck?”

“No.” Rothen shook his head. He looked at the makeshift houses to one side. “I had no idea what it was like out here.”

“It’s like a harrel warren, isn’t it?” Dannyl chuckled. “A real mess.”

“Oh, yes, but I meant the people.” Rothen gestured at the crowds around them. “Conditions are so bad ... I couldn’t have imagined ...”

Dannyl shrugged. “We haven’t got a hope of finding her, Rothen. There just aren’t enough of us.”

Rothen nodded. “Do you think the others have fared better?”

“If they had, we would have been contacted.”

“You’re right.” Rothen frowned. “It occurred to me today: how do we know she’s still in the city? She could have fled into the country.” He shook his head. “I fear you are right. I’ve finished here. Let’s go back to the Guild.”

Early morning sunlight bathed the frost-coated windows with gold. The air inside the room was deliciously warm, heated by a glowing sphere hovering behind a clouded glass panel set into the wall. Tying the sash of his robe, Rothen stepped out into the guest room to greet his friends.

A second panel allowed the heat globe to warm the bedroom and guest room simultaneously. An elderly magician stood in front of this, holding his hands to the glass. Though well into his eighties, Yaldin was still robust and sharp witted, enjoying the longevity and good health that came with magical ability.

A taller and younger magician stood beside Yaldin. Dannyl’s eyes were half closed, and he looked as if he was ready to fall asleep.

“Good morning,” Rothen said. “Looks like the weather is going to clear today.”

Yaldin smiled crookedly. “Lord Davin thinks we’ll have a few warm days before winter sets in.”

Dannyl scowled. “Davin has been saying that for weeks.”

“He didn’t say when it would happen.” Yaldin chuckled. “Just that it would happen.”

Rothen smiled. There was an old saying in Kyralia: “The sun seeks not to please Kings, nor even magicians.” Lord Davin, an eccentric Alchemist, had begun a study of the weather three years ago, determined to prove otherwise. He had been supplying the Guild with ‘predictions’ recently, though Rothen suspected his rate of success had more to do with chance than genius.

The main door to the room opened and Rothen’s servant, Tania, entered. She carried a tray to the table and set it down. On it was a set of small cups decorated with gold and a plate piled high with sweet, elaborately decorated cakes.

“Sumi, my lords?” she asked.

Dannyl and Yaldin nodded eagerly. As Rothen ushered them to seats, Tania measured spoonfuls of dried leaves into a gold pot and added hot water.

Yaldin sighed and shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know why I volunteered to go today. I wouldn’t have if Ezrille hadn’t insisted. I said to her ‘With only half of us out there, what chance do we have?’ She replied, ‘Better than if none of you went.’ ”

Rothen smiled. “Your wife is a sensible lady.”

“I’d have thought more of us would be interested in helping after the King’s Advisers announced that, if she isn’t a rogue, he wants her trained,” Dannyl said.

Yaldin grimaced. “I suspect some withdrew their support in protest. They don’t want a slum girl in the Guild.”

“Well, they have no choice now. And we’ve gained one new helper,” Rothen reminded them as he accepted a cup from Tania.

“Fergun.” Dannyl made a rude noise. “The girl should have thrown harder.”

“Dannyl!” Rothen shook a finger at the younger magician. “Fergun is the only reason we still have half the Guild looking for her. He was very persuasive at last night’s Meet.”

Yaldin smiled grimly. “I doubt he’ll stay that way for long. I went straight to the baths when we finally came in yesterday, but Ezrille said she could still smell the slums on me afterward.”

“I hope our little runaway magician doesn’t smell that bad,” Dannyl sent Rothen a crooked grin, “or I think the first lesson we’ll have to teach her is how to wash.”

Remembering the girl’s starved, dirty face, eyes wide with realization, Rothen shivered. All night he had dreamed of the slums. He had roamed through thin-walled hovels, watched by sick-looking people, or old men shivering in their rags, or skinny children eating half-rotten food, twisted cripples ...

A polite knock interrupted his thoughts. He turned toward the door and gave a mental command. It swung inward and a young man in the garb of a messenger stepped into the room.

“Lord Dannyl.” The messenger bowed low to the younger magician.

“Speak,” Dannyl ordered.

“Captain Garrin sent a message for you, my lord. He said to tell you that the guards Ollin and Keran were found robbed and beaten. The man you were seeking does not wish to speak to magicians.”

Dannyl stared at the servant, then frowned as he considered the news. As the silence lengthened the young man shuffled his feet uneasily.

“Are they badly injured?” Rothen asked.

The messenger shook his head. “Bruised, my lord. Nothing broken.”

Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. “Thank the captain for his message. You may go.”

The messenger bowed again and left.

“What was that all about?” asked Yaldin when the door had closed.

Dannyl pursed his lips. “It seems the Thieves are not well disposed toward us.”

Yaldin snorted softly, and reached for a cake. “I should think not! Why would they-?” The old magician stopped and narrowed his eyes at the younger magician. “You didn’t...”

Dannyl shrugged. “It was worth trying. After all, they’re supposed to know everything that goes on in the slums.”

“You tried to contact the Thieves !”

“I didn’t break any laws that I know of.”

Yaldin groaned and shook his head.

“No, Dannyl,” Rothen said, “but the King and the Houses will hardly look kindly on the Guild conducting business with the Thieves.”

“Who said we were conducting business?” Dannyl smiled and took a sip from his cup. “Think about it. The Thieves know the slums far better than we could ever hope to. They’re in a better position to find the girl than we—and I’m sure they’d prefer to look for her themselves than have us snooping around in their domain. We have only to make it appear to the King that we have persuaded or intimidated the Thieves into turning the girl over and we’ll have all the approval we need.”

Rothen frowned. “You’ll have a long and difficult time convincing the Higher Magicians to agree.”

“They don’t have to know for now.”

Rothen crossed his arms. “Yes they do,” he said firmly.

Dannyl winced. “I suppose they do, but I’m sure they would forgive me if it worked, and I gave them a way to justify it to the King.”

Yaldin snorted. “Perhaps it’s just as well it didn’t work.”

Rising, Rothen walked to a window. He wiped a little frost away and peered through at the neatly laid out, carefully maintained gardens. He thought of the shivering, hungry people he had seen. Was that how she lived? Had their search driven her out of the dubious shelter of some hovel and into the streets? Winter was coming, and she could easily die from cold or starvation long before her powers grew unstable and dangerous. He drummed his fingers on the window sill.