Trudi Canavan - The Magicians' Guild

Dannyl pursed his lips. “I was thinking of something a bit more balanced. Father to father, perhaps? I wouldn’t presume to suggest king to king, though I like the sound of it.”

Gorin smiled again, but it didn’t extend to his eyes. “What you want, Larkin the mat-seller?”

“I want you to help me find somebody.”

“Ah.” The Thief nodded. He pulled over a small block of paper, a pen and an inkwell. “Who?”

“A girl. Fourteen to sixteen. Small build, dark hair, skinny.”

“Ran away, did she?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“A misunderstanding.”

Gorin nodded sympathetically. “Where you think she might have gone?”

“The slums.”

“If she is alive, I’ll find her. If she is not, or we have not found her within a time—we’ll agree on how long—your obligations to me end. What’s her name?”

“We don’t know her name yet.”

“You don’t—” Gorin looked up, then narrowed his eyes. “We?”

Dannyl allowed himself to smile. “You need to devise a better test.”

Gorin’s eyes widened slightly. He swallowed, then leaned back in his chair. “Is that so?”

“What did you intend to do with me if I hadn’t passed?”

“Lead you somewhere far from here.” He licked his lips, then shrugged. “But you are here. What do you want?”

“As I said: we want you to help us find the girl.”

“And if we don’t?”

Dannyl let the smile fall from his face. “Then she will die. Her own powers will kill her, and destroy part of the city too—though I cannot tell you how much as I do not know her strength.” He stepped forward, placed his hands on the table, and held the Thief’s gaze. “If you help us, it doesn’t have to be a profitless arrangement—though you must understand that there are limits to what we can be seen to be doing.”

Gorin stared at him in silence, then put pen and paper aside. He leaned back in his seat and turned his head slightly.

“Hai, Dagan! Bring our visitor a chair.”

The room was dark and musty. Shipping boxes were stacked against one wall, many of them broken. Pools of water had gathered in the corners, and a thick layer of dust covered everything else.

“So this is where your father used to hide his stuff?” Harrin asked.

Cery nodded. “Da’s old storeroom.” He wiped dust off one of the boxes, and sat down.

“There’s no bed,” Donia said.

“We’ll put something together,” Harrin replied. Walking over to the boxes, he began rummaging through them.

Sonea had stopped in the doorway, dismayed at the prospect of spending the night in such a cold and unpleasant place. Sighing, she sat on the lowest stair. They had moved three times during the night to avoid reward-seekers. She felt as if she hadn’t slept for days. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to drift. Harrin’s conversation with Donia grew distant, as did the sound of footsteps from the passage behind her.

Footsteps?

Opening her eyes, she looked back and saw a distant light swaying in the darkness.

“Hai! Someone’s coming.”

“What?” Harrin strode across the room and stared into the passage. He listened for a moment, then pulled Sonea to her feet and pointed at the far side of the room. “Get over there. Keep out of sight.”

As Sonea moved away from the door, Cery rose to join Harrin. “Nobody comes here,” he said. “The dust on the stairs wasn’t marked.”

“Then they must have been following us.”

Cery stared up the passage, cursing. He turned to Sonea. “Cover your face. They might be after something else.”

“We’re not leaving?” Donia asked.

Cery shook his head. “No way out. There used to be a passage, but the Thieves closed it years ago. That’s why I didn’t bring us here before.”

The footsteps were more audible within the room now. Harrin and Cery backed away from the door and waited. Pulling up the hood of her cloak, Sonea joined Donia at the far side of the room.

Boots appeared within the passage, then trousers, chests, and faces as the newcomers descended the stairs. Four boys stepped through the doorway. They looked at Harrin and Cery, then, as they located Sonea, they exchanged eager looks.

“Burril,” Harrin said. “What you doin’ here?”

A stocky youth with muscular arms swaggered forward to face Harrin. Sonea felt a chill. This was the boy who had accused her of being a spy.

Looking at the other youths, she felt a shock as she recognized one. She remembered Evin as one of the quieter boys of Harrin’s gang. He had taught her how to cheat at tiles. There was no friendship in his gaze now as he twirled a heavy iron bar in one hand. Sonea shivered and looked away.

The other two boys carried lengths of rough wood. They had probably picked up the makeshift cudgels along the way. Sonea considered the odds. Four against four. She doubted that Donia had ever learned to fight, or that either of them would be equal to one of Burril’s allies. They might be able to tackle one together, however. She reached down and picked up a wooden slat from one of the broken shipping boxes.

“We’re here for the girl,” Burril said.

“Turned squimp, have we Burril?” Harrin’s voice was dark with contempt.

“I was thinking of asking you that,” Burril replied. “We haven’t seen you in days. Then we hear about the reward and it all makes sense. You wanta keep the money for yourself.”

“No, Burril,” Harrin said firmly. He looked at the other youths. “Sonea’s a friend. I don’t sell my friends.”

“She’s no friend of ours,” Burril replied, glancing at his companions.

Harrin crossed his arms. “So, that’s how it is. It didn’t take long before you got a fancy for taking charge. You know the rules, Burril. You’re either with me or out.” He looked at Burril’s allies again. “Same for you lot. You wanta follow this squimp?”

Though they remained in place, the youths glanced at Burril, then at Harrin, then at each other. Their expressions were guarded.

“A hundred gold,” Burril said quietly. “You wanta give up that much money just so you can follow this fool around? We could live like kings.”

The youths’ expressions hardened.

Harrin’s eyes narrowed. “Get out, Burril.”

A knife flashed into Burril’s hand, and he pointed it at Sonea. “Not without the girl. Give her over.”

“No.”

“Then we’ll have to take her.”

Burril took a step toward Harrin. As Burril’s companions fanned out to surround him, Cery moved to his friend’s side, eyes steely, hands in his pockets.

“Come on Harrin,” Burril crooned. “We don’t have to do this. Give her up. We’ll share the money, just like old times.”

Harrin’s face twisted with anger and contempt. A knife flashed into his hand and he lunged forward. Burril dodged and slashed out with his blade. Sonea caught her breath as the knife sliced open Harrin’s sleeve and left a line of red. As Evin lashed out with the iron bar, Harrin dodged out of reach.

Donia grabbed her arm. “Stop them, Sonea,” she whispered urgently. “Use your magic!”

Sonea stared at the girl. “But... I don’t know how!”

“Just try something. Anything!”

As the other two youths approached him, Cery drew out two daggers from his pockets. The boys hesitated when they saw them. Sonea noted the straps holding the daggers firmly against his palms so he could still use his hands to grab and push without losing the blades. She could not help smiling. He really hadn’t changed a bit.

As the heavier one lunged, Cery caught the boy’s wrist and pulled him forward, using the boy’s momentum to unbalance him. The boy staggered forward, his wooden cudgel clattering to the floor as Cery twisted his wrist. Swinging his arm around and up, Cery dealt the boy a stunning blow to the head with the pommel of a dagger.