Trudi Canavan - The Magicians' Guild

“It was safer than hanging about with you lot,” she told him.

Cery’s eyes narrowed. “That’s Jonna talking.”

Once, that would have stung. She smiled. “Jonna’s talking got us out of the slums.”

“So,” Harrin interrupted. “If you’ve got a room in a stay-house, why are you here?”

Sonea scowled and her mood darkened. “The King’s putting out the people in stayhouses,” she told him. “Says he don’t want so many people living in one building—that it’s not clean. Guards came and kicked us out this morning.”

Harrin frowned and muttered a curse. Glancing at Cery, she saw that the teasing look in his eyes had died. She looked away, grateful, but not comforted, by their understanding.

With one word from the Palace, in one morning, everything that she and her aunt and uncle had worked for had been taken away. There had been no time to think about what this meant as they had grabbed their belongings before being dragged out into the street.

“Where are Jonna and Ranel, then?” Harrin asked.

“Sent me ahead to see if we can get a room in our old place.”

Cery gave her a direct look. “Come see me if you can’t.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

The crowd slowly spilled out of the street into a large paved area. This was the North Square, where small local markets were held each week. She and her aunt visited it regularly— had visited it regularly.

Several hundred people had gathered in the square. While many continued on through the Northern Gates, others lingered inside in the hope of meeting their loved ones before entering the confusion of the slums, and some always refused to move until they were forced to.

Cery and Harrin stopped at the base of the pool in the center of the square. A statue of King Kalpol rose from the water. The long-dead monarch had been almost forty when he routed the mountain bandits, yet here he was portrayed as a young man, his right hand brandishing a likeness of his famous, jewel-encrusted sword, and his left gripping an equally ornate goblet.

A different statue had once stood in its place, but it had been torn down thirty years before. Though several statues had been erected of King Terrel over the years, all but one had been destroyed, and it was rumored that even the surviving statue, protected within the Palace walls, had been defaced. Despite all else he had done, the citizens of Imardin would always remember King Terrel as the man who had started the yearly Purges.

Her uncle had told her the story many times. Thirty years before, after influential members of the Houses had complained that the streets were not safe, the King had ordered the guard to drive all beggars, homeless vagrants and suspected criminals out of the city. Angered by this, the strongest of the expelled gathered together and. with weapons provided by the wealthier smugglers and thieves, fought back. Faced with street battles and riots, the King turned to the Magicians’ Guild for assistance.

The rebels had no weapon to use against magic. They were captured or driven out into the slums. The King was so pleased by the festivities the Houses had held to celebrate that he declared the city would be purged of vagrants every winter.

When the old King had died five years past, many had hoped that the Purges would stop, but Terrel’s son, King Merin, had continued the tradition. Looking around, it was hard to imagine that the frail, sick-looking people about her could ever be a threat. Then she noticed that several youths had gathered around Harrin, all watching their leader expectantly. She felt her stomach clench with sudden apprehension.

“I have to go,” she said.

“No, don’t go,” Cery protested. “We’ve only just found each other again.”

She shook her head. “I’ve been too long. Jonna and Ranel might be in the slums already.”

“Then you’re already in trouble.” Cery shrugged. “You still ’fraid of a scolding, eh?”

She gave him a reproachful look. Undeterred, he smiled back.

“Here.” He pressed something into her hand. Looking down, she examined the little packet of paper.

“This is the stuff you guys were throwing at the guards?”

Cery nodded. “Papea dust,” he said. “Makes their eyes sting and gives ’em a rash.”

“No good against magicians, though.”

He grinned. “I got one once. He didn’t see me coming.”

Sonea started to hand back the packet, but Cery waved his hand.

“Keep it,” he said. “It’s no use here. The magicians always make a wall.”

She shook her head. “So you throw stones instead? Why do you bother?”

“It feels good.” Cery looked back toward the road, his eyes a steely gray. “If we didn’t, it would be like we don’t mind the Purge. We can’t let them drive us out of the city without some kind of show, can we?”

Shrugging, she looked at the youths. Their eyes were bright with anticipation. She had always felt that throwing anything at the magicians was pointless and foolish.

“But you and Harrin hardly ever come into the city,” she said.

“No, but we ought to be able to if we want.” Cery grinned. “And this is the only time we get to make trouble without the Thieves sticking their noses in.”

Sonea rolled her eyes. “So that’s it.”

“Hai! Let’s go!” Harrin bellowed over the noise of the crowd.

As the youths cheered and began to move away, Cery looked at her expectantly.

“Come on,” he urged. “It’ll be fun.”

Sonea shook her head.

“You don’t have to join in. Just watch,” he said. “After, I’ll come with you and see you get a place to stay.”

“But—”

“Here.” He reached out and undid her scarf. Folding it into a triangle, he draped it over her head and tied it at her throat. “You look more like a girl now. Even if the guards decide to chase us—which they never do—they won’t think you’re a troublemaker. There,” he patted her cheek, “much better. Now come on. I’m not letting you disappear again.”

She sighed. “All right.”

The crowd had grown, and the gang began to push forward through the crush of people. To Sonea’s surprise, they received no protest or retaliation in return for their elbowing. Instead, the men and women she passed reached out to press rocks and over-ripe fruit into her hands, and to whisper encouragement. As she followed Cery past the eager faces, she felt a stirring of excitement. Sensible people like her aunt and uncle had already left the North Square. Those who remained wanted to see a show of defiance—and it didn’t matter how pointless it was.

The crowd thinned as the gang reached its edge. At one side Sonea could see people still entering the square from a side street. On the other, the distant gates rose above the crowd. In front...

Sonea stopped and felt all her confidence drain away. As Cery moved on, she took a few steps back and stopped behind an elderly woman. Less than twenty paces away stood a row of magicians.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. She knew they would not move from their places. They would ignore the crowd until they were ready to drive it out of the square. There was no reason to be frightened.

Swallowing, she forced herself to look away and seek out the youths. Harrin, Cery and the others were moving farther forward, strolling amongst the dwindling stream of latecomers joining the edge of the crowd.

Looking up at the magicians again, she shivered. She had never been this close to them before, or had an opportunity to take a good look at them.

They wore a uniform: wide-sleeved robes bound by a sash at the waist. According to her uncle Ranel, clothes like these had been fashionable many hundreds of years ago but now it was a crime for ordinary people to dress like magicians.