Trudi Canavan - The Magicians' Guild

They had only taken a few steps when the sound of a bolt sliding across wood halted them. Faren turned and swore. He raised the lamp until its light illuminated the wall.

One by one the bolts were sliding back, apparently on their own. Sonea saw the cogs of the door mechanism begin to turn, then the passage plunged into darkness as the lamp clattered to the floor.

“Run!” Faren hissed. “Follow me!”

Throwing out a hand to the passage wall, Sonea chased the rapping of Faren’s shoes on the ground. She had run no more than twenty paces when a wedge of light leapt past her, throwing her shadow across the floor. The sound of booted footsteps echoed down the passage behind her.

Bright light suddenly filled the passage and her shadow began to shrink rapidly. Heat flashed against her ear and she shied as a bright ball of light overtook her. It shot past Faren and flashed outward to form a glowing barrier.

Skidding to a halt, Faren span about to face their pursuer, his face pale in the white light. Reaching his side, Sonea turned. A robed figure strode toward them. Heart pounding, Sonea backed away until she could feel the vibration and heat of the barrier behind her.

Faren made a growling noise deep in his throat, then clenched his fists and started back down the passage toward the magician. Surprised, Sonea could only stare at him with amazement.

“You!” Faren pointed at the magician. “Who do you think you are? This is my domain. You’re trespassing!”

His voice echoed in the passage. The magician slowed and regarded the Thief with wary eyes.

“The law says we may go where we must,” the magician told him.

“The law also says you may not harm people or their property,” Faren retorted. “I’d say you’ve done enough of both in the last few weeks.”

The magician stopped and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“We did not mean to kill that boy. It was a mistake.” The magician looked at Sonea and she felt a chill run down her spine. “There is much we must explain to you. You must be taught how to control your powers—”

“Don’t you understand?” Faren hissed. “She doesn’t want to become a magician. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. Just leave her alone.”

“I can’t do that,” the magician shook his head. “She must come with us—”

“No!” Faren shouted.

The magician’s eyes turned cold, sending a chill through Sonea.

“Don’t, Faren!” she called. “He’ll kill you.”

Ignoring her, Faren braced his legs and placed his hands on the walls on either side of the passage.

“If you want her,” he growled, “you’ll have to come through me.”

The magician hesitated, then took a step forward, his palms turning toward Faren. A metallic clang filled the passage.

The magician threw out his arms and vanished.

Baffled, Sonea stared at the floor where the magician had been standing. A dark square had appeared.

Dropping his arms, Faren threw back his head and began to laugh. Heart still pounding, Sonea crept forward until she stood beside him. Looking down, she saw that the square of darkness was a large hole in the floor.

“Wh-what happened?”

Faren’s laughter subsided to a chuckle. He reached up and swivelled out a brick in the wall. Reaching into the gap beyond, he grasped something and, with a grunt of effort, pulled it forward. A trapdoor slowly swivelled up and clicked into place, covering the hole. Faren kicked some of the dust on the floor over it.

“That was far too easy,” he said, wiping his hands on a nosecloth. He grinned at Sonea, and sketched a quick bow. “Did you like my performance?”

Sonea felt a smile starting to pull at her lips. “I’m still awake, I guess.”

“Ha!” Faren’s brows rose. “ You seemed to think it was convincing. ‘Don’t, Faren! He’ll kill you!’ ” he said in a high-pitched voice. He placed a hand over his heart and smiled. “I’m so touched at your concern for my safety.”

“Enjoy it,” she told him. “It might not last.” She touched the trapdoor with her toe. “Where does it go?”

He shrugged. “Oh, straight down into a pit filled with iron spikes.”

Sonea stared at him. “You mean ... he’s dead?”

“Very.” Faren’s eyes flashed.

Sonea looked down at the trapdoor. Surely not ... but if Faren said... though the magician might have managed to...

Suddenly she felt sick and cold. She had never considered that any of the magicians might be killed. Injured, perhaps, but not killed. What would the Guild do when they learned that one of their magicians was dead?

“Sonea.” Faren placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s not dead. The trap leads to a sewage pool. It’s meant as an escape route. He’ll wade out of there smelling worse than the Tarali River, but he’ll be alive.”

Sonea nodded, relieved.

“But consider what he would have done to you, Sonea. One day you may have to kill for your freedom.” Faren lifted an eyebrow. “Have you thought about that?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and regarded the barrier of light and heat that still blocked the passage. He shook his head and began to walk back down the passage toward the hideout. Sonea stepped nervously across the trapdoor and followed him.

“We can’t go back,” he mused aloud as he walked, “in case the other magicians have found another way in. We’ll have to ...” He moved closer to the wall to inspect it. “Ah, here it is.” He touched something on the wall.

She gasped as the floor fell away from under her feet. Something hard slapped her backside, then she was sliding down a steep, smooth surface. The air began to warm rapidly and gain a distinctly unpleasant odor.

She was airborne suddenly, then plunging into wet darkness. Water filled her ears and nose, but she kept her mouth tightly closed. Kicking out, she discovered the floor and pushed herself up to the surface of the water. She opened her eyes in time to see Faren fly from a tunnel and splash into the pool. He thrashed around, pushing himself up to the water’s surface with a curse.

“Argh!” he roared. He wiped his eyes and swore again. “Wrong trapdoor!”

Sonea crossed her arms. “So where did the magician end up?”

Faren looked up and an evil light filled his yellow eyes.

“The garbage chute of the bol brewhouse a few houses away,” he breathed. “After he wades out of there he’ll stink of fermented tugor mash for a week.”

Sonea snorted and began to wade to the edge of the pool. “That’s worse than this?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps for a magician. From what I hear, they hate the stuff.” He followed her out of the pool, then gave her a speculative look. “I think I owe you a bath and a change of clothing, eh?”

“For nearly failing to protect me?” Sonea shrugged. “It’ll do, but you’ll have to think of something better for dropping me in a sewer.”

He grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Though the air was crisp with the gathering winter cold, and the sky was heavy with gray cloud, Rothen’s mood lifted when he stepped outside. It was a Freeday. For most magicians, the fifth and last day of the week was a day of leisure. For novices, it was, in part, dedicated to study, and for teachers it allowed time to review and prepare lessons.

Rothen usually spent an hour walking in the gardens, then returned to his rooms to work on lessons. He had nothing to prepare this week, however. Officially designated as the organizer of the search, his duties as a teacher had been delegated to another magician.

He spent most of his time coordinating the volunteers. It was an exhausting task—for himself and the volunteers. They had spent the last three weeks, including Freedays, searching. Rothen knew that some would withdraw their help if the demands on their time continued, so he had decided to call the search off for a day.