Trudi Canavan - The Magicians' Guild

Rothen shook his head. “I don’t think they meant to.”

A gong rang out above the buzz of voices, and the Guild Administrator’s amplified voice filled the hall.

“Would all magicians take their seats, please.”

Glancing behind, Rothen saw the huge main doors at the back of the hall swing shut. The mass of robes parted as magicians began moving toward seats on either side of the room. Dannyl nodded toward the front.

“We have some rare company today.”

Rothen followed his friend’s gaze. The Higher Magicians were taking their places. To mark their position and authority within the Guild, their seats were arranged in five tiers at the front of the hall. The raised seats were reached by two narrow stairways. At the center of the highest row stood a large chair embellished with gold and embroidered with the King’s incal: a stylized night bird. The chair was empty, but the two seats flanking it were occupied by magicians wearing gold sashes tied about their waists.

“The King’s Advisers,” Rothen murmured. “Interesting.”

“Yes,” Dannyl replied. “I wondered if King Merin would regard this Meet important enough to attend.”

“Not important enough to come himself.”

“Of course not.” Dannyl smiled. “Then we’d behave ourselves.”

Rothen shrugged. “It makes no difference, Dannyl. Even if the advisers weren’t here, none of us would say anything we wouldn’t say in the presence of the King. No, they’re here to make sure we do more than merely talk about the girl.”

Reaching their usual seats, they sat down. Dannyl leaned back in his chair and surveyed the room. “All this for one grubby street urchin.”

Rothen chuckled. “She has caused quite a stir, hasn’t she?”

“Fergun hasn’t joined us,” Dannyl narrowed his eyes at the rows of seats against the opposite wall, “but his followers are here.”

Though Rothen did not approve of his friend expressing dislike of another magician in public, he couldn’t help smiling. Fergun’s officious manner did not endear him to others. “From what I remember of the Healer’s report, the blow caused considerable confusion and agitation. He felt it wise to prescribe Fergun a sedative.”

Dannyl gave a quiet crow of delight. “Fergun’s asleep! When he realizes he has missed this meeting he’ll be furious!”

A gong rang out and the room began to quieten.

“And, as you can imagine, Administrator Lorlen was most disappointed that Lord Fergun could not give his version of the events,” Rothen added in a murmur.

Dannyl choked back a laugh. Looking across at the Higher Magicians, Rothen saw that all had taken their places. Only Administrator Lorlen remained standing, a gong in one hand, a striker in the other.

Lorlen’s expression was uncharacteristically grave. Rothen sobered as he realized that this crisis was the first the magician had faced since being elected. Lorlen had proven to be well suited to dealing with everyday issues within the Guild, but there must be more than a few magicians wondering how the Administrator would tackle a crisis like this.

“I have called this Meet so that we may discuss the events which occurred in the North Square this morning,” Lorlen began. “We have two matters of the most serious nature to address: the killing of an innocent, and the existence of a magician outside of our control. To begin, we will tackle the first and most serious of these two matters. I call upon Lord Rothen as witness to the event.”

Dannyl looked at Rothen with surprise, then smiled. “Of course. It must be years since you stood down there. Good luck.”

Rising, Rothen gave his friend a withering look. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ll be fine.”

Faces turned as the assembled magicians watched Rothen descend from his seat and cross the hall to stand before the Higher Magicians. He inclined his head to the Administrator. Lorlen nodded in reply.

“Tell us what you witnessed, Lord Rothen.”

Rothen paused to consider his words. When addressing the Guild, a speaker was expected to be concise and avoid elaboration.

“When I arrived at the North Square this morning, I found Lord Fergun already in place,” he began. “I took my position beside him and added my power to the shield. Some of the younger vagrants began throwing stones but, as always, we ignored them.” Looking up at the Higher Magicians, he saw that they were watching him closely. He suppressed a twinge of nervousness. It had been a long time since he had addressed the Guild.

“Next, I saw a flash of blue light in the corner of my eye and felt a disturbance in the shield. I caught a glimpse of an object coming toward me, but before I could react it struck Lord Fergun on the temple, rendering him unconscious. I caught him as he fell, lowered him to the ground and made sure his injury was not serious. Then, as others came to assist, I searched for the stone’s thrower.”

Rothen smiled wryly as he remembered. “I saw that, while most of the youths looked confused and surprised, one young woman was staring at her hands with amazement. I lost sight of her as my colleagues arrived, and when they could not locate the stone thrower they called on me to point her out.”

He shook his head. “When I did, they mistakenly believed I was pointing to a youth standing next to her and ... and they retaliated.”

Lorlen gestured for Rothen to stop. He looked at the magicians in the row of seats below him, his eyes settling on Lord Balkan, the Head of Warriors.

“Lord Balkan, what have you discovered from questioning those who struck the youth?”

The red-robed magician rose. “All nineteen magicians involved believed that one of the boys in the crowd was the attacker, as they thought it unlikely that a girl would be trained as a rogue magician. Each intended to stun the boy, not harm him. From the description of the strikes from witnesses, I have been convinced that this is, indeed, what happened. I have also concluded from these reports that some of the stun-strikes had combined to form an unfocused firestrike. It was this that killed the boy.”

A memory of a smoldering form flashed into Rothen’s mind. Sickened, he looked down at the floor. Even had the strikes not combined, the battering from nineteen stunstrikes would have shocked the boy’s body excessively. He could not help feeling responsible. If only he had taken action himself, before the others could react...

“This raises difficult questions,” Lorlen said. “It is unlikely that the public will believe us if we tell them we simply made a mistake. An apology is not enough. We must make some attempt at reparation. Shall we compensate the family of the youth?”

Several of the Higher Magicians nodded, and Rothen heard murmurs of approval behind him.

“If they can be found,” one of the Higher Magicians added.

“I fear compensation will not repair the damage we have done to our reputation.” Lorlen frowned. “How can we regain the respect and trust of the people?”

Murmuring followed, then a voice called out: “Compensation is enough.”

“Give it time—people will forget,” said another.

“We’ve done all we can.”

And quieter, to Rothen’s right: “—just a slum boy. Who cares?”

Rothen sighed. Though the words did not surprise him, they roused in him a familiar anger. The Guild existed by law to protect others—and that law made no distinction between rich and poor. He had heard magicians claim that slum dwellers were all thieves and didn’t deserve the Guild’s protection.

“There is little more we can do,” Lord Balkan said. “The higher classes will accept that the boy’s death was an accident. The poor will not, and nothing we do or say will change their minds.”