Trudi Canavan - The Magicians' Guild

— She lied! She supported Fergun’s lie!

— Careful, Dannyl cautioned. You’ll be heard.

— I don’t care. I know he’s lying!

— Perhaps that’s how she saw it.

— No. Fergun never looked at her. I was talking to him, remember?

Dannyl sighed and shook his head. Rothen had finally seen Fergun’s true character. He should have been happy, but how could he be? Fergun had won again.

Or had he?

— Have you found anything yet?

— No, but I’m still looking.

— We need more time. With Sonea supporting Fergun, they’ll probably make a decision in the next few minutes.

— Delay them.

— How?

Dannyl drummed his fingers on a wall.

— Ask to talk to her.

Rothen’s presence vanished as his attention returned to the Hearing. Grimacing, Dannyl regarded the walls around him. Every magician knew that there were entrances to the underground passages inside the University. He had guessed that those entrances must be well hidden or novices would be flouting the rule all the time.

As he had expected, a simple search of the passages had revealed nothing. Though he was sure that he would eventually find something if he kept examining the walls closely, there wasn’t time for that.

He needed another clue. Footprints, perhaps. The underground passages were probably dusty. Fergun must have left some evidence. Eyes on the floor, Dannyl started along the corridor again.

Turning a corner, he collided with a short, plump figure. The woman gave a little yelp of surprise, then stepped back, a hand pressed to her heart.

“Forgive me, my Lord!” She bowed, the water in the bucket she carried sloshing. “You were walking so quietly, I didn’t hear you coming!”

He looked at the bucket, then smothered a groan. Evidence of Fergun’s passing would be regularly cleaned away by the servants. The woman moved past him and continued down the corridor. Watching her, it occurred to him that she probably knew more about the inner passages of the University than any magician.

“Wait!” Dannyl called.

She stopped. “Yes, my Lord?”

Dannyl walked toward her. “Do you always clean this part of the University?”

She nodded.

“Have you needed to clean up any unusual messes? Muddy footprints, for example?”

The servant’s lips thinned. “Someone dropped food on the floor. The novices aren’t supposed to bring food in here.”

“Food, eh? Where was it dropped?”

The servant gave him an odd look, then led him to a painting farther down the corridor.

“It was on the painting, too,” she said, pointing. “Like they’d been handling it.”

“I see.” Dannyl narrowed his eyes at the painting. It was of a view of a beach, with tiny spiral shells carved into the frame. “Thank you,” he said. “You may go.”

Shrugging, she bowed quickly and hurried away. Dannyl examined the painting carefully, then lifted it off the wall. Behind it was the usual wooden panelling of the inner passages. Running his hand over it, he extended his senses beyond and drew in a breath as he detected metal shapes. Following their contours, he found a section of the panel that gave beneath his probing fingers.

A soft sliding noise followed, and a section of the wall moved aside. Darkness and cold air confronted him: Hushed with triumph and excitement, he replaced the painting, created a globe light, and stepped through.

A steep stairway descended to his left. Finding a lever on the inside of the door, Dannyl pressed it and the door closed. He smiled to himself and started down the stairs.

The passage was narrow and he had to stoop to avoid brushing his head on the ceiling. A few faren webs clung to the corners. As he reached the first side passage, he reached into a pocket and drew out a jar of colored paste. Unstoppering it, he wiped a little of the contents onto the wall beside him.

The paste would slowly change from white to a clear, hard coating over the next few hours, giving him a marker that would soon be unnoticeable. Even if he was exploring in a few hours, he could still find his way out by looking for the clear coating.

He looked down and laughed aloud.

Footprints stood out clearly in a thick layer of dust. Dropping into a crouch, Dannyl identified the familiar imprint of a magician’s boots. From the number of tracks, it was clear that someone had scuffed this passage many times.

Rising, he followed the footprints for several hundred paces. Reaching another side passage, he was dismayed to find the prints led down both the main passage, and the new one. He dropped to his haunches again and examined them closely. There were only four sets of prints in the side passage, two of magician’s boots, two of smaller shoes. The prints in the main passage were fresher, and numerous.

A faint sound touched his ears then—a very human-sounding sigh. Dannyl froze, a chill slowly running up his spine. The dark beyond the reach of his globe light seemed thick and full of unpleasant possibilities, and he suddenly felt sure that something was watching him.

Ridiculous, he told himself. There’s nothing there.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and forced himself to look only at the tracks. Moving forward, he followed them for another hundred paces, finding more side passages with older tracks.

Again, he felt a nagging certainty that he was being followed. Behind his footsteps there was the echo of softer treads. The faintest breeze brought a smell of rot and something alive, but filthy ...

He turned a corner and his imaginings fled. Ahead, about twenty paces away, the footprints ended at a door. He took a step forward, then went rigid with terror as a figure moved out of the side passage beside him.

“Lord Dannyl. Might I inquire as to your reasons for being here?”

Staring at the man, Dannyl’s mind seemed to divide into two. While one part babbled excuses, the other watched helplessly as the first made an utter fool of itself.

And at the edge of his mind a familiar presence was projecting both sympathy and smug satisfaction.

— I told you not to go down there, Rothen sent.

In the lightless silence, the sound of his stomach grumbling was loud. Cery rubbed his belly and continued to pace.

He was certain now that more than a day had passed since his last meal, which meant that a week had gone by since he had seen Sonea. Leaning against the door, he cursed Fergun with every unsavory ailment he could think of. Between the words he heard the sound of footsteps and froze.

His stomach growled fiercely in anticipation. The footsteps were slower, taunting him. They drew closer, then stopped. The faint sound of voices reached him. Two voices. Both male.

He drew in a quick breath and pressed his ear to the door.

“... tunnels are extensive. It is easy to become disorientated. Magicians have been lost for days and returned starved. I suggest you retrace your steps.” The voice was stern and unfamiliar.

Another voice replied. Cery caught only a few words, but he understood enough to know that the other magician was apologizing. The voice was also unfamiliar, but he could easily imagine Fergun’s voice becoming faint and high if he was babbling so.

The stern magician clearly did not approve of Fergun’s presence in the passages. He was unlikely to approve of Fergun keeping prisoners down here either. All Cery had to do was call out, or hammer on the door, and Fergun’s trap would be unsprung.

He raised his fist, then paused as the voices stopped. Hasty footsteps led away, then another set approached. Biting his lip, Cery backed away from the door. Which magician was it? Fergun or the stern stranger?