The Novice

  THE

  NOVICE

  THE BLACK MAGICIAN TRILOGY BOOK TWO

  TRUDI CANAVAN

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my mother, Irene Canavan,

  who always said that, with hard work and

  determination, I could be anything I wanted to be.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Map

  PART ONE

  1 The Acceptance Ceremony

  2 The First Day

  3 Telling Tales

  4 Attending to Duty

  5 Useful Skills

  6 An Unexpected Proposal

  7 The Great Library

  8 Just What He Intended

  9 Considering the Future

  10 Hard Work Pays Off

  11 Unwelcome Arrivals

  12 Not What They Had in Mind

  13 Thief!

  14 Bad News

  15 A Surprise Attack

  16 The Rule About Accusations

  17 A Capable Companion

  18 Friendship

  19 The Tests Begin

  PART TWO

  20 Sonea’s Good Fortune

  21 The Tombs of White Tears

  22 Avoiding the High Lord

  23 Akkarin’s Promise

  24 A Request

  25 Turning Up in Odd Places

  26 A Jealous Rival

  27 Useful Information

  28 A Secret Plan

  29 A Revelation

  30 A Disturbing Discovery

  31 An Unplanned Encounter

  32 A Little Side Trip

  33 The High Lord’s Warning

  34 If Only It Was That Simple

  35 The Challenge

  36 The Battle Begins

  37 The High Lord’s Favorite

  Epilogue

  Lord Dannyl’s Guide to Slum Slang

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Trudi Canavan

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Map

  PART ONE

  1

  The Acceptance Ceremony

  For a few weeks each summer, the sky over Kyralia cleared to a harsh blue and the sun beat down relentlessly. In the city of Imardin, the streets were dusty and the masts of ships in the Marina writhed behind the heat haze, while men and women retreated to their homes to fan themselves and sip juices or—in the rougher parts of the slums—drink copious amounts of bol.

  But in the Magicians’ Guild of Kyralia these scorching days hailed the approach of an important occasion: the swearing in of the summer intake of novices.

  Sonea grimaced and tugged at the collar of her dress. Though she had wanted to wear the same simple, but well-made clothes she had worn while living in the Guild, Rothen had insisted that she needed something fancier for the Acceptance Ceremony.

  Rothen chuckled. “Don’t worry, Sonea. It will all be over soon and you’ll have robes to wear—and I’m sure you’ll get sick of those soon enough.”

  “I’m not worried,” Sonea told him irritably.

  His eyes brightened with amusement. “Really? You don’t feel even a little nervous?”

  “It’s not like the Hearing last year. That was wild.”

  “Wild?” His eyebrows rose. “You are nervous, Sonea. You haven’t let that one slip in for weeks.”

  She gave a small sigh of exasperation. Since the Hearing five months earlier, when Rothen had won the right to be her guardian, he had given her the education that all novices must attain before starting at the University. She could read most of his books without help, and she could write, as Rothen put it, “well enough to get by.” Mathematics had been harder to grasp, but the history lessons were fascinating.

  During those months, Rothen had corrected her whenever she spoke a word of slum slang, and constantly made her rephrase and repeat herself until she sounded like a lady of a powerful Kyralian House. He warned her that the novices would not be as accepting of her past as he was, and she would only make things worse if she drew attention to her origins every time she spoke. He had used the same argument to persuade her to wear a dress for the Acceptance Ceremony, and though she knew he was right, it did not make her feel any more comfortable.

  A circle of carriages came into view as they reached the front of the University. Beside each stood a set of primly dressed servants, all wearing the colors of the House they served. As Rothen appeared they turned and bowed to him.

  Sonea stared at the carriages and felt her stomach turn over. She had seen vehicles like this before, but not so many together. Each was made of highly polished wood, carved and painted with intricate designs, and in the center of each door was a square design indicating which House the carriage belonged to—the House incal. She recognized the incals for Paren, Arran, Dillan and Saril, some of the most influential Houses in Imardin.

  The sons and daughters of those Houses were going to be her classmates.

  At that thought her stomach felt as if it were turning inside out. What would they think of her, the first Kyralian from outside the great Houses to join their ranks for centuries? At the worst they would agree with Fergun, the magician who had tried to prevent her joining the Guild last year. He believed that only the offspring of the Houses should be allowed to learn magic. By imprisoning her friend, Cery, he had blackmailed Sonea into cooperating with his schemes. And those schemes would have proven to the Guild that Kyralians of the lower classes were lacking in morals and not to be trusted with magic.

  But Fergun’s crime had been discovered, and he had been sent away to a distant fort. It did not seem to Sonea like a particularly severe punishment for threatening to kill her friend, and she could not help wondering if it would deter others from doing something similar.

  She hoped that some of the novices would be like Rothen, who didn’t care that she had once lived and worked in the slums. Some of the other races that attended the Guild might be more accepting of a girl from the lower classes, too. The Vindo were a friendly people; she had met several in the slums who had traveled to Imardin to work in vineyards and orchards. The Lan, she had been told, did not have lower and higher classes. They lived in tribes and ranked men and women through trials of bravery, cunning and wisdom—though where that would place her in their society she couldn’t guess.

  Looking up at Rothen, she thought of all he had done for her and felt a pang of affection and gratitude. Once she would have been horrified to find herself so dependent on, of all people, a magician. She had hated the Guild once, and first used her powers unintentionally when throwing a stone at a magician in anger. Then, as they searched for her, she had been so sure they meant to kill her she had dared to seek the Thieves’ help, and they always extracted a high price for such favors.

  As her powers grew uncontrollable, the magicians convinced the Thieves to hand her over into their care. Rothen had been her captor and teacher. He had proven to her that magicians—well, most of them—were not the cruel, selfish monsters that the slum dwellers believed them to be.

  Two guards stood at either side of the open University doors. Their presence was a formality observed only when important visitors were expected at the Guild. They bowed stiffly as Rothen led Sonea into the Entrance Hall.

  Though she had seen it a few times before, the hall still amazed her. A thousand impossibly thin filaments of a glass-like substance sprouted from the floor, supporting stairs that spiraled gracefully up to the higher levels. Delicate threads of white marble wove between rails and stairs like branches of a climbing vine. They looked too fine to hold the weight of a man—and probably would be if they were not strengthened by magic.

  Continuing past the stairs, they entered a short corridor.
Beyond this was the rough gray of the Guildhall, an ancient building protected and enclosed by an enormous room known as the Great Hall. Several people were standing outside the Guildhall doors, and Sonea felt her mouth go dry at the sight of them. Men and women turned to see who was approaching and their eyes brightened with interest as they saw Rothen. The magicians among them nodded politely. The others bowed.

  As he stepped into the Great Hall, Rothen led Sonea to one side of the small crowd. Sonea noted that, despite the summer warmth, all but the magicians were dressed in layers of opulent clothing. The women were draped in elaborate gowns; the men wore longcoats, the sleeves decorated with incal. Looking closer, she caught her breath. Every seam was sewn with tiny glints of red, green and blue stones. Huge gems were set into the buttons of the longcoats. Chains of precious metals looped around necks and wrists, and jewels sparkled on gloved hands.

  Looking at one man’s longcoat, she considered how easy it would be for a professional thief to divest him of his buttons. There were small hinged blades available in the slums for that task. All it took was an “accidental” collision, an apology, and a hasty retreat. The man probably wouldn’t realize he’d been robbed until he got home. And that woman’s bracelet…

  Sonea shook her head. How am I going to make friends with these people if all I can think of is how easy it would be to rob them? Yet she could not help smiling. She had been as skilled at picking pockets and locks as any of her childhood friends—except maybe Cery—and though her aunt Jonna had eventually persuaded Sonea that thieving was wrong, Sonea had not forgotten the tricks of the trade.

  Gathering her courage, she looked at the younger strangers and saw several faces quickly turn away. Amused, she wondered what they had been expecting to see. A simpering beggar girl? A workwoman bent and coarsened from labor? A painted whore?

  Since none of them would meet her gaze, she was able to examine them freely. Only two of the families had the typical Kyralian black hair and pale skin. One of the mothers was dressed in green Healer’s robes. The other held the hand of a thin girl who was gazing dreamily up at the glittering glass ceiling of the hall.

  Three other families stood together, their short stature and reddish hair typical of the Elyne race. They talked quietly among themselves, and occasionally a laugh echoed in the hall.

  A pair of dark-skinned Lonmar waited in silence. Heavy gold talismans of the Mahga religion hung over the father’s purple Alchemist robes, and both father and son had shaved off their hair. A second pair of Lonmar stood on the far side of the waiting families. The son’s skin was a paler brown, hinting at a mother of different race. The father, too, wore robes, but his were the red of a Warrior and he wore no jewelry or talismans.

  Hovering near the corridor was a family of Vindo. Though the father was richly dressed, the furtive glances he directed at the others hinted that he felt uncomfortable in their company. Their son was a stocky youth whose brown skin had a sickly yellow cast to it.

  As the boy’s mother rested a hand on his shoulder, Sonea thought of her aunt Jonna and uncle Ranel and felt a familiar disappointment. Though they were her only family, having raised her after her mother died and her father left, they had been too intimidated by the Guild to visit her there. When she had asked them to come to the Acceptance Ceremony they had declined, saying that they would not leave their newborn son in another’s care, and that it would not be proper to bring a crying baby to such an important ceremony.

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor and Sonea turned to watch another grandly dressed trio of Kyralians join the visitors. The boy sent a haughty look around the circle of people. As his eyes swept around the room they fell upon Rothen, then slid to Sonea.

  He looked directly into Sonea’s eyes and a friendly smile curled the edges of his mouth. Surprised, she began to smile in reply, but as she did his expression slowly twisted into a sneer.

  Sonea could only stare back at him in dismay. The boy turned away dismissively, but not so quickly that she didn’t catch a smile of smug satisfaction. Sonea narrowed her eyes and watched as he turned his attention to the other entrants.

  It appeared that he already knew the other Kyralian boy, and the two exchanged friendly winks. The girls were treated with dazzling smiles; while the thin Kyralian girl responded with apparent disdain, her eyes lingered on him long after he had turned away. The rest received polite nods.

  A loud, metallic clunk interrupted the social game. All heads turned toward the Guildhall. A long, tense silence followed, then excited whispers filled the air as the enormous doors began to swing outward. As the gap widened, a familiar golden glow flowed from the hall within. The light came from thousands of tiny magical globes floating a few feet below the ceiling. A warm scent of wood and polish spilled out to welcome them.

  Hearing gasps, Sonea turned to see that most of the visitors were gazing into the hall in wonder. She smiled as she realized that the other entrants, and some of the adults, would not have seen the Guildhall before. Only the magicians, and those parents who had attended ceremonies for older children, had been inside. And her.

  She sobered as she remembered her previous visit, when the High Lord had brought Cery into the Guildhall, ending Fergun’s hold over her. For Cery, part of a dream had been fulfilled that day, too. Her friend had made a promise to himself that he would visit all of the great buildings of the city at least once during his lifetime. The fact that he was a low-born street urchin had only made fulfilling this dream a greater challenge for him.

  But Cery was no longer the adventurous boy she had hung about with as a child, or the mischievous youth who had helped her evade the Guild for so long. Each time she saw him, when he visited her in the Guild or she had met him in the slums, he seemed older and less carefree. If she asked what he was doing with his time, or if he was still working for the Thieves, he smiled slyly and changed the subject.

  He seemed content, however. And if he was working for the Thieves, perhaps it was better that she didn’t know what he was up to.

  A robed figure strode forward to stand in the Guildhall doorway. Sonea recognized Lord Osen, the Administrator’s assistant. He raised a hand and cleared his throat.

  “The Guild welcomes you all,” he said. “The Acceptance Ceremony will now begin. Would the University entrants please form a line. They will enter first; parents will follow after and take seats on the floor level.”

  As the other entrants hurried forward, Sonea felt a hand touch her shoulder lightly. Turning, she looked up at Rothen.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon,” he reassured her.

  She grinned in reply. “I’m not worried, Rothen.”

  “Ha!” He gave her shoulder a gentle push. “Go on, then. Don’t keep them waiting.”

  A small crowd had formed before the doors. Lord Osen’s lips thinned. “Form a line, please.”

  As the entrants obeyed, Lord Osen looked over to Sonea. A quick smile touched his lips and Sonea nodded in reply. She fell in behind the last boy in the line. Then a quiet hiss to her left caught her attention.

  “At least that one knows her place,” a voice murmured. Sonea turned her head slightly to see two Kyralian women standing nearby.

  “That’s the slum girl, is it?”

  “Yes,” replied the first. “I told Bina to keep away from her. I don’t want my sweet girl picking up any nasty habits—or diseases.”

  The second woman’s reply was lost as Sonea moved away. She pressed a hand to her chest, surprised to find her heart beating rapidly. Get used to it, she told herself, there will be more of that. Resisting an urge to look back at Rothen, she straightened her shoulders and followed the other entrants down the long aisle in the center of the hall.

  Once through the doors, the high walls of the Guildhall surrounded them. The seats on either side were less than half full, yet nearly all magicians living within the Guild and the city were present. Looking to her left, her eyes caught the cold gaze of an elderly magician. Hi
s lined face was set in a frown, and his eyes burned into hers.

  Dragging her gaze back to the floor, Sonea felt her face heating. She realized, with annoyance, that her hands were shaking. Was she going to let herself tremble over the glare of an old man? She schooled her face to what she hoped was calm self-possession, and let her eyes skim across the rows of faces…

  …and nearly stumbled as all the strength drained from her knees. It seemed that every magician in the hall was looking at her. Swallowing hard, she fixed her eyes on the back of the boy in front of her.

  As the entrants reached the end of the aisle, Osen directed the first to the left, then the second to the right, and continued in this pattern until they stood in a line across the width of the hall. Finding herself in the middle of this line, Sonea faced Lord Osen. He stood silently, watching the activity behind her. She could hear a shuffling and a tinkling of jewelry, and guessed that the parents were moving into the rows of chairs behind them. As the hall quietened, Osen turned and bowed to the Higher Magicians sitting in the tiered rows of seats at the front of the Guildhall.

  “I present the summer intake of entrants to the University.”

  “This is much more interesting now there’s someone down there that I know,” Dannyl remarked as Rothen took his seat.