Kyralia 01 - [Black Magician 01] - The Magicians' Guild Page 8

  Taking it, Dannyl sent a mental inquiry to her mind. He immediately sensed a well of power lying dormant. Surprised, he hesitated a moment before releasing her hand and stepping back.

  “She is not the one,” he repeated.

  The informers began shouting again, but there was less urgency and demand in the din. He moved away a few paces and lifted his arms. They shied back.

  “Go!” Dannyl called. “Return this afternoon.”

  He turned quickly so his robes swirled around him dramatically and strode away. A low exclamation of awe rose from the crowd. Smiling, he lengthened his stride.

  But his smile vanished as he considered the power he had sensed in the beggar girl. She had not been particularly strong. If she had been a daughter of a House, it was unlikely that she would have been sent to the Guild for training. She would have been more valuable to her family as a bride who would strengthen the magical bloodlines in her House. If she’d been a second or third son, however, they would have been delighted. Even a weak magician brought prestige to a family’s name.

  Dannyl shook his head as he neared the University. It was merely a coincidence that the one slum dweller who he had tested possessed magical potential. Perhaps she was the daughter of a prostitute who had conceived a magician’s child. Dannyl had no illusions about other magicians’ habits.

  Then he remembered Lord Solend’s words: “If this young woman is a natural, we should expect her to be more powerful than our average novice, possibly even more powerful than the average magician.” The girl they were seeking might be at least as strong as him. She might even be stronger…

  He shivered. Suddenly it was easy to imagine the existence of thieves and murderers secretly wielding powers that only the magicians of the Guild were meant to possess. It was a frightening thought, and he knew that he was not going to feel so completely invulnerable next time he walked the streets of the slums.

  The air in the attic was deliciously warm. Late afternoon light streamed through two small windows and painted bright squares on the walls. The smell of reber wool and smoke fought for dominance in the room. Here and there small groups of children sat bundled in blankets, talking quietly.

  Sonea watched them from the corner she had claimed for herself. When the trapdoor to the attic opened she looked up eagerly, but the boy who climbed into the room was not Cery. The other children greeted the newcomer eagerly.

  “Have you heard?” he said, dropping onto a bundle of blankets. “The magicians say they’ll give a reward to anyone who shows them where that girl is.”

  “A reward!”

  “Really?”

  “How much?”

  The boy opened his eyes wide. “A hundred gold.”

  A murmur of excitement ran through the children. They gathered around the newcomer, forming a circle of eager faces. A few cast thoughtful glances in Sonea’s direction.

  She forced herself to watch them, keeping her expression neutral. They had given her more than a few curious looks since she’d arrived. The attic was a refuge for homeless children. It lay in the area where the slums met the markets, and a view of the Marina could be seen from the tiny windows. She was too old to be admitted, but Cery knew the owner—a kind retired merchant called Norin—and had promised a favor in return.

  “The magicians really want to get this girl, don’t they?” one of the girls said.

  “They don’t let anyone have magic ’cept themselves,” a stocky boy replied.

  “Lot of people be looking for her now,” the newcomer said, nodding wisely. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “It’s blood money, Ral,” the girl replied, her nose wrinkling.

  “So?” Ral replied. “Some people won’t care. They just want the money.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t turn her in,” she said. “I hate the magicians. My cousin was burned by them, years ago.”

  “Really?” another girl asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  “It’s true.” The first girl nodded. “In the Purge. Gilen was playing around, though. He probably fished for it. One of those magicians got him with his magic. He was burned all down one side of his face. There’s a big, red scar there now.”

  Sonea shivered. Burned. A memory of a charred body flashed into her mind. She looked away from the children. The attic no longer seemed cozy. She wanted to get up and leave, but Cery had been firm about her staying put and not drawing attention to herself.

  “My uncle tried to rob a magician once,” a girl with long, knotted hair said.

  “You’re uncle was stupid,” murmured a boy at her side. She scowled at him, and aimed a kick at his shin that he evaded easily.

  “He didn’t know it was a magician,” the girl explained. “The man wore a big cloak over his robes.”

  The boy snorted, and the girl raised her fist. “You were saying?” he asked innocently.

  “He tried to cut his purse,” the girl continued, “but the magician had magicked it so he’d know if anyone touched it. Well, the magician turned around real quick and hit him with his magic and broke his arms.”

  “Both arms?” one of the younger boys asked.

  She nodded. “Without even touching him. He just put up his hands like this…” she raised her hands so her palms faced them, “and the magic hit my uncle like someone had thrown a wall at him. That’s how he told it, my uncle did.”

  “Hai!” the boy breathed. The room was silent for a few minutes, then a new voice lifted out of the quiet.

  “My sister was killed because of the magicians.”

  Every face turned toward a skinny boy who sat cross-legged at the edge of the rough circle.

  “We were in a crowd,” he told them. “The magicians started their flashing lights in the street behind us and everyone began to run. Ma dropped my little sister, but she couldn’t stop because there were so many people running. Da went back and found her. I heard him cursing them, saying that it was their fault that she died. The magicians’ fault.” He narrowed his eyes and glared at the floor. “I hate them.”

  Several of the heads around the circle nodded. A thoughtful silence followed, then the first girl made a satisfied noise.

  “See,” she said, “would you help the magicians? Not me. That girl showed ’em, she did. Maybe next time she’ll get more of ’em.”

  The children grinned and nodded at each other. Sonea let out a silent sigh of relief. She heard the creak of the hatch as it opened, and smiled as Cery climbed into the attic. He moved to her side and sat down, grinning.

  “We’ve been betrayed,” he murmured. “The house is about to be searched. Follow me.”

  Her heart skipped. Staring at him, she saw that the grin did not reach his eyes. He climbed to his feet again, and she leapt up to follow. A few children watched her pass them, but she avoided their eyes. She could feel their interest growing as Cery stopped and opened the doors of a large cabinet at the back of the room.

  “There’s a secret door to the passages here,” he murmured, reaching inside. He tugged at something gently, then frowned and pulled harder. “It’s been blocked from the other side.” He cursed under his breath.

  “Are we trapped?”

  He glanced back at the room. Most of the children were watching them now. He closed the cabinet door, then moved across to one of the windows.

  “No use in pretending now. How are your climbing skills?”

  “It’s been a while…” She looked up. The windows had been set into the roof, which sloped down almost to the floor.

  “Give me a leg up.”

  Linking her hands, she grimaced as he stepped onto them. She staggered as Cery climbed up onto her shoulders. Grabbing a roof beam, Cery steadied himself, pulled a knife out of his coat and began to work at the window.

  From somewhere below the attic Sonea heard the sound of a door slamming, then the muffled sound of raised voices. Sonea felt a stab of fear as the trapdoor sprang open, but the face that appeared was that of Norin’s niece, Yali
a.

  The woman took in the children, Sonea, and Cery poised on top of her shoulders, in one glance.

  “The door?” she asked.

  “Blocked,” he told her.

  She scowled, then looked down at the children.

  “The magicians are here,” she told them, “They’re going to search the house.”

  The children began asking questions. Above Sonea, Cery muttered a colorful curse. Sonea almost dropped him as he shifted his weight abruptly.

  “Hai! You’re not being a very good ladder, Sonea.”

  His weight suddenly lifted from her hands. Cery’s foot kicked out, hitting her in the chest. Sonea bit back a sour retort as she ducked out of the way of his swinging legs.

  “They won’t harm us,” Yalia was telling the children. “They wouldn’t dare. They’ll see straight away that you’re all too young. They’re more interested in—”

  “Hai! Sonea!” Cery whispered harshly.

  She looked up to see that Cery had slipped his legs through the window frame and was dangling down, reaching for her.

  “Come on!”

  She reached up and grasped his hands. With surprising strength, Cery lifted her up until she could grasp the sill. She hung for a moment, then edged around the frame until she held the high side. Swinging her legs up, she caught the edge of the frame with the toe of her boot, then stepped through.

  Gasping from the exertion, she lay flat against the cold tiles. The air was icy and the cold immediately began to seep through her clothes. Lifting her head, she saw a sea of roofs. The sun hung low in the sky.

  Cery reached out to close the window and froze. The sound of the attic trapdoor opening reached them, then the children began murmuring in awe and fear. Sonea lifted her head and peered inside.

  A man in red robes stood beside the open trapdoor, staring with unblinking rage around the room. His hair was pale and combed back against his scalp. A small red scar marked his temple. She pressed herself against the roof again, heart racing. There was something familiar about him but she was not going to risk a second glance.

  His voice reached their ears.

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  “Who do you mean?” Yalia replied.

  “The girl. I was informed that she was here. Where have you hidden her?”

  “I haven’t hidden anybody,” stated an aged voice.

  Norin, Sonea guessed.

  “What’s this place then? Why are these beggars here?”

  “I let them stay here. They have nowhere else to go during the winter.”

  “Was the girl here?”

  “I don’t ask their names. If this girl you seek was among them then I wouldn’t know.”

  “I think you’re lying, old man,” the magician’s tone darkened.

  A wailing began as a few of the children began to cry. Cery grabbed her sleeve and tugged it.

  “I am telling you the truth,” the old merchant replied. “I have no idea who they are, but they are always children—”

  “Do you know what the penalty is for hiding enemies of the Guild, old man?” the magician snapped. “If you do not show me where you have hidden this girl I will have your house taken down, stone by stone, and—”

  “Sonea,” Cery whispered.

  She turned to stare at him. He beckoned urgently, then began edging across the roof. Sonea forced her arms and legs to move, following.

  She dared not slide too quickly, afraid the magician would hear her. The end of the roof drew slowly closer. Reaching it, Sonea looked back to find that Cery had disappeared. Catching a fleeting movement, she saw a pair of hands grasping the guttering below her.

  “Sonea,” he hissed. “You’ve got to get down here with me.”

  Slowly, she bent her legs and slid down until she was lying along the gutter. Looking over the edge, she saw that Cery was hanging two stories from the ground. He nodded to a single-story house built close to the merchant’s home.

  “We’re going there,” he told her. “Watch me, then do what I do.”

  Reaching out to the wall, Cery grasped hold of a pipe that ran from the gutter, down the wall to the ground. As he let it take his entire weight the pipe creaked alarmingly, but Cery scurried down quickly, using the clamps that attached it to the wall as a ladder. He stepped across to the other roof, then looked up and beckoned to her.

  Taking a deep breath, Sonea grasped the gutter and let herself roll off the roof. She hung for a moment, her hands protesting, then reached out to grasp the pipe. Climbing down as quickly as she could, she stepped onto the roof of the other house.

  Cery grinned. “Easy?”

  She rubbed her fingers, which were red from the sharp edge of the clamps, and shrugged. “Yes and no.”

  “Come on. Let’s get away from here.”

  They carefully picked their way across the roof, bracing themselves against the bitterly cold wind. Reaching the neighboring house, they climbed up onto its roof. From there, they slid down another drainage pipe into a narrow alley between the houses.

  Putting a finger to his lips, Cery started along the alley. He stopped halfway along and, after glancing behind to check that they were still alone, lifted a small grille in the side of a wall. He dropped to his belly and quickly wiggled through. Sonea followed.

  They paused to rest in the darkness. Slowly her eyes adjusted until she could see the walls of a narrow brick passage. Cery was staring into the darkness, toward Norin’s house.

  “Poor Norin,” Sonea whispered. “What will happen to him?”

  “I don’t know, but it sounds bad.”

  Sonea felt a pang of guilt. “All because of me.”

  He turned to stare at her.

  “No,” he growled. “Because of the magicians—and whoever betrayed us.” He scowled back down the passage. “I’d go back and find out who it was, but I’ve got to get you somewhere safe.”

  Looking at him closely, she saw a hardness in his expression that she had never seen before. Without him she would have been captured days ago, would probably be dead.

  She needed him, but what was it going to cost him to help her? He had already promised or used owed favors for her and he risked the disapproval of the Thieves by using the tunnels.

  And what if she was found by the magicians? If Norin suffered the ruin of his house for being suspected of hiding her, what would the magicians do to Cery? “Do you know what the penalty is for hiding enemies of the Guild, old man?” She shivered and caught his arm.

  “Make me a promise, Cery.”

  He turned to stare at her, eyes wide. “A promise?”

  She nodded. “Promise that, if they ever catch us, you’ll pretend that you don’t know me.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she did not wait for him to speak. “If they do see that you’re helping me, then run away. Don’t let them catch you as well.”

  He shook his head. “Sonea, I wouldn’t—”

  “Just say you will. I…I couldn’t bear it if they killed you because of me.”

  Cery’s eyes widened, then he placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled.

  “They won’t catch you,” he told her. “And even if they do, I’ll get you back. I promise you that.”

  6

  Underground Encounters

  The sign on the bolhouse read: The Bold Knife. Not an encouraging name, but a quick look inside had revealed a quiet room. Unlike the occupants of all the other bolhouses Dannyl had entered, the customers were subdued and talked in low voices.

  Pushing open the door, he stepped inside. A few of the drinkers looked his way, but most ignored him. This, too, was a welcome change. He felt a twinge of uneasiness. Why was this place so different from the others he had visited?

  He had never entered a bolhouse until this day, and had never wanted to, but the guard he had sent to find the Thieves had given him specific instructions: go to a bolhouse, tell the owner who you wanted to talk to, and pay the fee when a guide appeared. That, apparently, was t
he way it was done.

  Of course, he couldn’t walk into a bolhouse dressed in robes and expect the sort of cooperation he needed, so he had disobeyed his peers and changed into the plain garb of a merchant.

  He had chosen his disguise carefully. No amount of dressing down was going to hide his unusual height, obvious health and cultured voice. The story he had invented told a tale of unlucky investment and bad debts. Nobody would loan him money. The Thieves were a last resort. A merchant in that situation would be as out of his depth as Dannyl was, though a great deal more frightened.

  Taking a deep breath, Dannyl made his way across the room to the serving bench. The server was a thin man with high cheekbones and a grim expression. Streaks of gray ran through his black hair. He regarded Dannyl with hard eyes.

  “What will it be?”

  “A drink.”

  The man took a wooden mug and filled it from one of the casks behind the bench. Dannyl took a copper and silver coin from his purse. Hiding the silver, he dropped the copper into the man’s outstretched hand.

  “You’ll be after a knife then?” the server asked in a quiet voice.

  Dannyl looked at the man in surprise.

  The server smiled grimly. “What else would you be at The Bold Knife for, then? You done this before?”

  Dannyl shook his head, thinking quickly. By the man’s tone, it seemed he should want some secrecy in the acquiring of this “knife.” There was no law against owning blades, so “knife” must be a word used for an illegal object—or service. He had no idea what it might be, but this man had already indicated he was expecting shady dealings and that seemed as good a start as any.

  “I don’t want a knife.” Dannyl gave the man a nervous smile. “I want to contact the Thieves.”

  The man’s brows rose. “Oh?” He narrowed his eyes at Dannyl. “It takes a bit of color to get them interested in talking, you know.”

  Dannyl opened his hand to reveal the silver coin, then closed his fingers again as the server reached for it. The man snorted, then turned slightly.