Chapter 7

Dangerous Alliances

Returning from the stables alone, Rothen slowed as he reached the gardens. The air was cold, but not uncomfortably so, and the stillness was welcome after the bustle of the city. He drew in a deep breath and sighed.

Though he had interviewed countless informers, few had given useful information. Most informers had come in the hope that some piece of information, no matter how irrelevant, would lead to her capture and their reward. A few had come simply to air whatever grievance they had with the Guild.

Others, however, had reported seeing lone girls hiding from sight. After a few journeys into the slums, it became clear that there were plenty of street urchins hiding away in dark corners. Conversations with the other magicians who were interviewing the informers revealed many similar disappointments.

It would be so much easier if the reward notices had included a likeness of the girl. He thought wistfully of his late mentor, Lord Margen, who had tried without success to invent a way to transfer mental images to paper. Dannyl had taken up the challenge, but had made little progress.

He wondered how Dannyl was faring. A brief mental conversation with his friend had revealed that the younger magician was alive and unharmed, and would return at sunset. They could not refer to the true purpose behind Dannyl's visit to the slums, as it was always possible that other magicians would overhear their conversation. Nevertheless, Rothen had sensed a promising smugness in his friend's communication.

"… know … Rothen …"

Hearing his own name spoken, Rothen looked up. The thick foliage of the garden hedges hid the speaker, but Rothen was sure he had recognized the voice.

"… these things cannot be hurried."

This voice belonged to Administrator Lorlen. The pair was drawing closer to Rothen's position. Guessing that they would pass close by, Rothen moved into one of the small courtyards in the gardens. He sat down on a bench seat and listened carefully as the conversation became clearer.

"I have noted your claim, Fergun," Lorlen said patiently. "I can do no more. When she is found the matter will be dealt with in the usual manner. For now, I am only concerned with her capture."

"But must we go through all this … this bother? Rothen was not the first to know of her powers. I was! How can he have any case against me?"

The Administrator's voice was smooth as he replied, but his stride was hurried. Rothen smiled to himself as the pair passed.

"It is not bother, Fergun." Lorlen replied sternly. "It is the law of the Guild. The law says—"

" 'The first magician to recognize magical potential in another has the right to claim their guardianship,' " Fergun recited rapidly, " I was the first to feel the effects of her power, not Rothen."

"Nevertheless, the matter cannot be dealt with until the girl is found…"

The pair was well past Rothen now, and their voices faded beyond comprehension. He rose from the bench and began to stroll slowly toward the Magicians' Quarters.

So Fergun intended to claim guardianship of the girl. When Rothen had offered to take responsibility for her training, he had thought no other magician would want the task. Certainly not Fergun, who had always appeared to regard the lower classes with disdain.

He smiled to himself. Dannyl was not going to be pleased. His friend had harbored a dislike for Fergun since they were both novices. When he heard the news, Dannyl would be even more determined to find the girl himself.

* * *

It had been years since Cery had visited a bathhouse, and he had never seen the inside of the expensive private rooms. Scrubbed, warm for the first time in days and clothed in a thick wrap, he was in a good mood as he followed the towel girl into an airy drying room. Sonea sat on a length of simba matting, her thin body swamped by a heavy wrap and her face glowing from the attentions of the bathhouse girls. Seeing her looking so relaxed improved Cery's mood even more.

He grinned at her. "Hai! What a treat! I'm sure Jonna would approve!"

Sonea winced, and Cery immediately regretted his words.

"Sorry, Sonea." He grimaced apologetically. "I shouldn't have reminded you." He folded himself down onto the mat beside her, then leaned back against the wall. "If we talk quietly, we should be safe," he added in a low voice.

She nodded. "What now? We can't stay here."

"I know. I've been thinking about that." He sighed. "Things are bad, Sonea. Keeping you hidden from the magicians would have been easy, but the reward changed that. I can't trust anyone now. I can't call in favors and … and I've run out of places to hide you."

Her face paled. "What will we do, then?"

He hesitated. After the fight he had realized that she had only one option left. She would not like it. Neither did he, for that matter. If only there was someone he could trust. He shook his head and turned to meet her gaze.

"I think we should get help from the Thieves."

Sonea's eyes widened. "Are you mad?!"

"Only if I keep trying to hide you myself. Sooner or later someone's going to turn you in."

"What about the Thieves? Why wouldn't they?"

"You've got something they want."

She frowned, then her expression darkened. "Magic?"

"That's right. I bet they'd love to have their own magician." He ran his fingertips over the matting. "Once you have their protection nobody will touch you. No one crosses the Thieves. Not even for a hundred gold."

She closed her eyes. "Jonna and Ranel always told me that you can never get free of the Thieves. They keep their hooks in you. Even after a deal's over, you're never really out of their debt."

Cery shook his head. "I know you've heard bad stories. Everyone has. You just have to stick to their rules and they'll treat you fair. That's what my da used to say."

"They killed your da."

"He was stupid. He squimped."

"What if … ?" She sighed and shook her head. "What choice do I have? If I don't, the Guild will find me. I guess being a slave to a Thief is better than death."

Cery grimaced. "It won't be like that. Once you've learned to use your powers, you'll be important and powerful. They'll give you a lot of rope. They'll have to. After all, if you decide you don't want to do something, how will they make you?"

She looked at him, searching his face for an unbearably long time. "You're not sure about it, are you?"

He forced himself to meet her eyes. "I'm sure that it's your only choice. I'm sure they'll treat you fairly."

"Then?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure what they'll get you to do for them in return."

She nodded, then leaned back and stared at the far wall for several minutes.

"If you think it's what I should do, then I'll do it, Cery. I'd rather be stuck with the Thieves than give in to the Guild."

Looking at her white face, he felt the now-familiar uneasiness return, only this time it felt more like guilt. She was frightened, but she would face the Thieves with her usual unflinching determination. That only made him feel worse. Though he could not delude himself about his ability to protect her, taking her to the Thieves felt like a betrayal. He did not want to lose her again.

But he had no other choice.

Rising, he walked to the door.

"I'm going to find Harrin and Donia," he told her. "You be fine?"

She did not look up at him, just nodded.

The towel girl stood in the passage outside the room. He asked for Harrin and Donia, and the girl nodded toward the door of the next room. Biting his lip, he knocked.

"Come in," Harrin called.

Both Harrin and Donia were sitting on simba mats. Donia was rubbing her hair with a towel.

"I've told her, and she's agreed."

Harrin frowned. "I'm still not sure. What if we take her out of the city?"

Cery shook his head. "I don't think we'd get far. You can be sure the Thieves know all about her by now. They'll have found out where she's been and lived. They'll know what she looks like, who her parents were, where her aunt and uncle are. It won't be hard to find out from Burril and his lot that she's—"

"If they know so much," Donia interrupted, "why haven't they just come and taken her?"

"That's not how they do things," Cery told her. "They like making bargains, then most of the people working for them are happy, and won't cause trouble later. They could come to us and offer protection, but they haven't. That makes me think they're not sure she's got magic. If we don't go to them, they'll let one of their own turn her in. That's why we'd never get her out of the city."

Donia and Harrin exchanged a glance.

"What does she think?" Donia asked.

Cery grimaced. "She's heard the stories. She's scared, but she knows she's got no other choice."

Harrin stood. "You sure about this, Cery?" he asked. "I thought you had a shine on her. You might not see her again."

Cery blinked in surprise, and felt his face warming. "You think I'd see her again if the magicians got her?"

Harrin's shoulders sagged. "No."

Cery began pacing. "I'll go with her. She'll need someone familiar around. I can make myself useful."

Harrin reached out and grabbed Cery's arm. He stared at Cery, searching his eyes, and let him go.

"So we won't be seeing much of you anymore, then?"

Cery shook his head. He felt a pang of guilt. Harrin had been deserted by four members of his gang, and was unsure of the rest of them. Now his closest friend was leaving. "I'll come by when I can. Gellin already thinks I work for the Thieves, anyway."

Harrin smiled. "All right, then. When will you take her?"

"Tonight."

Donia placed a hand on Cery's arm. "But what if they don't want her?"

Cery smiled grimly. "They'll want her."

The corridor of the Magicians' Quarters was silent and empty. Dannyl's footsteps echoed as he made his way to Yaldin's door. He knocked and waited, hearing faint voices from the room beyond. A woman's voice rose above the others.

"He did what?"

A moment later the door opened. Ezrille, Yaldin's wife, smiled distractedly and stepped back so Dannyl could enter the room. Several cushioned chairs were arranged around a low table, and Yaldin and Rothen sat in two of them.

"He ordered the Guard to evict the man from his home," Yaldin said.

"Just for letting children sleep in his attic? That's awful!" Ezrille exclaimed, waving Dannyl toward a chair.

Yaldin nodded. "Good evening, Dannyl. Would you like a cup of sumi?"

"Good evening," Dannyl replied as he dropped into a chair. "Sumi would be very welcome, thank you. It's been a long day."

Rothen looked up and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Smiling, Dannyl shrugged in reply. He knew that Rothen would be impatient to know how matters had gone with the Thieves, but first Dannyl wanted to know what had stirred Ezrille, who was normally so placid and forgiving, to anger.

"What have I missed?"

"Yesterday one of our searchers followed an informer to a house in the better part of the slums," Rothen explained. "The owner was letting homeless children sleep in his attic, and the informer claimed that an older girl was hiding there. Our colleague claims that the girl and her companion escaped just before he arrived, with the help of the owner. So he ordered the Guard to evict the man and his family."

Dannyl frowned. "Our colleague? Who … ?" He narrowed his eyes at Rothen. "Would this happen to be a certain Warrior by the name of Fergun?"

"It would."

Dannyl made a rude noise, then smiled as Ezrille handed him a steaming cup of sumi. "Thank you."

"So what happened?" Ezrille asked. "Was the man evicted?"

"Lorlen countermanded his order, of course," Yaldin replied, "but Fergun had already disrupted much of the house—looking for hiding places, he said."

Ezrille shook her head. "I can't believe Fergun would be so… so …"

"Vindictive?" Dannyl snorted. "I'm surprised he didn't decide to interrogate the poor man."

"He wouldn't dare," Yaldin said scornfully.

"Not now," Dannyl agreed.

Rothen sighed and leaned back in his chair. "There's more. I overheard something interesting tonight. Fergun wants her guardianship."

Dannyl felt his blood turn cold.

"Fergun?" Ezrille frowned. "He's not a strong magician. I thought the Guild discouraged weaker magicians from taking on the guardianship of novices."

"We do," Yaldin replied. "But there is no rule against it."

"What chance does he have of winning his claim?"

"He says he was the first to know of her powers because he felt the effects of them first," Rothen told her.

"Is that a good argument?"

"I hope not," Dannyl muttered. This news disturbed him. He knew Fergun well. Too well. What did Fergun, with his contempt for the lower classes, want with a slum girl anyway?

"Perhaps he's planning to take revenge for his humiliation in the North Square?"

Rothen frowned. "Now Dannyl—"

"You have to consider the possibility," Dannyl injected.

"Fergun isn't going to all this trouble over a small bruise, even if it did hurt his ego," Rothen said firmly. "He just wants to be the one to capture her—and he doesn't want people to forget it afterward."

Dannyl looked away. The older magician had never understood that his dislike for Fergun was more than just a grudge left over from their days as novices. Dannyl had experienced too well how single-minded Fergun could be when it came to revenge.

"I can see quite a fight coming out of this." Yaldin chuckled. "The poor girl has no idea how much she has stirred up the Guild. It's not often we have two magicians competing for a novice's guardianship."

Rothen snorted softly. "I'm sure that's the least of her concerns. After what happened in the North Square, she's probably convinced that we intend to kill her."

Yaldin's smile faded. "Unfortunately we can't convince her otherwise until we've found her."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Dannyl said quietly.

Rothen looked up. "Do you have a suggestion, Dannyl?"

"I expect my new Thief friend has his own way of sending information around the slums."

"Friend?" Yaldin gave an incredulous laugh. "Now you're calling them friends."

"Associates." Dannyl smiled mischievously.

"I gather you had some success?" Rothen raised an eyebrow.

"A little. Just a beginning." Dannyl shrugged. "I spoke to one of their leaders, I believe."

Ezrille's eyes were wide. "What was he like?"

"His name was Gorin."

"Gorin?" Yaldin frowned. "That's a strange name."

"It seems the leaders name themselves after animals. I guess they choose a title according to their stature, because he certainly looks like his namesake. He's enormous and woolly. I almost expected to see horns."

"What did he say?" Rothen asked eagerly.

"Made no promises. I told him how dangerous it was to be around a magician who hadn't been taught to control her powers. He seemed more concerned with what the Guild would give him in exchange for finding her."

Yaldin frowned. "The Higher Magicians won't agree to exchanging favors with the Thieves."

Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. "Of course not. I told him that and he understood. I think he'd accept money."

"Money?" Yaldin shook his head. "I don't know …"

"Since we're already offering a reward, it will hardly matter if it goes to one of the Thieves." Dannyl spread his hands. "Everybody knows that the money will go to someone from the slums anyway, so they must expect that person to be someone of questionable nature."

Ezrille rolled her eyes. "Only you could make something like that sound perfectly reasonable, Dannyl."

Dannyl grinned. "Oh, it gets better. If we present this carefully, everyone will be patting themselves on the back for persuading the Thieves to do a good service for the city."

Ezrille laughed. "I hope the Thieves don't realize this, or they'll refuse to help you."

"Well, it must remain a secret for now," Dannyl told them. "I don't want to stir things up here until I know whether Gorin is willing to help us or not. Can I rely on your silence?"

He looked at the others. Ezrille nodded enthusiastically. Rothen bowed his head once. Yaldin frowned, then shrugged.

"Very well. But be careful, Dannyl. It's not just your skin you're risking here."

"I know." Dannyl smiled. "I know."

Travelling along the Thieves' Road by lamplight was faster and more interesting than groping along in the dark. The walls of the passages were made of a seemingly endless variety of bricks. Symbols were carved into the walls and signs marked some of the intersections.

The guide stopped at a juncture of passages and set the lamp on the floor. He pulled a handful of black cloth from his coat.

"You must go blind from here."

Cery nodded, and stood silently as the man bound a strip of cloth around his eyes. The man moved behind Sonea and she closed her eyes as the rough material was wrapped tightly around her face. She felt a hand rest on her shoulder, then another grasped her wrist and began pulling her along the passage.

Though she tried to memorize the turns, she soon lost count of them. They shuffled through darkness. Faint sounds reached them: voices, footsteps, dripping water, and a few noises she could not identify. The blindfold made her skin itch, but she dared not scratch herself in case the guide thought she was peeking.

When the guide stopped again she gave a sigh of relief. Fingers pulled the blindfold away. She glanced at Cery. He smiled back at her reassuringly.

Taking a polished stick from his coat, the guide pushed it into a hole in the wall. After a pause, a section of the wall swung inward and a large, muscular man stepped out.

"Yes?"

"Ceryni and Sonea to see Faren," the guide stated.

The man nodded, opened the door wider and jerked his head at Sonea and Cery.

"Go on in."

Cery hesitated, then turned to the guide. "I asked to see Ravi."

The man smiled crookedly. "Then Ravi must want you to see Faren."

Cery shrugged, then moved through the doorway. Following him, Sonea wondered if a Thief named after a poisonous eight-legged insect was more dangerous than a Thief named after a rodent.

They entered a small room. Two more heavily built men eyed them from chairs on either side. The first closed the passage door, then opened a door on the opposite side of the room and gestured for them to continue through.

Lamps hung from the walls of the next room, throwing warm yellow circles up onto the ceiling. The floor was covered with a large carpet which was fringed with gold-tipped tassels. At the far side of the room, sitting behind a table, was a dark-skinned man in black, slim-fitting clothes. Startling pale yellow eyes examined them closely.

Sonea stared back. The Thief was a Lonmar, a member of the proud desert race whose lands lay a long way to the north of Kyralia. Lonmar were uncommon in Imardin; few liked to live outside their rigid culture. Theft was considered a great evil to the Lonmar, as they believed that when one stole something, no matter how small, one lost a portion of their soul. Yet here was a Lonmar Thief.

The man's eyes narrowed. Realizing that she was staring, Sonea quickly looked down. He leaned back in his chair, smiled and pointed a long brown finger at her.

"Come closer, girl."

Sonea moved forward until she stood in front of the table.

"So you are the one the Guild is looking for, eh?"

"Yes."

"Sonea, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Faren pursed his lips. "I was expecting something more impressive." He shrugged, then leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. "How am I to know you are what you say you are?"

Sonea glanced over her shoulder. "Cery said you'd know I was the one, that you would have been watching me."

"Oh he did, did he?" Faren chuckled and his gaze slid to her friend. "A smart one, this little Ceryni, like his father. Yes, we've been watching you—both of you—but Cery longer. Come here, Cery."

Cery moved to Sonea's side.

"Ravi sends his regards."

"From one rodent to the other?" Cery's voice betrayed a slight quaver.

White teeth flashed, but Faren's grin quickly faded and his yellow eyes slid back to Sonea.

"So you can do magic, can you?"

Sonea swallowed to wet her throat. "Yes."

"Have you used it since your little surprise in the North Square?"

"Yes."

Faren's brows rose. He ran his hands through his hair. A few gray strands were visible at his temple, but his skin was smooth and unlined. Several rings, many set with large stones, burdened his fingers. Sonea had never seen stones that large on the hands of a slum dweller before—but this man was no ordinary dwell.

"You chose a bad moment to discover your powers, Sonea," Faren told her. "The magicians are anxious to find you now. Their search has caused us a great deal of inconvenience— and the reward is, no doubt, causing you a great deal of inconvenience. Now you want us to hide you from them. Wouldn't it be far better for us to turn you in and collect the reward? The searches end. I get a little richer. The annoying magicians go away …"

She glanced at Cery again. "Or we could make a deal."

Faren shrugged. "We could. What do you offer in exchange, then?"

"My father said you owed him—" Cery began.

The yellow eyes snapped to Cery. "Your father lost all that was due him when he deceived us," Faren snapped.

Cery bowed his head, then lifted his chin and met the Thief's eyes. "My father taught me a lot," he began. "Perhaps I can—"

Faren snorted and waved a hand. "You might be useful to us one day, little Ceryni, but, as yet, you don't have the friends your father had—and this is a great favor you ask. Did you know that the penalty for hiding a rogue magician from the Guild is death? There is nothing the King likes less than the idea of a magician sneaking about doing things that he didn't order." His eyes slid to Sonea and he smiled slyly. "But it is an interesting idea. One I like a great deal." He folded his hands together. "What have you used your powers for since the Purge?"

"I made something catch fire."

Faren's eyes gleamed. "Really? Have you done anything else?"

"No."

"Why don't you demonstrate something now."

She stared at him. "Now?"

He gestured to one of the books on the table, "Try to move this."

Sonea looked at Cery. Her friend nodded slightly. Biting her lip, she reminded herself that, the moment she had agreed to seek the Thieves' help, she had resigned herself to using magic. She had to accept it, no matter how uneasy it made her feel.

Faren leaned back in his chair. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath, Sonea stared at the book and willed it to move.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, she thought back to the North Square and the fight with Burril. She had been angry both times, she recalled. Closing her eyes, she thought of the magicians. They had wrecked her life. It was their fault she was selling herself to the Thieves for protection. Feeling anger rising, she opened her eyes and projected her resentment at the book.

The air crackled and a flash of light lit the room. Faren jumped back with a curse as the book burst into flame. Grabbing the glass, he hastily poured the contents over the book to extinguish the fire.

"I'm sorry," Sonea said hastily. "It didn't do what I wanted last time, either. I'll—"

Faren lifted a hand to silence her, and grinned.

"I think you might have something worth protecting, young Sonea."

Chapter 8

Messages in the Dark

Looking around at the crowded Night Room, Rothen realized he had made a mistake arriving early. Instead of talking to a crowd, he had been questioned by small groups or individuals, forced to answer the same questions over and over.

"I'm beginning to sound like a novice repeating formulas," he muttered to Dannyl irritably.

"Perhaps you should write a report on your progress every evening and nail it to your door."

"I don't think that would help. I'm sure they'd feel they'd miss out on some snippet of information if they didn't question me personally." Rothen shook his head and looked around at the knots of conversing magicians. "And they all want to hear it from me for some reason. Why don't they ever bother you?"

"Respect for your obvious seniority," Dannyl replied.

Rothen narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Obvious?"

"Ah, here's some wine to wet your poor, tired vocal cords." Dannyl beckoned to a servant carrying a tray.

Accepting a glass, Rothen sipped appreciatively. Somehow, he had become the unofficial organizer of the search for the girl. All except Fergun and his friends looked to Rothen for instruction. This had forced him to spend less time actively searching, and he was being interrupted many times a day by mind communication from those who wanted him to identify the girls they had found.

Rothen winced as a hand touched his shoulder. Turning, he found Administrator Lorlen standing at his side.

"Good evening, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl," Lorlen said. "The High Lord wishes to speak to you."

Rothen looked across the room to see the High Lord taking his preferred seat. The murmur of voices had changed to a buzz of interest as Akkarin's presence was noted. Seems I'm going to be repeating myself again, Rothen mused as he and Dannyl started toward the Guild leader.

The High Lord looked up as they approached, and acknowledged them with an almost imperceptible nod. His long fingers were curled around a wineglass.

"Please sit down." Lorlen waved to two empty chairs. "Tell us how your search is progressing."

Rothen settled into a seat. "We have interviewed over two hundred informers. Most haven't given us any useful information. A few had locked up ordinary beggar girls, despite our warning not to approach her. Some were convincingly disappointed when the place where they believed she was hiding turned out to be empty. That, unfortunately, is all I can report so far."

Lorlen nodded. "Lord Fergun believes she is being protected by someone."

Dannyl's lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.

"The Thieves?" Rothen suggested.

Lorlen shrugged. "Or a rogue magician. She did learn to hide her presence quickly."

"A rogue?" Rothen glanced at Akkarin, remembering the High Lord's assertion that no rogue magicians existed in the slums. "Do you think there's reason to suspect we have one now?"

"I have sensed someone using magic," Akkarin said quietly. "Not much, and not for long. I believe she is experimenting alone, since a teacher would have instructed her to hide her activities by now."

Rothen stared at the High Lord. That Akkarin could sense such weak magical events in the city was astounding, even disturbing. As the man's dark eyes rose to meet his, Rothen quickly looked down at his hands.

"That is … interesting news," he replied.

"Could you … Could you trace her?" Dannyl asked.

Akkarin pursed his lips. "She is using magic in short bursts, sometimes a single occurrence, sometimes several over an hour. You would sense them if you were waiting and alert to them, but you would not have time to find and capture her unless she used her power for a longer period."

"We can get a little closer every time she uses it, though," Dannyl said slowly. "We could spread ourselves throughout the city and wait. Each time she experiments we can move a little closer until we know her location."

The High Lord nodded. "She is in the northern section of the Outer Circle."

"Then we'll begin there tomorrow." Dannyl drummed his fingers together. "But we'll have to be careful that our movements don't warn her of our strategy. If someone is protecting her, they may have helpers on the lookout for magicians." He lifted an eyebrow at the High Lord. "Our chances of success will be greater if we disguise ourselves."

The corner of Akkarin's mouth curled upward. "Cloaks should hide your robes sufficiently."

Dannyl nodded quickly. "Of course."

"You'll only have one chance," Lorlen warned. "If she learns that you can sense her using magic, she will evade you by moving to a new location after each experiment."

"Then we must work quickly—and the more magicians we have, the faster we can locate her."

"I will call for more volunteers."

"Thank you, Administrator." Dannyl inclined his head.

Lorlen smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I must say, I never thought I'd be happy to learn that our little runaway has started to use her powers."

Rothen frowned. Yes, he thought, but each time she does she comes closer to losing control of them completely.

The parcel was heavy, despite its small size. It made a satisfying thud when Cery dropped it on the table. Faren picked it up and tore off the paper wrapping, revealing a small wooden box. As he opened it, tiny discs of reflected light scattered over the Thief and the wall behind him. Looking down, Cery's chest tightened when he saw the polished coins. Faren drew out a wooden block with four pegs set into it. Cery watched as the Thief began stacking coins onto the pegs. The holes in the coins fit corresponding pegs: gold onto the round peg, silver on the square, and large coppers onto the triangular. The last peg, for the large coppers, which Cery was most familiar with, remained empty. As the stack of gold reached ten coins high, Faren transferred it to a "cap," a single wooden stick with stoppers at both ends, and set it aside.

"I have another job for you, Ceryni."

Dragging his eyes reluctantly from the wealth stacking up in front of him, Cery straightened, then frowned as Faren's words sank in. How many more "jobs" must he do before he would be allowed to see Sonea? It had been over a week since Faren had taken her in. Swallowing his annoyance, he nodded at the Thief.

"What is it?"

Faren leaned back in his chair, his yellow eyes bright with amusement. "This may be more suited to your talents. A couple of thugs have taken to robbing shops around the inner Northside—shops belonging to men I have arrangements with. I want you to find out where this pair live and deliver a message in such a way they will be certain I am watching them closely. Can you do this?"

Cery nodded. "What do they look like?"

"I've had one of my men question the shopkeepers. He will fill you in. Take this." He handed Cery a small, folded piece of paper. "Wait in the room outside."

Cery turned, then hesitated. He looked back at Faren and considered whether it would be an appropriate moment to ask after Sonea.

"Soon," Faren said. "Tomorrow, if all goes well."

Nodding, Cery strode to the door and stepped through. Though the burly guards eyed him suspiciously, Cery smiled back. Never make enemies of someone's lackeys, his father had taught him. Better still, make them like you a lot. This pair looked so similar they had to be brothers, though a distinctive sear across one man's cheek made it easy to tell them apart.

"I'm to wait here," he told them. He gestured to a chair. "Taken?"

The scarred one shrugged. Cery sat down and looked around the room. His eyes were drawn to a strip of bright green cloth hanging from a wall, an incal stitched in gold at the tip.

"Hai! Is that what I think?" he asked, rising again.

The scarred man grinned. "It is."

"A saddle-ribbon from Thunderwind?" Cery breathed. "Where'd you get it?"

"My cousin is stable hand at House Arran," the man replied. "Got it for me." He reached out and caressed the cloth. "Won me twenty gold, that horse."

"Sired good racers, they say."

"Never be one like him again."

"Did you see the race?"

"Nah. You?"

Cery grinned. "Snuck past the feemasters. Was no easy trick. Didn't know it was going to be Thunderwind's day. Just lucky." The guard's eyes misted over as he listened to Cery describe the race.

A knock at the door interrupted them. The silent guard opened the door, admitting a tall, wiry man with a sour expression in a black longcoat.

"Ceryni?"

Cery stepped forward. The man examined him, his brows rising, then gestured for Cery to follow. Nodding to the guards, Cery started down the passage.

"I'm to fill you in," the man said.

Cery nodded. "What do the thugs look like?"

"One's my height, but heavier, the other's smaller and skinny. They've got short black hair—cut it themselves from the sounds of it. The bigger one's got something odd with one of his eyes. One shopkeeper said it was colored funny, another said it looked oddways. Elsewise, they're regular dwells."

"Weapons?"

"Knives."

"Know where they live?"

"No, but one of the shopkeepers seen them in a bolhouse tonight. You're going there now, so you can track them. They're sure to take the long way home, so be sly about it."

"Of course. What's their style?"

The man glanced back, his expression unreadable. "Rough. Beat up the shopkeepers and some family. Didn't stop to play, though. Just got out when they had what they came for."

"What did they take?"

"Coin, mostly. A bit of drink if it was around. We're almost there."

They emerged from the passages into a dark street. The guide extinguished the lamp and led Cery to a larger thoroughfare, then stopped in the shadows of a doorway. The sounds of revelry from across the road drew his attention to a bolhouse.

His companion made a quick gesture, his hands forming a silent query. Following the man's gaze, Cery caught a movement in a nearby alley.

"They're still there. We wait."

Cery leaned against the door. His companion remained silent, watching the bolhouse intently. Rain began to fall, pattering on roofs and forming puddles. While they waited the moon rose above the houses and flooded the street with light, before reaching the gray clouds and becoming a ghostly glow in the sky.

Men and women left the bolhouse in small groups. As a large group of men stepped out into the street, laughing and staggering drunkenly, Cery's companion tensed. Looking closer, Cery saw two figures slip past the revellers. The watcher in the alley made another movement with his hands and Cery's companion nodded.

"That's them."

Nodding, Cery stepped out into the rain. He kept in the shadows as he followed the two men down the street. One was clearly drunk; the other navigated the puddles with confidence. Letting them gain some distance, he listened as the drunk man berated his companion for drinking too little.

"Nothin'll 'appn, Tull'n," he slurred. "We t' smar' fr them."

"Shut it, Nig."

The pair took a circular journey through the slums. From time to time, Tullin stopped and looked about. He never saw Cery standing in the shadows. Finally, exasperated by his friend's chatter, he took a straight route of several hundred paces across the slums, and arrived at an abandoned shop.

Once the pair had disappeared inside, Cery crept closer, examining the building. A sign lay on the ground outside. He recognized the word for raka. Placing a hand on his chest, he considered the message waiting in his pocket.

Faren wanted it delivered in such a way that would frighten the thugs. The pair had to be shown that the Thieves were aware of everything: who they were, where they were hiding, what they had done, and how easily the Thieves could kill them. Cery bit his lip, considering.

He could slip the note under their door, but that was too easy. It wouldn't frighten the thugs as much as discovering that someone had been inside their hideout. He would have to wait until they went out again, then slip inside.

Or would he? Returning home to find a message in their hideout was going to scare them, but not as much as waking up and realizing that someone had been there while they were asleep.

Smiling, Cery considered the hideout. It was part of a row of shops, each sharing a wall with the next. That left only the front and back for entry. Moving to the end of the street, Cery entered the alley which ran behind them. It was filled with empty shipping crates and piles of garbage. He counted doors, and knew he had found the thugs' shop by the stinking bags of rotting raka leaves piled against the wall. Dropping into a crouch, he peered through the keyhole of the shop's back door.

A lamp burned in the room beyond. Nig lay in a bed to one side, snoring softly. Tullin paced about, rubbing his face. When he turned into the lamplight, Cery could see his twisted eye and deep shadows under it.

The big man hadn't been sleeping well—probably worried about the Thieves dropping in for a visit. As if reading Cery's thoughts, Tullin suddenly strode toward the back door. Cery tensed, ready to slip away, but Tullin didn't reach for the handle. Instead, his fingers closed around something in mid-air and traced its path upward, out of sight. String, Cery guessed. He didn't need to see what was suspended above the door to guess that Tullin had laid a trap for unwanted visitors.

Satisfied, Tullin moved to a second bed. He pulled a knife from his belt and placed it on a nearby table, then topped up the oil in the lamp. Taking one last look around the room, he stretched out on the bed.

Cery considered the door. Raka arrived in Imardin as stalks of beans, wrapped in their own leaves. The beans were stripped off the stalks by the shop owners and roasted. The leaves and stalks were usually dropped into a chute leading to a tub outside and the tubs were collected by boys who then sold their contents to farmers near the city.

Moving along the wall, Cery located the outer flap of the chute. It was locked from the inside with a simple bolt—not difficult to open. He drew a tiny flask from his coat, and a slim, hollow reed. Sucking a little oil into the reed, he carefully oiled the bolt and the hinges of the flap. Putting flask and reed away again, he drew out a few picks and levers, and began manipulating the bolt.

It was slow work, but gave Tullin plenty of time to fall into a deep sleep. When the flap was free, Cery opened it carefully and considered the tiny space within. Pocketing the picks, he drew out a piece of polished metal wrapped in a square of finely woven cloth. Reaching through the chute, he used this to examine Tullin's trap.

He almost laughed aloud at what he saw. A rake was suspended over the door. The end of the handle was tied with string to a hook above the door frame. The iron spikes were balanced on a rafter, probably hooked into place over a nail. A piece of string stretched from the spikes to the door handle.

Too easy, Cery mused. He checked for other traps but found none. Sliding his arm out of the chute, he returned to the door and brought out his oiling tools again. A quick inspection of the lock revealed that it had been broken, probably by the thugs when they first entered the shop.

Taking a tiny box out of his coat, he opened it and selected a thin blade. From another pocket he took a hinged tool, part of the inheritance he had gained from his father. Clamping this tool to the blade, he slipped it through the keyhole and probed for the door handle. Finding it, he worked his way along the neck of it until he felt the slight resistance of the string. He pressed on it firmly.

Moving back to the chute, he saw with the mirror that the string now hung harmlessly down from the rafters. Satisfied, he packed his tools away, wrapped some cloth around his boots, and drew in a deep breath to steady himself.

Cery opened the door silently. Slipping inside, he regarded the sleeping men.

His father had alway said that the best way to sneak up on someone was to not try to sneak up on them. He considered the thugs. Both were asleep, the drunk one snoring softly. Walking across the room, Cery examined the front door. A key protruded from the lock. Turning back, he considered the two men again.

Tullin's knife glinted in the darkness. Pulling out Faren's message, Cery moved to the thug's side. He picked up the knife, and carefully pinned the paper to the table with it.

That should do it. Smiling grimly, he moved back to the door and grasped the key. As he turned it, the lock clicked. Tullin's eyelids fluttered, but his eyes did not open. Cery opened the door and stepped outside, then slammed the door closed.

A shout came from inside. Darting to the shadowed doorway of the next shop, Cery turned back to watch. After a moment the door of the thugs' shop opened and Tullin stared out into the night, his face pale in the muted moonlight. From within the house came a protesting voice, then an exclamation of horror. Tullin scowled and ducked back into the shop.

Smiling, Cery slipped away into the night.

Sonea cursed Faren under her breath.

A short stick lay on the hearth before her. After experimenting with various objects, she had settled on wood as the safest material to work with when experimenting with magic. It wasn't cheap—timber was cut in the northern mountains and floated down the Tarali River—but despite this, it was expendable and there was plenty of it in the room.

She regarded the stick dubiously, then looked around the room to remind herself that the frustration was worth it. Polished tables and cushioned chairs surrounded her. In the adjoining rooms were soft beds, plenty of food stores and a generous supply of liquor. Faren was treating her like an honored guest of one of the great Houses.

But she felt like a prisoner. The hideout had no windows, as it was entirely underground. It could only be reached by the Road, and was guarded day and night. Only Faren's most trusted people, his "kin," knew of it.

Sighing, she let her shoulders slump. Safe from both magicians and enterprising dwells, she now struggled to evade boredom. After six days of looking at the same walls, even the room's luxuries no longer distracted her, and, though Faren stopped by from time to time, she had little to do but experiment with magic.

Perhaps that was Faren's intention. Looking down at the stick, she felt another stab of frustration. Though she had called on her powers several times a day since coming to the hideout, they never worked in the way she intended. When she wanted to burn something, it moved. When she told it to move, it exploded. When she willed it to break, it burned. When she admitted this to Faren, he just smiled and told her to keep practicing.

With a grimace, Sonea turned her attention back to the stick again. Taking a deep breath, she stared intently at the piece of wood. Narrowing her eyes, she willed it to roll across the stones of the hearth.

Nothing happened.

Patience, she told herself. It often took several attempts before magic worked. Drawing all her will together into an imagined force, she commanded the stick to move.

It remained perfectly still.

She sighed and sat back on her heels. Every time the magic had worked she had been angry, whether from frustration or hate for the Guild. While she could draw those emotions up by thinking about something which angered her, doing so was exhausting and depressing.

But the magicians did this all the time, she reminded herself. Did they keep a store of anger and hate inside to draw upon? She shuddered. What kind of people were they?

Staring at the piece of wood, she realized that she was going to have to do just that. She would have to hoard her anger and gather her hate, storing them up for the times she needed to use magic. If she didn't, she would fail and Faren would abandon her to the Guild.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she felt a smothering desperation rush over her. I'm trapped, she thought. I have two choices: either I become one of them, or I let them kill me.

A soft snapping sound reached her ears, a noise like a length of material being thrown into the air and quickly jerked back again. She jumped and turned around.

Bright orange flames curled across the surface of a small table between two of the chairs. She leapt up and away, her heart racing.

Did I do that? she thought. But I wasn't angry.

The fire began to crackle as the flames multiplied. Sonea edged closer, unsure what to do. What would Faren say when he discovered his hideout had been burned? Sonea snorted. He'd be irritated, and a little disappointed that his pet magician had died.

Smoke was pouring upward and curling along the roof. Creeping forward on hands and knees, Sonea grabbed a leg of the table and dragged it forward. The fire flared with the movement. Flinching at the heat, Sonea lifted the table and threw it into the fireplace. It settled against the grate and continued to burn.

Sonea sighed and watched the fire consume the table. She had discovered something new, at least. Tables don't burst into flames on their own. It seemed desperation was an emotion that would rouse magic as well.

Anger, hate and desperation, she mused. What fun it is to be a magician.

"Did you sense that?" Rothen asked, his voice tense with excitement.

Dannyl nodded. "Yes. It's not what I was expecting. I always thought that sensing magic was like feeling someone singing. This felt more like a cough."

"A cough of magic." Rothen chuckled. "That's an interesting way of describing it."

"If you don't know how to sing or speak, would you make rough noises instead? Perhaps this is what magic sounds like when it is uncontrolled." Dannyl blinked, then stepped away from the window and rubbed his eyes. "It's late, and I'm getting far too abstract for comfort. We should get some sleep."

Rothen nodded, but didn't move from the window. He gazed out at the last few lights glinting in the city.

"We've been listening for hours. There's nothing to be gained by doing so any longer," Dannyl told Rothen. "We know we can sense her now. Get some sleep, Rothen. We'll need to be alert tomorrow."

"It seems incredible to think she's so close to us, but we haven't been able to find her," Rothen said softly. "I wonder what she tried to do."

"Rothen," Dannyl said sternly.

The older magician sighed and turned from the window. He smiled wanly.

"Very well. I will try to sleep."

"Good." Satisfied, Dannyl walked to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Dannyl."

Looking back as he closed the door, Dannyl was pleased to see his friend walking toward the bedroom. He knew Rothen's interest in finding the girl had gone past duty. As he started down the corridor, he smiled to himself.

Years before, when Dannyl was a novice, Fergun had circulated rumors about him in revenge for a prank. Dannyl hadn't expected anyone to take Fergun seriously, but when the teachers and novices began treating him differently and he realized he could do nothing to regain their regard, he had lost all respect for his peers. The enthusiasm he'd had for his lessons fled, and he fell further and further behind.

Then Rothen had taken him aside and, with seemingly endless determination and optimism, had turned Dannyl's mind back to magic and learning. It seemed he could not help wanting to help rescue youngsters in strife. Though Dannyl was sure his friend was as determined as ever, he could not help wondering if Rothen was truly prepared to take on the education of this girl. There had to be a big difference between a sullen novice and a slum girl who probably hated magicians.

One thing was sure: life was going to get very interesting when she was found.

Chapter 9

An Unwelcome Visitor

A chill wind whipped the rain into flurries and clawed at winter coats. Cery pulled his longcoat tighter and hunched deeper into the folds of his scarf. He grimaced as the rain beat at his face, then resolutely leaned into the wind.

It had been seductively warm in the bolhouse with Harrin. Donia's father had been in a generous mood, but even free bol could not tempt Cery to stay—not when Faren had finally allowed him to visit Sonea.

Cery grunted as a tall man pushed past him. He glowered at the back of the stranger as the man strode on down the road. A merchant, Cery guessed, from the way the rain glistened on new cloak and boots. He muttered an insult and trudged on.

When Cery had returned from the thugs' shop, Faren had questioned him about the night's work. The Thief had listened to Cery report, expressing neither praise nor disapproval, then simply nodded.

He's testing my usefulness, Cery mused. Wants to know what my limits are. I wonder what he'll ask me to do next.

Looking up, he scanned the street. A few dwells hurried through the rain. Nothing unusual in that. Ahead, the merchant had stopped and was standing beside a building for no reason Cery could see.

Continuing down the road, Cery glanced up at the merchant as he passed him. The stranger's eyes were closed and he was frowning as if in concentration. Stepping into the next alley, Cery looked back just in time to see the man's head snap up and his eyes focus on the road.

No, Cery thought, his skin crawling, beneath the road.

He looked closer, examining the merchant's clothes. The man's shoes were both familiar and unusual. A small symbol gleamed in the dull light…

Cery's heart skipped. Turning, he broke into a run.

Through the rain, Rothen could see the shape of a tall cloaked man standing on the street corner opposite him.

— We're close, Dannyl sent. She's somewhere below these houses.

—All we have to do is find a way in, Rothen replied.

It had been a slow and frustrating day. Sometimes the girl had used magic several times in a row, and they made good progress. Other times they waited hours only to find she made a single attempt, then stopped.

He had noted quickly that his cloak, while hiding his robes, still marked him as someone too well dressed for the slums. He had also realized that several cloaked men loitering in one area were going to attract attention so, as the magicians drew closer to the girl, he had ordered most of them to move away.

A buzz at the edge of his mind snatched his attention back to the girl. Dannyl moved from his position and entered an alleyway. Checking with the other searchers, Rothen decided that the girl must be somewhere below the house to his left.

—I think there's an entrance to the passages here, Dannyl sent. A ventilation grille in the wall, like we've seen before.

— This is as close as we're going to get without revealing ourselves, Rothen sent to the searchers. It's time. Makin and I will watch the front entrance. Kiano and Yaldih keep an eye on the back door. Dannyl and Jolen will enter the passage first, since that's the way she'll probably try to escape.

When all had reported that they were in position, he instructed Dannyl and Jolen to go. As Dannyl opened the grille, he started sending images to them all.

Climbing through the opening, Dannyl dropped to the floor of the passage. He created a globe of light, and watched as Lord Jolen followed. They separated, each disappearing into the dark passage on either side.

After a hundred paces or so, Dannyl stopped and sent his light forward. It continued for several paces before reaching a turn.

— This goes under the street, I think. I'm going back.

A moment later, Lord Jolen sent an image of a narrow descending staircase. He started down, then stopped as a man stepped out in front of him. The newcomer stared at Jolen's globe light, then turned and fled into a side passage.

— We've been spotted, Jolen sent.

— Keep going, Rothen replied.

Dannyl had stopped sending images so that Rothen could follow Jolen's progress. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Jolen started striding down a narrow passage. As he reached a turn, dust, noise and a sense of alarm battered Rothen's senses. Confusion followed, as all of the magicians started sending questions.

— They've caved in the passage. Jolen replied, sending an image of a wall of rubble. Dannyl was behind me.

Rothen felt a stab of apprehension. Dannyl?

Silence followed, then a faint mental voice.

— Buried. Wait… I'm free. No harm done. Go on ahead, Jolen. They obviously meant to stop us getting past here. Go on and find her.

— Go, Rothen repeated. Jolen turned from the wall of rubble and hurried down the passage.

A bell chimed. Sonea looked up from the fireplace and climbed to her feet. A panel in the wall slid open and Faren stepped through. Dressed in black, with his striking eyes gleaming, he looked suitably insect-like and dangerous. He smiled and handed her something wrapped in material and fastened with cord.

"This is for you."

She turned it over in her hands. "What is it?"

"Open it," Faren urged, folding his long limbs into one of the chairs.

Sitting opposite him, Sonea untied the string. The material fell open to reveal an old book with a leather cover. A large section of pages had come free from the binding. She looked up at Faren and frowned.

"An old book?"

He nodded. "Look at the title."

Sonea glanced down, then looked up at him again.

"I can't read."

He blinked in surprise. "Of course." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I should have realized. It's a book on magic. I had someone look in all the pawn shops and scavengers' dens. Apparently, the magicians burn their old books but, according to the shop's owner, this one was sold by an enterprising and disobedient servant. Look inside."

Opening the cover, she found a folded piece of paper. Picking it up, she immediately noticed the thickness of the parchment. A sheet of paper this well made usually cost more than a meal for a large family or a new cloak. Unfolding it, she looked at the black characters curling in perfect lines across the page, then she drew in a breath as she saw the symbol stamped onto a corner. A diamond with a "Y" dividing it—the symbol of the Guild.

"What is it?" she breathed.

"A message," Faren replied. "For you."

"Me?" She looked up at him.

He nodded.

"How did they know how to get it to me?"

"They didn't, but they gave it to someone they knew had connections with the Thieves, and he passed it on."

She held it out to him.

"What does it say?"

He took the paper from her. "It reads: "To the young lady with magical powers. As we cannot speak to you in person, we are sending this message through the Thieves in the hope that they will be able to reach you. We wish to assure you that we do not intend to harm you in any way. Be assured, as well, that we did not intend to hurt you or the young man on the day of the Purge. His death was a tragic accident. We only wish to teach you how to control your power, and to offer you the opportunity to join the Guild. You are welcome among us." It is signed: 'Lord Rothen of the Magicians' Guild.' "

Sonea stared at the message with disbelief. The Guild wanted her, a slum girl, to join them?

It must be a trick, she decided, an attempt to draw her out of hiding. Remembering the magician who had invaded the attic refuge, she recalled how he had called her an enemy of the Guild. He hadn't known that she was listening. That, more likely, was the truth.

Folding the parchment, Faren slipped it into a pocket. Seeing his sly smile, Sonea felt a twinge of suspicion. How did she know whether what he had read out was truly what the message said?

But why would he make it up? He wanted her to work for him, not go running off to join the magicians. Unless he was testing her …

The Thief lifted an eyebrow. "What do you think, young Sonea?"

"I don't believe them."

"Why not?"

"They'd never take a dwell."

He rubbed the arm of his chair. "What if you were to discover that they did want you to join them? Many ordinary people dream of becoming a magician. Perhaps the Guild is anxious to redeem itself in the eyes of the public."

Sonea shook her head. "It's a trick. It was a mistake that they got the wrong dwell, not that they killed one."

Faren nodded slowly. "That is what most witnesses say. Well, we shall decline the Guild's invitation and get onto more important business." He pointed at the book in her lap. "I don't know if that will be useful. I will have to get someone to read it to you. It might be better if you learned to read yourself."

"My aunt taught me a little," Sonea told him, flicking through the pages. "But it was a long time ago." She looked up. "Will I be able to see Jonna and Ranel soon? I'm sure Jonna could teach me to read."

He shook his head. "Not until the magicians stop—" He frowned and tilted his head slightly. A faint ringing reached her ears.

"What's that?"

Faren rose. "Wait here," he said and disappeared into the darkness behind the panel.

Sonea put the book aside and moved to the fireplace. The panel slid open again and Faren stepped back into the room.

"Quickly," he snapped, "follow me—and keep silent."

He strode past her. Sonea stared at him for a heartbeat before following him across the room.

Drawing a small object from a pocket, Faren ran it back and forth over the panelling. Sonea drew closer and saw a knot in the wood slide forward until it protruded half a finger length into the room. Faren grasped this and pulled.

A section of the wall swivelled inward. Taking her arm, Faren pulled her into the shadows. After pushing the knot flush with the panel again, he closed the door.

They stood in darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that five tiny holes were spaced across the door at shoulder height. Faren's eye hovered close to one.

"There are faster ways out of the room," he told her, "but since we had the time, I thought it better to choose the door that is near impossible to open. Look."

He moved away from the peephole. She blinked as a flame suddenly lit the darkness. Faren lifted a tiny lamp and slid the shutter across until only a thin ray of light spilled into the passage. Holding it up, he pointed out several metal bolts and complicated-looking gears on the back of the door.

"So what's going on?" she asked.

Faren's yellow eyes glinted in the dim light as he slid the bolts into place. "Only a handful of magicians are still searching for you. My spies now know what they look like, their names, their movements." Faren chuckled. "We've been sending false informers to them, keeping them busy.

"Today they've been acting strangely. More came into the slums than usually do, and they wore cloaks over their robes. They took positions all around the slums and seemed to be waiting for something. I don't know what, but they kept moving to new positions. Each time they did, they came closer to this place. Then, just now, Ceryni told me that he thought the magicians were tracking you. He said they must be able to sense you using magic. I didn't believe it until…"

Faren paused, then the sliver of light from the lamp suddenly vanished and darkness filled the passage. Sonea heard him move to the wall. She crept forward and put her eye to one of the little holes.

The entrance to the room stood open, a rectangle of darkness. At first Sonea thought the hideout was empty, then a figure suddenly strode into sight from one of the side rooms, his green robes swaying as he stopped.

"My people managed to stop them by caving in the passage," Faren whispered, "but one got through. Don't be alarmed. No one can get through this door. It's …" He sucked in a quiet breath. "Interesting."

Sonea put her eye back to the hole and felt her heart skip. The magician appeared to be staring right at her.

"Can he hear us?" Faren murmured. "I tested the walls many times."

"Perhaps he can see the door," Sonea suggested.

"No, he'd have to look very closely. Even if he did start looking for doors, there are five exits leading from this room. Why would he choose this one?"

The magician walked toward them and stopped. He stared at the wood, then closed his eyes. Sonea felt an all-too-familiar sensation pass over her. When the magician opened his eyes again, his frown was gone and he was staring directly at Faren.

"How does he know?" Faren hissed. "Are you doing magic right now?"

"No," Sonea replied, surprised at the confidence in her own voice. "I can hide myself from him. It's you. He's sensing you."

"Me?" Faren turned his head from the hole and stared at her.

Sonea shrugged. "Don't ask me why."

"Can you hide me?" Faren's voice was strained. "Can you hide us both?"

Sonea drew away from the hole. Could she? She couldn't hide what the magician was sensing without detecting it herself. She looked at Faren, then she looked at Faren. It was as if she had extended her senses—no, another sense that wasn't sight or hearing—and could feel a person there.

Faren uttered an oath.

"Stop whatever you're doing!" he gasped. Something brushed against the wall. Faren backed away.

"He's trying to open it," he told her. "I was afraid he'd try to blast it down. That gives us some time." He opened the lamp's shutter and gestured for her to follow him.

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 spun 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."

Chapter 10

Taking Sides

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.

As he turned a corner, the Guild's Arena came into sight. Eight spires curved up from the circular base, providing a framework for a powerful shield which protected everything outside from the forces thrown about during Warrior classes. Four novices stood within, but today no spectacular show of power was in progress.

Instead, the novices stood in pairs, swinging swords in controlled, synchronized movements. A few paces away stood Fergun, sword in hand, observing the novices closely.

Watching them, Rothen struggled not to disapprove. Surely the novices' time would be better spent on study than pursuing this redundant martial art?

Sword fighting was not part of the University's studies. Those novices who were determined to learn the art gave up their spare time to do so. It was a hobby, and Rothen knew it was healthy for the youngsters to have an interest that didn't involve magic and got them out of their stuffy rooms.

However, he had always believed that robes and swords did not go together well. There were already too many ways a magician could harm another person. Why add a non-magical one to the list?

Two magicians stood on the steps surrounding the Arena, watching intently. Rothen recognized Fergun's friend, Lord Kerrin, and Lord Elben, a teacher of Alchemy. Both were from the powerful House Maron, as was Fergun. He smiled to himself. Novices and magicians were expected to leave House alliances and enmities behind them when they joined the Guild, but few ever did.

As he watched, Fergun called one of the novices over to him. Teacher and novice saluted each other and dropped into a crouch. Rothen caught his breath as the novice advanced, sword flashing in a confident attack. Fergun stepped forward, his weapon all but vanishing in a blur of movement. The novice froze and looked down to find Fergun's weapon pressing against his chest.

"Tempted to join Lord Fergun's classes?" asked a familiar voice behind him.

Rothen turned. "At my age, Administrator?" He shook his head. "Even if I were thirty years younger, I wouldn't see the value in it."

"It sharpens the reflexes, I'm told, and is useful in teaching discipline and concentration," Lorlen said. "Lord Fergun has some support for it now, and has asked us to consider including sword fighting in the University studies."

"That would be for Lord Balkan to decide, wouldn't it?"

"Partly. The Head of Warriors must present the addition to the Higher Magicians for vote. When and if he does that is up to him." Lorlen spread his hands. "I heard you had decided to give the searchers a rest for the day."

Rothen nodded. "They've been working long hours, sometimes late into the night."

"It has been a busy four weeks for you all," Lorlen agreed. "Are you making any progress?"

"Not much," Rothen admitted. "Not since last week. Every time we sense her, we find she has moved to another location."

"As Dannyl predicted."

"Yes, but we've been looking for repetitions in her movements. If she is returning to some of these hiding places, we might be able to locate them in the same way we did the first time, but over a longer period."

"And what of this man who helped her escape? Do you think he was one of the Thieves?"

Rothen shrugged. "Perhaps. He accused Lord Jolen of invading his territory, which suggests he was, but I find it hard to believe that one of the Thieves is a Lonmar. The man may simply be a protector and his accusation designed to lure Jolen over the trapdoor."

"So there's a possibility she is not involved with the Thieves?"

"A possibility, yes, but it is unlikely. I doubt she has the money to pay for protectors. The men Jolen encountered in the tunnel, and the comfortable rooms she was staying in, suggest that someone well organized and funded is looking after her."

"Either way, not good news." Lorlen sighed and looked at the novices in the Arena. "The King is not happy about this, and he won't be until we have her under our control."

"Neither will I."

Lorlen nodded. He pursed his lips, then regarded Rothen again. "There is another matter I should discuss with you."

"Yes?"

Lorlen hesitated, as if considering his words carefully. "Lord Fergun wishes to claim guardianship of her."

"Yes, I know."

Lorlen's eyebrows rose. "You are unexpectedly well informed, Lord Rothen."

Rothen smiled. "Unexpectedly, yes. I learned of this by accident."

"Do you still intend to claim her guardianship yourself?"

"I haven't decided yet. Should I?"

Lorlen shook his head. "I do not see the need to tackle that issue until she is found. But you understand that I must call a Hearing when she has been, if you both still intend to claim her?"

"I understand." Rothen hesitated. "May I ask a question of you?"

"Of course," Lorlen replied.

"Does Fergun have a strong argument to support his claim?"

"Perhaps. He says that, since he experienced the consequences of the girl's magic, he was the first to know of her powers. You reported that you saw her after she used her powers, and that you guessed it was her from her expression, which means you never saw or sensed her use her powers. It is unclear how the law should be applied in this case, and when it comes down to bending a law to suit a situation, the simplest interpretation often wins the vote."

Rothen frowned. "I see."

Gesturing for Rothen to follow, Lorlen began walking toward the Arena, his strides slow and measured. "Fergun is determined," he said quietly, "and has much support, but many would support you, too."

Rothen nodded, then sighed. "It is not an easy decision. Would you prefer if I did not stir up the Guild by contesting his claim? It would cause you less trouble."

"What would I prefer?" Lorlen chuckled and gave Rothen a direct look. "It would cause me no less trouble either way." He smiled crookedly, then inclined his head. "Good day, Lord Rothen."

"Good day," Rothen replied. They had reached the edge of the stairs surrounding the Arena. The novices were paired now, practicing moves on each other. Rothen stopped and watched, bemused, as Lorlen descended toward the pair of magicians watching the lesson. Something in the way Lorlen had looked at him hinted that the Administrator had been suggesting something more.

The two watchers started as Lorlen appeared beside them.

"Greetings, Lord Kerrin, Lord Elben."

"Administrator." The pair inclined their heads, then quickly looked at the Arena again as one of the novices gave a yell of surprise.

"A fine teacher," Lord Elben said enthusiastically, gesturing to the Arena. "We were just saying that Lord Fergun would make a worthy guardian for this slum girl. After a few months of his strict guidance, she'd be as refined and disciplined as the best of us."

"Lord Fergun is a responsible man," Lorlen replied. "I can offer no good reason why he should not guide the training of a novice."

Yet he hasn't shown any interest until now, Rothen thought. Turning away, he continued his stroll through the gardens.

Guardianship was not common. A few novices were favored each year, but only those who had demonstrated exceptional talent or power. No matter what strength or aptitude the slum girl proved to have, she would need help and support as she adjusted to living in the Guild. By becoming her guardian he could ensure that she would receive that help.

He doubted Fergun's reasons for wanting her guardianship were the same. If Lord Elben's words were an indication, Fergun intended to discipline the unruly vagrant girl into a meek and obedient novice. He would receive a certain amount of praise and admiration if he succeeded.

How Fergun was going to achieve that would be interesting, since her powers were probably particularly strong and his were weak. He would not be able to stop her if she took it into her mind to disobey him.

For that reason, and others, magicians were discouraged from taking on the guardianship of novices with stronger powers. Weak magicians rarely became guardians at all since, if they claimed a novice with powers less than their own, it only drew attention to their own shortcomings—and the novice's lack of strength.

But the vagrant girl was different. Nobody would care if Fergun's limitations handicapped her learning. As far as most were concerned, she was lucky to have any training at all.

And if he failed, who would blame Fergun? He could always use her origins as an excuse … and if he neglected her training, nobody would question it…

Rothen shook his head. Now he was starting to think like Dannyl. Fergun was willing to help the girl, which was noble enough in itself. Unlike Rothen, who had been a guardian of two novices already, Fergun had a measure of glory to gain— and there was nothing wrong with that. Lorlen obviously didn't think there was.

Or did he? What had Lorlen said? "It would cause me no less trouble either way."

Rothen chuckled as Lorlen's meaning finally came to him. If he was right, then Lorlen believed that letting Fergun win his claim would cause as much trouble as the fight over her guardianship—and that fight was sure to cause him no small amount of trouble.

Which meant that Lorlen had given Rothen a rare indication of his support.

As always, Sonea's guards were silent as they guided her through the passages. Apart from the weeks she had spent in the first hideout, she had been almost constantly on the move since the Purge. The welcome difference now was that she felt no lurking fear of discovery as she travelled.

The lead guard stopped at a door and knocked. A familiar, dark face appeared in the doorway.

"Stay and guard the door," Faren ordered. "Come in, Sonea."

Stepping into the room, her heart leapt as she saw the smaller figure standing behind him.

"Cery!"

He grinned and gave her a quick hug. "How are you?"

"Well," she told him. "You?"

"Happy to see you again." He searched her face. "You look better."

"Haven't come face to face with a magician for, hmm, at least a few days," she said, looking sidelong at Faren.

The Thief chuckled. "We do seem to have outwitted them."

The room was small, but cozy. A generous fire burned within one wall. Faren directed them to chairs. "Any progress, Sonea?"

She winced. "No, nothing yet. I try over and over, but it never does what I want it to." She frowned. "Though it nearly always does something now. Before it would take a few tries before anything happened."

Faren leaned back and smiled. "There, that is progress. Have the books helped?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand them."

"Is the scribe not clear?"

"No, it's not that. His reading is fine. It's just, well, there are too many strange words, and some things make no sense."

Faren nodded. "If you had more time to study them, perhaps you would find their meaning. I am still looking for more books." Pursing his lips, he regarded them both speculatively. "I'm looking into some rumors. It's been said for years that a certain Thief has cultivated a friendship with a man who knows something about magic. I've always thought it was an invention to ensure the rest of us stayed polite but I'm looking into it, regardless."

"A magician?" Cery asked.

Faren shrugged. "I don't know. I doubt it. Most likely he is nothing more than a man who performs tricks that appear to be magic. If he has any knowledge of real magic, however, he may be useful. I will tell you when I know more." He smiled. "That is all the news I have, but I believe Cery has more."

Cery nodded. "Harrin and Donia found your aunt and uncle."

"They did!" Sonea moved to the edge of her seat. "Where are they? Are they well? Did they find a good place to stay? Did Harrin—?"

Cery waved his hands. "Hai! One question at a time!"

Grinning, Sonea leaned toward him eagerly. "Sorry. Tell me what you know."

"Well," he began, "it seems they didn't get a room where they used to live, but found a better one a few streets away. Ranel's been searching for you every day. They'd heard that the magicians were looking for a girl, but didn't think it could be you."

He chuckled. "Jonna said a few things when Harrin told her you'd joined them in the Purge, but then he said what you did. They didn't believe it at first. He told them how we tried to hide you, and about the reward, and that you were being protected by the Thieves. Harrin says they weren't as wild about it as he thought they'd be—not when he explained everything."

"Did they give him any message for me?"

"They said to tell you to look after yourself, and be careful who you trust."

"That last bit would be Jonna." Sonea smiled wistfully. "It's so good to hear they found a place—and they know I didn't just run off on them."

"I think Harrin was scared that Jonna might flay him for inviting you to join us in the Purge. He says they're going to keep coming past the inn for news. Got any messages for them?"

"Just that I'm well and safe." She looked at Faren. "Will you bring them to see me?"

He frowned. "Yes, but not until I'm sure it is safe. It's possible—though doubtful—that the magicians know who they are, and will find you through them."

Sonea drew in a sharp breath. "What if they do know who they are, and threaten to hurt them if I don't give myself up?"

The Thief smiled. "I don't think they would. Certainly not publicly. If they tried to do so secretly … ?" He nodded at Cery. "We would find a way around it, Sonea. Don't worry about things like that."

Cery smiled faintly. Surprised by the implied partnership, Sonea looked at her friend closely. His shoulders were tense, and a crease appeared between his brows whenever he looked at Faren. She would not have expected him to be relaxed in the presence of a Thief, but he looked a little too anxious.

She turned to regard the Thief.

"Can Cery and I have some time to talk?" she asked. "Just us?"

"Of course." He rose and moved to the door, then looked back. "Cery, I have something for you when you are done. Nothing urgent. Take your time. See you tomorrow, Sonea."

"Tomorrow," she replied, nodding.

When the door had closed behind the Thief, Sonea turned to Cery.

"Am I safe here?" she asked, her voice low.

"For now," he said.

"And later?"

He shrugged. "That depends on your magic."

She felt a stab of alarm. "What if I never work it out?"

He leaned forward and took her hand. "You will. You just need to practice. If it was easy, there wouldn't be a Guild, would there? From what I've heard, it takes novices five years before they're good enough to be called 'Lord' so-and-so."

"Does Faren know this?"

He nodded. "He'll give you time."

"Then I'm safe."

He smiled. "Yes."

Sonea sighed. "What about you?"

"I'm making myself useful."

She gave him a direct look. "Making yourself Faren's slave?"

He looked away.

"You don't have to be here," she told him. "I'm safe. You said so. Go. Get away before they get their hooks in you."

Shaking his head, he stood, letting go of her hand.

"No, Sonea. You need someone familiar around. Someone you can trust. I won't leave you alone with them."

"But you can't become Faren's slave just so I have a friend to talk to. Go back to Harrin and Donia. I'm sure Faren will let you visit now and then."

He paced to the door, then turned to face her.

"I want to do this, Sonea." His eyes were bright. "Everyone's been talking as if I worked for the Thieves as long as I can remember. Now I have a chance to make it real."

Sonea stared at him. Was this really what he wanted? Would someone as nice as Cery choose to become … what? A ruthless, money-hoarding murderer? She looked away. That was Jonna's opinion of the Thieves. Cery had always said that the Thieves were about helping and protecting as much as they were involved in smuggling and thievery.

She couldn't—shouldn't—stop him from doing what he had always wanted to do. If the work turned out to be less than he'd hoped, he was smart enough to get out. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

"If it's what you want," she said. "Just be careful."

He shrugged. "I always am."

She smiled. "It will be wonderful to have you dropping by all the time."

He grinned. "Nothing would keep me away."

* * *

The brothel was in the darkest, dirtiest part of the slums. Like most, the lower floor was a bolhouse, and the upstairs rooms were for the prettier girls. All other commerce took place in stalls situated in the back of the building.

As Cery entered he thought of Faren's words. "He knows most of the faces. He won't know you, though. Pretend you're new at it. Give him a good price for what he's got. Bring the goods back to me."

Several girls sidled up to him as he crossed the room. They looked pale and tired. A sickly fire which gave off little heat burned in a hearth to one side of the room. A server slouched behind the bar, talking to a pair of male customers. Cery smiled at the girls, looking each one over as if considering, then, as he had been instructed, he approached a plump Elyne girl with a tattoo of a feather on her shoulder.

"Want some fun?" she asked.

"Perhaps later," he told her. "I heard you got a room for meeting people."

Her eyes widened, and she nodded quickly. "Yes, that's right. Upstairs. Last on the right. I'll take you."

She took his hand and led him to the stairs. There was a slight tremble in her light grasp. As he climbed the stairs he glanced down and found that many of the girls were watching him, their eyes fearful.

Disturbed, he looked around cautiously as he reached the top of the stairs and started down the corridor. The tattooed girl let go of his hand and waved toward the rooms at the end.

"It's the last door."

He pressed a coin into her hand, and continued on. Opening the door cautiously, Cery peered inside. The room was tiny, containing only a small table and two chairs. Stepping inside, Cery inspected everything quickly. A few spy holes had been drilled into the walls. He suspected there was a hatch under the worn simba matting on the floor. A small window offered a view of a wall, and little else.

He opened the window and considered the wall outside. The brothel was unusually quiet for such an establishment. A door opened nearby, then footsteps moved down the corridor, drawing nearer. Returning to the table, Cery schooled his face into a wary expression. A man stepped into the doorway.

"You're the gutter?" the man asked in a gravelly voice.

Cery shrugged. "What I do."

The man's eyes darted all over. His face might have been handsome, if it were not so thin, or the light in the man's eyes not so wild and cold.

"Got something to sell," the man said. His hands, which had been thrust deep into his pockets, emerged. One was empty, the other held a glittering necklace. Cery drew in a sharp breath, not having to fake his surprise. Such a piece could only have belonged to a rich man or woman— if it was real.

Cery reached out to take the necklace but the man snatched it away.

"I have to check it's not fake," Cery pointed out.

The man frowned, his eyes hard with distrust. He pursed his lips, then reluctantly spread the necklace out on the table.

"Look," he said. "But don't touch."

Cery sighed, then bent to examine the stones. He had no idea how to tell the difference between real or fake gems— something he would have to attend to—but he had seen pawnshop owners examining jewelry before.

"Turn it over," he ordered.

The man flipped the necklace over. Looking close, Cery saw a name engraved on the setting. "Hold it up so the light goes through the stones."

Holding the necklace up by one hand, the man watched Cery squinting at it.

"What you think?"

"I'll take it for ten silver."

The man dropped his hand. "It's worth at least fifty gold!"

Cery snorted. "Who's going to give you fifty gold in the slums?"

The man's mouth twitched.

"Twenty gold," he said.

"Five," Cery countered.

"Ten."

Cery grimaced. "Seven."

"On the table."

Reaching into his coat pocket, Cery counted coins with his fingertips, then drew out half of them. Producing more coins from the other places he had stowed Faren's money, he made six stacks of coins equal to one gold each, then sighed and drew a glinting gold coin from his boot.

"Put the jewels down," Cery said.

The necklace dropped down onto the table beside the money. As the man reached for the coins Cery picked up the necklace and slipped it into his coat. The man looked down at the small fortune in his hands and grinned, his eyes bright with glee.

"A good deal, boy. You'll do well at this." He backed out of the room, then turned and hurried away.

Cery moved to the door and watched the man stride to one of the other doors and step through. As he stepped into the corridor he heard a girl squeak with surprise.

"We never be apart now," the gravelly voice said.

As Cery passed the room he glanced inside. The tattooed girl sat on the end of a bed. She glanced up at Cery, her eyes wide with fear. The man stood behind her, looking down at the coins in his hands. Continuing on, Cery headed back down to the lower floor.

He affected a sullen, disappointed look as he descended into the bolhouse. Reading his expression, the girls let him be. The male customers eyed him, but did not call out or approach.

It was only slightly colder outside. Thinking of the lack of customers in the brothel, he felt a stirring of pity for the whores as he crossed the street and stepped into the shadows of the alley.

"You look bored, little Ceryni."

Cery spun about. It took a disconcertingly long time before he found the dark-skinned man in the shadows. Even when he had located Faren, he was disturbed to find he could see only a pair of yellow eyes, and the occasional flash of teeth.

"Have you got what I sent you for?"

"Yes." Cery drew out the necklace and held it out in Faren's general direction. He felt gloved fingers brush his, then the jewelry lifted from his hand.

"Ah, that is the one." Faren sighed and looked back at the brothel. "Tonight's work is not done, Cery. There is something else I want you to do."

"Yes?"

"I want you to go back and kill him."

Cery felt a chill rush through his belly, a sensation too much like what he imagined it would feel like to have a knife slicing through his insides. He could not think for a moment, then his mind began to work rapidly.

This was another test. Faren merely wanted to see how far he could push his new man.

What should he do? Cery had no idea what would happen if he refused. And he wanted to refuse. Badly. The realization was both a relief and a worry to him. Not wanting to kill did not mean that he could not do it… yet when he considered walking across the street and sinking his knife into a man's vital organs, he could not make himself move.

"Why?" As he spoke, he knew he had failed one test already.

"Because I need him killed," Faren replied.

"W-why do you want him killed?"

"Do you need me to justify it?"

Cery gathered his courage. Let's see how far I can push this.

"Yes."

Faren made a small noise of amusement. "Very well. The man you traded with is named Verran. He was employed by another Thief from time to time, but sometimes used what he learned from his work to gain a bit of money on the side. The Thief tolerated it until a few nights ago, when Verran chose to visit a particular house uninvited. The house belonged to a rich merchant who had an arrangement with the Thief. When Verran entered the house, it was occupied by the merchant's daughter and a few servants." Faren paused, and Cery heard a hiss of anger. "The Thief has given me the right to punish Verran. Even had she lived, he would be a dead man."

The yellow eyes turned to regard Cery. "Of course, you would have to wonder if I'm making this up. You have to make up your mind whether you trust me."

Cery nodded, then looked across at the brothel. Whenever he needed to make a decision without being certain of the truth, he turned to his instincts. What did they tell him now?

He thought of the cold, wild look in the man's gaze, and the fear in the plump girl's eyes. Yes, that man was capable of evil deeds. Then he thought of the other whores; the tension in the air; the lack of customers. The only two men in the establishment had been talking to the owner. Were they Verran's friends? Something else was going on there.

And Faren? Cery considered everything that he had learned of the man. He suspected that the Thief could be merciless if driven to it but in all else, Faren had been fair and honest. And there had been anger in his voice when he had spoken of Verran's crime.

"I've never killed anyone before," Cery admitted.

"I know."

"Don't know if I can."

"You would if someone threatened Sonea. Am I right?"

"Yes, but this is different."

"Is it?"

Cery narrowed his eyes at the Thief.

Faren sighed. "No, I do not mean that. It is not how I work. I am testing you. You must know that. You don't have to kill that man. It matters more that you learn to trust me and that I know your limits."

Cery's heart skipped a beat. He had expected tests. But Faren had given him so many different tasks that Cery had begun to wonder what the Thief was looking for. Did he have something in mind for him? Something different?

Perhaps this was a test Cery would face again, when he was older. If he was unable or reluctant to kill, he might endanger himself or others when the need was urgent. And if that other was Sonea …

Suddenly all hesitation and indecision were gone.

Faren looked across the street at the brothel and sighed. "I really do want that man killed. I'd do it myself, except … Never mind. We'll find him again." He turned and took a few steps farther down the alley, then stopped as he realized that Cery hadn't followed.

"Cery?"

Reaching into his coat, Cery drew out his daggers. Faren's eyes flicked to the blades as they caught the faint light from the brothel windows. He took a step back.

Cery smiled. "I'll be right back."

Chapter 11

Safe Passage

After half an hour the stink of bol became almost pleasant. The aroma had a cozy warmth to it that promised comfort. Dannyl eyed the mug before him.

Remembering stories of unhygienic brewhouses and casks of bol with drowned ravi floating in them, he hadn't been able to persuade himself to try the syrupy brew. This evening, however, he had been bothered by darker suspicions. If the dwells had worked out what he was, what was to stop them from poisoning his drink?

His fears were probably unfounded. He had exchanged his robes for merchant garb again, taking care to look a little shabby. The other customers had given him one appraising glance, mostly directed at the wallet at his hip, then ignored him.

Despite this, Dannyl could not shake the feeling that every man and woman in the crowded room knew who and what he was. They were a sullen lot, bored and listless. Seeking shelter from the storm outside, they lurked in every corner of the room. Sometimes he heard them cursing the weather, other times they cursed the Guild. This had amused him at first. It seemed that the dwells felt it safer to blame the Guild than the King for their troubles.

One dwell, a man with a scarred face, kept staring at him. Dannyl straightened and stretched his shoulders, then looked around the room. As he steeled himself to meet the starer's gaze, the man became more interested in the fit of his gloves. Dannyl noted the man's gold-brown skin coloring and broad face before turning back to his drink.

He had seen men and women of all races in the bolhouses he had visited. The short Elynes were most common, their homeland being Kyralia's closest neighbor. The brown-skinned Vindo were more numerous in the slums than in the rest of the city, as many of them travelled abroad looking for work. The athletic, tribal Lan and the dignified Lonmar were rarer.

This was the first Sachakan he had seen in years. Though Sachaka was a neighbor to Kyralia, a high mountain range and the desert wasteland beyond it discouraged travel between the two lands. Those few merchants who did try the route had reported stories of barbaric people fighting to survive in the wasteland, and a corrupt city with little to offer in trade.

It had not always been so. Many centuries before, Sachaka had been a great empire ruled by sophisticated magicians. A war lost against Kyralia and the newly formed Guild had changed that.

A hand touched Dannyl's shoulder. Turning, he found a swarthy man standing behind him. The man shook his head, then moved away.

Sighing, Dannyl rose and sidestepped through the crowd to the door. Once outside, he trudged through the puddles that filled most of the alleyway. Three weeks had passed since the Guild had tracked the girl to the underground hideout and Lord Jolen had been tricked by the Lonmar. Since then, Gorin had declined Dannyl's request for an audience four times.

Administrator Lorlen was reluctant to accept that the Thieves were protecting the girl. Dannyl understood why. Nothing upset a King more than the presence of a rogue magician in his realm. The Thieves were tolerated. They kept the criminal underground in check, and they never presented a greater threat than the loss of taxes to smuggling. Even if the King managed to find and remove them, he knew others would take their place.

But the King would be willing to raze the slums to the ground—and lower—if he knew beyond a doubt that there was a rogue magician in the city.

Dannyl wondered if the Thieves realized this. He had not spoken of the possibility during his talks with Gorin, not wanting to appear unreasonable or threatening. Instead, he had warned the Thief of the danger the girl presented.

Reaching the end of the alley, he hurried across a wider street into the narrow space between two buildings. From there, the slums wove into a maze. The wind shivered down each narrow alley, whimpering like a hungry child. Occasionally it died away completely, and in one of these pauses Dannyl heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned around.

The alley was empty. Shrugging, he continued on.

Though he tried to ignore it, his imagination would not let go of the idea that he was being followed. In the pause between his own steps he would hear the crunch of another footfall or, looking back, he sometimes caught the flicker of movement around a corner. As the conviction became stronger, Dannyl grew exasperated with himself. Turning a corner, he quickly manipulated the lock of a door and slipped into a building.

To his relief, the room inside was unoccupied. Peering through the door's keyhole, he snorted softly as he saw that the alley outside was still empty. Then a figure stepped into view.

He frowned as he recognized the scars on the man's broad face. The Sachakan's eyes flickered about, searching. Dannyl caught a glimmer and, looking down, he saw a vicious-looking knife in the man's gloved hand.

Dannyl chuckled quietly. Fortunate for you that I heard you following, he thought. He considered tackling the mugger and dragging him to the nearest Guard Hall, but decided against it. Night was approaching, and he was eager to get back to the warmth of his own rooms.

The Sachakan examined the ground, then doubled back. Dannyl counted to a hundred, then slipped through the door again and continued on his way. It seemed his fear that the dwells knew what he was had been unfounded. No dwell was foolish enough to attack a magician with a mere knife.

Sonea was bent over a large book when Cery entered the hideout. She looked up and smiled.

"How's the magic going?" he asked.

Her smile disappeared. "The usual."

"The book's not helping?"

She shook her head. "It's been five weeks since I started practicing, but the only thing I'm getting better at is reading. I can't read in exchange for Faren's protection."

"You can't hurry what you're doing," he told her. Not when she could only practice once a day, he added silently.

Since her near-capture, there had been a group of magicians patiently closing in on each of Faren's hideouts each time she used magic, forcing him to find new ones. Cery knew Faren was calling in favors from all around the slums. He also knew that the Thief believed Sonea was worth every coin and favor he spent.

"What do you think you need to get your magic to work?" he asked.

She rested her chin in one hand. "I need someone to show me." She lifted an eyebrow at Cery. "Has Faren said anything about that person he was going to find out about?"

Cery shook his head. "Nothing to me. I've overheard something but it didn't sound good."

She sighed. "I don't suppose you know of any friendly magician who's willing to reveal the Guild's secrets to the Thieves? Perhaps you could kidnap one of them for me."

Cery laughed, then stopped as an idea began to form. "Do you think—"

"Shh!" Sonea hissed. "Listen!"

Cery leapt to his feet as he heard the faint tapping from the floor.

"The signal!"

Cery hurried to the street-side window and peered into the shadows below. Instead of the sentry, an unfamiliar figure paced in the shadows. He grabbed Sonea's cloak from the back of a chair and tossed it at her.

"Shove it down your shirt," he told her. "And follow me."

He grabbed a bucket of water sitting beside her table and threw its contents on the few embers still lingering in the fireplace. The wood hissed and steam billowed up the chimney. Pulling the grate out, he ducked inside and began to climb the chimney, setting the toes of his boots into the cracks between the rough, hot bricks.

"You've got to be joking," Sonea muttered from below.

"Come on," he urged. "We're going across the roofs."

Muttering a curse, she began to climb.

As the sun emerged from behind storm clouds, the rooftops were bathed in golden light. Cery moved into the shadow of a chimney.

"It's too bright," he said. "We'll be seen for sure. I think we should stay here 'til it gets dark."

Sonea settled beside him. "Are we far enough away?"

He glanced back toward the hide. "I hope so."

She looked around. "We're on the High Road, aren't we? Those rope and wood bridges—the handholds." She smiled as Cery nodded. "That brings back memories."

He grinned at the wistful look in her eyes. "It seems like such a long time ago."

"It was. Most times I can't believe we actually did some of the things we did." She shook her head. "Wouldn't have the guts now."

He shrugged. "We were just kids."

"Kids sneaking into houses and lifting things." She smiled. "Remember that time we got into that woman's room and she had all those wigs? You curled up on the floor and we put them all over you. When she came in you made groaning noises."

Cery laughed. "She sure could scream."

Her eyes gleamed in the light of the setting sun. "I got into so much rub when Jonna worked out I was sneaking out at night to join you."

"Didn't stop you," he reminded her.

"No. You'd taught me how to pick locks by then."

He looked at her closely. "Why did you stop coming out with us?"

She sighed and pulled her knees to her chest. "Things changed. Harrin's lot started treating me differently. It was like they had remembered I was a girl, and thought I was hanging out with them for other stuff. It wasn't fun anymore."

"I didn't treat you different…" he hesitated, gathering his courage. "But you stopped wanting to come out with me, too."

She shook her head. "It wasn't you, Cery. I think I got tired of it. I had to grow up and stop pretending. Jonna was always saying how honesty was valuable, and stealing was wrong. I didn't think that stealing when you had no choice was wrong, but that wasn't what we were doing. I was almost glad when I moved into the city, because it meant I didn't have to think about all that anymore."

Cery nodded. Perhaps it had been better that she had left. The boys in Harrin's gang hadn't always been nice to the young women they encountered.

"Was it better working in the city?"

"A little. You can still get in a lot of rub if you're not careful. The guards are the worst, cause no one stops them hassling you."

He frowned as he tried to imagine her fending off over-interested guards. Was there anywhere safe? Shaking his head, he wished that he could take her somewhere where no guards or magicians would bother them.

"We lost the book, didn't we?" Sonea said suddenly.

Remembering the tome lying on the table back at the hide, Cery cursed.

"Wasn't real useful, anyhow."

There was no regret in her voice. Cery frowned. There had to be another way for her to learn magic. He bit his lip gently as the idea she had given him returned.

"I'd like to get you out of the slums," he said. "The magicians are going to be everywhere tonight."

She frowned. "Out of the slums?"

"Yes," he replied. "You'll be safer in the city."

"The city! You sure?"

"Why not?" He smiled. "It's the last place they'd look."

She considered that and shrugged. "But how will we get there?"

"The High Road."

"But it won't get us past the gates."

Cery grinned. "We don't have to use 'em. Come on."

* * *

The Outer Wall loomed high over the slums. Ten strides deep, it was well maintained by the city guard, though it had been many centuries since Imardin had faced the threat of invasion. A road ran around the outside, keeping the buildings of the slum at bay.

Not far from this road, Sonea and Cery descended from the rooftops into an alley. Taking her arm, Cery led her to stacks of boxes and slipped between them. The air smelled tangy inside, a mix of young wood and old fruit.

Cery squatted and tapped on the ground. To Sonea's surprise the sound was metallic and hollow. The ground shifted and a large disc hinged upward. A wide face appeared, framed by a circle of darkness. From around the head drifted a nauseating stench.

"Hello, Tul," Cery said.

The man's face wobbled into a grin.

"How ya' doin', Cery?"

Cery grinned. "Fine. Wanta work off a debt?"

"Sure." The man's eyes gleamed. "Passage?"

"For two," Cery said.

The man nodded and descended into the rank air. Cery smiled at Sonea and gestured to the hole.

"After you."

She extended a foot into the hole and found the top rung of a ladder. Taking one last breath of clean air, she slowly descended into the murk. The sound of running water echoed in the darkness and the air was heavy with damp. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw that she was standing on a narrow ledge on the side of an underground sewage tunnel. The roof was so low she had to stoop.

The fat face of the man they had spoken to belonged to an equally wide body. Cery offered his thanks and handed the man something that brought a wide smile to his face.

Leaving Tul at his post, Cery led her down the passage in the direction of the city. After several hundred paces, another figure and a ladder came in sight. The man might once have been tall, but his back was hunched over as if it had grown to fit the curve of the tunnel. He looked up and watched them approach with large, heavy-lidded eyes.

The man turned abruptly to stare behind him. From farther down the tunnel came a faint ringing noise.

"Quickly," he rasped at them. Cery grabbed Sonea's arm and dragged her into a run.

Taking something from beneath his coat, the man began to strike it with an old spoon. The sound was deafening in the tunnel.

As they reached the ladder, he stopped and they heard more ringing sounds behind them. He grunted, then began flapping his arms.

"Up! Up!" he cried.

Cery clambered up. There was a metallic clunk, then a hole of light appeared. Cery scrambled through it and disappeared. As Sonea followed she heard a distant, low noise in the tunnel. The hunchback climbed out behind her and pulled the ladder up.

Sonea looked around. They stood in a narrow alleyway, hidden by the gathering darkness. Hearing the low noise again, she turned back to the tunnel. The sound grew rapidly louder, becoming a deep roar that was muffled suddenly as the hunchback carefully closed the lid of the tunnel. A moment later she felt a faint vibration under her feet. Cery leaned close so that his mouth brushed her ear.

"The Thieves have been using these tunnels for years to get past the Outer Wall," he murmured. "When the city guard found out, they started flushing the pipes. Not a bad idea, really—it keeps them clean. Of course, the Thieves figured out when they did it and business continued as usual. That's when the guard started flushing them randomly."

He beckoned for her to crouch down beside the lid, then carefully lifted it. Water rushed by a few inches from her face and the roar spilled loudly into the street. Cery quickly closed the lid again.

"That's why they ring the bells," she breathed.

Cery nodded. "A warning." He turned away and handed the hunchback something, then led her down the alley to a dark corner where raised bricks in a wall allowed them to climb to the roof of a house. The air was growing colder, so Sonea drew out her cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders.

"I hoped to get us a little closer than this," Cery murmured, "but…" He shrugged. "Good view from up here, eh?"

She nodded. Though the sun had dropped below the horizon, the sky was still glowing. The last of the storm clouds hovered over the Southern Quarter, but were slowly retreating toward the East. The city spread before her, bathed in orange light.

"You can even see a bit of the King's Palace," Cery pointed out.

Over the tall Inner Wall, the high towers of the Palace and the top of a glittering dome were visible.

"Never been there," Cery breathed. "But I will one day."

Sonea laughed. "You? In the King's Palace?"

"It's something I've promised myself," he told her, "that I'll get inside all the big places in the city at least once."

"So where have you gone so far?"

He pointed to the gates of the Inner Circle. Through the entrance she could see walls and roofs of the mansions within, lit by the yellow glow of street lamps.

"Couple of the big houses."

She snorted in disbelief. When running errands for Jonna and Ranel, she had occasionally needed to enter the Inner Circle. The streets were patrolled by guards who questioned anyone who was not richly dressed or clad in the servant's uniform of a House. Customers had given her a small token that indicated she had legitimate business in the area.

Each visit had revealed wonders. She remembered seeing extraordinary houses of fantastic colors and shapes, some with terraces and towers so thin and fine that they looked as if they should collapse under their own weight. Even the servants' quarters had been luxurious.

The plainer houses that surrounded her were more familiar. Merchants and lesser families lived in the North Quarter. They had few servants, and used the services of crafters for all else. Jonna and Ranel had gathered a small group of regular customers in the two years they had worked there.

Sonea looked down at the painted screens covering the windows around her. Through some she could see the shadows of people. She sighed as she thought of the customers her aunt and uncle had lost when the guards evicted them from the stayhouse. "Where now?"

He smiled. "Follow me."

They continued on across the rooftops. Unlike the residents of the slums, those of the city did not always oblige the Thieves by leaving bridges or handholds in place. Cery and Sonea were often forced to descend to the ground when they reached an alley or street. The larger roads were patrolled by guards, so they had to wait for the men to march by before hurrying across.

After an hour they stopped for a rest, then continued on when a thin sliver of moonlight rose above the horizon. Sonea followed Cery in silence, concentrating on keeping her footing in the faint light. When he finally stopped again, a wave of weariness swept over her and she sat down with a groan.

"We better get there soon," she said. "I'm almost done."

"Not far now," Cery assured her. "Just through here."

She followed him over a wall into a large, neat garden. The trees were tall and symmetrical. He led her along in the shadows of a wall which seemed to go on forever.

"Where are we?"

"Wait and see," Cery replied.

Something caught her foot and she stumbled against a tree. The roughness of the bark surprised her. She looked up and around. Endless trees stood like sentries before her. In the dark they looked strange and sinister, a forest of clawed arms.

A forest? She frowned, then a chill seized her. There aren't any gardens in the North Quarter, and there is only one forest in Imardin …

Her heart began to race. She hurried after Cery and grabbed his arm.

"Hai! What are you doing?!" she gasped. "We're in the Guild!"

His teeth flashed. "That's right."

She stared at him. He was a black silhouette in the moonlit forest, and she could not see his expression. A frightening suspicion stole over her. Surely he hadn't … he wouldn't… Not Cery. No, he would never turn her over to the magicians.

She felt his hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Sonea. Think about it. Where are the magicians? In the slums. You're actually safer here than there."

"But… don't they have guards?"

"A few at the gates, that's all."

"Patrols?"

"No."

"What about a magical wall?"

"No." He laughed quietly. "Guess they think people are too scared of them to trespass."

"How do you know if there's a wall or guards?"

He chuckled. "Been here already."

She drew in a sharp breath. "Why?"

"After I decided I would visit every place in the city, I came here and snooped around a bit. Couldn't believe how easy it was. I didn't try to get inside any of the buildings, of course, just watched the magicians through the windows."

Sonea stared at his shadowed face in disbelief. "You spied on the Guild?"

"Sure. It was real interesting. They've got places where they teach the new magicians, and places where they live. I saw the Healers working last time. That was something to see. There was this boy with cuts all over his face. When the healer touched him they all went away. Amazing."

He paused and she saw his head turn toward her in the faint light. "Remember how you said you wanted someone to show you how to use magic? Perhaps if you watch them, you'll see something that will help you learn."

"But… the Guild, Cery."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't bring you here if I knew it was real dangerous, would I?"

Sonea shook her head. She felt awful for doubting him. If he had intended to turn her in, he would have let the magicians catch her back at the hide. But he would never betray her. Though his explanation was incredible.

If this is a trap, I'm already doomed.

She pushed the thought away and turned her mind to what Cery was proposing.

"You really think we can do this?"

"Sure."

"It's madness, Cery."

He laughed. "At least come and look. We'll go as far as the road and you can see for yourself how easy it is. If you don't want to try it, we'll go back. Come on."

Swallowing her fear, she followed him through the trees. The forest thinned a little, and through it she saw walls. Keeping to the shadows, Cery crept forward until he was less than twenty paces from a road, then darted forward and stood behind the trunk of a large tree.

Sonea hurried after and pressed her back against another tree. Her legs seemed to have lost most of their strength and she felt light-headed and dizzy. Cery grinned, then pointed through the trees.

She looked up at the building before her and gasped.

Chapter 12

The Last Place They'd Look

It was so tall, it seemed about to touch the stars.

At each corner was a tower. Between them, white walls glowed softly in the moonlight. At the front stone arches spanned the width of the building, one above the other, and from each arch hung a curtain of stone. A wide staircase led up to a pair of grand doors, which stood open.

"It's beautiful," Sonea breathed.

Cery laughed softly. "It is, isn't it? See those doors? They're about four times as tall as a man."

"They must be very heavy. How do they close them?"

"With magic, I suppose."

Sonea tensed as a figure in blue robes appeared in the doorway. The man paused, then strode down the stairs and walked away toward a smaller building to the right.

"Don't worry. They can't see us," Cery assured her.

Sonea let out the breath she was holding and dragged her eyes away from the distant figure. "What's inside?"

"Classrooms. That's the University."

Three rows of windows ran down the side of the building. The bottom two rows were mostly obscured by a line of trees but she could see warm yellow light through gaps in the foliage. A large garden was on the left of the building. Cery pointed to a building on the far side of this.

"That's where the novices live," he said. "There's another building just like it on the other side of the University where the magicians live. Over there," he pointed to a circular building several hundred paces to their left, "is the place where the Healers do their work."

"What's that?" Sonea asked, pointing to a collection of curved masts rising up from somewhere within the garden.

Cery shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "Never found out."

He gestured to the road in front of them. "This goes to the servants' houses down there," he pointed to the left, "and the stables that way," he pointed to the right. "There are a few other buildings behind the University, and another garden in front of the magicians' building. Oh, and there are more houses for magicians up the hill a bit."

"So many buildings," she breathed. "How many magicians are there?"

"Over a hundred living here," he told her. "There's more that don't. Some live in the city, some out in the country, and lots more in other countries. About two hundred servants live here too. They've got maids, stablemen, cooks, scribes, gardeners, even farmers."

"Farmers?"

"They have fields down near the servants' houses."

Sonea frowned. "Why wouldn't they just buy their food?"

"I've heard they grow all sorts of plants to make medicines from."

"Oh." Sonea looked at Cery, impressed. "How did you find out so much about the Guild?"

He grinned. "I asked a lot of questions, especially after I went looking around last time."

"Why?"

"I was curious."

"Curious?" Sonea snorted. "Just curious?"

"Everybody wonders what they do in there. Don't you?"

Sonea hesitated. "Well… sometimes."

"Of course you do. You've got more reason than most. So, do you want to spy on a few magicians?"

Sonea looked up at the buildings. "How are we going to look inside without them seeing us?"

"The garden goes right up to the walls of the buildings," Cery told her. "There are paths going back and forth, and beside them are trees with hedges on either side. You can walk between the hedges and nobody can see you."

Sonea shook her head. "Only you would do something this crazy."

He smiled. "But you know I don't take stupid risks."

She bit her lip, still ashamed that she had suspected him of betraying her. He had always been the cleverest of Harrin's gang. If it was possible to spy on the Guild, he would know how to do it.

She knew she should tell him to take her back to Faren. If someone discovered them … It was too frightening to think about. Cery was watching her expectantly. It would be a shame not to try, a voice in the back of her mind whispered, and I might see something helpful.

"All right." She sighed. "Where first?"

Cery grinned and pointed toward the Healers' building. "We'll get into the gardens down there, where the road's dark. Follow me."

He scampered back into the forest and wove his way through the trees. After a few hundred paces, he moved back toward the road and stopped beside a tree.

"The magicians are busy training right now," he murmured. "Or they've gone to their rooms. We've got until the night classes finish, then we'll dig down and hide. For now, we just have to watch out for servants. Stuff your cloak in your shirt. It'll only get in the way."

She obeyed. Cery took her hand and started toward the road. Sonea looked up at the windows of the University dubiously.

"What if they look out? They'll see us."

"Don't worry," he told her. "Their rooms are full of light, so they can't see anything outside unless they go right up to the windows and they're too busy doing what they do to look outside."

Taking her arm, he pulled her across the road. She held her breath and searched the windows above them for watchers, but no human shapes appeared in them. As they entered the shadows of the garden, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Dropping to his belly, Cery wriggled through the base of a hedge. Following him, Sonea found herself crouching under a dense net of foliage.

"It's grown a bit since I was here last," Cery murmured. "We'll have to crawl."

Moving forward on their hands and knees, he led her through a tight tunnel of vegetation. Every twenty paces or so they had to squeeze past the trunk of a tree. After crawling for several hundred paces, he stopped.

"We're in front of the Healer's building," he told her. "We cross a path, then go into the trees against the wall. I'll go first. Check to make sure the path is clear, then follow."

Dropping to his belly again, he pushed his way out of the hedge and disappeared. Moving to the hole he had made, Sonea peered out. A path ran along the hedge. She could see the gap where Cery had pushed into the hedge on the other side.

Crawling out, she hurried across and pushed her way into the foliage. She found Cery sitting in the space behind, resting his back against the trunk of a large tree, facing a wall.

"You think you could climb this?" Cery asked quietly, patting the wall. "You'll have to go to the second floor. That's where they have their lessons."

Sonea examined the wall. It was made of large stone bricks. The mortar between was old and crumbling. Two ledges ran around the building, forming the base of the windows. Once she had reached a window she would be able to rest on the ledge while she looked inside.

"Easy," she whispered.

His eyes narrowed, then he began searching his pockets. Bringing out a small jar, he opened it and began smearing dark paste on her face.

"There. Now you look like Faren." He grinned, then grew serious again. "Stay behind the trees. If I see someone coming, I'll hoot like a mullook. You stay put and keep real still and quiet."

Nodding, she turned to the wall and carefully set her toes into a crack. Digging her fingers into the crumbling mortar, she sought the next foothold. Soon she was clinging to the wall, her feet level with Cery's head. She looked down at him and saw his teeth flash as he grinned.

Her muscles protested as she hauled herself up but she did not stop until she had reached the second ledge. Pausing to catch her breath, she turned her head toward the nearest window.

It was the size of a doorway and filled with four large panes of glass. She cautiously slid along the ledge until she could see into the room beyond.

A large group of brown-robed magicians sat inside, all gazing intently at something in a far corner of the room. She hesitated, fearing that one would look up and see her, but none glanced her way. Heart racing, she edged forward until she could see what they were staring at.

A man with dark green robes stood at the far corner. He held in his hands a carving of an arm with colored lines and words scrawled over it. The magician was using a short stick of wood to point at the different words.

Sonea felt a thrill of excitement. The magician's voice was a little muffled by the glass, but she could make out his words if she listened carefully.

As she did, a familiar frustration grew. Strange words and phrases made up much of the magician's lecture. It made as much sense to her as another language. She was about to give in to the ache in her fingers and return to Cery when the speaker turned and called out loudly: "Bring Jenia in."

The novices turned toward the open door. A young woman entered the room, accompanied by an old servant. Her arm was bandaged and hung from a sling tied behind her neck.

The woman smiled boldly and laughed at something one of the novices said. With a stern look from the teacher, the class quietened.

"Jenia broke her arm this afternoon when she fell off her horse," he told them. He gestured for the young woman to take a chair. As he began to unwrap her bandages the smile fled from her face.

A bruised and swollen forearm was uncovered. The teacher picked two novices from the class. The pair ran their hands gently over the bruised arm, stepped back and gave their assessment. The teacher nodded, pleased.

"Now," his voice rose to include the class, "first we must stop the pain."

At a signal from the teacher, one of the novices took the woman's hand. He closed his eyes and the room was silent for a moment. A look of relief passed over the woman's face. The novice released her and nodded at the teacher.

"It is always better to let the body heal itself," the magician continued, "but we can mend it to the point where the bones join and the swelling is relieved."

The other novice slowly ran his palm along the woman's arm. The bruises faded under his touch. When the youth drew away, the young woman smiled and tentatively wriggled her fingers.

The teacher examined her arm, then replaced the sling, which the woman regarded with obvious disdain. He instructed her sternly not to use her arm for two weeks. One of the novices said something and the rest laughed.

Sonea drew away from the window. She had just seen the magicians' legendary healing powers at work, something that few dwells ever witnessed. It was as amazing as she had imagined.

But she had learned nothing of how they had done it.

This must be a class for skilled novices, she reasoned. New novices would not know how to treat an injury like that. If she found a class for new novices, she might be able to understand it.

She climbed down. As her feet touched the ground Cery grabbed her arm.

"Did you see any healing?" he whispered.

She nodded.

Cery grinned. "Told you this was easy, didn't I?"

"For you, maybe," she said, rubbing her hands. "I'm out of practice." Moving to the next tree, she forced her tired fingers between the bricks, and hauled herself up again.

The teacher in the next classroom was a woman, and she was also wearing green robes. She was silent, watching her novices as they bent over their desks, frantically writing on sheets of paper and leafing through well-worn leather books. Sonea gave in to the ache in her arms and returned to the ground. "Well?" Cery asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing much."

The next window revealed a class of novices mixing liquids, dried powders and pastes in small jars. The window after contained a single young man in green robes, his head resting on the open pages of his book as he dozed.

"The rest of the rooms don't have lights," Cery told her when she reached the ground again. "I guess that's all you'll see here." He turned to point at the University. "There are more classes to watch over there."

She nodded. "Let's go."

Squeezing out of the hedge, they dashed across the path and pushed into the foliage on the other side. Halfway across the garden, Cery stopped and pointed to a gap in the hedge.

Looking out between the leaves, Sonea saw they had reached the strange masts she had seen rising above the gardens. They curved inward, as if bowing to each other, and tapered to a point at the top. They were spaced evenly around a large circular slab of stone which had been set into the ground.

Sonea shivered. A vaguely familiar vibration tainted the air. Disturbed, she put a hand on Cery's back.

"Let's move on."

Cery nodded and, glancing one more time at the tall masts, led her away.

They crossed two more paths before reaching the wall of the University. Cery placed a hand on the stone.

"You won't be able to climb this one," he whispered. "But there's plenty of windows at the ground level."

Sonea touched the wall. The stone was covered with rivulets and ripples running up and down the surface. She could not see any cracks or seams. It was as if the entire building had been made from one huge block of stone.

Moving behind a tree, Cery linked his fingers together. She rose and placed a foot in his hands. Stepping up, she peered over the window ledge and into the room beyond.

A man in purple robes was writing with sticks of charcoal on a board. The sound of his voice drifted to her ears, but she could not make out what he said. The drawings on the board were as incomprehensible as the speech of the Healer. With a pang of disappointment and frustration she signalled for Cery to let her down.

They crept along the building to the next window. The scene inside was as mysterious as the first. Novices sat rigidly in their seats with their eyes closed. Behind each seated novice stood another who pressed his palms against his fellow's temples. The teacher, a stern-looking man in red robes, watched them in silence.

Sonea was about to move away when he spoke suddenly.

"Come away now." His tone was unexpectedly soothing for a man with such a hard visage. The novices opened their eyes. Those who had been standing rubbed their own temples and grimaced.

"As you can see, it is impossible to see into somebody else's mind without their good will," the teacher told them. "Well, not impossible, as our own High Lord has proven, but far out of the reach of ordinary magicians such as you and I."

His eyes flicked toward the window. Sonea quickly ducked out of view. Cery let her down, and she crouched under the window ledge, pressing her back against the wall and gesturing to Cery to do the same.

"Were you seen?" Cery whispered.

Sonea pressed a hand to her heart, which was pounding rapidly. "I'm not sure." Was the magician hurrying through the University now, intending to investigate the gardens? Or was he standing at the window, waiting for them to step out from under the ledge?

She swallowed, her mouth dry. She turned to Cery, ready to suggest they run for the forest, then stopped. Behind her, in the room, the muffled sound of the teacher's voice had begun again. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief.

Cery leaned forward and cautiously peered up at the window. He looked at her and shrugged.

"Keep going?"

She drew in a deep breath and nodded. Rising, they moved down the building and stopped under the next window. Linking his hands together, Cery lifted Sonea up.

Flashes of movement met her eyes as she peered through the window. She stared at the scene in amazement. Several novices were dodging and ducking about, doing their best to avoid a tiny point of light that flew around the room. Standing on a chair in one corner, a red-robed magician followed the progress of the speck with an outstretched hand. He roared at the novices: "Hold still! Stand your ground!"

Four of the novices were already standing still. When the bright speck came close to them it was propelled away like a swatted fly. Gradually more of the novices followed the others' example, but the spark was quick. A few of the less skilled youths bore tiny red marks on their arms and faces.

Suddenly the spark vanished. The teacher leapt off the chair and landed lightly. The novices relaxed and grinned at each other. Afraid that they would glance her way, Sonea dropped to the ground.

At the next window she watched a purple-robed magician demonstrating to his class a strange experiment with colored liquids. In another she watched a group of novices working with floating globules of molten glass, shaping the glowing masses into intricate, glowing sculptures. Then in the next, she listened to a gentle-looking man dressed in red robes giving a speech on making fire.

A deep chime suddenly echoed through the Guild. The magician looked up in surprise and the novices began to rise from their seats. Sonea ducked away from the window.

Cery lowered her to the ground. "That bell marks the end of classes," he told her. "We'll stay quiet now. The magicians will leave the University and go to their rooms."

They huddled close to the trunk of a tree. For several minutes all was quiet, then Sonea heard the sound of footsteps beyond the hedge.

"… a long day," a woman was saying. "We're stretched very thin with this winter cough taking hold. I hope the search ends soon."

"Yes," a second woman agreed. "But the Administrator has been reasonable. He has given most of the work to the Warriors and Alchemists."

"True," the first woman replied. "Now tell me, how is Lord Makin's wife? She must be over eight months now …"

The women's voices faded away and were replaced by boyish laugher.

"… had you fooled. He practically thrashed you, Kamo!"

"It was just a trick, merely," a boy with a thick Vin accent replied. "It will not work a second time."

"Ha!" a third boy retorted. "This is the second time!"

The boys burst into laughter but Sonea could hear another set of footsteps approaching from her left. The boys fell silent.

"Lord Sarrin," they murmured respectfully as the footsteps reached them. When the steps had moved well past them, the boys' voices rose again as they continued teasing each other. They moved out of her hearing.

Several more groups of magicians passed. Most were silent. Gradually, the activity around the Guild dwindled and then ceased. By the time Cery pushed his head through the hedge to check the path, they had been hidden for almost an hour.

"We'll head back to the forest now," he told her. "There won't be any more classes for you to see."

She followed as he pushed his way out onto the path and into the next hedge. They travelled through the garden and scampered back across the road into the forest. Crouching under a tree Cery grinned at her, his eyes glittering with excitement.

"That was easy, wasn't it?"

Sonea looked back at the Guild and felt a smile spread over her face.

"Yes!"

"See. Just think: while the magicians are hunting around out in the slums we've been snooping around their territory."

They chuckled quietly, then Sonea drew in a deep breath and sighed.

"I'm glad we're done," she admitted. "Can we go back now?"

Cery pursed his lips. "There's something else I wanted to try, since we're here."

Sonea eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

Ignoring her question, he rose and moved away through the trees. She hesitated, then hurried after him. As they travelled farther into the forest, it grew darker and Sonea stumbled several times on hidden roots and branches. Cery turned to the right and, feeling a different surface under her feet, she realized they were crossing the road again.

From there, the ground began to slope upward. After several hundred paces they crossed a narrow path and the slope grew steeper. Cery stopped and pointed.

"Look."

A long, two-story building was visible through the trunks.

"The novices' building," Cery told her. "We're behind it. Look, you can see inside."

Through one of the windows she could see part of a room. A plain, sturdy bed stood against one wall, and a narrow table and chair along another. Two brown robes hung from hooks on the wall.

"Not very fancy."

Cery nodded. "They're all like that."

"But they're rich, aren't they?"

"I guess they don't get to choose their own stuff until they become full magicians."

"What are the magicians' rooms like?"

"Fancy." His eyes gleamed. "Want to see?"

Sonea nodded.

"Come on then."

He moved deeper into the trees and up the slope. When they drew close to the edge of the forest again Sonea saw that several buildings and a wide paved courtyard lay behind the University. One of the structures curved down the slope like a long stairway, glittering softly as if it were made entirely out of molten glass. Another looked like a huge upturned bowl, smooth and white. The whole area was illuminated by two rows of large, round lamps, set high on iron poles.

"What are all these buildings for?" Sonea asked.

Cery stopped. "I'm not sure. I think that glass one is the baths. The others … ?" He shrugged. "I could find out."

He moved on through into the forest. When they came in sight of the Guild again, they had passed the courtyard and were standing closer to the magicians' building. Cery crossed his arms and frowned.

"They've all got screens over their windows," he said.

"Hmm, perhaps if we go around the side we'll see something."

By the time they returned to the edge of the trees, Sonea's legs were aching. Though the forest grew closer to the building at the side, she could only see a glimpse of furniture through the open window Cery pointed out. Suddenly more tired than curious, she dropped to the ground.

"I don't know how I'm going to make it back to the slums," she moaned. "My legs won't take me another step."

Cery grinned and squatted beside her. "You've sure got soft these last few years."

She gave him a withering look. He chuckled and looked down at the Guild.

"Sit down and rest for a while," he told her, rising to his feet. "There's something I want to do. I'll be quick."

Sonea frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Closer. Don't worry. I'll be back soon." He turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Too tired to be annoyed, she stared at the forest. Between the trunks she could see something flat and gray. She blinked in surprise as she realized she was sitting no more than forty paces from a small, two-story building.

Rising, she moved closer to the structure, wondering why Cery hadn't pointed this building out to her. Perhaps he hadn't noticed it. Made of a different, darker stone than the other Guild buildings, it was all but invisible in the shadows of the trees.

Like the University, a hedge ran around the outside. A few steps farther and Sonea felt the hard stone of a path beneath her feet. Dark windows invited her closer.

Glancing back, she wondered how long Cery would be. If she didn't dally too long, she could take a look through the building's windows and be back before he returned.

Creeping down the path, she moved behind the hedge and peered through the first window. The room inside was dark and she could see little. Some furniture, nothing more. She moved to the next, and the next, but the view was the same. Disappointed, she turned to go, then froze as she heard footsteps behind her.

Ducking down behind the hedge, she watched a figure step around the side of the building. Though she could make out little more than a silhouette, she could see that the man was not wearing robes. A servant?

The man moved to the side of the house and opened a door. Hearing the latch close behind him Sonea breathed a sigh of relief. She braced her hands to haul herself off the ground, then paused as she heard a tinkling somewhere close by.

Looking around, she saw a small grille set into the wall just above the ground. Dropping to her hands and knees, she bent down to examine it. The tiny air vent was cluttered with dirt, but through it she could see a stairway spiraling down to an open door.

Beyond the doorway was a room lit by the yellow glow of an unseen light. As she watched, a man with long hair and a heavy black cloak strode in sight. A pair of shoulders blocked her view for a moment as another figure entered the stairway and descended to the room. Sonea caught a glimpse of servant's clothing before the newcomer moved beyond her vision.

She heard a voice, but could not make out the words. The cloaked man nodded.

"It's done," he said, plucking at the clasp and pulling the cloak from his shoulders.

Sonea's breath caught in her throat as she saw what was underneath. The man was wearing the ragged garments of a beggar.

And they were splattered with blood.

The man looked down at himself and an expression of distaste crossed his face.

"Did you bring my robes?"

The servant murmured an answer. Sonea choked back a gasp of surprise and horror. The man was a magician.

He grasped the bloodstained shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing a leather belt strapped to his waist. A large dagger sheath hung from the belt.

Removing the belt, he tossed it and the shirt onto a table, then pulled a large bowl of water and a towel into sight. The magician dipped the towel into the water and quickly scrubbed the red stains from his bare chest. Each time he rinsed the towel, the water turned a darker shade of pink.

Then an arm came into view, holding a bundle of black material. The magician took the cloth and moved out of sight.

Sonea sat back on her haunches. Black robes? She had never seen a black-robed magician before. None of the magicians in the Purge had worn black. His position in the Guild must be unique. Bending down again, she considered the blood-stained clothes. Perhaps he was an assassin.

The magician moved into view again. He was wearing the black robes now and had combed and bound his dark hair into a tail. Reaching for the belt, he unclipped the lid of the dagger pouch.

Sonea drew in a quick breath. The dagger's handle glittered in the light. Gems set within it sent out glints of red and green. The magician examined the long, curved blade closely, then carefully wiped it on the towel. He looked up at the hidden servant.

"The fight has weakened me," he said. "I need your strength."

She heard a murmured reply. The servant's legs moved into view, then all but his head appeared as he dropped to one knee and held out his arm. The magician grasped the man's wrist.

Turning it upward, the magician ran the dagger lightly across the man's skin. Blood welled and the magician pressed his hand over the wound as if he intended to heal it.

Then something began to flutter in her ears. Straightening, Sonea shook her head, thinking that an insect had crawled into her ears, but the buzzing continued. She stopped, then felt a chill steal over her as she realized that the noise was coming from somewhere inside her head.

The sensation stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Bending to the grille, Sonea saw that the magician had released the servant. He was turning slowly about, his eyes roaming around the walls as if searching for something.

"Strange," he said. "It's almost as if…"

He's not searching for something on the walls, Sonea thought suddenly. He's searching for something beyond them.

Fear rushed over her. Rising to her feet, she slipped out of the hedge and backed away from the house.

Don't run, she told herself. Don't make any noise. Resisting the urge to bolt for the trees, she forced herself to creep away carefully. She increased her pace as she reached the path, wincing every time a twig snapped under her feet. The forest seemed darker than before, and she felt a rising panic as she realized she was not sure where she had been sitting when Cery had left her.

"Sonea?"

She jumped as a figure stepped out of the shadows. Recognizing Cery's face, she gasped with relief. In his arms was something large and heavy.

"Look," he said, lifting his burden.

"What's is it?"

He grinned. "Books!"

"Books?"

"Books on magic." His grin faded. "Where have you been? I just got back and—"

"I was there." She pointed at the house and shivered. It seemed darker now, like a creature lurking at the edge of the gardens. "We have to go! Now!"

"That place!" Cery exclaimed. "That's where their leader lives—the High Lord."

She grabbed his arm. "I think one of his magicians heard me!"

Cery's eyes widened. He glanced over her shoulder, then turned and started through the forest, away from the shadowy building.

Chapter 13

Powerful Influence

Only twenty or so magicians had gathered in the Night Room when Rothen entered. Finding that Dannyl had not yet arrived, he started toward a set of chairs.

"The window was open. Whoever it was came through the window."

Hearing the distress in the voice, Rothen paused and looked for the speaker. He found Jerrik standing nearby, talking to Yaldin. Curious to know what could have upset the University Director, he walked over to the two men.

"Greetings." Rothen nodded politely. "You look displeased about something, Director."

"There's a resourceful thief among our novices," Yaldin explained. "Jerrik has lost a few valuable books."

"A thief?" Rothen repeated, surprised. "Which books?"

"The Lore of the Southern Magicians, Arts of the Minken Archipelago and the Handbook of Firemaking" Jerrik said.

Rothen frowned. "A strange combination of books."

"Expensive books," Jerrik grieved. "Twenty gold pieces it cost me to have those copies made."

Rothen whistled softly. "Then your thief has an eye for value." He frowned. "Books of that rarity would be hard to hide. They are large volumes, I seem to remember. You could authorize a search of the Novices' Quarters."

Jerrik grimaced. "I was hoping to avoid that."

"Perhaps somebody borrowed them," Yaldin suggested.

"I've asked everyone." Jerrik sighed and shook his head. "Nobody has seen them."

"You didn't ask me," Rothen pointed out.

Jerrik looked up sharply.

"No, I didn't take them." Rothen laughed. "But you may have missed others as well. Perhaps you could ask everyone at the next Meet. It's only two days away, and the books might surface before then."

Jerrik winced. "I suppose I better do that first."

Catching sight of a familiar, tall figure entering the Night Room, Rothen excused himself. He strode to Dannyl's side and drew the magician into a quiet corner of the room.

"Any luck?" he asked quietly.

Dannyl shrugged. "No, no luck, but at least I wasn't followed by knife-wielding foreigners this time. You?"

Rothen opened his mouth to reply but closed it again as a servant stopped to offer a tray of wine-filled glasses. He reached out to take one, then froze as a black-sleeved arm extended toward the tray from behind Dannyl. Akkarin selected a glass and stepped around Dannyl to face Rothen.

"How does the search progress, Lord Rothen?"

Dannyl's eyes widened as he turned to face the High Lord.

"We came closest to catching her two weeks ago, High Lord," Rothen replied. "Her protectors used a decoy. By the time we realized we had the wrong girl, she had escaped. We found a book on magic, as well."

The High Lord's expression darkened. "That is not good news."

"It was old and outdated," Dannyl added.

"Nevertheless, we cannot allow such books outside the Guild," Akkarin replied. "A search of pawn shops should reveal if many have made their way into the city. I will speak to Lorlen about it, but in the meantime …" he looked at Dannyl. "Have you had any success re-establishing contact with the Thieves?"

Dannyl's face turned white, then flushed red.

"No," he replied in a constricted voice. "They have declined my requests for audience for many weeks."

A half-smile curled Aldcarin's mouth. "I assume you attempted to impress on them the dangers of having an untrained magician in their midst?"

Dannyl nodded. "Yes, but they did not seem concerned."

"They will be soon. Continue your attempts to meet with them. If they refuse to see you personally, send messages. Detail the problems she will encounter as her magic becomes uncontrollable. It will not be long before they realize that you speak the truth. Keep me informed on your progress."

Dannyl swallowed. "Yes, High Lord."

Akkarin nodded to them both. "Have a good evening." He turned and walked away, leaving the two magicians staring at his retreating back. Dannyl let out an explosive breath.

"How did he know?" he whispered.

Rothen shrugged. "It is said that he knows more about the affairs of the city than the King himself, but then, perhaps Yaldin told someone."

Dannyl frowned and looked across the room at the aging magician. "That's not like Yaldin."

"No," Rothen agreed. He smiled and patted Dannyl on the shoulder. "It doesn't look like you got yourself into any trouble, however. In fact, it looks like you just received a personal request from the High Lord."

Sonea curled the edge of the page and sighed. Why couldn't these Guild writers use normal, sensible words! This one seemed to have enjoyed arranging his sentences in ways that bore no resemblance to normal speech. Even Serin, the middle-aged scribe who was teaching her to read, could offer little explanation for many of the terms and phrases.

Rubbing her eyes, she leaned back in her chair. She had been staying in Serin's basement for several days. It was a surprisingly comfortable room, with an ample fireplace and sturdy furniture, and she knew she would be disappointed when she had to leave it.

After her near capture, the night Cery had taken her to the Guild, Faren had taken her to Serin's home in the North Quarter. He had decided she should stop practicing magic until he could arrange for new, better-situated hiding places. In the meantime, he said, she would spend her time studying the books Cery had  found.'

She looked down at the page again and sighed. A word lay before her—an alien, strange, annoying word which refused to make any sense. She stared at it, knowing the meaning of the whole sentence revolved around this infuriating word. She rubbed her eyes again, then jumped at a rapping on the door.

Rising, she peered through the spy hole, smiled, and unlocked the door.

"Good evening," Faren said as he slipped into the room. He handed her a bottle. "I brought you a little token of encouragement."

Sonea uncorked the bottle and sniffed. "Pachi wine!" she exclaimed.

"That's right."

Moving to a cupboard, Sonea took out two mugs. "I don't think these are right for Pachi wine," she said. "But that's all I have—unless you want to ask Serin for something better."

"They'll do." Faren drew a chair up to the table and sat down. Accepting a mug of the clear green liquor, he took a sip, sighed contentedly, and leaned back in his chair. "Of course, it's better spiced and warmed."

"I wouldn't know," Sonea said. "I've never tasted it before." Taking a sip, she smiled as a sweet, fresh flavor filled her mouth. Faren chuckled at her expression.

"I thought you'd like it." He stretched and leaned back in the chair. "I've also got news for you. Your aunt and uncle are expecting a child."

Sonea stared at him. "They are?"

"You'll have a little cousin soon," he told her. Taking another sip, he gave her a speculative look. "Cery told me that your mother died when you were a child, and your father left Kyralia soon after." He paused. "Did either of your parents show signs of having magic in their blood?"

She shook her head. "Not that I know of."

He pursed his lips. "I had Cery ask your aunt. She says she has never seen any magical talent in either your parents or grandparents."

"Does it matter?"

"Magicians like to trace their bloodlines," he told her. "My mother had magic in hers. I know because her brother—my uncle—is a magician, and my grandfather's brother is, too— if he is still alive."

"You have magicians in your family?"

"Yes, though I've never met either of them, and probably never will."

"But…" Sonea shook her head. "How can that be?"

"My mother was the daughter of a wealthy Lonmar merchant," he replied. "My father was a Kyralian sailor, working for a ship captain who regularly transported wares for my mother's father."

"How did they meet?"

"By chance first, then in secret. The Lonmar, as you know, keep their women from sight. They don't test them for magic, as the only place they can learn to use it is the Guild, and the Lonmar believe it is unseemly for women to be far from home—or even speak to men other than those in their family." Faren paused to take another mouthful of wine. Sonea watched expectantly as he swallowed. He smiled briefly.

"When her father discovered that my mother had been seeing a sailor, she was punished," he continued. "They whipped her and then imprisoned her in one of their towers. My father left his ship and stayed in Lonmar, seeking a way to free her. He did not have to wait long, for when her family discovered she was with child, they cast her out in disgrace."

"Cast her out? Surely they would just find a home for the child?"

"No." Faren's expression darkened. "They considered her spoiled, and a disgrace to her family. Their traditions required her to be marked so that other men would know her crime, then she was sold in a slave market. She had two long scars on each cheek, and one down the center of her forehead."

"That's awful," Sonea exclaimed.

Faren shrugged. "Yes, to us it seems awful. The Lonmar, however, believe they are the most civilized of the world's peoples." He took another sip of wine. "My father bought her and passage for both of them back to Imardin. Their troubles did not end there. He had caused the ship captain to lose an important customer, as my mother's family would not trade through him anymore. And no other ship owner would hire my father, so my parents grew poorer. They built a house in the slums and my father took a job in a gorin slaughterhouse. I was born soon after."

He drained his mug. Looking at her, he smiled. "See? Even a lowly thief can have magic in his blood."

"A lowly thief?" Sonea snorted.

She had never seen Faren so talkative. What else might he tell her? Pouring more wine, she gestured impatiently. "So, how did a slaughterman's son become a leader of the Thieves?"

Faren lifted the mug to his lips. "My father died in the battles after the first Purge. To have enough money to feed us, my mother became a dancer in a whorehouse." He grimaced. "Life was hard. One of her customers was an influential man among the Thieves. He liked me, and took me in as his son. When he retired, I replaced him, then worked my way up from there."

Sonea pursed her lips. "So anyone can become a Thief? You just have to make friends with the right person."

"It takes more than just being good company." He smiled. "Do you have plans for your friend then?"

She frowned in mock puzzlement. "Friend? No, I was thinking of myself."

He threw back his head and laughed, then raised his mug to her.

"Here's to Sonea—a woman of small ambitions. First magician, then Thief."

They drained their mugs together, then Faren looked down at the table. Reaching out, he turned the book around to face him.

"Is this making any more sense yet?"

She sighed. "Even Serin can't work out some of it. It's written for someone who knows more than I do. I need a book for a beginner." She looked up at Faren. "Cery had any luck?"

He shook his head. "It might have been better if you'd kept practicing. It would have kept the Guild busy. In the last week, they've checked every pawn shop inside and outside of the walls. If there were any books on magic in the city, they aren't there anymore."

Sonea sighed and pressed her hands to her temples. "What are they doing now?"

"They're still snooping around the slums," he told her. "Waiting for you to use your magic."

Sonea thought of her aunt and uncle, and the child they were expecting. Until the magicians stopped searching, she would not be able to see them. How she longed to talk to them. She looked down at the book and felt a surge of frustration and anger. "Don't they ever give up?"

She jumped as a loud bang echoed through the room, followed by a light patter of something scattering over the floor. Looking down, Sonea saw fragments of a white ceramic vase.

"Now Sonea," Faren said, shaking his finger at her. "I don't think this is a nice way to repay Serin for—" He stopped abruptly, then slapped his forehead and groaned. "They'll know you're in the city." He swore, then frowned at her disapprovingly. "There's more than one reason why I told you to avoid using magic while you're here, Sonea."

Sonea flushed. "I'm sorry Faren, but I didn't mean it." She reached down and picked up one of the fragments. "First I can't make it happen when I want to, and now it happens when I'm not even thinking about it."

Faren's expression softened. "Well, if you can't help it, you can't help it." He waved a hand, stiffened and turned to stare at her.

"What?" she asked.

He swallowed and looked away. "Nothing. Just … a thought. The magicians won't have been close enough to us to work out your location, though they'll probably be all over the North Quarter tomorrow. I don't think I need to move you yet—just try not to use your magic again."

Sonea nodded. "I'll try."

"Larkin the merchant?"

Dannyl turned to see a bolhouse worker standing beside him. He nodded. The man jerked his head to indicate that Dannyl should follow him.

For a moment, Dannyl stared at the man, unable to believe that he was finally getting somewhere, then hastily rose from the stool. Following the man through the crowd, he considered the contents of his letter to Gorin. What had made the Thief agree to see him this time?

Snow was falling outside. The guide hunched his shoulders and drew his coat tighter, then started down the street at a rapid pace. As they reached the entrance of a nearby alley, a cloaked figure stepped out in front of Dannyl, blocking his path.

"Lord Dannyl. What a surprise! Or should I say, what a disguise ?"

Fergun was smiling broadly. Dannyl stared at the magician, his disbelief rapidly turning to annoyance. Remembering other times, many years before, when he had been pursued and taunted by a younger Fergun, an uneasiness began to nag at him—then he became annoyed with himself. Straightening his shoulders, he drew a little petty satisfaction out of being a head taller than the other magician.

"What do you want, Fergun?"

Fergun's fine brows rose. "To know why you're wandering about the slums in such a state, Lord Dannyl."

"And you expect me to tell you?"

The warrior's shoulders rose. "Well, if you don't, I'll be forced to speculate, won't I? I'm sure my friends will be happy to help me guess your reasons." He put a finger to his lips. "Hmm, obviously you don't wish it to be known why you are here. Is there a scandal you are hiding? Are you involved in something so embarrassing that you must dress like a beggar to avoid discovery? Ah!" Fergun's eyes widened. "Are you visiting the brothels?"

Dannyl looked over Fergun's shoulder. As he had expected, the guide had disappeared.

"Oh, was he the one then?" Fergun asked, glancing behind. "A bit rough looking. Not that I have any idea what your specific tastes are."

Anger rushed over Dannyl like icy water. It had been years since Fergun had confronted him like this, but the hatred the jibe provoked was as strong as it had ever been. "Get out of my way, Fergun."

Fergun's eyes flashed with pleasure. "Oh, no," he said, his voice no longer mocking. "Not until you tell me what you're up to."

It would not be hard to knock Fergun off his feet, Dannyl mused.

Dannyl controlled his anger with an effort. "Fergun, you couldn't keep your mouth shut or out of the gutter if you wanted to—and everybody knows it. Nobody will believe a word you say. Now get out of my way before I'm forced to report you."

The Warrior's eyes became steely. "I'm sure the Higher Magicians will be more interested in your actions. From what I remember, there's a rather strict law concerning magicians and where they must wear robes. Do they know you're breaking it?"

Dannyl smiled. "It's not entirely unknown."

A flicker of doubt broke Fergun's gaze. "They're letting you?"

"They—or I should say he—instructed me to," Dannyl replied. He let his gaze become distant, then shook his head. "I've never been able to tell if he's watching or not. He'll need to know about this. I will have to tell him when I get back."

Fergun's face had turned a shade whiter. "No need! I will talk to him myself." He stepped aside. "Go. Finish your work." Taking another step back, he turned and hurried away.

Smiling, Dannyl watched the Warrior disappear into the thickening snow. He doubted that Fergun would speak a word to the High Lord.

His satisfaction died as he found himself alone in an empty street. He searched the shadows where the guide had disappeared. Fergun would have to show up when the Thieves had finally agreed to a meeting. Sighing, Dannyl started back along the street toward the North Road and the Guild.

Hurried footsteps crunched the fresh snow behind him. He glanced back and blinked in surprise as he saw the guide approaching. Stopping, he let the man catch up.

"Hai! What was that about?" the man asked.

"One of our searchers got a little over-curious." He smiled. "I guess you'd call him a nosy tag."

The man grinned, revealing stained teeth. "I get you." He gave a little shrug, then a tilt of his head to indicate that Dannyl should follow. Checking to make sure Fergun hadn't hung about to watch, Dannyl started through the falling snow again.

" 'Gradually increase the amount of power until the heat melts the glass,' " Serin read.

"But that's nothing like how it works!" Sonea exclaimed. She rose and paced the room. "It's more like a… a water skin with a tiny hole in it. If you squeeze the bag, the water squirts out, but you can't aim it, or make it—"

She stopped as a knock sounded on the door. Serin rose and checked the spy hole before opening the door.

"Sonea," Faren said, waving the scribe out of the room. "I have some visitors for you."

He stepped inside, grinning. Behind him was a stocky man with sleepy eyes and a short woman with a heavy scarf draped over her head.

"Ranel!" Sonea cried. "Jonna!" She dashed around the table and hugged her aunt.

"Sonea." Jonna gave a little gasp. "We were so worried about you." Holding Sonea at arm's length, she nodded approvingly. "You look well enough."

To Sonea's amusement, Jonna narrowed her eyes at Faren. The Thief leaned against the back wall, smiling. Sonea moved to Ranel and hugged him.

He gave her a searching look. "Harrin told us you've been doing magic."

Sonea grimaced. "That's right."

"And the magicians are looking for you."

"Yes. Faren's hiding me from them."

"For what price? Your magic?"

Sonea nodded. "That's right. Not that it's doing him much good at the moment. I'm not very good at it."

Jonna snorted softly. "You can't be that bad at it, or he wouldn't be hiding you." She looked around the room and nodded. "Not as bad as I thought." Moving to a chair, she sat down, pulled off her scarf and exhaled a long breath.

Sonea dropped to her haunches beside the chair. "I heard you were starting a new trade."

Her aunt frowned. "New trade?"

"Making cousins for me, I think."

Her aunt's frown softened and she patted her belly. "Ah, so the news reached you. Yes, there'll be another member in our little family next summer." Jonna looked up at Ranel, who smiled broadly.

Looking at them, Sonea felt a surge of affection and longing. A familiar sensation slipped through her mind, and she drew in a sharp breath. Rising, she cast about, but saw nothing out of place.

"What?" Faren asked.

"I did something." She flushed as she realized that her aunt and uncle were staring at her. "Well, it felt like I did."

The Thief looked around the room, then shrugged. "Perhaps you moved a bit of dirt behind the walls."

Jonna looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I used magic," Sonea explained. "I didn't intend to. It happens sometimes."

"And you don't know what you did?" Jonna's hand tightened on her belly.

"No." Sonea swallowed and looked away. The alarm in her aunt's gaze saddened her, but she understood why Jonna feared. The thought that she might accidentally harm …

No, she thought. Don't think about it. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Faren, I think you should take them away. Just in case."

He nodded. Jonna rose, her face lined with anxiety. She turned to Sonea and opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head and held out her arms. Sonea gave her aunt a tight hug before drawing away.

"I'll see you again," she told them. "When all this has sorted itself out."

Ranel nodded. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," she promised.

Faren ushered the couple out of the room. Turning away, Sonea listened to their footsteps ascending the stairs. An unfamiliar patch of color on the floor caught her attention. Her aunt's scarf.

Picking it up, she hurried to the door and up the stairs. As she climbed, she saw that her aunt and uncle were standing with Faren in Serin's kitchen, staring at something in the room. Reaching them, she saw what had captured their attention.

The floor had once been covered by large stone slabs. Now it was a jagged jumble of stone and dirt. A heavy wooden table had dominated the room, but all that remained was twisted, splintered wood.

Sonea felt her mouth go dry, then her mind shifted again and the table suddenly burst into flame. Faren turned to her and seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before speaking.

"As I said," he said. "She's probably just going through a difficult phase. Sonea, go back downstairs and pack your bag. I'll take your visitors home and get someone to put out the fire. Everything will be fine."

Nodding, Sonea handed her aunt the scarf and fled back down the stairs to the basement.

Chapter 14

An Unwilling Ally

Pausing to rest in an alley, Rothen closed his eyes and drew up a little power to chase away his weariness.

He opened his eyes and considered the snow piled against the side of the buildings. The milder weather of the previous weeks was a distant memory now that the winter blizzards had reached Imardin. Checking that his robes were well covered by his cloak, he prepared to step out into the street.

He paused as a familiar buzzing began at the back of his head. Closing his eyes, he cursed under his breath as he realized how far away he was from the source. Shaking his head, he stepped out into the street.

— Danny I?

—I heard her. She's a few streets away from me now.

— Has she moved?

—Yes.

Rothen frowned. If she had fled, why was she still using her powers?

— Who else is near?

— We're closer, Lord Kerrin called. She must be no more than a hundred paces from us.

— Sarle and I are about the same distance away, Lord Kiano sent.

— Move closer, Rothen told them. Don't approach her alone.

Rothen crossed the street and hurried down an alley. An old beggar stared blindly as he passed.

— Rothen ? Dannyl called. Look at this.

An image flashed into Rothen's mind of a house clothed in orange flames, smoke billowing into the sky. A feeling of suspicion and dread came with the image.

— Do you think she's … ?

— We'd see something more dramatic than this, Rothen replied.

At the end of the alley, Rothen stepped into a wider street. He checked his stride as he saw the burning house. People were already gathering to watch, and as he drew closer he saw the occupants of the neighboring homes emerging, their arms laden with belongings.

A tall shadow detached itself from the darkness of another alley and approached him.

"She'll be close," Dannyl said. "If we …"

They both stiffened as a stronger, shorter buzz hit their senses.

"Behind that building," Rothen said, pointing.

Dannyl started forward. "I know this area. There's an alley beside that house that meets with two others."

They strode into the darkness between two buildings. Rothen checked his stride as he felt another sharp vibration a hundred paces to the left of the previous one.

"She's moving fast," Dannyl muttered, breaking into a jog.

Rothen hurried after. "Something's not right," he panted. "Silence for weeks, then this week every day—and why is she still using her powers?"

"Perhaps she can't help it."

"Then Akkarin was right."

Rothen sent out a mental call.

— Kiano?

— She's moving toward us.

—Kerrin?

— She crossed our path a moment ago, heading south.

— We have her surrounded, Rothen told them. Be careful. She may be losing control of her powers. Kiano and Sarle, move in slowly. Kerrin and Fergun, keep to her right. We'll come in on her—

— I've found her, Fergun sent.

Rothen frowned.— Fergun, where are you?

There was a pause.

— She's in the tunnels beneath me. I can see her through a grille in the wall.

— Stay there, Rothen ordered. Do not approach her alone.

A moment later Rothen felt another vibration, and then several more. He sensed the other magicians' alarm and lengthened his stride.

— Fergun? What's happening?

— She saw me.

—Don't approach her! Rothen warned.

The buzz of magic stopped abruptly. Dannyl and Rothen exchanged a glance, then hurried on. Reaching a crossroads, they saw Fergun standing in one of the alleys, looking through a grille in a nearby wall.

"She's gone," he told them.

Dannyl hurried to the grille, opened it and looked inside the passage.

"What happened?" Rothen asked.

Fergun replied. "I was waiting for Kerrin to meet me when I heard noises through the grille."

Dannyl rose to his feet. "So you went in by yourself and frightened her off."

Fergun narrowed his eyes at the tall magician. "No. I remained here, as ordered."

"Did she see you watching and become frightened?" Rothen asked. "Was that why she started using her powers?"

"Yes." Fergun shrugged. "Until her friends knocked her out and ran."

"You didn't follow them?" Dannyl asked.

Fergun brows rose. "No. I stayed here, as ordered," he repeated.

Dannyl muttered something under his breath and stalked back down the alley. As the other magicians arrived, Rothen walked forward to meet them. He explained what had happened, then sent them and Fergun back to the Guild.

He found Dannyl sitting on a doorstep, shaping a handful of snow into a ball.

"She's losing control."

"Yes," Rothen agreed. "I'll have to call off the search. A chase or a confrontation will probably undo the little control she has."

"What can we do, now?"

Rothen looked at his friend pointedly. "Negotiate."

The smell of smoke was heavy and rough in Cery's lungs. He hurried along the passage, dodging half-seen shapes of other men travelling the Road. Coming to a stop outside a door, he paused to catch his breath.

The guard who opened the door nodded as he recognized Cery. Hurrying up the narrow wooden stairs beyond, Cery pushed open the trapdoor at the top and climbed into a dimly lit room.

He quickly took in the three bulky guards lurking in the shadows, the dark-skinned man standing at the window, and the figure lying asleep in a chair.

"What happened?"

Faren turned to regard him.

"We gave her a drug to put her to sleep. She was worried she would do more damage."

Moving to the chair, Cery bent to examine Sonea's face. A dark, swollen bruise marked her temple. Her skin was pale and her hair slick with sweat. Looking down, he saw that the hem of her sleeve was charred, and her hand was bandaged.

"The fire is spreading," Faren observed.

Rising, Cery joined the Thief at the window. Three of the houses across the street were afire, flames making glowing eyes out of the windows and rising like wild orange hair where the roofs had once been. Smoke had begun to billow out of the windows of another house.

"She said she was dreaming—a nightmare," Faren told him. "When she woke up there were fires in her room. Too many to put out. The more frightened she became, the more fires started." Faren sighed. For a long time they remained silent, then Cery took a deep breath and turned to regard the Thief.

"What will you do now?"

To his surprise, Faren smiled. "Introduce her to the friend of an old acquaintance of ours." He turned and pointed to one of the men lurking in the shadows. "Jarin, carry her."

A large, muscular man moved out of the shadows and into the orange light cast by the fires. He bent to pick up Sonea, but as he grasped her shoulders her eyes fluttered open. Snatching his hands back, Jarin quickly backed away.

"Cery?" she murmured.

Cery hurried to her side. She blinked slowly, her eyes struggling to focus on him.

"Hello," he said, smiling.

Her eyes closed again. "They didn't follow, Cery. They let us go. Isn't that strange?"

She opened her eyes again and her gaze shifted over her shoulder. "Faren?"

"You're awake." Faren observed. "You should have slept for at least another two hours."

She yawned. "I don't feel awake."

Cery chuckled. "You don't look real awake either. Go back to sleep. You need the rest. We're going to take you somewhere safe."

She nodded and closed her eyes, and her breathing returned to the slow rhythm of sleep. Faren looked at Jarin, then nodded at the unconscious girl.

The big man reluctantly gathered her into his arms. Sonea's eyes fluttered once, but she remained asleep. Picking up a lamp, Faren strode to the trapdoor, kicked it open and started down the stairs.

They wove through the passages in silence. Looking up at Sonea's face, Cery felt his heart twist. The old, familiar uneasiness had become something more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. It kept him awake at night and tormented him through the day, and he found it hard to remember a time when he didn't feel sick with it.

Mostly he feared for her, but lately he had begun to fear being around her. The magic within her had slipped beyond her grasp. Every day, sometimes every hour, something near her exploded into flames or shattered. She had laughed about it that morning, joking that she was getting plenty of practice extinguishing fires and dodging flying objects.

Each time her magic slipped out, magicians came running from all over the city. Constantly on the move, spending more times in the passages than in Faren's hideouts, she was exhausted and miserable.

Lost in his thoughts, Cery paid little attention to the journey. At one point they descended down a steep staircase, then passed under an enormous slab of stone. Recognizing the base of the Outer Wall, he knew they were entering the North Quarter, and he wondered who Faren's mysterious friend was.

Not long after, Faren stopped and ordered the guard to set Sonea down. She woke, and this time, she seemed more aware of her surroundings. Faren took off his coat and, with Jarin's help, slipped Sonea's arms into the sleeves and pulled up the hood.

"Do you think you can walk?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "I'll try."

"If we meet anyone, try to keep out of sight," he told her.

At first she needed assistance, but within a few minutes she had regained her balance. They walked for another half an hour, gradually encountering more people in the passages. Faren stopped before a door and knocked. A guard opened it and let them into a small room, before knocking on a second door.

A small, swarthy man with a pointy nose opened the door and regarded the Thief.

"Faren," he said. "What brings you?"

"Business," Faren answered.

Cery frowned. There was something familiar about the voice. The man's beady eyes narrowed.

"Come in then."

Faren stepped into the doorway, then paused and pointed at his guards.

"You stay," he said. He pointed at Cery, then Sonea. "You both come with me."

The man frowned. "I don't…" He hesitated, narrowed his eyes at Cery, then smiled. "Ah, it's little Ceryni. So you've kept Torrin's urchin, Faren. I wondered if you would."

Cery smiled as he realized who the man was. "Hello, Ravi."

"Come in."

As Cery moved into the room, Sonea followed. Glancing around, Cery's gaze was met by an old man sitting in a chair to one side, stroking his long white beard. Cery nodded, but the man did not return the polite greeting.

"And who's this?" Ravi asked, nodding at Sonea.

Faren pulled her hood down. Sonea gazed at Ravi, her pupils large and black from the effects of the drug.

"This is Sonea," Faren said, his mouth stretching in a humorless smile. "Sonea, meet Ravi."

"Hello," Sonea said softly. Ravi took a step backward. His face had turned white.

"This is … her? But I—"

"How dare you bring her here!"

All turned toward the voice. The old man had pushed himself to his feet and stood glaring at Faren. Sonea gave a little gasp and staggered away.

Faren placed his hands on her shoulders and steadied her. "Don't worry Sonea," he soothed. "He wouldn't dare hurt you. If he did, we'd have to tell the Guild all about him, and he wouldn't like them to discover that he's not dead, as they believe."

Cery turned to stare at the old man, suddenly understanding why the stranger hadn't bothered to acknowledge his nod.

"You see," Faren continued, his tone smug, "you and he have a lot in common, Sonea. You're both protected by Thieves, you both have magic, and you both don't want the Guild to find you. And now that you've seen Senfel here, he won't have any choice but to show you how to control your magic—because if he doesn't, the magicians might find you, and you might tell them about him."

"He's a magician?" she breathed, staring at the old man with wide eyes.

"An ex-magician," Faren corrected.

To Cery's relief, her eyes filled with hope, not fear.

"You can help me?" she said.

Senfel crossed his arms. "No."

"No?" she echoed softly.

The old man frowned, then his lip curled with contempt. "Drugging her will only make it worse, Thief."

Sonea drew in a sharp breath. Seeing the fear return to her eyes, Cery moved to her side and grasped her hands.

"It's all right," he whispered to her. "It's only a sleeping drug."

"No, it's not all right," Senfel said. He narrowed his eyes at Faren. "I cannot help her."

"You have no choice," Faren replied.

Senfel smiled. "Don't I? Go to the Guild then. Tell them I'm here. Better that they find me than I die when she loses control of her powers."

Feeling Sonea tense, Cery turned to face the old man. "Stop frightening her," he hissed.

Senfel stared at him, then his eyes flickered to Sonea. She glared back at him defiantly. The old man's expression softened a little.

"Go to them," he urged. "They will not kill you. The worst they will do is bind your powers so you cannot use them. Better that than death, eh?"

She continued to glare at him. Senfel shrugged, then straightened and fixed Faren with steely eyes.

"There are at least three magicians nearby. It would take little effort to call them, and I'm sure I could prevent you from leaving while they found their way to this room. Do you still wish to reveal my presence to the Guild?"

Faren's jaw shifted as he stared back at the magician.

He shook his head.

"No."

"Go—and when she's sober repeat what I said to her. If she does not seek the Guild's help, she will die."

"Then help her," Cery said.

The old man shook his head. "I cannot. My powers are too weak and she is too far gone. Only the Guild can help her now."

Dragging a barrel out from under the table, the bolhouse owner dropped it on the bench with a grunt. He gave Dannyl a meaningful look as he began filling mugs and handing them around the table. Leaning forward, he smacked a mug down in front of Dannyl, then crossed his arms and waited.

Giving the man a distracted frown, Dannyl handed over a coin. The man's gaze did not waver. Looking down at the drink, Dannyl knew he could avoid it no longer. He was going to have to drink the stuff.

Lifting the mug, he took a tentative mouthful, then blinked in surprise. A sweet, rich flavor filled his mouth. The taste was familiar, and after a moment he recognized it. Chebol sauce, but without the spices.

A few mouthfuls later he felt a warmth filling his belly. He raised the mug to the shop owner and received an approving nod in reply. The man did not stop watching him, however, and Dannyl was relieved when a young man stomped into the shop and started a conversation.

"How's business, Kol?"

The man shrugged. "The usual."

"How many barrels you want this time?"

Dannyl listened to the pair barter. When they had arranged a price, the newcomer settled onto a chair and sighed.

"Where's that strange one with the flashy ring gone?"

"The Sachakan guy?" The barman shrugged. "He got done weeks ago. Found him in the alley."

"Really?"

"It's true."

Dannyl snorted softly. A fitting end, he mused.

"Heard about that fire last night?" the barman asked.

"I live near there. It took out a whole street. Good thing it weren't summer. Could've burned the whole slums."

"Not that the city folk would care," the barman added. "Fire'd never get past the Wall."

A hand touched Dannyl's shoulder. He looked up and recognized the thin man that the Thieves had chosen to be his guide. The man jerked his head toward the door.

Dannyl finished his bol and put down his mug. As he stood, he received a friendly nod from the owner. Smiling, Dannyl returned it, then followed the guide to the door.

Chapter 15

One Way, or the Other…

Sonea watched as water, seeping through a crack high on one wall, gathered into a droplet, ran down the empty lamp hook, then dove off to splatter on the hard floor. Looking up again, she watched as another droplet formed.

Faren had chosen her latest hide wisely. An empty underground storeroom, with brick walls and a stone bench for a bed, it held nothing flammable or valuable.

Except herself.

The thought sent a ripple of fear through her mind. Closing her eyes, she quickly pushed it aside.

She had no idea how long she had been in the room. It could have been days, or merely hours. There was nothing to measure time by.

She had not felt the familiar shift within her mind since arriving. The list of emotions which could set off her powers had grown so long that she no longer kept a mental count of them. Lying in the storeroom, she had concentrated on staying calm. Each time a thought disturbed that calm, she took a deep breath and pushed it away. A comforting detachment had settled upon her.

Perhaps the drink Faren had given to her had caused that.

Drugging her will only make it worse. She shivered as she remembered the strange dream she'd had after the fire. In it, she had visited a magician in the slums. Though her imagination had invented a helper, his words had been no comfort. Taking a deep breath, she sent the memory away.

Obviously, she had been wrong to think she had to keep a store of anger inside to call upon when she wanted to use magic. She now admired the magicians for their control, but knowing that they were emotionless beings did not give her any more reason to like them.

There was a light tapping on the door, then it began to open. Smothering a twinge of apprehension, she rose and peered through the widening crack. Cery stood there, grimacing with the effort of moving the stiff metal door. When he had pushed it open enough to slip through, he stopped and beckoned to her.

"You have to move again."

"But I haven't done anything."

"Perhaps you didn't realize."

Slipping through the door, she considered what this might mean. Had the drug prevented her from feeling the magic slipping from her mind? She hadn't seen anything explode or burst into flames. Were her powers still escaping, but in a less destructive form?

The questions brought her dangerously close to feeling strong emotions, so she pushed them from her mind. Following Cery, she focused on maintaining her sense of calm. He stopped and climbed a rusty ladder set into the wall. Pushing open a hatch, he scrambled through, sending fresh snow into the passage.

Following close behind, Sonea felt chill air on her face as she emerged into the daylight. They stood in an empty alley. Cery grinned at her as she brushed snow from her clothes.

"You've got snow in your hair," he said. He reached out to brush it off, gasped and snatched his hand back.

"Ouch! What … ?" He reached out again and flinched. "You've made one of those barriers, Sonea."

"No, I haven't," she replied, still certain that she had not used any magic. Reaching out, she felt a shock of pain as her hand met an invisible wall of resistance. Catching a movement over Cery's shoulder, she looked past him. A man had just entered the alley and was walking toward her.

"Behind you," she warned, but Cery was looking at something above her head.

"Magician!" he hissed, pointing.

She looked up and sucked in a breath. A man was standing on the roof above them, staring down at her intently. She caught her breath in disbelief as he stepped over the edge of the building, but instead of falling, he floated toward the ground.

A vibration rang through the air as Cery pounded against the barrier.

"Run!" he shouted. "Get away!"

She backed away from the descending magician. Abandoning all efforts to stay calm, she dashed down the alley. The sound of booted feet tramping in the snow behind her told her that the floating magician was on the ground.

Ahead, the alley crossed with another. Beyond the intersection another figure strode toward her. With a gasp she threw herself forward with all the strength of panic. She felt a thrill of triumph as she reached the intersection several paces before the second magician.

Skidding to a halt, she leapt down the right hand passage …

… and caught the corners of the walls to stop herself. Another man stood there, his arms crossed. With a gasp she hauled herself away from him.

Twisting around, she sprang into the only alley remaining, and slid to a stop. A fourth man stood several paces away, guarding her last retreat.

Cursing, she spun around to stare behind her. The third man regarded her intently, but he had not moved. She looked back at the fourth. He had started to walk toward her.

Her heart was beating crazily. Looking up, she considered the walls. They were the usual rough brick, but she knew that, even if she had time to climb them, the magicians could easily bring her down. A dreadful, sinking cold crept over her.

I'm trapped. There is no way out.

Looking back, she felt a stab of fear as she saw that the first two men had joined the third at the crossroads, and a familiar slipping sensation fluttered through her mind. Dust and fragments of brick rained down as part of the wall above the men shattered. Rubble bounced harmlessly off the air above their heads.

The magicians glanced at the wall, then turned calculating eyes on her. Afraid that they would think she was attacking them, and retaliate, she backed away. She felt the slipping again. A searing heat enveloped her leg. Looking down, she saw snow sizzling into a pool of water at her feet. Steam billowed up, filling the alley with warm, impenetrable mist.

They can't see me! She felt a rash of hope. I can slip past them.

Turning, she leapt back down the alley. The dark shadow of the man moved to block her path. She hesitated, then reached into her coat. The cold handle of her knife met her searching fingers. As the magician reached out to grab her she ducked under his outstretched hands and threw herself against him with all her weight. He staggered backward, but did not fall. Before he could recover his balance, she stabbed the thin blade hard into his thigh.

The blade sank sickeningly deep into his leg. As he yelled in surprise and pain, she felt a cruel thrill of satisfaction. Pulling the knife free, she thrust him out of her way with all her strength. As he fell against the wall, groaning, she turned to ran.

Fingers caught her wrist. With a growl she turned and tried to twist herself free. His grip tightened and began to hurt, and she felt the knife slip from her grasp.

A gust of wind chased the mist from the alley and revealed the other three magicians hurrying toward her. She felt panic rising and began to straggle uselessly, her feet skittering over the wet ground. With a grant of effort, her captor yanked on her arm, pulling her past him toward the trio.

Terror rushed over her as she felt hands grasp her arms. Twisting about, she tried to shake herself free, but their grip was strong. Hands pushed her against the wall, holding her still. Panting, she found herself surrounded by magicians, all staring at her with bright eyes.

"She's a wild one," one of the men said. The injured one gave a short, rueful laugh.

As she looked at the closest magician she felt a shock of recognition. This was the magician who had seen her during the Purge. He stared into her eyes intently.

"Do not fear us, Sonea," he said. "We will not harm you."

One of the magicians muttered something. The older magician nodded, then the others slowly withdrew their hands.

An invisible force held her against the wall. Unable to move, she felt a wave of despair followed by the familiar sensation of magic slipping beyond her grasp. The other three magicians ducked as the wall behind them burst, showering the alley with bricks.

A man in a baker's apron stepped up to the opening, his face dark with anger. Seeing the four magicians, he hesitated, eyes widening. One of the magicians turned and made an abrupt gesture.

"Get yourself away from here," he barked. "And everyone else in this block."

The man backed away, then disappeared into the darkness of the house.

"Sonea."

The older magician was looking at her intently. "Listen to me. We are not going to hurt you. We …"

A searing heat pressed against her face. Turning, she saw that the bricks nearby were glowing red. A trickle of something ran down the wall. She heard one of the magicians utter an oath.

"Sonea," the older magician said, a sternness entering his voice. "Stop fighting us. You will harm yourself."

The wall behind her began to shake. The magicians threw their arms out as the tremor spread. Sonea gasped as cracks began to shoot out from the ground beneath her feet.

"Slow your breathing," the magician urged. "Try to calm yourself."

She closed her eyes, then shook her head. It was no use. The magic was flowing from her like water from a broken pipe. She felt a hand touch her forehead and opened her eyes.

The magician withdrew his hand. His face was tense. He said something to the others, then looked into her eyes.

"I can help you, Sonea," the magician said. "I can show you how to stop this but not if you won't let me. I know you have every reason to fear and distrust us but if you don't do this now, you are going to harm both yourself and many, many people in this area. Do you understand?"

She stared at him. Help her? Why would he want to help her?

But if he had intended to kill me, she realized suddenly, he would have done it already.

His face began to shimmer then, and she realized that the air about her had begun to ripple with heat. It seared her face and she bit back a cry of pain. The magician and his companions appeared unaffected, but their expressions were grim.

Though a part of her rebelled at the idea, she knew something bad was about to happen if she didn't do what these magicians wanted her to do.

The older magician frowned. "Sonea," he said sternly. "We don't have enough time to explain. I will attempt to show you, but you must not resist."

The magician lifted a hand and touched her forehead. His eyes closed.

At once she became aware of a person at the edge of her mind. She knew instantly that his name was Rothen. Unlike the minds that she had sensed searching for her, this one could see her.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on his presence.

— Listen to me. You have almost completely lost control of your powers.

Though she heard no words, the meaning was clear—and frightening. She understood at once that the power she had would kill her if she did not learn to control it.

— Look for this in your mind.

Something—a wordless thought—an instruction to search. She became aware of a place within herself that was both familiar and strange. As she focused upon it, it became clearer. A great blinding sphere of light, floating in darkness …

— This is your power. It has grown into a great store of energy, even with you drawing upon it. You must release it— but in a controlled way.

This was her magic? She reached toward it. Immediately, white light flashed from the sphere. Pain raced through her, and somewhere in the distance she heard a voice cry out.

— Don't try to reach for it— not until I show you how. Now, watch me …

He called her attention away. She followed him somewhere else, and she became aware of another sphere of light.

— Observe.

She watched as, with a flexing of his will, he drew power from the sphere, shaped it and let it go.

— Now you try.

Focusing on her own light, she willed a little of its energy to come forth. Magic suffused her mind. She had only to think of what she wanted it to do and it was gone.

— That's right. Now do it again, but keep drawing until you have used all the power you have.

—All?

— Do not be afraid. You are meant to be able to wield that much, and the exercise that I have shown you will use it in a way that will not cause harm.

Her chest swelled as she took a deep breath and let it out. Drawing on her power again, she began to shape and release it over and over. Once she had begun, it seemed eager to answer her will. The sphere began to shrink, slowly diminishing until it was no more than a spark floating in darkness.

— There, it is done.

She opened her eyes and blinked at the destruction surrounding her. The walls were gone, replaced with smoldering rubble for twenty paces in all directions. The magicians regarded her cautiously.

Though the wall behind her was gone, the invisible force still held her upright. As it released her she swayed on her feet, her legs shaking with weariness, then crumpled to her knees. Barely able to hold her back straight, she frowned up at the older magician.

He smiled and bent to place his hand on her shoulder.

— You are safe for now, Sonea. You have used all your energy. Rest. We will talk soon.

As he lifted her into his arms a wave of dizziness rushed over her, bringing a blackness that smothered all thought.

Panting from effort and pain, Cery slumped against the broken wall. Sonea's cry still echoed in his ears. He pressed his hands to his head and closed his eyes.

"Sonea …" he whispered.

Sighing, he removed his hands and belatedly heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He looked up to see that the man who had blocked his retreat from the alley had returned and was now staring at him intently.

Cery ignored him. His eyes had found a bright color in all the dust and rubble. He crouched and touched a ribbon of red dripping along the edge of a broken brick. Blood.

Footsteps drew near. A boot appeared beside the blood— boots with buttons in the shape of the Guild symbol. Anger blazed through Cery, and he rose and struck out in one motion, aiming for the man's face.

The man caught Cery's fist neatly and twisted. Unbalanced, Cery stumbled and fell, his head striking the broken wall. Colors flashed before his eyes. Gasping, he staggered to his feet, his hands pressed to his head in an attempt to stop the world spinning. The man chuckled.

"Stupid dwell," he said.

Running his fingers through his fine blonde hair, the magician turned on his heel and stalked away.

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