Black Magician-02 The Novice
Trudi Canavan
[version history]
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"Even if a magician's powers surface of their own
accord, he will soon be dead if he does not gain
the knowledge of how to control them."
Alone among all the novices in the Magicians' Guild, only Sonea comes from lowly beginnings. Yet she has won powerful allies—including Lord Dannyl, newly promoted to Guild Ambassador. But Dannyl must now depart for the Elyne court, leaving Sonea at the mercy of the lies and malicious rumors her enemies are busy spreading ... until the High Lord Akkarin steps in. The price of Akkarin's support is dear, however, because Sonea, in turn, must protect his mysteries—and a secret that could lead a young novice mage deep into the darkness.
Meanwhile, Dannyl's first order to resume High Lord Akkarin's long-abandoned research into ancient magical knowledge is setting him on an extraordinary journey fraught with unanticipated peril—as he moves ever-closer to a future both wondrous... and terrible.
"Engaging... with some distinctive touches and
delightful characters that lift it well above average."
—Locus
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THE TEST
Sonea stared at the glowing disc of magic, but she kept seeing a memory of something else, something that made her stomach twist with dread and nausea.
A bolt of energy struck the disc. A memory of lights and screams flashed through her mind.
The crowd running ... a blackened corpse... the smell of burned flesh . . .
"Benyon."
The Kyralian boy stepped forward. The beam that shot forward from his hand was almost transparent.
"Forcestrike." Vorel sounded pleased. "Narron..."
Another bolt of power seared the air.
"Forcestrike mostly, but a great deal of heat. Sonea..."
She stared at the disc, but all she could see was a boy staring back at her. Fearful yet not comprehending.
"Sonea?"
When I decided I would join the Guild, I knew I would have to learn this. She focused her will and sent out a blast of anger.
What passed for a curse among the magicians could be heard over the clear sound of shattering glass. Ripples of light curved to the top of the Arena's spires and disappeared.
The disc was gone.
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Books by Trudi Canavan
The Black Magician Trilogy
The Magicians' Guild
The Novice
The High Lord
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The Novice
The Black Magician Trilogy
Book Two
TRUDI CANAVAN
An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers
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Copyright Information
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CONTENTS
Plan of the Grounds: Magicians' Guild of Kyralia
Map: City of Imardin
Map: Land of Kyralia
PART ONE
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
PART TWO
20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37
Epilogue
Lord Dannyl's Guide to Slum Slang
Glossary
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This book is dedicated to my mother, Irene Canavan,
who always said that, with hard work and
determination, I could be anything I wanted to be.
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Acknowledgements
In addition to those people I acknowledged in The Magicians' Guild, I would like to extend an extra thank you to:
The friends and family who generously gave their time to read and critique this book at short notice: Mum and Dad, Yvonne Hardingham, Paul Marshall, Anthony Mauriks, Donna Johansen, Jenny Powell, Sara Creasy, Paul Potiki.
Jack Dann, for launching The Magicians' Guild with such flair and enthusiasm. Justin Ackroyd for letting me take over his bookshop, and Julian Warner and the staff at Slow Glass Books for their assistance.
Fran Bryson, my agent and hero. And the publishing team at HarperCollins for turning my stories into such lovely, attractive books.
The first half of The Novice was written during a residency at Varuna Writers' Centre, granted by the Eleanor Dark Foundation. Thank you to Peter Bishop and the Varuna team for an inspiring and productive three weeks.
And finally, thank you to everyone who has emailed me with praise for The Magicians' Guild! Knowing I gave you all a few hours enjoyment and escape makes it all worthwhile.
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The Novice
The Black Magician Trilogy
Book Two
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PART ONE
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Chapter 1
The Acceptance Ceremony
For a few weeks each summer, the sky over Kyralia cleared to a harsh blue and the sun beat down relentlessly. In the city of Imardin, the streets were dusty and the masts of ships in the Marina writhed behind the heat haze, while men and women retreated to their homes to fan themselves and sip juices or—in the rougher parts of the slums—drink copious amounts of bol.
But in the Magicians' Guild of Kyralia these scorching days hailed the approach of an important occasion: the swearing in of the summer intake of novices.
Sonea grimaced and tugged at the collar of her dress. Though she had wanted to wear the same simple, but well-made clothes she had worn while living in the Guild, Rothen had insisted that she needed something fancier for the Acceptance Ceremony.
Rothen chuckled. "Don't worry, Sonea. It will all be over soon and you'll have robes to wear—and I'm sure you'll get sick of those soon enough."
"I'm not worried," Sonea told him irritably.
His eyes brightened with amusement. "Really? You don't feel even a little nervous?"
"It's not like the Hearing last year. That was wild."
"Wild?" His eyebrows rose. "You are nervous, Sonea. You haven't let that one slip in for weeks."
She gave a small sigh of exasperation. Since the Hearing five months earlier, when Rothen had won the right to be her guardian, he had given her the education that all novices must attain before starting at the University. She could read most of his books without help, and she could write, as Rothen put it, "well enough to get by." Mathematics had been harder to grasp, but the history lessons were fascinating.
During those months, Rothen had corrected her whenever she spoke a word of slum slang, and constantly made her rephrase and repeat herself until she sounded like a lady of a powerful Kyralian House. He warned her that the novices would not be as accepting of her past as he was, and she would only make things worse if she drew attention to her origins every time she spoke. He had used the same argument to persuade her to wear a dress for the Acceptance Ceremony, and though she knew he was right, it did not make her feel any more comfortable.
A circle of carriages came into view as they reached the front of the University. Beside each stood a set of primly dressed servants, all wearing the colors of the House they served. As Rothen appeared they turned and bowed to him.
Sonea stared at the carriages and felt her stomach turn over. She had seen vehicles like this before, but not so many together. Each was made of highly polished wood, carved and painted with intricate designs, and in the center of each door was a square design indicating which House the carriage belonged to—the House incal. She recognized the incals for Paren, Arran, Dillan and Saril, some of the most influential Houses in Imardin.
The sons and daughters of those Houses were going to be her classmates.
At that thought her stomach felt as if it were turning inside out. What would they think of her, the first Kyralian from outside the great Houses to join the
ir ranks for centuries? At the worst they would agree with Fergun, the magician who had tried to prevent her joining the Guild last year. He believed that only the offspring of the Houses should be allowed to learn magic. By imprisoning her friend, Cery, he had blackmailed Sonea into cooperating with his schemes. And those schemes would have proven to the Guild that Kyrahans of the lower classes were lacking in morals and not to be trusted with magic.
But Fergun's crime had been discovered, and he had been sent away to a distant fort. It did not seem to Sonea like a particularly severe punishment for threatening to kill her friend, and she could not help wondering if it would deter others from doing something similar.
She hoped that some of the novices would be like Rothen, who didn't care that she had once lived and worked in the slums. Some of the other races that attended the Guild might be more accepting of a girl from the lower classes, too. The Vindo were a friendly people; she had met several in the slums who had traveled to Imardin to work in vineyards and orchards. The Lan, she had been told, did not have lower and higher classes. They lived in tribes and ranked men and women through trials of bravery, cunning and wisdom—though where that would place her in their society she couldn't guess.
Looking up at Rothen, she thought of all he had done for her and felt a pang of affection and gratitude. Once she would have been horrified to find herself so dependent on, of all people, a magician. She had hated the Guild once, and first used her powers unintentionally when throwing a stone at a magician in anger. Then, as they searched for her, she had been so sure they meant to kill her she had dared to seek the Thieves' help, and they always extracted a high price for such favors.
As her powers grew uncontrollable, the magicians convinced the Thieves to hand her over into their care. Rothen had been her captor and teacher. He had proven to her that magicians—well, most of them—were not the cruel, selfish monsters that the slum dwellers believed them to be.
Two guards stood at either side of the open University doors. Their presence was a formality observed only when important visitors were expected at the Guild. They bowed stiffly as Rothen led Sonea into the Entrance Hall.
Though she had seen it a few times before, the hall still amazed her. A thousand impossibly thin filaments of a glass-like substance sprouted from the floor, supporting stairs that spiraled gracefully up to the higher levels. Delicate threads of white marble wove between rails and stairs like branches of a climbing vine. They looked too fine to hold the weight of a man—and probably would be if they were not strengthened by magic.
Continuing past the stairs, they entered a short corridor. Beyond this was the rough gray of the Guildhall, an ancient building protected and enclosed by an enormous room known as the Great Hall. Several people were standing outside the Guildhall doors, and Sonea felt her mouth go dry at the sight of them. Men and women turned to see who was approaching and their eyes brightened with interest as they saw Rothen. The magicians among them nodded politely. The others bowed.
As he stepped into the Great Hall, Rothen led Sonea to one side of the small crowd. Sonea noted that, despite the summer warmth, all but the magicians were dressed in layers of opulent clothing. The women were draped in elaborate gowns; the men wore longcoats, the sleeves decorated with incal. Looking closer, she caught her breath. Every seam was sewn with tiny glints of red, green and blue stones. Huge gems were set into the buttons of the long-coats. Chains of precious metals looped around necks and wrists, and jewels sparkled on gloved hands.
Looking at one man's longcoat, she considered how easy it would be for a professional thief to divest him of his buttons. There were small hinged blades available in the slums for that task. All it took was an "accidental" collision, an apology, and a hasty retreat. The man probably wouldn't realize he'd been robbed until he got home. And that woman's bracelet...
Sonea shook her head. How am I going to make friends with these people if all I can think of is how easy it would be to rob them? Yet she could not help smiling. She had been as skilled at picking pockets and locks as any of her childhood friends—except maybe Cery—and though her aunt Jonna had eventually persuaded Sonea that thieving was wrong, Sonea had not forgotten the tricks of the trade.
Gathering her courage, she looked at the younger strangers and saw several faces quickly turn away. Amused, she wondered what they had been expecting to see. A simpering beggar girl? A workwoman bent and coarsened from labor? A painted whore?
Since none of them would meet her gaze, she was able to examine them freely. Only two of the families had the typical Kyralian black hair and pale skin. One of the mothers was dressed in green Healer's robes. The other held the hand of a thin girl who was gazing dreamily up at the glittering glass ceiling of the hall.
Three other families stood together, their short stature and reddish hair typical of the Elyne race. They talked quietly among themselves, and occasionally a laugh echoed in the hall.
A pair of dark-skinned Lonmar waited in silence. Heavy gold talismans of the Mahga religion hung over the father's purple Alchemist robes, and both father and son had shaved off their hair. A second pair of Lonmar stood on the far side of the waiting families. The son's skin was a paler brown, hinting at a mother of different race. The father, too, wore robes, but his were the red of a Warrior and he wore no jewelry or talismans.
Hovering near the corridor was a family of Vindo. Though the father was richly dressed, the furtive glances he directed at the others hinted that he felt uncomfortable in their company. Their son was a stocky youth whose brown skin had a sickly yellow cast to it.
As the boy's mother rested a hand on his shoulder, Sonea thought of her aunt Jonna and uncle Ranel and felt a familiar disappointment. Though they were her only family, having raised her after her mother died and her father left, they had been too intimidated by the Guild to visit her there. When she had asked them to come to the Acceptance Ceremony they had declined, saying that they would not leave their newborn son in another's care, and that it would not be proper to bring a crying baby to such an important ceremony.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor and Sonea turned to watch another grandly dressed trio of Kyralians join the visitors. The boy sent a haughty look around the circle of people. As his eyes swept around the room they fell upon Rothen, then slid to Sonea.
He looked directly into Sonea's eyes and a friendly smile curled the edges of his mouth. Surprised, she began to smile in reply, but as she did his expression slowly twisted into a sneer.
Sonea could only stare back at him in dismay. The boy turned away dismissively, but not so quickly that she didn't catch a smile of smug satisfaction. Sonea narrowed her eyes and watched as he turned his attention to the other entrants.
It appeared that he already knew the other Kyralian boy, and the two exchanged friendly winks. The girls were treated with dazzling smiles; while the thin Kyralian girl responded with apparent disdain, her eyes lingered on him long after he had turned away. The rest received polite nods.
A loud, metallic clunk interrupted the social game. All heads turned toward the Guildhall. A long, tense silence followed, then excited whispers filled the air as the enormous doors began to swing outward. As the gap widened, a familiar golden glow flowed from the hall within. The light came from thousands of tiny magical globes floating a few feet below the ceiling. A warm scent of wood and polish spilled out to welcome them.
Hearing gasps, Sonea turned to see that most of the visitors were gazing into the hall in wonder. She smiled as she realized that the other entrants, and some of the adults, would not have seen the Guildhall before. Only the magicians, and those parents who had attended ceremonies for older children, had been inside. And her.
She sobered as she remembered her previous visit, when the High Lord had brought Cery into the Guildhall, ending Fergun's hold over her. For Cery, part of a dream had been fulfilled that day, too. Her friend had made a promise to himself that he would visit all of the great buildings of the city at least once du
ring his lifetime. The fact that he was a low-born street urchin had only made fulfilling this dream a greater challenge for him.
But Cery was no longer the adventurous boy she had hung about with as a child, or the mischievous youth who had helped her evade the Guild for so long. Each time she saw him, when he visited her in the Guild or she had met him in the slums, he seemed older and less carefree. If she asked what he was doing with his time, or if he was still working for the Thieves, he smiled slyly and changed the subject.
He seemed content, however. And if he was working for the Thieves, perhaps it was better that she didn't know what he was up to.
A robed figure strode forward to stand in the Guildhall doorway. Sonea recognized Lord Osen, the Administrator's assistant. He raised a hand and cleared his throat.
"The Guild welcomes you all," he said. "The Acceptance Ceremony will now begin. Would the University entrants please form a line. They will enter first; parents will follow after and take seats on the floor level."
As the other entrants hurried forward, Sonea felt a hand touch her shoulder lightly. Turning, she looked up at Rothen.
"Don't worry. It'll all be over soon," he reassured her.
