Thief's Magic
Trudi Canavan
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Trudi Canavan lives in Melbourne, Australia. She has been making up stories about people and places that don’t exist for as long as she can remember. While working as a freelance illustrator and designer, she wrote the bestselling Black Magician trilogy which was published in 2001–3 and was named an “Evergreen” by the Bookseller in 2010. The Magician’s Apprentice, a prequel to the trilogy, won the Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Novel in 2009 and the final of the sequel trilogy, The Traitor Queen, reached number on The Times hardback bestseller list in 2011. For more information, visit www.trudicanavan.com.
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BY TRUDI CANAVAN
The Magician’s Apprentice
The Black Magician trilogy
The Magicians’ Guild
The Novice
The High Lord
Age of the Five
Priestess of the White
Last of the Wilds
Voice of the Gods
The Traitor Spy trilogy
The Ambassador’s Mission
The Rogue
The Traitor Queen
Millennium’s Rule
Thief’s Magic
COPYRIGHT
Published by Orbit
ISBN: 9780748132379
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Trudi Canavan
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Orbit
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
www.littlebrown.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Table of Contents
About the Author
By Trudi Canavan
Copyright
Part One: Tyen
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part Two: Rielle
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part Three: Tyen
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part Four: Rielle
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part Five: Tyen
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part Six: Rielle
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part Seven: Tyen
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part Eight: Rielle
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part Nine: Tyen
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part Ten: Rielle
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part Eleven: Epilogue
Tyen
Rielle
Acknowledgements
PART ONE
TYEN
CHAPTER 1
The corpse’s shrivelled, unbending fingers surrendered the bundle reluctantly. Wrestling the object out of the dead man’s grip seemed disrespectful so Tyen worked slowly, gently lifting a hand when a blackened fingernail snagged on the covering. He’d touched the ancient dead so often they didn’t sicken or frighten him now. Their desiccated flesh had long ago stopped being a source of transferable sickness, and he did not believe in ghosts.
When the mysterious bundle came free Tyen straightened and smiled in triumph. He wasn’t as ruthless at collecting ancient artefacts as his fellow students and his teacher, but bringing home nothing from these research trips would see him fail to graduate as a sorcerer-archaeologist. He willed his tiny magic-fuelled flame closer.
The object’s covering, like the tomb’s occupant, was dry and stiff having, by his estimate, lain undisturbed for six hundred years. Thick leather darkened with age, it had no markings – no adornment, no precious stones or metals. As he tried to open it the wrapping snapped apart and something inside began to slide out. His pulse quickened as he caught the object …
… and his heart sank a little. No treasure lay in his hands. Just a book. Not even a jewel-encrusted, gold-embellished book.
Not that a book didn’t have potential historical value, but compared to the glittering treasures Professor Kilraker’s other two students had unearthed for the Academy it was a disappointing find. After all the months of travel, research, digging and watching he had little to show for his own work. He had finally unearthed a tomb that hadn’t already been ransacked by grave robbers and what did it contain? A plain stone coffin, an unadorned corpse and an old book.
Still, the old fossils at the Academy wouldn’t regret sponsoring his journey if the book turned out to be significant. He examined it closely. Unlike the wrapping, the leather cover felt supple. The binding was in good condition. If he hadn’t just broken apart the covering to get it out, he’d have guessed the book’s age at no more than a hundred or so years. It had no title or text on the spine. Perhaps it had worn off. He opened it. No word marked the first page, so he turned it. The next was also blank and as he fanned through the rest of the pages he saw that they were as well.
He stared at it in disbelief. Why would anyone bury a blank book in a tomb, carefully wrapped and placed in the hands of the occupant? He looked at the corpse, but it offered no answer. Then something drew his eye back to the book, still open to one of the last pages. He looked closer.
A mark had appeared.
Next to it a dark patch formed, then dozens more. They spread and joined up.
Hello, they said. My name is Vella.
Tyen uttered a word his mother would have been shocked to hear if she had still been alive. Relief and wonder replaced disappointment. The book was magical. Though most sorcerous books used magic in minor and frivolous ways, they were so rare that the Academy would always take them for its collection. His trip hadn’t been a waste.
So what did this book do? Why did text only appear when it was opened? Why did it have a name? More words formed on the page.
I’ve always had a name. I used to be a person. A living, breathing woman.
Tyen stared at the words. A chill ran down his spine, yet at the same time he felt a familiar thrill. Magic could sometimes be disturbing. It was often inexplicable. He liked that not everything about it was understood. It left room for new discoveries. Which was why he had chosen to study sorcery alongside history. In both fields there was an opportunity to make a name for himself.
He’d never heard of a person turning into a book before. How is that possible? he wondered.
I was made by a powerful sorcerer, replied the text. He took my knowledge and flesh and transformed me.
His skin tingled. The bo
ok had responded to the question he’d shaped in his mind. Do you mean these pages are made of your flesh? he asked.
Yes. My cover and pages are my skin. My binding is my hair, twisted together and sewn with needles fashioned from my bones and glue from tendons.
He shuddered. And you’re conscious?
Yes.
You can hear my thoughts?
Yes, but only when you touch me. When not in contact with a living human, I am blind and deaf, trapped in the darkness with no sense of time passing. Not even sleeping. Not quite dead. The years of my life slipping past – wasted.
Tyen stared down at the book. The words remained, nearly filling a page now, dark against the creamy vellum. Which was her skin …
It was grotesque and yet … all vellum was made of skin. While these pages were human skin, they felt no different to that made of animals. They were soft and pleasant to touch. The book was not repulsive in the way an ancient, desiccated corpse was.
And it was so much more interesting. Conversing with it was akin to talking with the dead. If the book was as old as the tomb it knew about the time before it was laid there. Tyen smiled. He may not have found gold and jewels to help pay his way on this expedition, but the book could make up for that with historical information.
More text formed.
Contrary to appearances, I am not an “it”.
Perhaps it was the effect of the light on the page, but the new words seemed a little larger and darker than the previous text. Tyen felt his face warm a little.
I’m sorry, Vella. It was bad mannered of me. I assure you, I meant no offence. It is not every day that a man addresses a talking book, and I am not entirely sure of the protocol.
She was a woman, he reminded himself. He ought to follow the etiquette he’d been raised to follow. Though talking to women could be fiendishly tricky, even when following all the rules about manners. It would be rude to begin their association by interrogating her about the past. Rules of conversation decreed he should ask after her wellbeing.
So … is it nice being a book?
When I am being held and read by someone nice, it is, she replied.
And when you are not, it is not? I can see that might be a disadvantage in your state, though one you must have anticipated before you became a book.
I would have, if I’d had foreknowledge of my fate.
So you did not choose to become a book. Why did your maker do that to you? Was it a punishment?
No, though perhaps it was natural justice for being too ambitious and vain. I sought his attention, and received more of it than I intended.
Why did you seek his attention?
He was famous. I wanted to impress him. I thought my friends would be envious.
And for that he turned you into a book. What manner of man could be so cruel?
He was the most powerful sorcerer of his time, Roporien the Clever.
Tyen caught his breath and a chill ran down his back. Roporien! But he died over a thousand years ago!
Indeed.
Then you are …
At least as old as that. Though in my time it wasn’t polite to comment on a woman’s age.
He smiled. It still isn’t – and I don’t think it ever will be. I apologise again.
You are a polite young man. I will enjoy being owned by you.
You want me to own you? Tyen suddenly felt uncomfortable. He realised he now thought of the book as a person, and owning a person was slavery – an immoral and uncivilised practice that had been illegal for over a hundred years.
Better that than spend my existence in oblivion. Books don’t last for ever, not even magical ones. Keep me. Make use of me. I can give you a wealth of knowledge. All I ask is that you hold me as often as possible so that I can spend my lifespan awake and aware.
I don’t know … The man who created you did many terrible things – as you experienced yourself. I don’t want to follow in his shadow. Then something occurred to him that made his skin creep. Forgive me for being blunt about it, but his book, or any of his tools, could be designed for evil purposes. Are you one such tool?
I was not designed so, but that does not mean I could not be used so. A tool is only as evil as the hand that uses it.
The familiarity of the saying was startling and unexpectedly reassuring. It was one that Professor Weldan liked. The old historian had always been suspicious of magical things.
How do I know you’re not lying about not being evil?
I cannot lie.
Really? But what if you’re lying about not being able to lie?
You’ll have to work that one out for yourself.
Tyen frowned as he considered how he might devise a test for her, then realised something was buzzing right beside his ear. He shied away from the sensation, then breathed a sigh of relief as he saw it was Beetle, his little mechanical creation. More than a toy, yet not quite what he’d describe as a pet, it had proven to be a useful companion on the expedition.
The palm-sized insectoid swooped down to land on his shoulder, folded its iridescent blue wings, then whistled three times. Which was a warning that …
“Tyen!”
… Miko, his friend and fellow archaeology student was approaching.
The voice echoed in the short passage leading from the outside world to the tomb. Tyen muttered a curse. He glanced down at the page. Sorry, Vella. Have to go. Footsteps neared the door of the tomb. With no time to slip her into his bag, he stuffed her down his shirt, where she settled against the waistband of his trousers. She was warm – which was a bit disturbing now that he knew she was a conscious thing created from human flesh – but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He turned to the door in time to see Miko stumble into view.
“Didn’t think to bring a lamp?” he asked.
“No time,” the other student gasped. “Kilraker sent me to get you. The others have gone back to the camp to pack up. We’re leaving Mailand.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now,” Miko replied.
Tyen looked back at the small tomb. Though Professor Kilraker liked to refer to these foreign trips as treasure hunts, his peers expected the students to bring back evidence that the journeys were also educational. Copying the faint decorations on the tomb walls would have given them something to mark. He thought wistfully of the new instant etchers that some of the richer professors and self-funded adventurers used to record their work. They were far beyond his meagre allowance. Even if they weren’t, Kilraker wouldn’t take them on expeditions because they were heavy and fragile.
Picking up his satchel, Tyen opened the flap. “Beetle. Inside.” The insectoid scuttled down his arm into the bag. Tyen slung the strap over his head and shoulder and sent his flame into the passage.
“We have to hurry,” Miko said, leading the way. “The locals heard about where you’re digging. Must’ve been one of the boys Kilraker hired to deliver food who told them. A bunch are coming up the valley and they’re sounding those battle horns they carry.”
“They didn’t want us digging here? Nobody told me that!”
“Kilraker said not to. He said you were bound to find something impressive, after all the research you did.”
He reached the hole where Tyen had broken through into the passage and squeezed out. Tyen followed, letting the flame die as he climbed out into the bright afternoon sunlight. Dry heat enveloped him. Miko scrambled up the sides of the ditch. Following, Tyen looked back and surveyed his work. Nothing remained in the tomb that robbers would want, but he couldn’t stand to leave it exposed to vermin and he felt guilty about unearthing a tomb the locals didn’t wanted disturbed. Reaching out with his mind, he pulled magic to himself then moved the rocks and earth on either side back into the ditch.
“What are you doing?” Miko sounded exasperated.
“Filling it in.”
“We don’t have time!” Miko grabbed his arm and yanked him around so that they both looked down into the valley. He pointed.
“See?”
The valley sides were near-vertical cliffs, and where the faces had crumbled over time piles of rubble had built up against the sides to form steep slopes. Tyen and Miko were standing atop of one of these.
At the bottom of the valley a long line of people was moving, faces tilted to search the scree above. One arm rose, pointing at Tyen and Miko. The rest stopped, then fists were raised.
A shiver went through Tyen, part fear, part guilt. Though the people inhabiting the remote valleys of Mailand were unrelated to the ancient race that had buried its dead in the tombs, they felt that such places of death should not be disturbed lest ghosts be awakened. They’d made this clear when Kilraker had arrived, and to previous archaeologists, but their protests had never been more than verbal and they’d indicated that some areas were less important than others. They must really be upset, if Kilraker had cut the expedition short.
Tyen opened his mouth to ask, when the ground beside him exploded. They both threw up their arms to shield their faces from the dust and stones.
“Can you protect us?” Miko asked.
“Yes. Give me a moment…” Tyen gathered more magic. This time he stilled the air around them. Most of what a sorcerer did was either moving or stilling. Heating and cooling was another form of moving or stilling, only more intense and focused. As the dust settled beyond his shield he saw the locals had gathered together behind a brightly dressed woman who served as priestess and sorcerer to the locals. He took a step towards them.
“Are you mad?” Miko asked.
“What else can we do? We’re trapped up here. We should just go talk to them. Explain that I didn’t—”
The ground exploded again, this time much closer.
“They don’t seem in the mood for talking.”
“They won’t hurt two sons of the Leratian Empire,” Tyen reasoned. “Mailand gains a lot of profit from being one of the safer colonies.”
Miko snorted. “Do you think the villagers care? They don’t get any of the profit.”
“Well … the Governors will punish them.”
“They don’t look too worried about that right now.” Miko turned to stare up at the face of the cliff behind them. “I’m not waiting to see if they’re bluffing.” He set off along the edge of the slope where it met the cliff.
