aware how helpless they’d be in the face of magic, but relying on diplomacy and the threat of retaliation from their homeland to keep them safe from harm. Dannyl thought of the blood ring Administrator Osen had given him, made by Black Magician Kallen out of Osen’s blood so that Dannyl could contact him.
Suddenly the wall of rock beside him was gone, and in its place was a great, pale expanse. Lorkin made a wordless exclamation, changed to the seat opposite Dannyl and moved close to the window to look out.
“So that’s the wasteland,” he breathed.
A treeless slope fell steeply from the edge of the road down to rocky, eroded hills below. Lapping around them like a frozen sea was a desert, dunes rippling across the land. The air was dry, Dannyl noticed suddenly, and tasted of dust.
“I guess it is,” he replied.
“It’s... bigger than I thought,” Lorkin said.
“We are taught that it was meant to be a barrier,” Dannyl said. “But the older records only comment that it
“So nobody knows for sure why it was created, let alone how?”
“There are some records that state that those who made it intended to weaken Sachaka by ruining its most productive land. I’ve found letters in which magicians support the idea, and others who thought it an appalling idea. But the letters have the tone of people reacting to rumour and gossip, not an official decision.”
Lorkin grimaced. “It wouldn’t be the first time in history someone acted independently of the Guild.”
“No.” Dannyl wondered if Lorkin was referring to his parents. His tone had been wry.
They sat and stared at the wasteland for several minutes without speaking. Then Lorkin shook his head and sighed.
“The land has never recovered. Not after seven hundred years. Has anyone tried to restore it?”
Dannyl shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing nobody knows how it was done. If we ever face a proper war – rather than a bunch of outcasts – we’d be in some serious trouble.”
Looking out over the ruined land, Dannyl had to agree. “From all accounts, the Sachakans were furious at the devastation. If they’d known how to strike back, they would have. I don’t think they know any more than we do.”
Lorkin nodded. “It’s probably better that way.” He frowned and looked at Dannyl. “But if we do find anything...”
“We will have to keep it a secret. At least until we can pass on the information to the High Lord Balkan. It would be even more dangerous than the knowledge of black magic.”
Chapter 9
Seeking Truths
Like many low-born novices from the poorer parts of the city, Norrin was of small stature. But he looked even smaller walking between the two Warriors escorting him into the Guildhall. Sonea felt her heart twist in sympathy as he glanced up at the rows of magicians staring down at him on either side, turned white, then set his gaze on the floor.
By Guild rules, any novice who failed to attend the University or reside in the Grounds without permission to live elsewhere was considered a potential rogue, and must be brought before the assembled Guild to explain themselves, even if only the Higher Magicians were to judge their actions and decide on a punishment.
The escorts stopped at the front, Norrin halting beside them and bowing to the Higher Magicians. Administrator Osen glanced back at the Higher Magicians – at Sonea. For a second their gazes locked, then he looked away.
Others had noted his glance, and she found herself the subject of speculative looks from High Lord Balkan, Lady Vinara and Director Jerrik. She resisted the urge to shrug to indicate she had no idea why Osen had chosen that moment to look at her, instead ignoring them and keeping her attention on the novice.
The Administrator approached Norrin, whose shoulders hunched, but he didn’t look up.
“Novice Norrin,” Osen said. “You have been absent from the Guild Grounds and University for two months. You have ignored requests that you return, forcing us to take you into custody. You know the law restricting a novice’s movements and where he or she may reside. Why have you broken it?”
Norrin’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath and let it out again. He straightened and looked up at the Administrator.
“I don’t want to be a magician,” he said. “I’d want to, if I didn’t want to look after my family more.” He stopped and looked down again. Sonea could not see Osen’s face, but his posture was all patient expectation.
“Your family?” he prompted.
Norrin looked around, then flushed. “My little brothers and sisters. Mother can’t look after them. She’s sick.”
“And nobody else can take on this responsibility?” Osen asked.
“No. My sister – next oldest after me – died last year. The rest are too young. I didn’t use magic once,” he added quickly. “I know I’m not supposed to if I’m not gonna be a magician.”
“If you do not wish to be a magician – if you wish to leave the Guild – you must have your powers blocked,” Osen told him.
The novice blinked, then looked up at the Administrator with such hope that Sonea felt a pain in her chest. “You can do that?” Norrin said in a barely audible voice. “Then I can go look after my family and nobody will mind?” He frowned. “It doesn’t cost a lot, does it?”
Osen said nothing, then shook his head. “It costs nothing, except in lost opportunities for yourself. Can’t you wait a few more years? Wouldn’t it be better for your family if you were a magician?”
Norrin’s face darkened. “No. I can’t see them. I can’t get money to them. I can’t make Mother’s... sickness go away. And the others’re too young to look after themselves.”
Osen then turned to the Higher Magicians. “I suggest we discuss this.”
Sonea nodded her agreement along with the others. The Administrator indicated that the escort should take the boy out of the hall. As soon as the doors closed, Lady Vinara sighed loudly and turned to face them.
“The boy’s mother is a whore. She is not sick, she is addicted to roet.”
“It is true,” University Director Jerrik said. “But he has not picked up the habits of his mother. He is a sensible young man, studious and well mannered, with strong powers. It would be a pity to lose him.”
“He is too young to know what he is giving up,” Lord Garrel added. “He will regret sacrificing magic for the sake of his family.”
“But he would regret it more if he sacrificed his family for magic,” Sonea could not help adding.
Faces turned toward her. She had not made a habit of participating in the debates of the Higher Magicians these last twenty years. At first, because she felt too young and inexperienced in Guild politics to contribute, later because it had become clear to her that her position among them had been bestowed not out of respect but out of a begrudging acknowledgement of her powers and assistance in defending the country.
