comprehending...
“Sonea?”
She took a deep breath and pushed the nightmare image away. When I decided I would join the Guild, I knew I would have to learn this. These fights are just a game. A dangerous game created so that fighting skills were kept alive in case the Allied Lands were attacked.
Lord Vorel took a step toward her, then stopped as she lifted a hand. For the first time since her Control lessons she consciously reached to the energy inside her. The other novices shifted impatiently.
The image of the boy returned. She needed to replace it with something else, or her nerve would break. As Regin muttered something about being afraid, another figure appeared in her mind’s eye and she smiled. 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. Sonea felt her stomach turn over. Had she missed the disc?
Ripples of light curved to the top of the Arena’s spires and disappeared. The disc was gone. Puzzled, she looked to Lord Vorel, who was rubbing his temples.
“I did not say you should throw all your strength into it yet, Sonea,” he said. “That was a... combination of... firestrike and forcestrike - I think.” He turned to Poril, who went instantly rigid. “I shall restore the target in a moment. Do not strike until I tell you to.”
He remained silent for several minutes, his eyes closed. Then he drew in a deep breath and set up the disc again.
“Go on, Poril.”
The boy sighed. Lifting a hand, he sent an almost invisible strike at the shield.
“Good,” Vorel said, nodding. “A forcestrike, with no wasted magic. Now, you will all strike again, but this time in full strength. After that, you will all learn to shape your strikes to a purpose. Regin.”
Sonea watched as the novices attacked the barrier. It was difficult to know if the strikes were more powerful, but Vorel seemed satisfied. As it came to Sonea’s turn he hesitated, then shrugged.
“Go on. Let’s see if you can do it again.”
Amused, she drew on her power and let it loose. The disc seemed to hold, then it wavered and disappeared. White light arced up and over the Arena barrier, causing the novices to duck involuntarily. The air shivered with the sound of it, then all fell silent.
Vorel regarded her speculatively. “No doubt your age has given you an advantage,” he said, almost to himself. “Just as Poril’s experience has given him control.” He set up the barrier again. “Poril, show us a forcestrike.”
The boy’s strike was almost invisible. Vorel gestured to the barrier.
“As you could see - or not see - Poril’s strike was economical. There was no excess light or heat. Its potency was directed forward, and in no other direction. You will now try to shape your power into forcestrikes. Regin, you will begin.”
As the class continued, Sonea realized she was enjoying herself. Shaping her strikes was challenging, but easy once she had the “feel” of each type. When Vorel directed them back to the classroom she was almost disappointed that the lesson had ended.
Looking around, she noted the smiles and excited exchanges between the other novices. They hurried up the stairs and filled the corridor with chatter. Entering the classroom, they quietened as they returned to their seats.
Lord Vorel waited until the room was silent, then crossed his arms.
“In the next lesson we will return to the refinement of barriers.” The novices slumped with disappointment. “What you have seen today should show clearly why it is so important for you to learn to shield yourself well,” he said sternly. “For the remaining time before midbreak I would like you to write down what you have learned today.”
A low moan escaped the lips of several novices. As they began to open their notebooks, Sonea reached for the latches of her box. Touching them, she realized she had forgotten to set the magical lock.
Opening it, she breathed a sigh of relief as she found her belongings intact. She lifted out her folder of notes, but as she did something slipped from the pages and fell to the floor with a metallic sound.
“That’s my pen!”
Sonea looked up to see Narron glaring at her. Frowning, she looked down and saw a sliver of gold lying on the floor at her feet. She bent down and picked it up.
A hand plucked the pen from her fingers. She looked up to see Lord Vorel staring down at her. He turned to Narron.
“Is this the pen you said was missing?”
“Yes.” Narron turned to stare at Sonea. “Sonea had it in her box.”
Vorel’s jaw tightened as he turned his eyes back to Sonea.
“Where did you get this from?”
Sonea looked down at the box in her hands.
“It was in here,” she said.
“She stole my pen!” Narron declared indignantly.
“I did not!” she protested.
“Sonea.” Vorel’s fingers curled around the pen. “Come with me.”
He turned on his heel and strode to the front of the class. Sonea stared at him in disbelief, until he turned and scowled at her.
“Now!” he barked.
Closing the box, Sonea rose and followed him to the door, conscious of the eyes that followed her. She glanced at the novices. Surely they didn’t believe she had stolen Narron’s pen - not when it was so clear that Regin had played a trick on her again?
They stared back at her, their eyes narrowed in suspicion. Poril looked down and avoided her eyes. She felt a stab of hurt and turned away.
She was the slum girl. The girl who had admitted to stealing as a child. The outsider. A friend of Thieves. They had seen Regin taunting her, but they had never known about the notes and books he had stolen, or the numerous other tricks he had played on her. They didn’t know how cunning and determined he was.
She couldn’t accuse Regin. Even if she dared to, and risked a truth-read, she couldn’t prove that he had actually done it. She had only her own innocence to prove, and she dared not risk a truth-read for that, for if she did, and the University Director didn’t allow her to choose the truth-reader, someone might learn about the High Lord’s crime.
Vorel paused at the door. “Narron, you had better come too,” he said. “The rest of you finish your notes. I will not return before midbreak.”
As he entered the University Director’s office, Rothen noted the posture of the occupants. Jerrik sat at his desk, his arms crossed and a grim expression darkening his face. Sonea was slumped in a chair, her eyes focused elsewhere. Another novice perched on a stool nearby, sitting very straight. Behind him stood the Warrior, Lord Vorel, whose gaze burned with anger.
“What is this about?” Rothen asked.
Jerrik’s frown deepened. “Your novice has been found to be in possession of a pen belonging to her classmate, Narron.”
Rothen looked at Sonea, but she didn’t raise her head to meet his eyes.
“Is this true, Sonea?”
“Yes.”
“Details?”
“I opened my box and picked up my notes, and the pen fell out.”
“How did it get in there?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Jerrik stepped forward. “You didn’t put it there?”
“I don’t know.”
