“Now,” Vorel said as the novices sat down on the stairs outside the Arena. “Take your positions.”
Swallowing hard, Sonea moved to one side of the Arena. Regin strolled to the other and turned to face her. Vorel and Makin backed away to the edge and Sonea sensed them creating shields around themselves. Her heart was beating quickly.
Vorel looked from her to Regin, then made a quick gesture.
“Begin.”
Sonea threw up a strong shield and braced herself, but the barrage of strikes she expected didn’t come. Regin stood with his weight resting on one leg and his arms crossed. Waiting.
Sonea narrowed her eyes. There was supposed to be some significance to the first strike, and what it revealed of the character of the combatant. Looking closer, she realized that Regin didn’t even have a shield raised. He shifted his weight, drummed the fingers of one hand against his arm, tapped his foot, then looked at the teacher questioningly.
Sonea risked a glance at Lord Vorel. The Warrior was watching intently, apparently unperturbed by the lack of fighting.
Regin sighed loud enough that even the novices outside the Arena could hear it. Then he yawned. Sonea smothered a smile. This wasn’t a battle of magic, it was a battle to see who lost patience first.
She placed her hands on her hips, then looked up at the novices, no longer concerned about keeping her attention on Regin. Some were watching intently, others looked puzzled or bored. She looked at the teacher again. Lord Vorel met her gaze with a cold stare.
Perhaps she could lure Regin into striking first. Perhaps if I drop my shield...
Cautiously, she let her protective outer barrier dissolve. Immediately the world was ablaze with white fire. The hasty shield she threw up to repel the strikes held for a few seconds, then wavered and collapsed. Heat prickled her skin where Regin’s magic met Vorel’s inner shield.
“Halt!”
The strikes vanished, leaving dark spots in Sonea’s vision. She blinked at Lord Vorel as he strode forward to stand in the center of the Arena.
“Regin is victor,” he announced. A weak cheer came from the other novices. Sonea felt her face warming as Regin bowed graciously.
“Sonea.” Lord Vorel turned to her. “Dropping your shield is inadvisable unless you are skilled at raising it again quickly. If you intend to use this strategy again you should practice your defense more. You may both leave. Benon and Yalend will be next.”
Sonea bowed, then strode toward the portal as quickly as she could. As she entered the passage a gloom settled over her. It’s only the first battle, she told herself. She couldn’t expect to win all the time, especially not against Regin, whose guardian was, after all, a Warrior.
If they were always paired by strength, she would have to fight Regin in every lesson. It was clear already that Regin preferred the Warrior Skills discipline, and she’d heard Hal saying something about Regin having private lessons. Since she had no real desire to become a Warrior or have extra lessons, she was sure he was always going to be better at it than her.
Vorel had said they’d be paired off by strength initially, however. If pairings changed according to skill and talent, and she proved less skilled than Regin, Vorel would match her against one of the other novices.
That meant she had two choices: try to do well and eventually end up fighting Regin all the time, or let herself fail so she could avoid him.
Sighing, Sonea clomped up the stairs and joined the novices sitting on the steps surrounding the Arena. Either way, she was probably going to suffer many more humiliating defeats. Wistfully, she thought of the Dome, the old ball-like stone structure next to the Novices’ Quarters. Before the Arena was constructed, novices had been trained within it. The thick walls had protected outsiders from stray strikes loosed by the combatants within, yet had restricted the view of the battle to teacher and student. While it was an airless, oppressive room, at least it had been private.
Watching Benon and Yalend start their bout, Sonea quickly grew bored. She couldn’t see how these lessons, with all their rules, could prepare magicians for real war. No, these Warriors spent their entire lives indulging in a dangerous game when their magic could be put to better uses - like Healing.
She shook her head. When the time came to choose a discipline, she knew she would not be taking the red robes.
15
A Surprise Attack
As soon as Sonea stepped into the classroom she felt a difference, like a strange current of magic in the air. She hesitated in the doorway, her relief at having evaded Regin’s gang evaporating.
Lord Kiano looked up, his attention snapping to her with a peculiar eagerness as if she was a welcome distraction.
“There will be no classes today, Sonea.”
She stared at the teacher in surprise.
“No classes, my lord?”
Kiano hesitated. A hiss brought her attention to the center of the room. Only four novices had arrived before her. Benon was holding his head in his hands. Trassia and Narron had moved their chairs beside him. Regin sat quietly behind them, his eyes flat and expressionless for once. Trassia was staring at Sonea with accusing eyes.
“A novice has died,” Kiano explained. “Shern.”
Sonea frowned, remembering the novice from the summer class whose powers had felt so strange. Died? Questions sprang into her mind. How? When?
“Oh, just go away,” Trassia growled. Startled by the girl’s outburst, Sonea stared at her.
“He was Benon’s cousin,” Kiano told her in a low voice.
Trassia glared back. Slowly, understanding came. By asking why the class had been cancelled, Lord Kiano had been forced to speak of Shern’s death in front of Benon. Sonea felt her face heating. As Narron looked up at her and scowled, she backed out of the room and fled.
She stopped running after only a few steps as anger and frustration caught up with her. How could she possibly have known that Shern was dead, or that Benon was his cousin? Asking why the class had been cancelled was a perfectly reasonable question.
Wasn’t it?
Her thoughts returned to Shern. When she searched her feelings she could find no more than a mild sadness. Shern had never even spoken to her, or anyone. In fact, the entire summer class had ignored him during the few weeks he had attended the University.
As she reached the end of the staircase she saw that Rothen was climbing toward her, and felt a surge of relief.
“There you are,” he said. “You’ve heard?”
“They cancelled classes.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “They always do when this happens. I went to find you in your room, but you weren’t there. Come and have a hot drink with me.”
Walking beside him, Sonea remained silent. It seemed remarkable that the Guild would close the University because of the death of a novice who had barely spent more than a few weeks there. But since all of the novices, apart from her, were from the Houses, the boy had probably been related to several novices and magicians.
“Shern was in your first class, wasn’t he?” Rothen asked as they entered his guestroom.
“Yes.” Sonea hesitated. “Can I ask what happened to him?”
“Of course.” Rothen collected a pot and cups from a side table, then brought out two jars from a cupboard. “Do you remember what I told you about Control failing when a magician dies?”
