them.
Normally they would be pleased to find such promise in a novice. But Sonea was the slum girl, and she had recently demonstrated her questionable character by stealing a pen. Though Lorlen was prepared to believe this was an isolated incident, perhaps in reaction to the other novices’ harassment, other magicians had not been so forgiving.
“We should not foster any high expectations yet,” he said, to reassure them. “She might simply be an early developer, and this is as strong as she will get.”
“She is already stronger than most of her teachers and,” Sarrin gestured toward Rothen, “perhaps her own guardian.”
“Is that a problem?” Rothen asked coolly.
“No.” Lorlen smiled. “It has never been in the past. You just need to be cautious.”
“Do we need to raise her a class again?” Jerrik crossed his arms and frowned.
“It is only her strength that is advanced,” Vinara replied. “Not her skills. She still has a great deal to learn.”
“All we need do is warn her teachers,” Lorlen said. “They should not test her strength without taking the usual precautions.”
To Lorlen’s satisfaction, all the magicians nodded. Regin’s actions had revealed more than his own cruel nature. He had shown everyone just what Sonea was capable of. Lorlen suspected that Rothen, too, was surprised by just how strong she had proven to be.
Rothen’s attention was on Lord Garrel, however. Regin’s guardian had been silent for most of the discussion. Lorlen frowned. They must not forget the seriousness of the incident that had brought them together.
“What is to be done about Regin?” he asked in a tone that cut through the murmuring.
Balkan smiled. “I think the young man has learned his lesson. He’d be a fool to provoke her now.”
The other magicians nodded and voiced their agreement.
“Some discipline is needed,” Lorlen insisted.
“He broke no rule,” Garrel protested. “Balkan gave him permission to practice this strategy with his classmates.”
“Waylaying another novice is not what we call ‘practicing,’ ” Lorlen replied. “It is dangerous and irresponsible.”
“I agree,” Vinara said firmly. “And his punishment should reflect this.”
The magicians exchanged glances.
“Regin has been taking extra lessons in Warrior Skills,” Balkan said. “Since they were the source of the trouble, I will stop them for a term of... three months.”
Lorlen pursed his lips. “Extend that until the middle of the Second Year. I believe his class will have covered all the lessons on honor and fairness by then.”
Watching Rothen, Lorlen saw the magician raise a hand to scratch his nose and cover a smile. Garrel’s expression darkened, but he remained silent. The corner of Balkan’s mouth curled upward.
“Very well,” the Warrior agreed. “Until the half-year tests of the Second Year have passed, then.”
Lorlen looked up at the other magicians. They nodded their approval.
“That’s settled, then.”
Jerrik sighed, looked around at the others and stepped forward. “If that is all, I will return to my work.”
Lorlen watched as Lord Sarrin and Lady Vinara also rose and followed the University Director out of the room. Lord Garrel followed. Balkan was regarding Rothen closely.
“It’s a pity Sonea has no enthusiasm for the Warrior Skills discipline. We rarely find women warriors of her strength... or resourcefulness.”
Rothen turned to regard the Warrior. “I can’t pretend to be disappointed at her lack of enthusiasm,” he replied.
“Have you been discouraging her?” There was a note of warning in Balkan’s voice.
“Not at all,” Rothen replied smoothly. “It was a certain incident in the North Square that discouraged her, and I doubt I could rectify that if I tried. It took me long enough to persuade her that we weren’t all battle-crazed villains.”
Balkan smiled crookedly. “You have satisfied her that we are not, I hope.”
Rothen sighed and looked away. “Sometimes, I think I’m the only one who is trying.”
“The enmity from other novices was inevitable and it will not stop after graduation. She must learn to deal with it. At least, this time, she used magic rather than less honorable skills.”
Rothen narrowed his eyes at the other magician. Balkan returned his stare levelly. Sensing the tension rising between the two magicians, Lorlen slapped the top of his desk lightly.
“Just make sure they keep their battles to the Arena,” he said. “Had it been summer they might have set the entire forest alight. I have enough to do without such disasters adding to my work. Now, if you please...” he waved to the door with both hands. “I want my office back!”
The two magicians bowed their heads. Apologizing, they walked to the door and stepped outside. As the door closed Lorlen breathed a sigh of relief and exasperation.
Magicians!
17
A Capable Companion
The paths through the gardens had been cleared of snow, but the trees still carried a coating of white along their bare branches. Rothen looked up at the University. Icicles hung from the windows, adding more decoration to the stone frames. As they reached the front of the building snow began to fall, so Rothen led Sonea up the stairs to the shelter of the Entrance Hall.
Rothen glanced down at Sonea. Her eyes were narrowed at the street beyond the gates.
“Here he comes,” she murmured.
Looking up, Rothen saw a lone rider approaching. The rider waved a hand and one of the gates began to swing inward. Before it had fully opened, he urged his horse through and into a gallop.
The horse pounded around the circular road, its rider’s green robes snapping in the wind. Dorrien was grinning, his face flushed.
“Father!” As the horse slid to a stop, Dorrien threw his leg over the saddle and leapt lightly to the ground.
“Very showy, Dorrien,” Rothen said dryly, starting back down the University stairs. “One day you’re going to fall flat on your face.”
“No doubt right in front of you,” Dorrien replied, drowning Rothen in green cloth as he embraced him, “so you can say ‘I told you so.’ ”
“Would I say that?” Rothen asked innocently.
“Yes, you would...” Dorrien’s blue eyes flicked over Rothen’s shoulder.
“So this is your new novice.”
“Sonea.” As Rothen beckoned, Sonea started down the stairs.
Dorrien pressed the horse’s reins into Rothen’s hand and stepped forward. As always, seeing his son’s smile after a long absence brought an ache of sadness. It was when Dorrien was at his most charming that he reminded Rothen of his deceased wife. The boy had also inherited Yilara’s almost obsessive dedication to Healing.
He’s not a boy any longer, Rothen reminded himself. Dorrien had turned twenty-four a few months past. He was a grown man. At that age, Rothen mused, I had a wife and son.
