The Novice

He frowned. “How did you know what to do?”

“My friends taught me.”

“Friends? These would be young people, yes? No older trainers?”

“An old whore once showed me how to use my knife if I was... in a certain situation.”

His brows rose. “I see. Street fighting. Defensive maneuvers. Little wonder you use it first. It’s what you know best, and you know it works. We have to change that.” He waved a hand, gesturing for her to walk beside him, and started down the passage toward the main corridor.

“You have to learn to react magically rather than physically,” he told her. “I can devise exercises that will help you do that. I have to warn you, though, this kind of relearning can be quite slow and difficult. Persevere, however, and you’ll be using magic without thinking by the end of the year.”

She shook her head. “Without thinking? That’s the opposite from what the other teachers say.”

“Yes. That is because most novices are too eager to use magic. They must be taught restraint. But you are no ordinary novice, and so ordinary teaching methods may be discarded.”

Sonea considered that. It made sense. Then something else occurred to her. “How do you know that I didn’t think of using magic first, but decided not to?”

“I know you were acting on your instincts. You went looking for a knife. You didn’t stop to think about that, did you?”

“No, but that’s different. If someone attacks me like that, I have to assume he really wants to hurt me.”

“So you were quite prepared to hurt me in return?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

His brows rose. “Few would condemn an ordinary man or woman if he or she killed another in self-defense, but if a magician kills a non-magician it is an outrage. You have the power to defend yourself, so there is no excuse for killing, no matter what your attacker’s intent - not even if the attacker is a magician. When confronted with such an attack your first reaction should be to shield yourself. That is another good reason to change your first reaction to a magical rather than physical one.”

As they reached the main corridor, Yikmo smiled and patted her shoulder.

“You’re not doing as badly as you think, Sonea. If you’d struck out at me with magic, or simply froze or screamed, I would have been disappointed. Instead, you kept calm, thought quickly, and succeeded in throwing me off. I think that’s an impressive start. Good night.”

She bowed and watched him stride down the corridor toward the Magicians’ Quarters. Turning away, she walked in the other direction.

“You have the power to defend yourself, so there is no excuse for killing, no matter what your attacker’s intent - not even if the attacker is a magician.” Yet when she had reached for a knife, she had been prepared to kill. It would have seemed reasonable once, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Whatever the reason, the punishment for a magician who deliberately harmed someone, even if by nonmagical means, was harsh, and that was enough reason to change her thinking. She did not want to spend the rest of her days in prison, with her powers blocked. If her instinctive reaction was to kill, then she had best unlearn it as soon as possible.

Anyway, what use to her were the tricks that she had learned in the slum now? When she considered what she was capable of, she doubted that she would ever need to wield a knife again. If she needed to defend herself in the future, she thought with a shiver, it would be against magic.

26 A Jealous Rival

As the carriage moved away from the Guild House, Dannyl considered everything he knew about the Bel Arralade. A widow of middle years, she was the head of one of the richest families in Elyne. Her four children - two daughters and two sons - had married into powerful families. Though the Bel herself had never remarried, rumors told of many amorous encounters between Arralade and other members of the Elyne court.

The carriage turned a corner, then another, and stopped. Looking through the window, Dannyl saw that it had joined a long line of fashionably decorated vehicles.

“How many people attend these parties?” he asked.

Ambassador Errend shrugged. “Three or four hundred.”

Impressed, Dannyl counted the carriages. The line extended out of view, so he could not guess how long it was. Enterprising street hawkers strode up and down the street, offering their wares to the occupants of the carriages. Wine, sweets, cakes, and all manner of diversions were available. Musicians played and acrobats performed. The best of them were persuaded with a steady stream of glittering coins to linger beside bored courtiers.

“We could walk faster than this,” Dannyl said.

Errend chuckled. “Yes, we could try, but we would not get far. Someone would call us over and insist we travel with them, and it would be impolite to refuse.”

He bought a small box of sweets and, as they shared them, told stories about previous parties held by the Bel Arralade. It was during times like these that Dannyl was grateful that the First Guild Ambassador was a native to this land, and could explain the Elyne customs. Dannyl was surprised to hear that small children were allowed to attend.

“Children are indulged here,” Errend warned. “We Elynes like to spoil them when they’re young. Unfortunately, they can be little tyrants to magicians, expecting us to perform for them like entertainers.”

Dannyl smiled. “All children believe a magician’s primary role is to amuse them.”

Much later, the carriage door opened and Dannyl followed Errend out to stand before a typical Capian mansion. Well-dressed servants greeted then directed them through a grand archway. A large room followed, open to the elements as the Palace forecourt had been. The air was chilly, and the guests who had arrived before them were hurrying toward doors at the far end.

Beyond was a larger, circular room filled with people. The light of several chandeliers fell on myriad brightly colored costumes. A constant buzz of voices echoed back from the domed ceiling and the mingled scents of flowers, fruit and spices were almost overpowering.

Heads turned, most only long enough to note who had arrived. Dems and Bels of all ages were present. A few magicians stood among them. Children, dressed in miniature versions of adult clothing, ran about or crowded together on bench seats. Servants were everywhere, each dressed in yellow and carrying platters of food or bottles of wine.

“What a remarkable woman this Bel Arralade must be,” Dannyl murmured. “If you put this many members of the Kyralian Houses together - outside of the court - swords would be drawn within half an hour.”

“Yes,” Errend agreed. “But weapons will be drawn tonight, Dannyl. We Elynes find words sharper than swords. They don’t make such a mess of the furnishings.”

A grand stairway led up to a balcony that ran around the entire room. Looking up, Dannyl saw Tayend watching him from behind the railing. The scholar gave a slight bow. Resisting the temptation to smile at this stiff formality, Dannyl inclined his head in reply.

Beside Tayend stood a muscular young man. Seeing his companion’s half-bow, the man frowned and looked down. As he saw Dannyl, the man’s eyes widened in surprise and he quickly looked away.

Dannyl turned back to Errend. The Ambassador was helping himself to the contents of a platter offered by one of the brightly clad servants.

“Try these,” Errend urged. “They’re delicious!”

“What happens now?” Dannyl asked, taking one of the little pastry scrolls.

“We mingle. Stay with me, and I will introduce you to people.”

So for the next few hours Dannyl followed his fellow Ambassador about the room and concentrated on memorizing names and titles. Errend warned him that no meal would be served, that the latest fashion in