“So what happened?” Ezrille asked. “Was the man evicted?”
“Lorlen countermanded his order, of course,” Yaldin replied, “but Fergun had already disrupted much of the house—looking for hiding places, he said.”
Ezrille shook her head. “I can’t believe Fergun would be so... so ...”
“Vindictive?” Dannyl snorted. “I’m surprised he didn’t decide to interrogate the poor man.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Yaldin said scornfully.
“Not now,” Dannyl agreed.
Rothen sighed and leaned back in his chair. “There’s more. I overheard something interesting tonight. Fergun wants her guardianship.”
Dannyl felt his blood turn cold.
“Fergun?” Ezrille frowned. “He’s not a strong magician. I thought the Guild discouraged weaker magicians from taking on the guardianship of novices.”
“We do,” Yaldin replied. “But there is no rule against it.”
“What chance does he have of winning his claim?”
“He says he was the first to know of her powers because he felt the effects of them first,” Rothen told her.
“Is that a good argument?”
“I hope not,” Dannyl muttered. This news disturbed him. He knew Fergun well. Too well. What did Fergun, with his contempt for the lower classes, want with a slum girl anyway?
“Perhaps he’s planning to take revenge for his humiliation in the North Square?”
Rothen frowned. “Now Dannyl—”
“You have to consider the possibility,” Dannyl injected.
“Fergun isn’t going to all this trouble over a small bruise, even if it did hurt his ego,” Rothen said firmly. “He just wants to be the one to capture her—and he doesn’t want people to forget it afterward.”
Dannyl looked away. The older magician had never understood that his dislike for Fergun was more than just a grudge left over from their days as novices. Dannyl had experienced too well how single-minded Fergun could be when it came to revenge.
“I can see quite a fight coming out of this.” Yaldin chuckled. “The poor girl has no idea how much she has stirred up the Guild. It’s not often we have two magicians competing for a novice’s guardianship.”
Rothen snorted softly. “I’m sure that’s the least of her concerns. After what happened in the North Square, she’s probably convinced that we intend to kill her.”
Yaldin’s smile faded. “Unfortunately we can’t convince her otherwise until we’ve found her.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Dannyl said quietly.
Rothen looked up. “Do you have a suggestion, Dannyl?”
“I expect my new Thief friend has his own way of sending information around the slums.”
“Friend?” Yaldin gave an incredulous laugh. “Now you’re calling them friends.”
“Associates.” Dannyl smiled mischievously.
“I gather you had some success?” Rothen raised an eyebrow.
“A little. Just a beginning.” Dannyl shrugged. “I spoke to one of their leaders, I believe.”
Ezrille’s eyes were wide. “What was he like?”
“His name was Gorin.”
“Gorin?” Yaldin frowned. “That’s a strange name.”
“It seems the leaders name themselves after animals. I guess they choose a title according to their stature, because he certainly looks like his namesake. He’s enormous and woolly. I almost expected to see horns.”
“What did he say?” Rothen asked eagerly.
“Made no promises. I told him how dangerous it was to be around a magician who hadn’t been taught to control her powers. He seemed more concerned with what the Guild would give him in exchange for finding her.”
Yaldin frowned. “The Higher Magicians won’t agree to exchanging favors with the Thieves.”
Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. “Of course not. I told him that and he understood. I think he’d accept money.”
“Money?” Yaldin shook his head. “I don’t know ...”
“Since we’re already offering a reward, it will hardly matter if it goes to one of the Thieves.” Dannyl spread his hands. “Everybody knows that the money will go to someone from the slums anyway, so they must expect that person to be someone of questionable nature.”
Ezrille rolled her eyes. “Only you could make something like that sound perfectly reasonable, Dannyl.”
Dannyl grinned. “Oh, it gets better. If we present this carefully, everyone will be patting themselves on the back for persuading the Thieves to do a good service for the city.”
Ezrille laughed. “I hope the Thieves don’t realize this, or they’ll refuse to help you.”
“Well, it must remain a secret for now,” Dannyl told them. “I don’t want to stir things up here until I know whether Gorin is willing to help us or not. Can I rely on your silence?”
He looked at the others. Ezrille nodded enthusiastically. Rothen bowed his head once. Yaldin frowned, then shrugged.
“Very well. But be careful, Dannyl. It’s not just your skin you’re risking here.”
“I know.” Dannyl smiled. “I know.”
Travelling along the Thieves’ Road by lamplight was faster and more interesting than groping along in the dark. The walls of the passages were made of a seemingly endless variety of bricks. Symbols were carved into the walls and signs marked some of the intersections.
The guide stopped at a juncture of passages and set the lamp on the floor. He pulled a handful of black cloth from his coat.
“You must go blind from here.”
Cery nodded, and stood silently as the man bound a strip of cloth around his eyes. The man moved behind Sonea and she closed her eyes as the rough material was wrapped tightly around her face. She felt a hand rest on her shoulder, then another grasped her wrist and began pulling her along the passage.
Though she tried to memorize the turns, she soon lost count of them. They shuffled through darkness. Faint sounds reached them: voices, footsteps, dripping water, and a few noises she could not identify. The blindfold made her skin itch, but she dared not scratch herself in case the guide thought she was peeking.
When the guide stopped again she gave a sigh of relief. Fingers pulled the blindfold away. She glanced at Cery. He smiled back at her reassuringly.
Taking a polished stick from his coat, the guide pushed it into a hole in the wall. After a pause, a section of the wall swung inward and a large, muscular man stepped out.
“Yes?”
“Ceryni and Sonea to see Faren,” the guide stated.
The man nodded, opened the door wider and jerked his head at Sonea and Cery.
“Go on in.”
Cery hesitated, then turned to the guide. “I asked to see Ravi.”
The man smiled crookedly. “Then Ravi must want you to see Faren.”
Cery shrugged, then moved through the doorway. Following him, Sonea wondered if a Thief named after a poisonous eight-legged insect was more dangerous than a Thief named after a rodent.
They entered a small room. Two more heavily built men eyed them from chairs on either side. The first closed the passage door, then opened a door on the opposite side of the room and gestured for them to continue through.
Lamps hung from the walls of the next room, throwing warm yellow circles up onto the ceiling. The floor was covered with a large carpet which was fringed with gold-tipped tassels. At the far side of the room, sitting behind a table, was a dark-skinned man in black, slim-fitting clothes. Startling pale yellow eyes examined them closely.
Sonea stared back. The Thief was a Lonmar, a member of the proud desert race whose lands lay a long way to the north of Kyralia. Lonmar were uncommon in Imardin; few liked to live outside their rigid culture. Theft was considered a great evil to the Lonmar, as they believed that when one stole something, no matter how small, one lost a portion of their soul. Yet here was a Lonmar Thief.
The man’s eyes narrowed. Realizing that she was staring, Sonea quickly looked down. He leaned back in his chair, smiled and pointed a long brown finger at her.