Sonea stared at the place where the magicians’ barrier hung. She could see nothing. Moving forward, she took out one of the lumps in her pockets, drew her arm back and hurled it with all her strength. It disintegrated as it hit the invisible wall, and for a moment, a cloud of dust hung in the air, flat on one side.
She heard a low chuckle nearby and turned to see the old woman grinning at her.
“That’s a good ’un,” the woman cackled. “You show ’em. Go on.”
Sonea slipped a hand into a pocket and felt her fingers close on a larger rock. She took a few steps closer to the magicians and smiled. She had seen annoyance in some of their faces. Obviously they did not like to be defied, but something prevented them from confronting the youths.
Beyond the haze of dust came the sound of voices. The well-groomed magician glanced up, then turned back to his companion, an older man with gray in his hair.
“Pathetic vermin,” he sneered. “How long until we can get rid of them?”
Something flipped over in Sonea’s belly, and she tightened her grip on the rock. She pulled it free and gauged its weight. A heavy one. Turning to face the magicians, she gathered the anger she felt at being thrown out of her home, all her inbred hate of the magicians, and hurled the stone at the speaker. She traced its path through the air, and as it neared the magicians’ barrier, she willed it to pass through and reach its mark.
A ripple of blue light flashed outward, then the rock slammed into the magician’s temple with a dull thud. He stood motionless, staring at nothing, then his knees buckled and his companion stepped forward to catch him.
Sonea stared, her mouth agape, as the older magician lowered his companion to the ground. The jeers of the youths died away. Stillness spread outward like smoke through the crowd.
Then exclamations rang out as two more magicians sprang forward to crouch beside their fallen companion. Harrin’s friends, and others in the crowd, began to cheer. Noise returned to the square as people murmured and shouted out what had happened.
Sonea looked down at her hands. It worked. I broke the barrier, but that’s not possible, unless ...
Unless I used magic.
Cold rushed through her as she remembered how she had focused all her anger and hate on the stone, how she had followed its path with her mind and willed it to break through the barrier. Something in her stirred, as if it were eager for her to repeat those actions.
Looking up, she saw that several magicians had gathered around their fallen companion. Some crouched beside him, but most had turned to stare out at the people in the square, their eyes searching. Looking for me, she thought suddenly. As if hearing her thought, one turned to stare at her. She froze in terror, but his eyes slid away and roved on through the crowd.
They don’t know who it was. She gasped with relief. Glancing around, she saw that the crowd was several paces behind her. The youths were backing away. Heart pounding, she followed suit.
Then the older magician rose. Unlike the others, his eyes snapped to hers without hesitation. He pointed at her and the rest of the magicians turned to stare again. As their hands rose, she felt a surge of terror. Spinning around, she bolted toward the crowd. In the corner of her eye, she saw the rest of the youths fleeing. Her vision wavered as several quick flashes of light lit the faces before her, then screams tore through the air. Heat rushed over her and she fell to her knees, gasping.
“STOP!”
She felt no pain. Looking down, she gasped in relief to find her body whole. She looked up; people were still running away, ignoring the strangely amplified command that still echoed through the square.
A smell of burning drifted to her nose. Sonea turned to see a figure sprawled face-down on the pavement a few steps away. Though flames ate at the clothing hungrily, the figure lay still. Then she saw the blackened mess that had once been an arm, and her stomach twisted with nausea.
“DO NOT HARM HER!”
Staggering to her feet, she reeled away from the corpse. Figures passed her on either side as the youths fled. With an effort, she forced herself into a staggering run.
She caught up with the crowd at the Northern Gate and pushed her way into it. Fighting her way forward, clawing past those in her way, she forced herself deep within the crowd of bodies. Feeling the stones still weighing down her pockets, she clawed them out. Something caught her legs, tripping her over, but she dragged herself to her feet and pushed on.
Hands grabbed her roughly from behind. She struggled and drew a breath to scream, but the hands turned her around and she found herself staring up at the familiar blue eyes of Harrin.
2
The Magician’s Debate
Though he had entered the Guildhall countless times since graduating over thirty years before, Lord Rothen had rarely heard it echo with so many voices.
He regarded the sea of robed men and women before him. Circles of magicians had formed, and he noted the usual cliques and factions. Others roamed about, leaving one circle and joining another. Hands flashed in expressive gestures, and the occasional exclamation or denial rose above the din.
Meets were usually dignified, orderly affairs, but until the Administrator arrived to organize them, the participants usually milled about in the center of the room, talking. As Rothen started toward the crowd, he caught fragments of conversations which seemed to be emanating from the roof. The Guildhall amplified sounds in odd and unexpected ways, particularly when voices were raised.
The effect was not magical, as ungifted visitors often assumed, but an unintended result of the building’s conversion into a hall. The first and oldest Guild construction, it had originally contained rooms to house magicians and their apprentices as well as spaces for lessons and meetings. Four centuries later, faced with a rapidly growing membership, the Guild had constructed several new buildings. Not wanting to demolish their first home, they removed the internal walls and added seating, and since then, all Guild Meets, Acceptance and Graduation ceremonies and Hearings had been held there.
A tall, purple-robed figure stepped out of the crowd and strode toward Rothen. Noting the younger magician’s eager expression, Rothen smiled; Dannyl had complained more than once that nothing particularly exciting happened in the Guild.
“Well, my old friend. How did it go?” Dannyl asked.
Rothen crossed his arms. “Old friend indeed!”
“Old fiend, then.” Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. “What did the Administrator say?”
“Nothing. He just wanted me to describe what happened. It appears I’m the only one who saw her.”
“Lucky for her,” Dannyl replied. “Why did the others try to kill her?”
Rothen shook his head. “I don’t think they meant to.”
A gong rang out above the buzz of voices, and the Guild Administrator’s amplified voice filled the hall.
“Would all magicians take their seats, please.”
Glancing behind, Rothen saw the huge main doors at the back of the hall swing shut. The mass of robes parted as magicians began moving toward seats on either side of the room. Dannyl nodded toward the front.
“We have some rare company today.”
Rothen followed his friend’s gaze. The Higher Magicians were taking their places. To mark their position and authority within the Guild, their seats were arranged in five tiers at the front of the hall. The raised seats were reached by two narrow stairways. At the center of the highest row stood a large chair embellished with gold and embroidered with the King’s incaclass="underline" a stylized night bird. The chair was empty, but the two seats flanking it were occupied by magicians wearing gold sashes tied about their waists.
“The King’s Advisers,” Rothen murmured. “Interesting.”