Rothen regarded Sonea. “Hungry?”
She nodded, her eyes sliding to the food.
He smiled. “Then I think that’s enough history for now. Let’s eat.”
24
Unanswered Questions
Reaching the end of the University corridor, Dannyl halted as the door to the Administrator’s office opened. A blue-clad figure stepped out and started toward the Entrance Hall.
“Administrator,” Dannyl called.
Lorlen stopped and turned around. Seeing Dannyl approaching, he smiled. “Good morning, Lord Dannyl.”
“I was just coming to see you. Do you have a moment?”
“Of course, but only a moment.”
“Thank you.” Dannyl rubbed his hands together slowly. “I received a message from the Thief last night. He asked if we knew of the whereabouts of a man who was Sonea’s companion while she was hiding from us. I thought it might be that young man who tried to rescue her.”
Lorlen nodded. “The High Lord received a similar inquiry.”
Dannyl blinked in surprise. “The Thief contacted him directly?”
“Yes. Akkarin has assured Gorin that he will let him know if he finds the man.”
“I will send the same reply, then.”
Lorlen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is this the first time the Thieves have contacted you since you captured Sonea?”
“Yes.” Dannyl smiled ruefully. “I had assumed I would never hear from them again. Their message came as quite a surprise.”
Lorlen’s brows rose. “It came as quite a surprise to all of us that you had been talking to them at all.”
Dannyl felt his face grow warmer. “Not all. The High Lord knew, though I have no idea how.”
Lorlen smiled. “Now that does not surprise me. Akkarin might not appear to show any interest, but don’t think he isn’t paying attention. He knows more about people, both here and in the City, than anyone else.”
“But you must know more than he when it comes to the Guild.”
Lorlen shook his head. “Oh, he knows more than I ever do.” He paused. “I am meeting him now. Do you have anything you wish me to ask him?”
“No,” Dannyl replied hastily. “I should be going, myself. Thank you for your time, Administrator.”
Lorlen inclined his head, turned and strode away. Starting back down the corridor, Dannyl soon found himself passing through a crowd of novices and magicians. With the first classes of the day about to start, the building was filled with activity.
He considered the Thief’s message again. There had been an undertone of accusation in the letter, as if Gorin suspected that the Guild was responsible for the man’s disappearance. Dannyl did not believe that the Thief would blame the Guild for his problems as easily as the average dwell did—or that he would contact the High Lord if he didn’t have good reason to.
So Gorin must believe that the Guild was capable of finding the man for them. Dannyl chuckled as the irony of the situation occurred to him. The Thieves had helped the Guild find Sonea, now they wanted the same kind of favor in return. He wondered if they would offer as large a reward.
But why did Gorin think the Guild knew where the man was? Dannyl blinked as the answer came to him.
Sonea.
If Gorin thought that Sonea knew where her friend was, why hadn’t he contacted her directly? Did he believe she would not tell them? The Thieves had sold her to the Guild, after all.
And her companion might have good reasons for disappearing, too.
Dannyl rubbed his brow. He could ask Sonea if she knew what was going on, but if she didn’t know that her friend was missing the news might upset her. She might suspect the Guild of causing her friend’s disappearance. It could ruin all that Rothen had achieved.
A familiar face appeared among the novices before him. Dannyl felt a small twinge of dread, but Fergun did not look up. Instead, the Warrior hurried past and turned into a side passage.
Surprised, Dannyl stopped. What could have absorbed Fergun so completely that he had not even noticed his old foe? Moving back down the corridor, Dannyl peered down the side passage and caught a glimpse of red robes before the Warrior turned another corner.
Fergun had been carrying something. Dannyl hovered at the passage entrance, tempted to follow. As a novice, he would have seized any opportunity to discover any of Fergun’s little secrets.
But he wasn’t a novice anymore, and Fergun had won that war long ago. Shrugging, he started back down the corridor toward Rothen’s classroom. Lessons were due to start in less than five minutes, and he had no time for spying.
After a week of darkness, Cery’s senses had sharpened. His ears could pick up the shuffle of insectile feet, and his fingers could feel the slight roughness where rust nibbled at the metal skewer he had pulled from the hem of his coat.
As he pressed his thumb against the sharp point, he felt his anger simmering. His captor had returned twice more with food and water. Each time, Cery had attempted to find out why he had been imprisoned.
All his efforts to draw Fergun into conversation had failed. He had cajoled, demanded, even begged for an explanation, but the magician had ignored every word. It wasn’t right, Cery fumed. Villains were supposed to reveal their plans, either by mistake or during a bout of gloating.
The faintest rapping reached Cery’s ears. He lifted his head, then leapt to his feet as the sound grew into footsteps. Gripping the skewer, he crouched behind the door and waited.
The steps stopped outside the door. He heard the latch click, and tensed as the door began to slide inward. Light spilled into the room, illuminating the empty plate he had left just before the door. The magician took a step toward it, then paused and turned toward the coat and trousers lying half hidden under a blanket in the corner.
Leaping forward, Cery stabbed the skewer at Fergun’s back, aiming for the man’s heart.
The skewer struck something hard and slipped through his fingers. As the magician spun around, something slammed into Cery’s chest, throwing him backward. He heard a crack as he hit the wall, then pain ripped through his arm. Crumpling to the floor, he cradled his arm, gasping.
From behind came a long, exaggerated sigh.
“That was stupid. Look what you made me do.”
Fergun stood over him, arms crossed. Gritting his teeth, Cery glared up at the magician.
“This is no way to thank me after I went to all the trouble of bringing you blankets.” Fergun shook his head, then dropped into a crouch.
Trying to shrink away only brought another wave of pain. Cery smothered a cry as Fergun grasped the wrist of his injured arm. He tried to pull away, but the movement brought another stab of pain.
“Broken,” the magician muttered. His eyes seemed to have fixed on something far beyond the dusty floor. The pain suddenly dulled, then a warmth spread slowly through Cery’s arm.
Realizing he was being Healed, Cery forced himself to remain still. He stared up at Fergun, noting the sharp jaw and thin lips. The man’s blonde hair, usually combed back, now fell over his brow.
Cery knew he would remember this face for the rest of his life. One day I’ll have my revenge, he thought. And if you have done anything to Sonea, expect your death to be slow and painful.
The magician blinked and released Cery’s arm. He stood up, then grimaced and passed a hand over his brow.
“It is not wholly healed. I can’t waste all my powers on you. Treat it gently, or the bone will come apart again.” His eyes narrowed. “If you try something like that again, I will have to bind you—to stop you harming yourself you understand.”
He looked down. The plate he had been carrying lay broken, food scattered across the floor. The bottle lay nearby, water slowly leaking from a crack near the cork.
“I wouldn’t waste that if I were you,” Fergun said. Bending, he picked up Cery’s skewer, turned and strode out of the room.