The Ambassador's Mission: Book One of th - By Trudi Canavan Page 0,21
and within a few years I’ll find myself actually teaching Warrior Skills to Sachakan novices.”
Smothering the urge to grimace, Lorkin forced a smile. There it is again. This expectation that I’ll do something important. But that’s never going to happen while I sit around in the Guild, doing nothing.
“That’ll do for a start,” he said. “Anything else?”
Dekker made a rude noise and looked away. “Invent a wine that doesn’t cause hangovers and I’ll forgive you anything.”
Stepping inside the University, Sonea and Rothen passed through the rear entry hall into the main corridor. It led directly to a huge room, three storeys high, within the middle of the building known as the Great Hall. Glass panels covered the roof, allowing light to fill the space.
Contained within this room was an older, simpler building: the Guildhall. It had been the original home of the Guild, and when the grander structure of the University had been built around it the old building’s internal walls had been removed and the interior turned into a hall for regular Meets and occasional Hearings.
Today’s gathering was an open Hearing, which meant that while only the Higher Magicians were required to attend, any other magician was free to do so as well. Sonea was both heartened and dismayed to see the large crowd of magicians waiting at the far end of the hall. It’s good to see so many taking an interest, but I can’t help doubting that many are in favour of the petition.
The Higher Magicians were hovering around the side entrance of the Guildhall. High Lord Balkan stood with his arms crossed and was frowning down at the man speaking to him. His white robes emphasised his height and broad shoulders, but also betrayed a softness and fullness where he had once been muscular. His duties as High Lord kept him away from practising Warrior Skills, she guessed. Not that magical battles kept a magician that fit, anyway.
The man he was frowning at was Administrator Osen. Sonea could not see the blue of the Administrator’s robe without remembering his predecessor and feeling a pang of guilt and sadness. Administrator Lorlen had died during the Ichani Invasion. Though Osen was as efficient as Lorlen, he lacked his predecessor’s warmth. And he had never forgiven her for learning black magic and joining Akkarin in exile.
Three other magicians waited patiently together, watching the rest and noting Sonea’s and Rothen’s approach. Sonea had grown to like Lord Peakin, the Head of Alchemists, in the last twenty years. He was open-minded and inventive, and as he’d grown older and settled into his role he’d revealed a wry sense of humour and compassion. Lady Vinara had survived the war and seemed determined to remain as Head of Healers for many years yet, despite advancing old age. Her hair was now completely white and her skin a mass of wrinkles, but her eyes were sharp and alert.
Seeing the Head of Warriors always roused a sour and uneasy feeling in Sonea. Lord Garrel had run the affairs of his discipline without scandal or major failure, and was always stiffly polite around her, but she could not forget that he had allowed and even encouraged his adopted novice, Regin, to torment her during their early years in the University. She might have been able to overlook that history if he wasn’t also linked with the Kyralian Houses’ clearing areas of the slums, involved in ruthless political manipulations, and rumoured to be profiting from dealings with Thieves.
How can I be judgemental, when I had a Thief in my rooms this morning? But Cery is different. At least, I hope he is. I hope he still has some principles – some lines he won’t cross. And I’m not involved in any of his business. I’m just a friend.
Near to the Heads of Disciplines stood three more magicians. Two were Heads of Studies, Lord Telano and Lord Erayk, and the other was Director Jerrik. The old University Director had barely changed. He was still the same grumpy, sour man, but he was now stooped and wrinkles had made his scowl permanent, even during one of his rare smiles. She had been called to his office more than a few times in recent years, Lorkin being the perpetrator as often as the victim of some novice prank that had gone too far. I’d wager he’s relieved Lorkin and his friends have graduated.
Rothen, as Head of Alchemic Studies, was clearly intending to join these three. It had always amused her