The trees and shrubs of the Guild gardens cooled and slowed the late summer wind to a pleasant breeze. Within one of the garden “rooms,” well shaded by a large ornamental pachi tree, Lorkin and Dekker sat on one of the seats arranged here and there for magicians to rest on. As the last shreds of his hangover began to ease, Lorkin leaned back against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. The sound of birds mingled with that of distant voices and footsteps – and the shrill sound of taunts and protests somewhere behind him.

Dekker turned to look at the same time as Lorkin. Behind them was a screen of shrubs and trees, so they both stood up to peer over the top of the foliage. Over the other side, four boys had surrounded another and were pushing their victim about.

“Stu-pid lo-wie,” they sang. “Got no fam-ly. Al-ways gri-my. Al-ways smel-ly.”

“Hai!” Dekker shouted. “Stop that! Or I’ll get you volunteered to help in the hospices.”

Lorkin grimaced. His mother had never been happy with Lady Vinara’s idea of punishing novices by making them help in the hospices. She said they’d never consider the work worthwhile or noble if they were expected to want to avoid it. But she never had enough volunteers, so she couldn’t bring herself to protest. Some of those sent to her for punishing had actually chosen the healing discipline because working with her had inspired them, but they were mocked quietly by their fellow novices.

The novices muttered apologies and fled in different directions. As Lorkin and Dekker sat down again, two magicians appeared in the entrance to the garden room.

“Ah! I thought I heard your voice, Dekker,” Reater said. Perler’s worried frown faded as he recognised his brother’s friends. “Mind if we join you?”

“Not at all,” Dekker said, gesturing to the opposite bench seat.

Lorkin looked from one brother to another, wondering at the reason for the frown Perler had been wearing. Reater seemed far too glad to have stumbled upon them.

“Perler got some bad news this morning,” Reater said. He turned to his brother. “Tell them.”

Perler glanced at Reater. “Not bad for you, I hope.” His brother shrugged and did not answer, so he sighed and looked at Dekker. “Lord Maron has quit. It’s going to take longer than he thought to fix his family’s troubles. So I’m not going back to Sachaka.”

“You don’t get to assist the new Ambassador?” Lorkin asked.

Perler shrugged. “I could if I wanted to. But…” He looked at his brother. “I have a few family matters to take care of, too.”

Reater winced.

“So who is going to replace him?” Dekker wondered.

“Someone said Lord Dannyl has applied.” Reater grinned. “Perhaps he wants to check out the local-”

“Reater,” Perler said sternly.

“What? Everyone knows he’s a lad.”

“Which doesn’t make it funny when you make crude jokes about it. Grow up and get over it.” He rolled his eyes. “Besides, Lord Dannyl won’t want to go. He’s too busy researching that book of his.”

Lorkin felt his heart skip. “He told me last night that his research was going slowly. Maybe… maybe he’s hoping to do some research there.”

Reater looked sidelong at his brother. “That change your mind? Ow!” He rubbed his arm where Perler had just punched it. “That hurt.”

“Which was the point.” Perler looked thoughtful. “It’ll be interesting to see if anyone volunteers to be his assistant. Most people might be willing to ignore Lord Dannyl’s ways, but risking speculation by offering to assist him is probably beyond most.”

Lorkin shrugged. “I’d go.”

The others turned to stare at him. Lorkin looked around at their shocked faces, and laughed.

“No, I’m not a lad. But Lord Dannyl has always been easy to get along with and his research is interesting – and worthwhile. I’d be proud to take part in it.” To his surprise, they continued to look worried. Except Perler, he noted.

“But… Sachaka,” Reater said.

“Would that be wise?” Dekker asked.

Lorkin looked from one to the other. “Perler survived. Why not me?”

“Because your parents killed some Sachakans a few years back,” Dekker pointed out in a tone suggesting Lorkin was stupid. “They tend to take exception to that.”

Lorkin spread his hands to encompass the Guild. “So did all magicians during the battle, as did the novices. What difference is there in that to what my parents did?”

Dekker opened his mouth, but nothing came out and he closed it again. He looked at Perler, who chuckled.

“Don’t look to me for support on this one,” the older magician said. “Lorkin’s parentage might make him a little more interesting to the Sachakans than other magicians, but so long as he doesn’t point it out all the time, I doubt he’d be in any more danger than I was.” He looked at Lorkin. “Still, I’d let the Higher Magicians decide that. There may be a reason why you shouldn’t go that they’ve kept to themselves.”

Lorkin turned to regard Dekker triumphantly. His friend looked at him, frowned, then shook his head.

“Don’t go volunteering just to prove me wrong.”

Lorkin laughed. “Would I do that?”

“Probably.” Dekker smiled wryly. “Or just to annoy me. Knowing what your family is like, you’ll turn out to be instrumental in convincing the Sachakans to give up slavery and join with the Allied Lands, 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.