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“So you realized that Sonea had used magic after the stone broke through the shield, and before it struck you.”

“Yes,” Fergun answered.

The hall echoed with voices as this was discussed. Gritting his teeth, Rothen resisted the urge to stare at Fergun. The Warrior’s story was a lie. Fergun had never glanced toward Sonea. Rothen stole a quick look at her. She stood quietly in the shadows, her shoulders slumped. He hoped she understood how important her account would be in confirming his story.

“Lord Fergun.”

The room fell silent at this new voice. Rothen looked up at Lady Vinara. The Healer was regarding Fergun with her famous, unblinking stare.

“If you were looking at Sonea, how is it that the stone struck your right temple? That would indicate to me that you were looking at Rothen at the time.”

Fergun nodded. “It all happened very quickly, Lady,” he said. “I saw the flash and glanced at Sonea. It was only a fleeting look—and I recall wanting to ask if my companion had seen what this girl had done.”

“You did not even attempt to dodge?” Lord Balkan asked, his tone disbelieving.

Fergun smiled ruefully. “I am not accustomed to having stones thrown at me. I believe surprise overrode the instinct to duck.”

Lord Balkan looked at the magicians beside him and received slight shrugs. Watching them closely, Osen nodded as no more questions came. He turned to regard Rothen.

“Lord Rothen, did you see Fergun glance at Sonea between the time the stone broke through the barrier and when it struck him?”

“No,” Rothen replied, struggling to keep anger from his voice. “He was talking to me. The stone cut him off in the middle of a sentence.”

Osen’s brows rose. He glanced at the Higher Magicians, then looked up at the audience.

“Does anyone have an account that contradicts or adds to what we have heard?”

Silence answered him. Nodding slowly, Osen turned to regard Sonea.

“I call on Sonea as witness to this event.”

Moving from the shadows at the side of the hall, Sonea walked forward to stand a few paces from Fergun. She glanced up at the Higher Magicians, then bowed quickly.

Rothen felt a pang of sympathy for her. A few weeks before, she had been terrified of him and now she faced a hall of magicians, all watching her intently.

Osen gave her a quick smile of encouragement. “Sonea,” he said. “Please tell us your version of the events we are discussing.”

She swallowed and set her gaze on the floor. “I was with the other youths. They were throwing stones. I didn’t usually do that—I usually stayed with my aunt.” She glanced up and blushed, then continued on in a rush.

“I guess I got dragged into things. I didn’t start throwing stones straightaway. I watched the others and the magicians. I remember I was... I was angry, so when I did go to throw a stone I pushed all that anger at the stone. Later I realized I had done something, but at the time everything was so ... confusing.” She stopped and seemed to collect herself.

“When I threw the stone it went through the barrier. Lord Fergun looked at me, then the stone hit him and Ro— Lord Rothen caught him. The rest of the magicians were looking everywhere, then I saw Lord Rothen looking at me. After that, I ran.”

A cold rush of disbelief struck Rothen. He stared at Sonea, but her eyes remained fixed on the floor. Glancing at Fergun, he saw that a sly smile curled the man’s lips. As the Warrior realized he was being watched, the smile vanished.

Helpless, Rothen could only clench his fists as the rest of the Guild voiced their approval.

The half-seen vision of the Guildhall wavered as anger, disbelief and hurt flowed over Dannyl’s mind. He stopped, alarmed.

— What’s wrong, Rothen?

— She lied! She supported Fergun’s lie!

— Careful, Dannyl cautioned. You’ll be heard.

— I don’t care. I know he’s lying!

— Perhaps that’s how she saw it.

— No. Fergun never looked at her. I was talking to him, remember?

Dannyl sighed and shook his head. Rothen had finally seen Fergun’s true character. He should have been happy, but how could he be? Fergun had won again.

Or had he?

— Have you found anything yet?

— No, but I’m still looking.

— We need more time. With Sonea supporting Fergun, they’ll probably make a decision in the next few minutes.

— Delay them.

— How?

Dannyl drummed his fingers on a wall.

— Ask to talk to her.

Rothen’s presence vanished as his attention returned to the Hearing. Grimacing, Dannyl regarded the walls around him. Every magician knew that there were entrances to the underground passages inside the University. He had guessed that those entrances must be well hidden or novices would be flouting the rule all the time.

As he had expected, a simple search of the passages had revealed nothing. Though he was sure that he would eventually find something if he kept examining the walls closely, there wasn’t time for that.

He needed another clue. Footprints, perhaps. The underground passages were probably dusty. Fergun must have left some evidence. Eyes on the floor, Dannyl started along the corridor again.

Turning a corner, he collided with a short, plump figure. The woman gave a little yelp of surprise, then stepped back, a hand pressed to her heart.

“Forgive me, my Lord!” She bowed, the water in the bucket she carried sloshing. “You were walking so quietly, I didn’t hear you coming!”

He looked at the bucket, then smothered a groan. Evidence of Fergun’s passing would be regularly cleaned away by the servants. The woman moved past him and continued down the corridor. Watching her, it occurred to him that she probably knew more about the inner passages of the University than any magician.

“Wait!” Dannyl called.

She stopped. “Yes, my Lord?”

Dannyl walked toward her. “Do you always clean this part of the University?”

She nodded.

“Have you needed to clean up any unusual messes? Muddy footprints, for example?”

The servant’s lips thinned. “Someone dropped food on the floor. The novices aren’t supposed to bring food in here.”

“Food, eh? Where was it dropped?”

The servant gave him an odd look, then led him to a painting farther down the corridor.

“It was on the painting, too,” she said, pointing. “Like they’d been handling it.”

“I see.” Dannyl narrowed his eyes at the painting. It was of a view of a beach, with tiny spiral shells carved into the frame. “Thank you,” he said. “You may go.”

Shrugging, she bowed quickly and hurried away. Dannyl examined the painting carefully, then lifted it off the wall. Behind it was the usual wooden panelling of the inner passages. Running his hand over it, he extended his senses beyond and drew in a breath as he detected metal shapes. Following their contours, he found a section of the panel that gave beneath his probing fingers.

A soft sliding noise followed, and a section of the wall moved aside. Darkness and cold air confronted him: Hushed with triumph and excitement, he replaced the painting, created a globe light, and stepped through.

A steep stairway descended to his left. Finding a lever on the inside of the door, Dannyl pressed it and the door closed. He smiled to himself and started down the stairs.

The passage was narrow and he had to stoop to avoid brushing his head on the ceiling. A few faren webs clung to the corners. As he reached the first side passage, he reached into a pocket and drew out a jar of colored paste. Unstoppering it, he wiped a little of the contents onto the wall beside him.