Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) Page 14

  Grief and rage had pervaded the city. Chiannala had not known Avithan or Esmon, so she did not care much about them either way, but her heart had leapt when the others felt the passing of Iriana. So that bitch had come to a nasty end, and it served her right! She had been very careful to mimic everyone else’s sorrow and hide her true feelings – but it was harder to conceal her dismay when Iriana had suddenly and mysteriously returned to the world. There seemed to be no getting rid of her, and the thought of her returning to Tyrineld made Chiannala feel tense and nervous all over again. It won’t matter, she assured herself. She’ll never find out who I really am. How could she? And I’ll have my revenge on her sooner or later – I swear I will.

  Though everyone at the Academy, students and tutors alike, had been miserable and distracted, life had to go on, and today would be a very important day for Chiannala, and for the rest of the young Wizards in her first-year group. They had been summoned to meet at sunset with the Heads of all the Luens, in the Hall of Light adjacent to the library. Over the last few days the tutors had pushed their students hard, to discover where their strengths and weaknesses lay, and had determined the areas in which they ought to specialise, at least for this first year. In the initial part of their training, particular attention would be paid to their strengths, because concentrating on what came naturally to them would help to build their confidence, an essential part of magic. Chiannala had no need to have her confidence bolstered, however – not where her magical abilities were concerned. She knew how good she was, and she was determined to be better. Like her fellows, she was wondering what the verdict of her superiors would be, but whatever it was, she was determined to excel. She had every intention of becoming the greatest Wizard of them all. And no one – no one – would ever know she carried the vile taint of mortal in her blood.

  Chiannala turned her attention back to the window, in the hope of driving the thoughts of her parents from her mind: the Wizard father who had first taught her, had first given her hope that she might become more than a minor charm spinner in a backwoods settlement – and then had snatched that hope away; the mother who was nothing but a human slave who’d been given a chance to ape her masters. It was easier to hate them than to miss them; better to foster her resentment than to think how much she must be worrying and grieving them.

  Chiannala had new parents now – proper, true, respectable Wizards. She’d had no chance to consider all the wider implications when she had changed places with Brynne. Everything had happened so quickly, she had simply seen her opportunity and seized it. Already, letters were arriving whenever her new family could find a messenger – and if her first days at the Academy were anything to go by, it would appear that potential messengers must pass by their blasted farm with distressing frequency – almost every day in fact. Already packages had begun to arrive for Brynne containing letters from Shelgan, her father, hoping she was being a good girl and working hard, and giving her detailed bulletins about all the tiresome creatures and crops on his wretched farm; and from her mother Larann, hoping that she was keeping warm enough – in this blissfully temperate city – and not working too hard, and were there any handsome boys – boys! – at the Academy. She was also desperately concerned that her little treasure was getting enough to eat, as if the great, fat lump needed to eat any more, and enclosing pies and cheeses, cakes and bread, sausages and ham, all carefully wrapped and protected with a time spell.

  Chiannala gave it away or threw it into the sea. She had been forced to abandon the first, beautiful appearance she had crafted for herself with a transfiguration spell when she had run away from home, and she hated that she’d been forced to turn herself instead into this plump, apple-cheeked farm girl. Not that she cared a fig about boys – she was far too ambitious to burden herself with such distractions – but it positively sickened her to think that she’d performed such difficult and dangerous magic, twice now, only to go from sallow and bony to chubby and shiny-faced. Clearly, the advantages of beauty were closed to her now, but Chiannala was doing the best she could with the material to hand. She ate sparingly, keeping well away from the stodgier items supplied by the Academy’s refectory, and sticking to a frugal diet of fruit and vegetables, and the odd bit of chicken or fish. As a result, Brynne’s robes were already beginning to hang a little more loosely, and soon she would be forced to spend money on a seamstress to get them altered. Luckily, the farm girl’s parents were generous in more than just food and good advice, and though Chiannala didn’t have riches, the letters and parcels contained enough coin to ensure a comfortable life for a student.

  Answering the fond missives from her stolen parents was one of the most difficult aspects of Chiannala’s new life: far harder than any magic she’d been set so far. The first letter from Shelgan had left her utterly baffled until she had worked out that he had given many of his animals names – initially she’d thought he must be referring to other family members. Luckily, the real Brynne had mentioned that she was an only child, or all sorts of confusion might have ensued. Larann’s letters were also full of these potential traps. Chiannala was forced to sweat over replies to the wretched things, wording her answers with extreme care and praying that she wouldn’t reveal herself by slipping up over some petty detail. There was no alternative. Her journey with Brynne and Shelgan had been enough to show her the close bonds of love that knitted the other family together, and she knew that if she failed to write, they would be arriving in Tyrineld in no time to find out what was amiss with their precious chick.

  The silvery chimes of the bell that summoned the students for breakfast broke into her thoughts and jerked her back to the present. Though the first-year students had a holiday today, while their tutors completed the deliberations that would decide their fate, punctuality at meals was still strictly enforced. Chiannala shook off the uncomfortable thoughts of family and, with a last, fond look around her sanctuary, left the room, eager to see what the new day might bring. Whatever the difficulties, whatever the risks, her merciless act had been worthwhile.

  The Academy’s refectory was a large, airy room with floor-length windows which, in fine weather, opened onto a vine-decked colonnade and a courtyard in which small tables were set. This pleasant retreat, with its flowerbeds and central fountain, was reserved for teachers and privileged senior students, however. The first-year intake, along with the majority of the Academy’s students, had their own long table inside. This year there were fifteen of them – seven girls including herself, and eight boys – and they were all there before her, for the time she had spent daydreaming and gazing out of the window had made her late.

  Some of the sunlight went out of Chiannala’s day. She hated being last. Though she knew she was being stupid, when she saw them all sitting there together she felt as if they were somehow ranged against her. Though she realised that this was nonsense, she couldn’t seem to help herself. Since she had come to Tyrineld and the Academy, she had discovered a number of unpleasant home truths that had torn a ragged hole in her self-esteem. To her dismay she’d discovered that, though she had every confidence in her powers, she was desperately lacking in self-assurance when it came to interactions with her fellow Wizards. Growing up in Nexis, Chiannala had never mixed much with the other children. Her parents, Challan and Lannala, had refused to let her mix with either the barefoot brats of the human slaves that swarmed around the streets or the offspring of the other Wizards. They had always contrived to keep the truth from her – that a child with her background would have been unwelcome among the pure-bred Wizarding families, and only now, listening to the way her fellow students despised and disparaged half-breeds, did she realise just how much her mother and father had protected her.

  These unpleasant revelations had only served to make Chiannala all the more determined to succeed, to beat the lot of them, to become so renowned for her power and skill that no one would ever dare to look down on her. Yet in her heart, the understanding that she was different could not be
eradicated, and she very quickly became aware that Iriana’s horrified and hostile attitude to her had not been unusual. If they ever discovered the truth, how her fellow students would revile her!

  Well, they never would find out – not if Chiannala had her way. But the knowledge that she was fundamentally flawed put an invisible barrier between herself and the others. While the group weighed one another up and made friends or enemies, Chiannala tried wherever possible to stay aloof and apart from all the social manoeuvrings, rebuffing all attempts at friendship.

  Stiffening her spine, she walked towards the table.

  ‘Good morning, Brynne. Sleep well?’ Haslen, as always, had a smile for her. Stocky and round-faced, with an untidy thatch of brown hair, he found the chubby Brynne less threatening than the other girls, and he was firmly set on making friends with her, while she was just as determined that he should not. Chiannala knew that because of her appearance he considered her an outsider like himself. He had already discovered that she was good at magic, and he hoped that she would help him with his spells. He was some four years older than his classmates, having come late to his powers, and even at this early stage he was finding the work at the Academy hard to manage.

  Well, he could hope in vain for help from Chiannala! Despite the unprepossessing appearance of her borrowed (even in the privacy of her mind, she shrank away from the word stolen) form, she had her own fierce ambition, and she wasn’t about to let a useless, talentless moron like Haslen hold her back. Barely acknowledging him, she went and sat down at the far end of the table.

  Laurth was beside Haslen, his head a mass of blond curls. He was the class joker, always seeing the funny side and popular with everyone – at least among the students, for his teachers, who valued hard work and concentration, were less impressed with his light-hearted approach to life. To track him down, it was only ever necessary to follow the sounds of laughter and there he would be. He leant close to his neighbour, Haslen, whispering something into his ear, and Haslen, for once, instead of looking harried and anxious, threw back his head and laughed with abandon.

  Chiannala’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. Were they laughing at her? To cover her embarrassment, she poured a cup of taillin and helped herself to some fruit, though she did not touch the figs or the succulent peach. Suspiciously, she looked around at the others. Were they laughing at her too?

  Luckily, no one seemed to be taking much notice of her. At this end of the table. Gaernon was surrounded by the usual adoring crowd of girls. With his sleek mane of dark chestnut hair, clear green eyes and finely sculpted features, he had been especially blessed with good looks, and had a natural, easy-going arrogance that came from having been able to charm his way through life.

  Chiannala scowled at him. If she’d been able to keep her old appearance, the first disguise she had created for herself from wishes and imagination, she might have been foremost among his coterie of girls – who knew, she might even have been the girl – but as it was, he could have little interest in the fat lump of a body in which she had been trapped. Rather than hurt herself with his rejection, she kept her distance.

  Towards the centre sat the cleverest of the first-year boys, Briall and Rannart. To all appearances, they couldn’t have been more different. Briall was very tall, even for a Wizard, not to mention skinny and gangling; all knees and elbows and bony wrists. His straight, dark brown hair was always flopping into his eyes. Rannart was broader, with a shock of wiry red-gold hair and a face that was peppered with freckles. Rannart was very practical, Briall more creative, yet the pair had befriended one another from the outset, and Chiannala was astonished at the lack of rivalry between them. She simply couldn’t understand why they should help one another with suggestions and encourage each other to perform increasingly difficult spells. They ought to be the deadliest of rivals.

  Didn’t they want to be the best? Didn’t they want to win?

  Ferrin didn’t. Chiannala didn’t understand him, either. She had soon worked out that this narrow-faced, nondescript youth with his sandy hair and light, almost colourless blue eyes, was quite happy to disappear into the background and get away with doing as little as possible. She had heard him tell Briall that he hadn’t wanted to attend the Academy, being content to inherit his merchant father’s trade, which required very little magic. His parents had insisted he come, but they couldn’t make him work – that was his boast. Of all the boys, Chiannala hated him most, and harboured bitter feelings against him. Having been forced to fight so hard, to commit such terrible acts to gain her place as a student at the Tyrineld Academy, she despised anyone who would throw away the honour through sheer – as far as she could see – laziness.

  The dark-haired Ayron was a mystery. Like Chiannala, he kept to himself at all times, politely spurning any overtures of friendship from the others. His behaviour was so similar to her own that it made her uneasy. Did he also have a secret to hide? And if so, what was it? His eyes, dark and devoid of emotion, gave nothing away.

  So far, though there had been a lot of the usual flirting and manoeuvring between the sexes, Nathon and Seirlin were the only ones to actually form a couple. Childhood sweethearts, they had been together before they had come to the Academy, having lived in the same street all their lives. Nathon was very tall, with clear grey eyes, and he wore his hair in a long, dark blond braid. Seirlin was slender and graceful, with long, straight copper-coloured hair. Her mother was a Spellcrafter of some renown, her father a Bard, and though they had decided to go their separate ways when their daughter was eight years old, they were still the best of friends. Seirlin seemed to be heading in an entirely different direction from her parents, for she was chiefly interested in the Luen of Nurturers, who studied the lore of all living things, both animals and plants. Nathon’s parents, on the other hand, were still a devoted couple, who had been together for many years. Though both were Artisans, their son was hoping to follow the Bardic path.

  The other close relationship in the class was that of the twins, Ursella and Orlene. They were big girls, sturdy and statuesque, their colouring vivid and dramatic with masses of bright red curls and sparkling emerald eyes. They were absolutely identical and in the short time the group had been together, no one had found a way to tell them apart. They were bold, outspoken and brimming with confidence, and even though they were pleasant, merry and rarely unkind, Chiannala found their brashness intimidating.

  Valmai was completely the opposite, being pale and dark-haired, petite and shy, with a rare smile that lit up her face like sunshine. Like Chiannala, she had started out by being quiet and self-effacing, but that lovely smile had soon won her friends, who wanted to bring her out of her shell and see her blossom. Even Chiannala, very much against her will, found herself harbouring a sneaking liking for the girl.

  The same could not be said for Mylosa. In her case, it was instant dislike on both sides. The girl was tall and imposing, with spun-silk pale blonde hair, silvery eyes, and hawkish, patrician features. She came from one of the oldest, most powerful Wizard families, one that had spawned a long line of Archwizards. Her mother, Galiena, Head of the Luen of Spellweavers now that Avithan had gone, had been Cyran’s greatest rival for the Archwizard’s post. Rich and haughty, Mylosa had little time for a homely looking farm girl like Brynne. Though Chiannala, realising how much trouble it would save in the long run, had tried to remain beneath her notice, unfortunately she had not succeeded. She was far too clever a student, and had no intention of pretending otherwise. Even in the short time the class had been together she had made the cardinal mistake of making Mylosa look stupid, but it couldn’t be helped. Chiannala was not going to sell herself and her powers short just to placate an arrogant snob from a powerful family, even if it did result in an enmity that could make her life at the Academy very unpleasant.

  Oddly, however, Mylosa wasn’t her chief worry. The greatest danger, as far as Chiannala was concerned, came from Rhoslyn, a good-natured, friendly girl who h
ad a smile and a pleasant word for everyone. If a delightful nature weren’t enough, she was vivacious and pretty, with rippled waves of tawny hair and big brown eyes with sweeping dark lashes. Through the goodness of her heart she was always trying to befriend Brynne, having decided that the farm girl must be shy and lonely. Rhoslyn was always trying to draw her into groups and activities, until Chiannala wanted to throttle her.

  The more she resisted, the more determined the other girl seemed to become, yet her chief threat lay not in her pushy friendliness, but in the fact that, like Chiannala, she came from Nexis. Things had been different then. Even the sunny Rhoslyn had not been friendly towards a half-blood. Worse than the hypocrisy, however, was the very real risk of exposure. Since the original Brynne had come from a farm on the coast, she would hardly be expected to know anything about Nexis, and Chiannala was constantly afraid that Rhoslyn would get something out of her that would expose her as an impostor. And the stupid bitch refused to be discouraged. No amount of cold, brusque, dismissive or downright rude behaviour would put her off. Here she was again this morning, smiling that sickly sweet smile, offering the ostensible Brynne more taillin, a sweet roll, butter . . .

  ‘I’m quite capable of getting my own breakfast,’ Chiannala snubbed her.