The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “It’s always comforting to believe that someone is against you,” Void said, neutrally. “To think your misfortunes can be blamed on someone you can find and kill, or even to impose a story on a series of unconnected events. It’s also possible that you’ll waste a great deal of time hunting for someone to blame, instead of looking in the mirror. Alluvia was in trouble a long time before anyone had ever heard the name Emily. It was only a matter of time before it blew.”

  He stepped back. “I take it you accept my conditions?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Then go to bed,” Void ordered. “I’ll write to Lady Barb myself.”

  Chapter Eight

  EMILY SLEPT POORLY.

  She was tired, achingly so, and her body clock was completely out of sync. The sunlight streaming through the windows confused her and, even after she slammed the curtains shut, she felt weirdly keyed up. Her awareness seemed to slip in and out of an endless series of nightmares, grim reminders of what could have happened. She tossed and turned time and time again, as though she was being dragged down into a nightmarish world she couldn’t escape. It was a relief, almost, to be woken by a sharp knock on the door.

  “What?” Emily sat up in bed, hair spilling over her shoulders. Her scalp still ached. She wasn’t sure if Lucknow had actually managed to pull out some of her hairs. “What is it?”

  Silent stepped into the room. “The master wishes you to awaken,” she said. “I have breakfast laid out in the next room.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said, sourly. She kicked herself a moment later - a word from her could have Silent’s career destroyed in a heartbeat, even one spoken in jest - but the maid showed no reaction. “Is there anything else?”

  “There are also letters and reports for you,” Silent said. “The master has commanded me to pack our bags, once you have had your breakfast.”

  “Just a basic bag,” Emily said, firmly. She was not, and never would be, a clotheshorse like Alassa. “A pair of dresses, some underwear and a couple of notebooks.”

  And a selection of magical supplies, she added, silently. She’d have to pack those herself. Who knows what I’ll need in Jorlem City?

  Silent curtsied. “I’ll see to it, My Lady,” she promised. “We’ll be ready to leave as planned.”

  Emily smiled. “We have a plan?”

  “The master says you’ll be leaving this evening,” Silent said. “I believe he intends to speak to you first.”

  “Good,” Emily said. There was no point in arguing with the maid. She was simply carrying out Void’s orders. There was no way she could disobey her master, even if Emily requested it. It certainly wouldn’t be fair to ask. “Let me get up and dressed, then you can pack.”

  Silent dropped another curtsey, then withdrew as soundlessly as she’d come. Emily stood up and stumbled into the bathroom, wishing - again - that she had time for a long soak. The room was dark now. It looked like late evening, from what she’d seen when she looked out of the window, but it would be night in Dragon’s Den. Void probably intended her to get ready now, then teleport to the town before morning. She grimaced as she undressed, turned on the shower and stepped into the warm water. It was strange to realize that magicians operated on a global scale, that they had to take time zones into account when the vast majority of the population didn’t even know they existed. Even Alassa didn’t really need to worry about time zones while she was ruling her kingdom. They just didn’t matter on such a small scale. Zangaria was little bigger than Texas.

  She showered quickly, dressed and then stepped into the main room. Her breakfast was waiting under a stasis spell, as Silent had promised. Emily wondered idly who’d cast the spell for her - she didn’t think any of the maids had a talent for magic - then shrugged, dismissing the thought. It was probably the cook. The woman was oddly thin for someone in her profession. Sergeant Harkin had once warned her never to trust a thin cook. She frowned as she cancelled the spell and started to eat. There was a huge pile of letters and reports on her desk, just waiting for her. Emily made a bet with herself that only a handful would say anything new.

  And most of them will be repeating rumor as fact, she thought. Alassa had once complained that half her agents overheard something in the marketplace, missed half the context and presented what little they’d heard as hard data. It was an easy way to mislead someone without ever meaning to do it. There’s no way to be entirely certain what’s really going on.

  She drank her Kava and reached for the first letter, a parchment envelope with the White Council’s seal prominently displayed on the top. Master Lucknow hadn’t wasted any time, she acknowledged sourly; he’d convinced the council to approve Emily’s position as a roving representative without portfolio. She scowled as she scanned the long and detailed notes, all of which danced around the question of just how much power she had and just what she was meant to achieve. Get the two sides to the table and then... and then what? Master Lucknow might be hoping she would fail, particularly if she didn’t have a set goal. Or he was just so desperate to wash his hands of the whole affair that he hadn’t given the matter any real thought.

  Putting the envelope aside, she started to scan the reports. The detailed files on Alluvia suggested the kingdom had been heading for trouble a long time before Emily had arrived in the Nameless World, but it was impossible to be sure. Revolutions, by their very nature, were difficult to predict. She wondered, as she continued to read, if the New Learning had triggered the unrest. People didn’t rebel when they were constantly ground down. They rebelled when they saw a hint a rebellion might succeed.

  That’s not the problem, she reminded herself. The problem is building a new world afterwards.

  She sighed as she read through the reports. The kingdom had been unstable for years. There had been no attempt to compromise, no attempt to reshape the kingdom to meet reasonable demands for reform. There had been too many parties with too many interests in maintaining the kingdom in a state of stasis, making peaceful reform impossible. Alluvia should have been a rich land. There were so many tax exemptions that it was a minor miracle anyone got taxed at all. She had a nasty feeling, reading between the lines, that the burden fell on the peasants, the people least able to pay. It wasn’t an uncommon pattern. The resentment it brought wasn’t uncommon, either.

  They should be able to come to terms, she thought. But it’s going to be very hard to find common ground.

  Her heart sank. She’d be astonished if anyone on either side trusted the other. Anyone who tried to make a compromise, any kind of compromise, would be overthrown by his own people. The commoners regarded the aristocrats as slavedrivers and the aristocrats regarded the commoners as property... she sighed. Alluvia lacked the freedoms of Randor’s Zangaria and they had been few and far between if one didn’t have a title. It was starting to look as though the best she could do, the best she could hope for, was to convince the aristocrats to go into exile without a fight. She was pretty sure it wasn’t going to happen.

  She sighed as she read the reports covering the genesis of the rebellion. None believed the rebellion had come out of nowhere. Some argued that the Levellers were behind the whole affair, speaking of them as though they were lurking under every bed. They spoke of the Levellers as though they were a vast conspiracy, a hidden power so great that they only had to reach out their hand to take the world. The reports became near-hysterical as they went on and on, leaving Emily rolling her eyes. If there really was a conspiracy that powerful, and she rather doubted it, resistance was futile. The more reasonable reports blamed local forces - commoners or aristocrats who thought they could direct the storm - or Alluvia’s neighbors. Only a handful of reports blamed Emily herself.

  I know I didn’t do it, Emily thought, wryly. And yet it’s very hard to prove a negative.

  The reports became irritatingly repetitive, to the point she started scanning for names and places she hadn’t read a dozen times already. No one agreed on who was in charge in Jorlem City.
The reports darted from low-ranking aristocratic names to commoners and names that were obviously affections. Common Man? Speaker of Truth? Emily had to smile. The Levellers often adopted new names, styling themselves by their dreams and idealisms. She wished, suddenly, that she’d spent more time working with them. She might have been able to steer the movement in a more productive direction.

  She glanced up as someone knocked on the door. “Come!”

  Silent peeked inside. “My Lady, the master wishes to see you in his study,” she said. “He said the wards will show you the way.”

  Emily stood, almost knocking over the chair in her haste. Void had made it clear - very clear - that she was not to try to enter his private chambers. She respected him too much to try. Besides, Void would have every right to dismiss her - or worse - if he caught her sneaking into his lair. And yet, she was curious. Common sense told her that Void’s bedchambers and workrooms wouldn’t be that different, but... she didn’t really believe it.

  The wards enveloped her as she walked into the corridor and up a flight of stairs she was sure hadn’t been there before. She could sense the power crackling around her, the wards snapping and snarling as if they resented her presence. It was easy to believe they were alive, on some level. The tower was ancient, handed down from sorcerer to sorcerer. It was welcoming to its master, but rarely to anyone else. Even apprentices and servants weren’t immune.

  A really powerful sorcerer could live alone, meeting all of his needs through conjuring, she thought. But no one has that sort of power. Not now.

  She pushed the thought aside as she stepped through an arch into a midsized workroom. It was charming, in an odd kind of way. The walls were lined with all sorts of charmed devices, from simple wands and staffs to strange assembles of wood and metal that didn’t seem to have any real purpose. Void wasn’t an enchanter - he’d said as much - but he’d studied the field extensively. Emily wouldn’t have cared to bet he couldn’t qualify for mastery. At his age, there was little point in bothering with the formal qualification.

  He combines all the disciplines, she reminded herself. It was humbling to realize, at times, just how much she still had to learn. How long will it be before I match him?

  Void himself was seated at a wooden work bench, eyes focused on an amulet. Emily stayed back, knowing better to disturb an enchanter at work. The teleport spell was fiendishly complex, even at the very basic level. She dreaded to think how difficult it would be to devise a spell that would allow her to teleport through wards safety. She’d been warned never to try. The slightest mistake would scatter her atoms over the world, never to be recombined. She shuddered and waited, clasping her hands behind her back. He would speak when he was ready.

  A flicker of magic darted through the air, then faded. Void held up the amulet and studied it for a long moment, turning it around and around in his hands until he’d looked at it from every angle. Emily could sense the spell inside the gem, a sparkling piece of magical perfection. Void was good. She had accidentally destroyed a dozen gems when she’d been trying to charm them. The spell just didn’t seem to want to remain stable.

  “Emily,” Void said. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Bad dreams,” Emily said. “And I woke up to a pile of reports.”

  Void snorted. “A third of those reports will be lies. Another third will be taken out of context. Another third will be wishful thinking. And yet another third will be something that bears a slight - a very slight - resemblance to the truth. And that is...?”

  Emily had to smile. “Four thirds,” she said. “Which is impossible.”

  “There’s a great deal of overlap,” Void told her. He held out the amulet. “What do you think?”

  “It’s brilliant,” Emily said. Void had layered a dozen spells into the gem, weaving them together until they were practically one. “It’ll work.”

  “It should work,” Void cautioned. “Do not use it in a warded room unless there’s no other choice. I haven’t been able to devise a way to test it safely. Even if I did, there are so many variables that it might work perfectly during the test and fail spectacularly when you try it for real. It’ll drop you in Dragon’s Den, the closest safe place to Alluvia. After that... I doubt it will work a second time.”

  Emily nodded. “We’ll keep working on it.”

  “Yes. We will.” Void stood. “I’ve prepared similar amulets for Silent and Lady Barb. I leave it to you to convince Lady Barb to wear one. She may not trust the spells.”

  Or you, Emily thought, darkly.

  Void let out a breath. “Did the reports tell you anything useful?”

  “A great deal of background information, but very little about the revolt itself,” Emily said, slowly. “The situation is still in flux.”

  “Yes.” Void started to pace the chamber. “The kingdom has been a tinderbox for years, Emily. The monarchs used the threat of the necromancers to keep the population in line. Be good or the necromancers will get you, they said. They weren’t entirely wrong, but - as you know - the necromancers were on the far side of an impassable mountain range, with Whitehall blocking the only viable pass. I think there were people in Alluvia who didn’t really believe in the necromancers. And now...”

  “The necromancers are gone,” Emily finished. “And all hell has broken loose.”

  “Yes.” Void stopped and turned to face her. “The monarchs demanded huge sacrifices from their people for the war, most of which were either wasted or completely pointless. Their people had - have - good reason to be angry. And that’s true for most of the Allied Lands.”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  “I understand why you want to go,” Void said. “But you must consider, right now, the possibility of failure.”

  Emily nodded. “I have to try.”

  “Yes.” Void turned away. “And yet, the odds are not good.”

  He walked down the stairs. Emily felt the wards pushing at her and turned to follow him, her thoughts a churning mess. She wanted to try... no, she wanted to succeed. And yet, she had a feeling Void was right. She might fail completely. If there was someone pulling the strings, someone lurking in the shadows... Nanette? She’d worked with rebels and rioters in Zangaria before. Why wouldn’t she do it again? But why Alluvia? It wasn’t as if Nanette or Emily had any real connection to Alluvia.

  She frowned at Void’s back. “Why Alluvia?”

  Void said nothing for a long moment. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why would someone trigger a revolution in Alluvia?” Emily frowned as she considered the problem. “Why there?”

  “You’re assuming there is someone behind the revolution,” Void reminded her. “The monarchs are looking for a secret evil mastermind, the evilest of evils, because they cannot face up to the prospect they might be to blame. King Jorlem, a man so egotistical he named his capital city after himself, isn’t likely to believe his own people hate him so much they want to overthrow him. Like I said, it’s easier to blame someone else than face up to your own failings.”

  “Yes,” Emily said. “But it happened so quickly.”

  “Yes,” Void agreed. He stopped and turned to face her. “King Jorlem’s people had plenty of reason to dislike him, even to hate him. There’s no need to invent an international plot when local rebel factions can plot revolution on their own, without someone putting ideas in their heads. It wouldn’t be that hard to start laying the groundwork for an uprising, then take advantage of the original riot to get the people on the streets. All they needed was a contingency plan and a great deal of luck.”

  Emily nodded, slowly. “And yet, I have orders to find the person responsible.”

  Void laughed. “You can start by arresting the king,” he said. “If he’s in a cell, in rebel hands, he might even be grateful.”

  “I doubt the rebels will be happy if I arrested him,” Emily mused. “Can they put him on trial?”

  “I’m sure they will try,” Void said. “And that’s what sca
res his fellow monarchs so badly.”

  Emily nodded as they resumed their walk. The idea of a monarch being judged by his fellows was one thing. They knew their peers wouldn’t judge them too harshly, at least as long as they didn’t embrace necromancy. But their people? She could see the arguments already. The monarch saw the overall picture, empowering him to make the hard choices that best suited the kingdom. The commoners, who didn’t see more than a tiny piece of the puzzle, couldn’t judge the king’s actions. And even if they could, the precedent would be disastrous. Every monarch in Europe had shuddered after Parliament had executed King Charles. They hadn’t cared that Charles had brought his fate on himself. They’d just feared their own people getting ideas...

  And they did, Emily reminded herself. The French executed their own king a century or so later.

  “We’ll have lunch,” Void said, “and then you can go. I wish I could give you my blessing...”

  He paused as they stepped into the dining room. “If things go really badly, send me a note and I’ll call you home. No one will blame you for obeying your master, even if it leaves them in the lurch. And I don’t care what they think of me.”

  Emily was touched. “Thank you,” she said. She knew it was kindly meant. “That means a lot to me.”

  “You’re welcome,” Void said. “And don’t stick around once you know you’re doomed to fail.”

  Chapter Nine

  EMILY STUMBLED OUT OF THE TELEPORT field, sunlight burning down on her as she found her footing and opened her eyes. It was high summer in Dragon’s Den - the familiar stench of the town drifted towards her - and she could hear students laughing and cheering in the distance as they enjoyed their first week away from the school. She felt an odd little pang as she looked towards the town’s boundary, wondering if anyone would notice if she walked into the town and visited her friends. Frieda was still at Whitehall, beginning her final year as a student. It was tempting...