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

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Her cheeks heated. It was... embarrassing. “Damn it.”

  Lady Barb glanced at her. “Damn what?”

  Emily didn’t answer for a long moment as she checked her mental defenses, carefully. Very carefully. There were plenty of charms designed to influence a person, from basic attraction cantrips to outright lust and slave spells. The more subtle ones could be difficult to spot, particularly if one wasn’t the target. Humans were good at rationalizing things, at convincing themselves there was nothing wrong with their feelings. Her eyes narrowed. She’d known plenty of girls who’d had crushes on terrible guys. She’d always thought herself above it.

  A popular or powerful person can get away with anything, she thought. Prince Hedrick was an excellent example. Hell, King Randor had had an entire string of royal mistresses, at least one of whom hadn’t been entirely willing. And...

  She sighed. “Why do I like him?”

  “Like who?” Lady Barb gave her an odd look. “I think you need to get some sleep.”

  Emily flushed. “I like Althorn,” she said. “And I thought... he might be using a glamor. But he’s not.”

  “Interesting,” Lady Barb said, tartly. Her voice dripped disapproval. “I do trust you haven’t forgotten what Jan did for you?”

  “I haven’t,” Emily said, a little too quickly. “I just... I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  Lady Barb eyed her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Althorn is a handsome and accomplished young man who practically reeks of charisma,” she said, finally. “It’s not surprising that so many people are drawn to him. He is real in a sense that so many others, particularly our regal friends, are not. He believes in his cause, to the point he’s devoted himself to it. But that doesn’t make him infallible. He’s wrestling with the realities of power now.”

  And he can’t do anything to me, Emily thought, slowly. She’d always feared the popular kids at school because they could get away with anything. But here... she could defend herself if things went badly. Perhaps it’s safe...

  She shook her head, angrily. She had a relationship. Jan had risked everything for her. And even if she hadn’t been in a relationship, she certainly shouldn’t be allowing herself to be attracted to Althorn. She was meant to get the royalists and the rebels to the negotiating table, not take sides. And yet, she knew - deep inside - that she’d already chosen a side. She wanted the revolution to lead to a better world.

  “Get some sleep,” Lady Barb advised. “They’ll be here to pick you up shortly.”

  Emily nodded and climbed up the stairs to her bedroom. She didn’t bother to undress after she closed the door, just lay down in bed and went to sleep. It felt like only moments between closing her eyes and hearing a banging on the door. She jerked up, half-convinced she was caught in a nightmare. It took her several moments to gather her thoughts before she could cast a spell to open the door.

  Silent peered into the room. “My Lady, the coach is here.”

  Emily nodded and stood upright. “I’ll be down in a moment,” she said. The timing was awkward, to say the least. She wasn’t that experienced, but even she knew that high-level meetings weren’t arranged at the drop of a hat. Dater wouldn’t have been that eager to go along with a rebel suggestion, even if it was perfectly reasonable. They’d normally spend days arguing over minor details such as the shape of the conference table and who got to enter the room first. Whoever gave in first would have set an awkward precedent.

  Which begs the question, she thought, as she splashed water on her face and changed into something a little less comfortable. Why did he agree to the meeting so quickly?

  She took a long breath as she checked her appearance in the mirror, then walked down the stairs. Prince Hedrick stood at the bottom, his face a mask; Silent stood beside him, holding the door open. Emily glanced at her, then walked onto the street. The coach was waiting. It looked like something taken from the palace. She was mildly surprised it hadn’t been chopped up for firewood. Someone had removed the coats of arms from the doors, leaving bare wood where they’d been.

  Althorn beckoned to her. “Emily,” he said. His smile was infectious. “Come join us.”

  Emily clambered into the coach. It was bigger on the inside than she’d realized, easily large enough to hold a dozen adult men. Storm sat on the far side, his magic blurring into the wards protecting the coach itself. Emily studied his spells for a long moment, noting how strangely imprecise they were. He wasn’t a graduate of Whitehall, she was sure. She rather suspected he hadn’t attended a proper school at all.

  The door closed. Althorn sat facing her as the coach rattled into motion. Emily sat back and studied him, more coldly this time. He was handsome - and not in the too-perfect way she’d seen at Whitehall or King Randor’s court - but she had the sense he was nervous about something. She reached out gingerly, trying to make sure Storm - or Althorn himself - didn’t sense it. Althorn didn’t have a glamor. Or magic, as far as she could tell. If he was masking, he was masking very well.

  Her lips twitched. She hadn’t sensed any glamor because there wasn’t one to sense.

  She leaned forward, once they were well clear of the city gates. “What do you intend to say to the king?”

  Althorn smiled. “We’ll give him our demands,” he said. “If he accepts them, well and good. If he does not... at least we tried.”

  “What demands?” Emily had the nasty feeling they hadn’t changed. “Did you make any concessions at all?”

  “We’ve been told he’ll make concessions, which will allow us to make some ourselves,” Althorn said. “We’ve been exchanging diplomatic notes for a few days now.”

  Emily kept her face impassive as the couch rattled through the gates. “What do you intend to concede?”

  “We’ll let the aristos keep their manors,” Althorn said. “But the rest of it is ours.”

  “They’re not going to agree to that,” Emily pointed out. “There’s no way they’ll agree to that.”

  “Their army is unsure of itself,” Althorn said. “The horse-lovers might be aristocrats, but the infantry is largely drawn from commoner stock. Many of them don’t want to serve the aristocrats. They admire Dater - I’ll give him that much - but they don’t want to die for the aristocrats. And Dater knows it.”

  Emily frowned at the conviction in his voice. He might be right. She’d seen how the infantry was treated, in badly run armies. The aristocracy regarded soldiers as little better than serfs or slaves, men who could be expended at will. And yet... she wasn’t so sure. Poorly-led armies had often held together better than anyone expected, even when they were fighting against their own interests. Althorn might be right, or he might be completely wrong.

  “Our people have been active in their ranks,” Althorn added. “They report that the majority of the aristocratic forces are ready to desert.”

  “If that’s true,” Emily said, “why don’t they?”

  “We have been asking them to wait and see what happens,” Althorn said. “If Dater surrenders control of the army to us, beyond a handful of royal guardsmen, we can retain the original units. If we have to fight it out, they’ll stab their former commanders in the back.”

  The coach rattled again. “We’re nearly there,” Storm said. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

  Emily glanced at him. If he was the enemy sorcerer... she studied him thoughtfully, trying to gauge his power. His magic was sloppy, something that was dangerously common amongst necromancers. And yet, he didn’t have the raw power of a necromancer. She felt a twinge of concern. Whoever had trained him hadn’t done a very good job. Unless, of course, it was an act. It wouldn’t be easy to slop magic about, and it broke some very strong social taboos, but it could be done.

  Storm looked back at her. “Like what you see?”

  Emily met his eyes. “Why did you join the revolution?”

  “I should have gone to Whitehall,” Storm growled. “I could have gone, but the king barred me from goin
g. He insisted I had to stay and learn from my father, who’d learnt from his father in a chain that stretches all the way back to the Dark Ages. I tried to run away, only to be returned to my father’s house. I joined the rebellion because everyone should have a right to try to reach their full potential. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes.” Emily nodded, considering what he’d said. “Why did he bar you personally?”

  “My family has been apothecaries for decades,” Storm said. “The king didn’t want us becoming anything else. As long as he kept us small, we were in his power. We couldn’t leave the city or anything.”

  Emily wasn’t sure the story made sense, although it had the ring of truth. The king wouldn’t give a damn about Storm personally, but... there were rules governing magicians in royal cities. Most powerful magicians moved out, sooner or later, yet... if they didn’t have the power or resources to establish themselves in a magical community, they might just come to regret it. Social mobility wasn’t as easy as some people made it look.

  She tensed as she felt wards washing across the coach. The driver pulled the vehicle to a halt, then scrambled down and opened the door. Emily took a breath of fresh air as she jumped out, Althorn and Storm following at a rather slower pace. She looked around, noting the handful of empty or burnt-out buildings. There was no sign of any inhabitants, beyond a pair of horses beside a tent. The village had been devastated by the fighting. She wondered, grimly, what had happened to the survivors. Had they fled into the forest? Or the city?

  “He’ll be waiting for us,” Althorn said. “Coming?”

  Emily had to smile as they strode towards the tent. If there was one advantage to throwing the meeting together at breakneck speed, or what passed for breakneck speed among diplomats, it was a shortage of formality. She reached out with her senses, just to be sure Dater wasn’t accompanied by a small army of advisors. It would be easy for him to let his hair down if there weren’t a dozen witnesses. There were only two people in the tent, waiting for them.

  She took the lead and pushed the flap aside. Dater sat at a table. Another man stood behind him, wearing an outfit so gaudy Emily knew he wasn’t an aristocrat. Councilor Triune? He didn’t look like Aiden, but that was meaningless. Aiden had gone to some trouble to hide her looks.

  “Lady Emily,” Dater said. “Thank you for coming.”

  Emily nodded, finding herself suddenly unsure what to say as the other two followed her into the tent. Address him by title? Address him by name? Perform introductions? Or... or what?

  This could go very badly, she thought, as Althorn held out a hand for Dater to shake. And there’ll be no second chance.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I AM NOT A DIPLOMAT,” ALTHORN said, with a self-deprecating smile. “I am a merchant, from a family of merchants. I have come to strike a deal, not to stand on my rights as an elected member of the provisional government. I think we shouldn’t waste time on pointless issues when we must address the dragon in the room.”

  “I am not a diplomat either,” Dater said. It struck Emily suddenly, for all their disagreements, Dater and Althorn had a great deal in common. “However, I must point out that monarchs do not bargain.”

  “Merchants do,” Althorn pointed out. “We have considerable respect for you as a person” - he studiously avoiding addressing Dater by title - “but we expect you to recognize that the world has changed. You are no longer the unquestioned master of the kingdom and your aristocrats no longer have unquestioned authority over their serfs. We have proven that your power can be broken. Right now, half your kingdom is in effective rebellion. The serfs have fled the land, have taken the land, or are plotting to take the land. And you cannot regain your power.”

  Dater smiled. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” There was no doubt in Althorn’s voice. “We will devastate the country from end to end before we let you regain your power. Your victory will turn to ashes in your mouth.”

  “Indeed.” Dater studied Althorn thoughtfully. “You asked for this meeting. I assume you have a proposal.”

  “Yes,” Althorn said. “It is not perfect, but... it is one we can accept.”

  Emily sighed, inwardly, as Althorn started to outline the proposals she’d heard after the first unsuccessful meeting: The monarchy to surrender most of its power, the aristocracy to surrender its cherished rights, the assembly to hold power as it developed the rule of law... she knew, all too well, it was never going to be accepted. Dater might choose to play the role of a constitutional monarch, but his aristocrats would never agree. They’d lose everything, for what? She didn’t need to look at Dater to know he was angry. He’d taken a significant risk by agreeing to the meeting and the rebels had thrown it back in his face.

  “And that’s what you want,” Dater said, when Althorn had finished. “Would you like the crown jewels as well? Or can I keep them?”

  “They belong to the kingdom,” Althorn said. “They’re not yours.”

  Dater tapped the table. “There is no point in trying to discuss the issue,” he said. “What you are demanding is nothing less than my unconditional surrender. You want me to give up everything, in exchange for what? Why do you believe anyone would agree to this?”

  “There comes a time when one must recognize reality,” Althorn pointed out. “And reality, here, is that you are being asked to surrender something you’ve already lost.”

  “The lands you want me - us - to surrender are ours,” Dater said. “I was unaware that stealing something made the thief its legitimate owner.”

  Althorn looked back at him. “By what right do you own the Royal Forest? By what right do you own the Crown Lands? By what right do your aristocrats own their estates?”

  “They have been legally ours for generations,” Dater snapped. “And that has been recognized in courts of law right across the Allied Lands.”

  “But our people work the lands,” Althorn said. “You refuse to even let us leave.”

  “You are no serf,” Dater countered.

  “But there are many serfs amongst us,” Althorn replied. “Your aristocrats treated them as slaves. They were bound to the land, unable to leave without permission. Those who fled to the cities were hunted down. By what right did you treat them as slaves? As animals?”

  His voice rose. “You claim to be superior, yet there’s no real difference between you and us, save for an accident of birth,” he said. “We matter. We will no longer put up with being treated like slaves. And we will not let you get your hands around our throats again.”

  Emily shivered. She understood his logic. She agreed with it. And yet, she feared where it would go. The aristocracy had crushed all reformist movements until they’d been replaced with movements that wanted the aristocracy wiped out, root and branch. They were too angry, too full of hurt and bitterness and helpless rage, to draw any distinction between good and bad aristocrats. They just wanted them gone. And it would be very easy for someone to light a match and start a fire that would burn down the entire kingdom.

  “Let me put forward a counter-proposal,” Dater said. “You will stand down. You will allow us to retake the cities and estates without opposition. In exchange, we will pardon you for the rebellion and start making slow and steady reforms. It will not happen immediately, but it will happen. You have my word.”

  Althorn laughed, humorlessly. “You give your word very freely.”

  “I am a monarch,” Dater said, primly. “My word is my bond.”

  “We’ve had promises before,” Althorn said. “And many of them have been broken. Why should we trust your promises?”

  He leaned forward. “And even if we trusted you, why would we trust your aristos?”

  Good point, Emily thought. Dater couldn’t keep his supporters in line. They’ll crush the serf uprisings as quickly as possible, whatever happens in the cities.

  She shook her head. Althorn couldn’t convince his followers to surrender and place their lives in aristocratic
hands. The former serfs would fight to keep their new lands, all too aware that defeat meant death. Althorn had power, but not that much. She felt a flicker of sympathy. He had to steer a course between hardliners like Jair and moderates like Aiden... she wondered, suddenly, who was really in control. Did Althorn even know the moderates had tried to meet with her? He certainly hadn’t mentioned it.

  “I will lead you,” Dater said. “I will command your armies and defend your rights.”

  Althorn barked a laugh. “The way your father defended our rights?”

  “You killed my father,” Dater said. The geniality was gone. “I am prepared to overlook, but not to forget.”

  “I came here because I believed you would meet us halfway,” Althorn said. “And instead, you demanded complete surrender.”

  “I will keep my promises,” Dater said. “Who would trust me if I broke them?”

  “It’s a point of dishonor amongst the aristocracy that promises made to commoners don’t have to be kept,” Althorn countered. “And we don’t trust you to even try.”

  “Then this meeting is pointless,” Dater said. “I will honor my safe conduct” - he shot Althorn a nasty look - “and let you return to the city.”

  Emily cleared her throat. “Do you, do both of you, actually want a war?”

  “It is better to fight than to bow the knee in submission,” Althorn growled. “I will not surrender.”

  “I’ve seen war,” Emily said. “Whoever wins” - she looked from one to the other - “will inherit a graveyard they may not even be able to keep. The kingdom will be devastated. Men will be pressed or slaughtered, women and children will be raped and murdered, croplands will be ruined, cities will be burnt... whoever wins, the kingdom will be weakened so badly your enemies will be able to come over the border and conquer you with ease. Are you sure you want to fight to the last?”