Fantastic Schools, Volume 3

by Emily Martha Sorensen

  “This works?”

  “Yes. I tried them out on the archery range a couple of weeks ago.”

  He frowned.

  “I see.” He studied the scroll again. “Kern Martane and his magical arrows?”

  She smiled.

  “Maybe. It is what inspired me.”

  He nodded.

  “I see. We will talk more after this is over.”

  She nodded, whereupon he swung ‘round and addressed the Academagicians.

  “Find the senior students. We will make as many magical arrows as we can before the Shoverians arrive.” He turned to a West Dumfordian soldier who had been hovering, obviously trying to listen to what the magical types were up to. “We will need bows for us and the students and all the arrows you can find.”

  The man looked blankly back at him.

  “Now, soldier!”

  The soldier jerked upright.

  “Sir!” And ran off.

  The Lord of Magic handed the scroll to Lendar. “Study it. See if you can conceptualize it. Give to one of the others while you start making magical arrows.”

  “Um. Yes. Of course, Lord.” He took the scroll as though it was a poisonous snake.

  Satisfied her work here was done, Taroniah headed for the main gate and the short tower that over-topped it. There was a ladder up to the parapet which she climbed, found a spot, and sat down to rest. Captain Marteen loomed over her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Resting.”

  “I will not let you fight in this battle,” he said.

  She looked up at him.

  "You don’t get to choose. The Shoverians aren’t going storm the town and then point at us and go, ‘Oh. Marland people, leave them be,’ while they sack the rest of the town, now, are they?” she asked sarcastically.

  He shook his head, but before he could say anything she continued.

  “Besides. These people are my friends.” She waved at the town. “As are my fellow students.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “I’m not about to let a bunch of Shoverian misogynists rape and pillage their way through here.”

  “So you’re going to stop them all by yourself?” he asked, being equally as sarcastic as her earlier tone.

  She stared at him for a moment.

  “No, I won’t be alone. There will be a bunch of magical students firing magic arrows at the stupid bastards, but more importantly, we’ll have the only sorcerer on the battlefield.”

  She closed her eyes again and heard him snort, but he offered no further commentary.

  She may have managed to doze off at some point, because suddenly she could hear yells and shouted orders and it was clear the Shoverian army had arrived. Standing up awkwardly as she worked the somewhat painful kinks out of her body she turned to look out over the scene to the south of the town. The Shoverian soldiers were lined up in six blocks, most about six ranks deep and around fifty men wide. A force of mounted men, maybe two hundred or a bit more was on one end of the line and another, smaller mounted force at the other end. Quite a few of the infantry at the front appeared to be holding one end of wooden ladders to be used to scale the town’s walls, no doubt.

  Forward of the army, there was a gaggle of officers, mostly nobles by the look of the fancy outfits. Captain Marteen must have been shielding her in her position on the wall because the whole battlement above the gate was full of people. The town Mayor and Royal Governor stood looking at the Shoverians just a little further along the parapet from where she was. The senior West Dumfordian Guard, Captain Killew, was with him, as was the Lord of Magic and one of the other Academagicians (although that worthy was on the far side of the group and she couldn’t see who it was).

  Several soldiers filled up the available space. The nobles at the front of the Shoverian force broke up and three rode forward, the gaudiest in the lead. When about a hundred paces from the town gate, they halted and the leader scanned the walls before speaking.

  “I am Sharpe of Aveham, sent by my King to restore this land to the rule of Shoveria,” he bellowed.

  Larinet, the Governor, gave this claim no standing immediately.

  “This is not Shoverian land and never has been. West Dumfordia gained it by driving out the Wigian barbarians many centuries ago. We have held this land ever since.”

  Sharpe waved this away.

  “Long-standing occupation of our land does not give ownership,” he retorted.

  “Nor does loud claims by fancy upstarts!” Larinet replied.

  Taroniah presumed there was something about Sharpe’s pedigree she wasn’t aware of. Never having heard of the fellow before, this was understandable. She could see the Shoverian was upset by this retort.

  Sharpe pointed at the walls.

  “You have maybe forty or fifty soldiers and I have two thousand. A few old magicians are not going to help you as I have some of my own.” He pointed back at the four fellows who hadn’t ridden forward.

  “Harve’s pretty good. The others not so much. They all studied here,” the Lord of Magic commented.

  “Surrender, and all will be spared and treated honorably,” Sharpe continued.

  There was something to be said for this course of action. If the Shoverians could be trusted. Taroniah wondered which way Larinet would jump. He was some sort of cousin to the King of West Dumfordia and had been a successful Admiral if she remembered correctly. But he was not that important in the Kingdom of Shoveria, or he wouldn’t have been assigned way out here.

  “I think not,” Larinet replied. “My king gave this land into my charge. I will not give it up without orders from him.”

  Well, that’s done it, Taroniah decided.

  “Very well. On your head be it,” Sharpe bellowed and went to turn away.

  “Hey. You. Shoverian fellow.” Taroniah yelled out, much to the surprise of those on the battlements.

  Sharpe turned back and looked up at her.

  “I am Taroniah of Marland. Do you have any sorcerers amongst those magicians back there?”

  The man frowned. Shoverians were very patriarchal so he probably wasn’t used to a woman yelling at him.

  “No, you stupid girl. Everyone knows there are no sorcerers anymore.” The dismissive tone was well done, she had to admit.

  “Well then, Sharpe of Aveham. I suggest you turn your army around and head back home, thus saving your men’s lives. And your own, for that matter. Because we do have a sorcerer.”

  Sharpe looked at her for a moment then scanned the wall before turning back to her.

  “And where is this mighty sorcerer?” he asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.

  “Perhaps I should have said sorceress. You’re looking at her,” she replied boldly.

  There was no response for a moment. Then he and his fellows burst out laughing.

  “You are a child,” he managed at last. “I hope you survive the assault because I am going to enjoy playing with you.” He turned his horse and led his fellows back to the magicians.

  The people on the battlement were all looking at her.

  “Really?” Larinet asked?

  She shrugged.

  “We’ll soon see. There are lots of those magical arrows?” she asked the Lord of Magic.

  “Yes. We divided up the students and those of the staff who have some skill with a bow and placed them along the wall under the command of a couple of the guards who have sufficient magical power to set off the spell themselves.”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” She looked at the Shoverians, who had begun to advance. “Okay. I am not sure how this will go, but I suggest you all stay below the wall of the battlement.”

  Having said that, she focused on the fire spell she had used on the beast. The one she had modeled on the tall tales of the great sorcerer battles from the Great War. She conceptualized it as big as she could and readied herself. A deep breath, two, and then she focused on where Sharpe and his fellows were. Refined the spell
wider rather than deeper and raised her hands, concentrated, and launched the spell.

  The air in front of her began to shimmer like a heat haze. The closer to the enemy, the stronger the shimmer became.

  Then the air burst alight into a spreading, roiling mass of fire that slammed into the Shoverian troops and incinerated them. A massive firestorm swept over the centre of the Shoverian army blasting over Sharpe and his fellows and continued into the distance before finally petering out maybe a mile away. The troops directly in the path were reduced to ashes, the metal in their gear warped and deformed if not melted. Trees and bushes were just dissolved by the heat. On the edges of the firestorm there were half-incinerated bodies and beyond that men were screaming and dying as their clothes burned them alive.

  Most of the Shoverian mounted forces were galloping into the distance, with those riders still on their horses desperately trying to rein the panicked animals in. Probably half the Shoverian army was dead or dying.

  Taroniah saw stars and sank down until she was sitting on the ground with her eyes closed, leaning against the parapet desperately trying to not pass out. She didn’t see the horrified looks cast in her direction by all those on the wall area above the gate. Her dazed state was interrupted by something hard being pushed into her hands. She opened her eyes and found a ceramic water bottle. She glanced up and saw Marteen’s worried face looking down at her.

  Her head was belling like a temple gong and she started seeing stars again. Closing her eyes helped and she moved the jug to her mouth and swallowed some very welcome and surprising cool water. The water helped her feel better. When she opened her eyes again she didn’t see stars.

  “Thank you.” She put a hand on the ground and levered herself up.

  “Stay down,” he ordered.

  She halted, kneeling. “What’s happening?”

  “Each surviving half of their army has halted their advance. They appear to be sorting out who is in command. Your magical arrows are taking a toll, even at this range.”

  “Good,” she whispered. Her head was improving. Another gulp of water made her feel even more the thing. “Help me up.”

  “No. You can hardly stand.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she replied. “Get me up and they will run.”

  She tried to stand. Seeing she was determined, he helped her up.

  “Press against my back so they can’t see you’re holding me up,” she whispered. She moved forward until her front was held up by the parapet. The Captain pressed against her back as requested and she was able to remain standing.

  Her re-appearance caused a stir amongst the nearby defenders, which in turn caught the attention of the Shoverian troops. She steadied herself and took a couple of deep breaths, then projected her voice as well as she could.

  “Go!” she yelled. And then raised her hands and made some movements directed at the troops on the right. The officers might have had other ideas, but the troops there simply broke and fled. She lowered her hands and turned towards the troops on the left. She had hardly started to raise her hands when they fled as well.

  “Good,” she whispered, and found that putting both her hands on the top of the stone parapet let her stand a bit longer. Eventually, the Shoverians passed from view.

  “They’re gone,” Marteen said in her ear.

  “Yes.” She promptly blacked out.

  She awoke in the temple with a priestess sitting in a chair nearby reading a scroll.

  “Oh.” She felt somewhat refreshed, and her head was back to normal although she felt very weak.

  The priestess rose and brought a mug with juice in it,

  She took it gratefully, feeling weak and hungry. She downed the juice and looked up.

  “How long?”

  “Two days,” the priestess replied.

  Oh, Taroniah thought.

  “The Marland Guardsman carried you in here. He felt you would be safer here, quite rightly,” the Priestess added.

  There would be war, Taroniah felt. Maybe,

  The priestess looked her over then made to leave.

  “I will summon the Senior Mother. She wished to speak with you when you woke.”

  Taroniah nodded acceptance to this. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to anyone just yet, but she didn’t fancy trying to stand up. This limited her options. There was no point in being stupidly stubborn. She must have dozed a little because suddenly the lined face of the Senior Mother was looking down at her.

  “Ah. My trip was not wasted,” the old woman said, smiling at Taroniah.

  “Senior Mother,” Taroniah acknowledged the older woman. She hadn’t believed in the old gods before she came here, but she was starting to change her mind. If the fanciful stories of the great magics the sorcerers of old could do were still possible, perhaps the gods were more real than she had believed.

  “Well. You have certainly stirred things up, young lady. No matter. You are safe here. At least for the moment.” The old woman sank onto the chair the priestess had occupied when Taroniah had awoken. “The real question is, what do you want to do?” Her pinched face made her glinting eyes stand out. The Senior Mother might be old and frail, but her brain was still sharp and her personality remained strong.

  Taroniah looked off into space for a moment.

  “I want to explore more magic. Teach, even. I will have to go home and see my parents and my real father but after that, I think, I would like to return to Lightbearer Academy if the Lord of Magic will allow me.”

  The old woman studied her for a moment.

  “It is long since there was a true Sorcerer in the world. Even my Lady feels more alive to me now that you have shown yourself. Very well. You may stay here until you feel able to leave, either for your home or back to the Academy.

  “It will be interesting to see what you cause to transpire, Lady Sorceress, Taroniah of Marland.”

  Peter Rhodan grew up in Sydney, Australia but has lived on the Gold Coast, Australia for over thirty years. His working career has spanned a lot of things, having been a courier driver, retail sales assistant, casino croupier, small business owner, graphic designer, and most recently Uber driver.

  He lives with his wife and a border collie cross dog who thinks she’s a human, their two great kids having both flown the coop.

  The first fiction book he read that he liked was Eagle of the Ninth and the first Science Fiction book he read and liked was Foundation by Asimov. At one stage, his library held over 1600 dead tree books, but he has barely 100 now, having pruned a lot in various moves and replaced most with electronic versions.

  His favorite authors, at the moment, are David Weber, Lois McMaster Bujold, Christopher Nuttall, and Pam Uphoff.

  Chris Nuttall and Pam Uphoff both inspired him to “have a go, mate,” and so he has. His books are on Amazon only at present.

  He runs a blog, which he updates periodically: https://rhodanblog.wordpress.com/ or on Facebook. (Be warned though, he posts funny and politically conservative/incorrect stuff regularly there.)

  Under the Sublime Moon

  by Aaron Van Treeck

  This may be most readers' first foray into Xianxia fiction. It's a modern form of Chinese storytelling about heroes who cultivate some form of energy in order to reach enlightenment and immortality. This is typically accomplished through meditation, the practice of martial arts, and the use of magical treasures and medicines. Fans of Dragon Ball will recognize the idea of Qi granting superhuman abilities.

  Stories like these are often bound up with traditional Confucian and Taoist principles. Very strict adherence to certain codes of behaviors is common and, in my opinion, can make for somewhat stuffy reading at times. So, when I realized that this was the type of story I wanted to write for this magical school anthology, I decided to liven things up by throwing a magical Celt into the mix. If you enjoy this story, I highly recommend Will Wight's Cradle series.

  Under the Sublime Moon

  Cu MacDann

 
“Qi is the energy that lets you live and move and breathe. For most, this energy allows them to live ordinary lives and nothing more. But, for those of you born to the higher castes and the special few who find a Natural Treasure, it can be your door to a world the average man will never see. A world of wonders and power.” I stopped to look out at my students, feeling the slight pressure that they exuded while cycling their Qi through their bodies. It was like feeling a faint drumbeat vibrate the air, or a dozen drumbeats, as the case happened to be. Wait, a dozen and one? A moment of concentration allowed me to find the extra student.

  There were always servants moving about the Sect’s grand hallways and open courtyards, cleaning, organizing, and bringing supplies when needed. Standing in a shaded corner of the courtyard was a girl, nearly a young woman, wearing the drab brown robes and head covering of the maids. Her drum beat louder and faster than the rest. My own Qi shivered in excitement. She wasn’t sitting in a meditative pose on the ground like my students were. She was standing and moving around. She was plucking withered leaves from the shrubs that surrounded the small courtyard and putting them into a bag to be disposed of. It was an accomplishment worthy of a senior student, and it was being done by someone who should not have been capable of performing even so well as the children before me taking their first real instruction in the Art.

  “Someday, this Qi cycling technique will become second nature to you. If you choose to begin a Path, you will eventually advance your will to the point where it is possible to cycle while you sleep. Now, Li,” I called the name of one of the students. “Tell us what a Path is.”

  “Teacher.” He rose and bowed to me.

  His Qi vibrated with disdain and anger. Clearly, this son of a Prefect considered me, a foreigner to the Kingdom of Mirrored Water, unworthy to be an instructor in the Sublime Moon Sect. His notion of social strata and status were unsuited to a student of the Art, so I decided to give him a glimpse of what a Master could truly do. But not yet. First, he had a question to answer.