by Gail Dayton
"Not like you alchemists do." Elinor thought a moment, then amended, "Or not entirely. You conduct magic through them, correct?"
"That's right."
"So do we, but in the stirring of potions. The wand conducts the magic into the potion. And of course, it's a wooden wand, not metal."
"Could you do it, though? With your wooden wand. Direct magic somewhere besides into potions?"
"I don't know." The idea took her a little aback. Wizards were the healers of the magicians' councils, not the warriors. But even sorcery, with its well-earned reputation for bloody justice, had its healing side. Perhaps wizardry had its warrior side.
"Do you suppose I could?" She gave Harry a doubtful look. She wasn't particularly warlike in nature--but then she'd recently dared far more than she ever dreamed she could. She would dare anything to protect the innocent--and having Cranshaw at the head of the wizards' guild put too many innocents at risk.
"Won't 'urt to try, will it?"
The carriage swayed to a halt, then lurched and bobbled as the coachman climbed down to open the door. They'd arrived. Elinor rushed to descend first, to help Harry with his injury.
The thought occurred to her that if she won her challenge, she would no longer be Harry's apprentice, but a proven master wizard. She wouldn't be required to spend so much time with him. Not that she would yield to the temptation Harry and his "yearning" represented, but better to avoid it. One more reason for her to win.
Over the next week and a half, Harry had plenty to keep himself busy while Elinor prepared for her challenge. While he awaited the opportunity to kiss her again. She hadn't exactly said she would, but she hadn't said she wouldn't either. Just that it wasn't the right time. He agreed with that. So he waited and found other things to do.
He watched the dissection of the nail-legged machine. This machine didn't bother him overmuch, until they cracked its shell and all its no-magic got out. It made him short of breath, even though he was several paces away. The magic got in as well and turned its shiny-bright insides to rust-coated wreckage. That shell bothered him. If the machines could shield themselves from magic... He needed to think on that.
Harry also followed the Briganti around on their search for any other machines that might have got out through the wall, until they asked Grey to ban him from coming along. There were signs of it--suspiciously weak places in the wall of magic primarily, but so far their search bore no fruit.
He rode out to Sir William's country house and escorted the council head and his wife back to London. That took up a good five days. The Stanwycks' house wasn't so very far out into that disturbing countryside that he couldn't manage it. All that green just wasn't natural.
Harry assisted Elinor with her preparations. Once. He took her into the third-floor ballroom of his house, used for all activities requiring space, except dancing, to practice her wand work, to experiment and see whether a wizard might be able to use a wand like an alchemist.
She could. Rather well, in fact. But he banned himself from assisting her further, because he kept touching her--to adjust her stance, of course. She'd touched him, to see if she could sense the flow of magic into his wand and out. She couldn't. But that had inspired him to put his arms around her, with the excuse of showing her how to cast the magic. She'd thrown her wand clear across the ballroom instead. He'd have turned her round and kissed her into jelly next, if he hadn't excused himself and left her to it.
It hadn't been a practice session at all, but a flirting session on the verge of becoming a kissing session and who knew what else, if he let it go on. Not that she would have let him, but it would have been him breaking his promise.
Not that he'd promised in so many words, but he said he would do things her way till after the challenge. He'd given his word.
Harry didn't break promises and he didn't go back on his word. This promise might just break him with the keeping of it, but she needed to be ready for this challenge. He did not want to be the cause of her lying broken and bleeding--or however wizard's challenges ended for the loser.
He had hope. Not just for the outcome of the challenge. There, he had nothing but confidence. Elinor was hands-down a better wizard than Nigel Cranshaw ever hoped to be. Harry also had hope for his chances of kissing her again, and maybe more.
Because she'd kissed him back. It had shocked her, maybe embarrassed her. He had his doubts as to whether she'd been kissed before. Still, she'd liked the kiss. He had no doubts about that. And since she liked it, he would hang on to that hope and leave her alone to prepare for her challenge. Then they would see where kisses could take them.
The Great Hall of the British Magician's Councilhouse in the heart of London echoed with hundreds of voices, all but three of them male.
Off to one side, mostly behind the crowd, Elinor Tavis bounced on her toes and observed that every magician in the whole of Great Britain, including the Irish, must have come to watch the challenge for magister of the wizard's guild. Some of them had come from beyond Britain's borders.
Dottore Antonio Rosato, famous far beyond the borders of his native Italy as a powerful wizard who was also a medical doctor, peered into the crystal goblet holding her potion for the challenge. He sniffed the pungent, eye-watering aroma. Reminiscent of chrysanthemum and rotten cabbage, Elinor had thought when she made it. Rosato smiled broadly and nodded. "Bene. It is very bad, so it is very good for the challenge."
Dr. Rosato, who had come to England to consult on other matters, had volunteered to act as her second, because no other wizard would do it. Sir William couldn't. As head of the Magician's Council, he would be presiding over the challenge. The eleven remaining wizards in the British guild were all Cranshaw's creatures.
Rosato also had a reputation as a ladies' man, which was perfectly understandable, given that he was very nearly as beautiful as the extremely handsome and recently wed magister of the conjurer's guild. The dottore had black tousled curls, deep brown wickedly twinkling eyes, and a seductive smile--on a mouth that wasn't quite as perfect as Harry's. Why was Tonio Rosato so ignorable and Harry Tomlinson so tempting?
The deep booming peal of the Great Bell echoed through the hall and as its sound faded, so too did the rumble of voices. Elinor shook off all distracting thoughts. The Great Bell was traditionally rung once at the beginning of a magister's challenge. It hadn't rung for that purpose in some ninety years.
It also rang in emergencies and its magic-enhanced boom had alerted all magicians within a hundred miles just five weeks ago at the new moon in December, during a ferocious battle against a horrific foe. At the end of which Elinor had issued her challenge.
Now, as the last of the echo died away, Sir William mounted the dais at the far end of the great hall. "Let the contenders come forth," he called out in a voice magnified by magic to reach every corner of the vast chamber.
This was it. Do or die--perhaps literally.
Elinor glanced at Harry who as her magic-master had insisted on waiting here with her, instead of taking his seat on the dais with the other magisters. Soon enough to join them when she took her place, he'd said. He held her glance long enough to become a gaze, his expression filled with confidence and expectation of victory. Then he winked and backed away through the crowd. At least one of them thought she could do it.
She touched the ointment on her wrists and hidden under her jaw line, checking her magical protection. Wizards didn't usually wear their warding, preferring to drink it instead, and she had done that too. But she wanted every advantage she could get. She'd gone into battle against a demon wearing a fearsome "war paint." She wanted war paint now.
Unlike that other, this ointment carried only her own magic, as was required in a challenge, and had the added benefit of being colorless. Perhaps it would surprise her opponent.
She patted the stiff leather pouch at her waist holding her quiver of wands--ash, cherry, pine, alder, and all the other woods. She hoped to provide Cranshaw with another surprise there. F
inally she smoothed her hands over the bright green silk of her skirt. If she was going into battle as a wizard, she would look the part, wearing wizard's colors.
Elinor nodded at Dr. Rosato, who nodded back and led the way down the aisle kept clear of observers to the center of the hall. A skylight high overhead admitted a shaft of thin watery light which fell on the square table placed there, reflecting off the polished stone mosaic of the tabletop. Harry had assigned a trio of alchemists with talent in air-moving to push aside the January overcast long enough to provide a few moments of sunlight.
Beyond the dottore, Elinor could see Cranshaw's second, marching from the opposite direction. He was a squat bulldog of a man named Dodd, bearing the goblet with Cranshaw's potion. Cranshaw followed, tall and thin, his fair hair carefully combed in a futile attempt to hide the growing baldness. His scowl condensed into enraged menace when he saw her. Elinor smoothed her expression into serene confidence, hoping it hid all the turmoil and uncertainty churning inside her. Besides, the calm expression seemed to enrage her opponent all the more.
The two seconds reached the center table and turned, pacing side by side up the open center of the room to the dais. The great hall was perfectly square, so they had almost as far again to walk as they'd already come. Spectators were confined by railings to two boxes on either side of that open center before the dais and to the back half of the room behind the table where Elinor and Cranshaw waited.
The Book of Wizardry, the ancient tome that usually resided on a similar table in the center of the council library with the Books of the other three magics, lay on the table between them. To bear witness to the challenge? Harry hadn't said anything about it when he told her what he'd learned looking up magisters' challenges in the library.
Elinor wondered if it might provide magic to the wizard clever enough to use it. After all, the Book was so old, so imbued with magic, that it essentially was magic. She and Cranshaw had been allowed to prepare for this challenge. It wouldn't be cheating to siphon off a little of the Book's magic and store it in--yes, the alder and yew wands, she decided.
Dodd and Rosato finally reached the dais to present the goblets to Sir William and the other three magisters. They all stood, and as the presiding wizard, Sir William came forward to inspect the potions.
"I object!" Cranshaw's voice hadn't been enhanced, but it rang through the chamber nevertheless. "Sir William is godfather to the abomination that dares to challenge the proper, God-ordained ordering of society and those put in authority over her. He cannot be an impartial judge. I demand--"
He paused, pasted on a smile filled with humility so false it made Elinor queasy. Though that could be all the magic she held. She needed to use it soon, or let it go.
"I humbly request," Cranshaw said, not at all humbly, "that the head of council recuse himself from presiding over this challenge."
Sir William glowered at the gangly wizard. "If you were going to protest," he grumbled, "why didn't you do it last week, or the week before, instead of dragging us all here for this, and disrupting everything?" The magic carried his grousing to every corner of the hall as well.
"'Cause he wants to put it off." Harry folded his arms and scowled at Cranshaw too. "'E was too much a coward to come out an' help when the Great Bell rang last, an' 'e's too much a coward to face a real wizard's magic now."
Harry somehow borrowed just enough of Sir William's voice-enhancement to let his voice carry as far as the two contenders and perhaps beyond. Elinor wasn't sure, but she thought perhaps so, given the murmur that started up behind them.
Cranshaw flushed, but remained silent. Elinor supposed he could pretend he hadn't heard the insult, since Harry hadn't addressed him directly.
Sir William looked at the others on the platform with him. "Tomlinson can't do it," he muttered. "He's her magic-master. Carteret--" The Council Head spoke up, calling on the magister of the conjurer's guild. "Take over."
Lord Greyson Carteret flashed a wicked smile. "Certainly." He stepped forward, accepting the gavel from Sir William.
"I object!" Cranshaw cried again. "Carteret has worked hand in glove with this female. He has taken another female as apprentice. Not only that, but he has been cozened into marrying her. He cannot be an impartial judge!"
"No?" Carteret, slim and dangerous as a dagger, let the gavel dangle from his thumb and forefinger, lifting an eyebrow as he looked down the wide aisle to Cranshaw. "Shall we have Mrs. Greyson preside?"
Magister Greyson of the sorcerer's guild was married to a distant relation of Magister Carteret's, hence the similarity in names. Amanusa Greyson's emergence from the depths of Transylvania as the first blood sorceress in two hundred years had brought sorcery's magic back into the world. It had also done much to convince the male bastion of Europe's magicians' councils that women should be once more admitted to their ranks. That was not to say that everyone agreed, but fewer now objected with the same vehemence as Cranshaw.
"God forbid!" Cranshaw blanched at the suggestion. "She has no right to be present. Sorcery is not a recognized guild. It is spawned by the devil, fed by blood, worked for evil--"
"Shall we put it to a vote?" Carteret handed the gavel back to Sir William. "I believe we have a quorum of our membership present. Vote: Is sorcery still a school of magic recognized by the British Magician's Council, as it has been since the beginning of the council's establishment? And as such, are its members therefore members of the council? Yea or nay?"
A roar went up from the gathered crowd, and Sir William had to use his amplified voice to quiet it. "Secret ballot," he said. "Briganti, collect the votes. Sergeant-at-arms, count them."
The sergeant-at-arms was the colonel in charge of the Briganti Enforcement Branch. Simmons had been opposed to women becoming magicians--but he had fought alongside them in the terrible battle at Waterloo Station. Elinor hoped his opinions had softened.
Elinor didn't want to wait for the counting. She was stuffed full of magic and needed to use it. She was ready now. This delay of Cranshaw's had to be calculated to disturb her concentration, get her rattled and throw her magic askew. She was better than that, but--
"What about the challenge?" Dr. Rosato spoke up, just as Elinor had worked up her nerve to speak. "We are here for the challenge between Wizard Tavis and Magister Cranshaw--"
"That female is no wizard!" Cranshaw shouted.
Rosato ignored him. "This vote--the counting has no bearing on the challenge. The contenders are here. The potions are prepared. The challenge should go on."
"There is no presiding officer!" Spittle flew from Cranshaw's mouth as he raged. Elinor slid her eyes to the side to get a look at him and wondered whether he would collapse from an apoplexy before the challenge ever started.
"I will preside." A trim blond man with a massive moustache and an accent like the late Prince Albert stepped onto the dais.
"You--who are you? What right do you have?" Cranshaw's rather bulgy eyes looked as if they might boggle right out of his head.
"I am Georg Gathmann. I am head of the Magician's Council of the Kingdom of Prussia, and for this term, president of the Ancient and Noble Conclave of All Magic, governing all of the councils of Europe and its colonies."
That shut the man up. Elinor pushed her smug satisfaction under her hopefully still-serene expression to join all the other emotions jumbling around in there. She'd forgotten Gathmann had come to town. He was also involved in Harry's consultations and he'd escorted half a dozen candidates for Amanusa's sorcery school from the German states.
"Surely you cannot say that I will not be an impartial judge." Gathmann gazed imperiously down the length of the chamber at the goggling Cranshaw.
"The vote can continue during the challenge," Sir William pronounced. "Let's get on with it."
"Who's going to verify the potions?" someone called from the crowd.
Sir William rolled his eyes. "Wizards--all of you, up here. You will bloody well all verify that the potions were made by t
he contender and him or her alone. No more delays. Let's get this done."
He handed the gavel to Gathmann, who happened to be an alchemist like Harry, and walked to the front of the dais where he stepped down to be the first of the wizards to inspect the potions. The other wizards slowly worked their way through the crowd to come forward and do the same.
Sir William took the goblet from Dodd first. He looked, then sniffed, and nodded as if satisfied. He turned to Rosato, who handed Elinor's goblet over. Sir William peered into its murky depths, swirling the liquid around the clear crystal to coat the sides with a thin greenish film. He sniffed and his eyebrows rose, but he nodded and handed it over to the next wizard, creaky old Beddowes.
As she expected from the minute Sir William called all of Cranshaw's creatures up to verify, someone tried to object to her potion. Allsup was a hidebound traditionalist who seemed to object to--well, everything. "This isn't a regulation potion," he protested. "It isn't in the book."
"It is," Elinor spoke up for the first time. "It is in Peyrolle's Potions and Spells, with my own modification." The Peyrolle was an old book, out of fashion with current thinking, but it had some grand potions in it.
"Did the challenger create the potion entirely herself?" Gathmann asked.
"I can detect no other hand in it," Allsup responded reluctantly.
"That is the only requirement for a challenge," Gathmann stated, looking down the line of wizards yet to verify. "Contenders can create any spell they choose, as long as it is their own work, whatever the guild. Continue."
The last three or four worked quickly, all agreeing that the two potions were entirely Elinor's and Cranshaw's own work. At last, Rosato and Dodd held the goblets again and walked back down the long space toward the central table where Elinor waited with the man who hated her.
CHAPTER THREE
A wizards' challenge, she'd been informed, would be a quiet genteel affair, unlike the violent, explosive, run-and-hide challenges of alchemists. Harry had told her tales of his days in the academy, when the alchemy boys spent half their time in plotting to blow each other up. The conjury students weren't much better, though their challenges tended more to the prankish, since spirits couldn't move much with any weight or mass in the material world.