Schooled in Magic 5 - The School of Hard Knocks

by Christopher Nuttall

“Very well,” Aurelius said. “I accept your word.”

  He took a long breath. Emily realized, suddenly, that he was nervous.

  “You are aware, of course, that the Allied Lands face a colossal threat,” he said. “You of all people should be aware of just what threat the Necromancers pose.”

  Emily nodded, slowly.

  “And yet the Allied Lands, as a whole, does not take the threat seriously,” Aurelius continued, his voice growing louder as he pressed onwards. “It is barely two years since Whitehall was attacked and almost destroyed; two decades since we lost an entire country to the Necromancers. And yet the Allied Lands seems to choose to blind itself rather than actually prepare to fight!”

  “And to cripple magicians who might be helpful,” Emily added, sharply.

  Aurelius didn’t disagree. “Yes,” he said. “A policy that is deeply flawed in many respects.”

  Emily had wondered why Whitehall and Mountaintop were such generalist academies when historical practice from Earth suggested that a master and apprentice system would be much more likely. But it did make sense. The Allied Lands needed magicians so badly that it was prepared to throw education at every would-be magician it found, just to see what stuck. And the academies also provided what little socialization some of the magicians received. They were–or they should have been–outside the local power groups.

  But something had gone wrong, she knew. The Fall of the Empire had wrecked a great many carefully-calculated arrangements.

  “It is badly flawed,” Emily said, when it became clear he was waiting for a reply. “But it seems to be the system you support.”

  “I am not the MageMaster,” Aurelius said. He opened his hands, trying to project trustworthiness and openness. “I do not have the power to change things, not yet.”

  He looked down at the table, then back up at her. “But if I become MageMaster, Emily, a great many things can be changed.”

  Emily watched as he stood and started to pace.

  “The Shadow system needs to be revised,” he said, as he strode from one end of the room to the other, magic crackling around his robes. “Many of the well-bred Shadows learn nothing from it, while the common-born Shadows learn only how to be slaves. For everyone who becomes a greater magician in their middle years, there are ten who leave the school fit only to serve as servants to the Great Houses, to bear their children in return for a lifestyle that does nothing to prepare them for war. House Ashworth made no mistake in refusing to send their Heir to Mountaintop. It would not have prepared her for her role as Matriarch of Ashworth.

  “And that isn’t the only problem,” he added. “Mundanes may not be able to contribute much against a Necromancer, but they can help in fighting off hordes of monsters raised to the Necromancer’s cause. Or they can produce materials for war, even if they can never deploy them. The Great Houses play their petty political games, the Kingdoms and City-States struggle for power and position... while, slowly but surely, the noose tightens around our necks. Whitehall isn’t the only prospective bottleneck between us and the Blighted Lands...”

  He took a sharp, savage breath. “Whoever becomes MageMaster will be in a position to change the way of the world,” he said. “I intend to reach that post and use it.”

  Emily looked down at the carpeted floor, trying to think. This was it, she realized dully; this was his pitch, his proposal, his invitation to join him. Everything he’d done for her, from showing her dangerous or forbidden magics, to letting her get away with wandering out of the school’s passageways into the underground tunnels, had been leading up to this moment.

  He was right. She knew he was right. The Allied Lands took the threat of the Necromancers as seriously as King John of England had taken the threat of the Ottoman Turks. Even King Randor, whose daughter had been caught up in Shadye’s attack on Whitehall, hadn’t been as worried about the Necromancers as Emily thought he should have been. And yet she couldn’t help feeling that, if Aurelius had wanted to make changes before hearing about Emily, he could have done so without becoming the MageMaster.

  She hesitated, then asked.

  “Why now? Why not attempt to make the changes earlier?”

  “You are aware, of course, that the quarrels pervade our society,” Aurelius said. If he was offended by her question, he didn’t show it. “Each of the tutors at Mountaintop, with a single exception, was appointed to the post because he or she had the backing of a powerful quarrel and strong connections within the Great Houses. They each represent a point of view–and not all of those points of view agree that we should make changes. But you... you represent change.”

  He stopped pacing and turned to face her. “I cannot make significant changes in our schooling because I do not have the power to override the other tutors,” he told her. “Right now, with the MageMaster on the verge of death, there is no one with the power to impose his will on the staff. Or to make changes, if necessary. The school’s policy is drifting.”

  “Which is why no one has done anything about... about Frieda,” Emily said, slowly. She’d been surprised that no one had done anything violent, apart from a pair of expulsions that had had no real deterrent effect. “There’s no consensus on what to do with her.”

  Aurelius nodded, once.

  He sat down, still facing her, and rested his hands on his knees. “I have a proposal for you,” he said. “You carry power and prestige, perhaps more than you know. Give me your support and, in exchange, I will arm you to face the Necromancers. I can show you how to use magics you can’t even imagine, magics so dangerous that they were locked up centuries ago, and tricks that only an experienced combat sorcerer would know. I will be MageMaster, ready to implement the changes that would put an army at your back, ready to face the Necromancers once and for all.

  “Or, if you want something else, I can meet your price. Special schooling and training in any subject you wish? Power? Wealth? A husband from a proven magical bloodline who will stabilize the wild power you inherited from your father? Or what would you like? I can give it to you.”

  Emily stared at him. “Why do you think I would tip the balance in your favor?”

  Aurelius laughed, humorlessly. “You’re the Necromancer’s Bane,” he said. “In two years, you have killed two Necromancers, upset a coup plot that was almost certain to succeed, introduced a whole new system of reading, writing, counting and riding horses... there are people all over the Allied Lands who pay vast sums of money for exclusive access to the words that come out of your mouth. If you made a public statement in my support, Emily, I guarantee you that people will listen.”

  “The girls in Raven Hall didn’t treat me as anything special,” Emily said, slowly. “They just treated me as one of them.”

  “I had cautioned them to treat you normally,” Aurelius said. “And I wanted to see how you would act when pushed into a very different environment.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Did you arrange for Ten to bully my Shadow?”

  “That’s something else I would like to change,” Aurelius said, bluntly. “The current system squashes more great magicians than it produces.”

  “Yes,” Emily agreed.

  “Time is not on our side,” Aurelius said. “The MageMaster could die at any moment–and, when he does, we have to have a viable successor in place. I shudder to think what would happen if the links to the wards passed to the wrong person–or no one. The school would be left defenseless.”

  And anyone watching from the outside could come in, Emily thought. Lady Barb and Master Grey had said they would be outside, hadn’t they? And what would happen then?

  “I would need to speak to my father,” Emily hedged. She wanted–she needed–time to think, but she doubted she would be given the time. “I have not yet reached the age of majority.”

  Aurelius lifted his eyebrows. “You can’t make a decision without consulting your father?”

  “I am his daughter,” Emily lied. She had only a hazy idea of just ho
w much authority Void had over her–the Grandmaster knew perfectly well that Emily wasn’t Void’s daughter–but she doubted that Melissa or Claudia would be expected to make such a decision without consulting their fathers. “And I don’t know what to say.”

  “I understand,” Aurelius said. He looked, just for a second, disappointed. “Go back to your dorm, write your letter and enjoy the feast tonight. But I will need an answer soon. Time is not on our side.”

  “You said that already,” Emily muttered.

  “You’re excused from classes for the next week in any case,” Aurelius told her. He took a piece of parchment from a side table and scribbled on it, quickly. “I fear the Healer was on the verge of cooking my intestines with a spell by the time you woke up. Give this note to the Head Girl. You’re allowed to sleep as long as you like for the next week.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Emily said.

  “Go,” Aurelius said. The urgency in his voice belied his words. “And write that letter!”

  Emily nodded, then left the room.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  IT WAS EARLY MORNING, ACCORDING TO Emily’s watch, when she finally stumbled back into Raven Hall. Her head was starting to pound unpleasantly, suggesting that the potions and Kava were already starting to wear off. The effects hadn’t lasted as long as she’d expected, part of Emily’s mind noted; the Healer might have deliberately given her a weaker dose. She clearly hadn’t approved of Aurelius’s plans for Emily.

  She barely noticed Nanette until the older girl stepped right in front of her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been better,” Emily managed. She pressed Aurelius’s note into Nanette’s hand, almost stumbling over and falling to the ground as she did so, then half-staggered towards her bed and sleep. “Tell Frieda not to wake me up...”

  She fell onto the bed and into the darkness, her eyes slamming shut. Sleep must have claimed her, she recognized dully, because the next thing she remembered was opening her eyes to discover that she was practically bent over the bed. Her hazy mind struggled with the concept before she regained all of her memories and recalled just how badly she’d been drained the previous night. Aurelius had pushed her right to the limits of her endurance.

  But she did feel better, she had to admit, as she rolled over and sat upright. Her robe was crumpled and stained with sweat, her hair felt a ghastly mess. Mindful of the Healer’s warnings, she pushed herself to her feet and glanced at her watch. It was mid-afternoon, when some of the girls would be in class and the others would be engaged in private study or trying to catch up on their sleep. She wondered if they’d seen her as they got out of bed–she hadn’t had time to set up any privacy wards–and then decided it didn’t matter. Instead, she stumbled towards the shower and undressed as soon as she was in the stall, then allowed the cool water to shock her awake.

  She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of water washing her body clean, then started to think through everything the demon had shown her. Demons didn’t lie, she had been told time and time again, but they could mislead. Anything could be used to imply anything, with a little bit of imagination, and if the books were to be believed demons had plenty of imagination and used it all to devise new ways to spite humans. The visions might have been taken completely out of context.

  No, they were taken out of context, Emily thought, firmly. And wondering about the original context will only drive me insane.

  The water started to turn icy cold, jerking her out of her thoughts. Hastily, she stepped out of the stall and towelled herself dry, then cursed herself under her breath. She’d forgotten to bring a gown and her clothes were all dirty. Angrily, she glanced out, discovered that the hall was still empty and ran out to her bed, stark naked. She tried to cast a privacy ward as soon as she arrived, but her head started to pound almost at once and she gave up. Instead, she pulled on her nightgown and dropped back into bed. But the door opened before she could close her eyes and get back to sleep.

  “Emily,” Frieda called, in delight. “You’re back!”

  “Of course I am,” Emily said. “Where did you think I’d gone?”

  “Well, Ferrell said you were expelled from school and Griselda said you were dead and Dune said you’d spent the night in Cockroach Hall with a boy, but Harris said you’d been in the infirmary and Hog backed him up,” Frieda said. “His Patron is a Sixth Year brute who is supposed to be really good with healing charms, so he’s working there to earn spare cash or something. The Healer was in a right mood over you being there, he said.”

  “So she was,” Emily said. She sighed, then leaned back into the sheets. “Let me sleep, would you?”

  Her days fell into a quiet routine of rest, meals and chatting with Frieda about nothing in particular. Nanette visited from time to time, bringing books from the library, but rarely stayed to chat, while the remainder of the girls kept their distance. Emily wondered, as she slowly recovered her strength, if they thought she was contagious. The rumor mill had to be working overtime. By the time the weekend rolled around, and with it Founder’s Day, she almost felt like herself again.

  “You can’t sleep now,” Frieda said, sitting on the bed. Nanette stood nearby, looking amused. “There’s a feast tonight, remember?”

  “I may have heard something about it,” Emily said, with great dignity. “I won’t be attending.”

  “You must,” Frieda said. “It’s the event of the year!”

  “I shouldn’t go,” Emily said. The dull ache at the back of her head was getting stronger. So was the urge to just shove Frieda away, physically. “I think I need to sleep.”

  “You can sleep, if you wish,” Nanette said. “But it would be a shame to miss the feast.”

  Emily scowled, cursing her own weakness. She hadn’t even been able to cast a simple privacy ward over the last week, let alone hold it in place. She’d have to teach Frieda how to produce them, she told herself, as she sat back upright and rubbed her forehead. When she touched her chest, she felt a dull ache between her breasts. The subtle magic used to help patients to heal had triggered her defenses.

  Or, she asked herself, did something else happen while I was asleep?

  “Fine,” she snarled. She sighed, unwilling to admit her weakness, but knowing there was little choice. “Cast me a privacy ward, please.”

  Nanette nodded, then cast the spell and withdrew. Emily let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. If Nanette had wanted a little revenge for their grudge match of a duel, she would never have a better chance to humiliate Emily and shatter her reputation beyond repair. Except, no matter how cranky she was, Emily had a feeling that Nanette actually cared about her duties more than she cared to admit–or to show to anyone else.

  And she’d have to be insane to piss off the Administrator, Emily thought, as she stood upright and pulled off her gown. He would not take it kindly if she alienated me for good.

  “Your chest looks sore,” Frieda said, softly. “Is that... is that safe?”

  Emily looked down at the rune. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was red and ugly against her pale skin. She cursed under her breath, wondering how anyone could hope to heal if they had runes to ward off subtle magic, then wondered just what else might have happened while she was unconscious. Had they done something else to her while she was asleep, or was she just being paranoid? It was quite possible that she’d had to be moved out of the chamber before anyone called the Healers.

  “I don’t know,” she said. Her head was starting to pound again. “And you might have to help me, later.”

  She bent down, ignoring Frieda’s snicker, and retrieved a dress from the drawer. Claudia and Robyn had been giving her all kinds of advice on what to wear, pointing out that the feast was one of the most important social events in Mountaintop. They’d contradicted themselves so often that Emily had finally decided just to wear the blue dress she’d been given by Nanette, or whoever had picked up clothing for her. It suited her hair, she felt, while being
surprisingly modest compared to some of the other magicians. She might have beaten off a would-be rapist, but she still didn’t feel comfortable about showing so much flesh in public.

  “You should tie up your hair,” Frieda said. Unlike Emily, she had nothing more than a decent pair of dress robes to wear. “It would suit you.”

  “I prefer to leave it hanging down,” Emily said. Long hair had been her only real vanity, back on Earth. Besides, going to have it cut was expensive. “What about yourself?”

  “I’ll stick with the pigtails,” Frieda said. She jumped upright and twirled around, a motion that reminded Emily of Alassa. “Coming?”

  Emily sighed. She knew she could probably refuse to go and make it stick–the Healer had made that clear–but she was curious. And besides, she could simply walk out if the pain became unbearable. Gritting her teeth, trying to use a mental discipline without magic, she followed Frieda out of Raven Hall and down towards the Great Hall.

  The interior of the hall took her breath away. In the center of the hall, a massive animal was being roasted on a spit, while smaller animals were being prepared for serving by the older students. High overhead, multicolored light globes hovered in the air, flicking and flaring in response to the magic running through the chamber. A dozen tables had been relocated to surround the cooking pit, while others had been pressed against the wall. It seemed to be a day where anyone could sit wherever they wanted, Emily decided, as Frieda caught her by the hand and pulled her towards one of the tables nearer the center. She sighed, then allowed the younger girl to have her head.

  She sat down and was instantly served a glass of wine by one of the serving girls. Emily sniffed it, then shook her head and asked for water instead. Beside her, Frieda took several gulps of her wine, casually drinking it as though it were fruit juice. Emily pursed her lips in disapproval, torn between lecturing Frieda on the dangers of drinking and allowing the girl to have fun, just for once. She decided, finally, to tell the girl off for drinking tomorrow, after remembering that the Allied Lands had no age bar to drinking. Even children drank alcohol in mountain villages. It was the only way to live.