“It might be a workable idea,” Cass agreed. She waved a hand over her face, casting a glamour. “How does this look?”
“Very attractive,” Daria said.
Elaine rolled her eyes. Cass now looked like a weather-beaten man, around thirty years old if she was any judge. His brown hair was already thinning, indicating weak magic, but his body looked muscular and solid. Not the type of man to pose a threat, she decided, yet also not the type of man to seem an automatic victim. And older than the boys Daria normally brought home to the apartment.
“Thank you,” Cass said. Even her voice had changed. “It will be my pleasure to escort you, my fair lady.”
Daria snickered. “And what would you do when you got me home?”
“I’d think of something,” Cass said. She returned to her normal appearance, then brushed her blonde hair back out of her face. “While I’m gone, I want you to think about options. There has to be a way out of the city we haven’t considered.”
“Maybe Johan could burn us a private tunnel through the mountains,” Daria suggested. “Or ... if he’s as powerful as you say, maybe we should just point him at the Emperor and watch the chaos from a safe distance.”
“He’s not invincible,” Elaine said, quietly. “His powers don’t seem to follow the normal rules, I will concede, but he does have limits. Deferens is smart enough to take precautions against Johan, if he knows Johan is still alive.”
“He might,” Cass said. “Johan turned those men into statues.”
“And Dread may suspect something,” Elaine added. “I lied to his face.”
Cass whistled softly. “Either you’re a better liar than I thought,” she said, “or he chose not to challenge you. There’s very little that gets past him.”
Elaine sighed. “I still feel bad about it,” she confessed. “Is that wrong?”
“Well, lying to an Inquisitor can earn you a public flogging,” Cass said. “So yes, I would say it was wrong. But ... if the Grand Sorceress ordered you to lie, it will probably be blamed on her. And as she’s the one who issues orders to the government, you’re probably in the clear.”
“I know,” Elaine said. “But I still feel bad.”
She sighed, remembering her first meeting with Dread ... and those that had followed. He’d seemed the embodiment of power at the time, but he’d given her a considerable amount of latitude when he’d caught her in Ida. And then, they’d become friends, of a sort. It was easy to think that he wouldn’t want to see her again, at least personally, after she’d lied to him.
I will tell him when this is over, she told herself. And then he will say whatever he says.
“Then we can’t use Johan as a secret weapon,” Daria said. She sounded disappointed. “What can we find outside these walls?”
“Food and information,” Cass said, primly. “There are people I can visit, who will happily trade information for money. I have enough, if necessary, to pay my way. Once we know what’s going on, we can start making some proper plans.”
“Just don’t get caught,” Elaine said. She hesitated, then started to root through her pockets for a knife. But she’d had it taken from her while she’d been a prisoner. “Do you have a knife? We can set up a blood-bond, if you wish. We’d know if something happened to you.”
Cass’s eyebrows rose. “And where did you ... never mind, silly question,” she said. She dug into her pockets until she found and produced a ritual blade. “Can you craft one safely?”
“Yes,” Elaine said. “It’s not actually a dangerous art, I think.”
“And yet it’s forbidden,” Cass mused. She didn’t sound convinced. “Why is it forbidden if it isn’t dangerous?”
“Because it can allow two magicians to share thoughts and impressions without being detected,” Elaine said. “There’s no need for crystal balls if two magicians can talk mind-to-mind. But the link is also harder to separate, once formed.”
“It strikes me you should be trying this with Johan,” Cass said. “Why doesn’t your bond with him work?”
“I wish I knew,” Elaine said, allowing a hint of frustration to enter her voice. “It should work, everything I know says it should work, but it doesn’t. I honestly don’t know why it worked to the point you were able to boost it ...”
“Maybe you’re not merging your magics properly,” Cass said. “Your magic is conventional, right? His is not.”
Elaine thought about it while she drew a rune on a piece of parchment, then carefully cut her palm and allowed a droplet of blood to drip down. Cass held out her hand, then slapped it down on the parchment, muttering the first stage of the charm as her hand hit the blood. It flared with magic, just briefly, but long enough for Elaine to mutter the second stage of the charm. The link flared to light, then dimmed sharply. Moments later, it was gone.
Cass stared. “What in the name of all the gods happened?”
“I don’t know,” Elaine said. The blood-bond was simple magic. Even a complete novice could have forged one, if he’d had the inclination to try. And she was a trained magician with years of experience ... and a unique understanding of how magic actually worked. “It should have worked perfectly.”
She stared down at the parchment. The blood was already turning black, then decaying into dust. There was no way she’d made a mistake, not with something so simple. And Cass’s protections wouldn’t have stopped the bond if she’d wanted it to form. It should have formed quickly and easily, not ... died.
“You have a bond with Johan,” Cass said, quietly. “Could that have impeded your efforts to forge a bond with me?”
Elaine frowned. It shouldn’t have ... but then, the bond she shared with Johan wasn’t normal in the first place. In fact, there were so many issues with it ... she stopped as a thought occurred to her. If Johan’s magic wasn’t supporting the bond, which seemed likely, it was her magic that was doing all the work. She might be expending so much effort on holding the bond in place that she couldn’t form a separate link with Cass. And that meant ...
“I think we were going about it the wrong way,” she said, slowly. “I’ll have to give it some thought.”
“Do so,” Cass ordered. She rose and replaced her glamour. “If Charity comes home, I suggest you stun her before she realises you’re here. These wards will probably tell her she has intruders once she enters the house.”
“Understood,” Elaine said.
She watched Cass slip out of the door, then looked down at her hands. The bond hadn’t formed properly, which meant they would have to snap and redo it. But what would that do to their relationship? Maybe there were ways to push magic in and out of the bond without actually breaking the link. And yet ...
I’ve been thinking of Johan as a magician, she thought. There were ways to forge a similar bond with a mundane, but she hadn’t used them. Maybe I should have thought of him as someone without magic, only power.
“I know that look,” Daria said. “You’re thinking, aren’t you?”
“I suppose you wouldn’t recognise the process,” Elaine jibed, deadpan. She rose, then headed for the door. Johan’s father had set up a workshop next to his study, crammed with magical tools. It was quite possible he hadn’t used any of them for himself – magical research won respect, even if it was just amateurish fiddling – but they would be serviceable. “I’m going to try something. When Johan wakes, send him to see me.”
“As you wish,” Daria said. She sniffed the air. “But you should know he’s having nightmares.”
“I’ve had them too,” Elaine said. It was true. Every two or three days, she woke up screaming. “But there’s nothing to be done about them.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Charity hadn’t expected to return to the Peerless School. Most students only returned if they chose to become teachers – and only after ten years of experience teaching or tutoring outside the school. There was so much competition for each place at the school that only an experienced magician had a hope of
gaining a job.
She remembered the first day she’d walked through the giant doors and into the entrance hall when she’d been a mere eleven years old. The hall had seemed massive at the time, easily capable of holding the two thousand students who had gathered to watch the new bugs enter the building. They had been addressed by the Administrator personally, before they were divided up between the dormitories and sent to their first classes. The old man – he’d seemed ancient at the time – had been reassuring to the young children, convincing them that they would soon grow used to living away from their families. And he’d been right.
The thought made her wince as she stepped into the deserted entrance hall and waited. Only the Grand Sorcerer had full and free access to the school; the wards would already have notified the Administrator of her presence and summoned him to greet her. She waited, looking around the room at the paintings hanging from the walls. One of them showed a man carrying a wand in one hand and a staff in the other, his face too handsome to be real. A note at the bottom identified him as Valiant, one of the great heroes of the First Necromantic War and the founder of modern magical theory. He’d died sometime between the two Necromantic Wars, having set the stage for the Peerless School.
It wasn’t long – only five minutes – before the Administrator made his appearance. Charity couldn’t help a twinge of disappointment as she saw the man, even though she knew that her Administrator had died during the struggle to select the next Grand Sorcerer. He’d been a power in the city, she recalled; the new Administrator was nothing more than a puppet, selected by Light Spinner personally. Given time, he might become a power, but for the moment he was nothing more than her servant. Charity scowled, inwardly, as the Administrator made his approach. It just felt wrong to see someone else wearing the black and gold robes of the Administrator.
“My Lady,” the Administrator said. “You graduated a year ago, as I recall.”
“Yes,” Charity said. “I’m surprised you recall me.”
“I recall all of my students,” the Administrator said. “You were the one who put frogspawn in Yasmin’s potion during her half-term tests.”
Charity flushed at the memory. “I was an immature little brat at the time,” she said. “The weeks of detention taught me a lesson.”
“They’re very effective,” the Administrator said. He gave her a thin smile. “And I understand that you’re working for the Emperor now?”
“Yes,” Charity said. She wasn’t surprised he knew. The only thing that moved faster than thoughts exchanged between master and apprentice were rumours in the Golden City, where everyone who wanted to be someone had sources in all kinds of places. “I am his assistant.”
“An interesting post to have,” the Administrator mused. He looked at her, his green eyes bright with amusement. “Do you offer suggestions, from time to time, or do you merely do as you are told?”
“Both,” Charity said. “I’m afraid I didn’t come to bandy words with you.”
“They never do,” the Administrator said, mournfully. “Everyone who comes to see me wants something.”
Charity shrugged. “It’s the price of your job,” she said. “But it’s also the chance to build your own web of power within the city.”
“And you will be doing the same, of course,” the Administrator agreed. “And you seem to have an unfair advantage.”
“Maybe,” Charity said. The Administrator could act against the Emperor. She couldn’t do anything that knowingly opposed her master. “The Emperor sent me here with a request.”
The Administrator lifted one eyebrow. “He did? It will be our pleasure to serve.”
That, Charity knew, was what she was afraid of. “He wants thirty-three young students, the youngest you have, all born of mundanes,” she said. “I am to take them back to the palace.”
She hoped – prayed – that the Administrator would refuse to grant her request. There weren’t any good uses for young students, unless one happened to be a Sixth Year looking for a servant. The Emperor couldn’t want them for anything good, particularly not children from families that enjoyed no power or influence. But would the Administrator have the backbone to order her to go back to the Emperor and tell him to go to hell? It had only been six months since he’d assumed his role, hardly long enough to build up a power base among the school’s staff. They might support him ... or they might seek to curry favour with the Emperor instead. There was no way to know.
Short of actually doing it, she thought. And then it might be too late.
“Thirty-three newborn students,” the Administrator mused. “Did he say why?”
“He wants them to learn from him personally,” Charity lied. She couldn’t tell him anything else, not when it would spite the Emperor. “He is a powerful sorcerer, after all. They could learn a great deal from him.”
“I’m sure they could,” the Administrator said. “But learning to use magic too quickly can have unpleasant side effects.”
“I know,” Charity said. Her early struggles with magic hadn’t been fun, even though her father had paid for private tutors from a very early age. The students often became impatient at their slow progress from tiny little spells to the ones that really impressed people, but they had to learn to walk before they could run. “The Emperor is determined, though.”
The Administrator eyed her for a long moment, then bowed his head. “I will have the children assembled,” he said. “And you may take them back to the palace.”
He turned, leaving Charity to stare at his back in despair. How could he simply give up the children he had sworn to protect? It was horrific. And yet she thought she understood the mark of a small mind. He would do as he was told, for the alternative – losing his power and place – was unthinkable. Why, he would fall from being one of the most respected magicians in the city to being one of the least. The luxury of his quarters would be replaced by a garret on the edge of town, if he was lucky. But at least he would have been able to keep his soul.
And what, a voice in her head asked her, of yours?
It isn’t my fault, Charity thought back. I didn’t know he was a monster ...
Quickly – too quickly – the children assembled in the hall. They all looked young, wearing the same basic uniform – black trousers for the boys, long black skirts for the girls – and looking at her with disturbingly trusting eyes. Charity could see the subtle signs that none of them had been raised in magical households, although it was clear that they had taken to magic like ducks to water. No one would pick on them for being born into non-magical families, she knew. The Great Houses had long since learnt the folly of trying to exclude new blood from their family trees. Her younger siblings, if her father had still been in charge, would probably have found themselves married to newborn magicians. The gift of the gods could not be allowed to fade away into nothingness.
And besides, she reminded herself darkly, it was always safer to pick on the magicians with limited power. And, whatever else could be said of new magicians, they rarely lacked raw power.
“Please take care of them,” the Administrator said. Charity wanted to curse him into next week ... or something else foolishly destructive that would bring the school’s wards down on her like a hammer on a nail. “They are young and, as yet, unaware of etiquette.”
Charity sighed, inwardly. She’d had ruthless etiquette lessons from the moment she’d first manifested her magic, until she knew precisely how deep a curtsey she should offer to anyone in power. But newborn magicians wouldn’t have any such training until they reached the Peerless School. They hadn’t just been taught how to use magic, she knew. They’d been taught how to fit in with the rest of their peers.
And who to know, she thought, remembering just how many magicians had flocked around her during her final year. The school makes sure we all know each other, even if we can’t stand to see the other’s face.
She looked at the children and shivered, inwardly. They all looked so young – the you
ngest was nine, a freak whose powers had developed earlier than expected – and they appeared completely innocent, as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Charity knew better – her first year had been spent establishing her place in the pecking order, exchanging pranks and hexes with her fellow classmates – and she had no doubt that the innocent faces before her were capable of the same level of bloody-minded malice. If they hadn’t been accustomed to struggling to hold themselves ahead of the others when they arrived, they sure as hell were now.
Her gaze lighted on a girl who couldn’t have been any older than Chime – who might well share classes with Charity’s youngest sister – and she shuddered, again. The Emperor wanted children ... and he couldn’t want them for anything good, not if he was selecting children without relatives who might make a fuss. But there was nothing she could do to stop him.
“Follow me,” she ordered. She hesitated, then felt compelled to cast the standard child-protection spells her tutors had once used, when they’d taken the children out into the Golden City. None of the kids would be able to wander very far without her noticing ... if, of course, they dared. The Golden City wasn’t always a safe place for children. “And don’t lose sight of me.”
Outside, the sun was already starting to set. The streets were almost deserted, save for the ever-present soldiers and a handful of patrolling magicians. Charity felt another pang of guilt and grief as she nodded to the magicians, then led the children past the Great Library – carefully skirting the damaged road – and down towards the Imperial Palace. Many new soldiers had appeared outside it and were being reviewed by officers wearing dark red uniforms and supervised by red-robed magicians. The children had been talking quietly amongst themselves, but they stilled when they saw the small army. There couldn’t have been more than a hundred soldiers in the area, yet it looked like an invincible force.
A child with a wand and a couple of spells could stop them all in their tracks, she thought, darkly. Mundanes couldn’t beat magicians who knew to expect them. But the magicians supporting the soldiers – and the protective amulets they wore – would help shield them from magic before it was too late. And most of the city’s population doesn’t have magic.
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