“Someone’s forgotten to replace the emergency rations,” he growled. He didn’t sound pleased. “I’ll have to send word back to the castle.”
Emily nodded. The hut wouldn’t be permanently occupied, not during winter. But it would serve as shelter for anyone caught in the snow. Anyone could use it, according to customs older than written laws, but they were supposed to replace what they took. Who knew who’d need the shelter next? She didn’t envy the last visitor when Sergeant Miles caught up with him. The sergeant took the customs seriously. They saved lives.
Sergeant Miles stood upright, turning to face her. “How are you feeling?”
“Stiff,” Emily admitted. She’d felt worse, in the past. “Can I ask a question?”
“You can ask any question you like,” Sergeant Miles said. “But I don’t promise to answer.”
He pointed a finger at the fireplace. “Set up a fire,” he added. “We may be here for some time.”
Emily knelt down by the fire and started to pile up the wood. “Why aren’t we just teleporting to Tarsier?”
Sergeant Miles didn’t seem surprised by the question. “You’ll see,” he said, vaguely. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He strode out of the cabin. Emily sighed, then opened the chimney before using magic to set the wood on fire. At least the cabin had a chimney. She’d been in hovels in the Cairngorms where the air had been thick with smoke. She wondered, as she fed more wood into the flames, why they weren’t using magic to heat the air, but she supposed Sergeant Miles knew what he was doing. Maybe he wanted her to conserve magic.
Sergeant Miles crunched his way back into the cabin a moment later. “Good enough,” he said, studying the flames. “Do you remember the Berserker spell?”
Emily nodded. She hadn’t used it since first year, when she’d been in Zangaria. Mistress Irene and the sergeants had made it clear that the spell wasn’t to be used unless there was no other choice. It just kept going until the caster ran out of energy and collapsed. The one time she’d used it in combat, she knew she would have died if she’d been alone.
“We’ll be going over it later,” Sergeant Miles said. “But I don’t want you to use it.”
“I know,” Emily said. “But what if there’s no choice?”
“Use your own judgement,” Sergeant Miles said. “Just remember that removing the spell isn’t easy.”
Emily shivered. Cancelling a spell she’d cast on herself should be easy, but the berserker spell was addictive. She might not realize that she had to cancel the spell before it was too late — and if she did, she might be too drained to cancel it successfully. And she wouldn’t want to cancel the spell. The sense of power and strength was overwhelming.
Sergeant Miles reached into his pocket and produced a scrap of folded paper. “Tell me what you make of this,” he said, holding it out to her. “It’s a very interesting spell.”
Emily took the paper and unfolded it. The spell had been neatly diagrammed out, but there were no annotations to make deciphering it easy. She shook her head in annoyance, then started to work her way through the spell piece by piece. It was so complex, for something so small, that she couldn’t help wondering if the writer had added a great deal of additional detail, just to confuse the reader. It wasn’t until she reached the end that she realized there were actually two spells, mingled together.
“This is a combined spell,” she said, in surprise.
“Correct,” Sergeant Miles said. “What does it do?”
Emily hesitated. She’d been told, time and time again, not to combine spells. Two spells — interacting as they were cast — could have unpredictable results. Hell, she’d come far too close to killing Alassa by accidentally casting two spells at once. An inch or two higher and the Crown Princess of Zangaria would have been killed. And then ...
She shuddered, then started to work her way through it. One spell was a simple cutting spell, one she’d used herself; the other looked like a particularly nasty curse. It reminded her of something, the thought nagging at her mind until it came into the light. The curse was a twisted healing spell, one designed to harm rather than heal ...
“This is awful,” she said, finally.
“True,” Sergeant Miles said. “And if someone was hit by the spell, what would happen to them?”
Emily worked it out. The first spell would cut into their skin, the second ... the second would rip them apart. A victim might survive the first spell, if they were lucky; the second, infused directly into their skin, would prove fatal. The more she looked at it, the more repelled she felt. Cutting the victim open would ensure that the second spell spread at terrifying speed. It was unlikely anyone could cancel the spell before it was too late.
“Death,” she said. “They would die.”
“Correct,” Sergeant Miles said. “Before we leave here, I want you to be able to cast the spell.”
Emily stared at him. “You want me to cast the spell?”
“That is what I said,” Sergeant Miles said, waspishly. “You’ll need it.”
He rose, heading towards the door. Emily followed him, her head spinning. She didn’t want to inflict such pain on someone — anyone. It was a torture curse ... it was worse than a torture curse, because it would be fatal. Except, judging from the spell notation, the curse might do its work so quickly that there would be very little pain. Somehow, she didn’t find it reassuring.
The cold slapped against her face as they walked back into the clearing. Emily looked over at the horses, then back at the sergeant as he pointed a finger at the nearest tree. The curse leapt from his fingers a second later, striking the tree and splashing out of existence. A moment later, the tree shattered into a small pile of firewood.
“The effects are less dramatic if you use the spell on a human — or an orc,” Sergeant Miles commented, as Emily stared at the rubble. “But it is almost always lethal.”
Emily swallowed. “What do you do if you’re hit with it?”
“You hope your protections can handle the curse,” Sergeant Miles told her. “And if they can’t, you’re dead.”
He nodded towards the next tree. “Try to cast the spell.”
Emily braced herself, then started to cast the spell. It wasn’t easy to shape the spell in her mind, let alone cast it. She’d been taught never to try to combine spells. The magic seemed to spin around her, the cutting charm slicing through the wood while the curse failed to materialize ...
“Try again,” Sergeant Miles ordered. “You need to master the spell.”
“You could have taught me this in Whitehall,” Emily muttered. She shivered, fighting the urge to cast a warming charm. The cold was digging into her bones. “Sergeant ...”
“I have my reasons,” Sergeant Miles said. “Cast the spell.”
Emily gritted her teeth, then cast the spell again. The spellweave came apart in her mind, magic spilling everywhere. She felt her head start to pound, a mocking reminder that she had the power, but not the skill. Taking a deep breath, she tried for the third time. The spell struck the target and ripped it apart.
“A little too much power,” Sergeant Miles commented, casting a protective ward as pieces of wood rained down around them. “You’ll drain yourself rapidly if you use so much magic.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Emily said. At least she’d managed to cast the spell. “I’ll keep trying.”
She sucked in her breath as she cast the spell for the fourth time. It was easy to see why the spell was considered restricted. The combination of the two spells was lethal — and required relatively little power to cast. A first year student could probably cast the spell ... hell, she suspected that a first year would actually have found it easier. He or she would have less magic at their disposal. If she’d learned to cast lethal spells in first year ...
I did, she reminded herself. Even the prank spells can be lethal, if used properly.
“Good enough,” Sergeant Miles grunted, after she’d cast the spell a dozen t
imes. “You will keep practicing, of course.”
“Of course,” Emily said.
She followed him back into the cabin and hurried over to the fire, kneeling down and allowing the heat to seep into her bones. Sergeant Miles snorted, then passed her another piece of paper. It outlined another spell, one that compelled its hearers to obey. Emily shuddered at the thought, remembering Lady Barb using a similar spell. She hadn’t been the target, but she’d been affected nonetheless.
“Do not use this spell unless you are desperate,” Sergeant Miles told her, once she’d parsed it out. “Its effects are often unpredictable. Magic users are often capable of shrugging it off, but so are strong-willed mundanes. Using it on a crowd works better than using it on a single person. No one knows why.”
Emily frowned. “And you expect me to cast this?”
“If necessary,” Sergeant Miles said. “It’s harder to practice with this spell, if only because finding suitable test subjects isn’t easy.”
“No one wants to volunteer?” Emily guessed. “Or do they know what’s coming?”
“They do,” Sergeant Miles confirmed. “It’s very difficult to test the spell on someone who knows what’s coming. They prepare themselves to resist.”
He paused. “Stand up.”
Emily’s entire body jerked. The compulsion was strong, yet crude ... an odd blend of outright compulsion and subtle magic. Part of her wanted to stand up, wanted to please him ... she forced herself to remain kneeling, rather than rising. She felt a sudden surge of anger as the magic faded away, her fists clenching helplessly. How dare he try to compel her to do anything?
“That’s the other problem with the spell,” Sergeant Miles told her. He didn’t seem surprised at her anger. “When it is released, when the effects fade away, the victim is furious. I’ve seen casters beaten to a pulp by their victims.”
“I’m not surprised,” Emily muttered. The urge to lash out at the sergeant had been overwhelming. Her magic crackled through her, demanding retribution. If she’d hit him ... she had a feeling he’d understand. She took a deep breath, centering herself as her anger drained away. “Do I get to test the spell on you?”
Sergeant Miles cocked his head. “Do you think it would work?”
Emily shook her head. Sergeant Miles would be ready for the spell. The nasty part of her mind wondered if she should cast it on him when his back was turned, but she rather suspected his protections would deflect it. And then he’d be furious. She looked back down at the paper, silently going through the spellwork. It wasn’t related to Robin’s compulsion spell, as far as she could tell, but it did have some things in common.
“Put the kettle on,” Sergeant Miles ordered. He jerked a finger towards the kettle, hanging from the wall. “We need a warm drink before we head onwards.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Emily said. She was the apprentice. Preparing Kava was merely one of her duties. A thought struck her as she hung the kettle over the fireplace and filled it with purified water. “Can you teach these spells in Whitehall?”
“Let’s just say that I would prefer not to take the risk,” Sergeant Miles said. “You are an advanced student, but combined spells are normally only taught in sixth year.”
And Gordian wouldn’t be happy you’re teaching me at all, Emily added, silently.
“Put out three cups,” Sergeant Miles added. He glanced towards the door. “We’re going to need them.”
Emily blinked. “Someone is coming ...?”
There was a knock at the door. Emily stood, hastily smoothing down her trousers. Perhaps Lady Barb had come to join them. Or Mistress Danielle. Emily had sent her a letter to say that she wouldn’t be able to take lessons for the next few weeks, but Mistress Danielle hadn’t written back. Sergeant Miles opened the door ...
And Void stepped into the cabin.
Chapter Six
“VOID,” EMILY SAID, ASTONISHED.
She darted forward and gave him a hug, surprising herself. Void hugged her back gravely, then glanced at Sergeant Miles. The sergeant inclined his head, motioning for Void to join them. Emily let go of the older sorcerer and headed back to the fire, hastily pouring the Kava into three cups and passing the first one to Void.
Void took it, then winked. “Technically, you should offer the first one to your master,” he said. “It’s a sign of respect.”
Emily flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry ...”
“Try not to do it in front of the other combat sorcerers,” Sergeant Miles said. He sounded amused, rather than angry. “Although sorting out who should be served first in the aristocratic camp will be a real nightmare.”
He took his mug and turned towards the door. “I’ll tend to the horses,” he said. “Give me a shout when you’re done.”
Emily watched him go, then looked at Void. He was taller than she remembered, with long dark hair — the same shade as Frieda’s — falling down around his angular face. It was a droll reminder that she didn’t know what he really looked like, his appearance constantly changing to suit himself. But he hadn’t changed that much in the past few years. She would have assumed he was in his early thirties if she hadn’t known he was well over a hundred.
“It’s good to see you again,” she said. There were no chairs in the cabin, so she sat down on the earthen floor and motioned for him to sit facing her. “I’ve ... I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“So do I,” Void said. He sat, seemingly untroubled by the hard ground. “And time is pressing.”
Emily felt an odd twinge of regret. “Sergeant Miles knew we’d be meeting, didn’t he?”
“I asked him to find a place we could meet,” Void said. He shrugged, taking another sip from his cup. “Walking into Whitehall isn’t so easy these days.”
It could be, Emily thought.
She scowled. Gordian might have tried to keep Void out, but she could override the wards. And yet, she didn’t really want to talk about it. Gordian didn’t need more reason to dislike her.
“I’ve been watching the situation,” Void said, after a moment. “The invasion ... the necromancer ... it doesn’t bode well.”
“I know,” Emily said. She looked up at him. “Are you going to be coming?”
“I’ll be around, somewhere,” Void said. “This necromancer is known to be cunning, but he’s showing a degree of forward planning I would have thought impossible. That worries me.”
“He might have found a way to make necromancy work,” Emily said.
“Perhaps,” Void said. He looked pensive. “Theoretically, a powerful magician would be able to stave off the madness longer. There are ... concepts ... that might assist him in remaining sane. But none of them have ever been truly tested.”
“No one wants to take the risk,” Emily guessed.
Void smiled, humorlessly. “They would never be able to turn back,” he agreed. “Either they escape to the Blighted Lands or they are killed by their former comrades.”
He shrugged. “That’s not why I came to talk to you, though,” he said. “General Pollack requested you personally, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Emily said.
“He wasn’t the only one,” Void said. “Quite a few councilors wanted you to go.”
Emily blinked in surprise. “Why? I mean ... do they all think I can beat him?”
“You’re the only person in recorded history to have killed two necromancers in single combat,” Void pointed out. Emily refrained from pointing out that she’d cheated. The councilors didn’t know what she’d done. “That makes you powerful indeed.”
He leaned back, his face suddenly expressionless. “Some of the councilors wanted you to go because they believe you can beat him,” he said. “Others want you to go in the hope you’ll fall on your sword. They want you dead.”
Emily stared at him. “They want me dead? Why?”
“Different reasons for different people,” Void told her. “Some think you’re just as dangerous, either because you’re uniquely strong or
because you’re a necromancer in your own right. Others see the changes you’ve already wrought and fear what you’ll do in the future. And others ... they see you as a destabilizing force, a person who will change the world.”
He smiled. “A Child of Destiny, if you will.”
“You know I’m not,” Emily pointed out. Her mother had been called Destiny. “I’m certainly not one in the sense they mean.”
“They don’t know that,” Void said. He leaned forward, his face utterly composed. “And you have changed the world. The printing press ... gunpowder ... steam engines ... All the little changes, building up into something ... you’re responsible for far more than a minor civil uprising in Zangaria. They’re scared of you.”
Emily shivered. People she didn’t know, people she’d never met, had plotted her death, merely because they saw her as a potential threat to their world. But the Allied Lands were slowly losing the war. They needed to change, they needed to develop more advanced technology, before it was too late. She knew, all too well, that there would be disruption, that there would be winners and losers. But the entire Allied Lands were at risk. They had to change.
“I know,” she said, finally.
Void gave her a long look. “So watch your back,” he warned. “Someone might just try to stick a knife in it. Or find some other way to humiliate you. Killing you outright carries risks, but destroying your reputation carries none.”
“I understand,” Emily said.
“Very good,” Void said. He finished his drink, placing the cup on the floor. “I can’t stay, I’m afraid. I’ve got an appointment elsewhere.”
Emily felt a stab of pain. She’d hoped he would stay. She had so much to tell him. Void would be delighted to hear about the past, about Lord Whitehall and his commune ... but she knew he wouldn’t stay. All she could do was hope he would find more time for her soon, after the war.
11- The Sergeant's Apprentice Page 6