“Emily,” Sir Roger said, appearing beside her. He threw Lord Fulbright an apologetic look, then smiled at Emily. “Can we talk?”
“Of course,” Emily said, with more enthusiasm than she felt. At least he wasn’t kneeling this time. “What do you want to talk about?”
“We’ve been working on gunpowder tactics,” Sir Roger said. “Have you?”
“I haven’t had the time to devote to it recently,” Emily said. She’d written down everything she could remember, first for Paren and then for General Pollack, but she’d never studied the nuts and bolts of military campaigning. Much of what she knew was either outdated or ahead of its time. “You probably know more about it than I do at this point.”
“I’ve been trying to determine what will happen if an orc is struck by a bullet,” Sir Roger said. “Will it kill him?”
“It would depend,” Emily said. In truth, she had no idea. Orcs were tough. If a soldier could take a gunshot wound and keep going, there was no reason an orc couldn’t too. “If you struck the head, it would probably kill him.”
“Probably,” Sir Roger repeated. He didn’t sound pleased. “We need to win, Lady Emily.”
“I know,” Emily said. Not for the first time, she wished she knew more. Or that she’d been carrying a few dozen textbooks when Shadye had kidnapped her. “The guns will get more dangerous as craftsmen improve on the original design.”
“But we have nothing more than muskets and cannons now,” Sir Roger said. “And not enough of either.”
“There will be more,” Emily assured him. Once the army moved to Farrakhan, once they finally got moving, it wouldn’t be hard to open a portal back to Zangaria. Arms and ammunition could flow into the city; children and the elderly could flow out. “We have time to make them more deadly.”
“You misunderstand,” Sir Roger said. “The king may disband my regiment entirely if he feels it’s useless.”
Emily shook her head. King Randor had watched — helplessly — as gunpowder weapons tore Alassa’s wedding ceremony apart. He knew how dangerous guns could be, he knew how important it was that Zangaria take part in the new arms race ... and yet, guns tipped the balance of power away from the nobility. To him, they were very much a two-edged sword, one that could cut him as easily as it could cut his enemies.
“Your regiment will prove itself,” she said. “The orcs won’t know what hit them.”
“Perhaps literally,” Sir Roger mused. “They’re idiots.”
“True,” Emily agreed. “But that doesn’t stop them from being dangerous.”
She turned, allowing her eyes to roam the tent. There were more men dancing on the floor, holding hands with their fellow men. The handful of women on the floor seemed in very high demand. Emily wondered just who they were as they moved from partner to partner, never staying with one man very long. Behind them, small groups of officers were forming and chatting about nothing in particular. She couldn’t help noticing that Casper was standing by the drinks table, steadily drinking his way through a barrel of wine. Emily wasn’t an etiquette expert by any means, but she was fairly sure that was rude.
Gaius waved to her. Emily bid farewell to Sir Roger, then hurried back over to the buffet table. It had already been picked clean, with only a few scraps of dark meat left for latecomers. She put her plate down, then glanced at Casper. He didn’t even seem aware of her presence. She hoped — prayed — that he was using a spell to keep himself from getting drunk, but she wasn’t willing to bet on it.
And he was attracting attention. A number of officers were throwing him sidelong glances.
The nasty part of her mind suggested she should leave him to it. He wasn’t her problem. But he was going to be her brother-in-law. Shaking her head, she strode over to him and held out her untouched glass. His eyes went wide as he saw it, his hand reaching out to take it. She couldn’t help noticing that his hand shook slightly.
“Thanks,” he managed.
Emily poured herself a glass of water, checked it with a spell, then took a sip. “You’re welcome,” she said, as she rested the glass on the table. A dozen officers approached, casting disappointed glances across the remains of the buffet. “We should let them have a shot at the drinks.”
Casper eyed her. His breath smelled of alcohol. “Who cares?”
“I care,” Emily said. She tried to think of an argument that would make an impact, then decided it was impossible. She’d had too much experience with drunkards. “You need to sit down and relax.”
“Hah,” Casper said. His voice was starting to slur. “My baby brother’s lover is telling me to sit down.”
He snickered. “You still have the title, don’t you?”
Emily didn’t need to ask which title he meant. She’d beaten Master Grey and killed him, claiming his position as dueling champion. But she’d never had any intention of keeping the title, not really. She was mildly surprised no one had tried to take it, even though it had been nearly a year since Master Grey’s death. Casper was the only person who’d expressed interest.
But I killed two necromancers as well as Master Grey, she reminded herself. How many duelists have the nerve to challenge me?
“I challenge you,” Casper said. His voice was growing even harder to understand. “You and me. Fight. For the title.”
Emily took a moment to gather herself. She didn’t want the title. It would be easy to just let him have it. But it would probably get him killed. Casper didn’t have her reputation or her powerful friends. She couldn’t do that to him.
“No,” she said, finally. He was drunk. She could always insist she didn’t believe he meant it, if anyone pushed. It wasn’t as if she wanted the duel, as if she was emulating Master Grey and looking for the slightest excuse ... no, she couldn’t let him challenge her, now like this. “I think you definitely need to sleep.”
She glanced around, looking for Cat. He was leaning against the canvas, talking to a young man she didn’t recognize. The remaining apprentice, perhaps. She waved to him and, when they came over, asked him to take Casper back to his bed. He’d be terribly embarrassed if he woke up and discovered that she had carried him home.
Poor bastard, she thought, feeling a flicker of sympathy. Casper was going to have a pounding headache in the morning, no matter how many potions he took. His master was going to be furious. He can’t live up to his father.
She turned and walked back towards the table, picking up her glass of water. A dozen horsemen were standing nearby, chatting loudly about hunting animals through a forest and bragging about how many prizes they’d taken. She lifted her glass to her lips, then froze as she sensed a flicker of magic. She’d checked the glass, but she’d left it unattended ... She cast a spell to check the liquid, muttering a curse under her breath as she realized someone had spiked the drink. A potion ... it was hard to be sure, but she suspected it would tear away her inhibitions at the very least. It might even be an outright love potion ...
Her hand started to shake. Someone had tried to drug her. Someone had tried to ... she looked back at the table, her eyes sweeping across the officers. Had one of them tried to drug her? Anyone, magic or not, could use a potion. Beyond them, Gaius and Sawford were talking to Sir Roger and another man she didn’t recognize. They could have done it ... the only person she thought couldn’t have done it was Casper. She’d been with him while her glass had been unattended.
She controlled herself with an effort. There were no traces, nothing she could use to find the culprit. Her anger flared within her, but she fought it down. Someone had tried to drug her ... worse, someone had tried to ruin her. She knew just what would have happened to her, if she’d drunk the potion. She would have lost control completely, running wild ... perhaps she would have torn off her clothes and danced on the table. Her reputation would not have survived ...
... And she had no idea who’d tried to drug her.
She strode out of the tent, into the bitter night air. Darkness had fallen now,
transforming the camp into a shadowy nightmare. She summoned a spell and vaporized the drugged water, then passed the glass to one of the guards. Perhaps he’d return it, perhaps he wouldn’t ... she found it hard to care. Lord Fulbright might have tried to drug her too. There were just too many possible suspects. She looked up at the night sky — as unfamiliar as always — and then started to walk back to the tent. Cat was sitting outside, looking pensive.
“He’s asleep,” he said. “Get some sleep yourself.”
“Of course,” Emily said. She eyed him warily. She thought Cat wouldn’t try to drug her, but could she be sure? Had he had a chance to drop a potion in her water? Or was she being paranoid? “What time do we get up?”
“Dawn,” Cat said. He gave her an evil look. “That’s a mere six hours away.”
“Oh,” Emily said.
“And you’ll be expected to join the rest of us,” Cat added. “We’re put through our paces every morning.”
Emily nodded, then slipped into the tent. It was dark, but a simple spell allowed her to make her way to her bedroll without tripping over Casper. She lay down and cast a series of spells, one after the other, desperately hoping they would be enough to keep her safe. She’d been at Mountaintop, where she’d known they would try to meddle with her mind, but this was worse. She was meant to fight beside the others ... and yet, she didn’t know if she could trust them.
It was a long time, despite the hour, before she managed to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
EMILY JERKED AWAKE AS SOMETHING STRUCK her wards. An attack? She rolled over, readying a spell. If someone was trying to break through ... she caught herself a moment later, realizing that Cat had twanged her wards. He was standing on the outside, pressing his magic against them.
She rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache behind her temples. “What?”
“Get up,” Cat said. “If you’re not out in ten minutes, we’ll all be in trouble.”
He turned and hurried away. Emily groaned, then sat upright and reached for her water bottle. She felt dehydrated, despite the wards keeping her cool. The water tasted warm as she drank it, but there was no time to cool it down. Instead, she stood and hastily changed into a clean tunic. There was no time to do more than wash her hands and face before she headed for the tent flap and out into the sun. It was already rising in the sky.
“Emily,” Master Storm said. He stood outside the tent, his scarred hands resting on his hips. “How nice of you to join us.”
“Thank you, sir,” Emily managed.
Her head still felt uncomfortable, as if she was on the verge of a full-blown headache. She hadn’t had anything like enough sleep. Gritting her teeth, she ran through a set of mental disciplines as she followed Master Storm around the tent and onto a small field. The other apprentices were standing there, lined up in front of Sergeant Miles and an older man Emily didn’t recognize. She assumed he was one of the other masters.
She met Sergeant Miles’s stern gaze, using her fingers to signal a message. They had to talk, later. Sergeant Miles nodded, then motioned for her to join the other apprentices. Emily had hoped to stand next to Cat, but found herself next to Casper as they waited. He looked no better than she felt. He probably hadn’t drank anything like enough water to ward off the hangover.
He could have taken a potion, she thought, wryly. Why didn’t he?
She nudged him. “Who’s that?”
“Master Grave,” Casper muttered, sourly. There was an ocean of bitter resentment in his voice. “My master.”
Emily lifted her eyebrows. Master Grave reminded her of Sergeant Harkin, although it was clear that he was a powerful magician. A tall man, bristling with muscles; his hair shaved close to his scalp ... it seemed to be a common style for combat sorcerers. Casper had cut his hair short too. It was hard to be sure, but she suspected that Master Grave was older than either Sergeant Miles or Master Storm. There was something about the way he held himself that suggested he’d seen it all.
And he wouldn’t let Casper graduate unless he was actually qualified, she thought. She felt a sudden stab of sympathy, mixed with annoyance. General Pollack couldn’t bring any pressure to bear on him.
Master Grave stepped forward. “You’ve had enough sleep,” he announced, his voice ringing through the air. Emily would have thought he was using magic to enhance his words, if she hadn’t known Sergeant Harkin to have the same talent. “It’s time to go for a run.”
He turned and strode off, picking up speed with every step. The apprentices headed after him, the remaining masters bringing up the rear. Emily gritted her teeth as she picked up speed, feeling sweat trickling down her back. It hadn’t even been a minute and she already felt grimy. Gym class on Earth had been a foretaste of hell and this was worse. She was stronger and fitter than she’d ever been, but the other apprentices had far more experience.
Master Grave was merciless. He ran faster and faster, leading them between tents and in and out of the gates. It would have been easier, Emily thought, if she’d been able to see her destination, but she couldn’t tell if Master Grave had a destination in mind or not. She kept her head down and kept moving, grimly aware of the two men behind her. She had a nasty feeling they wouldn’t hesitate to push her forward if she slowed down.
Casper looked to be in a worse state than her, she noted, but he was still going. The others kept their distance, staying ahead of her as they followed Master Grave. They didn’t seem to be bothered by the run. Emily felt her legs and arms starting to ache, her breathing coming in ragged gulps. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was surprised the others couldn’t hear it. She hadn’t felt so bad since the first day of Martial Magic. And it had been cooler at Whitehall.
She caught a glimpse of a line of grim-faced soldiers, parting to let the magicians run through their ranks. They didn’t seem impressed, somehow. Emily wasn’t surprised. Whitehall placed a high premium on physical fitness, but magic came first. Even Jade might not come up to military standards. The thought gave her a burst of strength as the world blurred around her, shrinking to Master Grave’s back ...
“Halt,” Master Grave ordered.
He stopped, effortlessly. Emily stumbled, nearly falling over before catching herself. It was hard, so hard, to breathe ... she had to fight to keep from throwing up. Casper hadn’t been so lucky. He retched, loudly. Emily looked away, granting him what little privacy she could as he emptied his stomach. Her entire body hurt. She couldn’t help wondering, as her heartbeat pounded in her ears, if she was on the verge of a heart attack. The aches and pains seemed omnipresent. Her tunic was drenched in sweat ...
A hand nudged her. “Drink water,” Sergeant Miles ordered. “Now.”
Emily reached for her canteen ... and froze. It was gone. Someone had taken it ... no, she’d never had it. She’d left the half-empty bottle back in the tent. She looked up at Sergeant Miles, her dry lips struggling to form words. He gave her a reproving look, then unhooked his canteen and held it out to her. He’d put a charm on it, Emily realized as she took a long swig, to keep the water cool. It was difficult to resist the urge to drain the entire canteen.
“Lucky,” Casper growled, as he stumbled up beside her. His breath smelled awful. “I would have gotten a beating for that.”
“Better the beating than dying of thirst,” Sergeant Miles said, primly. “How much did you have to drink last night?”
Too much, Emily thought.
Master Grave’s voice boomed out, effortlessly capturing her attention. “For those of you who appear to have forgotten, we will be doing the same run every day until we actually leave the camp,” he said. A low ripple of amusement ran through the apprentices. Casper flushed angrily. “I expect better performance from some of you.”
Emily gritted her teeth. If she’d known she would be expected to run a couple of miles every day, she would have spent the last month training. But she’d been in the past, utterly unaware of the future. There was no point in moaning a
bout it. She’d just have to work hard and hope she could keep up with the others. And that she could find a bath. She was uncomfortably aware that she stank.
At least I’m not the only one, she thought, as the apprentices were marched away from the training ground and into another tent. We all smell terrible.
She took a long breath as she saw the food laid out in front of them. It was very basic fare — bread, cheese, meat — but it was very welcome. Master Grave instructed them to sit down, then wait. It was all Emily could do to keep from making a dive at the table. Her stomach was grumbling loudly, demanding food. Master Grave kept them waiting for nearly twenty minutes before finally allowing them to eat. Emily had to keep herself from just grabbing the nearest piece of bread and cramming it into her mouth.
“Cat and Sawford will be on patrol this afternoon,” Master Grave informed them. “The rest of you will be brewing potions and practicing spells, save for Emily. She will be playing with swords.”
Sawford snickered. “Not dolls?”
Casper elbowed Emily before she could think of a retort. “Better you than me,” he said, darkly. “If you’re not sore now, you’ll be sore by the end of the day.”
“It won’t be that bad,” Gaius said. “Just make sure you keep dodging. You don’t want to get slapped with a blade.”
“Or sliced with a blade,” Sawford put in. “Who was it who lost an arm during practice?”
Emily kept her face expressionless as she chewed her way through the bread and meat. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to eat too much, but she was hungry. Cat passed around a flagon of wine, which she declined, and a large bottle of water. She had the feeling that most of the common soldiers would be drinking beer. Alcohol was safer than water, even though they knew to boil water before drinking it. She just hoped there weren’t any drunken riots in the camp.
Sergeant Miles tapped her shoulder. “Emily,” he said. “Meet me outside in ten minutes.”
“Yes, Master,” Emily said.
11- The Sergeant's Apprentice Page 11