“Patrician Horst, My Lady,” the Patrician said. He had a calm voice. Emily couldn’t help thinking he sounded like a doctor. “It is a very great honor to meet you.”
“Thank you,” Emily said.
“I’ve heard stories about you,” Horst said. There was something in his voice that made her want to trust him, to confide in him. But the rune between her breasts remained cold. His charisma was natural, not magic. “Did you really kill Shadye by driving a spike through his heart?”
Emily shook her head. That story, at least, was one of the cleaner ones. But it wasn’t actually true.
“A shame,” Horst said. He sounded genuinely disappointed. “What did you do?”
“I used magic,” Emily said. She probed him, very gently. He didn’t have any magic, as far as she could tell. Maybe he was just a skilled manipulator, trying hard to pose as someone she could like. But a man in his position would probably be very skilled at masking his power. “And I caught him by surprise.”
“For which we are very grateful,” Horst said, seriously. He waved a hand towards the open doors. “What do you make of my city?”
“It’s ... different,” Emily said, as diplomatically as possible. “I have never been in a place quite like it.”
Horst smiled. “Farrakhan is not your average free city,” he said, wryly. “Do you know anything of our history?”
Emily shook her head. It was true enough. Besides, if she knew anything about city-folk, it was that most of them took pride in their city. It was harder to get them to shut up about their city than start them talking. If she wanted to know something about Farrakhan, all she had to do was ask a few questions and look interested.
“Our founder was the younger son of the king, back when the Empire shattered,” Horst told her. “He had a claim to the throne, but he offered to put it aside in exchange for some land of his own. His brother gave him the city. Over the years, he turned it into a viable settlement; after his death, the city-fathers took over. We have ruled the city ever since.”
“I see,” Emily said. She’d heard odder origin stories. Compared to some, it was decidedly mundane. “What happened to his children?”
“They weren’t royalty any longer,” Horst explained. “Some of them stayed and won office, or started businesses. Others ... went away.”
Or were chased out, Emily thought. You wouldn’t want potential competition around, would you?
She told herself not to worry about it as Horst went on, telling her more than she’d ever wanted to know about his city. Some of it she already knew, other details were new ... they would have been interesting, she had to admit, if she hadn’t been so tired. Her body was reminding her that she needed more sleep — and a proper bath. Maybe she could get up early and have a long soak. Maybe ...
“We hope to survive,” Horst finished. He smiled at her. “Are you enjoying the dinner?”
Emily was too tired to be diplomatic. “You’re wasting food.”
Sergeant Miles elbowed her. General Pollack hid a smile behind his hand. But Horst didn’t seem to take offense.
“We will bring in more food before the enemy army arrives,” he said, instead. “It is important to make a show of confidence.”
“Yes,” Emily said. “But ...”
“My apprentice is quite tired,” Sergeant Miles said. “With your permission, Your Excellency, I will take her to bed.”
Emily flushed, helplessly.
“I quite understand,” Horst said. He grinned at Emily. She hoped, desperately, he hadn’t read another meaning into the sergeant’s words. “I hope to see you in the morning.”
Sergeant Miles led her back outside and through the dark — and silent — streets. “That was foolish,” he said, sternly. “You could easily have gotten yourself in real trouble.”
“I was right,” Emily said. The cold night air was invigorating. But her body still needed sleep. “Sergeant ...”
“Being right isn’t always right,” Sergeant Miles said. He caught her arm as they reached the barracks, swinging her around to face him. “And General Pollack cannot afford a diplomatic spat. Not now.”
Emily tried to feel sorry. But part of her was just too tired to care.
“Go upstairs and get some sleep,” Sergeant Miles ordered. He tapped her on the shoulder, once. “You’re going to be very busy tomorrow.”
“Yes, Master,” Emily said.
She walked into the barracks, passing through the wards someone had erected and walked up the stairs. Cat and Sawford were already in their beds, snoring loudly; Casper, Gaius and Cyprian were missing. But there was a light down the corridor ... she hesitated, then walked down and peered into a room. Casper was sitting at a table, an open bottle of wine in front of him. As she watched, he lifted the bottle and took a swig. She hesitated, unsure what to do ...
... And then he looked up and saw her.
Chapter Seventeen
“PISS OFF,” CASPER SLURRED.
Emily hesitated. She hated drunk people. Part of her was tempted to just walk off and ward her bed so thoroughly no one could get in, just in case he decided to try to hurt her while she slept. She didn’t like the look of the knife on the table, glinting under the light. But the rest of her knew she couldn’t walk away, despite her tiredness. Casper was going to be her brother-in-law. She couldn’t leave him alone.
She braced herself, readying a protective spell, then walked into the room, closing the door behind her. Casper watched her warily, holding the bottle in one hand. Emily could smell his breath — and the wine — as she reached the table, a foul smell that made her stomach twist unpleasantly. Just how much had he drank? And where had he found the wine? Master Grave would not be pleased to discover his apprentice drinking, particularly now they were in Farrakhan. It wouldn’t be long before they had to go to war.
“Have a drink,” Casper said. He shoved the bottle towards her. “Fresh from the horse.”
Emily took the bottle and put it under the table, out of sight. She’d tried, once or twice, to hide her mother’s alcohol, but the older woman had never lacked for drink. The child she’d been hadn’t understood, not really, that there had been no helping her. She’d been drinking herself to death for years, using alcohol to blot out the pain of her existence. Emily couldn’t help wondering if Casper felt the same way.
“It’s very good wine,” Casper insisted. “Try some.”
Emily shook her head. “It smells like paint-stripper.”
“Fresh from the horse,” Casper repeated. He giggled, inanely. “They bottle it and mark it and sell it to apprentices too cheap to buy real wine.”
“Very funny,” Emily said. She searched desperately for the right words. “Do you want to sober up?”
Casper snickered. “Why?”
Emily met his eyes. “Why were you drinking?”
He snickered, again. “Because ... why not?”
“Your master will be furious if you have a hangover tomorrow,” Emily said, seriously. “I ...”
Casper started to laugh, hysterically. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m not going to graduate!”
He waved his hand, casting a spell. Emily had barely a second to react before the bottle zoomed up from under the table and flew into his hand. She tensed — if he was drunk, his magic would make him extremely dangerous — as he put the bottle to his lips and took a long swig. And then he put the bottle down on the table and leered at her. She had to fight to keep herself from slamming a spell into his face.
“I’m not going to graduate,” he said, firmly. “I don’t have a hope.”
His expression changed, becoming maudlin. “I don’t have a hope, do I?”
“You’re not a bad magician,” Emily said. It was true enough. Casper lacked Cat’s polish, but he was far from incompetent. “You’ll graduate.”
“It’s been four years,” Casper told her. “I’m twenty-six. If I don’t pass this year, I won’t pass at all.”
He look
ed down at the dagger. Emily realized, with a flicker of horror, that Casper was on the verge of slitting his wrists. If he killed himself ... if he was even considering killing himself ... she wanted to call his father, yet she knew that would only make the situation worse. A suicide attempt was a cry for help, but the Nameless World was more likely to see it as a sign of weakness.
I could stun him, she thought. There was nothing weak about Casper’s defenses, but he was in no state to fight. He could sober up.
And then what? Her own thoughts answered. If you tell his father, or Sergeant Miles, it will only make matters worse.
Casper let out a humorless laugh. “Father wants me to be him,” he said. “And I do my best but I can’t be him. And Caleb leaves Stronghold and he does well and he ...”
He leered at Emily, again. “He has you,” he said. “Who do I have? What do I have?”
“A good family,” Emily pointed out. Her voice sounded harsh, even to her. Caleb’s family had its flaws, but their life was so much better than hers that she found it hard to be sorry for him. “And a life above the ordinary.”
“But I’m not good enough for him,” Casper said. He reached for the dagger. “I’ll be disowned if I don’t graduate within the year. But no matter what I do, I can’t graduate.”
Emily leaned forward. “And so you’re going to slit your wrists?”
Casper’s voice was bleak. “Why not?”
“Where there’s life,” Emily said, “there’s hope.”
It was trite, but it was also true. Casper wasn’t exactly a peasant — or a slave. He had options outside his family, if he wanted to take them. But that wasn’t what he wanted, she realized numbly. He wanted his father’s respect, and that wasn’t forthcoming. He’d played the game by the rules, yet he’d been cheated of his prize. General Pollack simply hadn’t given him room to grow.
“There isn’t hope,” Casper said. He looked strikingly hangdog, all of a sudden. “Caleb will be the next patriarch, with you by his side.”
He struck the table. “Who would want me?”
Emily swallowed, unsure how to proceed. Casper didn’t just have problems with his father, he had problems with his younger brother. Caleb had stepped away from family tradition ... and somehow come out ahead. It had to be galling for Casper to know that his brother was in a relationship, while he was still single. And yet, he was being silly. By any reasonable standards, especially those of the Nameless World, Casper was a very good catch.
But she didn’t know how to say that.
“Father fawns over you,” Casper said, bitterly. “I should be with him. I should be in his tent, helping him. Instead ... he fawns over you!”
“He doesn’t fawn over me,” Emily said.
“He invited you to a conference,” Casper snapped. “Do you think he allows just any apprentice to attend a conference?”
Emily winced. She had a nasty feeling he was right. Sergeant Miles should have attended, but her? She was still a very junior sorceress, not even out of school! Casper might well have a point. Whatever General Pollack had in mind, and she wasn’t sure what he’d had in mind, it looked like favoritism. No wonder Casper resented it. Did the other apprentices resent it too?
“I didn’t say a word,” she said, finally. “I just stood at the back and kept my head down.”
“So what?” Casper asked. “You still shouldn’t have been there.”
He shook his head. “This is my last chance to impress my father,” he said. “And how am I meant to compete against you?”
“You knocked me down when we were practicing with staffs,” Emily reminded him. Her ribs had ached for hours after Casper rammed his staff into her. “You won the bout.”
“Bah,” Casper snorted. He took another drink, emptying the bottle. “Do you think that will impress my father?”
He made a grab for the dagger. Emily cast a spell instinctively, summoning the knife to her and throwing it across the room. Casper growled, then lifted the table up and shoved it into her. Emily jumped backwards, half-expecting him to try to crush her under the table or hit her with a killing spell. Instead, he scrambled towards the knife, his legs so wobbly he couldn’t walk properly. Emily shaped a spell in her mind, then threw it at the dagger. It disintegrated into a cloud of dust.
“My father gave me that knife,” Casper said, as he turned to face her. He didn’t sound angry, merely ... upset. And yet, there was something terrifyingly even in his voice. “You should let me kill myself.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Emily said, sharply.
“You should,” Casper told her. He sounded as if he didn’t quite understand. “Your husband will be patriarch. You’ll be his wife, in addition to all your other titles. How could you possibly lose?”
He laughed, humorlessly. “My father would be pleased,” he added. He sat back, rubbing his forehead. “He wouldn’t have to disown me or kick me out or anything. He’ll be rid of his embarrassment.”
“He’d miss you when you’re gone,” Emily snapped. She was growing tired of his self-pity. Casper was luckier than ninety percent of the planet’s population. “Maybe he wants you to be your own man, instead of trying to be him.”
Casper snorted. “Then why would he be so insistent that I walk in his footsteps? Why would he insist that I go to Stronghold and do well? Why would he apprentice me to a master known to be tough and demanding?”
“You were a child,” Emily pointed out. “And now you’re an adult. Adults make their own decisions.”
“You don’t know my father,” Casper said. “I don’t get to make my own decisions.”
Not if you want to remain in the family, Emily thought. General Pollack and his wife would have vast authority over their children until the day they died. It was far from uncommon in the Nameless World. Fulvia had tried to force Melissa to marry Gaius, after all; King Randor would have married Alassa to a strong man, if he’d found someone suitable. Casper cannot leave without giving up far too much.
“I need to impress him,” Casper said. “And I need to impress Master Grave.”
Emily winced. Master Grave wasn’t the most demanding tutor she’d ever met, but he was tough and completely merciless. She wouldn’t have wanted to spend two or three years of her life apprenticing under him, not if she’d had a choice. Her fingers itched, reminding her how casually he’d struck them with his blade. He’d come very close to breaking bones just to remind her to keep her guard up. Casper ... would indeed have a very hard time impressing him.
But Jade impressed Master Grey, Emily thought. And he was the hardest tutor of all.
“Just be yourself,” she advised.
Casper shot her a nasty look. “No wonder Caleb likes you,” he said. “That’s the sort of banal crap he sprouts.”
Emily flushed. “Is it not working for him?”
He shrugged. “This is my last chance,” he said. “I have to impress my father.”
“It won’t be long before the necromancer attacks,” Emily predicted. “You’ll have your chance to win glory.”
She shook her head. What was it about men and glory? She’d heard countless ballads about great deeds on the battlefield, about mighty heroes who had stood up to hundreds of enemy fighters and beaten them, then went home to marry the princess ... hell, she’d seen dozens of movies with the same basic plot. But glory came with a price, one paid in blood and lives and sheer terror. It wasn’t something she’d ever wanted.
“It’s not good enough,” Casper said. “I could kill a thousand orcs and my father wouldn’t be impressed.”
Emily scowled. “What would impress him?”
Casper met her eyes. “Accept my challenge,” he said. “Let me try to take the title.”
“Are you ...” Emily cut off the reaction that came to mind. “Do you really want it?”
“Yes,” Casper said.
Emily swallowed, hard. Sergeant Miles would be furious if she accepted the challenge. And General Pollack probably wouldn’
t be very pleased either. But ... she pushed her emotions aside and considered it, logically. Casper had a point. If he won, he’d have earned a title that would impress his father and every combat sorcerer he encountered; if he lost, he was no worse off. There was no reason it had to be a duel to the death. She was the challenged party. She could set the rules.
And yet, could he win?
Casper was a strong magician, she knew, but he lacked finesse. He lacked the skill that had been drummed into her over the past five years. And ... she didn’t know for sure, but she suspected she had more raw power than him. The challenge might end badly for Casper, even if she held back. He would probably get taunted by Gaius and the others ...
A thought struck her a second later. What if she let him win?
It wouldn’t be hard to fake a misstep, she knew. She’d done it more than once, back when she’d been sparring with Frieda. Sergeant Harkin had pointed out, more than once, that no one learned anything if they just kept getting their ass kicked, time and time again. If she timed it right, she should be able to let him win without making it obvious. And it wasn’t as if she wanted the title. She had a nasty feeling that it was more trouble than it was worth.
Which means I won’t be doing him any favors, if I let him win, she thought. She hadn’t had a constant stream of challengers, but she knew it was just a matter of time. Casper didn’t have her reputation. And yet, if he thought he’d won fairly, it would be one hell of a confidence booster. Hell, she might not even need to let him win. He might win on his own.
She met his eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” Casper said.
“There’ll be others who’ll want the title,” Emily warned. “They’ll come for you.”
“I’ll face them,” Casper said. He looked grimly determined. “And I’ll win.”
Emily closed her eyes for a long moment. This was not going to end well. Perhaps it would be a bad idea to let him win. And yet, if she did ... he would impress his father. And someone else would have the title. Hell, even if he lost the next fight, he’d still have held the title for a few months. That was something he would be proud of.
11- The Sergeant's Apprentice Page 17