11- The Sergeant's Apprentice

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Perhaps,” Emily agreed.

  Sergeant Miles nodded. “Go to bed, if you don’t want to party,” he ordered. “And get some rest.”

  “Yes, Master,” Emily said. She smiled, teasingly. “And you two should go to bed too.”

  “Out,” Lady Barb ordered. She sounded amused. “And make sure you eat lots of food tonight. Your body has been through hell.”

  Emily nodded. “I will,” she said. “Can I have a bath first?”

  Lady Barb jabbed a finger at the door. “Yes,” she said. “Now ... out.”

  Chapter Forty

  “AT WHAT POINT,” MASTER HIGHLAND ASKED, “did you realize that Apprentice Gaius of No House was a traitor?”

  Emily resisted the urge to rub her eyes in tired exasperation. She’d been asked the same question five times over the last three days. The only real difference — now — was that Gaius had been stripped of his house name and formally disowned. His parents hadn’t even waited for the formal condemnation before burning him off the family tree.

  “When he attacked me from behind with no warning,” she said, finally. She stared at the four magicians facing her, wishing their stance didn’t make her feel like she was on trial herself. “In hindsight, his manipulations were obvious, but ...”

  She ran through the entire story again, cursing the inquest under her breath. Gaius was a traitor — and dead. There was no need to put her through the wringer time and time again, but they were making it clear that they’d covered all the bases. They needed to prove that Gaius had fooled everyone, including a master magician. Master Bone had his own set of questions to answer.

  Poor bastard, Emily thought.

  She rose as soon as the bell rang for lunch, hastily turning and making her way out of the room. One of the masters would accompany her ... she sighed, inwardly, as Master Highland caught up with her. She’d hoped to avoid him, but it seemed he’d finally managed to organize a private meeting. It was no surprise when he steered her into a small dining room, two chairs and a table already set for lunch. Thankfully, etiquette normally prohibited serious discussions over lunch.

  “I have a question for you,” Master Highland said, when they’d finished eating. “What do you intend to do with Heart’s Eye?”

  Emily took a sip of her Kava. “I’m not sure yet,” she said. She’d have to discuss the university idea with Caleb, now they could make it real. And then ... it would have to wait until they graduated. A year, perhaps longer. “I have to finish my own schooling first, then think about the future. But I do intend to make use of it.”

  Master Highland nodded, shortly. “I’m one of many magicians who studied at Heart’s Eye,” he said, as if Emily hadn’t already known that. “We would like to recover and rebuild our school. Name your price.”

  It’s priceless, Emily thought. The wards alone make it priceless.

  And yet ... she studied him for a long moment, wondering what sort of price a group of magicians would be prepared to pay. Training, perhaps? Or support when she needed it? Or ... even a chance to join the university, when they got it up and running, would be worth the world to them. But she didn’t want to give it up. In the long run, a university might be more helpful than another school.

  “It’s not up for sale,” Emily said, flatly. “I ...”

  “We are many,” Master Highland said. “We have influence in high and low places. Do you really want to throw that aside?”

  Emily took another sip of Kava. It was a threat as well as a promise, she was sure. Influence that could be brought to bear in her favor could also be turned against her. And she had no idea, really, just how far Master Highland was prepared to go. Or, for that matter, just what he really had to offer.

  “You could have your pick of masters for your future apprenticeship,” Master Highland said, softly. “Or a multitude of masters, if you wish. Or money ... we have plenty of money. Or ... do you wish political power? We could offer it to you.”

  “No, thank you,” Emily said.

  Master Highland leaned forward. “We are many,” he said, again. His voice became threatening. “Reconsider.”

  Emily braced herself. She knew she probably shouldn’t provoke him, but she was too tired and headachy to care. “Go to hell.”

  The door burst open. Sir Albright marched into the room.

  “Lady Emily,” he said. “General Pollack requests the pleasure of your company.”

  “The Lady Emily is meant to be in seclusion,” Master Highland said. “Her testimony must not be slanted by ...”

  “It hasn’t changed, even though you asked the same questions over and over again,” Emily said, rising to her feet. She could have kissed Sir Albright. “And you don’t need to summon me back unless you have new questions.”

  She was grimly aware of Master Highland’s eyes boring into her back as she followed Sir Albright out the room, closing the door behind her. He had to be desperate, if he was prepared to threaten her openly. She was — technically — still apprenticed to Sergeant Miles ... and Void was lurking in the background, to say nothing of Whitehall School. Gordian might not like her, but he’d never stand for one of his students being bullied by an older magician, no matter the reason.

  “The General is alone,” Sir Albright said, as they stopped outside the door. “Good luck.”

  Emily scowled at him, then opened the door. It turned out to be an office, just like the one General Pollack had had in camp. He sat at his desk, writing a long letter; he glanced up, nodded to a chair on the near side of the table, then kept writing. Emily sat down and rested her hands in her lap, bracing herself for trouble. General Pollack hadn’t summoned her earlier, even though she’d been in the city for three days. She couldn’t help finding that ominous.

  “Sir Dacono died during the final assault,” General Pollack said. He didn’t look up from the letter. “I have to write to his wife. Her husband died, bravely and well ...”

  He looked up. “How did my son die?”

  Emily was shaken by his appearance. He seemed to have aged a decade overnight, his hair whiter, his eyes tired and worn. He’d never lost a child before, not someone who should have outlived him by decades. Casper’s death was a reminder that his father was also mortal, but it was also a tragedy. A father should not outlive his son.

  “Bravely,” she said, finally.

  General Pollack gave her a nasty look. “Details?”

  “We tricked our way to Heart’s Eye,” Emily said. She’d written a report, as well as answering countless repetitive questions. But General Pollack deserved to hear the details from her mouth. “We were discovered by Lucas and Roderick, Gaius’s blood-brothers. They fought us, but we broke through and headed into the school itself.”

  She paused. She’d avoided discussing precisely what Dua Kepala had done to keep his sanity, but she knew rumors were leaking out anyway. Void had been right. Someone would see it as a shortcut to immense power, despite the risks. And General Pollack was no magician. He’d understand the dangers of letting the truth spread any further.

  But he could be forced to talk, she reminded herself. She’d tamed a nexus point, single-handedly. There were countless magicians who’d want to know how she’d done it — and why. You can’t tell him everything.

  “We fought the necromancer for a while, trying to wear him down,” she said. “Casper helped me distract and weaken him long enough to restart the nexus point. He fought incredibly bravely, he saved my life ... but he was killed. Dua Kepala murdered him in front of me.”

  “He fought bravely,” General Pollack said.

  “He did,” Emily confirmed.

  “And he won your title, before his death,” General Pollack added. Was there a hint of suspicion in his eyes? Did he know the truth? “Does that mean it reverts to you?”

  Emily shrugged. She didn’t want it. The Dueling League would have to rule on the issue, if anyone cared enough to bother. But it wouldn’t matter. She’d decline the next formal challen
ge when it was made, surrendering the title. Whoever wanted it could have it.

  “I don’t know,” she said, finally. “But it was his.”

  “I was proud of him,” General Pollack said. “I ...”

  “Then perhaps you should have told him that,” Emily snapped, crossly. She was too tired to be polite. “He struggled to live up to you, to live up to his famous and respected father! And he never thought he could! Did you ever tell him, even once, that you were proud of him?”

  “I was always taught to be sparing with praise,” General Pollack said. He gave her a long look. “Do you have children?”

  “Of course not,” Emily said.

  She flushed. Children ... she’d like children, one day. But not for many years to come.

  “It always looks easy before you actually have them,” General Pollack said. “You and Caleb will discover that, when you have children.”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could speak to him again, one more time,” he added. “But I can’t. My son ...”

  His voice trailed off. “I’ll be going back to Beneficence, once my replacement arrives,” he told her. Now the war was over, a nobleman with more clout would be arriving to take control. “I’ll bury my son there. You will be accompanying me?”

  “If you’ll have me,” Emily said. Casper had saved her life, more than once. She owed it to him to attend his funeral. “It would be an honor.”

  General Pollack snorted. “And what should I tell my wife? Or the rest of my family?”

  Emily sighed. “Tell them he died a hero,” she said. “After all, he did.”

  And that, she knew, was what Casper had wanted.

  Epilogue

  SIR ROGER OF THE GREENWOOD WALKED past the guards, feeling the wards brushing against his mind, then knelt as he entered King Randor’s War Room. The king himself was seated on a golden throne, flanked by his daughter and son-in-law. Roger kept his eyes down as he waited, unwilling to show his tiredness. He’d barely returned to Zangaria from Tarsier when the summons had arrived, ordering him to the palace. And then he’d had to undergo an extensive security check before being permitted to enter the gates.

  But the princess was nearly killed only a few short months ago, he reminded himself. Her father is right to be careful.

  “Rise, Sir Roger,” King Randor said.

  “Your Majesty,” Sir Roger said, formally.

  He glanced around the chamber. Princess Alassa looked as beautiful as ever, but she was resting one hand on her stomach. Sir Roger hadn’t had time to catch up with all the court gossip, but his older sister had written to him, suggesting that the princess might already be pregnant. Roger wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Quite apart from any concerns he might have had about serving a queen, there was the very real risk of strife caused by too many heirs. But then, there had been too few only a few short years ago.

  “We have read your report,” King Randor informed him. “The new weapons performed as advertised?”

  “Indeed they did, Your Majesty,” Sir Roger said. “They were devastatingly effective.”

  The princess smiled. “And Emily killed a necromancer?”

  “Apparently so, Your Highness,” Sir Roger said, gravely. “Another magician was killed in the struggle.”

  He wasn’t quite sure what had happened at Heart’s Eye — or why some of the magicians had been unhappy about it — but Dua Kepala was definitely dead. His monarch hadn’t asked him to find out the full story, which was something of a relief. Nobleman or not, annoying a magician was a good way to wind up spending the rest of one’s life croaking on a lily pad.

  King Randor looked oddly displeased. Sir Roger didn’t understand. Lady Emily was a Baroness of Zangaria and a close, personal friend of the princess. Her victory was Randor’s victory. And the new weapons she’d helped introduce had made a very real difference, killing hundreds — perhaps thousands — of orcs before the necromancer had been slain. A war that everyone had expected to drag on for months, perhaps years, had ended in less than six weeks.

  But he knew better than to question his monarch.

  “The musketeers performed well,” he said, instead. “I believe we can move ahead with raising additional units. There may still be a place for swordsmen and cavalry—” he allowed himself a moment of dark amusement at the thought of Lord Fulbright leading a charge against musketeers “—but the battlefield has changed. We must adapt our tactics to survive.”

  He sighed, inwardly. Nothing would ever be the same again. Countless generals, noblemen and researchers were already crawling over the battlefield, trying to learn the lessons of war before it was too late. Kingdoms that chose to ignore the firearms revolution would wind up being thrashed by kingdoms that embraced the new weapons. Musketmen could slaughter swordsmen and cavalry; cannons could knock down walls and even crack magical wards ... hell, there were even proposals to load cannonballs with Wildfire and fire them into the teeth of magical defenses.

  And if Wildfire wasn’t so expensive, we might try too, he thought.

  “Indeed,” the king said, slowly.

  Sir Roger swallowed. This was the part he wasn’t looking forward to.

  “There is another concern, Your Majesty,” he said, slowly. “Seven muskets went missing.”

  Princess Alassa raised her eyebrows. “Missing?”

  “Missing,” Sir Roger confirmed. “Four went missing during the aftermath of the second battle itself, three more were discovered to be missing as we packed up for departure. We may — we may — have lost gunpowder and musket balls too.”

  King Randor’s face darkened. “Stolen.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Sir Roger said.

  “The secret of gunpowder is out and spreading,” Princess Alassa said. Her voice was very calm, but Sir Roger could hear the edge under her words. “Does it matter if we lose a handful of muskets?”

  “Our gunsmiths are the best in the world, Your Highness,” Sir Roger said. “If someone has one of our muskets to use as a guide, they will soon be able to match us.”

  “And perhaps move ahead of us,” King Randor agreed. “Which could prove troublesome.”

  He glanced at his daughter. “Particularly if your friend is to be believed.”

  “Emily was right,” Princess Alassa said. “We have to learn to adapt or die.”

  King Randor didn’t look pleased. “Sir Roger,” he said. “You may begin recruiting additional musketeers at once, following the guidelines we agreed upon earlier. Use your original units as cadre to raise more — make sure we don’t forget any of the lessons.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Sir Roger said.

  “And attend the next full court,” King Randor added. “We must discuss your marriage.”

  Sir Roger felt a flicker of hope, mixed with fear. King Randor’s most eligible ward had been married off only a few short months ago, crushing the hopes of countless young men, but there were others. The right wife, combined with Sir Roger’s military success, would give him a chance at a lordship of his own. And yet, the wrong wife — someone from a higher social background than himself — might easily turn into a nightmare ...

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “And please accept Our most sincere gratitude,” King Randor added. “It was a very good war.”

  End of Book Eleven

  Emily Will Return In

  The Fists of Justice

  Appendix: The Military in the Nameless World, a Very Brief Overview

  There is no unified military service in the Allied Lands. The White Council does attempt to appoint leaders to joint military campaigns — Mediators or Knights of the Allied Lands — but the various kingdoms are reluctant to place their military contributions under someone else’s control. Very few personages have the fame necessary to issue orders to a multinational force, ensuring that personal grudges and dislikes can affect the course of military operations. This tends to ensure that most military forces deployed by the Allied Land
s appear somewhat ramshackle. Indeed, even “regiment” and other military terms can mean different things to different kingdoms.

  Generally, military units are raised by kings or trusted noblemen, with the latter often commanding their regiments in person. (City-states sometimes raise additional City Guard units, but it’s very rare for them to serve outside their cities.) During peacetime, the kings often maintain small armies, but tend to frown on noblemen having more than a handful of men under their banners. Sellswords (mercenaries) are fairly common, yet they are often regarded as bandits and criminals outside wartime.

  The non-magical military in the Nameless World is generally divided into the following categories: infantry, cavalry, archers and (now) firearms.

  The infantry is normally raised through conscription, with the soldiers given a choice between joining the army or facing punishment. (It isn’t uncommon for criminals to be offered a chance to serve instead of jail or execution.) Training is harsh and discipline is brutal, but a skilled soldier who gains notice can rise in the ranks. It is quite uncommon for a commoner soldier to reach commissioned status, yet a decent commanding officer knows to pay attention to his sergeants. The infantry serves to take and hold ground.

  By contrast, the vast majority of the cavalry consists of lesser nobility, who can afford their own horse and supplies. They are often considered flamboyant show-offs by the infantry as they often prance around the battlefield in colorful armor. The cavalry is generally used to scout out enemy positions, carry messages around the battlefield and, on rare occasions, charge enemy forces. (This is considered grossly unwise.)

  Archers (a term which includes field artillery) are normally drawn from freeholders who are supposed to practice weekly with a longbow and arrows. Their task is to rain arrows down on enemy forces and, when attacking a castle, to bombard it into submission with catapults and other bombardment weapons.