Infinite Regress
(Schooled in Magic IX)
Christopher G. Nuttall
Twilight Times Books
Kingsport Tennessee
Infinite Regress
This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Christopher G. Nuttall
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
Twilight Times Books
P O Box 3340
Kingsport TN 37664
http://twilighttimesbooks.com/
First Edition, May 2016
Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter
Published in the United States of America.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Afterword
Appendix: Education in The Allied Lands
Prologue
“I WANT HER GONE!”
Lady Barb sighed. She’d suspected what the staff meeting, two days after Master Gordian had been formally invested with the robes and power of the Grandmaster, would be about but she’d hoped she’d been wrong. The death of the previous Grandmaster—and Master Grey—had rattled more than a few cages in the White City. Far too many powerful people wondered just what sort of monster Void had introduced to Whitehall.
But Emily isn’t a monster, she told herself, as her eyes swept the room, silently gauging how much support she might expect from the senior tutors. She’s... she’s a very flawed person, but a great one. And Gordian...
Grandmaster Gordian dominated the room. He was a tall, powerfully-built man, with long dark hair drawn back in a ponytail. His face seemed somehow ageless, yet lined enough to make it clear he was no longer young; his dark eyes flickered back and forth as they moved from face to face. As the new Grandmaster, a word from him would be quite enough to end the careers of anyone in the room.
Lady Barb doubted that many would dare to challenge him openly. But she had no choice.
She took a breath and leaned forward, drawing his attention. “You have no grounds to expel her,” she said, flatly. It was unwise to challenge a senior magician in his place of power, but she wasn’t planning to remain at Whitehall anyway. “She could challenge your decision in front of the council.”
Gordian stared back at her, icily. “No grounds?”
He calmed his voice, then went on. “In her first year, the school was invaded by a necromancer,” he said. “A number of students were killed...”
“Before she killed the necromancer,” Lady Barb said. She still wasn’t sure how Emily had managed to kill Shadye, but Emily had. “You cannot blame her for the invasion.”
“In her second year, the school was infested with a Mimic,” Gordian continued. “That... creature... would not have escaped, was it not for her!”
“You cannot blame her for that either,” Lady Barb said.
“She also conducted experiments that could have proven disastrous, if unchecked,” Gordian snapped. “She should have been expelled for those alone.”
He tapped the table, sharply. “In her third year, she went to Mountaintop and left the school in ruins,” he added. “And in her fourth year, she killed a tutor!”
“Who manipulated her into issuing something that sounded like a challenge,” Lady Barb pointed out, curtly. It was true, but it wasn’t the version of the story everyone believed. “I don’t think you can blame her for that either.”
“She should have been expelled for her actions in Second Year,” Gordian insisted. “And all of that does not include the results of her conduct outside the school. The Ashworths and Ashfalls nearly went to battle because of her.”
Lady Barb pressed her fingertips together, a mannerism she knew had always irritated her father. “Grandmaster Hasdrubal was the one charged with determining her punishment for her actions,” she said. “He chose not to expel her. You do not have the legal right to retroactively overrule your predecessor and expel her from Whitehall.”
“I am the Grandmaster,” Gordian snapped. “I do have that authority.”
Lady Barb forced herself to meet his eyes. “If you expel her—a very big if—she will have no trouble finding a place at Mountaintop, Stronghold or Laughter,” she said. “They will be delighted to offer her a place.”
“Laughter is very exclusive,” Gordian pointed out.
“The core requirements are breasts and a vagina,” Lady Barb said, knowing the crudeness would irritate him still further. “And I assure you that Emily qualifies on both counts. Her marks in the exams were high and would have been higher still, Grandmaster, if she’d had more time to prepare. She will have no difficulty gaining admittance to any of the other schools.”
“Then let her go,” Gordian insisted. “They can have her.”
“That would be dishonorable,” Sergeant Miles stated. “She saved the school, Grandmaster: three times, by my count. We are indebted to her.”
“After plunging it into danger,” Gordian snapped.
Lady Barb leaned forward, calmly. “There is another problem,” she said. “She could end up apprenticed to her... to her father. A girl with such remarkable talent, trained by a Lone Power of his reputation... the potential for disaster is staggeringly high.”
“There are any number of prospective sorcerers who would sell their souls to train under a Lone Power,” Gordian said. But he sounded a little uncertain for the first time since the meeting had begun. “Let her father take her, if he wishes.”
He doesn’t know, Lady Barb noted. Emily’s true origins had leaked in Zangaria, but they hadn’t leaked very far. He believes the cover story.
“I submit to you that allowing Void to take her would not be optimal,” Lady Barb said, gently. “Right now, she has friends at Whitehall and tutors she respects. There is time to shape her, to help guide her down a path that will keep her from becoming a danger to the Allied Lands. Letting her go will cost us that opportunity, once and for all. The very best we could hope for is that she would allow herself to be guided by other tutors in other schools.”
“And that would reflect badly on Whitehall,” Professor Locke stated.
“Merely ex
pelling her for daring to save us would be bad enough,” Sergeant Miles added.
Gordian scowled. “There is no guarantee that a Child of Destiny will be favorable to us,” he pointed out. “Destiny may have his own plans.”
“Keeping her here is the best chance we have of ensuring that we can ride the rapids of change,” Lady Barb said. The prospect of Emily being apprenticed to Void was not to be borne. Void was dangerously unpredictable at the best of times. “We cannot—we must not—expel her.”
“She is dangerous,” Gordian said.
“Not intentionally,” Lady Barb corrected him.
“She is not a malicious student,” Mistress Kirdáne said. “I have never caught her playing tricks on the younglings, or being cruel to dumb animals.”
“One does not need malice to be dangerous,” Gordian said. “Letting her return to Whitehall goes against my better judgement.”
Lady Barb smiled, inwardly. She’d won.
“Allow me to propose a compromise,” she said, pressing her advantage. “You could take her back as a probationary student.”
“That would mean she wouldn’t be taking the oaths,” Gordian said.
“But it would also mean you could expel her if things went wrong,” Lady Barb reminded him. Gordian wouldn’t want Emily to take the oaths, not when they were binding on the staff as well as the students. “Apprentice her to Sergeant Miles. She’ll need additional training in martial magic...”
“Out of the question,” Gordian snapped. “She knows quite enough dangerous magic already.”
And she’s quite capable of inventing her own, Lady Barb thought. She’d given a great deal of thought to taking Emily on herself, even though it would have meant staying at Whitehall for another two years. What will Emily do without proper supervision?
“Then let her work with me,” Professor Locke said.
“You already have one probationary student working under you,” Gordian said.
“I can use two,” Professor Locke insisted. He shot Gordian a look that Lady Barb found impossible to interpret. “My new... project... could use an additional pair of hands.”
Lady Barb frowned. She knew little about Professor Locke’s new project, but several of the tutors—notably Professor Lombardi—looked wary. Locke seemed... too insistent for her peace of mind. And yet, the Grandmaster had authorized it...
“It could,” Gordian agreed. “And it would keep her out of trouble.”
Lady Barb scowled. “Emily is not short of enemies,” she said, flatly. “She needs training in protecting herself.”
“I rather doubt that will be a problem,” Gordian said. “She killed a combat sorcerer!”
“That doesn’t make her invulnerable,” Lady Barb snapped.
Gordian held up his hand. “My mind is made up,” he said. “I will summon Lady Emily to Whitehall and speak with her personally. If she’s willing to be a probationary student until I see fit to lift her probation, she may return for her fifth year. Professor Locke will ensure she is kept out of trouble. If not... she can transfer to another school. Whitehall has stood for a thousand years...”
“More like eight hundred,” Professor Locke said. “Although, to be fair, we have no idea when the castle was actually built.”
Gordian silenced him with a glare. “Whitehall has stood for over a thousand years without her and it will stand for a thousand more, with or without her,” he said. “One student, no matter how interesting she is, cannot be allowed to put every other student at risk.”
He rose to his feet. “Lady Barb, you may inform her of our decision,” he added. “And we will hold your exit interview after I have spoken to her.”
It was a dismissal, Lady Barb knew. A rude one, against all the etiquette that had been drilled into her when she’d been declared her father’s heir. And yet, a dismissal nonetheless. She thinned her lips as she rose, nodding in curt understanding. She’d have a long chat with Emily before taking her back to Whitehall. If nothing else, she had to be warned that the new Grandmaster wasn’t her friend...
She shook her head, irritated. It was going to be a challenging year.
Poor Emily, she thought. May the gods help her.
Chapter One
WHITEHALL FELT... DIFFERENT.
Emily could feel the change as soon as she stepped through the main doors, leaving Lady Barb and Frieda behind in the Courtyard. The wards were different, no longer echoing with the personality of their former master. She felt a pang, deep in her heart, as she recalled the old Grandmaster, a man she’d loved and admired in equal measure. He’d given his life to save hers, back when the demon had infected the school. And he’d had enough faith in her to believe she’d survive the duel after his death.
He didn’t deserve to die.
She braced herself, then walked slowly up the stairs towards the Grandmaster’s office, her footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Lady Barb had offered to teleport Emily and Frieda to Whitehall, but Emily had insisted on hiring a carriage, even though it took longer. She’d needed time to think about what Lady Barb had said, when she’d come to fetch her. But now there was no more time to think. The wards grew stronger as she reached the top of the stairwell and walked down the long corridor, glancing from left to right as she realized that the portraits hanging from the walls had been changed. She didn’t recognize any of the figures looking back at her—all with disapproving expressions.
At least they took down the picture of me, she thought, wryly. She’d never liked that painting, although she did have to admit that anyone who used it to look for her was going to be disappointed. She’d never been that beautiful—or muscular—in her life. But is the picture being taken down actually a bad sign?
A large portrait of the former Grandmaster hung at the end of the corridor, by the door to the Grandmaster’s office. Emily paused to study it, silently admiring the artist’s talent. The Grandmaster stood in the midst of a crowd of hooded inhuman creatures, holding his staff in one hand and a book in the other; it was hard to tell, somehow, if he was fighting the creatures or directing them. She smiled in sudden amusement as she realized the artist had never seen the Grandmaster in person. His eyes had been drawn in shadow, instead of covered with a blindfold. She still shuddered when she thought of the Grandmaster’s missing eyes.
Former Grandmaster, she reminded herself, sharply. The man she’d come to see would not be pleased, Lady Barb had warned, if she treated him as a temporary Grandmaster. He holds the post now.
She braced herself, then cast a reflection spell and checked her appearance. Lady Barb had advised her to wear sorcerer’s black, a long dark robe that obscured her curves and made her look studious. It contrasted oddly with her pale skin, brown hair and dark eyes, yet it was probably better than wearing trousers or a dress. She’d considered wearing school robes, but that would have seemed presumptuous. Grandmaster Gordian didn’t want her here. The thought caused her another pang as she raised her hand and tapped once on the door, feeling a ward shimmering in response to her touch. Whitehall was the first true home she’d had, even before she’d come to the Nameless World. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving.
You’ll have to leave at the end of Sixth Year anyway, she reminded herself, as the door swung open. They won’t let you stay on as a teaching assistant until you have far more experience.
The Grandmaster—the former Grandmaster—had allowed visitors to step directly into his office, but Grandmaster Gordian clearly felt differently. Emily stepped through the door into a waiting room, dominated by a horse-faced woman wearing red robes and seated behind a wooden desk. The former Grandmaster hadn’t had a secretary either. She couldn’t help wondering if that was a bad sign.
She stopped in front of the desk, resisting the urge to curtsey. On one hand, it would be a sign of respect; on the other, the secretary might think she was being mocked. There was no way to know just how close she was to her boss, but she wouldn’t have the post unless her master trusted her
completely. Or had bound her to him with unbreakable oaths. Emily shuddered inwardly at the thought, then forced herself to meet the older woman’s dark eyes.
“Lady Emily,” the secretary said. Her voice was very cold. “Be seated. The Grandmaster will see you as soon as possible.”
Emily turned and saw a bench, placed neatly against the wall. She felt a flicker of irritation as she walked over to the bench and sat down, understanding that the Grandmaster was playing games. Alassa—and her father—had taught her more about such power plays than she’d ever wanted to know. By making her wait, he was making it clear that she was coming as a supplicant, putting her firmly in her place. She was tempted to pull a book out of her bag—either one of her textbooks or a novel Frieda had recommended—but she forcibly resisted the temptation. There was nothing to be gained by antagonizing the secretary or her master. Instead, she toyed with her snake-bracelet and ran through some of the mental disciplines Lady Barb had hammered into her head. She needed to be calm when she faced the Grandmaster.
Nearly ten minutes passed before a low chime echoed through the air. The secretary glanced up, her lips moving silently, then turned her head until she was looking directly at Emily. Emily resisted the urge to shrink backwards under the older woman’s gaze and merely looked back, neither resisting nor bending. There was a long moment of silence, then the secretary nodded curtly.
“You may enter,” she said, flatly.
Emily rose and paced through the door, clasping her hands behind her back as she entered the office. Gordian, sitting behind his desk, rose to his feet and nodded to her. He made no attempt to shake hands.
No chair for me, Emily noted, as Gordian sat again. The room felt very cold. And no Kava either.
That, she knew from her etiquette lessons, was a bad sign, a touch of calculated rudeness that made it clear she was far from welcome. A welcome guest would always be offered a drink, which could be politely declined. She pushed the flicker of irritation aside and studied Gordian for a long moment, wondering when the genial man she’d met last year had turned into a cold-hearted bureaucrat. But then, being given responsibility for an entire school had to change a man. And Whitehall was far more than just a school.
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