“I’m trying,” she said. “It just seems that I can’t cast them any faster.”
She groaned in pain. Every inch of her body hurt. Her head throbbed from the effort of casting so many spells in such a short time. She had the power, but not—yet—the skill to use it effectively. Her spells might be unstoppable, Mistress Danielle had said, if she had the time to cast them properly, yet any opponent worth his salt wouldn’t give her the chance to try.
“You really have an odd little disadvantage,” Mistress Danielle agreed. She gave Emily the superior smirk Emily was coming to detest. “You developed magic of great power before you were genuinely ready to handle it.”
Emily nodded in agreement, feeling sweat trickling down her back. Most students grew into their power, learning to cast spells before they reached their full potential. It was almost like learning to drive, starting with a basic car before moving on to the sports car. But her power had been boosted by the duel. It was easy to cast one or two spells; casting dozens in quick succession was a great deal harder. Some of her spells just came apart when she tried to cast them too quickly.
“Better work on that,” Mistress Danielle said. She didn’t look remotely winded. “I would hate to see you fall to a lesser opponent.”
She turned and strode off, practically daring Emily to throw a hex at her back. Emily resisted the temptation, too winded to ward off the retaliation that would surely follow. Mistress Danielle seemed to want Emily to dislike her, perhaps assuming it would make it easier for Emily to strike at her. And the hell of it, Emily conceded as she leaned against the wall, was that she might well have a point. Once she got used to striking with lethal intent, Mistress Danielle had said, she would find it easier in future.
Mistress Danielle turned to face her once she reached the other side of the room. “Draw your dagger,” she ordered. “Now.”
Emily flexed her arm, sending the charmed blade falling into her hand. Alassa had taught her the trick, showing her spells that allowed her to carry a dagger in her sleeve without risk. She had even used a dagger to kill her own aunt, years ago; Emily had never used her dagger, not outside practice. But Mistress Danielle had insisted she carry a hidden weapon at all times.
“Better,” Mistress Danielle said, grudgingly. “Are you ready to stab a would-be rapist?”
Emily swallowed. “I think so,” she said. “But...”
“But nothing,” Mistress Danielle said. “Either you are or you aren’t. There’s no middle ground.”
Do or do not, Emily thought, as she studied the dagger. Alassa had called it a Virgin Blade, when she’d given it to Emily. There is no try.
“Apart from combat sorcerers, most magicians do not carry blades,” Mistress Danielle said, firmly. “And even a combat sorcerer will not rely primarily on his blade. Keeping a hidden weapon on you may make the difference between saving your virtue and losing it.”
Emily nodded. It would be a brave or foolhardy swordsman who challenged a magician—and a weak and foolish magician who lost! A sorcerer should have no trouble protecting himself against naked blades, although there was an ongoing arms race between enchanters and charms masters to develop blades that could cut through protections and newer protections against those blades. Sergeant Miles had once commented that the only way to be sure a swordsman wasn’t carrying a charmed blade was to inspect it, after the man was dead. A knife in the back, with a cursed blade, could kill even a Lone Power.
“You also need to work on your swordsmanship,” Mistress Danielle added, flatly. “If you are serious about becoming a Mediator, you will need to have reached at least the third level of mastery. Your future master may be unable or unwilling to teach you.”
Emily groaned inwardly, although she was not foolish enough to show any such reaction on her face. She was a good spellcaster—she knew that—but she was an appallingly bad swordswoman. Even carrying some of the blades Sergeant Miles had shown them was difficult, let alone wielding them in combat. She was stronger now than she had ever been in her life, a result of better food and better exercise, yet she needed to use a shorter sword in combat. And she had still been regularly beaten by the other students in martial magic.
“Do more exercises before you come, next week,” Mistress Danielle added. “You’ll be facing me with a blade.”
“Oh,” Emily said.
“You need it,” Mistress Danielle said. “I would really advise you to get more exercise outside class too.”
Emily barked a harsh laugh. “I don’t have the time,” she said. “There’s no time.”
“Then learn to manage it better,” Mistress Danielle said.
“I don’t know how,” Emily admitted. “When I’m not in class, I’m in the workroom or the library; when I’m not in the workroom or the library, I’m in the common room or trying to sleep. And I’m not getting enough of that either.”
“That is obvious,” Mistress Danielle said. She sounded oddly amused. “Perhaps you should consider dropping some of your responsibilities.”
Emily shook her head. She couldn’t abandon the mentoring scheme—despite herself, she’d come to care for her charges—and she couldn’t stop working with Professor Locke. Giving up one or more of her subjects might be doable, but she didn’t want to give up any of them. It had been hard enough to pass the exams that allowed her to take the subjects at such an advanced level.
And I’m finally getting used to working proper rituals, she thought. Aloha made a much better partner than any of the other students, even though Emily knew she’d pay for Aloha’s services one day. Aloha had insisted on a future favor rather than payment up front. I don’t want to stop now.
“Then learn to cope with the pressure,” Mistress Danielle said. “Rest assured, it only gets worse from here on.”
Emily sighed. “An apprenticeship is worse?”
“Of course,” Mistress Danielle said. “Your master will be watching you like a hawk, constantly. The slightest mistake will draw his attention. There will be no chance to make changes before he catches you and tells you exactly what you did wrong. He will be supervising you from dusk till dawn.”
“It sounds bad,” Emily said.
Mistress Danielle eyed her, reprovingly. “It can be very rewarding, if you make the most of it,” she said, sternly. “But it can also be hellish if you prove yourself unworthy of an apprenticeship.”
Emily swallowed. “How was your apprenticeship?”
It struck her, a moment later, that asking that question might have been a mistake. She’d read that a master was practically a father to his apprentice—and Emily had killed Mistress Danielle’s former master. But Mistress Danielle showed no reaction, other than a flicker of anger. Emily wasn’t even sure the anger was directed at her.
“Hard,” she said. “I slept on a stone floor, with nothing more than a blanket. I studied from breakfast to lunch, then practiced from lunch until dinner. For the first mistake, he would make me tell him why it was a mistake; for a repeated mistake, I would be beaten. And yet I would not have passed the trials so quickly if he hadn’t hammered my skills into my head.”
She shook her head, then glanced at the clock. “We can talk about that later, if you want,” she added, turning to head towards the door. “For the moment, we should shower and vacate the premises.”
Emily nodded and followed her into the changing room. Some enterprising magician had rigged up a shower system, but it was nowhere near as warm and welcoming as Whitehall’s, let alone a shower from Earth. Plumbing was one thing she did miss, she admitted to herself, even if she missed little else. It was astonishing just how many fantasy books completely overlooked the absence of indoor toilets and hot and cold running water. But then, she wouldn’t care to read about characters going to the toilet in the great outdoors either.
She undressed rapidly, then glanced into the mirror and swore under her breath. Her face was untouched, for once, but there were black and blue marks all over her body. There was n
othing that could be done about them, either. Casting healing spells on one’s own body was dangerous and Mistress Danielle had told her, flatly, that she would just have to endure her lumps unless they were life-threatening. It built character.
“Better hurry,” Mistress Danielle advised. “We don’t want to be tossed out by the next person to hire this spellchamber.”
Emily nodded and hastily showered before donning her spare clothes. Her body still ached, but the warm water had helped. “Can I pick your brains a little?”
“It depends,” Mistress Danielle said. She smirked, again. “I may charge you for the answer.”
“If someone was sending malicious notes,” Emily said, “how would you catch them?”
Mistress Danielle contemplated it for a long moment. “I assume you’ve tried testing for a magical signature?”
Emily nodded, shortly.
“Then I’d put up tracking wards everywhere a note might be hidden,” Mistress Danielle said, after bouncing a pair of questions off her. “Not trapping wards, tracking wards. They often pass unnoticed if the person they’re tracking is unskilled. You could keep a record of whoever went past the hiding place, shortening your list of suspects.”
She shrugged as she wrapped her cloak around herself. “Or you could simply ignore them,” she added. “Anyone leaving notes lying around instead of hurling hexes isn’t worth anything.”
“It isn’t that easy,” Emily said.
“Life only gets harder,” Mistress Danielle said. “Learning to cope with difficulties now will only make it easier in the future.”
Emily sighed as she followed Mistress Danielle out to the street. Caleb was already there, reading a book as he waited for her. She felt an odd thrill at seeing him, even though she was still aching. Mistress Danielle nodded curtly to her, then hurried off down the street. Emily couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy. Mistress Danielle had a freedom far too many people in the Nameless World would envy.
“Welcome back,” Caleb said. He placed the book back in his bag, then hugged her. Emily winced. “Are you all right?”
“Just aching,” Emily said. “Did you have a good day?”
“I explored the bookshops, but there’s nothing new,” Caleb said. He sounded oddly annoyed about something. “Apparently, there will be a new consignment of books from Zangaria next week.”
Emily nodded as she took his hand and let him lead her down the street. Zangaria’s printing industry was the most advanced in the Allied Lands, although the city-states were catching up fast as kings and princes reacted to the changes she’d wrought. Most of the books they produced were absolute trash—no one had managed to write anything along the same lines as The Lord of the Rings—but they had powered an explosion of literacy. She had no idea where it would end, yet she was sure it would change the world forever. Perhaps it had been a mistake to throw so many changes out into the world...
The avalanche has started, she thought, wryly. Even if she didn’t introduce anything else, the innovations she’d already made would reshape the world. It is too late for the plebeians to vote.
He looked at her as they entered a small restaurant. “Did you have a good lesson?”
“I ache everywhere,” Emily said, only half in jest. “And I barely scored any hits on her.”
“Casper had the same complaint,” Caleb said. “He said his master kept bawling him out for miscasting spells.”
Emily winced. “Poor him.”
“Yes,” Caleb said, with suspicious affability. “Poor him.”
He ordered food while Emily sat back and studied him. The room was dark, but it was easy to see he was annoyed about something. Casper was his elder brother, after all; it would be unseemly for Caleb to leap ahead of him, if he took on an apprenticeship of his own. And yet, would it be right to allow respect for Casper to hold him back? Emily had no siblings, at least as far as she knew; she didn’t really understand what it was like to watch a younger sibling move ahead of you. Casper would not take it very well.
She leaned forward. “You have nearly two years at Whitehall left,” she said. “Surely he will gain his mastery by then.”
Caleb blinked, as if he wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. “Casper? I hope so, desperately. Mother will not be pleased if he’s wasted five years of his life trying to get his mastery.”
“Five years?” Emily repeated. She put the dates together a moment later. “You mean, you want him finished before you start?”
“I won’t be taking a combat mastery,” Caleb said. “It’s a very different set of skills. But I will be in trouble if he doesn’t gain his mastery before I gain mine.”
Emily nodded in agreement. Apprenticeships nominally lasted between one to four years, but it would be a rare apprentice who took longer than three years to gain his mastery. Indeed, outside illness or serious family problems, it was rare indeed to stay an apprentice that long. A master who believed, sincerely, that his apprentice was unlikely to graduate, let alone make him proud, had no reason to keep up the pretense. It would be better to release the student than waste four years trying to teach him.
“If that happens,” she said, “what will you do?”
“I don’t know,” Caleb said. He shook his head. “Part of me insists that I should take my own apprenticeship and if I beat him to mastery... well, it’s his own fault for not paying more attention to his studies. And the rest of me warns that no good will come from provoking a family feud. Bad feeling on his part may make life complicated later.”
Emily sighed. It was rare for magicians to have no siblings. Indeed, almost everyone she knew at Whitehall was part of a large brood. Alassa and Emily herself were perhaps the only exceptions in their year. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to have so many people around the house, to love them even as one fought with them...
“I suppose it will,” she said, as the food arrived. “We’d better eat up fast. Professor Locke wants to start early tomorrow.”
“Joy,” Caleb said. “You’d think he’d recruit more helpers. I’m sure some of the other tutors would be happy to volunteer their time.”
“I think he’s enjoying being the one to explore the underground tunnels,” Emily said. “If he brings someone else in, he has to share.”
“Odd,” Caleb said. He smiled, rather wanly. “But I suppose I wouldn’t want to share either.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“HAVE YOU NOTICED,” CABIRIA SAID, “THAT the air is getting better?”
“The tunnels do seem to be adapting to us,” Professor Locke agreed. “But there’s just too much dust around for us to trust the air completely.”
Emily nodded in agreement. They’d cleared some of the dust out of the way using spells, but there were still countless unexplored tunnels coated in dust. Breathing it in would make them unwell, if it didn’t choke them to death. Better to keep using filtering spells than to risk death down in the lower tunnels.
“And we have work to do,” Professor Locke reminded them, as they reached the crystal chamber. “You two can explore, as we discussed. I’m going to remain here and keep probing the crystal matrix.”
“As you wish, sir,” Cabiria said. “But surely it would be better to recruit help...”
“This is my project,” Professor Locke snapped. “You two can map the corridors without help.”
Emily sighed as she picked up the notebooks and followed Cabiria down the corridor to the latest section of unexplored tunnels. Professor Locke was adamant that no one else was allowed down into the tunnels, even though a few extra pairs of hands would have made life so much easier. Cabiria had pointed out that he was worried about losing credit for whatever he discovered, but it still struck Emily as absurd. It wasn’t as if there would be a shortage of volunteers.
We’re looking at the very heart of Whitehall, she thought. Surely everyone would want to help.
She found herself looking around, uneasily, as they entered the latest section of the und
erground network. The corridors were caked in dust, again; there was no trace that anyone had walked through the tunnels for over a hundred years. She cursed under her breath—she would have been happier if someone had come up with a convincing explanation for the statue—as she opened the notebook and started to sketch. Professor Locke had devised a notation system to help her keep track of each part of the tunnels, even if they shifted position suddenly. Emily couldn’t help thinking that mapmaking was an exercise in futility, but it kept them busy.
And away from the crystal chamber, she thought, morbidly. What is he doing in there?
“The Grandmaster looked pleased at the last report,” Cabiria said. “What do you think he was thinking?”
Emily shrugged. Gordian could have overruled Professor Locke at any moment and insisted on allowing others into the tunnels, if he’d wished. Did he want to limit the number of people who knew what they’d found? Or was he more concerned than he wanted to admit about the possible dangers in mucking around under the school? But then, he could have resealed the gates and forbidden everyone from going down into the tunnel network at any moment. His behavior didn’t make sense.
“I suppose he’s balancing politics with practicalities,” Cabiria added, after a moment. “The person who cracks the secret of how Whitehall was built will become very important, if they keep the secret to themselves.”
“Perhaps,” Emily said. “Or perhaps he’s secretly hoping that Professor Locke will find nothing.”
Cabiria lifted her eyebrows. “Nothing?”
“Nothing,” Emily said. “Whatever he finds here will upset the balance of power.”
She’d given more thought to the implications than she wanted to admit. There were twelve nexus points within the Allied Lands, nine of them tapped using methods far inferior to Lord Whitehall’s. If Gordian managed to gain control of the secret, he could use that knowledge to boost his power and prestige. Or, if he wished, trade it for future favors. Having such complete control over their nexus points would be worth almost anything, to their owners. They’d agree to whatever Gordian demanded in exchange.
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