Infinite Regress

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Gordian frowned. “Tired?”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said. “I didn’t eat enough at lunch.”

  “No one did,” Gordian said. He didn’t sound annoyed, much to her surprise. “You do realize they’re flinching away from you?”

  Emily nodded, reluctantly.

  “You scare them,” Gordian said. “Too much power at too young an age.”

  “I know,” Emily said. She found it hard to keep the frustration out of her voice. “How do older magicians cope?”

  “They learn to trust one another,” Gordian said. “Or they try to gather enough power not to need to work with others.”

  Emily winced. She could trust, but not completely. She had friends, and she trusted them; but there was just a part of her that would never let down all of its defenses, never allow itself to be naked. And yet she had, only a day ago. Frieda had seen the deepest depths of her soul.

  “I don’t know how to cope with it,” she admitted, finally. “Is there any way to make it work?”

  “Practice,” Gordian said. “I’m afraid there’s no way to pick up a skill like this without months of practice. Even being a contributor to a ritual can be tricky, if the spell is far more demanding than anticipated.”

  Emily frowned. “What happens?”

  “They die, normally,” Gordian said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There was a set of magicians who believed they could use magic to... well, let’s just say they had a grand plan and the magical power to make it happen. Or so they thought. Midway through the ritual, the power demands spiked and all six of them burned themselves out trying to make it work.”

  “They burned themselves out?”

  “Their grand plan cost them every last spark of magic they had,” Gordian said. His face twisted, just for a long second, then returned to normal. “And it didn’t work, anyway. It might never have worked.”

  Emily shuddered. To have such power, to use such power... and then lose it. Every sorcerer ever born would consider it their worst nightmare, particularly the ones who had lorded it over the powerless mundanes. Suicide, from what she’d heard, was a common response. No sorcerer wanted to live without power.

  “What did they want to do?”

  “Never you mind,” Gordian said. He sounded oddly irked by the question, although he’d been the one who mentioned the disaster. “I don’t want to give anyone ideas. They already have far too many of their own.”

  He stepped backwards, then cast spells to clear up the ash and deposit it in the bin. “Go get some rest. I believe you have work to do tonight.”

  Emily nodded, surprised she hadn’t been told off. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “I BELIEVE THIS SHOULD WORK,” PROFESSOR Lombardi said. “It’s a very small change to the spellware, but it should re-establish contact with the outside world.”

  Emily frowned as she studied the spell diagram. It was neat, it looked logical... and yet there was something about it that bothered her. She tried, desperately, to put her finger on it, but came up blank. Caleb, beside her, looked rather impressed. It had only taken four days for Professor Lombardi to come up with a viable way to alter the spellware in the control room.

  She felt her scowl deepen as she worked through the diagram. Lombardi had assumed, perhaps correctly, that the pocket dimension’s links to the outside world had been closed, but they weren’t gone. If Whitehall’s pocket dimension operated like a normal pocket dimension, he’d said, the spellwork he’d insert into the matrix would convince it to reopen the doors long enough to evacuate the students and stabilize the school. Emily couldn’t fault his logic, yet there was something wrong with it. She felt sure there was something wrong.

  Gordian cleared his throat. “Can you alter the spellware?”

  “I believe so,” Professor Lombardi said. Professor Ronald nodded enthusiastically. “It may not last indefinitely, but I believe it should work long enough to allow us to regain control of the wards.”

  “Then we have no choice,” Gordian said. “We have to get out of the trap.”

  He looked haggard, Emily noted. But she couldn’t blame him. The entire school was threatened with collapsing into desperate anarchy, no matter what he did to keep the students occupied. There was no way to hide the water or food shortages, or the simple fact that a number of corridors had been sealed off. And the longer they remained trapped, the greater the chance of something happening that would spell their doom. She understood precisely why Gordian wanted to press ahead. Manipulating the spellware was their best chance of getting out of the trap.

  But there have to be other options, she told herself. If only we knew how it worked.

  She shook her head. Teleporting had failed, spectacularly. An attempt to reopen one of the portals had also failed, even though four tutors had combined their powers in an attempt to make the spell work. And it was starting to look as though she was wrong about the doors having merely been moved, instead of closed. No matter how desperately they searched, there was no trace of a way out. They were trapped.

  “I believe it can be done immediately,” Professor Lombardi said. “Once the doorways are reopened, we can order the students out of the school...”

  “We still don’t know everything down in the tunnels,” Professor Locke interrupted. He’d spent most of the day sulking, barely offering anything apart from sardonic remarks to the discussion. “I think we should search for those books before we do anything else.”

  “The books have not turned up,” Professor Lombardi said, in some irritation. “And the tunnels below the school are still dangerously unreliable. They could switch at any moment, stranding someone...”

  “We have to find those damned books,” Professor Locke snapped. “We know they couldn’t have been taken out of the school.”

  He turned to the Grandmaster. “We should search everywhere,” he added. “If one of the students has them in their trunk, we could find them.”

  “We have no proof that any of the students took the books,” Gordian said. “And searching their trunks would cause problems.”

  “It would hardly matter,” Locke pointed out, “if we don’t make it back home.”

  Emily winced. The hell of it was that Locke had a point. Someone had taken the books, someone skilled enough to fake her magical signature. That person could be hiding in one of the tunnels... or they could be a student, an unsuspected spy. Nanette had managed to sneak into the school to spy on Emily, back during her second year. Could someone else have done the same? Or perhaps a student from one of the magical families had stolen the priceless books, only to find herself trapped.

  And doomed, if she’s caught, Emily thought morbidly. Gordian will not forgive her.

  Sergeant Miles leaned forward. “He does have a point.”

  “We will consider the matter afterwards,” Gordian said. “For the moment—” he looked at Professor Lombardi “—you may begin your work.”

  He turned and swept out of the classroom, followed by Master Tor. Emily felt a flicker of sympathy that surprised her. Trunks were meant to be private. Forcing a student to open her trunk for inspection—or simply breaking into it—was a gross breech of etiquette, one that could cost Gordian his job. Grandmaster Hasdrubal had opened a handful of trunks, back in second year, but he’d definitely known where the bodies were buried. Gordian had yet to establish himself as a power in the Allied Lands.

  And I didn’t lodge a formal complaint either, Emily thought. Nor did anyone else.

  “We shall proceed,” Professor Lombardi said. He rose to his feet, folding up the spell diagram and tucking it under his arm. “Come.”

  Emily caught Caleb’s hand as they walked down to the gates and then into the underground tunnel network. The air was surprisingly clean, the dust absent completely until they moved down to the second level. Even then, there was less dust. The spells that kept the corridors clean must have started working again, Emily thought. She didn’t think that any
one had been ordered to sweep the dust away. A chill ran down the back of her neck as she passed a set of closed doors—no combination of spells or physical force had proved enough to open them—and followed Professor Lombardi into the control room. The dull thrumming sounded louder, somehow. She rubbed her ears, knowing it was futile. The sound wasn’t entirely physical.

  It touches our magic, she thought. There were stories of what happened to people—mundanes and magicians—who stayed too close to untamed nexus points. All of a sudden, those stories seemed entirely believable. We might find ourselves changed if we lose control of the spells.

  “It feels different,” Caleb muttered. “Like it’s panting.”

  He was right. The thrumming sounded rather like a tired old man, taking his last laboring breaths. She sucked in her breath as she realized she didn’t know what was making the sound. She’d assumed it was the nexus point, but what if it was the spellware governing the control room? Was it a way to link their minds to the spells? Lord Whitehall had created the ward network, after all. He’d want a way to make direct contact with his work.

  The wards above us worked on the same principle, she thought. What if we got it wrong and there’s no need to use the consoles?

  She cleared her throat. “Professor,” she said. “What if we’re meant to make mental contact with the spells?”

  “I don’t think it could be handled safely, by anyone,” Professor Lombardi said. “The spellware here is fantastically complex.”

  “So is the spellware in the nexus chamber itself,” Emily said. “And yet the Grandmaster can touch and control the wards through his mind.”

  Professor Lombardi frowned. “It would need to be an authorized user,” he said, putting the spell diagram down on the table and opening it up. “And trying to make contact without being an authorized user is asking to have your brains melted—or worse.”

  Emily cursed under her breath. She had made contact—unauthorized contact—with the user interface above them. But no one knew it, save perhaps for Grandmaster Hasdrubal. It would be revealing, far too revealing, for her to confess what she’d done. Someone with a little imagination might just work out what she’d done to Shadye...

  And while that wouldn’t be a bad thing, she thought, it would make the necromancers more willing to attack Whitehall in the future.

  She sighed. “I did touch the wards,” she said. She could insist that everyone in the chamber swore an oath of secrecy later. “And they let me work.”

  Professor Lombardi gave her a sharp look. “Four years ago?”

  Emily nodded, hoping she hadn’t just made a dreadful mistake.

  “The Warden was still active at the time,” Professor Lombardi said. He sounded as if his mind was elsewhere. “It’s quite possible that you were regarded as an authorized user, particularly as the school was under attack at the time. Your signature was definitely authorized to be present within the school.”

  Caleb frowned. “Why, sir?”

  “It would be pretty silly for us to rest all our defenses on one man,” Professor Lombardi said, dryly. “Haven’t you read about Lord Faversham?”

  “No,” Emily said. She’d met far too many lords in the last few years. “What happened to him?”

  Caleb laughed. “They made us study his story at Stronghold,” he said. “He was a powerful magician, barely below a Lone Power. His castle was a gathering point for the great and good of the time, where his magic ensured that enemies could meet in peace, without fear of assassination. He would hold discussion groups with people from all over the Allied Lands, often encouraging disputes to tease out new viewpoints.”

  A Renaissance man, Emily thought.

  “He had enemies,” Caleb added, after a moment. “His monarch didn’t like the fact that Faversham was holding such discussions, but Faversham was too powerful for the king to attack directly. So he sent a woman to seduce Faversham and trick him into drinking a potion to suppress his magic. When he was helpless, the castle was attacked and Faversham was unable to mount a defense. He and his guests were brutally slaughtered to a man.”

  He paused. “That was over a hundred years ago.”

  “And if he’d given the wards some leeway, or assigned someone else as a backup controller, his castle would never have fallen,” Professor Lombardi said, briskly. “Whitehall would have problems if the Grandmaster were the sole controller of the wards.”

  We have problems now, Emily thought.

  She mulled over his words as the professors turned to the nearest crystalline column, running through the spells they planned to use. Lombardi had a point, she had to admit; it would be pretty dangerous if Whitehall’s defenses rested solely on one man. The Grandmaster’s deputy would probably have some degree of access to the wards, even if he couldn’t override the Grandmaster’s will. And yet, there was no logical reason why she would have that kind of access. She had been a student, one of many; a first-year student. There was no way she should have been on the list of authorized users.

  Unless everyone is on the list, she thought. And those above me were unable or unwilling to get to the nexus chamber.

  “The spellware is prepared,” Professor Lombardi said. “Emily, Caleb, stand near the door. If something goes wrong, I want you both to turn and run.”

  “Yes, sir,” Caleb said.

  They exchanged glances as they walked to the door, while the charms professors surrounded the crystalline column and Professor Locke watched from the wall. There was no way they could escape a surge of wild magic, not if the spells governing the nexus point failed; they’d be overwhelmed long before they realized that something had gone badly wrong. The wild magic would move faster than thought, faster—perhaps—than light itself.

  All those horrific stories, she thought, as she clutched Caleb’s hand. There might be some truth in them after all.

  “Stay behind me,” Caleb muttered. He squeezed her hand, gently. “And don’t hesitate to leave me behind.”

  Emily shrugged. It was nice of Caleb to want to put his body between her and harm, but she knew better than to think it was anything more than a gesture. A surge of wild magic would strike her microseconds after it struck Caleb, killing or warping them both. He might as well have tried to block a firestorm. But she loved him for being protective.

  “Concentrate on the spellware,” Professor Lombardi said. He glanced at Emily. “Can you follow what we’re doing from over there?”

  “Barely,” Emily said. The spells glimmered in front of her, but she stood too far away to make out the details. “We could come a little closer.”

  She scowled, inwardly. She had her doubts about all three tutors attempting to cast the spell in unison, although they were far more experienced than she was. The rituals had become a little easier, as Gordian had promised, during the second and third times her class had tried to use them. No doubt the tutors were used to casting ritual spells. They would know each other’s strengths and weaknesses very well.

  “Stay where you are,” Lombardi ordered. “I want you ready to run.”

  Emily felt her scowl deepen as the professor turned back to his work. He couldn’t be as confident as he sounded, then. She wanted to argue, to insist that they did more work, but she knew they wouldn’t listen. They simply didn’t have time to analyze every last thread of spellwork running through the network. They’d be running out of food within the next couple of weeks.

  “Focus,” Lombardi ordered. “We commence... now.”

  Emily leaned forward, fascinated despite herself, as the ritual began. The three professors linked hands, their magic thrumming on the air as they cast the spell, each one putting forward and maintaining a small part of the combined whole. It was fantastically complex, far more difficult than anything she’d seen before, let alone managed to do in class. And yet they made it look easy. She felt a flicker of envy, mixed with an odd flurry of regret. It was unlikely she would ever be able to trust someone so deeply, so completely, to allow her t
o cast such a spell with them. A single mistake would be enough to do real and lasting harm.

  “They’re good,” Caleb muttered. “Very good.”

  His grip tightened as he watched them. Emily couldn’t tear her eyes away as the spell glimmered in the air, then slowly wafted towards the column. Professor Lombardi was treating it like crafting a ward, altering the spell within the hearthstone. Perhaps he was right... and yet, she couldn’t quite get the sense that he’d made a terrible mistake out of her mind.

  “Now,” Professor Lombardi said.

  The spell wafted forward and touched the crystalline column. Emily braced herself as it passed though the crystal, but nothing happened. She relaxed, just for a second... and then the building shook, violently. The crystalline light turned an ominous red for a long moment, then dimmed before slowly returning to normal. She heard something behind her and turned, just in time to see the corridor lights flicker and die. The absolute darkness chilled her to the bone.

  “Get it back,” Professor Lombardi said. “Get...”

  Another quiver ran through the chamber, followed by a wave of magic that threw the professors away from the column. Emily barely had a second to realize what had happened before it slammed into Caleb, picking him up and throwing him into Emily, knocking them both to the ground. She almost panicked as he landed on top of her, pushing hard to get him off her before anything could happen. The ground shuddered, one final time—she heard something crashing in the distance—and then lay still. Emily had to force herself to stand up.

  “Caleb,” she said. Her legs felt unstable. “Caleb?”

  She bent over his unmoving form. He’d been stunned, she realized; rendered comatose by the spell. It had to be a defense system, she decided, as she cast a basic counterspell. The spellware had interpreted Professor Lombardi’s hacking as an attack and responded with force, enough force to stun all of the professors. Caleb moaned, but otherwise showed no response to the spell. She had to try four more times before he finally jerked awake, eyes wide with horror and shock.