Oathkeeper (Schooled in Magic Book 20)

by Christopher Nuttall

  She scribbled a note, then stood. The army had to be stopped. She wished, not for the first time, that she’d actually found a charged battery. If she had... she shaped a spell in her mind, hoping and praying they were far enough from the fort for the defenders to be safe. She’d done her level best to calculate the yield, but she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. The blast might be a great deal bigger than she intended.

  A chill ran down her spine as she saw more and more orcs - and overseers - joining the army. They prostrated themselves in front of the necromancer, staying on the ground long enough to flatter any despot before the overseers pushed them into squads and formed them up, readying the offensive. Emily was fairly sure they didn’t need to bother. The defenses were so weak that one solid charge would be more than enough to break them. She wondered, as she prepared her spell, how far the information had spread. Even necromancers could learn from defeat...

  She sensed a surge of magic behind her, too late. A hand fell on her shoulder as she tried to dart forward, catching hold of her shirt and yanking her back. The aroma of rotting flesh - and something else, something inhuman – assailed her nostrils as the overseer peered into her eyes. Emily nearly killed him on the spot, stopping herself an instant before she blew him into vapor. If she was lucky, he’d take her right into the heart of the enemy encampment... she almost smiled, despite the tightening grip on her arm. Most people would prefer not to be shoved into the middle of a necromantic horde.

  The overseer shoved her forward. Emily tried to walk with as much dignity as possible as he kept pushing her down the incline and into the hollow. There didn’t seem to be any real emotion to the march, no attempt to humiliate her in front of countless watching eyes or demonstrate the overseer’s power to the world. The creature just wanted her to move as quickly as possible. Emily drew in a breath as she kept walking, gritting her teeth when she felt more and more eyes following her. The orcs seemed to be breathing deeply... she shuddered, knowing they’d eat her after the necromancer had drained her power. She hoped, morbidly, that she’d give them indigestion.

  She forced herself to keep walking as the necromancer’s power grew stronger. It was beating on the air, his heartbeats sending pulses of magic battering against her soul. She felt an urge to throw herself at his feet and offer herself to him, even though she knew it would be nothing more than suicide. She closed her eyes for a second, concentrating. The necromancer had woven a simple compulsion into his aura, then overcharged it. A simple spell, but deadly. The villagers would have absolutely no defense. Resistance would be impossible.

  We’ll see about that, Emily thought. She touched the amulet with one hand, readying the nuke-spell with the other. This might not kill you, but it’ll take out your army.

  She stopped and studied Gerombolan. Up close, he looked completely inhuman. His body seemed designed to consume magic as much as she breathed oxygen. She wondered, suddenly, if he realized the downside... if he even cared. The necromancers were all dependent on magic to live, but Gerombolan took it to extremes. She could barely stand to look at him. He was no longer anything but raw power held together by will alone. No wonder he’d agreed to work with the others. He was permanently on the verge of running out of power.

  Gerombolan drew a stone knife from his belt and held it out. Emily felt the overseer prod her forward. He was going to sacrifice her on the spot... Emily smiled, feeling a flicker of uncertainty shimmering through the air. The necromancer’s emotion, not hers. He had to be wondering why she was smiling, even though she was about to die a horrible death. It would hurt immensely.

  Emily looked him in the eye. “My name is Emily,” she said. “And you know what I am.”

  She triggered the nuke-spell with one hand, then clenched the teleport amulet with the other. The world went white, then dark. She staggered as the ground shook under her feet, nearly tumbling to her knees before she steadied herself. The universe seemed to take a breath, then a thunderous explosion turned night into day. Emily turned just in time to see a glowing mushroom cloud rising above the hellscape. The sense of tainted magic, of a necromancer’s presence, vanished abruptly. Emily sucked in her breath, knowing her mirror-universe self had done worse. Far worse. And now...

  There was no choice, she told herself. The thought mocked her. There was no choice.

  She stared at the cloud, watching as it slowly faded back into darkness. Was it her imagination or... had there been eyes within the cloud, laughing at her? She told herself firmly that she was imagining it. They couldn’t be real. She muttered a spell to check for radiation, unsure if the spell actually worked. It wasn’t something she could test without considerable risk. The nuke-spell was designed to be clean, but... she didn’t know. If she was wrong...

  They can fix the damage, even if they don’t know what caused it, she thought. The wind shifted, blowing dust and ash towards her. And the enemy army is gone.

  She turned and walked back towards the fort. She’d wanted to teleport into the fort, but there was too great a chance of the wards blocking her or someone lashing out before realizing who and what she was. She rehearsed her cover story as she reached the gates, the soldiers staring at her in awe and horror. They’d seen the blast, she realized numbly. She hoped they hadn’t been looking directly at the light when the spell went critical. The blast might have blinded them...

  “Lady Emily.” Crown Prince Dater stepped out of the shadows. “What did you do?”

  “I used a battery to disrupt the necromancer’s wards,” Emily said, dully. Her hands were starting to shake as it dawned on her just how close she’d come to death. If the overseer had killed her, rather than taking her to his master... she hadn’t even sensed the creature sneaking up on her. She’d been intent on the necromancer, but still... she could have died there and then, without ever completing her mission. “And he lost control of his powers.”

  The Crown Prince nodded as he fell into step beside her. “What now?”

  “Right now?” Emily had to think. The potions were catching up with her. “Right now, I have to check on my friends. You have to put the defenses in order.”

  She forced herself to keep walking, despite the ever-growing exhaustion, until she reached the healer’s tent. The healer eyed her sharply, then stepped aside without an argument. Emily nodded to the Crown Prince before pushing the flap aside and stepping into the tent. Lady Barb lay on a wooden stretcher, her eyes closed. Emily swallowed, hard. Was she merely sleeping it off? Or... or what? What if she never woke up?

  Sergeant Miles sat next to her, holding her hand. Emily felt a pang of guilt. Lady Barb had known the risks, but... the invasion plan had been Emily’s plan. Lady Barb’s injury was her fault. Emily tried to tell herself that Lady Barb had volunteered, that she’d known what could happen, but Emily couldn’t convince herself of it. The older woman was the closest thing to a mother - a real mother - she’d known and now... now she might have lost everything she valued in herself.

  “Emily.” Sergeant Miles looked up. His face was tired and worn. “She hasn’t woken up.”

  “I...” Emily swallowed hard. “I’m sure she’ll wake up soon.”

  She sat on the other side of the stretcher, wondering if the sergeant hated her now. The old Miles would never have hated her, but the new Miles... she eyed him, wondering just how badly he’d been affected by his spell. He might have channeled more magic than the average necromancer. She’d studied the necromantic rite enough to know a great deal of power leaked before it could pass through a necromancer’s mind. Sergeant Miles had taken it all and turned it into a spell.

  “I hope so.” Sergeant Miles shook his head slowly. “The healer keeps telling me to sleep, but I can’t leave her alone.”

  “I’ll sit with her, for a while,” Emily offered. Her body groaned in protest, reminding her that it had been over a day since she’d slept. She had the oddest feeling she was going to fall asleep at any moment. “You can get some rest.”

&nb
sp; “I can sleep here,” Sergeant Miles said. “She deserves better.”

  “I’m sorry.” Emily felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. “It was my fault.”

  Sergeant Miles pointed a finger at her. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said, sharply. There was something in his voice that suggested he didn’t entirely believe himself. “You didn’t make us come here. You didn’t make her expose her back to those creatures. You didn’t... you didn’t get her hurt, any more than you got anyone else hurt or killed. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I was the one who came up with the plan,” Emily insisted. “I...”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Sergeant Miles repeated. He lay down next to his lover. “Get some rest. You’ll be needed tomorrow.”

  Emily lay down. “I’ll stay here,” she said. “I...”

  Sergeant Miles laughed, harshly. “You can deal with the rumors yourself, then,” he said. “And good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said. She felt a twinge of concern. The sergeant didn’t sound like himself. He’d had a long day - longer than hers - even before he’d channeled the spell... she shuddered, hoping and praying he was just tired. He might be himself again, when he’d had a good night’s sleep and Lady Barb woke from her coma. “Good night.”

  She stared up at the ceiling, feeling overwhelmed. Lady Barb was injured, Sergeant Miles was no longer himself... and she had no idea how to fix either of those problems. Earth had made great strides in handling brain injuries, and mental conditions from depression to outright insanity, but the Nameless World recoiled in horror at any thought of psychiatric treatment. There were no therapists, let alone soul magics that could guide the insane back to sanity. The necromancers were insane. Their insanity was the only true advantage their enemies had. They’d sooner leave a mentally-ill person untreated - or kill him - than risk developing something that would take their advantage away.

  Sickening. A horrible thought ran through her head. What if Sergeant Miles goes crazy?

  The thought mocked her, tormented her. Sergeant Miles... the persona he showed to his students - the friendly man who remained firmly in control at all times, the leader who had their best interests at heart, the teacher who encouraged his students to learn how to think - was gone. It had been a rough day for him, but... what if the change was permanent? Sergeant Miles was far more capable than any necromancer. If he went mad, he could do a lot of damage. He knew spells most necromancers didn’t know existed and couldn’t cast if they did. He really could do a lot of damage if he went berserk. It might take Void - or someone like him - to take him down. If the sergeant went crazy...

  He won’t, she told herself. She clung to the thought as if it were a life preserver. He and Lady Barb will be better soon.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “EMILY?”

  Emily started awake, unsure of where she was. She was lying on the hard ground, in a tent... she stared around blearily until she saw Lady Barb looking back at her. She was awake! Emily sat up and wrapped her arms around the older women, hugging her as tightly as she could. Lady Barb looked tired, but... she was alive! Behind her, Sergeant Miles sat up, rubbing his head. Emily glanced at him, some instinct warning her to check his eyes. They were as brown and soft as ever.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said to Lady Barb. “Really.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Lady Barb said, mischievously. She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. “What happened?”

  “You took a bang to the head,” Sergeant Miles said. “The healer fixed you up, then told me to let you sleep.”

  Lady Barb’s eyes narrowed. “And now?”

  “And now you have to rest,” Emily said, quickly. She felt her stomach rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything for... hours? Days? “I killed the necromancer.”

  “I never doubted it,” Lady Barb said. “I...”

  Sergeant Miles frowned. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I was on the walls,” Lady Barb said. “There was something behind me and...”

  She shook her head slowly. “I don’t recall anything past that,” she added, after a moment. “I’m not sure what happened to me.”

  “The overseers were flying,” Emily told her. “And they got under the defenses and hit us.”

  “Clever of them,” Sergeant Miles said, grudgingly. “We never thought of that.”

  He broke off as the flap was pushed aside and a healer stepped into the tent. “I need to check on my patient,” he said. “Please give us some privacy.”

  “Miles can stay,” Lady Barb said. “Emily, go get something to eat. I can hear your stomach grumbling from over here.”

  Emily flushed, then stood on wobbly legs and stumbled outside. She didn’t really blame Lady Barb - or the healer - for ordering her out, but she still felt a twinge of rejection. The air was oddly cool, for the Blighted Lands, as she made her way towards the field kitchen. Penny was sitting at a table, her eyes worried. She looked up, relieved, as Emily picked up a bowl of constant stew and a flask of water before sitting beside her. Emily was too tired to feel more than mild irritation, even though she knew it was irrational. Penny was Lady Barb’s trainee. She had good reason to be worried about her mentor.

  “There’s a command conference called for noon,” Penny said. “Are you going?”

  “I have to,” Emily said. She glanced at the sun. It was hard to tell how close they were to noon. “We have to plan our next step.”

  She looked around the camp. The portal was glowing brightly, spitting out an endless stream of troops, weapons and supplies. Horses were dragging cannons through the portal, their drivers handing them to cannoneers and then heading back to collect more. A handful of officers and sergeants were barking orders, getting in each other’s way as they tried to coordinate movement through the portal. Emily understood, just for a moment, why portals were never quite as effective as they seemed. There were some pretty hard limits on just how much could be shoved through a portal at any one time.

  We need to run a pair of railway lines through the portal, she mused, as she finished her stew and went back for more. It tasted vaguely unpleasant - constant stew always tasted overcooked - but she was too hungry to care. And then we could ship more and more supplies through the gap.

  “How is she?” Penny leaned forward. “I mean... is she okay?”

  Emily felt another stab of... of something. “She’s awake and talking,” she said, as she finished her plate and stood. “I think she’ll be fine.”

  Penny followed her, somewhat to her irritation, as she relieved herself, splashed water on her face and changed her shirt. Her body felt grimy, her clothes felt unclean... she wanted to teleport home, have a long bath and change into something a little more comfortable. But there was no time. She recovered her watch, checked the time and headed to the command tent. Sir Roger, Crown Prince Dater, Master Lucknow and - surprisingly - General Pollack were already there. She’d thought the general had strict orders to stay on the other side of the Craggy Mountains.

  “General,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Pretending I’m not here,” General Pollack said. “Please, take a seat. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  “In all senses of the word,” Sir Roger said. “What’s the news from home?”

  “They’re very pleased with everything you’ve done,” General Pollack said. “You’ve taken ground, you’ve held ground, you’ve even broken an orcish charge without resorting to heavy stone walls or powerful magic. By any real standards, you’ve done more than anyone since the Battle of Dolin.”

  “Don’t forget that two necromancers have been killed.” Sir Roger indicated Emily. “We have Lady Emily to thank for that.”

  “Indeed we do,” Crown Prince Dater agreed. “I intend to nominate her for my kingdom’s highest honor.”

  Emily blushed. “It isn’t over yet,” she said. “We haven’t taken and reignited the nexus point.”

  “And
that’s the problem,” General Pollack said. “There’s a feeling, back there” - he jabbed a hand north - “that we should pull back now. We’ve proved the necromancers can be stopped. We’ve proved their armies can be broken. They feel we should quit while we’re ahead.”

  Emily felt her heart turn cold. She couldn’t quit. Not now, not until the nexus point was reignited. The oath wouldn’t let her. She’d have to set out on her own if the army refused to accompany her. She’d have to find a way back into the castle without their help...

  And all the people we’ve liberated will be either uprooted from their homes or simply enslaved again, she thought. That will be utterly disastrous.

  She leaned forward. “No.”

  General Pollack raised his eyebrows. “No?”

  “No,” Emily repeated. She could feel them looking at her, but she focused her attention on the general. He was the one she had to convince, the one who could convince his superiors... if he believed her. “The war is not over. All of our gains can be lost, if we don’t reignite the nexus point and use it. And they were already adapting their tactics to face us. General... if we give them time, they may find ways to defeat us once again. We have to push our advantage as far as it’ll go.”

  She took a breath. “And we have to discourage them from digging through the mountains,” she added. “The only way to do that is to take out Rangka.”

  A shudder ran through her. Rangka had killed her. The lich had snapped her neck... she touched her skin before she could stop herself, reassuring herself that her neck remained unbroken. She was not dead. It was her other self who’d died... no, they’d merged back into one upon their death. Her death. But it hadn’t been her death... her head spun in circles. She had to kill Rangka. It was the only way to lay her fears to rest.

  Emily composed herself with an effort. “There’s no choice,” she said. “We have to press on.”