Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic Book 12)

by Christopher Nuttall

“I can go with her.” Frieda’s voice was silky-smooth. “Caleb, you are going to be needed here.”

  Emily looked at General Pollack. He was right, she knew; Caleb would be more useful on the streets. But had the general made that decision because it was the practical solution…or because he didn’t want to send a second son into danger by her side? Casper had died because he’d followed her into Heart’s Eye. Might General Pollack wonder if Caleb would go the same way? She hoped, deep inside, that she would never know.

  “Frieda can help me,” she murmured. The thought of walking into the temple – and perhaps confronting Justice for the second time – scared her more than she cared to admit. But at least they were doing something. “I’ll be fine.”

  General Pollack looked at his watch. “We’ll move out after sunset,” he said. “That gives us five hours to assemble the troops.”

  “Most of whom have no training,” Harman warned. “And the ones who do haven’t been in the military for years.”

  “You never forget,” General Pollack said. “Emily, Frieda; get some rest.”

  “Understood,” Emily said.

  “I’ll come with you.” Caleb ignored his mother clearing her throat. “We need to talk.”

  Emily nodded, not trusting herself to look at Sienna. They walked out of the room and up the stairs. Marian was coming out of her bedroom as they approached, looking murderous. The expression on her face was nasty enough to make Emily ready a spell to defend herself, just in case. It didn’t look as though Marian wanted to apologize for anything. The younger girl walked down the stairs and through the bottom door, never looking back.

  “Give us some privacy,” Caleb said to Frieda. “Please.”

  Frieda glanced at Emily, then hurried into the bedroom. Emily couldn’t help noticing that she’d left the door open, just a crack. Caleb cast a privacy ward, then two more, blurring them together to defeat any listening ears. Emily hoped it wouldn’t bring Frieda running out of the bedroom to discover why everything had gone quiet.

  “He didn’t tell me,” Caleb said. “I didn’t know he was going to ask you to do that. Emily…you could get killed in the temple!”

  “I know,” Emily said. She was scared, but…she boxed the fear away in her mind, refusing to allow it to dominate her. “I understand the risks.”

  Caleb stared at her. “You could be killed – or worse. What will happen when that…that creature focuses on you?”

  Emily shivered. Justice had been powerful, powerful enough to make her waver despite all her defenses. She had more experience with mind-manipulation than the average student at Whitehall, but still…Justice had nearly overwhelmed her. And she’d been quite some distance from the entity. Who knew what would happen if she was right next to it? Or if it focused all its power on her?

  “I’m the best-qualified person to walk into the temple,” Emily said, pushing her doubts and fears aside. “Everyone else is needed back here.”

  “Sarnia could go,” Caleb snapped. “She’s got the power and experience…”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Emily said. She had no idea if Sarnia had even joined the resistance. The older woman had a family she wouldn’t care to see threatened. “I’m better qualified than almost anyone else.”

  Caleb shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said. He looked into her eyes. “This…”

  Emily wished, suddenly, that she could promise she’d survive. But she knew Caleb was right. Entering the temple would be dangerous, very dangerous. If she was caught, she would be killed…or brainwashed. Her defenses were tough, but they wouldn’t stand up to sustained attack. No defense was perfect. Lady Barb had hammered that into her time and time again.

  She reached out and took his hand. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You’ll be fine too.”

  “You might not be,” Caleb said. “Emily…”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  Emily blinked. “What for?”

  “All of this.” Caleb waved a hand at the wall. “My family…everything.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Emily said.

  She pulled him close and hugged him, despite the risk. It had been easy at Whitehall, where they’d just been students…it had been easy to be themselves. But here, Caleb’s family was watching them, judging them…it wasn’t easy to relax. She hugged him tighter, unsure if she envied or pitied him. On one hand, Caleb had a family that genuinely loved him; on the other, that family restricted him in ways Emily could barely comprehend.

  You’re not just marrying him, Lady Barb had said, two years ago. You’re marrying his entire family.

  Caleb returned her hug, slowly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish…”

  Emily heard something at the bottom of the stairs and peered down. Marian stood there, looking up at them. Caleb pulled himself free and glared at his younger sister, magic sparking around his fingertips. Emily glanced at him in surprise, wondering if he would actually hex the younger girl. And yet, as Marian stamped up the stairs, she felt Caleb’s magic fading back into nothingness.

  “I’m sorry about her too,” Caleb said, once Marian had walked into her room and slammed the door. Emily could hear love and affection in his voice. “She isn’t normally like this.”

  “She’s not having a good time,” Emily said. “And she’s too young to understand.”

  She shook her head. Marian was probably having problems coping now all of her siblings were away at school, leaving her alone with her parents. On one hand, someone would be looking after her; on the other, she’d have her mother’s undivided attention. And she was growing up, watching helplessly as her body changed…Emily remembered going through puberty herself and shivered. That had not been a pleasant experience.

  At least Marian has a mother who will help her through it, she thought, darkly. Her mother had shouted at her, when she’d tried to talk about female matters. There was no way in hell she’d ask her stepfather for advice. Marian didn’t know how lucky she was. She has a family who loves her.

  “After this, we’ll go back to Whitehall,” she promised. “We can go up the mountain and…”

  “If we have time,” Caleb said. He didn’t sound enthusiastic. “We’re going to have to work hard to catch up with everyone else.”

  “I know.” Emily lifted her head, parting her lips. “But we can do it.”

  Caleb leaned down and kissed her gently. “I hope so,” he said, as he pulled back. “But we have to survive the next few days first.”

  “We will,” Emily promised.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was dark, very dark.

  EMILY SLIPPED THROUGH THE BACKSTREETS, SILENTLY cursing the Fists of Justice as she kept a careful lookout for spies. Frieda followed, watching her back. Beneficence had once been the most well-lit city on the Nameless World, illuminated with gaslights that wouldn’t have been out of place in Victorian London; now, the city was as dark and silent as the grave. Even the footpads and other criminals seemed to have removed themselves from the streets. The only people she’d seen, since they’d slipped out of Sorcerers Row, were a couple of patrols prowling the streets. They’d walked past Emily and Frieda without noticing them.

  She tested the glamour as they picked their way towards Temple Row. The night-vision spell made everything look eerie, creating pools of shadow that seemed to move the moment she looked away. She was relieved, despite herself, that most of the statues had been destroyed, even though she knew two-thirds of the city considered the feeling blasphemy. The statues would have looked far too creepy in the grey haze. She spotted a handful of blankets, clearly concealing something positioned against the wall; she eyed them for a long moment before deciding that whoever owned them was trying to hide. The Fists of Justice, if the reports were to be believed, hadn’t been kind to anyone they’d caught on the streets after dark.

  The presence grew stronger as they neared their destination, a pulsing heartbeat that echoed through the air and brush
ed against her magic. Even mundanes could sense it, according to General Pollack. Emily had no idea how that worked, but she didn’t blame the resistance for feeling scared. They wanted – they needed – more data before they did anything more than attacking patrols and raiding isolated outposts. She took a breath, bracing herself as the presence seemed to grow stronger for a moment. Her attention seemed to draw its attention.

  Don’t think about it, she told herself. Justice would worm its way through the gaps in her defenses if she gave it a chance. She wished, grimly, that there had been a chance to get the children out of the city. They’d be the most vulnerable to a constant subtle whispering at the back of their minds. Keep your eyes on the ball.

  Frieda touched her hand as they reached the end of the alleyway. A dozen Fists stood at the edge of Temple Row, their eyes flickering from side to side as they watched the streets; beyond them, workmen and slaves carted away the debris from the other temples, even though night had fallen two hours ago. Emily glanced back at the Fists and shivered, remembering the guards who’d defended Farrakhan. They’d been smoking, chatting quietly to keep themselves awake, but the Fists seemed utterly intent on their work. There was something oddly inhuman about them, as if all their humanity had been leeched away.

  She glanced at Frieda, who held up her fingers in a sign Emily remembered from Mountaintop. Proctors.

  Emily looked at the Fists. Proctors? The Mountaintop Proctors had been dead bodies animated by the wards; they’d been drained of life force to feed the wards, then put to work as enforcers to keep the students in line. She didn’t think the Hands of Justice would have done the same…would they? They’d be in real trouble if the secret had leaked out before the coup. But now…they could turn their fanatics into zombies, if they wished. They were already committed to victory or extinction.

  And they might have drained them to feed Justice, Emily thought. She reached out with her senses as carefully as she could, trying to detect a glamour that might have hidden a dead face, but there was too much interference for her to be sure of anything. That might be where he’s getting his power…

  She inched back into the alleyway before any of the fanatics caught a glimpse of them. The glamour should hide them from unwary eyes, but she had no idea how well it would hold up against the fanatics. An alert set of guards might just investigate something they glimpsed out of the corner of their eyes, even though it might have been nothing. And if they had sorcerers – or merely a handful of magic-users – the glamour wouldn’t last long at all.

  Frieda held up her hands again. “Five minutes,” she signalled. “Then we will see.”

  Emily nodded. General Pollack had planned a series of attacks, all designed to get in, land a punch and then get out again before the enemy had a chance to respond. He’d admitted, openly, that the best they could do was give the Fists a bloody nose, but it might buy time for Emily and Frieda to slip into Temple Row. If, of course, the watching guards were distracted. Emily bit her lip, concerned. The fanatics didn’t look as though they would be distracted easily.

  But the slaves might try to escape, she thought, peering out of the alleyway. I would, if I’d been given the chance.

  She shuddered. She’d been told that some slaves were merely working off debts – a concept she found sickening, even if people insisted such slaves were treated well – but these slaves were definitely working against their will. A number even wore the tattered remains of priestly garb, when they’d been allowed to wear anything at all. They were being forced to rip their own temples to shreds. She gritted her teeth as she pulled her head back, knowing there was nothing she could do to help them. She’d just have to hope they defeated the Fists of Justice as quickly as possible.

  A brilliant flash of light came from Sorcerers Row. Emily braced herself as the guards looked around, apparently confused. Two more flashes of light followed, both marking attacks on enemy patrols. Sienna and her fellows spent power freely, making it clear that they were going on the offensive, while their mundane counterparts launched more subtle attacks. The Fists of Justice would have to react quickly, General Pollack insisted, if they wanted to retake control of the streets. And their nearest reinforcements were at Temple Row.

  Unless they’re more intent on preserving the temple than retaking the streets, Emily thought, grimly. The plan had seemed workable, when they’d been going through the final aspects after a brief nap, but now it struck her as being more than a little chancy. They’d underestimated the sheer level of activity around the building. They may think they can retake control in the morning.

  She tensed as she heard the sound of running footsteps. A trio of men in red robes, one carrying a staff that blazed with power, ran out of the Temple of Justice and straight towards the guards. There was a brief exchange of orders, then the guards followed the priests onto the streets, away from Temple Row. Emily inched forward, noting where the other guards were watching the slaves. The temple hadn’t been left completely unguarded. She could knock them down with magic, but that would reveal her presence…

  We need a distraction, she thought, as she peered down the street. Something that will keep them busy…

  She braced herself, then shaped an unlocking spell in her mind and cast it with all the power she could muster. The slaves jerked upright as their chains unlocked, coming free and falling to the ground with a mighty clatter. They broke free a moment later; some attacking their captors with tools or their bare hands, others running in all directions. Emily caught Frieda’s hand and pulled her onto the street, hurrying down Temple Row towards the Temple of Justice as the riot swelled out of control. The guards didn’t seem to notice them. They had too many other problems to worry about.

  So do we, Emily thought, as they reached the temple. Another group of guards stood just inside the building, looking altogether more serious. Two were definitely magic-users, although she didn’t think they were full sorcerers. Their magic fields seemed a little unfocused. Those guards aren’t distracted…

  Frieda tapped her arm, motioned for Emily to stay put, then ran forward, dispelling the glamour as she moved. The guards noticed her, an instant before she threw a string of fireballs, brilliant lights and blinding spells into the temple, then ran down the street. Emily watched, torn between horror and relief, as the guards either clutched their eyes or gave chase, hurling hexes and curses after Frieda. It was easy, terrifyingly easy, to slip past the guards and into the temple. They didn’t have a hope of noticing she was there.

  She tensed as she felt magic pervading the temple, streams of power that led underground. It was very much like Mountaintop, although she didn’t think Mountaintop had harvested enough power to create a god. Maybe that was why Justice hadn’t made many appearances, before all hell broke loose. The Hands of Justice hadn’t had the power to manifest him on a regular basis.

  And now they do, she thought, inching forward. But where are they getting the power?

  The temple felt spooky. It was brightly lit, yet empty. Her footsteps echoed through cavernous chambers that should have been filled with worshippers. Statues of Justice were everywhere, all following the same theme of resolute certainty. Justice was an implacable judge, an entity who could not be questioned. She caught sight of a statue holding a set of scales and winced. The scales of justice, it seemed, always had to be balanced.

  She allowed the magic to lead her to a set of stairs, disappearing down into the darkness; carefully, she walked down them, keeping her magic at the ready. The rune on her chest started to heat, warning her of subtle magic; her skin crawled as she felt it reaching out to touch her, plucking at her mind. Anyone who found the stairs without proper preparation, she realized as she reached the bottom, would not only find themselves walking out again, but also lose all memory of having discovered the stairs in the first place. They’d never know what they’d found once they left the temple. And yet, it was a strikingly passive defense for such a secret.

  The lower levels appea
red as deserted as the temple itself, but she kept the glamour around her as she made her way down the corridors. A handful of doors lay in front of her, all closed and locked, secured by powerful wards. She studied the closest door for a long moment, then inched forward to test the defenses. It didn’t look as though they were keyed to a particular mind, but a mistake in breaking them down would prove disastrous. And yet ... she didn’t think she had a choice. The Fists of Justice would eventually return for morning prayers…

  And if they catch me, she mused as she pushed her magic against the defenses, I will be in real trouble.

  The defenses snapped and snarled at her as she forced her spells into the gaps and broke them, one by one. It was tough, the defenses easily enough to keep out the average student, but Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles had forced Emily to practice breaking far more complex protections. She’d broken into a dozen offices in Whitehall, just to prove she could. She tried not to think about the times she’d been caught by her tutors as she snapped the final set of wards and carefully turned the knob. No one would speak for her if she was caught here.

  She opened the door carefully, watching for unpleasant surprises. She’d been caught, twice, because the tutors had hidden spells within the doorknob itself, spells that she hadn’t been able to pick up because they’d been lost in the haze. But here, there were no spells. There didn’t even seem to be any alarm bells. She lifted her gaze as she inched into the room, watching for trouble. But there was none…

  The room was a large office, she realized, as she looked around. It was surprisingly simple: a wooden desk, a pair of chairs and a bookcase crammed with old manuscripts. And yet, there was a glass window at the far end of the room. She checked her glamour as she walked up to it, ready to duck at any moment. It opened over a large chamber, allowing her to look down at a set of altars. She shivered, remembering the day Shadye had tried to sacrifice her to the Harrowing. The altars looked eerily similar.

  She forced herself to look away and walk to the desk, keeping a wary eye out for other booby traps. She’d known tutors who’d trapped their desks, even when they couldn’t be bothered warding the entire classroom. But there was nothing, as far as she could tell. The only magic on the desk revolved around a small collection of parchment scrolls, piled up in front of the chair. They were so old that Emily felt herself drawn to them, even though she knew they could be dangerous to touch. The spells were designed to protect the scrolls against the passing of time.