Which wasn’t entirely my fault, Emily thought. I didn’t ask to be put in that class.
She was nearly at the dorm level when she felt the school’s wards pulse in alarm. She tensed, reaching out with her senses to touch the wards. Someone was using magic further down the corridor, someone was using magic that brushed against the unspoken limits. She hesitated, wondering if she could direct someone else to deal with the problem, then cursed under her breath as she realized no one else was within range. There certainly didn’t seem to be any tutors nearby.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stride down the corridor. Someone was jeering—and others were laughing—ahead of her. There was a cruelty in the tone that told her what she would see, even before she rounded the corner. A young boy—a firstie—was hanging from the ceiling, his eyes wide with terror. Three other boys stood under him, pointing and laughing. A girl leaned against the far wall, looking as if she wanted to run, but she was too scared to take that first step. Emily realized, to her shock, that it was Marian.
She cleared her throat. “What do you think you are doing?”
The boys—the bullies—turned to look at her. They were firsties too, but they were clearly not unused to magic. Emily had no difficulty, now, in picking out the signs that they’d been raised in magical families. If nothing else, they’d managed levitation and sticking charms in their first week of formal schooling.
Their eyes went wide when they saw her, their bodies shuffling as if they were unsure whether they wanted to challenge her or run for their lives. Emily glared at them, fighting to keep her anger under control. She’d seen too many bullies in her life, people with the wealth, power and social capital to convince authority figures to overlook their transgressions. Even in Whitehall, where one could hardly wave a wand without hitting someone with powerful connections, the popular bullies could get away with almost anything ...
Not now, she thought. She hadn’t wanted to be Head Girl, but if they gave her the power she was going to use it. Not with me.
The leader took a half-step forward. Emily met his eyes, silently daring him to defy her. He was handsome enough, she supposed; he was too handsome to be entirely natural. His black hair framed a face that was utterly unmarked by life. It was bad manners to check if someone was using a glamour, but she could sense faint traces of magic covering his face. He hadn’t applied the glamour properly.
“We were just showing the new bug how important it is to master his magic.” He sounded as though he was trying to seem assured, as if it had never crossed his mind that there might be something wrong with his conduct, but he didn’t have the presence to pull it off. “Being stuck to the ceiling will ...”
“Injure him quite badly if the spell fails and he can’t catch himself in time,” Emily finished, sharply. Falling three meters to a hard stone floor would result in broken bones, at the very least. “And can you be sure you can catch him before he falls?”
“New bugs have to learn,” one of the other firsties said. He wore a face that was surprisingly adult. Emily tried to sense a glamour, but felt nothing. Either he was a far superior magician or that was his real face. Emily didn’t know which prospect was more disconcerting. “My father told me ...”
“You’re a new bug,” Emily pointed out, sharply. “And your father isn’t here.”
“We have a duty,” the first bully said. “And ...”
Emily forced herself to tamp down on her anger. “No, you don’t,” she said. “Go see the Warden, all three of you. And afterwards, you might want to reflect on just what would have happened if he had fallen to the floor.”
The firsties looked rebellious. “Are you not going to beat us yourself?”
Emily flared her magic. “Would you rather I stuck you to the ceiling and left you there until you fell?”
She felt a flicker of heavy satisfaction as they stumbled backwards in shock. Flaring one’s magic was raw intimidation, nothing else. Firsties—even ones who’d had some training before coming to Whitehall—couldn’t have hoped to match her power. She could have taken all three of them with one hand tied behind her back and they knew it. Perhaps they didn’t think much of her appearance. She knew she didn’t have the presence of Aloha, let alone Lady Barb. But they’d respect her power.
“Go,” she ordered.
The bullies turned and fled. Emily looked down the corridor—Marian had vanished while she’d been focused on the bullies—and then up at their victim. He was easy to read, even for her; he was torn between relief that she’d saved him and shame that he’d needed help. At least he probably wouldn’t be ashamed of being saved by a girl. The magical community wasn’t particularly sexist.
Because sorceresses can be just as good as sorcerers, Emily thought. She remembered Julianne Whitehall and smiled. Teaching Lord Whitehall’s daughter the basics of magic had planted a seed that had flowered into something great. And we have an even playing field.
She cast a series of charms, lowering the victim gently to the floor. He rolled over the minute he landed and stood, looking as though he wanted to bolt too. Emily didn’t blame him for being unsure. No one respected weakness at Whitehall. And no one would care that three on one was obviously unfair.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered.
Emily snorted. “You would have preferred to fall to your death?”
He looked sullen. His eyes flickered around, as if he wanted to look at anything but her. “They ... they just picked on me.”
Emily studied him for a long moment. He wore firstie robes, of course, but he didn’t look as though he’d grown up wearing them. Coming to think of it, wearing robes outside class was a pretty solid indicator he didn’t have anything else to wear. And the pockmarks on his face suggested he hadn’t had access to any magical healing. His build and general demeanor was only the icing on the cake. She would have bet good money that he’d grown up in a mundane community.
“Dickheads like that don’t need an excuse to pick on people,” she said. She’d known too many people like the bullies in grade school. They’d find a social outcast and drive him to despair—or suicide. “They just want to have fun.”
He wilted. “Is that what it’s always going to be like? People picking on me?”
Emily swallowed hard, trying to think of an answer. She’d known too many people who’d been on the brink of despair too. They were isolated and alone, ignored by those in power ... there was nothing they could do to fight back. All the stories about victims learning martial arts and thrashing their bullies were just ... stories. And yet, hadn’t she done it? She’d learnt enough magic to defend herself ...
“It depends,” she said. “You have magic, don’t you?”
“I can’t get it to work properly,” he said. “It just refuses to work!”
“It takes practice,” Emily said. How long had it taken her to cast her first spell? “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have magic.”
She reached out and patted his shoulder. He cringed away.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have magic,” she repeated, silently kicking herself. She hadn’t liked to be touched either, back when she’d been his age. “I know—they know more spells than you. But you can master other spells and use them to fight back.”
She took a step back and studied him. “Let me guess. You grew up in a village, perhaps on a farm. Your parents were peasants or landed tenants. Right?”
“Yeah,” the boy said.
Emily met his eyes. “And you didn’t really have any hope of climbing up the ladder. To you, there was no ladder. You were never going to leave the farm, let alone marry the local lord’s daughter ...”
He stared at her in disbelief. Emily hid her amusement with an effort. The peasants and aristocrats were so far apart, socially, they might as well live in two separate worlds. No lord would ever consider giving his daughter to a peasant. Hell, he’d be reluctant to marry his daughter to a wealthy merchant, even if the me
rchant had enough money to pay the family’s debts.
And I once tried to explain Sofia the First to Alassa, Emily reminded herself. She didn’t get it.
“Things are different here.” She felt her head starting to throb again and gritted her teeth. “You can rise, if you work at it. Learn magic and use it. I guarantee you that the gulf between you and them is not impossible to cross, if you work hard.”
“No one will help me,” the boy said, mournfully.
It’s been two days, Emily thought. They can’t have poisoned everyone against him already, can they?
She pushed the thought aside. She’d seen bullies do just that, back on Earth. It was rarer in Whitehall, but not completely unknown. If she hadn’t been lucky enough to share a room with Imaiqah ...
I could teach him, she thought. But I don’t have time.
The thought caused her a stab of guilt. He needed help. But she barely had time to do everything else she needed to do. And besides, he didn’t need a guardian angel. No one would respect him if the Head Girl or his mentor was constantly watching him, protecting him. He needed someone who would show him how to develop his powers and master enough spells to defend himself. Someone like ...
“There are people in Second Year who will help you,” Emily said. She’d been meaning to have lunch with her former mentees. “Ask some of them for help. They’ll remember going through the same experience themselves. Believe me, they won’t be impressed by any of the dickheads.”
He looked up. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Emily said. “Take my word for it.”
She leaned forward. “How many spells do you think I knew when I came here?”
“Hundreds,” the boy said.
“None,” Emily corrected. “My father didn’t teach me any spells.”
He didn’t look as though he believed her. Emily didn’t blame him. Magical parents would often teach their kids the basics, just to give them an edge when they reached Whitehall. Everyone had certainly expected Void to do that for Emily. Very few people realized that he’d never had the chance.
“But ... you’re the Necromancer’s Bane!”
“Yes,” Emily said. “And I didn’t learn any magic until I was your age.”
He swallowed. “They’re not going to be happy, are they?”
Emily shrugged. “They’re going to have problems sitting down for a couple of days,” she said. The Warden wouldn’t go lightly on firsties. “But it could have been worse and they know it.”
She took a step backwards. “You have a chance to rise in the world. Yes, they have an advantage. But it isn’t a big enough advantage to keep you from rising to meet them—or going higher. There’s a boy I know—a master magician—who married into royalty. And he’s powerful and skilful enough to kick my ass. You could do that too.”
The boy looked doubtful. “Really?”
“Yes.” Emily nodded towards the stairwell. “Go to the library and start studying. Find someone who can and will teach you. Or let them walk all over you for the rest of a very short and miserable life. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” the boy said.
Emily watched him go, suddenly feeling very tired. Had she done the right thing? She knew the boy—it struck her that she hadn’t even asked his name—was not going to have an easy time of it. But there was no choice. She couldn’t protect him indefinitely, even if she’d wanted yet another responsibility. What would he do when she left Whitehall?
At least he has a chance, she told herself. A person couldn’t rise in the world if they were born on a farm, not if they wanted to stay on the farm. Running off to the city was about the only escape valve the peasants had. And he might become something great.
She rubbed her forehead as she walked down the corridor. It was possible that someone would complain about how she’d handled the situation. Older students weren’t supposed to intervene while the younger students sorted out the pecking order. It was even possible that she would be punished for meddling. But she’d never liked bullies. Sooner or later, the dickheads would try their games on someone powerful enough to make them pay a very high price for stupidity. Better they learnt to be careful now than later.
And it might make them better people, she told herself. Who knows?
She felt the vial in her pocket as she reached her office door and paused. The sign-up sheet for the dueling club was already filled, with more names written on the stone below. It looked as though over a hundred students were interested in joining, mostly from second or third year. Frieda’s name was right at the top.
So much for having a small club, she thought. She should have known better. Casper had wanted to win the champion title, after all. He’d risked his life to win. But at least it will teach some of them how to defend themselves.
Sure, her own thoughts added. And it will teach others how to pick on the weak.
Chapter Fifteen
THERE HAD BEEN A TIME, EMILY acknowledged ruefully, when the weekend had been a genuine chance to rest. She could spend her free time in the library, if she wished, or leave the school for an afternoon. Dragon’s Den wasn’t that interesting a place to go, now that she was used to it, but it was something different. And there was always the prospect of going walking in the mountains, weather permitting. Only a complete idiot would go walking in the mountains when a thunderstorm turned the paths into muddy swamps.
Now, as far as she could tell, there wasn’t any chance to rest at all. When she wasn’t in class, she was in her office; when she wasn’t in her office, she was desperately trying to keep up with her homework or catch some sleep while she had a chance. Three days of schooling had left her feeling like a nervous wreck, praying for the weekend as she forced herself to push onwards and do her duty. But the weekend offered no respite. She had to work on the dueling club.
She couldn’t help feeling a flicker of resentment as she walked out of the school and headed around the arena. It was a bright, sunny day, the sort of day she should have spent walking the mountains or swimming, but instead she had to work. Gordian—for better or worse—hadn’t wanted her to disassemble the ken arena and replace it with a dueling circle. Instead, she—and Professor Armstrong—would have to set an arena up from scratch.
Which will at least give me some more practical experience, she thought. Professor Armstrong had invited the other Fifth and Sixth Years to help too. And it won’t be a complete loss.
The field near the arena was normally used for sunbathing and weekend barbeques when it wasn’t being used for practical exercises. It was nothing more than a grassy lawn, regularly maintained by students in detention. Now, Professor Anderson had started to lay wardstones in a neat circle, carefully outlining precisely how the spells had to go together for maximum safety. The handful of students who’d managed to beat Emily to the lawn were taking detailed notes. Professor Armstrong had hinted that the exercise might turn out to be very useful when exam season rolled around again.
Emily shivered, despite the warmth, as she saw the circle slowly taking shape. The last time she’d seen a full-scale warding circle, she’d faced Master Grey in a fight to the death. It still chilled her to think how close she’d come to death, how easy it would have been for him to kill her if she hadn’t caught him by surprise ... she gritted her teeth as she rounded the circle, careful not to cross the line. The wardstones weren’t charged—yet—but she knew better than to develop bad habits. A person who stepped across a charged line might be hurt or trapped if they weren’t careful.
“Emily,” Professor Armstrong said. He held out a sheet of parchment, covered in spell notation. “I trust this meets with the Head Girl’s approval?”
Emily took the parchment and worked her way through it, carefully. Head Girl or not, she was still subordinate to the tutors. Professor Armstrong would not be pleased if she took him for granted, let alone spoke to him as if he were a servant. Besides, this was an exercise, as far as he was concerned. There would be a glitch, somewhere
in the diagram. And she had to find it before they tried to implement it.
“There isn’t enough of a safety ward here,” she pointed out, finally. “And I don’t see how the two wards here and here”—she tapped a lower section—“interact.”
“Poorly.” Professor Armstrong gave her a droll smile. “Are there any other points of interest?”
Emily worked her way through the diagram again, but found nothing. It was true that the flaws in some spellwork only became apparent when the spell was actually tried, yet there shouldn’t be anything too complex about a warding circle. The theory was simple, even if the implementation was tricky. And there shouldn’t be anything about the grassy lawn that would throw all their calculations out of sync.
“You’re drawing power from the nexus point,” she said, finally. “Is that wise?”
“We use something similar for the arena,” Professor Armstrong said, jabbing a finger back towards the giant structure. “This one actually draws on much less power.”
Emily frowned, making a mental note to check the outer edge of the school’s wardstones before she returned to Heart’s Eye. Someone—perhaps Whitehall and Bernard, but more likely someone history had forgotten—had added wardstones to the edge of the school grounds, giving Whitehall’s masters an astonishing degree of control over the whole area. It made her wonder what else had been forgotten over the years—or what might have been deliberately lost. Whitehall’s founding wasn’t the only era that was poorly recorded, for all sorts of reasons. Something had happened during the fall of the Empire that had been wiped from all records, at least the ones she’d been able to read.
But the circle will be powered by the nexus point, she thought. We shouldn’t have any difficulty keeping it safe.
Professor Armstrong raised his voice. “We put the wardstones in place,” he said, his words booming around the field. Nearly every Sixth Year student had arrived, as well as half of the Fifth Years. “I want each of you to check that they’re in the right place.”
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 14