The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Emily sighed, inwardly, as she took her copy of the spell diagram and went to work. Each of the wardstones had to be placed in exactly the right position or the ward network would start to collapse, even with the nexus point providing enough power to overcome any minor flaws in the network. Professor Armstrong wouldn’t let them get away with allowing the nexus point’s raw power to save them from their own mistakes. There weren’t that many nexus points in the Allied Lands. Most sorcerers had to rely on their own power to put their wards in place.

  “This one is out of place,” Caleb called. “Can I move it?”

  “Check and double-check,” Professor Armstrong ordered. “And then move it.”

  Emily felt sweat running down the back of her neck by the time the entire network of wardstones was checked, time and time again. It had been a mistake, she decided, to wear a shirt and trousers rather than a summer dress ... or even charmed robes. Some of the other students had clearly shown more foresight. Melissa was in a long dress, while Jacqui and Cerise both wore short skirts. Emily scowled at them, wondering who they were trying to impress. They looked more like girls from Earth than the Nameless World.

  Perhaps they’re just trying to be practical, she thought, as they moved on to checking the embedded spells. The day was growing hotter as the sun beat down. It’s too hot today.

  “Very good,” Professor Armstrong said. He was smiling, coldly. Emily hoped—prayed—that they’d caught all the problems. “If you’ll all step back from the wardstones ...?”

  Emily stood next to him and watched as he started the first set of incantations. They’d acquired an audience, she noted. Gordian, Master Tor and several other tutors, including a scowling Sergeant Miles. He didn’t look pleased. Emily didn’t blame him. Dueling had about as much in common with sorcerous warfare as a pedal bike had in common with a car. She supposed it would teach reflexes and quick thinking, if nothing else.

  I’ll have to talk to him, later, she thought. She wasn’t in Martial Magic any longer. She’d completed both years, well before the usual time. And see what he thinks of this.

  “We will now channel power into the wardstones,” Professor Armstrong said, after ordering everyone to step well back from the circle. “If something is wrong, we’ll find out now.”

  Emily braced herself, the words of a protective spell on her lips as she felt the magic field suddenly twist. The wardstones came to life, glowing with a brilliant light as the wards took on shape and form. And then one of the wardstones turned a sickly color, a second before it exploded violently. Students scattered or raised shields of their own as pieces of debris flew in all directions. The remainder of the wards crashed out of existence a moment later.

  “And that,” Professor Armstrong said into the silence, “is why you check everything repeatedly before you risk activating the wards.”

  “You could have gotten someone killed,” Caleb protested. He sounded shocked. “If someone had stood too close ...”

  “If someone had tried that in their house, the consequences would have been a great deal worse,” Professor Armstrong said, his voice utterly unrepentant. He picked up a spare wardstone and carried it over to the circle. “I want you all to check the circle, once again.”

  Emily sighed and did as she was told. They hadn’t found anything last time, something that worried her more than she cared to admit. Professor Armstrong had over three decades of experience as a wardcrafter. It didn’t surprise her that he could have sneaked a tiny flaw past his class—he hadn’t rebuked them for missing it, which was telling in itself—but it made her wonder what else she might miss, over the years. A tiny little spell, in the right place, could be horrendously destructive.

  She stepped back when they finished and looked around. The audience had grown bigger. She saw Frieda standing with a couple of other girls, eyeing the new circle with interest. Frieda looked worn down, somehow. Emily silently promised herself that she’d take Frieda to Dragon’s Den—or somewhere—as quickly as possible. She needed a break too.

  And that will be sometime next year, she thought, as Professor Armstrong began charging the wardstones again. At this rate, I’ll be busy for months.

  She tensed as the wardstones came to life, expecting a second explosion. Nothing happened, even as the individual wards fell into place. She felt a flicker of admiration for Professor Armstrong’s work. She—and her teammates—had worked hard, but they hadn’t managed to get a ward network to stay up for more than a few minutes. It took more precision than any of them could muster.

  “Very good,” Professor Armstrong said. He glanced at Emily. “Is there anything wrong with the wards?”

  Emily leaned forward, reaching out with her senses. The ward network seemed stable, just waiting for someone to step into the circle. It wasn’t as strong as the wards she remembered from either of her duels, but that was intentional. There was no way she was denying herself—or the referee—the ability to step into the circle and put a stop to the duel. She wasn’t going to allow the students to fight to the death.

  “No,” she said, finally.

  She half expected to have a dozen problems pointed out to her, but instead Professor Armstrong merely pointed a finger at the wards.

  “You can test them, now,” he said. “Just be careful which spells you use.”

  Emily nodded and walked forward. The magic fizzled in front of her—she felt her hair trying to stand on end—as she stepped through the ward. It wasn’t painful, like some of the other wards she’d encountered, but it was impossible to miss. No one could step across the line by accident. The gentle repulsion was enough, by itself, to keep anyone out unless they were very determined.

  Silence fell, the second the wards snapped closed behind her. No one could shout advice to the duelists, save for someone keyed to the wards. Emily had insisted on that, back when she’d drawn up the list of requirements. The last thing she needed was an argument between two duelists over who would have won, if they hadn’t been distracted. Professor Armstrong could speak to her, but no one else. She’d have to make sure that the other referees were keyed to the wards before the club started.

  Lifting a hand, she cast a simple hex. The flicker of green light flashed across the circle and struck the wards, vanishing harmlessly in a brilliant flash. Emily had considered tuning the wards so that spells were reflected, ricocheting in all directions, but she’d dismissed the idea after she’d realized that it would make life too complicated. Better to have the wards absorb the spells than anything else. She concentrated, then cast a stronger spell. The wards glowed brightly as they absorbed it.

  Not bad, she thought. And now ...

  She took a moment to gather herself, then cast a cutting spell. It was rarely used in duels, if only because it was easy to deflect if the target saw it coming. Besides, if it hit unprotected skin it would be lethal. But now ... she smiled, thinly, as the spell refused to form properly, raw mana flaring around her as the wards broke up the spellware. A gong sounded, a second later. She’d just cast an illegal spell.

  “I am very disappointed in you, Emily,” Professor Armstrong said, artfully. He sounded amused. “Tut, tut. What sort of example are you setting for our younger students?”

  Emily felt her cheeks heat, even though she knew he wasn’t serious. She’d had to test the wards, after all. She cast two more illegal spells, silently monitoring how the wards reacted to her magic. It might be possible to overpower them, she decided, but it would be tricky to do it without the referees noticing. They’d have a chance to intervene.

  “It works,” she said, after one final test. “Thank you.”

  She strode forward and pushed through the wards. They resisted for a second—normally, contestants weren’t allowed to leave the circle until the duel was over—and then parted, allowing her to walk through. The sound of students chattering loudly struck her like a physical blow. She shook her head, tiredly, as she walked up to Professor Armstrong. He looked pleased.

&
nbsp; “Very good,” he said. “Perhaps the others would like to test it too.”

  Gordian walked up to Emily as Cirroc, Jacqui and Cerise made their way into the circle and started throwing spells at each other. “When do you plan to start?”

  Emily kept her face impassive as she turned to face him. “I was thinking tomorrow evening,” she said. At least she’d have a chance for some rest. “Everyone gets the same welcoming lecture, then we start teaching spells.”

  “Very good,” Gordian said. “And the first round of the contest?”

  “Several weeks, at least,” Emily said. She wondered, sourly, just how many miracles Gordian expected from her. “I want everyone to get used to the rules before we start the contest itself.”

  “Very good,” Gordian said.

  Emily shrugged as the Grandmaster turned and walked away. A Fifth or Sixth Year was going to win, she was sure. It was absurd to expect a firstie to beat a Sixth Year student in a duel. Maybe at Kingmaker, maybe at cards ... but not in dueling. She’d probably have to come up with a prize for each year. Or maybe she’d just leave that for whoever ended up being elected Head Pupil next year.

  She leaned back and watched as Cirroc, Jacqui and Cerise danced around the circle, tossing spells around with abandon. At least they seemed to be having fun. Perhaps she could pass some of the job onto them, once the club was underway. She’d have a preliminary meeting with them first. They’d all have to be clear on the rules before the club assembled for the first time.

  “You’ll have control of the wards,” Professor Armstrong said. “Just be careful to check them every week.”

  “I’ll make sure of it,” Emily said.

  She looked at the crowd. Frieda was still there, looking tired. Tiega and Adana stood close to her, looking eager as they chatted to their fellow Second Years. Jasmine stood a little apart, her eyes shadowed. She hadn’t had an easy time of it last year, Emily recalled. Even after she’d faced her punishment for her games, her fellows hadn’t warmed up to her.

  We have to lie in the beds we make, Emily thought. It was true everywhere, particularly at Whitehall. And sometimes we can’t recover from our mistakes.

  “Be careful,” Professor Armstrong said. “And good luck.”

  He walked away. Emily watched him go, noting how many students decided that his departure meant the end of the show and followed him. The coaches to Dragon’s Den would be leaving soon, if they wanted to go down to the town. Emily glanced at her watch, wondering if she had time to go herself. Thankfully, she hadn’t been charged with escorting the younger students. That was a tutor’s job.

  Frieda walked up beside her, one hand playing with her bracelet. “What are you doing now?”

  Emily felt a stab of bitter guilt. She hadn’t had time for Frieda over the last few days. Frieda was meant to be studying, but Emily had the distant impression that it hadn’t been going well. Fourth Year was always hard, even though most of the students didn’t have a tutor who was literally planning to kill them. Failing their exams could cost them the chance to go on to Fifth Year.

  “We can go down to Dragon’s Den, if you want,” Emily said. “Just give me a moment to speak to the others first.”

  Frieda’s face lit up, then fell. “The coaches are going now. You don’t have time.”

  “I can teleport,” Emily said. Her house was in Dragon’s Den. She’d teleported there several times over the last year. “It won’t be hard to get there at all.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “NOTHING EVER CHANGES HERE, DOES IT?”

  Emily looked around. Dragon’s Den hadn’t changed that much over the last five years. It was still a midsized cluster of houses and shops, surrounded by a low wall. She could pick out a handful of new shops, including a couple of printers, but otherwise the town hadn’t benefited that much from the New Learning. Anyone unlucky enough to be born in Dragon’s Den would be condemned to follow in their parent’s footsteps unless they developed magic or moved away.

  “They’ve cleaned up the streets,” Emily said. “That’s one change, isn’t it?”

  She smiled at the memory, even though it wasn’t a pleasant one. Dragon’s Den had smelled foul, the first time she’d visited. The streets had been covered in grime. That was one very definite advantage of the New Learning. Everyone knew about the importance of keeping their streets clean. Horse dung was swept up at once and carted off to be turned into fertilizer, while anyone stupid enough to urinate or defecate in the streets was put in the stocks or brutally beaten by the street patrol. It wasn’t something she liked, but she had to admit it was effective. The mortality rate in Dragon’s Den had gone down sharply.

  “I suppose,” Frieda said. “Where do you want to go eat?”

  Emily shrugged. “Pick a place,” she said, as they turned onto the restaurant row. “Where do you want to go?”

  She looked up and down the street as Frieda struggled to decide. Dragon’s Den had always been one of the more cosmopolitan cities on the Nameless World, if only because of its close proximity to Whitehall. It was probably one of the few places away from the coast where opening up a foreign restaurant was a profitable enterprise, although that was changing as the New Learning spread from place to place. She couldn’t help smiling in amusement as she saw a pizza restaurant right next to a burger bar. The foods she’d introduced were spreading widely.

  A shame they’d already thought of sandwiches, she thought, wryly. That might have spread even faster.

  “There’s a small restaurant here.” Frieda indicated a building that looked like a fancy cottage, weirdly out of place in Dragon’s Den. It was surrounded by a small garden, packed with a dozen wooden chairs and tables. The handful of visible patrons looked to be enjoying their food. “Shall we go?”

  Emily shrugged and followed her through the gate. A young serving maid picked up a pair of menus, then led them to an empty table. She looked to be around ten, Emily decided, making a mental note to pass her a tip when her seniors weren’t looking. The Nameless World didn’t have child labor laws. If someone’s parents owned a restaurant, they’d be expected to help wash the dishes and serve the food as soon as they were old enough to do it safely. And if she’d been sold into service instead ...

  Better make very sure no one sees her get the tip, Emily reminded herself. They’ll try to take it from her if they know she has something worth stealing.

  Frieda sat down, wincing slightly. Emily lifted an eyebrow. “What happened to you?”

  “Professor Lombardi didn’t appreciate my brutal candour,” Frieda said. She shifted, uncomfortably. “He thought I was being cheeky.”

  “Ouch,” Emily said. “And were you?”

  Frieda made a face. “I don’t think he understood the difference between pointing out the flaw in someone’s work and being cheeky,” she said. “He wasn’t pleased.”

  “He probably wouldn’t have been.” Emily looked down at the menu. “What do you want to eat?”

  “Whatever,” Frieda said, looking downcast. “I just want to get away for a while.”

  Emily eyed her, concerned. “What’s the matter?”

  “Too much work, too little time,” Frieda said. “And a pointless argument with Celadon, last night.”

  “Fourth Year is hard,” Emily agreed, softly. “I wish I could tell you it gets easier.”

  “You were dating what’s-his-face,” Frieda pointed out. The non sequitur caught Emily by surprise. “Celadon hates my guts. And everything else about me.”

  Emily made a face. “Why haven’t you spoken to your advisor?”

  “I did.” Frieda shifted, again. “That’s what got me caned.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. “Professor Lombardi is your advisor?”

  She wondered, suddenly, just what had happened at that meeting. She’d assumed that Frieda had been cheeky in class, not afterwards. It wouldn’t be the first time a tutor hadn’t seen the funny side and assigned punishments all around. But if an advisor meeting
had gone bad ... she gritted her teeth, trying to decide if she should speak to Professor Lombardi. But ... that would probably not end well. Frieda was supposed to learn to stick up for herself.

  “Yeah,” Frieda said. “He’s a pain in the ass.”

  Emily studied the menu, choosing to ignore that comment. There were only seven dishes listed, rather than the dizzying array of choices she recalled from Earth. But then, without freezers and microwaves, restaurant owners were very limited. It was a minor miracle that they could serve as many as seven dishes. Perhaps they had a magician on staff who could cast preservation spells. Or maybe they owned a preservation chamber.

  “I’ll have the roast beef and potatoes,” she said, passing the menu back to the serving girl. “Frieda?”

  “The fish,” Frieda said. “And bring me a beer too.”

  Emily eyed her in alarm. “A beer?”

  Frieda reddened. “Maybe some juice instead,” she said. “Emily?”

  “Juice for me too,” Emily said. She had no intention of touching alcohol if it could be avoided. It might be the safest drink in the Allied Lands—for anyone who couldn’t cast spells to clean water—but it was dangerous. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Just a little, when I went out with the other apprentices,” Frieda said, sullenly. Her fingers played with her bracelet as she looked down, seemingly unwilling to meet Emily’s eyes. “Is it that bad?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. She remembered her mother and shivered. There was no way she was going to let Frieda ruin her life like that. “Drink is a poor servant and a bad master.”

  “Hah,” Frieda muttered. “Can I still eat the fish?”

  “Be careful,” Emily advised.

  She felt embarrassed, but she kept her face impassive as the serving girl curtseyed and retreated. Emily had never been fond of eating fish away from the oceans—it was hard to be sure how fresh it was when it arrived in Dragon’s Den—but she supposed there were rivers and lakes nearby. The restaurant wouldn’t last long if it made a habit of poisoning students from Whitehall. Besides, food hygiene was another part of the New Learning. A cook who didn’t wash his hands after going to the toilet would be drummed out of town.