Emily said nothing. The next set of duelists stepped in as soon as Professor Armstrong declared the ring safe, then went at each other with bitter determination. They’d both learnt from the last set of duels, Emily decided. She’d seen them standing still before; now, they were moving to dodge spells instead of trying to deflect them. She mentally commended them for showing a little more imagination, then sighed as one of them finally lost. They still didn’t have the skill they needed to win.
Gordian tapped her arm as the loser stumbled out of the ring, followed by the winner. “Do you wish you were with them?”
Emily shook her head. Dueling had never struck her as fun. She’d learnt the basics at Mountaintop, but she’d considered it just another contemptible sport, no different from football or basketball. The jocks who were good at it were feted, allowed to get away with murder if it was what it took to keep them on the team. And then Master Grey had tried to kill her ...
“I’d be happy if I never saw another dueling circle,” she said. “I don’t like dueling.”
Gordian gave her a surprised look as the last of the duels came to an end. Twenty-nine students had won one or both of their duels; the remainder, the ones who had lost both, exited the field. Emily hid a smile as a number of them headed straight for the showers, rather than staying behind to cheer everyone going into the third round. If she’d been that hot and sweaty, she would probably have done the same.
“It’s a way to prove that you are the best,” Gordian said. “Isn’t it?”
“I don’t want to prove that I’m the best.” Emily nodded towards the dueling ring, where Professor Armstrong was testing the wards again. “I just want to live.”
Gordian frowned, but said nothing as the final set of contestants assembled. Emily had agreed that students who won both of their matches could move ahead to the second round, but only two of them—Adana and an older student she didn’t know—had taken advantage of the opportunity. Everyone else was lining up, looking ready and willing to resume the dueling. Emily glanced from face to face, seeing the same grim determination everywhere.
This isn’t just a game to them, she told herself. This is ... a chance to prove themselves.
She winced, inwardly, as Frieda and an older student stepped into the ring. If she’d had time, she would have called one of the other supervisors ... but Gordian was standing right next to her, watching. Emily cursed under her breath, wondering just what she’d do if Frieda stepped over the line. Or even the other student. She knew from grim experience that someone could slip a spell past the referees, if they were careful. If she saw something and Gordian didn’t—or vice versa—it could easily get her in trouble.
“Good luck,” she mouthed. “And ...”
She blew the whistle. Frieda launched her first spell at once ... no, two spells fired off so closely together as to make them seem one. Her opponent tried to block it and was knocked backwards for his pains, although his shield was strong enough to deflect most of the magic and absorb the rest. He retaliated with a set of spells of his own; Frieda dodged and ducked, hurling spells towards him as she moved. Emily felt Gordian tense beside her as Frieda cast a prank spell, followed by one of the nastier—and yet legal—hexes. Her opponent yelped in pain as the prank caught his arm, then threw back a ward-cracker. Frieda grunted, then launched herself forward. Emily sucked in her breath as Frieda slammed her wards into her opponent’s.
“Ouch,” Gordian said.
Emily nodded in grim agreement. It wasn’t—technically—illegal, but it was borderline. She half expected Gordian to call Frieda on it. Instead, he watched as magic cascaded around the two duelists, Frieda pushing her cracking wards right into her opponent’s face. Emily wanted to scream at her to stop—if something went wrong, both of them would be injured—but she couldn’t form the words. And then there was a flash of light as her opponent flew backwards, landing badly. Frieda lifted her hand and stunned him before he could recover ...
“Very good,” Gordian said.
Emily glanced at him suspiciously, then at Frieda. There were scars on her face and blood was trickling down her cheek ... and yet she looked unbowed. And the cold satisfaction on her face made her look completely different. For an insane moment, Emily wondered if it really was Frieda ...
“Congratulations on your victory,” Gordian said to Frieda, his voice flat. “I trust this will improve your mood.”
I hope it will make her feel better too, Emily thought, as she watched Frieda stumble out of the ring. Someone had busted her knee in an earlier duel. But we still need to talk.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“WHY IS IT,” FRIEDA ASKED, “THAT they call half-term the holidays?”
Emily smiled. They stood together in the battlements, watching a line of coaches making their way down to Dragon’s Den and the world beyond. Nearly two-thirds of the student body were heading home. Whitehall felt empty, now they were gone. Emily welcomed it, even though she knew she had a considerable amount of work to do. Most of the lower years were leaving and they were the ones who gave her the most trouble.
They need help, she told herself. And I’m the one who’s supposed to give it to them.
“I imagine they plan to do as little work as possible,” she said wryly, putting the thought aside. “And they will pay for it, when they come back.”
She glanced at Frieda, who was waving to a handful of students driving down to the gates and out onto the road. She’d had a talk with Frieda, after the duel, but she wasn’t sure if Frieda had paid any attention. It wasn’t easy to keep an eye on her younger friend when they had different classes and responsibilities, yet it was clear that Frieda was having problems. Emily had seen too many half-hidden cross faces and angry sighs—and overheard too many snide comments—to think otherwise.
“At least we don’t have any classes,” she added. “You and I need to sit down and go over your work.”
Frieda looked rebellious. “Can’t we spend a couple of days resting first?”
“Perhaps,” Emily said. Dragon’s Den would be quieter now. They could go to the house, if they wanted, or even just go for a meal. “But I’d sooner get to grips with the problem before it’s too late.”
She shook her head. The last two weeks had been nightmarish, as tutor after tutor struggled manfully to cram information into student heads. The tutors had been growing more and more irritable too; she’d been snapped at twice, while other students had been even less lucky. Professor Armstrong had given them two days to work on the practical side of wardcrafting, then set a whole series of theoretical exercises that had left Emily’s head spinning by the time half-term finally rolled around. She didn’t think a single Sixth Year student was leaving the school, even for a weekend. There was too much work to do.
And I don’t have much time to work with Frieda, she mused, as they started to walk towards the dorms. The wards felt quieter now too, reflecting the reduced student body. It was something of a relief. They sank into the back of her mind when she wasn’t thinking about them, but they tended to emerge the moment she remembered them. I have too much work of my own to do.
“Celadon is staying too,” Frieda said, mournfully. “Do I have to work with him?”
“Yeah,” Emily said, absently. A younger student was hurrying towards her, waving his arms in the air. She tensed, unsure what to expect. “I’m afraid you do.”
The student skidded to a halt, breathing heavily. “Ah ... um ... Lady Emily, the Grandmaster requests your presence in your office.”
Emily frowned. “My presence in my office?”
“Yes, My Lady,” the student said, still struggling for breath. “He says he’ll meet you there.”
Emily exchanged glances with Frieda. She was fairly sure Gordian could enter her office, if he wished—the wards would let him in unless she configured them to block him—but it was a severe breach of etiquette. Legally, the Grandmaster could go wherever he wanted; practically, he’d be unwise to invade his staff’s qua
rters without a very good excuse. Emily might not be staff, technically, but the rule still held. Magicians valued their privacy. The staff was reluctant to search student dorms and trunks without good reason. If nothing else, it would cause problems with the student’s parents.
“I’ll go there.” She made sure to memorize the student’s face, just in case it was a prank of some kind. “Thank you.”
“I could come with you,” Frieda offered, as the student hurried away. “You might want a witness.”
Emily hesitated, then shook her head. “You go to the library and catch up with your studies,” she said, firmly. “I’ll find you afterwards and we’ll go walking.”
She watched Frieda go, then walked up the stairs to her office door. Gordian was standing outside, accompanied by two men in plain robes. One of them looked old enough to be Samra’s father, with short white hair and a wry smile; the other was only a few years older than Emily, with bushy black hair and a neatly-trimmed beard. She glanced from one to the other, wondering who they were. She didn’t recall seeing either of them before.
“Lady Emily,” Gordian said, formally. “Please allow me to introduce Brothers Akanke and Oscine of the History Monks.”
“A pleasure,” the older man said. “Oscine and I have heard much about you.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. She cursed Gordian under her breath. Had he meant to blindside her? “I bid you welcome to my office.”
She opened the door and led them into the chamber, wishing she’d had a chance to clear up the mess. The table was covered with papers, ranging from lists of duelists to notes she’d taken in class. She motioned for them to sit down—she wished she’d had a chance to obtain some comfortable chairs too—and then poured Kava. They’d take the mugs, even if they didn’t want a drink. It was a way of showing they were welcome.
Even if they are not, Emily thought. The only History Monk she’d met had been Master Locke—and his obsession with Old Whitehall had nearly led to utter disaster. This could prove awkward.
Gordian sat down and crossed his legs, leaning back as casually as if he owned the room. “I trust you are aware of the History Monks?”
Emily nodded. They were a religious sect charged with recording history as it happened, then analyzing it. They’d been established shortly after the Empire itself, when they’d worked for the Emperor directly, but they’d fallen on hard times since the Empire had been destroyed and replaced by the Allied Lands. In theory, they were supposed to be completely objective; in practice, she’d heard they’d found it impossible to maintain their neutrality. It was astonishing just how many times history had been rewritten, according to Professor Locke, to accommodate a local tyrant or to support some aristocrat’s claim to disputed lands.
“We believe it is vitally important that we come to understand what happened in the past.” Akanke gave her a genuinely warm smile. “As I believe Brother Locke informed you, far too many records have been lost or destroyed over the years. Even our dating system is a mess. It is hard to place hundreds of events within their proper context.”
“And it is thus impossible to construct a detailed historical narrative,” Oscine added. He had a gruff voice, oddly accented. “We cannot say, in all honesty, just how long it was since Lord Whitehall founded the school.”
“Nine hundred and seventy-two years,” Emily said. A demon had told her that, which made it automatically suspect. But demons weren’t allowed to lie. “That is ... I believe that to be true.”
Akanke leaned forward. “We were given to understand that you obtained some ... historical knowledge because of your work with Brother Locke. We are sworn not to discuss certain details until enough time has passed to make them irrelevant.”
Emily looked at Gordian, who nodded.
And that leads to a different question, she thought. Do I trust them or not?
She agonized over it for a long moment. She’d witnessed history when she’d fallen back in time. She’d been there when Lord Whitehall founded the school. Her observations could unlock dozens of secrets, perhaps place vague records or historical notes in their proper context. And besides, convincing historians that there had been no great magics in the past—magics that had long since been forgotten—would be no bad thing. Professor Locke’s quest for forgotten magic had driven him insane.
“I was there,” she said, simply.
Akanke showed no visible reaction. Oscine looked disbelieving. Emily didn’t blame him. Extraordinary claims required extraordinary evidence. Her control over the wards would be enough, she supposed, except that would be far too revealing. Gordian wouldn’t want her to discuss that, would he? She couldn’t blame him, either.
“Really,” Oscine said.
“Yes,” Gordian said. “I can confirm it.”
Emily smiled, then launched into a brief explanation. She glossed over her own involvement as much as possible, but she was careful to mention Bernard and Julianne as well as Master Wolfe and Lord Whitehall. Julianne deserved to be remembered, if only as the first formally-trained female magician. Emily talked briefly about the Curse—and how it had been overcome—then how the castle had turned into a school.
“It was attacked by dark forces,” she finished. “I wound up using a pocket dimension to return home.”
That was a lie, but it was one she had to make. She didn’t want to talk about demons, let alone what she’d done to get home. The Books of Pacts she’d brought to the future had been carefully hidden, beyond the reach of mortal man, but she didn’t want to encourage them to go looking. There was no way to know if the books were still dangerous after nearly a thousand years. To demons, timeless creatures, a thousand years might as well be a second.
And there is always a sting in the tail, Emily thought. Lord Whitehall had banned demons from the castle, eventually. He’d known the dangers, even if younger and less experienced magicians had sought shortcuts to power. The demon wouldn’t have asked me to take the books for fun.
She put the thought aside for later contemplation as the two monks asked question after question, poking and prodding at her memories to establish a coherent timeline. Emily wished, again, that she’d had a chance to prepare for the interview. Most of what she’d told them was true, but there were details she really didn’t want to discuss. Demon summoning wasn’t unknown, yet the techniques were largely forgotten. The last thing she wanted was countless magicians experimenting with demon-based magic.
“So,” Oscine said. “Who built Whitehall?”
Emily shrugged. “All I know is that the castle was built and abandoned years before Lord Whitehall turned it into a school.” The more she thought about it, the more it struck her as odd. Whitehall had been strikingly isolated, even by the standards of the time. There hadn’t been any settlements within two or three days walking distance. She had a feeling that the castle had been largely forgotten before Lord Whitehall rediscovered it. “Perhaps they had an accident with the nexus point.”
“Perhaps,” Akanke agreed. “There are other castles from that era.”
“And we know who built most of them,” Oscine pointed out. “Whitehall, however, is largely unique.”
“Or the builders were killed, after they completed their work,” Emily said. Alassa had once told her, quite calmly, that her father had executed several hundred workmen after they’d finished their job. A king’s secrets had to be preserved, whatever the cost. “Whoever built the castle might have wanted it to stay secret.”
“It’s still odd,” Akanke said. “Building a castle is not an easy task. The logistics alone would be daunting.”
Emily had to agree. “Even accommodating the workers would be a problem,” she said. “I don’t think there were any settlements within walking distance.”
“The nexus point was there,” Gordian pointed out. “Castles are normally built to hold territory and defend chokepoints. The nexus point alone would be worth any price.”
“Of course, Grandmaster,” Akanke agreed
.
“There might have been a settlement,” Oscine put in. “But if it was abandoned, it wouldn’t be long before it returned to the soil.”
“True,” Gordian said.
Emily nodded. The towns and villages she’d seen had a striking air of impermanence about them, as if constant maintenance was the only thing that kept them from decaying into rubble. It wasn’t entirely uncommon to see deserted villages in the countryside, villages that had been abandoned by the inhabitants when they’d decided they were no longer viable. The cities and castles would last longer, but even they would be worn down by time. It was easy to believe that Dragon’s Den might have—unknowingly—been built on a long-forgotten settlement. A fair-sized town might have vanished completely between the castle’s completion and Lord Whitehall’s arrival.
“We thank you for your time, Lady Emily.” Akanke smiled. “It is our intention to study the documents that were discovered last year.”
“And to search for others,” Oscine said.
Emily glanced at Gordian. His expression was artfully blank.
She thought, fast. She’d reviewed all the documents while she’d been hiding in the tunnels under the school, waiting for her timelines to reintegrate. There were some secrets she would prefer to keep hidden, but Gordian had already reviewed them. Besides, they were largely useless to anyone without a nexus point.
And the rest are really nothing more than historical curiosities, she thought. Lord Whitehall and Master Wolfe had been powerful and smart, but they hadn’t learnt from generations of previous magicians. There weren’t any long-lost magics after all.
“I think you will find them interesting,” she said. Discouraging others from searching for non-existent secrets would be a good deed, even if there were many who would find it disappointing. “And I don’t know if there were any other documents stored under Whitehall.”
“None of our inspections have found any,” Gordian put in. “But we believe we have barely scratched the surface. There are tunnels and hidden chambers that have yet to be searched.”
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 22