Schooled in Magic

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Aloha shook her head, miserably.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” the Sergeant said. “I would have been losing my touch.”

  He looked back at the entire class. “Go shower,” he said.

  Emily was suddenly aware that her uniform was sodden with mud and she stank badly. No one bothered to comment on it. They all stank.

  “And for the next lesson, I suggest you work out exactly what you did wrong and how you could have done a better job. Because we’re going to do it again and again until you know what you’re doing.

  “Next lesson, we will form into squads and start some real fun. I’m sure you will enjoy it as much as we did when I started here.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE REST OF THE WEEK WENT quickly. Too quickly. Emily found herself working in the library every evening, trying to research and write her punishment essay. It was tricky enough to keep track of the basic concept when there were thousands of examples of what could go wrong, each one more gruesome than the last. In between writing–when her hand ached from using the crude pencil–she sketched out a plan for a magical word processor, or even a simple fountain pen.

  All too soon, it was Sunday, and she found herself in the Hall of Shame again, waiting to see what would happen.

  This time, the Prefect on duty was not even remotely friendly, let alone sympathetic. She pointed Emily to a space in the corridor without saying a word, apart from growling at one of the other pupils to be quiet as he waited for punishment. Emily felt shame and humiliation as she waited, knowing that she wasn’t alone this time, until the Warden finally called her into his office. It took all the courage and determination she had to lower her arms and step through the door. The shame didn’t stop when she entered the room.

  “Stand,” the Warden growled. He was still wearing the cloak that concealed his features behind dark shadow. His voice was as atonal as before. “Professor Lombardi has marked your essay.”

  Emily shivered, trying to keep her face expressionless. She’d had to hand the essay in to the Professor on Saturday, knowing that it was far from perfect. Maybe presentation wasn’t so important in this world–several of the students hadn’t known how to read and write until they came to Whitehall, where they had to attend classes–but the essay had been meant as a punishment. Professor Lombardi seemed like a nice guy, but he might jump on every problem in the essay. And then ... her hands twitched, protectively covering her bottom. She didn’t want to be caned again.

  The Warden seemed to be looking at her, although it was hard to tell. “Did you learn anything from the essay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said tightly. With the exception of Professor Thande, every tutor had taken the opportunity to point out just how stupid she’d been–and just how close she had come to killing Alassa. So had some of the older students, those that weren’t scared of her. The rumors running through the school were becoming absurd. “I learned not to do it again.”

  “A very good idea,” the Warden agreed dryly. He looked down at the small sheaf of parchments. “Professor Lombardi gave you excellent marks for your writing. His only real quibble was with your assertion that damage could be repaired through further transfiguration, which isn’t always true. One transfiguration alone would charge the victim with mana, which would throw off a second transfiguration spell. It certainly isn’t something a Healer would want to do unless there was no other choice.”

  There was a long pause. “But the use of transfiguration in Healing is an advanced class and you have barely been here for two weeks. Professor Lombardi states that you have done an excellent job. So we do not need to punish you further.”

  Emily relaxed, very slightly. The marks on her rear hadn’t faded away for several days and she still felt twinges when she sat down on a hard wooden chair.

  “However, you need to understand just how close you came to absolute disaster,” the Warden reminded her. “You are unlikely to survive–to survive–a second mistake on the same scale. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  “Good,” the Warden said. “And how are you and Alassa coping while working as a team?”

  Emily flushed. They’d worked together three times so far and while Alassa seemed somewhat insecure, perhaps depressed, they had argued very quietly. Alassa did have some skills–Emily had wasted an hour trying to alter one spell component, until Alassa had pointed out that all they really needed to do was leave the original component alone and add a third component–yet Alassa didn’t really understand what she was doing. But she was getting there.

  “We’re coping,” she said, finally. Maybe the Warden would laugh at her. Or maybe he wasn’t even human enough to laugh. She’d asked Aloha and the older girl had told her that the rumors stated that the Warden was actually a golem who had somehow gained self-awareness, if not actual intelligence. Or that he was human, but under some very strict compulsion spells. No one seemed to know for sure. “We may even pass Basic Charms.”

  “That is always good to hear,” the Warden said. “But you will be working with her for a long time to come.”

  Emily sighed inwardly, but said nothing. Maybe working with Alassa was intended as extra punishment–although she wasn’t sure just which of them was meant to be punished–but she was honest enough to admit that they had helped each other. Or maybe it was intended to force them to look past mutual dislike and come to an understanding. Whitehall probably felt they needed to learn such a lesson before they faced the wider world.

  “I have been ordered to tell you, if your essay passed, that you are to call upon Mistress Irene after this interview,” the Warden said. He passed her the sheets of parchment and Emily took them automatically. “You may leave. I strongly suggest that you don’t let me see you again for a while.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  She took one last look into the darkness inside his hood, wondering if she could just make out a hint of a human head, and then turned to leave the room. No doubt the punishments grew worse until the unlucky student was finally threatened with expulsion, or simply got thrown out of school without a final chance. She glanced at the notes Professor Lombardi had left on the parchments, but then moved along as the Prefect cleared her throat and motioned for Emily to leave the Hall of Shame. Emily was only too quick to comply, since there was no longer any reason for her to be there. She was grateful to have escaped unscathed.

  Outside, she read the notes more carefully before stuffing the parchments into her robes and walking towards Mistress Irene’s office. The corridors were more deserted than usual; the upper classes had been allowed to take a day’s leave and visit Dragon’s Den before classes resumed on Monday. She saw a pair of boys who couldn’t have been more than fifteen tossing a ball around as they ran through the corridor, bouncing the ball off a stone chest and into one of the suits of armor. The suit of armor came to life, grabbing both boys by the scruff of each neck, then raising them until they both dangled above the ground. Emily fled before the suit of armor could come after her too.

  Mistress Irene didn’t answer when Emily pressed her hand against her door, leaving Emily uncertain of what to do. The Warden hadn’t specified a time for her to visit–and he presumably hadn’t known if he would allow Emily to leave, or cane her for a second time, at least until the essay had been marked. Maybe Mistress Irene was somewhere else ...

  There was a flicker of magic, then Mistress Irene appeared at the foot of a flight of stairs Emily was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago. The interior of Whitehall seemed to be completely mutable.

  “Emily,” Mistress Irene said coolly. “I assume that you are in a suitable state to learn?”

  Emily flushed. “Yes, Mistress. Do you want to see my essay?”

  Mistress Irene opened her door and led Emily inside. “I trust Professor Lombardi’s opinion. And I don’t have time to lecture you on just how stupid you were, understand?”

  She nodded for Emily to take a seat as sh
e picked up a wand from the table. “You have mastered a number of spells already,” she said, “although you have yet to completely master the art of charging them with mana. Alassa’s near-death experience occurred, at least in part, because you overcharged both spells. However, I have been ordered to teach you spells that are normally only studied in second year.”

  Her voice hardened. “These spells are not harmful, at least not in the conventional sense, but they can cause problems with your spellcasting. They are not usually taught to first years because your peers are expected to learn to channel mana properly before they start experimenting with spells that can teach you bad habits. However, Sergeant Harkin has requested that you learn the spells, or you will be unable to take part in Martial Magic. Suffice it to say that you will be required to spend at least one day a week for the next few months casting these spells over and over again. You’ll understand why in a moment.”

  Emily frowned. “Why didn’t the Sergeant teach me himself?”

  Mistress Irene threw her a sharp look. “The Sergeant prefers not to teach spells to his students,” she said, finally. Emily realized, dimly, that she’d accidentally questioned Mistress Irene’s competence. “There is an art to spellcasting that is largely separate from the disciplines of Martial Magic.”

  She passed Emily the wand and she felt it, carefully. Three new spells were already placed within the device, waiting for her to charge them with mana. They felt surprisingly complex, but fragile, as if they were made out of thin air. Emily studied them, trying to pick them apart, but they seemed too complex for easy analysis. She would have to watch them being cast and then use the analysis spell for herself.

  “The first spell is a modified shielding charm,” Mistress Irene said. “Unlike a normal shielding charm, all it really does is change color when it is struck by a particular spell–and absolutely nothing else. You could cast a dozen of these charms on your person and a single jinx would go right through them and strike your body.”

  Emily blinked. “It doesn’t provide any protection at all?”

  “No,” Mistress Irene agreed. “The spell’s sole purpose is to ensure that you know whenever you get hit by a particular spell.”

  It made no sense, not for a long moment–and then Emily remembered paintball. She’d never played–that required friends and enthusiasm–but she knew the basic concept. Any disputes over who had actually been hit would be settled by checking to see if the target had a paint stain on her body. If they were training to fight, why not use magic for their drills, instead of throwing lethal spells at each other? She was sure that the regular army back home used something comparable, rather than firing live ammunition at their trainees.

  The spell was simple to cast–but not so simple to dispel. Emily had to try four times before it finally faded away, but Mistress Irene managed to dispel it with a single snap of her fingers. She noticed Emily’s shock and explained, patiently, that the spell was deliberately designed to be difficult for the target to remove to prevent someone from cheating. Or at least cheating very easily. An outsider could work a simple dispelling charm and dissolve the spell.

  “Good,” Mistress Irene said, finally. “And why can this spell be dangerous?”

  “Because it provides no real protection,” Emily said. She hesitated, and then asked the obvious question. “Why don’t we use real shielding charms?”

  “Because real shielding charms don’t change color when hit,” Mistress Irene said. “And because shielding charms are not always usable in combat. Better to assume that a single strike can mean death than to assume that your charms will always protect you.”

  She lifted her hand and tossed a spell at Emily. The air around Emily started to sparkle, as if she were a fairy from a Disney film. She waved her hand through the air and left a trail of sparks behind. It was pretty, and yet–no matter how hard she tried–she couldn’t dispel it. Every time she cast the dispelling charm, the sparkles actually grew brighter.

  “It isn’t designed to allow you to simply remove the charm,” Mistress Irene said. “Now ... ”

  Emily felt a faint itching where the charm had struck her body. It grew steadily worse, eventually forcing her to start scratching her abdomen. Unsurprisingly, the itch didn’t go away, but only grew stronger, just like the sparkles. Emily started to cast yet another dispelling charm, only to find that the itching made it impossible to concentrate. She’d learned an itching charm from the book of practical jokes, yet this was worse ...

  “Get down on the ground,” Mistress Irene said. Emily obeyed, feeling the itching fading away as soon as she was on the stone floor. “And why do you think that happens?”

  Emily hesitated, and then realized the answer. “Because the spells are meant to simulate lethal spells and if we were hit, we would be dead. It makes sure that we can’t get hit and keep fighting.”

  “Correct,” Mistress Irene said. She cast a dispelling charm and the sparkles vanished into thin air. “Actually, the altered shielding charm and itching charm are configured to work together. There are variables that the Sergeant will explain to you later in Martial Magic, but suffice it to say that they are not strong enough for mundane use. You will be required to keep practicing with your regular spells. Take a casting chamber and, with one of your friends, work on casting all the spells you know.”

  She showed Emily how the spell worked, and then instructed her to start casting it. The first few times it simply didn’t work, often producing flashes of mana rather than anything useful. It took Emily several moments to realize that she was pushing too much power into the spell. She had learn how to throttle back and charge the spell with just enough for it to work properly. Eventually, she was casting it with some confidence, in the office. She didn’t know how well it would work when she was in the fields.

  “The third spell is ... somewhat dangerous,” Mistress Irene said, after Emily was confident with both charms. She stared grimly into Emily’s eyes. “I actually protested when the Sergeant said that you should learn it, because it can kill–and because it cannot be blunted, even by an experienced sorcerer. Have you encountered any Mentalism spells yet?”

  Emily hesitated. The practical joke book had outlined a number of spells for hitting someone with a suggestion–rather like a post-hypnotic suggestion–but she’d found the entire concept more than a little creepy. Who knew what someone like Alassa could do with a mind control spell if she had been able to cast it? Maybe she would turn her entire Kingdom into an army of devoted slaves. Or a male magician, lost in the flood of teenage hormones, would start influencing his female classmates.

  And Void had female servants under powerful charms ...

  “The army calls this charm the Berserker spell,” Mistress Irene said, calling her thoughts back to the present day. “You don’t ever cast it on anyone, apart from yourself. While under the spell’s influence, you will be stronger, faster and far more courageous than you would be normally. However, you will also lose any sense of self-restraint, common sense–and the spell taps directly into your mana. It will fall apart as soon as you are drained, leaving you completely drained. Maintaining the spell too long could easily kill you.”

  She looked down at Emily, sharply. “Do not meddle with this charm, or fiddle the variables, or anything else while you’re at this school. Always make sure there is a time limit on the spell and never try to push it past ten minutes. In fact, given your youth and inexperience, I’d suggest that you limited it to five minutes only. I’ve seen people age themselves to death through tampering with spells like Berserker.”

  Emily winced at the thought. Some of her tutors had suggested that, in extremity, a magician could call upon her life force to power her magic. But, unlike mana, life force was not so easy to replenish, as the necromancers demonstrated rather convincingly. She would literally trade a year of her life for each spell.

  “You will not use this charm outside of Martial Magic,” Mistress Irene warned. “You will not teach i
t to anyone, anyone at all, whatever the provocation. Do not even discuss it with anyone who isn’t part of the Martial Magic class. If you break that rule, or endanger your own life through meddling with the variables, I swear to you that the caning you received last week will be nothing compared to the thrashing you will receive from me. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Emily said, in a very small voice. Mistress Irene didn’t sound like she was bluffing–and, if what she’d said about Berserker was true, she was right. “How do I cast the spell?”

  Mistress Irene eyed her for a long moment, and then demonstrated how to trigger the final spell in the wand. Emily cast it and felt nothing until Mistress Irene told her to stand up, whereupon she stood up with so much force that she banged her head on the stone ceiling. But it didn’t hurt at all; it felt rather more like her head was made of wood. She picked up the chair with one hand effortlessly, and then picked up the desk itself and then ...

  ...The feeling of overwhelming confidence faded away.

  Emily found herself struggling to hold the desk upright. Mistress Irene silently cast a moving charm and lowered the desk to the ground as Emily sagged and settled on the floor. She suddenly felt very tired. She had been unable to even question what she was doing under the Berserker spell; it hadn’t occurred to her that something was wrong. If she used that spell in combat, she might march right at the enemy convinced that they could do nothing to harm her.

  For a long moment, she hovered on the edge of fainting. She could barely hear the tutor’s next words.

  “Yes,” Mistress Irene said. “You see now. It is too dangerous to use without desperate need.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  EMILY DIDN’T FEEL RIGHT FOR SEVERAL hours after casting the Berserker spell on herself. Mistress Irene had tried to warn her, but the warning was pitifully inadequate compared to how she felt after leaving her mentor’s office. Emily was exhausted, completely drained, and yet ... part of her wanted to recast the spell.