Schooled in Magic

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Get up onto the roofs,” Harkin snapped. Emily saw what he meant at once. The Orcs would have real problems climbing up the remains of the stairs; they’d definitely have to come at the humans one by one. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

  He was right, Emily realized. There was nowhere to run. She knew no magic that could deal with all of the Orcs before they ran her down and crushed her into a bloody pulp. And the others were badly drained. She could call on Berserker again, but ...

  Another idea struck her. Working at frantic speed, she cast an illusion into the air, a shimmering multicolored patch of mist that appeared out of nowhere and drifted towards the Orcs. The lead Orcs stopped dead as they saw the Mimic, their comrades from behind them slamming into their backs and sending them tumbling to the ground like ninepins. Then they stumbled to their feet and ran, howling their fear in their strange and unpleasant language. The Mimic-illusion drifted forwards, clearly hunting for prey–and the only known defense against a Mimic was to be somewhere else.

  The Orcs ran away very quickly.

  “Good thinking,” Harkin said. “Can you move the illusion so it covers us?”

  He led the way towards where the Orcs had tied up their horses.

  Emily nodded and used the illusion to hide them as they reached the horses and scrambled up into the saddle. She’d never ridden a horse before coming to Whitehall, but Alassa had been tutoring her in the finer points of horsemanship ... thankfully, as she’d been nervous the first time she’d mounted a horse. If she’d had to learn on the run ...

  ... But there was no choice. They needed to put as much distance as they could between them and the Orcs before they overcame their fear of the Mimic and started crawling back.

  But they might not take prisoners the next time, she thought. They might think that we’re all Mimics.

  Carefully ignoring the smell from the horse’s saddlebags, she pushed the unwilling creature into a canter as Harkin led them down a trail that headed northwards from the temple. It occurred to her that the Orcs might have other pickets out there–Whitehall might realize that something was wrong and send help–but there was nothing they could do about it, at least until they encountered them. But nothing blocked their path as they emerged from the forest and cantered up a stone road that had to have been built by the Allied Lands. If the Orcs had realized that they’d been tricked, they’d given up on pursuit.

  “We’ll be back at Whitehall within the hour,” Harkin said, pulling his horse up beside hers. “Once we get there, take the wounded directly to the infirmary and brief the Healers before you undo the transformation. And then report back to me.”

  “Understood,” Emily said. “What are we going to do about the Orcs?”

  Harkin winced. “I have to inform the Grandmaster that the Allied Lands may be in terrible danger,” he said. “It will not be a pleasant conversation.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  KYLA LISTENED CAREFULLY TO EMILY’S EXPLANATION of what had happened, then nodded.

  “Place them on separate beds and then prepare to surrender the charm to me,” she ordered. “Do you know how to do that?”

  Emily mutely shook her head.

  “Then listen carefully and follow instructions,” Kyla said firmly. She outlined a complicated procedure that Emily followed as best she could. “Good. I can now release the charm once we’re ready to deal with them.”

  Kyla looked over at Emily. “What happened to you? I know something did.”

  “I used Berserker too much,” Emily admitted. She felt tired and sore, even though she could still feel the water the fairies had given her pulsing through her system. “And I’m drained.”

  “I wouldn’t know it to look at you with just my eyes,” Kyla said. She sounded ... suspicious, as if she thought that Emily had done something stupid. “I’d suggest that you spend some time in the infirmary yourself, if the Sergeant hadn’t called you back to him. Go find him, then take this.”

  She passed Emily a small potion gourd. “It should help you to sleep for at least twelve hours. You weren’t due back for another three days, but if any of your tutors give you trouble, refer them to me. I think you need sleep more than lessons.”

  Emily nodded and walked out of the infirmary, nearly walking right into Alassa.

  “There are rumors everywhere,” her friend said. There was a funny mark on her face, the remains of a single hex. “And the Grandmaster wants me to escort you to his office.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. Now she was safe, everything she’d done was starting to catch up with her again. The goblins she’d slain, the Orcs who had beaten themselves up because of her trickery ... not to mention the desperate flight from captivity. “What happened to you?”

  “Melissa threw a couple of hexes at me,” Alassa admitted as they walked up to the Grandmaster’s office. “You ready to play another prank on her?”

  Emily snorted. “Maybe one that doesn’t involve someone else caught in the crossfire,” she said. “Or are you that eager to annoy Madame Razz again?”

  “She’s always been a pain in the bum, according to rumor,” Alassa said. “And what, exactly, happened to you?”

  Emily outlined most of the story as they reached the Grandmaster’s office and knocked on the door. “I have to go sleep after this,” she said tiredly. “We can catch up with Melissa later, all right?”

  The Grandmaster’s office looked cramped with the two Sergeants, Jade and a man Emily didn’t recognize, as well as the Grandmaster himself. He looked deeply worried, something that bothered Emily; the Grandmaster was known to be one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. What could worry him?

  The Sergeants glanced over at Emily as she entered. Harkin seemed his normal grim self, but Miles winked at her as she stood beside them. And the man she didn’t recognize gave her a sharp look, as if he’d expected her to be different, somehow.

  “Orcs are rarely found on this side of the mountains,” the Grandmaster said, bluntly. “We must assume they have found a way of getting through–or under–the mountains that shield us from the necromancers.”

  Emily nodded, deciding not to mention that the Sergeants had already drawn that conclusion. It was easy to see why that bothered him. Whitehall plugged the pass between the Allied Lands and territory held by the necromancers, rendering it impossible for the necromancers to launch a major attack before reinforcements arrived at Whitehall. But if there was another way through the mountains, the school might be bypassed as the necromancers raged down upon the cities and farmland along the border.

  The Grandmaster looked directly at Emily. “It is also possible that the Orcs were ordered to capture you. If that is the case, we owe you an apology for sending you into danger, as well as congratulations for rescuing your teammates.”

  “There was no way to know there were so many Orcs and Goblins in the area,” the unnamed man said flatly. “Goblins are not inclined to work together.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sergeant Harkin said. “We can place the blame later. What matters now is securing the school.”

  “I have sent an urgent request for reinforcements from the Allied Lands,” the Grandmaster said. “However, Dragon’s Den, the closest possible source of reinforcements, has announced that it intends to keep its City Guard in the city until reinforced by other cities. The prospect of an Orc army rampaging through the fields and countryside has concentrated a few minds.”

  “On their own protection,” Harkin observed. “I thought that we could draw troops from the garrison at Flodden.”

  “They’re currently involved with rioting in Lane,” the unnamed man said. “And if you think that is a coincidence, I have some holdings in Greenfield I would like to sell you.”

  Jade leaned over and whispered in Emily’s ear. “Greenfield was overrun by the necromancers thirty years ago,” he explained. “Everyone who was trapped in the country was either enslaved or sacrificed. Land there is worthless.”

  Emily no
dded. The unnamed man was probably right; the necromancers had fomented trouble further to the north to distract reinforcements from reaching Whitehall. She recalled the maps she’d seen in Professor Locke’s classroom and tried to imagine where the tunnel had to be, before realizing that it was impossible. The tunnel could be anywhere.

  “They only attacked us when we reached the Dark City,” Harkin said, “and then they spent considerable effort in hunting us down before we could escape. Logically, their tunnel entrance has to be somewhere nearby, perhaps linked into the scorpion-infested tunnels that we used to reach the city ourselves. They certainly tried to set an ambush when we attempted to use the tunnels to escape.”

  “Possible,” the unnamed man agreed. “But it could be intended as a diversion.”

  Harkin slapped one hand against his leather trousers. “Yes, it could,” he said, “but the best defense is a good offence. If we were to dispatch a regiment of soldiers to the Dark City and search it thoroughly, we would at least force them to react to us for a change.”

  “If we had a regiment,” the unnamed man said. “Grandmaster, do you have no favors you can call in from the rest of the Allied Lands?”

  “I have asked for troops to be sent through portals,” the Grandmaster said. “However, it may be several days before the northernmost Kingdoms dispatch aid ...”

  “Naturally,” Harkin said. He shook his head. “With your permission, Grandmaster, I will continue my students’ intensive training. We need to prepare for an attack.”

  The Grandmaster frowned. “Even the most powerful necromancer in existence would find it impossible to break through our wards,” he said. “But they might be crazy enough to believe they could succeed.”

  He thought for a time, then shook his head. “Prepare as best as you can,” he ordered. He looked at Emily and seemed to realize that she was dropping asleep on her feet. “And make sure that everyone you brought back gets some rest. They’ll need it.”

  Outside the Grandmaster’s office, Harkin caught Emily’s hand before she could head back to her bedroom. “You did well, back there,” he said, gruffly. “You saved my life and those of the entire team.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said. She swallowed, hard. There was a question she wanted answered. “How ... how do you beat a necromancer?”

  Harkin studied her for a long moment. “It isn’t easy. There were three nameless sorcerers who believed they had a certain method to defeat a necromancer in magical combat. They all ended up dead, or worse than dead.”

  And what were they called? Emily asked herself. There had to be some reason their names were concealed if they were dead. Master Wredd Schyrt, Master Kannun Phodda and Master Deddman Warkin?

  He hesitated. “Necromancers have died before. But the only way anyone has found that seems likely to work is to force them to use up all of their power before they can kill you, and that isn’t easy. Even a raw blast of magic can kill, or warp you into something truly horrible. Sometimes you can trick them, or exploit flaws in their plans, but...the only real advantage the Allied Lands have is that they fight each other as much as they fight us. More, perhaps.”

  Emily frowned. “What would happen if we were to destroy their slaves?”

  “You mean eliminate their source of power?” Harkin asked. He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that, sadly. They’d still have enough power to crash into the Allied Lands and capture more people to slaughter to power their magic.”

  He stepped back and shrugged. “Go get some rest. You and the rest of the Redshirts can report to me tomorrow, as classes will be cancelled. We need to go over what happened to us so others won’t make the same mistake.”

  Emily nodded and returned to her bedroom, where there was no sign of either of her roommates. Aloha would be joining the rest of the Martial Magic class, of course, and Imaiqah was probably in the library. She’d admitted that she needed to study more for her Alchemy class, a sentiment Emily fully shared, even though she doubted that she’d ever get the hang of Alchemy. It just offended her sense of how the universe worked–and her concept of the scientific method. But no one here seemed to question it.

  After undressing, washing herself in the shower and donning a nightshirt, she returned to her bed, lay down and drank the potion. The world seemed to spin around her as she plunged into a dreamless sleep, unbroken until she finally opened her eyes, cast a lighting spell and glanced at the clockwork watch. She had slept for nearly twelve hours as it was midnight. Emily felt her stomach rumble as she looked over at the other beds and saw Imaiqah and Aloha safely there. She felt an odd sense of relief. Having friends, it seemed, took some getting used to, she decided as she pulled herself out of bed. There was a little chocolate stored in her chest, so she retrieved it and nibbled it carefully. It wasn’t enough to satisfy her hunger.

  Girls in bad semi-romance novels about schools are always having midnight feasts, she thought ruefully. Maybe Whitehall did have a tradition of midnight feasts; for a moment, she seriously considered waking up her roommates before pushing the thought aside in some irritation. They needed their sleep and to even think of waking them up was a selfish act under the circumstances. Instead, she stepped out of the door, into the darkened hallway. She had no idea if the kitchen still served food at midnight, but curfew didn’t apply to older students. It was quite possible that they would want food late at night. She was reaching the end of the corridor when she heard a dry cough behind her and jumped.

  “I trust that you have a very good explanation for wanting to leave the dorm at midnight,” Madame Razz said. Her voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of irritation. Maybe Emily had woken her when she’d entered the hallway. “Or should I just send you back to bed?”

  “I need to eat,” Emily said. “The Grandmaster ordered me to get some sleep and I slept through dinner and supper.”

  Madame Razz studied her before nodding slowly. “First-years are not allowed out of their dorms at night,” she said, flatly. “But I will give you something to eat; then, you will go back to bed.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said, relieved. She’d known tutors who would be much less reasonable when they enforced the rules. “I didn’t mean to sleep though supper.”

  “No one ever does,” Madame Razz said. She led Emily into her office and rummaged around in a chest, finally producing a set of chewing bars. “Eat these here, then go back to your room. Make sure you eat in the morning.”

  Emily obeyed. The chewing bars, whatever they were, didn’t taste very nice at all, but they filled her grumbling stomach. Once she had eaten, she went back to her bedroom, lay down on the bed and closed her eyes again. She was awoken, seven hours later, by Aloha’s alarm gong.

  “Welcome home,” Aloha said as Emily sat upright. The gong was meant to be audible to its owner–and no one else–but Aloha kept fumbling the spells. “I hear you fought off a million Orcs on your own, and killed a thousand Goblins.”

  Emily rubbed her hand against her face. “I didn’t do anything of the sort,” she said crossly. The thought of killing the Goblins still tormented her, no matter how much she told herself that it had been a choice between killing them or being killed herself. “How can anyone believe such nonsense?”

  “Rumors always have a grain of truth,” Aloha pointed out, as Imaiqah sat up and yawned. “And we’ve been told that all classes have been cancelled while the tutors see to the defenses. Whatever happened on your field trip?”

  Emily found herself flushing as she outlined the basic details of what had happened at the Dark City, leaving out only the fairies and her oath. And Berserker, which she had been told never to mention to anyone outside Martial Magic. Aloha and Imaiqah listened in awe as they dressed themselves and then followed her down to breakfast, clearly impressed by everything she’d done. Emily wasn’t sure why they were so impressed, or why so many students were throwing her admiring looks. She certainly hadn’t fought an Orc and beaten him with her bare hands. Even the Sergeants
, she suspected, would have difficulty outfighting an Orc without weapons.

  “Melissa was looking very green,” Alassa informed her when they met at the breakfast table. “I think you’ve scared her.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. She shook her head tiredly. There were more rumors surrounding her than there were around Harry Potter, and for far less reason. She couldn’t have just abandoned the rest of the team, not least because she didn’t know the way back to Whitehall. And besides, if the Orcs had been after her, their captivity was her fault. “Can’t we forget about playing pranks for the moment?”

  “I heard from my parents,” Alassa said, after an awkward pause. “They want me to go back through the portal to safety.”

  Emily didn’t blame the King and Queen of Zangaria. Alassa was the only real Heir they had and if she died, Zangaria would probably be torn apart by civil war. Or, if the necromancers happened to capture her, who knew what they could do with such an important hostage? They could start by unlocking the secrets of the Royal Bloodline and then go on from there. Maybe they could find a way to curse everyone touched by the Blood.

  “It may be a good idea,” Emily said. She didn’t want to urge Alassa to run–she had too few friends as it was–but it might be the best possible choice for her to make. “Are you going to go?”

  “Everyone back home would say that I ran,” Alassa said miserably. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “This place is supposed to be impregnable,” Aloha pointed out. “It would take a madman to even think they could get through the wards.”

  But ... necromancers are mad, Emily thought. She kept that to herself. And yet...she couldn’t see how the necromancers intended to break through the wards. Powered as they were from the local ley lines, they were stronger than any magic anyone, even a necromancer, could bring to bear against them. Maybe they just intended to seal off Whitehall while they crushed the rest of the Allied Lands. Or maybe they had something really nasty up their sleeves.