Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series)

by Christopher Nuttall

  She’d been lucky. If her spell had been closer to completion, the backfire would have killed her outright. It had already been within her wards, almost part of her. She wasn’t quite sure what the spell actually did–Sergeant Miles had once told the class that investigations into that topic were discouraged–but she knew it killed.

  “Enough,” the bird-magician said.

  He threw a spell at her. This time, Emily couldn’t even move, let alone deflect it. It struck her–and she froze solid, unable to move. There was a countercharm she could use to beat the paralysis charm–it was commonly used in Whitehall–but it required concentration and she could barely concentrate on anything. The headache was growing stronger. He could just walk over to her and cut her throat if he wanted. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

  The bird-magician ignored her and stopped in front of Alassa. Emily watched helplessly as he touched the stunned princess’s forehead with one long finger. Alassa shrank, clothes and all, until she was barely larger than one of the dolls Emily had played with as a child. The bird-magician stepped backwards, took one last look at Emily, and then exploded into a mass of birds. One of them swooped down and picked up Alassa, before the entire flock headed off towards the castle. They–he–had succeeded. Alassa was now a prisoner.

  Emily felt strong hands on her paralysed form and realized that other soldiers had caught up with them. The bird-magician had left her alive simply so she could be carted off to the prison…raw anger flared through her mind as she saw the soldiers coming into view, poking and prodding at her body. Desperately, she reached into her mind and triggered the berserker spell. There was a rush of energy and the paralysis snapped. The soldiers had no time to react before Emily was lashing out at them with her fists.

  Sergeant Miles had scorned the very idea of a fair fight. There was no such thing in war; anyone stupid enough to believe otherwise would very quickly learn better, or end up dead. He’d taught Emily and the other girls that they had to outthink their targets, or male strength would prove decisive. Her training, combined with berserker, made her lethal in close-quarter combat. The soldiers never knew what had hit them.

  Emily staggered to one side and collapsed on the rooftop as the spell faded away. It was simply too dangerous to use for more than a few minutes, particularly when she was alone. The last time she’d used it outside training, Jade and the other Redshirts had been there to carry her to safety. Here, she was alone. Imaiqah was wounded, perhaps dead…and Alassa was a prisoner. Somehow, drawing on reserves she hadn’t known she had, Emily stumbled to her feet and saw a white scrap of cloth lying on the ground. Alassa’s handkerchief…

  Shaking her head, Emily picked it up, took one last look at the soldiers, and headed for the hole in the roof. There was no way she dared levitate down right now. Her magic was simply too unreliable. One lapse in concentration and she would die.

  She had to save Alassa, she told herself, but she just didn’t know how.

  But if she failed, the duke would win outright.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  THE INHABITANTS OF THE BUILDING HAD vanished in the confusion. Emily couldn’t blame them, any more than she could avoid a sense of relief that she wouldn’t have to fight again. Her headache was returning in force, now that berserker had faded away; it was all she could do to keep going, step by step. Making her way outside, she found almost no one in the streets, apart from a handful of youths who eyed her with a mixture of concern and puzzlement. Emily ignored them as she stumbled into the alleyway and found Imaiqah lying on the ground.

  “I didn’t quite catch myself,” Imaiqah whispered, as Emily collapsed beside her. “My leg…”

  Emily nodded. They’d been warned never to use healing spells on themselves, but numbing spells were actually quite effective. At worst, they simply refused to work. Emily tried to focus her mind enough to cast a healing spell, then scowled as her headache grew stronger. She had to fight down the urge to vomit…her head spun so badly she was surprised that she didn’t faint. The only thing she could do was sleep, but she didn’t dare collapse into the darkness. God alone knew what would happen while they were helpless.

  “They took Alassa,” she mumbled. Speaking above a whisper only seemed to lead to more sparks of pain in her head. “What…what will they do to her?”

  Imaiqah shrugged. “Use her as a puppet,” she said, finally. “Or have her executed to make her uncle’s throne safe.”

  Emily looked up as she heard a number of men entering the alleyway. Soldiers…? She relaxed, feeling an overpowering sense of relief, as she recognized the leader as Imaiqah’s brother Johan. The men were wearing what looked like makeshift armor and carrying clubs and staves. Given some ingenuity, she decided, they might be able to produce weapons for themselves. Or, given that they were merchants, simply manipulate the records to ensure that no one noticed some extra weapons had been produced in the factories before being shipped to the army.

  “By the God,” Johan said. “Are…what happened?”

  Emily felt her head spinning. “Get her a healer and get me to bed,” she ordered. “And then get water…”

  The blackness rose up and pulled her into its depths. Emily felt almost feverish, as if she were caught in the grip of waking nightmares, before something finally yanked her awake. A young woman was bending over her, gently pushing a straw against her mouth. Emily sipped gratefully, too thirsty to care that it might have been a trap. The liquid tasted vaguely like peppermint tea, but with the addition of some herbs that she didn’t recognize.

  “Stay there,” the woman ordered. “You’re safe now.”

  For the moment, Emily thought. Johan and his friends must have carried her and Imaiqah to a safe house, but they hadn’t known to keep a watch for birds. Even if they had known, what could they have done about it? Come to think of it, someone must have tipped off the soldiers, or they would never have known about the meeting at the inn.

  Her throat felt too dry to speak, but she had to try. “Who…who are you?”

  “I’m Pat,” the woman said. She gave Emily a reassuring smile. “I’m a healer, of sorts.”

  She passed Emily a gourd of water and helped her hold it until Emily had swallowed all of the liquid. “I’ve seen spell addiction before,” Pat added. “I think you should stay away from whatever spell you used for several months, at the very least.”

  Emily blinked in surprise, then nodded slowly. Berserker could be addictive–she’d been warned of that when she’d first been taught the spell–and repeated use could have disastrous side effects. But it wasn’t too surprising that a civilian healer had never actually heard of the spell. The combat sorcerers preferred to keep certain kinds of knowledge firmly under wraps.

  “I’ll do my best,” she said. God knew if she’d be able to keep that promise. “What time is it?”

  “Eighteen bells, thirty-two chimes,” Pat said. Emily scowled. She’d been unconscious for at least ten hours. Long enough to recover, perhaps, but long enough for something truly awful to have happened to Alassa. What would her uncle do with her? “Your friend healed quickly, once I cast the right spells on her leg.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Emily said, as she pulled herself upright. They’d been told, back at Whitehall, to go to the infirmary after using healing spells, no matter how successful the spell had seemed. She’d never been quite sure why. “How is she?”

  “Worried about you,” Pat said. “And her father is waiting for you to see him.”

  Emily swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, gratified to realize that she wasn’t shaky. Her hands didn’t look scarred, she decided, as she looked down at them, but there was a hint of a tremble as she held them in front of her face. She’d just have to hope and pray that she hadn’t caused herself any permanent damage. Professor Thande’s hand had been scarred so badly that Emily didn’t understand how he could still use it.

  Magic has a price, she thought, remembering one of her tutors sa
ying that to her. Sometimes the price is very high indeed. Even the necromancers pay a high price for their power. They lose their sanity.

  “Get me some proper clothes,” she ordered, as she started to pull off what remained of the garment she’d borrowed from Imaiqah. Between the fight and stains caused by various potions, it was no longer wearable. Emily promised herself that she could buy Imaiqah a new outfit as soon as the whole affair was over. “And then find me something to eat.”

  Pat snorted. “Typical sorceress,” she said. “Barely recovered from a life-threatening accident and she’s already barking orders.”

  Emily flushed, realizing just how much she sounded like the old Alassa.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Pat added, with a nasty grin. She picked up a dark bundle and passed it to Emily. “I believe that you will be eating with the others tonight.”

  Emily finished undressing and donned the new outfit. It was a black tunic, loose enough to hide the shape of her body and allow her to move properly, but not dramatic enough to call attention to her. Emily had picked up more than she wanted to know about courtly fashion, thanks to the princes, and knew that it was the type of outfit that would be worn by a very minor aristocrat. The soldiers should leave her alone as long as she didn’t do anything too suspicious. Once she’d finished dressing, she went through the pockets of her old outfit and recovered Alassa’s handkerchief. It was still stained with her friend’s blood.

  An idea occurred to her and she carefully folded the handkerchief before putting it in her new pockets. Pat gave her an odd look, then beckoned for Emily to follow her out of the room and into a larger room. It was almost empty, apart from Imaiqah, her father and two younger councilors, both wearing their chains of office. Emily wondered briefly how they’d managed to escape the soldiers who’d attacked the inn. But if the soldiers had been mainly concerned with Alassa, they might have ignored everyone else.

  Imaiqah welcomed Emily with a hug, her eyes showing her relief. Emily couldn’t help noticing that her friend was limping slightly, although her leg had definitely been healed. Healing spells didn’t always compensate for the shock caused by physical trauma, she knew, if only because it wasn’t very well understood by the healers. There wouldn’t be any physical cause for her pains, but they would torment Imaiqah for days before finally fading away.

  “It’s good to see you,” Paren said. Imaiqah’s father looked deeply worried. “What are they going to do to the princess?”

  Emily shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said, “but I don’t think it will be anything good.”

  The thought made her scowl. No one in the room knew better than her how easy it was to turn someone into a puppet. Shadye might have taken advantage of Emily’s unique blood to control her, but Alassa had only a handful of blood relatives. The Royal Bloodline was supposed to provide some protection against mind control, yet…would it really stand up to a sorcerer who was quite prepared to do whatever it took to take control of the lawful heir to the throne?

  Her scowl deepened as she remembered Zed’s reaction to her questions about the Royal Bloodline. What if the Court Wizard, the same person who had carefully crippled Alassa’s ability to learn magic, had been working on controlling the Royal Bloodline all along? If the duke had been manipulated by an outside force, would he have been aware of it? And, as Sergeant Miles had pointed out more than once, a truth spell wouldn’t work if the person lying didn’t know that he was lying. The Royal Bloodline couldn’t do any better. If the duke had been unaware that he’d been used as a puppet…

  …But if so, why bother with the coup at all?

  On the other hand, most powerful magicians hated the thought of anyone meddling in their field of interest. Zed might have been furious because Emily had dared to question his work and encourage King Randor to bring in outside experts, rather than because he was trying to hide something. And, of course, she’d implied that his work had been less than perfect…few magicians would take that lightly. It wouldn’t matter if she was right or wrong. He’d still be dreadfully upset at the mere suggestion.

  Imaiqah’s father tapped the table, drawing her attention to the map he’d placed on it. “The problem is that we cannot storm the castle,” he said. “Do you have a spell powerful enough to break through their wards?”

  “Probably not,” Emily admitted. She looked up at him, suddenly. “You’ve been planning…something…for a while, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” Paren admitted, finally. “If the king decided to crack down on us…”

  He shook his head. “But we couldn’t storm the castle,” he added. “The best we could do is lay siege to it–and that would take weeks, at least, before they had to surrender. In the meantime, other garrisons could march towards Alexis and reclaim the city.”

  Emily nodded. Unless they had a really powerful sorcerer on their side, the combination of the castle’s wards and stone walls would make it effectively impregnable. Castles had been taken by storm before, according to Sergeant Harkin, but the attackers always suffered disproportionate casualties. Indeed, he’d added rather snidely, the attacking force had often won the battle only to lose the war. They’d been broken in the hour of their triumph.

  We’re going to have to invent gunpowder, she thought. But the early experiments had not proven successful. Pulling the basic formula out of her mind had taken a handful of memory spells, but the alchemists had been unable to get it to work properly. That might have been caused by the strict secrecy–she’d warned them that the aristocrats would explode when they worked out what gunpowder could do–yet it hardly mattered. Right now, there would be no cannons or rifles to help them take down the castle.

  “So…what do you have?” She asked. “And what do they have?”

  “They’ve been running patrols through the inner city, as well as reinforcing the gatehouses,” Paren said. He tapped the map to illustrate his point. “We have a few thousand men with limited training, but some are trapped in the outer city. What do you want to do with them?”

  Give the duke time to organise and he’ll win by default, Emily thought. We don’t have much time to deal with him before he makes his position impregnable.

  “I’m going to sneak into the castle,” Emily said, finally. “I need you to weaken the defenders as much as possible.”

  “I told you that we cannot storm the castle,” Paren said, sharply.

  “I don’t want you to storm the castle,” Emily said. The locals thought in terms of castle and other secure locations, which wasn’t too surprising. But she knew that modern warfare was targeted on the enemy’s army. “I want you to target their patrols.”

  She tapped the map. “How many of them could you attack at once?”

  “Some,” Paren said, doubtfully. “Maybe more if we didn’t worry too much about coordinating it. What do you want us to do?”

  “You hit the patrols and try to pin them down,” Emily said. “The soldiers will scream for help from the castle. I think the duke will have to send out additional soldiers to back them up, or risk losing his men to us.”

  “Drawing down the defenses of the castle,” Paren said. “And how do you plan to sneak in through the wards? There’s only one way into the castle.”

  That settled one thing that had been bothering Emily; Paren didn’t know about the tunnel network running under the city. She’d considered using it to sneak into the castle, perhaps leading a small assault force, but the wards would make that difficult. Lady Barb’s warnings rang in her ears. It would be quite possible for them to walk in and lose themselves in the catacombs, never to be seen again.

  “I’ve had an idea,” Emily assured him. She didn’t go into details. “But the fewer guards in the castle, the better.”

  “I can enchant some mirrors to allow us to communicate,” Imaiqah said. “They won’t last for more than a few hours, but we’d be able to coordinate our actions.”

  Paren nodded. “But tell me,” he said, “what do you inten
d to do once you’re inside the castle?”

  “Rescue Alassa,” Emily said, simply. “And then try and take down the wards, allowing you to walk into the castle.”

  “The wards aren’t the only defenses,” Paren reminded her. “Do you think we can take out enough soldiers to allow us to break into the castle, even without the wards?”

  Emily frowned. “How many magicians do you have who are willing to help?”

  “Not many,” Paren admitted. “Most mages stay out of politics here. They don’t entirely trust the council.”

  Emily looked at Imaiqah, who shrugged.

  “There was an accusation that a magician who specialized in mental magic had used magic to convince people to vote for him,” Paren said. There was a dark tone in his voice. “The magician eventually had to withdraw from the council chamber, which didn’t sit well with the other magicians. Most of them are likely to side against the council if they have to make a choice.”

  “Even a handful of magicians could make the difference between success and failure if the wards were completely gone,” Emily pointed out. She looked over at a large grandfather clock perched against one wall. “How long will it take you to get organized?”

  “Perhaps an hour or two,” Paren said. “Night will have fallen by then, Lady Emily…”

  “Good,” Emily said. She tried to project a confidence she didn’t feel into her words. “It will make it easier to remain unseen.”

  “I’ll have food brought in for the pair of you,” Paren said, standing up. “And I’ll let you know when we are ready.”