Schooled in Magic 5 - The School of Hard Knocks

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Studying,” Emily said. She sighed as she saw the envelopes placed on her bedside table. “I need to wash and eat.”

  “If you have time, come join us for our weekly gathering,” Claudia said. “I’m sure you would fit in perfectly.”

  Emily frowned. “Fit in where?”

  “With our quarrel, of course,” Claudia said. She grinned brightly. “We consider ourselves honored to have the most talented witches of Mountaintop in our ranks and no one can deny you’re talented. We would normally wait, but...”

  She shrugged. “Can I tell the others you will be attending?”

  Emily shrugged, then reached for the envelopes and opened them one by one. The first envelope was a note from the Administrator, telling her that she would be taking dueling classes with the First Years, as she had no prior experience of dueling. The second was a note from Markus, inviting her to lunch with him. Claudia let out a loud gasp when she saw it, obviously overacting. Emily rubbed her head in irritation and considered less polite ways to tell her to go away.

  “The Head Boy is inviting you to lunch,” she said. “You should go.”

  “Better than going to your quarrel?” Emily asked. “Or...”

  “Oh, gods no,” Claudia said. “But you really don’t want to annoy the Head Boy.”

  She grinned, and did her impression of a male voice. “Your badge is one single micron out of alignment, do five hundred lines,” she said. “Your dress is one inch too short; bend over and take six whacks. Your hair is too long; go serve in charms as an unwilling test subject.”

  She sighed and stalked off.

  Emily glowered after her, then pulled herself out of bed, washed and dressed in her uniform. She had no idea what she should wear to lunch with the Head Boy, but she had a feeling she should at least look reasonably presentable. Claudia’s suggestions ran through her head as she went to the library and did some research before heading down towards the Head Boy’s private office. It was surprisingly far from the hall he was meant to be supervising, as well as his other duties.

  “Come on in,” Markus called, when she looked inside. “Food’s on the table.”

  The office was bare, Emily noted, as she closed the door and sat down at the table. There were two large portraits: one showing a family of people who looked alarmingly like Markus, the other a family that had been drawn to appear as demonic as possible. One of the girls nagged at her mind; she looked oddly familiar, but how?

  “Please, eat,” Markus said. He grinned. “One of the advantages of being Head Boy is that you can bring in your own food, if you wish.”

  Emily nodded and tucked in. The food was definitely better than anything she’d eaten at Mountaintop–and much more suited to her taste than the endless banquets at Zangaria, where the aristocrats preferred quantity to quality. Markus chatted as they ate, talking about spells he was learning and asking how Emily was coping after a week in Mountaintop. He seemed more caring than Nanette, Emily noted. But then, he hadn’t had to wait up for her the previous evening.

  “I have questions for you, if you don’t mind,” Markus said. “I believe you know Melissa of Ashworth?”

  Emily looked up at the portrait again. The girl was Melissa, all right, but drawn to make her look as unpleasant as possible. Emily disliked Melissa cordially, but she had to admit the girl was prettier than her portrait. Normally, in the Allied Lands, it was the other way round.

  “I do,” she said. “And she looks much nicer than that.”

  Markus snorted. “Tell me about her,” he said. “Please.”

  Emily hesitated–she disliked talking about someone behind their back–but did as she was bid. Markus listened with some amusement, his eyes glittering with light as Emily described the minor prank war she and her friends had played with Melissa and her friends, and sighed when Emily had finished.

  “She’s the Heir of her family,” he said, by way of explanation. “We’re sworn enemies.”

  “How upsetting,” Emily said, dryly. “Is that why Melissa went to Whitehall?”

  “Yep,” Markus said. “Or so I assume.”

  Emily blatantly rolled her eyes. Markus merely snorted in response.

  “But I assume you have questions for me,” he said, after a moment. “What can I offer you?”

  “Claudia invited me to a quarrel today,” Emily said. She rather assumed Claudia hadn’t invited her to an argument. “What is a quarrel?”

  “A social club,” Markus said. He smiled. “You will, if you stay here, switch halls and roommates every year. In the end, you will be expected to know everyone from your generation in magical society. But your quarrel, which will be composed of people from several separate years and halls, will be with you for the rest of your life. You will help them, and they will help you.”

  His eyes darkened. “Melissa and I would never be allowed to share a quarrel,” he added. “Too much chance of binding oaths getting in the way.”

  Emily frowned. “Should I go?”

  “Of course,” Markus said. “But...”

  He held up a hand. “I’ll give you a word of advice,” he added. “There are over a dozen currently active quarrels at this school. Taste them all before you commit yourself. You may discover that one of them isn’t suited to you.”

  Emily nodded, thoughtfully.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE REST OF THE WEEKEND PASSED quietly, much to Emily’s relief. She spent most of her time in the library, reading about Mountaintop’s history and social structure. Like Whitehall, she hadn’t been able to escape the sense that a great deal of the school’s “official” history was little more than rumors and hearsay, while the truth had been lost or deliberately suppressed by the people in power. But there was no way to know for sure.

  She gave up on history studies and read, instead, about the quarrels. As Markus had said, they were social groups, although they tended to be more like the Freemasons than any social club she’d known on Earth. A quarrel stayed with its members forever; they helped and supported each other, no matter the cost. There were even hints that shared membership in particular quarrels had helped members patch up arguments between their families that had threatened to lead to outright war.

  But there were also some chilling drawbacks.

  They were also restrictive. A member could never leave or transfer to another quarrel. Their members were forced to swear binding oaths before being considered full members. And many of the quarrels kept their business secret, adding secrecy to the oaths their members swore. By now, magical society was thoroughly infiltrated by quarrels, but it would be immensely difficult to identify all of the members. And if someone chose to stand alone...

  Someone like Void could remain apart, she thought. But someone weaker would be either forced to join for self-protection, or remain isolated forever.

  She was still mulling the issue over as Monday rolled around and she found herself, after a hasty breakfast, walking down towards the Dueling Chambers. Several First Year students followed her, casting odd glances at the older girl. They clearly didn’t expect her to be joining them, not entirely to Emily’s surprise. But Whitehall didn’t teach any form of professional dueling. Emily had looked it up, after seeing a Dueling Championship before she’d gone to the Cairngorms, and discovered it was an elective. Only a handful of students elected to take the course.

  “Lady Emily?” Frieda asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

  Emily looked down at her Shadow. She hadn’t realized–even though she should have–that Frieda would be taking the same class. No wonder the younger girl was surprised to see Emily entering the chamber. Perhaps she’d been pushed by her classmates into asking, if it was rare for younger students to address older students directly. It certainly was at Whitehall.

  “I never took Dueling,” she said, simply. “So I have to attend this class.”

  She followed the younger students through the main doors and into a large spellchamber. As always, she cou
ld sense the presence of powerful wards in the air, providing protection from magical accidents. They didn’t feel as strong as the wards she recalled from the championship, but the tutors probably felt that their students would be nowhere near powerful enough to require such heavy wards. Emily had to admit they were probably right. As a First Year, it had taken her quite some time to learn how to use the more dangerous military spells–and, normally, she wouldn’t have learned them for years.

  “Class,” a female voice said. “Be seated.”

  Emily looked up–and blinked in surprise. There were two tutors for dueling, she realized, and they looked strange. Both were female, but one was white with pitch-black hair and the other was black with brilliant white hair. Their faces were completely identical, right down to the patrician cheekbones and bright blue eyes. They might not have been conventionally pretty, Emily noted, but their faces definitely had character. And if they were twins...

  Her eyes narrowed. There was no such thing as magical twins. She’d asked, once, and had been told that while twins were born in the Allied Lands, none ever had magic. It was one of those laws that everyone knew–everyone in the Allied Lands, at least–but had never been satisfactorily explained. Everyone just seemed to believe it was the way things were.

  An experiment with bilocation that went wrong, Emily asked herself, or something more sinister?

  She sat down at the back of the class, noting how short many of the younger students actually were. Emily had never been particularly tall on Earth, but she was quite tall–for a girl–by the Nameless World’s standards. And quite a few of them looked as thin as she’d been when she’d gone to Whitehall for her First Year. She had no difficulty in placing them as newcomers to magic as well as Mountaintop itself.

  “I am Mistress Hitam,” the black woman said. She ran a hand through her long white hair, then nodded to her companion. “This is Mistress Putih. We are both Dueling Mistresses with over twenty years of experience, so we suggest you listen to us. Dueling is one of the greatest sports in the Allied Lands, with great honors and rewards going to the champions, but it is also one of the most dangerous. Failing to listen to us will result in severe harm.”

  There was a pause.

  “There are three levels to dueling,” she continued, once it became clear that no one would dare to interrupt. “The first level is for educational purposes; it is fought out until one of the contestants is unable to proceed any further. The second level is fought to satisfy minor points of honor and, as such, is fought to first blood. Finally, the third level, fought to satisfy major points of honor, is fought to the death. Two contestants will enter the arena, but only one will emerge. You will not issue any challenges above the first level while you are at this school. If you do, we’ll kill you. Personally.”

  Emily swallowed. It didn’t look as though Mistress Hitam was joking.

  “Dueling acts as a check on society,” Mistress Hitam said. “It teaches people that they are ultimately responsible for their own words–and that you have to be prepared to back them up with force, if necessary. There are levels of insult and accusation, indeed, where failing to issue or accept a challenge is taken as a sign of guilt. But once issued, a challenge cannot be retracted save by the discovery of certain proof it should never have been issued.”

  She paused again. “And such proof can be very hard to find.”

  Mistress Putih stepped forward. “You will be expected to research dueling in the library after classes,” she said. Her voice was very like her twin’s. “Next week, we want an essay from each of you on when a dueling challenge can be issued, when one should be issued and the potential consequences of refusing to issue or accept a challenge.”

  Emily winced, inwardly. The whole concept struck her as fundamentally wrong. It would be easy to contrive a situation where a challenge could be issued, then fought, with the intention of killing one of the parties. She understood and accepted that a person should be held accountable for their words or actions, but death seemed too steep a punishment. Or was that her Earth upbringing speaking? There were no laws covering libel or slander in the Allied Lands.

  Mistress Hitam started to speak again, talking the students through what spells they were allowed to use in the spellchamber. Most of them, Emily noted, were relatively simple and completely non-lethal, at least by local standards. Someone from Earth would be horrified at the thought of being turned into an inanimate object, even if the transformation could be reversed easily. But it was apparently a valid way to win. Somehow, she doubted First Year students could cast many spells without moving their arms.

  She jumped as Mistress Putih caught her arm and pulled her to one side. “You know many more spells than we teach the little ones,” she muttered. Up close, Emily couldn’t help noticing that her breath smelt faintly of roses. “Stick with the same ones we show them.”

  “I understand,” Emily said. She noticed that several of the children–the ones from magical families, judging by their robes–didn’t seem to carry wands. They also seemed to know more spells than their poorer counterparts. “Why do some of the students have wands and others don’t?”

  “Because some of them need the wands,” Mistress Putih said.

  Emily frowned - as far as she knew, that wasn’t even remotely true - but said nothing.

  Mistress Hitam called two of the students into the spellchamber, then ordered the remainder of the students to gather around the edge of the wards. Emily stood at the back, unable to avoid noticing her Shadow casting worried glances at her from time to time. Maybe Frieda might feel ashamed at having her superior watching, she realized dully, just as some of the students on Earth had felt embarrassed by their parents when they visited the school.

  It wasn’t something she understood. She would have been happy if her mother had bothered to put down the bottle long enough to attend.

  “You smell,” one of the female students said. It was, Emily supposed, a challenge of sorts. “And you stink of goats.”

  “And you have no imagination,” the other student countered. He lifted a hand threateningly. “I challenge you...”

  His counterpart shot a flare of green light at him–and missed. Her aim really wasn’t very good, Emily noted, as the magic crashed into the wards and vanished. The second student threw a spell of his own, which missed as the first one jumped to one side, then came up with a wand in her hand. Emily snorted inwardly as she zapped her target with a spell that caused a minor electric shock. It would have been a good tactic if the victim had been dependent on a wand, as it forced them to drop the weapon, but useless against someone who didn’t need one. His target threw a second spell... and scored a direct hit. The student shrank rapidly and became a frog.

  “The duel is complete,” Mistress Hitam said, after a moment. “One of the contestants cannot continue.”

  She let the victor out, then snapped her fingers, releasing the second student from the spell and returning her to human form. She looked embarrassed as the other students jeered at her and stumbled out of the wards. Emily couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, even if the duel had been very tame by Martial Magic’s standards.

  Mistress Hitam didn’t hesitate; she sent two more students into the wards and set them to dueling. They didn’t seem much more capable than the previous two, Emily noted, although they’d clearly learned from watching their predecessors and kept moving, never standing still for very long. This time, they snapped spells at one another for ten minutes before one finally froze the other in her tracks.

  Emily couldn’t help feeling a little bored as the class wore on. The students became more practiced, but none of them seemed very capable compared to any of the First Year students she knew from Whitehall. But the more she watched, the more she thought she detected a disturbing pattern. The students from magical families were far more knowledgeable than the students from non-magical families... and they were often deliberately humiliating their victims.

  She felt her
eyes narrow as Frieda stepped into the spellchamber. Her opponent didn’t even give her a chance to raise her wand before she fired the first spell, sending her staggering all over the spellchamber. It wasn’t quite a victory–Frieda wasn’t immobilized–but she didn’t stand a chance. Moments later, her opponent finished the duel by turning her into a tiny statue of herself, then picking her up and carrying her out of the wards. When Frieda was released from the spell she couldn’t meet Emily’s eyes.

  Emily cringed mentally. She would have hated to lose in front of her superior too.

  “You will duel with me,” Mistress Putih said, turning to face Emily. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other students to let you duel with them. And stick to the spells we showed them earlier.”

  Emily nodded, feeling a sudden flush of anticipation as she stepped through the wards. She had enjoyed matching herself against the other students in Martial Magic, once she’d mastered enough magic to prevent them using her as punching bag, although there were no formal rules beyond a ban on inflicting any form of permanent damage. Sergeant Miles had warned her to keep her distance from the boys, though. Pound for pound, she was no match for them. Without magic, they’d beat her every time.

  Mistress Putih bowed, then fired the first spell without bothering with a formal challenge or exchange of insults. Emily blocked it effortlessly–it was a very low-power spell–and threw back one of her own, trying to freeze the tutor in her tracks. The Dueling Mistress let it hit her, countered it before Mistress Hitam could count to ten and then fired a second spell of her own. Emily was unwillingly impressed. No matter how many times she practiced, she couldn’t break that spell without moving her hands.

  She jumped to one side as Mistress Putih fired something stronger at her, then threw back a set of spells of her own. If she had to stick with the basics, she could at least cast them faster than the other students. Mistress Putih looked pleased as she ducked, dodged or blocked her way through the spells, then fired two spells back at Emily. One was blocked, the other missed...