Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Emily stopped outside the wooden door and hesitated, feeling oddly reluctant to lift her hand and tap on the wood. Bernard and Robin had both advised her not to approach Master Gila, no matter what Whitehall might have said; it had taken Emily two days to work up the nerve to walk down to his chambers and step into his power. The sense of standing far too close to a dangerous wild animal grew stronger, the longer she stood outside his door. And yet, trying to approach his apprentice had proved futile. Sake couldn’t tell her anything without permission from his master.

  And I killed two necromancers, Emily reminded herself, as she knocked firmly on the wooden door. I can handle a single magician.

  “Enter,” a voice called.

  Emily pushed the door open and forced herself to step into the room. Master Gila was seated in one corner, half-hidden in the semi-darkness. And yet his presence dominated the room, a brooding sensation that made her hackles rise as she looked around. A light globe—one of Robin’s—spun in the air, casting a flickering light over a wooden table. Leather straps hung down from the table, suggesting that patients—or victims—needed to be firmly tied down before Master Gila went to work. Emily knew enough about medicine—or what passed for medicine—in the Nameless World to know that might well be true.

  Master Gila looked up at her, his red eyes pulsing with cold dislike. “What do you want?”

  “Master,” Emily said. Up close, his eyes weren’t as bright as Shadye’s, but it was clearly just a matter of time before Master Gila fell completely into madness. Maybe red eyes were a warning of madness in magicians. “I was hoping you could show me some of your healing spells.”

  Master Gila laughed, humorlessly. “Do you think I would offer a healing spell free of charge?”

  “I can offer you a spell in exchange,” Emily said, calmly. She cast a light globe of her own into the air. Master Wolfe’s spell wasn’t as flexible as the one she used, but it was vastly superior to Robin’s. And it drew on far less magic. “Or we can discuss other terms.”

  “A little of your blood, perhaps,” Master Gila said. He snickered. “Or would you give me an arm and a leg?”

  Emily blanched. “I do know other spells,” she said, slowly. “But I won’t offer you blood.”

  “Smart girl,” Master Gila said. He rose to his feet, moving with a ponderous grace that reminded Emily of a walrus. His magic sparkled around him, pushing against her defenses and driving her back. “Do you really want to see my healing spells?”

  For a long moment, Emily hesitated. Master Gila was on the verge of utter madness. She had the feeling that trying to extract a secret from him might be a dreadful mistake. And yet, there was no one else who could show her healing spells. There was no other way to know what spells were currently used. Learning his secrets was worth a high price.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then you shall,” Master Gila said. He sounded affable, suspiciously affable. “Cast more light globes, if you please.”

  He raised his voice as Emily went to work. “Eldora!”

  A door opened, a moment later. Master Gila’s wife stepped into the room, her eyes flickering from side to side nervously. Emily blinked in surprise, then looked at Master Gila. His expression was contorted into a sadistic smile that sent a chill running down the back of her neck. She’d faced necromancers and a combat sorcerer, but the aura of utter madness surrounding the older man was worse. She had the feeling that his madness had reached a point where he would do anything, purely for his own amusement.

  “I haggled intensely with demons to learn how to heal the sick,” Master Gila said, as his wife stood in front of them. Her eyes were permanently lowered, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were a serving girl. “They were reluctant to show me many spells, at first; I had to force them to teach me the tricks. But it was worth it.”

  He looked at Emily. “A damaged body must be rebuilt,” he added. “And that requires vast power and knowledge.”

  Emily frowned as he nodded to his wife. Eldora unbuttoned her dress and let it drop to the floor. Underneath, her body was scarred, brutally marked in a hundred places. Emily stared in horror. Eldora looked as though she’d been beaten savagely, time and time again; she hadn’t even been given time to recover between beatings. She’d seen something like it, back in the Cairngorms, but this was far worse. Eldora, moving like a woman two or three times her age, climbed onto the table and lay on her back. Her husband snapped the leather straps into place with practiced ease.

  Cold horror shivered through Emily’s mind. What was he doing?

  “Healing is a battle against the body,” Master Gila added, as he placed the final strap around Eldora’s neck. She was tied down so thoroughly that she wouldn’t be able to move an inch in any direction. “The skilled healer must force the body to heal itself, even though it doesn’t want to heal.”

  “It doesn’t want to heal?” Emily asked, surprised. That wasn’t what she’d been taught by Lady Barb. “The body ...”

  “Silence,” Master Gila ordered. He made an odd gesture above his wife’s body, preparing a spell. “You wanted to learn, and so you shall learn.”

  Emily started forward as she recognized the spell. But it was too late. Eldora gasped in pain as a series of cracking sounds echoed through the room. The bone-breaker curse was forbidden at Whitehall, where it was possible to practice on a homunculus rather than a living person ... Master Gila had just broken his wife’s legs, so casually that it took Emily a second or two to realize what had happened. And his wife was so used to the pain that she hadn’t even cried out ...

  “Stop that!” she cried.

  “Oh, do be quiet,” Master Gila said. He gave her a quelling look. “You wanted to learn, did you not?”

  He made a gesture in Emily’s direction. A wave of force slammed into her defenses, picking her up and slamming her against the stone wall. It was crude, brute force on a staggering scale; it might not be able to break through her wards and crush her to a pulp, but it could keep her stuck firmly in place. She hastily started to adjust her wards, directing the power away from her so she could break free, yet it was like trying to stand against a tidal wave of raw magic. Her wards hardened desperately as the pressure grew stronger.

  “We have here two broken legs,” Master Gila said. His voice was oddly contemplative, even though his wife was whimpering quietly now. He didn’t bother to look back to see if Emily was focusing on him. “Both broken in several places; internal bleeding and secondary damage a very real possibility. Repair work must be done quickly to prevent permanent damage.”

  Emily gritted her teeth as the pressure beat down on her. It wasn’t threatening to break her defenses, but it was threatening to push them back into her body. Her chest was already starting to ache under the constant pounding, despite her protections ... perhaps Master Gila was a necromancer. Or perhaps she’d just grown too used to subtle ward-cracking spells rather than brute force. Desperately, she fought to establish a second layer of protections she could use to redirect his power. She didn’t dare try to break free without diverting it elsewhere ...

  She glanced up at him as a flicker of magic caught her attention. His hands glowed with a sickly yellow light, a pale version of some of the spells Lady Barb had taught her. A moment later, he plunged his hands into his wife’s right leg. Eldora opened her mouth and screamed as the yellow light spread through her body, magic slopping in all directions so badly that Emily worried for her safety, even if she survived the healing. And yet, there was no let-up in the torrent holding her in place. Eldora’s voice cracked as her leg twisted, then slipped back into place.

  He’s putting it back together by brute force, Emily thought. It was horrific—no better than any of the non-magical surgery she’d seen—and yet it was working. He’s actually healing her!

  “You should take a closer look,” Master Gila said, as Eldora stopped screaming. He made another gesture and Emily found herself shoved upwards, against the ceiling
. “As you can see, the right leg is already healed; the left leg remains broken ...”

  “You monster!” Emily shouted. Eldora’s head flopped to one side and lay still. She’d fainted. “You ...”

  Master Gila smirked at her. “This art requires the willingness to do what must be done,” he said, bluntly. “I’ve beaten and dismissed apprentices before for not being willing to push the spells as far as necessary. Clearly, you don’t have the stomach to handle it.”

  His hands glowed yellow again as he thrust them into Eldora’s left leg. She jerked awake and started to scream again, the ear-piercing cries tearing at Emily’s heart. Gritting her teeth, she thrust out all her protections, falling towards the ground. Something slammed into her chest, time and time again, before she managed to regenerate her protections an instant before it was too late. She thought, for a horrific moment, that she’d managed to crack a rib or two before she caught herself and stumbled to her feet. Master Gila was watching her with an amused smile.

  “You don’t have the stomach,” Master Gila said. Absurdly, he sounded almost kind. “Not everyone does. But you will need to learn to overcome it if you are to be a healer.”

  He turned back to his wife. Emily stared at her in horror. Her eyes were glancing desperately from side to side, yellow liquid dripping from between her legs and splashing down to the floor. Master Gila didn’t seem to care that he’d used her as a dummy—that he’d humiliated her in front of a younger woman—as he inspected her arms. And then he prepared to cast the bone-breaking curse again.

  “No!” Emily screamed.

  She threw herself forward, just as Master Gila cast the curse, knocking into his hand and sending the curse flying across the room. Master Gila bit off a word that sounded like glass breaking, then spun around to hurl a punch into her face. Emily barely managed to jerk backwards in time to avoid it, silently thanking Sergeant Miles and Mistress Danielle for teaching her how to dodge. A young woman couldn’t trade blows with a man and hope to come out ahead, not without magic. She evaded a second blow, ducking as he hurled an unfamiliar curse at her. Her protections were too badly battered for her to take the risk of trying to catch and analyze it.

  Shit, she thought, as he hit her with another curse. The blast threw her from him and left her crumpled against the far wall. What the hell do I do now?

  “Bitch,” Master Gila snarled. Red light flickered around his eyes as he drew on his magic, his power shimmering around him and hammering on the air with a savage intensity that chilled her to the bone. Perhaps, if Shadye had had more control, he would have felt like Master Gila. “Whitehall should have taught you respect.”

  Emily forced herself to think as she pulled herself upright. Her chest hurt badly; her legs felt wobbly, as if she was on the verge of collapsing. Master Gila was between her and the door—between her and the door leading back to the castle, in any case. She could try to dive through the other door, she thought, but she had no idea where it led. Or, for that matter, if there was another way out of the bedroom. Master Gila probably didn’t want his wife free to walk out of the room.

  And if I hurt him or kill him, she thought, what then?

  “Girls shouldn’t be using magic,” Master Gila added. He glared at her as he started to walk forward. “I’ll teach you respect.”

  He hurled a third curse at Emily. She caught it desperately with her wards, deflecting it into the far wall. Master Gila’s eyes went wide; he threw another curse, then hurled himself forward, magic sparkling around his hands. There was a brilliant flash of light as soon as he touched Emily’s protections, the force of the impact knocking her over backwards even as his magic started to dig into her wards, threatening to tear them apart. And yet, and yet ... his work was terrifyingly crude. Emily braced herself, then threw back a spell of her own, knowing it was going to hurt her almost as much as it would hurt him. Master Gila was thrown upwards, slamming into the ceiling as Emily rolled over and over to get away from him. He fell back down and struck the ground with terrifying force. She thought she heard the sound of his nose breaking as she rose to her feet and started towards the door, then stopped herself as she heard Eldora cry out. There was no way she could leave Eldora with her husband. If he was anything like as bad as some of the men she’d seen in the Cairngorms—or Zangaria, for that matter—he’d take his defeat out on his wife.

  And yet, what could she do with him?

  Stop him now, she thought, numbly. She could take him, she thought, but what then? And then let Whitehall decide what to do with him.

  Master Gila rose to his feet. Blood dripped from a smashed nose, but he seemed otherwise intact. Emily frowned, feeling the pain in her chest getting worse. Perhaps she had cracked a rib after all. Master Gila was clearly tougher than he looked—and he looked very tough indeed. The red light shimmering around him warned that he’d taken the final step into madness. She felt his mind pressing against hers—again—but she held him off with grim determination. He just didn’t have the finesse to force his way through her defenses without inflicting horrendous damage to her mind.

  Which won’t bother him in the slightest, Emily thought. The pressure intensified, but there was nothing subtle about it. He could hurt her, yet he couldn’t break in. Having me go mad would suit him just fine ...

  He started to chant, loudly. Emily didn’t recognize the words, but she could sense their effect. The room darkened still further, something materializing in the far corner, rapidly taking on shape and form. Emily risked a glance, then looked back at Master Gila, unwilling to risk what remained of her sanity by trying to make out the creature. Master Gila let out a high-pitched giggle as the power grew stronger, his chanting growing louder and louder ... whatever he was summoning, it was powerful. And she didn’t dare risk letting it materialize completely.

  She summoned her magic and cast a force punch. The spell degraded rapidly, almost as soon as she cast it, the mana drained by the summoned presence, but enough remained to slam into Master Gila and throw him backwards. His chanting stopped; the summoned presence started to fade, folding back into wherever it had come from. Master Gila hit the wall, his head cracking against the stone, and crumbled to the floor. Moments later, Emily felt the magic field surrounding him fade out of existence.

  He’s dead, she thought. stunned. Master Gila was hardly the first person she’d watched die in the last five years, hardly the first one she’d killed personally, but it still bothered her to know that there was more blood on her hands. He’s dead and I killed him and ...

  She forced the thought out of her head as she turned and hurried towards Eldora. The woman was staring at her with horrified eyes, trying to inch backwards—despite the straps—as Emily approached. Emily knew, all too well, that women sometimes stayed with abusive husbands because they couldn’t bring themselves to leave, but Master Gila had been sickeningly abusive ... why hadn’t she left? But the law—such as it was—would probably be on his side if she did.

  Someone will have sensed his death, she told herself, as she struggled to undo the leather straps. They were far tighter than necessary, cutting into Eldora’s skin as she struggled to escape. And then they will come ...

  Using the healing spells she knew was a risk—Eldora might well tell Whitehall or Wolfe what she’d done—but she was damned if she was leaving a badly-wounded woman to suffer and die when she could stop it. She touched the wounds gently, casting the spells one by one and watching, grimly, as the damage slowly healed. Eldora’s eyes went wide, then she slumped backwards. Emily hesitated, then cast a gentle sleep spell. Eldora would have at least eight hours of rest before waking to start the rest of her life.

  And may she have a better one, Emily thought.

  She heard the sound of running footsteps outside and braced herself. Whatever came wasn’t going to be pleasant, but she could survive it. And at least Eldora was free ...

  And I learned something new, she added, grimly. The door burst open, revealing Whitehall and Lord
Chamber. The spells Master Gila used opened his mind to damage. And they left his mind damaged beyond repair.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “YOU LOOK A MESS,” JULIANNE said.

  Emily scowled as she struggled to remove her clothes. Whitehall had spoken briefly to her, but when it became clear she was in pain he’d ordered Bernard to escort Emily to Julianne so his daughter could see what she could do for Emily. The pain in her chest was fading slowly, but her fingers refused to work properly. Undoing the buttons holding her shirt in place was a real challenge.

  “Let me help,” Julianne said, briskly. “You need time to recover.”

  “Thanks,” Emily muttered crossly, as Julianne gently undid the buttons and pulled her shirt open. “Do you have something for the pain?”

  Julianne sucked in her breath. “What did he do to you?”

  Emily looked down. Her chest was black and blue, as if she’d been punched repeatedly; the rune between her breasts had gone red, as if it had been branded into her skin. The pain was fading slowly, but she suspected the bruises would take longer to go. She winced as Julianne poked at her skin for a moment, feeling for broken bones, then held a small potions gourd to her lips. It tasted awful—Emily had to fight to keep from throwing up at the first sip—but the pain slowly faded away to nothingness.

  “Rub this on your chest,” Julianne said, passing her a small cloth. It smelled of wild flowers and herbs. “It should help the skin to recover.”

  She frowned. “What happened?”

  “He was torturing his wife,” Emily said, grimly. She shook her head as she outlined the whole story. Lady Barb might have turned injuries into learning opportunities, but she’d never tortured anyone to make a point. It wasn’t as if the students had been short of people to practice on. “He wanted to show me what he could do, so he broke her bones just so he could heal them.”

  Julianne looked sick. “Bastard!”

  She looked down at the stone floor. “There are others wounded in the castle,” she added, bitterly. “He could have practiced on them.”