He made a whip-cracking motion. “Back to work,” he ordered. “You’ve got a long way to go.”
Chapter Ten
EMILY WAS NO STRANGER TO HARD work, but the week between her return to the tower and her departure for the army camp ended up being the hardest in her life. Void drilled her mercilessly, forcing her to practice everything from knife-edge fighting to sneaking through enemy wards that - he admitted - were more powerful and capable than anything the average necromancer could be expected to produce. It was almost a relief when Master Lucknow returned - without Jan - to convey her to the camp. She couldn’t help thinking she might get some rest!
“Be careful,” Void said, as they walked out of the tower. He’d given up trying to convince her to take Silent, although he hadn’t really tried very hard. “And don’t get yourself killed for nothing.”
“I won’t,” Emily promised. She surprised herself by giving him a hug. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
She turned and followed Master Lucknow through the wards. She’d done everything she could, from writing letters supporting the war effort to ordering tunics and trousers for herself, but she still felt oddly unprepared. The knapsack on her back felt heavy, despite the lightening spells. She’d crammed everything she could think of into the bag, tools and wands as well as weapons. Master Lucknow frowned as he glanced back at her, then the tower. Void had already gone inside.
“Take my hand,” he ordered, shortly. “Let’s go.”
Emily took his hand and braced herself, closing her eyes as he cast the teleport spell. The world shook under her feet, then steadied. She opened her eyes to see a large and growing army camp under the mountains. The landscape was harsh, but not unpleasant. The world on the far side of the Craggy Mountains was infinitely worse. She tilted her head back, tracing the distant peaks as they rose and vanished into cloudy skies. She thought she could hear something, in the distance. The digging? They couldn’t be that close already, could they? Had they thought to use magic - or gunpowder - to clear the way?
“This way,” Master Lucknow said. “Quickly.”
The camp, Emily decided as they walked closer, was larger than she’d realized on first sight. Thousands of soldiers hurried from place to place, encouraged by sergeants and watched by commanding officers who seemed supremely unconcerned with actual results. Horsemen cantered around the stockade, shouting incomprehensible gibberish at one another as they galloped past. Emily winced inwardly, knowing the gallant - and arrogant - young men were likely to die when the war began in earnest. Cavalry had no place on a modern battlefield. They might practice shock and awe, but they’d be the ones shocked when they ran into gunpowder weapons. They wouldn’t survive long enough to sound the retreat and run for their lives.
Inside, the camp throbbed with activity. More and more soldiers drilled relentlessly, sergeants putting them through their paces as they honed their skills. Smoke drifted through the air from the shooting range, where men fired muskets for the first time; Emily felt a flicker of pride, mingled with a grim awareness she’d triggered a wave of change that might be good, bad, or a strange mixture of both. She saw an officer practicing with a revolver, one of the very few handmade weapons from Cockatrice. He’d paid a pretty penny for that, she was sure. It would be years before revolvers could be mass-produced like muskets and cannons.
Her heart sank as they passed the chirurgeons, preparing for the casualties everyone knew were coming. The aristocrats and sorcerers could call upon healers, who could mend anything that wasn’t immediately fatal. The common soldiers would have to rely on the chirurgeons, men who were more butchers than real doctors. They knew more about medicine than Emily had realized, but... even now, there were massive gaps in their knowledge and skills. She’d had to tell them about germs, about how diseases spread... about how going under a chirurgeon’s knife might be more dangerous than facing the necromancers. She made a mental note, as she saw a bloodstained table being readied for use, to make sure they knew to keep everything clean. There was no point in a successful operation - for a given value of successful - if the patient died.
They stopped in front of a single large tent, a coat of arms hanging outside. Emily traced them with her eyes, remembering the brief ceremony when General Pollack had been presented with a title for his services in the last war. She smiled, rather wanly. The battle had cost the general his son, as well as everything else. And yet... this time, at least, he’d have far more authority. There would be fewer aristocrats insisting on having a say in matters that didn’t concern them, particularly matters they knew nothing about. Emily had read the notes carefully. The only person who outranked the general was the king.
Master Lucknow opened the flap. “General Pollack, Lady Emily.”
Emily stepped into the tent. A single wooden table sat in the center of the room, covered with maps of the surrounding region. General Pollack stood at the head of the table, flanked by Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles. Emily felt herself smile, barely resisting the urge to run forward and hug them. She’d heard they’d been invited to join the army, as Whitehall’s official representatives, but she hadn’t been sure they’d accepted. There were... issues... in bringing an army so close to the school. She felt her smile grow wider. The issues would be meaningless if the necromancers broke through the mountains and invaded.
“Lady Emily,” General Pollack said. His voice was very formal. “I believe you know Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles?”
Emily nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt. General Pollack had good reason to be just a little ambivalent about her. “Yes, sir.”
“And Crown Prince Dater, son of King Jorlem of Alluvia,” General Pollack continued, indicating a young man sitting to one side. “Commander of the cavalry.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Emily said. The Crown Prince was at least ten years older than she was, if she recalled correctly, although it was hard to be sure. She vaguely remembered him from their one meeting, six years ago. His younger brother had been one of Alassa’s suitors. “It’s been a long time.”
Dater looked her up and down, his expression suggesting he’d seen more impressive specimens lying on the ground, eating the dust. He was handsome, in a foppish kind of way, but there was something about him she didn’t like. She wondered, as they nodded at each other, if Dater knew the cavalry was outdated. He might not be perceptive enough to realize that he’d been given a worthless position. But then, it wasn’t that worthless. He was second-in-command, de facto if not de jure. His kingdom had provided a sizable percentage of the infantry as well as the cavalry.
Lady Barb stepped forward. “It’s good to see you again,” she said. “We’ll catch up properly later.”
“And you as well,” Emily said. She’d done her best to keep in touch with the older woman, but it hadn’t been easy. “Did you read my proposals?”
“Yes.” Lady Barb indicated the maps on the table. “We’ve been considering them.”
“We’ve approved them, in principle,” General Pollack rumbled. “There seems to be no reason why we can’t make the proposals work.”
“Assuming we don’t get cut off,” Sergeant Miles said. He sounded like he'd repeated this many times already. “That’s the downside, Emily. If we get cut off, we die.”
“We have better weapons and training,” Dater said. The Crown Prince walked around the table until he faced Emily. “And we have the Necromancer’s Bane.”
Emily wanted to ask just how much Dater had been told about the plan, but she held her tongue. She’d have to ask Lady Barb once they were alone. The proposals had been detailed in some places and vague in others. General Pollack knew she intended to reignite the nexus point, but not how. Emily wondered, grimly, just how many factions would object. They’d screamed bloody murder when she’d claimed Heart’s Eye.
“None of which will matter if we get crushed by the weight of numbers,” General Pollack said. “We’ve been over this, time and time again.”
H
is finger traced a line on the map. “By our current estimates, they’ll be on the verge of breaking through the mountains within three months. We have to be ready to meet them if the invasion plan fails.”
“It must not fail,” Dater insisted. “The kingdom cannot afford an invasion.”
Emily nodded. The kingdoms skirmished all the time, despite the best efforts of the White Council, but none of those wars were particularly serious. There were rules - some spoken, some not - that ensured matters didn’t get too bloody... at least for the aristocracy and their supporters. The majority of the nobility didn’t care about the commoners who’d be raped, or slaughtered, or forced to flee their homes with whatever they could carry before their villages were burnt to the ground. Even if the aristocrats lost, they could go into exile and plot their return. It wouldn’t do to slaughter the nobility. It would give the commoners ideas.
But a necromantic invasion would be different. The necromancers cared nothing for homage, or submission, or gold and gems. They’d sweep north, erasing kingdom after kingdom from the map as they slaughtered their populations to fuel their magic. Being a noble wouldn’t save the aristocrats from death. There’d been kingdoms in the Blighted Lands, hundreds of years ago. They were gone now, gone so completely that few remembered their names. All bids to recover them had failed. The necromancers had wiped them out and that was that. She glanced at Dater, feeling a twinge of pity. His kingdom was on the verge of utter destruction.
“We have to assume the worst,” General Pollack said. “And that means making preparations for a full-scale invasion.”
Emily listened as he outlined the problem and his proposed solutions. His staff officers had been busy. She couldn’t find any fault with his plans, although she had to admit she was hardly an expert. She’d been drilled in military matters, but she’d never raised an army or commanded men in combat. Even now... she shook her head. She wasn’t going to lead the men. Sir Roger would do that. She’d reignite the nexus point and win the war.
And complete my oath, she promised herself. And then I can return to my apprenticeship.
“Sir Roger and his men are due to arrive tomorrow,” General Pollack said. He looked at Emily. “I trust a week or two will be long enough to lay the plans and gather the supplies?”
“I hope so,” Emily said. “But Sir Roger will have to determine when we’re ready to move.”
Dater sniffed. “Do you trust the word of an oathbreaker?”
“I trust him to take care of his men,” Emily said, coldly. “He needs this to succeed.”
“Hah.” Dater made a dismissive sound. “We need the invasion to succeed too.”
General Pollack called their attention back to the map. Emily studied it thoughtfully as he discussed the defense plans, then prospective ways to slow and stop the enemy. The terrain wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, although she suspected it wouldn’t slow the orcs for long. It wouldn’t be easy to muster a defense, not if the orcs kept spreading out. They’d be trying to fight a trench war in terrain the enemy could use to outflank the trenches. General Pollack was a good commander, she thought, but the kingdom was too large to be easily defended.
“We’re already working on evacuating the peasants,” General Pollack said. “But they don’t want to leave their homes.”
“They have no choice,” Dater said. “We have to move them all north.”
Emily winced. She’d seen refugees before, taking to the roads and hiding in the forests in a desperate bid to escape the war. The refugees in Zangaria thought both sides were equally threatening, not without reason. Here... she knew the peasants would have to be moved before the necromancers turned them into dinner. Allowing their cattle and crops to be seized by an invading army would be disastrous.
And yet, they can live off the land, she reminded herself. There are no endless sand dunes here.
“I’ll be holding a full staff meeting tomorrow,” General Pollack said. “And then we can start moving the pieces into place.”
He raised his voice. “I need to speak to Master Lucknow and Prince Dater alone,” he said. “Lady Emily, we’ll talk when Sir Roger arrives.”
“Yes, sir.” Emily was surprised at the blunt dismissal, although she had to admit it served a purpose. She’d have a chance to talk to Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles without further delay - or interruption. She had no doubt the Crown Prince would want to talk to her at some point, either to convince her to support him or to ask her to stay out of local politics. “I’ll see you later.”
Lady Barb took her arm as soon as they left the tent. “This way,” she said. “Our tents are down here.”
Emily nodded, allowing Lady Barb to lead her past a series of richly-decorated tents. A handful of combat sorcerers stood outside, masters watching as their apprentices practiced their spells. They looked ready to fight, although Emily feared very few of them had truly seen war. There was a difference between hunting dark wizards or fighting in a civil war, and facing the full power of a necromantic army. She glanced towards the distant mountains and shivered. The sound of digging seemed to be growing louder.
They’re nowhere near that close, she told herself, stiffly. The map showed them on the far side of the mountains.
“Emily,” Lady Barb said. “I’d like you to meet my trainee.”
Emily felt an odd flash of envy as a young man - no, a young woman - walked up to them and stopped. The trainee was blonde, her hair cut short and styled in a manner more befitting a young man than a woman. Her green tunic was loose enough to hide the shape of her breasts, but tight enough to allow her to move easily. And her face was angular enough... Emily wondered, suddenly, if the young woman was Lady Barb’s niece. They looked surprisingly alike.
“This is Penny, formerly of Laughter Academy,” Lady Barb said. “Penny, this is Emily.”
Emily felt another flicker of envy, which she ruthlessly suppressed. Lady Barb was her mentor, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t mentor others. Penny... she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t completing her own training. She looked a few years older than Emily, although it was hard to be sure. She’d gone to some trouble to make herself look mannish. And Lady Barb was a good tutor...
“Pleased to meet you,” Emily said. She told herself, firmly, she had no reason to be jealous. And yet it gnawed at her mind. “I hope we’ll have a chance to talk soon.”
Penny studied her for a long moment, as if she were looking for something. Emily kept her face under tight control as she looked back, reaching out gingerly with her senses. Penny’s magic was strong, but... odd. She’d been to a different school, one Emily had never visited. She’d heard the rumors about Laughter, about wicked witches and lesbian orgies, but she was fairly sure they’d been invented by teenage magicians. If nothing else, it would be impossible to run a school like that unless one didn’t give a damn about education.
“Me too,” Penny said. “It’s a pleasure.”
Sergeant Miles nodded to Emily as Lady Barb led her trainee away. “Penny’s been looking forward to meeting you,” he said. He lowered his voice. “How’s he been treating you?”
“I’ve been learning a great deal,” Emily said. There was no need to ask who he was. “It’s been interesting. And fun.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Sergeant Miles said. He steered her towards a smaller tent. “Can I accompany the invasion force?”
Emily grinned. “Just don’t get killed,” she said. She’d be glad of his presence, but Lady Barb wouldn’t be happy. They’d been dating for years. “Lady Barb would never forgive me.”
“No.” Sergeant Miles nodded to the tent. “You’ll be sleeping there. Lady Barb and I are right next to you. Penny is with the other apprentices. She was dropping hints about sharing a tent with you, but...”
“I’ll think about it,” Emily said. She hadn’t enjoyed sharing a tent with the other apprentices, the last time she’d gone to war. “Should I?”
Sergeant Miles laughed. “Sharing a tent i
s supposed to build character,” he said. “But right now we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”
He nodded to the tent. “Get settled in, then join us for dinner at seven,” he added. “We’ll catch up properly then.”
Emily smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”
She turned and stepped into the tent, casting a pair of privacy wards to ensure no one could spy on her. The air was disquietingly warm despite the cold breeze outside. She cast a spell to reduce the temperature and another to illuminate the inside, then looked around. A small cot had been placed on the far side of the tent, a chamber pot poking out underneath. Emily snorted in disgust. Modern plumbing was one thing she hadn’t appreciated until she’d found herself in a world where it was practically unknown outside the elite. She hoped someone had set up showers somewhere within the camp. Cleaning spells always left her feeling a little grimy.
Lady Barb didn’t tell me about Penny, she thought, suddenly. Why not?
She glanced up as she felt a presence outside the tent. A very familiar presence, brushing lightly against the wards. Emily hesitated, then allowed them to open. The flap parted...
... And Cat stepped into the tent.
Chapter Eleven
HE HASN’T CHANGED A BIT, Emily thought, with a flash of resentment.
Cat looked just like she remembered, right down to the simple leather tunic and shirt that showed off his muscles and marked him as a mercenary, a sellsword of no fixed abode. His hair was still shaved, save for a single blond forelock. A sword, a knife and a small wand hung at his belt. Emily felt her heart begin to pound as he closed the flap behind himself and smiled. She’d never thought the mercenary look suited him - it made him look unsettlingly violent - but she had to agree it made his point. It was a subtle statement of independence, a message he didn’t need to speak to convey.
She felt herself blush as she remembered their time together. They had made a good team. Jade was right about that, if nothing else. And she’d enjoyed spending time in bed with him... she had, until he’d abandoned her. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to take a step back. She’d let herself care far too much for him, to grow dependent upon him. She couldn’t trust him so completely, not again. He’d abandoned her at the worst possible time.
Oathkeeper (Schooled in Magic Book 20) Page 10
