If someone can bring themselves to think coldly about what they’re doing they might break the compulsion, she thought. But the slaves are too downtrodden to try.
The headman clapped his hands. “We trust this will bring us both wealth,” he said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe it. “You will join us for dinner.”
“Of course, My Lord.” Cat bowed. Beside him, Emily did the same. “My partner and I would be honored.”
Emily nudged him as the headman led the way outside. “We would?”
“Yeah.” Cat nudged her back. “He’s quite a good haggler.”
“Right,” Emily said. She lowered her voice. “And he’s a monster too.”
She frowned as they stepped out of the hut. The skies were darkening rapidly, the gloomy clouds shading to an eerie purple as the sun dropped below the distant mountains. The air was still warm, blowing gusts of tainted magic into their faces. Emily felt itchy as they were led towards a large communal table, where the blacksmiths and their apprentices waited to eat. Beyond them, women cooked in eerie silence. No one spoke, save for an older woman who looked to be in her nineties. Emily suspected she was a lot younger. She’d met peasant women in Zangaria who’d looked much older than their years and they’d barely entered their forties. Here... the woman, the headwoman, might be even younger. She guessed the bossy woman was the headman’s wife.
If that means anything here, she mused, as she saw the overseers carting food towards the fields. The headman could have his pick of women, if he wished.
Cat sat next to her, his expression unreadable. Emily was glad of his presence as the women started to serve the food, handing out bowls of mush flavored with hints of meat. Her hair stood on end, the moment she took the bowl. Her magic clashed oddly with the aura surrounding the contents. Emily flinched, realizing - to her horror - that the meat might be human flesh. She felt her stomach clench as she cast a spell to check, the spell flashing red. The meat was not safe to eat, whatever it was. She glanced at Cat, then cast a very weak illusion to convince watching eyes they’d eaten. They’d have to eat their rations when - if - they were alone.
She shuddered, again, as the dreadful evening wore on. The villagers ate in silence, then headed to their huts. It looked as if entire extended families shared huts too small for them... she felt a twinge of pity, even for the headman and his wife. The woman might be bossing the other women around, pushing and slapping at anyone who moved too slowly to suit her, but... what else could she do? She wondered, grimly, where the prisoners in the cages had come from and... she felt sick, again. The prisoners were probably villagers, marked down for death. She hated to think anyone would treat their friends and family as livestock, but... what choice did they have? Resistance was futile.
The air didn’t cool as the skies turned dark and the headman led them back to his hut. Emily knew it was a sign of favor - Lady Barb had picked their trade goods carefully, items the headman could buy without drawing the ire of his masters - but she would almost have preferred to be ordered to sleep in a barn. At least they’d be isolated from the rest of the villagers. The headman had a private bedroom... she scowled when she realized the headman and his wife had given up their bedroom. It was a great honor, but she would have preferred to avoid it. And yet, there was no way they could refuse without giving offense.
“Put up a set of wards before we go to bed,” she said, as she surveyed the room. It was nothing more than an earthen floor, a handful of thin blankets and a tiny pillow. There was no washroom, not even a chamberpot. The locals did their business outside. “I... I hate this place.”
“Yeah.” Cat sounded grim. “I saw the slave markets up north and this... this is worse.”
Emily forced herself to lie on the blankets, casting a pair of wards designed to repel insects and other unwanted guests. She was going to be covered with insect bites in the morning, wards or no wards. Her skin was already starting to itch. She wanted a proper bath or a shower; she’d even settle for a basin of water and a damp cloth. But she knew she wasn’t going to get any of them.
She closed her eyes, wondering how her other self was doing. The plan had been to establish a foothold, as soon as she and Cat had set off to the Blighted Lands. Where was her other self? Emily was tempted to reach for her through the entangled magic, even though she knew it was a bad idea. A really bad idea. She could only be in two places at once if she accepted, deep inside, that she was two people...
And if we get drawn back together, she asked herself numbly, what happens to us?
“Goodnight,” Cat said. “See you in the morning.”
Emily said nothing. She was exhausted, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.
Chapter Eighteen (Emily2)
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Emily looked up from her work, frowning, as Penny came into the room. They shared a bedroom, which she’d converted into an office of sorts, but... she told herself, firmly, that it wasn’t really her office. Penny had as much right to enter the chamber as she did. And yet... she felt another flicker of jealousy at Penny spending time with Lady Barb. Lady Barb would smack her for being so selfish, if she ever said that out loud, but...
“Trying to design a spell,” she said, putting the thought aside. It wasn’t Penny’s fault Lady Barb had taken her as a student. Or that Emily felt as if she’d been displaced. “And running into all sorts of little problems.”
She scratched her forehead, feeling uncomfortable and itchy. Her skin was dry and flaky after just two days in the fortress, even though she’d cast a dozen different wards to cool and moisturize the air. She wished she’d thought to cut her hair short... in hindsight, perhaps it would have been better if she’d cut her hair long ago. It was her only vanity, but one that had started to bite. Her scalp felt as itchy as the rest of her.
Penny glanced at the notes, then shrugged. “Lady Barb wanted to see you,” she said. “Coming?”
“You couldn’t have said that the moment you appeared?” Emily folded the notes and pocketed them. Even here, in the middle of a war, she had no doubt someone would spy on her work if she gave them a chance. “What’s happening?”
“I believe she wants to see you,” Penny said. “Coming?”
Emily scowled, unsure if Penny was trying to be annoying as she followed Penny out the door. The sunlight was as dull and red as ever, the air hot and thoroughly uncomfortable. She felt a flicker of sympathy for the men on the walls, even for the horsemen cantering outside in a desperate bid to attract the necromancers. Emily could feel the portal, a whirlwind of magic growing ever stronger as the enchanters enhanced the lattice to the point it no longer needed the nexus point. She couldn’t believe the necromancers couldn’t sense it. She might as well have set off a flare announcing her presence.
Or sent the bastards an insulting note challenging them to a fight, she thought, wryly. That would probably have gotten their attention.
She shivered, despite the heat, as they rounded a corner and approached the command post. Sir Roger and Crown Prince Dater - the latter still gamboling around with his favored troops - hadn’t raised any objection to the suggestion they should have tactical command, to Emily’s complete lack of surprise. They probably saw it as a sign of favor - or something they could spin into a sign of favor, with a little effort - even if they refused to believe she disliked giving orders. Lady Barb stood next to Sergeant Miles, her expression grim. The map in front of them - updated yet again, showing a network of barren gullies and valleys far too close for comfort - was alarmingly bare of enemy troops.
And normally that wouldn’t be a bad thing, Emily thought. But now we want to be attacked.
“Emily,” Lady Barb said. “Walk with me.”
Emily nodded, feeling a twinge of... something... as Lady Barb ordered Penny to remain in the command post before leading Emily towards the walls. Sir Roger was inspecting troops, checking their muskets and cannons before directing them to their places. Behind him,
a cannon mounted on a cart looked dangerously unsafe, as if it were on the verge of tipping over at any moment. She’d told the artificers about tanks, but it would be years before someone produced a steam-powered tank... but, she supposed, the spells woven into the cart would give a surprising amount of mobility. The engineers might want to use as little magic as possible - she understood, all too well - yet there was a war on. They had to make do with what they had.
Lady Barb cast a privacy spell as soon as they were out of earshot. “Have you been following the enchanters?”
Emily glanced at her, surprised. “No,” she said. “I was too busy trying to devise...”
Trying to reinvent something my counterpart devised, her thoughts corrected. Her alternate self from an alternate timeline had been more ruthless, when it came to applying her knowledge to destruction. Emily still had nightmares about what she’d seen in her counterpart’s mind. But she’d had some good ideas. The trick is getting them to work without giving away the secret.
“They and the combat sorcerers have been preparing rituals,” Lady Barb said. “The trouble is that we cannot power them all, not without...”
She allowed her voice to trail off. Emily had no trouble completing the sentence.
“You want me to show them how to make and use batteries,” she said. “Right?”
“Right.” Lady Barb looked grim. “Right now, we’re dangerously exposed.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we were getting additional sorcerers,” she said. “We shouldn’t have needed to use batteries.”
“I thought so too,” Lady Barb said. “King Jorlem has apparently” - her hands formed quotation marks - “insisted on holding back half the sorcerers who joined the force. He’s afraid the diggers will keep going, whatever happens over here. He might even be right.”
“He could have told us that earlier.” Emily felt a hot flash of anger. “Is he actually going to risk his son getting trapped out here?”
“I’d be surprised if he doesn’t recall his son in the next few days,” Lady Barb said. “But that isn’t the problem, is it?”
Emily glared at the barren wall. The Crown Prince could not afford to be thought a coward - or a weakling. He couldn’t run, even if it was the sensible thing to do. She supposed his father would be quietly trying to devise an excuse to allow the prince to leave with his honor intact. She shook her head in disgust. How many promising young men had died on the field of battle because they knew they’d face scorn if they fled? How many young women had been denied the chance to make a name for themselves because they’d not been allowed on the battlefield? Alassa had chafed at not being able to lead troops, even if the odds were firmly on her side. Emily didn’t share the feeling, but she understood. She just thought it was stupid.
That’s not my problem, she told herself, crossly. I have a bigger one.
She turned to look at the older woman. “I wish you’d mentioned this earlier.”
“I wish I’d realized the problem earlier,” Lady Barb said. “It won’t be long until the enchanters are recalled too.”
Emily nodded, stiffly. Enchantment was a difficult discipline to master. Void had taught her a little, but he’d seemed disinclined to spend much time on it. Emily thought she understood why - Void wanted her to use magic and magic alone, not anything he viewed as a crutch - yet it wasn’t as if she wanted to use a wand. She forced herself to think, quickly. It wouldn’t be hard to show the enchanters how to make and use batteries and valves. The trick would be keeping them from spilling the beans.
And there’s no way to guarantee they wouldn’t be spied on, she thought. I couldn’t swear them to the impossible.
She let out a breath. She’d always known it was just a matter of time before the secret began to leak. Void had told her that sorcerers were slowly piecing together what she’d done in Zangaria. There was no way any sorcerer, not even a necromancer, could open a portal right into the most heavily-defended tower in the country. The power requirements would be staggeringly high... no, they’d been staggeringly high. They knew what she’d done, even if they didn’t know how.
“They’ll be sworn to secrecy,” she said. Void had taught her how to draw up magical contracts, although he’d told her they had to be treated with extreme care. If there were any misunderstandings, or simple miscommunications, or even a giant loophole... the contract could become worse than useless. “Tell them... tell them to meet me in the hall, one hour from now, if they’re prepared to keep the secret to themselves.”
“Of course, My Lady,” Lady Barb said, with heavy irony. “It will be my pleasure.”
Emily flushed. “Sorry.”
“It’s good to see you growing stronger,” Lady Barb said. “But I’d be careful of the price.”
She turned and hurried away. Emily let out a breath, then clambered up onto the battlements and peered into the distance. There were no hordes charging towards the fortress, no clouds of dust in the distance that might indicate an approaching army... just barren lands, dunes of ashy sand and weird-looking clouds. She shivered, feeling... something... brushing across her mind. It felt like a ray of sunlight, but... the sun looked red and dull in the gloomy morning sky. She couldn’t quite believe it was morning.
Shaking her head, she lowered herself to the ground and hurried back to her quarters. The parchment scrolls - she silently blessed herself for having thought to bring them - were still in her knapsack, waiting for the spells. She took the parchments, picked up a charmed pen and started to write. It wasn’t easy. Charming the parchments was simple enough, but closing the loopholes was far harder. If she was too aggressive, they’d refuse to sign; if she was too lenient, they’d sign... and then use the loopholes to cheat her without ever technically breaking the contract. Hell, if there was a difference of opinion about what the contract actually said – an honest difference of opinion - it was their opinion that would count.
Penny tapped on her door, an hour later. “They’re waiting for you.”
“And probably not wanting to be kept waiting,” Emily said. Sorcerers were always jostling other sorcerers, even ones with powerful and dangerous reputations. She’d been picked on because of her deeds and presumed relations, not despite them. “Shall we go?”
She focused her mind as best as she could. It wasn’t going to be easy to get them to listen to her. She was an apprentice, even though she’d killed a bunch of necromancers and introduced hundreds of innovations to the Allied Lands. And she was a young woman... she shook her head. Sorcerers, at least, wouldn’t hold that against her. Magic didn’t discriminate. A sorceress could be as powerful and dangerous as a sorcerer. King Randor really should have encouraged his daughter to master her powers early enough to convince everyone she wasn’t a spoilt brat.
Lady Barb stood by the door, waiting. She nodded, then gestured for her to enter the room. Emily held her head up high, then stepped inside. Twenty-one magicians - enchanters and alchemists, male and female - looked at her with varying degrees of interest. A couple seemed openly hostile, as if it was beneath their dignity to wait upon a lowly apprentice. The remainder seemed more inclined to wait and hear what she had to say before passing judgement. Master Lucknow leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. Emily guessed he’d support her, if only because she’d supported the war. He wouldn’t want to call her judgement into question because it would serve as excuse for others to question his.
Emily stood at the front of the room, clasping her hands behind her back. “I won’t mince words,” she said, trying to channel Alassa and Void. The parchment sheet felt warm against her bare skin. “There is a... technique... we can and we will use to work greater magics. It is an innovation that doesn’t involve any forbidden rituals. However, it is also very secret.”
She pulled the contract into the light. “If you want to stay and learn, you have to sign this contract,” she said. “If not... the door is over there.”
A sorcerer leaned forward, his
eyes flashing anger. “I did not come here to bind my magic at the whim...”
“The door is over there,” Emily repeated, evenly. “If you refuse to sign, you can leave.”
She held out the contract, inviting the nearest sorcerer to take it and read. She’d done her level best to strike a balance between paranoia and freedom, between restricting their ability to share the secret and giving them room to experiment. She knew from experience that, for better or worse, people would take her ideas, the concepts she’d introduced, and run with them. The results had been decidedly mixed, she thought, but - on the whole - they’d been good. She brushed aside a handful of questions, including one that suggested the speaker thought she was an idiot. She’d closed all the loopholes she could. She was certainly not going to open one now.
Two sorcerers stood and stalked out the room. The remainder stared at the contract, their lips twitching as they worked through the implications, then started to sign. Emily watched, torn between hope and fear. It was another step towards the secret getting out, she knew. The sorcerers would draw attention from spies, from sorcerers who hadn’t signed the contact. And the two who’d left would be free to watch their fellows, to - eventually - put the pieces together. The only upside, as far as she could tell, was that none of the enchanters had refused to sign. They’d be needed to craft the valves.
Master Lucknow was the last to sign. “We’re ready,” he said, renewing the privacy wards with a wave of his hand. “Lady Emily?”
Emily took a breath. “The fundamental problem of storing magic for long periods is that it tends to leak, either from wards or a charmed gemstone,” she said, uneasily aware she was going over well-trodden ground. “As long as the magic has somewhere to go, it will leak. And that means there are limits to how much magic you can store.”
Oathkeeper (Schooled in Magic Book 20) Page 17
