Trial By Fire (Schooled in Magic Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yes, sir,” she said, as she ate her meal. It tasted better than anything she’d cooked back on Earth, although the ever-present scent of burning had worked its way into the food. “How long will it take us to get there?”

  “About an hour,” the Grandmaster said. “Unless we run into trouble, that is.”

  They finished their breakfast. Emily wiped the plates and cooking equipment while the Grandmaster answered a call of nature, and started to pack away the tent. He hadn’t wanted a tent for himself, something that made her feel vaguely guilty, but he’d dismissed the matter when she’d offered to sleep in the open too. She couldn’t help feeling relieved; quite apart from her concerns about sleeping near a man, she wouldn’t have cared to sleep in the open, not in the Blighted Lands. The raw magic seemed to grow stronger at night.

  That must be why so few people risk entering the Blighted Lands, she thought, as she packed up the rucksack. You could go to sleep in the wrong place and wake up in a very different form.

  She shuddered at the thought, then pulled the rucksack on and braced herself against the weight. The Grandmaster nodded to her, checked the campsite for anything they might have left behind, then led the way into the distance. Emily gritted her teeth and forced herself to follow him. The flickers of wild magic in the air were growing stronger the further they moved from the Craggy Mountains that blocked the way to Whitehall. If she’d been alone, she had a feeling she would have turned back a long time before reaching the Dark Fortress.

  “There’s no need to push yourself too hard,” the Grandmaster said, slowing. “If worst comes to worst, we’ll set up our tents near the Dark Fortress and wait until sunrise.”

  Emily glanced up. It was early morning, by her watch, but the sun was already high in the sky. And yet, the light seemed dim, the clouds growing darker as they walked deeper into the Blighted Lands. She’d thought it was night when Shadye had snatched her, but had his lands been buried in permanent darkness? Or was she merely imagining things?

  “I thought you said it wasn’t safe to lurk too close to the fortress,” she said instead.

  “It isn’t,” the Grandmaster confirmed. “But I would prefer not to have to enter the Dark Fortress in darkness.”

  He said nothing else until they stumbled across the ruins of a village, so hidden within the haze that they practically walked into the ruins before realizing they were there. It was hard to imagine that it had once been a living village, with farmers tending their crops and raising their children; now, it was nothing more than grey stone, all life and light leeched away by the Blighted Lands. The eerie sameness sent chills down her spine.

  “Be careful,” the Grandmaster warned as she peered into one of the buildings. “You never know what might be lurking here.”

  Emily nodded, pausing as she caught sight of a child’s doll lying on the ground. It looked...normal, surprisingly intact despite the Blighted Lands. But when she reached for the doll and picked it up, it crumbled to dust in her hands. She swallowed hard, trying not to cry for the girl who’d owned the doll, untold centuries ago. Had she died quickly, at the hands of a necromancer, or fled with her family to the untouched lands to the north? There was no way Emily would ever know.

  “There has to be something we can do for the Blighted Lands,” she said, as she wiped the dust off her fingers. “Can’t we...cleanse the lands, or something?”

  “The necromancers unleashed wild magic,” the Grandmaster said. “Every year, some people try to set up settlements within the edge of the Blighted Lands, in hopes of reclaiming the territory for themselves. And they always come to grief. If the necromancers don’t get them, the wild magic does.”

  He took a long look around the village - Emily was sure he had some way to see, despite having lost his eyes years ago - and then led the way out of it, back to the south. She followed him, feeling an odd urge to stay within the village even though she knew it was suicide. It worried her for a long moment - it could be a sign of subtle magic - and then she realized the village had felt safe, despite being within the Blighted Lands. The urge to turn back and flee grew stronger with every step they took.

  “The White Council was quite impressed with you,” the Grandmaster said. He spoke in a conversational tone of voice, as if he were trying to keep her mind off the growing urge to just turn and run. “They were not too pleased with the management of the Cockatrice Faire, but...they were relieved at the outcome.”

  Emily nodded. Everyone from Lady Barb to the Grandmaster himself had pointed out that she’d been careless, at the very least, and that her carelessness could easily have resulted in disaster. If the Ashworths and the Ashfalls had gone to war, it would not only have led to the deaths of the leaders of both families, but also to the slaughter of hundreds of other magicians and the devastation of her lands. She knew she’d been lucky, very lucky. If she hadn’t managed to get a battery to work...

  She touched the ring, hidden within her pocket, and smiled. Lady Barb had urged her to create and charge a second battery while preparing for the trip to the Blighted Lands, and Emily had done as her mentor suggested. Now she had a battery she could use, although without a valve it was useless. And they had a tendency to work once and then burn out. Putting a spare valve together with the help of an enchanter in Dragon’s Den had been harder than charging up the battery.

  “You showed a staggering amount of power,” the Grandmaster added. “They were very impressed.”

  Thank you, Emily thought, sardonically. Is that actually a good thing?

  She eyed the Grandmaster’s back, wondering if he knew just what she’d actually done. He hadn’t treated her any differently when Lady Barb had returned her to Whitehall after the Faire, but he wouldn’t have. Others...had stared at her in awe. In some ways, she was even dreading the day when the rest of the students returned to Whitehall. If they’d stared at her after beating Shadye - and they had - they would be paying far more attention to her now.

  “Some of them even considered...insisting...that you take the oaths now,” the Grandmaster told her. “Others thought you should be apprenticed at once to someone who could control your power, if necessary.”

  But I cheated, Emily thought.

  It wasn’t a reassuring thought. If she’d tried to channel so much power through her mind, it would have killed her or driven her insane. It had been bad enough, years ago, to have people watching her, suspicious of necromancy. Now...they probably thought she was a staggeringly powerful magician instead, a young girl fully on the same level as Void or another Lone Power. The idea that she could match the Grandmaster for raw power was absurd...

  ...But, to anyone who didn’t know about the batteries, it might not seem absurd.

  She swallowed. “What are they going to do?”

  “Nothing,” the Grandmaster said, simply.

  Emily blinked. “Nothing?”

  “I am Grandmaster of Whitehall School,” the Grandmaster said. “I have never had a student forced to take the oaths ahead of time, and I’m not about to start now. If you want an apprenticeship with someone...well, that could be arranged, but you have no obligation to find a master. Or mistress. Still...”

  He shrugged. “Have you thought about your career?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily admitted. “I’d like to stay at Whitehall for the rest of my life.”

  “You’d need much more experience before you could teach,” the Grandmaster said. “I like my tutors to have at least ten years of practical experience before they start touching young and impressionable minds. But you could get a slot as a teaching assistant, I suppose, or a research student. We do have a few of them at Whitehall.”

  He paused, then turned to look at her. “You do need to decide on a major before you enter Fifth Year,” he added. “Going by your marks, I’d recommend majoring in charms and perhaps healing, but it depends on what you actually want to do with your life. If you want to be a healer, you’ll need alchemy; if you want to be a combat sorc
eress, you’ll need martial magic and history...”

  Emily sighed, feeling a little overwhelmed. “Randor expects me to go back to Cockatrice and be the baroness,” she said. “I...”

  “King Randor,” the Grandmaster corrected, quietly.

  “But I don’t know what I want to do,” Emily continued. “There are so many interesting subjects.”

  “You could probably study them all, if you spread out your years,” the Grandmaster mused. “It isn’t unknown for students to repeat their last two years at Whitehall. However, most students tend to discover the subject they want to major in while they’re in their Fourth Year and stick with it. Your marks in Healing are not bad.”

  Emily winced. Healing was an interesting class, but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life working with ill people. She’d seen enough of that life during the walk through the Cairngorms to know she didn’t want to do it permanently. There had been too many horrors there, hidden in small shacks or behind high stone walls. She had no idea how Lady Barb did it without cursing everyone in sight.

  “I think I just want to study,” she said. It was a shame there were no universities in the Nameless World. She could have stepped into one quite happily and never come out. “And go into magical research, perhaps.”

  “That would suit you,” the Grandmaster agreed.

  He shrugged, then turned back to resume walking. “You need to remember that you’re not just any magician,” he added, as he walked. “Too many people are already showing an interest in you, not least our friends to the south.”

  The necromancers, Emily thought.

  She’d killed Shadye - and the Allied Lands had declared her the Necromancer’s Bane. The other necromancers seemed to believe she could kill them at will, if only because none of them had tried to claim Shadye’s lands or attack Whitehall. But that wouldn’t last, she was sure. Sooner or later, the necromancers would resume their offensive against the Allied Lands. Their endless need for new victims to sacrifice would ensure it.

  And what will happen, she asked herself, when they do?

  She kept her thoughts to herself as she followed the Grandmaster, feeling the air grow steadily colder as they made their way to the south. Slowly, the twisted shape of the Dark Fortress - and, beside it, the Inverse Shadow - came into view. They didn’t look anything like the half-remembered shapes in her nightmares, but there hadn’t really been time to take much note of the scenery the last time she’d visited. She’d been half out of her mind with fear when Shadye’s animated skeletons had dragged her into the Inverse Shadow, preparing her for death. If Void hadn’t been there, she would have died that day.

  The Grandmaster stopped, sharply. “Listen,” he said. “Can you hear that?”

  Emily paused, listening hard. There was a faint sound in the distance, a howling that seemed to come from many throats. It was growing louder, although she didn’t think the source of the sound was actually coming closer. Whatever it was - and there was something about it that touched a memory - it chilled her to the bone.

  “I think we’d better go see what that is,” the Grandmaster said, after a quick glance at his watch. “Follow me.”

  Chapter Two

  THE HOWLING GREW LOUDER AS THEY walked, but it was still a surprise when the haze parted long enough to reveal a colossal pit in the ashy ground. Emily started, then stumbled back as the soil started to give way under her feet, threatening to send her falling down the side and into the pit. She steadied herself, then peered down as she saw figures swarming at the bottom, fighting each other with a savage intensity that shocked her to the bone. It had been nearly three years since she’d last seen an orc, outside lessons, but they were unmistakable, even though the distance made them look tiny.

  “A breeding frenzy,” the Grandmaster said, quietly. “That isn’t a good sign.”

  Emily stroked Aurelius as she took in the sight. The orcs were huge, each one easily two meters tall; shambling parodies of humanity. They carried swords that were taller than the Grandmaster, lashing out at one another with more determination than skill, their blades cutting into stone-hard skin. She knew from grim experience that they were far stronger than the average human, although they weren’t very bright and could be outrun if someone was prepared to show them their backs and flee. They needed a strong leader to pose anything more than a minor threat to travelers. Shadye had recruited an army through force and led them against Whitehall. She felt the snake’s discontent at the presence of the warped monsters and shuddered, before smiling to herself. The orcs would be equally discomfited to see a Death Viper.

  “Only one in ten of them will survive - the strongest or the smartest,” the Grandmaster commented. “They will go back down into the tunnels and impregnate the women, then wait for the next generation to be born. There will be hundreds of thousands of new orcs soon enough, just looking for a leader.”

  Emily looked at him. “Why now?”

  “Good question,” the Grandmaster said. “Shadye would have pushed them into building a new army, but Shadye is dead.”

  “They might have another leader,” Emily said. She looked back at the orcs and grimaced. It wouldn’t be easy to beat one in a fight, without magic. Even the greatest swordsman in the land would have problems. Bows and arrows wouldn’t make much of an impression on their solid hides...but would bullets? “Someone else intent on forming an army.”

  “It’s a possibility,” the Grandmaster acknowledged.

  He took one last look into the pit, then turned and led her back towards the Dark Fortress. Emily followed, gritting her teeth as the howling grew louder and louder until it echoed within her very bones. The orcs might have seen them and given chase...she found herself glancing backwards as the haze closed in again, making it impossible to see if anything was climbing out of the pit. She shaped spells in her mind - the only way to win was to knock the orc down and out as quickly as possible - and waited. Nothing seemed to be following them.

  Aurelius would sense it if someone came after us, she told herself, firmly. It had been a disappointment to learn that animals couldn’t really talk to their human masters, but she was learning how to interpret the sensations Aurelius pushed towards her. There’s nothing up here but us chickens.

  She pushed the thought aside as the Inverse Shadow came into view. It was a towering building, but it was impossible to actually get a sense of what it looked like. Her eyes kept slipping over the exterior; one moment, it looked like a towering cathedral, the next it looked like something bent and twisted out of shape. She peered into the open doors, seemingly waiting to see who would walk inside, then shuddered as she sensed the magic - and something else - coiling around the outer walls. If Shadye hadn’t been mad before he’d walked into the Inverse Shadow, long exposure to the twisted building would have driven him mad.

  Her throat was suddenly dry, but she forced herself to speak. “What is the Inverse Shadow?”

  “No one knows,” the Grandmaster said. For once, he looked perturbed. “One school of thought suggests it used to be a nexus point, one that was drained by the necromancers, while others think it’s something far older.”

  Emily frowned. “Maybe someone tried to build another school like Whitehall on a nexus point and something went wrong.”

  “It’s a possibility,” the Grandmaster agreed. “If there was a nexus point here, it must be dead. Shadye wouldn’t have needed to go to Whitehall if he’d had one right next to his fortress. But there is clearly magic, ancient magic, in this place. Perhaps Shadye was too scared to try to tap it for his own use.”

  “Maybe,” Emily said. It didn’t seem likely. Shadye hadn’t shown any fear, as far as she could recall; in truth, he’d never had any reason to feel fear. What could harm a necromancer with his power? “Why was so much forgotten?”

  “They might not have wanted to remember,” the Grandmaster said. “Aren’t there things in your life you would give a great deal to forget? Or to rewrite?”


  Emily nodded, slowly. She’d always had the impression that there was something wrong with the Nameless World’s history, at least the version presented to the students, although she’d never been able to put her finger on it. She knew from Earth that history was often a matter of conjecture, of putting together the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle when several of them were missing and then guessing at the final image. And, on the Nameless World, history could be rewritten to suit the people in power. She had a feeling that King Randor’s ultimate version of the coup in Zangaria would minimize her role while giving most of the credit to Alassa.

  “I suppose,” she said, doubtfully. Truth was more important than lies, particularly lies that suited the people in power, but what was truth anyway? “I...”

  She stopped as she saw a ghostly image in front of her. A young girl - it took her a moment to realize she was looking at her own face, so thin and emaciated it had become - was standing in front of her, staring at her with hopeless eyes. Emily stared back, unable to tear her gaze away, unable even to blink as her doppelganger fell to her knees, bowing her head in fear. Time seemed to slow down...

  ...And then everything changed. The broken girl vanished, to be replaced by a taller version of Emily, wearing a long dark dress that exposed the tops of her breasts. There was a thin smile on her face Emily didn’t like at all, a smug assertion of superiority over the entire world...and, when her doppelganger looked up, bright red eyes bored deep into Emily’s. A necromancer...

  She stumbled backwards in shock. The images vanished.

  “Emily,” a voice said, urgently. It took her a moment to realize it was the Grandmaster. “Are you all right?”

  Emily hesitated. “Did you see that?”

  The Grandmaster caught her arm and swung her around to face him. “See what?”

  “I saw...I saw alternate versions of myself,” Emily said. She’d seen something similar in the Dark City, she recalled now. “Didn’t you see anything?”