Trial By Fire (Schooled in Magic Book 7)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “You are to assume,” the Grandmaster said, “that we know nothing about your project. I want you to explain to us, in simple terms, just what you intend to do before you demonstrate your work. You will be marked for clarity of explanation as well as your practical work. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  The Grandmaster smiled. “Begin.”

  Emily and Caleb exchanged glances. “In its basic form,” Caleb said, his voice stumbling slightly, “a spell is a combination of commands and settings covering the various variables that may be involved. A perfect spell is one where those commands have been precisely worked out to produce an effect, a single effect, as laid down in the structure. Ironically, as magicians get more powerful, casting perfect spells becomes harder.”

  He paused, then carried on. “One way around this problem is to use a wand,” he continued. “I...”

  “Stop,” the Grandmaster ordered. “Emily?”

  Emily winced, unpleasantly aware of Master Grey’s eyes boring into her skull. They’d been warned not to talk about what happened on the day their projects were tested, and now she knew why. In hindsight, she should have guessed they’d be forced to outline what they’d done as well as demonstrate it.

  “A wand holds a piece of spellwork which, when power is channeled through the wand, casts a spell,” she said, forcing herself to think clearly. “This allows the spell to be cast without forethought or practice, but - at the same time - the spell can never be modified by the caster. It can only be cast as specified. For example, you can use a wand-spell to turn someone into a toad, but you cannot alter the spell to turn the victim into a cat instead.”

  Emily hoped that Caleb would be ordered to take over, but the Grandmaster said nothing. She had to continue.

  “By contrast, a spell mosaic allows someone to build up the spell and alter it as necessary,” she continued. “A magician using the system can cast a spell by channeling power through the mosaic, having first put the spell together on the table, as we were taught to do in First Year Charms. There is little room for mistakes caused by distraction, or limitations caused by having the spell embedded in a wand. Anyone can change the variables to fit their requirements.”

  “Very well,” the Grandmaster said. He looked past Emily, towards the people standing at the rear of the room. “Any questions?”

  “It strikes me that anyone could plot out a spell,” Master Grey said. “Emily? Would you care to comment?”

  Emily turned to face him. “Anyone can plot out a spell,” she said. She couldn’t help a flicker of resentment. He’d singled her out, again, when Caleb could have offered a better explanation. “There’s no call for magic to design a piece of spellwork. Actually making it work, however, requires magic.”

  “A good answer,” the Grandmaster said.

  He waved a hand at the table. “We will watch,” he said. “Demonstrate the project, talking us through it as you go.”

  Emily nodded and opened the boxes, keeping her movements as slow and deliberate as possible. Caleb produced a set of notes, glanced at them and then placed the tiles on the table.

  “The diagram here,” Caleb said, “shows a basic piece of spellwork. We set up the tiles to match the spellwork, checking and rechecking that the tiles fit the diagram perfectly. Each tile, as you can see, represents a particular spell variable. If we replaced this tile” - he tapped it - “with another tile, the results would be different.”

  “I see,” the Grandmaster said.

  Mistress Irene took a step forward. “Do you believe you can control the variables?”

  “As long as everything is perfectly determined, it works fine,” Caleb said. “It is not, however, as adaptable as a spell cast by a magician.”

  Emily placed a small ball at the end of the table, then stepped backwards as Caleb rested his fingers on the first tile. “The spell, as you can see, is really designed to do nothing more than lift the ball into the air and hold it there,” Caleb added. “As you can see...”

  He allowed a flow of magic to enter the tile. There was a pause, just long enough to worry Emily, before the ball rose into the air. Mistress Irene smiled, just slightly; Master Grey and the stranger showed no reaction at all. The Grandmaster, standing behind her, chuckled in delight.

  Caleb removed his fingers. The ball dropped to the table and bounced, falling off the table and landing on the floor. Emily picked it up and held it, feeling a moment of pride mixed with fear. What they’d started, added to her other work, would change the world.

  “Very clever,” Master Grey said, into the silence. “But what would happen if the variables were to be changed? Emily?”

  Emily picked up one of the tiles and replaced it with a different tile, and returned the ball to the table. Caleb stepped to one side, allowing her to touch the tiles herself. They felt warm beneath her fingers, but the runes they’d used to drain excess magic had done their job. There didn’t seem to be any danger of an explosion.

  “Tell us what you’re doing,” the Grandmaster reminded her, gently.

  Emily flushed. “The tile I removed determined that the ball would float thirty centimeters above the table,” she said. “This one” - she pointed to the one she’d put in place - “is designed to determine that the ball will actually float one meter in the air. As you can see...”

  She braced herself, then allowed magic to flow through her fingers and into the first tile. It grew warmer, but the magic flowed normally. The ball shot upwards and hovered in the air, a meter over the table. Emily took a breath and removed her fingers. The ball dropped down and was caught by Master Grey, who snatched it out of the air.

  “It seems to me,” Master Grey observed, “that your project is inherently limited. You’d be very dependent on having the right tiles at the right time.”

  “The tiles are largely interchangeable,” Caleb said. “It is our intention to build up a supply covering every known piece of spellwork. Assuming they don’t burn out, sir, they can be used and reused indefinitely.”

  “An interesting piece of work,” Mistress Irene said. “I assume you brought your written notes?”

  “We did,” Caleb confirmed. He removed the notes from his bag and passed them to her. “I think we covered all the possible variables.”

  “We will see,” the Grandmaster said. His face betrayed none of his feelings. “Go outside and wait. We will call you when we have reached our verdict.”

  Emily swallowed before leading the way outside, feeling her heart starting to race. She was too nervous to talk, so she simply leaned against the wall and waited; beside her, Caleb seemed to feel much the same way. They endured nearly thirty minutes of uncomfortable silence before the door opened, inviting them to step back inside. Two of the tiles on the table were smouldering, while a third seemed to have been reduced to dust. Master Grey was poking at a fourth with magic, testing its carrying capacity.

  “You seem to have problems when overpowering the tiles,” the Grandmaster observed.

  “We detailed the issue in our notes,” Caleb said. “There are limits to the levels of excess magic that can be drained off and recycled.”

  “But you may be able to reuse the magic after the spell is cast,” the Grandmaster mused. “Or limit it to the point of dampening excess reactions.”

  He cleared his throat. “You will receive a formal written response within the week,” he informed them, “but we have provisionally agreed that you can go ahead. We suggest you consider ways to handle the limitations, as well as how your concepts may best be used in the real world. You will need to make a presentation on them at the end of the school year, as part of your exams.”

  “You will be interrogated harshly,” Master Grey put in. “Expect to be quizzed on everything.”

  Emily cursed under her breath. You don’t do that already?

  “It was an interesting and quite innovative project,” the Grandmaster concluded. “Your tiles will be returned to you along
with the formal response. I look forward to seeing your next presentation.”

  Mistress Irene accompanied them both outside. “I must remind you,” she said as the door slammed closed, “that you are not to discuss anything that took place in this room with anyone. The consequences for doing so will be dire.”

  She gave them both a sharp look, then turned and swept down the corridor. Emily understood; they weren’t the only team being quizzed and telling someone what they’d gone through, even in vague terms, might give their competition an unfair advantage. And it might force them to completely redo their presentation.

  “We made it,” Caleb said. “We did it!”

  He caught Emily up in a hug and swept her around. “We did it!”

  “We did,” Emily agreed, as he put her down. Caleb was stronger than he looked - he’d been at Stronghold for two years, where all students had to undergo physical exercise on a daily basis - but for once she didn’t feel threatened. “Now what?”

  “Now we go back to work,” Caleb said. He hesitated before looking her in the eye. “Would you like to come to Dragon’s Den tomorrow to celebrate?”

  “Sure,” Emily said, without thinking. “I need to go wash now, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  Caleb nodded - his smile had grown wider - and sauntered off down the corridor. Emily watched him go, feeling an odd wave of affection, then turned and hurried back towards the stairwell. It wouldn’t be long before the junior students were released from classes and she’d prefer to be in her bedroom before then, if only because they kept staring at her with a strange combination of awe and fear. There had been times when she’d seriously considered wearing a glamor rather than allowing them to recognize her.

  “Emily,” Imaiqah said, as she entered. She was sitting at her desk, working her way through her papers, while Alassa was standing behind her. Emily couldn’t help noticing that she was chewing her fingernails. “How did it go?”

  “Very well,” Emily said. She thought she could tell them that much without getting into trouble. “But we have to do another presentation at the end of the year.”

  “I thought you’d do fine,” Alassa said. “How did Caleb handle it?”

  “He was pleased,” Emily said. “We’re going to Dragon’s Den tomorrow to celebrate.”

  Imaiqah turned to look at her. “He finally asked you out, then?”

  Emily gaped, astonished. “It’s a date?”

  “Well...yes,” Imaiqah said. “He’s clearly liked you from the moment he set eyes on you.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “It’s very romantic.”

  “It’s a date,” Emily repeated. No one had ever asked her out before, with the possible exception of Jade, but she hadn’t thought he might be interested in her until he’d asked her to marry him. He certainly hadn’t tried to kiss her or anything. “It’s a date?”

  “It certainly sounds like a date,” Imaiqah said. “Are you nervous?”

  “Yes,” Emily snapped. A quiet drink was fine, but a date? “I...I’m...”

  “Go with me and William,” Imaiqah said. “Call it a double-date.”

  “Oh,” Alassa said. “That’s his name.”

  Imaiqah gave her a dirty look. “Take Jade, too,” she said. “You could call him through the portals, couldn’t you?”

  “Madame Beauregard has me on duty tomorrow,” Alassa said. “Punishment for being hexed, she said.”

  “Then you’ll hear all about it when we get back,” Imaiqah said. She grinned at Emily. “I don’t think you really need to worry about a thing, but just in case...”

  She stood, walked over to her bed and opened her trunk. “There are some potions here that can be useful, if you get intimate,” she said. “This one” - she held up a vial - “ensures you don’t end up with a bun in the oven, if you get my drift.”

  Emily turned bright red. “I’m not going to sleep with him,” she said. “I...”

  Imaiqah laughed. “Just make sure you take precautions when you do,” she said. Her voice dropped, becoming serious. “Do you like him?”

  “I...I don’t know,” Emily said. Her feelings were conflicted. Why hadn’t she realized it was a date before Imaiqah had pointed it out? She liked him, but did she like him? “I like him, but I’m scared...”

  “Then take it calmly, day by day,” Imaiqah advised. “And, above all, try to have fun.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  EMILY HADN’T HAD A GOOD NIGHT’S sleep.

  She knew, even if she disliked having to admit it, that her mother and stepfather had left scars on her soul. Her stepfather’s wandering eyes had been bad enough, but her mother - in her more coherent moments - had told her never to trust young men. They smiled, she had said, to lure innocent young women into sin. It hadn’t been until Emily had been much older - and in the Nameless World - that she’d realized her mother was talking about herself. Emily’s father had left her, her mother’s second husband was a drunken abuser; Emily honestly didn’t want to know what her mother had done as a teenager. Emily herself had known girls who’d lost their virginities at fourteen and become mothers at fifteen, so what might her mother have gone through as a child?

  The thought had kept her awake half the night. She’d enjoyed spending time with Jade, but it had honestly never crossed her mind that he might be interested in her. She hadn’t really grasped that, while she’d been a social outcast on Earth, she was a person of some importance on the Nameless World. Jade had had good reasons to court her - Alassa had matter-of-factly listed them, back when Jade had proposed - but Emily hadn’t been able to handle the thought of being courted. Or, for that matter, being more than friends with him. It was lucky, she thought, that they had remained friends. If he hadn’t started courting Alassa, would they have stayed in touch?

  She must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing she knew, Imaiqah was shaking her gently. Emily jerked awake and glanced at her watch. It was early morning, just about time for breakfast to be served. Alassa coughed loudly, and held up a dress Queen Marlena had sent to her. Emily took one look and shook her head firmly. Even if she’d had the body for it, she wouldn’t have wanted to wear something that exposed half her chest and had a slit that showed her legs.

  “You should wear something different, this time,” Alassa said, firmly. She glanced into Emily’s wardrobe and frowned. “What happened to the green dress?”

  “I left it in Cockatrice,” Emily said. Queen Marlena had sent her more dresses than she cared to think about, each one worth at least a hundred gold coins. “If I have to wear something else, I’ll wear the dark blue or black dress.”

  “Black would make you look far too sombre,” Alassa said. She plucked another blue dress out of the wardrobe and peered at it. “Maybe this one, if you don’t mind.”

  Emily sighed and gave in. “Do you two have to dress me?”

  “You need to look good,” Imaiqah said, mischievously. She started to chew her fingernails again before she deliberately stopped herself. “You’ll be right next to us, remember?”

  “No,” Emily said, burying her head under the blanket. Maybe she could tell Caleb she was sick, or...part of her just wanted to run and hide. “I should have said no.”

  Imaiqah pulled back the blanket. “You may discover that you’re better off as friends,” she said, “or you may find that he holds the key to your heart. Or you may just have fun. But you really won’t get anywhere if you don’t try.”

  “You sound like Lady Barb,” Emily said. She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her body felt tired, too tired. If she hadn’t agreed to meet Caleb, she would have stayed in bed much longer. “I’ll shower, then I can dress.”

  “Let us help,” Imaiqah said. She took the dress from Alassa and held it against Emily’s body. “It shouldn’t need more than a handful of minor adjustments.”

  Emily and Alassa shared a look. Emily had never learned to sew on Earth - her mother had never taught her - while
Alassa, whose mother loved dressmaking, had never bothered to learn. It hadn’t occurred to Emily, until Alassa had admitted it, that not being able to sew was unusual for an aristocratic girl. Their lives were normally so restricted, sewing was one of the few pastimes they were allowed to indulge in without limit. Imaiqah might come from commoner stock, but she knew more about sewing and mending clothes than both Emily and Alassa put together.

  “I’ll have a shower,” Emily grumbled. “And then I can dress myself, thank you.”

  But her friends proved relentless. As soon as she was washed and dried, Imaiqah made her don the dress, inspecting it closely before Emily took it off, then started alterations with her needle and thread. Emily sighed, pulled her undergarments on, and waited for Imaiqah to finish her work. She had to admit, once she’d pulled on the dress and inspected herself in the mirror, that it flattered her figure. But it was really too tight around her chest for comfort, even if everything was decently covered.

  “You look good,” Alassa said. “All that exercise must be building up your muscles.”

  Emily groaned. Master Grey might have been working on building up her strength, but it came with a price. She worked her way through one set of exercises, then a slightly longer set...by the time she was done with each session, her body was aching even when they hadn’t sparred physically. And then there was the constant humiliation as he pointed out her mistakes, time and time again. If she hadn’t been so resolved to continue...

  “I suppose,” she said. She would never be as muscular as Aloha, let alone Lady Barb. It was a weakness, Master Grey had insisted, which needed to be understood. “Did Jade work on building up your muscles?”

  “That may be the Royal Bloodline.” Alassa flexed her arms thoughtfully. “I was always physically strong for my age.” She sighed, before adding, “Good luck. Next time, you can go on a double-date with Jade and I.”

  Emily had a feeling that would be awkward as hell, but she kept that thought to herself. On Earth, dating a boy who’d dated one of her friends - if she’d had friends - would have been very difficult. Alassa, on the other hand, seemed to accept it as normal. Being on the marriage market from a very early age, as soon as her father had been sure she’d survive her childhood, was probably far stranger. Alassa had been engaged to a dozen separate princes and then had the engagements broken before she’d been old enough to grasp what she might have to do.