Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic Book 12)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I know the type,” Emily said.

  “Everyone thought he was mad,” Markus added. “He partied in the night, then scourged himself in the day. He’d hurt himself, curse himself…he’d fast for long hours, pushing his body to the limits. He went on and on about how he was a sinner, about how he deserved to be punished for his crimes…he just never stopped. And then one day his heart gave out and that was that.”

  Emily shuddered. “What did he do?”

  “Nothing, as far as anyone knew,” Markus said. “He was a lesser son of a lesser branch on the family tree. Not important enough to be considered worthy marriage material, but too attached to the family wealth to cut ties and set off on his own. Maybe it was just the heavy drinking. Most sorcerers know better than to drink heavily.”

  He shook his head. “But my uncle embraced their beliefs willingly. What happens when someone tries to impose such rules on an entire city?”

  “They have something that looks like a god,” Emily said. “They might succeed.”

  “They are succeeding,” Markus pointed out.

  Emily felt cold. Once, years ago, she’d read a story where divine laws were divinely enforced. It had struck her as utterly horrific – the world had been bad for everyone, particularly women – even though the creature in charge hadn’t been a real god. But she knew there were people who would consider such a world to be ideal, especially if they were the ones on top. The Fists of Justice were already well on the way to turning Beneficence into a nightmare.

  “Then we will have to stop them,” Emily said. She wondered if Alassa had seen the message yet. King Randor had been keeping her hopping over the last months, moving from castle to castle in hopes of tightening her ties to her nobility. “Whatever it takes.”

  “Good luck,” Markus said. “How do you intend to proceed?”

  “I wanted to consult with you about magic,” Emily said. She outlined what she’d sensed in the morning and how it linked to the chat parchments. “Is there any way to disrupt the link?”

  Markus frowned. “I don’t believe so.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Allowing magic to flow from…from the entity to a staff might be more complicated than merely sending words, but it’s still magic. As long as the staffs were linked, magic would be able to run between them.”

  “And then it flows into the spellwork.” Frieda turned and walked back to join them, her face grim. “Overpowering a wand-spell can be disastrous.”

  “Perhaps we should concentrate on disrupting the spellware instead,” Emily mused. “And then the magic would flow in all directions.”

  “Or explode,” Markus said. “We could even try to drain the power.”

  “Only if we lured Justice into a prepared battleground,” Emily said. A necromancer could drain another magician of power, but it would cost them their sanity…if they survived the experience. Justice was powerful enough to overload and kill anyone stupid enough to try to drain him. “They would see the trap, wouldn’t they?”

  “Perhaps,” Markus said. “We could use runes to steer magic away from him, if his spells started coming apart.”

  Emily frowned. A normal spell would leak power until it finally collapsed, although that could take some time. But if Justice was something akin to a Mimic, and she suspected he had a lot in common with them, she was fairly sure he would recycle power rather than lose it. Perhaps, given enough time, they could set up a trap, but it wouldn’t work unless the entity was careless. And she knew they couldn’t count on anything of the sort.

  “We need more information.” She silently promised herself that she would try to dispel Justice, the next time she faced the entity. It was worth trying. Few magicians would consider using such a simple spell against a god. “And we need to lay our plans carefully.”

  “I’ll start rigging a trap here,” Markus said. “If he decides to break in, we can at least try to delay him.”

  Emily nodded, although she suspected it would be pointless. Justice was simply too powerful to be stopped easily. If there was something physical to him…they could steal gunpowder from the powder mills and try to blow him up. She didn’t think that would work either – she knew it wouldn’t stop a Mimic – but it might slow him down. Besides, better to secure the gunpowder before the Fists of Justice put it to use. Sienna and the other sorcerers might not recognize it as a potential threat.

  General Pollack will, she told herself. He’s seen firearms in action.

  “We have to get back,” she said. “Do you have a spare chat parchment?”

  “I have several pieces,” Markus said. “You know how to activate them?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. She’d done it before, once. “Have you told Melissa about…about this?”

  “She urged me to run.” Markus looked up at Melissa’s portrait. “But…you know…I couldn’t leave.”

  Emily understood. Markus wasn’t anything special, without his family. There were plenty of other talented magicians out there. But the bank was something new, the first of its kind…something that could change the world. Markus could no more abandon the Bank of Silence than Emily could abandon Heart’s Eye and the nexus point.

  “Getting out of the city might prove difficult,” Emily agreed. “Don’t try to teleport.”

  “I might have to swim,” Markus said. “Or turn into a bird and fly.”

  “Good luck,” Frieda said sarcastically. “They’ll probably have archers on the walls by now.”

  Emily replaced her glamour, then followed Frieda back through the tunnel and out onto the streets. The racket from the mob was growing louder, shouting and screaming for Justice to come and teach the bankers a lesson. Emily shuddered, despite herself, at the waves of emotion roiling through the sound. The people wanted someone to blame for everything, and they’d chosen the bankers. It never seemed to occur to them that everyone who’d fallen for Vesperian’s prattle had played a role in their own downfall.

  And some of them are just out to cause trouble, she thought, as they hurried away from Bankers Row. They want to tear the place to the ground.

  She stopped, dead, as she saw the Fists of Justice gathered around a midsized house. A small crowd watched, hooting and hollering, as a man, a woman and four children were marched out of the building, their hands trapped in solid wooden boards placed around their necks. They were helpless, utterly defenseless…

  Emily felt sick as the jeers grew louder. She didn’t know what the family had done, or what they were supposed to have done, but she wanted to help them. She needed to help them. But the Fists of Justice were carrying staffs and wearing charmed breastplates. She couldn’t stop them without revealing her presence, drawing the entity to her. She’d give up every hope of stopping them for good.

  Damn you, she thought. She turned and led Frieda away, cursing herself. And damn me too.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  CALEB MET THEM AS SOON AS they were inside the house. “Are you all right?”

  Emily groaned as she dispelled the remainder of the glamour. “I’ve been better,” she said, softly. She’d walked away, leaving a family to their fate. “How about you?”

  “We just got back,” Caleb said. He helped her remove her cloak and hung it on a peg. “They’re in the living room, waiting for you.”

  “Good.” Emily glanced at Frieda. “Shall we go?”

  General Pollack had placed a large map on the table, Emily saw when she walked into the living room. Beneficence was probably not drawn to scale, she noted as she surveyed the odd design, but it was fairly usable. Someone had scribbled a series of notes on the paper, using red ink to designate enemy positions. She hoped the map wasn’t particularly valuable.

  “Lady Emily,” a voice said. “I am pleased to see that you have returned home.”

  Emily looked up and blinked. Harman sat on the far side of the table, next to three men Emily didn’t recognize. One looked like a fisherman; the other two were either soldiers or craftsmen. There was an air of
dignity about them that reminded her of some of the other craftsmen she’d met.

  “I’m glad you survived,” Emily managed. She’d assumed Harman had been killed during the massacre. “How did you get out of the square?”

  Harman looked pained. “I survived for the very simple reason I wasn’t there,” he said. “The Grand Guildmaster believed that my presence would not be welcomed, so I spent the day supervising the accountants who were dismantling Vesperian’s web of lies. And then I hid when…when they came for me.”

  “I found him in the Mirthful Mermaid,” General Pollack said, briskly. “Our emergency plans called for using the bar as a rendezvous point, if the city was attacked.”

  “Because of all the booze,” Sienna said, dryly.

  “And because it is far enough from the Guildhall to be off anyone’s target list,” Harman said, quickly. He glanced at Emily. “Should I be talking about that to you?”

  “She’s not going to tell King Randor,” Caleb said, hotly.

  Emily nodded in agreement. King Randor was the only significant outside threat, as far as Beneficence was concerned. The other kingdoms would be unable to get an army into the city without marching over Zangaria, not when Beneficence controlled the waters around its territory. King Randor would be interested to know where the guildmasters would assemble if all hell broke loose, but right now it didn’t matter. The real problem was defeating the Fists of Justice before it was too late.

  Besides, they’ll change the plan after I leave, she thought. They won’t want to take the risk that I might tell King Randor.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Emily,” Harman said. “It is my duty as a guildmaster to protect the city.”

  “A guildmaster who only kept his position on sufferance.” The fisherman sneered. “You wouldn’t have been allowed to stay away if you were actually important.”

  “Dagmar, my guild could have prevented this crisis,” Harman snapped. “If you’d listened to me…”

  “Your guild thought it was a fun idea to cheat us out of our money,” Dagmar said. “You were lucky to be allowed to live.”

  “And you do not speak for all of us,” one of the others insisted. “We do not have a quorum!”

  “We won’t,” Harman snapped. “The other guildmasters are dead! I’m the last survivor and…”

  “And you are worthless,” Dagmar snapped back. “Do you think you can lead us to victory?”

  “The guildmasters themselves are corrupt,” the third man said. “They need to be replaced completely.”

  “Blasphemy,” Harman insisted. “Ambrose, you are nothing more than a traitor!”

  General Pollack slapped the table, hard. “This is not the time to fight.” His voice was frigid. “Need I remind you that most of the City Guard has been captured or subverted or killed? Need I remind you that our city, our home, is being steadily reshaped while we sit here and bicker like children? Need I remind you that we – yes, we – represent the remnants of the government? Need I remind you…?”

  He looked from face to face. “This is not the time to fight,” he repeated. “After we win, we will elect new guildmasters and rebuild the government.”

  “Or replace it,” Ambrose said.

  “We will decide how best to proceed after we win,” General Pollack said. “We do not have much time. Sorcerers Row is the safest place in the city, but it won’t remain safe for long.”

  “There have been a series of probes against the wards, looking for weak points,” Sienna said, coolly. “Someone is readying themselves to break into the street.”

  Harman looked as though he wanted to say something, but General Pollack glared him into silence. Emily eyed him, thoughtfully. She didn’t pretend to understand the politics, but Harman was definitely unpopular. Did he really think he could boss everyone else around, just because he was the last guildmaster? Or was he desperately trying to cling to something he’d once owned? It wasn’t as if the Fists of Justice would have any use for him either.

  General Pollack ran his fingers over the map. “I managed to speak to a number of old friends,” he said. “We put together this outline. As you can see, the Fists have established patrol bases around the city and are currently running patrols through the major streets. So far, they’ve left the alleyways, Fishing Plaice and the Lower Depths alone, but I expect that to change as they build their numbers. Starry Light and Temple Row, by contrast, have a strong presence.”

  “Makes sense,” Harman said. “The wealthiest part of the city.”

  “Correct,” General Pollack said. “They’ve already arrested a number of prominent citizens and their families, taking them to the Iron Cage. I don’t know what they’ve done to the former occupants, but I don’t think it was anything good.”

  Emily glanced at Caleb. “The Iron Cage?”

  “The city jail,” Caleb explained. “One of the strongest buildings in the city.”

  “Getting them out will be impossible,” Harman said. “That building is tough.”

  “Correct,” General Pollack said. “We would probably be able to get inside if we were uninterrupted, but they’ll respond at once to any challenge to their power. We’d be knee-deep in Fists before we got through the first set of wards.”

  “And they have a god,” Harman said. “How do we fight that?”

  “It’s a trick,” General Pollack said. “Justice is nothing more than a complex set of spells.”

  Emily winced, inwardly. If she was right, that was far too close to the truth for her peace of mind. They might defeat Justice only to discover the birth of a dozen other entities within the year.

  “That’s no spell,” Dagmar said.

  “It can be beaten,” Sienna said. “It’s just a matter of figuring out how.”

  Harman frowned. “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Then it’s a god.” Dagmar sounded oddly amused. “It can still be beaten.”

  Emily gave him a surprised look. How could someone believe that a creature was a god and yet, at the same time, believe it could be beaten? But then, the Norse, Roman and Greek gods hadn’t been invincible either. Justice might be powerful – there was no doubt about that, she knew all too well – but not unstoppable. God or no god, the entity could be stopped.

  And we have to keep believing that, she told herself, firmly. If we believe we cannot defeat him, we may as well surrender now.

  “It is neither all-seeing nor all-powerful.” Sienna crossed her arms under her breasts as Emily glanced at her. “It would have crushed us all by now if it were a true god.”

  General Pollack nodded. “For the moment, we will do our best to evade Justice while we undermine their control over the city,” he said. “We do not have the time, unfortunately, to gather the information we need before taking the offensive. The longer we wait, the stronger their position will be.”

  “But that would mean risking exposure,” Harman pointed out. “Shouldn’t we build up our strength first?”

  “They’ll be doing the same,” General Pollack said. “And they already have a big head start.”

  “They also have a god – all right, a powerful entity,” Harman insisted. “We’d be drawing their attention!”

  “You’re already at the top of their list of targets,” General Pollack said. “You are, after all, the last surviving guildmaster.”

  Harman looked pale. “Fine. How do you want to proceed?”

  “We’ll wait until nightfall,” General Pollack said. “At that point, we’ll gather our forces and launch a set of hit and run attacks against their positions. If we hit here” – he tapped a street on the map, only a short distance from Sorcerers Row – “they will dispatch reinforcements, of course, from Temple Row. It’s their closest strongpoint.”

  “It’s too close,” Harman said.

  Dagmar frowned. “Or do you have something else in mind?”

  “It’s a diversion,” General Pollack said. “We need to sneak someone into the temple. Janus, the bastard,
does not appear to have moved into the Guildhall. Nor has he gone to the castle. He’s staying in the temple and rarely showing himself.”

  Emily frowned. If Janus wasn’t showing himself…what did it mean? Was he the one pulling Justice’s strings? It would make sense, although Janus had been at the square when Justice had made his big appearance. Her tired mind produced a dozen possibilities, each one more complex than the last. Janus might even be Justice…

  “He might just be consolidating his power,” Croce said. “It’s only been a day since the coup.”

  True, Emily thought.

  “We have to find out what he’s really doing before we can figure out how to counter it,” General Pollack said. “And that means getting into the temple and finding out.”

  He looked at Emily. “Lady Emily, will you attempt to sneak into the temple?”

  Emily blinked in surprise, then glanced at Caleb. Her boyfriend looked as surprised as Emily felt. He hadn’t known his father planned to ask Emily to undertake a dangerous, perhaps suicidal, mission. Emily wondered, vaguely, if he’d expected to be asked first…it made sense, she supposed. But then, General Pollack had watched her walk into Heart’s Eye and kill a necromancer. He might hope she could do the same again.

  But we’re not facing a necromancer, Emily thought. She’d killed a Mimic, but she’d had help. This might be far more dangerous.

  She hesitated, just long enough to see a sneer drift onto Harman’s face. Sienna was better-trained and more experienced, but she would be needed on the front lines. She didn’t know how many other combat sorcerers were in the city, yet some of them would be needed with Sienna and others would refuse to cooperate. Caleb would be needed too, while the rest of his siblings were too young. And none of them had any real experience with Mimics. She was the best choice.

  “I’ll go,” she said, quietly.

  “I’ll come with you,” Caleb said.

  “You’re going to be here,” General Pollack said. “I need you to start putting together a set of wands.”

  Caleb stared at him. “Father, she’s going to need help…”