Schooled in Magic

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Stay behind after class ends,” Locke said. His ears were sharper than Emily had realized; his tone promised an unpleasant experience for the nationalist. “Believing that other kingdoms are inherently better or worse than your own kingdom is asking for trouble.”

  The Professor looked back at the first speaker. “Interesting answer, but incomplete.” He nodded towards the map. “Anyone else want to try flesh out Gwen’s answer?”

  Several students exchanged glances, before another girl raised her hand. “The necromancers were already working their way into the castles and palaces where the kings lived, weakening their resolve to fight?”

  “Possible, but that wasn’t such a concern back in those days, not until after Halers fell,” Locke said. He pointed towards the map. “The answer should be obvious.”

  Emily remembered Alexander the Great, and what had happened after his death in Babylon. His Companions, once his loyal followers, had divided his colossal empire up amongst themselves and tried to create their own dynasties. An empire that had spanned much of the known world had been reduced to a handful of squabbling kingdoms, which had eventually been absorbed by the Roman Empire. They’d moved from globalists to men unable to see beyond their own borders.

  “They were all more concerned with their local politics than they were with the entire world,” she said slowly. Now she had said it out loud, she was confident that it was the right answer. “They worried more about the kingdom next to them than the expanding necromantic empire, at least until it was too late to nip the necromancers in the bud.”

  “A good answer,” Locke said, “and one that is barely enough to save you from the consequences of speaking without holding up your hand.”

  He looked around the classroom, leaving Emily flushing in embarrassment. “She is quite right,” he said, addressing them all. “The necromancers were allowed to become such a problem because no one, not even those who were trained at Whitehall, attempted to do something about it before it was too late. Right now, we have a major problem: we have to hold the line at multiple different points, knowing that if we lose one we may well lose everything.”

  Emily nodded to herself. It was possible–probable, even–that some parties were evacuating as many people as they could from the big continent, but she knew that they couldn’t evacuate them all before it was too late. Could they surrender the large continent and leave the necromancers to die when they ran out of sacrifices? She doubted it; Void had demonstrated that teleportation was possible, which suggested that the necromancers would be able to teleport entire armies right around the world ...

  After a long pause, she realized that couldn’t be possible on a large scale. Surely, the Allied Lands would have fallen a long time ago if the necromancers could teleport with impunity.

  She took another look at the map. It seemed to her that they must survive through a combination of geography and luck, neither of which would apply if the necromancers could teleport.

  Emily shook her head, dragging her attention back to the Professor. She just didn’t know enough to make an informed guess.

  “In theory, this course is not an elective,” Locke said, as he returned to his desk and stood in front of it, looking at the students through his spectacles. “A full grasp of history is important for anyone who intends to practice magic as a graduate of Whitehall, rather than a hedge witch or court wizard. You will need to learn history in order to put our local squabbles in perspective–and to understand why it is vitally important that we unite against the necromancers.

  “But I know that many of you feel that history is much less important than actually learning magic and control, and I am too old to teach students who don’t want to learn. If you would prefer to spend these periods studying something else, you may choose to withdraw from my class and work quietly in the library. Later, should you change your mind, you may attend classes for younger students.”

  He smiled, rather ruefully. “Over the next few months, we will cover a wide range of topics. The development of magic from the early days until the basic rules were discovered by the great research sorcerers. How and why magic changed the course of history. The origin of the great wars with the elves, goblins, orcs and the other semi-human races. What happened to build the First Empire–and why it was taken by surprise and destroyed in the second great war. The history of magical artifacts, including legends of invincible wands, swords carried only by true kings and even stranger objects from before the dawn of recorded history.

  “I will probably be stretching your preconceptions,” he added. “You know your kingdom’s own version of history, of course, but you will be surprised to see where it jibes and disagrees with that kept by the History Monks. Many of you will prefer to storm out of the class rather than accept that other versions of history exist. Frankly, that’s your problem, not mine.”

  He glanced at his watch. “There’s twenty minutes left, but I’ve said as much as I want to say right now,” he concluded. “Should you decide you want to leave history class for the moment, simply don’t attend the next class. You will be marked as absent, but there will be no punishment. Your ignorance will be punishment enough.”

  Emily understood, although she suspected that few others in the class shared her understanding. She knew almost nothing about this world, except what she could pick up from her tutors, her roommates and–now that she had permission–the library. It was easy to see that she had to learn as quickly as possible, if only to ensure that she knew what she was talking about in the future. She didn’t even have the basics anyone who grew up in the new world would know.

  But the others wouldn’t understand their own ignorance. How could they? They’d been told the truth–at least the truth as it was officially sanctioned in their kingdoms–long before they’d been accepted at Whitehall. She could easily see why Professor Locke would prefer not to have to teach students who didn’t want to be there. He was quite right, really; their ignorance was likely to cost them dearly in the future.

  “Class dismissed,” Locke said. “I hope to see some of you on Friday.”

  Emily rose to her feet and headed towards the door, following the other students. They’d have a plan for making the best use of their extra break between classes, perhaps drinking water or juice–or maybe they’d even badger the kitchen staff into giving them snacks. But Emily wasn’t so sure what to do. She didn’t have any other classes for the rest of the day and the only other thing she could think of to do was to visit the library ... she didn’t even know where Imaiqah was, or if she was free right now.

  Shaking her head, she walked out of the classroom–and right into a group of girls waiting for her. One of them caught her arm and held it tightly. The others surrounded her, preventing any retreat. It was a trap.

  “So tell me,” the leader purred. “Where do you come from?”

  Chapter Nine

  EMILY TOOK A LONG BREATH TO calm herself. It didn’t work very well.

  School bullies had been bad enough in her own world, but these bullies had magic as well as numbers. She could try to fight, yet she barely knew any magic, hardly enough to face people who had been studying for years. What would happen to her if she tried and failed? She could get hurt here. Or worse.

  Fear held her rooted to the spot as two of the girls caught hold of her arms and pulled her down the corridor, into a deserted classroom. If anyone else saw her being hauled away, they did nothing.

  But that wasn’t a surprise, part of her mind noted. Bullies were the same everywhere; people who could have banded together to fight them preferred to stay out of their way, hoping that the bullies wouldn’t turn their attention to them. Hell, many preferred to stay on the bullies’ good side by joining in the tormenting, rather than standing up for their fellow victims.

  She scowled as she saw Alassa, Heir to the Throne of Zangaria, waiting in the classroom. Why was she not surprised?

  “Yes,” Alassa said. Her voice was sickly-sweet. “Where
do you come from?”

  Emily rapidly considered her options. In hindsight, she should have realized that someone would ask and come up with a story to tell them. But she didn’t want to admit to anyone, particularly the school bullies, that she had been kidnapped by a necromancer and marked for sacrifice. The knowledge couldn’t do them any good, as far as she could tell, but still ...

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, cursing her own ignorance. She could claim to come from anywhere on this world, but she didn’t know enough to come up with a convincing lie. “I ...”

  The grip on her arm tightened alarmingly, halting her train of thought.

  “You came here on a dragon,” Alassa said. Her eyes bored into Emily’s eyes; they were bright blue, but so very cold. “Do you know just how rare it is to even see a dragon?”

  There was something ominous in her voice, but it took Emily a moment to realize just what it was. Alassa was jealous. She might have been the Crown Princess of a country Emily had never heard of until yesterday, yet she had never flown on a dragon–and everyone would be talking about Emily, rather than Alassa herself. Teleporting from her country to Whitehall was so...mundane compared to flying on a dragon.

  “It was a friend of my Mentor,” Emily said, finally. Should she mention Void’s name? Or would that make the whole situation worse? She had to force herself to swallow hard, fighting down the fear and rage that threatened to overwhelm her. How dare Alassa do this to her? “The dragon gave me a lift here ...”

  Alassa studied her as if she were a particularly disgusting slug. “Dragons don’t show themselves for just anyone,” she said, sharply. “What are you, that you can fly on a dragon?”

  The Princess changed tack with astonishing speed. “And what is your social standing?”

  Emily considered the question seriously, knowing that even having to think about it would make her look odd to Alassa and her cronies. They would know where they stood in the social hierarchy at all times. If she recalled correctly, the Crown Princess of just about any country would be socially superior to nearly everyone else. And Alassa wasn’t the sort of person to put her birth aside, even when attending Whitehall. The Grandmaster’s warnings about allowing nationalism to disrupt the school had probably fallen on deaf ears.

  It was possible, Emily told herself, that she could claim a high social position for herself, but once again her own ignorance made it impossible to tell a convincing lie. Alassa, just like anyone else who considered birth more important than achievement, would know every royal and aristocratic family of importance in the Allied Lands. And she couldn’t claim to be an aristocrat from another world without admitting that she came from another world.

  Imaiqah had said that her father was a tradesman, Emily remembered. “My father is a scholar and a gentleman,” she said, and prayed inwardly that Alassa wouldn’t ask too many questions. Emily had heard that scholars were considered minor nobility in some societies, although she had no way of knowing if that was true of this world. It should be, she told herself firmly. The scholars in this world would have access to magic. “Does that answer your question?”

  “I don’t believe you,” Alassa said flatly. Her bright eyes sharpened as she stepped closer, until her nose was almost brushing against Emily’s face. “What sort of scholar’s daughter would ride on a dragon?”

  Up close, there was something oddly wrong about the bully’s face. Emily studied her, trying to keep her fear under control, trying to understand why she felt repulsed. A shiver ran down her spine as she finally realized that Alassa was too perfect. Her face was utterly flawless, completely unblemished ... and perfectly symmetrical. But why should that have been a surprise? Someone as vain as Alassa would use magic to improve her appearance, even if she’d ended up making herself look too good to be true. And while it was impossible to tell under the shapeless robes they all wore, Emily would have bet good money that her body was as perfect–and as strangely wrong - as her face.

  Magic, she thought, sourly. There had been a girl at her old school who had badgered her parents into paying for plastic surgery. Alassa probably had access to cosmetic sorcerers who could cast spells to shape her face into a vision of female beauty; hell, weren’t Princesses supposed to be beautiful? Her parents probably intended to marry her off to improve their own social position, or strengthen their kingdom. Emily would have felt sorry for Alassa if she hadn’t been such a bully.

  “So tell me,” Alassa said, lifting one finger and holding it up in front of Emily’s face. “Where do you come from?”

  Emily shook her head, bracing herself for a beating–or worse.

  But Alassa merely smiled.

  “I see by your face that you are of low birth,” she said, her tone twisting into one of wry amusement. “Come! It is nothing to be ashamed of, being born amid the mud and squalor. Serving your betters is your natural function. Come be my friend.”

  Her mockery dug into Emily’s composure. She’d grown up in a democratic society, where even the most arrogant of politicians knew better than to risk raising the ire of too many voters. She’d never really understood what it must be like to be born in a society where birth determined social standing. Alassa seemed so completely comfortable with the idea that inferiors served superiors because she had never had to question it. Her kingdom’s peasants and tradesmen existed to obey the orders of her family.

  Come be her friend? Emily looked at Alassa and knew what that meant. She’d be nothing more than a crony, singing the praises of Princess Alassa and encouraging her to bully other students–and always fearful that Alassa would turn on her. Or she would be expected to do the Princess’s homework for her, or whatever other humiliating tasks Alassa wanted her to do. Being friends with someone like Alassa was like being trapped near a lion, throwing other victims into the beast’s mouth in the hopes that it would eat you last. A lion would probably be more honest than someone with more royal blood than sense.

  “Thank you, but no,” Emily said. Alassa wanted her to crawl–of that, there was no doubt–but Emily had enough pride to refuse to bend. Besides, Emily had nearly been killed by a necromancer the day she’d arrived in this world. Alassa was nothing more than a bully–and a bully was nothing compared to a necromancer. “Now, if you will excuse me...”

  The girls holding her didn’t let up as Alassa’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “You dare refuse me? You dare ... !”

  Emily felt another hot flash of rage as she started to struggle. Alassa’s hand was touching her wand; magic was starting to shimmer around her, as if she were about to cast a spell. But her cronies were holding Emily too tightly for her to escape ...

  But something didn’t quite add up. Someone like Alassa would have no qualms about squashing a low-born girl, just as she’d bullied Imaiqah in the past. So why was she even trying to turn Emily into an ally?

  The answer, when it came, struck with the force of a physical blow. Emily had arrived on a dragon, which suggested that she was important–and someone who took birth and social standing too seriously would wonder if Emily was actually more important than her. Or if Emily was the sort of person she ought to convince to join her. Professor Locke had pointed out that the Allied Lands were disunited. Emily suspected that Alassa–and others like her–were a large part of the reason why the Allied Lands were unable to unite against a common foe.

  Alassa was scared of her, Emily realized. The only person Emily knew who had been able to summon a dragon, let alone convince it to give a new student a flight to Whitehall, had been an immensely powerful sorcerer, Void. Alassa had to wonder if Emily was more powerful than her, perhaps even powerful enough to trump her royal birth. No wonder she’d brought so many cronies to the confrontation. If Emily had enough power and skill to beat her, Alassa would have to have her friends to back her up.

  “Yes,” Emily said, before she could think better of it. “I dare.”

  The sense of magic grew stronger as Alassa lifted her wand, threateningly.
“Crawl,” she ordered. The girls holding Emily loosened their grip as Alassa’s voice became a croon. “Crawl for me; lick my boots, beg my forgiveness...”

  “No,” Emily said flatly. She pulled her hands free, bracing herself. How had that protective spell gone again? Panic was making it harder to think properly. “Let me go!”

  Alassa moved her wand and a spell shimmered into existence. It sparkled menacingly in front of Emily, just before she managed to perform the counter-charm. Alassa didn’t look surprised when the spell dispelled back into nothingness; instead, she lifted her wand again and began a second spell. Emily lunged forward and grabbed at the wand, pulling it away from the bully. Magic spun into existence around them both, sparkling with deadly potential.

  And then there was a brilliant flash of light and Emily was thrown bodily across the room into the wall. She gasped in pain as she banged her shoulder against the stone, collapsing to the floor. The cronies laughed, hesitantly. They had to wonder if Alassa had really meant for that to happen.

  “You touched my wand! Alassa snapped, her face red with answer. “You...”

  She cast a second spell before Emily could move. This time, Emily was unable to dispel it before it struck her body. She could feel it crawling over her, working Alassa’s will, even though she couldn’t tell what it was doing. Surely Alassa couldn’t turn her into a frog, or a slug, or something unable to move and talk. Surely ...

  “Come,” Alassa snapped. It took Emily a moment to realize that she was talking to her cronies. “Enjoy yourself, peasant!”

  She watched them go from where she was lying on the floor, allowing them to close the door before she tried to stand up. Almost immediately, her legs jerked of their own accord and she fell back to the ground. Her lower body twitched constantly as the spell wove its way into the magic field surrounding her, making it impossible for her to do more than crawl. She tried to stand up again, holding one of the tables in the hopes that it would wear off quickly, but the sensation spread into her arms and she found herself falling back again.