Schooled in Magic (57 page)

Yet this world knew little of chemistry. It was unlikely that the thought would occur to anyone, apart from her.

Or so she hoped.

Shadye presumably had spies in the Allied Lands. The books she’d read had recorded countless cases of outright treason, either by willing traitors or spell-controlled victims, and he might know that Emily had already started introducing concepts from her old world into this new one. In fact, in some ways, he’d be in the best place to deduce what she’d done; he already believed her to be a Child of Destiny, and
he knew where she’d come from. What if he’d managed to bring something
else
from her world? An atomic bomb, perhaps, or maybe a shipload of AK-47s? But would they
work
in this world?

He’d have to tell his servants what he wanted them to bring
, Emily thought, and prayed that she was right.
How could Shadye know enough about atomic bombs to describe them to his servants? And how could he detonate one if he did manage to bring it to this world?

Once, years ago, she had read a fantasy novel by an author who had never bothered to think through the implications of her universe. The writer–who had been little more than a glorified romance hack–had actually argued that life in a medieval world was better than life in the modern universe. She’d insisted that progress was death and that introducing new ideas had destroyed the fabric of human society. The whole concept of working to uplift a primitive society towards modern technology had been outrageous to her.

But that author had never had to live in such a society. How could she really understand what it meant to live there unless she’d tried?

As it stood, Emily
did
live in such a society–and as much as she loved her new world, it needed improvement. Technology made the lives of ordinary people so much easier, back home, and it had helped to create a more democratic world. Who knew
what
it would do here? If it had the chance, that is.

The hours dragged on. Classes were cancelled, of course, while the older students worked hard to prepare the castle’s defenses. Sergeant Harkin ordered Emily to take a break from training and get something to eat, then to relax. The younger students had been driving each other crazy as they waited for the necromancers to attack. Unsure of what to do or where to go, she ended up picking up bread and cheese rolls in the kitchen and then heading to the library. She needed to do more research.

Besides, reading books would distract her from thoughts of Shadye.

“They won’t get their hands on my books,” the librarian said as she entered the darkened room. He and his female assistant–or fellow librarian; Emily had never been quite sure of the relationship between them–were frantically preparing additional defensive wards for the library. “I intend to seal them in a pocket dimension in the event of the school being destroyed. The Librarian’s Guild will recover them and ensure they don’t fall into enemy hands.”

Emily nodded. Necromancers had raw power, but they often lacked proper training. If they had access to more information, they’d probably become far more dangerous–which was why the librarians had to be so careful. No librarian could ever countenance destroying books outright–she had a feeling that was why there were so many forbidden texts stored in Whitehall–yet they did have to do whatever it took to keep them out of enemy hands. The risk of losing the key to a pocket dimension was preferable to seeing them used by Shadye and his ilk.

The library itself held a handful of students, but Emily ignored them as she walked to the shelves and started to hunt for anything that touched on magical oaths. One day, she promised herself, she would have to introduce the Dewey Decimal System or something comparable to Whitehall; the system they used made little sense even to the librarians. There were times when she suspected that books were just put back on the shelves at random, either by students or the librarians. The former was understandable, if annoying; the latter should know better. Even the simple Library of Congress system would work better than the one they used at Whitehall.

She had to look carefully for
anything
on the fairies, even though she assumed they were related to the Faerie, who had built the Dark City. There seemed to be a surprising shortage of curiosity about them in the world, which seemed rather odd;
this
world had fought a war with the Faerie that had almost destroyed the human race. Or maybe the books were all stored in the restricted section ... it was quite possible that
someone
would be idiotic enough to try and duplicate the powers that birth had granted to the god-like Faerie, but she was sure that Whitehall would rather they did their experiments a long way from the school.

Finally, she pulled out a book on magical oaths and walked over to one of the tables to read it.

The book–
Magical Oaths and Those Who Swear
–was slim, as if the writer hadn’t wanted to list every known example in history. Emily opened it and skimmed through the first few pages, swallowing the urge to swear out loud when she realized that the oath she’d sworn to the fairies had merged with her magic. The writer danced around the subject, almost as if he found himself reluctant to come straight out and say what he meant, but eventually she managed to put it all together. Failure to keep the oath, as she had already deduced, would mean death, or worse. It all depended on just how she acted. If she refused to carry out the oath, she would die; if she deliberately created a situation where she couldn’t carry out the oath, she would die.

On the other hand, if she couldn’t carry out the oath because of something that
wasn’t
her fault, the magic wouldn’t kill her. But she couldn’t lie to herself, or to the magic. There was no way to avoid the oath deliberately.

Very few of the examples were reassuring. A young witch had sworn to marry her suitor when she returned from Whitehall, only to fall in love with another magician while studying in school. She’d tried to avoid the oath by using a love potion to convince her former lover to marry a girl from the village, but the magic had clearly considered that an attempt to evade the terms of her oath. The poor girl had died, badly. A stepfather had sworn to treat his adopted daughter like his own child. The book didn’t know exactly what had happened next–or the writer hadn’t dared write it down–but he’d died, seemingly at his own hand.

She had to smile at one of the other examples. An elderly warlock had a small retinue of slaves, all bound to him by magic; he’d made his son swear to free them upon his death. But the son had tried to evade his oath, only to end up bound by the same servitude spell that had gripped his father’s servants. That too had ended badly. Shaking her head, Emily finished skimming though the book and nearly swore out loud–again–when she realized what she’d done. She’d effectively written the fairies a blank check, to be called in at any time. They could demand a favor from her and she’d have to give it to them, or die.

Or worse.

The thought made her blood run cold. They could ask for
anything
. Maybe they’d demand that she prevent humans from hunting them and grinding their bones for potion components, or maybe they’d demand that she integrate them into human society. Or ... it could be
anything
, and she would have to comply. Or die. She swallowed, cursing her own mistake, even though she knew there had been little choice. They could demand anything of her ...

If it is too much, I will allow the oath to kill me
, she thought bitterly.

She pushed the thought aside and looked down at the book, wondering why no one was asked to swear an oath abjuring necromancy. Or could necromancers evade the terms of their oaths without suffering fatal consequences? She glanced through the book again until she guessed the answer from the writer’s half-hearted hints; magicians regarded being asked to swear such an oath as insulting, dangerously so. Even if Whitehall had introduced such an oath as part of the entrance conditions, other magical schools might not agree ... and the more powerful students, or the ones who were offended by the presumption that they might be tempted by necromancy, would go elsewhere. It might even tempt other magicians to mess with necromancy to prove they could handle it ...

... And
that
never ended well.

Emily stood up, mulling over the terms of the other oath, the one not to reveal anything about the fairies to anyone else. So far, no one had asked her how she’d managed to recover enough magic to attack the Orcs and rescue the Redshirts, but she knew the question would be asked soon enough. And she had the feeling that trying to lie to the Sergeants–or the Grandmaster–would be futile. Perhaps she could just write the answer down ... no, that would be dangerous. The oath would know she was cheating because
she
would know she was cheating. She’d have to come up with something better.

The sun was setting as she walked back down to the armory. Outside, the monsters were still waiting–and so was Shadye, still standing on the giant snake. Emily shook her head in disbelief. No one she’d met could be so patient, not when there were plenty of other things to do. The Sergeants took one look at her and ordered her to bed. They’d call her, they promised, if the school came under attack.

Shaking her head, Emily walked back to her bedroom, unsurprised to discover that Alassa had dragged in a set of blankets and lay on the floor, next to Imaiqah’s bed. Both girls looked nervous; they’d been reading books on potions and complex spells in a desperate attempt to distract themselves. Emily reassured them as best as she could, even though she knew it would be futile, and crawled into her own bed, closing her eyes. Sleep overcame her and she plunged into darkness ...

And dreamed.

S
HE HAD TO MOVE. SHE KNEW
that for a fact, something so deeply embedded in her mind that questioning was impossible.

She had to move.

And yet she could not move. Her legs felt as if they were trapped in concrete. Movement was impossible ...

… She was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, believed it to be true. And yet something was wrong.

An alarm bell rang at the back of her mind, screaming an alert, but every time she tried to focus on it her mind slipped away. She knew something was wrong and yet she could do nothing.

It was a nightmare and nightmares had to be endured ...

... She stood up. In her dream, she saw nothing wrong with this, or with the fact that she still felt as if she couldn’t move. Two contradictory things could be true at the same time in a dream, she knew, even if the logical part of her mind suggested otherwise. The alarm bell grew louder, but she could still do nothing. Her legs moved of their own accord as she walked to the doorway and stepped into the long hallway ...

... Blood was everywhere. There were nearly a hundred students in the strange stunted classes that made up the first year curriculum at Whitehall–and they were all dead. Her dazed mind believed it, without reservation, even as she tried to understand how she alone had survived to tell the world.

She caught sight of Melissa and her two friends, their bodies torn apart by giant monstrous claws, and felt nothing. Their eyes looked at her. Staring. Accusing. Judging. Something about the whole scene bothered her, but she couldn’t understand what. A strange mist had fallen over her thoughts ...

... She was in shock, she told herself, and it seemed logical. No sane human being could look on a scene of mass slaughter and not feel horror and revulsion. She had to be in shock; later, she would remember what she’d seen and
feel
it. Melissa hadn’t deserved to die like that, nor had her friends. How could anyone be blamed for wanting to strike back at Alassa?

Emily pushed the thought aside as she crept down the corridor towards the exit. Whitehall had been invaded; the tutors were dead, along with the rest of the students. She was on her own ...

... A demon rose up in front of her, snarling its fury. Emily lashed out with her magic, feeling power surge through her as if she were tapping the vast fields stored within the school itself. The demon stumbled backwards, hitting the floor with a mighty crash.

Emily stepped through the now demon-less door and out into the school itself. Blood and bodies lay everywhere; the monstrous army had torn through everyone in the school, even the youngest students. Emily pushed herself into the shadows as she heard monsters approaching, knowing that she didn’t dare be seen. She was the last defender of Whitehall and she would see to it that the monsters paid for their crimes...

... She hadn’t known about any secret passageways until she opened one of them, stepping into a darkened tunnel that led downwards - into the bowels of the school. She walked down the stone corridor, glancing through peepholes that allowed her to see into different classrooms; the monsters had torn through the students in front of the tutors, before murdering the tutors and pinning them to the walls. Professor Thande had been beheaded and tipped upside down, his blood flowing to the floor; Professor Lombardi had been cut into a dozen pieces and scattered around his classroom. She was alone in the school, apart from the monsters ...