Cold Magics (3 page)

“That was amazing,” said Eileen, when they stepped out into the cool autumn air after the lecture. “I mean, I didn’t understand it all because I don’t know the law, but it was amazing how you all managed to put all the pieces together. Especially concerning the rights of men to farm their land versus the rights of the nobility to demand their service on the nobles’ farms. And I loved it when the tall student in the front…”

“Michael.”

“Michael pointed out how it was necessary for the nobles to have access to the common man’s labour during harvest to maintain the protections they provide and you said that the common man would not be protected if he starved to death because his own crops were destroyed while they were harvesting the nobles’ fields.”

“I was there,” said Thomas, quite pleased that she’d noticed. “Let’s find a place to eat. Then it’s off to fencing class.”

They found a group of students Thomas knew huddled together for warmth in the Academy churchyard. Thomas and Eileen joined them, exchanging bits of bread for cheese and dried fruit. The students around them argued about what they had heard in class that morning or in days before, talked about girls and plays and a dozen other things. Eileen listened to it all, wide-eyed, and only blushed occasionally when one boy got a little too descriptive about the girls.

The bells rang again and everyone trooped off to their classes. Thomas led Eileen to the fencing hall and found the master. He welcomed Eileen and asked her about her experience. She answered honestly, and he agreed to let her in.

“Thank you,” said Eileen.

“Oh, don’t thank me,” said the fencing master. “At least, not until you’ve finished the class. If you’re still standing, thank me then.”

An hour later, Eileen managed to gasp to Thomas, “Now I see why you’re so good at this.”

The master had them run; first on the spot, then around the room. He had them climb ladders and pull themselves up on bars set into the walls. He made them jump over wooden “horses.” After a quarter hour, there was no one who wasn’t sweating. After a half hour, there were few who weren’t gasping. The master led them all, taking the front of the run and driving them all as hard as they could go. Thomas stayed right behind him the entire time. Eileen did her best to keep up but was gasping badly halfway through. Several times the master told her to stop and walk for a bit, or come down from the ladder before she ruined herself.

Drilling techniques followed. The class advanced and retreated across the floor with heavy wooden sticks in their hands, running through guards, parries and strikes for another half hour before switching to paired drills, working with different partners, practising dodging and parrying, thrusting and cutting, riposting and counter-riposting. Eileen, already tired, could barely hold the stick by the end of it.

“Right!” bellowed the fencing master, bringing all action to a halt. “Matches next. Before that, I think a hand for young Alex here.” He gestured to Eileen, who was leaning forward, hands on knees, gasping for air. “He’s still standing, which is better than most of you did your first time. Well done, Alex.”

The students politely applauded—including Thomas, who was grinning at her in spite of himself. Eileen managed a nod and gasped out, “Thank you, sir.”

The master grinned, an expression that looked more than a little sinister on his face. “Right, everyone into masks and vests. Let’s see how you do against a blade, young Alex.”

Thomas helped her find a mask and a jacket that would fit, then took his place. The matches were chosen randomly by the master, who had the goodness to let “Alex” rest a while before calling him to the floor.

Thomas found himself almost holding his breath as Eileen faced off against a tall student. Each match went until one partner scored a hit that would be considered a killing blow, or one of them took five hits in non-vital areas—by which time, the fencing master explained to Eileen, one would probably be dead anyway.

Eileen’s first match ended very quickly, her opponent scoring three non-vital hits and a kill in short order.

“You need to relax more,” said Thomas, while two others were taking their turn. “Just breathe and focus on getting the hit, just like at home.”

“No one was watching at home,” said Eileen.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Thomas. “If you get in a bar brawl there will be spectators. On a battlefield, hundreds will see you. In a duel, your seconds are watching. Focus on your opponent.”

“Thomas!” called the fencing master. “You’re up.”

Thomas put on his mask and stepped into the ring. The fight lasted three moves and Thomas returned victorious.

Eileen went again after two more matches. This time she scored three hits before her opponent landed a killing hit.

“Not bad,” said the master as she saluted her opponent. “You’ll have one more.”

Thomas finished two other matches before Eileen’s last one. The first he won almost as handily as he had the previous. The second took much longer, the other student dodging and skipping back from Thomas’s strikes, though he landed none of his own. Thomas broke through the other student’s guard at the last, scoring the killing blow to end the fight.

“That was amazing,” said Eileen.

“It was shoddy,” said the master. “You could have had each other a half-dozen times. Alex, you and John.”

John was a tall, lanky young man. He’d defeated most of his opponents and, to judge from the sneer on his face, was expecting an easy victory now.

“Stay relaxed,” called Thomas as she stepped in.

They began. Eileen kept her distance, moving continuously, her blade slipping in and out of the other’s reach. John kept up a lazy guard, doing only enough to keep her out of the way. His attacks were flashy, made with little regard for his opponent’s skills. Eileen had to dance back a dozen times as he cut and lunged at her, but each time she riposted with a cut or thrust of her own. And with each attack, she was getting closer. Even so, John scored three hits without her getting one in return. He was grinning when he launched his final attack: a feint with a cut, then a deep lunge to Eileen’s chest.

Eileen side-stepped as Thomas had taught her, and slipped her blade under John’s. She scored on his wrist on the way in and drove the point home into his chest.

“Kill!” shouted the fencing master. “Match to Alex! And well done!”

“Too well,” said John grumpily. He saluted Eileen, then pulled off his mask and held out his hand. “My own fault for getting cocky,” he said when she took it. “I hope you become a student, so I can beat you in the rematch.”

“I hope so, too,” said Eileen, shaking his hand. Her smile vanished with the words, and she excused herself to take off the padding.

After class, Thomas and Eileen moved at a slow pace down the path to the philosophy building. Thomas waited until no one was close before asking, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” said Eileen, her tone saying the exact opposite. “What’s next?”

“Philosophy,” said Thomas. “Two hours.”

“Ah.”

“We’re examining the arguments of the Beudlean philosophers, who come from very far south of here and don’t recognize the existence of gods at all. So far, it’s been quite enlightening.”

“I’m sure.”

A group of students passed by them, chattering and rushing to their next class. Thomas waited until they were gone. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” said Eileen. “But it doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.”

“Well then,” she said, forcing a false cheerful tone. “Let’s keep going, shall we?”

They did. Thomas took her to his philosophy class, introduced her to Professor Dodson, and led her to a seat. The professor made a point of introducing her to the rest of the class, and then included her in the discussion. Eileen pleaded her ignorance, but the professor informed her that everyone was ignorant in matters of the Beudlean philosophers, therefore her opinion was as valued as any other.

By the end of class Eileen was as involved as any of the others. She kept up the debate with the other students even after the class, nearly leaving without Thomas, who had to hurry to catch up to her.

“Sorry,” she said as they headed for the Academy gate. “Kevin was trying to prove that the High Father existed, but that it was impossible for the other gods to exist, and Mark was trying to prove that none of them exist, and John from fencing was insisting that just because we can’t prove something exists doesn’t mean it doesn’t.” She stopped for breath.

“Enjoyed the class?”

“Very much,” said Eileen. “Wish I could go back.”

“Me, too,” said Thomas. “Now, come on. We’ll get cleaned up, get our rapiers, and go to the theatre. They have one more show before it gets dark. After that, we’ll go to the Broken Quill for dinner.”

“Can you afford that?”

Thomas smiled. “This year, I can. Henry’s father paid the rent before he went off, so I’ve got money to spare.”

“But don’t you have work to do?”

“Nothing due tomorrow,” said Thomas. “And how many more chances will we have to go to the theatre together?”

“Not many.” Eileen sighed. “Oh, Thomas, if only…”

She didn’t say any more, and Thomas didn’t bother to finish the sentence. Even if Lionel didn’t come to drag Eileen back to Elmvale, there was no way for her to keep up the charade of being male for more than a few days in close quarters. Someone was bound to notice, if not in the classes—which she would have to start paying for if she kept attending—then definitely in the baths. The students visited them regularly, as much for warmth as cleanliness.

Thomas made sure no one was looking, then put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze.

“Come on,” he said. “We have tonight, at least.”

“Aye, we do,” agreed Eileen. She smiled at him, said, “Race you!” and took off at a run. Thomas sprinted after her, his longer legs shortening the distance between them with each stride. Eileen reached the passage to the courtyard before him, and got through the gate before he could catch up. They were neck and neck by the time they reached the stairs, and Thomas took the lead as they raced up the three stories to the apartment.

He came to a dead halt on the top step and Eileen slammed into him, nearly knocking him over. The tall, elegant man on the porch caught Thomas as he stumbled forward, and righted him. He grinned at the two of them, the cold making the scar that ran diagonally across his long face and nose stand out.

“Hello, Thomas,” said Henry. “What’s she doing here?”

“Me?” said Eileen, recovering first. “What are you doing here?”

“Starving slowly,” said Henry. He was wrapped in a long, much-stained and worn travel cloak. Underneath it, he wore the best court clothes Thomas had seen. His blond hair was neat and clean and long, tied back on his head. A rapier hung from Henry’s hip. “Is there any food inside?”

“Not a scrap,” said Thomas. “We were going to get changed and go eat.”

“The Quill,” said Henry. “The food on the ship was mediocre at best.”

“Ship?”

“I arrived this morning,” said Henry. “And I’ve been at court all day.”

“Court?”

“Are you going to stand around asking questions or let me in?”

Thomas unlocked the door and led them all into the dim, cold apartment. “Hurry up and get changed,” said Henry. “I’m hungry.”

Thomas went to his room and dropped off his student robes, picking up his coat and cloak, and both rapiers. When he came out, Eileen was already there, her coat and cloak over one arm.

“Still have a pretty pair of legs on you,” said Henry. Eileen stuck out her tongue at him and pulled on the cloak. “Why are you dressed as a boy?”

“Easier for travel.”

“Ran away, then?”

“Ran here,” corrected Eileen. “I wanted to come to the city to learn.”

“And how is that going?”

“I beat John in a fencing match.”

“Good start,” Henry said. He turned to Thomas. “Have you done the deed, then?”

“Henry!” Her fist connected solidly with the young lord’s shoulder.

Henry winced. “I meant telling your parents that you and Thomas were courting. What were you thinking about?”

Eileen hit him again in the same place. “You were not, and you know it!”

“We are courting,” said Thomas.

“Good luck with it,” said Henry, rubbing his arm. “She has a temper.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Thomas, smiling at Eileen. “I like her temper.”

“Oh, good,” said Henry. “Anyone coming for her?”

“Her father, probably.”

“Is he as big as her brother?”

“Larger, and he’s the one she gets the temper from.”

“Then you’d better come north with me while you have the chance.”

“Me?” Thomas laughed. “What for?”

“The war,” said Henry. “They’re using magic against us.”

3

“Magic?” repeated Thomas.

“Magic,” said Henry again. “I’m here to petition the king for more men, and to get you. I spoke to the chancellor this morning and will probably see the king in the next two days. If he says yes, some of my men wait here to lead the troops north. You and I go north right away, no matter what he says. Can you be ready to travel in three days?”

“Travel? But, I’m in the middle of classes—”

“I’ll speak to the principal,” said Henry. “Tell him my father needs your sword. You’ll be allowed to pick up where you left off, I’m sure.”

“He’s not going to let me go just because you want it.”

“I’m not asking as a student,” Henry said, the words coming out short and clipped. “I am a son of the duke of Frostmire and his personal representative to the king. If I say that the duke needs you, you will be allowed to go, along with any other students who volunteer. Now, how strong is your magic?”

“I don’t know,” said Thomas, still dazed by it all. “I haven’t tried to push my limits since the magic of the stones faded.”

“There are standing stones in Frostmire,” said Henry. “Not anywhere near the castle, of course, but we can get you there if we have need. How much lightning can you call?”