Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (46 page)

Sergeant Miles had told her that stone-throwing had its weaknesses. Most warded locations included spells that would automatically disrupt the spells propelling the stones through the air, causing them to fall harmlessly to the ground. Magicians accompanying armies could deflect stones before they crashed through the ranks, if they saw them coming. But the soldiers facing her had no defenses at all, apart from the enchanted armor. And while it worked well against magical attacks, it was almost useless against physical force.

Emily recoiled in shock as the first soldier seemed to disintegrate into a mass of bloodstained chunks. The others were slammed backwards, two of them toppling off the rooftop and falling to the streets far below. One more seemed to be dead; the other two badly injured. Even with the most powerful healing spells Emily knew, their survival would be in doubt. She hesitated, shocked at what she’d done. How could she inflict that much damage on
anyone
?

There was a hissing sound behind her and she spun round, just in time to see the birds merging together and revealing the newcomer. Alassa lifted her hand to throw a curse, but he got his spell off first, slamming a hex into her wards that sent her staggering backwards. The bloodstained handkerchief fell to the rooftop as Alassa fell over and landed on her rear, still trying to cast a spell of her own. There was a blinding flash of light, but the newcomer seemed unbothered. Emily couldn’t have said what Alassa was actually trying to do.

She gathered her magic, shaped a cutting hex of her own and threw it right into the newcomer’s wards. While he was dealing with that, she threw a second one, aimed at the rooftop below his feet. The rooftop shuddered and started to collapse inwards, forcing the newcomer to jump backwards before he fell into the room underneath. Emily took advantage of his distraction to summon up a wind of her own, shoving him over the edge of the roof. He fell, but a moment later a murder of crows rose up and hovered in front of them. It was easy to imagine that the sounds they were making were laughter.

Alassa picked up a stone and hurled it at the birds, using magic to shape its trajectory. Several birds were hit and sent falling down towards the ground, forcing the others to dive after their comrades and save them before they hit the ground. Emily couldn’t help wondering what would happen if one or more of the crows were to die. They’d been warned, time and time again,
never
to split anyone into two or more pieces. The tutors just hadn’t been very clear on what would happen if they did.

If we caught one of the birds,
she asked herself,
could he return to human form? Would he be missing a leg?

“Keep him busy,” Emily ordered.

She moved quickly to the edge of the rooftop and peered down. Imaiqah lay on the ground below, staring up at them. She’d broken one of her legs, Emily realized, but the impact should have killed her outright. Emily breathed a sigh of relief and made quick hand signals, promising that she’d be down as soon as they’d dealt with the bird-magician. She just hoped that it wouldn’t be before the soldiers reached Imaiqah. Sergeant Harkin had told them horror stories of what could happen when undisciplined young men discovered women who were apparently defenseless. And Imaiqah would be using most of her magic to hold back the pain.

The bird-magician shimmered back into existence, drawing all of the birds–even the stunned ones–back into his body. If it made the transformation harder for him, there was no easy way to tell for sure. Emily made a mental note to look it up when she got back to Whitehall; she’d never heard of a person transforming into more than one animal at a time. Maybe he could afford to lose a number of birds before he couldn’t change back, or his thoughts were submerged within the bird mentalities. It didn’t make logical sense, but so much else about transfiguration didn’t make logical sense either.

Alassa threw a spell at him. He jumped to one side and advanced, firing off spells like they came from the barrel of a machine gun. He didn’t seem to have the power Lady Barb had demonstrated when she’d been drilling Emily, she realized, but he didn’t seem to be holding back at all. Alassa’s wards started to stagger, then crumble under the endless series of impacts. Emily gathered herself and threw a handful of practical joke jinxes at the bird-magician. It was odd, but she’d learned that the practical jokes could sometimes catch more experienced magicians by surprise. They tended to prepare for the lethal hexes and curses.

The bird-magician threw a final hex at Alassa, knocking her to the ground, and then turned on Emily. She had barely a moment to realize that she might have made a mistake before he started throwing spell after spell at her, each one hammering into her wards. The pounding sent her staggering backwards, forcing her to abandon her own offensive just to keep her wards in place. Desperately, she picked up a stone with her bare hand and threw it towards him. For a moment, the bombardment stopped–his wards wouldn’t have stopped the stone, as it hadn’t been propelled by magic–and Emily used the opportunity to shape a lethal spell in her mind. Sergeant Miles had warned her never to use it unless she was in deadly earnest, but there was no other choice. She started to cast the spell…

...And the bird-magician threw a final hex into her wards. Bright green balefire flared around her, sending pain searing through her hands and arms. Half of the tutors at Whitehall had scarred hands, something that had puzzled Emily until she’d learned that most small magical accidents tended to burn hands. Hands were, after all, used for casting most spells, if only to indicate the target. The pain was so intense that Emily almost blacked out before it faded, leaving only a dull ache in her temples. Her hands looked undamaged, but they were shaking so badly she realized that it would be almost impossible to cast another spell for hours.

She’d been lucky. If her spell had been closer to completion, the backfire would have killed her outright. It had already been within her wards, almost part of her. She wasn’t quite sure what the spell actually did–Sergeant Miles had once told the class that investigations into that topic were discouraged–but she knew it killed.

“Enough,” the bird-magician said.

He threw a spell at her. This time, Emily couldn’t even move, let alone deflect it. It struck her–and she froze solid, unable to move. There was a countercharm she could use to beat the paralysis charm–it was commonly used in Whitehall–but it required concentration and she could barely concentrate on anything. The headache was growing stronger. He could just walk over to her and cut her throat if he wanted. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

The bird-magician ignored her and stopped in front of Alassa. Emily watched helplessly as he touched the stunned princess’s forehead with one long finger. Alassa shrank, clothes and all, until she was barely larger than one of the dolls Emily had played with as a child. The bird-magician stepped backwards, took one last look at Emily, and then exploded into a mass of birds. One of them swooped down and picked up Alassa, before the entire flock headed off towards the castle. They–he–had succeeded. Alassa was now a prisoner.

Emily felt strong hands on her paralysed form and realized that other soldiers had caught up with them. The bird-magician had left her alive simply so she could be carted off to the prison…raw anger flared through her mind as she saw the soldiers coming into view, poking and prodding at her body. Desperately, she reached into her mind and triggered the
berserker
spell. There was a rush of energy and the paralysis snapped. The soldiers had no time to react before Emily was lashing out at them with her fists.

Sergeant Miles had scorned the very idea of a fair fight. There was no such thing in war; anyone stupid enough to believe otherwise would very quickly learn better, or end up dead. He’d taught Emily and the other girls that they had to outthink their targets, or male strength would prove decisive. Her training, combined with
berserker
, made her lethal in close-quarter combat. The soldiers never knew what had hit them.

Emily staggered to one side and collapsed on the rooftop as the spell faded away. It was simply too dangerous to use for more than a few minutes, particularly when she was alone. The last time she’d used it outside training, Jade and the other Redshirts had been there to carry her to safety. Here, she was alone. Imaiqah was wounded, perhaps dead…and Alassa was a prisoner. Somehow, drawing on reserves she hadn’t known she had, Emily stumbled to her feet and saw a white scrap of cloth lying on the ground. Alassa’s handkerchief…

Shaking her head, Emily picked it up, took one last look at the soldiers, and headed for the hole in the roof. There was no way she dared levitate down right now. Her magic was simply too unreliable. One lapse in concentration and she would die.

She had to save Alassa, she told herself, but she just didn’t know how.

But if she failed, the duke would win outright.

T
HE INHABITANTS OF THE BUILDING HAD
vanished in the confusion. Emily couldn’t blame them, any more than she could avoid a sense of relief that she wouldn’t have to fight again. Her headache was returning in force, now that
berserker
had faded away; it was all she could do to keep going, step by step. Making her way outside, she found almost no one in the streets, apart from a handful of youths who eyed her with a mixture of concern and puzzlement. Emily ignored them as she stumbled into the alleyway and found Imaiqah lying on the ground.

“I didn’t quite catch myself,” Imaiqah whispered, as Emily collapsed beside her. “My leg…”

Emily nodded. They’d been warned never to use healing spells on themselves, but numbing spells were actually quite effective. At worst, they simply refused to work. Emily tried to focus her mind enough to cast a healing spell, then scowled as her headache grew stronger. She had to fight down the urge to vomit…her head spun so badly she was surprised that she didn’t faint. The only thing she could do was sleep, but she didn’t dare collapse into the darkness. God alone knew what would happen while they were helpless.

“They took Alassa,” she mumbled. Speaking above a whisper only seemed to lead to more sparks of pain in her head. “What…what will they do to her?”

Imaiqah shrugged. “Use her as a puppet,” she said, finally. “Or have her executed to make her uncle’s throne safe.”

Emily looked up as she heard a number of men entering the alleyway. Soldiers…? She relaxed, feeling an overpowering sense of relief, as she recognized the leader as Imaiqah’s brother Johan. The men were wearing what looked like makeshift armor and carrying clubs and staves. Given some ingenuity, she decided, they might be able to produce weapons for themselves. Or, given that they were merchants, simply manipulate the records to ensure that no one noticed some extra weapons had been produced in the factories before being shipped to the army.

“By the God,” Johan said. “Are…what happened?”

Emily felt her head spinning. “Get her a healer and get me to bed,” she ordered. “And then get water…”

The blackness rose up and pulled her into its depths. Emily felt almost feverish, as if she were caught in the grip of waking nightmares, before something finally yanked her awake. A young woman was bending over her, gently pushing a straw against her mouth. Emily sipped gratefully, too thirsty to care that it might have been a trap. The liquid tasted vaguely like peppermint tea, but with the addition of some herbs that she didn’t recognize.

“Stay there,” the woman ordered. “You’re safe now.”

For the moment
, Emily thought. Johan and his friends must have carried her and Imaiqah to a safe house, but they hadn’t known to keep a watch for birds. Even if they had known, what could they have done about it? Come to think of it,
someone
must have tipped off the soldiers, or they would never have known about the meeting at the inn.

Her throat felt too dry to speak, but she had to try. “Who…who are you?”

“I’m Pat,” the woman said. She gave Emily a reassuring smile. “I’m a healer, of sorts.”

She passed Emily a gourd of water and helped her hold it until Emily had swallowed all of the liquid. “I’ve seen spell addiction before,” Pat added. “I think you should stay away from whatever spell you used for several months, at the very least.”

Emily blinked in surprise, then nodded slowly.
Berserker
could be addictive–she’d been warned of that when she’d first been taught the spell–and repeated use could have disastrous side effects. But it wasn’t too surprising that a civilian healer had never actually heard of the spell. The combat sorcerers preferred to keep certain kinds of knowledge firmly under wraps.

“I’ll do my best,” she said. God knew if she’d be able to
keep
that promise. “What time is it?”

“Eighteen bells, thirty-two chimes,” Pat said. Emily scowled. She’d been unconscious for at least ten hours. Long enough to recover, perhaps, but long enough for something truly awful to have happened to Alassa. What would her uncle do with her? “Your friend healed quickly, once I cast the right spells on her leg.”

“Glad to hear it,” Emily said, as she pulled herself upright. They’d been told, back at Whitehall, to go to the infirmary after using healing spells, no matter how successful the spell had seemed. She’d never been quite sure why. “How is she?”

“Worried about you,” Pat said. “And her father is waiting for you to see him.”