Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10) (35 page)

The blankets were scratchy and the ground was uncomfortable, but she surprised herself by falling asleep almost at once. She remembered nothing more until a gentle hand shook her awake what felt like seconds later. But bright sunlight was streaming in through the flap and Lord Alfred was snoring loudly. Emily allowed herself a moment of relief at having fallen asleep before Lord Alfred returned, then followed Julianne out of the tent. Whitehall and Bernard were standing outside, drinking something that smelled like spiced tea.

“Get some
tarik
for yourself, then get changed,” Whitehall ordered. “We’ll be meeting in the big tent in two hours.”

Bernard nodded. “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell them?”

Whitehall looked grimly determined. “The truth,” he said.

He grew quieter as the minutes ticked away, even though Bernard tried to distract him by asking questions about magic and Lord Alfred told tall tales about crazy adventures on the other side of the continent. Emily realized, to her shock, that Whitehall was nervous. He
knew
he was right, but he also knew he wasn’t going to make himself popular. And here ... he only had Bernard and Lord Alfred for support.

And me
, Emily thought.

She shook her head as Whitehall led them towards the big tent. If they wouldn’t listen to Lord Whitehall, one of the greatest magicians of the era, they certainly wouldn’t listen to an uppity little girl. They’d wonder why she wasn’t barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen instead of learning magic. It still galled her to be dismissed so easily. Even the nobles of Zangaria, the ones who had disliked her, had respected her power.

The fear was almost palpable, she discovered, as they stepped into the tent. Julianne and she were the only women in the chamber. The remainder were all men, ranging from DemonMasters in bright red robes to apprentices—attached and unattached—standing at the rear, their eyes flickering from side to side nervously. There was an ugly feel to the air, a sense that something could happen at any moment, that chilled her to the bone. And, for the first time, she could sense the presence of demons. She could feel invisible eyes watching her as she followed Whitehall up to the front row. The organizer was already standing on a box, pitching his voice so it could be heard throughout the tent.

“Wait here,” Whitehall ordered, as they reached the front. Emily was all too aware of other eyes—human eyes—studying her. It was hard to resist the urge to turn her head and look around to see who was looking at her. “I’ll be at the front.”

He stepped up to stand next to the organizer, who introduced him briefly—Emily wasn’t too surprised that not everyone knew who Whitehall was—and then stepped down, allowing Whitehall to speak. Whitehall took a long moment to look around the tent, then cleared his throat. He didn’t seem to need any spells to project his voice right across the chamber.

“For uncounted years,” Whitehall said, “it was rare—truly rare—for a magician to survive long enough to gain control of his powers. He would either be killed by his fellows, out of fear of what he would do to them, or accidentally kill himself. Even when he was lucky enough to find a master willing to teach him, it was very hard for him to survive. It was not until my master, Myrddin the Sane, laid the groundwork for actually casting spells that magicians could be fairly sure of gaining control over their powers, allowing the novice to eventually become a magician in his own right.”

He discussed—briefly—the problems of the master-apprentice system and the madness caused by demonic spells, then talked about the castle and the nexus point. Emily couldn’t help thinking that some of the listeners seemed suspicious—or downright angry—when demons were mentioned. Myrddin the Sane had been strongly opposed to demons, she knew, and Whitehall had continued that tradition. And yet he was close friends with at least two DemonMasters ...

“We have a unique opportunity,” he concluded, after outlining the planned school. “Instead of one master to one apprentice, we can teach the basics of magic to a much larger number of apprentices simultaneously. Each apprentice will have a grounding in
all
of the magical disciplines, allowing masters to select the best of them for future training ...”

“Enough,” a voice thundered.

Emily turned. Who would dare to interrupt?

A fat man—easily the fattest man in the chamber—was stalking towards the stage. She could
sense
the demons surrounding him, invisible eyes glinting madly. He cast a nasty look at Emily as he strode past and stopped in front of Whitehall, glaring at him.

“This is nothing more than an attempt to win all the apprentices for yourself,” he snapped, loudly. “And to deny us the right to use demons.”

A low mutter ran through the crowd. Emily shivered. Some of them clearly agreed.

“This cannot be borne,” the newcomer thundered. He tugged on his beard, warningly. “I ...”

Lord Alfred moved forward. “It must be borne, Lord Fire,” he said. “Demons have proved themselves to be horrifically dangerous. Magicians who wish to use them must be prepared to deal with the consequences ...”

Fire slapped him across the face. “Traitor,” he snapped. “I challenge you to a duel!”

“And I accept,” Lord Alfred said, calmly. “Should we have the circle prepared?”

“Yes,” Fire snapped. “We will meet after lunch, so the circle can be drawn properly. And may the best man win.”

E
MILY WANTED TO TALK WITH
W
HITEHALL
about what had happened, after Fire and a good third of the other magicians stormed out of the tent, but he snarled at her to shut up and then practically dragged Alfred in the other direction. The remaining magicians seemed just as confused as Emily, although they did seem convinced that the duel would settle the question of following Whitehall or not. Bernard caught Emily’s hand and led both her and Julianne out of the tent, just in time to watch a trio of apprentices drawing out a large protection circle on the ground.

“I’m sorry Father snapped at you,” Julianne said. “He’s desperately worried.”

“Yeah,” Bernard agreed. “Lord Alfred could
lose
.”

“And it will be very unpleasant for him if he loses,” Emily finished. Fire had called Lord Alfred a traitor, after all. One DemonMaster had betrayed the others, as far as he was concerned. He wasn’t going to hold back. “What happens if he does lose?”

Bernard gave her an odd look. “Dead—or wishing he was.”

“I meant to us,” Emily corrected. “What happens if he loses?”

“I don’t know,” Bernard said. “Fire can probably convince a majority of the others to kick us out of the Gathering.”

Emily frowned as they made their way towards the cooking pits. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, a memory from her studies. But it refused to come to her as she took a plate of meat and bread, then sat down to eat with her friends. Whitehall and Lord Alfred were talking some distance away, but she didn’t dare try to eavesdrop. She didn’t think she wanted to know what they were saying to one another ...

... And besides, she’d promised Whitehall she wouldn’t.

“I was expecting them to demand proof that you could cast spells,” Bernard mused, drawing her away from watching the older magicians. “Or perhaps proof you could have children.”

Julianne giggled. “And how would you prove
that
?”

Emily shrugged. “It would take nine months for me to give birth, even if I got pregnant now,” she said. She wasn’t quite sure where she was on her cycle—Julianne’s potions were nowhere near as efficient as the ones she used in the future—but she was damned if she was trying to get pregnant just to prove she could. “There’s nothing wrong with my cycles, though.”

She smiled as Bernard reddened, then watched grimly as Whitehall and Lord Alfred ate their food. It had to be a nightmare for Whitehall, she realized; his friend might well die, yet he could do nothing. And even if Lord Alfred won, he’d have won through the use of demons. It would be a slap in the face to everything Whitehall had planned to achieve—and to the lessons he’d learned from his master. She couldn’t help wondering just how much of it Fire had calculated before issuing the challenge to a duel.

“He could have challenged Whitehall,” she muttered. “Why not?”

“He wouldn’t have been able to use demons,” Bernard said. Emily flushed. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken loudly enough for him to hear. “And without them, our master would have the advantage.”

Emily felt sick, sick at heart, as she slowly finished her dinner. Lord Fire had appeared at the far end of the dining area and was holding court, bragging loudly and boastfully about just what he intended to do to Lord Alfred. He wasn’t making any preparations, as far as Emily could tell; he just seemed confident of victory. She wondered, despite herself, if he’d asked the demons for a vision of the future, one that ‘proved’ he was bound to survive the coming duel. Oddly, the thought gave her hope. A demon might well have deliberately misled its master.

She looked up as Whitehall walked over to join them. He looked to have aged twenty years in an hour. Emily silently forgave him for snapping at her, even if it had been a shock. She wouldn’t have liked to lose a friend either. Caleb had chosen not to watch her duel with Master Grey and she didn’t blame him. Watching his girlfriend die—and being unable to do anything to stop it—would have torn him apart.

“The duel will be held after we finish eating,” he said, quietly. “Whatever happens, whatever you see or hear, do nothing.”

“Yes, master,” Bernard said.

Emily merely nodded, then listened absently as Whitehall talked them through the dueling rules. They didn’t seem too different from the ones she knew, save for a warning that no one was to cross the circle once the umpires announced the start of the match. Anyone who did would be unceremoniously killed, if they were lucky enough to survive the energies unleashed by the magicians.

“It’s time,” Whitehall said, finally. “Let’s go.”

This is going to be bad
, Emily thought. She glanced at Julianne and noticed, to her surprise, that she was holding hands with Bernard. Her father seemed to be ignoring it.
This is going to be very bad
.

Lord Alfred and Lord Fire stood within the dueling circle, both hastily drawing smaller circles of protection around themselves. That was new—old, she corrected herself—but she supposed it made sense, if both contestants intended to use demons. Lord Alfred held his Book of Pacts in one hand, chanting under his breath as he marshalled his forces; Lord Fire placed his on the ground, then used a wooden cane to turn the pages. Emily wondered, absently, if there was some advantage in not carrying the book ...

Maybe it’s so vile even he can’t touch it
, she thought. It seemed unlikely—Robin had never shown any reluctance to touch his Book of Pacts—but magic constantly surprised her.
Or maybe he thinks it will give him some safety if one of the demons breaks free
.

She wished, suddenly, that she had someone to hold as the umpires took their places, one of them announcing the duel while the others checked and rechecked the protective wards. The gathered crowd fell silent, watching and waiting to see what happened. Emily glanced at Whitehall—his face was completely expressionless—and then back at Lord Alfred. He was smirking, an insolent pose that made her want to smile, despite the seriousness of the situation. Lord Fire’s face was quivering with anger, clearly believing that he was being mocked. And then the lead umpire spoke a single word.

“Begin.”

For a long moment, nothing happened. The two combatants eyed each other, clearly waiting to see who would move first. And then Fire spoke a single word. A wave of
malice
flared through the air—Emily had to force herself not to look away—as a demonic ...
thing
launched itself out of Fire’s Book of Pacts and hurled itself towards Lord Alfred. Another creature materialized in front of Lord Alfred, catching the first creature and holding it at bay. There was a brilliant flash of light and both creatures vanished.

Lord Fire hissed out a string of words, each one sounding like breaking glass. Emily had a flurry of
impressions
as more and more creatures materialized; flashing teeth, sharp claws, evil eyes gleaming with malice ... she remembered, suddenly, the Manavore and wondered if there was any connection between the demons and the Manavores. Perhaps the Manavores were demons that had been allowed to go free.

Julianne turned, her eyes streaming with tears, but Emily refused to look away as the impressions grew stranger and stranger. Thunderstorms flashed and flared in front of her, each seemingly huge and yet tiny; brilliant flickers of inhuman eyes growing stronger for long seconds, then flickering away into the ether. She saw a creature that looked like a particularly demonic raptor, its semi-translucent jaws dripping with blood, lunge towards Lord Alfred. Alfred raised his hand and spoke a single word. The creature snapped out of existence with a thunderclap.

The Books of Pacts were steaming slightly, Emily noted, as more and more creatures joined the fray. It struck her, deep inside, that she was only seeing the tip of the iceberg, that most of the conflict was taking place at a level beyond her perception. And she knew she should be grateful. The flickers she did see were enough to make her eyes water, as if she was looking into a bright light. Each half-seen impression was terrifying to the imagination.

Flames burst into existence, roaring towards the combatants and only flowing back when they touched the protective circles. The crowd murmured and fell backwards as the heat began to rise—Emily felt sweat trickle down her back—but neither of the combatants seemed to notice. She saw faces within the fire, evil twisted faces that laughed and laughed as they grew larger, feeding on the energies unleashed by the duel. More and more creatures flared into existence, charging forwards and slamming into the protective circles. And then Emily knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what she was seeing.