Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10) (36 page)

This is the last great duel
, she thought, numbly. She already knew the outcome.
And both of them are going to die
.

She started forward, unsure what she intended to do, but Whitehall caught her upper arm and dragged her back towards him. His grip was strong enough to hurt, yet she didn’t dare try to do anything to break free in the middle of the crowd. She refused to look back at him as the noise grew louder, as still more creatures materialized ...

... And then the protective circles broke.

Lord Fire screamed, in horror and fear and pain, as the demons lunged at him, dragging him down into the pits of hell. There was a flash of light and then he was gone. Emily turned, just in time to see Lord Alfred’s body crumple into dust. And then the demons vanished too.

“It’s over,” the umpire said, quietly. “They both died.”

Emily winced as Whitehall squeezed her arm tightly and then let go. “That was stupid,” he hissed. “You could have died.”

He marched past her and over the outer circle. Emily rubbed her aching arm—Whitehall had probably bruised her—and then watched as he picked up Lord Alfred’s Book of Pacts. No one came forward to claim Lord Fire’s, so he picked that one up too. Emily couldn’t help noticing, as Whitehall turned to speak to the umpire, that both books were still steaming. The red sigils on the front covers had turned black.

Their owners are dead
, she thought.
And the books themselves can pass to another owner
.

Bernard glanced at her. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I didn’t want him to die,” Emily said, quietly. But history clearly recorded that both men had died. “Did you?”

“He knew the risks,” Bernard said. “He could have backed down.”

Julianne looked as if she wanted to cry. “He was always good to me, you know,” she said, softly. “He never talked down to me.”

Whitehall’s voice echoed over the field. “Lord Fire summoned a demon and asked who would win the duel,” he said. “And the demon told him—the demon told him—that Lord Alfred would not survive the day. And the demon was
right
! Lord Alfred did not survive, but nor did Lord Fire. Do we really need such creatures?”

There was a long, chilling pause. “I say that we do
not
need such creatures,” he said, his voice growing louder. “We can learn to use magic—we can learn to
develop
magic—without them. And I intend to lay the foundations for a whole new approach to magic at the castle, where all will be taught the basics before they can proceed. I invite all of you—masters, attached apprentices, unattached apprentices—to join us. The one condition is that you do not bring your demons with you.”

He lowered his voice. “The demons have never lied to us,” he warned. Emily felt an odd thrill as his words echoed on the air. “But they have frequently misled us, as Lord Fire could attest, if he wasn’t dead. They have ensured that we have learned spells that damage our minds, spells that make it harder for us to have children, spells that will eventually destroy us. How many of our finest minds have fallen to madness?”

Emily’s gaze swept the crowd. Many—far too many—of the older magicians had eyes that were going red. Others looked unstable—or displeased with Whitehall’s words. And yet, the duel had strengthened his hand. Lord Alfred had died for Whitehall’s cause. The other DemonMasters had to respect his decision, even if they didn’t understand it.

He knew he didn’t have long to live
, she thought. If Lord Alfred had kept his mouth shut, he would have survived. Instead—and she felt a strange mixture of awe and grim sadness as she realized what he’d done—he’d made his death serve a greater purpose.
And he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory
.

“We will be returning in two days,” Whitehall concluded. “Those of you who wish to study with us, to learn how to master your powers, are welcome to accompany us. Those who wish to come later will also be welcome. But those who bring demons will be turned from our walls. There will be no further warnings.”

Emily let out a sigh as the crowd began to disperse. A handful of servants were already dispensing drinks, pouring tankards of beer in honor of the two dead magicians. Several gamblers were threatening to curse the bookies because hardly anyone had bet that both magicians would end up dead. Bernard was staring at where Lord Alfred had been with a contemplative expression as Whitehall returned, carrying both books under his arm. Emily quailed at his forbidding expression.

“Back to the tent,” he ordered, curtly. “We’ll join the wake later.”

“Master,” Bernard said. “I ...”

“Later,” Whitehall snarled.

Emily rubbed her arm and then followed him, wondering just what Whitehall intended to do with the books. Master Gila’s Book of Pacts had been priceless, she’d been told, even though he’d only harnessed a handful of demons. Lord Alfred had claimed to have over fifty demons under his control. His book had to be even
more
priceless. She would have smiled at the thought, if she hadn’t just watched a man die. DemonMaster or not, Lord Alfred had been a good man.

“I’m putting both of these books in Alfred’s knapsack,” Whitehall stated, as soon as they were inside the tent. His voice hardened. “Emily, as punishment for gross stupidity, you will remain to guard the books while the rest of us attend the wake.”

“Yes, Master,” Emily said. It could easily have been a great deal worse. She could have crossed the circle before Whitehall caught her. “I understand.”

“You must have driven your tutor insane,” Whitehall commented. “Do you know what would have happened if you had stepped into the circle?”

“Yes, Master,” Emily said. “I just didn’t want Lord Alfred to die ...”

Whitehall gave her a long, considering look, then placed both of the books into the knapsack, tying the string tight before adding a nasty protective curse. Emily was fairly sure she could dismantle it, given time, but she had no intention of opening the bag, let alone removing the books. Even
looking
at them was difficult. Perhaps it was her imagination, but there was a faint sense of pulsing evil surrounding the knapsack.

“Stay here,” Whitehall ordered. “There’s a chamberpot, if you need it.”

“Yes, Master,” Emily said.

Bernard took a breath. “Lord and Master,” he said. “Please, may I plead for the hand of your daughter in marriage?”

Whitehall’s eyebrows rose. “You’re asking
now
?”

Emily had to smile, despite her concerns about being alone with the books. Bernard really
should
have asked earlier. Whitehall had practically done everything but tell him that it would be all right. And Julianne had started to wonder if he would ever have the nerve.

“Yes, Master,” Bernard said. “I’m asking now.”

Whitehall gave him a contemplative look. “Marriage is a holy state,” he said, bluntly. “You and Julianne will be tied together for the rest of your lives—and beyond. Your children will carry your names into the next generation. You will be charged with her protection, even from herself; you will be charged with power over her, power you must never abuse. Are you willing, truly, to take on such a responsibility?”

Power over her
, Emily thought.
But she’s a magician now
...

“I am,” Bernard said.

“Julianne,” Whitehall said. “Will you marry him?”

“I will,” Julianne said. “Father ...”

“Very well,” Whitehall said. “You will be married when we return to the castle. One would not wish to deprive your friends of a chance to make merry before you become a respectable married man.”

“No, Master,” Bernard said. “And thank you.”

“We will discuss your precise responsibilities later,” Whitehall added. “Until then ...”

He looked at Emily. “Remain here,” he reminded her. “And don’t let
anyone
near the books.”

Emily sat down on the blanket as they walked out of the tent, leaving her alone. It was hot and stuffy, rather like she envisaged a prison; there was no light, save for what came through the flap. She cast a handful of spells to cool the air and illuminate the tent—and provide warning if anyone tried to break in—then closed her eyes and forced herself to meditate. And yet, the mere presence of the books made it impossible. She could
feel
them calling to her, promising power, if only she would make them her own.

You could take the books and be well away by the time Whitehall returns
, a voice said, within her mind. She wasn’t sure if it was her own thoughts or a demon, perhaps one still bound to a book.
And you could be great
.

“Shut up,” she snarled.

She bit her lip, hard. It wouldn’t be long, she was sure, before Whitehall returned. Hell, Julianne would probably be sent back while Whitehall had a long chat with his future son-in-law. And then ...

But it’s going to feel longer
, she thought, grimly.
And I can’t wait to go home
.

E
MILY HADN’T EXPECTED MUCH FROM THE
remaining two days at the Gathering, but she was pleasantly surprised as Julianne dragged her from meeting to meeting with her fellow potions brewers and a number of other young women related to magicians. Julianne made her show off a handful of spells, then explain—repeatedly—the nature of the curse and how it could best be avoided. By the time the party was assembling, ready to return to the castle, Julianne had managed to convince nine other potion brewers and thirty-seven young women to join a small army of unattached apprentices. Emily couldn’t help thinking that it wouldn’t be long before they started pairing up.

“We only recruited a handful of masters,” Bernard said, as they made their final preparations to depart. “We should have been able to get more.”

“They’re not ready to embrace change,” Whitehall said, darkly. He’d been his normal self, when speaking to potential recruits—as well as spreading news of the Manavores far and wide—but he’d brooded in the tent. “And there’s no way to avoid the simple fact that we’re threatening their power.”

“But building up more for later,” Emily added. “They’ll have influence over hundreds of magicians rather than a handful.”

“Influence,” Whitehall stated. “Influence, not
power
.”

He picked up his knapsack and strode out of the tent, walking over to where the convoy was waiting. Emily followed, silently relieved that someone had provided horses and carts—and even a couple of carriages—to transport the volunteers home. A number of carpenters, blacksmiths and other tradesmen had requested permission to join as well and Whitehall had gravely accepted. It wouldn’t be long before the castle was surrounded by a small township of its very own.

Which doesn’t exist in my time
, Emily thought, morbidly.
Either it was destroyed during the wars ... or they moved down the road to Dragon’s Den.

She scrambled into one of the carriages and sat back, forcing herself to relax. Someone—she had no idea who—had assigned most of the girls to the carriages, either in an attempt to make their trip easier or separate them from the men. The carriage rattled to life moments later, shaking so heavily that she almost regretted her decision not to ride on horseback. She quickly cast a handful of spells, in the hope of making the trip easier, but they didn’t seem to be particularly effective. The roads—or what passed for roads—were uneven and thoroughly unkind to the posterior.

The trip back took longer than she’d expected, although she supposed it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. There was no way they could take the carts and carriages through the mountain pass or the forests surrounding the castle. They needed to go the long way around, just to get back to the forest. And then a number of the mundanes had to be detailed to hack open the path to the castle before they could pull the carts and carriages to the gates. A couple of dozen workers found themselves carrying vast quantities of supplies from the stalled carriages to the castle.

“We really need a proper road,” she said to Bernard, as they walked slowly up towards the castle. The sense of being watched nagged at her, although she couldn’t see or hear anything in the undergrowth. “People aren’t going to come if it’s a difficult trip.”

“It’ll take a good long time,” Bernard said. He’d been happier since Julianne had accepted his offer of marriage. “But you’re right. It does need to be done.”

Emily nodded to herself. By her count, the commune had occupied the castle for just under two months, but the path they’d hewed through the forest was almost completely gone. It would have vanished completely, she suspected, if the workers hadn’t been chopping trees and bushes down for firewood. The wild magic loose in the forest clearly made it grow faster—indeed, she couldn’t help wondering if it was a defensive mechanism to hide the entire castle. No one would come probing into the forest if they had no idea there was anything to find.

She allowed herself a sigh of relief as the castle finally came into view. The nexus point was a constant presence in the background—it seemed stronger, somehow, than it was in her time—yet there were no wards designed to keep them out. Whitehall might have faith that Master Chambers and Master Reaper would honor the vote, but Emily had her doubts. Leaving the castle unattended might have been a dangerous mistake.

But we have access to the command spellware too
, she reassured herself.
Getting back in wouldn’t be that difficult
.

“Whitehall,” a voice called. Emily looked up to see Master Chambers standing by the gates, glaring at the newcomers. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Get everyone up to the field,” Whitehall ordered Bernard. “We’ll assign rooms and suchlike after we’ve had this little chat.”

“Yes, Master,” Bernard said.

Emily wasn’t sure what
she
should do, but Whitehall motioned for Julianne and her to follow him as he strode up to the gates. Master Chambers looked forbidding, his arms crossed over his chest as he sneered at Whitehall. She could sense a pair of demons, both invisible, sitting on his shoulders. Technically, he wasn’t defying Whitehall’s ban on summoning demons, but it was very much a gesture of defiance. Master Chambers was throwing down a gauntlet.