Trial By Fire (Schooled in Magic Book 7) (8 page)

“Joy,” Alassa muttered.

“You have to be able to defend it forwards and backwards,” Caleb added. “And make sure you understand every last bit of the project.”

“We can do that,” Alassa said. “But what is the Grandmaster going to tell us?”

Caleb smirked. “Wait and see,” he said. “Just you wait and see.”

Emily frowned inwardly, but kept her thoughts to herself. Tomorrow, they would have the speech...and then, they would go back to classes. It was going to be hard, she knew all too well, but she couldn’t wait. Whitehall was her home now, as far as she was concerned...

...And it was where she belonged.

E
MILY DIDN’T EXPECT TO GET MUCH SLEEP
after they finally finished dinner and were chased out of the Dining Hall, but she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. She jerked awake the following morning when her bed quivered restlessly, preparing to throw her out onto the stone cold floor. She jumped out of bed, hurried into the bathroom and showered, then pulled her shapeless robes over her head.

“You could have woken me,” she said to Imaiqah. Alassa was nowhere to be seen. “I don’t want to be late for the speech.”

“You looked as though you needed a rest,” Imaiqah said, unrepentantly. “There’s plenty of time, I think. We’re not expected to be in the Great Hall until ten bells.”

Emily glanced at her watch, then nodded reluctantly. Classes normally started at nine bells, but the first day was always chaotic. She should have time to snag a mug of Kava and a snack – even though she didn’t feel like eating - before hurrying down to the Great Hall. Her bed quivered warningly as she sat down on it, pulled her shoes on and nodded to her friend.

“Where’s Alassa?”

“She had a very early morning meeting with Madame Beauregard,” Imaiqah said. “She’s not back yet.”

Emily blinked. “Is she in trouble already?”

“I don’t
think
so,” Imaiqah said. She rose and joined Emily as she walked towards the door. “I think there was just a dispute over what she could and couldn’t bring into the dorms.”

They walked down the stairs into the Dining Hall and sat down. Servers brought them hot Kava - Emily winced at the bitter taste, but at least it woke her up - and bowls of porridge, crammed with raisins and sultanas. Emily ate quickly, surprised at her own hunger; she’d eaten plenty the previous night and done very little to work it off. But she knew she’d need the energy when classes restarted in earnest. Not eating was akin to self-harm where magic was involved.

“I have my timetable here,” Imaiqah said, digging through her pockets. “How close is it to yours?”

Emily pulled out her own - she’d barely had a chance to glance at it - and frowned, comparing the two papers. Most of their classes were identical, but there were blank spots for her where Imaiqah had Defensive Magic and Artwork. She sighed at the list of introductory classes - as if they’d have a chance to change their classes now - and then scowled as she realized she wouldn’t have Martial Magic. It was vanishingly rare for a student to take the class early and she’d completed both years offered at Whitehall.

Aloha will have the same problem
, she thought. She reached for the chat parchment to ask her older friend a question, then shook her head.
We can talk about it later
.

“They probably won’t want to put you in Defensive Magic,” Imaiqah said, thoughtfully. “I think you’re well ahead of us, at least in some levels. You could probably teach the class.”

Emily shook her head. Sergeant Harkin - she said a silent prayer for his soul - and Sergeant Miles were both formidable personalities, able to cow an unruly student with a single disapproving look. No one had dared defy Harkin openly before his death - before Shadye had made her stab him - and no one had realized he didn’t even have a single spark of magic to his name.
She
knew, all too well, that she didn’t have the presence to keep a class’s attention, not when they were experimenting with dangerous magic.

“No, thank you,” she said. “Maybe they just mean to give me some more research time.”

“I doubt it,” Imaiqah said. “They’d want you to build on what you have.”

They finished breakfast, and hurried through the corridors to the Great Hall. Several more students cast wary glances at her, as if they expected her to start lashing out in all directions; Emily did her best to ignore it, even though it was worrying. She would have preferred to be ignored, rather than to be treated as a volcano that might explode at any moment. But then, by the time the story had swept from one end of the Allied Lands and back again, it had probably grown in the telling. God alone knew what the students had heard before they’d returned to Whitehall.

She smiled to herself as she stepped into the Great Hall and waved to Caleb, who was leaning against the stone walls and trying not to be seen. Imaiqah caught her arm and tugged her towards Caleb, beckoning to Alassa as she entered the chamber. Emily smiled inwardly as Alassa came to join them, noting how she managed to make even the shapeless robes look good. She didn’t even have a single hair out of place.

“Madame Beauregard wanted to offer me a job,” she said, as she leaned against the wall next to them. “Dorm Monitor.”

“Wow,” Imaiqah said. “She must think highly of you.”

Alassa shrugged. “It’s extra responsibility,” she said. “I didn’t even know the post
existed
.”

“They start from Fourth Year,” Caleb put in. “One male, one female; they’re meant to keep an eye on their fellow students while Madame Beauregard keeps an eye on the Third Years. I wasn’t one.”

Imaiqah elbowed Alassa. “Bet Jade was,” she said. “Write to him and ask.”

“I will,” Alassa said. “Who do you think the other Dorm Monitor will be?”

Emily tuned them both out as they started discussing the various boys in their year and contemplating the most likely candidates. It wasn’t a post
she
wanted, not when she’d be the same age as the students she was meant to supervise. Jade had been a prefect, she recalled, but he’d never had to boss around his fellow Sixth Year students, only students who had been younger than him. Alassa would need reserves of tact and diplomacy Emily suspected she didn’t have to make the position anything more than an empty title.

Caleb cleared his throat. “Did you want the post?”

“No,” Emily said. “I didn’t know it existed either.”

She leaned against the wall and watched as students kept flowing into the Great Hall. There were only eighty Fourth Year students, divided almost evenly between male and female; she knew a handful of them by name, but others were strangers. Imaiqah would be able to talk about anyone in their year in great detail, Emily knew, yet Emily herself had never had the knack for learning about people, let alone making friends. She only knew Melissa and her cronies because they’d tried to make her life miserable.

The doors started to close, a handful of remaining students hastily running to get into the Great Hall before it was too late. Melissa was one of the last, her long red hair spilling out behind her as she ran into the chamber. She looked different, Emily noted, although it was hard to put her finger on
why
. There was a new resilience in the way she moved that surprised Emily. She waved, wondering if Melissa would come over, but Melissa did not approach them. Instead, she merely found a place to stand and waited.

Should have chairs here for us
, Emily thought.
Standing here for hours is no fun
.

She pushed the thought aside as the Grandmaster stepped through a door and walked onto the stage. The lights dimmed slightly, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Emily stood straighter, clasping her hands behind her back. The Grandmaster was not someone to ignore.

“Greetings,” the Grandmaster said. “Welcome back to Whitehall.”

There was a long pause. Normally, Emily knew, he would introduce the Year Head and allow him to make the rest of the speech, but this time he merely waited, his hidden eyes sweeping the room. Whitehall was
his
, Emily knew; the wards respected him as their master, even though he would one day stand aside for a new Grandmaster. That day, Emily hoped, would be a very long time in coming.

“This is your Fourth Year at Whitehall,” the Grandmaster continued. “As such, it is perhaps your most
important
year at Whitehall. Your Year Head, therefore, stands before you now.”

It took Emily a moment to realize he meant
him
, that
he
was the Year Head. She couldn’t help smiling as a rustle of understanding ran through the giant chamber. She
liked
the Grandmaster, while Master Tor had been a jerk and Mistress Irene had been sharp-tongued and strict. If the Grandmaster had time to serve as Year Head as well as his Grandmaster duties, there were few indeed who would wish for someone else. The Grandmaster could open doors no one else could, at least at Whitehall.

“First, a handful of minor announcements,” the Grandmaster said. “Quite a few of you have obtained chat parchments from their inventor. Anyone caught using one in class, at least not without a very good excuse, will be caned. I strongly suggest you do not bring your parchment into the classroom, as the tutor may simply destroy it. In addition, last year there were an alarming number of blue books smuggled into the school. The school board has banned them from the school and anyone caught with one will regret it.”

Oops
, Emily thought. If she’d known that the printing presses she’d introduced would be used to print Blue Books, erotic stories, she might have thought twice about introducing them to the Nameless World. She’d glanced at a handful of the stories and they’d been universally awful.
But they won’t blame me for that, will they?

“On a more serious note, I strongly advise you not to miss any classes during this year,” the Grandmaster warned. “Fourth Year lays the groundwork for your later career and it is vitally important to pass your exams with good grades. If you feel you are falling behind, go to your advisers and ask for assistance before it is too late. Your advisers are there to help you, so take advantage of them. Should you fail Fourth Year, as some of you already know, you may have to go all the way back to Third Year. I am reliably informed that most students would consider this a fate worse than death.”

There were some nervous chuckles. Emily understood; none of them would really be considered adults, whatever their age, until they passed Fourth Year. Being two years older than her fellow students would be bad enough, but to be treated as a child rather than an adult...it was
not
a pleasant thought. She silently resolved to pass Fourth Year on her first try.

“In addition, there will be career sessions with an adviser from the White Council,” the Grandmaster stated. “You
will
be expected to attend these sessions; you’ve been provided with papers detailing procedures, career requirements and your options. Talk to your advisers, sort out a handful of prospective careers and plan how you intend to approach the session.”

He paused. Emily couldn’t help feeling a stab of guilt. She’d barely glanced at the papers after shoving them into her pockets; hell, she’d left them back in her bedroom, rather than carry them with her. She made a mental note to read them when she got back, then turned her attention back to the Grandmaster. He looked stern.

“There is something that needs to be said, and said clearly,” he said. “It is why I am serving as your Year Head, even though you are Fourth Years rather than Sixth Years, and why I am speaking to you now.”

This was it, Emily realized. She glanced at Caleb and saw him smile. This was what he’d hinted at, yesterday. But the Grandmaster was still talking.

“Over the years,” he continued, “many students – young men and women like yourselves – have questioned the very purpose of Whitehall School. And when we, your tutors and teachers, have answered, we have told you about the advantages of learning in groups, of meeting your fellows before you reach true adulthood, of sharing the experience of discovering magic together. All of those answers are true.

“But there is another answer. Whitehall School exists for your protection and the protection of others.

“Magic is a great gift, but it can also be a curse. Here, you have learned how to use magic safely – and, perhaps, learned what it feels like to be without magic, to be at the mercy of those with greater power. Here, we can cope with problems that would kill you, if you lived outside the school; here, we can discipline you if you act like children, if you use your magic as a weapon. The outside world has fewer options when it comes to children granted the powers of gods. They must kill you, if you remain weak, or bow to you if you become strong.”

Emily shuddered. How long had it been since she’d come within a hairsbreadth of killing Alassa?

“Some of you, raised among mundanes, will see magic as a way to boost yourself, to become powerful, to exact revenge for slights real and imagined. Others, raised among magicians, will see yourselves as separate from the mundane world, able to interact with it on terms you choose. Neither feeling is healthy, nor is it good for the future of the Allied Lands. We seek to teach you how to handle your powers responsibly, because in the wider world it is often the case that the only check on your power is
you
.

“For many of you, this will be your final year at Whitehall. You will be released to walk the land, to become everything from alchemists to court wizards, taking with you what we have taught you. You will be released on a world that will bow to you, that will see your robes and your power and grant you respect. You will define yourself by how you handle what you have become, if you tame magic or if you allow the magic to tame
you
.”

He paused, looking down at them. Emily felt her breath catch in her throat.

“I do not count our successes as those who learn to handle great power, who can perform vast feats of magic, although those things are important. I count our successes as those who end up calm and confident, reasonable people whom the Allied Lands can depend upon in the endless war. Some of you will feel otherwise, and that is understandable. However, you must learn to shape your own path in the future. Your lives are what you make of them.”