Infinite Regress (44 page)

Emily looked up, interested. She’d heard a great deal about Battle Magic, but she hadn’t learned much about it, save for a few comments from Sergeant Miles and a number of books from Mountaintop. Aurelius had been more focused on teaching her spells she could use alone, rather than anything that required more than one person to cast. Battle Magic was the closest thing the Nameless World had had to Weapons of Mass Destruction, at least until
she
came along.

“I expect you all to be able to take part in rituals at the end of this year,” Gordian concluded, sternly. “Emily, remain behind. Everyone else, dismissed.”

“Hard luck,” Prunella muttered, as she headed for the door. “Bad idea to let him
catch you
not paying attention.”

Emily swallowed the response that came to mind, then stood upright as the last of the students left the room, closing the door behind them. Gordian studied her for a long moment, his eyes taking in every last detail. Emily had to fight to stare back at him, knowing all too well that he was trying to make her uncomfortable—or nervous. And yet she knew he had every right to be annoyed. She
hadn’t
been paying attention in his class, after all.

Gordian frowned. “Tired?”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said. “I didn’t eat enough at lunch.”

“No one did,” Gordian said. He didn’t sound annoyed, much to her surprise. “You do realize they’re flinching away from you?”

Emily nodded, reluctantly.

“You scare them,” Gordian said. “Too much power at too young an age.”

“I know,” Emily said. She found it hard to keep the frustration out of her voice. “How do older magicians cope?”

“They learn to trust one another,” Gordian said. “Or they try to gather enough power not to
need
to work with others.”

Emily winced. She could trust, but not completely. She had friends, and she trusted them; but there was just a part of her that would never let down
all
of its defenses, never allow itself to be naked. And yet she had, only a day ago. Frieda had seen the deepest depths of her soul.

“I don’t know how to cope with it,” she admitted, finally. “Is there any way to make it work?”

“Practice,” Gordian said. “I’m afraid there’s no way to pick up a skill like this without months of practice. Even being a contributor to a ritual can be tricky, if the spell is far more demanding than anticipated.”

Emily frowned. “What happens?”

“They die, normally,” Gordian said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There was a set of magicians who believed they could use magic to... well, let’s just say they had a grand plan and the magical power to make it happen. Or so they thought. Midway through the ritual, the power demands spiked and all six of them burned themselves out trying to make it work.”

“They burned themselves out?”

“Their grand plan cost them every last spark of magic they had,” Gordian said. His face twisted, just for a long second, then returned to normal. “And it didn’t work, anyway. It might never have worked.”

Emily shuddered. To have such power, to
use
such power... and then lose it. Every sorcerer ever born would consider it their worst nightmare, particularly the ones who had lorded it over the powerless mundanes. Suicide, from what she’d heard, was a common response. No sorcerer wanted to live without power.

“What did they want to do?”

“Never you mind,” Gordian said. He sounded oddly irked by the question, although he’d been the one who mentioned the disaster. “I don’t want to give anyone ideas. They already have far too many of their own.”

He stepped backwards, then cast spells to clear up the ash and deposit it in the bin. “Go get some rest. I believe you have work to do tonight.”

Emily nodded, surprised she hadn’t been told off. “Yes, sir.”

“I
BELIEVE THIS SHOULD WORK,”
P
ROFESSOR
Lombardi said. “It’s a very small change to the spellware, but it should re-establish contact with the outside world.”

Emily frowned as she studied the spell diagram. It was neat, it
looked
logical... and yet there was something about it that bothered her. She tried, desperately, to put her finger on it, but came up blank. Caleb, beside her, looked rather impressed. It had only taken four days for Professor Lombardi to come up with a viable way to alter the spellware in the control room.

She felt her scowl deepen as she worked through the diagram. Lombardi had assumed, perhaps correctly, that the pocket dimension’s links to the outside world had been closed, but they weren’t
gone.
If Whitehall’s pocket dimension operated like a
normal
pocket dimension, he’d said, the spellwork he’d insert into the matrix would convince it to reopen the doors long enough to evacuate the students and stabilize the school. Emily couldn’t fault his logic, yet there was something
wrong
with it. She felt
sure
there was something wrong.

Gordian cleared his throat. “Can you alter the spellware?”

“I believe so,” Professor Lombardi said. Professor Ronald nodded enthusiastically. “It may not last indefinitely, but I believe it should work long enough to allow us to regain control of the wards.”

“Then we have no choice,” Gordian said. “We have to get out of the trap.”

He looked haggard, Emily noted. But she couldn’t blame him. The entire school was threatened with collapsing into desperate anarchy, no matter what he did to keep the students occupied. There was no way to hide the water or food shortages, or the simple fact that a number of corridors had been sealed off. And the longer they remained trapped, the greater the chance of something happening that would spell their doom. She understood
precisely
why Gordian wanted to press ahead. Manipulating the spellware was their best chance of getting out of the trap.

But there have to be other options
, she told herself.
If only we knew how it worked
.

She shook her head. Teleporting had failed, spectacularly. An attempt to reopen one of the portals had also failed, even though four tutors had combined their powers in an attempt to make the spell work. And it was starting to look as though she was wrong about the doors having merely been moved, instead of closed. No matter how desperately they searched, there was no trace of a way out. They were trapped.

“I believe it can be done immediately,” Professor Lombardi said. “Once the doorways are reopened, we can order the students out of the school...”

“We still don’t know
everything
down in the tunnels,” Professor Locke interrupted. He’d spent most of the day sulking, barely offering anything apart from sardonic remarks to the discussion. “I think we should search for those books before we do anything else.”

“The books have not turned up,” Professor Lombardi said, in some irritation. “And the tunnels below the school are still dangerously unreliable. They could switch at any moment, stranding someone...”

“We have to find those damned books,” Professor Locke snapped. “We
know
they couldn’t have been taken
out
of the school.”

He turned to the Grandmaster. “We should search everywhere,” he added. “If one of the students has them in their trunk, we could find them.”

“We have no proof that
any
of the students took the books,” Gordian said. “And searching their trunks would cause problems.”

“It would hardly matter,” Locke pointed out, “if we don’t make it back home.”

Emily winced. The hell of it was that Locke had a point.
Someone
had taken the books, someone skilled enough to fake her magical signature. That person could be hiding in one of the tunnels... or they could be a student, an unsuspected spy. Nanette had managed to sneak into the school to spy on Emily, back during her second year. Could someone else have done the same? Or perhaps a student from one of the magical families had stolen the priceless books, only to find herself trapped.

And doomed, if she’s caught
, Emily thought morbidly.
Gordian will not forgive her
.

Sergeant Miles leaned forward. “He does have a point.”

“We will consider the matter afterwards,” Gordian said. “For the moment—” he looked at Professor Lombardi “—you may begin your work.”

He turned and swept out of the classroom, followed by Master Tor. Emily felt a flicker of sympathy that surprised her. Trunks were meant to be private. Forcing a student to open her trunk for inspection—or simply breaking into it—was a gross breech of etiquette, one that could cost Gordian his job. Grandmaster Hasdrubal had opened a handful of trunks, back in second year, but he’d
definitely
known where the bodies were buried. Gordian had yet to establish himself as a power in the Allied Lands.

And I didn’t lodge a formal complaint either
, Emily thought.
Nor did anyone else
.

“We shall proceed,” Professor Lombardi said. He rose to his feet, folding up the spell diagram and tucking it under his arm. “Come.”

Emily caught Caleb’s hand as they walked down to the gates and then into the underground tunnel network. The air was surprisingly clean, the dust absent completely until they moved down to the second level. Even then, there was
less
dust. The spells that kept the corridors clean must have started working again, Emily thought. She didn’t think that
anyone
had been ordered to sweep the dust away. A chill ran down the back of her neck as she passed a set of closed doors—no combination of spells or physical force had proved enough to open them—and followed Professor Lombardi into the control room. The dull thrumming sounded louder, somehow. She rubbed her ears, knowing it was futile. The sound wasn’t entirely physical.

It touches our magic
, she thought. There were stories of what happened to people—mundanes and magicians—who stayed too close to untamed nexus points. All of a sudden, those stories seemed entirely believable.
We might find ourselves changed if we lose control of the spells
.

“It feels different,” Caleb muttered. “Like it’s
panting
.”

He was right. The thrumming sounded rather like a tired old man, taking his last laboring breaths. She sucked in her breath as she realized she didn’t know
what
was making the sound. She’d assumed it was the nexus point, but what if it was the spellware governing the control room? Was it a way to link their minds to the spells? Lord Whitehall had
created
the ward network, after all. He’d want a way to make direct contact with his work.

The wards above us worked on the same principle
, she thought.
What if we got it wrong and there’s no need to use the consoles?

She cleared her throat. “Professor,” she said. “What if we’re meant to make mental contact with the spells?”

“I don’t think it could be handled safely, by anyone,” Professor Lombardi said. “The spellware here is fantastically complex.”

“So is the spellware in the nexus chamber itself,” Emily said. “And yet the Grandmaster can touch and control the wards through his mind.”

Professor Lombardi frowned. “It would need to be an authorized user,” he said, putting the spell diagram down on the table and opening it up. “And trying to make contact
without
being an authorized user is asking to have your brains melted—or worse.”

Emily cursed under her breath. She
had
made contact—unauthorized contact—with the user interface above them. But no one knew it, save perhaps for Grandmaster Hasdrubal. It would be revealing, far too revealing, for her to confess what she’d done. Someone with a little imagination might just work out what she’d done to Shadye...

And while that wouldn’t be a bad thing
, she thought,
it would make the necromancers more willing to attack Whitehall in the future
.

She sighed. “I
did
touch the wards,” she said. She could insist that everyone in the chamber swore an oath of secrecy later. “And they let me work.”

Professor Lombardi gave her a sharp look. “Four years ago?”

Emily nodded, hoping she hadn’t just made a dreadful mistake.

“The Warden was still active at the time,” Professor Lombardi said. He sounded as if his mind was elsewhere. “It’s quite possible that you were regarded as an authorized user, particularly as the school was under attack at the time. Your signature was definitely authorized to be
present
within the school.”

Caleb frowned. “Why, sir?”

“It would be pretty silly for us to rest all our defenses on one man,” Professor Lombardi said, dryly. “Haven’t you read about Lord Faversham?”

“No,” Emily said. She’d met far too many lords in the last few years. “What happened to him?”

Caleb laughed. “They made us study his story at Stronghold,” he said. “He was a powerful magician, barely below a Lone Power. His castle was a gathering point for the great and good of the time, where his magic ensured that enemies could meet in peace, without fear of assassination. He would hold discussion groups with people from all over the Allied Lands, often encouraging disputes to tease out new viewpoints.”

A Renaissance man
, Emily thought.

“He had enemies,” Caleb added, after a moment. “His monarch didn’t like the fact that Faversham was holding such discussions, but Faversham was too powerful for the king to attack directly. So he sent a woman to seduce Faversham and trick him into drinking a potion to suppress his magic. When he was helpless, the castle was attacked and Faversham was unable to mount a defense. He and his guests were brutally slaughtered to a man.”

He paused. “That was over a hundred years ago.”

“And if he’d given the wards some leeway, or assigned someone else as a backup controller, his castle would never have fallen,” Professor Lombardi said, briskly. “Whitehall would have problems if the Grandmaster were the
sole
controller of the wards.”