Alassa's Tale: a Schooled in Magic novella Read online

  “Go now,” she ordered. She didn’t think her father would bar messengers from leaving, particularly ones carrying the princess’s ring, but it was well to be sure. “And stay out of sight.”

  Mouse frowned. “Your Highness … how will you find me?”

  “You have my ring,” Alassa said. The magical signature would allow her to find it with ease, once she was ready. Going herself would be risky, but … she could cope. “I’ll find you. Go.”

  She watched Mouse go, then opened the secret passageway and hurried down to the lower levels. There were no passageways that led all the way to the dungeons, as far as she knew, but she’d need help in getting through the defenses. She cursed the timing under her breath as she stepped out of the secret passageway, just outside the barracks. If Jade had stayed just a few more hours …

  There’s no point in crying over bad rolls of the dice, she reminded herself, sharply. Her father had drilled that lesson into her when he’d finally started taking her education seriously. The thought cost her a pang. She was about to go against her father for the first time in her life. All that matters is how you cope with them.

  Sir William looked up, surprised and a little embarrassed, as she stepped into the chamber. Her armsmen were drilling, hacking and slashing at each other as they waited to find out when they’d be leaving. Jade had trained with them over the last year, pushing them to the limits. He’d insisted that they were good men, but their training was limited.

  “Your Highness,” he said, straightening. The other armsmen dropped their weapons and stood to attention. “I …”

  Alassa took a breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Sir William had been loyal to her father before he’d sworn to her, even though his oaths put her ahead of her father. And while the others had sworn to her personally, they might balk at challenging the king. In theory, they couldn’t be blamed for what she ordered them to do; in practice, King Randor might execute them if they went against him.

  But that would weaken his ties to other armsmen, she told herself, firmly. Her father always played the long game. Weakening his men’s morale – by making it likely that they would be executed if they fell into enemy hands – would be dangerous. He wouldn’t want to take the risk.

  “We have a prisoner to rescue,” she said, bluntly. They would follow her orders. “And then we have to get her out of the castle.”

  Chapter Eleven

  ALASSA FOUGHT TO KEEP HER FACE under tight control as they made their way towards the dungeons. She had every right to be in the castle – she didn’t think anyone would be alarmed if they saw her and her armsmen – but she knew her father had been growing increasingly paranoid. He’d been having the wards modified extensively while Jade and she had been touring the countryside. She could feel the magic crawling through the walls, layer after layer of complex spells. Who knew what would trigger them?

  She resisted the urge to glance back as they made their way down the stairs. The armsmen were following her, their footsteps echoing against the walls. They’d been doubtful, she knew, even though they couldn’t be blamed for following her orders. In hindsight, she really should have spent more time with them. But she’d always had something more important to do.

  Father had an unfair advantage, she thought, without heat. No one thought there was anything odd about him watching the troops as they drilled.

  It had been a long time since she’d been in the lower dungeons, but the layout wouldn’t have changed. The castle’s designers had worked hard to make sure there was only one way in or out of the lower levels, ensuring the prisoners couldn’t get very far if they managed to break out of their cells. It was rare for anyone to be held for very long, not in the king’s castle. They were either moved to the inescapable tower or sentenced within the week. Imaiqah wouldn’t be any different.

  We get in, yank her out of her cell and go straight for the secret passage out of the castle, Alassa thought. She’d be in worse trouble for revealing the passage to Imaiqah, even though her friend could swear an oath never to reveal its location. And once she’s out, she can go straight to Whitehall.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, she conceded sourly, but it would have to do. Emily and Jade would take care of her, whatever King Randor said. And then … Imaiqah was a skilled magician. She could change her name, if the king was completely beyond reason, and set up shop on the other side of the continent. Alassa didn’t want to lose her friend completely, but at least Imaiqah would be alive.

  We’ll have to get the rest of her family too, Alassa reminded herself. Imaiqah’s mother and siblings had moved to Cockatrice. It would take time for the king to get his hands on them … but he would, if she gave him the time. They might all have to run.

  She turned the corner and walked towards the inner guardhouse. It was carefully designed to make it hard to enter from both sides, although it was hampered – somewhat – by the need to rush troops into the dungeons if the prisoners revolted. A pair of guards were clearly visible, carrying swords and pistols; others, she knew, must be lurking just out of sight. Her heart began to race. They were committed now.

  Sir William strode forward, every inch the aristocratic soldier. “Make way for Her Highness!”

  The guards started, then hastily called for their superior. Alassa cursed under her breath. She’d hoped the guards would just let them through, whatever orders they’d been given by her father. It would be a brave or foolish lowborn guard who stood in her way and refused to move. But then, her father had no qualms about ordering the guards to separate noblemen who started fights in the throne room. The guards tended to make the most of it.

  A higher-ranking officer appeared. He looked nervous, caught between two fires. On one hand, he had his orders from the king; on the other, Alassa might make him pay for following his orders. No doubt everyone had already heard about what she’d done to Viscount Nightingale. There was no point in trying to keep secrets like that in the castle.

  “Your Highness,” he said. “I have orders from the king that no one is to see the prisoner without his personal authorization …”

  “I have his permission.” Alassa cut him off. She would have felt sorry for the officer if he wasn’t blocking her way. “Show me to her cell.”

  The officer blanched. “Your Highness … the king said that only people bearing his personal authorization were to be allowed into the cell.”

  Alassa made a gesture with one hand. The armsmen surged forward, fists at the ready. The guards had no time to react before they were overwhelmed. Sir William muttered a curse, then ordered the men into the inner guardroom. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the guards were missing. And the wards might have noticed too. Alassa gritted her teeth as she stepped over the officer’s unconscious form. Her father might already be on the way.

  “Open the inner door,” she snapped. “Now!”

  An armsman ran forward and put his shoulder against the metal. “It isn’t budging!”

  “Magic,” Sir William said.

  Alassa braced herself, then pressed her fingertips against the runic diagram. The spell holding the door closed wasn’t very powerful, but it was complex. She resisted the urge to just muster her power and blast it to atoms, even though overloading the spellwork would be easy. And yet … she nodded to herself as she sensed the trap. Whoever had designed the spell was a cunning bastard. Anyone who removed the spell without being very careful would bring the roof down on their heads.

  “One minute,” she said, as she carefully undid part of the spell. “I … there!”

  The door opened, revealing a darkened corridor leading down into a chamber. Sir William ordered two of his men to take lanterns and lead the way down, watching carefully for booby traps. Alassa followed, pushing her senses to the limit. The wards didn’t seem to have reacted, but she knew from bitter experience that that was meaningless. Just because there was no audible alarm didn’t mean the alert hadn’t been sounded.

  A gust of foul-sme
lling air struck her as she entered the chamber. She swallowed hard, desperate not to show weakness in front of the armsmen. It was all she could do to keep from being violently sick as she looked around. A handful of iron cages, all empty, were clearly visible. Alassa allowed herself a moment of relief, mixed with concern. Imaiqah would have been humiliated – or worse – if she’d been put in one of those cages, but at least Alassa would have found her. Instead, they’d have to check the cells one by one.

  “The upper-class cells are to the left,” she said, quietly. “Check them, quickly.”

  Another gust of air struck her as she peered into the darkness. The wards were pressing against her mind, making it harder to draw on her magic. She wasn’t cleared to be in the dungeon and the wards knew it. And yet … she peered into one of the cages, recalling the stories from her grandfather’s reign. A number of noblewomen had been locked into similar cages and displayed to the public, their every move visible to prying eyes. Perhaps Baroness Harkness hadn’t been so badly treated after all.

  But Grandfather needed to make it clear that he was in charge, she recalled. Putting noblewomen on display had been sick, but it had also served a purpose. He didn’t dare let the aristocrats think they could revolt again.

  “Two of the cells are occupied,” an armsman called back. “But I can’t open the doors!”

  Alassa hurried down the corridor. The smell grew worse as she stopped outside the first door and pressed her fingers against the lock. It was locked by iron bolts and secured by magic … she felt a flicker of admiration for the designer, even as she started to undo his work. The roof might not be rigged to collapse, this time, but only the precise application of power would be enough to open the door. She didn’t think blasting it open was a good idea. The wards would certainly respond badly.

  And it might kill the person inside, she thought.

  She wished, grimly, that Jade had stayed one more day. Or that Emily or Aloha or even the Gorgon had been able to join her. They would have done a better job of unlocking the cell. Instead … she thrust her mind and power forward, gambling that she could overcome the spellwork before it collapsed or sounded the alarm. Magic crackled around her, pushing back as she started to undo the spell. It buckled, then screamed an instant before it evaporated into nothingness. Alassa swore out loud as the door unlocked. If her father hadn’t known that something was wrong before, he certainly knew now.

  The armsmen shone a light into the darkened cell. Imaiqah sat on a wooden bench, her arms locked behind her back and iron shackles on her wrists. Her tinted skin looked odd under the flickering light. Her dress was mussed, but intact. Alassa breathed a sigh of relief, even as she caught the tell-tale scent of Durian. They’d forced Imaiqah to drink potion to suppress her magic, then. The thought alone was enough to make her shudder. She’d only taken the potion once, herself, and she’d felt as though she’d lost a limb. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

  “We’re getting you out of here,” she said, hurrying forward. The two pairs of shackles around Imaiqah’s ankles were cruel. One of them was designed to make it impossible for her to walk, even though she was locked in the cell. She guessed the guards took the smaller pair off when they wanted her to move. “Stay quiet.”

  “We don’t have time to remove the shackles.” Sir William said sounded disgusted. “We’ll have to carry her out of here.”

  Alassa nodded, standing upright. Imaiqah’s eyes were dazed, as if she’d been forced to drink more than just a magic-suppressing potion. Alassa supposed her father’s interrogators might have given her something to loosen her tongue, although it was just as likely they’d wanted to drug her to make sure she couldn’t plan an escape. Imaiqah’s eyes weren’t even tracking her friend and the armsmen. Up close, there was a nasty bruise on her cheek.

  Someone is going to pay for that, Alassa thought, darkly. One of her father’s personal armsmen, perhaps. It didn’t look like deliberate torture, but it didn’t matter. I’ll turn him into a rabbit and throw him to the hunting dogs.

  She forced the anger out of her mind and looked at Sir William. “Carry her out of here,” she ordered. “We have to hurry.”

  Imaiqah moaned, an oddly disturbing sound, as Sir William picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Alassa touched Imaiqah’s forehead lightly, wishing she knew more about the healing arts, then headed for the door. The wards were buzzing now, magic flickering through the walls as they came to life. It wouldn’t be long before the only exit was blocked, trapping them within the dungeons. And then … the king would just wait for hunger and thirst to take their toll before he sent his men to capture them.

  Alassa led the way down the corridor and back into the chamber. She could hear the sound of running footsteps ahead, a line of guardsmen running towards them. Her armsmen took up defensive positions, drawing their bladed weapons. Alassa cursed under her breath as she saw them. She had no particular qualms about killing, but slaughtering her father’s guards wouldn’t be taken lightly. And besides, one day she’d be queen. She’d have to rule them.

  “Try not to kill them,” she ordered. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Real combat didn’t follow rules. “Please …”

  The guardsmen crashed into her line. They weren’t very well trained, part of her mind noted; they fought with staves, rather than swords. She puzzled over it for a long moment as men began to fall, some clearly injured or dead. It made no sense, unless …

  She looked up towards the guardhouse. The first wave of guards was expendable. Of course they were. Their job was to keep the intruders busy while the others set up shop in the guardhouse. She reached out with her senses and cursed again as she sensed at least one magician amongst the second set of guards. He’d be taking control of the wards now, she was sure, and trying to find a way to turn them against her. Or merely keep her trapped until her father arrived …

  “We have to move,” Sir William said, urgently. “Hurry!”

  Alassa nodded, shaping a spell in her mind as they hurried around the combatants and up the long corridor. The wards were growing stronger, power crackling around her as they approached the guardhouse. A high-power spell would almost certainly be absorbed by the wards before it reached its target, but a low-power spell? She cast the itching charm, pushing it ahead of them like a shield. It was nothing more than a prank, by Whitehall’s standards, but the guards wouldn’t be able to counter it. Their armor wouldn’t be able to handle a spell that wasn’t directed straight at them. It didn’t cover everything.

  She heard screaming up ahead as she burst into the guardhouse. A dozen men lay on the ground, scratching frantically. A thirteenth man was desperately trying to cast a counterspell and not having much luck. Alassa smirked as she cast a spell of her own, forcing him to defend himself. The guards wore armor that was supposed to protect them from spells, armor that was interfering with the counterspells. But the armor hadn’t kept the itching charm out. How could it?

  The magician deflected the fireball, then cast a stunner of his own. Alassa countered it, although it was harder than she’d expected. The magician didn’t seem to have much in the way of raw power, but he was far from inept. She didn’t have time to duel him, even though she thought she could win. Instead, she slammed enough power into the magician to throw him right across the room and into the wall. He fell to the ground and lay still. She hoped, despite everything, that he wasn’t dead.

  “We have to get to the passageway,” she said. The sound of fighting, behind her, was slowly dying away. Hopefully, her armsmen would have the sense to surrender once they realized she was on her way. There was no point in them continuing the fight. They’d be beaten, probably, but they’d be alive. “Hurry!”

  She could hear others running towards her as they hurried down the corridor. The king would be deploying guards to all of the chokepoints – she’d watched the plans being drawn up herself – but would he think to secure the secret passage? She doubted it. He’d expect her to use it, perha
ps – there was no way she could get Imaiqah out through the gates – but he wouldn’t want to reveal the secret passageway to everyone. The guards would talk …

  He might come himself, she thought, feeling cold. She cast a handful of hazing charms into the air, trying to make it harder for the wards to track them. Or he might send his other sorcerers.

  She glanced back at Sir William. “How is she?”

  “It’ll take weeks for the potion to work its way out of her system,” Sir William told her, grimly. He didn’t sound as though he believed himself. “I don’t think she’ll be able to walk for a few hours.”

  Alassa gritted her teeth. She knew enough about potions and their side effects to know that Imaiqah was in for a rough time. And she wouldn’t be in any state to look after herself. Sir William would have to go with Imaiqah, then. Alassa couldn’t go, not when she had to smooth things over with her father. He’d want to punish her, somehow. A year or two of exile, perhaps. Or something worse.

  Take it like a man, her thoughts said. She giggled, despite herself. Her grandfather had once clouted his teenage son with an iron glove, if her grandmother was to be believed. Alassa believed it. Her grandfather had been a violent, ruthless and occasionally cruel man. She could take that, if necessary. You want him to respect you, don’t you?

  She rounded the corner and stopped. The sour-faced woman she’d seen talking to her father was standing in front of the secret passageway, hands resting on her hips. Alassa cursed out loud, knowing it was already too late to retreat. She could hear men running behind her, chasing them through the castle. And the woman in front of her …