The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22), Christopher Nuttall [books to read romance TXT] 📗

advanced towards her. She saw metal teeth glinting in stone jaws, gemstone eyes glowing with magic as they locked onto her face. Emily grimaced, powerful magic beating against her wards. The gargoyles had to be a final line of defense, particularly when they weren’t linked directly to the wardmaster. Gordian wouldn’t be steering them. He didn’t have the nerve to try to kill her directly.

Not as long as there’s even the slightest chance he might be blamed, she thought, with a hint of bitterness. She could admire someone determined to make something of himself, even if it came at a price, but not someone who couldn’t make a decision. Gordian’s wishy-washy nature grated on her nerves. He’d sooner leave himself plausible deniability than actually take bold steps to make himself a powerful man.

Her hand dropped to her empty belt. She’d left her pistol behind, somewhere in the burning city. Not that it mattered, she thought sourly. The pistol wouldn’t so much as scratch the advancing monsters. She braced herself and reached for her magic, then darted forward to press her hand against the nearest gargoyle. It whirled around to lash out at her, too late. She drained the magic into herself, a trick she’d leant from Void. The gargoyle stumbled and fell to the ground. Emily grinned, feeling a little more like herself as she caught hold of the second one and repeated the trick. Whoever had crafted the stone creatures hadn’t linked them to the nexus point, let alone the school’s wards. The trick would have been impossible if they’d been able to draw on unlimited power...

And whatever he’s doing, he’s doing to the nexus point, Emily thought. She could feel it as she inched past the gargoyles and up to the doors. They gaped open, invitingly. What is he doing?

Bracing herself, she stepped into the school.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

WHITEHALL FELT... WRONG.

Emily felt uneasy, utterly out of place, as she made her way through corridors she’d once known like the back of her hand. She’d spent six years in Whitehall. She’d come to see the school as her first real home. And yet, the building had taken on a hazy dreamlike quality that chilled her to the bone. Eerie silver light - she couldn’t help thinking of it as moonlight - pulsed through the walls, with no clear source. She frowned as she passed a pair of suits of armor, half-expecting them to spring to life and attack. But they didn’t move.

The sense of unreality grew stronger as she made her way down the corridor. It was late, but not that late. Even now, even with the school in lockdown, there should be students sneaking around and teachers enjoying a few scant hours of peace before they went to sleep to snatch what little rest they could. She felt oddly guilty as she moved onwards, part of her mind convinced she’d walk around the corner and straight into a patrolling teacher. And yet, there was nothing. The corridors were empty.

Perhaps he’s killed them all, she thought, morbidly. The idea terrified her. Frieda was somewhere in the giant building, perhaps in her room... was she dead? Perhaps he wanted to slaughter the entire council.

She frowned as she stepped into the antechamber. A handful of men in ceremonial armor - charmed armor - stood in front of her. She flinched - one of the men had been part of Master Lucknow’s posse - but they didn’t react to her presence. They weren’t frozen, yet... she sucked in her breath as she leaned forward to study the spell. They were entranced. It looked like a simple compulsion spell, but cast on an incredible scale. A nasty thought ran through her head, one she wished she hadn’t had. The spell was far too close to a necromantic spell for her peace of mind, yet... it was too subtle for a necromancer. Shadye wouldn’t have been able to make it work. Void could have, easily, but on such a big scale...

He used a battery, she realized. It wouldn’t be easy to cram such a spell into a wand, but it could be done. Nanette had done something similar. And all he had to do was cast the spell once.

A wave of bitterness nearly overcame her as she stepped past the entranced guards and peered into the lounge. Students - fourth years, if she was any judge - sat on sofas, as entranced as the guards outside. They would have been fetching and carrying for the delegates, she guessed. Frieda’s letter had told her the students had been pressed into service as servants, something that had outraged nearly all of them. Emily almost smiled at the thought. Gordian was likely to regret not hiring additional maids and manservants from the outside world. A single incident would have the parents and families up in arms.

Her lips quirked as she peered into the dining hall. The tables groaned under the weight of enough food to feed several large armies. Emily’s stomach turned as she saw entire cows and pigs, roasted and placed on the tables... all left to rot. The diners sat at the tables, deeply entranced. They’d had no time to eat before the enchantment came down and turned them into statues. She felt a pang of discontent at the sheer weight of food being left to waste - it could have fed everyone in Freedom City - and then turned away. The great hall was dead ahead.

Two more guards stood in front of the doors. Emily checked them, then made her way into the great hall itself. Hundreds of men and women were scattered over the chamber, all entranced. She spotted a couple of ambassadors she vaguely recognized from Zangaria, and a Prince of the Blood from Red Rose, but the rest of the guests were strangers. Emily supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t as if she knew everyone. She looked around for Lady Barb or Gordian or Master Lucknow or someone else she might