The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) by Christopher Nuttall (top ebook reader txt) 📗

BANG. Flames burnt through the sky, sheets of liquid fire splashing in all directions. Emily felt drained, her head starting to ache, but there was no time. She hurled herself into the air, hoping and praying the mystery attacker had drained himself, too. If he saw her flying towards him and cast a cancellation spell, she was going to plummet to the ground and probably die.

The scent of burning flesh tormented her as she flew towards the rooftop. The magician had been there, hadn’t he? Emily raised her hands, ready to fight, but there was no one and nothing... save for a pile of equipment and two iron rings. They were scorched and pitted, the runes rendered unreadable, but she knew what they were. No, what they’d been. They’d been a battery.

Master Lucknow, Emily thought, as she reached out with her senses as carefully as she could. A skilled magician could have hidden himself in the haze of discharged magic, but... she sensed nothing. Who else knows how to make batteries?

Her own thoughts provided the answer. Any sorcerer who accompanied the army into the Blighted Lands.

And took the oaths, her mind countered. Whoever did this...

Her mind raced. Dater probably had a handful of first-class sorcerers under his banner. But... a sorcerer didn’t have to be of the first-rank to produce and charge a battery, if he knew how to do it. The secret had already leaked... it was quite possible a weaker magician could have planned everything, using the batteries to make up for his limited power. And yet, it was odd. Whoever had enchanted Fran had used a wand, yet they’d clearly been too powerful to need one. Why...?

She cursed under her breath as she squatted beside the expended batteries and examined the debris. Wood and carved iron... wands and valves. Someone had inserted a fireball spell into a pair of wands, then channeled a massive surge of magic through the valves and into the spellware. They’d been incredibly overpowered, to the point the magic was impossible to trace back to a single magician, but... she shook her head. They’d also made very effective weapons. The magician had come within bare seconds of killing the council. He had killed the queen. There would be no peace now.

Master Lucknow could easily have provided the batteries, she thought. But there’s no proof of anything, anything at all.

The stench grew worse. She turned and peered over the rooftop. The queen’s body was gone, leaving only a scorch mark on the cobblestones. The guards who’d been beside her were gone too. A number of citizens had been burnt by the fireball... Emily cursed as she gathered her magic, shaping a levitation spell. The mob had been broken, the unharmed stragglers scattering everywhere. She knew it wouldn’t be long before anger and shame overpowered fear and pain, demanding revenge. She’d have to track down the magician before it was too late.

Althorn met her as she landed beside the wounded. “Nineteen people dead, so far,” he said, coldly. His face was dark. “The queen is dead too, unless she somehow escaped...”

Emily shook her head. “Whoever killed her intended to kill everyone in the vicinity,” she said. She wanted to lash out at him - they hadn't had to put the queen on trial - but she knew it would be pointless. “And they used...”

She clenched her fists. She was being taunted. She knew it. And she didn’t have the slightest idea who was doing it. And... she wasn’t sure where to begin hunting the bastard down.

“We’ve already had messages from the rest of the revolutionary cells,” Althorn said. “The royalist army is focused on us. They’ve left the rest of their territory undefended. The remainder of the cells are going to move to take the entire kingdom, then trap the enemy army between two fires. And then we will move on.”

“I hope you’re right,” Emily said. She found it hard to pity Dater, after everything. He would be well-advised to take what little he had left, then go into exile. She knew he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. “Good luck.”

In the distance, she heard a handful of guns starting to boom.

Chapter Thirty-Two

EMILY COULDN’T HELP NOTICING, AS SHE stepped through the door, that Silent looked appalled at her appearance. Her dress was stained with blood and ash and other things she didn’t really want to think about, not when she wanted a bath and a rest. She knew she wasn’t going to get any of them, not now. She needed to think, not...

“Put some water in the tub,” she ordered. “I’ll wash myself after...”

Her heart clenched as she stepped into the kitchen. Prince Hedrick sat there, his face an expressionless mask. He’d heard something... of course he’d heard something. The shouting had probably been heard in the enemy camp, on the far side of the walls. Emily found herself grasping for words, utterly unsure what to say. Lady Barb would have been blunt, without any attempt to soften the blow. Emily winced, inwardly. She didn’t like the prince - and she was tempted to order him out, again - but he didn’t deserve to have the news rubbed in his face. He’d liked his stepmother.

Hedrick looked up at her. “What happened?”

Emily gritted her teeth and took the plunge. “Your stepmother is dead.”

The prince showed no reaction for a long, cold moment, then one hand dropped to his sword as if he intended to draw it. Emily watched, readying a spell in case Hedrick decided to do something stupid. He’d get himself killed if he charged the palace gates, waving his sword like a hero from the old tales. The guards would shoot him before he got within ten meters of the walls, after they finished laughing. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe... she shook her head sourly. It would make matters worse, as if they weren’t bad enough already.

Hedrick slowly let go of the hilt. “How did she die?”

Emily outlined everything that had