Tales of the Nameless World, Volume Two: Tales of the Nameless World

A Note on Prior Publication

The Cunning Man’s Tale, first published in Fantastic Schools Volume 3, 2021

Frieda’s Tale, first published in Fantastic Schools Hols, 2022

The Muckraker’s Tale, first published in Fantastic Schools, Volume 6, 2022

Foreword, by Christine Amsden

When Lida Quillen of Twilight Times Books approached me in 2013 to ask if I’d like to edit a new fantasy novel, I had no idea that it would only be the beginning of a wild ride. With twenty-seven main novels, not to mention spin-off novels, a spin-off trilogy, and myriad novellas, the Schooled in Magic universe has kept me busy – and riveted!

In my own life, and in my own writing, I proudly consider myself to be a character girl ... that is to say, I prize compelling characters at the heart of a narrative above just about everything else. Of course in reality, you can’t entirely separate a character from their world or their plot, at least, not in a well-written story, but character is the lens through which we understand those worlds and those plots. What is a world, after all, if not the combined wants, needs, and perspectives of countless individuals? It’s less interesting that a river runs through a city than that the people of the city are therefore traders and fisherfolk. If climate conditions are favourable, and a country is rich, how do they parcel out that wealth? If conditions are hostile and people are barely getting by, then who lives and who dies?

Power can be a deadly game. And it’s not just life or death that’s at stake.

In addition to being a character girl, I’m also a fan of portal fantasy going way back to my childhood when I read The Chronicles of Narnia until some of the covers fell off. My favourites included the first book, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, because that’s where we get to know the land of Narnia, but my absolute favourite was book five, A Horse and His Boy, which tells a story outside the perspective of the main characters or, indeed, anyone who had ever heard of Earth. The first book invited me in, but that later book gave me a chance to really look around and see things no one from our world would ever have noticed.

That’s what I love about these sorts of spin-off tales.

Emily is fantastic, of course. What drew me to her in particular wasn’t that she was some Everyman character, because she’s not. Before going to the Nameless World, she was bullied by peers and subjected to emotional abuse by her mother and creepy stepfather. This makes her a compelling choice for a character who steps into a Medieval world and begins spreading technological advances for several reasons: First, as a bookish loner, she’d read a lot more than the typical teenage girl; not every teenager would even know that the printing press would create a revolution. Second, she has a particular distaste for bullies that becomes a catalyst allowing her to become more self-assured in defence of others. And finally, she has an underlying vulnerability, a lack of self-confidence, that keeps her an underdog, in some ways, even as she gains more and more power.

Emily proves that power isn’t a one-dimensional force. In the early books in particular, her perception of vulnerability shaped the reality of how powerful she was. Later on, she was just beginning to overcome that vulnerability when she lost her magic, forcing her to reckon with powerlessness – both real and perceived – once again.

I explored the concept of powerlessness in a series of books I wrote, beginning with Cassie Scot: ParaNormal Detective, in which the main character is a modern member of a magical family who has no magic of her own. Quite unlike Emily, she was born to power, she was born with an expectation of power, so she felt cheated not to have it. Yet she did have the protection (however unwanted at times) of a powerful family – at least until she lost that protection in book two. Wealth, knowledge, intelligence, family position, and even self-confidence can play a role in how much power a person has, even when faced with being the only person in a magical world with no magic.

I also wrote spin-offs. There’s just no other way to colour in all the details of a world. Your main character will never know everything.

Here, in Tales of the Nameless World II, we get the chance to see the Nameless World through the perspectives of five different characters, each of whom sees the world in vastly different ways, each of whom has a tremendously different expectation of power. There’s Cat, born with the assurance of his place in the world, a boyfriend to Emily until she loses her magic and he can’t handle that fact. He’ll never see the world in the same way she does, and he can take us into dark corners where she wouldn’t dare venture. Lady Barb, likewise, is born with self-assurance, the most promising student at Whitehall in her day. Through her youthful arrogance, she’s able to show us Void in a way Emily couldn’t or wouldn’t until it was almost too late. Frieda, by sharp contrast, is born into desperate poverty. Like Emily, she suffers abuse, but unlike Emily, she gets the chance to go back home and face those abusers. Jane, who founds a school newspaper at Whitehall, isn’t the most magically powerful of the bunch, but she shows us how one woman’s drive, coupled with opportunity – specifically the printing press – can reshape the world.

I have a favourite, though. I’m allowed; these aren’t children. Or at least, not my children.

Adam has no magic at all. Now, where did I hear that idea before? :)

Of course The Cunning Man (Adam), takes the concept of a magicless character in a different direction than I chose. When I wrote Cassie, I intentionally wanted to tell a story of self-acceptance as much as or more than one of overcoming. This is because the concept in that story was inspired by my own struggle with disability, and I’ve come to believe over the years that overcoming starts with radical acceptance. As the Serenity Prayer goes, God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Adam has a lot of courage. 

And in his case, perhaps, he has the wisdom not to accept other people’s notions of what can and cannot be changed. I absolutely love that idea.

Despite the title, The Cunning Man, it could never have been pure cunning that allowed Adam to win out. Before Emily came to the Nameless World, before she turned the place upside down, before she introduced innovations that kicked up a storm, and especially, before she opened a university, Adam would never have gotten anywhere with his magical studies. In a way, he’s proof of concept for Emily. She knew, from desperate personal experience, that people can’t succeed with the deck stacked so badly against them. That’s why she created an institution to help others help themselves. Even so, it wasn’t easy for Adam, but it was possible, with that essential ingredient of cunning.

I also loved The Cunning Man trilogy, so especially if you like his story in here, check that out.

And indeed, I hope you enjoy all these stories of characters with different expectations of and outlooks on power.

Sincerely,

Christine Amsden

Author and Freelance Editor

www.christineamsden.com

Introduction

Writing this introduction poses an interesting challenge. What can I say that I did not already say when I wrote the introduction to the first volume, nearly a year ago? What new stuff can I offer my readers, at least when it comes to introducing them to these works?

Let me think about it...

I want to talk to you about [some MLM scheme I dare not mention by name] ...

Wait! Where are you going? Come back!

All right, I’ll be serious now. Really.

The volume in front of you, in eBook or paper format, is the second collection of stories set within the universe of Schooled In Magic, stories that do not feature Emily to any great extent (if at all, although she is often mentioned) and concentrate instead on side characters, often filling in the blanks about what they were doing outside Emily’s awareness, adding pieces of backstory, or sometimes even introducing new characters to the readers before Emily meets them herself.

For me, this served three purposes. First, I could outline bits of the story and add details to the universe that Emily had no reason to know. Second, I could explore storylines that Emily would not, if indeed she had any interest in doing so. And third, my novellas would serve as one of the main attractions for the Fantastic Schools anthologies, collections of magic school stories written by a combination of established authors and newcomers. I have received a great deal of help over the years, as I built my career, and I believe it is important to give back to the community by assisting writers to make a name for themselves, particularly in this day and age when it is much harder to get any sort of traction at all.

The indie writer community – and indeed every writer – is not well served by providing perverse incentives, encouraging writers to behave badly on the grounds they will never be noticed if they don’t. Those of us who have the writing bug can find it very frustrating when our works are not noticed, when we are not even given feedback that boils down to "what were you thinking when you wrote this piece of crap?" Tactics such as paying for publishing and reviews, bombarding established writers and agents with manuscripts, taking up an entire panel at the convention talking about yourself (et cetera, et cetera) inevitably backfire, leaving the poor writer in a worse state than before. There is an entire industry of grifters to make money off desperate writers, and the blunt truth is that industry only makes money for the grifters.

As a general rule, money should flow down to the writer. There are some exceptions, such as indie writers purchasing covers and editing for themselves, but you would be wise to assume that anyone who contacts you and offers a publishing deal, for a very low payment, is running a con. The odds are very good that you will get no traction at all, that you will get nothing apart from more demands for money and legal issues that could tie up your books for years to come.

I will say more about the Fantastic Schools anthologies later. Suffice it to say that three of the novellas here were first published in the anthologies, while two more were written specifically for this volume and are currently exclusive.

This collection does not just allow me to present five novellas to readers, but also to say a little about each successive story. The novellas each have a short introduction, placing them within the greater universe, and an afterword in which I expound upon my thinking as I plotted them and how they influence greater events that might impact upon Emily and the overall storyline. One novella served as a basis for a full trilogy; two of the others, if readers demand, may be turned into full novels, perhaps even trilogies of their own. And they are, to a certain degree, stand-alone. If you are new to this universe, and I should note that the very first novel is available in Kindle Unlimited, you should be able to read them with the minimal context provided by the forwards.

I hope you enjoy reading these stories. If you do, please leave a rating and a review. It is a great deal harder, as I said above, to get any traction these days, and reviews are about the only way to get any significant promotion and/or attract new readers.

Thank you for your time.

Christopher G Nuttall

Edinburgh, 2024

Lady Barb’s Tale

When Emily was kidnapped into the nameless world by Shadye, a powerful necromancer who intended to sacrifice her, she was rescued by Void, an enigmatic and extremely powerful sorcerer with an agenda of his own. After explaining what happened, and revealing that she was trapped in a world of magic with magic of her own, Void sent her to Whitehall and worked hard to create the impression that Emily was his illegitimate biological daughter. Emily repaid Void by accepting him as a father figure of sorts, believing that he would always have her best interests at heart.

This did not work out as well as she might have hoped, for various reasons. The perception that she was Void’s daughter made many people wary of her, not least Lady Barb, a combat sorceress who had been hired to protect Princess Alassa and feared that Emily might be as great a threat to the Princess and her father as the treacherous nobles who launched a coup and came very close to total victory. It was not until afterwards, when Lady Barb realised that Emily had no intention of harming her friend, that she admitted to Emily that she had had a very bad experience with Void, after he had given her an apprenticeship, and cautioned Emily, without going into details, that her father figure might have an agenda of his own. Emily did not take it as seriously as she should have done, because Lady Barb refused to tell her just what had happened to terminate her apprenticeship.

This is why.

Chronologically speaking, this story takes place roughly fifteen years prior to Schooled In Magic.

Prologue

It is not easy for me to recount the events of twenty years past, even when it’s important that you – that everyone – should beware of one idealistic man with enough power to make his dreams a reality and an unwillingness to hesitate, any longer, now the time has come for him to reshape the world. There is no oath binding me, no curse freezing my hands or tongue; nothing, but my own unwillingness to discuss my own past, and admit to my flaws and how near they came to getting me killed. I played with fire, and I wound up getting burnt.

There is little in my early life you don’t already know. My father was a remittance man, an aristocratic sorcerer who had been granted lands and an income, as long as he didn’t return to his family mansion. It is hard for me to imagine any reason why he might have been sent into de facto exile, nothing to explain a mystery that occasionally bothered me. He was no rake, no traitor, no coward who had disgraced the family name. He refused to speak of it, and told me that I was not to discuss it with my paternal relatives. I honoured his wish until his dying day. The relatives I spoke to, afterwards, were as much in the dark as I.

My mother, by contrast, was a Diddakoi Traveller, a young woman whose entire life was spent on the road. She was what we call a hedge witch, although the Diddakoi themselves do not use that term, and very much a wild spirit. Precisely how she met and tumbled my father was something else I was never told, nor too was I told why she chose to take the risk of pregnancy out of wedlock. The Diddakoi women had far more freedom than most, but there were and remain limits. If my mother hadn’t been such an accomplished witch, they might have kicked her out of the community. I wondered, later in life, if they’d threatened her to ensure she sent me to my father. As far as I know, they had no real relationship after the single tryst.

I spent my early years with the Diddakoi, then with my father; my mother came in and out of my life, always telling me she loved me and yet, for reasons she was unwilling to explain, refusing to take me back on the road for more than a month or two every year. My father was a little surprised, I think, to discover that he had a daughter, but he coped admirably. He taught me the basics of rational high magic, even as my mother opened my eyes to the wonders and shadows lurking in the natural world. I was as well prepared as anyone ever was when I came into my power.

In hindsight, it’s clear that I was a headstrong young girl. There was little that scared me, in those days, and I roamed the world freely. My father’s name and power gave me a little protection; my mother’s influence, I believed, shielded me from the strange things lurking in the corner of our eyes. I played with my friends, youngsters from my father’s estate, and rode our horses over hills and dales, my hair blowing back in the wind. My first year of magic was no different, even though my parents were clearly unsure if I should study with a wise woman or go to school. They eventually compromised and let me do both. It was the making of me.

I took Whitehall by storm. They said I was one of the most promising students to pass through the doors, my name whispered as a worthy successor to a hundred other students who had gone on to accomplish great things. My father had taught me well, and I soon rocketed ahead of my peers in terms of raw magical ability. Is it any surprise I grew conceited, as well as reckless? I had a high opinion of myself, to my eternal shame, because I was a very good student. I had no trouble with my exams, or securing a place in fifth year, or even warding off my father’s family when they tried to lay claim to me. The scholarship was enough to live on, after his death, and I was sure a brilliant apprenticeship awaited me.

I couldn’t say just when I first heard the name Void. It was a whisper, a rumour everyone knew was rooted in solid truth. The most powerful magician of the age, some said: the greatest hero of our world. There was little hard data, nothing to suggest his true name or his origins; his family, unlike mine, seemed reluctant to reach out and draw him into their orbit. It didn’t bother me as much as it should have done, perhaps. My father’s family and my mother’s clan had both been reluctant to acknowledge me, at least until I proved my power. It never occurred to me to wonder if Void’s lack of a family was a warning sign, or if it should worry me. There were few willing to talk about him, certainly not to a young student ... no matter how promising she looked to be. It only whetted my appetite. If half the stories were true, an apprenticeship with him would be the key to true greatness.

I wrote to him.

It was a gamble, but there was no real risk. The worst he could do, according to tradition, was turn me down. He might be rude, if he felt I’d overstepped, but he wouldn’t hurt me. The greatest sorcerers are constantly bombarded with requests for apprenticeships, from far more prospective students than they could ever accept, and in that I was sure he was no different. Even if I had been worried, I wouldn’t have hesitated to send the letter. The prize was worth any amount of risk.

It was not until I completed my final exams that he wrote back, offering to test me. I accepted at once, without hesitation. In hindsight, that was merely the first mistake I made in those strange and terrible days. But I was ambitious, and driven, and determined, and I would have crawled over broken glass for the opportunity to study under him.

And so that was how I found myself in the Great Hall, two weeks after the exams, waiting.

Chapter One

You would have been wiser to ask for advice, the Grandmaster said, coolly. The staff would have provided advice, if you asked.

I forced myself to stay calm. Grandmaster Hasdrubal was powerful, powerful and restrained. I had never heard him raise his voice, even when lecturing students on the dangers of magical horseplay or expelling a particularly foolish student for meddling with forbidden magics. He was very much the kind of person I wanted to be, a respected magician whose views were always heeded, a worthy culmination to a career of demonstrating my magical brilliance to all and sundry. And yet, I didn’t understand why he’d gone into teaching in the first place, explaining basic magics to inexperienced students when he could have been taking a string of apprentices who would spread his fame far and wide. It was a puzzle, and one I resented being unable to understand.

We stood together in the Great Hall, every second feeling like an hour as we waited for him to arrive. The Grandmaster had said little, when I’d revealed that I had written directly to Void, but I had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t too pleased. My advisor had told me that I should have checked with the staff, so they could make the first approach, but I wanted – I needed – to demonstrate the sort of initiative that would make me look like a good candidate for an apprenticeship, rather than let them take the lead. Besides, I knew from my father that academic staff were often unaware of the real world, and their attempts to help their students often counterproductive. The rules for schooling and apprenticeships were different, and woe betide the student who forgot it. Or who paid the price for their advisor’s failings.

I clasped my hands behind my back, trying to project an image of calm. I knew I made a striking figure, with long, blonde hair falling down my back and a sharp, almost patrician face, but he was unlikely to be impressed by anything other than my magic. I’d spent hours trying to decide what I should wear, asking myself if it would be presumptuous to wear apprentice robes or if doing so would show I was confident I would be accepted, before settling on a simple tunic that marked me as a graduated magician, although not one who had been through an apprenticeship. Yet. My friends had teased me, wondering who I was setting my cap at, but I hadn’t told them. I’d explored my sexuality, like just about every other student, yet this was different. I was going to be an apprentice, and then a great magician.

If you feel yourself in trouble, or you need advice, you may contact me at any moment, the Grandmaster said. His sightless eyes, covered with a simple cloth, turned to look at me. I had the feeling he could see in some way, although I had no idea how well. Whatever had happened to take his sight couldn’t be a simple blinding hex, or it would have been removed and the damage healed a long time ago. I will be here.

I felt a hot flash of irritation. I was twenty-one years old and a graduated magician, an adult in both the magical and mundane worlds. I was no longer the foolish child who could be excused for her mistakes, or the teenager who would be permitted a certain degree of wild behaviour; I was an adult in every sense of the word, and I no longer needed to listen to someone – anyone – else. Even if my parents had survived, their power over me would have been very limited. And I had made it clear to my father’s family that they were not to consider me one of them, certainly not a young girl who could be married off to a stranger if the family demanded it. They shouldn’t have kicked out my father if they hadn’t wanted to be rid of him, and his bloodline, for the rest of time.

The doors opened suddenly, smoothly. I felt a perverse flash of disappointment that Void hadn’t crashed his way into the Great Hall, like so many other magicians who wanted to make a strong first impression, but it was a good sign. Void didn’t feel the need to showcase his power, certainly not when there were only two witnesses. I straightened up instinctively, as if I were back in Martial Magic, and tried not to stare too openly as Void walked into the chamber. His power was tightly restrained, a coiling snake of raw magic that could lash out at any moment, and do so with staggering force. He wasn’t masking at all ... no, he was. It wasn’t so much that he was hiding his power as he was making a subtle statement without making it obvious.

Void, the Grandmaster said. His voice was stiff, but I detected undertones I couldn’t understand. It’s good to see you again.

Likewise, Void said.

I found myself staring, and nearly dropped my eyes before catching myself. Void was a walking mass of contradictions: his face young and strong, yet topped with grey hair that spilled down to his shoulders; his outfit sorcerer’s black, cut to show off his muscles while ensuring he could move freely; a single golden medallion hanging around his neck, a protective charm that lacked any real power of its own. His eyes looked back at me, seeming to bore deep into my very soul. I couldn’t help thinking he had very old eyes.

And he was carrying a sword. I felt a tingle of contempt. Few magicians carried swords, even combat sorcerers. It was a sign of weak magic, or a lack of faith in one’s own power, or ... I told myself not to be silly. I could feel his power, all the stronger for being so restrained. The sword was an affectation, nothing more.

He lifted a hand. Catch.

I barely had a second to realise what was happening before a tangled mass of spellware erupted out of nowhere and darted towards me, so quickly it practically materialised around me. It was hardly the first time I had been attacked, and threatened with a horrible fate, but the sheer power of the curse he’d hurled at me was staggering. I gritted my teeth as I felt my protections melt away, tendrils of something horrible reaching out to brush against my skin. I swallowed a curse as my first attempt to ward it off failed spectacularly, like I was a little girl trying to fight a grown man who just happened to be the best fighter in recorded history. Despair threatened to overwhelm me, my legs buckling as the spell tried to drive me to my knees. I bit my lip, hard, as I realised the despair was part of the spell. It wasn’t just trying to beat down my resistance, it was trying to convince me that resistance was futile, destroying all faith I could stand up for myself. I’d thought I was a capable fighter, but this ...

My magic flared, lashing out at the spellware surrounding me. There was no point in trying to be subtle; the spell was designed to feed off me trying to be clever. The surge of raw power tore the curse apart, the remnants fragmenting into tiny flickers of magic that faded into nothingness a second later. I forced myself to stand up and look Void in the eye, trying to show I wasn’t intimidated. It was a lie. He’d shown me just how far I had to go. And yet, he had also whetted my appetite. I wanted more.

Satisfied? The Grandmaster sounded cold, disapproving. She is a very capable student.

And one who sees her magic as part of herself, Void agreed. Good.

I blinked, not understanding what he was saying. Magic had always been part of me, from the potential power that had lurked inside me at birth to the first spells I’d cast, after coming into my magic. I’d spent eight years honing my skills, developing the ability to master nearly any field of magic. And yet, he thought I saw the magic as something separate from myself? It made no sense. I might as well pretend my legs weren’t part of my body.

Void looked at me. Do you wish to continue?

I didn’t hesitate. Yes, sir.

The Grandmaster shifted beside me. I wish you the very best of luck, he said. I wasn’t sure which of us he was talking to. And be careful.

I always am, Void said. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased I’d passed his little test, or irked. I had known teachers who’d cheered good results, and others who had cautioned us that passing the first exams only meant we’d go on to the second. He nodded politely to me. Shall we go?

I nodded back. I had one small bag, containing a couple of pencil-portraits of my parents, a handful of coins and a change of clothes. I wouldn’t need anything else, not when it was a master’s duty to ensure his apprentice had everything she needed. Some masters decked their apprentices out in finery, others in sackcloth and ashes. I wondered just what he would want me to wear, then told myself it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, I would have to put it on.

Whitehall seemed to hum around me as we stepped out of the doors and walked down to the low wall that marked the edge of the wards. I felt torn between regret at leaving and a certain delight at finally being free to forge my own destiny, to make my own choices – reaping the rewards and suffering the consequences – without reference to anyone else. My time at Whitehall had been immensely rewarding, but the school wasn’t my home and never would be. I hated the idea of being tied down, of being a teacher or a court wizard or something else that would keep me in one place forever. Perhaps it was my mother’s influence, but I wanted the open road and the chance to live a life of freedom, never mind that her people had been incredibly lax in some ways and impossibly strict in others.

Take my hand, Void said.

I reached for his hand and took it, feeling his magic enveloping us. I squeezed my eyes shut as the ground shuddered, then opened them to see we were somewhere else. It wasn’t the first time I’d teleported, but it was far less disturbing than usual. My hand went to my chest automatically, my mind catching up a second later and realising I wasn’t retching, that my stomach wasn’t threatening to expel everything I’d ever eaten in a single, bitter moment. I stared at Void, feeling a strange mix of emotions. The kind of skill it took to ease the transit ... it was impressive and intimidating in a manner that both awed and worried me, even though I knew it was a good sign. Most magicians would make no attempt to shield their charges from the spell.

The Tower loomed up in front of me, a rook-like shape that managed to appear tiny – nothing more than a watchtower a monarch might install along the border – and yet immensely, impossibly, huge. It was hard to grasp the contrast between the dark lichen-covered walls that suggested immense age, and the power I could feel within. I could tell the Tower was bigger on the inside, an incredible feat without a nexus point and spells I knew were rarely – if ever – shared outside the academic community. I wondered if Void had built the Tower himself, or if he had found it unoccupied and moved in. It wasn’t impossible. I had no idea where we were – the landscape meant nothing to be – but there was no shortage of buildings that had been constructed in a hurry and then left to the elements. My father had taken one himself.

You are welcome, Void said. It had the feel of a ritual statement, rather than a proper greeting; I felt the wards twisting around me as we walked up to the walls. The door wasn’t there until it was, a reminder the building really was more than met the eye. Leave your bag with me and go through the door, and proceed as you should.

I nodded, all too aware it was another test. And probably an opportunity for him to search my bag. There were horror stories about apprentices who’d brought something dangerous into their master’s home, something charmed to allow an enemy access or merely something that would land the master in hot water if anyone else ever found out. I didn’t like the idea of him pawing through my bag, but the only alternative was leaving it behind. I didn’t want to do that either.

The Tower seemed to open up around me as I stepped through the door, the interior structure seemingly solid and yet strikingly malleable. I had the impression of something vast and ancient reshuffling itself around me, my eyes seeming to blink of their own accord before opening to reveal a washroom. I stepped forward, feeling a little as if I were walking on ice, or trying to levitate in the middle of a battlefield, all too aware that I’d be dead the second after someone saw me. The washroom was strikingly normal, a simple apprentice tunic waiting for me. I undressed quickly, washed myself and donned the tunic. It felt strange, both tough and flimsy at the same time. The spells woven into the garment adjusted it until it fitted me perfectly.

I tied my hair back into a loose ponytail, then turned and walked through the door. This time, it led into a simple dining room. I stared, trying to grasp the aesthetic of the man who had presumably designed it to suit himself. The table was polished wood, the chairs stiff-backed and yet comfortable; I frowned as I saw a pair of cosy armchairs positioned against the far wall. A large portrait hung over them, showing four young men wearing magical robes. It took me a moment to realise what was odd about it, apart from the eyes seeming to follow me around the room. Most portraits were ridiculously formal, when they weren’t painted by crawling sycophants or artists working from descriptions that often bore little resemblance to reality. This one showed four young men having fun, in a manner that struck me as surprisingly heartwarming. It was rare to see anything of the sort, and I wondered who had commissioned it. Void himself? Or his family? For such a famed sorcerer, there was surprisingly little public about his family. I would have expected them to be proud of him, or at least their names to be known. But months of research had turned up nothing.

Please, sit, Void said. He stood beside a chair, indicating that I should sit facing him. A large tureen sat on the table between us, a faint hint of steam rising from the lid. It is tradition that a master feasts his apprentice on their first day.

I sat, gingerly. Six years of schooling had taught me to be careful where I sat down. There was always someone willing to hide a hex on your chair, no matter how badly you hexed the last idiot after you caught him. I didn’t believe Void would engage in such puerile jokes, but some masters started by looking for any excuse to scold their apprentice for lack of situational awareness. I told myself, firmly, that I wasn’t going to get caught out that easily.

Void opened the lid, revealing a strange mixture of yellowish rice, sultanas and meat ... probably lamb. The aroma of spices wafted up, making my mouth water. It was a reminder of his wealth and power, I noted as he picked up a spoon and ladled food onto my plate. Magicians and aristocrats could obtain ingredients from all over the Allied Lands, and hire cooks to find new ways of combining them together into something different, while the commoners rarely ate anything foreign. Void wouldn’t have any trouble shopping for himself, or hiring someone to do it for him ... I blinked as I realised what was missing. There were no servants. It was odd. Even a poor aristocrat could hire a handful of workers, even as they moaned and groaned about only making do with a dozen servants. I knew better than to complain about it myself, certainly not where my mother could hear. There were people out there who couldn’t afford servants, and then there were the servants themselves ...

From tomorrow, I will start testing you, Void said, once we had satisfied the demands of hunger. The food was different from anything I’d tasted before, but very good. We will establish precisely where you are, in your understanding of magic, and then determine precisely how to proceed.

I nodded, feeling torn between irritation and acceptance. I had been the greatest student of my year, and I’d set several records when I’d graduated, but Void had shown me that I still had a long way to go. Just sitting facing him was like sitting next to the sun, his power pulsing on the air and brushing against my awareness. It was hard to believe there was anything he couldn’t do.

Void ran through a handful of rules, surprisingly few for such an environment, then leaned back in his chair. Do you have any questions?

Yes, Master, I asked. He hadn’t told me to call him Master, but it was better to be formal. What are my duties?

The question hung in the air for a long cold moment. Apprentices weren’t expected to pay for their apprenticeship, but they were expected to work for their master. An alchemist apprentice would help prepare potion ingredients, a charms apprentice would draw out spell circles and perform calculations ... I had no idea, in truth, what he would want from me. It was something that had never been mentioned, when I had first written to him. I had no idea, either, what he might want, what I could offer.

And he hadn’t asked me for any oaths. That was a good sign.

You can assist me in mine, Void said, in a tone that discouraged further questions. But first, I have to prepare you.

He stood. The Tower will show you to your room, when you are finished, he said, motioning for me to remain seated. It was a serious breach of aristocratic etiquette for a young woman to remain sitting when the host stood, but I had the feeling he didn’t give a damn. I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow will be a very busy day.

I nodded. I couldn’t wait.

Chapter Two

There were no servants waiting for me when I walked into the dining room the following morning, nothing other than a simple breakfast resting on the table and a note ordering me to find my new master when I was done eating. I sat down and ate quickly, scoffing down the bacon, eggs and fried potato that would give me energy to face the rigors of the day. It was a typical magical breakfast, one magicians ate all the time and commoners would be lucky if they ate at all, and perversely I found myself a little disappointed. There was nothing special about it ... I told myself not to be silly as I finished the breakfast, then looked around for a place to leave the plates. My paternal relatives were very fond of fancy and expensive food, meals put together with ingredients from all over the world, but I’d often found them unsatisfying. It wasn’t that they were strange, although some fusion recipes worked better than others. It was that there simply wasn’t enough to fill my stomach. I would sooner eat a simple meal