The Grandmaster's Tale

I expected to see the group head out the doors and into the forest, picking their way to the nearest clearing or heading down to the town. Instead, they headed upstairs, into a large chamber. I had no idea what it had been used for, originally, but now it was a training room for students studying various defensive magics. The students lined up and bowed in unison as someone emerged from the far door and nodded to them. For a moment, I didn’t recognise him. Wearing a training outfit, Boscha looked like a different man.

My blood ran cold. What the hell is he doing?

My eyes darted from student to student. There were seventeen students, all from the upper years … all high-born. Most were from magical families of long standing, although a couple were from families that were aristocratic in both the magical and mundane communities. They were all boys … I cursed, silently, as I confirmed there were no newborn magicians, aristo or commoner, in the group. I could barely move. What was Boscha doing?

“You know what to do,” Boscha said. He sounded crisp, direct … so unlike the grandmaster I knew and loathed that I was tempted to hit him with a spell to check his identity. I didn’t dare move. I’d never thought of Boscha as particularly talented, but it was growing alarmingly clear I’d underestimated him. “Begin.”

The students did as they were told, running through a series of magical combat exercises that put the ones my family had offered to shame. I watched, feeling my heart sink further with every passing second, as they cast spells on each other, ranging from simple offensive spells to others that were tricky, almost forbidden. I’d wondered where Walter had learnt the spell he’d used on Alan … I knew now. Boscha walked from student to student, offering advice to some and a mild rebuke to others, praising the deserving in a manner that would have impressed me if it hadn’t been so … slanted. They weren’t being praised for doing well. They were being praised for living up to their bloodlines.

He’s a Supremacist, I thought, numbly. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. The idea that magicians were just better than commoners had been around for a long time, that magic instantly elevated the poorest and lowliest amongst us to a nobility none of the mundane aristocracy could hope to match. I might have been more taken with it myself, if I hadn’t been so aware of how my brothers and I had been treated. Boscha is a Supremacist and he’s teaching them to be Supremacists too.

I swallowed, hard. Boscha was pushing at an open door. Walter and his cronies—and the rest of the group—were already convinced of their own superiority. I knew how they treated the mundane servants—and newborn magicians, even though they had magic too. It was easy to be cruel, if one believed the cruelty was amply justified … I wondered, suddenly, if Boscha had given Walter instructions on what excuse to use, if they were caught by the other tutors. Or … I cursed inwardly. It was easy to manipulate simple minds. All you had to do was pretend to be their friend, and excuse their misdeeds, and they’d love you.

And they know he’s not a weakling either, I mused, as I watched the lesson go on. There’s no sense he’s giving them what they want because he’s afraid of them.

My head spun. Boscha wasn’t just teaching them how to fight. He was teaching them to work as a team, to think their way through tactical obstacles … he was building an army! My blood ran cold as I inched back, careful not to do anything that might risk discovery. I wasn’t afraid of the students … no, that wasn’t true. Not any longer. Fifteen magicians with combat training, even incomplete, could give me a very hard time. And Boscha himself …

In these times, fifteen magicians would make a formidable force, I thought. I kept moving, back down the stairs and into the tunnel. And who’s to say there aren’t more?

The thought nagged at my mind. There were two thousand students in Whitehall. A third of them, more or less, had bloodlines that stretched back at least three or four generations, perhaps more if you overlooked certain … irregularities … in the records that might suggest a combination of forgery and wishful thinking. Even if Boscha restricted himself to the older students, and I suspected he would, he might still be able to put together a formidable force … enough to do real damage out in the world. The Empire was gone. The Allied Lands were constantly on the verge of falling apart. And if Boscha took power …

I shuddered. I didn’t want to think about it.