“A thousand years ago, Lord Whitehall and his followers determined to set up a place where young magicians could be schooled in magic,” Gordian said. “They built Whitehall Castle and laid the groundwork for what would become Whitehall School. Over the years, Whitehall developed a reputation for turning out some of the most proficient sorcerers in history, men and women who were heirs to a tradition of practical magic. You are the latest students to enter the castle, but the eyes of history look down on you.”
Emily kept her face carefully blank. No one knew who’d really built the castle, not even her. It had been empty for generations before the Whitehall Commune arrived to take possession and tap the nexus point. But otherwise, Gordian was correct. The seeds Whitehall had sown—with her help—had blossomed into a proud tradition. She’d never felt any real pride in her school on Earth—it had been a shitty building filled with shitty teachers and worse students—but Whitehall was different. The students and tutors knew themselves to be part of something greater.
It helps that students can be punished or expelled for bad behavior, she reminded herself, wryly. There had been students at her old school who should have been expelled, but had been allowed to remain instead. The staff are in full control.
“Some of you have grown up with magic,” Gordian added. “Some of you have never seen a single spell until you were tested when you turned fifteen. Either way, we will teach you to develop and control your magic. You will spend four years learning the basics, honing your skills and teasing out your specialities. And then, if you choose to remain, you will spend two more years focusing your powers and preparing for an apprenticeship.
“This will not be easy. Those of you who have grown up with magic will, perhaps, be surprised to discover how hard it can be. You will be required to comprehend the fundamentals of magical theory as well as memorizing and casting spells—those of you who do not comprehend will always be at a disadvantage when it comes to testing and using your magic outside the school. Many of you will feel like giving up—some of you will give up—but those of you who push onwards will find it very rewarding.”
He held up his hand. A series of lights darted out of his fingertips and danced up and down his arm.
“This is a party trick, a spell that requires little power, yet none of you will be able to cast it until you master the fundamentals,” he told them. The lights reached his head and floated above his hair. He paid them no mind. “Some of you will already be able to cast more powerful spells. And yet, very few of you will be able to calibrate and recalibrate your spells on the fly. A true magician—a true sorcerer—is one who can alter and adapt his spells at will. That is what we will teach you.
“The tutors are here to help. They will teach you the basics and warn you of the dangers. And yes, there will be dangers. Magic is not safe. Listen to them. There isn’t a person on the staff who doesn’t have at least ten years of experience with dangerous magic. You’ll want to experiment—every student in Whitehall has wanted to experiment—but learn the dangers before you begin. The warnings are not there to keep you from having fun. They are there to keep you from making dreadful mistakes that might get others—and you—killed.”
And the warnings are all written at the front of the book, Emily thought, wryly. There’s no excuse for missing them.
Gordian paused, his eyes sweeping the room. Emily wondered, absently, just what he saw when he looked at the younger students. Potential? Students who could become great? Or liabilities who had to be coaxed through the basics before they could turn into something useful? Offhand, she couldn’t recall Gordian ever taking a class for a full term. He’d stepped in when a teacher couldn’t be present, but he hadn’t been a full-time tutor.
Maybe he has, she told herself. What was he doing between graduation and now?
“Master Tor will explain to you the basic rules and regulations,” Gordian concluded. “I don’t care who or what you are, nor do I care who your parents are. If you break the rules, you will be punished. And if you break the rules in a manner that injures or kills another student, or risks the school itself, you will be expelled. Do not test me on this. It will not end well.”
Emily winced. She’d been lucky not to be expelled, back when she’d been a firstie. If she had killed Alassa, she would have been expelled ... and triggered a civil war. Master Tor had made it clear, later, that he would have expelled her in Second Year if the Grandmaster hadn’t overruled him. In hindsight, Emily had to admit he’d had a point.
Master Tor took the stand and started to speak. Emily had to fight to keep her face impassive as he droned on and on. For someone who looked an awful lot like Captain Picard, the nasty part of her mind noted, he certainly didn’t have any talent for making short and inspiring speeches. No one came thousands of miles to listen to Master Tor giving a speech.
She forced herself to keep an eye on the firsties instead, silently noting who was paying attention and who’d wandered off into their own little world. A couple of girls who looked almost like twins—she would have thought they were twins, if magical twins weren’t completely unknown—whispered quietly, despite the silencing spell. A boy beside them stared at the stage, challengingly. The older boy next to him rolled his eyes; he caught Emily’s gaze and looked away, hastily. No doubt he didn’t want to be noticed that much. Emily smiled as she glanced at Marian. Caleb’s sister was looking away, her eyes flickering from place to place. She clearly wasn’t listening to Master Tor.
It’s not easy to blame her, Emily thought. He just keeps saying the same thing over and over again.
She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as Master Tor finally came to an end. The firsties looked relieved as he surrendered the podium to Gordian, who also looked a little relieved. Luckily, their first classes would probably go over all the important details again, complete with graphic examples of what happened to students too stupid to listen to the warnings before they started casting spells. Emily’s palm twanged suddenly, reminding her of all the times Professor Lombardi had struck it with a ruler. Better the pain, he’d told the class when he’d started, than the problems caused by a poorly-written spell gone wrong.
“And now our Head Girl will explain the mentoring program to you,” Gordian said, nodding to Emily. “Lady Emily?”
Emily heard a rustle as she took the podium and peered down at the younger students. That was a mistake. Some of them looked awed—they’d heard of her, then—while others looked doubtful. Emily wasn’t a common name—as far as Emily knew, she was the only Emily in the Nameless World—but she still didn’t look impressive. The firsties hadn’t even seen her in the corridors or working in the library. They probably believed all the stories without question.