Emily glanced at Cabiria. Her pale cheeks darkened, just for a second. Perhaps it was as close as Cabiria could come to a flush.
“There is a more fundamental point to Whitehall’s existence than anyone, even Cabiria, mentioned,” Gordian said. “In Whitehall, you grow up surrounded by your fellow magic-users. Anything you can do, they can do too. You can turn someone into a frog, or freeze them in place, or force them to recite doggerel ... but they can do it to you too. There is nothing special about you here. You are just one of many.
“That isn’t always true in the outside world. A lone magician in an isolated region can wind up dominating an entire village—or worse. The sole possessor of power—true power—can crush any opposition, as long as they are careful not to attract attention. How much damage could you do, as students? Think how much you could do to people helpless to stand against you.”
Emily swallowed. A couple of months at Whitehall had taught her enough magic to do real damage. She’d had the advantage of having ideals—and a mindset—that came from Earth, but that hadn’t made her uniquely destructive. Someone who’d grown up among people who couldn’t stop her, someone who had every reason to think they were superior to everyone else, might go mad with power. Or they might have set out to avenge themselves on their former tormentors. If Frieda hadn’t left her village, after developing her magic, would she have turned it into her own personal fiefdom? Or would the villagers—including her family—have killed her in self-defense?
“When you leave Whitehall, next year, you will leave with enough magic and power to make yourselves unchallengeable, save by your peers,” Gordian added. “What will you do with that power?”
“I don’t know,” Jacqui said. “But it will be my choice.”
“Yes,” Gordian agreed. “And what will you choose?”
He looked from face to face. “Ethics in magic is all about how you choose to use power. And you have power—have no doubt about that. Here, you are surrounded by your peers; there, you are the sole person with power. What will you do with it?”
Cirroc’s eyes narrowed. “Sir ... why would I go live somewhere without other magicians?”
“Perhaps you want unchallenged power,” Gordian said. His dark eyes gleamed. “Perhaps you want to live a life without limits.”
His eyes met Emily’s, just for a second. “Perhaps you want to be accountable to no one, to answer to no one, to take orders from no one. Or perhaps you have always secretly wanted power and now you have the ability to claim it.”
Emily kept her face expressionless. Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven?
She wondered, as Gordian’s eyes moved on, if he was talking about her—or Void. The idea of being a Lone Power, of being strong enough—in magic—that no one could tell her what to do was attractive. She could admit that, privately. If someone else held power over her—power to tell her what to do, power to make her do what they wanted her to do—they could turn abusive. And if there was no higher court she could appeal to—to beg for help—there would be nothing she could do. Who could she count on to always put her interests first?
But I might also go mad with power, she thought. Lady Barb had told her quite a few horror stories about sorcerers who went mad, even if they never crossed the line into necromancy or demon-summoning. If I lost my moral compass, how would I know I was crossing the line until it was far too late?
“Many years ago, there was a young man who was treated badly by everyone he knew,” Gordian said, brutally. “He was kicked and beaten by his peers, ignored by his parents ... there wasn’t a young woman in the village who didn’t mock him for an ugly gnome. And he was ugly. He was weak and feeble and useless and they kicked him around for sport.
“And then he developed magic. He enslaved his village. He killed or transformed most of his tormentors, then turned the young women into his adoring love-slaves. He might have enjoyed a long and happy reign over his village if he hadn’t started to build himself an empire by invading other villages. He was killed ...”
Gordian paused. “Now tell me ... was he in the right?”
Emily hesitated. On one hand, everything the young man had done had been awful. There was no way she could condone it. And yet, the villagers had treated him badly too. Didn’t they deserve some punishment? But hadn’t he gone far too far?
“Maybe he had a point,” she said. “But he went too far.”
Gordian lifted his eyebrows. “And what point is going too far?”
“I have no answer,” Emily admitted. She recalled the age-old definition of pornography and smiled. “But I’ll know it when I see it.”
“He should have just left,” Jacqui said. “He had power. He could have come here or gone to one of the other schools ... even apprenticed himself to a village druid or apothecary. He didn’t have to stay there, grubbing in the mud and rutting with peasant girls. His power should have lifted him up. Instead, he dragged it down.”
“A valid point,” Gordian said. “Should he have left?”
“There was nothing for him there,” Cirroc said.
“Except revenge,” Mathis pointed out. “Didn’t they deserve to be punished?”
Melissa shot him a challenging look. “I don’t think you got punished for turning my shoes into slugs.”
“You jinxed my hands to the wall,” Mathis countered. “Who punished the villagers for treating that poor boy like shit?”
Gordian cleared his throat. “The world is rarely as black and white as we like to pretend. And it is astonishing how many seemingly simple problems can become complex.”
“It’s astonishing how many people can make simple problems complex,” Melissa muttered.
“Quite right,” Gordian agreed. “But the world very rarely admits of simple solutions.”
Because there’s always someone who loses out, Emily thought.
“For homework, I want you to think about what you would do in that situation.” Gordian rose, just as the bell began to ring. “And I’ll see you all next week.”
Chapter Twelve
EMILY WAS STILL MULLING IT OVER as she followed Cabiria and the Gorgon down to the common room to get a glass of water, then up to the wardcrafting classroom. What would she have done, if she’d grown up in a village where she’d been savagely abused? What would she have done if she’d acquired the power to make her tormentors pay? What would she have done, she asked herself grimly, if she’d had her magic when she’d been living with her stepfather? Would anyone have blamed her for driving him out? Or turning him into a small hopping thing? Or even killing him outright?