The Grandmaster's Tale

I calmed myself with an effort, noting names and faces. Adrian of House Rawlins and Walter of House Ashworth … why was I not surprised? I felt another surge of hatred. Handsome young men, with genuine talents and enough money in trust to ensure they could spend the rest of their days as idle layabouts if they wished, shouldn’t be spending their days picking on the less fortunate. But they did. Their toadies, Jacky McBrayer and Stephen Root, looked torn between resentment and a stubborn insistence they were doing the right thing. I knew better. The two young men—nowhere near as advantaged as their leaders—would be heartlessly dumped, the moment the four brats graduated and left to the tender mercies of everyone they’d ever picked on. I’d seen it happen before, to toadies I’d known in my school days, and knew it would happen again.

It couldn’t happen to a nicer pair of bastards, I thought. The two ringleaders were capable … I’d give them that much, even if they were assholes. The other two were just … toadies. They had nothing beyond their friendship with well-connected brats and soon they wouldn’t even have that. They’ll have to learn the hard way that their so-called friends don’t care.

My magic reached out, like a thunderclap. The spells evaporated as I shook the air. Wands hit the floor and clattered away, as if they’d been thrown. The audience looked at me, then turned and fled, pushing and shoving each other as they tried to get down the corridor and out of my sight before I sent them to the Warden. I’d never agreed with Boscha that arbitrary punishment is a perk of power, but the audience deserved it and worse. They’d be in hot water in the coming days, along with the ringleaders and their toadies. I’d finally caught them crossing the line.

Their victim—Alan, a magician whose origins were a matter of some controversy—stumbled and hit the floor, as soon as the spells holding him shattered. I saw rage and hatred and bleak hopelessness on his face, although he had kept fighting against overwhelming force long enough to impress me. The bastards hadn’t taken control of his mind so much as they’d taken control of his limbs, no different from pushing someone’s hand into their face. Alan was going to be in pain for days, I feared, no matter what the healers did. His muscles had been brutalised.

“Sir,” Walter said. He had a cocky smile that had charmed dozens of young women … all of whom learnt, too late, that once they surrendered their maidenheads he had no intention of giving them anything in return. Rumour had it he was interested in Geraldine, but she had rejected his advances. Smart girl. “We’re just …”

“Silence,” I said, sharply. I wasn’t interested in hearing excuses or promises of better behaviour. They’d tortured one student, to a degree that would shock even a king’s torturer, and sexually assaulted another. Boscha might turn a blind eye to students harassing the maids, damn him, but other students …? “The Grandmaster will deal with you.”

It should have worried them. I could send a student to be caned, or given weeks or months of detentions, or even used as target practice for the junior students, but I couldn’t suspend or expel them. The Grandmaster could. Even a relatively mild suspension would turn them into a laughingstock, once word spread outside the school. No one would question a newborn magician having to repeat a year, but someone who could trace his bloodline far back into the mists of time? The four bullies were in deep shit. And yet, they looked surprisingly … relieved.

“This way,” I ordered. “Alan, Geraldine, you too.”

Alan shot me a dark look. I knew what he was thinking. He’d been saved by a tutor … it wasn’t something that could be reasonably blamed on him; he hadn’t tattled to me, but … he was still going to be a laughingstock, too. Geraldine’s face was blank, yet … I could tell she was agitated. She was going to lose her badge and probably her reputation. Sure, most of the puerile bragging one heard in the dorms about sexual conquests was nothing more than stupid nonsense, but … mud stuck, when people wanted it to stick. Geraldine wasn’t the most popular girl in the school. She was too pretty for the girls and too sensible for the boys.

My unease grew stronger as we walked up the stairs. Adrian and Walter were laughing and joking, until I told them to shut up … it wasn’t the sort of behaviour I expected from boys who were likely to wind up suspended. House Ashworth and House Rawlins would be shamed, to say the least, if their children were suspended. Adrian and Walter might be allowed to get away with sexual assault, if their victim wasn’t anyone important, but not embarrassing the family. It wasn’t a harmless little prank like murder!

“Hey, Geraldine,” Walter said. “Dinner tonight?”