The Very Ugly Duckling

Chapter One

The Witch-King, Elaine thought, must have been out of his mind.

She lifted her eyes from the small book on the table, resisting the urge to rub them in the hopes that certain memories would fade from her mind.  She’d always had a good memory, even before the entire contents of the Great Library had been dumped into her head, but the Witch-King’s spellbook was too horrifying to remember.  Somehow, reading it naturally – rather than having the knowledge stored in her mind – made it worse.  It was far too easy to see just how twisted he’d become by necromancy.

There were laws against reading such books, unless one happened to be the Grand Sorcerer.  Elaine knew that many young magicians had chafed against such restrictions, assuming that the Grand Sorcerers had wanted to keep certain types of knowledge to themselves, but she understood perfectly.  There were spells and forms of magic that were inherently corrupting, so much so that even using one of them once would taint a person for the rest of his or her life.  If Elaine had had the power to make some of them work, she had a feeling that Lady Light Spinner would, with the greatest of regret, have ordered her execution.  Even so, she was effectively a prisoner in the Great Library.

It wasn't something she resented, most of the time.  She was, after all, one of the most important people in the empire – and she had a seat on the Privy Council, which controlled the empire, as well as the ear of the Grand Sorceress.  But there were times when it gnawed at her, such as when she’d been asked to read the Witch-King’s book and see if there were any hints as to his current location.  Somehow, against all logic and common sense, the Witch-King was still alive.  The gods alone knew where he might be hiding.

Elaine shivered, remembering the brief moment of mental contact when she’d been trying to stop the maddened Kane from destroying the Golden City.  The Witch-King was still alive, trapped as a lich – and quite insane.  He was effectively immortal; he had literally hundreds of years to prepare his plans, while remaining hidden from even the most intensive probes.  If he couldn't be found, Elaine suspected, he would simply start another plan that would take generations to come to fruition.  How did one fight an enemy who could take hundreds of years to prepare his offensive?  They might well miss the clues until it was far too late.

She looked back at the book and scowled.  All magicians of real power – Elaine had very little, despite the knowledge in her head – kept a private spellbook, a tradition the Witch-King had honoured.  Unsurprisingly, the spells had grown darker and darker the more she’d read, showing her how to control an army with her mind, corrupt a child or even create a horde of monsters from dead human flesh.  She couldn't imagine why anyone would dare risk using any of those spells, but not everyone had her unique insight into how magic worked.  Besides, corruption rarely set in immediately.  Someone might use a mildly dark spell, then a slightly darker spell ... and, before they knew it, they were corrupted, thinking nothing of using the darkest of spells.  

The book should be destroyed, she thought, although training and inclination mediated against it.  The Black Vault existed for books that were judged too dangerous to be allowed to be copied and shared everywhere; surely, she had been told, the book would be safe there.  But Elaine’s very existence proved otherwise.  If the Witch-King’s book had been in the Black Vault, its knowledge would have been dumped into her head along with the rest of the Great Library.  

She closed the book, placed it back in the box and concentrated for a long moment, muttering homemade charms under her breath.  Standard lock spells were one thing, but the spells she had devised herself were almost impossible to detect – or to open, without the right code.  Even the most powerful of magicians should have had problems opening the box – and if he managed to crack through one spell by brute force, the second would incinerate the book.  It was better that the book be reduced to ash, Elaine had told herself, than risk it falling into enemy hands.  She hadn't told either Lady Light Spinner, the Grand Sorceress, or Inquisitor Dread about the precaution.  It would only have upset them.  

Standing up, she picked up the box and placed it within a stack of others, each one completely indistinguishable from the rest.  Only the Head Librarian could find anything within the Black Vault; even the most powerful magician in the world would have had problems, at least until he managed to bend the magic shaping and maintaining the pocket dimension to his will.  Elaine could have done it, she thought, but few others could have managed such a feat.  They would always be tempted to use raw power rather than subtle magic.  

Shaking her head, she took a long look around the compartment.  Massive bookshelves, bursting with books, ran for as far as the eye could see, each tome forbidden to the vast majority of the population.  There were chests of papers belonging to the Grand Sorcerers, sealed away too so that their heirs could keep it to themselves, as well as books and artefacts that had been offered to the Grand Sorcerer by other magicians.  The magic that shaped the Black Vault would keep everything preserved, Elaine knew.  Generations could pass outside and the books would remain safe.  

And hopefully unread, she told herself, as she stepped through the mirror and out into the more normal stacks.  Mirrors served as gateways between the normal world and the pocket dimensions used to store the library’s vast collection of books, but only one person could use them to access the Black Vault.  Elaine smiled to herself as she felt the library’s magic pulsing around her, closing the gateway, then started to walk towards her office.  Moments later, she realised that she had a visitor.  Inquisitor Dread.

“Inquisitor,” she said, as she stepped into her office.  “Make yourself at home.”

She had to smile as she sat down facing the hooded man.  There had been a time when she wouldn't have dared joke with an Inquisitor, when she wouldn't have wanted to face one ... but Dread was a friend, of sorts.  And one of the very few who knew what had happened during the selection process for the Grand Sorcerer.  Most of the world believed that the battle between contenders had gotten out of control, wrecking large parts of the city.  Elaine knew better.  

“Elaine,” Dread said.  As always, his voice was near toneless.  “I trust that you are prepared?”

Elaine blinked in surprise ... and then remembered.  They had been scheduled to run a specific security check on the Great Library.  And she’d almost been late!  No one could have contacted her in the Black Vault, save for the Grand Sorceress.  

“I think so,” Elaine said.  “Are you ready?”

Dread shrugged, one hand touching the burns on his face.  “It wouldn't matter if I was bleeding out and dying,” he said, flatly.  “I’d still have a job to do.”

Elaine nodded, closed her eyes and reached out with her mind.  As always, the wards of the Great Library answered her, recognising their mistress.  Elaine found the experience slightly disturbing; the Great Library’s wards were old enough to have developed a certain intelligence of their own, something that gave them an odd sense of humour.  Anyone who linked into the wards felt as if they were becoming part of the building itself.

No wonder Miss Prim fled the moment she could, Elaine thought, ruefully.  She must have hated being convinced that she had birds nesting in her hair.

Pushing the disconcerting sensations aside, Elaine studied the wards carefully.  Hundreds of sorcerers had created them, piece by piece; few of them had really understood what they were creating.  The Witch-King, before his fall from grace, had been one of them.  No wonder he had been able to slip a booby trap through the wards – and no wonder no one had expected anything of the sort!  They’d thought that all the magicians who might have built themselves a secret password that would have allowed them to get through the wards were dead.  

Elaine shivered at the memory.  Bare months ago, she had been a normal librarian, one of many who worked in the Great Library.  And then she’d picked up the book that had been carefully steered to her, the book that had been primed to channel all of the knowledge in the library into her mind.  And then things had really become complicated.  

She smiled to herself as the wards flickered and danced around her.  One thing the spell had done – something she doubted the Witch-King had meant it to do – was show her precisely how spells really worked.  Most magicians used their raw power to cover up the gaps in their knowledge, doing it so naturally that they never really realised what they were doing.  Elaine, on the other hand, had little power, but by disassembling spells and putting them back together again she was able to do much more than she should have been able to do.  

Carefully, she began to study how the Great Library’s wards went together ... and swallowed a curse as she realised that there were more holes in the library’s security than anyone had ever discovered.  Most of them were countered by other wards, but someone with real knowledge might have been able to exploit them.  She couldn't help wondering if there had been more thefts from the library than had ever been officially acknowledged.  The librarians would be reluctant to admit failure when every ambitious magician would try to take advantage of the library’s weakness.  

All right, she told herself.  Here we go.

Piece by piece, she shaped tiny spells in her mind and uploaded them into the library’s wards, mapping them out thoroughly.  By now, it would be impossible to disassemble the wards and recast them, no matter how much better they could have become with some careful fiddling and other improvements.  They had simply become part of the library.  But she could still make some improvements ...

She pulled herself out of the wards and opened her eyes, feeling drained.  Unlike Miss Prim, her inherent magic wasn't strong enough to sustain the contact indefinitely, not when the wards drew on her as savagely as any other spell she knew.  Dread would probably have been able to hold the contact for hours – the Inquisitors were chosen for magical strength as well as skill and bloody-mindedness – but the wards would have rejected him.  The only other person who could have manipulated them was the Grand Sorceress.  

“Ready,” she said, as she sagged.  Sweat was pouring down her back, despite the cool air.  “Are you ready?”

Dread nodded, one hand on his staff.  “Can you do it now or wait until later?”

Elaine hesitated.  On one hand, she was exhausted – and really needed to get some sleep in her office to allow her magic to recharge.  But on the other hand, she didn't want to have to do the whole process over again – and she would have to, if they delayed too long.  The new spells she’d added to the wards wouldn't last indefinitely.

“I think so,” she said.  “Ready?”

Dread bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Elaine allowed herself a tired smile, then linked with the wards again, sending a final command into the network.  She felt the wards shift as she fell out of the connection, her magic depleted so badly that she wouldn't have been able to light a candle, even with the newer lighting spells she’d developed in her own mind.  Not that it mattered; now that she’d given the order, the wards could do the rest on their own, sweeping the entire library for signs of unwanted dark magic – or other surprises.  Light magic was associated with goodness, naturally, but there were plenty of ways light spells could be used to cause trouble.  

“It's done,” she said, as she collapsed into her seat.  “The spells are searching now.”

Dread put out a hand and squeezed hers, an odd gesture of affection from the Inquisitor.  “I thank you,” he said.  “Now ... relax.”

Elaine nodded, torn between watching as the wards searched the library and closing her eyes and trying to sleep.  Standard search spells could locate an object within range very quickly, assuming they knew what they were actually looking for.  The task she’d assigned to the library’s wards was far harder.  They were to locate and catalogue any magic that wasn't actually part of the library’s protections and filing system, then report back to Elaine.  There would probably be plenty of reports of various cheating spells used by students desperate to pass their exams, but she wasn't too worried about those.  The real danger came from darker magic.

She had almost dozed off completely when the wards twitched against her mind.  A moment later, a glowing image of the library appeared in front of them, showing the location of every spell and magical artefact that hadn't been cleared to enter the library.  Elaine sucked in her breath when she saw the vast number of cheating spells and charmed note-takers.  The Peerless School had always encouraged creative thinking and rule-bending, but surely there were limits.  

“I shouldn't worry about it,” Dread said.  “Magic is all about looking for ways to cheat.”

Elaine blinked in surprise.  “You’re advocating cheating?”

“Drawing information out of a book isn't cheating,” Dread pointed out, dryly.  “Neither is the use of memory potions to  enhance one’s recall.  They are taught, after all, because someone might want to use them.  Cheating is getting someone else to do the work and most of those spells won’t help with that.”

“I suppose,” Elaine muttered, remembering her own schooling.  There had been times when she’d been tempted to cheat, if it had been possible to cheat her way into a greater level of inherent magic.  But that had been impossible – then.  Now, she knew a thousand ways to boost her power ... and the terrible price they demanded.  Sanity, for starters.  “And that ...?”

Dread followed her pointing finger.  “That isn't a standard method of cheating at all,” he said.  “That’s a damned compulsion spell.”

Elaine pressed her hands against the glowing image, trying to get it to focus in on the user.  It turned out to be a seventeen-year-old girl preparing for her exams.  Charity Conidian, Elaine recalled; one of the daughters of a Privy Councillor.  Why would she want to cheat when it would reflect badly on her father?  But the charm might not be her work at all.

“I’ll ask Vane to bring her into my office,” Elaine said, as she staggered to her feet.  “You can interview her there without disturbing the other students.”

Vane obeyed without question.  Elaine’s deputy wasn't a good librarian – she certainly lacked the obsession with books that had driven Elaine when she was younger – but she was good at dealing with people, a quality that Elaine lacked.  Her smile, undoubted power and family connections allowed her to handle the library’s staff and visitors, leaving Elaine to work on managing the library’s collection and writing her own spellbook.

“Draw some energy from the wards,” Dread advised.  “You might need it.”

Elaine shook her head.  The library’s wards simply didn't work that way.

Charity Conidian proved to be the sort of girl that Elaine had hated, back when she’d been in school.  Beautiful, rich, well-connected ... and actually good at her studies.  Long blonde hair framed a heart-shaped face that was probably the result of endless cosmetic charms – or so Elaine told herself.  Charity reminded her of Millicent, before Kane had almost destroyed her mind.  Six months later, Millicent still hadn't recovered completely.

“Good afternoon,” Dread said, lifting his wand.  The girl’s eyes went wide, but he had the compulsion spell off her before it could force her to do anything drastic.  “Who put that spell on you?”

“My father,” Charity said.  Very few people would be stupid enough to lie to an Inquisitor.  “I asked him to do it.”

Elaine stared at her.  Compulsion spells were not exactly illegal, but using one on someone without a very good reason was likely to get someone in hot water.  And using one on one’s own daughter?  The books in Elaine’s head told her that it had happened before, in far more detail than she’d ever wanted to know.  None of the reasons were very good.

“Your father, the Conidian, put a basic compulsion spell on you,” Dread said.  He didn't sound as if he believed her either.  “Why?”

Charity sagged.  “I was having problems keeping up with my studies,” she admitted, “and father promised me an establishment of my own if I graduated in the top ten.  But I just couldn't concentrate!  So I went to him and asked him for the charm.”

Elaine and Dread shared a glance.  As far as she knew – and thanks to the Witch-King her memory went back as far as the foundation of the empire itself – that was unprecedented.  

She found herself giving the girl a look of mild respect.  Actually going to someone and asking them to use such a charm, just to help them study?  Elaine couldn't decide if it was a stroke of genius or absolute madness.

“Compulsion charms can be dangerous,” Dread said, “particularly if someone accepted them voluntarily.  I suggest that you learn to master the art of studying without such help.”

He scowled at her.  “And your father will hear from me about it,” he added.  “He should know better than to use such charms on his daughter.”

Charity bowed her head, then retreated from the office.  

“Well,” Dread said, once the door was closed.  “That was a fine waste of time.”

“Maybe,” Elaine said.  The Conidian served on the Privy Council, after all.  She had a feeling that she hadn't heard the last of the whole affair.  “But at least we know the monitoring system works now.”

“Yes,” Dread said.  “Until someone else finds a new way to break in.”

Chapter Two

“Well?”

Johan Conidian winced at his father’s tone as he eyed the druid.  He’d faced his father when he was furious about something Johan had done, but the note of pleading – desperate pleading – in his voice was worse.  His father was a powerful magician, with enough political power to earn himself a seat on the Privy Council; he shouldn't have to beg or plead for good news.  And yet there was no mistaking the plea in his voice.

The druid eyed Johan sadly, then turned his attention to Johan's father.  “I’m afraid that there is still no trace of magic in his body,” he said, flatly.  “Nor are there any signs that he will develop it later in life.

Johan couldn't help a wince.  He came from a family that had magic running through its veins, one where his siblings had started developing their powers before they even reached their teens.  But he had no magic at all ... and, it seemed, no hope of developing it.  In a world where magical power meant political power, he was a cripple.  If he’d been born into a mundane family, he would never have known what he was missing.  But he was part of the Conidian Family ...

The sight of his father made him wince again.  The Conidian was as tall as his son, but he looked tough, the sort of man who would never back down from a challenge, while Johan had inherited a slimmer build from his mother.  His father’s hair was turning grey; Johan’s was still brown.  And his father wore the fine robes of a Privy Councillor while Johan wore nothing, but a drab black suit.  A reminder, if any were needed, that he would never be more than a mundane freak who just happened to have magical relatives.

Most of his family pitied magical children who were born to mundane families.  How awful it must be for them, his aunts and uncles had tittered, to know that they were far above their parents, let alone their non-magical siblings.  But the jokes had long since stopped being funny, not to Johan.  It was far worse to be the sole mundane in a family of magicians.

“I have run extensive tests,” the druid said, pointing to the array of devices he’d bought with him.  Hiring the services of such a capable and well-known druid had cost the Conidian a pretty penny.  “There is simply no trace of independent magic within Johan’s body.  He doesn't even seem to absorb background magic, despite living in a highly-magical environment.  I’m afraid, sir, that you’re just raising false hopes and wasting money.”

Johan clenched his fists at the pity in the man’s tone.  But the druid was right; if he’d had the slightest trace of magic in his blood, the background magic of the wards protecting House Conidian should have been drawn to him.  Instead, being in the colossal house was almost like being in prison.  He could not leave the building or do any one of a multitude of other tasks without asking one of his parents or siblings to do it for him.  His parents did it, reluctantly.  But his brothers and sisters were far more unpleasant about it.

“It isn't unknown for people to develop magic comparatively late in life,” the druid continued.  “However, in most such cases, the potential for magic already exists, waiting to be triggered.”

The Conidian leaned forward.  “Is there nothing that can help him?”

Johan felt a stab of pain through his heart.  He was a cripple – and his father was growing desperate to have him develop magic, any magic.  Once, he’d read a handful of the darker tomes in his father’s private library, searching for something that would help him.  But all he had learned was just how dangerous some magical rituals could be.  And, for that matter, just how angry his father could become.  Magical tomes were not to be shared with non-magicians.  

“There are rituals that can enhance one’s magic,” the druid admitted, reluctantly.  “However, in all known cases, they require a spark of magic to work.  Johan could not perform even the first set of spells.  And, even if he could, he would be risking insanity.  Those rituals are immensely dangerous.”

His eyes seemed to narrow for a long chilling moment.  “And research into what separates a magician from a mundane has been long banned,” he added.  “I would not advise you to start asking too many questions.”

Johan turned away, unable to bear the pity in the man’s eyes.  Everyone knew that magic was the gift of the gods, everyone knew that those who had magic were favoured by the gods ... which didn't, in his view, explain why so many magicians were bullies or patronizing assholes.  To be born without magic was to be automatically lower on the social scale, no matter one’s birth.  He could be related to the long-gone Imperial Family and his lack of magic would still drag him down.  

It’s not fair, he thought, bitterly.  They have all the power and I have none. 

No one knew quite how magic worked.  Some magicians were born of magical family lines, others – for no apparent reason – appeared among mundane families.  The priests claimed that the former were from divinely-blessed families and the latter were saints in the making, but Johan had his suspicions about those claims.  His father donated a great deal of money to several of the larger temples and he knew that other magical families did the same.  Why would the priests offend their paymasters by not promoting their interests?

And, just as no one knew why magic sometimes appeared in non-magical bloodlines, no one knew why magic had skipped Johan.

Johan had heard too many theories as he grew older and it became apparent that he would never be able to cast a single spell.  His father and mother had argued long into the night about his parentage before certain spells had been cast, proving that the Conidian was indeed his father.  Some of his siblings had suggested that Johan had been really rude to the gods in a past life ... or that he was just a freak, a monster in human form.  A Powerless ...

And he was powerless.

He watched as the druid packed up his tools, slotting them all into a tiny bag he wore at his belt.  Once, the sight would have fascinated him; the bag was tiny, yet it was large enough on the inside to take all the equipment that a druid might need at any moment.  Now, it was just depressing.  He could use such artefacts, but he would never be able to make them for himself or even modify the ones he bought for himself.  Nor, for that matter, would he ever be a druid.  Who would want a mundane for a doctor when a druid could heal most wounds in a matter of minutes?

“My Lord,” the druid said, once he had finished packing.  “I do offer my sympathies.”

The Conidian rose and escorted the druid out of his study, leaving Johan behind.  It was rare for any of his children to be left alone in their father’s workspace – he normally kept it locked and sealed with powerful wards – and Johan couldn't help finding it ominous.  Sure, he couldn't open any of the sealed chests to read his father’s private papers, but it was still worrying.  It suggested that his father wanted to have a few words with him after the druid was safely out of the house.

Muttering curses under his breath, Johan rose to his feet and looked around.  His father had only bought the house after the disastrous events of six months ago – Johan had never been given a clear explanation of why the investiture of the Grand Sorceress had gone so badly wrong, with hundreds of magicians killed – but he had already managed to make the room seem his own.  A handful of portraits of his children dotted one wall, a set of awards various sycophants had given him were pinned to another; the final two walls were covered in bookshelves, protected by additional wards.  Johan reached out and felt his fingers skittering across the wards, gently repelled from touching the books.  His father had said, back when they were moving in, that the books were off-limits to everyone, even his eldest son.  Trying to take down the wards was a guaranteed thrashing.

Not that it matters to me, Johan thought, feeling the bitterness growing stronger.  I couldn't even begin to take down the wards.

He heard his father’s measured tread and hastily sat back down.  The Conidian was normally a very controlled man, but Johan knew that he was growing increasingly frustrated – and desperate – by his son’s condition.  Johan knew that he couldn't help it, but who else was there for his father to blame?  The gods knew that his mother was not only innocent of adultery, she was a powerful magician in her own right.  But Johan ...?  Johan was defenceless.

The door opened and his father stepped in, closing the door firmly behind him.  Johan shivered, despite himself.  The last time his father had been so ... controlled had been just after a practical joke had gone spectacularly wrong, landing all of his sons in hot water.  It had been a painful evening for them all.  But now ... Johan didn't think that he’d done anything bad, yet he still shivered.  He knew just how disappointed his father was with his son’s lack of magic.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly.  “I wish ...”

“So do I,” the Conidian admitted.  For a moment, his control slipped.  “So do I.”

Johan took a breath.  “Father ... I would like to apply for a position in the Civil Service,” he said, hoping that his father would be sympathetic.  “I’m sixteen, old enough to take up an apprenticeship or strike out on my own.  There are jobs there that I could do, after all the tutoring you gave me ...”

It had been impossible, of course, for Johan to go to the Peerless School.  That school was for magicians only – and, according to Johan’s brother, weak magicians had a hellish time of it while they were trying to study.  The strong preyed on the weak; Johan had listened in horror as Jamal had laughed about turning weaker students into frogs, or casting compulsion charms on them and embarrassing them in front of the whole school.  He and his cronies even joked about tricking girls into using stripping spells on themselves.  If a weak magician found it hard, he knew that a mundane would find it impossible to survive ... and no mundane could pass any of the magical exams.

The Conidian had been sympathetic to his son’s desire for education, but he had flatly refused to send Johan to any of the mundane schools.  Instead, he had hired mundane tutors, who had given Johan lessons in everything from reading and writing to history and politics.  Johan had learned more than he wanted to know about how the Empire worked ... and about how those without magic were often denied a chance to reach the very highest levels.  But there were plenty of jobs for mundanes, particularly in the Civil Service.  If he had been able to travel, he might have found his existence more bearable.

“I'm afraid that is out of the question,” the Conidian said.  There was a certain amount of understanding in his tone, but also a great deal of inflexibility.  “You are a scion of the Conidian Family and you should not be ...”

“Doing what?”  Johan snapped, interrupting his father as his temper flared.  He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had dared be disrespectful of his father, let alone talk over him, but he was too angry to care.  “Which part of the family business can I run?”

His father’s eyes darkened with rage, although he held himself under tight control.  But Johan knew, whatever his father might say, that there was no way he could take over part of the family business.  The magicians who had allied themselves with his father would not respect a powerless mundane, no matter his lineage.  And the agreements that bound them all together wouldn't respond to Johan at all.  In some ways, he had freedoms that none of his siblings would ever know.  But the price was really too high.

“You would not be ill-treated,” the Conidian said, finally.  “But I cannot allow you to leave the family.”

Johan winced.  Powerless – children born to magical families without magic of their own – were vanishingly rare; indeed, their existence had been considered rumour until Johan himself had been born.  He suspected, given how many problems his existence had caused his family, that other powerless had simply been killed or abandoned as soon as it became clear that they weren’t going to develop magic.  There were times when Johan wished that he’d been given up for adoption as a child.  He would quickly have forgotten his roots, leaving him happy.

“Father,” he said, knowing that he was pleading, “I want to do something useful.”

“I cannot allow you to strike out on your own,” his father said, flatly.  He held up a hand before Johan could say a word.  “I do understand how you feel, but there are obligations that come from being part of House Conidian and you must respect them.”

Johan felt tears of anger and frustration forming at the corner of his eyes.  “What do I get from being part of the family?”  He demanded.  “I am constantly reminded of my own weakness, my own failure!  There hasn't been a week when my powerful brothers and sisters don’t play jokes on their powerless wreck of a brother.  I can't even leave the house without permission!”

He stood up and started to pace, fighting the urge to flee before he started crying openly.  “What sort of life do I have when even the maids and cooks have more power than I?”

“Go to your room,” his father said, softly.  “We can talk about finding you another tutor ...”

Johan spun around to face his father.  “What good does it do to study when I will never be able to use that knowledge?”

“There are people who say that learning is its own reward,” his father pointed out.

“That is not part of the family heritage,” Johan snapped.  Part of his mind realised that he was being far too rude to his father, but he was too far gone to care.  “We have spent the last five generations building up wealth, building up a patronage network that has ensured us the support of hundreds of weaker magicians and given us the chance to establish ourselves firmly among the elite of the Empire.  Ambition runs in our blood.  Everything we learn is put to use, not hoarded away ...”

His father sighed.  “Johan ...”

“But I will remain here for the rest of my life,” Johan thundered.  “A prisoner ... no, a pet.  I won’t be able to find a wife; will you buy one for me?  And if we have mundane powerless children, what will you do with them?  Will you keep us all as one happy family of prisoners?”

His father lifted a hand in a spellcasting pose, then dropped it back to his knee.  “Out,” he ordered.  He never used magic to discipline his children, but there was always a first time.  “Now.”

Johan turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

***
Duncan Conidian watched his son leave, feeling his anger drain away into pity ... and sadness.  He wasn't good with showing love and affection; the endless lust for power and position that ran through the blood – as Johan had correctly identified – made it harder for him to spend time with his children.  Indeed, he’d relied on his wife to bear and raise them while he concentrated on the family’s ambitions.  It had ensured that his relationship with his children wasn't as strong as it should have been.

But how could he have developed a strong relationship with Johan?  His son was right; he was, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner in House Conidian.  Duncan did understand why Johan wanted to be something else, something significant ... and there were positions for talented young men, even if they were powerless.  And if Johan had been born to a mundane family, Duncan had no doubt that he would have risen high in the ranks, even earning the respect of magicians.  

“But he’s my son,” he muttered, remembering with shame his reaction when he first realised that he’d sired a Powerless.  He’d accused his wife of adultery, a row that had turned into a blazing magical duel that could easily have killed both of them.  Even now, their relationship was fragile.  “He would still have our blood.”

It was blood that tied families together; Johan, powerless through he was, still shared the same blood as the rest of his family.  If he were to be captured by a magician, that magician would be able to use his blood against House Conidian ... and, as Johan had no defences, there would be no way for him to save himself.  Johan had to be protected because he couldn't protect himself, which meant that he couldn’t be allowed to go far from the house.  It was unfortunate, but there was no choice.

Johan hated it when his older brother made him humiliate himself, or when his younger sister turned him into a doll.  And how could anyone blame him for such hatred?  But such tricks, cruel as they were, paled in comparison to what a genuinely evil magician could do.  Johan was sheltered, too sheltered.  He had no idea of what dangers might be lurking out there beyond the wards.

I’m sorry, Duncan thought, but there is no choice.

There was a tap at the door.  “My Lord,” a maid said, “there is an Inquisitor at the door.”

Duncan sighed.  Inquisitors were always bad news.

“I’m coming,” he said.  There was no way he was going to show an Inquisitor his study.  “Show him into the Reception Room to wait.”

The maid bowed her head, then left the room.

Chapter Three

After Dread had left, Elaine walked back through the Great Library to her own quarters and passed through the wards with a sigh of relief.  Miss Prim had left so quickly that she’d abandoned most of her possessions; Elaine had had most of them stored, but she hadn't had the heart to remove a handful of paintings of the countryside hundreds of miles from the Golden City.  It had taken her some time to realise just how trapped Miss Prim had felt in the Great Library; the paintings had been all she’d had to remind her of the open world outside its walls.

Shaking her head, she sealed the wards behind her and walked over to the large mirror.  It had been a gift from Daria, who had told her that she should try to develop a little vanity now that she was not only a mature woman, but one of the most politically powerful magicians in the Empire.  She stood in front of the mirror and eyed herself, noting the long brown hair that framed a mousy face – cute was the best she could hope for, rather than beautiful.  Her soft brown eyes looked almost sad ...

Irritated, Elaine waved a hand in front of her face, cancelling the glamour.  The brown eyes vanished, replaced by bright red orbs that looked utterly inhuman.  There was no trace of anything, but red light, no matter how closely she looked.  The strange sense of ... taint that hung over her magic like an oil slick returned at the same moment, as if it wasn’t there until she looked for it.  It bothered her more than she wanted to admit, she knew; if she’d been a more powerful magician, she had the feeling that the taint would do more than give her headaches and strange burning sensations on a regular basis.

Touched by uncontrolled magic, she thought, as she replaced the glamour.  It was hardly uncommon for magicians – male or female – to use glamours to conceal unwanted warts or acne, but she knew just how badly others would respond to bright red eyes.  Back at the Peerless School, removing glamours had been a common practical joke.  Her glamour was much stronger than anything a teenage magician should be able to produce and it still bothered her when she was out in public.  Anyone who had been touched so badly by uncontrolled magic tended to be suspected of everything from dark rituals to demon-summoning.  

She would have liked to stay in the library for the rest of the day, but she knew that she had to go to the Imperial Palace.  Besides, she wasn’t too sure if the impulse to remain where she was came from her own mind or from her bond to the library.  The Great Library was old enough for the wards to mutate and develop quirks of their own, just like most of the other ancient buildings in the Golden City.  Unlike the Great Library, quite a few of the other buildings had been destroyed during Kane’s rampage.  The city was still rebuilding, six months later.

And some of the scars will never heal, she thought, as she pulled on her cloak and left her quarters, walking up through the library to the sole exit.  Her staff nodded politely to her as she passed; most of them, thankfully, were newcomers, rather than men and women who remembered her as the mere assistant she’d been before Miss Prim’s departure.  But then, so many magicians had been killed that the former staff had had a chance to get better jobs elsewhere in the Golden City.  It still amused her to think that she might have been promoted anyway ...

No, she knew that was nonsense.  Without her, Kane – and through him the Witch-King – would have taken the Empire for himself.  No matter how much she tried to hide from it, she was no longer a non-entity.  She was the bookworm, the Head Librarian and a member of the Privy Council ... and she still wanted to run and hide whenever the great and good turned their attention in her direction.  

Outside, the air was cool, reminding her that winter was drawing near.  There had already been snowfalls to the north, she knew; this winter was going to be harder than any other in living memory.  The Golden City had once been protected from the worst of the weather by powerful spells, embedded into the buildings over countless generations.  Kane had destroyed them, accidentally or otherwise, and no one – not even Elaine – had been able to find a way to replace them quickly.  The Grand Sorceress was already making preparations for the coming winter, but few others took the threat seriously.  How could they when everyone knew that it was always summer in the Golden City?

The weather should tell them, Elaine thought, sourly.  The young men and women on the streets had taken to wearing longer robes and dresses, rather than the scandalously short outfits they’d been wearing only five months ago.  No one outside the Privy Council really knew what had happened during the contest to select the next Grand Sorcerer, but the devastation had loosened the bonds of society.  Elaine honestly couldn't decide if that were a good or bad thing.  

She hesitated as she turned the corner and approached the Imperial Palace.  It was easily the largest – on the outside – building in the Golden City, surrounded by gardens that called attention to the Emperor’s wealth and power.  Living space was at a premium in the Golden City, hemmed in as it was by mountain ranges.  To have a private garden – and a building that didn't make use of transdimensional magical engineering to be bigger on the inside than the outside – was conspicuous consumption on a grand scale.  Almost everyone else, no matter how wealthy and powerful they were, had to make do with tiny patches of land, if that.

The Palace was surrounded by a handful of young men and women, yelling slogans as they marched to and fro under the watchful eyes of the guards.  Levellers, Elaine realised; mundanes who wished a greater share in government.  Kane’s attack hadn't just loosened the social bonds; he’d also weakened the faith in the system that kept it going.  Right now, mundanes were asking if they could really trust the Grand Sorceress to keep the rest of the magicians in line.  Elaine honestly wasn't sure what to make of that either.

It was hard for her to walk forward and up to the gates.  She had never liked company and the pressure of the crowd, even composed of non-magicians, pushed at her composure.  By the time she stepped through the wards and started to walk up to the palace, she was trembling, even though she knew that there was no reason to fear.  She might have been a weak magician, but she had been able to protect herself even before she’d become a bookworm and started to unlock some of the true secrets of magic.  

She missed Daria dreadfully, she realised, as she stepped through the doors and into the palace.  Her friend had always boosted her confidence, telling her to keep chugging on despite her fears and near-panics.  And now Daria was off on a mission that even Elaine knew little about, leaving Elaine all alone.  She knew she could talk to Dread – the Inquisitor always had time for her, despite the pressures of his job – but there were few other friends in her life.  Most of the people who had introduced themselves to her after she’d been raised to the Privy Council had clearly wanted to use her, rather than know her.

The Imperial Palace felt ... strange.  It was a magical building, yet the magic was blurred with the mundane to a degree that would have puzzled her, if she hadn't known more about its history than anyone else.  There had been plenty of non-magicians in the long-gone Imperial Line; hell, the last Emperor hadn't been a magician, which explained what had happened to him during the Necromantic Wars.  Unlike the Great Library or any of the Aristocratic Houses, it wasn't designed to bond with just one person, but with an entire family line.  And that family line was gone.

There were always rumours of heirs, Elaine knew.  But none of them had ever proven real.

No guards blocked her path as she made her way down the corridor and into the Reception Room.  Lady Light Spinner, Grand Sorceress and unquestioned ruler of the Empire, was her own best protection.  Elaine knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Light Spinner could have beaten the old Elaine without raising a sweat ... and maybe even the new Elaine, if she had no time to prepare.  The magic crackling around her figure was a warning to would-be challengers.  This was the magician who was considered the most powerful in the world.

She was taller than Elaine, her features hidden behind a black veil that concealed everything apart from her eyes.  Elaine was one of the very few people who knew what lurked behind the veil – and of the terrible price Light Spinner had paid for her mastery of magic.  If others knew ... some would be impressed, Elaine suspected, and others would call for her immediate execution.  Elaine had a feeling that Light Spinner’s own experience had helped her acceptance of Elaine’s warped eyes.

“You missed the meeting,” Light Spinner said, as she waved a hand in the air.  A comfortable chair materialised in front of the Grand Sorceress’s desk, waiting for Elaine.  “I could have done with another voice.”

Elaine felt herself flush, even though there was droll amusement rather than condemnation in Light Spinner’s voice.  No matter how important or powerful she had become, she would never feel at ease addressing the great and powerful.  There were times when she found it hard to talk to Dread, even though they were friends ... or as close as an Inquisitor could become to being friends with anyone.  

“I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head.  “I ...”

Light Spinner snorted.  “I shouldn't worry too much about it,” she said.  “There were complaints about the Levellers and complaints about Hawthorne.  I found the latter to be far more serious.”

“I know,” Elaine said.  “Is there still no trace of him?”

Light Spinner’s head moved, slightly.  “The Inquisitors are still searching for him,” she said.  “They have found nothing.”

Elaine wasn't surprised.  Hawthorne was a Dark Wizard, a rogue who had set himself up as the ruler of a handful of villages nearly a thousand miles from the Golden City.  The Inquisitors had captured him and liberated his territory, dragging him back in chains to face the Grand Sorcerer, but the Grand Sorcerer had died before Hawthorne could stand trial.  And then, in the chaos caused by Kane’s offensive, Hawthorne had managed to escape and flee into the countryside.  There were rumours of his presence everywhere, but no hard information.

It only added to the unease spreading through the Empire, she knew.  No one apart from Light Spinner knew just how many Inquisitors there were, but everyone knew that the Inquisitors had taken heavy losses in the battle with Kane.  Right now, there were a hundred problem cases that had to be stamped on before they got out of hand, but Light Spinner barely had the manpower to deal with half of them.  And the longer they were allowed to fester, the harder it would be to deal with them.

“I've had to pull the Inquisitors out of Ida,” Light Spinner added.  “They found nothing there too.”

Elaine hesitated, trying to think of the words that would convince Light Spinner to change her mind.  But she knew that it would be futile.  Unravelling the mysteries surrounding Ida was important – it might lead them to the Witch-King – yet keeping the Empire intact was also important.  Chaos would provide an opportunity for him to keep manipulating events until the entire web simply fell apart.

She gritted her teeth in frustration.  Just how did one fight an opponent like that?

“I did send Princess Sacharissa back to take the throne,” Light Spinner reminded her.  “With her father in chains, I’m sure we can rely on her to obey.”

“Out of gratitude, not fear,” Elaine commented.  Princess Sacharissa had been her father’s tool rather than his daughter, destined to be married off to enhance her father’s status among the other kings and princes of the realm.  There had been no love lost between father and daughter, Elaine knew, even before it had become clear that the girl’s brother and half-brother were part of the Witch-King’s web.  “But I think she will miss Dread.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Light Spinner said, bluntly.  “But the needs of the Empire come first.”

Elaine nodded, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the older woman.  Light Spinner had worked to gain power – and, as the Empire’s structure dictated, responsibility.  Right now, she was the law of the land; if she chose to alter the Empire’s laws, there were few who would dare to say no.  Elaine would never have sought such a position, even assuming that she could have held a lower position against ambitious subordinates long enough to climb higher.  It would have kept her firmly in the public eye.

“I saw the Levellers outside,” she said, changing the subject.  “Are you going to do anything about them?”

Light Spinner shrugged.  “There’s no point in doing anything about them,” she said, snidely.  “What can they do to us?”

Elaine had to smile, although she managed to conceal it a moment later.  Light Spinner was Millicent’s aunt – and Millicent had never been very good at handling critical remarks from those she considered beneath her.  She would never have ignored the Levellers, even if they were powerless mundanes.  It was far more likely that she would have sent out the City Guard to arrest and enslave them.  

But Elaine knew that Light Spinner was right.  It was true that mundanes couldn't pose much of a threat to magicians, yet harsh action might well rebound on her.  Mundanes who happened to hold important posts might take offense, while the more forward-thinking magicians in the city might start worrying about who she would lash out at next.  Elaine had never considered that the Grand Sorcerer was constrained, not until she’d been invited to join the Privy Council.  Building the Empire had taken centuries; destroying it would take mere years, if the Grand Sorcerer became a tyrant.

Light Spinner looked up at her, suddenly.  The magic field shifted, drawing Elaine’s attention towards her.  This was the meat of the matter, she realised; this was why she’d been summoned.  Fighting the compulsion to pay attention was difficult, almost impossible.  But somehow she held her own.

“We are critically short of magicians in all categories,” Light Spinner said, bluntly.  “Quite apart from Inquisitors, we need warders, enchanters, curse-breakers and alchemists.  We may have to start widening our net when it comes to recruiting new magicians.”

Elaine swallowed, knowing just how much tradition Light Spinner was talking about throwing away.  Unless they were powerful or wealthy, common-born magicians often received very limited training rather than attending the Peerless School.  Elaine herself wouldn’t have been able to attend without someone paying her fees.  The gods knew that her Guardian hadn’t been willing to pay more than the bare minimum for her.  

“We may also need to teach them some of your magic tricks,” Light Spinner added.  “Do you think that you could teach a class?”

“I’m not sure,” Elaine confessed, finally.  “It might be possible.”

She had worked on improving the basic spells, but actually explaining how magic spells actually went together?  Writing her own spellbook would be the work of years, even with her new and unique insights.  But she could understand why Light Spinner wanted the information.  Many of the new magicians would be on the same level as herself, at least when it came to raw magic.

But she didn't want to face a class.  She had enough problems facing two or three people at once.

“I can try to work out a basic syllabus,” she said, wincing at the thought of how the Spell Masters at the Peerless School would respond to her work.  One of the ones who had tried to hammer spellwork into her head had been given, she saw now, to pushing too much power into his spells.  They had worked, but they lacked the elegance that allowed her to save power.  “But I don't know how well they will work for new students.”

She’d tried to teach Dread a few spells, knowing that the Inquisitor was used to controlling himself.  But even he had been unable to master the modified spell.

“I may have you try to teach one or two new students,” Light Spinner mused.  “Because we are critically short of personnel.”

Elaine scowled at the reminder.  It was her duty to try, even if she didn't know if she would succeed.  But then, that was true of just about everyone these days.  

“I’ll do my best,” she promised.  “When do you want me to start?”

“We are currently combing the countryside for new recruits,” Light Spinner said.  “But many of the more promising ones will have a great deal to unlearn.”

Elaine nodded, then stopped as she sensed a sudden change in the magic field.  For a moment, she thought that Light Spinner was calling on her magic, before she realised that the source was outside the Palace’s wards.  A second later, there was a sudden pulse of magic ...

... And then nothing.  The field just seemed to snap back to normal.

She found her voice.  “What ... what was that?”

“I don't know,” Light Spinner said.  She sounded as disturbed as Elaine felt.  “But I think we had better find out.”

Chapter Four

“I think I’d better run,” Charity said.  “That Inquisitor is here because of me.”

Johan blinked.  He could easily imagine an Inquisitor coming for Jamal – his older brother was an asshole, plain and simple – but Charity?  His sister was sweet, innocent and determined to do well at her studies.  And, unlike most of his other siblings, she hardly ever played magical pranks on her powerless brother.  

“You?”

“Father gave me a spell to help me study,” Charity said, as she stood up and headed towards the door.  “But I think I want to give father time to cool down before I face him.”

“I’ll come with you,” Johan said, picking up his coat.  He’d hoped to talk to Charity, even if she didn't really understand what he went through on a daily basis.  But now ... maybe he could spend some time away from home too.  “Where are we going?”

“I thought I’d go see my boyfriend,” Charity said.  She gave him an understanding look as he flushed, brightly.  “But I’ll help you get out of the house.”

Johan scowled inwardly as they walked downstairs and stopped in front of the door, just long enough for Charity to cast the charm that unlocked it and allowed them to leave the house.  A mundane – or a powerless – would be trapped without a magician to open the door; Johan knew, no matter what his father said, that he was effectively a prisoner.  Outside, hardly anyone knew of his existence.  The family rarely mentioned him to any of their friends, even their closest allies.  It would be an admission of weakness in the family bloodline that they could ill afford.

Outside, it was chillier than he had expected, but he couldn't help feeling a sensation of freedom that more than compensated for the cold.  Away from the house, he told himself, he could just blend into the mundane population.  They would never know that he was a Conidian – and neither would anyone else.  He would just be another teenage boy wandering the streets.

“Here,” Charity said.  She passed him a handful of silver coins.  “I’ll be expecting them repaid, sooner or later.”

“Thank you,” Johan said, genuinely touched.  He was given an allowance by his father, but – unlike the rest of his siblings – he was unable to look after it for himself.  The one time he had, it had been stolen by Jamal and spent on sweets.  “I’ll pay you back tonight.”

Charity waved as she walked off in one direction; Johan hesitated, then walked in the opposite direction, heading away from her.  If their father decided to use tracking spells to track them down, at least they wouldn't be together.  And it was more likely that he would go after Charity first.  Johan had no idea what spell their father might have given her, but if an Inquisitor had turned up it had to be bad.  

The sense of freedom grew stronger as he turned into a shopping alley and walked down, passing countless people as they thronged through the city.  Despite the weather, many of them wore traditional clothes from their part of the Empire, some of them completely covered and others barely wearing anything at all.  Johan had to remind himself not to stare; unlike his other brothers, he had few opportunities to meet girls.  Who would want to marry a powerless?

He bought himself a sweet treat from a vendor and walked onwards, nibbling at it and trying to make it last.  Charity had given him a surprising amount of money, but he would still need to eat dinner ... unless he went home early.  But his father would be raging and Johan didn't want to face him any sooner than strictly necessary.  Instead, he found himself walking towards the Imperial Palace, feeling a flicker of bitter envy.  If he'd been born a magician, like the rest of his family, he might have one day risen to Grand Sorcerer.  But instead, he would always be below the rest of them – and everyone else who had magic.  The thought tormented him as he turned to look at the gates.  There was a small crowd gathered outside, shouting slogans and trying to pull onlookers into their protest.

Puzzled, Johan stepped closer.  His father had muttered things about protest movements and other insecurities in the wake of ... whatever had happened to reduce part of the city to rubble, but he hadn't gone into detail.  Jamal had been sneering, of course, and Johan had long since learned not to pay attention to Jamal’s sneering.  It inevitably turned into an attack on his younger and powerless brother.  Johan found it hard to understand why Jamal, who would inherit their father’s position even if his brother hadn't been powerless, was such an asshole, but maybe it came from his sense of entitlement.  Whatever Jamal wanted, Jamal got.  Even the occasional thrashing from their father hadn’t been enough to cure him of his tendency to bully.

“Hey,” a young voice said.  “You want one of these?”

Johan turned to see a young lady, wearing a green dress that exposed the tops of her breasts.  He found himself tongue-tied as she smiled at him, then pressed a piece of paper into his hand.  Johan took it automatically, then watched as she twirled away and headed towards the next curious onlooker.  Someone must have charmed her dress, he realised; it clung to her in all the right places, but hinted at her curves rather than revealed.  Charity had had something similar until their mother had seen her and thrown a fit.

He tore his gaze away from the girl and looked down at the piece of paper.  It was surprisingly simple – and seditious.  It asked, openly, why rule by magicians was the natural order?  Why should those without magic be governed by those with magic?  Where was the justice, it asked, in granting one group of people power over others?  After all, the writer went on to say, a strong man was not automatically considered superior to all other men.  

Johan knew what his father would say if he read the paper.  He would be openly sarcastic, mocking the writer for daydreaming of a world without magic.  What was the old joke?  The human race was improved when a swordsman took up arms against a magician, no matter the outcome.  A swordsman would be quickly killed by any capable magician ... and if the magician was killed himself, he was clearly too stupid or weak to use magic.  It would be a very poor magician who lost to a swordsman.

“There is no magic in the Iron Dragons that take people from kingdom to kingdom,” a voice thundered.  Johan turned to see a blonde-haired man, standing on a box and addressing the crowd.  “There is no magic in the aqueducts that supply the Empire with water.  There is no magic in the printing presses that provide us with our reading material.  There is no magic ...”

Johan listened, feeling oddly hopeful.  It was true; magic was powerful, but it was not the be-all and end-all of existence.  The gods knew that he had tried to find out how one worked on the Iron Dragons, although his father had dismissed the possibility the one time he’d brought it up.  He was simply too blue-blooded to work on the lines, his father had said.  It wasn't until later that he’d realised that his father wouldn't allow him to work anywhere.  

“They call us mundane,” the man thundered.  “They call us powerless!  They call us nothing!  And yet it is us who run the Empire.  The Grand Sorceress could not control her realm without the mundanes who work for her and her council.  Why, then, are we powerless?”

His voice lowered.  “Because they have power,” he said.  “But we are far from powerless.

“We trusted in the Grand Sorcerers to protect us from the dark magicians, those who would abuse their powers.  But they have failed.  Only six months ago, countless people – magicians and so-called mundanes – were slaughtered at what should have been the investiture of the new Grand Sorcerer.  What happened on that day?  We do not know!  All we know is that thousands of people died!”

Johan nodded.  His father had never been able to get a clear answer as to what had happened in the Golden City, nor – to the best of his knowledge – had anybody else.  Jamal had snidely remarked that the contest had clearly gotten out of hand and, for once, Johan was inclined to agree with his elder brother.  But if the contest had been so dangerous, why not hold it somewhere well away from innocent civilians?  Even if the powerless were dismissed, the gods alone knew how many magicians had died.

“And we don't even know why,” the speaker hissed.  “Why, then, should we trust them?”

A very good question, Johan thought.  He knew a whole family of magicians – and most of them delighted in tormenting the sole powerless among them.  Charity wasn't too bad; Jamal was a nightmare ... even eleven-year-old Chime was a holy terror.  It didn't bode well for the conduct of superior sorcerers.  Their father was a good man, in his way, but he didn't hesitate to trample over anyone who got in his way.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

“Well,” a familiar – far too familiar – voice said.  “I should have known that you would be here, weakling.”

Johan gritted his teeth as he turned to face his elder brother.  Jamal was taller than Johan, wearing the multicoloured robes that identified him as a recent graduate from the Peerless School; his face, thinner than Johan’s face, seemed twisted into a permanent sneer.  Most of his other siblings had become unbearable after they realised that Johan was largely unable to fight back; Jamal had been thoroughly unpleasant even before Johan’s lack of magic was discovered.  There were times when Johan wondered just why Jamal was such a bully, when he had so much to look forward to, and times when he felt that his brother just liked feeling superior to people.  

“You found me,” he said, fighting down the urge to cringe.  “Did father send you?”

Jamal looked surprised – and a little disappointed.  “I’m afraid not,” he sneered, as he pulled Johan back from the crowd.  “Should father be sending me after you?”

It was a little unlikely, Johan had to admit.  Jamal and their father had had an argument over something and he’d moved out, setting up his own establishment on the other side of the Golden City.  It clearly hadn't been that bad an argument, not if they were still talking, but it gave Jamal a freedom that Johan couldn't help envying.  Even if he’d been older, his father wouldn't allow him to leave the house permanently.  It had been one of the reasons why he wanted to find a job that didn't require magic.

“...No,” he said, finally.  

“Glad to hear it,” his brother said.  His eyes narrowed as they reached the corner.  “But I do have a bone to pick with you.”

Johan swallowed.  Jamal blamed Johan for everything that went wrong in his life, quite unfairly.  Well, largely unfairly.  Johan might not have been able to brew a potion to save his life, but he had managed to sneak a few herbs into Jamal’s drink after one particularly bad bullying session and give his brother a few very uncomfortable nights.  

“I was talking to Marina, of House Clyburn,” Jamal said.  “Father and I were closing the deal for the marriage contract.  I would have been her husband.”

“Oh,” Johan said.  He had an awful feeling that he knew where this was going.  House Clyburn was poor in wealth, but rich in blood and connections.  An alliance between them and House Conidian, sealed by the marriage of two of their children, would bring money to one and connections to the other.  “And?”

Jamal leaned forward.  “And they insisted on hearing about our entire family,” he hissed.  “When they found out about you, they cancelled the negotiations and tore up the contract.”

“I’m sorry,” Johan said, weakly.  “I ...”

For a moment, he almost felt sorry for his brother.  Alliances between strongly-magical families were meant to blend the best of their lines together to produce children that were vastly more powerful than their parents.  But the merest suspicion of weakness in the family line could destroy an alliance.  A weak magician alone would have been bad, but a powerless ... that was even worse.  His mere existence had destroyed the planned contract.  No wonder his father had been so desperate to find even the merest hint of magic.

“And look at them,” Jamal added, waving towards the speaker, who was still pontificating.  “They are powerless, just like you!  And we are not going to stand for it!”

Johan looked at his brother ... and, in a sudden flash of insight, understood.  Jamal had been raised to be the Heir to House Conidian, to take over the family magic and patronage network when their father died.  No wonder he was such an asshole; their father pressured him constantly, trying to shape him into a worthy heir.  Johan’s complete lack of power should have reassured his brother, but it also undermined him too.  

He looked up as he saw a handful of other magicians wearing graduate robes.  “What are you going to do ...?”

“Hush,” Jamal said.  He waved a hand and Johan found himself frozen, utterly unable to move or look away from the speaker and his audience.  “I just want you to watch and learn.”

“That’s your brother,” one of the other magicians said.  “Why isn't he joining us?”

“He’s too soft,” Jamal said, quickly.  “Father wants him to watch to toughen him up.”

Johan would have laughed if he could have moved a muscle.  Jamal wouldn't want to advertise his powerless brother, even – perhaps particularly – to his closest friends.  It was a good excuse, he had to admit ... and it made it unlikely that any of the others would help him, if they were so inclined.  Besides, they’d probably mistaken him for Jay.  If they’d realised that Johan existed, they might have started to wonder why he hadn’t attended the Peerless School.

“Stay here,” Jamal said, with an oddly-nervous laugh.  “And watch carefully as we teach these upstarts a lesson.”

The other magicians laughed, then started to march towards the crowd, lifting their wands into ready position.  Some of the protesters saw them coming and started to scatter, but others were trapped by the sheer press of the crowd, unable to escape.  A hail of rocks and stones flew towards the magicians, only to be stopped easily by shield charms.  Johan watched, literally unable to tear his eyes away, as Jamal cast the first spell.

He felt his body try to shiver.  The nightmare spell was a child’s prank ... which didn't stop it being thoroughly unpleasant if the victim had no magic to defend himself.  A dozen protesters started to scream in horror as they saw their worst nightmares coming to life, their screams echoing over the square.  Other spells were being cast; Johan watched, helplessly, as a handful of protesters became frogs, or were frozen in place, or were compelled into attacking their fellows.  He felt absolute mind-numbing horror as he saw a man attacking the girl next to him with his fists, tears running down his cheeks as his hands moved of their own accord.  Another girl was compelled to tear off her shirt and display her charms for all to see; a third was forced to wet herself, then kneel down in her own filth.  

The crowd came apart into screaming panic.  A man ran at Jamal, fists raised, who eyed him quizzically.  He slammed right into the shield charm and fell to the ground, blood pouring from his nose.  Jamal laughed out loud – his brother’s laughter somehow echoed over the screams – and kicked the man in the face.  He sank into merciful unconsciousness.  Johan watched in absolute horror as Jamal targeted the speaker directly.  Someone must have trapped him on his soapbox, Johan realised. The speaker should have tried to run.

Jamal played with him.  One spell gave him boils, another moved him like a puppet, a third left him howling gibberish at the gates.  Johan watched as his brother allowed one of his friends to take over, casting his own spells towards the speaker.  It was unlikely that he would survive, Johan realised.  The spells might be intended as pranks, but the speaker was completely defenceless.

Pure rage boiled through Johan as he watched the crowd fleeing, save only for the frozen, the compelled and the transfigured.  They’d been broken, knocked down so far that they might not be able to recover ... Johan had been transfigured so many times that he was used to it, but mundanes who rarely dealt with even a single magician would find it a new and terrifying experience.  Jamal walked onwards, laughing at the City Guardsmen as they shank back into the gates.  It would be a brave or stupid City Guardsman who tried to stand up to a magician on the rampage.  That was a job for the Inquisitors.  Where were they?

He cursed, mentally.  Could it be that Jamal’s actions had actually been approved by the Grand Sorceress?  She couldn’t find the Levellers – or so the paper had named them – very amusing.  Indeed, they were a challenge to her prestige, even if they were no threat to her position.  Someone like Jamal would make a perfect – and deniable – tool to use against them.  

Johan struggled, throwing himself against the spell ... but nothing happened.  Rage met frustration ... and something broke free inside his mind.  For a long chilling moment, the entire world dimmed, as if he were about to take a sneeze ... and then something blasted through his mind.  He was vaguely aware of someone – Jamal? – yelling in shock, then the spell holding him snapped.  He tumbled ...

And then he fell down into absolute blackness.

Chapter Five

Elaine felt Light Spinner’s magic billowing through the air as she ran to a window and leapt out, floating on the air and heading towards the riot.  For a moment, Elaine wanted to follow her, but sanity reasserted itself before she could jump out of the window herself.  She simply didn't have the power to fly – or levitate – herself for longer than a few seconds, no matter how tightly she finessed the spells.  Instead, she ran to the door – passing a handful of servants, who looked thoroughly terrified – and out into the gardens.

She was greeted by absolute chaos.  On the other side of the railing, people were running in all directions, while the City Guardsmen were hanging back, desperately trying to pretend that they weren't there.  Shouts and screams echoed over the palace as Light Spinner swooped down, her raw power scattering the remaining protesters.  There was so much magic crawling through the air that Elaine found herself wondering if the whole affair was a trap for the Grand Sorceress, before deciding that any such trap would be unnecessary.  Someone with the power to create the magic pulse wouldn't need such tricks.  They could just walk into the palace and challenge her directly.

Elaine reached the gates and stared in horror at the scene before her.  Countless people were scattered on the ground, some bleeding badly after being trampled by their fellows.  Others were held in place by magic, or transfigured into animals or inanimate objects; a dozen had warts and boils burned into their faces through various prank curses and hexes.  The Levellers had been thoroughly hammered by person or persons unknown, she thought, feeling sick.  This was the sort of abuse of magic the Grand Sorceress was supposed to prevent ... and it had happened right in front of her residence.

Light Spinner dropped to the ground, robes billowing around her, as a pair of Inquisitors arrived.  Elaine heard her snapping at them – where had they been when all seven hells were breaking loose? – but tuned her out, searching instead for the source of the magical pulse.  It was easy to tell that the magical field had been badly disturbed, as if someone had rung a colossal bell and the echoes were still audible.  She might not have been the most sensitive magician in the world, but it was easy to trace the pulse back to its source.

A young man lay on the ground, completely stunned.  Elaine knelt down beside him and took his pulse, then drew her wand and started casting diagnostic charms.  The results shimmered up in front of her; a moment later, she felt her eyes narrow in puzzlement.  None of the charms seemed able to decide if she were dealing with a magician or a mundane.  There was magic in him, definitely, but it was concentrated in his brain.  But a normal magician would have magic flowing through his body.

She looked up as more Inquisitors and a string of druids finally arrived, followed by a small army of City Guardsmen, who had been emboldened by the appearance of their ultimate superior and her Inquisitors.  Elaine couldn't blame them for keeping back; City Guardsmen weren't meant to take on magicians, no matter the situation.  It was rare to have any Guardsman with magic of his own; the ones who did tended to be transferred to the Inquisition.  

“Find out what happened,” Light Spinner ordered, her voice somehow effortlessly ringing out above the throng.  “And get these people some medical attention!”

Elaine scowled inwardly as Light Spinner, followed by a worried-looking Dread, came over to where Elaine was waiting.  It was impossible to read her expression behind the veil, but Elaine knew her well enough to know that she was deeply annoyed; someone, for whatever reason, had seen fit to challenge her authority right in front of her palace.  And she’d also heard the Leveller attack on her person ...

Light Spinner stopped, peering down at the young man.  “Is that ... is that the source of the pulse?”

“I think so,” Elaine admitted.  “Who is he?”

She studied the young man for a long moment, feeling an odd sense that she’d seen someone like him before.  He was handsome enough, with short brown hair and flawless face, but there were odd lines carved into his skin that suggested age or bitter experience.  His clothing, however, suggested the aristocracy; bland his outfit might have been, but the tailoring was superb.  Elaine could never have afforded such clothes, at least until she had been promoted.  And she would have considered it a waste of money in any case.  

“He reminds me of Duncan or Jamal Conidian,” Dread said, slowly.  “What happened to him?”

“I’m not sure,” Elaine confessed.  Dread was right; there was something about the stunned youth that reminded her of Charity Conidian.  She cast the charms again, allowing him to see the results as they appeared in front of them.  “But he was the source of the magic pulse.”

Light Spinner shook her head.  “Take him to the hospital,” she ordered, as she stepped backwards.  “You can run tests on them there.”

Elaine nodded.  There was something ... odd about the way the magic field was responding to the boy.  No, she corrected herself, the young man.  She cast a second charm over him and discovered that he was a mere sixteen years old, even though he looked older.  A moment later, Dread bent down and searched the man with practiced ease, turning up nothing apart from a medallion hanging around his neck.  There were a handful of tracking charms placed on it, all seemingly inactive.

“No wand,” Dread said.  “And he isn't wearing school robes.”

Elaine heard the puzzlement in his voice and frowned.  Most magicians owned and used a wand, but there were quite a few who didn't.  Their magic worked better without one; Light Spinner, like most of the other Senior Magicians, wouldn't use a wand at all unless she required absolute precision.  A reputation for wand dependency would suggest to her enemies that removing her wand would render her helpless.  

But it was rare for a school-age youth not to own a wand.  He would carry it everywhere, even if he didn't use it regularly.  Unless, of course, he had no magic.

She raised her own wand and cast a levitation charm.  “I’ll take him to the hospital,” she said, as she floated the stunned man into the air.  Thankfully, it was easier to levitate someone else than herself.  “Can you find out who he is and why he was here?”

“I can try,” Dread said, with droll amusement.

Elaine felt herself flushing.  The only person who had any right to issue orders to the Inquisitors was Light Spinner, who seemed rather amused at Elaine’s presumption.  Irked at herself, Elaine manipulated her wand, sending the floating body drifting ahead of her as she walked away from the crowd.  The hospital wasn't far from the palace, thankfully.  Levitation charms didn't require much power, but maintaining them for long was incredibly draining.  

The hospital seemed to be in chaos as she entered, she discovered.  Druids and healers were running everywhere, while a handful of City Guardsmen were bringing in wounded from the riot outside the palace.  Elaine hesitated, then lifted her Privy Council ring and showed it to one of the druids, who blanched.  Everyone knew that the Privy Councillors had almost unlimited authority, even though Elaine rarely used it.  She just didn't have the mindset for going into a building and barking orders.

But she had to right now.

“I want a private room,” she said, sharply.  “And a druid to attend me as soon as possible.”

She thought better of that a moment later.  “No, I want the druid once everyone else is dealt with,” she added.  There was no reason to believe that her charge was in immediate danger; if she took a druid away from emergency medical care, it was likely that someone innocent would die.  “Until then, find me a room.”

The druid showed her to a small room, bringing back unhappy memories of the day she’d been turned into a Bookworm.  Elaine levitated her charge inside and gently put him down on the bed, then collapsed into a chair in sudden exhaustion.  It didn't seem fair, somehow, that she knew so much, yet she didn’t have the power to make half of the spells she knew work.  But she knew, better than anyone, that life wasn't fair.  Sweat prickled her back as she sagged, then forced herself to stand upright and take some water from the sink.  She needed a drink desperately.

Outside, she could hear the chaos growing louder as more and more patients were brought into the hospital.  Elaine hoped that most of them could be healed quickly, but the druids were likely to be overworked and understaffed, particularly after a number of the most powerful druids had been killed by Kane.  Taking another sip of water, she stepped over to the young man and started to cast another series of charms.  The results seemed thoroughly unique.  

There was magic, but it was definitely concentrated in his brain.  No matter how she fine-tuned the scans, it was definitely isolated ... she even ran a scan of herself, just to make sure that the charms were working properly.  It wasn't the only oddity.  Unconscious magic helped children to heal quickly, even without immediate medical care, but there were definite signs that her charge hadn't healed quickly.  She scowled, feeling knowledge from a thousand medical textbooks spinning through her head; there were signs that magic had been used to treat him, but it was external magic.  A mundane who had been treated by the druids would have shown the same results.

And his body showed the faint disturbance caused by one too many transfigurations.  The spells used weren't dangerous, not in the sense that they could accidentally kill, but so many transfigurations had to have inflicted some damage.  Elaine shivered, remembering the day Millicent had turned her into a frog for a week, back at the Peerless School.  If her readings were accurate, this young man had gone through much worse ...

“But if you’re related to Duncan Conidian,” Elaine said, out loud, “why couldn't you defend yourself?”

Maybe he couldn't, her own thoughts answered her.  No wand, no school robes ... and you never saw him in the Great Library.  What does that suggest?

She shivered.  Not seeing him in the library proved nothing; she wasn't sociable enough to wander the halls and reading rooms, chatting to students.  That was Vane’s job.  Added together, however, it was starting to suggest a very disturbing picture.  Absently, she tried to find out why the young man was still asleep and found nothing.  She couldn't help remembering the days after she’d been turned into a bookworm.  She’d been stunned for several days too. 

There was a knock at the door, which opened to reveal Dread.  The Inquisitor looked as stony-faced as ever, but Elaine knew him well enough to realise that he was tired and not entirely happy with the world.  Elaine cancelled her charms and looked over at him, wondering what he’d found out.  And, for that matter, just what had happened outside the palace.

“His name is Johan, Johan Conidian,” Dread said.  His voice was almost devoid of emotion, another sure sign that he was more tired than he wanted to let on.  “And he’s a Powerless.”

Elaine shook her head.  “There’s magic in there,” she said.  “Very odd magic, but it is there.”

She scowled as Dread started to cast his own charms, feeling a moment of pity for the young man.  The Conidian Family was powerfully magical; if Johan was genuinely powerless, his life must have been hellish.  Elaine might have been a low-power magician, but she was still a magician.  A Powerless wouldn't be any sort of magician ... and, born to a magical family, would get absolutely no respect.  No wonder he’d been transfigured so often.  His brothers and sisters must have thought of him as a permanent target for their pranks.

The Peerless School encouraged a limited amount of pranks – Elaine thought of it as bullying – in the hopes it would provide incentive for the prank victims to study and develop their magic.  But all such pranks were supposed to be carried out in the school ... and targeted on other student magicians.  Targeting a Powerless, one who couldn't defend himself at all, was just evil.  But it seemed that the Conidian had allowed it to happen.  Had he thought, Elaine asked himself, that repeated pranks would encourage his son to develop magic?  Or had he merely hated the living evidence of weakness in his bloodline?

Dread finished casting charms and stepped backwards.  “Wonderful,” he said, sardonically.  “The last time I saw anything like this was when I first met you.”

Elaine remembered.  “But he wasn't in the Great Library when it happened,” she pointed out, keeping her voice calm.  Magical accidents that boosted – or weakened – someone’s power were rarely good news.  There were times when she still marvelled that she had been allowed to wake up, after becoming a Bookworm.  “I don’t think that any such spell could have affected him.”

“I do not know if that would make a difference,” Dread countered.  “And what has happened to him now?”

“Unknown,” Elaine said, tersely.  All the knowledge in her head seemed useless.  There were plenty of cases where trauma affected a person’s magic, but they had all required the victim to be a magician.  Johan ... had never been a magician.  He hadn't even had the signs that Elaine had shown, back in the orphanage.  “He had no magic.  Now ... he has magic inside of him.”

Dread lifted his staff, then tapped it’s iron tip on the floor.  “What is he going to become?”

“I don’t think that you should kill him now,” Elaine said, quickly.  “This is utterly unprecedented.”

“So is what happened to you,” Dread reminded her, “and you know who was behind it.”

Elaine shivered.  The Witch-King ... did he have something to do with Johan’s accident?  But there was no way to be sure, one way or the other.  For all they knew, it was Johan’s grandchildren who would be the essential part of the Witch-King’s plot.  

“I think that the Grand Sorceress should make that decision,” Elaine said.  She knew that Dread had the authority to kill, if he believed that the Empire’s security was at risk, but she didn't want to see Johan dead.  If nothing else, what had happened to him might revolutionise the study of magic.  He had been Powerless ... and if he’d developed magic, it would change the world.  “What happened outside?”

Dread’s face twisted into a grim scowl.  “A bunch of magicians, mainly students, attacked the Leveller rally,” he said.  “So far, we have nineteen dead, thirty-seven injured, twelve forced transfigurations and thirteen people suffering the after-effects of various compulsion charms.”

Elaine shuddered.  She knew, all too well, just how vulnerable non-magicians were to magic, even if they had purchased protective amulets and spells from magicians.  Even student magicians could have inflicted considerable harm on the protesters ... and they had, it seemed.  By the time Light Spinner had intervened, they’d killed over nineteen mundanes.

She gritted her teeth.  “Who did it?”

“We’re still putting together a case,” Dread said.  “The Grand Sorceress is not happy.  No matter what the Levellers were doing – or saying – such attacks cannot be tolerated.  However, we don’t have any real idea just who carried out the attack.  The witnesses all agree that they used disguise charms to obscure their faces.  They didn't even bother to come up with actual faces; they just ensured that no one could see their features.”

Elaine rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.  She knew what would happen now; if they hadn't been caught in the act, the perpetrators would swear blind that they were innocent ... and, as they probably had magical relatives, they would bring colossal pressure to bear on Light Spinner to let them off with a slap on the wrist.  If, of course, there was enough proof to bring them to face her in the first place.  Few magical families would care if their children killed – directly or indirectly – a handful of mundanes.  What were they going to do about it?

“The last thing we need is another challenge to the Grand Sorceress’s authority,” Dread added.  “We may wind up quietly ignoring the whole affair.”

“I know,” Elaine said.

She’d thought that the Grand Sorcerer was all-powerful.  It hadn't been until she’d joined the Privy Council that she’d realised that there were limits, particularly when other powerful magicians – or magical families – were involved.  Even the most powerful magician in the world would have hesitated to confront several families acting in concert ... and they would, if they believed that their children were in danger.  Light Spinner might be unable to get anything done if the families chose to challenge her openly.

And, with the Empire already weakened by Kane, the last thing they needed was the suggestion that the Grand Sorceress couldn't keep order.  It would undermine the Empire’s stability further ... she scowled as she remembered her last letter from Bee.  He’d told her that his mistress, the Empress of the South, had been asking him for his impressions of the Grand Sorceress and openly questioning her ability to handle the task of running the Empire.

“I’ll concentrate on Johan,” she said, finally.  “Can you interview his family?  See what they make of the whole affair?”

“Once I get some free time,” Dread said.  He turned and started to walk towards the door.  “If we can catch the perpetrators red-handed, it might be harder for them to hide behind their families.”

Elaine nodded, then turned back to Johan as Dread left the room.

“What are you?”  She asked.  There was no reply, apart from the steady rise and fall of his chest.  “And what are you becoming?”

Chapter Six

Johan felt ... weird.

It was an odd sensation, one that seemed to twist and turn through his head, making it impossible for him to even get a grip on what it actually was.  He thought he had a headache, save that there was no pain; it was almost as if he were dreaming that he had a headache.  But there was something very wrong in his head ...

Johan had nightmares regularly, but this was different.  There was a sense of reality that was lacking in his other nightmares, a sense that he couldn't escape no matter what he did.  In a way, he was almost aware that he was dreaming ... and, at the same time, he was convinced that he wasn't dreaming.  There was a sudden stab of pain, so painful that he screamed ...

... And then he snapped awake.

His head suddenly hurt as light blazed down from high overhead.  Stunned, he squeezed his eyes shut as daggers seemed to plunge through his eyeballs and into his skull.  He tried to recall what had happened, but nothing came to mind.  Had one of his siblings played a trick on him ... or had something else happened?  His memory seemed to have failed him, although it was hard to concentrate.  Pain ... and something else ... seemed to be coiling in his mind, burning through his thoughts.  He just wanted to roll over and die.

“Johan,” a voice said.  It was soft, female ... and completely unfamiliar.  “Can you hear me?”

Johan felt his entire body twisting in pain.  He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again as his stomach heaved violently.  By all the gods!  It was worse than when he'd caught that bug as a young man and spent two weeks in bed with cramps ... his siblings, of course, had escaped entirely, thanks to their magic.  Had he been ill?  Or had something else happened, something his mind refused to remember?

“Yes,” he managed, finally.  The urge to retch was growing stronger and stronger.  “I ... sick ...”

He open his eyes.  The light had dimmed, thankfully, but he could still see two anxious faces peering down at him.  One wore the white robes of a druid, complete with golden sickle on his belt; the other wore the purple robes of a Privy Councillor.  Johan found himself coughing instead of laughing, even though seeing her was funny.  What sort of Privy Councillor would come to investigate a mere Powerless?  A moment later, he retched violently, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up.  It was no relief.

“You’ve had a bit of a nasty blow, young man,” the druid said.  His voice made him sound ancient, but that was rather reassuring.  Incompetent magicians didn't last long.  “How are you feeling?”

“Head hurts,” Johan managed.  His chest hurt too.  “Throat dry.  I ...”

“Here,” the druid said, passing him a flask of clear liquid.  Johan sipped it gratefully, recognising the taste of purified water.  The water made his head feel better, although something was still pounding away inside his skull.  It was funny; he almost felt as though he were outside his body, looking in.  “How much do you remember ...?”

As if the question had unlocked memoires he’d pushed aside, Johan suddenly remembered everything.  The Levellers, the rally, Jamal ... and something that had unlocked itself inside his skull.  He reached up to touch his head, feeling it throbbing lightly, as a desperate hope suddenly blossomed to life inside his mind.  What if ... what if he’d developed magic?  No matter how much he’d fought before, he had never broken out of any of Jamal’s spells.  Even the weakest compulsion had held him in thrall until the spell was lifted.  

But it seemed too good to be true.

“Jamal,” he said, suddenly.  “He was at the rally and ...”

The Privy Councillor leaned forward.  “Your brother was one of those who attacked the rally?”

Johan found himself staring at her.  She was young – he doubted that she was much older than Jamal – yet there were lines on her mousy face that suggested that she was older than her years.  It was hard to credit the fact that she was a Privy Councillor, but who else would dare wear purple outside the house?  There were laws against wearing robes if there was no claim to them.  

“Yes,” he said, sourly.  Memories of horror rose up in front of his eyes, mocking him.  Jamal wouldn't be punished, of course.  He was never punished when he was cruel to outsiders, or even to his siblings.  “He and his friends attacked the rally.”

The druid waved his wand at Johan.  “And what happened to you?”

“I don't know,” Johan admitted.  He described what had happened as best as he could, ending with the sudden collapse of Jamal’s spell.  “What do you think happened to me?”

“I wish I knew,” the druid said.  He looked at the Privy Councillor.  “Medically, he’s fine, although I would suggest two more days in bed for observation.  I don’t know enough about his ... other condition to comment.  This is completely unprecedented.”

The Privy Councillor didn't seem surprised.  “I’ll see to him,” she said, as the druid started to walk towards the door.  “Do you have any other advice?”

“Get a witness statement from him,” the druid said.

Johan watched him leave the room, then turned his head so he could look at the Privy Councillor.  “My Lady,” he said, carefully, “what happened to me?”

The Privy Councillor seemed oddly bothered by the formality.  Johan felt a moment of panic – his father had drilled etiquette into him, but he hadn't really expected his powerless son ever to have to meet a Privy Councillor – and wondered if he had gotten it wrong, before pushing the thought aside.  No doubt it was about to be explained to him in great detail just where he had gone wrong.  

“My name is Elaine,” the Privy Councillor said.  Now the druid was gone, her voice seemed to relax slightly.  “I don’t really need such formality.”

Johan studied her for a long moment.  There was none of the style his mother affected, none of the confidence that Charity strove to project at all times ... and there was no family name.  That meant ... what?  No family?  But any family would be proud to have a Privy Councillor in the family.  They were always powerful magicians as well as the trusted friends and confidents of the Grand Sorcerer.  Or at least everyone took them to be the Grand Sorcerer’s friends.  He had his doubts about how close his father was to the Grand Sorceress.

But the name was oddly familiar ...

Of course, he thought, remembering one of his father’s rants.  The Head Librarian.

“My name is Johan,” he said, finally.  “What did he mean about my condition.”

Elaine looked down at the floor, then back up at him.  “There is magic in you,” she said, flatly.  “But it is very odd magic indeed.  You were tested before, I understand?”

Johan found himself unable to speak.  Magic!  It was like a dream come true ... and that made him suspicious.  One of his father’s more useful pieces of advice had been a warning that anything that sounded too good to be true probably was.  He’d tried to send away for a potion that claimed to bring power to the powerless, only to have his father point out that it was utterly useless.  And he had been tested extensively, every year.  They’d never found a trace of magic.

“I was,” he said, suddenly despondent.  It was better than hope.  “They found nothing.”

“We found something,” Elaine assured him.  “But like I said, it’s odd.”

She gave him a long considering look.  “Do you know any spells?”

“Charity tried to teach me a few,” Johan said, before he could stop himself.  If she chose to take that to the Inquisition ... teaching magic to mundanes was strictly forbidden, even though there was nothing they could do with it.  “But they never worked.”

The memory was a bitter one.  His sweet sister had sat down with him and talked him through a series of spells, spells so basic that even his younger siblings could cast them at a very early age.  He’d mastered the words and hand gestures that should have cast the spells, but nothing had ever happened.  Of course not, Jamal had sneered.  The Powerless had no magic to make the spells work.

And then he’d blackmailed Charity by threatening to tell their father.  

“I had to struggle to make my spells work too,” Elaine admitted.  “I was fourteen when I cast my first successful spell.”

Johan gave her an apprising look.  He was old enough to remember both Chanel and Chime developing magic and casting spells with apparent confidence by the time they were seven years old.  Even Jamal, according to their father, had developed later than that.  It was that sort of access to magic that marked someone who could become a Privy Councillor, not a late developer.  Everyone knew that the later magic appeared, the weaker the magician.  Their magic clearly didn't want to get free.

But clearly what everyone knew wasn't enough.

Elaine motioned for him to sit upright.  “Cast a spell,” she ordered.  “Any spell.”

Johan hesitated.  Part of him wanted to test it at once, part of him was scared that it would fail and that he would go back to being powerless.  Maybe it was just a freak response to the spells, he told himself, or maybe Jamal had created something to give the illusion of magical powers where none existed.  Was his brother really that good at magic?  Whatever else could be said about Jamal, he was a skilled magician.

But, in the end, the desire to test it won out.

Charity had explained, back during the first lesson, that creating light was one of the easiest spells in the spellbooks.  Almost every magician worth his salt could cast it, which hadn't made him feel better when it had failed time and time again.  He'd never told anyone that he had spent time practicing after she’d stopped trying to teach him, but nothing had happened, not even a single spark.  

Carefully, he ran through the words and gestures ... and nothing happened.

The sense of disappointment was crushing.  He sagged, almost slipping and falling off the bed.  Elaine reached out, put a hand on his shoulder, then started to cast new charms over him.  Johan closed his eyes, angrily blinking away tears.  He might as well reconcile himself to being a prisoner for the rest of his life, he told himself, and serving as the target for his nephews and nieces as they came into their magic.

“The magic twitched,” Elaine informed him.  “Try again.”

Johan stared at her, wanting to push her away, but not quite daring.  “There’s no point,” he said, bitterly.  “What’s the use of trying?”

“I felt the same way too,” Elaine said.  There was so much bitterness in her voice that he found himself believing her.  “But try again.”

Johan sat upright and cast the spell again.  Nothing happened.

“Again,” Elaine ordered, watching the results from her wand.  “And again.”

Johan gritted his teeth, hating her in that moment ... and cast the spell one final time.  There was a sudden ... surge within his head and brilliant white light blossomed into existence, right in front of him.  It was far brighter than anything Charity had produced to show him how she did it, bright enough to blind ... Elaine let out a cry and covered her eyes, just as a wave of heat struck them both.  But Charity’s spell hadn't produced any heat ...

“Cancel it,” Elaine ordered.  

“I don’t know how,” Johan protested, feeling panic bubbling through his mind.  Charity hadn't taught him how to cancel spells.  The light was growing brighter, so bright that he could see it through his closed eyelids.  “How?”

“Draw in your magic,” Elaine ordered.  “Focus your mind and concentrate on bringing it back into yourself.”

Johan tried, but nothing happened.  The light was still growing brighter and the room was growing uncomfortably warm.  Panicking, he wished it gone ... and the light snapped out of existence.  The room seemed a great deal dimmer now the light had faded away.

“Interesting,” Elaine said.  Her face seemed soaked in sweat.  There was a nasty red mark on the side of her face that had been facing the light.  “But you definitely have magic.”

“I have magic,” Johan said, dazed.  It couldn't be true ... and yet it was.  He knew, deep inside, that he had cast his first spell.  The light spell was merely the beginning.  “I have magic!”

“You do,” Elaine confirmed, dryly.

She didn't understand.  Even if she had come into her magic at fourteen, she would still have been a known magician.  No one would have teased and tormented her like Johan had been treated by his family.  Her family would have respected her even if she wasn't a strong magician.  And if she hadn't been born to a magical family, her magic would have been a sign of favour from the gods.  But Johan ... he’d been completely powerless, without even a hint of magic ...

Until now.

A sense of exultation ran through him.  He wanted to jump to his feet and scream for joy, he wanted to run home and make his father proud of him, he wanted to find Jamal and teach his older brother a lesson ... there were so many things he wanted to do.  His father couldn't keep him a prisoner now, could he?  How could he when all of his children were now magicians?  Johan could take magical lessons, he could master magic ... he could become powerful.  He could rise ...

... And yet he was no longer sure if he wanted to make his family proud.  What had they done for him?

He’d hoped to go into the Civil Service and just leave them behind.  He would have missed Charity, but the others ... none of them had really cared for their powerless brother.  Even Charity had played pranks on him from time to time.  And his father’s disappointment was worse than his rages.  Even now ... did he really want to seek their approval?

“I want to do it again,” he said, quickly.  “Can I?  Please.”

Elaine frowned.  “I think I should teach you how to cancel spells first,” she said, firmly.  “And I also need to talk to you about what happened two days ago.”

Johan gaped at her.  “Two days?”

“You were asleep for two days,” Elaine confirmed.  “Since then ... investigations have been proceeding.  But we will want a witness statement from you.”

“I understand,” Johan said, reluctantly.  He wanted to try more magic, but he had a feeling that she would want him to take it slowly.  The gods knew that his father had closely supervised his children as their magic started to blossom into life.  “What do you want to know?”

“Who carried out the attack,” Elaine said.  “And why.”

Johan hesitated.  Did he really want to land Jamal in serious trouble?  Now that Johan had magic too, maybe they could patch up their relationship ... he dismissed the thought, angrily.  No matter the pressures piled on Jamal, there was no escaping the fact that his brother was a nasty bastard ... and that he’d tortured dozens of people two days ago.  Johan had been powerless, he knew what it must have felt like to be at Jamal’s mercy.  How could he defend his brother, even if he now shared the same magic?  Besides, it wasn't as if Jamal had shown him any kindness since it had become clear that he had no magic.

“My brother,” he admitted, reluctantly.  His father would be furious, but Johan found it hard to care.  A thrashing would be better than the sense of disappointment that radiated from his father every time he came face to face with his powerless son.  “And he thought that they were getting uppity.”

Elaine’s face twisted.  “I have no doubt he did,” she said.  “Do you know who else was involved?”

“Some of his friends,” Johan said.  “I don’t know their names.  We were never introduced.  He was so scared of having them think that he had weak blood that he never introduced me to any of his friends.  But you can get it out of him ...”

“The Inquisitors probably can,” Elaine agreed.  “Do you know the name of the druids who tested you for magic?”

Johan frowned, surprised by the sudden question.  “No,” he admitted.  “But wouldn't there be records?”

“Depends how much your father paid out in bribes,” Elaine said.  Her lips turned downwards, briefly.  “I’ll check the records here, then find out from your father if necessary.”

Johan yawned suddenly.  “Sorry,” he apologised.  “Why am I tired?”

“You haven’t eaten for two days,” Elaine pointed out, dryly.  “I’ll order you some food, then you can rest before we start carrying out more tests.  There are quite a few oddities about your magic.”

“My magic,” Johan said, with heavy satisfaction.  “Are you going to teach me how to use it?”

“I don’t know yet,” Elaine told him.  “But I do know that the Grand Sorceress is very interested in your progress.”

Johan looked at her, thoughtfully.  Once, having wealthy and powerful people paying attention to him would have seemed welcome.  Now, it was downright terrifying.  

And yet he was a magician!

“I should ask you,” he said.  “Has this ever happened before?”

“A mundane developing magic?”  Elaine asked.  There was an odd note to her voice, a suggestion that she wasn't quite sure she was answering the right question.  “No, it hasn’t.  And that’s why it bothers us.”

Johan nodded in understanding.  If anyone could develop magic, the Empire’s social structure would be up-ended and destroyed.  He could understand, now, why the Grand Sorceress was so interested in him ...

He’d been right.  It was definitely terrifying.

Chapter Seven

More disturbed than she wanted to admit, Elaine ordered dinner for both of them and then concentrated on analysing the wards surrounding the chamber.  They were some of the most complex wards outside the truly ancient buildings, constructed by some of the best ward masters in the Empire.  Among other things, they monitored the condition of patients within the hospital, alerted the staff if anything went wrong and prevented self-harm or suicide.  And Johan’s magic, whatever it was, had damaged them.

The wards tracked and nullified bursts of uncontrolled magic.  It wasn't uncommon for magicians to lose control of their magic when they were ill or badly injured; the wards should have tapered any burst of magic down and redirected it somewhere harmless, if they hadn't managed to simply absorb it.  But Johan's magic had burned through them as easily as fire burned paper.  The wards had been badly damaged, rendered utterly useless.

And it happened so quickly, Elaine thought, that no one managed to sound the alert.

She looked back at Johan as a nurse entered the room, wheeling a trolley of food ahead of her.  It smelt better than she recalled, the last time she’d been in hospital, but then she'd been so desperately worried about her new talents that she hadn't really been able to enjoy a few days of rest.  And besides, Johan did come from a powerful family.  The hospital administrator was probably trying to butter his father up ...

But that wouldn't have gone very well, Elaine knew.  Lady Light Spinner had issued orders that no one, apart from Elaine and Dread, were to see Johan.  If his father turned up and demanded entry – he hadn't, as far as Elaine knew – he would be denied.  The administrator’s hopes of a new hospital wing, donated by a grateful and wealthy father, might be thoroughly dashed.

“There are nutrient potions in the soup,” the nurse said, addressing Johan.  “You’re to drink all of it, as you haven’t eaten in two days.  Then – and only then – you can eat the rest of your food.”

Johan looked mutinous.  Elaine wasn't surprised.  The soup might have tasted nice before the potions had been added, but few potions really tasted good.  Her tutor had used to say that potions were addictive and anything that discouraged people from taking them was a good idea.  It made sense ... and besides, nicer-tasting potions required more expensive ingredients.

“Drink it,” she urged.  “You need energy more than anything else right now.”

To set a good example, she took her own bowl and began to sip it, while quietly continuing to examine the wards.  Johan hadn't even been breathing hard when his spell had finally been cancelled, suggesting vast magical power.  He’d been tired, sure, but how much of that had been the magic and how much his general lack of food?  And the spell had clearly gone out of control.  That was unusual.  One of the reasons the light spell was used as a teaching tool was because it was very hard to lose control of it.  Even the rawest student should have been able to do it.

But Johan's spell had produced heat as well as a blinding light.

She raised a hand and touched her cheek, wincing slightly at the pain.  It must be what sunburn felt like, she told herself grimly; if she’d been looking right at it, she might well have been seriously hurt, despite her protections.  A quick check revealed that some of her protections had been damaged too, accidentally.  If Johan had meant her harm, he might have been able to burn right through her protections, no matter how subtle they were.  The results would have been disastrous.  

“I'm sorry,” Johan said, meekly.  His eyes were watching her.  “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

That was a good sign, Elaine told herself.  The more powerful the magician, the harder it was for them to care about the lesser magicians, let alone the mundanes.  Millicent had been completely heartless until Kane had broken her mind; the gods alone knew if she would ever recover completely.  She seemed normal, until she broke down and started crying for no apparent reason.  Even the most advanced medical magic couldn't heal a damaged mind.

“Accidents happen,” Elaine said.  “We’re just going to have to work on how much power you put into your spells.”

She finished her soup and started on the main meal, a serving of chicken and rice in a spicy sauce.  Johan hesitated, then joined her, eating with more enthusiasm as he realised that the meal was actually very good.  Elaine watched him eat, wondering just how much magic he had.  There had been more than one odd thing about the spell he’d cast.  

“Tell me about your family,” she said, as she finished her dish.  “What are they like?”

Johan made a face.  “My father is strict; my mother is more concerned with being a social climber than with her family,” he admitted.  “My siblings are horrors – apart from Charity, I think, and even she can be a horror at times.  The cooks and maids pitied me or looked down on me.  Is it any wonder I wanted to leave?”

Elaine nodded in sympathy.  She’d grown up at the orphanage – her guardian would hardly have taken her into his home – and had never known her family.  Discovering who her father had actually been had convinced her that there were worse things than growing up without a mother or father.  But it was clear that Johan’s parents hadn't done anything about the abuse their son was frequently subjected to by his siblings.

The thought made her twist up her face in frustration.  There were so many different cultures within the Empire that there were no laws that dictated how one should bring up a child.  It was disconcerting to realise that her upbringing hadn't been the worst in the Empire, not when there were places where men were brought up in military camps and others where women were taught to be submissive, slaves in all but name.  By the Empire’s standards, Johan's father could raise his children however he wished and no one could object, no matter how despicable he became.  

She shivered.  Millicent had talked, late at night in the dorms, about how she’d had her first lessons beaten into her.  It hadn't been until much later that Elaine had realised that she’d been telling the truth.

“I don’t blame you,” Elaine said.  She hesitated, then pressed on.  “If you don't want to go back, you don’t have to go back.”

Johan’s face twisted.  He was too young to hide his inner conflict, not from her.  

“I don’t know,” he admitted, finally.  “I just don’t know.”

Elaine could understand that.  The desire to prove himself, combined with a desire to reject everything his family stood for.  She’d spent too long trying to prove herself to her Guardian before deciding that it was better not to try to amuse such an uncaring audience.  And then he’d sold her out to Kane.  The man had long since fled the Golden City ahead of a baying horde of creditors who wanted his blood.  

She finished her dinner and put the plate to one side.  “I want you to get some rest,” she ordered, firmly.  “You need to sleep properly before you start drawing on your magic.”

Johan scowled at her.  “I want to try something else,” he said.  “She taught me a few more spells ...”

“You could drain yourself too deeply,” Elaine warned.  It was true, but only one of her concerns.  If a light spell could damage the wards around the room, she needed to carry out further tests in a much more heavily warded chamber.  She might even need to borrow a compartment in the Inquisitor Training Centre.  “Get some proper sleep, then we can carry out more tests in the morning.  I can find you a sleeping potion if you would like ...”

“Please,” Johan said, as he finished his own dinner.  “But I really hate their taste.”

Elaine took his plate, then cast a summoning spell in the air.  A moment later, a small potions bottle drifted out of a cupboard and floated over to them.  Elaine picked it out of the air and passed it to him.  Johan took it and drank, complaining that it was disgusting.  A moment later, he yawned violently and slumped over in bed.  Elaine gently tucked him in, then stepped backwards and cast another series of diagnostic charms.  Once again, the results were unique; the magic flowing through Johan’s brain didn't seem to have changed, even though he’d drawn on his new power to cast the light spell.

Odd, Elaine thought.  Very odd.

Everyone knew that magic was a muscle, one that had to be flexed carefully as a magician grew up, developing the channels in his or her mind for the magic to flow freely out into the world.  Elaine well remembered exhausting herself after casting one or two spells, despite the best efforts of the Peerless School.  Even now, there were limitations to her abilities, no matter how much she knew.  But a powerful magician, like Light Spinner, wouldn't have drained their magic at all to cast the light spell.

And Johan didn't seem drained either.

It makes no sense, Elaine told herself, in frustration.  If he’d had so much power, it should have burst out much sooner – and he wouldn't have had to grow up as a Powerless.  But if he hadn't had power until a freak accident had given him power, surely he should have started off with a low level of magic until he’d learned to grow and develop his power?  On the face of it, he seemed to have been gifted with power to match the Grand Sorceress, without having to go through all the training and development Light Spinner had endured.  And it still didn't make sense.

Shaking her head, she stepped well clear of the bed and started to add her own wards to the room.  If one good thing had come out of the crisis, it saved her the job of dismantling the hospital’s wards and then rebuilding them with her own additions.  Instead, she added a simple watch-ward – parents used it to ensure that their children were safe in bed – and a security ward.  One would inform her if Johan awoke, although as he’d drunk the whole bottle of potion he should remain asleep until the following morning.  The other would alert her if someone tried to enter the room without her permission.

And someone would, Elaine was sure.  If word got out, if people realised the truth, they would want to get their hands on him.  Either out of hope that the freak accident could be duplicated ... or out of determination to ensure that it couldn't be duplicated.  If one could turn a mundane – or a Powerless – into a magician to rival the Grand Sorceress, it would turn the world upside down.  Elaine honestly wasn't sure which way she would jump.  If Light Spinner had been determined to keep Elaine where she could be watched, what would she make of Johan?

She was still musing when she reached the receptionist, who looked harassed after two days without proper sleep.  The hospital had been besieged by the friends and relatives of those who had been caught up in the rally, which had apparently included a number of innocent bystanders.  Elaine had been busy, but she had heard that none of the perpetrators had been caught and the entire city was on edge.  Bullying by magicians was nothing new, yet this was on a terrifying scale.

“I need the name of the druid who attended the Conidian Family, two days ago,” Elaine said.  The bureaucrats who ran the hospital had a mania for keeping records that impressed even Elaine, who had trained as a librarian as well as a magician.  Even if the files were sealed, they would be available to a Privy Councillor.  “Please can you find it for me?”

The receptionist nodded and turned away, busying herself with the files.  “Druid Zacharias,” she said, after a long moment.  “He didn't file anything other than a note he visited at the Conidian’s request.”

Elaine took the file, and directions to the druid’s office, then left the receptionist behind and walked down the long corridor.  By tradition, every druid was supposed to live in the hospital, but some of the richer and older ones scorned that rule, choosing to live out in the city.  Thankfully, Zacharias seemed to be one of the more traditional ones.  A quick glimpse at the file noted that he was particularly focused on helping young children to develop their magic.  That made a certain kind of sense.

She tapped on his door, unable to fight down a hint of Déjà Vu.  It hadn't been that long since she’d been here herself, taking her first steps towards becoming a magician.  Part of her wondered what would have happened if her magic had developed earlier, part of her knew better than to think it would have made any difference.  Or perhaps it would have, if she’d still been young enough to adopt.  There were plenty of magical bloodlines that would have adopted a magical child, even one of unknown origin.

“Good afternoon,” she said, as she saw the druid behind his desk.  He looked younger than she had expected, younger and hungry for success.  No doubt the Conidian had offered him a substantial sum if Johan should happen to develop magic, enough to set him up in a private practice.  Had something he’d tried actually worked?  “I need to talk to you about Johan Conidian.”

Zacharias frowned.  “I’m afraid I can't tell you anything without the permission of his father,” he started.  “I ...”

Elaine sighed and tapped her robes meaningfully.

“A tragic tale, simply tragic,” Zacharias said, switching tune without missing a beat.  “His father and mother both powerful, their son as powerless as any mundane.  I tested him over the last three years and found nothing, not even a trace of magic.  His siblings were all astonishingly powerful for their age; him?  Absolutely nothing at all.  His father was always pushing at me to invent new tests, or to try new treatments, but it was hopeless.  I only did it to humour him.”

“I see,” Elaine said, disapprovingly.  “Precisely what treatments did you try?”

“Magic exposure, forced transfiguration, charged potions, even hypnotic spells,” Zacharias admitted.  “I could use all of them to help a spark of magic become a flame, but there was absolutely no result.”

Elaine sighed.  At least he hadn’t tried anything truly dangerous – or illegal – but it was still pointless.  The treatments would have not only been futile, but humiliating.  And as he said, without a spark of magic they wouldn't have worked at all.  If his client hadn’t insisted so strongly, Zacharias wouldn't have tried them in the first place.  It was just a waste of time and expensive potions.  

“But you found nothing,” she mused.  A thought struck her and she leaned forward.  “I suppose there’s no chance he’s a bastard?”

“His father ran all sorts of tests, apparently,” Zacharias said.  He grinned, rather unpleasantly.  “Johan is very definitely Duncan’s son, My Lady.  Even a blood-rite adoption would leave some trace, some clue that Johan wasn't his natural son.  Everything came up white.”

“And a blood-rite couldn't be carried out without the full knowledge and agreement of the parents,” Elaine said.  She'd looked them up, back when she’d dared hope that a kindly couple would take her from the orphanage.  Giving up her vanished father’s blood would have been a small price to pay for actual parents.  “Was there anything else odd about him?  Or the conditions of his birth?”

“Nothing that I was able to trace,” Zacharias said, after a long moment.  “Madame Conidian was never a dueller, or anything other than a society butterfly.  If she was ever cursed, there was never any trace of it in her body – and I ran the most extensive tests possible.  And all of her other children are strongly magical.  The Conidian has a more ... dubious medical history, but nothing that should have caused one of his children to be born a Powerless.”

He looked up from the stack of paperwork in front of him.  “Is there a reason behind these questions?”

“Johan was at the rally two days ago,” Elaine said, which was technically accurate.  Few had known that House Conidian had birthed a Powerless; Elaine certainly hadn't known, which would – she hoped – account for her interests.  The druid’s oaths should keep him from telling the world.  “The druids ended up taking a look at him.”

She shook her head.  The rest of the story was better kept a secret, for the moment.  Light Spinner would decide who was to be told – and when.  And Dread would have to interview Johan just to get evidence against his brother.  That wouldn't be easy for the young man, but Jamal Conidian needed to be brought to justice.  The city was on a knife-edge and would remain that way as long as the perpetrators remained unidentified.

“I need your file on him,” she said, shortly.  He rustled through his filing cabinet, then produced a large file which he passed to her reluctantly.  Elaine took it, glanced at the cover, then filled out a formal receipt.  The bureaucrats wouldn't be pleased with either of them if the file went missing.  “And thank you.”

Leaving the office, she dashed out a quick note to Lady Light Spinner, explaining what had happened, and then a second one to Dread asking him to interview Johan as quickly as possible.  And then she headed back to his room, where she would rest until he woke up.  No doubt he would be eager to test his new magic ...

And, Elaine realised, so was she.  This was something new, something she hadn't had crammed into her mind.  There was a chance to perform genuinely original research ...

She just hoped it didn't end up coming back to haunt them.

Chapter Eight

When Johan opened his eyes, he thought that it had just been a dream.  He’d dreamed of having magic so often that it hurt when he returned to the real world and discovered that he was still a Powerless.  But this time, he found himself still in the hospital room with a grim-faced Inquisitor sitting next to him, studying him through cold dispassionate eyes.  It was real!  

“I need to take your statement about your brother’s involvement in the recent affray,” the Inquisitor said, without introducing himself.  It was difficult to be sure, but it looked as though he had not slept in days.  “Starting with ... what exactly happened that day?”

Johan hesitated.  Betraying his brother so casually caused him a pang, but his brother had been thoroughly horrible to him for all of his life ... and he had caused at least nineteen deaths.  He couldn't remember the rest of the figures that Elaine had quoted at him, yet it had been far worse than any of his other pranks and carried out on helpless victims.  He took a breath and started to explain what had happened.

It took longer than he had assumed, for the Inquisitor was a skilful interrogator.  Whenever something wasn't entirely clear, he went over it again and again until he had drawn every last detail out of Johan’s mouth.  The experience left him with a pounding headache by the time the Inquisitor stood up, revealing Elaine standing by the door with a worried expression on her face.  Johan could have kicked himself.  He’d been so focused on the Inquisitor’s inquisition that he hadn't even noticed that she was there.  

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the Inquisitor said, tightly.  His stony expression didn't change as he headed towards the door.  “You will be informed if more testimony is required.”

Elaine shut the door behind the Inquisitor, then walked over to the bed.  “I'm sorry about that,” she said, as she sat down facing him.  “But your testimony was required urgently.”

Johan scowled.  “Why?”

“None of the other witnesses saw anything,” Elaine said.  She paused, then continued.  “Nothing useful, at any rate.  The attackers disguised their faces; you were the only one to see them properly and only then because Jamal identified himself to you.  Glamours don’t usually stand up to such exposure.  Without you, proving that Jamal was there would have been tricky.”

“Good thing I was there,” Johan said, although he wasn't so sure if telling them everything had been a good idea.  Part of him was still scared of his brother, the brother who had once openly threatened to kill him on the grounds his mere existence brought shame to the family.  But, for once in his life, Jamal wasn't going to get away with something.  It was worth the headache to see him face justice.  “What are we going to do today?”

“Experiment with your magic,” Elaine said, standing up.  “We’re not going to do it here, though.”

She walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a set of clothes.  Johan blinked in surprise as he realised that they were apprentice robes, normally only issued to magicians who apprenticed themselves to an older magician for individual tutoring.  Unlike the drab robes worn by students, they were bright blue with a dark sash running around the waist.  He took them when she handed them to him and examined them carefully.  There was even a holster for his wand!  But he had none ...

“These robes,” he said, remembering his father’s cautionary tales.  “If I wear them, do I commit myself to anything?”

Elaine smiled.  It transformed her face, Johan realised, turning her from a slightly mousy girl to someone who was genuinely beautiful.  Still not as pretty as Charity, even without the glamours, but genuinely stunning in her own right.

“You’re wise to be careful,” Elaine said, “but there are no binding contracts woven into the robes.  We thought that it might give you a legal status, if necessary.”

Johan nodded in understanding.  Magically-binding agreements and contracts could be sealed by accident, particularly when weak or unskilled magicians were involved.  A strong magician wouldn’t be in any danger, but if Elaine had had bad intentions she could have constructed a spell that made him her apprentice in truth, if he donned the robes without asking first.  It didn't seem logical, yet his father was fond of telling his children that the older forms of magic were rarely logical.  

He sat upright, then flushed as he realised that Elaine was still in the room.  She flushed too, then turned her back, allowing him enough privacy to remove the hospital nightshirt and pull the robes over his head.  It felt surprisingly rough against his skin, something that puzzled him until he realised that he wasn't accepting a real apprenticeship.  Ancient customs, woven into the magic surrounding the city, disapproved of him wearing the robes.  But at least they weren't the black robes worn by full sorcerers ...

“You can turn around now,” he said, once he’d finished dressing.  “How do I look?”

Elaine eyed him critically.  “It’s obvious that you’re unused to wearing such robes,” she said, dryly.  “But that isn't uncommon in the Golden City.”

She took a look around the room, then headed towards the door.  “I’ve taken the liberty of assigning you quarters in the Great Library,” she added.  “For the moment, you’ll be sleeping and studying there.  We’ll discuss other rules later tonight.”

Johan stared at her.  “I thought I wasn't allowed to go to the Great Library ...”

His voice trailed off.  Mundanes – and Powerless – were not allowed to enter the Great Library.  He’d found that out when he’d tried to visit during one of his infrequent excursions outside the house.  There were wards around the building to prevent anyone without magic from walking in ... and anyone who tried to help one enter the building would be in deep trouble.  Or so Charity had said, when he’d begged her to take him with her one day.  

But he had magic now ...

He kept his thoughts to himself as they walked through the hospital and out onto the streets, turning southwards to head towards the Great Library.  Johan was not as familiar with the mood of the streets as he would have liked, but it seemed clear to him that there were fewer people around than there should have been.  Even after the disaster six months ago, the city’s position at the heart of the Empire had ensured that it would recover quickly, yet now ... there were only a handful of people on the streets.

“Your idiot brother scared a lot of people,” Elaine said, when he commented on it.  “And the fact that we haven’t brought him to justice yet has only made matters worse.”

Johan scowled as they turned and approached the Great Library.  The wards had prevented him from entering last time, but now ... he found that he could walk up to the doors without impediment.  He was aware of Elaine watching him closely as he stepped through the doors and into the lobby, her eyes missing nothing.  It was another test, he realised, but a test of what?  Did she doubt that he had magic?  Or was she looking for something else?

The interior of the Great Library was just as Charity had described it.  Winding corridors, often lined with books; large and small reading rooms ... and mirrors everywhere.  He noticed several students giving him sharp glances, as if they weren't quite sure who he was or what he was doing with the Head Librarian.  The robes, he realised, had convinced them that he was an apprentice ... and that was rare in the Golden City, rare enough to suggest that there was something significant about him.  Most magical students went to the Peerless School, after all.  

“Once upon a time, professors would come and stay here for a few weeks while they researched,” Elaine commented, as they reached a long corridor lined with doors.  “As they were often powerful sorcerers too, the librarians ensured that they had individual rooms that were crafted to suit their requirements.  The custom declined in later years, but the rooms are still available.  One suite will be yours as long as you wish it.”

She led him into a large workspace and grinned at him.  “We will be carrying out our experiments here.”

Johan looked around.  The room was almost completely empty, apart from a workbench in the far corner.  Odd runes had been carved into the stone walls ... designed, he suspected, to channel rogue magic out of the room.  There were a set of circles carved into the floor, lined with other runes ... he wished, suddenly, that he’d actually taken Charity up on her offer of loaning him a rune dictionary.  He might have understood just what the runes meant.

Elaine gave him an odd look.  “What do you sense about the room?”

“It's big,” Johan said.  He knew that wasn't the right answer, but nothing else came to mind.  “I don’t know.  What should I be sensing?”

“Later,” Elaine said, shortly.  She led him around the room – being careful not to cross into the circles on the floor – and up to the workbench.  “What can you tell me about these items?”

Johan frowned.  There were five books; two of them clearly ancient, three of them produced by a new-fangled printing press.  Beside them, there was a cup, a dagger and a sharp sword ... and a tiny statuette of a man in sorcerer’s robes.  He reached out and picked up one of the older books, opening its covers to discover that it was written in the Old Tongue.  His tutors had taught him how to read it, but the handwriting style was so old that he could barely make out one word in four.

“Nothing,” he said, reluctantly.  “The two older books are clearly magic; the newer books are just ... common.”  He blinked in surprise as he realised that one of the newer books was actually one of the romance novels Charity and his younger sisters devoured whenever their father wasn't around to express his disapproval.  “And everything else is just what it seems.”

Elaine picked up the statuette, held it lightly in her hand for a long moment, then passed it to Johan.  “What can you tell me about that?”

Johan frowned, staring down at the statuette.  It was perfect, every detail crafted out by a master craftsman, right down to the warts on the sorcerer’s nose.  The material was probably silver, he decided after a long moment, although he’d never seen anything so detailed before in silver.  His father would have loved it.  It would be expensive ... but, apart from that, there was nothing special about it at all.

“It’s silver,” he said, convinced that he was failing a test.  But he didn't even know what he was supposed to be looking for.  “What else is there?”

“Interesting,” Elaine said, out loud.  “You don’t sense anything from the statuette?”

Johan closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of the silver against his fingertips.  It felt ... cold and hard and metallic, nothing else.  Frustrated, he put the silver statuette down on the table and looked up at her.  Her face was twisted into a puzzled expression that worried him.  What could puzzle an experienced magician?

“Nothing,” he said, shortly.  “What is it?”

“There was a sorcerer who wished to contemplate the meaning of life, the universe and everything .... or something to that effect,” Elaine said, a hint of disapproval echoing through her voice.  “In order to divorcé himself completely from the concerns of the outside world, he had himself turned into a silver statuette and placed in the Great Library.  That was two hundred years ago, more or less.  He’s still contemplating.”

Johan blanched.  He’d been transformed into all kinds of inanimate objects by his siblings and it had always been a terrifying experience, even if they used spells that ensured that no permanent harm could come to the victim.  The thought of spending decades – no, centuries – as an object was horrifying.  Who in their right mind would consider it practical research?

“It isn't practical research,” Elaine explained, when he asked.  “He’s delving into the ultimate connections that bind the universe together.”

“Oh,” Johan said.  He looked back at the statuette, remembering some of the horror stories his father used as cautionary tales.  “How do you know he hasn't gone mad – or lost cohesion altogether?  And what’s to stop someone melting him down for the silver?”

“The spells should prevent it,” Elaine said.  She knelt down and retrieved a notebook from under the workbench.  “And a magician should be able to sense that there was something ... alive about the statuette.”

Johan froze.  He hadn't sensed anything.  

It had always been one of his nightmares, back when Jamal had transformed him into something, that the maids would throw him out of the house without ever realising what they were doing.  The wards should have prevented it, but he’d never been sure.  Now, he realised just how easy it would have been for that to happen.  Part of him just wanted to throw up; he forced himself to swallow hard, unwilling to show weakness in front of anyone.  But he knew that he wouldn't sleep well when bedtime rolled around.

“I meant to ask you,” Elaine said, his voice distracting him from his fears.  “What sort of procedures did the druid try on you?”

The memories made Johan wince.  “All sorts of spells,” he said.  “He gave me various potions to drink, then put a wand in my hand and told me to use it.  Nothing happened.”

He scowled at the thought.  “Then he hypnotised me and told me to use magic,” he added.  “It was like being under a compulsion charm, but ... different, almost pleasurable.  I tried to use magic, I was sure I could use magic, yet nothing happened.  Why didn't it work?”

“Some magicians have problems with their confidence,” Elaine explained.  Johan leaned forward, interested.  The druid had never offered any explanation, even when Johan had threatened to refuse to cooperate any further.  “They have low self-esteem or their families keep putting them down ... hypnosis relieves them of their feelings, allowing them to believe that they can succeed.”

She shook her head.  “But the process wouldn't do anything if the magic wasn't there,” she mused.  “Did he try anything involving blood?”

Johan shook his head.

“Good,” Elaine said, without elaboration.

Johan suspected that he understood.  His father’s books on magic were supposed to be completely off-limits to him, but Jamal had borrowed a couple and Johan had taken advantage of the opportunity to peek into some of them.  They had talked about potential magic-enhancing rituals, all of which were dangerous and some of which were thoroughly illegal.  The druid had never gone that far ...

... But would he have, if his father had insisted?

“Time to try a different test,” Elaine said., drawing him out of his thoughts.  She stepped over the circle and sat down in the centre, then beckoned for him to follow her.  Johan expected a tingle as he crossed the line, but felt nothing.  “I want you to cast this spell.”

Johan took the notebook and scanned the page quickly.  It was nothing more than a set of words and gestures; thankfully, as far as he could tell, he didn't need a wand.  But there was nothing to say what the spell actually did.

He looked up.  His father had told his children never to perform a spell unless they knew what it did – or at least what it was meant to do.

“It’s harmless,” Elaine assured him.  She must have known what he was thinking, but then it was a standard safety precaution.  “You can cast it without needing to worry.”

Johan hesitated, then muttered the words and performed the gestures.  Nothing happened.

“Maybe I need a wand,” he said, despondently.  His second try was no more successful than his first.  If he had true magic, why didn't it work properly?  Surely none of his siblings had had so many problems.  “Can I get one?”

Elaine snickered, although Johan didn't see the joke.  “I’ll let you in on a dirty little secret,” she said, dryly.  “You don’t need a wand to perform magic.”

“I know that,” Johan snapped, feeling a flicker of anger.  “But all my family have wands ...”

“They’re nothing more than focusing devices,” Elaine said.  “I know, I know, the wand-makers tell you that you need a specific wand.  But it’s just a trick to convince people to buy the most expensive wand they can afford.  You could cast a spell using a pencil if you tried.”

Johan couldn't help himself.  He started to laugh.  Jamal had been delighted with his wand, which had gold and silver worked into the wood; he’d boasted endlessly for months after he’d bought it.  The thought of using a pencil as a wand ... it was hilarious.  Jamal might as well have saved the fifty gold he’d spent on it.

“It’s a con,” he said.  “Why do they ...?”

“Money,” Elaine said, dryly.  “Why would anyone spent twenty gold on a wand when they could take a stick off a tree and use that instead?  As long as there isn't any iron in the wand, anything would do.”

She leaned forward.  “The spell is designed to cool the air,” she said, shortly.  “I want you to cast it again.”

Johan looked down at the instructions, trying to see how they actually worked.  But it seemed impossible.  Spell-crafting, according to his father, was immensely complicated and difficult.  Very few people had the mindset to create truly new spells ...

Shaking his head, he raised his hands and cast the spell for the third time.  

The temperature plunged rapidly.

Chapter Nine

Elaine cursed her own mistake as she felt the protective wards scream in her head.  She’d assumed that Johan’s problems with the light spell had stemmed from inexperience, not something inherent to his newfound powers.  The fact he hadn't been able to cast the spell without knowing what it did should have warned her.  Most magicians could cast a spell without understanding it – that was why they were cautioned not to cast spells without knowing what they actually were – but Johan was clearly an exception to the rule.

She cast a warming charm as her teeth began to chatter, silently grateful that the library’s wards were designed to minimise the effects of rogue magic.  If they hadn't been, a simple cooling charm would have frozen them both to death.  A spell designed for a homemaker would have killed them ... the irony would have amused her, if she’d had a chance to meditate on it.  Instead, she had to deal with the results of her experiment ...

“Cancel the spell,” she ordered, sharply.  The spell shouldn't have lasted long, but Johan’s magic might keep it going.  She’d written restrictions into the spell that Johan might have left out, quite by accident.  “Tell it to fade away!”

Johan stared at her, clearly unsure of what to do.  Elaine held his eyes, silently willing him to concentrate and, a moment later, the temperature began to rise.  She cancelled her own charm and smiled weakly at Johan, who seemed equally stunned.  In hindsight, perhaps they should have looked at cancelling charms first.  

You wanted to experiment, she told herself.  Idiot.

“That ... was interesting,” she said, out loud.  She concentrated, sending out a specific request to the library’s wards.  “You seem to break some of the known laws of spell-casting.”

She looked up as a pair of mugs floated into the room.  “Take this,” she ordered, picking one of them out of the air and passing it to Johan.  “You need something to warm you up.”

It wasn’t uncommon for magicians to hurt themselves, but none of the books in her head suggested that a magician had managed it with such a simple charm.  She took her own mug and sipped the hot chocolate gratefully, wondering if they would ever be able to control Johan's magic.  The wards around the compartment hadn't been damaged as badly as the ones in the hospital, but it was clear that there had been some damage.  Luckily, the library was already regenerating the wards.

“Thank you,” Johan said.  The gratitude in his voice bothered her.  Hadn't anyone been nice to him in the past?  “What happened?”

“I think that your problem isn't too much power,” Elaine said, carefully.  “I think your magic is ... different.”

There were legends, the books had told her, of magicians who seemed to break all known laws of magic.  The seventh son of a seventh son, a magician with multiple lives, a dark wizard who split his soul into seven separate pieces, an enchanter who aged backwards, growing younger as he grew older ... but none of them had ever been substantiated.  Large magical families were the norm, yet the seventh-born had never seemed to have any real advantage over his siblings ... and Johan was the third-born, not the seventh.

And he'd seemed powerless.  Until now.

Johan looked both delighted and terrified.  “What ... what does that mean?”

“It means that you need to be tested,” Elaine said.  Logically, Johan's gift couldn't be too different from hers ... could it?  “And that we need to figure out how to train you to control your magic.”

She finished her hot chocolate, thinking hard.  “Time for another test,” she said, once he had put his mug aside.  She took the notebook back, turned a couple of pages, then passed it to him.  “Cast that spell.”

Johan muttered the words, but – as Elaine had expected – nothing happened.

“It looks as though you need to know what you’re trying to do to actually make it work,” Elaine said, as Johan looked disappointed.  “I want you to try something else.”

That was ... odd, but it could have been worse.  She’d feared that his magic would be driven by emotion ... and that was the short route to madness and dark wizardry.  Sure, emotion could power spells, but the price for that was becoming far too attached to that emotion, which might be anger or hatred.  Madness would beckon and the magician would be too far gone to notice.  

Some trainee magicians were allowed to practice on each other, but Elaine had a feeling that would be very dangerous, at least until they had a better handle on how Johan’s powers actually worked.  If a lighting charm and a cooling charm had produced near-lethal results, what would a levitation charm do, let alone a transfiguration spell?  She had a mental vision of the unhappy student being slammed into the ceiling at terrifying speed and shuddered.  Most of the transfiguration spells would be worse than lethal ...

She crossed her legs and sat, as comfortably as she could.  “Sit in a manner you find comfortable,” she ordered.  Surprisingly, he knelt back on his haunches.  Elaine frowned, wondering if he’d been treated like a servant – or a slave – and then remembered that his family worshipped a god that demanded kneeling as part of the rites.  “I want you to close your eyes and listen for your heartbeat.”

The comforting sound of her own heartbeat echoed in her ears as she cleared her mind.  It was a basic exercise, one she’d been taught in her first year at the Peerless School ... and one of the few exercises that she’d mastered before Millicent and her cronies.  It didn't require magical strength; rather, it required an awareness of one’s own mind and how best to calm it down.

“Focus on your heartbeat,” she ordered, trying to split her attention between her own mind and issuing instructions to him.  She honestly had no idea how her tutor had managed to teach an entire class when sinking into her own mind had to be a colossal temptation.  “Listen to it pounding inside your chest.  And then see if you can touch your magic.”

It was there, shimmering throughout her body.  Elaine felt ... aware of it, aware of the raw power ... and the faint, almost imperceptible dark sheen that hung over her magic like a cloud.  Heat seemed to stab through her eyes, only to vanish moments later, leaving her grimly aware that it was still there.  No matter how often she washed, she knew, part of her would always feel unclean.  

“Focus,” she said, forcing herself to remain awake.  She’d often slipped fully into the trance in the past, using the exercise to merge fully with her magic.  “Concentrate on your magic.”

“I can't,” Johan said.  The frustration in his voice was enough to bring him out of the trance, if he’d ever been in it.  Boys tended to have a harder time picking up the skill than girls, which often led them to underestimate the value of the exercise.  But without it, their magic would be dangerously crippled.  “What am I supposed to do?”

Elaine opened her eyes.  Johan’s eyes were squeezed shut.  

“You’re trying too hard,” she said, reaching out to take his hands.  He jumped at her touch, his eyelids flying open.  Had no one touched him before?  How many people, Elaine thought, had refused to even talk to a Powerless, for fear that it might prove contagious?  It might have been kinder to send Johan to an orphanage.  “Relax.”

She talked him through it again, careful not to close her own eyes.  Johan relaxed slightly, although it was clear that he still had his doubts.  Elaine wasn't too surprised.  She was so practiced that it was hard for her to remember just how difficult it had been at the start.  

“I can hear my heartbeat,” Johan whispered.  “But I can't feel anything else.”

His magic is all in his mind, Elaine thought.  The standard exercises were focused on the heartbeat because magic ran through the entire body, but Johan’s magic was concentrated in his mind.  For once, she found herself at a complete loss.  All of the exercises she had been taught assumed that the magician was ... normal.  Johan very definitely was not.

The exercises wouldn't hurt, she knew.  Mundanes used them too, even if they didn't have magic.  But they probably wouldn't help.

“Open your eyes,” she ordered.  “Unless you actually want to sleep.”

Johan grinned, embarrassed.  “How often do people drop off while they’re practicing?”

Elaine grinned back.  “It’s the one class in the Peerless School where you can fall asleep and not be punished for it,” she said.  One of her tutors had had the nasty habit of firing hexes at any student foolish enough to fall asleep in her class.  The others had normally just sent the offending student to the Administrator for punishment.  “But you are expected to master the art before moving up to the next level.”

“Maybe you should tell me what the exercise is supposed to do,” Johan said.  “If I need to actually know ...”

Elaine felt a hint of pride.  Her student had figured something out for himself, despite an almost-complete lack of magical education.  

“Magic flows through our bloodstream,” she said, then hesitated.  “Well, a normal magician’s magic flows through her bloodstream.  It's why magicians heal so quickly from injuries and rarely catch diseases, among other things.  The exercise is designed to allow you to make contact with your magic on a conscious level and direct it, both inside and outside your body.  You could, for instance, tell it to heal you quicker – or channel it out deliberately.”

Johan hesitated, then scowled in understanding.  “Jamal is never ...”

He broke off and started again.  “But I couldn't feel my magic,” he said, carefully.  “What does that mean?”

“Your magic is concentrated in your brain, as far as I can tell,” Elaine said.  She cast another diagnostic charm and studied the results.  There didn't seem to be any major change since the last time she’d checked him.  “Nor does it seem to be spreading out through your blood.  I may have to speak with some of my old tutors and ask for advice.”

“I see,” Johan said.  Elaine rather suspected that he didn't.  Magical control was largely instinctive for young magicians.  His siblings had probably had a great deal to unlearn when they’d gone to the Peerless School.  “So what do I do with it?”

“I’m not sure,” Elaine admitted.  She looked down at her hands for a long moment.  “I would like to take a blood sample, for tests.  Would you allow that?”

She saw the conflict on Johan’s face and felt a stab of guilt.  Giving a blood sample away was dangerous for anyone, but it was hellishly dangerous for a magician, particularly an untrained one.  Blood rites were either strongly controlled or very definitely illegal, with very good reason, yet dark wizards weren't known for caring about the law.  Even though he’d been a Powerless, access to Johan’s blood could have been used by a dark wizard to endanger his entire family.  

“I want your sworn word that you will not let the sample be taken or used by anyone else,” Johan said, after a long moment.  “As a magician, you can swear such an oath.”

“I would have to run the tests myself,” Elaine hedged.  Johan had been told to be careful with oaths ... as had she, with far more reason.  An oath sworn on her magic would have disastrous consequences if she broke it deliberately.  But part of her didn't want to share her experiments with anyone else.  “Very well.  I will swear.”

She made the oath, then used her wand to draw a small blood sample out of Johan’s arm.  It was clear that he didn’t heal quickly, she realised, as she bottled the sample and stowed it away in her personal pocket dimension.  Even Dread or Light Spinner would have had problems breaking in and, if they did, a second spell would destroy the interior, reducing the blood sample to worthless ash.  

“It didn't hurt,” Johan marvelled.  “Why did it always hurt before?”

Elaine made a mental note to have a few words with the hospital’s administrators.  Casting a numbing spell was hardly difficult.  Zacharias had taken out his frustration at wasting time on the Powerless boy, not his far too powerful and well-connected father.  Elaine could understand the irritation, but there were definite limits.  

“The druid who attended you was an asshole,” Elaine said.  She kept her eyes on the tiny cut, noting that it wasn't even clotting over.  It would have been simple to tell him to try to heal himself, but she doubted that he could do it safely.  Druids had extensive training to ensure that they didn't accidentally make the patient’s condition worse.  “Don’t worry about it.”

She cast a healing spell and watched as the wound sealed itself up.  “Time to try something else,” she said, standing up.  “Have you ever tried to cook?”

“The cooks used to let me help in the kitchen, before my mother told me that I couldn't go bother them,” Johan said, morosely.  He seemed rather puzzled by the question.  “But I don't know how good I was at it.”

Elaine smiled, leading him over to the workbench.  She opened the compartment underneath the wooden top and produced a caldron, several bags of ingredients, a bottle of water and a spelled heater, ready to warm up the liquid.  Potions could be fun, if one had the patience to do more than memorise a handful of recipes by rote.  It still surprised her just how few students failed to work out how to proceed beyond rote learning, even though she now knew more potion recipes than all of the tutors in the Peerless School.

“On the face of it,” she lectured, “a potion could be made by anyone, mundane or magical.  But potions, certainly anything involving magical ingredients, require a magician to make them.  Why would that be the case?”

Johan thought about it, furrowing his brow.  “Because magic is needed to work with magic?”

“Close enough,” Elaine said.  “The art to potions isn't just brewing, but mixing together the intrinsic magic in the ingredients.  That requires the power of a magician to manipulate the potion while it is being prepared.  A skilled brewer will eventually gain a feel for how potions work that will allow them to develop newer and better potions.”

She set up the caldron with practiced ease, then poured in the water.  “I took the liberty of preparing the ingredients earlier, she said, as she stepped aside to allow Johan to stand in front of the caldron.  “I’m going to issue instructions and you are going to brew.”

Johan nodded, looking surprisingly interested.  That would probably change, Elaine suspected, no matter the outcome of this experiment.  Few students had the patience to do more than memorise the simpler formulas.  Johan didn't strike her as having the determination to study and brew until he was an expert.  

“Right,” she said.  “Start by adding the shredded root weed ...”

Seven minutes later, it was clear that everything was not going according to plan.  Johan could follow instructions, but his potion refused to blend together into the bright orange liquid Elaine remembered from her studies.  The Numbing Potion was a firm favourite among her fellow classmates – she hadn't realised until midway through her first year precisely why it was taught to them – and it was considered simple to brew.  But Johan’s potion was nothing more than muddy water and wasted ingredients.

Elaine wasn't too surprised.  Johan wasn't in touch with his magic at all, despite being born to a magical family.  He didn't know how to extend his magic outside his body, let alone into the potion.  All he could do was cast spells ... it would be enough for him, she was sure, but she knew that they had to unlock the mystery behind his power.  Why did he have such odd limits?

“It hasn't worked,” she said, shaking her head.  Johan stirred it frantically, but nothing happened.  “We’ll have to figure out a way for you to get in touch with your magic before returning to potions.”

“Charity always made it seem so easy,” Johan muttered, crossly.  “Why can't I do it?”

“Because your magic isn't manipulating the potion,” Elaine said.  A thought struck her and she picked up the grimoire from where it lay on the bench.  “Put this on your head and see what happens.”

Johan gave her a look that suggested he thought she had gone insane, but obeyed.

“Nothing,” he said, after a long moment.  “It’s just a heavy book.”

Elaine took the book back, thinking hard.  Even mundanes could sense the wards surrounding the Great Library, but Johan hadn't noticed a thing.  Nor had he sensed the almost stifling presence of the wards in the chamber, or the magic surrounding some of the artefacts on the table, where even an untrained magician should have been able to sense them.  His vast power in one field seemed to be matched by almost complete helplessness in others.  It just didn't make sense.

Johan leaned forward.  “Are you all right?”

“I need to think of better tests,” Elaine said.  She considered, then pushed the thought aside for later contemplation.  There were other issues that needed to be addressed.  “And I need to teach you how to cancel your spells properly.  In fact, we’ll do that now.”

She couldn't help smiling at his relief, which covered her concern.  Johan’s case was completely unprecedented, unlike hers.  But there were enough similarities to worry her, starting with the fact that someone seemingly powerless had developed remarkable abilities that might be very dangerous.

Could this be the work of the Witch-King?

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