by Rick Field
“And you are ignorant if you fail to take other cultures in mind,” the Mage answered, calmly. “I do not know your culture, and yet I have done my best to ignore your insults and make allowances for your behavior. You have only worsened since we met. Obviously, permitting you leeway was a mistake on my part. From now on, I shall have no other recourse but to reprimand you as I would a Commoner of Kiria.”
“Now who isn't taking other cultures into account?” Steve snapped back, stepping into her personal space, trying to use his larger bulk to tower over her. “Since I've been here, I've been locked up, put under a death sentence, dragged along on foot, through major combat, for days on end for a conflict that isn't even mine, and all of it without as much as an apology or a 'by your leave'! This hasn't exactly been a welcoming environment for me either!”
Irritation bloomed into anger, and Liane's knuckles clenched her staff. Closing her eyes, she forced a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, imagining that her breath took her violent emotions with it. “And yet, I have saved your life on every occasion, have refrained from punishing you for infracting against any laws of decency, refrained from executing the death sentence for infracting the laws of trespass, and am even now escorting you to the Capital where you may be properly treated, your mind locked of its memories here, and escorted back to your home country. Ninety-nine percent of the other Nobles in Kiria would have executed you for breaking through the Great Barrier the way you did,” she said, her voice calm yet her entire body stiff and formal. He could feel the anger in the set of her shoulders and the stiffness of her spine.
Finally opening her eyes, she looked at him. “And I have not received gratitude from you regarding those events either,” she finished.
For long seconds, he stared down at her. “Fine,” he muttered, finally relenting and stepping back.
“Good,” she said. “Let us forget who is right and wrong. I will continue to make allowances for your behavior and background if you will please be mindful of your words and actions. A Kirian Noble expects you to treat him as you would a superior. I hope that you do not treat your superiors back in your country in similar fashion to how you have acted here.”
Steve scowled, but nodded. “I'll do my best. Ma'am.”
His tone was flat, unhappy, but had a veneer of politeness. She could work with that; he didn't need to be happy.
They continued on, walking in silence. Liane was glad for the opportunity to order her thoughts and think about the situation she was now finding herself in. Steve looked less pleased, and pressed on in a sullen silence.
Half an hour of peace they enjoyed, before Liane twitched and looked over her shoulder. Steve scoffed lowly, but not low enough for her not to hear him do so. When she leveled a stare at him, he merely ignored her, acting as if nothing was wrong. She knew his opinion by now, knew he did not believe they were being followed. The Mage was annoyed, she could feel the pings against her senses of someone following them, and yet she could find no physical or magical evidence when she looked.
They hadn't even broken their stride this time, the occurrences were starting to become a habit. She would have to be careful, habits formed complacency, and that could get someone ki-
Lucifer pushed right before the world exploded in reds and blacks, pain overwhelming her injured body so quickly she barely had time to realize her staff's split-second precognition. Injury and pain engulfed her body. Unconsciousness welcomed her.
********
Awareness returned slowly, and with incredible pain. Years of Decorum had taught her to suppress emotion and not show weakness, and Liane woke without groaning. It took considerable effort to open even one eye.
An unknown Warlock was facing Steve. The pilot was on the ground, wrapped tightly in conjured bonds. The weapon she had built for him was on the ground not far away. “I have no quarrel with you, unknown man,” the Warlock said. “Give me your word that you will leave, and I will allow you to do so. My quarrel is with the one who is now dead. She is the one who has committed crimes against the new Kirian government.”
“So I was right,” Steve grunted, through the blood of a split lip. It looked like the pilot had at least put up a struggle, and Liane respected him for attempting to take on a Warlock without magic. “There's been a coup.”
The unknown Warlock shrugged. “Coup, changeover, however you want to name it, unknown man. The old government was tied down by bureaucracy and its own rules. Magic enforced everything. It made us stale and behind the times. With our powers, there is so much more that we could achieve, and yet we sit here, cowering behind our Great Barrier.”
Good, keep him talking, Liane thought silently. The Warlock started pacing, agitated by his own rhetoric, and Liane closed her eye and shallowed her breathing to avoid unnecessary movement. “No more! It is only a matter of time before we break the Arbitrator of Ascension, and gain control over the Imperial Wards that govern the island.” He stopped pacing, and looked back at Steve, still trussed up on the ground. “Now, unknown man, shall you leave?”
Liane judged the distance to the pilot's discarded weapon. Her magic was broken. There was no way she would be able to take the enemy with her core the way that it was, but Steve's weapon did not require her magic to function.
She would have to jump up, and run at least four steps. It was going to hurt, and it was going to be hard. Part of her wanted to wait and hear the pilot's response, but the larger part, the logical part, knew that she would never again have this clear of a shot. With the Warlock's attention focused squarely on the down pilot, and with the body of his supposedly dead enemy cooling behind him, the Warlock was completely exposed.
Forcing a harsh growl from her throat, Liane wrenched her injured body up off the ground, stumbling more than running toward the discarded weapon. The Warlock froze with surprise, his eyes growing wide at the sight of his dead opponent on her feet.
The Mage's right leg gave out first, and she fell face-first on the ground just as the Warlock regained his wits. “That's impossible! You're dead!” he shouted. Liane was glad that the shock of the situation was forcing him to make useless declarations rather than throw magic at her, and forced herself forward in a most undignified manner, her outstretched right hand barely managing to grab hold of the extreme edge of the pistol.
A Death Magic strike was thrown her way in a hurry. It was haste-work, no incantation and barely any hand-motions, and Liane managed to avoid it easily by merely rolling over. Dust welled up from where the strike sputtered uselessly against the dirt of the path, and the Mage brought up the weapon.
It seemed that the Warlock knew of the weapon's abilities, as he whispered and vanished in the shadows. For a few moments, the Mage remained on high alert, tracking the surrounding area as best she could. Finally, Liane cursed loudly when it became apparent that he wasn't going to reappear.
It took her a little longer to make sure that he really wasn't going to reappear, but the Pillar was quite sure that he was watching, patiently, waiting for her to lower her guard once more. Her body was aching, yet she forced herself to her feet, and limped toward Lucifer. She did not release her hold of the pistol, and grabbed her staff with her left hand.
The legendary weapon broke Steve's bonds easily. “Thanks,” he said, rubbing his wrists, and slowly standing up. “He attacked us from behind. That explosion caught you, it looked vicious enough to kill you. He jumped me from behind, never saw him coming. Before I knew it, he was on a monologue.”
Liane only listened halfway to his explanation. “My magic gives me a greater protection against deadly strikes than most, and Lucifer will not allow me to be hit in the back like that,” she said, before realizing that she now had probably given their enemy vital information.
“What now?” he asked, looking around, as if the trees would jump up and rip him apart. Seeing that the man was hiding in the shadows; that probably was not very far off.
“We must make haste,” Liane
answered. “Rather than push for the village and horses to take us directly to the Capital, we should move surreptitiously. I have a friend who lives within a few hours' travel. It might be in the opposite direction, but it is my hope he will shelter us, and allow us to heal, eat, and have a protected night's sleep.
“None of which we've had since yesterday,” Steve said. “Lead the way.”
Now more than ever, the legendary weapon known as Lucifer was being used as an ordinary walking stick. Liane's right leg felt numb and lame, barely able to support any weight without erupting into violent flames of pain. Despite her injury, she managed to make decent progress.
Steve held his weapon in both hands at all times, stubbornly resolved to being the one who would be protecting her, now that she was even more injured.
Her rapid pace did not last for very long, and within half an hour, she was panting and sweating with both pain and exhaustion, forcing them to call for a pause. Steve remained upright, weapon out and tracking every movement. Liane had sunk to the ground under a tree, massaging her injured right leg, hoping against hope to restore some measure of use to it.
Now more than ever she regretted never having taking healing classes. If only Amy was here. Her former Assistant had been able to patch her up back when she was just a small third-year student, before taking any formal training or classes, simply having read upon the subject after seeing Liane be injured.
“I would have thought that a Mage in your position would know something about healing,” Steve said, eyes continuing to move.
“Healing never interested me,” Liane replied, far calmer than she felt. In most cases, she would have taken his comment as an insult. Her current physical condition and her exhaustion made her largely immune to it.
“Too bad you don't have one of those Sorcerer's Stones,” he said, lips quirking a grin in her direction when he glanced at her.
Liane frowned. “What is a Sorcerer's Stone?” she asked, feeling as if it were something she should know. It sounded familiar.
It was Steve's turn to frown. “You know,” he said. “Turn lead into gold, give eternal life?”
The Mage suddenly smiled. “You mean a Philosopher's Stone,” she corrected. “Yes, we could surely use one right now. If only they weren't restricted.”
“That's the one,” the pilot agreed.
The Pillar sighed. “I could make one, if I had the magic and the ingredients for it.” She turned her head to look at him from the corner of one eye. “One thing you have wrong, however. It does not grant immortality in any shape or form. It will heal injury, sickness, and reverse damage done due to age.”
Steve frowned, trying to work out her string of thought. Suddenly, he remembered their position, and flung around, making sure the Warlock hadn't been sneaking up behind him. He calmed a few moments later. “If it reverses old age, doesn't that mean you're immortal?”
“It reverses the damage done by old age,” Liane corrected. “You will still die at your normal age, eighty, ninety, whenever your time is up, but you will die while still being able to run and jump and cast as if you were thirty.”
“That is very... tempting,” he said. “Does that mean many Nobles can keep going until their last day?”
“It is only used for major injuries or heavy illness. Its use is restricted,” Liane reminded him. “That does not mean that, given an unscrupulous Alchemy student and extremely expensive and hard to find underground ingredients, an unscrupulous Noble wouldn't be able to get his hands on a limited amount of Philosopher's Stone. However, like I said, it is complex and takes quite some time to make, and it only has a limited shelf life. It would have to be made again after a few months, and again, and again, and again, if only to keep reversing the effects of aging. The older one gets, the faster this damage occurs. Miss a dose a few times, and your bones will lose resiliency, your joints will start to freeze, your muscles will lose their strength, your nerves and reflexes will lose their speed...”
The foreigner nodded. “Point taken,” he answered. “Still – it's very tempting.”
“That it is, and it is a major reason for its restriction.”
Her eyes widened when she felt a ping of magic bound against her aching core, and her hand slipped into her utility belt, releasing her athame from its sheath. Steve tensed, bringing his weapon up as he spun around, trying to see what she was feeling. The magic vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and Liane sighed.
“It looks like he is up to his usual tricks. He will raise enough magic to make me feel him, then allow it to vanish so we will eventually drop our guards,” Liane said, bracing Lucifer and using it as a crutch to push herself to her functional leg. Her left hand re-fastened the catch on her ceremonial dagger. The athame was used in blood magic, and was designed to slice easily to draw blood. In a pinch, an athame could inflict horrific physical injury when used as a weapon.
She was injured and out of magic, she was definitely in a pinch. They started moving again, Steve slowing his pace to allow her to limp without rushing.
For close to an hour, they traveled in peace and quiet. It was enough to lower their guards, to relax their battered nerves and allow them to hope that they would be in the clear. Liane felt magic build behind her, and unobtrusively slipped her left hand to the catch on her athame.
Her ears peaked and her magical senses extended, Liane felt for the source. The ceremonial dagger came out of her belt easily and quietly. Flipping it around, she held it by the blade, feeling for the magic ping building behind her. His actual assault had not given warning; he was a fool to believe her to be fooled by his obvious ploys once more.
Gritting her teeth, she drew a breath, braced herself, and shoved herself around using her Legendary walking stick. The pain from her injured right leg was blinding, but her left-handed throw drew a startled yell from somewhere behind her, followed by the satisfying sensation of the magical distraction abruptly vanishing.
Steve didn't need words to know what had happened, and he gave her a nasty-looking grin before cautiously creeping back along the path to retrieve her magical tool. When he returned, he was holding it cautiously along the handle. “It looks like you nicked him, there's blood on it.”
Liane perked up from where she had pushed herself back upright. Her spin had caused her right leg to flare up, the pain drawing sweat from her brow. “Is there, now?” she asked, accepting the athame back from the man. She lowered her voice and bent her head, and Steve leaned in to hear what she was about to say. “Let's see if I have enough magic for this.”
Blood Magic was different from ordinary elemental magic. It was subtle, insidious, based on intelligence rather than brute strength. While other 'subtle' magic’s like Alchemy were a struggle for her, Blood Magic and its intricacies required subtlety of mind, not of magic, and she had taken to it like a fish took to water.
The tiny fragment of magic she extracted from her core caused no more than a twinge of discomfort, and her words and gestures shaped the magic she was about to cast. She could feel Steve's impatience, his disquiet for remaining still for what he felt was too long, but she ignored him like she ignored all outside influences.
Her spell completed, and the blood vanished from her blade. From somewhere in the forest, a scream tore through the quiet, and Liane's lips formed into a smirk. Steve's grin matched her expression perfectly. “I take it we will not have any more trouble?” he asked.
“It was a very small amount of blood, I am dreadfully low on power, and we are short on time. I didn't have what I needed for a potent death curse, but I was able to cause him some inconvenience,” she answered him, starting to limp down the path. “I cursed his senses to be a thousand times more powerful.”
She smiled at him, and Steve suddenly remembered how scary this woman could be. At first thoughts increasing their enemy’s senses sounded like a bad thing, but then he thought about the reaction, that pained scream that was almost inhuman in its intensity. “It is possibly worse t
han you think,” Liane went on to say. “At that level, he will be unable to open his eyes as it would be like staring into the sun, he will be unable to remove his hands from his ears, as every breath he takes, every rustle of wind through grass or leaf will sound painfully loud; the clothes on his skin will cause him agony. Every smell will smell horrific, every taste unpalatable. I have sealed his senses. If he is good at what he does, it will take him time to undo what I did. If he does not know hexes or curses, he will need to somehow make his way to someone who does.”
“Let's hope its option number two,” Steve replied, trying to remember why he had believed it was a good idea to pick a fight with this woman earlier. Deciding he needed to change the subject and get his own mind off the track it was on, he asked her, “how far is it to your friend's house?”
“I believe that we will reach the main road in another hour. It should be another hour or so from there,” Liane replied. “If I can manage this pace,” she added. He was smart enough not to comment.
