by Rick Field
“Understood,” Steve answered, wishing his host goodnight, nodding at Liane, and following one of the manservants to where he would be staying. Liane followed Pertogan, down multiple flights of stairs until they were deep underground.
The Necromancer opened a simple wooden door. “Do you require my presence, My Lady?” he asked calmly while she stepped forward.
“No, thank you, My Lord.” She stopped, and faced him. “For everything.”
His lips tugged into a small smile. “It is what friends do, My Lady. Good luck.”
When she sat halfway between the large anchors, and the door had been firmly shut by Pertogan, Liane closed her eyes, and focused. The first spell she tried, failed completely. Her magic was horribly damaged, and had failed to give even the smallest reaction.
Drawing in a deeper breath, she chanted her spell, completely and without abbreviation. Two small sparks of magic flashed in front of her face, and dissipated. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. She wasn't even able to bring up a runic barrier between the anchors.
If she had no magic available for something so simple, how could she ever repair her damaged core? Slowly, she sank to the dirt floor, her back against one of the huge anchor stones, pulling her knees up to her chin.
Dazed, she looked around the room. It was obviously excavated, its walls created out of earth compacted by Earth-style magics. The ceiling and walls were dark, the results of reinforcing Earth magic, while the floor was compacted normally and held a thin layer of dirt and dust, debris that was now sticking to that beautifully conjured robe she was wearing.
Desperately trying to avoid thinking about her predicament, Liane's trained eyes slipped across the dirt floor, analyzing the footprints. She recognized her own and dismissed them immediately. Pertogan's large feet and long stride came easily to her, and Lord Pyne's smaller stride was the only other full adult footprint present. The smaller footprint must therefore be the Assistant's, and for a few moments, Liane focused her mind on trying to figure out what the Necromancer and his Noble retinue were conducting in this cavern-like excavation.
Unfortunately, she was no Necromancer and knew barely anything about the branch of magic, so her effort was fruitless in the end.
Her chest ached deeply where her magic resided, almost as if it recognized that it was not able to assist her. She sighed again, it would take her days, if not longer, to recover any meaningful measure of strength. Time she didn't have. Who knew what was going on in the Capital?
Suddenly, she looked up. She hadn't used the Deep Secrets in years, years that had nearly caused her to forget the greatest asset she had gained from the Academy.
The Pillar stood up, ignoring the dirt that clung to her robes, and stepped to the center of the room, right in the middle between the two large anchor stones.
She drew a breath, and focused herself. Who would she need? Fire's magic was only useful in direct combat. The swiftness of the air would get her to the Capital, but it would still leave her without magic in the end. Earth would give her physical strength and allow her to know all which trod upon it, again something of which she had no need at this time. No, it would have to be the wisdom and the healing properties of Water that she would have to summon.
For a moment, she debated the strength of the spirit, and the impact it would have on her weakened body. The Minor Spirit could heal minor wounds, maybe help her stabilize her magic. It more than likely was not up to the task she required of it, and she could not risk summoning it only to be turned down. Even the act of summoning the Minor Spirits would drain half a pint of blood from her veins, blood she wasn't sure she could throw away at a maybe.
The Regular Spirit of Water had helped her before, it had given her incredible insight and stabilized her magic without the use of Focus Gloves – back when she needed such. Suddenly, she missed her gloves, and could feel her eyes tearing up. Her gloves may have been an obvious weakness, but at least they didn't steal her magic, one bit at a time.
She squared her shoulders and wiped her eyes. This was no time for regrets. She needed to decide whether to summon the Regular or the Major Spirit of Water. She knew from experience what the Regular Spirit could and would do, it should be enough to help her stabilize her broken magic.
Or maybe she should go for the biggest spell in the book, and draw upon the Major Spirit of Water? She knew from experience how awful their strength was, how fickle their attention was, how easily they would dismiss her if they felt like it. Wind had carried her all the way to the Capital once; it had nearly dismissed her, and in the end, merely threw power at her and left her to her own devices.
All for the cost of two pints of blood and leaving her in need of medical assistance afterward. Summoning the Major Spirit of Water might do more harm than good, and in the end, she had to balance her current and future needs. It would not do for her to invoke the Major Spirit, only to require more medical attention and running the risk of undoing the Healer's work.
She nodded to herself; her choice had been made. Dropping into the meditative trance with the ease of incredible experience, she started her invocation. “Liane, the MagicWarper, is of the Water and the Ocean, and calls out to Haturori, Regular Spirit of Water. Lady Haturori, are you there?”
She had forgotten what it felt like to be at the center of an invocation of the Deep Secrets, what it sounded like to have her voice sink into the air and the earth around her. The very world seemed to hold its breath, listening to her as she stood.
Liane opened her mouth, and completed the summoning spell. “Lady Haturori, I pay a full pint of blood in tribute for your summoning!”
The last time she had cast this spell, it had been in a darkened cell inside a mansion built on an island in a lake. This time, she was deep underground, nowhere near a large body of water, and Liane hoped she hadn't made a mistake. The oppressive magic in the air thrummed like a musical instrument, and every bone in her skeleton vibrated as if it were a tuning fork. The teeth rattled in her mouth as the invocation worked its course.
Water seeped through the impervious walls of compacted earth, boring through cracks and fissures, dribbling along the walls and running over the floor in deliberate motions, before forming into a vaguely female shape of clear and transparent water in front of her, its petitioner.
Was the regular Spirit annoyed at being summoned deep underground? Liane could not tell from the featureless figure, and she hoped desperately that she had not made a mistake. Her head dazzled when the drop in blood-pressure hit her, a full pint of blood having vanished from her veins. For precious moments, her body was busy compensating.
Finally, she found her equilibrium, the silent figure of water still waiting patiently. “Lady Haturori, I have come before you with a plight,” the MagicWarper said, hoping her voice didn't betray her nervousness.
The figure of water reacted just as Liane remembered, answering with a voice that sounded as musical as gentle water babbling over stones on a bright summer's day. “As tribute has been paid, so I shall listen to you, Liane of the warped magic,” Haturori answered calmly.
Liane drew a breath. This was it, she hoped the spirit could help. “My Lady, I require your wisdom and assistance in repairing and stabilizing my magic.”
The regular Spirit of Water approached the Pillar, and seemed to study her chest. “What you ask is difficult, Liane of the warped magic. Your magic is both broken and depleted, and you cannot repair it as you are now.” The figure fell silent, and Liane could feel her heart drop. The Spirit couldn't help her.
“My offer to you is such, Liane of the warped magic,” the regular Spirit suddenly said. “I will enhance your mind once more, as I have done once already in the past. Once more, you will think faster, be able to access all knowledge you have ever read, heard, or come into contact with, and will be allowed a minor and restricted access to all the wisdom that is accessible to water to supplement your own should it be required to do so. I will recharge and stabilize your magic
to the best of my ability. You will need to bring it the rest of the way. I am unable to completely stabilize or repair it.” the Spirit was silent for a few extra moments. “Your magic is broken and will remain broken. Repairing it is beyond the ken of Water.”
Liane's heart pounded. “There is one who could repair my magic?” she blurted, interrupting the Spirit before her. The figure 'cocked' its 'head', and Liane was suddenly reminded that she was speaking to one of the prime elemental forces given physical form.
Before she could apologize, Haturori said, “There is but one, that one is you. You alone know your magic and you alone can repair it. Things have been done to and with your magic that have withdrawn it from the ken of the regular world.” For a moment, the Pillar thought the Spirit was admonishing her. Immediately, the reproachful tone was changed for the normal one. “In exchange for this behest, I will be given six weeks of your lifespan. Do you agree, Liane of the warped magic?”
Liane nodded, it was fair to be charged six weeks of her life, the Spirit had all but told her that her request was at the very limits of its ability. Rather than giving a meaningless agreement, Liane's mind dug up the required oath. Haturori was a regular Spirit, required a twofold three acceptance. “By the power of twofold three, I, Liane, the MagicWarper, consent to the deal, accept the obligation, and comply with your demands, Lady Haturori. I will admit to your requests, and welcome your influence. My name is Liane, known as the MagicWarper, and I agree to pay the price that you have set forth.”
“Then the deal has been struck, Liane of the warped magic. Accept what I give you and stabilize your magic,” Haturori said, dissolving into water that immediately retreated from the deep basement, pulling out the same way it had originally come in.
Magic bloomed in her chest, and Liane drew a deep breath, feeling as if it were the first deep breath she had been able to take in days. Closing her eyes, she luxuriated for a few seconds in the feeling of having magic available to her. Releasing her breath, she opened her eyes.
Apart from her partially stabilized magic, she didn't feel any different. She certainly didn't feel herself aging those six weeks that the spirit had pulled out of her lifespan. She hadn't felt the six months that had once been taken from her by the Major Spirit of Air, either. Ignoring the lack of feedback from the shortening of her lifespan, she turned back to the anchor stones, preparing to sit down.
Water's wisdom exploded in her mind, and when her eyes touched the anchors, something deep within her mind went ping.
Her mouth sagged momentarily, before snapping shut. A concentrated frown appeared on her brow, and she sunk into thought, her mind accelerated and expanded by the knowledge and wisdom of the water spirit.
For the first time since she had entered the ranks of the Nobility; for the first time since discovering the wonderful world of magic available to her; for the first time since learning Decorum... Liane cursed.
“By the burning pits of Hell!” Fully agitated, she took two great strides to the nearest anchor stone, and stopped right in front of it. “It's the same! It's all the same!” Why had she never thought of this before? It was so very easy! Of course it was all the same! It was magic! All magic was the same, just how it was used differed.
The anchor stones drew energy from the environment and converted it into raw magic, used for permanent charms and wards and shields.
That was what Liane had been taught, and that was how she had thought, until now. Now she realized that one simply couldn't create magic. Magic was magic, in one form or another. What the Druids did, convert magic from one form into another, that was what the anchor did – on a massive scale, granted, but it was the same exact principle!
She blinked, frowned and then shook her head. Just like the power raising chant did, she realized. The power raising chant pulled energy from the environment, raw, elemental, untamed energy, and refined it into something that could be used by the refined spell craft of the Nobility.
And it was the same as what the Druids were doing, only they weren't refining it. They were pouring it straight back where they found it, in different ways and locations and subtly altered, to achieve the massive, domineering effects of Druidism over nature.
Two halves of the same coin; so easy and yet so complex. Using the raw elemental energy and using that to break storms and dominate nature was, in its own right, just as complex as the highly refined and extremely specialized branches of magic worked by the Nobility. Each could do what the other could not, and yet, at their root, they just used the same energy in different ways.
It was so easy.
Why had no one else ever thought of this? Why had this never been documented? Was she really the first...
That little thing deep in her mind went ping once more. Or perhaps, it went click.
Yes, she was the first. Her magic was crippled, damaged beyond repair. She was the first who would call upon the Spirit of Water for assistance in stabilizing it, making a deal with both strength and wisdom to repair it. Water had given her what she requested, and its knowledge and infinite wisdom on the nature of magic was what had triggered her understanding.
And, Liane knew, she could repair her magic. Completely and utterly, restore it to normal. It would be a massive undertaking, and would take her months of work to prepare. She wished she could be one of those wizards of old, raise herself a Black Tower in a remote area so she could have the seclusion to work through this problem as quickly as possible.
Kiria's fate came to her mind, and her shoulders set. First, she would save her country. Raising a tower and secluding herself would come later. She had the idea now, working out the theory and the practice could wait until later. It took a spell she created right there and then to create a book out of thin air that held all the knowledge regarding the healing of her magic. She flipped through its pages, the short-hand was her own, a derivation of esoteric runic alphabets, the usual meaning replaced with specialized meanings of her own creation.
It had come in handy for making notes back at the Academy, allowing her to write down verbal information at conversation speeds without losing any subtext. Now it would hold her freshly acquired knowledge.
She slipped the small book into one of her pockets, and sat down between the Anchor stones. Her magic wasn't fully stabilized yet; first she would have to finish the work started by the Spirit of Water, then she would sleep for 12 hours.
Her eyes drifted shut of their own accord, and her mind started to slip toward a trance with the ease of years of repetition.
Right before she did, however, a thought interrupted her, waking her up instantly. The one shifty Warlock with the incredible shadow-walking spell was still out there, waiting for her. It was no stretch of the imagination that he had summoned help. Likely, she would be faced with stiff opposition, opposition that she may not be able to handle.
Her full stomach twitched, sending a small pulse of nausea through her system. She swallowed deeply at the reminder of what she had done so far, the lives taken, the damage done by magic. If she was going to complete her mission, she would need to stop playing by duelist rules. She could no longer count on her opponents being honorable, like her first opponent had been.
She would have to kill first, hit fast and hard and not give the opposition a chance to retaliate. The combat she had developed against Milor would have to be her staple. Her right hand came up, two fingers rubbing the small stress-headache that built in between the folds of her frown.
She would have to join the war, if she was going to survive it. Water's wisdom, its knowledge of magic, went over the spells she thought of, changing them, subtly altering them; preparing her to engage in mortal combat. She shuddered.
She was a Pillar. Engaging in combat usually meant she had failed her mission. She was one to gather intelligence, to talk to people, to bring them in if necessary. Engaging in combat was always a possibility, but never a mission directive. And now, she was going to have to be a soldier, a warrior for Kiria and
its people. She shuddered again, hoping that she was strong enough to fulfill her duty. Her magic, after she repaired it, would certainly be capable of it. So would her body.
But, she thought, would her mind and her heart be the same? Already, she had broken down crying in the bathtub. Already, she was doubting herself. Would she, Liane, be capable of doing what had to be done?
The Pillar drew a breath. She was certainly going to do her very best.
And yet, she doubted her chances of survival and her chances of success. She was but one Mage. Three of her colleagues had already been killed, and without contact to the Capital, she didn't know who else could be trusted to be on her side. Pertogan had said he would attempt to set up a safe house. What if he contacted an untrustworthy person? The Necromancer had no authority to swear people to oaths. He might request a vow, but Liane was sure most would refuse outright. Nobles did not take vows lightly.
She screwed her eyes shut and drew a deep breath. Her enhanced mind was playing tricks on her, making her think and think and think about things that may or may not come to pass. She would have to do her duty, and she would succeed. Failure was not an option, not personally, and not professionally.
