The Magic, Broken

by Rick Field

  The circle formed immediately, flashed, and disintegrated. The entire action was so unexpected that Liane sat there, staring, for close to five seconds. Her shocked look turned into a frown while she investigated her magic for the cause of the spell failure. Her magic was hurting, damaged, but nothing beyond her ability to cope. She should have been able to cast the communication spell.

  She tried again, with the same results. “What's happening?” Steve asked. It grated her nerves that he would ask. She sincerely disliking having to admit to ignorance or failure.

  “I do not know,” she said. “This is most perplexing.” She tried a control-level spell. If her magic was at all damaged or unstable, it would let her know. The spell cast perfectly. Her magic was fine.

  That meant something was going on with the communication spell itself. She tried it again, it failed as it had before. She tried Milor. The spell failed. Drawing a deep breath, she tried the Emperor directly. One didn't contact the Emperor directly. If she connected, she would have some serious explaining to do, something she would gladly do if it meant alerting the capital.

  The spell failed. “This is impossible,” she muttered to herself. Beside herself with worry, she tried the Pillar safe house in Eunan. The circle formed, waiting for a reply on the other end. It took ten of the longest seconds of her life, before a connection was formed.

  “My Lady?” Morden of the Weeping Willow asked. “This is sudden.”

  “I was attacked in the Forest of Sina mere moments ago, My Lord,” Liane rushed out. “When attempting to connect to the Overseer, the spell failed. I have tried multiple people, up to the Emperor himself. The spell fails completely when attempting to contact anyone within the Capital city.”

  Morden frowned slightly. “That is most disturbing and hard to believe, My Lady,” he answered calmly. “Is your situation secure?”

  “I am lightly wounded,” the younger Pillar answered. “The attacker was driven off after I destroyed his three gargoyle-class constructs.”

  Morden blinked, looked surprised for a fraction of a second; and then frowned deeply and heavily. “Most impressive of you,” he commented coldly. “And most unsportsmanlike of your attacker. I would recommend you make your way back to Eunan. I will attempt to contact the Capital, and will contact you as soon as I have more information.”

  Liane nodded. “I will do so, My Lord.”

  The older Pillar dipped his head, and terminated the connection. Liane pushed herself back to her feet using Lucifer as a crutch. The staff was still in its deployed form, and Steve couldn't help but stare at it before reaching out to steady her. A glare from her made him back off. He was no stranger to ego, and knew he wouldn't have appreciated someone holding his arm like an invalid either.

  “We make for Eunan,” the Pillar stated. “This attack and the sudden failure to contact the Capital are bad signs.”

  “I take it this doesn't happen very often?” the pilot asked as they turned back. Their pace had dropped considerably, Liane leaning heavily upon her staff. It really did serve as a walking aid now.

  “Attacking a Pillar usually only happens when a criminal is cornered and desperate enough to attempt to fight their way out. It is a useless gesture. Pillars are among the pinnacle of Nobility. Even if the criminal is killed, we have Necromancers that will raise their spirits and extract their secrets. Not even death will protect them. Very few make the attempt with any degree of confidence,” she answered. Usually, she added in her own mind. And unless the Pillar in question screws up with an untested spell that destroys a person's very soul.

  The foreign pilot nodded thoughtfully. “The lack of communication?” he prompted.

  Liane frowned. “There are very few things that can interfere with those spells,” she admitted. “All of them would have given some form of indication they were in use. In this case, the spell simply... failed.”

  She could feel the tug of an incoming communication, and lifted her hand to accept the transmission. Morden looked grave. “I have tried various people, My Lady,” he said without preamble. “All of those within the Capital region failed. Those outside the region connected perfectly. I fear something disastrous has happened.”

  “I was thinking about the options of blocking communications. None of the ones I know would force a spell to fail in such a fashion,” Liane stated.

  “Unless the battle wards on the city were in effect,” Morden said, gravely. The younger Pillar blinked.

  “Battle wards wouldn't prevent communications,” she said, with conviction.

  Morden shook his head. “Even you do not know all, My Lady. The Kiria City battle wards can be attuned to magic of various types. At their most potent, they will prevent any and all magic from passing them. From floaters, to combat magic, to communications spells, they will all fail upon crossing the maximum strength battle wards.”

  Liane frowned. “That raises the question, why have the battle wards been raised?”

  Morden nodded, agreeing with her question. “Most disturbing. I am delegating the Lady Enia of the Waterfalls to remain behind as contact. She will continue to attempt to contact all Pillars outside the Capital and gather them in Eunan. We are to set up an alternative command and control center. Lord Joran of the Mountains and myself will attempt to reach the Capital. We should be able to enter the Capital as the battle wards do not prevent physical entities crossing them; other provisions were made for that. I simply hope that-”

  The spell spluttered, flared, and failed. Liane's mouth opened to start a curse. Instead of uttering the profanity, she attempted the communication spell. Rather than starting to form, and fail, as if contacting someone in the Capital, the spell refused to form, as if she were using an improper name or a person no longer among the living. She tried again. It still refused to form. Only one explanation fit the evidence she had.

  Her darkened skin paled into pasty gray, her heart sinking in her shoes. “The Lord Morden of the Weeping Willow is dead,” she muttered. She tried again. And again. “As is the Lady Enia of the Waterfalls, and Lord Joran of the Mountains.”

  “That's correct, My Lady,” a voice came from behind her. “By now, the explosive failure of the protective wards on the Pillar safe house in Eunan should have done its job. The entire house was leveled and all its occupants are gone.”

  Liane bit back a scream of pain as she whirled around to face the hated voice of their attacker. “I must admit that I did not consider the possibility of you destroying my three constructs, My Lady,” the Warlock said.

  “I must admit I am surprised you dared to return, My Lord,” Liane bit back, squaring her shoulders and preparing herself for combat. Three of her fellow Pillars lay dead. She had not known them very well, but they were colleagues. This man's compatriots had killed three Pillars in a most unsightly manner. Her fist tightened around Lucifer. Her magic quivered, whether in excitement, anger, or resentment, she couldn't tell.

  She was going to destroy this man; she was going to make him pay for the deaths of those three Pillars. From the corner of her eye, she could see Steve strike a frightened figure, his hands upturned to show their emptiness, slowly slinking toward the tree-line. Perhaps the earlier combat had frightened the man. She had to admit, she had thought better of him.

  The Warlock shrugged. “A temporary regrouping was in order after my primary forces were destroyed,” he answered calmly, ignoring the Commoner slowly edging toward the trees. “Basic combat strategy.”

  “And yet,” Liane said, “you announce yourself and engage me in idle conversation.”

  “I am of a hope that you might reconsider, now that you are injured and tired, My Lady,” the Warlock stated calmly. “After all, I barely lifted a spell, while you engaged in exhausting combat against three... how did you call them... gargoyle-class constructs.”

  Liane knew, deep down, that she simply should engage him in combat and burn his evil from the surface of Kiria. Her anger made her careless, sloppy. “Allow me to
make a counter offer,” she returned. “Surrender to me this instant and I will make your execution quick and painless.”

  The unnamed Warlock deflated. “That was not the answer I was hoping to receive, My Lady,” the man answered.

  Her lips pulled back in a demented grin, her anger resounding through her magic. “True enough, My Lord,” she said, voice dark and unforgiving. “However, you seem to be under a mistaken impression.”

  “Oh? Please, enlighten me,” the Warlock said, lifting one eyebrow. For a fraction of a moment the familiar motion made Liane wonder whether all Warlocks learned to do that.

  “I am a Pillar of Kiria, My Lord. Any that engage us on public roads take their life in their own hands,” she stated, while her empty hand jerked up, a single follow-up word leaving her lips. Once more, the surface of the road seemed to detach itself from its base, the various stones exploding upward with horrible force.

  The Warlock screamed in pain as the surface erupted beneath him, throwing him off with violent force and high speeds. He ducked and weaved under influence of his acceleration spell, managing to reach the untreated surface next to the road. The stones chased him, threatening to rush him. Bolts of Death Magic erupted, rending stone to dust. She noticed Steve slinking from the trees behind her opponent. What was the man doing?

  With a wrench of her hands, she made sure the remaining stones would not attack him, while a curse erupted from her lips, rendering her opponent silent. The Warlock blinked furiously, looking panicked, dodging backward at high speed. Steve's speed belied his status as a Commoner, one arm suddenly appearing around the Warlock's neck and wrenching horribly. The man gurgled in a strange note she had not yet heard, his entire body tensing before sinking to the ground.

  Her opponent was most assuredly dead, and a motion of her hand returned the surviving stones to the road. As the Pillars protected Kiria, so would Kiria protect its Pillars. She had just wished she had remembered that before the three constructs had nearly killed her earlier.

  She approached the man, who was wiping his long knife on the grass. A puddle of blood formed beneath the Warlock's body, a gaping wound visible in his back, right between two ribs, straight into the man's heart. He probably hadn't even realized he had been attacked from the back.

  For a few moments, Liane remained silent, indecisive. “Are you injured?” she finally requested.

  The pilot shook his head. “No,” he answered, falling silent for a few moments. “I don't feel so good about killing a man, though.”

  She nodded sagely. “Killing should never be easy,” Liane answered calmly. “Thank you for the assistance.” It was hard to admit, but the man had helped her, and he had killed her opponent. He deserved some form of praise, even if he had engaged in her fight in a most ignoble manner, and had stolen her rightful vengeance for her fallen comrades.

  “You're welcome,” he said, unaware of her inner thoughts. “How are you?”

  “I am quite well, considering,” she answered, looking at the corpse of the unnamed Warlock. “It is most unfortunate that I do not know the art of Necromancy. I would have loved to hear his secrets. Or even his name.”

  Steve swallowed and decided to completely ignore the reference to necromancy. She could practically see it in his eyes. Tired as they both were, after being attacked twice, she didn't explain further. “Eunan's safe house was destroyed, apparently,” she said. “We should move on to the Capital with all haste. I am a Pillar of Kiria, no battle wards will keep me out.” For a moment, she considered raising Omkiel – before discarding the idea. The situation was urgent, but not urgent enough for her to sacrifice two pints of blood and months of her lifespan to get there right there and then.

  Not to mention the fact that, with two pints of blood missing from her veins, she wouldn't be much good after they got there.

  The pilot nodded, and stood up from where he had finished cleaning his blade. “I wish I had my gun. I don't feel safe with just my knife,” he muttered.

  The Pillar stooped down, removed the dead Warlock's sword and sword belt, before handing them to the pilot. Although looking rather strange about wearing a dead man's weapon, he strapped it on nonetheless. “Your gun?” Liane asked as he did so, stepping back onto the road and turned around – again – to resume their voyage to the Capital. “Ah yes, the weapon that I melted. The miniature cannon.” She pushed herself despite her injuries and her fatigue. “We should move with all haste. There is a logging settlement a few hours up the road, they will have a Healer and we should be able to rent horses.” She didn't mention how much she disliked riding.

  “It's a gun,” Steve corrected, drawing her from her thoughts once more as he stepped next to her. “The basic principles are the same, but it's completely different.” As if happy to have something, anything, to distract his mind, he wove his hands through the air. “The bullet – the projectile – is in a brass casing that contains an explosive and a detonator cap. In effect, when you pull the trigger, a hammer hits the blasting cap at the end of the casing, causing the explosive in the casing to explode, which launches the bullet out of the barrel. In most semi-automatic weapons, the spent casing is then ejected, and a new one is loaded from the magazine, ready for another squeeze of the trigger.”

  Liane's brows were knit in concentration as they walked. Having something to think about, something new to learn, was distracting her from her physical discomforts. The index finger of her free hand seemed to curl around something, pulling back on the trigger of an imaginary gun, her lips quivering as she imagined the various interactions. “Loud and crude,” she muttered, “yet undeniably effective. A Noble would have to be prepared for it to protect against it.” she glanced over her shoulder, to where the defeated Warlock lay, now hidden behind the trees lining the course of the road. “If one were to attack a Noble in the back...” She shook her head, and increased her pace. The settlement would have to be reached, sooner rather than later.

  Steve nodded and matched her increased pace. “Exactly. I don't know magic, but even you guys need to see something or be ready for something before you can stop it. I mean, you can't keep up a shield all the time.”

  “Shields are catalogued as wards and cannot be moved,” Liane said. “Personal defense is usually limited to robes with permanent enchantments on them. They are able to stop physical attacks, to a degree. I imagine a projectile made of solid metal traveling at several hundred kilometers an hour would still penetrate them with no problem. They would have to be enchanted specifically against that sort of damage.”

  Steve stared again, before shaking himself. “So it is possible to defend against guns?”

  Liane shrugged, and winced when her muscles pulled. Her quickened pace faltered, and she had to catch herself. She scowled for a moment, before hiding her face behind blank neutrality and forcing herself to continue. “I would imagine so. However, without testing and an example, it would be very hard for me to reach any sort of conclusion.” She glanced at the sword. “May I have the sword?” she requested an idea forming in her head. There was not a lot of debate on the trade off, she could spend some time building a new weapon that the foreigner could actually use, rather than press on and leave him with a weapon he couldn't.

  Steve pulled the sword out awkwardly, and handed it to her with great care. This was obviously the first time he had handled a sword, and Liane was glad of her course of action. She hoped her magic held, and stopped walking. Steve halted to stare at her.

  Closing her eyes, she envisioned what she wanted, and started whispering a metal spell. It was a standard sword, no enchantments or special alloys, and seemed to be of only mediocre quality. The Warlock had been more at ease with magic than swordsmanship, and it showed.

  The blade glowed, the metal deforming and yielding to her will with eager acceptance. It formed into a rough imitation of the same gun she had destroyed earlier, a handle to be held, a trigger encased in a protective ring, a barrel. The glowing contraption solidified, and
the pilot stared at the results. Rather than the matte black or silver gray finish he was used to seeing in a weapon, the gun Liane had made seemed made of pure white metal with golden inlays, while the barrel itself was a completely round tube lined with runes that coiled in four separate strands around it.

  The handle rotated open when pulled backward, and Liane extracted a power token from her robes. Slipping it into a holder nested in the bottom of the handle, she pointed to the rack that was holding solid, round balls of brass metal. “Those are your projectiles,” she indicated. “The power token powers the pistol. When you pull the trigger, the next ball is loaded, and accelerated out of the barrel. I may have overpowered it, the speed of the ball might traverse the speed of sound.”

  “This is brilliant!” the man shouted, eagerly accepting it from her, and rotating the handle closed. He pointed the weapon at a tree, and pulled the trigger. There was no sound except a small puff of air, answering Liane's question about overpowering the acceleration runes. The projectile obviously did not cross the sound barrier. The ball went wide, however, and clipped the branches of a nearby bush. Steve frowned, and stared for a few moments. “Did you rifle the barrel?” he asked.