The Magic, Broken

by Rick Field

  “Hope?” Steve asked. “Is this like the Druids? Because we didn't get much from them.”

  “We got more than we would have gotten otherwise,” Liane said, refusing to rise to the blatant bait. “I am more than 90 percent sure my friend will offer us sanctuary. It is rude to assume without asking, however, so we will ask.”

  Steve shrugged. “Whatever you say. I could use a hot meal and a warm bed.”

  “We both do,” Liane answered, wiping sweat off her forehead. She glanced at her hurting leg. Every step was agony, and she welcomed some conversation to distract her. “I hope there is a healer nearby. As kind as the Druid was to feed me some of her energy, she was not a healer.”

  Magic built up behind her, faster and ferocious, and Liane barely had time to throw herself aside under the impulse of Lucifer, knocking herself into Steve and pushing them both to the ground. The bolt passed overhead, and exploded not far away. The word of command rolled over Liane's lips, and a shiver went through the great stones of the main road of Kiria.

  The shiver died down, the stones remaining where they were. She wanted to curse, but could not spare the breath. Agony exploded from her injured limb, preventing her from moving. She could feel and hear Steve come to a crouch, his breath halting as he tracked across the deserted road behind them.

  “Looks like he broke the curse,” the pilot muttered.

  Liane couldn't answer, much as she wanted to. Her body had curled into a ball, both her hands cradling her injured leg. Above her agony, her senses reported that a new strike was building, she could feel it, but without Lucifer in her hands she would be vulnerable. Her magic had turned too many attacks lately, had suffered too much damage, to the point where the roads would no longer obey her commands. She needed Lucifer, needed its precognition to push her out of the way of large attacks.

  The next attack grazed by Steve, the man feeling the hairs form his head singing from the energy and closeness of it. A third strike would not be far off, the Warlock following them operating on anger and emotion rather than logic. Steve couldn't feel the magic building, but he could see from where the attack had come, and he was now ducking and weaving his way toward it.

  The third attack was a mistake, missing the bobbing man completely but giving the foreign pilot a good look on their pursuer's location. The weapon came up, and a startled yelp cut off the attack as the Warlock was lucky to still be alive. With the shadows still hiding him, there was no way for Steve to know where he was unless he fired again.

  The man cursed lowly as he carefully made his way back to Liane, regretting his shot having missed their enemy. Struggling, the Mage attempted to push herself back to her feet. Lucifer slipped on the stones, making her scream as she fell down again.

  Without regards for Decorum, he slipped one arm underneath her shoulder, and hefted her to her feet. Lucifer was pushed into her right hand shortly after. “Just lean on me,” he told her.

  “It is... embarrassing,” she muttered, their sudden closeness drawing uncomfortable sensations from her body.

  “It's necessary,” he grunted. “Come on, let's go to the house of that friend of yours.”

  “You must release me when I ask you,” she said, voice unsteady through the pain of their combined motion. “It would be unbecoming of me to be half-carried.”

  “Even if you can't stand?” he asked, gruffly, sounding as if he were not exerting any force in keeping her upright.

  “I can stand,” she defended. “I must stand, and therefore I will stand.”

  He shook his head. “If you say so.”

  “I do,” she said.

  “Very well,” he answered, a smile tugging at his lips. She didn't know what was funny, and didn't react, allowing him to half-pull, half-carry her toward their destination. All that was left for her was to hang on and be in agony.

  The next attack came out of nowhere, and if Lucifer hadn't pushed her, and by extension him, out of the way, they would have perished in an instant. Their enemies had lost all semblance of civility now, attacking from behind and from a position of cover, and Liane hated every moment of it. This was no longer a civilized duel or even a quasi-civilized spot of combat.

  This had become war, disregarding all measures of civility and Decorum, merely using magic to kill the other as quickly as possible without regards for honor or chivalry. Her magic was as broken as her body, and yet she tried. The Warlock had learned from last time, and was now casting quickly and quietly, shifting his position despite being hidden in the shadows.

  She drew as little as she could, and pushed it into Lucifer. This would be it, her last spell. Unless they could reach safety and recuperate, she would barely be able to use Lucifer's precognitive abilities.

  “Enough!” she barked, slamming Lucifer's tip down as hard as she could. The waft of magic spread through the air, and suddenly the Warlock was standing in the middle of the road, staring dumbly as his shadow-travel spell failed. He raced for the forest even as Steve aimed.

  The man screamed, yet vanished in the thick underbrush. “Hit him, but didn't kill him,” Steve barked angrily. “God damn it!”

  “I shall... overlook... your coarse... language. Just once,” Liane muttered, slowly forcing herself to her legs.

  “I thought you couldn't do magic?” Steve asked, immediately there, his voice soft, one arm underneath her shoulder once more.

  “Last spell,” she whispered. “Nothing left now.” She closed her eyes. “It hurt badly.”

  “Well, you gave me my shot,” he said, angrily. “I'm sorry I missed.”

  “He's... injured now,” Liane said. “Better than last time.”

  Steve gave a self-depreciating grin. “I'll get him next time.”

  “If he is... foolish enough to return,” she answered.

  The pilot smiled. “How much further?”

  “Not far,” Liane said, motioning to a small path leading off the road a few hundred meters away. “That is it. You will need to release me there. I must not be seen like this.”

  Steve scoffed. “The guy following us saw you plenty.”

  Liane's eyes hardened, and her face set. Something flashed through Steve's mind, something telling him that he was glad that he was not the target of her facial expression. “That man is already dead. He died the moment he attacked us, he simply has not yet realized that fact.”

  “Well, here we are,” Steve said, eagerly changing the subject as he slowly withdrew his arm, trying to make sure she was able to keep standing. To his surprise, she seemed quite solid on her one good leg and Lucifer.

  “Thank you for the assistance, it has given me the time to rest,” she said, giving him a grateful dip of her head, before starting to limp up the path. The sun was starting to set, the shadows were getting longer, and Steve hoped that the injured Warlock wouldn't throw a last minute attack at him.

  To his surprise, they didn't need to walk for very long, before coming up to a gate set into a large wall.

  Liane just nodded at the sight of the closed gate. “The sun is setting, it's probably closed less than five minutes,” she informed the pilot, before walking up to the large construction, and rapped on it with her staff. Surprisingly, it resounded deep and loud.

  Steve started to fidget when the time dragged on, and it was almost two minutes later that someone opened a small panel in the large gate. “Who goes there?”

  The Mage stepped into the sight of the gatekeeper, who immediately seemed to recognize her. “My Lady!” he said loudly, “One moment, please!” the small hatch closed, and a complex set of keys and locks could be heard grinding, immediately afterward followed by a normal-sized door opening.

  The gatekeeper was in his mid-thirties, tall, muscular, and a head full of black hair. “You are injured!” he shouted in dismay. “Please, come in, I will inform his Lordship. I am sure that Lord Pyne can heal your injuries momentarily.”

  Liane shook her head, and somehow managed to shift her weight to her good leg so
she could let go of Lucifer – which, as always, remained perfectly upright under its own power – and produced her card. “Please inform Lord Pertogan that Liane, the MagicWarper is requesting sanctuary behind his walls and under his wards.”

  The gatekeeper gaped at her, then seemed to remember where he was and who he was talking to. “I understand, My Lady. I will return as quickly as possible. I am quite positive his Lordship will immediately bide you to enter, but such things must be done the proper way.”

  Liane nodded, and the gatekeeper, with one last worried look, closed the door.

  “Now what?” Steve asked.

  “Now we wait until Lord Pertogan allows us entrance behind his walls and under his wards,” Liane replied, calmly. She turned, and leaned against the wall, releasing a breath of pain and anxiety. Her right leg was throbbing, and she felt a bit light-headed. Hopefully her old friend would return an answer soon.

  Chapter Eight

  The ache in her leg was increasing, and Liane closed her eyes in determination to ignore it. She must have lost track of time, lost in her inner struggle against the pained limb, as the next thing she knew was the gate opening once more.

  Her eyes opened, settling on her old friend, and despite years of Decorum conditioning, an honest smile appeared on her lips. She hadn't been this glad to see someone since finding Milor, all those years ago. “My Lady,” the Master Necromancer said, as she painfully struggled away from his wall. He only then seemed to realize how injured she was, and his pleased face devolved into a twisted look of worry as he took two massive strides forward to almost touch her personal space. “You are gravely injured; we must have Lord Pyne look at you immediately.”

  Pleased though she was at his concern, she slowly shook her head, closing her eyes against the overwhelming vertigo that suddenly attacked her. It took two steadying breaths before she regained control over herself. “We must observe... the necessities, My Lord,” she said, her voice grating and low. “I am being pursued, and request...” she had to draw a deep breath against the pain flaring from her leg. “I request sanctuary.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Liane, The MagicWarper, I grant you and your companion sanctuary behind my walls and under my wards. Now will you please come inside so that Lord Pyne can look at you?”

  She dipped her head... and it kept dipping as the colors abruptly left reality. Strange as it was to see the world in black and white, she was more concerned by her immediate lack of strength, right before a gentle floating sensation supported her. Pertogan's magic had caught her. “It is worse than I thought,” the man said, turning to the gatekeeper of his estate. “Please fetch Lord Pyne and Assistant Daryn immediately. Inform them we have a heavily injured Mage.”

  “Of course, My Lord,” the gatekeeper said, turning and immediately fleeing as fast as was polite. Liane allowed the world to pass her by, focusing instead on remaining conscious. She felt as ease when they crossed the threshold to Pertogan's estate, and the Necromancer's heavy wards settled over her. With his verbal declaration of sanctuary, the sensation was inviting and protective.

  Within five minutes, she had been put down in one of the supremely comfortable couches of the ground-story drawing room of Lord Pertogan's estate.

  Lord Pyne was younger than Liane was, her trained eyes immediately flicking to his insignia. He was younger than she was by a few years, a Warlock who had taken the healing class at the Academy, but had declined to take the optional eighth year to achieve his Master's degree. It seemed he was now working for Pertogan, in some capacity or other.

  “I will need to focus on your leg, Pillar. It has been severely damaged,” he spoke in his youthful voice, trying to be respectful and confident, but unable to hide the undercurrent of anxiety. “Your blood-pressure is extremely low due to the damage in your leg.” He looked up at the fourteen-year-old girl standing just inside the room, looking lost. “Assistant, please retrieve another two vials of restoration potion, a vial of bone-knitting potion, and three vials of general strengthening potion.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” the young woman said, leaving the room.

  “Please drink this, My Lady,” the healer said, swarming back into her field of vision. “It is a pain relief potion; it should take most of the pain away. Please refrain from moving, your leg is badly mangled. I will require a few hours of reconstructive magic to set it in order.”

  Liane drank obediently; one did not question a healer, even if said healer was younger than her and hadn't attained the rank of master. She had been out in the field long enough to know that there were plenty of Nobles who could qualify for a Master's rank, even if they hadn't gone for one at the Academy.

  The potion swept through her body like a torrent of icy cold, reaching from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes. The pain in her leg calmed and dulled to a low-grade throb.

  Immediately, she felt better. “Do not move, My Lady,” the healer reminded her. “Do you still feel pain?”

  She didn't want to appear weak, and for a few moments debated whether the dull throb could be catalogued as pain. “I will take that as a yes,” he went on. “Please drink, My Lady.”

  A second vial was held out to her, and he helped her drink it. The second dose burnt like fire, feeling as hot as the first dose had felt cold. The last vestiges of pain were burnt away, and she felt pleasantly detached from reality. She had forgotten how good it felt to not be bothered by pain or fatigue.

  “Do not get used to the sensation, My Lady”, the healer said, and Liane blinked at him. “Your leg will need major work. You have badly sprained your knee and your ankle, you have torn two ligaments in your knee and one in your ankle, you have pulled every major muscle group, and there are three broken metatarsal bones in your foot. I will fix the leg today, but I will have to leave the rest of your sprains and bruises for tomorrow.” He frowned at her. “I found traces of Death Magic in your arm, and a badly damaged shoulder. The shoulder has been healed in some form unknown to me, but the Death Magic should have killed you.”

  She managed a weak quirking of her lips, a gesture that could in some way be construed as a tiny smile. “I have always been remarkably resilient to Death Magic,” she said weakly. He was in Pertogan's household; he would not be here if Pertogan didn't trust him to take care of her.

  “May we speak?” Pertogan asked Pyne, and Liane suddenly realized that both he and Steve were there as well.

  “Please be mindful of her current state, My Lord,” Pyne said respectfully. “The Lady Pillar has had two doses of the strongest pain relief potion that I have available. Her Decorum and state of mind will be less than optimal.”

  “Understood, My Lord,” Pertogan said. “My Lady, can you tell me what happened?” His voice had changed, and it was obvious that he had shifted to now face her.

  “We have been attacked,” Liane lisped, feeling her lips uncomfortably uncooperative. She was suddenly aware that she was lisping, and that saliva was dripping tickling from the corner of her mouth. “It appears Kiria is at war with itself. The Capital is sealed; nobody has been able to get a communication spell through. The safe house in Eunan was destroyed, three Pillars are confirmed dead. We were attacked on our way to the Capital. Were forced to run, tried to take refuge with the Druids. We were refused.”

  “Of course,” Pertogan muttered. “The cowards probably blamed needing strength to break some storm or other. Getting involved with a struggle of a government official would be beneath them.”

  The healer was working on her leg. She could feel it, his magic filling up her limb, setting and repairing damage. It was a curious sensation to feel one’s body shift in unnatural ways, yet receive no pain. She blinked, and tried to focus back on her conversation with Pertogan. “Master Xard healed me after the battle with Lord General Marcel of the rising Trees,” she said. “Had he not intervened, I would have perished.”

  She could hear Pertogan sit up straight. “If you are able, please start from the beginning, My Lady.
Your... friend tried to fill me in, but his knowledge of Kiria appears to be rather sketchy, even for a Commoner.”

  Liane nodded, and her eyes slipped shut. Against the back of her eyelids, the movie of recent events started playing, and she found her mouth speaking without intonation, without her awareness or emotional attachments, recounting what she was seeing. Perhaps it was a side effect of the potions she had been given.

  A few minutes into her account, the tiny Assistant had retrieved the various potions the young healer had requested, and she had to interrupt her tale to take a few of them. Two vials of restoration potion would help her body heal the residual damage after the healer was done. The three vials of strengthening potion were administered as well, and it felt like she had been given a dozen full meals. Energy flowed back into her exhausted body, and slowly, awareness started to creep back into her.